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Okay, so this section might be more than a little confusing – there’s a lot of context, and a lot of terms that would make sense to anyone reading previous chapters, but not to newcomers. All I want to know is, does it feel natural? Some of it probably won’t, since Farrlytes sometimes speak with flowery, poetic terms. But besides those, does it make enough sense that you were able to follow along?
It’s from my Tween-Magnum-Opus WIP… which has no title as of now. I invented a lot of these characters when I was 12 or 13, and now I’m revisiting this old idea!! Whoo-whoo!!! *Confetti* So far, so good! 😛
Things to know:
– Hero, Omri, just turned magically into a baby, using *SURPRISE!!!* phoenix powers
– Only one person in the whole world is to be gifted this power
– Talia and Mustafa are his besties
– Omri is a different race (sometimes referred to as a Pale One, sometimes as a Hebel) from all the other characters in this scene (who are Farrs, Farrlytes)
– Pale Ones are evil power-hungry snakes (metaphorically), and are NOT supposed to have this phoenix power
– Omri is on the run from his own race, and his evil uncle
– Jule and his wife Lydia (sometimes called Farvra, which means Mrs.) are Talia’s parents (they are the makeshift parents of pretty much all the children in the story)
– Lydia just recently had a stillbirth
– Talia and Mustafa have Omri, were running through the marketplace, and just stumbled onto Talia’s mum
Chapter… Something Something
Talia waited for what she knew was inevitable.
Farvra Jule concentrated on the baby’s dark eyes, and outlined brow. “In all the lands…”
“It is Omri, Mama,” Talia burst out. “Omri is blessed by the phoenix. We are trying to find out why, and how he could be so, and also be a Pale One, because doesn’t everyone know that a Farr, a real flesh and blood Farrlyte is supposed to be the blessed? We don’t know. His tutor doesn’t know. Please, Mama… please, don’t be angry at him.”
But the Farvra was only half listening. She held him up over the baskets of fruit and herbs, and stared again. “I can see it is him, by his forehead, and by our garnet fastened to the neck ring. How did he come to look like this?”
People were beginning to watch from across the booth, but they were fellow merchants, unloading cargo – Talia knew them well, and was not afraid. She was only conscious of how strange this looked. “He was stabbed by one of his uncle’s soldiers, and burned up, and came back like this. It was like watching a mouse burrowing around in a sack of grain, or a snake shedding its skin. At first it was just an ash pile – and then he rolled out, knocking powder everywhere.”
Farvra Jule had never seen something like this, but she was a sensible woman, prone to fixing everything with a hot pot of chowder and a big hug. “Come then,” she urged, pulling the children into the tent, “let’s have dinner. The men will be returning at the bell for their meal, and it’s nearly midnight. I’ll see if Farvra Bjor has any goat’s milk left over from her baking day.”
The two older children were told to wait in Tauren’s hammock while the Farvra prepared the food. The combination of the late hour and the deep, spicy aroma from the pots and pans were sophomoric. Mustafa was soon rocked to sleep, but Talia stayed awake.
Small details kept her mind oriented. Her mother muttered, the pots bubbled, the clock ticked, the chimes swung. Drawings on wooden frames stood on the table. Purple and red slippers lay on the mat in a row. One pair was a dark yellow, dry and clean.
The only thing that struck her as different – not unloved, only different – was the occasional fussing from the baby on the mother’s hip.
This was the safest place Talia knew, and even though the Pale boy shared no blood with her, she also knew that her father and mother’s clans would fight tooth and nail for their children. She had never known the need for true violence in Farless, other than the occasional disagreement between clans over unclaimed vessels and cargo, or, more rarely, birthrights. Farrs had the skill and craftiness to commit ruthless deeds, but who would in their right mind fight against their own uncles and cousins? The only men they would kill in cold blood were of Tremblo, or the Sheer tribes, or of the Pale folk. And Omri was not a man – he was a boy; a very special boy, who trusted them to take care of him while he was helpless, and could not even remember his own name. If anyone was going to protect him, it would be Jule and his eight brothers.
