The Last Door

You told me to run
So I ran as fast as I can
And my legs were like a drum
And my heart was like a furnace
I gasped for air like underwater
And still your broke my bones
Because you were just too heavy
My ribs could not keep my heart inside
And my mouth screamed with pleasure
The purest pleasure as your teeth sank
And gripped into the deepest part
Your mane hung about your shoulders
And I was lost in your golden boughs
I could climb your golden shoulders
I could search for your golden eyes
But then I found your laughter
And the I couldn't stop the tears
Call me to your country
Let me in by the Stable Door
Plato was right and I am a shadow
Your light consumes me and I am gone
Stars will rain in showers
The sun will soon go out
I am just a shadow
And you are not tame

Prisoner of Water: Chapter 7

The large pale moon hung over the mountain, illuminating the scene below. The invaders and defenders fought hard in the snowy slope that stretched between the village gate and the houses. Their weapons flashed in the light of the fires that were still burning around the slope when the village’s celebrations were interrupted by the invaders. High above the wall of ice loomed precariously, as the village wise woman strained to hold up the sliding glacier.

“Grandmother!” Anai yelled as she ran and threw her arms around her grandmother.

“There. There. Anai. You. Must. Go!” the old woman strained, as one of her braids burst, the hair quickly unraveling from the braid and shooting into long thin strands before settling on her back, her feet suddenly being pushed back in the snow as if by some heavy force. “You must! Go take care! Of the village! Go secure. The children!”

“Nya! The ones in the igloos!” Anai yelled as she turned and ran back, “Don’t worry grandmother, I’ll get them all into the houses farther back! They’ll be safe! I’ll come back I promise!”

The old woman closed her eyes once Anai was gone, “I know child. I know.”

~~*~~

“You’re nothing but a child!” Ismes said with contempt, standing to leave.

It was true, the youth before him was indeed more boy then man. His smooth features did not even hint at a beard yet, and if Ismes could guess the boy could not be fourteen yet. He wore a long black robe, with a black turban. His skin was tan and had clusters of eyes drawn around his own eyes, so that it was hard to tell which were his and which were painted. When he spoke, his voice was light, not even having cracked yet.

“Since when has that mattered? It is not my age that qualifies me, it is my abilities.” The boy said, vanishing into the shadows before reappearing in the shadows behind Ismes, a puma headed dagger ready at Ismes’ ribs.

“Ha! Impressive,” Ismes said, before motioning down with his eyes at his own spear which had turned faster than either could see, and was pointing behind him at the Tracer’s heart. “But not impressive enough.”

“Well.” The Tracer said, flustered, “I wasn’t hired for my killing abilities. I was hired as a tracker.”

“But you are suppose to be able to do both.” said Ismes raising an eyebrow, “Otherwise you would just be Trackers or Assassins.”

“Oh, trust me, I can and will deliver.” the boy said, his real eyes narrowing into fierce black slits, “But like I said, I was told that this job would be focused on tracking down someone.”

“Hmph. I didn’t say you had the job yet.” Ismes said, “I’m still unimpressed.”

“And I’m still waiting. I wasn’t hired by you and so you really don’t have any say.” The boy said, folding his arms smuggly, “Now, tell me again. Who are we tracking?”
Ismes sighed in resignation as he stood and held out his hand, “Alright, but let’s start off on the right foot. I am Ismes of Belotha, bodyguard to your, erm, client.”

“You can call me Setappep.” the boy said, extending a hand tattooed with a puma on the back, grasping Ismes’ arm.

~~*~~

As the battle continued to rage on above and in front of them, the village was forced to watch helplessly. Josten wished there was something he could do. He scanned the area around them illuminated by the large white moon overhead. Behind them was the mountain with the looming ice overhead. Beneath the looming ices was the igloos Anai was evacuating towards the larger houses further up the mountain, where the ice could not reach. Then past the igloos were the huddled villagers, the remains of the feasting tables and small fires that had been bonfires standing on either side of them. On one side the mountain steppe fell away to a sheer cliff, while on the other, a small ravine ran between their steppe and the taller mountain next to them. The ravine was deep but filled up with snow so it could barely be seen. Before Josten could think further, there was a sudden scream of horror next to him.

It was followed by a clutter of pieces of wood, pieces of a Snow Elder mask. Everyone looked up in shock as the thin, diamond-like dust blew down in the breeze all around them, what had once been their protector, their beloved Snow Elder. The defenders were stunned, and began falling back under the invaders’ assaults. Josten walked forward and picked up the pieces of broken mask, examining them, hearing the wail of despair behind him.

Soon there was another loud crash above them as another Snow Elders was torn to powdery snow by a blast from Swampe. The people began yelling, screaming, panicking. Josten did not know what he was doing. All he knew was that he was running towards Anai’s grandmother and fell before her on his knees, looking up in her grey blue eye.

“J-josten.” she strained.

“Yes.” his voice sounded small.

“Will you. Will you take. Good care. Of. Anai?” she spoke the words as tears came from her eyes.

“Y-yes. I will!” he said resolutely, before he winced as he heard another explosion from the sky and the wail grew louder.

“Good.” she sighed as she exhaled slowly, the mountain side cracking more.

“What is that suppose to mean?!” Josten found himself yelling before he realized it, “Are you just going to give up like that? On us? On Anai?”

“Hmmm. Your spirit. Is young. And strong.” the old woman smiled, “You two. Would have been. Happy. Together.”

“No! Don’t say that!” Josten said, realizing what she meant, “You won’t die today! Not as long as I can do anything!”

He turned and ran back towards the villagers, his lungs burning under the strain of the thin, iced mountain air. His eyes hurt from the glare of the moon on the snow, each of his muscles and joints called out in protest as he demanded more from them. But it did not matter. He had to force them to respond and force himself to smile as he called to the standing and wailing villagers,

“Djarmond! Djarmond! Stop crying! Stop despairing! We can still win this day! Do as I do!”

Josten reached down and pressed a snow ball together as he has done since childhood. He quickly formed it into the solid, hard as a stone, orb and ran towards the advancing invaders. With a well wound throw he sent the rock-hard ball straight into the face of a nearby invader, nocking him clear off his feet. It only took the people of the mountains a second before they joined in. Lifetimes spent perfecting the art of making and throwing a snowball all lent themselves to the small army suddenly creating masses of ammunition and turning the normally peaceful villagers into fighting machines.

“There, keep up the volleys!” Josten directed them, jumping and hooting in victory, even though his body protested at every move, “Thats it! Now, increase towards their left side, decrease the volleys on their right!”

The villagers continued to follow Josten’s directions as more and more masks and snow fell from above them. But somehow by being spurred into action, they hardly registered the fact that the Elders were falling from the sky. But Josten was painfully conscious that only a handful remained. If they all fell before his plan worked there would be no one to stand against Swampe.

~~*~~

The two slid through the street, making their way through the loud merchants yelling at the top of their lungs while they held their goods up into the air. The thousands of feet running along the wooden boards that paved the bottom of the streets echoed around the tall limestone facaded buildings. Most were poorly constructed wooden structures hidden behind false limestone faces meant to impress. Ismes and the boy Setappep made their way to the large city gates, two wooden portcullises slowly lowering in place as they arrived.

“This isn’t right. Its not yet an hour after moonrise. Why have they already closed the gates?” Ismes said walking swiftly to the guards at the gate.

He drew his cape around him, and swept his hood over his face. He did not want to be recognized slinking around outside the palace at night. As he approached the guards did not stand to attention as they normally would have. Instead they eyed him suspiciously, before continuing their conversation.

“Excuse me, sirs.” He said, hobbling and hunching over as he went, “Could you spare a copper piece for an old man?”

“Get lost you old fool! We’re guarding here!” the one called, the other responding with a deep, lusty laugh as if the first guard had told an extremely funny joke when he said that. “Hey! Pass the bottle back here, and stop laughing like an idjit!”

“I’m sorry to bother ye, sirs. No disrespect intended. You obviously have to guard the gateway.” Ismes said, still hunched over.

“Thats right! Its a very important job!” the soldier slurred.

“Indeed?” Ismes asked.

“Yeah! We have to make sure no one escapes from the city tonight. All the exits have been ordered shut and guarded. Because-” but he got no further as a third, much more sober guard arrived and smacked him with the end of his spear.

“Stop your blathering you idiot! And you! Old man! Get lost if you know whats good for you! Some of us could be in bed right now sleeping, and have to be out here to guard these stupid gates because of the likes of you, so you’re on thin ice as is!”

“Beggin your pardon, sir.” Ismes said as he backed away, hobbling and bowing in his stooped form as he did.

Once he was around the corner, he quickly found Setappep who immeditaly asked, “Whats wrong? Why are the gates shut?”

“Shh. I don’t know.” He said, keeping his hood down, “But whatever it is, we have to move fast, look, another column of soldiers is arriving to reinforce the gate. We have to get to the southern gates before they are reinforced too!”

“But the streets are too crowded!” Setappep whispered.

“Then we won’t use the streets.” Ismes answered, “Follow me.”

Prisoner of Water: Chapter 5

Kiza stared in cool indignation at her opponent as he stood alone in the doorway of her room, evil gleam on his putrid teeth. She grabbed the heavy bronze sheers, with her other hand, a fistful of gleaming black braids. There was the cold, heavy sound of metal slicing though hair, like a knife being sharpened on a wetstone. Zuma watched her hungrily, licking his lips in nervous anticipation.

Then it was done. The black pile of tresses lay in a heap on the floor. He began advancing upon them, as if to collect the compulsary love tokens. But Kiza was not done. She placed the shears down on the hearth next to a candle, then elegantly and gracefully sweapt her hand sideways, knocking the candle to the floor. The hungry flames licked at her locks almost as greedily as Zuma’s eyes. He walked forward briskly and with agitation as he snatched a lone braid from the flames. Kiza turned away from him signaling that his audience was over. Instead, he stepped up closely behind her, her eyes closing as she felt his cool breath on her shoulder.

