Archive | December 5, 2012

Find me the Boy, a drabble of Cynara

Between Year 40 & 41 of the Addergoole School – about 2 years before the story I just posted.

In a year or two, Cya’s grandkids were going to start attending Addergoole. In a year or two, the cycle was going to start all over again; she would pack them up with hawthorne in their pockets and rowan between their clothes. In a year or two, she would think about not doing this anymore. Not when the boys were younger than her grandchildren.

It had become, she thought, a bit of an addiction. Not even the sex – half of them didn’t like girls anyway – not even the control – she’d gone a year with nothing more than the base orders, just to see if she could, with the last one. But something about the routine. New year, new boy.

She dropped her Masks, safe in the boundaries of the Village, and let her power loose. Find me the boy, she told it. Find me the one that can benefit from this. The one I can hook. The one who won’t hate it all. The one we won’t hate.

Before she’d finished, practically before she’d started vocalizing, she could feel the tug. She followed the pull, combed her fingers through her hair, wondered if she should have put on make-up. She didn’t look any older… but this boy… this boy would be…

He wasn’t at Maureen’s. Cya was never sure if that was a good sign or not. Wandering around looking lost, hanging over Maureen’s fence… this one was sitting on the ground outside the tavern, looking like he’d lost his only friend.

Cya stopped in her tracks. At first, all she could see was the blonde hair, the antlers – just budding, little velvety stubs – the pose. Not him. No, no.

Him, her power insisted. That one. She’d never felt it this strongly.

It was like he could feel it. He looked up at her, and the spell broke. He was so pretty, for a moment she thought he might be a girl. His hair was fairer than Leo’s, nearly white. And his chin was a point you could use to cut cheese.

Saying the right thing wasn’t her power. And part of her mind was screaming No, no. We don’t *do* boys with antlers. We don’t do that again. But she found herself opening her mouth anyway.

“Come on, kid. You’re coming home with me for a while.”

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The Year Cya Didn’t Keep Anyone

This has been bouncing around in my head for a bit; I even have the diagramme of the city and what an individual house looks like

In the aftermath, it was called The Year Cya Didn’t Keep Anyone.

She freed the lost boy named after a destroyed city – a boy her grandson had found for her, the way his father had found her Panlong, and the others after Panlong – dropped her grands off at school, and walked out into the wilderness.

People said she’d walked out into the desert to meditate. People said she’d gone nuts. People said she’d finally gone sane.

Gaheris, who knew where she was, said very little.

What she did was none of those things, or perhaps all of them. She walked – and drove, because she was Cya, and she believed in being prepared – until she found a town on a cleanish river, an abandoned town that had fallen to ruin.

And she destroyed it. Brick by brick, she brought the ruins of the town down until there was nothing left but tidy piles of building materials and the old power plant.

And then, in true Cynara fashion, she laid out her plans, blueprints, drawings, maps, and one sketch on the back of a napkin. And she started building.

One by one the buildings came out of the ground. One by one, they took shape, adobe buildings, brick buildings, square and tall and sturdy. One by one the walls came up, three linked circles, surrounded by a double ring of taller walls. And, in the very center, a Citadel grew.


“We’re worried about our grandmother” was not something Luke was really equipped to deal with, but when the grandmother in question was Cynara Red Doomsday, he had to admit there was reason for him to be involved. If Cya had finally gone off the edge…

Assume nothing. He flew out in the direction he was pointed, out past ruined cities, out past the markers she had caved into the stone. “Land now,” one helpfully warned. He kept going.

The city, from the air, looked beautiful. It looked like a model, actually, all white adobe and even whiter marble against the red of the ground, the green of the trees, the blue of the river. And it looked secure – at least from the ground. The gates were thick enough that it must take a Working to open them.

And there, on the wall, Cynara was watching him. She looked dirty, covered from head to toe in dust. She looked sunburnt, her trademark red hair bleached from the sun and coated in the same dirt. and she was smiling.

