Thursday, March 04, 2004
wow. I've been writing a TON of Tasiha lately. I got stuck finally at a scene where she is on the Western Continent, this time without Ialio, and she meets up with a guide who will help her and the twins get to the Isle of the Gods. Ialio and Jerelet have been delayed, but they'll meet up later.
Right now I'm calling this guide Sgeam, but I think he really might be Erialk. I added him at first right after I saw LotR: RotK. *snicker*. because I'm obsessed with Aragorn and Viggo Mortenson. *drools*
then I decided I really should have him. I like the idea of him being Erialk--meaning that he eventually becomes head of guard at Kiral and somehow in charge of either all of City Security or more of an espionage sort of thing. I'm not sure yet.
The problem is I don't know what he looks like.
I have a similar problem for Jerelet, Ialio, and a smattering of others. I don't visualize them enough. They live in my head so they exist naturally... but trying to put them down on paper seems just to not work.
Thursday, December 18, 2003
It's nice to lay out what I'm working on. It helps me organize my thoughts. Pity it's not tied at all to BoW. I refuse to start a blog for Tbook1, as I call the books with Tasiha. That kind of story needs to stay that way--MY story, not finished, not ready, and certainly not available on the internet.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
At this point in time, readers are probably wondering who the heck this Tasiha is.
Tasiha is my favorite main character. As you can see, she is rather special. She starts off as a foundling in a village somewhere, and a traveling mage, Ialio, discovers that she has magick--that she, too, is a mage.
Ialio is a member of the council of mages based in Kiral, the capital city of the planet Ceribthien, which really hasn't yet formed into nations (actually it, might, and it should... I shall have to think about that). Ceribthien is also a twin planet--it is tied to the planet Tetholnia in much the same manner as Mven Terr and Mvon Terr are linked. Instead of a dark blazing wind passage between the worlds, however, there is a strange semi-portal from the Isle of the Gods on Tetholnia that leads to the main continent on Ceribthien. At this point in the story, this is the only access between the two planets. It is a Rainbow Bridge--a bridge on which they travel that exists in a world that is solely like the sky. so, clouds, stars, blue all around, above, below, all around.
Now theoretically, Ceribthien is tied in a similar manner to every planet in existence throughout the universe. I'm not sure why, but it is.
The council of mages in Kiral manages and runs Kiral, Ceribthien, Tetholnia, and pretty much all of the universe. Think of it as the E.E.U.U.'s Senate, House of Representatives, Supreme Court, and President all at once. Of course, the court system is a *little* separate, and there is a Mage Council, who is the most powerful of the mages and thus their leader, who runs those who run the place.
There.
Now.
I forgot to mention that this is all backdropped by the idea that the world and the universe as we know it exist as a gigantic battle between Light and change and Dark and permanence. Got it? Good.
There.
Now.
Ialio and the other mages of the council were instructed by the current Mage Council, Siitlyn, to journey throughout the worlds and find newly-granted or -born mages to come to Kiral and train at the brand spankin new university of magick.
Ialio is traveling along and he finally finds a student--this foundling, Tasiha, who has no recollection of her parents at all, nor anything before the moment she was found. She is also the village childrens' scapegoat, kinda. Ialio discovers that she has magick, and so she joins him in his journey.
They travel. They are about to cross a river and Tasiha somehow notices something. She warns everyone off of the bridge they are on. Then the river swells, and a half rotted dead tree gets pushed downstream. She stops the river, Ialio saves an old man from the bridge, and then the tree blasts the bridge to splinters. Tasiha is thrown from her horse and loses consciousness.
This is no big deal--a trained mage can do this kind of thing with ease and ability and good memorized skills. But the problem is--Tasiha has never learned this kind of spell. Ialio teaches her one spell--a spell to shield herself. Without learning this new spell, she casts it.
This is a very peculiar thing. Mages of this day and age tend to think of spells as certain steps, moves, articles, words that are required to make things happen. Tasiha knows better. She thinks about, and uses, her magick as it really is--an incandescent flow at her fingertips. She creates spells with this ethereal stuff, and the words, articles, steps, moves that are required come naturally in the spell. This is the start to a whole new era of magick.
Anyway... they travel. They go to Atiktha, the capital of Hirune, and search for mages there. They find three. One is the daughter of the king. She is an excellent mage and really needs to attend school to improve her powers. They argue with the king a bit and she gets to go along (her name is Jerelet). Tasiha makes a tree grow. Again, realize she hasn't learned this spell, and theoretically, in this day and age, doing a spell without knowing it is unheard of.
They search and find a pair of youth, twin mages (boys). These boys, Evirix and Vanad, go with them. They head for a port to return to the Isle of the Gods and Kiral.
They ride on the boat. Tasiha falls in (actually she jumps). Then there is the scene you see below. Then--joyous reunion, etc.
They make it to the western continent, and spend some nights traveling for the next city along their route. On the way, as they are riding through a snowy forest, they are attacked by raiders. Ialio is knocked from his horse, unconscious. Jerelet, who is a warrior-mage, cannot fight them all. Evirix and Vanad are hardly more than children.
Tasiha can do nothing. She freezes. She sits on her horse and then one of the raiders comes up to her with an arrow in hand and grins. She sees that he is about to kill her--that Jerelet is about to be killed, and Ialio, and the twins.
She does nothing. She casts no spell.
But the whole world around her recognizes in her a cry for help.
The stars in the sky stream bright all above, flashing, like a meteor shower. The wind picks up in an instant. The trees lash about violently, so much so that they bend and bash a few raiders into the earth. Wolves come howling from the surrounding woods to drive the men off.
The mages pick themselves up, kind of awestruck, and move on. They reach the coast, travel to the Isle of the Gods, and then use the Rainbow Bridge. There are a couple of obstacles. The last is a Guardian of the bridge. He is blind, strong--asks "Who would pass?"
Ialio says, "I, Ialio, a Mage of the Council in Kiral, would pass." He is allowed because he is a mage and a councilor.
Jerelet and Vanad and Evirix all also pass, as Ialio's students. As soon as they pass him they are off the bridge and onto Ceribthien.
Tasiha says, "I, Tasiha, would pass," and the Guardian kneels before her and proclaims that she is a great lady, blahdeeblahdeeblah... this is all stuff I haven't written yet, after the part with the sea. Just stuff I'm planning on writing. so it sounds a little crummy yet. Oh well.
Whatever. She goes to Kiral, studies, learns at the University, excels. She is a good enough student to be invited to join the council, temporarily.
Eventually she walks out over the ocean, and a palace appears there. She goes inside. She feels at home. She walks around.
She talks to someone who is herself at the same time, and they agree that she will become all powerful and all suffering. They become one, and she changes.
Then she returns to Kiral and kicks major dark booty.
The end? nah. I don't feel good. No more writing.
Words, words, beautiful words. In a dark and hurried moment, all time halted with a slap of skin, and in that meager space of existence there was nothing--nothing at all, vacancy so poignant it burned the mind.
Tasiha slid through the water, self propelled by the flipping motions of the fins she had grown and gulping in the water as air through the gills she had added to make this journey easier--but at the same time the water took her, engulfed her, surrounded her, and made her one with it. Her hair flowed freely in the water behind her as she sank deeper and deeper into the depths of the Eastern Ocean.
Here there were thousands of sights and smells and sounds she had never heard before. She listened, swimming silently, hearing the slip of bodies through the deep, hearing the tiny crashes above as birds broke the immensely distant surface, hearing the hiss of air bubbles from some point infinitely below her. And to her ears came also a blazing, keening, moaning sound. She looked around, and it came from the hugest bulk she had ever seen--a creature fully three times as large as the boat that had once carried her body. This giant creature was crying--was singing! and in the tumultuous flow of its voice as ripples through the liquid around her, she danced, and sang with it, her voice lifted in an equal and quieter, similar cry.
There came tiny echoes of her response from behind her, ricocheting from the massive wall of coral that loomed overhead.
Bidden, almost, by that immeasurable bulk above and the silence filled with infinity all around her, she began to swim--down. She descended past the coral, watching the vibrant bodies of fish and eels and all sorts of living creatures--each a singing, humming, vivacious presence in her mind. Why did she know them? she knew them all, as if they were her friends. She felt as she had felt when she had been back living in the village, with Mai--how she had felt towards the animals. She had sworn that she had known every squirrel and rabbit and each tree, leaf, and root. Here it was the same--as if she identified with each tip of coral, swirling anemonie ((sp????)), each scaled or slippery fish.
She sank lower--lower and lower, until she could hardly see. The surface was far, far above her--a distant source of light. Here, there was darkness--as if the water around her had been tinted with ink. She floated on. Things began to glow, to provide random translucent brilliant outlines of light in the darkness.
She sank. Time passed, and if she thought she had been in darkness before, she was wrong. Before had been noonday compared to this world. Here there was nothing except ebony. Not even the infinitely distant surface was visible here. It was as if she were in a dream, such was the world that existed--except not a dream. Smooth, silent, quiet, invisible slumber--as if her eyes were shut and she slept, heavily. That was the extent of the darkness around her.
After a while, she let herself hang in the eternal depths of the blazing darkness around her, and she existed, out of time, away from earth, unfeeling and alone, silent and strong, wondering, waiting, dreaming, sleeping--all within her mind.
There came, perhaps from above, a tiny, distorted, distant echo of the note she had sung in unison with the giant creature near the surface. She heard it.
She listened carefully to it, and for a long time she listened to the silence--reading it, hearing it, redefining it within her heart. She listened.
And with a silent thrust of water, she began to rise.
For a long time there was nothing as the ebony expanse drifted by her, and for a moment she doubted her own motions. But she thrust on, and after a while those tiny creatures began to glow, again, all around her as she rose.
And she rose, rose onwards into the blazing light of the world around her. And above her was the surface. Something bumped her elbow--a creature. A dolphin. She recognized it from a book.
Another one nudged her from the other side and squeed gently.
She stretched out both of her hands to either side.
They shot past her, their dorsal fins catching under her fingers and she rose and rose onwards into the light with them, rapidly, immensely fast, the water streaming around them until she laughed aloud for the sheer joy and the pleasure of the actions, and she broke surface.
In an instant she changed--got rid of the gills. She breathed deeply of the bright and burning air, and looked around her.
There was no sign of the ship.
But the water whisered to her as it moved around her, and she allowed the dolphins to take her once more by the arms. Together, they chased after the history of the currents and the wake of the ship.
***********
Ialio sat upon one of the benches, watching Jerelet as she worked with the twins on his latest lesson--sensing magickally.
The boys were trying to pick different colored objects out of her hands.
The objects shifted color at random, as Jerelet so chose.
Ialio sighed. As they had so often in the past three days, his thoughts returned to Tasiha.
Why? Why? He begged the question of Light in his mind, but there was no response, and this only served to remind him bitterly of the separation he had sensed in his dreams. Why was it Tasiha who had to be taken away from me?
He could not have stomached the thought of losing Jerelet--she was such a strong mage, and a good mage, and her father would strangle him. And he would be tormented forever if he had lost one of the twins--for one to have to exist without the other would have made them go mad.
But Tasiha...
Losing Tasiha left such a gapping hole in his chest that he could hardly keep from weeping. It was as if there was no longer any sunlight in the world. Never mind that it was streaming bright and glistening upon the water today--it no longer was. It didn't matter anymore.
He wanted to give up.
He wanted to take the other three mages to Kiral, drop them off at the university, and then find a knife somewhere and take it to his flesh--or follow her into the deep.
He didn't even want to take the mages to Kiral, but at this point in time, he knew he must. He could not abandon all of them. This was all that kept him living--their presence.
Jerelet glanced warily at her instructor, and swallowed hard. He smiled at her--a pathetic attempt at a smile, sad and small. It did little to reassure her.
He rose with a sigh and went to the prow of the ship, where the captain stood at the wheel. He watched the man for a while.
There came splashs from the side of the ship, and, curious, Ialio went to the rail and looked at the water.
There were dolphins, splashing along, hopping and jumping in the crests of the wake left by the fast-moving ship.
"They be like to play," said Emppsol *nkajdlfja NOTE: emppsol is also ship captain akjdflj*.
"So I've heard," said Ialio. "I didn't know they liked ships."
"They usually be less like to come near us, but they like the waves we make. They be very intelligent beasts, fer fish."
Ialio nodded absently in annoyance--he didn't want to spend half an hour explaining that they were not fish to a man wh spent all his time at sea.
The wind grew low, and the sails stopped their bellowing. The captain sighed, and squinted at the sky. "Blast. I hoped we'd have a good breeze the whole trip." The ship had slowed considerably due to the lack of wind, and Ialio slumped to a bench and stared down at the water as it slowly passed him by. They drifted.
The dolphins had left when the ship had slowed. The day passed, and he grew tired, and hot from the sun.
*now... how to do this. I can do it abruptly, as in she climbs over the side, or they haul her up or something, or she can signal to them or something... maybe I'll try that.*
Ialio squinted ahead of the ship. "What's that?" He pointed. There was some form of pale jetsam floating in the water.
The captain squinted. He frowned. He hollered for the first mate. "There do be pirates out here sometimes. Sometimes they be like to burn a ship and leave behind wreakage. We try to take it on if it be useful."
Several of the crew came running up. Ialio watched distractedly, and closed his eyes after a while. The heat made his eyelids so heavy, he could hardly keep them open at times. He listened to the commotion from the crowd of sailors. They murmured to themselves, and the murmur got louder and louder as the object approached.
"--cross-legged--"
"I donna believe it--"
"--That be--"
"--like a mermaid--"
"--Jes sittin' there--"
Ialio opened his eyes, and stood. He lurched to the side of the ship like a man drunk with too much sun.
Tasiha sat an inch above the water, her eyes closed, her legs crossed, her hands resting in her lap. When she bumped against the ship, her eyes flew open. She looked around her, then looked up, and smiled at the ship.
"There you are!" she called. "I've been looking for you."
*chapter break*
A rope was thrown down, and Tasiha caught hold of it and pulled herself up. When she reached the deck, she looked around, and smiled again.
Before she could speak, Ialio had let out a strangled cry and caught her up in a rough, huge hug.
She gasped as her ribs creaked. "Steady, Mage Ialio," she gasped.
He put her down. "Don't you ever, EVER do that again!"
"Do what?" She stared at him.
He threw up his arms, and as his robe flapped uncomfortably around her, he noticed for the first time that she was naked--her hair was draped over her in an effort at modesty, but it was inadequate.
He stopped, flushed, and dragged his eyes away from her, then whipped the robe off his shoulders and settled it on hers.
She grinned. "Thanks."
It's two hours from my chem exam and I'm on my blog, adding whatever the hell I feel like adding.
My two friends/study buddies went to a bar because they said they needed to wind down.
I don't think they're alcoholics.
But I don't approve.
But that's just me. I can't expect them to have my same values. And they were really tense.
Still, it's no excuse. Take up yoga, guys.
I'm using a lot of yoga techniques by now. I'm a little nervous for this final. It'll be my first college final, and I think I need at least a C to get an A in the class. I hope I can get a C. Knowing half of the questions won't do anything.
Although I did study a little, and I'm starting to remember things more. I'm just pissed, because my first friend really needs help studying. She wants to do it--she wants to learn. We were doing fine, studying, the two of us. Then this other friend came and all she wants to do is gripe about how the teacher is a poor teacher, and she doesn't want to LEARN, she just wants to do and get the hell over with. And the first friend starts to lose focus and stops caring about studying for learning.
Studying has to be an ongoing activity. It can't be cramming for a test unless the cramming is review of what you know, and making sure you know it.
It's the difference between doing the practice problems for the answers and thinking your way through the practice problems for the theory and knowledge behind it. If the first friend were to study with me all the time, I could help her build the skills and the knowledge needed so that she can know what she's doing, why she's doing it, and what she could do if she gets a tough problem. I can help her understand.
But friend number two is too worried about--Let's just do this, let's just get it done and do this, try this, who cares why. WRONG! it's all about the why and how, not the what and the when and the who. The why and the how are the only ways a person can survive on a test, because no matter how many times you practice a problem, you need to learn how to apply that to other problems, because what you study will not be the same as what you do on the test. But it'll be similar.
Wow, that's enough of a rant for today. I needed to let off some steam. At least I won't do it by drinking.
I really like these guys. They teach me a lot. It's kind of strange to watch and see how different they are, and how different I am.
Oh well. I want to be writing.
Everything's all jumbled in my head. I want to write Dium and Listhan Avres and Ialio and Tasiha and Shavara Minos and Ajabin and everything all at once. I want to write--I wish I could just take off of school, and work, and life, and sit down and write and write and write until my fingers started bleeding. It would be such a release for me.
I live in my head. I exist in my mind. Mostly because the world around me is too drab, and the one in my head is so much more exciting. If I could spend all my time writing and daydreaming, which is the same thing as writing minus the computer, I would be totally happy. Unfortunately, I can't. Unfortunately, I have a life to live, and unfortunately, that life can't be as Morghan Farishel--as much as I want it to be.
Tasiha. Tasiha Tasiha Tasiha. I found out that her name is an actual word in some Indian dialect--I think it means like, 'the foot bone of a deer.' It's some sort of game or something. WAH! I was so original, and it is such a beautiful name. I love it. I don't think I can abandon it. Not for just that one little translation issue.
Oh well.
I'm hungry, but I'm so fricking fat. I hate it. I'm like, 200 lbs--no lie!. I want to lose weight. I want to be athletic and STRONG.
but I'm still hungry.
I'm tired, too. I should probably curl up and take a nap. I wish--I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish-- I could be writing. Writing Tasiha and Ialio, because that's the story that seems to be the basis for all the other ones that I'm working on at this point in time. If I can start and finish it, I can do everything. I can tie in Demosen, Dium, Iajlin, Tiakal, Gerrove, even Willowstar, maybe even Ajabin and Listhan Avres and Ceolene and Morghan Farishel.
Although the last four is a probable no because their worlds are different.
I think I'll go take a nap.
Friday, December 12, 2003
hm... Well I can't seem to write tonight. I'm online; I'm trying to get into the classes I want at NH, but they are all full--the only two classes I want that fit into my schedule. So I'm trying over and over again because today was tuition-due day and people will be dropped from their classes, but it doesn't look like it's opening up. so waah. I need a calc, and there is one that fits, but not with the rockin cool teacher, and there are NO open biology i s at ALL, so that's just screwed... worst comes to worst I'll end up taking historical geology and the crummy teacher calc... but it's free, so I don't care.
Although I can't write tonight, I've been brainstorming. This is vital for me when I'm planning my books, because I wonder about connecting things and making things make sense. In general, with BoW (book of whispers... yeah), a lot of stuff that shouldn't have the right to be fitting together fits very well. For example--not to be a spoiler, but :D--later on we shall find out that Shavara Minos is the evil/cruel instructor from Listhan's childhood. That just kind of happened in itself. I had added Shavara in because I liked his name and because Bladewing didn't seem like the type of person to be running the operation by himself, and also I liked the idea of Bladewing as a mercenary/assasin/thief kind of thing, and he needed someone who hired him or to whom he reported. And then I had the mirror scene and I wondered, oo, how does this creepy short guy with golden eyes know Listhan Avres? At the same time I was thinking about what makes up a character and how, if they have had an abusive past, they should show signs of it when the opportunity presents itself--Morghan does whenever they talk about love, especially around Darok ist Navamor, and it makes things awkward with Listhan because she is in love with him but she is afraid of him and she doesn't know yet that she's in love with him. Now Listhan had an abusive mental past, meaning that he was totally immersed in pessimism and depression and decay and then he had an epiphany in the woods, kinda made a dealio with Ceolene, and she saved him from his darkness--but he needed a reason for it. hence, an abusive teacher--I mean, he beat Listhan and made him work dark magic, made him cast spells that involve those big black icky candles and lots of blood and usually don't do good for other people, and he controlled Listhan until Listhan escaped from him. But Listhan, who is sturdy and strong and in charge, kind of like Dium becomes, never has the chance to show this abuse. I figure when he comes once more in contact with Shavara Minos it will come out naturally--a deep fear, an anger, hatred, pain, almost losing sight of his blinding Ceolene epiphany kinda thing.
See what I mean about brainstorming? I also did this earlier:
New things left to do section:
Court life/darok proposal
Preparation for solstice
Morghan kidnap/drawn away
Listhan chases her, shavara minos/bladewing/drawing out of potion scene, spell, and failure, battleness and Morghan gains her powers
Morghan as a mage
Morghan returns to Mvon Terr/Mven Terr/ +listhan love scene
Then what? I don't know how to connect this to the ultimate finale
Ultimate finale--morghan has to choose between chaos+ ceolene, but why choose b/c both the same? Kinda thing, cease fire.
Elaborate on/fix battles between gods. WHY is chaos doing what he is doing? Both sides need to be understandable/evoke empathy in the reader
Chaos is a rebel/outcast, trying to seek revenge upon the other for their actions of casting him out, they all think they are so different, each thinks the other is evil.
Only morghan, of both worlds, can see that they are the same, and that it is their people that can become evil, and so end the fightingness kinda aura.
What becomes of Morghan? And who dies? I think Morghan+Listhan return to Mven Terr for happy life, thus clearing the way for a sequel in which he goes missing and she has to find him, or ceolene goes missing, he goes searching for her, she has to find him kind of thing. Then he dies? Then somebody dies.
