CoJ: Chapters 5 through 9

[JasonPratt]

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Chapter 5: To Deny And To Test

___A windy morning threatens rain, outside the upper room.
___The woman doesn't mind. Any rain blown in, between the columns around the room, won't hurt the clay; nor hurt the ink with which she etches—nor anything else in the barely furnished room.
___She would prefer a little rain today, she thinks. A little sun, to be sure; but rain would suit her better...
___The imperial woman begins the wide new page...

❖ ❖ ❖

___And so, I let Seifas play the part of a menial scout, as often as he wished. I hadn't intended for him to actually lead his company anyway. I didn't want the competition.
___Neither did I want to lead. I much preferred to command.
___I tolerated the two real leaders among my subcommanders, because they weren't ambitious. And for other reasons.
___I do not care to speculate on what I would have otherwise done to them.
___I have no need to speculate.
___I know what I did do...

___...those memories sear me still.

___But, these things had not yet come about, when Seifas returned to camp one day with a stranger.
___"I need thirty krana," Seifas announced, ducking lean and tall into my command tent. "I have purchased some sheep."
___In fact, he had already ordered a squad to retrieve the carcasses. A rather high price for the lives of mere sheep; worth a week's wage for two squads. And this money would not be returning through company vendors for recirculation.
___Yet, we did need the sheep.
___I almost ordered Seifas to just take the stupid sheep...!
___...but--something distracted me.
___He looked...different...from when I had seen him last.
___I nodded to Hud, the frail young man from Keryth who kept my books. He answered my nod with his own, sparely, gravely; and went to the chests to retrieve some silver.
___After all, I could always countermand the order later.
___Seifas continued his report: how he had found the unexpected herd; how soldiers from an unknown brigade had tried to take the sheep for themselves; and how a strange, fair man had faced them down.
___Seifas underplayed his own contributions to the fight. That was nothing new.
___He also, however, was standing straight and tall, with a vigor in his eye and voice that he had never shown before.
___Wonderful, I sourly mused—the juacuar had found a friend.
___By himself, Seifas was only an irritant. He helped to keep unruly soldiers in line; but he couldn't sympathize with his troops. Which surely was fine with me—it meant he wouldn't build a following.
___He probably would have been happier, as a permanent scout.
___But I didn't want him happy.
___He irked me.
___I told myself that Seifas was a tool, thoroughly molded by his teachers in the Hunting Cry.
___This is what I told myself—but still his presence pestered me; for he had something I lacked.
___Seifas had a purpose greater than himself.
___I wouldn't have minded, had his purpose been me. But, I knew I wasn't his highest authority.
___Neither the Eye nor the Agents cared about us—this was clear enough in all that I could see. It even was clear in what I couldn't see: for the klerosa were gone, and new ones were not being raised! Had their masters ever cared about us?—then where were the servants?!
___Gone, to the unseen—abandoning us to fight and die alone!
___Gone, and good riddance. I never had liked them anyway. Justice had to begin and end with me; or else I became a tool in the hands of another.
___But Seifas kept his sight on that unseen.
___And I, in turn, had kept him near me, in my twisted fretful way. Resenting him, and scheming.
___I would condition him to suit my self.
___I could have ensorceled him to sleep with me—that would have been conditioning indeed!
___Yet—I always found excuses not to do it.
___I wouldn't admit my doubts to myself. Could I set my teeth into his soul? Or if I tried, would he draw me into that other world—where I refused to go?
___I might be mastered instead—to a man I did not understand, who would not ever try to understand me.
___Other men were willing to barter themselves to me.
___He would not. I feared that gravity, and that anchor.
___It is easy to say, the beast is not under the bed.
___It is not so easy, to prove it by sleeping there.
___How much more terrible is it: to deny and to test the things of light whose spears might slay one's self—even with joy.
___I did not want to die. And his soul, which threatened to crush me if I prodded, I did not want to live.
___So.
___I had tried subtler things.
___Some simple words, here and there; a mention of this atrocity or that. Look, on the horizon—another village burning! How long, would you say, from the color...?
___And I had fancied I was succeeding, etching his soul, little by little, day and night, inducing him to compromise, to look the other way.
___To despair.
___I hadn't known how successful I had been—until that afternoon, when he stood straight and tall in my tent, brokering foolish sums for stupid sheep.
___Now my hateful game was blown away!
___—and through my mind it flashed, how treacherous and how petty I had been...
___I swatted that perception firmly.
___Now the fool had a friend. I would have to nip this in the bud to start again.
___Then, Seifas stepped forward.
___I jerked in my seat, startled by my feeling, that he had heard my spite and meant to punish me—and frightened by my impression, that he would be right to do so...
___But, he had only drawn a small, flat purse, from a pocket on his belt. Out of it, he tapped some silver krana onto the table, where Hud was entering sums into the ledger. The younger man's face didn't change; but, I saw the respect in his eyes when he nodded sparely again.
___"Here!" I snapped. "Let us see this champion." And I stomped to the flap—although not quickly enough to keep from seeing Hud, adding a couple of krana of his own into the pile.
___I snorted—and decided where this stranger would be put: gathering fuel from the pens. If he enjoyed the company of sheep so much, then let him try cattle as well! And let him discover, thereby, how fickle shepherdesses can be!
___Yes; I taught him that lesson well enough.
___But not yet.
___That sharp cliff must be descended; but not yet...


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[JasonPratt]

Notes from the real author...

One of the things I tried to make clear originally in Portunista's recollections of this time in her life, was that she was under an increasing amount of stress to hold onto what authority she had managed to gain, much moreso to find some way to increase her powerbase so she wouldn't be overthrown (or even swallowed up and more-or-less enslaved) by one of the other wandering groups of refugees. She's a talented amateur who has gone about as far as she can feasibly go, and she has recently seen what happens to talented amateurs under other people's authority: they get chewed up as cannon fodder.

Unfortunately, when trimming booklength in preproduction editing, I sacrificed some of that detail. So it looks more like she's being randomly hateful, when what she's desperately trying to do is protect herself at any cost. Seifas scares her, but she needs his competency (not in leading the troops, because he isn't a great leader, but in helping to scare them in line, and in scouting and actual fighting), but she doesn't understand him, and isn't interested in understanding (much less sympathizing with) him. Keeping him sullenly depressed means he won't be thinking of ways of opposing her policies--which aren't all that bad (as will be seen later) but she wants to minimize preliminary restraints in case she does want to do something morally shady later. Having a moralistic elite killer around would be dangerously inconvenient!

This chapter is hugely important in setting up a baseline for her behavior later: this is where she is when the story starts, so even if she improves to some extent there's a serious danger she'll go back to this and beyond. What she does later, for which she grieves so much in the future (and for which she's writing her Testimony at all), fits back precisely into this mindset. (I already knew with some detail what that was going to be when I wrote the chapter, and I kept this chapter in mind when working out extra details later.)


I took the opportunity in passing to play a little with the concept of overlapping authorial perspectives, too: Seifas has no idea that Portunista was intentionally playing with him psychologically to keep him depressed, and Portunista has no idea that she had gone too far--she wouldn't want Seifas to kill himself, because then he'd be of no use to her!

Speaking of "opportunity", yes I based her name on the Spanish word for "opportunist".  8-) Whenever I get around to Book 2, readers will learn this was a nickname given to her by her teachers, and what her birthname is (although I have to admit I didn't bother inventing her 'real' name when writing Book 1. I figured that was something I could put off until later.)

As for "Hud", the staff accountant from Keryth... I'm just going to say "heh" and leave it at that.