“She’s building a city,” he informed her grandsons. “She’ll be fine.”

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Arm-twisting, an answering drabble of Addergoole @kissofjudas

Addergoole, year 39-ish. Luca Hunting-Hawk, Mike Linden-Blossom (VanderLinden). In response to this Addergoole fic by Rion.

Backstory: across several other stories, Mystral, a second-generation student in Addergoole, asked Luke to father her second child. He agreed, and has been visiting the daughter (his first daughter!), Chavva, regularly ever since.

The world ended around Year 17 of Addergoole (2011, June, is when it began), in something Luke refers to here as the Fae War.

Luke and Mike are both teachers at the Addergoole school, and 2 of the co-founders.

“You should build her a house.”

That was further out of left field than most things Mike said, but Luke – who was packing to visit Mystral and Chavva – knew what his oldest and most obnoxious friend was talking about.

“She has a home.”

“You’re in love with her.”

“What’s that have to do with the price of tea in China?” He did not want that wound poked at, thank you, most especially not by Mike.

“Is it still there? China, I mean.”

“In a manner of speaking.” China had gotten hit – not harder, but differently – by the Fae Wars that had nearly destroyed their planet. “They lost more people than we did in the cities, but their farms don’t look much different.” And if Mike could be distracted long enough…

“You should take me there sometime. But you should build her a house, too.”

“Mike. I fathered her daughter. That’s not…”

“Listen, Bird-Brain, I’ve known every time you’ve ever been in love. Every. Time.” Even Luke could hear the edge in his oldest friend’s voice. “And you are in love, mister.”

“She’s a child.”

“She’s not. If she was, you wouldn’t have fathered Chavva on her.”

“I have grandchildren older than her! Great-grandchildren older than her!”

“And I’m more than twice your age. Get your head out of your ass.”

Luke glared at Mike. “So what if I love her? She’s never given any indication of anything like that.”

“Have you?”

“Of course not. That’s not what she asked me for.”

“Dead gods’ nuts, Luca. If you don’t ask the girl, I’m going to.”

“…fine. Stay away from her. I’ll talk to her.” And be rejected, just to soothe Mike’s pride.

She beat him to it.

His wings flared as she talked. He wanted to pull her close to him and protect her. Take care of her. He wanted to tell her what was in his heart.

You’re just not ready. Wil had chided him more than once. You’re not ready for an adult love, and I am. Never mind that she was younger than him.

You never say anything. Ké had been angry at him already, but that had been the end.

Say something! Mike’s voice was louder than even his daughter’s.

“I want to build you a house.” He blurted it out, feeling more like a two-year-old than someone with nearly three centuries under his belt. “A big house. Strong.” His wings flared, and he pulled them back close to his back, wondering how, exactly, he could be such an idiot.

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#Lexember post Three – Conlanging objects in the Calenyan world – Knife, Sword

As if getting into the spirit of Lexember, my local radio station trotted out this wiki excerpt about Mele Kalikimaka and phonological shift.

Today’s words are an experiment in phonological shift adaptation with a bonus geography/history note.

The continent the people who became the Bitrani and the Cālenyena came from held two other nations – the proto-Bitrani on the East Coast, the Cālenyena in the southwest, the [West Coast People] on, obviously the west coast, and the Ice Tribes in the north.

The Ice tribes discovered metal-working first, and traded with the West Coast people and the proto-Bitrani. They called a particular blade, a short one with a barbed edge, yee-shoon.

When the Cālenyena first encountered knives, the west coast people called them allishia. That word can’t exist in three different ways in the Cālenyena language; it became zēzu (zee-zuh)

When they first encountered swords, it was from the proto-Bitrani, who called them tyajoon. Since a starting ty- sound in Cālenyen indicates a useless object, and a sword clearly isn’t, and since they don’t have a j sound, sword ended up tazhō

zēzu (zee-zuh) – knife
tazhō (tah-zhoo) – sword

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