2000....

[springs]

eurggh, it's been threatening for a while... anyway, I kind of don't want to put up anything that spoils, so this is a scene from early in the second book, and a rare blast of description from me. I wouldn't mind maybe getting impressions of the pov character, just out of interest. As ever, all comments gratefully received.



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.

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.

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.

He turned and looked at the palace which dominated the whole city. It was built of glistening white stone, in contrast to the red of the desert rock, huge in scale, it’s domed turrets framed in coloured tiles which seemed to shift in the sun. He wondered if his father, the Emperor, knew that Baelan of the Benadii was his son. He was sure he didn’t, but his urge to be known seemed to cry out across the city, the whole way to the palace, and it seemed impossible his father couldn’t feel him here, watching.

“Baelan,” said his mother, and tugged his arm. He realised he was standing too openly, his cloth falling from his face, exposing him, his too-big glasses slipping down from his eyes. He pushed them back, ducked his head and followed her, glancing back at the palace, just once.

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.

Baelan tried to think what he would do if they asked for his ID. Run? He’d have to; to fight would reveal his powers, and they’d take his swab, for sure. His mother reached to him and stroked his arm. He nodded but still stood poised and alert.

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.

“Name?”

“Baelan.”

“Tribe?”

Why so many questions? “Benadii.”

He swallowed and waited, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to remove his glasses.

“Why are you visiting the city?”

The soldier seemed genuinely interested, but Baelan knew better. They, more than anyone, were the enemies of his people. He thought about lying, in case the soldier decided he was old enough to be ID’ed, but he’d seen the ankhar and the nightfire; a lie would be too obvious.

“It’s my naming day.”

“You don’t look old enough,” said the soldier. When Baelan didn’t reply he jerked his head at the gate. “You can go through.”

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.

“Go, Baelan. You must be pure tonight.”

He took a small roll of clothes from her before entering the temple. He stopped before the icon in the porch-way and bowed, murmuring his obedience to his lady. Her eyes watched him from the picture, soft and kind, and he prayed for her continued good health.

He moved forward to the sunken pool at the centre of the temple, shedding his clothes before entering its cool, cleansing water, naked in the temple of his lady, offering everything he was to her. He swam - tasting the slight soapiness of the water - and stood under the central fountain’s cascading water. He let it pour over his head and down his face while he said the blessing of his lady the required eight times, before swimming back. Dressing in the ornate tunic and wide legged trousers his mother had given him, he left his feet bare. This was what his father was famous for, fighting barefoot, yet his tribal brothers did it every day without thinking about it.

He walked around the pool and lit a candle for his mother, but none for his father, and took it with him. Reaching the statue of his lady, the Empress, he sank to his knees beside the others being named today and joined the chanting hymn to her. Later, much later, they would come for him but for now there was just the chanting and his Lady, granting her munificence

[The Judge]

Springs, congratualtions on the 2000th -- but... er... could you sort out the formatting please. You've lost all the line spacing...

[ctg]

Congratulations. It didn't take you long to rank up TWO THOUSAND posts , did it? Well done. With your record you've passed four if not six thousand, when I reach the next one as I'm such a old poop.

Originally Posted by springs1971

Baelan kept his head down as they entered Abendau city. He loosened scarf a little bit but made sure it didn't fall off his face, like the sunglasses seem to be doing all of the time. Even at nine years old, he knew to avoid confrontation; there were many in the city who did not welcome people from the tribes. And ordinarily he wouldn't been there, but today wasn't just any day. Not only it was his name day, but it was also a day, when they would recognise him as an adult.

The noise from the traders seemed to grow louder, when he entered in the souk. In the desert, everything was red and quiet as the ever-present dust dulled every bit of sense. But in here he could even smell the spices baking in the heat and see all shades of colours. And what a colours they were. The city dazzled him. There was so much of green. He'd to be careful as myriad people bumped against one another, while they swayed and moved 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.

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.

Sorry. Cannot resist. "These are not the droids you're looking for."

I also would like to apologise about editing your beginning, but I felt that I should show you how it could have reflected the character voice better. The story is very beautiful and really, really engaging. So please forgive me if I cocked it up.

He turned and looked at the palace which dominated the whole city. It was built of glistening white stone, in contrast to the red of the desert rock, huge in scale, it’s domed turrets framed in coloured tiles which seemed to shift in the sun. He wondered if his father, the Emperor, knew that Baelan of the Benadii was his son. He was sure he didn’t, but his urge to be known seemed to cry out across the city, the whole way to the palace, and it seemed impossible his father couldn’t feel him here, watching.

