Now that my second novel is out and has received a very good review, I think I can share it with you. It worked in Italian, so I’ll try to make it work in English, too. Wording is quite an issue for me, but I hope to have make it work, now.
This is the prologue of the novel. Some people suggested me to remove it and start from the first chapter, since it’s not starting with the main character, but I’m not very sure about it. What would you suggest me?
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Prologue - When it all began
"If you leave now you’ll never come back! Can you hear me, you little… "
The young Kitten was running away under a crimson sky. Away from a father whose love was only reserved for lowly spirits, away from a house built on nothing and held together by vulgarity and scorn. Somehow, she managed to recompose herself and wear again her undergarments, almost torn by the filthy paws of her parent, and ran to the top of the nearest hill as the sun slowly sank. There were no birds singing and the wind was her only, whispering silent partner in the bushes.
She reached the shrubberies at the hilltop, struggling to reach the small clearing among the trees, her only safe place in a life of fear; she tripped and fell on a protruding root. There she laid, clawing the ground with her paws, eyes closed and face dirty with mud and tears. Between sobs, she could not hear the footsteps, the branches being broken and a voice that sang an inconsistent song. Only when the figure was in front of her she became aware of his presence. She looked up and stopped crying.
It could have been a Wolf. The long snout, pointed ears that stuck out from under the hood, round and penetrating eyes, fur, everything screamed out loud his true nature. But his furless eyebrows were twisted, as if they were melting over his eyes, his fangs were too long and so twisted that she found herself wondering how she could manage to eat anything, his arms were filled with gummy pustules and oedemas on which fur couldn’t grow, his tail was so long that it dragged behind him like that of a Rat and his back was so bent and twisted that every movement sent jolts of agony throughout his body. He looked like an embodiment of pain.
Still, his eyes were calm. “She’s the chochen, Lood Pootectoo?” whispered the figure. He held in his hand the skull of a Ram, the empty eye sockets aimed at the Kitten.
Rise up, Victoria
A voice exploded in her mind. Her fur all raised, as she tried to stand up from the ground, hissing at the creature.
Do not be afraid, Victoria, for I’m not here to bring you any pain
Said the voice. “Who… who are you?” she asked in a shaky voice, a dry leaf in the wind, claws unsheathed and ready, just to get as far away as possible.
“Che doechn’t cheem convinced at all, my Lood.” There was a pause, then the creature turned his gaze to the skull he held in his gnarled paw. “Eeally, my Lood? Cho you want, cho I will do.” A stunted smile tried to appear on his face. A real smile, after all. A smile for Victoria. The figure knelt in front of her, panting and moaning in pain, and handed her the skull with a slow movement. “My name ich Petee,” he said. “My Lood Pootectoo wantch to chpeake with you. He tellch me to call you Victooia. Take it,” he told her.
The look of the Kitten ran several times between the skull and the being and vice versa, whiskers trembling. Then, she reached a hand toward the skull, touching it. The Wolf helped her picking it up, holding it with both hands, as it was much bigger than Victoria’s head.
Victoria Proudhorne is your name
Whispered the voice.
I am aware of many things about you. For instance, I know why you were running away from your house and how your mother left this world two years ago
“How…”
Because I died and now I come back to life, Victoria, and very few things are for me obscure. But you and I have a long way to go together, Victoria. A long path of values, great achievements, blood and honour. I need you as you need me, Victoria. If thou shalt put thy trust in me, as Peter here has done so far, I can make all the dreams that I saw lying in the bottom of your heart come true
Tell me, Victoria: do you want to trust me?
Victoria turned her gaze to the figure, still waiting. “Is your name Peter?” she asked.
“Yech, that ich my name,” replied the other. “I am the humble chevaant of the Lood Pootectoo.”
The Kitten stared at the skull straight into his sockets, holding it by the horns. “Will you help me…” she whispered.
That and much more, Victoria
“Yes, then: I will trust you.”
Well done, Victoria. So now you and I share the same vision. I will gladly honour my part of our common endeavour, but you will have to honour yours. I see a great mind behind those eyes, a mind that will achieve great things. The first thing I ask you is to get up and compose yourself: you are not going to meet your fate in such clothing
Victoria did as she was asked for. She stood up, holding the skull under her arm, and wiped her grey and black suit, strictly adherent to the Livery for the Cats.
It’s a good beginning. Peter, my servant
“My Lood!”
You have served me well, doing much more than you were required to do
"You have poomicheed to make England geeat, geeatee and geeatee. England ich my countee, and foo my countee I do eveeything. "
England would need to Animals such as you, Peter. Now, your service is completed. As I promised, you’ll get your reward, a place among the great
“All my gaatitude goes to you, my Lood Pootectoo," Peter said, pulling out from under the hood a bag and a rusty dagger and putting both in the ground. He raised his head towards Victoria and arched his back, exposing his neck. “Young Kitten, do yoo thing.”
“I… Shall I kill him?” said the young Kitten, swallowing.
His duty is done, and his name will be remembered. Now ,it is right that a life of hardship and suffering such as that Peter has led so far can be quitted so that he can enjoy the peace of oblivion
Victoria picked up the knife and walked over to Peter.
A sharp blow will be enough
“I… I apologize, I…”
Do it, Victoria! Do it now!
The voice yelled in her mind. She closed her eyes and moved her arm. She dealt the blow and heard the thud of a body falling on the earth, a faint gurgling sound, then silence fell. She opened her hand, dropping the dagger, and only then she realized she was crying once again.
[center]There is no more suffering in the world of Peter Swallow, now. Only peace. The pain is no longer part of his being, as it has been since birth. Now, my young friend, pick up the bag that Peter has left for you, wrap yourself in his cloak and set out towards the greater London area.
The Romans had a motto: “nomina sunt omina.” It means “the fate is in the name.” We will make this true for you, Victoria. It’s a promise by Oliver Cromwell[/center]
-MikeT
