Rival Gates's Blog, page 32
October 25, 2015
Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"
Autumn’s chill joined forces with the North Wind to create a bitter beast covering the land by night. With a timid entrance by the sun the beast retained its mastery of the air, surrendering only a frigid layer of dew upon the ground. Pewter clouds in elongated forms roamed the horizon and restrained the daylight. Unwilling to concede the sky so easily, the sun attempted to rise above the haze to gain dominance. Though valiant, the effort was barely noticed as the murky air continued to hold the land in captivity. Reluctantly, the sun continued across the sky and hoped for better fortune on the morrow.
In the great Palace of Marinhalk the bustle of everyday life was well under way. The activity was vibrant by midmorning in all but the north wing. It was as though day had not yet come to that area.
The north wing was the smallest and yet most isolated part of the palace. Standing far into the courtyard, only a long elevated corridor connected it to the rest of the capital building. Running at the height of the second floor, the enclosed passage was supported by a series of elaborate arches amidst a rose garden.
The interior of the span was the true masterpiece of the palace. Stained glass windowpanes adorned the walls along its entire length. They were separated into sections in which events had been depicted in the shaded glass. Each area illustrated a great event in the military history of the Mandrean Empire. Common characteristics were an emperor basking in the glory of victory with his followers gazing at him in adoration and slain enemies at his feet. The gore of battle had been omitted as the emperor was consistently portrayed in a heroic if not god-like fashion. White marble tiles seamlessly covered the floor in opulence. Slender columns separated the glass portraits. They supported a vaulted ceiling of amber glass. The designers had gone to great lengths to ensure the area was generously illuminated from dawn to dusk. It was the ultimate shrine to Mandrean greatness.
At the palace end of the hall were grand oak double-doors on polished brass hinges. To their side was a staircase spiraling down toward the lower parts of the palace. So discreet was the opening it blended with the columns nearby and nearly went unnoticed.
The unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs shattered the previously tranquil moment. A diminutive figure emerged from the stairwell with a sense of purpose. The person wore a turquoise hooded robe that covered the head and made the face only visible from the front. Even though the person was roughly the height of Necromancer, the figure clearly belonged to someone else. The attire too was of fine quality but not to the standard he had displayed.
Silently the robed person walked with a brisk pace down the center of the hall toward the North Wing. A majesty of colors descended from the stained glass to change the appearance of the robe and dance across the marble floor. Unimpressed, the figure continued to advance on the north end of the passage.
Clearly coming into view was another double door. This one was hand carved with scrollwork and artistry rarely seen. An Imperial Guard stood on either side at attention with a spear in their hand closest to the door. As the robed person approached, the sentries did not avert their eyes from their focus down the hall. They crossed their spears before the entrance to impede any further progress.
In the great Palace of Marinhalk the bustle of everyday life was well under way. The activity was vibrant by midmorning in all but the north wing. It was as though day had not yet come to that area.
The north wing was the smallest and yet most isolated part of the palace. Standing far into the courtyard, only a long elevated corridor connected it to the rest of the capital building. Running at the height of the second floor, the enclosed passage was supported by a series of elaborate arches amidst a rose garden.
The interior of the span was the true masterpiece of the palace. Stained glass windowpanes adorned the walls along its entire length. They were separated into sections in which events had been depicted in the shaded glass. Each area illustrated a great event in the military history of the Mandrean Empire. Common characteristics were an emperor basking in the glory of victory with his followers gazing at him in adoration and slain enemies at his feet. The gore of battle had been omitted as the emperor was consistently portrayed in a heroic if not god-like fashion. White marble tiles seamlessly covered the floor in opulence. Slender columns separated the glass portraits. They supported a vaulted ceiling of amber glass. The designers had gone to great lengths to ensure the area was generously illuminated from dawn to dusk. It was the ultimate shrine to Mandrean greatness.
At the palace end of the hall were grand oak double-doors on polished brass hinges. To their side was a staircase spiraling down toward the lower parts of the palace. So discreet was the opening it blended with the columns nearby and nearly went unnoticed.
The unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs shattered the previously tranquil moment. A diminutive figure emerged from the stairwell with a sense of purpose. The person wore a turquoise hooded robe that covered the head and made the face only visible from the front. Even though the person was roughly the height of Necromancer, the figure clearly belonged to someone else. The attire too was of fine quality but not to the standard he had displayed.
Silently the robed person walked with a brisk pace down the center of the hall toward the North Wing. A majesty of colors descended from the stained glass to change the appearance of the robe and dance across the marble floor. Unimpressed, the figure continued to advance on the north end of the passage.
Clearly coming into view was another double door. This one was hand carved with scrollwork and artistry rarely seen. An Imperial Guard stood on either side at attention with a spear in their hand closest to the door. As the robed person approached, the sentries did not avert their eyes from their focus down the hall. They crossed their spears before the entrance to impede any further progress.
October 24, 2015
Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"
The elves quietly ate their broth. It was little more than hot water with some roots thrown in for flavor, but at least it was quite hot. Linvin urged them to eat quickly.
From across the room, came a robust laugh. “Well, well, boys, look what crept into our bar! A bunch of little elves. I could use some entertainment. Hey, elves! You are known as minstrels and singers of songs. Come put on a show for us. I hear you’re real good entertainers.” The other men laughed along and turned to the elves.
Rander was terrified, Bander was confused, Linvin was insulted but in control, and Anvar remained calm. “Continue to eat,” Linvin said as though he were asking someone to pass the salt. “Ignore them as you would a fly buzzing around.”
