huge smile
...and ya, definitely ‘love-hate’ thing with people and their views on my work.
Sci Fi & Fantasy / manuscript bits and pieces -- 16
Kutal’s translation read —
Behold! For what be known of wonders majestic, this wisdom aged is herein sealed. Within the borders of the world, lands afar do a marvel in secret hold. Lengthy is the passage of the appointed to such agony of thirst until there stand forth. Six days march whence burst the rising blaze, until domains of Irax reach. That they might not harry you, pass as the hawk follows southern moon, though much obscured under mask of night, and carry on thru light of day whence second dusk doth bring the stars to shining, and thou crosseth the continent’s boundary, “The Womb of Heaven”, wasteland inhospitable. Harken not to respite’s temptation as Acediax shall be at good hand, Gulax at the left, Invid ahead, and Avarit to the rear, but steadfast tread this scar of sand and peak that cautious memory comes of times in thy passage, this thy only retreat. Triumph impends but scant distance at emergence before the Mountains Gray. Despair not from surmounting these, the dreaded “Sisters Three”—Gargania, Kisenie, Myruo. They are but prisoners of the windswept plains, lacking boon of neighbor save crag desolate and chasm sunken.
Look to Myruo, least of her kin, traversing round girdled feet you must, for journeys end looms beneath at precipice she hides in trust. Ever shaded from summer's heat, a case to climb beside the fount of sun, whence flows the holy path of sacred bird, to Myrue’s bosom grotto secreted. There stately men of caste and creed innumerable do live and toil in peace. In literature and language schooled…of architecture, painting and sculpture, mastery is theirs…forgers in iron, brass and bronze…hands at silver and gold besides …prodigious their installations in wood and stone…of lotion, poultice, potion, and balm, they lack not for preparations, yea verily mortar and pestle are made to entreat…hearths alit, tables piled with roasting meat well wrapped in fat, every form of vegetation, grain and seed …larders filled of tuber overflowing …horses have they tamed to rein, unmanageable beasts have they yoked. Of resplendence they know not equal, for all that can be shaped pleasing to touch or eye, in every manner of craft they excel.
Omphalos well met thy intentions exonerate.
Written in the Prabú’s own hand, it had to be accurate…
But, what it said was incredible!
This was no simple proclamation from King to scribe.
Neither was it a contract,
…nor a sonnet dedicated to a discarded lover,
…not even a saga of battle, with a well wishing ‘To whom it may concern’ farewell address (this possibility having garnered 5 wagers in the pool).
Lost so many years ago and now conveyed forward through time, was an introduction to their ancestry (that which they had believed lost forever), authentication of Omphalos, from which the mordent little parish of Omphis drew its name.
Sight unseen, the overwrought citizens began researching, fashioning and propagating the legend yet further still. Ritually romanticizing its origins, lending acclaim to the ingenuity of its progenitors, the so-called ‘primitives’.* Endowing them, in nostalgic largess, with the finest attributes and characteristics (those of the leader and protector, moralist, teacher and caretaker), accrediting to them the gathering of the tribes and turning those into savage hordes and finally to civilized men and women.
They were made Kings, literally and ultimately. Their bloodlines mysteriously deemed ‘more pure’ - although more purely what, Jaya had never understood.
‘Perhaps a purer primate, more puerile and less… sheep-like?
‘One day maybe, theoretically at least, science and technology** could provide an answer. We could, recreate them. But, even then, were we to use the ‘base mettle’ of modern alchemy and remap the twin serpents, nothing in that royal-blood would afford us the tiniest tidbit about the personalities which shaped humanity. The people they were would still be unknown.
‘Of course there were records, much had been written and inscribed.
‘But even children are taught better than to believe everything we read.
* (The “A” list of seriously silly sadists and funny fuckin’ fools, dastardly destructive despots and miserable inbred tools)
** (Discoveries that had been brought back after centuries of Dark Age blindness, perceptions being ‘redefined’ thereby: thus providing humanity with a profoundly new relationship to God, a completely different understanding of the universe and man’s role in it.)
‘A survivor’s accounting is most probably not going to yield the same tale as that of a conqueror’s. An empirically objective view is what we need. For that, we must look only to the facts.’
Actual ‘Facts’ however, were, in point of fact, very hard to come by: the only evidence, not completely subjective, lay in the remnants of their ‘great works’, or, more accurately, the works of their people.
It was known from these that, whether working for themselves or for the group or for a king - even if they themselves were kings - the Omphalosians functioned as a unit: from hunting and gathering to sowing seeds with the seasons and, occasionally, spilling a little neighboring blood on the way. They were hearty people, brave people…they took chances and they took orders* and by thunder, they got things done.