Before long, the hired merchants came tromping in, scraping the ice off their boots, and talking loudly. The younger workers leaned into each other next to the door. They barely contained their boisterous attitude in front of the boss’s wife – gazes flickering about, white teeth flashing.
When she was shorter, Talia used to play games with them, and even wrestle, to prove she was worth their attention. Now she did everything in her small but savage power to ignore them. For some deep instinctual reason that she could not understand, they stared at her soft, lithe shape, and loitered around where she had trodden. They avoided her piercing gaze – unlike the Pale boy and his shadow, Mustafa, who marveled at her violet eyes, but were not afraid.
Talia let Mustafa’s head fall onto her shoulder as he shifted, and rocked more softly. The folds of the hammock, which was shaped like a giant egg, hid them both rather well – although of course, if anyone looked, they need not look hard. Hopefully they would not be pushed about by some bored troublemaker.
Then there were the older men, those Talia saw as honorary fathers, although they were technically uncles. They had taught her, told her stories, spanked her when she misbehaved. They were lords; they carried themselves with quiet, godlike familiarity. Without them, the market would be a hundred times more dangerous – and here they were, in her tent, admiring the pictures and playing a silent game of cards at her table, which had been alive for the entire day. Lords Jule, her father; Zroi, Bjor, Kallum, Efre-e, Tal, Ivar, the seventh; Fraili, and Deln: that is, Thellim.
Zroi bowed respectfully to Farvra Jule as he walked in, brow smoldering with calm interest, the last to bend his head through the tent entrance. “We have worked hard tonight, my sister. How goes the food? My feet and fingers are liable to freeze of melancholy.”
She replied with a tired chuckle, and hoisted the baby more firmly on her hip. “Fine, brother,” she said simply. At this interruption, the baby began to cry.
Zroi leaned forward, and looked pointedly at the jewel on the child’s neck, but said nothing. Whether or not he believed in the rumors – that this child was the curious urchin who stole rides on his barge – he did not give any hint. He only set his jaw, and smiled at his step-sister, with sympathetic love. More quietly, he said, “Lydia, my sister. How are you, since the funeral?”
“Better.” Farvra Jule’s face also betrayed nothing. It was firm and practical, and did not look away. Instead, she held the baby tighter.
Missus Jule, Missus Jule, rang in her mind. I love you. Lord Jule loves you, Talia loves you, Tauren and Timeo love you. We all do – you’re hurting, but that baby loved you so much…
“Better than I ever was.”
Zroi said nothing.
In a moment, Talia was knocked over backwards, as someone grabbed the hammock strings. She hissed. Mustafa, bleary-eyed, clung to her arm.
It was her seventh uncle, Ivar. He put a finger to his lips. “Sorry, little niece, but not sorry. I wanted to see if you were awake. The meal is about to start, and then your father will speak. We’re going to discuss your little friend – the one your mama’s holding, correct?”
Talia nodded.
“Alright, then. Your mama and I want you to stay awake, but Zroi won’t be all too happy about that. So no matter what, hold your tongue. Both of you.” He shook Mustafa’s shoulder. “Understand? I have some pretty trinkets stored away if you behave.”
Talia nodded.
Ivar squeezed her hand in his enormous ones, and sat down at the table.
He was the seventh of his brothers, but held no particular seriousness concerning anything. He had always had a soft spot for children – he talked to them, gave them toys, and even acted like them on occasion. Even now, he was leaning back in his chair, feet on the tabletop, laughing. In stark contrast, his two younger brothers, Fraili and Deln-Thellim pursed their lips and made no small talk.
The meal began with a hearty pot of soup, and heaping dumpling plates. Steamed vegetables, curry, spices smeared on bowls, cheese and sausage platters, fine wine, deepened with some ancient lord’s spirit. The hired men came forth, mingling with their lords. Hot drinks sloshed, jokes were made – and when the roast duck appeared, even the most stony-faced of men became sparkly-eyed.
