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Sesskia’s Diary, part 69

26 Lennitay

That was the most astonishing experience, on so many levels.

And yes, it worked.

We woke extra early, long before sunrise, and ate a quick but filling breakfast—Vorantor wasn’t sure how long the kathana would take, and we all needed to stay alert and undistracted by physical demands, so there was a lot of use of the chamber pots as well. Some of the groundwork was done yesterday, so the floor inside the gold ring was dotted with th’an, a type that are inactive until some other th’an wakes them up.

Vorantor walked around, chatting with people in his “I’m a great leader” way, while Cederic sat to one side with his hands resting on his knees, apparently meditating. I tried to do a little meditating myself, but I was too excited to manage it. So I watched the others. Four of Vorantor’s mages, all of them men, were stripping out of their robes to only their trousers for the body-scribing aspect of the kathana.

This is what I know, as per Terrael’s explanation:

A kathana, in essence, brings th’an together in a particular order at particular times to achieve a result larger than anything single th’an or small groups of th’an can produce. Most of them require multiple mages to complete, if only because people only have so many hands. And the mages have to practice together for hours to get the timing exactly right. That’s what everyone else has been doing while I struggled to master my single th’an: practicing scribing th’an in the right order at the right time.

And this is a hugely complex kathana, a summoning kathana, that describes a reality in which something that was not, is. We’re trying to create a reality in which the Codex Tiurindi wasn’t destroyed so many hundreds of years ago, but exists here and now. My part is to unite those two realities for long enough that the kathana can make the Codex part of this one.

Personally, I think the fact that they can do this is evidence that Cederic is right, because what else are we dealing with but two worlds, two realities, that are coming together? And if it weren’t natural for realities to spring apart, we wouldn’t need my part of the kathana to keep them together. But Terrael shook his head when I brought this up and said realities and worlds aren’t the same thing, and then I think he became technical just to annoy me.

So I’ll explain all of that as it happened, which was directly after the God-Empress and her chicken-headed minions arrived, one of them, a fat, gray-haired woman, wearing a red tunic instead of black and carrying her helmet under her arm. The God-Empress was dressed rather plainly, for her, in gold brocade over white silk and pearls the size of quail eggs dangling around her neck.

Cederic and Vorantor greeted her with regulation bows, Cederic’s much shallower than Vorantor’s, and they had a low-voiced discussion that ended with the God-Empress beckoning to me and, when I approached, saying, “You will sit with me, won’t you, Sesskia? I would like someone to observe with.”

I looked to both Cederic and Vorantor for advice, and got nothing, because Cederic looked impassive and Vorantor had his eyes closed in his “that’s a really bad idea” expression. “Thank you for the invitation, Renatha,” I said, “but I must stand here to perform my part, or the kathana might not work.”

The God-Empress gazed at me, her eyes slightly unfocused, and then she said, “Of course. My priests, I will sit where you direct me,” but it took a while for them to “direct” her to a spot she liked. I returned to my position, which was at the base of the circle (it’s marked with the four cardinal and four ordinal directions, so the base of the circle is south), and balanced lightly on the balls of my feet, trying to stay relaxed and not to think about what the God-Empress might do if we failed.

Eventually, though, she was settled, and her soldiers were disposed throughout the room in a manner that did not suggest in any way that they had orders to begin slaughtering mages if the God-Empress was displeased, and Vorantor waved to everyone else to take their places. He signaled to the mage serving as drummer, who began beating the count, and when everyone had picked up the rhythm, Vorantor nodded to the first group to begin.

The first part was the easiest and required the most people. Those mages scribed th’an to complete the “phrases” already written in and around the circle. Terrael explained to me that it “wakes up” the magic (that was my phrase, not Terrael’s, and when I said it he rolled his eyes and said, “you’re almost a savage, you know that?” and I had to soak his head. Really, I had no choice) and gives a base shape to the kathana.

Savage or no, that part I did understand, since something similar happens when I learn a new pouvra. I was in a perfect position to watch this, and it’s beautiful, like a dance, with people passing back and forth across the circle, bending and swaying. Then they step away, and the body-scribers take their places at the four ordinal directions, sit down just outside the circle, and begin writing th’an on their chests and faces.

It’s awe-inspiring, how perfectly synchronized they are. The body-scribing is to attune those mages to the kathana, and it’s extremely dangerous because in a way, they’re linking their hearts and lungs to the kathana so it will persist beyond the instantaneous effect of activating the final th’an, and it could kill them if we aren’t perfectly accurate.

They didn’t look afraid. It took only a few minutes for their bodies to be crisscrossed with inky markings. As they each drew a final mark from the bridge of their noses down over their lips and to the point of their chins, those markings began to glow with a blue so bright it was painful to look at. I kept my eyes focused on the spot painted in red on the wall beyond the circle. It was my guiding mark for when it was my turn in the kathana.

to be continued…

Sesskia’s Diary, part 68

25 Lennitay

It felt as if something connected inside my head this morning, and suddenly the fire pouvra was as easy as thought, any shape, any size, whatever I imagined, it would do. There was total silence from my observers when I tested the final pouvra and the fire th’an hung in the air, then shrank in on itself with a deep bell-like tone that made the walls resonate. Nobody cheered, but I could feel the excitement, see it on their faces. Vorantor embraced me and said some meaningless and slightly patronizing things. Cederic just smiled.

