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tanadrin · 5 years ago

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The Three Faces of Olla

(fantasy; about 12,000 words)

Olla went up to the hills with eyes full of rage and a face as sad as rain. So they say. Olla come back, the people cried. Olla, don’t go away. But Olla said grim, No, the fate of the many is not my own. A terrible thing you’ve done, and I won’t give it my heart or name. I’ll go, go up to the hills, to the misty trees and the silent stones, and maybe one day, I’ll go over yonder. Past where the craggy hills stutter and fail, past to the peopleless plains beyond. Don’t go! cried the people, but Olla’s heart was set. Olla went, and not a word came back after. So. Olla we mourn. For Olla we weep, and also we weep for ourselves. Olla we loved, you see. It was Olla who freed us, who led us here long long ago; Olla for so many gifts beloved. And the memory of that sorrow we’ve kept, for all the generations since, guarded and safe behind our misty hills. We live and we labor in the hope that someday Olla will return. We keep the Pact, and we pray.

Olla-gone-up-to-the-hills is the first face of Olla. Olla grim. Olla in judgement. Olla with wrath in the eyes. I never knew as a child what to make of that face. It stared down at me, great and glaring, at the head of the hall where the Chappa-shos talked. They talked of love and they talked of sin. Of duty to our people, and how to redeem our tears. I hoped perhaps I’d live to see that day, that day when all bad things came to an end. But the older I grew the more I understood that those were just the tales of the heart. The tales of the deep, dark seas that move inside us, not tales we look for to come in our waking days. When grief moves our soul, we see the griefs of the world thrown into high relief. When joy shoots through us, its light is in every tree and blade of grass. And the feelings the Chappa-shos talked of, the feelings of the ancient tales, well, they’re harder to make plain than grief or joy. They need words, they need faces and deeds. When I got a little older, I thought maybe there never had been any Olla at all. Maybe we just needed a tale, a way to talk of our sorrow. And we needed to hope, and a sign to look for. These days, I’m not so sure.

I must give you a name, I suppose. You may call me Tulla. Believe it or not, I never was much prone to talk of gods or of far-off days. Of all the things that I loved, most of all was the here and now: the solid and the bodied, the things that lend to life their heft and hardness. I love the cold winter wind. I love the rhythm of the drum and the clatter of a crowd of dancing feet. I love the beat, beat, beat of the hammer on bronze, that you hear when the builders are raising new houses and halls. And the taste of food and the embrace of friends. Who has patience, I used to think, for politics, for poetry, for things long-lost to time? Give me above all the stuff of a loud and immediate life.

That changed, I suppose, when I learned of the halfliving steel. All our rissa had the fortune, like not many do, that we were all alike in many ways. No one young had faster friends or more mischievous comrades. Oh, we were different in a hundred ways, too--some quicker, some cleverer, some taller and some more fair--but of our two dozen none would ever refuse an adventure or dream to leave a rissafriend behind. So, though it was hard forbidden, in dark and serious tones, we resolved one day to explore the ruins of the shore.

The high cold hills are the final border. The Misai and a few scattered souls live up there, and one or two roads wind their ways through the forests to the plains beyond. But all the people of the tall houses and wide streets live below, between the hills and the misty sea. Our low and level land is swept by rain and wind, but its summers and winters are mild, and its soil is rich and dark. A hundred wooded islands shield the coast from the wind and the tide, and on those isles, and the narrow shore before them, are ruins old as the sky and stones. Who built them, none of us know. They were here when our people came, long, long ago. No teacher or Chappa-sho could ever tell me. I’ve heard guesses and stories, but no two agree.

There’s awful peril there, we were told. Unsteady stones and walls waiting to crumble; dark water hiding deep and treacherous caves. Many a soul had wandered to the shore and never returned, lost looking for treasures of far-off days. To be sure, many wonders and beautiful things had been found in those tumbledown masses of concrete and steel, but they say it takes a sharp mind and years of learning to know where to look, or how to use what you find.

But we were not to be deterred, and one summer morning, having made all our plans in secret, we slunk away from the city as one. Before our parents and our elders could know, we were half to the shore, bags on our backs, not planning to return for days.

Ah! It was a glorious time. We ran amongst the ruins and dug beneath ancient foundations. Bits of colored stone or glass we prized like jewels. Our camp we made in a great stone hall whose roof was the sky, whose walls were covered in flowers and filled with birds. Some took to exploring, like Irra, who mapped out in a careful hand every old street and tower. Some, like Kassa and Sur, took our little boat and paddled out among the islets, looking for sheltered coves in which to fish or swim. I, though--I sought for treasure. Massil, my brother, had filled my head with stories of the buried hoards, the wealth of the ruin-builders now almost forgotten. Not gold or jewels, not only, he said, but their riches were in things no now-living hand could make. In clear glass that could never be broken; in rich cloth that never faded or decayed; in cunning little things, scales and clocks of fantastic precision, in lantern-lights that cast ancient letters on the wall that no-one could read.

Such things pricked my brain, left me restless and wondering. The hard, living testament of ancient, forgotten lives. So I took a trowel and a light, and I explored the lower places: rooms at ground-level whose walls had caved in, dark stairs that led down to rubble and dust. I pushed at doors, and pried apart stones, looking for hints of things that maybe scavengers had missed. I kept at first to the well-trodden ways, in earshot of my friends, lest I need to call out to them. But as the days wore on and my impatience grew, I roamed farther and farther, until I didn’t hear them anymore.

And--eventually--my curiosity was rewarded. In a great cracked old building, as I swept my light over dust and darting lizards, I saw a glint on the floor--something iridescent and bright. I ran to it, reached down, and brushed the dirt from the thing. It was a jagged piece of metal. But no ordinary shard: even in darkness, it shone dimly with myriad hues, and though it was cool down here, it felt just a little warm to the touch, like a living thing. A curious pattern was scratched on its surface, and I put it in my pocket, thinking to take it to my friends, to show them a marvel.

I cast my light around again--and I saw another glint, further off now. And another. I went, slow and carefully, picking up more pieces, one by one, until I felt I could probably carry no more. And then, when I turned to go, something awful happened.

Perhaps I disturbed a stone with my foot, or perhaps it was just the old building’s time, but it gave a great groan, and an awful yell, and one wall fell down on top of me. I was pinned beneath heavy stones, not quite immobile; and I could see, dimly, daylight above. I could breathe, and I could call out, but I could not escape. And with a sinking heart, I guessed there were none around to hear me.

I lay like that for hours, and at first, I tried not to worry. Then, I tried only not to despair. But as the day sank into evening, I began to wonder if I would die here, trapped under these stones, my pockets full of useless, pretty things. I yelled and I bellowed, of course, but no one came. I’m not sure how long I was there. At least two days, but it felt like years. When after a time I heard voices close, I tried to yell again, but my throat was dry and my lungs were weak. They found me a pitiable thing, my friends, and with them were the elders who’d come looking for us, to bring us back home. I should have been afraid of an awful scolding, but I couldn’t think of anything but water, and home, and my own soft bed.

For a week after they made me rest at home, as my injuries healed and cuts faded to scars.In the end, we got off with a light punishment--I think they hadn’t the heart to do worse, after what I’d been through. Irra and Kassa came to see me often, and one day they brought with them a piece of the metal I’d found.

“Do you know what it is?” Kassa asked with a smile, as though there was a secret to tell.

“Not really,” I said. “I only thought it was beautiful. I wondered what those markings meant.”

“My father reckons that it’s the halfliving steel.”

“The what?”

“Rare and precious it is, that’s what you’ve found. The old superstition runs, it comes to those gifted with the skill to work it. With the right tools, it can be shaped cold, yet the things it makes are strong and wonderful, stranger than the flower of any smith’s hammer; for an old force is held inside them, and they can move without engine or wheel.”

Irra took the thing from Kassa’s hand and held it up to the light.

“This old thing?”

Kassa snatched it back, and handed it to me. “It’s Tulla’s anyway! It goes to the one who found it. That’s the tradition.”

I smiled. “Thanks. I don’t know that I’m much of a craftsman,” I said. “I never was one for patient work.”

“Yet you’ll be here a while,” said Irra.

“Here,” said Kassa, handing over a leather pouch. “My father gave me these, for you. They were his father’s--he was a steelsinger, too.”

Inside was a small set of long, thin rods, with curved and sharpened tips.

“You hold them to the metal, and--sing, I suppose. That’s how it was told to me. You sing and you think of the thing you want to make, of the logic that holds it together. Father says there’s books on the songs the steelsingers use; but there’s also a knack to it that can’t be taught. Maybe you have it.”

“And if I don’t?”

Kassa laughed. “Maybe you don’t. But like Irra said--you need something to pass the time.”

That much was true. I never did well trapped indoors. And over the next few days, I took up Kassa’s tools, unsure, and played with the piece of metal. I ran their points through the shallow grooves on its surface, hummed bits of songs I knew as I did, feeling stupid all the while. Singing to metal! What an odd idea.

And then, finally, it happened. I had given up; the shard lay on my lap, basically forgotten. Slack in my hand, the point of the pick lay against it; and I was watching a bird in my window outside. It sat on the branch, and sang its own song, and I admired the hue of its feathers, the way it hopped and sprang from here to there, the look of the dappled sunlight on its wings. I sung to myself softly, one of my mother’s songs, and thought of the shape of the bird.

And when I looked back down, there was the bird sitting before me. Well, not the bird itself: but an impression of it. A slash of color, in the form of a body with its wings upraised. Lines like a sketching of feathers ran over them, and there was a warm light from within, like the sunlight you felt on your skin lying under a leafy tree.

That was how I learned I did have a knack for the halfliving steel. And that changed me--because while as a little one I had always sought something loud and fast, wanted games and noise, now I wanted something else, too. I wanted to make and shape and understand, to hold that knowledge concrete in my hands. Such things require focus and a patient touch, and while I can’t say I had those things in any great supply, I did all I could to make up for that lack in sheer determination.

When the time came for our rissa to leave home, we did as many rissai do and sought to stay together. There was a great old house in the Scholar’s Quarter, empty for many a year, and one by one we moved into that. It was fusty and worn-down and full of old echoes, and it faced a broad and noisy street; but that suited us all fine, for we were young, too eager to strike out on our own to be really picky, and we thrived on noise and motion. There I took a small attic room, and when not with my friends I spent my days in study, learning the secrets of the steel.

Some I got from books, for many things had been written of the treasures of the old sea-ruins. But of the steel itself, of how to make it dance and twist itself as you asked, you could get little from others. For the tools, themselves a mystery, connected you to the stuff in a strange and personal way. What might be simple for one steelsinger could be the work of a lifetime for the other, and just the other way around.

And this was the real gift of the steel: it was not just for making pretty things, though the things it made could indeed be of surpassing beauty. The steel could remember instructions and how to move, if you knew how to sing them. Just a few different words, to bend here or stretch there, could be built up in surprising ways, for it could remember things almost without limit. And so you could build mechanisms more subtle than any clockwork, which would last lifetimes and never need oiling or repair. I was possessed of a strange idea, to see if I could get the steel to remember letters and add numbers, for I thought, what better use to make of a halfliving thing than to make it half-thinking as well?

And I shall be honest with you: had I a single wish, strong enough to turn back the ever-rolling days of the world, and all the years and seasons too, and move them forward again on another course, it would be to return to those times, and never to lose them. The steel was my first love, but it led me to others. Always, my rissafriends had been close to one another; it was natural to me that I should share the things I reveled in with them, and one day I brought Kassa up to my room to show off what I’d been making.

“Look!” I said.

Kassa was of a mathematical mind and had a keen eye for precision. I put the thing down in front of her: a small cube, its faces covered in a swirl of curving lines. On one was a row of little letters, one for each of the alphabet. I handed Kassa a little pin.

“Put an equation into the cube; strike each letter as you go.”

Kassa’a face was doubtful, but the pin plucked away. And then, the cube unfolded a long, thin arm, and scored the graceful arc of a parabola onto the surface of the wooden table.

Kassa smiled, then laughed, then looked up at me with surprise.

“Tulla, you’ve built a box that can think,” came a quiet whisper.

“No,” I said. “Just a box that can solve. It’s not the same. I mean”-- I hastened to correct myself--”I mean, it can solve problems that have one and only one answer. But it won’t write a poem for you.”

“It’s a strange and wonderful thing.”

“It’s yours,” I said. “A gift. Don’t look so shocked or surprised,” I said with a smile. “I can make another.”

I hadn’t meant it to, but that afternoon something between us; and when I understood that Kassa felt something new for me, something I’d never expected, I realized quite to my surprise that I felt the same way. And on midsummer night, when all the restless are out at the revels, we retired early, and spent that night and many nights after together.

It seemed then to me and for some time after that my life had a fixed and natural course: that here were my friends, and here was my work, and here was the thing that I shared with Kassa, each their own habit and sphere and species of joy. Each I could see, not in every detail, but in the form I expected them to take year after year: the seasons and tokens of life each generation inherits, coming as they must, and whether full of joy or full of sorrow, exactly as they should be.

The second face of Olla is Olla-Laughing, Olla-Resplendent-In-Joy. The face of happy days, and of happy days yet to come: for it is also named Olla-Come-Down-from-the-Hills, the day the People look for, long for, yearn for, the day long prophesied. Olla-a-Gleam-in-the-Eye, some call it: Olla in the days of happiness when the People had crossed over the hills and found their small and fertile land. For many a year they dwelt there, Olla beside them, and they reaped great harvests and enjoyed great feasts. Like the ages of Olla seemed all my life in those days. All things were wondrous, and I only knew peace.

Perhaps Kassa and I had a lasting love; perhaps we were destined only to be friends. Perhaps others of our rissa would move away, or perhaps our children would all grow up together. Perhaps I would find the understanding I craved; or perhaps the halfliving steel would be forever half-mystery. But so it should be; these things were all uncertain, but they did not trouble me. Thus you may reckon how much pain I felt, when I realized that all these things were never to be.

