I nearly always have some kind of music playing. Whether I’m studying, writing, quilling and, yes, even sometimes while I’m reading. I came into the habit of studying with music via my sister. If I remember correctly, I was in grade 4 or 5 and trying to study to Bon Jovi. In time I found my own kind of music that helps me to focus while studying – Celtic.
When writing, I often have music as background. Mostly I choose something that will fit the kind of scene that I’m busy with. The music that I play can range from epic and Classical that inspire the sweeping vistas of the Midlands and their plains, to the mournful sounds of the sea and upbeat ditties and alternative.
Early music brings the world of Airthai to life and Chant brings to mind the libraries and studies of the Ealda and the Keepers.
Of course, what with listening to a lot of folk songs, some of them start to seep into the subconscious of Airthai (for instance the tale of the River of Gold)…
Folk song of the Midlands: The Maiden of the Stars
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the east,
When Elven knight left the woods of green, and wandered forth to war.
The mist it decked the mountain side and singing filled the vale,
By far the sweetest voice he’d heard, t’was the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, By far the sweetest voice he’d heard, t’was the maiden of the stars.
She sang a song of olden thought, unknown throughout the vale,
And drew to her power to calm the beast t'was raging there.
The fiery breath of dragon stilled, and calmed was his heart,
When she sang thus, in olden form, the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, when she sang thus, in olden form, the maiden of the stars.
The evil there was thwarted thus, by her sighing voice,
Its words were pure, remembered still far west, where fire ‘fore moon dies.
And there they met, two lovers crossed, by stars of heaven named,
And stood he there, entranced by song of the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and stood he there, entranced by song of the maiden of the stars.
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the west,
When Elven knight, and maiden fair wandered o’er the earth.
The mist it decked the mountain side, and laughter filled the land,
By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
But years of mortals short are cut, by illness or by sword,
And maiden young was slain in youth and her song grew silent then.
The Elven knight was damned to live, and wailed at his lover’s side,
And all knew love had died that day, with the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and all knew love had died that day with the maiden of the stars.
And years of elf-kind long do last, and heartbreak will surely slay,
And wandered lost the elven knight and bewailed his lover’s loss.
The Elven knight was to grow old before his bones be dust,
And meet again, the maid and he to sing among the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and meet again the maid and he, to sing among the stars.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A Strange Ribbon and a Book Keeper…
Some good news! (Other than getting Riverdance tickets for the opening night!) Jou Wêreld have published "Die rooi lint", a sci-fi tale that plays out in my hometown.
Here's the link for the Afrikaans:
http://www.jouwereld.co.za/jf_rooi_lint.html
I'll also put up the English soon. In the meantime, here's another flash piece.
The Book Keeper
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors. One of the young, new employees led two others with trolleys into his office.
“You can start loading it up.”
Bernhardt shot daggers at the little man. Had he no sense? You don’t spend forty-two years in one place and pack it up in a day. He would never be able to pack all his memories anyway.
The cold hand around his heart did not want to let go. He gulped, and blinked and cleared his throat, but nothing helped. He had to ask the question he dreaded.
“What about the books?”
The young man looked puzzled.
“This is the library – the books will be here.” He smiled the smile that young people give to their elders when they thought they were being silly.
“You said there will be a new computer room.” Swallow, gulp, blink.
“One room.” He smiled the same smile. “We’re knocking a wall down. Building a new wing.” He sighed. “The books will just be moved to the top two floors.” Grin.
“I was referring to the books kept in the basement.”
The young man mumbled something.
“Excuse me?”
“Pulped. We will pulp them. They should fetch a couple of bucks at the recycling depot.”
Bernhardt lifted his hand to slap the man, but stopped himself, an idea popping into his head. “I’ll buy them.” The voice was bereft of the emotion he felt, as if it was not truly him that had spoken so brashly. “I’ll pay by the kilogram, or ton. I don’t know. However the recycling depot would have paid you. I’ll match them,” he rambled. He started figuring out what his pension was worth. He would still have some money put away for a rainy day.
The young man stood at the window, hands crossed behind his back. The stark summer sun fell on his face, bathing it in a yellowish light. Again he smiled that arrogant, young man smile. Bernhardt wondered if he had also looked like that the day that he moved into this office.
The days he spent placing books back on the shelf, rearranging books, unpacking the new books with their heady scent of crisp paper and glue, seemed but a day old. Definitely not forty-two years. Maybe he was also arrogant once.
“What’s the difference if I take them or if you pulp them? Either way you’ll be rid of them and have the money.”
“It’s just a bunch of old books –“
“And I’m just an old man.” There he had admitted it. Yet, with those words, something changed in the eyes of the young man.
“I also love books, you know,” he said apologetically. “But we need to make money if we’re to survive.” He turned back to the window. Small drops of rain started to patter on the glass. He smiled. “Fox is marrying wolf’s wife.”
He suddenly looked very young for the task at hand.
“You know, I made it a point that they will not close this library while I can help it.” Swallow. Blink. He turned and left, heading for the basement.
