They stand around the casket, watching as it is slowly lowered into the ground, saying their final goodbyes to the shell that once held the soul they still love, and will try to remember.  Hands in pockets gripping tissues, wiping eyes, wiping tears, noses and (snot). Welcome to the funeral: It is not mine so don’t despair, there will still be a story by the end of this.

A sad occasion for some, but not for us- us, we know better. After all, you are only a spectator, reading this (thank you). And I, I am here, see, sitting in the corner beneath the shade of this sallow tree. Watching, just like you, and writing this. But I think you already know: real has different dimensions. It is always changing.

The pale wheat-salmon smudge of sunrise is filling the horizon, reaching the thousand-clawed silhouette of the Sallow tree and stretching its shadows.

We lost something, that much everyone agrees. Something special.

But we don’t agree what.

It is summer, that is why we chose to have the sermon this early. Already, it is too humid. People are getting restless, swatting at flying things, wiping the sweat from their necks, shuffling between the crisp yellow blades of drying grass, hoping it wont last much longer, already, they are thinking about their cool air-conditioned living rooms, the television shows they are missing; the life that still carries on.

We lost something, that much everyone agrees.

What everyone thinks they’ve lost is you.

But off course, this cannot be. You are here besides me, reading this.  I feel your face leaning close to read it, and something like a breathe against my neck. When I look: there you are. I follow your eyes to these words!

So I stop writing.  After all you must admit- it is a little strange, and the shadow you create is making me cold, despite the shining sun.  I close my eyes and will a memory of the moment when we met, by the seaside, at a dim sum chinese takeout.  I smell the salty air, and hear a seagull cawing. The ocean- roaring, beyond the asphalt road, crashing in waves of galloping foam horses, smashing into a clean tide.  I stand here, enjoying the bittersweet contrast of sunny warmth against chilled wind, waiting in line for a dim sum.

Pay attention (I wish I had that first time), my life is about to be changed forever: this is where I meet you. There you are. You smile at me. There was something, then, and we made it our history.

This is how I meet you fifteen years ago.

I try to focus on remembering distinct features, your laughing eyes, your easy smile, they way your eyes narrow and your neck arches in confidence when you speak of things you are proud of, like when you spoke about our daughter, (name?) (and later: how your neck arched- leaned forward, like a burden you suddenly felt the weight of) but when I try to look I cannot see.  It seems, like sand: these memories will crumble when crushed.  My eyes water and sting into a million pinhole rainbows so I must open them, returning to this real world you’ve, almost, lost.

There you are still, staring back at me in concern and, something else. There is a coldness to you, a sternness for a moment as if you’d followed me to my memory and found, in its memory, the bittersweet staleness of something foul.

I feel I know what, but when I try articulate it into something mind-made it disappears- did you do that?

I hug the purple wool around me tighter against the chill, watching as the crowd untangles. The service is over. Time is passing and the sun is almost everywhere now. It has killed the mist away, and with it the people attending your funeral, leaving only a landscape of odd-shaped tombs and open graves in a chequered pattern of sun and shadow.

I decide to walk home despite the unbearably hot weather.  We leave together. Our walk home is similar to the many walks we’ve had along this same path together. The only difference, this time, is that I cannot lean against your arm. I feel oddly imbalanced by the lack of support. Oddly hollow.

I am unsettled by this new silence. The missing sounds of your footsteps. Where once, our feet would patter in a synchronized duet of swaying beams, I now stagger, a lonely clip and clop, in these formal heals I wear.

(To be continued…)

Thank you for reading this, I hope you’ve enjoyed it! If you have the time, I would like to hear what you think of the story, and your suggestions on what could happen next. If you tell me what -could- happen, I could write -your- story for the next chapter, how cool would that be!?

Namaste  :)

Arianna comes from a simple but noble background. Her father had faithfully been chosen to serve his king, was dubbed as a knight, and fought in many battles at the side of his king.

Arianna’s father, having not had a son until he was aging, taught his daughter the skill of the bow. He showed her how to make the bow sing with accuracy and skill. Her father noted that he had never seen a man as one with his bow as Arianna was with hers. There was a fluidity between the two that he could not completely understand.

When she had free time from her chores, Arianna would vanish into the forest. Her stealth like  movements caught the most alert of the forest creatures off guard. She smiled “I would never harm any of you.”

Arianna was adept at sword fighting. What she lacked in strength she made up for in agility. The sword was her father’s  favorite weapon, and as such he worked with her tirelessly. He abhorred the stand and hammer technique that most knights used. Her father worked hard to assure that Arianna knew the subtle techniques in the event she had to defend herself.

“I will do all I can papa, while you are away, to teach your namesake in the craft of the sword.”

“You are a fine pupil, my daughter. I look forward to many years by the fire watching your own  boys wield  their wooden weapons when I am aged.” Arianna’s eyes shone brightly with hope. As her father rode off, she thought of all the times he had taken her into the forest. He made her run, ride, swim  as if she was in training to be one of his warriors.

By the firelight she remembered how he stroked her hair and tostled the dark,curly head of his boy.

“Come home to us father,” she whispered into the air.

***

The thunder of horses rushed in like a storm.

“Father!!” Arianna thought as she rushed for the door.

Alas, there were only eight grim-faced knights.”Your father saved the King with his valiant sacrifice. All will hail the Weldon coat of arms for his bravery,” The knight waved his sword in an arc. All the knights joined in the salute; then, with eyes downcast, they wheeled and rode off.

One knight, loath to leave the memory so rapidly,  lifted  up his visor. “Sorrow” etched on his brow.

“Yes, I feel it too. So new, like a knife, just now plunged into my existence.” She reaches out her hand as if to grasp at a last memory of her father.

“Come along, Frederick”, a voice calls, “we’ve a victory to celebrate!”
Frederick’s hand extends sharing in her pain if only for an instant. “Adieu,” he says, compassion shining in his eyes. He leaves wishing he could hold her against the wave that will engulf her.

Arianna wanted to drown in a corner of her heart, “I must be strong for mama. So quickly has she taken to her bed. We cannot lose her as well. I will care for them dearest father.”

