Chapter 1

Claudius stood, broom in hand, staring out into the busy streets of Outer Castelion. He often dreamt of making a living, traveling throughout the land, searching for hidden treasures and magnificent beasts. He longed for the feeling of adventure, of purpose. Purpose. Now that was a concept. In a land in which he was among the lowest of the low. A denizen of the Low Peasantry, Claudius was treated as such. A slave, a measly roach on the floor of the kingdom of Castelion.

Long ago, there were no classes. No rich or poor. Only people living off the land, working together to build a life for their kin. Their population grew, the land ripe with vegetation and the people as peaceful as could be. But as time went by, a sickness began to spread over Castelion. A sickness that could not be cured by medicine nor herbs. That sickness was greed. The citizens of Castelion began to hate and despise one another for the most trivial of reasons, justifiable and otherwise. They believed that those who held the most power would be in the highest favor of the Gods. They believed they were chosen by the Gods to lead the land to prosperity, or the kind of twisted prosperity that those consumed with greed and power could conjure. They called themselves The Lordborne, loyal only to those Gods. As time passed, those who wished to join the ranks of the Lordborne and failed were cast down to the outskirts of the land, deemed too weak to defend their home in the name of the Gods. A divide began to occur between the Lordborne and the castaways, who The Lordborne referred to as The Peasantry of High and Low class. The High Peasantry grew out of a need for power and control. A need for those who still held onto grandiose dreams of becoming a Lordborne. So, it came to be that those who refused to accept the “Gods’ truth”, or so the Lordborne deemed it to be, ruled over the less ambitious known as the Low Peasantry. Those in the Low Peasantry were forced to become slaves and field workers. A hierarchy of idiocy, rebellion of the Low was quickly put out by imprisonment or death. All The Peasantry were equal, there was no High nor Low. Only a fool thought differently, even the Lordborne believed as much.

 

“Boy! Unless you wish to be beaten, I suggest you take your eyes away from that which you will never have and focus on what I have given you! Be grateful I saved you from your wretched, miserable life!”

Gira was a brute of a man. Some said he was born of an ox and raised by wolves. His heavy frame lumbered through the streets of Castelion. Orphaned days after birth, Claudius’ father, Junius, was killed in conquest of distant lands and fame. His mother, Siva, died of a broken heart upon learning of her lover’s demise. Claudius was left to fend for his own in the Kingdom of Castelion. Spending most of his days following merchants learning tricks of the trade from the grimiest of citizens, he grew up faster than any child should ever have to grow. When he was of the right age, Claudius was stolen from the streets to be sold at auction. Slaves were the easiest source of income for merchants in Castelion, and Claudius, being as street smart and quick thinking as he was, became a rather large attraction when auction day arose. Paraded around like a prized mule, merchants from across the land came to bid on this young boy, who was barely the age of seven. Their greed disgusted Claudius, though he was not scared. However, disgusting and intimidating as they were, Gira was as frightful as any of them. Through sheer intimidation and, what seemed like unlimited money, Gira bought Claudius to work in his shop, toiling away for what would seem like an eternity. Now the age of fifteen, Claudius began to question his world.

“Sir, what is it that ails our people? What is it that creates the divide between the Lordborne and us, The Peasantry?” Claudius asked trying not to make eye contact with Gira.

“I am not a peasant, boy! You should know not to refer to me as such!” Gira screamed resentfully.

“Apologies, master. But my question still lingers. What makes these people fight with such resistance to the laws of our land” Claudius inquired

“Power, boy. Every man and woman in this wretched land desires power and control. Whether over his or her own destiny, or power over the entire land of Castelion.” Gira replied with much resignation in his voice. “But, as it has been written, will never be given the respect or responsibility of power.”

“What’s the point of power when there’s no way to spread it equally among the land?” Claudius asked

“Power is not meant to be shared, boy! It is meant to be taken by those who are strong and worthy of it. Not lowly peasants, such as you, that dream of peace and prosperity. There is no use for a ruler that cannot control his people. There is no need for a just command. The Lordborne are not just. They are not kind nor peaceful. They only seek to demean and control those who they deem lesser than they.”

Claudius knew not to speak on this matter again. “Get back to work, boy! You frustrate me with these imbecilic questions!” With that, Claudius returned to his post sweeping and dreaming once more.

“Claudius! Claudius!” a voice rang from the busy street. Sophian Ulris, a young boy, owned by a neighboring merchant, ran to Claudius. “My friend! Where is Gira? Surely, he hasn’t left you alone with his wares.”

