And since I'm now getting fed up with social media in general, I'll probably be knocking around here a bit more again. Be feared, oh furry bear types.....
Anyhow, I now know what my next project is. Bad news for Inish lovers, I'm afraid - I have a deadline for a new Abendau book. But! The deal is this is a new trilogy, following up on the existing ones, and it must provide a new entry point for the series. The old timers will be in it, and carry significant story lines, but the focus is on the younger generations. So, this needs to stand alone. And not bore those already familiar. And hook. I do have an alternate opening, which brings in a broken Earth concept, but this one is more 'Abendau' in feel.
Have at it. I know there's too much telling, but I need to know what can be dropped and what's needed for context.
THE LAST SEER
The sun rose over the great desert of Belaudii, bringing the sand to life as it stretched the night’s shadows into memory.
Slowly, the Desert Prince climbed the rock stairs cut into this complex of caves he had taken for his own. He took his time, knowing there were eyes watching from inside the complex and from outside, in the desert, where many worshippers remained hidden in the pools of shadows not yet sun-touched. How many? Hard to tell but, everyday, it seemed more than the last.
He reached The Chamber of Our Lady, with its ornately hewn arch overlooking the sands. Either side, a sconce burned with the Light-Unending, a memorial to the redemption Our Lady had brought to the rotten sands of Belaudii, a light that had been lost for a generation and that he had taken a dark delight in rekindling. Every worshipper who returned to Our Lady, reclaiming her stolen shrines, was a dart that shone a light into his own past. Every sacred pool that renamed its icon Ankshara, as it should be, stealing back the Empress’ followers, was a boon to his soul.
He rose up the first step. Behind, the sun silhouetted him. He rose up the next. Now, his shrouded head would be clear to all below. If only his grandmother could see him now. She’d branded him a weakling, not able to match her power. His father, too, had never believed in him, preferring his sister. No one had valued him – even the tribes had cast him out and forced him to survive the desert. Weeks, he’d fought the sand, his body shrinking each day, sure a spider or a lizard would take him before the thirst or hunger.
He’d taken residence here, in the desert castle, to sleep on rocks removed from the dangers within the sand, and had known, even then, cold, hungry, thirsty, alone and so damned scared he’d been nauseated at every turn, that this was his place. That the face of Ankshara, carved into so many surfaces of this old ruin, never eradicated by the Empress, so deep in the desert did the building stand, had protected him.
He’d come to this place, and taken water from its pool, drinking it hungrily as his young body had filled out, the moisture saving him. He’d lit a fire in the courtyard to hold back the night’s darkness, burning old roots that he pulled up on the day, cooking the young spider he’d discovered and fought off, a champion’s dinner.
Slowly, they’d come to him. The desert loner, their prince. Gently, he’d reached to them, never admitting he was the tribesman they deemed dead, never showing his eyes they’d know so well, never pushing his hood back from a face they’d recognise not from himself but from his father. He’d touched them, using the skills the Empress had taught him to bind and control, and, from his father, how to empathise and give faith. Once bound to him, he’d sent them away to return at dawn for his blessing, to bring others, and others, and others, until, each day, the crowd gathered to hear him speak had grown, until they hung on his every word, until he’d built a community of followers.
He reached the top of the step and stood, framed in the archway. Slowly, he looked down and reached out with his psyche, gently, over the crowd, finding those who were scared, or lonely, and giving comfort. Finding those who were angry and giving peace. Finding those who were lost without anchor, as so many were on this lost, devastated planet, still recovering from a war that had not been its peoples’ but a galaxy’s war fought over their sands, through their cities, taking their children, their loved ones, their parents and friends.
Be with me, he sent to those, pulling them to him. Be safe, known you are my children.
He raised his arms. The sun framed him, warmed him. He lifted his head, the cowl hiding his features, and cast his shadowed eyes over the crowd. Look at me. Baelan, son of an Emperor, grandson of the Empress, heir to this planet although you don’t know it.
‘You have come!’ he called, the chamber catching his words, echoing them across the sands. Who had built this temple to know how to do this? His voice sounded older than he was, statesman like, not a tribesman not yet old enough to be an Elder. “Ankshara blesses you, children of Belaudii.”
Not children of the desert, for the tribes had done him no favours and gave him no succor. Nor the cities who would never see him as their own. But the planet’s, a new society cast of them all. He swept his psyche over the crowd, filling them with joy, binding them tighter.
“Let us give thanks for the light!” A cheer went up. “For the warmth of the sun, and the land that is ours.” Another, cheer, louder. “Let no one take it from us again. Let no one rename what is ours.” A roar, this time. “Be blessed, my people. Go forth, tell others that we congregate. Tell them that here, under the eye of the Desert Prince, is where they will find peace, and belonging.” He lowered his voice, made it kind. “Tell them they are loved.”
His chest swelled with pride. The tribes had labelled him a failure. They’d cast him out. Now, they came, amongst the growing crowds, to listen to his words. Next; they’d come to worship him.