The man looked at the others with a shocked expression and then at the party. “Didn’t you little imps hear me? Dance! Sing! Spin on your heads! We’re eager to see how entertaining you high and mighty elves are. Come on now, have at it!” The man and his friends were getting riled and left their seats.
Anvar spread out his fingers with his palm down. Then he slowly lowered it to the table. His nephews understood and continued eating quietly. All the while, Linvin fumed.
“Hey!” the man who appeared to be the leader yelled, “I’m talking to you! See, we don’t take kindly to your type stinking up our place. Since you have trespassed in this good establishment, you will pay a fee. So either you put on a show and then we throw you out, or we drag you out now by your squirrelly little ears.”
Only silence came from Linvin’s party. They tried as best they could to ignore the man who fumed of hops. Their lack of response angered him all the more.
The men slowly started walking toward them. “Ya lookin’ so pretty, ya’ must be a bunch of rich elves, huh? What’s the matter? You too good to dance for us? Or maybe you just want your beating sooner?” It was all Linvin could do not to act, yet he maintained his composure. Anvar was making the call and he towed the line.
Anvar broke his silence at last. “We are tired,” he said politely. “We aren’t up for entertaining tonight. We will be leaving just as soon as we finish our meal. We do thank you anyway, gentlemen.”
The man slammed his hands down on the table by Anvar. The act spilled the broth and nearly collapsed the table. “Well,I wasn’t really askin,’ now,was I,old elf? Now get up and dance before we spill more than your soup.”
From across the room, came a robust laugh. “Well, well, boys, look what crept into our bar! A bunch of little elves. I could use some entertainment. Hey, elves! You are known as minstrels and singers of songs. Come put on a show for us. I hear you’re real good entertainers.” The other men laughed along and turned to the elves.
Rander was terrified, Bander was confused, Linvin was insulted but in control, and Anvar remained calm. “Continue to eat,” Linvin said as though he were asking someone to pass the salt. “Ignore them as you would a fly buzzing around.”
The man looked at the others with a shocked expression and then at the party. “Didn’t you little imps hear me? Dance! Sing! Spin on your heads! We’re eager to see how entertaining you high and mighty elves are. Come on now, have at it!” The man and his friends were getting riled and left their seats.
Anvar spread out his fingers with his palm down. Then he slowly lowered it to the table. His nephews understood and continued eating quietly. All the while, Linvin fumed.
“Hey!” the man who appeared to be the leader yelled, “I’m talking to you! See, we don’t take kindly to your type stinking up our place. Since you have trespassed in this good establishment, you will pay a fee. So either you put on a show and then we throw you out, or we drag you out now by your squirrelly little ears.”
Only silence came from Linvin’s party. They tried as best they could to ignore the man who fumed of hops. Their lack of response angered him all the more.
The men slowly started walking toward them. “Ya lookin’ so pretty, ya’ must be a bunch of rich elves, huh? What’s the matter? You too good to dance for us? Or maybe you just want your beating sooner?” It was all Linvin could do not to act, yet he maintained his composure. Anvar was making the call and he towed the line.
Anvar broke his silence at last. “We are tired,” he said politely. “We aren’t up for entertaining tonight. We will be leaving just as soon as we finish our meal. We do thank you anyway, gentlemen.”
The man slammed his hands down on the table by Anvar. The act spilled the broth and nearly collapsed the table. “Well,I wasn’t really askin,’ now,was I,old elf? Now get up and dance before we spill more than your soup.”
October 21, 2015
Madical Costs
Today I want to rant about the health care system. I realize this is not a new topic, even for me. But a fire has been lit under me and I can’t let it go. It’s bad enough that I am still paying for a procedure done on my daughter 2 years ago and I have almost a year to pay. Now my dear daughter has tendinitis in both of her wrists and is in excruciating pain. After the family doctor was of no help we were sent to a specialist. He said he could give shots to relieve the pain but first we needed MRIs done on each one to find the exact spot where the injection was needed. It seems like the medication should be less localized than that but then again, I’m still waiting for my MD in the mail. Regardless, I needed to book the MRIs. I received an estimate after demanding one from the place recommended by the doctor and they wanted over $1600 per wrist to take the images! That includes the bit insurance would pay. That’s outrageous. At my day job they have this service that shops for the best rates on services before you use them. Costs were all over the place. They found one that was only $400.00 per wrist. I’ll still be paying for a while but at least the number is more manageable. What I want to know is, how can the same procedure in the same town cost 4x as much at the place recommended by the doctor? Does he get a kickback? What makes their equipment so special? Obviously it does not have to cost that much. The only rational reason I can think of is that the more expensive place has more overhead than the other. As consumers, we are being taken advantage of by the healthcare field. With their arbitrary charges and lack of competition they have made being sick only affordable for the very rich and the very poor. If you are in the middle, you get the short end of the stick. It is wrong and needs mending. Heaven help me if I actually go into the hospital.
October 20, 2015
Tuesday Excerpt, "New"
“There were no other souls near his land save for he and his
four children. The one time he gave into temptation to use his
power for personal gain the creator took his wife from the world.
Thus, he lived a simple life and sought neither fame nor adulation.
He chose to protect his offspring from greed and the world around.
No harm could possibly come to them on his farm. He gave them
all that any father could give his children.
“As Gallatrium’s offspring grew in age, they also grew in
curiosity. Increasingly they yearned to see what the mysterious
world had to offer. Gallatrium warned them of the evils they would
find if they were to leave his house and forbade their departure. He
cautioned that leaving his house would mean he could no longer
protect and watch over them. The world was a cruel and deceptive
place for which they were not prepared.
“His stories only served to raise the children’s interest. The
outside being forbidden made it doubly intriguing. And so, one
night the four children of Gallatrium conspired to leave home in
four separate directions. They planned to walk until the sun rose
and then return to tell their father of their adventure.
