Sunday, December 28, 2008
Music and colour
As they walked, the music commenced; the beautiful spiritual melodies of the soul, once heard, forever yearned for when silenced. It grew in volume and intricacy with each chamber and each colour. Silver, rose, magenta, pale moonlight, saffron, turquoise, starlight, emerald, violet, palest blue, glaring orange…on and on it went, and with it the music. Voiceless angels, whispering flutes, crooning violins, transcendental, the distant notes of holy song, a celestial dirge. It was and it was not. Ancient philosophers had regarded the universe as a type of music, with different harmonies, octaves and notes, perfect in its creation, with patterns weaved in amongst the greater song…and perhaps they had been right. Hearing the melodies was akin to feeling the nature of all things, and it went far beyond feelings…for feelings were too subjective. Here there was objectivity, neutrality, logic, and yet it led and led, it created, and it could not be denied.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Humankind
Humans are the latecomers to the grand scheme that is the pattern arrayed throughout the spaces of time. They are the finishing of universal evolution. Humankind, however, shouldn’t be relegated to the backbenches simply because they are last. Not ever. Understand this: humans are born hurriedly and pass away as swiftly- they flit through measured time in the blink of an eye. Long-lived races cannot fathom them and sometimes do not credit them with intelligence, for how is haste meaningful? And yet, because time passes out of reach so swiftly, humans evolved at speeds that put the long-lived to shame. Intelligence is inherent, the need to question and reach out to beyond known theory is ingrained from birth, as is the desire to excel, grow and be counted.
Humans reach for the stars; they fail and succeed, and go beyond theory. They become great players in the pattern and soon fill spaces previously believed sacrosanct, and come to the notice of others. To name them unintelligent is a grave error.
And yet haste leads to terrible calamity. First among these is the growth factor. Numerous worlds have borne the brunt of population explosions- life is cheap, life is polluted, life is meaningless. In this, their actions parallel what others think of humans. In the final analysis, humans are capable of greatness and have attained it, and also able to sink into the depths…they have done that as well.
Humans reach for the stars; they fail and succeed, and go beyond theory. They become great players in the pattern and soon fill spaces previously believed sacrosanct, and come to the notice of others. To name them unintelligent is a grave error.
And yet haste leads to terrible calamity. First among these is the growth factor. Numerous worlds have borne the brunt of population explosions- life is cheap, life is polluted, life is meaningless. In this, their actions parallel what others think of humans. In the final analysis, humans are capable of greatness and have attained it, and also able to sink into the depths…they have done that as well.
Trees - old souls
‘It’s beautiful now,’ Raken said softly, understanding.
Vannis nodded, but for him it wasn’t the same. ‘The Valleur regard water as sacrosanct, but trees are friends…to lose one is a personal grief, a wrenching…trees are one of the few species that are able to live as long as the Valleur…’ He drew breath, exhaled. ‘Some of them still stand.’
‘Aqua Island is more densely forested, but most of the trees are young,’ Raken said. ‘About two hundred years ago they began clearing the island of its ancient trees, the wood being a precious commodity, what with aversion to the Great Forest up north. Then they cleared it for habitation.’ She noted how he smiled. ‘You’re smiling because you know the land refused to stay cleared. When a tree fell the one day, by next morning another was growing, hardy little saplings that absolutely refused to budge. Within a week those saplings were as tall as the felled tree, if not as broad. Eventually Aqua Island was left to its own devices, and folk today believe it to be haunted by the spirits of murdered trees.’
‘I remember that,’ Torrullin muttered. He was Ultrain at the time, and found an excuse to be there, afraid of what they might find if they dug too far, but returned to Chiss smiling. The forest held its own, and everyone was afraid of the strange ruins discovered in the midst of ancient trees.
Vannis nodded, but for him it wasn’t the same. ‘The Valleur regard water as sacrosanct, but trees are friends…to lose one is a personal grief, a wrenching…trees are one of the few species that are able to live as long as the Valleur…’ He drew breath, exhaled. ‘Some of them still stand.’
‘Aqua Island is more densely forested, but most of the trees are young,’ Raken said. ‘About two hundred years ago they began clearing the island of its ancient trees, the wood being a precious commodity, what with aversion to the Great Forest up north. Then they cleared it for habitation.’ She noted how he smiled. ‘You’re smiling because you know the land refused to stay cleared. When a tree fell the one day, by next morning another was growing, hardy little saplings that absolutely refused to budge. Within a week those saplings were as tall as the felled tree, if not as broad. Eventually Aqua Island was left to its own devices, and folk today believe it to be haunted by the spirits of murdered trees.’
‘I remember that,’ Torrullin muttered. He was Ultrain at the time, and found an excuse to be there, afraid of what they might find if they dug too far, but returned to Chiss smiling. The forest held its own, and everyone was afraid of the strange ruins discovered in the midst of ancient trees.
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Sunday, December 21, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Season time....
Yes, another year is almost over...and we can still remember the nineties when we thought the year 2000 would NEVER arrive!! Time moves on. And now time is at a premium- too much to do, too much taking time away from writing and blogging.
Thus, taking a break and will be back in the new year (may post a titbit or two before then, when time allows...)
For your information: Tales of the Valla has a season of cheer as well, different name, different culture, but instantly recogniseable...
Have a great Christmas and New Year, everyone!
Thus, taking a break and will be back in the new year (may post a titbit or two before then, when time allows...)
For your information: Tales of the Valla has a season of cheer as well, different name, different culture, but instantly recogniseable...
Have a great Christmas and New Year, everyone!
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Burden
‘As a boy, restricted by my mother’s agelessness, and ruled by the need to find my father, leading to Immortality, in itself is a prison, given the cycles of death and rebirth. I had to avoid detection- not only were there no Vallor in the Universe, but no expectation of it changing. Worse was the fact nobody remembered my people, when I remembered so well. Everyday was a cage, of the mind, of heritage, of loneliness. Then came Rain and another damn cage, in the form of prophecy. Everything I did had been foretold. I was half-blood, son to Tanos, grandson to Vannis, the One, Enchanter, the duality of a terribly prophetic naming, but where was Torrullin? My sons imprisoned me and they still do. Both of them. I thought I was breaking out when I orchestrated the destruction of Torrke, but to my horror prophecy awaited me in the flatlands. I had not escaped. Now here I am, following the road I myself predicted, and still dealing with my sons. Do I feel caged? Damn right I do.’
Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Hounded
‘The night of my Immortality Ritual, just over six thousand years ago, this particular dream started. It came only in times of great tension or turmoil, so wasn’t nightly or even regular. It stopped around fifteen hundred years back, and began again the day after I returned from the Plane, and thereafter every time I closed my eyes.’
Torrullin sighed and leaned back. His eyes were calm as he related the actual images to Krikian. ‘I am running across a dry dead plain, totally flat, hard stones I trip over as I run. I am holding something very precious, I must not drop or lose it or I shall be lost, and not only I, but also everyone I care about. As I run I have flashbacks of a time I was held caged like an animal, taunted with the sharpness of spears, spat on, ridiculed, starved near to death, big men with no faces climbing into the cage wielding viciously spiked maces, my bones crushing, knitting together painfully…I think I am cripple for the initial flight across the plain. They taunt in the common tongue- pig, murderer, whoreson, human waste, devil…and many other insults. I look up and I see a hill, or a mountain, maybe a heap of bones, it’s the only different thing and I must go to it. There are horsemen behind me, I do not see them, but I feel them and they are getting closer and they want the bundle I carry, they will kill for it. And then I am on the path on the hill and I have to get to the top, I must sacrifice the precious bundle to save myself- it is my redemption. I am climbing old, worn steps of stone winding up the hillside and carrying something, something light and alive. I look down to check what I hold is still safe and warm. A tiny pink face peeks at me through the gap in the swaddling and little black eyes blink. An innocent babe, by all gods. I concentrate on placing my feet properly on the smooth steps, slick and dangerous in encroaching mist. As I climb, mist arises and soon it will envelope all, block out sight and sound. White blindness, wet on my skin, in my lungs. I hurry up cautiously, mindful of my cargo. I have to reach a stone temple perching precariously on the summit of this lone hill before my pursuers discern my purpose, and I thank the Goddess for sending the mist to obscure my trail through the ever-present dust below. It’s a tribute, a sacrifice I carry and to live beyond the day I am dreaming of, it has to die. I look down again, but now the white swirls are so dense the little face is indistinct and I am glad I can no longer see her; what I have to do is hard enough. I am weary of running from this, always looking over my shoulder, wondering when they will find me and snare me for the beast they think me, cage me anew until they have enough sport. I stand poised on the final step, lost in a world of choking white and the shortest side step will plummet us to sharp rocks far below. The rocks, the hill, the only landmarks in a featureless dust plain that literally has no beginning and no end. Before me is the slight shadow of a shrouded temple and I step forward and the baby squirms. I hear them coming for me, but don’t actually see them, and I know it is not just the babe- they hunt me. I have overcome and they don’t like that. The fog thickens; a saviour, a haven, the coolness a blessing, and I begin to hope- my life, my very soul dependent on my success. One misstep and all will be lost…but she is beautiful, so tiny, and so perfect, my heart breaks, my resolve crumbles and I cannot do it. My salvation lies before me and I cannot do it. I stand within the doorway of the temple and I clutch the warm bundle and I cannot move…and behind me the unseen men with their war clubs clamber up the hillside, cursing, in a hurry…and I force myself to wake up.’
Torrullin sighed and leaned back. His eyes were calm as he related the actual images to Krikian. ‘I am running across a dry dead plain, totally flat, hard stones I trip over as I run. I am holding something very precious, I must not drop or lose it or I shall be lost, and not only I, but also everyone I care about. As I run I have flashbacks of a time I was held caged like an animal, taunted with the sharpness of spears, spat on, ridiculed, starved near to death, big men with no faces climbing into the cage wielding viciously spiked maces, my bones crushing, knitting together painfully…I think I am cripple for the initial flight across the plain. They taunt in the common tongue- pig, murderer, whoreson, human waste, devil…and many other insults. I look up and I see a hill, or a mountain, maybe a heap of bones, it’s the only different thing and I must go to it. There are horsemen behind me, I do not see them, but I feel them and they are getting closer and they want the bundle I carry, they will kill for it. And then I am on the path on the hill and I have to get to the top, I must sacrifice the precious bundle to save myself- it is my redemption. I am climbing old, worn steps of stone winding up the hillside and carrying something, something light and alive. I look down to check what I hold is still safe and warm. A tiny pink face peeks at me through the gap in the swaddling and little black eyes blink. An innocent babe, by all gods. I concentrate on placing my feet properly on the smooth steps, slick and dangerous in encroaching mist. As I climb, mist arises and soon it will envelope all, block out sight and sound. White blindness, wet on my skin, in my lungs. I hurry up cautiously, mindful of my cargo. I have to reach a stone temple perching precariously on the summit of this lone hill before my pursuers discern my purpose, and I thank the Goddess for sending the mist to obscure my trail through the ever-present dust below. It’s a tribute, a sacrifice I carry and to live beyond the day I am dreaming of, it has to die. I look down again, but now the white swirls are so dense the little face is indistinct and I am glad I can no longer see her; what I have to do is hard enough. I am weary of running from this, always looking over my shoulder, wondering when they will find me and snare me for the beast they think me, cage me anew until they have enough sport. I stand poised on the final step, lost in a world of choking white and the shortest side step will plummet us to sharp rocks far below. The rocks, the hill, the only landmarks in a featureless dust plain that literally has no beginning and no end. Before me is the slight shadow of a shrouded temple and I step forward and the baby squirms. I hear them coming for me, but don’t actually see them, and I know it is not just the babe- they hunt me. I have overcome and they don’t like that. The fog thickens; a saviour, a haven, the coolness a blessing, and I begin to hope- my life, my very soul dependent on my success. One misstep and all will be lost…but she is beautiful, so tiny, and so perfect, my heart breaks, my resolve crumbles and I cannot do it. My salvation lies before me and I cannot do it. I stand within the doorway of the temple and I clutch the warm bundle and I cannot move…and behind me the unseen men with their war clubs clamber up the hillside, cursing, in a hurry…and I force myself to wake up.’