[JasonPratt]

Chapter 6: Dances

___I charged from my tent, already hating a man I hadn't seen.
___I cannot see him now.
___But, I remember how I saw him, then.
___As Seifas had said: a fair man.
___He stands halfway downhill, surrounded by soldiers who seem to be wandering into position as they pass. They watch him, staring, unspeaking; he smiles to them in return, resting upon his flutewood staff, meeting them each with a nod.
___Certainly he is fair of coloring. Curly, sandy-yellow hair; a short curly beard; a brief moustache. His skin is paler than any I've seen; compared to Seifas, simply snow. He wears a tunic of humble wool, very clean—which raises further suspicions in me: any mere peasant would not have clothes entirely unworn by rain and mud.
___I stop at a distance to watch. A boy has pushed to the circle's edge, unlike the other nearby vendors' children.
___The stranger turns precisely to the boy, squinting in thought a moment.
___Then he squats to eye-level with the boy, and says:
___"I see you have a sword-jumper!"
___He sounds like Seifas, somewhat; though a higher baritone, befitting a smaller man.
___"So, can you jump a sword with it yet?" he asks.
___The boy is holding a ball, covered in elongrass netting winding into a line of strands.
___I haven't the faintest notion what he means—jump a sword with that?!—and neither does the boy, who had begun to shrink away from the man's attention. But, his curiosity now has much increased!
___I see some soldiers nodding; everyone seems to relax a little, yet grow more alert.
___"Did you know your ball can jump a sword?" the stranger gently asks.
___The boy is darting his eyes toward his elders.
___A soldier mutters, "S'alright, lad. Speak up."
___He gulps, then edges further in.
___"What do you mean...sword-jumping?"
___"Well! Sometimes a fighter must dodge a swipe by jumping something swung at him! Imagine! Here—" the stranger has leaped to the right, facing left in an on-guard stance. "Here is our hero, taunting his foe to a towering rage. 'Where shall I skewer my peacock again?!'"
___The boy's eyes widen in wonder. Several soldiers are smiling now, but not in mockery.
___"So, the villain," continues the stranger, leaping across to the opposite side, "snarls and savagely swings his axe or halberd, thus!" And with a looping whistle, he brings his pole around in an arc. "Striking here!" he points, and then steps back along his staff to put his legs within the arc. "But!—our hero jumps," and once again he leaps, inventively whirling the staff beneath him, "clearing the blow—or even pinning it down! Ha-HAAA!"
___He flourishes, standing proud and straight upon the staff, flushed with exertion and grinning broadly.
___"Well," he adds with a shrug, "any professional soldier could do it better. But, you have a lead on me," he points to the boy and his ball, "for you can begin to learn it early!"
___The boy now shifts his excited attention, between his ball and the stranger.
___"It does work a little bit differently, with a ball," the man allows. "I would be glad to show you."
___And, he holds out his hand.
___The boy is hesitating. "G'wan, lad. Let'im try," advises another soldier. I ruefully shake my head; to my surprise, I am smiling, too! The man must be a clown...
___"I understand," the stranger nods, with a different smile. "You do have every reason to believe me. Yet to act on that belief, even once you have your reasons...it can be hard to step out onto a bridge, even when we have built the bridge ourselves."

___I blink so sharply, my eyelids click.
___This man is not a clown! He is—! What he is, is a...!
___Don't listen to him! I want to shout, through my clenching throat. This is a trick of some sort! Can't they see?! Why are they all smiling now?!

___I don't know whether the boy understands the man—but, he understands the surrounding smiles.
___With only a tremor of hesitation, he gives the man the ball.
___I force my muscles to twist into action: enough of this farce!

___A hand falls gently on my shoulder.
___I whirl, spitting, to face the threat...
___...Seifas is standing calm and tall beside me.
___"Watch," he murmurs.

___He isn't looking at me. He isn't looking at me!

___My fury floods my mind, as I turn back to the gathering crowd—
___...the stranger is jumping the sword!

___Having fastened the end of the twine to his ankle, he is swinging the ball on its leash through the air, near to the ground, jumping in a stuttering step to avoid the slinging cord.
___"It works much better with a friend!" he shouts. "Then you can jump both feet! Come on and try!" And in a frolic, the boy and his friends all fling into the circle, leaping to clear the arcing ball.
___I cannot move; the sight is incredible. Whenever the children stumble, they and the man all tumble down; and then they bounce right up to try again. The children shrill and giggle; the vendors can hardly wipe the tears from their eyes for laughing so hard; the soldiers regale one another with yarns of war. Now the ring is clapping, and as the cord completes an arc, they raise a counting shout: "Ahoy! Bahoy! Chahoy! Dahoy! Eeoi!" Seifas, his long lean face the perfect picture of dignity, is laughing boisterous roars, his bright white teeth all shining...

___I didn't laugh.
___I seethed, and was seized with a burning itch to fly down the hill, to rend the joy of those people.

___The force of that joy quelled me instead.
___I didn't want to face it.
___I was afraid to face it.

___So I turned, and skulked to my tent.
___As far as I know, no one even watched me.

___I told myself I wasn't retreating. Let them have their fun. I was practical. I was pragmatic. Wasn't this partly what vendors were for?—to entertain the troops?
___I didn't entirely succeed in ignoring the differences, of joy and fun and pleasure. But I managed not to think of it.
___No...I managed to think away from it.
___I strode into my tent, and poured a mug of mead, and sat and stewed. Even Hud had gone to join the escalating party. Fine. Whatever.

___...and then to my mind, there sprang an image of me, dancing and singing.

___How ridiculous! I had never once sung in my life...!
___—but I remembered now, that I had danced, long ago.

___I remembered: how I had danced the dances of little girls who wanted to dance the dances of women; how I enjoyed my play, how I had looked with a clean admiration—that which poisoned turns to envy—upon the girls who were finally ready to dance the very best dances.
___I had wanted so badly to dance those dances...

___I wept unblinking tears; refusing to admit that I was weeping, wanting to murder those memories.
___I hated them.
___I loved them.
___I missed them.

___But I refused to close my eyes and cry.


Skip JRP comments and go to next chapter

[JasonPratt]

Notes from the real author...

This isn't the last substantial subauthor chapter in the book, but it's (almost) the last one for a while, and they're rare afterward.

I debated a long time about whether to go back to normal narration for this chapter, but eventually I decided there was too much rumination from Portunista herself not to keep going.

The sword-jumping ball is a real toy, still available today (or anyway in 2000 when I wrote this chapter); and I based the incident loosely on teaching some kids at church what the weird toy they had found in the closet of the fellowship hall was for.

(This seems like a good time to point out that I don't much resemble Jian. ;) His backstory, without going into deep spoilery territory, is VERY much different from mine as well; although he's admittedly a composition of two fictional characters I created back in the 80s, one of which was a personalized expy of myself--one of several. ;) )

Different authorial perspectives strike again!--Seifas, who would usually be cautiously critical, never thinks to be suspicious about Jian's clothing. This also allowed me to start to offset some of Portunista's prickliness (still in full flower otherwise in this chapter): see, she isn't incompetent, she has good reason to be suspicious about Jian's clothes!

I also meant this to offset her somewhat irrational reaction to the good will he inspires in the troops. I never could think of a way to explain outright what's really bothering her (maybe later in Book 4 I'll get around to doing it on the page), but the root of it (indicated in the previous chapter) is that she doesn't want competition, and especially effective competition, for authority in camp. But that would be too self-critically obvious if she thought it out loud (so to speak): "This man is not a clown! He's--! He's--! I dunno, but he isn't just being silly and that means he's a threat to me by comparison!"  :roll:

Another thing she could be thinking is that, dangit, here are the klerosa starting to come back!--as established in the previous chapter, she didn't much like them. (Also as established earlier, the 'clerics' or priests and priestesses routinely vanish at once before age-ending conflicts, for reasons no one knows for sure, and never come back themselves but the gods who serve God--the Agents of the Eye in Mikonese terminology--start raising up new klerosa soon afterward. Only this time that hasn't happened and it's starting to freak people out, though Portunista is glad not to have the competition.)

