The recital is in the afternoon, but I'm up early, too nervous to sleep in. I spend the morning helping my mom around the house. She fixes lunch, but I have trouble eating anything. Then I walk over to the performing arts centre to meet up with my teacher and class for warm ups.
As we get dressed in our costumes, everyone is nervous. This is one of the three biggest events of the year and we've heard some directors of major dance companies will be present. The dressing room is buzzing with different names, some of which I recognize and some I don't. I try to focus on preparing for my solo. Waiting around backstage for our turn is slow torture. Our class has the second oldest students in our studio, which means we're old enough we'll be watched carefully. Our teacher is here, reminding us to breathe and that we'll be fine. I wish I believed her, but I have a knot in my stomach which just won't go away. It's a relief to finally be called onto the stage and I take deep breaths as I take my place. Then the curtain rises and I'm into my solo performance. Through every movement, I'm trying to focus on the steps and a perfect performance. Except there's just something so compelling about the music, something I hadn't noticed before and I get caught up in it. I completely lose track of the technical performance and get lost in the music and movement the way I've been warned not to over and over again. When I'm finished and go to make my curtsey before leaving the stage, there's no applause. I glance up at the audience to see expressions of horror and fear. Straightening up, there's something strange in my balance. I reach a hand over my shoulder and encounter a bony protrusion which shouldn't be there. Recalling the wings I had seen briefly in the mirror after my performance for the director on Monday, I flee the stage. Running blindly for the exit, I ignore the noises of fear and protest all around me until someone catches me up in their arms. I struggle, frantic to escape, but the person is far larger and stronger than I am. “Kedri!” The voice is familiar somehow and sharp enough to penetrate my panic, “Kedri!” Looking up, I see the dance studio director. There is no fear in his expression, only concern. I allow myself to fall limp and he sets me on my feet. “Kedri, I need you to come with me,” The director's face is completely serious, “I need you to trust me.” “But the men...” “The grey van is on its way,” The director keeps his voice soft, “You don't want them to take you, do you?” I shake my head, trying hard to suppress my panic. “Then you need to trust me.” He slips off his jacket, “Here.” He reaches around me, gently rearranging what are evidently fairly large wings, and wraps the jacket over top. Then he guides me out a small side door. We walk over to the dance studio, somehow barely noticed by the all the people out and about on their usual Saturday errands. Inside the studio, he lets me into his office. “Wait here. I'll be back in a few minutes.” I pull his jacket more tightly around me as I sit in the chair facing his desk. While I wait, I study the walls, which are covered in bookcases and framed pictures and certificates. Nothing in the office seems at all out of the ordinary. When the director returns, he is accompanied by a woman who causes me to do a double take. She is maybe my mom's age, but dressed in a crazy patchwork of colours and fabrics which dazzle the eye and make it hard to tell anything about her body. Her face is made up almost garishly. But what really catches my attention is her hair. It hangs nearly to her waist in hundreds of tiny braids, each one a different, brilliant colour. Each of her long, curved fingernails is also a different bright colour. “Kedri,” The studio director recalls my attention, “I'd like you to meet Marta. She owns a dance company in Seaside.” “Okay...” I swallow hard. “You dance beautifully,” Marta smiles warmly, “I saw your recital performance and I would love to have you join my company.” I nod slowly, “But what...” She cuts me off with a chuckle. “Do you know why dance is tolerated by the Corporation, when dancers are among the most likely to vanish from society?” I shake my head. “All I know is I've always been warned to be careful. To not get lost in the music.” “It's a passion,” Marta explains, “Some are just born to dance and to quash it completely causes more chaos than these carefully controlled and monitored dance studios.” I nod. The Corporation, the company which owns almost everything in the world, seems to be very careful in what it does and doesn't allow to happen. The men in the grey van work for them. “But some, like you, just don't belong in the grey and boring,” Marta chuckles again, “The Corporation might cut you off from your parents now, from your education, from everything you've known your whole life. I'm offering you a new life, in a place where you can do what you love without having to fear them. Unless you want to find out what the corporation does to those who get lost in their passions.” I shiver, huddling down in the borrowed jacket. “I don't really have a choice. I can't give up dancing.” “No, and you shouldn't have to,” Marta holds out a hand, “We should go before they think to look for you here.” I take her hand, accepting the help to my feet. Slipping off the jacket, I turn to the director, “Sir... thank you.” He accepts his jacket back. “You're welcome, Kedri. Take care of yourself.” I nod. Then I follow Marta down to the back door of the studio where a black van is waiting in the alley. We get into the back and take seats. As the van starts moving, Marta tells me, “Once we get there, you'll have to stay close to me for a bit. I'll show you where you'll be staying, where you'll be rehearsing and where you'll be performing. I'll also help you get anything you need right away.” “Okay.” I nod. “It's a bit of a drive,” Marta warns me, “You might want to get some sleep, if you can.” I'm not sure if I'll be able to sleep, but I curl up on the seat and close my eyes.
