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Wednesday, 13 June 2007
Tuesday, 12 June 2007
ASBO-Boy - Stop the Press!
Evening Post
Thursday December 1st 2016
The Elementals Return!
The ASBO terror sweeping the Sandfields culminates in a tragic fire. Thousands injured, hundreds believed dead.
The city was stunned yesterday as one of its poorest Wards went up in smoke. The fire, believed to have been started by a rogue group of terrorist ASBOs, spread quickly spread through the narrow streets and tightly packed terraced houses, forcing residents to the Sandfields’ most narrow point.
Fire services and The Authorities reacted quickly, moving in to combat the fire and help evacuate the survivors. However, due to recent population fluctuations they were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people and a pile-up was inevitable. Thousands were crushed as they tried desperately to scale the illegally built ‘shanty’ houses.
Almost at the last moment, the Elementals made their arrival and led the rescue operation, combining all of their abilities to stop the fire and get everyone out. An official spokesperson for the Elementals revealed that the organisation has been restructured. “We wanted to make it clear that they are of the people and for the people,” the Spokesperson revealed at a press conference later, “This is why they have had their uniforms redesigned and why they now have badges. To all intents and purposes they are part of the Police.”
Their three week absence was noted by many critics in the Council and this led to anxiety that they were being disassembled. “We never had any intention of disassembling the Elementals; we merely felt that after the incident at Dyfatty their effectiveness could be strengthened.” When asked about the events at Dyfatty on November 5th, the Spokesperson declined to comment.
Fire services and The Authorities reacted quickly, moving in to combat the fire and help evacuate the survivors. However, due to recent population fluctuations they were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people and a pile-up was inevitable. Thousands were crushed as they tried desperately to scale the illegally built ‘shanty’ houses.
Almost at the last moment, the Elementals made their arrival and led the rescue operation, combining all of their abilities to stop the fire and get everyone out. An official spokesperson for the Elementals revealed that the organisation has been restructured. “We wanted to make it clear that they are of the people and for the people,” the Spokesperson revealed at a press conference later, “This is why they have had their uniforms redesigned and why they now have badges. To all intents and purposes they are part of the Police.”
Their three week absence was noted by many critics in the Council and this led to anxiety that they were being disassembled. “We never had any intention of disassembling the Elementals; we merely felt that after the incident at Dyfatty their effectiveness could be strengthened.” When asked about the events at Dyfatty on November 5th, the Spokesperson declined to comment.
The clean-up operation begins.
Work to repair the damage done to the Sandfields is underway, but the residents will not be able to fully return to their normal lives for several months. The least affected houses will be converted into temporary housing for as many people as can feasibly return. The rest will be housed in emergency accommodation along the sea front.
The Hunt for the ASBOs
The search for the four youths responsible for yesterday’s catastrophe began in force this morning. Beacon, on behalf of The Elementals, speaking at a press conference at Elemental Tower, made this statement: “Terrorism of any form will not be tolerated. In this instance the poor have suffered a devastating loss and we will not rest until we have brought to justice those responsible.”
The police are issuing warrants for their arrest and wanted posters are going up all over the city.
The police are issuing warrants for their arrest and wanted posters are going up all over the city.
Millionaire Believed Dead
David Self, an entrepreneur, local hero and owner of the Vetch field and the timber factory that was the target of yesterday’s terrorist attack, is believed to have been lost in the disaster. Forensic experts, who arrived on the scene early this morning after the fire subsided, have begun work scouring the ruins of the factory for evidence. Self was seen working that day in his office at the heart of the building. Eye-witnesses reported a confrontation between him and one of the ASBO terrorists.
Self was an open and generous supporter of the Elementals. His twin son and daughter, Swelter and Elixir (15), both members of the current line-up, are said to be devastated.
Self was an open and generous supporter of the Elementals. His twin son and daughter, Swelter and Elixir (15), both members of the current line-up, are said to be devastated.
A Question of Privacy
The issuing of this Newspaper’s first photograph in fifteen years has caused a media storm up and down the country. The City Council permitted the move in the belief that its shock value would emphasize the positive aspects of yesterday’s disaster as opposed to the negative. “It is important, that the public are confident in our abilities to defend this city. By showing the Elementals in action we believe we are doing the right thing.”
The question of privacy is one that has raged for decades. In many circles this photographic image has been deplored as political pornography and propaganda. Other, more liberal parties believe that the right to take photographic images should be extended to everyone.
The question of privacy is one that has raged for decades. In many circles this photographic image has been deplored as political pornography and propaganda. Other, more liberal parties believe that the right to take photographic images should be extended to everyone.
Fashion Furore!
Our resident matron of the fashion world gives her views on the stunning new look for the Elementals:
Beacon: “Always the handsome leader, he looks very smart and grown up in his new uniform. The cut of the jacket and the more mature colours make him look older and lend weight to his authority. Oh, and that haircut makes him look ten times more dishy!”
Elixir: “A petite, slip of a girl has blossomed into a young woman with her new look. The fitted jacket and leggings are straight from the catwalks in Milan and Paris, and in six months they’ll all be copying her look.”
Swelter: “Sensibly they’ve kept his uniform similar to Beacon’s and Elixir’s, tying in with the more streamlined military look for the team. His new haircut makes him look every bit the bad boy.”
Siren: “The exception to the rule, it seems. They’ve kept her in a much more feminine costume, all in a gorgeous, angelic white. The cut of the cloak and the skirt over leggings and boots will have her on posters in every young boy’s bedroom. Divine!”
ASBO-Boy - Hero-ism Part 2
With a tumultuous heave Bark lifted the telegraph pole up onto his shoulders and plunged it into the hole in the pavement; then, just for good measure he channelled his strength through the wood until it sprung roots.
"Probably the safest road in Swansea." Arc-Light replied, descending. It was a bright November afternoon, a crystal clear sky and a sharp breeze from over the sea wall. They walked on to the next pole and Bark began to lift. Malady peered in through the boards covering a sash window. The room was filled with eyes.
Suddenly, she gasped and reeled backwards, tripping over the remains of a fire. The other two lifted her up and propped her up against a wall. Her skin had turned blue again and she was struggling to deal with something her power really didn't like.
"AIDS again?" Arc-Light asked, her voice a whisper. Malady nodded.
"Pony." She replied, her eyes bunched closed and her body quivering with the concerted effort, "Pony, pony, pony, pony, pony, pony, pony." Arc-Light rocked her back and forth as her body digested the infection and broke it down. When the convulsions stopped Arc-Light breathed again and cursed the day they'd got a twelve year old girl to cure Swansea on the strength of getting her a pony.
"Seren."
"What?" Arc-Light returned.
"Her name is Seren."
Arc-Light laughed. Malady had just cured AIDS for the second time today and probably for the fiftieth time since they'd started and still, all she could think of was the pony.
**
"You've got a nerve of steel, kid," David Self muttered, his eyes invisible behind a pair of red, shaded glasses, "I'm impressed. If you were doing anything other than trying to blackmail me I'd probably be offering you a job."
"Gutted." Squeeze replied, standing half in darkness on the other side of the grim office above the factory. Outside the window, the refurbished Vetch field glimmered in the cold winter light. Practising on its emerald surface were the Swans and watching them from all around were the members of committees, business-men, Self's friends and acquaintances. On the other side of the wall were the slums and not even the roar of the crowd could block out the smell on match day. Squeeze was pretty certain all slums smelled like that but he liked to think it was the smell of injustice.
"So," Self continued, leafing through the photos on his desk, "You've got one of me meeting this gentleman here, my aide, no less; you've got my aide, then, in several locations speaking privately to key members of the union. No prizes for guessing what about, eh? If this got out, I'd have a riot on my hands. Why on earth would you want to disrupt the infra-structure; something I've worked very hard to maintain for the past twenty years? The Spice, after all, must flow."
David Self, the oft titled Self-Made Millionaire, one of the richest men in Swansea, and, as it happened, one of the most corrupt. Then again, they were all corrupt.
"Because this isn't infrastructure, this is exploitation. This isn't a victory for the people, this is the reason you hold so much power at the council. These people are your tools." Squeeze had considerably less control of his temper than Self did and it began to unravel every time he opened his mouth.
"Ah yes," Self's anger seemed to dissipate at Squeeze's vitriolic outburst. "You're one of those pampered little boys who likes to think he's aware of what's going on; likes to think that he isn't pampered or lucky or well brought up; you see suffering around you and you feel guilty, so, of course, you don't blame the people who's fault it actually is – you blame your parents, you blame the people who've looked after you. You blame everyone but the guilty."
Squeeze had heard this rant before. It was one of his father's favourites.
"Had it ever occurred to you that the system we have today was brought about by a landslide victory; one which was fuelled by the votes of the poor, suffering people you claim to love so much? Had it ever occurred to you that perhaps your parents and their generation, the ones who could see what would happen, people like myself, voted against our current system?"
