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Chapter One : since fiona asked
#1 - 11th Jan 2008 07:50:00
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Total Posts: 156
Last Online: 5th Oct 2003 22:21:00
Registered: 15th May 2004 00:00:00
This is fantastic writing, far more developed than the previous drafts. I'm feeling much more sympathy and emotional connection with Bardo, which is the main thing I felt needed to be addressed in the previous drafts. Before, Bardo felt alien to the surroundings and to those around him, and to be able to see how he fits in to his home makes a great difference. And as the reader, I wasnt alien to Bardo either, where as before, Bardo was not just pushing everyone in his life away, he was holding the reader at arms length as well. It also runs more smoothly, with far more vibrancy and depth.
I'm very very impressed, well done, your hard work is paying off, and I cannot wait until I get to see more of you and your writing. And well done to you Fiona!
I'm very very impressed, well done, your hard work is paying off, and I cannot wait until I get to see more of you and your writing. And well done to you Fiona!
#2 - 14th Apr 2003 17:09:00
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Last Online: 21st Nov 2007 13:21:01
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Chapter One
Bardo marched into the wooden henge, his ruby eyes ablaze with fury as he wrenched off his veil and spat on his father's newly covered grave.
Tears of morning dew trickled down the marking stone onto Jamal's smouldering, lime-coated pit as he mouthed the words on the marble: 'Jamal the Great.'
Defying the sacred rules, Bardo removed the hood from his casal -- the voluminous gown of his people. Savouring the freedom, Bardo cared nothing for the law, even though revealing his face in public was punishable by death. Somehow he needed to hurt his father, the great Jamal, leader of his people -- the Veiled Ones.
Self control abandoned Bardo and a poisonous glower contorted his ebony face. "Jamal the Great Liar more like," he raged at the stone. Tears started in Bardo's eyes, but he wiped them away from his cheeks. "Jamal the betrayer," he continued. “Jamal the deceiver… the fraud… Why did you lie to me?
Prowling around the grave, he asked the burning question. "How could you keep such a secret from me? Why didn't you tell me about my ancestry?"
Until a few days ago, Bardo had believed and trusted in the Veiled Ones and their creed, The Veiled Truth. Jamal had insisted that no individual could flourish if the clan was not strong, respected and unified. Bardo had believed his father. Why had they fabricated such an elaborate lie?
"What is a veiled truth when the mask is removed, father?" There was intonation on the last word. "I'll tell you what it is. It's a lie."
A night-bird's shriek broke Bardo's concentration; he hung his head and swallowed hard. "And there is more, I’ve heard the old women gossiping you know. Why did you tell me she was dead?” I even know her name. Her name is Ana and they say she ran away from you. My mother’s name is Ana.” You damn well knew I'd do what you wanted, didn't you? You knew I'd go to the Holy Mountain and look for our people, the ones you left behind, didn't you?" He resented the tears streaking his face. "Well, I will go, but for Ana. I'm going to search for my mother."
Kicking at the lime and then slumping onto the upturned oak stump in the centre of the henge, Bardo's anger spent. His gloved fingers traced the deep letting carved into the wood; the words stung him like a canker-wasp. The largest letters read, The Veiled Truth. He found their meaning as hollow as the engraving.
Picking up handfuls of soil, Bardo covered the engravings in a futile attempt to blot out their meaning. He had broken the first two of his people's commandments: never remove the casal in public and always respect the elders. He was already damned.
"Hey! What's going on?" a voice shouted.
A man strode into view. The embroidered crook on the right breast of the casal identified him as Idris the shepherd. Bardo's stomach twisted with fear of discovery as he scrabbled to recover and attach his veil with trembling hands.
"Idris wait," Bardo reached for the shepherd.
The shepherd backed away, wide-eyed and fearful. Bardo pounced, grabbing him before the he could flee.
"You didn't see anything did you Idris? Now you're going back to tend your sheep now aren’t you?"
