• Skip to main content
  • Skip to footer

D. Hart St. Martin

I make female heroes badass AND believable

  • Home
  • Hart Land
  • The Library
    • Lisen of Solsta
      • Fractured
      • Tainted
      • Blooded
    • Soul Doubt
  • Notes from the Hart
  • For your pleasure

adventure

Thristas (long but self-explanatory)

January 8, 2015 by D. Hart St. Martin Leave a Comment

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Before I wrote Lisen of Solsta, I wrote an earlier version where most everything that happens in Fractured and Tainted occurred but in a different order and under different circumstances. In that telling of the story, Lisen (who was called Ann then) didn’t go to Thristas until after she’d become Empir. Instead, out of curiosity, she sent Korin to Thristas to observe and return with a report.

I never wrote the report down back then. I had a vague understanding of what it contained but never required it in the story telling. However, when confronted with the desire to make Thristas real, I decided to compose that report for my own use in preparation for writing what is now Tainted. Thus, what follows is that report as it might have been had Korin accepted the assignment to study Thristas on his Empir’s behalf.

AN ETHNOGRAPHY OF THRISTAN LIFE
PRESENTED TO EMPIR ARIANNAS ILAZER
IN THE FIFTH YEAR OF HER REIGN

by Captain Korin Rosarel

Located within only a few horizontal miles east of Garla, divided from its parent state by the Rim, a long, mostly impassable range of mountains, Thristas cannot be further from Garla in its atmosphere, its people, and the manner in which those people persist despite what Garlans perceive as ferocious elements. Thristans have, of necessity, adopted a lifestyle which makes it possible for them to live together within the close environment of a mesa, to avoid the heat of the day as much as possible and to survive on the meager supply of sustenance available.

How they got here, how they survive here, what they do here day to day—all of these questions have rarely been asked by anyone in Garla and never by an Empir. Garla’s residents are aware of Thristas, but they close their eyes to the reality of an entire other world in existence just over the mountains. The people of Thristas know they barely exist in the minds of Garlans, and they grow weary of the ignorance of their westward neighbors. Few Garlans know how people ended up in Thristas; even fewer care. Thristas is a little itch on the arm that is the “greatness” of Garla.

It is foolish for Garlans to be so cavalier about a larger-than-they-think population of strong and willful people. One day a charismatic leader will rise up and guide the Thristans to a violent fight for their independence, either by pulling away from Garla entirely or by overcoming an unprepared Garlan Emperi Guard and wresting control of Garla from its Empir. We need to understand our neighbors to the east, to communicate with them and to recognize that differences between us exist but that those differences do not define better or worse. To accomplish the first of these tasks, I spent an extended length of time living in Mesa Terses, one of the six mesas, and now present my findings to my Empir, Ariannas Ilazer.

Your captain and defender,
Korin Rosarel

The Story:

The Thristan Story is entirely verbal. The people use writing sparingly, not all can read, and the written word barely exists in Thristas. If writing is necessary, Garlan is used more often than not. Therefore, as with all oral-only tales, there is some basis in fact, but I question portions of the account. I will, however, note my doubts when applicable.

“The People,” as they call themselves, speak of arriving in the desert an age ago. By my estimation, they most likely made their way over the mountains from Garla. They speak of it as “coming home” although I doubt those first settlers saw it that way. (See Geography, topography, weather below.) They did not come willingly, of that I am certain. “The Destroyer sent us away as punishment for our willfulness and our pride. We left behind our homes, our families, all that had once meant life to us and followed the Maker to a new life,” the oral tale informs us. I believe this refers to a marginally documented moment in the Garlan Story when Empir Osificant exiled a large group of citizens after they had questioned her right to force their young people into service to her, either in the Emperi Guard or as servants to her and/or other nobles. This occurred approximately 750 years ago and correlates well with the refinement, complexity and signs of age in the excavated tunnels within Mesa Terses.

Many of The People died in the first years. They found shelter in the caves on the east side of the Rim, but water and food were scarce. Some ventured out and discovered that the mesas could also provide shelter in caves with connecting tunnels, with the added advantage that many small desert creatures had long ago taken up residency in those caverns, far more than they’d found in the Rim’s caves. They also found water, funneled in from above, preserved in enclosed lakes for “longer than forever.” They made the trek to Mesa Terses, the closest mesa to their original arrival point, and settled there. They learned they could grow some meager crops on the mesa’s crown, and as the population regenerated, they moved on to the other mesas one by one so that today they occupy all six within sight of the Rim.