Squeeze hadn't heard that. It normally ended with a haunted 'Count your blessings', which he'd always assumed was as empty as the argument that preceded it.
"Boy. I love Swansea. I loved what it was before the Walls and I love it now, even though it took me a while to see how I could repay the injustice that had been dealt me and my family." Self said, standing up and walking to a case of medals. "Civic Duty, Civic Justice – awarded for National Pride and Influence." He continued, knocking the photos over. "Are you a nationalist, boy?"
Squeeze nodded, without thinking. Self laughed.
"When I was young, calling yourself a nationalist was tantamount to declaring you were bigoted. Now it simply means 'I care about my country'. And why shouldn't we, boy? Why shouldn't we? After all, we both care about our country. You seem to think that blackmailing me, because I'm 'obviously' corrupt, will solve all your problems. It wont. I'm not the guilty one. You are. The complacent generation who are being brought up to believe that Civic Duty is a bad thing because you've read some boot-legged copy of an old politics textbook and you think you know it all. You don't. If you just did what you were told, then we wouldn't be having this conversation.
"You know what annoys me more than anything else? You think I'm not trying to get more people into work; you think I'm exploiting my work force. In an ideal world the people of the Sandfields would all work in my factories because there is a place for everyone. It's not my fault they're lazy and ill and a waste of humanity. Definitions are changing boy, look at yourself for example, you are a prime example of what humanity is capable of. Physically, you're an evolved form and in spirit, you have the potential to achieve greatness. It makes me sick that people like you aren't fulfilling that potential."
Suddenly Self tore off his glasses and Squeeze's vision filled with bright light; it was too late to jump out of the way so he took the blast full in the chest and was propelled backwards into a shelf of glass. Dazed by the pain he sat there feeling the skin-suit searing into the flesh on his chest. All Others were kids, Squeeze thought, how on earth -
"I wonder," Self muttered, his eyes glowing, "If you know about how they breed chickens. It's an interesting, if sick little process where, in order to breed the best chicken, they encourage them to couple with members of their own family, thus producing a pure, 'better' chicken. Now, fortunately, I haven't had to couple with any of mine, but thanks to a little known process called the Euryale Cascade, this little ability I've picked up, well… let's call it a present from my son. I could've had water beams coming out of my eyes too, but let's face it. Fire is just cooler."
This time Squeeze managed to dodge the blast by propelling himself upwards. He was across the room and standing by the door in a single bound. Self returned to his table and picked up the photos, in a flash they were gone. "Next time you try to blackmail somebody, make copies."
Squeeze smiled, "It's a good thing I gave all your workers some before I came to see you. They've probably dealt with their moles by now." Self's face dropped and before he could open fire, so to speak, Squeeze threw his arms across the room and gripped Self by the collar, tearing him from where he was standing, through the door and down the steps, into the hands of an angry mob.
Squeeze found an obliging window as his exit but not before he listened to the screaming. With a feeling of grim satisfaction he stamped an ASBO flyer to the wall and left quietly, before the fireworks started.
**
Bark, Arc-Light and Malady were eating lunch. They hadn't spoken in half an hour and they were keeping their eyes exclusively on each other. Up and down the street the people were starting to emerge. They were talking in whispers, watching them in awe.
"Where's Squeeze?" Malady asked, voicing the question that had been irritating the other two for weeks. Bark shrugged and Arc-Light looked miffed. "Oh."
Malady looked between two of Bark's branches and saw someone stumbling over the uneven ground. Behind the man, his family were standing together pleading to him to come back.
The man stopped a short distance from their circle and knelt in the dust. He was facing Malady. She watched him move, his body was drained of its strength, his cheeks and eyes were drawn and sunken, his hair lank and greasy. "Thank you." He muttered.
Malady stood up and approached him. He looked ancient to her but he couldn't have been older than thirty. He was the man who had AIDS, one of the many she'd cured. She looked back at his family and knew that she'd taken the HIV from them too, they were standing in the dust, holding hands. "You've saved my family." She nodded, uncertain of what to say. In her mind she saw Seren in a field and felt her heart swell with joy but it was nothing, compared to how she felt that this man and his family were free. They were like lost souls, found after years of wandering. Uncertainty was gone, fear and ultimately their blight banished.
"You're welcome…" She said, taking his hand and lifting him to his feet. With his arm draped across her shoulder she walked him back to meet his family.
"Where's she going?" Bark asked.
Arc-Light watched the girl's gait change. She was walking slowly, assuredly. The skipping, bouncing, excitable little girl she'd met had become something else.
Then they heard the explosion.
Bark and Arc-Light were standing in an instant; Arc-Light launched into the air and saw a cloud of smoke and flame towering into the sky over the Vetch. The explosion set off a chain reaction in other buildings and like a scene from and old movie they went up one after another in quick succession. From here she could see Bark's little forest, the amount of wood on the streets and the tightly packed terraces. It wouldn't take long for the fire to spread.
The Wall around the Sandfields was circling them like a noose, she spun around to see where they could go. The farthest point from the fire was the Cwtch, a narrow shanty town built by the homeless. It was an old Welsh word that had since lost its meaning. From here she could see how the Walls narrowed together and formed a point at the farthest end. It was a bottle-neck and the fire would drive them into it. She descended and broke the news to to the crowd that had gathered around Bark.
"What can you do?" Someone shouted.
They shrugged silently, uncertain and scared. There was nothing they could do – neither of them had any control over fire.
"Bark! Arc-Light!" They heard a voice shouting in the crowd. It was Squeeze, lumbering over heads on legs like stilts. His face was white and it didn't take either of them long to figure out that this was his fault.
"What have you done?" Arc-Light demanded. Squeeze looked at her, scared and stupefied. He shrunk down to the ground and began stammering.
"I went back and tried – I did!" He began, nonsensically, but assuming they understood. "I didn't want this! This isn't what I –"
Arc-Light gripped him under the arm and gave him a look that could curdle milk. "Pull yourself together." He nodded. "These people need to be led to safety and we need you to help. Got it?"
He nodded again and wiped his jaw. "Right. Come on!" He shouted, turning to the masses, extending his legs so he craned over their heads. "We have to get out. Follow us and we'll lead you to safety."
This was his mess. He had to deal with it and bear the burden of the consequences; his pride had got him this far and now it would get him and everyone else out.
"Follow me!" He bellowed and began walking above the crowd.
Shift, Chapter 7
FeSTiVaL!
COmE ONe! coMe aLL!
CeLebRaTe PRiNcE DYLANON’s 18Th BiRthDAy
SEE the AMAZING SIGHTS!
SpEcTaCLeS from ALL OVeR the WORLD!
24th - 26th IOJENRY. PALACE SQUARE.
***
“I can’t believe I’m actually going to get to watch the Maoniong Circus at last!” Elile burst out with a laugh.
“You're so excited anyone would have thought it was your birthday.” Dyl smiled back wryly, shaking his head.
“Well at least you got to see them last time. I was still in Arrozale if you remember?” she replied tartly, with a slight pout.
She turned to look at Dyl when he didn’t reply and noticed that he was pulling at his shirt sleeve, a habit she’d noticed he did when he was nervous.
“Everything alright?” she asked, slightly concerned. He flinched a little bit at the question and mumbled.
“Sorry what was that?” she asked again.
“Well, nothing, it’s just… I wish I didn’t have to leave!” he finished in a rush.
Elile nodded in sympathy, putting down the drink she was holding. She had been expecting this, but she had been waiting for him to say something first.
“But won’t it be nice to be back amongst your family? To see Dirdarn again?” she asked gently, lightly touching him on the shoulder.
“As far as I’m concerned I have no family in Dirdarn,” he spat vehemently, jumping to his feet.
Elile was a little taken aback. She had known that Dyl was not happy with his parents, but she had never seen him this angry before.
“I hate them! I wish I never had to return. I just want to stay here!” he shouted, smashing his glass against the wall.
Elile shrank away from him slightly, made nervous by the violence of his temper. Dyl threw himself down into a chair, his brows knitted in a dark and brooding expression. Elile shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying desperately to think of a way to break the atmosphere.
Eventually, Dyl sighed and ran one hand through his hair.
“Sorry about that,” he said, turning guiltily towards her, “I’ve been trying to get that off my chest for a long time. I didn’t mean to be so aggressive.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied with a gentle smile. “We all need to vent our emotions at some point.”
Dyl propelled himself to his feet and started to pace in an agitated fashion, his body tense, muscles sliding powerfully together with lithe, effortless grace. Elile watched him silently, noticing he was beginning to loose physical definition, as his body began to lapse into his Primary Shift. Suddenly, he snapped back into focus and turned to stride over to her chair, gripping the arms of it in his hands and leaning down over her. She glanced up at his face and at his eyes, which were blazing with emotion, seeming greener than usual from his recent Shift.
