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Shattered – Episode 2: Benson Jyri #2

14 Wednesday Mar 2012

Posted by Aaron Brander in On Writing

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Tags

Fiction, Shattered, Writing

***************************************

It has been a while since I have posted any of Shattered. But, since the new year dawned, I have written at least 5,000 words a week on this. So, I thought I would share out a few scenes or parts of scenes for your enjoyment.  I’d love to hear what you think as I’m writing through this novel.

Just a note, this is still very rough. I read through it and pulled out a few big mistakes, but you will find typos and things that do not quite make sense.  Just roll with it!

For the entire first Episode and other posts from Episode 2, see this link: https://aaron-brander.com/tag/shattered/

***************************************

“JANTOR WAS the last in a very long line of tyrannical rulers.  Evil had spread throughout the world and had a toe hold in all of the goodly races of the world.  Over long centuries, evil had been rooted out and destroyed –”

“Wait. Hold on master.  Goodly races?”  Maia interrupted.

“What? Oh, I had forgotten the depth of our deception.  This may blow your pea-sized brain, milking cow.  Humans are not alone.  Other intelligent beings are all around us, if you know where to look and they want to be found.  Elves, dwarfs, nymphs, centaurs, orcs, goblins, trolls, demons, angels, dragons – they are all real.”

“B-b-but …” Maia stammered.

“I know, a bit of a shock, is it not? This next one will really hit home.  The gods are real, and they walk among us.  Balim is real.  You met him not long ago.  His brother, Memnon, was just as real.  The two of them stalked the battlefield on the Utand Plain.  Good so far?”  Jyri asked.

“Um, I guess so?” Maia responded.

Jyri could see the questions in his eyes, but it was best to forge ahead and get the whole story out there. Well, at least as much as Maia needed for the immediate task at hand.

“Good. Just try and keep up.  As I was saying, evil had been rooted out and destroyed wherever it could be found.  There were sadistic satyr clans, demonic dwarven kingdoms, egotistical elven empires – actually, all elves are a little, er, a lot egotistical. Perhaps that should be evil elven empires, but I digress.  Perhaps you get the picture?  Evil was everywhere and I did not mention entire races that cannot be redeemed and of course, the inexhaustible supply of corrupt chiefs, wicked warlords, and dastardly dictators.  Perhaps you would be surprised that our allies often didn’t know where our race stood?”

“I…I…I don’t”

“Of course you don’t.  This real knowledge is a bit hard to grasp.  We kept on fighting, but every time we beat evil down, it would pop up again somewhere else.  It was a bit like plugging a leaking dyke with your thumb.  But we persevered.  With Balim’s guidance, we cut down potential evil leaders when they were young and weak.  It seemed like we were finally getting ahead.

“It was then that Balim brought us a prophecy.

“From the lips of my Father come words of deliverance.  One son shall be put to rest, and the other shall be raised up.  With that son, the world will revel in his splendor.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt, master, but that prophecy does not make a lot of sense and seems a little ambiguous. I thought the prophecy was:

The meek shall inherit the earth and peace and justice shall reign.

Maia was starting to catch up, but it was still hard to reconcile what he had known with what was now being told to him.

“You know little of what prophecy means, baby moose.  We convened with Balim and we all agreed that he was the son to be raised up, and that world peace would follow.  It was up to all of us to make sure the prophecy came true.

“So, Balim devised a means by which we could keep score.  He enchanted the courtyard of this temple to show the influence evil had in the world, and along with it, the good in the world.  We continued to combat evil, secure in our new knowledge that we would win.  And gradually, evil’s presence faded.

“The Battle of Utand was the largest battle of the long war, and the only one where all of the goodly races fought side by side.  We gambled that we could destroy the source of evil in the world, and we did!  Or, at least we thought so. The last time we checked the courtyard, after the Battle, evil was retreating from the scene.  Peace and prosperity reigned.  Disease and despair ceased.  The prophecy had come true.

“But I have cause to question if it is still gone from the earth, and so we come here today. I am sure you have more questions, but they can wait.  Right now, we need to check the balance of the scales.”