Geography, topography, weather:

Thristas is a desert. The rain that showers Garla rarely makes it over the Rim, leaving Thristas hot in the daytime, cooler than anyone in Garla would imagine at night, and dry as a bowl of water left out in the sun too long. One would expect that, in such an atmosphere, no plant life could survive at all, but that is anything but the case. One glance from the top of the Rim reveals an expanse of tawny brown with sprinklings of green. What are these hardy plants that survive without water for months on end? They are vegetation that can store deep within what little water is provided to them, protecting the precious resource within a usually tough exterior. Some of these plants also serve as nourishment to the Thristan people; one in particular has become the most important source of income for The People. (See Economy below.)

The mesas, six in all (the above-mentioned Terses, along with Orul, Tebu, Ves, Diri and Eres), are the most outstanding topographical feature of Thristas. Without them, The People would not have survived their exile. They are, in most cases, named after their original leaders, those who guided their small bands of people, soon to be known as tribes, as they broke away from the original Tribe of Terses, which was itself named after the woman who lead The People over the Rim.

Each mesa is riddled with a multitude of labyrinthine tunnels which Thristan children run through when allowed to play, and thus The People learn how to navigate the mesa without getting lost. The children are taught early not to wander the tunnels alone so that if one gets lost, there are always others who can report them missing and guide the searchers to the last place the child was seen.

It might seem to those raised in the bright sun and fresh air of Garla that life in such an enclosed space could prove daunting, but surprisingly, it is not as uncomfortable nor as claustrophobia inducing as one would think. Larger chambers, some natural, some hewn out by The People over time, serve as meeting rooms, dining areas and, in the case of every mesa, a large “Elders’” chamber near the very top of the mesa. In Terses, this chamber, as well as the Pit where emerging children are welcomed, already existed, and the tradition carried forward to the others where such a chamber had to be dug out of solid rock. (For more on the Elders, see Government below.)

Government:

The People are led by the Elders’ Council of each mesa. As the name would imply, these are older individuals who must reach the age of fifty before being invited to join the council. Not an easy task given the rigors and dangers of the desert. And age is not the only criterion for membership. Once the council determines that they will invite a new member, that individual must survive the Elder’s Trial in which she or he must spend a night alone on top of the mesa under the influence of a plant called yafra which heightens awareness. Nearly half of the candidates fail, dying before they can return.

Although the Elders’ Council would appear to be egalitarian, usually a leader emerges, never acknowledged as such but recognized by each and every member of the Tribe. This leader serves as touchstone in all arguments amongst the Council members. Considered the wisest in the Tribe, the leader guides and encourages movement towards compromise in any dispute in or outside Council without thrusting an opinion into the fray.

Economy:

The People do not possess their own coinage. They use Garlan marks when necessary in commerce with their western neighbors, but they barter amongst themselves—trading work for food, necessities for services, skills for training—and rely as little as possible on Garlan trade. The item of greatest value, however, is water. It is revered, preserved and stored in caverns deep inside the mesas (see above in The Story). When it rains in the desert, all the mesas generally benefit, their funnels channeling the gift from Mantar into the pools. Occasionally, though, one mesa may not lie in the path of the storm while another benefits from the slow movement of the clouds laden with the much-needed liquid. At these times, water is transported in wagons hauled from one mesa to the next, and a record is kept by the Elders of the transaction. Water is too valuable to just give away.

However, The People do cultivate one commodity for which Garlans are willing to pay and pay well—malla. Malla only grows on the mesas’ crowns. It survives there somehow, exposed constantly to sun and wind, no water to speak of. It is, in fact, the only vegetation native to the crown. It has thick, heavy stalks (one could hardly call them leaves), and the liquid preserved within these stalks can be dried into a grey paste which is then rubbed on the gums. It produces a euphoric effect, slightly dream like. It can also heighten awareness of sight and sound as well as open up the user’s inner sight. It is for this reason that few Thristans partake of this drug. As a group, they believe that anything that even approaches the sort of powers that the Garlan hermits possess cannot be trusted (see Spirituality below). In addition, malla possesses addictive qualities, and The People abhor the lack of discipline addiction fosters.