“Baelan.” His mother tugged his arm.

Baelan realised that not only he was standing too openly but the cloth was also in danger to fall off from his face with his too-big glasses. He pushed them back, ducked his head and followed her, glancing back at the palace, just once.

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. Nice. Well done, but...

Baelan tried to think what he would do if they asked for his ID. Run? He’d have to; to fight would reveal his powers, and they’d take his swab, for sure. His mother reached to him and stroked his arm. He nodded but still stood poised and alert.

I don't think you need this bit as the reader gets it without you telling them so.

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.

“Name?”

“Baelan.”

“Tribe?”

Why so many questions? “Benadii.”

He swallowed and waited, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to remove his glasses.

“Why are you visiting the city?”

The soldier seemed genuinely interested, but Baelan knew better. They, more than anyone, were the enemies of his people. He thought about lying, in case the soldier decided he was old enough to be ID’ed, but he’d seen the ankhar and the nightfire; a lie would be too obvious.

“It’s my naming day.”

“You don’t look old enough,” said the soldier. When Baelan didn’t reply he jerked his head at the gate. “You can go through.”

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.

“Go, Baelan. You must be pure tonight.”

Again, very nice, very entertaining and extremely engaging. I like it, but...

He took a small roll of clothes from her before entering the temple. He stopped before the icon in the porch-way and bowed, murmuring his obedience to his lady. Her eyes watched him from the picture, soft and kind, and he prayed for her continued good health.

This feels mostly as if it's out of place. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm too old.

He moved forward to the sunken pool at the centre of the temple, shedding his clothes before entering its cool, cleansing water, naked in the temple of his lady, offering everything he was to her. He swam - tasting the slight soapiness of the water - and stood under the central fountain’s cascading water. He let it pour over his head and down his face while he said the blessing of his lady the required eight times, before swimming back. Dressing in the ornate tunic and wide legged trousers his mother had given him, he left his feet bare. This was what his father was famous for, fighting barefoot, yet his tribal brothers did it every day without thinking about it.

He walked around the pool and lit a candle for his mother, but none for his father, and took it with him. Reaching the statue of his lady, the Empress, he sank to his knees beside the others being named today and joined the chanting hymn to her. Later, much later, they would come for him but for now there was just the chanting and his Lady, granting her munificence

I was expecting the whole time, when he got naked, a harem or half-naked big breasted woman come to bathe him. Guess that's not sort of material for this book and I'm sure that the heat is making me to see illusions.

It's very nice Springs. Well done.

[HareBrain]

2,000 posts in eight months, and you've found time to write something as well.

I thought this was jolly good, and I'm going to restrict myself to teensy bits of tightening, and cases where you've worded something in such a way that's easy to misread.

Originally Posted by springs1971

Baelan kept his head down as they entered Abendau city. He wore a cloth around the lower part of his face and sunglasses [I read "face and sunglasses" as a group, so the cloth is also wrapped round the lower part of his sunglasses. I'd reverse the order, or maybe use a comma after face] ostensibly [probably not a word from the vocab of a nine-year-old, so slightly distancing from POV] 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.

As he crossed the souk he enjoyed watching the traders, soaking in the colours and sounds [the traders are soaking in the colours and sounds? But it's borderline]. In the desert, everything was red and the ever-present dust dulled his senses. Here, he could smell [try to avoid "he could sensory input X"] 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 [yay!] 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. [Not sure about swaying and moving, it sounds too dancelike. Also, you could lose the "seemed" and tighten up thusly: "The myriad people bumped against one another, moving to the city’s rhythm, a song he didn’t know" or thereabouts (edit: you'd need to chamge "bumped" to something else or it doesn't work. In fact, you might want to forget I spoke)].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 like the setting.]

His mother stopped to purchase spices for the feast, nightfire [hey!] 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. [Are his eyes really emerald? If not, how does he know that's why she's choosing it? I think a couple of lines of dialogue here might help sketch in their relationship].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.

