Mariarbe

This image is of the city Mariarbe- carved into the inside of a number of giant trees that grow on the summer side of the island. Click the image to see the full-size picture, or click here to see the picture on my deviantart page with a further explanation.

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This image was done entirely in Adobe Photoshop 7, of a scene above the city of Hiver. For a full version of the picture, click the image above, or you can see the full version and explanation here: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/43365672/

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Chapter 1

Here is the first draft of the first chapter of the book. I'd be really greatful if anyone could give me pointers on their initial opinions on what's gone on so far, what you like, what you don't like, and what you think I should do to improve.

The Chapters are quite hard to read in this little box, so I reccomend copying them into a word processer to make it a little easier on the eyes. I'll have to come up with another way of making it easier to read in the meantime.

Chapter I

The universe is an extremely large place.
It is so large, that in order for the light from some stars to reach our telescopes, it would have had to begin its journey while the dinosaurs still roamed our planet. In the scheme of things, this is a mere jaunt away compared to the light of the very furthest galaxies, which would have had to commence their voyage when the material for our little planet was still floating, homeless through space.
In fact, just attempting to comprehend how ludicrously tiny we are in comparison to the giants of the universe can send people mad, and give one a strong sense of vertigo when looking up into the heavens. And so humans turn their eyes down again to the safety of the earth, and busy themselves with simpler things like what they’re going to have for their next meal, or what shade of cream they should paint their living room.
But the true significance and ordeals of human life outside of the mundane cannot be devalued by its size. The human brain is an amazing thing, and experiences as many trials and wonders as every one of the great gas giants in the sky. Human minds can change the universe, and shake it at the very foundations. This story deals with one such mind in particular, who went by the name of Rhea Kittner.

Rhea was an average girl of eighteen. She wasn’t particularly good looking, or multi-talented, or admired. She was quite small at five foot three, and her short sight meant she needed to wear glasses: but she did have quite a good mind, and made sure that she put it to use. From her mother, she inherited a head of curly, burgundy hair, and from her father, a pair of analytical grey eyes. But Rhea had only hazy memories to confirm the latter fact- her father had not opened his eyes in a very long time.
He lay in a bed in Kedalton Hospital, pale and thin in his comatose state, surrounded by pipes and tubes, and a collection of strange bleeping machines that made a racket like a robotic choir around him.
Rhea was on one of her Wednesday evening visits, sat quietly beside the bed. She hated the smell of that hospital room- it was full of the stench of cleaning fluids and stung at her nostrils like they’d been filled with water. In fact, she hated everything about that room; the jarring white of the walls, the buzzes and blips of the machines, the cold draught that came from the air conditioning unit, and the dreary view of the hospital car park from the window; everything, except for the pale figure that lay cocooned in his thick white covers, eyes still closed shut. But hate it or not, she had had to put up with it for the last eleven years.

Despite the discomfort she was in, with the cold room chilling her bones, and the metallic supports of her chair pressing into the small of her back, Rhea felt her eyelids grow heavy where she sat, leaden with the intense fatigue she felt. Soon, without the will power to fight the sensation, she found herself drifting off to sleep…

