Chapter One

Book One

Iy  Jyacoren

Chapter One

 

 

 

 

            Harrgber clutched the collar of her shirt rather gruffly. “Jyacoren Yotson...” He spoke slowly and sternly. “You do realize that being birthed by a Soír[1] does not exclude you from the same plight of other infantry soldiers?”

           

            She squirmed in silent protest, knowing that her inability to murder a wretched animal would render her as lessor qualified for infantry than her peers. “This is useless suffering... it isn't-”

 

            “Don't you understand that close combat does not call for second guesses or for musings such as that?” He viciously tossed her down into the sandy pit at his feet. Her cheek collided with stones and gravel. “Field warfare is not purely theoretical, it is actual. It relies heavily on your quickest instinct. You don't have time to consider whether the suffering of your enemy is in vain or not. How could you possibly know? Who could say what the outcome of such a situation would be?” As she began to lift herself up from the dirt, he gave a harsh boot to her face for good measure. “You see?” She spat out blood like vomit because of that sharp kick. “That is war.” Harrgber growled to her adolescent body as it lay trembling in pain.

 

The man stood ugly and tall. His face marred by many violent experiences but who could blame the face for its fate? Harrgber had bared witness to over twenty conflicts resulting in severe violence. He'd personally orchestrated a barrage on the neighbouring Dona. They consisted of bands of thieves which traveled nomadically and were constant headaches to the borders of Ougt[2]. Looking at him from a distance revealed his head was much too large. The body it rested upon was disproportionate to it when considered. Many children had mocked his appearance. They screeched and fled when he approached.

 

            The new soldiers stood within a large sanded and rock-walled arena, its square feet some two eights of an acre. Its stone walls stood a fair five stories high. They housed several floors of a massive gym the arena was surrounded by. The walls castled above its occupants and entombed them in blue shadows. Their eyes were white and wide, staring at the instructor. The sun shone subtlety through cracks and crooks along the rock. A soft well of light fell upon the girl.

 

            Jyacoren lifted her head feebly to look back up at her superior. Her eyes narrowed sharply and the blood between her teeth drooled from her mouth and into the ground. It mixed with the sand and made ugly copper mud underneath her chin. “That's mindless.” She grunted with weighted breath. “That's a useless way to go about it. I'm not going to murder a helpless creature for your amusement.”

           

            Harrgber gave her a short menacing glance and then turned his address his numerous students. “She would let herself be paralyzed by thoughtfulness!” He proclaimed in mockery with his arms extended out to either side. “Now, whoever is courageous, willful, and least hesitant, kill this animal!” A tiny lamb limped in front of the crowd of hopefuls. 

 

            There was a disturbing silence among the collective class. Students ground their lips against their teeth in nervousness; unsure if murder or pacifism was the desired answer to this question. “No one?” He yowled and bellowed “Not one of you has the spirit to take its life?” Many young men and women leaned their eyes expectantly toward him as if it would give them some inclination which route to take. Harrgber regularly resorted to tasks without a clear answer; caring more to hear the justification behind an action that simply choosing the most obvious or easiest solution. However, it was a fairly simple minded test and, after all, it did seem like Jyacoren had failed by having sympathy on the animal.

 

            One young man considered his options and raised his hand into a fist. The creature would die. It would die for his advancement, after all, is there death more honourable than a selfless contribution to a greater cause? He could argue that, and argue it he did. Seconds before the boy’s body tensed to lunge at the lamb, a voice cried out.

 

            “Harrgber!” An old man crept his way into the sanded arena.

           

            Their instructor became rigid and raised himself up by his broad shoulders to face the other. His brow furrowed. ...constantly feeling the urge to interrupt. Harrgber’s eyes rolled upward to the sky and scowled at the sun. There's not enough daylight left for trivial bickering. He sighed and turned his attention to the approaching man. “Twol[3], Den[4] Kiele.” Harrgber clenched one first and brought it swiftly to his chest in a gesture of respect. “What can I do for you?”

 

            “You can forget about finishing the lesson for today and continue tomorrow.”

           

            “I don't think that will be possible.”

           

            “Impossible?” Den Kiele questioned. “Or is your ego simply too large to bring it to a halt?”

 

            “Den Kiele,” Harrgber let out a combination of a growl and a chuckle, “you know full well that this lesson is reasonable. Time and warfare are enemies. On the battlefield, there is no room for hesitation. A good soldier must obey, not be obstinate!” He gestured his arm towards Jyacoren who had since risen from her place in the dirt. She stared at Harrgber with wide eyes and a steady jaw.

 

            “It is reasonable then to teach children how to kill lambs? Will there be farm animals wandering in warfare? Is it imperative to learn how to deal with such threats?”

 

            “You know what I mean.”

 

            “Yes, I'm afraid I do. I think you mean, intentionally or not, to blind our young soldiers to the important distinction between friends and foes, even if such a friend wears a different colour in battle. Is that irrelevant to you?”

 

            “That's not-” Harrgber shut his mouth and stared into his hands nervously, “that's not my intention-”

 

            “You'd think it better for all men on the opposing side to die, rather than to spare the ones with either their hearts not truly devoted to an enemy cause or ones who are open to negotiation? You believe it isn’t reasonable to assess an enemy rather than blindly murdering them? I think that doesn't make sense, Harrgber.”

 

            Den Kiele smiled and Harrgber sighed. His students had begun to grow curious. He could tell that their minds were clinking in their little skulls and that not one of them would obey his order, not after the Den had made a fool out of him. F*****g imbecile. Idealistic theory has no place in a distinct and violent reality.

 

            Den Kiele's smile widened further at Harrgber’s silence. “I'm glad we could reach an agreement on that matter.” He reached down into the dirt and grasped the end of the cord tied around the lamb’s small neck. “I'll be taking him…” He gave it a tug and spun on the heel of his leather sandals. His burlap coat fluttered about his knees and began to leave but then suddenly stopped. “Unless,” he said in a jovial voice with his back still turned, “you’d like to keep it, Jyacoren?”

