3. the missing master

she'd been in the Floor almost 3 months, and she didn't know how much more she'd be able to take. He was an awful master. He was a bad master. And then, she thought she was being petulant and unfair. It wasn't that Roujshe didn't teach Subliming when he wasn't there. He. just. never. was. there!

He's the missing master-- she thought as she stroked the leaves of the Motian violet before her. She knew she mustn't be upset and impatient, but she had waited so long to finally become a sublimist. And at this last stage, to be put into a room with stacks and stacks of books and wovings which she could barely decipher -- because of a missing master? Well, that, that was what poor Amaline could barely tolerate.

She looked in dismay at the crushed leaf she was clenching. "Oh no..." she muttered. Ammi pulled her cup of tea near -- it was cooling fast, but the smallest vapor still rose. She quickly drew into it and with a quick thrust, pushed the curling mist over the Motian violet. "I hope that serves as a decent apology," she said and looked carefully as the plant, almost imperceptibly, brightened.

2. verbology and subliming

solid verbs: to be, grow, evolve, takes, gives,
liquid verbs: seems appears looks try
vapor verbs:
subliming verbs [solid sublimes into gas]: transform turn become

you often saw small children running to school in the winter, every four steps blowing hard into the cold air and suddenly bursting wings out of their backs or flying into a fantastic tumble in the air. sometimes, they wore themselves out before even making it to the thatched building. the same thing sometimes happened to older sorts of humans, even though one became well warned before the age of ten.

It took a subliming word to work into the vapor. Sublimes were as often complex as they could be simple, and the best sublimers could force a steady cold clear stream of fog into the air as they sublimed. the weaker sorts didn't require much, and one could get by with a tobacco smoke, or the steam that rose of a pot of tea.

she woke up in a silent scream, her back arched as she tried to shake the dream. it hurt, it hurt, the cold did bother her so, she could feel the dry skin cracking and bursting in the bitter cold. she finally managed a scream out, and only the touch of his hand on her shoulder pulled her from her pain and her dream.

1.

And so she sat idly on the cushion near her window. But it was so disgustingly normal outside. At times, Amiline wondered how anybody could take it, day in, day out. Sighing, she grabbed the book near her bed and began reading, only pausing once in a while to peer out her window and hope for an adventure.

So the story begins two hours later, when Amiline is startled out of her book by a shout from the stairs – “A-MA-LIIINE!” She quickly rose, and then, just as quickly fell back down (her foot had fallen asleep). Amiline put away her book and clattered down the stairs to greet Michael.
He was waiting for her in the great room and chatting with Amiline’s older sister, Felince, about the trip from which he had just returned. Amiline, listening to his story, grabbed an apple from the bowl at the center of the dining table and crunched into it. Looking at Michael, she noticed that he had grown a little over the summer, but his face still remained that of a little boy – all ruddy cheeks and long eyelashes. All of a sudden, Amiline was overcome with pity for Michael, not knowing why, she shook her head and took a bite anew from the apple.


Largon’s right eye had gone grey, but Amiline never felt a moment’s fear, save that night when she saw him walking home alone, and the patch of shaded black caught her eye, and filled her with an empty fear of what he had suffered so that he no longer appeared human.


It was the oddest thing, watching her older sister gave birth. When the child first emerged, Amiline – even though she knew better – was shocked at how dark the child seemed, when it had yet to open its eyes, except for the already-thick line between mother and child. And still, as she watched, Amiline noticed a small, impossibly bright thread twine its way between the babe and the mid-wife, and then, with delight, felt the tiniest twinge as one more grew between her and the baby. It only occurred to Amiline after she witnessed the child’s first aurings that she herself had a brand-new niece.

Third order was the phrase she had heard whispered about Michael in the great room – Amiline, much as any other right-minded human, knew what it meant to be 1 and 2 ordered, and even knew about the 4th order that was heaven to the monks, but it seemed that “third order” she had only when it was mentioned in whispers, some in awe, others in fear.

Michael saw suddenly, an image of Amiline, standing, many years taller at her balcony. Her hands were outstretched, and he noticed, with sudden horror, the thin red lines that grew redder and thicker until wet petals of blood fell onto the balustrade.

Prologue

I am an ashamed post-modern communications scholar. So why is it that I was actually surprised when I noticed that I wasn't writing my book in order! Is this normal?

Well, in any case, consider yourself warned -- most of the forthcoming entries won't actually run in order. Don't even count on the paragraphs being in order. Seeing as how this all came about from a dream, it makes perfect sense, doesn't it?