Maia followed closely behind as Jyri made his way unerringly out of the sanctuary and along dark corridors.  They ascended a steep staircase that turned sharply at a landing every ten steps.  At the tenth lending, Maia felt a slight breeze and sensed a change in the stale air.  At the eleventh landing, light started to show the way up the stairs.

On the twelfth landing, a spectacular view greeted Maia.  He could see all around the peaceful valley he had grown up in.  He could see the stream work its way down the mountainside in jumping cascades before winding peacefully through his village. He could see each home, the blacksmith, school, mill, tanner, and a dozen other public buildings.  He could even see the farmers toiling away in their terraced fields.

He was still taking in the breathtaking vista when a shocked cry broke his reverie.

“Master!  What is it?” Maia asked as he rushed to Jyri’s side.

Jyri looked like he could not decide between vomiting or fainting.  With a visible effort, Jyri willed away his anxiety and composed himself.

“It is worse than I could have imagined.  See for yourself while I try to figure out a plan.”

Maia moved away from Jyri and to the edge of the tower.  He looked below and gasped. Though he did not grasp the full meaning of what he saw, he understood enough.

In the center of the courtyard sat a majestic, red dragon.  Its wings were spread and one paw was held out with the palm out.  Its red scales sparkled in the sunlight and added to the air of tranquility on its face.

As grand a site as the red dragon was, it was not what caught the eye.  The rest of the courtyard was a pulsing, swirling black.  It was not quite solid, but rather looked like a fog in the distance.  Soon, the fog would settle and nothing would be seen through it, but for the time being a brisk breeze kept it at bay.

The red dragon did not see the fog, and seemed even less aware of the black dragon rising up from the swirling fog behind it.  Only the head and one arm was visible.  The black head sported two sharp horns.  A massive, opened jaw filled with teeth the size of spears, and two black eyes that sucked in the light around them making the eyes blacker than night.  They filled Maia with terror to his very soul, and he quickly looked away.

The arm was stretching out towards the red dragon’s neck, one of its five talons leading the way and looking to try and rip out the red dragon’s throat.  If this courtyard truly told the balance of good and evil in the world, it looked like the scales were about to take a serious turn.

Maia tore his gaze away from the troubling scene below him and turned back to Jyri.  His master was sitting cross-legged on the floor and appeared to be finishing preparations of some kind.  Jyri sensed his attention and looked up.

“Contacting Balim formally is not usually this hasty, but I fear we are short on time for formalities.  It is apparent that we have been fooled somehow. Memnon survived that fateful day and is paving the way for his return.  It is also apparent that Balim, and I believe all the paragon races, are completely oblivious.  Stand guard while I try to contact my Lord.”

Maia heard Jyri begin chanting behind him, the musical sounds bringing peace to his soul.

But wait.

Something was out of place in the melody; some discordant note creating a timorous harmony.

Maia looked out across the towns as he heard the discord again.  And then he saw it.

Smoke!

And that sound, it was a scream!

Maia squinted into the sun and could just make out hundreds of moss colored figures running through the fields.  More screams echoed through the valley to his right.  He looked and could see more smoke and figures.

Maia turned quickly to Jyri, too frantic to notice the irony of the situation.

“Master!” he cried as he shook Jyri’s shoulder. “We are being attacked! I think they are goblins!”

Jyri jumped to his feed and rushed to the balcony.  Maia sensed, rather than saw, the change that came over the big monk. It was if the air began to vibrate around him.  The screams reached his ears again and he could now see panicked farmers being overrun by goblins in the outer fields.  Fear and anger warred within him; his parents were in one of the fields.  Maia looked to Jyri for guidance and took a shocked step backward.  Jyri had grown and his face bore a wicked grin that seemed entirely out of place on the benevolent monk.

“Good With Wood, there is a bell rope one flight of stairs up.  Ring it with all of your might.  I will go down and help herd the villagers into the safety of the temple.  When the goblins get close, break off and help me with the fighting. You will find staffs at the main doors.”

Maia did not question and ran to the top of the stairs.

