Plots? Your choice of genre can sometimes define the complexity. I would never try a mystery or thriller they seem to require an attention to detail and structure which are beyond my capabilities. Fantasy seems to beg a complexity of its own, mirroring the apparent political interactions of our own previous historical eras. Maybe it was my own innate impatience coupled with an intolerance of the machinations seen in some series that had me veering off in other directions. Historically there were no perfect plans, everyone came unstuck at some stage and not by some dogged hero acting alone. In fact historically Humanity has been prone to chaotic dealings, lurching from crisis through aggression, complacency or error. That seemed a better backdrop for me, along with a few bits of grit in the machinery (in my case the Three central characters, who in turn would be shoved off course by events not directly involving them).
Thus the plots as such were fairly basic, really. Three young women pitchforked into a set of circumstances, the ramifications of which led to another, which in turn caused a big ruckus across local realms of Time and Space. They bonded in differing ways and prevailed. They had their varying times on stage, and matters were left with them looking to their respective futures undiminished and confident. ‘And that took three volumes of 650,000 words????‘ you might well ask. Actually yes, because the challenges, adventures and developing they experienced were taking places against various backdrops.
Overall
There never was, nor intended to be an epic linear storyline. Arketre, Karlyn and Trelli were never going to save The Empire, defeat the entire cast of villains, make the whole world a better place or one of them rule an entire nation. They were always frontline sloggers, albeit rising through the ranks, they didn’t even achieve imperial-wide fame or rushed from one crisis to another because only they could do the job. Their tales were all about adapting, surviving and growing closer in varying ways. And of course ending these episodes well.
Volume1. ‘Patchwork’.
This was about the various bondings of the three main characters, how their paths crossed with their first challenge and the ramifications thereupon, leaving the ground open to Volume 2. As with most Fantasy works things are not just left with one book, therefore there were plenty of loose ends to carry into Volume 2. The villains were fairly weak but that was a deliberate satire on the hordes grinning, monologuing perfect-plot-until-the-last-chapter characters that stalk books, comics, tv shows and films and quite frankly are boringly predictable. The main threats coming more from accidents, forces of Nature, incompetence of various folk and the command structure of Arketre’s own LifeGuard. The survival and triumph of the trio of women was thus one over Circumstances, The Unforeseen and their own fears, rages or misjudgements. The romance just grew out of the narrative and was actually the last piece to fit into the book. And the ending was more of a pause for the three to catch their breath and evaluate just how far their had come. Why not? What’s wrong with having three folk journey through a mire of confusion and come out the other end intact, and growing. You might even call it a ‘Road Trip’ book.
Volume 2 ‘Skirmishers’
This started where ‘Patchwork’ left off. Arketre and Karlyn in one place, Trelli in another and other folk propelling them into situations. This time there were not so much ‘villains’ but more emphasis on groups with their own agendas, and the complex, sometimes unintended interactions of these. This created a turbulent environment which the three women were obliged to navigate, embrace, survive in and sometimes influence. Each had their own new set of challenges. Karlyn, her heritage, Arketre the conflicting emotions of war and Trelli keeping the potential of her Ethereal abilities under her control and not vice-versa. Another theme I brought in was an age old-one in Military History, a seemingly superior force coming unstuck because the defenders were adaptable and motivated, while the invaders were faced with a difficult environment and the front-line troops were uncertain of why they were there. The demonic Zerstorung were a constant but as a malevolent opportunistic force. However the theme was ‘No one is ever has complete control of a situation. There are no perfect schemes. There are no constantly overwhelming forces. All is variable‘ . In the final pages up pops a twist, a piece of satire on the double standards men employ when dealing with women and how Arketre in particular takes a moral advantage of this.
3. ‘Daughters’
This coalesced out of three ideas. Firstly the fearful battles around Stalingrad in 1942/43 the allegory would be Arketre’s . Secondly Karlyn’s heritage and reason for her being ‘here’. Thirdly Trelli’s involvement in the politics of the Silc family of Elinid, which stemmed from her concern over Wigran, arguably the one who gave cause to the whole companionship. My interest in the military and political aspects of various wars played heavily here, since the narrative moved around several locations and involved a number of groupings. Overall the picture was meant to look chaotic and at times the decisions quite incomprehensible; a reading of any history of any conflict will show this to be true reality. Since most of the narrative was seen from each woman’s standpoint it was difficult not to make them out as omnipotent saviours or as ‘wise’, while balancing out their strengths and virtues; thus they were never truly in charge of any big picture, constantly reacting and often getting the better of folk but equally being shunted around until eventually they are able to find their own stable, respected places.
Conclusion
The journey was long, thanks to the characters bother major and supporting it was completed on high notes and the deserving folk intact. Of course there was no grand finale in which everything was wrapped up; there were loose ends, for there may be other tales.
Outline: Trelli was an orphan placed as a housemaid in the respectable household of the Hendrechan family, notable in local commerce and society. She swiftly learnt she was fortunate, and by hard work rose to be valued. Her one problem being the younger son Wigran who due to his own forays in The Stommigheid inadvertently involves her upsetting her once stable life by giving her powers she now has to master.
