Here is the prologue and Chapter One of my first Novel. This is my first real attempt at serious storytelling, so if it’s rough or doesn’t make sense, hopefully that will come with time 🙂
Enjoy! Feel free to comment, suggest changes, tell me to give up because I’m no good etc. 😛
PROLUGUE
There are many legends in this world. Tales of old and older still, of dragons that breathe plumes of fire, of enormous underwater creatures, of giants with scruffy beards from far away lands. Stories, fables, legends all of them. Some wonderous, some monsterous, some downright unbelievable. And all are fascinating, sometimes frightening, always compelling to a true listener.
This story is about none of these things. This is a story of a hero whose height meausres barely the height of a man’s knee, on a good day. Whose size makes him suitable only for hiding between the toes (and claws) of even the smaller of dragons.
But his stature and featherweight presence are but a keen disguise. For this hero is the bravest of all mighty heroes, and posesses a heart of the purest gold. This hero is a Jack Russell with some of the trimmings of a march hare’s ears (though none have been brave enough to point out this particular feature).
His name is Bentley. Known throughout the land as Bentley The Brave. And this is his story…
CHAPTER ONE
The sea breeze in this part of the county is always fresh this time of year, what with the first rains of spring and the cool ocean waters that hide tales of seafarers and adventure. And above the sand dunes, fields of green grass dotted with red and blue flowers stretch for over a mile, broken only by the occasional path to the ocean’s edge – and, some say, to the edge of the world.
Bentley The Brave, however, was not concerned with the edge of the world today. That idea was simply to big to consider on such a bright and magical early morning in the spring. He was more concerned with the seagulls that sat stately and proud on the edge of the small fishing pier in front of him. Bentley was interested because seagulls are friendly and generous with their food, at least in these parts, and he had an appetite to compete with that of a very hungry dragon.
He stood up slowly, then stretched his long black-with-patches-of-white body just as far as he could, then trotted over to the pier where the seagulls perched, swinging his head this way and that to catch as much of the sea breeze as he could.
“Ho there, birds!” he declared as he stepped onto the pier and approached the birds. “How is the fishing on this fine day?”
One of the seagulls, older and wiser than his friends, turned his head and peered at the newcomer. “Slow on this day, young Bentley, and seem in no hurry to change their ways.” The old bird rustled his feathers in the breeze. “So what brings you to the edge of the world today, young Bentley?” The other seagulls chuckled when he said this.
Bentley smiled at the seagull’s joke. Seagulls and most other birds made jokes all the time to land dwellers who couldn’t fly or live underwater, thus had never been to the edge of the world. Only the chosen creatures who had wings or gills or a combination of both had broken the bonds of the land for a life in the skies or the sea.
“I crave an adventure, my friends.” Bentley replied, stretching his head high. “And those paths over the fields only lead so far.” He sat and contemplated the ocean. “I am a free dog, born to wander the lands of mountains and fields and trees.”
The seagull nodded sagely. “Well, my four-legged land dweller, adventure is for both the brave and the foolish. And I hope for your sake that the first is the best fit for you.”
Bentley regarded the bird with his chocolate-brown eyes. “That it is, Ares of the Western Skies, that it is.” He paused, then added with a slight smile “but foolish might just be another name for brave, you know.” Ares had known Bentley since he was a pup, and looked upon him with great fondness. Bentley knew he could come to the old bird anytime for advice or a stern lecture, and had done so on many occasions.
Ares chuckled knowingly, the sound emanating from deep within it’s throat. “It may be, my boy. So where shall your adventures take you?”
Bentley turned his head and pointed his nose northwards. “That way, I think.” he replied. “North, towards the Silver Mountains. I’ve never seen beyond the borders of the township and the plains, only pictures in my mind when I listen to the tales of seafarers and the trade caravans.” He stared longingly at the mountains in the distance, shrouded by mist, the peaks glistening like diamonds in the sky. “It all sounds like a true adventure for a brave dog like me.”
“Well, my young adventurer,” Ares said, stretching his wings, “I pray that those tales of the Silver Mountains have a happy ending for you, for I have heard of less fortuitous stories from traders and merchants.”
“What tales, Ares?” Bentley wanted to know.
“Tales of strange and horrible creatures, and winds that speed as fast as the rays of the sun. Coldness that would chill you to your very soul.” Ares paused. “But I have heard other stories too. Of giant bears that have a giant roar but a kind and gentle heart. And the road to the mountains is said to be as safe as the towns.” The old seagull gave Bentley a knowing look. “But if I know you, and I do, you’ll listen to this advice and promptly tuck it behind your ears for later.”
Bentley laughed. “I may do that, my old friend, but as always I thank you for your council and your advice.” With that, Bentley stood and stretched his head high once again. “I may be back to see you again before I leave.”
“I should hope so, young Bentley.” Ares replied with mock sternness. “I would be very disappointed if you didn’t.”
Bentley turned back towards town. “We shall talk again very soon, Ares of the Western Skies.”. Then he stood, turned and trotted off the pier towards town, swaying his head this way and that to catch as much of the sea breeze as he could.
Ares watched Bentley as he left the pier and trotted over the fields of green grass that separated the ocean and beach from the town. “Hmm.” he said to himself, then turned to his friends. “The Silver Mountains, ey?”
The other seagulls chuckled. One of them said “It is a brave creature to set foot in those mountains, especially by himself. I know I don’t possess that type of bravery.”
Ares nodded sagely. “Yes, by himself.” He turned his head towards the ocean. “We shall see what happens.” Then, with a sharp beat of his wings, the wise old seagull took off from the pier and soared over the ocean, closely followed by his friends. There was fishing to be done.
Bentley The Brave 