Here is another introductory free write of a character from my novel: Finly. This is Sonja Destiny. Her point of view is written as your point of view. Get over it. She is a very strong character, but she is going to discover that all she knew about the mecha knights is not entirely true. She is going to HATE the government for it and maybe her parents as well for lying to her. But they were bound by law. Take a look. As always no comments about spelling or grammatical errors as this is a free write. Any other questions or comments can be left below or email me: N8Charley@gmail.com
Enjoy!
YOU WAKE UP NOT SURE WHERE YOU ARE. Wherever you are it smells clean, like a hospital or dentist’s office. Immediately, your teeth start to hurt in phantom pains. You lift your chocolate-skinned arm across your face to cover your eyes from the lights. They were neon lights, bright, yellow, and piercing!
You sit up only to feel the nagging sting of an IV in your arm. Your adrenaline pumps — too fast! You lunge off of the operating table and forget how to use your feet and your legs. You flop onto the ground like some rag doll! You flail around, quickly yanking the IV out of your arm. Blood starts to leak from your chocolate skin. There’s a bracelet there. For a moment you realize that you didn’t even remember who you were…For a moment.
Sonja Destiny, your bracelet reads.
Tiny drops of blood reach the floor. They are so bright against the pure-white of the tiles. You get to your feet, moving as if you had never lost the ability to walk or stand. A chilly gust runs up your spine. Your hospital dressings left the back of your body bare, except for a tiny string tied together in a bow. You don’t care! Your only concern is getting out!
You push through the door to your room to the stark hallway. You were a little too forceful, forgetting your strength. You should probably be a little more careful. Be sneaky.
Your dark hair falls in braids, dreads, and free strands upon your shoulders. You catch a glimpse of your lion-gold eyes in a medicine cabinets glass doors. You slowly start to see your pretty face in your mind’s eye. You remember it!
You are Sonja Destiny, a mecha knight!
What is a mecha knight without her watchcomm? They would be holding it somewhere for her. No unauthorized personnel could handle a knight’s watchcomm. They were property of the government. The hospital staff would have to hold it safely — unless other knights already came to retrieve your belongings.
You stop at the end of the hall, debating where direction to go. Why were you knocked out anyway? You can hear footsteps down one corridor, so you decide to duck down into the opposite hall, slipping behind a cart full of towels and dirty lunch trays and jello containers. You can taste the foul lime jello as if they had been spoon feeding you for days. Were you completely out? And for days?
“There she is!” Your adrenaline kicks in again. A nurse softly grabs your arm, “It’s okay miss…” You don’t let him finish. You plant your left foot and bring your right knee into his stomach. He whines from the impact, clench his gut — but at least he let go of you. Still planted on your left leg, your right foot never touched the ground. You stabbed your foot into the next nurse’s chest. He flew back, unprepared for your assault.
You felt bad for a moment because you knew that the nurses were only trying to help you. Your hand-to-hand training was all coming back in floods of memories. You were not interested in being returned to a hospital bed. A streak of blood crusted on your arm.
They weren’t sending nurses anymore. You heard footsteps and it was a band of security guards. “Miss Destiny, please calm down, we are only here to help you.” They had guns pointed at you. If they were only here to help, why did they have guns pointed at you?
“Put the guns away,” you asked nicely.
Two guards tried to rush you. You were able to use the first as leverage to swing around like a dancer on a pole and kick the second square in the jaw. No shots were fired. They wouldn’t dare shoot in a hospital! A third, a fourth, and a fifth all came out of nowhere. “Shock her!” You heard — and before you knew it, there were volts of electricity coursing through your back rendering you paralyzed.
It had been a stressful ordeal. You blamed your actions on being disoriented. Your captain was proud of your footwork, even though he mentioned that you dislocated a security guard’s jaw. They kept you in the hospital for a few days to make sure your thoughts came clear and your burn marks from the taser didn’t become infected. Then they released you back to borderpatrol.
The cafeteria was as it always was: Chaotic and loud. It didn’t matter if it was full of school children or grown men. They all sounded the same. You carried your try through the space, pacing full table after full table. Just like high school, each clique pronounced certain tables theirs. You were quickly scanning for the table without any men at it — or the one with the computer nerds. They’d let her sit with them.
As you weaved between tables you could see the eyes following you. By now most of the knights had heard about your hospital debacle. Most of the guys made fun of you already, simply because you are a woman. Now, they had something else to add to their banter.
“I heard she punched a nurse in the face!” You can hear the whispers as you pass by.
There weren’t very many women in the borderpatrol. That had been most of its appeal for you. Besides, your father was a knight, just like you are. Your mother had been walking along the wall staring out at the Wilds to clear her head. She loved walking the wall. Everyone thought she was crazy for it. She used to tell you stories about the times she watched Surfacings happen and the brave mecha knights that fought them.
Then one day a wyrmwraith slammed its massive body against the wall, causing it to shake just enough. Your mother fell, seemingly to her death! Until she found herself caught in a mecha suit hand. Your father had saved her. It had taken many dates and almost years for your father to win your mother’s heart. She was a free spirit.
“She’s never going to make it if she can’t even blood sync.” More whispers. More bile falling out of the other knights’ mouths! The part that pissed you off the most was that it was true.
A few days ago you were preparing for your first blood sync. “Here, take this sugar cube.” Max handed you a white cube and you popped it into your mouth. “It will help with the sync. You don’t want to pass out.”
That was your biggest fear. Max and you were already suited up, ready to climb into the helmet of your respective mecha suits and blood sync for the first time. Max is one of the very few knights that don’t treat you differently because you’re a girl. In fact, Max had been preparing you for days. He knew all the little tricks of the trade. If you had four older brothers that were knights before you, you’d know a few things too.
The first blood sync was the most nerve-wracking time for any mecha knight. This was it, this was the final test. After months of training, physical conditioning, fighting, and classroom time, if you could not pass the blood sync, you couldn’t become a knight. What good was a knight if they couldn’t pilot a mecha suit?
“You look good in your suit,” Max said matter-of-factly. Perhaps he has a crush on you. You thought the suit looked ridiculous. It was a one-piece suit with long sleeves and pants. It zippered from the waist up to the neck. It was tight around her boobs since it wasn’t made to accommodate breasts. Also, it had a sewn in pouch for extra support of “man-parts” that you don’t have.
“Thank you,” you respond. You wanted to add that you thought it looked silly on you, but you left it go. Maybe Max knew it looked stupid and he was just trying to comfort you.
You followed the procession of green-knights through the long wide corridor towards the garage. Everyone was whispering about which suit they were going to acquire. You never really thought about it because you knew that you’d get the worse one, regardless — just because you didn’t come pre-equipped with a cock and balls.
The electronic door motored open and you felt the silent gasp of each knight as they lay eyes upon the suits for the first time. You felt yourself becoming excited as well! They were all lined up. Tiny ladders led up to a series of catwalks above that gave access to each suit’s command. Each one was similar, but different in so many ways — most of those ways hidden.
Each mecha suit was humanoid in shape. Their heads and helmets were shaped differently to follow the motif of each individual suit. Each of the held different color schemes as well. The Angel, the Hydra, the Chinese Dragon, they were all there! You and your classmates had been learning about these suits for weeks. The Golden Thor was the suit everyone wanted. It would go to whichever knight had scored the highest average across all categories. The Golden Thor was an upgraded replica of the Thor. You saw its compliment: The Ragnorock, stationed next to it.
Each of the suits had been divvied out to the knights. Max didn’t get the Golden Thor like you had expected. He piloted the Angel. You followed the commander back through the garden of mecha suits closer to the doors that led outside. A group of five knights were given another squad’s commander or seasoned knight to watch over them for the blood sync. You were given your own commander. You were the only charge that he followed. Do they think I am going to faint? That my body is too fragile!? You had thought. What if it is? You had thought that too.
You had felt your hands clamming up — they never got clammy. “It’s just around here.” Your commander said. His voice was so deep. You peered around the mecha suits before you, around a teal and pearl-colored leg. You recognized the suit as the Triton. You ignored it though. Your suit was behind it!
“Ah, here — the Mermaid.” Your commander pointed. You nearly rolled your eyes at the same. How girly! But once you laid eyes upon it you saw its power. It was a C-grade suit. At least it wasn’t D-grade. You thought for sure you were going to get a D-grade. You knew already in your head that you were going to soup this suit up until it was an A-grade. You were already rooting through your father’s parts that he kept in the basement of the house you grew up in.
Now was the moment of truth! You climbed the ladder. Your hands were still clammy, maybe even more so. The ladder was taking forever to climb and you knew better than to look down. The mecha suits were taller than a house, maybe fifty feet. You pulled yourself onto the catwalk. You almost couldn’t wait to climb into the mecha’s command! You had become too excited!
“Now you know what to do, Sonja. Plug the blood-let into your watchcomm and stay calm. Let the mecha suit come into your power. Don’t force it.” Of course you knew all this. Your commander’s voice coming through your watchcomm was annoying.
You popped another sugar cube, because why not? It could only help. You twisted the pressure lock open and the door slowly rose. You walked into the command of the Mermaid. As you entered the computers and screens seemed to turn on. “Welcome, Sonja Destiny.” The soft feminine voice said. How nice, they even thought to give me a girl voice, you had thought. But maybe they gave a girl voice to all the suits.
There were footprints painted onto the floor in the center of the circular room. You could see the mecha garden before you through your mecha’s eyes. Everything was shrouded in a sea-green hue from the sea-green tinted windows of the Mermaid’s eyes. You stood on the footprints and allowed the mechanics of the machine strap you in. There was a strap around the waist, around each wrist, and around each ankle.
“Your helmet,” the Mermaid said as a helmet lowered automatically from a compartment overhead. You grabbed it, the straps around your wrists giving you free range. You knew that the straps were attached to mechanics in the suit that would allow the suit to mimic your every motion. You put the helmet on and strapped it under your chin.
“Ready for blood sync,” you spoke over your watchcomm to the commander.
You could see the jack cable dangling from a suspended keyboard to your right. The keyboard was for manual override and to engage with weapons or to initiate any other sorts of modes. You had reached over and grabbed the jack with your left hand and went to plug in. You took a deep breath first. This was it.
You plugged the jack in and almost immediately a stream of blood began to flow through the jack cable into the mecha suit. Slowly the rest of the suit began to come to life! Everything so far had been powered by backup batteries. Then — you started to feel weak and unable to keep your eyes open. “Commander…” You whispered before your mecha suit began to topple over with you!