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Ruins and graves
Ireland is spectacular in its green landscapes, high cliffs, forest parks and beautiful beaches, whatever the weather. It is also a country rich in ruins and history....as a writer, all of it adds up to fantastical inspiration.Sunday, November 9, 2008
In Brief - Walker of Realms
Book Five – Walker of Realms
Place: Valaris- continent & Western Isles
Characters:
Protagonists: Torrullin, Margus, Saska, Tannil, Mitrill, Caltian, Quilla,Buthos of the Siric, Teighlar, Samuel, Lowen, Fay
Antagonists: Tymall, the new Darkling Horde
Magical tools: Maghdim Medaillon, the sword Trezond
Warlock accruements
In brief: Two thousand years later Torrullin returns to Valaris with Margus as an unlikely ally to fight Tymall returned as Warlock. Tymall is now far more dangerous that Margus ever was. Torrullin understands it requires a Dark Lord and the Enchanter to fight his son. But Torrullin is plagued by a recurring dream and it needs solving to clarify the path ahead. Tymall attempts to set the stage as it was in the past, knowing power lies in there to aid him when confronting his father.
Lead into Animated Spirit: Torrullin has vanished to find Lowen Dalrish. She will lead him into the realm of his dreams. While he is gone many Vallas die at Tymall’s hand, and death and starvation stalks ordinary Valarians.
Place: Valaris- continent & Western Isles
Characters:
Protagonists: Torrullin, Margus, Saska, Tannil, Mitrill, Caltian, Quilla,Buthos of the Siric, Teighlar, Samuel, Lowen, Fay
Antagonists: Tymall, the new Darkling Horde
Magical tools: Maghdim Medaillon, the sword Trezond
Warlock accruements
In brief: Two thousand years later Torrullin returns to Valaris with Margus as an unlikely ally to fight Tymall returned as Warlock. Tymall is now far more dangerous that Margus ever was. Torrullin understands it requires a Dark Lord and the Enchanter to fight his son. But Torrullin is plagued by a recurring dream and it needs solving to clarify the path ahead. Tymall attempts to set the stage as it was in the past, knowing power lies in there to aid him when confronting his father.
Lead into Animated Spirit: Torrullin has vanished to find Lowen Dalrish. She will lead him into the realm of his dreams. While he is gone many Vallas die at Tymall’s hand, and death and starvation stalks ordinary Valarians.
In Brief - Indivisible Sword
Book 4
Place: Valaris
Characters:
Protagonists: Torrullin, Vannis, Tanos, Saska, Tristamil, Quilla, Cat, Caballa, Lowen Dalrish
Antagonists: Margus, Tymall, the Dinor
Magical tools: Blue Sword, Green Sword, Tanos’ diamond
In brief: Again Valaris is the ultimate battlefield, Margus versus Torrullin, but this time there are the twins, alter egos to the main players. Torrullin is in quandary, for he loves both his sons, and when he is forced to choose it changes the path of the future. The green and blue swords become one, and Torrullin pulls Margus into an alternate realm to prevent destruction to Valaris as a whole again. He does this after his sons die, and it fuels his rage. The Dark Lord will pay.
Lead into Walker of Realms: Torrke is destroyed, Torrullin, Vannis and Margus have moved on into the invisible realms. Vannis goes his own way (to Raken) and Torrullin and Margus awake in the Flatlands. Their battle is not yet over.
Place: Valaris
Characters:
Protagonists: Torrullin, Vannis, Tanos, Saska, Tristamil, Quilla, Cat, Caballa, Lowen Dalrish
Antagonists: Margus, Tymall, the Dinor
Magical tools: Blue Sword, Green Sword, Tanos’ diamond
In brief: Again Valaris is the ultimate battlefield, Margus versus Torrullin, but this time there are the twins, alter egos to the main players. Torrullin is in quandary, for he loves both his sons, and when he is forced to choose it changes the path of the future. The green and blue swords become one, and Torrullin pulls Margus into an alternate realm to prevent destruction to Valaris as a whole again. He does this after his sons die, and it fuels his rage. The Dark Lord will pay.
Lead into Walker of Realms: Torrke is destroyed, Torrullin, Vannis and Margus have moved on into the invisible realms. Vannis goes his own way (to Raken) and Torrullin and Margus awake in the Flatlands. Their battle is not yet over.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Universal Music
A tree is letter, a stone is number, the molecule of water is word and the wind is harmony. Together they sing and dance and rule the Universe. When they fall silent, when they are not seen, the next note could be discordant, the ensuing symbol could be beautiful beyond description. It depends entirely on how you wait and what you expect.
If you expect nothing, you will not be disappointed, but you will also never know the difference between beauty and a note out of time.
If you expect everything, you will be disappointed indeed, for nothing is ever as expected, but you will know…yes, you will know.
If you expect nothing, you will not be disappointed, but you will also never know the difference between beauty and a note out of time.
If you expect everything, you will be disappointed indeed, for nothing is ever as expected, but you will know…yes, you will know.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Latticework
A space lattice, in the three dimensions, is any of 14 possible geometric arrangements of points, at which, at the very least, the components of a crystal may form…this is why crystal propulsion is so clean and so very efficient, to name but one effect.
A space lattice, in the realm of sorcery, is all of 14 possible and impossible arrangements in the geotic fields, and include the laws of necromancy and the location of high magnetic energy points of sacred sites.
A space lattice, in the fourth dimension and those beyond, is the 14 impossible arrangements of will and thought, where the continuum is temporal and spacial simultaneously, at which point space-time unfolds and space-folds are beyond measurable time.
In this lattice lies all possibility, where not even imagination has ever been. This is Reaume, and Ariann…and, yes, lest you forget, Lethe. Watch yourself, friend.
A space lattice, in the realm of sorcery, is all of 14 possible and impossible arrangements in the geotic fields, and include the laws of necromancy and the location of high magnetic energy points of sacred sites.
A space lattice, in the fourth dimension and those beyond, is the 14 impossible arrangements of will and thought, where the continuum is temporal and spacial simultaneously, at which point space-time unfolds and space-folds are beyond measurable time.
In this lattice lies all possibility, where not even imagination has ever been. This is Reaume, and Ariann…and, yes, lest you forget, Lethe. Watch yourself, friend.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Atmosphere and ideas
Many photos spark new ideas, and this is one of them. I find this fits in snuggly with atmosphere in Tales of the Valla. This could be Galilan (Valaris) or Grinwallin (Luvanor)...and off I go!!!!
For more brillaint photos from a brilliant photographer, go to http://aucklanddailyphoto.com/
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Fourteen
Numbers are universal. Mathematics is the order of time. It is also the creativity in nature, the music in cosmic travel, the rule in science, the language that transcends every barrier and the stuff of daily labour. It is godly and it is mundane.
Without it life fails.
Without it magic is impossible.
Various numbers have various powers, from the imagination of the smallest to the impossibility of the greatest, but in the realms of magic one number reigns supreme.
Fourteen.
Without it life fails.
Without it magic is impossible.
Various numbers have various powers, from the imagination of the smallest to the impossibility of the greatest, but in the realms of magic one number reigns supreme.
Fourteen.
Avior Door
He who enters cannot leave by the same token. When all hope is lost, it will be renewed. When all life has ceased, the seed will sprout anew. In the whorl will appear all that was, is and must be. Balance is restored, and the new way becomes fresh. So it is foreseen as the stars settle into their patterns. So it will be when the dancing suns and dying moons meet, when all lost memory is rediscovered, when from sword and seat form is returned, and a city of light is gifted new light. This is the wording of oracles. When these events are seen, thus will be forthcoming a new journey. This will be the journey of unbalance, for it is known that in all things there are two parts, one the opposite of the other. In the whorl lay entrance and exit, in unbalance there is neither. This door before you, travellers, is but a devised means and may be used only once. Know now the journey is beyond and there is no return through this door. The dragon and the sword will enter together as they must, as is foretold. In the dark is found light, and in the light is found dark, and everywhere will be shadow. Beyond the veil lies the answer and in the answer lies the labyrinth where shadows mark the corners of curves. Lords of all, bring forth the shadows. Balance will fail, unbalance will sunder, and even shadow will have no power. Nothing exists. This is the wording of oracles. Bring forth the shadows.
Carlin of Cèlaver’s translation of the hieroglyphs on the Avior door discovered on Echolone
Carlin of Cèlaver’s translation of the hieroglyphs on the Avior door discovered on Echolone
Saturday, October 11, 2008
How to follow Tales of the Valla
Hello all readers!
We all like to see who reads what we write, don't we? Now there is a way to do this! Add your name to Followers in the sidebar, or add my blog to your list of blogs in your Dashboard. Thus I can see you and others can, too. I can click onto yours and read what you are all about, and others will as well.
Let us build a network of like-minded bloggers!
Regards
Elaina
PS: Do the same for Bards and Tales here: http://bardsandtales.blogspot.com
We all like to see who reads what we write, don't we? Now there is a way to do this! Add your name to Followers in the sidebar, or add my blog to your list of blogs in your Dashboard. Thus I can see you and others can, too. I can click onto yours and read what you are all about, and others will as well.
Let us build a network of like-minded bloggers!
