My boy sick.
That’s what Nanna said, but nobody cared.
Nobody even believed.
He sick. Just you look at him. Why him smiling like that? I never heard of no baby that never cry.
Nanna held her son at arms length in front of her, scrutinizing his every feature. She brought his face close to her own, and frowned. Something was wrong in that smile. She knew it the way she knew a storm was coming from the ache she got in the old break in her hip. Something inside her was aching like her hip ached. Something was warning her.
My boy sick, she insisted.
She began to insist this with a sudden fervor that gave people pause. Men pulling in their nets on the docks would turn to look at her when she passed by, forgetting their work. Everywhere she could hear the whispers of the other village woman. They watched her from the shadows of their huts, conspiring.
And little by little, when the people of the village started to turn to her their eyes were bereft of compassion, and they were surer by the day that ol’ Nanna had gone insane.
You had your baby too old Nanna, they would say. You had your baby too old and now you all crazy with wanting him to be sick ’cause you can’t believe you finally got a baby. You think he sick ’cause it make you feel like you doing your job by him. But that baby all right. Ain’t nothing wrong with that baby, Nanna. So you hush yourself now. Be glad you got a baby and don’t worry us no more.
My boy sick.
Her body ached with the truth of it. Ached until it was ready to explode and hot tears came down her face.
My boy sick and if I don’t help him, him going to die.
But nobody believed, and nobody cared.
*****
Her baby was six months old when Nanna realized she had never heard him cry. When the idea struck her that not once, not ever, seen or heard him shed so much as a single tear she sat down gasping. She did not know why the terror had unhinged her so, she just knew that she had to do something -anything- to make her baby cry.
She pinched his bottom as hard as she could.
Cry baby. Come on, cry for ol’ Nanna. Cry for yo mamma who need to hear it so bad. Just one tear, baby.
He made no sound. He only turned to her with deep, curious eyes and grinned wider.
Ashamed both by her failure and that she had purposefully caused her son pain, Nanna fell into inconsolable sobs in the corner of her shack.
Everyone thought her crazy when she told this story. Their eyes widened at the sickness of it, and Nanna began to hear the whispers behind her back turn to murmurs.
Nanna gone crazy in her head. We gots to do something ‘fore she hurt that baby.
Taun would have listened to her. Taun would have known that her instincts had an eerie accuracy, but Taun was dead. He had been gobbled up by the sea right after he had finally put a baby in her old belly, and now everyone thought she had gone crazy with the grief. So when she said, my boy is sick all they heard was, I’m a sad crazy woman. But Nanna knew better. Nanna watched her baby Taun, her new Taun, she watched him smile at hidden things and her guts twisted in fear. The murmurs were getting louder.
Nanna done gone crazy. Who can blame her? She done had a baby at her age, and her husband never done see her baby not even once ‘fore he fall into the ocean? She live out all by herself and she going crazy out there.
One day, before anyone could stop her, she picked him new Taun. Every time she saw the bruise on his bottom she was moved to tears, and could take inaction no longer. She strapped him to her chest the way mothers who combed the beach did with their children, and she started walking. Everything she had of value she carried on her back.
She walked north until she found the course of the big river her own mother had told her about. The river that split the whole island right down the middle, and she followed it knowing it would lead eventually to the Harbor.
Nanna had never owned a pair of shoes. Never known a single person who did. She walked until her feet bled. She walked until her soles turned to cracked leather. Taun hung heavy around her chest, his weight greater than that of a baby. She had to be rid of that weight. So she walked until she was at the Harbor where all the great boats were docked.
And when she was there, at the Great Harbor of Valaen, where no one knew of a crazy lady named Nanna, she found a captain.
I want to buy passage on a ship, Nanna said. I want to get me to Angard, where them Weavers live.
Nanna did not know much about bargaining, but she knew that she should keep her tongue in her head when she looked at the great boats docked side by side. So many, so many out there on the waters. The ocean had never looked so big as when she looked at out at those boats.