“At the appointed time, they noticed that the night had taken on
a strong chill. They donned their cloaks but did not find them
warm enough for the unseasonably cold wind. One took his
father’s cloak for it was warmer than all others. Gallatrium wore it
every day and never felt cold beneath its surface. Jealousy and
envy overcame the other three children regarding the garment and
a fight ensued. When they were finished, their father’s cloak was
torn to shreds on the ground. The children blamed each other and
soon they neared blows. Vowing to never want to see the others
again, they set out on their separate paths. So great was their anger
at the others that they paid no heed to their path.
“When the sun reached the sky, they were in an unfamiliar
world of new things to see and do. By the time they thought of
returning home, they knew not which way to tread. They searched
in vain. Gallatrium’s farm was forever lost to them. Each
wandered aimlessly along in the wicked world. Nearing death,
they stopped searching and started homes of their own.
“When Gallatrium woke that morning after they left, he saw
that his children were gone. He had been hurt as no one could hurt
him. Falling to the floor he sobbed. His tears flowed onto the cloak
and brought out the handprints of his young ones.
“By picking up a piece one had touched, it enabled him to see
the child who had torn that piece of cloth. Though he could do
nothing to help any of them in the terrible times that came to pass
in their lives, he still had to watch as any parent would. To repair
his cloak was as impossible as repairing the relationship amongst
the children. And so he spent his days holding these rags and
watching his children in their successes and failures.
“Without his cloak, the cold north winds beat on him, and his
body aged. In time, he was a shadow of his former greatness, held
up in his desolate abode, with his only comfort being the sight of
his children and their families.”
Mordane had heard every word and was amazed at the story. “Is
it true?” he asked.
Necromancer nodded solemnly. “By the time Gallatrium died,
this one piece was all that remained, and he parted with it only in
his passing.”
“How do you know so much about this?” Mordane asked.
Necromancer smiled his devilish smile and answered, “It was I
that took it from him.”
four children. The one time he gave into temptation to use his
power for personal gain the creator took his wife from the world.
Thus, he lived a simple life and sought neither fame nor adulation.
He chose to protect his offspring from greed and the world around.
No harm could possibly come to them on his farm. He gave them
all that any father could give his children.
“As Gallatrium’s offspring grew in age, they also grew in
curiosity. Increasingly they yearned to see what the mysterious
world had to offer. Gallatrium warned them of the evils they would
find if they were to leave his house and forbade their departure. He
cautioned that leaving his house would mean he could no longer
protect and watch over them. The world was a cruel and deceptive
place for which they were not prepared.
“His stories only served to raise the children’s interest. The
outside being forbidden made it doubly intriguing. And so, one
night the four children of Gallatrium conspired to leave home in
four separate directions. They planned to walk until the sun rose
and then return to tell their father of their adventure.
“At the appointed time, they noticed that the night had taken on
a strong chill. They donned their cloaks but did not find them
warm enough for the unseasonably cold wind. One took his
father’s cloak for it was warmer than all others. Gallatrium wore it
every day and never felt cold beneath its surface. Jealousy and
envy overcame the other three children regarding the garment and
a fight ensued. When they were finished, their father’s cloak was
torn to shreds on the ground. The children blamed each other and
soon they neared blows. Vowing to never want to see the others
again, they set out on their separate paths. So great was their anger
at the others that they paid no heed to their path.
“When the sun reached the sky, they were in an unfamiliar
world of new things to see and do. By the time they thought of
returning home, they knew not which way to tread. They searched
in vain. Gallatrium’s farm was forever lost to them. Each
wandered aimlessly along in the wicked world. Nearing death,
they stopped searching and started homes of their own.
“When Gallatrium woke that morning after they left, he saw
that his children were gone. He had been hurt as no one could hurt
him. Falling to the floor he sobbed. His tears flowed onto the cloak
and brought out the handprints of his young ones.
“By picking up a piece one had touched, it enabled him to see
the child who had torn that piece of cloth. Though he could do
nothing to help any of them in the terrible times that came to pass
in their lives, he still had to watch as any parent would. To repair
his cloak was as impossible as repairing the relationship amongst
the children. And so he spent his days holding these rags and
watching his children in their successes and failures.
“Without his cloak, the cold north winds beat on him, and his
body aged. In time, he was a shadow of his former greatness, held
up in his desolate abode, with his only comfort being the sight of
his children and their families.”
Mordane had heard every word and was amazed at the story. “Is
it true?” he asked.
Necromancer nodded solemnly. “By the time Gallatrium died,
this one piece was all that remained, and he parted with it only in
his passing.”
“How do you know so much about this?” Mordane asked.
Necromancer smiled his devilish smile and answered, “It was I
that took it from him.”
October 18, 2015
Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"
The deeper into the gorge they traveled, the narrower it became. The path followed a mostly straight course but did have bends every so often. After a sharper bend than most, the party came to a halt. Around the bend was a large circular opening with walls all around. To the left a stand of pine trees had grown in the stunted climate. To the right was a colossal wall of loose stone from a rockslide blocking any further advance. To create such a wall it was clear an entire side of a nearby mountain had collapsed to form the insurmountable barrier. Its scale was so grand Linvin knew at his full strength, it would take him at least a month to blast the rock away.
Hearts sank throughout the group. “Well,” Anvar said. “Now we know what happened to the river. It was cut off by the rockslide.”
Linvin looked at the obstruction in wonder. “I am not so sure,” he said. “I hear no water nearby. If such a river had been diverted we would still be able to hear it even at this distance. I think the river went elsewhere a long time ago. Furthermore, the wall is far too new. This collapse happened within the last few years. You can tell by the distribution of the rocks.”
