Balthazar's Blog: 2009-06

For anyone not in the know, I've been working on a novel off and on for years now. It would fall in the genre of epic fantasy, hopefully not too cliche and hopefully entertaining and a page turner. The entire work is about 123,000 words, and currently has no title. I've decided to post the first chapter here in the hopes that it will produce some feedback and provide me with some motivation to get writing again. Click the Full Post link to read the whole chapter.

Chapter I: Discoveries

If I speak of myself in this story, it is because it is my story to tell, and I know of no better way to tell it. Like all stories it has a beginning, though that was a very long time ago now. Some could say that since it is my story it began with my birth in Maimanoth of the year 977, but I instead intend to start late in the summer of the year 992, with a trip to the fair.
I remember that it was a hot day as I went out into the late summer sunshine. To try to be more comfortable I wore a long flowing tunic that reached my knees, belted at the waist, leaving my legs exposed, my feet shod with sandals.
My friends were waiting for me. Zalman sat in the driver's seat of the one-horse wagon, dressed much the same way I was. The bed was occupied by Aslag and Iram but was otherwise empty. They were dressed for the heat as well.
"Climb in, Selik," Zalman said. "Time's a-wasting."
I grinned as I climbed into the bed of the wagon. Once I was settled, Zalman clicked his tongue and the horse started forward.
I had known Zalman for a very long time. We had met when we were about five years old, before we even entered school. He had chestnut brown hair that was cut very short and an oval-shaped face with hazel eyes. He had a burly build, being taller than me by at least a hand and outweighing me by perhaps a stone.
Iram I had met in school when we were six years old. He was the stoutest of the four of us, standing taller than Zalman and outweighing him by a two or three stone. He had tawny hair with blue eyes, with an oval-shaped face.
I had met Aslag in school as well. He had shaggy blonde hair and an oval-shaped face with blue eyes. He was around Zalman's height but slimmer, though not quite lanky.
The three of them made me feel kind of small at my seventeen-and-a-half hands of height, but I could hold my own at fifteen stone. I had tawny hair myself, almost blonde, and blue eyes.
"What do you want to do at the fair?" Iram asked.
"I want a sausage and a honey cake," I replied.
"I want to see the livestock," Zalman said. "I want to see the competition against my lambs."
"I'm hoping to see Isolde there," Aslag said.
"Don't forget the games," Iram said.
The wagon rumbled and creaked through the gentle hills of the orchard country in which we lived. The cherry trees had been stripped of their fruit in Yuvimanoth, but the apple trees still bore their fruit, awaiting the harvest in Oshimanoth. The late-summer weather of Elulmanoth had been dry, and the wagon stirred up a trail of dust marking where we had been. It didn't take long to arrive at the fairgrounds on the outskirts of Stoerstad. Zalman hobbled the horse and left it to graze in the pasture. We each paid the one silver bit admission charge and entered the fair.
Amongst the booths and pavilions we paused a moment and looked around. "Isolde said she'd be working today," Aslag said. "The bakery has a booth here."
He led the way to the booth set up by Jorn's Bakery. Working there was a girl wearing a white dress with a red surcoat. She was slender and petite, being almost a head shorter than the rest of us. She had fair skin, thick long black hair, and blue eyes. She smiled when she saw Aslag. "You came," she said.
Aslag smiled back at her. "We couldn't miss the fair," he said, "especially since you're working today." The girl blushed. "Isolde, I'd like you to meet my friends. This is Iram, Zalman, and Selik," he said, gesturing to each of us in turn. "Boys, this is Isolde."
They chatted for a bit while I eyed the honey cakes. They were only a penny each! I nudged Zalman. "Do you want a honey cake?"
"Since you're buying," he replied.
Isolde spoke. "I see you like our honey cakes."
"I'll take two of them," I said, pulling the money from the pouch on my belt. She handed me the cakes and I gave her the two copper pennies. I gave one of the cakes to Zalman and bit into mine. They were fresh, and the smoothly sweet cake melted on my tongue.
"I'll talk to you later," Aslag said to Isolde.
"All right," she replied, waving to us as we departed.
We made our way onward through the fairgrounds, passing a number of booths along the way. There were a number of vendors, some selling food, others selling tools or utensils, and others selling crafts. We stopped to play a game of quoits, where Zalman's obsession with throwing things helped him win a laurel chaplet.
"I think I'll wear it the rest of the day," he said, placing the chaplet on his head.