“Hey princess, when’s your next sync?” Kyle pulled you out of your reverie. You were back in the cafeteria with a bunch of screaming kids — men, grown men.
“What?” You asked. You hadn’t completely heard him.
“What’s wrong Destiny, you lose more than your mind the other day?”
“I sync in four days. What’s it to you?”
“So you did hear me.”
“It’s hard for me to understand neanderthal,” you spit!
“What did you say, girl!?”
“I think she said she doesn’t understand your ape-talk. So perhaps if you could speak to her like the knight she…”
Max had shown up. He was running late from target practice. You hated when he defended you, “Max, I got this!”
“Oh look! Your super knight is here to save the day. What are you going to do when you face your first Surfacing? Maxy-poo won’t always be there to save you!”
Before you even think about it you had your body twisted, your leg lifted into the hair, your foot targeting Kyle’s face. It was a stretch that only a woman could reach with her leg, unless the guy stretched every day. There was a blur. Your momentum was stopped by a thick muscled hand around your ankle attached to an equally as muscled arm. Luckily, you caught your balance. Your leg being held by one of the commanders. Your tray of food still in one piece.
“Take it outside, knights!” The commander hissed.
“Fine!” You hiss back. You weren’t thinking, “Kyle, I challenge you to a match of Three Cuts!”
To be continued...
Monday, December 21, 2015
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Gen Gepido & the Pond
Here is another free write from my novel: Finly. This is Gen a character that plays a major role in the world post-Great Surfacing. He is both a wyrmcatcher breeder, which you will find very important the more you read about this world, and he is the Master Budaan. Budaan is a philosophy that teaches peace of mind and to release hate and frustration. Again, you will discover why this is so important the more that you read within this world that is being created. As usual ignore grammatical and spelling errors as this is a rough draft/free write. However, all other comments are welcome below or email me at N8Charley@gmail.com!!! Enjoy!
GEN GEPIDO BRED WYRMCATCHER GREBES FOR PEACE OF MIND. The back half of his home was essentially an indoor pond environment where the grebes lived happily, breeding and nesting until they were sold to the Borderpatrol. He walked along the worn paths he’d created in his pond wilderness often. The birds sang like the extinct loon. It was a haunting sound, but to Gen it cleared his head.
Gen was the Master Budaan. He heard so many hateful things in a simple day’s work. He needed something for him to stop thinking about Robbio’s wish to kill his daughter’s boyfriend, or Mr. Rayze’s discrimination against the faggots, as he called them, that kept applying to his flower shop, or even some of the simplefolk that wished terrorist thoughts against their least favorite mancerball teams.
Gen liked to push it all away, losing himself in the grebes’ chilling song. Even now, his alpha male was out in the middle of the pond showing a beautiful display of brightly colored flight feathers. The bird bent his wings awkwardly in a dance where he squawked for attention, revealing the bright brick-red underside of his wings.
Gen decided to wait to release the stingless wasps he was carrying in a spherical cage under his arm. Gen smiled at the alpha male. He’d fathered a majority of Gen’s best stock. The Protectant paid healthy for this particular bird’s progeny. In many ways, Gen viewed all of the birds as his own children since he was unable to have children himself.
He’d thought of adoption, until his wife died a few years back. Now he just tended to the birds.
Gen smiled as he watched a few females size the alpha male up. They swam, floating above the water upon their tiny buoyant bodies, closer to the male. They sounded a soft coo sound that an amateur breeder wouldn’t even hear. Gen heard it. He knew that some of the females were interested.
In the wild, Gen had read, that wyrmcatchers bred for life. But here, in his personal pond ecosystem, his birds mated with whomever they wished. It could be a different pairing with each actual mating. Gen guessed it had to do with the fact that there were available selections.
Unlike some species, the female didn’t choose the male. The females would let the male know they were interested with their soft cooing, then the male would choose. The male chose because once the eggs hatched, he would carry the chicks upon his back until they grew nearly full-sized. The male would help the female incubate the eggs, the pair taking turns. But once the chicks hatched, the female departed from the family unit.
Talk about caring fathers. Gen would have been a winning father.
It only took a few seconds, but the male chose his mate for this particular clutch. He mounted her. He thrust his cloaca against hers! The exchanged happened. His wings flapping to aid in balancing on her back. The female flailed, desperate to keep her head above water. Seconds later the deed was done. The male would rest while the female gathered the first reeds and sticks in constructing the foundation of a nest. The only reason the female would ignore the nest is if she knows that her eggs were not inseminated properly.
Before another, lesser male, decided it was time, Gen opened the spherical cage and let the swarm of wasps into the air. The black and yellow insects buzzed like a living fog. They swarmed in a large arch through the aerie, but some birds were already in flight. Unlike most grebe species, wyrmcatchers were very agile in flight. They had long necks that they could snap like a snake’s bite. Like pelicans they also had beak pouches, to a smaller degree, that allowed them to dive into swarms of insects collecting tens in their beak-nets.
Some wyrmcatchers that had been submerged in the water had seen the swarm and began rocketing from underwater like wet, bird torpedoes, beak nets expanded, beaks open. They caught wasps like children catching butterflies with a bug net. No matter how many times Gen watched his birds hunt, he was still amazed at how fast the little birds could fly. They could change directions almost as well as a swift or hummingbird.
A few grebes that recognized him landed on his shoulder to nuzzle in his hair before leaping back off into the air for their own quarry. Others would land upon him with their throat pouch full of insects. Wyrmcatchers always had to land before swallowing. Grebes were not very graceful on land so many preferred landing in the water or perching upon a higher post out of danger’s way.
Gen could hear the doorbell ring. He grumbled that he had to return to reality. He shook a few wasp-stranglers from the cage he was carrying and walked in his slippers towards the aerie door. A few birds still perched on his shoulders. He continued through the streamers that hung down to deter grebes from escaping into his house. He knew the birds would stay perched upon him when in unknown territory.
Gen crossed his house towards his front door. He could see the silhouette of whoever was standing on the other side. The figure was constantly shifting its weight from side to side impatiently. Gen just couldn’t shuffle fast enough across his living space.
The Master Budaan didn’t bother to check the peephole or peek out the window curtain. He opened the door with a smile. A puny female wyrmcatcher was softly cooing in his ear. Not the same note as if she wanted to mate, but a happy-contented coo as she swallowed a wasp. Her head snapped back and her head bobbed up and down in that funny way that birds with long necks swallowed.
“Hell…” Gen took in the person before him, “Damn! I’m sorry, I lost track of time.” The figure was shrouded in a hooded cloak. Gen couldn’t see the creature’s face, but he knew that it would appear more attractive than any human face, male or female.
“I was sent to pick up the ‘catchers…”
“Yea, yea, I know why you are here.” Gen said. He gestured for the man to come inside. He thought man because, based on the creature’s voice, he’d been a man at some point in his life. The finly’s voice was masculine, but still sing-songy like most of his kind. “Give me a moment to gather the wyrmcatchers that are ready.” The finly followed Gen into his living room. His cloak swirling around him like the wings of an angel — or the tentacles of a kraken.
“May I see your pond?” The finly asked. Gen’s pond environment was renowned throughout Sanctum Terminus.
“I apologize my webbed friend — no one sees the pond.” It was true. Gen’s wife was the only other person that has ever seen the pond.
“How did you…?”
Gen giggled to himself. The finly was surprised that he was aware of what he was. “I know what you are. They always send finlies to pick up the clutch.”
“I apologize, sir. I didn’t mean to insult your intelligence.” The finly removed his hood. His face came into the dull glow of Gen’s house. The finly was human in appearance, but Gen has dealt with plenty finlies. He could point them out on a crowded street. His pupils were hyphen-shaped, like a frog’s. Their eye colors were always close to human, but in unnatural shades, like: Lime, lavender, or metallic gold.
“Oh, you didn’t insult me. Our Protectant has made you into shadows. You are lead to assume that we know not of your existence.” For himself, Gen whispered, “So sad.”
The finly was wearing gloves, another telltale sign. Gen had heard that finlies had naturally sticky hands because of a substance that causes the webbing between their fingers. The goop was said to be resilient, it fanned out and expanded against resistance before eventually snapping, perfect for catching water between the fingers for extra pull when swimming. Some believed that this same goo allowed finlies to cling to vertical surfaces or even upside down.
“I’ll be right back. The clutch that is ready to go is in a separate cage.” Gen moved through his house back towards the pond. He moved through the streamers again, bending down to scoop up a grebe that fell from his shoulder trying to avoid one of the streamers. Once through Gen gave a gentle under-handed toss to the grebe and the bird took flight. The others resting on his shoulders and the one on his head all took flight in a flock, excited to be back in known territory. Wyrmcatchers often live their entire lives attached to only two bodies of water: The one where they were born and the one they choose to raise their children in.
The wyrmcatchers were mostly in flight. Some catching the last wasps that were able to slip away from other beaks. The rest were just energetic after being stuffed with insects. They would fly in large arching flocks until they grew tired and landed in the pond to sleep for the night. The nesting pairs would return to their nests hidden on land in the reeds or upon grebe-made floating islands.
Off to the side that made up Gen’s vast pond aerie, there were cages. He didn’t like caging the grebes, he tried to mimic their natural habitat and the space that they’d need — though he agreed that there were too many grebes in his aerie, but the Protectant had become more and more demanding. And truth be told, no one had a breeding success rate of topnotch hunting grebes like Gen Gepido.
In these cages Gen housed mating pairs that preferred less crowded areas or the competition of the main flock. He also housed most of the grebe pairs that would hatch grebes good for keeping as pets as opposed to hunters of the borderpatrol. The grebe pet trade had grown both since Gen started selling his grebes for households and since wyrmmists have become more popular. There was also an airtight cage for sick birds that he was nursing back to health. Lastly, were the groups of cages where he separated birds from the main flock for various other reasons. One being wyrmcatchers that were about to be given over to the Protectant and his borderpatrol.
Gen opened the cage door and blew his bird whistle to tell them to follow him, or return, depending on the trainer. The birds perched upon Gen’s body or walked upon their awkward-lobed feet through the streamers. Most of the birds didn’t like the streamers, but well trained wyrmcatchers would follow orders like a dog.
Gen looked like some bird messiah walking into the living room. Another whistle, this one was different. It meant: Wait, listen, sit. The birds all rested. One even climbed up onto the top of Gen’s slipper.
