Another of my writing group pieces, this one came from the prompt of:
Write a story that takes place in the same place but at two very different time periods.
Enjoy!
the location of note
One of the underlying threads of my decision to live in my hometown again was that my dad and I would renovate the downstairs apartment in the farmhouse so I could live there.
I had two pretty noisy, active dogs and I knew there was no way I would be able to find an apartment with them, and I didn’t have the money to buy a house. It was an idea we had kicked around for some years at that point, and my decision to leave my then-situation cemented it.
I’d come home and stay with my brother until the apartment was done.
We had been demolishing this particular room for days, it felt like, and every wall we opened up revealed more problems. The list was continually growing longer, and my patience shorter. At times telling myself that it would all be worth it in the end worked, and other times it didn’t.
Today was one of the latter days. It was blasted hot, I was in as little clothing as possible when working with nasty musty horsehair plaster and lath, old cellulose blown-in insulation, and mouse infested fiberglass batting—or what was left of it. I was dusty, dirty, and cross. But I refused to stop. I wanted it done, the clock was ticking.
We had already discovered two layers of flooring, and because I decided to rip out the built-in cabinets to make room for more bathroom closet space on the other side of the wall, the upper layer had to be torn up. I wanted this room done right, it would be my office/study/reading room because of the big windows and the morning sun.
Actually, it is the room I’m in now, and in fact the exact spot I’m in now.
After all the cutting, wrenching, prying, and levering, the chunks of plywood began to come up, revealing an entire hardwood floor of two-inch planks, worn smooth by the passage of countless feet. My frustration instantly morphed into curiosity—how old was this house, really?
My dad didn’t seem to know, just that it had always been here, and the previous owner had added on several times, even in his lifetime, with his help.
The floor had vestiges of greenish-gray-blue paint, typical of older farmhouses, and dips where it was worn thin from travel. Then under the windows, we uncovered several holes, possibly those of pipes, but not necessarily.
By the time we finished clearing the room back to the studs and lower floor level, it became clear that we had uncovered the first kitchen in the house.
As it stands now, the kitchen is in front of me, through two walls. But to see the arrangement of cabinet marks and holes, it made complete sense that this room would have been the kitchen. Even if the barn that is out my window now wasn’t there, there would have been a barn of some sort, and the kitchen would have been located at the back of the house to look out on it for keeping track of family members, and catching the rising sun because it faces east.
The pictures that formed in my mind drew on images from Little House on the Prairie, but that wasn’t really right. At the time of this kitchen, the whole hill would have belonged to this farm, from the apple orchard and the Thayer Estate on one side to Sterling Road on the other. This house most likely would have had all the amenities of the time.
Though I don’t know much of the history of the property before my father’s time, I have often thought about this house and who sat here in this kitchen taking meals, or preparing them.
How many people were in the family, did they have servants, (can you tell I have been reading a lot of historical fiction?), and most importantly, how did they deal with all the rocks in the land that we have thousands of dollars of equipment to deal with now?
Were they successful?
I tend to think so. It was a large property and traces of it are still visible on the land; there must have been enough impetus to continue. It’s difficult to see any of the age of this house now, with the modern improvements we worked so hard on for two years, but knowing that the bones of it stretch back to a time past is only more fodder for my imagination some days.~
This essay was written from a prompt during my local weekly writing group. It coincides with the QOTD for author Sacha Black’s Author Life #WritersofInstagram July challenge. I think it’s beneficial to examine motivations every once in a while, this was an opportunity for me to do so. I hope you enjoy it, and leave any comments below, I’d love to hear them.
Writing has been present in my life at different times and under different circumstances. I discovered an affinity for it somewhat in sixth grade when I was assigned my first research paper. My topic was Irving Berlin; a topic I had no real interest in, though I still learned much about the man and his accomplishments.
But I learned more about the process of writing.
That was when the process of research-outline-write according to outline-revise-submit was the accepted method. And being someone with high Strategic strength according to the Gallup Strengths Test, it worked very well for me. In fact, I kept the same process throughout high school and into college.
That was forced writing- done because I had to. My English professor in college told me that I wrote very well, and that it seemed to come easy for me, that he found a fluency and confidence in my work. At the time, I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, but the comment stayed with me as a bolster when I needed it.
Once I graduated, I didn’t need to write any longer. My hands were tied up in soil, plants, and garden tools.
I journaled off and on, here and there, but never for any length of time. The exception to that being when I was in Ireland. I did keep an almost daily journal of that nine months for the express purpose of recording all of what I did, felt, and experienced there. It is one of my most cherished possessions, even today.
It was only three years ago that I decided I wanted to write my own novel after a book- A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness- had a real impact on me. I fell in love with everything about it, and have done so again since then with the Shades of Magic series by V. E. Schwab. Both of these ‘book hangovers’ have only reinforced my main motivation for writing- to give someone else the same feeling those influential books have given me.
There is a quote out there in the internet world that says something like “Don’t give up writing, maybe someday YOU will be someone’s favorite author.” That whole idea drives me. Very little apart from grand architecture and works of art truly survive through time like the written word. In some way, I think we all want to leave an impression, and this is how I’d like to. So I guess I’m writing to make a mark.
[Isaac] Azimov said he ‘thinks through his fingers.’ I can understand that, but my fingers have no hope of keeping up with my mind. One of my biggest challenges of writing is getting what I’m thinking down on the screen before it’s gone. By the time the sentence is finished printing, my mind is three thoughts ahead. I’ve even wondered if my fingers have some sort of memory of their own, honestly.
But that’s not to say that I know every line that makes it to the page ahead of time, or even that I know what my characters will actually do. I know their major actions, but not necessarily all the little steps in between.
For example, I started writing a short story a few months ago for an online competition. I had the prompt, and the max word count, so I started in on an outline. That went fine, too. Then I sat down to write. I read the opening scene of this story to my weekly writing group, it involved a dragon chase. When I got to the second scene, two characters jumped up and interjected themselves into the mix, and I had no idea where they came from. My fingers went along with them anyway.
That story is now finished but did not make it to submission. From a starting word count of 5000, it burgeoned to over 9000 words when it was done. Those two characters insinuated themselves into the story and took it into depths I hadn’t planned for, but which I really love. It may still make it to another submission, but I also think it will make a great reader magnet and prequel explanation to the novel series. It was not wasted time or energy.
Many writers say they write to let the stories inside them out, to give them life. This short story has been an example of that for me as well. When I’m in character, the words flow and my mind shows me all of the scenes in crystal clarity as we go, it’s almost like a trance. Then I have to go away and do other things for a while, because it is exhausting, despite the exhilaration I feel for being a vampire (in that story), or my magically-endowed protagonist while writing.
I guess I write to create something lasting, I hope, and to exercise my creativity. To be someone or something else for a while, and to paint the images in my mind in words someone else can interpret their own way. The mind is an amazing tool, so complex and unique. Did you know there are people who think in images and others who think in words? I can’t fathom thinking in words, my inner monologue is too full of images and color. Through writing, however, I can communicate with that other mind in their own language. That to me is reason enough to write, and why writing and human authors will never fade away.~
The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
April’s question is: Are you a risk-taker when writing? Do you try something radically different in style/POV/etc. or add controversial topics to your work?
When I first glanced at the prompt I thought “No, I’m not a risk-taker in my writing.”
But then while pondering it further, perhaps I am somewhat. I don’t think of it as risk-taking, more like trying to make myself stand out in the sea of fantasy writers and bloggers. Building an audience is all about standing out and getting noticed, as is all the marketing I do for my freelance editing business. And is standing out risky?
It sure can be.
Well, it is to me, as I’m sure it is to many followers of this group (the word ‘insecure’ is what draws us together, right?). But it is also something I MUST do if I want to be a successful business owner and author.