Not knowing that she had just lost her husband, or that everyone where she was from thought she had lost her mind, Captain Jerian Bose of the “Wings Spread Wide” gave her a cot and a meal chit and told her to mind her baby and herself and she would have no problems at sea. Nanna took her smiling baby below decks to the cabin they shared with two other people, and for the first time in a long time, she rested.
Nanna was proud of herself. She had walked until she found her feet on the wooden planks of one of the great ocean-faring ships, and now she was off to Angard and she was happy as could be, even if she didn’t have hardly no money left. She had sold every single thing she owned to pay for passage. Every bit of metal her family had ever gathered. But she had hope now.
On Angard the Weavers had a school where they did nothing but figure out every kind of illness that every kind of man woman and child had ever had in the history of the world. They would know why her baby never stopped smiling.
They had to.
*****
Your baby happy, that why he smile.
A month into the voyage Nanna made the mistake of sharing her concerns with another one of the passengers she shared her room with. They worked together scrubbing the decks sometimes, which was part of the deal she had made to secure passage. She was nice young woman who had hair knitted tight against her head the way some of the young people did these days. Nanna had never felt so alone in her life, and thought her nice enough that she had could afford to share, just a little bit. Now she knew better.
Nanna hadn’t opened her mouth in a week for fear of making it worse.
Why you got that frown on your face? Her new friend would ask. Can’t you see your baby happy? Some baby is just happy? That should make your heart glad up, Nanna. You got yourself a happy baby, and that ain’t in no ways bad, is it, Nanna?
The girl talked to Nanna like she would talk to a child who was afraid of the dark. Nanna wanted to scream.
Just look at him! It ain’t right for him to be smiling like that looking at the sky! It’s the day time, ain’t it? And there are clouds from horizon to horizon. So what he smiling at? Where the stars he see twinkling? But Nanna said nothing, and the nice young woman who thought she was being kind kept talking.
You think he’s touched in the head a bit? Worse things could happen to a baby. We had us a touched man in the place I growed up. Him was happy all him life. Your baby be like him. Happy. No big deal.
No, Nanna wanted to say, it’s something else. Something different. A mother knows.
But she said nothing.
Nanna frowned because if her despair had no vent then she feared she would simply split into two pieces from the pressure of it. She watched Taun at night, laying on her chest as the ship rocked, smiling like he was falling in love with everything every day and there wasn’t nothing nobody could say to make him feel sad inside. That much happy wasn’t right. That much happy would get you killed. Nanna knew now to keep her concerns to herself, that nice young woman was starting to get word out around the ship. Even her silence was attracting notice.
Late one afternoon, as she crawled on hands and knees scrubbing the deck, Nanna’s hip started to ache. She tried to tell everyone that a storm was coming, but no one believed her. They’d all figured she was crazy by then. She was getting used to that. Nanna had even caught the captain giving her long considering glances, like he was thinking that maybe a woman like her had no business with a little baby. Nobody objected when she went below deck.
She held little Taun tight against her, and whispered that she was never going to give up on him. His body was warm against hers.
The storm came less than an hour later, all of the sudden, and when it was over that nice young lady who had thought she was being kind to Nanna by telling everyone she was crazy had fallen over the side of the boat. No one had been able to get to her in time. After that not even the captain would look at Nanna, and everyone stopped talking about her baby.
Nanna was glad for that old break in her hip. It had kept her and little Taun safe. After so long being told she was crazy, she had begun to doubt herself. It made her feel better about trusting her other feeling. The one that told her something bad was gonna happen if she didn’t get help for her baby.
Nanna cuddled with little Taun, cuddled tight with him and they fell asleep together, her arms instinctively folding tight around him when the ship hit a swell. But there was no danger of them falling off the bed now. There was plenty of room now that that nice young lady wasn’t sleeping with them anymore.
Nanna had nightmares about the girl walking across the bottom of the ocean, her face covered with seaweed, but she managed to sleep through them. It was better than seeing her baby smile.
