Pen's Blog, page 4
October 15, 2013
Feast
This is a form of haiku known as a "zip"
By Pen
red-tailed hawk circles in azure sky
spots dead carcass a feast
By Pen
red-tailed hawk circles in azure sky
spots dead carcass a feast
Death Rattle
By Pen
winds howl across sky
leaves skitter across pavement
summer death rattle
winds howl across sky
leaves skitter across pavement
summer death rattle
Wolf
bright glow of the moon
call of the wild on the wind
beckons wolf within
call of the wild on the wind
beckons wolf within
Pat Benatar Great Background Music for Writing
Pat Benatar was one of the biggest rock’n’roll icons of my youth. You couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing a Pat Benatar tune rocking out the speakers. Couldn’t resist turning up the volume, either.
Her music has staying power, especially with those of us who grew up listening to it. The lyrics and the music are appropriate for any time period, any age group.
I suppose that is why the music of Pat Benatar served well as background music for writing the “Sword of Tilk” Trilogy.
I can’t speak for any writer other than myself. For me the writing process engages every one of my senses. When I am working on a novel I must have the proper lighting for my eyes. Within reach must be the proper drink: ice water, coffee, tea, or Jolly Rancher Singles-to-go, green apple if you please (believe it or not, this writer does not require alcohol, mostly because of the diabetic thing).
Of course, my fingers must be on the proper keys on the keyboard. Or, if I am editing the hard copy, the paper, a notebook, two red pens, a highlighter and a black pen pervade my sense of touch.
As for smell, the windows are open (if it’s warm) to allow in fresh air. If it’s cold outside, I usually burn some incense (Indian Gold incense, Gold scent).
For my sense of hearing there is usually music in the background. Most of the time it is a mix: I even throw in some classical music because it tends to be less distracting.
But for the “Sword of Tilk” Trilogy, it was all Pat Benatar.
When writing a novel, I visualize each scene as an actual scene from a movie, complete with background music. With some novels, certain pieces of music run through my head again and again.
So it was with “Tilk.” Almost every major scene was punctuated by Pat Benatar music.
For Book One: Worlds Apart it was “Invincible.” Probably because it was a song of rebellion. It was used as a theme song from the 1985 movie “The Legend of Billie Jean” a movie I never got the opportunity to see. From what I understand the movie was also about the rebellion of a teenage girl making the song an appropriate accompaniment.
It is a very strong song and one I feel is appropriate for any situation in which a protagonist finds herself or himself facing a challenge, standing against the odds. Heck, it’s appropriate for the world today at large as far as I am concerned.
Each time my character, Barbara, had to face a challenge that song wound through my head as I wrote the rough draft, as I edited and proofread. Even now, if I go back and read the prologue I hear “Invincible” winding through my head as I visualize Barbara riding Galindore along the empty road with the thunderstorm gathering behind her.
For Book Two: Strange Land “All Fired Up” and “Le Bel Age” carried me through the writing. For some reason I don’t understand “Le Bel Age” which means “the good age” makes me think of medieval times when men fought with swords and wore armor. (Yeah, I told you I didn’t understand it). “All Fired Up” is just one of those songs that make me feel hopeful even when things are going terribly wrong: “Now I believe there comes a time/when everything just falls in line/we live and learn from our mistakes/the deepest cuts are healed by faith” just makes me want to cry with the absolute joy of believing those words.
The last installment of the trilogy intrigues me the most. For reasons which, again, I do not understand, “Little Too Late” kept popping into my head for the writing of the third book. It is a song about a guy who cheats on his girl which has absolutely nothing to do with Book Three: At Sword’s End. But maybe because the beat of the song has such a celebratory attitude despite its obvious meaning it was appropriate for winding up the trilogy.
In my mind’s eye where each of these books lives, I can visualize all the characters at the end of each book/movie. As the credits roll, I can see Pat Benatar and her band performing each song appropriate for the book even though none of them know where they are. I can see the characters dancing to the tune – heroes and villains alike.