“There’s another reason,” he began, his voice rippling with a slight growl. “I think you know what I’m going to say, but I have to say it anyway.” He paused, not breaking his fixed stare, from which she dared not flinch.
“I know,” she replied softly, her voice purring in reply. She had been so focused on him that she had not noticed her own form, glancing down at her hands that were slightly curled and tapering into sharpened claw tips. With a slight laugh she refocused and Shifted back into her full human form. Looking back up at him she smiled and drew her face closer to his, until her lips brushed delicately against the edge of his.
“And can I just say,” she murmured lightly. “Me too.”
***
“Will you have your fortune read, my dear?” the harsh voice cackled in her ear. Elile turned to see a short, brightly-spangled woman, clutching at her elbow.
“I’m sorry but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Elile replied, edging away.
The woman froze, her yellowing eyes wide and staring and she began to chant, her mouth wide and distorted,
“Beware, my dear, I see a cloud rise dark,
And thick around your eyes. You see the mark!
It passes close, so close, but none shall hear,
But She, the one whom all that lives must fear"
“Sorry, but I really have to be going,” Elile insisted, pulling her elbow out of the woman’s grasp.
“Take this, my dear. Take it!” she screamed, her hair flying out wildly, her clawed hand offering a card. Elile reluctantly took the slick, shiney thing and started to walk away.
“Beware! And mark that card!” the woman screamed after her, as Elile disappeared amongst the crowd.
***
COmE ONe! coMe aLL!
CeLebRaTe PRiNcE DYLANON’s 18Th BiRthDAy
SEE the AMAZING SIGHTS!
SpEcTaCLeS from ALL OVeR the WORLD!
24th - 26th IOJENRY. PALACE SQUARE.
***
“I can’t believe I’m actually going to get to watch the Maoniong Circus at last!” Elile burst out with a laugh.
“You're so excited anyone would have thought it was your birthday.” Dyl smiled back wryly, shaking his head.
“Well at least you got to see them last time. I was still in Arrozale if you remember?” she replied tartly, with a slight pout.
She turned to look at Dyl when he didn’t reply and noticed that he was pulling at his shirt sleeve, a habit she’d noticed he did when he was nervous.
“Everything alright?” she asked, slightly concerned. He flinched a little bit at the question and mumbled.
“Sorry what was that?” she asked again.
“Well, nothing, it’s just… I wish I didn’t have to leave!” he finished in a rush.
Elile nodded in sympathy, putting down the drink she was holding. She had been expecting this, but she had been waiting for him to say something first.
“But won’t it be nice to be back amongst your family? To see Dirdarn again?” she asked gently, lightly touching him on the shoulder.
“As far as I’m concerned I have no family in Dirdarn,” he spat vehemently, jumping to his feet.
Elile was a little taken aback. She had known that Dyl was not happy with his parents, but she had never seen him this angry before.
“I hate them! I wish I never had to return. I just want to stay here!” he shouted, smashing his glass against the wall.
Elile shrank away from him slightly, made nervous by the violence of his temper. Dyl threw himself down into a chair, his brows knitted in a dark and brooding expression. Elile shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying desperately to think of a way to break the atmosphere.
Eventually, Dyl sighed and ran one hand through his hair.
“Sorry about that,” he said, turning guiltily towards her, “I’ve been trying to get that off my chest for a long time. I didn’t mean to be so aggressive.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied with a gentle smile. “We all need to vent our emotions at some point.”
Dyl propelled himself to his feet and started to pace in an agitated fashion, his body tense, muscles sliding powerfully together with lithe, effortless grace. Elile watched him silently, noticing he was beginning to loose physical definition, as his body began to lapse into his Primary Shift. Suddenly, he snapped back into focus and turned to stride over to her chair, gripping the arms of it in his hands and leaning down over her. She glanced up at his face and at his eyes, which were blazing with emotion, seeming greener than usual from his recent Shift.
“There’s another reason,” he began, his voice rippling with a slight growl. “I think you know what I’m going to say, but I have to say it anyway.” He paused, not breaking his fixed stare, from which she dared not flinch.
“I know,” she replied softly, her voice purring in reply. She had been so focused on him that she had not noticed her own form, glancing down at her hands that were slightly curled and tapering into sharpened claw tips. With a slight laugh she refocused and Shifted back into her full human form. Looking back up at him she smiled and drew her face closer to his, until her lips brushed delicately against the edge of his.
“And can I just say,” she murmured lightly. “Me too.”
***
“Will you have your fortune read, my dear?” the harsh voice cackled in her ear. Elile turned to see a short, brightly-spangled woman, clutching at her elbow.
“I’m sorry but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Elile replied, edging away.
The woman froze, her yellowing eyes wide and staring and she began to chant, her mouth wide and distorted,
“Beware, my dear, I see a cloud rise dark,
And thick around your eyes. You see the mark!
It passes close, so close, but none shall hear,
But She, the one whom all that lives must fear"
“Sorry, but I really have to be going,” Elile insisted, pulling her elbow out of the woman’s grasp.
“Take this, my dear. Take it!” she screamed, her hair flying out wildly, her clawed hand offering a card. Elile reluctantly took the slick, shiney thing and started to walk away.
“Beware! And mark that card!” the woman screamed after her, as Elile disappeared amongst the crowd.
***
Fortune Teller’s Tags: Truth or Fiction? Item 3.14.1
***
“Enter.”
Elile slid through the heavy wooden door into her father’s study and padded softly across the carpet.
“Ah! My dear Elile, what can I do for you?” Penry exclaimed exuberantly, carefully placing his pen beside a piece of parchment, still glistening with ink.
“I have something I want to talk to you about. It perhaps would be better if Mother was here as well,” she replied, regarding her father slightly nervously.
“Ah! In that case I think I know what this is about.” Penry leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and regarding her with a contemplative look. “It is about that young man of yours?”
“Yes, Father,” she replied, blushing and not quite meeting his eye.
“Well, what is there to say? I am certain that your mother and I would both agree that it would make a most fitting match.”
Elile’s eyes widened in surprise, not quite believing what she was hearing.
“So you don’t object?” she replied, her tone betraying her astonishment.
“No, of couse not, my child. I feel almost hurt that you would suspect otherwise of me.” He inclined his head and winked, making her feel even more uncomfortable than before.
“What about my Aunt and Uncle? Do you think they will feel the same?” she asked hastily, to fill the awkward silence.
“Ah! Here I feel we hit upon a little snag. I find it highly unlikely, need I say extremely improbable, that they would allow any such union. But don’t you worry about those details! I’ll send word to Vinthia myself. I’m sure it will all work out for the best.” He smiled at his daughter, who was still giving him a slightly disbelieving look.
“Thank you!” she eventually stammered. “I’ll tell Dyl what you said. Maybe if he spoke to his parents…”
“No,” he interrupted her curtly, with a sharp gesture. “It is in my hands now. You must promise you’ll leave it to me.”
Slightly taken aback by this change in tone, Elile just nodded mutely, scared of provoking another change in her father.
“Good. Then we are agreed,” he said pleasantly and picked his pen back up. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No. No, that’s all,” she replied hastily and with a quick curtsy, turned and slid quickly from the room.
The smile fading from his face, Penry clicked his fingers. Klint materialised from the shadows.
"Have this delivered to my sister,” he said, folding up the now-dry parchment and handing it across to the man.
With a bow, the man silently slid back into the shadows and was gone.
***
Dearest Vinthia,
I require your presence here in Silvetera as a matter of utmost urgency. I expect to see you before dawn.
Penry.
***
“I have other children- and who am I to stand in the way of such a touching example of young love?”
Vinthia raised her eyebrows in astonishment and for a moment was totally nonplussed. Of all the reactions she might have predicted from her brother, this one was the least probable.
“But you do realise that whoever marries our son will have to be the Queen of Arrozale? We have no other children and Dylanon is our only heir.”
“Yes, I do. I most clearly realise that, sister. But think- I have half a dozen children, including some very reliable ones, who will make most excellent Kings or Queens.” Penry was sitting back in his chair, with an air of relaxed ease.
Vinthia shifted uncomfortably, giving her brother a very narrow look. She didn’t know what he was thinking and this worried her more than anything else.
“But consider, brother,” she began after a pause, “They are close cousins- it is highly unusual for such marriages to occur in these days. What will the public think of it?”
“Oh, I don’t think we need to worry about the public, do you?” Penry replied in an indifferent tone, waving his hand dismissively. “They love this kind of romantic thing. They also look very aesthetically pleasing together, don’t you think?”
“But what about their children? If their totems are too close, doesn’t it risk a chance of, well, you know…” Vinthia trailed off, not wanting to finish the statement.
“I assume, dear Vinthia, that you are alluding to Werserkism?” Penry queried softly, his face an impassive mask.
