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rainbowfic2012-03-10 09:11 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2012-03-10 09:11 pm
Black #5, Tea Rose #30
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Black #5 (little black book), Tea Rose #30 (vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief)
Styles/Supplies: Seed Beads
Word Count: 1,848
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Bediwyth manages his father.
Bediwyth was thirteen, and it was the end of the dry season, when his father came to him with the book.
Havers didn't go to any of his other children with the book, but then he wouldn't. His eldest and heir, Thado, was in the midst of his knight training. In this Okkand's past shown through clearly: the land was only a pale imitation of Ceenta Vowei in the west, which in turn was a pale imitation of Kandel even farther west. Havers followed the tradition of those nations faithfully, however, and until now Bediwyth had thought happily.
Stevers, the second son, was also in the midst of his knight training, though not as advanced as his older brother. Torath, the third son, was almost a defector, a scholar of the religious order in Okkand who expressed an interest in the Arkijti faith more and more each day. The only reason he hadn't converted, Bediwyth knew, was because their father would immediately disown him. Bediwyth also knew the conversion would happen someday. Torath was just waiting for the day he reached the age of majority so that he could lay claim to his inheritance (just money, because unless very tragic things happened he would never be king) and leave forever.
But Bediwyth was the quiet one, the one who liked books and scholarly pursuits that didn't have a practical purpose. Which was why his father came to him with the book.
"Can you read this language?" Havers asked, barging into the small room that Bediwyth often hid in when the library wasn't quiet enough and his personal quarters weren't secret enough.
Bediwyth flipped closed the book he had been reading, quashing the surprise and resentment he felt that apparently his father not only knew about his hiding place, but felt it appropriate to come crashing into it when clearly Bediwyth wanted to be left alone. Bediwyth was always the quiet, obedient son, no matter what path his thoughts took. So he merely said, "What language is it in?" He was somewhat good at languages, probably a consequence of his reading all the time, and though he was no expert on the different tongues of the world he could pick his way through half a dozen foreign languages, which was five more than his father could manage.
"Never saw such things before," said Havers, slipping into the informal patois of southern Okkand, something which Thado constantly railed against, saying that his father was the king and shouldn't be talking like a commoner. Bediwyth, on the other hand, believed that was exactly why Havers should talk like a commoner.
But Bediwyth wasn't next in line for the throne. His borderline treasonous brother Torath would be king before Bediwyth would ever have a shot.
Bediwyth's father flipped open the book and pointed at the symbols scrawled across the page, which was also illustrated with crude drawings of what seemed to be plants.
"I don't recognize it," said Bediwyth, pushing the book away.
Havers's face fell. "You don't?" He regarded the open book for a moment before he said, "Do you think it could be salkiy?"
"No," said Bediwyth immediately. "Salkiys don't have a written language." He had learned as much from his tutor just last month. His father must have learned that, too, at one point, but Bediwyth didn't blame him for not remembering. Salkiys rarely came up in regards to Havers's life or rule at all, despite that Okkand was as full of them as it was of humans, and Havers's own schooling had been much longer ago.
Havers frowned and turned the book back around, as if that would somehow make it readable. "That can't be right," he said. "Salkiys once had cities. They once had great empires. How could they have had that without a written language?"
Bediwyth shrugged. "It was a long time ago. Perhaps they had a written language then, and it was lost. Or maybe they just managed without one."
"I can't believe that," said Havers. His eyes lit up. "This could be old, do you think?"
"That book is not a thousand years old," said Bediwyth, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. His father was king, and had been raised with the same quality of education and training as Bediwyth and his brothers, but he had never been the scholarly type. He tended to say stupid things without thinking them through sometimes. No one cared, because it didn't matter what the king of Okkand said or did. Kandel and Ceenta Vowei and Arkijt were concerned with their own problems, and by all accounts the salkiys almost completely ignored all humans and never got involved in their politics.
"I didn't say it was," Havers argued, running his finger over the symbols on the page, faster and faster. "It could be a transcription of a much older work."
"It could be," said Bediwyth noncommittally. Salkiys didn't have a written language, and if they did once have one, there was no reason for anyone to have transcribed it in a human book, and even less of a reason for it to turn up in the king's library. There wasn't much in that library that was ancient; most of the literature and written works of previous cultures had been destroyed in the constant wars they had fought before being forced together into an uneasy alliance that eventually became the powerless kingdom of Okkand. There was nothing old here, and there was no value in having a book containing a language that no one could read.