“Rhea… Rhea… wake up… please wake up…”
Uncle Brian’s hasty whisper dragged Rhea up out of the deep abyss of her slumber, and back into the real world. As her eyes crept open, she saw that the room she was in was void of sunlight, dark, apart from the weak glow of the lamp by her bedside.
Above her, Uncle Brian stood like a great bird of prey, the lamplight throwing his face into contrast, wrinkles appearing as deep creases in his leathery, grey skin. Beneath thick grey hair and bushy eyebrows, his intelligent, bespectacled eyes were as sagely and serene as ever.
“I’m sorry to have to wake you,” Uncle Brian continued, “But we need to leave. Urgently.”
Rhea pulled herself into a sitting position, and glanced at her bedside clock. The digits read 4:27.
“Now?” She blinked sleepily up at Brian, “Leave now?”
“Yes,” came the firm response, as her Uncle walked back towards the bedroom door. “Please pack your things, and get dressed as quickly as you can. I’m afraid there is no time to explain.” With this, he slipped out, closing the door quietly behind him.
If anyone else had issued this warning to Rhea at such a painful hour in the morning, she may have simply rolled over and returned to her unfinished dreams. But experience told her that Brian Kittner was a sensible man, a practical man, and if he deemed it necessary to leave at half-four in the morning, then that was what was needed.
Hopping quickly out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the carpeted floor, Rhea bent down and pulled out her small wheelie-suitcase from under the bunk, setting it in the middle of the floor, and opening it up. After removing the nightdress she was wearing and throwing yesterday’s clothes on, she proceeded to empty the chest of draws that stood by the bed, stuffing the contents unceremoniously into the case, not bothering to spend time meticulously folding each item as she usually would. Once her belongings were packed, she gave her rebellious, mahogany hair a brief comb, put on her glasses, and threw on her favourite brown jacket for warmth. Finally, Rhea extended the suitcase’s handle, and wheeled it with her into the sitting room, next door.
Uncle Brian raised his head as Rhea entered room. “Good girl.” He said, clipping his briefcase shut. “Come on, let’s go.”
The two travellers hurried out into the stairwell of the flat, which was cold and dimly lit. The walls were bare stone, and the stairs were metallic. As Rhea raced down the steps after Uncle Brian, her suitcase’s wheels clanged against each step, scraping the walls at each corner. Eventually, they reached the ground floor and fled out through the front door of the apartment, onto the car park. It was deserted apart from Brian’s car, which stood next to the exit, at the far end from the apartments, perhaps 30 meters away.
“Quickly now,” Urged Uncle Brian, hefting the boot of the car open as they reached it, “Put your suitcase in here…”
But Rhea didn’t have time to bend down to pick up her suitcase.
When she did bend down, it was to shield her face from the sudden roar of heat, and to block her ears from the appalling racket that came with the explosion. Her body reacted automatically from the threat, and she found herself upon the tarmac covered ground, grit jammed in her palms and knees, staring up in horror at the terrible inferno roaring from the shattered windows of the five-story apartment block. Fire billowed from the windows, drawing bitter smoke with it in thick clouds. The air crackled with shards of splintered wood, brick and glass, and the foul smell of burning streamed from the blaze. Up above, the blazing building gawped down at Rhea with empty, black windows, void of glass but filled with flame. It seemed to be screaming silently, its rows of eyes and mouths stood wide open in horror at the blaze. And as Rhea listened, she suddenly realised she could hear the scream it was issuing, shrill and high pitched, piercing through the night and filling her ears...

Rhea woke with a jolt to find herself in the hospital room that she had left. The blaze was gone, as was the awful smell of burning, but the scream was still there, only now beginning to fade away. She felt a cold sense of surprise to find that it had been coming from her own mouth.
“Rhea, are you alright?”
Turning, Rhea saw the worried features of her older brother, who must have joined her while she was sleeping. Rhea bit her lip, trying to calm herself down quickly, and feeling a little embarrassed that he had to see her in this state. It had been six months since the fire in Uncle Brian’s holiday home in Italy. After all that time, she felt she was rather pathetic to be still be having nightmares of that night.
“Sorry, Nathan. It was just a bad dream.” She mumbled.
Nathan gave a wry smile. “I gathered that much.”
As Rhea looked at him she noticed he looked as scruffy and exotic as ever, back from his glamorous life of globetrotting. He had grown his mousy hair long- probably too lazy to get it cut- and it looked as if it needed a good wash. He was wearing a particularly obnoxious patterned shirt, and a tatty pair of trousers, but the engagement ring on his finger had been well looked after and glinted like it was new.
“So…” Rhea started, adopting a lighthearted manner. “What brings you all the way back to England?”
“Why? Am I not allowed to hop back from the tropics to visit my family?”
“Well, it isn’t Christmas, or Easter. Fiona isn’t with you to drag you anywhere. And I didn’t hear of any major wars going on near Honduras…”
Nathan chuckled. “No, I suppose not.” His smile faded as he looked at their father, tucked away in his hospital bed. He gestured towards him. “No. I got a message from Mum that he isn’t doing well.”
“If you ask me, Mum’s isn’t doing very well either.” Rhea replied
“I can imagine,” Nathan mumbled. He ran his hands through Adam Kittner’s hair, picking out a large silvery streak that ran down by his temple. “I hate to see him turning grey like this. He didn’t lie down grey, it isn’t fair that he should wake up to find he is. What a horrible idea, to go to sleep, and get up to find you’ve gotten old without knowing it…”
Rhea nodded quietly. She didn’t like to voice the thought, but the idea of Adam Kittner getting up, seemed an awfully long way away. As the two siblings sat together in silence, it began to grow dark, and the sound of the patter of rain on the window outside came to accompany the little orchestra of bleeping equipment.