Regards
Elaina
PS: Do the same for Bards and Tales here: http://bardsandtales.blogspot.com
Thursday, October 9, 2008
In brief - Path of Shades
Book Three – Path of Shades
Place: Valaris, Atreidi in the Forbidden Zone
Characters: Protagonists: Torrullin, Vannis, Tanos, Saska, Cat Dalrish, Matt Dalrish,
Caltian, Tristamil, Tymall, Teighlar, Queen Abdiah of the Kallanon
Bartholamu of the Siric
Antagonists: Dragon Neolone, Murs Siric, Mysor
Magical tools: Dragon Taliesman, Blue Sword, Green Sword
In brief:
It is the Coming-of Age ceremony of the twins, Tristamil and Tymall, and the time for their unmasking is due. One walks in the Light, the other in the Dark. At this time a prophecy concerning a Dragon Taliesman is uncovered that can destroy everyone’s way of life, and Torrullin takes a team into the Forbidden Zone, to Atreidi, to prevent the catastrophe. War is brought to that world, and Tymall is revealed as the host for Margus, the Dark Lord already once fought and defeated. Grinwallin, ancient city, rises anew to its second chance with Emperor Teighlar of the Senlu as ruler.
Lead into Indivisible Sword:
The Atreidian war is over, the Murs and Mysor defeated, and Grinwallin is safe. However, Torrullin is now aware Margus has returned in the guise of his son Tymall. He, Tristamil, Saska, Vannis, Tanos, Matt and Caltian leave the Forbidden Zone swiftly in order to lead Margus/Tymall away from the war torn world.
Place: Valaris, Atreidi in the Forbidden Zone
Characters: Protagonists: Torrullin, Vannis, Tanos, Saska, Cat Dalrish, Matt Dalrish,
Caltian, Tristamil, Tymall, Teighlar, Queen Abdiah of the Kallanon
Bartholamu of the Siric
Antagonists: Dragon Neolone, Murs Siric, Mysor
Magical tools: Dragon Taliesman, Blue Sword, Green Sword
In brief:
It is the Coming-of Age ceremony of the twins, Tristamil and Tymall, and the time for their unmasking is due. One walks in the Light, the other in the Dark. At this time a prophecy concerning a Dragon Taliesman is uncovered that can destroy everyone’s way of life, and Torrullin takes a team into the Forbidden Zone, to Atreidi, to prevent the catastrophe. War is brought to that world, and Tymall is revealed as the host for Margus, the Dark Lord already once fought and defeated. Grinwallin, ancient city, rises anew to its second chance with Emperor Teighlar of the Senlu as ruler.
Lead into Indivisible Sword:
The Atreidian war is over, the Murs and Mysor defeated, and Grinwallin is safe. However, Torrullin is now aware Margus has returned in the guise of his son Tymall. He, Tristamil, Saska, Vannis, Tanos, Matt and Caltian leave the Forbidden Zone swiftly in order to lead Margus/Tymall away from the war torn world.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
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In brief - Lifegiver
Book Two – Lifegiver
Place: Valaris
Characters: Protagonists: Torrullin, Tanos, Vannis, Saska, Lycea, Raken, Quilla, Phet
Antagonists: Margus, Infinity, Symbiotic Horde
Magical tools: Maghdim Medaillon, Ancient Oracles, Valleur Throne
In brief:
Rain is now Torrullin, the Valla, and his mission is to end the Dark Lord’s path of destruction. As he is Destroyer and Lifegiver, the make up of an Enchanter, the final outcome is in doubt until the very end. A massive showdown takes place at the Pillars of Fire between Torrullin and Margus, and the Dark Lord is defeated.
Lead into Path of Shades:
Peace returns to Valaris and the process of rebuilding begins. Torrullin builds his Keep and awaits the birth of his son. Twins are born and, as Valleur have to be recognised in the womb, the fact that one boy was not, sets the stage for hate and strife in the next book. The Enchanter will soon battle his sons, Tristamil and Tymall.
Place: Valaris
Characters: Protagonists: Torrullin, Tanos, Vannis, Saska, Lycea, Raken, Quilla, Phet
Antagonists: Margus, Infinity, Symbiotic Horde
Magical tools: Maghdim Medaillon, Ancient Oracles, Valleur Throne
In brief:
Rain is now Torrullin, the Valla, and his mission is to end the Dark Lord’s path of destruction. As he is Destroyer and Lifegiver, the make up of an Enchanter, the final outcome is in doubt until the very end. A massive showdown takes place at the Pillars of Fire between Torrullin and Margus, and the Dark Lord is defeated.
Lead into Path of Shades:
Peace returns to Valaris and the process of rebuilding begins. Torrullin builds his Keep and awaits the birth of his son. Twins are born and, as Valleur have to be recognised in the womb, the fact that one boy was not, sets the stage for hate and strife in the next book. The Enchanter will soon battle his sons, Tristamil and Tymall.
In brief - Gathering of Rain
Book One – Gathering of Rain
Place: Valaris
Main Characters: Protagonists: Rain/Torrullin, Tanos, Llettynn, Saska,
Averroes/Lycea, Vannis, Phet
Antagonists: Margus, Infinity, Soul-wraiths and Darkling Horde.
Magical tools: Maghdim Medaillon, Ruby of Enlightenment/Entrances,
Ancient Oracles
In brief:
On Valaris Infinity’s game of revenge uncovers many secrets and heralds great change. Rain is gathered over the course of the tale to battle the Dark Lord Margus. At his side is Vannis, the last Vallorin, Tanos, Lord of the Guardians, Saska of the Mer and others, all forming the team that plays a game that leads to ancient truths.
Lead into Lifegiver:
As all the other members of the team gather on the Mystic Island to await Torrullin. Rain become Torrullin hunts the whereabouts of Margus, Infinity and the two armies. He becomes Destroyer in order to do so. The hopes of all the players are listed
Place: Valaris
Main Characters: Protagonists: Rain/Torrullin, Tanos, Llettynn, Saska,
Averroes/Lycea, Vannis, Phet
Antagonists: Margus, Infinity, Soul-wraiths and Darkling Horde.
Magical tools: Maghdim Medaillon, Ruby of Enlightenment/Entrances,
Ancient Oracles
In brief:
On Valaris Infinity’s game of revenge uncovers many secrets and heralds great change. Rain is gathered over the course of the tale to battle the Dark Lord Margus. At his side is Vannis, the last Vallorin, Tanos, Lord of the Guardians, Saska of the Mer and others, all forming the team that plays a game that leads to ancient truths.
Lead into Lifegiver:
As all the other members of the team gather on the Mystic Island to await Torrullin. Rain become Torrullin hunts the whereabouts of Margus, Infinity and the two armies. He becomes Destroyer in order to do so. The hopes of all the players are listed
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
My blog profile to date
I am a writer, but more than that I love words. Able to read before I attended formal school, the library has ever been my favourite place- any town, city, country or continent. Bookshops, too, whether bright and modern or small and dimly lit! With my blog out there, I hope to hear from others like me. Tell me what your favourite word is, which line grabbed at your soul when you read it, what book caused you to sit up an take note, and so forth. And if you don't agree or you cannot identify with my blog, leave a comment to the contrary. Controversy has sparked many an interesting debate!
And now see the update!
And now see the update!
Soul
A derelict cloister garden in Ireland...still beautiful, still speaking to the soul. Beauty and atmosphere has nothing to do with any cult or creed- it simply is.Monday, September 15, 2008
Religion on Valaris
Valaris has a policy of freedom of religion, and the following are the main players of both past and present:
Naturalists
Techno-cult
Followers of the Prophet Monchalar
Followers of the Deity Tanos (this ‘religion’ did not die even though Tanos himself lived on Valaris openly)
Order of Continuity
Various others have come and gone over time, and are footnotes in history, and others will come and go as time progresses.
Naturalists
Techno-cult
Followers of the Prophet Monchalar
Followers of the Deity Tanos (this ‘religion’ did not die even though Tanos himself lived on Valaris openly)
Order of Continuity
Various others have come and gone over time, and are footnotes in history, and others will come and go as time progresses.
Neolone Dragon
He was an emissary sent to discover where the sorcerers had fled. A singular choice to exit one reality for another, tracking the cold trail of the vanished Q’lin’la. He was a creature of surpassing talent, but once he tore through the barrier, he discovered there was no way to return.
If he desired to go back he needed the Q’lin’la…or had to find another who knew the secrets of Rifts.
He came at a time when the Universe was in turmoil and it was familiar to him, this endless strife. What was not so familiar was the variety of species, each hounding him in their way, so many of them capable of sorcery…and he discovered that the power in the Light- previously sneered at- could be a truly powerful weapon. He had not expected a crowded realm and found he was more often fleeing than fighting. His appearances and disappearances during those first years searching for the feathered beings, is the phenomenon that heralded the myths that followed about dragons and their ferocity. He could not find the Q’lin’la, for they had already undergone the transformation from birdmen into Immortal birds, but he did find others with great skill in magic. These he bled dry of knowledge and yet none of it availed him the way home.
A few more years he roamed, learning, training and garnering ever more power, and in the process he discovered that there was such a beast as prophecy. It intrigued him, particularly when he understood that many an ancient telling had come to pass. These were living futures, glimpses of a time yet to come, and he gathered them all together- much as the Q’lin’la had before opting for transformation- and in those he found the thread that told of the coming of the One, a powerful being carrying within both powers of good and evil. Now that, he thought, was the very road to his salvation, a salvation that would see him return triumphantly to his realm. Good and evil, in one being- the One would have power over Rifts, had to have. He traced the telling back to the source, to the being that fathered the bloodline of this future force…and there he discovered Nemisin of the Valleur, the first Vallorin of the Ancients, the father of the Valla bloodline.
Every instinct revealed to him he was right and thus he warped time itself and went to the ancient rock to deal with Nemisin in person. The warping of time was something the Kallanon had garnered from the Q’lin’la, as they had their name, but they altered the art to suit their needs, warping it in truth, as they had with all they had been taught. It was, however, not a thing of evil, the manipulation of time; it was simply a power they had mastered, becoming greater than their instructors at it.
Nemisin came as a surprise to the Dragon emissary. Not his appearance- he was by then accustomed to bipedal creatures without scaled armour- and it was not his strength, his growing power so far back in the beginnings of magic or his awareness of the future, no; it was the man’s arrogance. It was something so akin to the Dragon’s way that the emissary felt almost welcome, if wary. That kind of arrogance bred treachery, and that had to be watched…and could also be so very useful.
The awareness of the future continued to intrigue him, of course, for it was an entirely alien concept. The Dragons had always thought in terms of the next battle and even when that battle was generations in the planning and preparing, it was never futuristic; it began and ended with said battle. But Nemisin, ruler of the golden Valleur, thought in aeons, delving into the distant future to reach for a glimpse of duty to the present. It was sobering, causing the emissary to realise how little the Kallanon really understood time, sentience and Universal cycles. All were integrally linked. Worlds were formed and destroyed in that linkage, and that was awe-inspiring. Had he the wherewithal to stand back and view his own actions objectively, the emissary would have seen that this realm had worked its magic on him also; he had become a creature in the grip of its ways. In his decision to go direct to the source of the prophetic One, he was choosing the long road, displacing the present with a distant and obscure goal. He was basing his existence of a view, a view only, of the future. He was, at that time, incapable of reasoning that way. And thus, ages back, a Kallanon, a Dragon, requested audience with the golden Vallorin Nemisin and the future was about to change. Or would it- had it not already been told?