*****
Nanna had no money when she and Taun set foot on Angard. All she had left was some shell jewelry. Cheap junk that had no more value than its meaning to her.
Nanna shivered, standing on the dock, for it was winter and her voyage had taken more than a season. She had no warm clothes to put on herself, but she wrapped Baby Taun in the scraps she had of her other clothes and kept him bundled against her as she started to walk again. She and her baby would keep each other warm.
Where the school where you doctors at? She asked the first person she saw when she got off the boat.
You mean the Mender’s Academy?
They all talked fancy here in Angard. All clipped and distinct like they were trying their very best to sound appropriate, except they all seemed to do it without effort. Nanna heard once that everyone on Angard knew the whole alphabet, and even little boys and girls who could barely speak knew how to read and write. Nanna hadn’t fallen off the cart yesterday so she knew that couldn’t be true.
Yup, that where I want to go. Which way I have to walk to get there?
Elenn. It’s two hundred rods south. The man paused, considering. That happened a lot on Angard. These people didn’t miss a tick.
Do you need any kind of help, ma’am?
Nanna had her pride. The same pride that kept her from gawking at all the buildings and people milling around. Nanna had never imagined there could be so many people in her whole life.
No, I good. You just point the way and tell me where I can get my baby some milk, and I be fine.
So the man pointed and told her. Nanna traded a shell bracelet in exchange for food for the baby. The woman tried to offer her more food than Nanna knew the bracelet was worth, but Nanna figured she had enough and refused. Then she started walking. If word got around this place these people were going to kill her baby trying to protect it, and Nanna couldn’t afford to take that chance. It would be easier to get lost among this many people if she didn’t let herself stand out in anyone’s memory.
They had hard roads here in Angard. Made from itty bitty stones all bunched up together and they hurt her hips. But Nanna never stopped walking. She never stopped walking because the baby never stopped smiling and Nanna knew the time was near.
Frown baby, Nanna pleaded. Please frown for me.
But Taun never stopped smiling.
For every step Nanna took, a tear slid down her weather beaten cheeks.
*****
She walked for days, and for miles. She developed a slouch. Taun had been strapped to her chest for so long it felt unnatural when he was removed. Most of the feeling in her feet was gone. It was the week before she reached Elenn that the ache in her hip flared to life. Seeing no shelter she walked to an outcropping of rocks, and crawled under them. She burrowed deep down away from the moonlight like an animal, and hoped she was the only thing that lived in this shelter.
Taun began to laugh when the lightnings came. His baby blue eyes opened wide, gleaming. He pointed his small fists at the sky not when the lightning struck, but the moment before it struck, and cackled like the world could bust in half and it would be the greatest joke ever told. Again and again he pointed, as Nanna held him. He kept trying to crawl his way out into the storm.
You stop it, baby Taun! You stop that right now! Or I’s gonna hide you baby or no baby!
Nanna swatted his bare backside. Hard. Harder than she knew was right. She was angry. Furious at Taun for bringing her all the way here. Furious that everyone she had met thought she was out of her mind. Slapped his backside again and again.
Taun stopped laughing. Now he was looking at her. Looking at her like she was the first ugly thing he had ever seen, and did not know where to place her in his picture of the world. Nanna gritted her teeth at him.
You cry! I done wrong by you! I hit you and you just a baby, so you cry! CRY! Nanna shouted at him until her voice was hoarse.
Still, he did not shed a tear, but neither did he point at the lightning and laugh with the boom of the thunder.
When Nanna’s anger was exhausted she held Taun against her. Held him close. And was grateful. She would have said she was sorry except she was certain it would have made her baby smile again.
She didn’t eat for the next week. There was only food left enough for little Taun.
*****
This my baby. This my baby and he need him some help.
Nanna did not look good. She had lost almost all of her body fat. Her muscles had atrophied, and her body had become so accustomed to forward motion that she could not stand still without wanting to fall over. Every bit of her trembled when she had to stand still.