“The People” and their culture:

There are Garlans, and then there are The People. The People understand the Garlans only a bit better than the Garlans understand the Thristans, but the truth is that neither knows much about the other. They’ve lived separate from one another for so long that fear of each other seems to be the only commonality they share. The People follow an unwritten creed of honor and commitment. When a Thristan makes a promise, it is an absolute obligation.

The mesas are divided into levels, and each level defines a group of individuals and families of anywhere between 25 and 50 people. They share meals and friendship, and although they identify themselves as members of their mesa, they remain fiercely loyal to the people in their level. Oftentimes, people from different levels have little contact, so little, in fact, that they wouldn’t recognize each other outside the context of the mesa. The citizens of each mesa are considered to be the mesa’s Tribe. The population of each mesa can number into the tens of thousands. The mesas, when originally occupied, contained many small caves suitable for living quarters, and hundreds more in each mesa were hollowed out by the early excavators.

The People are nocturnal due to the difficulty of performing tasks in the heat of the desert day. They rise just before sunset, eat their first meal of chardhoosh (a sweet grain product eaten dry and washed down with the bitter alk), then go about their tasks. Even those who have duties inside the mesa follow this schedule which they have followed for centuries. Each level gathers again just after sunrise to share dinner, which is usually a stew made with the kerl bean which comes from a hardy vine than can survive and produce with little water.

The People see life as a never-ending ribbon of many colors, twisting and turning, filled with many knots. Sometimes the knots can be released; other times there can be no untying, and one must find a way past without falling off the ribbon. They weave ribbons through the long braids they wear. These ribbons are made of the silk produced by the everfly caterpillar, the glow moths that fill the summer nights each year, and then they are dyed a multitude of colors. Each house, or family, has adopted a color as its own, and each color has meaning. When a child’s hair has grown long enough for braiding, one ribbon bearing the color of the house of its pouching is introduced into the braid. If, for some reason, the child chooses not to acknowledge a house of origin, a black ribbon of one-without-family is worn. When the child becomes an adult at 16, they can choose to add a ribbon of their non-pouching parent’s house.

As well as signifying a house, colors also represent strengths and attributes, and new ribbons are constantly being added to a young person’s braid as they mature and reveal their truths. These usually become a permanent part of the braid. Then there are colors as symbols of a current situation. Joined or unjoined, pregnancy, pouching, parent of an emerged child, loss. I will not list every color here, but it should be noted that a house’s color is usually tied to its perception of its attributes. For example, orange, which can mean heat and fire, might be applied to a house whose members are thought to be temperamental.

Spirituality:

The People revere an entity know as Mantar. Mantar is a two-faced deity, both the Maker and the Destroyer. They recognize that their lives are filled with duality, and, therefore, their guiding spiritual force brings both life and death, peace and war, joy and grief, love and hate. Neither aspect is considered better or greater than the other. Mantar represents the equal forces pressing in upon The People every day. They scoff at the one thing all Thristans seem to know about their Garlan neighbors—their belief in multiple Creators and but one Destroyer. The People wonder at the power of the Garlans’ many over the One, at the inherent optimism and apparent naivety of that inequality.

As a group, The People believe that anything that even approaches the sort of powers that the Garlan hermits possess cannot be trusted. They fear the hermits and once attempted to find a way of limiting their powers, but their plan backfired on them.

The people celebrate four high rituals each year. These correspond on the calendar to the four Garlan holy days. What the Garlans call Evennight in the spring, the Thristans celebrate as the Farii. It is the night of fertility when several young couples (newly joined or about to be joined) ascend to the mesa’s crown, and there they wait for the manta (a snake which symbolizes Mantar) to choose one of them for the consummation of the ritual. It is hoped that the couple will conceive and thus guarantee the fertility of the entire Tribe for the next year.

Garla’s Greatday is called Arii in Thristas. The Thristans rise to greet the setting of the sun late in the evening and then spend the night dancing and singing to praise Mantar the Maker in the form of the rising and setting sun and welcome the night back as the days begin to shorten. This, of course, is in opposition to the Garlan farewell to the sun as it leaves them in darkness.

In the fall, when a child conceived in the Farii is likely to emerge, the Thristans gather in a chamber called the Pit. All infants emerge here surrounded by family, but on the day of the Holii, the Garlan autumn Evennight, the best outcome is a Farii child emerging with the entire Tribe in attendance.

Finally, and perhaps most significant, is Kolii, in which the Thristans grieve and remember those they’ve lost that year. Unlike the Garlans, they mourn rather than celebrate the return of the sun.