"So it could be salkiy," said Havers, and before Bediwyth could say anything more, his father clapped him on the shoulder, said, "Thank you," and left the room.
Bediwyth tried to resume reading, but his brain wouldn't interpret the words on the page.
#
He eventually shoved the book away and decided to go outside. He knew as soon as he walked outdoors that it was one of the last good days of the year. The sky was still blue, but there was an ominous cloud bank on the horizon, and a still, wet feeling in the air that told him the rain was coming. Once it started it wouldn't stop for a long time. Bediwyth liked the rainy season, and not just for practical reasons like how it replenished the water stores that became worryingly low every year. He liked it because his brothers wouldn't be badgering him to go outside, and his father would stop musing that perhaps he should make Bediwyth start his knight training even though it was years too late and everyone knew it would do him no good.
Bediwyth stood just outside the door leading into the courtyard and closed his eyes, breathing in the air. It was still dry and dusty and made him cough, but there was promise there, promise that soon the rain would come and wash away the grit for another few months.
He stood there and didn't hear the door open behind him, and he didn't see the figure walk through, and neither did the figure see him because his nose was stuck in a book. Havers ran into his son, almost sending the boy sprawling down into the dirt. Havers wasn't a large man, but Bediwyth was only thirteen years old and had always been small for his age.
Bediwyth's father jumped back in surprise, the book falling from his hands and thumping to the hard-packed dirt, flipping shut. "I'm sorry, son, I didn't see you there."
"It's fine." Before Havers could move, Bediwyth bent down and retrieved the book. It was the same one his father had shown him earlier, and he couldn't fathom why the man was going around pretending to read it. Did he think if he stared at the strange symbols long enough they would start to make sense?
"I've been thinking," said Havers, which Bediwyth thought was always a bad sign.
"About what?" Bediwyth idly flipped through the book, but it was the same all the way through: that mysterious language, and pictures of plants. Some of the plants Bediwyth could identify, leading him to conclude that the book was nothing amazing, just a guide to herbs in the area. It could have originally belonged to a cook, or more likely an apothecary. Bediwyth had heard that most apothecaries liked to keep their methods and recipes secret, and they were usually educated men. What better way to have a written record and still make sure it never fell into the wrong hands than by inventing a private language or writing in code? His father was making too big a fuss over nothing.
"I'm more and more convinced that book really is in salkiy," said Havers, apparently not noticing the way his son discreetly rolled his eyes. "I'm going to find a salkiy to translate it."
Bediwyth bit his lip hard and looked down at the pages like he suddenly found them fascinating, all to avoid bursting into laughter. There were no salkiys around there; almost all of them lived farther north. Bediwyth had only seen a few salkiys in his lifetime, usually ones who traveled to the markets in Byret to trade for more unusual goods than what they could find in the north. Surely his father wasn't going to ask one of them? The thought of the king walking up to a salkiy in the marketplace and asking for help in translating a book didn't exactly quell Bediwyth's urge to laugh.
"What do you think?" asked Havers. He held his hand out for the book.
"I think," said Bediwyth, handing the book back, "that you should do what you feel is best." Empty, meaningless words, there only for his father to interpret however he wanted. The illusion of agreement. Bediwyth was good at that, when it came to his father.
"I will," said Havers, nodding. He looked at the sky. "It's going to rain soon."
"I know."
"Best be inside before it does. I don't want to hear about you tracking mud into the entryway again," said Havers. "I have more important things to do than listen to the servants complain."
Like reading an unreadable book? Bediwyth thought, but aloud he said, "Yes, sir."
Havers nodded and went back inside, taking his book with him.
Later that night, Bediwyth thought, he would find the book and hide it in a far corner of the library where his father would never find it. Or perhaps throw it into the bottom of one of the cisterns that would soon be full of water. There it would be hidden for the whole season, and ruined by the time anyone managed to recover it. Bediwyth didn't like desecrating books, but he had learned at at early age that part of his duty as Havers's son was to guide his father away from pointless activities and back to the business of being king.