Preamble: This extract involves the finale in a series of confrontations between Trelli and Wigran. She, having discovered his illegal efforts with The Stommigheid has warned him to stop before the authorities or worse come down upon the household. Because of their previously good relationship he has been trying to convince her otherwise.
Trelli was starting to yearn for easier times when her Ghitanixday afternoons were little interludes when she could just be herself and sometimes lazy. She now accepted this had been chipped away since Wigran had got her all tangled up with firstly his financial doings and now here she was in his room, sitting at this desk, looking at his nasty mirror, and him carrying on like it was all quite right and proper. And why had she been such a ninny and let him talk her into this? This wasn’t excitement jiggling her innards. No. This was being scared silly.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing Trelli,’ was his anxious reply ‘I just want you to see how wondrous The Ethereal can be,’ and his hands moved across the jewels bringing a light similar to a pale misty dawn.
‘Looks ghostly to me,’ she complained.
‘No, let me explain. You see, there came upon the world long years ago a new force which enabled folk to do things which had only been dreamed off,’
‘And The World might have got destroyed,’
‘Yes, there were mistakes, but it was due to inexperience. Look. You do want to know, don’t you?’
‘I don’t think I do,’
‘Oh, don’t be so soppy. Look at these jewels. These are selected for their empathy with the Ethereal. They draw its elements from the very air and channel them through these delicate wires into the….’
‘Funny looking box with a scary mirror. Something will loom out of it,’ she shuffled nervously, then flinched when Wigran tried to pat her knee, he had meant to reassure her, not one of his better qualities.
‘No,’ he tried his idea of a calm authoritative voice, it came out peevish. ‘Look, watch this,’ and despite her whimper of apprehension began to tap out a pattern upon the jewels ‘You see, each impact or combinations of impacts has a certain resonance which sends out a message to the central hub within the box, which in turn generates an empathy with the Ethereal. I’ll show you,’ he turned to look, hopefully at her, finding her wide-eyed attention upon the screen.
‘Why is there a small red and blue sea in the middle?’
Wigran peered at the shape she was pointing at.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ he assured her or hoped he had ‘This is one of the many sights you see,’
‘What does it mean then? Is it a sea in some odd land?’
‘It’s a,’ he paused then as loathed as he was had to admit ‘Well, I’m not too sure at the present,’ he leaned in fingers hovering over the jewels.
‘If you don’t know,’ Trelli chided swatting his hands away ‘Don’t fool with it. Wait for it to go away,’
‘I can’t do that,’ he snapped horrified at the idea ‘This is as an important exploration as one by any sea captain,’ while still hovering at the jewels, not sure of his choice but neither willing to let Trelli think he was indecisive.
‘More than a few of those never came back,’ she warned as she began to chew upon her knuckles and recite prayers begging The Good Lord God to forgive these his foolish and wayward children.
‘Do stop that,’ Wigran complained now embracing peevishness, lest she somehow convince him ‘It is not helpful,’
‘Not asking The Good Lord God for aid and guidance ?’
‘Oh Trelli. Oh Trelli. Oh Trelli,’ he lamented. She was confusing him.
‘Yes, I’m here. All three of me,’ fear being replaced by sarcasm.
‘This is how things are when the Ethereal or Stommigheid is being explored, there are sights and sounds to be encountered. This red and blue manifestation could well be the indication of an as yet unchartered pathway, enabling the question of distance to be considered no longer valid to the communications regarding or transference of goods. Look,’ goaded by her intransigence he pressed red and azure jewels’ See how it fluctuates in response to gems of similar hues, indicating a facet of empathy,’
Once more Trelli did not have any notion as to what he was talking about, and said so while watching that red and blue smudge. It did look like a sea, albeit a small one.
Wigran stung by her failure to at least listen with an open mind began to dither about with the lowest of the three drawers on the right side of his desk, doing his stupid tapping, this time on three dull looking brass screws, at which point the draw flew open, and he swiftly pulled out a volume old and battered through use, waving the thing in her face.
She managed to make out an odd title of ‘A Perplexing Tendency to Persist’
‘This is how I started Trelli. Four years ago, when father made a speculative purchase of some woebegone lord’s library and I found this amongst volumes on the husbandry of vegetables. This seemingly amusing and quirky tale is actually made of two layers. Firstly, part of an account of folk legendary within the realms of the Jordisk told in a comic style, but more important a coded guide on how you could build an oculator,’
Trelli wrinkled her threatened nose, she was sure there was an oily smell coming out of the pages and wished he would put the blasted thing back in the drawer. Then something struck her.
‘How did you know it was a code? I mean if you hadn’t seen it before. Aren’t codes complicated?’
His grin was something she reckoned those Gervalons went in for at their blasphemous ceremonies before they sacrificed small furry animals, not that she’d actually seen such a horrid act, but there were stories.
‘Because it all becomes clear when you read it with an open mind,’
This was the limit of her forbearance. A new and sudden determination gripped her for she could feel something whispering to her. Temptation. She would fight back. She leapt up, hands to her ears, and reciting a new string of prayers for protection from The Evils of The Lascivious and The Perils of the Retributions, then gathering all of her determination and with finger pointing stormed.
