I am unsure how this first chapter is going to look from an on lookers perspective so aspects of the story may make no sense to start. If you do find yourself confused at any point, as in properly confused. Not simply for the air of mystery. Then once again it would great if you could point it out in a comment below.
I am hoping that posting my writing to this blog will aid me in becoming a better writer. That is at least the hope. Whether that will work in practice is still to be decided.
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Below is the first chapter of a novel called Barrowmen. This is at current a working title but will more likely turn out to be the final title also.
For anyone that's gotten this far in the blog, I salute you and hope you enjoy what is to follow.
One more thing. Please do not republish what you find on this page. This as I said is a work in progress and is simply not ready to be viewed outside of this blog. Thank you. But of course feel free to point people toward this blog if you think someone you know may enjoy it. More feedback the better in my mind.
Barrowmen
Chapter
One - A Rude Awakening.
Our tale begins, as most tales will atone,
with a planet. A simple mass of rock and substance endlessly circling some
manner of supreme power source. The Earth was one such example of this process.
Through I'd be lying to say the planet before us now was the blue opal known as
Earth. For this was clearly not Earth, and a simple look around would provide
evidence to this point. Which would then of course be backed up by the glaring
fact this planet was actually in a completely separate galaxy. Then to speak of
dimensions? Lets not even get started on that! For some have been known to say
this galaxy doesn't exist in any of the conventional realities. That of course
is humbug, bunk, and outright slander. As all galaxies must exist within some
reality, right?
Philosophical questioning aside, this
planet existed. At least for the time being. And existed quite peacefully,
under the light pink haze of the bustling space known only as The Glaze. Many
planets existed upon The Glaze, and tales of courage, valour, and hardship were
many. Spreading far and wide throughout the ever increasing density of a galaxy
simply called The Doughnut. This tale will touch on the vastness of the celestial
canvas known as The Doughnut. Per chance, we may even travel into the depths of
this vast universe. And, per chance, we may return.
Dreaming is believing a wise man once said,
and if the population of The Doughnut knew how close to home this pretty phase
struck, rioting would ensue. Of course this is assuming the riots had first
been dreamt! But once again we go delving into the recesses of philosophical
questioning, and its dark down there! Thus a retreat to sturdier ground is in
order. So back to the planet.
The planet in question was known as Barrow,
named after its chief export, Wheelbarrows. Wheelbarrows made lucrative
business in these parts, and none took more advantage of this than the Dwarfs
that made then. The expectedly crafted barrows they would keep for them selves to
aid in the prospecting of deeper mines. But everything else was sold. The good
barrows, the bad, and sometimes even the downright shoddy. The buyers? The
Humans! Those same Humans which moved here from somewhere? Everywhere was assumed.
They just seemed to turn up. Then the Dwarfs would sell them a barrow, and
everybody would be happy. Gold for barrows, a good deal to anyone. Especially Dwarfs,
as to be expected.
Sometimes though a Human would find
themselves working in the barrow business, and would find it quite lucrative, if
played right. Maybe they could get some Dwarfs working for them? maybe fellow Humans
too. Paid well of course, housing, dental, free travel, even off world and that
was very rare. So Humans would come to the planet of Barrow and work for the Barrowmen.
But of course they would all need a barrow, sometimes maybe even two. Most Humans
needed them here. Things were heavy! Gravity was... Unkind! At least to non
Dwarf folk. Dwarfs as to be expected, ran and skipped around freely. One of the
privileges of being from a place is that usually you're used to the gravity of
said place! Ten points to evolution. Evolution however can never quite prepare
you for the politics of interstellar visitors, thus the Dwarves would never get
used to Humans. So took pleasure in frolicking and dancing whenever they got
the chance in front of them. This general air of glee was not normal behaviour
for a Dwarf it must be stressed. Most preferred to take life at a slower more
manageable pace, but occasionally rubbing salt into the wound of a species the Dwarves
do say,
"Are asking for it!" Is a much
needed way to blow off steam. But to the Humans, and lets face it, pretty much
every other species, this just looked like a thing Dwarfs did to have fun. Thus
was usually interpreted as,
"It's just something they do, I
guess?".
