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View of the Praan-Based Courts, and So Could Not Care Less About Working for the Government

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View of the Praan-Based Courts, and So Could Not Care Less About Working for the Government ABSTRACT BLOOD OF THE WINDMAKER by Elizabeth Jenike BLOOD OF THE WINDMAKER is a fantasy/steam punk novel that attempts to make an exploration into human bodies and their significance/insignificance using fantasy tropes and an inverted Journey of the Hero structure. During the writing of this, I was especially interested in subversions and “otherings” of the human body—tattoo markings have an intricate role in the magic system of my world, but the acquisition of this “magic” marks a person as Other. I’m trying to answer the questions: why do some bodies generate more meaning than others? What do bodies really “mean”? BLOOD OF THE WINDMAKER A Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of Miami University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts Department of English by Elizabeth Jenike Miami University Oxford, Ohio 2014 Advisor: Brian Roley Reader: Margaret Luongo Reader: Kay Sloan Table of Contents PART I Chapter 1: TO BREAK THE LAW……………………………………………..p. 2 Chapter 2: A STRANGE WARMTH…………………………………………...p. 7 Chapter 3: AN AWKWARD SILENCE………………………………………...p. 14 Chapter 4: THE APPLICATION PROCESS……………………………………p. 21 Chapter 5: GREATSTORM……………………………………………………..p. 25 Chapter 6: OPTIONS……………………………………………………………p. 30 Chapter 7: LETTERS AND WARNINGS………………………………………p. 35 Chapter 8: A FEW QUIET WORDS…………………………………………….p. 43 PART II Chapter 9: NEW WINGS………………………………………………………..p. 50 Chapter 10: ANOTHER NOTE………………………………………………….p. 55 Chapter 11: A SMALL BLACK BOX…………………………………………..p. 59 Chapter 12: BLUE CLOAKS AND AMBER ALE……………………………..p. 64 Chapter 13: FORGIVE ME……………………………………………………...p. 68 Chapter 14: A BRAND NEW BOX FOR YOUR SOUL……………………….p. 74 PART III Chapter 15: WAITING………………………………………………………….p. 80 Chapter 16: EPIPHANY………………………………………………………...p. 81 Chapter 17: A QUESTION OF PROPRIETY…………………………………..p. 87 Chapter 18: SO MUCH RED……………………………………………………p. 94 Chapter 19: RA’IM……………………………………………………………...p. 99 Chapter 20: SOMETHING BURNING………………………………………….p. 105 PART IV Chapter 21: EVERYTHING…………………………………………………….p. 112 Chapter 22: TROUBLE STARTER……………………………………………..p. 113 Chapter 23: A PROPOSITION………………………………………………….p. 119 Chapter 24: QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS…………………………………...p. 128 Chapter 25: MECHANICAL CHAIR……………………………………………p. 136 Chapter 26: CACOPHONY……………………………………………………...p. 140 Chapter 27: SYLOOMS………………………………………………………….p. 147 ii PART I 1 Chapter 1 TO BREAK THE LAW The wind was just right today. A good breeze gusted around the small city of Briia, fully unfurling the standards that littered rooftops, displaying house colors and symbols, shop slogans, and simple city decoration. The small mountain ledge barely accommodated the steadily growing metropolis. Briia had started out as a small merchants’ gathering, mostly a pit stop for traders on their way up the western mountains. In the present age, however, the once-tiny trading post sprawled all over the mountainside. Lanterns were beginning to shine bright enough to be seen in the fading light of the day, illuminating gleaming white buildings. Katrya Millor grinned as she watched the city steadily approach. She knew that when she docked in this town, she would find a proper merchant to unload the cargo her ship carried. Wine was precious, especially to the “connoisseurs” this far up in the mountains, and she had fourteen full-to-bursting barrels of it sloshing around belowdecks, waiting for the right amount of money to exchange hands. So she smiled, imagining the payoff her most recent excursion to the valley floor would bring. Her small ship, a kebek large enough only for the four full-time crew members to live and work, groaned as the wind took hold of its sails. She slapped her hands on the bow in annoyance and shouted over her shoulder, “Carefully, guys. I don’t want a repeat of what happened in Vilomel.” Her poor ship, named the Arienna after her grandmother, was still trying to recover from the hull beating it had received on the valley floor. “You worry too much, Ree,” Machinir Libbin called from his position near the central mast. “We landed on the ground in Vilomel; rocks aren’t good for hulls.” He grunted as he heaved on a rope connected to the main mast; the main sail shifted slightly. “Now, we’re in the air. So quit complaining.” “Yes, let us do our jobs,” said Ien Sandir, smiling quietly from the stern. Her Navigator’s tanned face accentuated the bright blue wing-shaped tattoos at the corners of his eyes. He turned away from her and closed those eyes, clasping his hands together at his waist. Concentrating—the wind seemed to swirl with a