NaNo Excerpt of the Day - 4
Today's Word Count: 1935
Total Word Count: 7014
Title: Symphony of Metal and Trees
Summary: I'll let you know about that when I figure it out.
Things You Should Probably Know: Calais' name isn't pronounced like the French city of Calais (pronounced Cal-ay, as per French rules of dropping half the vowels and making up everything else). It is pronounced "Kah-LAY-is", and Syres is "SEAR-ez", in case you need to know.
Picks up directly after the last post.
* * * * * *
Chapter 1c
* * * * * *
With that bit of painful worrying out of the way, Kain leaves, trails of fire flickering from his fingertips, lighting up the hallway until he turns the corner and it fades.
Calais rubs at the side of his neck gingerly, pulling his fingers away to check for blood (and no, Kain hadn't managed to be quite that brutal to his wound. For once.) Shaking his head, Calais reenters his and Syres' room. "So, Calais," Syres says from his position on his bed, swinging his legs back and forth idly. "What do you think of that?"
"Kain's markings, you mean?" Calais sits next to Syres, steepling his fingers. "It's... interesting. He can become an extraordinarily focused innate caster if he learns how to control himself."
Syres laughs. "Yeah, that's the problem. Control." He sits up, tucking himself along Calais' side. "Kain's not interested in that. He's too impatient."
Shaking his head, Calais starts to stroke Syres' short curls, fingertips barely dragging through the swath of deep black hair above Syres's right eye. "You misjudge him. If you give Kain a good reason to pay attention, he'll be willing to learn. And he might do better now that he knows about the marks. They could increase his focus because he doesn't have to hold the image in front of him."
"He never likes drawing the symbols..." Syres allows. He tries to speak again, but a huge yawn distorts the words beyond recognition. Calais smiles, pats Syres' hair, and starts the slow process of extricating himself from his twin's arms. "But," Syres stubbornly continues, still pressed against Calais, "It can also be dangerous for him. And he doesn't know how to fully use it yet."
Calais finally manages to unwrap himself and stands before Syres can hold onto him again. "No, he doesn't, but that's what you're for. You're patient enough."
"You're the patient one, Calais," Syres pouts, but he stands up and starts changing his clothes, movements slow. Flashes of bruises and cuts are revealed as clothing is removed, and Calais' hands clench, the cut on his neck throbbing in sympathy. He wasn't the only one hurt. His twin.... Syres keeps talking, unaware of Calais' thoughts. "I mean, if Geomancy had anything to do with Pyromancy, you could teach him better than me."
"Start him off by having him draw the symbols like always until he's got them perfect in his mind," Calais says after a beat of silence, tearing his eyes away from the contusions on Syres's torso and squashing the guilt swimming up in him. "Then Kain can try and use the symbols on his arm. That way, anything bad that happens backlashes OUTSIDE his body."
Syres laughs, tugging a light cotton shirt over his head with a huff of breath. "This is why you're the smart one too. Sounds like a plan, though, and I am all about the plans."
Snorting, Calais shakes his head and turns to go into his room, calling over his shoulder, "Bullshit. You are all about flying by the seat of your pants. If you remembered to put them on that morning."
He closes the door behind him to the sound of Syres' laughter, a soft smile still on his lips.
* * *
Calais wakes before dawn, thrown into awareness, suddenly and widely awake. He remains frozen in plaze on his bed, eyes darting back and forth across what he can see of the room, heart pouding hard in his ears. Nothing. But he can't shake the feeling that something, someone is there with him.
A quiet whimper slips from his mouth, and he closes his eyes tight, hoping that he's wrong.
"Oh no. Surely you don't think that you're going to get away from this?"
The bed shifts as though someone sits down on it next to Calais, and the mocking voice comes out of nowhere once more. "You promised, little brocket."
"I only asked for your help that once," Calais whispers, eyes still closed. "I don't need you anymore. Go away."
There is silent laughter, cutting and derisive. "No. I find that I've grown bored of sleep. It's dark and dreary and nothing happens. I'll stay here. Besides," and the voice is languid and considering, "You'll do for entertainment."
