Thankyou very much for an excellent review. I tried harder in Chapter 2 to avoid my mistakes of Chapter 1! Future writing will be much shorter sections – I got quite carried away!
Sci Fi & Fantasy / As Yet Untitled - Chapter 2
Chapter 2 – Discoveries
The students sat in the large lecture room, some listening in rapt attentiveness, but most draped over their desks, barely awake. Such were the problems of widening access at Thelorn University, with the capable and the lazy thrown together to fill course quotas. It didn’t help Master Chath’s cause that his subject this afternoon, Comparative History, was a core unit, designed to broaden the education of students who studied a wide array of subjects, both exotic and banal. Most students reluctantly attended units such as this simply to tick the right boxes on their unit lists and graduate on time.
‘As you can clearly see from the following excerpt before you…pay attention at the back…there is a strong correlation between the historical facts set out in Wilbor’s Third Concise Histories, and the rationale behind the current setting of trade tariffs between the Empire and the Skoramian Free States. To suggest that we enter such harsh tariff rounds under duress is illogical when one considers that the Empire has always flourished in trade. Often agreements will be reached that seem to offer little recompense, but as Wilbor showed in his Histories, we have always used such devices as a lure for other nations, bringing them closer to us by offering outlets for their goods, thus enabling the reverse to take place when it is to the Empire’s advantage. It’s all a case of Applied Economics. You would do well to learn some of the other correlations between past and present. After all, how may we learn but from experience? And of course, the examining board have a certain penchant for these cycles of occurrences.’
The lecturer straightened the glasses on his beaked nose and shuffled his papers around on his wide desk, allowing the students to digest his last comments. Sunlight poured through the high windows as the afternoon waxed.
Quite brilliant I thought. Highly incisive. Of course, some of them here will be lucky to find the exam room with a map, let alone provide a decent answer to such questions. Why am I still teaching here? I forget sometimes…perhaps it’s the routine. I could certainly do with that retirement option now. Feet up on the windowsill, watching the sun rise over the Mountains of Yerzen, spiced tea beside me, printed texts by my own hand before me to nose through… Aah… One day Chath, one day.
‘I see that some of you are having trouble maintaining even the barest illusion of learning.’ He pouted as he waved his hand at the rows of students. ‘Comparative History is required learning, whether you wish to study Fine Art, Modern Languages or even Applied Meteorology. The very processes of applied learning and thoughtful hypothesising are most useful when carried over to your main subjects.’ He sighed and prodded a loose piece of paper that sat on the corner of his desk. ‘Hmm. Well I think we’ve reached audience saturation for one afternoon. Very well, class dismissed. Remember to…’ His last sentence was drowned out in the scraping of chairs as the students poured out of the room, sudden vigour enthusing their wearied bodies as they contemplated the rest of the day with no more lectures. He turned to his desk and began sorting his notes.
‘Master Chath, Sir?’
He carried on his seemingly aimless sorting and shuffling for a time, placing his completed lecture notes into an empty file, ready for transcription to his study tomes that evening. When he was done, he turned and looked up into the young face before him. The student was nearly as short as he, but the youthful blush of energy still suffused her features, where his had long since been replaced by the lines and wrinkles of experience and age. A shock of short red hair sat above large green eyes which twinkled with curiosity. A brief delay, and then he had the name.
‘Ah, Twist. Good of you to stay behind. I wanted to speak with you.’ He smiled inwardly as a puzzled look crossed her face.
‘You didn’t mention that. I was going to say something to you. Something I’ve been working on. It’s very exciting, perhaps momentous…’ A sudden wave of Chath’s hands stopped her mid-sentence.
‘Always the eager one. You’re a good pupil, very diligent. A bit quiet perhaps, but then I too know the burden of being one of the few in a class who actually enjoy the subject. Aaah…my student days….’ A wistful look crossed his face, and the two of them stood there silently as the sun’s rays slowly retreated from the room, afternoon fading into early dusk.
Twist’s impatience finally told. ‘Master Chath. I have solved the clue you set me. The Treatise of Xa’Maralin. Such a fascinating work, but I found it. The missing keys to the Sigil you uncovered at Jhaerl decades ago. It’s amazing. The keys were hidden, but yet right there for anyone to see. It’s hard to explain…’ She stopped as she watched the colour drain from Chath’s face. He reached out to steady himself against the desk and motioned at the nearest chair. Twist brought it over for him to sit in, and then fetched another for herself. She reached into her pack and brought out a sheaf of notes, neatly written and folded.
‘Here. See for yourself. I can’t remember ever being more excited about my studies. Is it important then? I know I shouldn’t really ask, I mean it was a favour to you, you said. Because you’re so busy with the extra intake from the new Literature Wing’. Her arms repeatedly crossed and uncrossed as she spoke, too elated to remain still. Chath’s eyes gleamed with both excitement and fear.
Gods. I didn’t actually think she’d find it. What have I done? She’s bright, she’ll work it out, or at least something similar. After all this time, and not even I could solve the problem.
He coughed nervously, looking at the notes before him. ‘Twist. This is excellent work. I think you would benefit from another such problem. To aid your studies of course – perhaps more towards your main subject. Master Tamor has told me that you are a very adept Philosophy student, and a research or teaching post itself is a possibility if you keep yourself focused. Yes, similar…let me see.’
Twist raised an eyebrow. ‘ But, Master Chath. The Treatise. Will you not explain what I have found? I know it is a key to one of the Jhaerl Sigils, but no more. How is it linked? Does it predate Jhaerl’s destruction in 693 by the Xa’Charn?’ Her words tumbled out.
Chath sighed. ‘Leave it with me. I must study it. Now go and be a proper student like the others. While the evening away in a tavern or on the lakeside soaking up the last rays of the day. Too much study will make you seem awkward eventually. Nobody likes a genius that can’t hold a proper conversation. Just look at Professor Zorihn!’ He coughed nervously and put Twist’s notes into his work satchel.
‘Master. I…’ Twist agonised. Why is he dismissing me like this? Surely we must discuss this find. I can explain how I found the keys, and he can enlighten me as to their origins. She looked at her lecturer with pleading intensity.
‘Please. I will call for you.’ He relented. ‘Yes. I must examine the work myself first, and then I will be able to share it. Of course, a find such as this, however innocuous the initial challenge, is of great value to the Historical Department. I would need to write a paper on it. You will of course be credited with research, and doubtless the topics of Applied Problem Solving and Historical Finds could be woven into your Thesis.’
He stood and brushed his robe straight, then stretched his aging arms and rolled his neck, feeling the kinks and knots of tired muscle. ‘Go on, off with you Twist. Well done, you are to be congratulated, but I am too tired to discuss this further. We crotchety lecturers need our rest, even if you young scamps do not.’ A bright smile lit his face and he waved his student away.
Twist acquiesced and gathered her things. ‘Of course, sorry Master Chath. I forgot myself for a moment. I will try to enjoy myself this weekend, with the Seasons End celebrations. Good evening to you, and thank you for allowing me to help you.’ She sketched a small bow and headed for the door.
She followed the corridor to the main doors to the History Wing, and then walked across the courtyard, the repetitive harshness of her shoes on gravel wearing away at her will. There is more to this than at first I thought. Chath is hiding something. Surely he needs my help. Tsk, she chided herself. You are but a student Twist Putran. good enough that a Master shows interest in your research and chooses to offer you more… Perhaps the Seasons End will do me good, despite the gaudy frivolity that I dislike.
