The Longing Script Snippet #1
Ze here, I've been writing the Longing script intensely(for me that's up to 4 hours a day?) for the past few weeks.
I took some time to make concrete the dialect of the dunnish, differentiating the dunja(undyed, commoners) with the magi. Later there will also be unique local dialects depending on which part of the world someone is from, as well as different ways they worship, and practice the Order's doctrine.
Of course I'm also paying attention to the characters, making them more flesh and blood, understanding their inner worlds, and seeing how the plot flows from their decisions.
I hope you'll enjoy this snippet which I feel could be close to its final form! It's from early in the story, when Evin was reading their journal and recollecting the path that led them to where they were.
Patreon members get a much longer chunk.
Page one of Evin’s journal.
In the beginning, there was hunger. Hunger seemed to have preceded all events that would befall me, but the first time I had taken notice of it was in mid spring, one week before the Feasting Moons. I was eight, perhaps nine turns of age, and like kids of my age, was playing in the dirt, digging for dirt-worms in the yard of my old home, when I caught the sound of my parents talking in that hushed voice that they used when they didn’t want to be heard. “How often we make use of both llamas these days? Once a moon for the fair? We ni make enough charcoal for two to carry, si?”
Da made a sound like they tried but couldn’t hold in a sigh. “Love… why dya bring this up again?”
“Why, eat their heft in grain, spend half the days bickerin’, spittin’ in me shoe, and not earnin’ their keep, is why.”
“They spit on yer things?” Da bit down on a chuckle. “It means they think yer one ovem. It’s a sign of… camaraderie.” I could just see them wagging their eyebrows, without having to look.
“Rolladhija! Callin’ me a llama?” There was a thud, likely Ma’s fist in Da’s arm.
Da muttered, “It’d be less troublesome for me, if ye were.”
“We’a na sellin ‘em! There’a wolves stalkin’ closer and closer to our stretch of gray woods these days. Llamas make tastier meal than me old bones, nasi-mi?”
They were quiet for a moment, then Ma resumed in a more mellow tone, “Why ni? Evin’s grown, they can help with charcoal haulin’. Why need both stinkin’ beasts, is all I’m askin’.”
The chair squeaked as Da shifted their weight this way and that. Picking their next words, I reckon, as they always did in one of their verbal spars. At last, they rasped, “Look, mi love… One scrawny llama ni gonna fetch the credit to mend her, not even a tenth, ye know that. I know ye know. So drop this fool notion and let me smoke in peace.”
Ma’s voice grew stiff and clipped, “Who, I talkin’ about runnin’ our house, trimmin’ the fat. Why ye bring her into this!?”
Another loud sigh. The knocking of Da’s pipe on the wooden table. “That so? What would ya’ve done with Breezy and Stinky if I said I na need them?”
It was ma’s turn to huff.
“Ya gonna run to the temple, throw them in the Seas, to exchange for what? Fifty soms? One ansom? If that ni what you’a thinkin’, I’ll eat me trousers, I will!”
When Ma broke the silence, her voice was strange, like she couldn’t breath right. “I’m… just sayin’. We give what we could, live leaner, add drops to that ledger… Why, in a few turns, we… afford a healing ritual at least. A small one, only few thousand… She… she’s gettin’ worse. We canni just…”
There were footsteps. Rustling. Da’s voice, softer this time, “I know, love, ja-nasi. I want to help her too. But healing ritual ni good enough for her. A sadya like her, with half a heart, it only ease pain for a tenday, maybe two. Then it comes back worse than before.”
“I’m still young… ni? Only thirty springs… Plenty of Waters in me… how much ya reckon temple gives if I–” Ma could barely breathe as she said this.
“Love.” Da’s voice suddenly became like iron. “Ya ni more talk like that. I will na hear it.”
Even I was holding my breath, and I didn’t know why.
The ladder creaked. There were some shuffling, and Ma’s voice was back to normal. “Cas? Whaya doin’ out of bed?”
“Ya fightin’ again?” came Casi’s breathy voice, winded from the exertion.
“Ni, precious.” Da’s footsteps. “Ma and I just talkin’.”
“Ni lie Dada. I know you’a fightin’, ‘cus my ears hurt.”
Ma and Da both chuckled. I poked my head up to peer through the window: Casi was holding their hands, Ma’s in one and Da’s in the other. It looked queer because her head only reached their thighs and she had to look up at them when she talked, but somehow she looked like the grown-up and they the children. “Ni more fightin’, ya promised. Ni good to break promises, it way-o…way-late…”
“Violate,” Ma whispered, sniffling.
“Violate the precept of truth. Bring bad luck, si?”
Ma and Da nodded solemnly, unable to stop grinning, but Casi wasn’t finished. “Magus Ori always say, keep the Seas, and the Seas keep you. Mama, Dada, you’a good people, si?”
“Mm-hmm,” Da nodded at Ma.
“You keep the Seas? Keep the precepts?”
“Then ni worry about nothin’. Everythin’ turn out swell in the end.”
“Aye, darling. Ni more fightin’, we promise.”
“Promise to Moons, Mama, Dada.”
The three of them joined palms at their heart, looked up, and said a silent prayer.
Da scooped Casi up gently by the legs and back. “Now, let’s put ye back to bed, aye? Would ni wanna stub those wee djukar feet.” They squealed like a piglet and nuzzled their nose into her belly.
Casi giggled, looking like a child again. “Me ni djukar! Ni djukar!”
