Who am I?! the question burst from his mind, running naked through his guarded sensibilities. Who is Gregor and who is this girl?! He closed his eyes and thought back to the first time he ever met Gregor.
Was it the smile of a kind stranger, an Ally of Rel? The smell of fish and money in the air surrounding us? Alms deposited in his oak bowl followed by a word, which led to a warm conversation with a like-minded spirit? That was the first meeting, right?
No, was it two boys running naked along the beach in the middle of the days governed by the major moon? The beach seemed like their private little world save for the huge wooden ships that passed them on their way north. Just two little boys, laughing, throwing sand at each other while their young fathers looked on. The fathers would disappear, but the boys would be forever.
'Friends until the end, just like our dads, right?' he had said.
"Aaaaaggggghhhhhhhh!" the pale former chef screamed "What are these memories? Who am I?!" *(note, to be expressed in Lithenese - when I get the chance) the man called Cedric shook from head to toe, sobbing loudly to himself. Onion stood up and quickly distanced herself from the man, thoroughly unnerved.
Or is that laughter!? she thought to herself.
The revelry of the Soa caravan laid thickly on the wind, suffocating most sounds, but a noise unnatural to the Cedric Onion had come to know floated over the lusty laughter of women and men deep in their cups. As it became more and more apparent that it was a maniacal mirth, not a cry of desolation, that was escaping his lips Onion began looking around nervously for a weapon; a rock, a heavy branch, anything that might keep whoever this man was at bay.
Until this point, Onion had vividly recorded in her memory, the visage of a man, skinny, shrunken and reluctant. The Cedric she had come to know had the voice of a mewling kitten. Neither of these descriptors would serve her now as Cedric stood tall and erect; his shoulders set back while aggressive and calculating blue eyes surveyed her every muscle twitch in his peripheral view.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
New Story Notes
The following are some notes I have started to develop on a new story idea. I'm hoping to make this a collaborative project, so I'm posting them.
Background/ questions:
Logistical:
A colony on Europa = how often within range of Earth? 12 years?
Once every 12 years there is an X month period where travel to and from earth can occur.
Information exchange can occur a little more regularly but still limited (how long does it take for a voyager satellite to transmit data in the modern age? - base earth - Jupiter transmission on this answer)
Europa = tidally locked = Colonies on far side of the moon to maximize sunlight? Colonist frontier on Jupiter facing side => research stations, maybe some natural resource extraction? To go to the Jupiter facing side is somewhat a badge of courage, perhaps protagonist has visited, seen sight of Jupiter, huge in the sky
how often does Europa rotate around Jupiter? (3.5 days)
Water & ice surface = > floating arcologies?
Historical:
Need to point to a reason why people began to colonize space:
Main idea: space race style.
Iran actually has been hiding nuclear program this whole time (modern day) in order to send out a manned mission via nuclear core space shuttle. Why? Understand the rapidly disintegrating power of a theocracy as a means to control population => needed give people a moral imperative with economic benefits. => discover mineral/ energy source on Mars/Moon
Have protagonist thinking about the celebrated "Shotgun Day" (play on shotgun heard around the world) => the day that Iran launched their first rocket => western world plus China, Russia and Japan go into near panic, but luckily before any hasty nukes could be shot at Iran, scientists point out that it is a shuttle, not a bomb => however, perceiving their own hegemonic in threat, China (Who is Hu Jintao's successor?) and US (Obama), quickly start/ restart their space programs => provides great moral imperative to both countries respectively, adds jobs, and reestablishes the value of science for a generation of impressionable young people => MESSAGE OF HOPE to reader.
Turns out Ahmadinejad was just one big distraction this whole time, with his UN, jews should be exterminated, holocaust never happened, displays really designed to keep other countries in the dark about Iranian ambitions.
3 generations before setting of story, Martian and Lunar colonies established. Begin missions on the other side of the asteroid belt.
Protagonist's grandparents on these initial surveys. Technically, not first colonists, just scientists, but after a colony on Europa is established, they have already been there for decades and join the population in ernest. Their children were born on Mars, but grow up on Europa.
Colonies on Moon/Mars abandoned after limited resources are exhausted. However, Jupiter is a font of economically useful materials. Colony persists.
Cultural:
Population is fairly small and hyper interdependent so common language is needed (Chinese? English? Farsi? => based on historical account => or something in between the three? One as official communication to earth, with a local pidgin? Likely English would be mode of communication at least at first. Could even do something where English is used in official communications, but part of the plot twist is that when crew finally arrive on Earth, find out English has become a near obsolete language (or at least used only in pockets of cultures), maybe most colonists are Chinese, as they are the group most running out of land, with large numbers of Iranian scientists => if that is the case we'd have pidgin Chinese heavily influenced by Farsi. If Farsi is involved, will need to do a lot of research as I have no experience in that language)
Modern style of education, etc => kids go through compulsory education => however due to the fact that initial space sponsors were from China, US or Iran (those gvts have an interest in a whitewashed history that paints their countries/cultures as great) plus limited communication with earth = we must present a very altered understanding of events from the protagonist's viewpoint =>
SUCH AS
Students are taught a very Iran friendly history in which Iran, China and the US were allies, teaming up with their varying skills to make first colonies in space => present countries as archetypes, US: Christian/Capitalist, China : Atheist/Confucian/Communist, Iran : Islamic/Theocracy, where the view of those religions has drained away from the fundamentalism we see now/ potentially earth at the time of the story is still seeing, and they are used more as historical identities.