She turned at the end of the courtyard and saw a group of students laughing and carousing as they headed out of the campus gates and towards the taverns that ringed the centre of Thelorn. Lessons forgotten, they were ready to welcome in the summer with typical student energy. Pausing briefly to consider her options, she decided to head back to her rooms first, and have a meal and a change of clothes before joining the other students on the customary evening of drinking that preceded Seasons End.
Chath stood at the window of the lecture room, watching Twist as she walked back to her rooms in one of the smaller student houses. A third year student, and with her Uncle’s influence, she had obtained her own rooms in a quieter house, where she could study more effectively. Chath knew she was a reserved, bookish type, the sort that would excel under the right tutelage.
What am I getting you into, young girl? I know your sort, you won’t let this lie. You’ll be after my research, asking, prodding, examining. Oh for your head to be turned by some young handsome officer, who can whisk you away to the capital. There you could peruse the Imperial Libraries all you want, and need never wonder about some ancient Treatise, a few sigil keys and a washed up lecturer.
Wearily he stooped to pick up his satchel, and walked out into the corridor, the echoes of his footsteps carrying along its great length, before reverberating back to him in fragments of sound. The History Wing was now deserted, students out in the town, lecturers back at their quarters or in the Library; even the caretaker had completed his first inspection of building.
Chath left the Wing via a side door, and walked across the thin strip of gravel that bordered the building to a stone bench. He sat down, limbs gratefully easing onto the weathered surface. The sun was nearing its nadir, perhaps half an hour before night descended. The air was cooling, yet still pleasant enough, with summer almost upon them. A nest of birds was lodged in the corner of the join between the main building and gable end, its occupants tweeting away as an adult bird fed its hatchlings with worms. Chath observed the feeding motions for a few minutes, allowing the worries of the day to smooth themselves out of his mind. It was this quieter time between the end of his day’s lectures and his scheduled mealtime in the staff canteen that he treasured most. Time to reflect and relax after hours of coaxing knowledge into a mixture of eager and unwilling students.
He’d been a lecturer in the History Department for eleven years now, after turning down a professor’s chair at his local college in Rhazan, far out by the border with the hostile Rackan Plains. He’d felt the need to move into a more settled position, free from fear of raids and uprisings from the vicious people of the plains, and accepted a senior lecturing role at the hallowed University of Thelorn, acknowledged centre of learning throughout the Empire. Like Twist, in whom he saw many parallels, he had been a brilliant student. Forced to take up apprenticeship in his father’s small tannery business due to tough times, he had neglected his studies for a number of his formative years, but on his parents untimely death at the hands of the near monthly plainsmen raids, he had sold what was left of the family holdings and returned to his studies at the local Rhazan college, where his mind once more found release in the study of ancient texts.
Aah, those days. I wonder sometimes. If my parents hadn’t been killed, would I still be there now, running the family business while my father, now decrepit looked on in patronising pride? Did my life not turn out better this way? I have everything I could wish for here, comfortable quarters, access to almost every known book and work of study, decent pay to hoard for when my mind begins to wander too much…
‘Like now you fool’, he spoke the words out loud, bringing himself to with a jolt. Stop dwelling on the past. Plenty of time for that when you’re too old to do anything else! His stomach rumbled loudly and he patted it absently. After a short time he took the hint and stood to make his way to the canteen, the thought of hot food already bringing him back to full alertness. He removed his shoes and walked slowly across the gravel, allowing his feet to sink in to the stones, their yielding roughness massaging his tired soles.
Back in the nest, the birds continued their endless cycle of feeding their young the fruits of their hunting, the hatchlings oblivious to the efforts of their parents to keep the cycle constant.
A stiff breeze blew across the bow of the single masted skiff, forcing Andreon to lean on the tiller. The boat twitched as it caught the wind and altered course, and then picked up speed as it glided towards the shore. Above, gulls called out, their huge wings keeping them aloft effortlessly as they circled Andreon’s catch. The fish lay in the net, thrashing and flapping as they suffocated in the air, rapidly drying out in the stern of the skiff. The late spring morning was clear and bright, the sun having risen long after Andreon had set out to make his catch, and the wind carried a crisp, clear note across the bay. As he manoeuvred the boat into a small beach set to the western side of the cove, Andreon glanced up at the small cliffs that lined the natural harbour. Birds nested in hollows set into the rock, and constant cries of the young were only silenced when a parent returned with some fish to put in their ever hungry mouths. The avian population, including some rarer gulls for which only the warmth of this end of the Island chain provided comfort, had been here long before Man, and, mused Andreon, would be here long after his bones had gone.
So peaceful and tranquil. I hope I don’t get sent to military training in Forahn anytime soon. Life here is almost perfect. Why would I want to see the world? everything I love most is here. The sea, the noise of the birds, Seaview and its people. All of life’s wonder is here on the Island of Tass.
The boat gently slid onto the shingle, and, after a few more waves had nudged its prow onto the beach, Andreon stood and leaped out of the boat. He took hold of the newly twined rope tied to the front and pulled the skiff further up the beach in time to the assistance of the waves. Once on the level, it proved quite easy to drag the boat along the damp shingle to its usual resting place, where Andreon secured it beside a large tree trunk that had lain on the beach before even his father fished out of this cove.
A cloud bank floated over from the other side of the island, patchily filtering the sunlight into stray shafts. The haze was still warm though, and Andreon stretched the knots out of his limbs. Leaning down to rub the sea grime from his rough working trousers, he reflected on the simplicity of his role within the village. He fished, with a small boat and a simple net. Fish was bountiful off the headland on which his village stood, as long as you knew how the schools congregated, following the swell of the sea and its tides, and how to steer and sail the boat, mindful of the rocks and swirling currents around the sea-facing parts of the headland. All his experience had been handed down from his father and his mate, who had fished a larger two-man vessel in the decades past when the village had been twice its present size. Old skills, kept alive in the community tradition.
Seaview only needs me to fish now. Too many people have moved away, just the old and very young left with the mothers. Good men lured away by the promise of better things inland, shunning our peaceful way of life. ‘Village Boy’ they called me, the group that came back for the Seasons End festival last year, taunting and teasing. I don’t care. I’m proud of what I do, the only youth in the village, providing with strong arms what the weaker can not. We all work together at our crafts to sustain ourselves.
He walked over to the cliff face to relieve himself, wondering if those clouds above meant rain later. He returned to the shore and drew up his catch in the net, putting it in the large, tall basket he’d tied to the tree before he set out that morning. The fish flopped and massed in the bottom, a mixture of small bluefish and larger white ones, flat sided and a decent meal in themselves. A good catch, he thought.
Old Henna makes our winter clothes with her large needles and gut, Stefan fashions what furniture we need from wood, and maintains the picket fence with Gird. Others cook and steam the fish, while Petter, Mork and Radhan hunt the small boars that forage around the copse by the river. We all pull together, and life is harmonious. The sum of our parts is greater than its individuals, as Elder Planier likes to say.
He secured a large cloth over the basket mouth and hauled the basket onto his back, putting his arms through the handles to make a crude but effective backpack, and proceeded up the worn path that cut into the shallower part of the cliff.
