Note: This was the definition of pulling teeth here. Never really got into the flow in this section, but I knew that it was an important one to get out there. I also haven't been able to really sit down and focus on this. Hopefully the next part will come a little easier. An update from the contest. We're at 100 votes even, 32 want it moved on. Another 100 votes to go.
“There’s a woman in the mirror in a fiery state as she motions to me I start turning away.”
The breastplate fit awkwardly on his rounded gut so he wore taighly woven shirt of chain mail, cast in silver, with a solid steel plate covering his heart instead and a green cloak around his shoulders. On his head was the crown with its bright emerald shining in the middle. The woman had denied him the time to have the breastplate re-shaped. Otherwise Cortobrane would have been attired completely in the ancient wardrobe of the King of Isa. Studying himself in the mirror, he was sure this was his destiny.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw movement in the mirror, hoping that it was the woman. She had not returned for several days since delivering her last instructions with that quiet rage gleaming behind her green eyes, but he was not worried. Her minions continued to put the correct pressure on the Guild Tsars each night. They were crawling to him now for protection, for aid.
“All I need is the sword,” he adjusted the crown.
He had scoured every detail of the plan over the last few days trying to decide on its ultimate outcome, knowing that no one, especially one as cunning as the woman and her allies acted without a cause. Watching the way his jowls wobbled in the mirror, he wondered why she had sought him out. For what end for her?
A low, precise knock came from the door. It was the exact knock he had trained each of his servants to make. Waiting a count of ten, Cortobrane removed the crown, setting it carefully on a stand next to the mirror before calling out for the servant to open the door.
The door opened and a nameless servant bowed and then ushered in Cortorbrane’s guests. First, there was Mr. Vedder, no longer in the uniform of the Civil Guard Guild, but in the dragon breastplate and green cloak of the new army of Stra. Cortobrane was not surprised to find that every guild had stores of the old garb from Isa. Vedder had hesitated to give up his power as Guild Tsar, but he was quick in accepting the colors of old.
Behind Vedder was Mr. Itor, tsar of the Smithy Guild, and Mr. Bedrick, tsar of the Building Guild, both dressed in matching dragon breastplates. This was an expected delight. Three days ago, Mr. Itor, Mr. Bedrick and Mr. Hant, tsar of the Horsing Guild had refused the new uniform and the orders of their mayor. Mr. Hant was not here today, and thanks to the woman and her minions, he was not going to be stopping by ever again. Her work was allowing Cortobrane to centralize power, finally breaking the archaic guild system of Stra.
Following the three Tsars was a pair of servants carrying a wooden trunk that was as long as a man was tall. The servants circled around the tsars and gently dropped the trunk upon the floor before the three men, each of whom had faces that were pale and green as if it was their first time at sea. The chest had four faces carved upon its side. The Dragon. The Lion. The Wolf. The Lamb. The royalty of the kingdom of beasts, Cortobrane had been taught in his classes as a boy. He always thought the Lamb was out of place amidst the other three beasts. It was weak, vulnerable and passive. The others were strong, cunning and aggressive. If the beasts were men, they would have usurped the Lamb swiftly from its seat.
Behind the chest, the three tsars dropped to their knees with their eyes focused down toward the floor. They were more biddable than he ever thought possible. Of course, he had heard that each had received one of Mr. Hant’s limbs after their last meeting. They had to suspect that Cortobrane was behind the evil that came with the dark, but they could not prove it and the citizenry was lining up to serve him. Cortobrane had promised protection to all who pleaded fealty to him. He said that he had wards against the terror of night, wards provided to him in secret congress with King Eden.
That was the pivot point for the whole plan. His congress with King Eden was the authority behind everything happening. King Ewam, who was calling toward him allies to overthrow his brother and restore Besa to its glory, had lighted the beacons. Eden, seeking his own allies well ahead of this, had entrusted his dear cousin in Stra. He warned not to answer the beacons and draw all those loyal to Satar, or even more, those loyal to the old kingdom of Isa, to him. From there, Eden would send for aid through letter or other code for Cortobrane and his followers to rescue the kingdom.
It was all a lie, one concoted by the woman, whom he was certain was watching from the mirror or somewhere else. She was always watching. Cortobrane had not had correspondence from either King in months, and then, that had come through Mr. Vedder. He certainly had never had any secret congress with Eden, but the tsars did not know that. They did know they were being hunted every night and their only beacon was Mayor Cortobrane, whom they despised, but now must worship.
“What say you, Mr. Itor?”
The man dropped his face to the floor and kissed it.
“I deliver the Smithy Guild. The honor. The wealth. The hammer. The anvil. The steel. I pledge all the Guild’s resources to the discretion of the Mayor of Stra, Lord Randall Cortobrane.”
“Excellent, Mr. Itor. Please, stand and take a step back. Mr. Vedder do the same since the Civil Guard saw this wisdom before others.”
“Yes, Lord Cortobrane,” they said unison.
“Mr. Bedrick, what say you?”
Bedrick did not look as he paused and then sighed. After kissing the floor, he began.
“I deliver the Building Guild. The honor. The wealth. The brick. The roof that protects. The hearth that warms. I pledge all the Guild’s resources to the discretion of the Mayor of Stra, Lord Randall Cortobrane.”
“Do not hesitate so again, Mr. Bedrick, when I address thee. I have lashes that can teach promptness.”
Bedrick, who wore a pair of spectacles on his thin face that blended with his fair hair, kept his eyes down. Cortobrane often wondered how a man so frail ever rose to such power.
“I apologize, Lord Cortobrane.”
“Good,” Cortobrane actually twirled to feel the robe swish through the air. He did not doubt that this was the most giddy he had ever felt. “Stand away with the others.”
Bedrick followed the orders without hesitation, but his eyes never left the chest
“Tomorrow at sun up we leave for Omet by the east road, as I outlined at our last meeting.”
Mr. Vedder stepped forward.
“I don’t understand. Why not take the south road, it is more direct to Omet?”
“Explanations are not for servants, Mr. Vedder. Remember that, or I shall find a way for that lesson to be taught.”
Vedder’s face went another shade of pale. He had received one such lesson already. A day ago, it was fifty lashes. Something a man of Vedder’s status had never experienced that before.
“I punish insolence men,” he had used the same line on his servants on his first day in Stra. “I reward obedience. Have you brought it?”
All three men’s eyes shot to the chest before them. Cortobrane could not hide a grin any longer as he approached it. Before it, he could see how the wood still shined despite being more than an age old. He traced his fingers along the faces on the top, the same that were on the side.
“It is forbidden to open.” Bedrick stepped forward. “No man, but the King of Isa, may view Fangen!”
“Nothing Mr. Bedrick is forbidden to me! That is the lesson all three of you will learn right now. Down to the servant’s gully. There’s a lash for every day of the year waiting for you there.”
They stood, watching the chest.
“Leave!” Cortobrane screamed.
The volume alone sprung the three men into motion and out the door. The momentary loss of control angered Cortobrane more than the insolence, but they would pay for both. As soon as the door shut behind them, he forgot all about them.
Now there was only he and the chest and its treasure. Lifting the lid, he felt a surge of heat and a green glow spew out. A nervous smile split Cortobrane’s lips.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Legacy Project - Section 6: Two of a Kind
Note: I spent a long time writing this section. I got stuck in several parts then had a hard time closing it up. It likely gets weaker as it goes on. It is just under 2,400 words which is likely the most I've written for one section of a story. If this were a book, the last two sections and this one would likely be 1 chapter. I included the ending of the last section edited to fix a big writting blunder. Red said he would read it, so here is this long piece. Enjoy!
Damn it! The curse slipped from his lips as he drew his two pistols. No one would have been able to hear it over the thunder of Red’s revolver. Snake’s ears rang with a furry greater than all the church bells in a nearby valley. Not a soul could remain in bed throughout this sleepy town. Red already had the three men down before Snake was able to get the twin Colts out of their holsters, Snake’s eyes disagreeing with his ears on just how many shots were fired. It wasn’t the marching guards he was worried about. His timing was perfect to gun down the two men that ran out of the front door of the jail with panic stricken looks now forever hardened into their cold, stone faces. Someone from the inside kicked a foot out of the way as he slammed the jail door shut. The three locks being engaged clanged out into the night.
Red stood up to face Snake; he was wearing a slanted smile that spread from ear to ear. That smile would irk Snake at times boiling his blood until it followed up to his ears making them hotter than the flames of hell. Yet, it was the single biggest feature that endeared Red to him. It meant Red was feeling it; his mind was flowing with ideas and his aim was pure. It meant more trouble.
“I said I believe we’re both the same” Evil Man by The Answer
“What if you’d a missed? I was right in your line of fire.” Snake could feel the heat radiating off his eyes. He holstered his twin revolvers with a quick twirl and began quickly rubbing each ear lobe with his index finger and thumb.
“I don’t miss.” Red called out in a strong solid tone before the slanted smile broke out across his face again. “Although, I caught your face as you saw me creeping up. That look almost distracted me.” The last part barely struggled out of his mouth before he broke out into chuckle. “Good thing these ‘coots didn’t know where to look in the shadow. You stick out like a sore thumb.”
Snake’s fingers tugged on each ear then began a vigorous rub of his right ear. Red’s smile only widened at the obvious fury emanating from his partner. “I should know better than to think you’d sit still. You..”
Snake’s hearing shot back to life despite the humming that was just there from the recent gun fire. He picked out the cock of a pistol hammer and the opening of a latch off to his left. In less than a moment, his mind had already processed the information and called his body into action. The sensation always felt strange to him, as if time stood still and he was outside watching his body move like a spectator in a crowd or sitting in a dance hall watching those fools perform on stage. A loud buzz shooting past his left ear in the space his head recently occupied was certainly the first shot. Snake was already horizontal to the ground diving off in Red’s direction. The hollow thud sound caught his right ear as he felt his forearms hit Red’s chest. Red left out a grunt from the contact as the second bullet rang out into the street way off target. The boys landed with a great thump that resonated through Snake’s chest almost as loudly as the gunfire did in his ears. A third shot had called out and made a cloud in the dirt near Snake’s feet as he rolled onto his back.
The boards of the jail window were closed with a mighty bang. Snake had managed to get his guns pulled, but didn’t bother to waste any bullets. Need a target first. Red and Snake swung up with fluid, adroit motions into crouches.
“We need cover before the whole town gets up and starts shooting us in the back.” Snake nodded at Red’s observation as they quickly shuffled over to the area where Red hid in the shadows earlier.
Snake held a single finger up to his lips and motioned for Red to turn toward the street. Red tapped a finger to his nose as moved for a better view of the street. Both instinctively began reloading the chambers of their revolvers, deftly emptying out spent cartridges while focusing their eyes out to their unprotected sides as if their fingers had minds of their own.
Snake leaned over against the wall of jail placing his left ear against the smooth, weathered wood. The sounds of the jail resonated out as if he were standing right in the middle of the room. In a matter of seconds, he could see everything inside the old building. A map exploded out in his mind.
“Psst.” Snake waved Red back over next to him. “Ok, there are three guys still in the jail. I can hear Chief breathing on the far side of the room so his cell must be in the other corner. There is a guy, with what sounds like a Browning shotgun, standing guard on him.”
“Come on, you expect me to believe this hogwash?”
“He is nervous; it keeps clanging against the bars of the cell. I know what the Browning barrels sound like against metal. No shut up a minute.” Snake knew when it was his turn to take lead and put Red in his place. Plan or no plan, he wanted to make sure Red knew which way not to shot so Chief could come out of this alive. “There is another guy leaning up against the front wall, his breath ain’t so heavy. The third guy...” Snake paused trying to stretch back through his mind, something was missing. He could see Red tilt his head at the pause as his brow furrowed into the middle creating a wrinkle in the shape of a V over his nose.
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell where the third guy is. I could just hear him. He was barking orders at the other two, but his voice echoed so. And..” Snake trailed off again as his mind went back over the information.
“And?” Snake could hear the rising concern in Red’s voice. He kept his eyes trained on Snake as he took a turn pressing his ear up against the wall.
“And I recognize the voice, but I don’t know from where. I’ve heard it before.”
Red straightened back up running his palm over his mouth. There was a momentary silence as the two boys stood there looking at each other. Snake could hear all the voices from every person he had ever met by name fly through his head. No name emerged, just the faint smell of smoke and tears in his nostrils. He looked up to see that smile creeping back across Red’s face.
“Who gives a shit who it is. They’ll figure it out when they go to chisel the tombstone.” This was one of those endearing times. Snake could never help but admire Red’s grit. Everything in his brain told him to wait until he had all the info. If this were cards, he would ‘Check’ in a tactic to stall and collect more information. Red, he was an ‘All In’ guy. All guts, no sense. Snake knew that was untrue the moment he thought it. The two were never mutually exclusive. One needed the other to survive.
“Here,” Red reached into his back pocket pulling out two long, red sticks. “I’m tired of carrying these things.” He slapped them into Snake’s outstretched hand. Snake looks them over intently looking for any sort of nicks or damage to the sticks before running his fingers over the fuses.
“They still look good.” Snake handed one stick back to Red. “Ok, the man by the front door is on this side. So find a slot in the boards to wedge it into, light it and run like hell back to this other corner. I’ll light this one to blow the cell when I see you turn the corner.” Snake reached into his right pocket pulling out a match and handing it to Red. “We need to take cover around the corner then wait to storm in and get Chief.”
“I hate this stuff. Why couldn’t we just kick in the door again?” Red looked nervous for the first time in many years that Snake could remember.
“Cause I told you, we can’t kick in now reinforced jail door. We gotta make our own.”
Red turned around and scooted up to the front of the jail. Snake watched for a second to make sure Red got into position. He swiftly moved to the opposite corner of the jail where his ear had mapped out in his mind the position of the cell holding Chief. Snake placed his ear against the wall again to double check his positioning. He wanted to make sure he caught the area where the cell bars came into the wall. The blast needed to create a hole to get Chief out and blow the guard off of him. Red’s blast just needs to be a distraction, but if it takes out the first guard, Snake would be pleased with that.