The man at the little desk frowned when he looked at her. He was dressed fancy like all the other people she had seen. Nanna wondered how much of what she had heard about Angard was true. They told her once every person here had enough clothes that they could wear a new set every day of the week. She hadn’t believed then, but she did now. Nanna was happy about this, in a delirious kind of way. People this rich would know how to help her baby.
What is his affliction?
Nanna didn’t know what that word meant. Everything on Angard was bigger than it should be. It was such a grand building, the Mender’s Academy. It even had a grand name. Academy. That was a fancy word Nanna had never heard before, but she knew it meant school and that it was full of nothing but the brightest wits in the whole world. It was big and all made of stone and brick and covered with beautiful art. Nanna had no idea how they could have built something like that but was again happy because if these people were smart enough to build a building this big they were smart enough to take care of her baby.
Nanna decided, when she could focus again, that affliction meant illness.
He smile. All the time. No matter what happen. He smile.
The man with the little book frowned. Nanna’s heart sunk. She knew then he wasn’t going to help her. She had come all this way, and still no one believed. Old Taun was dead in the ocean somewhere, and New Taun was dying right there in front of her. She could feel it, the ache was in her whole body so strong she couldn’t even tell if she was hungry or not. Pretty soon it would just be ol’ Nanna. Ol’ Nanna and a whole lot of nothing.
Where did you come from? Are you sure you don’t require a Mender’s services? Ma’am? Where are you going? Ma’am?
Nanna walked past the little man with the books. She knew he wasn’t a Doctor. He was some kid that knew how to read and write down names. Probably did nothing but scribble in that little book all day long. When he started to come after her, Nanna spread her legs and ran.
You won’t catch me, she thought. You won’t catch ol’ Nanna. I been walking the whole of this world to get my baby the help he need. I been over the ocean nobody in my family ever been over, and I walked so long my feet don’t remember how to stay still, and you won’t catch me. Not ol’ Nanna.
So Nanna ran. And kept running. And she kept running because her baby kept on being happy and she knew the time was close.
She loved him. Loved him fierce and deep and big. Loved him bigger than the Academy. Loved him bigger than the island she had come from and bigger than the ocean she had crossed. And as she knew how much she loved him the ache got worse.
Taun smiled with every bounce and leap.
*****
You! Nanna shouted.
She could tell this man was the one she needed. He was dressed too nice even next to all the people who were dressed too nice. He looked like a king and his eyes had a deep wisdom, as if he knew everything in the whole world.
You! Nanna shouted again. She was stumbling now, all her strength working to hold little baby Taun over her head. Her love for him burned like the sun. It was bigger than the whole world, all the things she had done to make her baby safe.
You got to help my baby. You got to save my little Taun, she said.
All she could do was press the baby into the man’s chest and make sure that he was safe before she fell down to the ground. She was weak beyond knowing, her clothes were rags, and her feet were bleeding. She fell into unconsciousness. All that kept her living was the hope that she would wake up to the sound of her baby crying.
Some time while she slept her body stopped feeling the ache, and Nanna stayed alseep. Even asleep she was afraid of what it might mean.
*****
Taun wasn’t there when she woke up. But the the man she made hold Taun was sitting right beside her bed.
You believe me? You believe my baby sick?
She knew that the man would believe her. Those eyes… so deep… so knowing. He would believe her even if everyone else had not. She had crossed the whole of the world to find him and now that she had she knew he would believe her. He would know what was wrong with her baby.
I believe, he said. And then he looked sad, and that made Nanna sad.
What? What you gonna tell me? What he got? Please! You got to tell me!
Her voice was gone. She was barely alive, and not a word of all the words she said could be heard unless an ear was strained to hear them. But she knew the man understood. The man understood everything.
Your baby was special.
Was.
Nanna knew was meant that it happened in the past, and that the people here always chose their words carefully. Nanna started to cry. The man tried to put his hands on her and tell her it was all right, but Nanna shoved his hands away with what little strength she had.