More ideas? There has to be more to this.
Protagonist: young man, wanting space from his parents, wants to return to earth. Perhaps of a Farsi and Chinese mixed descent? American? not sure. The once every 12 year opportunity to go to earth comes around, he is the first to sign up.
Many supporting characters to be developed.
Background/ questions:
Logistical:
A colony on Europa = how often within range of Earth? 12 years?
Once every 12 years there is an X month period where travel to and from earth can occur.
Information exchange can occur a little more regularly but still limited (how long does it take for a voyager satellite to transmit data in the modern age? - base earth - Jupiter transmission on this answer)
Europa = tidally locked = Colonies on far side of the moon to maximize sunlight? Colonist frontier on Jupiter facing side => research stations, maybe some natural resource extraction? To go to the Jupiter facing side is somewhat a badge of courage, perhaps protagonist has visited, seen sight of Jupiter, huge in the sky
how often does Europa rotate around Jupiter? (3.5 days)
Water & ice surface = > floating arcologies?
Historical:
Need to point to a reason why people began to colonize space:
Main idea: space race style.
Iran actually has been hiding nuclear program this whole time (modern day) in order to send out a manned mission via nuclear core space shuttle. Why? Understand the rapidly disintegrating power of a theocracy as a means to control population => needed give people a moral imperative with economic benefits. => discover mineral/ energy source on Mars/Moon
Have protagonist thinking about the celebrated "Shotgun Day" (play on shotgun heard around the world) => the day that Iran launched their first rocket => western world plus China, Russia and Japan go into near panic, but luckily before any hasty nukes could be shot at Iran, scientists point out that it is a shuttle, not a bomb => however, perceiving their own hegemonic in threat, China (Who is Hu Jintao's successor?) and US (Obama), quickly start/ restart their space programs => provides great moral imperative to both countries respectively, adds jobs, and reestablishes the value of science for a generation of impressionable young people => MESSAGE OF HOPE to reader.
Turns out Ahmadinejad was just one big distraction this whole time, with his UN, jews should be exterminated, holocaust never happened, displays really designed to keep other countries in the dark about Iranian ambitions.
3 generations before setting of story, Martian and Lunar colonies established. Begin missions on the other side of the asteroid belt.
Protagonist's grandparents on these initial surveys. Technically, not first colonists, just scientists, but after a colony on Europa is established, they have already been there for decades and join the population in ernest. Their children were born on Mars, but grow up on Europa.
Colonies on Moon/Mars abandoned after limited resources are exhausted. However, Jupiter is a font of economically useful materials. Colony persists.
Cultural:
Population is fairly small and hyper interdependent so common language is needed (Chinese? English? Farsi? => based on historical account => or something in between the three? One as official communication to earth, with a local pidgin? Likely English would be mode of communication at least at first. Could even do something where English is used in official communications, but part of the plot twist is that when crew finally arrive on Earth, find out English has become a near obsolete language (or at least used only in pockets of cultures), maybe most colonists are Chinese, as they are the group most running out of land, with large numbers of Iranian scientists => if that is the case we'd have pidgin Chinese heavily influenced by Farsi. If Farsi is involved, will need to do a lot of research as I have no experience in that language)
Modern style of education, etc => kids go through compulsory education => however due to the fact that initial space sponsors were from China, US or Iran (those gvts have an interest in a whitewashed history that paints their countries/cultures as great) plus limited communication with earth = we must present a very altered understanding of events from the protagonist's viewpoint =>
SUCH AS
Students are taught a very Iran friendly history in which Iran, China and the US were allies, teaming up with their varying skills to make first colonies in space => present countries as archetypes, US: Christian/Capitalist, China : Atheist/Confucian/Communist, Iran : Islamic/Theocracy, where the view of those religions has drained away from the fundamentalism we see now/ potentially earth at the time of the story is still seeing, and they are used more as historical identities.
More ideas? There has to be more to this.
Protagonist: young man, wanting space from his parents, wants to return to earth. Perhaps of a Farsi and Chinese mixed descent? American? not sure. The once every 12 year opportunity to go to earth comes around, he is the first to sign up.