‘Dangerous. Blasphemous. I’ll give you just one day to destroy all of this. And burn it, or I’m going to tell your parents,’
Wigran shot up, still waving the book, Trelli with a new mix of fear and rage swatted it out his grasp, then with teeth clenched dashed towards the volume, snatching it up, making to tear it apart. Wigran howled in anguish meaning to grab the book, grabbed her, swinging her about and thus she lost her balance. In trying to regain it, her right hand hit some of the jewels.
Because she was blocking most of his line of sight Wigran did not initially see the small red and blue shape growing. This only became apparent when the entire lower half of the mirrored surface was filled with a brightness of red and blue, silhouetting Trelli. Seeing the shock on his face she twisted about, to see the red and blue rising up as she comprehended it, into a wave, a big tide coming in wave, crashing on rocks. She yelped, threw up her hands to her face and tumbled backwards, over one chair and into a heap on the floor.
In the aftermath, the colours subsided, the surface became a passive leaf green, broken by flickers of blonde yellow sunlight.
This and the book were of no real consequence for either Trelli or Wigran. They were both looking at her hands.
Which had begun to glow with hues shifting between the reds and blues previously witnessed on the oculator.
The brief interlude of shared wide-eyed open mouthed silence was broken by the cries of dismay from Trelli.
Outline: Arketre is a soldier of the LifeGuard, (a state within a state in the Oakhostian, not so much emperor makers as emperor assessors). Although excellent as a Medician (healer/medic) and easy going when away from conflict; she has a disturbing side, a willingness to embrace battle and retribution as a means to solving what she judges as ‘wrong’ or injustice
Preamble: This ties in with the previous introduction of Karlyn. The man who was cause of the alarm fled and turned up in the custody of The LifeGuard at one of their many outposts, the officer in charge of The Astatheia observations, Captain Dekyria calls on Medician Arketre Beritt to ease the fellow out of his hysteria. There is a brief interlude Arketre is not aware of where Karlyn experiences her first awareness of her.
At the foot of the steps there was just about enough for one pace and there was a door, progress made all the more difficult by the presence of two troopers. Trex with his usual lazy smirk, Myrrek, always doleful, but both sharing a tense alertness which made Beritt inadvertently retreat until she banged her bare heel on the foot of the stairs. Erzns’ men. Sergeant Erzns’ file, the outposts’ Hounds. They never said anything about their activities, you could get banter and you would get sweeping generalisations about how the LifeGuard should be run but never any detail. Naturally you knew they did more than scout and secure the area from interlopers and the Just Curious.
One more loud, chilling scream of fear.
‘I’m hearin’ Fourth Hell’s worth of pain in there,’ Beritt asserted; her sense of service overwhelming any respect of rank ‘They been torturing someone Cap’n and gone so far y’all want me to patch ‘em up?’ agitation causing her accent to slip into its native sudd-hengestatian.
Trex knowingly winked at her in approval, she did not feel in the mood for any sort of compliment.
‘Nothing of the sort medician,’ the captain said wearily, he jerked a thumb to the door ‘In here is a fellow who has been messing about with business he should not have and got in far too deep. You are going to see what happens when someone is careless with The Astatheia,’
For an instant, her body would not move. Even smoothed out by the LifeGuard’s own idiosyncratic official term for The Stommigheid she was still prey to a deep sense of tension at the mention of the stuff. Not even her prior two years being in the religious atmosphere and analytical philosophy of the Devoteds of the Libratery had eased her instincts.
Beritt took in a deep breath; yes, she knew this was one of the reasons why the LifeGuard had the keep. Outpost Dorigen was a Station of Observation. To hold watch on the Southern West of the Oakhostian Empire, and to attend to any problems or threats of the small sorts be they subtle or downright violent. Dekyria’s ‘owls’ usually kept themselves to themselves in their own room with its metal boxes, winking lights and mirror’d surfaces with more lights. There were the requests for ‘something to help with a head pain’, the cause of which you never asked about. So, you didn’t really know what they got up to. This flurry of recollections being swept out of her head when the captain nudged her into the room.
‘Just like The Siege, Stitches ’ Trex crooned to her as he locked the door. She ignored him.
They’d taken a lot of trouble to put as much light as they could; they’d even brought in some decent bedding for the fellow to lie upon. You could almost call it comfy. Though it being obvious the man was in no condition to appreciate this nicety. Erzns lean and hardened by years of service held him by the waist, while his fileman Crylan grasped the shoulders and was speaking in his trademark everyday way, trying to infuse some sort of calm into the writhing figure. Two others stood by and shook their heads.
The man was not listening to anyone. Beritt had witnessed this sort of stare before; the look beyond the people in front of them, the stare driven by the fear running rampant through a head. She’d met it with silly lads who’d not meant to kill someone in a tavern brawl, with soldiers who had their first or one too many battles, folk who’d tried a mysterious brew they shouldn’t have. The LifeGuard did like its medicians to impose into the Community; Maintain a Presence they called it.
The man seemed to be seeing something on the opposite wall, as his wide-eyes were fixed there, another long wailing scream and a stream of incoherence. Crylan turned to Beritt.
