Tag Archive | reiassan

Building the Wedding-House, a story of Steam!Callenia for the Giraffe Call

Jul2

To fflox‘s prompt

Soon after Every Gift

The rebuild of their wedding-house was almost complete, which was good, since their wedding was less than a week away. All that was left were the final pieces of the roof.

The problem was, given the tight space of the street, even expanded, and the neighbors to three sides who had had enough of construction, thank you very much, a conventional crane was out of the question. Ropes and pulleys would work, and, indeed, were working, but even with a five-pulley system, the going was slow, hard, and painful. But they were doing it, Katyebah and Larzhal, with the help of a few of their closest friends.

And then Larzhal’s uncle Bantas showed up with a… device, at the same time that Katybah’s aunt Gelah showed up with some sort of contraption, one of them snorting steam and the other one farting smoke, glittering brass and solid iron, both making noises like a boiler that had seen better days.

“Dueling devices?” Katyebah was joking, although she wasn’t sure it was actually a jest. “Larzhal…”

“It’s all right, my lovely Katye.” He kissed her forehead, cheerfully helpful in that manner nobody else would have been allowed to be. “They can’t do much…”

“To our home?” She did not shout, because she did not want to upset the neighbors any further, but it was close.

“How long do your Aunt Gelah’s machines normally work for?”

“Perhaps an hour. Your uncle’s?”

“Perhaps two. So we ask them to take turns.” Larzhal smiled. “Three hours ought to finish the roof, and I’ll call a carter to help them get everything home when they’re done.”

“I knew I was marrying you for a reason.” She kissed him, in full sight of the next-door neighbor. Perhaps they would be gifted with curtains for their wedding.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/364365.html. You can comment here or there.

An excerpt of Rin & Girey for the Giraffe Call (@Rix_scaedu)

Jul1

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt. This is part of the main story, set very early on, their second day on the road.

Chapter 2: Strangers
After a war-season, we look for friends in the faces of strangers, and for enemies in the faces of our friends.

Her companion was a bit of a grumbler.

Rin was not all that surprised. A career in the army and a lifetime of being royalty both tended to lead one to complain; the former out of a ritualized counter to obligation and responsibility, the second for much the same reason, at least in Callenia. A royal soldier, then, and a captive to boot, was probably entitled a bit of complaining. She couldn’t say she wouldn’t do the same, were the roles reversed.

Of course, if the roles were reserved, she might be facing far less kind treatment, something the damn morning, the difficulty of their mounts, and her companion’s near-incessant whining were bringing to the forefront of her mind. How would he like it, draped over the saddle instead of riding properly?

“Mount.” She snapped the word out in his own language before she could follow through with the thought. “Come on, the sun moves more quickly than you do.”

“And it set on the wrong side of you last night.” He smirked as he got onto the gelding, the smirk fading as the beast gave a settling buck that must have jarred him in all the wrong places.

“I’m not the only one.” She was still answering in Bitrani; it was a better language for being irritable in. And they had seen no-one on the road for the last few hours of the night before. It was not the wisest decision she had made.

“Over here!” The voice came through the bushes, a southern Callenian accent with the clipped syllables of an Army scout. “I heard some strays this way.”

“Behind me.” She pushed the goat behind her and stood as professionally as she could while still bootless and with her hair unbraided.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/363938.html. You can comment here or there.

Mid-rainy Festival, a story of Reiassan for the Giraffe Call (@inventrix)

Jul1

For [personal profile] inventrix‘s prompt.

Reiassan has three still-unnamed seasons: Cold, Rainy, and Hot.

A kehlag is a small furry domesticated animal; a dohdehr is a a weasel/ermine like creature with soft fur. In the interest of not calling a Rabbit a Smeerp, I will probably call them cats and fishers (or weasels) in the long run, like the pahziht and pyahz are goats and horses.