Many supporting characters to be developed.
on Oceans, Adventures and Public Tranportation
Written a couple of days ago:
“Ocean in view. We
are in view of the ocean. This great
pacific ocean, which we have been so longing to see. – William Clark”
I blame that on my mom’s constant playing of a music album
with Lewis and Clark’s quotes peppered in it.
Nonetheless, here I am, at Newport Beach, California, soaking in the
perfect temperatures, letting my feet hit the sand and toes in the water. Wimpy little Orange County people are all
bundled up, but to me this is a second summertime.
This should be a lesson to me, one which I’ve learned and
forgotten now for too many years. Just
let things be. Go, explore, be
agendaless and take every possible thing, from novelty to annoyance, and view
it as an adventure.
After arriving at the airport, several annoyances came to
play. The TSA apparently had to test to
see if the honey I was bringing to Joe was in fact a bomb. They almost closed the jar completely, but
not quite, resulting in it leaking. A
small bit of honey was lost in the process and a portion of my suitcase is now
sticky.
But you know what was also occurred? I saw all the theme park brochures and
recalled how much I’ve been wanting to go, plus Kyle is not a fan of theme
parks so unless it were staring us in the face we wouldn’t, plus Joe is a fan
of theme parks, equals delight! I hope
we go to one this weekend.
Since Joe is predictably in work, I had more than a few
hours to burn. I live in the mountains
these days, but I was born at the sea (Newport Hospital to be exact, the
original, erm in America, Newport), and some of my most cherished memories were
borne of the sea. So I had it in my mind
to explore some stretch of the sea.
There are taxis, but that would be expensive, and even if I
were moneybags mcgee, that does take away some of the adventure. I have determined, in some cases (not all,
see Osaka, New York, Europe) individual transportation is more convenient. In all cases, public transportation is far
more adventurous. First there is the
part about figuring out where to go, and how to get there. Then there is the ability to actually see
what you are going through and appreciate it.
Finally, there is that hint of danger, not real danger, but the
possibility of failure; the possibility of not ending up where you intended to
be. That makes it more like a game than
a cardboard cut objective.
Yet I had a very hard time finding out where the local buses picked up. I suppose it should
have been expected, but when I asked airport employees where the bus was, they
gave me a very queer look that suggested “What is this ‘boos’ thing you are referring
to?” No matter. It was another adventure- to find out how to
get where.
A lack of convenience forces you to be happy with your
result. How many times have I driven
around to find the perfect spot I am looking for, be it park or
restaurant. When you are going by bus or
by foot, every spot it perfect, because it is the one that is there. It is the one that calls to you the most and
will call to you the most for the next 5-10 minutes, depending on how speedy
you are. That is, you give your
surroundings a chance to actually speak to you.
I used to do this a lot in Japan. Walk around, take a train somewhere and just
go. I loved it. It was fun.
I haven’t really done that since.
There is the social anxiety.
Who the hell is this hobo girl with her big rolling luggage on the
beach? What is she doing here?
But baaahhh. I climb
mountains. I go to places that are
actually physically inhospitable. Why
should I let any possible snide remarks deter me? It isn’t worth it, so fuck em I say.
The sun is long from setting, but it is great to see it
here. At home it would be starting to
crest behind the mountains; one of the misfortunes of living right against a
9000ft mountain; in the morning it is worse as to the east is a 14,000 ft
mountain. This I miss. In Rhode Island it was the dawn that was most
beautiful, but here I can see it being dusk.
Man I miss the ocean.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
on Life, Death and Chickens Part I
Earlier this year, my boyfriend and I decided it was time we added chickens to our backyard garden. We spend the better part of January and February building our A-frame mobile coop which is technically suited for 5 hens. This was something I was thinking about doing for a long time, for a lot of reasons, and certainly we have already reaped the benefits of more eggs than we know what to do with.
But one major part of this experiment was to settle an ethical dilemma I've had since I accidentally left a worm on a sun-baked stair case and later returned to find it crispy; is it ethical to kill?
There are meat eaters who abhor seeing a dead animal. They want to remain unaware of how the slice of steak got on their table. That is their own journey complete with their own moral reasoning. For all I know they have already had this internal dialogue with themselves, acknowledged that meat means killing, are okay with that, and simply find a carcass stinky or otherwise simply don't like the aesthetics. Who can say.
I am not one of those people though. I need to make sure I fully comprehend what I am doing when I eat meat, or eat anything, or do anything in general! I want to make sure that every time I choose to eat meat, I am making a fresh cost benefit analysis, lest my decision making process be abandoned in lieu of rote behavior.
And this is part of the reason why I wanted to get chickens; to determine if I can physically kill a being for my consumption. If I can't, I am of the mind that I should probably become a vegetarian again. I am not a person who is easily disgusted. I often clean out the coop with my bare hands. (Don't worry, I wash my hands before eating... sometimes :-P) If the only thing preventing me from eating meat is that I cannot kill it, then there is no rational reason for me to say that I should eat meat, as the mere act of doing so is what is causing the killing to occur.