The books arrived at his house three days later. They unloaded the boxes and unpacked the books for hours on end. They started stacking the books in his study, then the bedrooms and the hall before moving on to the lounge and filling the dining room. And the icy grip around his heart lessened as he picked a volume up.
Travels in the Petrified Forests of the Northern Highveld, he read the fading title. This was one he had rescued early in his career when they wanted to sell off the books no one borrowed. In the front there was even a signature and a photo of the author next to a giant baobab. Some piles constituted the libraries of whole families. One book case was totally filled with family Bibles, the names written in the front smudged, the pages scorched from surviving many wars. No, he would not forget them.
He sat down at his desk and took up a piece of paper. He licked the tip of his pencil and started writing.
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors.
Here's the link for the Afrikaans:
http://www.jouwereld.co.za/jf_rooi_lint.html
I'll also put up the English soon. In the meantime, here's another flash piece.
The Book Keeper
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors. One of the young, new employees led two others with trolleys into his office.
“You can start loading it up.”
Bernhardt shot daggers at the little man. Had he no sense? You don’t spend forty-two years in one place and pack it up in a day. He would never be able to pack all his memories anyway.
The cold hand around his heart did not want to let go. He gulped, and blinked and cleared his throat, but nothing helped. He had to ask the question he dreaded.
“What about the books?”
The young man looked puzzled.
“This is the library – the books will be here.” He smiled the smile that young people give to their elders when they thought they were being silly.
“You said there will be a new computer room.” Swallow, gulp, blink.
“One room.” He smiled the same smile. “We’re knocking a wall down. Building a new wing.” He sighed. “The books will just be moved to the top two floors.” Grin.
“I was referring to the books kept in the basement.”
The young man mumbled something.
“Excuse me?”
“Pulped. We will pulp them. They should fetch a couple of bucks at the recycling depot.”
Bernhardt lifted his hand to slap the man, but stopped himself, an idea popping into his head. “I’ll buy them.” The voice was bereft of the emotion he felt, as if it was not truly him that had spoken so brashly. “I’ll pay by the kilogram, or ton. I don’t know. However the recycling depot would have paid you. I’ll match them,” he rambled. He started figuring out what his pension was worth. He would still have some money put away for a rainy day.
The young man stood at the window, hands crossed behind his back. The stark summer sun fell on his face, bathing it in a yellowish light. Again he smiled that arrogant, young man smile. Bernhardt wondered if he had also looked like that the day that he moved into this office.
The days he spent placing books back on the shelf, rearranging books, unpacking the new books with their heady scent of crisp paper and glue, seemed but a day old. Definitely not forty-two years. Maybe he was also arrogant once.
“What’s the difference if I take them or if you pulp them? Either way you’ll be rid of them and have the money.”
“It’s just a bunch of old books –“
“And I’m just an old man.” There he had admitted it. Yet, with those words, something changed in the eyes of the young man.
“I also love books, you know,” he said apologetically. “But we need to make money if we’re to survive.” He turned back to the window. Small drops of rain started to patter on the glass. He smiled. “Fox is marrying wolf’s wife.”
He suddenly looked very young for the task at hand.
“You know, I made it a point that they will not close this library while I can help it.” Swallow. Blink. He turned and left, heading for the basement.
The books arrived at his house three days later. They unloaded the boxes and unpacked the books for hours on end. They started stacking the books in his study, then the bedrooms and the hall before moving on to the lounge and filling the dining room. And the icy grip around his heart lessened as he picked a volume up.
Travels in the Petrified Forests of the Northern Highveld, he read the fading title. This was one he had rescued early in his career when they wanted to sell off the books no one borrowed. In the front there was even a signature and a photo of the author next to a giant baobab. Some piles constituted the libraries of whole families. One book case was totally filled with family Bibles, the names written in the front smudged, the pages scorched from surviving many wars. No, he would not forget them.
He sat down at his desk and took up a piece of paper. He licked the tip of his pencil and started writing.
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Tiriane and the Tellerassar – A Glimpse of a Larger World in "A Dragon's Freedom"
The Tellerassar came into the world of Airthai quite early on. The first story I wrote about Airthai included one of the Keepers being a person that could turn into the form of an eagle and back to their human form at will. Soon I delved into their history – they had this gift (that they could also lose) and were a new race of people. Yet, they were part-human as well, which got me to thinking that they were normal humans once, which received the gift of shape-shifting from the Creator. They were also the "good guys" from the start, so they did not change their shape by using magic. It was a natural state of being for them.
The people of the Midlands called them "Heimfeie" according to the name that was given to their country. They, however, were not happy to stay on the fringes of the stories. In a set much later, an Elf referred to them as the "Tellerassar", a name which I felt had a lovely ring to it. It turned out that, in the Tellerassar's own tongue, they refer to themselves as such. "Heimfeie" is mostly used by those that are less educated in the peoples of the Midlands. Nasja, for instance, would only have learned to use the word "Tellerassar" from Tiriane.
