Writing
I've been in an odd place mentally, so I've been writing some. The opening vignette to another novel.
Water Dancer's Burden - Opening
Omara clenched her teeth as she watched Kellen mount the speaking platform at the front of the three-quarter circle that formed the Parliament Chamber. If she didn’t know him so well, far better than she wanted to, she might think he opposed her purely out of spite. Other men in his place surely would. But Kellen’s opposition was not formed from unexamined emotion but of cold calculation, and that made it all the worse in Omara’s estimation. That the lives of people could be reduced to pawn to be bartered and traded for power disgusted her. It was, in fact, one of the reasons that Waylaka remained an allied state and not a full member nation of the Consortium, though it had cost her dearly in influence here and at home.
She shook away the memories of what had been and how things had come to be as they were. Now was not the time for such reminiscences nor to dwell on the excuse for a man that spoke to the crowd. She refocused on Kellen, though she knew what he would be saying. “Friends, it’s not that we don’t care about the problems of Delar, of course we do!” He smiled earnestly, “I don’t know what I would do without my spicy Delari tea!” Laughter rippled through the stands, though Omara noticed it didn’t touch the Delari Singer or the Singers from nearby Delan or Akkan. She cursed the location of the outbreak, none of the representatives from the area were Dancers, they could not speak of plague with the authority of healers... though she ruefully admitted that it might not make a difference. No one wanted to send money or resources elsewhere, no matter how well off their country was.
Kellen was still speaking, he’d always been rather long winded, “Our own healers and Dancers are spread thin as it is. The spring has brought in greater sporefogs than usual from the swamps, we have none to spare.” He looked over at the Delari, “Perhaps my own Amerind should request help with our... ‘outbreak?’” He paused slightly, adding a subtle but obvious dismissal of the Delari’s concerns. He smiled as more laughter rippled across the representatives. Omara cursed silently and the Delari’s face darkened. In one move, Kellen had strengthened his own position while painting Delar as weak and paranoid. She sighed, there was no mistaking a rout when she was part of it. Kellen was continuing to speak, mentioning every single instance when Delar had asked for help from the Consortium in the last ten years, as most of the parliament nodded along.
She turned to leave and Kellen caught her eye, even from this distance she could tell he was looking at her. And he winked. She amended her earlier thought. Kellen might not make decisions purely to spite her, but he certainly relished thwarting her when doing so profited him. Her skin crawled and she wanted to run, memories flooding back as he breathing increased. She clamped down her mind on these automatic, remembered responses, clenching her fists to regain control so as not to allow him to see. She forced herself to stand for a few more seconds, refusing to let Kellen see her discomfited (though he probably knew), before slipping out into the hall. In the cooler, quiet air of the hall she forced her breathing to slow, cursing her own weakness and cursing Kellen for still having that effect on her twenty years later.
Omara brushed remembered hands from her shoulders and arms and stalked down the hall. If parliament wouldn’t help her, then she would have to do it herself. And it would have to be soon, before Kellen could argue the Council into some life and death mission for her in the Spires or something. She huffed. She wasn’t without some influence of her own. She might not be a silver tongued Councilman, but she had the same twenty years of seniority and connections that Kellen did, and far more goodwill outside the parliament and Council. She headed for the healer’s wing and accosted the first novice she found.
Shortly she located Brencis, lecturing some novices on herbs in the Garden. He nodded to her as she approached, and then to his students, “Well now, let’s see who’s been paying attention. Who can tell the Lady Dancer Omara what she should bring with her in her packs if she wanted to stem a plague?”
The students’ foreheads wrinkled as one and Omara smiled, familiar with the feeling. Finally, a small fair skinned girl, most likely from one of the Southern States, spoke up, “Well she should bring plenty of Aggar Root for restorative tea, but what is the source of the plague?”
Brencis grinned, “Very good, Anoki, no healer should be without Aggar Tea, for properly brewed it can sustain a man when he can keep nothing else down. As for the source...” He cocked his eyebrow at Omara, who shook her head slightly, “For this exercise, lets say the source is unknown, so Dancer Omara must be prepared for all eventualities.”