We stopped at one of the booths to buy lunch -- fried sausages on hard rolls with sauerkraut and mustard. With lunch in hand we made our way to the lists to watch some of the jousting that was going on that day. At the end of the current round of jousting and with the next round to not begin for an hour, we continued onward with the intention of going to the livestock barn to see what competition Zalman's lambs had to contend with. One of the booths along the way grabbed our attention, though.
"Hey, look at that," Zalman said. "A fortune teller."
A stooped old man with an aquiline nose sat at the booth. "Yes, yes!" he said, "I am a student of divinations. Come have your fortune told." He studied us closely. "For four strapping young men such as yourselves, I'll only charge you a silver bit each!"
"That's not a bad price," Iram said.
I nodded. "It might be fun."
We each paid a silver bit. The old man gave each of us a small, polished granite stone. "So I know you've paid," he said. Iram went first, depositing his stone in a wooden bowl. The old man led him behind a tapestry hanging in the back of the booth.
"I wonder if our fortunes will be true," I asked.
"Only because it will be so vague," Aslag replied. "These fortune tellers are all alike. They make predictions that are so vague that they could be referring to anything."
"They can't all be that bad," Zalman said. "We hear about magicians and wizards all the time. Surely some of it must be true."
"And don't forget the Libram," I said. "All kinds of magical things took place in the past."
"I'm just saying we shouldn't take anything the old man has to say too seriously," Aslag said.
Soon Iram reappeared from behind the tapestry. "Next," he said.
Aslag deposited his stone in the wooden bowl and disappeared behind the tapestry.
"What did he say?" Zalman asked Iram.
Iram shrugged. "Nothing specific," he said. "He asked when my birthday was, then looked at my palms. Then he said I'd go on a journey with some friends."
I frowned. "Maybe Aslag was right."
"We'll see," Zalman said.
Soon Aslag emerged from behind the tapestry. Zalman dropped his stone into the bowl and disappeared behind the tapestry.
"Well?" I asked.
"Just like I thought," Aslag said. "He asked when my birthday was and looked at my palms. He told me I'd go on a journey soon with some friends. That could refer to our drive home."
I rolled my eyes. Iram nodded.
Zalman soon returned. "Same thing," he said.
"Let's see if my luck's any different," I said. I dropped my stone into the bowl and went behind the tapestry.
The old man sat on an old stool beside a table. On the table was a crystal ball and what looked like a deck of cards. The crystal ball was resting on some sheets of paper with tables of numbers on them.
"Have a seat," he said. He gestured to another stool beside the table. I sat down, facing him.
"When were you born?" he asked.
Great, I thought. He was asking me the same things he asked everyone else. "Maimanoth eighth, 977," I said.
"The sign of the Bull," he said. He looked at me intently for a moment. "Let me see your palms," he said. I presented my palms to him. He grasped my hands with his, studying my palms. "Are you right- or left-handed?"
"Left," I replied.
"I see," he said. He studied both my palms a moment longer before dropping my right hand and looking at my left hand more closely. He mumbled to himself as he scrutinized my palm, sometimes tracing some of the lines with a finger. "Heart line, yes, yes," he mumbled. "Head line, life line, and here's a cross." He looked thoughtful.
"So what does that all mean?"
"You'll go on a journey soon with some friends," he said.
I rolled my eyes. "That's what you told the others."
He shrugged. "That doesn't mean it's not true," he said. "But wait. I see you don't like that answer." He reached for the deck of cards. "Shuffle these," he said.
He gave the deck of cards to me. They were larger than regular playing cards, and there were more of them; it was a full deck of Tarock cards. I shuffled them thoroughly and passed them back. He spread them out on the table, face down. "Pick one," he said.
I looked at the cards. Their backs were black and decorated with oak leaves and acorns. The cards sat in a broad heap, some overlapping others, and their backs blended together, resembling a forest floor. I picked out one of the cards and pulled it from the deck. I glanced at the picture. It was a knight on horseback.
He studied the card more closely, his eyes moving between the card and my face. "The Knight of Coins," he said. "An interesting significator." He tapped his chin with the card. "Would you like a numerological reading?"
"I don't know..." I said.
"No extra charge," he said. "I'll only need your name."
"All right," I said. "My name is Selik."
"Selik what?"
"Selik von Ramm."
"Is that your full name?" he asked.
"No," I sighed. "It's Selik Balthazar von Ramm." I spelled it for him.