Maybe in this book he doesn't have to die. The natural thing is for him to find his peace and be let rest, but maybe it can be an emphasis on, "my life will be easier to live to have an equal, to have someone to live it with me," kinda thing
Does ceolene die? Fade away because so weak-- I've imagined her as becoming so very weak and fragile, like a shell, because she gives and gives until she can hardly be.
Maybe Ceolene and chaos fight to the point of exhaustion, then embrace each other into death and from their union birth a whole and a new realm--I kinda like that idea--that would make a good ending to the ultimate conclusion.
But that doesn't explain why these two in particular--I mean, I can understand Chaos as the god of technology found no solace in the world of Mven Terr, but why is Ceolene the ultimate powerful person? Kinda like gaia, but why is she that way? Why do I have her that way? Why is she like Tasiha? I have reasons for Tasiha and light and dark, good and bad, demosen--but not ceolene. Why is she the kinda queen of the gods and why is she the head of the gods and yet why is she so weak, and yet why can she be the only person who can counter chaos?
Oh because technology is countered by magick, and one cannot survive without the other, so they separated and are being torn apart by each others' absences and they need each other in order to exist together without the degradation that it eventually brings
technology=degradation of traditions, magick=degradation of progress, together there is both progress and tradition--both past and future--together everything works. Apart, the world is falling apart, thus, wars and famine and disease and shavara minos on Mven Terr, and all the hell going on upon Mvon Terr.
Nothing new in the area of writing, except the original Tbook just hit 250 pages, about 75k or more, I don't remember right now. Next week is finals, and I have to study, and I also have 15 scholarships due in January--in addition to college apps and essays. Stupid essays. Stupid apps. ARGH!
Thursday, December 04, 2003
UPDATE: Actually, if you want to drop me a note, my GUESTBOOK is now up and running. Check out the link on the side and leave me a note! yay...
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Hey, if anybody happens to be randomly reading this... drop me a note and let me know how good/bad it is. KasKade113@aol.com. Also, if you have difficulties accessing the beginning of the story (the bottom line of the page should make reference to 1,000 word English papers and a wee bit of Bwahahaness) try messing with the archiving links on the side...
*nod*
Monday, December 01, 2003
Word count as of 10:15 pm 12/1/03.... 56,812.
I know we aren't counting any more, but I like to keep myself updated. Wow. that's a heck load of words. Almost 200 pages, and still a long ways to go.
People swarmed around them—servants scurrying this way and that, hundreds and hundreds of people sliding past each other, bowing and curtseying and nodding and calling greetings in a racket that almost hurt Morghan’s ears. It had been almost two weeks since she had last been among so many people, in New York City, and never had it been such a muddle and mess as this was.
In an instant she was lost in the press of people all around her—bodies on all sides, so much cloth and jewelry that she gagged at the gaudiness of it. She searched desperately for Listhan, but she could not find him with all the backs and fronts presented to her.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and whirled. There was Listhan. He smiled down at her, scrunching up his eyes. “Stay close! It’s a mess in here whenever Darok ist Navamor first returns,” he called above the ruckus, and she nodded. He made his way through the crowd—it parted before him and closed behind him in a wake of bodies around his gigantic form. Morghan struggled to keep from losing him again, pushing her way through the people until finally they reached a corridor where they could breathe.
Listhan hurried on, free of the encumbrances of others, and Morghan strode quickly along beside him. They passed into the depths of the confectionary palace, up a staircase, through several doors, along different corridors, and eventually they stopped before a large dark oak door carved with strange symbols.
Listhan let the saddle bag and his huge drawstring pouch drop to the ground. He placed one hand, the bandaged one, on the door handle, and allowed the other to rapidly trace the patterns around the door. Magick glistened briefly at his fingertips—he whispered a glowing word.
The door opened soundlessly, and Listhan bent quickly to gather up his belongings. “Come in, please, Morghan. These are my quarters. There’s a couple of guest bedrooms off to the right. I hope you’ll choose to sleep there instead of an inn or the palace quest quarters.”
“I’ve no money,” said Morghan, stepping into the airy room with caution. It reminded her briefly of Mihnol’s palace, so wide were the windows that let in streaming sunlight. “How could I sleep in an inn?”
“Shorka gave you money. It’s in the bag.” He had strode across the room towards the bed and now he peeled the black robe from his shoulders, hanging it up on a hook in the wall. Then he proceeded to upend the bags upon his bed and place his few belongings—a process he accomplished by throwing the items as hard as he could at the wall. They swerved slightly just before they hit and settled into their proper positions. Morghan watched him with an open mouth, ducking occasionally.
“Sorry,” he said. “Go see if any of the rooms will work.”
She complied. The first bedroom was lavishly done in pink silk—she choked at the sight of it and hurried to the next, to find it designed around comfortable white cotton. Two huge windows opened up above the garden.
The apple trees were in full bloom, and she breathed deeply of the fragrance-filled air, and smiled.
“Will this work?”
She turned quickly. Listhan stood in the doorway, watching her, his mismatched eyes amused slightly.
“Of course. How long should I stay here?”
“Well, until the summer solstice, at the very least. Afterwards… I don’t know. We shall think of that then. By that time you may desire to return to Mvon Terr.”
Morghan thought suddenly of home. Her apartment. Her B.S. hanging on the wall, the smooth countertops and the plain fridge, the tired chairs and table. The broken coffeemaker and the alarm clock that still worked. Electricity pulsing in the walls. The crackling of the television. Her own bed and her own blankets and her own safe home.
The streets of New York City sprawled in her mind, crowded with people she loved and didn’t yet know—a swarming mass of people, vivid and vivacious all around her with life and living. Buses and cars and streetlights swarmed in a blur in her vision, pulsing and changing. The days passed.
She had never thought of her apartment as home before—just a house, just a place to live. But now—now she missed it. She missed even the creaking and groaning of the old steps and the bad breath of the tenant who lived just above her in the rickety structure. She missed the lab—the cool press of glass test tubes in her hands, the bubbling and churning of strange liquids, the constant, semi-edgy risk of fire at all times, the crisp folds of a white lab coat gentle on her shoulders. She missed the computers and the light bulbs, the street cars and police men, the telephones and the blatant advertisements everywhere. She missed them, and she wanted to call them home.
Perhaps it was only because she had no home that she labeled the apartment her home. Her parents were long gone. The home she had built with Raphael—she shuddered and skipped that thought. There was no place that was her own. Especially not here, in Mven Terr. Only the apartment seemed to be her own.
She turned her gaze briefly back to the garden below, and sighed.
***************
“Well?” asked Shavara Minos in a hiss just by Bladewing’s ear.
Bladewing jumped, startled, and all but fell out of the tree in which he crouched, half slumbering, above the camp of mercenary bandits. He scrambled briefly for a purchase on the rough bark and turned his head. Two glistening golden eyes focused upon him. He gulped. “My lord, I’ve—I’ve found them. And I’m… I know how to get them.”
“But you haven’t yet gotten them.”
“Yes, my lord, but you must understand—the longer we have hold of the girl, or Listhan Avres, the more damage he can inflict. Therefore—please, my lord, I have an idea.” He cringed slightly.
The golden eyes regarded him momentarily. “What idea do you have, Bladewing?”
“I—I propose that we wait until the day of the solstice itself—or at earliest late in the evening before—to capture them both.”
Shavara snorted. “An excellent idea. Vapid and empty and,” Bladewing was cringing, “Right on track. HOW do you propose to capture them, Bladewing? Give me specifics.”
Bladewing gave them, and the mage listened.
And Shavara Minos smiled.
*************
Morghan woke early the next day in a strange bed to the chirrups of birds. She sat up quickly in the four-poster bed and scrambled to the window to gaze at the garden beneath it, and laughed to see birds chasing themselves amongst the trees. Then she went to the nearby basin and scrubbed her arms and her face with cold water. Through one door she found a small bathroom, and she went in and bathed herself in the lukewarm water that was somehow strangely pumped up through the floor.
She toweled herself dry and dressed in a dark pair of trousers and another one of the lace up shirts, this one in dark maroon. She found an old rag and ripped it into strips, then tied her hair back in a strict ponytail, though the curls frayed out vigorously around the edges.
She knocked on the door that led to Listhan’s room.
“Come in, Morghan,” he called, somewhat muffled, and she complied. She found him seated at a table while a servant spread tray upon tray of breakfast before him. He grimaced at the feast and waved Morghan to join him. She did.
The servant bowed deeply to her, produced an extra place, and disappeared out the door.
“Gods,” said Listhan, and leant his good elbow on the table, burying his face in his hands. “Look at all this.”
“No, no,” said Morghan. “You eat, not look.”
Listhan groaned into his hands. Morghan helped herself to a piece of toast and began to eat. He was right—there was far too much food on the table.
“They think just because I’m a big man that I need to eat big,” Listhan told her through his large palms.
“Do you?”
Listhan laughed, a bit bitterly.
She grinned. “Well, come on. The cook—the cook likes to feed people, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, she does. Her name is Hierier.”
“She’s just trying to help you. She wants you to keep up your strength. Right?”
“Right,” mumbled Listhan automatically, and Morghan knew the cook had told him those exact words.
She grinned again, and offered him a papaya. “So, eat!”
He took his face from his hands. His complexion was pale. He let his eyes trace over the food, and his skin went slightly green. He lurched to his feet and stumbled across the room to the washroom, where he vomited forcefully into the basin.
He returned a few minutes later after washing his face and went to the door to his room, peering out into the hallway.
Someone muttered something.
“Yes, thank you. Could you ask Abol to come join me? Don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping, but if he isn’t… thank you.” Listhan came back inside, not looking at the table.
“Are you all right?” Morghan queried.
“I’m fine. I’m just… not… I don’t eat in the morning. Thanks.” He shrugged.
She shrugged as well. “Fine by me. I hope you don’t mind if I do. I’m starved.”
He chuckled. “Eat away.” He waved a hand extravagantly at the feast.
She did, and the minutes ticked away. Listhan sat down at his desk, massaging his broken arm, waiting. Finally there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Listhan called, and he leaned back on the stool and waved a hand at the door to open it.
A small man, short and wiry, stepped into the room. He had thick silver hair shining in great waves about his small head, like a mane, and he wore a pair of iron-rimmed wire spectacles that were slightly crooked and dwarfed his small gray eyes. He wore a richly embroidered purple robe that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. “Mage Listhan!” he said with pleasure, throwing wide his arms in an extravagant gesture. “You’ve returned! Excellent.”
“Yes, Abol, I’m back,” said Listhan, rising hurriedly from his seat to return the man’s hug. “Oh! Careful!” The caution came after the man squeezed too hardily with his thin bony frame on Listhan’s broken arm.
Abol readjusted his spectacles with one hand and focused on the affected limb. “What did you do to yourself?”
Listhan grinned. “I got into a staff-fight.”
“Hm,” said the man, his eyes glittering. “Hm.”
Listhan looked up sharply at him from his seat—though truth be told, Listhan’s huge form seated was just as tall as Abol’s form standing. “Did you chart the solstice?”
“Yes, yes, I did. And we’re in luck—there will be an eclipse that same day.” The man’s gaze never left Listhan’s arm.
Listhan grinned. “I thought as much. That’s why Mihoukatani was in such a hurry to get it done on time. This is the perfect year.”
“I don’t think that the arm will detract from the spell,” said Abol after a moment’s silence.
Listhan sighed deeply and nodded in relief. “Good. I was worried.”
“The eclipse will be in the early hours of the morning.” The other man’s eyes glittered. “I’ve always liked late nights. This should be one of them. You have the potion?”
“There is a complication,” said Listhan.
Abol straightened suddenly and looked at the mage with large, rounded eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Morghan, I would like you to meet Abol Thibsnark, a fellow mage and an astronomer. He’s been helping me in the… em… project. Abol, this is Morghan Farishel.”
They greeted each other cordially but with wary eyes. Listhan went on. “Abol, I am going to need an awakening potion—one that will rouse power from beneath the surface or bring an old spell back into affect.”
Abol glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?” He adjusted the glasses upon his nose.
“It spilled.” Abol went deathly pale. “On her.” Listhan pointed with one finger. “And I can only hope that we can draw it out of her. It shall have to be worked into the proceedings of the day.”
Abol glanced at Morghan, and a look of irritation crossed his face. He leant towards Listhan and began to mutter. “How could you have let it spill? And on somebody—“
“Better on somebody than into the dirt of that planet,” hissed Listhan.
“What, you mean—it spilled there? Not here?” Abol went pale again. “Then she must be—a creature of—“
Listhan lifted a hand and cut him off. “Don’t say it.”
“What, would you try to deny it by not hearing the words? She is a creature of chaos, Listhan. And you brought her here?”
“It was the only way I could access the potion!” Listhan was getting slightly angry.
“How can you trust her? You know what that place is like—you of all people know! You’ve been there! You know that you cannot trust those people—they lie, they connive, they act only in their best interests—“
“That’s enough.” Listhan’s voice was loud and cold, and it brought Abol up short. The smaller man stared at the larger. “I know what you have suffered at their hands, Abol. I know you lost your family to the Lord Chaos’ raiders. But you can hardly hold one woman responsible for all of Chaos’ actions, when she is hardly tied to him at all save that she came from his realms! You cannot let your prejudice demolish this project. It is too important—far too vital—for such trivialities. You know that. I know that. We both do. Put aside the past, Abol. Work for the future.”
Abol held Listhan’s mismatched eyes until he could no longer meet that mixed gaze, and he turned away. His own gray gaze fell upon Morghan, and he scowled briefly, and Morghan knew—knew because she heard their words when she was sure she wasn’t supposed to—knew because of the way he glared—that he did not forgive her for the actions that were not of her doing. She swallowed, and held that cloudy pair of eyes.
Right now I'm calling this guide Sgeam, but I think he really might be Erialk. I added him at first right after I saw LotR: RotK. *snicker*. because I'm obsessed with Aragorn and Viggo Mortenson. *drools*
then I decided I really should have him. I like the idea of him being Erialk--meaning that he eventually becomes head of guard at Kiral and somehow in charge of either all of City Security or more of an espionage sort of thing. I'm not sure yet.
The problem is I don't know what he looks like.
I have a similar problem for Jerelet, Ialio, and a smattering of others. I don't visualize them enough. They live in my head so they exist naturally... but trying to put them down on paper seems just to not work.
It's nice to lay out what I'm working on. It helps me organize my thoughts. Pity it's not tied at all to BoW. I refuse to start a blog for Tbook1, as I call the books with Tasiha. That kind of story needs to stay that way--MY story, not finished, not ready, and certainly not available on the internet.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
At this point in time, readers are probably wondering who the heck this Tasiha is.
Tasiha is my favorite main character. As you can see, she is rather special. She starts off as a foundling in a village somewhere, and a traveling mage, Ialio, discovers that she has magick--that she, too, is a mage.
Ialio is a member of the council of mages based in Kiral, the capital city of the planet Ceribthien, which really hasn't yet formed into nations (actually it, might, and it should... I shall have to think about that). Ceribthien is also a twin planet--it is tied to the planet Tetholnia in much the same manner as Mven Terr and Mvon Terr are linked. Instead of a dark blazing wind passage between the worlds, however, there is a strange semi-portal from the Isle of the Gods on Tetholnia that leads to the main continent on Ceribthien. At this point in the story, this is the only access between the two planets. It is a Rainbow Bridge--a bridge on which they travel that exists in a world that is solely like the sky. so, clouds, stars, blue all around, above, below, all around.
Now theoretically, Ceribthien is tied in a similar manner to every planet in existence throughout the universe. I'm not sure why, but it is.
The council of mages in Kiral manages and runs Kiral, Ceribthien, Tetholnia, and pretty much all of the universe. Think of it as the E.E.U.U.'s Senate, House of Representatives, Supreme Court, and President all at once. Of course, the court system is a *little* separate, and there is a Mage Council, who is the most powerful of the mages and thus their leader, who runs those who run the place.
There.
Now.
I forgot to mention that this is all backdropped by the idea that the world and the universe as we know it exist as a gigantic battle between Light and change and Dark and permanence. Got it? Good.
There.
Now.
Ialio and the other mages of the council were instructed by the current Mage Council, Siitlyn, to journey throughout the worlds and find newly-granted or -born mages to come to Kiral and train at the brand spankin new university of magick.
Ialio is traveling along and he finally finds a student--this foundling, Tasiha, who has no recollection of her parents at all, nor anything before the moment she was found. She is also the village childrens' scapegoat, kinda. Ialio discovers that she has magick, and so she joins him in his journey.
They travel. They are about to cross a river and Tasiha somehow notices something. She warns everyone off of the bridge they are on. Then the river swells, and a half rotted dead tree gets pushed downstream. She stops the river, Ialio saves an old man from the bridge, and then the tree blasts the bridge to splinters. Tasiha is thrown from her horse and loses consciousness.
This is no big deal--a trained mage can do this kind of thing with ease and ability and good memorized skills. But the problem is--Tasiha has never learned this kind of spell. Ialio teaches her one spell--a spell to shield herself. Without learning this new spell, she casts it.
This is a very peculiar thing. Mages of this day and age tend to think of spells as certain steps, moves, articles, words that are required to make things happen. Tasiha knows better. She thinks about, and uses, her magick as it really is--an incandescent flow at her fingertips. She creates spells with this ethereal stuff, and the words, articles, steps, moves that are required come naturally in the spell. This is the start to a whole new era of magick.
Anyway... they travel. They go to Atiktha, the capital of Hirune, and search for mages there. They find three. One is the daughter of the king. She is an excellent mage and really needs to attend school to improve her powers. They argue with the king a bit and she gets to go along (her name is Jerelet). Tasiha makes a tree grow. Again, realize she hasn't learned this spell, and theoretically, in this day and age, doing a spell without knowing it is unheard of.
They search and find a pair of youth, twin mages (boys). These boys, Evirix and Vanad, go with them. They head for a port to return to the Isle of the Gods and Kiral.
They ride on the boat. Tasiha falls in (actually she jumps). Then there is the scene you see below. Then--joyous reunion, etc.
They make it to the western continent, and spend some nights traveling for the next city along their route. On the way, as they are riding through a snowy forest, they are attacked by raiders. Ialio is knocked from his horse, unconscious. Jerelet, who is a warrior-mage, cannot fight them all. Evirix and Vanad are hardly more than children.
Tasiha can do nothing. She freezes. She sits on her horse and then one of the raiders comes up to her with an arrow in hand and grins. She sees that he is about to kill her--that Jerelet is about to be killed, and Ialio, and the twins.
She does nothing. She casts no spell.
But the whole world around her recognizes in her a cry for help.
The stars in the sky stream bright all above, flashing, like a meteor shower. The wind picks up in an instant. The trees lash about violently, so much so that they bend and bash a few raiders into the earth. Wolves come howling from the surrounding woods to drive the men off.
The mages pick themselves up, kind of awestruck, and move on. They reach the coast, travel to the Isle of the Gods, and then use the Rainbow Bridge. There are a couple of obstacles. The last is a Guardian of the bridge. He is blind, strong--asks "Who would pass?"
Ialio says, "I, Ialio, a Mage of the Council in Kiral, would pass." He is allowed because he is a mage and a councilor.
Jerelet and Vanad and Evirix all also pass, as Ialio's students. As soon as they pass him they are off the bridge and onto Ceribthien.
Tasiha says, "I, Tasiha, would pass," and the Guardian kneels before her and proclaims that she is a great lady, blahdeeblahdeeblah... this is all stuff I haven't written yet, after the part with the sea. Just stuff I'm planning on writing. so it sounds a little crummy yet. Oh well.
Whatever. She goes to Kiral, studies, learns at the University, excels. She is a good enough student to be invited to join the council, temporarily.
Eventually she walks out over the ocean, and a palace appears there. She goes inside. She feels at home. She walks around.
She talks to someone who is herself at the same time, and they agree that she will become all powerful and all suffering. They become one, and she changes.
Then she returns to Kiral and kicks major dark booty.
The end? nah. I don't feel good. No more writing.
Words, words, beautiful words. In a dark and hurried moment, all time halted with a slap of skin, and in that meager space of existence there was nothing--nothing at all, vacancy so poignant it burned the mind.
Tasiha slid through the water, self propelled by the flipping motions of the fins she had grown and gulping in the water as air through the gills she had added to make this journey easier--but at the same time the water took her, engulfed her, surrounded her, and made her one with it. Her hair flowed freely in the water behind her as she sank deeper and deeper into the depths of the Eastern Ocean.
Here there were thousands of sights and smells and sounds she had never heard before. She listened, swimming silently, hearing the slip of bodies through the deep, hearing the tiny crashes above as birds broke the immensely distant surface, hearing the hiss of air bubbles from some point infinitely below her. And to her ears came also a blazing, keening, moaning sound. She looked around, and it came from the hugest bulk she had ever seen--a creature fully three times as large as the boat that had once carried her body. This giant creature was crying--was singing! and in the tumultuous flow of its voice as ripples through the liquid around her, she danced, and sang with it, her voice lifted in an equal and quieter, similar cry.
There came tiny echoes of her response from behind her, ricocheting from the massive wall of coral that loomed overhead.