“The monster is away, searching for another peasant to fool. I should hope he never returns.” Claudius retorted.

“Claudius, you must not say such things. Gira would surely beat you if he heard such words!”

“Rest easy, Sophian. He is away and you are my most trusted friend. I trust that you will not repeat my words to anyone, much less to Gira. Am I safe in trusting you, friend?”

“Of course, Claudius. You know that your words have always been safe with me” Sophian worriedly remarked.

A warm, reassuring smile crept across Claudius’ face as he embraced his younger confidante.

“Yes, I do, my most loyal companion. Where is your master?” Claudius asked, fearing that Sophian may have run away from his post.

“He is away on a trade mission. I am under the watch of Misses until he returns tomorrow.”

Sophian’s master, Torgard, was a kind but stern man. When he was away, Torgard’s wife, Jeskia, would look after Sophian. She was a warm and grand woman, more of a mother to him than his own. Looking back at his merchants table, she smiled and waved to the boys as they nodded in respect and smiled back.

“Master’s wife is preparing a large feast for a few of the merchants. You are most welcome to join us.” Sophian excitedly cheered.  Sophian was never allowed to address Jeskia by her name. Only referring to her as “Master’s wife” or “Misses”.

“I would love nothing more, my friend, but I cannot leave my post tonight. Gira would assuredly find me and beat me.” Cladius said disappointingly, longing for a night without fear of Gira’s wrath.

“Perhaps, Master’s wife can ask Gira if you could accompany us. Don’t be afraid, he won’t know of our past conversations, I assure you.” Sophian responded, with naivety. Claudius wanted badly to be free, if only for one night.

“If she can persuade Gira to let me attend, then I will gladly join you, Sophian” Claudius smiled once more, easing the young boy’s mind.

“Yay! Oh, you’ll love her cooking! There’s roast beef and fruits and nuts and fish. It will be a wonderful time!” Sophian gleefully bantered

Claudius oft admired his younger companion. To be in such a dire way and still have a joyous heart was the envy of most children. Children of the Low Peasantry were the lowest of the low, forced to be servants without resistance, without any say in their own lives. It took a soul of pure heart and love to see the joy in his or her misery. Though envious of Sophian, Claudius was his protector. He had no brothers of his own and sought to mentor and teach the young boy how to survive in the Low Peasantry, especially given the manner in which they met.

Five years prior, as he was set to be sold in exchange for his owner to be deemed High Peasantry, Sophian stood in the center of town, his hands and feet chained, paraded around like a prized stallion. Many gathered to bid on this boy of only seven years old, screaming and waving money around, examining him. His father, a soldier for The Peasantry, was killed in a great battle with the Lordborne when Sophian was just two years old. Claudius, under the watchful eye of Gira, stood in anguish over this poor boy, who began to cry and beg for his mother. A mother who, by all accounts, was rarely ever in the kingdom of Castelion; continuously searching for a rich suitor to spoil her and take her from The Peasantry. In her blind attempt to escape her certain fate, she neglected, and soon abandoned Sophian. As the young boy was led to the center of town, the auctioneer began the sale.

“Do I hear ten coins? Ten coins for the boy!”

“Ten coins,” barked one of the merchants “The boy is mine!”

“Twenty coins” another shouted. “You won’t take him from me”

Amid the chaos, Sophian began to cry. Nearly abducted from his home, the fear of the greedy merchants shouting to gain possession of him was too much to bear. Under the watchful eye of Gira, a young Claudius had enough. He turned towards his master and shouted.

“Gira, this is madness! He’s just a boy! Do something!” Gira growled at his young slave.

“Silence, boy! This is the way of our land! Not long ago, you were in his place! Now you have a life! You have shelter and food and my guidance! Be thankful he will be sold and not discarded like trash!

“Fifty coins!” an older merchant shouted.

“Thank you for your generous bid,” the auctioneer said with an evil grin. “If there are no more bids, I believe the boy belongs t- “

“One hundred coins!” a voice rang out, followed by deafening silence. No slave had ever been worth one hundred coins, not even those bred for strength and endurance. A hooded figure slowly walked towards the auctioneer.

“One hundred coins to you!” the auctioneer finalized the sale.

“Thank you, kind sir” the voice said softly. Slowly removing the hood, a young woman reached out for the young boy.

“Come now, my dear love. My name is Jeskia. I will take you to my husband. We will care for you now.”