‘Hullo Medician, you wouldn’t have something for this awful earache I’m getting would you?’
Dekyria spoke in a, slow, factual, precise way.
‘You are now going to learn something more about my file, Medician. We started noticing something upon the oculators,’ he fixed an intense gaze upon her ‘Oculator, Medician?’
‘Those dark grey metal boxes, with bright gems on the surface and black stand up mirror’d surfaces’
‘Well some might say you know too much already,’
‘Medicians end up being everywhere with everyone Captain,’
‘Fair comment. Anyway, we observed series of bright sparks jumping. It’s called grasshopping,’ he gestured to the tormented fellow’s thick grey brown leather belt inlaid on each side of the buckle with five large pale green gems ‘And this is one of the Jordisk devices they use. These allow someone to pass in and out of those places beyond the World Physical; just of the edge of the Zerstorung. Hazardous. Normally only the most daring, or insane use it. This fellow, I think, was just panicked and was desperate to get away. On his journey, he probably saw and was touched by other things way beyond nightmares. Some pathways take in all The Hells and more Medician, ‘
The man’s breath began to come in short desperate keening sounds, Beritt reckoned he was trying to say something important, but his terror was shredding his sanity.
‘What would you like me to do Captain?’ not at all certain of what was expected of her; she was still trying to cope with grasshopping and places beyond the World Physical; Zerstorung? The place where the demons lived and lurked.
‘Calm him down and get him to make sense, please. Y’see the noteworthy factor, from what we can trace is he started off on the south-eastern border with neighbouring Valeneg and now arrives two hundred and fifty myles south and west from there here in Decoryx’s mid north. Ending up a suspiciously close two myles from the outpost which is a bit of an upset seeing as how this part of our presence is supposed to be very secret. However, it is as if he knew where and who we were. Sergeant Erzns’ file was sent to find him,’ Beritt assumed the selection was intentional and not because they happened to be hanging about.
‘Screaming and crawling in circles on his hands and knees,’ the sergeant volunteered ‘We had to tie him over a horse and gag him to bring him in,’
Somewhere along a road separated by some distance and a small notch of time Karlyn twitched and sniffed.
‘I smells other horses an’ dirtier gags. But there’s nothing of fun. Hmm,’
‘No wonder he’s in a distressed state,’ Beritt suggested as she tried to come to terms with having a sort of contact with The Astatheia; while reckoning Stommigheid was the much better sounding.
‘Nevertheless,’ Dekyria interposed ‘I need to know if he truly was looking for us and why,’
‘Excuse me for asking Captain but does The Major know?’
‘He’s in contact with Drygnest, medician,’
‘Squirtz. The Castle Drygnest. Oh gladsome day. If Ah do something wrong, Ah will get Drygnest dropping a big midden right on mah poor little blonde head. Frib. Ah’d rather be midwifing a lord’s wife again. This is more a job for an Andliga, except for the LifeGuard keeping all its religious officers at Drygnest studying old texts,’
Battlefield decision.
‘You’ll have to tell the sergeant and the fileman to let him go Captain. His restraint is agitating him,’
Neither man felt her suggestion was a good one and expressed as much with slow shakes of the head. The captain looked at Beritt, she looked back, he winced; she was right, but his authority was still required. She continued her fixed stare. These medicians did believe they had the right to address ethical issues to anyone, irrespective of rank.
‘You’ll have to tend to your own injuries if this goes wrong,’ he warned her. ‘Sergeant Erzns, Fileman Crylan when the medician is ready let the man go,’
‘Oh wondrous, the art of the shifting the responsibility’
There was little enthusiasm in the sergeant or fileman’s faces; in addition, the other two; Norvan and Drell who had been at rest against the far wall, eased off of it and moved in, poised. As Beritt drew closer the man twitched and again screamed. She was certain he was trying to speak, but she would have to try to break through the barrier of terror to get any sense, so she knelt before him, cold stones at once assailing her knees; his terror, this familiar sight.
The trick was to gift them normality.
‘Hello,’ she said softly laying emphasis on her sudd hengestatian drawl, accompanied by a manufactured gentle smile.
No scream from the man, just a grimace of fear and a pleading look. She thought it might be a start. Suddenly the man shot up to a crouch and Beritt was left kneeling before someone who previously had been struggling against two very capable soldiers. As he ground his teeth together and hissed in his breath, she was struck by her own sudden fear he would bite her nose, aside from the pain she would have to put up with endless jokes on the matter, particularly from Norvan and Drell, the pair now a little closer, even if they would be like lightening on the fellow should he bite her. Mixed feelings. She would press on with her work then.
‘Y’all are safe now,’ she said, plainly, but heavy on the apparent confidence. You had to make them believe in you. Truth be known to do this you had to make yourself believe in you.ke them vook their headsg farmer and made muffled howls. The Custodian scowled. He was an ol’occaisonal hub-hubin He set his attention on her as if only now aware she was there, his expression confused, his breathing turning to a simple panting as he looked down, now trying to make sense of this person kneeling, in apparent calm repose.