Like many fantasy authors and game players, I have created a fantasy world where my stories will take place.
I say ‘will’ because they aren’t written yet. There. I said it. I’m going to write stories.
Even saying this feels risky to me. I’ve just put it in writing that I’m going to write novels. What if I never get to?
Honestly though, I have enough of the story on paper that there is no way I can’t write the books now. I’m dying to.
On to risk number 2. The blog series is written in the first person, from the perspective of the narrator who is doing the traveling, but she is telling the story to an audience (the readers) actively. Throughout the narration she ‘breaks the fourth wall’ and talks to the audience, giving them candid info about the scene or episode or answering questions they pose to her (the questions are implied in the answers).
It’s not a typical construction, but I need it to be more than boring blog posts talking about a fantasy land. It needs a purpose, a reason, and to be more conversational. What’s more conversational than someone discussing their travels to a foreign land and answering questions about it? It works well enough for me writing it, I can only hope it works for the reader.
Risk number 3. I suppose some of the idiosyncrasies within my fantasy world could be considered risky. For example, it is a matriarchal society. Heredity is through the female line for rulers, family lineages, and names, and the offspring remain with the mother’s family until they are at least 9. Marriage exists, but it rarely happens. There is no reason for two people to be only together.
There is no worship system, no houses of worship, no gods. Only what the people interact with on a daily basis- sky, earth, sun, moon.
I have a difficult time terming these points as ‘risky’ because it is fiction, and fantasy at that. There is the real risk that some readers won’t identify with it enough to read it, which is ok. That’s what target audiences are for.
Risk inherently implies that there is a reward. I am rewarded when I write the story and see it come to life on the page, and I can be rewarded if readers consume it and enjoy it also. Growth and change come about through risk. Without it, it can be difficult to move forward in life, business, career, in many things. Maybe my risks aren’t earthshattering, but for me, they still seem large. And I’ll keep taking them.
Hello Everyone! Daylight savings time has ended in my corner of the world, and that means evenings are useful once again! Ostara is around the corner, too, marking equal day and night length. The energy of the season is rather frenzied, my animals are ecstatic to be spending more time outside without ice.
In other news, I’ve been working on a couple of short stories for contests and an anthology. They are both set in Ereth, I’ll keep you updated on how they do and where you may be able to find them in the future.😉
The next issue of Collata⚡ comes out this weekend, so if you want to see what being a Nightingale is all about, join us with the link that follows the episode. Hope to see you there!~
Elahna and Ivy had just made their way upstairs to their rooms at the end of the last episode. That is, after a healing soak in the hot pool and an unexpected proposition. Elahna was surprised and sheepish, Ivy rather unimpressed. What will the morning bring? Let’s find out!~
I woke the next morning to the sounds of creaking and then a splash, which made me sit bolt upright. My head outpaced my body some in the movement and I clasped it to slow the bobbing images, then fell back against the pillow. I hadn’t had cider in some time, apparently Lissa’s batch had more of an effect than I had thought it would. But at least the splash hadn’t been directed at me. I sat up, slower this time, and peered out the open window.
Below, Scosy was drawing water from the stone well, transferring it into a large wooden cask that sat on a low cart.
The air was heavier than the evening before with the distinct earthy tang of evergreen forest. Tendrils of ground fog threaded through the tree trunks beyond the inn’s grounds. I fumbled in my discarded clothes for Aymur’s timepiece. It showed being in the fifth erdur. Well, at least I hadn’t overslept.
I watched as Scosy finished his task, hung the well bucket on a hook next to the winch handle and set off toward the stables with his bounty. It was good to know the horses would be well-tended before we left. Time then to see about myself.
After a meager breakfast of two glorious slices of toasted homemade bread with butter and some dark fruity jelly, I made a visit to the stables to check on the horses. Scosy hurried in when he saw me enter, a stricken look on his face.
“I wasn’t sure when ye would be settin’ out, miss, ‘pologies for not havin’ ‘em ready.” He grabbed for Revel’s stall door, but I held up my hand to stay him.
“Morning Scosy, no need to scramble. Ivy has to look at the center tree, we will be a bit yet. I trust he’s been good for you? No trouble?” I nodded at Revel, who munched contentedly on some extremely fragrant hay.
“Oh no, miss, he’s been a peach. No trouble at all.” His words trailed off as he shifted to look around me at something outside.
I turned to see Ivy striding across the yard toward the road and the center tree, I assumed. Scosy didn’t even seem aware of my presence any longer, so I stepped back out of his way. I recalled Lissa’s comment last night about the boy’s infatuation and felt a pang of sadness for him.
I trailed after Scosy, who lagged well behind Ivy as she strode toward the center tree. It was a magnificent specimen of a planetree. The camouflage colors of olive, gray, cream, white, and sage green cloaked the massive trunk in ribbons of brightness amid the morning shadows. Lissa hurried out the front of the tavern, joining Ivy, who gazed up at the canopy.
A stoutish man in a busy red, black, and green plaid shirt and caramel-colored trousers approached at a determined pace from the upper right of the Shoe. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows and the open buttons of his shirt allowed a forest of dark hair sprinkled with wood shavings to precede him by two inches at least. I had to stifle a giggle behind my hand. The man must be furred like a bear under the shirt, I thought to myself, but then quashed the idea, because what if there were bear-men here? Bigger curls of wood and more shavings clung to the canvas panels tacked onto his trousers above the knees. He must be a finish carver or something, definitely one who works wood with tools, not saw blades.
He nodded a brusque greeting at Lissa and the few other townsfolk who had gathered, setting the unruly nest of wavy hair on his head bobbing. “Elements be, Miss Ivy, well met. Lissa said you’d be out to have a look at our tree afore you set out. I’m much obliged.” He brushed wood dust off his hand after raising it in greeting.
“Elements be, Porter. Has there been something ailing the tree recently? It definitely appears less vigorous than I would expect.”
“We dealt with a bout of anthracnose last anid, but by autumn, it was looking well again.”
“This tree has a dryad, am I correct?” Heads nodded.
“But no one’s seen her for a while. The lads have been out in the forest blocks, I just haven’t had a chance to ask them to speak with her.”
Ivy nodded once in understanding. “I’ll try to get her to come out so I can ask her what she knows.”
I stepped closer to the gathering, but still on the outside edge, and watched Ivy place her palm against the trunk. After a moment, she stepped back, her gaze following something I couldn’t see. Then she gasped and held both her hands out as if to catch a baby bird.
I glanced around at the others in the group, whose faces all had tightened with concern. But they looked at Ivy and not her hands, so I surmised they couldn’t see the dryad either.
Ivy cocked her head slightly and said softly, more for her audience’s benefit than the dryad’s I wagered, “Show me, what ails you and your tree?” Her lips firmed into a line as she studied her hands, then she looked upwards into the canopy. “Is there an air weaver in town that can float me up?” She fixed Porter with eyes that brimmed with urgency. “She is very weak, but she shows me tunnels and chewing. There must be borers somewhere. I need to go up and look.”
“Ah, yes,” Porter pivoted to face Scosy. “Lad, run and find the Verticx chap. They may not have left for the blocks yet. Hurry!” Scosy jolted into movement, his gangly limbs propelling him down a side lane into the forest. “Is she in any danger?” Porter continued, “Can we do anything?”
“Do you have an Orderly? Some ginseng would help her vitality. We may need to make poultices to draw the borers out as well.”
A woman in a sky blue and pale yellow plaid scurried off up the left leg of the Shoe. Ivy remained focused on her cupped hands, her brow creased with worry.
I admit, it was strange watching Ivy attend to something I couldn’t see. And honestly, it made me feel a bit better knowing the others couldn’t see the dryad either. I knew that Lissa had some wood magic though, and I assumed Porter did as well, so there must be a threshold of ability that allowed someone to see the dryads. I did wish to see what one looked like.