Humans
though, given their handicap for adapting to gravity, needed the barrows. For
without them they might just have undergo an interesting conversation with
mother nature about jumping back on the evolutionary band wagon. That was never
going to happen however, as asking a Human to change in order to suit its'
environment rather than the other way round, was like asking a leopard to
change it's spots... while performing complicated math... during an earthquake!
As most would expect, everyone would be left frustrated, confused, and quite
possibly crushed by falling rubble. So of course, the need for barrows. For transport
mainly; of goods, wares and stuff. Sometimes children, sometimes not. Very
occasionally also, if lined with a few pillows, a barrow would make just the
place for a mid morning snooze. Not dissimilar to the snooze like snores currently
coming from a Human Boy named Trump.
Terrance Trump Thunderhammer to be precise.
Terrance from his Grandfather, and Trump from the mind of his Father. Why his
Father had chosen such a ridiculous middle name was beyond most, and Blane
Thunderhammer had never touched on the subject. A mystery to say the least.
Trump occasionally thought it may simply be a joke, but then again. Why did he
keep introducing himself as Trump? A question he had often pondered during long
dull nights in the mine. A question he was sure, would never get answered. But
that didn't ruin the fun of contemplation, just occasionally heightened the
sense of frustration! The one thing he did know however was that the name felt
right, no matter which way you sliced it, no matter how silly the sound. Trump
simply fit, and he was okay with that, despite the mystery.
Now Thunderhammer it should be noted is a
name that once again, should be noted. Because it's important. Importantly
confusing to say, that such a name belongs to a Human; most of which tend to
favour the shorter less Dwarfish sounding names, like Smith or King. This could
be a side effect of their evolutionary stunt of course, so should be taken into
account.
Trump was Dwarven as such a name would
suggest. But confusion would swiftly come if you believed that a name was a
definite indication of ones physical species. As Dwarf in body, Trump was
surely not. Unless looked upon under very bad lighting in a room of wavy
mirrors. But that is just asking for deception and thus should be treated as
the nonsense it quite clearly is.
Trump Thunderhammer was adopted, as you
would hopefully expect given his current Human slash Dwarven descriptive form.
Pretty common these days, unfortunately. After the fall of Heisner, Heisner
& Crown, one of the biggest barrow busts in memory. Because as everyone and
their wee mums knew. When a Barrowman runs out, so do all the jobs. Then people
stop coming, then they start leaving. Then sometimes, thankfully only
sometimes, someone gets left behind. Trump was one of these someone's, A 17
year old Man-Dwarf-someone, to be precise. Old enough to work in the Mines, but
not old enough to drink the strong ale. Other than the occasional at Hidefest
Holiday, traditions to be observed of course. Today unfortunately, was not
Hidefest. For if it was, Trump would've woken to the sound of singing, dancing,
gift giving, and the booming laugh of General Cheer, the seasons premier gift
giver, delivering Hide crafted wares to all the good boys and girls of Barrow. That
would've been laughably pleasant compared to what actually was about to happen,
where in Trumps Steelie barrow, was to be stuck, By a large hammer!
As a shudder one would expect from a Steelie
Hammer of such size colliding full speed with a likewise barrow, emanated with
waking purpose through the structure of the make shift bed. A low booming voice
filled the air. It's source? A rather round looking Dwarf, grey in hair and
beard. A brown leather cap sitting atop the tangled mess of hair, and a long
leather coat of equal hue draping either side of a large wobbling gut. A belt
of midnight leather adorned with a shining gold buckle crossed the middle of
the portly Dwarf. And this buckle was now centre point for Trumps frustration
toward the festively plump Dwarf, whom had just swung that damn hammer!
"RISE AND SHINE YA LAZY PUP!"