It rained the entire journey home. Rhea sat in the passenger seat of Nathan’s car, watching the great thick blobs of rain weaving their silvery patterns down the passenger seat window. Through the sheets of rain, the world looked grey- heavy grey sky, grey buildings, grey road, grey cars, and grey people. The slippery roads and lack of light had slowed the traffic to a crawl, and turned a simple fifteen-minute journey into a forty-five minute trek. When eventually the turning for their road came into view, the car’s passengers felt no little relief.
The sights and sounds that greeted them approaching their home were familiar and comforting. After turning off the busy main road, they reached a much more deserted path. Very few cars came up this way- it was a dead end, so there was very little reason to pass through. Deciduous trees reached across the road, roofing it, and casting a partial shade across the track. The leaves on the trees had begun to turn to warmer colours- coppers and burgundies- warning of the inset of colder weather. Rainwater found its way through the gaps in the leaves to drip a sappy solution onto the road below. Rhea heard the crunch of the tires against the tarmac of the gritty back road and the odd fallen leaf, and watched out of the window to find the gap in the trees that signalled the entrance to her home, hidden a little way around the corner out of sight from the road. Nathan made the turning into the opening, the car bouncing on its suspension as it clambered up onto the driveway, and parked up. To the left of the drive stood more trees, ahead there was a further expanse path to other houses along the road, while to the right stood the Kittner household itself, half concealed in the climbing plants that scaled its walls.
Rhea got out of her seat, feeling a shock of cold wind hit her as she came out into the chilly air. The gusts blew her curly hair about, and whisked away the clouds of breath that formed before her. Wrapping her arms around her to shut out the cold, she started towards the house alongside Nathan. It was an average sized building, but it held a good deal of charm, tucked away in a corner as it was. But the Kittners were a practical family, and not ones to buy a house simply for its charisma. Most importantly, the house held the ambience of a refuge, a place able to provide a safe haven to the family when they really needed it- as they did now.

They walked around the house to the side door, which was used much more frequently than the front door by family and close friends. It was unlocked, so the two siblings stepped straight out of the cold and into the wall of warmth that met them within. The house inside was welcoming. With all of the curtains drawn ready for nightfall, the amber light of lamps lit the room in a kind of half illumination, shadows still gracing the corners of the room. The side door lead to a small dimly lit utility area- where Rhea placed her sodden coat and scarf up on a peg- which opened directly out on the kitchen and dining area.

Morgan Kittner was busy cooking, the whole kitchen full of the smell of food. She worked with an almost manic fervour, dashing in her organised manner between pots and pans: stirring this, and adding that. Her cheeks were rosy with the heat from the pots and pans, an old floral apron tied around her middle, and her curly red hair (dyed of course- she was beginning to turn grey in reality) was tied back away from her face.
Rhea and Nathan removed their muddy shoes, and put them by the door (as was the custom in their household) and carried on into the kitchen.
“I’m home,” Rhea said, coming to her Mother’s side and signalling to Nathan, “And look what I brought with me!”
Mrs. Kittner gave a last stir to the pot she was attending, replaced the lid, and turned around to greet her children. “Would you look at that! The traveller returns!” she smiled, embracing Nathan and then Rhea. “I suppose you want feeding.”
Nathan returned the smile. “Nice to see you too.”