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See the first Credit Where Credit is Due post for an overview of what I'm doing here.
So, back when I first wrote Experiment Redemption, the setting of that story was a blackened wasteland left over from centuries of civil war, beginning of story to end. And I didn't know how the characters of future stories were ever going to manage to turn that around. I had half an idea which I knew wasn't going to work, effectively or believably. I hate when I write myself into corners. But... I was working on a roleplaying system for the universe in which the majority of my writing is set. And I had friends test playing campaigns I'd created which were set in various parts of that universe, including the setting of Experiment Redemption around the time of the novel. Enter a fictional young scientist named Fate, created by a friend and fan who was playing that specific campaign. His work resolved my issue of how the country could be cleaned up and made livable again. I do wish I had thought to somehow record some of those sessions because there's so much that happened that I just can't remember now. The character Fate, when used in my work, is credited to his original creator. He is mentioned in The Keys and the Naph, first seen in the short tale Hunter (Experiment Redemption Revisited), and has a larger role in the upcoming Arawn's New Order, which is due out August 2021. Fate's creator is a gamer who can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC0Rrcdso9Pmd4R7v3q2XdEA
“Nerita,” Laine scowls in exasperation, “If you can't sit still, get the f*** out of here.”
“Okay, okay.” I haul myself off the bed and head for the door, “C'mon, Sefu.” On the floor below, I encounter Duke Malin entering his suite. He looks over the battered running shoes, old jeans, even older shirt of Laine's with the sleeves cut off, and loose hair and sighs. “Lady Nerita,” He emphasizes my title, “You cannot go around dressed like that anymore.” “No one's gonna see me,” I respond, “Prob'ly wouldn't recognize me if they did. 'Sides, Laine kicked me out of our rooms.” “Be careful.” Duke Malin orders sternly as I slip past him. Leaving the old south tower, I head out to the mostly deserted gardens. The mid October evening is chilly, but I don't really notice. Maybe it's the nervous energy buzzing through me. Sefu and I wander the garden paths until the twilight turns to real dark. Even then, I'm not quite ready to go inside. There are a number of bright, ornamental lamps on posts throughout the gardens and I take a seat on a bench beneath one. Sefu stretches out between the bench and the bush behind it, out of sight of the patrolling guards who occasionally pass. I'm finally able to sit still, but the events of the past few days keep chasing each other through my head. “I hardly thought anyone else would be out so late,” The deep, male voice is vaguely familiar, “You must be cold.” Looking up, I recognize Prince Derian and flush. I don't embarrass easily, but for his highness to catch me out so late, dressed like I am... if anyone ever hears about this, I'm in serious trouble. “No... not really,” I notice Sefu hasn't even opened his eyes, “Your highness.” A pained expression flickers over Prince Derian's face, “If you're certain. You're new to the court, aren't you?” I nod, “New to Norsecount, actually.” “What do you think?” He waves an arm at the gardens. “It's very different from where I grew up,” I don't want to lie. I just wish I could escape. Sefu's no help, that's for sure. Obviously he doesn't consider Prince Derian a threat. But then, he doesn't care about my reputation. Prince Derian studies me with open curiosity, “Mind if I sit?” “If you want.” I'm sitting sideways, with my feet on the bench and my knees against my chest, but there's lots of room. Prince Derian doesn't seem to see Sefu at all. “What brings you out so late?” “I was too restless to sleep.” He nods knowingly, “I find the palace gets stuffy, even in the winter... especially in the winter. It does get quite cold out here,” He glances over me and shakes his head, “You're shivering.” I know I am, but it's nerves, not cold. There's just no point trying to tell him that. “Here,” Prince Derian slips off his jacket to reveal the sweater underneath, “Wrap up in this.” “Thanks.” I accept the jacket and drape it over my shoulders. It's warm from him wearing it, which doesn't help me feel an better. He studies me again, a little more critically, “Have we met?” “No.” “You must've been at court this afternoon then,” He