Calais starts to push himself up, but the voice snaps, "Lie down. Now!"
"No!" Calais strains to keep himself up, a strange lassitude infusing his limbs, but he cannot resist the order. His arms give out under him, and Calais lays there, panting from the exertion.
"Do not forget, brocket. You promised that you would do whatever I told you to. You made a Mancer's Oath with me. You cannot ever disobey anything I say." The voice laughs cruelly. "But I will not collect now. Perhaps another time. For now... Just grow in power. Become useful to me. But never forget that you have promised yourself to my service. To Asir."
Calais is left alone, the room suddenly feeling empty in a way it hadn't before.
He cannot return to sleep; his heart is pounding too hard and he feels like crying. His eyes are gritty when he blinks them, and his mind is fuzzy as he sits up in bed, blankets sliding off him to pool at his waist. Gingerly, he slides his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. Calais wobbles as he moves around the room, the weakness still infecting his limbs, but he dresses quietly, the magesilk clothes whispering against his skin.
Looking out the window, Calais tilts his head, eyes the lightening sky. He should have more than enough time to get to the temple before the celebration if he's judging the light correctly. After he finishes putting on his clothes, Calais slips out of the room quietly, carefully muffling the sounds of the door closing before he turns and strides down the hallway.
If he can't sleep, he's at least going to the sunrise ceremony.
* * *
He slides into the crowd entering the temple just as the people begin streaming in.
The sky is partially overcast, grey unsteady light hitting the temple glass as Mancers and Hydras slowly fill the stone seating. Calais slides into a seat near the back, limbs shaky and mind distraught. The voices of hundreds of people fill the stone setting easily, a low rumble that Calais lets rush over him greatfully, sinking into a meditation pose so he doesn't have to interact with anyone else. He touches his fingertips together in a bowl shape, the backs of his hands resting on his thighs.
Calais drifts for a while, the pleasant hum of enery thrumming through his touching fingers relaxing him. He counts his breaths to the steady pulse in his bones, eight in, eight out, until his thoughts are null, vacant things, and he's just waiting for the ceremony to start, sunlight spreading over his cheek and warming his skin.
Warmth suffuses him. Feeling completely at peace, Calais opens his eyes. And blinks, heart stopping.
A pair of blue eyes blinks back at him.
"Hi, Calais," Nickolai says, grinning irrepressibly.
Calais lets out a slow breath, his heart picking this moment to stutter back to a start. "Hello, Nickolai. I see you're back from your unexpected sojourn," he says sardonically.
Nickolai's eyes flick deliberately to Calais's bandaged neck and the Hydromancer flops down beside Calais in a huff, pale chrysanthemum hair wind-blown as always. "Is cannot help it. Had to get out." He waves a hand expressively, loose teal sleeve flowing along with the motion adding a subtle emphasis. "Otherwise, there'd be property damage."
Calais laughs softly, but Nickolai doesn't turn towards him, eyes locked on the still empty stage at the focus of the amphitheater. "Ni'lai." He waits for Nickolai to tilt his head before he continues, "Syres and I think we know what the marks do now."
"Oh?" Nickolai straightens from his slouched position, sunlight glinting off the metal stud in his ear as he turns to face Calais again. "What do they do?"
Calais opens his mouth to reply, but a hush falls over the amphitheater all at once, as though someone called the crowd to order. A man in the very front sings a low note in a rumbling basso, holding a single note. Slowly, more people add in, an ever building chorus of voices and chords, shifting music that matches the spotted sunlight dappling the crowd through the clouds. It layers slowly, Calais and Nickolai both adding their voices to the mix, Calais' husky baritone melding harmoniously with Nickolai's bright tenor. By the time a drumbeat sounds, the amphitheater is resounding with chords and music, a vibration that Calais feels in his breastbone like a second heartbeat, and he closes his eyes, giving himself over to it. At the fourth sounding of the drum, everyone stops.
The notes fade into a silence as profound as the music that came immediately before.
A drum beats.