‘Village Boy’ indeed. I’ll give them a piece of my mind if they come back this year, gloating and flaunting their successes to their parents. Too many coastal villages on the Islands have turned into ghost settlements. All the young blood gone to the towns, leaving the rest to steady decline and isolation. We’re Islanders. Not city dwellers. If they dislike our way of life so much, they should head off to the mainland, where the streets of Kcerre are paved with the gold of failed ambitions. He sneered and adjusted the load as he turned onto a steeper section of path, the ground temporarily stepped to traverse the incline. The wind increased to a stiffer gust as he gained height, blowing through his hair and cooling his limbs.
As he reached the top of the broad cliff, now breathing heavily from his exertions, he stopped and sniffed the air on impulse. Then he turned his head to listen intently. The wind whistling through the sparse berry bushes was the only noise.
Strange, it’s very quiet over at the village, and I can’t smell the spit fires. Surely they would have started them up by now, Seasons End is tomorrow and Elder Planier promised a huge feast to honour our hard work this Spring. I’ve only been gone the morning, I don’t understand it.
He resumed walking, and then increased to a faster pace as the pasture rolled around him. The sheep grazed on the lush grass, content enough to ignore him as he strode through their midst. Still no sounds from the village, only the steady munching of grass from the sheep around him, and the gentle whistling of the sea breeze as it whipped around the rocky coast around him. The nearer he got to the village, the more frantic became his thoughts. His instincts told him that something was amiss. What’s happened? There’s nothing, no noise! There was no smoke coming from any of the houses, no sounds of wood being chopped, or happy banter, only an eerie silence.
He passed the gap in the picket fence that marked the village’s coastward boundary, nearly running now, the basket of fish on his back feeling like lead. He reached his house and dropped the basket against the inside wall of his small yard, pausing then only to rush inside to fetch his spear and swap his sea-dampened cloak for a fresh one, before systematically running into every house and outbuilding. It was as if everyone had simply vanished; half-ground meal was still in a shallow bowl, one house was still warm, the embers of the hearth fire still glowing. Doors were open, wet washing hung from lines, all signs of recent activity, now suddenly ceased. He called out names – Stefan, Henna, Radhan!, It took him several minutes to work his way around the loose ring of dwelling- and work buildings that supported the small population. He ran onwards, calling out as he went. He suddenly considered that they might all be gathered in the main hall for a meeting or council session. Perhaps a delegate from another village had come to offer trade agreements. He opened the sturdy doors at the entrance to the tall village hall and rushed inside, to be greeted only by the sound of a gull that had poked its way through the roof and was ambling around the raised stage at the end of the hall, cawing away as it looked for escape. He blinked and stopped momentarily, trying to gather his senses. Looking around he saw a broom against the wall and took it up, waving it at the gull, which hopped disagreeably away towards the front door. Andreon waved one last time and the bird, sensing its freedom, took flight and flapped off into the air.
Once more, Andreon called out the names of all the villagers, turning in aimless circles as his fears magnified. He shouted until his voice was nearly hoarse and tears of worry stood in his eyes.
But no reply came. Seaview was deserted, the absurd realisation of the situation striking him as he stood in the centre of the open space that was the communal area. Almost in disbelief, he ran through the main gate, and down the broad path towards the river, hoping that everyone had gone there. His heart beat faster as he ran, his brain too manic to think straight now.
Surely they’re all by the river then. Perhaps Kifi is having one of her swimming lessons for the children. The dammed off pool by the river bend is large enough for lessons in the Spring, when the ice has melted and before the sun dries off the water. Yes…Kifi is there, and the grandparents are encouraging the children… that must be it…
He continued to run, heart pounding in his chest as he tried not to contemplate anything else. He rounded the small stand of oaks that stood between the path and the pool, guarding it from people who wandered along the path between settlements. The warm air hazed through the branches of the willows that dangled by the water, ghosting reflections in dappled light all around, but there was nobody there, no villagers watching swimming lessons. Even the animal life had stilled, an eerie hush pervading the scene.
Andreon stood by the water’s edge and closed his eyes. He counted slowly to five and then opened them again. Still nothing. He closed them again and felt the tears rising once more. He clenched his fists and forced himself to calm down, breathing more slowly and relaxing his muscles.
What’s happened? Where has everyone gone? There’s no sign of them, they just left their things and vanished…someone help me! Am I going crazy?
Gradually he calmed himself, reassessing all that he had seen in the past few minutes, slowly and logically checking his memories to be sure of himself. He scanned the surroundings. The sun was still bright in the sky, nearing midday, and the air was still. Too still, he thought. Where are the birds? Where are the squirrels that cavort in the trees? Or the pair of foxes that slink around here during the day?
He gathered his thoughts about him, drawing them in close to the front of his mind, urging himself to go about this in a rational manner, as Elder Planier had taught him.
‘What you do not understand, must be approached from a rational angle. Always think clearly and order your thoughts. Too much time is wasted by those too impetuous to plan their actions.’ The village Elder had much to say on such wise topics, rambling for hours at a time to assembled children when they were gathered at the hall for lessons.
He walked back to the village, a plan slowly forming in his mind. He would go to the next village, Brightbush, which lay half a day’s walk inland. First he’d need to go back to his small house and gather some essentials for the trip. Madness…I’ve not left the village for months. It seems insane that I’m being so calm and rational about this, but I’ve already run around screaming and that didn’t work. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for it…they can’t have simply ceased to exist…that’s completely stupid.
Andreon strode back into Seaview and towards his modest dwelling, finished with a render of lime and daub like the other buildings of this part of the island. Walls of head height, and a tall roof with a half floor put in above for sleeping, a hearth set on side for a fire, a series of shelves and cupboards for storage, and furniture made locally or traded for with other towns and villages.
It was a straightforward existence, the harmony of small villages with the land lending a deep sense of fulfilment to its stewards. Here in Seaview, there were sheep which grazed on the abundant grassland, providing wool, a score of goats for milk, plentiful fish to eat or trade with inland settlements, the occasional boar for a feast if one wandered too close to the livestock. Local crafts such as embroidery or clothes making thrived here, the western end of Tass was a centre for the making of sturdy boots and durable work clothes for the Island chain. The village had survived well considering that most of the strong and clever youths had been lured away to the Inland towns over the past decade. Hardly flourishing, some would complain at council meetings, but they did not want for anything, even during the unusually harsh winter that had finished a few months ago.
He stepped into his front room and looked about him, assaying his possessions for those that would be of use on his journey. He took up his sturdy backpack and started to fill it; spare shoes, warmer leggings and a spare shirt in case the weather was cooler inland, his small shaving kit, a pack of flatbread he always kept spare and some apples, a notebook and some fine charcoal sticks that he used for his crude, stylised drawings of coastal landscapes, and a watertight package containing tinderbox and flint. Still warm, he rolled his cloak up and tied it to the underside of the pack, and it could also serve as a bedroll if he needed it. He drew up the straps and hefted the pack onto his shoulders, adjusting the straps when he found that his shoulders had gained some bulk from handling his skiff in rough winter seas. Returning his spear, he reached for his stout walking staff, slid a small axe into a holster by his belt, and then looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but smile wryly at his reflection.