As the fourth and most worthless son, it was the one thing he could do that helped anyone, and he intended to do it.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Black #5 (little black book), Tea Rose #30 (vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief)
Styles/Supplies: Seed Beads
Word Count: 1,848
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Bediwyth manages his father.
Bediwyth was thirteen, and it was the end of the dry season, when his father came to him with the book.
Havers didn't go to any of his other children with the book, but then he wouldn't. His eldest and heir, Thado, was in the midst of his knight training. In this Okkand's past shown through clearly: the land was only a pale imitation of Ceenta Vowei in the west, which in turn was a pale imitation of Kandel even farther west. Havers followed the tradition of those nations faithfully, however, and until now Bediwyth had thought happily.
Stevers, the second son, was also in the midst of his knight training, though not as advanced as his older brother. Torath, the third son, was almost a defector, a scholar of the religious order in Okkand who expressed an interest in the Arkijti faith more and more each day. The only reason he hadn't converted, Bediwyth knew, was because their father would immediately disown him. Bediwyth also knew the conversion would happen someday. Torath was just waiting for the day he reached the age of majority so that he could lay claim to his inheritance (just money, because unless very tragic things happened he would never be king) and leave forever.
But Bediwyth was the quiet one, the one who liked books and scholarly pursuits that didn't have a practical purpose. Which was why his father came to him with the book.
"Can you read this language?" Havers asked, barging into the small room that Bediwyth often hid in when the library wasn't quiet enough and his personal quarters weren't secret enough.
Bediwyth flipped closed the book he had been reading, quashing the surprise and resentment he felt that apparently his father not only knew about his hiding place, but felt it appropriate to come crashing into it when clearly Bediwyth wanted to be left alone. Bediwyth was always the quiet, obedient son, no matter what path his thoughts took. So he merely said, "What language is it in?" He was somewhat good at languages, probably a consequence of his reading all the time, and though he was no expert on the different tongues of the world he could pick his way through half a dozen foreign languages, which was five more than his father could manage.
"Never saw such things before," said Havers, slipping into the informal patois of southern Okkand, something which Thado constantly railed against, saying that his father was the king and shouldn't be talking like a commoner. Bediwyth, on the other hand, believed that was exactly why Havers should talk like a commoner.
But Bediwyth wasn't next in line for the throne. His borderline treasonous brother Torath would be king before Bediwyth would ever have a shot.
Bediwyth's father flipped open the book and pointed at the symbols scrawled across the page, which was also illustrated with crude drawings of what seemed to be plants.
"I don't recognize it," said Bediwyth, pushing the book away.
Havers's face fell. "You don't?" He regarded the open book for a moment before he said, "Do you think it could be salkiy?"
"No," said Bediwyth immediately. "Salkiys don't have a written language." He had learned as much from his tutor just last month. His father must have learned that, too, at one point, but Bediwyth didn't blame him for not remembering. Salkiys rarely came up in regards to Havers's life or rule at all, despite that Okkand was as full of them as it was of humans, and Havers's own schooling had been much longer ago.
Havers frowned and turned the book back around, as if that would somehow make it readable. "That can't be right," he said. "Salkiys once had cities. They once had great empires. How could they have had that without a written language?"
Bediwyth shrugged. "It was a long time ago. Perhaps they had a written language then, and it was lost. Or maybe they just managed without one."
"I can't believe that," said Havers. His eyes lit up. "This could be old, do you think?"
"That book is not a thousand years old," said Bediwyth, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. His father was king, and had been raised with the same quality of education and training as Bediwyth and his brothers, but he had never been the scholarly type. He tended to say stupid things without thinking them through sometimes. No one cared, because it didn't matter what the king of Okkand said or did. Kandel and Ceenta Vowei and Arkijt were concerned with their own problems, and by all accounts the salkiys almost completely ignored all humans and never got involved in their politics.
"I didn't say it was," Havers argued, running his finger over the symbols on the page, faster and faster. "It could be a transcription of a much older work."
"It could be," said Bediwyth noncommittally. Salkiys didn't have a written language, and if they did once have one, there was no reason for anyone to have transcribed it in a human book, and even less of a reason for it to turn up in the king's library. There wasn't much in that library that was ancient; most of the literature and written works of previous cultures had been destroyed in the constant wars they had fought before being forced together into an uneasy alliance that eventually became the powerless kingdom of Okkand. There was nothing old here, and there was no value in having a book containing a language that no one could read.