‘Y’ should sit with me an’ we can talk some ‘bout what troubles you,’ she knew this was a risk, patching up wounds was one thing, getting into the twists and turns of the mind was quite another, having the possibility of six soldiers ready to pounce and afterwards call her a fool was not helping. She took some solace she was still wearing her undershorts, so if she did end up sprawling backwards, all would remain hidden.
The man’s mouth worked, wordlessly at first, then he sank to his knees as if the effort to speak sense was draining him. Thus, face to face with Beritt who was in turn trying to feel she had this all under her control while not letting on she was making everything up as she went along. She patted his shoulder encouragingly, then the man suddenly lurched forward, and Beritt was glad she’d not crouched, after all any sort of sprawl was not dignified.
‘They…they…. they,’ he said, which she reckoned was a start, so she reached out and took his face in her hands.
‘Are not here,’ she hoped the words had sounded as a statement and not a suggestion. Also, she had a problem as she wanted to reach for something out of her supplies while keeping him calm. Never mind the rest watching. Concentrate. She lowered one hand to his chin, fumbled backwards to the other, assuring him all the while he was safe now.
‘The dire screams and the burning iron sun,’ the words came in short bursts, punctuated by more keening breath ‘Then I think they saw me. I saw dying…dying innocents, tortured, and knew I would be next. They loped. They slithered, they reached,’
Beritt with one hand brought up the slender wood, wrapped in leather tube. Using her thumb, she flipped open the top and passed it across the man’s nose, while holding her own breath, it would not do for the two of them to slip under its soothing vapours. Easing her other hand from his chin, she swiftly sealed the tube. The man blinked, swayed slightly once more surveyed the room, this time his eyes in focus, comprehension taking place of panic as the vapours did their calming work.
‘Safe,’ she said with a little more confidence ‘Secure,’ she added. Now to get him settled as her feet were freezing and knees protesting; so, with an inspiration born out of the memories of when her mom used to have her to care for her baby brothers she leant forward to carefully place a light kiss on his forehead. The shock of sudden tenderness caused him to sit down, blush and run his hand through his hair in surprise.
‘Goodness,’ he said suddenly ‘An angel,’
Drell muttered a complaint about how she’d not done similar to him when he’d been afflicted, causing Norvan to ask who would want to kiss a boil on the arse, particularly Drell’s ugly hairy rump.
‘What’s his secret that other men an’t got,’ grumbled Trex ‘I never had one,’
A glower from Erzns stifled any further commentary.
Meanwhile Beritt was trying not to fluster herself with surprise at her own precipitate action.
‘Oh no sir,’ she said to the man ‘Just a medician in the LifeGuard,’
‘Then I have arrived?’ he said, trembled and tears of relief began to flow down his face, as he took hold of her hands ‘But please don’t give me anything to sleep. Not sleep, they might find me in my dreams. I want to stay awake, there is much to be said,’
Beritt holding his hands rose. She would have to put her socks on. Once they both stood, she turned the man gently towards Captain Dekyria.
‘This is the officer sir you should talk to. Captain Dekyria is a fair and reasonable man,’
‘She’s obviously willing to kiss a captain’s arse,’
‘I heard that Trooper Norvan,’ growled Erzns.
Beritt with her back facing the sergeant while looking at trooper Norvan extended her right hand’s middle finger up the bridge of her nose indicating she’d heard him too. Dekyria had either chosen to ignore lower rank business or was concentrating upon the fellow and although not possessing Beritt’s capacity for gentleness none the less spoke in his own calm respectful way.
‘You’ve obviously had a very troubled journey sir. We will get you some refreshments and we might have some conversation. May we know your name?’
Outline: Karlyn has a variable link with the Reality of the World of these books. This turns out to be literal. She would like to be the trickster, thief, jester, free-spirit and commentator of the group, only as we all know what we want to be and who we turn out to be are often quite different things.
Preamble: The following action takes place in a run-down town of Yermetz. It has come to the attention of the local normally easy-going Translator Pastoral (think senior priest of the town) ClnMyla that something very untoward has been going on and could lead to a Zerstroung (think demonic) incursion. Reluctantly he calls in a long-term associate Custodian (ie Inquisitor) Meradat, a solid, independently minded fearsome fellow to assist. As they approach the building suspected as being the point of possible incursion, they find it in flames. From out of an alley behind them appears a figure who is pleased with the event:
ClnMyla was first to the conversation, he did not want Meradat causing this possibly unusual person to go all skittish and run.
‘Pardon me for appearing slow. But would you be after claiming the responsibility for this conflagration?’
This caused the person to rise from their slouch and frown, arms unfolding and straying down to a sheathed blade.
‘Just said, didn’t I?’ they leant forward, light from the blaze revealing high cheekbones, teeth slightly bared ‘I set fire to that nasty place. Just like I’ve done with others before,’
Closer inspection revealed soot stains upon her face, hands and clothing and a stronger cloying aroma of smoke than you would expect from a simple background conflagration. ClnMyla felt there may be something to her claim.
‘So, you’d be making a career of this then?’
‘Yeah,’ she waved a hand at them ‘Like you holies, it’s my vo-err-voc—’
‘Vocation,’ intoned Meradat, she nodded in response ‘And by your accent am I correct to assume you have journeyed northwards all the way from the Blaggatinia in the Southern Peninsula, burning down places along the way?’
