Elaina J. Davidson's Blog, page 151
October 3, 2022
October 2, 2022
October 1, 2022
Chapter 1: FingerNale Tales
These are the afterthought tales, bite-size chunks of a life’s grander design, something to gnaw on briefly before moving on.
The Old Man – a child’s perspective on meeting an unknown uncle
The Royal Feline – it’s a cat life indeed
The Mountains Burn – the destructive power of fire
Morning Rainbow – when a rainbow is a sign
Blood Moon – when reality feels entirely unreal
Veils of Sleep – what happens in the realms of oblivion
Winged Wonder – a winged creature walks the city streets
Glass Dreams – every time a man closes his eyes, glass shatters
First Day – a child’s perspective on her first school day
At the End – life’s long years
A few recorded moments in time that will ask of you a few minutes of your day. A breathy laugh might follow, or ‘oh, yes, I see myself in there!’ Maybe a morsel gifts a smile, while a tale creates a sense of wonder. Enjoy!
This is the first morsel from FingerNale Tales (the stories are all quick reads):
THE OLD MAN
Memories from childhood are frequently enlightening in adulthood.
THE OLD MAN knocked on the door quite loudly. Dad told me in no uncertain terms to stay put - children do not open doors, he said.
I stayed put with reluctance at the round kitchen table where we were having tea, and heard the weather-beaten wooden door creak open and my dad peremptorily demand an explanation for this interruption.
Just moments ago, the old man walked up the garden path, and we noticed his slow progress through the lace-covered dining room window, and my dad swore. My mom told him to shut up, but as usual he ignored her.
Mom was at the basin washing dishes as dad opened the door, but I could swear her ears moved a bit, she was listening that hard. I was listening that hard.
A mumbled conversation followed, one neither me nor mom could quite make out, and I knew both of us were highly curious. Usually the neighbourhood kids came to knock, either asking for me to come out and play, or with one of those sponsorship forms my dad hated so much. An old man was something different. The only old man who had walked up the path before was the Elder from church when mom was ill. This wasn’t him.
Eventually we heard the door slam, and I wondered if it was dad being rude or the wind taking it away from him, as it often did. That door was always slamming, as if daring someone to leave it open for a breath of fresh air. Then again, dad was always being rude, too.
The old man walked ahead of dad into the kitchen. Well, we were flabbergasted, mom and me. This was another unusual event. Dad allowed the kids in, if only briefly while they waited for me to grab a ball or something, but never anyone else. He even told the church Elder where to go off and hide.
There was something familiar about this old man. I felt as if I knew him. When mom dropped the pot she was scrubbing, letting dirty water splash everywhere, I realised she knew him, too, but she had not forgotten as I obviously had.
A clear plastic bag filled with peanut clusters, tied closed with a red ribbon, landed on the table in front of me and I could do no other than look away from that lined face to the yumminess resting there where I could actually see it. I heard dad clear his throat. Children do not need sweets, he always said, and I knew he wanted to snatch it up but could not, not with this old man watching.
And then I heard my mother say a name, and I knew who this old man was. My uncle. My dad’s older brother, the one everyone believed had died in the war up north. I knew him because he looked like my dad, but I had never seen him before.
He stayed for an hour and I really liked him. Even dad laughed. Mom seemed to watch dad more than my uncle though. Strange.
Funny thing, I never saw him again, but I will never forget him. My uncle Ed. I often wonder what happened to him, but dad never said, and mom always said to ask dad.
Those were the best peanut clusters I ever ate, I tell you.
September 30, 2022
September 29, 2022
Chapter 1: Ethereal Musician
Alayna lives as a recluse in the giant redwood forest far from prying eyes. When intruders break into her home with the intention of robbing and using her, a man with vivid green eyes becomes an unlikely saviour. The instant they see each other their fates are sealed. Ben and Alayna have the kind of attraction that reeks of a celestial mandate.
She realises what Ben truly is, but he’s too young to know his real self. She sends him away to discover his destiny, telling him to play the music able to move stars, and awaits his return. Their attraction, though, is so visceral and overwhelming that Ben comes back again and again, each time finding it harder to leave the only woman who has ignited his soul.
Alayna feels it too, because Ben possesses a kiss able to break worlds. His green eyes are an ethereal magnificence amid the redwoods, lighting the way for love, music, dreams and destiny to mark their paths, but such a connection has a price.
Chapter One
THE BLACKTOP GLISTENED after the rain, a dark snake unfurling through the redwood forest. Cat eyes shone as if tiny creatures populated the yellow lines.