If he desired to go back he needed the Q’lin’la…or had to find another who knew the secrets of Rifts.
He came at a time when the Universe was in turmoil and it was familiar to him, this endless strife. What was not so familiar was the variety of species, each hounding him in their way, so many of them capable of sorcery…and he discovered that the power in the Light- previously sneered at- could be a truly powerful weapon. He had not expected a crowded realm and found he was more often fleeing than fighting. His appearances and disappearances during those first years searching for the feathered beings, is the phenomenon that heralded the myths that followed about dragons and their ferocity. He could not find the Q’lin’la, for they had already undergone the transformation from birdmen into Immortal birds, but he did find others with great skill in magic. These he bled dry of knowledge and yet none of it availed him the way home.
A few more years he roamed, learning, training and garnering ever more power, and in the process he discovered that there was such a beast as prophecy. It intrigued him, particularly when he understood that many an ancient telling had come to pass. These were living futures, glimpses of a time yet to come, and he gathered them all together- much as the Q’lin’la had before opting for transformation- and in those he found the thread that told of the coming of the One, a powerful being carrying within both powers of good and evil. Now that, he thought, was the very road to his salvation, a salvation that would see him return triumphantly to his realm. Good and evil, in one being- the One would have power over Rifts, had to have. He traced the telling back to the source, to the being that fathered the bloodline of this future force…and there he discovered Nemisin of the Valleur, the first Vallorin of the Ancients, the father of the Valla bloodline.
Every instinct revealed to him he was right and thus he warped time itself and went to the ancient rock to deal with Nemisin in person. The warping of time was something the Kallanon had garnered from the Q’lin’la, as they had their name, but they altered the art to suit their needs, warping it in truth, as they had with all they had been taught. It was, however, not a thing of evil, the manipulation of time; it was simply a power they had mastered, becoming greater than their instructors at it.
Nemisin came as a surprise to the Dragon emissary. Not his appearance- he was by then accustomed to bipedal creatures without scaled armour- and it was not his strength, his growing power so far back in the beginnings of magic or his awareness of the future, no; it was the man’s arrogance. It was something so akin to the Dragon’s way that the emissary felt almost welcome, if wary. That kind of arrogance bred treachery, and that had to be watched…and could also be so very useful.
The awareness of the future continued to intrigue him, of course, for it was an entirely alien concept. The Dragons had always thought in terms of the next battle and even when that battle was generations in the planning and preparing, it was never futuristic; it began and ended with said battle. But Nemisin, ruler of the golden Valleur, thought in aeons, delving into the distant future to reach for a glimpse of duty to the present. It was sobering, causing the emissary to realise how little the Kallanon really understood time, sentience and Universal cycles. All were integrally linked. Worlds were formed and destroyed in that linkage, and that was awe-inspiring. Had he the wherewithal to stand back and view his own actions objectively, the emissary would have seen that this realm had worked its magic on him also; he had become a creature in the grip of its ways. In his decision to go direct to the source of the prophetic One, he was choosing the long road, displacing the present with a distant and obscure goal. He was basing his existence of a view, a view only, of the future. He was, at that time, incapable of reasoning that way. And thus, ages back, a Kallanon, a Dragon, requested audience with the golden Vallorin Nemisin and the future was about to change. Or would it- had it not already been told?
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Lifesource
Thousands of years ago when the Valleur settled Valaris, this was the place they came to. Water and its life-giving properties were and are extremely important to the Golden…to all races, true, who rely on oxygen and fertility to survive, but to the Valleur water was their collective soul, something to be respected at all times, something to be worshipped as a living entity. Thus they did not name rivers, for naming that to be worshipped was considered sacrilege. Thus they came here to acknowledge Life. Although Valaris had larger and broader rivers elsewhere, here the water was vibrant, trembling with joyous life within the core of the planet, and bursting forth into the light and freedom of the world in splendid glory. Here they built a temple of transcendent beauty, infused with the very earth’s telluric currents …small wonder that the monuments to death were located in the neighbouring valley: life and death, inseparable.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Death in the clanlands
They moved forward slowly, creeping up the steps that linked the terraces, stopping often to listen. Still nothing. They neared the hut, crept around to the rear to peer through a window, the front being too exposed. And then they fell back to the ground in fright, hearts beating…but it was only the dog inside that had put up a frantic barking at the faces peering unexpectedly through the window. Unless the dog wasn’t frightened of whatever may yet be in the area, they could probably assume it was safe to stand. They peered through again and this time the animal watched them with a wagging tail. There was no one inside. Flies buzzed around a half-made dough on the kitchen table…someone had been preparing to bake bread…
They crept from hut to hut, the dog trailing after them, and grew bolder and bolder as they went. They found nothing, no one, except evidence of hasty departure everywhere. They began talking loudly, making a noise, preferring it to the unnatural silence, and probably hoped the sound of their voices would lure out of hiding any frightened person. The dogs started barking all over and that, too, they found good, but no one came to them; nobody was left to come out of hiding.
They crept from hut to hut, the dog trailing after them, and grew bolder and bolder as they went. They found nothing, no one, except evidence of hasty departure everywhere. They began talking loudly, making a noise, preferring it to the unnatural silence, and probably hoped the sound of their voices would lure out of hiding any frightened person. The dogs started barking all over and that, too, they found good, but no one came to them; nobody was left to come out of hiding.
When Shakespeare is relevant
This fits in rather nicely with the time issues in Tales of the Valla:
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate,
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate,
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
On a character list:
When I started DRAFT NO. ONE of my work I started with a list of characters relevant to that work. Through every succeeding draft that list remained in place...and then I moved it to the Appendices at the back...and then moved it out completely.
I came to view that list as a pat on the back- see, I have multiple characters...
And yet, pick up a historical novel and there is invariably a list of relevant characters attached. Other novels, too. I skim over them, but do I do so because I need to know beforehand who the main players are, or do I do so because I am feeling resonance to my own discarded list???
What do you think? How do you regard a list of characters?
I came to view that list as a pat on the back- see, I have multiple characters...
And yet, pick up a historical novel and there is invariably a list of relevant characters attached. Other novels, too. I skim over them, but do I do so because I need to know beforehand who the main players are, or do I do so because I am feeling resonance to my own discarded list???
What do you think? How do you regard a list of characters?
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Pilan - Part 2
Days passed and she was invited into hut after hut. She heard so many tales, not one duplicated, that she was amazed at their colourful history. The Pilanese had no system of counting, beyond the rudimentary, so it wasn’t easy to put a date or length to their histories, but it seemed old, for they often told of a time when there were few people. At every telling she was plied with sweet fruit and a fermented drink that caused her to see stars and giggle helplessly when the funny tales were rolled out. She laughed at the antics of monkeys and the mischievousness of children, and only they asked why she had come to their city. She just smiled enigmatically, and that was enough for them. A Goddess did not have to explain herself. She watched, intrigued anew, as fireflies were lured into mesh baskets with a blob of wild honey. She tried her hand at basket weaving, but was so bad at it she laughed until her sides ached, and everyone laughed with her. Never did she feel unwelcome, nor did she consider herself as a freeloader, for she too gathered fruit, and became quite proficient at catching fireflies. It rained almost incessantly and she quickly rediscovered why the Pilanese went about naked. Wet clothes were uncomfortable, chafing constantly. The second day she removed her clothes and went about in a loincloth, a gift from Emth. At first she was self-conscious, but when no one thought her strange, she revelled in the freedom. Her clothes vanished into the community. She accompanied the women to a naming ceremony and the men and boys on a hunting expedition. They hunted the large animals for their skins and the meat was left to carnivores. Pilanese did not eat meat, and it was one of the reasons they were so healthy. She watched the preparation of the hides with interest; a waterproof container was hung in the trees with a hide inside, and every hour the container was aired, and once a day five men urinated all over the hide. It was a very smelly curing process.
Every moment brought something; a child’s touch, a bright bird, a tale, a drink, a wooden bead, a joke, a new fruit, a squealing monkey, a song, and throughout it all, laughter. She found that Valaris and its problems receded, the harsh winter there a distant memory. However, try as she might, Torrullin’s image kept returning, to catch her unawares. She often thought that was the moment his thoughts turned to her, as if across space she could yet sense him. The image that nagged at her the most, however, was the one of him kneeling before his unborn son, and that image was entirely of her mind, not a connection holding over vast distances. She would distract herself by watching a rainbow or joining in a song…until the next time.
As a person, a woman, an individual, she healed inside. The friendly unselfishness of the Pilanese restored her faith in people and their good natures. They gave her strength and she silently thanked them daily. But she knew she could not stay much longer, welcome as she was. That would upset the balance of their society. This was a recharge, an interlude. This was not her life. And as the healing of the spirit came, so the healing of the heart lagged ever more…but she could not stay. Hiding was not something she admired in herself. Wistfully, she watched the young play. How she wished…and then she would laugh and determinedly shake it away, and join in with another task she was bad at and laugh along with the Pilanese. Only once did they scurry away from her, when she rounded on a young man who had approached stealthily, his curiosity agog, and his aim to touch her laser strap. Her fearful, almost violent, reaction caused them to be quietly subdued for all of five minutes. She did not explain what it was; only that it was dangerous. Afterwards she was silently amused, wondering what form that incident would take in the tale of Leath, Goddess of Water.
On the eighth day Torrullin came.
He came striding across bridges as sure-footed as if he had been born there. He was dressed in black close-fitting breeches and a long-sleeved black tunic, the woven kind he favoured, and black knee-high boots. A black cloak hung limp and wet from his shoulders and his sword bumped against his thigh as he walked. It was that slight metallic sound, an alien sound, that caused her to look up, rather than the squeals that were accompanying his arrival- the Pilanese were ever vocal about something. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him approach, his grey eyes intently on her. She had not expected him and did not know what to feel. He was not the Torrullin of memory, but a harder Torrullin with a leaner face, hungrier, and close-cropped hair. He was wet, very wet; it had been raining all day.
Sitting under a leather awning, almost dry, she dropped her fourth attempt at basket weaving and stood slowly, pushing her damp hair from her face. She noticed the crowds on the bridges, sensed them around her, and heard their silence. It was eerie, that silence, as if they sensed confrontation or perhaps it was the presence of the fair man that had rendered them wordless for a time. He did look very different…very inspiring, and very dangerous. Of course, if there was to be a confrontation, the Pilanese would not want to miss a word, but their silence wouldn’t last long, they could not help themselves. What had they called him? He had been given the name of a God, she knew, but she hadn’t been paying attention.
She noticed the way his eyes flicked over her nakedness, the flare of his nostrils. His jaw clenched. She was gratified to realise she still had that effect on him, but suddenly she wished for her clothes, feeling more naked before him alone, than among many.
He halted a few feet from her, in the rain, and held her gaze. Rain sluiced over his face, but he did not blink. The city was silent but for the irrepressible jungle sounds. They had called him Pill. The God of Light. What a tale this would become by nightfall- a God and a Goddess among ordinary folk. This city would take on great importance in the years to come, blessed as they had been by two deities.
