James P. Mallory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
merlinscribe) wrote2019-09-13 07:33 pm
merlinscribe) wrote2019-09-13 07:33 pm
Entry tags:
Children of the Night
Behind the cut is a scene I wrote the other day. It will almost certainly make it into the finished manuscript, but right now I'm not sure where. Since it's just a character sketch and isn't attached to any other part of the storyline just yet (and of course is spoiler free), I thought you might like to see it.
WARNING : This excerpt involves the Endarkened, which means graphic torture and mutilation. If anyone wants to know what happens but doesn't want to deal with that, let me know and I'll post a summary.
Savilla and all the other children of the Endarkened lived in the deepest chambers of the World Without Sun—not because they were valued by those who had created them, but because it meant no one would see them on their frequent trips to the surface.
Savilla did not know when she had been born or how old she was. She only knew her name because her nursemaids needed something to call her. But there were things she had learned without needing anyone to teach her, foremost of all the fact that not every child delivered to the Shadow Nursery left it again.
There was constant hunger, for certainly their parents never paid any attention to them. Even the meat in the slave-pits ate better than the Endarkened children. Their rations consisted of the things the Lesser Endarkened could grow or husband: pale glowing fungi, strange insects, blind eyeless fish.
Never flesh, unless a group of the older children could catch a child who was younger. Weaker. More gullible.
The second thing Savilla learned was how to hide. While the others near her size huddled together for safety, Savilla chose hiding places where she could spy unobserved. Her greatest treasure was the obsidian blade she had found in the tunnels; even if someone did find her, they would have to be very very sure it was worth the trouble to pry her loose.
The third thing Savilla learned was that knowledge was power.
#
The meat upon the Crux of Pain was a Centaur, a rare prize these days. Since King Virulan had forbidden the Endarkened to hunt the West, Elflings had been more frequent guests of the Dark Court than any other Brightworld folk. But the Endarkened had lived long with privation in the thousandfold Risings that preceded the glorious Red Harvest, and had frugally stored up living treasure against this time of need.
Centaurs were prized in The World Without Sun for their strength and stamina. Savilla wondered if this one was being sacrificed to a Rising's pleasure because there would soon be more. The Elflings were soon to cross into the West, and of course the Endarkened would follow. There was all kinds of meat in the West.
Savilla watched from a hidden tunnel far about the Heart of Darkness as Khambaug (one of the Twelve, one who had once been perfection wrought by He Who Is) once again plied her malign art upon a living canvas. The Centaur was secured on his back cunningly, arms outstretched as far as they could be stretched, legs pulled out to the sides as far as possible without dislocation. Foamy sweat covered his back and sides, and his hair dripped with sweat, so sodden that its color could not be discerned. His face was spattered with blood where he had bitten through lips and tongue. He was only capable of hoarse whimpering by now.
Head, torso, and arms were untouched. Savilla knew, from the whispering among Khambaug's audience, that this performance would involve flaying the Centaur alive from tail to nose.
Because of their strength and their rebellious nature, Centaurs were shod with special shoes as soon as they were enslaved. The shoes ensured that every step the creatures took would be painful. Sometimes the pain would ripen into glorious decay and rot. Whether it had in this instance, Savilla did not know, for all of the flesh had been carefully removed from the Centaur's lower limbs.
The exposed white bone looked fresh and delicious, flensed free of ligament, tendon, and meat, reminding Savilla that she had dared this risky adventure not merely to discover things about the world she would someday enter, but because she was hungry. Bitter experience had taught her that both the pens and the gardens were watched over carefully by the Lesser Endarkened. The same was not always true of the kitchens that served the Court.
She began inching backward the way she had come, sad to lose sight of the artistry below. Just when no amount of stretching and craning would allow her to see, she heard the Centaur begin to scream once more.
When Savilla grew up, she wanted to be just like Khambaug.
#
WARNING : This excerpt involves the Endarkened, which means graphic torture and mutilation. If anyone wants to know what happens but doesn't want to deal with that, let me know and I'll post a summary.
Savilla and all the other children of the Endarkened lived in the deepest chambers of the World Without Sun—not because they were valued by those who had created them, but because it meant no one would see them on their frequent trips to the surface.
Savilla did not know when she had been born or how old she was. She only knew her name because her nursemaids needed something to call her. But there were things she had learned without needing anyone to teach her, foremost of all the fact that not every child delivered to the Shadow Nursery left it again.
There was constant hunger, for certainly their parents never paid any attention to them. Even the meat in the slave-pits ate better than the Endarkened children. Their rations consisted of the things the Lesser Endarkened could grow or husband: pale glowing fungi, strange insects, blind eyeless fish.
Never flesh, unless a group of the older children could catch a child who was younger. Weaker. More gullible.