The ripe smell of rich earth competed with the distinct aroma of wet tar, and drips of fresh water plinked through the foliage. Nearby a spotted owl delivered its distinguishing call.
Although it was early yet in the afternoon, the gloom above gave the appearance of approaching night.
Set back slightly from the switchback road, a small cottage huddled, nearly smothered in ivy huddled beneath the giants populating northern California, wisps of smoke curling from a stone chimney. Azaleas and rhododendron vied with prolific sword ferns for space in a small garden.
On the porch an ancient bench watched the days pass by, whether wet or dry. A red squirrel perched on the gate post, unmoving until a woman came out the front door, and then he hurtled up the nearest bole.
Grinning, Alayna gave a whistle and left an offering of nuts and fruit in the stone platter upon the low wall. Already, as she turned away, the squirrel shimmied downward. Soon, she knew, his furry family would join him.
NOTHING OF NOTE happened in the small town of Legget, besides tourists arriving to take photos of their cars driving through the Chandelier Tree, or of themselves standing within the carved arch in the massive trunk.
They stopped for a bite, maybe some gas, and then most moved on to the nearest camping grounds. At certain times of the year it was busy, but at others nothing much occurred.
Jack and Shaun argued with Ben outside the local diner. The place was closed and a For Sale sign sat in the window.
“We need cash, bud, or we’ll never get to San Francisco,” Jack snapped out, irritated that he needed to repeat himself. “This one-horse town has zip for us; the tourist season is over, man. I say we grab a few dollars from the gas station and head south.”
His scrawny body quivered with intent.
“Yeah, hanging around here will only get us stuck and bored,” Shaun said. “There’s nothing to eat either.”
They were quite the opposites, Jack and Shaun, for Shaun was fat. He was stupid, too.
“Shut up,” Jack snarled at him. “What do you know?” He shifted his attention to the third member of their trio. “Ben, come on. Shaun and me, we’ll grab the dough, just keep the engine running, man, like always. Man, it’s not hard.”
Ben stared at him. “And how far will a few dollars get us? I’m telling you, it’s a waste of effort.”
“You’re just a fucking wuss. We’ll find other places along the way, get more. For fuck’s sake, man, do you want to stay in this empty shithole?”
Ben lifted green eyes to the forest surrounding them on all sides. A slight breeze promised rain later as it ruffled his fair hair. Yes, he could stay. He hankered after some peace and quiet. Jack, however, would pull a knife on him if he dared suggest it. The weasel had a mean streak, and no conscience. He liked that knife too damn much.
“I’ll wait outside,” Ben eventually said.
Jack slapped him on the back and Shaun laughed. “Get the wheels. We’re going in.” Jack grabbed Shaun’s wobbling arm and they strode across the road.
Their inane giggling disturbed the quietness in the air.
Idiots. Folk would remember them.
Frowning, Ben climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key. The old blue Chevy spluttered twice and then caught. Eyeing the progress of the other two, hating himself for giving in yet again, he timed his swing and landed in a squeal of brakes before the glass doors as they vanished into the shop.
He didn’t watch. He didn’t want to see another unsuspecting kid manning the register frightened out of his wits by the insane Jack and the stupidity of that oaf Shaun.
It was time to leave those two behind, but not in this quiet place. They would do too much harm here. He’d either abandon them somewhere more populated or simply walk away when Jack wasn’t looking.
The rear doors slammed as the two flung bodily into the car.
“Get fucking driving!” Jack screeched.
The Chevy sped away, heading north.
ALAYNA FINISHED EATING the vegetable soup she’d prepared for her supper and placed the remains in the fridge, along with the butter. Tomorrow night’s meal. She wrapped the rest of her freshly baked loaf and put it in the old wooden bread box.
While rinsing her few dishes, she stared out into the darkening forest. It was autumn now and summer’s ever-present fog began to vie with the downpours that heralded winter’s approach. It was always somewhat on the cooler side here, but she preferred that. Heat had never summoned her, held no allure. Heat wasn’t good for her, point of fact. She was comfortable in the mists, in the bracing air of a fertile forest.
The fog thickened. Soon it would be so silent out, one would believe oneself entirely alone in the universe. The road would remain empty, isolated, and without movement but for the occasional elk crossing its expanse on a journey through the night time forest. This was perfection. Silence and isolation.
After the life she had, she desired nothing else.