“Well it is a risk,” she replied hastily, her voice sounding a little bit hysterical, even to her own ears. “You know there’s evidence that marriages between close totems risks genetic difficulties in Shifting capabilities.”
“Well, well. I’d never thought you’d be one of the Anti-Serkist movement,” he whispered, with a small tight smile. “Klint. Would you be so good as to step forward please.”
Out of the darkness of the back of the room, a shadow moved and solidified until a tall, muscular man stepped up to the King’s side.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied in rumbling voice, that resonated around the room.
“Have you met Klint, sister?” Penry asked lightly, gesturing to the man bristling by his side.
Vinthia froze where she was, eyeing the Guard warily. She had heard that Penry employed some in his army, but that didn’t make her feel any less uncomfortable.
“No? Well, let me introduce you,” Penry continued when it became clear Vinthia wasn’t going to reply. “Klint, this is my favourite sister, Queen Vinthia of Arrozale.” He paused, noticing her flinch at his choice of words. “Dear Vinthia, this is Klint, Leader of the Shadow Guard of Silvetera and as you so delicately put it, a, what was it? A ‘genetic difficulty’ I believe, although maybe a ‘risk’ is more appropriate.”
Vinthia sat completely still, not at all reassured by having her fears confirmed. Her eyes were fixed on those of the Shadow Guard, whose face was blank and masklike.
“It is a great honour to be introduced to you, Your Highness,” Klint boomed in his deep, husky voice, drawing one of his massive arms across his chest and bowing down before her. Vinthia barely managed to suppress her flinch backwards.
“It is a pleasure for me to meet any person worthy of an introduction from my brother,” Vinthia blurted out the standard reply.
“Excellent! Excellent!” Penry replied, sitting up and clasping his hands together in a show of delight. “Well, if you have any further objections you’d like to raise, now would be the time, sister. I am sure that Klint would be more than happy to oblige you with an answer to any questions you may have on the subject of, shall we say, his condition.”
“No, no. It’s alright,” Vinthia added abruptly, cautiously eyeing the Guard still. “It would be a great honour to both Kingdoms to reaffirm the close bond between our nations. I can see no genuine objection to the marriage.”
“I’m sure our children will be most delighted by the news. Your son, in particular, I know would be most disappointed to hear of your disapproval. I earnestly hope that he does not get to hear of it.”
Vinthia paused and looked directly at Penry, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was probably not fully understanding the implication of this statement.
“No, maybe not. But perhaps it would be wise to make sure they are both certain that this is what they want? They are both still young and if this proved to be a passing fancy, then it could prove most disastrous. Remember when Falos became heir to the throne of Arrozale? All the trouble that that caused, especially…”
“If you really so wish, sister,“ said Penry, cutting her off. “I will speak to both of them. But I doubt this will change their minds. To me, they seemed to be the most determined young people I ever saw.”
***
The Merchant Rebellion of 4245: A Study of Sibling Bonds.
It has often been observed that the importance of Kinship bonds was of paramount importance during the Merchant Rebellion. However, what is very often left unsaid, is that this trend still shows true in Silveteran social culture to this day. One of the most striking examples of this comes from the original Monarchal Charter, the exact wording of which is still maintained to this day. It varies greatly from the original Charter that was upheld during the Arrozalan occupation and even now Silvetera operates under a notably different system to that of Arrozale. The most key difference to the topic of this essay is the favouring of the sibling bond relationship above that of the parent to the child. In this way, the siblings of the Monarchal Duo take precedence as an heir over that of their children. Indeed, when the Charter was originally written it was assumed that Silvetera would not be ruled by a Monarchal Duo united by marriage, but rather a sibling blood-bond pair. This has caused some difficulties in the interpretation of the inheritance laws, with a small adendum to the Charter that discounts the siblings of a King or Queen who has taken their throne through marriage, rather than blood relation...
From: The Merchant Rebellion: A Critical Reader.
***
“I’m sorry boy,” Penry said to Dyl, his voice modulating to accommodate a rare touch of sympathy.
“But why? I don’t understand why they are so opposed!”
“Well, you see, they seem to think it morally wrong,” Penry paused as he observed a slightly guilty expression cross Dyl’s face. “But I think they are more concerned for the future of their Kingdom. They have to think about these things you know.”
Dyl didn’t miss the patronising touch in the statement, but remained quiet.
“They are not entirely unreasonable. They offer you two choices: Remain their son, and the future King. Or Marry the girl and renounce your place.”
Dyl gave him a sideways look, unsure whether the irony was intentional.
“I take the second option,” Dyl replied quietly, pulling himself to his feet, so that his frame loomed over the King.
“Well I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I can’t let you do that,” the King interjected smoothly. “You see, there is the fact of my own consent. And while I am more than happy for my daughter to marry a Prince, I’m afraid I would have to prevent any union between an untitled, unemployed drifter and a child of mine.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, sitting back down heavily, his tone resigned.
“Not with things the way that they are I'm afraid. But I could help by breaking the news to my daughter, if you would you prefer?”
“No, I would rather tell her in my own way, if you don’t mind,” Dyl replied, slowly rising to his feet.
***
Dearest Lile,
By the time you will have read this, I will already have returned my parent’s verdict to you.
I will not dwell on this anymore than to say that I love you and to ask you to meet me tonight at midnight. Today is my last official day as a guest of your parents and at the turn of the clock I am officially free.
I will be by the exposed passageway in the North Quad Cellar, our last and most recent Secret Room.
All my love,
Dyl
***
“That passage must run parallel with the outer strut of the Palace Wall,” Elile called back to Dyl, who was lagging slightly behind, investigating a drainage grate.
“I think you’re right. But you’d never know it was there unless you were looking for it,” he replied, straightening up from where he’d stooped over the grill.
“Do you know where this alley is?” she asked, looking apprehensively up at the towering black walls.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think we’re out in the main city yet. It looks like part of a disused barbican.”
“It does look like that,” she replied musingly, running her hand across the roughened stone. “I’m glad we’ve found such an exciting old piece of the Palace. It’s much more fitting for our final adventure than that time we found ourselves in part of the laundry shute.”
“Don’t say that,” he replied sharply, turning away from her.
“Say what?” she asked, genuinely surprised at his response.
“Say that it’s our last adventure. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.” As he said this, he kicked a chip of loose stone, which cracked into several pieces as it hit the wall.
“I think it has to be, don’t you?” she replied in a sad, but resigned tone.
“No. No it doesn’t!” he snapped back. “Come away with me! We can go anywhere- leave all this behind us.”
Elile blinked and looked away, her head down. Glancing back again she saw the disappointment emanating from his expression, washing over her with guilt.
“I just can‘t…” she began, before trailing off into silence. Total silence.
“You don’t…” Dyl began, but she cut him off with a gesture. She quickly scoped the grounds, Shifting her ears to try and pick up a trace.
“Do you feel that?” she whispered softly to him, still looking around them. Dyl looked confused for a moment, his mind still focused on their conversation, until gradually he felt it begin to seep into his mind.
“It doesn’t feel right,” Elile continued, her voice even more hushed than before. “It’s so quiet. Too quiet.”
He didn’t like to admit it, but she was right. He knew they would have to return to the safety of the Palace, but he had so much he so desperately still wanted to say to her.
“Come on, quick, we’d better head back,” he said eventually, his tone resigned.
“You don’t think its her do you?” Elile replied, a tremble entering her voice.
“She is a fairy-tale told to scare children at festivals. But still…” Dyl glanced up the blackened walls that leaned imposingly over the alley, “I think it’s time to leave.”
“I think it’s already too late,” she replied softly.
Dyl turned sharply to look more closely at her, where she stood, fixed immovably as before. Something was making his senses tingle, something he desperately did not want to consciously admit. In the corner of his eye he caught sight of a pipe, from which water was oozing down its length and sliding onto the stone floor with a repetitive slapping noise. With each drop the sound hit his senses, driving his attention forcibly to only one conclusion.
He could hear it.
“Lile!” he called out as he leapt forward to catch her crumpling form.
“Dyl?” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. Her knees buckled and Dyl was forcibly dragged down by her weight as she collapsed fully.
“Lile, what is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice desperate.
“I…” she began, her voice barely audible. Still looking at him, she smiled, sinking backwards with a sigh as her eyelids fluttered closed.
“Lile?” he shook her gently, her body rolling loosely in his arms.
“Lile?” he cried, his voice breaking, pulling her closer to him, rocking her in his arms.
Collapsing suddenly backwards, he lay beside her tangled form, covered his eyes with his hands and screamed. Drawing his hands down over his scalp, he froze where he was, his eyes staring straight up, refusing to see, refusing to think.
And as he lay there, a small red jewel glistened, welling from one corner of Elile’s eye, and streaked down her cheek, tracing a red track against the whitening skin.
