Author Journey: February 3, 2023 - Everything Changes and Everything Stays the Same

 Welcome fellow readers and writers! I can hardly believe how January flew by. Some pretty nice things have already happened this year, which have encouraged us through the difficulties. Read on and I'll share a little bit.

Author Journey: Everything Changes & Everything Stays the Same 

This past week, I didn't get much writing done besides the blog. Our family had to go out of town. So my work was pretty much limited to any editing I needed to do for the blog. 

Writer's Life: Here's the Tea

My girls love to say 'spill the tea' and while it's not gossiping to talk about your own life, I just thought it'd be fun to start using this particular artwork for this section. I wonder how many noticed the change. 

Spartacus has been lively over the past couple of weeks. He loves sitting in open windows. I happened to catch a few pictures of him there. Here's one of the better ones. 

Just Keep Writing: Friday Fascicles

If this is your first time participating in this kind of writing exercise, you're in for a treat. If you've done this with me before, just keep scrolling for the prompt.

Rules:

1. You can use any/all of the words and/or the photo in the prompt below to create a unique written work. Fiction or nonfiction, poetry or prose, even lyrics are acceptable.  
2. Please keep the material you write clean (ie. nothing R-rated or worse) if you wish to share the link to your work here, as well as if you link back to my site. I strive to keep my site free of such things. My readers know and expect this. I respect your right to write whatever you feel you need to write. And you're free to use my prompts. But if your material is graphic, I'd rather not view it, and most of my readers will not wish to. 
3. Have fun! This type of exercise is perfect for growing in the writing craft, or for helping through a rough patch in your current WIP. If you're looking to push your author limits and you normally write in nonfiction prose, try a whimsical collection of lyrics. If you normally write poems about real life events, try your hand at a fanfic. Give yourself some room to explore.

Don't forget to leave a link to your creation (unless you're writing graphic material) so my readers and I can check out your work. I'd appreciate a link back to this post to help me reach more readers, but it's not required. 

Photo by Valeria Boltneva

Please take a moment to visit Valeria's wonderful gallery on Pexels.com. I don't think you'll be sorry.

Just Keep Writing: Set Free 

Here are a few things you might want to know before reading this little snapshot story. 

• Amboryl - (ahm BORE yeel) 
• Alda’ir - (AHL dah EER)
• Faila - (FIE lah)
• Bors - (BOREZ)
• Frein - (FRAIN)
• Hiul’n - (HUGHL n)
• Tugansol - (too GAHN sole) - Shinnoahn name for the Creator deity
• Linnel - (leen nehl) - A finer material used to write or draw on made from plant fibers
• Skolar’el - (SKOHL ahr ehl) - a place where scholars go to train

A rogue scrap of linnel caught the light. Amboryl flicked her eyes first left, then right. No one else seemed to notice it. It was torn, likely refuse someone had dropped under Alda’ir’s chair accidentally. He never allowed such sloppiness in his domain. 

After giving it some thought, she decided. She didn’t want his wrath coming down on her for not picking up the refuse. Gathering and disposing of trash was her task, after all. Still, she trembled. Moving from her designated position without permission could result in the same wrathful reaction and a night of sleeplessness and pain. 

Making certain no eyes were on her, she quickly and quietly retrieved the bit of linnel and stuffed it into a pocket of her pale purple acolyte robe until she could find an appropriate receptacle. 

When Amboryl first considered joining a scholar’s guild, this wasn’t what she’d imagined. No one in service with her said anything. None of her colleagues spoke up or fought back against the gross mismanagement or horrible conduct. Everyone accepted this as normal. She couldn’t imagine Tugansol wanted the Children treated in such a way. Then again, she was only an acolyte, still learning what the ancient writings said about the Holy Breath and their precious Y’Dahnndrya. 

Something struck the back of her head, sending her reeling forward. She struggled to catch her balance and failed, tumbling to her knees on the unforgiving cobblestone floor of the below-ground room. Someone gasped lightly but otherwise, all sound ceased. In the silence, her whimper of pain rang out like an alarm. 

“Quit your whining, Acolyte.” Alda’ir sneered. “Get up. Why did you move from your appointed place?”

Amboryl rose to her feet as quickly as her severely bruised knees would allow. Her leg wrappings stuck to them and her heart sank. There’d be wounds to deal with much later. “My sincere apologies, Master Alda’ir. There was a bit of refuse on the floor under your chair. I was in charge of picking up refuse this dawning.”