He wrote my name on a blank sheet of paper. "Thank you," he said. He referred to his tables of numbers. "Let's tabulate that." He tapped his quill against his chin. "Using the Ebiru system that's five, eight, and eleven or two, with a final name number of six. Using the Kamplenian system, that's two, eight, and six, with a final name number of seven. Birth number is nine. They're all interesting numbers." He copied his results to another sheet of paper, being much neater. "Here," he said, giving the paper to me. "You can keep that." The paper was crisp and heavy.
"So what does it mean?" I asked.
"It means that you will go on a journey soon with some friends," he said. "And I don't mean the trip home."
I folded the piece of paper and stuck it in my pouch. I rose to go. "Thank you," I said.
He rose as well. Bowing deeply he said, "No. Thank you." The way he said it was kind of odd, almost... reverent. I shrugged and left.
The boys were waiting for me. "What did he say to you?" Zalman asked. "Why did it take so long?"
"He asked my birth date and checked my palms," I said. "Then he had me draw a single Tarock card and did a numerological reading."
"And?" Iram asked. "What did he tell you?"
I frowned. "That I'd go on a journey soon with some friends.
"Ha!" Aslag said. "I told you!"
"But," I began, "he said he didn't mean the trip home."
"Oh," Aslag said. He was silent.
"Let's go to the barn," Zalman said, grinning. "Maybe that's the journey he meant."

* * *
The summer wore on, and it would soon be time for the harvest. The sky was clear and the weather was warm, but the gathering flocks of birds meant the seasons would soon change. My mother and sister had gone to the market, and my father was working in the shed mending crates. I was left to myself, splitting firewood in the yard. It was mindless work, leaving my thoughts to wander on other things, like my secret infatuation for a buxom blonde girl named Flora Insen.
I paused to stack the wood I had split thus far, clearing the ground around the chopping block of the logs that had fallen randomly as they were split. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and heard a rustle in the grass. I turned to look. A man stood there. He was tall and slim, and appeared to be between forty and fifty years of age. He had jet-black hair cut fairly short, and a well-trimmed beard of the same color. He had an aquiline nose, and his eyes were piercing and knowing, being a pale slate blue color. The most unusual thing about him, though, was that he was dressed in a white robe that showed no signs of travel. Something about him was vaguely familiar.
"I'm looking for Simak von Ramm," the man said before I could speak.
"Please wait here," I said. The man stood waiting while I went to the shed to speak to my father. I stole a quick glance, noticing there was no horse in sight.
The door to the shed stood open. Inside, working by the sunlight spilling in from outside, was my father. He was a large, stout man with broad shoulders, shorter than me by about half a hand but heavier than me by several stone. His hair was black and wavy, though it was becoming steely gray with age. His gray and black beard was well trimmed. He wore gray breeches and a dark blue tunic.
"There's a man out front who wants to speak with you," I said.
"Oh?" my father asked.
"Yes," I replied. "He seems a little odd, though. He's dressed a little like the priest from the Pantheonic temple. On top of that, there's no horse in sight, but his clothes don't show any signs of travel."
"That is very odd," my father agreed.
He followed me to the front yard and addressed our visitor. "What can I help you with, friend?"
"I should start with an introduction," the man said. "My name is Dargo."
"Master Dargo?" my father asked. Dargo nodded. "It's an honor," my father said, bowing his head. I followed suit.
"The honor is mine," Dargo said. "Young Selik is a somewhat unique person, and he will require some education that only I can provide."
My father nodded. "What kind of education do you mean?"
"I don't wish to go into much detail at the moment," Dargo replied. "That is best suited for another time, in the future. But two of the things I will cover are swordsmanship and magic. Additionally he will assist me in various duties and responsibilities at the Tower of Light. He will visit the Tower during the week beginning this fall and continuing until the spring. He will be able to stay at home on weekends and during the summer, and we'll resume again next fall if need be."
"How will he get to and from the Tower?" my father asked. "It's a long trip for a boy to make alone."
"I will take care of the travel arrangements," Dargo said.
My father nodded again. "I think I would like to talk it over with his mother, first, so she knows what's happening, but at the moment I see no problem."
"I don't foresee any," Dargo replied. "I will return in a week to speak with you again. Thank you for your time." Dargo bowed his head, turned, and departed, walking up the path from our house to the road.
My father turned to me and said, "Strange. He seemed vaguely familiar, like I've seen him somewhere before." I nodded in agreement.
That evening the matter was discussed over dinner in the presence of my mother, Carlyn, and my sister, Birkita. Everything that had happened that day was recounted.
"So what do we do?" my mother asked. She was somewhat slim with a matronly look about her, and stood about a hand shorter than me. She had very long, thick brown hair worn in a braid, and hazel eyes. She wore a simple brown linen dress with a white bodice.