Boomed the voice, while at the same time giving another cheap swing with that
blasted hammer. As the shock began to pass, Trump experienced the world slowly
returning to focus around him. He now ignored the Dwarf despite his rising
image of the shining buckle. Instead choosing to focus on the grubby building
which he had awakened next to.
'That's
definitely the Wheel & Fiddle' Trump thought to himself. 'Why by Odin am I next to the pub?' The
slightly ashamed thought continued. 'I
don't even drink, but now of course the old buggers going to think I have been'
There was a pause mid thought. Somewhat like a pause mid sentence but filling
considerably less time, and then Trump decided the best course of action was
dumb ignorance.
"What am I doing here?" Trump murmured
to the world, pretending only to acknowledging the Dwarfs presence mid
sentence.
The
Dwarf took a step closer and slammed his iron clad hand to Trumps back, a
feeling he'd never enjoyed, so received with a wince.
"Damned if I know my boy!" The Dwarf
began "But don't I know that old Mister Townsout is not much pleased with
you, not at all, not one bit. At least that's my guess?" The Dwarf looked
a bit puzzled
"But that's why I'm here" another
puzzled look. "Odin knows why
your here" The Dwarf kicked the barrow this time. "Wherever you were
going you obviously needed your wheels."
"Obviously" Trump retorted
glancing down at the make shift bed. "Besides,
you know I don't need this thing the same way other Drifters do."
Drifters was as Trump knew the politically
correct way of describing off-worlders. A blanket term if you will, not simply
for use when referring to Human Drifters, but transferable for use regarding
any being drifting throughout The Glaze. The reason for this wholly Dwarven bit
of prejudice was simple. Dwarfs were not good flyers, not by any stretch of the
phase "good flyer". They
preferred to keep their feet in their boots, and their boots firmly on solid
ground. Or more accurately, under solid ground in some sort of cave system, with
lights of course, and a draft, a draft was important. The thought of Glaze
travel to a Dwarf just seemed unnatural. For if the great Odin, high power and
deity of all Barrow had intended Dwarfs to fly, he would have given them all
Glaze ships, or at the very least some metal wings. Not shovels and a
heightened sense of vertigo. But not being the case meant prejudice remained,
thus the term Drifter and thus the occasional hushed muttering of Dwarfs
curious about The Glaze. For prejudice is exist in places of ignorance and it
is safe to say, most Dwarfs are pretty ignorant.
"You aren't
no Drifter, ma boy" The Dwarf slammed his heavy hand once again on Trumps
back, almost winding him.
"I know,
I know" Nodded Trump "I was born on Barrow, am from Barrow, and for
all intensive purposes, Barrow, Barrow"
Now
this sentence doesn't make much sense when looked at with a grammatically savvy
eye but to the Dwarf who seemed to mouth the exact words under his breath as
Trump spoke, it must of had meaningful significance. For the faint sparkle of a
tear could be seen shining at the corner of the old Dwarfs eye.
"Beautiful... beautiful" The
Dwarf murmured "and me and your mother have stuck to that our entire
lives"
"But
that's because you ARE from Barrow" Trump almost shouted.
"And so
are you my boy, found you when you was only a wee babby" The Dwarf
gestured "wee babby" as one would gesture a cardboard box or varying
size of fish. "Then I took you along to the old homestead and the rest is as
they say, history, no more sinister than that" The Dwarf kicked the barrow
again, startling Trump once more.
"Yes you may be Human, and your real
parents may have been Drifters who done up and left you. Possibly even a proper
Barrowman for a father, who knows? All I know is you've been a Thunderhammer
longer than yourself can remember, and a Thunderhammer you shall always remain
to ya mother and me"
There was a pause as Trumps face showed a
slight trace of boredom, chiefly down to the fact that all though a touching
sentiment between father and son had just occurred. It was that same touching
sentiment Trump had been treated to on numerous occasion. Almost as if his
father had rehearsed the whole speech many, many times, ready for the day Trump
would ask his questions. But lately though, and Trump was not ashamed to admit
it, his questioning had gotten somewhat, Out of hand.
