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rainbowfic2016-08-05 11:12 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2016-08-05 11:12 pm
Aqua #19, Lotus #20, Olympic Gold #13
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Miscellaneous
Colors: Aqua #19 (twilight), Lotus #20 (Wisdom), Olympic Gold #13 (trial)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Graffiti (Sprinting)
Word Count: 1,268
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Oni visits a shrine.
Note: This is new, in fact the very first words written for a new story I'm thinking of working on for NaNo this year. This scene takes place a few days before the beginning of the main story. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
The road did not go the whole way to the shrine, but Oni had expected that. One did not visit one of Amuelen’s shrines without some physical trial, however small it might be. And small it was for her, after her time on the front. She had never been in battle, never that, but she had marched and slept in mud and picked her way through fields of the dead. She had lifted bodies and carried equipment and climbed hills, and it had all left her leaner and stronger for it.
And, if her parents were to be believed, stranger.
Which was why she was at the shrine. Not the large, ostentatious one in the city, but the one outside the small village her mother had grown up in, an entire day’s carriage ride away. Her father had suggested an autocoach, which may have been a bit faster, but her mother had balked in horror and proclaimed her village had never seen the like, nor would it be appreciated. Besides, autocoaches were expensive to hire and her parents were already pouring money they didn’t have into clothing and jewelry, as to make her presentable as possible for her arrival in Quol.
Only two days from now. Oni shivered as she picked her way through the underbrush. The path was overgrown in this late summer swelter, and clearly not walked often. The dimming light from the setting sun made it difficult to spot unruly tree roots, which slowed Oni’s progress even further. Still, she was in no hurry. The carriage would wait until she was done speaking to Amuelen.
She wasn’t even sure what she was going to say. But she was doing it because her father acted slightly afraid of her these days, and her mother more openly clucked of how sparse and coarse she had become. And now that she was going to Quol they feared her differences would grow yet larger--which was rich, as they had known almost her whole life that this moment would come. Now that it was here they seemed reluctant to deal with its inevitability.
This was your choice, she thought, kicking at a bramble that had almost snagged her ankle. This is what you wanted.
But she was not here to be bitter about her parents. She was here to talk to Amuelen, to follow the same traditions her own mother had in the days before her own marriage. She was here to show her parents that she wasn’t so strange, that she still respected their customs and their beliefs despite her years at war and her impending nuptials in a foreign land.
A few more steps and she was in a clearing, slightly more well cared for than the path itself. A stone circle stood upright against the rising moon, carved with symbols from a language that had been lost eons ago. Amuelen herself stood in immaculately carved stone before it, quite an ordinary-looking woman when all was said and done. She held a small lamp, and as Oni approached she dug a flint out of the pocket of her trousers. How her mother had wailed that she had chosen to go in practical clothing instead of the usual shroud, but Oni thought some traditions were just pointless.
Tinder was already in the lamp, a sure sign that someone did in fact tend to the shrine regularly. She lit it and stepped back as her flame caught and an orange glow diffused through the clearing, revealing more lamps. Oni lit those, too, but Amuelen’s lamp was the one for wisdom, so it had to come first.
Then she stood and wondered what she was going to say.
She stood for so long and so silently, seemingly deep in thought though her head was completely empty, that she jumped rather violently when Amuelen’s lamp sputtered and threw up sparks into the night.
“Well then, if you insist,” she told the statue. She did not believe Amuelen’s spirit inhabited the shrine, nor that the sputtering had been a sign from the absent deity, but it did remind her that the lamps were not designed to last long. She had to say her piece before they went out, that was how it worked.
Still nothing came to her. Her little pilgrimage was supposed to be about confessing her fears and doubts, and receiving Amuelen’s comforting wisdom in return. But her fears had long been driven out of her by the horrors of war she had witnessed, and she hardly thought marriage could be as awful as all that. And her doubts had always been amorphous things, questions that flitted through her dreams and were just as forgotten come the morning and the business of living in a world where doubts meant people died.