The second thing Savilla learned was how to hide. While the others near her size huddled together for safety, Savilla chose hiding places where she could spy unobserved. Her greatest treasure was the obsidian blade she had found in the tunnels; even if someone did find her, they would have to be very very sure it was worth the trouble to pry her loose.
The third thing Savilla learned was that knowledge was power.
The meat upon the Crux of Pain was a Centaur, a rare prize these days. Since King Virulan had forbidden the Endarkened to hunt the West, Elflings had been more frequent guests of the Dark Court than any other Brightworld folk. But the Endarkened had lived long with privation in the thousandfold Risings that preceded the glorious Red Harvest, and had frugally stored up living treasure against this time of need.
Centaurs were prized in The World Without Sun for their strength and stamina. Savilla wondered if this one was being sacrificed to a Rising's pleasure because there would soon be more. The Elflings were soon to cross into the West, and of course the Endarkened would follow. There was all kinds of meat in the West.
Savilla watched from a hidden tunnel far about the Heart of Darkness as Khambaug (one of the Twelve, one who had once been perfection wrought by He Who Is) once again plied her malign art upon a living canvas. The Centaur was secured on his back cunningly, arms outstretched as far as they could be stretched, legs pulled out to the sides as far as possible without dislocation. Foamy sweat covered his back and sides, and his hair dripped with sweat, so sodden that its color could not be discerned. His face was spattered with blood where he had bitten through lips and tongue. He was only capable of hoarse whimpering by now.
Head, torso, and arms were untouched. Savilla knew, from the whispering among Khambaug's audience, that this performance would involve flaying the Centaur alive from tail to nose.
Because of their strength and their rebellious nature, Centaurs were shod with special shoes as soon as they were enslaved. The shoes ensured that every step the creatures took would be painful. Sometimes the pain would ripen into glorious decay and rot. Whether it had in this instance, Savilla did not know, for all of the flesh had been carefully removed from the Centaur's lower limbs.
The exposed white bone looked fresh and delicious, flensed free of ligament, tendon, and meat, reminding Savilla that she had dared this risky adventure not merely to discover things about the world she would someday enter, but because she was hungry. Bitter experience had taught her that both the pens and the gardens were watched over carefully by the Lesser Endarkened. The same was not always true of the kitchens that served the Court.
She began inching backward the way she had come, sad to lose sight of the artistry below. Just when no amount of stretching and craning would allow her to see, she heard the Centaur begin to scream once more.
When Savilla grew up, she wanted to be just like Khambaug.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2019-09-15 01:58 am (UTC)(link)It's no wonder you feel you need to take a shower after writing about the Endarkened. Because of the horror they inflict, I normally skim read or skip over the Endarkened segments on my re-reads, especially regarding the Centaurs, as I'm an avid horsewoman and the treatment of their feet makes me cringe. In some ways the asealions aren't much better, but they're of the light and you wrote many of their segments with a touch of humor, which makes them pleasantly (as opposed to morbidly) entertaining.
Speaking of horses, I also cringe when it's very obvious to me that an author demonstrates little or flawed understanding of horses and about riding. You've written very knowledgeably about the elves' war horses and their maneuvers, as well as the differences between the war horses, palfreys and mules. You write as someone who understands and respects horses, and I've wondered how you acquired your knowledge. Do you ride? Do you know a dressage master?
Terry
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And I thank you for your comments on the horses: it has been a very long time since I've ridden, though I have met many fine horses since. For the details on the horses, I have an avid horsewoman (and sometime dressage rider) among my First Readers, and it is she who is responsible for keeping everything accurate, even though I am writing about Elven horses. I've always had headcanon that the Elves' horses resemble Akhal Teke. They are the most gorgeous creatures, and I would like to see one in person these days. I suspect Valdien looks most like a grullo Akkhal Teke--they come in such breathtaking colors.
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(Anonymous) 2019-09-21 02:21 pm (UTC)(link)I got to see an Akhal-Teke once. The coat was breathtaking and they are elegant, but their conformation is too lanky and leggy for my taste. They look like they could go the distance, but I'm not sure you'd ever get the really comfortable ride required for spending hours on a horse. For appearance, gait and way of being, I envisioned the palfreys as Paso Finos of the Puerto Rican bloodlines. You may surely envision the warhorse coat colors as that of an Akhal-Teke, but for the conformation a warhorse requires and for the intelligence and variety of coat colors you describe they would have to be more like Lusitanos (different from but just as gorgeous as Akhal-Teke's). Likely horses derived from centuries of Akhal-Teke/draft horse crossbreeding would work, though while you could probably get the coat color to breed true, their overall appearance would not be that of a pure Akhal-Tekke.
Something else I really appreciate is that in the elven trilogy we finally have some heroes who deal with problems as adults. I enjoy the way you wrote Kellen, and especially Harrier and Tiercel, but it's refreshing to read a hero without the incongruence of one who is still trying to figure out who he/she really is and how life works at the same time he/she is managing to overcome incredible obstacles.
no subject