Sophian stopped his crying, reaching his hand out for the kind woman. Jeskia, smiling warmly, picked Sophian of the ground and carried him through the crowd. As they approached Gira, who was clutching on to Claudius, Jeskia stopped.

“Sophian, my dear, if it wasn’t for this boy’s pleas, I may not have taken you home.” she spoke kindly, smiling towards Claudius. As they continued, Sophian looked back at the young Claudius.

“Th-thank you.” he said meekly as they disappeared into a nearby shop.

Claudius felt more akin to a brother rather than a simple companion. He felt it necessary to protect Sophian from the cruelty of the Peasantry. It was a world of self-sufficiency. Everyone looked out for their own skin and if another got in the way of daily life, it was their life to jeopardize. Claudius felt disgusted by the inner workings of his society but saw its necessity. No one was going to give them charity. The people of the land fought for what they had with grit, strength, and if necessary, blood. War was common among the land, with the Peasantry frequently tried to overthrow the Lordborne. Feeble attempts at a coupe usually resulted in further punishments for his people, to an extent where The Peasantry had no other rights to land and goods than what they could steal and cheat each other. Claudius would often hear of a brave peasant who left the land in search of his own riches. A poor soul who, after becoming so enraged with his or her own desperate situation, followed hair-brained tails of vast riches and eternal power. He couldn’t fault them for believing it though. Claudius, too, dreamed of a land where the people prospered and thrived together. A land where there were no classes, no peasants, and no Lordborne. Believing in such tales gave Claudius a purpose in life. He dreamt of somehow redeeming his family name and giving his lineage some respect among all people. Claudius rebuked the idea of his own fame and fortune. He didn’t care for his own name to be etched into history. For too long, the mere mention of his father’s name brought about pity and ridicule. Even from the Low Peasantry, Claudius was mocked.

“Junius, the Great Adventurer! To leave his own blood in search of a fool’s gold! A grand legacy!”

The Peasantry was ripe with envy. Jealous of each other, the Lordborne, and even the gods. Nothing ever satisfied them. It was as if a sickness controlled them and infected all they touched. “Except for you, my young friend.” Claudius thought to himself gazing at his young companion. “Maybe one day, dear Sophian, you’ll save us all.

“Gira, surely you can look past your own selfish cruelty and let the boy feast with us.” Jeskia quipped to the perturbed giant.

“Woman, you best watch your tongue around me, lest you want it cut out of your head.” Gira replied quite furiously flashing his sword to Jeskia.

“May I remind you of the debt that you still owe my husband, Torgard? I’m quite certain he wouldn’t want to catch word of your violent threats towards his beloved, would he?” Jeskia responded, softly, but with purpose.

“Apologies, Jeskia. I meant no disrespect.” Gira groveled.

“I should hope not. For your own sake.” Jeskia had gotten the best of him yet again.

“The boy can feast with you tonight only. I want him back in my sight by sunrise tomorrow.” Gira replied, fearing for his own tongue.

“Your graciousness is appreciated, Gira.” Jeskia quipped somewhat derisively.

“You may leave my shop now.” Gira barked, with a hint of fear, which Jeskia could sense all too well. Not only would he let Claudius out of his sight for a night, but he would do so under threat of possible death at the hands of Torgard. There were few things in this world that Gira feared, despite being a mongrel, and Torgard was one of them.

“Goodbye, Gira.” Jeskia tauntingly sang as she left to attend her husband’s store.

“That damned boy will be the death of me someday.” He muttered to himself, trying to feign being busy.

“Wonderful news, Claudius. You shall join our feast tonight.” Jeskia said with a warm smile.

“But how? Gira is afraid to let me out of his sight, even for an instant. What makes him relent to letting me go for an entire night?”

“Gira is more afraid of losing his head than losing his slave.” Jeskia replied smirking.

“Yay! Oh, I’m so happy you could join us, Claudius,” Sophian gleefully cheered. “This is such a rare occasion, we shall make it a lively night, right, Misses?”

“Sophian, dear boy, you may call me Jeskia. Remember?”

“Oh, yes, I remember. Thank you, Misses Jeskia.”

“You are quite the nobleman, young Sophian.” Jeskia said chuckling softly.  “We shall certainly make it a night to remember, Claudius.”