The rainy season was at mid-point, and many of the animals were beginning to give birth. Much to the distress and consternation of her five-year-old daughter Oniarya, Upunbina (the Mayor of a small northern Callennan town) was every bit as focused on her new child as the mother goats were with their kids, the mother dohdehri with their kits, the mother kehlagyi with their kittens: nobody wanted to play with Oni, and nobody wanted to let her play with the little ones. It was going to be the worst festival ever.

She carried around a rag doll her grandmother had made for her, pretending to feed it, pretending it was a baby, but she didn’t really want a baby; her new sister was loud and messy on both ends. The kittens were cuter, less loud, softer, and when the kehlagyi weren’t so distracted with all this child-stuff, they often slept on Oni’s bed in the cold season. But now they wouldn’t play with her at all, and her bedroom had three mice and a noise she was afraid was something bigger. Maybe a monster.

Not only that, her parents were so distracted with all this baby-stuff, between the goats kidding and the baby sister and the rest of it, that they hadn’t even mentioned the mid-rain festival. Oni had been born there, five years ago. It was her favorite thing ever, less grown-up than the frost-break festival, less boring than the mid-cold festival. And now the day was here, the day was finally here, she had dressed all by herself in her best festival tunic, her favorite one, with the lines of purple and orange embroidery along the hems, and her parents were nowhere to be seen.

They had forgotten. They were off doing something else, they were busy with the stupid baby or the stupid goat kids or the stupid dohdehri who had bitten Oni last week when she tried to pet a kit. They were all stupid.

“Oni?” A little mewling sound followed her mother’s voice. “Oniarya, are you hiding again?”

“No,” she sulked. “I am playing castle in my closet.” She peeked her head out.

“Well, come on out, honey. Your father and I were just finding you the perfect festival present.”

“Present?” They hadn’t forgotten! She popped out of her closet, braids flying, hands outstretched. “I’ve been a good girl and I braided my own hair and I buttoned myself and…”

“And you’ve been very patient. Here, she’s just weaned.” Her mouth passed down a tiny little kehlagyi-kitten, its swirling spots buff-and-brown. “This is for you. She’s all your responsibility now.” She took on the Grown Up Voice she used when doing Mayor work. “Now that you have a little sister, you need to be the adult. This little one will help you remember that.”

“And we’ll help you remember her, and teach you how to take care of her.”

Oni cradled the kitten, holding it close, its tiny claws tickling her skin. This was going to be the best festival ever.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/363562.html. You can comment here or there.

Pride, a story of Bithrain (Reiassan) for the giraffe call (@lilfluff)

Jun28

For [personal profile] lilfluff‘s prompt. The Callanian language does not have an “f” sound.

Cairifan had learned early in his career that too much pride was a useless hindrance.

Pride in a job well done, yes. Pride in your people, yes. In your land, yes. Pride for pride’s sake would get you killed, sacked, jailed, or all three.

It had been easy enough when he had been Mayor of one of Bithrain’s biggest coastal cities. It had been harder when the Callennan overran the city, but then all he’d needed to focus on was putting out fires and keeping his city intact.

It was harder now. Cairifan bowed low to the Callennan officer overseeing his city. Not his city, anymore, not with the invaders everywhere, but Goulunder was still his home. “Your Ladyship.” He was glad he was not married. He would not want to describe this to a wife.

“Kairipan. You have the reports?” Her accent was clipped and short, making her sound angry even when she wasn’t.

“I have them, your Ladyship.” He set the slate down, the numbers written in Bitrani script and notated with pictured. Cairifan spoke about a hundred words of pidgin-Callenian. That number was increasing daily. Yesterday, he had learned “submit.” Again. He had trouble with that one.

She perused the slate, her finger hovering over the words and numbers. “Why so few goats?”

“Our herds have not been rebuilt yet.” He was not a livestock-herder. His people never had been; in between wars, they had hired Callennans to do that work.

“Tch. I will send someone to help. You will need more goats.”

“I? We?” He swallowed a lump of hope that was as dangerous as pride.