But then, she doesn't really have any evidence he's a man chosen by some Agent to be a cultural representative: he isn't saying so, or talking about how Abban came to him and is granting him power and authority to help humanity in such-and-such a way, much less demonstrating any of the miraculous power of the klerosa. He just says something that sounds a little deep after acting like a mere bard! So she can't out him as a fraud, because he didn't claim to be anyone in the first place, and she really doesn't have reason to believe the Agents won't start raising up klerosa again (despite their unexplained delay), so if he turns out to be one and she opposes him the people will instantly turn against her.


Anyway. While I didn't realize it at the time, Jian's little saying about stepping out on a bridge one has built, has connections to something that happens at the halfway point of the book.

[JasonPratt]

Chapter 7: Fires, Composures, And Any Sword

___The sun was gleaming like a beacon, my beloved; setting the air afire with glory through the western mists. Bands of men and women competed in chorus, rising in power every moment, until the sun departed to their gladful roars and answering cheers among the watching crowd.
___Then lantern-poles were set; watch-fires lit. Vendors and soldiers together worked to bring out meat and mead and fruit.
___Seifas had left a sullen muddle of mercenaries, in the morning; now a happy hamlet bustled, singing, dancing, kissing, jumping, playing, strumming, declaiming, feasting.
___Seifas, while trying to find and assign some picketscouts, lost his sight of Jian. He expected to find the popular stranger at the festival's center—but, he couldn't decide where the "center" might be!
___Eventually, an elderly potter, tottering to the meaders, gave the juacuar a solid clue.

___Away from the main festivities, Seifas found an impressive knot of old campaigners, lounging near some short-flamed coals—a hot fire being unneeded in midsummer, but their bones appreciating the local warmth. Besides, even a minor fire would keep the punkie-gnats from swarming out of the ashes.
___Jian leaned back against a log, mugs of water and cinnamon mead nearby, from which he drank in alternate sips. Also near was half a loaf of longbread, and some sticks of pounded quail.
___He didn't speak, but only listened, quietly chuckling at the stories. No one seemed to notice him; each was enheartening every one with tales of high adventure.
___Seifas saw that Jian could see him.
___Jian saluted the juacuar with mead; then he placed that mug behind his 
reclining-log.
___Smiling to himself, Seifas circled the gathering from a distance, approaching from behind, not to disturb the tellers. He swallowed some mead from the mug, then leaned across the log to hear the end of a knee-slapping tale involving mice and figs.
___"I'm glad to see you again," said Jian, softly as another story started. "I had thought I would meet your commander, but—" Glancing over his shoulder he winked. "Seems I've arrived for a holiday!"
___"We had no holiday planned," admitted Seifas. It took him a moment to understand how odd that admission sounded: yet Portunista hadn't made preparations to be celebrating Midsummer's Eve! Besides, he would have said the troops were not in the mood.
___Nearby, women from the red-lamp tents were happily dancing, swirling in rings from one to another fire; they seemed in no particular rush to capitalize on compliments.
___An altogether different mood, for everyone!
___Almost everyone.
___Seifas recalled his commander's face as she had returned to her tent; and tried to be diplomatic.
___"Commander Portunista decided to spend some time alone, while she had a chance, in order to consider..." His invention failed. "...issues," he limped to an end.
___"Is it time to meet her now?"
___Seifas honestly wasn't sure. "I think she should meet you," he carefully answered, "and it might as well be now." Some time had passed. Perhaps she might be calmer.
___Jian slid back, over the log, not standing into the firelight.
___Seifas watched as Jian assumed the lead, beginning the way uphill; moving, not exactly from shadow to shadow, but from zone to zone of least attention. He did give a ready smile, to anyone who saw him, but: a slight of movement in the corner of the eye—Was that the stranger?—and he was gone, leaving behind a minimized ripple of speculation.
___These odd impressions faded, as they neared the top of the hill; and Seifas began to worry: would Jian march into the tent headfirst?! Portunista's expression slashed through Seifas' memory: this needed delicate handling.
___His fears came partly to nothing. Jian stepped briskly to a halt well-short of the tent, and rested on his flutewood pole, looking back across his journey in  satisfaction.
___The juacuar discreetly coughed. "Let me ensure that she can receive you."
___Jian nodded once, and faced the tent. He seemed to be composing himself—and that struck Seifas a little strange, although he didn't know why.
___The subcommander firmly rapped the wide tent-flap.
___No answer.
___He edged his head inside, incrementally.
___Portunista sat in her chair, behind a table, studying documents and a map. Her eyes seemed reddish and squinty—as if she had been crying!
___But Seifas firmly dismissed this fancy: studying maps in dim lamplight would easily make her eyes look bleary. On the other hand, he mused, that did bring up the question of why she hadn't properly trimmed her lamps, or even jotted wisps...
___"Well?!"
___Seifas restrained a wince; and then he stepped into the tent.
___"At your request, Commander, I have brought the stranger to see you."
___She hadn't really requested this; but Seifas hoped his respectful tone would calm her a little further.
___Portunista stood, moving away from the map, and seemed to compose herself. Hadn't he seen something similar—?
___An unexpected image flashed across his mind: himself, in matchmaking garb, arranging a noble couple's introduction—and with one of them stewing in a wretched temper!
___Seifas rapidly spun to the flap, hiding a smile, just as Portunista ordered Jian to be brought in.
___"This seems a good omen!" The no-longer-quite-a-stranger doubtless referred to the grin of the juacuar. Seifas coughed and regained his own composure.
___"Commander Portunista now will see you," Seifas tried to announce—when Portunista herself strode out the flap!
___Jian bowed low, with a respectful "Commander," as the juacuar moved to stand behind her.
___"So," said Portunista frostily. "Thanks for helping my subcommander obtain some food for my brigade." Seifas couldn't clearly see her eyes from where he stood, but he suspected she flicked a glance toward the festival strewn about the hill below. So much for the sheep—indeed, so much for a sizable fraction of their supplies!
___"The herding family thanks you, too, for such a generous compensation," Jian returned, and shortly bowed—the bag still hung on Seifas' belt, of course.
___"Where are you from?" Portunista demanded to know.
___Seifas' ears pricked up, and he focused intently on watching the man; who narrowed his eyes a little, and then so slightly pulled back his head, while shifting his grip on the flutewood staff.
___"I come from a faraway land, as you can see—"
___"Not necessarily," Portunista interrupted. "Seifas looks as different from most of us as you—and yet a few of his kind are born each year in every nation." Her triumphant smile was spread so wide, Seifas could see it from behind.
___And then, in turn, he saw a startlement, even worry, on Jian's face. The pale man sighed and tried again.
___"I apologize; but I am under an obligation, even the nature of which I mustn't reveal. I am a stranger to these parts, and I will need a...sponsor, of sorts."
___"And you believe it should be us."
___"I don't know why it shouldn't be."
___"But you won't tell us where you are from."
___"No."
___"Nor who, if anyone, sent you."
___"No."
___"Nor why you are even here."
___"Not at the moment, no."
___"And if I handed you over to my interrogators?" Portunista asked with a sharpening edge to her flattening tone.
___"It would hurt." The fair man matched her flatness, and her sharpness.
___Seifas was disappointed at the hostility. But he couldn't fault his commander; she was only being prudent. Besides, after tonight, would anyone in the brigade agree to torture this man...?
___"I understand this looks suspicious," Jian continued. "If you wish, then I will leave."
___"And what would you do if you stayed?!" retorted Portunista.
___Jian bowed shortly once again. "I would commit myself to serving you, in every way that you deem proper—with the reminder that I have loyalties which may supersede your authority."
___Portunista laughed unpleasantly. "Well!—you are an arrogant scamp! And if I told you to gather fuel from the pens? Would your loyalties supersede that?"
___"As far as I know...no they would not." For a moment the man's face tightened; but then with a sigh of resignation, he grinned instead.
___His confidence set her back on her heels.
___"And you, Seifas!?" She turned and shot the juacuar a glance.
___"I prefer to gather sheep and the heads of villains, rather than droppings," he gravely replied. "If that is what you are asking about. Otherwise," he continued, over her narrowing glare, "whatever you have him do, if you accept his offer of service, he should be required to help in defending our camp against attack."
___Snorting at this, Portunista strode downhill and to the left, away from both the men. Sharing a glance and a shrug, they followed. This time Jian paced Seifas as a proper subordinate, two steps left and two behind.
___Portunista breezed into an armorer's tent. A weaponbrace along one side held several swords.
___"Here!" Portunista pulled a short and very plain sword from the brace, handing it to Jian. "We can spare you nothing better than a common battered weapon which has only failed a hundred faceless soldiers!"
___The fair man carefully set aside his flutewood staff—not without some fondness, but with a definite air of finality.
___Seifas swallowed a lump in his throat; and decided the boy with the sword-jumping ball would be given the staff for a keepsake.
___Turning away from the staff, Jian accepted the sword.
___Flexing his wrist, he tested the balance, twisting a few slow cuts through the air.
___"No matter," he smiled to Portunista. "Any sword will do."
___A moment of silence followed, while they watched each other.
___Then he humbly asked,
___"May I also be sheathed?"