* * *

There are five days of life, the Chappa-shos say. The first is the day of the infant, the helpless, the fearful and afraid, when we depend all on our parents, and everything is strenge. The second is the day of the child, when we begin to be us, and find our friends and our rissa. The third is the day of youth, proud and eager, when we leave our homes, and seek our place in the world. The fourth is the day of maturity, of marriage and having children our own. The fifth is when we retire; we adorn our life with its final graces, and we strive to pass our hard-won wisdom on.

Cut and clear; straight as the streets and houses, as Massil used to say. But it is only often, and generally so. That’s the trouble with maxims: they’re not universally true. I could not help but find that as I began slowly to change, the world changed under my feet. Or, better to say, I did not wish to change, but I was helpless before it: Massil and my parents and my rissafriends all, they saw me differently when these things began.

Do you know what that’s like, to find that your place in the world is no longer yours to decide? That you are seen differently now, in a way that you can’t control? Sure, I was still Tulla, who loved to shape and sing, who cared for Kassa, who laughed quick and loud. But now to them, I was something else, too.

It may be that I must explain. I, too, needed an explanation, for it seemed to me that I only awoke one day, and saw strange looks in the eyes of my friends, got quick glances from strangers I passed on the street, and I didn’t know why. In the end, we went together, my parents and I, to see the hoarder of wisdom, the keeper of tales of my youth, a familiar and, maybe they hoped, a comforting face.

We spoke little as we walked there; even now there was a distance between my father and me. He didn’t know what to say anymore, and so neither did I. This was a year and half since my rissa had found our new home, perhaps five since our sojourn in the ruins by the sea. We went down the old way, the walk that cut behind the tall houses, away from the wide streets, through the neighborhood of my youth, quiet and drifting off to an early winter. It felt strange to be back here, though it wasn’t so long since I’d left. As though the last year or more had been a kind of dream, and now I was waking again.

But it was not far to go. They led me in, to the Chappa-sho’s hall. If you have never seen them--they are rooms high and dark, with wooden pillars cut in a thousand faces and a thousand flowers and birds, and stained in the colors of the stones and clay. Low candles burn, and a crackling fire on the hearth, and here we sit sometimes, and listen to the stories of the far-off days, and think upon Olla and Olla’s return. But now the hall was empty and the hearth was cold; and the shuttered windows open to the cool morning air. Light and mist streamed in from above. The Chappa-sho was there, sitting alone, staring up at carven faces. He stood when he heard the door close; and I realized my parents had left my side. It was just him and me now.

“Tulla,” he said.

“Chappo-sho,” said I. I didn’t know his name. Just Chappa-sho was all I’d ever heard him called. There were other Chappai, and other halls in other places, but here I had come since I was small on every festival-day and in the seasons of celebration. He, and this place, were familiar to me, like my own home or my own rissa-friends. Or they should have been. Now, like the look I’d seen in friendly faces, or the downcast eyes of my father, now I felt there was something strange between him and me, something I could not see or touch or drive away. And I knew that I had not changed. So why had he?

“Tulla-bright, Tulla-strong, Tulla-swift-and-sure. So I have always known you.” He smiled a warm smile, the hundred lines on his face seeming all to smile, too. “They say the gift of the Kurra has come to you. It could come to none better, I venture to say.”

Strange words, and a strange greeting it seemed to me. Kurra was a word I had heard before, but I couldn’t have told you where.

“Come, sit,” the Chappa-sho said. “We must speak of several things.”

He gestured to the bench beside him, and I sat down. Always before I had seen him, up at the front of the hall, a distant figure, a firelit-man, never close. Never in the light of day like this. It was strange to sit beside him, strange to see every stitch in his many-pictured robes. The figure of Olla and the nine companions repeating, shapes of animals in reds and greens and yellows, the sash and the signs of his office. But he sat and he spoke, not as one high and proud pronouncing, but as a friend or a caring uncle. So I sat, and tried to relax a little.

“Tell me what you know of the Kurra-Gift, if anything at all,” he said.

“Not a thing,” I replied. “I have heard the word before--I think. And it puts in mind something strange and severe. It fills me with anxious thoughts.”

“Be at peace then,” he said. “There’s no need for anxious thoughts. Pay no heed to the heart’s disquiet. The Kurra-Gift is the gift of Olla, the sign of the Pact for the people. You remember the tales you heard in this hall, of the long journey south, of the hardships endured on the way?”

“Yes,” I said. “You told them well. Long ago, our people were freed from oppression, and we journeyed long years over hills and valleys and stones, til we came to the narrow land by the sea, girt by forests and flanked by ruins. We built here the high houses and the wide streets, and Olla taught us well, until the day we do not like to speak of.”

“Just as it was. And on the journey south, who protected us? Who guarded the people, who kept foes and beasts at bay? Who turned a harsh hand against hatred, shielded us from hardship?”

“Was it not Olla, then?” I asked.

“Olla, yes. Olla defended us with words and wisdom, and taught us all we needed to know. Olla raised up the people, after all. But Olla didn’t do it alone. It was the Kurra, too.”

“And what were the Kurra?”

“Are, Tulla. The Kurra all are with us still, great as they were in ancient days.”

“Yet I know them not.”

“They dwell away. Apart in their day-to-day. But you do know them, under different names. The Ones Who Guard the Hills. The Ones Who Watch for Olla. The Ones Who Speak with Others, The Ones Who Receive Emissaries from Afar. The Gray-Eyed and the Tall.”

These names, yes, they called to mind figures I had seen sometimes in the wide streets. Not often, as a rule; for they conjured up thoughts of those who kept the borders of our land. Who in times before, when the world was harsher and enemies abounded, defended us against invaders, guarded against wild beasts, kept safe the high houses, and carried on commerce with those who spoke foreign tongues.

“But I am not one of them,” I said. “They are tall, and silent. Their eyes are gray, and their hearts and their ways are strange. They say, the Hillwarders don’t laugh, and the Hillwarders don’t sing. They have strange tales, and value strange things.”

“Not all true, Tulla-child. But the Kurra do indeed have a destiny apart from the rest. And that’s now a destiny you seem likely to share. The Kurra--how to say?--the Kurra remember in their flesh and in their bones all the difficult things our people endured. They are guardians and soldiers. Theirs is an honored and noble task. And for that task, they are changed. It is an ancient gift, a gift carried down from the first days of our kind. It will, in time, reshape every part of you, to make you tall, to fill you with courage, to imbue you with strength. Each among them is the equal of ten who live in the narrow country below in the strength of their limbs; and they see and hear much that would escape our notice.”

“And they really laugh and sing like the rest? Their day-to-day is not so different from ours?”

The Chappa-sho did not want to seem to answer, but I waited. “Not all the rumors are false. The gift of the Kurra sharpens the heart against the cares of the world. It could be no other way, for of strong hearts is built strong courage. But they are not friendless or outcast. They are loved by all; and I think they love too, in their own way. They would not gladly undertake their task for the people if they did not.”

“But--” and I did not know how to give a voice to the things that churned within me, the fear that the Chappa-sho’s words only caused to grow. “What of my family? My rissa? My friends?”

“Your fate is different from theirs now, good Tulla,” he said, and he said this with a shining eye, as though this was a thing that should comfort me. “Trouble yourself not with them. There is a long road ahead, and be not overly eager. There are many things you and I shall do together to prepare, rites to celebrate, tasks to undergo. These signs on you now are just the beginning.”

I ran my hands down my arms, over marks I could not feel but I knew to be there. Marks of the Kurra, as the Chappa-sho called them, mingling here or there with the scars of my youth, the marks that had grown in recent weeks and days, that had drawn cold glances from faces unfamiliar, and made familiar ones look at me in new ways. Could I feel pride in those? Could I learn to weather such stares, such strange looks and mutters?

Of many things the Chappa-sho spoke. I listened, or feigned to, but all that I now recall of that conversation is that my hands roamed ceaselessly, up and down my skin, struggling to read in those lines some hopeful word of what was to come.

* * *

All this I explain, to explain what happened next. The Chappa-sho said that in time I would meet those who, like me, were destined for Kurram. All those who dwelt in the city--and there were only a few--were gathered in spring, before a Chappa-sho of silver hair and hard-won wisdom. Our place of meeting was in a little street in the heart of the city, and we arrived in the room one by one, quietly weathering his silent stare.

Our duty lay now, he told us, not in friends or in labor, but in preparing for Kurram; and so, in preparing ourselves. Your lives are like those of the Chappai, said he, consecrated for purpose. Such high-flying talk was alien to me. I looked about me as he spoke, and saw one like me, who seemed bored by the speech. We met eyes and I grinned; I got a little laugh in return.

After, I introduced myself to the laugh’s owner.

“Tulla,” I said, sticking out my hand.

“Yasser,” and our hands firmly shook.

Yasser, like me, seemed not convinced by this whole undertaking. Our other companions seemed pleased, perhaps proud. They delighted in hearing of the strength that came easily to the Kurra, of the news that our bodies would soon start to change. Gray-eyed guardians they envied; but we were not so sure.

“After all,” Yasser said, “I like who I am.”

These doubts we confided to one another, but not to our rissas or friends. For now I found that an unbridgeable gap was growing there, one I despaired of and struggled to cross, though I did not know why. At first, I supposed, it was only the new duties I was given, the rites and the rituals all we initiates were to learn. They took me away from the place of my heart; they filled my thoughts and days where before I had had the songs and the steel.

But that was not it, at least not entirely. For soon after this, I realized my time with Kassa had changed. There was less warmth between us, and though I felt no less patience and kindness, it seemed now the adoration of one from afar. At last, I simply ceased to seek Kassa out; and before long it was as though we had only ever been friends. That hurt more than my father’s stilted words, or my brother’s awkward looks.

The gift of the Kurra, I vowed, would not be my whole life. A stone is a stone and my flesh is my flesh. Should I cry and scream in anguish that a stone won’t be bread, or a running stream? And should I mourn that my flesh is me, that this is the form and the face I have? This is the wisdom the Chappa-shos teach us: be what you will be. And there is a truth in that I could never deny. Your fate is a thing you cannot change; if that is what I am, then that is me. But, I said to myself, I shall always be Tulla. Always love to work with my hand, and spend time with my friends. So these things I pursued, as much as I was able; though I had long days in dim rooms with Yasser and the others, and the old Chappa-shos, still, I would come home and sit in my bed, and as I fell slowly asleep, work new thoughts into metal, imagining walking in far-off forests. Imagining being utterly alone.

So, I surrendered my heart to the Chappa-sho’s guidance. I did my best not to hide what I was, not to conceal the thin, dark lines that traced themselves over my skin, or the wasting color of my hair and eyes. But from time to time I felt my mind take strange turns, my thoughts run along paths alien to me. This, the Chappa-sho said when I told him, was the First Sign: for strange in some ways are the Kurra, who perceive things the rest of us cannot.

Ever since that day in the ruin, pinned under rock and dirt, I had feared pain terribly. Happily, said Yasser, that was something Kurra never had to endure. No pain or suffering is their lot, for strong and cold are their hearts, so they say. But I knew there were pains besides pains of the body, and one evening I plucked up the courage to take the Chappa-sho aside.

“Tell me,” I asked, “a question I have. Of the thousand Kurra-souls there must be in each generation--do all go to the hills? Do all leave their friends and family behind?”

“Not all,” said the Chappa-sho. “Some keep watch on the roads, or range on the plains beyond. Many great tasks have the Kurra to do.”

“That’s not what I meant,” and I struggled to say it. “I mean--is there none who ever forsakes the Kurra-duty and the Kurra-law? Who lives after, as they always have?”

A strange cold look came over the Chappa-sho’s face. “No, Tulla, never. None would want to, and it would be a great sadness if they did. No Kurra would ever do such a thing, and it’s not decent to ask.”

I did not look the Chappa-sho in the eye. “Just--just curious,” I hastily stammered.

Our next day was free, no duties or rituals, and I had planned to see Yasser. But I sent word I was busy; I sought wise Massil instead. I craved some comfort I did not fully understand, and perhaps he could help me find it; for I had always thought my brother was the wisest person I knew.

He was a binder of books, a keeper of words; almost as wiseas an old Chappa-sho. I found him, just after midday, sweeping his shop. The great, busy press stood quiet for now, his inkstained apron thrown over a chair. I gave him a hug and asked after his day; and when the pleasantries were done, I spat out my question.

“Massil,” I said. “Tell me all you know of the Misai.”

“What a curious question,” Massil said. His face had a look not unlike the dour Chappa-sho’s.

“Please,” I said. “I have heard the word, sometimes beside ‘Kurra.’ I want to know what it means.”

Massil leaned his broom on the counter and slowly sat down.

“Do you mean to ask, why they’re kept from our cities?”

“Perhaps. To begin.”

“Not out of fear. They intend us no harm. The Misai… well, there are some like me who think they should be permitted to join us below. To live as kindred beside us. For they are our kin. Yet there are others, for reasons not cold-hearted or wicked, who think such a thing risky. Not to be dared.

“You remember the tales that we heard as a child, of the early days of our people, and our time with Olla?” Massil asked.

“I do,” I said. “Olla lived with us and all was bright and fair. But the people did a terrible thing, and for that, Olla went away.”

“Yes,” said Massil. “And I know not whether to credit it--even the Chappa-shos doubt--but some say that deed was what first made the Misai. All over the thing that you carry: the gift of the Kurra.

“This is the story as I heard: our people were once the wicked slaves of wicked kings. It was Rai who took pity, showed Olla how to be good. We threw off the kings that taught us wickedness, we escaped from captivity; we chose to live as Olla showed. We remembered the words of Rai: Olla, she said, it is hard to be kind. No one is all wicked, no one’s all good. Be patient with your people, for they will stumble now and then; and there will be times, when the right thing to do is not clear, and you must carefully consider. Olla led us down out of the north, took us on a long journey to the fogbound shore. Here, the forests and islands we found, hidden by hills from the painful days behind us.