That, of course, is what is in my head. Scary though it might be.
Music is a very powerful force. It is motivating and inspirational. Music can make or break a movie.
Or a trilogy.
Her music has staying power, especially with those of us who grew up listening to it. The lyrics and the music are appropriate for any time period, any age group.
I suppose that is why the music of Pat Benatar served well as background music for writing the “Sword of Tilk” Trilogy.
I can’t speak for any writer other than myself. For me the writing process engages every one of my senses. When I am working on a novel I must have the proper lighting for my eyes. Within reach must be the proper drink: ice water, coffee, tea, or Jolly Rancher Singles-to-go, green apple if you please (believe it or not, this writer does not require alcohol, mostly because of the diabetic thing).
Of course, my fingers must be on the proper keys on the keyboard. Or, if I am editing the hard copy, the paper, a notebook, two red pens, a highlighter and a black pen pervade my sense of touch.
As for smell, the windows are open (if it’s warm) to allow in fresh air. If it’s cold outside, I usually burn some incense (Indian Gold incense, Gold scent).
For my sense of hearing there is usually music in the background. Most of the time it is a mix: I even throw in some classical music because it tends to be less distracting.
But for the “Sword of Tilk” Trilogy, it was all Pat Benatar.
When writing a novel, I visualize each scene as an actual scene from a movie, complete with background music. With some novels, certain pieces of music run through my head again and again.
So it was with “Tilk.” Almost every major scene was punctuated by Pat Benatar music.
For Book One: Worlds Apart it was “Invincible.” Probably because it was a song of rebellion. It was used as a theme song from the 1985 movie “The Legend of Billie Jean” a movie I never got the opportunity to see. From what I understand the movie was also about the rebellion of a teenage girl making the song an appropriate accompaniment.
It is a very strong song and one I feel is appropriate for any situation in which a protagonist finds herself or himself facing a challenge, standing against the odds. Heck, it’s appropriate for the world today at large as far as I am concerned.
Each time my character, Barbara, had to face a challenge that song wound through my head as I wrote the rough draft, as I edited and proofread. Even now, if I go back and read the prologue I hear “Invincible” winding through my head as I visualize Barbara riding Galindore along the empty road with the thunderstorm gathering behind her.
For Book Two: Strange Land “All Fired Up” and “Le Bel Age” carried me through the writing. For some reason I don’t understand “Le Bel Age” which means “the good age” makes me think of medieval times when men fought with swords and wore armor. (Yeah, I told you I didn’t understand it). “All Fired Up” is just one of those songs that make me feel hopeful even when things are going terribly wrong: “Now I believe there comes a time/when everything just falls in line/we live and learn from our mistakes/the deepest cuts are healed by faith” just makes me want to cry with the absolute joy of believing those words.
The last installment of the trilogy intrigues me the most. For reasons which, again, I do not understand, “Little Too Late” kept popping into my head for the writing of the third book. It is a song about a guy who cheats on his girl which has absolutely nothing to do with Book Three: At Sword’s End. But maybe because the beat of the song has such a celebratory attitude despite its obvious meaning it was appropriate for winding up the trilogy.
In my mind’s eye where each of these books lives, I can visualize all the characters at the end of each book/movie. As the credits roll, I can see Pat Benatar and her band performing each song appropriate for the book even though none of them know where they are. I can see the characters dancing to the tune – heroes and villains alike.
That, of course, is what is in my head. Scary though it might be.
Music is a very powerful force. It is motivating and inspirational. Music can make or break a movie.
Or a trilogy.
Two Sides of Women
People in general are multi-faceted; we each have many different sides.
Each person has a side they show in the workplace and a side they show in social situations; a side they show to family and a side they show to friends.
I believe, however, this is more true of women than of men.
Women must adapt quickly for their own survival, Men adapt, too, but they have the unique advantage of relying on brute strength and the use of physical force to ensure their survival. Women must rely on wits, inner strength and courage, making women the more flexible of the species.