The hours flew by as Claudius eagerly awaited the moment Gira would release him from his post for the night. He could barely sit still for longer than a minute, pacing and polishing every item in his master’s shop. The last thing that he wanted was to anger Gira and make him go back on his word to Jeskia, although doing that would put his neck on the chopping block. Gira stood back, watching the boy count inventory and clean absent mindedly. The fires of hell contained within his eyes.

“Boy.” he said firmly, “Pack your bags and make ready for Torgard’s house. You are released from my watch, but only until morning, understand?”

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.” Claudius eagerly responded, running up the steps to his quarters.

Claudius hurriedly gathered as many items as he could, shoving clothes, trinkets, and other items into a small burlap sack that he carried with him since he was a small boy. He wasn’t quite sure it came to him, but it was one of the few items he owned that Gira had not taken from him. As he gathered his belongings, he glanced around the room, looking for Gira. Once he was sure that he was alone, Claudius moved his bed across the floor, revealing a small square opening in the floor. Bending down, Claudius reached down into the opening, removing a small wooden box. He sat down on the floor, hesitant to open it. Carefully, he removed the lock and lifted the top, revealing a small, folded piece of paper. Claudius gently unfolded the paper and sat against the wall. He began to read to himself:

You are the most beautiful being the Gods have ever created. Your eyes like sapphire and hair of spun gold, you are my heart and my soul. Your life has brought new meaning to our own lives. You are the most precious gift in Castelion; destined for the greatest that life has to offer. Your father will be so proud of all that you are. For you have come into this world and made us whole. We shall protect and love you until the end of our days and beyond. No force of life or death can stop our love for you. Remember that you are strong, kind, and brave. Forever my son. Forever my heart.

Mother

Claudius held the note to his chest, looked up into the sky and shed a single tear. He placed the worn piece of paper back into the box and smiled.

“Forever my heart.”

 

Reviews

[JayG]

• Claudius stood, broom in hand, staring out into the busy streets of Outer Castelion.

This is you, transcribing yourself telling the story to the reader as if in person. That is the single most common trap in writing, because for the storyteller it works perfectly. But you cheat. As you begin reading you know where we are in both time and space. From a reader’s viewpoint we could be in ancient Rome, modern times, in a fantasy world or another planet. Claudius might be a child, an oldster, or an elf. You know, and you begin reading with a mental image of the setting. The reader has what the words suggest, based on their life experience.

And, how can someone stare “into” a street? More than that, look out your window. Do you see a street or “streets?” Your focus ahuld be on what matters to him in the moment he calls "now." It is his story after all. But instead, you're dealing in generalities and overview.

Next is that in all the world, only you know how the storyteller’s performance goes. Can the reader know the emotion you would place into the telling? No. Can they know the gestures to use; the expressions and when to change them; the body language and other elements of your performance? No again. But unless they mimic your performance as-they-read what they "hear" is what you’ll get if you have the computer read it to you.

My point is that you’re working hard, but have missed a critical point, one we all do: We can no more write fiction with school-day writing skills than can we write an acceptable film script, or work as a journalist or techwriter. Professional skills are acquired in addition to the general nonfiction skills of school. And they are necessary. After all, if school-day skills worked, would anyone take a degree course in Fiction Writing?

Not good news, I know, but that is the world we work and live in. To write fiction you need the skills of the commercial Fiction Writing profession, because if you use the report-writing skills we learn in school it will, and does, read as a report.

That doesn’t say you can’t learn those skills, only that you must.

So, grab a copy of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict, and dig in.

https://dokumen.pub/qdownload/gmc-goal-motivation-and-conflict-9781611943184.html

It’s a warm easy read that feels a lot like sitting with Deb as she talks about writing. So, you’ll enjoy the learning.

Sorry my news isn’t better. But because you can hear the storyteller’s performance, and do have all the backstory and more, it works for you. And since we’ll not address the probem we don’t see as being one, I thought you might want to know.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

[TyFree93]

I appreciate the feedback. This is my first time writing anything of this nature. It's less about making something that's profound and perfect ready for print to be lauded by million. I'm just having fun writing.

[JayG]

But you posted it for others to read, so obviously, you were hoping to please them.

Since you learned to read, you've chosen only fiction that was written with the skills of the profession. You can't see the tools or know the decision points, but you do enjoy the result of using those skills, and will turn away in a paragraph if they're not...as your reader will.

But your story deserves better than a reader who turns away before the end of page one.

Try a few pages of that, or another good book on HOW to write fiction. It will not only be an interesting read, it will make the act of writing fiction more fun.