“But one day there was a hard choice before the people, and they chose wrong. So great was Olla’s grief, Olla went over the hills, never to return.”

“Most of this I’ve heard before,” I said. “But not all.”

“Here is the thing I was coming to: so they say, that was how the Misai came to be. They rejected Olla’s gift, the friend in the flesh. They broke the law that Olla gave us, not to cut or mar the body, for so great was their hate of it, they had to get every last bit of it out.”

“Then… there are Kurra who choose not to be?”

“No, Tulla. The Misai are not Kurra. They are… stranger still. In the cutting-out the gift goes awry, and though perhaps their hearts are untouched, their faces and bodies are more different than the Kurra’s. Hard to say how, for swift they are, and secretive, and rarely seen. Perhaps for good reasons. Our forefathers thought them profane and accursed, and they were sometimes made to suffer for that. We hold no such superstitions now, but many still fear them. For they are a token of a thing we reject, of pain inflicted for ends we don’t accept. Olla’s command is to love and to cherish. Not to cut the flesh. Not to mar the body.

“But yes, from time to time, there is a soul that for reasons I cannot say rejects the Kurra-gift. And rather than seek the wisdom of the Chappa-shos or comfort in the wisdom of their kin, they seek out the Misai and their sharp, sharp knives. Thus the Misai add to their number.”

“And why are they exiles? It seems a cruel fate, on top of their suffering.”

“Yes. And I don’t like it myself. It is the law of the people that one may choose one’s own fate, so long as they cause no harm to others. So we do not restrain those who seek the Misai out, not if they are grown--a man may choose it, but not a boy. But we need not condone their deeds. They are Pact-breakers, duty-forsakers. They do these things out of fear. It is selfish, Tulla. And not unjustly, some fear the Misai’s whispers, that they would sing and wheedle, til foolish souls, beguiled by their words, began to cut their flesh. So it is the law, they may choose that pain, but they must stay apart.

“But as unjust as the law seems to me, I can’t say I share the voice of all its foes. There are those who call themselves the Children of Olla--a strange and blasphemous name, no doubt you’ll agree. Friends of the Misai they call themselves, yet wonder how to want to make more outcasts is to be friend to them, why it wouldn’t be better to help those who fear the path of Kurram walk it proudly--but oh! You ask such troubling questions, Tulla.”

“I don’t mean to trouble, brother,” I said, feeling ashamed. “I only want to understand.”

I left Massil’s shop, my head a sea of stormy thoughts. The thought of the knives of the Misai made me shuddering sick. The third and final wound to my heart came not long after.

Yasser had confided in me that the gift was coming more swiftly.

“Look, Tulla,” said Yasser, extending an arm. The marks of the Kurra were there, and something else. The skin was colder, rough, and once bright golden eyes seemed to gleam less and less. The strength of the Kurra was coming upon on Yasser now, Yasser who could run faster and farther than ever before.

“But I feel sick,” Yasser said. “My thoughts betray me, they forget my heart. My sisters and brothers, who used to mean everything to me, now feel half the time like strangers. I see a face in the mirror I don’t recognize. The songs I used to sing to pass the time are now just noise to me. They tell us the Kurra are protectors of all the people. But I just feel calm and empty.”

“They say it takes a long time to get used to,” I answered. “Perhaps that’s all you need.”

“Perhaps,” said Yasser. Nervous fingers ran over a thing fished from a pocket; it glinted in the light.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“My bird,” said Yasser, holding it up for me to see. “A thing I keep on hand for when I need strength. It shines in three colors by sunlight, and clear in the evening. It’s fragile--as fragile as me. So I must protect it. Keep it safe. And in return, it does the same for me.”

Yasser laughed. “Or it’s just sentiment. My sister gave it to me when I was young.”

“It’s good that you have it,” I said. “Even the strongest Kurra I reckon sometimes needs strength from others.”

For a few days after that, Yasser’s heart seemed to cheer. We would go in the evenings to the stony walks of the canals, and there we would sit and pass an hour or two. Sometimes speaking, sometimes silent. All my troubles seemed a little less sharp with Yasser at my side. Cool, wet winter was slowly turning to spring.

One morning the Chappa-sho took us outside, in the cold spring morning. Our breaths hung before our faces, and the sky was clear and blue. No rites, no books or lessons today, they said. Today we have a guest.

He was standing there in the courtyard, waiting for us. Tall, indeed: a gray-eyed Kurra. A head or two above me, and I was fully grown. His hair was long, and gathered back, his skin was ashen, and traced with lines, like a tattoo of the paths of the planets and stars in the sky. He wore a heavy robe, a sword at his side and a rifle at his back. I would have thought him a kind of statue, but his breath, too, could be seen in the morning air. His face was not like mine or yours. The Kurra have a cast to their features: long and grave, their jaws square, their eyes shadowed.

We stood at first apart, away from him, not knowing what to say or do. Closer, closer, the Chappa-sho said. There is nothing to fear. You have questions, we know. He can answer them. Ask him anything you like.

“What’s your name?” someone said.

“Mahai,” he answered. His voice was deep and even.

“What’s it like, up in the hills?” said someone else.

“Dark,” he said. “And quiet.”

“Do you like it?” I asked. “Being all alone up there?” He turned his head to look at me, and was quiet for a moment, as if the question confused him.

“I keep the Pact, and guard the people,” was all he said.

“How long have you been Kurra?” Yasser asked.

“Ninety-six years,” he replied.

The Chappa-sho smiled. “The lives of the Kurra are long,” he said.

More questions, more answers. I watched his face as he spoke. Sometimes he turned to look at the questioner, sometimes not. Sometimes he barely seemed to hear them. Always he seemed to be listening for something else, ready for something to intrude on us from outside. As though he were only half-present here.

Finally, Yasser said, “Do you miss your home?”

Mihai looked at Yasser. “Home? Home. No, I do not miss my home. I do not remember it.”

This answer did not please Yasser, and maybe the Chappa-shos saw it. One of them came forward and said, “Come, let’s have a demonstration of the Kurra-gift. Let us all see what you can soon aspire to.”

A space was cleared, a bundle of blunt staves brought out. Not all becoming Kurra was books and learning, we knew. The Law we would study, the Pact we would understand, but then there would come more practical training. Training with swords, training with guns. The tools we’d use to defend the people. The Chappa-shos chose three of us, those furthest along the path to Kurram: two brothers named Arra and Rass, and Yasser. Arra was already tall, his eyes already gray, and Rass had the dark lines all over his skin. But they were smiling and joyous, excited by the strength that filled their limbs. Yasser only stood quietly beside them. Each took a staff, and the Kurra took one also.

“Now,” said the Chappa-sho. “Try to land a blow.”

Arra stepped forward; he swung his staff to test it, in a swift rushing arc. Mahai did not move, or seem to notice. Arra moved lightly on his feet, first one way and then the other, to see if Mahai would look or stir; but he was as still as a mountain. Then Arra jumped forward and swung. Crack! Swift as a snake, Mahai stopped his staff with a single smooth motion, and the sharp sound of wood against wood cut through the air. Arra smiled and looked at his brother; and Rass came forward, and each took a turn. Crack! Crack! No matter how they came at him, though, or from which direction, they always found Mahai’s staff in the way, as though it had always been there.

Finally, Yasser came up, and the other two backed off. A swing here, a swing there, testing the reach and heft of the staff; and then I saw something I did not expect. Yasser stepped forward, then moved with sudden, alarming speed. The end of the staff dove like a bird, and Mahai, for the first time, had to move his feet. He stepped back, knocking Yasser’s staff away with his own; but as soon as he did, the other end was coming back around. There was a quick crack! crack! crack! as they connected again and again, moving too fast for me to see clearly what was going on. Then I heard something else: a soft sound, a dull smack and a groan. Mahai stumbled, just a little; and returned the blow, sending Yasser sprawling into the dirt.

“Enough!” said the Chappa-sho. I ran over to Yasser, as quick as I could.

“Are you hurt? Are you injured?” I asked. Yasser didn’t answer at first, and I looked for blood.

“A little more direct a demonstration than we intended,” the Chappa-sho said. “But Yasser, you are becoming strong and swift indeed. Is that not so, Mahai?”

Mahai nodded, but said nothing.

“Yasser, are you in pain?” I asked again quietly. “Can you stand?”

“No,” Yasser said. “I’m in no pain. No pain at all.” We stood up together, slowly. “I feel I should be, though.”“I’ve never seen you move so swiftly,” I said. “I didn’t know you could.”

“Nor I,” said Yasser. “What a strange feeling, not to know myself.”

Yasser was quiet all the rest of the day; and we parted ways in the evening with scarcely a nod. I thought it a strange day, but one to be shrugged off soon enough.

And yet the next time we all gathered in the Chappa-sho’s hall, Yasser wasn’t there. Nor the next. Nor the time after that. And when I went to the Chappa-sho, and asked after him, a dark, sad expression fell over his face.

“Olla-gone,” he said, “I thought someone told you. Yasser has left us. Yasser’s gone over the hills.”

I sat there numb, the rest of the day, hearing no word anyone spoke to me; and that night I went home and lay on my bed, staring out at the dimly-lit street. Yasser was gone. Yasser had left me. Or I had failed Yasser. Was it an accident? Or by an own hand? I could seek out the rissa, the kindred, and ask. But it seemed to me now that it didn’t matter. My own rissa and kin seemed far away, and now without Yasser, I felt truly alone.

So I stayed there. I did not go out, though my duties called me. I ignored my rissafriends, and I thought about running away. I’d take the long road, I’d see what countries lay out beyond forest and field. I’d find strange people and tongues, and leave Kassa and metal and song all behind.

But then I would glimpse my own skin, or see my own face, and remember the one thing I could not abandon. The one thing that forever would follow. What would a Kurra be all alone, without duty? What would a Kurra be, beyond all the hills?

* * *

They came to me sooner than I expected--the Chappa-sho, my parents and friends.

“Yasser gone is grim,” my father said first. “But come! You can’t mourn forever. Your life still goes on.” He said it warmly and lightly, with a smile on his face; the others nodding looked on. I said nothing at first.

“I think…” I said slowly; the words stopped dead in my throat. “I don’t think I want to be Kurra.”

“Things only seem hard now because you have barely begun,” the Chappa-sho said. “You learn the law and the rites before you take on the role; but soon it comes naturally, suits better your new habit of body and mind.”

“That’s not why,” I said. And still I struggled to speak. “I mean, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want the duty, of course. But I didn’t ask for the fate. I didn’t ask for the friend in the flesh, to feel myself taken away. Olla’s third face!”--the Chappa-sho flinched at the oath--”I just want my friends, my labor, my peace.”

“Tulla, bright boy,” my mother then said, “things are going to be fine. Change is ever frightful and ever hard; but you’ll make a fine Kurra, do great things for the People, make proud your fair name.”

“No,” I said. “I just want to stay here.”

The others stood silent, uncomfortable, til my father shooed them out of the room. He sat down slowly beside me.

“Tulla, your friends… your friends don’t think you should stay.”I looked at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“Until now, you’ve divided your life. Half your old one, half your new. It’s easily understood; it’s hard to give things up. But you must accept the fate given, as your friends and kindred have. It’s strange for them having… one such as you in the house. They think you should move on to the next part of your life.”

My eyes did not flinch, but I felt hot tears on my cheeks. “And what do you think?”

“I think I agree. The Chappa-shos say… well, there’s a place outside the city, not far away. A little village, close by the ruins. A Chappa-sho lives there, studied well in the lore of the Kurra. One who can help you adjust. Learn to embrace your new life.”

“I don’t want to embrace it,” I said.

“Can you change it?” he asked. And to this I could not answer.

* * *

So. I went out of the city. The Chappa-shos took me by train to a village not far away, embraced by the ruins and shadowed by hills. Here there was not even a hall, just a high house with the sign of Olla next to the door. The Chappa-sho there showed me my room; such things as I had I laid on the bed. Save two. Though my father and friends spoke against it, I kept a piece of the halfliving steel, and the pouch of my tools. Those I slipped beneath the bed.

And here, as I suppose they intended, my days were longer, and quieter. Four hours a day, with the Chappa-sho I studied; he spoke to me softly and gently of many things. Of Olla’s love, and Olla’s gifts among them; and he seemed to want that I should open my heart to him, to tell him my fears and secrets; and as much as I might want to shout them to someone, I found I could not speak them to him. For I knew behind his friendly eyes and open hands there lay something strange to me I did not understand. Myself in a mirror, perhaps. Seeing in his face my own feeling: that something was wrong with me.

In the afternoons I went out alone, to the village’s library. Sometimes I looked for books on the halfliving steel, or the treasures of ruins, or rumors of the world beyond. But really I felt most of these things were lost to me. I did not try to sing to the metal, to shape it into anything. I doubted that when all Kurram was on me, I would even know how anymore.

One day, I went to the librarian, an old woman with cloudgray hair and amber eyes.

“I want a book on Olla,” I said.

“Of those, we have many,” she answered. “But the Chappa-sho more. What sort of answers do you seek?”

I felt there was little I could lose now by being honest.

“I want to know more of the Misai,” I said. “And what drove Olla away.”

The woman looked at me, surprised, but not offended or shocked. “Come,” she said. She led me to a dusty shelf, whose volumes had gone undisturbed for many a year. “I think you want this.” She slid one out for me, and showed me a page.

Two figures it showed. One tall and proud, grim of aspect, bearing weapons of war. The words were old and unlovely, and I struggled to read them, but, indeed, KURRA it said in great letters below. Next to him, graceful and poised, with eyes that seemed quick and thoughtful, a figure altogether different. MISAI.

“What have you heard?” the librarian asked quietly.

“Only what my brother told me,” I said. “The Misai rejected Olla’s gift, and so he went away.”

The librarian shook her head. “Can you read this?”

“Not well,” I said.

“It is not a tale the Chappa-shos tell. It is a tale all but forgotten, save those who count themselves the friends of Olla.”

“And you… you are an Olla-friend?” I asked.