She leveled a look at him that he had no words for. No polite words, at least. From another man, it would have been a challenge. From her, he didn’t know. “You are a clever man, Kairipan. And this place is not my home.”

Her hand on his arm he understood well. He’d had secretaries before; he’d put his hand on their arm like that. Cairifan was very glad he was not married.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/360148.html. You can comment here or there.

Wild Horses, a story of Reiassan for the Giraffe Call (@inventrix)

Jun28

For [personal profile] inventrix‘s prompt.

“She’s playing with the horses again.”

Kakaya leaned out on the porch, watching their oldest daughter in the pasture behind their home. Her braids bounced on her back as she ran back and forth with the tiny, goat-like creatures, the biggest hardly bigger than their dog Guard.

“I worry that they’ll bite her.” Pokas had settled onto the porch as well, using the bright daylight to work on his carvings. Their high-valley house gave them access to the best wood for his work, but the herd of horses that shared the field and nearby forest-edges made him nervous.

“Their bite’s hardly as bad as a goat’s, and she’s been bitten by Loudmouth before. She’ll be fine.”

“But shouldn’t she be playing with other children? When I was her age…”

“I knew you then, Po. You can’t fib to me. When you were her age, you were off in the woods, playing with the trees.”

“The horses won’t give her a livelihood, the way the trees gave me.” He frowned to realize the goat he’d been carving had turned into a horse, with the long curved neck and the strange back legs. “And she’s been skipping her lessons again.”

“Well, that can’t stand. I’ll go get her.”

“Hunh. It looks like you don’t have to. She’s coming back.. and is that Loudmouth’s harness?”

“Can’t be. Maybe from when we had her kids?” Their daughter was heading into their goat pasture, leading two tiny horses in two tiny harnesses. They were prancing, turning their heads – but neither were attacking her. And they looked finer than the others, prettier, their spots almost symmetrical.

“I thought,” their daughter announced, “like we were learning about in class? Breeding goats for size and prettiness? These two are very pretty. They might pull a baby cart…?”

Kakaya and Pokas shared a look. Kakaya won the exchange, although both were picturing tiny horses for the rich country-visit set. Perhaps their daughter’s strange obsession with horses would provide, as Pokas’ with the forest had.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, dear.” Pokas set his carved horse down behind himself. It would be a good winter gift for her.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/359896.html. You can comment here or there.

Hand-Shaking, a story of Rin & Girey for the June Giraffe Call

Jun28

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt(s)

This comes after everything posted in the Rin/Girey timeline.

There was a great deal of hand-shaking going on, and a good deal of bowing, and more than a little bit of staring.

Callennan weddings appeared to involve a good deal of talking. This part of the ceremony, where a Bitrani temple would be full of silence and reverence, was instead full of a good deal of milling about and chatting, sometimes directly interrupting the ceremony.

There were a thousand things on Girey’s mind, very few of them directly related to the wedding. Arinyanca’s parents had been talking, and when they weren’t talking, they were sending pointed looks. Her Uncle – and then some other relatives who she called Uncle as well – had been making his own set of pointed looks. In the heart of what passed for Callennan diplomacy, Girey would not be able to pass as “Girey of Tugia” forever, no matter how many times some rude Aunt or cousin suggested that “All Bitrani look the same. That nose, that silly hair.”

As a matter of fact, while Elin pledged her strength and her bow (That wasn’t in the priests’ book of vows), her saddle and her tent to her new groom, another probably-an-aunt was sniping about his hair.

“How do they do anything at all with that? No wonder they keep it short; it wouldn’t hold a braid for anything.”

He had grown up in the heart of Bitrani politics; Girey didn’t even show that he’d heard. But Rin did. Just a smile, a very sharp smile.

She shifted her hand so that she was holding his, the glittering band around his wrist clearly obvious. “Aunt Alunyez. Have you met my companion, Girey of Tugia?”

The look on the old woman’s face was worth every snipe about his hair.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/359573.html. You can comment here or there.

