The Write Zone

The moment you’ve all been waiting for is here. The full first chapter of my novel is out! Normally, I’ll only give you a page or so at a time, but first chapters are important to get you into the story. But this will only happen once or twice, so be warned this is a lot more than I’ll normally give you. Enjoy! 😉

The Sword of Glass: A Cinderella Retelling by Tatum K. Palmer

Part One. The Noble’s Son

One

Trouble. One word can have so much meaning packed into it, and so when my eyelids fluttered open, I wasn’t quite sure why that had been the first word that came to mind. I sat up straight and scanned the fields around me. To my right, the soft green of the

grass stretched out to touch the horizon, with nothing impeding my view. I turned my head the other way, and studied the menacing wood that belonged to Lord Gregory, my family’s master. Nothing but dense pine trees and dark shadows. I stood, my bare feet pressing into the dirt as I walked down to the stream that ran through the fields and into the wood. My discarded leather boots sat with a stack of unwashed dishes, and I picked a bowl up, kneeling by the water to rinse the porridge off. 

“Come on, you old nag! Time is not a luxury we can toss around as wanted!” 

My head snapped up, thinking whoever was shouting was addressing me, but instead I watched a white mare gallop down the dirt road that wound through the grass. The man yelling at the horse would explain why trouble was the first word that was in my head when I woke. He always gave me that feeling.

“Lord Gregory,” I muttered, glancing down to where the road ended. At a slight right just before the treeline of the wood sat a home. I loved my cottage, despite its pale, weathered walls and slowly crumbling straw roof. 

Pulling on my boots, I jogged across the fields, my heavy blue dress restricting my movements. Lord Gregory’s horse was tied to the low fence that encircled my home, and I could hear his booming voice from outside. I chewed my lip, and walked into the house. A window above the dish-filled shelf let in light through its dirty panes, illuminating the cramped room. The stone fireplace was set into the wall to my right, the large pot of stew simmering over the active flames. Our dining table was in the middle of the room, four wooden stools circling it. On the wall next to the window, a wooden ladder led up to the loft where my two brothers slept. I turned to the doorway on my left, where a thin curtain normally separated my room from the rest of the home, but it was pulled aside. 

“Hello?” I ventured, walking in. The room was stuffy, with a bed my mother and I shared pushed up against the far wall so it jutted out into the middle of the room. Two large chests contained our clothes, and a window was set into the right wall, small and high up. Lord Gregory, whom I had seen riding up the road, sat in a chair next to Ma, who lay in bed as always. Ma’s limp brown hair was pulled up into a tight bun that sat atop her head, secured with her favorite baby blue ribbon, and her skin was nearly as white as her nightgown. 

“Lord Gregory!” I feigned surprise, dipping into a brief bow.

He nodded at me, stroking his dark hair as he stood. His beard was streaked with gray, and his skin was pale from lack of sun exposure. The suit he wore was navy blue, with a silver trim that only people of great importance and wealth could afford. 

“Hello, Miss Whitlock,” Lord Gregory said, “I was just checking in on your mother…” 

I flinched involuntarily. He knew Ma’s illness was steadily getting worse, and how she couldn’t even leave the bed. His lips twisted slightly, and he changed the subject. “You look like you’ve been run over by a wagon, girl.”

I ran my fingers through my blonde curls that hung a bit past my shoulders. “That’s what happens when you’re working.” Or sleeping.

“I suppose. Come, let us talk for a moment.” He motioned out of the room, and I backed up, him following and drawing the curtain shut between us and Ma.

“I can see that she is no better, perhaps even worse, than when I last saw her,” he said sharply, shaking his head in mock pity. “I worry, Miss Whitlock, that you cannot keep up with the chores you took up when she fell sick.”

I could hear the subtle undertone of something near a threat in his words. “I am doing well, Lord Gregory, and so are my brothers.”

“But surely,” he said, giving me a forced smile, “a fourteen-year-old girl should not spend all the hours of her day immersed in unpleasant and tasking chores?”