Bidden, almost, by that immeasurable bulk above and the silence filled with infinity all around her, she began to swim--down. She descended past the coral, watching the vibrant bodies of fish and eels and all sorts of living creatures--each a singing, humming, vivacious presence in her mind. Why did she know them? she knew them all, as if they were her friends. She felt as she had felt when she had been back living in the village, with Mai--how she had felt towards the animals. She had sworn that she had known every squirrel and rabbit and each tree, leaf, and root. Here it was the same--as if she identified with each tip of coral, swirling anemonie ((sp????)), each scaled or slippery fish.
She sank lower--lower and lower, until she could hardly see. The surface was far, far above her--a distant source of light. Here, there was darkness--as if the water around her had been tinted with ink. She floated on. Things began to glow, to provide random translucent brilliant outlines of light in the darkness.
She sank. Time passed, and if she thought she had been in darkness before, she was wrong. Before had been noonday compared to this world. Here there was nothing except ebony. Not even the infinitely distant surface was visible here. It was as if she were in a dream, such was the world that existed--except not a dream. Smooth, silent, quiet, invisible slumber--as if her eyes were shut and she slept, heavily. That was the extent of the darkness around her.
After a while, she let herself hang in the eternal depths of the blazing darkness around her, and she existed, out of time, away from earth, unfeeling and alone, silent and strong, wondering, waiting, dreaming, sleeping--all within her mind.
There came, perhaps from above, a tiny, distorted, distant echo of the note she had sung in unison with the giant creature near the surface. She heard it.
She listened carefully to it, and for a long time she listened to the silence--reading it, hearing it, redefining it within her heart. She listened.
And with a silent thrust of water, she began to rise.
For a long time there was nothing as the ebony expanse drifted by her, and for a moment she doubted her own motions. But she thrust on, and after a while those tiny creatures began to glow, again, all around her as she rose.
And she rose, rose onwards into the blazing light of the world around her. And above her was the surface. Something bumped her elbow--a creature. A dolphin. She recognized it from a book.
Another one nudged her from the other side and squeed gently.
She stretched out both of her hands to either side.
They shot past her, their dorsal fins catching under her fingers and she rose and rose onwards into the light with them, rapidly, immensely fast, the water streaming around them until she laughed aloud for the sheer joy and the pleasure of the actions, and she broke surface.
In an instant she changed--got rid of the gills. She breathed deeply of the bright and burning air, and looked around her.
There was no sign of the ship.
But the water whisered to her as it moved around her, and she allowed the dolphins to take her once more by the arms. Together, they chased after the history of the currents and the wake of the ship.
***********
Ialio sat upon one of the benches, watching Jerelet as she worked with the twins on his latest lesson--sensing magickally.
The boys were trying to pick different colored objects out of her hands.
The objects shifted color at random, as Jerelet so chose.
Ialio sighed. As they had so often in the past three days, his thoughts returned to Tasiha.
Why? Why? He begged the question of Light in his mind, but there was no response, and this only served to remind him bitterly of the separation he had sensed in his dreams. Why was it Tasiha who had to be taken away from me?
He could not have stomached the thought of losing Jerelet--she was such a strong mage, and a good mage, and her father would strangle him. And he would be tormented forever if he had lost one of the twins--for one to have to exist without the other would have made them go mad.
But Tasiha...
Losing Tasiha left such a gapping hole in his chest that he could hardly keep from weeping. It was as if there was no longer any sunlight in the world. Never mind that it was streaming bright and glistening upon the water today--it no longer was. It didn't matter anymore.
He wanted to give up.
He wanted to take the other three mages to Kiral, drop them off at the university, and then find a knife somewhere and take it to his flesh--or follow her into the deep.
He didn't even want to take the mages to Kiral, but at this point in time, he knew he must. He could not abandon all of them. This was all that kept him living--their presence.
Jerelet glanced warily at her instructor, and swallowed hard. He smiled at her--a pathetic attempt at a smile, sad and small. It did little to reassure her.
He rose with a sigh and went to the prow of the ship, where the captain stood at the wheel. He watched the man for a while.
There came splashs from the side of the ship, and, curious, Ialio went to the rail and looked at the water.
There were dolphins, splashing along, hopping and jumping in the crests of the wake left by the fast-moving ship.
"They be like to play," said Emppsol *nkajdlfja NOTE: emppsol is also ship captain akjdflj*.
"So I've heard," said Ialio. "I didn't know they liked ships."
"They usually be less like to come near us, but they like the waves we make. They be very intelligent beasts, fer fish."
Ialio nodded absently in annoyance--he didn't want to spend half an hour explaining that they were not fish to a man wh spent all his time at sea.
The wind grew low, and the sails stopped their bellowing. The captain sighed, and squinted at the sky. "Blast. I hoped we'd have a good breeze the whole trip." The ship had slowed considerably due to the lack of wind, and Ialio slumped to a bench and stared down at the water as it slowly passed him by. They drifted.
The dolphins had left when the ship had slowed. The day passed, and he grew tired, and hot from the sun.
*now... how to do this. I can do it abruptly, as in she climbs over the side, or they haul her up or something, or she can signal to them or something... maybe I'll try that.*
Ialio squinted ahead of the ship. "What's that?" He pointed. There was some form of pale jetsam floating in the water.
The captain squinted. He frowned. He hollered for the first mate. "There do be pirates out here sometimes. Sometimes they be like to burn a ship and leave behind wreakage. We try to take it on if it be useful."
Several of the crew came running up. Ialio watched distractedly, and closed his eyes after a while. The heat made his eyelids so heavy, he could hardly keep them open at times. He listened to the commotion from the crowd of sailors. They murmured to themselves, and the murmur got louder and louder as the object approached.
"--cross-legged--"
"I donna believe it--"
"--That be--"
"--like a mermaid--"
"--Jes sittin' there--"
Ialio opened his eyes, and stood. He lurched to the side of the ship like a man drunk with too much sun.
Tasiha sat an inch above the water, her eyes closed, her legs crossed, her hands resting in her lap. When she bumped against the ship, her eyes flew open. She looked around her, then looked up, and smiled at the ship.
"There you are!" she called. "I've been looking for you."
*chapter break*
A rope was thrown down, and Tasiha caught hold of it and pulled herself up. When she reached the deck, she looked around, and smiled again.
Before she could speak, Ialio had let out a strangled cry and caught her up in a rough, huge hug.
She gasped as her ribs creaked. "Steady, Mage Ialio," she gasped.
He put her down. "Don't you ever, EVER do that again!"
"Do what?" She stared at him.
He threw up his arms, and as his robe flapped uncomfortably around her, he noticed for the first time that she was naked--her hair was draped over her in an effort at modesty, but it was inadequate.
He stopped, flushed, and dragged his eyes away from her, then whipped the robe off his shoulders and settled it on hers.
She grinned. "Thanks."
It's two hours from my chem exam and I'm on my blog, adding whatever the hell I feel like adding.
My two friends/study buddies went to a bar because they said they needed to wind down.
I don't think they're alcoholics.
But I don't approve.
But that's just me. I can't expect them to have my same values. And they were really tense.
Still, it's no excuse. Take up yoga, guys.
I'm using a lot of yoga techniques by now. I'm a little nervous for this final. It'll be my first college final, and I think I need at least a C to get an A in the class. I hope I can get a C. Knowing half of the questions won't do anything.
Although I did study a little, and I'm starting to remember things more. I'm just pissed, because my first friend really needs help studying. She wants to do it--she wants to learn. We were doing fine, studying, the two of us. Then this other friend came and all she wants to do is gripe about how the teacher is a poor teacher, and she doesn't want to LEARN, she just wants to do and get the hell over with. And the first friend starts to lose focus and stops caring about studying for learning.
Studying has to be an ongoing activity. It can't be cramming for a test unless the cramming is review of what you know, and making sure you know it.
It's the difference between doing the practice problems for the answers and thinking your way through the practice problems for the theory and knowledge behind it. If the first friend were to study with me all the time, I could help her build the skills and the knowledge needed so that she can know what she's doing, why she's doing it, and what she could do if she gets a tough problem. I can help her understand.
But friend number two is too worried about--Let's just do this, let's just get it done and do this, try this, who cares why. WRONG! it's all about the why and how, not the what and the when and the who. The why and the how are the only ways a person can survive on a test, because no matter how many times you practice a problem, you need to learn how to apply that to other problems, because what you study will not be the same as what you do on the test. But it'll be similar.
Wow, that's enough of a rant for today. I needed to let off some steam. At least I won't do it by drinking.
I really like these guys. They teach me a lot. It's kind of strange to watch and see how different they are, and how different I am.
Oh well. I want to be writing.
Everything's all jumbled in my head. I want to write Dium and Listhan Avres and Ialio and Tasiha and Shavara Minos and Ajabin and everything all at once. I want to write--I wish I could just take off of school, and work, and life, and sit down and write and write and write until my fingers started bleeding. It would be such a release for me.
I live in my head. I exist in my mind. Mostly because the world around me is too drab, and the one in my head is so much more exciting. If I could spend all my time writing and daydreaming, which is the same thing as writing minus the computer, I would be totally happy. Unfortunately, I can't. Unfortunately, I have a life to live, and unfortunately, that life can't be as Morghan Farishel--as much as I want it to be.
Tasiha. Tasiha Tasiha Tasiha. I found out that her name is an actual word in some Indian dialect--I think it means like, 'the foot bone of a deer.' It's some sort of game or something. WAH! I was so original, and it is such a beautiful name. I love it. I don't think I can abandon it. Not for just that one little translation issue.
Oh well.
I'm hungry, but I'm so fricking fat. I hate it. I'm like, 200 lbs--no lie!. I want to lose weight. I want to be athletic and STRONG.
but I'm still hungry.
I'm tired, too. I should probably curl up and take a nap. I wish--I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish-- I could be writing. Writing Tasiha and Ialio, because that's the story that seems to be the basis for all the other ones that I'm working on at this point in time. If I can start and finish it, I can do everything. I can tie in Demosen, Dium, Iajlin, Tiakal, Gerrove, even Willowstar, maybe even Ajabin and Listhan Avres and Ceolene and Morghan Farishel.
Although the last four is a probable no because their worlds are different.
I think I'll go take a nap.
Friday, December 12, 2003
hm... Well I can't seem to write tonight. I'm online; I'm trying to get into the classes I want at NH, but they are all full--the only two classes I want that fit into my schedule. So I'm trying over and over again because today was tuition-due day and people will be dropped from their classes, but it doesn't look like it's opening up. so waah. I need a calc, and there is one that fits, but not with the rockin cool teacher, and there are NO open biology i s at ALL, so that's just screwed... worst comes to worst I'll end up taking historical geology and the crummy teacher calc... but it's free, so I don't care.
Although I can't write tonight, I've been brainstorming. This is vital for me when I'm planning my books, because I wonder about connecting things and making things make sense. In general, with BoW (book of whispers... yeah), a lot of stuff that shouldn't have the right to be fitting together fits very well. For example--not to be a spoiler, but :D--later on we shall find out that Shavara Minos is the evil/cruel instructor from Listhan's childhood. That just kind of happened in itself. I had added Shavara in because I liked his name and because Bladewing didn't seem like the type of person to be running the operation by himself, and also I liked the idea of Bladewing as a mercenary/assasin/thief kind of thing, and he needed someone who hired him or to whom he reported. And then I had the mirror scene and I wondered, oo, how does this creepy short guy with golden eyes know Listhan Avres? At the same time I was thinking about what makes up a character and how, if they have had an abusive past, they should show signs of it when the opportunity presents itself--Morghan does whenever they talk about love, especially around Darok ist Navamor, and it makes things awkward with Listhan because she is in love with him but she is afraid of him and she doesn't know yet that she's in love with him. Now Listhan had an abusive mental past, meaning that he was totally immersed in pessimism and depression and decay and then he had an epiphany in the woods, kinda made a dealio with Ceolene, and she saved him from his darkness--but he needed a reason for it. hence, an abusive teacher--I mean, he beat Listhan and made him work dark magic, made him cast spells that involve those big black icky candles and lots of blood and usually don't do good for other people, and he controlled Listhan until Listhan escaped from him. But Listhan, who is sturdy and strong and in charge, kind of like Dium becomes, never has the chance to show this abuse. I figure when he comes once more in contact with Shavara Minos it will come out naturally--a deep fear, an anger, hatred, pain, almost losing sight of his blinding Ceolene epiphany kinda thing.
See what I mean about brainstorming? I also did this earlier:
New things left to do section:
Court life/darok proposal
Preparation for solstice
Morghan kidnap/drawn away
Listhan chases her, shavara minos/bladewing/drawing out of potion scene, spell, and failure, battleness and Morghan gains her powers
Morghan as a mage
Morghan returns to Mvon Terr/Mven Terr/ +listhan love scene
Then what? I don't know how to connect this to the ultimate finale
Ultimate finale--morghan has to choose between chaos+ ceolene, but why choose b/c both the same? Kinda thing, cease fire.
Elaborate on/fix battles between gods. WHY is chaos doing what he is doing? Both sides need to be understandable/evoke empathy in the reader
Chaos is a rebel/outcast, trying to seek revenge upon the other for their actions of casting him out, they all think they are so different, each thinks the other is evil.
Only morghan, of both worlds, can see that they are the same, and that it is their people that can become evil, and so end the fightingness kinda aura.
What becomes of Morghan? And who dies? I think Morghan+Listhan return to Mven Terr for happy life, thus clearing the way for a sequel in which he goes missing and she has to find him, or ceolene goes missing, he goes searching for her, she has to find him kind of thing. Then he dies? Then somebody dies.
Maybe in this book he doesn't have to die. The natural thing is for him to find his peace and be let rest, but maybe it can be an emphasis on, "my life will be easier to live to have an equal, to have someone to live it with me," kinda thing
Does ceolene die? Fade away because so weak-- I've imagined her as becoming so very weak and fragile, like a shell, because she gives and gives until she can hardly be.
Maybe Ceolene and chaos fight to the point of exhaustion, then embrace each other into death and from their union birth a whole and a new realm--I kinda like that idea--that would make a good ending to the ultimate conclusion.
But that doesn't explain why these two in particular--I mean, I can understand Chaos as the god of technology found no solace in the world of Mven Terr, but why is Ceolene the ultimate powerful person? Kinda like gaia, but why is she that way? Why do I have her that way? Why is she like Tasiha? I have reasons for Tasiha and light and dark, good and bad, demosen--but not ceolene. Why is she the kinda queen of the gods and why is she the head of the gods and yet why is she so weak, and yet why can she be the only person who can counter chaos?
Oh because technology is countered by magick, and one cannot survive without the other, so they separated and are being torn apart by each others' absences and they need each other in order to exist together without the degradation that it eventually brings
technology=degradation of traditions, magick=degradation of progress, together there is both progress and tradition--both past and future--together everything works. Apart, the world is falling apart, thus, wars and famine and disease and shavara minos on Mven Terr, and all the hell going on upon Mvon Terr.
Nothing new in the area of writing, except the original Tbook just hit 250 pages, about 75k or more, I don't remember right now. Next week is finals, and I have to study, and I also have 15 scholarships due in January--in addition to college apps and essays. Stupid essays. Stupid apps. ARGH!
Thursday, December 04, 2003
UPDATE: Actually, if you want to drop me a note, my GUESTBOOK is now up and running. Check out the link on the side and leave me a note! yay...
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Hey, if anybody happens to be randomly reading this... drop me a note and let me know how good/bad it is. KasKade113@aol.com. Also, if you have difficulties accessing the beginning of the story (the bottom line of the page should make reference to 1,000 word English papers and a wee bit of Bwahahaness) try messing with the archiving links on the side...
*nod*
Monday, December 01, 2003
Word count as of 10:15 pm 12/1/03.... 56,812.
I know we aren't counting any more, but I like to keep myself updated. Wow. that's a heck load of words. Almost 200 pages, and still a long ways to go.
People swarmed around them—servants scurrying this way and that, hundreds and hundreds of people sliding past each other, bowing and curtseying and nodding and calling greetings in a racket that almost hurt Morghan’s ears. It had been almost two weeks since she had last been among so many people, in New York City, and never had it been such a muddle and mess as this was.
In an instant she was lost in the press of people all around her—bodies on all sides, so much cloth and jewelry that she gagged at the gaudiness of it. She searched desperately for Listhan, but she could not find him with all the backs and fronts presented to her.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and whirled. There was Listhan. He smiled down at her, scrunching up his eyes. “Stay close! It’s a mess in here whenever Darok ist Navamor first returns,” he called above the ruckus, and she nodded. He made his way through the crowd—it parted before him and closed behind him in a wake of bodies around his gigantic form. Morghan struggled to keep from losing him again, pushing her way through the people until finally they reached a corridor where they could breathe.
Listhan hurried on, free of the encumbrances of others, and Morghan strode quickly along beside him. They passed into the depths of the confectionary palace, up a staircase, through several doors, along different corridors, and eventually they stopped before a large dark oak door carved with strange symbols.
Listhan let the saddle bag and his huge drawstring pouch drop to the ground. He placed one hand, the bandaged one, on the door handle, and allowed the other to rapidly trace the patterns around the door. Magick glistened briefly at his fingertips—he whispered a glowing word.
The door opened soundlessly, and Listhan bent quickly to gather up his belongings. “Come in, please, Morghan. These are my quarters. There’s a couple of guest bedrooms off to the right. I hope you’ll choose to sleep there instead of an inn or the palace quest quarters.”
“I’ve no money,” said Morghan, stepping into the airy room with caution. It reminded her briefly of Mihnol’s palace, so wide were the windows that let in streaming sunlight. “How could I sleep in an inn?”
“Shorka gave you money. It’s in the bag.” He had strode across the room towards the bed and now he peeled the black robe from his shoulders, hanging it up on a hook in the wall. Then he proceeded to upend the bags upon his bed and place his few belongings—a process he accomplished by throwing the items as hard as he could at the wall. They swerved slightly just before they hit and settled into their proper positions. Morghan watched him with an open mouth, ducking occasionally.
“Sorry,” he said. “Go see if any of the rooms will work.”
She complied. The first bedroom was lavishly done in pink silk—she choked at the sight of it and hurried to the next, to find it designed around comfortable white cotton. Two huge windows opened up above the garden.
The apple trees were in full bloom, and she breathed deeply of the fragrance-filled air, and smiled.
“Will this work?”
She turned quickly. Listhan stood in the doorway, watching her, his mismatched eyes amused slightly.
“Of course. How long should I stay here?”
“Well, until the summer solstice, at the very least. Afterwards… I don’t know. We shall think of that then. By that time you may desire to return to Mvon Terr.”
Morghan thought suddenly of home. Her apartment. Her B.S. hanging on the wall, the smooth countertops and the plain fridge, the tired chairs and table. The broken coffeemaker and the alarm clock that still worked. Electricity pulsing in the walls. The crackling of the television. Her own bed and her own blankets and her own safe home.
The streets of New York City sprawled in her mind, crowded with people she loved and didn’t yet know—a swarming mass of people, vivid and vivacious all around her with life and living. Buses and cars and streetlights swarmed in a blur in her vision, pulsing and changing. The days passed.
She had never thought of her apartment as home before—just a house, just a place to live. But now—now she missed it. She missed even the creaking and groaning of the old steps and the bad breath of the tenant who lived just above her in the rickety structure. She missed the lab—the cool press of glass test tubes in her hands, the bubbling and churning of strange liquids, the constant, semi-edgy risk of fire at all times, the crisp folds of a white lab coat gentle on her shoulders. She missed the computers and the light bulbs, the street cars and police men, the telephones and the blatant advertisements everywhere. She missed them, and she wanted to call them home.
Perhaps it was only because she had no home that she labeled the apartment her home. Her parents were long gone. The home she had built with Raphael—she shuddered and skipped that thought. There was no place that was her own. Especially not here, in Mven Terr. Only the apartment seemed to be her own.
She turned her gaze briefly back to the garden below, and sighed.
***************
“Well?” asked Shavara Minos in a hiss just by Bladewing’s ear.
Bladewing jumped, startled, and all but fell out of the tree in which he crouched, half slumbering, above the camp of mercenary bandits. He scrambled briefly for a purchase on the rough bark and turned his head. Two glistening golden eyes focused upon him. He gulped. “My lord, I’ve—I’ve found them. And I’m… I know how to get them.”
“But you haven’t yet gotten them.”
“Yes, my lord, but you must understand—the longer we have hold of the girl, or Listhan Avres, the more damage he can inflict. Therefore—please, my lord, I have an idea.” He cringed slightly.
The golden eyes regarded him momentarily. “What idea do you have, Bladewing?”
“I—I propose that we wait until the day of the solstice itself—or at earliest late in the evening before—to capture them both.”
Shavara snorted. “An excellent idea. Vapid and empty and,” Bladewing was cringing, “Right on track. HOW do you propose to capture them, Bladewing? Give me specifics.”
Bladewing gave them, and the mage listened.
And Shavara Minos smiled.
*************
Morghan woke early the next day in a strange bed to the chirrups of birds. She sat up quickly in the four-poster bed and scrambled to the window to gaze at the garden beneath it, and laughed to see birds chasing themselves amongst the trees. Then she went to the nearby basin and scrubbed her arms and her face with cold water. Through one door she found a small bathroom, and she went in and bathed herself in the lukewarm water that was somehow strangely pumped up through the floor.