He turned and looked at the palace which dominated the whole city. [You don't need to tell us he looked. "He turned. The palace dominated the whole city".] It was built of glistening white stone, in contrast to the red of the desert rock, huge in scale, it’s [no apostrophe] domed turrets framed [framed? I don't get what gthis means in terms of architecture] in coloured tiles which seemed [seemed again; but how do they seem to shift? Is it the colour that shifts?] to shift in the sun. He wondered if his father, the Emperor, knew that Baelan of the Benadii was his son. [This suggests that he thinks the emperor knows at least that Baelan exists -- is this true? If not, maybe add "or even that he existed".] He was sure he didn’t, but his urge to be known seemed [seemed!] to cry out across the city, the whole way to the palace, and it seemed [aargh!] impossible his father couldn’t feel him here, watching. [Is "watching" the right word. He's just staring at the palace isn't he?]

“Baelan,” said his mother, and tugged his arm. He realised he was standing too openly, his cloth falling from his face, exposing him, [might not need "exposing him"] his too-big glasses slipping down from his eyes. He pushed them back, ducked his head and followed her, glancing back at the palace, just once.

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.

Baelan tried to think what he would do if they asked for his ID. Run? He’d have to; to fight would reveal his powers, and they’d take his swab, for sure. His mother reached to him and stroked his arm. He nodded but still stood poised and alert.

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.

“Name?”

“Baelan.”

“Tribe?”

Why so many questions? “Benadii.”

He swallowed and waited, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to remove his glasses.

“Why are you visiting the city?”

The soldier seemed genuinely interested, but Baelan knew better. They, more than anyone, were the enemies of his people. He thought about lying, in case the soldier decided he was old enough to be ID’ed, but he’d seen the ankhar and the nightfire; a lie would be too obvious.

“It’s my naming day.”

“You don’t look old enough,” said the soldier. When Baelan didn’t reply he jerked his head at the gate. “You can go through.”

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.

“Go, Baelan. You must be pure tonight.”

He took a small roll of clothes from her before entering the temple. He stopped before the icon in the porch-way and bowed, murmuring his obedience to his lady. Her eyes watched him from the picture, soft and kind, and he prayed for her continued good health.

He moved forward to the sunken pool at the centre of the temple, shedding his clothes before entering its cool, cleansing water, naked in the temple of his lady, offering everything he was to her. He swam - tasting the slight soapiness of the water - and stood under the central fountain’s cascading water. He let it pour over his head and down his face while he said the blessing of his lady the required eight times, before swimming back. Dressing in the ornate tunic and wide legged trousers his mother had given him, he left his feet bare. This was what his father was famous for, fighting barefoot, yet his tribal brothers did it every day without thinking about it.

He walked around the pool and lit a candle for his mother, but none for his father, and took it with him. Reaching the statue of his lady, the Empress, he sank to his knees beside the others being named today and joined the chanting hymn to her. Later, much later, they would come for him but for now there was just the chanting and his Lady, granting her munificence

Not much to say about the later bits; it flows well and is interesting. Not sure what kind of comment you want about the POV character, but he seems engaging enough and his story and potential certainly hold my interest.

[springs]

Originally Posted by ctg

Sorry. Cannot resist. "These are not the droids you're looking for."

, really I don't get it, desert planet, magical powers, evil leaders... gaghh.


It's very nice Springs. Well done.

Ty.


2,000 posts in eight months, and you've found time to write something as well.
Congratulations. It didn't take you long to rank up TWO THOUSAND posts , did it? Well done. With your record you've passed four if not six thousand, when I reach the next one as I'm such a old poop.

Um, yes, apologies to all, it is slowing -really it is - but without all my many, many questions and the even more answers, I'd be still biting the end of my biro and wondering if this writing lark was such a good idea....


Very useful, HB, am now adding seemed to my list of words to highlight in bold and kill.... looking and watched are reduced, now a new insidious creature has crept in. GAh.

[Glitch]

Originally Posted by springs1971

but today was his name day

'name day' jars a bit. Should it be 'naming day' ? Also he refers to it as such later in the scene.

Originally Posted by springs1971

there were many in the city who did not welcome people from the tribes

The cloth around the face to me suggests he comes from the desert, a tribesman. Later in this scene you show him discarding the cloth at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps show how he only wears it to blend in; which would mean show us how others are dressed.

Originally Posted by springs1971

finally picking out one with a heavy silver chain and a large emerald stone

Sounds expensive. Is his tribe wealthy; does this purchase empty his mothers purse ?

Originally Posted by springs1971

He moved forward to the sunken pool at the centre of the temple, shedding his clothes before entering its cool, cleansing water

Does he have any emotions associated with stripping off in public?

Good scene. I am interested in how this carries on from the previous story.

[Glitch]

Originally Posted by springs1971

am now adding seemed to my list of words to highlight in bold and kill.