The woman seemed uncertain whether to answer, but she nodded.

“I am.”

“A strange name to call yourselves, if you oppose Olla’s wishes.”

“But we don’t. We are the only ones who remember Olla rightly. We remember for the People, until the People all wish to remember again. Here it is set out in full, and I shall tell you only briefly.

“The Kurra-gift is not from Olla: it was Olla-scorned and Olla-reviled. For the Kurra-gift was the chain of our slavery, the awful thing for which the People were made. We were made to be like beasts in the shape of men and women, or so our oppressors intended. But we hated their wars and we hated their cruelty, and we hated the curse of the Kurra. Once we did, anyway. And Olla sought to destroy it, to draw out the fiend in the flesh. For all the wisdom Rai had to give, it was not enough. Olla failed.

“And Olla failed, because of the long journey. Because of the hardships we endured on the way. The People were afraid, and between their fear and the fiend, they chose the second. They thought it would make them strong, protect them from their foes.

“I see by the marks on your skin and the pale color in your eyes that this gift is already coming over you, and I guess why you ask after the Misai, perhaps. Perhaps you are only afraid. Or perhaps you feel it in your bones, an unrightness with the world. You’re not alone, good child, of that I assure you: for even Olla saw the People should not be changed against their will. And the enemy does more than alter the flesh: it shapes the mind, and cools the heart. For some that’s a glad thing, a relief from burdens. But for many just to contemplate it is pain.

“Olla knew this. It was an even heavier burden in Olla’s day, before Olla’s art and the long years had tamed it. But Olla couldn’t finish the work before going over the hills; so the Children of Olla, the Misai, they took the knowledge left behind and did what they could--they at least freed themselves from becoming Kurra. And the People were scornful and angry, afraid that they might justly come to doubt their choice if another possibility was present. So they cast them out. They told themselves it was only foolishness and fear, and a selfish heart, that might make one forsake those gifts. And the Misai remain in the hills, and will welcome those who seek them.

“The harsh rite of the Misai is not for all. And of those that choose it, not all survive. Nor are they all unchanged: the Misai are different again, for they have traded one kind of transformation for another. But they are more like you-now that you-Kurra will ever be. They have their joys, and sorrows too, and they sing their own songs and live as they will.”

“A hard thing, still, to be cast out,” I said.

“Yes. For now. But there are more friends of Olla than the Chappa-shos reckon.” The woman smiled. “For now the Misai are cast out, but it may not always be so.”

“Yet the rite of the Misai is not for everyone.”

“No, indeed.” The woman sighed, and closed the book, and put it back on the shelf. To my surprise, she lay a hand on my arm. “Listen, for I will not lie. It is a deed of pain. It is a great undertaking. I hope one day that Olla’s work is finished, and it need not be; but if you seek the Misai, you must know.”

I nodded, and thanked her; but I left with a heavy heart, feeling no better than I had before. This is the third face of Olla, the face we do not name, the face in shadow. Olla rebukes us when we err, and Olla laughs with us in joy; but Olla knows also the black, black despair; for this is the face, when we do name it, we name in the quietest of whispers: Olla-Gone-Over-the-Hills. Olla-in-Death. The face in shadow.

* * *

And all that I have told you so that I can tell you this.

Because of these things I felt myself really alone, alone for the first time in all my life. I did not visit the library again. I attended the lessons of the Chappa-sho, and the grief I felt with every word he spoke to me I let lie dully on my heart. For comfort at least I had the thought that that grief would not outlast the golden color of my eyes or the warm brown hue of my skin: that in time the curse of the Kurra would take me, body and soul, and all that would be left of my sorrows and my cares would be the Duty I owed the people. I did not weep anymore; and sometimes I wondered if that was the Second Sign overtaking me. And from time to time I would take my secret pleasure, the small pieces of living metal I had brought with me from the city, from the place where I’d hidden them, and I would cup my hands around them and think of new forms I might want them to take. But my tongue felt heavy, and I could not sing. I never took up my tools; what use was it? Soon that, like my sadness, would be taken away from me.

And when the weight on my heart got too great, I would depart quietly, after the sun had set, when the Chappa-sho was sitting apart at his studies. I would take a lantern-light to find the road, and go out beyond the village, up to the broken towers and the slumped-over walls. I would climb, climb as high as I could go, and I would sit underneath the stars, and watch them slowly turn above me, until I felt, not like a lost soul under a sheltering dome, but a drop of water suspended above the abyss. And I would wonder, what would it be like to fall, to fall up into the emptiness of the sky, until only stars surrounded me, and be lost like that? To dissolve, not into the Kurra-fate, or the ceaseless Duty, or a flesh that was not my flesh and a life that was not my own, but into nothingness--to be nothing at all? Would it be like death, dark and terrible, the one thing Olla forbade us to seek on our own, or would it be like sleep? Gentle, soft, and quiet forever, never to wake into the harshness of morning and of the obligations of the world again?

And when I could bear it no longer, I would climb down and set my feet back to the Chappa-sho’s house, and to bed. I did not have it in me to die, or to be nothing. I was afraid--afraid to stay where I was, afraid to do the only thing I could think to escape. And when that fear was gone, it would be too late. Fear, they said, was the last thing to go.

One such night, as I came down into the village and sought for my bed, I heard a strange commotion in one of the little lanes between the quiet houses. I turned down an unaccustomed path, and saw two figures, one bent in fear beneath the other.

“You, go back! Go back up to the hills!”“Please,” the lesser figure said, “I just need to--”

There was a sharp cry, as the taller one struck the lesser, a harsh blow that they had not earned. I advanced toward them, pulling the Kurra-token from beneath my shirt, hoping the dim light on the street would obscure my eyes and skin.

“No skulking Misai in our place of refuge. Go up, and--” And there was another awful sound of a blow--”leave decent folk alone.”

“Hey!” I cried.

Both of them turned. I could see them more clearly now. The smaller one was indeed Misai, lithe and bright-eyed, in a cloak of spring colors. The taller was a man I had seen before, though I did not know his name, and he did not seem to know me.

“Who are--” he started to say; but I held up the sign of the Kurra, and he fell quiet.

“Go home,” I said. “Leave this one alone. It’s not your right and it’s not your duty to afflict innocent passers-by.”

If this shamed him at all, he did not show it, nor if my token impressed him. But he knew enough to know that I was stronger than he, if it should come to a contest, and he slunk away without a word down the street. When we were alone, I spoke to the Misai.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’m fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”

I shook my head. “More’s the pity.”

She shrugged. “So I try not to come down from the hills too often.”

“What brings you down, then?” I asked. “Is there some errand I can help you with?”

“Yes,” she said. “But now that you’re here, I think it’s complete. You’re the one called Tulla, are you not?”

“I am,” I said surprised. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. Only, take this.” And she pressed something small and hard and wrapped in a cloth into my hand. “It is a gift from a friend, who wants you to know she is well.”

I began to unwrap it, but she shook her head. “Not here,” she said. “Take it home.” And she turned away and began to walk quickly down the street.

“Wait!” I said. “Where are you going?”

“Up to the hills!” she said over her shoulder. “To the only place where it is safe and free.”

I did not try to stop her. Instead, I did as she said; I went back to my room and my bed, and there, under the dim lantern-light, I unwrapped the thing she had given me.

It was Yasser’s little bird, which shone in three colors by sunlight, and clear in the evening. In the warm light of the lantern, it seemed not to be able to decide which it should show, and so sometimes seemed to be clear, and other times to be a hue of the sky or the turbulent sea. I sat and stared at it for a long time, turning it over in my hand, and casting its light upon the walls. Gone up to the hills. Yasser had actually gone, had actually sought the hills. For now I knew that Yasser had lived, a hope beyond all things I hoped for. And I knew why she had sent it to me.

For Yasser had said, it was a thing that brought her strength. Kind and loving Yasser, who had no hard place in her heart, who felt every pain as though it was fresh and bitter and deep. And who had no need of it anymore. Because, the bird seemed to say to me, she has endured the worst pain there is to endure, and she has lived, to send me to you.

For a long time I sat there, suspended between two images of the world. The one, I knew, was really my fate: it had been ordained for me, before the hills and the forests and the world had come into being. Despite my anger and despite my grief, despite the weight of the Duty and the Law, the tasks of the Kurra would fall upon me, and they would cling about me and wrap me up, until that was all anyone saw when they saw me. The sadness would fall away in time, until all that was left was the dull far-off ache of a half-forgotten thing. And beside that was a mirage, thin and impossible and dreamlike which nonetheless made me want to weep and sing when I imagined it, to cast off this curse that I had never asked for, to fix the thing that no one else could see was broken, to be what was not, what I never could be. For in that mirage, it seemed, all the great roaring chaos of the world was finally still, and all my tears were at last wiped away.

My hands, in the end, made the decision for me. For there had always seemed to be only one fate in front of me, but now it was clear what it really was. I bent down beneath my bed and took the slivers of metal from their hiding place, and my tools, and I sang a shape to it. I sang to it softly of all the things I felt and feared, of the pain before and the pain to come. And my song took the shape of a knife, of a shimmering blade, sharper than anything else in the world. And I took the lantern-light; and I slipped Yasser’s bird into my pocket for strength; and I went out again, closing the door quietly behind me, lest I wake the Chappa-sho. And thinking of many things, I turned my feet toward the hills.

I thought of Yasser, and I thought of Massil. And I thought of every Chappa-sho who had spoken to me of my fate and my Duty. I thought of the knife I carried now, whose blade was destined to taste my flesh, and I thought of the fear that filled me when I considered it, and of the freedom left to me that that fear signified. I thought of the quiet hills, of the deep forests, of the strange lands beyond, known only to Kurra and perhaps the Misai. And I thought of the words of the Olla-friends, of the lessons of pain, and of the greater pains we endure only because we are afraid. By the time I reached the edge of the village, my thoughts were clear again and the truth of what I had chosen was upon me; yet I was not at all inclined to return.

I said to myself, To the hell and the hills with what I am; I will be me. And to hell and the hills with any that deny it. And so this is my fate: I’ll go like Yasser. I’ll go gracefully out into the hills. Better to be free and be me, out there with the children of Olla. But O, Chappa-sho, and O Kurra tall! Beware, beware. For Olla sleeps there, and one day she will wake, and when she comes down from the hills, we’ll all walk proud beside her.

#tanadrin's fiction #a longer one than usual #in case you have some time on your hands

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golden-pickaxe · 6 years ago

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Odal - Part 1

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Viking Times

Word Count: 3792

Warnings: none

[All Parts Here]

A/N: So, this is a new project, and it needs a few things said: I am an old norse enthusiast, and a heathen, which is why I started to watch Vikings in the first place, and so this thing will be very lore and viking life heavy probably! Also, I do HEMA (Historical European martial arts) so there will be maybe quite a lot of fighting described here! I wont be 100% historically accurate, obviously, but I will try to include as many real things as possible!

If it goes the way I want it to, it is going to be long, maybe even slow burn (no promises) and filled with fighting, OCs, story and weird shite like historical farming and viking life!

Also smut later along the line.

If that interests you, enjoy!

(Title comes from this Song, also the name of a Rune)

EDIT: This part has been rewritten and updated on the 23rd of October! It is 700 words longer now!

[Playlist]

Summary: When you were just a child, you had been adopted by two shieldmaidens, as one of six sisters. Now, all grown up, the lot of you join king Harald to avenge the death of Ragnar in England. A journey, that is going to change the life you’ve known before.

You were slowly pulled out of your quite pleasant dreams by the soft sounds of a flute, playing a happy, beautiful melody that you faintly remembered from your childhood. The warm rays of the morning sun tickled your face, as you stretched your limbs on your furs, slowly opening your tired eyes to look around your home.

You were alone in the big room of the small longhouse you lived in, the other beds empty. The front door was opened, letting in the cool air and the warm sun light of early summer.

Rolling your eyes, but smiling, you let your head fall back onto the furs beneath you, shaking your head lightly.

Once again, they had not wakened you up with coming dawn, had left you to sleep cosily in your bed, while they had taken over the chores of the morning, some of which would have been your responsibility. Part of you, of course, obviously enjoyed this special treatment, but another part of you was also quite annoyed by it by now.

They still treated you like a child sometimes. For them you were still the little Y/N they had found in a small hut in the woods so many years ago.

You had been just a small girl, not older than five or six years, when you and your family had lived in a secluded hut near the coast, where your father, who had been a boat builder, carved the trees around you into ships for the king.

It had been a happy, a good life, and your family usually had enough money to get by without too much of a worry. You had a few chickens and goats, a garden to grow some food, and the waters for fish.

But then one har, long and bitter cold winter had come, the past summer had only given little food due to storms destroying much of the crop, and you father had drowned trying to fish out on sea, the ice too thin to hold his weight.

Not much later your mother had caught a sickness, weakened by the grief of your father’s death, the love of her life, leaving your little self to care for her the best you could, which was obviously not much. All you could do was sit by her side, comforting her and holding her hand, and bringing her thin soup to keep her alive.

The fever made her delusional, and you did not know what to do.

This was when, as if sent by the gods themselves, they came.

Ragnhild and Thora, two tall shieldmaidens of the king, passing by your small home, seeking shelter from the harsh weather outside.

But instead of a warm, inviting hut and hospitality, they only found you, weak of cold and hunger, sitting at the side of your dying mother. They kept you company, helped you caring for her, until she finally passed away in her sleep.

Thora stayed with you, consoling you, while Ragnhild buried your mother in the frozen ground behind your home.

After that, the two women took you with them, took you in as they daughter, just as they had taken in many other orphan girls.

That was how you ended up in Vestfold, living on a farm, being trained as a shieldmaiden to become just as strong and brave as your new mothers.

You were the youngest of the lot, although only the second last to join the family, of all in all six girls who had been recused by Ragnhild and Thora from all over Norway and Denmark. They were like sisters to you, and you truly could not wish for a better family. Of course, sometimes you fought, but it would not feel like a family otherwise.