She toweled herself dry and dressed in a dark pair of trousers and another one of the lace up shirts, this one in dark maroon. She found an old rag and ripped it into strips, then tied her hair back in a strict ponytail, though the curls frayed out vigorously around the edges.
She knocked on the door that led to Listhan’s room.
“Come in, Morghan,” he called, somewhat muffled, and she complied. She found him seated at a table while a servant spread tray upon tray of breakfast before him. He grimaced at the feast and waved Morghan to join him. She did.
The servant bowed deeply to her, produced an extra place, and disappeared out the door.
“Gods,” said Listhan, and leant his good elbow on the table, burying his face in his hands. “Look at all this.”
“No, no,” said Morghan. “You eat, not look.”
Listhan groaned into his hands. Morghan helped herself to a piece of toast and began to eat. He was right—there was far too much food on the table.
“They think just because I’m a big man that I need to eat big,” Listhan told her through his large palms.
“Do you?”
Listhan laughed, a bit bitterly.
She grinned. “Well, come on. The cook—the cook likes to feed people, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, she does. Her name is Hierier.”
“She’s just trying to help you. She wants you to keep up your strength. Right?”
“Right,” mumbled Listhan automatically, and Morghan knew the cook had told him those exact words.
She grinned again, and offered him a papaya. “So, eat!”
He took his face from his hands. His complexion was pale. He let his eyes trace over the food, and his skin went slightly green. He lurched to his feet and stumbled across the room to the washroom, where he vomited forcefully into the basin.
He returned a few minutes later after washing his face and went to the door to his room, peering out into the hallway.
Someone muttered something.
“Yes, thank you. Could you ask Abol to come join me? Don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping, but if he isn’t… thank you.” Listhan came back inside, not looking at the table.
“Are you all right?” Morghan queried.
“I’m fine. I’m just… not… I don’t eat in the morning. Thanks.” He shrugged.
She shrugged as well. “Fine by me. I hope you don’t mind if I do. I’m starved.”
He chuckled. “Eat away.” He waved a hand extravagantly at the feast.
She did, and the minutes ticked away. Listhan sat down at his desk, massaging his broken arm, waiting. Finally there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Listhan called, and he leaned back on the stool and waved a hand at the door to open it.
A small man, short and wiry, stepped into the room. He had thick silver hair shining in great waves about his small head, like a mane, and he wore a pair of iron-rimmed wire spectacles that were slightly crooked and dwarfed his small gray eyes. He wore a richly embroidered purple robe that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. “Mage Listhan!” he said with pleasure, throwing wide his arms in an extravagant gesture. “You’ve returned! Excellent.”
“Yes, Abol, I’m back,” said Listhan, rising hurriedly from his seat to return the man’s hug. “Oh! Careful!” The caution came after the man squeezed too hardily with his thin bony frame on Listhan’s broken arm.
Abol readjusted his spectacles with one hand and focused on the affected limb. “What did you do to yourself?”
Listhan grinned. “I got into a staff-fight.”
“Hm,” said the man, his eyes glittering. “Hm.”
Listhan looked up sharply at him from his seat—though truth be told, Listhan’s huge form seated was just as tall as Abol’s form standing. “Did you chart the solstice?”
“Yes, yes, I did. And we’re in luck—there will be an eclipse that same day.” The man’s gaze never left Listhan’s arm.
Listhan grinned. “I thought as much. That’s why Mihoukatani was in such a hurry to get it done on time. This is the perfect year.”
“I don’t think that the arm will detract from the spell,” said Abol after a moment’s silence.
Listhan sighed deeply and nodded in relief. “Good. I was worried.”
“The eclipse will be in the early hours of the morning.” The other man’s eyes glittered. “I’ve always liked late nights. This should be one of them. You have the potion?”
“There is a complication,” said Listhan.
Abol straightened suddenly and looked at the mage with large, rounded eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Morghan, I would like you to meet Abol Thibsnark, a fellow mage and an astronomer. He’s been helping me in the… em… project. Abol, this is Morghan Farishel.”
They greeted each other cordially but with wary eyes. Listhan went on. “Abol, I am going to need an awakening potion—one that will rouse power from beneath the surface or bring an old spell back into affect.”
Abol glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?” He adjusted the glasses upon his nose.
“It spilled.” Abol went deathly pale. “On her.” Listhan pointed with one finger. “And I can only hope that we can draw it out of her. It shall have to be worked into the proceedings of the day.”
Abol glanced at Morghan, and a look of irritation crossed his face. He leant towards Listhan and began to mutter. “How could you have let it spill? And on somebody—“
“Better on somebody than into the dirt of that planet,” hissed Listhan.
“What, you mean—it spilled there? Not here?” Abol went pale again. “Then she must be—a creature of—“
Listhan lifted a hand and cut him off. “Don’t say it.”
“What, would you try to deny it by not hearing the words? She is a creature of chaos, Listhan. And you brought her here?”
“It was the only way I could access the potion!” Listhan was getting slightly angry.
“How can you trust her? You know what that place is like—you of all people know! You’ve been there! You know that you cannot trust those people—they lie, they connive, they act only in their best interests—“
“That’s enough.” Listhan’s voice was loud and cold, and it brought Abol up short. The smaller man stared at the larger. “I know what you have suffered at their hands, Abol. I know you lost your family to the Lord Chaos’ raiders. But you can hardly hold one woman responsible for all of Chaos’ actions, when she is hardly tied to him at all save that she came from his realms! You cannot let your prejudice demolish this project. It is too important—far too vital—for such trivialities. You know that. I know that. We both do. Put aside the past, Abol. Work for the future.”
Abol held Listhan’s mismatched eyes until he could no longer meet that mixed gaze, and he turned away. His own gray gaze fell upon Morghan, and he scowled briefly, and Morghan knew—knew because she heard their words when she was sure she wasn’t supposed to—knew because of the way he glared—that he did not forgive her for the actions that were not of her doing. She swallowed, and held that cloudy pair of eyes.
Tasiha is my favorite main character. As you can see, she is rather special. She starts off as a foundling in a village somewhere, and a traveling mage, Ialio, discovers that she has magick--that she, too, is a mage.
Ialio is a member of the council of mages based in Kiral, the capital city of the planet Ceribthien, which really hasn't yet formed into nations (actually it, might, and it should... I shall have to think about that). Ceribthien is also a twin planet--it is tied to the planet Tetholnia in much the same manner as Mven Terr and Mvon Terr are linked. Instead of a dark blazing wind passage between the worlds, however, there is a strange semi-portal from the Isle of the Gods on Tetholnia that leads to the main continent on Ceribthien. At this point in the story, this is the only access between the two planets. It is a Rainbow Bridge--a bridge on which they travel that exists in a world that is solely like the sky. so, clouds, stars, blue all around, above, below, all around.
Now theoretically, Ceribthien is tied in a similar manner to every planet in existence throughout the universe. I'm not sure why, but it is.
The council of mages in Kiral manages and runs Kiral, Ceribthien, Tetholnia, and pretty much all of the universe. Think of it as the E.E.U.U.'s Senate, House of Representatives, Supreme Court, and President all at once. Of course, the court system is a *little* separate, and there is a Mage Council, who is the most powerful of the mages and thus their leader, who runs those who run the place.
There.
Now.
I forgot to mention that this is all backdropped by the idea that the world and the universe as we know it exist as a gigantic battle between Light and change and Dark and permanence. Got it? Good.
There.
Now.
Ialio and the other mages of the council were instructed by the current Mage Council, Siitlyn, to journey throughout the worlds and find newly-granted or -born mages to come to Kiral and train at the brand spankin new university of magick.
Ialio is traveling along and he finally finds a student--this foundling, Tasiha, who has no recollection of her parents at all, nor anything before the moment she was found. She is also the village childrens' scapegoat, kinda. Ialio discovers that she has magick, and so she joins him in his journey.
They travel. They are about to cross a river and Tasiha somehow notices something. She warns everyone off of the bridge they are on. Then the river swells, and a half rotted dead tree gets pushed downstream. She stops the river, Ialio saves an old man from the bridge, and then the tree blasts the bridge to splinters. Tasiha is thrown from her horse and loses consciousness.
This is no big deal--a trained mage can do this kind of thing with ease and ability and good memorized skills. But the problem is--Tasiha has never learned this kind of spell. Ialio teaches her one spell--a spell to shield herself. Without learning this new spell, she casts it.
This is a very peculiar thing. Mages of this day and age tend to think of spells as certain steps, moves, articles, words that are required to make things happen. Tasiha knows better. She thinks about, and uses, her magick as it really is--an incandescent flow at her fingertips. She creates spells with this ethereal stuff, and the words, articles, steps, moves that are required come naturally in the spell. This is the start to a whole new era of magick.
Anyway... they travel. They go to Atiktha, the capital of Hirune, and search for mages there. They find three. One is the daughter of the king. She is an excellent mage and really needs to attend school to improve her powers. They argue with the king a bit and she gets to go along (her name is Jerelet). Tasiha makes a tree grow. Again, realize she hasn't learned this spell, and theoretically, in this day and age, doing a spell without knowing it is unheard of.
They search and find a pair of youth, twin mages (boys). These boys, Evirix and Vanad, go with them. They head for a port to return to the Isle of the Gods and Kiral.
They ride on the boat. Tasiha falls in (actually she jumps). Then there is the scene you see below. Then--joyous reunion, etc.
They make it to the western continent, and spend some nights traveling for the next city along their route. On the way, as they are riding through a snowy forest, they are attacked by raiders. Ialio is knocked from his horse, unconscious. Jerelet, who is a warrior-mage, cannot fight them all. Evirix and Vanad are hardly more than children.
Tasiha can do nothing. She freezes. She sits on her horse and then one of the raiders comes up to her with an arrow in hand and grins. She sees that he is about to kill her--that Jerelet is about to be killed, and Ialio, and the twins.
She does nothing. She casts no spell.
But the whole world around her recognizes in her a cry for help.
The stars in the sky stream bright all above, flashing, like a meteor shower. The wind picks up in an instant. The trees lash about violently, so much so that they bend and bash a few raiders into the earth. Wolves come howling from the surrounding woods to drive the men off.
The mages pick themselves up, kind of awestruck, and move on. They reach the coast, travel to the Isle of the Gods, and then use the Rainbow Bridge. There are a couple of obstacles. The last is a Guardian of the bridge. He is blind, strong--asks "Who would pass?"
Ialio says, "I, Ialio, a Mage of the Council in Kiral, would pass." He is allowed because he is a mage and a councilor.
Jerelet and Vanad and Evirix all also pass, as Ialio's students. As soon as they pass him they are off the bridge and onto Ceribthien.
Tasiha says, "I, Tasiha, would pass," and the Guardian kneels before her and proclaims that she is a great lady, blahdeeblahdeeblah... this is all stuff I haven't written yet, after the part with the sea. Just stuff I'm planning on writing. so it sounds a little crummy yet. Oh well.
Whatever. She goes to Kiral, studies, learns at the University, excels. She is a good enough student to be invited to join the council, temporarily.
Eventually she walks out over the ocean, and a palace appears there. She goes inside. She feels at home. She walks around.
She talks to someone who is herself at the same time, and they agree that she will become all powerful and all suffering. They become one, and she changes.
Then she returns to Kiral and kicks major dark booty.
The end? nah. I don't feel good. No more writing.
Words, words, beautiful words. In a dark and hurried moment, all time halted with a slap of skin, and in that meager space of existence there was nothing--nothing at all, vacancy so poignant it burned the mind.
Tasiha slid through the water, self propelled by the flipping motions of the fins she had grown and gulping in the water as air through the gills she had added to make this journey easier--but at the same time the water took her, engulfed her, surrounded her, and made her one with it. Her hair flowed freely in the water behind her as she sank deeper and deeper into the depths of the Eastern Ocean.
Here there were thousands of sights and smells and sounds she had never heard before. She listened, swimming silently, hearing the slip of bodies through the deep, hearing the tiny crashes above as birds broke the immensely distant surface, hearing the hiss of air bubbles from some point infinitely below her. And to her ears came also a blazing, keening, moaning sound. She looked around, and it came from the hugest bulk she had ever seen--a creature fully three times as large as the boat that had once carried her body. This giant creature was crying--was singing! and in the tumultuous flow of its voice as ripples through the liquid around her, she danced, and sang with it, her voice lifted in an equal and quieter, similar cry.
There came tiny echoes of her response from behind her, ricocheting from the massive wall of coral that loomed overhead.
Bidden, almost, by that immeasurable bulk above and the silence filled with infinity all around her, she began to swim--down. She descended past the coral, watching the vibrant bodies of fish and eels and all sorts of living creatures--each a singing, humming, vivacious presence in her mind. Why did she know them? she knew them all, as if they were her friends. She felt as she had felt when she had been back living in the village, with Mai--how she had felt towards the animals. She had sworn that she had known every squirrel and rabbit and each tree, leaf, and root. Here it was the same--as if she identified with each tip of coral, swirling anemonie ((sp????)), each scaled or slippery fish.
She sank lower--lower and lower, until she could hardly see. The surface was far, far above her--a distant source of light. Here, there was darkness--as if the water around her had been tinted with ink. She floated on. Things began to glow, to provide random translucent brilliant outlines of light in the darkness.
She sank. Time passed, and if she thought she had been in darkness before, she was wrong. Before had been noonday compared to this world. Here there was nothing except ebony. Not even the infinitely distant surface was visible here. It was as if she were in a dream, such was the world that existed--except not a dream. Smooth, silent, quiet, invisible slumber--as if her eyes were shut and she slept, heavily. That was the extent of the darkness around her.
After a while, she let herself hang in the eternal depths of the blazing darkness around her, and she existed, out of time, away from earth, unfeeling and alone, silent and strong, wondering, waiting, dreaming, sleeping--all within her mind.
There came, perhaps from above, a tiny, distorted, distant echo of the note she had sung in unison with the giant creature near the surface. She heard it.
She listened carefully to it, and for a long time she listened to the silence--reading it, hearing it, redefining it within her heart. She listened.
And with a silent thrust of water, she began to rise.
For a long time there was nothing as the ebony expanse drifted by her, and for a moment she doubted her own motions. But she thrust on, and after a while those tiny creatures began to glow, again, all around her as she rose.
And she rose, rose onwards into the blazing light of the world around her. And above her was the surface. Something bumped her elbow--a creature. A dolphin. She recognized it from a book.
Another one nudged her from the other side and squeed gently.
She stretched out both of her hands to either side.
They shot past her, their dorsal fins catching under her fingers and she rose and rose onwards into the light with them, rapidly, immensely fast, the water streaming around them until she laughed aloud for the sheer joy and the pleasure of the actions, and she broke surface.
In an instant she changed--got rid of the gills. She breathed deeply of the bright and burning air, and looked around her.
There was no sign of the ship.
But the water whisered to her as it moved around her, and she allowed the dolphins to take her once more by the arms. Together, they chased after the history of the currents and the wake of the ship.
***********
Ialio sat upon one of the benches, watching Jerelet as she worked with the twins on his latest lesson--sensing magickally.
The boys were trying to pick different colored objects out of her hands.
The objects shifted color at random, as Jerelet so chose.
Ialio sighed. As they had so often in the past three days, his thoughts returned to Tasiha.
Why? Why? He begged the question of Light in his mind, but there was no response, and this only served to remind him bitterly of the separation he had sensed in his dreams. Why was it Tasiha who had to be taken away from me?
He could not have stomached the thought of losing Jerelet--she was such a strong mage, and a good mage, and her father would strangle him. And he would be tormented forever if he had lost one of the twins--for one to have to exist without the other would have made them go mad.
But Tasiha...
Losing Tasiha left such a gapping hole in his chest that he could hardly keep from weeping. It was as if there was no longer any sunlight in the world. Never mind that it was streaming bright and glistening upon the water today--it no longer was. It didn't matter anymore.
He wanted to give up.
He wanted to take the other three mages to Kiral, drop them off at the university, and then find a knife somewhere and take it to his flesh--or follow her into the deep.
He didn't even want to take the mages to Kiral, but at this point in time, he knew he must. He could not abandon all of them. This was all that kept him living--their presence.
Jerelet glanced warily at her instructor, and swallowed hard. He smiled at her--a pathetic attempt at a smile, sad and small. It did little to reassure her.
He rose with a sigh and went to the prow of the ship, where the captain stood at the wheel. He watched the man for a while.
There came splashs from the side of the ship, and, curious, Ialio went to the rail and looked at the water.
There were dolphins, splashing along, hopping and jumping in the crests of the wake left by the fast-moving ship.
"They be like to play," said Emppsol *nkajdlfja NOTE: emppsol is also ship captain akjdflj*.
"So I've heard," said Ialio. "I didn't know they liked ships."
"They usually be less like to come near us, but they like the waves we make. They be very intelligent beasts, fer fish."
Ialio nodded absently in annoyance--he didn't want to spend half an hour explaining that they were not fish to a man wh spent all his time at sea.
The wind grew low, and the sails stopped their bellowing. The captain sighed, and squinted at the sky. "Blast. I hoped we'd have a good breeze the whole trip." The ship had slowed considerably due to the lack of wind, and Ialio slumped to a bench and stared down at the water as it slowly passed him by. They drifted.
The dolphins had left when the ship had slowed. The day passed, and he grew tired, and hot from the sun.
*now... how to do this. I can do it abruptly, as in she climbs over the side, or they haul her up or something, or she can signal to them or something... maybe I'll try that.*
Ialio squinted ahead of the ship. "What's that?" He pointed. There was some form of pale jetsam floating in the water.
The captain squinted. He frowned. He hollered for the first mate. "There do be pirates out here sometimes. Sometimes they be like to burn a ship and leave behind wreakage. We try to take it on if it be useful."
Several of the crew came running up. Ialio watched distractedly, and closed his eyes after a while. The heat made his eyelids so heavy, he could hardly keep them open at times. He listened to the commotion from the crowd of sailors. They murmured to themselves, and the murmur got louder and louder as the object approached.
"--cross-legged--"
"I donna believe it--"
"--That be--"
"--like a mermaid--"
"--Jes sittin' there--"
Ialio opened his eyes, and stood. He lurched to the side of the ship like a man drunk with too much sun.
Tasiha sat an inch above the water, her eyes closed, her legs crossed, her hands resting in her lap. When she bumped against the ship, her eyes flew open. She looked around her, then looked up, and smiled at the ship.
"There you are!" she called. "I've been looking for you."
*chapter break*
A rope was thrown down, and Tasiha caught hold of it and pulled herself up. When she reached the deck, she looked around, and smiled again.
Before she could speak, Ialio had let out a strangled cry and caught her up in a rough, huge hug.
She gasped as her ribs creaked. "Steady, Mage Ialio," she gasped.
He put her down. "Don't you ever, EVER do that again!"
"Do what?" She stared at him.
He threw up his arms, and as his robe flapped uncomfortably around her, he noticed for the first time that she was naked--her hair was draped over her in an effort at modesty, but it was inadequate.
He stopped, flushed, and dragged his eyes away from her, then whipped the robe off his shoulders and settled it on hers.
She grinned. "Thanks."
Tasiha slid through the water, self propelled by the flipping motions of the fins she had grown and gulping in the water as air through the gills she had added to make this journey easier--but at the same time the water took her, engulfed her, surrounded her, and made her one with it. Her hair flowed freely in the water behind her as she sank deeper and deeper into the depths of the Eastern Ocean.
Here there were thousands of sights and smells and sounds she had never heard before. She listened, swimming silently, hearing the slip of bodies through the deep, hearing the tiny crashes above as birds broke the immensely distant surface, hearing the hiss of air bubbles from some point infinitely below her. And to her ears came also a blazing, keening, moaning sound. She looked around, and it came from the hugest bulk she had ever seen--a creature fully three times as large as the boat that had once carried her body. This giant creature was crying--was singing! and in the tumultuous flow of its voice as ripples through the liquid around her, she danced, and sang with it, her voice lifted in an equal and quieter, similar cry.
There came tiny echoes of her response from behind her, ricocheting from the massive wall of coral that loomed overhead.
Bidden, almost, by that immeasurable bulk above and the silence filled with infinity all around her, she began to swim--down. She descended past the coral, watching the vibrant bodies of fish and eels and all sorts of living creatures--each a singing, humming, vivacious presence in her mind. Why did she know them? she knew them all, as if they were her friends. She felt as she had felt when she had been back living in the village, with Mai--how she had felt towards the animals. She had sworn that she had known every squirrel and rabbit and each tree, leaf, and root. Here it was the same--as if she identified with each tip of coral, swirling anemonie ((sp????)), each scaled or slippery fish.
She sank lower--lower and lower, until she could hardly see. The surface was far, far above her--a distant source of light. Here, there was darkness--as if the water around her had been tinted with ink. She floated on. Things began to glow, to provide random translucent brilliant outlines of light in the darkness.
She sank. Time passed, and if she thought she had been in darkness before, she was wrong. Before had been noonday compared to this world. Here there was nothing except ebony. Not even the infinitely distant surface was visible here. It was as if she were in a dream, such was the world that existed--except not a dream. Smooth, silent, quiet, invisible slumber--as if her eyes were shut and she slept, heavily. That was the extent of the darkness around her.
After a while, she let herself hang in the eternal depths of the blazing darkness around her, and she existed, out of time, away from earth, unfeeling and alone, silent and strong, wondering, waiting, dreaming, sleeping--all within her mind.
