Janus Sneak Peek!
Dec. 27th, 2011 12:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsonToday I thought I'd bring a little sneak peek at the sequel to my published work The Requiem of Janus. I don't know when I'll get to writing it. Maybe 2013 judging by the free time in my schedule but we'll see. Anyway, here's the first five pages of the manuscript in their unedited glory!
As of yet, the story is untitled but I'll get to that. Also, for those interested, keep in mind that The Requiem of Janus and it's sequel are all prequels to the War of the Animum verse. Also, there are spoilers for The Requiem of Janus itself.
------
Pain.
Someone was screaming.
The earth crackled beneath his feet, stripped away, peeling back as though some great hand had reached down and rent it free. The air scorched his lungs, like breathing fire. The sky was blacker than pitch save for the occasional flash of lightning, streaking jagged and cruel.
Someone was laughing.
The two strangers wound and twist around each other, laughter and screaming, amused and terrified, echoing in Janus' ears until they became an indistinguishable cacophony. He felt it echo through his chest. His fingers curled into themselves, into claws, and the place inside of him where there should be magic was cold and dead. Empty.
He'd been abandoned.
We warned you, Sybaris whispered. He'd never heard her voice before, not really, but somehow, Janus knew it was her. I warned you beloved.
Beloved? Since when had Janus been loved by her? Since when had she bothered to reach down and touch him? Touch Thessalia?
I need you.
Wind whipped over his clothes, trying to yank it from his chilled body. His feet were scorching, but his fingers frozen, stiff nubs. He couldn't decide if he was lying down or standing up. His world view was tilted.
Someone shouted his name.
Help me. Help us. Sybaris cajoled again, and there was a warm pressure at Janus' back, the feeling of someone holding him close. Gentle fingertips on his shoulders, someone leaning over him, whispering in his ear, dulcet and seductive.
He closed his eyes. Opened them again. But nothing had changed. The world was still the same, falling apart at the edges, ground crumbling beneath him, dropping down into a pool of melted stone and debris. Ash was thick on his tongue; he could taste it, mixed with blood and despair.
“Give me my freedom!” A voice snarled, angry, near enough that Janus startled, tried to run on instinct alone.
The hands on his shoulders kept him firmly in place. Fingers pressing down, not hurting, but definitely confining.
Janus reached for the magic. It eluded his grasp like wisps of smoke, the same smoke clogging his lungs, making him cough. His eyes burned.
He wanted to wake up. This was only a dream. Wasn't it?
Whoever held him nuzzled the side of his head, a gentle caress, like a lover. I gave you these gifts. That voice again, a warm puff against his ear. Sybaris. And now, I must ask something of you.
Janus snarled. “Isn't it enough?” he demanded, trying to jerk away. But his feet might as well be mired in stone for all the movement he was granted. “Can't I live in peace?”
Your peace is an illusion. One that will shatter with the dawn.
“I don't care!” He raged, the anger within to match the swirling chaos without. The fear-amusement noise, the churning earth, the dark sky. “Leave me be!”
You haven't a choice.
The pressure at his back slowly melted away, the voice in his head fading, but Janus was still left with the impression that he was not alone. That eyes were watching him, boring between his shoulder blades. Warning him that he could not escape; that his game had yet to be played.
And Janus woke to sunlight and warmth, morning gleaming through his bedroom window and Alcaeus' arms wrapped around him. So his lover had returned. How he'd managed to slip into the bed without Janus noticing, he did not know.
Janus blinked and tried to roll away from the unrelenting dawn, but Alcaeus' arms were like a vise, keeping him from moving.
Sighing, Janus closed his eyes. It was useless to try and remove Alcaeus. He would only let go when he was ready. Which left Janus enough time, perhaps ten minutes or so, to ponder on his recent nightmare in a long string of them.
Every night it was a repeat. Some of the details changed. Sometimes the words were a little different. But the message was the same. The world was ending and the gods required that Janus save it. Gods which had never spoken to him before.
Oh sure, he liked to believe that he conversed with them when he was still within the temple. Those outdated and pointless ceremonies that he'd conducted as High Priest. He had been taught to inform the people of their deity's words, but Janus never heard them. His predecessor hadn't; his master hadn't. They'd lied to their people as surely as they'd lied to themselves.
Janus couldn't be certain if he believed the voices in his dreams were the gods or not. His imagination had never been active or particularly vibrant. And his magic never reacted to these dreams as they always had to the scrying or the visions. The dreams weren't painful; they didn't leave their mark on Janus' flesh. Only on his mind and his rest and his inner peace.