Linvin dismounted and started to look at the ground more closely. Moments later, he kicked away a layer of shale and found the remnants of a campfire. Then he moved to another spot and did the same thing. The results were similar. “This used to be a well-used pass into the mountains. Perhaps goblin raiders or traders passed this way. Then the path was sealed and the route abandoned.”
“That means there is a path behind that wall,” Rander said with excitement. “Use the Red Sapphire and blast an opening for us.”
Linvin looked at Anvar in dismay. His uncle returned the gaze. Then Linvin addressed Rander. “That means there was a pass here. It is likely gone from the massive rockslide. Regardless of that, you are talking about blasting apart a mountainside. Not even I have strength for that.”
“Could you fly us each over the rocks?” Bander asked.
“No,” Linvin responded. “This barrier looks to be as thick as it is high. The distance would be too great if indeed a path still existed. My power would not be sufficient to make the trek. I am afraid this is a dead end.”
Rander was incensed. “So for all your power, you can’t help us when we need it most?”
Linvin was frustrated as well and let it show in response. “I cannot move a mountain. To try to blast though it would bring all this rock down upon us and still not clear the way. Staff of no staff I cannot overcome this obstruction. We must find another way. Now shut your mouth before I administer the beating on you this time.”
Anvar interjected. “Perhaps we should rest for the night. We have some cover and none us have slept for two days. Clearer minds will prevail in the morning. Come. Help me clear a spot to camp. Some rocks are over there that I can superheat to give us warmth without revealing our position.”
Hearts sank throughout the group. “Well,” Anvar said. “Now we know what happened to the river. It was cut off by the rockslide.”
Linvin looked at the obstruction in wonder. “I am not so sure,” he said. “I hear no water nearby. If such a river had been diverted we would still be able to hear it even at this distance. I think the river went elsewhere a long time ago. Furthermore, the wall is far too new. This collapse happened within the last few years. You can tell by the distribution of the rocks.”
Linvin dismounted and started to look at the ground more closely. Moments later, he kicked away a layer of shale and found the remnants of a campfire. Then he moved to another spot and did the same thing. The results were similar. “This used to be a well-used pass into the mountains. Perhaps goblin raiders or traders passed this way. Then the path was sealed and the route abandoned.”
“That means there is a path behind that wall,” Rander said with excitement. “Use the Red Sapphire and blast an opening for us.”
Linvin looked at Anvar in dismay. His uncle returned the gaze. Then Linvin addressed Rander. “That means there was a pass here. It is likely gone from the massive rockslide. Regardless of that, you are talking about blasting apart a mountainside. Not even I have strength for that.”
“Could you fly us each over the rocks?” Bander asked.
“No,” Linvin responded. “This barrier looks to be as thick as it is high. The distance would be too great if indeed a path still existed. My power would not be sufficient to make the trek. I am afraid this is a dead end.”
Rander was incensed. “So for all your power, you can’t help us when we need it most?”
Linvin was frustrated as well and let it show in response. “I cannot move a mountain. To try to blast though it would bring all this rock down upon us and still not clear the way. Staff of no staff I cannot overcome this obstruction. We must find another way. Now shut your mouth before I administer the beating on you this time.”
Anvar interjected. “Perhaps we should rest for the night. We have some cover and none us have slept for two days. Clearer minds will prevail in the morning. Come. Help me clear a spot to camp. Some rocks are over there that I can superheat to give us warmth without revealing our position.”
October 14, 2015
Editing Time Again
Well, it’s that time again. I finished the rough draft of my latest book, “Repercussions Abound.” I sat back for a few days and took my ceremonial victory lap. Now comes the beginning of the dreaded part of writing…editing. Imagine your manuscript as a human body you’ve created. You are a surgeon about to cut it open in an exploratory fashion to look for flaws. You cause pain but not too much as most of the body looks good. Then you turn the body over to your beta reader and they cut deeper. This, in turn, causes more pain. They find flaws you missed and others you didn’t think were a problem. But this was simply armature hour. The expert surgeon called The Editor comes in with a cleaving knife and starts to hack at the body. His cuts go deep into the body and go so far as to want to remove vital organs. Now the fight begins. The body belongs to you. Many things the Editor is right about but some are being done just to put their stamp on the body. It is up to you to decide where to give in and where to stand your ground. It is a painful time to watch the body be dissected in such a gruesome manner. You think of the months you spent planning the body and the many more months spent creating it. It is a tough and agonizing call in which you are not always right…but neither is the Editor. So that’s what I will spend my free time doing for the next while. I’m doing my own edits now and soon will have my beta reader go through it. For now the pain is minimal.
October 13, 2015
Tuesday Excerpt "new"
Anvar smiled and gestured to his sofa. “There is nothing to
forgive. How you keep your sanity with the people of this city, I
will never understand. Let me take your cape while you have a
seat.” As Linvin removed his cape, it exposed only clothing on his
back.
“Linvin, the staff is not on your back or in your hand. Where is
the Red Sapphire?”
“I didn’t want the added attention the stone brings, so I left it at
home today,” Linvin said as he sat.
“How many times have I told you never to leave its presence? It
is your responsibility to keep it with you at all times. What if an
emergency arose and you needed it? You would be in trouble.”
“Well, I still have the magic I have stored.”
“That’s not good enough,” Anvar ranted. “You and the Red
Sapphire are one. You should always carry it with you.”
“My apologies.”
