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15minuteficlets exercise.
Feb. 18th, 2004 09:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynThis one was from the week before last, and for a different word, but I am using the same sort of premise as I did in yesterday's. Today we get to meet Sulen's father, Amrin, when he was still a University steward.
Today's word: submission.
A great hoarse cry rent the air, like the last strike of pain through the heart; even two floors up in Tiryat University they heard it. The students stared and the professors shuddered, but a few- a very few- had enough sense to run towards the bellow rather than away. Its source was the Museum of Antiquities; more precisely, it was the Museum's store-rooms, where none but a very few were allowed. There among the artifacts they found Amrin Tolfarsson, sprawled in an ungainly heap along the floor.
They thought he must surely have died; but he was alive, if staring blankly into the distance and weeping without knowing it. When they shook him to see if he might speak he only looked at them, eyes wide and not quite focused. Then a bit of some intention crept into his gaze and he clutched mutely at his chest. The ones who had found him looked at each other and nodded, and without a word they carried Amrin away to the clinic.
Amrin did not speak then, though he did not weep either. He lay where they put him, and his eyes were very sad, but he said nothing. Not until the new physician came, a woman from Kourinye, on the eastern shores of the continent. Amrin had met her before; she had examined him to ensure he was a fit steward for the University, and so when she came he looked to the others and then to her. She nodded, and sent them away. Then she sat at the foot of his bed.
"Speak," she commanded. "You tried it, didn't you."
"I did," Amrin confirmed, "and I will regret it for all the time I have left."
"Why?"
"Because it will never happen again. Not while I live."
"Tell me what you saw."
Amrin looked down, clutching at the coverlet for a moment. "I found the stone," he began, "and I remembered what you said- of the things they have in Kourinye from before the Ice, and the Hero Twins. I thought, perhaps, the scrying stories-"
"Yes, I know. Go on."
"I placed my hands on the stone," he said softly, not looking up. "And I thought to clear my mind for scrying- future, past, present, I did not care. So long as it worked. But I almost dropped them, because I saw them burst into flame."
She made a noise in the back of her throat.
"And then I saw they were not my own," he went on. "Old, old hands, withering in that flame… the stone was showing me them, for some reason, though I could not tell you whose they were. It took all my will to pull away from that terrible sight. Is all scrying so hard?"
"The Hero Twins did not do it often."
Amrin nodded. "I pulled my thoughts away, though it cost all I had," he said. "I had so little strength left when that was done… I said only, show me yourself. Tell me what you are. And I saw. . ."
"What did you see?"
"Before," he said simply. "The Elder Days. Things out of legend, older than- older than anything. A white city, where Tiryat stands now. Swords and fire and a man of magic blazing like the sun. Women fair beyond all women who have ever lived. An eye of fire. . ."
"That makes fire three times," she observed.
Amrin shook his head. "Four," he said softly, "four."
"What was the fourth?"
He took a long breath. "Finnro," he said.
She stared at him.
"He made the Stone," said Amrin. "I saw."
Her head swung slowly from side to side, as if her disbelief were too great to allow more motion than that; but Amrin only smiled. "I saw," he repeated, "and I knew the oldest stories of them all, and how they were right, and how very badly they were wrong. Finnro's story. . . the legend is nothing, nothing, next to the truth. But I saw hardly anything. . ."
"Why?" she whispered, throat too dry to speak rightly.
He rested his hand on his chest a moment, smiled sadly. "I have strength of will," he said, 'but not of heart. You know that. The sight was more than I could bear. That was when I cried out; there was such pain in that glory. . . I let go of the stone and I fell, and that was the end of it."
"Do you plan to tell anyone of this?"
"No. Why should I? The stone will never work again. They'll call me mad. I can't prove anything; why should I ruin what little time I have left?"
"There is still healing," she began, but Amrin shook his head again.
"No. No healing. Not for me. I know my own end coming, Hara. I will meet it like a man, not like some beast struggling to hold on to the last of the scraps."
She bowed her head in submission to his will. Then she got up and sent for his daughter Sulen; and Amrin Tolfarsson lay his head back on the pillows, and slept like a dead man.
