Sailors on the Sea
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Mighty Clouds of Joy - Different Progress
Today is Progress Report Day.
I have not been addressing The Great Sea this past week. I have been working on something else: Apprentice. So I will give you a report on my progress with that.
The story is in two (2) files. The original file contains the text I wrote as part of a writing exercise, from OneTwoFiver, which my friend FairyHedgeHog pointed me to by means of creating a link to it on her blog. To this file I began writing the story. Then I stopped and created a new file and put the actual story there. So now I have the Orginal File, which contains the 500 words of original text and a portion of the actual story, and the Story File, which contains just over 4,500 words.
This story is unlike any I have ever written before. The closest I have come to it are portions of Tavaar's backstory. But I resisted letting Tavaar's backstory take me where it wanted to go. There is too much judgment associated with Swords of Fire right now. It's the story I want to get published, but I didn't write it nearly so well as I should have. That's what makes Apprentice so wonderful. I can go there and write what I will. I'm feeling a sense of freedom (happiness) I haven't felt since Mrs. Kohner (my high school creative writing teacher) told me to 'Write what you want, not what you think you're supposed to, and to hell with what other people think.' Mrs. Kohner was cool.
I don't know how many people read this blog. I know there is one ([smiles] Thank You). Perhaps some of you (if 'some' is a valid word, as opposed to simply saying 'you') think me odd - to put it nicely - for reacting so to a simple piece of writing. (I know one of you doesn't care about whether I am odd or not. Thank you.) But for me this is an exciting expedition. I am going to learn something, and I don't know what it is. I haven't actually written the words I need to write to complete this new exploration, but as I near that climactic moment my happiness increases. Something inside me is about to breath fresh air - perhaps for the first time. It's like a birth, isn't it?
In honor of my newfound happiness, I have made Today's Music the Rock 'n' Roll song which makes me feel happiest: B.J.Thomas's Mighty Clouds of Joy. Here are the words as I sing them (Oh, God, I wish I could sing this well). I deliberately change some words. Sorry B.J. (My initials [grin].)
Them old bad dreams
been sleeping in your bed
And them old dark clouds
been a-hanging around your head
But all your hard times
will vanish in the wind
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
Hold me Jesus
Let-a-your love sieze us
Oh let us find sweet peace within [hallelujah]
Hallelujah
Happiness begins
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
Those old storm clouds
are slowly drifting by
And those old rain drops
are fading from your eyes
Whoah, Mr. Son,
come shine on us again
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
O-o-o-o-h, Hold me Jesus
Letchore love sieze us, Jesus
Oh let us find sweet peace within [hallelujah]
Hallelujah
Happiness begins
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
O-o-o-o-o-oh, Hold me Je-e-su-us
Please, let your love sieze us, Jesus
Oh let us find sweet peace within [hallelujah]
Ha-a-llelu-u-ja-ah
Happiness begins
When those. Mighty. CLOUDS. OF JOY
come rolling in
O-o-o-o-oh. Ho-ld me, Jesus
Won't you let me just SEE ya, Jesus
Oh let us find sweet peace withi-i-i-i-i-i-in [hallelujah]
Oh, Ha-a-llelu-u-ja-ah
Happiness begins
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
come rolling in
I have not been addressing The Great Sea this past week. I have been working on something else: Apprentice. So I will give you a report on my progress with that.
The story is in two (2) files. The original file contains the text I wrote as part of a writing exercise, from OneTwoFiver, which my friend FairyHedgeHog pointed me to by means of creating a link to it on her blog. To this file I began writing the story. Then I stopped and created a new file and put the actual story there. So now I have the Orginal File, which contains the 500 words of original text and a portion of the actual story, and the Story File, which contains just over 4,500 words.
This story is unlike any I have ever written before. The closest I have come to it are portions of Tavaar's backstory. But I resisted letting Tavaar's backstory take me where it wanted to go. There is too much judgment associated with Swords of Fire right now. It's the story I want to get published, but I didn't write it nearly so well as I should have. That's what makes Apprentice so wonderful. I can go there and write what I will. I'm feeling a sense of freedom (happiness) I haven't felt since Mrs. Kohner (my high school creative writing teacher) told me to 'Write what you want, not what you think you're supposed to, and to hell with what other people think.' Mrs. Kohner was cool.
I don't know how many people read this blog. I know there is one ([smiles] Thank You). Perhaps some of you (if 'some' is a valid word, as opposed to simply saying 'you') think me odd - to put it nicely - for reacting so to a simple piece of writing. (I know one of you doesn't care about whether I am odd or not. Thank you.) But for me this is an exciting expedition. I am going to learn something, and I don't know what it is. I haven't actually written the words I need to write to complete this new exploration, but as I near that climactic moment my happiness increases. Something inside me is about to breath fresh air - perhaps for the first time. It's like a birth, isn't it?
In honor of my newfound happiness, I have made Today's Music the Rock 'n' Roll song which makes me feel happiest: B.J.Thomas's Mighty Clouds of Joy. Here are the words as I sing them (Oh, God, I wish I could sing this well). I deliberately change some words. Sorry B.J. (My initials [grin].)
Them old bad dreams
been sleeping in your bed
And them old dark clouds
been a-hanging around your head
But all your hard times
will vanish in the wind
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
Hold me Jesus
Let-a-your love sieze us
Oh let us find sweet peace within [hallelujah]
Hallelujah
Happiness begins
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
Those old storm clouds
are slowly drifting by
And those old rain drops
are fading from your eyes
Whoah, Mr. Son,
come shine on us again
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
O-o-o-o-h, Hold me Jesus
Letchore love sieze us, Jesus
Oh let us find sweet peace within [hallelujah]
Hallelujah
Happiness begins
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
O-o-o-o-o-oh, Hold me Je-e-su-us
Please, let your love sieze us, Jesus
Oh let us find sweet peace within [hallelujah]
Ha-a-llelu-u-ja-ah
Happiness begins
When those. Mighty. CLOUDS. OF JOY
come rolling in
O-o-o-o-oh. Ho-ld me, Jesus
Won't you let me just SEE ya, Jesus
Oh let us find sweet peace withi-i-i-i-i-i-in [hallelujah]
Oh, Ha-a-llelu-u-ja-ah
Happiness begins
When those mighty clouds of joy
come rolling in
come rolling in
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The Vents are Closed for Today
Today is my scheduled day for venting. However, not being in a particularly venting mood right now, I think I will talk a bit about the new story I am writing.
The title is still floundering about in my head, but that's no matter. Something will rise to the surface, I'm sure. Right now, I am writing under the working title, Apprentice.
The story is the result of a writing exercise I took (see my post of January 2, 2009: A Tool Every Writer Should Own, for links to the exercise and FairyHedgeHog, who found it). As my good friend, FairyHedgeHog, wrote: I seem to be entering a new area of creativity.
I like that. I hope it's true.