The Tellerassar have their own tongue that was gifted to them when they received the gift of changing their shape. This tongue is mostly fictional, though there are some influences of the other tongues of Airthai, including the language that is used in "A Dragon's Freedom" to communicate with the dragons (Gothic). The Tellerassar language looks like this:
"A Agrai tellarias or s’agrélar silássa."
Which is translated as:
"May the Light of the One shine on your road" // “Mag die Lig van die Een op jou pad skyn.”
Note: The apostrophe is used to denote a glottal stop. "Tellar" means "Light" and "Tellerassar" means "People of the Light". "Agrai" means "One" and refers to the Creator. The Light of the One/Creator refers to a blessing
The people of the Midlands called them "Heimfeie" according to the name that was given to their country. They, however, were not happy to stay on the fringes of the stories. In a set much later, an Elf referred to them as the "Tellerassar", a name which I felt had a lovely ring to it. It turned out that, in the Tellerassar's own tongue, they refer to themselves as such. "Heimfeie" is mostly used by those that are less educated in the peoples of the Midlands. Nasja, for instance, would only have learned to use the word "Tellerassar" from Tiriane.
The Tellerassar have their own tongue that was gifted to them when they received the gift of changing their shape. This tongue is mostly fictional, though there are some influences of the other tongues of Airthai, including the language that is used in "A Dragon's Freedom" to communicate with the dragons (Gothic). The Tellerassar language looks like this:
"A Agrai tellarias or s’agrélar silássa."
Which is translated as:
"May the Light of the One shine on your road" // “Mag die Lig van die Een op jou pad skyn.”
Note: The apostrophe is used to denote a glottal stop. "Tellar" means "Light" and "Tellerassar" means "People of the Light". "Agrai" means "One" and refers to the Creator. The Light of the One/Creator refers to a blessing
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
A Dragon's Freedom is published!
You can now find my short story "A Dragon's Freedom" at the Cross and Cosmos e-zine (http://www.crossandcosmos.com/), in Issue 5.
Also, the translated flash piece "Tournament" is up at Woes as "Die Toernooi".
Also, the translated flash piece "Tournament" is up at Woes as "Die Toernooi".
Monday, October 4, 2010
Woes Posts & Airthai Map News
Ek het begin om van my Afrikaanse skryfwerk by Woes te gaan plaas. Die skakel na my profielblad is: http://woes.co.za/skrywers/9581_CarinMarais.htm.
Een van die stukke is die vertaalde weergawe van Eldarion Whargahn, met aangepaste spelling om by die Afrikaanse skrywyse te pas. Ek gaan voortgaan om kort stukkies daar te plaas, en dink dit is veral 'n goeie plek vir die vertaalde dele wat hier verskyn. Hopelik is dit dan makliker om tussen die verskillende tale te beweeg.
I have started to put some of my Afrikaans works up at Woes. The link to my profile page is: http://woes.co.za/skrywers/9581_CarinMarais.htm .
One of the pieces is the translated version of Eldarion Whargahn, with the spelling fitted to that of Afrikaans. I'm going to keep on putting some pieces up there, and I think it is a good place to put the translated pieces that I put up here. I hope that it will then be easy to move between the different languages.
In ander nuus is ek steeds besig om die kaarte vir Airthai oor te teken en vind dit vat bietjie langer as wat ek gedink het. Om die hele gedeelte van die wêreld in een (A4) kaart te sit wat in "A Dragon's Freedom" verskyn is ook nogal moeilik – dit begin in die Suidelike Lande en eindig in die Middellande. Dit beteken dit strek oor 'n woestyn en 'n paar lande. Aangesien ek die Tellerassar insluit in die verhaal, moet mens ook darem kan aandui waar hulle land is! Wel, vanaand is dit ek en 'n paar penne om die kaarte klaar te teken! Dan kan ek dit hierdie week plaas.
In other news, I am still busy drawing the Airthai maps and finding that it's taking a bit longer than I have anticipated. To put the whole part of the world that is featured in "A Dragon's Freedom" into one (A4) map is quite difficult – it starts in the Southern Lands and ends in the Middle Lands. That means it stretches over a desert and a couple of lands. Seeing that the Tellerassar also plays a part in the story, you have to be able to show where that is! Well, tonight it's me and a couple of pens to finish drawing the maps! Then I can still post it this week.
Een van die stukke is die vertaalde weergawe van Eldarion Whargahn, met aangepaste spelling om by die Afrikaanse skrywyse te pas. Ek gaan voortgaan om kort stukkies daar te plaas, en dink dit is veral 'n goeie plek vir die vertaalde dele wat hier verskyn. Hopelik is dit dan makliker om tussen die verskillende tale te beweeg.
I have started to put some of my Afrikaans works up at Woes. The link to my profile page is: http://woes.co.za/skrywers/9581_CarinMarais.htm .
One of the pieces is the translated version of Eldarion Whargahn, with the spelling fitted to that of Afrikaans. I'm going to keep on putting some pieces up there, and I think it is a good place to put the translated pieces that I put up here. I hope that it will then be easy to move between the different languages.