No, at that point I wasn’t sure what the nature of the dryad-tree bond was, but I did ask Ivy later when we were underway. Dryads live in and on their trees, and they take on some aspects of them as their appearance. She said this dryad had skin that mirrored the tree’s, but that it was brittle and flaky and had become a slate gray instead of multi-colored. The creature’s hair was dry and crumbly and she felt slack like a wilted stem. I could tell she was very concerned for the dryad, but honestly felt that the ginseng root the woman returned with would help her immensely.
Scosy returned in half an hour or so with a silver-haired man who had very long pointed ears, the most elf-like ears I had seen yet. He was fairly tall, and very slight, but somehow managed to take up space within the gathered crowd. Ivy greeted him and told him what she needed. He smiled, nodding in agreement, and made a circular motion with his hand, the palm facing downward. A sharp breeze sprang up and the loose dirt and pebbles in front of him began to spiral around. Next thing I saw was Ivy step up into air, but obviously onto something. The elf joined her, and they rose straight up toward the branches, some sixty feet above. I bit my tongue to keep from drawing attention to myself.
They spent about ten minutes aloft, circling the trunk and examining three areas closely. Ivy confirmed the presence of borers and a secondary infestation of lacebug when she landed. She said the trunk was weeping in the three places she and Leverett had lingered at and prescribed poultices of tobacco leaves to be applied every few days, making sure the mash filled the tunnels.
“Leave a piece of ginseng root out for the dryad every tertia or quarta anar* for the next anos too. Whoever goes up with Leverett can also spray the lacebug with a soap solution. Just to lessen the pressure on the tree so it can heal. Send word to Aymur for him to visit in seisla aneks and check progress. I’ll recheck it on my return from Irillo as well. Hopefully I can perform some bark healing on the wound sites then.”
“Many thanks, Ivy. We will see it all gets done. Safe travels to Irillo, and give Sawyerset’s regards to the Regna. Elements be.” Porter ambled away back up the road, wood shavings littering his wake.
We returned to the tavern with Lissa to gather our belongings and say our farewells. She stood, shaking her head with a wry grin on her face, watching her son bustle about our mounts in the stable yard when we alighted from the back stairway. “Ah Ivy, you’ve saddled me with a mournful puppy for the rest of th’ anar. Look at him, his feet ‘ave barely touched the ground since you told him to make ready. You sure you don’t want ‘im to tag along, you’d only have to say the word.” I heard the mirth, but also the concern in her remark.
Ivy started to reply but Lissa cut her off with a waved hand, “I do jest with ye. He’ll be ‘imself again on the morrow. I do wish he had more of my wood skills, but evidently not so. Sawyerset isn’t the place for ‘im. The horses is what he gravitates toward, I’ll have to put out a word for him. Maybe some bigger inn could use a stable hand and he could work his way up. Quindecca isn’t too young to be settin’ himself up for later on.”
“I could ask when I’m in Irillo. Perhaps even inquire in Forelore’s stables. I can vouch for him, so that is more than a blind query.”
“Would ye do that? I’d be much obliged to you. And I won’t breathe a word to Scosy unless there’s something for him.”
“Of course, I’ll report back on my return, or send a message if there is something before. Do you think he’d be willing to go at any point?”
‘Oh, I’m sure he would. If he could work in a busy stable, my boy would be right at home. Almost as happy as seein’ you.” We all shared a laugh and a smile, said our thanks, and parted ways at the kitchen door.
Let’s leave off here for today. In case you are wondering, Ivy did indeed find a place for Scosy, in Forelore’s stables no less. They were happy to have another hand with horse ability on staff. I saw him at one point out in Irillo as part of a foal training unit. He seemed very content and at home. Lucky boy, but I’m sure Lissa missed him. And it was good to know Ivy was true to her word.
*anek = week, anar = day, anos = month, anid = year
I’m sure there are many arborists out there who would love to have levitating abilities to diagnose tree canopy issues. I was impressed with that, for sure. It was also interesting that we have the same problems with planetrees and sycamores here that the Center Tree suffered from. But no dryads. Poor Scosy, though, I thought about saying something, but I didn’t want to get involved. Would you have said anything? Have you been in a similar situation and not done anything? Drop a comment below about your experience or let me know how your spring is going 😀. See you next time!~
Wanna be a part of Huphaea? Subscribe to Collata⚡, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter! Then you will be part of Eleanorah’s troupe of Nightingales, privy to extras and fun facts from this fantastical land of magic and elven kind once a month. You can join here:
Hello Everyone! Are the signs of season change cropping up around you? We are in a bouncy weather pattern of random days below freezing in between seasonable days in the 40’s. It’s annoying for wardrobe choices, I’ll admit, but it is keeping mud season somewhat at bay. For now. March is certainly my least favorite month of the year.
The signs of spring are burgeoning, though, birds are singing, maple sap is running, and my turkeys are getting restless 🦃. And we change the clocks soon! That is certainly a highlight of spring! Let’s head back to Huphaea now, where it is already warm and sunny, shall we?
When we last left Ivy and Elahna, they had just finished having a pitcher of cider with Lissa, the tavern-keeper, and were heading off to the bathhouse. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?~
During the bustle of the evening downstairs a few other boarders had claimed rooms upstairs. Partially open doors allowed the sounds of luggage being wrangled and tired travelers to accompany us down the hallway. Ivy un-barked our doors and I shucked off my sandals, happy to be out of their dusty, gritty soles. I fished around in my sack for a few clean items to don after the soak and we headed back out to the bathhouse.
The water was crisp and clean and blissfully warm. I sunk into it, knowing it would be difficult staying awake with the gentle sounds and rhythms of the bubbling water.
“Do you know many people here in Sawyerset?” I asked.
“Some, but certainly not all. It’s difficult not to know some, what with our towns being joined by the Saywer’s Run, the mills, and that we all manage the forest together. Many of us at Rosewood have talents that are particularly beneficial to forestry, so we monitor the health of Venrood Forest and help as needed.”
“Makes sense. So how many actually live at Rosewood? I saw maybe twent- er, quinduary people while I was there, are there more?”
“Oh yes. I’m not even sure how many are part of the Scion, really. Many of us are scattered throughout the land using our talents where they are needed. So, for example, there are several other forest tracts in Huphaea which all need managing for production and in general. Those Arboreans that are drawn to those locales may only venture to Rosewood every few years, but they still belong to it and the Scion. They are still part of us.”
“I see. What is your talent, Ivy, if I may ask? I don’t mean to be rude, if it is rude to ask about that. I am a horticulturist at home, so plants and trees are my thing. And you did grow that bark out of the door…”
“I have bark-related abilities. I can enhance bark growth on the southern side of trees for winter protection, sense insect infestations, heal bark wounds, actions like that. I can work with deciduous and evergreen trees, but I have more success with the deciduous.”
“You know the center tree is a planetree?” Ivy smiled at me, and I sensed that I just scored a point or two with her.
“Yes, absolutely. I’ve recognized most of the species we’ve seen. And if not directly, then they fit into an oak family, or a willow family, or something I know. It’s pretty cool, actually.”
“It must be because our worlds are so closely tied that they can support the same forms of life. That would be something to ask the Scholars about.”
“I have to say, though, that everything I see and know here is so much more vigorous than on Earth. That has to be due to the vitae and your magics. Are all individual magics that specific?”
“Many are, yes. It’s what makes each of us unique. I also have the ability to work with color some, as my patris is an Arister. An illustrator, to be exact. So I can match the hue of something to another thing. It is very helpful with wound healing. I can make it look like the tree wasn’t ever injured.” She sat up a bit straighter as she said this, and I surmised that she was quite proud of this bit. To illustrate the point, she gazed at the sky blue bath sheet on the table and taking a lock of her hair in two fingers, turned it the same bright color. That explained the matching braids and leggings I noticed earlier.