If I have an emotional reaction, sympathy, for example, then why should I not have a similar reaction to the chicken whose fluffy butt has not been running around my yard? I am doing the chickens no favors by supporting the propagation of large poultry houses. In addition to being killed they are horribly treated for all of their short lives. I am favoring the propagation of the Cornish Cross breed, a breed so anthropologically genetically selected that when a backyard chicken enthusiast like myself tries to raise them, they will at minimum get a 30% pre-slaughter mortality. This is a breed who has been bred to grow so fat so quickly to be made for the pot that they have heart attacks and die before the 6-8 weeks needed to go to slaughter are up.
A chicken still dies. I need to make sure my rational, holistic knowledge of that fact is included in the cost benefit analysis, and killing my own meat is the best way to not forget any aspect of that fact.
We are not strangers to death in our flock. It should be noted that we have had two taken by hawks; one of them was still a chick and had a little chick fluff left. Then a week ago, one of our hens dropped dead. We still aren't sure why, but we are suspecting that she was egg bound (where an egg/egg pieces get caught in her reproductive tract and block everything else.) We weren't forcefully sad about the event. My boyfriend keeps saying he is disappointed, not sad, that the chicken didn't make it to our dinner table.
But I am not wholly convinced by either of us. Sometimes we bring it up, saying simply, "poor Not-Penguin".
That being said, chickens are mean creatures. Not-penguin, the term we used to differentiate this barred rock who died from the other two, was one of two chicks we purchased after the first hawk victim was taken away. Because at that time the two of them were still babies while the other four were full fledged pullets (hen form, not laying eggs yet), they were really picked on. The Penguin and Not Penguin could be seen running through the yard together, often wing and wing touching. After Not Penguin collapsed and died, the first chicken trying to peck at it and eat it was The Penguin. So much for being butt buddies.
Is inter-chicken cruelty a good reason for why it is okay to kill these creatures? Is the selfishness of the species what makes it okay to take away the one thing all creatures desire to do (survive)? I am kind of banking on it. How they view the world is clearly different from how humans view the world. They are driven by instinct and outside events. Death is what will happen to them, in any scenario, and they will never be authors of it. That I have given them a good life while they are here is payment for the fact that I will profit from being that author.
Then again, sometimes I think, if a bunch of teenaged girls were locked in a high school, with ice cream, cheeseburgers and other treats in abundance to eat around them, would it be okay for us to kill them because they keep making fun of the ugly one and all they think about is shoes?
There will be a part II to these ramblings after our first slaughter.
But one major part of this experiment was to settle an ethical dilemma I've had since I accidentally left a worm on a sun-baked stair case and later returned to find it crispy; is it ethical to kill?
There are meat eaters who abhor seeing a dead animal. They want to remain unaware of how the slice of steak got on their table. That is their own journey complete with their own moral reasoning. For all I know they have already had this internal dialogue with themselves, acknowledged that meat means killing, are okay with that, and simply find a carcass stinky or otherwise simply don't like the aesthetics. Who can say.
I am not one of those people though. I need to make sure I fully comprehend what I am doing when I eat meat, or eat anything, or do anything in general! I want to make sure that every time I choose to eat meat, I am making a fresh cost benefit analysis, lest my decision making process be abandoned in lieu of rote behavior.
And this is part of the reason why I wanted to get chickens; to determine if I can physically kill a being for my consumption. If I can't, I am of the mind that I should probably become a vegetarian again. I am not a person who is easily disgusted. I often clean out the coop with my bare hands. (Don't worry, I wash my hands before eating... sometimes :-P) If the only thing preventing me from eating meat is that I cannot kill it, then there is no rational reason for me to say that I should eat meat, as the mere act of doing so is what is causing the killing to occur.
If I have an emotional reaction, sympathy, for example, then why should I not have a similar reaction to the chicken whose fluffy butt has not been running around my yard? I am doing the chickens no favors by supporting the propagation of large poultry houses. In addition to being killed they are horribly treated for all of their short lives. I am favoring the propagation of the Cornish Cross breed, a breed so anthropologically genetically selected that when a backyard chicken enthusiast like myself tries to raise them, they will at minimum get a 30% pre-slaughter mortality. This is a breed who has been bred to grow so fat so quickly to be made for the pot that they have heart attacks and die before the 6-8 weeks needed to go to slaughter are up.
A chicken still dies. I need to make sure my rational, holistic knowledge of that fact is included in the cost benefit analysis, and killing my own meat is the best way to not forget any aspect of that fact.
We are not strangers to death in our flock. It should be noted that we have had two taken by hawks; one of them was still a chick and had a little chick fluff left. Then a week ago, one of our hens dropped dead. We still aren't sure why, but we are suspecting that she was egg bound (where an egg/egg pieces get caught in her reproductive tract and block everything else.) We weren't forcefully sad about the event. My boyfriend keeps saying he is disappointed, not sad, that the chicken didn't make it to our dinner table.