nods to himself, “How I wish Father would mind his own business!” “They say he's concerned...” “I know,” Derian scowls, “Believe me, I've heard all his concerns a thousand times over. I still have a sister.” I can't help frowning, “I thought I'd heard the princesses aren't really his majesty's daughters.” “Most of them aren't. It's just I'd wager everything I own that Nerissa is,” Prince Derian grimaces, “Even she thinks I should marry this Lady Nerita.” “Oh?” “Last time I was here, Nerissa couldn't say enough about the woman. She hasn't this time, but I know she wants to.” At least Princess Nerissa's keeping her word. Now to see how long it lasts. Prince Derian abruptly changes the subject, “Did you attend the Harvest Masquerade?” I nod. “Will you be at the ball tomorrow?” “I've been invited.” “Letitia's twenty-first birthday,” He shakes his head, “I don't know why Father keeps the older four here. No one would miss them. Not that Kamilla's any better... she's just still underage.” While I have to agree, the whole mess is really none of my business and I'm safer not saying anything. “And then the ambassador from Arawn arriving later this month,” Prince Derian sighs, “Even Father doesn't know who President Gayre is sending yet.” I shrug, “Last I heard, politics in Arawn were still pretty crazy.” “You know something of Arawn?” Prince Derian frowns curiously. “As much as I care to.” He glances up at the darkening palace, “Will you be remaining at court long?” “Permanently, as far as I know.” This surprises him. Then a chill breeze comes along and blows my loose hair over my face. Before I can push it away, Prince Derian reaches out and gently brushes it aside. “Few ladies would leave their hair unbraided,” He observes softly, “Although few would be seen on palace grounds dressed as common citizens either.” I know my face is bright red. I can feel the blood, “I didn't think anyone would be out.” Prince Derian chuckles gently, “Most nights you'd be right. Your hair is beautiful.” I have to fight to breathe normally, “It's also really thick and heavy.” “Hmm,” He reaches out again to brush away a stray strand. This time his fingertips brush my skin. I have to get out of here before I get myself in trouble. “I... I'm sorry. I need to go.” My feet hit the ground and I stand quickly... too quickly. “Careful.” Prince Derian is on his feet as well, his hands catching my shoulders to steady me. Standing close like this, I find he's tall enough I have to look up to see his face. “Th... thanks.” I can barely swallow. “Who are you?” The words are very soft yet full of wonder. I don't have a chance to answer because his lips brush against mine. I've never let any guy this close to me in my life. But then, I can usually keep my head better than this too. Right now I'm so completely lost... I don't know how I ended up with his arms around me... or mine around his neck. All I know is the kiss leaves both of us breathless and it's easier to bury my face in his chest than look at him. His jacket has fallen to the ground and one of his hands is stroking my hair... just like my mother used to... The memory snaps me back to the reality of the situation and I go cold all over. “I really do have to go.” I push away from him and flee to the palace, not caring if Sefu follows or not. The guard at the door has to let me in, but with my hair over my face, I doubt he would recognize me later. Sefu isn't with me, but catches up before I reach the tower. The only light in the whole three floors is the bedroom where Laine is reading in bed. She drops the book on seeing me. “Nerita? What happened?” “Don't ask,” I'm closer to crying than I've been in years, “Just don't ask.” I drop onto the edge of the bed and Sefu tries to crawl into my lap. Laine studies me carefully, “You didn't do anything...?” “Nothing that stupid... bad enough though.” She groans, “Nerita, you can't afford to've met Prince Dashing... or whatever the fuck that faerie tale prince's called... not when...” “How 'bout Prince Derian?” That makes Laine pause. Then she laughs, “You didn't tell him who you are, did you?” “Of course not. Not out in the garden at this time of night. Not dressed like this,” I groan, “What a f*** up!” Laine keeps laughing, “Sefu was with you, right?” “Sefu was asleep under a bush,” I glower at my tiger, “Some chaperone you are.” I can see laughter in his eyes too, “Laine... if you ever tell anyone about this... and I mean anyone... ever... I will kick your a**.” “Yeah, whatever,” She's still laughing, “Nerita, come to bed. You're wasted.”