There were indications last spring, as I worked on Tavaar's backstory, that I was heading in this direction. Not sure why. Have a few ideas, though. In any case, I feel myself drawn forward to continue writing. It's almost - but not quite the same as - like when I wrote certain chapters of Books I, II and III. It's much more like when I wrote Tavaar's backstory.
What is it that is compelling me to write this? It violates the first rule I learned from my creative writing teacher more than thirty years ago. She told me to "write what I know". Well I don't know this subject. Or do I?
Spouse doesn't like the story. I had to suffer an hour of anger when I revealed what I was about to write. What I find interesting, though, is that I brought it up again yesterday, happy that I had written nearly 3,000 words and wanting to share it with Spouse. Once again, the room's air began to thicken. Then I repeated FairyHedgeHog's observation that I was entering a new realm of creativity. I added that it was like buying a new house. The first thing you do is explore all of the corners to find out which rooms are going to be best for eating, sleeping, family gathering and storage. When I said that, Spouse looked at me and smiled. The air freshened. Even after thirty years Spouse can still surprise me. I like that. You know?
For a long time now I have found myself concerned with the idea of love. What does it mean to love someone else? What does it mean to be loved? Why is it that some loves almost require physical contact and some don't want it at all? Why does sexual intercourse become prominent with one love, but is completely abhorent with another? And yet the love is there for both. Why is it that, the more we give our love away (and 'give' is the important word here) the more we seem to have to give? Why is it that love can be so frightening? And then so tender? What is it about love that makes us crave it so?
I think I know, but I've only just begun to explore this new house. I'm beginning with Kiahva's room. Kiahva is a beautiful young girl of eighteen who wants to attain the high position of Lady in one of the valley villages. To accomplish this she is submitting herself to a seven-year apprenticeship to the greatest Modiste in the land. Through the love of a friend, Kiahva will learn what it means to truly be in love.
Maybe that's what the compulsion is all about. I've lived in this house for a very long time, but there are rooms I have not entered in years. It's time to clean this one out, I think. And you know, it's not so dark in here as I remember.
You all have a good day. Thanks for stopping by.
The title is still floundering about in my head, but that's no matter. Something will rise to the surface, I'm sure. Right now, I am writing under the working title, Apprentice.
The story is the result of a writing exercise I took (see my post of January 2, 2009: A Tool Every Writer Should Own, for links to the exercise and FairyHedgeHog, who found it). As my good friend, FairyHedgeHog, wrote: I seem to be entering a new area of creativity.
I like that. I hope it's true.
There were indications last spring, as I worked on Tavaar's backstory, that I was heading in this direction. Not sure why. Have a few ideas, though. In any case, I feel myself drawn forward to continue writing. It's almost - but not quite the same as - like when I wrote certain chapters of Books I, II and III. It's much more like when I wrote Tavaar's backstory.
What is it that is compelling me to write this? It violates the first rule I learned from my creative writing teacher more than thirty years ago. She told me to "write what I know". Well I don't know this subject. Or do I?
Spouse doesn't like the story. I had to suffer an hour of anger when I revealed what I was about to write. What I find interesting, though, is that I brought it up again yesterday, happy that I had written nearly 3,000 words and wanting to share it with Spouse. Once again, the room's air began to thicken. Then I repeated FairyHedgeHog's observation that I was entering a new realm of creativity. I added that it was like buying a new house. The first thing you do is explore all of the corners to find out which rooms are going to be best for eating, sleeping, family gathering and storage. When I said that, Spouse looked at me and smiled. The air freshened. Even after thirty years Spouse can still surprise me. I like that. You know?
For a long time now I have found myself concerned with the idea of love. What does it mean to love someone else? What does it mean to be loved? Why is it that some loves almost require physical contact and some don't want it at all? Why does sexual intercourse become prominent with one love, but is completely abhorent with another? And yet the love is there for both. Why is it that, the more we give our love away (and 'give' is the important word here) the more we seem to have to give? Why is it that love can be so frightening? And then so tender? What is it about love that makes us crave it so?
I think I know, but I've only just begun to explore this new house. I'm beginning with Kiahva's room. Kiahva is a beautiful young girl of eighteen who wants to attain the high position of Lady in one of the valley villages. To accomplish this she is submitting herself to a seven-year apprenticeship to the greatest Modiste in the land. Through the love of a friend, Kiahva will learn what it means to truly be in love.
Maybe that's what the compulsion is all about. I've lived in this house for a very long time, but there are rooms I have not entered in years. It's time to clean this one out, I think. And you know, it's not so dark in here as I remember.
You all have a good day. Thanks for stopping by.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The Impact of Music? What Music?
The sound portion of my computer is most definitely dead. The little green light doesn't even come on anymore. I thought I heard it give a few crackles over the past couple of weeks. I didn't pay it any mind. Now it's gone. I probably couldn't have saved it anyway.
The Ron Weasley character in J.K.Rowling's Harry Potter series wasn't one of my favorites, but he did have a line I use a lot. "Why does everything I own have to be rubbish?"
I miss my music. Yeah, I can listen to the radio. But there are only a small handful of stations which play the music I really like (60s R&B and R&R). I like other music, too, including harp and piano. I used to own a harp. Got so I could play some nice stuff on it, too. My instructor (and I feel just horrible because I can't remember her name - how awful is that!) was a professional harpist and at the end of her career. She mostly played in the Rosewood Room (a fancy restaurant I couldn't afford to support), but she occasionally took students. I was lucky and got her. She had studied under Marcel Grandjany. When she spoke of him it was always in reverant tones, like he was a prophet of God or something. Maybe he was. He certainly played heavenly. She gave me an album of his as a gift. (I'm going to call her Vera, because I think her name began with a "V". I dare not ask Spouse.)
Originally, Vera would meet me at Groth Music, in downtown Minneapolis. I was working at the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association at the time. I got off work at 4:30 and would hike to Groth Music and take my lesson. Spouse, who also worked at B.G.E.A., would drive the car over when the lesson was up and we would go home. Then, shortly before I sold the harp, Vera changed our lesson times to Saturday, and we met at her house. I brought Spouse along. Spouse was very jealous of me in those days. Of everyone. Sisters, brothers, friends, neighbors, it didn't matter. I still remember Spouse throwing my sister Gayanne out of the house because Gayanne was taking up all of my time talking about the 'olden days'. Spouse wasn't particularly fond of Vera, either. She thought Vera was in love with me because Vera was constantly talking me up and complimenting me on my fingers and technique. I don't know. Maybe she was. But unless she threw herself upon me and dragged me to her bedroom nothing was going to come of it. I would never dare.
I remember Vera was practically in tears when I told her I had to sell the harp in order to get the money to go to tech school. She begged me to get another as soon as I could and let her continue teaching me, and I promised her I would. I never did. I never could. I sold the harp, took the classes, and eventually found myself earning a decent living as a computer programmer (software engineer - I hate that term). Eventually, my job would be eliminated - along with half of the department.