This was a place and time in which to recuperate. People drained one of energy.
Finishing the dishes, she set two lanterns alight and carried one to her desk in the living room, leaving the other in the kitchen window. Setting it to one side, she drew her laptop closer, flipped the lid, and called up her work in progress. She enjoyed the rustic lifestyle, but her laptop was her mainstay of technology.
This book was taking a bit longer than the others did. She found that the wildlife offered greater distraction these days than her mind usually conjured.
Still, she had to eat.
It was a few small edits from finished. She started typing.
“STOP!” SHAUN SCREAMED, and Ben slammed on the brakes, nearly wrenching his head from his shoulders.
“What the fuck, man?” Jack demanded, craning around to the back. He’d earlier clambered into the front passenger seat, almost causing a goddamn calamity when his elbow ‘accidentally’ hit Ben in the jaw.
“I saw a light,” Shaun mumbled sheepishly.
Ben drew in a breath. Not this again. Some unsuspecting household was about to be robbed. “No one lives out here,” he said. “This is a waste of time.”
Jack eyed him. “You’re going soft, bro. We may have to teach you a lesson, toughen you up a bit.” He eyed Shaun next. “Where’d you see it?”
“Up a ways.” Shaun jerked a meaty thumb over his shoulder.
“Back up, Ben,” Jack ordered. “This isolated, maybe they got gas tanks out back, in case.”
Yeah, the idiots didn’t think it out too well. Not that they ever did. So they robbed the register, got a few dollars, but paper didn’t create gas, did it? They should’ve filled the tank before leaving Legget behind and instead they now raced along a dark road as empty as the tank would soon be.
These two assholes hadn’t yet realised he deliberately drove north into the highlands, knowing there was little to be had along the way. He intended to engineer his walk away. He’d had enough of them and didn’t want to land up behind bars for theft or worse. All three of them on foot? He’d leave them behind within minutes.
Ben backed up, and there it was, a light.
A lantern in a cottage window.
Blinking, he stared at it. It called to him, like the proverbial lamp in the storm.
His heart thundered into rapid motion.
He didn’t like this.
This felt wrong. Something here was not as it seemed.
“Developing a conscience, bud?” Jack punched him on the arm, hard.
“Fuck off,” Ben said, bringing the car to a halt.
ALAYNA LIFTED HER head, swiping dark blonde strands of hair from her face. Did a car just stop outside?
Standing, she lifted the lantern on her desk. Maybe a traveler was in some kind of trouble.
The lamp slid from her grasp when three young men hurtled through the front door, which shattered on impact and instantly flames licked at the ancient rug.
“Fuck! Stupid bitch!” Stamping the blaze roughly out, the vocal one of the three snapped out, “You alone?”
Of course she was. To claim she wasn’t would simply reveal she was a liar and that was potentially worse for her. “I’m alone. May I help you? Would you boys like something to eat?”
“Yeah,” said the fat one, grinning.
“Shut up, Shaun!” The thin, dirty one, glared over his shoulder and then crowded into her personal space. “You got any gas?”
Ah. She understood the situation in a heartbeat. “There’s some in the shed out back, yes.”
“Shaun, go!” Scrawny screeched.
The final young man in the trio, she noted, hadn’t moved a muscle since entering. After watching his buddy snuff the flames, he had glanced into the kitchen, to the other lantern, and then remained motionless. It was the strangest thing; his face was perfectly composed, as if nothing disturbed his inner self.
Was that serenity, she wondered, or the face of a psychopath? Why was she thinking this now? Clearly they were here to cause harm and whatever he was inside had little bearing.
Now he did move, and she discovered she was holding her breath. As Shaun shoved past him into the night, muttering about always getting the shit end of the stick, he stepped aside with barely veiled dislike.
Clearly, then, not so serene.
The skinny fellow looked her up and down insolently. “You’re a little old for me, under normal circumstances, but you could still keep a man warm, s’pose. What you? Like forty or something?”
Dread crawled across her skin as bumps of puckered flesh. Her gaze flicked to the silent one, somehow drawn there. Her blood ran cold when she read the expression on his face. No, not his face. That remained carefully schooled. It was in his eyes … incredible eyes, dear God. This boy was about to commit murder. And she wasn’t his victim.
“You will regret it,” she said then, feeling she needed to warn him of the dangers to his soul.
His green gaze shifted to her and seemed to pierce her soul. “I don’t think so,” he replied. There was no emotion in his voice either.