Tory looks up when Ford enters the bedroom. He glances over the rainbow of knives spread out on the bed around her, then closes the door.
“What's goin' on?” He studies her carefully. “We need to make a trip to the west continent.” Tory sets to wrapping each knife in heavy cloth. Ford frowns, “We as in...?” “You an' me... an' Rylle.” Tory sets each wrapped knife inside a bag. He nods to himself. “It's really time?” “We have to be there before the eleventh. That's just enough time for travel. I can't take us by qerdir this time... don't really want to.” “I guess you don't know what'll happen either.” Ford crosses the room to sit beside her. Tory shakes her head as she closes up the bag and sets it on the floor beside her. Then she leans against Ford. He pulls her into his lap and she rests her head on his shoulder. After a time, he queries, “How are we gettin' over there?” “Vehicle, boat, vehicle. I know Rylle doesn't drive, but we'll trade off an' there'll be a boat waitin' when we reach Monarch's Town.” “Have you told Rylle?” “Yeah. She knows to be ready first thing tomorrow mornin'.” “We're pickin' her up?” Tory nods. “We're meetin' everyone else at Chancellor Hall.” “The rest of the Second Shield?” “An' Amy an' one of her guardians... 'specially since she's the one who knows where to use the keys.” “Does Angel know we're goin'?” “No. Not plannin' to tell her either.” “You're gonna catch hell for that.” Ford shakes his head. “I'll deal with it when it comes up.” Ford grimaces, but only asks, “Ready to call it a night?” “More than.” Tory makes no effort to move.
For the first time in days, I have an afternoon to myself. However, everyone else is busy with something. I’m too restless to just sit around the south tower, so Sefu and I head out for a walk.
The palace gardens are pretty much dead for this year, although they do look pretty in the morning frost. But it’s sunny today and too warm for the frost to last. So Sefu and I go looking for a trail instead. We end up on one which winds through the forest behind the palace, and turns out to end closer to the front entrance than the rear. As Sefu and I approach the steps, two vehicles pull in. The first stops just long enough to disgorge three of the most vicious old gossips of the upper nobility. These three have taken an especial disliking to me and they’re very lucky Tory was able to cure me. They head up the steps as their vehicle leaves and the second parks in its place. Only one lady gets out... one I’m sure I’ve never seen before. She’s accompanied by two servants who immediately set to work unloading baggage while she pauses on the bottom step to survey the palace entrance. The three at the top of the steps turn to see who’s behind them and it’s instantly obvious that they don’t like the new arrival. “Were you not banished from court, Lady Ayson?” The woman’s voice is loud enough to carry to the street beyond the gates. All the guards in the vicinity turn to look and Sefu growls low in his throat. I haven’t stopped walking and now mount the first step. The four ladies notice me at the same time. “This isn’t your concern, girl...” I know better than to say a word to those three, but my eyes meet those of the speaker. Even at this distance, she flinches and looks away. Then she and her friends head into the palace. “Who might you be?” The lady on the bottom step sounds more curious than anything else. “Lady Nerita Chassaven.” She studies me carefully, “The same as is to marry the Crown Prince?” I nod. “I am High Lady Chelsea Deruna Ayson... although I don’t doubt you’ve heard something of me before now...” “Only briefly, during a discussion regarding the wedding guest