***

“We will make it through this winter,but what will we do come the next? I can hunt, but we need other things like money for taxes.”

When she went into town to buy a few necessities, Arianna’s interest was piqued by a posting for a contest. She read ” the winner in each skill  will win 2 gold pieces,” Arianna flushed with excitement. She failed to notice the fee for all entrants.

Each day was spent in the woods practicing; each evenings she cooked  and cleaned. She wanted to take her brother with her to train, but she needed as much practice for the contest as possible.
“Mama we will get through next winter if my plan succeeds.”

“It has to succeed dear daughter.”

“Yes, it must.”

One thing Arianna did not think of was the purpose of the contest. The war had depleted the kingdom’s army of many of its skilled warriors; a master at arms would be looking for able-bodied, skilled men.

***

The time grew close, She knew she had to disguise the fact she was a girl. “But how?”

“I have made a deerskin jerkin for you daughter, that will hang rather than cling to your womanly shape.”,

I have chosen some charcoal sticks for you to blacken your teeth, sister.” her brother smiled proudly.

She cropped her hair the night before.  ”He loved my long hair.”

Tears bathed a young woman’s  pillow case on the eve of her taking the role of a man.

***

Arianna conveyed confidence to her mother and her brother as she rode off to town early that morning. She tugged at her jerkin fearing she would draw attention for being so plainly dressed. Her courage all but failed her. She decided to take a few practice shots in the woods before she got to town’s center. ffffft thunggggg ffffttt thungggg. With on center accuracy, she hit her target. As she went to collect her arrows, she caught the eyes of an onlooker.

“Who are you?” she had to clear her throat and make her voice lower.

“I”m but a boy going to try my luck at the contest today. I wasn’t nervous, but after seeing your hand at the bow I think I had better be. “

She tried not to smile, as it made her look more like a girl. “Well let’s see what you can do with your bow, sir.”

The boy notched his arrow, pulled back and sent it whizzing. It hit her target but just the edge.

“Do it again, first let me look at your stance,” she tried to remember to sound like a boy,” You aren’t standing correctly. Your feet need to be shoulder length apart, and put your weight on the balls of your feet. Find the angle you are comfortable with as you address the target. Mine is a 90 degree angle.” Arianna had the boy adjust his stance “Now pull back as you take a deep breath hold it, Shoot. ” After a few more attempts his arrow was on center.

“You are very good and a good teacher. My name is Thad by the way.”

“Thank you Thad my name is Ari. I’ve been teaching my younger brother.”

“Who taught you to shoot like that? “

“My father.”

“Mine did too until he died.”

“I’m sorry Thad mine died in the war.”

“You must be like be like me needing to find a way to take care of the people left behind. Let’s go to the contest together. Two is always better than one.”

***

Thad and Ari meandered through the forest as though they had been long fast friends. They did not notice the forest closing in on them.

“Why does it seem so dark all of a sudden?” Ari remarked.

Too late Thad noticed. “It is the creature Ari run.”

Ari had been trained to think like a soldier. She took a minute to assess the situation and ask herself what would father do?

“Quick Thad, dismount and stand back to back.” She said authoritatively forgetting to sound like a boy.

Thad did as he was told not really noticing Ari’s higher voice; he was too attentive to the threat. “We are no match for it, Ari.”

“It doesn’t know that Thad. Load up an arrow and look as threatening as possible. If you feel the creature close in, then shoot and ready another arrow. Do not panic, Thad.”

Ari wasn’t aware what the threat was but she naturally assumed the composure of her competent father.

She could hear deep breathing and then felt the earth  move with huge footsteps. She couldn’t see a mouth opening, but she could hear it. She shot, loaded, and shot again. She didn’t know that the creature had been at the point of breathing smokey fire.

Just then, Thad and Ari heard horses racing toward them and arrows flying. Instinctively, she ducked and drew her sword.

“Fell the beast,” she heard a voice command.

A loud thud that shook even the largest of trees rocked the forest, then a smokey gasp, then quiet.

“Now plunge into its eyes to make sure it’s dead.” She obeyed not realizing the directive was not to herself.

It bled hot ooze that could burn the toughest of skin.

She wanted to scream as she smelled a stench; one with which she was not familiar.

“Nicely done,” she felt strong arms pat against her shoulder.

“Wait, you are but a boy.” The armor clad man exclaimed. “But a brave boy, nonetheless. Come along with me. You deserve a draught of ale. “

“I must recover my arrows, sir.”

The knight laughed. “There will be not a thing to recover lad.”

She shook her head not knowing what to do next. Fooling Thad was one thing fooling knights would not be so easy. She fumbled about trying to take a confident stance.

The presence of a knight seemed, at the moment, more a threat than the presence of a dragon.

**

Ari heard a mewling sound like a hoarse kitten.

“One of it’s spawn, sir”

“Kill the offensive beast,” the knight waved dismissal.

Ari tripped over a wobbly rock that looked like…

“An egg,” she whispered, “she was protecting her nest.”

Not thinking Ari snatched up the egg and put it in her canvas bag .

Ari realized she had not had the time to gather some dirt and smear it into the pores of her skin. She leaned down casually then swatted at her face wiping her brow.

“What were you boys doing here?”

“Practicing,” Thad chimed in

“Oh, for the tournament in town. Aren’t you two a bit young?”

Thad hung his head

Ari came to his defence. “No, actually skill is not relevant to age, training is.”

“You speak confident what is your name boy?”

“Ari, Sir.”

“Your family name?”

Ari stuttered, ” Weldon, sir.”

“Is that right? I knew Weldon well. He was faithful to our king to the last. I certainly hope the king was true to his promise, young Weldon.”

“What promise,sir?”

“That he would care for your family and train you as a knight.”

Ari was speechless and looked stoic at the statement.

“I see he has not! Fie on a man who makes idle promises even if he is a king. The wrong must be made right.”

“Sir, my mother is unwell.”

“It is the right of the eldest son to make the request, young Ari. I will offer my aid.”

“But the tournament…”

“Yes you will have time for the tournament as well on this trip. Let us proceed.”