At the time I wrote the “Sword of Tilk” Trilogy I didn’t realize I had incorporated two different sides of women in the twins. Perhaps it was a subconscious thing: our subconscious works much harder for us than we realize.
Barbara is insecure, lacking the confidence to stand up to her boss. She feels too trapped in the struggle for daily survival to challenge herself to create a better life for her family. She is the woman who realizes she has untapped reserves of strength but is too afraid to explore them. It requires her being taken to a completely different world in order for her to fulfill her true potential.
Her twin sister, Tiernan, is quite the opposite. She is rambunctious and boisterous and runs headlong at a challenge with her sword drawn. She carries her devil-may-care, spit-in-the-eye-of-death attitude like a badge of honor. And rightfully so: she was raised to be fearless to protect her kingdom.
These two characters are representative of many women. Many women have that insecure side: the uncertainty of her own abilities and capabilities and the mistrust of herself to discover them. This is the side that goes to the job to collect the paycheck that keeps her head just above water; the side that dreams of a better life but feels that hope for that dream is lost.
This is the side of women which Barbara represents. Living in our world, she goes to the job, does her work, collects her pay. At the end of the day, she struggles to pay the bills and still feed her little family, knowing all the while that she is meant for something better, something more meaningful.
But there is also that boisterous side. This is the side that, when provoked, will raise its head in defiance. It will tap that reservoir of strength to show the woman and the world of what she is capable. It will fight to protect what she holds dear never losing sight of the hope that dreams can be real. This is the side that runs barefoot in a rainstorm, hair whipping behind her so that she can see the rainbow on the other side.
This is the side which Tiernan represents. Having grown up in the primitive Tilk Realm, she was taught from a young age to be a warrior: the warrior which lives deep within all women, the warrior willing to fight to defend that which she loves.
Those are only two sides of women. Most women have many more sides to them.
I am just grateful my subconscious captured those two sides for those two characters.
Each person has a side they show in the workplace and a side they show in social situations; a side they show to family and a side they show to friends.
I believe, however, this is more true of women than of men.
Women must adapt quickly for their own survival, Men adapt, too, but they have the unique advantage of relying on brute strength and the use of physical force to ensure their survival. Women must rely on wits, inner strength and courage, making women the more flexible of the species.
At the time I wrote the “Sword of Tilk” Trilogy I didn’t realize I had incorporated two different sides of women in the twins. Perhaps it was a subconscious thing: our subconscious works much harder for us than we realize.
Barbara is insecure, lacking the confidence to stand up to her boss. She feels too trapped in the struggle for daily survival to challenge herself to create a better life for her family. She is the woman who realizes she has untapped reserves of strength but is too afraid to explore them. It requires her being taken to a completely different world in order for her to fulfill her true potential.
Her twin sister, Tiernan, is quite the opposite. She is rambunctious and boisterous and runs headlong at a challenge with her sword drawn. She carries her devil-may-care, spit-in-the-eye-of-death attitude like a badge of honor. And rightfully so: she was raised to be fearless to protect her kingdom.
These two characters are representative of many women. Many women have that insecure side: the uncertainty of her own abilities and capabilities and the mistrust of herself to discover them. This is the side that goes to the job to collect the paycheck that keeps her head just above water; the side that dreams of a better life but feels that hope for that dream is lost.
This is the side of women which Barbara represents. Living in our world, she goes to the job, does her work, collects her pay. At the end of the day, she struggles to pay the bills and still feed her little family, knowing all the while that she is meant for something better, something more meaningful.
But there is also that boisterous side. This is the side that, when provoked, will raise its head in defiance. It will tap that reservoir of strength to show the woman and the world of what she is capable. It will fight to protect what she holds dear never losing sight of the hope that dreams can be real. This is the side that runs barefoot in a rainstorm, hair whipping behind her so that she can see the rainbow on the other side.