“You were charged with that task when the suns rose. Why have you shirked your duties?” The sharp rebuke and determined refusal to acknowledge she made the right choice made her heart burn within her. Surely, this was no way to treat true Children. And surely this man was no true Child. The fire of anger started a slowly and spread much too quickly. 

Amboryl clamped her jaw. Refusing to speak would result in more painful abuse. Speaking, though, would result in a much higher level of the same and she had to be well enough to follow through on the decision she made now. 

Dusking would be her last moment in this slave-hold. No true Child would own a slave and neither would they treat others like that. 

By the time Alda’ir was done making an example of her, one of her fellow acolytes had to half-carry her to her chamber. When they were out of sight of the others, he lifted her and carried her the rest of the way, settling her gently on her own mat. Then as silently as a M’Neshunnayan tsa’gra, he left her there. 

Finally, she was free for a time. Tears streamed down her temples, soaking the threadbare fabric stuffed with a thin layer of old, dried grasses. Her resolve was set now. She would leave and no one was getting in her way. Rolling onto her side, she pushed herself up. Pair seared her right side. It was possible he’d broken a bone this time. She lifted up a prayer to Tugansol for strength, healing, and help in her time of need. 

A rattle at her door stopped her breath and left her cold with dread. She needn’t have worried, though. It was the same acolyte who had helped her to her room. She didn’t know his name and he didn’t know hers. One of the first things they were told when they arrived with bright eyes and hopeful smiles, was that they were not to speak unless spoken to by Alda’ir. They had no name, no voice, no property. Everything in this place belonged to Alda’ir, as did the acolytes until their training was completed. 

Amboryl struggled to rise, but he waved her back down and raised the same hand and placed a finger to his lips. It was hard to see in the fading light of the chamber, but she thought he had light eyes. Right now, they glinted like ice shards under a thunderous brow. She nodded and settled back onto her mat, sitting, though. 

She hadn’t noticed, but the acolyte held a small beaker in his other hand. A cloth dangled from two of the fingers. She raised questioning eyes to his. He gestured to her knees and back to the beaker and cloth. She nodded and reached for it. He reluctantly handed it over and she questioned him again without speaking. As he bent to give her the beaker, he put his mouth near her ear and whispered so softly, she had to work hard to catch all the words. 

“We’re ready to leave when you are, Amboryl. Let me help you with this so we can leave as soon as the suns set and before Dahl sheds her full light.” 

He knew her name. How? And who was ready to leave? What did it all mean? Was it a trick? 

“Please trust me.”

This acolyte had been under Alda’ir’s hard tutelage longer than she had. What had he seen in her to make him think she wouldn’t betray him to the man? Or what had he seen in her to make him think she wanted to leave? So many questions and there was no time. She was leaving this dusking. Whether this acolyte or any of the mysterious others went with her was moot. 

She nodded and shifted her long brown tunic to reveal only her knees. He applied a cream from the beaker her carried to the open wounds after he cleaned them with the damp, cool rag. 

Leaning near her ear, he whispered again. “And your side.” 

It wasn’t a question. Reluctance made her sluggish. No true follower of Tugansol would be so immodest. Grabbing her threadbare blanket, she covered her legs. Then she shifted her outer robe to reveal only the portion of her side which hurt the worst. The man was gentle, but fiery slashes scraped paths of pain along her ribs with each application. 

“My apologies, Amboryl,” he whispered. “Almost done.” 

The moment he moved away, she worked her outer garment back into place. She’d just finished readjusting it to cover her knees when her chamber door opened. She stifled the gasp of fright as the man spun on his heel, ready, it seemed to fight. He had a short, wide blade in one hand. Where it came from, Amboryl didn’t know. But his reaction reassured her of his true intention. 

The figure who stepped through the door was dressed like them, but had a smaller frame. When her would-be rescuer turned back to her, he bent to her ear to whisper, “This is Faila. She’s coming with us. There are two others.” When she nodded, he stepped back. In two strides, he was beside Faila, leaning in to whisper something to her. In silent response, she held up a rough sack. He nodded and took it from her, slinging the rope which secured it over one broad shoulder. 

Then they waited. Min was on the rise and the pale, silvery light of Dahl would soon filter through the leaves of the tree which concealed her tiny window. Well, it may have been big enough to slip through, but it was so high on the wall, she couldn’t reach the sill. Dread pooled in her stomach. What if the others had been caught? What if they’d changed their minds?