He didn’t suffer. He couldn’t suffer. That was his problem. He was born special. When he looked up into the sky he saw all the worlds and all the suns and the size of the universe. That’s what he saw. He saw all there was to see, and he looked, listened, smelled, tasted, and touched until he knew it all. He didn’t die. He let go.
My baby dead! My baby dead and you just trying to make me feel better! Nanna wailed. Her feet, which had once ached to let her know she was making progress, now throbbed in mockery.
No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Your baby didn’t die. Your baby couldn’t die. He knew you loved him. He could feel it, he ate it up like food, and when he’d had his fill there was no need for him to stay anymore.
Who are you? Nanna was afraid for she knew that the man was no part of the rest of folk.
I’m like your baby. He said.
Then how come you ain’t dead? Nanna spat.
I am not as complete as your baby. I can’t take in all your baby could. I can only know a sliver of what he knew. I figured out how to suffer. That’s what keeps me here. I know how to know pain. Your baby… he couldn’t suffer… that’s what was wrong with him.
Nanna felt the sadness welling in her again, and her face wilted like a flower plucked out of the soil and left carelessly on the side of the road. Just a dried out husk. That was ol’ Nanna. Nothing but a dried up withered old husk that wasn’t no good to nobody. An old woman with no husband and no baby.
That just another way of saying he died. My baby died. Don’t try to lie to me.
Her heart wasn’t in the words.
The man touched her, and she was afraid that somehow he was going to try and steal her pain. She wanted her pain. She wanted to feel like someone had crushed her heart in her chest, because she knew the rightness of the emotion.
I’m not good at explaining this. The man said. Your baby didn’t die. He couldn’t die. He just waited until he knew enough, and then he let go. He didn’t die, Nanna. He let go and he didn’t suffer at all.
So Nanna cried and cried, and wished her baby had known how to suffer just enough so that she could have watched him grow up.
The man tried to tell her that letting go and dying were different, but Nanna wouldn’t listen. Her baby was gone. Gone. That was all that mattered.
Shriveled up ol’ Nanna. No husband, and no baby. She felt suffering so great she wanted to die.

I love the lack of context. Only enough details for the storyline and nothing else. I think it keeps the story portable enough that different people can relate to it differently.
It’s kind of hard to write in this world in short story form, so I’m going for “relatability” over info dumping.
Like there are all kinds of hints and things I drop for stuff that is relevant to the main story that isn’t particularly obvious here. Well hopefully if I ever finish those books this will all snap into perfect focus and everyone will be like “Woah dude, you just blew my mind!”
it’s a very solid piece of writing. The tone is so unique and consistent.
…is it part of a larger work?
All these stories (with the exception of the last couple) are set in the same period in the same world, right before the main sequence of stories is supposed to start. These stories all hint at stuff that’s important to the main plot and I hope provide a kind of sampler for the world at large.
Like, I didn’t want to give too much away about Valaen so I put Nanna in one of their fishing villages where she would have grown up uneducated. There’s also something special about Nanna. It has to do with what she thinks is the ache in her hip.
Awesome, I’m hooked.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
That’s some fine storytelling there. Damn-near perfect short-form fantasy: just enough detail to flesh out the world without getting bogged down in world-building, an interesting but simple plot that relentlessly drives the story forward, and a compelling main character with a unique voice. Great story.
What’s also awesome is that, even though this is part of a series of longer works, it totally stands on its own merit. Makes me want to read the longer works, find out more about the world. Also makes me damn jealous, as I’ve been trying to figure out a way to write short-form fantasy in the setting of a world I’ve been thinking/writing about for twenty years, and I haven’t gotten the hang of it yet. So: kudos for an excellent story, even if I am a little green with envy and wanting to suck out your tasty brains to make that talent my own.
Wait: did I say that last part out loud?
What do you mean this is an all-text medium?
@Jessica
Sweet!
@jp
Eat my brain? How dare you sir! I barely have enough as it stands.