There came, perhaps from above, a tiny, distorted, distant echo of the note she had sung in unison with the giant creature near the surface. She heard it.
She listened carefully to it, and for a long time she listened to the silence--reading it, hearing it, redefining it within her heart. She listened.
And with a silent thrust of water, she began to rise.
For a long time there was nothing as the ebony expanse drifted by her, and for a moment she doubted her own motions. But she thrust on, and after a while those tiny creatures began to glow, again, all around her as she rose.
And she rose, rose onwards into the blazing light of the world around her. And above her was the surface. Something bumped her elbow--a creature. A dolphin. She recognized it from a book.
Another one nudged her from the other side and squeed gently.
She stretched out both of her hands to either side.
They shot past her, their dorsal fins catching under her fingers and she rose and rose onwards into the light with them, rapidly, immensely fast, the water streaming around them until she laughed aloud for the sheer joy and the pleasure of the actions, and she broke surface.
In an instant she changed--got rid of the gills. She breathed deeply of the bright and burning air, and looked around her.
There was no sign of the ship.
But the water whisered to her as it moved around her, and she allowed the dolphins to take her once more by the arms. Together, they chased after the history of the currents and the wake of the ship.
***********
Ialio sat upon one of the benches, watching Jerelet as she worked with the twins on his latest lesson--sensing magickally.
The boys were trying to pick different colored objects out of her hands.
The objects shifted color at random, as Jerelet so chose.
Ialio sighed. As they had so often in the past three days, his thoughts returned to Tasiha.
Why? Why? He begged the question of Light in his mind, but there was no response, and this only served to remind him bitterly of the separation he had sensed in his dreams. Why was it Tasiha who had to be taken away from me?
He could not have stomached the thought of losing Jerelet--she was such a strong mage, and a good mage, and her father would strangle him. And he would be tormented forever if he had lost one of the twins--for one to have to exist without the other would have made them go mad.
But Tasiha...
Losing Tasiha left such a gapping hole in his chest that he could hardly keep from weeping. It was as if there was no longer any sunlight in the world. Never mind that it was streaming bright and glistening upon the water today--it no longer was. It didn't matter anymore.
He wanted to give up.
He wanted to take the other three mages to Kiral, drop them off at the university, and then find a knife somewhere and take it to his flesh--or follow her into the deep.
He didn't even want to take the mages to Kiral, but at this point in time, he knew he must. He could not abandon all of them. This was all that kept him living--their presence.
Jerelet glanced warily at her instructor, and swallowed hard. He smiled at her--a pathetic attempt at a smile, sad and small. It did little to reassure her.
He rose with a sigh and went to the prow of the ship, where the captain stood at the wheel. He watched the man for a while.
There came splashs from the side of the ship, and, curious, Ialio went to the rail and looked at the water.
There were dolphins, splashing along, hopping and jumping in the crests of the wake left by the fast-moving ship.
"They be like to play," said Emppsol *nkajdlfja NOTE: emppsol is also ship captain akjdflj*.
"So I've heard," said Ialio. "I didn't know they liked ships."
"They usually be less like to come near us, but they like the waves we make. They be very intelligent beasts, fer fish."
Ialio nodded absently in annoyance--he didn't want to spend half an hour explaining that they were not fish to a man wh spent all his time at sea.
The wind grew low, and the sails stopped their bellowing. The captain sighed, and squinted at the sky. "Blast. I hoped we'd have a good breeze the whole trip." The ship had slowed considerably due to the lack of wind, and Ialio slumped to a bench and stared down at the water as it slowly passed him by. They drifted.
The dolphins had left when the ship had slowed. The day passed, and he grew tired, and hot from the sun.
*now... how to do this. I can do it abruptly, as in she climbs over the side, or they haul her up or something, or she can signal to them or something... maybe I'll try that.*
Ialio squinted ahead of the ship. "What's that?" He pointed. There was some form of pale jetsam floating in the water.
The captain squinted. He frowned. He hollered for the first mate. "There do be pirates out here sometimes. Sometimes they be like to burn a ship and leave behind wreakage. We try to take it on if it be useful."
Several of the crew came running up. Ialio watched distractedly, and closed his eyes after a while. The heat made his eyelids so heavy, he could hardly keep them open at times. He listened to the commotion from the crowd of sailors. They murmured to themselves, and the murmur got louder and louder as the object approached.
"--cross-legged--"
"I donna believe it--"
"--That be--"
"--like a mermaid--"
"--Jes sittin' there--"
Ialio opened his eyes, and stood. He lurched to the side of the ship like a man drunk with too much sun.
Tasiha sat an inch above the water, her eyes closed, her legs crossed, her hands resting in her lap. When she bumped against the ship, her eyes flew open. She looked around her, then looked up, and smiled at the ship.
"There you are!" she called. "I've been looking for you."
*chapter break*
A rope was thrown down, and Tasiha caught hold of it and pulled herself up. When she reached the deck, she looked around, and smiled again.
Before she could speak, Ialio had let out a strangled cry and caught her up in a rough, huge hug.
She gasped as her ribs creaked. "Steady, Mage Ialio," she gasped.
He put her down. "Don't you ever, EVER do that again!"
"Do what?" She stared at him.
He threw up his arms, and as his robe flapped uncomfortably around her, he noticed for the first time that she was naked--her hair was draped over her in an effort at modesty, but it was inadequate.
He stopped, flushed, and dragged his eyes away from her, then whipped the robe off his shoulders and settled it on hers.
She grinned. "Thanks."
It's two hours from my chem exam and I'm on my blog, adding whatever the hell I feel like adding.
My two friends/study buddies went to a bar because they said they needed to wind down.
I don't think they're alcoholics.
But I don't approve.
But that's just me. I can't expect them to have my same values. And they were really tense.
Still, it's no excuse. Take up yoga, guys.
I'm using a lot of yoga techniques by now. I'm a little nervous for this final. It'll be my first college final, and I think I need at least a C to get an A in the class. I hope I can get a C. Knowing half of the questions won't do anything.
Although I did study a little, and I'm starting to remember things more. I'm just pissed, because my first friend really needs help studying. She wants to do it--she wants to learn. We were doing fine, studying, the two of us. Then this other friend came and all she wants to do is gripe about how the teacher is a poor teacher, and she doesn't want to LEARN, she just wants to do and get the hell over with. And the first friend starts to lose focus and stops caring about studying for learning.
Studying has to be an ongoing activity. It can't be cramming for a test unless the cramming is review of what you know, and making sure you know it.
It's the difference between doing the practice problems for the answers and thinking your way through the practice problems for the theory and knowledge behind it. If the first friend were to study with me all the time, I could help her build the skills and the knowledge needed so that she can know what she's doing, why she's doing it, and what she could do if she gets a tough problem. I can help her understand.
But friend number two is too worried about--Let's just do this, let's just get it done and do this, try this, who cares why. WRONG! it's all about the why and how, not the what and the when and the who. The why and the how are the only ways a person can survive on a test, because no matter how many times you practice a problem, you need to learn how to apply that to other problems, because what you study will not be the same as what you do on the test. But it'll be similar.
Wow, that's enough of a rant for today. I needed to let off some steam. At least I won't do it by drinking.
I really like these guys. They teach me a lot. It's kind of strange to watch and see how different they are, and how different I am.
Oh well. I want to be writing.
Everything's all jumbled in my head. I want to write Dium and Listhan Avres and Ialio and Tasiha and Shavara Minos and Ajabin and everything all at once. I want to write--I wish I could just take off of school, and work, and life, and sit down and write and write and write until my fingers started bleeding. It would be such a release for me.
I live in my head. I exist in my mind. Mostly because the world around me is too drab, and the one in my head is so much more exciting. If I could spend all my time writing and daydreaming, which is the same thing as writing minus the computer, I would be totally happy. Unfortunately, I can't. Unfortunately, I have a life to live, and unfortunately, that life can't be as Morghan Farishel--as much as I want it to be.
Tasiha. Tasiha Tasiha Tasiha. I found out that her name is an actual word in some Indian dialect--I think it means like, 'the foot bone of a deer.' It's some sort of game or something. WAH! I was so original, and it is such a beautiful name. I love it. I don't think I can abandon it. Not for just that one little translation issue.
Oh well.
I'm hungry, but I'm so fricking fat. I hate it. I'm like, 200 lbs--no lie!. I want to lose weight. I want to be athletic and STRONG.
but I'm still hungry.
I'm tired, too. I should probably curl up and take a nap. I wish--I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish-- I could be writing. Writing Tasiha and Ialio, because that's the story that seems to be the basis for all the other ones that I'm working on at this point in time. If I can start and finish it, I can do everything. I can tie in Demosen, Dium, Iajlin, Tiakal, Gerrove, even Willowstar, maybe even Ajabin and Listhan Avres and Ceolene and Morghan Farishel.
Although the last four is a probable no because their worlds are different.
I think I'll go take a nap.
Friday, December 12, 2003
hm... Well I can't seem to write tonight. I'm online; I'm trying to get into the classes I want at NH, but they are all full--the only two classes I want that fit into my schedule. So I'm trying over and over again because today was tuition-due day and people will be dropped from their classes, but it doesn't look like it's opening up. so waah. I need a calc, and there is one that fits, but not with the rockin cool teacher, and there are NO open biology i s at ALL, so that's just screwed... worst comes to worst I'll end up taking historical geology and the crummy teacher calc... but it's free, so I don't care.
Although I can't write tonight, I've been brainstorming. This is vital for me when I'm planning my books, because I wonder about connecting things and making things make sense. In general, with BoW (book of whispers... yeah), a lot of stuff that shouldn't have the right to be fitting together fits very well. For example--not to be a spoiler, but :D--later on we shall find out that Shavara Minos is the evil/cruel instructor from Listhan's childhood. That just kind of happened in itself. I had added Shavara in because I liked his name and because Bladewing didn't seem like the type of person to be running the operation by himself, and also I liked the idea of Bladewing as a mercenary/assasin/thief kind of thing, and he needed someone who hired him or to whom he reported. And then I had the mirror scene and I wondered, oo, how does this creepy short guy with golden eyes know Listhan Avres? At the same time I was thinking about what makes up a character and how, if they have had an abusive past, they should show signs of it when the opportunity presents itself--Morghan does whenever they talk about love, especially around Darok ist Navamor, and it makes things awkward with Listhan because she is in love with him but she is afraid of him and she doesn't know yet that she's in love with him. Now Listhan had an abusive mental past, meaning that he was totally immersed in pessimism and depression and decay and then he had an epiphany in the woods, kinda made a dealio with Ceolene, and she saved him from his darkness--but he needed a reason for it. hence, an abusive teacher--I mean, he beat Listhan and made him work dark magic, made him cast spells that involve those big black icky candles and lots of blood and usually don't do good for other people, and he controlled Listhan until Listhan escaped from him. But Listhan, who is sturdy and strong and in charge, kind of like Dium becomes, never has the chance to show this abuse. I figure when he comes once more in contact with Shavara Minos it will come out naturally--a deep fear, an anger, hatred, pain, almost losing sight of his blinding Ceolene epiphany kinda thing.
See what I mean about brainstorming? I also did this earlier:
New things left to do section:
Court life/darok proposal
Preparation for solstice
Morghan kidnap/drawn away
Listhan chases her, shavara minos/bladewing/drawing out of potion scene, spell, and failure, battleness and Morghan gains her powers
Morghan as a mage
Morghan returns to Mvon Terr/Mven Terr/ +listhan love scene
Then what? I don't know how to connect this to the ultimate finale
Ultimate finale--morghan has to choose between chaos+ ceolene, but why choose b/c both the same? Kinda thing, cease fire.
Elaborate on/fix battles between gods. WHY is chaos doing what he is doing? Both sides need to be understandable/evoke empathy in the reader
Chaos is a rebel/outcast, trying to seek revenge upon the other for their actions of casting him out, they all think they are so different, each thinks the other is evil.
Only morghan, of both worlds, can see that they are the same, and that it is their people that can become evil, and so end the fightingness kinda aura.
What becomes of Morghan? And who dies? I think Morghan+Listhan return to Mven Terr for happy life, thus clearing the way for a sequel in which he goes missing and she has to find him, or ceolene goes missing, he goes searching for her, she has to find him kind of thing. Then he dies? Then somebody dies.
Maybe in this book he doesn't have to die. The natural thing is for him to find his peace and be let rest, but maybe it can be an emphasis on, "my life will be easier to live to have an equal, to have someone to live it with me," kinda thing
Does ceolene die? Fade away because so weak-- I've imagined her as becoming so very weak and fragile, like a shell, because she gives and gives until she can hardly be.
Maybe Ceolene and chaos fight to the point of exhaustion, then embrace each other into death and from their union birth a whole and a new realm--I kinda like that idea--that would make a good ending to the ultimate conclusion.
But that doesn't explain why these two in particular--I mean, I can understand Chaos as the god of technology found no solace in the world of Mven Terr, but why is Ceolene the ultimate powerful person? Kinda like gaia, but why is she that way? Why do I have her that way? Why is she like Tasiha? I have reasons for Tasiha and light and dark, good and bad, demosen--but not ceolene. Why is she the kinda queen of the gods and why is she the head of the gods and yet why is she so weak, and yet why can she be the only person who can counter chaos?
Oh because technology is countered by magick, and one cannot survive without the other, so they separated and are being torn apart by each others' absences and they need each other in order to exist together without the degradation that it eventually brings
technology=degradation of traditions, magick=degradation of progress, together there is both progress and tradition--both past and future--together everything works. Apart, the world is falling apart, thus, wars and famine and disease and shavara minos on Mven Terr, and all the hell going on upon Mvon Terr.
Nothing new in the area of writing, except the original Tbook just hit 250 pages, about 75k or more, I don't remember right now. Next week is finals, and I have to study, and I also have 15 scholarships due in January--in addition to college apps and essays. Stupid essays. Stupid apps. ARGH!
Thursday, December 04, 2003
UPDATE: Actually, if you want to drop me a note, my GUESTBOOK is now up and running. Check out the link on the side and leave me a note! yay...
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Hey, if anybody happens to be randomly reading this... drop me a note and let me know how good/bad it is. KasKade113@aol.com. Also, if you have difficulties accessing the beginning of the story (the bottom line of the page should make reference to 1,000 word English papers and a wee bit of Bwahahaness) try messing with the archiving links on the side...
*nod*
Monday, December 01, 2003
Word count as of 10:15 pm 12/1/03.... 56,812.
I know we aren't counting any more, but I like to keep myself updated. Wow. that's a heck load of words. Almost 200 pages, and still a long ways to go.
People swarmed around them—servants scurrying this way and that, hundreds and hundreds of people sliding past each other, bowing and curtseying and nodding and calling greetings in a racket that almost hurt Morghan’s ears. It had been almost two weeks since she had last been among so many people, in New York City, and never had it been such a muddle and mess as this was.
In an instant she was lost in the press of people all around her—bodies on all sides, so much cloth and jewelry that she gagged at the gaudiness of it. She searched desperately for Listhan, but she could not find him with all the backs and fronts presented to her.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and whirled. There was Listhan. He smiled down at her, scrunching up his eyes. “Stay close! It’s a mess in here whenever Darok ist Navamor first returns,” he called above the ruckus, and she nodded. He made his way through the crowd—it parted before him and closed behind him in a wake of bodies around his gigantic form. Morghan struggled to keep from losing him again, pushing her way through the people until finally they reached a corridor where they could breathe.
Listhan hurried on, free of the encumbrances of others, and Morghan strode quickly along beside him. They passed into the depths of the confectionary palace, up a staircase, through several doors, along different corridors, and eventually they stopped before a large dark oak door carved with strange symbols.
Listhan let the saddle bag and his huge drawstring pouch drop to the ground. He placed one hand, the bandaged one, on the door handle, and allowed the other to rapidly trace the patterns around the door. Magick glistened briefly at his fingertips—he whispered a glowing word.
The door opened soundlessly, and Listhan bent quickly to gather up his belongings. “Come in, please, Morghan. These are my quarters. There’s a couple of guest bedrooms off to the right. I hope you’ll choose to sleep there instead of an inn or the palace quest quarters.”
“I’ve no money,” said Morghan, stepping into the airy room with caution. It reminded her briefly of Mihnol’s palace, so wide were the windows that let in streaming sunlight. “How could I sleep in an inn?”
“Shorka gave you money. It’s in the bag.” He had strode across the room towards the bed and now he peeled the black robe from his shoulders, hanging it up on a hook in the wall. Then he proceeded to upend the bags upon his bed and place his few belongings—a process he accomplished by throwing the items as hard as he could at the wall. They swerved slightly just before they hit and settled into their proper positions. Morghan watched him with an open mouth, ducking occasionally.
“Sorry,” he said. “Go see if any of the rooms will work.”
She complied. The first bedroom was lavishly done in pink silk—she choked at the sight of it and hurried to the next, to find it designed around comfortable white cotton. Two huge windows opened up above the garden.
The apple trees were in full bloom, and she breathed deeply of the fragrance-filled air, and smiled.
“Will this work?”
She turned quickly. Listhan stood in the doorway, watching her, his mismatched eyes amused slightly.
“Of course. How long should I stay here?”
“Well, until the summer solstice, at the very least. Afterwards… I don’t know. We shall think of that then. By that time you may desire to return to Mvon Terr.”
Morghan thought suddenly of home. Her apartment. Her B.S. hanging on the wall, the smooth countertops and the plain fridge, the tired chairs and table. The broken coffeemaker and the alarm clock that still worked. Electricity pulsing in the walls. The crackling of the television. Her own bed and her own blankets and her own safe home.
The streets of New York City sprawled in her mind, crowded with people she loved and didn’t yet know—a swarming mass of people, vivid and vivacious all around her with life and living. Buses and cars and streetlights swarmed in a blur in her vision, pulsing and changing. The days passed.
She had never thought of her apartment as home before—just a house, just a place to live. But now—now she missed it. She missed even the creaking and groaning of the old steps and the bad breath of the tenant who lived just above her in the rickety structure. She missed the lab—the cool press of glass test tubes in her hands, the bubbling and churning of strange liquids, the constant, semi-edgy risk of fire at all times, the crisp folds of a white lab coat gentle on her shoulders. She missed the computers and the light bulbs, the street cars and police men, the telephones and the blatant advertisements everywhere. She missed them, and she wanted to call them home.
Perhaps it was only because she had no home that she labeled the apartment her home. Her parents were long gone. The home she had built with Raphael—she shuddered and skipped that thought. There was no place that was her own. Especially not here, in Mven Terr. Only the apartment seemed to be her own.
She turned her gaze briefly back to the garden below, and sighed.
***************
“Well?” asked Shavara Minos in a hiss just by Bladewing’s ear.
Bladewing jumped, startled, and all but fell out of the tree in which he crouched, half slumbering, above the camp of mercenary bandits. He scrambled briefly for a purchase on the rough bark and turned his head. Two glistening golden eyes focused upon him. He gulped. “My lord, I’ve—I’ve found them. And I’m… I know how to get them.”
“But you haven’t yet gotten them.”
“Yes, my lord, but you must understand—the longer we have hold of the girl, or Listhan Avres, the more damage he can inflict. Therefore—please, my lord, I have an idea.” He cringed slightly.
The golden eyes regarded him momentarily. “What idea do you have, Bladewing?”
“I—I propose that we wait until the day of the solstice itself—or at earliest late in the evening before—to capture them both.”
Shavara snorted. “An excellent idea. Vapid and empty and,” Bladewing was cringing, “Right on track. HOW do you propose to capture them, Bladewing? Give me specifics.”
Bladewing gave them, and the mage listened.
And Shavara Minos smiled.
*************
Morghan woke early the next day in a strange bed to the chirrups of birds. She sat up quickly in the four-poster bed and scrambled to the window to gaze at the garden beneath it, and laughed to see birds chasing themselves amongst the trees. Then she went to the nearby basin and scrubbed her arms and her face with cold water. Through one door she found a small bathroom, and she went in and bathed herself in the lukewarm water that was somehow strangely pumped up through the floor.
She toweled herself dry and dressed in a dark pair of trousers and another one of the lace up shirts, this one in dark maroon. She found an old rag and ripped it into strips, then tied her hair back in a strict ponytail, though the curls frayed out vigorously around the edges.
She knocked on the door that led to Listhan’s room.
“Come in, Morghan,” he called, somewhat muffled, and she complied. She found him seated at a table while a servant spread tray upon tray of breakfast before him. He grimaced at the feast and waved Morghan to join him. She did.
The servant bowed deeply to her, produced an extra place, and disappeared out the door.
“Gods,” said Listhan, and leant his good elbow on the table, burying his face in his hands. “Look at all this.”
“No, no,” said Morghan. “You eat, not look.”
Listhan groaned into his hands. Morghan helped herself to a piece of toast and began to eat. He was right—there was far too much food on the table.
“They think just because I’m a big man that I need to eat big,” Listhan told her through his large palms.
“Do you?”
Listhan laughed, a bit bitterly.
She grinned. “Well, come on. The cook—the cook likes to feed people, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, she does. Her name is Hierier.”
“She’s just trying to help you. She wants you to keep up your strength. Right?”
“Right,” mumbled Listhan automatically, and Morghan knew the cook had told him those exact words.
She grinned again, and offered him a papaya. “So, eat!”