“You think you’re so clever, little princess.” he said, stroking her neck with her own severed braid. “So pretty and so clever. Well that pretty little face of yours better learn some respect, otherwise it won’t be pretty for much longer.”

He mistook the way Kiza shook with rage to be fear.

“Hmmmm. Well, don’t cry, Princess. Your hair will grow back. And just in time too. You see, your father has promised me anything for helping him. Anything... and anyone.” He said, taking her chin in his hand while leaning forward to whisper in her ear, her eyes shutting tighter. “You know, you don’t look nearly as pretty without your hair, little princess. What a shame.”

He pushed her head away fiercely and strutted out of the room, his dark mantel flaying out behind him.

The room was dark and quiet for a few moments before Kiza spoke, “Thank you.”

Ismes stepped from the shadows, his knuckles turning white on the hilt of his spear, his teeth clenching and unclenching with rage.

“Thank you for not doing or saying anything.” Kiza spoke softly, placing a placating hand on his wide, strong shoulder.

~~*~~

“Who are you, stranger?” asked Anai’s grandmother walking through the parting crowd to the edge where the warriors stood, weapons at the ready.

There was no response. The figure stepped forward, a half halting, half slouching step, as if his leg and foot had no ankle to connect them. He raised his entire arm straight up, then pointed it towards the old woman. The mist began rising behind him, building up like a tidal wave ready to rush upon the shore. Within it, soldiers began to take shape, starting as shadows that became more distinct as if smoke was falling from them in the wheeling mists.

“Get back everyone! Warriors, at the ready! I don’t know what kind of foul demon you are, but you had best go back where you came from! You don’t know who you are dealing with!” the wisewoman yelled.

He raised his face, to reveal a nose and mouth perfectly normal. But where his eyes would have been was nothing. Just skin, and a strange glowing greenish blue symbol. His mouth curved up in a wicked grin, as if seeing the sudden chill that entered the old woman’s soul. She had seen this all before. She knew what was coming.

~~*~~

“Why!? Why do you let him treat you like that?! You are strong! You don’t have to put up with his... ways!” Ismes was fuming, pacing the room back and forth before wiping his shaved head and taking a deep breath, saying, “I’m sorry, highness. It is not for me to question your ways. It’s just-”

“Shhhh. Its okay. Ismes, listen to me. You want to protect me, right? Well right now the only way to do that is to make Zuma think he is in control. If he thinks he has control he won’t do anything rash. I’ve known people like him all my life. Trust me, I know how he operates and how to push his buttons.” she reassured him.

“But what if your plan fails... what if Zuma is smarter than you?” Ismes asked with a sudden dispair. “I don’t know what I would do...”

“You would do your duty, as you have always done. You will do what you have to do.” Kiza said a smile almost on her lips, “We will both do what we have to do, in order to survive.”

“And what do I have to do?” asked Ismes, bowing.

“Exactly as I tell you. And everything will work out. Trust me.”

~~*~~

There was a sickening moment of silence as the troops on the one side watched the soldiers in the mists, waiting and watching, neither side daring to make a move just yet. Then suddenly the soldiers all stood at attention, the rigidity of their motions like marionettes on strings. They turned on their heels and faced the mountain defenders in a straight line. A sicking minute counted by hearts beating under adrenaline and fingers straining on leather weapon hilts. And then there was the sudden crunching of feet as soldiers began running towards the village. The defenders roared their battle cries of defiance and leapt forward, running low and with their spears held sideways.

The moment they made contact they brought their spear handles down hard on the first wave, severing the leather that held the two pieces of their weapons together, and began fighting with a piece in each hand. The weapons were built this way, for long or short range fighting. But their enemies were ruthless, thin shallow skin breathing in ragged, almost desperate breathes. As the fighting continued there was a sudden blood chilling scream from one of the defenders.

All looked and saw his enemy, whose arm he had severed. However, instead of blood spilling from the amputated limb, there was thick, brownish green mud slopping from the wound, and where his arm should have fallen there was also merely a puddle of brown green on the snow. The enemies did not seem at all thwarted by their discovery and continued their assault, but it only took the mountain defenders a moment to recover from the shock and begin to fight in earnestness. Because now the rules of propriety and engagement no longer bound them.

Soon, the last soldier fell, save for the leader, and the victorious defenders gave a shout of celebration, raising the weapons, a few nursing minor wounds. But their victory was short lived. The mist was pulsating and a sultry, female voice spoke from within,

“Really, must I do everything myself. You really are worthless.”

The woman from before appeared from the mist. She stepped forth and the leader shrinked away from her in fear. Lifting her black gloved hand like a swan raising its neck, she gracefully took hold of the edge of the hood over her face, and pulled it back to reveal her features. Her hair was black, or perhaps darkest pine-green, and her skin was pale but not an earthly pale, as if it had never seen daylight before. She was shockingly beautiful, but she did not smile, her red mouth the colour of blood.

“Up.” is all she said.

And up came all of the fallen soldiers, rising piece by piece from the sloughy water that they were. The defenders fell back at the sight, many yelling in fear as they passed the wisewoman, looking down at the snow, before turing to face the woman before her, who merely gave a sideways grin, revealing her sharp teeth.

“Anai! Get the villagers back! Leave this to me.” her grandmother called as she and the stranger faced each other.

Why I am not interested in Christian Nonfiction like The Shack or Self Help Books

Why I am not interested in Christian NonFiction or Self Help Books

I am an intellectual person, in that research and study and reading and pondering and seeking out knowledge and wisdom has always been a deep part of who I am. Because of this, people have long thought that I would be interested in all kinds of books relating to intellectual discussion. These have ranged far and wide, from research papers to theological theses to philosophical allegories to self help books. However, time and time again, I have gotten books from people, have read only a small part, and never read them again.

Now, before I continue, if you are one of these people, please do not take this as some kind of angry rant. It’s not. I am thankful to have people in my life who take enough interest my own interests to wish to provide something entertaining and thought provoking or even spiritually uplifting for me. I also understand that often when someone is truly touched, moved, or encouraged by a book, they will be passionate about sharing that experience with others. So, please, understand that this does not come from bitterness towards people or hatred for self help books. This is merely me explaining my personal position, in order to A) answer a question for myself, B) provide meaningful and thought provoking discussion, and C) hear what your opinions are on this topic.

Of all these various kinds of books, the ones I get recommended and handed to me the most are Christian Self Help Books. Even as I write that, the laundry list that comes to mind is staggering. So many books that people have wanted me to read, many of which I have never even cracked the spine of. Why? What do I have against them?

Nothing. These books are fine. Most are reasonably well written, and cover topics which are most definitely relevant to me. So why do I not read them? Because there are two things that any Christian Self Help Book is trying to do. They are either out to convince you to think about life and issues the way they do, or they are there to help you better your own life, either your internal issues or your external relationships.

The first general type is then more theoretical, theological, and philosophical. The problem I have with this is simple: History teaches us that theology and theories have harmed the church more than anything else, marring the bride of Christ, and staining the reputation of the church and of Jesus even to our own day. What am I referring to?

Throughout history, from the very inception of the church, there have been people who have gained spiritual insight and revelation for their lives. But while they were passionate, they were also fools. They insisted that the revelation God gave them specifically, was meant for all, that any who did not agree with them must be false messengers from Satan. They approached life with such a dualistic viewpoint, and they and their followers acted from it. War after war, witch burning after witch burning, crusade after crusade, they desecrated the name of God by taking “Holy Wars” in his name. They were no better then the Muslims who bombed the Twin Towers on 9-11.

So excuse me if I am cautious about following people who claim to have special revelation. I understand that not all are like. In fact, I believe that a large majority of people who write books like these only have the readers’ best interest at heart. I am not saying that all Christian Self Help Books are out to get you to go on a Crusade. What I am saying is that many view their way of approaching or dealing with life as the ONLY way. And that is a dangerous mindset to have.

(Here I should probably add a sidenote that I am not saying that there are many ways to God…. but…. then again, there are many ways to God. In fact, each person has a very unique and special way to God that no other person will ever take. All these ways pass through the cross at some point or another, but they are not all the same way. If you really want to take what I say out of context, I will be giving you SO much opportunity that this will really be my one and only sidenote in my defense. If you have any issues or problems with what I say, please, feel free to voice them in the comments area. I love to hear other opinions because it either helps me come to a better conclusion or strengths the one I already have. Either way, it make me better, so please, let me know where I go wrong. :D )

Anyway, moving right along. The other reason I don’t read theologically or philosophically inclined books is quite elementary. If it’s basic theology, then its something I have probably heard a million times before in Christian school, sermons, chapels, and Max Lucado books. Why on earth would I want to subject myself to mind numbing repetitious phrasing of the same basic phrases and thoughts, ESPECIALLY IF I ALREADY AGREE WITH IT!!!! And, if its not basic theology, and its some kind of strange, out there, new way of looking at and approaching the world, I will begin to argue with the author as I read through it, mainly because the only reason books like it (aka The Shack) are written is to ignite people into arguing about issues. Personally, I find that when I argue about things, when I am aggressive in my pursuit of knowledge, I become closed minded to what other have to say, defensive about what I have to say (irregardless if it is right or not), and in general, my spirit becomes grieved. Why on earth would I want to subject myself to that type of situation? Life is complicated enough already and has enough trials that I do not need to go creating any more for myself. I will not seek out aggression, aggravation, or give myself over to be manipulated by any author. The moment I detect it, I put the book down and take a step back. If it keeps happening, I stop reading the book altogether. Usually, but not always.

That covers the fist type of book. The ones with special knowledge, revelation, or outlook on life that they want to force everyone else to except. Obviously, the Holy Spirit can use the book to speak to a person’s life and bring correction. But the Holy Spirit can also use a sunrise, a billboard on the side of the highway, a commercial for Comcast, or even (God forbid!) a Michael Jackson song. It’s not about the source material, its ALL about our ability to discern the voice of the Holy Spirit in our lives. If we have that, then we can be in the middle of the desert, a million miles away from any written word, and we will read God’s revelation for our lives upon creation itself.