When he continued to stand there silent, she realised he did not know how to begin. It gave power to her, she knew, and he was aware of it, but she was feeling vulnerable without her clothes in his presence, so she said:
‘Would you lend me your cloak?’ Her voice was no more than a whisper.
For a second he was confused as if he had misheard her, and then he understood. He understood also why she had asked. It gave power to him, but he betrayed it not at all. He undid the clasp at his neck, shrugged it off, and made to bring it to her.
She whispered fiercely: ‘Don’t come closer!’ Don’t come near me or I shall be lost. ‘Just throw it here. Please.’
His cheeks became hollows of restraint and he threw it at her feet. She knelt and picked it up, swung it around her, wondering what the sudden movement of her breasts was doing to him, but not daring to look. She hugged it closed around her, her arms hidden in it, smelling him.
‘Thank you.’
I want to touch you.
Her head jerked and her eyes flew to his face. She had forgotten how he could read her thoughts. No. You made your choice. Let me be.
He continued to stand without moving. Gradually sound began to rise anew as the Pilanese realised the confrontation would not be violent. They were abuzz with questions, asking it of each other, for they dared not question their deities. The kids began shouting and jostling as was their wont.
Yes, I made a choice.
‘Go away, Enchanter. Here is nothing for you,’ Saska said aloud, her chin raised. Under his cloak she was trembling, her hands clenched.
‘You are here,’ he spoke then, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes then, and when she opened them again, he was close, very close, one hand holding his sword quiet. ‘You are my choice, Saska. I made it in loving you and that did not go away. Please give me a chance to explain…’
‘Explain what?’ She refused to move back, yet trembled even more. ‘Explain that you and I began before there was even a Dark Lord? When you were Rain? That even Rain was curiously drawn to the waif-like Averroes, despite what was building between us? And do not lay that damned Valleur prophecy down as a reason for mindless fate. You made love to her despite your commitment to me at the Keep, and it had nothing to do with prophecy. No, there is your choice. If you are to be a man, live by it. And go, please.’
Torrullin did not move when she pushed at him on her last words. His eyes darkened when she snatched her hand back; she could feel his warmth even through the wetness of his tunic.
The Pilanese were still watching. A monkey swung overhead, chattering. The rain ceased then as suddenly as it could come, and the sun came out, brightening the jungle with glory. Torrullin’s eyes rose in wonder, drawn to the splendour of rainbows both gigantic and nestling between little leaves. The city transformed into a world of colour and song as the pixie people exuberantly joined in to celebrate the miracle of light. Saska’s heart filled, watching him. Despite all that had happened to him, he appreciated beauty and could lose himself in wonder like an innocent child. Unlike the Dark Lord, it was not something he sought to control; no, each tiny event was to him a gift, a miracle to be treasured.
‘Oh, Torrullin,’ she breathed, and then stepped away from him quickly.
His eyes lowered to hers immediately, darkening, responding to the emotion in hers. She could not know that the sight of the rainbows had brought to mind the pond where he had first recognised his son; for him it was like a sign, and he could nothing less than follow the road it had opened in his mind. ‘Saska…’
She shook her head. ‘No. Your son deserves all of you. I cannot stand between you. Please leave me alone.’
His eyes closed and he took a deep breath…as if coming to a vital decision. When he opened them, his eyes were so intense…it told her a truth was about to be torn from him. She shivered. ‘Saska, hear me, please. A man is the last part of who I am, but the man unfortunately makes the most mistakes. My son will have that part of me that is father, and twenty different women in my life cannot affect that. I am more than a father, however, and more than a man. Saska, I am you…and I shall forsake even my son if you ask it of me.’
‘No!’ She stared at him wild-eyed. ‘Are you mad? I would not ask that!’
He smiled grimly. ‘I know you would not ask, yet I need you to know that I would turn my back on everything Valleur…Vannis, Lycea, the Vallorinship, the bloody prophecy, and my son, for you. This you must know, now.’
‘Dear god, Torrullin, and then? You would hate me.’
He stared at her. ‘Yes. Yet I would do it.’
She swallowed, her entire body straining for him, only her mind holding her back. His eyes flickered, as aware of her as she was of him. ‘I do not ask it. Not now, not ever. Know that, now.’
‘Where does that leave us?’ he demanded. ‘I would give you everything…wealth, privacy, isolation, crowds if you prefer…a world just for you…I would make any promise, break every bond…’
She had to interrupt, or she would hit him. For thinking that was what she wanted, and for being prepared to do it. She believed every word, and it scared the hell out of her. ‘Does Vannis know how you feel?’
He was silent.
‘He does.’ She sighed. ‘You shocked him.’
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. ‘Again.’
‘You cannot do these things, Torrullin. It would not be right. You should not even be offering this.’
‘What is right is not the issue here, Saska.’
She licked her lips, her hands clawing at the fabric of the cloak. ‘We have a destructive relationship, Enchanter,’ she said, putting space between them by using his title. ‘Maybe it is safer to stay apart…’
‘Safer?’ he said savagely.
A hot streak of pure lust shot through her. ‘Yes!’
He snatched breath, furious, and his eyes told her he knew where she was. His hands clenched tight to his scabbard to prevent himself from reaching out, consequences be damned. He forced himself to calm down, ‘Do you feel that, Saska? I do…’
‘Get away!’ she whispered roughly, desperately.
‘We are not done, you and I,’ he whispered as roughly.
She denied that truth by shaking her head, ‘There is nothing.’
‘Liar.’
Oh, god, she was going to come undone. ‘I am not committing.’
He stared at her with lifted brows, and she had to look away. The silence then was loaded between them, and when she looked back at him he was another step closer. She could feel his heat; feel his breath on her cheek…
‘Torrullin, get away from me, or I am going to run and you won’t find me again.’
He stared down at her, and then gave a nod. His eyes narrowed and he stepped away. ‘Very well; I shall say no more, for now.’
‘Thank you.’
He fingered his scabbard as if he wanted to say more despite his words to her, and then he shook his head. He looked away from her to the Pilanese, his eyes silvery and alien to them, and when he looked back at her she could see he had imposed control on himself, even if it was thread-thin and would not take much to snap. She desperately wanted to snap it, and had to find her own control then.
‘You have to return to the Dome, Saska.’
She studied him. ‘Belun told you. In the Dome. You have been to the Dome finally.’
‘Oh, yes; through the fourteenth ogive.’ His face twisted.
She paled. ‘You’re the Dragon?’ Dear Goddess, so fatadic; what chance at normality would he ever have? ‘I am sorry.’
‘One more,’ he shrugged. ‘Will you come?’
‘Final Days?’
‘It seems so.’
Clutching at his cloak, smelling him, wanting him, she looked out from under the awning to the singing, laughing and chattering Pilanese. Her eyes followed the path of a flock of parrots and rested on a rainbow. The interlude was over. It was time to leave. As a Goddess she did not have to explain her abrupt arrival, or her abrupt departure, but her heart constricted at the happy innocence around her, at having to leave it, and leave without explaining…they were the lucky ones. In their believed isolation they did not have to grapple with all the ugliness out there. Universal answers were not debated here and could not cause strife, for they could not conceive of the questions.
It was not over; he was right. Every moment in his presence was a fight to stay away from him. He would forsake his son for her, sweet god. She would not ever want him to do that, but it proved how much of an obsession they had for each other. And if she returned to him, then one day she would find herself in this hell of pain again. It was the nature of their relationship. Intense, hurtful, dangerous…and that was the fire.
She looked at him, knowing he could see, locking onto those silvery orbs. ‘Go away.’
He smiled.
She looked away. ‘I shall come to the Dome, but I have to stop for clothes.’
He wanted to say something, and then thought better of it. He wanted to stop for clothes with her, and knew she would not resist the instant he touched her. But it was too soon to make that kind of advance; if they were to have a chance, he would have to exercise patience. He was not a patient man.
He said something else: ‘Is this the kind of place you would be happy in, Saska?’
She stared at him. ‘Could you live like this?’
‘No.’
She was furious then. ‘Too innocent, Enchanter?’
He stared deep into her eyes. ‘Too wet, my love. Too unchanging. You would not be happy here either; you and I, we need change all the time.’
She swallowed. He knew her. ‘Perhaps.’
His hand was at her cheek, and the fingers curled as if about to twist into her hair. She could see the intent in his eyes, the desire to pull her close, to lock his mouth onto hers, to take, to pillage every defence…she strained towards him…and then he swore and dropped his hand. Another time. ‘In the Dome, then.’ He stepped back swiftly and turned and a moment later had vanished to shouts of ‘Pill! Pill!’ as the Pilanese chanted and clapped their hands in rhythm.
She was shaking. She would not have stopped him, she knew. In fact, she was furious he had drawn back. And then she smiled. Sometime she would tell him that here he was the God of Light, as he was to others out there. She allowed the cloak to fall open then, but only so far as to reveal her breasts- which told every Pilanese near enough to see how aroused she was- and raised her hands. When she had a measure of quiet, she said simply: ‘Thank you, people of Pilan, for your welcome and hospitality. It is time for me to leave…’ My God has called me. ‘…but one day I shall return.’
To nods and clapping, shouts and whistles, to ‘Leath! Leath!’ and squealing monkeys, squawking parrots, and with rainbows in her eyes, Saska turned and vanished. She would return, one day.
What a tale the Pilanese now had to pass from generation to generation…how the God of Light had summoned the Goddess of Water, and how they had been witness to it.
Every moment brought something; a child’s touch, a bright bird, a tale, a drink, a wooden bead, a joke, a new fruit, a squealing monkey, a song, and throughout it all, laughter. She found that Valaris and its problems receded, the harsh winter there a distant memory. However, try as she might, Torrullin’s image kept returning, to catch her unawares. She often thought that was the moment his thoughts turned to her, as if across space she could yet sense him. The image that nagged at her the most, however, was the one of him kneeling before his unborn son, and that image was entirely of her mind, not a connection holding over vast distances. She would distract herself by watching a rainbow or joining in a song…until the next time.
As a person, a woman, an individual, she healed inside. The friendly unselfishness of the Pilanese restored her faith in people and their good natures. They gave her strength and she silently thanked them daily. But she knew she could not stay much longer, welcome as she was. That would upset the balance of their society. This was a recharge, an interlude. This was not her life. And as the healing of the spirit came, so the healing of the heart lagged ever more…but she could not stay. Hiding was not something she admired in herself. Wistfully, she watched the young play. How she wished…and then she would laugh and determinedly shake it away, and join in with another task she was bad at and laugh along with the Pilanese. Only once did they scurry away from her, when she rounded on a young man who had approached stealthily, his curiosity agog, and his aim to touch her laser strap. Her fearful, almost violent, reaction caused them to be quietly subdued for all of five minutes. She did not explain what it was; only that it was dangerous. Afterwards she was silently amused, wondering what form that incident would take in the tale of Leath, Goddess of Water.