I returned his smile with a fake one of my own, “I do fine. No need to worry.”

“If you say so,” Gregory measured me with his gaze a moment longer, then changed the topic. “Miss Whitlock, where are your brothers? Surely one of them must be around.”

I shook my head. “No, sir, both are out in the wood.”

Gregory’s smile slowly melted into a disapproving frown, one that he gave me too often. “The wood? What are they doing out there, so near sunset?”

“Collecting firewood,” I said cautiously. Lord Gregory was a short tempered man, and things could go the wrong way very quickly. 

“Fetch Adrian for me, will you? I must speak with him about your mother’s position.”

I backed out of the room while saying, “Of course, m’lord.” When I was out of sight, I bolted for the door. I never particularly liked Gregory, and I hated for Ma to be alone with him for longer than necessary. I exited the cottage and vaulted the low fence, heading off towards the wood. Mostly pine and fir trees, the woods seemed frightening from the edge, but normally the vegetation was well placed apart and you could forage a reasonable path. I paused at a deer trail that looked more used than any others, but decided to make my way down one with fresh bootprints pressed into the dirt.

“Adrian!” I called, “Elias! Where are you?”

I hiked a little further down the path, still shouting my brother’s names. Eventually, I heard the thump, thump, thump of an axe hitting a tree. I headed towards the sound, and found my siblings hacking away at a pine.

“Hey!” I yelled, making them pause to look at me. Adrian, my nineteen-year-old brother, set his axe on the ground. His brown hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, and he had a bit of stubble on his chin. 

“Hi,” he said, wiping his brow, “Is everything alright?”

“Sort of. Lord Gregory is asking for you.”

Adrian blew out a sharp breath, “I need to finish up here. Can he wait, Clarissa?”

“I don’t know, would you like to test his patience?” I asked, propping my hands on my hips. “I’ll help Eli. You go.”

Adrian hesitated, glancing at my other brother. Eli was only two years older than me, but he had a muscular build, like he was made for this type of work. His brown hair was shorter than Adrian’s, and sat in curls like mine. “Clare, last time Ma found out you were helping…”

“She won’t,” I said, marching up to my brothers and picking up Adrian’s discarded axe. “As long as someone doesn’t tell,” I gave Adrian a pointed look as I swung the axe in a large arch, and it hit the groove they had made with a satisfying whomp.  Adrian sighed, but took off towards the house. 

Eli chuckled, joining me in taking down the tree. “One day, sis, he’s going to lose his temper and you’re going to regret every word you said to annoy him.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, “but he’s put up with me this far.”

I felled the tree with one last hit, and it crashed down with a thud. Elias waved me away. “Go home. I’ll bring back what we need.”

I nodded, and swung the axe over my shoulder. I could hear Elias chopping up the fresh wood as I headed back towards the house. As I walked up to the fence surrounding the cottage, Lord Gregory stormed out, face red.

“Oh dear,” I muttered, setting down the axe on a stump my brothers used for splitting firewood. Running to where Gregory was mounting his horse, I said, “Sir! Are you–”

He picked up his reins as he cut me off, “Goodbye, Miss Whitlock. If I see your work slack even a bit, you’re in a lot of trouble.”

I froze, processing his words as he spun his mare around and galloped away down the road. Adrian came out of the front door, and watched Lord Gregory race back towards his manor. Then he turned to me. “Ma feels really bad,” he said, “and Gregory mentioned that if we can’t keep up with our work, he’ll kick us out of here and throw us into poverty.”

I moved into the house, slamming the door behind me. I hated that Adrian always relied on me comforting Ma. I walked to the stew that had been slowly cooking over the fire, grabbed one of the bowls off of a shelf, and ladeled some dinner into it. Setting it on a small wooden tray with a spoon, I carried it into Ma’s room. She was slumped in bed, her expression so sorrowful it gave her even more wrinkles than usual.

“Ma?” I asked, bringing her the stew. “Are you ready for supper?”

