The eagle's nest

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

So work has been really slow lately and I decided to try out some writing prompts to fill some time.

I ended up with two pieces of text that I don't completely hate, so I thought I'd post them here.

 

I might try some worldbuilding on the second story later.

 

I have absolutely no experience writing fiction, so I'd appreciate any feedback you'd be willing to give me.

Though if you don't like it, please don't just say 'it stinks'? Please point out what you didn't like and maybe offer a suggestion for improvement?

 

So here goes nothing...

 

Gearheads (because I didn't want to call it 'untitled n°1')

Halfrey had been dreaming, and like any dream worth having, the details slipped from his mind before he could fix them there when he woke. It had been a very good dream, which may have contributed to Halfrey’s delay in realising why he had woken from a deep sleep in the middle of the night. He’d been woken by one of his gearings. Specifically Proxert, the gearing that warned Halfrey of movement near his home.

 

“Dammit, Proxert! If this is another cat in the yard, I’m gonna…”. He didn’t finish that sentence, because if he did, he might actually carry out the threat, and he wasn’t quite ready to do that. He might never be. He signalled Lucia to light up but nothing happened.

Halfrey instantly went from half asleep to fully alert. Something’s tampering with my gearings! He kept close to the ground as he got out of bed. Make yourself a smaller target, Halfrey.

Something didn’t quite feel right, apart from someone in his home disabling his gearings. Proxert, Halfrey realised, he’s still working. Why haven’t they disabled him too? As clever as Halfrey considered himself - which, to be honest, was only slightly cleverer than everyone else thought him - it still took him fifteen seconds to work it out. Proxert’s not registered yet, that means this is… the Authority? But I haven’t done anything wrong! Actually, he had, but the Authority couldn’t possibly know about that.

Halfrey could deal with the situation in several ways.

The easiest would be to escape. Just sneak away and start over somewhere else. That would involve him severing all of his gearings. Otherwise the Authority could track him through their spirit-chains. An angry flush crept over Halfrey’s face as he thought about that: he’d put his blood sweat and tears into those gearings. Literally, in some cases.

A second option would be to fight his way out. He’d need his offensive gearings for that, a few of those weren’t registered but Halfrey’d have to get past the Authority representatives undoubtedly messing up his living room to get to them. The Authority knew him, however, so they’d probably sent their best to take him in. There was no guarantee Halfrey would come out on top. Most people, when hearing about Halfrey’s exploits, assumed him to be a risk-taker, a reputation Halfrey tried to encourage. But in the privacy of his own head, Halfrey admitted that when not in possession of all the facts, he preferred to take the safer road.

Since he had discarded the option of returning to bed and waiting for them to come get him out of hand, that left one final option, but he didn’t have a lot of time to make it work.

It was a simple gearing he had to make for his plan, something he could throw together without even thinking about it really. He didn’t need to put in fancy sprocket arrays, like he’d done with Lucia so she’d follow him around the house. There weren’t any complicated detection functions like Proxert’s. He just needed to align a few cogs and fit in a basic crystal to get the Shape he wanted. Most people thought him strange for keeping those handy in his bedroom. Halfrey felt oddly vindicated now that they’d finally proven useful.

It was tricky doing this in the dark, but Halfrey managed to complete the Shape of his gearing in good time. To power the gearing, Halfrey had to create a link between it and himself. A hair would do, but drop of blood would be ideal to establish the spirit-chain, so he jabbed his finger with a pointy pair of tweezers and let a single drop of red liquid fall on his creation. It now had both Shape and Soul. Now for the last part, to grant a gearing Self, you had to name it. Any name would do, really, some just named their gearings after the model and a number. Halfrey could never bring himself to name something Lamp-7, even if it was a lamp. It also seemed to Halfrey that the better the name you gave a gearing, the better it worked. So now his question was: What do I call this little guy?

To the soldiers of the Authority scouting out Halfrey’s house, it was an absolute surprise when the object of their search denounced in a clear voice: “Claire, shine!”, and a gearing which didn’t even have a casing yet bathed the room in light. Their confusion simply mounted when the only reaction Halfrey had to them aiming all their weapon gearings at him was to calmly walk down the stairs. No-one should be able to stay that calm when exposed to the possibility of being impaled, burned, struck by lightning, encased in ice, and having one’s brain melt out of their ears. Halfrey managed it admirably though. Their incomprehension was completed with him saying: “Take me to whoever’s in charge. And get your boots off my carpet!”

 

Inque (a.k.a. untitled n°2)

The Marquis was dead and now Nelle had a problem. When a powerful nobleman dies aboard his personal yacht, people take notice. When the nobleman in question is young and in apparent good health, people take notice rather quickly and start doing annoying things like suspect murder. They also take the yacht out to sea, so the murderer can’t just walk away, hence Nelle’s problem.

To top it off, now they’d brought a quaestor aboard. Nelle could see from her spot on the rear deck as the investigator climbed from his launch onto the Resplendent’s main deck. The quaestor was not the kind of man to inspire awe at first glance. He was rather short, wore spectacles, and had short blond hair that was starting to thin on top. To Nelle, however, the sight of that little man with his wool coat that was just slightly too long to be fashionable, was enough to chill her to the bone. The magistrate’s office had actually sent Selmund to investigate. There was no reason he wouldn’t, Nelle considered, the Marquis of Greyminster was a popular man, and the chief magistrate would want a quick resolution, so he’d sent his best man. If people knew the marquis as well as she did, Nelle suspected they wouldn’t be quite so keen to catch his killer.

No! Now was not the time to get into this! Nelle had to be quick and, most importantly, unseen. First, she had to get to her cabin. Unfortunately that was at the front of the ship. She looked for a way there that wouldn’t put her right in front of the quaestor and his officers. Not finding one, she even hung out over the water to see if she could clamber her way to her cabin on the flanks of the ship. This drew some stares from nearby sailors, so she abandoned the idea. She need to remain unnoticed for now, it had nothing to do with the risk of dropping into the sea. Nope. Nothing at all.

It seemed Nelle was in luck. Selmund and his officers were mounting the stairs on the right side of the ship to the rear deck. The crew insisted that it was actually the starboard ladder, but Nelle knew what ladders looked like and that wasn’t it. If she timed it right, she could just…  yes!... she could go down the left side stairs without the magistrate’s men seeing her. A quick dash across the main deck and she was through the door to her hallway. Never mind all the sailors grinning and shaking their heads at her antics, Nelle was safe, for the time being.

 

Since Nelle was the Resplendent’s apothecary for this trip, she had a cabin to herself. “Cabin” being one of the few nautical terms she could consistently remember. So she had a few private minutes to do what she needed. Most important was getting rid of the poison. There were still things about Nelle that could make the quaestor suspicious, but without the poison in her coffer, he wouldn’t have enough to accuse her. She regretted throwing the vial into the sea, there were still many names on her list. The list in question soon followed the vial through the window... porthole, whatever the difference was. Was there anything else? The dagger? No, Greyminster hadn’t been stabbed, so there was no reason not to keep it. Still convincing herself that she had done everything she could to avoid unnecessary suspicion, Nelle flinched at the knock on her door… hatch… oh, who cared!

‘Enter’, she said and one of the crew opened her door. The first mate Brackson.

‘Excuse me, miss Nelle. All the passengers are to go to the aft deck right now, the quaestor says, so captain Higgs sent me to get you.’

‘I’ll be right there, mister Brackson, you may go.’

‘Sorry, miss Nelle, only I’m supposed to stay with you. Not that you need me to or anything, but the quaestor said…’ he let the sentence trail off, an apologetic look on his face.She stood up from the chair she’d been sitting in and left the cabin.

Though it didn’t appear so, it was a nervous wreck that followed the first mate across the deck. Nelle still wasn’t sure there was nothing left in her cabin that might incriminate her. She half expected the quaestor to denounce her the second he laid eyes on her. Nothing of the sort happened of course. Mister Brackson just led her to the group of the marquis’ guests. As apothecary, she wasn’t really part of this group, but she wasn’t officially part of the crew either. It made for a lonely journey, but feeling out of place was nothing new to Nelle. With Greyminster dead, she could finally get back home. It had only been a few weeks, really, but with all the nerves of what she had to do, it had seemed like months. Going home, however, depended on convincing the quaestor that she had nothing to do with the marquis’ murder. That had become significantly more difficult due to Selmund being the quaestor. Nelle generally had confidence in her abilities, but if anyone were able to see through her, it would be him.

 

‘Please sit there.’

The quaestor had a surprisingly pleasant voice, light without being breathy, somewhere between a tenor and a baritone.

‘I am Selmund of Nax, please state your full name.’

‘Marinelle Foley, sir.’

‘The apothecary, correct? Do you know what is strange about that?’

Fear spiked in Nelle, he couldn’t possibly know, could he?

She managed to sound only slightly nervous when replying ‘No, sir, what?’

‘I’m quite certain I know all master apothecaries in Ortlund, and you are from here, correct?’

The fear abated, but Nelle kept up the nervous tone.

‘Yes sir, I am, but I’m still a journeyman. Master Benton fell ill and I had to come instead, sir.’

‘Ironic, that.’

No it wasn’t, I’d been feeding him redwort for weeks! And you’ve got a rubbish sense of humour, Selmund.

‘What, sir?’ Nelle asked.

‘An apothecary falling ill, that always strikes me as slightly ironic. Obviously you don’t agree, no matter. Tell me what you know of Marquis Greyminster’s death.’

Basic questions, that’s good. It doesn’t look like he suspects me.

Nelle had been forced to wait on the aft deck for hours before being summoned inside to be questioned. She’d made good use of that time by preparing her story, it helped that most of it was true.

‘Well, mister Bleaks… that’s the marquis’ manservant… this morning he took me to the marquis’ room, um, cabin, sorry. So he took me to the marquis’ cabin, because something was wrong. And I looked at the marquis, and… and he was dead… sir,’ she finished, rather lamely in her own opinion.

‘Why did mister Bleaks seek you out?’

‘Well, I’m the apothecary, it’s my job to help sick people.’

‘But the marquis wasn’t sick, was he?’

‘No, sir.’

‘He was dead.’

‘When I got there, sir, yes.’

How does he manage that piercing stare with those glasses, Nelle wondered.

Selmund just stared at her like that for a while before posing his next question, as if he were trying to see into her soul. He might be, thought Nelle, considering his reputation.

‘In your opinion as an apothecary, what killed the marquis.’

The lie came easily, ‘I think it was heart failure, sir.’

‘Heart failure? The marquis was in his thirties. Heart failure would be rather unusual, correct?’

‘It’s… it’s not unheard of sir.’

‘Wouldn’t poison be more likely?’ the quaestor easily fired off one of the questions Nelle had been dreading. She was ready for it though. Being twenty-one had its benefits, one of which was being believable when trying to appear naive.

‘Poison, sir? But who’d want to poison the marquis, sir?’

‘I was hoping you might tell me, miss Foley.’

damnation, he didn’t fall for the innocent maiden act.

Before she could answer, Selmund continued questioning her, ‘Can you tell me which herbs or compounds could kill a man and make it look like heart failure? As an apothecary, you should know this, correct?’

‘Yes sir, should I just tell you the most common ones, sir?’

Selmund nodded and she continued, ’There’s green whistlegrass, common snakeroot, the leaves of the macklebush if you eat enough of them, an infusion of black hava or red lomis, andisberries, since Ortlund is a trade port you might find pinderspice, which, if not dried correct-’

‘Enough, miss Foley.’ the quaestor interrupted. ‘Are any of those in your apothecary coffer?’

‘Well, of course sir,’ Nelle tried in her flustered voice, ’but nowhere near enough to kill a man! They’re medicines if used properly.’

Selmund seemed to consider this, he wasn’t an expert on poisons. Few quaestors were.

‘I’m not an expert on poisons, miss Foley. Few quaestors are.’

Wait, where is this going? Did he find anything else? Does he suspect me or not? Make a choice, Selmund!

‘Do you know what a Skincrest is, miss Foley?’

What? ‘Umm, yes?’

‘Of course you do,’ Selmund continued pleasantly, ‘they have become rather ubiquitous recently, correct?’

‘I guess so, sir.’

‘Hmm. Do you know what a Skincrest does, miss Foley?’ he asked as he fiddled with his sleeve.

‘They make people better at stuff, but I don’t know how it works,’ she replied, hoping he wouldn’t catch her in the lie. This wasn’t a line of questioning she had prepared for.

‘That is correct. A Skincrest enhances one of a person’s skills or attributes.’

Hold on, Nelle was shocked, that isn’t how Skincrests work at all! Does he really not know that? … or is he lying to me?

The quaestor finally managed to roll up his sleeve, exposing his right forearm. And the Skincrest emblazoned on it.

‘My Skincrest, miss Foley, makes me extremely good at knowing when people are lying.’ He paused a moment before adding, ‘Please give me your hand.’

A lie-detector skincrest? I can deal with that.

Nelle put her left hand in the middle of the table, palm up.

Selmund grabbed it with his right and the Inque on his arm started to move.

Lines snaked around his arm, his hand, and finally twisted around Nelle’s, it tickled a bit.

‘I will instantly know if anything you say from now on is a lie. So tell me miss Foley. Why did you kill the marquis?’

She nearly panicked. He knows!

‘I… I didn’t! Why would you ask...’ She tried to pull her hand away, but Selmund held on tight.

He suddenly let go with a puzzled look, the Skincrest slipping back into its original position. ‘It seems as if you’re telling the truth, miss Foley. My apologies. You understand I had to do this, correct?’

Nelle didn’t reply, she honestly had no idea how anyone else would react to Selmund’s Skincrest. Shocked, probably, maybe even outraged, but she couldn’t fake that convincingly without knowing how shocked.

It seemed staying silent was enough, because the quaestor just pushed his glasses higher on his nose and said, ‘You may go, miss Foley, but please remain in Ortlund for a while, I may have further questions.’

A spike of worry.

‘About poisons of course, nothing that would require me invading your privacy like this again’ How strange. He actually looks embarrassed. Or nervous?

On a launch headed to the docks of Ortlund, Nelle was relieved to have gotten away with it. She needn’t have activated her own hidden Skincrest. It would have rendered Selmund’s useless but she hadn’t even needed to lie. Nelle hadn’t murdered the marquis, she had been intending to but someone else had beaten her to it.

She vaguely realised that she should be grateful to whoever had murdered the marquis, it allowed her to keep whatever was left of her innocence for a while longer.

Instead she was angry. The assassination had obliged her to scramble getting rid of any evidence of her own plot. That poison had been expensive!

She looked back at the Resplendent, at the quaestor still standing on deck. She was slightly less impressed with him than she had been before meeting him. Knowing that he used Inque in his investigations took away a lot of the glamour. Nelle turned her back to the Ship, excited about going home… and about the next name on her list.

Selmund stood on the Resplendent’s rear deck, watching the launch plow its way through the waved toward the docks of Ortlund. The apothecary girl was on there.

‘Sergeant Kayne, I want someone to follow that Foley girl around. Take care of it ,please.’

‘Yes, quaestor, but why? I thought you didn’t sense a lie in anyone?’

‘I didn’t,’ Selmund replied pensively, ’Do you know what I did sense from that girl, Kayne? Nothing. Nothing at all.’

‘So she was telling the truth then, wasn’t she?’

Selmund considered telling him more. His Skincrest didn’t actually detect lies, well, it didn’t just detect lies. Selmund’s Skincrest told him so much more. Which was why it was so shocking that he hadn’t detected any memories from the girl. She probably uses Inque as well, but what kind? No need for Kayne to know about that, though, he decided.

‘She must have been, Kayne… but keep an eye on her anyway.’

Someone was hiding things from him. If Nelle could have seen the smile spreading across the quaestor’s face, she wouldn’t have been nearly so excited.

This is going to be fun! he thought.

[ChickenPlague he/him]

I personally liked the 1st story more.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Thanks Chicken! (or do you prefer Plague?)

Yeah, in the first story I was less focused on doing a story that could be extended, so it works better on its own.

I guess the second one had too many elements that would be explained in the hypothetical rest of the story.

 

The reason I prefer the "inque" story for possible worldbuilding is that I just don't see much promise for the 'gearings' from the first to be expanded upon as a magic system. But I can see a whole lot of things that could be fun to do with magical tattoo type things. (I know those have already been done...  a lot! But I think I could do it with a twist)

 

So I've written up a third story (nearly completely on my own time, too!) It's also a setup for a longer story, but I tried to avoid a plot that's too complicated to tell in so few pages.

 

The working title is "The Oracle" (I suck at titles BTW)

It was time for the city to move.
Time for wheels to be fitted on houses. Time for the storehouses to be mounted on the great wagons that usually made up Marqash’s city wall. Time for Lord Nabalu’s palace and the Augur’s Hall to be disassembled for transport. As it had done before. As it would undoubtedly do countless times more.