list.” That clearly surprises Lady Ayson, “Would you walk with me? That is if your companion doesn’t object.” Sefu’s been studying her quietly, his expression almost sad. “If Sefu objected to you, I’d know already. So certainly.” “Thank you.” Lady Ayson starts up the steps and Sefu and I accompany her. She doesn’t speak again until we’re through the main entrance. “Perhaps I was never officially banished from court, but I’ve most certainly been out of favour a great many years,” Lady Ayson sighs, “I was a schoolmate of Victoria Martrency, who later became his majesty’s second wife, and once foolish enough to think her my friend.” I keep silent and wait for her to continue. “But a few unguarded words regarding a poorly arranged marriage,” Old pain flickers over Lady Ayson’s face, “Words which were deliberately and maliciously twisted... I’d always been half aware Victoria had a vicious... almost insane streak in her.” “Likely insane,” I observe dryly, “Given what Princess Carina has said of the woman. But continue.” Lady Ayson nods grimly. “Victoria delighted in the discomfort of others. Yet never did I dream such a small thing could be warped into such a terrible, foolish problem.” I nod to myself. “At least it seemed a small thing at first. Still, words said cannot be unsaid and mine were twisted and tangled beyond the influence of any to repair. I left court... buried myself away in my work and my children. But now,” She glances over me and Sefu, “Such tales as visitors and winds have been carrying... I had to see matters for myself. And then came the invitation to his highness’s wedding...” I nod again. “You aren't of the Chassaven family of Norsecount, are you?” “No, I’m the last of the Estorika line. High Lord Chassaven’s twice refused to acknowledge that, even though his majesty has.” “I take it you’re little liked by the upper nobility here?” “Those I’ve met so far.” “Few with power and influence like threats to that power and influence,” Lady Ayson observes, “’Tis those without such who welcome change.” “Or at least those discontent with the status quo.” She chuckles. “I would guess you to be a great deal older than you look.” “Somewhere between my appearance and my experience,” I shrug evasively, “I’m younger than Princess Carina.” “I suspect she ought not be a princess, given the pictures I’ve seen of her most closely resemble the late High Lady Adarion.” “His majesty thinks otherwise... even now.” “And never allows mention of Travis Adarion, I’m sure.” I shake my head. “His majesty believes Travis Adarion dead twenty years. Some people care little to speak of the dead.” That earns me a sharp look from Lady Ayson. “Yet is not death a common part of life?” “In places, too common.” She nods to herself and changes the subject, “How long have you lived at court?” “A month now.” “With a sponsor?” “With a friend and her father for the moment.” “A school friend?” Lady Ayson sounds wary. “More like a foster sister.” “Ah,” Lady Ayson stops at a half open door, “I really must thank you. I am, as I said earlier, somewhat unpopular here. And I am pleased to have met you.” I bow my head briefly. “You’re welcome, my lady.” She smiles before disappearing through the door. I remain in the corridor, trying to decide where to go. Sitting around the south tower still doesn’t appeal, but neither does another walk.
None of us have any idea how much time passes before we pull up to a gate in a chain link fence. Through the windows, we can see workers pulling barbed wire from the top. A stern looking gate guard opens the gate for our vehicle to pass through. Ford frowns as he looks out the windows at the buildings we pass. Logan scowls outright.