"So it could be salkiy," said Havers, and before Bediwyth could say anything more, his father clapped him on the shoulder, said, "Thank you," and left the room.
Bediwyth tried to resume reading, but his brain wouldn't interpret the words on the page.
#
He eventually shoved the book away and decided to go outside. He knew as soon as he walked outdoors that it was one of the last good days of the year. The sky was still blue, but there was an ominous cloud bank on the horizon, and a still, wet feeling in the air that told him the rain was coming. Once it started it wouldn't stop for a long time. Bediwyth liked the rainy season, and not just for practical reasons like how it replenished the water stores that became worryingly low every year. He liked it because his brothers wouldn't be badgering him to go outside, and his father would stop musing that perhaps he should make Bediwyth start his knight training even though it was years too late and everyone knew it would do him no good.
Bediwyth stood just outside the door leading into the courtyard and closed his eyes, breathing in the air. It was still dry and dusty and made him cough, but there was promise there, promise that soon the rain would come and wash away the grit for another few months.
He stood there and didn't hear the door open behind him, and he didn't see the figure walk through, and neither did the figure see him because his nose was stuck in a book. Havers ran into his son, almost sending the boy sprawling down into the dirt. Havers wasn't a large man, but Bediwyth was only thirteen years old and had always been small for his age.
Bediwyth's father jumped back in surprise, the book falling from his hands and thumping to the hard-packed dirt, flipping shut. "I'm sorry, son, I didn't see you there."
"It's fine." Before Havers could move, Bediwyth bent down and retrieved the book. It was the same one his father had shown him earlier, and he couldn't fathom why the man was going around pretending to read it. Did he think if he stared at the strange symbols long enough they would start to make sense?
"I've been thinking," said Havers, which Bediwyth thought was always a bad sign.
"About what?" Bediwyth idly flipped through the book, but it was the same all the way through: that mysterious language, and pictures of plants. Some of the plants Bediwyth could identify, leading him to conclude that the book was nothing amazing, just a guide to herbs in the area. It could have originally belonged to a cook, or more likely an apothecary. Bediwyth had heard that most apothecaries liked to keep their methods and recipes secret, and they were usually educated men. What better way to have a written record and still make sure it never fell into the wrong hands than by inventing a private language or writing in code? His father was making too big a fuss over nothing.
"I'm more and more convinced that book really is in salkiy," said Havers, apparently not noticing the way his son discreetly rolled his eyes. "I'm going to find a salkiy to translate it."
Bediwyth bit his lip hard and looked down at the pages like he suddenly found them fascinating, all to avoid bursting into laughter. There were no salkiys around there; almost all of them lived farther north. Bediwyth had only seen a few salkiys in his lifetime, usually ones who traveled to the markets in Byret to trade for more unusual goods than what they could find in the north. Surely his father wasn't going to ask one of them? The thought of the king walking up to a salkiy in the marketplace and asking for help in translating a book didn't exactly quell Bediwyth's urge to laugh.
"What do you think?" asked Havers. He held his hand out for the book.
"I think," said Bediwyth, handing the book back, "that you should do what you feel is best." Empty, meaningless words, there only for his father to interpret however he wanted. The illusion of agreement. Bediwyth was good at that, when it came to his father.
"I will," said Havers, nodding. He looked at the sky. "It's going to rain soon."
"I know."
"Best be inside before it does. I don't want to hear about you tracking mud into the entryway again," said Havers. "I have more important things to do than listen to the servants complain."
Like reading an unreadable book? Bediwyth thought, but aloud he said, "Yes, sir."
Havers nodded and went back inside, taking his book with him.
Later that night, Bediwyth thought, he would find the book and hide it in a far corner of the library where his father would never find it. Or perhaps throw it into the bottom of one of the cisterns that would soon be full of water. There it would be hidden for the whole season, and ruined by the time anyone managed to recover it. Bediwyth didn't like desecrating books, but he had learned at at early age that part of his duty as Havers's son was to guide his father away from pointless activities and back to the business of being king.
As the fourth and most worthless son, it was the one thing he could do that helped anyone, and he intended to do it.
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Nicely done!
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Thanks for reading!
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Is Havers reading the Voynich Manuscript? XD
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Thank you for reading!
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