“That is amazing!” I said. “I’m sure the sawyers appreciate that ability, as well as the trees.”
“Yes. They do. Both of them. And some of the wood Aristers as well. It makes me feel useful.”
I began to notice some of the riding muscles in my legs heating, almost like I had applied linament to them, and then they tingled almost like they were going to sleep. I fidgeted with the new sensation and noticed Ivy doing the same. “Is there something in the water? My legs are all tingly.” I asked.
“Healing stones.” She replied. “After contact with them for some time, they correct imbalances in energy.”
“Seriously? Well, isn’t that handy. Which ones are they?” I started hunting for something that would mark the healing stones as different, but couldn’t see anything.
“No idea. Only those with healing abilities can tell. You could be standing on a mountain of healing rocks and be none the wiser.”
“Wow, that could be good or bad, right? Either way, its pretty excellent right now.”
With sore muscles eased, we climbed out of the pool, dried off, and dressed again for the short walk back upstairs. Outside, leaning against the back wall of the tavern, three of the fellows we met through Lissa were sipping pints and trading jokes, by the sound of their laughter. Ivy shot me a quizzical look, one brow raised, and smiled in recognition. One of them stepped over to open the door, it appeared, but he delayed the motion enough that we had to pause ourselves.
“It was lovely to make your acquaintances earlier, ladies, will you be returning to the tavern for a nightcap now? Allow us to accompany you, the taproom is a fair bit more crowded than before.”
I instantly got a bit uncomfortable, a surge of butterflies rising in my stomach. The buzz of noise from the taproom spilled out the partially open door, and the sharp clink of glasses as the barboy washed them in the giant tub inside indicated the state of the evening. The speaker was still holding the door, smiling.
“I appreciate the offer, but it has been a long travel day. I’m set to retire for the night, with another day on horseback ahead. Glad to have made your acquaintance earlier, as well, and enjoy your evening.” I noticed there was no hint of speaking for both of us in Ivy’s words and her pointed look conveyed that I was expected to answer for myself.
“Oh, no, thank you. I couldn’t hold another drink. I’m ready for some sleep, morning will be here soon. It was nice to meet you.”
“Surely there is still time left to be enjoyed before the sun rises.” The speaker, (I couldn’t remember his name), said, a mischievous wink added to his smile.
“I, um, I’m sorry. I really am tired. Thank you for the offer, though.” I straightened and looked over his shoulder at the door, ready to brush past him if he stood firm.
He didn’t, and gave way for us to pass. “If you find sleep eludes you, the offer stands, and my friend here has room dua down the hall from you. Safe travels, Elements be.” The last was uttered at the bottom of a low, sweeping bow that could have been mocking were I at home, but here it felt genuine and even hopeful?
“Elements be. G’dag,” we replied and stepped through the door, pulling it closed once again. The barboy gave us a slight grin as we headed up the stairs. He had heard the whole exchange, I was sure.
“You could have accepted their offer, if you wished,” Ivy whispered. “If I weren’t truly exhausted, I probably would have. I’m sure it would be a lovely night.”
“Ah, what? Seriously? No, I’m good. Was that what it sounded like? Did they want me, or us, to visit that room?”
“Oh certainly. Did you not consider it? Why would you not, if you were of a mind?” She honestly looked puzzled that I was surprised at such a bold proposition.
“Well, I guess I just wasn’t expecting that, being a stranger here.”
“What does that matter? Don’t you express desires and wish them to be fulfilled?” We were outside my door now, my hand on the knob.
“Sure, but what would be said afterwards? I mean, wouldn’t there be social consequences of acting on those desires? There would be where I come from, if word got out to people I knew.”
Ivy stared at me blankly, the silence stretching into awkwardness. Heavy footsteps fell on the stairs at the other end of the hall and she broke the stare.
“You will have to explain the ‘social consequences’ of sharing the pleasure of another’s company and bed to me tomorrow. I am afraid my mind is too tired to make sense of it now. Shall we meet at siesla downstairs?”
“Yes, sounds good. G’dag.” I turned away feeling scolded, hearing her muttered “G’dag” in return.
The bed was soft, and the breeze wafting in the open window stirred the air in the room pleasantly. I was asleep moments after hitting the pillow, despite the crowd noise from below. My last thoughts were of how socially inept I must be for this land. And the dressing down I was likely to get in the morning.
Ivy did end up giving me a good talking to as we rode, and I learned some of the principles of Huphaean society in general. Namely that there was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of anyone you wished to, were they willing. That was the main tenet, however, willingness. Refusal was an absolute and never questioned. She honestly did not understand the concept of judging someone for what they did or who they shared themselves with. Huphaeans believed in enjoying all life had to offer, as much as possible. I had a lot of adapting to do…
In case you are wondering, yes, I did manage to make a bollox of almost every social situation for quite a while… But what’s new, right? Would you have accepted the offer? One thing I was reminded of multiple times is how long it can take to shed prior beliefs and adopt those of the culture you are in. Have you ever experienced that firsthand? Share your cultural adjustments in the comments below, I’d love to hear them.
Wanna be a part of Huphaea? Subscribe to Collata⚡, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter! Then you will be part of Eleanorah’s troupe of Nightingales, privy to extras and fun facts from this fantastical land of magic and elven kind once a month. You can join here:
The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world! Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
March 3 question – Everyone has a favorite genre or genres to write. But what about your reading preferences? Do you read widely or only within the genre(s) you create stories for? What motivates your reading choice?
Up until a few years ago my reading preference was single-minded: Fantasy.
I hadn’t even thought seriously about writing a book, so that wasn’t part of the equation. When I went to find reading material, I went straight to the fantasy section and that was it.
Then came the day that I was browsing in my local library and I saw Deborah Harkness’s A Discovery of Witches. The cover drew my attention, the blurb reeled me in and I took it with me. A crack appeared in my fantasy-hardened reading focus.
Now with all of the publicity surrounding the tv show based upon that book, you probably know something about it. Maybe only that there is magic in it, so there is a fantastical element present—I didn’t really stray that far.
But that was just the beginning. I blew through the All Souls series, fell completely in love with it, and had the worst book hangover ever after I was done.
I wanted more. I wanted more alternate history stories. I wanted to see where authors’ imaginations take them when historical events are the prompts.
That was the beginning of my obsession with historical fiction set in Europe.
If I look at it critically, it really shouldn’t have surprised me as it did. I have always gravitated toward European history prior to 1900, those are the elective classes I took and what I enjoyed learning about at any point in school. I even took history classes when I studied in Ireland for a year.
Even this time period restriction has eased, though. My current audiobook binges are all set in England and Europe around both World Wars.
Next came my offer to read a novel as a beta reader for a friend in a Facebook group.
Wow, is that a fun genre! I binged that for months, filling my Kindle with its brassy, mechanical tales swathed in multi-layered skirts, clockworks, and evening suits. It has become my go-to for a fun, adventurous, mechanically magical page-turner.
With fantasy being my first and steadfast love, that is what I want to write first. I’m well on my way to doing that, publishing a blog series with the worldbuilding for my created world while I work on sorting through the elements of the main story that stumbles around in my brain.
But every so often, the idea of delving into a historical fiction story or a some-kind-of-punk mystery raises its hand and my writer-brain wants to take a ditch-dive into the ‘shiny new thing.’ One day, yes, I will do it. But first things first.
I also honor my true love of books and bookstores, gravitating toward titles about libraries, bookshops, scrolls, and the like, which has led me to some contemporary fiction. Then there’s paranormal (give me a vampire any day, go ahead, bite me, please!) and the many, many YA and NA (new adult) books I’ve enjoyed.