"Selik goes off to study under Master Dargo," my father said. "I'm sure there's a good and important reason Selik has to do this, and that Master Dargo knows what he's talking about and can be trusted." My mother nodded her agreement.
A week later Dargo arrived again, dressed as he had been the first time. Again he showed no sign of having been submitted to the elements, and again I saw no horse. Both of my parents spoke briefly with him, and all of the arrangements were made. Thus I became a student of Master Dargo.
My first excursion to the Tower of Light followed shortly thereafter. It was a late summer day in the year 992, late Elulmanoth or early Septumanoth. It was very warm, and I wore a light tunic and breeches. I was beginning to wonder if I should have instead worn a longer tunic and forgone the breeches when Dargo arrived. Once again he had no horse.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied from where I sat on the porch. I gestured to my satchel.
"Good," Dargo said. He gestured and spoke a few words I did not understand, and a small silvery point of light appeared in the air, growing until it became a large shimmering ring. Enclosed by the ring was a view of a room built of stone instead of the hayfield near our house.
Dargo grabbed one of the satchels. I put the pack on my back and hefted the other two satchels, muttering about the weather while I glanced at Dargo. He stepped through the ring of silvery light and I followed. Once on the other side Dargo waved a hand and the ring shrunk until it was again the tiny point of light, which soon winked out.
"Welcome to the Tower of Light," Dargo said.
I looked around the room. It was small and rectangular, the wall with the window curving outward slightly. There was a narrow bed with a mattress, a small chest of drawers, a small bookshelf, and an empty desk with an oil lamp.
"How did we get here?" I asked.
"A magical portal," Dargo replied. "It's a dimensional door spell. You'll learn it yourself in time."
"Wow."
"Put your things away," Dargo said. "I will return in a few moments."
A few moments turned into an hour, for it was not until I had everything put away and the bed made out of sheer boredom that Dargo returned. He carried a large book.
"Part of your education will be the Hallowed Libram," Dargo said. He passed the book he held to me. It was indeed the tome he spoke of, a somewhat larger and thicker edition than I had seen elsewhere. I was, of course, familiar with the Libram. Most homes had at least one copy, and it was used in services at temple. It functioned as both a history text and a religious guide.
Dargo continued. "Part of your education will be swordsmanship, etiquette, and household duties. The rest," he said, "will begin with that book. But that can wait until we've eaten something."
It turned out that Dargo was a passable cook, but I'd seen much better, having learned well from my parents. I took that chore as well, in return for fewer cleaning duties, which I did not enjoy.
As we finished eating I noticed something.
"What's that?" I asked, gesturing to a large glass case I could see in the next room.
"The Dragon Wand," Dargo replied.
"Really?" I asked. I went to the glass case and examined it and its contents more closely. The case was cylindrical, and it held a sinuously curved piece of metal that was half a yard long. It looked like the end of a dragon's tail, with one end tipped with a multifaceted crystal.
"Really," Dargo replied. "What else would it be? Do you not believe what the Hallowed Libram says, that I am its keeper just as I am the Master of the Sun Orb?"
"But isn't it dangerous keeping it in a glass case, in the open?"
"I would hardly consider my Tower 'in the open,'" Dargo said. "But it serves its purpose there."
"Its purpose? Isn't it a wand, a tool? How can a tool serve its purpose lying unused in a glass case?"
"You yet have much to learn," Dargo said. He stood and paced for a moment before speaking again. "Much of what a thing is, is that which it is not. The use of a thing may not lie in its utility, but how it lays waiting. The Dragon Wand lays waiting, waiting for the day when its purpose is once again utility."
I, of course, found this explanation rather confusing. I quickly learned that Dargo's methods of operation did not always fit nicely with mine, as I discovered one day the following spring.
"Let us go outside for a walk," he said.
We spiraled down the staircase and stepped outside, Dargo leading the way. We walked through the gently rolling hills, warmed by the spring sun. I wore only a tunic and breeches.
Dargo wore his white robe, as always. He carried a staff, which had been near the door, and it appeared to serve no other purpose than a walking staff, though its ends were shod with bronze.
"When you have no other obligations," Dargo said, "and the weather is cooperative, I'd like you to spend time outside. Stay in sight of the Tower when you're here."
"You don't want me to study or to read books?" I asked.
"The only book I desire you to read right now is the Libram," Dargo replied. He gestured, arms and staff outstretched and sweeping in the surroundings. "This summer, though, will be better spent learning from the land."