He felt confident that Chief would protect himself. He has to know it is us shooting out here. But the thought crosses Snake’s mind again, what if the blast hurts or even kills Chief. All of a sudden his mind, usually so sure of everything it is doing, swirls around the idea of not blowing the wall. Fear grips the corners of brain as Snake imagines his regret in gunning down all these guards just to blow up his friend in the end. Surely he knows we would plan to blow out the walls made of wood. Snake did his best to reassure his conscience that Chief was smart enough to know what Red and he would do. What is Red doing?
Snake was already off guard. Red came sprinting around the corner of the jail. He didn’t prepare himself as he was lost in thought. Quickly, Snake fumbles for his match. On the third strike, the match ignites just as Red reaches Snake’s side. Snake reaches out and lights the fuse.
BOOM!
The front stick erupts into the night. Snake notices the flash reflect off the bank wall. Broken boards begin to clang against roofs and clatter into the street. Snake and Red had reached relative safety around the far corner of the jail. They can start to hear voices out in the streets. Pounding foot steps as villagers come running.
BOOM!
The shorter fuse on Snake’s stick quickly reached the stick. Snake can hear the bending of iron inside the jail. Red beats him to the step, his gun drawn, running to the new hole in the side of the wooden wall. He gets a shot off at the close guard before Snake makes it there. Snake risks a fast glance at Chief to ensure he is alive before scanning for threats in the jail. Both Red and he roll back around the still standing portions of the wall before a bullet rings through the large hole. Snake can see the front guard is down. It appears he took the bulk of the first blast, a piece of wood sticking out through his leg.
“I’m mighty impressed by you boys.” The voice calls out from behind a desk sitting off to the side of the rather open room that was the jail. The phrase further instilled the notion with Snake that he should know who this is. But it was the major jaw drop on Red’s face that further frustrated Snake’s brain at the inability to place the voice. “I knew you’d come, but still you show a lot a guts doing what you dun tonight.”
Snake looked over at Red again. His mouth now closed and a large tear ran down his left cheek as he leaned up against the outside wall of the jail. Red’s hands clutched his revolver tight against his chest.
“Just give us our friend and we’ll be done.” It was the best Snake could think up. He supposed Red was paralyzed out of fear from the connection Snake was missing.
“Sorry boys, I can’t let that happen.” The voice boomed back out from the desk.
Snake could hear the town folks getting closer to the jail. He fired off a shot square into the desk as he peaked around at Chief. He was crouched down against the cell wall keeping cover from the man behind the desk. Snake reached around the wall and tossed Chief one of his guns. Chief caught it with two hands and immediately checked the chamber. Lesson #1, Snake heard Mr. Tweed resonate through his memories; always make sure your gun is loaded.
“Sheriff Robinson,” Snake could hear a voice call out from the streets. “Sheriff! Are you okay?” Just over the top of the desk, Snake noticed the wide brim hat turn back towards the large hole in the front of the jail.
“Now!” Snake shouted out seizing his opportunity. He squeezed the trigger of his revolver with his right index finger as his left palm slammed the hammer back into a cocked position. The bullets landed square in the middle of the wood surrounding the left drawer. Snake could see the hat quickly turn back and dip below the plane of the desk top. Chief was immediately on the move. He scuttled across the gap to the outlet Snake had created. Red fired a round into the desk as Snake got off his third shot. One more a piece and Chief was free, ducking around the outside wall of the shattered jail.
“Glad you finally come. I begin to worry.” Chief was smiling, he connection to the boys never more evident. “I say we run before luck run out.” Snake nodded noting to himself the Chief had never been wiser.
“No!” Red’s voice cut through the night air like a machete. Snake had almost forgotten he was over there. “We need to finish this.”
“Well I agree with the Chief, we need to get while we can.”
“No!” Red’s face began to match his name. The sharpness was back in his eyes. He looked ready to cast the fires of Hell on any man in his way. “We gotta get the Sheriff!”
“What’s going on, Red? I know I should know him and you obviously do. What am I missing?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Red had finished reloading his spent cartridges.
A cascade of bullets sounded out across the jail. Splinters flew off the broken wood forever fractured from the dynamite. Snake didn’t need to look to know at least four towns people had joined the Sheriff. In between shots, he estimated he could hear at least six more shouting as they ran towards the jail.
“I think our time is up. We must go.” Chief fired two shots back through the jail before turning to run off into the dark.
“C’mon Red. Know when to fold ‘em!”
The color quickly drained from Red’s face. He tapped his nose as the bullets continued to break off debris and whiz past their heads. Red held up his fingers and counted down from three. Snake and he turned in unison to firing a volley of shots back at the amassing posse covering the front of the jail. After the well placed shots had sent all the man diving for cover, they spun on their heels and flew out into the darkness with bullets marking their path on the ground until the jail was out of sight.
Damn it! The curse slipped from his lips as he drew his two pistols. No one would have been able to hear it over the thunder of Red’s revolver. Snake’s ears rang with a furry greater than all the church bells in a nearby valley. Not a soul could remain in bed throughout this sleepy town. Red already had the three men down before Snake was able to get the twin Colts out of their holsters, Snake’s eyes disagreeing with his ears on just how many shots were fired. It wasn’t the marching guards he was worried about. His timing was perfect to gun down the two men that ran out of the front door of the jail with panic stricken looks now forever hardened into their cold, stone faces. Someone from the inside kicked a foot out of the way as he slammed the jail door shut. The three locks being engaged clanged out into the night.
Red stood up to face Snake; he was wearing a slanted smile that spread from ear to ear. That smile would irk Snake at times boiling his blood until it followed up to his ears making them hotter than the flames of hell. Yet, it was the single biggest feature that endeared Red to him. It meant Red was feeling it; his mind was flowing with ideas and his aim was pure. It meant more trouble.
“I said I believe we’re both the same” Evil Man by The Answer
“What if you’d a missed? I was right in your line of fire.” Snake could feel the heat radiating off his eyes. He holstered his twin revolvers with a quick twirl and began quickly rubbing each ear lobe with his index finger and thumb.
“I don’t miss.” Red called out in a strong solid tone before the slanted smile broke out across his face again. “Although, I caught your face as you saw me creeping up. That look almost distracted me.” The last part barely struggled out of his mouth before he broke out into chuckle. “Good thing these ‘coots didn’t know where to look in the shadow. You stick out like a sore thumb.”
Snake’s fingers tugged on each ear then began a vigorous rub of his right ear. Red’s smile only widened at the obvious fury emanating from his partner. “I should know better than to think you’d sit still. You..”
Snake’s hearing shot back to life despite the humming that was just there from the recent gun fire. He picked out the cock of a pistol hammer and the opening of a latch off to his left. In less than a moment, his mind had already processed the information and called his body into action. The sensation always felt strange to him, as if time stood still and he was outside watching his body move like a spectator in a crowd or sitting in a dance hall watching those fools perform on stage. A loud buzz shooting past his left ear in the space his head recently occupied was certainly the first shot. Snake was already horizontal to the ground diving off in Red’s direction. The hollow thud sound caught his right ear as he felt his forearms hit Red’s chest. Red left out a grunt from the contact as the second bullet rang out into the street way off target. The boys landed with a great thump that resonated through Snake’s chest almost as loudly as the gunfire did in his ears. A third shot had called out and made a cloud in the dirt near Snake’s feet as he rolled onto his back.
The boards of the jail window were closed with a mighty bang. Snake had managed to get his guns pulled, but didn’t bother to waste any bullets. Need a target first. Red and Snake swung up with fluid, adroit motions into crouches.
“We need cover before the whole town gets up and starts shooting us in the back.” Snake nodded at Red’s observation as they quickly shuffled over to the area where Red hid in the shadows earlier.
Snake held a single finger up to his lips and motioned for Red to turn toward the street. Red tapped a finger to his nose as moved for a better view of the street. Both instinctively began reloading the chambers of their revolvers, deftly emptying out spent cartridges while focusing their eyes out to their unprotected sides as if their fingers had minds of their own.
Snake leaned over against the wall of jail placing his left ear against the smooth, weathered wood. The sounds of the jail resonated out as if he were standing right in the middle of the room. In a matter of seconds, he could see everything inside the old building. A map exploded out in his mind.
“Psst.” Snake waved Red back over next to him. “Ok, there are three guys still in the jail. I can hear Chief breathing on the far side of the room so his cell must be in the other corner. There is a guy, with what sounds like a Browning shotgun, standing guard on him.”
“Come on, you expect me to believe this hogwash?”
“He is nervous; it keeps clanging against the bars of the cell. I know what the Browning barrels sound like against metal. No shut up a minute.” Snake knew when it was his turn to take lead and put Red in his place. Plan or no plan, he wanted to make sure Red knew which way not to shot so Chief could come out of this alive. “There is another guy leaning up against the front wall, his breath ain’t so heavy. The third guy...” Snake paused trying to stretch back through his mind, something was missing. He could see Red tilt his head at the pause as his brow furrowed into the middle creating a wrinkle in the shape of a V over his nose.
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell where the third guy is. I could just hear him. He was barking orders at the other two, but his voice echoed so. And..” Snake trailed off again as his mind went back over the information.
“And?” Snake could hear the rising concern in Red’s voice. He kept his eyes trained on Snake as he took a turn pressing his ear up against the wall.
“And I recognize the voice, but I don’t know from where. I’ve heard it before.”
Red straightened back up running his palm over his mouth. There was a momentary silence as the two boys stood there looking at each other. Snake could hear all the voices from every person he had ever met by name fly through his head. No name emerged, just the faint smell of smoke and tears in his nostrils. He looked up to see that smile creeping back across Red’s face.
“Who gives a shit who it is. They’ll figure it out when they go to chisel the tombstone.” This was one of those endearing times. Snake could never help but admire Red’s grit. Everything in his brain told him to wait until he had all the info. If this were cards, he would ‘Check’ in a tactic to stall and collect more information. Red, he was an ‘All In’ guy. All guts, no sense. Snake knew that was untrue the moment he thought it. The two were never mutually exclusive. One needed the other to survive.
“Here,” Red reached into his back pocket pulling out two long, red sticks. “I’m tired of carrying these things.” He slapped them into Snake’s outstretched hand. Snake looks them over intently looking for any sort of nicks or damage to the sticks before running his fingers over the fuses.
“They still look good.” Snake handed one stick back to Red. “Ok, the man by the front door is on this side. So find a slot in the boards to wedge it into, light it and run like hell back to this other corner. I’ll light this one to blow the cell when I see you turn the corner.” Snake reached into his right pocket pulling out a match and handing it to Red. “We need to take cover around the corner then wait to storm in and get Chief.”
“I hate this stuff. Why couldn’t we just kick in the door again?” Red looked nervous for the first time in many years that Snake could remember.
“Cause I told you, we can’t kick in now reinforced jail door. We gotta make our own.”
Red turned around and scooted up to the front of the jail. Snake watched for a second to make sure Red got into position. He swiftly moved to the opposite corner of the jail where his ear had mapped out in his mind the position of the cell holding Chief. Snake placed his ear against the wall again to double check his positioning. He wanted to make sure he caught the area where the cell bars came into the wall. The blast needed to create a hole to get Chief out and blow the guard off of him. Red’s blast just needs to be a distraction, but if it takes out the first guard, Snake would be pleased with that.
He felt confident that Chief would protect himself. He has to know it is us shooting out here. But the thought crosses Snake’s mind again, what if the blast hurts or even kills Chief. All of a sudden his mind, usually so sure of everything it is doing, swirls around the idea of not blowing the wall. Fear grips the corners of brain as Snake imagines his regret in gunning down all these guards just to blow up his friend in the end. Surely he knows we would plan to blow out the walls made of wood. Snake did his best to reassure his conscience that Chief was smart enough to know what Red and he would do. What is Red doing?
Snake was already off guard. Red came sprinting around the corner of the jail. He didn’t prepare himself as he was lost in thought. Quickly, Snake fumbles for his match. On the third strike, the match ignites just as Red reaches Snake’s side. Snake reaches out and lights the fuse.
BOOM!
The front stick erupts into the night. Snake notices the flash reflect off the bank wall. Broken boards begin to clang against roofs and clatter into the street. Snake and Red had reached relative safety around the far corner of the jail. They can start to hear voices out in the streets. Pounding foot steps as villagers come running.
BOOM!
The shorter fuse on Snake’s stick quickly reached the stick. Snake can hear the bending of iron inside the jail. Red beats him to the step, his gun drawn, running to the new hole in the side of the wooden wall. He gets a shot off at the close guard before Snake makes it there. Snake risks a fast glance at Chief to ensure he is alive before scanning for threats in the jail. Both Red and he roll back around the still standing portions of the wall before a bullet rings through the large hole. Snake can see the front guard is down. It appears he took the bulk of the first blast, a piece of wood sticking out through his leg.
“I’m mighty impressed by you boys.” The voice calls out from behind a desk sitting off to the side of the rather open room that was the jail. The phrase further instilled the notion with Snake that he should know who this is. But it was the major jaw drop on Red’s face that further frustrated Snake’s brain at the inability to place the voice. “I knew you’d come, but still you show a lot a guts doing what you dun tonight.”
Snake looked over at Red again. His mouth now closed and a large tear ran down his left cheek as he leaned up against the outside wall of the jail. Red’s hands clutched his revolver tight against his chest.
“Just give us our friend and we’ll be done.” It was the best Snake could think up. He supposed Red was paralyzed out of fear from the connection Snake was missing.
“Sorry boys, I can’t let that happen.” The voice boomed back out from the desk.