The students thought a few more moments and began eagerly supplying suggestions, “Fireweed to dry up a fungus!” “Silverthread for a colonizing disease.” “Vomitroot for a toxin.” “Ice Tears for a fever!”
Brencis smiled, congratulating and correcting for a few moments before dismissing the novices to other activities. Omara thanked them for their help as they filed out of the courtyard garden.
When they were gone, Omara smiled at her old instructor. “Are you sure you’re just the Master of Healing and not the secret Spy Master?”
Brencis laughed, still quite hail despite being well into his sixties, “Now now, you know that that’s just a rumor perpetuated by novices and apprentices! There’s no such thing as a secret Spy Master!” He cocked his head at Omara, “But I’ll assume then, that my guess as to your purpose was correct?”
Omara snorted, “As if your guesses are ever wrong, Old Goat. Yes, they are voting down the aid now. I’ll need supplies, and a full pack mule.”
Brencis nodded, “Yes, yes, we can manage that. You’ll want to take Kee’Leh as well, of course.”
Omara frowned, “Why? I can take care of myself. And besides, who would attack a Dancer on a healing mission?”
Brencis just sighed heavily, “Child, two is always better than one. And Kee’Leh is adept at basic field healing. It’s as close to sending a true healer with you. Besides, you never know how panicked victims might react.” He grinned impishly, “And it’s an excuse to send another mule of supplies with you.”
Omara laughed ruefully, “How is it I’m well past thirty summers and you still make me feel like a child in my foolishness?”
Brencis waggled his eyebrows, “Because, child, I am the Old Goat. Old as the mountains and I’ll wear you down like a timeless stream!” he loosely quoted on of the saying the novices and apprentices had about him (and a few full healers if Omara was honest), he winked, “And like the Old Goat, I’ll get out and eat your Mallowort as soon as you turn your back.”
Smiling, Omara thanked him and went to prepare herself for a trip, thankful she spent so little time in Cora she barely bothered to unpack except to wash and replace gear in between trips. Still it took her several hours to get everything packed to her satisfaction. She ate a hearty dinner and spent the rest of the evening transcribing notes in the Grand Library from books that didn’t have copies she could take with her.
She rose with the first grey in the sky, snitching cold sausage, cheese, and bread from the kitchen. As she wrapped her grey wool cloak around herself, she hurried towards the healer’s wing. She was suprised to find three of the small draft horses saddled along with two pack mules, as she rounded the corner.
Brencis turned from speaking to a young man barely into his whiskers as she approached. “Meet Gavin, third son of Rom, Dancer and Representative of Grimok. He’ll be joining you, at Rom’s request, as an apprentice on your journey for his Healing practicum before being pronounced a Journeyman Dancer.” He looked over to Gavin, “Whether he likes it, or not.”
Gavin bounced, “Lady Omara Elar, Dancer, Envoy of Waylaka, it is an honor to meet you. Your work on alternate methods of fever reduction was fascinating.”
Omara looked skeptically at Brencis, “He’s barely out of diapers, and flatters the only book you’ve ever managed to bludgeon out of me.”
Brencis smirked, “He’s 19 summers, and as sincere as a certain princess I once knew, as well as being an excellent healer. Rom agreed with the reports from Delar, this is the help he and I can manage. Accept it gratefully. Thank you for this, Omara, it is always nice to have a healer who isn’t tied to the oaths that bind them to the will of the council.”
Omara nodded, there was little point in arguing. She thought there was something more to this, something Brencis new, but getting more information when he shut down was harder than uprooting a mountain by hand.
Kee’Leh stepped out from the shadows, tossing her thickly braided blond hair over her powerful shoulders, “And when has our ‘Mara ever accepted anything gracefully, Old Goat?” The woman grinned at Omara, daring her to contradict the pronouncement. When Omara refused to rise to the bait, Kee’Leh passed her a dull grey wood staff, “Made from the ironwood trees in the foothills of Koh. Lightweight and strong. Good for someone who always gets herself in trouble. Now, if what the Old Goat tells me is true, we should be moving, ‘mara, and quick.”
Omara nodded, “Thank you, Kee, though I feel I was sorely outnumbered in this scheme, if only I knew what that meant!” Brencis helped her up onto her horse as Gavin mounted his, and with a click of their tongues they headed out through the Healer’s Gate into the morning fog and the breaking dawn.
