ROTN First Chapter - Exclusive!
YA Dystopian, approx. 95,000 words
You’re in for an EXCLUSIVE glimpse at the first chapter of my YA Dystopian novel, “Rise of the Nomads!”
Note: While subject to edits throughout the querying/publication process, this current draft of my first chapter sets the tone, tension, and overall stage for the rest of my story. In other words, read for the vibes, but know exact wording may change along the way.
After you read my first chapter, I want to hear from YOU! Send me an email at the link below OR a dm on Instagram to let me know what you thought. From character first impressions to worldbuilding to questions, I’d love to know what ran through your mind as one of the first readers!
Now, without further ado…
Chapter 1: Adelina
“Conspiracy theorist!”
“Hardly,” a hooded man in the corner argued with his companion. “The Iron Bandits’ terrorist crusade will lead them here to Charfall. Mark my words, those bloody cyborgs will take our city before the month’s end.”
Like everyone else in the tavern, I ignored the treasonous conversation that would be punished anywhere else in our region’s metropolis. The Ceylon Teahouse - classy tea room by day, rabble tavern by night - bustled with live music, tabletop games, and panicked reports of the neighboring city that fell to the cyborgs. As a black market supplier, I also picked up on coded piracy dealings and other blind eye topics, but I stifled the terror rising from our nation’s lost hope.
Tonight, I left all my illegal secrets at the door and stepped into my weekly croquet match with Jude Calvey.
“Aye, you’re runnin’ the hoops there, Calvey,” a rugged sailor called from around the corner. “I’ve got five barrels at 20 credits sayin’ you’ll miss the last one.”
“Better empty your coin purse then,” my best friend proclaimed.
Should’ve known he wouldn’t resist a warm-up match. Resorting to my least favorite virtue - patience - I joined the other captivated bystanders on the sidelines.
With a risky jump shot, Jude sent his white ball through the last wicket, winning him the game. The seaman groaned as thunderous applause erupted for the victor.
“How’s a rematch, Calvey?” The losing man prompted, “Double the wager.”
Jude spotted me and instantly beamed his charming, lady-winning smile. “Not today, Harlem.” He sauntered over and passed his mallet to me. “Adelina Castille’s got the next round.”
The disgruntled man plodded off. Jude laughed and, two-hundred credits richer, ordered a round of Velvet Tea for us.
“Betting with college funds again?” I teased.
Jude brushed back the blond fringe that always escaped his low ponytail. “I risked it for a special occasion. We’re celebrating.”
“Oh, are we?”
“Of course,” he said, pride radiating. “Passed my aviation test today.”
“Your aviation history test, you mean.”
“Watch it, Castille. It still counts.”
At eighteen years old, Jude Calvey held little passion for the history side of his Aviation History studies. He echoed his parents’ dream of becoming a history professor one day, but I knew better. All the prestigious University studies opened the door to his eventual escape from the plans laid for him. Jude was in it for the freedom of flight.
“And how’s the Academy?” He aimed for a tricky stop-shot, attempting to knock my ball out of his path to victory. A sly smirk crossed his face as he successfully struck me off course.
“Fine. Boring as usual.” I crouched to examine the game possibilities from every angle. “More lectures on assembly-line tech and other mindless work.” Adjusting my strategy, I hit my ball through the first two rackets.
Jude’s jaw dropped. “Lucky shot.”
I straightened up in pride, my leather boots clacking my arrogance as I circled the croquet table. “Not luck. Skill.”
Only the rich Elite Class could attend University; lower class Dreks like myself attended the Academy to learn measly-wage-earning trades. Ultimately, sharing knowledge was a pricey investment, and the Time Masters - our reigning national government - reserved such luxuries to the kiss-up upper class. Training the other classes into future worker drones made more sense than imparting knowledge and critical thinking to everyone in society.
Jude and I played into their systematic distinctions exactly as intended.
“Come on, level with me.” He playfully nudged my shoulder. “You’re always looking for trouble somewhere.”
“And you’re not?”
“Hey, the only trouble I cause is here,” he retaliated, gesturing to the bustling Ceylon lounge. “Who would punish me? My parents wouldn’t be caught dead in this place, so no concern there.”
I laughed. In the back corner of Charfall, the Ceylon served assorted peoples, but never the Elite. While the downstairs tea room offered a certain elegance, the upstairs establishment served a more rugged customer base. It was perfect for us, though - no expectations, no listening ears and no overbearing guardians. No one knew us there. While the outside world rewards status, in the Ceylon, being unknown felt like a rare commodity.
“They’re not all bad, though.” Jude circled the croquet table absent-mindedly. “My parents are harsh, but they mean well in their own way.”
“I’m sure they do,” I agreed through gritted teeth.
“Do you ever think about quitting the Academy?”
My mallet missed its target. “Why would I do that?”
Jude shrugged. “I don’t know. To do something different? To get out of Charfall?”
Sure, Charfall is corrupt, but so is everywhere else. “It’s not so bad here,” I responded at last. “Besides, the Academy is my only shot at amounting to anything.”
Jude fidgeted with his mallet in embarrassment. He had opportunities, and I didn’t; we both knew it. Still, he quietly asked, “Don’t you think there might be other ways to beat the system?”