Trump broke the silence
"So what did Mister Townsout
want?" The Dwarf straightened up with a sense of fatherly authority and
spouted
"Well, he sent a young Dwarf over to
the homestead earlier this morning, looking for you he was, had this for
ya" The Dwarf pulled a letter from inside his coat, and held it out to
Trump. Trump took the letter eagerly. It was always nice getting mail and from
a head Barrowman no less.
'It
couldn't be anything other than good news, right?' Trump thought to himself
'But wait!' Panic washed over him. 'Why would it be good news, what have I done
worth a Barrow Man messaging directly, hand delivered no less' The panic
heightened.
'Think!
What could you have done that would possibly earn you the direct attention of a
Barrow Man' Panic peaked. 'Nothing'
He had done nothing, precisely that.
Trump hadn't been going to work for a
while, he preferred to focus his interests elsewhere, usually on tinkering with
things. Like repairing such things if necessary, and more unique creations if
the mood was right. Unique creations such as the interesting collection of
gadgets currently about Trumps person, hand made gadgets to be expected as
Dwarfs had never been very adept in the art of shopping. They preferred to
craft their own solutions to problems rather than purchasing solutions to
problems they never knew they had. Although very occasionally a Human gadget
would make its way into the vast expanse of the Under Barrow caves, and a Dwarf
would get curious. Trump remembered the day his brother bought home a small
device roughly about the size of his palm. The device consisted simply of a
button and a speaker, along with the mandatory cheap plastics found on Human
made products. When the button was pushed the device would emit a loud, and
what some would consider offensive word to the tune of an angry mans voice. The
word in question referred to the Bulls found on Human home worlds, and more specifically
referred to the Bulls rear door by-product. You get the point! The device as
far as the Thunderhammer household could assume was used by Human farmers as a
type of self warning system regarding the unsanitary nature of Bulls' shit. At least
this was their guess given their brief upstanding of Human cleanliness regimes.
It's true purpose however, to this day still remains a mystery to the quaint
Dwarven household.
As Trump reminisced about the button
device, it got him thinking that he had quite quickly taken the little device
apart, curious of it's innards. This was one of the many instances that had led
Trump to believe he'd gotten quite adequate with a wrench and pliers, and not
to mention the wire cutters, but oh how he'd gotten good with the wire cutters.
Trump was proud of this. But skill took time, and work took time, so one had to
suffer. And possibly to the headache of Mister Townsout, it had been work that
was destined to suffer.
Trump's father then cleared his throat with
startling urgency, bringing Trump to realize he'd been stood starring at the
letter for longer than one should stare at a letter.
"Bad news is it?" Barked the
Dwarf.
"It could be" Gulped Trump before
carefully turning the envelope over in this hands to reveal the Barrowman seal,
this Barrowman's seal at least, there were many. This seal glowed of the finest
gold wax, stamped with the unmistakeable crossed shovels of the Townsout,
Townsout & Barley collective, the biggest of its kind in all the region. Also
it was Trumps employer, and that was the worrying part.
'Another gulp for good measure' Trump thought, and as quickly as he could,
broke the seal, tore the envelope back and yanked out the single white piece of
card contained within.
'Another
gulp for luck' Turning the
card over was most definitely going to be the highest high or lowest low of his
day, or so he thought... and turn!
'Blank'
Thought Trump
"BLANK" out loud this time. This
was ridiculous, he'd almost given himself a heart attack with the damned thing,
and all for a blank piece of card. Was this some sort of tomfoolery or scam?!
Although he couldn't help thinking
'Very nice card!'
He had to admit, the fancy stuff, no expense spared. So if this was a con then
it was a good one, or else the only other option was that this message was in
fact from the Barrowmen. The only thing missing from making this a successfully
pleasant digestion of words on a lovingly crafted canvas, was of course the
words, and without the words, the sense of purpose evaporates.