After all that had happened, and now over fourteen years later, you had only very little memory of your own parents, of your life before you had met your mothers. It was as if your mind blended the tragedy of loosing both your mother and your father out, and you only ever so often remembered very small details, such as the song that was playing outside.

It was probably Yeva playing outside, you thought, the second youngest of your sisters, and the last to join you. She had been the daughter of a Rus trader, who had succumbed to a plague that raged through a trading post he had stopped by in the south of Norway. Yeva had barely spoken the norse language when she had first come to you, but the smart girl had learned quickly, even though she often still slipped by into her mother tongue, mostly to curse.

She had always liked to play music, had even known songs of your country before she could really understand them, and it seemed that she knew how to play every instrument only moments after she held it in her hands for the first time. Her singing voice was beautiful, enchanting men and women alike who heard her.

She also turned out to be quite skilled with the bow, and was the best archer of your family, even if she was certainly less talented with a sword or axe.

Complementing her voice, she was also a very pretty young woman, you thought, with her light, yellow hair, and her beaming green eyes, always wearing a kind smile on her face.

You also knew a different side of her, though, and knew that she could be mean, or use her innocent appearance to make people do as she pleased.

The next oldest of your sisters was Hallgrim, who was from Denmark. Ragnhild and Thora had found her begging on the streets for food, no one knowing what had happened to her parents, not even the girl herself.

Thora had guessed that she maybe had been the child of a slave, who had sent her away, bot no one was really sure about that. She kept her thoughts quiet though, as having been a slave, or to be the child of one, could ruin the woman’s reputation forever.

Hallgrim was shy and silent around strangers, but very smart and ingenuitive. She was skilled with her hands, able to build or repair almost anything on the farm, her hard-working mentality making her someone one could truly depend on.

She loved being a farmer, and had her way with animals, as if she had a better understanding for them than for the people around her. You sometimes found her cuddling a baby goat in her sleep, that seemed to be equally as happy as her, and relaxed in her warm arms.

Hallgrim was not very tall, and wore her brown hair short, which added to her a bit boyish appearance, while her amber eyes were piercing like that of a hawk.

Hrafna was a few years older than Hallgrim, and was probably from Kattegat.

‘Probably’, because, as Thora had told you, she had never been quite sure of that. She had found the girl one day, hiding on board of a ship hailing from the city, hiding under a blanket and covered in someone else’s blood, when she was certainly not older than eight years old.

For the whole first year that she had been with the two shield maidens, Hrafna had not talked at all, and they had almost believed that she did not speak their language at all. She seemed to understand everything going on around her though, and it had taken a lot of effort to get her to talk again.

Now, as a grown woman, Hrafna was tall and intimidating, also often covered in someone else’s blood.

Her red hair was incredibly long, reaching past her hips, always strictly braided out of her face. Her eyes were colourless and grey, and cold like the winter sky. She knew how to fight, how to attack, and greeted every opportunity to show her skill. She was a warrior through and through, and seemed to value bloodshed over everything else. What she had in skill though, the woman lacked in warmth and emotion.

Gudrun was about the same age as Hrafna, and the only person who really got through to her. The two of them were very close, after Hrafna had cut the man in half that had dared to attack her, only weeks after the girl had joined your family.

Gudrun had run away from home when she had been about twelve, as her father had intended to marry her off to an older, but powerful Viking, which was certainly something the young girl did not want.

She was, as the daughter of a rich merchant, very educated, and knew many stories of the gods, poems and sagas. She knew how to read the runes, how to interpret dreams, and knew about seidr and galdr. You often thought that she was a volva, or that she would have been one, had her life turned out differently.

Often you would all sit around the fire late at night, listening to her tales, as she knew how to tell a thrilling story, or recite old poems she had memorised word for word.

Her hair was gold, usually worn opened, falling over her back like the hair of Sif herself. Her eyes were brown and as warm as her character, while her skin was decorated with more freckles than there were stars in the sky.

Asta was the oldest of your sisters, and was the true daughter of Ragnhild. As far as you knew, her father had been a warrior, who had died on a raid before Ragnhild had even realised that she was with child.

Asta was a strong woman, incredibly tall and musculus, carrying a mighty war hammer into battle. The sides of her head were shaved to the skin, while her reddish-brown hair fell over her back in a thick, ling braid. She had tattoos all over her body, face and head, displaying snakes, raven and wolves, and stanzas of different poems written in runes.

She was both respected and feared in Vestfold, known for her skills in battle and her won victories. She had many connections and friends among the king’s trusted men, and was always welcomed to their homes with great hospitality.

You knew her as a kind and loving woman, remembering many nights where you had been scared, crying, and she had held you in her strong arms, telling you that she would smash every single Jotun who would dare to even think about hurting you, and that she would even rival Thor in the slaying of the giants, just to keep you safe.

You were her favourite, she made no secret out of this, and was always very protective for you, always kind, and the main reason for the special treatment you got throughout your life.

But even though all of this, now you were a grown woman, a shieldmaiden who had by now seen her fair share of battles, fighting for a unified Norway under king Harald Fairhair. There was no reason for any of them to let you sleep in, to still treat you like the scared child that you weren’t anymore.

“Finally waking up too, eh?” you heard a voice, causing you to turn your head towards the door once more, where you saw Thora leaning against the frame, a smile on her face. Her long, brown hair started to grey at the temples, and she was not quite the impressive woman you had met all those years ago anymore. Nevertheless, she could still beat any man into the ground with her bare hands, if she wanted to. You loved her with all your heart.

“It was you lot who forgot to wake me up. Again.” You explained, sitting up and stretching your limbs. Now, without the thick furs covering your body, the air felt still quite cold against your skin, and you quickly got up and started to dress.

“You got me there, little one.” She laughed. “But now that you are awake, Hallgrim needs help with the sheep. They seem to be especially rowdy today. Be a good girl and go lend her a hand, she’s out on the fields.” She then added, pushing herself away from the doorframe with your shoulders, leaving the house.

Glad to have something to do, and to feel useful even after sleeping in, you quickly laced up your dress with skilled fingers, loosely braided your hair out of your face, before you grabbed a piece of bread and some dry fish from the table next to the fireplace. Chewing on your breakfast you left the house, heading towards the fields where your family kept the sheep.

Yeva was indeed sitting on a wooden bench in front of the house, right in the light of the morning sun, her yellow hair almost glowing as it was spread opened across her narrow shoulders. She had a horn-flute in her hand, producing a wonderful melody. Ragnhild was next to her, making a basket with a content expression on her aging face.

You smiled at them and wished them a good morning, before you walked on, already spotting your other adoptive sister in the field, wrestling with one of the sheep of the small flock your family owned.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Hallgrim said breathlessly when you reached her, one of her hands raking through her short hair, to get the strands out of her sweat covered forehead.

“I see you’ve got your hands full.” You nodded at the unruly sheep in front of her, that almost managed to wiggle out of her grip.

“Yes, they appear to be very stubborn today.. very naughty!” she added towards the animal. “Just as if they can sense that I want to trim their nails.” She huffed, pulling the sheep towards her once more, this time able to put it onto its back, so that you would be able to reach its feet.

You nodded, supressing a giggle, before you picked up the knife-like tool used to care for the hooves of your animals, getting to work. With the ground of most of your farm being more muddy than rocky, it was important to regularly take care of this, as their hooves would not wear down on their own. And the last thing your family needed was all of your livestock dying, because their untrimmed hooves led to foot rot or other diseases.

“Where are Asta, Gudrun and Hrafna?” you asked your sister, kneeling down in front of the sheep and starting to trim the hooves with the special knife, throwing the older one a quick look as you had not seen the three of them anywhere yet.

“They went to town, to trade a few things.” Hallgrim explained, her arms still around the animal in front of her, her hands stroking its body to keep it relaxed.

“Without telling me? I told them I wanted to restock on some salves..” you complained with a groan, giving the sheep a small pet after you had finished caring for its feet.

“Gudrun will think of it, no need to worry, Y/N.” the brown haired one reassured you, before going after the next animal to catch, which was just as unruly as the last one.

Despite you being a shieldmaiden, training to fight with different weapons and fighting in your king’s wars, your day to day life was actually not very exciting.

It consisted mostly of hard work on the farm, caring for your animals and fields. But it was good and honest work, and Thor rewarded you with a good life, health and a safe home, more than you could ever wish for.

You started the day with a loving family, and went to bed with a full stomach, knowing that whatever would happen, you could always depend on your mothers and your sisters to keep each other safe. Your bond was thicker than anything else, thicker than any blood that would bind a normal family together.

Gudrun sometimes joked that all of you were bound together by the same bonds that Fenrir was bound with, so strong was it. You truly could not agree more with her.

You and Hallgrim spent most of the morning caring for the animals, next to the sheep also for the few goats and chickens, before taking a midday break and eating a bit of bread with cottage cheese with Ragnhild and Thora. The latter one took you into the woods in the afternoon, to hunt something for dinner, as your three sisters were due to return soon, and after two almost half-day long journeys to the city and back, they would surly be very hungry.

A small part of you hoped that Asta would bring some honey bread with her, the kind one of the bakers in town always made. Since you had been with your mothers, Asta had always sneaked you a piece when she went to the city, and had never stopped doing it, even when you were already a grown woman. She just loved to see the happy expression on your face when she gave it to you, and you had to admit, she tended to spoil you a bit.

Each of you carrying two rabbits, you and Thora returned to your farm a few hours later, when the sun was just starting to set in the west, tinting the sky in beautiful colours.

You already saw Gudrun standing in the doorway, her long, blond hair glowing in the orange light of the setting sun, as she watched you approach, an unidentifiable expression on her freckled face.

“You look troubled, daughter.” Thora said with a frown, as the two of you reached the farmhouse, putting down the rabbits on the small table in front of it, to skin them.

“Come in, we all need to talk.” Gudrun said, nodding inside before she turned around, walking into the house herself. Thora frowned now, stopping from sitting down to prepare the animals for dinner and followed her daughter inside, just like you.

The rest of your family was already sitting around the fireplace, Hallgrim right in front of it, with a small goat on her lap. Hrafna was perched up on her bed, which was built into the wall and just above Hallgrim’s cot, her excited expression standing in quite the contrast to the worried look in the faces of the others.

“What is it?” Thora asked, her eyes on Ragnhild, who stared into the flames.

“King Ragnar of Kattegat is dead. His sons are assembling an army to avenge his death in England.” The blond woman stated, looking up at the other one. Thora swallowed. You knew that the two of them had been to Paris, when he and king Harald had tried to conquer the city for the first time.

“When we were in town, the king’s men asked us if we would join Harald’s fleet and sail to Kattegat.” Asta said, her hands folded in front of her.

Asta was the only one of you who had ever been raiding in England. Ragnhild and Thora had, besides their journey to Frankia, always kept to the east and south, while the other five of you had either been too young to join a raid, or had fought against other kings and jarls of Norway to extend Fairhair’s kingdom.

Thora nodded slowly, seemingly deep in thought. She sat down next to Ragnhild, who put a hand onto her leg, her eyes looking intently at the other woman.

You had to admit, you were yourself quite shocked by the news you had just heard, as you sat down on the bench next to Yeva.

King Ragnar dead.. it just sounded impossible.

This descendent of Odin, greater than any other man, who had discovered England and conquered Paris, was dead?

You had heard so many stories of his exploits, so many tales of his victories and successes it just.. you could not believe it.

“I say we go! Take revenge for his murder on those Christians!” Hrafna’s voice was cold as it cut through the silence, sharp as the throwing knife her restless hands fiddled with. She sat on one leg, while the other one dangled down her bed.

“I have to say, I agree with her.” Hallgrim now also raised her voice, her legs crossed before her, while her hands stroked over the soft fur of the small goat in her lap. “We have to avenge him, he was one of our people’s greatest heroes.” Her words surprised you a bit, had the woman never been too fond of fighting, and rather stayed at the farm.

“We’ve heard that the sons of Ragnar plan to assemble the greatest army ever seen, twice the size of the one their father took to Paris.” Asta spoke again, her face still somewhat passive, as she watched her mother, who in turn watched Thora. “It is said that they have declared war on the whole world for the murder of their father.”

“They want to avenge their father, but not Lagertha, who has murdered their mother.” Thora said calmly, looking from one of her daughters to the other. “Do you trust someone like that?”

“Who knows, maybe they plan on avenging her too?” You spoke up, causing your sisters to look over to you. “One step at the time. They still need her armies to go to England, it would be foolish to attack her first.”

“Y/N is right, it would be unwise to start a war with her now, before they avenged their father. Conquering England will mean more to our people, and for that they need all the warriors they can get.” Gudrun agreed with you.

“So, are we going now, or what?” Hrafna sounded very impatient, looking at both of your mothers. You could see how she itched to fight, how she itched to spill Christian blood on English soil.

Thora and Ragnhild exchanged meaningful looks, before they turned towards the six of you. You frowned at their expressions, as they seemed to want to tell you something they had decided on already long ago.

“Ragnhild and I have talked, after our last battle, and we have decided that we are growing to old for fighting. Yes, it would be an honour to die a warrior’s death, and to feast in Valhalla, but we also know that it would be foolish, as we have our responsibilities here.” Thora started.

“You, our daughters, will go to England without us. All of you are old enough now to face whatever fate throws at you, and you have all proven yourself in battle.” Ragnhild added with a smile. “Make the gods proud and avenge Ragnar Lothbrok.”

#ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #vikings imagine #reader insert #ivars heathen army #ivar x reader #odal

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jakejackson0020 · 4 years ago

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2019dclmed · 5 years ago

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Naples - Monday, May 27, 2019

My alarm went off at 6:15am (on a “vacation” day?!) I only slept 11pm-4am for no conceivable reason, and I felt bad about the alarm because Kara’s Port Adventure (PA) left an hour later than mine. The weather was again dark, cloudy, RAIN, and then the wind kicked up.

As a reminder, here are the PAs we booked. Details on them can be found in THIS POST.

