Palentra - An Eastern Village
Palentra - An Eastern Village
A Chapter of A Story and a perspective on the concept NotesBecomesWorlds
In short, after going through one of my Ólafur Arnalds listening cycles, it occurred to me that I could utilise what I used to do so often with my musically gifted brother {Brief backstory here} when we were younger.
Below is the result…
The composer, musician, artist, producer (not sure on the official term for a nonclassical composers,) is Ólafur Arnalds as you know. The piece is Doria. I suggest, however lightly, that you listen to the music throughout on repeat, and see what you see, this is what I saw.
Palentra - An Eastern Village
Chapter 1
Mauro, a boy of younger years than he’d like, paused on his delivery route, checking his satchel bag. He counted 3 small circular devices and continued on. A tall fellow in a black hard suit crossed his path. Mauro hid instinctively. The fellow was covered head to toe in black despite the perforating rays from above. The only sign of humanity existed in the eyes behind the opened visor of his helmet. A vigilin Mauro thought, careful not to be seen. It must be later than I thought. He raised his head upward, avoiding direct sight of the sun, it was forbidden.
Mauro watched the vigilin from behind an artificial tree, nothing grew organically in the village anymore. The fellow disappeared from view taking a turn on the dusted path, just beyond the homes lining the street. The village was a collection of small mounds, his home was one of them. Mauro had never understood why the homes were so perilously close to one another but it didn’t trouble him as it did others. Homes began in the centre of the village and lined every path until you reached the outer rim. It reminded Mauro of a circuit board. He dusted his own grey hard suit, not the reflective standard of the vigilin’s, but it offered the same protection.
Walking warily, Mauro found himself along the familiar route through tight alleyways occupying the back and front of homes; stone structures that were masked with an organic blue membrane. Not all were the same shade. Each reacted to the rays above during daylight. He ducked under a wire running across the street avoiding the airing clothes. Toward the end of the street he turned under a blueschist rock doorway and sped up his pace. It would be pitch dark soon. He needed to beat the curfew.
He jogged the short distance to the wider mound of Mr and Mrs B’kenna’s home. Mr B’kenna was present physically but distant. He rocked back and forth on a chair without expression. Their home was peculiarly wider than most in this part of the village. Not all were so fortunate, but it was no taller than any other. The dull light emanating from the home faded, as others did this time of day too.
“Your energy field looks low Mr B’kenna” Mauro said, polite. Mr B’kenna ignored him.
“Is Mrs B’kenna here?” He knocked the door keeping his eyes from the drooping face of the elder man. Waiting by the door, he fiddled in his satchel, taking out one of the metallic circular devices. It emanated a similar hue as the home, almost a piece of the ocean in his hand.
No answer came, so Mauro placed the metallic device on the a mat beside the entrance.
“Ouch” Maura cursed, turning.
Mrs B’kenna stood, draped in a purple dancing sheet, with something similar wrapped around her head. She was in hysterics, hands on waist.
“Haa, gotchya again boy. You should always wear your hood, Protect yourself.” She laughed some more, her high pitch voice poisonous to the air. Mauro feigned a grin, annoyed at himself. He knelt to pick up the circular device, and handed it to her carefully.
“There you go” he said, “It should be better calibrated, I mean, work better. I managed to alter the charge, reverse it in a way, so that, never mind. It can absorb more solar, I mean energy, throughout the day so your energy glow…” he pointed to the home and others surrounding them and continued “… should be brighter by days end.” He finished, hoping to leave. Mrs B’kenna looked at him blankly.
“Speak sense to me, you know this advanced speak doesn’t do my ears any good. You mean it will save me energy and allow me to boil water at a late hour, without having to concern myself with, with this solar stuff everyone speaks of? I miss the old days” She tutted.
“It should be more useful, but, please, use it properly, I haven’t perfected the amount of…” Mauro paused. “I haven’t been able to make it do more. Yet.” Explanations never helped, the elders were odd.
“As you say, Maroulias” She tapped him on the head, and reached out a wrinkled hand.
“Mrs B’kenna, please you don’t need to.” She never listened.