'So
let's get this straight' thought Trump 'I
have a blank message from the Barrowmen in my hand, and for some reason this
angers me' He thought silently for a moment. 'Perfectly justifiable cause to be angry, even if the card is kinda pretty'
Another quick pause, before turning to his Dwarven father.
"It's blank, can you believe that?!"
"Oh well" Waved the Dwarf "A
letter with no words, is a letter with no bad words, remember that my boy, the
bases of a good optimistic nature" The Dwarf winked, or rather some eye
brow hair twitched downwards, while at the same time some cheek hair twitched
up. This somewhat resembled a wink, or as close to a wink as Trump could
decipher through the hair.
"Aren't you even curios what the whole
point of getting the messenger to deliver a message devoid of all, well... message?"
Trump articulated furiously.
"Devoid" repeated the Dwarf "That's
a nice word, is that one of your mothers book words?"
"I don't think that is what you should
take away from this talk" Trump said in sombre tone.
"Well, what you decide to take out of
life, is at the very least your choice" The Dwarf responded without pause.
"And my choice is to live in a state of reasonable ignorance! Besides you
know questions give me gout. Especially questions that don't need asking."
"But" Trump began.
"But" His father interrupted "If
you want to, you should go and have a chat with Mister Townsout. Tell the
guards at the gate the words. Bottoms Up! They'll know what you mean, and you
can have as long a chat with the Barrowman as you see fit" The Dwarf
smiled as the hair near his eye and cheek twitched again. "I'm owed a lot of favours in this
region, and that Barrowman was young once, before the gold swelled his pockets
that is. So speak to him and say your piece" The Dwarf nodded "So that is my piece and I shall say no more
on the matter" He kicked Trump's barrow once more for good measure, not to
mention the dramatic effect. Before saying
"And you don't need to worry about
this thing, I'll get her back to the old homestead right as rain"
Trump jumped from the barrow once the final
shudder had worn off, and preceded to stand in place for a moment as if stunned
by what he had just heard.
'Was that a straight answer' He thought 'From Father?'
Trump
spoke out,
"So I can go?" He gestured in a
random direction with his head as people do when they believe their destination
is in a some what that a way direction. The Dwarf nodded again. There was
another pause...
"ARE YOU GOING?" The Dwarf barked
at his son. To which Trump span on his heels, took a short moment to stretch
out and straighten himself up, another quick one to check his kit. Maybe each
moment took a little longer than usual, but he hadn't long been woken to a
start, and this he could at least tell himself would excuse not knowing where
his gold pouch was. That bridge would be crossed when approached, because right
now he had some answers to get and the sooner the better.
Trump began to jog in place whilst the same
time giving his Father a quick sideways glance accompanied by a thankful little
nod.
"See you in a bit" He said. And
before the elderly Dwarf could reply in kind, Trump had bolted into the
distance toward the opening of the great cave. The stoned walls and curvature
of the expanse gave life to every shadow Trump cast on his way past numerous
flickering flames. The run was long but could easily be done in under twenty
minutes by someone quick,
'and he is definitely quick' thought the now sombre Dwarf as he watched his son disappear
into the daylight.
"Good Luck my boy, you're as sure fire
gonna need it"
With this the Dwarf swung his hammer into
the now vacant Steelie barrow, hoist himself up, and set off, toward the
pleasant warmth of the mines. A song on his lips and a skip in his step.
"HIGH
HOOOOOO... "He began as the soul of the mine took him into its depths.
Thank you for reading the complete first chapter of Barrowmen. I can't say how much it means to me that you reached this far. My hat is definitely off to you. Before you go however, if could take the time to give me your opinions on what you just read that would be great. Anything that comes to mind, good points, bad points, bits that need improvement. Grammar or coherency? That sort of thing. Thanks again and I look forward to seeing your comment below.