Snake could hear the town folks getting closer to the jail. He fired off a shot square into the desk as he peaked around at Chief. He was crouched down against the cell wall keeping cover from the man behind the desk. Snake reached around the wall and tossed Chief one of his guns. Chief caught it with two hands and immediately checked the chamber. Lesson #1, Snake heard Mr. Tweed resonate through his memories; always make sure your gun is loaded.
“Sheriff Robinson,” Snake could hear a voice call out from the streets. “Sheriff! Are you okay?” Just over the top of the desk, Snake noticed the wide brim hat turn back towards the large hole in the front of the jail.
“Now!” Snake shouted out seizing his opportunity. He squeezed the trigger of his revolver with his right index finger as his left palm slammed the hammer back into a cocked position. The bullets landed square in the middle of the wood surrounding the left drawer. Snake could see the hat quickly turn back and dip below the plane of the desk top. Chief was immediately on the move. He scuttled across the gap to the outlet Snake had created. Red fired a round into the desk as Snake got off his third shot. One more a piece and Chief was free, ducking around the outside wall of the shattered jail.
“Glad you finally come. I begin to worry.” Chief was smiling, he connection to the boys never more evident. “I say we run before luck run out.” Snake nodded noting to himself the Chief had never been wiser.
“No!” Red’s voice cut through the night air like a machete. Snake had almost forgotten he was over there. “We need to finish this.”
“Well I agree with the Chief, we need to get while we can.”
“No!” Red’s face began to match his name. The sharpness was back in his eyes. He looked ready to cast the fires of Hell on any man in his way. “We gotta get the Sheriff!”
“What’s going on, Red? I know I should know him and you obviously do. What am I missing?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Red had finished reloading his spent cartridges.
A cascade of bullets sounded out across the jail. Splinters flew off the broken wood forever fractured from the dynamite. Snake didn’t need to look to know at least four towns people had joined the Sheriff. In between shots, he estimated he could hear at least six more shouting as they ran towards the jail.
“I think our time is up. We must go.” Chief fired two shots back through the jail before turning to run off into the dark.
“C’mon Red. Know when to fold ‘em!”
The color quickly drained from Red’s face. He tapped his nose as the bullets continued to break off debris and whiz past their heads. Red held up his fingers and counted down from three. Snake and he turned in unison to firing a volley of shots back at the amassing posse covering the front of the jail. After the well placed shots had sent all the man diving for cover, they spun on their heels and flew out into the darkness with bullets marking their path on the ground until the jail was out of sight.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 28, Section 1 - Disorder
Note: So I am cheating to get some more space out of this project by making sections with this song. I am doing this for a couple reasons. One, the last part was really hard to follow, in terms of writing anything that didn't seem less interesting. Plus, I think it just drained me a little creatively. I am afraid this section just has to take it on the chin for the good of the whole. Second, I knew I wanted another part that shifts perspective, but I struggled going forward once completing this part. So I thought, this would help me transition a little better. There will be five sections from this track, all of about the same length. The lyrics are not necessarily in order. Third, I knew I wasn't going to have enough time this week to write everything I have envisioned for this next part, but I wanted to get something posted. Anyways, I'll stop rambling now.
Disc 2
Track 7: Nowhere Again by The Secret Machines
“Right before my eyes – Erased. Our lives – Erased.”
The elaborately carved and painted animal figurines, maybe a hundred in all, were scattered along the sill and on the floor before the window. Monkeys and other such exotic creatures that Meriam barely even knew about mixed and tangled with big cats, elegant ponies and donkeys, painted brown and gray. The disorder of all of it made her twitch.
Meriam was not the kind of woman lost in fancy or fooled that the world was ever perfect, but she cursed the heavens for any type of disorder. Things were meant to be certain ways. Toys were to be picked up. Servants were meant to carry out tasks. Kings were meant to rule. While she could plainly see that lots in life were not always fair, she respected the order of it all. The toys should have been arranged in some sort of logical order on the sill if the girl was not playing with them. If Evandra had reached an age where playing was no longer proper then by all means the things should have been stored away neatly with maybe only one or two favorites left as a fond reminder of youth.
This chaos… this pool of wooden animal disharmony was not going to do. Yet, she had spent a better part of the week avoiding the scene while in the service of Princess Evandra and her mother, the Queen. Even in her thoughts, she maintained the proper titles that helped balance everything. It was only with Ewam that she had allowed a little slipping or blurring of the lines of order, but that man needed a firm hand to guide him to his place. She reasoned that it was part of her duty, part of her place in the great order of things to provide that hand. It was only a slip. Any more than that and she might fall down the entire slope. At the bottom of that slope were feelings for Ewam she had sealed tightly shut as to not to entertain the wild fancy of a King loving a servant. Order did not allow such. She would not waste her time.
Her duty to Ewam was over, she was reassigned to these two, neither of whom she could get a proper handle on, and King Eden, whom she had always had doubts about, but those doubts were now replaced by fear. Her mother had warned her about men and their behavior. The scoundrels were scoundrels and they rarely tried to hide it, but the men that were unbalanced or just plain mean, well they seemed the best at putting on a face that made them seem the opposite. Eden was perfect on the throne or walking in the garden with a straight back with evenly distanced paces. His voice was calm and his words thoughtful. He was the genuine image of the King, not at all like Ewam, but there was always something in Meriam’s head that whispered to put her stock in Ewam rather than Eden. “Looks shant always be true,” her mother’s words had been.
“Do you not feel it?” Evandra sat up still rolled in the sheets on the huge feather mattress set on oak frame with a massive headboard with intricate designs notched across it. The girl was not naturally frail, instead she had the square, sturdy shoulders that marked her as a Perde, but the ailment was draining her of weight, at least 15 pounds since Meriam saw her a few weeks ago, and color, she was deathly pale.
“Pardon me, Princess Evandra,” she regretted forgetting the girl was in the room. “I was pondering clearing these figurines away. Mayhap they have a case of some sort to store them away.”
“It’s vulgar, is it not Mistress Meriam?” Meriam could not look the girl in the eyes. The way they seemed drained of that important purity that every young lady held onto for as long as possible was chilling. Evandra was not old enough to look so jaded. “The way the bodies twist and join. I know they’re toys, but it’s vulgar, and it shames me to admit it, that it appeals to me in some sick way.”
“I’ll not have that talk from a young lady,” Meriam wondered if bullying the girl like Ewam would not do her some good. Meriam would ask her mother, but the Queen had not left her room in days. She shuddered thinking of the dust, dirt and disorder brewing behind that door. “It’s not proper for a lady.”
“Do you not feel it then?”
“Whatever are you prattling on about?”
“The call? My mother named it that. The call that beckons in my head all night long, the one that stirs things inside that I did not know was there.”
A lump buried itself in Meriam’s throat. She did not need to speak for the girl had her confirmation in rose red buds that blossomed on her cheecks. Of course, Meriam had felt it and had done her very best to bury it down there where she kept all the emotions of disorder. She could not tell if she was winning that internal battle, but so far it had kept her from running west.
“It calls us all,” the hollowness in the girls voice was only trumped by its sadness. “It will have us all.”
“No!” Meriam rushed over to the girl and took her hands. “You cannot, my lady. You cannot. I will not allow it, I promise that.”
Tears were running in well-worn paths down Evandra’s face. For the first time, Meriam was glad she had been reassigned to the girl. It was her duty to protect her if her mother and father were incapable.
As if listening to her thoughts, the door to the outer chamber of the apartments opened. The man did not smell like his less-groomed brother sometimes did, but Meriam knew that it was Eden before the door had closed behind him. The terror in Evandra eyes frightened Meriam even more.
“Kendra, my Queen,” Eden shouted from inside the adjoining room. Evandra jumped from her bed, ran across the room and slammed her door shut. A low moan came from far away. Meriam did not want to think about who or what made that sound.
“I am here for another go.” Evandra dropped to the floor wailing. Meriam was froze in place as the man started in again. “I’ll work this need out of you yet.”
Meriam could not believe her ears as another door closed and muffled sounds of pain and flesh followed.
“Heavens mercy,” she whispered to the girl who was whimpering. “What has taken hold here?”
The girls cried more and Meriam was filled with a great wave of emotion. Two rooms away, a woman, no a Queen, was being abused by a man that was supposed to be King. What sort of order was that? It was not order. Did Ewam know of this? It could not be possible. She was not naïve to the looks he flashed his brother’s wife. What was to be done? Ewam was leaving Omet, Satar and Meriam’s new charges under the rule of this two-faced brute. Her blood boiled. At the moment, she was the only woman west of the Belnor to not feel the call. There was a call much deeper ruling her thoughts, her will.
“I will not stand for it. I will not.”
Disc 2
Track 7: Nowhere Again by The Secret Machines
“Right before my eyes – Erased. Our lives – Erased.”
The elaborately carved and painted animal figurines, maybe a hundred in all, were scattered along the sill and on the floor before the window. Monkeys and other such exotic creatures that Meriam barely even knew about mixed and tangled with big cats, elegant ponies and donkeys, painted brown and gray. The disorder of all of it made her twitch.
Meriam was not the kind of woman lost in fancy or fooled that the world was ever perfect, but she cursed the heavens for any type of disorder. Things were meant to be certain ways. Toys were to be picked up. Servants were meant to carry out tasks. Kings were meant to rule. While she could plainly see that lots in life were not always fair, she respected the order of it all. The toys should have been arranged in some sort of logical order on the sill if the girl was not playing with them. If Evandra had reached an age where playing was no longer proper then by all means the things should have been stored away neatly with maybe only one or two favorites left as a fond reminder of youth.
This chaos… this pool of wooden animal disharmony was not going to do. Yet, she had spent a better part of the week avoiding the scene while in the service of Princess Evandra and her mother, the Queen. Even in her thoughts, she maintained the proper titles that helped balance everything. It was only with Ewam that she had allowed a little slipping or blurring of the lines of order, but that man needed a firm hand to guide him to his place. She reasoned that it was part of her duty, part of her place in the great order of things to provide that hand. It was only a slip. Any more than that and she might fall down the entire slope. At the bottom of that slope were feelings for Ewam she had sealed tightly shut as to not to entertain the wild fancy of a King loving a servant. Order did not allow such. She would not waste her time.
Her duty to Ewam was over, she was reassigned to these two, neither of whom she could get a proper handle on, and King Eden, whom she had always had doubts about, but those doubts were now replaced by fear. Her mother had warned her about men and their behavior. The scoundrels were scoundrels and they rarely tried to hide it, but the men that were unbalanced or just plain mean, well they seemed the best at putting on a face that made them seem the opposite. Eden was perfect on the throne or walking in the garden with a straight back with evenly distanced paces. His voice was calm and his words thoughtful. He was the genuine image of the King, not at all like Ewam, but there was always something in Meriam’s head that whispered to put her stock in Ewam rather than Eden. “Looks shant always be true,” her mother’s words had been.
“Do you not feel it?” Evandra sat up still rolled in the sheets on the huge feather mattress set on oak frame with a massive headboard with intricate designs notched across it. The girl was not naturally frail, instead she had the square, sturdy shoulders that marked her as a Perde, but the ailment was draining her of weight, at least 15 pounds since Meriam saw her a few weeks ago, and color, she was deathly pale.
“Pardon me, Princess Evandra,” she regretted forgetting the girl was in the room. “I was pondering clearing these figurines away. Mayhap they have a case of some sort to store them away.”
“It’s vulgar, is it not Mistress Meriam?” Meriam could not look the girl in the eyes. The way they seemed drained of that important purity that every young lady held onto for as long as possible was chilling. Evandra was not old enough to look so jaded. “The way the bodies twist and join. I know they’re toys, but it’s vulgar, and it shames me to admit it, that it appeals to me in some sick way.”
“I’ll not have that talk from a young lady,” Meriam wondered if bullying the girl like Ewam would not do her some good. Meriam would ask her mother, but the Queen had not left her room in days. She shuddered thinking of the dust, dirt and disorder brewing behind that door. “It’s not proper for a lady.”
“Do you not feel it then?”
“Whatever are you prattling on about?”
“The call? My mother named it that. The call that beckons in my head all night long, the one that stirs things inside that I did not know was there.”
A lump buried itself in Meriam’s throat. She did not need to speak for the girl had her confirmation in rose red buds that blossomed on her cheecks. Of course, Meriam had felt it and had done her very best to bury it down there where she kept all the emotions of disorder. She could not tell if she was winning that internal battle, but so far it had kept her from running west.
“It calls us all,” the hollowness in the girls voice was only trumped by its sadness. “It will have us all.”
“No!” Meriam rushed over to the girl and took her hands. “You cannot, my lady. You cannot. I will not allow it, I promise that.”
Tears were running in well-worn paths down Evandra’s face. For the first time, Meriam was glad she had been reassigned to the girl. It was her duty to protect her if her mother and father were incapable.
As if listening to her thoughts, the door to the outer chamber of the apartments opened. The man did not smell like his less-groomed brother sometimes did, but Meriam knew that it was Eden before the door had closed behind him. The terror in Evandra eyes frightened Meriam even more.
“Kendra, my Queen,” Eden shouted from inside the adjoining room. Evandra jumped from her bed, ran across the room and slammed her door shut. A low moan came from far away. Meriam did not want to think about who or what made that sound.
“I am here for another go.” Evandra dropped to the floor wailing. Meriam was froze in place as the man started in again. “I’ll work this need out of you yet.”
Meriam could not believe her ears as another door closed and muffled sounds of pain and flesh followed.
“Heavens mercy,” she whispered to the girl who was whimpering. “What has taken hold here?”
The girls cried more and Meriam was filled with a great wave of emotion. Two rooms away, a woman, no a Queen, was being abused by a man that was supposed to be King. What sort of order was that? It was not order. Did Ewam know of this? It could not be possible. She was not naïve to the looks he flashed his brother’s wife. What was to be done? Ewam was leaving Omet, Satar and Meriam’s new charges under the rule of this two-faced brute. Her blood boiled. At the moment, she was the only woman west of the Belnor to not feel the call. There was a call much deeper ruling her thoughts, her will.
