Evening fell heavily on the kingdom. Word of the foreboding name had spread quickly, casting an uneasy gloom over the castle. High in the council meeting room, the Namer paced back and forth in front of the windows, a worried look plastered on her pale face. The door opened and the council strode in, their faces reflecting back her own anxious state of mind. The Keeper, the Recorder, and the Reader were the first to arrive. King and Prince entered followed by an old woman known as Grandmother. They took their seats around the smooth table with King at the head and the Namer on the opposite end facing him. King was a tall man with ink black hair swept back in a pompadour. His hazel eyes smoldered and when he smiled his almost feminine lips quirked up only on one side of his face. Tonight he was not smiling which made King look tired and old. The others settled, nervous murmurs passing between them until King tapped his long fingers on the tabletop.
"Let us begin this meeting," he said in a voice that was smoky and sweet, with a hint of a southern drawl. It was a voice made of song and sorrow that reverberated deep inside the Namer's chest. It was a voice that made people stop and listen. "Now will someone tell me what the hell is going on?" King's eyes fell on the Recorder who paled under his stern gaze.
"Sire," he said in a quivering voice "I have reviewed the histories of the last fifty years and in the beginning there were names like this War. It never ended well for the child or the society at the time." The Recorder was a small, thin man with a face like a rat. His beady eyes shined nervously out from behind half-moon spectacles. "The last recorded name War was...um..." the Recorder paused, lips drawn tight in a worried line.
"Yes, go on," King drawled.
"The last recorded name War was twenty-five years ago." A gasp came from the old woman, her eyes wide with fright.
"What is it Grandmother?"
"The year of Zero," whispered the old woman, making cross with her gnarled fingers. The Namer recognized the gesture as one to ward off evil. The year of Zero, she thought with uneasiness. She had been just a babe then and did not know the history. The Recorder nodded, his face grave.
"So what the Hell does that mean?" demanded Prince. He sat, back straight as a ruler, bright blue eyes boring into the Recorder.
"Perhaps," croaked the old woman "I can explain." Everyone nodded in solemn agreement. Grandmother stood, her gray eyes shining brighter than ever. "The year of Zero was a terrible year. Drought, famine, disease, and fighting covered our fine land. The Namer, may she rest, was distraught for it was her names that had brought these horrors to the world. She was at a loss, so she ventured out to the nameless wood in search of a mage that some say lived there since before the world as we know it had began. The Namer, your mother dear," Grandmother said to the current Namer "never returned. King sent out a large party to search but none of them returned either. Since you were just a baby, the Recorder took over the duties as Namer until you were older. When your mother disappeared, everything stopped. It rained for a week start and those who had been sick were cured. They say that your mother found that mage and in exchange for her life brought peace and prosperity back to the kingdom. The one named War was slain by the Hero and all was well again. Now tell me dear, where there any other unusual names at the ritual today?"
"There was a Fighter, but that is not too rare," the Namer replied. There was always a Fighter to help protect the lands against dangerous creatures and other things that go bump in the night. There was always the chance of a bad name, although they were rare. "So what do we do?" the Namer asked, her voice soft.
"We keep an eye on the child, record the names, and hope that a Hero will be named again to defeat the child named War. Keeper perhaps you should take the child, keep a close eye on her. Maybe it will be a different type of War she becomes."
"For all our sake, Grandmother, I pray that you are right." King stood, his hazel eyes taking in the pale faces of the council. "Rest well tonight, tomorrow will be a new day, and there is hope in that, at least." With that, King strode out of the room, followed by his son. The Recorder, Reader, and Grandmother left with a brief goodbye. Only the Keeper remained, his eyes full of fury.
"Why should I take care of the whelp?" he hissed once the door had closed behind Grandmother. The Namer sighed inwardly, she did not feel like dealing with him right now. She wanted to go to her room, curl up under her covers, and forget today had ever happened.
"You are the Keeper, it is your name and duty to keep the children with undesirable names and find proper jobs for them in the castle or towns of this land. You have been the Keeper since my mother was alive and if you want to stay in this castle and not be banished to the nameless wood, you shall do your duty!" The Keeper bulked, surprise covering his broad face at her sharp tone. The Namer cursed herself for losing her temper but she was tired. Taking a deep breath, she continued "The father, that Strange fellow, will probably have no problem turning this child over to you. Go fetch her in the morning and bring her to my chamber. I want to keep an eye on her as well."
