Chapel Orahamm's Blog, page 6

Agatha Christie: And Then There Were None

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First published back in 1939, Agatha Christie’s book And Then There Were None – originally under the name Ten Little N*(I am not putting that in print, this book has issues), then changed to Ten Little Indians to be just ever so slightly less controversial – is a murder mystery in the strangest sense of the word.

It was giving me Murder By Death without the humour vibes for a hot minute.

But let’s get back to the blaring issue of that first sentence I just wrote. That’s…that’s a thing. That’s a problematic thing.

So, how did I go about reading this thing? I read a released copy that came out in the last couple of years, where all the racist crap has been scrubbed out. The rhyme and the little statues at least. Now, there were a couple of elements left in without the problematic words that hints at the dismissive tone of all the individuals on this barren rock of a locked door murder mystery for their fellow man. That was sort of the point of the murder part of this mystery, but more to the fact, all the characters are white, or at least presented in such a white British tone that the only one I had to wonder after – the wait staff, if the term brown used was to reference the wait staff as people of color, or people who had been in the sun a bit more. But the wife of the wait staff was described as a ghostly white, scared almost witless, so that doesn’t quite work out. Then again, the setting is Devon in the UK and white British folk could give the color of flour in rain a run for their money.

The rest of the ‘guests’ were not outright rude or demeaning to them, but there were some throw away lines about one man’s service in Africa that’ll make you flinch if you have the understanding that a publishing industry has deemed this book so important to keep in print that they had an editing team scrub it into political correctness rather than wash their hands of the problematic thing.

My assumption, in looking at the prior titles to this book, is that the use of the derogatory term for Africans reflected the murderer’s cruel interpretation of the guests being inhuman…I’m not sure how to write that better, but for the time the book was written, quite a great many white people looked at African populations within their communities as unsavoury criminals. When the title changed to using the word Indian, it would appear that the tone shifted from criminal to ‘savage’ – despicable word to be used, but I do believe that was the tone they were after in their metaphor. Changing it yet again, this time to Soldier took away that derogatory tone, which made the nursery rhyme and the metaphor the killer was going for a bit lost. There were military folk on the guest list, but not enough to make it a fully rounded metaphor for criminals, crooks, violent individuals. Neither of the preexisting titles should be excused, I just wanted to point out what the metaphor was probably reaching for with them in the first place.

I wanted to know if the prose were any decent. Agatha Christie was known for her writing during World War II and quite a good many stories kept the boys in trenches and the wives at home entertained and provided an escape for a moment. She was of a time and a place. Is that any excuse? No, I don’t think so. People raised within a certain section of society were being introduced more and more text that was treating marginalized people *vaguely* better. I say that and the two authors that come to mind are Mark Twain – many say his stories are racist. His prose were of a time, but his presentation and themes were that of expressing and exposing to his white audiences the humanity of African Americans in 1884 as seen through the eyes of a white protagonist. Alright, that’s…a few decades from Agatha Christie, and his books had made it over to the UK. The other one that came to mind was Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, but looking that up, it was published back in the 60s, so that isn’t a good reference.

Okay, I keep trying to come back to speaking on the prose, setting, character development. One last time: The story historically had problems. If your morals say you don’t want to read problematic things, then do not read this. The prose were not revolutionary in any capacity by which to warrant the use of as a paltry excuse.

Now, I tried reading a used copy of this book a couple years back. That copy I used was paperback and still used ‘Indian’ for the rhyme and statues. If you think back to Disney’s Peter Pan, there was this time during the Edwardian Era, Great War, and World War II era where British and American white audiences were still fascinated with the exploration and bringing God to the native people’s trope or just putting them in side shows because they didn’t acknowledge their humanity. Right, tangent again.

Anyways, the prose in the ebook version I read was much easier to follow along. The formatting from the used paperback was just odd. I’m so used to internal dialogue being italics at this point that the indented dashes were uncomfortable.

Fantastic is utilized in a different sense of the word in the same way aweful is different in it’s usage now too. Take that one with a grain of salt if you do take this on.