A fine sight. All ready and prepared for an adventure. I’ve always wanted to explore the rest of the Island, yet never had the opportunity. Strange and worrying as this situation is, I should be glad of the chance to escape the peaceful life for a few days. I’ll find them in Brightbush, or maybe at the market in Ghor inland…Yes, and then back in a few days. I’ll have missed Season’s End, but at least everything can get back to normal.
He grinned foolishly at himself, as if bleak humour were the only thing keeping him sane. Too overwhelmed by the complete disappearance of the entire village’s populace; all thirty eight of them, he was attempting to apply rational thought to his search.
Perhaps I would have made a good soldier after all…Planier would be proud of me now, so calm and collected in the face of this bizarre occurrence. Bizarre? Not even close…
A rumbling from his stomach reminded him that it was lunchtime, and Andreon forced himself to spare a few moments for food. Taking the end of a loaf from its wooden bin, he then cut a few thick slices of ham from the cured leg of pork hanging in his pantry, and added to it some chunks of a rich, mature cheese for which he’d traded a few hours fence making, chewing away quietly as he answered his body’s basic needs. The brief meal was washed down with a small mug of his best ale, which he’d brewed especially for Season’s End. Might as well have some now, even if I’m the only one here to enjoy it…
He collected his things and headed for the front door, where he paused momentarily. A deep breath, and then off. He closed and was about to lock his door, then stopped and went back in to collect the basket of fish he’d spent all morning catching. He carried it over to the salting tub that rested to one side of his house and tipped the fish in, then took up the large spoon and stirred salt around and over the glistening forms, preserving them for a time when they would be needed. The fish had a variety of uses; it could be cooked over a spit the old fashioned way, smoked and left to mature, or even wrapped in broad leaves and steamed over a boiling pot. What the villagers didn’t eat, the cats would get. The cats are gone too, he observed.
Could be a while until these get eaten if I don’t find the others, Andreon reflected. Still, better not to waste it. He returned to lock his front door again, and then walked towards the front gate. He stopped and looked around one last time, taking in a view of the village as if he knew it would be his last. Then he moved off, with a brisk pace and a cheery whistle that offset the turmoil and confusion in his mind. The path from the village led for about half a league before joining the main road that ringed the coast, linking the outlying settlements at the western end of Tass.
Andreon’s leaving was noted by no one, all of the events of that day having gone completely unnoticed as the village was far off the main roads, half a day’s walk or at least an hour’s ride from the next settlement. The strange scene unfolded in anonymity; an empty village, and its now sole occupant setting out in search of the other inhabitants, and all a day before the busiest festival day of the year. The spring afternoon passed peacefully over Seaview, the sheep continued to graze, and the sun continued its steady passage across the azure sky.
Twist coughed violently, an explosive rush of heat building in her lungs as the rough Ghor Malt hit her stomach. She pounded the table furiously, tears streaming from her eyes, ignoring the laughs and jeers of the crowd of students she’d joined in the Harpist’s Rest for the Season’s End festivities. The room span briefly as she tried to settle herself. I must not show weakness like this, she chided herself and then forced herself to raise her glass above her head in the customary manner, to prove that she had indeed downed the potent shot in one go.
The nearest students applauded and the humiliation was instantly forgotten as they returned to their drinking games. Twist smiled and pretended to be reluctantly enjoying herself. Deep down she writhed and squirmed, mired in her own horror at being in such an adverse environment. Social conversation was a personal dislike of hers, and mixing it with drink to make rowdy, social conversation only made it worse. She felt helpless and alone as all around her the other students lost what little self-control they had started with and took up a variety of singing chants, ran drinking games and told lewd jokes at the tops of their voices.
Disgusting, she thought to herself, smiling and nodding as the almost unconscious student next to her enquired as to whether she was having a good time. Why I convinced myself to come here I’ll never know. I did try and enjoy myself, even trying that hard malt… or is it paint stripper? I wish I’d not bothered now, I’d have been better back in my quarters with a book.
She glanced about her at the tavern. It was one of the larger hostelries in Thelorn, with some two hundred drunken students and locals celebrating the eve of Season’s End in the traditional manner, with song and merriment, fuelled by alcohol. The tavern itself was one of the more respectable places in town, the tables, chairs and bar of a solid, polished oak, and good quality ale sloshed about in large tankards and jugs. The staff were uncharacteristically well educated, and the food was even vaguely palatable. Despite the immense spending power of several thousand students, most of the bars and pubs in Thelorn had yet to grasp the concept of customer service and satisfaction, considering their clientele to be too excited or unfussy to care. Only in those places frequented by lecturers or other comparatively well to do locals was there an emphasis on providing a memorable experience for the public.
Twist sighed and pulled the corner of her cloak from underneath the sleeping form of a young man next to her, his mouth agape, arms and legs draped carelessly. She stood to leave and almost ran into a barmaid, who approximated a pirouette as she balanced herself whilst holding four outsize tankards in one arm and a trencher of sliced bread and cheeses in the other.
‘Oi!…Watch where you’re going you’, the barmaid said, in the tone of one who’d had quite enough of serving customers for one day.
‘Sorry… ‘, replied Twist and she carried on towards the door, winding in and out of groups of students, their chairs and tables having been dragged around to form uneven groups. She pushed through the throng that loitered by the doors, their revelry spilling into the street, and walked along the lane to the junction with Market Street, one of the main thoroughfares through Thelorn. Stopping to straighten out her rumpled clothes, she gulped in deep breaths of the vapour-free air, banishing the uncomfortable experience of the last hour from her mind.
Better that I find something else to distract my mind from those sigils. Chath told me to ignore it for now, so I shall. Perhaps the Museum of Science would be quiet today – with everyone too busy getting drunk to indulge in some intelligent learning. Yes…I’ll wander down to the Museum, maybe have a relaxing coffee in Ilena’s Hut. While away the rest of the evening and see what tomorrow brings.
She walked along the smooth cobbles of Market Street, far quieter than it would be at almost any other time of the year, until she came to Centre Square, the rather unimaginatively named heart of the city. A small crowd of people were sitting and drinking by the edge of the large fountain that dominated the Square, its stylised statues of large sea fish spurting water from stone mouths. She wrinkled her nose as she passed it, reflecting on the fact that the overpaid artist had never actually been to the sea, let alone seen sea fish, if his statues were anything to go by. They were either out of proportion, with heads far too big for bodies and fins to support, or totally imaginary creatures, like figments of wild fantasy. At the far corner of the square, a smaller street led off to the Museum, three and four storey merchant houses crowding the light away from the cobbles. This was the older part of the city, away from the comparatively more recent streets of bars and restaurants that thrived on student trade, and life here was also more conservative and laid back. It was, reflected Twist as she trod the cobbles quietly, a far better place to be.
I may try and get rooms here for next year, if I can persuade Uncle that it would be in my best interests. The campus is too noisy, I need peace and quiet to study. Besides, if I apply myself I could graduate with full honours, perhaps even be invited to stay on for a Doctorate. Oh… that would be perfect. No rushing out to get a meaningless job in the civil service, or going into a family business to make ends meet, like most of the other students.
She rounded the last building on the narrow street, blinking as she emerged into the late evening rays of light that poured across the stones, reflecting off the whitewashed stone of the Museum. It was a moderately large and curious edifice, its angular stone structure completely at odds with the traditional timbered townhouses of the street in which it stood, and yet because it did not draw too many people to it or over exert its presence, the locals didn’t seem to mind its presence, preferring it to the far bigger and brasher Museum of Arms a few streets away.
