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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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10-06-11 6M P12 |
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HARANDUR by Julian Parkman |
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Brief Synopsis
The story involves a young farmer, who, rejected by his family, decides to run away and seek adventure in a land perpendicular to his own. Once there, he befriends a race of people who inhabit the city of Harandur. Treachery, prejudice and unlikely friendships follow him as he unwillingly becomes the saviour of the city.
Chapter One It started as a faint whistle, like an angry Buzz-fly, growing louder, until the Younger dared to look up. The Clan Elder appeared at his side, eyes wide, his arm outstretched, finger visibly trembling. “What have you done to Hoe?” he said. Blinking rapidly, the Younger looked at the Elder as other Brods from his Clan gathered round, all opened-mouthed, pointing. “Nothing, I didn’t do anything except look up.” “You looked up? You have been warned about that, now look what’s happened. As soon as we get back I will organise a name change.” “ But, but, it was the stone, it came from up there; you can’t change my name because of a stone.” “That will do, you can go down to the bridge and watch for Mud-sticks.” The Elder’s skin darkened slightly and the Younger knew when to stop. With one last glance at the morbid scene in front of him, he turned away, just as the Elder addressed the other Brods circled round, still open-mouthed. “I need someone to break the news to Brod the Quiet; this is going to be very upsetting for her.” The Younger trudged away towards the bridge. “Perhaps we should change her name as well,” he said over his shoulder. Down at the bridge, the Younger watched the Elder march away towards the edge of the forest, leaving a few of the Brods to put the Hoe’s remains into a sack. It all seemed a bit unreal; one of their Clan had just been crushed to death by a stone and no one seemed worried about how it happened. In fact, most had gone back to collecting fallen branches. Removing his wide-brimmed hat, he frowned at the green staining as he ran his three stubby fingers through the thick tightly tousled hair, his dark purple locks contrasting sharply with the walnut grain of his skin. The blood had dried in the intense heat and in time, he knew it would flake off. In the meantime he would have to put up with it and try his best to avoid the Hoe’s wife. His large sorrowful eyes gazed up at the forest, but not at his Clan collecting wood. Instead, his eyes wandered over the forest to the huge bank of cloud that rose vertically beyond. Rumour had it that another land lay behind the clouds, perpendicular to their own, inhabited by strange beasts and wild people. This, the Younger dismissed, much to his Clan’s annoyance. How could anyone live there without falling off? It had to be one of the most ridiculous stories he had heard. Now he began to wonder. There could be no doubt in his mind at what he had seen: the stone came down at a slight angle and he reckoned it could only have come from behind the clouds. Soft bubbling sounds from the Mudflats drew his attention back to his task. Watching for Mud-sticks had to be another ridiculous story, made up to scare the Youngers. From an early age he had been told, like many Youngers, that a race of creatures dwelt in the wide expanse of mud that stretched from one side of their land to the other. Why any creature would choose to live in a stinking bog seemed beyond him. It was said the creatures stole vegetables from the lands bordering the Mudflats, if they could not catch a Brod to eat. Therefore they left their poorer crops along the hedge as a peace offering or rather as a deterrent. Lingering on the bridge he leant over, looking at the foul-smelling bubbles erupting on the surface below. The faint rasping noises made him snigger and for a while he listened to the constant flatulent sounds. With a quick glance to check the others were engrossed in their tasks, he quickly picked up a stick and reached over the side of the bridge. “Fluttergrubs”, he said, trying to reach the bubbles before they burst. Standing on one leg and with the other sticking out at right angles, the Younger leant over further, teetering precariously on the edge, his tongue lolling out of his wide mouth, until “Got it!” he breathed with relief. Rising fumes from the large bubble of gas he had prodded enveloped him, making him cough and choke. Leaning forward, his foot slipped out from under him and for a moment he hung, balanced perfectly on the handrail, arms and legs spread wide, trying not to wobble too much. Then his hat fell off, and with outstretched arms he lunged towards it, hoping to catch it before it hit the mud, but the balance had been upset. As his hat hit the surface he slid slowly forward until, with a plop, he fell in. Coughing and spluttering, he struggled to his feet, but the thick glutinous mud tugged hard at his toga pulling him back down. The mud felt cold and clammy. Heads turned and a cry went up as his Clan turned as one and looked down towards him. With considerable effort he struggled once more to his feet and let out a yell. The Clan Elder appeared through the trees and marched forward his jaw set firmly. “Brodereth Fellerer the Younger! Is that you?” he said. “What in the name of trees are you doing?” The Younger tried to explain but the sulphurous gas made him retch. By now his Clan, on seeing the Elder heading towards the apparition and hearing the full use of the Clan name, had come out of hiding and were making their way to the bridge. Stopping short at the mud’s edge the Elder stared down at the Younger. “You had better explain yourself, boy and where are your clothes?” With shock, the Younger looked down. His brown skin was now covered in thick grey mud, while his toga had completely disappeared.
Chapter Two
Alone and dejected, chin resting on his hands, the Younger surveyed the land before him with large sad eyes. His recovered toga, now dry, crackled, shedding grey powder every time he moved. Stretching out in front and on both sides of him, vast fields of vegetables grew in green profusion. Behind him, though, he could hear faint grunts and murmuring emanating from within the large circular stone hut. The building, a windowless structure with a single wooden door and a vent set high in its domed straw roof, was used mainly for storage and important meetings. It was here that his punishment was being decided. It had taken four sleep breaks to reach their land from the Mudflats and during this time no one had spoken, even when they had arrived home The Elder had refused to answer any questions and had pointed firmly at the wooden seat, holding both hands out to indicate he should stay there. It seemed ridiculous that his little accident should cause more dismay than a member of his Clan being splattered by a rock. A least the mud on his Toga covered the Hoe’s blood, he could not understand why they were making such a fuss. He strode round to the back of the hut and looked at the view on the other side. Unlike the front, where the land stretched far and wide and met the sky at eye level, the fields this side inclined steadily, undulating as they approached the forest and the vertical land beyond...
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