Christie was managing ten characters in a short time frame, so there isn’t a remarkable amount of character development. I think my main issue with them is the way they all spoke and thought were not distinctly different enough for my taste. This is a short read, though. A dime store novel so to speak. There can’t be depth or reflection, growth, or much else. My sticking point came about by death number five where I found myself staring at a paragraph a bit lost because I thought the guy speaking had already died. The women had a bit of difference, but there were two pairs of men that both were similar in their mannerisms and disposition that it felt contrived to have gone with ten characters for the sake of a racist nursery rhyme and would have probably been better served with just five characters and inventing a significantly less problematic poem.

The setting took some time to pin down. I never could formulate a full map of the house and grounds in my head. There were introductions of outbuildings later in the story that would have benefited the reader early on to understand. The interior design elements also would have been nice to know quite a bit earlier. I had built up in my head a 1930s mansion in the theme of Katherine Hepburn’s private estate – a revamping of the Victorian into Art Deco. Instead, the way it was discussed later as “modern”, and well lit with few shadows, with ‘no atmosphere’, my brain went straight over to mid-century mod (which I know is almost two decades after the book was written). I would like a better description of what she meant by modern for that time frame. And if it was meant to be 1930s time frame.

One character was in possession of a car that could reach speeds of 80 miles an hour at the time, and there were accusations with dates listed between the ’15-20’s. The house had been on the island for some time, so my best bet was a setting of 1930s. Maybe something akin the brutalist architecture – but that was the 1950s-1980s. Alright, back to the drawing board – I went over to brutalism with the thought of maybe she meant modern in the same way the main character in The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand wanted to design architecture. That book was published in 1943, though.

The mystery side of the murders had a pattern, until it didn’t in one very specific point, and then it returned back to the regular pattern. That would be the only hint. Do read the epilogue if you do read the book – it sums everything up pretty cleanly and you’ll probably be mad at yourself for spotting the pattern shift and wondering why it happened.

Also, I didn’t know canned beef tongue was a meal option. I think I’m good not revisiting some recipes from the past.

Conclusion time: is it worth while? In a strange way, it might be a quick read for historical presentation of the early murder mystery dime store novel. Is it necessary as a ‘teacher’s pick’ book?…Mmmmmm…no, I don’t think so. If you want people to deal with moral dilema and feeling unsettled, point them at Fitzgerald and Steinbeck. Those’ll both make the reader hate jazz and depression era literature, but with more depth. It’s the difference between disliking an off-brand soda and hating a forty year old vintage wine. One is cheap, quick to drink, and will give you indigestion. The other one will stick around, make you a bit emotional, but you recognize the work involved.

Am I going to read the rest of Christie? Maybe. I’m working through another problematic book – Dracula, at the moment. I have found from the Jewish author’s community I’ve listened to, that the book is or at least themes within it are anti-Semitic in nature. I would like to have a better grasp of context, and I’m in a Gothic stories mood. Will I gripe about that one too? Most assuredly yes.

In a way, I want to read the problematic books, so I have a better understanding about the content, to do the historical research for the time frame they were written in and the nature of the author for my own person understanding behind the current socio-political movements that are layering on top of the material.

This probably has something to do with how I went about getting a degree in Art History and History with a minor in sociology because of my life motto: Art does not happen in a vacuum. There is history, culture, religion, current events, social oppression and a wide variety of other factors that can make up both an art piece and a story. I want to understand the depth behind it.

My last thought:

Agatha Christie’s prose come across as a British middle class lady’s armchair observations of murder and intrigue. I.E. give a Kardashian a month to watch true crimes documentaries and cold case files and ask her to write a book. (I realize Kardashians aren’t middle class – but the allegory still holds in my mind.)

Ko-Fi

Stories have a place to live!

Hey,

When I took down all the stories from here, I had a few people ask me if I could load up pdfs for download or at least tell them where I had put them so they could continue reading them over again. A) That made me feel really good to know people really wanted to keep reading them. B)Boy, do I hate formatting.

So, I tried putting them on Vella – but Amazon will not let Fyskar load on their site because they say I had it as a physical copy once and can’t serialize it. I find it funny that they do that just with Fyskar, but had no problem with me publishing the other books on it when I’ve done the same with those in the past. I did tear those down and made them unavailable everywhere, but Amazon said that wouldn’t be enough.

Anyways, I sent their department a notice to pull all the chapters off that I spent the last week loading on there and pivoted.

You can now find my books on Wattpad. I am working to upload all of them. As of the writing of this post I have Fyskar and Subject15 fully on there as complete stories. It will probably take me another week to get the other books on it.