Moving right along, there are the other types of self help books in the Christian community, and I have slightly just touched on them with that last paragraph. The other type is the ones who say that they have knowledge or wisdom to help you either internally work through your own issues inside your own life, or externally work on your issues with other people you encounter. These are actual self help books.

(Okay, I promise this is the last side note, but basically, just have to say, that when you look at the basic premise of these self help books (fix internal/external) you realize that you don’t need any book other than the Bible. In fact, you don’t even need the whole Bible. All you need is two short phrases. Love God with everything you have. Love people like you love yourself. If you can do that, you won’t have any problems internally or externally. And I doubt I have ever met anyone who had even mastered those two simple things.)

As I just pointed out previously, when you are sensitive to the Holy Spirit, then God will reveal the areas in your life that you need to adjust. The amazing thing about the presence of God is that as you drawn near to Him, He draws closer to you, even if you can’t feel it, and when He draws near, the mountains melt, the islands are moved, the heavens roar, and we are rightly put in our place. Or, as one Biblical writer put it, all our righteousness becomes like filthy rags.

When we are actively pursuing God, we will become aware of His presence. The more we are in His presence, the more we realize just how wrong and messed up we are. The more we realize what we are doing wrong, the more we can stop doing it, and begin to do what is right. But once again, this only comes if we are sensitive to the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit will warn us when we are about to enter into temptation. The Holy Spirit will plead with us as we are making the decision to sin or not to sin. The Holy Spirit will convict us afterwards when we have sinned and point out exactly where we went off the path. And the Holy Spirit will guide us back to the straight and narrow. All this, and SO MUCH MORE, He is willing and able and waiting to do, and is doing even right now, all we have to do is be able to hear him. All we have to do is listen. Really listen. And if it all happens so organically when we are drawing close to God why would we need a self help book?

But the opposite is true too. If I was not actively seeking God, why on earth would I ever read a Christian self help book? As a Christian, I knew very well when my life is not on track. If I’m not working to fix it, it means I am running away from it, like Jonah. I am aware of what I am doing. I am aware that I am making mistakes and that I am not right with God. And in that place, I know that a Christian self help book would only convict me back on the right track. So why would I read it if I am purposely trying not to think about God?

So if my relationship with God is good, there is no need for a Christian Self Help Book. If my relationship with God is bad, there is no way I would read it. Therefore, a Christian self help book serves no purpose in my life. Maybe it’s different for other people. I can understand and respect that. But for me, personally, I prefer not to drink rock filtered, fluoride added, flavored water. I would much rather drink deep from the sweet, fresh, pure source, untouched by the taint of human thought or emotion. I would rather get insight directly from the Holy Spirit, in a way that is specifically applicable for what I am personally going through at this exact moment in time. I would rather have the Holy Spirit’s constant prodding and direction in orchestrating my life every second of every day, than have a manual telling me what I already know, that I forget as soon as I close its back cover.

But as I said before, these are all simply my opinions and how I understand the world, both the physical and the spiritual, to work in regards to my own life and my own journey. Maybe you see things differently. Maybe you have experienced different results and different feelings. Please, share them. I won’t make fun of you. I won’t ridicule or insult you. I probably won’t even respond to your comment. But if you don’t voice how you feel, then there may be errors that go uncorrected in my life and the lives of those who read this. And if no one disagrees with me on anything then it means I must be perfect and have a perfect understanding of this, which I most definitely am and do not. So, how do you personally feel about Christian Self Help Books?

Watchers in the Dark

Funny how reading Tolkien, a single phrase can catch you and give you inspiration. :D

*************************************************

They watch, watch with gleaming eyes,
The stars, the moon, the things inside
They peer, they grope, they tear and bite
They seek, O how they seek, with all their might

They thirst for flesh, the sweetest meat
The reddest, plumpest, warmest heat,
That hidden deep within red heart
They ply and bend to reach that part

The place, the cave, the hidden chest
Where secrets kept are held the best
For there in secret, locked doors
Is what they so dearly yearn for.

So they beg, and plead, and beat their bones
On night and day, no moments alone
They hound, they chase, ever on they seek
They hunger and thirst to devour the meek

Their hands are red, shades of crimson and dark
Their faces are white, to hide black art
Their feet are bent, and they cannot walk straight
But their wings are worse, for they soar on hate

These foul harpies, ever watch they with care
To see a wrong footfall, or a stumble anywhere
Their talons quiver, each step laced expectation
Their voices screech louder as they growl with vexation

Scatter fiends, no manflesh shall you devour
For I am not so desperate as I seem in this hour
Rise, again, O glorious sun, once more arise!
That I too may stand up, even in their wretched eyes.

The Wanderer

The Wanderer
by Kahlil Gibran

Wow, amazing! I just had to get that out there first before I continued. Gibran's collection of short stories is very impressive. While most are only the length of a page they are so masterfully told that in their sweet simplistic ways, the secrets and meaning of the universe is revealed. He was definitly a master story teller. His style, while consideriby higher in tone, voice, and vocabulary than today's standard, was actually plain and unadorned compared to his contemporaries that lived during the turn of the century.

The content is most wholesome, having truth, wisdom, and light woven in between the lines of the words. His story are more accurately parables in many ways because of the deeper meaning they carry inside of them.

Over all reading him is very relaxing, almost calming. Its unlike most things you will ever read, no complex words and vocabulary to get stuck on. No over complication of the issues and problems. And yet, captivating all the same. His style is minimilism at its finest, but the message behind the words carry hope.

While content and style were up to par, he brought something fresh and new to the reading experiance and was able to surprise me greatly, and because of this the Wanderer gets 7 out of 5 stars. For going above and beyond any expectations.

If you have not read this yet you have to!

Here is an example of one of his stories:

The Shadow

Upon a June day the grass said to the shadow of an elm tree, "You move to right and left overoften, and you disturb my peace."
And the Shadow answered and said, "Not I, not I. Look skyward. There is a tree that moves in the wind to the east and to the west, between the sun and the earth."
And the grass looked up, and for the first time beheld the tree. And it said in its heart, "Why, behold, there is a larger grass than myself."
And the grass was silent.


So you see, a foot wide, but a mile deep. If you are an intelligent person, he makes for great reading. Because no matter how many times you read what he wrote, you will always find some new and deeper meaning of his meaning of his words. And thats why I recommend Kahlil Gibran to everyone who enjoys the long forgotten past time of pondering and thinking. :D

The Belgariad

The Belgariad
Vol. 1 & 2
By David Eddings

The Belgariad follows the life of a young boy, Garion, as he tags along with his aunt and grandfather, two sorcerors, as they journey to gather various people needed to stop an ancient evil from returning. Along the way Garion also finds out more about himself and what he really is. I won't say anything else at all because the story is too good to spoil.

The style of writing is simple and easy, but the descriptions of the people and places are so well done that you don't feel that the over complicated words are even needed. One thing about his writing that is amazing is that even the most minor characters have a story and a part in the plot. You connect with everyone. In the same way the no person in real life is ever really a minor character, so also even the most insignificant seeming person has a story, a part in the main conflict. It is probably the reason I liked the books the most.

As for content, just to be warned, the book is not a children's book and does deal with some more mature themes. Nothing explicitly inappropriate, more just a few cultural practices in some of the countries they visit. A subtle theme in the books was that each villain personifies and is overthrown because of one of the deadly sins, lust being one of them. Also, the book does included magic, which may make some people uncomfertible. It does distinguish between sorcerors and magicians. Sorcerors, the good guys, are said to use something more like the 'force' in Star Wars, while Magicians, called the godless ones, try to control demons in order to affect their serroundings. In the books, one such magician is torn apart by his demon, as a way of making teh dangers involved explicit. Because of these two main things some may feel uncomfertible reading it or may choose not to. Luckily the story is not accesory to these themes, the themes are to the story.

In conclusion, the plot is amazing, the style is great, the themes are right on, the characters are the best I have ever seen, and the content, while having some questionible parts, does not affect the overall reading experiance. It is the most realistic fiction book I have read. And personally, I liked it.

Five Stars!!!

On current statis...

Well, I felt like I hadn't posted in a while and know I won't be until after thanksgiving so I thought I should at least give a little update. So here goes:

Chapter 2 is done, it just needs a little fine tuning and some minor refining (don't you hate that I'm a perfectionist! >:)

The Two Horsemen novella didn't get nearly the response I was looking for but I am adamant about finishing the novella and then refining it as well. What you see there is a first draft thats still very rough and unfocused. Either way I already have Part II written in my head its just a matter of getting in down on paper when I have a chance.

The Epic Poem (the Lament of Brandur + Perlise) that I'm working on seems to be in hiatus for now. I already know what I want to do, I just need to figure out if I'll leave it in current format or if I'll redo the entire thing. :D

Also have a poetic idea on the far distant backburner of the dark recesses of my brain called 'the Heartbreaker of Calais' (that would be pronouned to rhyme with 'delay') It'll be good. >:D

Oh, my current project garnering the most of my creative enegry and time is a short story (or series of them) that deals with the theme of the Lord of the Mists. So far I am almost done with the first but I want to finish at least two before I post any. Either way, whether I write one, three, five, or twenty, they will each be individual and not interdependent (though reading them together would be very beneficial). So far I'm on the tenth page of the fourth draft. As I said, most of my focus is on it right now. Hopefully I can begin December with it. :)

Other than that I have relatives and friends coming to stay until the 29th so I'll probably be silent until then. To all my faithful readers (i know you're out there in the thousands you're all just too shy to comment :D) Good bye and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Happy Anniversity to Me!!!

Yay! This month is the one year anniversity of my blog! And if you've been keeping count (because I know you guys are *wink*) this is also my 100th post. Yay for blogging!

And I should be back to blogging more regularly, chapters included, now that I have learned how to say no to facebook's lure. Seriously I can spend hours just looking at flair not to mention the million and one other applications you can upload!!! No wonder parents thought facebook was of the devil when it firt came out! lol!!