Today's word: submission.
A great hoarse cry rent the air, like the last strike of pain through the heart; even two floors up in Tiryat University they heard it. The students stared and the professors shuddered, but a few- a very few- had enough sense to run towards the bellow rather than away. Its source was the Museum of Antiquities; more precisely, it was the Museum's store-rooms, where none but a very few were allowed. There among the artifacts they found Amrin Tolfarsson, sprawled in an ungainly heap along the floor.
They thought he must surely have died; but he was alive, if staring blankly into the distance and weeping without knowing it. When they shook him to see if he might speak he only looked at them, eyes wide and not quite focused. Then a bit of some intention crept into his gaze and he clutched mutely at his chest. The ones who had found him looked at each other and nodded, and without a word they carried Amrin away to the clinic.
Amrin did not speak then, though he did not weep either. He lay where they put him, and his eyes were very sad, but he said nothing. Not until the new physician came, a woman from Kourinye, on the eastern shores of the continent. Amrin had met her before; she had examined him to ensure he was a fit steward for the University, and so when she came he looked to the others and then to her. She nodded, and sent them away. Then she sat at the foot of his bed.
"Speak," she commanded. "You tried it, didn't you."
"I did," Amrin confirmed, "and I will regret it for all the time I have left."
"Why?"
"Because it will never happen again. Not while I live."
"Tell me what you saw."
Amrin looked down, clutching at the coverlet for a moment. "I found the stone," he began, "and I remembered what you said- of the things they have in Kourinye from before the Ice, and the Hero Twins. I thought, perhaps, the scrying stories-"
"Yes, I know. Go on."
"I placed my hands on the stone," he said softly, not looking up. "And I thought to clear my mind for scrying- future, past, present, I did not care. So long as it worked. But I almost dropped them, because I saw them burst into flame."
She made a noise in the back of her throat.
"And then I saw they were not my own," he went on. "Old, old hands, withering in that flame… the stone was showing me them, for some reason, though I could not tell you whose they were. It took all my will to pull away from that terrible sight. Is all scrying so hard?"
"The Hero Twins did not do it often."
Amrin nodded. "I pulled my thoughts away, though it cost all I had," he said. "I had so little strength left when that was done… I said only, show me yourself. Tell me what you are. And I saw. . ."
"What did you see?"
"Before," he said simply. "The Elder Days. Things out of legend, older than- older than anything. A white city, where Tiryat stands now. Swords and fire and a man of magic blazing like the sun. Women fair beyond all women who have ever lived. An eye of fire. . ."
"That makes fire three times," she observed.
Amrin shook his head. "Four," he said softly, "four."
"What was the fourth?"
He took a long breath. "Finnro," he said.
She stared at him.
"He made the Stone," said Amrin. "I saw."
Her head swung slowly from side to side, as if her disbelief were too great to allow more motion than that; but Amrin only smiled. "I saw," he repeated, "and I knew the oldest stories of them all, and how they were right, and how very badly they were wrong. Finnro's story. . . the legend is nothing, nothing, next to the truth. But I saw hardly anything. . ."
"Why?" she whispered, throat too dry to speak rightly.
He rested his hand on his chest a moment, smiled sadly. "I have strength of will," he said, 'but not of heart. You know that. The sight was more than I could bear. That was when I cried out; there was such pain in that glory. . . I let go of the stone and I fell, and that was the end of it."
"Do you plan to tell anyone of this?"
"No. Why should I? The stone will never work again. They'll call me mad. I can't prove anything; why should I ruin what little time I have left?"
"There is still healing," she began, but Amrin shook his head again.
"No. No healing. Not for me. I know my own end coming, Hara. I will meet it like a man, not like some beast struggling to hold on to the last of the scraps."
She bowed her head in submission to his will. Then she got up and sent for his daughter Sulen; and Amrin Tolfarsson lay his head back on the pillows, and slept like a dead man.
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no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 11:23 am (UTC)I have 15 minute exercises, because they are far too short, narratively speaking!
V. intriguing, really.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-18 11:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 12:59 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-18 01:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-19 07:15 am (UTC)