“The whispers are true!” The finly exclaimed when he saw Gen covered in his grebe bodies. “You truly are the bird whisperer.”
Gen laughed, “I guess you can call it that. It just takes dedication. The birds are truly intelligent…” Gen stopped himself before he started to ramble. He could ramble when it came to his children.
“How do I get them to the barracks?” The finly asked.
“I’ll give you a sphere cage with a single wasp. They will follow you wherever you go.” Gen shuffled to a closet he had just before the streamers to the aerie where he housed several wasp hives. The buzzing was greatly muffled from layers of insolation with the door closed. Once the door was opened the sound must have startled the finly because he came around the corner with a startled look on his face!
“I’m sorry, sir — I thought…”
“I’m fine,” Gen chuckled. He reemerged with a sphere cage about the size of a fortune-teller’s crystal ball. There was a single wasp buzzing around inside. “Here,” Gen handed the finly the cage and the birds switched, simultaneously, from Gen’s shoulder to the finly’s.
“So tell me, boy. Are you in training to be a birder?” The boy smiled and nodded. “What’s your name boy?” The finly seemed nervous to reveal it. Finlies were always taught to stay inconspicuous, never become friends with humans. Gen could see the internal battle in the finly’s eyes, “It’s okay boy, I know many of your kind. Remember?”
“B-Briar sir.”
“Very nice to meet you, Briar.” Gen held out a hand to shake Briar’s gloved one. They shook and immediately, the finly boy took out a knife. Such a shame, Gen thought. The boy looked about sixteen! When was he turned? What had possessed him to give up his human life, his first life?
The finly boy began to slice his forearm. Blood came to the wound almost instantly. “No! No!” Gen freaked! He turned towards his kitchen counter and grabbed a rag that he quickly pressed against the wound. Briar recoiled, the blade held at his side, a single drop of blood fell to the floor. “They must not have told you,” Gen chuckled. Briar looked at him questioningly. “I do not charge fin-price.” Gen said.
“Then how am I to pay you?” Briar asked. Finly blood and flesh could provide humans with great powers. It was a coinless payment system that was as valuable as gold to Sanctum Terminus citizens. Gen Gepido was one of the leaders against this form of payment.
“The Protectant pays me personally.”
Briar seemed to come to a realization, “Ah, yes, you are the Master Budaan. I would imagine that you are part of the lord Protectant’s Council.”
Gen chuckled again, he liked this kid, “You could say that — though I don’t seem to be aging as well as the Protectant.”
To be continued...
GEN GEPIDO BRED WYRMCATCHER GREBES FOR PEACE OF MIND. The back half of his home was essentially an indoor pond environment where the grebes lived happily, breeding and nesting until they were sold to the Borderpatrol. He walked along the worn paths he’d created in his pond wilderness often. The birds sang like the extinct loon. It was a haunting sound, but to Gen it cleared his head.
Gen was the Master Budaan. He heard so many hateful things in a simple day’s work. He needed something for him to stop thinking about Robbio’s wish to kill his daughter’s boyfriend, or Mr. Rayze’s discrimination against the faggots, as he called them, that kept applying to his flower shop, or even some of the simplefolk that wished terrorist thoughts against their least favorite mancerball teams.
Gen liked to push it all away, losing himself in the grebes’ chilling song. Even now, his alpha male was out in the middle of the pond showing a beautiful display of brightly colored flight feathers. The bird bent his wings awkwardly in a dance where he squawked for attention, revealing the bright brick-red underside of his wings.
Gen decided to wait to release the stingless wasps he was carrying in a spherical cage under his arm. Gen smiled at the alpha male. He’d fathered a majority of Gen’s best stock. The Protectant paid healthy for this particular bird’s progeny. In many ways, Gen viewed all of the birds as his own children since he was unable to have children himself.
He’d thought of adoption, until his wife died a few years back. Now he just tended to the birds.
Gen smiled as he watched a few females size the alpha male up. They swam, floating above the water upon their tiny buoyant bodies, closer to the male. They sounded a soft coo sound that an amateur breeder wouldn’t even hear. Gen heard it. He knew that some of the females were interested.
In the wild, Gen had read, that wyrmcatchers bred for life. But here, in his personal pond ecosystem, his birds mated with whomever they wished. It could be a different pairing with each actual mating. Gen guessed it had to do with the fact that there were available selections.
Unlike some species, the female didn’t choose the male. The females would let the male know they were interested with their soft cooing, then the male would choose. The male chose because once the eggs hatched, he would carry the chicks upon his back until they grew nearly full-sized. The male would help the female incubate the eggs, the pair taking turns. But once the chicks hatched, the female departed from the family unit.
Talk about caring fathers. Gen would have been a winning father.
It only took a few seconds, but the male chose his mate for this particular clutch. He mounted her. He thrust his cloaca against hers! The exchanged happened. His wings flapping to aid in balancing on her back. The female flailed, desperate to keep her head above water. Seconds later the deed was done. The male would rest while the female gathered the first reeds and sticks in constructing the foundation of a nest. The only reason the female would ignore the nest is if she knows that her eggs were not inseminated properly.
Before another, lesser male, decided it was time, Gen opened the spherical cage and let the swarm of wasps into the air. The black and yellow insects buzzed like a living fog. They swarmed in a large arch through the aerie, but some birds were already in flight. Unlike most grebe species, wyrmcatchers were very agile in flight. They had long necks that they could snap like a snake’s bite. Like pelicans they also had beak pouches, to a smaller degree, that allowed them to dive into swarms of insects collecting tens in their beak-nets.
Some wyrmcatchers that had been submerged in the water had seen the swarm and began rocketing from underwater like wet, bird torpedoes, beak nets expanded, beaks open. They caught wasps like children catching butterflies with a bug net. No matter how many times Gen watched his birds hunt, he was still amazed at how fast the little birds could fly. They could change directions almost as well as a swift or hummingbird.
A few grebes that recognized him landed on his shoulder to nuzzle in his hair before leaping back off into the air for their own quarry. Others would land upon him with their throat pouch full of insects. Wyrmcatchers always had to land before swallowing. Grebes were not very graceful on land so many preferred landing in the water or perching upon a higher post out of danger’s way.
Gen could hear the doorbell ring. He grumbled that he had to return to reality. He shook a few wasp-stranglers from the cage he was carrying and walked in his slippers towards the aerie door. A few birds still perched on his shoulders. He continued through the streamers that hung down to deter grebes from escaping into his house. He knew the birds would stay perched upon him when in unknown territory.
Gen crossed his house towards his front door. He could see the silhouette of whoever was standing on the other side. The figure was constantly shifting its weight from side to side impatiently. Gen just couldn’t shuffle fast enough across his living space.
The Master Budaan didn’t bother to check the peephole or peek out the window curtain. He opened the door with a smile. A puny female wyrmcatcher was softly cooing in his ear. Not the same note as if she wanted to mate, but a happy-contented coo as she swallowed a wasp. Her head snapped back and her head bobbed up and down in that funny way that birds with long necks swallowed.
“Hell…” Gen took in the person before him, “Damn! I’m sorry, I lost track of time.” The figure was shrouded in a hooded cloak. Gen couldn’t see the creature’s face, but he knew that it would appear more attractive than any human face, male or female.
“I was sent to pick up the ‘catchers…”
“Yea, yea, I know why you are here.” Gen said. He gestured for the man to come inside. He thought man because, based on the creature’s voice, he’d been a man at some point in his life. The finly’s voice was masculine, but still sing-songy like most of his kind. “Give me a moment to gather the wyrmcatchers that are ready.” The finly followed Gen into his living room. His cloak swirling around him like the wings of an angel — or the tentacles of a kraken.
“May I see your pond?” The finly asked. Gen’s pond environment was renowned throughout Sanctum Terminus.
“I apologize my webbed friend — no one sees the pond.” It was true. Gen’s wife was the only other person that has ever seen the pond.
“How did you…?”
Gen giggled to himself. The finly was surprised that he was aware of what he was. “I know what you are. They always send finlies to pick up the clutch.”
“I apologize, sir. I didn’t mean to insult your intelligence.” The finly removed his hood. His face came into the dull glow of Gen’s house. The finly was human in appearance, but Gen has dealt with plenty finlies. He could point them out on a crowded street. His pupils were hyphen-shaped, like a frog’s. Their eye colors were always close to human, but in unnatural shades, like: Lime, lavender, or metallic gold.
“Oh, you didn’t insult me. Our Protectant has made you into shadows. You are lead to assume that we know not of your existence.” For himself, Gen whispered, “So sad.”
The finly was wearing gloves, another telltale sign. Gen had heard that finlies had naturally sticky hands because of a substance that causes the webbing between their fingers. The goop was said to be resilient, it fanned out and expanded against resistance before eventually snapping, perfect for catching water between the fingers for extra pull when swimming. Some believed that this same goo allowed finlies to cling to vertical surfaces or even upside down.
“I’ll be right back. The clutch that is ready to go is in a separate cage.” Gen moved through his house back towards the pond. He moved through the streamers again, bending down to scoop up a grebe that fell from his shoulder trying to avoid one of the streamers. Once through Gen gave a gentle under-handed toss to the grebe and the bird took flight. The others resting on his shoulders and the one on his head all took flight in a flock, excited to be back in known territory. Wyrmcatchers often live their entire lives attached to only two bodies of water: The one where they were born and the one they choose to raise their children in.
The wyrmcatchers were mostly in flight. Some catching the last wasps that were able to slip away from other beaks. The rest were just energetic after being stuffed with insects. They would fly in large arching flocks until they grew tired and landed in the pond to sleep for the night. The nesting pairs would return to their nests hidden on land in the reeds or upon grebe-made floating islands.
Off to the side that made up Gen’s vast pond aerie, there were cages. He didn’t like caging the grebes, he tried to mimic their natural habitat and the space that they’d need — though he agreed that there were too many grebes in his aerie, but the Protectant had become more and more demanding. And truth be told, no one had a breeding success rate of topnotch hunting grebes like Gen Gepido.
In these cages Gen housed mating pairs that preferred less crowded areas or the competition of the main flock. He also housed most of the grebe pairs that would hatch grebes good for keeping as pets as opposed to hunters of the borderpatrol. The grebe pet trade had grown both since Gen started selling his grebes for households and since wyrmmists have become more popular. There was also an airtight cage for sick birds that he was nursing back to health. Lastly, were the groups of cages where he separated birds from the main flock for various other reasons. One being wyrmcatchers that were about to be given over to the Protectant and his borderpatrol.