 

            The girl took her eyes off her instructor and instead stared at the back of the older man's head. She studied his figure and said: “Why?” Her voice was low and dry. “What do you mean? Why would I want the dirty animal?”

 

            “Oh!” Den Kiele feigned surprise and swung round to face her. “My mistake. You mean to tell me that you’d have yourself assaulted for no good reason at all? Interesting. Is that something you regularly partake in? Perhaps even enjoy?” A trickle of half-stifled giggles poured from the crowd of students.

 

Jyacoren began to look irritated and extremely embarrassed. “What?”

 

The Den gave her a smug look then grinned at her indignation. He began to march away swiftly with the small lamb tittering near his ankles.

 

            “I hope you all do well in your studies! I wish you the best!” He called back at the mass of youths while disappearing into the darkness of the left hand arch leading into the street. Many mixed voices began to swell up within the crowd after he had departed.

 

            “Jyacoren!” Harrgber yelled amidst the noise. She turned, startled. “You'd have your minion make a fool of me?!”

 

            “Please.” She growled back at him through her bangs of matted inky hair. “I don't even know him.”

 

            “Lies.”

 

            “I’m telling the truth!”

 

            He marched up to swiftly and smacked her across her face; it was harder this time around. “Soldiers don't have the benefit of divine interventions.” He snarled at her body in disgust as she recoiled. Her face was throbbing and growing bright red. “You're a Soír. I would not expect you to understand our realities here in the Hult.” The Hult he spoke of was the communal bathing and sleeping chambers of the military. It often smelt like sweat, sand, and ashes. It was cavernous without many windows. Candles lined its walls even in the day due to the lack of sunlight.

 

            “You're a Soldier[5], so I wouldn't expect you to understand mine.”

 

            Harrgber snarled and raised his fist to strike her once more. “You think you're an elitist? You're a b*****d[6], Jyacoren.” Her fiery disposition settled into shocked silence. The draining of the girl's courage made him glad.

 

Jyacoren’s shoulders relaxed from their confident upright position into a tense slouch. She trembled and her eyes smarted at his offense.

 

“You have no right to say that to me.” She began to sputter awkwardly. “No right! Funny, you hurl that insult about whilst having brought three of my kind into this world yourself.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “You!-” She hesitated, swallowed, and then suddenly spat at him.

 

The crowd began to murmur once again. The last Creet[7] to blatantly disrespect a Captain by spitting had his tongue removed.

           

            Harrgber’s wicked smile faded abruptly. “You are a stupid and arrogant abomination.” The words were spoken slowly and in his lowest register. The brutish Captain used his fist to wipe her saliva from his chest. “The difference between us is that your mother should have known better, being an educated woman and all, than to be fooled by a drifter. It would have been in her best interest that you’d gotten aborted along with all the other errors of the elite. You stink of ignorance, defiance, and unwarranted pretentiousness to me.” His eyes raked her up and down with disdain. “You don’t belong here in my infantry, Jyacoren. You’re not going to be a part of it.”

 

            The air was stiff. Most participants surrounding the two became visibly uncomfortable and rigid while several waited in anticipation. Jyacoren was not foreign to confrontations with authority or to being subject to disciplinary action. Constant blemishes on her reputation arose hot and red. Her record was stained with disobedience and reeked of immaturity. This time however, she’d crossed a line by challenging an authority with a conventional sign of disrespect. Across the arena, a pretty woman giggled.

 

            Schadenfreude, Jyacoren, an impish, dark-skinned, and bright haired girl clenched her thighs together, greatly taking pleasure in the beating of a rival classmate, a vice that you’ve never hesitated to enjoy. Gesabelle Childs, sister to one of the few other high class competitors for the placements in infantry, peered over her brother’s shoulder. She placed a timid tiny hand on his back and whispered excitedly. “Do you think he’s going to kill her?” 

 

            “Hush! No. He won’t.” Her brother, Samuel, hurriedly whispered back.

 

            Gesabelle pouted and bite her bottom lip. “You don’t think?”

 

Samuel sighed in irritation at his older sister. Her footsteps wanting to mimic his and her hair cut in a similar fashion. If Harrgber hears her, I’ll be penalized. “He’s unable to. You do know who her mother is, or are you that daft?” He hissed out his words in an effort to silence her. Gesabelle snatched her hand away from massaging his spine.

 

            “You don’t need to be like that.”

 

“Students!” Harrgber creased his brow very harshly and had to force himself to look away from the disobedient. “Go home. We’ll see each other early tomorrow morning.” He bellowed out a brash gust of air and began to tromp away. I'll have to consider what to do about her. Jyacoren's pale and gaunt face flashed through his mind. He mulled over his options. Raachelle will have to learn about this. She needs to be held accountable for the consequences of her actions.

 

~

 

“Pass us the cup!” A large fat man wearing a green robe howled at his dancing comrade.

 

John Barack swayed wildly round and round with a young red-haired woman to a shrill lyre and flute. He raised his glass high into the air above his head and began to hopelessly attempt pouring the wine into his open mouth.

 

“John! The cup!” Mart roared above the deafening and sloppily played music. His friend, John, swung precariously on numbing legs.

 

“Get yer own cup, Mar-- I, uh, ha.” The girl he was occupied with leaned in and whispered something flirtatious into his ear. He placed the wine to his lips and inhaled it down into his stomach. This is going to be ... a good ... night. His thoughts were mangled by desire and drunkenness. 

 

“John!” There was no answer this time. The young man's lips were too busy entertaining themselves with the fiery vixen's.

 

They swung ‘round in a stifling setting. The tavern’s ceilings hung low and crooked; the walls proclaimed flickers of fire and heat across its patrons. They were each were made of soft limestone which dripped in a weary way and were worn from the many feet which had crossed its hearth. The whole venue appeared as if it were melting. 