I guess I do ready sort of widely. Somewhat. I’ve tried murder mysteries, thrillers, cozy mysteries, and women’s fiction, too. It’s all been fun.
Since I’ve branched out, I’ve realized that I do have moments when I want something specific, a certain tone or type of story, and I can usually find it in my TBR list (which is endless).
Covers do draw me in, as a first contact point, or repel me. In fact, I find that the current trend of putting close-up images of people on the covers does nothing for me. It’s fine if there is a character depicted, but what else is there? Symbols, landscapes, buildings, books, what else is there to draw my attention and make me pick up the book to read the blurb? That’s what piques my curiosity and what I want to see in my mind when I read.
I know expanding my reading genres has expanded my ability as a writer and storycrafter. It has to. It’s part of the alchemy that happens in the brain when it is exposed to story. It takes all the bits of inspiration and craft and scrambles it up together to put out my unique author voice.
We are all influenced by what we read. It is important to acknowledge and accept that, even embrace it because that’s how writers learn and develop. Nonfiction that teaches writing craft is excellent, but reading identifies all of those principles in action and helps to inspire our minds to weave them into our own tales.
So yes, read. Read your own genre profusely. But try not to ignore others. You never know which phrase from a horror thriller will be the spark for the reaction that creates your plot twist.
Reading expands our minds and imaginations, fills the creative well. Reading creates inspired writers.~
If you are curious about my fantasy writing, please check out my Collection of Huphaea blog series here on this site!
Hello Everyone! Hope you are all keeping well with the difficult weather parts of the US are experiencing right now. The Northeast is used to the snow and freezing temps each winter, I can only imagine how difficult it is to deal with when the infrastructure isn’t designed to handle it. Feel free to send it back this way, where it belongs, we could use some more in my opinion 🤔. February is moving along and we are approaching the year anniversary of lockdown here. It’s actually an odd feeling, to think that it’s only been a year—it feels like ten. Before we know it, the trees will be budding and the Easter bunny will be hopping around, though he already appears to have visited the stores… The Easter candy was out three weeks before Valentine’s Day! But anyway, we should get back to the story after my unplanned hiatus. Stay strong and healthy, spring is on the way!~
We last left the ladies, Ivy and Elahna, in Sawyerset at The Tarnished Blade Inn. The innkeeper had just instructed them to not dawdle in returning to the dining room, as it was filling up quickly. Shall we rejoin them?~
Returning to our setting
I must have stood gazing a second or two too long, as Ivy touched me on the shoulder. “Come on, you heard Lissa, we’d better be quick or we’ll be standing.”
A few heads turned and watched us ascend the stairs, but not in an overly concerned manner. The second floor was a warren of rooms extending off the main hallway that wound the length of the building, much like the random table arrangement in the room below. Though the room placement seemed haphazard though, I decided it was actually carefully planned to maximize space and the number of rooms. “The corner room is my usual, yours is right here. This stair goes to behind the bar and out to the wash building, that’s why Lissa always holds it for me.” Ivy put a hand on her doorknob, “Meet you back in an erd?”
“Yeah, sure.” I pushed open my door and stepped into a tidy, yet welcoming space just big enough to be called a room. It held a single bed, a low dresser, a chair, and a small round table arranged around a long, oval, emerald green rug. The curtains matched the hue of the rug. I slung my bag onto the bed and looked out the window over the back of the tavern. A blocky structure jutted out from the main building, which must be the kitchen that Lissa disappeared into, and a smaller, thatch-roofed building stood further back but directly behind our rooms. A thin trail of smoke rose from a central chimney and people entered or exited from either end. The wash house? I surmised I was about to find out.
I turned to head back out to meet Ivy, just as she stepped in. “Oh, this is so cute, will it suit you?” I nodded. “Good, grab that linen and let’s go wash up quick. I don’t know about you, but I feel quite dusty.” She held a ruby red towel and a round of light pink soap. I did suddenly feel quite gritty, though I hadn’t noticed much dust on the ride.
After I pulled the door closed, Ivy reached out and drew a finger across the door frame and the jamb in three places, sealing the door closed with strips of gnarly wood. I gave her what I hoped was a questioning look and she shrugged as she turned. “Not that I don’t trust Lissa and Beren, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. It will keep the curious and inebriated out, at least. I’m not sure if news of your identity has beaten us here or not. But it won’t be long if it hasn’t.”
That was the first time I had witnessed anyone take any precautions whatsoever. Somehow, it made me feel a bit more at ease. Not having to be aware of those around me had been unsettling, when I allowed myself to think about it. And though Ivy was an Elemental, her powers were of an arboreal nature, and I wasn’t sure how much protection that could provide if necessary. She’d just grown ‘tree tape’ but could she grow a wooden shield or knife if we needed it? Come to think of it, at this point, I didn’t even know what her ability was. I decided to ask that, casually, if the opportunity presented itself. It all just made me think more and more of the fictional worlds I so loved. And it appeared I had stumbled into one, literally.
The wash building turned out to be more like an outhouse with a steam room built in. A bench of latrine places, separated with three-foot tall dividers lined one wall and a screen of translucent silk painted in a mountain scene divided it from the steaming stone pool that was sunken into the floor. My jaw dropped open at the bubbling bath, it looked so inviting! A couple of stone basins stuck out from the wall alongside the pool and Ivy was already soaking her cloth under the tap.
“I’d love to get into that, I don’t feel saddle sore, but that would definitely help prevent it.” I nodded toward the pool, as I tried to figure out how to make water flow from the single pipe that bent into the basin.
Ivy reached over me and pressed her thumb into a depression in the stone wall. Water began to flow, slightly warm, over the cloth in my hands. I deduced then how to adjust the temperature and the volume using the depressions I could now pick out on the wall and the tap. “That does sound like an excellent idea. As long as we don’t fall too far into our cups at dinner,” she gave me a lopsided smile.
“Oh, don’t worry about that with me. I have no desire to have a big head on a horseback ride. That would be pure torment.” I shook my head vehemently, remembering how I woke up in Raga’s tent that first morning. “I’m good.”
We finished up a quick toilette. The pink soap was smooth and fragrant like a bouquet of fresh roses with a rich lather. When Ivy wrung her linen out, I was astonished at how much water she extracted. The cloth was nearly dry! I did the same to my own, and by the time we reached our rooms again, it WAS dry. No real need for drying racks as such, I thought. Remarkable.
I slowed my pace a bit when we retraced our steps downstairs, taking in the scene that unfolded as I rounded the staircase. The crowd had increased, along with the din of upbeat conversation. Tankards decorated tabletops next to brawny, tanned arms amid a sea of colorful plaids. Ivy paused with a few steps to go, looking for an empty table I assumed, but Lissa’s exuberant wave drew my attention. She beckoned us to a small table against the opposite wall where she stood minding a tray of food and a chilled pitcher.
“Here you are, game hen stew and a pitcher of fresh sparkly. Everything to your liking upstairs? Anything else you need, just wave me over. Gotta run just now, enjoy!” Once again, Lissa snaked off into the growing crowd, calling out orders as she entered the kitchen. Ivy and I exchanged an arch look and then laughed in unison.
“I couldn’t have gotten a word in sideways if I’d had to!” I said.
“I know! Once the crowd settles in, though, she’ll visit with a tankard of her own. Lissa can drink level with any of the sawyers. I’d even put her up against someone with rock troll blood and put my wager on her. She and Beren built this tavern themselves, including milling the timber. Beren was a sawyer previously and Lissa’s whole family are, she grew up in a mill. She can horse-whisper, and was responsible for the mill horses, but she loves working with wood. Most of the interior is her work.”
The two tiny birds steaming in thick broth with carrots, peas, onions, and potatoes was difficult to ignore up to that point. Naturally, once Ivy mentioned Lissa’s work, I had to look around and see what she meant.