Communities were built… farms and houses made from bricks of mud or stone or whatever raw materials were at hand and, when a sufficient surplus surfaced (allowing for the luxuries of sleep and leisurely thought)…artists and artisans, architects and accountants were allowed to bring their visions to bare: dams and stuppahs, canals and libraries, pyramids, cemeteries, theatres, lodges, taverns and gambling dens - all per God’s instruction.**
‘Magically, geometry and language have always been there?’
These mystics ‘knew’ God.***
* (By and by, they also took heads and cattle and women and gold and everything else that was smaller than a mountain… although, eventually they took those too.)
** (Whether one dealt with the Gods of Fortune or of Gods of War… their offices (both Casino & Church) where the only buildings ever designed without locks… largely because neither Fate, nor, Lady Luck would ever turn away a sucker.)
*** (We’re still a might bit jealous. That’s the reason we raise them up - on such ponderously precarious pedestals - because, way back when, whenever way back then was… we were new, favorite, toys… and God still spoke to us, in that supernatural lingo.) ***a
***a (That is to say, at least the few who knew how to keep a beat and at least the primer for “Godishianese”: aka; deity-speak. To those born of the tongue, special positions, places and talents were bestowed - for they were godkin. The “mighty men of renowned” – who thus, heard music and began to shape it into word - were given to be “learned” and they were loved for it. Those who failed were similarly reviled.)***b
****b (Like when you finally save up enough money to travel to Paris, particularly so you can use your 3½ years of high school French and soak in, ‘The romance of the city that is lights.’ …and some jackass maitre de, at a bar - only half as good as the one you get thrown out of every Thursday night back in Demoines - says, ‘Amairicon…whoowut deed my langooage evair do to ju, dot makes ju want to abyooz eet with sowch violins’e?’)
They’d been obeying God all the while (secretly at first, so as not arouse the suspicions of the other gods) and as per instruction, the old and tiny places of reverence, the ‘holy’ places - sacred and powerful were where alters had been left in remembrance.
On those very spots, the temples and shrines came to stand.
‘For these deeds, the descendants made legends of their exploits.*
‘Yet, as time progressed and the ideals were manipulated to fit the legend… the actual ‘progress’, variously constrained by an elaborate system of law and order (contrived to meet the criteria of the ruling class of any particular moment**), had crept ever deeper into stymied redundancy.
‘Also, and maybe even more profoundly, ‘freedom’ sank to a convoluted arrangement of social etiquettes: inhibitions. As such, use of the word ‘free’ was far better understood and much more readily appreciated as a legal term than a right, or, even a spiritual altruism.
‘Which brings us full circle.
‘Slowly but surely we denigrate to savages, worse than what all those great men with the magic-touch*** worked so hard to extinguish.
‘Welcome to civilization…a consciousness at war with itself.
‘Comparatively, theirs was a better time. Better people. God-fearing, free people… depending of course on one’s understanding of free.’
The historians had it that the Grand Hall (prided as, The House of Tolerance - open to every belief and creed) housed the most exquisite creations of art and science. “Marvels they were, inventions of unrivalled genius,”…it was said. In fact the hall itself had supposedly been erected using, “…a forgotten technology of extraordinary power.”
* (This was profitably rectified in the late 20th century by the synchronizing of a marginal pole shift and a coincidental string of military coups, where by…the key figures (those still breathing) decreed the obverse, ‘exploitation of the legend’, to be spectacularly more favorable in a short-market.)
** (Be it a: “King”dom, or, a compound, a capitalism, or, a communism, there is always a ruling class; a smaller portion of that is the actual “class” that rules - although this does not necessarily imply that they possess, or, rule with ‘class’.)
*** (“Les Majesty”: the King’s touch) ***a
***a (“Les Majesty”: also - to touch the king, the highest capitol offense. For nobles, punishments included drawing and quartering, life threatening numbers of lashes, hanging, iron maidens and decapitation…whereas a mere commoner - whose shadow had not but to fall across that of its sovereign’s - only needed to be executed.)
Authors expounded on the virtues of this legendary legacy—writing passionate tales, tragic tales, epic tales—describing lavish parlors appointed with fine mosaics and furnishings of rarest ebony and iron-wood. The stall lined streets (rampant with vendors of bronze, glassware and celadon, precious gems and filigrees) were paved in gold for the carts loaded with exotic delicacies from realms so foreign, even their names were unknown!