But I am not wholly convinced by either of us. Sometimes we bring it up, saying simply, "poor Not-Penguin".
That being said, chickens are mean creatures. Not-penguin, the term we used to differentiate this barred rock who died from the other two, was one of two chicks we purchased after the first hawk victim was taken away. Because at that time the two of them were still babies while the other four were full fledged pullets (hen form, not laying eggs yet), they were really picked on. The Penguin and Not Penguin could be seen running through the yard together, often wing and wing touching. After Not Penguin collapsed and died, the first chicken trying to peck at it and eat it was The Penguin. So much for being butt buddies.
Is inter-chicken cruelty a good reason for why it is okay to kill these creatures? Is the selfishness of the species what makes it okay to take away the one thing all creatures desire to do (survive)? I am kind of banking on it. How they view the world is clearly different from how humans view the world. They are driven by instinct and outside events. Death is what will happen to them, in any scenario, and they will never be authors of it. That I have given them a good life while they are here is payment for the fact that I will profit from being that author.
Then again, sometimes I think, if a bunch of teenaged girls were locked in a high school, with ice cream, cheeseburgers and other treats in abundance to eat around them, would it be okay for us to kill them because they keep making fun of the ugly one and all they think about is shoes?
There will be a part II to these ramblings after our first slaughter.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part III
Turning his attention back to the leather-bound dictionary, he browsed through a couple of pages, taking note of a few words. He flipped to the end of the book, mindlessly reading through the definitions, pronunciations and word usage. "vru..." he tried, "vru'bech" as he lifted a finger to a nearby shrub and while looking at Onion. The Nü girl smiled at him and nodded her head. Plant. He pointed to the earth beneath him and offered "bech". She smiled again. Dirt. Vru'bech; made of much earth; plant. Similar to a word he already knew: vru'poh; made of many words; book.
What would they call a library? he wondered. Vru'vru'poh? he chuckled to himself. He opened the book to the back page, the index to find out, when something on the inside of the back cover caught his eye. It was a quick scribble, a message to Gregor. Cedric was feeling light-hearted in his linguistic adventures, and the man who asks no questions allowed himself to indulge his curiosity, just this once.
As Onion was putting the finishing touches to her row of the phonetic character "dae", Cedric's sudden tortured cries pierced her concentration and she dropped the quill from her fingertips. Again, Cedric's eyes scanned the inside back cover, hoping it was only a trick of the mind.
To the only person in the world who doesn't have to spread their legs for my affection,
Keep your wits about you and remember to come home some day. If I find you've gone over to the natives I'll drag your ass out of there, I don't care what woman's bed I have to pull you from! Take care of yourself brother. Rüern keep you pure, but not too pure.
What would they call a library? he wondered. Vru'vru'poh? he chuckled to himself. He opened the book to the back page, the index to find out, when something on the inside of the back cover caught his eye. It was a quick scribble, a message to Gregor. Cedric was feeling light-hearted in his linguistic adventures, and the man who asks no questions allowed himself to indulge his curiosity, just this once.
As Onion was putting the finishing touches to her row of the phonetic character "dae", Cedric's sudden tortured cries pierced her concentration and she dropped the quill from her fingertips. Again, Cedric's eyes scanned the inside back cover, hoping it was only a trick of the mind.
To the only person in the world who doesn't have to spread their legs for my affection,
Keep your wits about you and remember to come home some day. If I find you've gone over to the natives I'll drag your ass out of there, I don't care what woman's bed I have to pull you from! Take care of yourself brother. Rüern keep you pure, but not too pure.
Cedric
Whimpering and at a loss for words, Cedric tumbled to Onion's makeshift campfire study and seized the pen now lying in the dirt. Before she could react, he dipped the quill in the ink fountain and next to the signature in the dictionary, he began to write out his name.
*Insert picture of signatures here*
The pen was bolder in the former rendition of his name. Cast in confident strokes, the letters stood out as a signature unbowed. His current inscription was laid thickly, full of angst and caution. Every line bore the weight of uncertainty. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking the kinship of those two signatures.
Chapter 8 - Part II
Stubborn he thought, but as a denizen of the once powerful and still proud former Chosen Empire, he was as much captivated by a desire for linguistic autonomy. In Falloth, the people of the province speak a bastardized version of Yibouhese while their own oral traditions are long since forgotten. In the few colonies that exist in Benge, coin is exchanged and laws are written in the Empire's words.
But in Eirdred, the City Enforcers were required to use Eirdren. The Lithenese required all texts and official documents to be composed in Lithenese. Every trade ship out of Sandor bore dual manifests, one in the Empire's word and one in Sandoran. While now, Yibouh tolerated and begrudgingly respected this, as a young empire they were not so kind. Everything in the world would turn Yibouhese were it not for the Chosen Emprire, my people. There is no room for backwater scrawls and runes.
