WinterLight
In the marshes
Hey guys
Here is the start of the piece I am working on (playing with). Purposely not going to explain any premise as I suppose the piece should be a scene-setter.
I did do some sculpting and second-guessing - and not sure if the POV switch works toward the end - but really above all just looking to see how i'm doing.
Thanks!
---------------------------
The man called Herger watched the young boy, one foot on the step of The Worm’s pilot cabin, peering in. The child appeared to be holding himself back, restraining an adolescent urge to climb in fully and fire the old monster up.
Herger had just finished a designated quarter-hour break in the temporary wreck-room, a cavity on a previous tunnel route with a reasonably flat floor to it, offset from the current dig-tunnel still a half-mile underground but at least a little closer to the surface. He was a big man for a Galogian, years at the pick-axe shaping his form into a bulk. The miles of tunnels had always felt cramped for him, but he had long since gotten used to it. He was returning to his second shift operating the giant rock separator to be met with the child stood at the entrance of the pilot cabin - his pilot cabin - studying the pod with keen interest. Most people knew Herger wasn't one to have people muddle with his things, let alone his old darling and especially not if it was one of the grubby little tunnel-monkeys.
The scrawny boy’s grounded foot lifted an inch as he craned his neck in to see further. It was far enough for the man. “What you doin’, boy?” he called, his tone firm and his voice gruff.
The boy froze, hanging at the cabin, his head turning fearfully to look to the voice asking of him. “Um..n-nothing, sir.” He stepped down, almost silently,eyes dropping to the ground as he made to slip away.
“Hold it.” There was something about this one, the big man couldn’t pin it, something odd. A fleeting notion, but there all the same. The boy had stopped, halted mid-step. “Do you even know what you’re lookin’ at, boy?” he asked.
For a moment the child hesitated, an inquiring but wary expression on his face when he turned back. “I was just looking at the controls, sir,” he gulped. “I…I wanted to see how it works.”
Herger eyed the child from his feet up. Typically dirty for a tunnel-monkey, he thought. Shoes made of steppe-hare hide, but more worn than they should be. His clothes looked home-made instead of hand-made by the town tailor, like everyone else. They were hanging from his slight frame, tattered and frayed. One of the poor ones, he thought, maybe lost a father down there. Wouldn’t have been the first. But nestled in behind the blackened face, hiding under a mop of dark muddy hair, the man saw a pair of sharp, crystal-blue eyes, more wary than fearful and with a brightness not dimmed by the low light in the tunnel.
“I ain’t reprimandin’ you, son. Calm down.” Herger tried to speak gently, but his ever dust-coated throat rasped somewhat. “Are you leaving or do you wanna see how she works?” He gestured toward the cabin, inviting the boy to step up. The boy didn’t move, and just stood with his arms down at his sides, staring curiously. Not being a patient man, Herger changed his tact, “Ain’t gon’ tell you twice, boy. Get on in there, move it.”
Visibly relaxing at the tone he was more accustomed to the boy moved swiftly, pulling himself up to disappear into the cabin. The big man approached the cabin door to find him sat eagerly in the pilot seat, eyes wide at the plethora of glowing dials and buttons in front of him.
“So, you don’t have even the slightest on how this thing works and you think you’re gonna drive her? Move over.”
A flash of fear but the boy obliged, lightly hopping over into the next seat.
Herger hauled himself into the pilot seat. His head almost touched the steel roof. “Now. If you wanna see what she can do, you’re gonna be the co-pilot - needs two men driving this thing.” He looked down at the boy, just a rodent to his big size but a piercing look in those blue eyes. He ignored the pressing feeling of curiosity. “Your job is to monitor these displays, see what’s up ahead and make sure I ain’t getting into nothing funky. Alright?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy nodded, a faint hint of cheerfulness peeking out from behind the dirt on his face.
“We ain’t in the Fleet, boy, we’re in the mines - my name ain’t sir, it’s Herg.” Herger let that sink in for a moment before asking, “Now, d'ya know why she’s called The Worm?”
The boy looked up to the man, screwing his face up a little but the apprehension fading. “Because.. it digs holes in the dirt?” His features told that he knew his answer was amiss.
Herger shook his head, snorting a little, but smiling through his wiry beard. “No, not cuz she 'digs holes in the dirt'. If that was all she did, they woulda called her The Mole, wouldn’t they?”
“What’s a mole?”
“Sheesh, you’re a wet one, int ya? Forget it. She’s called The Worm cuz a worm digs so it can eat. If it don’t dig, it don’t eat. If it don’t eat, it can’t dig. You know what this machine digs for, right?”