“I will not stand for it. I will not.”
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
1001 albums (461-475): The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society - Led Zeppelin
Note: I thought about stopping at 14 this week to avoid breaking up the Zeppelin albums, but I figured this will allow Snake to focus on one this week and the rest next week.
461. The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society (1968) by The Kinks
462. Kollaps (1981) by Einstruzende Neubauten
463. The Koln Concert (1975) by Keith Jarrett
464. The La’s (1990) by The La’s
465. Ladies and Gentleman We Are Floating In Space (1997) by Spiritualized
First five at a glance: The highlights here are The Kinks and The La’s for the same reason. Both albums are pure pop and embrace that label. You may know The La’s from hit song “There She Goes.” Otherwise, this first five is lacking. Spiritualized makes two appearances this week. There music is referred to as drone rock, which seems appropriate.
466. Lady in Satin (1958) by Billie Holiday
467. The Lamb Lies Down On Broardway (1974) by Genesis
468. Lam Toro (1992) by Baaba Maal
469. Lark’s Tongues in Aspic (1973) by King Crimson
470. The Last Broadcast (2002) by Doves
Second five at a glance: Billie Holiday is on the decline as a heroin addict at this point, although this is her most acclaimed album. The Lamb Lies Down… is Peter Gabriel’s swansong with Genesis and along with King Crimson, both at staples of prog rock. Doves may be a decent band to check out.
471. The Last of the True Believers (1986) by Nanci Griffith
472. L.A. Woman (1971) by The Doors
473. Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs (1970) by Derek And the Dominos
474. Lazer Guided Melodies (1992) by Spiritualized
475. Led Zeppelin (1969) by Led Zeppelin
Third five at a glance: Definitely saved the best for last. I may have to check out the Derek and the Dominoes album at some point. Everyone knows Layla, but there’s some other pretty strong stuff on there, on what essentially is Clapton’s first solo album. L.A. Woman, the song is one of my favorite Doors’ tunes, and this album is essentially the end of the band’s run. I won’t spend a long time on Led Zeppelin, because I am guessing that Snake will have a lot to say. “Good Times, Bad Times” is one my fave’s from the band and there is just sound from this whole album that just lets you know that the world was never going to be the same. There’s a lot more from this group coming next week.
The Goods: Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Derek and the Dominoes, Genesis, The Kinks
Something to check out: Doves, Kollaps (which was a big influence on Nine Inch Nails, if you like that sort of music)
Verdict: I’d say that last five is one of the best we’ve had with the Spiritualized really not fitting in. The Nanci Griffith stuff is folk, country that is passable. Overall some really important albums popped up this week.
462. Kollaps (1981) by Einstruzende Neubauten
463. The Koln Concert (1975) by Keith Jarrett
464. The La’s (1990) by The La’s
465. Ladies and Gentleman We Are Floating In Space (1997) by Spiritualized
First five at a glance: The highlights here are The Kinks and The La’s for the same reason. Both albums are pure pop and embrace that label. You may know The La’s from hit song “There She Goes.” Otherwise, this first five is lacking. Spiritualized makes two appearances this week. There music is referred to as drone rock, which seems appropriate.
466. Lady in Satin (1958) by Billie Holiday
467. The Lamb Lies Down On Broardway (1974) by Genesis
468. Lam Toro (1992) by Baaba Maal
469. Lark’s Tongues in Aspic (1973) by King Crimson
470. The Last Broadcast (2002) by Doves
Second five at a glance: Billie Holiday is on the decline as a heroin addict at this point, although this is her most acclaimed album. The Lamb Lies Down… is Peter Gabriel’s swansong with Genesis and along with King Crimson, both at staples of prog rock. Doves may be a decent band to check out.
471. The Last of the True Believers (1986) by Nanci Griffith
472. L.A. Woman (1971) by The Doors
473. Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs (1970) by Derek And the Dominos
474. Lazer Guided Melodies (1992) by Spiritualized
475. Led Zeppelin (1969) by Led Zeppelin
Third five at a glance: Definitely saved the best for last. I may have to check out the Derek and the Dominoes album at some point. Everyone knows Layla, but there’s some other pretty strong stuff on there, on what essentially is Clapton’s first solo album. L.A. Woman, the song is one of my favorite Doors’ tunes, and this album is essentially the end of the band’s run. I won’t spend a long time on Led Zeppelin, because I am guessing that Snake will have a lot to say. “Good Times, Bad Times” is one my fave’s from the band and there is just sound from this whole album that just lets you know that the world was never going to be the same. There’s a lot more from this group coming next week.
The Goods: Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Derek and the Dominoes, Genesis, The Kinks
Something to check out: Doves, Kollaps (which was a big influence on Nine Inch Nails, if you like that sort of music)
Verdict: I’d say that last five is one of the best we’ve had with the Spiritualized really not fitting in. The Nanci Griffith stuff is folk, country that is passable. Overall some really important albums popped up this week.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 27 - Seeds
Note: This is either great or terrible, and I can't even make up mind yet on it. Most likely, I just wrote a check I cannot cash. Oh well, writing, much like life, is all about taking chances. I'll enjoy seeing the reaction to this.
Disc 2
Track 6: In This River – Black Label Society
“Withdraw a step away, just to find myself. The door is closed again, the only one left”
A seed, green and tear-shaped, rested in a callused and dirty hand. The hand tipped, the seed slid, fell, nuzzling below in a dry bed of soil. The hand scooped up the sandy earth and buried the seed. Dust particles carried by a wind and a blazing orange sun stung her eyes, her green pupils pulsed to life. As if staring into a reflection, she saw herself. Short, square-shouldered and round faced. And young. Oh so, young. The dust kicked up more, drawing her hands up to block it away.
Another seed dropped from the hand, she looked up to meet his eyes. One green, one blue centered on a thin face with short gray whiskers spotting it.
“Matris, my dear, I am still here. Still planting the seeds, as you told me. I am still here.”
“Matris?” She ran her hands along her face. “My name. My first name! The one given to me on the Dawn of New Reap in a time, in a place lost to her. I am home!”
“Matris, my dear, I am still here,” The man began again. “Still planting the seeds, as you told me. I am still here.”
Turning wildly, she was standing in an endless landscape of brown dust. Only in the distance could she see the outlines of a dark mountain range, and squinting with hope, she made out a small copse of green below the mountain’s shadow. Life, where there had been none!
“Matris, my dear, I am still here,” The man’s voice was warm, but distant and cracked from disuse. “Still planting the seeds, as you told me. I am still here.”
“Isad. Can that be you?” He recoiled from being addressed, she did the same at the youthfulness of her voice. “My love. After all this time, it cannot be?”
“I am still here, Matris,” there was no moisture in his eyes to wipe away, but he made the action anyway. “I must get back to planting. As you told me, every seed counts. Who knows what will grow from the next one?”
He walked away five steps, reached into a pouch under his worn coat, and withdrew another seed repeating the planting steps she had shown him when they were both children madly smitten with eachother and knowing their love could not be. He was as frail and stretched as the waste around them.
“Isad come away from here with me. We’ll take the old door like I did before. No seeds will grow here. Not mine, not yours, not any. This world has passed away.”
Straightening after planting another seed, Isad walked another five steps, withdrew a seed and this one she could clearly see was black. The air left her lungs, the water poured from her veins. The power of the plant that grows stiffened and ran cold at her core.
“There are no more doorways here Matris,” Isad watched her never looking down at the shriveled black seed. “The Doors of the Worlds are closing.”
Her tongue was heavy and slow as Isad bent over and pushed the seed deep into the soil. Of all them, she knew that would be the one to grow.
“Isad, not that seed. Do not plant that seed?”
He covered it and straightened. There was no smile on his face, probably had not been one in an eternity of fruitless labor.
“Why Matris?” he asked, his voice as cold and as barren as the world “You told me to plant the seeds, no matter what. It cannot be helped if some of the seeds turn bad. The seeds must be planted.”
Springing from the ground came a fountain of blood and from that came a thousand mouths that sank into Isad’s flesh. She ran, not looking back, but hearing his voice one last clear time.
“The seeds must be planted.”
* * *
Across the cell, the skeleton with a thin layer of skin, a faintly beating heart and greasy white hair that dangled from the sides of his head and chin in tangled knots down to his chest, slumped against the base of the stonewall. Stretched out before his feet with toenails that curled out more than an inch was a brown rat with its insides squeezed out both ends. Two smells clung to the air – one a pungent mixture of sweat and decay, the other lingering underneath smelled almost of bread cooking in a warm oven. She knew what had killed that rat.
“What has become of you my son?” She touched her own lips as she spoke.
The man lifted his chin from his chest, drool lowered from his lips that were chapped and blistered. Brown blotches spotted his pale skin and dark bags circled his eyes that were nothing but two milky orbs with tiny black dots in the center.
“Paw and claw.” His mumbled words were directed toward the wall behind her. She was sitting on a thin canvas cot that had a flat, moth-eaten pillow at its head
“Is it gone then?” She edged forward on her elbows. “Daipraine the Wise, has the breath been released back to the dark.”
At the mention of his name, a ring of green surrounded the black dots in his eyes and the many lines of his face sharpened in anger.
“I have passed that seed on,” he meant to shout, but the words still were little more than a whisper.
“To who?” His face was covered with a dark grin that sent goosebumps up her arms. “What have you done, my son?”
“Paw and claw, I’m slipping away,” His words lasted only a moment, but by the last consonant the green had faded from his pupils replaced first by blue then gone altogether, leaving the tiny black dots.
“Daipraine?”
“Mother,” his eyelids wavered and closed, “sing to me mother.”
She pulled her knees to her chest trying to remember how to make a tune with her vocal chords. She started with a deep, monotonous chant of a tune well known in her son’s world. At least, it was known when she was last there.
“While the Wizard sleeps, never will the ladies weep, never will flame burn land”
* * *
The images broke into splinters like a vase thrown harshly against a wall. Before her was a painting of the man, spiked and dying. From above a light shown down spotlighting his bare chest, but not hiding the blood dripping down from his hands and feet.
“Now come, Daugther of the Green, come to the world I saved.” The voice echoed around the cave behind her and reverberated through her mind. “Come, the Doors of the Worlds open for you once more.”
She felt her hand turn the knob.
* * *
Tarek Grandar had stood before the door such as she had for nearly week. His thick fingers grasping the knob as his mind sped through thousands of worlds, hundreds of lives. He was seeing time at its very strangest in worlds that existed in thin stacks atop one another. Some minds could not handle such a jolt, but he was an extraordinary man.
It was he that had called it the Door to Nowhere when he stepped into the cave long ago with Lunar and Kekur strapped across his back. The swords were already taking a firm hold of the man that stood three times her height by then. He stooped over to avoid hitting the roof of the cave. Even the boy, Oan, who not short, would have had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the lower hanging rocks. Tarek Grandar had been a rare man. She had studied him closely as he stood before the door all those days. Then on the seventh day, he turned the knob full, the door opened and he went through without a word. She did not know where he was sent or for what reason. All he left were the two swords resting against the wall. Those could not leave.
The witch was different than Grandar. She did not breeze through random worlds when her hand had touched the knob days ago. She had traveled before, and when her time came to move again, the door always provided haunting images of her former homes.
The last image had been her invitation from the guardian of her destination. Every world had a guardian, or at least once had a guardian. Even they were not immune from being consumed from the gathering dark. Isad had said the Doors to the Worlds were closing, if so, then the guardians must have allowed them or they had not been there to stop it.
The door opened easily, a grey-brown mist seethed out from around the cracks. The inbetween always came first, and, for that moment, she always worried that she would be stuck in it even though she was certain of her invitation to another world. There was no smell in the inbetween, just the all emcompassing mist and the dreadful feeling of being lost. She stared into it a second with the door all the way ajar. Even an old witch could not defeat even older emotions like fear.
“One more trip for me,” she said, but the words were gobbled up into the gray mist. “This will be the last, and mayhap, the worst.”
Stepping forward, the mist dampened her face first then a cold shiver settled and stayed in her bones as behind her the door blew shut. Walking forward, she left her hands to her side knowing that there was little reason to reach out. The first time she had travled so, she had ran through the mist in terror, her arms spread out before her, stumbling, but never really falling. There was no up or down, front or back, once inside only a sense of movement and the expectation of a destination remained. Some had been wrong about that destination and were lost forever in the mist.
Above her, a square appeared as if cut out of the mist by a sword. She recognized it as her doorway, and moved toward it as if climbing a stairway. The image of the otherside of the doorway was distorted and shimmered like it was covered with a layer of clear water. She could make nothing out for sure other than what appeared to be a thick wood beam. When was right below the opening, she stopped and a smell carried through that she faintly recognized.
“Dried hay,” she laughed. In another world, she had grown fond of the smell of hay stored in stables and barns.
She strode through. The dampness left her skin when she rose through the floor of the barn on the other side. Taking a few steps out, she realized she had entered into the upper loft of a huge barn. The door behind her fell shut with a hollow thud.
Closing her eyes, she breathed deep the rich smell of wood and hay. It was a welcoming place to enter the world, a perfect manger for her to take stock and gather her wits. Before she could complete the thought, she heard a click and something cold and solid nuzzled against the back of her head. She was not alone.
“Who are you?” The man’s voice was desparate. “Who are you and how did you come out of the floor?”
“I am simply a weary traveler,” she said in the most soothing voice she could manage. “Is there place here for me to stay a night or two before I am on my way.”
“There are no simple travelers in days like these,” the man said. “I’ll blow your fucking head off if you don’t tell me how you just got here!”
Slowly turning to face him, she found he was aiming a small iron object at her head. She had seen the damage the thing could do through the glass in the doorway. Some magic forced out a small ball of fire that exploded when it hit its spot. She was eager to study it and see if she had the spark to make the weapon work.