Monday, October 6, 2014
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Chapter Two
The naming was an ancient tradition dating back to 1975, when every
living thing had been named Jennifer after a heroine in some old love
story. Chaos reigned for there is power in a name and too many of one name can upset the balance. ADD MORE HERE
The latest Namer was as plain as vanilla. If you passed her on the street, you would not give her a second glance. She had plain brown hair and dull brown hair. Her face was plain and expressionless. Currently she was walking, shoulders hunched and head bowed. The Namer's footsteps echoed off the high walls of the endless hallway, her eyes glued firmly to the tile floor. Beside her, the Keeper rambled on, his voice barely above a whisper as he listed his myriad complaints. Oh if he would only shut up, The Namer thought bitterly. She disliked and distrusted the Keeper. He was always on the lookout for castaway children. The Keeper liked to think he was doing these poor souls a favor by sending them off to the kitchens, libraries, or other dead end jobs. Yet the Namer knew most of the Masters of the various houses treated the children as little more than slaves. Another reason she dreaded her job. It broke her heart to see names like Mouse, Fly, or Garbage in a child's young and innocent face. The Namer felt sick,she hated this damned tradition but knew in her heart the power of a name and what that power could lead to it used in the wrong way. Finally they had reached the chamber's massive doors and the Namer turned suddenly on the Keeper, making him glance guilty away.
"Enough," she hissed in a dull voice. "I have a ritual to attend and you should return to your duties. We can continue this discussion later." The Keeper nodded and strode away, footsteps fading down the hall. With a sigh of relief and resentment, the Namer turned and opened the brass doors into the Chamber of Names. The room was massive with rows of wooden benches encircling a large stage. In the center of the stage was a wooden podium and a single chair. The Namer slowly climbed up the long aisle to the podium, feeling the eyes of the audience follow her every step. Standing behind the podium, the Namer looked out over the sparse crowd and awaited the first child to receive the naming ritual. The ritual was an ancient one, passed down from generation and generation. When a child was born, they received the name Baby. Then at the age of two or three, depending on each child, their parents brought Baby to the Namer to receive his or her name. Ask her a million times and the Namer could not explain how she did it. She simply looked into the child's eyes and a name, bright and bold, would appear in her mind. The name would be announced and written down by the Recorder, who sat in the chair by the podium. Of course there were names that were often used more than once; such as Keeper, who cared for the children with undesirable names and Mother, who would be expected to marry a Father and have as many children as she could. Not every mother was named Mother, however those who received the name at the ritual were considered special among the women who were mothers. However if there were too many of one name, the child would be led out to the Nameless Woods and it's parents given a year to grieve before they were expected to have another child. The Namer supposed she was lucky, she had been born into her position. Still it was a hard job and some days she wished she could have been named Maid or Mother or even one of the poor nameless than to send another child away to the mines or even the dreaded woods. Shaking her head to clear it, the Namer glanced down at the list of families and called "APPLE" in a loud, clear voice.
A young couple, probably recent newlyweds approached the podium, a chubby faced girl between them. The Namer did not recognize them but judging by the surname they were Farmers. (How are the surnames chosen?) The Farmers were a large section in the southern part of the (Kingdom of Names). They grew the food for the castle and towns of the sprawling land many called home. The woman had bright red hair and it looked like the daughter was going to take after her mother. The Namer bent down slowly, her eyes kind and soft as she met the toddler's bright and curious gaze. Silence fell over the chamber. At first there was nothing but the child's face and then suddenly a name, bright red filled the Namer's vision. She stood slowly and announced "Fruit Picker," to the assembled crowd. The parents looked happy, the name fit well with their lifestyle. The Namer was relieved, she knew the farms always had work for those with such names, the child would never go hungry. The family exited the stage and the Namer continued down her list. There was Baker, Maid, Fighter (unusual but not unheard of), Cook, and even a Gnat. The Keeper will probably end up with that boy, thought the Namer as the parents turned away, disappointment clear on their faces. She looked down on her list, there was one more surname on it. I am not familiar with this one, she thought, and it's so unique. "STRANGE," she called out. Surprise filled her face a single scruffy looking man practically dragging a scared looking girl of about three towards the podium. The man was tall and broad like a bear, the little girl looked so frail next to him that the Namer's heart went out to the poor child. She nodded briefly to the man who glared at her. Kneeling she met the girl's frightened eyes and looked into her mind. What she saw there filled the Namer's heart with dread. No this can not be, she thought shaking her head. Yet the image remained and heart pounding the Namer stood and looked out on the crowd. In a voice barely above a whisper she called out "War."