The table was set for dinner in the usual way, with an extra set of cutlery regardless of the number of diners. “One day,” Morgan would say, confidently, “Your father is going to walk through that door wanting his dinner, and asking us all why he woke up in a hospital bed. I won’t be caught off guard.”
The three Kittners sat down to eat their meal now, the extra placemat still as strange and disturbing as ever, like the presence of a ghost diner at their table. Rhea looked across at her mother, examining her closely. She was as prim and eccentric as ever on the outside, her features a mask of composure and strength, going about her day-to-day business. But the cracks were slowly beginning to show. Her face was gaining wrinkles and the bags under her eyes seemed to deepen week-on-week.
“So,” Rhea started, breaking the silence, “Mum, was work ok?”
“Oh yes,” came Morgan’s cheery reply. “It’s very exciting. We were carrying out our preliminary work on the new catalyst today. It may be a little too early to tell, but it looks like we could increase productivity by 3.627% annually.”
“Wow,” replied Rhea, trying to show enthusiasm for her mother’s work. “That’s… good.”
“It certainly is, and it may just mean a healthy pay rise too!” Came the reply. Morgan pointed her fork across the table at her daughter. “You know, Rhea, they’re always on the lookout for bright sparks like you. I bet they’d give you some funding to go to a great university if you came to work with them.”
“Ah…Hmm, yeah, I guess they would…”
Mrs. Kittner smiled. “That’s my girl. So, Nathan, how are the tropics?”
Nathan chased a piece of food around his plate as he spoke. “Great, the conservation work is going brilliantly. Fiona and I are going to help out with the aquatic department for a few months, down in the reef…”
Rhea leant her head back down to continue her meal, feeling a pang of guilt, that the one thing her mother wanted her to do, was the one thing she knew she would despise the most.

After dinner was cleared away, there was very little else to do for that night. As a result, Rhea spent a dull evening sat upon the sofa, watching Television programs she really wasn’t interested in. Before too long, she felt fatigue setting in, and with nothing better to do, she opted to go to bed. As she headed up the stairs, her bare feet sank into the thick, soft carpet. With each step she found the energy draining out of her, and exhaustion setting in more and more. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, her legs felt leaden, her eyelids thick and heavy, threatening to close. Perhaps it was the events of the day catching up with her, she wondered groggily as she staggered through her bedroom door, drunk with fatigue. As she reached her bed the world seemed to slip sideways away from her, blurring, out of her grasp, and she collapsed onto the bliss of the soft surface.

Her sleep was burdened by dreams. When the confusion and disarray of the dream world set itself in order, she found herself standing in a long dilapidated alley way. Graffiti was scrawled across the crumbling walls, and the pavement and road were poorly surfaced, and full of potholes and gravel. The strontium orange of street lamps filtered down through the smoggy air to partially illuminate the path before her, and the derelict buildings to either side of her, leaving her with a grim, blinkered, run of a path. Slowly, she began to walk along the path, passing from under the light of one streetlamp to the next.
Gradually, as she went, a strange feeling began to build up inside of her. It was like a breath on the back of her neck, or the inaudible footsteps of another, following close behind. The knowledge that an unaccounted for pair of eyes was on her back.
She was beginning to feel unsafe. Subconsciously, she began to speed up her steps, hurrying along, as quickly as she could. The words of graffiti scrawled to either side of her seemed to catch her attention briefly as she passed each one, forming a silent voice for her silent onlooker, in sentences that made no sense, in languages she didn’t understand. They began to sound in her imagination with such fervour that she broke into a run.
It didn’t take long for Rhea’s breath to begin to catch in her throat. Her lungs burnt, her heart thumped, and her legs ached, her feet slapping against the uneven ground haphazardly. But she kept on sprinting, away from the invisible thing that pursued her.
But presently, a real cacophony arose, away from the ones in her head- a great rumble that shook the ground. The buildings to either side of her were breaking off into chunks from the tops downward, their material being sucked upwards, so that the levels of the walls in her run was gradually lowered. Bulbs in the streetlamps blew as she passed each one, shedding a shower of glass behind her path.
Suddenly, her foot caught on a notch in the ground, and she was thrown down onto the floor, rolling over until she was facing the sky. Above her the moon and stars blazed with such a terrifying and humbling light, that she remained where she lay, gawping upwards. Here were her onlookers- a thousand million points of light, like the glints from as many eyes, the moon an eye of their mighty leader, casting a gaze on the tiny figure below. How had she conceived of fleeing from such a legion?
By now, the run of buildings had completely evaporated, leaving her on level a plane of concrete. And to her horror, she felt the tug of the great maw of a sky above her, pulling at her limbs, the abyss threatening to swallow her up. She heard the whispers of the incandescent warriors above her willing her to join them. Before she knew what was happening, the ground span upside down beneath her, and she lost her grip on the gravely floor, her body beginning the gut wrenching plunge into nothingness, that stole her voice and her breath away from her. She scrabbled out for a grip, experiencing a sickening moment when her fingers found nothing but air, and she realised that there was nothing but nothing below her.

