In order to help your choice of book along, I’m including the first typed page of each. I’m not going beyond the first typed page, though. Just the first 500 words or so – even if it stops in the middle of a sentence. It will be fun! Trust me.
Presented in order they are listed in the post.
Rough winds tossed the ship over roiling, tortured seas. Icy waves broke across the bow, bathing the wooden planks. Shimmering crystals hung from rope, rail and wheel, glittering in the feeble sunshine. Raven Willoughby stood his ground, clutching the ship’s wheel with both hands, guiding the vessel by pure tenacity and determination. Concentration lagged as the ship went nearly vertical, tipping into the deep trough and he was swept off his feet. The ropes lashing him to his post were the only thing that kept him from going overboard. Raven watched the nose rise once more, as he made the steep slope of the next wave, fighting his way back to the wheel. Upright once more, he clutched the slippery wood and prayed.
How had he come to this? Alone on this death ship? He had no clear memory. Sounds of violence had woken him, rough hands snatched him from his berth, tearing at his clothing, seeking…something. Cast aside, forgotten, near death, he’d fallen into a black stupor. When he woke, he and one man remained. The other fellow, full of evil intent, sought Raven’s death, but met an uneasy end at the tip of Raven’s sword. His foe downed, Raven cut off the monster’s head, pitching him overboard.
The other bodies had joined the creature, thrown in the frigid drink, the evidence of their deaths sinking with them to oblivion. Raven sought only to near land, so he could abandon the ship, and swim to freedom. That desire seemed unlikely, as the cold fingers of the ocean grasped his vessel once more. Encouraged by a slackening of the wind, he squinted at the horizon. Was that land? Had he found solace after all? Could he survive the near freezing waters of the Labrador Sea? He had to try. To remain on the ship when it made port, was suicide. How had one man, alone, lived when all others were dead? He had no explanation, no memory, of the events leading up to now. He remembered that horrible night, and waking up a day later, barricaded in the hold with death pounding at his door.
He recalled the stench of blood. The sound of the door bursting open, the sight of the figure, outlined with the halo of the one remaining lantern limning his body in a ruddy golden haze. Unarmed, he faced Raven. What he lacked in weaponry, he made up for in pure savagery. It was a miracle that Raven escaped with his life. A lucky feint, a mighty swing, and the creature fell. The blow hadn’t killed him. It was the final cut with a sword, severing his head from his unholy body, which had ended the creature’s life. Raven could not call it man. No. It was more, and less, than human. It was an unspeakable sight, one he hoped he’d eventually forget.
Raven had killed before. He was a soldier for many years. It was impossible to face opponents on the battlefield, and not take a life. But this—this was horrendous, though not as dreadful as those others who had died at the creature’s hand. Throats torn out, belly’s ripped apart. Men, women, children,
© 2018 Dellani Oakes