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Scifi and Fantasy Forum: Writer's Showcase: SF/F Short Stories:
The Book of Here and There
The Book of Here and There
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This is the opening scene of a novelette I started this week. I think it's going pretty well.
The hem of Nadinia's robe billowed around her feet as she shuffled down the hard stone stairs. She held a clutch of paper in her left hand and a quill in her right – and in her mind she held the secret desire to escape.
Escape. It seemed impossible after seven caged years on the hillside. But she had to try, or else risk another seven. The proctors would make them harsher the first.
She came to the first floor of the school, where the stone was not as cold and the walls not as dreary. Tapestries broke the monotonous flow of stone blocks and mortar, banners hung at intervals, and fluttered in the wake of her passing. She looked around nervously, and dipped the tip of her quill into the inkpouch that hung from her belt, just in case.
Footsteps sounded ahead.
Ducking into a tributary corridor, she set her papers on the ground and sat herself down beside them. Minutes passed on the order of hours, and the footsteps with them. She stood again and peered into the long main hall that led to the door. All was clear.
She went back to her papers, all blank, and tucked them neatly into the left pocket on her robe. She had woven it in herself, woven it with a word for just this purpose. The papers hung out of it exactly as she'd intended, ready at a moment's need. Just as she'd intended.
The huge double door loomed ahead, marking that sacred front step her feet had not scraped across in seven tenths of a decade. If she could survive these last few steps she would never have to wonder again about their rough feeling against her soles. She would be free.
Her hems whispered against the cobbles of the floor, and then against woven fabric – the rug that adorned the foyer. It was luxurious in its yellows, reds, and violets. She wondered if it was handmade or spell-wrought. Sometimes it was hard to tell, when the craftsman was expert or the spellsmith shoddy. But the 'smiths of the hillside academy would never keep shoddy spellwork in their presence, so it must be the product of masterful hands.
She placed a hand against the gargantuan wooden door and closed her eyes, feeling with her mind for the protective spells she knew must be in place. She found them, and slipped a page from the pocket in her robe. It felt grainy against her pale palms, but it would hold ink well enough. Taking the quill between her thumb and index finger, she traced the graceful skeleton of a word onto the paper until it glowed with the power it held.
Passage
Her lips remained silent throughout.
With a sweet breath, she rippled the paper against the door and its defenses fell away. The lock lifted heavily and the paper withered from her hand, spent. Outside it was raining. Nadinia took her last breath of stale air and plunged into the storm.
I liked that. The system of magic especially was interesting. Keep up the good work!
Yeah, I liked it also. Not enough to say what I think of the story, but it seemed fluid enough. Well done. 
One point:
Just as she'd intended.
I'd change that to: "Just as she had intended."
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gnollslayer
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