For the second time in so many hours, Rhea found herself jolting awake, sweat sodden, and gasping. She cursed her subconscious under her breath, and vowed to herself not to eat so much rich food late at night. As she looked down, she realised that she was still in her day clothes that she had been wearing when she dropped off to sleep, so she quickly slipped out of bed and put on a nightdress instead. Before trying to sleep again, she decided to go down to the kitchen to get a drink.
The house was dark and calm, the silence seeming to amplify every little creak and scuff the floor made beneath her. She padded down the stairs, along the hallway, and across into the kitchen, closing the door and flicking on the light switch.
She reached up and fetched a glass from a cupboard, filling it with water from the tap. She gulped down the cold liquid thirstily, feeling the strength begin to return to her as it trickled down her throat. She opened the other door in the kitchen, which lead into the lounge, hoping to sit down to finish her drink. But as the sliver of light from the kitchen door illuminated the room slightly, she realised that it wasn’t empty. Sat in an armchair by the window with no light to see by but the sky and streetlamps outside was Morgan Kittner. She had a skirt across her lap and a needle and thread in her hand, and was busily sewing.
Rhea frowned, concerned. “Mum?” She whispered, not wishing to startle her.
Morgan looked up from her work at her daughter having obviously not noticed the light coming through from the kitchen. “Oh hello Rhea, what are you doing up?”
She lowered her head back down to her task as Rhea came to sit in the armchair opposite to her.
“I was going to ask you the same thing…” Rhea replied.
“I’m sewing.” Stated Morgan simply.
Rhea gave a small sigh of exasperation as she watched her mother “I can see that…”
“Well,” replied Morgan matter-of-factly, “It needs doing, doesn’t it?”
“But you have a sewing machine… And more to the point it’s two in the morning…”
“I know that.”
“Well, you need to get some rest.”
Mrs. Kittner raised her head from her work again to look at her daughter over her glasses. “I wouldn’t be getting any more rest in bed, sat there looking at the ceiling unable to sleep, now would I?”
Rhea didn’t reply for a moment, watching her mother work. She seemed to be concentrating on the stitches as if her life depended on it, her needle movements precise: in and out, in and out, in the same constant, obsessive rhythm.
“How often do you do this?” Rhea asked quietly.
Morgan shrugged. “Sometimes. A few times a week I guess.” She paused. “Actually, quite a lot now.” She glanced at Rhea again. “So, why are you awake?”
Rhea sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “Just a bad dream.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Rhea shook her head. “I’d rather not, thank you.”
There was another uneasy pause, and Rhea turned her attention to the view out of the window, where she could see the moon shining high in the night sky. She would usually find it a calming sight, but tonight it disturbed her greatly. She felt a pang of fear in the pit of her stomach.
She downed the rest of her water, and stood up, walking towards the door and mumbling, “Goodnight…”
“Wait…” replied Morgan. There was the slightest of cracks in her voice, but it was enough to catch Rhea’s attention immediately.
She turned around at the doorway, seeing the small figure of her mother silhouetted against the light from the window, her features indistinguishable apart from the glint of a reflection that marked her eyes. She saw that her hands were still moving in the fixated rhythm of sewing, but that they had begun to shake somewhat erratically.
“Please… Don’t go…” Morgan pleaded, her voice wavering, “I don’t want to be on my own.”
Rhea stood, shocked at witnessing this moment of weakness in the fierce woman. She headed back over to her mother, wrapping her arms around her in a protective embrace. “It’s ok,” she replied quietly, “I’ll stay.”
Morgan didn’t try to reply to her daughter, as the sobs that had started to wrack her form were now way beyond her power to control.

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An Illustration of Ethéy

This is a watercolour painting done by me of one of the cities in the story Solstice & Equinox: Ethéy. Click for a full version of the picture, or go here: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/41183050/.

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Hello!

Hey, This is my new blog!
I am hoping to use this as a simple way of posting parts of a story I am hoping to write, so that I can get a little feedback. :)
But now I'm going to go and experiment, to see how this thing works.

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