This is the side which Tiernan represents. Having grown up in the primitive Tilk Realm, she was taught from a young age to be a warrior: the warrior which lives deep within all women, the warrior willing to fight to defend that which she loves.
Those are only two sides of women. Most women have many more sides to them.
I am just grateful my subconscious captured those two sides for those two characters.
October 8, 2013
Excerpt #2 SOT Book Three: At Sword's End
“How noble a steed,” Desdemona said. She looked down at Heather again. “Pity.”
Desdemona waved her hand.
Heather waved hers at the same moment.
Galindore stopped galloping as he felt himself surrounded by an unseen barrier.
Heather’s protective shield covered him only moments before Desdemona’s spell reached it. A cloud of white sparks burst against the shield. The spell became a cloud of mist with sparks twinkling in the sun, and surrounded the shield.
“Oh, my,” Desdemona said with mock delight. “The Princess knows magic. I wonder where she got that from?” She looked down at Heather. “Remove the shield you little urchin.”
Heather trembled from both anger and fear but she looked defiantly up at Desdemona. “No,” she said. “He’s an innocent horse! He’s done nothing to you!”
“Oh but that doesn’t matter sweetie,” Desdemona said. “Any friend of the Realm is an enemy of mine!” She waved her hand and in it appeared a mirror. She looked into it for a moment, and then she began to smile. She slowly turned the mirror to face Heather.
Within the mirror, Heather saw her mother. She was in a cell in Desdemona’s castle along with her Aunt Tiernan, Jancie and Kelsie. As she watched, her mother began to breathe hard, as though breathing were difficult. Then she clutched her throat and began gasping for air.
Tiernan ran to her sister’s side. “Are you all right?”
Barbara shook her head to indicate she was not all right and went to her knees in an effort to draw breath. Jancie and Kelsie were by her side in an instant.
“The horse or your mother, Princess,” Desdemona said. “The choice is yours.”
Desdemona waved her hand.
Heather waved hers at the same moment.
Galindore stopped galloping as he felt himself surrounded by an unseen barrier.
Heather’s protective shield covered him only moments before Desdemona’s spell reached it. A cloud of white sparks burst against the shield. The spell became a cloud of mist with sparks twinkling in the sun, and surrounded the shield.
“Oh, my,” Desdemona said with mock delight. “The Princess knows magic. I wonder where she got that from?” She looked down at Heather. “Remove the shield you little urchin.”
Heather trembled from both anger and fear but she looked defiantly up at Desdemona. “No,” she said. “He’s an innocent horse! He’s done nothing to you!”
“Oh but that doesn’t matter sweetie,” Desdemona said. “Any friend of the Realm is an enemy of mine!” She waved her hand and in it appeared a mirror. She looked into it for a moment, and then she began to smile. She slowly turned the mirror to face Heather.
Within the mirror, Heather saw her mother. She was in a cell in Desdemona’s castle along with her Aunt Tiernan, Jancie and Kelsie. As she watched, her mother began to breathe hard, as though breathing were difficult. Then she clutched her throat and began gasping for air.
Tiernan ran to her sister’s side. “Are you all right?”
Barbara shook her head to indicate she was not all right and went to her knees in an effort to draw breath. Jancie and Kelsie were by her side in an instant.
“The horse or your mother, Princess,” Desdemona said. “The choice is yours.”
October 2, 2013
Excerpt #2 SOT Book Two: Strange Land
“Stand up and fight,” he demanded, his voice thick with anguish.
“I can’t,” Barbara said miserably.
“Yes, you can!”
“You don’t understand. This fight isn’t over,” she looked up at him, fresh tears spilling from her eyes, “until one of us is dead.”
Though he was appalled, he wasn’t surprised. He’d really expected as much, especially after his vision at Crystalwood was confirmed.
But foremost in his mind was protecting Barbara.
Fen grabbed Barbara by the arms, forced her into a sitting position. “Stand up and fight.”
“No!” she cried bitterly.
“Barbara you have to!”
“I can’t!”