Amalfi by Boat & the Splendor of Sorrento (NP41) - Gayle only

9.5 Hours to 10 Hours

Timeless Pompeii and the Flavor of Sorrento (NP06) - Kara only

8.5 Hours to 9 Hours

I (Gayle) arrived at D Lounge at 7:30am. We loaded on a charter bus and set out for Sorrento. On the way we learned about the 3 tunnels carving a path down the coast literally through the mountains. For safety there is a camera at the start of each tunnel and if you surpass the speed limit and exit the tunnel too soon, the camera snaps a photo of your license plate and mails you the ticket! They also have escape doors in case something happens that requires the tunnel to be evacuated. Our tour guide was (say it with me Italian accent-style) Rosario.

Our journey began by passing Mount Vesuvius.

Very soon we stopped at a cameo factory. (It was obvious we stopped here in an agreement tourists might buy things in trade for pre-emptive use of the incredibly clean bathroom facilities.) It was amazing how tiny and detailed everything was made by hand-carving.

As we traveled from Naples from Sorrento, we tried to appreciate the views. We could only imagine what it would look like on a beautiful, sunny day. :(

Wondering why I snapped a photo of an industrial crane?

It says “Fincantieri”. Why is that significant? Fincantieri is a large ship-builder. In fact, this group crafted both the Disney Magic and Disney Wonder! (The newer/bigger ships were made by a German firm.)

Arriving in Sorrento we were dropped off at Cuomo’s Lucky Store and provided a demonstration of how they hand-carve wood to craft tables, jewelry boxes, lazy Susan's, etc. with in-laid patterns. The multi-game tables were amazing! The special for the day was to consider price tags being in US dollars and large items included shipping anywhere in the world. Every pattern you see was carved and in-laid by hand! No lasers!

I then ventured to the main square of town and found the only other recommended store. It was basically a larger version of the first with lace & jewelry. I wandered down a couple of small alleys with tiny street shops. The larger better know shops weren’t yet open. It was already raining, so I put my rain jacket on over the backpack, which provided additional security from potential pickpockets as a barrier to the latches & zippers - not that I needed it as I have a Travelon backpack (& PacSafe purse at home).

The rain started getting heavier, so I went back to the first store, which was also our meeting point. I was back so early I spent 30 minutes just standing in the storefront window with protection from the rain. This definitely wasn’t how I envisioned my visit to Naples/Sorrento. Check out the rain (via link):

https://www.dropbox.com/s/fuiaa422u3cmymt/Sorrento%20rain.MOV?dl=0

Kara’s group showed up just as we were departing for lunch.

Gayle’s group went to a nearby place that looked like Disney Cruise Line’s Enchanted Garden - a glasshouse Eden in the middle of an old, crumbling city.

Our appetizers were an unknown meat, salad, puffs of ???, “ham & cheese” fried dough with pizza sauce, &... Fries - all served family-style.

We were each then given entrees of penne pasta & a veggie lasagna wrap. Dessert was lemon cake. I ended up sitting with the “Gold Mickey” couple and a young couple from Guatemala, who are both doctors taking residency in Alabama soon.

Just as lunch ended we were told the boat tour of the Amalfi Coast - THE reason I booked this PA - was cancelled! As expected, the poor weather made the seas too rough. We were told we’ve receive some unknown amount of refund. (I doubted this as Disney Cruise Line listed the Naples city tour as a sub if the boat tour got cancelled.)

At 1pm we headed back for a substitute city tour of Naples at 2pm. I did learn Rome is the largest city with about 5M, Milan with about 2M, and Naples at 1M. (Other documents during our cruise gave very different figures….) It was an epically boring drive around Naples with two cold & windy stops by 3:30pm. Additionally, it was tough to get around the downtown/Oceanside section due to them installing a subway system; traffic and construction were everywhere. They made another stop where 3 of us decided to stay on the bus.

I was getting really frustrated, as this wasn’t how I wanted to spend my day. Had I been able to see it, I would have just walked back to the ship. We finally got back to the ship at 4pm (luckily not the originally scheduled 5:45pm!) The last straw was standing on the gangway in cold, blowing wind as an elderly couple couldn’t seem to clear the security scanner.

I zipped up to our stateroom, as I’d gotten “chilled to the bone” (even with a sweater, jeans, & sneakers)! I cranked up the heat and got in bed. If I wasn’t already dressed for dinner (minus shoe change), I would have gotten in the shower to get warm! The next day was already a concern with a similar forecast and the issue I was slated to wear a light dress.

Oh, we also has this as our VIP snack for the day. Even with the cover the bleu cheese was sticking-up the room, so I had it summarily returned (when Room Service brought more cookies!)

Kara: Before we tell you about dinner, I’ll recap my tour/day. After G left to meet her group, I got ready and then headed to Fathoms to wait for my departure at 8:30 a.m. It was clear from the get go that this was NOT an adults only departure.

We met our guide, Pierlugi (Luigi for short), as we boarded the bus. It was raining lightly as we left the port. We took the highway from Naples to Sorrento. As we left the port, Luigi informed us the Port is the second largest in Italy. This area is also one of the most densely populated in all of Europe - Luigi used the word overpopulated a couple of times. As we drove, I was struck by the number of greenhouses and the amount of land in this clearly urban/suburban area that was used for agriculture.

As we drove, we passed through three long tunnels - the last of which was 5 km long. We also passed by a 900 year old castle with a stunning view that is used today for events like weddings.

Our bus arrived at the farm - Colline de Sorrento - where I snapped a selfie and then got under shelter before the sky completely opened up.

The proprietor of the farm and one of the other staff VERY QUICKLY sort of demonstrated how three different kinds of cheese were made - mozzarella and ricotta and one type I didn’t understand but that tasted good.

I sat down for the tasting at a table with a couple about my age. They were Katelyn and Bill. Katelyn and I both availed ourselves of the facilities on two separate trips. Bill and I chatted while Katelyn was gone. Then when I returned to the table, Katelyn says, “Are you Gayle’s friend?” She and G had “met” via the Facebook group for our cruise and G had mentioned I was on this tour. We all work in higher ed so my guess is it stuck.

We shopped in the little farm store. I grabbed some limoncello and orange marmalade. This shopping trip I enjoyed as this is my kind of shopping. We loaded back onto the bus in the pouring rain.

From the farm, we rode into Sorrento. You already know we also arrived at Cuomo’s Lucky store where I ran into Gayle. And because this photo is awesome:

I walked through Cuomos and then headed into Sorrento to stroll the cobblestone street. The rain was just intermittent, so it wasn’t terrible. I ran into a group from my tour that was walking through town with Luigi so I followed them for a bit. Luigi pointed us towards a great view of the Bay of Sorrento.

I had lunch at a little street cafe called Ristorante Sorrenti. I just ordered quickly with the Margherita pizza which I regret because I wish I’d had the carbonara or caccio a pepe while we were in Italy - neither of which I was smart enough to think through. The pizza was tasty.

I did a little shopping and browsing. This part of Sorrento was fun to just walk around in, although other than tourist shops there wasn’t much culturally significant.

From Sorrento our group headed less than 10 km down the road to a parking lot at what turned out to be a limoncello factory with a store and cafe attached. There was a patio where you could look across the road and see another view of the Bay. It was so unimpressive in my mind, I took no pictures.

We loaded back up after our third stop, shop, move on stop and I was a bit over it. When we arrived in Pompei and our first stop was this Cameo factory (which had been on the tour description so I knew it was coming), I was pretty done. And yet, we still had Pompei to go which I hadn’t been looking that forward to. While I’m interested in history, this for some reason has never been a part of history that interested me. Looking back a few weeks later now, I actually am really glad I had the opportunity to see Pompei.

I’ll get to a brief description of my highlights of the town. But for any of you who have been there - can anyone explain to me how the chariots drove through the streets with these three big pillars sticking up out of the middle of the street? I get the pillars allowed you to cross flooded streets - but I still don’t have a visualization of chariots that works in those streets.

Okay - as for my highlights of Pompei - which I have to admit was much better now because the sun was out and it was nice and warm. I really enjoyed the Bath House as well as the main square. To think that the marble stage of the theatre is still intact is absolutely incredible to me.

As we left Pompei we had about 15 minutes to browse the vendor stands or, do what I did, and grab a gelato. Definitely the best way to use that time. We turned to the port and, now, back to the rest of the story.

Gayle: Tonight was our first night in Rapunzel’s (for the Thug show). I couldn't wait to dine in Rapunzel’s even though the menu was questionable. Similar to the West Coast Repo cruise on the Disney Wonder, we were very near the stage (like at Tiana’s). Our head server even noted we could move the next time to the exact table we’d had in Tiana’s - on the main aisle with direct view of the stage!

The menu.

Video of Rapunzel!

https://www.dropbox.com/s/spfwzrif6np6m16/Raps.MOV?dl=0

Kara: Because we were so close to the stage, we had a rather long visit with the thug Vlad.

Kara: I’d also add here that this menu was not exciting. If it weren’t for the stage show we wouldn’t have been thrilled with tonight. I think next time I’m getting a kid’s chicken tenders and fries.

Having reviewed the menu, we noted nothing on the dessert menu of interest! So before dinner we’d pre-ordered Room Service for the White/Dark Chocolate cake and cookies for dessert. FYI Disney, when you say “cake”, Kara in particular has a vision for what that will be. THIS

Is NOT cake. THIS is mousse - which Kara doesn’t eat. (I had one disappointed BFF this evening!)

The new live-action Disney’s Aladdin film was being shown in the stage theatre tonight, but with the start time of 8:45pm and another early PA port time in the morning, we had to skip it.

Disclaimer: I (Gayle) am a travel agent with Authorized Disney Travel Planner agency - Off to Neverland Travel. Contact me today for a no-obligation quote!

#2019dclmed

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samuelmmarcus · 6 years ago

Text

2019 Home Renovation Ideas

This was a wonderful two-phase project that began when these clients decided they wanted to remodel their kitchen. This east-coast family had been living with builder-grade finishes that were dark and “Tuscan-Inspired” and were ready to have an updated kitchen that reflected their New Hampshire roots. Amy Tausk of Swoon Interiors and Stephanie Frees of Plain & Posh (previously featured here) worked together to design all new custom cabinetry that is more functional and beautiful.

Take notes on all details shared by the designers. I am sure this home renovation will give you many ideas for your own renovations this year!

Photography by Picture Perfect House.

2019 Home Renovation Ideas

The kitchen felt dark and outdated before Amy and Stephanie worked their “magic” in this space!

Kitchen “After”

Kitchen Renovation: The designers revamped the kitchen into a clean, white and fresh space – but with a warm and cozy vibe like the rest of their house. Quartz countertops, clean-lined white cabinetry, a farmhouse sink, reclaimed wood and handcrafted subway tile laid in a herringbone pattern really transformed the space.

Counter stools – Spin Swivel Backless Counter stool from Crate & Barrel – Other Beautiful Counterstools: here, here, here & here.

Shiplap

Shiplap: Reclaimed wood shiplap on the island really added warmth and the rustic vibe the designers were looking for.

Cabinetry

Kitchen cabinets are from the Plain & Posh custom collection and are a non-beaded inset.

Range

The range is by Viking.

Flooring: Solid hardwood flooring – similar here.

Cabinet Hardware

Cabinet Hardware is by Schaub and is the Menlo Park knob and pull.

Backsplash

Backsplash: Masia 3×6 Subway Tile in Ivory – Other Tiles: here, here, here, here & here.

Kitchen Island

Kitchen Island Design: Keeping the island a square size made the best spatial sense in this room – and lent itself to using one larger chandelier instead of two pendants. Amy decided to make that the main light feature in the room and just reconfigure the can lighting around the rest of the space.

The light fixture is by Currey & Company the Simpatico Small Orb Chandelier.

Kitchen Island Dimensions – The island is 56” square

Wall Ovens

Wall Ovens: Wolf – similar here & here.

Kitchen Countertop Decor Ideas: Wooden Cutting Boards, Cake Stand, Crocks, Pitcher, Canisters, Dough Bowl, Planters, Topiaries.

Kitchen Sink

The sink is the Kohler Whitehaven apron front in their sea salt finish.

Kitchen Faucet

Faucets is by Kohler, Artifacts.

Beautiful Kitchen Tea Towels: here, here, here & here.

Kitchen Countertop

Countertops are Caesarstone London Grey.

Cabinet Paint Color

Kitchen cabinets and trim are Benjamin Moore White Dove OC-17.

Window Treatment

Window Treatment – Hunter Douglas Designer Screen Roller Lite Rise and Skyline Panels.

Breakfast Room

Their clients also wanted a cozy spot for their family to gather – in the mornings with coffee or for dinnertime conversation. The slip-covered chairs and weathered-wood table are now a favorite spot in the house. Even on a cloudy day, it feels bright and cheerful … truly the heart of the home for this wonderful family.

Table – Eldridge Dining Table, Home Decorators Collection – Others: here, here, here & here.

Dining Chairs

Chairs – Linen Slipcovered Accent chairs from Wisteria – Others: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Bar

Previously the corner of the kitchen housed a tiny desk and became a catchall for a little bit of everything. They knew they could turn it into a much more usable and beautiful space. Now it is an entertaining-workhorse – with antique-mirrored upper cabinetry and a beverage refrigerator and wine rack below.

Home Remodel

Fast-forward a couple years and this family knew it was time to transform a few other rooms in their home into the fresh clean look we had given them in their kitchen. On the list, the Master Bathroom, Laundry Room and first floor Powder Room.

Powder Room

“Good things come in small packages! The jumping off point for this room was this fantastic watercolor-inspired wallpaper. We matched the color on the custom-built vanity and added shiplap to the back wall. A favorite library sconce, fun crystal knobs and this gorgeous wall-mount faucet are other details we love. Once again, we warmed up the space with a touch of natural wood, in the form of this wood-framed mirror that ties in with the existing wood floors. Finally, it’s hard to see in photos, but the quartz countertop has a lovely textured, “leathered” finish.”