Marqash had been in it’s current location for more than three seasons already and its granaries were full with grains freshly harvested from the great floodplain of the Sanga river. Grains that would not spoil for years to come, so none would grow hungry. The people had been content, so it had surprised many when the Augurs announced the Season of Travel. That surprise soon made way for industry, and an amount of grumbling from some, for the Augurs never acted without reason. They could see the future, after all. Who are we to argue, reasoned the people of Marqash, when we don’t know what disaster could befall us if we stayed.

There were those who doubted the Augurs, but they were usually quickly shushed by their friends when a drunken mood inspired them to express that doubt. The Augurs of Marqash didn’t force the populace to believe in them. As long as you pay your tithe to us, they said, you’re free to believe what you wish. People who became vocal about their doubts, however, quickly found their businesses failing and their friends avoiding them on the street.

That wasn’t the reason Marqash almost unanimously supported its Augurs though. The reason for that was that they were simply very effective, no two ways about it. Marqash had avoided famine, plague, disaster, there hadn’t even been a war since the days of their grandfathers’ grandfathers, discounting minor scuffles and skirmishes with lesser Ulani cities trying to raid their cattle. According to the histories, Marqash had always been a fortunate city, ever since the gods left and left the world to be cared for by the spirits. And the spirits had sent omens to the Augurs, indicating that now would be a good time to pack up and go.

So the citizens of Marqash packed up and got going.

 

The problem was, they got going in the wrong direction!

 

Nisab didn’t understand. The Augurs knew about what the mountain would do, didn’t they? Then why are we heading straight for it? Are we going to help save some other city from the fire and ash? An ally, maybe?

When Nisab didn’t understand something she did one of two things. She either sat down and worked it through in her head, or she went and asked uncle Leffat. This problem was kind of urgent, so she didn’t try to work it out herself and went straight to her uncle. Uncle Leffat and Nisab’s father might have been brothers, but they were two very different people. Where Leffat was broad, Sinabi was tall and thin. Where Sinabi wore a beard like most men, Leffat went clean-shaven. It didn’t end at looks. Both brothers were smart men, but while Sinabi was a merchant and trader, Leffat was now one of the city’s few scribes. Leffat remained unwed and Sinabi was a family man. For two men so different Leffat and Sinabi got on remarkably well. At least, they did until a few years ago. Something had happened between them - nobody had ever bothered to explain what to Nisab - and their relationship had been somewhat strained ever since.

Nisab arrived at her uncle’s wagon while he was stowing his possessions in crates to be tied to the sides. He noticed her and a smile appeared on his face. Nisab had always been his favorite niece.

‘Ah, Nisi! Your father sent you to swindle me into carrying his spices on my wagon, didn’t he! Well, it won’t work! I just haven’t got the space. Spirits, I swear he tries this every time we move, and every time it’s the same answer…’ his sentence petered out when he saw the worried look on Nisab’s face.

‘What’s wrong Nisi? Come, sit here,’ he soothed her and led her to a crate next to his wagon. ‘Now, tell me what’s got you so bothered.’

‘We’re moving the wrong way, uncle. The Augurs are leading us the wrong way!

‘Why would they do that? They have to know what’s going to happen in the hills when we get there, right, uncle?’

‘What do you think will happen in the hills, Nisi?’ uncle Leffat said, suddenly intense. ‘What have you seen the Augurs didn’t?’

‘Th-they haven’t seen?’ she stammered, ‘But how can they not have seen?’

‘Inside, Nisi, not here. Too many people out here.’ Now uncle Leffat was looking kind of shifty, what was going on here?

 

Nisab let her uncle lead her into his wagon and she sat on the bench attached to the wall while her uncle made a tea with calming properties. Her uncle’s wagon was one of Nisab’s favorite places in Marqash, she could spend hours there just looking through his collection of scrolls, codices and books, but today her head was too full of thoughts and worries for that. Being there was enough to calm her down a bit, and after a few sips of the tea she was nearly back to normal.

‘So, are you ready to tell me everything from the beginning, Nisab?’
Uncle Leffat only called her by her real name when things were serious.

‘Well, it sounds a bit stupid now that I have to say it, uncle, I’ll just go ho-’

‘You saw the future, didn’t you, Nisab?’ If Nisab hadn’t been shocked before, she certainly was now.

‘But, but, what? How-’ was all she managed to get out before uncle Leffat interrupted again. ‘How did I know? You’ve been doing it for months now, Nisab. I’m pretty sure nobody but me has noticed yet, but the signs were there. I’d like to explain more, but what you said about the Augurs may be urgent, so I need you to tell me what you foresaw.’

‘We can’t go west.’

‘Yes, but why can’t we, Nisab? I need to know.’ Her uncle was speaking calmly, but the intensity from outside was still there, somehow even more focused than before.

‘There’s going to be a,’ she realised she didn’t actually know the word for it, ‘a fire?’

‘A forest fire?’

‘No, more than that. Fire coming from one of the mountains. Fire and ashes and it’ll burn everything up and…’ she was starting to grow hysterical despite the tea, but uncle Leffat grabbed her hand.

‘It will be fine, Nisab. I promise.

‘No it won’t, uncle! The Augurs are leading us right into it! Why are they, uncle? They know about it too! How could they not?’

‘Nisab, you have to calm down and listen to me. Tell me about the river.’

This was so unexpected that Nisab managed to ignore her fear and confusion.

‘The river?’

‘Yes, the river, tell me about it. Have you noticed anything different about the river lately?’

‘Well, it’s muddier than it was a few months ago.’

‘That’s right, do you know why?’

She shook her head and that caused uncle Leffat to smile for a moment. Good, uncle Leffat should smile. Him being so intense unsettled her.

‘It’s because this is what’s known as a flood plain. That means that when there’s a lot of rain upstream, this place could be flooded. Before that happens, the waters grow all muddy like they have been.’

‘Right uncle, so we have to move, but we’re still going the wrong way!’ Nisab said in the voice only a child can make when explaining to an adult something completely obvious. Uncle smiled again.

‘What have we been doing here these past three seasons?’
What did that matter, Nisab thought, first rivers and now farming?

‘We’ve been growing grain and stuff.’

‘That’s right, what does that mean for Marqash?’

‘Well, I heard dad say that we’ve got enough food now to last for at least three years.’

‘Ever the optimist, my brother, but close enough. So we’ve got food, but does that mean we have everything we need, Nisi?’

‘Umm, I guess not.’

‘No indeed, what does your father want right now?’

‘That’s easy, he wants another wagon for his stock.’

‘So he’ll be needing a lot of wood then?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘And other people you know could do with some good lumber as well, right?’

‘Sure. Everyone knows that Lord Nabalu wants to expand the city walls, I guess he’ll be needing wood for that’ An idea was forming in Nisab’s head, but she couldn’t quite put everything together yet.

‘Do you know what kind of work folk will be doing in the hills.’

‘They won’t work, uncle! There’s going to be too much fire!’

‘Sorry, Nisi. Calm down. If there weren’t, what work would folk be doing in the hills.’ She might not see the end of the trail quite yet, but Nisab could tell when she was being walked through an argument.

‘They’ll be getting wood, uncle.’ She said in a voice that promised danger in exchange for continued patronizing. Her uncle chuckled at her flashing eyes.

‘Guess I’m going a bit slow for you.’

‘It’s a bit of a coincidence though… the Augurs declaring a Season of Travel right before the plains are going to flood…’

‘They can see the future, uncle, of course they’re going to tell us to leave.’

‘And when the city needs a lot of wood, they divine that the way we need to go is right toward one of the biggest forests in all the Ulani lands…’ uncle Leffat let his voice trail off suggestively. And it clicked for Nisab.

‘You’re saying the Augurs can’t see the future?’ She felt she was remarkably calm for a twelve-year-old being told the basis of her understanding of the world was a scam. ‘They just reason things out like we just did, make a decision and lie to everyone about it?’ Less calm, but still within reason.

‘That is what I’m saying, Nisab,’ her uncle said, completely serious once more, ‘I should know, I used to be one of them.’ And for the second time that day Nisab’s world turned upside down.

 

Leffat marched over to where people who had already finished packing up their own homes were now helping the apprentice diviners to take apart the Augur’s Hall. He spotted Abunan, an Augur of the second tier, directing the labor, and struck out toward him.
Grabbing Abunan’s skinny, robe-clad arm, Leffat whispered, ‘Get these folk out of here, I need to talk to the council.’

‘You forfeited that right when you turned your back on us, Leffat. Now let me go before I do something you’ll regret.’ Leffat had never liked Abunan, and the feeling was mutual. He did let go of his arm, however.

‘You’re leading us into a catastrophe, Abunan.’

‘Now, how could you possibly know that? Wasn’t foretelling supposed to be a fraud, Leffat? I recall you giving a very passionate speech about that once’

‘Your brand is, you piece of slime, but I’ve found someone who does the real thing.’

‘You’re cracked, scribe.’

‘If I am, then letting me talk to the council will only prove you right.’

‘We’re rather busy at the moment, if you hadn’t noticed. Maybe we can listen to your drivel in a few months or so, if nothing more amusing is available, like watching paint dry. Now get out of my sight.’
Leffat seriously considered punching the pompous, robed scarecrow, but was denied the satisfaction when Girsima approached them. Girsima, unlike Abunan and most other Augurs, was a friend of Leffat’s, even after his expulsion from the ranks. Fortunately he was first tier, meaning he outranked Abunan.

‘Leffat!’ the tall Augur exclaimed, ‘What brings me this pleasure? You should come by more often, old friend.’

‘I’m afraid the wagon will have to come to the driver in this case, my friend. I’m not exactly welcome here.’ Leffat replied while grasping Girsima’s hand.

‘You could be.’

‘No, I couldn’t. Even if I wanted to. How could we explain how my foresight suddenly returned to me after so many years?’

‘We couldn’t, and we don’t want to.’ Abunan butted in, ‘Now, considering you despise us and everything we stand for, why don’t you go away and not come back?’

Leffat and Girsima both raised eyebrows at the rudeness, but Leffat replied, ‘I don’t despise Augurs, Abunan, I just couldn’t continue lying to everyone.’

‘Not out in the open, old friend. I thought we agreed on that?’ Girsima anxiously whispered.

‘We do Girsima, but I need to address the council and this has bearing on that. Your divinations are sending us the wrong way.’

‘The wrong way? Why would you say that?’

‘The council, Girsima? I’d rather not have to tell everything twice.’
The ageing Augur frowned, ‘Of course, old friend. This is serious, isn’t it?’

‘More serious than you could believe, my friend. A real prophecy.’

Abunan still wore his habitual sneer, but Girsima blanched. He knew Leffat well enough to know he wouldn’t make this claim without cause, and if he was correct… it was serious indeed.

It could change everything.

 

 

 

Since it's Brandon Sanderson that inspired me to try writing, here's the annotation:

I really like this idea of a mobile city. It's not just a caravan, or a nomadic tribe as you might find on Earth. It's an actual city, that's been made so it can be packed up and moved, city walls and all. The wagons aren't just wagons that stand still when the city does. They've got this hinge system where you can kind of unfold the wagon so it's twice as large (or more, but those are expensive). There's all sorts of tricks and transformations to go from mobile to sedentary, but those will have to wait.

It's not just this one city either. There's an area about the size of western Europe that's filled with nothing but this type of city. It's the opposite from the real world, where nomads are the exception these days. Here, it's the few people that live in stone houses that are considered as weird.

 

So then I needed a reason for the cities to sometimes move, and other times to stay put. You see, normally it's either one or the other, but here we've got this strange mix where a city can be in the same spot for up to a decade, and then it suddenly moves a hundred miles to the side where it stays for half a year and so on.

That's where I came up with the Augurs. I know it's the name for gold mistings already, but that's the synonym for diviner/soothsayer that sounded best to me. So we get this system where you have a group of people that foretell the future and they use that knowledge to say when and where the city should go.

Now I'm an atheist, so I'm naturally suspicious of people claiming supernatural authority, but I really think it's better for the story that the Augurs turn out to be frauds. They notice a lot of things, reason things out logically and make informed guesses, but there's no actual prophecy taking place (that's of the voidbringers  ). They are really good at it and usually turn out to be right.

Why don't they just explain stuff to the people, you ask? It's a sad truth that when smart educated people explain things in a logical way and tell a group what to do, the group digs in its heels, but tell them an invisible unicorn named Betsy told you they'd be horribly punished for disobeying and they go right along with it.

I'm not trying to start a religious debate here (or flamewar, in internet terms), just saying how I see things. I'm a cynical barstud, but I don't want to force anyone to agree with me. So, moving on.

 

The Augurs are frauds, but it's a system that's worked for centuries, maybe even millennia (haven't decided yet). And then comes along a girl who actually does what they've been claiming they do. That's going to be a source of a lot of the conflict in this story.

 

Names! I'm really poor at coming up with fantasy names (case in point Marinelle and Selmund) so this time I cheated a bit and used a fantasy name generator. This one.

I see the Ulani civilization in this story as a little bit of Roma and lot of Medieval Middle-east. But the 'Arabic' names in 'Asia and the Far East' were kind of awful, so I generated names with 'Ancient World' Babylonian male, female and town. I'm pretty pleased with the results.

 

I hope you read my story, I hope you like it, and if you don't, I hope you'll tell me why.

 

Edit: By the way, does anyone know if it's possible to do first line indent here?

Edited December 10, 2015 by EagleOfTheForestPath

[bobsaveg he/him]

Do you ever find that you have a scene in your head and you want to write it or get the story to that point, but you have to write your way there and it is taking for ever, like "man I have to write half the book just to get to this scene!"

 

Oh BTW I like your stories, I usually call my friend or brother during work and we swap stories ideas back and forth and it is fun, I read your pieces and it felt like my brother was telling my another one of his cool ideas.

As for advise I am no author so I can't critique anything I just hope you make one of them into a full novel. Any mistakes I saw would easily be fixed once you wrote the full story and iron out any bugs that did not fit the whole story, also a good editor would help with any other crap that I don't understand. I wish you good luck and gods speedy fingers on the keyboard.

[Zathoth]

I think I like The Oracle the most, I love the utopian feel the first lines give you (Well now it can only go downhill from here), I like the conspiracy, I like the idea behind a moving city in general. It just works for me.

 

The rest were good too, Gearings could work if you specify what they can do exactly, because I like the idea behind magic based on clockpunk machinery.

 

I like the mystery in Inque.

 

I like your low key magic systems too, well, the gearings are kinda flashy, but the others, precognition and super talents, from the looks of it there wont be a lot of fights with that, the conflicts will be more intellectual, and I like that.

[ChickenPlague he/him]

The last one is in my opinion the best of the 3.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Do you ever find that you have a scene in your head and you want to write it or get the story to that point, but you have to write your way there and it is taking for ever, like "man I have to write half the book just to get to this scene!"

 

I haven't been writing all that long, so it hasn't happened to me yet. But if it did, I'd probably write the scene in my head immediately. If I waited for the story to progress to that point first, I'd be afraid that I'd have forgotten half the scene I had in mind by the time I got there. So I'd write the good scene first and then try to fill in the gap between the two pieces of the story. If needed (i.e. if it doesn't fit anymore), you can always change the scene when the gap is filled.

 

Thanks for the support. 

 

 

I think I like The Oracle the most, I love the utopian feel the first lines give you (Well now it can only go downhill from here), I like the conspiracy, I like the idea behind a moving city in general. It just works for me.

 

The rest were good too, Gearings could work if you specify what they can do exactly, because I like the idea behind magic based on clockpunk machinery.

 

I like the mystery in Inque.

 

I like your low key magic systems too, well, the gearings are kinda flashy, but the others, precognition and super talents, from the looks of it there wont be a lot of fights with that, the conflicts will be more intellectual, and I like that.

 

Yeah, I believe that The Oracle has the most potential. I've seen moving cities before (we probably all have), but those are usually magical, so I wanted to try doing it the 'natural' way. Let's hope it works out for them.

The world is kind of set (just fill in the details, but the basic idea is there), now I just have to find a decent story to tell in there.

 

You could do some fun things with the 'gearings' system, so I'd like to return to them at one point, if only for a short story. But first something has to click in my head for it to work as a magic system.

 

Inque magics could actually do some pretty flashy things too, but I wouldn't want to spoil anything. I'll just say that most in-world people see it as super talents, but they're slightly mistaken. What Selmund's skincrest actually does is a sort of mind reading for instance.

 

For The Oracle, I actually haven't decided yet if precognition will be the (main) magic of the world. I mostly saw it as something unique that Nisab can do, but I reserve the right to change my mind on that. Whatever I decide, there won't be any fireballs in there for certain.

 

Thank you for the feedback. 

 

 

The last one is in my opinion the best of the 3.

 

As my first reader, I must listen to you and will focus my attentions on continuing The Oracle.