“Apologize to the staff, my boy. It will be quite indignant about
you leaving it behind. Speaking of that, you also left your armor
and Falconfeather at home. After all the assassination attempts,
how can you go about so unprepared?”
“I have nothing to fear here in Fraylic,” Linvin noted as he sat
rigidly.
“Your mother thought that as well, and you remember what
became of her. You need to take greater care, my boy.”
Anvar went to the kitchen and used his magic to superheat
water in his teapot. Then he added the tea and let it brew. He cut
the bread and placed it with the honey on the serving tray. Then he
carried the tray to the table in front of the sofa.
“By the way,” Anvar inquired, “when did we become so
formal? You have not referred to me as ‘Uncle Anvar’ in private
since you were a child.”
Linvin fidgeted for a moment before speaking. “Just trying to
give you the respect you deserve, Anvar.”
“Well, don’t. I feel old enough as it is without being constantly
reminded of my age. Come, have some tea with me. You must be
tired after your trip and the audit. Would you like some lemon in
your cup?”
“No, thank you, Anvar, lemon is too bitter for my taste.”
Anvar paused a moment and then said, “Silly me for forgetting.
Just like last night when you told me you no longer enjoyed bread
dipped in honey.”
“Exactly,” Linvin said. “Tastes change.”
Anvar poured the tea and spoke in an untrusting voice. “I will
check on dinner. Enjoy this while I am away.”
As Linvin sipped, he looked about once again. “You’ve really
done a first rate job fixing your home after the mess the assassins
made a couple of years ago. It looks like it was never touched.”
Anvar had reached the kitchen and began to pull down all his
cutting and butchering knives from where they hung. He lined
them on the cutting board. “It was so good of you to help me
straighten after we returned from our trip. Your help was
invaluable.”
“Thanks,” Linvin responded as he sat his cup on the tray.
“Speaking of what we went through back then and the
assassination attempts, I have reconsidered some things. For one, I
don’t believe the staff for the Blue Sapphire is safe with you
anymore. With my power, I can keep it secure far better.”
forgive. How you keep your sanity with the people of this city, I
will never understand. Let me take your cape while you have a
seat.” As Linvin removed his cape, it exposed only clothing on his
back.
“Linvin, the staff is not on your back or in your hand. Where is
the Red Sapphire?”
“I didn’t want the added attention the stone brings, so I left it at
home today,” Linvin said as he sat.
“How many times have I told you never to leave its presence? It
is your responsibility to keep it with you at all times. What if an
emergency arose and you needed it? You would be in trouble.”
“Well, I still have the magic I have stored.”
“That’s not good enough,” Anvar ranted. “You and the Red
Sapphire are one. You should always carry it with you.”
“My apologies.”
“Apologize to the staff, my boy. It will be quite indignant about
you leaving it behind. Speaking of that, you also left your armor
and Falconfeather at home. After all the assassination attempts,
how can you go about so unprepared?”
“I have nothing to fear here in Fraylic,” Linvin noted as he sat
rigidly.
“Your mother thought that as well, and you remember what
became of her. You need to take greater care, my boy.”
Anvar went to the kitchen and used his magic to superheat
water in his teapot. Then he added the tea and let it brew. He cut
the bread and placed it with the honey on the serving tray. Then he
carried the tray to the table in front of the sofa.
“By the way,” Anvar inquired, “when did we become so
formal? You have not referred to me as ‘Uncle Anvar’ in private
since you were a child.”
Linvin fidgeted for a moment before speaking. “Just trying to
give you the respect you deserve, Anvar.”
“Well, don’t. I feel old enough as it is without being constantly
reminded of my age. Come, have some tea with me. You must be
tired after your trip and the audit. Would you like some lemon in
your cup?”
“No, thank you, Anvar, lemon is too bitter for my taste.”
Anvar paused a moment and then said, “Silly me for forgetting.
Just like last night when you told me you no longer enjoyed bread
dipped in honey.”
“Exactly,” Linvin said. “Tastes change.”
Anvar poured the tea and spoke in an untrusting voice. “I will
check on dinner. Enjoy this while I am away.”
As Linvin sipped, he looked about once again. “You’ve really
done a first rate job fixing your home after the mess the assassins
made a couple of years ago. It looks like it was never touched.”
Anvar had reached the kitchen and began to pull down all his
cutting and butchering knives from where they hung. He lined
them on the cutting board. “It was so good of you to help me
straighten after we returned from our trip. Your help was
invaluable.”
“Thanks,” Linvin responded as he sat his cup on the tray.
“Speaking of what we went through back then and the
assassination attempts, I have reconsidered some things. For one, I
don’t believe the staff for the Blue Sapphire is safe with you
anymore. With my power, I can keep it secure far better.”
October 11, 2015
Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"
Linvin turned toward Anvar with the intent of telling him to cover his body in magic but his uncle would have never heard the words. The old elf was entirely covered by the tentacles and just entering the water. Linvin resumed his jaunt across the sand. When he finally reached his uncle, he hacked at the vines just below Anvar’s feet, but the blow was blunted by the water and caused no damage. Undeterred, Linvin grabbed hold of his uncle’s legs and lifted them out of the water with one arm. Once they were airborne, Falconfeather paid its respects with a slice that severed the connection with the beast beneath the water. There was no time to check his uncle’s condition. Linvin spun around to build momentum and threw Anvar as far from the water as could manage.
Stepping out of the surf, he began to run back toward the others and Miri. He gasped for air but did not stop. Again he was attacked along the way. This time, however, he struck low first and ran past the higher attackers.
When he reached the twins, Bander was free and he was using a dagger to cut his brother’s bonds. Normal weapons were a poor match for the thick rope-like substance but they made slow progress. Rather than cutting, Bander had to saw through each strand.