He’d escaped without a scuff across the head and the elder coins which he had no use for. The natural light had not changed but the switch to night would come soon, Mauro sensed it. He glanced upwards. The village was encapsulated in the same watery substance that covered each home, it hovered as an arching mountain. To most it was an unwanted field of solar energy, to Mauro, he knew it sustained everything down here.
He had skipped into a run toward home, knowing the light would fade any minute. There was no easy route through the intricate streets. His hood covered enough of his face for him to look at vigilin’s as they prepared for their shifts beyond the village walls. Few people other than them in heavy silhouetted suits were outdoors.
I need to find a better way to explain my solar pods. He thought as he fiddled with the final device in his satchel. But the elders will never understand anyway.
Mr Padin was the final delivery, four streets from Mauro’s home beyond the water well. He could quickly drop it and make it back in time.
As he made strides past the well he heard a commotion and saw through the lines of sheets obscuring his view. He heard Mr Padin’s voice. Mauro moved closer, concealing himself from view in the airing clothes. He saw two oversized men dressed in all murk and green with head visors on. Mr Padin was being dragged so his heels scrapped the floor. He was uttering curses loudly. Mauro had not heard him speak like this before. The men tossed him to the ground by his front porch, one calling down to him, “You will tell us what you know one day old man!”
Mauro, remembering his fathers words, ‘never involve yourself in other peoples business’, ran home.
“Did I lock this?” Mauro said, some moments later as he unlocked the energy field blocking his entrance. Inside he checked a hidden compartment beside his basin. It contained a silver case, he breathed and placed it back. He undressed among the bolts, tools and pieces of tempered metals that lay on his floor. His one room smelt of electricity, copper and burning wire. He was still panting as he set a sheet on the floor and thought about Mr Padin. He tried not to concern himself. Grabbing the familiar, dimpled eye glass, he lay on the floor and pointed it to the skies.
Beyond the hole in his ceiling and the blue solar field above, the sky was pitch. He could see the stars far off coming alive. All was hushed but for the faint lull of pulsing energy.
“Where are you?” He uttered to himself drowsily.
He fell asleep moments later.
Some hours later while Mauro slept, a silhouette passed his doorway, paused, looked in and walked on. Later still, the silhouetted figure was within a northern tunnel leading out of the village. Koril was a Vigilin by night and another man entirely in the day. Vigilin’s controlled the solar energy burning from the eversun or Calor as these villagers referred to it. He had lived in a place years prior that experienced natural night but here on Palentra, there was no natural end to a day.
He wore his uncomfortably robust suit of meneloi, a solar absorption suit, with a protective visor. His colleague Chorli wore the same. With their visors secured over their eyes, they looked to the western horizon beyond a glass framed door. There sat the ominous ball of the eversun above the horizon.
Two other vigilins dressed the same approached from the other side of the door and opened it. They were also fixed on the western horizon. Heat swarmed in as Koril and Chorli began their shift beyond the solar barrier. They stepped out together, as the other two stepped in.
“We’re locked on.” Koril said. They did not pass any other words.
Koril, slightly shorter than Chorli took longer strides to match his colleague, as they moved over the hot oasis beyond the village boarder. At all times they fixed their gaze on the ball of fury above the horizon. A chill always ran through Koril’s spine out here.
“Is he close to perfecting it? As Cleoren? And Samilel?” Chorli began, trying to ease the tension, visor focussed above.
“Not sure, I only act as his guardian. What he does in his spare time I have nothing to do with.” Koril said cautiously, “Why do you always need to have conversation out here, we don’t need the distractions.”
“Come on, we’ve done this at least fifty two times now.” Chorli said, as Koril raised a hand.
“Okay, okay”
They walked the perimeter of the village for six hours without pause. Sweat engulfed Koril under his visor, but he dare not avert his eyes from the subdued ball of flame. Only a fool got this job wrong.
‘As vigilins, you watch the eversun, at the correct intervals, or the village and everyone in it burns!’ Koril remembered the words of Ms Miranelle Coh all too clearly. He knew the history of hundreds of villages burning without nature’s remorse, but there had not been an event such as this for some time. Miranelle Coh was the reason.
Their shift was coming to an end, nothing had gone wrong thus far.
“You don’t need to take things so seriously, we aren’t in danger with these suits on” Chorli said, nonchalant.