It would be absolutely epically awesome if those who enjoyed reading the stories back when I had them on here would be willing to go poke WattPad with stars or views or whatever it is they use to show that people are interested in the stories so that the algorithm will show the stories to other people.

I really do hope having them somewhere where people are more likely to run into the stories and interact with them will help me with my writer’s block.

Anyways, hope that helps!

New Products at Bub’s Trading Post

Main point: There are new products at my booth in Bub’s Trading Post in Sapulpa, Oklahoma.

Longer discussion about my life and all that stuff:

My folks found the other two panels to the grate thing I’ve had stored in my barn for near on a decade now. It was a room divider we used for something when I was a kid – don’t ask me for what, I can’t remember at this point. I’m just surprised they had the other two panels in their attic. Anyways, dad got those two down for me and I was able to set up the full room divider at my booth. My SO had the brilliant idea to screw little cup hooks to the back of clothes pins and crimp them around the wire on the room divider and that’s how I’ve got all the products attached. I thought it was rather brilliant, honestly.

I think from last week, I sold two towels and a beanie. At least those were what were missing from last week’s picture to this week’s picture. I didn’t feel like harassing the lady running the store to check the sale tags. I’ll find out official sales numbers in the beginning of October.

Currently, I have a lot of my beanies and scarves taken off of Etsy – only because they really weren’t getting much of a hit on the ads. I feel like there are a lot of beanie & scarf makers already on that market. But, in store – I think that might work a little better. Maybe. We’ll have to see. Bub’s is a discount and thrift store, not necessarily a craft store – so my products are a little bit of an outlier. There are a pair of people who do sublimation cups and mugs – so, there are some new products. We’ll have to see. It’s a small shop, but I think I’m going to prefer that for a long while yet as I get used to stocking and seeing how demand works out for me. Ideally, I would have booths in multiple consignment shops in my area and that would give me options, but for now, financially at least, I need to focus on this one IRL booth, the Etsy shop, and getting this website up off the ground. My long term dream goal: to open up a shop in Eureka Springs, Arkansas or Santa Fe, New Mexico in the arts district where tourists can walk in and buy all kinds of embroidered goods with sarcastic and funny sayings. Most of my patterns are on a cottage industry license, so I won’t be able to keep using them at that point, but by the time I need an actual store front, I should have the digitized software mastered, right?

Oh, and I took on a receptionist job for a traveling vet for a few hours a week to supplement reinvestment income into getting a better machine for the embroidery business. I would like to move over into sweaters and baseball hats – but that machine is going to be near on $6K and the software I’m wanting is going to be upwards of $1k to do digitization embroidery designs. Let’s just be real here and recognize that I am not going to be able to make enough materials with my little Brother PE500 and Sentro knitting machine to be able to afford either of those things for a couple of years otherwise.

This is also nice because it keeps my resume relevant and puts away a consistent, if small sum, into my social security. I know there are a lot of people saying that it will be dried up by the time I retire. However, seeing family suddenly face financial difficulties because their spouse put into social security, but they didn’t and the spouse has passed on…yeah, that was a reality check hard.

Alright, so that’s a booth set up, an Etsy shop running, a new part time job…oh yeah, I also added in walking 1-2 miles 3-4 times a week and going to the rock climbing gym 2-3 times a week. That one I’m really enjoying, even if I’m not all that great. That will take time, though. Now if only it would cool off for a bit so I can go camping.

Next project is to figure out how to integrate Stripe and Square together so I can take orders on this website. Wish me luck.

Rented a booth

I stepped out of my comfort zone yesterday and did something really big. I walked into a trading post and rented a booth space for my products. I had been determined to only sell on Etsy since starting this thing. I deeply detest talking to people in real life. As someone with a nuerospiciness, I find masking uncomfortable.

I might blame it on the rock climbing 3-4 days a week, which is forcing me to talk to people to understand bouldering problems.

Anyways. It’s a tiiiiny little store called Bub’s Trading Post in Sapulpa, Oklahoma. I’m hoping to have more shelving for my little corner sometime this weekend. I think this will be a good compromise. I’m not dealing with a busy craft mall where product would move too fast for me to keep up with my easy-bake-oven version of a sewing machine. The person running the store said they would be moving over to a larger building in a couple of months, so this will give me that time to figure out if there is even an irl market. At least the owner was cool with me putting up lgbtq+ materials, which is relieving, because it tanks my algorithm on Etsy every time I put those pieces up and I really want to make more of it.