Painters conjured females—nubile, voluptuous and nymph-like, whether a queen or mistress be—draped in gossamer veils and locks of exotic golden hair which, most times, barely concealed the enticingly pert nipples.
Sculptors took to masculine busts: courtiers and kings, senators and noblemen in stone and bronze. Their effigies still dot the avenues of Omphis to this day—the names and faces of their fanciful imaginings forgotten.
However, the wood-carvers art of ‘block-print’ was remembered best. Curative depictions, so delicate they made one think of paradise: lushly sewn hillsides teaming with herds of sheep and cattle, grazing on the endless fields of grain… birds of the air swooping through silky tresses of swirling cloud… the tops of the highest buildings just touching the sunlight.
Yet, it was said… long before it went to ruin, Omphalos fell prey to the Orchard and its Holy Throne—the Seat of Pride—and all its glory fell to shame.
Forgoing the romantic visions and sticking strictly with what was known of the actual legend, the prosaic probabilities were far darker.
There was meant to have been a war. A civil war...
Collapsing under weight of this violence - a scale of brutality unknown to the moderns - the ruling inner circle (sadistic autocrats known as ‘the Orchard’), the population and the city itself were destroyed. The glorious memorials to those great thinkers turned a jarring and horrible testament to the consequences of power, unchecked.
And, while nothing of its genuine whereabouts was ever found, the prospect of Omphalos’ discovery had remained.
The bloody blemish was something everyone was only too willing to forget.
Jaya, however, was rarely able to forget anything.
‘Big deal! So our family has a history of promoting heroes and unverifiable myths. We’re in good company.
‘This is going to make a difference to me how?
‘What am I doing here? Silly question since I’m already here.
‘Ohhh, look. There’s Hydra… and Puppis. Where’s Tula?
'...I could use some balance right now.’
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weovl reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
You seem to use “2-3 in a row” word descriptive quite a lot at the beginning.
The character names introduced in the first two paragraphs were making me hope that I didn’t have to remember all the names and keep them straight throughout the passage. You may want to introduce/describe your characters a little more if possible to get to know them.
It was a good and interesting read. I like the concept.
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Rhonda9080 reviewed Version 1 -
Read 75% of the Item
I profess to not completely understanding what I’ve just jumped into here, so I promise to keep that in mind as I read. I found the opening, Kutal’s translation, very well done, and it had the cadence and voice of ancient document.
Very good transition: Written in the Prabú’s own hand
I am following along just fine. I think the writing is great so far!
Excellent line: bloodlines mysteriously deemed ‘more pure’ – although more purely what…
Having read some of your other writing, I found this very in keeping with your style: * The “A” list in itals (unless this is an urbis formatting error—in itals for me) and parenthesis; discoveries, etc. All profound and insightful. I get the style technique. Just wanted to make note of that in case someone else grumbles about it.
I like the * ** etc. stuff a lot! Very unique style—will make readers really hate you or love you and can’t get enough. Kind of like Vonnegut :)
I like insights like this: Fate, nor, Lady Luck would ever turn away a sucker
There are so many more lines worthy of quote, I’d better not even try or you would need thousands of credits just to open.
Now I am not going to remotely lie to you and tell you I completely understand this piece and how it fits into the larger picture of what you’re trying to accomplish. But I do like it. I was drawn to it because I liked the other piece I read of yours from these “Manuscript bits”. Its not a typical novel treatment, but so what? Its something only you could write.
It might help to give just a bit in reviewer’s notes of what you are trying to accdomplish overall with this work.
This is art/literary piece, with a very unique voice. The writing to me is amazing and I wouldn’t change anything in this. Taken on its own, I don’t see how anyone could criticize the writing. If you take some hits from other reviewers (unless its grammar), I would weigh carefully, because there are a lot who won’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish with this work.
But it is brilliant! The writing is brilliant, ironic, allegoric and beautiful!
I would like to hear more about your actually concept for this as a novel.
A heartfelt “10” ON TALENT FOR THIS PIECE!
LePipette reviewed Version 1 -
Read 88% of the Item
I liked your use of an archaic sort of speech at the beginning- it flowed nicely, in tune with itself.
However.
They’d been obeying God all the while (secretly at first, so as not arouse the suspicions of the other gods) and as per instruction, the old and tiny places of reverence, the ‘holy’ places – sacred and powerful were where alters had been left in remembrance.
The second half of this sentence I found to be slightly awkward.
I believe a second hyphen is required after ‘sacred and powerful’ to align the ending words with the subject (the holy places) instead of as being read as ‘sacred and powerful were where alters had been left in remembrance’.
Just some semantics! : )
Overall, I enjoyed it, though.
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