‘S’right. Right up from Elinid,’ she spat, quite profusely, narrowly missing clerical shoes ‘Rot-it-to the-Fifth-Hell,’ a pause to scratch their scalp ‘I’ll go back there one day an’ burn the whole damn place down,’
Meradat was normally a man given to action, either physical or verbal on the basis assault took the foe off of their guard, however this person presented a collection of questions which he felt, just this time, might be better dealt by his colleague. ClnMyla was of course all for talking.
‘Well now Miss, I take it, it is Miss,’ the new arrival nodded, sniffed and followed up by a wiping of nose on sleeve, which he took as a perverse sort of defiance on being identified as a girl. ‘Just what would be bringing you on such a task?’
The girl raised her head, a feral smirk about her face.
‘Told ya. My mission. I can smell nasty business I can,’ a quick shrug ‘Not the robbing and cheating sorts, but that dirty creepin’ Whychie stuff, the stormhiggle,’
‘Stommigheid,’ Meradat corrected and only being able to restrain himself from interrogation or accusation for very short interludes, loomed in asking ‘And just how do you burn things?’
ClnMyla winced, one odd answer here and the girl could be on the wrong end of an official Stommigheidate accusation. She patted her back pack.
‘I got all I needs in here. All the natural stuff wot will burn anywhere and anyhow. I can set fire to a riverbank if I fancies,’
After a hasty glance to Meradat, ClnMyla put on his most disarming smile.
‘This scenting of things?’ and he let the question deliberately hang there, letting her have her say.
‘I just do. It’s a gift and I makes the best use of it. Soon as I got the chance to get out of the sproggle hole Elinid and into the open where I could think and smell straight, everything became very clear, an’ since then,’ she shrugged, to look back to the fire, losing herself in the sight, one hand idly tugging at her shirt.
ClnMyla moved between her and the flames, his attention determinedly fixed in a kindly manner, time to calm her down and learn more about the wheres and the whys.
‘Well this is good news to our stretched and tired hearts. Another to the fight. My new cook, she’s fine at her calling and a most devout lady, will be only too glad to prepare you a decent meal and a hot brew. Would you be caring to accept the invitation?’
At the mention of food there was a low gurgling noise from the girl’s midriff and a swift lick of her lips, although her expression was guarded.
‘No funny-bunny business?’ she asked, eye narrowing and hand settling on the sheath ‘No having me take off all my clothes to check for sinful marks? No creeping up to me at night with your trousers off and nightshirt up?’
ClnMyla was fair certain Meradat’s nasal inhalation and subsequent exhalation of anger at such accusations had caused two attendant drafts. These being a precursor to a combination of tirade and apology against the ways of lax, unworthy and thrice-wretched members of The Ecclesiastes who indulged so and how he had dealt with those he had apprehended.
‘Ah, now you’ve started him off,’ explained ClnMyla ‘He’ll be going on about his colourful notions on how to cleanse our wayward brothers-in-faith and what’s wrong with the ruling councils. This will likely be the background to the short journey to my abode and the decent meal I assured you of. For certain of the Good Lord God you’re looking as if you need one,’
The girl considered her feet.
‘Yeah,’ she rubbed her stomach ‘Am a bit empty. I’ll chance it,’
‘Grand. I’m Translator Pastoral ClnMyla, this fellow with the formidable vocal chords is Custodian Meradat, and you’d be calling yourself?’
‘Karlyn, Karlyn Nahtinee,’
Before ClnMyla could make further comment, the burning roof fell in, Meradat announced there was no more to be done as the blaze had accomplished The Lord God’s work, and Karlyn Nahtinee was shepherded away.
The translator pastoral was interested to recognise in his associate, concern as opposed to the usual Custodianal displeasure. Firstly, on returning to ClnMyla’s abode Meradat had merely dismissed the three translators with the curt observation they had work to do amongst their communities, so they were obliged to leave the light supper and scuttle out into the night. Secondly, he had been quite willing for Widow Darroe to see the girl into the kitchen and had not even bothered to ask ClnMyla if the arrangement between Widow Darroe and Servant Harrdel was a ‘correct one’. Instead he had ushered the translator pastoral into the man’s own reading room, where he at least allowed ClnMyla to sit down before he started.
‘Let us ignore your previous mistakes in this matter,’ Meradat did not wait for any other opinion on the matter ‘And look at the issues to hand. We have a man who in his vanity has peered into places far beyond his capacity to handle, thus panicked and fled. Then, appears a strange young woman claiming an ability to trace such practices. The initial evidence suggests her close affinity to fire,’ ClnMyla had to agree thus far ‘This affinity itself raises issues which will need to be addressed as will her other claim to burn places at her whim,’ at this juncture he stopped ClnMyla reckoned there was an internal argument taking place. Meradat paced, hands firmly clasped behind his back. The Custodian stopped at the window and stared out into the damp and dirty night.
‘So, if she is as she claims, although the risks are great and the weaponry to be handled very carefully there is no doubt The Lord God has delivered unto me the means to do battle,’
Problems and issues assailed ClnMyla. Still out of breath he only half-rose.
