Alternate Prologue to The Savage War

Scenes from the Alternate Prologue to The Savage War

Cover of the Savage War
(If you've never read it, you can
preview the actual prologue
on Amazon here: https://cstu.io/2f43d7)

Cheers burst from the plain vessel as Arnacin of Enchantress Island hooked his sister’s arm and swung her in a circle of delight. His ship floated! With long oars, he, his sister, their father, and his best friend had shunted the vessel out into the deep, where they now let it drift beneath the overcast sky.

“All you need is a mast and a shelter, Arnacin,” the fourteen-year-old’s father exclaimed, “and you and Raymond are off to sea.”

“Just another year, the way we’re going,” his best friend, Raymond, surmised, clapping Arnacin on the back. Being nearly twenty, Raymond stood a whole head taller than his little “adopted” brother, something Arnacin swore would change within that year.

“Arnacin,” his father suddenly called in alarm. Whirling, Arnacin spotted the solid curtain of rain and dark clouds racing toward them.

He did not need another word. While Raymond seized the helm, he grabbed one of the long oars. Opposite him, his father and his sister, Charlotte, did the same.

The next second, rain drenched them, as the storm came upon them in earnest. Being flat-bottomed, the vessel moved easily with the waves and Arnacin’s back protested with the strain of attempting to force it toward the open beach instead of the rocky shores, which they had been floating alongside a moment before.

“If it rams us into that, we’ll be starting from scratch,” his father shouted over the howl of the wind. He succeeded in causing Arnacin to laugh sardonically, for if the waves rammed them into the rocks, remaking the ship would be the least of their worries. Imagining that peril drove strength into Arnacin’s arms. Slowly, under their combined efforts, the vessel turned away from the course of the waves.

It happened more suddenly than the storm. Arnacin felt the sea’s extra pull on his arms a second before he heard his sister’s cry above the storm. “Father!”

Arnacin’s whipped his head around and the sight caused his heart to freeze—to forget the storm although it poured around them. Their father lay sprawled across the deck, his face twisted in pain, his fist pushing into his chest.

“Stay there,” Raymond ordered both of them. “Without you, we won’t make it to shore.” Whirling back toward the rocks, Arnacin noticed that the waves had already dragged the vessel close enough that he could almost jump onto them.

Despite the renewed fear that drove their wills afresh, there was no hope. They were too close to escape.

Arnacin's Ship (Drawn by Esther Wallace, 2011)

A slight gap in the rocks caught Arnacin’s attention. “Raymond!” he exclaimed. “Steer us for that gap! We can trap this thing there!”

The wind and the waves fought their every move, yet, slowly, the vessel turned to their commands. A scraping sound met their ears before the vessel halted with a shudder. No relief followed, however, as Raymond instantly dropped down beside their fallen companion, taking his wrist between experienced fingers. Seconds stretched into years, before Raymond met Arnacin and Charlotte’s gazes, where they now knelt in white-faced fear beside the young man.Beaten, Raymond pronounced, “He’s gone.”

Two pairs of blank eyes stared at him as if they did not hear or believe. “Heart failure, if I were to guess,” Raymond tried. “He’s dead.”




Dirt splashed over the hole, shoveled by the gravediggers. Watching forlornly, Arnacin concentrated on forcing the air regularly through his lungs, willing his sobs away, cursing his eye’s dampness.

Beside him, he could hear Charlotte’s deep, slow breath and knew she was doing the same. He did not remember ever taking his sister’s hand, but finding his fingers in hers, he felt that connection sooth him. Though his heart burned deep, her warm fingers brought a calming peace that allowed his tears to trickle without the anger, like the drizzle after the intensity of a storm.



Talliaha did not fail to notice both her older children’s torture in the following years and her heart burned in the knowledge that she could do nothing to help them. Tucking William back beneath the covers beside his sleeping brother one night, Talliaha tenderly ran her fingers through her older son’s hair. Arnacin did not stir at her touch and she noticed again the dark lines of exhaustion in his face. Looking at him, she mentally heard again her conversation with her husband years before.

“Arnacin’s not made for shepherding, Tella,” her husband had sighed.

Charlotte and Arnacin
(Drawn by Esther Wallace, 2015)

“Bozzic,” Talliaha had admonished, “just because he’s not what everyone else expects him to be does
not mean he is inadequate for the job the Creator Himself ordained. I made it, and I was nothing like the rest of the ladies.”

“Yes, and Charlotte has that about her, but Arnacin, he’s…he has a drive for glory, even for sacrifice, for something that bleeds every pore of his existence dry…”

He had trailed off then and his wife asked, “What could he possibly be made for, in your mind?”

For a long moment, silence had filled the air, but then Bozzic whispered, “I feel it is something he will never find here.” Facing her, he had then breathed, “It is time, Tella, I made that ship.”

Since her husband’s death, those words had plagued Talliaha like never before. Still, she reminded herself, they had trusted their Creator to sail that ship on His own course since they lacked all knowledge of the open sea. Why doubt now? One way or another, Arnacin would be what the he was made for, simple islander, or, as Bozzic thought, otherwise.




Sitting down in the leaves beside Arnacin, Raymond softly stated, “So, you’re leaving tonight.”

Looking away from where he stared at the sheep, likely without sight, Arnacin contemplated his friend. After a moment, he confessed, “I’m sorry you’re not going.” When Raymond only shrugged dismissively, the younger islander assured, “So much will happen, I’ll likely be bursting with stories I won’t be able to wait to tell. You’ll hear about all of it, I promise.”

Smiling slightly, Raymond admitted, “That’s not why I came up here.”

Quickly looking away, Arnacin whispered, “I’d rather not hear any good-byes, Raymond.”

“Because you can’t stand the thought of crying,” Raymond teased, before returning to seriousness. “Have you told your mother?”

No louder than the breeze through the grass, the boy breathed, “I have to go, Raymond. She’ll say no.”

“You don’t know that. She’s supported you all through life. Never once has she told you you need to behave more like any of the other boys. Why would she stop you from discovering God’s plan now?”

“Because there are so many reasons to.”

“Which we’ve covered.”

“If she does,” Arnacin persisted, “how am I supposed to tell her that I am going, with or without her permission?”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Sighing, the boy confessed, “I’ll hear them anyway. I can’t face that guilt.”

“But you must,” Raymond insisted. “It’s what any responsible, honest, mature man would do.”

“I’ll not go, Raymond, if I so much as try, and you know as well as I, I must.”

Raymond’s sole answer was a slow exhale.