He took his face from his hands. His complexion was pale. He let his eyes trace over the food, and his skin went slightly green. He lurched to his feet and stumbled across the room to the washroom, where he vomited forcefully into the basin.
He returned a few minutes later after washing his face and went to the door to his room, peering out into the hallway.
Someone muttered something.
“Yes, thank you. Could you ask Abol to come join me? Don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping, but if he isn’t… thank you.” Listhan came back inside, not looking at the table.
“Are you all right?” Morghan queried.
“I’m fine. I’m just… not… I don’t eat in the morning. Thanks.” He shrugged.
She shrugged as well. “Fine by me. I hope you don’t mind if I do. I’m starved.”
He chuckled. “Eat away.” He waved a hand extravagantly at the feast.
She did, and the minutes ticked away. Listhan sat down at his desk, massaging his broken arm, waiting. Finally there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Listhan called, and he leaned back on the stool and waved a hand at the door to open it.
A small man, short and wiry, stepped into the room. He had thick silver hair shining in great waves about his small head, like a mane, and he wore a pair of iron-rimmed wire spectacles that were slightly crooked and dwarfed his small gray eyes. He wore a richly embroidered purple robe that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. “Mage Listhan!” he said with pleasure, throwing wide his arms in an extravagant gesture. “You’ve returned! Excellent.”
“Yes, Abol, I’m back,” said Listhan, rising hurriedly from his seat to return the man’s hug. “Oh! Careful!” The caution came after the man squeezed too hardily with his thin bony frame on Listhan’s broken arm.
Abol readjusted his spectacles with one hand and focused on the affected limb. “What did you do to yourself?”
Listhan grinned. “I got into a staff-fight.”
“Hm,” said the man, his eyes glittering. “Hm.”
Listhan looked up sharply at him from his seat—though truth be told, Listhan’s huge form seated was just as tall as Abol’s form standing. “Did you chart the solstice?”
“Yes, yes, I did. And we’re in luck—there will be an eclipse that same day.” The man’s gaze never left Listhan’s arm.
Listhan grinned. “I thought as much. That’s why Mihoukatani was in such a hurry to get it done on time. This is the perfect year.”
“I don’t think that the arm will detract from the spell,” said Abol after a moment’s silence.
Listhan sighed deeply and nodded in relief. “Good. I was worried.”
“The eclipse will be in the early hours of the morning.” The other man’s eyes glittered. “I’ve always liked late nights. This should be one of them. You have the potion?”
“There is a complication,” said Listhan.
Abol straightened suddenly and looked at the mage with large, rounded eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Morghan, I would like you to meet Abol Thibsnark, a fellow mage and an astronomer. He’s been helping me in the… em… project. Abol, this is Morghan Farishel.”
They greeted each other cordially but with wary eyes. Listhan went on. “Abol, I am going to need an awakening potion—one that will rouse power from beneath the surface or bring an old spell back into affect.”
Abol glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?” He adjusted the glasses upon his nose.
“It spilled.” Abol went deathly pale. “On her.” Listhan pointed with one finger. “And I can only hope that we can draw it out of her. It shall have to be worked into the proceedings of the day.”
Abol glanced at Morghan, and a look of irritation crossed his face. He leant towards Listhan and began to mutter. “How could you have let it spill? And on somebody—“
“Better on somebody than into the dirt of that planet,” hissed Listhan.
“What, you mean—it spilled there? Not here?” Abol went pale again. “Then she must be—a creature of—“
Listhan lifted a hand and cut him off. “Don’t say it.”
“What, would you try to deny it by not hearing the words? She is a creature of chaos, Listhan. And you brought her here?”
“It was the only way I could access the potion!” Listhan was getting slightly angry.
“How can you trust her? You know what that place is like—you of all people know! You’ve been there! You know that you cannot trust those people—they lie, they connive, they act only in their best interests—“
“That’s enough.” Listhan’s voice was loud and cold, and it brought Abol up short. The smaller man stared at the larger. “I know what you have suffered at their hands, Abol. I know you lost your family to the Lord Chaos’ raiders. But you can hardly hold one woman responsible for all of Chaos’ actions, when she is hardly tied to him at all save that she came from his realms! You cannot let your prejudice demolish this project. It is too important—far too vital—for such trivialities. You know that. I know that. We both do. Put aside the past, Abol. Work for the future.”
Abol held Listhan’s mismatched eyes until he could no longer meet that mixed gaze, and he turned away. His own gray gaze fell upon Morghan, and he scowled briefly, and Morghan knew—knew because she heard their words when she was sure she wasn’t supposed to—knew because of the way he glared—that he did not forgive her for the actions that were not of her doing. She swallowed, and held that cloudy pair of eyes.
My two friends/study buddies went to a bar because they said they needed to wind down.
I don't think they're alcoholics.
But I don't approve.
But that's just me. I can't expect them to have my same values. And they were really tense.
Still, it's no excuse. Take up yoga, guys.
I'm using a lot of yoga techniques by now. I'm a little nervous for this final. It'll be my first college final, and I think I need at least a C to get an A in the class. I hope I can get a C. Knowing half of the questions won't do anything.
Although I did study a little, and I'm starting to remember things more. I'm just pissed, because my first friend really needs help studying. She wants to do it--she wants to learn. We were doing fine, studying, the two of us. Then this other friend came and all she wants to do is gripe about how the teacher is a poor teacher, and she doesn't want to LEARN, she just wants to do and get the hell over with. And the first friend starts to lose focus and stops caring about studying for learning.
Studying has to be an ongoing activity. It can't be cramming for a test unless the cramming is review of what you know, and making sure you know it.
It's the difference between doing the practice problems for the answers and thinking your way through the practice problems for the theory and knowledge behind it. If the first friend were to study with me all the time, I could help her build the skills and the knowledge needed so that she can know what she's doing, why she's doing it, and what she could do if she gets a tough problem. I can help her understand.
But friend number two is too worried about--Let's just do this, let's just get it done and do this, try this, who cares why. WRONG! it's all about the why and how, not the what and the when and the who. The why and the how are the only ways a person can survive on a test, because no matter how many times you practice a problem, you need to learn how to apply that to other problems, because what you study will not be the same as what you do on the test. But it'll be similar.
Wow, that's enough of a rant for today. I needed to let off some steam. At least I won't do it by drinking.
I really like these guys. They teach me a lot. It's kind of strange to watch and see how different they are, and how different I am.
Oh well. I want to be writing.
Everything's all jumbled in my head. I want to write Dium and Listhan Avres and Ialio and Tasiha and Shavara Minos and Ajabin and everything all at once. I want to write--I wish I could just take off of school, and work, and life, and sit down and write and write and write until my fingers started bleeding. It would be such a release for me.
I live in my head. I exist in my mind. Mostly because the world around me is too drab, and the one in my head is so much more exciting. If I could spend all my time writing and daydreaming, which is the same thing as writing minus the computer, I would be totally happy. Unfortunately, I can't. Unfortunately, I have a life to live, and unfortunately, that life can't be as Morghan Farishel--as much as I want it to be.
Tasiha. Tasiha Tasiha Tasiha. I found out that her name is an actual word in some Indian dialect--I think it means like, 'the foot bone of a deer.' It's some sort of game or something. WAH! I was so original, and it is such a beautiful name. I love it. I don't think I can abandon it. Not for just that one little translation issue.
Oh well.
I'm hungry, but I'm so fricking fat. I hate it. I'm like, 200 lbs--no lie!. I want to lose weight. I want to be athletic and STRONG.
but I'm still hungry.
I'm tired, too. I should probably curl up and take a nap. I wish--I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish-- I could be writing. Writing Tasiha and Ialio, because that's the story that seems to be the basis for all the other ones that I'm working on at this point in time. If I can start and finish it, I can do everything. I can tie in Demosen, Dium, Iajlin, Tiakal, Gerrove, even Willowstar, maybe even Ajabin and Listhan Avres and Ceolene and Morghan Farishel.
Although the last four is a probable no because their worlds are different.
I think I'll go take a nap.
hm... Well I can't seem to write tonight. I'm online; I'm trying to get into the classes I want at NH, but they are all full--the only two classes I want that fit into my schedule. So I'm trying over and over again because today was tuition-due day and people will be dropped from their classes, but it doesn't look like it's opening up. so waah. I need a calc, and there is one that fits, but not with the rockin cool teacher, and there are NO open biology i s at ALL, so that's just screwed... worst comes to worst I'll end up taking historical geology and the crummy teacher calc... but it's free, so I don't care.
Although I can't write tonight, I've been brainstorming. This is vital for me when I'm planning my books, because I wonder about connecting things and making things make sense. In general, with BoW (book of whispers... yeah), a lot of stuff that shouldn't have the right to be fitting together fits very well. For example--not to be a spoiler, but :D--later on we shall find out that Shavara Minos is the evil/cruel instructor from Listhan's childhood. That just kind of happened in itself. I had added Shavara in because I liked his name and because Bladewing didn't seem like the type of person to be running the operation by himself, and also I liked the idea of Bladewing as a mercenary/assasin/thief kind of thing, and he needed someone who hired him or to whom he reported. And then I had the mirror scene and I wondered, oo, how does this creepy short guy with golden eyes know Listhan Avres? At the same time I was thinking about what makes up a character and how, if they have had an abusive past, they should show signs of it when the opportunity presents itself--Morghan does whenever they talk about love, especially around Darok ist Navamor, and it makes things awkward with Listhan because she is in love with him but she is afraid of him and she doesn't know yet that she's in love with him. Now Listhan had an abusive mental past, meaning that he was totally immersed in pessimism and depression and decay and then he had an epiphany in the woods, kinda made a dealio with Ceolene, and she saved him from his darkness--but he needed a reason for it. hence, an abusive teacher--I mean, he beat Listhan and made him work dark magic, made him cast spells that involve those big black icky candles and lots of blood and usually don't do good for other people, and he controlled Listhan until Listhan escaped from him. But Listhan, who is sturdy and strong and in charge, kind of like Dium becomes, never has the chance to show this abuse. I figure when he comes once more in contact with Shavara Minos it will come out naturally--a deep fear, an anger, hatred, pain, almost losing sight of his blinding Ceolene epiphany kinda thing.
See what I mean about brainstorming? I also did this earlier:
New things left to do section:
Court life/darok proposal
Preparation for solstice
Morghan kidnap/drawn away
Listhan chases her, shavara minos/bladewing/drawing out of potion scene, spell, and failure, battleness and Morghan gains her powers
Morghan as a mage
Morghan returns to Mvon Terr/Mven Terr/ +listhan love scene
Then what? I don't know how to connect this to the ultimate finale
Ultimate finale--morghan has to choose between chaos+ ceolene, but why choose b/c both the same? Kinda thing, cease fire.
Elaborate on/fix battles between gods. WHY is chaos doing what he is doing? Both sides need to be understandable/evoke empathy in the reader
Chaos is a rebel/outcast, trying to seek revenge upon the other for their actions of casting him out, they all think they are so different, each thinks the other is evil.
Only morghan, of both worlds, can see that they are the same, and that it is their people that can become evil, and so end the fightingness kinda aura.
What becomes of Morghan? And who dies? I think Morghan+Listhan return to Mven Terr for happy life, thus clearing the way for a sequel in which he goes missing and she has to find him, or ceolene goes missing, he goes searching for her, she has to find him kind of thing. Then he dies? Then somebody dies.
Maybe in this book he doesn't have to die. The natural thing is for him to find his peace and be let rest, but maybe it can be an emphasis on, "my life will be easier to live to have an equal, to have someone to live it with me," kinda thing
Does ceolene die? Fade away because so weak-- I've imagined her as becoming so very weak and fragile, like a shell, because she gives and gives until she can hardly be.
Maybe Ceolene and chaos fight to the point of exhaustion, then embrace each other into death and from their union birth a whole and a new realm--I kinda like that idea--that would make a good ending to the ultimate conclusion.
But that doesn't explain why these two in particular--I mean, I can understand Chaos as the god of technology found no solace in the world of Mven Terr, but why is Ceolene the ultimate powerful person? Kinda like gaia, but why is she that way? Why do I have her that way? Why is she like Tasiha? I have reasons for Tasiha and light and dark, good and bad, demosen--but not ceolene. Why is she the kinda queen of the gods and why is she the head of the gods and yet why is she so weak, and yet why can she be the only person who can counter chaos?
Oh because technology is countered by magick, and one cannot survive without the other, so they separated and are being torn apart by each others' absences and they need each other in order to exist together without the degradation that it eventually brings
technology=degradation of traditions, magick=degradation of progress, together there is both progress and tradition--both past and future--together everything works. Apart, the world is falling apart, thus, wars and famine and disease and shavara minos on Mven Terr, and all the hell going on upon Mvon Terr.
Although I can't write tonight, I've been brainstorming. This is vital for me when I'm planning my books, because I wonder about connecting things and making things make sense. In general, with BoW (book of whispers... yeah), a lot of stuff that shouldn't have the right to be fitting together fits very well. For example--not to be a spoiler, but :D--later on we shall find out that Shavara Minos is the evil/cruel instructor from Listhan's childhood. That just kind of happened in itself. I had added Shavara in because I liked his name and because Bladewing didn't seem like the type of person to be running the operation by himself, and also I liked the idea of Bladewing as a mercenary/assasin/thief kind of thing, and he needed someone who hired him or to whom he reported. And then I had the mirror scene and I wondered, oo, how does this creepy short guy with golden eyes know Listhan Avres? At the same time I was thinking about what makes up a character and how, if they have had an abusive past, they should show signs of it when the opportunity presents itself--Morghan does whenever they talk about love, especially around Darok ist Navamor, and it makes things awkward with Listhan because she is in love with him but she is afraid of him and she doesn't know yet that she's in love with him. Now Listhan had an abusive mental past, meaning that he was totally immersed in pessimism and depression and decay and then he had an epiphany in the woods, kinda made a dealio with Ceolene, and she saved him from his darkness--but he needed a reason for it. hence, an abusive teacher--I mean, he beat Listhan and made him work dark magic, made him cast spells that involve those big black icky candles and lots of blood and usually don't do good for other people, and he controlled Listhan until Listhan escaped from him. But Listhan, who is sturdy and strong and in charge, kind of like Dium becomes, never has the chance to show this abuse. I figure when he comes once more in contact with Shavara Minos it will come out naturally--a deep fear, an anger, hatred, pain, almost losing sight of his blinding Ceolene epiphany kinda thing.
See what I mean about brainstorming? I also did this earlier:
New things left to do section:
Court life/darok proposal
Preparation for solstice
Morghan kidnap/drawn away
Listhan chases her, shavara minos/bladewing/drawing out of potion scene, spell, and failure, battleness and Morghan gains her powers
Morghan as a mage
Morghan returns to Mvon Terr/Mven Terr/ +listhan love scene
Then what? I don't know how to connect this to the ultimate finale
Ultimate finale--morghan has to choose between chaos+ ceolene, but why choose b/c both the same? Kinda thing, cease fire.
Elaborate on/fix battles between gods. WHY is chaos doing what he is doing? Both sides need to be understandable/evoke empathy in the reader
Chaos is a rebel/outcast, trying to seek revenge upon the other for their actions of casting him out, they all think they are so different, each thinks the other is evil.
Only morghan, of both worlds, can see that they are the same, and that it is their people that can become evil, and so end the fightingness kinda aura.
What becomes of Morghan? And who dies? I think Morghan+Listhan return to Mven Terr for happy life, thus clearing the way for a sequel in which he goes missing and she has to find him, or ceolene goes missing, he goes searching for her, she has to find him kind of thing. Then he dies? Then somebody dies.
Maybe in this book he doesn't have to die. The natural thing is for him to find his peace and be let rest, but maybe it can be an emphasis on, "my life will be easier to live to have an equal, to have someone to live it with me," kinda thing
Does ceolene die? Fade away because so weak-- I've imagined her as becoming so very weak and fragile, like a shell, because she gives and gives until she can hardly be.
Maybe Ceolene and chaos fight to the point of exhaustion, then embrace each other into death and from their union birth a whole and a new realm--I kinda like that idea--that would make a good ending to the ultimate conclusion.
But that doesn't explain why these two in particular--I mean, I can understand Chaos as the god of technology found no solace in the world of Mven Terr, but why is Ceolene the ultimate powerful person? Kinda like gaia, but why is she that way? Why do I have her that way? Why is she like Tasiha? I have reasons for Tasiha and light and dark, good and bad, demosen--but not ceolene. Why is she the kinda queen of the gods and why is she the head of the gods and yet why is she so weak, and yet why can she be the only person who can counter chaos?
Oh because technology is countered by magick, and one cannot survive without the other, so they separated and are being torn apart by each others' absences and they need each other in order to exist together without the degradation that it eventually brings
technology=degradation of traditions, magick=degradation of progress, together there is both progress and tradition--both past and future--together everything works. Apart, the world is falling apart, thus, wars and famine and disease and shavara minos on Mven Terr, and all the hell going on upon Mvon Terr.
Nothing new in the area of writing, except the original Tbook just hit 250 pages, about 75k or more, I don't remember right now. Next week is finals, and I have to study, and I also have 15 scholarships due in January--in addition to college apps and essays. Stupid essays. Stupid apps. ARGH!
Thursday, December 04, 2003
UPDATE: Actually, if you want to drop me a note, my GUESTBOOK is now up and running. Check out the link on the side and leave me a note! yay...
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Hey, if anybody happens to be randomly reading this... drop me a note and let me know how good/bad it is. KasKade113@aol.com. Also, if you have difficulties accessing the beginning of the story (the bottom line of the page should make reference to 1,000 word English papers and a wee bit of Bwahahaness) try messing with the archiving links on the side...
*nod*
Monday, December 01, 2003
Word count as of 10:15 pm 12/1/03.... 56,812.
I know we aren't counting any more, but I like to keep myself updated. Wow. that's a heck load of words. Almost 200 pages, and still a long ways to go.
People swarmed around them—servants scurrying this way and that, hundreds and hundreds of people sliding past each other, bowing and curtseying and nodding and calling greetings in a racket that almost hurt Morghan’s ears. It had been almost two weeks since she had last been among so many people, in New York City, and never had it been such a muddle and mess as this was.
In an instant she was lost in the press of people all around her—bodies on all sides, so much cloth and jewelry that she gagged at the gaudiness of it. She searched desperately for Listhan, but she could not find him with all the backs and fronts presented to her.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and whirled. There was Listhan. He smiled down at her, scrunching up his eyes. “Stay close! It’s a mess in here whenever Darok ist Navamor first returns,” he called above the ruckus, and she nodded. He made his way through the crowd—it parted before him and closed behind him in a wake of bodies around his gigantic form. Morghan struggled to keep from losing him again, pushing her way through the people until finally they reached a corridor where they could breathe.
Listhan hurried on, free of the encumbrances of others, and Morghan strode quickly along beside him. They passed into the depths of the confectionary palace, up a staircase, through several doors, along different corridors, and eventually they stopped before a large dark oak door carved with strange symbols.
Listhan let the saddle bag and his huge drawstring pouch drop to the ground. He placed one hand, the bandaged one, on the door handle, and allowed the other to rapidly trace the patterns around the door. Magick glistened briefly at his fingertips—he whispered a glowing word.
The door opened soundlessly, and Listhan bent quickly to gather up his belongings. “Come in, please, Morghan. These are my quarters. There’s a couple of guest bedrooms off to the right. I hope you’ll choose to sleep there instead of an inn or the palace quest quarters.”
“I’ve no money,” said Morghan, stepping into the airy room with caution. It reminded her briefly of Mihnol’s palace, so wide were the windows that let in streaming sunlight. “How could I sleep in an inn?”
“Shorka gave you money. It’s in the bag.” He had strode across the room towards the bed and now he peeled the black robe from his shoulders, hanging it up on a hook in the wall. Then he proceeded to upend the bags upon his bed and place his few belongings—a process he accomplished by throwing the items as hard as he could at the wall. They swerved slightly just before they hit and settled into their proper positions. Morghan watched him with an open mouth, ducking occasionally.
“Sorry,” he said. “Go see if any of the rooms will work.”
She complied. The first bedroom was lavishly done in pink silk—she choked at the sight of it and hurried to the next, to find it designed around comfortable white cotton. Two huge windows opened up above the garden.
The apple trees were in full bloom, and she breathed deeply of the fragrance-filled air, and smiled.
“Will this work?”
She turned quickly. Listhan stood in the doorway, watching her, his mismatched eyes amused slightly.
“Of course. How long should I stay here?”
“Well, until the summer solstice, at the very least. Afterwards… I don’t know. We shall think of that then. By that time you may desire to return to Mvon Terr.”
Morghan thought suddenly of home. Her apartment. Her B.S. hanging on the wall, the smooth countertops and the plain fridge, the tired chairs and table. The broken coffeemaker and the alarm clock that still worked. Electricity pulsing in the walls. The crackling of the television. Her own bed and her own blankets and her own safe home.
The streets of New York City sprawled in her mind, crowded with people she loved and didn’t yet know—a swarming mass of people, vivid and vivacious all around her with life and living. Buses and cars and streetlights swarmed in a blur in her vision, pulsing and changing. The days passed.