Ari felt the egg next to her knowing that it could hatch at any time. “Wait little one just a little bit longer.” she whispered

***

A younger knight showed Ari and Thad where to stable their horses.

“Folly’s Foal you must watch after this egg, ” Ari instructed her mare, “I don’t know what else to do. If it hatches, keep it warm,” She kicked dirt and loose straw over the egg to conceal it as best she could.

“Come with me, young Weldon,” the knight instructed, “let’s go to the practice field and see what you and your friend can do with a bow.”

Ari knew the knight was trying to be kind, but she felt like a child rather than a man. Then she noticed his eyes. It was the knight who mourned her father’s loss. “Maybe I can trust him.”

“I do not have a full quiver, sir.

“You have enough to show your skill.  If you do so, I will supply you with a full quiver for the tournament.”

“I am speechless, sir”

“Here is the archery stand .  Show us your best on those three targets.”

Ari took her stance.  In order to not be nervous she thought of Thad, “Watch how I do this, Thad, and then do the same.”

Ari notched and released  her arrows rapidly. Left to right, each target took one arrow dead center.  She struck the targets with speed and accuracy.   Each arrow landed next to the first in the bull’s eye.  Ari looked for another target to show she was not “just a boy”.  On another practice field, there was jousting target. It was a shield on a swinging arm, and it was still in motion.

Ari notched,  took a breath, held it, and released her arrow.  She hit the shield causing it to spin.

“Well done, young Weldon.” Frederick beamed with admiration

“I am sorry, I…”

“You have no need to apologize,  you have exceptional skill. I assure you my skill equals not your own.  You will make a fine knight as your father.

“You will need a squire, Ari,” Thad said with lowered head,” I cannot best you as an archer, but I will be the better squire.” His eyes sparkled at the thought.

“You have earned your full quiver as well,” Frederick slapped Ari’s back, “Let’s win you a trophy from the tournament.”

Ari was shooed over to the tournament. “Shooting straight is one thing. Becoming a knight is out of my range.” she tried to push her thoughts aside – for now.

***

Ari bravely took her stance when it was her turn to shoot. This part she could do  and every shot would  honor her fallen father.

This is the first chapter of four that are about Arianna and her journey as an archer, mother of a dragon baby…

written for the April A to Z Challenge. To find more A to Z ers go here.

Moss was climbing up the trees; there were dribbles of water trickling through the roots forming little puddles at the edges. Little waterfalls that sprouted around the forest, bearing the cleanest water in all the land that the trees would simply soak up. The wind was blowing softly, so softly that it felt like silk against your skin. An array of beautiful plants and flowers of many colours were present each with assorted properties.  There were leaves littered on the forest floor with overgrown bushes and shrubs. The trees were so big and wide that the sky could hardly be visible. A peaceful, harmonic atmosphere was lingering accompanied by the sweet singing of the birds. All was quiet and serene with a warm glow of magic occupying the air, which was becoming stronger by the minute…

*

Drayton glanced at the creature, it’s sleek fur glinting from the small spots of light that descended upon it, its large eyes closed as it drank from the creeks and streams, he whispered “to the bridge…quietly!”. Jango barely heard him, with the soft whistling of the birds. The bridge was made of twisted tree branches and roughly decorated with moss. They slowly made their way towards the bridge, being careful not to disturb the magnificent beast, gently and quietly, all that could be heard was the near muted crunching of the leaves under their feet and the songs of the birds and rustling of the animals. Just when they thought everything was going well, Jango tripped on a dirty root, and fell face first into a puddle of mud. The deer ran off in fright. Drayton turned to Jango “you clown! That would have been the catch of the day! Idiot” Jango got up; his face was caked in mud with bits of leaf stuck to his face with twigs in his hair. “I’m sorry, it’s not my fault I am a complete Oaf, oh my god! Oh my goodness! The tears that come to my eyes because I saved the life of a helpless creature that you were going to ruthlessly kill, that you were so bloodthirsty for” he pretended to faint onto the ground, rolling around crying with his hands to his face moaning exaggeratedly  He stopped, parted his fingers and looked through them at Drayton. Drayton had his arms folded, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he burst out laughing “get up, let’s go back”. He stood up and brushed off the leaves and dirt. “Where can I wash my face?”  he asked “you know, you actually look a lot better with your face like that, you know, because you can’t actually see your face” Drayton laughed “Drayton! Come on, where?!” “Well, we are pretty near Longholm where there is a river that splits through our realm and that one; you can wash your face there”.

They walked through the forest peacefully, Drayton felt like he was in a new world entirely, yet he knew every tree, every animal and every plant, and it was like his second home. It was his sanctuary; he wasn’t a spoilt prince whose world revolves around wealth and exquisitely fine living. He was different and he took pride in that. He thought about how much responsibility he would carry in the coming years. He had felt anchored and felt like he had no freedom when the door was right there open for him to go through, he just couldn’t see it at the time. However here, he felt light and free and at peace, that was until his thoughts were disturbed by a fly-swotting Jango who smelt like a swamp. “Get away! Arrgh!” Jango swatted the air; as there were small beetle like creatures flying around him. Drayton laughed; he walked over to a tree and looked by the roots and searched through the assorted plants that lay there. He picked up a yellow flower with a thick stem; the flower had big, thick petals. Drayton broke off a few and handed it to Jango. “Here the Lilliocarpion plant, perfect for warding off those flying beetles, just crush them in your hand and apply it roughly on your face, they hate the smell, even though it smells better than you!” he laughed again and handed it to Jango “will it make my face smell afterwards” he replied “it shouldn’t do, it will come off when you wash your face, you might smell it a bit but give it some air and it will go away”.