Twist climbed the wide steps and passed through the entrance, smiling to the aging janitor, who raised his hand in recognition. She was a frequent visitor here, its long rooms of scientific exhibits kept her mind occupied for hours at a time when she felt too fraught to carry on her other studies. The building was almost empty. This close to closing time and with Season’s End upon them, most of the staff had themselves gone off to celebrate. The corridors still had lit torches in them, and the slowly setting sun cast long shadows through the variously shaped windows, the Museum’s designer having realised the effect of making the building partly an exhibit in itself.
Twist wandered slowly, along the corridor of Geology, and then across to the large room containing the Empire’s second finest example of an Orrery, the only superior one being found in the Imperial Meteorological Offices in Kcerre. She stood and marvelled as she always did at its huge form. Large rings of brass and bronze described the various arcs of the planet around the Sun, the moon and the three bodies nearest the planet, believed to be a single planet with two moons. Smaller concentric circles on the floor, and a mosaic of descriptive and coloured tiles pointed out features such as the comet that passed through the region every four score years, its course an elliptical pattern around the Sun.
Twist always found new things to notice about the work – Astronomy was a passion of hers that she preferred to indulge in secret. Her own hobby that no one intruded upon, it offered escape for her flights of fancy, as she imagined these moons and planets and what lay beyond them.
Quiet at last. No drunken students. I wonder how many of them would actually understand this. I’m not sure whether to regret that this amazing information about the heavens is regarded as so bookish and boring as to interest almost no one, or to rejoice that I get these opportunities to study it in silence.
Time passed and the shadows lengthened, eventually vanishing to leave the flickering torches as the only source of light. Twist came to and realised that she’d been entranced by the Orrery for at least an hour. She rubbed her eyes and set off for the front doors, already cursing herself mildly that Ilena’s Coffee Hut would be closed by now, the staff off to join in the gathering momentum of the festivities that would last all night and well into Season’s End Day itself. Upon reaching the large double doors, she discovered to her dismay that they were closed, and, after a few twists on the handle, also locked. She looked around and called out, ‘Mr Janitor… I’m still inside…Sorry!...Is anyone there?’. Her calls echoed down the empty corridors, and faded into the walls. From outside the thick walls, the sounds of partying people, both students and ordinary folk, could be heard from the livelier quarters of the city.
Surely the Janitor wouldn’t have locked me in. He recognised me…I must be the Museum’s most regular visitor. Why didn’t he come and find me? It’s not that big a place. Unless…
She retraced her steps to the Orrery and then began a methodical search of the building, checking al the side rooms, which were all locked, searching as she went for what might pass as the Janitor’s office, remarking to herself that she couldn’t be that observant if she’d never noted its location in all her visits. The Museum was utterly silent, only her footsteps to be heard, her soft shoes padding on the smooth stone floor. After some time she completed her hurried tour of the Museum and found herself back at the entrance. She closed her eyes and tried to remember anything important, any clue as to where the Janitor had gone, for she now suspected that something untoward had happened.
A sudden flash of light bounced off the walls in front of her. She swivelled to face its source, but had barely enough time to gasp as a hand reached for her face to cut off a scream. She saw a figure in red, much taller than her, and a pale, scaly hand that smelled of too much perfume. She struggled briefly, but the figure uttered a few words in a tongue she’d never heard, and then her body crumpled, her strength gone. She lost consciousness as the figure bent down to lay his other hand on her head. Outside, the noisy revelry continued, the brief events inside the Museum completely unnoticed.
The late afternoon turned slowly to evening before Andreon reached Brightbush. The walk had been pleasant, but totally silent, no human or animal activity encountered until he neared the next village. He was still pondering the sudden return to signs of life when a horse rushed past him, speeding off towards Seaview, almost knocking him over. He turned to shout at the rider, but found himself alone again, the rider having simply vanished behind him. He scratched his head in amazement and then walked a few strides back the way he’d came. Suddenly he could see the horse and rider galloping swiftly away. He stepped back and the image vanished. He dropped his staff and stood with his mouth open for several minutes as the thoughts whistled about his head. It was almost too much to comprehend.
What the hell was that? There one minute, not the next. Is it linked to the people vanishing from home? Someone in Brightbush better have the answer.
‘Hey, stoopid. Never seen a horse before?’ A voice behind him. He turned.
‘Yeah you. Hey it’s Village Boy. I shoulda known…don’t worry. It’s only a horse, it won’t scare ya’
Another voice joined the first. ‘Move along Toran. Don’t make me use this staff on you…’
The burly youth glowered at the Gate warden and ambled back into the village, hands in pockets.
‘You alright there young man? Looks like you seen a ghost’
Andreon blinked and then bent to pick up his staff. ‘Sorry. No. I mean to say…’ The words struggled from his lips as he tried to think. Should I tell him? Would he think me crazy and take me to the cells for a day like a vagrant causing a nuisance?
‘I was struck by the beauty of the horse in motion, Sir. I’m from Seaview, just a fisherman. It’s been a while since I saw a horse, especially one moving that fast. The staff dropped as he passed, he must have brushed past me. And I am tired. It’s a long walk.’ Andreon blushed and straightened his jerkin.
‘S’alright young man. Seaview eh? Not had anyone from there visit us for weeks now. Thought you’d all got up and sailed off perhaps!...’ He laughed throatily and patted Andreon on the back.
No one here for weeks? His mind reeled. I guess this isn’t the place for answers.
‘Well, we are a quiet lot, leading simple lives. Tell me, is there anywhere to stay for the night? I’m on my way to visit a relative in Ghor, but the walk was much longer than I thought.’
The Gate warden beamed, ‘Of course. Several of the hostels are of decent quality, without being too pricey. We also don’t get much in the way of trade round here, which is fine enough I guess. Bit boring though, wish I was back in Ghor meself sometimes. Aah…what a town… Still.’ He coughed and pointed. ‘If you go along Front Row here, then left at the Merchants Guild, you’ll find the Leafy Rest, a fine Hostel run by my brother Jed. He’ll see you right, and the bar opposite isn’t too bad either. Might be in myself later if you fancy losing some of your coin at cards.’ He licked his lips slyly.
Andreon chuckled and patted his pockets. ‘I don’t have much coin to lose Warden. Thanks for the advice though, I’ll go and get myself a nice bed.’
He walked through the wooden gates and into Brightbush. This village was much larger than Seaview, a small town really, its ore mine providing a sound economic flow of goods and traders. Bars and Hostels built of wood had been hastily erected some thirty years ago when Haematite had first been found in the valley adjoining the village. Prospectors had flocked to the area, looking for fast money, and a shanty town populated by cheap labour now straddled the road leading from village to mine. The streets were well kept and signs pointing to various attractions and entertainments flourished, lending a frontier feel to the air. Andreon strolled along Front Row like a small child, taking in the sights, marvelling at the comparative bustle of the larger settlement. It had been some months since he’d left Seaview, and he’d forgotten that people could make this much noise or generate so much activity. Being the eve of Season’s End, the village was swollen with folk who’d returned to stay with family, as well as peddlers and traders come to make a few extra coins from the festivities.
