30 . 10 . 09
Note the title.
Deep in the wood, there sat a cottage. Smoke dribbled from the chimney, barely – evidence of a long-exhausted fire. The trees whispered around it, rubbing their branches together as if conspiring with each other, or gossiping. If one listened carefully enough, one could almost piece together words from the low shimmering sounds of leaves upon leaves. They seemed to be speaking of a commotion that had happened earlier that day. An altercation of men had taken place, with magic shining brilliantly inside the cottage for an hour or more before the light dimmed.
The door hung open on the cottage, and the window was cracked. It looked deserted and un-cared-for. A woman coming to the wizard's residence to beg for a cure for her son's disease paused before entering, taking in the disheveled sight. She might have gone home, but for the fact that her son was so ill. She entered the cottage, rapping on the door with her knuckles and calling for the wizard tentatively.
There was no answer. She took a few steps inside, gazing around at the rampant destruction. Furniture was knocked over, ornaments and dishes shattered, and portraits knocked off the walls and torn. It was evident that something had happened to the wizard who used to live there. The woman bit her lip and felt tears prick her eyes – not for the unfortunate wizard, but for her own son who lay dying at home. She turned to leave when something caught her eye.
A book lay on the kitchen table, looking exceedingly normal, yet somehow interesting. The forest green cover and small paintings together with the gold lettering lent it an air of importance, while the worn edges made it seem commonplace and loved. The woman picked up the book, taking it as a paltry replacement for the cure she had hoped to gain from the wizard. At least she could give him a new story to listen to, she thought, tucking the book under her arm and heading back to her home.
She read the book to her son, who hung on every word. She found herself enjoying the book, too – relishing the fantastic escape from the pain and drudgery of watching her only child waste away. When the book was finished, she traded it to a passing gypsy tribe in exchange for a bottle of tonic that promised to relieve the boy's pain in his last days. The boy died soon after, with strange shouts on his tongue.
The daughter of the tonic-maker read the book aloud to her friends to pass the long rides in the wagon. All the children loved the story, strangely devoted to it. The chief's young daughter borrowed it and read it for herself. One day, she vanished, and the book tumbled out of the back of the wagon, lying beside the Philettin road.
An army wagon stopped there the next day, and a lieutenant saw the green among the dusty clouds of the desert road. He picked up the book, remembering his family at home, and cleaned the dust off of it. He tucked it into his bag, imagining that he would give it to his son when he arrived back at home.
He was forced to trade it for food in Rijhad, however, when supplies ran low. The kindly young mother gave him more food for the book than it was worth and promised to keep it well. He was strangely loath to part with it, but eventually did, with a lingering glance behind him as his company left the town. The woman read the book to her two daughters, propping it on her growing stomach. She finished it just before her baby was born, and her helper read it to the girls again when she was asleep or tending to the newborn. They were captivated by the story, and were cranky and whiny if they couldn't hear it.
When the family took in a young soldier, the mother asked him to read the story to her girls, who were now demanding it for a third time. He read one chapter, then tried to convince the family to get rid of it. They refused, stating practically that it was the only thing that would silence all three girls at once. The eldest had taken to tracing the words with her finger and sounding them out. She barely stopped chattering about Julia, one of the heroines.
The soldier, when the time came for him to leave, secreted the book away and threw it into a field on his way out of the country. The farmer found it when it came time to plow, and he sold it across the border in Ellespeth, where books of any sort fetched a fair sum. Many people clamored for it, but the farmer eventually sold it to the one who offered the highest price – a servant to the king whose attention had been caught by the unassuming and dirty book.
He brought it to a book-restorer, offering him a high wage if he could make the book appear new once more. The man labored on the book, meticulously cleaning the pages, mending the binding, and touching up the embossed title with gold-leaf. He felt drawn to the book, and he didn't mind committing the hours of labor required to make the book respectable again. He felt a strange urge to keep it, however, and spent weeks idling his time with miniscule touch-ups, not wanting to call the king's servant and tell him it was ready.