Gen opened the cage door and blew his bird whistle to tell them to follow him, or return, depending on the trainer. The birds perched upon Gen’s body or walked upon their awkward-lobed feet through the streamers. Most of the birds didn’t like the streamers, but well trained wyrmcatchers would follow orders like a dog.
Gen looked like some bird messiah walking into the living room. Another whistle, this one was different. It meant: Wait, listen, sit. The birds all rested. One even climbed up onto the top of Gen’s slipper.
“The whispers are true!” The finly exclaimed when he saw Gen covered in his grebe bodies. “You truly are the bird whisperer.”
Gen laughed, “I guess you can call it that. It just takes dedication. The birds are truly intelligent…” Gen stopped himself before he started to ramble. He could ramble when it came to his children.
“How do I get them to the barracks?” The finly asked.
“I’ll give you a sphere cage with a single wasp. They will follow you wherever you go.” Gen shuffled to a closet he had just before the streamers to the aerie where he housed several wasp hives. The buzzing was greatly muffled from layers of insolation with the door closed. Once the door was opened the sound must have startled the finly because he came around the corner with a startled look on his face!
“I’m sorry, sir — I thought…”
“I’m fine,” Gen chuckled. He reemerged with a sphere cage about the size of a fortune-teller’s crystal ball. There was a single wasp buzzing around inside. “Here,” Gen handed the finly the cage and the birds switched, simultaneously, from Gen’s shoulder to the finly’s.
“So tell me, boy. Are you in training to be a birder?” The boy smiled and nodded. “What’s your name boy?” The finly seemed nervous to reveal it. Finlies were always taught to stay inconspicuous, never become friends with humans. Gen could see the internal battle in the finly’s eyes, “It’s okay boy, I know many of your kind. Remember?”
“B-Briar sir.”
“Very nice to meet you, Briar.” Gen held out a hand to shake Briar’s gloved one. They shook and immediately, the finly boy took out a knife. Such a shame, Gen thought. The boy looked about sixteen! When was he turned? What had possessed him to give up his human life, his first life?
The finly boy began to slice his forearm. Blood came to the wound almost instantly. “No! No!” Gen freaked! He turned towards his kitchen counter and grabbed a rag that he quickly pressed against the wound. Briar recoiled, the blade held at his side, a single drop of blood fell to the floor. “They must not have told you,” Gen chuckled. Briar looked at him questioningly. “I do not charge fin-price.” Gen said.
“Then how am I to pay you?” Briar asked. Finly blood and flesh could provide humans with great powers. It was a coinless payment system that was as valuable as gold to Sanctum Terminus citizens. Gen Gepido was one of the leaders against this form of payment.
“The Protectant pays me personally.”
Briar seemed to come to a realization, “Ah, yes, you are the Master Budaan. I would imagine that you are part of the lord Protectant’s Council.”
Gen chuckled again, he liked this kid, “You could say that — though I don’t seem to be aging as well as the Protectant.”
To be continued...
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Meet Eva Von laCourt
Eva is one of my Point of View characters for the novel that I am writing currently entitled: Finly. She is an interesting character and in my head she is one of my favorites. Of course this is a rough draft in one of the earliest stages of writing so expect this scene to change...A LOT, before the final cut, but hopefully this free write will give you a sense of Eva's essence. Please also ignore grammatical or spelling errors as this is an unedited free write. However, DO DO DO leave comments or get in touch with me with praise, questions, critique about content, something you don't understand, or if you are excited about this world that I'm building. Let me know!!! (email: n8charley@gmail.com) Enjoy!
THE EAST WATCHTOWER STOOD TALL AND SKINNY LIKE A LIGHTHOUSE ALONG THE POTOMAC RIVER. The northeaster Territory called the Grey Skyline stretched towards the horizon behind the Watchtower. The southeastern Territory called the Swamplands spread down from the tower’s toes. The Watchtower was the separating point between the two Territories — but just like America’s capital city almost a thousand years ago, it sat not truly in either Territory, but a Territory of its own.
Eva Von laCourt sat on the window seat her father had made for her. She’d begged and begged for the window seat. She wanted it littered with pillows and comfy blankets. Nothing was out of reach for Eva’s father. She was in a beautiful dress, reminiscent of a time long passed. It was pink with many frills and extra poofy-ness. The seamstress that constructed the dress needed to visit the library’s older books on styles of passed times. Today’s world was no place for frilly, obnoxious dresses.
Eva didn’t want the dress because she was a spoiled brat. She sat on the many layers of tulle looking out one of the highest windows of the Eastern Watchtower. On clear mornings she could see straight to the sea. She’d wanted the dress to draw attention from her father. Her nanny knew it, but the old woman would never speak as much to Master Von laCourt.
It was like the time Eva had wished for a cat. Mr. Von laCourt sent a pair of his guards down to the market to fetch his girl a cat. Back then Eva was simply lonely. She wasn’t aware that she could vie for her father’s affections. He was such an important man…But she was older now. She knew better.
Her father’s guards had come back with a tiny kitten, black with white spots. Eva named it Rajah, after one of her favorite princess’ companions. Everyone believed Rajah was simply a house cat — until she grew much too fast! The cat was a leopard from some rare species found across the sea where their knowledge of herbs allowed them to live perpetually. The leopard’s species was rare due to overhunting for its bones.
Mr. Von laCourt had ordered his guards to kill the cat, until Eva threw herself between the cat and the guard’s blade. Rajah had saved Eva’s life several times. Eva’s nanny even felt more comfortable leaving Eva alone with the cat than some of her Master’s guards.
Rajah sat upon Eva’s over-sized bed licking her plate-sized paws. Eva watched out the window. There was a fog rising from the river. The first drafts of chilly wind was coming in from the west. Soon the trees would start to turn brilliant colors. Eva’s favorite festival of Summer’s Pass was only two months away. It was a time when Summer would pass its power to Winter. A time when the veil between reality and magic was thinnest. A time when, what once was, could mingle with what currently is.
The crowd was already building outside. Stories below her lonely bedroom — save for Rajah — there was a balcony that her father, the Icon, would speak upon. He had been spending the last week with the Council. They were making plans. They were making rules. There, on that balcony, her father would reveal to the people what the Council had voted upon. Nine people who make decisions for all of the people in the five Territories across America.
Dear father, you do demon’s work. Eva often thought. Her father was just a tool, a pawn that the nameless, faceless Council used to present their expert decision. They knew what was proper for all the people of fallen, poor America. No one has even seen them — except for Mr. Von laCourt and past Icons.
Nothing good ever came from father’s speeches, or revealings, as Eva came to know them. Her hair was long and golden, nearly reaching her ankles. She passed the time braiding her hair as she waited for the telltale cheers and trumpets that marked her father’s appearance upon the balcony below.
Rajah broke her from her reverie. Braiding her hair always put her into a trance. The leopard growled playfully and head butt Eva’s hands. The cat was begging for a pet. “I suppose I am not the only one pleading for attention in this tower. I am truly sorry Rajah.” Eva said as she shifted from braiding to giving the large cat a good scratching.
“I do hope father has good news for the people. I can feel the morale like a cold chill from the Ice Flats.” Rajah purred in agreement. Eva suspected that it was mostly due to the good scratching she was receiving behind the ear, but there were times that Eva swore the giant cat completely understood what she was saying.
Rajah shook Eva’s hand off and bound for the bed, leaping in a single jump from the floor across the room to the bed and then back. Rajah wanted to play. She stopped before Eva and let out a playful roar. Only Eva and her nanny would recognize the leopard’s roar as playful. Anyone else would swear the leopard was giving a warning before it attacked and ripped Eva to pieces.
“Okay, okay!” Eva leapt from the window seat and Rajah rolled onto her back, catching Eva with her stomach. The two rolled around as if they were both rough-housing boys. They rolled and tumbled, Eva even slammed her head against her bed post, but kept with the game, giggling. They didn’t stop until Eva heard a loud rip!
“Oh fudge!” She scowled. The dress had a huge tear in it. Rajah’s claw had separated the fabric like it were made from paper. “It’s okay, Raj, I hate this ridiculous dress anyway.” Eva climbed out of the dress revealing the athletic shorts she was wearing and a tank top. Eva felt much more comfortable in boys’ clothes.
One of the cooks sons played with Eva often. Eva had traded Rajah’s claw clippings for one of his outfits. The cooks son had used Rajah’s clipping for an awesome necklace like the big game hunters had on TV. Eva used his clothes when she practiced sword fighting with one of the guards’ sons — or for her underclothes when she had to wear stupid frilly dresses.
Eva could hear the helicopters as they made their way towards East Watchtower to film the Icon’s speech. She knew that they were only minutes from her father stepping out onto the balcony below. Hopefully they didn’t get a shot of Eva on her balcony seat in boys’ clothing. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Eva!” Her nanny shrieked as she stepped into Eva’s room and saw her. “You can’t wear those for your father’s speech!”
“I have before,” Eva responded defiantly.
“Goodness child! Look at this dress! I’ll send it for repairs immediately. In the meantime, put something more decent on please.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what, child?” Her nanny was nearly towards the door, the tulle-stuffed dress draped over one arm.
“There is no need to repair the dress.”
“Why, might I ask?”
“I’m not going to wear it again.”
“But you begged your father to have it made for you.”
“And it didn’t get the response I was hoping for.” Eva knew that the nanny knew exactly what she was referring to.
Her nanny moved across the room towards her, laying the ridiculous dress down on the end of the bed. Rajah had returned to resting upon Eva’s pillows, cleaning her paws. Eva stopped the nanny’s hug with a simple gesture. “Your father is a busy man,” the nanny said.
“Too busy,” Eva grumbled. She was sitting upon her window seat now, legs clenched into her chest. She glanced out the window. The crowd below was growing. “What did he find out from that witch woman? Why has he been so busy?”
“I’m afraid only your father and the Council know that.” The nanny looked out the window at the gathering crowd below, “Perhaps we will find out today.”
“I wish he would give up this job and just go back to making music and touring around the Territories. I would have remembered seeing so many places had I been old enough.”
“I know child,” Eva couldn’t resist the nanny’s lingering hug any longer. The nanny wrapped her arms around her like she had done a thousand times before. Eva was too young to remember being held by her mother. “Your father is the longest running Icon, he is a very important man.”