So yeah, to kick off another great year of blogging and another great 100 posts, I'm resharing my top three posts... er, or at least listing them.

#3.Potted Plants 11/07 - Not sure why, it just always appealed to me.
#2.The Battle of the Great Ice Sheet 04/08 - the one that got me writing the story again, thanks to two girls who got intrested...;)
#1.Come Away With Me 9/08 - Don't know why but this must be one of my favorite poems... and it totally just came to me! lol! Literally, I sat down at my computer and I thought "A rhyme with the words, Come Away with me, would be really cool." And then suddenly this rhyme was just there! I wish all poetry and writing came that easily... but then again I wish life came easier too. Oh well, we can dream. :)

So those are my top three. Care to share any that you liked and why? Please. :) I'm not begging for comments. Thats what I have the voices inside my head for... precious.
;)

The Same Path as Before

I walk along the same path, the path I’ve trod down into the earth day after day after day. Through seasons and changes I’ve walked the path, pressing down blossoms, fruit, leaves, and snow, always deep into the sucking receptive mud. The fresh odor of clean dirt and earthy air fill my nostrils as I walk along the same path. I’ve walked here before many times, I know every nook and cranny, because I’ve walked here, on this path, this self same path of earth and stone, this path I’ve walked along before.

The path winds along a country road, in the spring there grows hyacinth and anemone in the corner under the oak tree, and then it cuts across a large field. The field is bare and the stubble of straw not quite shaven off is all that remains. Three months before these were wavy fields of barley and three before that a luscious green carpet of bright viridian sprouts heralding the spring, and three months before that it was a flat imageless white, a blank page awaiting snow angels. But right now, this path I walk upon, the one I’ve been on before, the one cutting across the field is covered in the remnants of fall. I know this to be true.

The path I walk upon, this path I know very well, then goes into a wood, with large evergreen canopies decking the silent forest within. There is no bird call. I never noticed this before. But it is no matter. I know this path and I have been here before. So I continue walking, along the sucking mud path that is now bouncy and light with pine needles, resin saturated through and through.

I have walked this path before, I know that. I know each and every bend. I know when it rises slightly and drops suddenly. I know where the best spot is to rest and the best spot to take shelter if it rains and the best place to go if I want some wild strawberries. But there are no strawberries now. No, this is the fall and strawberries will not be waiting for me until spring. That’s six months from now.

No, for now I simply walk this path. The forest grows darker but it matters not. I know this path, every rock, every root, every acorn and ditch. I will keep walking into the forest, the deep and dark place that I know so well. Haven’t I told you that I have been in here before? Many times before. I walk here daily and I have been here before. So I fear not the dark or the stones or the beast because I know that I’ve walked out the other side before, and I will today too.

As I keep walking I hear a metallic echo and then a strange bang, like a sheet of heavy metal falling against a brick wall. I look around, suddenly frightened by the light in the forest, the light that came out of nowhere. I am scared. I have never been here before. What is this place? Where did these walls of cold grey stone come from? The harsh white light? Who is this white figure walking towards me?

I realize it must be someone who wants to change my path. They want me to go somewhere I haven’t gone before. They want me to go… out there. But I won’t let him. No, I feel the heat in my veins, the pulsating anger in my mind. Then I feel the soft flesh in my hands. And I am back in the forest, the sweet birdsong fills my ears. I look down and see I have strawberry juice on my hands. That’s funny because its still six months until the strawberries will be ready. Trust me I know. I’ve been here before. I know how it all works.

I keep walking towards the end of the forest, where I come to the pool. It’s soft, velvet water like hands begin to draw me deeper. I let the water draw me in. I fell it on my legs, my chest, my neck. The water pulls me down deeper and deeper where its cooler and darker and softer. I begin to dissolve in the waters, bit by tiny bit. Soon I will be water and the water will be me. And then I will walk the path again.

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“Hey Brad, you okay?”

“Yeah, he got me really good that time.”

“Let me take a look.”

“Its just a small cut. Here, on my neck.”

“Are his nails really that sharp? I thought they cut them more regularly.”

“Come on, you know they don’t stay on top of that stuff. There’s too many here. That’s why they don’t even have a straight jacket for him.”

“We don’t have to worry. Look at the machine. He’s gone again.”

“That’s a relief. I like it better when the lights are on but no ones home.”

“No kidding. Hey you still up to go hiking this weekend?”

“Sure, where were you thinking?”

“I know a place. Its really gorgeous, and I’ve been there before.”

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End Story


Okay so this is one of those things I found years later and touched up a bit. Probably two and a half years ago I went through an experimental short story phase, witting some horror, some psychological thriller, some romance, some detective, some gothic, etc. Well this is one of those short stories... or at least the idea for one I found and then actually wrote real quick (est. 28 min.) So it's really rough and could use a lot of work. But tell me what you think, just please don't be brutal. I know it sucks. :(

Chapter 19 the First Half

Okay, so I started Chp. 19 and then had this horrible revelation that I will probably have to go back and rewrite the entire story because of the character of holly being too flat for her eventual purpose. And teh thought of having to rewrit eliterllay eveyrthing except for Ivan made me so despondant I produced a slue of dreary emo poetry and stopped working on the story all together. I even started writing several short stroies instead.

So right now I'm not sure if I'm even going to keep working on this book...
And on that note here is Chpater 19... the possible last chapter. Or should I say half chpater...

Chapter 19

The small company rode ahead of the larger Albian force down the white chalk path. The early morning sunrise was warming their backs and the waxing white moon was still lingering on the blue horizon. The large forest of dark green evergreen trees on the one side of the company echoed with birdsong and the gurgling of a small creek somewhere. On their other side a green meadow stretched out, small white flowers dotting the landscape.

Nicholas and Ivan rode behind the rest of the company, neither speaking a word. The early morning air was crisp and chill and their breaths smoked as they breathed the biting air. Ivan had pulled his old scarf, the one he always carried with him, out and had wrapped it several times around his neck. His goggles in his hair caused it to stand at all angles and was desperately trying to read a book while riding the horse, and failing miserably.

Nicholas was in deep thought. He kept feeling like someone was watching him, or was ready to jump out and attack him. The nervous anxiety that spread through his bones and drained his marrow caused his hands to shake ever so slightly. He tried gripping the reigns tighter but he felt like he didn’t even have the strength to do that.

Ivan had given up trying to read the text and after putting it into his bag, he looked over and noticed that Nicholas wasn’t looking too good. His head hung low, his dark brown curly hair looking almost black in the dawn light. His down cast eyes were encircled by dark rings while his normally tan skin looked pasty and pale. Even his dark purple cowl that Master Oronus had given him so long ago was looking almost black. He had never seen his friend like this before.

“Hey, Klaus. Are you okay?” Asked Ivan, leaning closer so they could talk.

“Yeah. I, I just have a lot on my mind.” Came Nicholas’ reply. He smiled weakly as he realized that Ivan had called him by his old name. “I just had a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Asked Ivan, still trying to cajole the story from Nicholas.

“It’s hard to explain.”

They rode on in silence for a few moments, the tocking of horses hooves on the hard stony ground echoing around them. Then just as Nicholas was about to say something, he spotted something white on the horizon. It was moving too fast to be a cloud.

“Swan!” Came the call from the scouts. And they were right, the swan had returned.

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The group made camp in the small depression made by the green hills next to the white chalk rode. Cooking fires had been lit and soon blue smoke waived up in the morning air in smooth tendrils reaching for the heavens and carrying the flavor of the fire across the area. While everyone wanted to know what the bird had to say, Liam had seen how weary it was from the back and forth flights and so they had waited while it had rest and drank some water from a nearby pool.

“So, you were telling me why you’re so down today…” began Ivan trying to worm it out of him again.

“Fine.” Said Nicholas, not having the energy to withstand against Ivan’s inquisitive nature, “But I can’t tell you… I’ll have to show you…”

“Show me? What are you babbling about?” Asked Ivan was raised brow.

“here, close your eyes and go to sleep.” Said Nicholas, and it being early morning Ivan had no difficulty falling back to sleep.

He felt the warmth of soft grass beneath him, like large living fur rug that was coiling and moving as if on top of a mountain of serpents. Then the furry ground began to move together and come together and as he opened his eyes he saw he was on top of a large beast. Its muscles bunched as it sprinted along a river of ice. Then a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Ivan!”

The next instants he was pulled through a flashing light then darkness with spinning lights all around him. Then with another bright flash he was inside a bright white room. Nicholas was standing next to him, holding onto his shoulder. His body shook as he clawed his way up Nicholas’ leg until he was standing up right again.

“W-what, what just happened!?!” Ivan yelled as his heart beat ten times as fast as usual.

“Sorry, I forgot you’re not a regular dream leaver.” Nicholas said with his crooked smile.

“T-that! That back there! I could use a little warning next time!” Yelled the angry boy until he was completely out of breath.

They stood there in the silence for a few seconds before Nicholas asked, “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes actually I do.” Then as if first noticing where he was his mouth dropped open as he saw the walls expanding and retracting with Nicholas’ breaths. “Where are we Klaus?”

“Ivan, welcome to my dreamplane.” Said Nicholas with a smile as he saw the other boy begin scientifically examining the room. “What I have to show you isn’t quite here though… well it is, but it isn’t at the same time.”

“Yes, and you are making absolutely no sense.” Said Ivan as he rolled his eyes.

“Okay just watch.” Nicholas retorted, “You might find here not all things makes sense.”

And with wave of his hands they were both standing upon a large cliff overlooking the aquamarine sea and the setting sun far in the west. Next to them were several old stone ruins, and a few wild conneys were playing in the derelict buildings. Ivan was so close to the edge he nearly fell off.

“Easy there. What I want to show you might hurt a little so I need you in one piece when it happens.” Nicholas said as he grabbed Ivan’s arm as he was precariously balanced on the lip of the cliff.

Then Nicholas sat him down on an old stone bench and seated himself next to Ivan. The small rabbits ran from them towards an old garden where pomegranate and grape vines had escaped and now grew wild among the few surviving lettuce seedlings. A lark sailed over to her nest that was bursting with pale blue eggs. This imaginary world seemed more alive than even the real world.