The latest Namer was as plain as vanilla. If you passed her on the street, you would not give her a second glance. She had plain brown hair and dull brown hair. Her face was plain and expressionless. Currently she was walking, shoulders hunched and head bowed. The Namer's footsteps echoed off the high walls of the endless hallway, her eyes glued firmly to the tile floor. Beside her, the Keeper rambled on, his voice barely above a whisper as he listed his myriad complaints. Oh if he would only shut up, The Namer thought bitterly. She disliked and distrusted the Keeper. He was always on the lookout for castaway children. The Keeper liked to think he was doing these poor souls a favor by sending them off to the kitchens, libraries, or other dead end jobs. Yet the Namer knew most of the Masters of the various houses treated the children as little more than slaves. Another reason she dreaded her job. It broke her heart to see names like Mouse, Fly, or Garbage in a child's young and innocent face. The Namer felt sick,she hated this damned tradition but knew in her heart the power of a name and what that power could lead to it used in the wrong way. Finally they had reached the chamber's massive doors and the Namer turned suddenly on the Keeper, making him glance guilty away.
"Enough," she hissed in a dull voice. "I have a ritual to attend and you should return to your duties. We can continue this discussion later." The Keeper nodded and strode away, footsteps fading down the hall. With a sigh of relief and resentment, the Namer turned and opened the brass doors into the Chamber of Names. The room was massive with rows of wooden benches encircling a large stage. In the center of the stage was a wooden podium and a single chair. The Namer slowly climbed up the long aisle to the podium, feeling the eyes of the audience follow her every step. Standing behind the podium, the Namer looked out over the sparse crowd and awaited the first child to receive the naming ritual. The ritual was an ancient one, passed down from generation and generation. When a child was born, they received the name Baby. Then at the age of two or three, depending on each child, their parents brought Baby to the Namer to receive his or her name. Ask her a million times and the Namer could not explain how she did it. She simply looked into the child's eyes and a name, bright and bold, would appear in her mind. The name would be announced and written down by the Recorder, who sat in the chair by the podium. Of course there were names that were often used more than once; such as Keeper, who cared for the children with undesirable names and Mother, who would be expected to marry a Father and have as many children as she could. Not every mother was named Mother, however those who received the name at the ritual were considered special among the women who were mothers. However if there were too many of one name, the child would be led out to the Nameless Woods and it's parents given a year to grieve before they were expected to have another child. The Namer supposed she was lucky, she had been born into her position. Still it was a hard job and some days she wished she could have been named Maid or Mother or even one of the poor nameless than to send another child away to the mines or even the dreaded woods. Shaking her head to clear it, the Namer glanced down at the list of families and called "APPLE" in a loud, clear voice.