Linvin paused a moment by his cousins as he could not see Miri. He turned anxiously toward Bander and the brawny young elf told him, “She was just pulled under the water. She’s gone.”
Linvin’s eyes gleamed with red fire as he pressed forward to her last position. He was not going to lose her. It was a scenario he would not accept. With Falconfeather in hand he ran into the water.
“What are you doing?” called Bander. “Your sword won’t help underwater. She is gone. Going after her is suicide.” Linvin’s last words before he dove under the water were, “I will not sacrifice any one of you to this Monster. Five of us came to this beach and five of us will leave.” With that, he disappeared from sight.
Bander was stunned but could ill afford to waste time. There was no telling when the next attack would come. He finished freeing Rander and the two of them ran over to Anvar. First they pulled him to the far edge of the sand, near the grass, and then they set to work cutting him free. When his head was revealed, Anvar began to cough and spew lake water. Once he finally stopped he looked around. “Where’s Linvin?” he asked as he shivered from the cold water.
“He saved us,” Bander noted as he pointed at the lake. “Then he dove in after Miri.”
“He what?” Anvar said in astonishment. “That fool. How long has he been down there?”
Bander never was good with time and answered, “Well, he’s been down there since he went under the water. I am pretty sure of that.”
Anvar was frustrated by the answer and stammered to his feet. He considered going after Linvin but feared stepping on the beach again. Even if he were to brave the sand, he realized there was nothing he could do to help his nephew. He hung his head in despair.
For a time only the wind on the waves could be heard. Dead remnants of tentacles littered the sand as the elves kept a silent vigil. When even Anvar began to lose hope, the water started to glow red with the light coming from beneath its surface. Moments later, the water parted and Linvin levitated above its surface, cocooned in a bubble of Red Magic and holding the limp body of Miri in his arms. He floated over to the others and set down. Once he dispersed the bubble, Linvin gathered the staff and scabbard in his hand and immediately replaced them on his back. Meanwhile, Anvar checked on Miri.
Stepping out of the surf, he began to run back toward the others and Miri. He gasped for air but did not stop. Again he was attacked along the way. This time, however, he struck low first and ran past the higher attackers.
When he reached the twins, Bander was free and he was using a dagger to cut his brother’s bonds. Normal weapons were a poor match for the thick rope-like substance but they made slow progress. Rather than cutting, Bander had to saw through each strand.
Linvin paused a moment by his cousins as he could not see Miri. He turned anxiously toward Bander and the brawny young elf told him, “She was just pulled under the water. She’s gone.”
Linvin’s eyes gleamed with red fire as he pressed forward to her last position. He was not going to lose her. It was a scenario he would not accept. With Falconfeather in hand he ran into the water.
“What are you doing?” called Bander. “Your sword won’t help underwater. She is gone. Going after her is suicide.” Linvin’s last words before he dove under the water were, “I will not sacrifice any one of you to this Monster. Five of us came to this beach and five of us will leave.” With that, he disappeared from sight.
Bander was stunned but could ill afford to waste time. There was no telling when the next attack would come. He finished freeing Rander and the two of them ran over to Anvar. First they pulled him to the far edge of the sand, near the grass, and then they set to work cutting him free. When his head was revealed, Anvar began to cough and spew lake water. Once he finally stopped he looked around. “Where’s Linvin?” he asked as he shivered from the cold water.
“He saved us,” Bander noted as he pointed at the lake. “Then he dove in after Miri.”
“He what?” Anvar said in astonishment. “That fool. How long has he been down there?”
Bander never was good with time and answered, “Well, he’s been down there since he went under the water. I am pretty sure of that.”
Anvar was frustrated by the answer and stammered to his feet. He considered going after Linvin but feared stepping on the beach again. Even if he were to brave the sand, he realized there was nothing he could do to help his nephew. He hung his head in despair.
For a time only the wind on the waves could be heard. Dead remnants of tentacles littered the sand as the elves kept a silent vigil. When even Anvar began to lose hope, the water started to glow red with the light coming from beneath its surface. Moments later, the water parted and Linvin levitated above its surface, cocooned in a bubble of Red Magic and holding the limp body of Miri in his arms. He floated over to the others and set down. Once he dispersed the bubble, Linvin gathered the staff and scabbard in his hand and immediately replaced them on his back. Meanwhile, Anvar checked on Miri.
October 10, 2015
Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"
“It was my understanding that we would be using some discretion during this journey. Does your cape not draw unwanted attention to us?”
Linvin looked over his shoulder at his cape and conceded, “I will grant you that it is hard to ignore, but I will wear it all the same.
“Your words are not so dissimilar from those of my subordinate generals when I would wear this into battle in Valia. They pleaded with me not to wear it because it made me stand out from the men and become a target for the enemy, but when my men were fighting for their lives, they would look up and see that cape in amongst them; their fear dissolved and they fought beyond their skill. They knew I was there with them and that I would protect them. Likewise, when I wore the cape, I knew they would protect me as a brother. That made my fear dissipate as well. So it is hard to say whether I wore it more to ease their fear or mine, but whichever the answer, I wear it now.”
“Perhaps it will bring us luck in our quest,” Anvar suggested.
“Speaking of that,” Linvin commented, “imagine the luck of the staff coming to my father, when the Red Sapphire was meant for his very own son. Of all the people in this world, it came to him.”
“It was not luck, Linvin. I firmly believe that everything that happens in this world has some reason. There is a sense of purpose which drives the mundane events of your life and guides you to a conclusion.”
“Please spare me your destiny talk again, Anvar. I do not believe in anything that predisposes your actions away from freewill. It was my choice to go on this quest, it was not predestined.”