The shepherd struggled pitifully in Bardo's grip. "I did, you removed your veil."
Bardo was sick with fear. The old man had more courage than Bardo had anticipated.
"I saw you selling mutton to humans."
"I did no such thing," Idris protested.
"Yes, you did, I was hunting one morning and saw you."
"I'll deny it."
"But will the clan believe you? It's your word against mine."
"They'll say that you are just trying to discredit me."
"Maybe! But don't forget whose son I am. I suspect they'll check your round-house looking for meat, and they'll find the extra rations you have stolen, won't they?"
Idris remained silent.
"You know what they'll do to you, don't you?" Bardo regretting the blackmail let the silence linger. Placing a comforting hand on Idris's shoulder he spoke in a soothing tone; "You're not going to tell anyone, are you Idris? Let's forget what we may or may not have seen, shall we?
The shepherd shook his head. "I won't say a thing," his voice was muffled, conquered.
Oh yes he will Bardo thought.
"I'll just stay here and pay my last respects shall I?"
Bardo gave a gentle nod of approval, summoning all his reserves of composure; he sauntered out of the circle. Trying and working hard to contain his fear, he ambled past the fence of oak withies. Once out of sight of Idris, he ran. Terrified thoughts of capture and punishment spun in Bardo's head as he charged over the ceremonial causeway, his boots banging on the planks that straddled the ditch around the temple site. As he fled down the hill, the stench of decomposing leaf-litter reminded him of his father’s decaying body.
The loose casal felt suffocating as he reached the base of the hill and stumbled, falling onto the little used Mida to Dura roadway. He hit the ground hard, elbows and knees scraping as he rolled in the dust. Bardo cursed as he pulled himself to his feet, trying in vain to ignore the pain as he made his way back to Fox Covert. The village was no more than thirty convivial round-houses clinging to the northern hillside of Fox Valley. At last the tribal buildings came into view, as did three Veiled Ones walking towards him.
Despite the chill of fear, Bardo willed himself forward, forcing his chin up, his stride nonchalant.
"Condolences Bardo, the pain of loss is the price of memory." a solemn voice said.
It was Nanny Onyx, the oldest and wisest woman in the village and the only grandmother. He nodded his thanks.
"Poor thing's been up to the grave already. That's the proper way for a son to show his respect." Nanny Onyx touched his arm as he passed.
"He was always a good boy, but the poor love has taken it hard," another said.
"Ah! Bless him," the third said.
Frantic that Nanny Onyx and her friends would happen upon Idris, Bardo, quickened his pace, walking as swiftly as he dared. Avoiding the main building where a group of yawning men had assembled, he ducked around the women's meeting-house, stepping onto the familiar path leading to his home. As he neared the house, he noticed the raised shutters. Bardo remembered them being closed.
Dread consumed him but desperation drove him to action. Striding to the front of the house, he pulled the latch, crossed the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him. A hawthorn walking stick fell from its hook and landed at his feet. It was his father's; Bardo kicked it away.
The stick nearly hit his betrothed, Satine as she sat beside the clothes triangle, brushing clean his spare casal. Taking no notice of his mood, she gave him a polite smile, revealing cochineal stained teeth that matched her red lips and eyes.
Bardo ignored her, running to drop and bar the shutters.
Satine flinched at the noise. “I opened them to allow a draught for the fire. You need a good breakfast before your father’s funeral.
“I am not going."
“Don’t be silly, of course you are. This is the last official day of mourning.”
"Will you just listen for once?" “I’m not going," he enunciated each word to ensure she understood his determination.
Satine, startled by his vehemence, froze and watched him as he got on to his belly and rooted under the bed, until he brought out a dust-caked bronze mirror and a sheathed sword.
"What are you doing Bardo-Jamal's-Son?"
"I'm leaving."
"Are you insane?" she whispered.
Lifting the trapdoor in the centre of the room, Bardo jumped into the cellar, taking his backpack and some food from the larder, he climbed out and packed the mirror before strapping his father’s sword to his back.