CONCLUSION:

Life in Thristas is difficult and complicated, and the Thristan people do not trust strangers easily. They do, however, know that life must be lived today, not tomorrow or yesterday. They face too many potentially destructive challenges not to appreciate the value of the moment. They wish for independence but have not yet organized themselves to seek it out. I would recommend extreme caution with these people. They are fierce and could very likely best us in battle.

Respectfully submitted,
Korin Rosarel, Captain, Emperi Guard

Filed Under: Writing Tagged With: adventure, back story, fantasy, writing process

A Taste of Tainted

April 8, 2013 by D. Hart St. Martin 1 Comment

Thought I’d share chapter 1 of Tainted, the second book in my trilogy, Lisen of Solsta.  The first book, Fractured, can be found at Amazon in both print and Kindle, Barnes & Noble for Nook, and nearly every other e-book distributor (best search is my name, D. Hart St. Martin) or on Smashwords (a really great site for publishing electronic books in multiple formats–highly recommend it).  I have also blogged extensively about it previously.

Briefly, seventeen-year-old Lisen Holt only begins to realize that her life is fractured after a sorcerer abducts her from a California beach and brings her home to Garla. She awakens at Solsta Haven, a spiritual refuge from Garlan society. The sorcerer, Hermit Eloise, has returned Lisen’s body to its true form—that of a human-like marsupial. She then restores Lisen’s memories of her first ten years in Garla, leaving her earthly existence behind but not forgotten.

Although she is Lisen of Solsta now, questions haunt her—questions Eloise refuses to answer. Who are the parents who left her at Solsta? Why did Eloise send her to Earth? And what is so important about her that Eloise has manipulated so much of her life? The answers will propel Lisen into a quest for a throne, and all that will stand between her and her birthright is her matricidal twin of a brother.

The story continues in Tainted, book 2 of the Lisen of Solsta trilogy, when Lisen and Korin travel to Thristas in the hope of finding safety in the anonymity of the desert, beyond the scope of Lorain Zanlot’s spies. There, Lisen learns about the ways of the desert and its people. The Thristans see Garla’s Empir as less their so-called “Protector” and more an extension of those who forced them into “exile” in the first place. They suspect any Garlan, and in order to prove their commitment to the Tribe, Lisen and Korin must volunteer to participate in the spring Evennight fertility ritual of Farii. This night changes everything for Lisen, and she returns to Garla to finally face her brother with a brilliant but damning plan in mind.

CHAPTER ONE

BACK ON THE ROAD

Three days. Three freaking days of waiting, mostly alone, in this little stone room with no windows, not even a television. At least a TV would have given her something to look at. Not even a book to read. There were scrolls, and many had been offered to her, but they were all religious—hermit stuff—nothing that would have staved off the boredom. And the holder. Ah, yes, the holder. Nalin came and went, which seemed odd to Lisen because hadn’t he told her that the recognition of him, not her, could be their undoing? Maybe he’d found another hidden place, hidden from her but also from others. Regardless, he had his freedom, but not poor Lisen of Solsta. She was stuck; after weeks of possession with two souls locked up, inescapable, inside her, now her body was locked up instead. Damn.

And she hated this body. She’d tried. She really had. She’d tried as hard as she could to accept the lack of what she considered to be real breasts, to accept the fur on her belly and the pouch where a bellybutton should be. She’d gone along with all of their plans for her life, all of the things that they all found quite natural and normal, but the romance of it all had worn off and now she was left with just an ugly flat-chested, no-breasted, furry-bellied, open-holed body. Yuck.

“You know who would have loved this,” she said, standing up and pacing around, pontificating in English to the walls, essentially her only companion these last days. “Dad would have loved this. I remember him coming home—what was it? A year ago—all excited about something one of his physicist friends at Cal Tech had told him. About how there might actually be alternate universes, and maybe even portals through time and space. I remember him saying, ‘You know, Lees, science fiction may not be fiction anymore.’

“Did Eloise the Slippery tell me the truth about there being no way back? I mean, how does she know? What if I could go back? I could prove to the entire scientific community that there are other worlds with people just like us that you don’t need rockets to…get…to.”

She stopped. “Shit, if I went back there, I’d be the freaking ‘Kangaroo Girl.’ Great.”