“You think so, do you?” asked Anvar. “Think of the steps to get where we are now. Your father acquired the staff. He sent you to the perfect place to train as a general and leader of men, the very qualities needed to make best use of the Red Sapphire. Your father died, prompting your return at the perfect time to solidify your fortune so that you need not worry about finances in your absence.
You would never have taken up the quest if your mother had not been killed, making your departure necessary. The assassin did not gain hold of the staff and key or kill me. That enabled you to take up the quest.
“Do you still see no sense of purpose in all of that? All of those events happened for a reason. You were meant to take up the quest and find the Red Sapphire. The fact that so many events happened so close together leads me to believe that someone else is close to finding it. That someone is not meant to have it, you are!”
“And what would happen,” Linvin asked, “if the wrong person found the gem first?”
Anvar shook his head. “It is hard to say, but the end could not be good. Do you remember your father’s bedtime stories?”
Linvin looked over his shoulder at his cape and conceded, “I will grant you that it is hard to ignore, but I will wear it all the same.
“Your words are not so dissimilar from those of my subordinate generals when I would wear this into battle in Valia. They pleaded with me not to wear it because it made me stand out from the men and become a target for the enemy, but when my men were fighting for their lives, they would look up and see that cape in amongst them; their fear dissolved and they fought beyond their skill. They knew I was there with them and that I would protect them. Likewise, when I wore the cape, I knew they would protect me as a brother. That made my fear dissipate as well. So it is hard to say whether I wore it more to ease their fear or mine, but whichever the answer, I wear it now.”
“Perhaps it will bring us luck in our quest,” Anvar suggested.
“Speaking of that,” Linvin commented, “imagine the luck of the staff coming to my father, when the Red Sapphire was meant for his very own son. Of all the people in this world, it came to him.”
“It was not luck, Linvin. I firmly believe that everything that happens in this world has some reason. There is a sense of purpose which drives the mundane events of your life and guides you to a conclusion.”
“Please spare me your destiny talk again, Anvar. I do not believe in anything that predisposes your actions away from freewill. It was my choice to go on this quest, it was not predestined.”
“You think so, do you?” asked Anvar. “Think of the steps to get where we are now. Your father acquired the staff. He sent you to the perfect place to train as a general and leader of men, the very qualities needed to make best use of the Red Sapphire. Your father died, prompting your return at the perfect time to solidify your fortune so that you need not worry about finances in your absence.
You would never have taken up the quest if your mother had not been killed, making your departure necessary. The assassin did not gain hold of the staff and key or kill me. That enabled you to take up the quest.
“Do you still see no sense of purpose in all of that? All of those events happened for a reason. You were meant to take up the quest and find the Red Sapphire. The fact that so many events happened so close together leads me to believe that someone else is close to finding it. That someone is not meant to have it, you are!”
“And what would happen,” Linvin asked, “if the wrong person found the gem first?”
Anvar shook his head. “It is hard to say, but the end could not be good. Do you remember your father’s bedtime stories?”
October 6, 2015
Interview With A.B. Funkhauser
A. B. Funkhauser was kind enough to stop by and answer some questions for us.
1. We have a country in common. Tell us where you are from?
I was born in Scarborough, a suburb of Toronto, but now live in Pickering, another suburb, albeit further east. Although I love to travel, Ontario is my home. Close proximity to Lake Ontario helps too. I love water.
2. Tell us your latest news?
Well, after an amazing summer outside, I kinda blew it over Labor Day Weekend by taking a tumble that put me into a cast. I broke my right foot and fractured a rib. Not bad for a day’s work! Lol. What could I do? I’ve made the most of my time on the couch hatching a new promo campaign in support of HEUER LOST AND FOUND while putting the finishing touches to my sophomore offering SCOOTER NATION. Next up, I’m scheduled to appear at a local Chapters book store with fellow Solstice Author Maighread MacKay. That’s on October 11th followed by Bookapalooza in November. This is organized by the Writer’s Community of Durham Region to which I belong and it’s a really great event. Writers from Durham County and beyond will attend with every genre and literary form you could name.
3. When and why did you begin writing?
I began shortly after the death of a close friend. We were students and work colleagues together and had grown codependent. His death was unexpected and a complete shock, so I began a grief journal as a means of trying to make sense of everything. My friend and I both shared an off the wall kind of sense of humor that got us into trouble at school occasionally, so it didn’t take long for my journal to lapse into utter nonsense. It became a work of pure fiction. A writer friend told me it looked like a book and that I ought to keep going, so I did.
4. What inspired you to write your first book?
Thirty years of living and watching and waiting for a platform from which to launch my tropes; my ‘bones of contention.’ In no particular order they are as follows 1) nostalgia hurts more than it helps 2) kindness can be found in the oddest places 3)prying is a lousy thing 4) some questions don’t need answers 5)insular people will, sooner or later, give in to others because we are social 6)we must find and then let go of that thing we need so that we can keep it forever.
5. Do you have a specific writing style?
It’s not conscious; it just grew out of my interests and the music of words. I’m fond of old tymy classical Greek literature so omniscient narrators and a chorus made a lot of sense to me. Combined with modern vernacular and some gonzoid absurdities and you get pretty close to me…like an Aesop fable as told through eccentrics.
How did you come up with the title?
Heuer Lost and Found began as a much larger work—The Heuer Effect—which forms the majority portion of the third novel. In its original form, Heuer kept getting lost; the manuscript kept getting bigger and bigger and I fought constantly with side characters to hang on to him and keep him in the forefront. The idea to hive the manuscript into two separate works came from a third party who saw very clearly that this was a story of two lives lived in real time and then in memories. Once separated, the title for the new manuscript was clear. I’d lost him, then I found him.
6. Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
The past is a great place to visit, but don’t stay there too long.
7. How much of the book is based in some form of reality?
About seventy per cent, which is to say that the science references are accurate, as well as the details of day to day operations. The characters, however, are all mine!
8. Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
Every fiction is loosely based on a fact or observation. The funeral home, for example, is an amalgam of four separate businesses that no longer exist. The rooms I describe have been demolished and live on in memory alone. I love that I was able to preserve them in my own small way. Likewise, people. Some of my men friends believe that they are “Heuer” but they aren’t. There’s actually some of me in there… and a little Dean Martin.
9. What books have most influenced your life most?
Satire, poetry, biography and the bible.
10. If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
Kurt Vonnegut, absolutely.
11. What book are you reading now?
Lawrence in Arabia by Scott Anderson. I’ve been reading history for over thirty years, and it’s only now that things are beginning make sense. For anyone interested in delving deeper into the history and politics of the mid east, this is definitely a go-to book. It makes the case beautifully that we are still heaving from the effects of the FIRST world war.
12. Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Rachael Stapleton, Marissa Campbell and David K. Bryant. Memoirs by Young Vol. 1,2,and 3, were eye popping as well. And there’s John DeBoer, Linda K. Seinkiewicz, Wren Michaels, Simone Salmon, Karen King. So many to mention.
13. Last words?
I’m still having a ball. This is not work for me, but a love story between my heart and my imagination. Come along if you like, but don’t forget to laugh.
1. We have a country in common. Tell us where you are from?
I was born in Scarborough, a suburb of Toronto, but now live in Pickering, another suburb, albeit further east. Although I love to travel, Ontario is my home. Close proximity to Lake Ontario helps too. I love water.
2. Tell us your latest news?
Well, after an amazing summer outside, I kinda blew it over Labor Day Weekend by taking a tumble that put me into a cast. I broke my right foot and fractured a rib. Not bad for a day’s work! Lol. What could I do? I’ve made the most of my time on the couch hatching a new promo campaign in support of HEUER LOST AND FOUND while putting the finishing touches to my sophomore offering SCOOTER NATION. Next up, I’m scheduled to appear at a local Chapters book store with fellow Solstice Author Maighread MacKay. That’s on October 11th followed by Bookapalooza in November. This is organized by the Writer’s Community of Durham Region to which I belong and it’s a really great event. Writers from Durham County and beyond will attend with every genre and literary form you could name.
3. When and why did you begin writing?
I began shortly after the death of a close friend. We were students and work colleagues together and had grown codependent. His death was unexpected and a complete shock, so I began a grief journal as a means of trying to make sense of everything. My friend and I both shared an off the wall kind of sense of humor that got us into trouble at school occasionally, so it didn’t take long for my journal to lapse into utter nonsense. It became a work of pure fiction. A writer friend told me it looked like a book and that I ought to keep going, so I did.
4. What inspired you to write your first book?
Thirty years of living and watching and waiting for a platform from which to launch my tropes; my ‘bones of contention.’ In no particular order they are as follows 1) nostalgia hurts more than it helps 2) kindness can be found in the oddest places 3)prying is a lousy thing 4) some questions don’t need answers 5)insular people will, sooner or later, give in to others because we are social 6)we must find and then let go of that thing we need so that we can keep it forever.
5. Do you have a specific writing style?
It’s not conscious; it just grew out of my interests and the music of words. I’m fond of old tymy classical Greek literature so omniscient narrators and a chorus made a lot of sense to me. Combined with modern vernacular and some gonzoid absurdities and you get pretty close to me…like an Aesop fable as told through eccentrics.
How did you come up with the title?
Heuer Lost and Found began as a much larger work—The Heuer Effect—which forms the majority portion of the third novel. In its original form, Heuer kept getting lost; the manuscript kept getting bigger and bigger and I fought constantly with side characters to hang on to him and keep him in the forefront. The idea to hive the manuscript into two separate works came from a third party who saw very clearly that this was a story of two lives lived in real time and then in memories. Once separated, the title for the new manuscript was clear. I’d lost him, then I found him.
6. Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
The past is a great place to visit, but don’t stay there too long.
7. How much of the book is based in some form of reality?
About seventy per cent, which is to say that the science references are accurate, as well as the details of day to day operations. The characters, however, are all mine!
8. Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
Every fiction is loosely based on a fact or observation. The funeral home, for example, is an amalgam of four separate businesses that no longer exist. The rooms I describe have been demolished and live on in memory alone. I love that I was able to preserve them in my own small way. Likewise, people. Some of my men friends believe that they are “Heuer” but they aren’t. There’s actually some of me in there… and a little Dean Martin.
9. What books have most influenced your life most?
Satire, poetry, biography and the bible.
10. If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
Kurt Vonnegut, absolutely.
11. What book are you reading now?
Lawrence in Arabia by Scott Anderson. I’ve been reading history for over thirty years, and it’s only now that things are beginning make sense. For anyone interested in delving deeper into the history and politics of the mid east, this is definitely a go-to book. It makes the case beautifully that we are still heaving from the effects of the FIRST world war.
12. Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Rachael Stapleton, Marissa Campbell and David K. Bryant. Memoirs by Young Vol. 1,2,and 3, were eye popping as well. And there’s John DeBoer, Linda K. Seinkiewicz, Wren Michaels, Simone Salmon, Karen King. So many to mention.
13. Last words?
I’m still having a ball. This is not work for me, but a love story between my heart and my imagination. Come along if you like, but don’t forget to laugh.
