Join Date: Jan 2012
Location: Greater London
Baelan kept his head down as they entered Abendau city. He wore a cloth around the lower part of his face and sunglasses, ostensibly for protection from the harsh sun. Even at nine years old, he knew to avoid confrontation; there were many in the city who did not welcome people from the tribes. Ordinarily, he wasn’t allowed to visit the city – his tribe were careful to protect him - but today was his name day, when he would attend the temple and be recognised as an adult.
The sunglasses, ‘ostensibly’ felt like telling, for me it was stating the obvious.
As he crossed the souk he enjoyed watching the traders, soaking in the colours and sounds. In the desert, everything was red and the ever-present dust dulled his senses. Here, he could smell the spices baking in the heat. The colours of the city dazzled him: the green of the palace gardens; the light coloured houses, reflecting the hot sun. The myriad people bumped against one another, swaying and moving to the city’s rhythm. It seemed they were part of a song, one he didn’t know. The cacophony of voices, and the frequent roar of space ships coming to the port overwhelmed him, making him both excited and not a little nervous.
I liked that section a lot, I think that was all the senses covered!
His mother stopped to purchase spices for the feast, nightfire for his ceremony and an ankhan pendant. She took her time choosing it, finally picking out one with a heavy silver chain and a large emerald stone, to match the colour of his eyes. At that, he ducked his head again. The tribe knew who he was, of course, but no one else. To be recognised would be dangerous, deadly even. There had been five mothers, he’d been told, and all but his own had perished before their children were born, murdered by Varnon. If recognised by the soldiers, he feared he would be taken to Abendau palace.
Nice tension added.
They hurried to the high stone walls which surrounded the tribal area of the city, cutting it off from the rest of Abendau. A squad of soldiers stood at the gate, checking the identification of those entering. Baelan stood in line behind his mother, knowing the lack of an ankhan would identify him as a child and should allow him through unchecked. Even so, his breath quickened. Two young men ahead were pulled to the side to have their bags checked and an ID swab taken.
Good security and the ID swab is a good idea.
They were called forward and his mother’s purchases were checked. They lifted the ankhan and Baelan was sure they would wonder at the colour and explore further. His mother’s ID was scanned and passed. The soldier beckoned to Baelan, who tried to make himself look as young as he could, for once glad of his slenderness. He walked forward, feeling sick and clammy in the hot sun.
Nice feeling, and the mother comes across well.
Baelan nodded, not able to squeeze out his thanks, and passed through the gates into the tribal enclave. Here, there were none of the imported stone houses of the city. Instead they used the traditional red desert rock. It made him feel better to see their softness instead of the harsh white. He took off his glasses, pulled the cloth from his face and stretched his hands out, relishing the warm air against his bare arms. His plain singlet was loose and cooling against his body. His mother nodded to the large building in the centre of the square, red stone with turreted towers and gilded doorways and rooftops glittering in the sun.
You have been busy Springs, very nice section.
I liked it, I thought it was very good. Nice feel and good pace with just enough tension to keep the drama going for me. The second line pulled me up but that was all, I’d forgive you if I was reading more of this standard as it is personal choice. So it’s not even nit picking, it is singular, so nit-picked!
I think you’re finding your voice, and it’s looking good. Now, stop nattering on Chrons and get on with writing, where do you find the time?