“Now Ivan.” Said the boy in the cowl seriously. “You are about to see the past. Do not fear it because it can’t harm you. At least, I don’t think it can.”

“Oh, your confidence is so reassuring.” Ivan replied with a smile, “Lets do this. What ever it is.”

“Alright, here goes. This was my dream.” And Nicholas closed his eyes.

Ivan sat and waited. He looked around and saw nothing unusual. It was beginning to grow awkward sitting on the bench with the silence enveloping them. Ivan opened his mouth to say something when he saw Nicholas fly over the lip of the cliff.

“Hahaha!” he cried as he landed softly on the soft most covered ground.

“Nicholas!” called Ivan, but his friend didn’t hear him. He got up but as Nicholas approached him he walked right through Ivan. Ivan gasped as he saw the other Nicholas sit down next to the real Nicholas. They were indistinguishable.

“Well, well. I see we have learned how to play.” Came a sneering voice from the ruins behind the two, causing the past Nicholas to jump up and spin around.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Called Nicholas.

From out of the shadows stepped a woman in a long scarlet cowl with a hood over her face. The hood tapered to a point that was caught by the breeze that had picked up with her arrival. Nicholas raised and then slowly lowered his arms and caused the dreamplane to melt away into the room again but the figure did not. She was no dream. She was real.

“Oh, very clever. Try this trick!” She called as she raised her hands over her head, twirling them like ravens acending into the sky after a bloody feast.

The dreamplane around her began to fold and dark cracks appeared as a loud, chanting could be heard all around. Wisps and tendrils of smoky blackness crept across the translucent dreamplane. Ivan grabbed the real Nicholas, who was frozen in place, and dragged him away from the darkness that was creeping closer.

“Stop!” Called the past Nicholas as he extended his hands up and brought them down suddenly with great force, sending the figure crashing against the ground as several large tree-sized filaments of glass fell on her. With her down, the dreamplane seemed to revert back to normal.

“Hahaha!” cried her loud mocking cackle. “Impressive little worm.” And as she said it she threw her arm up and all of the large piece of glassy firmament that covered her floated about her, compressing into large balls. Nicholas backed up slowly as she began hovering in the air in front of him. “But if you wish to battle in dreams you will have to do better than that!”

Ivan saw what was happened and couldn’t help himself crying out, “Nicholas! Watch out on your left!”

But it was too late and one of the large balls swooped forward and crashed into Nicholas, sending him sprawling across the room. He barely managed to get back up before a second one was nearly on top of him. Luckily he brought his arms up this time and as he did, glassy filaments from the floor had covered him in a shell like a turtle.

“Ha! Is that the best the “great one” has to offer?” The woman in the cowl shrieked with fury as she sent another one against the shield, cracking it slightly.

Seeing the small amount of damage she inferred, the crimson robed clapped her hands above her head, causing the two glass balls on each side of her to collide and send a beam of lightning at Nicholas’ shell. It shattered and he rolled out of the small crater. The next instant Ivan felt himself beginning to sink into a large and rolling ocean.

He still had the catatonic Nicholas in his arms and so splashed his way to an ice sheet that was floating nearby. Struggling to get himself and the deadweight up was hard but finally they were on top of the island of ice. Ivan lay on his back breathing hard as he rolled over and scanned the horizon to see if he could see the two combatants anywhere.

The next moment he saw a red blur flash by him towards a large iceberg in the distance. On top of the iceberg stood Nicholas. She sent another beam of lightning at him, but he blew towards it and it shot sideways into the distance. Then she threw the glass balls towards him, but as they collided with him, they became powder and blew away. That’s when she realized his irises were glowing golden-green light.

“What-” Was all she had time to say, before it happened.

Several large icebergs shot up out of the water to encase her inside a frozen prison. Then large dark brown vines that looked like flexible trees grew out of the sea around the encased witch and began wrapping around the iceberg. Finally, Nicholas brought his hands together, palms pressed against one another, and a column of fire erupted form the sky and engulfed the entire prison of the witch.

As the fierce burning heat dried Ivan and the still unmoving figure, he watched his friend in the past, collapse on the iceberg, and the fire receded. The vines were charred away, and the icebergs melted, but what had happened to the witch, Ivan wondered. He then saw his past friend walk down from his iceberg slowly and trudged right up to where they were. He slowly lay down on the exact spot Nicholas was.

The next instant Ivan opened his eyes. Before him he saw the small cooking fires just being lit, while Liam was still busy giving the swan a drink of water. Had the entire dream taken only a few seconds, he wondered. Nicholas sat up next to him and looked at him with those same weary eyes he had before. Ivan now understood why he was acting the way he was.

“So now you see.” Was all Nicholas could think of saying.

“Is this… was this the first time something like this happened?” Asked Ivan, scratching his chin as he thought.

“Yes, well, no. There has been one time when I was dragged out of my dreamplane. By a black vine or tentacle thing.” Nicholas responded as the rear guard of the Albian troops trudged up on the path and settled in the camps.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you whipped her butt!” said Ivan, jumping up and imitating her with a high, nasally voice, “‘Oh, if you want to beat me you’re going to have to do better than that!’ Ha! Well you showed her a thing or two!”

“But that’s just the thing Ivan… What if I killed her?” Nicholas spoke almost in a whisper as he stood and turned away in shame, “I-I know you could call it self defense, but still… if I kn-… I wasn’t even in control of myself when I… I just saw her and did everything like it was a dream.”

“That’s because it was a dream!” Called Ivan as he turned Nicholas to face him. “Listen. You had a bad dream. You did something bad in your dream. That doesn’t mean you did it in reality. Come on Klaus! You know I’m always right.”

Nicholas smiled at his friend’s remark to which Ivan responded, “Okay, but I’m right most of the time… or at least some of the time. Er! Fine! I’m often wrong but still… I know I’m right about this. Don’t worry Klaus. The day your dreams happen in the real world, then we’ll worry about it. For now, I think we’re gonna have another riddle to solve.”

He motioned and Nicholas saw Liam walking towards them with a parchment and quill, and several people trailing behind him all talking animatedly and excitedly. They joined the group and everyone went to the large main fire to talk. Nicholas and Ivan walked in the back and as they neared the fire pit Nicholas nodded and smiled at Ivan and gave him a silent ‘Thank you’.

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As the group was seated around the fire pit Holly found herself next to Jack on one side and a large, fat, greasy Albian cook on the other side. He gave a loud, putrid belch and so she turned from him. As she did she saw Jack, while fixing his hair, smile and give her a wink, saying,

“Albains! Ha, no breeding whatsoever.” Then scooting closer to her, he leaned in and whispered, “You know, I’v heard the most horrible stories of the Albians marrying cousins and sisters, terrible, I know.”

“Okay…” said Holly, not sure what point Jack was trying to make, “Thanks for the information.”

“You’re welcome.” But just as she thought he was done he continued while stretching, “You know, it does truly take an intelligent person to spot another. And you’re defiantly one of the most intelligent women I have ever encountered. And pretty too. A rare combination indeed.”

Holly went rigid as she felt his arm come down behind her neck. In the next instant she had grabbed his writs, whipped him around, and was holding him in a vicelike grip by his thumb, rendering him immobile. “Hands. Off. Pretty boy.”

And as she released him against the hard stony ground, she got up and went to sit next to Silver on the other side of the fire. Jack was rubbing his painfully agitated limbs as the fat, greasy cook turned to him and a loud fart escaped. And just as Jack was turning away with disgust, his ears turned red as he saw Holly and Silver in her Dray form, laughing as Holly pointed to him and whispered in Silver’s ear, causing more laughter.

Then Liam got up before the council and called out in a loud and clear voice,

“Alright friends, if I could have your attention.”

The entire crew along with several of the head Albians under Angus were gathered round the fire while Liam cleared his throat before continueing,

“Friends, this is unfortunately where our paths must separate. Cigna, our swan friend, has brought us not only our next riddle but has also brought instructions. Only five will go find the next part of the book. Edric and I will be going to the Gathering at Brannon, accompanying Angus and his men. You, the crew, will go with Dare and prepare to sail when we send word.”

“So whose going?” Asked Ivan as he couldn’t resist interrupting.

Liam smiled as he replied, “Well, Ivan I was about to get to that. You, Holly, Nicholas, Silver, and Jack have all been assigned to go find the book.”

“Yes!” Cried Ivan who had instantly gathered Holly and Nicholas in a hug, yelling, “It’s the old crew again!”

“Erm!” Came Jack’s voice, “What are we, chopped sharkmeat?”

“Don’t even joke about that stuff!” called several crew members and soon the morning was full of laughter as Tal defended his cooking and he and several crew members were soon rolling in the dust. Liam smiled, glad that the parting would take place on such a light note. He realized, as only a few did at that time, that there was a very likely chance that this would be the last time many of them would see each other alive.

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The End

Dear Jacob...

Here's two more of the letters...

April 10, 1834

My Dear Emily,

Since you have requested to be informed of the happenings and dealings of William let me relay them to you in full. I wanr you though, it is a truly gruesome tale and I would advise you to instead read only the final paragraph of my letter and spare yourself the innumerable heartaches that will surely arise from it.

William arrived in Stockholm a forthnight before us. He stayed at the Redderic Lodge and from there began to introduce himself into the social circles of the rich and decantant lives of the nobles here in Stockholm. You know that a man of William’s appearance and baring could not be overlooked for long and soon he had all the ladies of the court admiring him and all the men of the court counted him in good company. All of this he did as to gain access to the inner sanctums of the rich, for he could feel the Stone’s presence here in the city.

But alas, not four night before our arrival to assist him in his search, he was strolling out in the gardens of the Duke’s Riviera when he and the two ladies with him were assaulted by Walkers. And these were not your average Walkers either. Each one was as tall as a man and a half and carried with them blades that dripped with blood, and were covered in large black cowls.