"What can I learn from the land?" I asked.
"When you learn it, you will know," Dargo said enigmatically.
And thus, once I had returned home, my summer days were spent in the hills around Stoerstad, weather permitting. As the weather grew warmer I exchanged my tunic and breeches for a long knee-length tunic that left my legs bare. On those days I often sought the shade.
Not all the days were sunny, of course. The days that were too rainy to be outdoors were spent reading the Libram. The rainy days came infrequently enough that this was the only book I studied that first summer: there was plenty of material to study, for Dargo's edition of the text was different from others I'd seen. It was larger, containing more books, and it was annotated, with some of the notes written in the margins by Dargo himself.
I'm not sure exactly how long it took me to actually learn anything that first summer. I know that I did learn something, but I don't know at what point it occurred. Sometime by the end of the summer some sort of discovery had occurred, and when I wandered the orchards and fields, I observed everything around me. I noticed the way the wind made the grass ripple like waves on water. I watched the insects, especially the bees and butterflies as they floated from flower to flower in a seemingly random pattern. I saw the birds going about their business, some quietly, some calling to one another. I saw the squirrels scurrying in the branches of trees. I saw all this, and I saw the creation.
Thus knowing the creation I was able to see the connections between the world and the gods. I could see that Zoleben's hand was in all life, but it needed Ordyx's hand on the earth, and Solen's sun, and the rain falling from Lena's sky, and Adreya's love, and even Jornak's dark hand in the cycle of life. All the gods had a hand in all, but as the summer wore on and Septumanoth approached I saw that Adreya's hand was heavier upon the songs of the birds, and Ordyx's hand was strong with the creatures that burrowed in the earth. One last discovery remained, though. I barely knew the depth of it.
It was the end of Elulmanoth, and I had returned to the Tower again. Dargo and I sat in the study, Dargo quietly reading some ponderous tome, while the copy of the Hallowed Libram sat on my lap, neglected. One thing puzzled me, and I finally asked Dargo about it.
"Dargo, what creatures have Solen's hand upon them?"
Dargo smiled. "I see you learned something."
"Yes," I said. "I see Zoleben's hand upon all life, but in each creature and each plant I see the influence, usually just a little, of other gods. I didn't see Solen's hand upon them, though. Why?"
"The answer is two-fold," Dargo said. "First, Solen is with all of them, for they all have their forms of knowledge, and all serve their purpose, no matter how small it may seem. Second, Solen is with none of them, for his hand is stronger upon other, greater things. The gods are strongest with the greater creatures, like dragons, unicorns, and you and me."
"If everything has a purpose, then there must be some kind of complex balance as everything strives against everything else," I said.
"Yes," Dargo said. "Balance is what Zoleben and Ordyx sought, and this balance remains. But a greater balance existed, one that was sought by all, a balance toppled when Jornak gave the Dark Sword to Gelron so long ago."
"If the gods' hands are with different things, if one god can have influence on one thing more than another...."
"Go on," Dargo said, encouragingly. "You're on the right path."
"Then knowing what it is you wish to do, or what you want to influence, you will know which god to invoke."
"Correct," Dargo said. He rose and went to the bookcase. He pulled a tome from the shelf. "We can define magic as the imposition of the mortal will on the phenomena of nature," he began. "Without a focused will, the words and other components of magic are useless. The gods' wills are greater than ours, of course, and thus forms the basis of theurgy. Your observations prove you're now ready for this." He gave the book to me. The spine was worn and the cover blank. I opened it to the frontispiece. It was The Key of Raziel.
"This book is the foundation of ceremonial magic," Dargo said. "Now that you understand that magical power can come through the gods, you are ready to learn from it. It will serve as an introduction to theurgy and conjurations, and will indeed be your key to other magicks as well. Other books will follow as you are ready. But you must always keep studying the Hallowed Libram. Study these two together."
"Why?" I asked.
"Study and you will see. I dare say it won't take you as long as you took this summer."
Dargo was right, though it helped that the Key was annotated. The notes indicated where the versicles in various inscriptions had been taken from the Hallowed Libram. If these versicles were useful, what other things and deeds could be wrought with others?
My understanding grew further as I saw that the gods' powers over each day of the week applied to the hours of the day as well, and that the stars and planets in the sky brought their influences as well. All this and more lay ahead of me, but it would have to wait, for soon spring had arrived, and I had to return to Stoerstad and all that was there.

Mood: Thoughtful
Music: Led Zeppelin: "What Is and What Should Never Be"

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