Selling that harp was one of the stupidest things I ever did. I gave up a dream for money. Disgusting. Now I have neither the dream nor the money. I should have kept the harp. I should have kept my promise to Vera. Now I don't believe I can, even if I were to win the lottery. Vera was ten years older than I am now - twenty-five years ago. I expect she's gone now, or at least in no condition to teach. I'm sorry, Vera. I failed you.
So here I sit in silence. I'm writing (just taking a break to update my blogs). It's slower without my music, but I've got nearly 3,000 words down in my new short story, the title of which has already changed three times. I've tried Kiahva, Noviah and Apprentice. Who knows what it will be called when I'm finished, hopefully some time next week. I wish I had my music. I might be done by now.
The Ron Weasley character in J.K.Rowling's Harry Potter series wasn't one of my favorites, but he did have a line I use a lot. "Why does everything I own have to be rubbish?"
I miss my music. Yeah, I can listen to the radio. But there are only a small handful of stations which play the music I really like (60s R&B and R&R). I like other music, too, including harp and piano. I used to own a harp. Got so I could play some nice stuff on it, too. My instructor (and I feel just horrible because I can't remember her name - how awful is that!) was a professional harpist and at the end of her career. She mostly played in the Rosewood Room (a fancy restaurant I couldn't afford to support), but she occasionally took students. I was lucky and got her. She had studied under Marcel Grandjany. When she spoke of him it was always in reverant tones, like he was a prophet of God or something. Maybe he was. He certainly played heavenly. She gave me an album of his as a gift. (I'm going to call her Vera, because I think her name began with a "V". I dare not ask Spouse.)
Originally, Vera would meet me at Groth Music, in downtown Minneapolis. I was working at the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association at the time. I got off work at 4:30 and would hike to Groth Music and take my lesson. Spouse, who also worked at B.G.E.A., would drive the car over when the lesson was up and we would go home. Then, shortly before I sold the harp, Vera changed our lesson times to Saturday, and we met at her house. I brought Spouse along. Spouse was very jealous of me in those days. Of everyone. Sisters, brothers, friends, neighbors, it didn't matter. I still remember Spouse throwing my sister Gayanne out of the house because Gayanne was taking up all of my time talking about the 'olden days'. Spouse wasn't particularly fond of Vera, either. She thought Vera was in love with me because Vera was constantly talking me up and complimenting me on my fingers and technique. I don't know. Maybe she was. But unless she threw herself upon me and dragged me to her bedroom nothing was going to come of it. I would never dare.
I remember Vera was practically in tears when I told her I had to sell the harp in order to get the money to go to tech school. She begged me to get another as soon as I could and let her continue teaching me, and I promised her I would. I never did. I never could. I sold the harp, took the classes, and eventually found myself earning a decent living as a computer programmer (software engineer - I hate that term). Eventually, my job would be eliminated - along with half of the department.
Selling that harp was one of the stupidest things I ever did. I gave up a dream for money. Disgusting. Now I have neither the dream nor the money. I should have kept the harp. I should have kept my promise to Vera. Now I don't believe I can, even if I were to win the lottery. Vera was ten years older than I am now - twenty-five years ago. I expect she's gone now, or at least in no condition to teach. I'm sorry, Vera. I failed you.
So here I sit in silence. I'm writing (just taking a break to update my blogs). It's slower without my music, but I've got nearly 3,000 words down in my new short story, the title of which has already changed three times. I've tried Kiahva, Noviah and Apprentice. Who knows what it will be called when I'm finished, hopefully some time next week. I wish I had my music. I might be done by now.
Friday, January 2, 2009
A Tool Every Writer Should Own (have access to)
FairyHedgeHog posted a link on her blog to a wonderful writing tool. It's called OneTwoFiver. If you want to write something, but aren't sure what, give it a go. It should prove to be a wonderful starter tool.Thanks FH.
Heroes Ride Draft Horses
I had forgotten about this one. Talk about silly. But at one time I actually had hopes for it.
Virtually nothing of it is readily available now, if it even exists anymore. There is a folder on my computer for Heroes Ride Draft Horses, but the file it contains is mostly giberish. The only text which remains readable is "I met Holly". Everything else is gone.
The story came out of conversations with my sister-in-law (B). At the time, Spouse and I were boarding three horses at Spouse's brother's hobby farm. B trains horses and was instructing Spouse and me on how to ride well. B also likes to read. Loves to read is a better way of putting it. Ravenous for words probably says it best. She reads a lot of factual information, but plenty of fiction books pass before her eyes, too. She read most of what I wrote back then. None any more. Pity. I miss our conversations.
Anyway, my primary horse was half Percheron and half Quarter Horse. By everyone else's standards, Liebschen (sweetheart) was ugly, clumbsy and stupid. But she did what I wanted her to do and went where I wanted her to go. That was good enough for me.
Somehow, in discussing writing, stories, horses and whatever, I came up with the idea of a modern day hero who's mode of transportation was a draft horse. The specifics went something like this:
Holly Furd is a mild mannered, quiet, shy and generally uninteresting man in his thirties doing an uninteresting job for an uninteresting company. He lacks confidence and social skills, and so he remains unmarried, living alone in a cheap, one-bedroom apartment. His life becomes turned upside down when he is informed that he is the primary beneficiary of a millionaire relative's estate. Unfortunately for Holly, other powerful members of the clan are unhappy with his blessing and are seeking to take it from him. This can be done in one of two ways: declare him unfit according to the terms of the will (I don't recall the exact nature of the terms); or kill him.
It is the killing him part which causes a part of Holly's mind to - unhinge. This 'unhingment' takes the form of periodic spells, in which Holly believes himself to be a masked superhero out to save the world from the forces of evil. While involved in one of his spells Holly is fair game for the family factions to descend and declare him unfit. So, what do Holly's allies do? They concoct an elaborate plan to isolate Holly while still allowing him great freedom of movement.
Since he is so rich, Holly no longer needs to work. However, it is precisely being confronted with the knowledge of his wealth which sets off one of Holly's spells. So his allies determine not to tell him just how rich he is. They purchase a monstrous estate with so many buildings at its heart it practically passes for a small town. Included with the estate is a small herd of draft horses. Shires, I believe. Holly is moved into a mansion, which he is told is an apartment building. He is able to afford these suites because his company - which, he is told, has sent him to this place - is footing a good portion of the rent. He is given fake work to do (he no longer works for his company). Everyone in his 'town' is either his ally, or works for him. He just doesn't know it.
Holly never was one to travel or take vacations, so the plan seems foolproof. He can enjoy life as he sees fit. His allies find ways to provide him with all he desires without letting him know how he got it. But not everyone is always careful.
A woman is hired to act as Holly's personal secretary. I don't remember why (other than that there will be an obvious love interest). That she works for Holly must be kept secret from him, but of course sometimes Holly is inevitably confronted by the truth. Generally, this is due to the efforts of the family factions, who have learned of Holly's condition and now seek to garner the evidence to depose him as chief inheritor.
