NaNoWriMo novel snippet: Stones as big as five men hand to hand wide and at least two grown men standing atop each others shoulders stacked against one another in near perfection. Though they were the same amber as the shifting sands around it, on a day with no sand storms she could see the well wavering in the heat from miles away. Dust had worn the outside edges of many of the stones and time had simply eaten away at the top stones until parts and pieces had crumbled from it. Wound as tightly as a serpent about the entire well one could find steps as wide as well as gargantuan enough to lead a caravan up inside it. Iora had watched many of them climb the softened steps to ascend to the top, but had never seen the inside. When she was very small Iyala used to tell her stories of the long, often arduous task of climbing up those steps, just to have to climb down more on the inside. She often spoke of those who could not make the journey and fell, or often died upon the steps as the water was so deep inside the well now it took days to to find it. Iora was certain Iyala had made up half of the stories of ghosts on the stairs and bones that came alive to grab young girl’s ankles as way of punishment for a willful child. The many clans of the desert gathered here every year to refill their water supplies before dispersing back through the great yellow land again. Many of them warred with one another and held blood-debts against one another, but here at the Great Well, all things were forgiven and forgotten. Bloodshed was not allowed near any source of water, the risk of tainting it with sin and disease was too great a risk in a place where water was precious. There were tensions, of course. As the yearly gathering grew and tents were set into the sands, tribes and clans drew invisible lines--small fights broke out and occasionally a death or three might happen. But nothing more. The King’s Jah’hazarad that wandered the gathering instilled fear and most behaved, fierce warriors who wore little but kilts against the sand and battle as well as carrying ornate sickle swords at each hip. Wicked, angled as well as curved--the swords were meant for little else but making short work of their foes. They lined the God Well stairs to keep the peace and could be seen stalking through the tents with their brilliant pleated kilts, bronze helmets gleaming like eyes in the dark. The Jah’hazarad were often enough to frighten the most wicked.
Posted on: Sat, 02 Nov 2013 04:44:59 +0000
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