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Shattered – Episode 2: Benson Jyri

07 Wednesday Mar 2012

Posted by Aaron Brander in On Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Fiction, Shattered, Writing

***************************************

It has been a while since I have posted any of Shattered. But, since the new year dawned, I have written at least 5,000 words a week on this. So, I thought I would share out a few scenes or parts of scenes for your enjoyment.  I’d love to hear what you think as I’m writing through this novel.

Just a note, this is still very rough. I read through it and pulled out a few big mistakes, but you will find typos and things that do not quite make sense.  Just roll with it!

For the entire first Episode, see this link: https://aaron-brander.com/tag/shattered/

***************************************

BENSON JYRI motioned “Good With Wood” to follow him to the temple. They strode across the tiled courtyard as the sun played across the polished tiles, throwing a dazzling light of myriad colors.  Maia dashed ahead as they neared the great circular door that guarded the entrance to the sanctum.  He grabbed at the handle and pulled with all of his might.

The door did not move.

“Move aside, ambitious firefly, you know not the secrets of the temple.”

As Maia scrambled out of his way, Jyri stretched up to his full height.  He stretched out his arms and called out to Balim in the language of the righteous.

“Font sanzle walloon sah sante, Balim!”

Light radiated from Jyri’s chest and spread to his outstretched limbs.  Before Maia’s eyes, Jyri grew in proportion until he was bigger than the door to the temple.  Jyri then reached out with his supernaturally large hand and pulled gently on the handle of the door.  The portal swung open effortlessly.

“And that, baby squirrel, is how one enters the temple of the Iabro Monks.

Maia merely stared on in fascination as Jyri stooped to cross the threshold, returning to his normal, gigantic self as he did so.

“That’s one trick I need to learn,” he muttered to himself as he hurried to join Jyri inside. The door swung closed behind them.

Jyri stood waiting in the center of the room.  Glowing, red orbs punctuated the darkness and dimly revealed the far corners of the room.  Maia could make out no smoke or flames as the source of the light.  He could hear the sound of flowing water, but was unable to see where it was.  He could not see much at all, in fact, except for his master’s face. Somehow, it was still visible in the gloom.

“Eli Maia, what do you know about the battle for the soul of the world that took place on the scorched plains of the Utand a score of years ago?”, Jyri asked in a loud voice.

“The evil Lord Jantor had been cast out of Sanjing two years before the battle.  The countryside revolted against him.  Every man, woman, and child that could fight, did so.  His army was routed at Novant and pursued across the Utolla Desert until he was caught and surrounded on the Utand.  Our people were joined by a host of knights from beyond the Saltsprayer Ocean.  Their princess, the fair and beautiful Narral, had been kidnapped by Jantor and later murdered by his hand in a fit of jealousy.

“Our combined forces surround his army and destroyed it to the last man.  Since that time, our land has enjoyed peace and tranquility as foretold by our benevolent elder council.”

“Very good, industrious ant.  You are living proof that ignorance can be taught and laziness instilled at birth.”  Jyri looked pleased with himself; Maia, just confused.

“You have recited to me exactly what has been preached by the Elder Council since that fateful day.  You must forget it all, if you are to learn the truth.  Would you care to know it?”, Jyri asked.

“I …”

“Wait!  Before you answer, you must realize that knowledge changes everything. Your path, your faith, your very existence will be like the weather on a spring day.  All will change, and quickly.  But without this knowledge, you cannot join me.”

“I wish to know the truth, master,” intoned Maia solemnly.

“Very well,” Jyri began.  “Let the light of knowledge show you the truth!  Hmm. Alright, that was a bit over the top. The truth is dramatic, but it need not be theatrical.

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Shattered – Episode 2: The Mage

29 Wednesday Feb 2012

Posted by Aaron Brander in On Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Fantasy, Fiction, Shattered, Writing

***************************************

It has been a while since I have posted any of Shattered. But, since the new year dawned, I have written at least 5,000 words a week on this. So, I thought I would share out a few scenes or parts of scenes for your enjoyment.  I’d love to hear what you think as I’m writing through this novel.

Just a note, this is still very rough. I read through it and pulled out a few big mistakes, but you will find typos and things that do not quite make sense. Just roll with it!