The narrator of the series (it was conceived of as a series of short stories) is the one in charge of Holly's affairs. It is his responsibility to protect Holly and his money while seeing to it that he is able to enjoy the wealth he has inherited. The humor (obviously it was supposed to be funny) comes when the family factions are able to initiate one of Holly's spells. At that time Holly dresses in his hero costume, rushes to the stables, and rides off to engage the villains. The villains, of course, always end up being members of the family faction - or their hired detectives - who are hanging about to get the evidence they need. They are generally also engaged in some real crimes.
It always works out for Holly, of course, and always by chance and coincidence. And the real criminals are carted off to jail. However, at the end of every story the narrator is left to wonder over the sequence of events. He confesses his steadfast belief that Holly is just a nice person who has a personality quirk, but adds, "But he and that horse of his did accomplish some amazing things."
Back in the 80s it seemed like a wonderful idea. Nothing ever came of it though. Pity.
Virtually nothing of it is readily available now, if it even exists anymore. There is a folder on my computer for Heroes Ride Draft Horses, but the file it contains is mostly giberish. The only text which remains readable is "I met Holly". Everything else is gone.
The story came out of conversations with my sister-in-law (B). At the time, Spouse and I were boarding three horses at Spouse's brother's hobby farm. B trains horses and was instructing Spouse and me on how to ride well. B also likes to read. Loves to read is a better way of putting it. Ravenous for words probably says it best. She reads a lot of factual information, but plenty of fiction books pass before her eyes, too. She read most of what I wrote back then. None any more. Pity. I miss our conversations.
Anyway, my primary horse was half Percheron and half Quarter Horse. By everyone else's standards, Liebschen (sweetheart) was ugly, clumbsy and stupid. But she did what I wanted her to do and went where I wanted her to go. That was good enough for me.
Somehow, in discussing writing, stories, horses and whatever, I came up with the idea of a modern day hero who's mode of transportation was a draft horse. The specifics went something like this:
Holly Furd is a mild mannered, quiet, shy and generally uninteresting man in his thirties doing an uninteresting job for an uninteresting company. He lacks confidence and social skills, and so he remains unmarried, living alone in a cheap, one-bedroom apartment. His life becomes turned upside down when he is informed that he is the primary beneficiary of a millionaire relative's estate. Unfortunately for Holly, other powerful members of the clan are unhappy with his blessing and are seeking to take it from him. This can be done in one of two ways: declare him unfit according to the terms of the will (I don't recall the exact nature of the terms); or kill him.
It is the killing him part which causes a part of Holly's mind to - unhinge. This 'unhingment' takes the form of periodic spells, in which Holly believes himself to be a masked superhero out to save the world from the forces of evil. While involved in one of his spells Holly is fair game for the family factions to descend and declare him unfit. So, what do Holly's allies do? They concoct an elaborate plan to isolate Holly while still allowing him great freedom of movement.
Since he is so rich, Holly no longer needs to work. However, it is precisely being confronted with the knowledge of his wealth which sets off one of Holly's spells. So his allies determine not to tell him just how rich he is. They purchase a monstrous estate with so many buildings at its heart it practically passes for a small town. Included with the estate is a small herd of draft horses. Shires, I believe. Holly is moved into a mansion, which he is told is an apartment building. He is able to afford these suites because his company - which, he is told, has sent him to this place - is footing a good portion of the rent. He is given fake work to do (he no longer works for his company). Everyone in his 'town' is either his ally, or works for him. He just doesn't know it.
Holly never was one to travel or take vacations, so the plan seems foolproof. He can enjoy life as he sees fit. His allies find ways to provide him with all he desires without letting him know how he got it. But not everyone is always careful.
A woman is hired to act as Holly's personal secretary. I don't remember why (other than that there will be an obvious love interest). That she works for Holly must be kept secret from him, but of course sometimes Holly is inevitably confronted by the truth. Generally, this is due to the efforts of the family factions, who have learned of Holly's condition and now seek to garner the evidence to depose him as chief inheritor.
The narrator of the series (it was conceived of as a series of short stories) is the one in charge of Holly's affairs. It is his responsibility to protect Holly and his money while seeing to it that he is able to enjoy the wealth he has inherited. The humor (obviously it was supposed to be funny) comes when the family factions are able to initiate one of Holly's spells. At that time Holly dresses in his hero costume, rushes to the stables, and rides off to engage the villains. The villains, of course, always end up being members of the family faction - or their hired detectives - who are hanging about to get the evidence they need. They are generally also engaged in some real crimes.
It always works out for Holly, of course, and always by chance and coincidence. And the real criminals are carted off to jail. However, at the end of every story the narrator is left to wonder over the sequence of events. He confesses his steadfast belief that Holly is just a nice person who has a personality quirk, but adds, "But he and that horse of his did accomplish some amazing things."
Back in the 80s it seemed like a wonderful idea. Nothing ever came of it though. Pity.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Book I - Chapter One - The Council of Elders
Nothing is out for critiqing, so I think I will continue the story from where I left off yesterday.
Even after dropping it 2,126 words, Chapter One is still the third longest chapter in the book at 45 pages. It's 11,285 words, but don't worry, I'm not going to put them all here. I'll 'tell' most of it and only put in short snippets of the actual prose.
Book I begins with First Interlude, which was posted yesterday. However, the actual narrative begins in Chapter One. It is only proper I begin with the actual first paragraph.
Khirsha tried to make himself relax as he sat against the large rock and stared out over Fire Lake. The setting sun was reflecting across the swells, making it look as though tiny stars were suddenly appearing and vanishing with ceaseless regularity. The waters were lapping gently at the shore, caressing it with unending care. Frogs were singing deep-throated songs. In the distance a loon called to its mate. Fish were making popping sounds as they sucked insects from the lake’s surface. He could hear voices from fishing boats as they neared shore to put in for the night. Such peace. Calm before a storm.
Most of the time I like to begin long pieces calmly. I know I'm supposed to get to the action right off and capture the reader's interest. But, as a reader, I find I am often captured by peace.
Anyway, in the very next paragraph Kelso arrives. During their ensuing conversation we learn just what 'storm' is approaching, and how close it is. Before I tell you what I will first provide narrative descriptions of both Khirsha and Kelso.
Kelso was the elder cousin by four years, but still they were the closest of friends – like brothers. They were near cousins because their fathers were brothers. Still, their family resemblance was only slight. They were about the same height, despite their age difference, but Kelso built for strength and endurance. He had dark eyes that looked out mischievously through thick black hair hanging loose to his shoulders. He wore a brown tunic with a small, green insignia of a shield and sword on his left breast, tucked into brown britches, tied up in front. A thick, black leather weapons belt carved with figures of dragons held his mock sword and knife. Another sword, a drained weapon, was strapped to his back. His black, but faded, boots were well worn and caked with mud and dust.
Khirsha didn’t have Kelso’s bulk. He was strong, but slight. He had large hands with long fingers. His eyes were blue and contrasted well with his golden locks, which he also wore long. He wore a tan tunic an insignia of two crossed and burning swords on a blue shield. His britches were black, and his boots were caked with mud and dust. His weapons belt was the same as Kelso’s, with the same armament, but no weapon adorned his back.