She shrugged weakly, and I handed her the tray. She set it on her lap, and slowly ate a bite. I stood to leave her in peace, but she said, “Clare, you remind me of your father.”

“I’ve never heard you say that,” I said, looking at her over my shoulder. 

“Well, it’s a bit of a sore subject.” Ma wiped a tear from her cheek, then waved me away. I wandered back to the kitchen, my mind racing. I might have never met my father but I’m sure he would have been the sweetest, kindest, funniest man ever. If only he had made it through that storm.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin, counting in my head. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred. I sat up, satisfied that my nightly count was complete. Ma was truly asleep, and now I could leave. The dim light of the moon coming through the window guided me to my chest, which I unlatched. On top of a mess of clothes, a box of matches waited for me. I grabbed an oil lamp off the windowsill above my bed, and lit the wick with one of the matches, casting a glow around the room. I stuffed another match behind my ear as I dug to the bottom of my trunk and pulled out my pants–stitched by my own hand and worn only at night since it was ‘unladylike.’ 

I slipped them on, traded my nightgown for a black blouse, and belted it so the end hung shortly above my knees, creating the impression of a small skirt. Ma would have a fit if she ever saw me in it. I pulled my boots on, took my lamp in hand, and crept out of my bedroom into the kitchen. Past the ladder to my brothers’ loft, I pried up a loose floorboard by the fireplace, and drew out a dagger and sword. The sword’s scabbard went to my belt, and my dagger was kept in hand as I replaced the board. I eased the door open, slipped outside, and let out the breath I’d been holding. Blowing out my lamp, setting it by the door, and leaving the fresh match that I had placed behind my ear safely tucked under it, I bolted for the forest.

The treeline of the wood quickly absorbed me, and I paused to let my eyes adjust to the moonlight. It didn’t take long, and I adjusted my grip on my dagger as I headed down the worn deer trail I had ignored earlier. Shrubs and grass brushed against my pants, and I wondered what could possibly hide in them. The pine trees towered over my head, making everything cast shadows. Something seemed to shift in the darkness, and I jumped and held my knife out towards the unseen danger. Nothing was there. 

“Stop being jumpy,” I scolded myself, but I headed down the trail at a much faster pace. I could only breathe normally again when I reached the clearing. 

The break in the trees created my training grounds, the bare ground perfect for quick movements. The moon, only being two days away from full, was like a spotlight upon me.

I sat down on the large, flat rock in the clearing, which was low to the ground and made a perfect seat. I took off my boots, and let out a sigh as my bare feet hit the packed dirt. It felt so familiar. I stood, brushed some of my curls off of my shoulder, and drew my sword. Simple- leather hilt and shining blade- but still perfectly balanced in my palm. I began my normal movements, thrusting and stabbing at an imaginary fiend. My feet moved with practiced grace, stepping in sync with my swings. 

Ever since Ma had declared fighting ‘unnecessary for a lady,’ I had snuck out to the clearing and practiced every night. Thanks to my brothers, who taught me swordplay before that, I just improved with every swing I took the previous years. But, as the minutes passed, the flash of my blade slowed, and eventually, I sheathed it and stared down at the ground. 

“I shouldn’t,” I told myself, studying my feet. “I’m here to practice.”

But, only a moment later, I stepped forward and extended both my hands. I pretended to clasp one around an imaginary hand, and I put my other on an invisible shoulder. One two three, one two three, I repeated in my head, moving through the waltz as if I had a partner. My half-skirt swished around my legs, and I smiled to myself. Dancing was almost more enjoyable than swordfighting.

A sharp crack of a branch breaking came from my left. I turned, my sword flying out of my sheath as the moment of joy my dance had given me faded. “Who’s there?”

“Just a lost boy looking for some help,” came the smooth response, and something–someone–stepped out of the trees into the clearing. I wasn’t alone now.

So there you have it. The first of many experts of my novel. There’s no scheduled day that I’ll be releasing more, so I’d recommend subscribing so you can get notified when the next section is released. Otherwise, I hoped you enjoyed my chapter!

Till my pen meets the paper again,

Tatum