 

Jyacoren, seated beside the green giant, picked up an empty glass bottle and raised it back behind her ear.

 

“Oh god, come on. Don't do that.” Mart's tone was condescending. She gave him a glare, took aim, and defiantly threw the bottle at John's bobbing head. It sailed through the vibrant foul smelling air. Thankfully, she missed her mark entirely and the bottle smashed a couple inches left of the dancers' feet. The woman in John's arms stiffened in surprise while he suddenly ceased moving to stare at the broken glass in amazement. His stare erupted into fierce laughter and he turned toward the table where his two friends sat. 

 

“Nice threw, buddy! Ha Ha Ha!” He howled at her and teetered dangerously. “Wha’r’ou jealous? Hey!” He yelped. “Beautiful! She’s je’lous o’you!” He rotated his head from left to right, scanning the tavern looking for a shock of red hair but the pretty woman he'd be dancing with had stealthily fled the scene. “Wha...” He groaned out miserably. “She'sa goner!” He appeared to be trying at thinking for a moment. His expression skewed in contemplation. John jutted out his bottom lip, crooked his head at Jyacoren, pointed at her rudely, and exclaimed:  “Do... I git you 'stead?”

 

She was not impressed. “Spectacular, John.”

 

“Heh. Nah. I'm fecking around. Yer not real’ my type.” He stumbled over to their table and bumped into a chair along the way. “Too tall 'n' you talk way too much. HA.” He sat himself with great difficulty yet with the dignity of a saint.

 

Her brow twitched and she snatched the half-empty mug of wine out of his rubbery hands. John gaped at his empty palms drunk and dumbfounded. A look crossed his face suggesting a fight between the two would be imminent. 

 

“John, you should watch your mouth.” Mart warned.

 

“I'm glad I'm not your type, John. I'm overjoyed actually.” She shrugged and took a deep gulp of the acidic drink. “Poor girl. I'm sure she's thanking me silently for giving her an opportunity to escape you.”

 

“Fack off!” He howled with laughter. “Not true. Iyjya[8]! I knew... she fell in love.” He said with a liquid dreaming in his eyes. Jyacoren's ears perked at the name of the Croean goddess. It was taboo to speak Croean names in the province of Da'ir as they often incited the chaotic aspects of human nature. The girl had a particular fondness for Iyjya.  

 

It was Jyacoren's turn to laugh now. “She was worshiping Iyjya alright.” She downed another gulp of wine and then passed the cup to Mart. The buzz in Jyacoren’s head was beginning to deepen. She kicked her chair backward and swung her feet up onto the table.

 

Mart raised the glass to his lips and began to take a hearty sip. Droplets of wine sprinkled throughout his dishevelled black beard. “You do know that Harrgber is going to get revenge on you for today.” He mused while staring into the wine. “He's a proud man. I'm worried for you.”

 

“If he comes to kill me,” she declared whilst attempting to slyly pry the drink from Mart's hand, “I will not hesitate to retaliate.”

 

“He won't kill you, but-”

 

“How do you know that?” Jyacoren demanded hotly.

 

“I know he won't because your mother could never allow him to do that. He won't even take this matter to the Soír knowing their relationship. They would make the act and who had done it known to all the Creet. You'd be ... well-”

 

“-an even greater stain!” She interrupted him exclaiming with sarcastic joy as she snatched the drink from her friend and rose up the glass of wine into the air with a fist. She promptly drank from it. Closer members of the crowded bar turned in their seats at her yelling. She lowered her arm. “It's so painfully obvious he's pursuing my mother with ulterior motives.” She said more muted now.

 

Mart sighed and stared down the curious pairs of tavern eyes which had been set upon them. The crowd returned to their business after his glare. “That may be. However, Harrgber won't let this go. Even if he can't outwardly disgrace you, it doesn't mean he won't try something more, say, personal than public.”

 

She sipped the drink with a distant look in her eyes. If I'm held from infantry, what am I supposed to do? Where will I go? Couldn't I plead my case? He provoked me. He provoked the anger. Who decides which man is deserving of respect and admiration! He's no better than an animal... He's certainly no better than I.

 

“Hey, look.” He commanded and, by his biding, she did. Mart placed a stern look into her eyes. “It is no matter of yours. I agree. He constantly tries to dishonour you but, Jya, you have to understand...” He hesitated nervously and took the drink from her to sip. “You need to put yourself aside this time.”

 

She snorted at him with brash rudeness and beckoned the tender of the bar whilst hollering. “Another!” The maiden tending the alcohol responded to her call and began to saunter over with intended laziness. “Listen.” She hushed her voice and spoke to Mart alone. John swayed in his seat. He wasn't listening. “I... I don't mind it. It's fine. Don't concern yourself. Harrgber doesn't know me. He doesn't ...” The buzz in her head overcame her. “He's... just a fool.”

 

She raised her glass to the tender as the bar maid came closer with the drink and yelled. “Over here!” The woman with the wine gave her a disgusted face and poured drink into Jyacoren's cup.

 

The scruffy girl handed the bar maid a couple coins as quick as if they had been fresh off the anvil. She was eager to finally free herself from the enveloping irritations and constant disappointment by draining alcohol into her blood. She whisked her head back sharply with a deep swig.

 

Drinking offered up a soft silence in her head. It cushioned the systemic vigilance over her thoughts and feelings which permeated every second of each interaction. She felt a sweet surrender and the alcohol numbed Harrgber’s insulting slight aimed at her character.

 

Though, as blessed as the relief which overtook her head may have been, a fierce and hollow feeling followed quickly behind it. It punctured her sternum and placed pressure on her heart. The chilled wine settled into her stomach and shook the inside of her chest. Her pulse increased and caused her to begin sweating.

 

He’s going to tell her. She stared blankly at all the flames dancing over each limestone wall. Mart and John were yelling at each other about something she suddenly could not understand. It was as if her language suddenly became foreign to her. It slid from one side of her head and out the other. She felt as if she were watching herself from above; as if she was not within her own body anymore.