"Bardo, what is going on" Satine demanded.
“What do you know about the Copotik?”
She had not expected this. Satine shrugged. “As much as you do,” she answered, confused.
"I doubt it" he mumbled.
“They're just a fairy story to frighten little children."
"What if I told you that the Veiled Ones are descended from them?”
She laughed. “I'd say that you are losing your mind.”
“My father promised me that we are descended from the Copotik.”
"You can’t always accept the words of a dying man,” she said reaching for him.
He shrugged her off. “The Copotik came at night, because they could see in the dark. They were nocturnal and we can see in the dark,” he urged.
"The Besorgians also light bonfires to celebrate their victory over the Copotik, over a thousand years ago. If they ever existed, which I doubt, they are long since gone," Satine countered, still unsure where this argument was leading.
“Not if we are the Copotik! You know they raided at night, killing the men, raping the women and stealing the babies as sacrifices to their foul god."
Satine could she he was serious about this. Not wanting to add to his already disturbed state, she gave a gentle shrug. “It's a legend, Bardo, a myth, can’t you see that? And anyway we are not nocturnal.”
“Why do you think we have to wear these gowns and this hood?” he persisted.
“It’s just our way of life." She said, moving to the cooking stone.
Moving behind her he said, "Satine, I've done something really stupid."
She placed a flat cake onto the stone. It hissed.
"I have broken Truth One."
She looked over her shoulder at him.
"I removed my veil and I spat on my father's grave," he confessed. Her gasp and the sudden movement of her hand told Bardo that she had burned herself. She did not cry out. "So you see why I have to leave? It's not safe here for me, they'll kill me and before they do they will… do things… to deter others from breaking the law."
They stared at each other and for a moment and saw the terror in each others eyes.
"But where will you go? Where can you go?" her voice was small.
"It's best I don't tell you."
She began to weep. "I'd come with you."
Lifting his hand, he stroked her long black hair. "I know, but you know you can't," he said, his voice tight with sadness.
They stood in silence. "I'll miss you," he said, and kissed her with the rough awkwardness of a first kiss. It had been too fast although it had been something he had planned to do for some time but he wasn't sure how. They gazed at each other, Satine opened her mouth and Bardo pressed his lips against hers. Gently, she exhaled a single, soft breath, sweetened with chicle-gum. It tasted divine.
"I'll stay, I would only slow you down, she said, her voice growing tragic.
A pall hung over the room. They were both silent for a time. Bardo let it be known by his eyes alone that he wished not to speak further. In that stillness, the sound of booted feet could be heard, crunching along the path.
Satine cried out in distress, "Go, and don't stop until your safe," she said pointing at the rear window.
"Stall them for me," Bardo pleaded as a barbed arrowhead of fear rippled through his body.
"How can I?" She frowned at him, her eyes as near to irritation as they were able. "Just go! This is not going to be easy for either of us. And there is not any need for you to make it any harder. Now go!"
There was aloud knock on the door and then someone tried the door latch. Bardo ran to the rear window.
A gruff voice interrupted the banging on the locked door, "Open this door! Now!"
Satine recognising the voice; shuddered but she acted without further thought, placing her back against the door. "Just a moment let me get dressed," she shouted, her voice strained at the realisation of what she had just committed for herself.
It had the desired effect. Abruptly, the banging stopped.
"Satine?" the incredulous voice asked. "Is that you in there?"
"Yes father," she cried as tears dropped from her jaw line.
Kench uttered an outraged expletive.
"Thank you," Bardo mouthed, aghast at her action. What else could he say? Satine had just compromised her respectability for his safety. Kench's punishment would be severe when he got hold of her and she would be labelled a harlot. Bardo cast one last despairing look her way before he climbed out of the window.
As he ran over the grass, he heard the door break. Satine's scream tortured him as he jumped over the riverbank desperate to leave Fox Covert - the only home he had ever known.