But she had to say something, and she supposed she couldn’t go wrong with a narrative containing good, solid facts. “So I’m getting married quite soon,” she told the statue. “I’m traveling in two days’ time to Quol, which will take approximately a day and a half by carriage, provided the mountain pass isn’t snowed in.” So deep into summer it was not likely. “The date of my marriage is not yet set. My betrothed and I shall discuss it when I arrive in his country. I suppose there may also be some limitation of the date depending upon Quoli customs, though I am not aware of such myself.” She swallowed. “I have never met this man, Amuelen, and I think it’s expected I be apprehensive. But I’m not. Should he be a monster, he would not be as disagreeable as what I have seen in the past several years. I do know that he fought in this same war just ended, though our paths never crossed. I know he fought on the correct side. I know he is quite rich, which was of course my parents’ main concern.”
Amuelen’s lamp flickered, and the woman herself stared silently through flat stone eyes.
“That is all I know,” Oni finished. “But I am not frightened. I am not frightened to leave my home, as that was left long ago. I am not frightened to manage a household, as I have managed a medical tent in the aftermath of battle. I am not frightened to bear him children, as I have endured what I imagine is far worse pain. I am not frightened to live in a foreign land, as I have spent my life learning about it. I think I should be frightened. I think everyone is frightened in the face of uncertainty. But I am not.”
She paused again. The lamps were sputtering out, their lights fading, the orange glow tightening upon itself as the moon reasserted.
“But,” she said, “I suppose I am no longer like other people. It was not my intention to be such. I have only ever desired to honor my family and uphold my duty. I believed helping the war effort was part of that. I still believe it.”
Amuelen’s lamp went dark, the last to do so though it had been lit first. Oni knew it wasn’t a sign. She knew it was only because that lamp had held more fuel than the others. But it still left something profound behind, a presence lingering in the darkness that Oni couldn’t put a name to, nor was she sure she wanted to.
“But I suppose I have grown strange,” she told the silent clearing, before turning to the path to make the short, slow walk back to the carriage.
kay_brookeStory: Miscellaneous
Colors: Aqua #19 (twilight), Lotus #20 (Wisdom), Olympic Gold #13 (trial)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Graffiti (Sprinting)
Word Count: 1,268
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Oni visits a shrine.
Note: This is new, in fact the very first words written for a new story I'm thinking of working on for NaNo this year. This scene takes place a few days before the beginning of the main story. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
The road did not go the whole way to the shrine, but Oni had expected that. One did not visit one of Amuelen’s shrines without some physical trial, however small it might be. And small it was for her, after her time on the front. She had never been in battle, never that, but she had marched and slept in mud and picked her way through fields of the dead. She had lifted bodies and carried equipment and climbed hills, and it had all left her leaner and stronger for it.
And, if her parents were to be believed, stranger.
Which was why she was at the shrine. Not the large, ostentatious one in the city, but the one outside the small village her mother had grown up in, an entire day’s carriage ride away. Her father had suggested an autocoach, which may have been a bit faster, but her mother had balked in horror and proclaimed her village had never seen the like, nor would it be appreciated. Besides, autocoaches were expensive to hire and her parents were already pouring money they didn’t have into clothing and jewelry, as to make her presentable as possible for her arrival in Quol.
Only two days from now. Oni shivered as she picked her way through the underbrush. The path was overgrown in this late summer swelter, and clearly not walked often. The dimming light from the setting sun made it difficult to spot unruly tree roots, which slowed Oni’s progress even further. Still, she was in no hurry. The carriage would wait until she was done speaking to Amuelen.
She wasn’t even sure what she was going to say. But she was doing it because her father acted slightly afraid of her these days, and her mother more openly clucked of how sparse and coarse she had become. And now that she was going to Quol they feared her differences would grow yet larger--which was rich, as they had known almost her whole life that this moment would come. Now that it was here they seemed reluctant to deal with its inevitability.