Onion huddled near the firelight, scrawling with a tattered quill on brittle dried parchment Cedric had pawned from the caravan a few days back. Summer, the time of the minor moon, was in full bloom, but the winds were becoming sharper as they climbed and the air thinned around them.
The main party camped no more than 2000 paces from the Eirdren who followed. They were close enough that the dull glow of lantern and firelight radiated from the colorful caravan in a soft dome. Sounds of rowdy diversions echoed in the air and even the wind had the scent of fermented buttermilk and millet wine on its breathe. Since entering the steppe, trees and brush had begun to thin out, leaving the group out in the open. Cedric tried to tell himself that any bandits would be drawn to the revelry of the Soa.
He and Vren took quiet solace in the company of the stars. Cedric had no memory of the night sky outside of Eirdred, and within the city only the brightest stars shone. But with no sign of civilization for leagues, he was stunned to see the sheer number of gleaming gems that inhabited the beyond. Stars that made it through to the citizens of Eirdred ruled the skyscape but they were accompanied with a whole host of small red, blue and orange minions in this part of the world. Perhaps that was what it was like to be a Keeper.
Nights like these Cedric was both anxious and curious to be outside of Eirdred; more the former than the latter. Yet here, the smells of refuse and sewage did not mix with the aromas of your meals. There was no background music of taunts and and temps of drunkards and whores. Here in the steppe, a very primal sense of contentment he did not know he had was touched and tickled.
It was a strange sensation to find himself enjoying moments in time, here and there although he lived an adventure he had never sought nor desired. Yet here he was, the allure of safety and security gone like a dream. Why?
"Too many questions." Cedric muttered to himself which caught the attention of the studious Onion. He waved her back to the work of tracing letters, but managed to have her surrender the dictionary for a while. Perhaps studying Nüish while the girl carried on could help rid his mind of those buzzing queries.
Cedric's white gloved hand brushed his pale blond shoulder-length hair behind his ear. He let it hang half loose, as was popular among the many Eirdren. He was no longer in the kitchen and was playing the role of a wealthy man's son. It was a refreshing change from the ponytail he usually wore but not so exotic as the fashions of the vast majority of the caravan. In these lands, men wore their straw-like black hair in rough braids and wax. Cedric found the Soa hairstyle repulsive and greasy-looking but kept his opinions to himself.
But in Eirdred, the City Enforcers were required to use Eirdren. The Lithenese required all texts and official documents to be composed in Lithenese. Every trade ship out of Sandor bore dual manifests, one in the Empire's word and one in Sandoran. While now, Yibouh tolerated and begrudgingly respected this, as a young empire they were not so kind. Everything in the world would turn Yibouhese were it not for the Chosen Emprire, my people. There is no room for backwater scrawls and runes.
Onion huddled near the firelight, scrawling with a tattered quill on brittle dried parchment Cedric had pawned from the caravan a few days back. Summer, the time of the minor moon, was in full bloom, but the winds were becoming sharper as they climbed and the air thinned around them.
The main party camped no more than 2000 paces from the Eirdren who followed. They were close enough that the dull glow of lantern and firelight radiated from the colorful caravan in a soft dome. Sounds of rowdy diversions echoed in the air and even the wind had the scent of fermented buttermilk and millet wine on its breathe. Since entering the steppe, trees and brush had begun to thin out, leaving the group out in the open. Cedric tried to tell himself that any bandits would be drawn to the revelry of the Soa.
He and Vren took quiet solace in the company of the stars. Cedric had no memory of the night sky outside of Eirdred, and within the city only the brightest stars shone. But with no sign of civilization for leagues, he was stunned to see the sheer number of gleaming gems that inhabited the beyond. Stars that made it through to the citizens of Eirdred ruled the skyscape but they were accompanied with a whole host of small red, blue and orange minions in this part of the world. Perhaps that was what it was like to be a Keeper.
Nights like these Cedric was both anxious and curious to be outside of Eirdred; more the former than the latter. Yet here, the smells of refuse and sewage did not mix with the aromas of your meals. There was no background music of taunts and and temps of drunkards and whores. Here in the steppe, a very primal sense of contentment he did not know he had was touched and tickled.
It was a strange sensation to find himself enjoying moments in time, here and there although he lived an adventure he had never sought nor desired. Yet here he was, the allure of safety and security gone like a dream. Why?
"Too many questions." Cedric muttered to himself which caught the attention of the studious Onion. He waved her back to the work of tracing letters, but managed to have her surrender the dictionary for a while. Perhaps studying Nüish while the girl carried on could help rid his mind of those buzzing queries.
