.Balema Chapter 1 – The Story
In a land far from Earth, five tribes each own one out of six lands. The six lands of their kingdom, the ultimate sixth owned by a variety of persons, are connected together by Kenass Mountain, which can be seen from everywhere in the country.
To the north, a large bulky territory shaped like an apple that had been bitten into held various terrains; rings like those of a target were centred around the most significant city that belonged to all other than the treacherous eastern tribe. This land was called The Wilderness: the sixth province, unconquerable, but with an ancient beauty that captured the minds of adventurers and bards.
To the north-east there was a dry state shaped like a lick of flame that was little more than one gigantic red desert, called Fire Territory. It was the smallest of the lands, owned by short tribesmen and women with olive skin and hair bleached golden-tan by the sun.
Next there was a circular land surrounded by volcanoes and mountains that rarely saw the sun. This was the nation of the treacherous eastern tribe, the Dark Territory.
To the south, and yet not precisely so, there was a thin land whose bulk went out further than those of any of the other tribes’. It was a place loaded with crystalline Mineraltear and water in all its variety of forms that was called Water Territory. Here the people were expert guides and fishermen and they had extremely sought-after (however odd) accommodation; nevertheless, many Balemans couldn’t be bothered going to such a far-away place when crops and politics were to be tended.
In the south-west corner, there was a place shaped like a great hoof struck out into the ocean; but of course, as the whole country was raised hundreds of kilometres off sea level, the forest-covered crust of Wilds Territory with its famous jet cliffs would never touch the salt water that was unknown to this world.
To the north-west there was a realm rich in metals and stones of all values, shapes and sizes that was shaped like a handful of clay tipped onto the ground, called Rock Territory; this place was owned by a tribe with feather-textured hair. It was very rare to find one of this tribe that was not decent and honourable.
All the people in their tribes were different, but they are not the only inhabitants of the land called Balema. They share their land with objects of myth; elves, dwarves, the four-limbed wyverns, the fierce, wolf-like dackodas, soul-sucking charlies, the winged Oremi people and many more assortments of creatures.
This land was in the charge if what was considered the most beautiful and powerful goddess. She was not on her country, as she had been standing at the right-hand side of her father, the King God, Zeahous, and was the eldest of three children.
Her name was Encarata.
Life was going on as was usual in Balema. People at markets bustled, avoiding hakeen or horse-drawn carts and glaring at small pick-pocket boys that came near. In the Cadamatri Forests in Wilds Territory, hunters were being monitored by the macaw-like speckled hallows from above; should they forget to leave their customary offering to Now-or-Never, the Forest-god, the consequences would be severe.
But then, with no more than a harmonic rustle of massive wings to warn the Balemans, a great phoenix burst out of the sky, emitting a brilliant screech that almost ruptured eardrums. Its wings were of fire, its tail of water. Its feathers were of shadow flecked with purple. Tied around its neck and tail was a vine that reached down to stroke the land below in an almost amused, teasing way and its head and legs were of fire opal.
It was carrying around its neck a pouch containing six horse-sized eggs. The eggs were of varying colours – one was a mottled green-brown, like the forest floor being struck by sunlight. One was a calm blue, and had a look of summer waves upon it. One was bronze, with a bird carved on it. One was changing from red to orange to yellow and back again, like an un-focused image of a bonfire. One was black with purple slashed mercilessly across it, glowing and static. One was silver.
People stared up at the bird as it began dropping the eggs, one by one, on each of the Territories. The green was for Wilds – the blue for Water. In quick succession, the rest of the eggs were dropped on the appropriate land. Each landed with a solid thunk until there was only one left – the silver one.
Everyone was looking up at the phoenix as it circled Kenass Mountain with ease. The bird placed its pouch – egg and all – onto the flat top of the mountain, delicacy exaggerated in every move. The Balemans watched as the bird perched on a ledge below the crown of the mountain, and looked up, fiery wings flapping slowly as if the pinnacle would be flattened below its weight. The vine around its neck crawled upwards to cling to the vegetation hanging nearby. Everyone was watching.
The egg cracked.
Everyone’s eyes were drawn towards the egg and many people shrieked as their vision was magically magnified. A slender figure stepped out. It shook its long red-tinged violet hair, its silver dragon wings, and its barbed silver tail. The figure tenderly touched the egg once she had stepped free from its discarded shell, for it was indeed a she – the silver shell of the egg seemingly melted, seeping slowly down the mountain.
With a great rolling of wings, Encarata turned to face everyone on Balema at once. Since this day even the most intelligent scholars and mages have been puzzled as to how such a thing could happen - maybe everyone else was lying about it… but then again, what were the chances of that? Everyone had felt as if the goddess was looking directly into their souls.