The lull of the voices almost sent Talia and Mustafa to sleep, but luckily, the Farvra soon handed them a bowl, filled to the brim with rice, cheese and extra spicy dumplings. Stuffing their faces as quietly as they could, the children watched and waited.
At some point which Talia could not quite detect, most of the hired workers slipped away. Those who stayed were older and wiser – those who had known the lords since childhood. A fine way to tell if they were worthy enough, were if they had beards or signet rings. Beards were easy enough, but signet rings were harder to spot. If you learned well enough, you could even determine which town or region the man was from, by the symbol on his finger. Again, these were men she knew – but not as well.
Jule put down his cup with a sigh, and suddenly, the room grew cold. Every man’s eyes were averted, but the attention was all on the Farvra.
Lydia Jule stood, her back to the company. The baby was now slung on her side in a red pouch, slumbering peacefully.
Jule addressed his brothers. “There is a matter which cannot be ignored. Please, stay, brothers – stay to hear a wondrous thing.
“Two seasons have passed by since the Pale Ones clustered in this part of the island. Business has been restricted, and our boats have been raided. Every day has been a struggle – although, granted, we have it much better than most. We make exceptions for each other, we help each other, with our food, our work, our children. Yes, those from Hebel should not interfere with Farrlyte affairs – but that is not the topic of tonight.
“It has been two seasons since our island was taken over. But it has been a year since my daughter made a special acquaintance. My daughter has a way with the urchins, as you all know.”
A few of the brothers, Tal and Ivar, chuckled.
Talia was indignant. She whispered in Mustafa’s ear. “I am not needy, no matter what they say.”
Mustafa stretched and yawned, voice saucy. “Whatever you say. All I know is, you’ll have a lot of suitors.”
Talia slapped his knee.
But her father had already continued. “This particular child interested me almost at once, although not strongly. He was her age: small, well-dressed, a Hebel child.”
Bjor’s face turned stern. “You need to restrain your daughter, Jule. If she had chosen any other Dagger, he would have manipulated her – who knows what could have happened.”
“Ah, but he didn’t. I trust my two older children’s judgment. She knows how to take care of herself. Even a fully armed, strong Pale One would have trouble capturing her.”
“This is true,” Ivar put in, supporting his brother.
Zroi bowed his head, face in shadow. He spoke quietly. “She is overconfident, but this is true.”
“Yes, overconfident,” Ivar continued, “but the boy wasn’t. He worshiped her – copied her every move. He was harmless. Wouldn’t have hurt a fly.”
“You are impulsive, Ivar,” Bjor said. “And biased. We all know you enjoyed the pup.”
“And you are prejudiced, Bjor. We all know he stole from your bread store.” This was Fraili speaking. He met eyes with Deln-Thellim, and went silent.
The laughter was not unchecked, though.
Bjor’s face turned stern. He was the only one of his brothers with an easily-uncovered temper. “Just get to the point, Jule. I won’t say it, and none of us need say it. All I need say is that I don’t want my wife and children related to a Pale One. It’s revolting, and no one can say different. I don’t want it to even touch them.”
Ivar was incredulous. “I know you’re sore, brother. But it isn’t the boy’s fault if his own kind is a hollow, rotten, stinking -”
“Be quiet, you two,” Efre-e cried out. He had been silent throughout the entire conversation. Now he stood up, face honest and pained. He was one of Talia’s favorites. “You’ve always fought, from the beginning of time. A slight disagreement, and you fall on each other with claws unfastened. The child doesn’t deserve this, even if he is a shipwreck. Let us continue with grace and wisdom, like men.”
“Yes, let Jule continue,” one of the older merchants added stubbornly.
Jule, Zroi and Tal had been watching with various levels of amusement. Kallum, as usual, showed no emotion. As for the two youngest of the men, they remained watchful and uneasy. The occupation had affected them and their families the most – their faces were thin and flinching, unlike the confident men they used to be.