Water Dancer's Burden - Opening
Omara clenched her teeth as she watched Kellen mount the speaking platform at the front of the three-quarter circle that formed the Parliament Chamber. If she didn’t know him so well, far better than she wanted to, she might think he opposed her purely out of spite. Other men in his place surely would. But Kellen’s opposition was not formed from unexamined emotion but of cold calculation, and that made it all the worse in Omara’s estimation. That the lives of people could be reduced to pawn to be bartered and traded for power disgusted her. It was, in fact, one of the reasons that Waylaka remained an allied state and not a full member nation of the Consortium, though it had cost her dearly in influence here and at home.
She shook away the memories of what had been and how things had come to be as they were. Now was not the time for such reminiscences nor to dwell on the excuse for a man that spoke to the crowd. She refocused on Kellen, though she knew what he would be saying. “Friends, it’s not that we don’t care about the problems of Delar, of course we do!” He smiled earnestly, “I don’t know what I would do without my spicy Delari tea!” Laughter rippled through the stands, though Omara noticed it didn’t touch the Delari Singer or the Singers from nearby Delan or Akkan. She cursed the location of the outbreak, none of the representatives from the area were Dancers, they could not speak of plague with the authority of healers... though she ruefully admitted that it might not make a difference. No one wanted to send money or resources elsewhere, no matter how well off their country was.
Kellen was still speaking, he’d always been rather long winded, “Our own healers and Dancers are spread thin as it is. The spring has brought in greater sporefogs than usual from the swamps, we have none to spare.” He looked over at the Delari, “Perhaps my own Amerind should request help with our... ‘outbreak?’” He paused slightly, adding a subtle but obvious dismissal of the Delari’s concerns. He smiled as more laughter rippled across the representatives. Omara cursed silently and the Delari’s face darkened. In one move, Kellen had strengthened his own position while painting Delar as weak and paranoid. She sighed, there was no mistaking a rout when she was part of it. Kellen was continuing to speak, mentioning every single instance when Delar had asked for help from the Consortium in the last ten years, as most of the parliament nodded along.
She turned to leave and Kellen caught her eye, even from this distance she could tell he was looking at her. And he winked. She amended her earlier thought. Kellen might not make decisions purely to spite her, but he certainly relished thwarting her when doing so profited him. Her skin crawled and she wanted to run, memories flooding back as he breathing increased. She clamped down her mind on these automatic, remembered responses, clenching her fists to regain control so as not to allow him to see. She forced herself to stand for a few more seconds, refusing to let Kellen see her discomfited (though he probably knew), before slipping out into the hall. In the cooler, quiet air of the hall she forced her breathing to slow, cursing her own weakness and cursing Kellen for still having that effect on her twenty years later.
Omara brushed remembered hands from her shoulders and arms and stalked down the hall. If parliament wouldn’t help her, then she would have to do it herself. And it would have to be soon, before Kellen could argue the Council into some life and death mission for her in the Spires or something. She huffed. She wasn’t without some influence of her own. She might not be a silver tongued Councilman, but she had the same twenty years of seniority and connections that Kellen did, and far more goodwill outside the parliament and Council. She headed for the healer’s wing and accosted the first novice she found.
Shortly she located Brencis, lecturing some novices on herbs in the Garden. He nodded to her as she approached, and then to his students, “Well now, let’s see who’s been paying attention. Who can tell the Lady Dancer Omara what she should bring with her in her packs if she wanted to stem a plague?”
The students’ foreheads wrinkled as one and Omara smiled, familiar with the feeling. Finally, a small fair skinned girl, most likely from one of the Southern States, spoke up, “Well she should bring plenty of Aggar Root for restorative tea, but what is the source of the plague?”
Brencis grinned, “Very good, Anoki, no healer should be without Aggar Tea, for properly brewed it can sustain a man when he can keep nothing else down. As for the source...” He cocked his eyebrow at Omara, who shook her head slightly, “For this exercise, lets say the source is unknown, so Dancer Omara must be prepared for all eventualities.”
The students thought a few more moments and began eagerly supplying suggestions, “Fireweed to dry up a fungus!” “Silverthread for a colonizing disease.” “Vomitroot for a toxin.” “Ice Tears for a fever!”