Many of the tables, including ours, were made of entire round slabs of tree trunk, bark and all. Varnish sealed the tops in a thick layer as clear as glass. The bar counters were of the same idea, the rough live bark edges worn almost smooth by thirsty patrons. The more I looked, the more unique details I picked out—finial carvings on the support columns, the bannister scroll work on the spiral stair, different fluting on the legs of the tables and chairs, wood burning and etching around the windows. Personal touches that gave the tavern a welcoming, lived-in atmosphere. Then my mind snagged on something else she had said.
“What’s a rock troll?”
“I wondered if you’d caught that.” Ivy’s green eyes sparkled with delight. “There aren’t many, if any, here in Huphaea. But they are a large, resilient people who live in mountainous areas on other continents. At least on Iacewen, that I know of. They don’t have any magic of their own and have been known to capture women to try to infuse magic into their population. It doesn’t ever work that way, but some rock trolls keep trying anyway. Almost like they forget about the results.”
“You make it sound scientific, like its an experiment.”
“I don’t know that odd s-word you said, but I suppose it could be described that way, like an experiment. Or even a game to some of them. The rock troll tribe always loses, because the half-troll individual is either turned out when no magic appears, or they leave of their own accord to find more developed societies.”
“That doesn’t sound like an intelligent approach.”
“Intelligence isn’t a rock troll specialty. Fortuantely, most of the true half-trolls gain in that way from their non-troll parent. That’s why they all leave the cave towns.”
“I see. So that blood confers some ability to hold a lot of drink, I take it? Would you be able to tell someone had rock troll blood just by looking at them?”
“Sometimes. Those with rock troll blood are usually larger in physical stature, with a greyish hue to their skin. But both can diminish as the bloodline dilutes and there are plenty of people with larger builds, as we see.” Being in a mill town, we were surrounded by large-framed individuals in that room alone. “The only trait that gives any rock troll lineage away is gray eyes. No other race has gray eyes, so if you meet someone with gray eyes, they have enough rock troll blood to matter. And don’t challenge them to a drink-off.” She grinned again as she filled two flagons from the frosty pitcher.
“I’ll remember that. Certainly.”
We fell into silence for a bit, making forays into the stew with deep-bowled wooden spoons and hearty dark brown bread. The cider was crisp and on the sweeter side, but quite refreshing and it complemented the stew perfectly. I noticed the number of glances and nods in our direction increasing with the influx of patrons. I began to wonder if I was about to become a sideshow to the night’s revelry.
In general, I’m not one to go about attracting attention, so this situation made me uneasy. However, I wasn’t facing a sea of hostile faces, just curious ones that probably mirrored my own. I decided that this evening was no different than any of the others I had spent in foreign countries back home. At least here I could speak the language, mostly. I used that thought as an anchor and screwed up my confidence. After all, we were all humans or elves or some combination thereof with the common threads of curiosity and, I imagine, speculation. Probably nothing would happen anyway.
Thoroughly satiated on stew, I slid my bowl to the end of the table, wondering what would come next. Should we vacate the table for other dining patrons and find a place along the wall at the drink rail if we intended to stay? My eyes flicked up to Ivy, seeking a cue from her, but she sat calmly finishing her stew and tidying the tableware.
Lissa appeared a moment later with a mousy-haired girl of about nine (or nova) in tow, a heavily carved tankard in her hand. She indicated to the girl to clear the dishes away and snagged an empty stool from a table across the aisle.
The men at the table leaned out and around each other to sling good-natured barbs at Lissa and soon we were all laughing together.
After some hasty introductions and small talk about the day, Lissa turned back to our table and hunched conspiratorially over her tankard, her eyes alighting on me. “So, tell me, what was it like to realize you aren’t where you belong? Was it as janked as I imagine it would be? Was the travel frightening?”
“I, ah, well, if you mean was it odd, then no. One second I was walking forward into an old stone structure, the next I was in a different one. That’s all it was. No falling, or darkness, or stretching, or voices, or light. It was just a step like any other. Only it wasn’t.” I had been expecting some questions at some point, but not this particular one. Lissa seemed disappointed almost, but she recovered quickly, firing off more questions until she appeared satisfied and her tankard was empty.
“I should go check on Beren and the lads, hold my stool? I’ll bring another pitcher, no?”
“Sure, but only if you bring some apple crunch with it. I’ve been dreaming of it all day, I even saved room for it, and here you’ve made me wait without even a mention of it!” Ivy sagged back in her chair, a dramatic pout on her face for a few seconds before she winked at me.
“Pssshaaww! And you knew I’d make it special for you, Miss Ivy, didn’t you? As if my sontris’d let me forget you were a’comin’!” Lissa jumped up from the table, feigned offense crumbling into laughter. “Mark my words, you’ll wake up one morning t’ find my Scosy underneath your branch there at Rosewood, waiting on your wishes. I’ll be back in an erdin with your crunch and cider, my lady,” and she swept a mocking bow in Ivy’s direction, mirth plastered on her face.
Ivy pealed into laughter, but her face turned a shade of delicate rose pink in the wake of Lissa’s words. Smiles blossomed on the faces of the men across the aisle, who had obviously been listening to Lissa’s line of questioning and my replies. They knew who I was for certain now. Ivy righted herself and traced her fingers around the rim of the tankard. “I do hope that doesn’t come to pass. But wait until you have her apple crunch. It is fabulous.”
I was pretty sure I couldn’t fit another bite, but the steaming apple crunch in the crock and bowl of fresh whipped cream Lissa returned with was too tempting to pass up.
Lissa helped polish it off, thankfully, along with the pitcher of cider. The conversation turned to local matters and news of individuals both women had in common. At one point, Lissa inquired about Aymur almost shyly, which was so out of character that I picked up on it right away. “He is well,” Ivy answered. “Grandess Daphne keeps him busy lately since she injured her ankle. No doubt she summoned the Orderly first thing now that he is back. He was probably gathering herbs for poultices when we passed him. Unclen will be eager to see her well and back to administering. He is far too used to having his own time most days.”
“Ah, that’s why he hasn’t been by lately. Some of the lads said they could use his talent in the spruce grove. The gall aphids are winding up fierce this year, they wanted a bit of reinforcement from him. Speaking of which, before you go, you should examine the center tree. It hasn’t leafed as quickly as usual and one of the young ones said they could see some sap oozing way up toward the crown. Perhaps you could help? I’m sure if Porter comes in he’ll ask ye to, but here then, you’ve already been made aware.”
“Of course I will, in the morning before we depart.” Ivy glanced at me. “Still in want for a stone bath soak? After all this food and talk I admit it sounds like a good way to cap the evening, and ensure a good night’s sleep.”
“Absolutely! It would be a perfect end, yes.”
“Right then, I’ll leave you ladies to it, my thanks for the updates, Ivy. Tell Aymur to pop in next time he’s round. I’ll leave two bathing sheets by the back door, grab them on your way to the bathhouse. I’ll be in at first light if you want breakfast, but don’t rush on account of me. It’s my early day. Elements be, then, g’tag.”
“Oh, you’ll probably see Unclen before I do, I’ll be in Irillo for a while. Sounds perfect though, thank you. Elements be, Lissa, g’tag.”
Was every meal I ate delicious, you ask? Yes! I honestly can’t think of one thing I did not like, which is highly unusual for me. Oh yes, I was super curious about that little exchange about Aymur. Lissa certainly seemed fond of him by the way she talked, she actually softened somewhat. I never did ask about her horse whispering ability, but I imagine it was as you would expect, without mind magic or Sentients. I’ll stop here for this segment. The night can continue next time!~
The Tarnished Blade sure sounds like a fun place to spend an evening, right? Do you enjoy places like that? I did before going to Huphaea, and definitely did while I was there. I was lucky enough to be in respectable establishments during my stay. Our position as Collectors would not allow anything less since it was realm business. I did hear about some rather unsavory places in Irillo, though, through the gossip channels. Let me know your tavern experiences in the comments below!
