Diamondsong 01: Escape Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Preface

  Map of Ada-ji

  Act 1

  Interlude

  Act 2

  Interlude

  Act 3

  About the Author

  Landmarks

  Cover

  Title Page

  Start

  Table of Contents

  Diamondsong

  Part 01: Escape

  Copyright ©2018 by E.D.E. Bell

  edebell.com

  This is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to actual pyrsi, winged or otherwise, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art by M.C. Krauss

  Map of Ada-ji by Ulla Thynell

  Interior Design by G.C. Bell

  Editorial Services by:

  Camille Gooderham Campbell

  Catherine Jones Payne and Haley Tomaszewski, Quill Pen Editorial

  M. Cusack and G.C. Bell

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Atthis Arts, LLC

  Detroit, Michigan

  atthisarts.com

  ISBN 978-1-945009-17-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018906188

  First Edition: Published June 2018

  This book is dedicated to you.

  Preface

  I hope you’re interested in something different.

  This series is full of experiments. Most of all, I want readers to like it, so I’ve taken feedback on the elements people have enjoyed the most from my writing and tried to focus on those strengths.

  To me, one of the most striking elements of Diamondsong is the code of etiquette that its societies follow. This code includes a lack of assumptions about people—their family makeup, their gender, their attractions—which substantially changes the tone of character introductions. This also institutes gender-neutral pronouns, in addition to a set of gender-spectrum pronouns for those not identifying as primarily masculine or feminine. I urge you to settle in and enjoy these aspects; you will find yourself getting used to them quickly, as the editors and I have. Just writing within the guidelines of Ada-ji has caused me to see our own world in a strikingly new light.

  Unexpectedly, the experiment that turned out to be the most challenging was my goal to minimize violence within the story while creating an epic fantasy feel. I included a few elements of violence to contrast concealment versus sheltering, but for the most part the storyline does not rely on violent threats or violent solutions to induce tension or excitement. This was much more difficult than even I expected. I did conclude that how influenced we are by our entertainment is an important subject for continued consideration.

  I am proud of the gender distribution I’ve achieved throughout the storyline, including the type of characters needed, or not needed, to anchor a scene or plotline. As it’s even taken me a while to understand what that really means, I hesitate to bias the reader with labels. Statistically, I am thrilled to say that my own readers are equally balanced by gender and not so worried about the endpoints, so I hope each of you will enjoy what I’ve done.

  In all of this love and experimentation, I hope that I’ve achieved something worthy of your interest. In other words, I worked hard on this and I hope you like it!

  I am grateful, as always, to those who helped bring this project to fruition. I couldn’t have created this unique series without George Bell. I hope he knows that I know that and knows how much I like him. I am wonderfully grateful for the partnership and friendship of Camille Gooderham Campbell throughout this process. Thanks to Catherine Jones Payne for working this in and for the insightful assessments. My gratitude to Haley Tomaszewski—one of my primary inspirations for this story was a single suggestion she made on The Scattered Bond—I hope I did it justice! I’m so appreciative for the generous contributions of G. Mark Cole and Lois Reynolds to the project’s funding. And many thanks to the beta readers: Meghan Cusack, Sasha Kasoff Moore, Kimberly Downing, and Trowby Brockman. Thanks to Mom and Mom B for their continued encouragement. To Gwynn, Vance, and Vera—my eternal thanks for supporting this wild ride. That means so much.

  And my best gratitude, offered in the truest sense, to each of you who read and enjoy what I do.

  E.D.E. Bell

  June 2018

  The World of Ada-ji

  The Ja-lal: A humanoid species, dwelling in the foothills and plains of Ada-ji, characterized by broad advancements in construction, invention, and health.

  The Fo-ror: A winged humanoid species, dwelling in the forests of Ada-ji, characterized by their rumored use of magical powers, known as valence. The Ja-lal call them fairies.

  The Ja-lal and Fo-ror are similar in form, with gray skin, but differences between them in composition and culture. Pyr is singular for a Ja-lal or Fo-ror and pyrsi is plural.

  The pyrsi of Ada-ji hold many gender identities. While this doesn’t clarify all aspects of gender, it is polite to introduce oneself with a prefix, indicating the appropriate pronouns:

  Fe’indicates a set of feminine identities, using the pronouns she/her/her(s).

  Ma’indicates a set of masculine identities, using the pronouns he/him/his.

  Ji’indicates a set of spectrum identities, using the pronouns ve/ver/vis.

  When gender is unknown, it is polite to refer to a pyr with xe/xem/xyr(s). Any group of pyrsi (plural) would be referred to with they/them/their(s).

  A pyr may be generically referred to as Burge, short for the more formal Burgess, often for purposes of polite address or getting a stranger’s attention. This is similar to the use of Sir or Ma’am on Earth. For those who hold social prejudice based on class, the term implies some sense of status or honor.