On the eighth day Torrullin came.
He came striding across bridges as sure-footed as if he had been born there. He was dressed in black close-fitting breeches and a long-sleeved black tunic, the woven kind he favoured, and black knee-high boots. A black cloak hung limp and wet from his shoulders and his sword bumped against his thigh as he walked. It was that slight metallic sound, an alien sound, that caused her to look up, rather than the squeals that were accompanying his arrival- the Pilanese were ever vocal about something. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him approach, his grey eyes intently on her. She had not expected him and did not know what to feel. He was not the Torrullin of memory, but a harder Torrullin with a leaner face, hungrier, and close-cropped hair. He was wet, very wet; it had been raining all day.
Sitting under a leather awning, almost dry, she dropped her fourth attempt at basket weaving and stood slowly, pushing her damp hair from her face. She noticed the crowds on the bridges, sensed them around her, and heard their silence. It was eerie, that silence, as if they sensed confrontation or perhaps it was the presence of the fair man that had rendered them wordless for a time. He did look very different…very inspiring, and very dangerous. Of course, if there was to be a confrontation, the Pilanese would not want to miss a word, but their silence wouldn’t last long, they could not help themselves. What had they called him? He had been given the name of a God, she knew, but she hadn’t been paying attention.
She noticed the way his eyes flicked over her nakedness, the flare of his nostrils. His jaw clenched. She was gratified to realise she still had that effect on him, but suddenly she wished for her clothes, feeling more naked before him alone, than among many.
He halted a few feet from her, in the rain, and held her gaze. Rain sluiced over his face, but he did not blink. The city was silent but for the irrepressible jungle sounds. They had called him Pill. The God of Light. What a tale this would become by nightfall- a God and a Goddess among ordinary folk. This city would take on great importance in the years to come, blessed as they had been by two deities.
When he continued to stand there silent, she realised he did not know how to begin. It gave power to her, she knew, and he was aware of it, but she was feeling vulnerable without her clothes in his presence, so she said:
‘Would you lend me your cloak?’ Her voice was no more than a whisper.
For a second he was confused as if he had misheard her, and then he understood. He understood also why she had asked. It gave power to him, but he betrayed it not at all. He undid the clasp at his neck, shrugged it off, and made to bring it to her.
She whispered fiercely: ‘Don’t come closer!’ Don’t come near me or I shall be lost. ‘Just throw it here. Please.’
His cheeks became hollows of restraint and he threw it at her feet. She knelt and picked it up, swung it around her, wondering what the sudden movement of her breasts was doing to him, but not daring to look. She hugged it closed around her, her arms hidden in it, smelling him.
‘Thank you.’
I want to touch you.
Her head jerked and her eyes flew to his face. She had forgotten how he could read her thoughts. No. You made your choice. Let me be.
He continued to stand without moving. Gradually sound began to rise anew as the Pilanese realised the confrontation would not be violent. They were abuzz with questions, asking it of each other, for they dared not question their deities. The kids began shouting and jostling as was their wont.
Yes, I made a choice.
‘Go away, Enchanter. Here is nothing for you,’ Saska said aloud, her chin raised. Under his cloak she was trembling, her hands clenched.
‘You are here,’ he spoke then, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes then, and when she opened them again, he was close, very close, one hand holding his sword quiet. ‘You are my choice, Saska. I made it in loving you and that did not go away. Please give me a chance to explain…’
‘Explain what?’ She refused to move back, yet trembled even more. ‘Explain that you and I began before there was even a Dark Lord? When you were Rain? That even Rain was curiously drawn to the waif-like Averroes, despite what was building between us? And do not lay that damned Valleur prophecy down as a reason for mindless fate. You made love to her despite your commitment to me at the Keep, and it had nothing to do with prophecy. No, there is your choice. If you are to be a man, live by it. And go, please.’
Torrullin did not move when she pushed at him on her last words. His eyes darkened when she snatched her hand back; she could feel his warmth even through the wetness of his tunic.
The Pilanese were still watching. A monkey swung overhead, chattering. The rain ceased then as suddenly as it could come, and the sun came out, brightening the jungle with glory. Torrullin’s eyes rose in wonder, drawn to the splendour of rainbows both gigantic and nestling between little leaves. The city transformed into a world of colour and song as the pixie people exuberantly joined in to celebrate the miracle of light. Saska’s heart filled, watching him. Despite all that had happened to him, he appreciated beauty and could lose himself in wonder like an innocent child. Unlike the Dark Lord, it was not something he sought to control; no, each tiny event was to him a gift, a miracle to be treasured.
‘Oh, Torrullin,’ she breathed, and then stepped away from him quickly.
His eyes lowered to hers immediately, darkening, responding to the emotion in hers. She could not know that the sight of the rainbows had brought to mind the pond where he had first recognised his son; for him it was like a sign, and he could nothing less than follow the road it had opened in his mind. ‘Saska…’
She shook her head. ‘No. Your son deserves all of you. I cannot stand between you. Please leave me alone.’
His eyes closed and he took a deep breath…as if coming to a vital decision. When he opened them, his eyes were so intense…it told her a truth was about to be torn from him. She shivered. ‘Saska, hear me, please. A man is the last part of who I am, but the man unfortunately makes the most mistakes. My son will have that part of me that is father, and twenty different women in my life cannot affect that. I am more than a father, however, and more than a man. Saska, I am you…and I shall forsake even my son if you ask it of me.’
‘No!’ She stared at him wild-eyed. ‘Are you mad? I would not ask that!’
He smiled grimly. ‘I know you would not ask, yet I need you to know that I would turn my back on everything Valleur…Vannis, Lycea, the Vallorinship, the bloody prophecy, and my son, for you. This you must know, now.’
‘Dear god, Torrullin, and then? You would hate me.’
He stared at her. ‘Yes. Yet I would do it.’
She swallowed, her entire body straining for him, only her mind holding her back. His eyes flickered, as aware of her as she was of him. ‘I do not ask it. Not now, not ever. Know that, now.’
‘Where does that leave us?’ he demanded. ‘I would give you everything…wealth, privacy, isolation, crowds if you prefer…a world just for you…I would make any promise, break every bond…’
She had to interrupt, or she would hit him. For thinking that was what she wanted, and for being prepared to do it. She believed every word, and it scared the hell out of her. ‘Does Vannis know how you feel?’
He was silent.
‘He does.’ She sighed. ‘You shocked him.’
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. ‘Again.’
‘You cannot do these things, Torrullin. It would not be right. You should not even be offering this.’
‘What is right is not the issue here, Saska.’
She licked her lips, her hands clawing at the fabric of the cloak. ‘We have a destructive relationship, Enchanter,’ she said, putting space between them by using his title. ‘Maybe it is safer to stay apart…’
‘Safer?’ he said savagely.
A hot streak of pure lust shot through her. ‘Yes!’
He snatched breath, furious, and his eyes told her he knew where she was. His hands clenched tight to his scabbard to prevent himself from reaching out, consequences be damned. He forced himself to calm down, ‘Do you feel that, Saska? I do…’
‘Get away!’ she whispered roughly, desperately.
‘We are not done, you and I,’ he whispered as roughly.
She denied that truth by shaking her head, ‘There is nothing.’
‘Liar.’
Oh, god, she was going to come undone. ‘I am not committing.’
He stared at her with lifted brows, and she had to look away. The silence then was loaded between them, and when she looked back at him he was another step closer. She could feel his heat; feel his breath on her cheek…
‘Torrullin, get away from me, or I am going to run and you won’t find me again.’
He stared down at her, and then gave a nod. His eyes narrowed and he stepped away. ‘Very well; I shall say no more, for now.’
‘Thank you.’
He fingered his scabbard as if he wanted to say more despite his words to her, and then he shook his head. He looked away from her to the Pilanese, his eyes silvery and alien to them, and when he looked back at her she could see he had imposed control on himself, even if it was thread-thin and would not take much to snap. She desperately wanted to snap it, and had to find her own control then.
‘You have to return to the Dome, Saska.’
She studied him. ‘Belun told you. In the Dome. You have been to the Dome finally.’
‘Oh, yes; through the fourteenth ogive.’ His face twisted.
She paled. ‘You’re the Dragon?’ Dear Goddess, so fatadic; what chance at normality would he ever have? ‘I am sorry.’
‘One more,’ he shrugged. ‘Will you come?’
‘Final Days?’
‘It seems so.’
Clutching at his cloak, smelling him, wanting him, she looked out from under the awning to the singing, laughing and chattering Pilanese. Her eyes followed the path of a flock of parrots and rested on a rainbow. The interlude was over. It was time to leave. As a Goddess she did not have to explain her abrupt arrival, or her abrupt departure, but her heart constricted at the happy innocence around her, at having to leave it, and leave without explaining…they were the lucky ones. In their believed isolation they did not have to grapple with all the ugliness out there. Universal answers were not debated here and could not cause strife, for they could not conceive of the questions.
It was not over; he was right. Every moment in his presence was a fight to stay away from him. He would forsake his son for her, sweet god. She would not ever want him to do that, but it proved how much of an obsession they had for each other. And if she returned to him, then one day she would find herself in this hell of pain again. It was the nature of their relationship. Intense, hurtful, dangerous…and that was the fire.
She looked at him, knowing he could see, locking onto those silvery orbs. ‘Go away.’
He smiled.
She looked away. ‘I shall come to the Dome, but I have to stop for clothes.’
He wanted to say something, and then thought better of it. He wanted to stop for clothes with her, and knew she would not resist the instant he touched her. But it was too soon to make that kind of advance; if they were to have a chance, he would have to exercise patience. He was not a patient man.
He said something else: ‘Is this the kind of place you would be happy in, Saska?’
She stared at him. ‘Could you live like this?’
‘No.’
She was furious then. ‘Too innocent, Enchanter?’
He stared deep into her eyes. ‘Too wet, my love. Too unchanging. You would not be happy here either; you and I, we need change all the time.’
She swallowed. He knew her. ‘Perhaps.’
His hand was at her cheek, and the fingers curled as if about to twist into her hair. She could see the intent in his eyes, the desire to pull her close, to lock his mouth onto hers, to take, to pillage every defence…she strained towards him…and then he swore and dropped his hand. Another time. ‘In the Dome, then.’ He stepped back swiftly and turned and a moment later had vanished to shouts of ‘Pill! Pill!’ as the Pilanese chanted and clapped their hands in rhythm.
She was shaking. She would not have stopped him, she knew. In fact, she was furious he had drawn back. And then she smiled. Sometime she would tell him that here he was the God of Light, as he was to others out there. She allowed the cloak to fall open then, but only so far as to reveal her breasts- which told every Pilanese near enough to see how aroused she was- and raised her hands. When she had a measure of quiet, she said simply: ‘Thank you, people of Pilan, for your welcome and hospitality. It is time for me to leave…’ My God has called me. ‘…but one day I shall return.’