For the entire first Episode, see this link: https://aaron-brander.com/tag/shattered/

***************************************

Percy heaved a great sigh, the force of which stirred up dust from the old parchment that he was studying.  The Farming Practices of the Mid-Velurian Peasant Class made for a long and boring day. And yet, his desire and his purpose was to learn all there was to know of the world.  It was the very reason he had constructed the Tower of Knowledge many years ago, when he was still a young man.

Percy was no longer that young man in physical appearance. He was not much in physical appearance at all.  Percy had left that all behind after helping his friends rid the world of evil at the Battle of Utand. Since then, his hair had grown stringy and wild with neglect. His body had wasted away until he was little more than flesh and bones. His gaunt aspect exaggerated the hook of his sharp nose.

He looked up from Farming Practices and out of the window to his right. He was in the room at the top of the tower and the views of the surrounding countryside from twenty stories up were magnificent.

Percy hardly noticed it anymore. He had no eye for the mountains rising magnificently on the horizon, the wide, brown river cutting across the landscape and past the tower, or the dark, full pine forest that radiated out from the tower.  Instead, his mind was on the hundred or so books in his reading room. They were the books that he was currently studying. His mind was quick and sharp, and he devoured the knowledge in the books faster than most would devour a good meal after days living off of roots and berries.

Most books, that was.  He had been working on Farming Practices for at least an hour now, and was barely half way through it. At this pace, he was starting to wonder if he would get the typical four books in today.

It was time for a change of scenery. That was what he needed to get his mind going again.

Percy stood, and walked slowly and painfully down the stairs.  He wondered where that unreliable apprentice of his was. What was his name again? Ah, yes. Petr.

Percy was so in thrall to his own thoughts that he once again walked right passed Petr and the breakfast that he held out to him.  Petr did his best to keep his master fed, but it was a rare success to bring the meal to bear.

Down Percy went, passing through floor after floor of reading rooms full of books and scrolls and parchments.   Percy passed his living quarters on the tenth floor, and Petr’s rooms on the ninth, and the kitchen, and the reception hall and the art gallery, and the treasure room. He did not notice where he was going so intent was he on his musings.  Petr trailed silently behind, ready to intervene if his master did not realize he was walking down the stairs or out a window.

Percy reached the ground floor and walked out of the tower towards the training ground.  Petr was surprised and a bit concerned. He had not tended to the training ground in years, as Percy had not paid attention to it in thrice as long.  Since the Battle, Percy had not trained once.

Percy stopped walking and blinked a few times. He looked around, clearly confused to be out of doors.  The wind rustled his stringy, white hair as absentmindedly as Percy himself.

“What a strange place to find myself,” Percy muttered. He looked at the training grounds, and smiled. The smile lit his face, and had Petr been close enough, he would have seen a glimpse of the man Percy once was.

Percy moved a few more steps and stepped in front of the training ground. He faced into what was essentially a large cave, except the cave was completely above ground and man made.  Inside the dome of the cave, half walls, barrels, crates and cliffs formed cover and variation in terrain.  The dome was solidly built out of stone, and invested with runes of power meant to contain the fury of Percy’s spells within the cave.  Percy wielded great power and he did not want to level the surrounding landscape when he was practicing.

Petr took a gamble on his master’s mood and muttered the incantation that brought the training ground to life.

Out of the dome, a dozen ugly goblins charged forward in a rough wedge. The leading goblin, a particular rough and dirty specimen hefted a giant mace as he bellowed.

Percy looked up and regarded the mass of marauding goblins. His bushy eyebrows raised up and he was genuinely startled.  Petr cringed and hoped that he had not overstepped the bounds. He readied the spell that would override the training spells and send the goblins back to whatever dimension they had been pulled from.

Then Percy turned to face them. His eyes lost their glaze of introspection and he focused intently on the leading goblin.

It exploded.

There was no sound. There was no fury. There were no screams.  One moment the ugly thing was charging and yelling. The next it was bloody, messy goo covering the the other goblins and stopping them short in their bewilderment.