Remember to subscribe to Collata ⚡, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter. There will be a new issue out soon, so jump on board! Become a Nightingale and get extras and outtakes from the land of Huphaea delivered to your inbox once a month. You can sign up here 👇🏼
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Hello Everyone! We’ve reached episode 20, can you believe it? It feels like a milestone to me, considering I wasn’t sure I could sustain a schedule with life, dogs, other work, and (little did we know) a pandemic. But I’m glad I have, it has been fun so far and I hope you are enjoying it as well 😊. Winter presses on in this neck of the woods, we actually had some snow overnight. It should be a given here in New England, but not as much as when I was young, it seems. But my dogs are happy this morning and that is all that really matters, right? Here’s hoping all is well with you, and let’s get back to Eleanorah’s tale. You can also follow her on Twitter at @EleanorahStarr and loads of other authors too! #TeaserTuesday is a popular place to hangout ✍🏼.
We last left the travelers in the aftermath of a discussion about magic inheritance, who is called what, and Elahnawas pondering her position in the society should she have to stay. She had just concluded she would be at the very bottom, as an Ungifted. No real surprise, really, but still something to be aware of nonetheless. Let’s rejoin them on the road, shall we?~
Approaching Sawyerset. *Photo by PxHere
Shouts of a semi-raucous nature tore the forest quiet we had subsided into after the inheritance discussion. I jumped in my own skin, though Revel barely flinched. “Sawyerset’s millmen.” Ivy said, gesturing off to the right and slightly ahead of us. “It’s a bit late to be sending a barge downriver to Cragbend now, they must be tying it off until morning. No doubt they are eager for the end of the day.”
“We’re almost there, then?” I asked, and then mentally slapped myself. I could see the trees thinning as we progressed and the shapes of buildings materializing in the resultant space. Faint tendrils of roasting meat aromas, pine shavings, and wet earth trailed through the air. The prospect of another new place, different people, and more questions to answer set off flutters of anticipation in my chest. It was a welcome sensation that made me smile. I’d learned much on the ride today, yet I was hungry for more.
Sawyerset nestled into the northern fringe of Venrood Forest. Unlike Cragbend, select trees had been spared the axe throughout the town so that the buildings nestled in among the broad trunks. The branch canopies had been limbed up quite high to allow sunshine in, I imagined, and perhaps some cover from precipitation. Not much for crops was going to grow in the grove, though, without some magical help.
Shade plants must love this, I mused as we rode down the main street, and was delighted to see many of my favorite perennials filling up gardens and borders alongside colorful containers of impatiens, lobelia, torenia, and fuschias.
The bright colors of the flowers adorned cottages and shops constructed entirely of wood. Intricate planking patterns and the species of tree the boards were milled from provided the distinguishing features of the buildings in place of paint. I marveled at alternating herringbone patterns, diagonals, and several variations of Tudor-style using different woods.
Rooflines and front fences were adorned with elaborate carvings and patterns, and here and there I saw stained window casings or fascia boards. It was colorful in an understated way that inspired comfort, warmth, and above all, hard work.
The broad, packed-earth road carved a wide horseshoe through the town, with smaller lanes trailing away toward the thicker forest. Most of the townsfolk must live off these paths as I glimpsed only a few cottages that appeared to be actual dwellings and not merchants of some sort. The middle of the horseshoe was dominated by a giant planetree, its patchy white, gray, and green bark visible from any point.
Awnings dyed in bright and varied hues announced the market that filled the western half of the field, while the eastern half contained a clock tower, a well, and a fountain surrounded by woodland plants of every sort. Market-goers were wrapping up the day’s purchasing and gossip, and the stall-owners were packing their carts to head for home, or the pub on the way there. Everything I observed and sensed told me that this was a very close knit community, aware of every event that took place inside its bounds. Small-town camaraderie at its finest.
“We have rooms reserved at The Tarnished Blade,” Ivy said. “It sits at the bottom right of the bend in the Shoe. This road is named the Horseshoe, but everyone refers to it as the Shoe. Directions are given in relation to the place on the Shoe, and relative to the center tree, in case you were wondering.” She flashed me a wise sort of grin. I couldn’t help but laugh some in return. Evidently my curiosity had made an impression on her today.
At the location she described stood a two-story tavern. It was constructed in a Tudor-esque style that paired a silver-gray wood with the framing details in another lumber of fine-grained, dark brown. The contrast of the two colors made the gray shine like a pewter mirror in the fading light of the evening. The second story kept the dark framing of the first floor, but had wide, bright, tongue-and-groove boards diagonally set instead. I noticed each window had different colored curtains in jewel tones, creating the effect of a gem-encrusted belt cinching a pale robe. Warm, golden light spilled out of the many diamond-paned windows along with hearty laughter and scents from the open doors. Half of a sawmill blade was sunk perpendicular into the door frame well above head height, painted scarlet red with blackened tooth tips. Of course, why not use the real thing for a sign?
I dismounted in the small stableyard out back, doing a similar light jig to the one in the forest to restore feeling to my feet. I tried to keep Revel between me and the pedestrians, but he evidently found my dance amusing and did his own version to draw attention to us. A lanky boy strolled in our direction, a wide grin blooming on his face. I picked up Revel’s reins and murmured, “Oh, you are a cheeky one, aren’t you?” as I scratched his ears.
“Long ride today, miss? Oh, Elements be, Miss Ivy, nice t’ see you again. Yes, I’d imagine saddle foot’s got ya, if you’ve been from Cragbend? Here, lemme take thems for you. I’ve stalls prepped for ’em since Mam said you’d be with us for a night. Wat’s this one, he’s a sharp one, eh?” The grinning boy reached for both of our reins, looking Revel over as though he might sprout wings or devil horns.
“Elements be, Scosy, many thanks. You may remember Felicity, and that there is Revel. He’s young, but he shouldn’t give you any trouble. He can be a bit of a sprat though, as you see. They have had a long, but excellent ride today. Make sure they get a good rubdown and extra oats, will you?” Ivy favored the youth with a wide smile, and he colored pink up to the points of his ears. She unlatched her bags from the saddle and turned toward the inn. I slapped Revel’s rump lightly as he pranced away and followed Ivy.
We reached the side door through an alley way of stacked casks and crates and stepped into my imagination. The Tarnished Blade was every bit the tavern I had pictured in my mind, even more so than The Cleft Barrel had been back in Cragbend.
To our right, a lengthy bar of various heights stretched two-thirds of the way to the far wall. A very tall, yet broad-shouldered older man leaned on his elbows from behind the bar, deep in conversation with a patron. His eyes registered our entrance and his hand shot up into the air in greeting, though his conversation never paused. A plump woman burst through the set of swinging doors then, two wide, steaming bowls clutched in towels in her hands. She turned our way, nodded and smiled in greeting before confidently winding through the scattered furniture and depositing the bowls on a table that sat four men in light button-down shirts of the same plaid. She slung the towels over her shoulder and approached us, and I realized what I had taken for plump was actually stout and strong. She would have looked normal in a plaid shirt as well.
“Ivy, Elements be! Perfect timing, as usual. Right before the dinner rush.” The woman’s raised hand greeting turned into a quick, affectionate hug, which Ivy returned, and then she was steering us toward an intricately worked spiral stair at the back of the room. “Take your things up, its rooms septa and octa in the far corner, they’ll be the quietest. Then have a wash, if you like, and grab a table. I’ll ferry over some stew and cider when I see ya come in. But don’t dawdle, it’ll fill up quick on a fine night like this. The mill’s lads’ll be wantin’ their ale!” And then she was gone, back through the kitchen doors for more orders, I supposed.