In ander nuus is ek steeds besig om die kaarte vir Airthai oor te teken en vind dit vat bietjie langer as wat ek gedink het. Om die hele gedeelte van die wêreld in een (A4) kaart te sit wat in "A Dragon's Freedom" verskyn is ook nogal moeilik – dit begin in die Suidelike Lande en eindig in die Middellande. Dit beteken dit strek oor 'n woestyn en 'n paar lande. Aangesien ek die Tellerassar insluit in die verhaal, moet mens ook darem kan aandui waar hulle land is! Wel, vanaand is dit ek en 'n paar penne om die kaarte klaar te teken! Dan kan ek dit hierdie week plaas.
In other news, I am still busy drawing the Airthai maps and finding that it's taking a bit longer than I have anticipated. To put the whole part of the world that is featured in "A Dragon's Freedom" into one (A4) map is quite difficult – it starts in the Southern Lands and ends in the Middle Lands. That means it stretches over a desert and a couple of lands. Seeing that the Tellerassar also plays a part in the story, you have to be able to show where that is! Well, tonight it's me and a couple of pens to finish drawing the maps! Then I can still post it this week.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Clearing Out The Attic
It is very interesting to go through your computer's attic (or that handy 'to file' folder), especially if you find some forgotten bits and pieces. Here are two of my first flash pieces. I'm still practicing at getting a whole story into 1 000 words (or less), but really hope I'm getting better at it as time passes!
I've mentioned before that www.sffworld.com has a monthly flash fiction contest, which is a very good way of stretching your mind to think up a new story with just one word or phrase as inspiration. More importantly, it is not a phrase that you, yourself, chose!
Both of these pieces were written from the first concept that I came up with when I read the theme, and Laudanum was the first flash piece that I wrote for SFFWorld.
Jeremy stared at the table standing on the beach. It was quite a pleasant day, or would have been if the sky was blue and not grey even though there was not one cloud in the sky. The table was bare, its two chairs having inappropriate frilly cushions on them. He realized it was the same cushions as those his grandmother had had in her kitchen. The cushions were tinted in grey as well, as if the pinks and greens had washed out of them leaving only their shadows. He looked behind him. The palms forming a distinct line between sand and forest looked like it was taken from a black and white holiday catalogue. The salt water was a clear grey. A voice next to him said: “Choose a game.” The figure was dressed in black – the only pure black he could see anywhere. His mind raced.
“Trivial Pursuit – no,” he stopped himself. He would not know the answers. He thought and thought. Chess? Checkers? Poker? Bridge, for goodness’ sake?
“Choose, human, or I will choose for you.” The voice was louder, impatient. He tried not to look at the scythe it held in one grey, bloodless hand. “You wanted to play, so let us play.”
Jeremy swallowed hard. “Dice, we will play at dice.”
Two dice appeared in his clenched hand. When he opened his fist, he saw one was of the purest white, the other pure black. When he looked up the figure was already seated at the table.
“Come,” it said, cracking its fingers. “Time for a game.”
Jeremy took a deep breath, smelling the salt in the air and walked to the table, placing the dice in the centre before lowering himself into the chair.
“You first. Highest out of three wins.”
Jeremy took the dice, shook them in his hand and let them fall. Two sixes. He let out a breath. So far so good. The figure did the same. It landed. Two ones. It was Jeremy’s turn again. He threw. Two and three. The figure threw. Two sixes. Jeremy threw. Four and one. The figure threw. Two sixes.
“Well then,” it said. “Come along.”
“Wait.” Another hand pushed the dice towards the black-robed figure. “Best one out of one.” The figure took the dice, threw. Two sixes. “He’s still mine.” The other figure threw. It landed. Two sevens. “He is mine," the voice boomed as colour returned to the world.
**** The two sevens at the end came as just a surprise to me. I wanted to write a tournament between a mortal and death where the mortal won. When I reached death saying "Come along", I thought that was that for Jeremy. The dice landing on seven, the "voice" saying "He is mine" and the colour returning to the world added so much more to the tale, especially in a Christian perspective. This is now one of my favourite pieces. ****
Laudanum stared at the blank page in front of him. Below him, in the kitchen, he could hear muffled voices that only sometimes rose too high or too loud for a few syllables to act as if it was a normal conversation. Nothing here seemed normal. You just had to look at his name to know that he was not normal. No normal person would name their child Laudanum. It was a wonder his newly born sister was named 'Rose' like any other normal child and not something like ‘Latrine' just because his parents liked the way the word sounds.