To nods and clapping, shouts and whistles, to ‘Leath! Leath!’ and squealing monkeys, squawking parrots, and with rainbows in her eyes, Saska turned and vanished. She would return, one day.
What a tale the Pilanese now had to pass from generation to generation…how the God of Light had summoned the Goddess of Water, and how they had been witness to it.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
When rain gathers
The mood is set and rain gathers gradually in the background. Ask youself, what happens next?Pilan Homeworld
A forest city
The Universe is vast, an infinite eternity. Logic dictates that in such vastness many worlds could sustain life, sentient or otherwise, for the precedent already exists. And, indeed, so it is and was. Some know they are not alone in the greatness and use either magic or star-travel to traverse it, while others know it intellectually, and others, like Valaris, although isolated, know their ancestors were from elsewhere. And yet others know it from varied visitors to their worlds.
And then there are those who do believe they are alone in the Universe. They simply cannot comprehend the vastness, or, if they can, they are unwilling to believe the coldness of immensity is able to duplicate their uniqueness. Some of these suffer from superiority disease- arrogance- while others are the true innocents of the Universe. How would they feel, innocent or arrogant, if they were to discover that they are not only not alone, but that their great universe is not a singular phenomenon?
Such a belief was held by the people of Pilan. They did believe themselves alone, but perhaps they could be forgiven for their mistaken beliefs, for they were isolated in a tiny solar system in the very corner of a far-flung galaxy, and the periodic visitors they had received over eons of existence had been too few to alter that belief. In fact, the visitors were regarded as the embodiments of their gods and goddesses…of which they had a fair few.
The Universe is vast, an infinite eternity. Logic dictates that in such vastness many worlds could sustain life, sentient or otherwise, for the precedent already exists. And, indeed, so it is and was. Some know they are not alone in the greatness and use either magic or star-travel to traverse it, while others know it intellectually, and others, like Valaris, although isolated, know their ancestors were from elsewhere. And yet others know it from varied visitors to their worlds.
And then there are those who do believe they are alone in the Universe. They simply cannot comprehend the vastness, or, if they can, they are unwilling to believe the coldness of immensity is able to duplicate their uniqueness. Some of these suffer from superiority disease- arrogance- while others are the true innocents of the Universe. How would they feel, innocent or arrogant, if they were to discover that they are not only not alone, but that their great universe is not a singular phenomenon?
Such a belief was held by the people of Pilan. They did believe themselves alone, but perhaps they could be forgiven for their mistaken beliefs, for they were isolated in a tiny solar system in the very corner of a far-flung galaxy, and the periodic visitors they had received over eons of existence had been too few to alter that belief. In fact, the visitors were regarded as the embodiments of their gods and goddesses…of which they had a fair few.
And so it was for Saska; she was a visitor from outer space seen as a goddess, her lithe female form and long tresses of blue hair exactly matching the description of Leath, Goddess of Water. This was her third visit to Pilan; the previous occasion had been a hundred and fifty years ago, and in living memory there would not be one Pilanese who would have seen her before, which was why she felt able to visit without upsetting their integrated belief system. The tale of the blue-haired woman who had walked with ordinary folk, of course, continued to be told and sang; no one remembered, but they had not forgotten either.
Not much had changed in a century and a half, and she smiled as the exotic smells and colours assaulted her senses. If anything, the only change would be that the jungle was denser. Now she understood why she had come; Pilan was very different from anywhere else. Every step revealed a new wonder; here her mind would be so occupied that she could, for a while, forget.
It was a large world rotating on an east-west axis and it was covered almost entirely in rife and often impenetrable rainforest. It was a jungle world. Seas were tiny, lakes numerous and rivers innumerable; mountains were mighty, valleys delved deep down and jungle-choked plains could take months to cross. It rained eighty percent of the time- warm, friendly rain- and the other twenty percent was devoted to spectacular rainbows and the flights of exotic, musical birds. It was a wet, humid and fertile world; a seed dropped in the morning would literally sprout by nightfall. Long days and long nights, an extraordinarily long year, and one spring-like season dominated Pilan’s climate, economy and society. Pilan rotated around a massive star called Pill, the God of Light. Here nobody went hungry ever and life was somnolent.
Saska arrived just as the sun broke through again and even in the denseness of the jungle rainbows abounded. She wandered in the eerie green light accompanied by hundreds of colourful birds and numerous chattering and laughing monkeys. A red and yellow snake slid off the path as she approached; the path being nothing more than a break in the foliage all around. Tiny blue and purple bugs peeped out from under gigantic leaves, and ahead a bright yellow bird with a deep burgundy beak was busily pecking away at the soft bark of a giant tree. It ignored her completely. The sunlight filtered through the canopy to create a world of light and dark green shadows and drips of rain plinked from leaves into clear puddles. Everything smelled fresh and clean, and yet there was the mouldy aroma of an ever-moist jungle underlying it. It was a strange smell, welcoming in its truth, and did not detract from the freshness. Behind her a pair of red parrots squawked at each other and she smiled when she was startled by the sound. Not long after she had been on the path she heard the unmistakable sounds of people; a child laughing, another shouting, and a woman’s voice sleepily admonishing them to be quiet. Her sense of direction had led this way- there had been a settlement in this region when she was last here- and she smiled again, glad it had not let her down and glad the settlement had continued. And then she broke into a clearing the size of Galilan, and stopped. That it was no longer a settlement was instantly obvious; a hundred and fifty years had wrought many changes. Enjoying the sight of something so different, she stared around in wonder. It was a clearing only in that the greater portion of the jungle was kept in constant trim- a continuous battle, she knew from before, and the only rally arduous task for the Pilanese- for it was filled with trees and birds and monkeys and insects. The clearing was full, a jungle-city, multi-layered, with bridges and ladders connecting thousands of huts from just above ground level into the sturdiest branches of huge, high trees. The highest level was so far up she could not see it from the ground. The twenty or so huts she had known on her last visit had bloomed into a full-fledged city to rival even the great concrete jungles on other worlds. Children and adults alike climbed and ran the paths through and about the trees, sure-footed and unafraid, their movements akin to the monkeys, who in turn copied them, chattering away in every available space. Here and there a woman shooed them away, shouting in annoyance. The monkeys darted away, to return the moment backs were turned. Saska grinned, loving it.
The Pilanese were small, the tallest no more than five feet, and generally dark; soft, caramel skins, dark hair that was straight and long, and black eyes. Their features were pixie-like, pointed and fine, and long pointed ears peeking cheekily through their hair emphasized this likeness. Men, women and children alike all wore their hair long and all were generally naked, with some sporting the scrappiest of loincloths. Women wore concealing skirts, she recalled, only during menstruation.There had to be at least half a million in this city, she estimated, if not more, and there were many such cities, some far larger, others village sized. It was difficult to judge the size of Pilan’s planet-wide population for the jungle hid so much…still, she thought; it had to be close to a billion or three. There was no fire on Pilan, it was too wet and never cold, and food was as simple as picking off the trees. Light for the long nights was in the ingenious form of captured fireflies. These little glow-creatures were the size of a man’s fist and bred faster than they could be captured. Industry was the periodic logging expedition, basket weaving, the twisting of jungle rope, replacing rotten timber, and all of it was done to music and song. Learning was by word of mouth in the form of extraordinary tales, and each man and woman was an accomplished storyteller. Even children could spin amusing yarns, and the system of learning worked, for paper would not last long on Pilan and a people’s history was not forgotten.
Saska waved at a group of children on the bridge above her, who squealed and immediately began to point emphatically. Moments later all the bridges she could see were crowded with people, young and old. ‘It’s Leath!’ The refrain rang from one end of the city to the other, and they were not afraid. That was what she liked most about them, their fearlessness. She was simply Leath, a known figure in the tales of their deities…and what was possibly strange about that, what was there to fear? Willing hands reached down and helped her onto the nearest bridge, laughing and chattering all at once, little hands touching her pale blue hair and turning her hands this way and that to examine her pale skin. ‘She’s come again!’ Saska knew her arrival would already have achieved story status by nightfall and the first tellers would have an audience agog. They handed her along and up, pointing to a larger hut about a third of the way into the canopy, set slightly off-centre. All the huts were wall and window-less; with leather coverings lowered on all sides only when occupants were asleep against the rain. There was no privacy here; eating, talking, lovemaking, birthing, bowel and bladder movements, even death, all done in full view of the entire community, and also to music and song, even death.
The larger hut was no different from the others, only roomier, and with a bigger wooden deck in front of it. Obviously this was the leader’s hut, and it was his or her duty to speak first with the Goddess. Saska had learned that men and women were equal on Pilan, and it meant whoever greeted her could be male or female; it was a woman. She came out with an infant on her hip, her only adornment a necklace of wooden beads. She smiled and came forward to take Saska’s hand, leading her to a rough table with benches all around. A basket of bright fruit in the centre glistened after the rain.
The larger hut was no different from the others, only roomier, and with a bigger wooden deck in front of it. Obviously this was the leader’s hut, and it was his or her duty to speak first with the Goddess. Saska had learned that men and women were equal on Pilan, and it meant whoever greeted her could be male or female; it was a woman. She came out with an infant on her hip, her only adornment a necklace of wooden beads. She smiled and came forward to take Saska’s hand, leading her to a rough table with benches all around. A basket of bright fruit in the centre glistened after the rain.
Saska knew the Pilanese language, which contained elements of the older languages of the Universe, languages the Guardians studied until they were fluent in them, and thus had no difficulty in understanding the woman.
‘Welcome, Leath. I am Emth, the headwoman here.’ Emth bowed slightly and motioned for Saska to sit.
Given the size of the city, a headwoman here was the equivalent to a mayor or governor on, say, Beacon. Emth was a powerful woman, and was no natural and unaware of her status that Saska wanted to hug her. ‘Thank you, Emth,’ she smiled, taking a seat. She was already so wet, it mattered not where she sat…and, of course, she sat down smack in a puddle on the bench. She knew not to attempt to explain who she was; they would merely nod politely and turn around to tell the story the way they believed it to be. She looked up at the smiling crowds, waved, was waved at, and then experienced a moment’s vertigo on looking down. A bunch of children jostled each other at the edge of the deck, grinning and pointing. A man came out of the hut, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
‘Welcome, Leath. I am Emth, the headwoman here.’ Emth bowed slightly and motioned for Saska to sit.