Add it to Word's auto correct feature replacing it with '####' or something. Will give more interesting results

[David Evil Overlord]

About the only thing I can add to what has already been said is: "As he crossed the souk he enjoyed watching the traders, soaking in the colours and sounds."

Yes, I know they mean totally different things, but the two words are a little too similar and too close together, IMHO.

[springs]

ty, Glitch, I think naming day would be better....

DEO, I'm going to have to admit that this was mentioned by an alpha who did a read through (as was swaying and moving), and I stubbornly ignored them wondering if the double sound gave a sort of slow, lazy impression. Evidently it doesn't, so I shall now doff my hat to the advice given and stop being stubborn.... thanks all.

[Bowler1]

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?

[Boneman]

2,000! congratulations! If they included the playrooms, you'd be 3,000 at least. (I did suggest that ten 'frivolous' postings could equal one 'serious' posting, but the algorhythms run by the computer couldn't hack it...)

This is good stuff, and like HB, I only want to tighten it. And I think 'name day' should stay - gives it a slight exoticness, that draws our attention, I feel. The sun is shining here and I'm due a meeting to discuss beer, fish and chips and fiction, so I apologise if it's a bit rushed. I've just deleted what I think could go - mostly minor repetitions. I've put a X where I dunnit.

Originally Posted by springs1971

Baelan kept his head down as they entered Abendau city. but they haven't have they? They're still outside crossing the souk. they only enter the city when the guards check him out...I'd finish the sentence at 'down'. Or is the souk inside the city? Confused.com 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.X But today was his name day, when he would attend the temple and be recognised as an adult.

As he crossed the souk he watched the traders; soaking in the colours and sounds. In the desert, everything was red.X 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.

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. X 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. X

He turned and looked at the palace. It dominated the whole city. X Built of glistening white stone, in contrast to the red of the desert rock, huge in scale, it’s its domed turrets framed in coloured tiles X seemed to shift in the sun. He wondered if X the Emperor knew that Baelan of the Benadii was his son. He was sure he didn’t, but his urge to be known seemed to cry out across the city, the whole way to the palace, and it seemed impossible his father couldn’t feel him here, watching.

“Baelan,” said his mother, and tugged his arm. He realised he was standing too openly, his cloth falling from his face, exposing him, his too-big glasses slipping down from his eyes. He pushed them back, ducked his head and followed her, glancing back at the palace, just once.

They hurried to the high stone walls which surrounded the tribal area of the city, cutting it off from the rest of Abendau. AAh, they were in the city... silly me. A squad of soldiers stood at the gate. X 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.

Baelan tried to think what he would do if they asked for his ID. Run? He’d have to; to fight would reveal his powers, and they’d take his swab, for sure. His mother reached to him and stroked his arm. He nodded but X stood poised and alert.

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.

“Name?”

“Baelan.”

“Tribe?”

“Benadii.”

He swallowed and waited.X

“Why are you visiting the city?”


X
“It’s my naming day.”

“You don’t look old enough,” said the soldier. When Baelan didn’t reply he jerked his head at the gate. “You can go through.”

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.

“Go, Baelan. You must be pure tonight.”

He took a small roll of clothes from her before entering the temple. He stopped before the icon in the porch-way and bowed, murmuring his obedience to his lady. Her eyes watched him from the picture, soft and kind, and he prayed for her continued good health.

He moved forward to the sunken pool at the centre of the temple, shedding his clothes before entering its cool, cleansing water, naked in the temple of his lady, offering everything he was to her. He swam - tasting the slight soapiness of the water - and stood under the central fountain’s cascading water. He let it pour over his head and down his face while he said the blessing of his lady the required eight times, before swimming back. Dressing in the ornate tunic and wide legged trousers his mother had given him, he left his feet bare. This was what his father was famous for, fighting barefoot, yet his tribal brothers did it every day without thinking about it.

He walked around the pool and lit a candle for his mother, X and took it with him. Reaching the statue of his lady, the Empress, he sank to his knees beside the others being named today and joined the chanting hymn to her. Later, much later, they would come for him but for now there was just the chanting and his Lady, granting her munificence

Just an 'onest opinion, guv, and ignore what yer don't like. Good work...

[springs]

Thanks Bowler, and Boneman, very useful. And Boneman, you didn't mention telling, yay! A first.....

I'll also say a quick thanks to my alphas - they know who they are - who did check it over a week or two ago (not specifically for this!) - their advice has been spot on....