She had glowing red eyes, intelligent and all-knowing, placed under sharp, dark eyebrows. Her face was one of beauty, heart-shaped with thin magenta lips fixed in an amused smile and high cheekbones. At her temples, two very small, grooved, silver horns swept back from her brow to gently curl themselves against her head, crowning her. Her long fingers were curled around the hilt of a sword, and what a beautiful sword it was. Along the cross-guard there were carvings of detailed dragon scales, tipped with a silver claw. The blade was perfect, sharp enough to cut through a falling feather, strong enough to smash diamond like ice.
“Hear me.” Encarata commanded, lifting her regal chin. She sounded fierce for a woman who looked like a seventeen year old, albeit a dazzlingly beautiful one. Her voice reverberated inside the heads of all, momentarily declaring them deaf.
“I am your goddess, Encarata.” She paused, and that scenic amused smile once again toyed at the corners of her lips. Her eyes changed; she turned from beautiful to breath-takingly, inexplicably gorgeous. She seemed to lean in towards the Balemans, the smile teasing the spectators as it raced across her face and over her glinting eyes.
“Meet your maker.” She whispered.
After the explosion, the people of Balema began noticing many changes –
The Water tribe, as they guessed they were now called, screeched as their fingers were pulled together by blue, living mesh and then were released to reveal their webbed fingers. Many collapsed as their very insides changed and blue-yellow tinged gills appeared on their cheeks. Their hair, which had once been blonde, now became transparent and willowy. They instantly threw the water that came to their hands instinctively onto the fires with shrieks, as they could not bear to be near their natural enemy.
The Fire tribes’ eyes became red, but not the red of Encarata’s eyes. This was the red of fire, the glowing red of a furnace slowly working up to white-hot heat. They threw fire into the lakes, dancing in delight as the water evaporated in steam. They had no need for water now; they had no need for any liquid, as they were Fire, and Fire and Water do not mix. They were never to drink water again! Their temperatures went up almost immediately to a level of warmth that would burn someone who held on too long.
The people of the Rock tribe grew until the adults were all above two metres, some surpassing three; they could coax shapes out of the rock with the merest touch. Any fingers, hands, feet, toes or limbs that had been lost were replaced by living limbs of diamond.
The Wilds all grew a claw next to each thumb, and many warriors found that their hair turned red, the brightness of the red determined by how fierce they were. Many cheeky children found that their curls had turned blonde, the colour changing to match their personality. All the people of the Wilds Tribes’ eyes brightened until they shone like gems. They could suck the life force from the trees around them – they felt a connection with the forest and still do not know how they could have possibly gone without it before.
The whites’ of the Darks eyes turned black, their irises beginning to glow purple. They can not bear the light – they hide behind their hoods, seeing out of shadows. They forbade themselves to smile – they are a deadly tribe, the Treacherous tribe. Their skin turned pale, their lips red and their hair darkened until they where little more than a stealthy shadow of their former selves.
Then the nearly-forgotten Tribe eggs cracked.
Dragons, all the same colour as their egg, mighty wings and powerful jaws, all unique creatures of extraordinary power rushed out of the cracked eggs, trampling people as they hurried to get away. There was much more than the eggs could ever have held, all rushing out in a deadly stampede. Some stopped to sniff palms and stood by their chosen human but some rushed off to forests, lakes, mountains, deserts, caves and underground tunnels. The goddess spoke over it all, calmly, directly into the people’s minds.
“In the Fifth year, in the fifth month,
With crack of chaos and snap of jaws,
They shall rise, bred by future confusion,
The Dragons, creatures of war,
Valour creatures, arise by hand of the Goddess,
Arise to your fate,
Arise to the coming,
Arise to the coming Darkness
Arise in the hands of The Tigress,
The girl with powers beyond that of time,
Of Wilds,
Of Darkness,
Of Water,
Of Fire,
Of Stone,
Follow her to the greatness,
Follow her to the Five that shall take this world from them again,
Follow the Cat Goddess.”
Now, what happened to the great phoenix nobody knows. Some say it just disappeared, like a phantom built to be dispersed into the air. Some say it stands at the right-hand side of Encarata. Some say it is the guardian of a test set near the entrance to Sojon.
Yet the true story, Encarata bless it, lies within another.
*Note: I have edited it and all the reviews were relevant.
Thanks for reading!
Purple Prose: It's rather difficult at times to balance the actual epicness of the tale with purpleness. In other words, it is both very important to sound like this story is better than Lord of the Rings, and not sound like you're trying to do so. Achieving this balance is pretty tough, and I think that you've erred on the side of purple prose. A bit like Christopher Paolini actually.
You have some lovely imagery and some marvelous description. Your idea seems sound to a degree, and there were parts of this story that I really loved. You've got great potential as a writer, and I hope that I've added some insight with this review.