‘Now Meradat my long-time associate in perils. You’ll not be thinking of taking a possibly unhinged young girl on one of your steely and messy jaunts? I was nice enough with her to her face, particularly with all that hardware she’d be carrying. But between ourselves. Sweet Mercy of The Good Lord God. For all we know she might be a little runaway dreamer who latches onto any event and claims it for her own doings. I’ll even wager she believes she can hold conversations with flowers, trees and the more pleasant of insects,’ ClnMyla felt inclined to add a warning to the next part ‘And how can you be certain she’s not been sent to discredit you? You’re not the most popular of fellows amongst your own ranks, upsetting your superiors and equals with your assertions of corruption, nepotism and laziness. You’ve seen off five assassination attempts to my knowledge. So, they try the discrediting. What could be worse than a middle-aged experienced Custodian being made a fool of by a waif of a girl. It’s happened before, mind you from what I be hearing those were for more natural reasons,’
Meradat’s face grew taught and flint sharp, winter grey eyes became hooded.
‘I am aware of all their potential tricks. And I have already started to observe the girl,’
‘observe the girl….???’
ClnMyla knew from experience as far as Meradat was concerned there was the end of this part of the argument. The man fought his war on more than one front. And ClnMyla had to admit Meradat really did have a certain perception for these Stommigheid matters. Meanwhile the Custodian was continuing.
‘Let’s return to whatever this absent fool saw. Did his dabbling offer a pathway to those from The Zerstorung who would destroy this world and replace it with a Hell? This is one in a line of recent indications I have encountered,’ he settled into a very grave expression. ‘Ideal for some clutch of degenerates daring to move beyond their own debauched covens. And yet although the Stommigheid is a bane, it is capricious in its unpredictable tydes and tempests, thus the girl could well have been swept here for a purpose. I must speak with her now. You may rest,’
‘Meradat can be fearfully accurate in his summations… the man has been walking very strange paths for many years, undergoing the facing of the most peculiar of information and experiences. Small wonder he leaves confusions in his wake. I don’t know. I’ll have enough to be doing with the authorities and gangs being a nervy as frogs about a fire; and neither wanting to be useful, while suspecting each other. I think this role is getting to be more than one man’s work; pastoral indeed. Mind you, he has a point about resting; it will do no harm to be resting my eyes for just a fifty or so….
Meradat watched the man drift into a doze. For all his imperfect inclinations to Compassion and Tolerance, Translator Pastoral ClnMyla was as best as could be hoped for in a declining Ecclesiastes. You could never predict the allies and soldiers The Lord God would send in the ongoing struggle with The Zerstorung. Another battle to thwart the unceasing attempts to break into the World Physical and bring its hideous domination.
With her noteworthy gear piled into a corner Karlyn was perched upon a kitchen stool working her way through a meal of stew and extra portions of vegetables. Widow Darroe managed the feat of wrinkling her nose at Meradat in a respectful fashion.
‘The young woman should have the comfort of a bath and bed too, Your Revered Sir,’
‘Sadly, good woman, there is little time. The requirements to be of service to the Lord God are pressing. Now then, Maid Karlyn,’ who looked up from her meal, briefly scratching her short dark hair.
‘Yumf?’
And possessed of a full mouth.
‘Very well. Eat. But with all dignity. Now listen well, and bear in mind I will expect an answer,’
‘Mumphh-huhmph,’ she said still attending to the stew.
He drew from his large and pocket rich coat a slender black leather book; the custodial axe inscribed in gilded lettering. Sitting opposite her, he skimmed the tome across the table to her.
‘Pick up the volume, maiden,’
The need to shovel another spoonful of stew took precedence, but following she did pick up the volume, sniffed at it and having looked admiringly at the cover put down her spoon. While she chewed in a very demonstrative manner, Karlyn thumbed through the pages, ending her survey with a very obvious swallow and a wide grin.
‘Hey. I like these prayers about burning wicked folk!’
‘Encouraging,’ he picked up the book and waved it at her, she followed the progress as a cat watching a jewelled necklace ‘This is a copy of The Ministrations of the Obliteration. Written in sacred ways, passages formed with invention to confront doubts and aberrations, set in inks pure. The tainted, the foolish and the evil become most agitated reading its pages.’
He was one to strongly deny there was even the slightest hint of Stommigheid in its construction.
Widow Darroe passed a comment which she kept wisely inaudible and excused herself. To her mind, The Official Custodianal idea of sacred and pure could be mistaken by ordinary folk as the determination to wreak havoc and terror; but the girl seemed most casual.
‘Recite unto me a maiden’s prayer,’
Karlyn pulled a long face, the stew was beckoning.
‘Dunno much. Where I lived they never encouraged ‘em,’
Meradat glowered, not so much at her, but at a place many leagues distant and many years passed.
‘Yeah. Told you. Where I lived, we weren’t encouraged,’
‘Even with a vulgarity inserted, it was sincere enough,’ he had had enough experience of the panic and haste of the other sort. He had met many types in his long and turbulent career trying to weave, worm or scuttle their ways out of the Justice of The Lord God. This young woman did not seem the least bit troubled by his office. She did not use the official address which was as interesting as it was refreshing. ‘So, are you ready to work for The Lord God?’