 

Will she finally finish it this time? Her vision blurred and she began to shiver with rage. I’m afraid.

 

“Jya! Ey! Wha’he hell? Tha- stuff’s expensive. You wasted … s-supper, that one!”

 

The room shook and smarted. The sounds began to creep back into Jyacoren’s ears. Her head swung extremely slowly and nodded toward the floor. I dropped the… She then realized what she had done. The large pitcher of wine lay splattered carelessly all over underneath their table.

 

“Aha!” John exclaimed. “You’re ver’ drunk. Li’me!” He learned his chair back and almost toppled over.

 

“Shut the f**k up.” She hissed with hostility and humiliation.

 

Volumes of alcohol only a half hour before had not done well sitting atop the frustration that had been brewing in her belly. What am I doing? I’m embarrassing myself in front of everyone. The idea only made her anger boil brighter.

 

Screams of laughter erupted nearby from a table ten meters down. Jyacoren gazed and took in the image of a familiar woman indulging in her indignity amongst the company of snickering peers. “Is that who I think it is?” She snarled through gritted teeth. Visions of her mother sleeping with Harrgber sliced through her drunken mind.

 

Mart shuddered. “No. Look-” He attempted to change the subject. “Are you alright? You just dropped the drink and-”

 

“Do you ever shut up?” She creased her face and shook her head.

 

Gesabelle loomed over and looked at the Jyacoren across the bar. She raised a dainty hand and waved maliciously. Jyacoren rose abruptly from her seat. Her mind began to speed up and old adrenal animosity shot up in her blood. I’ll wretch on her. A strong gloved clench grasped her arm tight.     

 

“Slow down. Think about it, Jya.” Mart rose up and pressed himself to her back in a comforting gesture. He slid his arm around her waist gently. “Come with me, okay? Let’s leave here and forget about it.”

 

However, her eyes were focused on her adversary.

 

Gesabelle beckoned Jyacoren over. “Hey!” The dark imp screamed obnoxiously. “Hey! Come here, Jya! Come here! I want to talk with you!”

 

She hesitated, torn between the soft touch of her best friend and the earnest craving to bore a thumb into the middle of Gesabelle’s forehead. She tried to consider her options but a sickly drunken anxiety nibbled at her and she bit her cheeks to chew. Her emotions swam and blood pooled into her mouth which dribbled out the right corner of her lips from the biting. “If you don’t prove yourself to her now, you won’t prove it to anyone at any time at all.” Said a cool and calm voice which resonated within her head. That thought frightened her more than any punitive measure could ever have.

 

On impulse, she hastily stole a glass from the seating adjacent to her friends’ and took a heaving chug of liquor. Jyacoren gagged on the deep drink as the other table protested.

 

“Thief! F*****g th-”

 

She reached under their table with one arm and flipped it over without uttering a word. Glass and cutlery smashed and splattered across the limestone floor. The chatter in the enclosure ceased suddenly and the lyre hit a wrong chord. Thirty-three pairs of eyes stared at her; hungry to watch a fight.

 

Across the tavern, Gesabelle’s heart began to thump at the sight of her foe becoming aroused with anger. Oh. Ha, Yes. Come here, you animal. The slender girl thought. She dug her thumb into her palm with excitement. “Jya!” She yelled out with malice dripping. “You’re going to die! You might as well enjoy your last few days, am I right?”

 

Mart took his hands off of Jyacoren’s shoulder. It was hopeless now to contain her as Gesabelle was skilled in hitting sensitivities within opponents. He felt a crushing hopelessness as he watched his friend stumble her way over to the witch of a woman across the tavern. Mart glanced around. Everyone was staring at Jyacoren, looking hopefully for a hint of violence to erupt. It was as if this was just a show for the patrons. He felt disgusted but couldn’t control her movements even if he wanted to.

 

You’d better be cautious. He pondered worriedly. It’d be nice to see you the next morning. Mart gathered some spilt papers he’d set across their table earlier in the night.

 

Everyone was distracted now and moving toward the center of the tavern. Jeering erupted but Mart closed his ears to it. She can take care of herself. He pilled all his belongings into the pockets of his robe and mournfully glanced toward the crowd. Even John had gone over to witness the event. He inhaled sharply and quickly turned away. Savages.      

 

His mind wandered and he wished he could do something to pull her away from the other girl but it was fruitless. Once Jyacoren had been blinded by pride, all was a bystander, yet, after all, Gesabelle was sure to have a throng of comrades thirsty for blood who could provoke even the most sensitive and who was he to challenge a Soldier in physical combat?

 

Mart had another idea.

 

I’ll go talk to them… I’ll speak to the council for her. Gods, I can’t believe I didn’t go before. He began to shovel all his belongings away faster now with new found urgency. You’re a fool, Mart! A damn fool who had better not be too late. 

 

He tossed some coins on to the table to cover his drinking debts then began to steal away quietly. Let’s see, he thought anxiously, Harrgber would probably have had to meet with his General[9] and I understand those conversations can be lengthy. Loud jeering erupted and someone smashed a glass. The tavern suddenly was overrun by intoxicated blabbering. Mart hiked up his long robe in a large fist with his books and papers pressed to his chest in the other arm. The tavern door was heavy and made of led. It took effort to push the weighted entrance but it eventually gave.

 

Compared to inside, the night air was crisp and solemn. He sauntered forward with a sluggish gait. The oil lanterns lining each corner of each street illuminated his path only slightly. If I were in the governance council, I’d have the amount of lights doubled.

 

Ougt’s vaults of oil were channelled underground. The mass arrays of pipes underneath the soil were arranged in a spiral to match the circular layout of the capital. They pumped oil up into the lights through a heavily pressured system. Copious amounts would be poured into the network and then channelled off abruptly with valves. The sudden severing of relief caused the viscous liquid to spout upward and into the lamps’ small individual reservoirs each night. It was the duty of several Matca[10] to keep the lamps lit by fire. Some have had their hands blown off in the endeavour.