They reached the river a few minutes later; they were near the borders of the neighbouring realm of Longholm and Jango fell on his knees in relief to see the water. Jango was washing the dirt off of his face, it slithered, dirty and murky through the crystal clean water. Drayton heard some horses, and a large number at that, they were coming in their direction. He pulled Jango back who choked on the water he was drinking, into a bush. Jango coughed hard, Drayton put his hand around Jango’s mouth. He was right, there was a mass of men on horses dressed in black, at the back four men were holding up a black carriage, they were led by a man with a wolf’s head, and he was a half-ling. A half-ling is a half man, half creature being. They are different from centaurs; they are vicious and are usually drawn to the evil, dark side. He watched a man come out of the carriage holding a black box; the man had a jagged black scar going from his left temple to the right side of his chin. He couldn’t see the man in great detail from that distance, but he saw the man take out a plant, the darkest plant he had ever seen, he looked at the plant and felt odd, like he had some sort of association with it, a deep feeling, but it went quicker than it came. Drayton wondered what they were doing, he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be there and he was sure that they weren’t either. His father told him to stick to the forest and not go near Longholm without the royal guard, but he did. There was a time when they could wander along the realms without a care, however, times were getting tough now and darkness was beginning to penetrate the good. Meanwhile, Jango’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head and Drayton was forced to let him go. He hacked and coughed loudly and fell out of balance and out of the bush in plain sight, Drayton looked up instantly, the men looked their way. He knew the river wasn’t very deep, and he heard men striding in the river quickly towards them. He got up, dragged Jango up and ran for it, running and running as fast as his legs would carry him.

He saw two men coming from behind he kept running, but was halted when he heard a cry for help. One of the men was holding Jango by the arms. He ran back for him, he readied his bow and arrow, he took the only chance he had and released the bow, and the arrow went straight through the heart of one of the men. Taking the small window he had, he shot the other one to be safe. They both lay motionless, he took the opportunity and dragged Jango up, making sure that he was within sight, he looked back briefly and saw that they had no chance of getting back to the edge of the forest, Drayton came towards a clearing, he saw a large tree with a wide trunk, he looked back to see the two men he had previously shot sit up. He made his way up the tree quickly and made sure that Jango got up there as well. He looked back in awe; the men had shot, pulled out the arrows that were in their chests and tossed it to the side. As they stood up, the gaping hole in their chest began to close up.  The two men came and circled the area that Jango and Drayton were in, not even bothering to look up; Drayton and Jango both remained quiet, for these men were definitely not like anything they had seen before.  After a while the men came to conclusion that Drayton and Jango were not there and went back to the river. To be on the safe side, both of them stayed in the tree for a while longer. They soon decided to come down. “What the hell were they?!” he was cut short “Jango calm down! These things, whatever they are, they didn’t die when I shot them and those men well- look we have to tell my father, these things could post a threat to us!” Jango turned away from him “Drayton, did you ever think that they could be from the realm of the unknown, like where evil and ice princess live-” Drayton stepped towards him “I…I did think that, because there is nowhere else, the only realm, the ninth realm, its the only one that doesn’t follow father’s rule, its the only one that harbours evil” Drayton faced Jango with a look of concern, “I hit the man in the heart, you…you saw that didn’t you? Right in the heart and he got up again. How is that possible?”  He paced around the clearing. “More importantly who was the man with the scar?” Jango spoke “He looked terrifying though, the scar wasn’t even a red colour, and it was black! Drayton, where do you see that?” Drayton dropped onto the rock and thought to himself. “Let’s head back now Jango, we’ll be late and my father will not be pleased”. They talked through what they would say as they made their journey back to Gweldor, through the slop, and coaxed in sweat and grime as they walked.

They reached the edge of the forest near the mill house; they made sure that their tracks lead to the mill instead of the castle. They then took off their muddy boots and walked the way back to the castle on the sweet smelling soft grass. “Why did they come for us Drayton?” Drayton looked straight ahead and didn’t bother to face him. “Maybe they thought that we were spying on them, whatever they were doing, they definitely did not want us to see it” The silence resumed, and Drayton was in deep thought, he felt like his body and mind were two separate things. His mind was cluttered; his emotions were battling it out, pride, relief and good deed against remorse and wrong doing. He didn’t even know which feeling felt stronger. He settled that the human mind, let alone his own was beyond his understanding and so where his feelings at this point. He had never felt like this before.

“Thanks again Drayton for saving me back then, you were amazing, and you hit them just on the heart as well” Drayton smiled back briefly. “They got up again didn’t they though, and its okay, you know that I would help you any time you needed it” Jango smiled slyly, Drayton laughed “within reason of course, I’m not going to be your personal slave or anything”. “So are you going to tell your father, he might know what it was all about” Drayton replied “Yes, I will, I think he needs to know being king and all, that there are suspicious goings on in the realms” They smiled at each other and walked on back to the castle, talking about the most irrelevant things like who has the biggest feet and why, they were both trying to be as evasive as possible about the previous topic. They both knew that this hunting trip was not like any other that they had been on before, and it was probably one that they would never forget.

They reached the market place of Gweldor, the business of the market stalls full of fresh fruits and vegetables of all colours had taken their minds off of the commotion from earlier that day. They walked around carelessly for a while before retiring to their chambers. Drayton and Jango went to find Galliard, who was working away with medicine in the physician’s study. Galliard greeted them both, then shook his head with a smile, “both of you are so dirty, what on earth were you doing? Rolling around in mud?” He smiled again “go and wash up, your mother would have a fit if he saw you like that Drayton” Galliard had always been in Drayton’s life, he was King Tristan’s closest friend, there was no need for him to call Drayton highness or majesty and the only times he did was just mockingly.  As they walked in the corridor, they saw Miguel, Jango’s brother, he was carrying a pile of papers, he scowled at them before walking towards Galliard, Galliard frowned as Miguel was about to put the papers down “no boy! Here not there!”They laughed as they made their way down to the wash room where Martha accommodated them with towels.