Brencis smiled, congratulating and correcting for a few moments before dismissing the novices to other activities. Omara thanked them for their help as they filed out of the courtyard garden.
When they were gone, Omara smiled at her old instructor. “Are you sure you’re just the Master of Healing and not the secret Spy Master?”
Brencis laughed, still quite hail despite being well into his sixties, “Now now, you know that that’s just a rumor perpetuated by novices and apprentices! There’s no such thing as a secret Spy Master!” He cocked his head at Omara, “But I’ll assume then, that my guess as to your purpose was correct?”
Omara snorted, “As if your guesses are ever wrong, Old Goat. Yes, they are voting down the aid now. I’ll need supplies, and a full pack mule.”
Brencis nodded, “Yes, yes, we can manage that. You’ll want to take Kee’Leh as well, of course.”
Omara frowned, “Why? I can take care of myself. And besides, who would attack a Dancer on a healing mission?”
Brencis just sighed heavily, “Child, two is always better than one. And Kee’Leh is adept at basic field healing. It’s as close to sending a true healer with you. Besides, you never know how panicked victims might react.” He grinned impishly, “And it’s an excuse to send another mule of supplies with you.”
Omara laughed ruefully, “How is it I’m well past thirty summers and you still make me feel like a child in my foolishness?”
Brencis waggled his eyebrows, “Because, child, I am the Old Goat. Old as the mountains and I’ll wear you down like a timeless stream!” he loosely quoted on of the saying the novices and apprentices had about him (and a few full healers if Omara was honest), he winked, “And like the Old Goat, I’ll get out and eat your Mallowort as soon as you turn your back.”
Smiling, Omara thanked him and went to prepare herself for a trip, thankful she spent so little time in Cora she barely bothered to unpack except to wash and replace gear in between trips. Still it took her several hours to get everything packed to her satisfaction. She ate a hearty dinner and spent the rest of the evening transcribing notes in the Grand Library from books that didn’t have copies she could take with her.
She rose with the first grey in the sky, snitching cold sausage, cheese, and bread from the kitchen. As she wrapped her grey wool cloak around herself, she hurried towards the healer’s wing. She was suprised to find three of the small draft horses saddled along with two pack mules, as she rounded the corner.
Brencis turned from speaking to a young man barely into his whiskers as she approached. “Meet Gavin, third son of Rom, Dancer and Representative of Grimok. He’ll be joining you, at Rom’s request, as an apprentice on your journey for his Healing practicum before being pronounced a Journeyman Dancer.” He looked over to Gavin, “Whether he likes it, or not.”
Gavin bounced, “Lady Omara Elar, Dancer, Envoy of Waylaka, it is an honor to meet you. Your work on alternate methods of fever reduction was fascinating.”
Omara looked skeptically at Brencis, “He’s barely out of diapers, and flatters the only book you’ve ever managed to bludgeon out of me.”
Brencis smirked, “He’s 19 summers, and as sincere as a certain princess I once knew, as well as being an excellent healer. Rom agreed with the reports from Delar, this is the help he and I can manage. Accept it gratefully. Thank you for this, Omara, it is always nice to have a healer who isn’t tied to the oaths that bind them to the will of the council.”
Omara nodded, there was little point in arguing. She thought there was something more to this, something Brencis new, but getting more information when he shut down was harder than uprooting a mountain by hand.
Kee’Leh stepped out from the shadows, tossing her thickly braided blond hair over her powerful shoulders, “And when has our ‘Mara ever accepted anything gracefully, Old Goat?” The woman grinned at Omara, daring her to contradict the pronouncement. When Omara refused to rise to the bait, Kee’Leh passed her a dull grey wood staff, “Made from the ironwood trees in the foothills of Koh. Lightweight and strong. Good for someone who always gets herself in trouble. Now, if what the Old Goat tells me is true, we should be moving, ‘mara, and quick.”
Omara nodded, “Thank you, Kee, though I feel I was sorely outnumbered in this scheme, if only I knew what that meant!” Brencis helped her up onto her horse as Gavin mounted his, and with a click of their tongues they headed out through the Healer’s Gate into the morning fog and the breaking dawn.