“What the fuck …” the scrawny one muttered. “Ben, fucking get her and hold her, I’m getting fucking hard here, man.”
Ben inclined his head. “Sure, Jack.”
He approached as Jack unzipped his filthy jeans. As he drew abreast, he snatched Jack into a head lock.
“Worm!” he spat.
Jack struggled, gasping for air, arms flailing uselessly. Clearly Jack wasn’t a fighter. He was all air and sound.
“Behind you!” Alayna gasped, noticing fat Shaun’s shadow in the doorway.
Ben whirled, putting his back to her, still holding a wheezing Jack. “Back off, Shaun.”
“What you doing, man?”
No one was now looking at her. She stepped back unobtrusively until she felt the rifle stock under her fingers. Gripping it, she swung it around, holding it aloft. As she did so, Shaun barreled towards the other two, screaming obscenities at the top of his voice.
Alayna pulled the trigger.
The fat boy hurtled backwards and toppled through the door. A gurgle sounded and then … nothing. She didn’t see where the bullet made impact, it happened that fast.
An audible crack of snapping bone came next and she shifted her gaze to the other two, in time to see and hear the gaunt one hit the wooden floor, his neck at an odd angle.
That had taken both strength and determination.
Perhaps pure desperation.
Utter silence enveloped the small space.
And then Ben said, “I’ll remove the evidence, and then be on my way. You might have to scrub the deck outside after I’m gone.”
Alayna nodded. It was as much as she could manage at that point.
His gaze again stripped her soul naked, before he bent and hooked his hands under Jack’s arms and dragged him out. A car door slammed soon after.
The sound of a heavier body slithering with difficulty along her garden path sounded, and then a door banged again.
Moments later Ben darkened her doorway. There was no expression on his face. “Lock up. Oh, and put a fresh round in that chamber.”
He touched his forehead and was gone. An engine roared to life outside and tires screeched on the slippery surface.
The sound vanished into the distance, heading south.
ETHEREAL MUSICIAN
September 27, 2022
September 26, 2022
Chapter 1: ANCIENT ILLUMINATION
Fire spews and ice follows. The world Drakonis is near death and all life has fled. Except for Brennan, the thief who hears mysterious directions to Castle Drakon on the wind, and brothers Bastian and Cole, who choose to follow her. Then there’s Halley, an exotic dancer from the burning cities, and Audri, who refuses to speak.
These five are the last and it is their task to ensure at least memory remains, or Drakonis will be eternally forgotten. To ensure this, they must find Castle Drakon.
In a grotto under the ice they discover three others alive and before the warmth of a fire hear of a mighty legend. Unravelling its mysteries could lead to a way off a dying world. An ancient light will illuminate their path.
Chapter 1
Fire in the Grotto
The flames are bright, because here it is safe; here no light is able to escape to reveal us.
The fire is hot, and we are glad of it; most of us have been cold too long, most of us cannot now remember ever being warm.
We ran from fire, yes, into ice, but it feels as if that heat was a lifetime ago. We cannot recall a full stomach either or remember when last we drank of fresh water.
I reach my hands for the flames and for a moment I believe I can hold them and set them alight inside me. I am weary of cold. I am terribly weary of running.
This is why I am here.
I hope, now, with the end approaching, I may stop running. Although it may be that we dupe ourselves only with what hope is left, in this desire I am not alone.
Opposite the fire there is Bastian; his head is bowed, his dark hair filthy, obscuring his face. We have now run together, but we also met before, once, in our old lives.
Next to him is Cole, also dark-haired, almost asleep due to the unaccustomed sense of release and comfort.
They are brothers, but very different I think, despite similar appearance. I know Cole better; we have sprinted rooftops in that other life. I know he misses it as much as I do.
Crouched apart from us, fingers white around clumps of old straw - which is what we’re sitting on - there’s Halley, a dancer from a distant city … at least, this is what she claims. None of us have seen her dance. She appears the most frightened by our gathering; she does not trust easily. It will take years to undo her natural distrust.
Do any of us retain belief in these times, truth be told? Halley, particularly, is ever skittish, though. Her past weighs heavily on her. She is the most exotic of all of us, with curled golden locks, caramel skin, and the darkest eyes I have even seen. I like her and I think Cole does too, although his is a different kind of like.
And then there is Audri. Pale and fair and graceful; shelooks like the dancer among us. No one has heard Audri speak. We do not know if she cannot or whether silence is a choice she made or was forced into some time in her past. She stares into the fire unafraid. As ever, she is self-possessed
I think she feels me looking, for she lifts her green gaze to me, and smiles. I want to embrace her, for that smile tells me we made the right choice.