There's already a part of the next installment, but not enough to post yet.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

So there's enough to post a second part of The Oracle (working title) now.

 

In the middle of the last night before Marqash would set out towards its doom, Nisab was woken by a furious banging on the door of her family’s wagon. So was the rest of the family, of course, travel quarters were cramped, even for a wealthy family like Nisab’s. They had 2 wagons for eight people to live in and a third for the family business. Most of the city’s population were laborers, who would only be able to afford one wagon for that number of people. Nisab’s father got up and opened the door to find uncle Leffat standing on the steps, fist still in the air.

‘What in the name of the spirits do you think you’re doing, Leff?’ Sinabi shouted.

‘I need Nisab to come with me.’

‘In the middle of the night? Moons, brother! Get lost!’

‘It’s not for me, the Augurs want to talk to her.’ That calmed her father down, he had a lot of respect for the Augurs.

‘The Augurs? Why can’t it wait until morning? The Augurs wouldn’t drag us out of bed for this.’

‘They would and they have, brother.’

‘We have indeed. Our apologies, citizen Sinabi.’ This came from a robed figure Nisab didn’t recognize, though she knew from the robes that he was an Augur.

‘But what do you want with our Nisi?’

‘Simply to talk, citizen. She’s not in trouble and no harm will befall her, if that is your worry.’ the unknown man spoke in his soothing voice.

‘Of course not, your honor. What could happen to her if she was with an Augur?’

‘I am glad to hear you feel that way.’ the stranger said with a smile, half hidden by the hood of his robe, ‘We really must be going, if there are no objections.’

‘At least let her get dressed first, Girsima, a little more time won’t bring the moons down.’ uncle Leffat broke in.

‘Of course, old friend, what was I thinking. Take your time, girl, but take your time quickly, please?’

As if that were a signal, Nisab’s mother and sister dragged her off to the back of the wagon. Idum and Saba forcefully dressed Nisab in her best clothes and while Saba was rummaging through mother’s jewelry chest for something to suit Nisab, Idum herself brushed, combed and pinned Nisab’s hair into something resembling a traditional style. If Nisab was going to appear before the Augurs, they would make it sure as sunset that she’d do the family proud, at least as far as appearance went.

A quarter of a very stormy hour later a very dazed but thoroughly outfitted Nisab stumbled out of the wagon.

‘Shall we go then?’ her father asked.

‘No need to come with us, brother, this is something for Nisab alone.’

‘But can’t I...’ father protested, but uncle Leffat interrupted.

‘You should get back to bed, brother. Get some more sleep. You’ll need it tomorrow.’

‘That is true, citizen Sinabi. Tomorrow begins the Season of Travel.’

Faced with both his brother and a high-ranking Augur, father had no choice but to desist, and so it was in the company of uncle Leffat and Girsima that Nisab walked to the group of wagons that would convey the Augurs the following day.

She was feeling nervous and edging towards fear again. What did the Augurs want to talk to her about. She could only think of one reason, the conversation she’d had with uncle Leffat that afternoon. Were they going to punish her for disagreeing with them? No, uncle Leffat wouldn’t be walking along with her if they were. And that Girsima person had told father that no harm would befall her.

Still nervous but no longer fearful, Nisab simply asked, ‘Why do the Augurs want to talk to me?’

‘They want to ascertain that…’ her uncle began before being interrupted by the Augur on Nisab’s other side.

‘Now, now, Leffat, you know you can’t tell her beforehand. Confirmation bias. We just want to ask you some questions, child. Questions you must answer truthfully.’

Nisab looked at her uncle for confirmation.

He nodded, ‘Truthfully and honestly, Nisi. This is important.’

He addressed the Augur, ‘But I don’t think confirmation bias is relevant in this case. She’s clever enough to know what this is about.’

‘Nevertheless, we must follow the rules in this, old friend.’

‘What rules? This has never happened before!’

‘I can hear you, you know.’ Nisab interrupted, ‘What’s conform-a-shun bias?’

‘I’ll explain tomorrow, Nisi. Telling you right now would sort of ruin the point.’

For some reason this made Girsima chuckle. That comforted Nisab, it seemed she wasn’t in trouble.

They arrived at the Augur’s compound. Unlike the loose cluster the Augurs usually travelled in, their wagons were now arranged in a tight circle, ensuring nearly as much privacy as their Hall could have given. Though who would dare spy on the Augurs, Nisab couldn’t imagine. Uncle Leffat took her by the shoulders and kneeled in front of her, bringing them eye to eye.

‘I’d like to come in with you, Nisi, but I’m not allowed. Everything will be fine if you just tell the truth, all right? Girsima is going to take you inside now.’

It seemed to Nisab that nothing more needed to be said, so she nodded at uncle Leffat and followed the gently smiling Augur into the firelit circle of wagons. In the center was a clear space where Girsima left her. She was surrounded by six firepits casting shadows everywhere, so the most she could see of the Augurs sitting on benches around the perimeter were outlines from the fire's glow and the occasional silhouette. If the idea was to be mysterious and menacing, Nisab considered, they’ve succeeded. Her discomfort was increased by the clothes her mother and sister had stuffer her in. Nisab was used to baggy trousers tied at the ankle, a simple shirt and a long yawdar tunic that fell below her knees. That was how most everyone dressed in Marqash, both men and women.

Tonight she was wearing basically the same garments, but tighter and heavily covered in embroidery. They probably had different names that Nisab didn’t know yet. The embroidery  Nisab’s mother had decorated them with stiffened the cloth and this made the clothes pinch. The outfit was meant for the Feast of the Maidens in a few months. At that time the girls Nisab’s age would officially no longer be children, though it would still be five more years before they could legally marry, and probably another few before any of them actually did. After the feast Nisab would have to learn embroidering herself, to work on her bridal treasure. She should probably have started learning her family’s patterns already, but at the moment that particular worry was far from the most pressing. The most pressing worry were the scarlet-robed men in the shadows beyond the fires. The silence was growing more loaded by the second.

‘This thing is the one that’s supposed to replace us? Hmph!’ They could have picked a nicer voice to finally break the silence, Nisab felt. Not to mention the sentiment it expressed. She tried to pick out who had spoken, but couldn’t get closer than a general direction. She knew it wasn’t Girsima, he sounded much nicer. More silence followed which was, again, broken by the unpleasant pinched voice.

‘Well? Aren’t you going to reply?’

‘You haven’t asked me a question yet.’ This prompted some chuckling from the shadows behind her and an indignant sputter from the shadow that held the pinched voice. Emboldened by the chuckles, Nisab continued, ‘You’re going to ask me about how I know you’re leading us the wrong way.’ Silence fell again.

‘That remains to be proven.’ It wasn’t the pinched voice, but it wasn’t Girsima either, was he going to speak up at all? He’d been a bit intimidating, true, but she’d expected a friend of her uncle’s to stand up for her at least a little.

‘How do you mean, sir?’

‘That’s your honor to you!’ She was fast coming to loathe the voice belonging to the person she now thought of as Pinch.

‘How do you mean, your honor?’

‘Well, young lady, you say you know what the future holds for this city, but how are we to know you are correct? You might be mistaken, you might even be lying to us.’

‘I’m not lying! This is really going to happen!’

‘Hmmm. That’s hardly proof though, is it? Why don’t you tell me about the catastrophe you presaged.’

‘Presaged?’

‘Divined, foresaw.’

‘Oh, right,’ Nisab paused for a bit, embarrassed for not knowing the word, before commencing her story, ‘It came to me in a dream…’

It came to her in a dream.
She had found herself in woods she hadn’t recognised, having been only a baby when the city had last come to harvest lumber. She had nonetheless known exactly where these woods were. She had enjoyed the feeling of the breeze and the songs of the birds for a while, closing her eyes to better appreciate the sensation of the sun on her eyelids shimmering through the leaves. Then a sound startled her. She opened her eyes and saw that it was just a fox that had ran past her downhill. The next moment it had seemed that the entire forest was barreling past her. Squirrels, birds, rabbits, foxes, deer, a pack of wolves, she even thought she saw a bear sprinting along. All of them in an apparent frenzy to get somewhere. Or away from something? She’d turned around and had gasped when she saw the sky darken. A cloud of deepest black was expanding from a mountain top, growing at an alarming rate until the whole sky was covered with blacks and greys. Then a flash of red appeared which snaked down the mountain towards her. Before it could reach her, however, a wall made of rocks and ashes crashed through the beautiful trees, smashing them into splinters. Instead of being covered in the avalanche and waking up in shock, as she had half expected, the ash threw her into the air, where she somehow floated, like a feather on the breeze she had enjoyed so recently. Her view panned away from the awful mountain, falling instead on the valley the animals had fled to. She remembered feeling sorry for them, there was no way they could outrun the river of burning ash and stone. However horrible the dream had been up to now, it was nothing compared to the dread she felt when she had seen the city set up in the valley. She noted the colorful roofs and the large banner flying over the largest building and realised that the city was her own. She hung there in the smoke-filled sky, expecting that nothing could be worse, she knew what would happen to those people. She was proven wrong. When the ashen tide washed away the city, it turned out she hadn’t been prepared for those emotions at all.

When she had recounted her dream for her uncle that afternoon, after his revelation about his past, she had ended up in a sobbing ball on the floor. Now, however, she managed to tell it all nearly without any emotion, as if it were a mildly interesting story someone else had told her instead of something she had experienced herself. Silence reigned in the Augur’s circle once again. Though this time it was a stunned silence, as opposed to the slightly hostile one earlier.

‘It is still no proof, young lady.’

‘It’s ridiculous is what it is!’ Pinch called out. Though this time he prompted some angry grumblings.

‘The records do say that the mountains in that area have exploded before.’ This was a fourth voice, wheezier than the others.

‘That’s right,’ called a fifth, ‘who’s to say they won’t again?’

‘Who’s to say they will?’

‘The question is, brothers,’ proclaimed the voice that had invited Nisab to tell her story, quieting all other voices, ‘whether this is a chance we can take.

‘Do we dare ignore the words of a possible true oracle, do we dare gamble that she isn’t and maybe lose the lives of every citizen we are tasked with leading?’

‘You can’t possibly believe this little girl actually has foresight?’ Pinch again.

‘I’m not saying I believe she is right, I am saying that there is a chance she is.’

‘Then what course of action do you propose, Barossu?’, came from the wheezy voice to Nisab’s left.

‘We have to leave, this valley is going to flood. But heading west would be imprudent. I suggest we set out north instead. The forests there might not be the same quality wood, but they will serve our purposes.’

‘It sounds an awful lot as if you do believe her.’ sniggered wheezy voice.

‘It sounds as if I want to verify her claim without risking Marqash, brother. Her vision describes summer foliage. I suggest we withhold judgement until fall. If the events she described have not yet come to pass by then, she is obviously mistaken, and we can decide if punishment is warranted. If she proves to be correct, however… the implications are clear.’

‘And what do we do with that one until then?’, asked Pinch. He sounded entirely too eager to lock her in a cage.

‘Let’s not discuss that in front of her,’ finally Girsima entered the conversation, ‘I’ll take her outside.’ He trotted back into the circle of light and gently guided Nisab by the shoulder to a waiting uncle Leffat.

 

And the shameless copying of Brandon Sanderson continues with another set of annotations! (I really hope that doesn't happen in the story itself)

I'm still basically doing setup for the title character here. I'm getting a bit clearer on where I'd like the story to go, but there's still a lot of gaping holes.

I'm also afraid I screwed up the dialogue in this part, but I can't pinpoint what the problem is. If any of you find it, could you please tell me?

 

First scene. With the description of the wagons I'm trying to establish Nisab's family as a more or less wealthy one. I'm also expanding the society of the moving cities with the mention of laborers. There will eventually be a rank or caste system based on profession. I'm also trying to work out a family/clan/tribe system within the city, so I'm looking for sources on that if you'd like to recommend any. Right now I'm basing it on what I can find on wikipedia about the Mongol Hordes.

 

Confirmation bias. I really hope I used that term right. What the Augurs want to avoid is having Nisab actively try to prove that she's a precog. They just want her to tell her story and make up their own minds. It's also a hint that the Augurs are mostly scholars and have a much higher level of education than the rest of the people. They need that to keep up the pretence that they're the ones with precognition.

 

The prediction scene. It was probably already obvious from part 1 that the catastrophe Nisab predicted was a volcanic eruption, so here's confirmation (without bias). I don't really know about including this scene here, or even at all. I debated letting the actual prediction remain something that's talked about, but not actually seen. In the end I wanted to try putting it on paper. I had this great big cinematic representation of this in my head and I don't know whether I managed to translate that vision (no pun intended) to text.

 

The wrap-up. This last part is the Augurs putting off a final decision. A seed of doubt has been planted in most of their minds so they're hedging their bets. They won't be announcing there's a prophet the next day. They're going to do the cautious thing, which is what they're used to. They'll be heading away from the volcano and to another wooded area instead. Most of them don't believe Nisab's vision was real, boy are they gonna be surprised in a couple of months!

 

Hoping to read your thoughts, opinions or critiques soon!

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Sadly, I haven't received any feedback on the previous part of The Oracle.
Stubborn as I am, I'll still post the third part.
 
It took a while to write it, because now we're starting to get into the actual story. I first had to work out a general outline of the whole thing before doing this bit. I still don't have an outline for the second half of the "book", but that will be somewhat separate from the first half anyway, So I'm hoping to update a bit more regularly.
 
Here it goes.

A whip fell on a man’s bare back. Had that been twelve or thirteen lashes? The man couldn’t say, he’d tried to keep count but after the first five it didn’t seem to matter anymore. All he could think of was the pain. Only twelve - possibly thirteen - lashes out of forty. The whip fell again , the man screamed, the crowd cheered. The man hated these people. Forty lashes for petty theft? He’d seen another man get away with only three for stealing more than he’d stolen himself. That man had been a stonedweller, though, they obviously punished foreigners more severely here. Another lash, another scream, another cheer.

The man blacked out, slumped against the pole he was tied to.

When he regained consciousness, he was being dragged through the city gates by two armoured guards. He started to struggle, but that made the pain in his back explode from a throbbing ache into a piercing burn. They dragged him through the heavy city gates and onto the road leading into the mountains. Unceremoniously he was thrown to the ground. A bundle with his belongings was thrown beside him, including his sword. The stonedwellers had laws about that, a criminal’s possessions had to be given back to him after he was punished. The third guard, who had been carrying the man’s pack spat on the ground.

‘Go back to where you came from, wheelie trash, and don’t come back.’
The guardsmen turned around and started marching back to the city. One of them hesitated and looked back at the man, still bleeding from his back onto the dust of the road. He walked back a little and tossed the man a waterskin. Another time, this might have reminded the bleeding wretch that not all of these strawheads were scum, but right then he was too hurt and resentful to care about any small kindness.

He lay there a while, shuddering from the pain. Then gingerly pushed himself up on his feet, slowly gathered up his belongings and stumbled up the road, to the pass that lead back to the Ulani plains. Rage and thirst for revenge against all of these Akhmi swine seethed in his mind, finding fertile soil.

 

A week later a man walked out of the Jiddal pass, connecting Akhmin and the lands of the Ulani. He was ragged and dusty, but he walked with a purpose down to the Ulani trading camp at the bottom of the pass. The ragged man went by the name of Ahazzar, an Ulani name. A single man coming out of a pass usually only frequented by trading caravans was an oddity, so by the time Ahazzar reached the camp a good-sized crowd had gathered to greet, if not welcome him. A large man detached from the crowd and blocked his path. Ahazzar knew the type, large, strong, overbearing, the type of person that naturally gravitated toward positions of minor authority, like self-appointed peacekeeper in a small camp.

‘ ‘m Biuma,’ the brute introduced himself, ‘who’re you?’

‘My name is Ahazzar.’

‘Why you traveling ‘lone, Ahazzar? Strange thing to do, ‘n a time like this.’

‘Why is now a worse time for a lone traveler than any other?’

‘Bandits o’ course.’

‘There are always bandits, they are a fact of life, like the sun shining or the wind blowing.’

‘Mebbe so, but these here bandits I’m talking ‘bout ‘re clever. Clever ‘nough to send in spies…’ Biuma let his sentence taper out suggestively.

‘And you are suggesting I am one of these spies.’

‘What if I am?’

‘You would be wrong.’

‘Can’t take your word for that. ‘m not stupid, you see.’

‘How do you suggest I prove that I’m no bandit, then?’

‘ ‘m gonna let you think ‘bout that for yourself. ‘til you think o’ something, ‘m putting you in a cell.’

‘Fine, I’m tired enough of walking to welcome a rest. Could you bring me some water so I can shave?’

‘You’re not gonna struggle?’ asked Biuma, faintly disappointed. He would have preferred beating up Ahazzar first and taking his possessions in ‘restitution’ for the trouble caused. Luckily for Ahazzar, the conversation had taken place in public, so being anything less than courteous now could result in Biuma losing his position. Biuma liked his position, so Ahazzar got to keep ownership of his possessions - including the sword - and even got shaving water delivered to him in his cell.