Monday, 11 June 2007
Shift, Chapter 6
25th Hepti 4375
Dear Dyl,
I am so excited I can barely write! Tonight is my last night in Arrozale and tomorrow I’ll be coming home! It has been so long- so long I can barely remember my old life in Silvetera. And to see you again! I doubt we’ll even recognise each other.
That’s not to say there aren’t many things that I will miss in Dirdarn. I have some good friends here and I don’t think I will ever know a place as well as I know this old Castle. Our Secret Rooms List is now more like the size of a novel! I sometimes worry about that someday someone will take advantage of our work. I’ve been tempted on many occasions to throw it into the fire, but something has held me back. Perhaps it’s because I don’t feel like it’s really my decision alone. It’s ours and that what we do with it should be a decision between the two of us.
Ah! But, to be back in the excitement of the big city! And to be back with my real family! I haven’t stopped dreaming of this day for eleven years. Eleven years! I’ve lived more than half my life here in Dirdarn- my memories of Silvetera- what if I’m wrong? What if its not what I’ve been dreaming of? Sometimes I’m so worried about what it will be like to be back. To actualise a dream that I’ve had for so long.
This is the last letter I will be writing to you- and in many ways I regret this more than anything else. Letters have been so much a part of my life.
But for once in this life, I won’t ask you to send a reply, but rather to wait and tell me to my face in ten days time!
All my love,
Lile.
Princess Elile: Epistles.
***
“You’ve got a letter, Dyl,” Flo said, handing the envelope across the table to him.
“Really?” he replied eagerly, jumping up to take it from her. “I thought she’d be too busy with the Leaving Ceremony to have time to write.” Flo rolled her eyes, smiling archly across at her cousin.
“Too busy to write? Maybe. After all, I’ve not had a letter. Too busy to write to you? Hardly.” Smiling at his obvious discomfort, Flo continued to flick through the envelopes on the table.
“Well, maybe there’s something in here for both of us,” Dyl added diplomatically, looking at the letter with a slightly guilty expression.
“I really don’t mind. Look, sorry for teasing you, it’s just been a tough week,” she sighed and dropped the pile of letters back onto the table. She was right. There wasn’t a letter for her.
“She’ll be here soon and we’ll all be able to catch up properly then,” Dyl added awkwardly, patting her shoulder. Shaking him off irritably, Flo cast him a withering glare.
“I already told you, I’m not bothered ok? Why can’t you listen?”
“Sorry, I’ll umm… well,” he trailed off, slightly nonplussed by his cousin’s unusually acerbic reply. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
Dyl walked out of the Breakfast Lounge cautiously, not wanting to provoke her even more. Flo sat still, a stubbornly fixed expression on her face, until she was certain her cousin was out of hearing. Then folding forwards gently onto her outstretched arms, she began silently to cry.
***
28th Hepti 4375
Dear Arkan,
I do not know why you have stopped writing and I wish I did. I will risk myself no more than to say I hope that you are well and that this letter reaches your own hands.
All the best,
Flo.
The Letters of Princess Flora of Silvetera, Age 16.
***
“Princess Elile!” King Penry exclaimed loudly, his arms wide and inviting. “Welcome home!”
The crowds cheered and threw confetti on the Princess as she gracefully alighted from her carriage. Looking across the expanse of blue fabric that lead up the steps to the foot of her father, the woman broke into a broad smile. Resisting the temptation to call back, Elile curtsied elegantly, before sweeping along the path that had been laid for her. The crowd roared its appreciation with a renewed shower of flower petals sprinkling down upon her from all sides.
Marvelling at the colour and beauty of the spectacle, Dyl looked down on the scene from his place amongst the siblings, who were lined up behind the King and Queen. He had never seen so many people of the city in the Palace Square before, nor so many people decked out in such an array of colour and finery. The whole crowd rippled like a multi-coloured wave, the noise emitting from them like the breathing of an ocean in a storm. He squinted down at Elile, trying to draw a line of recognition between his young, blurry memories and the face of the woman approaching him. Eventually he sighed to himself and realised that it was just too long ago. He didn’t recognise her and he was certain she wouldn’t recognise him.
“Your Majesties,” Elile murmured gently to her parents, curtsying for the second time.
“Welcome home, daughter,” Queen Aleyn replied emotionally, her hand outstretched to Elile. Taking her mother’s hand, she smiled, tears threatening the corners of her eyes.
“Come and greet your siblings,” King Penry added, gesturing his daughter towards him.
Dyl watched Elile as she first approached her two sisters and gave them a restrained, but joyful hug. He couldn’t help but feel irritated. He knew Lile and Flo were close and that Tusani looked up to her eldest sister, but he felt overshadowed somehow. The outsider, in this scene of family reunion. He edged slightly away from the brothers and looked down at his scuffed shoes. He glanced up again as he saw her approaching Rhonen, leaving only one brother standing between them.
“Lian! I’m so glad to finally meet you!”
The voice cut through him like ice and he looked away, scuffling his feet even more. He felt the shadow of a presence passing close to him and he dragged his eyes around to face her. For a second they both stood, eyes locked on each other. Then in a flash of movement she engulfed him in a tight embrace, squeezing the breath out of him. He snaked his arms around her back in a return of her hug, when she leaned down to whisper in his ear, her lips lightly brushing against his cheek.
“I have looked forward to seeing you the most.”
With the faintest twitch of a wink she withdrew her arms and turned back to face her parents. Dyl struggled to keep his expression neutral, his breath tight in his throat.
“Come, we have made up a room for you to take some rest. You must surely be tired after the long journey?” Queen Aleyn asked her daughter gently, taking her hand and leading her towards the Palace entrance.
“Yes I am a bit,” Elile replied gratefully.
Dyl stood where he was, watching her weave her way into the Palace. He subconsciously moved his hand to touch his cheek, when suddenly he sensed the prickle of eyes staring at him from behind. He turned around sharply to see the King giving him a appraising look.
“Your Majesty?” he asked, trying to keep his voice, deep, level and neutral.
“As you were, my boy,” the King replied, with a sardonic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Dyl edged cautiously away from the King, a nervous smile playing about his features. Noticing Rhonen and Lian had started walking into the building, he took his cue and hurried after them, not daring to glance back.
Penry watched until the boy had passed out of sight, the smile dissolving from his features to be replaced by a hard, tight look.
“We shall see,” he muttered to himself, clenching and stretching his fists, before turning and entering the Palace himself.
***
Flo. Sorry not written sooner. Communication broken. Find new way. Still with parents. Going to Kyro soon. Love you always. Arkan.
The Messenger Pigeons of Daiiroda: A Secret Story. Entry 2.1.18
***
Elile stood looking at herself in the floor-length mirror, attired in all her ceremonial finery. She was exhausted and could trace the lines of it in her face. She stepped closer to the mirror, her slate-blue eyes an inch away from the glass. Her breath clouded the image and she drew back irritably. She felt hot and confined in the aquamarine construction she had been siphoned into and began to feverishly pull at the strings, bows and clasps that were holding the thing together.
When she had finished the ruined fabric crumpled uselessly to the floor and she kicked it away from her. Noticing her feet, she tore the silken slippers from them, so that her toes could sink deeply into the matt of the rug beneath her. She glanced up again at the mirror and saw herself barefoot, left only in the remnants of her simple green undergown. At that sight she immediately felt so much more free and clear. With a deep sigh she began to pull at the pins and ties that were keeping her hair up in those stylish twists and coils, until that was likewise hanging around her face like a chestnut-brown curtain.
She jumped at the sound of a gentle knock at the door. Glancing guiltily at the ruin of her outfit that lay scattered on the floor, she momentarily hesitated over what to do. With a sudden rush of irreverent confidence she strode over to the door and pulled it open. Leaning against the doorframe was Dyl, who seemed to jump even more than she had when she’d first heard him knock.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude…” Dyl trailed off, looking away from her guiltily and stepping away.
“What are you talking about? You’re not intruding! Come on in!” she replied with a laugh, stretching one of her hands out to him.
“Umm… No, I think best not. Well, I would, but you know… you know, your father...” he stammered in reply, glancing slightly nervously over his shoulder.
“I see,” Elile replied, still amused, glancing down at her disordered appearance. “But if you won’t come in, is there anything else you want?” Dyl blushed slightly, but managed to look up directly into her face.
“Well, I was going to say that I’ve been meaning to investigate a door, to which I’ve finally found the key and well… I was wondering if you wanted to come too. You know, for old time’s sake.”
“Of course!” Elile whispered back excitedly. “But you’ll have to wait here while I get dressed.” With which she swiftly pulled the door shut with a muffled click.
“Nothing ever changes,” Dyl muttered to himself with a smile.