A young couple, probably recent newlyweds approached the podium, a chubby faced girl between them. The Namer did not recognize them but judging by the surname they were Farmers. (How are the surnames chosen?) The Farmers were a large section in the southern part of the (Kingdom of Names). They grew the food for the castle and towns of the sprawling land many called home. The woman had bright red hair and it looked like the daughter was going to take after her mother. The Namer bent down slowly, her eyes kind and soft as she met the toddler's bright and curious gaze. Silence fell over the chamber. At first there was nothing but the child's face and then suddenly a name, bright red filled the Namer's vision. She stood slowly and announced "Fruit Picker," to the assembled crowd. The parents looked happy, the name fit well with their lifestyle. The Namer was relieved, she knew the farms always had work for those with such names, the child would never go hungry. The family exited the stage and the Namer continued down her list. There was Baker, Maid, Fighter (unusual but not unheard of), Cook, and even a Gnat. The Keeper will probably end up with that boy, thought the Namer as the parents turned away, disappointment clear on their faces. She looked down on her list, there was one more surname on it. I am not familiar with this one, she thought, and it's so unique. "STRANGE," she called out. Surprise filled her face a single scruffy looking man practically dragging a scared looking girl of about three towards the podium. The man was tall and broad like a bear, the little girl looked so frail next to him that the Namer's heart went out to the poor child. She nodded briefly to the man who glared at her. Kneeling she met the girl's frightened eyes and looked into her mind. What she saw there filled the Namer's heart with dread. No this can not be, she thought shaking her head. Yet the image remained and heart pounding the Namer stood and looked out on the crowd. In a voice barely above a whisper she called out "War."
Friday, September 26, 2014
Chapter One
In 1975, everyone had been named Jennifer. Chaos reigned and the world had almost been destroyed. Now every generation has a Namer. The Namer gives children of three their names and their futures that the name holds. But what if the Namer got a name wrong? What if the Damsel saves herself? Or the Coward becomes the hero? What will the world hold then? For a name holds power and there is one who seeks to change their name and their fate to become the most powerful of them all.
The Reader was a small woman, barely standing 5 feet. She had mousy brown hair that fell around her face in unkempt waves. Her bright blue eyes were hidden behind glasses as thick as Coke bottles. Pale fingers raced across the dusty pages, her eyes drinking up every last drop of printer's ink. When a knock came to her door, the Reader looked up slowly, reluctant to leave the world inside the words.
"Enter," she said, in a voice as crisp as paper. The door creaked slowly open and a mite of a girl entered hesitantly, eyes glued on the floor. "Yes, how can I help you child?" asked the Reader. The girl stared harder at the wood grain floor and mumbled something inaudible.
"What's that child? Speak up," the Reader ordered. The small girl's face turned bright red.
"The Keeper sent me to help sort your books, m'lady," she squeaked in a small voice. The Reader sighed, the Keeper was always sending her his castoffs and so far none of them had been very helpful.
"What is your name, child?" She asked in a softer voice. The little girl seemed to be shaking from head to toe.
"Mouse," squeaked the girl, her brown eyes full of fear. Of course it is, the Reader thought, the Namer rarely gets things wrong. This small mite of a girl even looked like a mouse with shaggy brown hair, a pointed nose, and ears too large for her head.
"Can you read, Mouse?" The girl twisted her tattered tunic in small, white hands.
"I know the letters and what order they go in, m'lady." Mouse looked up briefly, eyes shining hopefully.
"Good enough," the Reader sighed "well just keep your hands clean and do not disturb my work and we should get along fine. Are you hungry? It is almost noon, we can start with the A's after we break our fast." The girl nodded slowly, her eyes studying the room, taking in the endless bookshelves, filled to the brim. The Reader stood slowly, rubbing her aching back. She went to the girl and gently put out her hand. Mouse stared at it as if it was a snake about to bite. Slowly she took it in one of hers and shook it once. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mouse," the Reader said firmly "now let us go eat."
* * *
Damsel stared out her tower window and watched the world below. The forest stretched out in all directions, covering the land in an endless sea of green. There winding through the woods was a small, dirt path. Damsel watched that path day and night, knowing one day her prince would come. For certainly all fairy tales had a happy ending, didn't they?
With a disgusted sigh, Damsel turned around and studied her room. There was her bed, no bigger than a cot. Her bedside table, overflowing with books and magazines. Against one wall there stood a dresser, an easel, and a shelf full of toys, books, and even a small radio. All the comforts of home, Damsel thought bitterly.
She wanted more. She wanted to save herself from this damn tower. Why did she have to be the damsel in distress? Who gave the Namer the power to name people what they would be? Angry, Damsel picked up her teddy bear and threw it against the wall.
"Curse the Namer, I will no longer be (her) plaything! I am going to rescue myself even if it kills me!"