So…yeah… that’s me and the progress of Iris Basin Homestead.

Changing Website

For those of you who have been following me for the last several years:

I am taking down my website, at least all of the posts and pages, in order to recycle it into my embroidered tea towel business. My writing and editing just never paid off for me to pursue it. And, being honest, I need to be putting away into social security and retirement and writing isn’t going to do that for me. So, here I am, wishing you all well and it’s been fun, but I need this website for other things because paying for a separate site is just not in the financial cards.

I do hope someone at least liked one or two of my stories out there. If you did, could you leave a comment on this to let me know the last few years of my writing life weren’t completely in vain.

Working on Other Projects

I’ve been pretty spotty on here for months now. I’m in a phase of life where getting solid time to concentrate on writing and letting a world build up in my head is almost impossible. I’ve been trying to get an at home business off the ground (with low success) so that I can contribute to my social security and have some marketable skills – because editing, writing, and drawing are going the way of the AI monster.

I started up an Embroidered Tea Towel business. I use 100% cotton tea towels that wash up very well and dry quick enough. I use a mix of polyester and cotton embroidery thread on a little brother pe500 I picked up off eBay. I’m hoping to move over to using just cotton thread – but those can be kind of expensive.

I wanted to share what was going on. I still have the stories living in my head, but in-real-life is pretty slipshod this year. We lost my SO’s cat to kidney failure two weeks before we lost SO’s father to oesophagal cancer that was probably related to the chemicals used for farming he was exposed to for decades. There was a lot of drama after that and it’s been months of helping SO’s mother get the farm reset so that she can manage it. In the last month, my cat has entered into kidney failure (which makes for a set of expensive medications) and one of our dogs needed to have all of her teeth capped because of enamel hypoplasia.

It’s…it’s been much.

And I’m over here just hoping to hear my phone ding or an Etsy order so that I can start contributing to the household income while dealing with homeschooling and maintaining the house. My mother-in-law has told me to go do the craft show circuit in my state. This is well meant, but the cost of folding tables, tablecloths, business promotion material, and even a card reader are just not quite within our budget right now especially not after the $6k bill for the animals that happened in August.

With all that said, this is my Etsy shop and I do hope you find something that intrigues you. I have Teacher, Nurse, Christmas, and Halloween material alongside a variety of other themes. I do hope to get back into writing my stories this fall. With luck, things will calm down.

IRIS BASIN HOMESTEAD

Skull Dansuer world build

I’ve sat down today to really look at what I want of Skull Dansuer. The same goes for Gods of Fire. GoF I want to be a scifi epic. Skull Dansuer I want a high fantasy epic. And that is a challenge. I find political intrigue and infighting to be a challenge. Some people really understand how to pull these types of strings.

So, today I am world-building. To what end, I’m not entirely sure. But I figured I’d share that I’ve got a continent and its provinces.

Continent: Thaldive

Aimagvik (snow country)Sikinik (snow country)Qahila (desert)Sarab (desert)Pa Si Kheiyw (rainforest)Fang (ocean side)Intuneric (moors & marshes)Mlastina Sumbra (moors & marshes)Pyrtulok Polya (Agriculture)Athi Paci Zhudse (Mountains)Kaxe (Plains)Royal MetropolisDinistr (Land of the ancients)

13 Royal Households

Anic & Akawi (Adita’s sister) – AimagvikApaata & Daryna (Fedir’s sister) – SikinikHadi (not married) – QahilaTariq & Taqqiq (Apaata’s sister) – SarabChakrii & Wichahpi (from Athi Paci Zhudse) – Pa Si KheywNiran (not married) – FangCiprian & Kaya (Apaata’s sister) – IntunericLaurentiu & Najak (from Sikinik) – Mlastina SumbraFedir & Sherifa (Hadi’s sister) – Pyrtulok PolyaAdita & Chailai (Charii’s sister) – Athi Paci ZhudseChayton & Dalal (Hadi’s sister) – KaxeMael & Tsumugi (Rowan’s mother) – Royal MetropolisRowan & Tanwyn – Dinistr

