LofM Updates, Excerpts, and Encyclopedia Entries

Photo by mostafa meraji on Unsplash

So! November is over! Last post I said I hoped to have a whole⁠--if rough⁠--draft of LofM completed by now, and I really have to laugh and wonder what in the heckity heck I was thinking. A whole draft? A whole draft????

Needless to say that did not end up happening (a whole draft! which would've been between 50 and 70k?!). But I did write, and enjoyed writing, even though it wasn't every day. After all, I went from having nothing at all to having something that I am, crucially, pretty happy with.

I also didn't end up posting excerpts weekly here, though I did share a few on tumblr. I've gathered them all here for your perusal. I also made two posts corresponding with some entries in my worldbuilding encyclopedia, featured below! I love them and am excited to create and share more!

Enjoy!

Excerpts

Once, in the oldest of days and times, there were four kingdoms: the kingdom of Men, the kingdom of the Djinn, the kingdom of the Elyoud, and the kingdom of Beasts. I say once, but they are kingdoms still. They are not, nor have they ever been, united, though only two are sworn enemies: the Djinn and the Elyoud, who will have no alliance or consortium with each other. 

The kingdoms of Men and Beasts ever been their jointed battleground, their jointed enemies or allies, for Men have something in their nature to afford them a sort of kinship with either race, and while Beasts are a kingdom unto their own, they intersect and are, in many cases, vassals to Man, Djinn, and Elyoud.

Once, in the oldest of days and times, there was also a famed poet. His name was Bilal, and he had a voice so beautiful it softened the heart and elevated the minds of his listeners, tamed wild beasts so that they would sit docile at his feet, and called to all manner of birds wishing to improve their music through attendance on him or who were simply enchanted by his song, such as that empress of birds, the anqa’ of the sun, for his voice was the closest in beauty and power to hers. ❞

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Meanwhile, the boy is watching with curiosity as a shadow detaches itself from the greater shadow of one of the bushes of the garden and winds its way towards him, revealing itself to be a long, thin snake, all black.

He knows to be careful of snakes. He knows to ask them politely to leave, if he comes upon one, and if they do not then to remove himself from the vicinity carefully and quickly, because snakes are fast and often venomous but also disinclined to attack him if he poses no threat to them. He knows when he is older he will be allowed to dispose of a snake himself, if he must, but otherwise to have an adult do that for him, because he promised his mother he would, and promises are important to keep.

So he doesn’t get closer to the snake, but as it stops a while away from him, he doesn’t back away from it either, simply watches to see what it will do. It raises its head. It looks at him. And then it speaks.

You are wearing something around your neck, it says, in a sibilant voice that he hears in his head, rather than with his ears. What is it?

He startles a little, retreating half a step. Animals don’t speak to you, unless they are not animals, or unless you are very special. He doesn’t think he’s very special, and a speaking snake…

He has heard stories like this before.

“Are you a djinn?” he asks.❞

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In the back garden, the hens are clucking. Halah is thinking that she will have to feed them a little later than usual when Raoul clears his throat.

“You have heard of what has befallen the prince,” he intones, fixing her with his pale grey gaze.

Halah tries not to stiffen too obviously, tries not to bow into herself. With that single statement, she understands why they have come to see her. “I have,” she says, somewhat numbly.

Ilyas glances at her and then Raoul and then down at the table with a focused intent, as though the water-stained tabletop is a fascinating puzzle. The queen shifts, her shoulders pushing back, her posture—already faultless—somehow becoming more exact. Her glass of qahwa is cradled delicately in her hand.

“Contrary to what the kingdom has been lead to believe—have decided to believe—he is not dead,” the queen says, lending credence to the rumours that have sprung up about her. She doesn’t seem at all maddened though, only—fervent. Resolute. Immoveable.

“My son is still alive,” she says, with the kind of unflinching conviction that moves mountains and builds kingdoms.

“It is only a chance,” Raoul cautions.

“But it is enough for me, no matter how slim that chance may be,” the queen retorts. “And forgive me, Syeda Halah, but that is what has brought my cousin to tell me your story. To tell me what happened to you.”

Halah feels a hot flash of betrayal spear through her before she pushes the emotion away. Two years and six months Raoul has kept her secret, and that is a long time, for all that it feels like the blink of an eye. He owes her nothing. She is the one who requested a divorce of him.

She is the one who owes him.❞

---

[[ content warning: the following excerpt contains a depiction of a traumatic flashback, implied episode of PTSD, and an implied panic attack ]]

Suddenly she’s on her feet, her breath strangled in her throat, memories consuming her, blinding and deafening her to all but remembered jeering laughter and monstrous figures and constant whispers everywhere and fire, fire, fire that doesn’t burn and terror turned despair because she cannot get out she will never get out she is trapped and lost and forgotten and forsaken no one is coming for her no one will help her no will save her she is alone alone alone.

From far away she hears Ilyas call her name, but it is muted under the voices saying let us play a game, come fly with us, we might even catch you if you fall and then, suddenly there is a sharp pain in her shoulder, a pain she recognizes, and the soft trill of a call she would know anywhere, a call that guided her out of the dark and kept her safe.

Nujaym.

Her little star. ❞

Encyclopedia Entries

↳ Djinn are beings of smokeless fire whose true forms are invisible in the mortal realm, and who range in nature from mischievous to malicious. They have societies, rulers, and genders, as well as shapeshifting abilities and magic. It is they who taught humanity magic.

They are generally attracted to impurity, despair, violence, and alcohol, which allows them to access, prey on, or influence humans. They are capable of possession but can be driven away and rebuffed by purity of body and state and by verses from the Book of Revelation, either recited or worn as a protective talisman. Efficacy depends on the strength of the djinn and the spiritual strength of the invoker.

Djinn can also be commanded and controlled, either by magic or by one who has the spiritual strength to master them, but they are inherently tricksters and will always try to harm or subvert both their masters and any commands given to them.
Their domain lies beyond Jabal Qaf, but they often slip into the mortal realm and cause trouble on the earthly plane through various access points. Their sworn enemies are the Elyoud.
​
[Inspiration: Islam]

original images via: KEVIN ESCATE, VLADISLAV NAHORNY,  MAREK PIWNICKI on Unsplash

↳The Elyoud are a race of giant, winged beings that reside upon Jabal Qaf, that mystical mountain that serves as a gateway between the realms of the Seen and the Unseen. They are said to be very beautiful, extraordinarily long-lived, and generally benevolent to humankind, though they tend to be fey in nature nevertheless. They are ruled by a queen, and she is always succeeded by a favoured daughter. In the Diaran Empire, they are regarded as demigods and venerated as such.

Rarely do the Elyoud leave their mountain for anything but battle against the djinn. Their preferred weapons are bow and spear, but they fight with the sword as well. All their weapons blaze with an unearthly fire that is fatal to the djinn. It is said any arrow fletched with a feather from the wing of an Elyoud will never miss its mark. Their mounts are the winged steeds the haizum, which are wild and will submit to no hand but theirs.
​
[Inspiration: Pari, Elioud, Nephilim, the Fair Folk]

original images via: SAMUEL RIDGE, POSSESSED PHOTOGRAPHY, DUNCAN SANCHEZ on Unsplash