Dear Dyl,
I am so excited I can barely write! Tonight is my last night in Arrozale and tomorrow I’ll be coming home! It has been so long- so long I can barely remember my old life in Silvetera. And to see you again! I doubt we’ll even recognise each other.
That’s not to say there aren’t many things that I will miss in Dirdarn. I have some good friends here and I don’t think I will ever know a place as well as I know this old Castle. Our Secret Rooms List is now more like the size of a novel! I sometimes worry about that someday someone will take advantage of our work. I’ve been tempted on many occasions to throw it into the fire, but something has held me back. Perhaps it’s because I don’t feel like it’s really my decision alone. It’s ours and that what we do with it should be a decision between the two of us.
Ah! But, to be back in the excitement of the big city! And to be back with my real family! I haven’t stopped dreaming of this day for eleven years. Eleven years! I’ve lived more than half my life here in Dirdarn- my memories of Silvetera- what if I’m wrong? What if its not what I’ve been dreaming of? Sometimes I’m so worried about what it will be like to be back. To actualise a dream that I’ve had for so long.
This is the last letter I will be writing to you- and in many ways I regret this more than anything else. Letters have been so much a part of my life.
But for once in this life, I won’t ask you to send a reply, but rather to wait and tell me to my face in ten days time!
All my love,
Lile.
Princess Elile: Epistles.
***
“You’ve got a letter, Dyl,” Flo said, handing the envelope across the table to him.
“Really?” he replied eagerly, jumping up to take it from her. “I thought she’d be too busy with the Leaving Ceremony to have time to write.” Flo rolled her eyes, smiling archly across at her cousin.
“Too busy to write? Maybe. After all, I’ve not had a letter. Too busy to write to you? Hardly.” Smiling at his obvious discomfort, Flo continued to flick through the envelopes on the table.
“Well, maybe there’s something in here for both of us,” Dyl added diplomatically, looking at the letter with a slightly guilty expression.
“I really don’t mind. Look, sorry for teasing you, it’s just been a tough week,” she sighed and dropped the pile of letters back onto the table. She was right. There wasn’t a letter for her.
“She’ll be here soon and we’ll all be able to catch up properly then,” Dyl added awkwardly, patting her shoulder. Shaking him off irritably, Flo cast him a withering glare.
“I already told you, I’m not bothered ok? Why can’t you listen?”
“Sorry, I’ll umm… well,” he trailed off, slightly nonplussed by his cousin’s unusually acerbic reply. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
Dyl walked out of the Breakfast Lounge cautiously, not wanting to provoke her even more. Flo sat still, a stubbornly fixed expression on her face, until she was certain her cousin was out of hearing. Then folding forwards gently onto her outstretched arms, she began silently to cry.
***
28th Hepti 4375
Dear Arkan,
I do not know why you have stopped writing and I wish I did. I will risk myself no more than to say I hope that you are well and that this letter reaches your own hands.
All the best,
Flo.
The Letters of Princess Flora of Silvetera, Age 16.
***
“Princess Elile!” King Penry exclaimed loudly, his arms wide and inviting. “Welcome home!”
The crowds cheered and threw confetti on the Princess as she gracefully alighted from her carriage. Looking across the expanse of blue fabric that lead up the steps to the foot of her father, the woman broke into a broad smile. Resisting the temptation to call back, Elile curtsied elegantly, before sweeping along the path that had been laid for her. The crowd roared its appreciation with a renewed shower of flower petals sprinkling down upon her from all sides.
Marvelling at the colour and beauty of the spectacle, Dyl looked down on the scene from his place amongst the siblings, who were lined up behind the King and Queen. He had never seen so many people of the city in the Palace Square before, nor so many people decked out in such an array of colour and finery. The whole crowd rippled like a multi-coloured wave, the noise emitting from them like the breathing of an ocean in a storm. He squinted down at Elile, trying to draw a line of recognition between his young, blurry memories and the face of the woman approaching him. Eventually he sighed to himself and realised that it was just too long ago. He didn’t recognise her and he was certain she wouldn’t recognise him.
“Your Majesties,” Elile murmured gently to her parents, curtsying for the second time.
“Welcome home, daughter,” Queen Aleyn replied emotionally, her hand outstretched to Elile. Taking her mother’s hand, she smiled, tears threatening the corners of her eyes.
“Come and greet your siblings,” King Penry added, gesturing his daughter towards him.
Dyl watched Elile as she first approached her two sisters and gave them a restrained, but joyful hug. He couldn’t help but feel irritated. He knew Lile and Flo were close and that Tusani looked up to her eldest sister, but he felt overshadowed somehow. The outsider, in this scene of family reunion. He edged slightly away from the brothers and looked down at his scuffed shoes. He glanced up again as he saw her approaching Rhonen, leaving only one brother standing between them.
“Lian! I’m so glad to finally meet you!”
The voice cut through him like ice and he looked away, scuffling his feet even more. He felt the shadow of a presence passing close to him and he dragged his eyes around to face her. For a second they both stood, eyes locked on each other. Then in a flash of movement she engulfed him in a tight embrace, squeezing the breath out of him. He snaked his arms around her back in a return of her hug, when she leaned down to whisper in his ear, her lips lightly brushing against his cheek.
“I have looked forward to seeing you the most.”
With the faintest twitch of a wink she withdrew her arms and turned back to face her parents. Dyl struggled to keep his expression neutral, his breath tight in his throat.
“Come, we have made up a room for you to take some rest. You must surely be tired after the long journey?” Queen Aleyn asked her daughter gently, taking her hand and leading her towards the Palace entrance.
“Yes I am a bit,” Elile replied gratefully.
Dyl stood where he was, watching her weave her way into the Palace. He subconsciously moved his hand to touch his cheek, when suddenly he sensed the prickle of eyes staring at him from behind. He turned around sharply to see the King giving him a appraising look.
“Your Majesty?” he asked, trying to keep his voice, deep, level and neutral.
“As you were, my boy,” the King replied, with a sardonic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Dyl edged cautiously away from the King, a nervous smile playing about his features. Noticing Rhonen and Lian had started walking into the building, he took his cue and hurried after them, not daring to glance back.
Penry watched until the boy had passed out of sight, the smile dissolving from his features to be replaced by a hard, tight look.
“We shall see,” he muttered to himself, clenching and stretching his fists, before turning and entering the Palace himself.
***
Flo. Sorry not written sooner. Communication broken. Find new way. Still with parents. Going to Kyro soon. Love you always. Arkan.
The Messenger Pigeons of Daiiroda: A Secret Story. Entry 2.1.18
***
Elile stood looking at herself in the floor-length mirror, attired in all her ceremonial finery. She was exhausted and could trace the lines of it in her face. She stepped closer to the mirror, her slate-blue eyes an inch away from the glass. Her breath clouded the image and she drew back irritably. She felt hot and confined in the aquamarine construction she had been siphoned into and began to feverishly pull at the strings, bows and clasps that were holding the thing together.
When she had finished the ruined fabric crumpled uselessly to the floor and she kicked it away from her. Noticing her feet, she tore the silken slippers from them, so that her toes could sink deeply into the matt of the rug beneath her. She glanced up again at the mirror and saw herself barefoot, left only in the remnants of her simple green undergown. At that sight she immediately felt so much more free and clear. With a deep sigh she began to pull at the pins and ties that were keeping her hair up in those stylish twists and coils, until that was likewise hanging around her face like a chestnut-brown curtain.
She jumped at the sound of a gentle knock at the door. Glancing guiltily at the ruin of her outfit that lay scattered on the floor, she momentarily hesitated over what to do. With a sudden rush of irreverent confidence she strode over to the door and pulled it open. Leaning against the doorframe was Dyl, who seemed to jump even more than she had when she’d first heard him knock.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude…” Dyl trailed off, looking away from her guiltily and stepping away.
“What are you talking about? You’re not intruding! Come on in!” she replied with a laugh, stretching one of her hands out to him.
“Umm… No, I think best not. Well, I would, but you know… you know, your father...” he stammered in reply, glancing slightly nervously over his shoulder.
“I see,” Elile replied, still amused, glancing down at her disordered appearance. “But if you won’t come in, is there anything else you want?” Dyl blushed slightly, but managed to look up directly into her face.
“Well, I was going to say that I’ve been meaning to investigate a door, to which I’ve finally found the key and well… I was wondering if you wanted to come too. You know, for old time’s sake.”
“Of course!” Elile whispered back excitedly. “But you’ll have to wait here while I get dressed.” With which she swiftly pulled the door shut with a muffled click.
“Nothing ever changes,” Dyl muttered to himself with a smile.
Saturday, 9 June 2007
Map 2
My second attempt at a classy map. This time showing roughly what I've so far decided in terms of geography. Unfortunately I may have to change things when I write my way into a section that uses a particular country and the geography doesn't fit with what I want...