Powder Room Sconce: Anette Library Light by Ralph Lauren – similar here.

Shiplap

The Shiplap behind the sink area is painted in Benjamin Moore White Dove OC-17.

Mirror – Bentwood Rounded Rectangular Mirror from Rejuvenation.

Faucet

The faucet is from Newport Brass and is the Fairfield wall Mounted faucet (3-947).

Wallpaper

Wallpaper: Graham & Brown Indigo Aqua Wallpaper (available through the designer) – Others: here, here & here.

Artwork: One Kings Lane.

Vanity

Vanity was custom Built by the Plain & Posh collection and painted Benjamin Moore – Affinity collection Blue Echo 505.

Master Bathroom “Before”

“The builder of this home was obviously of a “More is More!” mindset … more arches, more walls, more steps – all if it making what is not a huge space to begin with feel even more cramped and choppy. While the colors were neutral, they still felt dark and dingy.”

Master Bathroom “After”

“We wanted to make the room feel light, bright and luxurious. Now, it is the exact same square footage as before but it feels huge!”

Ceiling

“Even with all of the lights off – it is so bright and cheery. And check out the ceiling! With all of the arches gone, Stephanie was able to see what it could become! She created this unique hexagon shape which inspired the rest of the room layout. The gorgeous wood bead chandelier looks stunning in the space.”

Flooring

“One of our preferences when doing bright white spaces is to bring in a warm element. We could have easily done a light floor – white or gray marble, and it would have been beautiful, but maybe a little cold – and certainly not as cozy feeling. Amy approached our client about doing a wood-look tile in a herringbone pattern for the floors – (especially since the adjoining bedroom is carpeted … we wouldn’t be competing with more wood), she wasn’t sure if she would be on board. Thankfully, she loved the idea of giving the room a slightly more rustic, farmhouse element.”

Flooring: wood/tiles: Hill House Field Tile 6×36 – Others: here, here & here.

Vanity Layout

“What used to be one straight vanity and a big empty wall … … is now a beautifully designed double vanity that wraps the corner with mirrors and provides and extra spot with seating for putting on makeup.”

Make-up Drawer

The two small drawer fronts under the makeup area mirror are actually doors that swing open to hidden outlets. Genius!

Vanity Stool – Pottery Barn

Countertop

“And … just the right quartz counter tops are still a win-win in our book, for both their beauty and durability. This one has such great movement and even some soft brown tones that tie in with the flooring.”

Beautiful Bathroom Accessories: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Cabinetry

Bathroom cabinetry is by the Plain & Posh custom collection. Timeless design!

Chandelier

Chandelier: Dauphine Wood Empire Chandelier by RH Baby & Child – Other Beautiful Chandeliers: here, here, here, here, here, here & here (different sizes).

Cabinet Paint Color

Cabinet paint color Benjamin Moore Classic Gray 1548.

Artwork from Minted.

Bathroom Sconces

“Amy had been dying to find just the right project in which to use these vertical double light sconces, and I knew this was the one. As big as they are, they don’t take up much visual space when mounted to the mirror, yet they still make such a statement in the room.”

Sconces: Visual Comfort – Graydon Double Bath Light by Thomas O’Brien.

Faucet & Sink

Bathroom faucets are Rohl, Palladian collection.

Sinks are Kohler Caxton Rectangle (K-20000-0) in White.

Hardware is by Atlas – The Elizabeth pull in Polished Nickel Both 419 and 420PN.

Freestanding Tub

Tub is by Signature Hardware and is the Rosalind Pedestal tub.

Tub Filler: Rohl.

Tub Stool

Wooden Stool – Dip Dyed Stool from Serena & Lily.

Shower

The entrance to the shower is now on an angle.

Window

A large window was added facing the tub to allow you to see through to the gorgeous mosaic tile on the back wall.

Shower Window

A high window was added inside of the shower to bring in light. The water closet (with cabinets for extra storage!) is located on the left.

Tiling

In addition to the sparkle the mosaics add, we dressed up a classic white subway tile with beautiful marble hex tile on the shower floor, gleaming polished nickel fixtures and a stunning lucite door handle.

All of the plumbing fixtures are from Rohl Palladian collection.

Shower Tiles: – Madrid Handmade Subway Tile in Blanco – similar here & here.

Accent Tile: Calacatta Gold Polished Interlocking Mosaic Accent Tile – similar here.

Floor Tile: Calacatta 5” Hexagon Honed on floor – similar here & here.

Laundry Room “Before”

Next – the laundry room. Like most builder-grade laundry rooms, this one was functional with no style. And … it was not even functioning to its full potential. The entire right wall was left blank … our clients put in their own table as a makeshift folding area.

Laundry Room “After”

“The cabinets were painted this lovely custom shade and given new doors and hardware. And in a room like a laundry room, why not go fun and bold with the flooring? We selected this tile that mimics the look of more expensive cement tiles.”

Tile is from Home Depot and is the Merola Tile and is the Arte Grey encaustic porcelain– similar here.

Sink Area

A new sink, countertop and faucet updated the old utility sink.

Color

The cabinetry is Plain & Posh collection. Stephanie, was extremely kind and called the cabinet maker to get the cabinet color just for you! The cabinet color is Slate Tile by Sherwin Williams SW 7624.

The faucet is the Litze pull out spray Square spout and industrial handle from Brizo in the brilliance stainless finish.

Laundry sink is from Sterling the Latitude 995-0.

Washer & Dryer: LG.

Cabinet Countertop & Hardware

“Of course, we had to add some warm wood tones too, which we did with a custom built wood countertop over the washer and dryer.”

The counter top on the washer and dryer are a wood top in a custom stain.

Hardware is by Atlas and is the Bradbury pull in their black finish.

Dream Laundry Room

“And on the other side of the room … brand new cabinetry was added, along with a true designated area for folding laundry and wall-mounted drying racks.”

Beadboard Drying Rack – Ballard Designs – similar here & here.

Storage

“But that’s not all … previously this corner behind the door was just a place for piling up all of the tall household items that wouldn’t fit elsewhere. Now, this “bottom-less” cabinet is the perfect place to hold a clothes steamer or vacuum that you can simply roll right out and use when needed.”

Folding Area Countertop

The folding area counter top is Caeserstone Pebble (4030) in a honed finish.

Laundry Basket – Steele Divided Canvas Sorter- Crate & Barrel – also available here.

Aren’t these designers just amazing? Besides being very talented (yes, you should hire them!

), they were kind enough to share all details, so you can not only feel inspired but also, guided.

Interior Design: Swoon Interiors – ( Instagram – Facebook)

Cabinet Designer: Plain & Posh – (Instagram – Facebook)

Photography: Picture Perfect House. – (Instagram – Facebook)

Best Sales of the Month:

Thank you for shopping through Home Bunch. I would be happy to assist you if you have any questions or are looking for something in particular. Feel free to contact me and always make sure to check dimensions before ordering. Happy shopping!

Serena & Lily: 25% Off Outdoor Furniture!

Wayfair: Up to 70% OFF – Home Remodel Sale!!!

Joss & Main: Warehouse Clearout – Up to 70% off!

Pottery Barn: Free Shipping – Use code: FREESHIP

One Kings Lane: High Quality Design Decor for Less.

West Elm: Best time to shop. Up to 40% off Everything!!!

Anthropologie: See the super-popular Joanna Gaines Exclusive line!

Urban Outfitters: Hip & Affordable Home Decor.

Horchow: High Quality Furniture and Decor. Up to 30% off the entire site!

Nordstrom: Up to 40% OFF. New Easter Decor!

Arhaus: Dining Sale. Up to f0% OFF!

Posts of the Week:

Modern Farmhouse with Front Porch.

Small Lot Modern Farmhouse.

Coastal Farmhouse Home Decor.

Painted Brick Cottage.

2019 New Year Home Tour.

Modern Coastal Shingle Home.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Fixer Upper.

Classic Colonial Home Design.

New England Home.

Kitchen Renovation with Before & After Pictures.

Full-scale Home Remodel Inspiration.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: How to Build your own Home.

Connecticut Beach House.Grey Kitchen Paint Colors.

Follow me on Instagram: @HomeBunch

You can follow my pins here: Pinterest/HomeBunch

See more Inspiring Interior Design Ideas in my Archives.

“Dear God,

If I am wrong, right me. If I am lost, guide me. If I start to give-up, keep me going.

Lead me in Light and Love”.

Have a wonderful day, my friends and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

with Love,

Luciane from HomeBunch.com

Come Follow me on

Get Home Bunch Posts Via Email

Contact Luciane

“For your shopping convenience, this post might contain links to retailers where you can purchase the products (or similar) featured. I make a small commission if you use these links to make your purchase so thank you for your support!”

from Home http://www.homebunch.com/2019-home-renovation-ideas/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

0 notes

dawnjeman · 6 years ago

Text

2019 Home Renovation Ideas

Take notes on all details shared by the designers. I am sure this home renovation will give you many ideas for your own renovations this year!

Photography by Picture Perfect House.

2019 Home Renovation Ideas

The kitchen felt dark and outdated before Amy and Stephanie worked their “magic” in this space!

Kitchen “After”

Counter stools – Spin Swivel Backless Counter stool from Crate & Barrel – Other Beautiful Counterstools: here, here, here & here.

Shiplap

Shiplap: Reclaimed wood shiplap on the island really added warmth and the rustic vibe the designers were looking for.

Cabinetry

Kitchen cabinets are from the Plain & Posh custom collection and are a non-beaded inset.

Range

The range is by Viking.

Flooring: Solid hardwood flooring – similar here.

Cabinet Hardware

Cabinet Hardware is by Schaub and is the Menlo Park knob and pull.

Backsplash

Backsplash: Masia 3×6 Subway Tile in Ivory – Other Tiles: here, here, here, here & here.

Kitchen Island

The light fixture is by Currey & Company the Simpatico Small Orb Chandelier.

Kitchen Island Dimensions – The island is 56” square

Wall Ovens

Wall Ovens: Wolf – similar here & here.

Kitchen Countertop Decor Ideas: Wooden Cutting Boards, Cake Stand, Crocks, Pitcher, Canisters, Dough Bowl, Planters, Topiaries.

Kitchen Sink

The sink is the Kohler Whitehaven apron front in their sea salt finish.

Kitchen Faucet

Faucets is by Kohler, Artifacts.

Beautiful Kitchen Tea Towels: here, here, here & here.

Kitchen Countertop

Countertops are Caesarstone London Grey.

Cabinet Paint Color

Kitchen cabinets and trim are Benjamin Moore White Dove OC-17.

Window Treatment

Window Treatment – Hunter Douglas Designer Screen Roller Lite Rise and Skyline Panels.

Breakfast Room

Table – Eldridge Dining Table, Home Decorators Collection – Others: here, here, here & here.

Dining Chairs

Chairs – Linen Slipcovered Accent chairs from Wisteria – Others: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Bar

Home Remodel

Powder Room

Powder Room Sconce: Anette Library Light by Ralph Lauren – similar here.

Shiplap

The Shiplap behind the sink area is painted in Benjamin Moore White Dove OC-17.

Mirror – Bentwood Rounded Rectangular Mirror from Rejuvenation.

Faucet

The faucet is from Newport Brass and is the Fairfield wall Mounted faucet (3-947).

Wallpaper

Wallpaper: Graham & Brown Indigo Aqua Wallpaper (available through the designer) – Others: here, here & here.

Artwork: One Kings Lane.

Vanity

Vanity was custom Built by the Plain & Posh collection and painted Benjamin Moore – Affinity collection Blue Echo 505.

Master Bathroom “Before”

Master Bathroom “After”

“We wanted to make the room feel light, bright and luxurious. Now, it is the exact same square footage as before but it feels huge!”

Ceiling

Flooring

Flooring: wood/tiles: Hill House Field Tile 6×36 – Others: here, here & here.

Vanity Layout

Make-up Drawer

The two small drawer fronts under the makeup area mirror are actually doors that swing open to hidden outlets. Genius!

Vanity Stool – Pottery Barn

Countertop

Beautiful Bathroom Accessories: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Cabinetry

Bathroom cabinetry is by the Plain & Posh custom collection. Timeless design!

Chandelier

Chandelier: Dauphine Wood Empire Chandelier by RH Baby & Child – Other Beautiful Chandeliers: here, here, here, here, here, here & here (different sizes).

Cabinet Paint Color

Cabinet paint color Benjamin Moore Classic Gray 1548.

Artwork from Minted.

Bathroom Sconces

Sconces: Visual Comfort – Graydon Double Bath Light by Thomas O’Brien.

Faucet & Sink

Bathroom faucets are Rohl, Palladian collection.

Sinks are Kohler Caxton Rectangle (K-20000-0) in White.

Hardware is by Atlas – The Elizabeth pull in Polished Nickel Both 419 and 420PN.

Freestanding Tub

Tub is by Signature Hardware and is the Rosalind Pedestal tub.

Tub Filler: Rohl.

Tub Stool

Wooden Stool – Dip Dyed Stool from Serena & Lily.

Shower

The entrance to the shower is now on an angle.

Window

A large window was added facing the tub to allow you to see through to the gorgeous mosaic tile on the back wall.

Shower Window

A high window was added inside of the shower to bring in light. The water closet (with cabinets for extra storage!) is located on the left.

Tiling

All of the plumbing fixtures are from Rohl Palladian collection.

Shower Tiles: – Madrid Handmade Subway Tile in Blanco – similar here & here.

Accent Tile: Calacatta Gold Polished Interlocking Mosaic Accent Tile – similar here.

Floor Tile: Calacatta 5” Hexagon Honed on floor – similar here & here.

Laundry Room “Before”

Laundry Room “After”

Tile is from Home Depot and is the Merola Tile and is the Arte Grey encaustic porcelain– similar here.

Sink Area

A new sink, countertop and faucet updated the old utility sink.

Color

The faucet is the Litze pull out spray Square spout and industrial handle from Brizo in the brilliance stainless finish.