“Cataclys.”
“That’s right. And you know what she runs on?”
“Cataclys?”
“Bingo. Smart one, int ya. She done run’s on the cataclys she’s done diggin’ for. If she ain’t diggin’, she ain’t finding no cataclys, and she ain’t runnin’. That’s why they call her The Worm.”
The boy digested the mans’words for a moment before asking, “How did they start her in the first place?”
Sharp little beggar, thought the old miner. Maybe too sharp to be breaking rocks with the rest of the men. “Well they must’ve brought some with them, didn’t they, boy?”
“Oh.”
Keen to guide the lesson from something he did not know much about to something he knew a whole lot of, Herger rested his big hand on a domed red button on the control panel. “OK, this here’s the ignition button. It’s also the kill switch, nice and large in case you need to power down in a hurry, so you ain’t gaffing around looking for some dinky thing while Galogi is fallin’ in on ya.”
The boy watched Herger press the button in firmly, holding it down for a moment as if feeling some balance mechanic of the machine. A series of penetrating clicks rung out from somewhere way toward the front of The Worm, echoing along the cave walls, loosing small piles of dust from the seals of the cabin interior. The clicks gave way to a seemingly distant but loud report contained within the belly of the beast, unleashing a tremor that shook everything about them. It would have surprised anyone who was not expecting it, but the boy Jonsen Spar had heard The Worm fired up a thousand times before. He had not though been sat in the pilot cabin while it happened and when the blast was immediately followed up by another and another, sending wave after pulsing wave from up front, a thrilling charge ran through his core, something inside of him stirring as The Worm’s engine slowly rumbled itself to life. The massive machine began to thunder like some godly hammer, its firing rate ever increasing until the sound became a deafening roar, the power dissipated by each blast of the barrage rocking the very world around him until his view became just a blurred smash of instruments, metal and rock. Just as the boy wondered if Galogi would give in to the thunderous rumbling of The Worm deep in her earth, the sound and the shaking stopped, the last fire echoing away and the world in front of him returned to normal except for a dull vibration and the distant low frequency hum that resonated as the background music to life underground for all the miners.
Herger seemed satisfied. “Alright, she’s purring.”
Here is the start of the piece I am working on (playing with). Purposely not going to explain any premise as I suppose the piece should be a scene-setter.
I did do some sculpting and second-guessing - and not sure if the POV switch works toward the end - but really above all just looking to see how i'm doing.
Thanks!
---------------------------
The man called Herger watched the young boy, one foot on the step of The Worm’s pilot cabin, peering in. The child appeared to be holding himself back, restraining an adolescent urge to climb in fully and fire the old monster up.
Herger had just finished a designated quarter-hour break in the temporary wreck-room, a cavity on a previous tunnel route with a reasonably flat floor to it, offset from the current dig-tunnel still a half-mile underground but at least a little closer to the surface. He was a big man for a Galogian, years at the pick-axe shaping his form into a bulk. The miles of tunnels had always felt cramped for him, but he had long since gotten used to it. He was returning to his second shift operating the giant rock separator to be met with the child stood at the entrance of the pilot cabin - his pilot cabin - studying the pod with keen interest. Most people knew Herger wasn't one to have people muddle with his things, let alone his old darling and especially not if it was one of the grubby little tunnel-monkeys.
The scrawny boy’s grounded foot lifted an inch as he craned his neck in to see further. It was far enough for the man. “What you doin’, boy?” he called, his tone firm and his voice gruff.
The boy froze, hanging at the cabin, his head turning fearfully to look to the voice asking of him. “Um..n-nothing, sir.” He stepped down, almost silently,eyes dropping to the ground as he made to slip away.
“Hold it.” There was something about this one, the big man couldn’t pin it, something odd. A fleeting notion, but there all the same. The boy had stopped, halted mid-step. “Do you even know what you’re lookin’ at, boy?” he asked.
For a moment the child hesitated, an inquiring but wary expression on his face when he turned back. “I was just looking at the controls, sir,” he gulped. “I…I wanted to see how it works.”
Herger eyed the child from his feet up. Typically dirty for a tunnel-monkey, he thought. Shoes made of steppe-hare hide, but more worn than they should be. His clothes looked home-made instead of hand-made by the town tailor, like everyone else. They were hanging from his slight frame, tattered and frayed. One of the poor ones, he thought, maybe lost a father down there. Wouldn’t have been the first. But nestled in behind the blackened face, hiding under a mop of dark muddy hair, the man saw a pair of sharp, crystal-blue eyes, more wary than fearful and with a brightness not dimmed by the low light in the tunnel.