If they were real, Janus made the conscious decision to ignore them. He wanted nothing to do with whatever the gods needed from him. He'd had his entire life altered because of fate or destiny or what have you. He was unwilling to have such a thing happen again.
The arms around him tightened briefly, Janus' only warning that Alcaeus had woken. “Bad dreams again?” he murmured sleepily, fingers of one hand gently stroking Janus' bare belly.
Janus snorted. “Dreams. Period. I'm not a child.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Alcaeus retorted and huffed into Janus' hair, stirring the short, dark strands. “You twitched half the night.”
“Did I keep you awake?” Janus snapped and wriggled in an attempt to get free.
Alcaeus, predictably, didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry to let him go. “Old habits and all. I couldn't relax until you did.” If he was bothered by Janus' less than charitable attitude, the former soldier didn't show it.
Janus made another lunge but was restrained by the arms wrapped around him. “Let me go, Alcaeus.”
For a moment, he didn't think his lover would obey, but finally, those arms loosened and Janus was free to scramble from the bed. He scooped up his robe and threw it over his body, quickly tying the sash. The polished floor was cold beneath his feet, as it usually was this time of year. The air itself held a degree of chilliness, all to reminiscent of the cold that had infected his limbs in the dream. Premonition. Whatever it had been.
“I can tell you didn't get enough sleep,” Alcaeus muttered, the bed creaking as he rolled over and swung his legs over the other side of the bed. “You're cranky.” He rolled his neck, bones making popping noises as he stretched.
Janus bit back the rude reply crowding on his tongue. Alcaeus didn't deserve his irritation and it honestly didn't make Janus feel any better to snap at him. Besides, it wasn't Alcaeus whom Janus wanted to throttle.
Wrapping his arms around himself to conserve heat, Janus headed to the window and peered through the gauzy curtains down at a garden trapped in autumnal decay. Foliage blanketed the ground, branches drooped, the glint of frost danced on some of the leaves. Janus could still feel the magic in them, the life magic. Dying, but not dead. Hibernating.
My, he was feeling melancholy this morning. Janus blamed the dreams.
“They weren't just dreams.” Alcaeus' soft comment pierced Janus' thoughts. The former soldier was approaching him, but slowly, like one might approach a wounded or cornered animal.
Janus only spared him a brief glance. “They need to be.”
“I never took you for the denial sort.”
“And I think we've already established that there's a lot we still don't know about each other,” Janus replied.
A year, give or take a month. It had only been a year since the disastrous events that led to the fall of the temples, Janus' exodus from high society, and the tentative start of his and Alcaeus' relationship. A year was hardly enough time to soothe the ruffled edges, to even begin healing the cracks. A year wasn't enough time to mourn.
Alcaeus stood next to him, close enough to touch though he did not, his gaze focused on Janus even as the former priest stood focused on the garden. “You haven't asked me to leave.”
Janus shuttered his eyes. “You know that I don't want you to.”
“Sometimes, I can't tell the difference.”
His arms tightened around himself. “... How are Sigurd and Ceres?” Change the subject. Easier that way.
Janus never asked if Alcaeus actually wanted to stay. If he was only remaining because he hadn't been explicitly asked to leave. Since the day when they'd made the tentative decision to give their relationship a genuine try, they hadn't spoken of Baldir or their future or... or love, even. Such touchy subjects were avoided. Each day was taken a moment at a time, dancing to a beat only the two of them could hear.
“Ceres is pregnant.”
They certainly didn't waste any time, did they? The world continued to turn, despite Janus' attempts to believe otherwise.
Janus opened his eyes. “I'll have to send her something in congratulations. How far along?”
Alcaeus leaned forward, one arm bracing against the wall as he continued to stare at Janus. “A few months. She's due in May.”
“A joyous occasion to be sure.” Janus turned away from the window, a half moments thought lighting the logs in the hearth, bringing some necessary warmth to his and Alcaeus' shared bedroom.
Such a minor use of magic was barely felt. It was a flicker of his strength, like stifling a yawn.
It was all the magic he could perform these days. All he dared, truth be told. Alcaeus had an aversion to witnessing him use magic and a moment of honesty had revealed the reason why: he didn't like the harm it did to Janus. The physical harm at any rate.
No one noticed the mental toll not using it had taken.
Janus used to breathe magic. Now he was nothing more than a cheap illusionist. He lit fires. He boiled water. He healed minor sicknesses. He stayed trapped in Deham manor, looking out on a world that he used to command, with a lover who wouldn't leave him out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.
The irony of this did not escape Janus. The same had once been said of Baldir and Alcaeus' relationship.
A part of Janus was just waiting for the day when Alcaeus would leave him.
