They look alike, but one of them is broken on the inside
Writers can get inspiration anywhere, and any time.
The idea to write this novella came to me when I found an
old letter from grandma in my drawer where I keep precious holiday cards and
letters. I saved that yellowed letter because I loved her neat handwriting.
It doesn't take much to trigger a writer's imagination, so I
started thinking. What if... what if this letter was written by an ancestor
who lived hundreds of years ago? What if it would contain information that
could save someone in the present? From that moment, the story started to form
in my mind.
I imagined Sofia as a med student who is planning to spend
the summer in Hungary with her brother who is an archeologist. On the flight
she meets a man who turns out to be her puppy love from long time ago.
Jayden finds a leather book in his grandmother's secret room
that was written in 426 by a shaman. Sofia can read the ancient runes, and they
learn about their family's curse. If it remains unbroken, the curse will bring
tragedy and ruin their lives as it destroyed many of their ancestors' lives for
centuries.
Can they find the way to break the curse? Could Sofia find
happiness with her long-lost friend?
When I had the rough outline of the story, the words started
to pour, and I added a lot more secrets, historical facts and legends as well
as suspenseful moments to keep the readers at the edge of their seats.
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A short excerpt:
Jayden hurried toward the parking garage, pulling Sofia’s
luggage.
“Slow down, Jay,” Sofia cried out as she lagged behind with
her carry-on bag. “I can’t keep up if you’re running like that.”
“Sorry.” Jayden looked back and slowed down, “I’m so eager
to show you what I’ve found.”
“What is it?” Sofia tried to catch her breath.
“It’s kind of a book made of leather sheets sewn together.
It’s written with ancient Hun runes. I
think the letters were burned into the
leather. I should’ve learned from Grandma to read it like you did.”
“That’s so exciting.” Sofia started walking faster. “Did you
bring it with you?”
“Yes, it’s in the car, I thought you could start translating
it on the ride home. Here is my car in this row.”
They reached the old Porsche that was their grandma’s car
and Jayden packed Sofia’s luggage into the trunk. He reached into the back and
pulled a duffel bag from the back seat.
He opened the zipper and took out a
package wrapped in old-looking leather sheets. When Jayden unwrapped it, inside
she saw the book made of leather sheets sewn together.
Jayden handed it to Sofia and asked, “What do you think?”
She fingered the soft
leather, “It’s old and still so pliable,” she mused. “Look, the Sacred Turul is
burned into the cover.”
“May the sacred Turul protect you on your journey,” they
chanted the ancient line that every Hun whispered when they saw a falcon, alive
or in a picture. The spirit of the falcon
called Turul in ancient Hun mythology is
believed to be the protector of the Huns.
Sofia got into the passenger seat, opened the book and
scanned the pages. Jayden started the engine and pulled out of the parking
space. The traffic was heavy in the city, but soon they were driving northeast
on the smooth highway.
“So, what do you think?” Jayden asked.
“Wow! Let me read it.” Sofia turned to the first page and
started translating.
I am Zoan, the humble
Shaman of the Roaring Falcon tribe. I’m going to write Elana’s story in detail
with the hope that the descendants of Elana could read this and break the
powerful curse. It happened on the third
moon of the year, the events that led to Tuana’s
curse. The day Elana was forced to leave her happy childhood behind and take
the reality and responsibilities of adulthood.
Sofia lowered the book to her lap and turned to her brother,
“Jay, could this be written so long ago?”
“I think so, or rather hope so. Please read on.”
Sofia lifted the book, and said, “I’m winging it here
because I’m not familiar with this word átokja,
but I think it is the old version of átok, which
means curse. Also, there is another phrase— akarata erősségje.
I think it means powerful.”
“Just do your best and you can do a more detailed
translation later.”
“Okay, here it goes.”
Elana, unaware of her fate, gave her horse a gentle squeeze
with her knees, to run faster. Willow zigzagged between the jurtas that were lined up in a semicircle,
leaving a broad plaza in the middle. Elana
glanced up at the tall wooden pole that stood in the center of the square. It had
intricate designs carved into it and was painted
with brilliant colors. On top of it was a giant carved falcon, standing with
wings open wide, as if it was getting ready to take flight. Oh, I’m so
late; my mother is going to kill me, she
thought and prompted her horse to run
faster. An old woman who was carrying
firewood stopped and shook her head in disapproval. “These youngsters are
riding like demons,” she mumbled, looking after Elana.
Elana reached her home. She slid off the mare’s back in a
hurry and fastened the horse’s rein to a wooden pole. Her breaths came in short
puffs, and her rosy cheeks glistened with perspiration. She patted the horse’s
neck, gave her an armful of hay, and
poured fresh water from a leather bag that hung on the pole into a clay bowl.
She whispered, “I have to hurry, but I’ll be back soon, Willow, promise.”
She hurried up to the entrance of the tent-like building,
called Jurta, with a few long strides. She parted her kaftan-like dark blue
overcoat, pulled up her baggy trousers,
and smoothed her tunic that her mother had
adorned with delicate flower designs. Elana pulled the leather entrance cover
aside with a heavy sigh, and she braced herself mentally for the long lecture
that she knew she must endure.
As usual, she was late for her herbal lessons with her
mother, a beautiful, statuesque, dark-haired
woman who slowly rose from a curved sofa-like piece of furniture. Soft light
coming from the opening at the ceiling shone on her green, delicately-decorated
calf-length tunic that she wore with loose black trousers. Her hair was braided
with thin leather thongs and hugged her
shoulders.
Elana took off her boots and placed them by the entrance.
She winced when Mara’s high-pitched, angry voice hit her like a whip. “You are
late, again, young lady! Didn’t I tell you to be home by the time the sun
reaches the head of the Falcon? Look!” she pointed at the pole through the
door.
Elana quickly let the
leather curtain slide back to cover the door,
dutifully bowed, and whispered, “Yes, Mother. Sorry,
Mother.”
She always wanted to please her mother, she really did, but
she could rarely live up to her expectations. Luckily, Mara’s anger and
lectures were as brief as summer storms, so Elana obediently stood by the
entrance and lowered her eyelids to hide the playful twinkle in her eyes. Her
long, black hair, which was braided in thin
rows, slid off her shoulders as she bowed her head, and she adjusted her
delicately-woven horsetail headband that kept the stray hairs out of her face. Elana
took a hesitant step forward on the thick, wool carpet that covered the dirt floor
of the Jurta.
“Where were you?”
“We were… I was… I got some herbs, too. Look!” Elana hoped
that she could divert her mother’s attention, so she quickly opened the leather
pouch that contained some flowers that she had collected. Lying wasn’t in her nature
but concealing the truth a little by trailing the conversation away from the
sensitive subject was widely used in her tribe, especially by teenagers.
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