Anyhow, I now know what my next project is. Bad news for Inish lovers, I'm afraid - I have a deadline for a new Abendau book. But! The deal is this is a new trilogy, following up on the existing ones, and it must provide a new entry point for the series. The old timers will be in it, and carry significant story lines, but the focus is on the younger generations. So, this needs to stand alone. And not bore those already familiar. And hook. I do have an alternate opening, which brings in a broken Earth concept, but this one is more 'Abendau' in feel.
Have at it. I know there's too much telling, but I need to know what can be dropped and what's needed for context.
THE LAST SEER
The sun rose over the great desert of Belaudii, bringing the sand to life as it stretched the night’s shadows into memory.
Slowly, the Desert Prince climbed the rock stairs cut into this complex of caves he had taken for his own. He took his time, knowing there were eyes watching from inside the complex and from outside, in the desert, where many worshippers remained hidden in the pools of shadows not yet sun-touched. How many? Hard to tell but, everyday, it seemed more than the last.
He reached The Chamber of Our Lady, with its ornately hewn arch overlooking the sands. Either side, a sconce burned with the Light-Unending, a memorial to the redemption Our Lady had brought to the rotten sands of Belaudii, a light that had been lost for a generation and that he had taken a dark delight in rekindling. Every worshipper who returned to Our Lady, reclaiming her stolen shrines, was a dart that shone a light into his own past. Every sacred pool that renamed its icon Ankshara, as it should be, stealing back the Empress’ followers, was a boon to his soul.
He rose up the first step. Behind, the sun silhouetted him. He rose up the next. Now, his shrouded head would be clear to all below. If only his grandmother could see him now. She’d branded him a weakling, not able to match her power. His father, too, had never believed in him, preferring his sister. No one had valued him – even the tribes had cast him out and forced him to survive the desert. Weeks, he’d fought the sand, his body shrinking each day, sure a spider or a lizard would take him before the thirst or hunger.
He’d taken residence here, in the desert castle, to sleep on rocks removed from the dangers within the sand, and had known, even then, cold, hungry, thirsty, alone and so damned scared he’d been nauseated at every turn, that this was his place. That the face of Ankshara, carved into so many surfaces of this old ruin, never eradicated by the Empress, so deep in the desert did the building stand, had protected him.
He’d come to this place, and taken water from its pool, drinking it hungrily as his young body had filled out, the moisture saving him. He’d lit a fire in the courtyard to hold back the night’s darkness, burning old roots that he pulled up on the day, cooking the young spider he’d discovered and fought off, a champion’s dinner.
Slowly, they’d come to him. The desert loner, their prince. Gently, he’d reached to them, never admitting he was the tribesman they deemed dead, never showing his eyes they’d know so well, never pushing his hood back from a face they’d recognise not from himself but from his father. He’d touched them, using the skills the Empress had taught him to bind and control, and, from his father, how to empathise and give faith. Once bound to him, he’d sent them away to return at dawn for his blessing, to bring others, and others, and others, until, each day, the crowd gathered to hear him speak had grown, until they hung on his every word, until he’d built a community of followers.
He reached the top of the step and stood, framed in the archway. Slowly, he looked down and reached out with his psyche, gently, over the crowd, finding those who were scared, or lonely, and giving comfort. Finding those who were angry and giving peace. Finding those who were lost without anchor, as so many were on this lost, devastated planet, still recovering from a war that had not been its peoples’ but a galaxy’s war fought over their sands, through their cities, taking their children, their loved ones, their parents and friends.
Be with me, he sent to those, pulling them to him. Be safe, known you are my children.
He raised his arms. The sun framed him, warmed him. He lifted his head, the cowl hiding his features, and cast his shadowed eyes over the crowd. Look at me. Baelan, son of an Emperor, grandson of the Empress, heir to this planet although you don’t know it.
‘You have come!’ he called, the chamber catching his words, echoing them across the sands. Who had built this temple to know how to do this? His voice sounded older than he was, statesman like, not a tribesman not yet old enough to be an Elder. “Ankshara blesses you, children of Belaudii.”
Not children of the desert, for the tribes had done him no favours and gave him no succor. Nor the cities who would never see him as their own. But the planet’s, a new society cast of them all. He swept his psyche over the crowd, filling them with joy, binding them tighter.
“Let us give thanks for the light!” A cheer went up. “For the warmth of the sun, and the land that is ours.” Another, cheer, louder. “Let no one take it from us again. Let no one rename what is ours.” A roar, this time. “Be blessed, my people. Go forth, tell others that we congregate. Tell them that here, under the eye of the Desert Prince, is where they will find peace, and belonging.” He lowered his voice, made it kind. “Tell them they are loved.”
His chest swelled with pride. The tribes had labelled him a failure. They’d cast him out. Now, they came, amongst the growing crowds, to listen to his words. Next; they’d come to worship him.