She sat back down, wondering how much longer they’d have to wait for Korin to return. He was the only bright star in the dark night of what had become her life. The only thing worth sticking around for—her Captain Cutie. That and her eighteenth birthday, which, she had realized after making such a point of it with the holder, meant nothing in Garla. She’d already reached her “majority” at sixteen as far as they were concerned here. Made her wonder why her brother had waited so long to off their mother.

She froze at the sound of footsteps. Nalin was bringing their breakfast. After two days, she knew the routine. She’d hear him get up, pull on his tunic, and all the while she’d pretend to still be asleep. After a half hour or so, he’d return with a tray of food, the same sort of food she’d grown used to in her childhood at Solsta Haven. Despite the grandness of this place compared to the other two havens, the routine and the daily fare from the kitchen remained familiar. She was, however, denied the opportunity to actually participate in the routine.

The latch lifted, and she sat down on her cot and watched as Nalin pushed the door open with his shoulder, a tray in his hands, and then urged the door closed again with another touch of his shoulder.

“Good morning,” he said, as usual a little chilly this early in the day, and he set down the tray on the small table between them and settled onto his cot. “Sleep well?”

Every morning the same routine, as predictable as the haven in which they sat. Three “good mornings,” three breakfasts with Nalin eating very little and Lisen scarfing down all her stomach could hold. It was like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. No, wait, I haven’t eaten in weeks. She smiled at her little joke.

“Lisen?” Nalin asked, and she shared her smile, but not the joke, with him.

“Yes. Yes, I did sleep well. Thank you.” She scooted closer to the table, grabbed the worn wooden spoon, scooped up some of the warm oatmeal-like cereal and put it in her mouth.

“You’ve improved so much,” he commented, picking at the small chunk of bread he’d brought for himself.

“I have,” she began, but the cereal nearly got away from her and out onto her chin. She closed her mouth, wiped the little bit that had escaped to her lips off with one finger. She swallowed and then continued. “I have, haven’t I.”

She looked at him, saw him for the first time since their first encounter after the dispossession. When he’d walked in then to check on her, she’d already crawled into bed, exhausted and finally able to sleep. To her eyes he’d glowed like an angel, with his flowing blond hair and a smile that had broken through at the sight of her, sane, like sunshine through clouds. She shook her head. Enough, Lisen. You’re going all ga-ga, and you’ve got enough of that in your life.

“So,” she said to distract herself from the foolishness, “what happens once Ko…Captain Rosarel, I mean, gets back?”

“We’ll see when he gets here.”

“And until then, I’m locked up in here, the mystery person in the infirmary.”

This inspired a little snort from the young noble. A chuckle? Lisen wondered.

He brushed a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. “The less those hermits out there know, the better. What you look like. Why you’re here. Means they won’t be able to tell Lorain’s spies much of anything except that someone was here and now they’re not.”

“I know,” Lisen said. “You’ve told me before. You know what I think? I think it’s just to get back at me for the fact that you couldn’t ride with us to Halorin.”

She had hoped for another smile at this reference to his unwilling role as distraction to her brother, Ariel—the brother she’d never met but whose destiny would allegedly produce all sorts of evil if he were allowed to survive. Instead, she watched as Nalin closed up, his light blue eyes chilling to frost. Only then did she realize what she’d said; she’d reminded him that he hadn’t been there when Jozan, his good friend—and hers, too—had succumbed to a knife wound delivered by one of her brother’s spies. Or one of Lorain Zanlot’s, her brother’s lover. The two names were practically synonymous in her mind. The fact that Lisen had dispatched the spy, managing to survive; that Korin, her captain, had removed the threat of the first spy’s companion; that the secret of her existence had appeared to have survived intact—none of these things mitigated Nalin’s pain at the loss of his friend. Perhaps it was because only two weeks had passed between the time he’d found himself forced to adjust to the assassination of his mentor and Lisen’s mother, Empir Flandari, and the night of Jozan’s murder.

“Sorry,” she said softly, eyes down, staring at her food. She wasn’t very hungry anymore.

“No, no. Don’t be sorry,” he said, waving her off. “You’re the Heir-Empir and should never apologize for anything.”

He had no idea what statements like this did to her. It got her feeling all gooey inside, and not the good kind of gooey. She’d been the Heir Empir for how long? For her it had been barely a month since her return from Earth, and thinking of parentage, her parentage, always brought her back to the Holts who’d loved her and guided her and pretended they were her parents for seven years. And God, how she missed them. Stop it, she ordered herself and forced this painful thinking to a part of her brain that could cushion the hurt.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, moving on.