She had never thought of her apartment as home before—just a house, just a place to live. But now—now she missed it. She missed even the creaking and groaning of the old steps and the bad breath of the tenant who lived just above her in the rickety structure. She missed the lab—the cool press of glass test tubes in her hands, the bubbling and churning of strange liquids, the constant, semi-edgy risk of fire at all times, the crisp folds of a white lab coat gentle on her shoulders. She missed the computers and the light bulbs, the street cars and police men, the telephones and the blatant advertisements everywhere. She missed them, and she wanted to call them home.
Perhaps it was only because she had no home that she labeled the apartment her home. Her parents were long gone. The home she had built with Raphael—she shuddered and skipped that thought. There was no place that was her own. Especially not here, in Mven Terr. Only the apartment seemed to be her own.
She turned her gaze briefly back to the garden below, and sighed.
***************
“Well?” asked Shavara Minos in a hiss just by Bladewing’s ear.
Bladewing jumped, startled, and all but fell out of the tree in which he crouched, half slumbering, above the camp of mercenary bandits. He scrambled briefly for a purchase on the rough bark and turned his head. Two glistening golden eyes focused upon him. He gulped. “My lord, I’ve—I’ve found them. And I’m… I know how to get them.”
“But you haven’t yet gotten them.”
“Yes, my lord, but you must understand—the longer we have hold of the girl, or Listhan Avres, the more damage he can inflict. Therefore—please, my lord, I have an idea.” He cringed slightly.
The golden eyes regarded him momentarily. “What idea do you have, Bladewing?”
“I—I propose that we wait until the day of the solstice itself—or at earliest late in the evening before—to capture them both.”
Shavara snorted. “An excellent idea. Vapid and empty and,” Bladewing was cringing, “Right on track. HOW do you propose to capture them, Bladewing? Give me specifics.”
Bladewing gave them, and the mage listened.
And Shavara Minos smiled.
*************
Morghan woke early the next day in a strange bed to the chirrups of birds. She sat up quickly in the four-poster bed and scrambled to the window to gaze at the garden beneath it, and laughed to see birds chasing themselves amongst the trees. Then she went to the nearby basin and scrubbed her arms and her face with cold water. Through one door she found a small bathroom, and she went in and bathed herself in the lukewarm water that was somehow strangely pumped up through the floor.
She toweled herself dry and dressed in a dark pair of trousers and another one of the lace up shirts, this one in dark maroon. She found an old rag and ripped it into strips, then tied her hair back in a strict ponytail, though the curls frayed out vigorously around the edges.
She knocked on the door that led to Listhan’s room.
“Come in, Morghan,” he called, somewhat muffled, and she complied. She found him seated at a table while a servant spread tray upon tray of breakfast before him. He grimaced at the feast and waved Morghan to join him. She did.
The servant bowed deeply to her, produced an extra place, and disappeared out the door.
“Gods,” said Listhan, and leant his good elbow on the table, burying his face in his hands. “Look at all this.”
“No, no,” said Morghan. “You eat, not look.”
Listhan groaned into his hands. Morghan helped herself to a piece of toast and began to eat. He was right—there was far too much food on the table.
“They think just because I’m a big man that I need to eat big,” Listhan told her through his large palms.
“Do you?”
Listhan laughed, a bit bitterly.
She grinned. “Well, come on. The cook—the cook likes to feed people, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, she does. Her name is Hierier.”
“She’s just trying to help you. She wants you to keep up your strength. Right?”
“Right,” mumbled Listhan automatically, and Morghan knew the cook had told him those exact words.
She grinned again, and offered him a papaya. “So, eat!”
He took his face from his hands. His complexion was pale. He let his eyes trace over the food, and his skin went slightly green. He lurched to his feet and stumbled across the room to the washroom, where he vomited forcefully into the basin.
He returned a few minutes later after washing his face and went to the door to his room, peering out into the hallway.
Someone muttered something.
“Yes, thank you. Could you ask Abol to come join me? Don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping, but if he isn’t… thank you.” Listhan came back inside, not looking at the table.
“Are you all right?” Morghan queried.
“I’m fine. I’m just… not… I don’t eat in the morning. Thanks.” He shrugged.
She shrugged as well. “Fine by me. I hope you don’t mind if I do. I’m starved.”
He chuckled. “Eat away.” He waved a hand extravagantly at the feast.
She did, and the minutes ticked away. Listhan sat down at his desk, massaging his broken arm, waiting. Finally there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Listhan called, and he leaned back on the stool and waved a hand at the door to open it.
A small man, short and wiry, stepped into the room. He had thick silver hair shining in great waves about his small head, like a mane, and he wore a pair of iron-rimmed wire spectacles that were slightly crooked and dwarfed his small gray eyes. He wore a richly embroidered purple robe that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. “Mage Listhan!” he said with pleasure, throwing wide his arms in an extravagant gesture. “You’ve returned! Excellent.”
“Yes, Abol, I’m back,” said Listhan, rising hurriedly from his seat to return the man’s hug. “Oh! Careful!” The caution came after the man squeezed too hardily with his thin bony frame on Listhan’s broken arm.
Abol readjusted his spectacles with one hand and focused on the affected limb. “What did you do to yourself?”
Listhan grinned. “I got into a staff-fight.”
“Hm,” said the man, his eyes glittering. “Hm.”
Listhan looked up sharply at him from his seat—though truth be told, Listhan’s huge form seated was just as tall as Abol’s form standing. “Did you chart the solstice?”
“Yes, yes, I did. And we’re in luck—there will be an eclipse that same day.” The man’s gaze never left Listhan’s arm.
Listhan grinned. “I thought as much. That’s why Mihoukatani was in such a hurry to get it done on time. This is the perfect year.”
“I don’t think that the arm will detract from the spell,” said Abol after a moment’s silence.
Listhan sighed deeply and nodded in relief. “Good. I was worried.”
“The eclipse will be in the early hours of the morning.” The other man’s eyes glittered. “I’ve always liked late nights. This should be one of them. You have the potion?”
“There is a complication,” said Listhan.
Abol straightened suddenly and looked at the mage with large, rounded eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Morghan, I would like you to meet Abol Thibsnark, a fellow mage and an astronomer. He’s been helping me in the… em… project. Abol, this is Morghan Farishel.”
They greeted each other cordially but with wary eyes. Listhan went on. “Abol, I am going to need an awakening potion—one that will rouse power from beneath the surface or bring an old spell back into affect.”
Abol glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?” He adjusted the glasses upon his nose.
“It spilled.” Abol went deathly pale. “On her.” Listhan pointed with one finger. “And I can only hope that we can draw it out of her. It shall have to be worked into the proceedings of the day.”
Abol glanced at Morghan, and a look of irritation crossed his face. He leant towards Listhan and began to mutter. “How could you have let it spill? And on somebody—“
“Better on somebody than into the dirt of that planet,” hissed Listhan.
“What, you mean—it spilled there? Not here?” Abol went pale again. “Then she must be—a creature of—“
Listhan lifted a hand and cut him off. “Don’t say it.”
“What, would you try to deny it by not hearing the words? She is a creature of chaos, Listhan. And you brought her here?”
“It was the only way I could access the potion!” Listhan was getting slightly angry.
“How can you trust her? You know what that place is like—you of all people know! You’ve been there! You know that you cannot trust those people—they lie, they connive, they act only in their best interests—“
“That’s enough.” Listhan’s voice was loud and cold, and it brought Abol up short. The smaller man stared at the larger. “I know what you have suffered at their hands, Abol. I know you lost your family to the Lord Chaos’ raiders. But you can hardly hold one woman responsible for all of Chaos’ actions, when she is hardly tied to him at all save that she came from his realms! You cannot let your prejudice demolish this project. It is too important—far too vital—for such trivialities. You know that. I know that. We both do. Put aside the past, Abol. Work for the future.”
Abol held Listhan’s mismatched eyes until he could no longer meet that mixed gaze, and he turned away. His own gray gaze fell upon Morghan, and he scowled briefly, and Morghan knew—knew because she heard their words when she was sure she wasn’t supposed to—knew because of the way he glared—that he did not forgive her for the actions that were not of her doing. She swallowed, and held that cloudy pair of eyes.
UPDATE: Actually, if you want to drop me a note, my GUESTBOOK is now up and running. Check out the link on the side and leave me a note! yay...
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Hey, if anybody happens to be randomly reading this... drop me a note and let me know how good/bad it is. KasKade113@aol.com. Also, if you have difficulties accessing the beginning of the story (the bottom line of the page should make reference to 1,000 word English papers and a wee bit of Bwahahaness) try messing with the archiving links on the side...
*nod*
Monday, December 01, 2003
Word count as of 10:15 pm 12/1/03.... 56,812.
I know we aren't counting any more, but I like to keep myself updated. Wow. that's a heck load of words. Almost 200 pages, and still a long ways to go.
People swarmed around them—servants scurrying this way and that, hundreds and hundreds of people sliding past each other, bowing and curtseying and nodding and calling greetings in a racket that almost hurt Morghan’s ears. It had been almost two weeks since she had last been among so many people, in New York City, and never had it been such a muddle and mess as this was.
In an instant she was lost in the press of people all around her—bodies on all sides, so much cloth and jewelry that she gagged at the gaudiness of it. She searched desperately for Listhan, but she could not find him with all the backs and fronts presented to her.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and whirled. There was Listhan. He smiled down at her, scrunching up his eyes. “Stay close! It’s a mess in here whenever Darok ist Navamor first returns,” he called above the ruckus, and she nodded. He made his way through the crowd—it parted before him and closed behind him in a wake of bodies around his gigantic form. Morghan struggled to keep from losing him again, pushing her way through the people until finally they reached a corridor where they could breathe.
Listhan hurried on, free of the encumbrances of others, and Morghan strode quickly along beside him. They passed into the depths of the confectionary palace, up a staircase, through several doors, along different corridors, and eventually they stopped before a large dark oak door carved with strange symbols.
Listhan let the saddle bag and his huge drawstring pouch drop to the ground. He placed one hand, the bandaged one, on the door handle, and allowed the other to rapidly trace the patterns around the door. Magick glistened briefly at his fingertips—he whispered a glowing word.
The door opened soundlessly, and Listhan bent quickly to gather up his belongings. “Come in, please, Morghan. These are my quarters. There’s a couple of guest bedrooms off to the right. I hope you’ll choose to sleep there instead of an inn or the palace quest quarters.”
“I’ve no money,” said Morghan, stepping into the airy room with caution. It reminded her briefly of Mihnol’s palace, so wide were the windows that let in streaming sunlight. “How could I sleep in an inn?”
“Shorka gave you money. It’s in the bag.” He had strode across the room towards the bed and now he peeled the black robe from his shoulders, hanging it up on a hook in the wall. Then he proceeded to upend the bags upon his bed and place his few belongings—a process he accomplished by throwing the items as hard as he could at the wall. They swerved slightly just before they hit and settled into their proper positions. Morghan watched him with an open mouth, ducking occasionally.
“Sorry,” he said. “Go see if any of the rooms will work.”
She complied. The first bedroom was lavishly done in pink silk—she choked at the sight of it and hurried to the next, to find it designed around comfortable white cotton. Two huge windows opened up above the garden.
The apple trees were in full bloom, and she breathed deeply of the fragrance-filled air, and smiled.
“Will this work?”
She turned quickly. Listhan stood in the doorway, watching her, his mismatched eyes amused slightly.
“Of course. How long should I stay here?”
“Well, until the summer solstice, at the very least. Afterwards… I don’t know. We shall think of that then. By that time you may desire to return to Mvon Terr.”
Morghan thought suddenly of home. Her apartment. Her B.S. hanging on the wall, the smooth countertops and the plain fridge, the tired chairs and table. The broken coffeemaker and the alarm clock that still worked. Electricity pulsing in the walls. The crackling of the television. Her own bed and her own blankets and her own safe home.
The streets of New York City sprawled in her mind, crowded with people she loved and didn’t yet know—a swarming mass of people, vivid and vivacious all around her with life and living. Buses and cars and streetlights swarmed in a blur in her vision, pulsing and changing. The days passed.
She had never thought of her apartment as home before—just a house, just a place to live. But now—now she missed it. She missed even the creaking and groaning of the old steps and the bad breath of the tenant who lived just above her in the rickety structure. She missed the lab—the cool press of glass test tubes in her hands, the bubbling and churning of strange liquids, the constant, semi-edgy risk of fire at all times, the crisp folds of a white lab coat gentle on her shoulders. She missed the computers and the light bulbs, the street cars and police men, the telephones and the blatant advertisements everywhere. She missed them, and she wanted to call them home.
Perhaps it was only because she had no home that she labeled the apartment her home. Her parents were long gone. The home she had built with Raphael—she shuddered and skipped that thought. There was no place that was her own. Especially not here, in Mven Terr. Only the apartment seemed to be her own.
She turned her gaze briefly back to the garden below, and sighed.
***************
“Well?” asked Shavara Minos in a hiss just by Bladewing’s ear.
Bladewing jumped, startled, and all but fell out of the tree in which he crouched, half slumbering, above the camp of mercenary bandits. He scrambled briefly for a purchase on the rough bark and turned his head. Two glistening golden eyes focused upon him. He gulped. “My lord, I’ve—I’ve found them. And I’m… I know how to get them.”
“But you haven’t yet gotten them.”
“Yes, my lord, but you must understand—the longer we have hold of the girl, or Listhan Avres, the more damage he can inflict. Therefore—please, my lord, I have an idea.” He cringed slightly.
The golden eyes regarded him momentarily. “What idea do you have, Bladewing?”
“I—I propose that we wait until the day of the solstice itself—or at earliest late in the evening before—to capture them both.”
Shavara snorted. “An excellent idea. Vapid and empty and,” Bladewing was cringing, “Right on track. HOW do you propose to capture them, Bladewing? Give me specifics.”
Bladewing gave them, and the mage listened.
And Shavara Minos smiled.
*************
Morghan woke early the next day in a strange bed to the chirrups of birds. She sat up quickly in the four-poster bed and scrambled to the window to gaze at the garden beneath it, and laughed to see birds chasing themselves amongst the trees. Then she went to the nearby basin and scrubbed her arms and her face with cold water. Through one door she found a small bathroom, and she went in and bathed herself in the lukewarm water that was somehow strangely pumped up through the floor.
She toweled herself dry and dressed in a dark pair of trousers and another one of the lace up shirts, this one in dark maroon. She found an old rag and ripped it into strips, then tied her hair back in a strict ponytail, though the curls frayed out vigorously around the edges.
She knocked on the door that led to Listhan’s room.
“Come in, Morghan,” he called, somewhat muffled, and she complied. She found him seated at a table while a servant spread tray upon tray of breakfast before him. He grimaced at the feast and waved Morghan to join him. She did.
The servant bowed deeply to her, produced an extra place, and disappeared out the door.
“Gods,” said Listhan, and leant his good elbow on the table, burying his face in his hands. “Look at all this.”
“No, no,” said Morghan. “You eat, not look.”
Listhan groaned into his hands. Morghan helped herself to a piece of toast and began to eat. He was right—there was far too much food on the table.
“They think just because I’m a big man that I need to eat big,” Listhan told her through his large palms.
“Do you?”
Listhan laughed, a bit bitterly.
She grinned. “Well, come on. The cook—the cook likes to feed people, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, she does. Her name is Hierier.”
“She’s just trying to help you. She wants you to keep up your strength. Right?”
“Right,” mumbled Listhan automatically, and Morghan knew the cook had told him those exact words.
She grinned again, and offered him a papaya. “So, eat!”
He took his face from his hands. His complexion was pale. He let his eyes trace over the food, and his skin went slightly green. He lurched to his feet and stumbled across the room to the washroom, where he vomited forcefully into the basin.
He returned a few minutes later after washing his face and went to the door to his room, peering out into the hallway.
Someone muttered something.
“Yes, thank you. Could you ask Abol to come join me? Don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping, but if he isn’t… thank you.” Listhan came back inside, not looking at the table.
“Are you all right?” Morghan queried.
“I’m fine. I’m just… not… I don’t eat in the morning. Thanks.” He shrugged.
She shrugged as well. “Fine by me. I hope you don’t mind if I do. I’m starved.”
He chuckled. “Eat away.” He waved a hand extravagantly at the feast.
She did, and the minutes ticked away. Listhan sat down at his desk, massaging his broken arm, waiting. Finally there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Listhan called, and he leaned back on the stool and waved a hand at the door to open it.
A small man, short and wiry, stepped into the room. He had thick silver hair shining in great waves about his small head, like a mane, and he wore a pair of iron-rimmed wire spectacles that were slightly crooked and dwarfed his small gray eyes. He wore a richly embroidered purple robe that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. “Mage Listhan!” he said with pleasure, throwing wide his arms in an extravagant gesture. “You’ve returned! Excellent.”
“Yes, Abol, I’m back,” said Listhan, rising hurriedly from his seat to return the man’s hug. “Oh! Careful!” The caution came after the man squeezed too hardily with his thin bony frame on Listhan’s broken arm.
Abol readjusted his spectacles with one hand and focused on the affected limb. “What did you do to yourself?”
Listhan grinned. “I got into a staff-fight.”
“Hm,” said the man, his eyes glittering. “Hm.”
Listhan looked up sharply at him from his seat—though truth be told, Listhan’s huge form seated was just as tall as Abol’s form standing. “Did you chart the solstice?”
“Yes, yes, I did. And we’re in luck—there will be an eclipse that same day.” The man’s gaze never left Listhan’s arm.
Listhan grinned. “I thought as much. That’s why Mihoukatani was in such a hurry to get it done on time. This is the perfect year.”
“I don’t think that the arm will detract from the spell,” said Abol after a moment’s silence.
Listhan sighed deeply and nodded in relief. “Good. I was worried.”
“The eclipse will be in the early hours of the morning.” The other man’s eyes glittered. “I’ve always liked late nights. This should be one of them. You have the potion?”
“There is a complication,” said Listhan.
Abol straightened suddenly and looked at the mage with large, rounded eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Morghan, I would like you to meet Abol Thibsnark, a fellow mage and an astronomer. He’s been helping me in the… em… project. Abol, this is Morghan Farishel.”
They greeted each other cordially but with wary eyes. Listhan went on. “Abol, I am going to need an awakening potion—one that will rouse power from beneath the surface or bring an old spell back into affect.”
Abol glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?” He adjusted the glasses upon his nose.
“It spilled.” Abol went deathly pale. “On her.” Listhan pointed with one finger. “And I can only hope that we can draw it out of her. It shall have to be worked into the proceedings of the day.”
Abol glanced at Morghan, and a look of irritation crossed his face. He leant towards Listhan and began to mutter. “How could you have let it spill? And on somebody—“
“Better on somebody than into the dirt of that planet,” hissed Listhan.
“What, you mean—it spilled there? Not here?” Abol went pale again. “Then she must be—a creature of—“
Listhan lifted a hand and cut him off. “Don’t say it.”
“What, would you try to deny it by not hearing the words? She is a creature of chaos, Listhan. And you brought her here?”
“It was the only way I could access the potion!” Listhan was getting slightly angry.
“How can you trust her? You know what that place is like—you of all people know! You’ve been there! You know that you cannot trust those people—they lie, they connive, they act only in their best interests—“
“That’s enough.” Listhan’s voice was loud and cold, and it brought Abol up short. The smaller man stared at the larger. “I know what you have suffered at their hands, Abol. I know you lost your family to the Lord Chaos’ raiders. But you can hardly hold one woman responsible for all of Chaos’ actions, when she is hardly tied to him at all save that she came from his realms! You cannot let your prejudice demolish this project. It is too important—far too vital—for such trivialities. You know that. I know that. We both do. Put aside the past, Abol. Work for the future.”
Abol held Listhan’s mismatched eyes until he could no longer meet that mixed gaze, and he turned away. His own gray gaze fell upon Morghan, and he scowled briefly, and Morghan knew—knew because she heard their words when she was sure she wasn’t supposed to—knew because of the way he glared—that he did not forgive her for the actions that were not of her doing. She swallowed, and held that cloudy pair of eyes.
*nod*
Word count as of 10:15 pm 12/1/03.... 56,812.
I know we aren't counting any more, but I like to keep myself updated. Wow. that's a heck load of words. Almost 200 pages, and still a long ways to go.
I know we aren't counting any more, but I like to keep myself updated. Wow. that's a heck load of words. Almost 200 pages, and still a long ways to go.
People swarmed around them—servants scurrying this way and that, hundreds and hundreds of people sliding past each other, bowing and curtseying and nodding and calling greetings in a racket that almost hurt Morghan’s ears. It had been almost two weeks since she had last been among so many people, in New York City, and never had it been such a muddle and mess as this was.
In an instant she was lost in the press of people all around her—bodies on all sides, so much cloth and jewelry that she gagged at the gaudiness of it. She searched desperately for Listhan, but she could not find him with all the backs and fronts presented to her.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and whirled. There was Listhan. He smiled down at her, scrunching up his eyes. “Stay close! It’s a mess in here whenever Darok ist Navamor first returns,” he called above the ruckus, and she nodded. He made his way through the crowd—it parted before him and closed behind him in a wake of bodies around his gigantic form. Morghan struggled to keep from losing him again, pushing her way through the people until finally they reached a corridor where they could breathe.
Listhan hurried on, free of the encumbrances of others, and Morghan strode quickly along beside him. They passed into the depths of the confectionary palace, up a staircase, through several doors, along different corridors, and eventually they stopped before a large dark oak door carved with strange symbols.