Efre-e looked to Jule, who stood up with him. The older man remained calm, even relaxed, as he said: “I believe that the child is harmless. In fact, I would protect him with my life, as I would my own children. He has been like one of ours, since he first began coming to dinner in our home. He ate here, and laughed, and took care of our Timeo when my wife had her birth pains. Even better, he distracted my daughter long enough for us to breathe.
“He is the phoenix child.”
Silence.
“He has caused no trouble, other than stealing our food and fighting our children, which any sensible boy might do. I ask for your families’ unwavering protection. I ask for you to treat him as one of us.”
Every man took the time to listen to his own counsel, behind masks of thoughtfulness, skepticism or stone.
“Do any of you doubt?” Jule asked. “Because if any of you do, I would still ask this of you, regardless of whether or not the boy showed any signs of being like us. And we must all agree.”
No one said anything.
“So.”
After a moment of quiet conflict with himself, Efre-e sat down. His brow looked as if a thousand questions had dangled on it from youth, and it made him sore tired. But his voice was still young. Many had said that perhaps, if he had been the seventh instead of Ivar, their family might be blessed with the phoenix. He had always thought through everything with a peculiar sort of innocence. “I would like to ask something of our sister.”
The Farvra stopped stirring her pot. She had been standing at the stove the entire time. “You may ask it.”
“May I hold our young Omri? Maybe that will prove something.”
The Farvra was hesitant, but not for long. She unwrapped her pouch, and held out the baby for all to see. He was a healthy-looking child, still sleeping well. His pigtails hung into his eyes, tied up with two orange ribbons, and a string of beads looped around his waist. The garnet shone faintly from under his chin, where a pool of drool shone even brighter. As he breathed, the whole room could hear soft snores, like the song of a butterfly.
Suddenly, Lydia Jule’s shoulders shook with anger. “Does this look like a ruthless murderer to any of you?”
There was a surly and awkward silence. Then Bjor protested. “Children grow, sister – how can we know -”
“I wish to Weld this child.”
Many of the merchants froze, wine forgotten. The tabletop shook. A few glasses spilled, but the Farvra did not clean anything up. She stood strong in the midst of her husband’s peers.
“I wish to Weld this child,” she said again, louder.
Next to Talia, Mustafa stiffened, and spilled the bowl of dumplings into their laps. Talia spoke a muffled curse, but no one seemed to hear.
“Foolish woman!” Tal said, not entirely unkindly, but more out of shock.
Zroi was the only one not surprised. “You should not have agitated her, Bjor. Now see what you’ve done.”
“She cannot evoke a Welding,” Deln Thellim said, long since turned as sickly gray as a dove. “Nothing in the laws has ever said that a Pale One can join a clan. Certainly not.”
A deep, rich, intense tone struck his argument down. It was Kallum, still untouched by any of the excitement. He rubbed his rough brown fingers together. “She may bring forth a Welding. There is nothing forbidding a mother to touch her child.”
“It is not her child yet,” someone – Talia could not recognize him at the moment – exclaimed.
“A-yeh, but soon it will be.”
“I love this boy,” Lydia said, trembling still more, with an emotion she had not felt since the tragedy. “My entire family loves this boy, whether or not that is evident to you. You know him, you’ve seen him about, playing with your children. And I want him. I want him.”
Jule stood tall and proud, supporting his wife. His eyes gleamed, spurred by this new, and so-called foolish idea. “Thank you, Lydia. We will Weld this child, and he shall be ours.”
Chairs scraped back; voices rose, like a throng of blackbirds spooked by the movement of their prey. Scarlet striped cloth blocked the children’s view, as their eyes opened wider than when first the conversation started.
Talia clutched Mustafa’s arm for support. “What is a Welding? It sounds like it hurts.”
She had heard it before somewhere, perhaps in the market – but with a name like that, and a reaction like that, she did not know how to react herself. Everything rustled nervously.