The mages are setting up the kathana for tomorrow. The God-Empress has been notified. I’m sure I won’t be able to sleep tonight for excitement. Tomorrow, we’ll have the Codex Tiurindi, and Terrael can begin translating it, and soon Cederic will have his proof, and we can really begin work.

New release 12/17–EXILE OF THE CROWN

ExileoftheCrown-eBook (2)I never imagined, when I wrote the first three books of Tremontane, that Zara North would be so popular. In response to all the questions about what happened to her after SERVANT OF THE CROWN, I wrote a novella touching on a few events of her life over the fifty years (fifty years!) following her “death.” Titled EXILE OF THE CROWN, it’s available for preorder at Amazon.com–and it’s only 99 cents! I hope you’ll read it and enjoy it!

In other news, the third novel, AGENT OF THE CROWN, will be out early in 2016, and the fourth novel, VOYAGER OF THE CROWN, is due to be published by June of 2016. AGENT is the story of Elspeth and Owen’s daughter Telaine, and VOYAGER is Zara’s own novel. Following that is a trilogy about Willow North, the first North Queen, release date to be determined later.

 

Sesskia’s Diary, part 67

23 Lennitay

We need a rest day. We’re not getting one. Cederic lost that argument with Vorantor. Vorantor’s mages close to rebelling—I think everyone wishes Cederic were in charge. No note tonight.

24 Lennitay

Success! The binding th’an works! But there wasn’t time to either celebrate or experiment further to determine what size it should be, because it was a honey day and all of us, including me, were expected to put on golden robes and accompany the God-Empress to an amphitheater filled with citizens, then demonstrate kathanas for the crowds.

I now understand that the mages are also priests because magic is considered divine power, which the priest-mages perform in service to and with the permission of the God-Empress. I wanted to ask what would happen if the mages decided to rebel against her, set themselves up as the rulers of the empire, but that’s the sort of question that’s dangerous to ask.

The God-Empress stood on a platform that raised her fifteen feet above the amphitheater floor, waving her hand in the same complicated, flowing salute she’d used the day we toured Colosse. Even though Vorantor is “most high priest,” Cederic had to wear his red robe and officiate, which both he and Vorantor hated. It’s increasingly clear that Vorantor is deeply jealous of his “old friend” and regrets bringing him back to Colosse, not that he had any say in the matter. I don’t know if Vorantor always felt this way—he isn’t a bad mage, actually he’s very talented, he’s just not in Cederic’s class and I’m sure that bothers him. And I can’t really blame him for that.

Well, yes, I can, but that’s because I dislike him and his habit of doing things that are the opposite of what Cederic suggests, just to spite him. Cederic never acts as if he notices, just politely accepts whatever Vorantor decrees. I’d say I wish Cederic would spit in his eye sometime, but if he ever lost control to that degree, I’d be too shocked to appreciate the spectacle.

I’ve been practicing the fire th’an in my room before I go to sleep at night. It’s getting easier, but I’m trying not to relapse into that state of gut-wrenching anxiety that nearly destroyed everything. Ten more tries, and then it’s bed for me. I checked the observatory already—there was a note. I really wish I could read.

Sesskia’s Diary, part 66

21 Lennitay

Still no progress.

22 Lennitay

I’ve found something I don’t understand—no, that’s not true, I understand it perfectly but I—this is stupid, I’m so tired from practicing the th’an that I’m not thinking straight. I came back to my room directly after dinner, because of the aforementioned tiredness, but I wasn’t sleepy; in fact, I was restless.

So after trying to fall asleep for about twenty minutes, I gave up. I didn’t want to get dressed again and go to the common room, so instead I walked down to the observatory and sat on the ledge and let my feet dangle, and looked out over the pile of dusty gems that is Colosse in the light of the setting sun. It’s a beautiful city, but then most cities are, from a distance.

I put my hands on the pillars so I could lean out farther, and my left hand brushed something soft that wasn’t leaves. It was about waist-high (my waist) on the pillar above where the staircase begins and was the same color as the pillars. I picked at it, and discovered that it was a roll of paper the length and diameter of my middle finger.

I unrolled it, and remembered I couldn’t read their language just as I had it open and could see lines of meaningless, tiny script. So now I know how Vorantor and Aselfos communicate; there’s really no other explanation for this. The note was hidden exactly where Vorantor always stands, exactly where someone standing on the hidden staircase could tuck it away without himself being seen.

It explains why I never see them together, why I never find Vorantor wandering the halls like I do. They must only meet face to face when one or the other has something that’s too long to be entrusted to a note.

But now I have a problem. If I take the note, that could reveal to Vorantor that someone knows he’s plotting something—for example, if he and Aselfos have a regular communication schedule. Vorantor might conclude that the note blew away or fell down the cliff, but that’s too big a gamble for me to steal a note that might not have anything of importance in it.