"DAMSEL!" A sharp, harsh voice called from somewhere below. Crap, thought Damsel, not Mother. She looked anxiously around her room, which was a mess. Mother would have a fit. Quickly Damsel swept the trash under her bed, pulled the covers up to hide the still rumbled blankets, and ran a hand through her tangled blond hair.
"DAMSEL! LET ME IN!" screeched Mother's voice. With one more frantic look in the mirror, Damsel went to window and looked down. Mother stood there, hands on her narrow hips, glaring up at her with hatred in her green eyes.
"Yes Mother," Damsel called out and threw out the rope ladder. It was the only way in and unstable unless someone held it from the top, so Damsel could never use it to escape by herself. Mother was going to have her grow out her hair to use as a rope but thought that would have been too cliche. The ladder landed next to the dirt path with a soft thud. Groaning the old woman began to climb, Damsel had to hold on with all her might so the ladder would not sway too much. With a final heave and grunt, Mother pulled herself into the small room. She stood, her iron gray hair brushing the top of the ceiling, her green eyes burning with rage.
"Why did it take you so long, you little wretch? What are you hiding up here?" Mother reached out and tweaked Damsel's nose so hard that her eyes watered. The old woman strode around the room, her nose twitching as if she could smell out the reason. Damsel rubbed her sore nose but waited silently. It was best to keep her mouth shut when Mother was in this mood. After several long moments the older woman seemed satisfied and whirled to face her captive. Stepping close, the old woman scrutinized Damsel and let out a grunt.
"I suppose you want your supplies replenished," Mother snapped. Damsel simply nodded. "Fine, but it might take me a few days so I hope you have enough saved away. I don't want my precious gem to waste away." Damsel suppressed a shudder, Mother had been promised a reward for keeping Damsel safe until the day the Prince was suppose to come and rescue her. Then she would be married off and forced to bear the Prince's children. The daughters would be held in their own towers until the cycle repeated and repeated. It all made Damsel sick to her stomach and she promised herself to be link that broke in the horrible chain.
"Good," Mother said in her shrill voice. Her cold hand patted Damsel's cheek. She looked around the room with disgust in her eyes. "Clean this place up, it looks like a sty. And comb your hair, what are you, a vagabond?" Damsel shook her head. "We want to look nice for Prince, right deary?"
"Yes Mother," Damsel said in a quiet voice. Mother nodded in agreement and crossed to the window.
"I shall return in three days time and I want this room spotless, understand?"
"I understand"
"Good, now don't get into any trouble or I will wring your pretty little neck?" Mother said in a cold voice, Damsel swallowed hard but managed to nod. For a long time after Mother had left, Damsel stood in front of her mirror, combing her long, golden hair until her scalp was red and her hands ached. She promised herself that somehow she would escape, before Mother could return and make good on her constant threats.
The Reader was a small woman, barely standing 5 feet. She had mousy brown hair that fell around her face in unkempt waves. Her bright blue eyes were hidden behind glasses as thick as Coke bottles. Pale fingers raced across the dusty pages, her eyes drinking up every last drop of printer's ink. When a knock came to her door, the Reader looked up slowly, reluctant to leave the world inside the words.
"Enter," she said, in a voice as crisp as paper. The door creaked slowly open and a mite of a girl entered hesitantly, eyes glued on the floor. "Yes, how can I help you child?" asked the Reader. The girl stared harder at the wood grain floor and mumbled something inaudible.
"What's that child? Speak up," the Reader ordered. The small girl's face turned bright red.
"The Keeper sent me to help sort your books, m'lady," she squeaked in a small voice. The Reader sighed, the Keeper was always sending her his castoffs and so far none of them had been very helpful.
"What is your name, child?" She asked in a softer voice. The little girl seemed to be shaking from head to toe.
"Mouse," squeaked the girl, her brown eyes full of fear. Of course it is, the Reader thought, the Namer rarely gets things wrong. This small mite of a girl even looked like a mouse with shaggy brown hair, a pointed nose, and ears too large for her head.
"Can you read, Mouse?" The girl twisted her tattered tunic in small, white hands.
"I know the letters and what order they go in, m'lady." Mouse looked up briefly, eyes shining hopefully.