 

It’s too dark. Thought Mart with annoyance as he stumbled over a stubborn stone jutting out of the road. He hurried as fast as his fattened legs would move him; huffing and puffing all the way. Mart was never one to enjoy engaging physically. He was naturally clumsy with poor coordination and suffered from a mild disorder of the lungs. The medical personnel he’d seen as a child dubbed it messogylexa[11]. However, on the whole, Mart was not too concerned with his body’s limitations. His mind was the asset he had attached himself to as he had grown quite fond of his mathematical predisposition. Though, it was in urgent moments like these that he wished he’d placed a tad more emphasis on honing his physic.

 

The center of the city was in sight two miles down the road and up a steep cobble path. “Oi!” An anonymous voice called out in the night.

 

            Mart almost stopped but he reconsidered his goal. His feet slowed but did not halt their rhythm. The fat man knew the voice which spoke to him and was not quite keen on responding to such a character but he sighed and his better nature overtook him. It was unlike Mart to ignore someone from any class but this was not because he was empathetic, it was due to his anxiety over the immediate consequence of callousness.

 

“Hello?” He called cautiously though simultaneously knowing who would answer him.

 

“Mal, Soír.” Said Kristoff who emerged from the darkness of a near-by building. Mart studied the man quickly and believed it to be the poppy peddler he had been suspecting.

 

“What is it? I’m busy.” He stated.

 

“Where is... uh.” The old man squinted at him. He seemed drunk or, at least, intoxicated with poppy. “Where’s your friend?”

 

Mart cringed. “She’s not with me now.”

 

“Where are you headed?”

 

“The Centre.” He said boldly. “I have to speak with some council.”

 

“Ah. Ha.” Kristoff chortled at him. “In a hurry?”

 

“Yes, if you don’t mind.” Mart continued his shuffling up the crooked street.

 

The older yet oddly threatening man appeared to follow him. Mart was unnerved and frustrated that he could not get where he wanted to be quick enough.

 

            “What do you want, Kristoff? You know that inner Ougt is not a place for Dun[12]. They may choose to blind you.” Mart was visibly shaken.

 

“I know.” He ignored Mart’s implied warning of giving away his whereabouts. “Why are you speaking with them?”

            “No business of yours.” Mart was hostile. He tried his best to sound like Jyacoren when uttering those words. It was a phase she used quite frequently. He admired it. “Now leave me be.”

 

            He angled himself away abruptly and stowed off quickly in order to avoid the pestering questions of the other man. Mart could feel the poppy seller’s eyes on his back.

 

            Such a plague to society. He clenched his fists as he trotted along. It’s no wonder they’re ostracized. He wondered if the man would attempt to hound after him but, upon glancing over his left shoulder, it appeared as it Kristoff had disappeared into the night. Good.

 

            There was a kind of strict selection process in the province of Da'ir which, to an outsider, could seem cruel yet, as all have observed, life in and of itself is quite cruel. If a child were to be born and observed to be defective, either in body or in mind, to no class would they be assigned. The defective children would not be killed, as this is seen as too foul, but would be placed on the border of the city left to fend for themselves. The Da'ir province extends out of a mountain range with four major quadrants which all stem from the capital, Ougt. These four districts cease once one comes to the outskirts of the Da'ir province where such defective children will be deposited. They had created a sort of community there for themselves and almost served as a deterrent for outsides considering entrance to the province. Kristoff, much to Mart's dismay, had a sort of courage about him and would often wander back into the districts to earn some coin from the poppy he sold. He had been born with only one arm; more than enough to cast him away from the province. 

 

             He observed the accent to the massive marble columns which surrounded the central point of Ougt. The worst part about climbing to the Soír was not the physical exertion but knowing that mocking faces awaited his bloated and rosy puffed appearance upon meeting. He then thought of the impending doom which awaited his companion and ignored his own embarrassment. He began his accent grudgingly and almost slipped on his own robes twice while climbing the initial set of fifty stairs.   

 

            The stairs were originally numbered two hundred, though, either due to weather or human wear, had dwindled to one hundred and thirty five respectively. Some had been reduced to heaps of gravel and others were almost beaten down entirely into the earth. They had been carved out of the stone of a massive mountain range which bordered the Da'ir province in a U shape; Ougt being situated in the belly of the letter. There were four sets of fifty stairs all having a petite plateau between them. They'd been there since the city had been initially founded and it was written that it took ten months to have them completed. In a Da'ir calendar, all months consist of fifty days each and there are ten months in total. Ten months, one Da'ir year, roughly translates to about a year and a half in a Julian calendar.    

 

            The slow progression of climbing of the stairs proved as wearisome and awful as he had predicted. His mind swam and floundered it its heat even though night had come about quite a while before.

 

            “Tecta!” He yowled out the name of a friend of his who had been meandering across the many steps. As a seasoned engineer, it was only obvious that he’d be pondering the repair of the hallowed stairs.

 

            “Mart?” The middle aged man squinted to catch a better look at the approaching face. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

 

            It had indeed reached the tenth hour[13] and was growing rather deep into the night. “I’m here to speak with Brackus when he arrives.”

 

            “A General? Why?”

 

            He suddenly remembered he hadn’t thought of an explanation for his reason and stared stupidly at the other man.

 

            Tecta’s mouth shot into a large understanding smile and he laughed under his breath. “Come with me, let’s go up together. It can’t hurt to have a companion.”   

 

            Mart shrugged. The old man was correct and the support was welcomed.

 

They tediously ascended the steps in silence. Mart heaved but was adamant that he would not hurl. It’s foolish to emphasis the mind over the body. He then thought about the careless Soldiers and their mucking about with blood and bones. Ha, nor the body over the mind…

 

He arose from his thoughts and realized their position. The two had drawn near to the Grand Arch entering the mountain range. It marked the entrance to the inner city of Ougt.

 

Mart marvelled at the marble Arch.