“I’ll be returning to Avaret, of course.”

“Of course. And me?” She knew the answer, sort of, considering that Nalin had let it slip that Korin had headed off to the desert as soon as he’d dropped her onto the cot where she now sat.

“You and Rosarel will head for Thristas. The captain has this idea that Garlan spies will find it difficult to trace the two of you once you’re over the Rim.”

Lisen nodded. “That’s what he thinks. What do you think?” Nalin and Korin hadn’t agreed on much of anything during the short time that she’d known them. It seemed that Korin prevailed because he came up with the more devious and, therefore, the more effective plans.

“He’s right,” Nalin replied. “Thristas is like another world. And although I wouldn’t say Lorain has no Thristan in her employ, I don’t know why she’d need one. Until now, of course.”

“Which means that it could take her time to find one.”

Nalin leaned in towards Lisen, and in his most intimate gesture ever, he touched one finger to her forehead. “Precisely.” He popped back, and she suspected he’d surprised himself more than he’d surprised her.

“That must mean I’m learning, my getting that,” she said in an attempt to move past a moment that had breached the current boundaries of their relationship.

He nodded. “You’re learning,” he replied.

Then, the awkward moment blew wide open, obliterated by someone bursting in through the infirmary door. They both looked to the door, and only as he slammed it behind him did Lisen recognize the intruder. Korin, she thought with a gasp. Then, “Korin,” she said, unable to look away from him.

“Yes, my Liege,” the captain replied, pulling a chair up and sitting down between the two cots—Nalin’s and hers.

She shivered. “What the hell happened to your eye?” She’d been aware of him with them in the carriage those last days before reaching Rossla, but she had never really been able to focus on him. She did, however, recall noticing something amiss, just not having the ability to identify it. Now she saw—a black patch over his left eye.

“An accident, my Liege,” he replied.

“When?” Lisen asked, needing to know now and not later.

“The night of Heir Tuane’s murder. It’s nothing.”

“Your eye?”

“Also nothing,” he replied with a wry grin. “It’s gone.” He shrugged. “I’m adjusting.”

“And like Jozan, it’s gone because of me?”

Korin sighed. He seemed uncomfortable under the glare of her attention. “Spies usually travel in twos, sometimes threes. That night there were two, and the companion of your assailant followed me when I left the inn. She fared far worse than I, so I have no complaints.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Lisen managed and saw Nalin’s quick glare at the apology. If it weren’t okay for her to apologize to a noble, how bad must it be to do so to a lowly captain of the Guard? She didn’t care, and she shot Nalin an equally quick glare back, then returned to Korin.

“You seem more yourself, my Liege,” Korin said. Lisen noticed now that his face, with its streaks of grime, reflected a long, dirty ride, through the night most likely given his arrival so early in the morning.

“Nearly,” she replied.

“Then the possession…?”

“Jozan is gone,” she said, “three days now.” She spoke bluntly to avoid any confusion.

“Good,” her captain said. “That’s very good.”

Did she see a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth? Yes, she decided. Definitely a smile.

“Captain, she appears better than she actually is,” Nalin said.

“My lord, I’d prefer to hear it from her,” Korin stated brusquely. “My Liege?” He turned his attention fully on Lisen, and she squirmed a bit.

“I’m fine,” she stated flatly.

“Then let us discuss why I’m here.”

“I know why you’re here,” Lisen said. “You’re here to take me to the desert.”

“Aye, my Liege.”

The holder no longer existed—only this man of the dark hair, the dark patch over what once had been a dark eye. And something else, something in his manner she couldn’t define. A quickness of thought, not out of character, but more pronounced somehow.

“I think it would be wise if we leave today, immediately.”

“No,” Nalin declared, and Lisen turned to him, away from the enticing enigma with the missing eye, and she got the chilly eyes again.

“Nalin, I’m ready. The sooner, the better.” So much moving about. So many farewells to one place after another.

“You need more rest, more time,” the holder insisted.

“I don’t have more time,” she replied, her voice softened to soothe the holder’s objections.

“I’ve brought appropriate apparel,” Korin said and tossed the pack he’d carried in with him to her. She caught it and nodded. “The outer robes are for when we’ve crossed the rim. Besides that, you may wear whatever you please.”