Having no other option he defended himself in the only way he knew how. As you can understand this meant the use of that which we have all sworn to forsake until the stone has been located. The Walkers were finally defeated but by that time, the two young women were so fearfull at having witnessed William’s power and the Walkers of the Night that they were screaming of monsters.

Many men came with hounds and torches and began scouring the riverside for ‘the beast’ as they called poor William who had fled into the undergrowth. You recall that it does take some time for us to return to our normal state. Unfortunately William did not have enough time and soon the hounds were upon him. He was so weakened by the Walkers’ attack that he could not defend himself and was torn and bitten many times before he reached a derelict church.

He fled inside, bolted the door, with the hounds still barking and menacing the outside of the small chapel. Within he crept up to the rafters and there he lay upon a support beam of the roof. The men came. The door was broken down. William who had not yet taken his regular form tried in vain to hide within the upper darkness. They spotted him.

They pelted him with stones until he fell down. He was taken, beaten, and imprisoned with wild animals in a small building on the south side of the warfs. Within his cell he did not get any sunlight and felt himself begin to die. So with his own blood from his many wounds he wrote his tale upon the walls of the cell. Of course he wrote in our tongue and the other people could not comprehend its meaning. However he left no clue to where he would go, and we fear if he did escape he may have been too weak and have fallen to Walkers.

I am sorry to have to inform you of our dear cousin’s fate. However there is still a small hope. Also, Mr. White and I both have felt last night the stone’s presence closer than ever before, save the day we all made the vow. Oh if Mr. White still had his power of old and we could go back to that day to stop ourselves from ever proceeding in her confidence. But alas, we must first find the stone. And we will.

Affectionately,
Jacob


April 30, 1834

My Dearest Jacob,

I am sorry for not writing back sooner. I have moved to my new home, in a quite green countryside. There are woods nearby that remind me of our home of old, and it should for I am not four and twenty leagues from where we once lived. Three nights ago I visited our old home. I know you must think me daft for going but I had to. Do not fear. The Walkers have all left, they know we would no dare return. I placed flowers on Mariah, Benjamin, and Yvonne’s graves. I know they would have been pleased.

I am glad to have heard William’s tale. It gives me fresh hope for our kind. But enough of this melancholy. I must relate to you the most strange occurrence, for not the evening of my excursion but the one before, I was visited by none other than Madame Green herself. Yes, you can imagine my surprise. To have her of all people show up at ones doorstep is not an everyday occurrence.

We spoke and she told me that the reason we have been unable to obtain the stone is that it has been separated. This was most troubling news. She also told me that William is still alive and living in Master Cerulean’s secret palace, regenerating until he is able to rejoin us. So let not your hearts fret. But strangest of all she, who has not lost even a fraction of her power to the stone, had forseen that I shall soon be with child, but that she could not perceive the child’s future or purpose. This is strange in deed, for she has always perceive both human and our kind’s destinies before they are born. I shall reflect on this longer before I write again.

Until that time.

Sincearly,
Emily


So yeah, thats all O have transposed until now... I haven;t had time to do the rest. I might later but since I'm notgetting any feedback on this I might just not post them at all...:(

My Dear Emily...

Yesterday I found a pile of old papers from way way back (when I was 12). In this small decimated forest I found what could be called my first book ever written. It was a story made up of a series of letters written between a few people. I thought I might as well post the letters since it shows my evolution as a writer. Plus now I can finish the story (I was 3/4 of the way done when I stopped). let me know what you think.

March 21, 1834

My Dear Emily,

Today we arrived in the city of Stockhom. The town is bursting at the seems and busy and I'v been so bustled and bruised in the streets that Mr. White and I have decided to only travel by carraige from here on. The towering cathedrals and palaces of the royal district have proven fruitless in our search. We will look to the mercantile district instead.

I regret to inform you that our companion has still not been found. I fear that he may be lost to us for good. While it pains me to inform you of this situation I will at least spare you of the horrible details by which they attempted to eradicate him when they discovered his secret, the secret we all share.

But enough of these dreary thoughts. This is the price we must pay for the choice we made and we must simply endure it for now. Mr. White seems extremely confident that we shall locate the item before the end of the lunar cycle. If his predictions prove true it will be helpful indeed.

Well, I must depart. We go to speak to a Jewess that lives on Kaaskrakker St. and who seems to have recognized the drawing of the item that Thomas showed her. I will write to you as soon as I can. Until we depart you can reach me at the Hotel de Stockholm, Suite 63.

Dearly,
Jacob

____________________________________

March 30, 1834

My Dearest Jacob,

You cannot begin to imagine how my heart beat when I received your letter. For many moonless nights I have watched the stars for a sign of your return but none has come to me. It saddened me indeed to hear of the news concerning William. But I am a resolute woman, you known this is true, and I wish to know how William was treated. I must so that I may in those final moments, share with him in his pain.

Now, concerning the item, that deplorible stone that we are all seeking so desperately, I have news of a somewhat troubling nature. Recently the Walkers of the Night have begun drawing closer to the house. I believe that my location may have been comprimised. It is sad for I have come to love my home here in Virginia. But as Charity has taught me, just as summer goes into fall, winter into spring, so also each season of our lives must end for a new one to begin.

Dearest Jacob, be careful, for my sake and the sake of the family. I do not think I can bear loosing another brother. Tell Mr. White that I wish him the best of luck and Godspeed on his quest and that I dearly do hope that we shall all dine together neath the midsummer moon soon. Until that time.

Affectionately,
Emily


So thats the first letters. It is meant to grab your attention and hopefully spark your curiosity. Let me know what you think. And if you guys are intrested in the story I can post more of the letters later on.

Chapter 18

Well even though a certain promise from a certain someone was not fullfilled I though it unfair to punish the whole world. Instead, I'm just going to kill her character in the next chapter. :)

So some reasons this chapter took so long:
1) The accents, they were fun but I had to reread them five or six times to make sure they were right.
2) I finished the chapter but it was all written in my notebooks and so I had to copy it all verbatim which took a while.
3) I've been busy filling out paperwork for school and for my immigration status so I won't get deported. :)


Chapter 18

The blue ocean was calm and playful. It lapped melodically against the side of the wooden boat that was traversing the depths of the Rish Bay for the third time. After a long night spent anchored at the mouth of the bay, the ship had set sail and was going steadily up the bay. Dale was at the helm, feeling the grain of the ship’s wood against his bare hands. It was an amazing feeling being in control of the large vessel, piloting it around obstacles.

“Good morning me hearty!” Came Tal’s voice, disrupting any feelings of grandeur Dale may have been entertaining, “How are we this morning crabby legs?”

“Crabby legs?” Asked Dale.

“Yea! I’m trying to make up nautical nicknames for everyone!” Tal grinned from ear to ear.

“And crabby legs was the best you could come up with?”

“Hey! Be grateful I didn’t call you barnacle bottom!” Dale rolled his eyes at Tal’s remark, but that didn’t stop him, “You know, you’re no fun anymore!”

“Well, maybe that’s because I actually have a job to do. I have to be responsible for everyone on board.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you don’t have to grow up so quickly. We’re the youngest here, we deserve to be a little childish.”

“Shh!” Dale shushed him, “Do want everyone to find out how we snuck into the school even though we’re not old enough? Do you want them to send us back to the orphanage?”

“There you go again. Worrying. It’ll be fine! Here’s your breakfast by the way!” Tal said as he scooped a bowl full of greenish jiggling goop into a bowl and handed it to Dale. “There you go crab legs, enjoy.”

Tal left the scowling Dare at the helm and made his way down to the deck. There he found Coniglio busy tying some line around one of the small cannons they had gotten from Liam.

“Morning Lio, you…lobster…um…lungs!” Tal said, stuttering as he was looking for the right word.

A string of babble came out of Lio’s mouth. “Lobster Lungs? Why would you call me lobster lungs. Is it because I talk too much? Or because I look like a lobster lung? Wait. Do lobsters have lungs?”

Tal seemed to have to think for a few seconds before he could answer, “I don’t. Um, here’s your breakfast.” And he scooped another bowl of the green goop that reeked of squid and anchovy.

“Oh…you…made…breakfast…” Lio gulped nervously.

“Oh yea, and I know that with your energy you need extra helpings so here you go. Another scoop.” And with that Tal was off, dragging the small black cauldron behind him, green goop splashing out and burning through the deck timbers.

He went and gave some to Silver, who nearly passed our from the fumes, and Oronus who sprinkled some herbs on top, took a sip, and then dumped an entire bag full of herbs in it. Next Tal cornered Wick below deck in the engine room. Wick actually gladly accepted a bowl and thanked Tal. Tal was pleased with himself until, on his way out, he spotted something.

“Hey! Is that some of my sea urchin casserole from yesterday all over the gears?”

“Oh, no! Um, ya see. That there’s high grade… sea urchin… gear lubrication… it looks very similar.” Wick said nervously.

“Oh, okay.” Tal smiled before heading in search of his next victim.

In the main cabin, Ivan and Edric were talking while standing over several charts that Ivan had spread out over the desk, matching some so their edges lined up and created coherent pictures. He motion to boundaries and areas of bare table as he spoke.

“So you see, I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find a complete map of all the lands we have visited and how they line up. We have this one here of the Wreath Confederacy, and that one there of Insular, but then there’s this big gap here where Alexandria should be, and then over here, there isn’t even any forest on the map!”

“You’re right.” Edric said smiling at his friend’s antics.

“So, I have decided that I will make one! A universal map to all the lands we visit. In fact, I’ll go and start right now.”

“Great. And when we get back to my Aunt Eilinor, we can use the Castle Archives to make sure you have all of the Insular charts right.”

Just then the door burst open and in walked Tal. “Good morning to you sirs! Captain Turtleface and Weatherer Whalebelly!”

Ivan and Edric both spoke at once.

“Turtleface?”

“Whalebelly?”

Then Edric noticed the cauldron and the small bowls and spoons. He smiled and shook his head a little as he spoke, “Oh, I fancy it must be breakfast already.”