Her knowledgeable friend, Mustafa, bit his lip. “It could be good or bad.”
“But does it hurt?”Mustafa did not answer at first. Then he shrugged something invisible off his brown shoulders. “Omri has a high pain tolerance for a weaselly Pale One, doesn’t he?”
This did not comfort anyone, whether listening or not, least of all Omri himself. The baby had awoken, and with one hand he grasped the necklace beads, and flailed about in the air with the other, screaming the entire while. Tears of innocent anger streamed down his cheeks.
The men had all stood up now, talking loudly and seriously. Some voices had even been raised – even the older men talked over each other, eyes wide, wrinkles stretched with surprise. Chairs fell with a clatter. They reached to tug at the baby’s clothes, clutch his arms, stared at his fluffy white head, while the subject howled his face off.
Ivar began to laugh. He leaned back farther on his chair, watching with evident amusement. “Lydia, you clever sister! Even I didn’t expect this, even with everything I hear on my trinket cart.”
“Enough!”
Efre-e held the child now, determined to calm the storm. “Enough of using your heads like pigs!”
Tal snorted, and pulled another man down by his collar.
“Do not excite yourselves,” Efre-e said earnestly. He himself trembled with excitement. “Let us reason together like men.”
“If my Farvra wishes to Weld, she is free to do it, by the laws of the Scribe Towers. And if anyone wishes to object, it is best if they do it now,” Jule stated. He did not put his arm around his wife, but the two leaned toward each other, as if by natural gravity.
Zroi looked up. He, Kallum and a couple other men were the only ones still sitting at their places. “I object.”
“Why?”
“Why should we die, protecting that ice-faced general’s jewel?”
A few heads nodded.
“My two daughters would grow up without knowing their own father’s face, because he valued another child’s future over their own. That is a position I would never force any man into.”
“You have spoken well,” Jule said. “But I have always found there to be an exception. And if it is love, those left behind will learn. Learn with time.”
Zroi bowed his head, and said no more.
“Which of the elders is qualified to conduct the Welding?”
This was obvious. Sifra Frem, the oldest of the eldest, was elected before drawing breath. He had blessed every one of the lords at birth.
“In the hour before dawn, we shall do this thing. Then young Omri shall be ours,” said Jule firmly.
“Everything is a mountain”
Holy toothy cow, that was long. Sorry.
Tagsies?
@mineralizedwritings @loopylin @freedomwriter76 @godlyfantasy12 @folith-feolin @thearcaneaxiom @esther-c @keilah-h @anyoneelsewannareadthismouthfulofasnippet?“Everything is a mountain”
Thanks for sharing!
I think I was able to follow along pretty well, there was a lot of context I didn’t have, but it was still digestible as a whole!
He is perfect in Justice, yet He is perfect in Mercy, even when we fail Him. For this, He is good.
@whalekeeper That seemed fine to me. I was a tiny bit confused at first, but I think with context the story will be far clearer. I think I remember you talking about this story.
Also, I love “Holy toothy cow!” My expression would’ve been “Holy Darkhunter!” (Context: Darkhunters are a species my brother made up that are pretty much about the evilest natural creatures in the universe, so sticking “holy” in front of their name is basically the greatest oxymoron in the story…..)
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
@whalekeeper SO COOL!!!! I really want to know what the welding is now tho!!!!
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebI have to admit I was kinda confused but a lot of that is I’m still without context despite some things being explained it’s hard to read thru notes without actually knowing the characters myself ya know?
but that’s not technically this scenes fault 😊 I want to know more about Omri! And also the one lady saying she wanted him seemed very sweet (if I’m understanding right??)
I liked it but just a bit confused context wise just want to know more!!!
mainly what a welding is and more about Omri lol
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebThat was really good!
Btw, you have a Tauren too?! XD the name jumped out to me in there of course
"And so I left this world just as I had entered it. Confused."
