An Ending to Benhá

Charming stood on the Leaf’s southern flit deck overlooking Song. She hadn’t expected the surviving Bennies’ reconstruction efforts to be so far along. She hadn’t expected the reconstruction to be so thorough. Her Song had been laid out like a casual meeting of like-minded friends with no purpose other than togetherness. It was built in the vernacular of what was good at the time. This new Song was something else. It was something organized. It was something purposeful.

Obviously, Mondron had worked with the architecture firm and the Lander backers to keep the river style, but from the well-plotted thoroughfares to the river-level concrete flit deck and landing pad this Song sought a mercenary goal. That goal was well enough for them because they stayed, but it didn’t serve Charming because she wouldn’t.

She pulled some cash and coins from her pants pocket. Fanning the bills, she only found pale Lander money. She cupped the coins and folded the money before tucking it away in a different pocket. Charming thought she might find a touri shell or at least a scale, but none of the coins were Song tokens. She pocketed them all.

“For what it’s worth!” She flung an imaginary coin out over the new Song and pretended it glinted in the sunlight as it sailed out over the piers and scaffolding and green redi-mades already bunched inward.

The putting idle of the flit reminded her she still hadn’t left and that she needed to go, so she mounted it and revved the thrusters to clear out the dust. She jumped it into the air overlooking Song—again—just high enough that the engine noise didn’t echo off the deck. Below, laborers called to each other across the water and the gangs. Charming checked her line, planning on dropping from the Leaf and skimming out over Song. She noticed a scale wedged into the trim of the foot-board, smiled, and picked it free.

Good luck after all, but she kept it as a souvenir instead.

###

Laborers’ POV of Charming out of nowhere and skimming too low and outward over Song.

361 words on day 599

An Ending of Jackern

https://1000days.douglasblaine.com/20080513/what-kind-of-choir/

Jackern resisted the urge to scrawl his signature in florid loops across the agreement. He guessed he’d always recognize and deny each moment his old self surfaced.

Condorre cleared his throat.

Jackern constrained his name to the space allotted him among the other—credentialed— generals. When Kate strode up he placed the pen in her hand. He made a point to brush the skin of her palm with his fingers but not look to her eyes. Maybe he could extend something from what had happened between them at Lan Caloon. Not today though, not yet anyway.

Sunlight streamed through the oculus like honey poured from a jar.  Condorre embraced him and patted his back once he descended the few steps and joined him in the circled group.  It was a good day inside and out.

“Your father would have been proud, Jack.”

“My father would have set fire to my house and raped my wives had I any.”

“That too.”

170 words on day 598

This Needs Cleaned Up

The other night I wrote an ending. It wasn’t happy. It didn’t go out of it’s way to offer details regarding how the two people had gotten to that point in their lives. I hoped to mirror that with a happier ending. Maybe even make up an ensemble ending for an epic fantasy adventure, but that’s hard.

Just now I considered writing the ending to some story I’d already read or a movie I’d already scene. I’m not good at recalling details, so I could probably do that easily enough. Instead I’ll root through my own stuff and see how much luck I have at jumping ahead.

https://1000days.douglasblaine.com/20081111/a-bell-hunting-interlude/

And ending for A Bell Hunting Interlude featuring Charnwyn, Franwyn, and jealous narrator, Conwyn…

I placed the rega on Charnni’s chest and stepped back. The monks, who had been chanting softly, intoned the crematory spell louder. The air above Charnni’s body wavered from the increasing density of magic. I stayed close enough to feel the creche stone absorbing the that power; I hoped to be burnt by it’s release.

Then, remembering something Franny had said to me, I turned. “Conni, [something totally poinent and applicable].” The shadow of magic felt cooling on my face. It felt refereshing. It felt like an apology. I untied the silk funerary cloth from my shoulder and let it slip. The material felt like my soul sliding away as it fell to the ground an left me utterly naked in front of our gathered friends.

I stepped from the circle, through the crowd, and into the night. Charnni was dead, Franny was lost, and I was alone.

Finally.

280 words on day 597