___Portunista blinked, then tossed him a worn but serviceable sheath, sewn from softened leather; and then not altogether meeting her officer's eye, she growled as she plunged from under the covering tent:
___"Find him a place to sleep..."
___Seifas could no longer hold in his mirth, but prudently softened his  laughter.
___Seven minutes later, a hundred and eighty-four men were dead.


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[JasonPratt]

Notes from the real author...

Yeah, this is one of my lamer chapter titles. (Coming up with hundreds of chapter titles plus section titles plus some book titles?--not easy. ;) ) That does bring up the question of whether the Preface Author as a character is using chapter titles, though!

I gave this lots of thought before sending the text to my typesetters: I didn't think the PA would use chapter titles (or not at first anyway, given his mood and rationale for writing the account at all) on something he thought his wife would only need an hour to read (and that by the way is a clue that he and his wife Aren't Normal People At All), but mere chapter numbering gets boring.

Eventually I split the difference: chapter titles are available in the Table of Contents and printed on the top of alternating text pages starting with the second page of the chapter. (The other alternating header, starting on the third page of the chapter, prints the section title. By normal publishing standard that should have been the title of the book, but I figured readers wouldn't need or want reminding about the book title!)


Hopefully by now it should be sufficiently obvious that the Preface Author is following Seifas' journal for this chapter even if he isn't taking direct source (and even if he's adding to the details with some narrative smoothing and color, and with details from whatever else he's doing to scope out the situation.)

This sets up an ongoing practical illustration of source-critical theory: the Preface Author is starting to redact the data, smoothing it out and transposing it to a different form of delivery rather than just repeating what was previously written down. A reader could make guesses as to what he's citing directly from Seifas' journal, and what he's paraphrasing (as well as fleshing out, whether from other sources or just for narrative and stylistic color), but unless we had the original source text (which we don't--and I don't either ;) ) we'd never be able to make more than guesses about it. But then again, that leads to the question of how much the PA is inadvertently altering, or even altering on purpose to suit his own emphases (or even his own agendas!) Which goes back to, what do we know about the PA as a character? How reliable is he as a narrator, and how do we establish that?

Not that that's important for following or understanding the story, but I'm very pleased to have been able to work such issues into reading the book as a side effect of the unusual composition style. :) I'll be doing it a little more overtly in the case of the 3rd and final subauthor, who will be introduced a few chapters from now.


Meanwhile, Portunista demonstrates that she didn't just fall accidentally into command of a few hundred soldiers and support personnel: despite her emotional stress, she can recognize a fishy sounding story when she hears it. She isn't being mean for the sake of being mean (or not entirely anyway ;) ), she has justifiable reasons to be suspicious. Maybe the problem is with Jian and not her! (Or not altogether with her.)


Yes, there's an affectionate if obscure nod to Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series, in the "mice and figs". (He had only gotten as far as A Crown of Swords before I wrote CoJ's first draft. And now, Jan 2013, the final novel in WoT has been posthumously completed and released at last. sigh, nostalgia...)


The ending of this chapter is easily in my top five favorites out of writing three books! While I hate action sequences simply for sake of action sequences (which is why not every Section has a climactic action scene), I was getting antsy to move along to the climactic action of this Section, and the largest fight scene I had ever written up to then.

[JasonPratt]

Chapter 8: No Easy Prey (Part 1 of 2)