From the back, a woman's voice calls clear and strong, forming the words of a Geomancer chant, the consonants dragging and rough as she sings. "Liaz gresch sahuul ir vanir. Yuulc ben Rach opian dir ir grazze Tillem hoch allez Reznak. T'hallu ub Yuoluch ir gurattez hoch ihn Weirack sei Greer."
Calais' mind automatically supplies the translation of the ancient prayer. "Trees grow tall and green. Dig into the soil beneath you and draw strength from the rocks. Warmed by the sun and formed from the heart of the earth." He opens his mouth to sing with her, joining all the Geomancers in the benediction of the earth and those who draw strength from it.
The low, steady rise and fall of the Geomancers' song is soon joined by the slightly faster and off-rhythm melody of the Hydromancers, the sibilant languages meshing beautifully with the consonant heavy Geomancer. Nickolai belts out his prayer with every ounce of his power, voice exuberant and unrestrained. Calais throws him a fondly mocking glance as the steady bass of Geomancy and intricate harmony of Hydromancy is joined by the sheer passion of Pyromancy, the already musical language powerful when put to music. Low and dark, Necromancy slinks in to twine with Geomancy, the two parts forming a beautifully intricate bass counter-melody. Photomancy and Aeromancy, light languages of vowels and open sounds, swing into being, complicated descants that compliment the rest of the melody.
It is beautiful.
Calais feels as though he is in the center of a whirlwind, arms outstretched and whole being swept away and buffetted by the force of this celebration. The sun rises furthur over the depression and light fully hits the windows, spreading colors across the crowd like a kalaideoscope, bright and whirling and beautiful, and this is why Calais comes to the sunrise ceremonies.
(It is almost enough to make him forget about the voice's - Asir's - sickening promises.)
Eventually, the melody fades until the Geomancers, again, are singing alone, the melody slowing to a slow chant that dies out, the woman who began the last to stop.
* * * * * *
oh god i feel like such a bad mom. Calais is my BABY and look at what I'm putting him through.
That said, this is probably going to undergo A LOT of editing come December. I need to pace all of this better than it is here. BUT THERE IS NO TIME FOR EDITING IN NOVEMBER.
Total Word Count: 7014
Title: Symphony of Metal and Trees
Summary: I'll let you know about that when I figure it out.
Things You Should Probably Know: Calais' name isn't pronounced like the French city of Calais (pronounced Cal-ay, as per French rules of dropping half the vowels and making up everything else). It is pronounced "Kah-LAY-is", and Syres is "SEAR-ez", in case you need to know.
Picks up directly after the last post.
* * * * * *
Chapter 1c
* * * * * *
With that bit of painful worrying out of the way, Kain leaves, trails of fire flickering from his fingertips, lighting up the hallway until he turns the corner and it fades.
Calais rubs at the side of his neck gingerly, pulling his fingers away to check for blood (and no, Kain hadn't managed to be quite that brutal to his wound. For once.) Shaking his head, Calais reenters his and Syres' room. "So, Calais," Syres says from his position on his bed, swinging his legs back and forth idly. "What do you think of that?"
"Kain's markings, you mean?" Calais sits next to Syres, steepling his fingers. "It's... interesting. He can become an extraordinarily focused innate caster if he learns how to control himself."
Syres laughs. "Yeah, that's the problem. Control." He sits up, tucking himself along Calais' side. "Kain's not interested in that. He's too impatient."
Shaking his head, Calais starts to stroke Syres' short curls, fingertips barely dragging through the swath of deep black hair above Syres's right eye. "You misjudge him. If you give Kain a good reason to pay attention, he'll be willing to learn. And he might do better now that he knows about the marks. They could increase his focus because he doesn't have to hold the image in front of him."
"He never likes drawing the symbols..." Syres allows. He tries to speak again, but a huge yawn distorts the words beyond recognition. Calais smiles, pats Syres' hair, and starts the slow process of extricating himself from his twin's arms. "But," Syres stubbornly continues, still pressed against Calais, "It can also be dangerous for him. And he doesn't know how to fully use it yet."
Calais finally manages to unwrap himself and stands before Syres can hold onto him again. "No, he doesn't, but that's what you're for. You're patient enough."