Cedric's white gloved hand brushed his pale blond shoulder-length hair behind his ear. He let it hang half loose, as was popular among the many Eirdren. He was no longer in the kitchen and was playing the role of a wealthy man's son. It was a refreshing change from the ponytail he usually wore but not so exotic as the fashions of the vast majority of the caravan. In these lands, men wore their straw-like black hair in rough braids and wax. Cedric found the Soa hairstyle repulsive and greasy-looking but kept his opinions to himself.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part I
As the buttes of eastern Eirdred Province grew, so did the stones and cobbles on the road. Onion had become increasingly displeased in her role as sickly leper girl,and her bottom was woefully abused by the road while her sturdy, well-traveled legs went neglected.
The idle boredom did give Vren the opportunity to leaf through the first anthology of paper and ink she ever owned. If nothing else, it was an attractive book, though a little worn from use. Dog-eared pages produced hairline cracks between sheets of paper so thin they otherwise seemed glued together.
Cedric covered a yawn with one hand while the other clung tightly to the wéhkàu leading their cart at the tail end of the caravan. Onion shifted uncomfortably in her wrappings while sitting in the wagon. Leprosy, long since cured by the Scholar Emperor Pren during the Age of Medicine, often brought pilgrimages from the outer states of Yibouh to Pho-Boteth for healing. Few doctors desired to travel outside of civilization to help the barbarians of the empire, though they welcomed the sick without discrimination.
Yet although it was an easy cure, throughout the empire old fears and superstitions seemed to be more contagious than the disease itself. The two of them remained at the end of the caravan and camped just outside of the main Soa group, with their fanciful and colored covered wagons. Though the Eirdren who traveled with the Soa formed their own group, their companions did not bother Cedric or Vren. This was somewhat a boon to the former chef as he was not confident of his ability to repeat his story and Vren was completely useless in that area as well.
The Soa they traveled with were mostly merchants, but a couple of wéhkàu yak breeders joined along to care for the beasts of burden. Horegrel, the guide and father figure of the main Soa family called himself a gemmer, and had made a small fortune bringing useless colored rocks to rich Eirdren nobility. He loved the deepness of the Eirdren pockets, and how he could use their shiny metal to acquire furniture, skins and foodstuffs to bring back home. Regarding the Eirdren themselves, he felt bemused antipathy. His kindness to the city-dwelling Cedric was simply to spark the amusements of his fellow Soa travelers at the expense of of the former chef. Of course, Cedric could not understand their japes, but nonetheless, he understood the folly of inciting even stronger passions from his Soa traveling companions.
Cedric had taken notice of Onion's physical molestation of a small brown book, lined with silver in her gauzed hands.
Curious.
She had never once opened it. She just stared at it, gently cradling it in her hands as if it were a dear treasure, but too afraid to look upon it lest it fly away.
Gregor had been queerly kind to the woman, and while somewhere he could feel in his gut that this was natural of the Bei'thal, his mind nagged at him with sprouts of questions. True, they were questions that were instinctively crushed underfoot, but lately it was becoming harder and harder to suppress curiosity.
Still, since their incarceration and escape, she had been docile, perhaps even pathetic looking. A lost sheep with nowhere to go. Or maybe that was just the gauze.
Extending a pale, reddened hand recently blistered by wéhkàu reigns, he pointed to the Nü's recent leather-bound acquisition and exercised his poor and atrophied language skills.
"Tözjak vru'poh (LINGUISTIC NOTES: töz-give jak-you (implied 'to me') vru-grown from, poh-word, vru'poh = book)" he motioned with his hands and Onion complied by handing over the book to him. She even seemed relieved to be free of it, strangely enough.
"Gregor's dictionary." he muttered, not entirely sure how he knew. He quickly flipped through the pages, looking for the words, "Read" "Understand" and "Dictionary" to fashion a sentence to inquire about Onion's level of comprehension of the text.
"Zuo." was the response; no, a word he understood well in Nüish. He flipped more pages and pointed to a rock. "pai'vik (LINGUISTIC NOTES: pai - part of, vik - mountain, pai'vik = rock)" he ventured in Nüish then followed shortly with the Lithenese, "folth" for boulder. It was Onion's turn now, and strange as it sounds felt to her lips, she reproduced his word with a level of success she did not realize she was capable of.
"Folth."
Cedric smiled. He was getting somewhere.
In this way the two passed the time. The changing landscape from broken plateau to foothills provided more opportunities for the acquisition of nouns and verbs. At camp, Cedric tried his hand at teaching her the phonetic alphabet of the eastern coast of the empire, codified when Eirdred, Lithen and Sandor were still the Chosen Empire. Yibouhese glyphs that were used regularly in administration and in the education of the nobility, but were only occasionally peppered in daily correspondence, could come later.
It was a trying task, especially since the Nü refused to learn the phonetic alphabet to write down her own language. The dictionary, both the Nüish and Lithenese sides had been written entirely in Chosen script. There existed a script for the tribes of the Outer Crest developed largely by the northern Nü, who had ended their nomadic lifestyles and gravitated towards population centers generations before the southern part of the archipelago. Few southerners understood this script, but Onion vowed that if she were ever to gain literacy in her native tongue, it would be with that writing style. She may have begun learning Lithenese to interact on the continent, but she would become literate to one day interact again with her people.