Percy pointed at the next goblin, his focus never wavering. This time a narrow, controlled beam of fire drilled through its head.  Percy turned to the next and killed it with a beam of ice. It was light for the next, then wind flung a goblin hard against a wall. The earth opened and took a pair down before closing and crushing them out of site.  Percy killed each goblin with precision and control and gruesome variety.

“Thank you Petr, that’s enough for now.”

Petr regarded his master with awe and not a little fear.

“Master, that was astounding. Would you teach me how?”

Percy smiled. “Of course not. There is no need. What would be the point in learning destructive magics like those when there is no one that would benefit.  We must focus your learning and studying on farming and weather and government.  We will find ways to better the lives of our fellow men.”

Percy turned and began walking to the tower to begin the long ascent to his room. He wasn’t sure what it was that led him down to the tower.

“Was that you, Wodanaz?  I have not heard from you in many years.” Percy said to the air.  Like every time he had asked since the Battle, there was no response.

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The Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss

22 Tuesday Mar 2011

Posted by Aaron Brander in On Books

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

4 stars, 5 stars, Fantasy, Fiction, Patrick Rothfuss

A few years back I read a book that changed my perspective of the fantasy genre.  I’ve enjoyed stories of swords, sorcery, orcs and heroic quests for a long time now.  But for me, after you get past Tolkien’s seminal work, the rest of the stories tend to devolve into the same old story of an unlikely hero, a great evil, an impossible task, and eventual victory. 

Now don’t get me wrong.  There are any number of ways where that tried and true formula can turn into a very enjoyable book.  That’s why I keep reading fantasy.  Rothfuss, though, with his debut novel of The Name of the Wind, and the recent sequel, The Wise Man’s Fear, has found a way to take a sweeping epic and turn it into something infinitely more intimate.

Kvothe, our flame haired protagonist, trouper, hero and innkeeper has led an exciting, yet short life.  When the book opens, we find him assuming the mantle of a mild mannered innkeeper. He works very hard to hide who he is. And who he happens to be is a legend in his own time. Everyone knows of and tells stories of Kvothe.

In an interesting storytelling device, a man named The Chronicler has tracked Kvothe down and convinced him to have his story recorded. To set the record straight, so to speak.  Thus begins a masterful tale of tales.  Over the course of three days, Kvothe will set down how he became a master magician, the smartest kid at the University at a time when most children have not thought of attending school yet, slayed a dragon, outsmarted a Queen of the Fae, killed a king and started a war.  Yet when Kvothe tells it, you can see how a simple story can become a legend. He isn’t humanities only hope from a Dark Lord. Rather, he’s a kid driven to find an answer to a question. With an indomitable will, he makes things happen.

While I enjoy the story that Kvothe is telling, and innumerable stories that are told to him or by him to other characters during his recounting, it is not the story that draws me to these books.  In the end, you can still boil this down to unlikely hero, a great evil, an impossible task, and eventual victory. Or so it seems two books into what appears to be a trilogy.

No, rather it is Rothfuss’ masterful grasp of the language and the art of telling a story.  His description of Kvothe playing music can move you to tears.  You will feel Kvothe’s triumphs and defeats.  You will read pages of description of arcane magics and systems of science in a make believe land, and later try to replicate it yourself fully expecting it to work in our world.

One last superlative for this book. I reread the first book in 3 wonderful days. I picked up the 1000 page sequel and had it done in under a week. I typically read before bed and fall asleep within 30 minutes. Instead, hours later, I would still be reading. I had to force myself to put the book down and go to sleep lest my job suffer. And even then, I felt myself fully immersed in the world he created even when I was not reading.  It’s that good.

As for Rothfuss, I am a fan of the man as much as the writing. His Worldbuilders fund raising drive has raised hundreds of thousands of dollars, which he has been kind enough to match. His blog is all sorts of witty and funny. Check him out. http://blog.patrickrothfuss.com

The Name of the Wind: 4.5
The Wise Man’s Fear: 5

You need to buy this book and read it. It’s #1 on the New York Times Bestseller’s list as of today (3/21/2011)

Buy it Now at Amazon

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