“My name is Madi,” she made a new name for herself. He stepped back caught then in the charm of her green eyes. “Please, we have not met properly. What is your name?”
He lowered the weapon and shook his head. His strange clothing of dark pants, a white shirt with a strip of red cloth around his neck that was too small to work as a scarf and a black jacket were all torn and dirty.
“My name is Henry Glock,” he stammered. There was something dark hanging on the edge of his eyes. “This is my family’s barn.”
* * *
Back inside the cave, the door was closed again. The room filled with the cold of winter and a baby bear sniifed from the entrance trying to decide if it was a suitable place to hibernate through the season.
All was the same, except for the green diamond of glass on the door. That was not the same, at all. It was now black.
* * *
“AHHHHHHHHH!”
Nestor jumped to his feet as the boy screamed from across the fire. He thought for a moment that the terrible giant that the boy called a gargola had returned to finish devouring them. Adjusting his eyes to the dark sky and dwindling fire, he saw that there was nothing around, but the two of them.
“What’s the matter boy? A bad dream get to ya?” Nestor’s back cracked as he eased back down to his bedroll. He was getting too old to be sleeping on the ground.
The boy was standing in nothing but his britches next to the fire. It had stopped snowing before they made camp, but it was still bitter cold for his blood. Yet the boy, with his brownish skin and long dark hair, still barely wore any sort of clothes. He was rubbing the spot on his chest where the damn witch had burned him.
“In a way I did,” Oan said. “The wounds have healed except I can feel something hard, like a broke off arrowhead still there under the surface of my skin. The witch must have gone through the door. She’s left us.”
“Good riddance, my boy.”
Nestor was truly glad to be rid of her. One less thing in the way, he thought, and started rubbing at his own chest. It was going to get harder to hide the changing of his skin.
Disc 2
Track 6: In This River – Black Label Society
“Withdraw a step away, just to find myself. The door is closed again, the only one left”
A seed, green and tear-shaped, rested in a callused and dirty hand. The hand tipped, the seed slid, fell, nuzzling below in a dry bed of soil. The hand scooped up the sandy earth and buried the seed. Dust particles carried by a wind and a blazing orange sun stung her eyes, her green pupils pulsed to life. As if staring into a reflection, she saw herself. Short, square-shouldered and round faced. And young. Oh so, young. The dust kicked up more, drawing her hands up to block it away.
Another seed dropped from the hand, she looked up to meet his eyes. One green, one blue centered on a thin face with short gray whiskers spotting it.
“Matris, my dear, I am still here. Still planting the seeds, as you told me. I am still here.”
“Matris?” She ran her hands along her face. “My name. My first name! The one given to me on the Dawn of New Reap in a time, in a place lost to her. I am home!”
“Matris, my dear, I am still here,” The man began again. “Still planting the seeds, as you told me. I am still here.”
Turning wildly, she was standing in an endless landscape of brown dust. Only in the distance could she see the outlines of a dark mountain range, and squinting with hope, she made out a small copse of green below the mountain’s shadow. Life, where there had been none!
“Matris, my dear, I am still here,” The man’s voice was warm, but distant and cracked from disuse. “Still planting the seeds, as you told me. I am still here.”
“Isad. Can that be you?” He recoiled from being addressed, she did the same at the youthfulness of her voice. “My love. After all this time, it cannot be?”
“I am still here, Matris,” there was no moisture in his eyes to wipe away, but he made the action anyway. “I must get back to planting. As you told me, every seed counts. Who knows what will grow from the next one?”
He walked away five steps, reached into a pouch under his worn coat, and withdrew another seed repeating the planting steps she had shown him when they were both children madly smitten with eachother and knowing their love could not be. He was as frail and stretched as the waste around them.
“Isad come away from here with me. We’ll take the old door like I did before. No seeds will grow here. Not mine, not yours, not any. This world has passed away.”
Straightening after planting another seed, Isad walked another five steps, withdrew a seed and this one she could clearly see was black. The air left her lungs, the water poured from her veins. The power of the plant that grows stiffened and ran cold at her core.
“There are no more doorways here Matris,” Isad watched her never looking down at the shriveled black seed. “The Doors of the Worlds are closing.”
Her tongue was heavy and slow as Isad bent over and pushed the seed deep into the soil. Of all them, she knew that would be the one to grow.
“Isad, not that seed. Do not plant that seed?”
He covered it and straightened. There was no smile on his face, probably had not been one in an eternity of fruitless labor.
“Why Matris?” he asked, his voice as cold and as barren as the world “You told me to plant the seeds, no matter what. It cannot be helped if some of the seeds turn bad. The seeds must be planted.”
Springing from the ground came a fountain of blood and from that came a thousand mouths that sank into Isad’s flesh. She ran, not looking back, but hearing his voice one last clear time.
“The seeds must be planted.”
* * *
Across the cell, the skeleton with a thin layer of skin, a faintly beating heart and greasy white hair that dangled from the sides of his head and chin in tangled knots down to his chest, slumped against the base of the stonewall. Stretched out before his feet with toenails that curled out more than an inch was a brown rat with its insides squeezed out both ends. Two smells clung to the air – one a pungent mixture of sweat and decay, the other lingering underneath smelled almost of bread cooking in a warm oven. She knew what had killed that rat.
“What has become of you my son?” She touched her own lips as she spoke.
The man lifted his chin from his chest, drool lowered from his lips that were chapped and blistered. Brown blotches spotted his pale skin and dark bags circled his eyes that were nothing but two milky orbs with tiny black dots in the center.
“Paw and claw.” His mumbled words were directed toward the wall behind her. She was sitting on a thin canvas cot that had a flat, moth-eaten pillow at its head
“Is it gone then?” She edged forward on her elbows. “Daipraine the Wise, has the breath been released back to the dark.”
At the mention of his name, a ring of green surrounded the black dots in his eyes and the many lines of his face sharpened in anger.
“I have passed that seed on,” he meant to shout, but the words still were little more than a whisper.
“To who?” His face was covered with a dark grin that sent goosebumps up her arms. “What have you done, my son?”
“Paw and claw, I’m slipping away,” His words lasted only a moment, but by the last consonant the green had faded from his pupils replaced first by blue then gone altogether, leaving the tiny black dots.
“Daipraine?”
“Mother,” his eyelids wavered and closed, “sing to me mother.”
She pulled her knees to her chest trying to remember how to make a tune with her vocal chords. She started with a deep, monotonous chant of a tune well known in her son’s world. At least, it was known when she was last there.
“While the Wizard sleeps, never will the ladies weep, never will flame burn land”
* * *
The images broke into splinters like a vase thrown harshly against a wall. Before her was a painting of the man, spiked and dying. From above a light shown down spotlighting his bare chest, but not hiding the blood dripping down from his hands and feet.
“Now come, Daugther of the Green, come to the world I saved.” The voice echoed around the cave behind her and reverberated through her mind. “Come, the Doors of the Worlds open for you once more.”
She felt her hand turn the knob.
* * *
Tarek Grandar had stood before the door such as she had for nearly week. His thick fingers grasping the knob as his mind sped through thousands of worlds, hundreds of lives. He was seeing time at its very strangest in worlds that existed in thin stacks atop one another. Some minds could not handle such a jolt, but he was an extraordinary man.
It was he that had called it the Door to Nowhere when he stepped into the cave long ago with Lunar and Kekur strapped across his back. The swords were already taking a firm hold of the man that stood three times her height by then. He stooped over to avoid hitting the roof of the cave. Even the boy, Oan, who not short, would have had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the lower hanging rocks. Tarek Grandar had been a rare man. She had studied him closely as he stood before the door all those days. Then on the seventh day, he turned the knob full, the door opened and he went through without a word. She did not know where he was sent or for what reason. All he left were the two swords resting against the wall. Those could not leave.
The witch was different than Grandar. She did not breeze through random worlds when her hand had touched the knob days ago. She had traveled before, and when her time came to move again, the door always provided haunting images of her former homes.
The last image had been her invitation from the guardian of her destination. Every world had a guardian, or at least once had a guardian. Even they were not immune from being consumed from the gathering dark. Isad had said the Doors to the Worlds were closing, if so, then the guardians must have allowed them or they had not been there to stop it.
The door opened easily, a grey-brown mist seethed out from around the cracks. The inbetween always came first, and, for that moment, she always worried that she would be stuck in it even though she was certain of her invitation to another world. There was no smell in the inbetween, just the all emcompassing mist and the dreadful feeling of being lost. She stared into it a second with the door all the way ajar. Even an old witch could not defeat even older emotions like fear.
“One more trip for me,” she said, but the words were gobbled up into the gray mist. “This will be the last, and mayhap, the worst.”
Stepping forward, the mist dampened her face first then a cold shiver settled and stayed in her bones as behind her the door blew shut. Walking forward, she left her hands to her side knowing that there was little reason to reach out. The first time she had travled so, she had ran through the mist in terror, her arms spread out before her, stumbling, but never really falling. There was no up or down, front or back, once inside only a sense of movement and the expectation of a destination remained. Some had been wrong about that destination and were lost forever in the mist.
Above her, a square appeared as if cut out of the mist by a sword. She recognized it as her doorway, and moved toward it as if climbing a stairway. The image of the otherside of the doorway was distorted and shimmered like it was covered with a layer of clear water. She could make nothing out for sure other than what appeared to be a thick wood beam. When was right below the opening, she stopped and a smell carried through that she faintly recognized.
“Dried hay,” she laughed. In another world, she had grown fond of the smell of hay stored in stables and barns.
She strode through. The dampness left her skin when she rose through the floor of the barn on the other side. Taking a few steps out, she realized she had entered into the upper loft of a huge barn. The door behind her fell shut with a hollow thud.
Closing her eyes, she breathed deep the rich smell of wood and hay. It was a welcoming place to enter the world, a perfect manger for her to take stock and gather her wits. Before she could complete the thought, she heard a click and something cold and solid nuzzled against the back of her head. She was not alone.
“Who are you?” The man’s voice was desparate. “Who are you and how did you come out of the floor?”
“I am simply a weary traveler,” she said in the most soothing voice she could manage. “Is there place here for me to stay a night or two before I am on my way.”
“There are no simple travelers in days like these,” the man said. “I’ll blow your fucking head off if you don’t tell me how you just got here!”
Slowly turning to face him, she found he was aiming a small iron object at her head. She had seen the damage the thing could do through the glass in the doorway. Some magic forced out a small ball of fire that exploded when it hit its spot. She was eager to study it and see if she had the spark to make the weapon work.
“My name is Madi,” she made a new name for herself. He stepped back caught then in the charm of her green eyes. “Please, we have not met properly. What is your name?”
He lowered the weapon and shook his head. His strange clothing of dark pants, a white shirt with a strip of red cloth around his neck that was too small to work as a scarf and a black jacket were all torn and dirty.
“My name is Henry Glock,” he stammered. There was something dark hanging on the edge of his eyes. “This is my family’s barn.”
* * *
Back inside the cave, the door was closed again. The room filled with the cold of winter and a baby bear sniifed from the entrance trying to decide if it was a suitable place to hibernate through the season.
All was the same, except for the green diamond of glass on the door. That was not the same, at all. It was now black.
* * *
“AHHHHHHHHH!”
Nestor jumped to his feet as the boy screamed from across the fire. He thought for a moment that the terrible giant that the boy called a gargola had returned to finish devouring them. Adjusting his eyes to the dark sky and dwindling fire, he saw that there was nothing around, but the two of them.
“What’s the matter boy? A bad dream get to ya?” Nestor’s back cracked as he eased back down to his bedroll. He was getting too old to be sleeping on the ground.
The boy was standing in nothing but his britches next to the fire. It had stopped snowing before they made camp, but it was still bitter cold for his blood. Yet the boy, with his brownish skin and long dark hair, still barely wore any sort of clothes. He was rubbing the spot on his chest where the damn witch had burned him.
“In a way I did,” Oan said. “The wounds have healed except I can feel something hard, like a broke off arrowhead still there under the surface of my skin. The witch must have gone through the door. She’s left us.”
“Good riddance, my boy.”
Nestor was truly glad to be rid of her. One less thing in the way, he thought, and started rubbing at his own chest. It was going to get harder to hide the changing of his skin.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Two Hawks By Nightfall
Note: After much delay and writer's block moments, I finally got my next chapter done. This is kind of crazy because I had a total different idea when I finally set down to write it this week, totally different story. Then this popped back into my head and I ever ended up at a totally different place with the story going off the lyric than I intended when I wrote the first few paragraphs. So this was quite an exercise for me. I also decided to go back to writing in Word first which seems to help for some odd reason, I guess I don't feel the pressure of the post button like I need to finish it now.
"But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes" - Monster by Lady Gaga
Night descended upon the sleepy town as if someone spread out a giant afghan that settled gently down to the ground. The two young men adeptly used this environment to their advantage as they slipped through the shadows of the lightly burning street lamps. They had crafted their plan on the hilltop, though Snake knew better than to ever think it was fool proof. Red and he had carried out enough of their schemes already in their young lives to know to be ready for the worst.
They reached the general store that sat across the dusty, rugged street from the jail. The three guards were on their confident march around the building made of weathered, graying wood. Snake eyed the old pine keenly, knowing that would be their advantage. Whoever constructed the small jail had not yet learned the lessons of other towns as they began building such important structures out of cobble stone, river rock and mortar.
To the left of the jail sat a beautiful, new bank. ‘Stillman Bank,’ the large wooden sign hanging on the front almost glowed in the darkness from the fresh paint. Snake looked back up behind him to confirm that Mr. Stillman also owned the general store they crouched next to. To the right of the jail was a rather plain looking townhouse, weathered in similar fashion as the jail.
Snake looked over to Red as he crouched, leaning against the side of the store. He was squinting rather extraneously in the darkness. The site did nothing to calm Snake’s reservation on a night time raid. A quick tap on the shoulder from Snake caught Red’s attention. Snake gave a quick tap of his index finger against his nose and flicked his head towards the street. Red nodded back rather meticulously as he rose up out of his crouch.