He kept his eyes on the page and stared intently at the darkness that lay behind them until he could see nothing but the darkness. Then, after the darkness had come, the other world came. The world that was created in the darkness behind his eyes. He knew not if he had been the creator, he was quite sure he wasn't. A few people here and there, a couple of dragons, a mythical quest or two. Those he did create. But the rest he was not so sure of. He remembered the first time he visited the place. It had no mountains then, but was simply grassland as far as the eye could see. Then he thought ‘mountains’ and the next moment they were there, on the horizon. One even had snow on top. He had never even seen snow. He also changed the weather patterns that day with his gigantic mountains. And crushed a few villages. After that he tried not to think too much while he visited. But, sometimes, a thought or emotion did slip through. And, today, it rained although rain did not seem to be the right word to describe the amounts of water falling from the sky. It was more like a monsoon rain, more like torrential rain that fell and turned all the ground to mud. And it was cold, so cold. Up in the mountains an avalanche started and slid down the great mountain.
Laudanum thought as hard as he could about sunshine, rainbows, and the absence of water. The mud sprouted into flowers as far as his eyes could see. But the sun was too warm. Just enough water, he concentrated, and could feel the water rising to the surface. The sun not too warm, he thought and could feel the sun's rays fading, although sudden flashes of light streamed from the mountains like northern lights gone berserk.
The lights he did not understand and tried not to look at them lest they blind him where he stood between the sprouting flowers, but the lights kept on flickering until he looked at them briefly and then they went away only to start again once he concentrated on the ground and the living things there.
“Not too warm,” he mumbled again, staring at the world behind his eyes.
“He’s been like this for days now doctor,” Laudanum’s mother said. “Is there nothing we can do?”
The doctor took his small torch and shone it into Laudanum's right eye. Then he shook his head.
“Not until we can figure out what is going on in there,” he said. “There is a response, but so slight…” his words trailed off as the boy mumbled again.
“Not too warm.”
The nurse sadly shook her head and removed one of the piles of blankets covering the boy.
***** My first piece's inspiration came while I was drawing an early map for Airthai. After drawing a river's course, I saw that it was completely wrong to what I had already written. Out came the eraser and I drew a new line. The sight of a whole river drying up and vanishing in seconds before appearing in another place suddenly formed in my mind.
When you stop to think about world building, you find that you can think of a few characters and a geography that just 'works'. What if the boy was so part of his secondary world that he almost had to die in the real one to give enough energy to just one part of his created one?
And, yes, I chose the name 'Laudanum' mostly because I like the sound of it. *****
I've mentioned before that www.sffworld.com has a monthly flash fiction contest, which is a very good way of stretching your mind to think up a new story with just one word or phrase as inspiration. More importantly, it is not a phrase that you, yourself, chose!
Both of these pieces were written from the first concept that I came up with when I read the theme, and Laudanum was the first flash piece that I wrote for SFFWorld.
The Tournament
Jeremy stared at the table standing on the beach. It was quite a pleasant day, or would have been if the sky was blue and not grey even though there was not one cloud in the sky. The table was bare, its two chairs having inappropriate frilly cushions on them. He realized it was the same cushions as those his grandmother had had in her kitchen. The cushions were tinted in grey as well, as if the pinks and greens had washed out of them leaving only their shadows. He looked behind him. The palms forming a distinct line between sand and forest looked like it was taken from a black and white holiday catalogue. The salt water was a clear grey. A voice next to him said: “Choose a game.” The figure was dressed in black – the only pure black he could see anywhere. His mind raced.
“Trivial Pursuit – no,” he stopped himself. He would not know the answers. He thought and thought. Chess? Checkers? Poker? Bridge, for goodness’ sake?
“Choose, human, or I will choose for you.” The voice was louder, impatient. He tried not to look at the scythe it held in one grey, bloodless hand. “You wanted to play, so let us play.”
Jeremy swallowed hard. “Dice, we will play at dice.”
Two dice appeared in his clenched hand. When he opened his fist, he saw one was of the purest white, the other pure black. When he looked up the figure was already seated at the table.
“Come,” it said, cracking its fingers. “Time for a game.”
Jeremy took a deep breath, smelling the salt in the air and walked to the table, placing the dice in the centre before lowering himself into the chair.
“You first. Highest out of three wins.”
Jeremy took the dice, shook them in his hand and let them fall. Two sixes. He let out a breath. So far so good. The figure did the same. It landed. Two ones. It was Jeremy’s turn again. He threw. Two and three. The figure threw. Two sixes. Jeremy threw. Four and one. The figure threw. Two sixes.
“Well then,” it said. “Come along.”
“Wait.” Another hand pushed the dice towards the black-robed figure. “Best one out of one.” The figure took the dice, threw. Two sixes. “He’s still mine.” The other figure threw. It landed. Two sevens. “He is mine," the voice boomed as colour returned to the world.
**** The two sevens at the end came as just a surprise to me. I wanted to write a tournament between a mortal and death where the mortal won. When I reached death saying "Come along", I thought that was that for Jeremy. The dice landing on seven, the "voice" saying "He is mine" and the colour returning to the world added so much more to the tale, especially in a Christian perspective. This is now one of my favourite pieces. ****
Laudanum
Laudanum stared at the blank page in front of him. Below him, in the kitchen, he could hear muffled voices that only sometimes rose too high or too loud for a few syllables to act as if it was a normal conversation. Nothing here seemed normal. You just had to look at his name to know that he was not normal. No normal person would name their child Laudanum. It was a wonder his newly born sister was named 'Rose' like any other normal child and not something like ‘Latrine' just because his parents liked the way the word sounds.
