two excerpts from a long-term fiction project
Escaping the shade, Tila made her way downstream to where the land leveled out. Rocks gathered here in piles, having tumbled from the mountains. Removing her sandals, she took a few watery steps to her favorite seat: the head of a stone emerging from the shallow water. Her bare toes squished into silt and clay. She reached down through the surface, filling her hands with the soft, orange earth, and brought it out to breathe in the air. While it still dripped, she lay the clump beside her on the stone.
She kept some of the clay in her hands, kneading it as she took in the atmosphere. Her feet swung gently back and forth, sending ripples through the rows of honeygrass. In another month their flowers would pour out liquid pollen to be carried down the stream and soaked up by new plants. Further on, the water dipped out of view. The fields beyond were speckled with blue stargazers, endless night reflected in their petals. Antlered horses and wild cattle filled themselves with greens. Had Tila been closer, she might have sensed the lizards sneaking under the gaze of circling hawks. Distant grass grew lighter until it became cloud in the east. These were the lands which fed her home. There were no questions here.
On her stone, Tila raised and flattened the damp earth. She modeled little houses, just like hers. Trees the size of her thumb towered over lumpy figures in this rich, orange world. Sometimes her fist, a terrible meteor, would strike down and turn them back to mud. Then she’d begin again.
Now the wind had left the valley as the sun snuck away toward the mountains. Tila sent the last of her clay to its home below the surface, and scrubbed it off her hands. She stood on her stone. Aiming for the grass which held her sandals, the girl leapt across the water. She collected her clothes from the helpful tree, and filled the newly cleaned sack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she turned away from the stream and started down the hillside.
* * *
Tila walked behind her father and a dozen strangers. Torch flames danced between the cream-white pillars that lined their marble path. This shining pond of a floor, is it stone or silver? Tila only knew stone scarred from years of use. Here, when feet fell, the floor sang. Every step released seven times as many. Floating above, the echoes were swallowed by a ceiling that contained the sky.
On coming to a doorway on the right the guests stopped. Two escorts put their hands to bronze doorplates and leaned into the massive oak barriers. Swirling branches adorned the broad surfaces, giving new life to dead wood. Parting for the guests, the doors revealed an arch whose point climbed halfway to the ceiling. As Tila passed under the arch she began to lag behind her companions. In that moment no force could interrupt her gaze. Colors from all the world’s waters were trapped in these walls. Deeper and deeper she looked. She found warriors, dancers, beasts, and kings emerging from carved recesses. Legendary battles broke like waves over floral decoration and structural supports. Creatures who no longer had names held up the dining table and its army of seats.
This room was a kingdom.
Tila’s waking trance wore off. Sedien was one of the last who stood while the other guests found their seats. He rested his left hand on an empty chair beside him. Tila rushed over trying not to draw attention. She needn’t have worried, everyone was distracted with the eight dish bearers and what they brought. The first two set down their platters in the middle where the table was widest. She could barely see from her seat, but it smelled like roasted westboar. The next four platters were placed on both sides of the tiny boars. Circling the table, the gloved servants filled plates for desirous tongues. Tila couldn’t tell if she was hungry or confused. Foreign smells fought with her breath. Swallowing her anxiety, Tila reminded herself that if none of this was edible, they wouldn’t call it dinner. She resolved to try whatever was served, unless it had hair, or eyes.
Inches away a glove elegantly lifted the lid off a wicker basket. It held a rich assortment of fruits and nuts. Finally, food she recognized! Tila had been picking her grandmother’s rainfruit trees since she’d learned to stand. With newfound comfort she selected one of the violet fruits, and brought it to her teeth. Her end of the table fell quiet. Guests turned and paused their feasting to stare at this unknown girl.
She dared not move, even to chew or swallow. The pale pink flesh did not care, already releasing its flavor. Why are they staring? Hoping for an answer, her eyes flew from guest to guest and landed on a beard. Its owner cleared his throat and lowered his gaze to the plate on which a rainfruit lay untouched. The man took a stickknife in each hand, and began to slice the fruit. He turned one utensil to its prong side to spear the first sliver, looking back at Tila as he ate.
Sedi leaned in to whisper:
“Don’t worry. The first time I visited, I picked the shell off a snail. It turned out to be the only way of holding the meat without making a puddle.”
Tila managed an uncomfortable smile as she surrendered the fruit to her plate. Just as the bearded man had demonstrated, she carved ten discs from her incomplete fruit. In another setting, that first bite would have swept over her in a surge of sweetness, filling her from mouth to fingertips. The bites that followed felt restless in her mouth. The hand-spun sleeves Tila had been so proud to wear now burdened her shoulders. They were from Rockwood, far away, and so was she.
* * *