*

That evening they made their way to dinner. The long polished oak table stretched from one end of the hall to the other, however only one end of it was being used. They were accompanied by King Tristan, Queen Evelyn and Galliard; Miguel never ate with them, which was not surprising. They drooled over the mouth-watering feast that lay in front of them. They were eating a starter of crouton and vegetable soup with a main of chicken and vegetable pie with gravy, potatoes and spring salad with seasonal sauces and for dessert a choice of blackberry and apple pie or cherry and raspberry jam lattice cake. The boy’s table manners left them, as they wolfed it down.  While they waited for the dessert they talked amongst themselves. At that point it dawned on them. They had to tell the King of their hunt and they were not particularly looking forward to it. “Father there is something I must tell you. Well, Jango and I went hunting today and… Well, Jango tripped on a root and got all muddy so we had to get him cleaned up so…” “Spit it out Drayton, I hate it when you talk in riddles” he replied “anyway, we went down to the river between us and Longholm-” “I told you not to go near Longholm without the-” “royal guard, I know, we just didn’t have any other choice at the time, and that’s not it, well, while we were there we saw these men, they were wearing long flowing black robes and one of them that had a long jagged black scar was carrying a black flower of some sort-” Galliard dropped his cutlery with a clatter and King Tristan looked as white as a sheet, Drayton stopped talking. “Carry on boy” “A…and well, um, we hid in a bush and Jango fell out of it and so they saw us and we ran for it and two guys chased us, I hit them both with an arrow through their hearts and then we had to go up a tree because we saw the two men sit up. When I looked back I saw the men I had just shot pulled the arrows out of their chests. They came to look for us, but we were up the tree. They couldn’t see us so after a while they left, what were they, do you know?”  King Tristan and Galliard were both white. King Tristan turned to Galliard “he’s found the lotus then, it’s not a rumour, and he’s been tackling the outer realms near the realm of the unknown. He’s gotten to Longholm now, He’ll be in Gweldor at any time” Galliard replied “you know that he couldn’t , as it is most strongly protected unlike the others, you know what he’s after as well, you know what you must do, the boy is ready” “ I know, I received news this morning, Melahalo and Ieniola has been taken a few days ago I had sent more men down there, I hadn’t known that he had come so far, I did not know that he had gotten to Longholm also, it is no longer safe, had you not told me Drayton, then it would be days till I had received the news and it could have possibly been too late, come with me, you too Evelyn and Galliard, Jango too” They walked up to the astrology tower, up the spiralling stony stairs. “Try not to fret Tristan, too much stress isn’t good” Evelyn tried to comfort him, but he was too distressed, he hadn’t known that they had gotten that far towards Gweldor. “come here Drayton, look at me child, I am to pass on to you the power of the Gweldorian for many purposes, this power, if the bearer is killed will die with them, If I am killed the power dies so you must harbour the gift now, and Manatour who causes havoc seeks to destroy the power, and it cannot be destroyed. Not only that, but you have proven to be ready for the gift. All of your years of studying the power and how to use it for good, you must do so now as you are ready” Drayton was nervous, he was going to be given the gift that people would die for, to be stronger than all other ordinary wizards. He felt slightly overwhelmed by the situation, and he could feel the sweat forming on his forehead. His father looked at him earnestly “Repeat after me now-”

“I accept this power, to use for the good of the people, for the good of my soul. To help those in trouble and to help those who are in need. Abuse this power, I shall not. Use this power for greed, I shall not. I will use this power for good, to repel bad, and to outshine evil wherever I stand”

Drayton repeated the lines, he kneeled and Tristan placed his hand on Drayton’s head. Drayton felt the power rush though him, like a surge of energy. He didn’t know how to explain the sensation he was feeling, tingling from head to toe. Ending with a final unexplainable bolt of fierce energy, he fell limp into Tristan’s arms. Tristan helped Drayton up and took him over to Evelyn, Galliard and Jango. “Look’s like there won’t be a celebration for the passing of the gift then” Drayton said weakly. Jango smiled briefly. “I will explain more in the morning now you must rest-” he said “just one thing father, why now?” “You can never be sure of what can happen, even overnight Drayton”. He retired looking worn out and so did Evelyn after kissing Drayton on the forehead. He turned to Galliard and Jango, “I’m going to sleep now, but I’ll see you tomorrow okay” he said “do you want me to help you to your room Drayton?” Drayton smiled at Jango “its okay Jango, I think I can manage, but thanks” he walked away to his room, groggy with sleep and feeling a little drunk. It had all happened so quickly, it took him a while to process everything. From what seemed to be years of studying the gift throughout childhood, in only a few seconds became his future. He made his way to his bedroom chamber, he flopped onto his soft mattress and breathed deeply, and he felt his eyelids go heavy and saw the room be consumed by darkness.

*

He tossed and he turned, covered in sweat. He saw flashes of red and black, he saw flames dancing in his mind. He felt a sharp pain in his head and he awoke with a jolt. He looked up and the ceiling breathing heavily. He heard some rattling and talking, he could hear people running outside. He looked out of his window out onto the courtyard. He saw a man climbing up his wall; luckily he had no time to change before and was dressed in his fighting attire. He grasped the bow and arrows and slung the quiver over his shoulders he aimed and fired, it went straight through the man’s eyes, and he fell off in pain. Drayton looked down, he shot as many as he could; he could see more climbing up, he had to do something, he couldn’t keep shooting arrows, he would run out soon.  He shut the window and shouted at the top of his voice “the castle is being breached! Get up we are under attack!” he saw some guards at the end of the hallway he signaled towards them. They sounded the alarm and the men ran out to get their armour on. Drayton grabbed his sword and the belt with the scabbard and a few more arrows. He looked out his window and fired at as many men as he could. They were like the un-dead men from before. He looked out to the courtyard and saw that the castle’s men were fighting some of the other men off. He ran down towards his parent’s room, his mother was dressed and his father was gone. She too was wearing a sword for protection. “Flee with the women mother, they are taking the underground tunnels out of the castle, I’m going to find father” she looked at him with concern “make sure you are careful Drayton!” he looked at her and then ran to find his father, he was in the courtyard fighting, he was still quite weak and Drayton could see that, the man of the un-dead was about to strike a mighty blow onto his father but Drayton managed to block it. He looked at the man; he was three times bigger than Drayton. He and the man fought hard, but Drayton was not restored to full strength either. The man struck a fearful blow to Drayton, and Drayton fell onto the floor gripping his arm, he saw from the corner of his eye one of the castle guards trying to help him. The man turned to other guard who had attempted to save Drayton. They were battling it out. He felt weary now; he staggered off to into the castle to look for his father. He was losing a lot of blood, it was seeping through his hands, as he tried to stop the wound, but the blow had been too great. He felt his eyesight go blurry. He fell onto the floor, into an empty black nothing-ness.