“I ain’t reprimandin’ you, son. Calm down.” Herger tried to speak gently, but his ever dust-coated throat rasped somewhat. “Are you leaving or do you wanna see how she works?” He gestured toward the cabin, inviting the boy to step up. The boy didn’t move, and just stood with his arms down at his sides, staring curiously. Not being a patient man, Herger changed his tact, “Ain’t gon’ tell you twice, boy. Get on in there, move it.”
Visibly relaxing at the tone he was more accustomed to the boy moved swiftly, pulling himself up to disappear into the cabin. The big man approached the cabin door to find him sat eagerly in the pilot seat, eyes wide at the plethora of glowing dials and buttons in front of him.
“So, you don’t have even the slightest on how this thing works and you think you’re gonna drive her? Move over.”
A flash of fear but the boy obliged, lightly hopping over into the next seat.
Herger hauled himself into the pilot seat. His head almost touched the steel roof. “Now. If you wanna see what she can do, you’re gonna be the co-pilot - needs two men driving this thing.” He looked down at the boy, just a rodent to his big size but a piercing look in those blue eyes. He ignored the pressing feeling of curiosity. “Your job is to monitor these displays, see what’s up ahead and make sure I ain’t getting into nothing funky. Alright?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy nodded, a faint hint of cheerfulness peeking out from behind the dirt on his face.
“We ain’t in the Fleet, boy, we’re in the mines - my name ain’t sir, it’s Herg.” Herger let that sink in for a moment before asking, “Now, d'ya know why she’s called The Worm?”
The boy looked up to the man, screwing his face up a little but the apprehension fading. “Because.. it digs holes in the dirt?” His features told that he knew his answer was amiss.
Herger shook his head, snorting a little, but smiling through his wiry beard. “No, not cuz she 'digs holes in the dirt'. If that was all she did, they woulda called her The Mole, wouldn’t they?”
“What’s a mole?”
“Sheesh, you’re a wet one, int ya? Forget it. She’s called The Worm cuz a worm digs so it can eat. If it don’t dig, it don’t eat. If it don’t eat, it can’t dig. You know what this machine digs for, right?”
“Cataclys.”
“That’s right. And you know what she runs on?”
“Cataclys?”
“Bingo. Smart one, int ya. She done run’s on the cataclys she’s done diggin’ for. If she ain’t diggin’, she ain’t finding no cataclys, and she ain’t runnin’. That’s why they call her The Worm.”
The boy digested the mans’words for a moment before asking, “How did they start her in the first place?”
Sharp little beggar, thought the old miner. Maybe too sharp to be breaking rocks with the rest of the men. “Well they must’ve brought some with them, didn’t they, boy?”
“Oh.”
Keen to guide the lesson from something he did not know much about to something he knew a whole lot of, Herger rested his big hand on a domed red button on the control panel. “OK, this here’s the ignition button. It’s also the kill switch, nice and large in case you need to power down in a hurry, so you ain’t gaffing around looking for some dinky thing while Galogi is fallin’ in on ya.”
The boy watched Herger press the button in firmly, holding it down for a moment as if feeling some balance mechanic of the machine. A series of penetrating clicks rung out from somewhere way toward the front of The Worm, echoing along the cave walls, loosing small piles of dust from the seals of the cabin interior. The clicks gave way to a seemingly distant but loud report contained within the belly of the beast, unleashing a tremor that shook everything about them. It would have surprised anyone who was not expecting it, but the boy Jonsen Spar had heard The Worm fired up a thousand times before. He had not though been sat in the pilot cabin while it happened and when the blast was immediately followed up by another and another, sending wave after pulsing wave from up front, a thrilling charge ran through his core, something inside of him stirring as The Worm’s engine slowly rumbled itself to life. The massive machine began to thunder like some godly hammer, its firing rate ever increasing until the sound became a deafening roar, the power dissipated by each blast of the barrage rocking the very world around him until his view became just a blurred smash of instruments, metal and rock. Just as the boy wondered if Galogi would give in to the thunderous rumbling of The Worm deep in her earth, the sound and the shaking stopped, the last fire echoing away and the world in front of him returned to normal except for a dull vibration and the distant low frequency hum that resonated as the background music to life underground for all the miners.
Herger seemed satisfied. “Alright, she’s purring.”
), each of the things I've raised is relatively minor, but it might be worth just refreshing your memory about grammatical and other issues in The Toolbox, as polished prose is easier to digest than slightly lumpy!