___Portunista told herself she wasn't fleeing the forge; but she couldn't get rid of the feel of defeat. This "Jian" had met her stroke for stroke. She'd hoped to dislodge some useful information—or else to drive him away—but he seemed to have no pride to inflame or burst.
___And so she stomped uphill, unsure of what she would do when she returned to her tent, other than pore once more over maps and rumors and figures. And drink, of course; the night was warm, the forge-tent had been hot—that was why she was flushing...
___But she didn't want mead.
___What she really wanted, was...
___She altered her route, heading north across the top of the western slope and then downhill, into Gaekwar's side of camp. She had brought her only bottle of vania, whenever she last had visited him. He hadn't returned it, so probably kept it, while the brigade was on the move. He wouldn't be there now, but to the west downhill with most of her brigade, keeping a watch on his company-soldiers and muttering cutting remarks about cows.
___She hadn't felt like visiting him for weeks, and didn't feel like seeing him now.
___She only wanted a drink; of something that wasn't mead. Something she enjoyed.
___That was what she wanted—that was all she wanted...
___She ground her teeth in baffled frustration. What she really wanted—was to strike and smash and—!
___And, she got her wish.
___With a hooting roar, a monstrous form crashed out of the trees—not far in front of Portunista!
___A line of hollering humans also poured into the clearing.
___Portunista blinked in confusion, as the enemies charged the hill, swatting aside the empty tents—the creature's roars seemed to echo out of phase, downhill to her left, where the enemy line stretched out, charging upon her shocked brigade.
___Then with a curse she remembered the squad, reported by Seifas. That had been to the north: this must be a retaliation. They would have easily found her camp, especially once the festival started.
___The damned midsummer's celebration...
___Portunista had wanted a target.
___Here a target was.
___The maga slashed her fingernails across her other palm, hissing from the back of her mouth with a rising pitch. The mystical pain increased the elemental Yrthen force she violently infused beneath her enemies.
___The natural earth exploded—long rough parallel furrows, peeling back at the speed of sound, throwing men in the air, sharply slamming the monstrous mammal, leaving soldiers stunned and bleeding as the battle line behind them stumbled into the shallow trenches—their momentum broken.
___Portunista smiled. Very satisfactory.
___But she doubted that she would be able to use her personal variation of the Yrthrip skill again—unconsciously she flicked her hand, slinging blood upon the ground, as she squinted in the starlit night.
___The creature was a shoulderbeast; ten wristlengths to foreleg top. Four men rode in wicker baskets: one each side, one upon the back, and one set in-between the topmost basket and the mahout who was guiding from a saddle on the neck.
___The topmost basket held the commander. And the others...
___...were jotting! She could hear them clacking away at some effect she couldn't recognize with all the noise.
___Three magi. Only apprentices, or else she would have been dead already, but still—
___The commander shouted a code, and pointed at her. His shortbowmen, near at hand behind the line, nocked their shafts.
___Portunista craned her neck, as she trotted briskly to her left, wanting a better view of the fighting down the hill, while keeping an eye on her proximate threat: half a brigade and a magi-reinforced shoulderbeast. She still didn't know what those men were chattering, but most jottings required a line-of-sight—and now those bowmen were wending their way through the battle line!
___Some cover, some cover, she told herself, her skin now prickling in panic...any cover!—well, those would have to do—
___She slid feet first behind a stack of empty casks, as the shortbows sang, their missiles thunking oakwood slats, and otherwise whistling past her.
___Good enough as shelter for the moment; but she'd easily be outflanked—besides, a waist-high pile would not be stopping a shoulderbeast! And what were those magi doing...?
___Portunista ground her teeth: she could not hold the line. She must escape downhill. If, she amended acidly, she could do it while flat on her back, before those men regained enough of their balance to...
___...ah, wait; that might work...
___She closed her eyes, and jotted an Yrthescrution.
___Binding her scrution behind her lids, she 'saw' the nearby surface-pressures of the enemy line. Only a very few moments had passed—they were regrouping and picking their way across the scars.
___Good.
___Chuckling deviously, Portunista jotted an Yrthepool; letting the contours of her earlier ripping be her guide, for infusing just the right proportions of materia.
___Guided by her will and skill, the Yrthe changed a prism of ground, five paces wide, knee-deep, and forty paces long, into a liquid consistent with water—but vitally reactive.
___Even the shoulderbeast stumbled again, as its mahout drove it forward trying to reestablish the line. Its escape annoyed the maga; still she laughed while most of the upper line abruptly washed downhill in a tumbling roll of vitalized earth!
___The enemy commander now was shouting for his mahout to be crushing her with the shoulderbeast.
___Good. That fit perfectly into her plan.
___She could feel the beast approaching, for she hadn't released her Yrthescrution yet. Portunista jotted again, pooling another forty-pace trough; but this time only inches deep—and wide as a shoulderbeast!
___She set it several paces uphill of the creature, running it through her own position, pointing down the hill behind her soldiers' battle line.
___Releasing the bind upon her scrution, Portunista rapidly blinked, rubbing her eyes and flushing away the microthin materia layer. The Yrthescrution's annoying aftereffects were more than compensated by the exhilarant rush downhill on a river of earth, much like a child on a slide: an escape while flat on her back!
___The wave of vitalized earth didn't end with the trough. Portunista kept her concentration and her balance through her enjoyment, lying back and banking the rushing river with her will, tacking left and right, avoiding tents and such.
___She fetched up moments later near the bottom of the hill; her soldiers steadily struggling in a battle-line to her right.
___Releasing the earth around her, she staggered with relative grace to her feet, and hopefully looked back up the hill...
___The creature had only suffered another stumble, hopping out of the earthen stream to better footing.
___Portunista ineffectively wiped some mud from her face, spitting to clear her teeth, growling her disappointment.
___But she had gained some time, to oversee her situation—although she hoped her opponent would urge an immediate chase, rather than charging her line or jotting down a strike upon them.
___Here, at the bottom of the hill, she could see more clearly what was happening. Her troops had splendidly met the surprise attack, rushing against the invaders with high morale.
___She couldn't see Seifas in the campfire-lit confusion; but she figured he wouldn't be among the front-line anyway. He would be somewhere uphill, striking out of the darkness like an ebony razorwyrm. She smiled possessive pride: these imprudent fools had called down on themselves the wrath of one of the Guacu-ara! She could safely leave the remains of the enemy's upper line to him and to his aasagai.
___She could see Othon easily, though: Othon the Implacable indeed! He should have been mowing her enemies like a hailstorm scything grass. But the giantish subcommander hadn't been wearing his armor—now some soldiers from his company guarded his flanks, while he restrained his edged mace, lest he sweep his own men from the field. The fight was settling round him on both sides, like metal filings near a magnet; but with a balance as tenuous as a bubble.
___Yet with half the enemy floundering to their feet, after tumbling down the hill, the chaos on the lower line was shifting decisively in her favor—and neither side was strong enough to prolong the battle's breaking point. Without klerosa, soldiers now were much less willing to risk themselves in battle.
___The break would happen soon. As far as she could tell, by carefully checking the flows of the skirmish, she would have won already, if she hadn't needed to fight those magi and their shoulderbeast. Her soldiers' morale was remarkably high...probably thanks to...
___Her mouth twisted.
___...probably thanks to being inspired to celebrate Midsummer's Eve with so much gusto.
___She doubted Jian was helping to hold the line, however—he didn't look the type. Probably he had run for cover the moment that he had heard the roar from...
___Wait—hadn't she left the shoulderbeast behind her...?
___Her heart froze—she scampered leftward, trying to see more clearly. She had thought she'd only been hearing an echo off the nearby tentsides; but—
___—there were two shoulderbeasts!
___One of them was behind her line this minute!
___She had lost after all—she wouldn't be able to stop it in time, before it tromped her defensive—!
___Portunista's feet, and her thoughts, skidded to a stop. Now that she had a clearer view, she could see the truth.
___Jian was playing with it.

___"I simply cannot describe what I was seeing any other way," she would write years later. "And, he and the beast both seemed to be enjoying their 'game' immensely!
___"Later I learned that Jian had raced downhill, to help to gather the children away from the fight. Seeing my soldiers engaged along the line, the young and inexperienced beast had whooped and challenged them; while its mahout tried to goad it into position for charging up our line. And Jian had been the only man who was free to answer the threat.
___"So he'd jumped and whooped in kind, waving his arms, calling the shoulderbeast's attention.
___"Jian had drawn the beast—which remained oblivious of its mahout—into an open patch of ground behind the line; and he was speeding back and forth, jinking and janking, swatting the legs of the beast with the flat of his blade. The shoulderbeast plunged and spun, rearing and hooting, as in a primal dance, billowing clouds of summer dust in the flickering bonfirelight.
___"And the purblind fool of a man, was laughing fit to burst!"

___Then the situation changed.
___Other adults had been gathering children into groups, but hadn't yet hustled them into the relative safety of the forest, lacking a definite order. Not being far away, the children were cheering Jian—and the shoulderbeast as well!
___It didn't take the creature and its mahout long to recognize the sound.
___The shoulderbeast jerked to a stop, facing the clusters of clapping children. The mahout, seeing a way to distract the defensive line, spurred his mount, shouting commands to which the beast was trained to respond.
___Jian, no longer laughing, darted in front of it.
___"No!!" he cried. "Not the children! Not the children!"
___He stood his ground, waving his arms insistently.
___The mahout pointed, and spurred his mount again, calling down a cursing taunt upon the fool in front of him.
___The shoulderbeast, reacting to commands and goads, surged ahead, toward its 'playmate'—and toward the children beyond.
___Jian continued to wave his arms, shouting: "No!!"
___He wouldn't dodge again.
___The children no longer were laughing and clapping.
___The mahout, sensing victory, struck even harder with his goad—
___The beast plowed to a halt, spraying Jian with dirt and grass.
___One last time the mahout spurred his mount, shrilling commands to strike!
___Snorting in annoyance, the creature rolled on its back.

___"It was not," the maga will later write, "that the children in those days were barbarous. They simply hadn't expected to see this—yet, somehow they also had. So they responded like children.
___"They could see the astonishment on the face of their persecutor—and thought it the funniest thing in the world!
___"And when the shoulderbeast happily grunted, and wriggled on its back, as if scratching a spot that was hard to reach, the children literally rolled on the ground with glee—despite the sinister scrunching sounds!
___"Even Jian stood frozen in bemusement.
___"Then I saw him recover, shrug, and mouth the words, 'Oh, well...'"