  Ja-lal and Fo-ror may live up to 50 cycles. Their lives are divided into defined epochs, aligning with societal expectations:

  AochAge 0-9Characterized by upbringing, education, and exploration

  BakhAge 10-19Centered on building family, performing and completing apprenticeships, and finalizing life plans

  GamhAge 20-29Fully immersed in their specialty or role, contributing full-time to society

  DorhAge 30-39Respected in leadership and/or advisory roles; it is normal to take some time for self

  ErohAge 40+Expected to retire and engage in craft or occasional consulting, through the life expectancy of around 50 cycles.

  Expectations differ for each culture. For example, while a Ja-lal must develop xyr profession into a career, a Fo-ror’s profession and rank are set based on xyr social class and other historical and cultural factors.

  A cycle on Ada-ji is perhaps up to four times the length of an Earth year. So, our main character, at age 20.5 cycles, has lived more than 80 Earth years but, in relation to her life span, could be considered at the maturity of her early forties on Earth.

  Each turn on Ada-ji, a period of day and then night, is significantly longer than an Earth day. As such, pyrsi do not sleep according to light or dark, but instead based on their own needs, lifestyle, profession, and schedule.

  The Ja-lal measure time by the periodic sounding of bells; they refer to the resultant time periods with the same term. The Fo-ror are less rigid about time-keeping and refer to the equivalent time period as a span. Each bell, or span, consists of more than two Earth hours. Smaller amounts of time are referred to by both cultures as takes, which can be thought of as about ten Earth minutes.

  The Ja-lal and Fo-ror live on separate sides of the Great Cliff. They have not interacted since the Great War, an event most noted for being the end of the Violence on Ada-ji.

  Escape />
  The first rule is:

  Always look the way you’re going.

  —Dave Ebert, December 1991

  The End

  ime had never felt so good.

  After cycles of resenting the weight inside her chest and now nearing her middle age—or so she hoped—Dime wasn’t going to spend one more turn being bounced around like a miniature in someone else’s game.

  It had been a long time in her mind, leaving her career, and now she only wondered how she’d delayed so long. Closing the stairwell door behind her, she heaved the wooden crate up onto her living room table. Eager for resolution and then a solid drink, Dime was ready to put what was left of her old life away.

  She wasn’t sure where to put these last items from her office: a mix of pencils, papers, accessories, and desk baubles. They felt out of place here, at home.

  The unexpected irony of closing down her old workspace was that these small possessions stared back at her in duplicate. Her desk drawer cellar of salt; a pair of fingerless gloves for chilly offbells. Another copy of Ma’Rorg’s Quotes for Life, and a second pair of fidget balls, which chimed as she picked them up.

  She wondered if there was a second Dime in there as well.

  “I’ve always wanted a set like yours,” Dayn joked from the opposite doorway, the one leading to their cooking and sleeping spaces. Looking down at the gold objects in her hand, she almost tossed them to him, but hesitated, cautious of the delicate outer shells.

  With a snort, she threw them anyway, wincing as they landed—not so deftly—into Dayn’s outstretched hands. He gave them a couple of turns. “The Intel Circle doesn’t know what they’ve lost,” he said in an overly cheerful tone.

  They don’t care.

  He slipped back into their bedroom with a quick but dark grin, the fidget balls still ringing in his fingers—he really was going to take them, wasn’t he—and left Dime staring at the stone wall of their tower suite.

  Dime appreciated him giving her space today. After cycles of working for the Intel Circle—or IC, as they all called it—first on teams of covert agents and then in strategy and management, she’d finally answered the calling in her heart. The ability to call the game herself, as it were, and not be subject to someone else’s dice.

  And so, far before her proper time, she’d resigned. Her colleagues, oddly accepting of the idea, had repeated their congratulations over the last several shifts, but for what? What had she done other than leave?

  Dayn had supported her decision, of course. He always supported her. As if his career in the Construction Circle weren’t as frustrating as her own. He was working an effort literally called the “Boring Project.” And Dime was the one who left? Well, it didn’t matter now. She’d made up her mind, and she just had to figure it out from here. Relaxing her jaw, she stretched her neck from side to side. Everything is fine.

  The bells rang through the city and Dime paused to listen to their echoes clanging between Lodon’s tall towers. Usually the layered rings of sound reminded her she was running out of time for some project or another. Today, they marked a beginning. A new time. She smiled as the final echoes wafted through a window panel she’d opened for the fresh air. A bird sat on the edge, preening its feathers. Seeing Dime, it flew away.

  She enjoyed the light streaming through the open window, warming the room around her. It was a nice home they had found here. On a high floor, for the view, they lived in one of the smaller tower spikes, offshoots of the main tower at its top. There were two suites on this floor, each covering half of the spike, excluding the outer stairwell with its large, vertical windows. While the cooking and bedroom windows faced the other spikes, the living area faced out over the city, its clusters of towers punctuating the view.

  She glanced around at the wedge-shaped room as if it were someplace new, rather than familiar. To her left, the broad window curved around the outer wall, clear panels at her height and stained-glass panes across the top, secure within a thick frame of stone. Below it stretched a wide wooden ledge, large enough for sitting and heavily lacquered to protect the burled timber over cycles of use.

