New first chapter-
Hi, everyone! Here is the revised first chapter of HONOR, which I'm posting at my lovely beta readers' urging. Thanks, Deirdrej and Anne_Arthur! I do think it's much better than it was before the rewrites.
When his cousin aimed the holocam at him, Kiril felt his heart stop. But then he entered the place he went to before duels. The universe fell away, and he was alone with the act, and he and the act were one. For one more moment, he was a Telaka soldier with a clear task before him. He tilted his chin to let Thanike know he was ready. Then he began to speak.
I, who was once Kiril Tesurik, renounce my family, my name, and my life. I am dust and ashes. I have no name. He who was my father, Varen Kelesta, is dead to me. I do not know him. The woman Lirith, who was my aunt, is dead to me. The man Keren, who is her husband, is dead to me. . . .
The declaration was long. It had to be. Kiril named every member of his household, from his great-aunt to the youngest servant child. Then the animals the serfs kept for their milk and fur. Then the house, the land, every field and all the crops. There must be nothing omitted, no way for the police to take their revenge on his family, once he had become a traitor and criminal. His voice shook when he came to the names of Merike and Skel, their two favorite cousins, but he kept going. It seemed to the girl that he would speak forever; the first of the moons had already risen, just ahead of the sunset. They must finish soon. Then she heard him say, "All these are dead to me. I have no clan, no land, no home. I am outcast and nameless. I am dead."
She pressed the switch to stop recording, and Kiril came to stand beside her, reaching for the camera. "Here," she said to him, "this is the switch."
"Is there anything else I should know?"
"No. Just that one; you push it up to record." He nodded and she walked forward and turned to face the recorder’s eye. The sun was a red streak, and the ruins cast long shadows behind her. She shivered. “Niki?” Kiril said. She exhaled in a sort of sob, took a deep breath and jerked her chin at him. She could do it. She had to. And, when she began to speak, the words came out perfectly, just as she had intended them to. "I, who was once Thanike Tesurik, renounce my family, my name, and my life. I am dust and ashes. I have no name."
The boy, Kiril, kept his eyes fixed on his cousin. It seemed to him that it might give her strength if he looked steadily at her, and, indeed, she was looking into his eyes as she spoke, not at the eye of the camera. Her voice shook as she named her parents, and he gasped slightly in sympathy, but she went on. He could tell that she would finish, just as he had. They had already done their mourning; the time for that was over. They were dead now, and the dead do not mourn.
When his cousin aimed the holocam at him, Kiril felt his heart stop. But then he entered the place he went to before duels. The universe fell away, and he was alone with the act, and he and the act were one. For one more moment, he was a Telaka soldier with a clear task before him. He tilted his chin to let Thanike know he was ready. Then he began to speak.
I, who was once Kiril Tesurik, renounce my family, my name, and my life. I am dust and ashes. I have no name. He who was my father, Varen Kelesta, is dead to me. I do not know him. The woman Lirith, who was my aunt, is dead to me. The man Keren, who is her husband, is dead to me. . . .
The declaration was long. It had to be. Kiril named every member of his household, from his great-aunt to the youngest servant child. Then the animals the serfs kept for their milk and fur. Then the house, the land, every field and all the crops. There must be nothing omitted, no way for the police to take their revenge on his family, once he had become a traitor and criminal. His voice shook when he came to the names of Merike and Skel, their two favorite cousins, but he kept going. It seemed to the girl that he would speak forever; the first of the moons had already risen, just ahead of the sunset. They must finish soon. Then she heard him say, "All these are dead to me. I have no clan, no land, no home. I am outcast and nameless. I am dead."
She pressed the switch to stop recording, and Kiril came to stand beside her, reaching for the camera. "Here," she said to him, "this is the switch."
"Is there anything else I should know?"
"No. Just that one; you push it up to record." He nodded and she walked forward and turned to face the recorder’s eye. The sun was a red streak, and the ruins cast long shadows behind her. She shivered. “Niki?” Kiril said. She exhaled in a sort of sob, took a deep breath and jerked her chin at him. She could do it. She had to. And, when she began to speak, the words came out perfectly, just as she had intended them to. "I, who was once Thanike Tesurik, renounce my family, my name, and my life. I am dust and ashes. I have no name."
The boy, Kiril, kept his eyes fixed on his cousin. It seemed to him that it might give her strength if he looked steadily at her, and, indeed, she was looking into his eyes as she spoke, not at the eye of the camera. Her voice shook as she named her parents, and he gasped slightly in sympathy, but she went on. He could tell that she would finish, just as he had. They had already done their mourning; the time for that was over. They were dead now, and the dead do not mourn.