___The adolescent creature quickly rolled upright again, regaining its feet with a glorious sigh. It squinted in curiosity at the rejoicing children, whose guardians stood in confused relief.
___Leaning on his sword, Jian flourished a courtly bow to the beast, inspiring another round of applause. Giving a grunt, the creature ambled away on a shallow tangent, settling to the ground between one group of children and the defensive line.
___Portunista couldn't pull herself away from this fantastic sight. A few unruly children scampered to its flanks, shouting a combination of names, resolving into "Tumblecrumble." The creature practically preened beneath the praise—

___A mother shrieked.
___Jian whipped round to find the cause; even Tumblecrumble jerked his head in alarm.

___One of the foes had broken through the line.
___A heavyset lump had somehow survived the onslaught; he had decided not even to risk an attack on his enemies' backs, but instead was floundering full-speed toward the children!—seeing some helpless targets, and one distracted defender.
___No one had noticed, before he had covered half the distance.
___Portunista disentangled her thoughts and leapt into a run—knowing she would arrive too late.
___The shoulderbeast heaved upright; but couldn't safely move with children underfoot—he would arrive too late.
___Jian burst into a vicious acceleration, smiling no more...
___he would arrive too late.

"I still can see the developing tragedy, in my memory," Portunista will write in her testimony...


Skip JRP's commentary and go to Chp 8: part 2 of 2

[JasonPratt]

Notes from the real author...

This is the longest chapter by far, so I decided to split it into two parts. Part 2 will be up tomorrow.

No, shoulderbeasts aren't elephants. They're more like baluchitheriums (except with a skull and face a more like that of a Chinese dragon, to give them a bit more character and personality.  8-) Also with more natural leather armor plating.)

This Wikipedia entry just confirmed my suspicion that Phil Tippet, one of the SFX creators of The Empire Strikes Back, based his AT-AT designs on the animal. MY GEEKINESS IS OVER NIIINE THOUSANNNDD!!

Real-life shoulderbeasts grew larger than the ones seen here, but--well, I don't want to spoil some information coming later in-story. I'll note it when we get there, though.


Gemalfan, the first antagonist of the series, gets rather short shrift: bless his heart, he never even gets a line of dialogue! Originally I felt bad for not being able to show more of him, and also I wanted to account for how exactly he got his own little brigade into position to surprise attack Portunista's. But I didn't want to ruin the surprise of him showing up, and on the other hand pausing to flashback to explain in detail how he got there utterly killed the momentum established by his sudden appearance. So during the two major trimming sessions (from 206Kwords to 195Kw, and thence to 144K) I cut almost all the explanation out and moved the little remaining until later after a chunk of the action. (That'll be in Part 2 of this chapter.)

I borrowed Gemalfan's name from The Song of Roland, by the way. (The epic poem, specifically translated by Dorothy Sayers, not any more modern novelization, of which I'm going to assume there are several.) That's also true of Othon, who is the only survivor of Roland's defensive stand (having been stationed with most of the archers on a cliff-side out of the way of the fighting), and who guards the dead while Charlemagne's cavalry runs down the retreating Saracens. In my memory he gets confused easily with the Danish folk-hero Ogier, slain in Roland's defense--I keep thinking a line or two of the poem indicates one or the other share the same name--so I combined the two characters, sort of. ;) "Othon" has Othon's name but Ogier's legendary size. (The Wiki article linked above neglects to mention this, but demonstrates it with a photo of 16th century artwork in a Danish church. The Othon of my novels isn't that much bigger than normal humans though; nor the Ogier of the Song for that matter.)


Gaekwar will be discussed later when he's properly introduced in Section Two. Here, he simply solves a problem of spatial positioning, since Portunista had to start out on a different side of the hill than the attack (or she'd know what Jian was up to already), but had to have a reason to be going to the other side of the hill instead of back up to her tent or (less likely) down to the celebration at the foot of the hill. This also allows me to introduce 'ista's favorite drink, vania. (Because she has to have a reason to be visiting that side of the hill which isn't actually to see Gaekwar, who can't be there or else he'd be participating with 'ista in the defense of the upper line.) Yes, it's vanilla liquor, with a fantasy novel version of one of vanilla's... um... legendary properties.  :twisted: It's extremely important to the plot of Book 2 (with direct consequences throughout the rest of Portunista's plot of the series), although not quite in a fashion I expect readers to be expecting. ;)

[JasonPratt]

Chapter 8: No Easy Prey (Part 2 of 2)

___One boy jumps from the nearest pack, scampering up a nearby crate and thumbing his nose at the charging brigand; who alters his course accordingly. Jian is straining for speed...but now he will be even later, by more fractions of a moment.
___The infantryman must pull to a halt to stab at the boy, spears not being the best for passing strikes, and the brigand not being a model of skill.
___The boy is crouching on the crate, making himself as small as he can—but even this lout will be able to hit him. The boy sticks out his tongue, blowing in rude defiance.
___As I race on, I give the highest epitaph I can:
___I could have used a man, with the courage of this boy.
___The brigand bugs his eyes and howls, combining with the rising roars of Jian and of the shoulderbeast, plunging the spear ahead and down to spit the boy, under the chin, between the knees, through the chest and out the back—
___—except, instead, the boy leaps up, as the villain commits his thrust, heaving his legs and body above the spear, staggering slightly in midair—then stomping the shaft, pinning it to the crate!
___"Ha-HAAH!!" the child is trumpeting, planting his hands upon his hips. The villain's expression is priceless.
___"Ha-HAAAAHH!!!" echoes Jian, charging past behind the foe, slicing his sword entirely through the back of his neck.
___"HAWWRRRR!!!!" Tumblecrumble roars, punting the remnants across the ground, and dancing on the pieces.
___I stumble to a stop, laughing at the scene. Jian has slid to a halt himself, and spins once more to face me...
___...but, his face then flashes from grin to grim; and he charges—straight at me!
___What am I supposed to make of this?!
___He hurtles toward me, his body lowering, fully striving—the earth itself is thundering, with encroaching mass as he approaches; and as he throws aside his sword I think:
___...does he intend to smother me??
___The past few moments have been too bizarre...I calmly watch my fate, trying to sort the meanings, to take the proper action.
___But as he hurls himself, I've only managed to think:

___Let him come—he shall find me no easy prey!

___and...why is the ground still shaking?
___Then he has wrapt me, indeed with force but gently, enfolding me and twisting, the thunder rising in crescendo, puffs of air buffeting us, and he grunts as I land on top, our momentum rolling us over until I come to rest beneath him...
___How must my wounded pride have appeared!—eyes still wide; face still frozen in amazement; gulping air like a fish. Jian is finally face-to-face with me; his eyes are shining with mirth and success.
___And then he kisses the tip of my nose!!
___The effrontery! I cannot slap, or even sputter, before he spryly states: "You are more than welcome!" and with a spin he has rolled away, rising to stand with a shake of his head, perhaps to clear some dizziness.
___Without much grace, I scramble backward to my feet, trying to reckon my situation...

❖ ❖ ❖

___Portunista's brigade, meanwhile, had not been idle.
___Seifas had now subdued—or otherwise removed—any remaining enemies scattered uphill. Othon and others had counterstruck their blows, driving hard against their enemies—who lacked expected shoulderbeast support and had to stumble through a pile of their own fellows.
___The enemy commander had slain two of the northern pickets during his infiltration of troops into the area; but surviving picketscouts, having flanked the fight around the clearing, now were setting up positions just inside the northern treeline, cutting off retreat.
___Consequently, as the attackers attempted a rout, whistlefletches flew in their faces.
___Yet their commander, the magus Gemalfan, remained unchecked.
___Having failed to trample Portunista with his shoulderbeast—despite her being distracted by the battle's oddities—he now could read the writing of his fate upon the field.
___So, Gemalfan madly urged his beast—onward toward the children!—the shortest line to safety for him lay across their mangled bodies...!

___—one of his sub-apprentices hastily scrambled up the shoulderbeast, almost smeared across its side within his lacquered wicker-rider—
___when an outraged Tumblecrumble intercepted Gemalfan's charge!