Bardo marched into the wooden henge, his ruby eyes ablaze with fury as he wrenched off his veil and spat on his father's newly covered grave.
Tears of morning dew trickled down the marking stone onto Jamal's smouldering, lime-coated pit as he mouthed the words on the marble: 'Jamal the Great.'
Defying the sacred rules, Bardo removed the hood from his casal -- the voluminous gown of his people. Savouring the freedom, Bardo cared nothing for the law, even though revealing his face in public was punishable by death. Somehow he needed to hurt his father, the great Jamal, leader of his people -- the Veiled Ones.
Self control abandoned Bardo and a poisonous glower contorted his ebony face. "Jamal the Great Liar more like," he raged at the stone. Tears started in Bardo's eyes, but he wiped them away from his cheeks. "Jamal the betrayer," he continued. “Jamal the deceiver… the fraud… Why did you lie to me?
Prowling around the grave, he asked the burning question. "How could you keep such a secret from me? Why didn't you tell me about my ancestry?"
Until a few days ago, Bardo had believed and trusted in the Veiled Ones and their creed, The Veiled Truth. Jamal had insisted that no individual could flourish if the clan was not strong, respected and unified. Bardo had believed his father. Why had they fabricated such an elaborate lie?
"What is a veiled truth when the mask is removed, father?" There was intonation on the last word. "I'll tell you what it is. It's a lie."
A night-bird's shriek broke Bardo's concentration; he hung his head and swallowed hard. "And there is more, I’ve heard the old women gossiping you know. Why did you tell me she was dead?” I even know her name. Her name is Ana and they say she ran away from you. My mother’s name is Ana.” You damn well knew I'd do what you wanted, didn't you? You knew I'd go to the Holy Mountain and look for our people, the ones you left behind, didn't you?" He resented the tears streaking his face. "Well, I will go, but for Ana. I'm going to search for my mother."
Kicking at the lime and then slumping onto the upturned oak stump in the centre of the henge, Bardo's anger spent. His gloved fingers traced the deep letting carved into the wood; the words stung him like a canker-wasp. The largest letters read, The Veiled Truth. He found their meaning as hollow as the engraving.
Picking up handfuls of soil, Bardo covered the engravings in a futile attempt to blot out their meaning. He had broken the first two of his people's commandments: never remove the casal in public and always respect the elders. He was already damned.
"Hey! What's going on?" a voice shouted.
A man strode into view. The embroidered crook on the right breast of the casal identified him as Idris the shepherd. Bardo's stomach twisted with fear of discovery as he scrabbled to recover and attach his veil with trembling hands.
"Idris wait," Bardo reached for the shepherd.
The shepherd backed away, wide-eyed and fearful. Bardo pounced, grabbing him before the he could flee.
"You didn't see anything did you Idris? Now you're going back to tend your sheep now aren’t you?"
The shepherd struggled pitifully in Bardo's grip. "I did, you removed your veil."
Bardo was sick with fear. The old man had more courage than Bardo had anticipated.
"I saw you selling mutton to humans."
"I did no such thing," Idris protested.
"Yes, you did, I was hunting one morning and saw you."
"I'll deny it."
"But will the clan believe you? It's your word against mine."
"They'll say that you are just trying to discredit me."
"Maybe! But don't forget whose son I am. I suspect they'll check your round-house looking for meat, and they'll find the extra rations you have stolen, won't they?"
Idris remained silent.
"You know what they'll do to you, don't you?" Bardo regretting the blackmail let the silence linger. Placing a comforting hand on Idris's shoulder he spoke in a soothing tone; "You're not going to tell anyone, are you Idris? Let's forget what we may or may not have seen, shall we?
The shepherd shook his head. "I won't say a thing," his voice was muffled, conquered.
Oh yes he will Bardo thought.
"I'll just stay here and pay my last respects shall I?"