As for your feedback, thank you kindly. I’ve been working on this world since I was very small as well, and I’ve always pumped out text about it at pretty much every stage of my life so I kind of have an instinct for what I want it to be even if I’m not quite ready to write the main sequence of books. Anyhow, you write Fantasy too? You should send me an e-mail so we can swap tips.
I can see it connecting together. The past story and this one both intertwining to form something great. I can’t wait to see the completed work.
Love it. Very nicely done. I liked the dialect, and how she had such a distint voice — both in terms of her inner thoughts and in terms of how she interacted with other people.
I thought it would be creepier than it was — when you first mentioned that it would be about a baby that wouldn’t stop smiling, I immediately went to “oooh — creepy scary smiling baby!,” but you took it in a different direction. I’m glad you did — if it had been creepy, everyone else would have noticed, which would have made a lot of the story/her journey moot.
I thought it was repetitive, but in a good way, because it fit Nana to a “t.” Also, stylistically, I liked the lack of quotations — it felt more like it was all internal, or like Nana was re-telling the story to someone else.
@DJ
Really? Already? I need to get you guys some maps and other resources. I need to figure out what stuff I have on hand and what is in my dad’s basement.
@Caitlin
I figured this was Nanna’s story so I figured the lack of quotations would kind of reflect how much she was living inside her own head at the point the story takes place.
@EVERYONE
Thank all you guys so much for commenting it is SOOO very much appreciated on these. And again, if you want to be critical I’m not going to bite your head off, and I won’t let anyone else either.
And again, if you want to give me feedback but feel awkward about commenting my e-mail is brandoncwoods@gmail.com and I’ll either reply or pretend I never got it depending on what makes you most comfortable. All you have to do is say what you want since you’re doing me a favor.
Curse you, sir.
I say curse you because I am supposed to be sleeping right now, sleeping the sleep of the righteous after a day’s hard work. Instead I am staring blearily at a brightly backlit screen in a dark room, wearing my flannel dog pajamas and wondering why my breath smells like jalapenos and how the heck I got here when I planned to be sleeping two hours ago.
I was fully intending to close your blog and finally get to sleep when the very first sentence of this story caught my eye. The first sentence was intriguing enough that it dragged my eye on to the second sentence. My boy sick? What was that? Something a neighbor said? Another story of your past? Your present? A quote? By the time I was a few paragraphs in, I figured it was a story and that I wouldn’t be able to stop reading it, but quite frankly, I was hooked from the first moment my eye caught that first sentence.
In other circumstances, I would congratulate you on, say, the masterful and gradual unreeling of the world, the contrast between the different societies, the slow, finished, hollow feeling of the conclusion, but since it is well into the wee hours of the morning and I am so drunk on sleep deprivation at this point that I’m beginning to spout poetry and can’t stop humming “Rhapsody in Blue” and speak in really long run-on sentences oh jeez somebody stop me I don’t even know what I was trying to get at here where did this sentence start and why can’t I stop it egads my eyes feel like peeled boiled grapes right now….oh, wait. The point. The point it, curse you, sir.
You are a masterful storyteller. Curse you.
@Kat
Why thank you. That’s very high praise, but remember I can’t become better at writing through praise alone. Feel free to give me some criticism too if you feel it.
Dude, this is a fine story.
The only thing that bothers me about it is the repetition of the same things over and over again. It’s not the repetition itself that bothers me, its that you repeat more than one thing – alot.
I found myself skipping whole paragraphs because I saw in the first few words that it was repetitious.
I understand that you understand the use of motif, but this story is too short to use so many of them. Specifically, the unsmiling, specifically, the idea that her hip hurts.
I understand the progression of her malaise and the unchanging condition of the baby, but there are other methods of moving the story along. For example, the baby is teething and doesn’t complain, or the baby starts to walk and falls down and doesn’t cry, or the baby falls down a gangway on the boat and doesn’t get hurt.
Yet all the time she is losing weight, her hair is turning gray, the pain in her hip turns from an ache to lameness.
Do you see what I mean?
And since this is one story in a series, perhaps if you intercut it with other stories about this fabled land it would work better than it does on its own.