Laundry sink is from Sterling the Latitude 995-0.

Washer & Dryer: LG.

Cabinet Countertop & Hardware

“Of course, we had to add some warm wood tones too, which we did with a custom built wood countertop over the washer and dryer.”

The counter top on the washer and dryer are a wood top in a custom stain.

Hardware is by Atlas and is the Bradbury pull in their black finish.

Dream Laundry Room

“And on the other side of the room … brand new cabinetry was added, along with a true designated area for folding laundry and wall-mounted drying racks.”

Beadboard Drying Rack – Ballard Designs – similar here & here.

Storage

Folding Area Countertop

The folding area counter top is Caeserstone Pebble (4030) in a honed finish.

Laundry Basket – Steele Divided Canvas Sorter- Crate & Barrel – also available here.

Aren’t these designers just amazing? Besides being very talented (yes, you should hire them!

), they were kind enough to share all details, so you can not only feel inspired but also, guided.

Interior Design: Swoon Interiors – ( Instagram – Facebook)

Cabinet Designer: Plain & Posh – (Instagram – Facebook)

Photography: Picture Perfect House. – (Instagram – Facebook)

Best Sales of the Month:

Serena & Lily: 25% Off Outdoor Furniture!

Wayfair: Up to 70% OFF – Home Remodel Sale!!!

Joss & Main: Warehouse Clearout – Up to 70% off!

Pottery Barn: Free Shipping – Use code: FREESHIP

One Kings Lane: High Quality Design Decor for Less.

West Elm: Best time to shop. Up to 40% off Everything!!!

Anthropologie: See the super-popular Joanna Gaines Exclusive line!

Urban Outfitters: Hip & Affordable Home Decor.

Horchow: High Quality Furniture and Decor. Up to 30% off the entire site!

Nordstrom: Up to 40% OFF. New Easter Decor!

Arhaus: Dining Sale. Up to f0% OFF!

Posts of the Week:

Modern Farmhouse with Front Porch.

Small Lot Modern Farmhouse.

Coastal Farmhouse Home Decor.

Painted Brick Cottage.

2019 New Year Home Tour.

Modern Coastal Shingle Home.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Fixer Upper.

Classic Colonial Home Design.

New England Home.

Kitchen Renovation with Before & After Pictures.

Full-scale Home Remodel Inspiration.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: How to Build your own Home.

Connecticut Beach House.Grey Kitchen Paint Colors.

Follow me on Instagram: @HomeBunch

You can follow my pins here: Pinterest/HomeBunch

See more Inspiring Interior Design Ideas in my Archives.

“Dear God,

If I am wrong, right me. If I am lost, guide me. If I start to give-up, keep me going.

Lead me in Light and Love”.

Have a wonderful day, my friends and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

with Love,

Luciane from HomeBunch.com

Come Follow me on

Get Home Bunch Posts Via Email

Contact Luciane

from Home http://www.homebunch.com/2019-home-renovation-ideas/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

1 note · View note

biofunmy · 5 years ago

Text

On California’s Lost Coast: Sea Lions, Surf and Squiggly Roads

On a deserted beach in Northern California, I mistook a sea lion for driftwood. The Lost Coast is deceiving that way. Wild things appear tame and tame things, like the paved road my family and I took to get here, wild.

In June, seeking immersion in nature, we visited the Lost Coast, the largely roadless shore between the indiscernibly tiny town of Rockport and the Victorian charmer Ferndale, about 100 miles apart by inland roads. Here in Humboldt County, California reaches its westernmost point near a junction of three seismically active tectonic plates. The King Range mountains plunge into the sea, deterring road-builders from continuing State Route 1 along the ocean. Breaking waves strew driftwood along beaches reached by hiking trails that require consulting a tide chart. It’s cold and foggy, even in summer, and just rough enough to keep all but the most intrepid day-trippers away.

“No one comes here without intending to come here,” said Verna Kaai, the manager of the Tides Inn, a homey base in Shelter Cove, the oceanfront gateway to the Lost Coast, when I booked a room for three days amid a weeklong road trip. “We’re only about 20 miles from the highway,” she said of the squiggly access road that connects the town to the nearest thoroughfare, “but it will take you up to an hour to travel.”

That sounded like our speed. And while the coast wasn’t lost to the Native Americans, loggers and cannabis growers who have left their mark here, it appealed to us in another escapist sense: little connectivity. Ms. Kaai assured me I wouldn’t have cellular service, though the hotel had very slow Wi-Fi. In this screen-centric age, a few scenic and relatively unwired places remain in the United States, such as Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in southern Arizona and parts of the Adirondack Mountains in New York. But this slice of California’s coast — only some 225 miles north of San Francisco — seems, well, lost in plain sight.

A harrowing drive

Long before it went missing, the area was populated by Native American Sinkyone and Mattole people, and later, lumberjacks and harvesters of tanoak bark, used to tan leather. The Gold Rush in the mid-19th century brought more settlers, and logging intensified in the race to rebuild the city after the San Francisco earthquake in 1906. Churning seas tended to wash out piers, which killed most attempts to fish commercially in the 19th and 20th centuries. In 1970, after the timber industry had depleted much of the area, and depopulation drew pot growers, the 68,000-acre King Range National Conservation Area, which protects 35 miles of coast and mountains up to 4,088 feet, became the country’s first National Conservation Area.

Now, visitors come to the Lost Coast to hike, fish, beachcomb, bird-watch and scan the ocean for migrating whales in the offshore marine preserve (Ms. Kaai recommended visiting on a weekend, when Shelter Cove’s few restaurants are open). Others come to backpack along the famous Lost Coast Trail-North, a nearly 25-mile beach trek that generally takes three days, requires a permit (free, with a $6 reservation fee) and is subject to tides that periodically make portions impassable.

Like the hiking here, driving to reach the Lost Coast requires a degree of fortitude. The builders of California’s Highway 1, which skirts the Pacific from Orange County more than 600 miles north, gave up the shore plan at the King Range, a topographic accordion we glimpsed in hazy fog and spray before veering inland. It ends at Leggett, about 15 miles from the ocean, funneling drivers onto U.S. 101, which continues north through southern Humboldt County before rejoining the coast near Eureka.

From the U.S. 101 exit at Garberville, 23 miles from Leggett, the route to Shelter Cove turned westward and challenging. For the next 50 minutes of concentrated driving, my husband, Dave, worked hard to maintain 35 miles per hour winding up mountain ridges and through dense fir forests, and downshifting at the continuous switchbacks to avoid overheating the brakes. Past the town limit sign for Shelter Cove, population 809, I finally relinquished my clutch on the Jeep door handle at the ocean panorama of surf-bashed rock islands and mountain-backed beaches.

Shelter Cove, at last

On the southern end of the Lost Coast Trail-North, Shelter Cove is scattered across a largely treeless peninsula that protects the town’s namesake, a south-facing cove. A general store on the access road deals groceries and hardware in the absence of any commercial main street in town. Modest houses dot the shore, leaving plenty of gaps for places with names like Seal Rock and Abalone Point, and views to the sea from most vantage points, including a campground and a lightly used nine-hole golf course. The closest thing to a town square is the community center, which, when we visited, was holding a group garage sale near the landing strip that parallels the coast.

Between the runway and the sea, the location of the eight-room Tides Inn — a three-story cross between a motel and a McMansion that is perched above a cove and hugged by rocky arms — exceeded our expectations. Our suite was thoughtfully furnished with nautical décor in the bedroom, a kitchenette nook with a mini-refrigerator and microwave and a high-top dining table. But the views made you forget about anything indoors. From our third-floor balcony, we could hear sea lions barking each morning and watch sunsets late each evening.

While it remains a destination for lovers of isolation, Shelter Cove has added a few tourist-friendly essentials in the past year, including a brewpub and a Venezuelan restaurant, Mi Mochima. On our first night, we followed the music across a ball field and skirted the unfenced landing strip to find Gyppo Ale Mill, a microbrewery, which takes its name from independent timber crews who came to Northern California to fell big trees (some logging remains, though environmental activists are fighting to preserve one of the region’s remaining old-growth Douglas fir stands, known as Rainbow Ridge). On this Friday night, the local band Planet 4 played funky tributes to Dr. John, who had recently died, and children ran circles around a cornhole-playing field.

Like us, the Gyppo Ale Mill’s co-owner Julie Peacock took one of the dramatic drives to the Lost Coast region and immediately fell in love with it. In 2001, she and her husband, Josh Monschke, whose family has roots in Humboldt County logging, left ski resort jobs in Utah to move to the area to farm marijuana, and he continues to run a nursery. They opened Gyppo last spring and call it “California’s most remote brewery,” because, said Ms. Peacock, “I haven’t found one more remote.”

We felt we’d earned an I.P.A. or two, after the harrowing drive in, but learned that’s not an excuse used by residents.

“Locals think nothing of driving that road to town,” said Katie Wallace-Schmidt, the manager of Gyppo as she delivered falafel burgers and lamb sausage to our table. “In L.A., I could easily be on the highway for 50 minutes to go 10 miles. I’d much rather be here.”

A dose of wilderness therapy

Given the weather, which generally peaks in the 60s in summer, we didn’t consider Shelter Cove a swim destination, though we found hardy bathers dipping into the shallows at Cove Beach on Saturday morning. By afternoon, a dozen SUVs and pickup trucks were parked on the popular beach, a rare safe place to swim along the Lost Coast, which is known for its rip currents and shore-breaking waves.

If not a traditional beach-lovers’ shore, the Lost Coast is ideal for losing time climbing over craggy rocks and inspecting tide pools. Between hikes in the conservation area, we scrambled around the peninsula’s rough edges, watching whistling oystercatchers, turkey vultures with their wings spread to dry in the sun, and sleepy harbor seals, some of them still pale in their juvenile coats (a notice posted in the Tides Inn window warned visitors from getting close to the pups, which are often alone and mistaken for orphaned while their parents, who may abandon their babies if in the presence of humans, are out fishing).

The Bureau of Land Management, which oversees the King Range preserve, allows 60 overnight backpackers per day to depart on the Lost Coast Trail-North between May 15 and Sept. 15 (30 people per day are permitted the rest of the year, when worsening weather notoriously alters and sometimes washes out parts of the trail). Day hikers do not need a permit. On our visit, the Shelter Cove trailhead parking lot was full, with more than two dozen cars, and a nearby street was lined with the overflow, indicating the numbers of hikers somewhere along the coast. Still, we felt we had the trail to ourselves Saturday morning, along with a black bear, possibly, based on the fresh scat we encountered.

From the Shelter Cove trailhead at Black Sands Beach, the going was slow on spongy black sand and tumbled sandstones that were hard to grip as our boots sank inches with each step. The slow pace that beach hiking enforced worked as wilderness therapy. We combed the high-tide line, finding patterned sea urchin shells, sun-bleached sea stars, driftwood sanded by waves and the occasional crab trap. Near the breaking surf, we nearly bumped into a juvenile sea lion we mistook for a log. We took breaks atop 20-foot high boulders that appeared to have tumbled from a mountain peak with an evident rock slide on its oceanfront face (the offshore Mendocino Triple Junction sets off frequent tremblers in an area where the three tectonic plates meet). Massive timbers made sturdy bridges to cross mountain streams that run down the slopes and cut through the sand on their way to the sea.

Venezuelan fare, blind curves and a tiny lighthouse

That night we gorged at Mi Mochima, a sunny new Venezuelan spot with its own boomerang story. The married owners, Blu Graham and Maria Graham Diaz, met in Venezuela where he was a scuba-diving guide. In 2011, after moving back to the coast where he grew up, Mr. Graham opened the neighboring Lost Coast Adventure Tours, which offers guided backpacking trips on the trail. The ocean-view A-frame restaurant, where Ms. Diaz is the chef, is designed to balance out their seasonal business, offering mini fish empanadas, garlic-sautéed prawns and a hearty shredded beef stew known as pabellón criollo. Our waitress, the couple’s adult daughter, Indiana Graham, explained that the coastal town of Mochima, Venezuela, and Shelter Cove are only distant in a geographic sense.

“They both are all about the ocean,” she said.

Getting to the northern trailhead at the Mattole River the following day was the most extreme of our adventure drives. Our innkeepers recommended a paved route largely outside of the conservation area that still turned out to be a hair-raising, one-hour, 40-minute errand on narrow roads that occasionally pinched to one lane, often, it seemed, just as we reached a blind curve (Lost Coast Adventure Tours, also offers shuttle service to the trailhead in 11-passenger vans).

A series of determined roads ascended pine-dense hillsides, undulated over mountain passes of wildflower meadows and tunneled through trees, only to descend and make the climb all over again. The few towns indicated on the map were easy to miss, though the general store in Honeydew, a blink of a town where a few intriguing back roads intersect, was thronged with dirt bikers on a group drive. We passed through sleepy Petrolia, site of the first oil well drilled in California, and took the relatively flat Lighthouse Road that follows the tail end of the Mattole River to reach the Lost Coast Trail at its top end.

In contrast to the pine forests around the southern trailhead at Shelter Cove, grassy woodlands border the northern gateway. Desert wildflowers, including globe-shaped yellow sand verbena, daisylike purple fleabane and violet lupine, bloomed in the dunes. A deer grazed a hillside and sea lions on offshore rocks barked at our approach. At just over three miles in, a colony of elephant seals dozed below the squat, white Punta Gorda Lighthouse, a remote, long-decommissioned beacon anchoring a grassy hillside above the shore.

Leaving the Lost Coast northbound saves one of the best adventure drives for last when, past Petrolia, two-lane Mattole Road links to the coast again and follows an undeveloped stretch. Bushy wild radish plants crowded the road as it climbed inland and, 90 minutes later, abruptly disgorged us in Ferndale, a manicured Victorian-era Mayberry. There, a ukulele ensemble was jamming in a bank parking lot, a comparatively found spot — with cellular service restored — at the border of the lost wilds.

Elaine Glusac is a frequent contributor to the Travel section.

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