They checked both directions down the street to make sure the coast was clear. The guards just finished their march around the front of the jail and had made the turn to the back side. Snake broke first across the street to his assignment next to the bank. Red followed quickly behind splitting over to the townhouse. Snake leaned tight against the side wall of the bank clinging to ever inch of darkness he could. He started the count in his head as he pulled out his right hip revolver first, spinning the chamber to double check a full load before holstering and checking the left. Snake still carried that youthful hope in his gut that it wouldn’t have to come to that this time. It would be the first.
He could hear the door to the jail open as they guards performed their shift change. Like clockwork, after their 30 rounds of marching around the jail, one member would switch out with a guard from the inside. The old wooden door creaked back shut with a slam that seemed to echo louder than any gun shoot in the dead of the night. He could even hear the plodding steps as the guards began their march again.
Snake held his breath as the group came in his direction. He laid his body as flat as he could against the bank wall. There was a gap of at least 10 feet between the jail and the bank, but Snake didn’t want to chance anything. If they saw him on their turn around the jail, this plan would fail before it even started. His count on their steps was continually interrupted by his pounding heartbeat as it reverberated in his head.
That all came to a halt as Snake was sure his jaw fell all the way to the dirt ground. Red was creeping up behind the three men, his back to the street and guns pulled. And those eyes, those supposedly impaired eyes. Red held them keen, sharp like the hawks that soar across this plain hunting the tiniest rodents from 500 feet in the air. Snake could not stop staring directly into them, getting lost in their depth. The cool wit that seemed to almost ooze out of them.
Damn it! The curse slipped from his lips as he drew his two pistols. Red already had the three men down before Snake was able to get the twin Colts out of their holsters. It wasn’t the three marching guards he was worried about though. His timing was perfect to gun down the two men that ran out of the front door of the jail with panic stricken looks now forever hardened into their cold, stone faces. Someone from the inside kicked a foot out of the way as he slammed the jail door shut. The three locks being engaged clanged out into the night.
Red stood up to face Snake; he was wearing a slanted smile that spread from ear to ear. That smile would irk Snake at times boiling his blood until it followed up to his ears making them hotter than the flames of hell. Yet, it was the single biggest feature that endeared Red to him. It meant Red was feeling it; his mind was flowing with ideas and his aim was pure. It meant more trouble.
"But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes" - Monster by Lady Gaga
Night descended upon the sleepy town as if someone spread out a giant afghan that settled gently down to the ground. The two young men adeptly used this environment to their advantage as they slipped through the shadows of the lightly burning street lamps. They had crafted their plan on the hilltop, though Snake knew better than to ever think it was fool proof. Red and he had carried out enough of their schemes already in their young lives to know to be ready for the worst.
They reached the general store that sat across the dusty, rugged street from the jail. The three guards were on their confident march around the building made of weathered, graying wood. Snake eyed the old pine keenly, knowing that would be their advantage. Whoever constructed the small jail had not yet learned the lessons of other towns as they began building such important structures out of cobble stone, river rock and mortar.
To the left of the jail sat a beautiful, new bank. ‘Stillman Bank,’ the large wooden sign hanging on the front almost glowed in the darkness from the fresh paint. Snake looked back up behind him to confirm that Mr. Stillman also owned the general store they crouched next to. To the right of the jail was a rather plain looking townhouse, weathered in similar fashion as the jail.
Snake looked over to Red as he crouched, leaning against the side of the store. He was squinting rather extraneously in the darkness. The site did nothing to calm Snake’s reservation on a night time raid. A quick tap on the shoulder from Snake caught Red’s attention. Snake gave a quick tap of his index finger against his nose and flicked his head towards the street. Red nodded back rather meticulously as he rose up out of his crouch.
They checked both directions down the street to make sure the coast was clear. The guards just finished their march around the front of the jail and had made the turn to the back side. Snake broke first across the street to his assignment next to the bank. Red followed quickly behind splitting over to the townhouse. Snake leaned tight against the side wall of the bank clinging to ever inch of darkness he could. He started the count in his head as he pulled out his right hip revolver first, spinning the chamber to double check a full load before holstering and checking the left. Snake still carried that youthful hope in his gut that it wouldn’t have to come to that this time. It would be the first.
He could hear the door to the jail open as they guards performed their shift change. Like clockwork, after their 30 rounds of marching around the jail, one member would switch out with a guard from the inside. The old wooden door creaked back shut with a slam that seemed to echo louder than any gun shoot in the dead of the night. He could even hear the plodding steps as the guards began their march again.
Snake held his breath as the group came in his direction. He laid his body as flat as he could against the bank wall. There was a gap of at least 10 feet between the jail and the bank, but Snake didn’t want to chance anything. If they saw him on their turn around the jail, this plan would fail before it even started. His count on their steps was continually interrupted by his pounding heartbeat as it reverberated in his head.
That all came to a halt as Snake was sure his jaw fell all the way to the dirt ground. Red was creeping up behind the three men, his back to the street and guns pulled. And those eyes, those supposedly impaired eyes. Red held them keen, sharp like the hawks that soar across this plain hunting the tiniest rodents from 500 feet in the air. Snake could not stop staring directly into them, getting lost in their depth. The cool wit that seemed to almost ooze out of them.
Damn it! The curse slipped from his lips as he drew his two pistols. Red already had the three men down before Snake was able to get the twin Colts out of their holsters. It wasn’t the three marching guards he was worried about though. His timing was perfect to gun down the two men that ran out of the front door of the jail with panic stricken looks now forever hardened into their cold, stone faces. Someone from the inside kicked a foot out of the way as he slammed the jail door shut. The three locks being engaged clanged out into the night.
Red stood up to face Snake; he was wearing a slanted smile that spread from ear to ear. That smile would irk Snake at times boiling his blood until it followed up to his ears making them hotter than the flames of hell. Yet, it was the single biggest feature that endeared Red to him. It meant Red was feeling it; his mind was flowing with ideas and his aim was pure. It meant more trouble.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
1001 albums (446-460): Johnny Cash at San Quentin - Kings of the Wild Frontier
Note: We're getting very close to a part of the alphabet that Snake has been looking forward too. This isn't a bad group and there may be some stuff to take a look at that may not be well known, at least not to me.
446. Johnny Cash At San Quentin (1969) by Johnny Cash
447. John Prine (1971) by John Prine
448. The Joshua Tree (1987) by U2
449. Juju (1981) by Siouxsie and The Banshees
450. Junkyard (1982) by The Birthday Party
First five at a glance: Joshua Tree gets a ton of credit as one of the top albums of the 80s, and probably is up there for all time. The first three songs are probably one of the clearest statements of a shift in sound in a band. This album blew up when it came out and still sells. Detractors will say this about this album, like many U2 products, that Bono gets a bit preachy at times. At San Quentin is the follow up to Cash’s live album at Folsom Prison. A more somber set following death of guitarist Luther Perkins. A riot did almost start during the first cut of new song San Quentin. Cash liked it so much that he played the song again. John Prine was the next Bob Dylan, but really wasn’t.
451. Justified (2002) by Justin Timberlake
452. Kenya (1957) by Machito
453. Kenza (1999) by Khaled
454. Kick Out The Jams (1969) by MC5
455. Kid A (2000) by Radiohead
Second five at a glance: MC5 was either way before their time, or there was never a time for their music. It’s loud, experimental and Lester Bangs hated it. This may be something to check out at least once. I am not a Radiohead fan and I’ve firmly established that. While not listening to Justin Timberlake, I have to give him credit for surviving the curse of being in a boy band, taking some good advice from producers like Timbaland, and writing songs that may or may not hint toward former girlfriend Brittany Spears to create some buzz.
456. Kilmanjaro (1980) by The Teardrop Explodes
457. Killing Joke (1980) by Killing Joke
458. Kimono My House (1974) by Sparks
459. Kind of Blue (1959) by Miles Davis
460. Kings of the Wild Frontier (1980) by Adam And The Ants
Third five at a glance: We’ve had a pretty healthy serving of Miles Davis in this book. I can’t deny that he belongs, but don’t have a strong enough opinion to really say much more. I think Killing Joke could be something Snake would be really into. Pretty dark with a hard driving pulse provided by thrashing guitars. Adam Ant is eclectic in his musical stylings if nothing else.
The Goods: Johnny Cash, U2
Something to check out: MC5, Killing Joke
Coincidence, I think so: Siouxsie and the Banshees did a cover of Sparks song “This Town Ain’t Big Enough For the Both of Us,” the first track on album 458 – Kimono In My House. Both versions are equally interesting bordering on bizarre.
Verdict: This group is growing on me. There are a couple solid headliners and a few possible diamonds in the rough. I put this ahead of last weeks group.
446. Johnny Cash At San Quentin (1969) by Johnny Cash
447. John Prine (1971) by John Prine
448. The Joshua Tree (1987) by U2
449. Juju (1981) by Siouxsie and The Banshees
450. Junkyard (1982) by The Birthday Party
First five at a glance: Joshua Tree gets a ton of credit as one of the top albums of the 80s, and probably is up there for all time. The first three songs are probably one of the clearest statements of a shift in sound in a band. This album blew up when it came out and still sells. Detractors will say this about this album, like many U2 products, that Bono gets a bit preachy at times. At San Quentin is the follow up to Cash’s live album at Folsom Prison. A more somber set following death of guitarist Luther Perkins. A riot did almost start during the first cut of new song San Quentin. Cash liked it so much that he played the song again. John Prine was the next Bob Dylan, but really wasn’t.
451. Justified (2002) by Justin Timberlake
452. Kenya (1957) by Machito
453. Kenza (1999) by Khaled
454. Kick Out The Jams (1969) by MC5
455. Kid A (2000) by Radiohead
Second five at a glance: MC5 was either way before their time, or there was never a time for their music. It’s loud, experimental and Lester Bangs hated it. This may be something to check out at least once. I am not a Radiohead fan and I’ve firmly established that. While not listening to Justin Timberlake, I have to give him credit for surviving the curse of being in a boy band, taking some good advice from producers like Timbaland, and writing songs that may or may not hint toward former girlfriend Brittany Spears to create some buzz.
456. Kilmanjaro (1980) by The Teardrop Explodes
457. Killing Joke (1980) by Killing Joke
458. Kimono My House (1974) by Sparks
459. Kind of Blue (1959) by Miles Davis
460. Kings of the Wild Frontier (1980) by Adam And The Ants
Third five at a glance: We’ve had a pretty healthy serving of Miles Davis in this book. I can’t deny that he belongs, but don’t have a strong enough opinion to really say much more. I think Killing Joke could be something Snake would be really into. Pretty dark with a hard driving pulse provided by thrashing guitars. Adam Ant is eclectic in his musical stylings if nothing else.
The Goods: Johnny Cash, U2
Something to check out: MC5, Killing Joke
Coincidence, I think so: Siouxsie and the Banshees did a cover of Sparks song “This Town Ain’t Big Enough For the Both of Us,” the first track on album 458 – Kimono In My House. Both versions are equally interesting bordering on bizarre.
Verdict: This group is growing on me. There are a couple solid headliners and a few possible diamonds in the rough. I put this ahead of last weeks group.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 26 - Not her too
Note: A few statistics here. We're at 41,743 words for this little ditty, that's roughly 97 single spaced Word pages. It takes a long time to open the file now. I am too bullheaded to separate it up. As far as the contest goes, the votes have slowed a bit it seems the last few days. We're at 62 votes: 5 - 3%; 4 - 32%; 3 - 39%; 2 – 15%; 1 – 11%.
Disc 2
Track 5: You Don’t Know What Love Is – The White Stripes
“And I hate to sound cold but you don’t know what love is.”
The door clicked shut behind Eden as he punched his knuckles against his temple. Skulking away from the room, he continued to pound away hoping to beat the words, the thoughts out.
“Not her too,” he did not recognize the heavy, raging voice that seethed out. “Not her too, not her too…”
Stumbling down the hallway that housed the royal apartments, he repeated the litany over and over with the rare anger building like pressure inside a cooking kettle waiting to explode out. Beside him, colorful tapestries hung from the walls depicting ancient battles and glorious kings. He had studied every one as a boy with his mother; she had said each tapestry told a story and a lesson for him. He took no notice of them now, instead he stumbled around the corner past the apartments he shared with his wife and daughter and collided hard with a servant. The woman landed with a crash and a curse on the stone floor.
“Heavens and fires,” Meriam started before she realized who had knocked her down. “Sire, I apologize for my clumsliness.”
It was no secret that the young woman had a temper that was famous among servants and some nobles around the palace. Even those rumors found there way to his ears, but she had also been excessively humble toward him. It was not the same around Ewam, who she bullied into duties. Before he had thought such a servant was exactly what Ewam needed to push him, now he wondered if this Meriam woman was not another deception. Some sort of spy or more, perhaps an infliltrator into the servant class to bully them into Ewam’s camp for when he tried to thrust Eden out of the throne. He will take everything! His mother whispered deep inside his head.
“Meriam, I have had nearly enough of your mouth and your insolence,” the blood drained from her face.
“I apologize, sire. I was off to fetch Lord Ewam’s laundry. I was not looking properly. I beg your mercy.”
“Lord Ewam!” He shouted, punching the wall. She drew further back. “You jump to his call, do you not Mistress Meriam. You jump lively for him.”
“I serve the Lords of Satar as they direct,” Meriam’s eyes fell to the floor. “They have assigned me to duties for Lord Ewam and I uphold those the best I am able.”
“You have a new direction,” Eden enuciated each syllable of the last word. “At sun up, you serve me, my wife and daughter, and no one else. Gerde shall have your duties attending to my brother till he leaves for Noce.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
He waved his hand dismissing her and she did not waste a heartbeat to scurry away in the direction she came from. He will not have it all. His internal battle between his jealously and his faith in his brother was swaying strongly in favor of the former rather than the later. Not her too! Stumbing away, it was not until he reached the old door with scrollwork of roses intertwined with a long, slender dragon as a border that ran about six inches from the edge all the way around that he realized that this was his destination.