little more . amusement was the only word she could think of to describe the warmth that brushed her cheeks. Returning her gaze to Briia, crawling closer and closer every time she saw it, Katrya rolled her eyes. Smiling a little herself, she admitted that Ien was right. Her kebek, and all other ships, were, after all, made to tread in the skies—not on soil. She turned away from the bow and from the approaching city, focusing instead on the members of her crew as they scurried about, preparing to dock. Ien stood, as usual, with hands clasped behind his back near the central mast. Now that he had nothing to chide her about, he stared into space with an expression of deep concentration etched across his features. Wind tugged at the ship’s sails: one on the main mast and one each at the front and back of the ship, and also two on each side that acted almost like a bird’s wings. Ien, as the Navigator, used his dominion over the wind to carry the ship on its journeys. She didn’t know how it worked; she didn’t question. It was just the way the world functioned. Navigators used the wind to pull ships. Katrya’s job was simply to give orders and see that they were followed. Nola Reen, the boatswain that oversaw repairs on Ree’s ship, waved at her from her position up near the fore of the ship. Not only did Nola oversee repairs, but she worked as a regular crewman as well—with only four crew members on this tiny vessel, even Ree did her share of the dirty work. 2 “Hey Ree,” Nola said. “I sure hope that wine gets us a good vacation. I feel like we’ve been in the sky for years.” Nola tugged on a rope near the side of the ship, causing one of the “wings” to angle sharply and sending the ship into a slow turn toward the harbor waiting straight ahead. Nola’s long black hair, tied out of her face with a bit of twine, swung around her in the gentle wind, along with her deep green skirts. “I wouldn’t count on it,” barked Machinir in response to Nola’s wishful words. He heaved on another rope, this one connected to the side sail. “Wine fetches good money, especially this high up, but there are four of us, and I want a flagon of beer. Or seven.” Mack’s scarred face broke into a grin, flashing rows of yellowing teeth at Nola, who smirked. His large muscles strained to hold the rope steady, but he still talked with ease, his gruff voice carrying a hint of amusement. “And besides, I get to decide where the money goes. After we divide it between my beer and you three, we might have a copper kip left.” The dock, approaching steadily, protruded from the ledge, thrusting out over a sheer drop down the mountainside. The huge mountains afforded the opportunity to build cities within the confines of the rocky walls. The dock, jutting out into the void of the mountain range, was large enough to safely house eight or nine ships of varying sizes—from small boats such as Katrya’s kebek to the huge carriers used by the Courts. One such carrier caught her eye, and she sucked in her breath. Beautiful. Somehow the governing body of Daen employed the world’s most skilled metalsmiths to plate the hulls of their ships. And instead of proper sails, the gigantic ships boasted great rudders and engines that propelled them through the skies. Even though she had little idea how the engine worked, Katrya would have given her left arm to be the captain on one of those great beasts. The Court of Ships had overlooked her application for a consecutive three years now, but perhaps this fourth would be her year. Mount willing, she swore to herself. The kebek slid smoothly into the pier. Briia loomed above them, a white-washed city of fast-talking merchants and kind but wary citizens. Smiling, she nodded to herself and went to inspect the cargo. “Below-decks” was a generous term for the place she kept her wares. The kebek was too small for a large space beneath their feet, but there was enough room for about fifteen barrels of wine or twenty medium-sized crates. As a small-time merchant that had to take whatever came her way, Katrya had to know the capacity of her mode of transport. And as a woman who lived on her ship, she had to know the limits of her home. By the time she had opened the hatch to step down into the cramped area, noted that the wine was in good condition, and came back to the deck, Nola, Mack, and Ien had already lashed the boat to the pier. The gangplank was lowered, and she saw Ien nod to her, a smile in his eyes. The dark blue robes of his position rippled in the steady breeze. Returning the smile, she fingered the hilt of the long knife at her side—only worn for precaution’s sake; in this line of work, one never knew who or what would come against her—and stepped from the sky onto the wooden walkway protruding from the city and, ultimately, the mountainside that soared above and around them.
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