-          I don’t know what the goat, Lady symbolizes. It must symbolize something; if not Suzanne Collins would not spend a few pages of a story of Katniss telling Peeta about how she got it for Prim. The same story repeated during the anti-hijacking session with very little success on Peeta’s behalf and the goat probably died in the end. I just don’t get it. Why? Does it represent Prim? Was it a take on sacrifice? Was it just demonstrating how Katniss try to justify her action without success?

I hope someone would be able to help me to understand the goat.

Chapter 2

-          The first unity declaration by District 12 done was on the day of the reaping when Katniss volunteered. It was the first step to defy the Capitol on national television: silence, not clapping and the silent admiration salute. All of it changed in Catching Fire when the majority barely supported Katniss at the square when Gale was whipped. It was all downhill after that. It’s as if they blamed her (and Peeta) for all the bad things that happened in District 12. This was a complete reversal of attitude from the first book. It doesn’t change much in Mockingjay when they are all in District 13. District 12 was not very keen on violence though the face of rebellion originated from their own Seam.

“Where’d that charming friend of yours go?”

Damn, she had the most melodic voice. Joel got a case of the warm fuzzies in his chest and thought he’d better man up real quick. It was silly of him to let a woman he had just met make him so excited. He also didn’t want to show the surprise and delight he felt that she had returned.  “What took you so long?” He summoned a non-chalant tone. “Did you fall in?”

It took Elend a moment to remember that she was supposedly using the bathroom despite not physically having that sort of urge in centuries. Perhaps the little impromptu snack she had sidetracked her as well. “Oh, heh,” she laughed nervously. “No, I had to make a phone call.”

“That’s interesting. I do too. What is your number, Elend?” Joel paused. He couldn’t figure out where he had suddenly gotten the confidence. Perhaps her return to him was enough to lay it all out on the line. “I kind of really want to take you out sometime.”

Spanner Jack

by Keith Melton

Dedication

To my best friends, Craig and Ben. Remember the road trip where our car overheated in Death Valley? Or watching from the top of Table Rock as a midnight lightning storm charged across the horizon?

I miss you guys. All the best to you and your families forever.

Chapter One

The Box

Everything went to hell after she lost her wrench.

Of course, the wrench was Brenna’s favorite, a ten-inch locking adjustable. She’d left it somewhere in the workshop. With all the tools, spare parts, half finished rebuilds, and special projects strewn everywhere like wreckage from a bomb, it might take halfway to forever to find it. She had a vague memory of holding it as she’d wandered to the mini-fridge, while her thoughts churned over possible reasons a second recirculating chiller had crapped out this week. Bad compressor and solenoid valve on the first one. On the second, she had the pump motor disemboweled and spread out like mechanical entrails for some gear-god prophecy. She’d been elbow-deep in the guts of the thing when Tau had distracted her, begging for a treat and trading attention for dog breath-flavored face licking. Brenna had been holding the wrench…

…and then it had vanished. Stolen by ninja gremlins right out of her fingers. Or aliens fascinated with primitive spanners. Though her personal favorite possibility was a kleptomaniac ghost. She’d always wanted to live somewhere haunted.

Brenna grinned and blew dangling hair out of her face, for the first time aware that her lower back ached as though someone had smacked a steel chain against her spine. She groaned when she stretched. Too much time spent crouched on the floor beside that damn chiller. Killed her knees too. Long past time for a break.

She wiped her grimy hands on a rag, carefully stepped on the pedal to raise the lid to oily waste trash can, and tossed the rag inside. Her J-shaped Andurgo prosthetic legs made echoey thuds on the concrete, the servos whispering, sending feedback through fiberoptic cables and nanofibers to her nerves, allowing her to feel the ground as she walked to the sink. Her legs might be missing below the knee, but the advanced design gave her full freedom of movement, even if she wouldn’t be modeling pantyhose anytime soon. She smirked and scrubbed her hands with Lava soap to clean off the gunk from the motor. Not her favorite soap scent at all, but Claus Porto liquid lavender really failed to cut through the grease.

Tau scrambled out of his dog bed and hurried over to her with his favorite tennis ball in his mouth, whipping his tail back and forth, looking hopeful. Every other step, one of his legs gave a soft clang, similar to hers but quieter. He was a yellow Labrador retriever and was missing his right rear leg.

She’d adopted Tau after finding him listed online at a shelter in Atlanta, victim of a car hit-and-run, and she’d driven him back to Denver. After consulting with a vet and a biologist at the University of Colorado Denver, she’d fitted him with a harness and prototype rear leg she’d designed with AutoCAD and had built, based off current carbon-fiber prosthetic legs that would allow him to run. Tau’s leg was nowhere near as advanced as hers, but it held its own with current Earth tech. Quite a pair they made together. When she took him with her on her morning run they always turned heads. She’d long since gotten over her irritation at all the “bionic woman” and “bionic dog” comments. People were people. She wouldn’t go through life pissed off because they failed to come up with fresh and amusing material.

She scratched between Tau’s ears. “No time for fetch yet.” He dropped the tennis ball at her feet and it bounced away with little wet splats on the concrete. “Ugh, did you marinate that in drool? You’re out of luck, boy. I just washed these hands.”

She retraced her steps to the fridge, searching for the missing wrench in all the places she might’ve left it. Almost every flat surface was covered with tools and parts and the disassembled internals of something she’d been working on or designing at some point. She’d have to tell Annabel about how the second chiller had gone belly up and—depending on the availability of replacement parts—wouldn’t be fixed for a few days, if that. As always, Annabel would have a highly intelligent mental breakdown over the delay. Because an “Einstein-Rosen Bridge didn’t build itself” and “Space-time waited for no woman” and “Negative energy needed positive attitude.”

Or she’d say something like that anyway. Strange platitudes aside, space-time would have to wait at least forty-eight hours.

The doorbell rang—well, rang was the wrong word, since she’d rigged it through the workshop speakers mounted along the walls to play the sound of an air raid siren. It always startled door-to-door salespeople and proselytizers and generated noise complaints. And it annoyed Annabel. Completely worth it, for the coolness factor alone. The world needed more wacky.