As he passed the Merchant’s Guild, he located the Leafy Rest, on an altogether quieter street. He walked up to the door, which was emblazoned with a gilded leaf, and tried the door knocker, which had been fashioned out of wrought iron in the shape of a branch.
‘Coming, coming’, came the reply to the clang of the knocker. Shuffling and mumbling from beyond, and then the door opened and a face appeared. Wizened and wrinkled, but bearing a good resemblance to the Gate Warden, Andreon guessed as to his identity.
‘Good evening Sir. I’m Andreon. Your brother recommended your rooms to me, if you have any to spare. I’ve come from Seaview and I could do with a good rest before I travel on to Ghor tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? Tis Season’s End…why are ye travelling tomorrow? Shouldn’t ye be back home with your family?’ The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully and raised his eyes.
‘I am on my way to Ghor to stay with friends. I’m late because strong winds kept me off the seas for two days, and I had to go out this morning for our fish. We needed a good batch for the feast tomorrow, and I’m the only one skilled enough to pilot the skiff in this weather.’ The white lie came easily to him, and he wondered how he’d thought it up so quickly, never having need to lie in the past.
‘Yes, well. That’s fair enough I s’pose. Come in, young man. I have room if you have coin’, his eyes widened and he rubbed his hands gleefully. ‘My name’s Jed. Jed Cooper by the way.’
Andreon reached for his purse. ‘Well, I have…let me see…’ The old man cut him off with a wave.
‘Was only jesting young sir, you pay before you leave, if the wife’s cooking doesn’t kill you first!’ He cackled and drew Andreon into the front room of the Hostel, a dimly lit area with a rough bar and a few tables. As he removed his pack and stretched his arms, the old man shuffled around the room with a taper, lighting sconces. The gloom lifted and Andreon moved suddenly as he realised he’d almost trod on the old man’s cat. He bent down to stroke its head, and it purred happily at him, weaving between his legs.
‘Now then Pickles. Making a nuisance for yourself I see.’ He turned to Andreon. ‘Quiet today, strangely. Perhaps no one wants my rooms. Too boring and comfortable. Not like the fancy rooms they have above the bars on Front Row there, with their added entertainment, if you know what I mean.’ He chuckled coarsely and pointed up the stairs before climbing the creaking steps himself.
Andreon blushed furiously and then followed him up the stairs, to enter a long corridor, with a hearth at the far end, and several well fashioned doors.
‘Second door on the right there is the bathroom. And this one here is your room. Take time to freshen up. Hot water’s always on at the fire at the end there. The wife will have dinner on the table in half an hour if you’re hungry.’ He shuffled off back down the stairs, calling for his cat, which had sneaked up behind them to explore the upper floor, leaving Andreon suddenly alone again. He put his things down on the chest at the end of his bed and lay down, feeling the relief as his body took some well deserved rest.
So…No one here has seen them. I’ll get some rest and then go on to Ghor tomorrow. It’s a lot further though. I may have to pay or work my way along on a trader cart. It’d take all week to walk it.
He stood up reluctantly, his body crying out for rest. He decided to wash and swap his shirt for a fresher one, and subjected his worn one to a good scrubbing in the tub provided. He refilled the bucket and let it heat up on the fire, before washing the day’s dust from his upper body and hair.
A short while later he was downstairs, fresher and cleaner, almost a new man again, he reflected.
Jed was waiting for him, having no other customers to attend to, and ushered him to a table, before bidding his farewell and leaving by the front door. A mug of ale appeared, swiftly followed by a bowl of steaming meat broth, with a plate stacked with large hunks of fresh bread. Andreon’s stomach lurched wildly and he answered it, eating to satiety, feeling the warmth of the soup ease the aches of a long day’s walk. The owner’s wife, Lyra she’d been introduced as, having served Andreon, was now sitting at the bar with a basket of wool, busily knitting what appeared to be a jumper. Pickles had liberated a chunk of meat from the kitchen and was crouched on the rug by the fire chewing away at it happily. Eventually, Andreon pushed back his empty bowl and sighed happily, stretching his arms above his head. The old woman got up and took his bowl and mug away, before returning with the mug full again.
‘Thankyou. I’ve not had hospitality like this outside the village before.’ He took a gulp of the beer, cool and crisp. Jed came through the front door just then, a worried look on his face.
‘I’d stay here this evening if I were you young man, strange things afoot on Front Row tonight.’
‘Not just people enjoying Season’s End then?’ Andreon enquired.
‘No.No…its almost a riot. Some riders appeared from the West Gate…came tearing into the street, demanding to see my brother Gad. We only have the one Gate Warden see, saves on expenses.’ He paused briefly to take a mouthful of ale that his wife had fetched for him. ‘Anyways, there was a lot of commotion. My brother appeared, and there was words. Then some shouting. And then the riders rode off towards the mine. All at once the people gathered went mad, started screaming and wailing and fighting…I have no idea what got into them, although I felt all queer as I walked past them to see Gad. Some bloke thrust his face at me, all snarling and so on, and I had the urge to thump him. I’m normally a quiet one me, see…don’t go for wrestlin or fighting much, but I wanted to knock him down and kick him proper…’ He shook his head.
Andreon thought carefully to himself. Riders, people acting violently all of a sudden, my villagers vanished. There’s something strange going on here. I should investigate but…I wager I’m as useless as Jed in a fight. Best stay here and see what the morrow brings.
‘So Gad tells me to go home and stay there,’ continued Jed, ‘He’s going to lock the gates and get a few men who’s not gone mad yet to help him keep things sensible. He hopes the general drunkenness of the evening will take the fight out of them. Not that he knows what happened either’.
‘What did the riders say to your brother?’ asked Andreon.
‘That’s just it, he can’t remember…and his memory is usually faultless. He can tell you how many people came through the gates every day; what order they came in, what they was wearing, what their business was and so on… But he can’t remember a thing. That’s not right that isn’t’. He walked off to the kitchen and left Andreon sitting there alone. Jed was mumbling to Gird in the kitchen.
Outside it was evening now, the darkening sky lit by torches and the main fire on Front Row that revellers usually began to dance around once the food had been eaten. The noise was constant but not deafening, only a hundred or so people congregated. As the next hour passed, the rioters had grown tired of fighting each other, and rather than turn their inexplicable anger on the village itself, had taken to drinking even more, and then passing out, mostly where they stood. The few sober men that Gad had banded together were carrying them all to a barn to sleep the night off, and the festivities went on as normal, the strange events of earlier forgotten.
Andreon had gone back to his room and was lying on his bed, thoughts moving in and out of his mind like a badly shuffled deck of cards. Where are they? What went on with those riders here tonight and the fighting that started? Why did the lone rider vanish when I was near the front gate, yet reappear when I stepped towards Seaview?
Sleep eventually came to his worn out body. He woke briefly some time later to loud cheering.
Midnight, Season’s End. Joy at the success of Spring and hope anew for the Summer to come.
Pickles had disdained the company of his owners and was curled up by Andreon’s feet, paws twitching as he dreamed of chasing mice or eating fish. If only my dreams were as simple… He closed his eyes again and sleep came once more to banish his troubles.