Given the size of the city, a headwoman here was the equivalent to a mayor or governor on, say, Beacon. Emth was a powerful woman, and was no natural and unaware of her status that Saska wanted to hug her. ‘Thank you, Emth,’ she smiled, taking a seat. She was already so wet, it mattered not where she sat…and, of course, she sat down smack in a puddle on the bench. She knew not to attempt to explain who she was; they would merely nod politely and turn around to tell the story the way they believed it to be. She looked up at the smiling crowds, waved, was waved at, and then experienced a moment’s vertigo on looking down. A bunch of children jostled each other at the edge of the deck, grinning and pointing. A man came out of the hut, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
‘This is Seth, my mate,’ Emth introduced him, ‘and this is out daughter Mali.’ She tickled the infant at her hip, and her voice had an entrancing rhythm. ‘You are welcome here, Leath,’ Emth smiled and Saska smiled back.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Historical Timeline
Year 1 - Valleur Settlement
310 - Vannis weds Mantra
2022 - The Navigator
2536 - Human Settlement (Year 1 – humans)
Space warp
Valleur-human war
Vannis goes into hibernation
2599 - half-Valleur habitat ready
2634 - Earthquake resulting in Aqua Island and Emerald Sound
4090 - Sorcery wars (Ruby of Enlightenment)
5851 - Millanu's return to Valaris
5872 - Tanos’ birth
5906 - Tanos and Millanu
5907 - Tanos’ Immortality Ritual
Torrullin’s birth
5923 - Millanu's death
5941 - Shane, King of the Beggars
6871 - Mason Drew
8061 - Fundor, the Foundling
9500 - Renos, the pirate
9819 - Drasso commences his annihilation
9822 - North and South divided
9833 - Society of Sorcerers and the Mantle
11300 - Ultrain, Chiss Innkeeper
11815 - Rain’s birth
11827 - Changeling is born
11849 - The Game
Vannis returns
Torrullin recalls
Lycea’s past is restored
Margus, Dark Lord
11850 - Tristamil and Tymall born
11875/6 - Tristamil and Tymall come of age
Saska becomes the Lady of Life
Atreidian war and dealing with Neolone
The return of Margus
Tristamil and Tymall die and Torrke is destroyed
Torrullin and Margus enter the Invisible Realms
13876 - The Valleur are exiled in the west, Tannil is Vallorin
Samuel Skyler is revealed as a Valla, as is his son Tristan
Torrullin and Margus return from the Plane
Tymall returns from death as the Warlock
Many Vallas die, including Tannil
Tymall re-enters Digilan
The Kaval is born
Torrullin takes off with Lowen, forsaking Saska
Agnimus is revealed as the new enemy
13876-13901 – Tristan comes of age
Teroux comes of age
Saska and the Lily, the Lady of Life, renew Nemisin’s world
Torrullin and the Kaval establish Sanctuary
13901 -
310 - Vannis weds Mantra
2022 - The Navigator
2536 - Human Settlement (Year 1 – humans)
Space warp
Valleur-human war
Vannis goes into hibernation
2599 - half-Valleur habitat ready
2634 - Earthquake resulting in Aqua Island and Emerald Sound
4090 - Sorcery wars (Ruby of Enlightenment)
5851 - Millanu's return to Valaris
5872 - Tanos’ birth
5906 - Tanos and Millanu
5907 - Tanos’ Immortality Ritual
Torrullin’s birth
5923 - Millanu's death
5941 - Shane, King of the Beggars
6871 - Mason Drew
8061 - Fundor, the Foundling
9500 - Renos, the pirate
9819 - Drasso commences his annihilation
9822 - North and South divided
9833 - Society of Sorcerers and the Mantle
11300 - Ultrain, Chiss Innkeeper
11815 - Rain’s birth
11827 - Changeling is born
11849 - The Game
Vannis returns
Torrullin recalls
Lycea’s past is restored
Margus, Dark Lord
11850 - Tristamil and Tymall born
11875/6 - Tristamil and Tymall come of age
Saska becomes the Lady of Life
Atreidian war and dealing with Neolone
The return of Margus
Tristamil and Tymall die and Torrke is destroyed
Torrullin and Margus enter the Invisible Realms
13876 - The Valleur are exiled in the west, Tannil is Vallorin
Samuel Skyler is revealed as a Valla, as is his son Tristan
Torrullin and Margus return from the Plane
Tymall returns from death as the Warlock
Many Vallas die, including Tannil
Tymall re-enters Digilan
The Kaval is born
Torrullin takes off with Lowen, forsaking Saska
Agnimus is revealed as the new enemy
13876-13901 – Tristan comes of age
Teroux comes of age
Saska and the Lily, the Lady of Life, renew Nemisin’s world
Torrullin and the Kaval establish Sanctuary
13901 -
Inhabited worlds in the time of The Valla
Valaris - Luvanor - Sanctuary - Beacon – Pleses – Xen III – Cèlaver – Dinor – Pilan – Ceta – Giantor – Yltri – Ymir – Hutito – Canolantis – Marion Central – Fortani – Nera – Lax – Clintor – Scortas – Drinic Homeworld – Kashdar – Mir 4 – Plinta – Mirandas – Trin – Thisseldrum – Blentar – Dinoval (or Dinor Homeworld) – Titania – Luvanor – Tremmen – Merrix – Minea – Lari - Lexus – Lintusillem – Phenu…
Travel- space and magical
He was a small man, a true spiritual leader, a wise man, and compassionate and understanding of all human failing, including his own. White-haired, bent and wrinkled, he became Immortal late in mortal life. The strength of his spirit aided him well in the change and he chose the path of longevity purely because he felt he did not yet know all truths. Others had followed his ways- all gone now, but for himself- but they had not seen- as he had- that it was impossible for all truths to be revealed. Truth was subjective, after all, and it was a populated Universe.
The only truth he had suffered over was the ability to travel space. Worlds in solar systems were far apart, solar systems within galaxies were even further removed from each other and galaxies lay within the vast spaces so incredibly distant one from the other that space should be eternally limited to a stint to the local moon. And it was not so. Craft sped the spaces as if travelling between cities, achieving destination in weeks when it should take billions of light years to do so. Astronomers attempted to explain the amazing unseen highways in the black nothingness; engineers attempted to unravel for him the astounding capabilities of engines that could go far faster than light; quantum physicists attempted to explain simply the concept of folded space, of wormholes, of time shortening the further and faster one travelled…and many others slotted in the pieces of a gigantic, boggling puzzle. It was truth that space travel was achieved daily, yet so much that was forever unexplainable accompanied the achievement, that it was short of truth…to him. When, however, he learned of and later saw with his own eyes, the concept of magical travel, city to city, world to world, galaxy to galaxy, in the blink of an eye, he surrendered his search for that truth. Travel was as it was, and it was a God-given gift; who was he to question the ways of God?
He taught himself the ways of magical travel and never again questioned the gift. Some truths belonged only to the High One.
The only truth he had suffered over was the ability to travel space. Worlds in solar systems were far apart, solar systems within galaxies were even further removed from each other and galaxies lay within the vast spaces so incredibly distant one from the other that space should be eternally limited to a stint to the local moon. And it was not so. Craft sped the spaces as if travelling between cities, achieving destination in weeks when it should take billions of light years to do so. Astronomers attempted to explain the amazing unseen highways in the black nothingness; engineers attempted to unravel for him the astounding capabilities of engines that could go far faster than light; quantum physicists attempted to explain simply the concept of folded space, of wormholes, of time shortening the further and faster one travelled…and many others slotted in the pieces of a gigantic, boggling puzzle. It was truth that space travel was achieved daily, yet so much that was forever unexplainable accompanied the achievement, that it was short of truth…to him. When, however, he learned of and later saw with his own eyes, the concept of magical travel, city to city, world to world, galaxy to galaxy, in the blink of an eye, he surrendered his search for that truth. Travel was as it was, and it was a God-given gift; who was he to question the ways of God?
He taught himself the ways of magical travel and never again questioned the gift. Some truths belonged only to the High One.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
On the subject of title
When one begins a new novel, there is the working title. Now, the strangest thing about that title is that when a friend, agent, family member asks what your lastest book is called...one dips one head and almost (but not quite) refuses to answer!!!! That tells us that the title is WRONG for the book! If, however, one answers without doubt, know it may already be the right one.
You may work all the way through, complete your novel and still not have the right name. Now is the time to ask for friends and family input! Or you could have your agent or publisher name it...which kind of takes the control away from you, I think.
When a point of stalemate is reached- step away, AWAY, for a while. Do something else, something new, and allow it to swirl around in the back of your thoughts. Invariably, this will gift you your absolute and best title!
Or, fool around with names, variations of words from your book, scribble and doodle...and sometimes, without even trying, bingo, there it is! There is a right title for every work!
You may work all the way through, complete your novel and still not have the right name. Now is the time to ask for friends and family input! Or you could have your agent or publisher name it...which kind of takes the control away from you, I think.
When a point of stalemate is reached- step away, AWAY, for a while. Do something else, something new, and allow it to swirl around in the back of your thoughts. Invariably, this will gift you your absolute and best title!
Or, fool around with names, variations of words from your book, scribble and doodle...and sometimes, without even trying, bingo, there it is! There is a right title for every work!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Gathering of Rain - excerpt 2
Llettynn frowned immediately. ‘I am following your logic, but, Tanos, the Valleur did not vanish that long ago and the legend is ancient.’
‘Unless you could manipulate a legend to bridge time, Llettynn, to reach so far back that even the Siric believed they had grown up with it.’ Tanos leaned forward intently. ‘They altered our memories, right back to the oldest among us.’
Impossible, Funl sent, ruffling his feathers.
‘No, Funl,’ Tanos disagreed. ‘I recall them and I am by no stretch of the imagination old enough to have shared space with them. It’s as if by dint of their presence here, once, they entered memories old and young forever. If they had that kind of influence, then a legend reaching back cannot be that hard.’
‘Theoretically, it is possible,’ Llettynn mused. ‘And the Valleur were powerful indeed.’ The Siric looked up. ‘Most arcane magic is Valleur.’
‘Unless you could manipulate a legend to bridge time, Llettynn, to reach so far back that even the Siric believed they had grown up with it.’ Tanos leaned forward intently. ‘They altered our memories, right back to the oldest among us.’
Impossible, Funl sent, ruffling his feathers.
‘No, Funl,’ Tanos disagreed. ‘I recall them and I am by no stretch of the imagination old enough to have shared space with them. It’s as if by dint of their presence here, once, they entered memories old and young forever. If they had that kind of influence, then a legend reaching back cannot be that hard.’
‘Theoretically, it is possible,’ Llettynn mused. ‘And the Valleur were powerful indeed.’ The Siric looked up. ‘Most arcane magic is Valleur.’
Gathering Of Rain
FIRST PARAGRAPH:
Clear grey eyes stared up for a moment, but it was more a habitual glance than an actual stare. He knew this place well, and the act of looking up was part of the subterfuge, as ever. It was his eyes that were considered remarkable, not what he was looking at. On Valaris grey eyes were a rarity. And this man was rare among Valarians, although that truth would only come to be known with time and the events about to unfold.
Clear grey eyes stared up for a moment, but it was more a habitual glance than an actual stare. He knew this place well, and the act of looking up was part of the subterfuge, as ever. It was his eyes that were considered remarkable, not what he was looking at. On Valaris grey eyes were a rarity. And this man was rare among Valarians, although that truth would only come to be known with time and the events about to unfold.
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