“Too important!” Eva spat. “I hardly remember what he looks like. He’s always wearing those masks!”
“Oh, poor child,” the nanny wiped Eva’s cheeks as if she was catching tears, but Eva had stopped crying about it years ago. “You don’t forget what your father looks like. That’s something you can never forget.” The nanny had been sitting on the edge of Eva’s window seat. “Your father is about to go on. Now throw on an easy dress and watch his speech.” The nanny scurried out of Eva’s bedroom, grabbing the pink frilly dress from Eva’s bed as she went.
As if on cue the crowd below began screaming and cheering. Eva opened her window and peeked out. Her half-braided hair fell out along the side of the tower, blowing carelessly in the wind. Her father walked to the end of the balcony, his hands held up in a gesture of greeting and to hush the cheers. He wore a mask, Eva loathed, a new one.
The mask looked skeletal from what Eva could see. A rack of antlers sprung atop the mask like the reaching branches of a tree. The mask was ivory-colored, like bone. Her father must be keeping in style with Summer’s end. Or maybe this dead stag look would be the motif of his newest album. After all, Mr. Von laCourt was a recording artist first. His celebrity platform is exactly what made him so attractive as the Council’s latest Icon.
Just as the crowds thunderous applause was calming to a dull roar, her father kicked up the theatrics with a herd of gazelle that must have been released off to the side of the Watchtower and were trained to leap, prance, and run just before where the crowd gathered. The cheers burst into applause again as a flurry of fall leaves were released from somewhere above Eva’s room. The wind causing some to spin and dance into her room. The helicopters were nearly level with her bedroom window. They would definitely get shots of the Icon’s tomboy daughter — again.
Eva didn't care. In fact, she leaned further out her window, her hair falling lower on the side of the lonely tower. The applause seemed to strengthen. Eva tried to find what type of theatrical tricks were going off now, until she realized that the crowd was cheering for her! Her father had caught the object of their thunderous cheering and looked up at his daughter.
He was indeed wearing a skull of some sort of deer or antelope with its antlers attached. His eyes were streaked with red makeup. His lips were colored black with lipstick. He gave her a look that she’d seen hundreds of times before. She knew that the nanny would have to scold her about this behavior. Her father never took time out to correct her.
Her father turned back to his people.
“Thank you, thank you.” He announced. His voice was amplified by a mic that he wore on her person, usually in his hair like the musicals downtown. Speakers were strung all up and down the Watchtower as well as a few surrounding the main area of where the spectators were allowed to watch the speech live. “Good day to all the Territories of America. I hope this announcement finds you all in good health and safe from the scourges that haunt us since the Great Surfacing.” Eva tuned out most of the beginning. It always started this way.
To be continued...
THE EAST WATCHTOWER STOOD TALL AND SKINNY LIKE A LIGHTHOUSE ALONG THE POTOMAC RIVER. The northeaster Territory called the Grey Skyline stretched towards the horizon behind the Watchtower. The southeastern Territory called the Swamplands spread down from the tower’s toes. The Watchtower was the separating point between the two Territories — but just like America’s capital city almost a thousand years ago, it sat not truly in either Territory, but a Territory of its own.
Eva Von laCourt sat on the window seat her father had made for her. She’d begged and begged for the window seat. She wanted it littered with pillows and comfy blankets. Nothing was out of reach for Eva’s father. She was in a beautiful dress, reminiscent of a time long passed. It was pink with many frills and extra poofy-ness. The seamstress that constructed the dress needed to visit the library’s older books on styles of passed times. Today’s world was no place for frilly, obnoxious dresses.
Eva didn’t want the dress because she was a spoiled brat. She sat on the many layers of tulle looking out one of the highest windows of the Eastern Watchtower. On clear mornings she could see straight to the sea. She’d wanted the dress to draw attention from her father. Her nanny knew it, but the old woman would never speak as much to Master Von laCourt.
It was like the time Eva had wished for a cat. Mr. Von laCourt sent a pair of his guards down to the market to fetch his girl a cat. Back then Eva was simply lonely. She wasn’t aware that she could vie for her father’s affections. He was such an important man…But she was older now. She knew better.
Her father’s guards had come back with a tiny kitten, black with white spots. Eva named it Rajah, after one of her favorite princess’ companions. Everyone believed Rajah was simply a house cat — until she grew much too fast! The cat was a leopard from some rare species found across the sea where their knowledge of herbs allowed them to live perpetually. The leopard’s species was rare due to overhunting for its bones.
Mr. Von laCourt had ordered his guards to kill the cat, until Eva threw herself between the cat and the guard’s blade. Rajah had saved Eva’s life several times. Eva’s nanny even felt more comfortable leaving Eva alone with the cat than some of her Master’s guards.
Rajah sat upon Eva’s over-sized bed licking her plate-sized paws. Eva watched out the window. There was a fog rising from the river. The first drafts of chilly wind was coming in from the west. Soon the trees would start to turn brilliant colors. Eva’s favorite festival of Summer’s Pass was only two months away. It was a time when Summer would pass its power to Winter. A time when the veil between reality and magic was thinnest. A time when, what once was, could mingle with what currently is.
The crowd was already building outside. Stories below her lonely bedroom — save for Rajah — there was a balcony that her father, the Icon, would speak upon. He had been spending the last week with the Council. They were making plans. They were making rules. There, on that balcony, her father would reveal to the people what the Council had voted upon. Nine people who make decisions for all of the people in the five Territories across America.
Dear father, you do demon’s work. Eva often thought. Her father was just a tool, a pawn that the nameless, faceless Council used to present their expert decision. They knew what was proper for all the people of fallen, poor America. No one has even seen them — except for Mr. Von laCourt and past Icons.
Nothing good ever came from father’s speeches, or revealings, as Eva came to know them. Her hair was long and golden, nearly reaching her ankles. She passed the time braiding her hair as she waited for the telltale cheers and trumpets that marked her father’s appearance upon the balcony below.
Rajah broke her from her reverie. Braiding her hair always put her into a trance. The leopard growled playfully and head butt Eva’s hands. The cat was begging for a pet. “I suppose I am not the only one pleading for attention in this tower. I am truly sorry Rajah.” Eva said as she shifted from braiding to giving the large cat a good scratching.
“I do hope father has good news for the people. I can feel the morale like a cold chill from the Ice Flats.” Rajah purred in agreement. Eva suspected that it was mostly due to the good scratching she was receiving behind the ear, but there were times that Eva swore the giant cat completely understood what she was saying.
Rajah shook Eva’s hand off and bound for the bed, leaping in a single jump from the floor across the room to the bed and then back. Rajah wanted to play. She stopped before Eva and let out a playful roar. Only Eva and her nanny would recognize the leopard’s roar as playful. Anyone else would swear the leopard was giving a warning before it attacked and ripped Eva to pieces.
“Okay, okay!” Eva leapt from the window seat and Rajah rolled onto her back, catching Eva with her stomach. The two rolled around as if they were both rough-housing boys. They rolled and tumbled, Eva even slammed her head against her bed post, but kept with the game, giggling. They didn’t stop until Eva heard a loud rip!
“Oh fudge!” She scowled. The dress had a huge tear in it. Rajah’s claw had separated the fabric like it were made from paper. “It’s okay, Raj, I hate this ridiculous dress anyway.” Eva climbed out of the dress revealing the athletic shorts she was wearing and a tank top. Eva felt much more comfortable in boys’ clothes.
One of the cooks sons played with Eva often. Eva had traded Rajah’s claw clippings for one of his outfits. The cooks son had used Rajah’s clipping for an awesome necklace like the big game hunters had on TV. Eva used his clothes when she practiced sword fighting with one of the guards’ sons — or for her underclothes when she had to wear stupid frilly dresses.
Eva could hear the helicopters as they made their way towards East Watchtower to film the Icon’s speech. She knew that they were only minutes from her father stepping out onto the balcony below. Hopefully they didn’t get a shot of Eva on her balcony seat in boys’ clothing. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Eva!” Her nanny shrieked as she stepped into Eva’s room and saw her. “You can’t wear those for your father’s speech!”
“I have before,” Eva responded defiantly.
“Goodness child! Look at this dress! I’ll send it for repairs immediately. In the meantime, put something more decent on please.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what, child?” Her nanny was nearly towards the door, the tulle-stuffed dress draped over one arm.
“There is no need to repair the dress.”
“Why, might I ask?”
“I’m not going to wear it again.”
“But you begged your father to have it made for you.”
“And it didn’t get the response I was hoping for.” Eva knew that the nanny knew exactly what she was referring to.
Her nanny moved across the room towards her, laying the ridiculous dress down on the end of the bed. Rajah had returned to resting upon Eva’s pillows, cleaning her paws. Eva stopped the nanny’s hug with a simple gesture. “Your father is a busy man,” the nanny said.
“Too busy,” Eva grumbled. She was sitting upon her window seat now, legs clenched into her chest. She glanced out the window. The crowd below was growing. “What did he find out from that witch woman? Why has he been so busy?”
“I’m afraid only your father and the Council know that.” The nanny looked out the window at the gathering crowd below, “Perhaps we will find out today.”
“I wish he would give up this job and just go back to making music and touring around the Territories. I would have remembered seeing so many places had I been old enough.”
“I know child,” Eva couldn’t resist the nanny’s lingering hug any longer. The nanny wrapped her arms around her like she had done a thousand times before. Eva was too young to remember being held by her mother. “Your father is the longest running Icon, he is a very important man.”
“Too important!” Eva spat. “I hardly remember what he looks like. He’s always wearing those masks!”
“Oh, poor child,” the nanny wiped Eva’s cheeks as if she was catching tears, but Eva had stopped crying about it years ago. “You don’t forget what your father looks like. That’s something you can never forget.” The nanny had been sitting on the edge of Eva’s window seat. “Your father is about to go on. Now throw on an easy dress and watch his speech.” The nanny scurried out of Eva’s bedroom, grabbing the pink frilly dress from Eva’s bed as she went.
As if on cue the crowd below began screaming and cheering. Eva opened her window and peeked out. Her half-braided hair fell out along the side of the tower, blowing carelessly in the wind. Her father walked to the end of the balcony, his hands held up in a gesture of greeting and to hush the cheers. He wore a mask, Eva loathed, a new one.