Some time later; outside in the alley perpendicular to the street on which the Leafy Rest stood, there was a flash of light, and a figure that appeared, tall and cloaked in red. There was no one around to notice this, for the festivities on Front Row were still going strong. The figure moved forward to the alley exit onto the street and looked around. After a few minutes, and satisfied that everyone was either drunk or asleep, the figure approached the door to the Leafy Rest. Hands pressed onto the door frame, words were mumbled, and the lock clicked back quietly. The handle shaped like a branch rotated, and the figure entered the front room of the hostel. All was still. The quarry of the night lay sleeping upstairs. The owner and his wife, a frail feeble couple, were asleep in the back room behind the kitchen. The research had been planned meticulously. Only this one remained from the village. Seaview… Yes, that was the name the Mage remembered. The Xa’Charn stood in the dark, relaxing body and mind for several minutes to properly prepare for the quick ending of the fishing boy’s existence. Satisfied of brief omnipotence, the Mage reached for the stair rail and placed a first foot on the stairs tentatively, anxious to avoid making the wood creak or groan and give away the quiet entrance.
A sudden hiss and a scrabble of claws from above, and a small, warm body flung itself at the Mage. Furious protector, Pickles slashed and snarled at the Mage, before being firmly grabbed and hurled down into the front room. A light came on, the back room, the owners, thought the Xa’Charn. Hands raised briefly to send a bolt of energy towards what would probably be the old man, before the thought occurred that the deaths of three in violent circumstances would be far less sensible than to leave now and track the boy, finishing him alone at a later point. The Mage scowled at the cat and muttered another incantation, stepping into the light that appeared just as he saw the old man appear from behind the kitchen door, short spear in hand, and the boy awake upstairs and open his bedroom door. He vanished, and the light fled instantly.
Jed stood in the front room, scratching his head and muttering curses. Pickles leapt onto the bar and stalked around, guarding the Leafy Rest from another attack. Andreon came down the stairs two at a time, before standing in the room silently, also scratching his head in wonder.
‘What was that Jed? I heard a noise, and then Pickles fighting something, and then nothing again’
Jed picked up Pickles and stroked his head, the cat nuzzling his owner’s chin. ‘I dunno lad, but this is one feisty cat I tell ya. Must have scared him off.’
‘But the door was locked. How did the person get in?’ Andreon walked to the door and tested it, now unlocked, he closed it again. Jed fumbled in his nightshirt and brought out a key. He locked the door and gestured upstairs. ‘Go on, back to sleep. I’ll tell Gad in the morning… It’s too queer for my head at this time of night. If they can get in a locked door, but run away when attacked by a cat, they must be up to something untoward, but counting on total silence and secrecy like.’ He went back into his back room and returned with a large blanket. ‘I’ll sit up and keep watch lad, you go back to bed.’
Andreon nodded and yawned. ‘Well if you’re sure. Ok, but I’d like to assist your brother tomorrow – there’s something fishy going on.’ He climbed the stairs, closely followed by his new guardian, which swished its tail as it looked around the front room one last time.
Twist came to slowly, her head throbbing painfully as the darkness lifted. She put her hand up to her temple and felt dried blood. She blinked and adjusted to the dim light that gradually pervaded her senses, bringing her back to the real world again. She looked around her. A bed. She lay on a large bed, in a room. Bookcases lined one wall, two small windows revealed dawn’s first glow rising, and a fire against the far wall was spreading its warmth in waves over her. She shifted herself until she sat up; the pillow behind her was high enough to cushion her head against the headboard. She sat and stared around at the room, trying to focus and remember more of her recent memories.
The Museum, I went there after the Harpist’s Rest. The Orrery, I remember that, and then finding the doors locked. I looked for the Janitor but couldn’t find him. Then…Then…The light!
‘Keep away, what do you want? Leave me alone. Keep away! No!’ Her breath came raggedly as she cried out, waving her arms in front of her face to keep the phantom assailant at bay.
Suddenly a figure was there, holding her arms gently. She struggled and moaned until the soothing words penetrated her haze of fear and pain, ‘It’s ok Twist. Relax, it’s me, Chath. It’s ok. Calm down now…’
Gradually she calmed herself, and lay her head back down onto the pillow, exhausted again.
‘Master Chath? What…where am I? I don’t understand. I was in the Museum of Science…a Man appeared, red cloak…’ she trailed off as he held his hand up to stop her. He always seemed to be interrupting her, she thought.
‘Yes. I know. It’s alright. The Janitor was rendered unconscious as he locked the main door, and dragged into a store cupboard; when he came to, you were lying on the floor by the doors, blood on your temple and no one else around. He knew who you were, quite the regular I hear, and he sent a city guard to the University General Office, who decided not to involve your Uncle. One of the assistants there is very thorough with her paperwork and noted that you had been doing research work for me, so I was summoned. The Guard and I carried you here, after discerning that apart from your recollections, we had nothing to go on. It does seem fairly unsolvable, doors locked from the inside, Janitor knocked out whilst you were…well…whatever happened to you.’ Chath stopped talking, looking down at his hands.
‘Did the guard suspect the Janitor?’, Twist asked.
‘Oh, no…he’s a bit frail really, and you were muttering on about a red cloak and a scaly hand, neither of which the old chap has. No…this is some sort of Magic doing…spells and powers and things…’ he grimaced as he spoke, and stood to begin pacing the length of the room.
Twist whistled through her teeth, then realised that she must have fallen hard, because her ribs hurt down one side. ‘Magic…Is it anything to do with those Sigil Keys perhaps? I mean…were they important, and someone didn’t want me to discover anymore?’ Her eyes shone as her thoughts became more excited.
‘Now, now Twist Putran. We’ll have none of that. You’re a student helping a lecturer on some historical research, that’s all. Nothing sinister or untoward, or worthy of notice by some crazy Mage. No, this is just…I don’t know. Perhaps we won’t… I have no idea what this person did to you, or why.’ Exasperated, Chath paced more hurriedly now, running his hands through his hair nervously. Twist looked around her as he paced. The lecturer’s quarters were modest but had been made very comfortable, with rugs and throws, and of course the indulgence of all the books, their neat bindings inlaid with gilt, ordered neatly on the shelves. The room was well kept, and well loved, she thought. Chath seemed to have an altogether more homely and relaxed side than the terse, forthright History Lecturer that she knew.
‘I should tell you more. No. Rest now Twist. You’re safer here. I think you should stay here today and not return to your quarters just yet. You’re still quite weak.’
‘But…’ Twist rose again to complain, but in truth she was more tired than she’d imagined.
Alright…I’ll rest then. So tired. I will find out though. Why this happened, what the cloaked figure wanted, and if it’s linked to Chath’s Sigil Keys. I will… She closed her eyes again and the darkness slowly returned to wrap her in its healing embrace.
Chath continued to pace as the morning wore on, lost in his own thoughts. I should tell her about the Sigil. I should. But she is so young, so talented…so bright. I don’t want her involved in something like this. She has a good future if she steers clear of trouble. Oh Chath…what have you done this time? You knew the Jhaerl Sigil was best left untouched, but you couldn’t resist it could you! What if she had solved the complete set of keys? Would there have been a shift in power from solving just half of the keys? Would Xa’Kar have noticed? Surely it was a Xa’Charn Mage who’d visited her at the Museum. If the blood on her head is from a draining, then they know the contents of her mind now, and that she knows more about the Sigil than anyone has for decades… This does not bode well.