"You're the patient one, Calais," Syres pouts, but he stands up and starts changing his clothes, movements slow. Flashes of bruises and cuts are revealed as clothing is removed, and Calais' hands clench, the cut on his neck throbbing in sympathy. He wasn't the only one hurt. His twin.... Syres keeps talking, unaware of Calais' thoughts. "I mean, if Geomancy had anything to do with Pyromancy, you could teach him better than me."
"Start him off by having him draw the symbols like always until he's got them perfect in his mind," Calais says after a beat of silence, tearing his eyes away from the contusions on Syres's torso and squashing the guilt swimming up in him. "Then Kain can try and use the symbols on his arm. That way, anything bad that happens backlashes OUTSIDE his body."
Syres laughs, tugging a light cotton shirt over his head with a huff of breath. "This is why you're the smart one too. Sounds like a plan, though, and I am all about the plans."
Snorting, Calais shakes his head and turns to go into his room, calling over his shoulder, "Bullshit. You are all about flying by the seat of your pants. If you remembered to put them on that morning."
He closes the door behind him to the sound of Syres' laughter, a soft smile still on his lips.
* * *
Calais wakes before dawn, thrown into awareness, suddenly and widely awake. He remains frozen in plaze on his bed, eyes darting back and forth across what he can see of the room, heart pouding hard in his ears. Nothing. But he can't shake the feeling that something, someone is there with him.
A quiet whimper slips from his mouth, and he closes his eyes tight, hoping that he's wrong.
"Oh no. Surely you don't think that you're going to get away from this?"
The bed shifts as though someone sits down on it next to Calais, and the mocking voice comes out of nowhere once more. "You promised, little brocket."
"I only asked for your help that once," Calais whispers, eyes still closed. "I don't need you anymore. Go away."
There is silent laughter, cutting and derisive. "No. I find that I've grown bored of sleep. It's dark and dreary and nothing happens. I'll stay here. Besides," and the voice is languid and considering, "You'll do for entertainment."
Calais starts to push himself up, but the voice snaps, "Lie down. Now!"
"No!" Calais strains to keep himself up, a strange lassitude infusing his limbs, but he cannot resist the order. His arms give out under him, and Calais lays there, panting from the exertion.
"Do not forget, brocket. You promised that you would do whatever I told you to. You made a Mancer's Oath with me. You cannot ever disobey anything I say." The voice laughs cruelly. "But I will not collect now. Perhaps another time. For now... Just grow in power. Become useful to me. But never forget that you have promised yourself to my service. To Asir."
Calais is left alone, the room suddenly feeling empty in a way it hadn't before.
He cannot return to sleep; his heart is pounding too hard and he feels like crying. His eyes are gritty when he blinks them, and his mind is fuzzy as he sits up in bed, blankets sliding off him to pool at his waist. Gingerly, he slides his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. Calais wobbles as he moves around the room, the weakness still infecting his limbs, but he dresses quietly, the magesilk clothes whispering against his skin.
Looking out the window, Calais tilts his head, eyes the lightening sky. He should have more than enough time to get to the temple before the celebration if he's judging the light correctly. After he finishes putting on his clothes, Calais slips out of the room quietly, carefully muffling the sounds of the door closing before he turns and strides down the hallway.
If he can't sleep, he's at least going to the sunrise ceremony.
* * *
He slides into the crowd entering the temple just as the people begin streaming in.
The sky is partially overcast, grey unsteady light hitting the temple glass as Mancers and Hydras slowly fill the stone seating. Calais slides into a seat near the back, limbs shaky and mind distraught. The voices of hundreds of people fill the stone setting easily, a low rumble that Calais lets rush over him greatfully, sinking into a meditation pose so he doesn't have to interact with anyone else. He touches his fingertips together in a bowl shape, the backs of his hands resting on his thighs.
Calais drifts for a while, the pleasant hum of enery thrumming through his touching fingers relaxing him. He counts his breaths to the steady pulse in his bones, eight in, eight out, until his thoughts are null, vacant things, and he's just waiting for the ceremony to start, sunlight spreading over his cheek and warming his skin.