This is a good place to stop for today, the evening in The Tarnished Blade deserves its own episode. I just may put that out next week instead of waiting a week! I still marvel now at how perfect the taverns were to my imagination. To this day, I miss them. They were true community places no matter where I was in the land.~
Elahna is now a whole day closer to the capital and her situation has a bit more meaning for her. Would you be able to be as composed as she is, in her position? Comment below and let’s talk about it!
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Hello Everyone! Happy New Year and welcome to 2021… I think? I hope your New Year was fun, safe, and positive, however you chose to celebrate. Did you make resolutions? How are they going? I don’t actually make resolutions. Like expectations, I think they are more-often-than-not let-downs in the end, so I don’t bother. I do turn the page, though, pack up my financials, and try to remember to write “2021.” We’re off to a rough start in many places, but here’s to moving onward and upward. That’s where I’m going. I hope you want to come along, ’cause Elahna’s got plenty of places to go this year!~
Ivy and Elahna were last chatting about family, Ivy’s kids, getting-to-know you kind of stuff. Oh yeah, and the matriarchal society part. Keep that in mind for this next chunk. It gets more in-depth 😉.
I continued on, “I do miss my family, and I feel awful for how they must be feeling, not having any idea what happened to me, if I’m alive or dead, there’s just nothing for them to go on that would give them hope. But I have to admit, I am enjoying myself here. This world is beautiful, the magic is amazing and beyond what I thought magic could be, and the people… Everyone has been so wonderful, so understanding and helpful. There’s also not many people compared to what I’m used to. Is Irillo a really large city?”
“Oh yes. Irillo is the largest city in Eflary. The same is true of Rusmaar for Maarran. I don’t know which would be bigger, though. The older elven construction buildings make Irillo look imposing on approach, but Rusmaar’s High Seat is spectacular, too.”
Ivy and I continued to chatter on about our worlds, falling into an easy camaraderie to the rhythm of our horses’ easy gaits. She seemed younger than me, but I still wasn’t sure how time correlated with what I knew. I knew about erdurs (hours) in a anar (day), and that an anid is a year, but what is it made up of… how was I going to wrap my head around that? I pulled back from the spiral of that thought line to remain attentive to the conversation.
The sun felt like it was directly overhead when we found a more open, grassy area along the road to stop for lunch. There had been a good giggle as we dismounted, stumbling with pins and needles in our feet from so long in the saddle. Felicity and Revel tossed their heads and stepped quickly out of our way as we pitched and hopped about.
Then we slipped their bits and they drifted off into the deeper shade as we unpacked a snack and ate in a relaxed, companionable silence.
As we got back underway, the horses having been refreshed from the fine grass, some of the nosebag oats, and a long drink from a forest pool, I picked back up on conversation. “Are you excited to see your matris? It sounds like you haven’t seen her in a while.” I wasn’t trying to pry, so to speak, but I was curious about this family structure, and I was tired of talking about Earth.
Ivy shrugged. “Sure, it’s been an anid, I guess. We do send letters though. She likes to have news of Lignan and Heather. I will have a fair amount of time to myself, her council duties keep her occupied. I look forward to having some time in the city. It’s so different from Cragbend. I have friends here too that I visit with.”
“How long has she been on the council? Is it a lifetime service thing?”
“About quinduary anids, I think. She was appointed by the House under Regna Cercis, Regna Halesia’s mother. I actually lived in Irillo with her for a while, until my nova name day, when I was called to Rosewood.”
“So she doesn’t really get to come back to Rosewood, then?”
“Only if she wants to. Rosewood isn’t her House. My mother is a Florian, so she returns to Hazelwick in Sagebridge on her leave. I’m only an Arborea.” This last she said with her eyes downcast, like it was a condemnation.
To be fair, I did feel some reticence at asking that, but I desperately wanted to understand why she seemed ashamed of that, and what it meant in the larger scheme of families. Clearly, I have spent too much time reading epic fantasy and historical fiction tales filled with political intrigue and hierarchy. Oh well.
The weight of my question hung like a granite dirigible over us, I actually shivered under it. Revel snorted and danced a step or two sideways, earning him a sidelong eyeball from Felicity.
I was just about to retract my question with an awkward apology when Ivy flashed the barest of smiles and blurted out, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say that. An Elemental’s power is a blessing and a gift, as there are some who are without abilities despite their parentage. They are the unfortunate ones. I am thankful for my Arborean talents.” She raised her palm up as if in greeting. This time it appeared to be more in supplication, though. It was the first time I had witnessed any person performing something even vaguely religious, or perhaps pious. The topic of religion sparked another line of questions in the back of my mind. I was starting to feel like the proverbial three-year-old that everyone wants to shut up.
Ivy pulled randomly at the braids in Felicity’s mane, smoothing stray strands flat, then reaching up to smooth the braids at her own temples. They were dyed a rich cocoa brown, in contrast to the very light blonde of her waist length hair. She had the two braids pulled back and fastened together at the back of her head so the upper parts held the rest of her hair off her face. Tiny bells were woven into the fastenings, which chimed softly with her movements.
The audible effect was quite soothing, I noticed, as was the visual. She had matched the color of her hair braids with the light riding leggings she wore, tying all the colors and sounds of Ivy together. It was deliberate, but so representative of the little I knew about my traveling companion. If I had had to guess her magic without knowing, a tree would have been the first thing to mind.
“You heard my Unclen and Grand Matris Daphne call us Scion Arborea. House Florian is the House we belong to, the other Scion being Herball. We have abilities relating to trees and hardwood shrubs. Herballs have magics founded in herbaceous plants. Florians, though, have abilities in both areas. A child can have one of, or both, of the House talents, or be a rare paterif, as I mentioned earlier. If a child of a Scion mother has House abilities, they are said to be increased, and it can be either natural or spontaneous. A nats child’s powers are an increase over their matris’ due to the combination of both parents’ powers. A spont would be a random appearance of an increase in power in a child over the matris’ power. Does that make sense? You now explain it back to me to see if I said it right.”
I took a long moment to consider this. Genetics had always fascinated me, I studied it when I could in school, so I immediately reduces this to X’s and Y’s in my mind to chart it out. According to her last statement, though, Mendelian genetics wasn’t going to explain it all.
“So if the parents are a House and a Scion, the child would have House abilities?” I asked. That would explain an increase, was there a decrease, then too?
“In many cases, yes, you would be right. That child would be a nats increase, or nats-i, we say. There is a nats decrease, nats-d, as well. Like me.” She managed a small smile this time for her own description.
“And there are also spontaneous increases and decreases? How does each parent’s magic factor in to a child’s abilities?”
She explained that yes, those individuals did exist, as spont-i and spont-d, as did nons, those born without any ability. But like any natural system, it was unpredictable because nons could have offspring with abilities. This path was the source of the common magics, those that townsfolk have. It was more like an ability to use a bit of the vitae for a certain purpose, like stirring, or lifting, instead of the ability to use vitae at will with a specific focus.
It was a tad bit confusing, but when I pondered it as I fell asleep that night, it did make perfect sense. As much as any natural system can. There was certainly class distinction in this land, but the lines blurred often. Ivy didn’t mention any negative stigmas, no slurs or restrictions, except for the self-imposed ones I observed in her. And we all know how deep those can be. Knowing she felt that way, I was certain there would be more who shared the sentiments, whether in private or in the open. I would be paying close attention to this facet of society, especially since I was a true Ungifted, which was not even at the level of a nons.
If she ends up having to stay, at least Elahna has an idea of where she will fit in—at the very bottom of the society ladder. To be expected, of course, but how would you feel about being in that position? It was difficult being around so much magic and not being able to use any, but as we will see later, I made up for some of it. Drop me a comment below, let me know how you would handle it 😊.
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