 

It was difficult to imagine that two centuries ago, primitive smashing and cutting had slowly progressed to the massive hollow that was The Warden. It had been a treacherous process with many unintentional ceiling collapses. Engineering had evolved to the point where compressing salt, charcoal writing utensils, and with scrapings of distilled animal feces from deep within the cave itself into divots chiselled into the rock could be exploded with long twine fuses. There is actually quite a humours story about how this combination of elements' lethal potential came to be discovered. It has been said, and who knows if it really is true, that there was a man who sustained a blow to his head and suddenly became fascinated by eating dirt and rocks! It was quite a spectacle to watch him consume limestone and mud. The people around him usually avoided him as he'd grown into quite a recluse after his injury. The man would brew up his own concoctions of stones into stews until one day his entire abode ignited and immediately vanished. It was a fire like none have ever seen before! 

 

The Warden was divided into two wings with each having their own divots and tunnels which led to different areas. They majority of the walls were simply stone and maddeningly gray. The Soír were not fond of colour as they found it distracting and rather unnecessary. The condition of the stone was pristine however and was constantly sanded to be kept looking cleanly. A few torches made of iron were fused into the walls. Matcha would stuff the iron hollow full of kindle and birch bark for the fire to consume. The Centre rested in the Anterior Wing.

 

"How long did construction take?" He immediately regretted the rudimentary question. After all, it was preliminary material at best.

 

Tecta laughed at him. It wasn't pompous but with good humour. "The Anterior Wing or the Posterior? It makes quite a large difference depending on which side you’re curious about. The Anterior," he made a large swooping gesture with his right arm, "was completed relatively quickly - a year of calculation - due to the natural concave angle of the mountain face. It didn't take long to hollow but the difficulties arose in maintaining its ceiling." Tecta pointed at one of the sturdy stone columns lining the circular bulb of the frontal cave. "The Posterior, however, I'm sure you know its history, was built before the blast came about. It was largely completed with manual labour. Here, look!" He grabbed Mart's arm and pulled him past the arches separating the Wings. "See how choppy this all is? There are juttings and angles everywhere!" 

 

"It must have been tedious to smooth the walls." Mart droned while mentally picturing the copious amounts of people involved in the hollowing of The Posterior. Indeed, the task of sanding inner Ougt had been recorded as arduous and often proved damaging to the wrists and eyes; sanders were often observes to have swollen joints and trouble with manipulating their fingers effectively. The dust had been found to irritate the iris and the lungs.

 

“Very true.” Tecta sighed. “Alright now, it is far right down this passage.” They doubled back after looking at the walls and veered a quick left.

 

Mart followed him. Though he should have been enthused by The Anterior, his mind was preoccupied by the argument he would pose to convince the counsel of his friend’s innocence.

 

They carried on to the right-hand side of the cavern while passing many toiling at its structure.

 

“Who’s here?” Mart wondered.

 

“Several.” Tecta was preoccupied with the navigation of the tunnels branching out from the Anterior Core. “I must ask…” He stared at Mart. “You’re here for Raachelle’s b*****d, aren’t you?”

 

Mart cringed. “Don’t call her that.”

 

“Ah.” Tecta kept his steady gaze as they traveled down the hall. “May I ask why?”

 

The fatter man hesitated. “She deserves to be in the infantry. She could be skilled and adept in combat, I'm sure. She certainly has a taste for it.”

 

Tecta immediately stopped walking and placed his elbow against the wall so his forearm blocked Mart’s path. “You genuinely believe this?”

 

Again, he hesitated. “From what I’ve heard; no, however, from what I’ve seen…”

 

“Ah." He paused. "I assume she’s gotten herself into a confrontation with her authorities?”

 

“Have you met her?”

 

“I have on several occasions.”

 

“So you must know that she expresses herself in ways which present her as belligerent.”

 

“Certainly.”

 

“Do you think a chance is warranted?”

 

“If one regards her direct defiance of authority, perhaps not.”

 

"I intend to fight that notion." Mart moved himself past his superior and continued down the hall. "I can argue her case! She is not lost."

 

Tecta yawned and smacked his lips. "At any rate, we approach."

 

He was right. Their destination was through a rather tight door with a low-hanging ceiling. Decorated across the walls was a mixed and porous material which resembled skin of ivory with a stark component of iron. It spanned the horizon of The Centre.

 

"You like her?"

 

"It does not matter." Mart quipped.

 

"Can you argue her objectively?"

 

"I… perhaps not? I will think of something interesting to persuade them instead."

 

Their entrance into The Centre was quite quiet and Mart's footsteps resonated with a ringing clack. Once one enters into the room, they emerge into a rounded room and most often stare upwards to gaze at the levels of seats. The floor, where those speaking would stand, was a large cylindrical shape and a circular theme was carried out into the benches. The seats ascend upward in rings to form three levels and were the kind of gray that absorbs all the excitement in the room. Colour seemed to get lost in that deep and murky gray. It was cool and damp within the room. No windows adorned a space so deep within the mountain rock.

 

Mart gathered his confidence and almost opened his mouth-

 

“Who might you be?” The rigid squeak of a sound pursed between two tense lips pierced the chamber.

 

“I-” Mart looked up toward the familiar visitor with dread. “You don’t-? Mart " Soír, I was-”

 

“-here about my daughter.” Her solemn face broke into blooming red cheeks and sparkling eyes. “I heard you mention her name!” To the untrained ear, her tone would have been cheerful and exuberant but, to those who knew her, a joyful inflection was only anticipating of another’s impending demise.

 

Raachelle appeared to float down from her seat toward the floor. Mart had not seen her sitting so high above him. Her trailing silk robes coloured like sky fluttered elegantly in the stale vacuum. For onlookers, the lively nature of her clothing was eerie and unnerving. She appeared as if not to touch the ground. Raachelle looked old but in a way that it suited her stern character and accentuated her poignant features. The skin on her face was wrinkled but it was not sagging.