Different in appearance, they were very much alike in spirit. They were already formidable warriors, despite Kelso only being twenty-two and Khirsha eighteen. Singly, they were the two best of their generation. Paired, they were unbeatable, even by much older warriors. They had grown up together, played together, fought together (and against each other) and constantly competed one against the other. Khirsha, being the younger, always lost. But he ever ready for the next challenge.
We quickly learn that both Khirhsa and Kelso are required to stand before The Council that very night. We learn The Council is made up of Sovereigns, and that Khirsha and Kelso each report to a specific Sovereign. We also learn of a Sovereign named Odelmaar, who the boys do not view with affection. Khirsha confesses that, whatever their crime, he was the one who instigated it.
Next we learn there are triplets involved, and finally, what the actual crime appears to be. While the boys discuss it they almost unconsciously engage in a rock throwing competition. It seems Khirsha somehow managed to trick the triplets into attacking a Royal Envoy. Only he hadn't been aware the convoy was a royal one. We also get a hint of Khirhsa's relationship to the triplets.
“How was I to know it was a royal envoy? They showed no banners and there had been no word he was coming. It was supposed to be Sakaylin and Shamatta making their regular rounds. Sakaylin always plays along with these things.” He threw his stone with a grunt. “I think I passed you.”
Kelso picked up another stone.
“But they could have been killed. That’s not what you wanted. Could you look at Manya if Johahnen’s guard had killed them?” Kelso took a short run and let his stone go. It landed far beyond Khirsha’s last. “I think I got you.”
“No, I don’t want them dead,” said Khirsha, stooping and finding another stone. “I love Manya dearly. It’s her sons I abhor. How you can take them I don’t know. They’re near cousins to me, but not even close cousins to you.” He tried a running throw but his effort came up short. He made a silent curse.
Kelso laughed. “It’s simple. They like me. They like you, too, although I know it doesn’t seem like it. And say what you will, my guess is you like them, too. Come, we’d best get to the Great Hall. There were only three turns left when I came to find you, and I’ve used one just to get here. I win.”
Ah, yes. A 'turn'. It does get explained later, but think of it as 'an hour', although Khirhsa's family did not measure time in hours and minutes.
They leave the lakeside and walk to the Great Hall, where their 'trial' is to take place. When they arrive they see the Timekeeper, which explains turns.
Khirsha gave a quick look to the Timekeeper, an elaborate construction consisting of a dozen clear bottles of water. Each bottle was sealed to prevent spillage. The bottles were wide at the top and bottom, and very narrow in the middle, allowing only a small, steady dripping of water to pass from the upper chamber to the lower. The bottles were arranged in a row on a rail protected by a roof. The first four on the left (as one looked from the Great Hall) held blue tinted water; the next group of four held clear water and the last four contained red water. The color of water indicated morning, mid-day or afternoon. It was the job of an Unaligned to ensure the proper turning of time jars. Khirsha smiled, remembering how he and Kelso had once turned all the jars so they drained at the same time. That had been another time they had stood before the council.
They boys enter the Great Hall and go right to the Chamber of Decision, where The Council meets. And now comes the horrible Parade of Characters, which makes Chapter One so long. No less than twenty characters are introduced with quick descriptions. Here's a list:
The COUNCIL:
. . Abrin - 95yrs, Head-of-Family/Presider, Khirsha/Kelso's grandfather
. . Sov. Thiessa - 91yrs, Temple Line, also Chief Temple Keeper, strict
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Khirsha's aunt, Abrin's closest confidant, pacifist
. . Sov. Abro - 101yrs, Defense Line, Kelso's line, Abrin's brother,
. . . . . . . . . . . an 'old softie'
. . Sov. Zielmae - 97yrs, Arts Line, Abro's wife, assertive
. . Sov. Odelmaar - 103yrs, Mines Line, Chief of Abrin's opposition,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . especially dislikes Khirhsa/Kelso
. . Sov. Quesh - 98yrs, Flocks Line, partnered with Odelmaar,
. . . . . . . . . . . . Zielmae calls him Odelmaar's lackey
. . Sov. Kraston - 131yrs, Swords Line, Khirsha's line,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Khirsha's great-Uncle, was Head-of-Family for
. . . . . . . . . . . . . one week before giving post to Abrin, mean
. . . . . . . . . . . . . sense of humor but kind, supports Khirsha/Kelso
. . Sov. Baliel - 100yrs, Healers Line, independent thinker,
. . . . . . . . . . . dedicated to her craft
. . Sov. Sheradatan - 91yrs, Housing Line, hard man,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . appreciates logical thinking
. . Sov. Shob - 91yrs, Supplies Line, humorless, often sides
. . . . . . . . . . . with Odelmaar
. . Sov. Hirshahn - 94yrs, Crops Line, non-political, independent
. . Sov. Valens - 85yrs, Outposts Line, replaced his sister (Abrin's wife)
. . . . . . . . . . . . when she was killed in a Barbarian
. . . . . . . . . . . . attack, grandfather to the Triplets
. . Sov. Fahrden - 94yrs, Kingdom Line, third member of
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Odelmaar's faction, doesn't like Khirsha/Kelso
OTHERS:
. . Schiko - 130yrs, oldest member in Temple Line, oversees meetings
. . Klarissa - 59yrs, Khirsha's mother
. . Shello - 57yrs, Khirsha's father
. . Khaiu - 59yrs, Kelso's father
. . Tura - 61yrs, Kelso's mother (from outside the family)
. . Manya - 55yrs, Triplets mother, Klarissa's younger sister, loves Khirsha
. . Prince Johahnen - 45yrs, Kingdom of Azua Prince, selfish,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ambitious, greedy, want to replace father as
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . king but older brother stands in his way,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Abrin supports the older brother
That's quite a cast to introduce in a short time. More importantly, the trial shows us the character of some of the more key characters, such as Abrin, Odelmaar, Quesh, Thiessa, Kraston, Baliel and Johahnen, as well as something of family justice.
The Triplets are dealth with first. Sovereign Fahrden reads the accusation. Now we get the details of the crime.
“The charges have been brought by Prince Johahnen of the Royal Family of the Kingdom of Azua. He hereby states that during late morning, two days ago, three members of our family, namely Korse, Tavan and Venyon, all brothers and sons of Manya, who now stand before the Council, did attack his envoy just south of the Thoroughfare. He further states that during this attack he was actually struck repeatedly by the weapons wielded, and only his skill and restraint prevented him from slaying the attackers – as he would have been justified in doing.”
Khirsha noted that even Fahrden had to catch himself at this last. The very idea Johahnen was either skilled or restrained was ludicrous. A slight murmuring spread through the room, no doubt discussing this very issue.
“Would the Prince care to add anything to the charges as they have been stated?” Fahrden asked.