We have run far, from fire and death into this terrible cold, holding onto only hope, and here, if for a brief time, we may sit and experience the warmth of a comforting fire. This little blaze has not the power to destroy.
An instant later I wonder how far we would go to keep this respite inviolate. It is a respite only, whatever we choose to fool ourselves with.
Bastian would kill for it, I know; he is the oldest and has run the longest, and seeks to protect his brother Cole.
Me? I would back him up and wield whatever weapon is to hand.
In this I am no doubt a fool, but I am weary of running.
The grotto is deep below the surface of this ice-ridden plain.
Bastian found the entrance in the rubble underneath the cliffs that mark the start of the highlands. Already on the edge of life for months, we drew from the reserves that come only with desperation, and crawled in after him. We shuffled for hours, one behind the other, in absolute darkness, until flickers of amber light revealed we had not imagined the summons or directions, that trust was not misplaced.
All of us are adorned with ragged knees and shins, torn palms and broken nails, but we are also so dirty and tatty you cannot distinguish fresh wounds from old.
After an hour of sitting, an hour of heat, we wonder if trust led us right. Nothing moves other than the flames, and there are no sounds of occupation … and yet someone built this fire.
Bastian looks up at me, a question in his blue eyes. I wish we lived in a different time, for I want to lay my hands upon his cheeks and tell him not to worry. I, after all, led them across the plain. My words brought us here.
“Ah, I see you have thawed somewhat.”
A man enters from the shadows behind Bastian and Cole - the brothers’ jerk around - his movements slow and careful. He seeks to put us at ease, I realise. His hands are displayed as empty, a gesture of peace.
He is old, very old. Wrinkled, barely any hair, and what he has left is pure white. He wears a black robe, a frayed length of rope knotted around his middle. Pouches hang from it. There is a rustle from one as he moves, and another tinkles slightly.
His feet are bare and he has no beard. I am glad of it; a beard would be too much stereotype. I have seen his kind crouched on street corners in the cities, begging for alms, ignored. This old man is no tramp, though; there is an air of confidence about him.
He cannot survive a climb into the highlands, I think. When we leave here, we leave behind a skeleton, for he will not survive the fate of Drakonis much longer.
We all stare at him as he walks around the fire to come to a halt beside me. A hand descends to my head and rests there.
“Welcome, Brennan, and thank you for bringing your friends.”
I cannot react; I am paralysed by that touch. The last time someone touched me to impart only comfort is now almost lost to memory. I am undone by the pathos.
Bastian reacts swiftly. He hurtles to his feet. His eyes seem to flash in the dancing amber light. “We heard the summons and we listened to Brennan, but blind belief may have led us astray. Who are you, old man?”
“Bastian, all your questions will receive answer. Please sit. You are safe here.”
Cole reaches up and hauls his brother down. “We trust Brennan, brother. Relax.”
“You trust her.”
“And you trust me, right? Give it a chance.”
Cole and Bastian trade stares for a while until Bastian eventually nods and looks away.
That hand is still on my head. It smooths my hair with careful strokes and then it is removed. I feel … bereft. I look up to see pale eyes twinkling at me, and I smile. Perhaps it is all right. I hope with all my heart blind trust has not led me astray. How do I answer to that? If I came alone it would be my mistake, and I would have to live with it, but I am not alone, am I?
“Who are you?” I ask. My voice is hoarse.
The old man settles into the empty space beside me, hands resting on knees. A pouch thunks into the straw. There is something heavy in there.
“I am Winter.” He smiles and waves a hand. “Not my real name, but I’ve forgotten in the long march of years what my mother called me. Someone called me ‘Winter’ in jest as a lad, and it stuck. Some now believe it’s because I love the feel of a decent fire.”
“Which means you must be cold,” Bastian mutters. He does not mean cold of body.
Winter smiles and chooses to take the comment as meaning his flesh. “I am, yes, all the time. This here is a cold land, young man. We are far north of the equator and it was cold even before the fires began in the south. I now believe fate gave to me this epitaph of ‘Winter’, for I am destined to live out my final hours under this ice field. We go together, a final symbiosis.”
“Why are we here?” Cole demands, ignoring the old man’s explanations.
He does not do so out of disrespect; he simply understands we have run out of time.
“You are here to know yourselves before your end march. Your time has come.”