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RationalParanoia reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
First of all, you’re switching point of views in the story. Not good. In a scene, you always want to stick with one point of view. You’re following the professor’s point of view, stick with the professor. You’re following Twist’s point of view, stick with Twist’s point of view.
There’s also a few grammatical errors, but those would be caught on a good proofread. Other things I noted were that sometimes, you have a habit of over describing pretty pointless things. One sentence is enough for us to know that the professor is aimlessly shifting through his papers, for example.
On the other hand, you need to be sure to describe the location of your characters. Describing the setting helps give the story a mood, which in turn helps the story itself. It augments it, giving the actions and words even greater meaning.
All in all, not too bad of a story. If it’s from several years ago, though, I assume you have improved since then.
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Curtastrophe reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
This installment opens well. For the first few sentences I pondered if they could be smoothed out by using semi-colons, but I’ll leave that for you to consider.
Master Chath’s diatribe I have mixed feelings about. I think that it does a good job of really putting the reader in the desk along with the other students as the Prof. lectures. On the other hand, I think that it does go on a bit longer than it should. I’ll admit, for the last part of it my attention started to wane severely.
“…as the afternoon waxed.” I would suggest, “…afternoon sun waxed.”
Ahaha! The description of the students suddenly coming out of their torpor after they’re dismissed lends quite a bit of verisimilitude to the story. Geez, I imagine this has to be a universal thing.
I would say the way the narrative twists so far in this story is very effective. It switches from Chath’s pov to an all-seeing narrator and even then to Twist’s pov. In most cases I find this jarring, but here it’s done skillfully enough to keep the reader’s attention and avoids confusion. Good job.
the Seasons End will do / Season’s
I really like Chath’s eloquent tone. It’s rich and thick, and really shows his character.
but on his parents untimely / parents’
of the near monthly plainsmen / near-monthly
What I found clever here was how the narrative shows that after his long day of teaching students, he sits on a bench and relaxes while watching the birds. Seems like a logical enough activity after a long day. But that’s only part of it. What I found really clever was how at this part, the reader is given the history of Chath’s past while the character is reminiscing. Through this technique, the story gently fills in the details as opposed to the violent and much-abused “info-dump”. It reads very natural and humane. And the scene ends with the birds… Excellent!
“A cloud bank floated over from…” This is a great descriptive sentence.
of small bluefish / Bluefish or blue fish
cloth over the basket mouth / basket’s
“There was no smoke coming from…” Uh-oh. This is a good slow build-up of tension. And oh, I really hate to compare writing to movies, but this reminds me of Star Wars where in the desert Luke Skywalker comes back to see his aunt and uncle’s house smoking from the distance. In the movie it was immediately effective in terms of imagery, but here the development is much slower (in a good way) and the reader can readily empathize with the character as Andreon spots more things that are awry. It’s superb use of dramatic irony—the audience knows what’s happened and so does the character although he’s trying to allay his deep fears of the truth.
I’m not crazy about the name Seaview—it’s the ‘view’ part that makes it seem a bit generic.
“…the sun continued its steady passage across the azure sky.” Another good one. It serves as a good break from Andreon back to Twist.
room span briefly as she / spun (I think.)
I really enjoy your descriptive sentences about the sun and how it casts light across the land. I’ve noticed that there are quite a few of them and they’re all very well done.
Seaview eh? Not had anyone / Seaview, eh?
‘Good evening Sir. I’m Andreon / evening, Sir.—Commas before a formal address.
don’t go for wrestlin or / wrestlin’
This was a very well written story. The characters of Chath, Twitch, and Andreon were the strongest and it was really easy to pick up on each of their distinct personalities. Chatch and Twitch are similar ways—slightly nervous, very intelligent, and maybe a little anti-social. They contrast well with Andreon who has been taught logic and reason, but it seems relies more on instinct. A nice balance. The dialogue is strong as is the descriptive narrative. It was easy to get involved in the story despite not me not having read the previous part. There is a depth to the story, but at the same time it’s not the kind where the reader gets lost in hidden meanings or messages. A very good read! Thanks for sharing it.
-Curt
DragonRider reviewed Version 1 -
Read 3% of the Item
You will probably hate me for this and want a refund, most do, but I see nothing wrong with this piece. I would say it was complete and go on to the next chapter to work on.
If this was a published book I’m not sure I’d eb able to stop.
I loved it. good plot adn story line, believable characters and I could see it.
Now this doesn’t go for grammer and spelling,seeign as I was always bad at that, but everthign that I see is perfect.
He carried on his seemingly aimless sorting and shuffling for a time, placing his completed lecture notes into an empty file, ready for transcription to his study tomes that evening. When he was done, he turned and looked up into the young face before him. The student was nearly as short as he, but the youthful blush of energy still suffused her features, where his had long since been replaced by the lines and wrinkles of experience and age. A shock of short red hair sat above large green eyes which twinkled with curiosity. A brief delay, and then he had the name.
Alright, big chunk, but I liked this piece. The wording and everythign was good in my eyes. I could see it was a plus.
I know i keep saying I could see it but thats a big deal lately… for I’m seeing fewer and fewer storys that I can see, well done.
I know this isn’t what you hoped for, and it probably is to short for the 38 pages that I read and I must apologize, but what do you say when you liked it all? What do your write when you don’t have any specifics.
I’ll understand if you want a refund though.
Back to the story. Your characters, they were believable and real.
I saw no wholes in the plot either.
I didn’t know I was at the end, expecting more.
Nothing to say but well done…
DragonQueen reviewed Version 1 -
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It started out good, but it didn’t hold my attention. I found myself fight to keep reading.
So peaceful and tranquil. I hope I don’t get sent to military training in Forahn anytime soon. Life here is almost perfect. Why would I want to see the world? everything I love most is here. The sea, the noise of the birds, Seaview and its people. All of life’s wonder is here on the Island of Tass.
I like the way you did this.
The story line was good and i liked it It was just very hard to stay immersed in the middle. You dont seem to have a problem yet but i figured i tell you anyway. Try to avoid was were as and is. These don’t go well in stories.
hellbunny reviewed Version 1 -
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The first paragraph should really hook your readers, but yours gave us a set of facts that did nothing for me. There is a way to write boredom that doesn’t bore your readers, to do that nifty, little trick, let us “feel” the monotony from the standpoint of one of your characters. You need to watch your POV; I was sometimes confused as to whose I was looking through. I’m also confused about the narration. Sometimes it seemed as though the narrater was a character, and sometimes it felt like he was outside the story. Your descriptions are very vivid, and some of your characterizations was strong, particularly with Twist. Despite the opener and the POV issues, you show much promise, and the story did have enough intrigue to keep it going.
Reilly616 reviewed Version 1 -
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Okay, so my first question is; is this all one chapter? Eleven thousand words is too ling for a single chapter. Possibly this could be an Act, or Part, with it being internally divided into chapters at appropriate points.
I’m not sure if you’re looking for spelling mistakes, but I’d just say, watch out for run-on words ie: “thankyou”, so just check for those and sundry spelling mistakes. Your grammar is good.
Overall this is really good. I really enjoyes your lavish descriptions (that is how I like to write) and both the action and dialogue flowed well. All in all a great piece of writing. I wish you the best of luck in the future, keep it up.
Slán leatsa!!!