“Aye captain!” Tal responded enthusiastically, “And it’s Seaweed Surprise with curdled Seahorse milk!”

“Oh, that sounds…very fancy.” Said Edric who took a bowl and a small taste, “Mmm. It’s kind of stringy with a crunchiness scattered within.”

Ivan had to force himself not to grimace as he said, “Well, I’m actually not hungry. Besides, I have to shake off my…um… whalebelly.”

“Alrighty, but you’re missing out!” Tal called as he left.

As Tal stepped out, he passed Dare, the dark, muscled figure with the imposing scar. He was about to offer some to him when he heard the low, guttural growl coming from Dare, and decided that maybe he wasn’t interested. A few seconds later Jack was heard retching while he leaned over the side of the deck. One by one, bowls of Seaweed Surprise were delicately and secretively emptied over the side of the deck, and soon a trail of dead fish could be seen behind the boat as they rose belly up in the water.

High above the hullabaloo, Liam sat in the crow’s nest. His sat with his back against the mast, his knees up with his arms crossed against them and his forehead resting against his arms. He sighed and spoke without looking up.

“So Skree, my good friend, what do your eyes see as you fly over the world?”

The bird who had landed without a sound seemed surprised that Liam had know it was there. It could tell that something was bothering it’s master and so it laid its soft feathery head against Liam’s. Liam looked up and the falcon did too. He smiled at his bird and gently placed his hand on the feathered head.

“I’m alright. I just have a very difficult problem to solve.” The bird nodded and he continued, “I always thought that once I got the key everything else would be easy. But it’s not. The book was divided. The part we have…it’s basically useless. It doesn’t even mention the Sacred Treasure.”

The falcon kept nodding and Liam smiled as he spoke in bird, “Your understanding of human tongues improves daily.”

The bird answered, “My master, let not the book and what is to come trouble you. The present has enough troubles to bear. Hark, I have gone to and fro as you commanded and have seen a great evil. Master, daily more dreams go out and farther the Void spreads.”

“Then we have not a moment to waste.” Said Liam firmly.

><><><><><><><><><

It was afternoon when they were back at the castle. They sat along the large table in the main hall which was looking much better. It seems that having the youth in her home had invigorated the aged queen as well. The group however did not have time to notice the change as they sat in the council of war.

“My friends. Yesterday, with some supernatural help, we retrieved the Book of Treasure Lore.”

Everyone except Edric and Wick threw their hats in the air and gave a loud cheer.

“However, it was only a part of the book. And unfortunately its contents are not very helpful. At least not yet.”

Here he motioned to High Master Oronus who held the piece of the book and read:

“The Book of Treasure Lore
This is the compilation of the wisdom and traditions of the great sages and seers of the encircling forest, and was compiled and put down by, the descendant of the first seer, one Mercius the Lorekeeper.


In the old days, long before the kingdoms of man, and elves, there was the age of the sorcerers and the dragons. In this time, great light and great darkness was in turmoil across the earth and the sorcerers, keepers of nature, desired to destroy all evil from the earth. They therefore chose three guardians to find darkness where ever it may be, and to eradicate the dragons, the progenitors of shadow.

Three were chosen to bare the burden, and a heavy burden it was, for the sorcerers delved deep, harnessing ancient powers that they were never intended to discover or use, and created the three cursed treasures. These were to aid the three guardians in their quest to destroy the deamons.

The first treasure was a dagger, created from all the seven known elements combined, and the five unknown added as well. The dagger took the form of a long, pointed, glass dirk, the blade as long as a man’s forearm. The handle was made from the bronze found at the core of the earth, and glowed with its warmth. It was said that if anyone unworthy of the dagger where to lay hold of it, they would scorch their hand. It could, with a single swipe, summon hurricanes, blizzards, earthquakes, and raise the very fire from the depths of the earth. The dagger was so mighty that it could destroy an entire army without even using any of its elemental affinities, and so was named the Dagger of Destruction.

The second treasure was a cloak, which was woven from the very fabrics of the Void itself. It was dark like the emptiness of the dreamscape, and time and space itself were wrinkled within its dark folds. It could take the wearer anywhere in an instant, and could let them relive the past, as well as see some of the routes a decision could take in the future. When traveling a man would be seemingly consumed by fire, ice, and leaves as nature itself abhors the presence of the void. If anyone unworthy of its awesome power were to place it upon their shoulders, they would be consumed by the Void, and would suffer eternal darkness and dreamlessness. Only one who had a strong mind, will, and spirit could stand against the power of the Void. It was mightier than the dagger, for its power was older and fiercer, and it was named the Cloak of Emptiness.

The third and final treasure made by the sorcerers was a mask, plain and simple. It was carved from ordinary wood, some say of the chronodendron tree. It had no carvings, no painting, no ornamentation for its beauty. It was plain, the size of a man’s face, with a hollow area for the nose. It had two eye slits, deep set, which casts the wearer’s eyes in darkness, and a similar mouth, carved to show neither joy, nor sorrow, nor fierceness, nor fear, simply being. This was the most powerful treasure, endued with the forbidden knowledge, the ancient magic that the sorcerers had been blinded to, yet that they sought out and found. If anyone except the chosen guardian or his descendant placed it on their face, they would die instantly, in body, spirit, and soul. This was the Mask of Immortality.”

“So there you go.” Said Liam as he faced the group.

“So…. Wait.” Said Lio scratching his head, “Which of the three treasures are we looking for?”

“None.” Said Silver, a tabby cat once again as she strode across the table, her long tail flicking as she spoke, “These are the three cursed treasures. They are not what we seek. No, we seek the Sacred Treasure.”

Just then Queen Eilinor walked in and motioned to Edric and Liam. The two got up and she held a whispered conference with her. After a few seconds they came to the table and she sat down at the end as she spoke.

“Good guests of my home. I welcome you all with open arms, and offer you all the greatest hospitality that I can. However, I must ask a great request of you. This evening I received word that a large force from Albia has crossed our northern border at the Serpentine Wall. My scouts say that they are headed for the Northern Bridge to Tara.”

Here Liam stood and spoke, “We must go out and ask them to leave, and if they won’t… to make them leave.”

There were nods of consent all around the table and fresh horses were immediately called for. Weapons were sharpened and the group was soon ready to set off. They rode all night long, stopping only for short breaks. It wasn’t until a few hours before dawn that they finally stopped to sleep. Holly, Liam, and Silver didn’t. They knew they would be more refreshed and better focused if they stayed awake.

The next morning the group set off. The crew, Ivan, Nicholas, and Oronus all were even more weary then when they first set out, but the three from the previous evening set the pace and weren’t slowing down. It was still before noon when they reached the Albians.

The force was larger than expected. There were enough men to outfit a small army, all wearing shining breastplates and wool kilts. They all carried large long bows and quivers full of sharp arrows and had small barrettes pulled over their left eyes. And on each shoulder was perched a fiercesome bird of war.

“Who is your leader?” Called Liam as he rode forward.

“Ah ahm laddy. An ya best ba fear’en Wield Angus McBrahndypants!”

><><><><><><><><><

The large horde of Albians sat encamped on the green hill that sloped down to a white chalk road that wound like a snake through the greens. Up at the top of the hill stood an old gnarled oak, with hardly a leaf left on it’s bare branches. Beneath its skeletal canopy was a large mossy boulder and five wicker chairs had been set up in front of it. Liam, Edric, Nicholas, Ivan, and Holly sat on the wicker chairs in front of Angus McBrandypants on the boulder, a pipe peaking out between his thick short red beard.

“So, ya wee lads an lasses were sent by tha Queen o’ Gwaylen. Whiel now, she must ba mighty desperate if yur all she’s got ta rely on.”

“Either way sir.” Spoke Liam with his cold blue eyes, “if you are planning an invasion we advise you turn back. We may be few and young but we will all fight like a hundred men each.”

Angus gave a long, hearty laugh that shook his entire frame before speaking, “Ah laddy! Thos ar awefully bieg words for one sah young. But Ah leik yer spirit! By mha gret auntie’s wiskers ifen Ah had twenty men wit yur confidence Ah could be king o’ tha whole Insul’r nouw. Dun’t be afearen. Ah aint plannen on invaden, ye ken. In fahct, yew could say Ah’m dune da opposite.”

“I don’t follow.” Said Liam, motioning for him to continue.

“Wiel nouw. It must ha ben tow nights bahk. Whe hada greand auld war co’ncil in Ahlb’a an decided ta attend the gather’n at Brannon, ta try far a peaceful accord with thos Dray. Everyone an’ there auntie seemed to like the idea except for tha Wren Clan. I decided ta keep an eye on ‘em. Good thing tow, cuase they crossed yur border last night an are headed far Tara.”

“Which route are they taking? The northern highroad or the southern goatpath?” Asked Ivan, pulling some charts and maps from his pocket and beginning to examine roads and paths.

“Are ya daft boy? Ah sed wer after tha Wren. They rarely ever trav’l ba foot. They’ll ba flying. Do ya ken.”

“Are you tracking them?” Asked Liam as he gave a blow on his silent whistle.

“Oh aye. They’re encamped at tha foet o’ tha southern hiells, just pahst tha Serpentine Wall, o’er to tha eastern sied.” Angus said, giving his pipe a few thoughtful puffs.

“But why did they cross into Gwaylen.” Said Holly as she squinted at Ivan’s map. “It would have been much easier to meet the Dray by simply heading northeast across the Tara-Albian border. Going Southeast means they’ll have to come all the way around…”

“…and end up coming up directly behind them. They aren’t starting a war. They’re starting a fire.” Nicholas said as he connected the dots.

“Like they did in southern Tara.” Whispered Edric looking down.

“Thaht’s what we figured too. ‘An thahts why we haf ta stop them. If they set fire to tha forest in tha north there’s no dought weil be face’n a whar.”

“So we must stop them crossing into Tara. We must defend the bridge.” Liam spoke standing up as Skree landed on his shoulder.