“Thank you.” She wanted to thank him for his sacrifice, too, but she’d already caused him enough discomfort about it.

“My Liege,” Nalin pleaded, reaching a hand across the table between them to touch her arm.

She pulled away. “No. You said it yourself. The longer I’m here, the more vulnerable the hermits will be when questioned and the easier it will be for someone to know for sure that I was here, why I was here. I’ll be safer in Thristas.”

“Are you sure you’re able to travel?” Nalin asked. She could tell this was the last protest in his arsenal.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied. He looked so sad, and she couldn’t figure out why this moved her so.

“All right,” he whispered.

“Good. You,” Korin said, pointing at her as he rose from his chair, “get changed, and we’ll meet you outside.”

“Outside? Really? Outside?” She spoke with sarcastic enthusiasm, but neither of them responded. Nalin simply rose, and the two of them left her so she could change into traveling gear.

She dressed quickly, slipping out of the nightshift she’d worn for far too many days, pretending to be sick when she was not. Remnants of Jozan remained—she’d lied to Korin about that—but the effect was minimal. She couldn’t wait to get out of this room, out into the world again, even if what that meant was escape into the unknown of the desert.

Once she finished, she threw the pack and its remaining contents over her shoulder and stepped to the door. There she paused and looked back at the room. A small room, this prison of hers, but she had let go of Jozan here and been freed of possession—a miracle if she could believe what everyone else seemed to believe, that very few possessions ended well. Lisen knew she had been lucky that the Other smothering her soul had also been a woman of strong will. A woman who, in the end, had shown Lisen the truth of the man she would likely be obligated to marry one day. He wasn’t a bad man, this Holder Nalin Corday. He was rather good looking with his pretty blond hair and baby-blue eyes, and the sense of humor and the strength of character which Jozan had claimed he possessed had manifested themselves in the last couple of days. Sort of. Sometimes, though, Nalin Corday could be just plain boring.

Lisen sighed. One last look as she realized she would never forget this room nor what had transpired here. Too many deaths. This must end.

She opened the door and found the holder there waiting for her. They stood alone in the hallway, staring at one another.

“The captain and I have firmed up the plan,” he said. “He’ll fill you in.”

“How long will I stay in Thristas?” she asked.

“He’ll bring you back in time for the Council session in May. He hopes to have you prepared physically and mentally by then to confront your brother. He tells me you’ve grasped the skills; you just need more practice.”

“I’ve killed one man,” she countered. “What makes you think I couldn’t challenge my brother now?”

The holder shook his head. “You need to heal. Hermit Teran was very clear. The possession left you weak emotionally, and the enforced inactivity affected you physically as well.”

All bravado aside, Lisen was beginning to feel a little lightheaded out here in the world. Back there in the infirmary, just a door away, the four rock walls had provided her with a sense of inner solidity. Now, out where she might at any moment run into others, she felt disconnected from her surroundings, this hallway alone potentially more space than her still slightly scattered soul could manage. But she refused to let on.

“So Korin will fill me in.” Her words sounded hollow, unreal.

“Yes. And he’s assured me that he will let me know if anything happens on your end.”

“Sounds like the two of you have everything figured out.”

“Not everything,” Nalin replied, “but everything we could think of. It’s all subject to change of course.”

“Of course.” Then, silence. Lisen surrendered first. “Well…I guess I should be going,” she said, feeling there should be more to this, but there wasn’t.

“Yes, I suppose you should,” the holder replied.

She didn’t know what she was looking for. Some acknowledgement of what they’d been through together? A magical word that would make the prospect of spending the rest of her life in this wretched world less unpleasant because he was in it?

But the magic never arrived, and at last she simply nodded and stepped past him down the hall. She’d nearly made it to the turn when he called out.

“Lisen?”

She turned back, waiting. For the magic. “Yes?” She looked at him—this proud, golden holder of Felane with the deep blue eyes—and waited for him to speak.

“May One Be, Lisen of Solsta.”

Nope, that wasn’t it, but it was something, and it required a response. So, after a brief hesitation, she said, “One Is, Nalin of Felane.” Then she turned again and left him there, alone, in the hall.

Filed Under: Uncategorized, Writing Tagged With: adventure, fantasy, female hero, work in progress, writing

Footer

  • Privacy Policy
  • Contact

Social

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • @hartstm@counter.social
  • Instagram
  • Eowyn’s Bard

Copyright © 2025 D. Hart St. Martin