She whistled for Tau and headed for the steel front door. She swung aside the cover on the peephole and peered out. A man stood there wearing gray coveralls and a cap, holding a clipboard and bouncing on his heels as if he needed a trip to the restroom. He was maybe twenty or so, scruffy, his coveralls wrinkled and striped with dust.

She pushed the intercom button. “Yes?”

“I have a really large package delivery.” He laughed and glanced at the clipboard. “For Chell Laboratories.”

She slid back the steel bar, flipped both deadbolts, and pulled the door open. Tau stood by her side, wagging his tail in his best impression of a menacing guard dog.

The delivery guy started to hand her a clipboard, then stopped cold. “Shit, what happened to your legs?”

“Eaten by a shark.” The lies were easy. Sometimes she changed shark to giant squid or piranhas. Sometimes she lost her legs below the knee in a tragic roller coaster accident. Sometimes in an explosion at a moonshine still or while juggling chainsaws. Her answer depended on her mood. Strangers rude enough to ask didn’t deserve the truth.

“Shark? No fucking way,” the delivery guy said. “Were you a surfer?”

“On a cruise ship that sank. I never got my money back, either. They said pirate raids weren’t included in the insurance policy. Who knew?”

“Now you’re all robot-woman and shit. My girlfriend’s not even gonna believe this.” He eyed her black Andurgo legs. “How come you don’t do the plastic fake-leg thing? You like the attention?”

“Because when I kick someone in the balls with these, it hurts more.” She smiled as sweetly as she could manage. “What delivery company are you with again?” She looked at the truck. Standard commercial delivery truck. No name on the side, but there was something written on the door panel that she couldn’t read from this angle.

“UDS. Uppendown Delivery Service. Yeah, I know. The owner’s last name is Uppendown and he’s a real funny guy.” He glanced at the clipboard again, then thrust it at her. “I already X’ed all the places to sign. Scribble something and we’re good to go. Hope you have a man around to move it for you once I unload. This bitch weighs a ton.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage through the miracle of modern technology. We’ve got bay doors in back. Just pull the truck around.”

She took the clipboard and scanned the bill of lading for what was in the box. There were only strange codes and truncated words that could’ve referred to anything. She found the lines X-marked for her signature and scribbled. As she signed, the delivery guy glanced at Tau, who apparently rated lower than her legs for pure wow factor.

“Hey there, boy,” he said. “You a good dog?”

Tau’s tail began to thump against the floor. He dropped the tennis ball and it bounced along the ground. For Tau, the hope of fetch sprang eternal. He also had terrible taste in people—herself, of course, excluded.

“Holy fucking shit, that dog has the same fucking robo leg.”

“I know. The craziness continues unabated.” She handed back the clipboard, ready to have this idiot gone so she could get back to working on the motor. A nice, simple, inoffensive pump motor that could keep its mouth shut. Right now that sounded like heaven.

“How’d he lose it?”

“Fighting cougars. I’ll go open the back.” She shut the door on him and threw the bolts and bar, then threaded her way through the workshop to the rear bay doors where they took large equipment deliveries. She squared her shoulders, chin up, moved with purpose. She hadn’t let the broken pump or the leaking compressor ruin her day. She wasn’t going to let an obnoxious delivery guy ruin it either.

She hand-over-hand pulled the chain that opened the first bay door. The delivery truck beeped as it backed up the wide drive into the lot behind the shop. The delivery guy lined the truck up with the door, opened the back, then struggled with a pallet jack to move a box as big as a range stove to the truck’s hydraulic lift. The lift whined as it lowered. Tau barked at the sound, and Brenna hushed him absently. She didn’t remember Annabel mentioning more incoming equipment. Then again, Annabel lived inside her mind much of the time, wrapped up in hypothesis and experimental theory. Wouldn’t be the first time stuff had turned up unexpectedly.

The delivery guy hauled the pallet jack and box into the shop. She could tell from how he struggled to get the pallet jack rolling that he wasn’t exaggerating about the weight. She had him park the pallet holding the mystery box off to the side, near the double fire doors that led from the workshop to the interior lab. A strange scent of something that stank like vinegar reached her nose. She didn’t mention it in case the smell came from the man—she’d never intentionally embarrass another person, not even a jerk—but she started to sweat and her heart rate sped up for no reason she understood.

“Load’s uneven,” the delivery guy warned. “Wants to shift around on you. You got a forklift?”

“Small walk-behind.”

He nodded. “Good. I’m sure those robo-feet don’t give you much traction.”

Her Andurgo legs had pads on the bottom which gave her roughly the same traction as a good running shoe, though with less surface area. She bit her tongue, hoping icy silence would drive him out the door before his brain caught frostbite and destroyed his last actively firing neuron. It worked, because he laughed awkwardly, patted Tau, and slouched off to the truck. She leaned against the cinderblock wall and watched as he backed out. He threw her a jaunty salute and drove off.

She was about to head inside when she noticed the cargo van. White, with tinted windows, it was parked in front of the abandoned building across the street. The van had RepairPro Fire/Water/Mold Restoration written in sun-cracked lettering across the side. The building where it was parked had been empty, with a mournful For Lease sign dangling in one of the barred windows, for the three years she and Annabel had been here. She’d never noticed anyone parked there before.

Brenna hesitated, because she felt watched. The hair on the back of her arms and neck lifted, and goose bumps prickled her skin. The feeling was too strong to ignore. Someone, maybe several someones, watched her. Tau stood very still beside her, on alert, his tennis ball abandoned.

She turned and retreated to the bay door, uneasy, grateful for Tau at her side. Quickly, she worked the chain, shutting the door and going the extra step of padlocking the slide latch. She was on her way to the front of the workshop to steal another look at the van when the lab phone rang. She’d also rigged the phone to ring through the workshop speakers, this time to play “Weird Science.” Annabel had asked her to change it to classical music, suggesting Holst’s The Planets or anything by Mozart, but Brenna always put it off. The world might need more wacky, but classical music didn’t fit the bill.

