Wesley Britton's Blog - Posts Tagged "the-vampire-chronicles"

Strange as it might sound, I can point To very few specific literary influences on anything in the Beta-Earth Chronicles. However, in The Blood of Balnakin, I had one author very much in mind when I crafted one scene. That author was Anne Rice.

In particular, in Rice’s better books, and I can’t claim to have read much more than her Vampire Chronicles, her descriptive gifts are on full display. She does an amazing job of presenting the sweep of history with such a haunting, powerful, romantic, sensuous tone. If I were to point out my favorite scene showcasing these abilities, I’d choose the chapter in Servant of the Bones where we enter a cave of jewels that’s both beautiful and richly detailed.

Now, in no way do I claim the scene below imitates or emulates Rice’s style or depth. I’m not in her league. I don’t sound like her and am not trying to do so. Instead, while writing it, I thought it was, in a sense, a tribute to Rice. That’s because I wanted to encapsulate several millennia of history in a few pages with a Rice-like sweep with a large dose of mysticism.

To set the stage, the Mother-Icealt of Beta-Earth, who is housed in the Great-Ring-of-All-Domes in the island sanctuary of Nilexdra, offers an audience to Tribe Renbourn. For most of the Renbourn wives, this summons to meet the supreme priestess and oracle of their world is the opportunity of a lifetime. They realize her purpose is most likely to give her the chance to meet and assess their husband, the Alpha-Man, Dr. Malcolm Renbourn.

The women are correct. The Mother is keenly interested in checking out the one man on the planet whose auras are veiled from her mystical powers due to his other-world origins. As an alien, Malcolm isn’t connected to any of the flows of Olos, the name for both the planet and the goddess who protects it. The Mother determines Malcolm is flawed because of his fears and uncertainties, has important roles in celestial plans for the future whether he likes it or not, and is far, far from dangerous to her people.

The Mother then offers “full oracle” to the Renbourn wives—Elsbeth, Lorei, Joline, Alnenia, and Doret. Most of them meet privately with the Mother in her oracle cell and are given surprising visions into their futures.

But when Doret walks through the curtain for her blessing, the Mother asks her to share her time with her bond-sister, Lorei. That’s because both Doret and Lorei have their own powerful spiritual gifts and the Mother knows the three of them together can open paths never possible before.

To define a few terms: “Sojoa” is the Betan term for the sun which supposedly oversees masculine attributes. The “Sea-of-the-Lost-Moon” is a giant body of water filling what would be much of lower Europe and Asia on our planet. As far as anyone knows, it was indeed a lost moon that crashed there and created the sea before there was any recorded history.

“The Plague-With-No-Name” is the most important influence on Betan culture. Killing three out of four infant boys their first year, it’s the reason for the planet’s polygamy. No one knows its origins. Until now.

In Doret’s words:

As I closed my body-eyes, I felt the flow of interconnection in my mind. I lowered my head. At first, random thoughts floated uncontrolled in my consciousness. Then a flower with the face of Olos began to form, at first vague and detailed not, then a clear image of the goddess studying her child. I knew each of us saw the same image. Then, the flower-Olos stretched out two branches like human arms, and the astounding revelations began.

In a growing flood, images filled me, not of the future, but of distant pasts. I saw, heard, smelled, and touched the guttural-sounds of many, many men in the garb of mere unworked animal-skins. I saw them in paddle-boats on rivers which were true images of times before the plague. So many men, men stronger than women. Men in seated circles around log fires. Men and women roasting the meat of giant birds on the stone cooking platforms. Men and women stuffing simple boots with dry grass as insulation in the cold of ice and snow.

Then, I felt the shaking of the ground, the wail of wounded Olos, the gray cloud in the sky that blocked out Sojoa for so, so long. I, too, felt the shaking earth and ran into the caves and tunnels and spit up waters from my womb and peered into the gray and endless cloud of the angry god that circled Olos, Olos crawling in pain, her hand clutching the rip in her side. She gasped and choked and panted for her missing consort in the sky. Looking down from above, I saw the fissures and veins of splitting land sprouting in all directions cracking the skin of Our Mother. I saw the waves and waves of hot liquid rock and dirt pouring and falling from the mountains. I saw the corpses of the winged creatures that were never to fly again. I heard the howls and growls and cries of animals as they fled into lands new and frightening. I saw water harden and humans walking across seas without need of ships and boats.

As if time moved as fast as a waver picture, I saw the cloud loose its thickness as it became part of all-breathing. Then it faded into the soil and humans returned to the soaking rays and waves of Sojoa. I saw the ice melt, and old connections between tribes were lost to a wandering humanity who continued to search for game and food.

Then, I saw the first wailings as infants died in surprising numbers. I saw the burnings of women whose seed was determined rotten. I saw wives cast out who bore only daughters and were forced inland away from tribal ports. I saw infant girls buried in the sands. I saw the fleeings from the Old Continent when all-skins felt the disasters within their own colors. I saw old worships change when even Olos was branded the demon of our earth. I, too, crouched in my hut fearing the night visits of the imagined Red-Scarfed Plague-Maiden choosing which infants to spare. I saw the beginnings of skol writings and I saw the burnings of skols which told fearful stories. I saw time pass and a gentleness of regret fill migrating tribes who moved from sorrow to resignation to living as if no plague had ever been. Such histories, I knew, were lost in the fearing times when the Plague lost its name and became the mystery with no beginning. Nor end.

I saw how the jealousies and envies of many wives gave way to hope of inclusion and child-birth in tribal alliances. I saw how cultures began to shape themselves as if disconnected from all others. I saw the growth of the Domes and the reverence for Olos return as female nurture spread from home-cribs to all aspects of life. I saw the rises and falls of Lieges on all continents. Through all, I felt the flow of Olos in the fields and skies and waters.

The most puzzling image was of Olos herself standing by a red-brook, a red-sword in her hand. It was a stone-sword she had pulled from the ground but had nowhere to place it. I read her thoughts — the sword is drawn but where is the scabbard to put it to rest?

Then the images cleared and I was again kneeling in the small room with the Mother-Of-All. Lorei was on her knees beside me in deep tears. As was I.

"Plague with no name?" the Mother wailed, her hands gripping her throne. "No, now I see it! It was no Lost Moon who fell into Olos as if in need of her warmth! No, it was a moon of angry rock from far from Olos! A moon jealous of the life on Olos it could spawn not itself! An angry moon, a jealous moon that gave us the Sea we named after a lost moon! Cursed Moon that cursed Olos! And the waters that bear this plague and spread it lap against the shores of this holy island!"

We three said nothing for a time. We now knew of the pollution that infected the wombs and milk of the children of Olos. We knew the ways of prophecy and science had new work to begin.

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Find out more in The Blood of Balnakin—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 2
https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Balnakin...

The Blind Alien is still on sale for 99 cents!
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Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
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