CrinkleKid
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Happy holidays! I have a present for you!
🕑 Added 2021-12-24 23:49:36 +0000 UTCHi my wonderful Patrons, I hope you're having the most incredible holiday season!
So here's the thing, I've been waffling back and forth about sharing this with you guys for so, so long. It's very much outside of what you're used to getting from me, and I wasn't sure if you guys would even want to read it. But I finally decided to share and hope for the best.
It's my first novel, which I wrote many years ago, long before The New Job was ever even a concept. It's not ABDL/kink/erotica, it's actually somewhere within the realm of speculative fiction (sci fi/fantasy). However, it's something extremely dear to my heart and even though it's as yet unfinished, I would be honored if you would read it and let me know what you think.
It's long: right now it's clocking in at about 83,000 words (and still with about 1/4 of the novel to finish). By comparison, The New Job is at 53k words. It's also unfinished and a little rough around the edges in some places. I started writing this when I was in my late 20s and didn't have nearly as much practice and polish as a writer. This story IS something I very much want to finish someday, however.
It's also full of some pretty weird concepts. There are parallel worlds, there's a unique kind of magic, there's unusual animals and a sinister cult and even a cross-worlds romance.
This novel, "Ahani", is important to me. So much so that one of the symbols in the novel (a circle split in half by a vertical line) became the one and only tattoo I've ever gotten (I have that symbol on my right shoulder).
The characters are also extremely important to me. These characters are the only ones to ever come close to feeling as real as Max feels to me, and I hope you enjoy them.
I promise more kinky diaper adventures are coming, and I hope you're not too disappointed to be offered something outside of what I normally write. I'm equally nervous to share it and excited to see what you think of it. I love all of my writing, but Ahani sits next to The New Job on the bookshelf in my heart.
I'll put the first chapter in the body of this post so you can "preview" the story to even see if it's something you might enjoy, and I'll attach the rest as a downloadable PDF in case you want to keep reading. I promise I won't be offended if you choose to skip this one, though, as I know most of you guys are here for diaper stories and not whatever this is, haha. :D
I hope you have the most amazing holiday season ever, and I truly hope that the coming year is a brighter one for all of us.
All my love,
CK <3
---
AHANI
CHAPTER ONE
Fire and light. It consumed everything. The fire was a primal inferno, defiantly hot; the churning heart of stars, the unfathomable birth-heat of a new universe. The light was piercing and impossibly bright; it seemed to gaze through him and into him, illuminating the darkest, most private corners of every thought. Agony flowed through him like blood; it was a stabbing, searing pain that overwhelmed his senses, every part of his body ablaze with it. He screamed for mercy, a dying scream that continued until all the breath left his lungs. By the harsh judgment of golden light and merciless crimson fire he was reduced to shrieking nerves, to ashes and exposed secrets, to nothing at all…
Jacob woke with a yelp, eyes flying open like shutters as he jerked upright in his bed, both hands grasping at the sweat-sodden blankets. Wet tears stained his face as he looked around, frantic, desperate to bring himself out of the dream and back to the cool, dark sanity of his early morning suburban reality. He was in his room, in his bed, safe now. His gasping breath began to slow and, with no small amount of effort, he forced his hands to unclench. He focused on the impassive display of the digital clock on the nightstand, blankly staring at the blinking colon until he was calm enough to make sense of what he was seeing. 4:27 AM. He shivered, and when he did he noticed his pajama bottoms were clinging to his thighs, clammy and wet. In the pale glow of the clock, he could just see a large dark patch radiating outward from his groin on the sheet. He sniffed once; the bitter, sour odor of urine hung in the air. He sighed.
Jacob was still trembling as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He shuffled his feet around until he found his slippers and fumbled his way across the moonlit room. Cautiously stepping over the large heap of dirty clothes at the foot of his bed, he felt along the wall for the handle of the bathroom door. He clicked the light on and flinched for a moment under its harsh fluorescence, the searing brightness of the nightmare still at the forefront of his thoughts. He leaned over the porcelain sink and turned the faucet on with shaking hands. The shock of the cold water on his face helped chase away the last fingers of sleep gripping his mind. He blinked at his reflection in the mirror.