Key:
Red dots with a yellow centre: capital cities
Red Dots: Towns/ cities
Tiny yellow dots: sand/ desert
Tiny pale blue dots: Snow/ tundra
Tiny dark blue dots: Ice- no land beneath- eg. Arctic.
Green dashes: plains
Green bumps: dales
Green squiggles: swamp
Green tree-shapes: Jungle
Green lollipop stick: Trees (there's only two of these on the map. There are obviously more trees around I just haven't decided where- definately in the green zones though.)
Brown triangles: mountains
Blue lines: rivers
Key:
Red dots with a yellow centre: capital cities
Red Dots: Towns/ cities
Tiny yellow dots: sand/ desert
Tiny pale blue dots: Snow/ tundra
Tiny dark blue dots: Ice- no land beneath- eg. Arctic.
Green dashes: plains
Green bumps: dales
Green squiggles: swamp
Green tree-shapes: Jungle
Green lollipop stick: Trees (there's only two of these on the map. There are obviously more trees around I just haven't decided where- definately in the green zones though.)
Brown triangles: mountains
Blue lines: rivers
Big blue dots (not to be confused with lakes- which are blue patches attached to rivers): thermal springs.
Other useful info:
Months of the Year in the Standard World Calendar:
Iojenry
Auldary
Nuinch
Eylth
Naeon
Detu
Ruli
Outenst
Hepti
Tocrea
Vembreni
Sedentin
Yewdri
Rough information on the Kingdoms:
Other useful info:
Months of the Year in the Standard World Calendar:
Iojenry
Auldary
Nuinch
Eylth
Naeon
Detu
Ruli
Outenst
Hepti
Tocrea
Vembreni
Sedentin
Yewdri
Rough information on the Kingdoms:
You've got to love stories which give locations uniform climates... and this is roughly where I started when mapping out what each country is. When coming up with the geography of the world I did have various real Earth countries in mind, which I afterwards realised was sadly affecting my choice of names for places- and in one occasion occured after noicing the shape of the country I'd just drawn (sigh). I'll bracket which Earth location I had in mind for general interest purposes. If there is a country you think should have its name tweaked in retrospect- mention it in the comments and I'll see what I can do.
Callania (Britain- yes I am that sad and obvious as basing my main characters in a country similar to my own.). A temperate downs kingdom. Capital city is Geveny. Minor town is Ystia.
Callania (Britain- yes I am that sad and obvious as basing my main characters in a country similar to my own.). A temperate downs kingdom. Capital city is Geveny. Minor town is Ystia.
Aetyorthiri (Scotland/ Norway/ Denmark). A bordering kingdom that slopes up into the mountains and down to wet plains.
Tygeriq (Sahara/ Egypt) A desert kingdom.
Setzenein (Himalayas) A mountain Kingdom.
Arrozale (Cornwall) A Coastal Kingdom. Capital is Dirdarn.
Koutuamaa (Finland/ Alaska/ Arctic) An arctic Kingdom.
Silvetera (London/ Rome) A central, urban Kingdom specialises in trade, biggest market, richest province. Capital city is Silvetera.
Gentrare (Greece/ Italy) A rich, hot valley Kingdom.
Daiiroda (China) A wet, fertile plains region with a damper, hotter south and salt marshes to the south west.
Maoniong (India/ Australia) A small, hot, rocky Kingdom.
Wahalanang (Brazil/ Indonesia) A jungle Kingdom.
This is the main continent in the world- although it is not the only landmass. The people who live on the continent are not interested in what lies beyond the Unchartered Oceans and it doesn't feature in the plot that I am writing.
This is the main continent in the world- although it is not the only landmass. The people who live on the continent are not interested in what lies beyond the Unchartered Oceans and it doesn't feature in the plot that I am writing.
Friday, 8 June 2007
ASBO-Boy - The Drowned
Around him the oily water shifted and swayed with the tidal currents. The sea was rising again. These days, Swansea bay didn’t come in and go out, it rose up the sea wall and diminished again. Like the waters of the Nile, its progress was marked up against the side like the growth of a child against a doorframe. Each month it grew higher and higher.
Omen, suspended in water and staring up into the sky, watched the stars as they swam in and out of the clouds. This wasn’t his dream and he knew it. He didn’t need to pinch himself or pick up a book to know where he was, his dreams had always been a staple part of his identity – but now he was slipping into other people’s and he didn’t know why.
“I’m glad you came.” Said a voice. He looked up and saw a girl in a dark skin-suit. She was standing in silhouette, the light pollution from the city behind her glowing like a halo. She was standing on the surface of the water. He floundered and splashed to get nearer to her and she laughed. In the same way that he knew he was dreaming, he knew that he wasn’t dreaming her, she was real.
“Who are you?” He spluttered.
“I am…,” She began, “You wouldn’t know me.”
“Are you the voice? The one who speaks to me? Are you Pantheon?!”
She didn’t answer for a time, she just stood and looked down at him as he wasted energy treading water. Eventually, earnestly, she replied. “No. Follow me.”
She began to sink under the surface and as she went she took his hand. He held his breath for as long as he could and he heard her laugh, the sound echoing in the gloomy waters. Finally his lungs exploded and he inhaled a lungful of Swansea bay. At first it hurt, then he began to savour the taste of the sea, the power it seemed to give him.
“Good,” she said, her hand releasing his, “We’ve passed through. You’ll start thinking like him now.”
“Who?” he garbled, but all that came out was bubbles. She smiled and pointed. He followed her finger, his eyes adjusting to the light. Up ahead he could see a form in the water, swimming in barrel rolls, up and down, around and around for sheer joy. It reminded him of –
“Spout.” She said, watching him like a ghost.
Omen reeled back and tried desperately to swim upwards but he was caught in a downwards current. The girl grabbed his wrist again and they followed after Spout as he swam. Omen didn’t want to be seen, he didn’t want to be recognised. This was an invasion of privacy – to see someone else’s dreams! It was bad enough that this girl was in his, but for him to be in someone else’s, a friend’s – it was repulsive.
The girl’s face hardened as they swam onwards, their pace increased as she led them on, faster and faster. The environment changed, they passed a wall in the water, the roots of the dark stones rising up out of the sand. Spout swam down to the sand to inspect something – an anchor from one of the static ships – they were in the marina now.
There was a splash from above, muted yet distinct. Spout cast it a cursory glance then ignored it. The girl seemed to fade, her hand gribbed Omen’s like a cold clamp. Omen watched as the shape fell silently to the bottom of the marina and sat there. It was long and wrapped in plaster strips, weighted at one end. Spout swam over to investigate, running his hands along the bone white surface. Soon, there were more splashes and identical forms all hit the sand one after the other. Curious, baffled, scared – Spout began to investigate further, with his sharp nails he began to tear at the plaster and peel it apart.
Omen could feel the girl shaking, he was compelled to watch but the sense of horror and expectation grew with each passing moment. Ten, twenty, thirty; he lost count as the sand bed filled with cocoons. Desperately Spout’s fingers bit into the plaster and tore away at the shell until it burst apart in a cloud of watery dust and debris. Omen grimly squinted into the cloud, his eyes morbidly desperate for details, for closure.
“They lied to us.” The girl said and she seemed to speak with a chorus of voices, all the same but magnified by ten, twenty, thirty…
Spout reeled back and tore open another cocoon. Omen caught a glimpse of his face, frantic and fixed in an expression Omen had never seen. Soon the water was clouded with white smoke and everything disappeared. The girl held Omen’s hand and they began to rise, up and up until they were out of the water and standing on the quay-side. Figures dressed in dark clothes were scouring the water with long poles, they were speaking in raised whispers. Bubbles were rising from the water – something was happening beneath the surface that wasn’t meant to and they wanted it to stop. Omen looked up at the girl and for the first time he was able to see all of her face, each of her mousy features set in an unreadable mask of stone. He turned back to the water and watched as black shapes bobbed to the surface; the men dragged their nets desperately through the water as more and more black shapes appeared. One of them shouted – he’d snagged something. In an instant they were all struggling to pull whatever it was out of the water.
Like a tug of war, the men on the quay-side pulled and pulled until the surface erupted in flurry of splashes. They’d caught Spout and he was struggling with every ounce of strength he possessed. They dragged him up the side of the marina and over the cold stone and bundled him, kicking and screaming into the back of a van. Within moments, the vans were gone and the only evidence that remained were the black forms in the water.
“They lied to us,” the girl said again, her voice hollow and drenched in sorrow. Omen mustered all the strength he could to turn his head one last time. He had to know, he needed to know…
The oily skin of the marina’s filthy water lapped against the wall and Omen held his breath as he poured over every last detail. Forms became distinct. He saw limbs, he saw hair and ultimately he saw faces. But not different faces, the same face. Every body was identical and all of them looked like her.
“They lied to us.”
