This is myâunfortunately, rather incomplete at the momentâsubmission for @inklings-challenge 2024 for Team Tolkien. My chosen genre and themes are Secondary Fantasy World (i.e. a story that takes place in a world totally disconnected from Earth) and "instruct the ignorant," as well as a bit of "council the doubtful" and "comfort the sorrowful"
At the moment, the story is essentially just the opening scene. With that in mind, I'll be posting some notes and commentary at the end outlining the rough direction that I plan on taking the story for anyone who wants to know how things unfold in the likely event that it takes me a while to write the rest of it. And I do hope to write the rest of it; it's been a bit slow going due to writer's block and my health working against me, but this is the most invested I've felt in a writing project for months if not years, so for that I'm quite grateful to the people who set up this challenge.
Well, you came to read a story and not my rambling, so I think I'll leave it there for the moment. Without further ado, please enjoy the prologue of All Things Great and Small.
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Battuhya couldnât breathe. Not because of the heavy formal robes she wore, with her clanâs signate murals embroidered along the back and sleeves. Nor because of the heavy scents of spiced meats and fragrant woods that filled the royal feast hall like low-hanging clouds gathered in a valley. She couldnât breathe because the attention of the entire room was suddenly focused on her, and on the long, bare arm that stretched out to point at her.
âThat one,â the Ketar said confidently. âI can feel her affinity for the secret arts. Truly, such power must be a blessing from the gods. I would be a great fool to let it be squandered. Yes, I think it must be her.â
Battuhya resisted the urge to spin around and try to see who behind her the Ketar was indicating. Surely, surely she couldnât mean her.
Slowly, deliberately, Battuhyaâs father stepped in front of her, half-shielding her from the view of the court. âMy apologies, revered Ketar,â he said, not quite managing to keep the hard edge from his voice. âI mean you no disrespect, but I fear you are mistaken. This is my eldest daughter, and I have chosen her tutors myself. Her education is extensive, but Iâm afraid that it does not extend to such obscure subjects as sorcery.â
The woman waved her hand dismissively. âI speak of potential, not of prior learning. I intend to oversee her training myself, and I will see to it that any deficiencies in her knowledge are corrected.â
She turned towards the royal seat, expectant. The kingâs dining mat was separated from the rest of the feast hall by a massive curtain of blue silk, lit from behind in a way that cast a massive shadow across the fabric. For as still as it remained, that shadow might have belonged to a statue and not a living man.
The high steward, seated just in front of the royal veil, impassively swept his gaze across the room. Battuhya thought that his eyes seemed to rest on her for a moment, but he moved on so quickly that she began to wonder if she had imagined it. âYou ask for much, Ketar,â he said, the sound of his voice quieting the sea of whispers from the onlooking crowd. âThe daughter of a President is no small price. Perhaps you should consider your choice further.â
âOh?â Said the woman, raising her voice theatrically as her lifelight flared in challenge, clearly visible even in the bright light of the feast hall. âIs this how His Majesty honors his promises?â As if to punctuate her question, a log in one of the nearby ornamental braziers gave off a loud âpopâ and a cloud of sparks, eliciting a few startled yelps from the noble ladies standing closest to it. âFor services rendered, I was given leave to select an apprentice of my own choosing from among His Majestyâs subjects. Surely, he would not now forbid this old woman from passing on her legacy?â
The Ketar and the steward held each otherâs gaze, and Battuhya sensed something pass between them, an understanding of some sort. It was subtle, something she doubted sheâd have noticed if she hadnât grown up in the court, and even then, she could only guess at what the exchange meant.
âHis Majesty always honors his promises,â the steward said. âThose who would imply otherwise are counseled to hold their tongues, lest they lose them. Come here, girl,â he said, raising a hand in Battuhyaâs direction.
Slowly, on feet that felt like they belonged to someone else, Battuhya began to walk forward.
âYou do not have to do this,â her father hissed under his breath as she passed him.
Even through the dreamlike numbness of shock, she felt her heart swell. Her father loved her enough to challenge the will of the king, of a godâs reflection on Earth, if it meant sparing her this. But she loved him, too, which was why she couldnât let him. The relationship between her clan and the crown was too tenuous, too strained these past few years. Refusing here and causing the king to lose face would bring down retribution on her family, maybe even spark a war.
She didnât tell him any of this. To speak, to even look back, would cause her nerve to break. Instead, she moved forward, one step at a time, before falling to her knees at the base of the steps that led to the royal seat.
âDo you understand what is required of you?â the steward asked.
She wished she didnât. Understanding made it harder. She would become ketar. The word meant either âclanlessâ or âheretic,â depending on how it was used. Often, both meanings went hand in hand. Everything she was, everything she had been raised to, would be stripped away. Her home, her family, even her prospects of marriage.
âI do,â she said.
âAnd do you accept this charge, to serve your new mistress to the fullest extent of your abilities?â
âThis servant hears and obeys,â someone else said. It must have been someone else, you see. The voice that said it was far too calm to belong to someone with the storm of emotions that Battuhya felt trying to tear out of her chest.
âThen rise,â the steward commanded, and rose to his feet at the same time she did. âHear this final proclamation in the name of your king. You are remanded to the care and teaching of this Ketar. From this day forth, you are no longer a subject of this realm.â He clapped twice to mark the end of the proclamation.