Goatless, a story of Steam!Reiassan for the Giraffe Call (@dahob)

Jun27

For [personal profile] imaginaryfiend‘s prompt and @dahob’s prompt

“It’s a prototype, of course.” Diryid ran his hands over the long shafts of his new machine. “And I still believe the river-boat was more practical. Our rivers and canals, after all, are smoother than our roads. But this will go, and if you stack the wood properly in the back by the boiler, and if you keep this little pocket here loaded with the proper fire-aether, it will go nearly as long as my river boat. Which is to say, it will get you easily from city to city in less time than a conventional carriage.”

He tightened a nut and burnished a shining piece of brass, smiling all the time at his audience. Finally, Syadaia cleared her throat.

“But what is it? I thought you were working on a dirigible?”

“Oh, that.” The engineer waved his hand in the air. “That is much easier, although its distance is, at the moment, more limited. We do not have a proper way, yet, to contain the most flammable aether. And wood weighs it down, you see. But it will go.”

They all looked over his head, where he was pointing, but they were in his garage, and there was nothing to be seen. It was Syadaia, youngest of the group, who was delegated by eye contact to ask, again.

“Where is the dirigible? And what is this… thing, Diryid? What does it do?”

“This. This is a goatless carriage. It will go, as I said, from Lannamer to the Arran cities in two-thirds the time it will take a two-goat conveyance. And, unlike that monstrosity your other contractor was working on, it will not blow up. Nor will it eat its passengers.”

“It never…!” Tallgua’s denial was only half-feigned. The “other contractor’s” conveyance hadn’t actually eaten anyone. But he’d been using wild aether. Nobody used wild aether in something that close to people!

“But the dirigible?”

“Dirigible, dirigible.” Diryid stomped his foot. “You will have your damn dirigible. But anyone can design one of those. This… this is my masterpiece, and you all will admire it.”

There seemed nothing to do but make the appropriate noises. They needed that dirigible, if their plans were to succeed. And to have the dirigible, it appeared, they needed… this.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/359150.html. You can comment here or there.

The Goat-Bride, a story of Reiassan pre-history, for the Giraffe call

Jun27

For [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt.

Long ago and far away, when the Callanthe people had a different name and roamed far different hills, there lived the woman who was mother to the women and men who would not marry. She was called the Goat-Bride, and in her honor, every year, there are those who stand before the gods and swear their troth to their goats.

They will bear or seed no children, save those born to the festivals. Their home is the goat-pasture and the goat-tent. They stand with the herds when everyone else must stand with their family, and they sleep with their spear and their blade.

They serve as the first to fight and the last to fall, they serve as the spine of the people. There is no shame in standing as Goat-Bride or Goat-Groom. But when the first to do so stood there, the times were different.

Kyerzha stood to one side of Stinky, watching the tribe watch her.

“It’s time.” Daryas was one of the strongest men in the tribe. “The people need babies, to give them strength”

“The people need the goats, to give them feet, to give them wind, to give them food and milk, wool and leather.” She turned her back on Daryas.

“It’s time.” Talgub was one of the cleverest hunters in the tribe. “The children are the future of our tribe.”

“The herd is our future, and its kids, as much as our children. The goats need watching when they come to term; they need guiding when they are ready to be bred” She turned her back on Talgub.

“It’s time.” Puhntozh was the oldest and wisest of the tribe. “Every goat must bend its neck to harness and every tribesmember must bend to responsibility.”

“There are goats we do not ride, but set to stud. There are goats we do not use to pull a plow but instead use for milk. There are those we do not use for wool, but ride them into battle.” She turned her back on Puhntozh.

“You turn your back on your tribe.” Kesaku was her mother, and she was angry.

“I turn my back on the road that leads no-where, to the road that leads somewhere fruitful. That is all.”

And that was all, though it took her family many years to understand.

more here

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/358759.html. You can comment here or there.