He kept his eyes on the page and stared intently at the darkness that lay behind them until he could see nothing but the darkness. Then, after the darkness had come, the other world came. The world that was created in the darkness behind his eyes. He knew not if he had been the creator, he was quite sure he wasn't. A few people here and there, a couple of dragons, a mythical quest or two. Those he did create. But the rest he was not so sure of. He remembered the first time he visited the place. It had no mountains then, but was simply grassland as far as the eye could see. Then he thought ‘mountains’ and the next moment they were there, on the horizon. One even had snow on top. He had never even seen snow. He also changed the weather patterns that day with his gigantic mountains. And crushed a few villages. After that he tried not to think too much while he visited. But, sometimes, a thought or emotion did slip through. And, today, it rained although rain did not seem to be the right word to describe the amounts of water falling from the sky. It was more like a monsoon rain, more like torrential rain that fell and turned all the ground to mud. And it was cold, so cold. Up in the mountains an avalanche started and slid down the great mountain.
Laudanum thought as hard as he could about sunshine, rainbows, and the absence of water. The mud sprouted into flowers as far as his eyes could see. But the sun was too warm. Just enough water, he concentrated, and could feel the water rising to the surface. The sun not too warm, he thought and could feel the sun's rays fading, although sudden flashes of light streamed from the mountains like northern lights gone berserk.
The lights he did not understand and tried not to look at them lest they blind him where he stood between the sprouting flowers, but the lights kept on flickering until he looked at them briefly and then they went away only to start again once he concentrated on the ground and the living things there.
“Not too warm,” he mumbled again, staring at the world behind his eyes.
“He’s been like this for days now doctor,” Laudanum’s mother said. “Is there nothing we can do?”
The doctor took his small torch and shone it into Laudanum's right eye. Then he shook his head.
“Not until we can figure out what is going on in there,” he said. “There is a response, but so slight…” his words trailed off as the boy mumbled again.
“Not too warm.”
The nurse sadly shook her head and removed one of the piles of blankets covering the boy.
***** My first piece's inspiration came while I was drawing an early map for Airthai. After drawing a river's course, I saw that it was completely wrong to what I had already written. Out came the eraser and I drew a new line. The sight of a whole river drying up and vanishing in seconds before appearing in another place suddenly formed in my mind.
When you stop to think about world building, you find that you can think of a few characters and a geography that just 'works'. What if the boy was so part of his secondary world that he almost had to die in the real one to give enough energy to just one part of his created one?
And, yes, I chose the name 'Laudanum' mostly because I like the sound of it. *****
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
An Airthai Fairy Tale
When the name "River of Gold" presented itself in the Midlands of Airthai (when the world was just coming together), I had to know why it was called that and why, if there are gold for anyone to take, no one would take it. The gold as the dragon's bed was formed early and from there the knight and his lady followed. Aune has become a dear, bittersweet character to me. And yes, that song does sound a bit like "Rose of Allendale"...
Aune & Everard : Or, How The River of Gold Got Its Name
Once upon a time the river that is now known as the River of Gold, in the Kingdom of Ellanda, was known as Brightwater because its water was so clear and pure. It sprung from a fountain in the Cloudstep Mountains and flowed west, through Ellanda and the Ringwood that stood at the roots of the mountains. On the banks of this river, in the small village of Greenhill, lived a fair maiden called Aune. Her hair was as dark as the night sky and her eyes shone like the morning star. She had a heart as pure as virgin snow and a voice like an angel. All the town loved her dearly for she was also a healer and could cure any ailment and fever, so that people came from many miles away to be healed.
The king of Ellanda at that time was Godfrey the Bold. He was a good king and kind to his people and many a young man went to the castle hoping to serve as one of his knights. But he would only choose the very best to defend his kingdom, for he knew of a dark menace that lay south - a dragon had been spotted making a lair in the Dragonberg. He knew that soon the dragon would sense the riches of Ellanda and come to steal it to build his bed. Two years passed before he got word from the southern mountains that a dragon was stirring from its lair in the Dragonberg.
Now Godfrey knew that there was a lot of treasure to be had in Ellanda, and he also knew that in the village called Greenhill, not a day’s ride from the castle, was an old grave of one of his forefathers and that the grave was filled with enough gold and jewels to tempt even the smallest dragon. No doubt it would not be long until the dragon ventured north and smelled the buried gold. And after it had laid waste to the village, the castle with its great treasury would be next.
So Godfrey called together his seven most trusted knights, the finest of who were the young Everard. For though he was barely twenty four, he had more skill with his blade than the sword master and could hit a running mouse in the night with his longbow.
Godfrey sent his knights to the village of Greenhill where they were to keep the people safe and guard them from the dragon if it should come. Everard was charged to slay the dragon with his bow and the king gave to him arrows tipped with white gold and dipped in the poisonous juice from the Blackroot.