  A round stand contrasted the wall’s sharp corner, holding a potted flowering bush that her older child, Luja, kept vibrant and healthy throughout the seasons. A flat stone wall followed, striped with Dime’s tall black bookcases and the door Dayn had disappeared behind. She turned again, to face the wide center fireplace, built into a curved stone wall and feeding into the central chimney.

  The final wall, she kept plain, except for a cushioned bench and a few pieces of art, to enjoy the effect of the daylight of Sol, or the nightlight of the skystones, bouncing against its wide stone bricks. The center of the room held their large living table, surrounded by low benches and a couple of mismatched stools. On its edge, sat the crate of items from her office. Her old office.

  She ran her hand across the smooth boards. Dime had a lot of work to do to figure out how to earn a living now, but at least she could enjoy her own space. Another good reason to get everything put away, she reminded herself.

  Reaching into the crate, she squinted at a stack of colorful parchment sleeves. Each was dyed with vibrant natural colors claimed to be from the Undergrowth itself; she’d been saving them for cycles. She picked up the stack and tilted the edges toward her. “Too nice to use,” she muttered, sliding them into a drawer at the base of one of the bookshelves.

  She set aside a few books and papers, resting them on the window ledge for the moment. Wriggling out a small bundle, she extracted the small roll of fabric into which she’d wrapped her favorite desk ornament. The jade carving was a gift from a Circlemate who’d retired cycles ago; she’d hardly known the pyr. Yet, he’d given her a token purchased from a mountain village: a small jade lizard. He’d said it would bring her wisdom. That, she seemed to have disproved.

  Unwrapping it, she held the piece in her hand, feeling the cool smoothness of the translucent stone and watching the light from the window dance through to her gray fingers beneath.

  Yes, her hands were getting grayer, and not just her hands. Sometimes when Dime glanced in the mirror and saw her darkening face, she realized how much of her life had already passed. At least now I can live it my way, she reassured herself, with a twinge of uncertainty she shook aside.

  A precise rapping sounded at the door, and she jumped, slipping the jade lizard into a side pouch of her jacket. As old as Dime became, she’d never stop jumping at sudden noises. She pulled the door open.

  “So sorry to startle you!” Ador said, a gleam in his eyes.

  “You’re up to something,” Dime said.

  “Of course I am,” he replied.

  Dime smiled with warmth at their friend—one of their oldest and best friends. Though he was closest to her spouse, Dime had long appreciated the elegant pyr with his bright eyes and layered speech patterns.

  Their similar height contributed a sliver of his allure, she’d always admitted to herself, but never spoken aloud—even to Dayn. Dime had never understood pyrsi’s fascination with height. It wasn’t the first societal bar Dime didn’t measure up to, nor the last. Still, she could almost look Ador in the eyes, and that was something to enjoy in secret.

  As always, he was dressed in finery far in excess of a simple home call. She wasn’t sure Ador even owned casual clothes. His tailored mauve pants matched a wide stripe on each side of his long jacket, which was otherwise a dark gray. His cuffs revealed the slightest ruffle, with loops of light lace peeking through. She wondered if the gray fabric was a trick of the eye, meant to make his skin lighter in contrast, giving him a younger appearance. Ador wouldn’t care, but the good tailors often employed such tricks. Which was why Dime bought her clothes pre-sewn at the market. Actually.

  She ran her gaze across Ador’s smiling face. She loved the cohesion of his tattoos; despite his high-class upbringing, he wasn’t marked with any
symbols of rank or accomplishment. Instead, patterns of abstract waves ran over his scalp and down around his neck. The patterns were unusual, to say the least. He’d lived his life here in rocky Lodon, a city rising tall in all its stone and metal at the base of the mountains, where open water was scarce and transient. As fierce as pyrsi held to the plains and mountains, for one to show symbols of water had a ring of, well, disloyalty. At least others might take it that way.

  Only two lone symbols stood out; one depicted the Free Winds, an advocacy group Ador led that challenged the Circles’ power and structure. The second depicted his announcement as masculine, of ma’pyr, a long time ago now. She had always admired the way he embraced and displayed his own past. Dime tended to avoid her own.

  “Here.” His hands stretched out to reveal a small yellow box, tied with a sturdy orange string. Taking it, she turned the gift in her hands. “I’m proud of you,” he added. Today, of all turns, his gesture touched her, a mix of love and gratitude welling in her chest.

  “Oh, Ador. But I haven’t done anything.”

  “What a terrible attitude,” he scolded, tapping his fingers against the side of his suit.

  “Well,” she said, not knowing if she should open the gift in front of him, “I’m not even going anywhere. Besides, I haven’t got you a thing.” Setting the brightly-colored box on the lacquered window ledge, Dime threw her hands up in a mock gesture.

  “What did Sala say?” Ador asked.

  It was so like Ador to toss out a casual question about the Light, as if she didn’t preside over all of Sol’s Reach. The answer wouldn’t impress him, though.

  “Nothing.” Dime had thought, given the work she’d done for the Circles over these many cycles, she might get a visit from the Light. Thanking her or asking why she was leaving. Instead, she’d had a farewell party with a huge tray of bean dip and received a lovely wristband compass. Then she’d taken her crate and left.