“This ain’t no f***in’ experiment, it’s a f***in’ prison!” “Simmer down,” I tell him, “Maybe it’s the only place they could get or maybe the government demanded they had to use someplace like this.” “Maybe.” Ford’s frown deepens as he continues to look out the window. Every person we pass is wearing the same muddy coloured coveralls and hard at work. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t wear those glasses. They make it really hard to tell what he's thinking. Eventually the vehicle comes to a stop at the door of a large, grey, concrete building. A woman in a neat business suit steps outside as the doors open. Logan is the first out, launching himself at her. Ford follows immediately, but I have a feeling it isn’t to restrain Logan. I follow as fast as I can and find that I have to pull both of them off her. Ford backs off as soon as I touch him, but Logan fights me. I smash his punching hand against the wall as a lesson. Then I turn to the woman. “You better have a real good, short explanation ‘cause some of us ain’t exactly noted for our patience.” She takes a deep breath, straightening her suit jacket. “Welcome to Experiment Redemption. I really must apologize for the conditions. Camp Streton has served as both a prison and a military base and, while renovations are underway, it’s been hard to get supplies.” I cross my arms over my chest, studying her coolly. Behind me, I can hear Angel mutter, “No sh*t.” The woman continues, “My name is Rachelle Berndintas. I will be the liaison for UnderGround Club for the duration of your stay here. If you would please come with me, your orientation will begin in a few minutes.” She leads the way into the building and I follow, leaving Ford to make sure everyone else does as well.
The small grey car stops just outside the tall iron gates. The male driver and female passenger study the gates and the stone wall around them for a time. Then the driver turns to his passenger.
“You need anything, you contact me. Okay, Princess?” The petite dark haired woman nods. She leans over for a kiss before getting out of the car. Then she goes around to the trunk for a full old backpack, which she slings over one shoulder. Going over to the gates, she tugs on a rope clearly marked Bell. A clang reverberates through the otherwise still morning air. A couple minutes later, a middle aged man appears. “I am Reverend Brewn, head of this Order of Faith colony. What do you seek, child?” “A place of quiet to rest and think.” The man opens the gates. “Then come in and welcome,” He waits until she is inside before closing the gates and speaking again, “What should we call you?” “I'm Serena Hawklan.” The reverend glances at the rings on her left hand, but only says, “Our guest quarters are this way. Once you are settled in, I will show you the chapel. You are welcome to remain as long as you need.” “Thank you.” As the pastor and the woman walk away from the gates, the car pulls away and disappears along the road into Ravenblue proper. It isn't far from the gate to a long low building housing several small apartments. Reverend Brewn ushers Serena into the first one and hands her a key. “It was not possible to provide our guests with their own kitchens,” He watches her look around the small living room of the suite, “You may either join those who use the communal dining hall or request your meals be brought here.” “I'd like them brought here for now, please.” Serena glances into the equally small bedroom before setting her bag just inside. “And, as I said, I will show you the chapel, which is always open to those seeking to meditate and pray. There are also services held morning and evening, which you are welcome to attend.” “Could we go now?” Serena quickly glances into the tiny washroom. “If that is your wish.” Reverend Brewn leads her back outside and allows her time to lock the guest suite door before leading her across the way to an older building. Inside the doors, they pass through a small entrance and into the chapel sanctuary. Serena glances over the rows of cushioned wooden pews facing a raised dais. The only thing on the dais is a pulpit, but mounted high on the wall behind is a carved representation of a man with his face and hands raised. The pastor watches the woman look around. “Are you familiar with the tenets of the Order of Faith?” “Not especially.” Serena seats herself in one of the very back pews. “How about our history?” “That I did look up,” The woman studies the carving above the pulpit, “When I was considering where to go.” Reverend Brewn nods to himself. “Would you like me to leave you for now?” “For now,” Serena nods, “I should be able to find my way back to my rooms.” “Someone will bring your meal at noon.” “Thank you.” Ettoyr is the second plant of a sun like Earth's, which was deemed suitable for terraforming during the original exploration efforts. It has a shorter year overall and two moons. Lunar synch coincides with the equinoxes.
Although initially terraformed to multiple types of terrain, Ettoyr settled out as a largely jungle world and tropical climate. It has two continents, three subcontinents, and two major oceans. The Ettoyr colonists did retain the conditioning, but quickly developed technology based on solar power, touch functionality, and hover, although not full flight.
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AuthorAlexandra A. 'Lexa' Cheshire is the author of numerous novels and short stories published through Howling Wolf Books. Lexa is a wife, mother, cat owner, and music lover. Archives
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