WIP: No Clue What the Title Is Yet

This is from the BFFT (Big Fat Fantasy Trilogy) that is my current work-in-progress. I have the first book completely blocked out now, so I’m going to fill in all the blank spots, then block the next and do it and so forth. Anyway, this is from early in the book and is the first appearance of Teo, who is a major character. I’m actually switching my Clarion West writeathon goals over to novel chunks to make them a bit more in alignment with my highest priority, which is finishing this trilogy.

He’d been born with a Shadow Twin. Teo was the only person in the whole village who could say that, and he was the only person who’d had a Twin that almost all of them (except Teracit, who claimed to be old enough to have once shook hands with the original Duke) had ever encountered.

He was sitting in the cliff face that overlooked the river, in an icicle-choked crevice. The sun was rising. He’d crept out early, saying he was going to check snares, but truth was, he liked sitting and watching the world go pale grey, then violet, then gold and lavender, sumptuous as silk embroidery.

Often he wondered what his life would have been like if his Twin had drawn breath after the womb. History said that men and women with living Shadow Twins to assist there went on to do marvelous things. Verranzo and his Shadow Twin had each done a marvelous thing: Verranzo had founded Verranzo’s New City, far to the east on the coast, and his Shadow Twin (female, as Teo’s had been, for a Shadow Twin always took the opposite gender of its sibling) had gone south, with the Duke of Tabat, and founded a city in his name.

Teo’s would not found cities, would not draw on any of a Twin’s reputed powers: toe extend life or augment magical abilities. Verranzo’s Twin had been able to tame creatures with her voice alone.

Snow swans flew across the river far below in a glitter and beating of wings. He’d snared one of them last year and his father had beaten him, because you never knew when a creature like that, a swan or eagle or wolf, might be a fellow Shifter or Beast, and exempt from being hunted or trapped accordingly.

His swan had not been intelligent, but it had been lively when he’d freed it as Da had ordered. It beat at him with clublike wings as strong as Da’s fist, and its head darted at his face and hands like a snake, hissing and clacking its bill. He cut it loose and it waddled away, then leap up against the moons, its wings driving it upward, frosted with starlight. It honked derisively at Teo, poor bruised Teo who couldn’t shift, and therefore couldn’t tell what was or wasn’t a fellow Beast.

If he’d been Human, he would have been famous, might have been taken to Tabat to serve the latest generation of Dukes. But he was a Shifter, even if a failed one, and Humans hated Shifters, even more than the Beasts they habitually enslaved. So he and the other villagers must keep quiet, passing themselves off as unremarkable in the eyes of explorers and priests, here in the frontier territory that belonged to neither city.

Sunlight glinted on the river’s frozen mirrors, far below, dazzling him. Despite the worry that rode his shoulders “” why, just today, were others avoiding his eyes? And what had happened in the night to his youngest sister, little Bea, who’d been struck with fever the last four days. Fever didn’t come often to the villagers, but when it did, it could kill.

Teo and his sister were all the children his parents had. No wonder they had haunted Bea’s bedside day and night.

Someone was crossing the river; his uncle Pioyrt, in Beast form, an immense, slope-shouldered cougar, with two grouse gripped tight in his jaws, his whiskers drawn back to avoid their feathers. This time of tear hunting was bad and they’d eaten porridge and baked roots too often lately. At least one bird would be reserved for broth for Bea, but the rest might be fried with roots for something more appetizing than usual, crisp bits of meat and perhaps even a trip into the spice sack for a couple of peppercorns to grind or a pinch of dried orange peel. His mouth watered.

He raised his knees, wedging them against the rock’s cold, slick bite, to lift himself upwards, grainy snow crunching under his gloves and boots as he scrambled onto the top of the cliff. He paused to look once more out over the world. The clouds shawled the mountain that rose of the valley’s opposite side, its flanks white with snow, slicks of purple and cobalt streaking their sides. The river was a gray and blue snakeskin, laced over with the black skeletons of trees.

He sighed and turned his face homewards.

“An Educational and Instructive Listing of Notable Statues of Salt Way,” being Pamphlet #17 of the third series of A Visitor’s Guide to Tabat, Spinner Press, author unknown.

Lining the incline of Salt Way as it runs uphill towards the College of Mages at its terminus are ninety-nine white marble statues, each depicting a major citizen during the reign of the 3rd Duke. At the time of their creation, sculptors vied to be among the thirty-three artists chosen to handle three statues each, and one former worker in oils, Brynit Firaubo, converted his medium to stone specifically for the event.

Visitors lacking time for a leisurely perusal of each statue (supplied in Adelina Nettlepurse’s complete guide to the statues, A Complete Guide to the Statues of Salt Way, also available from Spinner Press) can, by using this list, obtain a representative sampling of the tour sufficient for conversational purposes.

Beginning at the foot of Spray at the very entrance to the street, are the Duke’s husband and daughter. The statue of Eryk Kanto holds sword and lantern, signifying his status as an Explorer, while his daughter Alba holds a crown in her hands, foretelling her coming reign.

Three blocks up is Figgis Doughmaster, the fattest man of his time in Tabat and a renowned chef who served the Duke before opening a chal shop, the Fuchsia and Heron, and a series of bakery carts that now service the entire city. His bulk makes the statue a favorite for the birds that cluster here, including flocks of parrots and Fairies escaped from the gardens on the College of Mages grounds.

Notable singer Vyra Serena, another two blocks up, has become a patron saint for those who seek success on the stage or in love. Floral garlands can often be found hung around her neck, and superstition promises the lover who makes such an offering only the best of luck.

Merchant Fisia Nettlepurse watches over the road a half block up. She founded many of the businesses around the docks, such as the chal shop the Salty Purse, and civic improvements such as the Sea Gardens. Touching her toe is regarded as good luck for those down on theirs, and her appendage has been worn away over the years until she is clubfooted, but also considered a surefire method of revealing those with evil intentions.

The statue of Jack Buttertouch, also known as Sparkfinger Jack, is considered ill luck to visit. Visitors will know the statue quickly; its features were defaced and removed six months after its installation after his horrific crimes were discovered.

At the very top of Spray Road, the 3rd Duke and the head of the College of Mages, Elora Two Sails, face each other. She was responsible for some of the basic magics that shaped Tabat: smoothing of the harbor and the creation of the Sea Gardens, and the implementation of the sewer and underground farm system that yields what is euphemistically called “Elora’s fruit.”

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Love the world of Tabat and want to spend longer in it? Check out Hearts of Tabat, the latest Tabat novel! Or get sneak peeks, behind the scenes looks, snippets of work in progres, and more via Cat’s Patreon.

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