 

When Biuma later entered the large yurt holding the wood-barred cage that acted as the trade camp’s jail, he thought for a second that the wrong man was locked inside. Earlier, the stranger’s hair and beard were so matted and tangled that little more than a nose hinted at a face beneath the dark mane. Now Biuma was looking at a clean shaven Ahazzar. Not just the beard had gone, in fact, the only hair that remained on Ahazzar’s head were his pitchblack eyebrows. The wanderer had, it turned out, high cheekbones, a solid chin, delicate lips, a straight - if somewhat hawkish - nose and a pair of piercingly sharp, dark eyes that burned with a chilling passion. Apart from the shaved skull, Ahazzar’s face reminded Biuma of the stories his gran used to tell him, about princes, lords and heroes. With such a metamorphosis, Biuma became vaguely worried that he might have actually caged someone important.

‘You want to ask me more questions, don’t you?’ Ahazzar asked. Though it was more a statement than a question.

‘Um. Yeah.’ Biuma was caught wrongfooted, the guy in the cage wasn’t supposed to ask to be questioned!

‘So, yeah, questions…’

‘You suspect me to be part of this bandit gang.’

‘Yeah. I do!’ Biuma asserted. He came a bit out of his daze and continued, ‘So ‘re you fessing up?’

‘Since I am not a bandit, I cannot confess to it.’

‘But how do I know that?’

Ahazzar seemed to consider this and the peacekeeper began to entertain the vague hope that they might be getting somewhere. Biuma would actually prefer to be convinced of his captive’s innocence. It was one thing to imprison a wild looking stranger, quite another to cage a mysterious man who looked as if he might have walked out of a storybook.

‘Do you believe in the Augurs, Biuma?’

The question was so unexpected that Biuma could only nod in reply.

‘You believe they can see the future?’

‘Yeah. They can see the future!’

‘Yes.’

Ahazzar then pauzed for a while. Just when Biuma was about to ask another question, the caged man resumed, ‘It is said that the Augur’s ability to interpret omens of what is to come is granted them by the patron spirits of their cities. Have you heard this also?’

‘Uh, yeah, but I don’t see how that matters right now.’

‘I am getting to my point, Biuma.

‘Boys growing up in a city are chosen by that city’s spirit to become Augurs. That choice is made when they are little more than ten years old.’

‘I know that! Everyone knows that, there’s a ceremony an’ everything!’

‘Indeed. I was not chosen by the patron spirit of my home.’

Ahazzar fell silent then. Biuma understood, most Ulani boys hope of being chosen as an Augur. Even now, the rejection stung a little.

‘Have you ever wondered, ‘Ahazzar asked in barely a whisper, ’why only patron spirits choose Augurs?’

Biuma hadn’t, he didn’t think of other spirits at all, usually.

‘Spirits of the rivers and mountains have other things to occupy them, I suppose. But what of the others? The spirits that have no cities, or the spirits that used to have cities but were lost?’

‘They have those?’

‘They do exist, yes’ answered Ahazzar with a wry smile, almost a sneer.

‘These spirits seek seclusion, in deep valleys or dense forests where the cities do not go, until someone discovers them once again. Once they are rediscovered, what follows depends on the spirit.’

‘How’s that?’ asked Biuma, hooked on Ahazzar’s story.

‘Either the discoverer is denied by the spirit, or accepted. If the spirit accepts, the person who discovered it becomes an Augur.’

‘Right,’ suddenly disillusioned, Biuma dismissed his captive’s tale, ‘ ‘m thinking I know where this’s going. You’re gonna try an’ sell me on you being able to predict where the bandits are camped. ‘m good with you selling out your buddies, but don’t go trying to fool me about seeing the future.’

‘I don’t follow’

‘You’re gonna tell me where they’re camped because you know, because you’re one o’ them. Not because you got some spirit giving you powers.’

‘Ah, so if I tell you the location of their camp, I would be convincing you of my own guilt, regardless of the actual source of the information.’

‘Uh.. Yeah, that’s right! And don’t you forget it!’

‘How about I tell you where the bandits will next strike? That’s a lot harder to know even if I were one of them.’

‘I guess, but it’s still not ‘nough.’

‘Hmm, what if I tell you where they will strike in a week’s time? A band of bandits surely wouldn’t plan that far ahead, even a band as organised as you think this one?’

‘Keep thinking.’

‘Very well,’ Ahazzar snapped, irritation entering his voice for the first time, ’I shall tell you where they will next strike. You will keep watch over the place of the ambush and when the bandits strike you ambush them. Even if they get away, it will still ensure that they change any plans they have. I will stay here in the comforts of my cage and when you return I will give you a prediction of another bandit target. Would that be enough to convince you of my innocence?’

This time Biuma hesitated a long time. Ahazzar must have seen the agreement in his eyes because he suddenly exclaimed, ‘Good! Bring me a map.’

 

A week later Biuma once more walked into the yurt holding Ahazzar’s cage. The man was shaving, as he had every day since his arrival. Not a hint of stubble was allowed to show on either cheek or scalp. Following Ulani custom Biuma himself wore a moustache and a thin strip of hair beneath his mouth, the rest of his face he was supposed to shave daily but, like most, he was less than fastidious about that. It was only a custom, after all, not a rule.

‘So they were where you said they’d be.’ Biuma began without announcing his presence.

‘Does this mean you accept my innocence?’

‘Guess I have to.’ Biuma hesitated, not quite knowing how to continue.

‘Um…’

‘You wish for me to continue predicting their targets.’

‘Not really, you said you could tell me where they’re camped?’

‘I cannot.’

‘But you said…’

‘I believed I could,’ Ahazzar interrupted Biuma’s protest, ‘and I tried to do so. But they make their camp in a cave, so I cannot deduce its location from the surroundings. My apologies, Biuma.’

‘Ah. Right. So, about telling me their targets?’

‘Yes?’

‘You’d be willing?’

‘I would. but I have some conditions.’

‘You want out o’ the cage, right?’

‘Seen that you now know me to be innocent, I had thought that to be a given.’

‘Oh, so there’s something else?’

‘I would like to accompany you as you set out against these raiders.’

‘That’d be dangerous, Ahazzar.’ warned Biuma as he opened the cage door.

‘I had assumed as much,’ the bald man assured him, ‘and I can take care of my own safety. I know how to use the sword I arrived here with.’

‘Right then, ‘f you know what you’re doing.’

‘I do.’ affirmed Ahazzar as Biuma turned to leave.

‘Biuma.’

‘Yes?’ the big guard asked, turning back.

‘I will require a wage.’

‘Oh, can’t really afford that much. Only money we got is what the merchants ‘re willing to give.’

‘Whatever you pay your other men will suffice very well.’

‘Ah! In that case, you’re hired!’ Biuma beamed at his former prisoner. ‘I can put you up with the rest o’ my boys as well, seeing as you ain’t got a tent or anything.’

‘Very well. For now, could I trouble you for an advance on my first wage?’

‘Already?’

‘These are the only clothes I possess, Biuma, hardly suited for one who is to uphold the law.’

‘Didn’t think o’ that.’ Biuma considered for a while, holding open the yurt’s entry flap with one hand.

‘All right. Come on. I think I got an idea.’

Ahazzar nodded, gathered his scant possessions and followed Biuma into the trade camp.

 

And the annotations.

So we're seeing a whole different set of characters here.

The most important one will be Ahazzar, of course (I hope that was clear from the text).

It hasn't been stated outright yet whether he really has precognitive powers or if he just managed to convince Biuma that he does.

The short answer is yes. We have another character that can actually predict the future instead of just faking it like the Augurs do.

If you're already worried, it's not a common ability at all. Unless I change my mind radically, Nisab and Ahazzar will be the only two true diviners in the story.

 

The Oracle from the working title refers to Nisab. Ahazzar will be marketing himself as 'the prophet'.

If by chance you are reminded of another bald guy with passionate eyes calling himself that, it is purely coincidence.

It was only after I had thought up the character and then started rereading The Eye of the World that I noticed the similarity.

Unlike Masema (© Robert Jordan) though, my guy has a reason for going hairless, I wasn't just copying (also, Ahazzar isn't completely bonkers).

 

Scene by scene now.

 

The whipping scene is basically there to show that there's a lot, uhm, tension between the Ulani and the Akhmi.

Now might be a good time to explain that there's relatively little contact between the two groups. The mostly plains area where the Ulani have their moving cities is separated by a mountain range from Akhmin where people are sedentary. There are only a few passes (2 or 3) through which they trade.

The Akhmi call the Ulani "wheelie trash", referring to wagon wheels.

The Ulani refer to Akhmi as "strawheads", meaning most of them are blonde.

There's a lot of prejudice there, not all of it unfounded, but, as these things tend to, it's a lot nastier than it has to be.

 

Ahazzar comes out of the pass and basically walks into jail on his own.

It's definitely not because he's given up or something, this was all planned out in advance.

It doesn't really matter (for now) if Ahazzar predicted this event supernaturally or if he just has a good grasp of human nature and deduced it logically. He has the capacity for both, so I'll let you pick which one you prefer. If it later turns out to be important to the story, I might make some minor changes here, indicating if it was a vision or not (or trying to indicate anyway).

note: another parallel I noticed literally just now: The prophet coming down from the mountain, he's only missing the stone tablets .

 

In the interrogation scene we've got Ahazzar laying the groundwork for passing himself off as a prophet.

He's using the Augurs to underline that Biuma already believes in divination.

The whole thing about the spirits is not very relevant for now, it shows a bit about Ulani religion, which might become important later on for working out my universe. The thing to remember right now is that Ahazzar is lying, he wasn't picked by any spirit, saying any more would be spoilers.

I don't know whether I did an okay job of conveying it, but Ahazzar is something of a master manipulator. He's running circles around Biuma in this conversation. Biuma was supposed to dominate here, but everything, starting with the change in appearance, was calculated to give Ahazzar the upper hand. We end with Ahazzar giving a couple of suggestions for proving his innocence, which is completely ridiculous IMO, but Biuma isn't really all that bright.

 

Finally we have the scene where Biuma invites Ahazzar to join his crew, sheriff's department, whatever you call it. Which was Ahazzar's goal all along, and he did it in such a way that Biuma thinks it was his own idea.

 

My feeling right now is that I left things a bit unfinished in this part, but all the important things have been said, so let's just call it a cliffhanger.

 

I'm hoping someone will comment this time  .

[ChickenPlague he/him]

Liked it. The spirit thing is however coming in the 2nd chapter and it would be hard to realize it's a lie and not a bit of worldbuilding without the Authors Annotation.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Liked it. The spirit thing is however coming in the 2nd chapter and it would be hard to realize it's a lie and not a bit of worldbuilding without the Authors Annotation.

Thanks for the input CP. It's actually kind of both lie and worldbuilding. Ahazzar isn't making up everything himself, the whole spirit thing is what the Augurs tell people. It's really just an excuse to gather the most intelligent boys as their apprentices. They don't get all the clever ones, but still a fair amount.

I also spent quite a bit of the first chapter on how Augurs are frauds, so I don't know if the lie is that hard to realize.

With the story for the first half planned out, it didn't take all that long to write the second part of chapter 2. I don't know if I want to keep this as Ch2 or make it Ch3. So I'd really appreciate input on that. If you think it's better as two separate chapters I can fill out Ch2 with some inconsequential stuff.

 

Edit: I've decided. It works better for the story if the following part is placed later. So I will be writing something to fill out chapter 2 with Ahazzar and Biuma.

That will be followed by a few other chapters before this bit, for now referred to as 'Chapter X'.

Here it is:

Slowly rolling along the forest-flanked road that ran the length of the Arkeh mountain range, Methai was going home. Uncle Susaru, head of the family since grandfather’s passing, had taken his siblings and some close cousins on a logging venture. Methai’s mother had remained back in Uciash with grandmother to take care of the younger children. If this project had taken place only a year earlier Methai would have been with them. He had been so proud when his father declared that he was old enough to come, but after four months he was looking forward to seeing his mother again. And even his pest of a little sister, he grudgingly admitted. When setting out, all that had been weighing down the wagons were the yurts and some provisions for the duration of the venture. Now six great wagons loaded up with timber rolled along the road and all of the yurts, along with the remains of the provisions were crammed into the seventh. Methai had vaguely wondered where the wagons had come from, as his family was only just above the status of labourers, who could only offer their services to higher ranked families. They were allowed by law to go on their own ventures, but Methai hadn’t known they possessed the funds to do so. Those musings had quickly been replaced by the excitement of a new environment. Having never before been outside of the city, this venture was the first time he entered the foothills to the mountains, or any terrain that was too rough for something as vast as the city to travel through. Methai had carried water, tended the small herd of goats they had taken with them, learned some woodcraft from uncle Ubar when he hadn’t been too occupied with the logging and greatly enjoyed all of it. Now it was time to sell the fruit of their efforts back in Uciash. From the excited talk over the campfires each night, they expected the proceeds to be enough for the family to rise a rank in the hierarchy of the city. But that wasn’t what Methai looked forward to. What he wanted most was to share all his experiences with his friends and rub them in the faces of the boys his age who weren’t, closely followed by a meal prepared by his mother. His aunts weren't bad cooks, exactly, but there just wasn’t any comparison.

So Methai whiled away the hours on the road with pleasant thoughts of home.

The first thing anyone saw of the bandits was the feathered end of an arrow sticking out of an ox’s neck. At first the great beast just slowed down a bit, as if not comprehending that it should be dying. Only after a few moments did it slowly crumple to the ground. It was one of uncle Baru’s oxen, he was first in the wagon train that day, so the entire caravan had to come to a halt. Uncle Susaru stormed up to the head of the caravan to give Baru a tongue-lashing.

‘Baru! What the hell are you thinking? Why’d you stop all of a sudden?’

Suddenly a second arrow sprouted out of Susaru’s body. That was when the panic started. Most had enough presence of mind to take cover behind their wagons, making use of the stacks of seasoned timber they hoped to sell back home in a way none of them had foreseen. The only arrow that managed to find a living target went into auntie Eshkeri’s leg, and she managed to limp to safety shortly after. Seeing that they would have no further luck with their bows, the bandits came pouring out of the woods to the side of the dirt road, brandishing clubs and a few curved swords. Hands and eyes free, but otherwise completely covered in cloth and leather in shades of shabby brown and grey. Methai, peeking out from behind his father’s wagon, estimated there were around a dozen and a half of them, outnumbering his family nearly two to one. His heart was pounding and his breath came only in gasps. He had to help somehow! But he didn’t know how to fight, his father had only started teaching him to fire a bow on his tenth birthday, less than two months past, not even mention of staff or sword yet. It was better than nothing however, and Methai was about to attempt a dash towards the wagon where he kept his bow, when his father grabbed him around the waist.

‘Methai, you have to run! Run into the woods!’

‘No, dad, I want to help!’

‘You’ll help by not being in anyone’s way. If these swines take you hostage…’

Methai’s father couldn’t even finish the thought. He looked into his son’s eyes for a few moments, until uncle Baru shouted for him.

‘Get over here Khazai! What the hell are you waiting for? An invitation?’

‘I’ll be right there!’ his father yelled back, before turning to Methai again, ‘Will you hide in the forest as I ask?’

Methai nodded, and his father nodded back. Then he turned and ran to the fight, drawing his sword as he went. He hadn’t said it out loud, but Methai had as good as promised his father to stay clear of the fighting. So he scrambled away from the road and into the trees, away from the sounds of battle.

Hiding behind a fir tree on the slope beside the road, Methai had a good vantage to follow the flow of the skirmish. Even outnumbered as they were, his family more than held their own against the bandits. They weren’t gaining any ground but neither were they giving any and with the hidden bandit archer’s sight blocked by his companions no more of the traders were dying. To be honest, from Methai’s point of view, the bandits didn’t seem to putting in all that much effort. Some were even holding back from the fight. Were they perhaps waiting for reinforcements? Hoping to overwhelm the defenders by sheer force of numbers? But that didn’t make any sense, the bandits already outnumbered their opponents. Even with the outlaws apparently not giving their all, Methai flinched every time one of his uncles or aunts had to block or dodge a blow. Nearly cheered every time his father parried and countered. And then the inevitable happened. Someone died. Uncle Ubar had been exchanging blows with two bandits at the same time. One tall, lanky fellow armed with a club and a shorter man with his face hidden behind a bright red scarf wielding a sword. Red scarf got distracted by auntie Eshkeri who had hastily bound her leg and now joined the defense with a spear. Uncle Ubar took advantage of only having to focus on one opponent and after knocking aside a blow of the club he opened the lanky bandit from shoulder to hip on the backswing.