Now, when the knights reached the town, they went first to the inn, but Everard walked to the green hill that gave the town its name. There, at the foot of the hill, he heard the voice of an angel singing and looked up. He recognized the song as a lay about the star-crossed lovers Sildu and Ameragh and the part he heard went like this:
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the west,
When Elven knight, and maiden fair wandered o’er the earth.
The mist it decked the mountain side, and laughter filled the land,
By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars,
By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
With all haste Everard climbed the hill, hoping to see the angel singing. As he reached the top of the hill he saw that it was a mortal maiden that was singing the beautiful song – it was, of course, Aune, and he fell in love with her the first time he saw her. He went to her and wooed her and she too, loved him in turn and it seemed as if the summer would last forever and that the dragon would never come from the south to harm the kingdom.
But when Autumn fell upon the land the dragon came to the kingdom of Ellanda and burned great swathes of land with its fiery breath as it followed the scent of gold. Everard soon learned that the red-scaled dragon was called Blauthan and that it was one of the oldest dragons in all the lands, one that the old king Marcus had used in his wars. On the sixth day after the Blauthan had reached Ellanda, the dragon reached the town of Greenhill and burned half of the houses to the ground. Then it alighted on the green hill and tore at the ground with its great claws. Chunks of dark earth and grass was thrown amidst the smouldering ashes of the town while the people hid in the Amber Wood outside the village, or farther abroad if they owned a horse or donkey.
Now the knights readied themselves to battle with the dragon and to slay it before the dragon could make more destruction. All seven armed themselves with hauberks of the finest chainmail and swords of the strongest steel. Everard hung his arrow-filled quiver at his side and strung his great longbow. They waited until twilight fell and then they marched on the dragon, for their horses were too skittish at the smell of the dragon to venture near to it.
When they came upon the dragon he had already broken through the hill into the tomb and lay on the gold and jewels that had been entombed with the old king many generations ago. It mocked the knights and with the first swipe of its great claw sent one of the knights to his death. The wyrm spewed fire into the air and scorched the very air, but Everard’s heart did not quail. He knocked an arrow and pulled it to his cheek. He waited for the dragon to rear and loosed the fateful shaft. The arrow flew from the great bow and hit the dragon in its soft underbelly, boring through the scales there. The dragon roared and set the grass about the hill aflame. Then he lunged at the young knight. With one blow of its massive claws sent the knight’s soul to the afterlife as the dragon’s lifeblood ebbed away and the Dragon's Bane poison consumed him and the great beast died upon its bed of stolen gold.
Deeply bereaved, the remaining knights loaded their fallen leader onto a makeshift bier and carried him through the scorched grass of the hill towards the town, leaving the dragon upon the pile of gold and jewels and not one of the knights wanted a single coin of the hoard.
The villagers, meanwhile, watched the fight from a distance and when they saw the dragon die and its fire go out, most rushed to the hill to see what gold or jewels they could claim for themselves. Aune went to look for Everard, with an awful knot in her stomach and tears in her eyes. She came upon the knights and the bier and cried and wailed when she saw the lifeless body of her love Everard. As the villagers rushed past her, she grew angry and when they started press her to gather some of the gold for herself, she gathered golden coins and jewels in the large pocket of her apron. Then, when she could barely walk from the gold’s weight, she kissed Everard on his brow and stumbled to the river. There she stepped into the dark water, but instead the water claimed her in the darkness.
When the rest of the village realized what she had done they went to the river bank, but saw only gold glittering on the river bed. Most of them then realized that they had fallen prey to the bane of the dragon that made them want gold and riches more than anything in the world. They did not even think of all those that lost their lives at his claws and fire. One by one the villagers also threw the gold into the river to be buried there or to wash downstream with the strong current to find new masters. But though gold is still seen on the river bed of the river now called the River of Gold, no one will touch it, or claim it for their own, lest the dragon’s bane come upon them.
As for Aune and Everard, most agree that they are now living the life together that they did not have a chance to live upon the earth, and that where they are now living; there are neither dragons, nor pain, nor death. Only love.
Aune & Everard : Or, How The River of Gold Got Its Name
Once upon a time the river that is now known as the River of Gold, in the Kingdom of Ellanda, was known as Brightwater because its water was so clear and pure. It sprung from a fountain in the Cloudstep Mountains and flowed west, through Ellanda and the Ringwood that stood at the roots of the mountains. On the banks of this river, in the small village of Greenhill, lived a fair maiden called Aune. Her hair was as dark as the night sky and her eyes shone like the morning star. She had a heart as pure as virgin snow and a voice like an angel. All the town loved her dearly for she was also a healer and could cure any ailment and fever, so that people came from many miles away to be healed.
The king of Ellanda at that time was Godfrey the Bold. He was a good king and kind to his people and many a young man went to the castle hoping to serve as one of his knights. But he would only choose the very best to defend his kingdom, for he knew of a dark menace that lay south - a dragon had been spotted making a lair in the Dragonberg. He knew that soon the dragon would sense the riches of Ellanda and come to steal it to build his bed. Two years passed before he got word from the southern mountains that a dragon was stirring from its lair in the Dragonberg.