"Good enough," the Reader sighed "well just keep your hands clean and do not disturb my work and we should get along fine. Are you hungry? It is almost noon, we can start with the A's after we break our fast." The girl nodded slowly, her eyes studying the room, taking in the endless bookshelves, filled to the brim. The Reader stood slowly, rubbing her aching back. She went to the girl and gently put out her hand. Mouse stared at it as if it was a snake about to bite. Slowly she took it in one of hers and shook it once. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mouse," the Reader said firmly "now let us go eat."
* * *
Damsel stared out her tower window and watched the world below. The forest stretched out in all directions, covering the land in an endless sea of green. There winding through the woods was a small, dirt path. Damsel watched that path day and night, knowing one day her prince would come. For certainly all fairy tales had a happy ending, didn't they?
With a disgusted sigh, Damsel turned around and studied her room. There was her bed, no bigger than a cot. Her bedside table, overflowing with books and magazines. Against one wall there stood a dresser, an easel, and a shelf full of toys, books, and even a small radio. All the comforts of home, Damsel thought bitterly.
She wanted more. She wanted to save herself from this damn tower. Why did she have to be the damsel in distress? Who gave the Namer the power to name people what they would be? Angry, Damsel picked up her teddy bear and threw it against the wall.
"Curse the Namer, I will no longer be (her) plaything! I am going to rescue myself even if it kills me!"
"DAMSEL!" A sharp, harsh voice called from somewhere below. Crap, thought Damsel, not Mother. She looked anxiously around her room, which was a mess. Mother would have a fit. Quickly Damsel swept the trash under her bed, pulled the covers up to hide the still rumbled blankets, and ran a hand through her tangled blond hair.
"DAMSEL! LET ME IN!" screeched Mother's voice. With one more frantic look in the mirror, Damsel went to window and looked down. Mother stood there, hands on her narrow hips, glaring up at her with hatred in her green eyes.
"Yes Mother," Damsel called out and threw out the rope ladder. It was the only way in and unstable unless someone held it from the top, so Damsel could never use it to escape by herself. Mother was going to have her grow out her hair to use as a rope but thought that would have been too cliche. The ladder landed next to the dirt path with a soft thud. Groaning the old woman began to climb, Damsel had to hold on with all her might so the ladder would not sway too much. With a final heave and grunt, Mother pulled herself into the small room. She stood, her iron gray hair brushing the top of the ceiling, her green eyes burning with rage.
"Why did it take you so long, you little wretch? What are you hiding up here?" Mother reached out and tweaked Damsel's nose so hard that her eyes watered. The old woman strode around the room, her nose twitching as if she could smell out the reason. Damsel rubbed her sore nose but waited silently. It was best to keep her mouth shut when Mother was in this mood. After several long moments the older woman seemed satisfied and whirled to face her captive. Stepping close, the old woman scrutinized Damsel and let out a grunt.
"I suppose you want your supplies replenished," Mother snapped. Damsel simply nodded. "Fine, but it might take me a few days so I hope you have enough saved away. I don't want my precious gem to waste away." Damsel suppressed a shudder, Mother had been promised a reward for keeping Damsel safe until the day the Prince was suppose to come and rescue her. Then she would be married off and forced to bear the Prince's children. The daughters would be held in their own towers until the cycle repeated and repeated. It all made Damsel sick to her stomach and she promised herself to be link that broke in the horrible chain.
"Good," Mother said in her shrill voice. Her cold hand patted Damsel's cheek. She looked around the room with disgust in her eyes. "Clean this place up, it looks like a sty. And comb your hair, what are you, a vagabond?" Damsel shook her head. "We want to look nice for Prince, right deary?"
"Yes Mother," Damsel said in a quiet voice. Mother nodded in agreement and crossed to the window.
"I shall return in three days time and I want this room spotless, understand?"
"I understand"
"Good, now don't get into any trouble or I will wring your pretty little neck?" Mother said in a cold voice, Damsel swallowed hard but managed to nod. For a long time after Mother had left, Damsel stood in front of her mirror, combing her long, golden hair until her scalp was red and her hands ached. She promised herself that somehow she would escape, before Mother could return and make good on her constant threats.
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