According to his father, bandit’s usually gave up when one of their number went down, preferring to take their chances on an easier target. Far from fleeing though, the loss of their companion seemed to enrage these bandits. Suddenly the ones who had been keeping away all descended on uncle Ubar and the ones already engaged redoubled their efforts. The fight changed from a struggle against greater numbers to a desperate defense against an overwhelming adversary. Methai wanted to look away or simply close his eyes to block out the sight of uncle Ubar. He managed to fend of the five man assault for a little while, but then one blow got through, and then another, and shortly he was just being pummeled from all sides with bandit clubs.

Aunt Eshkeri’s fight was even worse. The red scarfed man had dodged to the side of one of her spear thrusts and slashed his blade at her hand. The loss of several fingers, coupled with the earlier arrow to the leg proved to be too much for Methai’s aunt and she fell to the ground. The man who had maimed her was now kicking her in the gut.

The ground trembled beneath Methai’s feet. The horrible sight of his relatives taken down one by one left him slow of thought, so it took some long moments before he realised that the trembling was the feeling of hoofbeats approaching. Not just one or two horses either. This was the feeling of a large group. In despair he looked to the side to watch whatever new disaster was nearing the shattering remnants of his life, expecting the bandit reinforcements he had feared earlier.

Over a dozen riders were galloping toward the stranded caravan, some of them drawing bows. They loosed. As if in a dream, Methai watched the flight of arrows race toward the fight, and simply blinked as each arrow found not a trader, but a bandit target. He dazedly wondered why they were fighting amongst themselves now. Only when the bandits turned and fled the oncoming charge did he realise that these unknown horsemen were on their side.

Five days later Methai still replayed the events that followed over and over in his head. He saw the bandits fleeing into the trees on the opposite side of the road, where horsemen couldn’t follow. He saw himself, now safe, rushing out from the cover of the trees. He saw half of the troop spreading out over the lenght of the caravan, the rest remaining with the group of wounded traders. He saw a flight of arrows coming once more from the trees, vindictively cutting down over half of his family’s oxen. He saw the one arrow that wasn’t meant for a beast of burden. The one arrow that flew toward Biuma, the leader of the group that saved them. He saw the bald man he now knew as Ahazzar tackling Biuma off his horse, out of the path of the arrow. He saw the arrow passing through the now empty space, into the person standing behind. Into his father. He saw Ahazzar realising someone had still been hit, scrambling over to his father and examining the arrow sticking out of his gut. Heard Ahazzar’s voice, ordering two of his men to fashion a litter between their horses. Saw the bald man gather several others and place his father as gently as possible into the litter. Saw the two horsemen riding off to the healer Ahazzar assured them was waiting. He saw the bandits fleeing into the trees…

Khazai was still alive. Methai was sitting by his bedside. The healer had removed the arrow and cleaned out the puncture with strong spirits. The various gashes the bandits had inflicted were also cleaned out and stitched up with gut, those could heal just fine. With gut wounds however, even Methai - young as he was - knew it was up to the spirits alone whether the victim lived or died. The first day his father had been in pain, obviously, but he had been conscious and aware, even in good spirits. The second day the fever had set in. The healer had concocted a herbal paste to combat the fever, but to no avail. At the end of the third day, Methai heard the healer tell uncle Ubar, himself a mass of bruises, that it was now only a matter of time until his brother passed through the gates of death.

Methai didn’t believe him. A man as strong as his father, a man who could do anything, who knew everything, couldn’t die so easily. It hurt Methai, seeing his father as weak as this. Even his breathing was laboured, as if he didn’t have enough energy even to draw air into his lungs. If it went on like this… No! He couldn’t think like that! His father was going to recover, no question about it. But…

That was the way Methai spent the next night and day, not sleeping, not eating, only drinking if an uncle or aunt put the water in his hand. Thoughts going in circles between vain hope of his father’s recovery, and an inevitable dread that he wouldn’t. Occasionally he put a hand on his father’s head, only to pull it away immediately, trying to deny the knowledge that the fever was only getting higher.

And then the inevitable happened. Khazai died.

And another set of annotations:

Another set of new characters. And with this we have all three viewpoint characters I've planned on.

I might introduce a fourth if I feel the book needs fleshing out, but the main story is about Nisab, Ahazzar and Methai.

The first paragraph is mostly about worldbuilding. It introduces the Ulani hierarchy. It's a rather complicated system and I haven't figured out all the details yet or the names of the different 'ranks' or castes. What's said here is that the bottom of the pyramid is the labourer class. These families can hire themselves out to the lord of their city or sometimes to a higher ranked family, but they don't have the right to start any of their own projects or businesses. It is possible to work yourself out of this class but a large portion of these families don't have the ambition for it. (and I haven't worked out the conditions for gaining a rank yet, but it will have to do with money)

The next tier up are allowed to start their own projects. There will be a number of tiers like this, all gaining some additional right, but at the moment they all look alike.

Methai's family set out on a logging expedition. They temporarily leave their city to gather some commodity (lumber in this case) that can't be gathered wherever the city is located at the time. Some families stick to one specific activity, like charcoal burning, others do a variety of things.

The bandit ambush. This is really the first time I've attempted writing an action scene, so any suggestions for improvement, specific or general, are more than welcome.

I tried working in there that most Ulani are pretty decent archers. At the root they are a society of herders, which goes well with archery IMO. If you're out grazing cattle for a week, it's nice to be able to shoot a rabbit for dinner.

There's also some heavy hints in there for what'll come in a following chapter, but I won't spoil it any further. Maybe it's terribly obvious and you've worked it out by yourself already. If so, please tell me so I can be more subtle next time?

Biuma and Ahazzar arrive to save the day. They were a bit late, but they had to stop on the way so some of the guys could get off and pee.

The events after the cavalry arrived I chose to describe in a short flashback. It's just something I wanted to try, I'm quite pleased with the result, but if people feel it doesn't work or fit, I'm open to changing it to a more traditional chronology.

This last scene of Methai's father on his deathbed is something I have doubts about. I don't know I did it justice. This will be important for Methai's further character development, so I'd like it to be as real and as impact-full as I can get it. So any suggestions on how to improve on what I have are welcome. Especially if anyone has any medical knowledge they'd like to impart.

Once more I am eagerly awaiting your opinions.

Edited January 28, 2016 by EagleOfTheForestPath

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Here's the new part which I wrote to bring chapter 2 to an acceptable word-count (I'm trying for 4.000-word chapters, give or take).

 

So this comes before the ambush scene, just to be clear.

Counter to Ahazzar’s expectations, Biuma did not lead him to a tent or wagon, where he might negotiate the purchase of some clothes. At the moment though, he could ill afford to appear less than all-knowing about their destination, so he kept his face blank and his questions to himself. All the way to the edge of the camp, he followed the burly guard, to where lines of horses were picketed.

‘Are these all yours, Biuma? If so, you are a wealthy man.’

‘I wish!’ chuckled Biuma, ‘no, these are the camp’s, in a way.’

‘That seems odd for a transitory population.’

‘For a what, now?’

‘It’s odd for a place where people have to come and go all the time,’ Ahazzar clarified, reminding himself not to use too many big words.

‘Oh. Yeah, I guess it looks like that, don’t it. Well, what it works like is this. Merchants an’ traders an’ such come here to make their deals with the strawheads over the mountains. So they have to wait sometimes for a delivery from them, or for someone else to arrive here with official papers or something. What with them stuck here for weeks sometimes, an’ not feeling like taking care o’ their horses themselves, they pay this guy to do it for them.’

‘And you do the same? Keep horses with this man?’

‘Ah, no. Couldn’t afford it even if I had a horse o’ my own. But I got a deal with ‘im. He lets me and my boys use the horses for patrols an’ such. Both sides win. We get horses when we need them.’

‘And the other man gets the benefit of your protection,’ Ahazzar cut in, ‘and he doesn’t have to pay someone else to exercise the horses, increasing his profits.’

‘That’s it, you’re a smart one, ‘ll right.’

‘I try to be. Do we just take two horses?’

‘Nah, Apid don’t trust me enough for that. Don’t trust anybody with a horse, really, nobody but himself anyways. But we got a deal, so he don’t got a choice, we just have to ask him first.’

‘That does seem like the polite thing to do,’ Ahazzar replied as Biuma lead him to a yurt near the horses.

He had always considered horse apples to have a clean smell, as far as excrement goes, but he had never experienced it used as fuel for a fire before. So when Ahazzar ducked into the horse-handler’s yurt the wafting reek of it made his eyes water and he had to fight not to retch. Most people would try to hold in their breath when faced with such a stink, thus ensuring the full blast of it would hit them every time they had to gulp in some air. It took a conscious effort, but Ahazzar managed to take a few deep breaths of the fug, reducing the aroma from nearly intolerable to merely painfully annoying as his nose adjusted to the funk in order to preserve its owner’s sanity and stomach contents.

‘Apid, this’s Ahazzar, he’s gonna be helping me with these bandits we’re having trouble with.’

‘May good omens line your path, Ahazzar.’ Apid offered greeting.

Ahazzar smiled at the irony of that as he replied, ‘May the moons guide you, Apid.’

Apid was not what Ahazzar expected. Most stablers he had known, short or tall, were thin men, with the occasional potbelly. Apid was taller than Biuma, and broader across the shoulders. In Ahazzar’s opinion it was a miracle Apid managed to operate a business involving horses. Each time the animals see him they must surely believe they are about to be eaten by a bear. Maybe that’s why he lives in this reek, to put the horses at ease with a familiar scent.

‘So you’ll be wanting to ride my horses, are you?’

‘I was led to believe these horses in fact belong to your clients.’

Apid blinked, ‘Here’s some advice, if you’re asking for a favor, don’t contradict them. Did your brain get fried from not having any hair?’

Ahazar saw Biuma was smiling so this was either nothing to worry about or a test of some sort.

‘It must have, for me to willingly endure this stench. Does it offer some advantage when negotiating fees with merchants? They must be willing to pay nearly any price to be allowed to leave.’

It took a long moment, but Apid’s bushy beard split into a smile and he let out a booming laugh.

‘I won’t deny that may sometimes be the case.’

Ahazzar gave a thin smile in return.

‘You might be able to hold your own in a conversation, but that doesn’t mean you can hold your own on a horse. Do you know how to ride?’

‘I believe so.’

‘I don’t, but I’ve been proven wrong before. Let’s see what you can do.’

 

Looking up at the pale blue expanse of the sky, Ahazzar wondered whether the reputation he required for his plan could withstand this particular affront. He’d been sufficiently capable when saddling the horse Apid had picked out for him, so he’d been allowed him to take the gray mare for a tour around the enclosure behind the odious… no, odorous… yurt. The animal had been meek as milk when being saddled. Stood perfectly still when Ahazzar mounted. Then had taken off bucking and jumping as if it were having a seizure. To add insult to injury, the malevolent mare’s head now obstructed Ahazzar’s unimpeded view of the sky and started nuzzling him. He pushed the head out of the way and gently worked his way upright, confirming that, apart from having all the air knocked out of him, the only injury was to his ego. To the side of the paddock, Biuma was laughing so hard he had to hang on to the fence not to fall to the ground. Apid controlled his mirth better, merely grinning fit to burst. It was not something he relished, but he’d have to beg the horse handler to give him another try. His credibility would be a bit damaged, harming his plan along with it, but access to horses was a necessity greater than reputation.

Tightly controlling his face to let not an inkling of embarrassment show, he walked over to the two other men. Biuma had relinquished his hold on the fence was now lying on the ground gasping for air. Ahazzar had to play this as straight as possible.

‘Could I try another horse? This one seems to be evil.’

This statement was met with utter silence. Until after a long moment, Biuma relapsed into howls of laughter. This time even Apid could not resist chuckling, which evolved into his earlier booming laugh.

Embarrassment made way for confusion, and Ahazzar re-tightened his control over his emotions.

‘Am I missing something?’ he asked with a smile that was anything but genuine.

 

‘Matter o’ fact, you did real good, you know, ’ said Biuma a bit over an hour later, riding alongside Ahazzar, now mounted on a less vindictive horse, ‘You stuck on quicksilver for a count of 14. Best anyone’s ever managed was 17, and that guy trained horses for a living.’

‘I’m pleased to have done so well,’ he replied through gritted teeth, not completely managing to keep the rancour out of his voice.

‘So you routinely try to maim your new recruits?’

‘Oh, ’s not my idea! ‘s the only way Apid ’ll let anyone take out one of his horses, that aren’t the actual owners. Anyways, Quicksilver’s never maimed anyone. Worst anyone ever got from her was a broken wrist, and that was the guy’s own fault. Should have know better than to try an’ break a fall with his hand like that.’

‘My mistake, she’s obviously the nicest horse of the lot.’ The statement dripped with sarcasm.

‘She kind o’ is. I’ve had horses that bite, or try to crush your feet when you saddle them. Quicksilver only acts up when you try to ride her. And I’m half convinced she only does that ‘cause it amuses Apid. If she was mean, she could stomp you after sending you flying.’ Biuma chuckled a bit at the memory.

Ahazzar had some trouble reconciling the smiling, pleasant man riding next to him then with the grumpy guard who had tried to intimidate him a week earlier. The menacing brute had to be an act, he concluded, though he had not believed Biuma capable of such deception.

They rode at a trot for a while in silence, before coming to a curve in the road where Biuma announced they had reached their destination. Just beyond the bend stood a wagon. It was one of the ‘wheeled house’ variety. Ahazzar did a quick scan of the ground around them, reading signs. These confirmed his suspicion of where they were. He hadn’t actually ever been there before, but he had marked it on a map.

‘This is where I predicted the bandit strike.’

‘Sure is.’

‘And this is where I can get new clothing?’

‘Not new exactly, but better than what you got right now, yeah.’

‘I won’t steal, Biuma.’

‘It’s not stealing, the guy’s dead. Should probably go to his family, I know, but he was traveling with another group o’ traders and they didn’t know where he came from. Didn’t even wait before moving on, either. Helped themselves to his stock, though.’

‘Why did they leave the wagon?’

‘One of his horses got killed, an’ one on ‘nother wagon, so they took the one that was left.’

‘Inspirational, how traders take care of one another.’

‘Only after they’re dead, yeah.’ Biuma chuckled, ‘I’ll have a couple oxen out here in a couple days. Apid won’t let me use horses for any sort o’ hauling.’

‘You’re allowed to take possession of anything that gets left behind?’

‘Well, we share it out between the people that stick around the camp.’

‘Given recent evidence of their habits, I suppose relying on the generosity of merchants wouldn’t provide a decent income.’

‘You got that right,’ asserted Biuma, climbing into the abandoned wagon.

Eager to be rid of his rags, Ahazzar followed.

 

The deceased trader had been of a size with him, so when they rode back into camp that evening, horses packed with anything the trader’s caravan-mates hadn’t appropriated, Ahazzar was dressed in clothes that very nearly fit him. The trader had had a bit more girth than Ahazzar, so he had to rely on a rope to hold up the baggy trousers that were the standard in all of the Ulani cities. At least until he could get a belt, or achieve a better fit with the trousers. The tunic was also a bit loose, but that was how they were supposed to be worn anyway. On top of this he wore the single coat that had been left in the wagon. The red-striped yellow yarwat robe - like a yawdar, but with the addition of wide sleeves with optional pockets inside - was really not to his taste. But need outweighs appearances, he’d have to find a dye so the appearance would make the need a bit less unpalatable. Now that he was fit to be seen in civilized company, or the closest thing available in the trader camp, he’d have to go on a few bandit raids with Biuma’s troop. Only when he had established himself with them could his real work commence. He was well aware that patience was key, but he could not quite suppress a sense of eagerness.

Looking at his bald companion, Biuma assumed that the smile on his face was a sign of contentment with his new garb. As they say, ignorance is bliss.

 

No real story-related contents here, so no annotations this time.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

The first part of chapter 3:

The Season of Travel had always been a time of excitement for Nisab. She’d sat bright-eyed and nearly bouncing on the wagon seat next to her mother or father, taking in every possible sight along the way. This time she mostly felt numb. It could be that she was growing up, losing a childish sense of adventure along the way, but she thought it more likely that her apathy was due to the pending decision of her fate by the council of Augurs. A near sleepless night might have been a contributing factor also, but people who were nearly twelve did not complain about things like that. In Nisab’s opinion, a group of old men deciding whether she was a liar was enough reason not to be cheerful. And given that she now knew that the Augurs were not in fact able to predict the future, she had a shrewd idea that the penalty incurred if her vision did not prove true would be rather steep.

What she needed was more advice. This wasn’t a problem she could work out on her own, she seemed to be facing those a lot lately, she didn’t like it. During the Season of Travel, however, going to uncle Leffat was rather more complicated than other times. It wasn’t a matter of walking to where his wagon stood. It was a matter of walking to where his wagon drove, a more difficult proposal altogether, since positions in the miles-long trail were subject to change. Families tended to gather in one place in the evenings and set out together in the mornings, that was true, but over the course of the day wagons tended to spread out. This was of no import to Nisab, the tensions between her father and uncle, always exacerbated by the stress of the Season, caused them to steer well clear of each other while on the move.