Bardo gave a gentle nod of approval, summoning all his reserves of composure; he sauntered out of the circle. Trying and working hard to contain his fear, he ambled past the fence of oak withies. Once out of sight of Idris, he ran. Terrified thoughts of capture and punishment spun in Bardo's head as he charged over the ceremonial causeway, his boots banging on the planks that straddled the ditch around the temple site. As he fled down the hill, the stench of decomposing leaf-litter reminded him of his father’s decaying body.
The loose casal felt suffocating as he reached the base of the hill and stumbled, falling onto the little used Mida to Dura roadway. He hit the ground hard, elbows and knees scraping as he rolled in the dust. Bardo cursed as he pulled himself to his feet, trying in vain to ignore the pain as he made his way back to Fox Covert. The village was no more than thirty convivial round-houses clinging to the northern hillside of Fox Valley. At last the tribal buildings came into view, as did three Veiled Ones walking towards him.
Despite the chill of fear, Bardo willed himself forward, forcing his chin up, his stride nonchalant.
"Condolences Bardo, the pain of loss is the price of memory." a solemn voice said.
It was Nanny Onyx, the oldest and wisest woman in the village and the only grandmother. He nodded his thanks.
"Poor thing's been up to the grave already. That's the proper way for a son to show his respect." Nanny Onyx touched his arm as he passed.
"He was always a good boy, but the poor love has taken it hard," another said.
"Ah! Bless him," the third said.
Frantic that Nanny Onyx and her friends would happen upon Idris, Bardo, quickened his pace, walking as swiftly as he dared. Avoiding the main building where a group of yawning men had assembled, he ducked around the women's meeting-house, stepping onto the familiar path leading to his home. As he neared the house, he noticed the raised shutters. Bardo remembered them being closed.
Dread consumed him but desperation drove him to action. Striding to the front of the house, he pulled the latch, crossed the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him. A hawthorn walking stick fell from its hook and landed at his feet. It was his father's; Bardo kicked it away.
The stick nearly hit his betrothed, Satine as she sat beside the clothes triangle, brushing clean his spare casal. Taking no notice of his mood, she gave him a polite smile, revealing cochineal stained teeth that matched her red lips and eyes.
Bardo ignored her, running to drop and bar the shutters.
Satine flinched at the noise. “I opened them to allow a draught for the fire. You need a good breakfast before your father’s funeral.
“I am not going."
“Don’t be silly, of course you are. This is the last official day of mourning.”
"Will you just listen for once?" “I’m not going," he enunciated each word to ensure she understood his determination.
Satine, startled by his vehemence, froze and watched him as he got on to his belly and rooted under the bed, until he brought out a dust-caked bronze mirror and a sheathed sword.
"What are you doing Bardo-Jamal's-Son?"
"I'm leaving."
"Are you insane?" she whispered.
Lifting the trapdoor in the centre of the room, Bardo jumped into the cellar, taking his backpack and some food from the larder, he climbed out and packed the mirror before strapping his father’s sword to his back.
"Bardo, what is going on" Satine demanded.
“What do you know about the Copotik?”
She had not expected this. Satine shrugged. “As much as you do,” she answered, confused.
"I doubt it" he mumbled.
“They're just a fairy story to frighten little children."
"What if I told you that the Veiled Ones are descended from them?”
She laughed. “I'd say that you are losing your mind.”
“My father promised me that we are descended from the Copotik.”
"You can’t always accept the words of a dying man,” she said reaching for him.
He shrugged her off. “The Copotik came at night, because they could see in the dark. They were nocturnal and we can see in the dark,” he urged.
"The Besorgians also light bonfires to celebrate their victory over the Copotik, over a thousand years ago. If they ever existed, which I doubt, they are long since gone," Satine countered, still unsure where this argument was leading.
“Not if we are the Copotik! You know they raided at night, killing the men, raping the women and stealing the babies as sacrifices to their foul god."
Satine could she he was serious about this. Not wanting to add to his already disturbed state, she gave a gentle shrug. “It's a legend, Bardo, a myth, can’t you see that? And anyway we are not nocturnal.”