The servant was impatient, however, and soon came knocking to ask after the book. Having no excuse to keep it any longer, for it was now unrecognizable as the dirty, down-trodden tome that had appeared at his door months previous, he reluctantly accepted his salary and gave the book to the delighted servant. The man placed it on the king's bookshelf with pride – and there it sat, brooding, for ten years before the agitation of the country began. Then, it toppled softly onto the table and waited.
Make some connections, and let me know what you think. I'm eager for your thoughts.
guess who: (Sorry, I'm bad at guessing. Who was this? :-/) I'll take lovely. Lovely is good. --bright smile-- I love Faidn, too! He's such a dear.
Mazkeraide: He probably is. But, shh, that's a secret. I'm saving that for the climax. --wicked smile-- That was a marvelous bit of speculation. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Roddy! I know, I love him, too. As for another adventure... --looks around to be sure no one is listening and leans closer conspiratorially-- I have actually been thinking of another adventure for the old chap, but that's on the down-low, and it probably won't come to being for another year or so. I rather like the turmoil myself – I'm glad you think it works here. --smile-- Karl is never to be trusted. Ever. Heh, well, no one is perfect, and missing children + kingdom stress = not good for marriage. --glum look at the two of them who aren't looking at each other-- Ah! Thanks for pointing out the typo! It's all fixed, now, and you get a little shout-out!
Captain Fantastic: Same, same. They're extremely enjoyable to be around, though not at all trustworthy. Part of me wonders if it's that inherent sense of unpredictability that makes them so enjoyable. Hum... Well, that's alright, then. The general idea is really all you need. Main point of all the politics: Ladyra is in an uproar, to the point that countries all the way from end to end are meeting with each other about this war. Trule and Berensia don't want to join. Everyone else is picking sides. Each side is trying to snag countries from the other side, and both sides are trying terribly hard to convince Berensia and Trule to join in the conflict, because their armies are formidable. Swana, a respected authority in matters of international negotiation, wants them to all get along, though she knows they won't. Ta da, that's it. See? Not too terribly complicated. I'm glad you liked the loom bit – it seemed very much like her to weave things, I thought. Indefatigable is a good word. As is sanguine. I love interesting words. --smile--
Pimpernel Princess: Oh good! I'm always game to make a bad day better! See Captain's reply for a boiled-down version of the politics, if they really did lose you. I think I got the main points in, so you should at least be able to get a basic gist of what's going on. --smile-- Karl and Faidn are both delightfully entertaining to write. Heh, Iriana punching Karl... --drifts off in thought, imagining this highly entertaining occurrence-- Poor Carvin, indeed. --pats the poor fellow on the shoulder-- I gave Cadmus your regards, and his chest didn't deflate to a normal size for days. Consequently, I think he's dedicating a word in the next chapter to you, so stay on hold for that.
Faylinn: See my reply to Captain for a condensed version of the politics. --smile-- I love Roddy, too. And I'm glad you liked that line; I was rather fond of it myself. --grin-- Yes! Bouncy dialogue was exactly what I was looking for, there. I'm so glad it happened! Yay! --hop-- Karl is pretty rad; I agree. Running away is always a good plan. --laugh-- Yay Swana! I'm glad you liked that part – it was probably one of my favorite parts to write in this story so far. You should have seen it before it was cut to pieces and redone. Heh heh. The next chapter has some more Rose in it – see the Sneak Peek (--alert! New Feature!--) below. --grin--
Sneak Peek—
Rose didn't open her eyes. She could feel clouds whispering on her cheeks and in her ears and through her hair. The cloud breathed beneath her back – a beast, warm and powerful and perilous. Its fur stroked her arms and legs fawningly, tiny blades of grass blowing in the wind and tickling her skin. The beast heaved a sigh and drifted along toward the sunrise of another day...
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