Warmth suffuses him. Feeling completely at peace, Calais opens his eyes. And blinks, heart stopping.
A pair of blue eyes blinks back at him.
"Hi, Calais," Nickolai says, grinning irrepressibly.
Calais lets out a slow breath, his heart picking this moment to stutter back to a start. "Hello, Nickolai. I see you're back from your unexpected sojourn," he says sardonically.
Nickolai's eyes flick deliberately to Calais's bandaged neck and the Hydromancer flops down beside Calais in a huff, pale chrysanthemum hair wind-blown as always. "Is cannot help it. Had to get out." He waves a hand expressively, loose teal sleeve flowing along with the motion adding a subtle emphasis. "Otherwise, there'd be property damage."
Calais laughs softly, but Nickolai doesn't turn towards him, eyes locked on the still empty stage at the focus of the amphitheater. "Ni'lai." He waits for Nickolai to tilt his head before he continues, "Syres and I think we know what the marks do now."
"Oh?" Nickolai straightens from his slouched position, sunlight glinting off the metal stud in his ear as he turns to face Calais again. "What do they do?"
Calais opens his mouth to reply, but a hush falls over the amphitheater all at once, as though someone called the crowd to order. A man in the very front sings a low note in a rumbling basso, holding a single note. Slowly, more people add in, an ever building chorus of voices and chords, shifting music that matches the spotted sunlight dappling the crowd through the clouds. It layers slowly, Calais and Nickolai both adding their voices to the mix, Calais' husky baritone melding harmoniously with Nickolai's bright tenor. By the time a drumbeat sounds, the amphitheater is resounding with chords and music, a vibration that Calais feels in his breastbone like a second heartbeat, and he closes his eyes, giving himself over to it. At the fourth sounding of the drum, everyone stops.
The notes fade into a silence as profound as the music that came immediately before.
A drum beats.
From the back, a woman's voice calls clear and strong, forming the words of a Geomancer chant, the consonants dragging and rough as she sings. "Liaz gresch sahuul ir vanir. Yuulc ben Rach opian dir ir grazze Tillem hoch allez Reznak. T'hallu ub Yuoluch ir gurattez hoch ihn Weirack sei Greer."
Calais' mind automatically supplies the translation of the ancient prayer. "Trees grow tall and green. Dig into the soil beneath you and draw strength from the rocks. Warmed by the sun and formed from the heart of the earth." He opens his mouth to sing with her, joining all the Geomancers in the benediction of the earth and those who draw strength from it.
The low, steady rise and fall of the Geomancers' song is soon joined by the slightly faster and off-rhythm melody of the Hydromancers, the sibilant languages meshing beautifully with the consonant heavy Geomancer. Nickolai belts out his prayer with every ounce of his power, voice exuberant and unrestrained. Calais throws him a fondly mocking glance as the steady bass of Geomancy and intricate harmony of Hydromancy is joined by the sheer passion of Pyromancy, the already musical language powerful when put to music. Low and dark, Necromancy slinks in to twine with Geomancy, the two parts forming a beautifully intricate bass counter-melody. Photomancy and Aeromancy, light languages of vowels and open sounds, swing into being, complicated descants that compliment the rest of the melody.
It is beautiful.
Calais feels as though he is in the center of a whirlwind, arms outstretched and whole being swept away and buffetted by the force of this celebration. The sun rises furthur over the depression and light fully hits the windows, spreading colors across the crowd like a kalaideoscope, bright and whirling and beautiful, and this is why Calais comes to the sunrise ceremonies.
(It is almost enough to make him forget about the voice's - Asir's - sickening promises.)
Eventually, the melody fades until the Geomancers, again, are singing alone, the melody slowing to a slow chant that dies out, the woman who began the last to stop.
* * * * * *
oh god i feel like such a bad mom. Calais is my BABY and look at what I'm putting him through.
That said, this is probably going to undergo A LOT of editing come December. I need to pace all of this better than it is here. BUT THERE IS NO TIME FOR EDITING IN NOVEMBER.