 

She was pale from extremely little sun exposure. The woman had become convinced that her frequent fainting spells and fatigue were due to the heat of the daylight. During the extremely scorching months of the year, she could barely be found outside her quarters.

 

Those in the hall were surprised to witness her venture so far in such warm weather.

 

“What has she done now?” She peered down at Mart through wispy ringlets of gray hair. Her round eyes peered out hungrily from above defined cheek bones.

 

“I-” He had nothing clever to say at that moment. Raachelle made the wittiest of men suddenly embarrassed of their intellectual prowess. If she had been born in the build of a man, Mart was certain she could possess any expanse of land or material that she pleased.

 

“Tell me.” Her voice became monotone and her complexion turned icy. She marched up to him with the same forced smile smeared across her face. Her finger nails sunk into his cheeks as she grabbed a hold of his head and turned his eyes toward her. At a height exceeding six feet, she towered over his stout body. “She’s hurt someone or killed something, hasn’t she?”

 

The pause was awkward at best.

 

            Raachelle released Mart’s face with a flick of her wrist. He winched as her nails scraped his skin.

 

            He’d met the woman before and had even spoken to her once to twice. He wasn’t sure if she refused to validate their prior meetings in order to patronize him or simply because she’d been careless enough to forget his face.

 

            She cradled her head in her hands with drama a playwright would envy. “Oh!” She wailed, “What has the reckless child done?”

 

            Mart realized this was the opportune time to take control of the situation. In this moment only he knew the truth and could try to bend it to Jyacoren's favour.

 

             “It's not what she killed, Miyah[14], it's what she didn't kill."

 

            Raachelle ceased her spurious moaning and her pupils dilated in interest. "Oh?"

 

            "There was an exam… a little lamb was involved. She would not kill it and- well, I suppose she got a bit upset over the fact that-"

 

            "-that she cowers in the face of action?" Raachelle laughed.

 

            "She refused to kill it and was mocked for it."

 

            "A Soldier should be!"

 

            "She acted rashly. She spit-"

 

            "Oh! Perhaps not so afraid of action after all!" She exclaimed.

 

            "-on Captain Harrgber. It was provoked! Provocation is a legitimate partial defence!" Mart finished and held his breath.

 

            Tecta burst out laughing at the explanation of the troubles but his humour dissipated into harsh wheezes when Raachelle began to focus her wicked stare at the old man. "Apologies!" He yelped after pretending to cough for a few seconds. "It's quite dry out today! Do you find?"

 

            "Silence." Raachelle demanded and turned back to the younger man. "What did you say your name was?"

 

            Mart wrinkled his nose at her but quickly reversed the reaction when he remembered himself. "Mart, Soír."

 

            "Right. Did you witness this event?"

            "I-. No, Miyah, I did not."

 

            "I suppose my daughter was the one to relay this information to your gullible ears?"

 

            "You suppose correctly." Mart could not lie; he was a terrible liar by nurture. One particular Soír Instructor[15], used to stick a small piece of wood under the thumb nail of his right hand if he ever was caught telling a lie. "Though I like to think my ears are not gullible." He instantly regretted saying it when Tecta began to giggle again.  

 

            She strode up to him extremely quickly with her robes and hair all fluttering maddeningly about her body. "Poor child," her voice became full of breath and passion and her eyebrows drifted upward, "I'm sorry she's tricked you!" Raachelle took Mart's face into her hands once again and she stared down at him. "Has she made you think that she loves you? Poor thing! Jyacoren cannot love anything properly! She is convincing you to lie for her sake! Evil creature! Vile creature!" 

 

            Voices could sudden be heard echoing down the chamber leading away from the council. It sounded quite intense and loud; as if it were augmentative.

 

            Mart turned his head quickly.

 

            Those in question entered The Centre. It was the Brackus, the General he'd been hoping to meet. His mouth spread into a small smile but quickly fell. Alas, he was paired with his foe, Harrgber, and all his illusions of hope went tumbling down.

---

1.     A high class responsible for the execution of all decisions within Da'ir (da-HERE) province and Imocras (ee-MOE-cris) class power structure who occupy the first and highest tier of power; pronounced: SOORE

 

2.     The name of the Capital City of Da’ir where the Soldiers and Soír primarily reside; pronounced: OUGHT

 

3.     The Da'ir Soír word used to extend a formal greeting

 

4.         The Da'ir Soír prefix used to address a “justice” or an honourable judicial figure in the Soír class " it is derived from their word for justice, De, and the epitome suffix, N.

 

5.           Soldiers occupy the second tier of social and political power as the military class.

 

6.       In Imocras (ee-MOE-cris) society, the name of the political republic structure the province follows, b******s are children born of two separate classes. They are stigmatized against for not having a proper sole function.

 

7.   The Da'ir word for a Soldier who has not yet completed their Right of Passage - Vyentola (vent-O-la) Vyen as in courage and Tola as in test

 

8.  Pronounced: EE-ja; Iy "a student of" and Jya" passion.

 

9.            A military rank two steps above Captain. There are 120 in Da'ir

 

10.            In Imocras politics, the Matca are responsible for the trading of goods. They occupy the third tier of power and influence. They, in turn, are also responsible for policing and humanitarian work. They are civil servants not only in business but in practical means too.

 

11.            Pronounced: MAY-zo GLEX-ah. This condition is what we call Asthma. Messo meaning, less and Gylexa meaning, lung.

 

12. The lowest class consisting of social rejects; those with physical disabilities, retardation, and schizophrenia

 

13. Our equivalent to 11 p.m.

14. The Da’ir word for a prolific maternal figure in the community. Pronounced: MEE-hah

15. The Soír and Soldier children are raised as a collective by many Instructors. They do not know their biological mother or father. There are approximately 385 in Da'ir.  