A wide-eyed, ashen face stared back at him, bright blond hair standing up wildly in places and slicked down with sweat in others. For a moment, it almost felt like someone else’s face staring out of the mirror, but the boy blinked once more and everything was back to normal, except for an eerie feeling that refused to stop its slow creep up his spine. Jacob had turned sixteen early last summer but barely looked it, his light blue eyes and baby-faced features conspiring with his relatively short stature and thin frame to make him appear younger than he was. His Aunt April called him slight and delicate. Some of the tougher bullies at Jacob’s school took the more direct approach, calling him queerboy and little faggot cocksucker between punches behind the gym or in the locker room where they infrequently managed to corner him.
Jacob peeled off his sweat-drenched tee-shirt and tossed it through the open door onto the pile at the foot of his bed. He looked down, assessing the damage before gingerly pulling his wet pajama bottoms off and placing them in the bathtub, shivering at the feeling of cold wet skin. He stripped off his underwear and threw them in with the pants, the scent of urine in the room inexplicably stronger now that he was naked. He opened the cabinet under the sink and brought out a washcloth, wet it under the faucet, then began the process of cleaning himself up.
Once he felt sufficiently clean, he used the light cast into the bedroom from the overhead bathroom fixture to fumble around under his bed until he found the box of trash bags he kept hidden there. He removed a white plastic bag, and then he pulled the sheet and blanket off his bed and stuffed them into the bag. He gathered his urine-soaked clothes from the tub and shoved them into the bag too, then went to the dresser and grabbed a new pair of underwear, putting them on with another sigh. He retrieved a pair of blue basketball shorts with silver stripes and a black tee-shirt his brother had brought back from a concert last summer, and redressed. He sealed the garbage bag and stuffed it under the foot of his bed, out of sight until he could deal with its contents privately. It was Friday. Sam had to work and Aunt April had plans to visit a sick friend in Masonville for the weekend, so he would be able to wash his bed-sheets without embarrassment later.
Jacob quietly pulled a quilt down from the top shelf of the closet and laid it out into a pallet next to the bed. He clutched his feather pillow and curled up on the floor, hoping to salvage the few hours left before he was due to get up for school. Sleep came slowly; the dream still unnerved him and his mind seemed to resist the possibility of slipping back into it yet again. But after an hour or so he drifted off into a fitful doze.
* * * * *
Morning on the farm seemed to come too early for Sarien, even in the middle of winter. The cows needed feeding and milking, the hen-house needed to be checked for eggs, the cho’rak needed to be let out to the pasture to graze, wood needed to be chopped for the cooking fire…. The list of chores seemed endless, and the night’s rest seemed to pass too quickly these days, especially with the nightmares that sometimes interrupted his sleep. Old Magha cheerily woke him every morning just before sunrise so that he could get to work. Occasionally Sarien wondered if the affable old woman ever slept at all; she was often up late into the night reading from one of the obscure books she kept locked in her bedroom. “Away from tha pryin’ eyes o’ your mischief,” she had chided him teasingly.
Six years of living with Old Magha as her apprentice and Sarien still found the rotund dark-skinned woman a mystery. He had come to her at the first manifestations of his Ahani. Or rather, she had come to him. The farming couple he had lived with, bewildered and frustrated at his antics, had called in a Guide to cleanse him of the spirits they were certain had possessed him. The Guide, an elderly man from a nearby village, had performed sacred chants and prayers to no avail. Once the rumors started that Farmer Heind and his wife had raised a demon-child, they spread like fire. And once Magha had gotten wind of these rumors, she was at the door of Heind’s farmstead home the very next day, demanding to see the boy.