22 Tribes

Tatqeq – Aimaavik, People of the MoonKallik – Sikinik, People of the LightningJamra – Qahila, People of the FireMashi Alrimal – Sarab, People of the SandPhgyu – Pa Si Kheiyw, People of the StormChannarong – Pa Si Kheiyw, People of the WarriorsDara – Pa Si Kheiyw, Women of the Evening StarKriang Sak – Pa Si Kheiyw, Men of LifeThale Pa – Fang, People of the SeaCopac Corb – Intuneric, People of the CrowApa Dulce – Intuneric, People of Sweet WaterGoliciunea – Intuneric, People of EmptinessCeata – Mlastina Sumbra, People of the FogZalyznyy Kulak – Pyrtulok Polya, People of the Iron FistSonyashnyk – Pyrtulok Polya, People of the FlowersNonnunge – Athi Paci Zhudse, People who RunNeyati – Athi Paci Zhudse, People of the LakeWashiska Ati – Athi Paci Zhudse, People of the BrookMakhpia Luta – Kaxe, People of the Red CloudOhanzee – Kaxe, People of the ShadowRugoushi – People of the BeastsRhedegog – People of the Runes

Now to figure out kinship links beyond what I’ve determined, what resources are available, some religions, and why there needs to be political intrigue. A dictionary of terms may become necessary soon too. I probably also need to distribute not only the royal households but smaller land holders. That and important merchants, military personnel, etc….oh boy.

At least I’m finally getting one of these world builds figured out. Right?

Captain’s Log: Red Sea Witch

Day 2 in a Red Sea Witch bay

Dark and stormy nights they said. Maelstroms and typhoons they warn about. Anything and everything that can tear the sails and overload the bilge pump. What they don’t warn you about are the crosses along the shores. The ones far and away from any proper lighthouse. There you find the graveyards. Towering masts bleached white from the sea. Limp rope colonized by algae and decay.

I had the ill luck of finding myself floating near one of these desolate patches. A storm like any other, one that had no use for my attention that I had left to the lueftenant in charge, had somehow gotten away from us. Blown us from our course and clear off the map. The land mass we found ourselves against had not been charted by any cartography our monarch felt fit to pay.

Or maybe we are dead and don’t realize it yet. You don’t see a red sea witch unless you’ve perished. Out to sea is Davy’s domain. Here against the beach head is up for grabs. A lighthouse keeper would have your body taken to the kirk for a proper plot. Sea witches, they bury you between the worlds. Feet below the waterline, head toward the land. And that is limbo. Never in one or the other. Left to wander the shores wishing to watch the waves tack below you. Never to enter the forests and groves, but to see the trees from a distance.

The wind has calmed and left us here, stuck in a bay filled with crosses and gutted ships. The sun came and went twice and now we wait. Wait for wind, wait for rain, wait for her.

Day 3 in a Red Sea Witch bay

The lueftenant brought me news this morn while I consulted yet another useless map. A person has hailed us from the beach. Long hair and tattered clothes might mean they’re a survivor of a downed ship. Sailors were sent out in a rowboat to make contact. With luck on our side, we may just find out where we are.

Following up on the person:

Sea witch to be exact, and a man of all things. This is his bay. And I am lucky to get my sailors back. Though he did send back a bottle of brandy and a satchel of coconuts. He left a note in a script I have no hopes of deciphering. I will be gathering the crew at supper to pass it around. One of these new hires might know it.

After supper:

Of all the people who would recognize it, it would be the Parson, wouldn’t it? He knew the language from his time as a missionary. The sea witch left note that he would check his library for a map of the area.

Day 4 in a Red Sea Witch bay

The sailors sent to meet with the sea witch have not been added to the beach graveyard. I had feared pestilence and set a watch on them once it was known that the island resident was a Red Sea Witch. I must face even my small suspicion of the supernatural and step foot on this cursed shore. The sea witch has scrolls to share.

Day 5

Four knots out from that creepy bay and I am pleased to report that we have survived the encounter with a sea witch. I don’t think I would disregard the warnings just because of one man, but he was helpful. He gave us a scroll to navigate our way out and around this island. The shole was a terrible keel cutter if ever there was one. He also provided us with a series of papers of ship names. Some have people’s names on them. He wanted us to take them back to report them lost so the family could have peace.