At times like this, it would be so convenient to have a vision that told me where to go, she considered. It was just an idle thought, but it brought up a whole slew of new questions, only slightly related to her worries about the Augurs. Could she force a vision? What decided the contents of the vision, and when it came? Could it come in something other than a dream? Did she have to be sleeping, or could it happen when daydreaming also? What if she couldn’t remember her dreams? Would the vision always be as clear as the one about the fire mountain? Would she even get more visions in the first place?

Deciding that her need for council outweighed the difficulty of finding her uncle, Nisab said goodbye to her father and set out along the column, assuring him she’d manage to find him come evening. Knowing that uncle Leffat liked to set a brisk pace, she headed in the direction of travel. Even this late in autumn, the roads were dry and hard, and even though the dirt had been compacted from rains a week earlier, the passage of Marqash generated an appalling amount of dust in the air. The Augurs and Lord Nabalu’s household avoided most of it, travelling at the head of the column, determined by law but still relying on their great dray-horses to out-distance everyone. Lesser folk had to use oxen for hauling, unless they were merchants out on caravan. Nisab had heard other cities used other rules, even other animals sometimes, but in Marqash this was the way it had always been. Behind them was a blended mass of the strata of society, precedence determined solely by the speed at which one travelled. In the lead you would usually find a preponderance of laborers, this being one of the few times their modest status was to their benefit. A yurt-packed cart could travel at a faster clip than even the lightest wagon, thus allowing the laborers to avoid the worst of the dustcloud. They also needed to arrive early each evening to set up their yurts for the night. Even setting up only one yurt in three took a lot of work.

Nisab’s family with their three wagons - travelling closely together by order of her father - were stuck at the two thirds mark of the line, so she was grateful for the shawl covering her head as she squinted ahead. Water was rationed during Seasons of Travel. If too much dust got into her hair she’d have to live with the itching it caused, as no extra water would be spared for washing. She wished she’d thought to bring a scarf to cover her face as well, she’d be coughing up road dust for weeks to come. Trying to find the good in anything, Nisab considered they were lucky not to be stuck behind the granaries. The giant wall sections - pulled by teams of at least a dozen oxen - threw up outrageous amounts of dust. The Season before last, a cracked axle had them lagging behind the tail-end of the city until it could be replaced, and that had been a miserable experience.

 

Not counting the granaries and lord Nabasu’s entourage, Marqash numbered about fifty thousand carts and wagons during a Season of Travel. With on average five people per conveyance that was far too many for anyone to know personally. Nisab had many friends among those her age, however, and every time one of them saw her, she had to join them and chat for a bit. In most cases she could finish her conversations fairly quickly by claiming she urgently had to give something to her uncle and had they seen him? That wasn’t counting Ayastal though.

Ayastal was a very sweet girl who worked as a horse at any task given her. Sadly, in a contest of wits, the horse could outmatch her nine times out of ten. She was a bit tiresome to be around, but Ayastal was still a friend, so when Nisab’s hints that she really should be finding her uncle couldn’t find purchase in Ayastal’s mind, Nisab had to stay and listen to her friend gossip inanely about the more notorious characters among the upper families of the city. It continuously amazed Nisab how many girls her age - and up to her sister’s age and beyond - found this stuff interesting, even important. What did it matter whether lord such-and-so had worn the same color as lady what’s-her-face’s daughter at some occasion? With all the balls these people apparently went to, Nisab was surprised they had time for anything else. Thankfully, apart from her chosen subject matter, Ayastal was an easy person to talk to, you didn’t have to do anything but nod occasionally, so Nisab could mostly tune her out and think about other things.

Then the unimaginable happened, the conversation actually turned to Nisab. She’d nearly missed it, so she had to ask.

“Ayastal, sorry, could you repeat that last bit?”

“Oh, about lady Ayanum’s affair with the carpenter? That was shocking, wasn’t it? Well it turned out that…”

“No, not that,” Nisab interrupted, heading her off before she gained momentum and related the whole farfetched story again, “the bit after that. Something about Augurs?”

“Oh, that. But that’s not very interesting,” she pouted, “there’s hardly anything to tell at all yet!”

“Please tell me Aya? I missed part of it just now.”

“Oh, alright then. I was just saying that the Augurs had a secret meeting just before we moved out, and I heard from my sister’s friend Ninla that the meeting was about Nocri - the miller’s wife - and lord Nabasu who have a secret child. So she thought that they were deciding if the child can inherit lordship of the city after lord Nabasu. But…”

“Don’t you think it has anything to do with why  we’re heading north instead of east?”

“Are we?”

“Ye-es. We are.”

“Oh, I was wondering why I never had the sun in my eyes this morning. You solved it! Thanks, Nisab!”

“Aya! The meeting?”

“Well, maybe it was about that a little bit, but that wouldn’t have taken them all night, would it? I mean: ‘East, no. North, yes. Done!’ It couldn’t have been all about that. The rest of the meeting must have been about lord Nabasu’s bastard son, did I mention it was a son yet?”

“You hadn’t. But was there anything about there being someone else at that meeting?”

“Someone else?  Like who? Do you know anything? You have to tell me! We’re friends aren’t we?” Ayastal’s eyes were sharp and piercing right then. Nisab thought that she was really a different person when there was the chance of a juicy piece of gossip to add to her repertoire. It was a shame she couldn’t apply that passion and insight to anything less, well, fluffy.

“Nothing really, I was just wondering, if there wasn’t anyone else there, how did you know about the meeting, it’s not like the Augurs would just say out of the blue that they had a meeting.”

“Oh,” she replied, disappointed, “The first day on the road, they were all falling over from not having slept, and Eretu asked whether they saw any bad omens that kept them awake, but they said it was just a meeting and that we didn’t have to worry or something. And that’s what Eretu told Puabi, who told my sister’s friend Ninla. Anyway, the reason I didn’t think the story was all that interesting is because that Ninla girl is a terrible gossip, don’t you hate that? And if she tells you anything, you can be sure that it’s at least half made-up. But I have it from another friend - you don’t know her - that Nocri really does have…”

Nisab tuned her out again, letting the drivel wash over her. She had yet another question to add to her list.

 

Hope you like it.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

The second part of chapter 3:

Chapter 3 part 2

Ayastal had eventually run out of inanities and then remembered Nisab had asked about her uncle, who had apparently passed them earlier in the day. Nisab eventually found his wagon near the front of the queue, surrounded by carts bearing disassembled yurts, all ambling along at a steady pace. She jogged the last little distance to catch up to Leffat’s wagon and jumped up on the step to the driver’s seat.

“Hello, uncle.”

“Hello, Nisi, I’d been expecting you sooner.”

“I got held up.”

The annoyance must have shown on her face, because uncle Leffat did not ask how she got held up, as he usually would have.

“I’ve got a lot of questions bothering me, uncle, I was hoping you could help me with some of them?”

“I can certainly try, Nisi. Ask away.”

Now that she finally had her chance to get some answers, Nisab found that she did not know where to begin. The punishment the Augurs might give her? The origin of her vision? Why the Augurs were lying about their visions? What would happen when …? How could she …?

“While you try to decide which question is most important,” uncle Leffat broke the silence, “why don’t I tell you a story that might have some answers in it?”

“A story?” Nisab asked sceptically.

“A story that usually gets told only to Augurs.”

“If you think it will help.” she shrugged.

“Very well.”

A long time ago, nobody remember exactly how long, there was an Ulani city. This city was made up of wagons and yurts and tents, just like cities are now. But this city had no Augurs, none of them did back then. They travelled when the mood took them and settled down when the mood took them. One day, they settled on a great wide valley, by a river. The soil was fruitful, bringing forth grains and fruits so none in the city went hungry and the people were happy. They stayed there for a whole season, and then another, and then a third. Halfway into the fourth season three friends, close as brothers, returned to the city from a long journey, during which they had seen and learned many things.

The first friend, called Nu, had learned about the shift of the seasons, the effects of rain and wind and sun on the land. From this he knew that at the end of that season rains further upstream and the melting of ice and snow in the faraway mountains would come flowing down and the river would rise and wash the city away.

This he told to the ruler of the city and urged him to lead the city away.

But the ruler said “Because you have seen this in other places on your travels does not mean it will happen here. This is a good place, my people are happy. Here we will stay.”

The second friend, Aut, had learned to interpret the actions of the beasts and the birds. From the beasts of burden, uneasy in their fields, he knew they felt danger approaching. From the flight of herons and other water birds, he knew they felt this would soon be a place suited for their way of life. He too deduced that the river would flood and wash the city and all its people away. He went to Nu and asked his opinion. Nu told him about the ruler’s refusal to listen, so Aut went instead to the members of his family who lived in the city and the friends that had not gone on the journey with the three friends.

He urged the people dearest to him to flee the valley and brought for proof the things he had observed from beast and bird.

But his family said “How can you know these things from the actions of stupid animals? We like this place, here we will stay.”

But his friends said “We don’t believe you can tell these things from birds and cattle. This place is fruitful, here we will stay.”

Then Nu and Aut went to the third friend, Eret, to ask his advice. Eret had not watched nature as Nu had, discovering its workings and patterns. Nor had he watched the animals as Aut had, learning that their instincts warned them of danger far earlier than humans could discern with eyes and ears.

Instead Eret had watched his friends, so he knew they were speaking truth. And he had watched all the people they had encountered on their journey, learning how they thought.

He told his friends not to worry, for he had a solution for the city’s plight.

Eret went to the open ground in the center of the city, so all could hear him. He spoke with a voice of command, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that truth was spoken.

“The spirits of the land and the sky have spoken to me,” he declaimed, “they warned me of the spirit of the river, who has grown enraged in the mountains.”

“His rage will spread and the river will rise, and the city will be washed away.”

And the people believed him, because unlike the reasons Nu and Aut had given, the anger of a spirit was something they could understand and believe in.

While the people of the city watched from the edge of the valley as Eret’s warning came true, his friends came to him and said “You lied to them. We never saw any spirits, however far we travelled.”

And Eret turned to them and said “Yes I lied, and it saved their lives.”

“Well that’s insulting.” said Nisab in a flat voice.

“Why do you think it’s insulting?”

“Do I even need to explain?”

“Need? No. But I’d like you to all the same.”

“It makes the people look stupid. The first two tell them the truth, and give them good reasons for it, but they get ignored. Then the third comes along with some simple story about spirits and the people just pack up and do what he says? I suppose Eret became the first Augur?”

“That is the implication, yes.”

“Why would they even tell such a story?”

“Because they believe it. Oh, not the specific events, but the idea behind it.”

“The Augurs believe everyone else is stupid? We sure picked some fabulous people to guide us.”

Her uncle laughed heartily before correcting her, “They don’t think everyone is stupid, Nisi. Some of them might,” he amended with a pensive expression, and Nisab remembered the pinched voice from the shadows, “But in my opinion most of them regret having to lie.”

“Then why do they do it?”

“Because they think it is for the best. They believe that if they give the true reasons for their decisions, people might not believe them, or disagree, or decide to ignore them. Like now, for example. We’re moving from a place suited for farming wheat to a place that is good for cutting trees. The carpenters are happy and the millers are not. If the Augurs told everyone their reason for leaving, and everyone believed that the valley would flood, people would still leave, true enough. But the decision to move the city to the northern forests is a different matter. The millers won’t have much profits up there, so they might decide to gather a group of people and go somewhere else instead. But because the Augurs said that omens showed the city should move to a forested area, nobody can disagree, even if they’re not happy about it.”

“You sound as if you agree with them.” Nisab said in a disgusted tone.

“No I don’t, I give the citizens of Marqash more credit than that. I think the Augurs reasons are flawed, but I do understand them.”

“So you stopped being an Augur because you didn’t want to lie anymore?”

“I did.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell people that the Augurs are lying to them.”

Leffat gave her a sad smile. “Why don’t you try thinking up this answer by yourself first.”

“Well,” she said slowly, “most people wouldn’t believe you, I guess.”

“That’s part of it, go on.”

Nisab thought about her father, who completely trusted the Augurs, and then thought about the people who sometimes muttered about the Augurs in quiet places.

“Most people wouldn’t believe you,” she repeated more confidently, “but others would. So they might fight, or something.”

“Yes, or just leave the city and strike out on their own. But there’s more still, what would happen even if everyone believed me?”

“They’d know the Augurs can’t see the future, they’d know they were being lied to.”

At a meaningful look from her uncle, Nisab continued, “They might try to punish the Augurs? Or they’d never believe them again, even if they were telling the truth.”

“Exactly, Nisi. I might believe the Augurs are doing the wrong thing in lying, but if outing them would result in the city having no guidance at all, I have to choose living with the deceit.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Indeed. But let’s not dwell on that and move on to your next question.”

With the Augurs’ deception and her uncle’s surprising history dealt with, Nisab found it much easier to select her next question.

“How will they punish me if my vision isn’t, you know, real?”

“You don’t have to worry about that, it is.”

“How can you be so sure? I’m not.”

“I’m not completely sure either, but I believed it enough to alert the Augurs. I wouldn’t do that if I doubted you.”

“Why did you believe me, then. You never explained.”

“I said I’d seen you predict things for months now. Little things, you might not even have been aware of it.”

“Like what?”

“Hmmm, let’s see. A month and a half ago you were watching your brother play in the street. You suddenly called him over to you. Moments later a rope snapped and a pile of barrels collapsed right where ha was playing. Do you remember?”

“Um, yes, I do.”

“Why did you call Nunnabi then?”

“I don’t know.”

Leffat simply nodded.

“A week earlier I saw you walking through the city. You stopped before a crossroads for no apparent reason. And again, just moments later, a messenger galloped by on the other road. If you’d crossed immediately, you would have been trampled.”

“I remember being scared, but I don’t know why I stopped. I could have heard the horse coming on the other road, though.”

“Maybe,” her uncle admitted, “but there was a lot of noise on that crossroads. It was right next to a carpenter’s workshop.”

“There were other times?”

“There were.”

“But you couldn’t have had anything more than suspicions from that.”

“I didn’t, what confirmed my suspicions was when you came to me with your vision about the mountain.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, uncle.”

“You were nearly hysterical when you finished your story.”

“How does that prove anything? It sounds like it would do the opposite.”

“Not for anyone who knows you, Nisi. You must be the most level-headed eleven year old in the city in at least a century. If you, of all people, are hysterical about something, that something is to be taken seriously, in my opinion.” Leffat gave her one of his brightest smiles.

“So you had your suspicions, and my story confirmed them.” Nisab hesitated a moment.

“Do you know why I became a… an augress?” She crinkled her nose. That didn’t sound right.

“A diviner. Or a soothsayer, or seer. Though I prefer the term oracle for you.”

“Fine, do you know how I became an ... oracle, then,” she stumbled a little over the unfamiliar word, “or why I became one?”

“If I was a spiritual man, I’d say it was because the world needed an oracle. Since I’m not, I don’t know the reason you have these visions. I don’t know why you and not someone else.”

“You don’t believe in the spirits?”

“I don’t. They may exist, they may not, but we have no way of knowing and, to my knowledge, no way to interact with them if they are out there somewhere. What I can tell you is that your ability is growing stronger.”

“How do you know? Because of the vision again?”

“Yes, Nisi, in these few months your foresight has progressed from avoiding threats you can’t name to yourself - and those close to you - that happen only instants in the future, to clearly seeing a threat happening both months away and at a great distance. I’d say that’s progress, wouldn’t you?”

“Do you think it will keep on growing stronger?” she said, with a hint of worry.

“I believe it will, yes. You almost seem scared of it.”

“Well, if I’m just going to see one disaster after another, I’d rather pass on that, please.”

“Even if it saves lives?”

“That’s not fair, uncle”, she admonished in a voice of misery.

“Life rarely is, Nisi.” He laid his arm around her shoulders and they rode in silence for a while.

“Maybe,” Leffat suggested, “it is possible to somehow control your visions.”

“You mean so they don’t come anymore?”

“Possibly, though I doubt that is wise. I meant that you might be able to somehow choose which visions come to you, or influence them.”

“How do I do that?”

“I can’t help you there, Nisi. No-one in living memory - no-one in recorded history - has done what you are doing now. This ability, this foresight, is something you will have to explore on your own.”

“Alone?”

Her voice was so small and frightened then that Leffat changed his mind. He knew his kindness now might prove damaging in the long run, but it was not something he could withhold at that moment.

“No, Nisi, never alone. I, and your parents, and your brothers and sister will always be there to support you.”

“Alright.”

“The Augurs will also help.”

“What!”

“Yes, when your vision is proven true, they will want to teach you.”

“But they can’t. They don’t have this oracle thing.”