Itâs funny, Battuhya thought. I never realized before now, but itâs the same sound a judge makes when they condemn someone.
A hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up to see the satisfied face of the Ketar. The other Ketar.
âCome along,â the woman said. âI expect that weâve caused enough commotion for one evening.â She turned and strode away, and Battuhya had no choice but to follow.
The crowd parted before the woman like a school of fish in front of a boat, leaving a clear path behind her. Some gave Battuhya looks of concern or pity. Other gave apprehensive looks, looks that said they still didnât quite understand what had just happened, but were worried they would be swept up in it just the same. A few didnât look at her at all, people she had once called friends or allies who were already treating her like a stranger now that she had no official standing in the court.
She didnât know what look her father gave as she walked away. She couldnât bring herself to look back at him.
As the heavy doors of the feast hall closed behind her with a decisive âthud,â she wished she had been able to.
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The Ketarâs study was a small room located far from the feast hall, tucked away on the north side of the palace. Battuhya stood just inside the door, unsure of what to do or say as the Ketar rifled through an assortment of jars and wooden boxes by the light of a lamp, cursing softly under her breath. Eventually, she found what she had apparently been looking for, grabbing a small handful of dust out of one of the jars and tossing it onto the log that sat in the studyâs small hearth. Then she held her hand out towards it, palm forward and fingers splayed wide, and began chanting in a strange, alien language.
Battuhyaâs breath caught as the room was enveloped in a bright flash, like the sun itself had suddenly dropped down the chimney. By the time she blinked the spots out of her eyes, red-orange flames were cheerfully licking at the log, casting light across the room. Magic. Battuhya had seen magic before; it wasnât unheard of for travelling Ketar to ply their arts on the streets or, more rarely, in court, but this⌠this was something else entirely. Seeing magic from a distance, in the full light of day or a crowded feast hall, was a very different thing from seeing it up close, almost alone in a dark and quiet room.
The first thing that Battuhya thought, upon getting a good view of said room in the firelight, was that it reminded her terribly of her fatherâs study, with the stranger details only jumping out on a closer inspection. The right-hand side of the room, from where she was standing, was lined with two bookcases that reached all the way to the ceiling, and two equally tall wooden cabinets, which was where the Ketar had found the powder to start the fire. On the left was the hearth, flanked on either side by wide bureaus covered in a collection of curios; glass bottles in shapes she had never seen before, animal bones (including, she noted with a repressed shiver, what looked like at least one human skull), and a curved piece of polished ivory with strange carvings all along it. Turning her eyes upward, she saw two stuffed birds suspended from the ceiling in a facsimile of flight, both around the size of a goose. In the middle and towards the far end of the room was a heavy wooden desk with a comfortable-looking, high-backed chair. The only things behind it were the roomâs single window, and a table holding a cage so large that Battuhya thought that if she were to lay down on her side, she would be able to fit inside with room to spare. An animal of some sort sat huddled on a pile of straw and fabric against the far wall of the cage, though in the dim light of the fire and with her eyes still not fully recovered from the sudden flash, she couldnât clearly make out where the fabric ended and its body began. The only part of it that was completely clear were its eyes, bright in the firelight and far too clever and intense for Battuhyaâs liking.
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So, that's what I've written so far. I was inspired to try my hand at a take on a "the protagonist is unexpectedly chosen to become a wizard's apprentice" story. The twist here being that Battuhya is not someone being freed from her previously dreary and downtrodden life, but is someone for whom learning magic is, if not a downgrade, then at the very least a sudden and unexpected exile from the society she's known her entire life.
Everything from this point onwards is spoilers for bits I haven't written yet.
If the Ketar's conduct seems a bit overblown, that's on purpose. While she does have access to a tiny bit of true magic (I'll let you guess what it does, the hints are already there in what I've written), 90% of what she does (and by extension, what Battuhya will learn) is chemistry, pharmacology, or performance art.
The 'animal' in the cage is something that Battuhya would call an "imp from the underworld," something that can (allegedly) bargain away its magical powers but can steal your soul if you aren't careful while making said bargain. As the story goes on, it rapidly becomes clear to readersâand eventually Battuhya herselfâthat it's essentially just a very tiny person held captive by the Ketar. Or, perhaps more accurately, she's what we would recognize as a normal person, and Battuhya and her world simply operate on a far larger scale.
Battuhya and the "imp," as might be expected, eventually overcup their mutual apprehension of one another and strike up a friendship, of sorts. Among other things, the imp teaches Battuhya thing about her mistress' powers that the latter keeps close to her chest, as well as some of the history and beliefs of the imp's people. While from the perspective of Battuhya's world they came from underground, from their perspective they climbed into the sky one day against their God's prohibitions and found themselves in a land of giants with stars in their skin, something like a cross between the Tower of Babel and Jack and the Beanstalk. That's another strange thing; the imp only believes in a single God, something that's rather alien to someone who grew up worshiping her king as the earthly reflection of one of a pantheon of gods.
Eventually, Battuhya uncovers a plot in the court that ties into why she was chosen as the Ketar's apprentice, and the two hatch a plan for escape to freedom. Among other things, their plan involves the miraculous power the imp's people received from their God for protection upon arriving in this world (I did say the Ketar has access to a bit of real power) and a lot of the more mundane tricks that Battuhya has picked up over the course of her training.