“Barbara!” Fen said firmly. She looked at him. His voice caught in his throat, the words trapped by the growing lump there. He tried to force that lump down but it ended up coming out with his words. “I would rather die than see you suffer another moment.” Tears spilled down his cheeks as he finished.
This awakened new tears in Barbara as she said, “And I would rather die than to hurt you.”
Fen chuckled despite his tears. “I guess that means we’re at an impasse, then. But we can at least put on a good show. C’mon.” He helped her to her feet. “It’ll be just like when I was first teaching you.”
Barbara smiled wanly. “But these aren’t toy swords, Fen.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We were learning. Just having fun. That’s what we’re doing now.”
Without thinking, Fen bent down and picked up the Sword of Tilk. He started to hand it to Barbara then looked at it in amazement.
“He broke the enchantment on it,” Barbara said as she took the sword from him. “Anyone can pick it up now.”
“And the curse?” Fen asked.
“Oh, that’s still there.”
Great, Fen thought. One more thing to worry about.
But there was no time to worry about it at the moment as his sword clanged against the raised Sword of Tilk.
“I can’t,” Barbara said miserably.
“Yes, you can!”
“You don’t understand. This fight isn’t over,” she looked up at him, fresh tears spilling from her eyes, “until one of us is dead.”
Though he was appalled, he wasn’t surprised. He’d really expected as much, especially after his vision at Crystalwood was confirmed.
But foremost in his mind was protecting Barbara.
Fen grabbed Barbara by the arms, forced her into a sitting position. “Stand up and fight.”
“No!” she cried bitterly.
“Barbara you have to!”
“I can’t!”
“Barbara!” Fen said firmly. She looked at him. His voice caught in his throat, the words trapped by the growing lump there. He tried to force that lump down but it ended up coming out with his words. “I would rather die than see you suffer another moment.” Tears spilled down his cheeks as he finished.
This awakened new tears in Barbara as she said, “And I would rather die than to hurt you.”
Fen chuckled despite his tears. “I guess that means we’re at an impasse, then. But we can at least put on a good show. C’mon.” He helped her to her feet. “It’ll be just like when I was first teaching you.”
Barbara smiled wanly. “But these aren’t toy swords, Fen.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We were learning. Just having fun. That’s what we’re doing now.”
Without thinking, Fen bent down and picked up the Sword of Tilk. He started to hand it to Barbara then looked at it in amazement.
“He broke the enchantment on it,” Barbara said as she took the sword from him. “Anyone can pick it up now.”
“And the curse?” Fen asked.
“Oh, that’s still there.”
Great, Fen thought. One more thing to worry about.
But there was no time to worry about it at the moment as his sword clanged against the raised Sword of Tilk.
Excerpt #2 SOT Book One: Worlds Apart
She turned.
And froze.
She was looking into a mirror.
No. Not looking into a mirror.
The image before her was gaunt and pale. A purple-yellow bruise almost covered the left eye and there was a deep purple bruise on the right cheek. Her hair hadn’t been washed or combed for awhile and her clothing looked somewhat ragged. Her lower lip was freshly cut: there was still some dried blood there. Her hands were shackled in front of her.
Except for these glaring differences, she was the mirror image of Barbara herself.
“Who are you?” Barbara finally asked breathlessly.
And though it was evident that it pained her to do so, the woman opposite Barbara smiled. Her eyes were moist with tears as she said, “I’m your twin sister.”
Barbara could only stare at the woman for several long moments. She wasn’t even certain she had heard the woman correctly. “My -” She stopped, for it wasn’t the word twin or the word sister which was about to escape her lips. Instead, she spoke a name she hadn’t spoken in many years.
“Tiernan,” she breathed.
A wave of memories washed over her, threatening to flood her with their velocity.
Holding Jean’s hand and walking through the mirror, looking back over her shoulder and waving to her twin - her twin sister - as tears poured down both their cheeks.
Their father - her father - smoothing her hair, telling her softly that she would have to go away for awhile so that she would be safe.