The feathers and animal bones tied into her wild braids had frightened young Sarien. She had glared down at him, silent and imposing, obviously sizing him up. After a terrifying wait, during which Sarien had been left to frantically wonder why Farmer Heind had thrust him into this bizarre and fearsome woman’s gaze, she had smiled a gap-toothed and inscrutable grin at the boy. When she finally spoke, her thick Acarian accent had made her seem even more alien to the terrified child. “Little ‘un, he have tha power o’ Ahani strong about him,” she had boomed. “I take him an’ teach him ta use his Ahani, no more dishes flyin’ out o’ tha cupboard an’ no more fires startin’ themselves in tha hearth. He young, but he will learn control, Ol’ Magha make sure-certain o’ that. His power be a great gift, but he need ta be shown tha way. I teach him.”
Old Magha had eyed the scrawny, dirty boy staring up at her. His figure had been thin and sinewy from hard work in the elements, his hair deep brown and curly. His stormy eyes were quick and inquisitive; that natural curiosity had reassured Magha that his mind was capable of absorbing her teachings. Skin deeply tanned from outdoor labor had shown through the patches of dirt that covered him. He had been lean but well-nourished; dirty but healthy; and he had seemed bright enough, though woefully undereducated for her tastes. Old Magha had grunted approval and set about bargaining with Farmer Heind and his frumpy wife.
They had consented to give the boy into Old Magha’s care as her apprentice, their relief at passing their eerie burden to someone else palpable. In return, Old Magha had agreed to use her mysterious Ahani power to cure their livestock of any parasites. And before Sarien could take stock of what was happening he had found himself sitting in a cho’rak-drawn cart next to the strange woman, his unadorned life and the only family he had ever known traded away for a future he could not begin to guess at.
It had taken several days of coaxing to settle a terrified young Sarien down and reassure him that he would be safe in his new home. During those early days, no small amount of crockery had exploded, and for several hours on the first day the kitchen table had taken to enthusiastically jumping up and down and occasionally transforming into a purple-and-yellow checkerboard duck.
Under Old Magha’s tutelage Sarien had quickly learned to harness his magical gifts, his Ahani, and now he possessed a nearly complete control over his power. Nevertheless, Old Magha still strictly forbade him from using Ahani unless she was nearby. Which is really a shame, Sarien thought with a rueful grin, it would certainly make some of these chores easier. Splitting wood with a thought is so much nicer than splitting it with an axe. He glared down at the heavy tool in his hands and at the large pile of wood still left to chop. He spit, swore mildly under his breath, wiped the sweat off his brow with his shirt sleeve, and resumed chopping. At least breakfast will be ready soon, he comforted himself.
As Sarien worked, he let his mind continue wandering over his present circumstances and how he had reached this point. He seldom thought of Farmer Heind and his wife; they were not his parents by birth and he had never felt completely at home on their farmstead anyway. And he had spent little time wondering who his natural parents were. The only time he had questioned Old Magha about his origins, she had revealed that, according to Farmer Heind’s wife, Sarien had been a foundling orphan of a bandit raid on some tiny village or another, no more than two years old when he had been given over to the Heinds to raise.
Having had no children of their own, the Heinds had been kind enough to Sarien. They had always ensured that he was healthy and fed, but he had never felt especially connected to them. No, Old Magha was the only family Sarien had, and this was the only life he needed. Despite her odd manner and appearance, Magha was a patient and loving teacher. And Ahani was thrilling and wondrous, so much more fulfilling than anything his simple farm life could ever have given him. Long hours of daily practice sessions with Magha had taught him the control and discipline required to master the art of it.
“An’ hard work is good for teachin’ you ta focus, imp, so get gone an’ chop up that wood before I turn that warm bed o’ yours into an icy bath,” she had teased him this morning once she had shaken him awake. With that thought, he chuckled and set another piece of wood on the stump.