That was so cool! I love the world building and the characters and everything! I was able to follow all of it pretty well. Are you going to post more?
“Nothing says autumn like slurpin’ apples.” -my uncle
Hehe, yeah you guys are right, it’s probably a lot harder to follow without context. My only excuse for not giving you guys an earlier scene, is that I’m not completely satisfied with the beginning.
Thank you! I thought you would be best to judge worldbuilding 😉
Yeah, I have mentioned this story before. Lol, I bet that if you use that expression in your brother’s story world, you’d get a lot of strange looks XD
Thanks for the critique! Yes, it will definitely make more sense with context, but I’ll keep that into consideration.
Welding is kinda the Farr term for adoption, except it’s this ceremony which involves oaths, sacrifices, things like that. It’s kind of like a Biblical ceremony, the kind the Israelites would make, but way rarer and barely ever put to use.
Well, I might put some more info in some of the character threads! The story will probably make more sense then XD
Thank you!
ASDFJKL I DO?? *Checks over my story charts* WWUUUUUUTTT
Huh. If it’s any consolidation, I invented his name waaay back in 2020, before I even knew your Tauren existed. Although I can’t remember how I spelled his name back then? Maybe Torren. That sure is a strange coincidence.
Aw, thanks girl! 😛 I might – IF I EVER ACTUALLY BRING MYSELF TO WRITE THE FIRST CHAPTER
“Everything is a mountain”
@whalekeeper would u share the next scene with us once it’s finished? I really wanna know what happens next!
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebOh, sure! I would love to talk about your worldbuilding!
The biggest aspects of worldbuilding you’ve presented here I would say you’ve shown pretty well. It’s just part of the world, without making a point out of it or info-dumping, so well done as far as that goes! As for the worldbuilding itself, I do find it intriguing. You’ve taken the idea of a phoenix being reborn from ashes, and have built on it as an ability that can be given to others. This is a really fun form of worldbuilding where you build on existing concepts to generate something different. It gives a base for your readers, by presenting something they already find familiar, then your able to go deeper faster without having to explain it all to them. This also helped keep the flow of this particular chapter comprehensible without a full context.
I actually don’t think I really have enough context for your worldbuilding to give any proper thoughts or critiques other than that though. I could mention for the Farr and Hebel thing, that I’m not completely sure where your going with it yet. You’ve seemed to state pretty objectively that the Hebel are simply evil as a race, but the Farr seem to be accepting Omri as an exception, even if it’s with reluctance. This obviously states that they are not objectively evil, which I’m assuming is what your getting at, but you’ve stated it clearly that his kind are power-Hungry evil snakes. Is this an objective matter, but Omri is somehow born differently, there to perhaps offer his kind redemption in some way, being a chosen one, selected by the phoenix? When you were stating that they were evil, were you speaking only from the limited view of the Farr, and the phoenix could always give the ability to a pale one, but out of the atrocities of his people, and the prejudices that arose from that, the Farr simply thought it wasn’t possible? I’m just trying to pic out the particular dynamic of what’s going on, since I don’t have full context yet. Whatever it is though, it looks really good from what I can tell!
He is perfect in Justice, yet He is perfect in Mercy, even when we fail Him. For this, He is good.
The scene was really natural. Great job!! 😄
It also got me really curious about your worldbuilding and plot! 😏
Btw, I really like your writing style. It kinda reminds me of Andrew Peterson’s, like how you use metaphors and similes that have never been used before to describe things. I really like it! (Don’t worry though, your style is still unique. 😉 )
Write what should not be forgotten. — Isabel Allende
@whalekeeper LOL, yeah he’s the only one who’d understand it.
One thing I thought about:
Couldn’t Omri or some other phoenix-gifted character use his/her power to make themself immortal? like he gets old, he sets himself aflame, he becomes young again? There’ll have to be a way to restrain that ability–like for example it only works a limited number of times, or that it actually hurts like he’s dying when he burns.
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
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