Early morning, Daddy sleeping in, twin girls having other ideas, giggling twin girls making Daddy laugh when Tiernan tickled his nose with a feather, Kiernan tickling his ear with a feather.
Kiernan.
Tiernan.
Jessica Tiernan.
Barbara Kiernan.
The first set of twins to be born in the Realm in over twenty-five years.
The only two people in the Realm with two names.
Barbara Kiernan.
Daddy’s little princess.
And froze.
She was looking into a mirror.
No. Not looking into a mirror.
The image before her was gaunt and pale. A purple-yellow bruise almost covered the left eye and there was a deep purple bruise on the right cheek. Her hair hadn’t been washed or combed for awhile and her clothing looked somewhat ragged. Her lower lip was freshly cut: there was still some dried blood there. Her hands were shackled in front of her.
Except for these glaring differences, she was the mirror image of Barbara herself.
“Who are you?” Barbara finally asked breathlessly.
And though it was evident that it pained her to do so, the woman opposite Barbara smiled. Her eyes were moist with tears as she said, “I’m your twin sister.”
Barbara could only stare at the woman for several long moments. She wasn’t even certain she had heard the woman correctly. “My -” She stopped, for it wasn’t the word twin or the word sister which was about to escape her lips. Instead, she spoke a name she hadn’t spoken in many years.
“Tiernan,” she breathed.
A wave of memories washed over her, threatening to flood her with their velocity.
Holding Jean’s hand and walking through the mirror, looking back over her shoulder and waving to her twin - her twin sister - as tears poured down both their cheeks.
Their father - her father - smoothing her hair, telling her softly that she would have to go away for awhile so that she would be safe.
Early morning, Daddy sleeping in, twin girls having other ideas, giggling twin girls making Daddy laugh when Tiernan tickled his nose with a feather, Kiernan tickling his ear with a feather.
Kiernan.
Tiernan.
Jessica Tiernan.
Barbara Kiernan.
The first set of twins to be born in the Realm in over twenty-five years.
The only two people in the Realm with two names.
Barbara Kiernan.
Daddy’s little princess.
September 29, 2013
Excerpt Sword of Tilk Book Three: At Sword's End
“Lucas!” Heather shouted.
Lucas raced toward them across the courtyard dodging people and carts and horses.
“Everyone close together!” Elder shouted as he stood before them.
The group huddled close.
“And you must maintain physical contact with one another for all of you to transport!” Elder reminded them.
Those thick black clouds were moving closer. And in a hurry.
As a precautionary measure, everyone looped their arms about each other’s waists and huddled as close together as they possibly could.
Lucas was almost there when he collided with a man, his eyes wild with panic. Lucas went tumbling to the ground ending up face-down within feet of the group. The man continued running, unaware or uncaring that he had knocked someone to the ground.
“Lucas!” Heather shouted and tried to break free of her mother’s arm tight around her waist.
“Heather, no!” Barbara shouted. She strained to maintain her hold on her daughter while also keeping her hold on Tiernan.
Heather stretched out her arm as far as she could reach.
Lucas reached out his hand.
The bag on Heather’s right shoulder slipped. “No!” Heather breathed. She shrugged her shoulder up in an attempt to keep the bag in place. But when she did that she couldn’t reach Lucas.
“Heather!” Lucas cried. “Help me!”
Heather reached out again, straining against the hold of the entire group. For one bright moment she thought the bag would hold; she could almost touch Lucas’s outstretched hand.
Then the bag slipped and slid down her arm.
“No!” Heather cried out as the bag slid down her slender arm and off her wrist.
She heard her heart beating loudly within her chest. She heard someone shout, “She’s almost here!” and heard the thunder: it sounded as though it were almost overhead. She heard the panicked cries and screams of all those around her, felt their fear as an almost tangible thing being passed from one person to another in the tumult that was the courtyard. She smelled the ozone of the lightning, that metallic-like odor that accompanies thunderstorms and felt the hair on her neck stand on end. She saw the look on Lucas’s face as the bag fell from her arm. She felt her own face contort with pain and indecision.