Johahnen stood with a flourish and moved quickly and fluidly to a place before Abrin. The triplets gave way to him, using their mother as a shield against his wrath. Khirsha and Kelso, however, did not move. Johahnen’s cape billowed and flashed with sparkles from small sequins sewn in at regular intervals. As he spoke he made quick turns to accent his cape and to make himself appear larger. It was probably a good tact in Azua, but here it only served to make him look silly. So thought Khirsha.
“I want it understood that what these ‘children’ have done is an affront to my kingdom, my father and myself,” he said to Abrin. “I come here to offer aid in dealing with these roving bands of brigands and what is my reward? I am assaulted. My father will not be pleased to learn of my discomfort.”
He made another swirl and flowed back to his place like a bird in flight, making hardly a sound. All were silent as he moved, although Khirsha doubted anyone was impressed. Haughty words and phony indignation were not the way of the family.
The Triplets admit their guilt, but they implicate Khirsha in the process. After some discussion, we learn a little more about family justice.
“What you knew, or who planned the attack, does not absolve you of guilt,” said Abrin. “Your own words convict you. Since you confess your guilt, there is no need to call for evidence. Are there any who will stand with these three?”
Family tradition dictated that any one found guilty, either by admission or by the evidence of witnesses, would need three members of the Council to stand with them in their punishment. Alternately, they could get by with two council members if the accused were underage and their parents stood with them. Failure to be given sponsorship meant the guilty would face more severe punishments. Presiders had been known to give dunking, confinement, whipping and even banishment, depending upon the offense. To date, only one member had ever been banished.
The Triplets are sponsored. Now come the recommendations for punishment.
“Perhaps they should be whipped,” offered Uncle Kraston.
Kraston was related to both Khirsha and the triplets through his brother, Khurbah. Even so, this relation did nothing to ease his punishment suggestions. Although much given to humor, Kraston could be hard. He was the oldest sovereign. He always came to council meetings dressed in a flowing robe of deep blue, tied at the waist with a thick leather belt inlaid with gold. He wore a large, golden ring on his left hand with an opal setting. His boots were shiny black, for he only wore them here. A footstool was provided and he often reclined as he listened to proceedings. Kraston also knew how to intimidate. He was a big man, massive and strong. He was not above making wild and absurd suggestions just to force discussion.
Tavan and Venyon quailed. Korse bit his lower lip. Manya gave Kraston a look of defiance. Khirsha did not know if Kraston had been joking, but he didn’t think Manya would let the punishment go unchallenged. Challenges to the Council were virtually unheard of, but Manya was tall, strong, willful and never intimidated. She might invoke her right as parent of underage youths to take their punishment for them. There would probably not be any takers on whipping Manya.
“Perhaps they need more instruction in law and conduct,” offered Thiessa. Thiessa was something of a pacifist, of which the family had few. Although she could be formidable when angered, she was also hesitant to physically punish. She was Chief Temple Keeper as well as Temple Sovereign (an unusual state of affairs as these positions were not generally doled to the same person) and the final authority on matters of family law.
. . .
“Maybe we could send them to Zielmae so they can work in pottery?” scoffed Kraston. “Reading and meditation are not going to correct their behavior.”
“Neither will whipping them,” said Thiessa.
Thiessa and Kraston were not closely related, except by marriage. The two frequently debated, though never hotly. Each had great respect and affection for the other, but Kraston was much more of a free spirit and they often saw things differently. Khirsha suspected Uncle Kraston merely liked to pique Aunt Thiessa. He also suspected, though he knew she would never admit it, that Aunt Thiessa actually enjoyed the banter.
“It will do no harm and probably a lot of good,” said Kraston.
In the end the recommendation is that the Triplets be confined for thirty days. Prince Johahnen is not happy.
“What is this?” he cried, drawing dark looks from everyone for his disregard for protocol. “These three attack a royal envoy and the only punishment you can come up with is to lock them in their rooms? I demand they be severely punished!”
Abrin paused before responding. Khirsha could tell he was not pleased. Still, when he spoke he was calm.
“Prince Johahnen, this is not for you to decide. Neither is it for the Council to decide. The decision on how these three will be punished is mine. You are here as a guest. I suggest you remember that.”
Johahnen flinched as though he had been struck. Clearly he was not accustomed to being spoken to like this. With a sound of disgust he headed back to his place.
“I should have just slain them when I had the chance,” he muttered, but he was deliberately loud enough so everyone heard his words.
“You could have tried!” came a muffled retort from somewhere behind Khirsha.
Abrin’s eyes flashed in fury, searching for the offender. Johahnen was livid.
“How dare you!” he shouted. “Who said that? I demand to know! Step forward!”
Silence. No one moved. Even Abrin waited. It was clear whoever had made the comment wasn’t going to admit it. No one sitting near seemed eager to point him out either.
“Indeed,” snarled Johahnen. “Brave in your words, but you fear to face me.”
But Khirsha knew it wasn’t Johahnen who the offender feared: it was Abrin. Prince Johahnen had been out of order in his outburst, but so was the offender in criticizing the Prince. Abrin didn’t take well to disrespect within the Chamber. If he found out who had made the comment the offender could easily find himself standing where Khirsha and the others now stood, although Khirsha suspected he already guessed who had said it. Even Khirsha recognized the deep voice of Rupahrn, Abro’s son, and Abrin looked long in Rupahrn’s direction. Rupahrn wisely sat innocently and made no sign.
Ultimately, Abrin chooses to not only confine the Triplets, but to confine them to Orchard Village, home of Sovereign Fahrden. They will be placed in his charge and assigned work duty.
This has gone quite longer than I expected, even with skipping a lot of narrative. So, I think I will save the next phase of the trial - Khirsha and Kelso - for another day.
Meanwhile, I think I am picking up some possible ways to change this text. On someone's blog, I forget who's now, the blogger wrote about revealing emotion through adjectives - which is poor. A better way is to reveal emotion through physical behavior. I haven't done enough of that. Historically, I believe I have tended to use the adjective method. It certainly gives me something to work on.
Even after dropping it 2,126 words, Chapter One is still the third longest chapter in the book at 45 pages. It's 11,285 words, but don't worry, I'm not going to put them all here. I'll 'tell' most of it and only put in short snippets of the actual prose.
Book I begins with First Interlude, which was posted yesterday. However, the actual narrative begins in Chapter One. It is only proper I begin with the actual first paragraph.
Khirsha tried to make himself relax as he sat against the large rock and stared out over Fire Lake. The setting sun was reflecting across the swells, making it look as though tiny stars were suddenly appearing and vanishing with ceaseless regularity. The waters were lapping gently at the shore, caressing it with unending care. Frogs were singing deep-throated songs. In the distance a loon called to its mate. Fish were making popping sounds as they sucked insects from the lake’s surface. He could hear voices from fishing boats as they neared shore to put in for the night. Such peace. Calm before a storm.
Most of the time I like to begin long pieces calmly. I know I'm supposed to get to the action right off and capture the reader's interest. But, as a reader, I find I am often captured by peace.
