5 May 2011, A New Novel, Part 213 A Walk in the Cold
For those who haven’t been following this blog, let me introduce it a little. I am currently blogging my 21st novel that has the working title Daemon. The novel is about Aksinya, a sorceress, who, to save her family from the Bolsheviks, called and contracted the demon, Asmodeus. Her family was murdered anyway, and she fled with the demon from Russia to Austria.
Aksinya has left the Ecclesia. She knows where she is going, she isn't certain how to get there…
Aksinya knew generally where she was within the city, but she wasn’t certain how she should go. She recalled little of her flight here. She only remembered the stone wall that lay on her left the entire time. Aksinya tentatively placed her right hand on the wall at the street outside the rectory and began to walk up the street.
The morning was cold, and her breath formed gentle swirls in the air. Her clothing was insufficient for the day, but she didn’t have a cloak anymore. She could only imagine with regret her warm mink cloak. As she walked, the morning clouds seemed to descend. They enclosed her, but she kept her hand on the right hand wall and continued along the cold cobblestone street.
Around her, she could hear and smell the city come awake. The rich fragrance of coffee filled the air. She smelled butter and eggs as they cooked. Somewhere bacon sizzled and the scent of the hot grease flowed into the street. Aksinya remembered bacon. Her mouth watered. Her empty stomach rumbled.
The muted conversation of waking mothers and fathers came to her. She heard crying babies. The creaking of harness and wheels moved in and out of the fog. She caught the nicker of horses and their heavy hooves on the cobbles. As of yet, none of this came within her sight. The fog pressed down against her and kept it all hidden from her. She could tell the world was lightening. She could feel a little warmth seep into the cold late winter morning.
Aksinya didn’t stumble. She didn’t falter. She kept moving forward. Slowly shapes began to appear in the fog. A lampman passed her on the other side of the street. She recognized him because he carried a long taper and a tool that he used to cut off the gas at each lamp. The light of the morning already dimmed the blaze from the gaslamps. It was too early for the beggars and too late for the prostitutes to be in the streets.
The only thing Aksinya could remember of her flight to the Ecclesia was that she held her left hand on a wall the entire way. To return, she places her right hand on the wall.
For the trip, my intention is to put all your senses into play. The morning is cold. I show you Aksinya's breath. She is cold because she only has a light dress. I want to remind you of Aksinya's past life and her place before--there is a specific purpose in this. I make the trip slightly mysterious, but I use language that is not creepy--clouds formed, and everything is cold. Then, the city begins to wake. You can taste and smell the morning. You can hear it as well. The morning is lightening. At the end of this piece, you see the lampman. He is the only one about, other than Aksinya. The beggars and the prostitutes are not out yet. Tomorrow, the arrival.