My whole body tensed like a lake freezing over. “I play the game handed to me, and I play it well. I’m not about to give up what little I have.”
Jude shrunk down from the topic, focusing back on the game in silence.
You’re too hard on him. He can’t help his background. Jude was an unorthodox, kind-hearted product of both societal classes. While the Elite Class brimmed with trademasters, politicians, and legal historians, Jude fell somewhere in between that degree of entitlement and my lower Drek Class status. His elderly parents had landed secure, post-University jobs keeping government historical records, working a combined seventy years between them. That kind of undying loyalty gets recognized. The Elite swallowed them into their world with dinner invites, trips to the Capital city, and healthy retirement funds. When their only child came along, however, they didn’t want Jude to grow up with the same entitled mindset of their counterparts; so, they lived in a high-end home on the low-end side of town where Jude and I met as kids. He quickly became my escape, even when my world felt harsh and unsettled. Now, grown from an awkward boy into a charming, covetable man, Jude Calvey remained ever loyal by my side - a fact that surpassed everything differentiating us.
I quickly changed the subject. “Sounds like you think about getting out, though.”
Scratching the back of his head, Jude awkwardly averted his gaze. “Sometimes. There are things here I couldn’t leave behind, though.”
Surely he means his parents. A gut feeling, however, told me his statement implied more.
The same gut feeling suddenly alerted me to a pair of eyes that had rested on us for too long. Casually rounding the croquet table, I scanned the room. A rugged man, his thick beard braided in messy strands, stared directly at me from the back corner. He chugged the last of whatever vile drink stained his mug and stood.
My heart caught in my throat.
Around the hem of his overcoat, embroidered red and yellow thread snaked in a skull-like pattern - the insignia of the most ruthless pirate clan in the nation.
They found me.
Every black market deal I’d ever made flooded my memory. As a hundred thoughts raced for my attention, Jude beckoned me back to reality. “Ada? You gonna take the shot?”
Jude didn’t know about my illegal dealings. He would argue and probably rat me out to Silas if I let him in on it. Danger and all.
Now, that danger stared me right in the face.
“Are you okay?” Jude jaw tensed as he scanned me.
His voice is too urgent. He’ll draw attention. I shot hastily, missing the racket. “Guess you win this round,” I mustered casually. “Why don’t we get out of here-”
Just as I urged Jude to leave, a waitress came around with two rounds of red Darjeeling tea. “For you, from the man in the corner. Compliments to the match winner.”
My breath hitched.
“Cheers to that,” Jude exclaimed, lifting one of the teacups to his lips.
“Don’t!” I whispered. “Don’t drink that.”
Jude’s brows furrowed as he lowered the drink. “Why-”
“Adelina Castille?” asked a deep, sailor-accented voice from behind me.
Turning slowly on the heart-sunk soles of my leather boots, I came face-to-face with the brutish pirate. The scent of rum reeked from his thick beard, but his eyes narrowed on me in sober analysis.
“I’m sorry, you have the wrong person.” I threw in a judgmental glance at the end to sell the effect, but it came across more awkward than fierce.
The pirate scoffed. “Adelina Castille,” he repeated. “Seventeen years old, ward of Silas McGee, Academy student - skilled but constricted. That Academy ain't the only way you’ll… how’d you put it… amount to anything.”
Something in the way he said it sent chills down my spine.
Jude stepped between the man and I, but I stuck my arm out to block him. “Ada-”
“Let me deal with this.” I hated being so short with him, but Jude knew nothing. Lowering my voice, I asked the pirate, “Are you a buyer?”
He shook his head. “Just the messenger. You’re swimming with bigger fish than buyers now, lass.”
“What do you want with me?”
“I’m here to offer a drink…” Taking the liberty of grabbing my untouched teacup, he shot back the brew and swallowed in one gulp. “... and extend an invitation.” Wiping away the dripping liquid, the pirate pulled a blank envelope out of a fold in his leather cuffs. “Your presence has been requested at a party this week. Surely, you see why you can’t be inviting others along.” He scanned Jude pointedly. “Common courtesy to your hosts and all.”
I doubt we have the same idea of a ‘party.’ The envelope’s bronze seal reflected wealth, but the swirled insignia - a broken clock with a dagger for the big hand - stumped me. “And who exactly are my hosts?”
Patience wearing thin, the pirate groaned and sauntered back to his corner. “Come and see for yourself.”
Against my better judgment, I asked one final question: "And if I refuse?"
“There’ll be parley,” he answered shortly. “At least, for those whom you love. Who knows what they’ll do with you.”
He’s seen Jude. My heartbeat thudded in my ears. They know Silas… And ‘parley’ - the seafarer’s term for mercy - may be revoked as easily as it’s given.
Bursting to give his last two cents, the pirate called over his shoulder, “But why shouldn’t you go? After all, it’s only a party.” As though it was that simple, he threw a couple credits at the waitress and stomped out of the teahouse.
Jude grabbed my shoulders, steadying me as ragged breaths left me heaving. “Ada, who was that?”
What did he mean by ‘parley’? Whose attention have I caught? I tucked away the invitation and tugged for Jude’s hand. “We have to get out of here. Now!”
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