This was your choice, she thought, kicking at a bramble that had almost snagged her ankle. This is what you wanted.
But she was not here to be bitter about her parents. She was here to talk to Amuelen, to follow the same traditions her own mother had in the days before her own marriage. She was here to show her parents that she wasn’t so strange, that she still respected their customs and their beliefs despite her years at war and her impending nuptials in a foreign land.
A few more steps and she was in a clearing, slightly more well cared for than the path itself. A stone circle stood upright against the rising moon, carved with symbols from a language that had been lost eons ago. Amuelen herself stood in immaculately carved stone before it, quite an ordinary-looking woman when all was said and done. She held a small lamp, and as Oni approached she dug a flint out of the pocket of her trousers. How her mother had wailed that she had chosen to go in practical clothing instead of the usual shroud, but Oni thought some traditions were just pointless.
Tinder was already in the lamp, a sure sign that someone did in fact tend to the shrine regularly. She lit it and stepped back as her flame caught and an orange glow diffused through the clearing, revealing more lamps. Oni lit those, too, but Amuelen’s lamp was the one for wisdom, so it had to come first.
Then she stood and wondered what she was going to say.
She stood for so long and so silently, seemingly deep in thought though her head was completely empty, that she jumped rather violently when Amuelen’s lamp sputtered and threw up sparks into the night.
“Well then, if you insist,” she told the statue. She did not believe Amuelen’s spirit inhabited the shrine, nor that the sputtering had been a sign from the absent deity, but it did remind her that the lamps were not designed to last long. She had to say her piece before they went out, that was how it worked.
Still nothing came to her. Her little pilgrimage was supposed to be about confessing her fears and doubts, and receiving Amuelen’s comforting wisdom in return. But her fears had long been driven out of her by the horrors of war she had witnessed, and she hardly thought marriage could be as awful as all that. And her doubts had always been amorphous things, questions that flitted through her dreams and were just as forgotten come the morning and the business of living in a world where doubts meant people died.
But she had to say something, and she supposed she couldn’t go wrong with a narrative containing good, solid facts. “So I’m getting married quite soon,” she told the statue. “I’m traveling in two days’ time to Quol, which will take approximately a day and a half by carriage, provided the mountain pass isn’t snowed in.” So deep into summer it was not likely. “The date of my marriage is not yet set. My betrothed and I shall discuss it when I arrive in his country. I suppose there may also be some limitation of the date depending upon Quoli customs, though I am not aware of such myself.” She swallowed. “I have never met this man, Amuelen, and I think it’s expected I be apprehensive. But I’m not. Should he be a monster, he would not be as disagreeable as what I have seen in the past several years. I do know that he fought in this same war just ended, though our paths never crossed. I know he fought on the correct side. I know he is quite rich, which was of course my parents’ main concern.”
Amuelen’s lamp flickered, and the woman herself stared silently through flat stone eyes.
“That is all I know,” Oni finished. “But I am not frightened. I am not frightened to leave my home, as that was left long ago. I am not frightened to manage a household, as I have managed a medical tent in the aftermath of battle. I am not frightened to bear him children, as I have endured what I imagine is far worse pain. I am not frightened to live in a foreign land, as I have spent my life learning about it. I think I should be frightened. I think everyone is frightened in the face of uncertainty. But I am not.”
She paused again. The lamps were sputtering out, their lights fading, the orange glow tightening upon itself as the moon reasserted.
“But,” she said, “I suppose I am no longer like other people. It was not my intention to be such. I have only ever desired to honor my family and uphold my duty. I believed helping the war effort was part of that. I still believe it.”
Amuelen’s lamp went dark, the last to do so though it had been lit first. Oni knew it wasn’t a sign. She knew it was only because that lamp had held more fuel than the others. But it still left something profound behind, a presence lingering in the darkness that Oni couldn’t put a name to, nor was she sure she wanted to.
“But I suppose I have grown strange,” she told the silent clearing, before turning to the path to make the short, slow walk back to the carriage.
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