‘Yumf,’ stew again.
The response was quite emphatic; just the style you’d expect from the rare irreverent yet direct sort. He continued, while observing, carefully. It was interesting to note although she consumed her meal with all the speed and indelicacy of a beast of prey, she did so with an accompanying feral grace. All the while maintaining a casual composure, as if being interviewed by a Custodian was a mere commonplace.
He pressed on.
‘How long have you had this gift to scent out evil?’
‘’Bout three years. Just came to me, it did,’
‘How did your family react?’
‘Haven’t got one,’
‘An orphan then?’
‘Dunno. I was washed up near Elinid in a ship wreck. Forgot stuff,’
Another Preamble : This takes place a little later when Custodian Meradat endeavours to escort Karlyn out through a curious crowd in what is usually an acceptable manner of The Cowed and Frightened or (defiant) suspect- Karlyn makes much more of it:
‘Look. Could we not have the young girl there disguised as a heretic and you’ll be taking her, looking as a Him for interrogation,’
Karlyn much refreshed by food clapped her hands and did a little jig.
‘Oooh playtime. I loves playtime and dress-up. Can I have a moustache and a beard and swagger,’ she stuck out her midriff and puffed out her cheeks and was about to demonstrate her vocal abilities, when Meradat pointed out, very sonorously heretics did not swagger in a clownish fashion. Karlyn, mused and agreed. ‘Alright then I’ll be a noodley-hutch,’ twirling her right index finger near to the side of her head.
ClnMyla and his servant exchanged unhappy and fatalistic glances.
Meradat rolled his eyes.
The door of the abode swung inwards and there in the lamplight stood The Custodian, in his full imposing height and an iron badge in the shape of an axe of justice hung ominously about his neck. In his firm grip upon one shoulder a small hooded figure who twitched and seemed to cackle.
Meradat did not normally care for this sort of theatricality but he did have a sense of duty, bordering on friendship to ClnMyla and so once more was going along with one of the Pastoral Translator’s whimsical schemes. This one did have a measure of economy and plausibility.
‘One side,’ he boomed ‘A heretic hast been apprehended in your town,’
At this point Karlyn squeaked and waved her fingers in flapping motions about her head.
‘Oooh All praise the…’ she stopped, suddenly stuck for a suitable heretical statement, luckily for her the febrile imaginings of the crowd were rich in possibilities.
‘All the burning. He’s got one of them Gervalons.’ screeched a woman ‘Oh Good Lord God help us, there’s Gervalons here. Come to burn us all in our beds!’
And a flurry of cries went up demanding all manner of very painful and bloody executions at once, fuelled by Karlyn cackling and announcing they were all going to suffer Wraths.
At this stage ClnMyla and his servant wisely made their appearances; the latter to run around to the attached stables and bring out the horses, ClnMyla to interpose himself between two forces of nature, maybe three for he was not sure about the girl.
‘Please. All of you. Be calm for, he, the Custodian must take this wretch,’ Karlyn made a rude noise and stuck out her tongue, which caused some puzzled silences for as far as folk knew mad heretics did not resort to street urchin tricks. ClnMyla took advantage of the lessening of the hub-bub. ‘He must take them for interrogation. They are obviously not having enough wits of their own to plan anything,’ Karlyn seemed attracted to this notion and began to babble the word ‘Burn’ ‘There are others at work here,’ he concluded in some desperation; the girl was not helping.
At the appearance two conveniently saddled, bridled and gear stowed horses Meradat boomed once more for all to stand aside and dragged the girl to the mounts. His, a large roan was naturally waiting patiently.
‘You’re all gonna burn.’ she chanted and pointed randomly at folk squeaking ‘’Specially you!’
And from some place in her jack brought out wood the size of a toothpick but for the small blue bulbous end, against which she scratched her thumb, then flicked the now flaring object towards the crowd. Naturally there was panic, there were howls, there were ructions, there was the girl’s high-pitched giggle. ClnMyla made a brief but very strong request for divine intercession, thoughts of which were distracted by the sight of Meradat’s expression which instead of the expected rage was one of serious assessment.
Meradat’s air of apparent detachment did not stop him picking her up and slinging her over the saddle of a fatalistic mount.
‘Cease your blasphemous babbling,’ he warned as he tied her hands and legs. ClnMyla had known him previously put more venom and threat into such words. On this occasion and by his standards Meradat sounded almost conversational, while the girl undeterred by the chaos and treatment appeared to be indulging in her role.
‘Can’t stop me,’ she trilled very off-key
‘Can’t stop me,
You’re all gonna roast at the burning tree,’
Her ditty ended in a ‘mmph’ when Meradat shoved a rag into her mouth followed by a swift expert securing of her to the saddle. This done he set up upon his own mount and grasped the reins of the other, it was time to leave. To the crowd his seeming prompt action had turned the tide and so caused cheering, calls of approval, with the occasional ‘Good Lord God Bless You’ thrown in by those anxious not be seen to offend a Custodian. But Meradat did not care to rely on the emotional goodwill of even such a small number.
The Precipice Dominions... (A Fantasy Trilogy) 