Now Godfrey knew that there was a lot of treasure to be had in Ellanda, and he also knew that in the village called Greenhill, not a day’s ride from the castle, was an old grave of one of his forefathers and that the grave was filled with enough gold and jewels to tempt even the smallest dragon. No doubt it would not be long until the dragon ventured north and smelled the buried gold. And after it had laid waste to the village, the castle with its great treasury would be next.
So Godfrey called together his seven most trusted knights, the finest of who were the young Everard. For though he was barely twenty four, he had more skill with his blade than the sword master and could hit a running mouse in the night with his longbow.
Godfrey sent his knights to the village of Greenhill where they were to keep the people safe and guard them from the dragon if it should come. Everard was charged to slay the dragon with his bow and the king gave to him arrows tipped with white gold and dipped in the poisonous juice from the Blackroot.
Now, when the knights reached the town, they went first to the inn, but Everard walked to the green hill that gave the town its name. There, at the foot of the hill, he heard the voice of an angel singing and looked up. He recognized the song as a lay about the star-crossed lovers Sildu and Ameragh and the part he heard went like this:
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the west,
When Elven knight, and maiden fair wandered o’er the earth.
The mist it decked the mountain side, and laughter filled the land,
By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars,
By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
With all haste Everard climbed the hill, hoping to see the angel singing. As he reached the top of the hill he saw that it was a mortal maiden that was singing the beautiful song – it was, of course, Aune, and he fell in love with her the first time he saw her. He went to her and wooed her and she too, loved him in turn and it seemed as if the summer would last forever and that the dragon would never come from the south to harm the kingdom.
But when Autumn fell upon the land the dragon came to the kingdom of Ellanda and burned great swathes of land with its fiery breath as it followed the scent of gold. Everard soon learned that the red-scaled dragon was called Blauthan and that it was one of the oldest dragons in all the lands, one that the old king Marcus had used in his wars. On the sixth day after the Blauthan had reached Ellanda, the dragon reached the town of Greenhill and burned half of the houses to the ground. Then it alighted on the green hill and tore at the ground with its great claws. Chunks of dark earth and grass was thrown amidst the smouldering ashes of the town while the people hid in the Amber Wood outside the village, or farther abroad if they owned a horse or donkey.
Now the knights readied themselves to battle with the dragon and to slay it before the dragon could make more destruction. All seven armed themselves with hauberks of the finest chainmail and swords of the strongest steel. Everard hung his arrow-filled quiver at his side and strung his great longbow. They waited until twilight fell and then they marched on the dragon, for their horses were too skittish at the smell of the dragon to venture near to it.
When they came upon the dragon he had already broken through the hill into the tomb and lay on the gold and jewels that had been entombed with the old king many generations ago. It mocked the knights and with the first swipe of its great claw sent one of the knights to his death. The wyrm spewed fire into the air and scorched the very air, but Everard’s heart did not quail. He knocked an arrow and pulled it to his cheek. He waited for the dragon to rear and loosed the fateful shaft. The arrow flew from the great bow and hit the dragon in its soft underbelly, boring through the scales there. The dragon roared and set the grass about the hill aflame. Then he lunged at the young knight. With one blow of its massive claws sent the knight’s soul to the afterlife as the dragon’s lifeblood ebbed away and the Dragon's Bane poison consumed him and the great beast died upon its bed of stolen gold.
Deeply bereaved, the remaining knights loaded their fallen leader onto a makeshift bier and carried him through the scorched grass of the hill towards the town, leaving the dragon upon the pile of gold and jewels and not one of the knights wanted a single coin of the hoard.
The villagers, meanwhile, watched the fight from a distance and when they saw the dragon die and its fire go out, most rushed to the hill to see what gold or jewels they could claim for themselves. Aune went to look for Everard, with an awful knot in her stomach and tears in her eyes. She came upon the knights and the bier and cried and wailed when she saw the lifeless body of her love Everard. As the villagers rushed past her, she grew angry and when they started press her to gather some of the gold for herself, she gathered golden coins and jewels in the large pocket of her apron. Then, when she could barely walk from the gold’s weight, she kissed Everard on his brow and stumbled to the river. There she stepped into the dark water, but instead the water claimed her in the darkness.
When the rest of the village realized what she had done they went to the river bank, but saw only gold glittering on the river bed. Most of them then realized that they had fallen prey to the bane of the dragon that made them want gold and riches more than anything in the world. They did not even think of all those that lost their lives at his claws and fire. One by one the villagers also threw the gold into the river to be buried there or to wash downstream with the strong current to find new masters. But though gold is still seen on the river bed of the river now called the River of Gold, no one will touch it, or claim it for their own, lest the dragon’s bane come upon them.
As for Aune and Everard, most agree that they are now living the life together that they did not have a chance to live upon the earth, and that where they are now living; there are neither dragons, nor pain, nor death. Only love.
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