All of this, Heather was acutely aware of all of this; acutely aware that Lucas lay upon the ground, his face flushed with anguish and hope; acutely aware that there was no more time left, the time was now, right now, this instant and this instant in time was the only chance they had to escape the clutches of Desdemona. One single solitary breath of hesitation would be too late.
The bag was still within her reach.
So was Lucas’s hand.
Heather made her choice.
Lucas raced toward them across the courtyard dodging people and carts and horses.
“Everyone close together!” Elder shouted as he stood before them.
The group huddled close.
“And you must maintain physical contact with one another for all of you to transport!” Elder reminded them.
Those thick black clouds were moving closer. And in a hurry.
As a precautionary measure, everyone looped their arms about each other’s waists and huddled as close together as they possibly could.
Lucas was almost there when he collided with a man, his eyes wild with panic. Lucas went tumbling to the ground ending up face-down within feet of the group. The man continued running, unaware or uncaring that he had knocked someone to the ground.
“Lucas!” Heather shouted and tried to break free of her mother’s arm tight around her waist.
“Heather, no!” Barbara shouted. She strained to maintain her hold on her daughter while also keeping her hold on Tiernan.
Heather stretched out her arm as far as she could reach.
Lucas reached out his hand.
The bag on Heather’s right shoulder slipped. “No!” Heather breathed. She shrugged her shoulder up in an attempt to keep the bag in place. But when she did that she couldn’t reach Lucas.
“Heather!” Lucas cried. “Help me!”
Heather reached out again, straining against the hold of the entire group. For one bright moment she thought the bag would hold; she could almost touch Lucas’s outstretched hand.
Then the bag slipped and slid down her arm.
“No!” Heather cried out as the bag slid down her slender arm and off her wrist.
She heard her heart beating loudly within her chest. She heard someone shout, “She’s almost here!” and heard the thunder: it sounded as though it were almost overhead. She heard the panicked cries and screams of all those around her, felt their fear as an almost tangible thing being passed from one person to another in the tumult that was the courtyard. She smelled the ozone of the lightning, that metallic-like odor that accompanies thunderstorms and felt the hair on her neck stand on end. She saw the look on Lucas’s face as the bag fell from her arm. She felt her own face contort with pain and indecision.
All of this, Heather was acutely aware of all of this; acutely aware that Lucas lay upon the ground, his face flushed with anguish and hope; acutely aware that there was no more time left, the time was now, right now, this instant and this instant in time was the only chance they had to escape the clutches of Desdemona. One single solitary breath of hesitation would be too late.
The bag was still within her reach.
So was Lucas’s hand.
Heather made her choice.
Excerpt Sword of Tilk Book Two: Strange Land
The hand over her mouth woke her. She gasped and opened her eyes.
There was his face, right in hers.
He was bigger than she was but that didn’t stop her from putting up a fight.
Fused with adrenaline she hit his arms with her small fists, twisted her body in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. Her cries were muffled beneath his hand and though she tried to bite him, his hand was clamped too tightly over her mouth to allow her to even open it.
“Stop it!” he hissed in the moon-kissed darkness. “Stop it or your mother’s dead.”
Heather froze in her attempts to get away. She could see Gregorio’s eyes twinkling from the moonlight reflected in them, like a cat which had cornered its prey. The malevolence she saw there was proof of his sincerity.
“One sound,” he said his voice deep and menacing. “That’s all it’ll take. It’ll just take one second for my men to slit you mother’s and your aunt’s throats. Do we have an understanding, Princess?”
Heather, her eyes wide, her heart thudding in her ears, nodded weakly.
“Good,” Gregorio said. He uncovered her mouth. “Now where does your mother keep the Sword, kid?”
Heather swallowed hard. “In her room,” she whispered.