Every Gift, a story of Steam!Callenia for the Giraffe Call

Jun27

To fflox‘s prompt

Some time after Road Map

If there was one situation in everyday life where everyone seemed to have a need to get involved it was weddings.

And the problem was, in this case, Katyebah and Larzhal couldn’t find a way to deny any of them.

They were providing the land for their house – not traditional, but when Katyebah and Onton had, with Larzhal’s help, designed a plan to widen Lannamer’s worst traffic intersections, they had necessitated the semi-demolition of several buildings. One of those lots – now holding half of a former Education Bureau facility – had been deeded to Katyebah and Onton for their service.

Onton, in a rare move of complete generosity, had gifted his half to Katyebah and Larzhal as a wedding gift (until then, they hadn’t realized they were getting married, although everyone around them knew it). And the Education Bureau, grateful for the excuse to rebuild, had donated the services of their builder for a week of time.

All that was left were the designs to turn a half a building on a small lot into a full home.

And there, well, everyone had an opinion. Onton, who had given the land, had spent half a day scribbling on plans, adding “improvements.” At least he was an engineer. The happy couple’s parents, who by tradition would have provided the land and the building, had any number of ideas and input, most of which were completely unsuitable.

As the sun set, two days before the builder would arrive, Katyebah and Larzhal stared at the notes, the gifts, and the two pieces of useful input their families had provided.

“Double walls on the windward face.” Larzhal’s uncle Bantas has drawn in the lines with smooth, engineer’s-hand lines. “It’s facing the road, so it will block sound and protect you in the winter.”

“I got an overshipment of these blue tiles. It’s not enough for the whole roof.” Katybah’s aunt Gelah had dropped the cartons with a loud thump. “But you could do some sort of design.”

Katybah’s pencil was wandering, sketching designs suggesting wind and sea. The ancient building had good lines and sturdy walls, those that were left. The double wall would close in the building, and the tiles…

“Block the wind and bless it over with a prayer?” Larzhal smiled. “Always practical.”

“Always using every gift. That’s the tradition, after all.” She leaned against his arms, and considered the turret Onton wanted them to install.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/358516.html. You can comment here or there.

Change of Power, a story of Reiassan for the June Giraffe Call @Rix_Scaedu

Jun26

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt. Set two three rulers before the Rin & Girey stories.

The preparations for coronation were excessive, intensive, exhaustive, and boring. Ankahbena nursed her youngest child while, around her, half of the palace fluttered around like goat kids out to pasture for the first time. Three tailors worked on the Imperial robes, around her, around Iladeta, fitting over her bare breast.

Ankahbena had been a mother for far longer than she’d been an Empress. Her grandfather had fought his battles young and then enjoyed a very long life; four heirs had died before her, while she had served in his Army and taught at his University, married and given birth to children and seen them off to the Army as well.

“Mother.” Her oldest son bowed deeply in front of her.

“Aby.” She shifted Ila, brushing away a maid with her free hand. She could still do this for herself, if nothing else.

“I asked Ukyenna if she would accept a marriage contract, if you and Father, and her parents, are amenable.”

“Ukya…?” She had seven sons, three daughters, and, to date, four grandchildren. She had a long piece of paper with all of their important information written down. She could not remember Ukyenna anywhere on the list.

“She’s a distant cousin, descended from a younger sister of Empress Ellanasia. She’s very pretty.” He sounded a bit defensive, there. “And very smart. And… she understands the palace.”

“Ah.” She studied her most ambitious child for a moment. “You think she will make a good mother to the next Emperor.”

“I do.” He tilted his head in submission. “But the choice is yours, Mother.”

She snapped her hand, trying not to hit the tailor who was still trying to fit the inner sleeve properly. The choices were all hers, now. And if her sons followed tradition and cloistered their wives, in a decade she would be the only woman in the nation with any choice. “Let me meet this girl.” Maybe she could talk some sense into Aby.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/358030.html. You can comment here or there.