But don’t get me wrong: I mostly like it as a story – I just didn’t enjoy reading it. Those are two very different thing.
Cheers! I’m enjoying your work.
@60613
Yes, I do see what you mean and thank you very much for the feedback! I was torn between wanting to keep it vague and up in Nanna’s head and playing (because that’s something I feel I need to practice on) and explaining outside action. I probably went a little bit too far into introverted.
@BC Woods
Cool! I like the idea of alternating between what’s in Nanna’s head and “reality”. Faulkner used italicized type to make those distinctions in The Sound and the Fury. Works beautifully if that’s something you want to work on developing in your own work.
I suggest a modeal for the intercutting idea: the film “Requiem for a Dream”. That intercuts three different stories to excellent effect. Different medium, but borrowing among media is a valid expression.
Cheers, Dude – keep on writing!
Loved the story. I view your repetitiveness, not as redundancy but as a vehicle to show the banal human condition that stretches across primitive and sophisticated societies; e.g., “Your baby does not a problem we recognize so your complaint must be invalid.”
An attribute of a good artist is the ability to leave your audience still wanting more. You achieved that with this ending. Putting an unobtrusive donation button within sight of such an ending would be an effective way of gaining some development cash.
@60613
I think you’ll like the next one more. That one should be called “Ironwood” and it will have a much more tangible back drop.
@The Bull of Heaven
Thank you good sir, and thanks for the suggestion. I’m meaning to take it up just as soon as I can work my way around paypal without having my brain explode.
You are evil because you have this way of making people do things They don’t usually do. And because you deprive Kat of sleep. I read quite a bit (unlike your friend DJ), but I rarely comment. How can I not comment when you say that you want “meh” comments!
What I thought when I read this was that I definitely enjoy reading your fiction too.
Why I hesitate to comment is that I don’t believe I can offer much feedback. Ok, because I was trying to find the typo I noticed and forgot, I noticed that first Nanna mentions Weavers and then is turned to Menders that startled me a bit. But I wrote it down to this being a part of a larger story and no doubt I’ll find out why the A-place is associated with Weavers even when people are going there looking for Menders.
@Kibrika
Well, I was once told never to start a cult… so hmmm.
Weavers and Menders are different but both live on Angard. On the mainland (the mainland can be seen on that map of the known world thing) they’re called Doctors. On Angard (where they have actual good medicine) they’re called Menders.
At the time the story is taking place Angard is going through something of a renaissance. They’re redeveloped manufacturing, and their philosophy is become scientific in its approach to the world. So a lot of stuff is going on in Angard that’s going to affect the entire world. The common people all want to live there and the upper class folks tend to be jealous.
By the way, if anyone has any questions about the world of these stories I’d be happy to answer any questions of that nature as well.
This story was…. bizarre. I have a baby boy and the thought of actually hitting him to make him cry is just terrible. I totally got into the story though and was very absorbed. I can relate to Nanna though, in that I would walk around the world to help my baby and I would deprive myself of food if it meant he could have another meal. Interesting story but… bizarre.
I’m a bit late to the commenting party, but here goes: I really enjoyed the internal dialogue style, and I thought you executed it very well. The use of repetitive motif was definitely impactful, but for so short a story, maybe slightly shorter phrases to repeat, instead of whole paragraphs? I word or two might be all you need to keep the reader in the trance-like state of repetition. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but I do think the repetition echoes Nanna’s footsteps as she keeps plodding on.
I love how you’ve been framing the short stories (I read The Doctor & The Nub, then Ironwood, then this one, so my comments are framed thusly, and I know with a bit of repetition!) with minimal exposition. For me, the style really works.
@Massageon
The whole way the symptoms of what that kid had developed in my mind is “What would have to happen for hitting your kid to be okay?”
And then I carried that to its magical conclusions.
@Dani B
I think I should go back and re-edit to cut down on some of the refrains. You’re correct about the refrains trying to echo Nanna’s internal state.