The mask looked skeletal from what Eva could see. A rack of antlers sprung atop the mask like the reaching branches of a tree. The mask was ivory-colored, like bone. Her father must be keeping in style with Summer’s end. Or maybe this dead stag look would be the motif of his newest album. After all, Mr. Von laCourt was a recording artist first. His celebrity platform is exactly what made him so attractive as the Council’s latest Icon.
Just as the crowds thunderous applause was calming to a dull roar, her father kicked up the theatrics with a herd of gazelle that must have been released off to the side of the Watchtower and were trained to leap, prance, and run just before where the crowd gathered. The cheers burst into applause again as a flurry of fall leaves were released from somewhere above Eva’s room. The wind causing some to spin and dance into her room. The helicopters were nearly level with her bedroom window. They would definitely get shots of the Icon’s tomboy daughter — again.
Eva didn't care. In fact, she leaned further out her window, her hair falling lower on the side of the lonely tower. The applause seemed to strengthen. Eva tried to find what type of theatrical tricks were going off now, until she realized that the crowd was cheering for her! Her father had caught the object of their thunderous cheering and looked up at his daughter.
He was indeed wearing a skull of some sort of deer or antelope with its antlers attached. His eyes were streaked with red makeup. His lips were colored black with lipstick. He gave her a look that she’d seen hundreds of times before. She knew that the nanny would have to scold her about this behavior. Her father never took time out to correct her.
Her father turned back to his people.
“Thank you, thank you.” He announced. His voice was amplified by a mic that he wore on her person, usually in his hair like the musicals downtown. Speakers were strung all up and down the Watchtower as well as a few surrounding the main area of where the spectators were allowed to watch the speech live. “Good day to all the Territories of America. I hope this announcement finds you all in good health and safe from the scourges that haunt us since the Great Surfacing.” Eva tuned out most of the beginning. It always started this way.
To be continued...
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Some new stuff
Added my Twitter feed and provided a link to my stage persona's fan page on Facebook. Check it out and get connected and get your Nathan, Luckz, and N8Charley fix!!!
Luckz Facebook Fan Page
N8Charley Twitter
Luckz Facebook Fan Page
N8Charley Twitter
Monday, November 16, 2015
What is real?
What is fake? What has media exaggerated? What side should I be on? Isn't there just a "human" side? Why is everyone so angry? Is there really any truth without it being filtered through someone else's opinion? How do I get educated?
I can't understand the world today and how one person can even think about hurting another person REGARDLESS of the reason, and think that it is okay!
I always believed that if you don't have an opinion, you stand for nothing...But how can you stand for anything, when everything is so convoluted?
I can't understand the world today and how one person can even think about hurting another person REGARDLESS of the reason, and think that it is okay!
I always believed that if you don't have an opinion, you stand for nothing...But how can you stand for anything, when everything is so convoluted?
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Meet Atreyu Hart: One of the First Chapters of Finly
REVISED: 01/23/16: This is a teaser for my novel Finly. This is where we meet Atreyu, one of the main characters. He is a narrator spoken in first person throughout the novel. This chapter also takes place very early in the novel so there is some world building here. I am aware of the inconsistencies within the chapter, this is because I wrote half of it first and then worked on some more world building ideas that I fleshed out in the second half. This obviously will be revised eventually. Feel free to email me at N8Charley@gmail.com about anything other than grammatical or spelling errors, thanks!
The Borderwall & I
I WAS RUNNING LATE! I pushed the spotted horse to ride faster. The innerwall was about a mile or so behind me. The borderpatrol, or weasels, that were stationed at the innerwall’s gate were under the assumption that I had a project due on the owl population that lived in the wooded areas between innerwall and borderwall. Obviously that isn’t true.
I was late! Every other night, before sundown I’d meet Briar on the top of the borderwall. This was the first time I was late! My heart was in my throat. What if I didn’t make it? What if he assumed that I was done meeting with him? I pressed my mount harder.
It was illegal for regular folk to mingle with the weasels. It is actually one of the most fundamental rules with a pretty steep punishment if caught. However, Briar worked the borderwall and sometimes the outerwall. It’s known that these are the least managed posts in all of the borderpatrol.
Ever since I was little I was always obsessed with the mystery of the borderpatrol! I finally had weaseled (pun absolutely intended) my way into meeting a weasel that would allow me to question him. Of course Briar didn’t tell me nearly everything, including why he had joined the borderpatrol, but he told me enough to keep me coming back every other evening. Our question and answer sessions had turned into a strange friendship of forbidden lifestyles.
“Gus, keep up!” I yelled over my shoulder. The Dalmatian was running along my mount’s flank. In fact, I was sure the dog could run faster than the horse. The horse couldn’t seem to run fast enough. I hope he’s still waiting!
I knew Briar’s patrol like clockwork. He and his team of weasels would meet at sundown and then they would man their towers or patrol the wallwalk. Briar would always take the west tower or start his wallwalk patrol on the western side of the borderwall, so that he could watch the sunset. Thus, Briar and I would watch the sunset together.
Speaking of, the sun was fading just beyond the wall, the light was already becoming harder to see at ground level! Come on! Come on! Almost there! I nearly flung myself off the horse when we came close to the access ladder that was hidden behind a strange cluster of trees, vines, and throne bushes. I didn’t even bother to tie the horse up. “Gus, stay.” I said as I began climbing rung after rung of metal ladder. The Dalmatian seemed to grumble to me in dog-speech and then sat like a good dog. I knew he’d be there waiting for me when I came back. The horse, I couldn’t be so sure of.
The sun had already dipped behind the wall leaving me in darkness. I forgot my torch in the saddlebag below. I climbed to the top, breathless. The last rays of sunlight were still trying to grip the horizon. I could see shapes upon the borderwall, but not distinguish who they belonged to. I couldn’t immediately see Briar. My heart was in my throat!
I’m here! I wanted to shout. I pulled myself up the last couple of rungs, maybe even skipping a few. I stood upon the borderwall, about two hundred feet above ground level. The wind picked up upon the top of the wall. My dark hair was gusting back and forth as the four winds fought for dominion over the sky and current with which they’d take.
The sun lost its battle to darkness. I could see three torchlights not far down the wallwalk. I was hoping it was Briar and his team of weasels called the Lost Boys. I saw one figure standing a few feet before me. He was haloed in torchlight, and tall. I assumed it had to be Petyr. He was the tallest of the Lost Boys.
“Petyr?” I called quietly into the darkness. Before I realized it, he was before me, hand stretched out, “You are late,” he replied. “I’m sorry, I’m so glad I made it!” Somehow I knew that Petyr smiled, “Briar is happy too. Hurry.”
We always had to move quickly from the access ladder. Apparently, it wasn’t even supposed to be there. But also, the Lost Boys claimed that there were some weasels that could see as good in the dark as cats and they would find it queer to count six heads upon borderwall when there should only be five.
Petyr led me towards the closest torchlight. Wendi held it before his face, his one front tooth missing from his smile, “Hello, Atreyu.” As an aside he said, “You’re late. The twins already made way for their post.”
In the darkness I could hear the rattling of claws on metal. My eyes automatically glanced towards the sound. Wendi followed my gaze with torchfire. There was an actual weasel clawing at the door to a birdcage. “We got one of the restless ones,” Wendi said. “Doesn’t that mean they sense wyrmwraiths?” I asked. Wendi answered, “Nah, he’d be goin’ wild if he sensed any wyrms.” These little slinky creatures was where the borderpatrol got their name: Weasel. The weasels could sense wyrmwraiths coming near the surface. Like a canary in a mine, my teachers say, not that I truly know what a mine is.
Wendi had dirty blonde hair that was probably dirty for real. He wasn’t allowed to say who his parents were or where he came from before he joined the borderpatrol, but through our conversations I had gathered that he was either from the Wilds, outside the walls, or the strange folk that lived in the Roam, the space between innerwall and borderwall, in the woods. I’d probably never truly know — and to find out, I’d have to break even more laws.
Wendi grabbed the handle-ring at the top of the weasel cage and held the torchlight out before him the light the way. “Briar’s got a surprise for you,” he said. I heard, “Yea?” I made it a question as if I didn’t already know. Briar had sent a parrot earlier to deliver his message. The bird repeated what Briar had said in its weird monotone voice that tried desperately to sound human. It was part of the reason I was so nervous to be late tonight.
He was going to tell me something juicy! Something that he could be executed for revealing! Like what happens to people when they decide to join the borderpatrol. Or how they go through the process of erasing their past lives. Or the countless other things that I have asked him and he responded with silence.
“What is it?” I followed up with. “You will have to let him do the honors,” Wendi laughed.
Briar was waiting in the darkness. He was sitting cross-legged at the top of the western tower. His borderpatrol robes wrapped around him like the finned hands of a fish. He wore the robes so perfectly, as if he commanded the wind and controlled exactly how each piece of fabric was going to move. “Briar!” He exclaimed. He stood for a hug. He pulled away and I could see something change in his face, “You’re late.” I laughed, “That’s not the first time I heard that tonight. I know I’m sorry!”
Briar turned to see the last tendrils of light fall behind the horizon, “At least you made it.”
Wendi’s torchlight was already being consumed by darkness as he walked further away on the wallwalk. We were alone — in the dark. “I have something to show you.” Briar said. As if on cue a light flickered into being. Briar held the tiniest everlasting match delicately between his thumb and pointer fingers. “Follow me.”
I followed him without questioning where we were going. He led me down the spiral staircase out of the tower to the wallwalk. The wind seemed more intense as we walked further on the wallwalk than I had ever been. I knew that he was taking me somewhere that I wasn’t supposed to be. Just one more revealed secret!
I followed behind him, his small flickering flame lighting our way. The wind screamed, desperately trying to snuff the pitiful flame. I loved watching Briar walk. There was something inhuman about the way that he moved. All of the Lost Boys moved like they were made from liquid muscle, like they were spliced with cat DNA. Every time the match flame came dangerously close to going out, it would return seemingly stronger than before. This cycle went about four times before Briar stopped.
Briar held his match out to his left so that I could see the thin bridge that connected borderwall to outerwall. We were going to outerwall!? I have never been outside of Rolando Safehold. It was something children were never taught to aspire to. Lesser jobs had duties that took place outside the walls. Unless of course you were part of the Council, but even they only traveled out of the wall four times a year to take the roads to East Watch where they met with the Icon to make new laws, trash old laws, and amend any other practices that would help the safeholds of America make it through another year.
“Follow me,” Briar smiled back at me. “I can’t believe you are taking me to outerwall!” I gasped. “There’s more.”