Gregorio picked her up in his sinewy arms and carried her to her mother’s room.
True to his word, one of Gregorio’s men stood at her mother’s bedside, dagger in hand, pointed at her sleeping mother’s throat.
Heather considered crying out but quickly dismissed the idea. In their old world, her mother hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning and waking at all hours of the night.
In this world, she slept like a rock. Had Heather cried out her mother wouldn't have awakened. And her Aunt Tiernan couldn’t have reached them before the sailor had cut her mother’s throat. Then she remembered there was another just like this one standing over Aunt Tiernan.
Gregorio placed Heather onto the floor. “You’re heavy, kid,” he muttered quietly. “Now get the sword.”
Heather gazed at her sleeping mother, oblivious to all around her, the dagger so close to her exposed throat, the moonlight gleaming off its blade.
“C’mon, kid,” Gregorio growled. “I know you don’t want to see your mother’s throat cut.”
Heather, her heart heavy with despair, had no choice but to make her way across the floor to the table upon which the sword lay, Gregorio close behind. She reached for the sheath.
“Just the sword, kid,” Gregorio said.
Heather carefully removed the sword from its sheath. She started to hand it to Gregorio.
Gregorio grinned. “You’re carrying it. I can’t. Remember?”
Heather swallowed hard. Apparently, Gregorio had thought things through. She wished she could think of something to do right about now.
He looked at his sailor standing beside Barbara. “You stay here and wait for my signal.”
With those words, Heather lost all hope of yelling for help.
There was his face, right in hers.
He was bigger than she was but that didn’t stop her from putting up a fight.
Fused with adrenaline she hit his arms with her small fists, twisted her body in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. Her cries were muffled beneath his hand and though she tried to bite him, his hand was clamped too tightly over her mouth to allow her to even open it.
“Stop it!” he hissed in the moon-kissed darkness. “Stop it or your mother’s dead.”
Heather froze in her attempts to get away. She could see Gregorio’s eyes twinkling from the moonlight reflected in them, like a cat which had cornered its prey. The malevolence she saw there was proof of his sincerity.
“One sound,” he said his voice deep and menacing. “That’s all it’ll take. It’ll just take one second for my men to slit you mother’s and your aunt’s throats. Do we have an understanding, Princess?”
Heather, her eyes wide, her heart thudding in her ears, nodded weakly.
“Good,” Gregorio said. He uncovered her mouth. “Now where does your mother keep the Sword, kid?”
Heather swallowed hard. “In her room,” she whispered.
Gregorio picked her up in his sinewy arms and carried her to her mother’s room.
True to his word, one of Gregorio’s men stood at her mother’s bedside, dagger in hand, pointed at her sleeping mother’s throat.
Heather considered crying out but quickly dismissed the idea. In their old world, her mother hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning and waking at all hours of the night.
In this world, she slept like a rock. Had Heather cried out her mother wouldn't have awakened. And her Aunt Tiernan couldn’t have reached them before the sailor had cut her mother’s throat. Then she remembered there was another just like this one standing over Aunt Tiernan.
Gregorio placed Heather onto the floor. “You’re heavy, kid,” he muttered quietly. “Now get the sword.”
Heather gazed at her sleeping mother, oblivious to all around her, the dagger so close to her exposed throat, the moonlight gleaming off its blade.
“C’mon, kid,” Gregorio growled. “I know you don’t want to see your mother’s throat cut.”
Heather, her heart heavy with despair, had no choice but to make her way across the floor to the table upon which the sword lay, Gregorio close behind. She reached for the sheath.
“Just the sword, kid,” Gregorio said.
Heather carefully removed the sword from its sheath. She started to hand it to Gregorio.
Gregorio grinned. “You’re carrying it. I can’t. Remember?”
Heather swallowed hard. Apparently, Gregorio had thought things through. She wished she could think of something to do right about now.
He looked at his sailor standing beside Barbara. “You stay here and wait for my signal.”
With those words, Heather lost all hope of yelling for help.