Anyway, in the very next paragraph Kelso arrives. During their ensuing conversation we learn just what 'storm' is approaching, and how close it is. Before I tell you what I will first provide narrative descriptions of both Khirsha and Kelso.
Kelso was the elder cousin by four years, but still they were the closest of friends – like brothers. They were near cousins because their fathers were brothers. Still, their family resemblance was only slight. They were about the same height, despite their age difference, but Kelso built for strength and endurance. He had dark eyes that looked out mischievously through thick black hair hanging loose to his shoulders. He wore a brown tunic with a small, green insignia of a shield and sword on his left breast, tucked into brown britches, tied up in front. A thick, black leather weapons belt carved with figures of dragons held his mock sword and knife. Another sword, a drained weapon, was strapped to his back. His black, but faded, boots were well worn and caked with mud and dust.
Khirsha didn’t have Kelso’s bulk. He was strong, but slight. He had large hands with long fingers. His eyes were blue and contrasted well with his golden locks, which he also wore long. He wore a tan tunic an insignia of two crossed and burning swords on a blue shield. His britches were black, and his boots were caked with mud and dust. His weapons belt was the same as Kelso’s, with the same armament, but no weapon adorned his back.
Different in appearance, they were very much alike in spirit. They were already formidable warriors, despite Kelso only being twenty-two and Khirsha eighteen. Singly, they were the two best of their generation. Paired, they were unbeatable, even by much older warriors. They had grown up together, played together, fought together (and against each other) and constantly competed one against the other. Khirsha, being the younger, always lost. But he ever ready for the next challenge.
We quickly learn that both Khirhsa and Kelso are required to stand before The Council that very night. We learn The Council is made up of Sovereigns, and that Khirsha and Kelso each report to a specific Sovereign. We also learn of a Sovereign named Odelmaar, who the boys do not view with affection. Khirsha confesses that, whatever their crime, he was the one who instigated it.
Next we learn there are triplets involved, and finally, what the actual crime appears to be. While the boys discuss it they almost unconsciously engage in a rock throwing competition. It seems Khirsha somehow managed to trick the triplets into attacking a Royal Envoy. Only he hadn't been aware the convoy was a royal one. We also get a hint of Khirhsa's relationship to the triplets.
“How was I to know it was a royal envoy? They showed no banners and there had been no word he was coming. It was supposed to be Sakaylin and Shamatta making their regular rounds. Sakaylin always plays along with these things.” He threw his stone with a grunt. “I think I passed you.”
Kelso picked up another stone.
“But they could have been killed. That’s not what you wanted. Could you look at Manya if Johahnen’s guard had killed them?” Kelso took a short run and let his stone go. It landed far beyond Khirsha’s last. “I think I got you.”
“No, I don’t want them dead,” said Khirsha, stooping and finding another stone. “I love Manya dearly. It’s her sons I abhor. How you can take them I don’t know. They’re near cousins to me, but not even close cousins to you.” He tried a running throw but his effort came up short. He made a silent curse.
Kelso laughed. “It’s simple. They like me. They like you, too, although I know it doesn’t seem like it. And say what you will, my guess is you like them, too. Come, we’d best get to the Great Hall. There were only three turns left when I came to find you, and I’ve used one just to get here. I win.”
Ah, yes. A 'turn'. It does get explained later, but think of it as 'an hour', although Khirhsa's family did not measure time in hours and minutes.
They leave the lakeside and walk to the Great Hall, where their 'trial' is to take place. When they arrive they see the Timekeeper, which explains turns.
Khirsha gave a quick look to the Timekeeper, an elaborate construction consisting of a dozen clear bottles of water. Each bottle was sealed to prevent spillage. The bottles were wide at the top and bottom, and very narrow in the middle, allowing only a small, steady dripping of water to pass from the upper chamber to the lower. The bottles were arranged in a row on a rail protected by a roof. The first four on the left (as one looked from the Great Hall) held blue tinted water; the next group of four held clear water and the last four contained red water. The color of water indicated morning, mid-day or afternoon. It was the job of an Unaligned to ensure the proper turning of time jars. Khirsha smiled, remembering how he and Kelso had once turned all the jars so they drained at the same time. That had been another time they had stood before the council.
They boys enter the Great Hall and go right to the Chamber of Decision, where The Council meets. And now comes the horrible Parade of Characters, which makes Chapter One so long. No less than twenty characters are introduced with quick descriptions. Here's a list:
The COUNCIL:
. . Abrin - 95yrs, Head-of-Family/Presider, Khirsha/Kelso's grandfather
. . Sov. Thiessa - 91yrs, Temple Line, also Chief Temple Keeper, strict
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Khirsha's aunt, Abrin's closest confidant, pacifist
. . Sov. Abro - 101yrs, Defense Line, Kelso's line, Abrin's brother,
. . . . . . . . . . . an 'old softie'
. . Sov. Zielmae - 97yrs, Arts Line, Abro's wife, assertive
. . Sov. Odelmaar - 103yrs, Mines Line, Chief of Abrin's opposition,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . especially dislikes Khirhsa/Kelso
. . Sov. Quesh - 98yrs, Flocks Line, partnered with Odelmaar,
. . . . . . . . . . . . Zielmae calls him Odelmaar's lackey
. . Sov. Kraston - 131yrs, Swords Line, Khirsha's line,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Khirsha's great-Uncle, was Head-of-Family for
. . . . . . . . . . . . . one week before giving post to Abrin, mean
. . . . . . . . . . . . . sense of humor but kind, supports Khirsha/Kelso
. . Sov. Baliel - 100yrs, Healers Line, independent thinker,
. . . . . . . . . . . dedicated to her craft
. . Sov. Sheradatan - 91yrs, Housing Line, hard man,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . appreciates logical thinking
. . Sov. Shob - 91yrs, Supplies Line, humorless, often sides
. . . . . . . . . . . with Odelmaar
. . Sov. Hirshahn - 94yrs, Crops Line, non-political, independent
. . Sov. Valens - 85yrs, Outposts Line, replaced his sister (Abrin's wife)
. . . . . . . . . . . . when she was killed in a Barbarian
. . . . . . . . . . . . attack, grandfather to the Triplets
. . Sov. Fahrden - 94yrs, Kingdom Line, third member of
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Odelmaar's faction, doesn't like Khirsha/Kelso
OTHERS:
. . Schiko - 130yrs, oldest member in Temple Line, oversees meetings
. . Klarissa - 59yrs, Khirsha's mother
. . Shello - 57yrs, Khirsha's father
. . Khaiu - 59yrs, Kelso's father
. . Tura - 61yrs, Kelso's mother (from outside the family)
. . Manya - 55yrs, Triplets mother, Klarissa's younger sister, loves Khirsha
. . Prince Johahnen - 45yrs, Kingdom of Azua Prince, selfish,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ambitious, greedy, want to replace father as
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . king but older brother stands in his way,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Abrin supports the older brother
That's quite a cast to introduce in a short time. More importantly, the trial shows us the character of some of the more key characters, such as Abrin, Odelmaar, Quesh, Thiessa, Kraston, Baliel and Johahnen, as well as something of family justice.