I followed Briar across the bridge. Had it been daylight I might have been too keen on going across the bridge made of rope and wood as it swing clumsily from side to side from both our weight and the wind. We made it to the other side and all I could see was darkness and the faintest flicker of firelight.
As if reading my thoughts, Briar explained, “Probably campfire. It’s safer to travel by day. More than likely they are in the trees.” “In the trees?” Briar held the matchlight before his face, “Wyrmwraiths can feel vibrations from our walking. They will eat anything that moves. Travelers that are unfortunate enough to have to leave their safeholds need to camp in trees to prevent an attack.” Just another reason why it was better for me to stay within the walls of Rolando.
Then there was another light! I could hear the clomp clomp of something heavy stomping below. The light that I could see seemed to go in rhythm with the sound of heavy feet. It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. I had never seen one before! “A golem!?”
Briar giggled at my surprise. Of course, seeing golems was nothing to him, being part of the borderpatrol and all. “I figured you’d like to see one. Sorry it’s dark.” “It’s great!” I exclaimed. “Of course we hear about them in school, but I had never imagined seeing one.” Briar blew out the matchlight so that the golem’s own light could illuminate its shape more. “Not destined to leave your family behind and join the wolfkin?” “No, I’m afraid not.” I answered into the darkness. I never took my eyes off the golem far below.
“What is he doing?” I asked after a while of silence. “Just checking the ground level. Wyrmwolves can sense potential surfacings better on ground level then up here on the wall.” The clomp clomp of the golem walking seemed to tune out. “Can’t the wyrms feel their footsteps?” Briar lit another match, “No. The golems are made with special shocks in their feet that snuffs out the sound of their footsteps. We can hear the sound, but there are no vibrations given off. Wyrmwraiths don’t seem to be able to hear like you or I.”
Another thought came to mind, “Is that why golem pilots are called mice?” Briar laughed at this. “It’s a playful insult that other factions of the borderpatrol use to call them, but yes. They are quiet as mice.”
I could see Briar look past me, down towards the wallwalk on borderwall. I saw a sigh pass between his lips, like he was slightly annoyed by something. I hadn’t done anything — I don’t think. So I kept the observation to myself. Briar simply announced, “Petyr is almost done with his perimeter walk.”
I turned to see the light coming towards us. It definitely wasn’t a torch or matchlight. It was a ball of light, that he seemed to be passing from hand to hand. I had seen this once before, closer than I’m seeing it now. It seemed that Petyr had found a way to reflect the moonlight with some sort of tool. I’d asked Briar about this before and had gotten the usual silent answer. I chalked it off as child’s play, a simple science tool. But my imagination believed that it was some wolfkin trick!
“There’s one more thing.” Briar says. He’s facing me now. He’s also closer than I remember him being. He seems rushed. “What els…” I go to ask when Briar leans in and kisses me.
I’m shocked for a moment and let his lips dictate mine. Then I accept it. The butterflies in my stomach return violently, but I realize that I always had butterflies in my stomach around Briar. Not because I was excited to learn about the borderpatrol, the wolfkin — but because deep down inside, my body knew that I was attracted to him in some way.
I massage my lips against his and welcome his tongue as it probes my mouth. He takes his hand and places it on the side of my face, cradling me. He runs his finger down my sideburn and pinches my chin with his index finger and thumb, the ones that he so delicately held the match on our way to outerwall. He pulls away.
For a moment I am stunned, reveling in the kiss that just took place. I pinched the palm of my hand to make sure this was all real. Everything is broken when Petyr says, “What’s that?”
I glanced back at him at first, unsure how he made it so far so fast. Briar simply turned towards the Wilds. I didn’t notice that there were two golems below now. They had on bright floodlights that allowed us to see about a quarter mile into the Wilds. “It looks like fog,” I say, except I had never seen purple fog before. It was definitely smoke-like as it moved in wisps and formed into cloud shapes. It was purple, actually more lavender. “Is it poison?”
Years before the first wyrmwraith surfaced, the countries of the world were at war. The weapons weren’t guns or blades like today, but bombs of poison and biological weapons. The encroaching purple haze reminded me of pictures I’d seen of poison clouds released by bombs that were dropped by giant steel hawks. It was a different world. Who could attack us here? Why?
“No,” Briar said. He sounded so sure, like he knew exactly what the purple fog was but didn’t want to believe it. “You don’t think…?” Petyr asked. Briar grabbed my hand and we started across the dicey bridge back to borderwall! “We have to alert the alphas!” Was all that he said. Petyr followed in step behind us. I knew enough about borderpatrol protocol that alerting the alphas meant that it was something serious, but they didn’t want to alarm the general public. Consider me alarmed.
“What is it?” I asked again as we drew near a watchtower. There’d be a way to communicate to the alphas there. Briar turned and looked at me as we ran, “It’s called wyrm-mist.”
The Borderwall & I
I WAS RUNNING LATE! I pushed the spotted horse to ride faster. The innerwall was about a mile or so behind me. The borderpatrol, or weasels, that were stationed at the innerwall’s gate were under the assumption that I had a project due on the owl population that lived in the wooded areas between innerwall and borderwall. Obviously that isn’t true.
I was late! Every other night, before sundown I’d meet Briar on the top of the borderwall. This was the first time I was late! My heart was in my throat. What if I didn’t make it? What if he assumed that I was done meeting with him? I pressed my mount harder.
It was illegal for regular folk to mingle with the weasels. It is actually one of the most fundamental rules with a pretty steep punishment if caught. However, Briar worked the borderwall and sometimes the outerwall. It’s known that these are the least managed posts in all of the borderpatrol.
Ever since I was little I was always obsessed with the mystery of the borderpatrol! I finally had weaseled (pun absolutely intended) my way into meeting a weasel that would allow me to question him. Of course Briar didn’t tell me nearly everything, including why he had joined the borderpatrol, but he told me enough to keep me coming back every other evening. Our question and answer sessions had turned into a strange friendship of forbidden lifestyles.
“Gus, keep up!” I yelled over my shoulder. The Dalmatian was running along my mount’s flank. In fact, I was sure the dog could run faster than the horse. The horse couldn’t seem to run fast enough. I hope he’s still waiting!
I knew Briar’s patrol like clockwork. He and his team of weasels would meet at sundown and then they would man their towers or patrol the wallwalk. Briar would always take the west tower or start his wallwalk patrol on the western side of the borderwall, so that he could watch the sunset. Thus, Briar and I would watch the sunset together.
Speaking of, the sun was fading just beyond the wall, the light was already becoming harder to see at ground level! Come on! Come on! Almost there! I nearly flung myself off the horse when we came close to the access ladder that was hidden behind a strange cluster of trees, vines, and throne bushes. I didn’t even bother to tie the horse up. “Gus, stay.” I said as I began climbing rung after rung of metal ladder. The Dalmatian seemed to grumble to me in dog-speech and then sat like a good dog. I knew he’d be there waiting for me when I came back. The horse, I couldn’t be so sure of.
The sun had already dipped behind the wall leaving me in darkness. I forgot my torch in the saddlebag below. I climbed to the top, breathless. The last rays of sunlight were still trying to grip the horizon. I could see shapes upon the borderwall, but not distinguish who they belonged to. I couldn’t immediately see Briar. My heart was in my throat!
I’m here! I wanted to shout. I pulled myself up the last couple of rungs, maybe even skipping a few. I stood upon the borderwall, about two hundred feet above ground level. The wind picked up upon the top of the wall. My dark hair was gusting back and forth as the four winds fought for dominion over the sky and current with which they’d take.
The sun lost its battle to darkness. I could see three torchlights not far down the wallwalk. I was hoping it was Briar and his team of weasels called the Lost Boys. I saw one figure standing a few feet before me. He was haloed in torchlight, and tall. I assumed it had to be Petyr. He was the tallest of the Lost Boys.
“Petyr?” I called quietly into the darkness. Before I realized it, he was before me, hand stretched out, “You are late,” he replied. “I’m sorry, I’m so glad I made it!” Somehow I knew that Petyr smiled, “Briar is happy too. Hurry.”
We always had to move quickly from the access ladder. Apparently, it wasn’t even supposed to be there. But also, the Lost Boys claimed that there were some weasels that could see as good in the dark as cats and they would find it queer to count six heads upon borderwall when there should only be five.
Petyr led me towards the closest torchlight. Wendi held it before his face, his one front tooth missing from his smile, “Hello, Atreyu.” As an aside he said, “You’re late. The twins already made way for their post.”
In the darkness I could hear the rattling of claws on metal. My eyes automatically glanced towards the sound. Wendi followed my gaze with torchfire. There was an actual weasel clawing at the door to a birdcage. “We got one of the restless ones,” Wendi said. “Doesn’t that mean they sense wyrmwraiths?” I asked. Wendi answered, “Nah, he’d be goin’ wild if he sensed any wyrms.” These little slinky creatures was where the borderpatrol got their name: Weasel. The weasels could sense wyrmwraiths coming near the surface. Like a canary in a mine, my teachers say, not that I truly know what a mine is.
Wendi had dirty blonde hair that was probably dirty for real. He wasn’t allowed to say who his parents were or where he came from before he joined the borderpatrol, but through our conversations I had gathered that he was either from the Wilds, outside the walls, or the strange folk that lived in the Roam, the space between innerwall and borderwall, in the woods. I’d probably never truly know — and to find out, I’d have to break even more laws.
Wendi grabbed the handle-ring at the top of the weasel cage and held the torchlight out before him the light the way. “Briar’s got a surprise for you,” he said. I heard, “Yea?” I made it a question as if I didn’t already know. Briar had sent a parrot earlier to deliver his message. The bird repeated what Briar had said in its weird monotone voice that tried desperately to sound human. It was part of the reason I was so nervous to be late tonight.
He was going to tell me something juicy! Something that he could be executed for revealing! Like what happens to people when they decide to join the borderpatrol. Or how they go through the process of erasing their past lives. Or the countless other things that I have asked him and he responded with silence.
“What is it?” I followed up with. “You will have to let him do the honors,” Wendi laughed.
Briar was waiting in the darkness. He was sitting cross-legged at the top of the western tower. His borderpatrol robes wrapped around him like the finned hands of a fish. He wore the robes so perfectly, as if he commanded the wind and controlled exactly how each piece of fabric was going to move. “Briar!” He exclaimed. He stood for a hug. He pulled away and I could see something change in his face, “You’re late.” I laughed, “That’s not the first time I heard that tonight. I know I’m sorry!”