With no kirk in sight and no way to keep bodies from floating back to the beach, maybe a sea witch’s duty isn’t to keep a spirit trapped in limbo, but to give them both worlds, even if it is on a thin strip between.

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2024. All Rights Reserved.

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Skull Dansuer: Chapter 6

xr:d:DAEt-v5vZzU:59,j:33860536861,t:22082716

“If you aren’t gonna work, get out. Don’t come back!” Vessa hissed at Farrow as she yanked away the bowl in front of Rowan.

I scrambled to my feet, heart racing in fear at dealing with a confrontation. Rowan sighed, like he was used to it. Farrow regarded Vessa with an unamused frown.

“Sit down, Tanywyn. No need to light the place on fire.” Rowan chewed on his last bite of food while regarding the furious woman. Her gaze swung to me and sallowed at the blue drops falling from my fingers to fizzle in the straw. Farrow shrugged and rose, dropping his apron and towel on the table.

“It’s not worth the fight, Rowan. Come on. Sick of this dump anyway. Can’t keep the skivvers out of the backroom.” He said the last part loud enough to alert the patrons who were watching the confrontation. Some pushed their plates away. I guess rats in the kitchen were a universal issue.

“Get out before you burn us to death, Yuvat!” Vessa pointed me to the door.

Farrow clapped a hand on my shoulder and steered me out with Rowan following on his heels. With the door closed behind us, we were confronted with the night and a neon-colored dark sky pinpricked with angry red dots.

“Sorry about that, Farrow. Figured I’d been able to eat there enough times that I was accepted. Looks like she finally just snapped.”

The redhead shrugged, a smile broad on his lips. “Nothing to apologize for, Rowan. Her husband left her this morning for a young slip in the next village. He’s the only thing that kept her from tossing you out to begin with. He liked Rugoshi folk. Said they were just like any other and coin was the same coming from your palm as the next guy.”

“Thanks,” Rowan gave a sheepish, lopsided smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes.

“Sorry about her,” Farrow turned to me. “Calling you that was uncalled for.”

“A yuvat? What is that?” I caught his eye and he discovered I had a hard stare.

He swallowed nervously, his smirk dropping. “A-uh. A, um…”

“What do you know of creatures of curses? Things that live in darkness and leave behind maladies and sickness. Beings that are persecuted by the church for creating lasting evil.”

“A demon?” I guessed.

“Still need that scroll. But if the word fits. It’s not something to be randomly calling people, let alone saying out loud like that. You might as well summon one, calling it that.”

“Do you use a different word to reference one of these beasts?”

“A froast. A fire-host. She probably just said it because of your fire drops. That’s probably all it was,” Rowan offered.

“Just fire drops. Rowan, you’re blind if you think that was all. We’ve had fire-drop weilders. Do any of their eyes glow gold?” His tone was friendly, but he had twisted around and put himself in Rowans face. It felt like a threat. “Wanna tell me really, who’s your friend here, Rowan? And let’s not make it too many words, yeah?” His personality had shifted from friendly busboy to civil rage.

“Tanywyn. I already introduced you.” Rowan’s smile had more teeth than necessary.

“Eh-huh, and I eat laplace as a delicacy. You wanted that intel on that mole in your garrison, you cough up who this fella is or else I believe you’re in on it too.”

“Mole? In on it?” I asked.

Rowan grabbed Farrow around the back of the neck, clamped a hand over his mouth, and hauled him behind The Inkwell and kept walking. Farrow didn’t put up much of a fight, but watched the man carefully as I tagged along behind. A man in a black robe behind one of the crystal trees and another lying on top of a roof watched our progress. “You wanna be flayed alive, huh, Sparrow? Shut up,” Rowan growled.

“Don’t stop here if this is supposed to be kept quiet.” I nodded toward the tree. Rowan waited on me to elaborate. “Everything is see-through and there’s a guy behind the tree and one on the roof there.” I pointed. A subtle movement had the man dropping behind the ridge line, but I could still see him spread across the slate.

He nodded and pressed the redhead through the shadows. The forest at the end of the field swallowed us into its dull kaleidoscopic hues. “You’re an idiot, Farrow. That is exactly how you get yourself killed. If not for Tanywyn here, you and me would both be dead.”