><><><><><><><><><

The afternoon sun was past it’s zenith and was slowly starting the journey to the western edge of the world. Across the western shores of Insular, further west than Glassiere, in a strange and hostile land there was a figure in a long white cloak whose face was hidden by the low brim of the cloak’s hood.

A white swan fluttered out of the east, newly arrived from Insular after delivering the message from her mistress. She descended in slow circles and alighted on a small pool next to her mistress. She bowed her head as she spoke in bird tongue.

“Mistress Cikara. I have done as you commanded.”

“Were the owls a problem?”

“No, it is as you foresaw, they protected me from the owls.”

“That is good.”

“Mistress, why did you not simply tell them where the other parts are?”

“I have faced the same riddles they face, and have seen two of the parts of the Book. But I cannot solve the final part. It is the most important mystery and is doubly guarded. The last part requires a ship to find it and a miracle to understand it… But maybe this one Larson spoke of, maybe he is the miracle I need. He might be the next seer, the next sage, or maybe something even greater. That is why I am seeking their aid. I have sent you, dear Cigna, to carry my messages so that it will help them recognize me as a friend. But I cannot tell them directly. They must go on this journey, the same one we went on, and they must learn the lesson that we had to learn. They must learn to have mercy or their group will be torn apart when the betrayal comes.”

“What betrayal mistress?” asked the white swan as it floated on the water.

“Soon you will see. For now, I have a second message for you to deliver to them.”

><><><><><><><><><

“We’ve spotted the Wren encampment!” called a scout as he returned.

Every weapon was at the ready. All the Albians had their hawks, ospreys, and kites on their shoulders, wings outstretched and ready to take off at a moment’s notice. The birds all had their beaks and talons sharpened by the master and were ready for battle.

Ivan had summoned Zephyr and was already floating above the ground. Holly had loaned two dirks from the Albains and was mounted on top of Silver, who had taken her griffon form again. Nicholas and the crew had not come with them, none really being able warriors.

As the small army marched forward they crested the green hill and from the top they saw the Wren for the first time. Ivan had never seen anything so strange. It seemed like there was an encampment of scarecrows sitting around small fires all at the bottom of the hill. Their clothes were shades of faded blue, violet, and grey with large brown patches on them. They all wore large felt hats with long brims and grey-violet gloves with no fingers. Everything about them seemed tattered and torn.

Angus, Liam, and Oronus walked out to meet the leader. He looked no different from his men except that his cheeks seemed more sunken, his blue-grey eyes had dark rings of sleeplessness below them, and his blue-grey hair seemed oily and stringy.

“Angus McBarndypants, Ah should da known thaht yewd try an stohp us!”

“Duncan O’Day! Yew’v gotta stohp! This won’t solve enething!”

“On tha contr’ry! Ah, aint aimen ta solve ene thing! Ah intend ta start sohmething! A war!”

And as he called out he raised his hands and all his men did as he did. Their long grey cloaks billowed out and burst into wings in an explosion of blue-grey feathers. Then with a flapping they all took off, each with a burning torch in hand.

“Stop them! They must not set fire to the forest on the other side of the bridge!” Called Liam.

“Ya herd tha lad! Let ‘em fly!” Called Angus in full battle fury.

And the small army of birds took to the skies. They came around and for a brief second everything was silent. Then the crash of bodies, the calls of birds and men alike, and the sound of blade upon beak echoed through the morning. The Wren, though outnumbered, were doing great damages with their short swords.

“Archers! Let’s give em somthan ta chew on!” Called Angus as he raised his own longbow with his men. “Let loose!”

A volley of arrows flew into the swarming melee, felling a few Wren instantly and wounding dozens more. Silver and Holly had risen up and were doing their own share of damage. After about fifteen minutes of fighting it seemed like the tide was turning in their favor and that the battle would be won fairly quickly.

Then a loud screeching was heard. From the Southeast twelve large black Stryx, with smoking wings, were flying towards them. Ivan and Zephyr kept bumping into Angus’ birds and he spat out the fifth mouthful of feathers he had received that day. He flew a little ways off from the battle and didn’t see the Stryx before it was too late.

Holly saw Ivan dropping out of the sky. She quickly motioned and Silver swooped in to catch him. He was dropped next to Oronus who applied a hasty poultice to revive the boy. Meanwhile Silver and Holly flew back up to join the battle, both roaring their war cries as they fought the Wren.

The Stryx were aiding the Wren, but just when it looked like it was lost, the trees on the other side of the Bay began to move. They stood up, dirt falling from their roots and began running across the bridge. They changed as they ran, becoming more human. Their skin was dark and rough like bark, their hair green and prickly like pine needles, and their eyes were dark tree knots. These were the male Dray and they were being led by Nicholas and the crew.

“Nohw! They’re coming to uhs. Let’s finish what we staerted. Let tha forrest burrn!” Called Duncan as he led the charge towards the Dray that were standing on the stone bridge.

The Dray began reaching deep into the masonry and pulling massive boulders from the bridge and throwing them at the Wren, felling many. Meanwhile, Silver had grabbed a Stryx in each talon and was throwing them against the incoming missiles from the Dray. Holly jumped off of Silver’s back and onto a Stryx, cutting it’s throat and leaping onto the next one.

The Wren had reached the trees and began circling the small forest that had accumulated in the middle of the stone bridge. As they circled they began setting them on fire, screams of anguish and pain coming from the Dray as their flammable skin began to blaze. Several shot out their long, thin, branchy arms and plucked Wren out of the sky, shaking them until their bones were all broken and throwing them into the Bay.

The war birds were circling in the opposite direction of the Wren and the two groups were continually jousting each other in the air, the blood of Wren and birds dripping onto the burning trees below. The Dray were animalistic and acting on instincts. They were killing friend and foe alike as they bellowed and roared in pain.

“Pull bahk!” cried Angus above the battle din.

“But we have to help them!” called Edric as he fired another arrow.

“Dohna question me lad! It’s all part o’ their plahn! Just fall bahk! Nohw!”

The birds and the archers all pulled back onto land while they watched the Wren and the Dray continue fighting. Silver and Holly brought the last Stryx down then landed next to the group. Holly wiped black blood from her cheek, while Silver cleaned her talons on the grass. They all just stood there watching the Dray and the Wren as they fought for almost an hour more. The Wren were now setting themselves on fire and falling into the middle of the Dray, causing havoc. The flames were also beginning to spread along the roots of the burning and dead Dray back to the forest on Tara.

Then it happened. The last Wren fell into the burning forest on the bridge. The forest seemed to roar one last time. Then there was the loud crack. The weakened bridge made a few more cracking sounds and then Dray and Wren alike fell into the Bay as the entire bridge collapsed. The Battle of the Northern Bridge was over, but as Nicholas viewed the floating bodies of Dray, Wren, birds, and men he couldn’t help but wonder who had won.

><><><><><><><><><

The army of MacBrandypants had encamped in the old ruins of the Serpentine Wall. The Wall, in its older glory days had run from the Eastern Shores to the Rish Bay, with many forts and towers along the way, guarding the Albian border. Now there were only bits and pieces left to mark what had once been the greatest monument to Albian engineering.

They were camped in an old citadel that was still relatively intact and stable. A large bonfire was made and fiddles, pipes, and drums were brought out as the soldiers laughed and played around the campfire. The Albian cooks did not disappoint, and with the meager rations they had and a few boars the soldiers had killed there was soon a feast laid out fit for a king.

“So ends tha clan o’ the Wren.” Called Angus with his horn raised, “Another branch o’ Ahlb’a shorn off. They mey hahv been our ahdversaries toeday. Bhut they were ahll, everi one o’ them, a tru warrior. To ar worthy ahdversaries!”

There was a resounding “aye!” and then the feasting began. After a few songs were played and jigs dance, Angus, with a strange smile on his face, called for order and he motioned to his two assistance that followed him everywhere. They both walked forward then burst out of their long black capes to reveal themselves as two jesters.

The first was a young woman or older girl, dressed as a horse of some kind. Half of her outfit and face was painted white, the other half was painted black. She smiled and skipped into the middle of the stage, then looked around with a smile and a wink. “Me name is Shisu!”

The second was a young man, dressed as a lizard of some kind, maybe a dragon. He cart wheeled forward, and then backward, and then forward again and yelled at the top of his lungs, “And I’m Windu-Washa! You can call me Winn! I love sugar! And caramels! And sugar!”

Then they began their new routine for the lads. Shisu pulled a jug of water from out of nowhere. Then Winn threw his cape over the jug and sat underneath it too. Shisu tapped the top a few times and then pulled the cape from Winn and the jug. It was empty. As Winn made more cartwheels Shisu held up the jug calling,

“And nows, so yous can see dat it reel magik.” She titled the jug and gave it flick of her wrist. But instead of being empty, a large amount of water flew out and splashed all over Winn, who looked up shocked and dripping.

“Hey, what yous do that for!?!” He asked cross.

“You beeg fathead! Yous were suppose to drink water while under cloak.” Then realizing what she had said, Shisu’s hands flew up and covered her mouth, “Oops! Okay, you wait here and I go get more water.”

While she left, Winn pulled out a bean bag. He tossed it from hand to hand and then foot to hand and then foot to foot. He added a second and then a third bag and soon he was juggling seven, some spinning in front, others behind, and one even over his head and between his legs, all at the same time. Then Shisu came running up with her jug of water, tripped on her costume and soaked Winn again.

The night went on with laughter and joy. Shisu sang a funny ballad about her sister marrying a crab, and Winn did a funny dance involving squatting, kicking, and hoping at the same time. The group laughed until their sides were sore. Angus’ jesters kept them entertained for hours and the long day ended with a good laugh and sweet slumber. Except for one person whose slumber was interrupted by a dream.


End Chapter


Okay so this one was actually about a page and a half shorter than usual but I had reached a good stopping point so I stopped. Let me know if the whole battle on the bridge thing was too rushed, or if the accents were too hard to understand. Also if Angus and his men weren't developed enough. Oh and what did you think of the jesters? They came in at like 12:34 in the morning so I can't vouch for their sanity. :P