“That is a Solar field,” Koril said, pointing but did not avert his focus, “If you hadn’t noticed, if we don’t stop the rays while the barrier distributes the solar energy of the eversun…”
“You mean Calor” Chorli cut in, smug.
“… Eversun, Calor, yes. If we don’t do this, all will burst into flame, you and I, suit or not, along with everyone down there. How did they ever let you take this job? Be quiet!” Koril said, voice low.
Their shift ended without tragedy and they reentered the tunnel as 2 others replaced them for the next shift.
“Hollo Ko’il, we are locked, you and Chori can go.” One of their replacements said with steady but slurred voice.
“Thanks.” Koril said, shaking his head. Once on the other side of the glass framed door, Koril took off his visor and unzipped his suit. He dabbed at the sweat and donned a tattered cloak.
“Why does he never say our names right?” Said Chorli.
“What’s a name to a man named Bostroll. Chorli… Until tomorrow” Koril said, leaving.
“No respite this eve? We have some time before the next shift.” Chorli said, a mischievous look in his eye.
Koril was already changed and dashing to the exit back into the village,
“I need to check on the boy,” He said, saluting Chorli.
Koril made sure no one was following him once within the village. Why is Chorli asking so many questions? he thought, suspicious. Koril knew Chorli was too clumsy to be asking questions for himself. How he had come by the names of Samilel and Cleorin, Koril did not know either.
Koril walked at speed taking numerous sharp turns down the short tangle of paths. Once clear of the northern post he lifted his cloak over his head and began to limp with a sluggish step. Any number of nefarious people could follow a quick moving individual but one moving as a corpse, could not be followed effectively.
There were reasons to be cautious of late, not just the fact that a fool asked curious questions. The service was different, more stringent in regards to shifts. There was a time Koril could work 12 hour shifts and be back 5 hours later for another. No one was able to work 2 days in a row any longer, which to Koril seemed suspicious. It was a strange province, he was coming to understand.
Knowing he hadn’t been followed, he slipped through the unguarded doorway of Mauro’s home. Foolish boy. In the absence of a solid door which the elders used, the protective energy field could at least protect you from those that would slip into your home and kill you for a slither of energy.
He stepped into the boxed space, dodging the strategically scattered mess, Short deft steps took him beside the sprawled Mauro, he twitched in dream. Koril lifted him, took two steps and laid him on his padded cot. You still holding onto this memory Maurolis? Koril removed the looking glass from Mauro’s hand and placed it down. “We will have to get you a real one, one day.” He whispered as he left, turning on the doorway’s energy field. Once outside he looked around, casually, then reengaged his limp.
He passed many interlinked homes and wondered how people could live in such proximity. The Central village some four days walk away and five times larger, was nothing like this place, but Koril knew why he was here and understood the need.
He ambled, taking an inordinate route to get home, his own father would be proud of his caution.
The starkness of his own huddled abode was immediate. He did however have a tiered energy field not many would be able to disarm or get through. The sparse parameter lights inside seemed to be far darker than he recalled. Mauro’s home, was a beacon in comparison. A single thin sheet lay on the floor, his basin in the far corner sat beside a spoon and hardened fruit. He needed little else. He preferred simple, a simple place, for a simple individual. Simple individuals avoided suspicion.
Mauro woke early the next morning. Cool air circulated his home, Koril, he thought as he climbed out of his cot. He manoeuvred deftly across his floor. He felt the heat outdoors as he released the energy field. “I keep this open for a reason.” He sighed.
He waved to a grumpy neighbour opposite, whom sat with little clothing on their porch.
“Have you seen Baulieri this morning Mr Safin?”
Mr Safin grunted in answer. Mauro smiled at the plump old man and turned to dress. Throwing on his retro meneloi suit he left in a hurry. He had other pods to deliver today in the southern area of the village but he needed to find Baulieri too.
As he walked he said hello to a number of grumbling neighbours. Most grunted or dangled a hand in the air. Many lacked the same affinity with the morning he had. Cutting through an abandoned half constructed home he arrived at his first destination. He dropped the pod outside the door of Ms Salem, and collected the coins that lay beneath her feathered mat.