___The impact staggered the older shoulderbeast, which bellowed and spun to counterattack.
___An eardrum-rattling duel erupted: the mammals swiped and butted, trying to break the other's trunk-wide forelegs, pummeling chests and jaws and sides.
___But Tumblecrumble lacked experience; also his elder's power and size—who, himself, was lacking resolve to defend the guarded helpless...unless perhaps he counted the screaming men upon his back!
___On the other hand—one of those men was Gemalfan: a former Cadre  apprentice.
___Leaning forward, he jotted outward shot after shot of pentadarts.
___The materia streaked in short sharp bursts to seek the heart of Tumblecrumble.
___The mammal's leather hide, however, thick and tough and nonconductive, made for some defense.
___They only hit with hammerforce—instead of blowing apart his innards.
___Both onslaughts, mundane and magical, drove the younger shoulderbeast to his knees, his breath torn loose in gasps.

___...and Portunista found that she was not prepared to let the creature die!

___Each new burst of raw materia seemed to float quite leisurely from Gemalfan's fingertips, as Portunista watched with racing mind...sinking the enemy shoulderbeast to its knees in vitalized earth would hardly stop the pentadarts...time was slipping, life was slipping...!
___Portunista felt her limitations settling chainlike down upon her—together with the implications of this single fight: her first real duel against a rival mage.
___Over the year, she'd skirmished against some squads, even against a company once or twice; always letting her subcommanders lead the troops while she safely stood behind the lines, jotting a few effects.
___Now she was fighting a rival: a magus with his own brigade.
___And...she had done well! So well, she had forgotten she had never done the like before.
___So well, she had forgotten that her rival might know more than her; might be more clever than she was...
___might take something from her after all...

___Every sickening thud of energy into the hide of the shoulderbeast, became a personal insult to the maga.
___Tumblecrumble needed a shield.
___Portunista gave him one—the only one that she could give.

___Focusing her intent, the maga whistled as she inhaled, the cool air slipping between her lips and through her teeth—fusing Aire and raw materia needled in a ball-sized globe.
___The wisplight drenched the beasts in bluish-white suffusion, mirroring the maga's chilling fury.
___She bound the sphere into existence; with her will she threw it into the line of sight between the magus and his target.
___Right in line with his—

___—her head rocked back—punched above her eyes!—

___The shock snapped Portunista's time-perception back to normal—but the wisplight hadn't failed.
___It had been kicked aside.

___She angled it back into the line, bracing for the impact—!
___And again. And again. And again...

___A corner of her mind protested: how long could she bear the backlash...how long 'til her willpower cracked...how many darts was she even stopping...?!
___But, she did stop that one. And that one.
___And she refused to lose this duel!

___If only she could hold on...maybe the infantry-line behind her could find a way to help...Feeling stronger even as her strength wore thin, she threw the wisplight in defiance at the face of the larger beast, driving the creature back through bluff, bouncing another dart.
___Gemalfan, meanwhile, found this feat a rude surprise! He had never seen a pentadart defense—never had imagined one existed!
___In his own near-panicked focus on the creature attacking him...he had forgotten the maga he had failed to trample.
___The maga who had single-handedly ruined the charge of his upper line...
___If she could do this...what else could she do...?!

___Gemalfan spat a command, ceasing to clatter his pentadarts; his sub-apprentices started jotting again.

___Portunista felt her intention snap! apart like a strand of elongrass, winking out the wisp. She ground her teeth, in frustration, even with the strain  relieved.
___Now she knew what those servants had been doing: jotting dissipation spheres.
___They couldn't intentively bind into place a sphere impervious to intention; but so long as they chattered, their master and his shoulderbeast would be immune to direct attack from magic.
___Gemalfan could jott out, if his sub-apprentices heard his percussive effects and stopped their own in time. But his lackeys still were near to panic, unlikely to register subtleties; and he certainly wouldn't command them directly to cease, where his vicious and clever rival could hear!

___But, Gemalfan believed he still could slay one enemy.

___He told his mahout to gain the flustered attention of their shoulderbeast. It rose upon its hind legs once again—for the finishing blow on the fallen Tumblecrumble.
___And Portunista was out of plans.

___Reluctantly sighing, she gave up the shoulderbeast for lost.
___She had failed.
___But, she would devote the pain of this loss, to removing that man from the face of Mikon—!

___And then—with a leap of her heart...
___...she saw that others had not given up on Tumblecrumble!

___There, around the side of the lumbering animals, darted Seifas!
___Here, on the other side of the pair, stood Jian!
___And the fair man was holding...
___the sword-jumper ball!

___While Portunista stared in blank amazement, the fair man tossed the elongrass-netted ball up-over the pawing trunk-like legs of the older shoulderbeast, holding the other end, to which he'd tied an empty kettle of roughly equal size. Seifas caught the ball midair, and in a pre-planned move the two men ducked a crisscross run beneath the creature's stomach, pulling the fibers to fullest tension—releasing the weighted ends with a flip, back under the shoulderbeast.
___The spinning bands were humming, as the ball and kettle flew into a twining knot between the animal's two front legs; not enough to trip, but hampering it, confusing it further, while it entangled itself, instinctively trying to guard its somewhat vulnerable underbelly.
___And as it stumbled and thrashed—Portunista suddenly shouted in victory, recognizing a path to her vengeance!
___She converted her cry to a boiling growl, focusing several wristlengths into the ground below the animal; then she struck her fist into her bleeding palm: the conventional Yrthrip technique.
___The earth did ripple beneath the shoulderbeast!—globbing undulations, supercharged by Portunista's emotion and will.
___The dissipation spheres could only block intention of effect; they couldn't block mere physicality.
___With a mewling hoot, the older shoulderbeast fell over.
___The magi and the mahout had a moment and a half, to throw themselves to safety as the massive mammal keeled—
___—whereupon they learned a lethal physics lesson...


Skip JRP's commentary and go to next chapter

[JasonPratt]

Notes from the real author...

Farewell, Gemalfan!--we hardly knew ye!

Despite his brief appearance in the story, his importance is disproportionately massive: it isn't an exaggeration to say that everything else which happens in this book, and much of what Portunista does in the next two books, depends directly on Gemalfan's choice to attack her here in camp and being defeated in the attempt. But more on that in Section Two.

This chapter was my first opportunity (pun not entirely intended! ;) ) to put the system of technical magic to work. (I also included an effect or two in my original draft that didn't fit with the system I had developed, and so I eliminated them later.)

Readers may have noticed already that the system involves the manipulation of matter at a distance by willpower, varying the effects through phases of matter, combined (usually) with an infusion of a quasi-living primal form of phased matter.

While the system thus contains a nod to the philosophy known as vitalism (a type of philosophical naturalism related to pantheism where the fundamental particles of reality are actively alive but behave without intention until they sufficiently congregate in the proper fashions--proposed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as an explanation of natural evolutionary processes as well as of psychic abilities), the underlying precepts are actually closer to the principles behind one type of the theistic Argument from Reason: willpower is supernaturally different from and substantially superior to reactive nature, allowing us to manipulate nature without our causation being entirely resultant from prior natural causation. What we introduce into the system is more than what we receive from the system. But since it is also evident that our willpower is in various ways conditioned by the natural system, we ourselves are not the fundamental source of this active willpower, but only receive it derivatively from a fundamental source upon which we and the natural system both depend for existence. (This isn't exactly how I deploy the AfR myself in a progressing metaphysical argument, but I won't go into the technical differences here.)

In effect, any real-life action we do at all is magic (even if the distance of effect is restricted to a few scattered inches, or even less, here and there in our brains).

In the novels I posit an ability to extend this influence by the ability to borrow and direct living but not specifically intentional energy underlying all natural material. (Which has connections to an important part of my overall real-life metaphysical arguments, but again I won't go into the technicals here.) The source of the energy is called the "Puria" later in the book, but it manifests in the Mikonese natural world in phases parallel to phases of natural matter, thus as types of "materia".

