(no subject)
Maple Walnut #25. Off the Chart
and Flavor of the Day - 9/2/09 - Abecedarian
with Hot Fudge and Whipped Cream
Story : knights
Rating : G
Timeframe : 1244
Word Count : 610
Word of the Day : abecedarian - One who is learning the alphabet; hence, a beginner - Rudimentary; elementary
Kairn sat at the back of the room. Always at the back; best way to avoid attention. Well, a sidelong glance caught him a chorus of toothy grins from Aldo and his cohorts, some attention anyway. He tapped his chalk on the toe of his boot, turned it over end to end and tapped it again, and trained his gaze on the figure at the front of the class.
Master Berwyk, a short, pudgy, balding fellow of perhaps fifty years or so, with a perpetual jovial look about him, paced before the sheet of slate embedded in the wall, a stub of chalk in his hand and dust spattered across his pants. He eyed the work of the boys in the front row and turned to the board, raised his chalk, and added another line to the webbing on display.
Sigils. Language of the gods. Kairn frowned at the slate. Somewhere between letters and a madman’s idea of geometry, always a ring to start, then a series of lines and arcs within. This one, so far comprised of three steeply curving strokes, Berwyk had said was the base for water, whatever that meant. He’d yet to tell what any of the forms were specifically for.
Kairn set his chalk to the crude circle inscribed on the floor before him and dragged it from top to bottom in the best approximation of the curve he could. Gateways to the gods, that was the best explanation Master Berwyk would give for how they worked. Put a sigil on something and you could call a little piece of a god to it, ask her to touch it just for a moment. The thought sent chills up his spine, that a drawing should have that power. He made a face at the lopsided circle and the arcs that wandered in and away from each other along their paths, unlike the example with its neat and uniform spacing. He wondered if any form he drew could truly summon a god or if it was only capable of bringing a sadly sighing Master Berwyk.
There was a yawn to his left and Kairn looked up. One of the new boys, the frail one, smaller than him even. There were too many, he hadn’t gotten their names straight yet. With another yawn, the boy batted one dark, curly lock out of his face and set to spinning his chalk on the floor like a top.
Kairn peered over at the boy’s work. A perfect circle housed three neatly swooping lines, and a fourth that bent out in a ‘v’ where the others turned in. “You’ve got an extra line,” Kairn whispered.
“Hmm?” The boy looked up. He wrinkled his nose at Kairn’s sigil and glanced at the board. “Oh,” he said absently, looking back to his own. “So I do.”
Berwyk paced back to the form on the slate. His chalk scratched out a fresh mark across its surface and he stepped away to reveal a fourth arc, in line with the rest, except where it came to a point opposite their curve. Kairn’s jaw dropped. He looked from the board to the boy’s form, now a perfect mirror of the example, and back.
The boy looked up, sniffed, and went back to idly twirling his chalk. “Now I don’t,” he said.
“But…but,” said Kairn, eyes still traveling between the two. “How? How did you know?”
The boy shrugged. The corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly as his eyes caught Kairn’s. “I just did,” he said.
Kairm shook his head and added the new line to his own form as best he could.
and Flavor of the Day - 9/2/09 - Abecedarian
with Hot Fudge and Whipped Cream
Story : knights
Rating : G
Timeframe : 1244
Word Count : 610
Word of the Day : abecedarian - One who is learning the alphabet; hence, a beginner - Rudimentary; elementary
Kairn sat at the back of the room. Always at the back; best way to avoid attention. Well, a sidelong glance caught him a chorus of toothy grins from Aldo and his cohorts, some attention anyway. He tapped his chalk on the toe of his boot, turned it over end to end and tapped it again, and trained his gaze on the figure at the front of the class.
Master Berwyk, a short, pudgy, balding fellow of perhaps fifty years or so, with a perpetual jovial look about him, paced before the sheet of slate embedded in the wall, a stub of chalk in his hand and dust spattered across his pants. He eyed the work of the boys in the front row and turned to the board, raised his chalk, and added another line to the webbing on display.
Sigils. Language of the gods. Kairn frowned at the slate. Somewhere between letters and a madman’s idea of geometry, always a ring to start, then a series of lines and arcs within. This one, so far comprised of three steeply curving strokes, Berwyk had said was the base for water, whatever that meant. He’d yet to tell what any of the forms were specifically for.
Kairn set his chalk to the crude circle inscribed on the floor before him and dragged it from top to bottom in the best approximation of the curve he could. Gateways to the gods, that was the best explanation Master Berwyk would give for how they worked. Put a sigil on something and you could call a little piece of a god to it, ask her to touch it just for a moment. The thought sent chills up his spine, that a drawing should have that power. He made a face at the lopsided circle and the arcs that wandered in and away from each other along their paths, unlike the example with its neat and uniform spacing. He wondered if any form he drew could truly summon a god or if it was only capable of bringing a sadly sighing Master Berwyk.
There was a yawn to his left and Kairn looked up. One of the new boys, the frail one, smaller than him even. There were too many, he hadn’t gotten their names straight yet. With another yawn, the boy batted one dark, curly lock out of his face and set to spinning his chalk on the floor like a top.
Kairn peered over at the boy’s work. A perfect circle housed three neatly swooping lines, and a fourth that bent out in a ‘v’ where the others turned in. “You’ve got an extra line,” Kairn whispered.
“Hmm?” The boy looked up. He wrinkled his nose at Kairn’s sigil and glanced at the board. “Oh,” he said absently, looking back to his own. “So I do.”
Berwyk paced back to the form on the slate. His chalk scratched out a fresh mark across its surface and he stepped away to reveal a fourth arc, in line with the rest, except where it came to a point opposite their curve. Kairn’s jaw dropped. He looked from the board to the boy’s form, now a perfect mirror of the example, and back.
The boy looked up, sniffed, and went back to idly twirling his chalk. “Now I don’t,” he said.
“But…but,” said Kairn, eyes still traveling between the two. “How? How did you know?”
The boy shrugged. The corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly as his eyes caught Kairn’s. “I just did,” he said.
Kairm shook his head and added the new line to his own form as best he could.