The knob of the door was brass and cool to the touch, the bolt inside snapped as he twisted and pushed forward across the threshold. The air inside was heavy and unused, and cobwebs hung from the corners. Crisp, white-cloth sheets covered the furniture that reflected in Old Moon’s light from the double-glass doors that led out to another balcony. Every royal apartment had its own balcony that overlook Omet.
His mother had stayed here for entirety of her marriage with Rudan Perde. Rarely had she stayed down the hall in the King’s apartment that Eden, Kendra and Evandra now shared. It was part of some unspoken, unacknowledged coldness between the two. Eden’s grandfather and the head of the House Cortobrane arranged the marriage between Rudan and his mother. Love never entered that equation. There were three rooms to this apartment, the large sitting room that the door opened to, a side room for dressing and, of course, the bed chamber.
Mother died two years into her sons’ reign and Eden had not visited the apartment since. From the looks of the place, it appeared that no one else had paid much mind to it either. It had been his intentions to move Evandra to the apartments when she became too old to stay with her parents. Eden made a note in his mind to have Meriam clean out the room in the morning. It was where he intended to spend his evenings from now on.
“Not with her!” He picked up a violet-colored vase with gold inlaid around the rim and threw it against the wall. Pulling off a sheet from a chair with oak legs and a pine green cushion, he dropped down, pressing his knuckles again to his temples. He had not been able to make out everything from the conversation between and Ewam and Kendra as they stood upon the balconies. Eden had stopped by his brother’s apartment to quell his own mind about the apparent rift between the two.
When he arrived, he was quiet in case Ewam was asleep, and continued to sneak when he heard the voices from outside on the balcony. Kendra’s voice was distant and mumbled, but Ewam’s was clear.
“He’s hiding something with her,” Ewam growled. “First the sword, now her too.”
His words echoed around the empty room with high-arched ceilings. The sound frightened him because it sounded too much like the voices that had been calling out in his head.
“How could they?” He slumped in the chair much like his brother did on a daily basis on top of his throne. There are certain paths inside a man’s soul that once he begins down them that there is no easy return. Eden Perde took not one step, but one great leap as he muttered to himself one more time. “How coud they?”
“They do not know what love is.” Eden jumped up, startled to be interrupted in the abandoned apartment. Scanning around the room, he saw nothing except that the light from Old Moon was glowing with abnormal intensity through the glass doorway leading out to the balcony.
“Who’s there?” He wished then to have carried a sword or dagger. He did not care who this was. They were going to pay the penalty of death for disturbing him. He, after all, was still King of Satar.
The balcony doors did not so much as open, but faded away in a blaring white light. A tall, slendor figure clad in a long green gown with red-brown hair flowing down past her shoulders glided in like fog over a meadow. A gold tiara with a green emerald carved in a hexagon centered in front wrapped its way around her head.
“They do not know what love is. Not like you and I know love, King Eden, light of my soul.”
“Mother.” Any other man would have rubbed his eyes in disbelief that his deceased mother was standing before them. Eden, a man following a very precarious path in his head, never doubted the image before him. Instead, he dropped to his knees believing that all before him was real. “I knew you’d return to me. I knew you would. He could not take you away, not like everything else.”
“He will take everything,” her voice was curt and cut into him like a poisoned blade.
“No.”
“He took her. That trollop, I warned you against marrying.”
“No.”
“Have you not considered how quickly she was with child after your wedding? How pleased she was?”
“Evandra is mine.”
“She resembles your brother much.”
“We’re twins, mother. We are indentical.”
“No, you are more than him, better than him. That girl is less than you.”
“It cannot be.”
“Then why no more heirs to follow? If so easy once, why not again? Why not a boy, a rightful heir to the throne?”
“She, she avoided my touch. Unitl now, that is. Now she pleads for it to quell the call.”
“Yes, the call. Seems a woman married to such a man as you, King Eden, should not feel such a call. Is your love not enough for her? I am your mother, not your wife, and my love of you is enough. I do not run to some demon, do I?”
“No, you are mine.”
“He will take everything!” The venom splattered from her lips and coated his skin.
“No! He cannot take you from me.”
“He has the sword.”
“No,” he shook his head wildly.
“He has your wife.”
“No.”
“He has your daughter.”
“No.”
“He will take everything.”
“NOT YOU! I WILL KILL HIM FIRST!”
Her lips parted in satisfaction, a wave of relief ran through him. He would do anything to see her face so again. Anything. She cupped his chin in her hand and stared deep into his eyes. He could feel her many gilded rings coolly pressing into his skin.
“Perhap, not all is lost.” She dropped to her knees. Her face glowed before his in a terrible light forcing him to close his eyes tight.
“What shall I do?” He whispered, not wanting any passing interloper to hear.
“I do not truly believe that he thinks you’ll allow him to go, at least not alone. Let him go. The demon shall handle him well enough.”
“Yes, mother. And with her.”
“Show her what love is, my son. Use her so that no other will ever go near again. Use her, King Eden, light of my life.”
“Yes, mother.”
The pulsing light eased then left. Opening his eyes, he was kneeling before the glass doors with Old Moon’s mangled face clear in the distance. He rose, straightened his jacket with his posture and left the apartment.
Kendra rolled over onto her back trying to find a position where her throbbing side did not pain her. It was too dark in the bedchamber for her to see the smear of blood her nose made across the pillow. Her entire left side burned from her waist up to her hairline.
Beside her, he muttered between snores. She did know the man. Once upon a time, she thought she knew him, if not loved him, but this was not him. Even if her heart belonged to the other, she had always respected, adored and honored him as her husband. This was not him. He would not have done this, not to her, not to anyone.
Before she could pursue the thoughts any more, the call came, starting down below where she was sure she’d be numb for a week. She was raised not to curse, but the worst she knew flowed through her mind then. The call. The blasted call craved more. The only relief came from him, the man whose very touch repulsed and now bruised her.
Forcing her right eye open, the left was not going to see for sometime, she held in a wail. Standing beside the bed in a white nightgown with tears running like a river down her eyes was Evandra.
For the first time through the entire evening, Kendra cried, the tears burned her swollen cheek. Reaching out with hand that she had to pry open, she grasped her daughter’s hand.
They stayed like that crying in the dark until daybreak.
Disc 2
Track 5: You Don’t Know What Love Is – The White Stripes
“And I hate to sound cold but you don’t know what love is.”
The door clicked shut behind Eden as he punched his knuckles against his temple. Skulking away from the room, he continued to pound away hoping to beat the words, the thoughts out.
“Not her too,” he did not recognize the heavy, raging voice that seethed out. “Not her too, not her too…”
Stumbling down the hallway that housed the royal apartments, he repeated the litany over and over with the rare anger building like pressure inside a cooking kettle waiting to explode out. Beside him, colorful tapestries hung from the walls depicting ancient battles and glorious kings. He had studied every one as a boy with his mother; she had said each tapestry told a story and a lesson for him. He took no notice of them now, instead he stumbled around the corner past the apartments he shared with his wife and daughter and collided hard with a servant. The woman landed with a crash and a curse on the stone floor.
“Heavens and fires,” Meriam started before she realized who had knocked her down. “Sire, I apologize for my clumsliness.”
It was no secret that the young woman had a temper that was famous among servants and some nobles around the palace. Even those rumors found there way to his ears, but she had also been excessively humble toward him. It was not the same around Ewam, who she bullied into duties. Before he had thought such a servant was exactly what Ewam needed to push him, now he wondered if this Meriam woman was not another deception. Some sort of spy or more, perhaps an infliltrator into the servant class to bully them into Ewam’s camp for when he tried to thrust Eden out of the throne. He will take everything! His mother whispered deep inside his head.
“Meriam, I have had nearly enough of your mouth and your insolence,” the blood drained from her face.
“I apologize, sire. I was off to fetch Lord Ewam’s laundry. I was not looking properly. I beg your mercy.”
“Lord Ewam!” He shouted, punching the wall. She drew further back. “You jump to his call, do you not Mistress Meriam. You jump lively for him.”
“I serve the Lords of Satar as they direct,” Meriam’s eyes fell to the floor. “They have assigned me to duties for Lord Ewam and I uphold those the best I am able.”
“You have a new direction,” Eden enuciated each syllable of the last word. “At sun up, you serve me, my wife and daughter, and no one else. Gerde shall have your duties attending to my brother till he leaves for Noce.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
He waved his hand dismissing her and she did not waste a heartbeat to scurry away in the direction she came from. He will not have it all. His internal battle between his jealously and his faith in his brother was swaying strongly in favor of the former rather than the later. Not her too! Stumbing away, it was not until he reached the old door with scrollwork of roses intertwined with a long, slender dragon as a border that ran about six inches from the edge all the way around that he realized that this was his destination.
The knob of the door was brass and cool to the touch, the bolt inside snapped as he twisted and pushed forward across the threshold. The air inside was heavy and unused, and cobwebs hung from the corners. Crisp, white-cloth sheets covered the furniture that reflected in Old Moon’s light from the double-glass doors that led out to another balcony. Every royal apartment had its own balcony that overlook Omet.
His mother had stayed here for entirety of her marriage with Rudan Perde. Rarely had she stayed down the hall in the King’s apartment that Eden, Kendra and Evandra now shared. It was part of some unspoken, unacknowledged coldness between the two. Eden’s grandfather and the head of the House Cortobrane arranged the marriage between Rudan and his mother. Love never entered that equation. There were three rooms to this apartment, the large sitting room that the door opened to, a side room for dressing and, of course, the bed chamber.
Mother died two years into her sons’ reign and Eden had not visited the apartment since. From the looks of the place, it appeared that no one else had paid much mind to it either. It had been his intentions to move Evandra to the apartments when she became too old to stay with her parents. Eden made a note in his mind to have Meriam clean out the room in the morning. It was where he intended to spend his evenings from now on.
“Not with her!” He picked up a violet-colored vase with gold inlaid around the rim and threw it against the wall. Pulling off a sheet from a chair with oak legs and a pine green cushion, he dropped down, pressing his knuckles again to his temples. He had not been able to make out everything from the conversation between and Ewam and Kendra as they stood upon the balconies. Eden had stopped by his brother’s apartment to quell his own mind about the apparent rift between the two.
When he arrived, he was quiet in case Ewam was asleep, and continued to sneak when he heard the voices from outside on the balcony. Kendra’s voice was distant and mumbled, but Ewam’s was clear.
“He’s hiding something with her,” Ewam growled. “First the sword, now her too.”
His words echoed around the empty room with high-arched ceilings. The sound frightened him because it sounded too much like the voices that had been calling out in his head.
“How could they?” He slumped in the chair much like his brother did on a daily basis on top of his throne. There are certain paths inside a man’s soul that once he begins down them that there is no easy return. Eden Perde took not one step, but one great leap as he muttered to himself one more time. “How coud they?”
“They do not know what love is.” Eden jumped up, startled to be interrupted in the abandoned apartment. Scanning around the room, he saw nothing except that the light from Old Moon was glowing with abnormal intensity through the glass doorway leading out to the balcony.
“Who’s there?” He wished then to have carried a sword or dagger. He did not care who this was. They were going to pay the penalty of death for disturbing him. He, after all, was still King of Satar.
The balcony doors did not so much as open, but faded away in a blaring white light. A tall, slendor figure clad in a long green gown with red-brown hair flowing down past her shoulders glided in like fog over a meadow. A gold tiara with a green emerald carved in a hexagon centered in front wrapped its way around her head.
“They do not know what love is. Not like you and I know love, King Eden, light of my soul.”
“Mother.” Any other man would have rubbed his eyes in disbelief that his deceased mother was standing before them. Eden, a man following a very precarious path in his head, never doubted the image before him. Instead, he dropped to his knees believing that all before him was real. “I knew you’d return to me. I knew you would. He could not take you away, not like everything else.”
“He will take everything,” her voice was curt and cut into him like a poisoned blade.
“No.”
“He took her. That trollop, I warned you against marrying.”
“No.”
“Have you not considered how quickly she was with child after your wedding? How pleased she was?”
“Evandra is mine.”
“She resembles your brother much.”
“We’re twins, mother. We are indentical.”
“No, you are more than him, better than him. That girl is less than you.”
“It cannot be.”
“Then why no more heirs to follow? If so easy once, why not again? Why not a boy, a rightful heir to the throne?”
“She, she avoided my touch. Unitl now, that is. Now she pleads for it to quell the call.”
“Yes, the call. Seems a woman married to such a man as you, King Eden, should not feel such a call. Is your love not enough for her? I am your mother, not your wife, and my love of you is enough. I do not run to some demon, do I?”
“No, you are mine.”
“He will take everything!” The venom splattered from her lips and coated his skin.
“No! He cannot take you from me.”
“He has the sword.”
“No,” he shook his head wildly.
“He has your wife.”
“No.”
“He has your daughter.”
“No.”
“He will take everything.”
“NOT YOU! I WILL KILL HIM FIRST!”
Her lips parted in satisfaction, a wave of relief ran through him. He would do anything to see her face so again. Anything. She cupped his chin in her hand and stared deep into his eyes. He could feel her many gilded rings coolly pressing into his skin.
“Perhap, not all is lost.” She dropped to her knees. Her face glowed before his in a terrible light forcing him to close his eyes tight.
“What shall I do?” He whispered, not wanting any passing interloper to hear.
“I do not truly believe that he thinks you’ll allow him to go, at least not alone. Let him go. The demon shall handle him well enough.”
“Yes, mother. And with her.”
“Show her what love is, my son. Use her so that no other will ever go near again. Use her, King Eden, light of my life.”
“Yes, mother.”
