13 May 2009


Here's a sample of a story I just started writing:

            In the country of Baa Rey, in the house of a certain nobleman, there was born a girl child whom, it was rumored in the village below the castle-hall, was mad.  She was the middle child of the main branch of the family, with an older brother and a younger sister.  Both the brother and the sister were handsome specimens, tall and thin with good features and chestnut colored hair with streaks of gold, but as for ‘the other one,’ as the girl was referred to in the village, no one had ever seen her.  The rumor that she was mad spread even to the capital the year the youngest daughter had her coming out; to the best of anyone’s knowledge, her older sister had never set foot in Gore Grey, and what other reason could there possibly be for the younger to come out before the elder, other than madness – unless, of course, she was horribly deformed.

          At any rate, nobody could get anything out of anybody from the household.  They smiled and bowed and were generally very graceful, much more graceful than what was normally expected from such a rural family, but still, they deflected every inquiry with impeccable manners.  There was also a vague rumor circulating in Gore Grey that the region where the family came from, Turquorry, was unusually hospitable to the remnant gypsies that still wandered parts of the world, and were uncommonly despised in Baa Rey, and Gore Grey in particular.

          In the highest social circles of Gore Grey, it was noticed with interest how indifferent the two presented children of that certain family were to each other.  It was also noted, with some surprise and much resentment, how indifferent the son of the house was to the atmosphere, people, and customs of the capital.  His name was Turquin Rafe, and while not exactly a brilliant match, he was better than most; many a town-bred mama had set their daughters’ sights on him and his unresponsiveness to one and all was viewed with considerable disapproval.  His sister, on the other hand, Turquin Nimiane, was highly thought of, and caused many a pang of jealousy to stab through the hearts of both mamas and daughters.  

          Turquin Rafe, in point of fact, was more interested in the King’s Force Magicians than anything the social world could offer him.  The King’s Force Magicians were a relic of the Days Passed, when there was a king to have a force magicians, and who stubbornly refused to relinquish there status, environs, and authority, despite popular dissent, and equally stubbornly refused to acknowledge the Peoples’ decision-Making Forum.  It was indeed lucky for the Peoples’ Forum that the King’s Force had absolutely no desire to rule the country, but instead went about there business with single-minded purpose and ostentatious mysteriousness, quietly but inexorably riding over the rules and decrees of the Peoples’s Forum whenever it suited there purpose.  Not that anyone truly knew what their true purpose really was; it was rumored that they were searching for the last king’s heir in order to reestablish the dynasty, but, as with most other things discussed in the capital, they were only rumors, and nobody knew the truth of the matter.

          Why Turquin Rafe was so interested nobody could tell, and nobody could find out definitely whether or not they reciprocated his interest, though it was generally thought not, as no members of the King’s Force were ever seen in contact with him.  And anyway, he left Gore Grey soon after his sister had gracefully declined her fifth marriage proposal (nobody could think what the girl was waiting for).  A week after that, Turquorry was celebrating his safe return. 

Upon arriving at the castle-hall of his ancestors he went straight to his other sister’s rooms.  The whir of her spinning wheel filled the hall outside her chambers with a pleasant, if mysterious, bone-tingling thrum.  It was not exactly loud, as it was already a stretch for the sound – if it was sound and not vibration – to penetrate the solid oak door that closed off or connected the main sitting room where the wheel was to the hall outside.  Turquin Banne was more beautiful than either of her siblings.  Although her hair was the same gold-streaked chestnut, she had let it grow longer than her sister’s and in total disregard for the current fashion did not curl or pin it.  If she did anything at all with it; it was to gather the hair from the sides of her face and clipped it securely at the base of her neck.  Although the general outlines of their faces were like enough, Turquin Rafe was a pale imitation of Turquin Banne.

The wheel slowed, stopped.  A few moments later and the thrum that had permeated even the stones of the wall subsided.  The spinner turned slowly and looked toward the door.  A pair of clouded, unfocused eyes suddenly cleared and a sharp, penetrating gaze transfixed the returning son of the house.  “Sit down, and tell me.”

“You were right; they would have been glad enough to take the money and apprentice me, but I did not see truth in their words; they would not have taught me anything.”  Two identical pairs of brown eyes regarded each other solemnly.

“Then that only leaves the other,” the mad nobleman’s daughter said.  She turned and started up the spinning wheel again.  As the increasing thrum engulfed him, the son of the house asked, “What are you looking for?  Are you not afraid that you shall loose your way?”


Her eyes were clouded again.  The thrumming grew louder, and the son of the house lay back on the couch and let the sleep come take him.  In his sleep he journeyed with the wind, and the sound of the thrumming of his sister’s wheel.