“That’s just it, Rowan. Until today, you’ve never spoke about this fella, and here you are taking his word for it. You can’t possibly trust him. This is dangerous. He’s probably hiding something.” Farrow’s rage was escaping civility in tone.

Rowan let out a fed-up sigh. “Tanywyn. Got any Manders?”

I raised an eyebrow and looked around at the trees. They were less prevalent in this section of the forest. “Nope, but you could tell me what this thing is,” I reached into the heart of a massive amethyst tree that contained a gold-glowing egg-shaped rock. Pulling it out, the tree leaves shrivelled and dropped on me. The amethyst shade seeped out its roots and turned murky, smoky quarts.

Rowan and Farrow stared at me in horror. “I’m guessing that was the heart of the tree then. Well, um, here,” I shoved it back into the tree and the colour, like molasses, slowly crept back up the trunk.

Farrow and Rowan both drew in a steadying breath and exchanged the same raised eyebrow with each other. Farrow was the first to speak. “You-,” he coughed, “You found yourself a sorcerer?”

“Were the fire drops not enough to convince you back there?” Rowan asked.

“He bloody well just yanked a core out of a fezah ancient and you ask about fire drops? Are you sure he’s not a froast?” Farrow’s voice cracked.

“That’s what this tree is called? A fezah ancient. Hopefully, I didn’t kill the poor thing. There are a few more around here, but not all of them have, you called it a core, right?” I asked.

“Allow me torevise that. You found a sorcerer who sounds like he dropped out of the sky.”

“Well…” Rowan gave him a look that said he wasn’t far off.

“He’s a froast,” Farrow concluded.

“I beg your pardon, I’m not a demon. I’m confused. But not a demon. This is what happens when you get soul-swapped in the middle of a dance routine,” I grouched.

Farrow blinked as he parsed what I’d said. “Soul swap?”

“Uh, yeah. So, Farrow, you remember my younger step-brother, right?”

“Wallace, the bedridden prince. No one’s seen him since he was eight or something. Why?”

“So, this is my stepbrother’s body. He sort of soul swapped with a woman from,” he turned to me, “where’d you say you were from again?”

“New York, Earth.” I folded my arms across my chest to stare the pair down.

“Right, soul swapped this woman from New York, and now he’s there in her body, and she’s here in his body.”

“No she about it. Was genderqueer then, still genderqueer now. I prefer he/him, but I will take they. Nothing sets the dysphoria off worse than calling me ma’am,” I seethed.

“Gold eyes. Gold eyes, Rowan,” Farrow dragged Rowan away to point at my face.

“Huh. Well, that’s interesting. Going to scare a good deal of people with that look, Tanywyn.” Rowan dislodged the redhead clinging to his shoulder.

“Are you sure this isn’t your stepbrother pranking you?” Farrow chirped.

“Pretty positive. Had a nice conversation with him in a mirror earlier. Definitely him. So, Farrow, let’s try this again. Tanywyn, this is one of my retainers, Farrow Sisxuh. Farrow, this is Tanywyn, probably going to be the most powerful sorcerer of our time.”

“Powerful?” Farrow and I both stammered.

“You didn’t see what he did earlier, Farrow, but he commands Manders,”

“Oh, no, I just saw him pull a core out of an ancient and put it back like taking a book off a shelf. I do believe powerful. I’m just not sure you understand. Are you sure he’s not some reincarnated Froast Lord? Was he like this in his other world?”

Rowan turned that quest to me.

I shook my head vigorously. “I couldn’t even be a lead dancer. I barely got my shot at being a backup.”

“Dancer?” If Farrow raised his eyebrow any higher it might fly away.

“Dancer,” Rowan nodded.

“Ballet!” I quipped.

Farrow frowned, looking me up and down. “The most powerful sorcerer to randomly appear in our world was a dancer?” His tone on that last word sent chills down my spine.

“What, are dancers a bad thing?” I hissed.

“At least you probably don’t have anything communicable if you just hopped into the bedridden prince’s body,” Farrow let his disgust show.

I slugged him. He fell back on his butt, startled. Blinking up at me, his mouth gaped open as he struggled to formulate a reply. “Fuck you.” I walked into the forest.

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2024. All Rights Reserved.

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Skull Dansuer: Chapter 5

xr:d:DAEt-v5vZzU:59,j:33860536861,t:22082716

The pub was a quiet, warm affair, more comfortable than I would have assumed on first passing the place. Rowan slid into a chair near to a smokeless fireplace and motioned me to the opposing overstuffed monstrosity masquerading as something akin to a loveseat.