Amboryl shifted her gaze to the tall, thin acolyte. He stood in the middle of the room, facing her door. No fidgeting, no tapping of his bare toes, not even a twitchy finger tapping an elbow. He was confident they’d come. She took a breath and released it slowly. 

Once again her door opened. This time, two men stepped in. The first acolyte faced her and bent to whisper one more time. “The larger one is Bors. The smaller is Frein, Faila’s sibling.” He shifted and she grabbed for the front of his tunic. 

“But who are you?” she asked, then released him. 

He froze, then whispered, “I’m Hiul’n.”

When he backed away this time, she let him go. She had what she needed. A hand suddenly appeared in front of her. She placed hers in it and Hiul'n helped her rise to her feet. Amboryl gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand. How she would keep up with four hale and hearty acolytes was a mystery to her, but she was determined. 

Frein opened her door. It was then she realized there hadn’t been a single squeak of a hinge, nor a click of the holding mechanism. She glanced up to see Hiul'n looking down at her, his brow wrinkled in question. 

She wasn’t sure what the question was, but it didn’t matter. She nodded and hoped he was asking if she was ready. 

Taking her hand, he led her through the opening following Frein and Faila. Bors was the last one out. Creeping in the shadows, the small band made their way to the front gates by back passages and hidden stairwells she’d never known existed. No one hindered them. The keep was as silent as a building its size filled with people could be when most of them were sleeping. 

To Amboryl’s utter amazement, they made it through a side gate without any trouble. They kept to the shadows cast by the walls until they could sprint into the forested tree cover. 

Well, three of them sprinted. Hiul'n dropped to all fours and encouraged her to do so with a wave. They crossed the bare field of tall grasses slowly. What kept Amboryl going, in spite of her knees, was the thought that she’d be free if she could manage to get far enough away. 

The painful crawl took so long, but they made it. Amboryl wanted to lean against one of the ancient trunks and cry out her pain and sorrow loud and long. What they were doing was forbidden. If they were caught, they’d be branded. If they returned to their home towns where they had family who knew where they were and why they’d gone there, the same thing would happen. It was a disgrace to fail an apprenticeship. But it was illegal to leave without completing your training when you didn’t have your master’s permission. They couldn’t fail in their escape. Neither could they go back. 

Amboryl raised glassy eyes to the leaf-curtained sky-dome and offered a prayer of thanks to Tugansol for getting them this far. A nudge at her shoulder called her attention to the pair of hide sandals Hiul'n held out to her. 

He spoke softly, his voice a rich, strong tenor. “Put these on. They’ll help.” 

He sat next to her and donned his own pair. As she scanned the area, she noted the others now wore similar shoes. 

“You are my family now,” she murmured in a fog of thought. She shook her head to clear it. 

Hiul'n spoke near her ear. “Yes. We’ll stick together until we reach Mt. Charan. From there, we’ll ask the Guardian for help to decide what to do. It’ll be tricky, maybe. Who knows?”

Mt. Charan? But that holy shrine was many nainda away. How would they make it if she was slowing them down? She asked as much. 

Bors spoke up, his muted bass voice at once a soothing balm and captured one’s attention. “Don’t worry, Amboryl. We’re going to get there. We weren’t wasting our time at the skolar’el. We have maps and information. With Tugansol’s Holy Breath filling our lungs, we can’t fail.”

She waited a moment, then nodded acceptance. She may not know what would happen on the morrowdawn. But with all the abilities and knowledge Tugansol blessed her with, she would fight for freedom each step of the way. Having trustworthy friends along for the journey was an extra blessing. 

As they rose to continue their long trek, Hiul'n placed a round, palm-sized ball in their hands. "It's not much, but eat." 

“Bread?” Aboryl murmured in awe. She didn’t wait for an answer before she attacked the insufficient morsel. Alda’ir didn’t believe in wasting good food on mere acolytes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had bread or meat or even a decent vegetable. If she never saw a bowl of gruel again, it would be too soon. 

Let’s hurry. We’re still too close to the skolar’el.” Hiul'n urged them, placing Bors in the lead this time with him last in the line. She walked in front of Hiul'n, behind Frein. 

As they continued down the dark, tree-lined path, Amboryl found herself praying once again, a prayer of thankfulness. Tugansol’s way was mysterious indeed, but there was also hope for victory with the blessing of Tugansol.  

So what do you think of the story? Does it make you want to know more? Which of the characters was most interesting to you? 

Did you find the word prompt helpful? 

I hope you enjoyed your visit to my scenic route today. Next week, I'll have more word prompts, book reviews, and writing news for you. 

Until next time,
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