* * * * *
Jacob awoke to the sound of his alarm, rubbing his eyes bitterly and shaking himself. He stretched into a deep and exhausted yawn; the floor had not been comfortable and the little sleep he had managed to steal had not been restful, but school would be starting soon. As much as sleep was still calling to him, he forced himself out of his makeshift bed and began to dress. He had a math exam today that he had forgotten to study for and his Art Club met on Fridays, so it was going to be a very long day. Maybe he would get lucky and the bullies would back off for once.
Aunt April had already left for Masonville by the time he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He shrugged his arms through the loops of his backpack and took his house keys down from the peg next to the kitchen door, jangling them. Shuffling out the door, he closed it behind himself and set the deadbolt.
The bus stop was just around the corner and the bus was not due for a little while, so Jacob slumped onto the bench and dug around in his backpack for his phone. He typed out a hasty text message to his best friend Amanda. “Hey… u still coming after school to study @ my house?”
After a moment, his phone chimed a reply. “YES. 430 OK? HAVE STUFF 2 DO B4 I COME OVER. UR NOT WEARING THAT PURPLE SHIRT AGAIN R U? IT MAKES U BULLY BAIT. KISSES!!!” it said.
His fingers flew across the keys of his phone. “4:30 is fine, not wearing the purple, see u @ school.” He snorted and rolled his eyes.
Though she was his best friend, Jacob sometimes found Amanda exhausting. She had been nursing a crush for him since the first week of their freshman year, when they met in pre-algebra class. Jacob cared about Amanda, but not in that way. He had set her straight and they had been close ever since, but she still carried a torch for him. They both knew it, and at times she could get a bit overbearing about it. Even so, she was his one close friend in a sea of cheerleaders, jocks, nerds and cliques. As much as he sometimes thought she had too much personality for her own good, he greatly appreciated their friendship. She kept him mostly sane during their school hours, which was no small feat.
He checked the clock on his phone. The bus would be here in a few minutes, but maybe he could get a bit of last-second cramming in. He pulled his math textbook out of his bag and began flipping the pages, looking for chapter twenty-four. I really wish I could just skip school today, he thought to himself as he yawned.
“What?”
Jacob jumped and turned his head to see who had spoken, his textbook flying off his lap and landing on the ground at his feet with a thud, but he was alone. The street was quiet. The sun had barely started to rise, and it would be a while yet before his neighbors began leaving for their various jobs. Jacob shivered from the morning chill and retrieved his fallen book.
* * * * *
Sarien shook himself, holding the ax in mid-swing. He was definitely alone, but he was certain he had just heard a voice. “Skip school? What does that mean? Who is there?” His question hung in the crisp, damp air, but no answer came in return. After a moment Sarien lowered the ax and set it next to the chopping stump. He turned and began walking toward the farm house with a purpose. Old Magha will want to hear about this, he thought, still shaking his head. An uncanny, unsettling feeling crept over him, and goose-flesh rose on his arms. Something very strange is happening.
* * * * *
Jacob leapt to his feet. He had heard the voice again, and he was completely certain that he was alone on the street. The voice had seemed to come from very close by, and he had heard it quite clearly. He’d heard the voice say that something strange was happening. He was very inclined to agree. An eerie sensation of being watched came over him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he continued to look around. There’s someone here, he thought.
* * * * *
Sarien stopped mid-stride. Again he had heard the voice from a moment before. Something was happening, something that felt very much like Ahani. “Who’s there?” Ahani was thought, so he thought the question loudly in his head.
* * * * *
The voice again. Jacob was trembling heavily at this point, and it had little to do with the winter’s chill hanging heavy in the air. He held his math book with a death-grip, his knuckles white. I’m going crazy, that’s all there is to it.
“No, you aren’t, no more than I am. Who are you?” asked the other voice. “Think your answer, do not say it.”
Jacob slid down onto the bench, stunned and slack-jawed. What was happening? “Uh… I’m Jacob. Who are you?”
“Sarien,” came the response.
Jacob was nearly frantic, his eyes wide and his thoughts tumbling one over the other. He forced himself to think clearly and loudly. “What’s happening? How are you talking to me? How can you hear what I’m thinking?” His teeth began chattering.