The pulsing light eased then left. Opening his eyes, he was kneeling before the glass doors with Old Moon’s mangled face clear in the distance. He rose, straightened his jacket with his posture and left the apartment.
* * *
Kendra rolled over onto her back trying to find a position where her throbbing side did not pain her. It was too dark in the bedchamber for her to see the smear of blood her nose made across the pillow. Her entire left side burned from her waist up to her hairline.
Beside her, he muttered between snores. She did know the man. Once upon a time, she thought she knew him, if not loved him, but this was not him. Even if her heart belonged to the other, she had always respected, adored and honored him as her husband. This was not him. He would not have done this, not to her, not to anyone.
Before she could pursue the thoughts any more, the call came, starting down below where she was sure she’d be numb for a week. She was raised not to curse, but the worst she knew flowed through her mind then. The call. The blasted call craved more. The only relief came from him, the man whose very touch repulsed and now bruised her.
Forcing her right eye open, the left was not going to see for sometime, she held in a wail. Standing beside the bed in a white nightgown with tears running like a river down her eyes was Evandra.
For the first time through the entire evening, Kendra cried, the tears burned her swollen cheek. Reaching out with hand that she had to pry open, she grasped her daughter’s hand.
They stayed like that crying in the dark until daybreak.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 25 - Mayor Cortobrane
Note: I enjoyed writing this part, as I think this is one of the more despicable, yet colorful, characters that will meet in our journey. Here's the latest contest update. Again, 4's and 5's get you moved up to the second round. There have been 43 votes – 5 - 2%; 4 – 35 %; 3 – 38%; 2 – 9%; 1 – 16%. I don't really know how long you have before they cut you out or the exact percentage you need to move on. They're a little vague on that point. I'd say it's pretty good to have 75% at 3 or above. I decided to do a little test or contest of my own, by entering the first page of the first CD project. Obviously, it's a different genre, so we may get a different pool of readers. After a week, here's where "Mark of Cain" stands – 14 votes – 5 – 0%; 4 – 50%; 3 – 29%; 2 – 7%; 1 – 14%
Track 4: Old School Hollywood – System of a Down
“Standing in the sun I’m wasting my time”
His thick fingers pulled back the Cluckers dry skin, snapped the spine and a dribble of pink blood dripped out. Ahna had not cooked it to his liking. He spat once on the ground, sending one of the three servants kneeling near the table scurrying away. Ahna was to receive ten lashes when he was displeased with his meal.
There was not to be a drop of blood left in the Cluckers body when he ate each evening at sunset on the patio that looked over the gardens he had built off the west side of the Mayor’s estate. Before he had come to Stra, the west side of the estate had been quarters for servants and their families. He had them torn down, he cared not where the servants statyed now. His rules were more important.
He was to eat two Cluckers, weighing about three pounds each, every evening at sunset. There was to be three goblets of wine, one white, one red and another of the servants’ choosing, but it must be of a vintage that he had never tasted before. Near him were to be three servants, on bended knee, silent and attentive. He had signals for what he wanted done that each were to have memorized. If any part of the meal or their service was not up to standards, he spat and sent him or her away. If all three were gone by the end of the meal, then all the servants were to be lashed. Some called his demands odd, but the fact of the matter was that Randall Cortobrane simply understood exactly what he wanted.
Above all the other rules, he was not to be disturbed during his meal. That had been ruined before the first Clucker had been served when Thomas Vedder, Guild Tsar of Stra’s Civil Guard, barged onto the patio uninivited. Randall glowered at the man, knowing the oldest rule was true – “he who owns the swords, makes the rules.” Someday soon, Randall would teach Mr. Vedder and all the Guild Tsars of Stra to bend to his will and whim. The woman had promised it and he would make sure that her rare beauty would be permanently tarnished if she did not hold up her end of the bargain. He did not know how she could deliver what she had said, but he believed her.
Vedder fidgeted in front of Randall’s view of the sun as it touched the horizon. Randall winced and waved his hand for the man to move. He wore a green coat with gold stitching and dark slacks, the formal uniform of the Civil Guard. His hair was dark and flowed in waves behind his ears and his face was covered with a well-groomed brown beard. Vedder had friendly brown eyes despite being a hard man with a reputation for being vicious when necessary. Vedder was also a reknowned singer. Watching him now, Randall wondered how the man had enough composure to sing in front of a crowd much less command a legion of the Civil Guard with any semblance of success. Vedder rolled his eyes as he stepped over two feet. It eased Randall’s mind to see the sun drop. It was not madness to take solace in habit and ritual. It was not.
“Mayor Cortobrane,” Vedder started, but stopped as Randall heaved the Clucker’s carcass out into the garden. The second servant stood and ran toward the mansion. Ahna would receive another ten lashes. The man should refer to him as ‘Lord’ or, at least, ‘Sire.’ These Tsars liked flashing their own status too much.
“I do not bother you, Mr. Vedder, when you’re out carrolling in the taverns and whore’s stables,” Cortobrane broke into the seond Clucker. It was prepared well and he bit into it lustily. His appetite had never been so robust as it had been since he was basically banished to Stra by his dear cousins. He was getting fat and he knew it and didn’t care. When you ruled all, you had to be larger than the rest. The only thing he didn’t like was that he sweated like a pig at meals and the curls of his hair matted down to his head. Perhaps, he would change one rule and have a servant to fan him while he ate. A just thought, but it may be noisy and bothersome.
“Mayor, we must act,” Vedder said. “I care not for when or how you cosume your meals. The beacons of Omet have been lit for three days and yet we do not move. We are loyal to the Kings of Satar, we must answer their call.”
“Yet, you cannot,” Randall smiled. It was old law that said only the mayor could approve the marching of the Civil Guard away from the city. As openly as the Guild Tsars challenged the Mayor’s authority in every other matter, they never refused him the power that the old laws delegated to him. It was a very convenient perk to have this little string to attach to the guard and pull to him when the opportunity was ripe. Right now, it was very ripe.
“You know the mayor must call for the march,” Vedder said. “And lead it.”
Randall sank his teeth deep into the second Clucker and nearly choked hearing the man admit that he needed the mayor. This was much better entertainment than the setting sun. You’ll be singing and dancing for me soon, Mr. Vedder. You just wait and see.
“I cannot make such a call,” Randall wiped his hands on a cloth napkin and then tossed it to the ground. The servant had retrieved it by the time Randall had picked another napkin from the precisely folded stack on the table. “It would not be prudent.”
“It would not be prudent to ignore the Kings’ call,” Vedder grew more agitated. “We must not risk retribution.”
“Do not bother yourself with the Kings of Satar,” Randall nearly choked again, trying to spit out that Eden and that brute of brother, Ewam, Perde had control of the entire kingdom. Not even the Perdes knew how old the Cortobrane line ran. It was older than the Perdes and more deserving of the throne, but tradition had kept him from assuming the seat. The damn Perdes had held that position too long. It was time for the Cortobranes to lead Satar. The world would quake in his footsteps. “I am in the good graces of my dear cousins. They will understand that I cannot leave the city defenseless in such times.”
Vedder’s eyebrows rose. Cortobrane knew what was happening when the sun went down in the city. Folks were turning up missing every morning. Those that were eventually found were in pieces that were hardly recognizable save for a strip of clothing or a piece of jewelry. He knew that the citizenry was losing faith in the Civil Guard Guild and that meant the Guild was losing faith in Thomas Vedder. The man needed an anchor for his authority.
“Tell the Guild, that if the beacons remain lit in a week, we will offer aid to our brothers in Omet. In that time, you will secure the city at night so that no more of our fine people are lost.”
Vedder’s face was a bright red that glowed even in the waning light. He was being usurped. Coming here had been a fatal mistake for this Guild Tsar, in doing so, he had unintentionally forfeited all his control to the man he despised more than any other. Vedder’s head bowed slightly and he stalked off.
Randall hummed as he finished the second Clucker and noticed that the last servant was wearing a grin also. Without saying a word, Cortobrane spat twice on the ground. The servant’s eyes bulged before running off. The man, really no more than a boy, was to recieve 50 lashes along with the rest of the staff. Servants were to be mute unless required to speak and deaf unless ordered to hear. The boy had better learn that.
He took a gulp from all three goblets, not bothering to savor the taste of any of the wines. The sun was all but gone and the garden was full of shadows. Torches were lit sporadically on sidewalks and off the corners of the mansion, but they did not give great light. The dark raised his nerves; he knew very well what was going on in the night of Stra.
Almost on cue, one of the shadows started to take on form and move toward where the first Clucker’s carcass had landed in the grass. It was too dark to make out a figure other then paws and a thickset jaw. The crack of bones followed curlting his stomach, and he jumped when a pair of icy fingers touched his neck.
“You did well, Master Cortobrane,” the woman walked around behind him as his heart raced.
“Curses and graves, woman!” He coughed to cover up that he had nearly screamed. He never knew when she was going to show up or how. His skin tingled where she had touched and he lusted for her touch to return. He had already decided if she held up her end of the bargain then he would make her queen. She was suitable for the spot, and even though he had never had much use for women, her company was something he very much desired.
“Did I frighten you Master Cortobrane, “ he loved the way his name rolled off her tongue. “The way you handled that young bull, I did not think anything could frighten you.” She sat down across from him, which left him disappointed. Two nights earlier, she had sat upon his lap. The thought of it sent blood to his head and elsewhere. All the extra work made his heart hurt pumping so hard. He really needed to cutback on his meals.
“Just surprised me my dear, that’s all,” he waved away his anxiety, but the fear never completely vanished around her or her cohorts. “The boy wants to answer the beacons, and I must say, he’s not the only one that’s been after me about it. Even the servants are talking and that I cannot have”
“Soon you’ll move the Guard, Master Cortobrane, soon,” she reached across the table, those big green eyes flashed his way. She could have told him anything at that point. He pulled away trying to keep his wits. No woman would make him some cow-eyed idiot.
“No matter, I could care less about aiding Eden and Ewam Perde,” Randall found a leftover bun in basket next to his plate and bit into it. It was cold and hard, but it had been sitting there too long to blame that on the servants. He studied the woman, as he had all three times that he had met with her. She had shown up a little over a week ago, in his bedchamber of all places, and started negotiating conditions for a bargain he had never thought would come his way. She had powerful friends that much was clear, and although they did not reveal themselves as much more than figures in the shadows, he could tell they could accomplish things through stealth that he could not through authority. So he bargained with the woman, and now, he could not help being enamored with her.
“Do you know the history of Stra after the spilling of the Belnor, Master Cortobrane,” the woman asked? It occurred to him then that he still did not know her name.
“It was a refuse for those loyal to Isa trying to escape the influx of those from Besa after the flood,” Randall shrugged; he had studied the history of Satar along with every other child in the noblility. Stra was the eldest city in Satar. Its only other distinction was the Guilds that made his life hell.
“Very true,” the woman smiled. “They were a group very loyal to the old kingdom. Everyone who felt strong loyalty to Isa flocked to Stra and worked their way into the Guilds.”
“What does any of this matter?”
“Old loyalties die hard.”
Her eyes flickered over his shoulder and a black robed figure stalked up behind him. He rose, grabbing at a dagger in his belt, but the figure’s hand shot out and forced him back down. He was sure the fingers had been green. The firgure carried a burlap sack thats contents rattled as he dropped it on the table. The figure left then and vanished in the shadows of the garden.
“Go ahead, look inside.” She flashed those eyes again.
He hesitated; worrying that there may be remains or something worse hidden in the bag. Slowly, he lifted the top and undid the drawstrings. Opening it up, he wrinkled his forhead trying to see inside. Reaching in, his hand latched onto something heavy and metal and pulled it out.
It was a silver breastplate, with a dragon’s face of green and black painted across the front. He knew what that insignia was. He put that down on the table and reached back into the bag. He withdrew a gold crown with a giant emerald as its center stone. He set that by the breastplate and dropped the empty sack to the ground.
“What do these old relics have to do with anything,” Randall was starting to doubt their deal. “My family has hundreds of old Isa breastplates and such at our estate in the country. They even have some from Besa. I don’t need any more for the collection.” He said it all, and meant it, except for the crown. That was something he would not mind keeping.
“Fool,” she laughed at him. “Do you not know what you’re looking at? This is the crown and breastplate for the King of Isa.”
“So?”
“The crown we found in one Guild Tsar’s home, the breastplate in another,” she went on. “All here in Sta.”
“None of this is worth anything. Isa is gone. This is the kingdom of Satar.” He stood up to leave. She jumped to her feet and slapped him fast across the face, leaving burning streaks of pain across his fat cheek. He recoiled from her and again thought about the blade at his hip. He never reached for it remembering how fast the robed figure had appeared then vanished into the shadow. He didn’t think he’d even draw the dagger before the figure was atop him.
“Oh, Master Cortobrane, if you ever want to be King, you’re going to have to start seeing around corners better,” she put her hand back up to his face and the pain drained from him. “If the crown and the breastplate are here, then what of real value may also be in Stra?”
Randall was still thinking about the slap and then the disappearance of his pain when he realized what she was getting at. Stra housed all of the remnants of the King of Isa.
“The sword,” he was almost hoarse from excitement and fear.
“Fangen,” the name of the ancient sword came out like a melody on her voice.
“Where?” He made two fists and held them before her. “Where?”
She smirked and turned away from him. He grabbed her arm, as he did he could feel them all around him. Figures in dark robes that clung to the darkness and then the others, those were not robed and not men. He could not bear to look in their direction.
“Remember our agreemant, our plan, Master Cortbrane,” she eyed his hand as he let go.
“Aye.”
“Good.”
“Where?”
That smirk returned to her face.
“It is the old rule is it not? He who owns the sword makes the rules.”
She walked away then leaving him for a moment confused. It occurred to him then. Mr. Thomas Vedder and the Civil Guard were going to get a visit from Mayor Randall Cortobrane very soon.
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