----
I'm actually rather excited about this fic. One of my goals for 2012 will be to plot and outline it completely.
More updates to come as I countdown to the New Year.
Happy Holidays!
As of yet, the story is untitled but I'll get to that. Also, for those interested, keep in mind that The Requiem of Janus and it's sequel are all prequels to the War of the Animum verse. Also, there are spoilers for The Requiem of Janus itself.
------
Pain.
Someone was screaming.
The earth crackled beneath his feet, stripped away, peeling back as though some great hand had reached down and rent it free. The air scorched his lungs, like breathing fire. The sky was blacker than pitch save for the occasional flash of lightning, streaking jagged and cruel.
Someone was laughing.
The two strangers wound and twist around each other, laughter and screaming, amused and terrified, echoing in Janus' ears until they became an indistinguishable cacophony. He felt it echo through his chest. His fingers curled into themselves, into claws, and the place inside of him where there should be magic was cold and dead. Empty.
He'd been abandoned.
We warned you, Sybaris whispered. He'd never heard her voice before, not really, but somehow, Janus knew it was her. I warned you beloved.
Beloved? Since when had Janus been loved by her? Since when had she bothered to reach down and touch him? Touch Thessalia?
I need you.
Wind whipped over his clothes, trying to yank it from his chilled body. His feet were scorching, but his fingers frozen, stiff nubs. He couldn't decide if he was lying down or standing up. His world view was tilted.
Someone shouted his name.
Help me. Help us. Sybaris cajoled again, and there was a warm pressure at Janus' back, the feeling of someone holding him close. Gentle fingertips on his shoulders, someone leaning over him, whispering in his ear, dulcet and seductive.
He closed his eyes. Opened them again. But nothing had changed. The world was still the same, falling apart at the edges, ground crumbling beneath him, dropping down into a pool of melted stone and debris. Ash was thick on his tongue; he could taste it, mixed with blood and despair.
“Give me my freedom!” A voice snarled, angry, near enough that Janus startled, tried to run on instinct alone.
The hands on his shoulders kept him firmly in place. Fingers pressing down, not hurting, but definitely confining.
Janus reached for the magic. It eluded his grasp like wisps of smoke, the same smoke clogging his lungs, making him cough. His eyes burned.
He wanted to wake up. This was only a dream. Wasn't it?
Whoever held him nuzzled the side of his head, a gentle caress, like a lover. I gave you these gifts. That voice again, a warm puff against his ear. Sybaris. And now, I must ask something of you.
Janus snarled. “Isn't it enough?” he demanded, trying to jerk away. But his feet might as well be mired in stone for all the movement he was granted. “Can't I live in peace?”
Your peace is an illusion. One that will shatter with the dawn.
“I don't care!” He raged, the anger within to match the swirling chaos without. The fear-amusement noise, the churning earth, the dark sky. “Leave me be!”
You haven't a choice.
The pressure at his back slowly melted away, the voice in his head fading, but Janus was still left with the impression that he was not alone. That eyes were watching him, boring between his shoulder blades. Warning him that he could not escape; that his game had yet to be played.
And Janus woke to sunlight and warmth, morning gleaming through his bedroom window and Alcaeus' arms wrapped around him. So his lover had returned. How he'd managed to slip into the bed without Janus noticing, he did not know.
Janus blinked and tried to roll away from the unrelenting dawn, but Alcaeus' arms were like a vise, keeping him from moving.
Sighing, Janus closed his eyes. It was useless to try and remove Alcaeus. He would only let go when he was ready. Which left Janus enough time, perhaps ten minutes or so, to ponder on his recent nightmare in a long string of them.
Every night it was a repeat. Some of the details changed. Sometimes the words were a little different. But the message was the same. The world was ending and the gods required that Janus save it. Gods which had never spoken to him before.
Oh sure, he liked to believe that he conversed with them when he was still within the temple. Those outdated and pointless ceremonies that he'd conducted as High Priest. He had been taught to inform the people of their deity's words, but Janus never heard them. His predecessor hadn't; his master hadn't. They'd lied to their people as surely as they'd lied to themselves.
Janus couldn't be certain if he believed the voices in his dreams were the gods or not. His imagination had never been active or particularly vibrant. And his magic never reacted to these dreams as they always had to the scrying or the visions. The dreams weren't painful; they didn't leave their mark on Janus' flesh. Only on his mind and his rest and his inner peace.
If they were real, Janus made the conscious decision to ignore them. He wanted nothing to do with whatever the gods needed from him. He'd had his entire life altered because of fate or destiny or what have you. He was unwilling to have such a thing happen again.