The Triplets are dealth with first. Sovereign Fahrden reads the accusation. Now we get the details of the crime.
“The charges have been brought by Prince Johahnen of the Royal Family of the Kingdom of Azua. He hereby states that during late morning, two days ago, three members of our family, namely Korse, Tavan and Venyon, all brothers and sons of Manya, who now stand before the Council, did attack his envoy just south of the Thoroughfare. He further states that during this attack he was actually struck repeatedly by the weapons wielded, and only his skill and restraint prevented him from slaying the attackers – as he would have been justified in doing.”
Khirsha noted that even Fahrden had to catch himself at this last. The very idea Johahnen was either skilled or restrained was ludicrous. A slight murmuring spread through the room, no doubt discussing this very issue.
“Would the Prince care to add anything to the charges as they have been stated?” Fahrden asked.
Johahnen stood with a flourish and moved quickly and fluidly to a place before Abrin. The triplets gave way to him, using their mother as a shield against his wrath. Khirsha and Kelso, however, did not move. Johahnen’s cape billowed and flashed with sparkles from small sequins sewn in at regular intervals. As he spoke he made quick turns to accent his cape and to make himself appear larger. It was probably a good tact in Azua, but here it only served to make him look silly. So thought Khirsha.
“I want it understood that what these ‘children’ have done is an affront to my kingdom, my father and myself,” he said to Abrin. “I come here to offer aid in dealing with these roving bands of brigands and what is my reward? I am assaulted. My father will not be pleased to learn of my discomfort.”
He made another swirl and flowed back to his place like a bird in flight, making hardly a sound. All were silent as he moved, although Khirsha doubted anyone was impressed. Haughty words and phony indignation were not the way of the family.
The Triplets admit their guilt, but they implicate Khirsha in the process. After some discussion, we learn a little more about family justice.
“What you knew, or who planned the attack, does not absolve you of guilt,” said Abrin. “Your own words convict you. Since you confess your guilt, there is no need to call for evidence. Are there any who will stand with these three?”
Family tradition dictated that any one found guilty, either by admission or by the evidence of witnesses, would need three members of the Council to stand with them in their punishment. Alternately, they could get by with two council members if the accused were underage and their parents stood with them. Failure to be given sponsorship meant the guilty would face more severe punishments. Presiders had been known to give dunking, confinement, whipping and even banishment, depending upon the offense. To date, only one member had ever been banished.
The Triplets are sponsored. Now come the recommendations for punishment.
“Perhaps they should be whipped,” offered Uncle Kraston.
Kraston was related to both Khirsha and the triplets through his brother, Khurbah. Even so, this relation did nothing to ease his punishment suggestions. Although much given to humor, Kraston could be hard. He was the oldest sovereign. He always came to council meetings dressed in a flowing robe of deep blue, tied at the waist with a thick leather belt inlaid with gold. He wore a large, golden ring on his left hand with an opal setting. His boots were shiny black, for he only wore them here. A footstool was provided and he often reclined as he listened to proceedings. Kraston also knew how to intimidate. He was a big man, massive and strong. He was not above making wild and absurd suggestions just to force discussion.
Tavan and Venyon quailed. Korse bit his lower lip. Manya gave Kraston a look of defiance. Khirsha did not know if Kraston had been joking, but he didn’t think Manya would let the punishment go unchallenged. Challenges to the Council were virtually unheard of, but Manya was tall, strong, willful and never intimidated. She might invoke her right as parent of underage youths to take their punishment for them. There would probably not be any takers on whipping Manya.
“Perhaps they need more instruction in law and conduct,” offered Thiessa. Thiessa was something of a pacifist, of which the family had few. Although she could be formidable when angered, she was also hesitant to physically punish. She was Chief Temple Keeper as well as Temple Sovereign (an unusual state of affairs as these positions were not generally doled to the same person) and the final authority on matters of family law.
. . .
“Maybe we could send them to Zielmae so they can work in pottery?” scoffed Kraston. “Reading and meditation are not going to correct their behavior.”
“Neither will whipping them,” said Thiessa.
Thiessa and Kraston were not closely related, except by marriage. The two frequently debated, though never hotly. Each had great respect and affection for the other, but Kraston was much more of a free spirit and they often saw things differently. Khirsha suspected Uncle Kraston merely liked to pique Aunt Thiessa. He also suspected, though he knew she would never admit it, that Aunt Thiessa actually enjoyed the banter.
“It will do no harm and probably a lot of good,” said Kraston.
In the end the recommendation is that the Triplets be confined for thirty days. Prince Johahnen is not happy.
“What is this?” he cried, drawing dark looks from everyone for his disregard for protocol. “These three attack a royal envoy and the only punishment you can come up with is to lock them in their rooms? I demand they be severely punished!”
Abrin paused before responding. Khirsha could tell he was not pleased. Still, when he spoke he was calm.
“Prince Johahnen, this is not for you to decide. Neither is it for the Council to decide. The decision on how these three will be punished is mine. You are here as a guest. I suggest you remember that.”
Johahnen flinched as though he had been struck. Clearly he was not accustomed to being spoken to like this. With a sound of disgust he headed back to his place.
“I should have just slain them when I had the chance,” he muttered, but he was deliberately loud enough so everyone heard his words.
“You could have tried!” came a muffled retort from somewhere behind Khirsha.
Abrin’s eyes flashed in fury, searching for the offender. Johahnen was livid.
“How dare you!” he shouted. “Who said that? I demand to know! Step forward!”
Silence. No one moved. Even Abrin waited. It was clear whoever had made the comment wasn’t going to admit it. No one sitting near seemed eager to point him out either.
“Indeed,” snarled Johahnen. “Brave in your words, but you fear to face me.”
But Khirsha knew it wasn’t Johahnen who the offender feared: it was Abrin. Prince Johahnen had been out of order in his outburst, but so was the offender in criticizing the Prince. Abrin didn’t take well to disrespect within the Chamber. If he found out who had made the comment the offender could easily find himself standing where Khirsha and the others now stood, although Khirsha suspected he already guessed who had said it. Even Khirsha recognized the deep voice of Rupahrn, Abro’s son, and Abrin looked long in Rupahrn’s direction. Rupahrn wisely sat innocently and made no sign.
Ultimately, Abrin chooses to not only confine the Triplets, but to confine them to Orchard Village, home of Sovereign Fahrden. They will be placed in his charge and assigned work duty.
This has gone quite longer than I expected, even with skipping a lot of narrative. So, I think I will save the next phase of the trial - Khirsha and Kelso - for another day.
Meanwhile, I think I am picking up some possible ways to change this text. On someone's blog, I forget who's now, the blogger wrote about revealing emotion through adjectives - which is poor. A better way is to reveal emotion through physical behavior. I haven't done enough of that. Historically, I believe I have tended to use the adjective method. It certainly gives me something to work on.
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