Reviews

[Jesus & Gypsy Soul]

I opened this cautiously, doubting your talent. My god --- your writing is spectacular. More impressive is your use of footnotes and grammar. Your paragraph structure is excellent. I agree with S. Von- the footnotes are a bit busy. The content is wonderful. It's rich. Your vocabulary is rich. You've captured the scene and imagery. Your portray your characters clearly. Im not use to reviewing such lengthy material so I'm sorry if this isn't a great critique. But I really enjoyed it. Keep writing!:)

[The Lazy Layman]

Thank you so much! That's very kind :). I am looking into what I will do with the footnotes but I'm still unsure

[Fernando Pessoa]

This looks absolutely phenomenal. Looking forward to reading your book, and many more to come.

[The Lazy Layman]

You can find chapters 2 & 3 on the site!
CH 2:
https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/jossilal/1787464/
CH 3:
https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/jossilal/2089214/

THANKS FOR YOUR COMMENT! I appreciate it. I know it's been a while, but I do have CH 4 in the works... I may pick this up again !

[Philip Muls]

I have read a first part and I am impressed. Your dialogue is authentic and sophisticated. You develop great characters.

Well done.

[The Lazy Layman]

Thank you so much!

[Cameron Griffith]

Thoroughly impressed with this, you are truly building your own universe and I am all in for this story. Loved the story about the man eating the rocks and exploding, I myself want to make movies when I get older and I can see this as a truly epic, great job making a setting and also making the characters likeable, please hurry with the second chapter.

[The Lazy Layman]

Thank you! Will do!

[S. von Glaubitz]

This is a long chapter, so you’re getting a long review from me!

Wow, footnotes for a fantasy book! In a way, that’s brilliant—you don’t need Tolkien- and Martin-style appendices. Unfortunately, I think it becomes rather distracting and pulls the reader out of the story. There are four footnotes in the first four paragraphs. It was easy for me to lose the flow from having to scroll down to reference them, which isn’t what you want for the opening. I also felt like I was getting overloaded with information. I think it might be better to work a lot of the information from the footnotes into the story. An example: You don’t put a footnote on the word “Titus.” I’m left to glean what a Titus is and learn as I go.

Talk about world-building, though! Just the fact that you have these footnotes means you’ve developed a very detailed world. I’m a linguistics nerd who always loves a breakdown of word-meaning, as in footnote 6.

Harrgber seems the tough-as-nails type but then gets nervous and stammers in front of Den Kiele. Is this purposeful characterization?

I’m not sure I understood Den Kiele’s mocking of Jyacoren over the lamb. Does he think she should only want to save the lamb’s life if she wants to keep it for herself?

Some of the footnotes bring up terms that would also require footnotes since the words have not been used yet: Footnote 7 with the Creet, and 9 with Imocras.

Love the drunk slurring. It’s written really well. Writing dialogue with accents (or drunkenness in this case) can get distracting, but I didn’t find that to be the case here.

I also love Jya’s desire to either wretch on Gesabelle or bore a thumb into her forehead. Excellent characterization.

Footnote 17: is this a mistake? The word in the text is “Dun” but the pronunciation is “CREE-ken”

The story about the injured man who ate rocks and then exploded isn’t really humorous to me… I think it’s kind of sad, actually. But maybe people from this society find this kind of story humorous! Anyway, this, and the rest of the discussion on the construction of the Warden, is another fine example of your world-building prowess. My only complaint is that Mart seemed too much in a rush to take the time to marvel at the architecture. It’s interesting, but feels a little out of place or disruptive. It might just need some better context, even just mentioning that, in a rush though he was, Mart couldn’t help himself.

This is the kind of society where people are very much defined by their roles and their class. Do you mention what Mart’s role/class is? I might have missed it…

A few questions about the Centre and Raachelle: Are there other people present in the room? Why so late at night? Why is Raachelle there so late (alone?), especially if she usually stays at home? Why does Mart expect to find her there? Otherwise, Raachelle’s characterization is great.

Footnote 20: Do you mean 385 Instructors? Also, how does Jyacoren know who her mother is? Is she a special circumstance because she’s a b*****d?

Finally, a note on point of view. You’re using third-person omniscient, so the narration follows the points of view of many characters, which is fine. My concern is that it seems like Jyacoren is the main character, but there’s much stronger omniscience on behalf of the other characters initially. In fact, you treat Jyacoren rather objectively at first. I found it rather jarring and confusing that my first impression of the book had view-points from three characters, Harrgber, Gesabelle and John, before really getting to Jyacoren’s. My suggestion is to put some stronger narration from Jyacoren’s point of view right at the beginning, before you enter the point of view of another character.

Anyway, great job! I’d certainly be interested in reading Chapter 2!

[The Lazy Layman]

Wow amazing critique! Thank you so much for taking the time to write this all out. It's very helpful! Yes, you did note some mistakes that I can go in and fix! Thank you very much!

I'm torn between doing footnotes or not. It started as just referencing for myself but I was thinking of working in the explanations too but that seemed awkward as well. If it were in a book format, each page would have it's own footnotes. Scrolling to the bottom on a website is awful! I'm still deciding what to do but thanks for letting me know about that!

Also for your questions, I will have to clarify those in text and rewrite. I like your suggestion about Mart and the architecture. I think I will write that in.

Overall I believe making more things clear and cleaning up some inconsistencies will help me a lot so thank you so much for bringing these to my attention! I really appreciate your help. :)

[Inject Positivity]

I think your descriptions were is superb, what I have learned so far about writing stories is that the more you give details to it the more it satisfies the reader... In your chapter you did the exact thing... There were brilliant use of vocabulary along with quite well presented characters... I'm quite impressed to see the scenes moving at a nice pace leaving the reader to think "let's see what happens next"... The whole setting and atmosphere in it was truly outstanding to be honest.. Your characters were alive throughout.... I admire your story telling style... I will read it again to get some more thoughts on this before moving on to next chapter...

Sincerely
Dhiman

[The Lazy Layman]

Very kind words! Thank you so much for your thoughtful review. I will write the next part quickly! :D