“There are other things to learn, Nisi. Your ability means you will be put in a position of power. They will want to prepare you to be an oracle and lead them”

“You mean I’ll have to lead all the Augurs, by myself?”

Uncle Leffat chuckled, “Yes, and won’t that raise some eyebrows.”

“Yeah, Pinch’s”

“Pinch?”

“Oh,” she clarified, “ there was this one Augur in the meeting that didn’t like the idea of me. I couldn’t see his face in the shadows but he had this pinched sort of voice, so, ‘Pinch’.“

Her uncle let out a great howl of laughter. After a few moments, Nisab started laughing along with him. Laughing together on the driver’s seat of her uncle’s wagon, it was hard to be worried about anything.

I could write some annotations for this, but I don't feel like it right now.

Eagerly awaiting feedback.

E.

Edited February 8, 2016 by EagleOfTheForestPath

[ChickenPlague he/him]

Great as always and the short story is also very neat.

On a different note, have you considered joining the Reading excuses? It should provide more feedback.

Edit-also the spirits I complained about previously no longer seem like worldbuilding.

Edited February 8, 2016 by ChickenPlague

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

I have considered it, but I'm a bit hesitant about joining with a story that's already partly posted elsewhere...

 

Glad you like it CP.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Here's the first part of chapter 4. (Is it just an impression, or am I cranking these out pretty fast? Can I get a frame of reference here?)

 

Chapter 4

 

Leffat and Nisab ate their midday meal together, flatbread and hard cheese and some pickled olives that wouldn’t last much longer except as a cure for constipation. They pulled the wagon out of the way and watched others ride by or, more often, walk by beside their carts. After eating it was the other way around, them driving past people who had spread out rugs and were eating by the side of the wide road. Nisab wanted to ask her uncle more about divination and the Augurs and a million other things, but he had apparently decided that he had given her enough answers to deal with that day. Instead he gave her a lesson.

She had been going to her uncle for lessons for years now, first at the insistence of her father - this had been before they had had their… whatever it was - then because she liked talking to uncle Leffat, but ultimately because she enjoyed learning. On days where other parents had no need for their children to help in their work, or on the days of rest every week, uncle Leffat usually had a decently sized group to teach. In the busy season when the harvest was going on, Nisab was often the only student there. At first those days had been boring, but as time went on and she got ahead of her peers, she started to prefer her lone sessions with her uncle, when he didn’t have to go slowly for those who hadn’t Nisab’s advantage of frequent schooling. She knew it was a flaw in her character, but she just couldn’t help getting frustrated at the others for not grasping certain concepts as readily as she did herself.

This was the first time uncle Leffat had given lessons during the Season of Travel. Too many things were going on to make it practical. The lesson itself was different from usual, though. Before the announcement of the Season, when the large harvest of grains and beans had been brought in, Nisab’s solitary lessons had been covering mathematics. Fractions mostly, though they had been making a start on equations and raisings, which were to multiplication as multiplication was to addition. She had asked him when she would ever have to use these in real life. He had smiled and suggested that she watch her father at work some time. She had concluded that her father had asked his brother to teach her things a merchant - a merchant’s wife, more likely, but that’s not dad’s fault - would need to know.

Now however, Leffat left those things aside and wanted Nisab to logically deduce the consequences of certain actions. When one family has too much food but too little iron and another family has iron to trade, but not enough lumber, what is the best bargaining position. Gradually increasing in scale. If Marqash were raising certain crops and another city were doing the same, how would that affect…

She wondered what had prompted this sudden change in priorities, but uncle Leffat’s exercises had gotten the juices flowing, so to speak. If the mathematics lessons were to prepare me for being a merchant, then this is to prepare me for something else. He’s asking me about groups of people dealing with each other, and the decisions a leader needs to make. This is still about the Augurs and predicting the future, Nisab thought. That rather took the fun out of the lesson. When she was a little girl - all of three and a half years ago - she had sometimes dreamed of being a princess, now, faced with the reality of becoming something similar, she realised that not only had those fantasies been childish, they weren’t something she wanted. Nisab had no desire to be responsible for the well-being of the entire city. Not much like a princess at all really, she considered, those girls just lie around looking pretty and not doing much of anything that’s of any use to anyone. Why do they get to be lazy while I get the future of all of Marqash shoved onto my shoulders?

 

That night, back in her parents’ wagon, Nisab slept uneasily. Maybe because of her worries, which uncle Leffat’s afternoon lesson had restored, if not in exact content, certainly in intensity. Probably that was why she dreamed of herself, garbed in the robes of an Augur, seated larger than life in a wooden chair that could only be described as a throne, the city falling to ruin around her while faceless masses wailed of her ineptitude. She was certain this was not a prophetic dream, fortunately. She remembered the feel of the last one and this was not like that at all. Even without roots in the future, the dream was disturbing enough. Then it shifted into another sequence. Augurs, gathering around her, raising her up, and other Augurs raising them up in an ever growing pyramid, only to let her crash back to earth at the first mistake. In the way of dreams, the masses of robed figures morphed into just a few gigantic Augurs in a wall around her, accusing her of failing everyone in a booming voice. The sequence changed again, and again, each as perturbing as the last, if not more so. Images of Augurs were followed by her family, by faceless men and women she knew represented all the people in Marqash, by burning carts and wagons and back to Augurs again. She could understand those as pictures pushed onto her sleeping mind by her own fears, but why then, in almost every horrible dream, was there a giant white tree in the distance? She woke the next morning feeling as if she had hardly slept at all.

 

They didn’t manage to travel very far that day. It felt to Nisab that their wagon had hardly set off before the head of the file became visible, spreading out to either side of the road.  They passed by a soldier - marked by his spear as much as the bright green ribbons wrapped around his arms - many were working their way backward through the throng, trying to keep order and explaining their sudden halt. It appeared they had chanced across a large patch of Sevit flowers. Normally, normally the Season of travel wasn’t interrupted for chance work, but Sevit flowers produced a strong indigo dye, which was too profitable to pass up, so allowances were made. They were still in the flood basin, but Nisab considered that if the Augurs didn’t object there was little chance that they would be drowning anytime in the next few days. While her parents and eldest brother parked their wagons, Nisab wandered around the impromptu camp. The laborers seemed excited to her, which was understandable, not only would they get an unexpected day of wages, but even with the toil of Sevit harvesting, it would be a welcome break from the road.

She spotted her uncle clustered with some professional-looking men and two Augurs and made her way over to them.

“... say that we can’t wait that long.” was the tail-end of the Augur’s sentence. Nisab was glad to hear it wasn’t Pinch.

“Whether we can wait that long or not, your honor, Sevis has to be processed right after harvesting, or it loses potency.”

“Amugat is right,” her uncle agreed, “if you wait too long the dye fades within months, you can’t sell that.”

“But you say it needs to boil for two weeks. In two weeks this place will be waist-deep in water. A week more and it will be chest-high to a tall man.”

“And that is why I invited Balsham here.” Leffat explained, gesturing to a man wearing a broad leather belt with tools hanging from it. Must be a carpenter, Nisab thought.

“Amugat, right now, the dye vats are disassembled on a wagon, right?”

The dyemaker nodded.

“How many do you think we can fill with the Sevit flowers we’ll harvest here?”

“Maybe three, Leffat, though it could be as many as five. Sevit flowers like to spread out, if there’s this many here, there might be more over the next rise.”

“Ok, let’s split the difference. Four vats. Balsham,” he continued, again pointing to the carpenter, “can you rig up some carts to hold the vats when they’re assembled?”

“Actually, Leffat,” Amugat corrected, “wagons would probably be better. They need to be kept upright.”

“Of course. Wagons then. Can you get us two wagons? For two vats apiece?”

“Not in a day, Leffat, in a week maybe.”

The Augurs had been watching the exchange with expressions of amazed bafflement, and they were obviously surprised when the conversation returned to include them.

“Do we have a week?”

“Um, possibly. But I, we, would rather not risk it. Um… the omens, um... are not precise, but they urge haste.”

“Sorry Balsham, can’t give you a week.”

“I can do it faster if I modify wagons we already have, but they’re all packed pretty tight, as far as I can tell.”

“We’ll make room. You,” he pointed at the Augurs, “can take care of that, get us two wagons, large ones.”

Forgetting that they were supposed to be the ones in charge, the Augurs acquiesced and one of them ran off to do uncle Leffat’s bidding.

“Now,” he continued, “we need to keep these vats at a boil the entire time…”

“Simmer.” Amugat interrupted.

“What?”

“They need to be kept at a simmer, if they boil the dye is ruined, because…”

“Okay, they need to be kept at a simmer. They still need to be heated, which is the point I wanted to make. Obviously we can’t put them over a bonfire, as usual.”

He looked toward a third craftsman, whose broad shoulders, bulky arms and fire-scarred hands marked out as a smith, even now, when he wasn’t wearing the trademark leather apron.

“Harsabi, can you rig up something with Balsham? I’m thinking charcoal?”

“Sure thing Leffat, I’ve got some large pans that might be suited.”

“Good. Do we need anything else Amugat?”

“Just water.”

“We’ll keep the barrel-wagons close to you.”

“Will that leave enough water for the people?” asked the remaining Augur.

“Good point Attezer.”

The Augur seemed so pleased at the compliment that Nisab had to suppress a giggle. Uncle Leffat thought for a moment before resuming his directions.

“Have the water distributed among the individual wagons and carts right now, a lot of people only have half-barrels or less right now. Then fill the large barrels back up at the stream we passed last night, it wasn’t very muddy as I recall.”

“I’ll take care of it, Leffat.” Attezer assured him before moving on himself.

A plan having been made, the craftsmen returned to their wagons to set up their workshops and commence their respective tasks.

 

“Do you routinely order about Augurs, uncle?” Nisab asked, thoroughly impressed with her uncle right then.

“Ah, Nisi! I didn’t see you there. Not often no, so I have to take advantage of it when the opportunity presents itself.” he informed her with a bright smile. His smile faded a bit when he looked at her more closely.

“You look exhausted, are you feeling well?”

“Just tired, uncle, nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” he asked worriedly.

“Nothing like that, uncle. Not like… the other time. These were just bad dreams.”

“Are you sure?”

She just nodded.

“Would you like to sleep some more right now? It might make you feel better.”

“I’d just have more nightmares.”

“Nisi,” her uncle stated firmly, “you look like you’ll fall over where you stand. You need to sleep.”

“What good will it do? If I just have more nightmares it won’t do me any good.”

“You probably have a point, but… Of course, come along, Nisi.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Girsima.”

“Your Augur friend?”

“Yes, but he’s a herbalist as well. I’ll have him mix you up something for a dreamless sleep.”

“There’s a medicine that does that?”

“There is. I focused on other areas than medicines when I was an Augur, but as I understand it, if you sleep deep enough, you don’t have dreams. So it’s just a more powerful version of something to help you sleep.”

“What if I’m supposed to have another vision and I can’t dream?”

“We’ll just have to risk it,” Leffat said in a mock-severe voice, “you’re no good to anyone falling over.”

 

And here's another set of annotations.

Lessons.

A bit about the general education level in the book first. Most people are at least basically literate. There's a lot that's contract-dependent in Ulani society, so being able to read and at least write your own name is rather important. The higher you go in the caste/rank system the more literate people get, as in the real world. In general girls are given less schooling than boys, because of the patrilineal society men have to do most of the decision-making that requires contracts etc. (Before anyone accuses me of sexism, remember that they're planning to make Nisab the de facto ruler of the city.)

 

Leffat is currently a notary slash lawyer by profession, but he spends a lot of time teaching as well. The Augurs organize school as well but only to achieve the basic literacy mentioned above, anything more parents have to arrange themselves.

Leffat takes a special interest in his niece, obviously. At first he's preparing her to go into business life focusing on mathematics. Accounting isn't as important to the Ulani as it is to our society, but it's still a useful skill to have. After Nisab's vision, plans change, so now Leffat's trying to play catch-up and teach her some logic and basic politics. He should be focusing on ethics IMO, but maybe that'll be in the next lesson .

We also get a hint that Nisab isn't all that happy at the thought of being in charge, that is going to be a big part of her character development, I think.

 

 

Another dream sequence. Not prophetic this time (although?), these are just regular dreams expressing Nisab's fears and worries.

 

The next day they stop at the side of the road to do a bit of flower picking. Dyes are important to the Ulani, since different colors and patterns are used to differentiate families and ownership in some cases. Cattle and sheep and goats get a woven collar where the color pattern denotes ownership. So the chance for some high quality blue is too good to pass up.

I admit that I mainly injected this scene because I wanted to show off Leffat's managerial talents. He's a rather charismatic person and a natural leader. If he hadn't left the Augurs he'd be in charge of them by now.

 

This is a bit of a spoiler, but Leffat taking Nisab to get sleeping "pills" is introducing a theme that will continue throughout the story: the use of drugs. Not recreational drugs (well, maybe that too) but the use of medicinal aides and dependence on them. Whether that's going to be a problem for Nisab is something you'll have to read on to find out (hey, I just gave my first RAFO, more or less ).

 

If the ending seems a bit abrupt, remember this is only half a chapter.

 

Hope you enjoy it.

 

 

 

E.

Edited February 11, 2016 by EagleOfTheForestPath

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Second part of chapter 4

 

Chapter 4 part 2

 

“You want me to give a sedative to a child?”

“Not a small child.”

“You are joking, aren’t you? You can’t possibly be serious right now.”

“Girsima, she needs rest.”

“I can see that, but she can still sleep, she said so herself.”

“Not restful sleep. She needs a night without dreams for that.”

“And the only solution you can think of is to drug her? Remind me not to let you take care of my children.”

“You don’t have any children.”

“And I still wouldn’t let you take care of them, that is how bad an idea this is.”

“Do you have an alternative? If you do, I would love to hear it.”

“Warm milk.”

“Warm milk? All those years spent studying medicines and herbs, and the best you can come up with is warm milk?”

“At least there’s not a chance it will kill the child.”

“And how big is the chance a sedative will?”

“Not large, but it exists.”

“Oh, come on, Girsima. You’re smart enough not to give her a full dose, the risk is negligible. About as large as the chance of her dying from… from spoiled milk!”

“There is a chance, nevertheless. And given what you yourself convinced me of about your niece, I’d think you’d be the first one to avoid any risk to her whatsoever.”

“There we have it, then. The real reason you don’t want to give her a mild sedative. You don’t want to miss the chance she’ll have another vision.”

“So what if I don’t?”

“If she keeps having nightmares like this she’s likely to not even recognize a true vision even if she does have one. Not to mention the risk that she’ll be so tired tomorrow she’ll walk under a cart. And didn’t we take an oath? ‘Always act in the best interest of the peo-...’”

“I am acting in the best interest of the people!”

“No you’re not! You’re acting in the best interest of the city! If you were acting in the best interest of the people, you’d give Nisab the sedative she needs. She’s the people in whose best interest you’re supposed to be acting right now. The people who come to you for help, not the people that might be affected by a vision she’s not likely to even have tonight!”

That argument seemed to stump Girsima. It was fortunate the Augur’s wagons were set up a little distance from all the others, because the conversation had quickly risen from quarrel to row and finally to shouting match. Announcing Nisab’s visions to the general population was not something the Augurs were ready to do yet, and if Nisab had any say in it she’d rather postpone it also. The later they wanted to load her with responsibilities, the better, in her opinion. To her great relief, Girsima resumed in a much calmer voice

“How can you know, Leffat, that her taking a sedative won’t prevent her having a vision that could save the city from disaster?”

“She had exactly such a vision just last week. How many disasters do you think we’re in for, Girsima?”

Girsima’s lips quirked just slightly. He took another look at Nisab, noting the signs of exhaustion evident in her. Her naturally tan face was pale, the only color being the dark circles under her eyes.

“She does look like she hasn’t slept in a week.”

“It’s just been a day, so far as I know, but the Season of Travel is tiring for everyone.” Nisab’s uncle replied, the concern evident in his voice. As if further evidence was needed after the flaming row moments earlier.

“I suppose the chances of her having another vision this particular night are rather slim.”

“If she has to have a vision tonight, either it’ll come anyway or the spirits - if they exist and that’s where the visions are coming from - will just have to send it again tomorrow.”

“Maybe they’ll slip a note under the door: ‘We called, but you were out.’ ”

Uncle Leffat boomed a quick laugh, the fight already forgotten to all appearances.

“Oh, all right. I’ll give her something to deepen her sleep. Buy only one dose. A small dose.”

“That’s all we ask for.”

 

Having convinced Girsima, Leffat went to resume his supervision of the dye vat project, leaving Nisab in the care of his friend while he mixed her medicine. Normally, this would have made her somewhat nervous, even more with her current worries about divination and responsibility. It would have, had she not been too tired to care. The results were mainly the same, though, Nisab simply sat to the side not saying anything unless prompted to do so. Which Girsima now did.