The bigger problem is that I don’t know who I’d take it to. Cederic is the only one who knows about my suspicions, but he might be angry enough about my snooping around to refuse to help me. I certainly can’t take it to any of the other Darssan mages without involving them in something that could be dangerous; I trust them, but none of them has the right outlook for this, which is to say, none of them are devious and paranoid enough.

So I had to leave the note where it was, though I did conceal myself and wait long enough to see Vorantor retrieve it. Confirmation of my theory, but I still don’t know what to do about it. I’m going to observe a few more nights, see if those notes come with any regularity, and see if a solution presents itself.

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Sesskia’s Diary, part 65

20 Lennitay

Small setback—not sure how thick to make the thread. Lots of experimentation until Terrael suggested practicing the th’an until that’s successful, then working out how large it has to be for the kathana. Terrael is definitely the brightest of us all and I’m pretty sure he’s angling to be a Kilios himself someday.

Gaining control over the fire pouvra. Dinner was unexpectedly nasty, but they had some of that cold creamy stuff for dessert and that made up for it.

Nobody likes a critic…

…especially writers who are, as I was yesterday, facing one final round of line edits on a manuscript that’s been through four beta readers and two line edits by different people. Taking criticism is hard, which is why I rarely read my own reviews. Reviews are for readers, not authors, and a reader’s criticism comes too late to make a change to the book. I find that deeply frustrating, hence the policy.

But criticism in the early, pre-publication stages is essential, and it’s not something you should simply ignore. The problem is finding critical readers who share your vision. There’s a sometimes fine line between someone who points out flaws in what you’ve done and someone who wishes you’d told a different story and gives you feedback accordingly. Having a thick skin when it comes to listening to criticism is key to telling the difference. It’s also important how someone gives criticism. In one of my previous critique groups, there was a person who positively delighted in telling people what they’d done wrong, laughing like it was funny that they’d made mistakes. It never mattered whether that person’s points were correct; the net effect was humiliating to the writer on the receiving end. Some beta readers do the same thing, but in a vicious, cruel way, trying to tear you down. Neither of these are worth wasting time on. The critique process ought to be uplifting, centered not only on making a manuscript better, but on helping a writer learn and improve her craft.

My own problem with criticism isn’t taking it so much as taking it too well. I have a very bad habit of, when presented with a correction to the text, immediately rethinking everything surrounding that part of the story and believing that the correction is right just because someone else thought so. Not all corrections are good ones. Not all changes are an improvement. Whether because a reader missed something elsewhere, or didn’t understand what you were doing, or simply didn’t know enough about the historical background of the book, corrections can be wrong. While it’s important not to reject comments out of hand, it’s also important to remember that this is your book and you’re the one who’s going to live or die by whatever’s in its pages. Sometimes you really do know best.

I have between four and five beta readers, each of whom brings a different viewpoint to the manuscript. These are people I trust to be both clear and accurate in their comments, even when they’re telling me things I don’t like. I don’t take all their suggestions, though I do consider every one of them. Sometimes a comment on a specific passage leads me to consider the issue more globally; sometimes I can tell one of my readers missed something important and I go back and fix the other thing instead. But I think I’ve been lucky in never having had a beta reader who was a clear mismatch for my book, or who didn’t understand what exactly a beta reader’s supposed to do.

Line edits are different. In the case of the manuscript I was working on yesterday, the two line editors were assigned by my publisher. I’ve met one of them online; I have no idea who the second one was. And I immediately saw a difference between the two. The first could tell what I wanted for this book and was very good about suggesting changes that brought it closer to that ideal. She lacked a knowledge of the historical period I’m writing in, but was aware of her lack of knowledge. In fact, that made the book stronger because she asked questions that someone not familiar with the English Regency period would ask, pointing out places where the story would be opaque to such readers. And she made a lot of changes that made me squirm, but I was forced to admit she was right.

The second one wasn’t nearly so pleasant. Some of his or her changes were good, and one change in particular made me look at the manuscript differently. Unfortunately, this person also introduced errors into the text, made corrections that showed they didn’t know much about the time period, and had a very strange theory of paragraphing. I found myself feeling very hostile toward this unknown person, angry over the errors, angrier (because I have contrarian tendencies) when they were right about something or made a change that was better than what I’d come up with.

I have sole control over the final version. It would have been easy to just reject every one of those edits on the grounds that some of them were bad and I was angry over this person’s presumption. But this is part of criticism too–not letting personal irritation get in the way of making the book better. So I groused a lot about it to my husband, and I accepted the places where that reader was right, and rejected the things that were wrong. And then I moved on.

Write. But don’t write in a vacuum. Someone is going to criticize your writing. It’s so much better to receive that criticism when you’re still in a position to do something about it.

Sesskia’s Diary, part 64

19 Lennitay

Made fire like a string of burning thread, first attempt. It’s actually easier than the other version of the pouvra and takes less concentration. Drew everyone’s names in the air to show off my own language’s alphabet until Vorantor insisted I get down to work. Everyone annoyed with Vorantor, including his own mages. Cederic not-so-secretly amused.