While some of this materia amounts to forms of raw energy (such as kinetic force in the pentadarts), there are solid (yet still vitalistically active), liquid and gaseous forms, as well as a form corresponding to heat energy. So when someone talks about Yrthe (for example), they aren't talking about a simple single "element" of "earth", but about a phase of supernatural material. Still, the connection to the classical four elements should be obvious.

Another thing to notice is that sometimes Mikonese magic involves a direct competition of will: thus the Dissipation, which is a far more fundamentally magical effect than manipulation of matter.

A lot of the plot effects, and the underlying religious concepts, are connected to what the magi are doing in my novels, but keep in mind that Portunista (and Gemalfan for that matter) serves as an early example that magi can do these things while not being on good terms with Mikonese deities (lesser or the Greatest). Magi are technicians, who are mainly concerned with using power to cause effects. That doesn't mean they can't be religious, but in their studies and their work they aren't primarily thinking in terms of interpersonal communion either, and such habits of thinking can lead (quite naturally!) to problems in interpersonal relationships.


Meanwhile--yeah that kiss on the nose is going to lead to trouble later. ;) And if you're thinking, "Wait, slicing through the back of someone's neck with a crappy shortsword shouldn't be all that easy"--good thought!  :)


If you're also thinking, "Those magical effects sound a lot like low-level D&D spells!"--yep, I'm one of those people who amused himself while playing D&D coming up with effective ways of using low-level D&D spells, like Earth to Mud and Silence X-foot Radius (which has some brutal side effects I'll be working out later in the book). While being amused at how wildly overpowered Magic Missile was.

One of my corollary concepts for the Mikonese magical system is that mages cannot directly initiate effects out of line of sight, and have trouble keeping the effects operable beyond line of sight. They also have trouble with distance limitations: they can't just zorch acres of ground, for example, because it's likely they'll have to be close enough in doing so to be zorched along with it! There are ways (some more problematic than others) to get around these limitations of course, but Portunista is only still an apprentice. It does at least explain why mages don't all just slaughter their opponents with pentadarts: the severe range limitations for that jotting make it more like a shotgun.


Anyway, thus ends the first climactic action scene, and the primer to Mikonese magic. :) (The "lethal physics lesson" will be quickly revealed next chapter.)

[JasonPratt]

Chapter 9: Balances Regained

___Tumblecrumble soon regained his balance, having been caught in only the edge of Portunista's concentrated earthen ripple. Quickly he crushed the elder animal's head—providing meat, in passing, for the feast the humans would surely enjoy on the morrow.
___Gemalfan and his sub-apprentices almost leaped to safety from his mount: throwing themselves in the natural direction—
___but not accounting for the momentum transferred by the falling shoulderbeast.
___Any leap still landed them beneath the animal.
___Seifas paced around the twitching mound of flesh as Tumblecrumble crunched the blocky, bony rectangular skull a few more times. Gemalfan had been a little more successful than his minions—the children were hurriedly being escorted away from the area, so that they wouldn't see him.
___They could hear him, though.
___He lay, screaming, from the pain of both his flattened legs.
___Jian stood, arms folded, feet apart, between the children and the incoherent writhing magus. In the shifting bonfire glares, Seifas couldn't read that backlit face.
___He knew his own heart's resolution, though.

___His aasagai pierced Gemalfan's head, twice in rapid thrusts, through the eyes, into the brain, ending his cries and life.
___"Hmmph," grunted Jian.
___"Now he sees the All-Seeing," Seifas explained. "And his journey there was quick."
___"Indeed," murmured Jian; and then, "How clearly they see, whom your sword instructs!" He began to laugh, a little shakily; Seifas didn't think the joke was worth the humor.
___Portunista strode up then, demanding to know why Seifas had slain the magus without her permission.
___"I didn't care to explain to her that I find torture distasteful," Seifas would write in his journal a few hours later...

❖ ❖ ❖

___"His droning became annoying!" I retorted; and saw her settle upon her heels.
___Some might say my action meant nothing; that Portunista now held dozens of captives, and I couldn't save them all.
___But I could spare Gemalfan—enemy though he was to me.

___Besides, I doubt that we'll be wringing information from Gemalfan's men; all of whom have freely spoken of his dispositions.
___And, if I read the signs aright, perhaps we might not ever be resorting to such cruelty again.
___But quite a bit remains along that line, to be accomplished.
___Altogether, circumstances favor us for now. We have assimilated a rival brigade, increasing our strength and seasoning our men. We have acquired a shoulderbeast, which—or who?—may be of help in later engagements. We should be able to easily find Gemalfan's vendors and supplies; and Portunista may discover information in the magus' texts. Morale runs high. ___Tomorrow I can pay a shepherd family for their loss, without a single worry.

___yet...I wonder...
___The Eye does seem to be smiling on us; but when my Matron Cami favored my brethren, she also was strengthening us for further service.
___So—what are we being strengthened for? And why?

___Or, is my perception of plan only illusionary?

___If I believe He plans, then this may be a part of one.
___But what if the Eye cares little for us, being so mighty and far away? What if we are beneath His notice, except for a casual whim of entertainment? The chaos of a Culling puts the teachings of our tutors in a new and frightening light...

___No...I decided before today's peculiar events: the cries in my heart, are truly hope for justice.

___Small as we are, we cannot be too small for the All-Seeing.
And our Matron taught us:
the Eye Above is the Lord of Justice.

___So. I will wait, and watch events play out, before I cast my hope away.
___No!—I have had a taste of justice at last!—and so I shall hold to my chosen course!
___I will find the hope to have, or seek my death in finding it. I will share the hope I find, or seek my death in sharing it.
___And now let us see what the future will bring.


Skip JRP commentary and go to next chapter

[JasonPratt]

Notes from the real author...

So ends Section One, just under 50 pages of printed text. (Section Two will be 40 pages, btw.)

Main characters and situation (and goofy narrative format  ;) ) established; two or three action sequences provided along the way; numerous themes and arc-phrases to unpack and build on later; and several key events which will affect the plot heavily afterward.

As well as a central mystery: why is Portunista writing her Testimony? What is the "sharp cliff" incident she's still so remorseful about? And how does she get to be Empress after all? What does that even entail? (The first three books will be known as The Penitent Empress Trilogy, not-incidentally.)

Another mystery got accidentally cut from the first Section of chapters: in the first external view of Portunista during the main storyline (the chapter where Seifas introduces her to Jian), I had originally made a point of noting that her hair was dark and properly cut short for military life; whereas in her introduction as an author seven years ahead of the main story, I made a point of emphasizing that her hair is long and red (and even semi-prehensile)!

Unfortunately, in trimming down the first two Sections, I inadvertently removed all reference to Portunista's hair being waaay different in the main story compared to her future retrospective. The first time I mention it now is well into Section Three. This is something I badly need to fix when-if-ever I get around to reprinting.


The fate of Gemalfan and his mahout and sub-apprentices is admittedly a little too neat on the page--that all of them would end up under the older shoulderbeast is unlikely. In a reprint (or a film version) one or two might make it clear to be instantly pincushioned by some of Portunista's shortbow archer scouts (taking revenge on Gemalfan for slaying a few of their number on the way in).

The physics however are based on forklift safety training.  8-) Specifically, the conservation of momentum from the toppling animal means that any extra force would naturally tend to be redirected in the direction the animal was already falling. People who work on heavy equipment are similarly warned, if the vehicle tips over, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES TRY TO JUMP CLEAR! You'll only end up throwing yourself under the falling vehicle. Gemalfan, being on the very top, got partially clear; the sub-apprentices were still hanging on the wicker baskets on the side away from where Tumblecrumble initially attacked, and that happened (perhaps with some directive help from Portunista!) to be the side on which the older shoulderbeast fell. (The mahout admittedly may have had enough sense to lean away from the direction of fall and pull his leg out from the impact zone. He'd be promptly disposed of some other way in a fuller account.)

Also, I love to type/say "older shoulderbeast".  :D