The idle boredom did give Vren the opportunity to leaf through the first anthology of paper and ink she ever owned. If nothing else, it was an attractive book, though a little worn from use. Dog-eared pages produced hairline cracks between sheets of paper so thin they otherwise seemed glued together.
Cedric covered a yawn with one hand while the other clung tightly to the wéhkàu leading their cart at the tail end of the caravan. Onion shifted uncomfortably in her wrappings while sitting in the wagon. Leprosy, long since cured by the Scholar Emperor Pren during the Age of Medicine, often brought pilgrimages from the outer states of Yibouh to Pho-Boteth for healing. Few doctors desired to travel outside of civilization to help the barbarians of the empire, though they welcomed the sick without discrimination.
Yet although it was an easy cure, throughout the empire old fears and superstitions seemed to be more contagious than the disease itself. The two of them remained at the end of the caravan and camped just outside of the main Soa group, with their fanciful and colored covered wagons. Though the Eirdren who traveled with the Soa formed their own group, their companions did not bother Cedric or Vren. This was somewhat a boon to the former chef as he was not confident of his ability to repeat his story and Vren was completely useless in that area as well.
The Soa they traveled with were mostly merchants, but a couple of wéhkàu yak breeders joined along to care for the beasts of burden. Horegrel, the guide and father figure of the main Soa family called himself a gemmer, and had made a small fortune bringing useless colored rocks to rich Eirdren nobility. He loved the deepness of the Eirdren pockets, and how he could use their shiny metal to acquire furniture, skins and foodstuffs to bring back home. Regarding the Eirdren themselves, he felt bemused antipathy. His kindness to the city-dwelling Cedric was simply to spark the amusements of his fellow Soa travelers at the expense of of the former chef. Of course, Cedric could not understand their japes, but nonetheless, he understood the folly of inciting even stronger passions from his Soa traveling companions.
Cedric had taken notice of Onion's physical molestation of a small brown book, lined with silver in her gauzed hands.
Curious.
She had never once opened it. She just stared at it, gently cradling it in her hands as if it were a dear treasure, but too afraid to look upon it lest it fly away.
Gregor had been queerly kind to the woman, and while somewhere he could feel in his gut that this was natural of the Bei'thal, his mind nagged at him with sprouts of questions. True, they were questions that were instinctively crushed underfoot, but lately it was becoming harder and harder to suppress curiosity.
Still, since their incarceration and escape, she had been docile, perhaps even pathetic looking. A lost sheep with nowhere to go. Or maybe that was just the gauze.
Extending a pale, reddened hand recently blistered by wéhkàu reigns, he pointed to the Nü's recent leather-bound acquisition and exercised his poor and atrophied language skills.
"Tözjak vru'poh (LINGUISTIC NOTES: töz-give jak-you (implied 'to me') vru-grown from, poh-word, vru'poh = book)" he motioned with his hands and Onion complied by handing over the book to him. She even seemed relieved to be free of it, strangely enough.
"Gregor's dictionary." he muttered, not entirely sure how he knew. He quickly flipped through the pages, looking for the words, "Read" "Understand" and "Dictionary" to fashion a sentence to inquire about Onion's level of comprehension of the text.
"Zuo." was the response; no, a word he understood well in Nüish. He flipped more pages and pointed to a rock. "pai'vik (LINGUISTIC NOTES: pai - part of, vik - mountain, pai'vik = rock)" he ventured in Nüish then followed shortly with the Lithenese, "folth" for boulder. It was Onion's turn now, and strange as it sounds felt to her lips, she reproduced his word with a level of success she did not realize she was capable of.
"Folth."
Cedric smiled. He was getting somewhere.
In this way the two passed the time. The changing landscape from broken plateau to foothills provided more opportunities for the acquisition of nouns and verbs. At camp, Cedric tried his hand at teaching her the phonetic alphabet of the eastern coast of the empire, codified when Eirdred, Lithen and Sandor were still the Chosen Empire. Yibouhese glyphs that were used regularly in administration and in the education of the nobility, but were only occasionally peppered in daily correspondence, could come later.
It was a trying task, especially since the Nü refused to learn the phonetic alphabet to write down her own language. The dictionary, both the Nüish and Lithenese sides had been written entirely in Chosen script. There existed a script for the tribes of the Outer Crest developed largely by the northern Nü, who had ended their nomadic lifestyles and gravitated towards population centers generations before the southern part of the archipelago. Few southerners understood this script, but Onion vowed that if she were ever to gain literacy in her native tongue, it would be with that writing style. She may have begun learning Lithenese to interact on the continent, but she would become literate to one day interact again with her people.
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