The arms around him tightened briefly, Janus' only warning that Alcaeus had woken. “Bad dreams again?” he murmured sleepily, fingers of one hand gently stroking Janus' bare belly.
Janus snorted. “Dreams. Period. I'm not a child.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Alcaeus retorted and huffed into Janus' hair, stirring the short, dark strands. “You twitched half the night.”
“Did I keep you awake?” Janus snapped and wriggled in an attempt to get free.
Alcaeus, predictably, didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry to let him go. “Old habits and all. I couldn't relax until you did.” If he was bothered by Janus' less than charitable attitude, the former soldier didn't show it.
Janus made another lunge but was restrained by the arms wrapped around him. “Let me go, Alcaeus.”
For a moment, he didn't think his lover would obey, but finally, those arms loosened and Janus was free to scramble from the bed. He scooped up his robe and threw it over his body, quickly tying the sash. The polished floor was cold beneath his feet, as it usually was this time of year. The air itself held a degree of chilliness, all to reminiscent of the cold that had infected his limbs in the dream. Premonition. Whatever it had been.
“I can tell you didn't get enough sleep,” Alcaeus muttered, the bed creaking as he rolled over and swung his legs over the other side of the bed. “You're cranky.” He rolled his neck, bones making popping noises as he stretched.
Janus bit back the rude reply crowding on his tongue. Alcaeus didn't deserve his irritation and it honestly didn't make Janus feel any better to snap at him. Besides, it wasn't Alcaeus whom Janus wanted to throttle.
Wrapping his arms around himself to conserve heat, Janus headed to the window and peered through the gauzy curtains down at a garden trapped in autumnal decay. Foliage blanketed the ground, branches drooped, the glint of frost danced on some of the leaves. Janus could still feel the magic in them, the life magic. Dying, but not dead. Hibernating.
My, he was feeling melancholy this morning. Janus blamed the dreams.
“They weren't just dreams.” Alcaeus' soft comment pierced Janus' thoughts. The former soldier was approaching him, but slowly, like one might approach a wounded or cornered animal.
Janus only spared him a brief glance. “They need to be.”
“I never took you for the denial sort.”
“And I think we've already established that there's a lot we still don't know about each other,” Janus replied.
A year, give or take a month. It had only been a year since the disastrous events that led to the fall of the temples, Janus' exodus from high society, and the tentative start of his and Alcaeus' relationship. A year was hardly enough time to soothe the ruffled edges, to even begin healing the cracks. A year wasn't enough time to mourn.
Alcaeus stood next to him, close enough to touch though he did not, his gaze focused on Janus even as the former priest stood focused on the garden. “You haven't asked me to leave.”
Janus shuttered his eyes. “You know that I don't want you to.”
“Sometimes, I can't tell the difference.”
His arms tightened around himself. “... How are Sigurd and Ceres?” Change the subject. Easier that way.
Janus never asked if Alcaeus actually wanted to stay. If he was only remaining because he hadn't been explicitly asked to leave. Since the day when they'd made the tentative decision to give their relationship a genuine try, they hadn't spoken of Baldir or their future or... or love, even. Such touchy subjects were avoided. Each day was taken a moment at a time, dancing to a beat only the two of them could hear.
“Ceres is pregnant.”
They certainly didn't waste any time, did they? The world continued to turn, despite Janus' attempts to believe otherwise.
Janus opened his eyes. “I'll have to send her something in congratulations. How far along?”
Alcaeus leaned forward, one arm bracing against the wall as he continued to stare at Janus. “A few months. She's due in May.”
“A joyous occasion to be sure.” Janus turned away from the window, a half moments thought lighting the logs in the hearth, bringing some necessary warmth to his and Alcaeus' shared bedroom.
Such a minor use of magic was barely felt. It was a flicker of his strength, like stifling a yawn.
It was all the magic he could perform these days. All he dared, truth be told. Alcaeus had an aversion to witnessing him use magic and a moment of honesty had revealed the reason why: he didn't like the harm it did to Janus. The physical harm at any rate.
No one noticed the mental toll not using it had taken.
Janus used to breathe magic. Now he was nothing more than a cheap illusionist. He lit fires. He boiled water. He healed minor sicknesses. He stayed trapped in Deham manor, looking out on a world that he used to command, with a lover who wouldn't leave him out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.
The irony of this did not escape Janus. The same had once been said of Baldir and Alcaeus' relationship.
A part of Janus was just waiting for the day when Alcaeus would leave him.
----
I'm actually rather excited about this fic. One of my goals for 2012 will be to plot and outline it completely.
More updates to come as I countdown to the New Year.
Happy Holidays!