The voice calling himself Sarien replied immediately. “I don’t know what’s happening. But you are hearing my thoughts and I am hearing yours. This must be Ahani.”
The last word was alien to Jacob, but he paid it no attention. Wide-eyed, Jacob’s head spun from left to right, making certain that nobody was watching him talk to himself. Four houses down, Mr. McLaughlin was picking up the morning newspaper, wrapped in a brown bathrobe and slippers. Jacob’s frantic mind found the scene strikingly unremarkable, almost comically incongruous with the fact that he was most assuredly going insane. Mr. McLaughlin saw Jacob looking at him and waved the paper in the air in greeting before returning to the warmth of his house. Jacob was alone on the street once again. “Sarien? Who are you? Where are you?” he thought.
Sarien’s reply was slow and cautious. “Who I am is no easy thing to summarize. I am me. As for where I am, I am on Old Magha’s farm in the Southern Wild Country, standing outside the farmhouse. Where are you, Jacob?”
Jacob shook his head, unable to make sense of Sarien’s response. “I’m sitting at a bus stop on Lilac Street in East Creek, Missouri. Can you hear everything I’m thinking?”
“Yes, I can. I don’t know the location of the place you named. This is strange Ahani. I need to ask Old Magha what is happening. Wait a moment.” Suddenly, inexplicably, Jacob had felt an odd certainty that Sarien was walking. He didn't dare begin to guess at how he knew that fact. So stunned was Jacob that he failed to notice the school bus grumbling idly in front of him until the horn of the bus honked at him. Jacob jumped with a start.
“You coming kid? We don’t have all day,” the weathered, leather-faced bus driver said to him through the open door. A few of the students seated next to the windows on the near side of the bus stared down at him impassively. Trey Melchior, a freshman who considered annoying other students to be a matter of profession, pressed his face against the glass of his window and glared at Jacob. When Trey finally pulled back from the window, his nose left an oily smear on the glass.
Jacob cast his eyes to the side for a moment, trying to think of a response. “Uh… I don’t feel so good. I think I’m gonna stay home today,” he said in a weak voice. The driver shook his head and muttered something under his breath as the door folded closed, and the bus slowly rumbled away, leaving a trail of steam from its exhaust pipe.
Jacob stood back up and began to walk home in a daze, putting one unsteady foot in front of the other. “Sarien, are you there?” he thought cautiously. But he knew the answer before he had even finished the thought. He had the odd feeling that Sarien was talking to someone. How could he know that? This was all so incredibly impossible.
Sarien’s mental voice responded, sounding distracted. “I am here, Jacob, but I need some time. I’m explaining things to Old Magha, and I’m sure she’ll have many questions for you momentarily. I will relay them to you. Give me a moment.”
Jacob unlocked his kitchen door and reentered the house, dropping his backpack to the floor and only barely remembering to close the door behind him. Numb down to his toes, he stumbled his way upstairs and grabbed his pillow and blanket off the floor, then dove onto his stripped-down bed. After a moment of breathing heavily into his pillow, he rolled over and crawled under his blanket. He waited for Sarien to finish talking to whoever he was speaking to. While he waited, he tried his best to keep from thinking. He was afraid that if he thought too hard about the events of the last few minutes, he really would lose his wavering grip on sanity.
Comments
The Earthsea books were a big inspiration, as was Anne McCaffrey's Pern books and many other of those sort of hybrid sci fi/fantasy crossover series from the 1960s-1990s. There's even dashes of Robin McKinley's The Hero and the Crown/The Blue Sword duology, and Patricia Wrede's Enchanted Forest Chronicles. The biggest direct inspiration would be Diane Duane's "So You Want To Be A Wizard" and the rest of the Wizards of New York series.
I think this story is getting off to a good start, and I am reminded of both Tales from Earthsea by Ursula Leguin and The Price of a Dream by Anna the Kitten (which is a story on Fox Tales Times that is described as Alice in Wonderland meets Wheel of Time).