A woman, heavily curved and exhausted around the edges wove her way through the mixture of furnishings to drop a pitcher and pair of cups on the side table next to me before casting a contemptuous gaze at Rowan. “What’ll it be, sir?” She turned the question back to me.

“He’s ordering for me tonight; I’m just visiting.” I motioned to Rowan, deflecting from making a fool of myself and making her stop pointedly dismissing him.

“I’ll get it, Nina!” A soft male voice called from the counter, disrupting the repulsed woman.

“Thank you, Farrow! Can’t be letting the rolls burn.” The woman turned quickly away from us and switched with a young man with a stunning shade of red hair.

“Hey, Rowan. Sorry about that. Didn’t see you come in.” The man’s footsteps were dove-soft on the wood floors as he padded up to us.“Who you got here? New recruit for your dad’s command?” The man nodded my way.

“Of a sort. Tanywyn, this is Farrow. He knows all the good gossip, has the best connections, and knows when the beer on tap has gone flat before it reaches me.” Rowan shook Farrow’s hand with a broad smile for the man. The look Farrow returned had me wondering if the man was maybe a bit partial to Rowan.

“Tanywyn. Nice name. Hope you’re on for slogging it. The king’s command isn’t a picnic in Blevere.” Farrow took out a slate and chalk and motioned to Rowan.

“Two pots of garren and a pitcher of leroda.” Rowan fished a bag from his hip and took out a pair of coins to drop in Farrow’s hand.

“Can do. Just give me a minute. Gotta get Nina out of the kitchen.”

“I’d rather not find a werebut in my garren again, that’d be nice. That, and your cooking’s better anyway.” Rowan leaned back into his chair and crossed his feet.

“You know sweet talking me doesn’t get you a discount, right?” Farrow laughed and walked off to the back.

“King’s command?” I flicked crumbs from the worn table.

“Oh, right. Told you I was a paladin, right? That was something mom pulled with him. That I’d be consecrated to the God of War if I wasn’t to receive a royal title through her marriage to Wallace’s dad. Seeing as it takes forever and a day to become a war priest, it made better sense for him to place me in the royal guard, but I already had my blessing by that realization and one thing led to another and now I’m a paladin rather than a regular soldier. Anyways, that just encouraged him to create a new subcategory in the guard for paladin, the King’s Command as most know it. One of those, if the Blessed follow this guy’s word, then he must be entrusted with the future by the gods the paladins follow. All of them are consecrated to the God of War, which terrifies the surrounding nations enough to not poke our borders more than necessary.” Rowan tugged at his cap.

“So, you go AWOL, and I disappear. Will he send men after us, or will they write us off pretty quick and hand the title over to Prissy?” I flinched back at the thunk of tankards in front of us.

“Garren beer at its finest. Hope ya’ll are hungry. We just got in a fresh cut for the leroda.” Farrow beamed. Red curled ringlets fell around his face in swaths. The blue eyes were a trap. My ears told me as much, the tips burned. He blinked, staring at the table where my fingers had been sweeping away crumb specks. I stifled a gasp and hid my hands in my lap, the skittering blue plasma balls fizzling away in tiny sparks.

“Not King’s Command?” Farrow raised an eyebrow with a mischievous grin.

“Farrow, meet Tanwyn, a guaranteed sorcerer,” Rowan scooted over.

“Give me a sec and I’ll get Vessa to cover my shift.” Farrow waved a hand, grabbed a tray from the table next to us and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned quickly enough, this time with plates of what appeared to be a slab of some meat looking vegetable browned and slathered in a white sauce.

I tapped the one on my plate with, want for better understanding, I could figure was a two-pronged fork.

Farrow slid in next to me, instead of Rowan. “Look like you’ve never had leroda.”

“Maybe in a past life,” I hedged, cut a chunk off the side and taste-tested it. The best I could explain of it was compressed black pepper packed around tofu coated in a turkey gravy. Not exactly keen. Rowan was going at his slab like it was going out of fashion.

The redhead raised an eyebrow at me, then at Rowan. “Where’d you find this guy? At the bottom of a ravine?”

“Just about,” Rowan shrugged.

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