Baulieri a good friend of Mauro’s lived close to the outer rim, in the southern region of the village. Mauro had always wished to move there. As he contemplated this very thought, he saw a vigilan who’s stiff walk he recognised, wearing pale Green. His visor was open but he walked with purpose. Mauro could not crush his urge to follow him.
Some time later Mauro was in the more spacious southern point of the village, where homes were more luminous and wider. The southern vigilin post was where the man he followed was heading. It was not guarded well at this time of day and fortune seemed to cause a distraction at a nearby fence.
“I need to do this.” Mauro whispered to himself.
As the vigilin entered the southern post, a square iron building, Mauro followed a few steps behind under the cover of the commotion beyond the fencing. He crept in through the heavy door and walked with some air in his heels, unnoticed for the moment.
Inside, iron doorways lined a sullen hallway. Walls shaded with cold. He came across an open door which led into a spacious room, with an active grid of the province on a wall. He marvelled at its intermingling lines. He could trace his own home and village along the lines with his finger. He also noted the 5 other villages present on the grid. All were centred around one particular village.
The lines represented the flow of energy, that much was clear. Each was as a stream leading to dots, representing the homes, and thicker lines led away form the homes, leading out of the living areas to the Energy Collection Calor Stations at 4 separate posts, one of which he was stood in.
“Calor’s Energy Framework.” Mauro read at the top of the grid. There were numbers too, that did not make sense to him. They were wrong. But he did not know why.
He heard a door, and froze. His breath caught as a force clapped over his mouth. He gasped as the glove slipped from his mouth to his shoulders and spun him around.
“What are you doing in here? How did you get in here?” Koril stood before him, tall and dark eyed. “You need to be more careful, you aren’t invisible to these people anymore! Especially not with your inventions all over. Come!”
Mauro was thrown by Koril’s anger, he needn’t be so annoyed. Koril had allowed Mauro into the northern post many times. Mauro wondered what was the harm here. Koril stopped, hand on Mauro’s shoulder. A bald man, tattooed at the neck, his eyes sharp, his skin creased, looked at them. Firstly at Koril then more fiercely at Mauro.
“Now go, and take this to Ms Coh’s.” Koril improvised, handing Mauro something solid, “She will be grateful you offered to do such a good deed.” Koril smiled and patted Mauro, his angst hidden. Mauro looked from Koril to the bald brute, smiled and scuttled away before the tattoos could strangle him.
A few minutes later the door of Ms Coh’s opened. Delia Coh (one of few his age) stood at the hard wooden door, a blue dress over her dainty frame. Mauro gave her the bottle shaped object.
“Koril sent me.” was all he could say.
“Thank you, young Mauro.” She said with a stern look. She stepped backward without turning, and closed the door slowly before winking at Mauro. Mauro turned and beamed involuntarily.
He wandered for some time with this expression until he looked up from the dirt path to find Baulieri some yards from him walking in the general direction of Mauro’s home. As he ran toward Baulie’ he thought of the grid and frowned. It struck him then what he had seen. He tapped Baulie’ on the shoulder and signed with his hands, ‘Hello B’. Baurlieri shook his head and used his hands to sign “B A U L I E. No other name”.
Mauro stood and stared at Baurlieri’s frank expression, until they both laughed.
They walked silently.
Mauro thought about the grid. He knew almost all his neighbours in the central area of the village experienced an absence of energy, even though all day every day the sun shone on them. His pods could only do so much he realised sourly, but the grid, the grid showed what was actually going on, and he needed to fix it.
“What’s up?” Baulie signed to Mauro eventually.
“I need to show you something.” Mauro responded, cool, and began to jog back to his home, Baulie’ in tow.
There is more to this story of course although this is not a completed Novel and I may share more in the coming months if I am able to…
Just a snippet on NotesBecomeWorlds:
If you have experienced this strange occurrence of listening to music and seeing scenes play out before you, you will understand something of where this story came from. If not consciously, you can get a sense of it when you listen to any soundtrack to a film or show and upon hearing the music you see the show or film in question. Notably, most soundtracks come after the words are already on the page, so in essence WorldsBecomeNotes or perhaps more apt, WordsBecomeNotes.