“Why do you think we have to wear these gowns and this hood?” he persisted.
“It’s just our way of life." She said, moving to the cooking stone.
Moving behind her he said, "Satine, I've done something really stupid."
She placed a flat cake onto the stone. It hissed.
"I have broken Truth One."
She looked over her shoulder at him.
"I removed my veil and I spat on my father's grave," he confessed. Her gasp and the sudden movement of her hand told Bardo that she had burned herself. She did not cry out. "So you see why I have to leave? It's not safe here for me, they'll kill me and before they do they will… do things… to deter others from breaking the law."
They stared at each other and for a moment and saw the terror in each others eyes.
"But where will you go? Where can you go?" her voice was small.
"It's best I don't tell you."
She began to weep. "I'd come with you."
Lifting his hand, he stroked her long black hair. "I know, but you know you can't," he said, his voice tight with sadness.
They stood in silence. "I'll miss you," he said, and kissed her with the rough awkwardness of a first kiss. It had been too fast although it had been something he had planned to do for some time but he wasn't sure how. They gazed at each other, Satine opened her mouth and Bardo pressed his lips against hers. Gently, she exhaled a single, soft breath, sweetened with chicle-gum. It tasted divine.
"I'll stay, I would only slow you down, she said, her voice growing tragic.
A pall hung over the room. They were both silent for a time. Bardo let it be known by his eyes alone that he wished not to speak further. In that stillness, the sound of booted feet could be heard, crunching along the path.
Satine cried out in distress, "Go, and don't stop until your safe," she said pointing at the rear window.
"Stall them for me," Bardo pleaded as a barbed arrowhead of fear rippled through his body.
"How can I?" She frowned at him, her eyes as near to irritation as they were able. "Just go! This is not going to be easy for either of us. And there is not any need for you to make it any harder. Now go!"
There was aloud knock on the door and then someone tried the door latch. Bardo ran to the rear window.
A gruff voice interrupted the banging on the locked door, "Open this door! Now!"
Satine recognising the voice; shuddered but she acted without further thought, placing her back against the door. "Just a moment let me get dressed," she shouted, her voice strained at the realisation of what she had just committed for herself.
It had the desired effect. Abruptly, the banging stopped.
"Satine?" the incredulous voice asked. "Is that you in there?"
"Yes father," she cried as tears dropped from her jaw line.
Kench uttered an outraged expletive.
"Thank you," Bardo mouthed, aghast at her action. What else could he say? Satine had just compromised her respectability for his safety. Kench's punishment would be severe when he got hold of her and she would be labelled a harlot. Bardo cast one last despairing look her way before he climbed out of the window.
As he ran over the grass, he heard the door break. Satine's scream tortured him as he jumped over the riverbank desperate to leave Fox Covert - the only home he had ever known.
"> 
"> #4 - 15th Apr 2003 18:25:00
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#5 - 15th Apr 2003 18:43:00
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#6 - 15th Apr 2003 19:32:00
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Steve
You know most of my thoughts already, and I'm pleased to see that you ignored most of them.
This draft is even better than the last one I saw. Bardo's interaction with other Veiled Ones, especially Satine, is much more sympathetic and gives a much greater understanding of his pain. Basically he is a much more likeable character and therefore we care about him.
I am already a big fan of the Veiled Ones and like DN I would willingly pay money to know more about Bardo's story.
Great work Steve.
You know most of my thoughts already, and I'm pleased to see that you ignored most of them.
This draft is even better than the last one I saw. Bardo's interaction with other Veiled Ones, especially Satine, is much more sympathetic and gives a much greater understanding of his pain. Basically he is a much more likeable character and therefore we care about him.
I am already a big fan of the Veiled Ones and like DN I would willingly pay money to know more about Bardo's story.
Great work Steve.
#10 - 26th Apr 2003 23:33:00
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#11 - 28th Apr 2003 23:12:00
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#13 - 25th May 2003 14:37:00
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