He was awake. The sound of water exploded somewhere behind him and he heard frantic footfalls on the floor of the caravan. The door slammed and Omen opened his eyes. The smells were familiar and all that was different was the layer of sweat on his skin. Omen tore away the quilts and sat up. The terrible truth burned in his chest like a molten stone, sitting on top of his stomach, smouldering away and eating him up. He stood up and paced for a moment, walking backwards and forwards aimlessly, his mind racing, unsure of how he could go on knowing what he knew. He looked over at Spout’s tank and the watery mess on the floor. He’d gone.
Omen slammed the door open and peered into the darkness. There was no one. Watery footprints led off into the moonlight but were soon dry and indistinct. Lost. Omen knew that he had to find him and fast or no-one would ever see him again. He felt like he’d committed a terrible crime. What he’d seen was beyond personal, it was an affront to everything he understood to mean right and good. He’d gone, unwillingly, but he’d gone into the place where everyone was truly alone. Something had changed, so much had been flipped on its head that he had to run – just run until he found Spout.
Luckily, it didn’t take long for his power to kick in. Omen ran out of the Circus field and onto the main road that ran up against the sea wall and led, eventually, to the Mumbles. Spout was lying at its base, all of his strength gone. Omen saw the chipped stone, how he’d try to scale the wall and escape to the sea. Spout shook in the tall grass, his blue scales glimmering in the moonlight. Omen could see now how much younger he’d been when he was captured, the boy they’d pulled out of the marina wasn’t this gangly wretch.
“You don’t want to go back there.” Omen muttered, his voice shaking.
Spout shook his head. It was true, the sea wasn’t the answer.
“It was all real, wasn’t it?”
Spout nodded. Omen was once accused of having seen something he shouldn’t have, something he hadn’t understood, but this – he wished more than anything he hadn’t seen this. He kneeled down and put his hand on Spout’s back. Through his hand he felt the shaking; unrelenting, unstoppable…
“I didn’t want to see – I didn’t mean to – ”
Spout spun around and for an instant Omen thought he was going to hit him, but he just wrapped his arms around Omen’s neck and wept.
Omen, suspended in water and staring up into the sky, watched the stars as they swam in and out of the clouds. This wasn’t his dream and he knew it. He didn’t need to pinch himself or pick up a book to know where he was, his dreams had always been a staple part of his identity – but now he was slipping into other people’s and he didn’t know why.
“I’m glad you came.” Said a voice. He looked up and saw a girl in a dark skin-suit. She was standing in silhouette, the light pollution from the city behind her glowing like a halo. She was standing on the surface of the water. He floundered and splashed to get nearer to her and she laughed. In the same way that he knew he was dreaming, he knew that he wasn’t dreaming her, she was real.
“Who are you?” He spluttered.
“I am…,” She began, “You wouldn’t know me.”
“Are you the voice? The one who speaks to me? Are you Pantheon?!”
She didn’t answer for a time, she just stood and looked down at him as he wasted energy treading water. Eventually, earnestly, she replied. “No. Follow me.”
She began to sink under the surface and as she went she took his hand. He held his breath for as long as he could and he heard her laugh, the sound echoing in the gloomy waters. Finally his lungs exploded and he inhaled a lungful of Swansea bay. At first it hurt, then he began to savour the taste of the sea, the power it seemed to give him.
“Good,” she said, her hand releasing his, “We’ve passed through. You’ll start thinking like him now.”
“Who?” he garbled, but all that came out was bubbles. She smiled and pointed. He followed her finger, his eyes adjusting to the light. Up ahead he could see a form in the water, swimming in barrel rolls, up and down, around and around for sheer joy. It reminded him of –
“Spout.” She said, watching him like a ghost.
Omen reeled back and tried desperately to swim upwards but he was caught in a downwards current. The girl grabbed his wrist again and they followed after Spout as he swam. Omen didn’t want to be seen, he didn’t want to be recognised. This was an invasion of privacy – to see someone else’s dreams! It was bad enough that this girl was in his, but for him to be in someone else’s, a friend’s – it was repulsive.
The girl’s face hardened as they swam onwards, their pace increased as she led them on, faster and faster. The environment changed, they passed a wall in the water, the roots of the dark stones rising up out of the sand. Spout swam down to the sand to inspect something – an anchor from one of the static ships – they were in the marina now.
There was a splash from above, muted yet distinct. Spout cast it a cursory glance then ignored it. The girl seemed to fade, her hand gribbed Omen’s like a cold clamp. Omen watched as the shape fell silently to the bottom of the marina and sat there. It was long and wrapped in plaster strips, weighted at one end. Spout swam over to investigate, running his hands along the bone white surface. Soon, there were more splashes and identical forms all hit the sand one after the other. Curious, baffled, scared – Spout began to investigate further, with his sharp nails he began to tear at the plaster and peel it apart.
Omen could feel the girl shaking, he was compelled to watch but the sense of horror and expectation grew with each passing moment. Ten, twenty, thirty; he lost count as the sand bed filled with cocoons. Desperately Spout’s fingers bit into the plaster and tore away at the shell until it burst apart in a cloud of watery dust and debris. Omen grimly squinted into the cloud, his eyes morbidly desperate for details, for closure.
“They lied to us.” The girl said and she seemed to speak with a chorus of voices, all the same but magnified by ten, twenty, thirty…
Spout reeled back and tore open another cocoon. Omen caught a glimpse of his face, frantic and fixed in an expression Omen had never seen. Soon the water was clouded with white smoke and everything disappeared. The girl held Omen’s hand and they began to rise, up and up until they were out of the water and standing on the quay-side. Figures dressed in dark clothes were scouring the water with long poles, they were speaking in raised whispers. Bubbles were rising from the water – something was happening beneath the surface that wasn’t meant to and they wanted it to stop. Omen looked up at the girl and for the first time he was able to see all of her face, each of her mousy features set in an unreadable mask of stone. He turned back to the water and watched as black shapes bobbed to the surface; the men dragged their nets desperately through the water as more and more black shapes appeared. One of them shouted – he’d snagged something. In an instant they were all struggling to pull whatever it was out of the water.
Like a tug of war, the men on the quay-side pulled and pulled until the surface erupted in flurry of splashes. They’d caught Spout and he was struggling with every ounce of strength he possessed. They dragged him up the side of the marina and over the cold stone and bundled him, kicking and screaming into the back of a van. Within moments, the vans were gone and the only evidence that remained were the black forms in the water.
“They lied to us,” the girl said again, her voice hollow and drenched in sorrow. Omen mustered all the strength he could to turn his head one last time. He had to know, he needed to know…
The oily skin of the marina’s filthy water lapped against the wall and Omen held his breath as he poured over every last detail. Forms became distinct. He saw limbs, he saw hair and ultimately he saw faces. But not different faces, the same face. Every body was identical and all of them looked like her.
“They lied to us.”
He was awake. The sound of water exploded somewhere behind him and he heard frantic footfalls on the floor of the caravan. The door slammed and Omen opened his eyes. The smells were familiar and all that was different was the layer of sweat on his skin. Omen tore away the quilts and sat up. The terrible truth burned in his chest like a molten stone, sitting on top of his stomach, smouldering away and eating him up. He stood up and paced for a moment, walking backwards and forwards aimlessly, his mind racing, unsure of how he could go on knowing what he knew. He looked over at Spout’s tank and the watery mess on the floor. He’d gone.
Omen slammed the door open and peered into the darkness. There was no one. Watery footprints led off into the moonlight but were soon dry and indistinct. Lost. Omen knew that he had to find him and fast or no-one would ever see him again. He felt like he’d committed a terrible crime. What he’d seen was beyond personal, it was an affront to everything he understood to mean right and good. He’d gone, unwillingly, but he’d gone into the place where everyone was truly alone. Something had changed, so much had been flipped on its head that he had to run – just run until he found Spout.
Luckily, it didn’t take long for his power to kick in. Omen ran out of the Circus field and onto the main road that ran up against the sea wall and led, eventually, to the Mumbles. Spout was lying at its base, all of his strength gone. Omen saw the chipped stone, how he’d try to scale the wall and escape to the sea. Spout shook in the tall grass, his blue scales glimmering in the moonlight. Omen could see now how much younger he’d been when he was captured, the boy they’d pulled out of the marina wasn’t this gangly wretch.
“You don’t want to go back there.” Omen muttered, his voice shaking.
Spout shook his head. It was true, the sea wasn’t the answer.
“It was all real, wasn’t it?”
Spout nodded. Omen was once accused of having seen something he shouldn’t have, something he hadn’t understood, but this – he wished more than anything he hadn’t seen this. He kneeled down and put his hand on Spout’s back. Through his hand he felt the shaking; unrelenting, unstoppable…
“I didn’t want to see – I didn’t mean to – ”
Spout spun around and for an instant Omen thought he was going to hit him, but he just wrapped his arms around Omen’s neck and wept.
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