Briar turned to see the last tendrils of light fall behind the horizon, “At least you made it.”
Wendi’s torchlight was already being consumed by darkness as he walked further away on the wallwalk. We were alone — in the dark. “I have something to show you.” Briar said. As if on cue a light flickered into being. Briar held the tiniest everlasting match delicately between his thumb and pointer fingers. “Follow me.”
I followed him without questioning where we were going. He led me down the spiral staircase out of the tower to the wallwalk. The wind seemed more intense as we walked further on the wallwalk than I had ever been. I knew that he was taking me somewhere that I wasn’t supposed to be. Just one more revealed secret!
I followed behind him, his small flickering flame lighting our way. The wind screamed, desperately trying to snuff the pitiful flame. I loved watching Briar walk. There was something inhuman about the way that he moved. All of the Lost Boys moved like they were made from liquid muscle, like they were spliced with cat DNA. Every time the match flame came dangerously close to going out, it would return seemingly stronger than before. This cycle went about four times before Briar stopped.
Briar held his match out to his left so that I could see the thin bridge that connected borderwall to outerwall. We were going to outerwall!? I have never been outside of Rolando Safehold. It was something children were never taught to aspire to. Lesser jobs had duties that took place outside the walls. Unless of course you were part of the Council, but even they only traveled out of the wall four times a year to take the roads to East Watch where they met with the Icon to make new laws, trash old laws, and amend any other practices that would help the safeholds of America make it through another year.
“Follow me,” Briar smiled back at me. “I can’t believe you are taking me to outerwall!” I gasped. “There’s more.”
I followed Briar across the bridge. Had it been daylight I might have been too keen on going across the bridge made of rope and wood as it swing clumsily from side to side from both our weight and the wind. We made it to the other side and all I could see was darkness and the faintest flicker of firelight.
As if reading my thoughts, Briar explained, “Probably campfire. It’s safer to travel by day. More than likely they are in the trees.” “In the trees?” Briar held the matchlight before his face, “Wyrmwraiths can feel vibrations from our walking. They will eat anything that moves. Travelers that are unfortunate enough to have to leave their safeholds need to camp in trees to prevent an attack.” Just another reason why it was better for me to stay within the walls of Rolando.
Then there was another light! I could hear the clomp clomp of something heavy stomping below. The light that I could see seemed to go in rhythm with the sound of heavy feet. It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. I had never seen one before! “A golem!?”
Briar giggled at my surprise. Of course, seeing golems was nothing to him, being part of the borderpatrol and all. “I figured you’d like to see one. Sorry it’s dark.” “It’s great!” I exclaimed. “Of course we hear about them in school, but I had never imagined seeing one.” Briar blew out the matchlight so that the golem’s own light could illuminate its shape more. “Not destined to leave your family behind and join the wolfkin?” “No, I’m afraid not.” I answered into the darkness. I never took my eyes off the golem far below.
“What is he doing?” I asked after a while of silence. “Just checking the ground level. Wyrmwolves can sense potential surfacings better on ground level then up here on the wall.” The clomp clomp of the golem walking seemed to tune out. “Can’t the wyrms feel their footsteps?” Briar lit another match, “No. The golems are made with special shocks in their feet that snuffs out the sound of their footsteps. We can hear the sound, but there are no vibrations given off. Wyrmwraiths don’t seem to be able to hear like you or I.”
Another thought came to mind, “Is that why golem pilots are called mice?” Briar laughed at this. “It’s a playful insult that other factions of the borderpatrol use to call them, but yes. They are quiet as mice.”
I could see Briar look past me, down towards the wallwalk on borderwall. I saw a sigh pass between his lips, like he was slightly annoyed by something. I hadn’t done anything — I don’t think. So I kept the observation to myself. Briar simply announced, “Petyr is almost done with his perimeter walk.”
I turned to see the light coming towards us. It definitely wasn’t a torch or matchlight. It was a ball of light, that he seemed to be passing from hand to hand. I had seen this once before, closer than I’m seeing it now. It seemed that Petyr had found a way to reflect the moonlight with some sort of tool. I’d asked Briar about this before and had gotten the usual silent answer. I chalked it off as child’s play, a simple science tool. But my imagination believed that it was some wolfkin trick!
“There’s one more thing.” Briar says. He’s facing me now. He’s also closer than I remember him being. He seems rushed. “What els…” I go to ask when Briar leans in and kisses me.
I’m shocked for a moment and let his lips dictate mine. Then I accept it. The butterflies in my stomach return violently, but I realize that I always had butterflies in my stomach around Briar. Not because I was excited to learn about the borderpatrol, the wolfkin — but because deep down inside, my body knew that I was attracted to him in some way.
I massage my lips against his and welcome his tongue as it probes my mouth. He takes his hand and places it on the side of my face, cradling me. He runs his finger down my sideburn and pinches my chin with his index finger and thumb, the ones that he so delicately held the match on our way to outerwall. He pulls away.
For a moment I am stunned, reveling in the kiss that just took place. I pinched the palm of my hand to make sure this was all real. Everything is broken when Petyr says, “What’s that?”
I glanced back at him at first, unsure how he made it so far so fast. Briar simply turned towards the Wilds. I didn’t notice that there were two golems below now. They had on bright floodlights that allowed us to see about a quarter mile into the Wilds. “It looks like fog,” I say, except I had never seen purple fog before. It was definitely smoke-like as it moved in wisps and formed into cloud shapes. It was purple, actually more lavender. “Is it poison?”
Years before the first wyrmwraith surfaced, the countries of the world were at war. The weapons weren’t guns or blades like today, but bombs of poison and biological weapons. The encroaching purple haze reminded me of pictures I’d seen of poison clouds released by bombs that were dropped by giant steel hawks. It was a different world. Who could attack us here? Why?
“No,” Briar said. He sounded so sure, like he knew exactly what the purple fog was but didn’t want to believe it. “You don’t think…?” Petyr asked. Briar grabbed my hand and we started across the dicey bridge back to borderwall! “We have to alert the alphas!” Was all that he said. Petyr followed in step behind us. I knew enough about borderpatrol protocol that alerting the alphas meant that it was something serious, but they didn’t want to alarm the general public. Consider me alarmed.
“What is it?” I asked again as we drew near a watchtower. There’d be a way to communicate to the alphas there. Briar turned and looked at me as we ran, “It’s called wyrm-mist.”
Sunday, October 18, 2015
A thousand years ago
(Art Cover done by my Uncle Joe)
THE ROSE
THE MISTY OCTOBER BREEZE BLEW AGAINST ROBBIE’S NECK, CAUSING THE HAIRS TO STAND ON END. The crescent moon reflected very little light onto the small gloomy cemetery. The shriveled twisted leafless trees swayed with the chilly gusts. The few gravestones that there were, cast tiny reaching shadows.
His parents were buried here. His mother died in her hospital bed, she was diagnosed with a disease. His dad died the next day in a car accident; he slid on a patch of ice. They lay side-by-side with cheap rock headstones. It was all Robbie could afford. He didn’t get a lot of help from the town, his family just moved there because of the doctor offerings at the hospital.
Another whirl of wind whipped up and made his dark bowl-cut hair swirl around his head. Robbie groped the headstones; it was the closest he could get to his parents. They lived together in some world out there and left him to fend for himself. His green catlike eyes watered and tears poured like a waterfall. This would be the last time he would visit their resting place.
The graveyard was weird! Eerie things happened every night. For example, the white orange speckled cat that refused to let Robbie into the cemetery. She slept by the rusty old gate and didn’t budge. When he awoke her, she attacked with anger as if she was defending the gate. Robbie had to get gloves so he could lift the cat away and slip in before she retaliated. Or the two crows that perched on the same gnarled tree. They would watch him. Gathering courage they would fly to the ground and hop closer with every passing minute. But the crows would lose interest and always fly to the black stoned grave deserted in the far corner of the cemetery. They would perch on the grave and caw every now and then. Making Robbie jump at every ghastly squawk.
But the eeriest thing of all was the reappearing black rose that lay across his parents’ graves. At first he thought it belonged to someone else and wedged it in one of the trees, hoping its owner would find it. But it returned! He started to break the stem and tear each of the pedals off and throw it away, but it always returned. It was always lying in the same place every night Robbie came back to visit the death yard. He told his friends about it, but they didn’t believe him.
Every time Robbie came back to the cemetery the crows would get closer and closer. The cat would put up more of a fight to move. And that stupid black rose would be there! As the things got weirder he vowed this would be his last night visiting his parents, but it never was. Robbie always showed up at the graves.
The wind howled again. Robbie heard the faint sound, leave. That’s crazy, he thought, the wind doesn’t speak. But yet — crows don’t walk about at night pestering people, cats don’t put up fights for gates, and black roses don’t regrow exactly alike and walk around to find my parents’ graves, Robbie screamed in his head. But here — they did!
There was a rustle of leaves from behind him. Robbie looked instinctively at the lonely dark grave nestled in the corner. The leaves have been stirred. He walked cautiously over to the creepy grave and hid behind the closest wrinkled tree. The crows flew from his parents’ graves to the black grave and cawed as loud as they could. He heard the cat’s screaming meow and her clawing at the squeaky gate. The wind howled louder, leave. And as all the noise continued something grabbed him!
He whispered, “Revenge is sweet.”
All the noise silenced! Nothing was heard! The pale ghostly man grabbed Robbie’s hand! Robbie looked at the man’s face; he was one of his parent’s patients that disappeared into depression with his incurable deadly disease. The man flashed a black rose before Robbie’s eyes and pricked his finger with a thorn.
Robbie’s life flashed before him. The rose! He remembered a rose on the dashboard of his father’s out-of-control car before he jumped out to save his life, and then watched his dad crash into a telephone pole. He remembered the vase next to his mother’s hospital bed… It supported a single rose. And now — the black rose at Robbie’s parents’ graves. The thing that was in common with his parents’ deaths was a single dot of dried blood on their index fingers and the roses! But then Robbie could remember no more.
Robbie’s killer has never been found, because no fingerprints were seen anywhere on Robbie’s body.
There was only a trickle of blood from Robbie’s pointer finger, the only clue. There was no mysterious cat, no wind, and no black rose. But every night instead of two crows there would be three that flew from Robbie and his parents’ graves to the very weird abandoned grave in the corner of the graveyard.
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