Roads of Bone, Chapter 11: Grandfather

I am doing a little experiment.  I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere.  Since I have not prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted mess.  I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will ever finish.  This is the link to CHAPTER 1.  (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up very broken sentences in previous chapters.  This is why I need an editor.  I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do too.)

Chapter 11: Grandfather

            Apple found Pasgard at his own table in the common area of the ships hold, with what appeared to be 3 human sized troughs filled with heavy stew and half a pitcher of sparkling juice.

            "Master," said Apple.  "How should I address you?"

            "Good question," said Pasgard, taking a minute to roll his shoulders and straighten his back.  "When I took my first apprentice I was still working as Caliphate, and was worried for rank and title, I had they call me Master.  My number two did the same because of habit.  Then I became a Vizier so I used that for the next three, keep it simple.  When I left being a Vizier they call me Pasgard, like everyone else, but some just calling me Master anyway."

            Pasgard paused for a while and looked at no particular thing on the table.

            "You might be my last apprentice," said Pasgard.  "What did you call, Lord Malachite?"

            "He had me call him, Uncle," replied Apple, still unsure what to call the wizard, and having a hard time following his broken speech, it seemed to be getting worse since she had first heard him talk to Uncle Malachite.

            "Hmm," hmm'd Pasgard.  "Don't think I could be 'Uncle' at my age.  How about grandfather?"

            "I would like that," said Apple.

            "I am glad," said Pasgard.  "Now let me start your first lesson."

            Apple beamed and took the seat opposite Pasgard as he gestured her to sit.  He slid the food aside for a moment, a reprieve not a pardon.  And then in his hand was a roll of paper.  He splayed it out across the table and pinned it down with little tacks that again appeared from nowhere.

            The paper was a series of circles and connections with words written in the Caliphate language.  "Do not worry little one, today will not require too much reading," his open hands then began to wave in circle gestures over the paper and all of the circles began to turn like gears in a clock.

            "This is what magic is," said Pasgard.  "Each circle is a part of the world, and each touches the next and pushes it and feel's its own movement slowed by the push.  This push can be followed back thru all of time to the first mover, a being we call Primal, the light of creation that shines into each of us.  It is what animates us, just as water causes a ship to float, the Primal light of creation makes us all live.  Do you understand?"

            "We are light?" asked Apple, more just mesmerized by the turning of the circles.

            "Yes and no," said Pasgard.  "We are the matter that the light animates, and we are the light which animates the matter, and the light within us is the same as the light in all others, just as the matter is all the same matter, only different because of how it is put together."

            Apple realized Pasgard no longer sounded like he had.  His words flowed like he had been a native speaker his whole life.  "Grandfather, how..." How do you ask without sounding rude?  "Why do you sound so differently?"

            "Apple," said Pasgard.  "We are speaking on a deeper level, you will learn this soon.  It is the Primal language, it is closer to the Primal Light, and thus understood more deeply than the languages of man.  It is as if we are souls speaking to one another.  If you look closely at my lips, you will see, they are saying something just a bit differently."

            They were.  His lips moved out of sync with the sounds he spoke.  "Uh," was all Apple could say, it confused her deeply to notice the break between the speaker and the spoken.

            "Relax little one," said Pasgard.  "It is just the fastest way to learn about this, and it will be how I teach you to read.  You will be able to read the light below the words on a page, you will grasp a deeper meaning.  I keep a little book filled with words I have learned, trying to keep them and understand the finer glow of them and the meanings of those who spoke them.

            "On the deepest levels, true understanding of the whole of creation is to be found, and the ability to awaken briefly in others the ability to see the rich light of creation."

            "Like the fish," said Apple.  "Back at the cafe you made everyone see their light."

            "And much more," Pasgard leaned back and began gesturing to the paper like coaxing mist from a censer, and the words began to float from the page turning in the air, glowing, and Apple could read some of them.  "Give me time, and you will understand."

Hole in a Field, Chap 11

A little while ago I wrote a short story for the L. Ron Hubbard "Writers of the Future Contest".  I did not win, and I know why, my story is really more horror than Science Fiction or Fantasy.  But I decided that I will post each chapter here on my blog.  There are 37 very short chapters, for a total of 15,000 words, about a fifth of a modern novel.  Here is the start.

Chapter 11:

Maxwell and Wilton heard the scream in tandem, and neither hesitated to follow it.  Bats in hand they stormed out of the confection hut and blazed the paths between the games and stands, all the while calling Clair’s name in frenzy and panic.

They ran and scooted to stops and turns, careful not to lose sight of each other, but once they had found the apparent source of the scream, a fortune telling machine with a mallet lying uselessly in front of it, they realized that they were too late.  Clair had vanished into the carnival.

“Clair!” screamed Wilton.

“Clair?!  Oh, shit where did she go?”  Maxwell turned in place looking for something; displaced carnival furniture, a scrap of clothing, a mark from a shoe scrapping the ground.  Nothing denoted a departure in any direction.

Wilton continued to circle the area, calling her name with all of the effort he could expend, but to no avail.

“Wilton?”

“Clair!” Wilton ignored Maxwell, he just kept screaming off into the park, unable to feel anything but burning anger rushing to his face.

“Wilton!” screamed Maxwell.  Maxwell then grabbed for Wilton, and wrestled with him until he had calmed slightly.

“Max,” Wilton was almost in tears, his face apple red.  “We have to find her.”

“Wil,” said Maxwell, grabbing onto Wilton’s shoulders and staring into the man’s eyes.  “Do you have any theories?”

Somehow this question stabilized Wilton  His jaw relaxed, and his eyes, while still tearing, softened their angry gaze into the look of someone who was trying to wrap his head around a child’s riddle that had to do with a pun and a duck.  “Yes,” said Wilton.  “Something is here with us, and it has Clair, and we’ll probably meet it soon.”

“Why do you say that, Wil?  Why will we meet it soon?”

“Well,” said Wilton, “because it will be done with Clair eventually, and we’re they only ones left in the park.  So, we’ll be next.”