Listhan let the saddle bag and his huge drawstring pouch drop to the ground. He placed one hand, the bandaged one, on the door handle, and allowed the other to rapidly trace the patterns around the door. Magick glistened briefly at his fingertips—he whispered a glowing word.
The door opened soundlessly, and Listhan bent quickly to gather up his belongings. “Come in, please, Morghan. These are my quarters. There’s a couple of guest bedrooms off to the right. I hope you’ll choose to sleep there instead of an inn or the palace quest quarters.”
“I’ve no money,” said Morghan, stepping into the airy room with caution. It reminded her briefly of Mihnol’s palace, so wide were the windows that let in streaming sunlight. “How could I sleep in an inn?”
“Shorka gave you money. It’s in the bag.” He had strode across the room towards the bed and now he peeled the black robe from his shoulders, hanging it up on a hook in the wall. Then he proceeded to upend the bags upon his bed and place his few belongings—a process he accomplished by throwing the items as hard as he could at the wall. They swerved slightly just before they hit and settled into their proper positions. Morghan watched him with an open mouth, ducking occasionally.
“Sorry,” he said. “Go see if any of the rooms will work.”
She complied. The first bedroom was lavishly done in pink silk—she choked at the sight of it and hurried to the next, to find it designed around comfortable white cotton. Two huge windows opened up above the garden.
The apple trees were in full bloom, and she breathed deeply of the fragrance-filled air, and smiled.
“Will this work?”
She turned quickly. Listhan stood in the doorway, watching her, his mismatched eyes amused slightly.
“Of course. How long should I stay here?”
“Well, until the summer solstice, at the very least. Afterwards… I don’t know. We shall think of that then. By that time you may desire to return to Mvon Terr.”
Morghan thought suddenly of home. Her apartment. Her B.S. hanging on the wall, the smooth countertops and the plain fridge, the tired chairs and table. The broken coffeemaker and the alarm clock that still worked. Electricity pulsing in the walls. The crackling of the television. Her own bed and her own blankets and her own safe home.
The streets of New York City sprawled in her mind, crowded with people she loved and didn’t yet know—a swarming mass of people, vivid and vivacious all around her with life and living. Buses and cars and streetlights swarmed in a blur in her vision, pulsing and changing. The days passed.
She had never thought of her apartment as home before—just a house, just a place to live. But now—now she missed it. She missed even the creaking and groaning of the old steps and the bad breath of the tenant who lived just above her in the rickety structure. She missed the lab—the cool press of glass test tubes in her hands, the bubbling and churning of strange liquids, the constant, semi-edgy risk of fire at all times, the crisp folds of a white lab coat gentle on her shoulders. She missed the computers and the light bulbs, the street cars and police men, the telephones and the blatant advertisements everywhere. She missed them, and she wanted to call them home.
Perhaps it was only because she had no home that she labeled the apartment her home. Her parents were long gone. The home she had built with Raphael—she shuddered and skipped that thought. There was no place that was her own. Especially not here, in Mven Terr. Only the apartment seemed to be her own.
She turned her gaze briefly back to the garden below, and sighed.
***************
“Well?” asked Shavara Minos in a hiss just by Bladewing’s ear.
Bladewing jumped, startled, and all but fell out of the tree in which he crouched, half slumbering, above the camp of mercenary bandits. He scrambled briefly for a purchase on the rough bark and turned his head. Two glistening golden eyes focused upon him. He gulped. “My lord, I’ve—I’ve found them. And I’m… I know how to get them.”
“But you haven’t yet gotten them.”
“Yes, my lord, but you must understand—the longer we have hold of the girl, or Listhan Avres, the more damage he can inflict. Therefore—please, my lord, I have an idea.” He cringed slightly.
The golden eyes regarded him momentarily. “What idea do you have, Bladewing?”
“I—I propose that we wait until the day of the solstice itself—or at earliest late in the evening before—to capture them both.”
Shavara snorted. “An excellent idea. Vapid and empty and,” Bladewing was cringing, “Right on track. HOW do you propose to capture them, Bladewing? Give me specifics.”
Bladewing gave them, and the mage listened.
And Shavara Minos smiled.
*************
Morghan woke early the next day in a strange bed to the chirrups of birds. She sat up quickly in the four-poster bed and scrambled to the window to gaze at the garden beneath it, and laughed to see birds chasing themselves amongst the trees. Then she went to the nearby basin and scrubbed her arms and her face with cold water. Through one door she found a small bathroom, and she went in and bathed herself in the lukewarm water that was somehow strangely pumped up through the floor.
She toweled herself dry and dressed in a dark pair of trousers and another one of the lace up shirts, this one in dark maroon. She found an old rag and ripped it into strips, then tied her hair back in a strict ponytail, though the curls frayed out vigorously around the edges.
She knocked on the door that led to Listhan’s room.
“Come in, Morghan,” he called, somewhat muffled, and she complied. She found him seated at a table while a servant spread tray upon tray of breakfast before him. He grimaced at the feast and waved Morghan to join him. She did.
The servant bowed deeply to her, produced an extra place, and disappeared out the door.
“Gods,” said Listhan, and leant his good elbow on the table, burying his face in his hands. “Look at all this.”
“No, no,” said Morghan. “You eat, not look.”
Listhan groaned into his hands. Morghan helped herself to a piece of toast and began to eat. He was right—there was far too much food on the table.
“They think just because I’m a big man that I need to eat big,” Listhan told her through his large palms.
“Do you?”
Listhan laughed, a bit bitterly.
She grinned. “Well, come on. The cook—the cook likes to feed people, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, she does. Her name is Hierier.”
“She’s just trying to help you. She wants you to keep up your strength. Right?”
“Right,” mumbled Listhan automatically, and Morghan knew the cook had told him those exact words.
She grinned again, and offered him a papaya. “So, eat!”
He took his face from his hands. His complexion was pale. He let his eyes trace over the food, and his skin went slightly green. He lurched to his feet and stumbled across the room to the washroom, where he vomited forcefully into the basin.
He returned a few minutes later after washing his face and went to the door to his room, peering out into the hallway.
Someone muttered something.
“Yes, thank you. Could you ask Abol to come join me? Don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping, but if he isn’t… thank you.” Listhan came back inside, not looking at the table.
“Are you all right?” Morghan queried.
“I’m fine. I’m just… not… I don’t eat in the morning. Thanks.” He shrugged.
She shrugged as well. “Fine by me. I hope you don’t mind if I do. I’m starved.”
He chuckled. “Eat away.” He waved a hand extravagantly at the feast.
She did, and the minutes ticked away. Listhan sat down at his desk, massaging his broken arm, waiting. Finally there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Listhan called, and he leaned back on the stool and waved a hand at the door to open it.
A small man, short and wiry, stepped into the room. He had thick silver hair shining in great waves about his small head, like a mane, and he wore a pair of iron-rimmed wire spectacles that were slightly crooked and dwarfed his small gray eyes. He wore a richly embroidered purple robe that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. “Mage Listhan!” he said with pleasure, throwing wide his arms in an extravagant gesture. “You’ve returned! Excellent.”
“Yes, Abol, I’m back,” said Listhan, rising hurriedly from his seat to return the man’s hug. “Oh! Careful!” The caution came after the man squeezed too hardily with his thin bony frame on Listhan’s broken arm.
Abol readjusted his spectacles with one hand and focused on the affected limb. “What did you do to yourself?”
Listhan grinned. “I got into a staff-fight.”
“Hm,” said the man, his eyes glittering. “Hm.”
Listhan looked up sharply at him from his seat—though truth be told, Listhan’s huge form seated was just as tall as Abol’s form standing. “Did you chart the solstice?”
“Yes, yes, I did. And we’re in luck—there will be an eclipse that same day.” The man’s gaze never left Listhan’s arm.
Listhan grinned. “I thought as much. That’s why Mihoukatani was in such a hurry to get it done on time. This is the perfect year.”
“I don’t think that the arm will detract from the spell,” said Abol after a moment’s silence.
Listhan sighed deeply and nodded in relief. “Good. I was worried.”
“The eclipse will be in the early hours of the morning.” The other man’s eyes glittered. “I’ve always liked late nights. This should be one of them. You have the potion?”
“There is a complication,” said Listhan.
Abol straightened suddenly and looked at the mage with large, rounded eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Morghan, I would like you to meet Abol Thibsnark, a fellow mage and an astronomer. He’s been helping me in the… em… project. Abol, this is Morghan Farishel.”
They greeted each other cordially but with wary eyes. Listhan went on. “Abol, I am going to need an awakening potion—one that will rouse power from beneath the surface or bring an old spell back into affect.”
Abol glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?” He adjusted the glasses upon his nose.
“It spilled.” Abol went deathly pale. “On her.” Listhan pointed with one finger. “And I can only hope that we can draw it out of her. It shall have to be worked into the proceedings of the day.”
Abol glanced at Morghan, and a look of irritation crossed his face. He leant towards Listhan and began to mutter. “How could you have let it spill? And on somebody—“
“Better on somebody than into the dirt of that planet,” hissed Listhan.
“What, you mean—it spilled there? Not here?” Abol went pale again. “Then she must be—a creature of—“
Listhan lifted a hand and cut him off. “Don’t say it.”
“What, would you try to deny it by not hearing the words? She is a creature of chaos, Listhan. And you brought her here?”
“It was the only way I could access the potion!” Listhan was getting slightly angry.
“How can you trust her? You know what that place is like—you of all people know! You’ve been there! You know that you cannot trust those people—they lie, they connive, they act only in their best interests—“
“That’s enough.” Listhan’s voice was loud and cold, and it brought Abol up short. The smaller man stared at the larger. “I know what you have suffered at their hands, Abol. I know you lost your family to the Lord Chaos’ raiders. But you can hardly hold one woman responsible for all of Chaos’ actions, when she is hardly tied to him at all save that she came from his realms! You cannot let your prejudice demolish this project. It is too important—far too vital—for such trivialities. You know that. I know that. We both do. Put aside the past, Abol. Work for the future.”
Abol held Listhan’s mismatched eyes until he could no longer meet that mixed gaze, and he turned away. His own gray gaze fell upon Morghan, and he scowled briefly, and Morghan knew—knew because she heard their words when she was sure she wasn’t supposed to—knew because of the way he glared—that he did not forgive her for the actions that were not of her doing. She swallowed, and held that cloudy pair of eyes.
In an instant she was lost in the press of people all around her—bodies on all sides, so much cloth and jewelry that she gagged at the gaudiness of it. She searched desperately for Listhan, but she could not find him with all the backs and fronts presented to her.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and whirled. There was Listhan. He smiled down at her, scrunching up his eyes. “Stay close! It’s a mess in here whenever Darok ist Navamor first returns,” he called above the ruckus, and she nodded. He made his way through the crowd—it parted before him and closed behind him in a wake of bodies around his gigantic form. Morghan struggled to keep from losing him again, pushing her way through the people until finally they reached a corridor where they could breathe.
Listhan hurried on, free of the encumbrances of others, and Morghan strode quickly along beside him. They passed into the depths of the confectionary palace, up a staircase, through several doors, along different corridors, and eventually they stopped before a large dark oak door carved with strange symbols.
Listhan let the saddle bag and his huge drawstring pouch drop to the ground. He placed one hand, the bandaged one, on the door handle, and allowed the other to rapidly trace the patterns around the door. Magick glistened briefly at his fingertips—he whispered a glowing word.
The door opened soundlessly, and Listhan bent quickly to gather up his belongings. “Come in, please, Morghan. These are my quarters. There’s a couple of guest bedrooms off to the right. I hope you’ll choose to sleep there instead of an inn or the palace quest quarters.”
“I’ve no money,” said Morghan, stepping into the airy room with caution. It reminded her briefly of Mihnol’s palace, so wide were the windows that let in streaming sunlight. “How could I sleep in an inn?”
“Shorka gave you money. It’s in the bag.” He had strode across the room towards the bed and now he peeled the black robe from his shoulders, hanging it up on a hook in the wall. Then he proceeded to upend the bags upon his bed and place his few belongings—a process he accomplished by throwing the items as hard as he could at the wall. They swerved slightly just before they hit and settled into their proper positions. Morghan watched him with an open mouth, ducking occasionally.
“Sorry,” he said. “Go see if any of the rooms will work.”
She complied. The first bedroom was lavishly done in pink silk—she choked at the sight of it and hurried to the next, to find it designed around comfortable white cotton. Two huge windows opened up above the garden.
The apple trees were in full bloom, and she breathed deeply of the fragrance-filled air, and smiled.
“Will this work?”
She turned quickly. Listhan stood in the doorway, watching her, his mismatched eyes amused slightly.
“Of course. How long should I stay here?”
“Well, until the summer solstice, at the very least. Afterwards… I don’t know. We shall think of that then. By that time you may desire to return to Mvon Terr.”
Morghan thought suddenly of home. Her apartment. Her B.S. hanging on the wall, the smooth countertops and the plain fridge, the tired chairs and table. The broken coffeemaker and the alarm clock that still worked. Electricity pulsing in the walls. The crackling of the television. Her own bed and her own blankets and her own safe home.
The streets of New York City sprawled in her mind, crowded with people she loved and didn’t yet know—a swarming mass of people, vivid and vivacious all around her with life and living. Buses and cars and streetlights swarmed in a blur in her vision, pulsing and changing. The days passed.
She had never thought of her apartment as home before—just a house, just a place to live. But now—now she missed it. She missed even the creaking and groaning of the old steps and the bad breath of the tenant who lived just above her in the rickety structure. She missed the lab—the cool press of glass test tubes in her hands, the bubbling and churning of strange liquids, the constant, semi-edgy risk of fire at all times, the crisp folds of a white lab coat gentle on her shoulders. She missed the computers and the light bulbs, the street cars and police men, the telephones and the blatant advertisements everywhere. She missed them, and she wanted to call them home.
Perhaps it was only because she had no home that she labeled the apartment her home. Her parents were long gone. The home she had built with Raphael—she shuddered and skipped that thought. There was no place that was her own. Especially not here, in Mven Terr. Only the apartment seemed to be her own.
She turned her gaze briefly back to the garden below, and sighed.
***************
“Well?” asked Shavara Minos in a hiss just by Bladewing’s ear.
Bladewing jumped, startled, and all but fell out of the tree in which he crouched, half slumbering, above the camp of mercenary bandits. He scrambled briefly for a purchase on the rough bark and turned his head. Two glistening golden eyes focused upon him. He gulped. “My lord, I’ve—I’ve found them. And I’m… I know how to get them.”
“But you haven’t yet gotten them.”
“Yes, my lord, but you must understand—the longer we have hold of the girl, or Listhan Avres, the more damage he can inflict. Therefore—please, my lord, I have an idea.” He cringed slightly.
The golden eyes regarded him momentarily. “What idea do you have, Bladewing?”
“I—I propose that we wait until the day of the solstice itself—or at earliest late in the evening before—to capture them both.”
Shavara snorted. “An excellent idea. Vapid and empty and,” Bladewing was cringing, “Right on track. HOW do you propose to capture them, Bladewing? Give me specifics.”
Bladewing gave them, and the mage listened.
And Shavara Minos smiled.
*************
Morghan woke early the next day in a strange bed to the chirrups of birds. She sat up quickly in the four-poster bed and scrambled to the window to gaze at the garden beneath it, and laughed to see birds chasing themselves amongst the trees. Then she went to the nearby basin and scrubbed her arms and her face with cold water. Through one door she found a small bathroom, and she went in and bathed herself in the lukewarm water that was somehow strangely pumped up through the floor.
She toweled herself dry and dressed in a dark pair of trousers and another one of the lace up shirts, this one in dark maroon. She found an old rag and ripped it into strips, then tied her hair back in a strict ponytail, though the curls frayed out vigorously around the edges.
She knocked on the door that led to Listhan’s room.
“Come in, Morghan,” he called, somewhat muffled, and she complied. She found him seated at a table while a servant spread tray upon tray of breakfast before him. He grimaced at the feast and waved Morghan to join him. She did.
The servant bowed deeply to her, produced an extra place, and disappeared out the door.
“Gods,” said Listhan, and leant his good elbow on the table, burying his face in his hands. “Look at all this.”
“No, no,” said Morghan. “You eat, not look.”
Listhan groaned into his hands. Morghan helped herself to a piece of toast and began to eat. He was right—there was far too much food on the table.
“They think just because I’m a big man that I need to eat big,” Listhan told her through his large palms.
“Do you?”
Listhan laughed, a bit bitterly.
She grinned. “Well, come on. The cook—the cook likes to feed people, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, she does. Her name is Hierier.”
“She’s just trying to help you. She wants you to keep up your strength. Right?”
“Right,” mumbled Listhan automatically, and Morghan knew the cook had told him those exact words.
She grinned again, and offered him a papaya. “So, eat!”
He took his face from his hands. His complexion was pale. He let his eyes trace over the food, and his skin went slightly green. He lurched to his feet and stumbled across the room to the washroom, where he vomited forcefully into the basin.
He returned a few minutes later after washing his face and went to the door to his room, peering out into the hallway.
Someone muttered something.
“Yes, thank you. Could you ask Abol to come join me? Don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping, but if he isn’t… thank you.” Listhan came back inside, not looking at the table.
“Are you all right?” Morghan queried.
“I’m fine. I’m just… not… I don’t eat in the morning. Thanks.” He shrugged.
She shrugged as well. “Fine by me. I hope you don’t mind if I do. I’m starved.”
He chuckled. “Eat away.” He waved a hand extravagantly at the feast.
She did, and the minutes ticked away. Listhan sat down at his desk, massaging his broken arm, waiting. Finally there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Listhan called, and he leaned back on the stool and waved a hand at the door to open it.
A small man, short and wiry, stepped into the room. He had thick silver hair shining in great waves about his small head, like a mane, and he wore a pair of iron-rimmed wire spectacles that were slightly crooked and dwarfed his small gray eyes. He wore a richly embroidered purple robe that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. “Mage Listhan!” he said with pleasure, throwing wide his arms in an extravagant gesture. “You’ve returned! Excellent.”
“Yes, Abol, I’m back,” said Listhan, rising hurriedly from his seat to return the man’s hug. “Oh! Careful!” The caution came after the man squeezed too hardily with his thin bony frame on Listhan’s broken arm.
Abol readjusted his spectacles with one hand and focused on the affected limb. “What did you do to yourself?”
Listhan grinned. “I got into a staff-fight.”
“Hm,” said the man, his eyes glittering. “Hm.”
Listhan looked up sharply at him from his seat—though truth be told, Listhan’s huge form seated was just as tall as Abol’s form standing. “Did you chart the solstice?”
“Yes, yes, I did. And we’re in luck—there will be an eclipse that same day.” The man’s gaze never left Listhan’s arm.
Listhan grinned. “I thought as much. That’s why Mihoukatani was in such a hurry to get it done on time. This is the perfect year.”
“I don’t think that the arm will detract from the spell,” said Abol after a moment’s silence.
Listhan sighed deeply and nodded in relief. “Good. I was worried.”
“The eclipse will be in the early hours of the morning.” The other man’s eyes glittered. “I’ve always liked late nights. This should be one of them. You have the potion?”
“There is a complication,” said Listhan.
Abol straightened suddenly and looked at the mage with large, rounded eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Morghan, I would like you to meet Abol Thibsnark, a fellow mage and an astronomer. He’s been helping me in the… em… project. Abol, this is Morghan Farishel.”
They greeted each other cordially but with wary eyes. Listhan went on. “Abol, I am going to need an awakening potion—one that will rouse power from beneath the surface or bring an old spell back into affect.”
Abol glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?” He adjusted the glasses upon his nose.
“It spilled.” Abol went deathly pale. “On her.” Listhan pointed with one finger. “And I can only hope that we can draw it out of her. It shall have to be worked into the proceedings of the day.”
Abol glanced at Morghan, and a look of irritation crossed his face. He leant towards Listhan and began to mutter. “How could you have let it spill? And on somebody—“
“Better on somebody than into the dirt of that planet,” hissed Listhan.
“What, you mean—it spilled there? Not here?” Abol went pale again. “Then she must be—a creature of—“
Listhan lifted a hand and cut him off. “Don’t say it.”
“What, would you try to deny it by not hearing the words? She is a creature of chaos, Listhan. And you brought her here?”
“It was the only way I could access the potion!” Listhan was getting slightly angry.
“How can you trust her? You know what that place is like—you of all people know! You’ve been there! You know that you cannot trust those people—they lie, they connive, they act only in their best interests—“
“That’s enough.” Listhan’s voice was loud and cold, and it brought Abol up short. The smaller man stared at the larger. “I know what you have suffered at their hands, Abol. I know you lost your family to the Lord Chaos’ raiders. But you can hardly hold one woman responsible for all of Chaos’ actions, when she is hardly tied to him at all save that she came from his realms! You cannot let your prejudice demolish this project. It is too important—far too vital—for such trivialities. You know that. I know that. We both do. Put aside the past, Abol. Work for the future.”
Abol held Listhan’s mismatched eyes until he could no longer meet that mixed gaze, and he turned away. His own gray gaze fell upon Morghan, and he scowled briefly, and Morghan knew—knew because she heard their words when she was sure she wasn’t supposed to—knew because of the way he glared—that he did not forgive her for the actions that were not of her doing. She swallowed, and held that cloudy pair of eyes.