“I know Leffat said it does not matter, but what did you dream about last night?”

“It wasn’t like the other time, sir, not… not a vision.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply it was, but if these dreams bothered you to this level, they must have been rather disturbing. It might help if you talk about it,” he suggested.

“They were just nightmares, I know where they came from.”

“Knowing is good, dealing with it is another matter. Talking really does help in most cases, I promise you.”

“What should I say?”

“What happened in the nightmares.”

“There was one where I was wearing robes like yours, and I was sitting on a throne. It was in the middle of the city, which was crumbling to pieces all around me, and it was because of me.” she said in a near monotone. When Girsima gave no sign of responding, she continued,

“Then the dream changed, so there were a bunch of you - well, not you in person, a group of Augurs, I couldn’t see any faces - who were holding me up, with more Augurs lifting them up. It was like a tower that kept getting higher and higher. Then, when I made a mistake - I didn’t see myself making a mistake, I just knew I had, somehow…”

“Yes, that happens in dreams, go on.”

“When I made a mistake, the Augurs let me drop, so I was falling down a well. Then all of them changed into just a few, but enormous, and they were saying that it’s all my fault.”

“And then it changed again?”

“Yes. I remember the first two clearly, but the rest are kind of blending together now.”

“You think you know what those two meant then?”

“I do. They mean that I’m not supposed to be in charge of anything.”

“You said these weren’t predictions, remember?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just know I’ll make a mistake somehow, and it’ll cause a big disaster and then I’ll have to take responsibility for all of it,” Nisab continued in the same apathetic monotone, “probably get my head chopped off.”

“With most people I’d say that they can’t know what the future will bring, but in your case that wouldn’t be true, now would it?”

Girsima seemed to be waiting for a response, so Nisab smiled mechanically, and briefly.

“These visions are a gift you didn’t ask for, I know, and you probably don’t consider them a gift, but they will place you in a position of authority.”

“You’re not helping, sir.”

“But I can assure you,” he went on with a smile, “that you will not bear sole responsibility for the welfare of Marqash. If you have visions, they will be acted upon, obviously, but we Augurs will continue doing as we have for generations. If a drought or flood is coming, we will notice the signs and take what action we may.”

“So why do I need to be put in charge of anything then? If you’re the ones who are going to act on my vision, why don’t I just tell them to you and let you get on with it? ...Sir?” she added a little belatedly.

“Because right now, the Augurs of Marqash are led by mostly reasonable men who will listen to you. That may not always be the case. Some - and I fear their number is not insignificant - will refuse to listen to you because of who you are, even if your visions are proven true tenfold.”

“So if the reasonable Augurs get replaced I’ll need to have my own authority, so my predictions get acted on.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m still not happy about it, but I guess I better understand the need for it, a bit.”

“Good, if you’d like, we can talk more tomorrow, since you seem to be on the verge of falling over. I’ll walk you back to your home, but before we leave, are there any more details about your dreams that you think might be important?”

“Not really important, but there was something I thought was odd.”

“Go on.”

“There was a tree. In almost every dream, it was there. Off in the distance, there was a huge, white tree. It didn’t have any leaves, and sometimes the branches were different, but it was always the same tree.”

“Do you know what that tree might mean?”

“No, I was hoping maybe you might.”

“I’m sorry to say I don’t. Now let’s get you home before you hurt yourself falling off that chair.”

 

Girsima delivered Nisab safely to her parents early in the afternoon and she was promptly tucked in bed by her mother. Without taking any medicine, her exhaustion dragged her to sleep, but it was once more troubled by dreams of a kind with those of the previous night. She was woken by her mother in the evening to eat with her family, more rested than when she went to sleep, but not by much. The meal passed in a daze, Nisab chewing automatically, not really tasting her food or hearing the conversation around her. Her mother and sister occasionally threw her worried glances, but the menfolk were engrossed in talk about a possible business deal - except young Arsab, who was in a similar daze to Nisab - and didn’t pay much mind to anything else.

When her youngest child’s head drooped to the table, Idum decided the evening was over, took him to his bed and ordered Nisab to take herself to hers after she took her medicine. It tasted awful, as all medicines do, but it was a price she was willing to pay if it granted relief from her nightmares. Luckily, she did not have far to walk to her bed, as waves of drowsiness washed over her nearly immediately, pulling her into restful sleep.

When she next woke it was still dark outside, but she felt remarkably well rested. Having spent the previous afternoon in bed, she obviously hadn’t needed a full night’s sleep as well. She would have liked to go back to sleep and get up with the rest of her family in a couple of hours, but she was completely awake now and her chances of falling asleep again seemed slim. She decided to go for a walk around the camp and rejoin her parents and siblings for breakfast. Being the most responsible twelve year old in the city - at least according to her uncle - she first scratched a message on the slate that hung inside the wagon’s door:

 

Woke up early.

Going for a walk.

See you at breakfast.

Nisab

Her daughterly duties met, Nisab stepped into the moonlit night.

 

Enjoy!

 

 

 

E.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Here's another part of 'The Oracle' (I really have to think of a permanent title sometime)

 

Chapter 5

 

Even though it was still the tail-end of winter, Nisab felt the night air’s chill was merely bracing, rather than cold. She didn’t know if it was due to Girsima’s evil-tasting brew, or simply  a good night’s rest, but Nisab had energy coursing through her body. She needed to move. If she judged the moon right, she had about two hours to spend before her parents would wake, so she could walk a decent distance before having to turn back.

It was uncommon for her to be up before dawn, even in the slightly longer winter nights. Even when it did occur, going outdoors always waited until after sunrise. Even with her current worries, Nisab resolved to set them aside for now to take fullest advantage of this rare experience. Today would bring in the rest of the crop of sevit flowers and her state yesterday had prevented her from taking a closer look at them. She had heard sevit were beautiful, in fact her mother had said Nisab loved them the last time Marqash had encountered a field of the rare blooms, but that had happened so long ago that Nisab didn’t remember, so now was her chance to confirm whether it was still true before all but a few flowers would be boiled - correction: simmered - into dye. As she made her way through the area harvested the day before, she considered what a shame it was to rob the landscape of its beauty, as the bare stems that remained certainly didn’t offer any appeal. With all these flowers plucked away the field would take years to regrow to its former size, if it ever did. Well, if they’re going to put me in charge, this is the first thing I’ll change.

She neared the untouched area of flowers and an unexpected sound reached her, this was not the time of day anyone played the flute. The sound must have come a fair distance, Nisab had difficulty making out the music, though the few notes she grasped weren’t part of any tune she was familiar with. She halted in an attempt to avoid making any interfering sounds, all the better to make out the elusive melody. Apart from the faint rustle of the wind, the flute was now the only sound on the shadowy meadow. Nisab was certain this was not a song she knew, or had ever heard. It was hard to describe, the melody was obviously a sad one, yet with a certain fondness woven in. Had Nisab been older than twelve and seen more of life, she would have had no hesitation naming the emotion the flutist conveyed as purest melancholy. The music played on but eventually the last few trailing notes faded away with the night breeze.

Nisab shook herself, coming out of a pensive stupor. Nobody she knew, nobody she had ever heard play, would have produced that piece. It must have been a shepherd, set to watch the cattle overnight, she decided, they probably make up tunes all the time. Not much else to do, with all the animals asleep.

 

Her mother had been correct, Nisab did love the sevit flowers. With pale blue petals lightening to white at the tips, their crowns formed a delicate star surrounding a slightly darker heart. While stepping to the center of the field, she wondered idly how one could get a dark indigo dye out of such pale flowers, but mostly she was enjoying the remaining beauty all around her. She drank in the sight of it, visible even in the scarce pre-dawn light, she bathed in the fragrance of thousands of blossoms surrounding her, sweet, but lacking the bite of more aggressive flowers like lilies. At that moment, Nisab was perfectly content with the world, but all things - and at times it seemed good thing in particular - must end, so with a few last dancelike steps, she twirled around, coming to a halt facing the way back home. With an unexplainable but unshakeable certainty that whatever the Augurs - or the world itself - threw at her, she could handle it. It was a quiet certainty, solemn and unassuming, not the conviction of a man thinking himself invincible, or the brash arrogance of a young noble thinking the world rightfully belongs to him. It was a small thing, not even causing Nisab to march with purpose - she walked at her usual pace - but however reticent, it was absolute, and along with her conviction that she could handle everything life sent her, she knew she would no longer be troubled by nightmares.

 

Nisab walked back into camp with dawn lighting her back. At this time of year, that meant her mother would be up and preparing breakfast, with Saba beside her grumbling about not needing to be taught how to cook any more. She had expected to be doing the very same thing in a year or so, but with the changes her gift would bring, would that still be the case? Come to think of it, Saba spent every evening and most every free moment she had embroidering clothes and linens for her dowry, as she herself would be expected to do after her Maiden’s Feast. She doubted that the Augurs would consider embroidery a suitable occupation of her time. That part didn’t bother her much since she wasn’t very good anyway. Ayastal, now, she had been practicing for nearly two years now and the middle-aged women that were friends with Nisab’s mother were always saying that with needlework like that, Ayastal would have no trouble at all finding a husband. This usually prompted Idum to cast the type of meaningful glance at her youngest daughter that sent Nisab fleeing into the city. She privately thought that any man who’d marry Ayastal simply for her skill with a needle deserved the inane babble that would come with it, though mentioning that to her mother would prompt an extended sermon condemning jealousy, exalting the importance of tradition and criticising Nisab’s own lamentable needlework, so a private thought it would remain.

When her parent’s wagon came into sight, smoke was indeed curling out of its chimney. Nisab hurried up the steps, eager for breakfast.

 

***

 

Ahazzar awoke in the confines of the small tent he had procured himself from the first wages Biuma had paid him. It was too small to be comfortable, really - as Biuma and others had pointed out to him - but it granted his need for privacy and suited his other, more secret,  purpose. He had burned amber again last night, in combination with a mix of a few certain herbs, the smoke from the minute brazier filling up the space quickly, entering his nostrils. Streaming into nose and mouth, through throat, into lungs. A few inhalations brought on drowsiness, more brought on sleep. Ahazzar vaguely wondered if breathing too much of the smoke would kill him, but then shoved the errant thought from his mind. He needed the smoke for his master plan, any other considerations were irrelevant. The plan was everything.

Ahazzar thought back on the last evening, the sharp scent of amber and herbs dragging him into sleep, and dreams. He had dreamed of a vast gray emptiness in which he floated. With a soul-wrenching effort, he had turned his formless self through unknown dimensions until he perceived something in the void. A white glimmer of something. This was what he had come here for. As the smoke did its work on Ahazzar’s sleeping body, his mind in the dream gained form, he worked his arms and legs into a sluggish impersonation of a jog, which became a true run as his form gained substance. The white smudge in the distance resolved itself into a branch, and then, as if part of it had been hidden behind an invisible wall, the rest of the tree came into view. White and huge and miraculously complex. He slowed his run to a walk.

Ahazzar considered the branches of the tree and identified one that seemed familiar, one that he had visited before. With a flip of the mind, he dove into the branch, and…

In his tent in the waking world, Ahazzar smiled at the memory. Creating another vision was not really necessary at this point of his plan, but he had not been able to resist the lure of the smoke. Ahazzar had justified it to himself as confirming his schemes were still progressing as he wanted them to. He was a bit annoyed at himself, all he had been able to see were the same ambushes he would prevent to establish his reputation, nothing that was new or of any particular use. Well, there had been one thing out of the ordinary. The tree itself had changed. The tree was always different, though, twigs and branches subtly shifting angles or splitting at a slightly different point. This time, however, where a jagged stump had been the last time he had visited, a whole branch now added its elaborate shape to the form of the tree. It wasn’t in a vision, and the tree has changed before, Ahazzar considered, judging the incident unimportant and paying it no further attention. What was more of consequence to him was his dwindling supply of amber, he would have to procure more soon.

He heaved himself out of his blankets and exited the now smoke-free tent - the brazier had burned itself out during the night - going in search of breakfast. It was more out of duty than appetite, though. If the plan did not require him to be physically fit, he wouldn’t have bothered with the aftereffects of the smoke souring his stomach. From past experience he knew there was little risk of him losing his breakfast later on, but eating it still wouldn’t be an enjoyable experience.

 

I've hit some writer's block at this point. I feel like I've written myself into a corner, so I'm going to try some other things for a while and then return to this project with a clearer head (hopefully).

 

Until then, I hope you've enjoyed what I've written up to now.

 

 

 

 

E.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

Hello again.

 

The Oracle is still on hiatus for the moment.

 

Right now I'd like to ask for some advice/opinions on naming a magic system for another story I'm working on.

 

The system is about, well, cutting and pasting, really. Practitioners can basically split any object into pieces and fuse any objects together. (The theme is Fission and Fusion, though those terms are not used in-world)

The powers are used via tattoos on the practitioners' hands (fusion on the right hand, fission on the left), so I'd like to name it something to do with ink.

 

At first I was working with the name Encaustism (he practices Encaustism, he has Encaustic powers, he is an Encaust), and I really liked it, but then I discovered that Encaustic painting is a thing (and Encaustic tiles) which has to do with burning in a design, which I don't think is a connotation I want for my system (although I'm open to persuasion if you think it still works).

 

So right now I'm looking for other names and I could use some help.

 

As the setting has heavy classic influence (mainly Roman Republic, some ancient Greek) I'm looking at Latin terms to base the name on.

 

I really didn't want to have something ending in -mancy, because that's been done to death*.

However, my current thinking is based on the Latin word for ink: atramentum, or "atrament" according to wikipedia.

For me the most natural way to turn that into a system name would be Atramancy (he practices Atramancy, he has Atramantic powers, he is an Atramancer).

 

What are your thoughts on "Atramancy" as a name, and do you have any other suggestions?

 

 

 

* incorrectly, by the way, as μαντεία (manteía) - the root word for -mancy - actually means "prophecy" or "divination"

[Zathoth]

I like Atramancy. While -mancy is incorrect words change over time so I think you can use it.

 

I am no good at latin so I cant think of anything else, but if you want to be original you can try to find other possible suffixes.

[Eagle of the Forest Path he/him]

I tried another writing prompt, and it seemed to fit a magic system I've been thinking on.
It doesn't completely follow the assignment, but what the heck, right?

The assignment The Room

Spoiler

 

One day as you were cleaning you noticed air being sucked towards the base of wall near the cupboard. Perplexed you went closer to investigate. The air was going in, slightly yet in. You hold your breath and gingerly peel away at the wallpaper until a huge wrought iron door stands before you. Where does it lead? Did you imagine this? What happens next?

got turned into The Library

Spoiler

Ephran’s Library was unlike the ones Outside, where the ban on talking never quite eliminated the soft murmur of whispered conversations. It was completely silent, apart from the sounds Ephran himself chose to make. He strode through the aisles, enjoying the ring of his boots on the marble floors. His Library had begun as a single shelf-lined room, befitting the limited collection of a child only starting to explore the world of knowledge. It had since grown into a vast palace as Ephran had learned and experienced. If knowledge was indeed power, then Ephran was powerful indeed.

Usually Ephran spent his precious time in here reviewing and reorganizing his store of information, working on one scholarly thesis or another. Now, however, he had just felt the need to be in his Library, away from the distractions of the Outside. So he was idly wandering, musing on a topic of research he might immerse himself in. He was considering heading over to the philosophy section he had added over a decade ago and largely ignored since when he noticed the door.

It was large and forbidding, fashioned out of wrought iron with a heavy lock and massive hinges. Impenetrable darkness lay beyond, further shielded from view by an intricate grille of leaved vines between the heavier bars. Even though the metal showed no signs of rust the door gave an impression of immense age, perhaps because of the dust hanging in wispy webs from any edge it could attach to. It was not the door’s image that disturbed Ephran, nor the faint stirring of the cobwebs evidencing a connection to some larger space behind the dread portal. What was so shocking about the door was the fact it was there at all. Nothing could exist in the Library that Ephran had not created. It was simply not possible, he was the master of this place, the uncontested ruler over the thousands of volumes, the miles of shelves and even the structure itself.

Blood withdrew from his face, leaving it as grey as the hair surrounding it. He approached the door and as he stretched out a trembling, wrinkled hand to the latch, he imagined. Ephran imagined himself rushing into the unknown, imagined confronting whatever agency had interfered with the composition of his Library. Imagined… Feared… consequences. Blinking the sweat from his eyes, he saw his hand, still outstretched and trembling. He swallowed and decided. Ephran closed his eyes and stepped out of his Library…

And opened his eyes again, sitting in the chair in his office. His real body was sweating too. He was the greatest scholar in the city, some - and not all of them bribed by Ephran - even claimed him the greatest scholar of all the principalities combined. He had made amazing discoveries, disproved the most cunning theories of his rivals. He’d written dozens of books and countless essays. And now it was all gone. Because Ephran was never going back into his Library.