She pushed past polypropylene dust barriers and through the fire doors into the lab, certain she wouldn’t get to the phone in time to answer. This wasn’t a bio lab but a physics lab, so the barriers were only to reduce the dirt and noise from the workshop. Tau padded-clanked along with her. She hurried past the helium neon laser and ceramic capacitors, careful not to knock over the CCD camera mounted on a tripod.

She grabbed the phone on the final ring before it went to voice mail. “Chell labs. Brenna.”

“I’m running late.” Annabel’s voice was faint over the connection, but she sounded distracted, harried. “I’m expecting a package delivery today. Has a courier arrived?”

“Just arrived. A massive-huge box. Some delivery company I’ve never heard of with a cheesy name. Can’t we just use UPS next time?”

“What are the dimensions of the box?”

“About the size of a large kitchen range.”

“No, that’s not right. Does the paperwork say Diamont Technology?”

Brenna wandered back into the workshop with the cordless phone and tore the bill of lading off the box. The vinegar reek definitely came from the box and made her stomach feel queasy. She tried to ignore both her nausea and growing unease as she scanned the paperwork.

“No, it says Anahit Industries.” She rested her hand on the box…and something inside thumped against the side hard enough to startle her. Her heart started hammering. She glanced at Tau, thinking he might’ve whacked it with his wagging tail, but Tau stood over by the door. Watching the box. Very intent. His tail definitely not wagging.

“That’s not the box,” Annabel said. “I don’t even remember ordering anything that big.”

“You don’t think…there’s something alive inside it, do you?” She laughed to show how stupid she found this possibility. Stupid or not, her heart still slammed away hard and fast.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not even close to the testing phase yet. For now, Tau is more than enough mascot for the lab.”

“Right. And we agreed, no lab rats. We’re testing on politicians instead—”

Something thumped again, but softly. Tau growled low in his throat. Brenna edged away from the box, eyeing it, her grip tightening on the cordless phone. There couldn’t be anything alive inside. There weren’t even any air holes.

But what the hell was making those noises?

Annabelle had said something and she’d missed it. “Sorry?”

“I said, if you’re finished making jokes, then perhaps you could check out front. Of course, if they left this package out front, we’re all screwed. This is irreplaceable equipment.”

“What—”

“No details over the phone.” Annabel’s voice held a rare edge. “Go check for me, would you?”

“Sure thing.” A long time ago she’d stopped being annoyed at Annabel’s random interruptions and cryptic requests. The strangest had been the time Annabel had roused her at one o’clock in the morning from the trailer she lived in behind the workshop and dispatched her to the nearest gas station minimart. At her request, Brenna had purchased four containers of antifreeze for the ethylene glycol, a Three Musketeers candy bar, five large bags of ice, all the sodium chloride in the building, and a bowl of nachos saturated with plastic yellow cheese.

She whistled to Tau and walked to one of the windows reinforced with iron mesh that looked out on the street. The window was filthy, spider webs in the corners, dead bugs on the sills, but she could see the van through the bleary glass.

“What’s taking so long, Bren?”

“There’s a van—”

“A delivery van?”

“No, industrial cleaning and damage repair—”

“I really need you to check on this package. Three years of research might reach its nexus with a single delivery. You’ll excuse me if I don’t give a frigging frack about a cleaning van.”

“Is this the point in our work relationship where I inform you that Dr. Frankenstein is a slave-driver and Igor is quitting? Or hold on, here’s another one you might appreciate. You can take this job and shove it up your wormhole.”

“Bren…please.”

“All right, all right.” She grabbed a large pipe wrench off the tool bench, because it made her feel better to hold something heavy—not much, but a little—and she went through the routine of unlocking the door and pushing it open again. The van’s tinted windows made it difficult to see inside, but she was almost certain a big shape loomed behind the wheel. She felt the eyes on her again. The same being watched sensation.

She idly swung the pipe wrench in her hand as she glanced around, and then locked her gaze back on the van. “No box,” she said into the phone.

“Damn. Can you check out back?”

“I was just out there—”

“Please, Bren. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it important. Check again, for me?”

Brenna sighed and slipped back inside, then locked the door. As soon as she had good steel between her and that van she felt better. Tau stared at her as if expecting her to do something. No tail wagging. No happy doggy grin. Only watching her.

She whistled for him…and something else whistled, mocking her with an eerie higher-pitched, screeching sound. Tau stared at the box and whined. The hairs on the back of her neck started to rise, and a chill wracked its way down her spine, the old mallet-across-the-xylophone gag. That had sounded like… No, impossible, couldn’t be. Still, she didn’t want to open that box. She wished she’d told that delivery driver to take the box and shove it up his wormhole.

“Are you there?” Annabel asked. “Did my call drop?”

“I’m here.” Her voice sounded remarkably calm to her own ears. “Something in the box just whistled.”

“For the last time, we don’t have anything alive shipping to the lab. You heard something else. Equipment. A sound outside. An echo. Now, out back? My important box?”

Nuts. Brenna started across the workshop. She’d been ping-ponging back and forth between the front and the back all afternoon, and she still had a chiller to rebuild and a disturbing mystery box to forever avoid opening. Tau trailed along behind her. This time she used the access door instead of the bay door, cracked it open an inch, checking, then shoved it wide with the wrench ready in her hand. No one was back here. No package either. She told Annabel as much without even sounding smug.

Well, not too smug anyway.

Her friend sighed. “I was certain it would arrive today. Maybe I mixed up the dates. Thanks for checking for me, Bren. When I get back I’m going to run a hypersurface stability test, so if you could set the equipment up, I’d appreciate it. I also need CAD drawings on that mounting framework for the beamsplitter before Friday. Oh, and open that big box and inventory what’s inside. Now I really have to go.”

“But the chiller—”

Dead air. Annabel had disconnected.

Brenna called her back, but went straight to voice mail. She left a short message about the chiller rebuild, then carried the pipe wrench with her back into the lab to return the cordless phone to the base. The pipe wrench had some weight at least, but if she really wanted a weapon, she should open the trunk in her trailer. She’d feel like a fool if she brought out her father’s quad for no reason, but she’d feel like a safer fool. He’d warned her about using the weapon, right before he’d given it to her and had sent her away forever. That van, though…there was something creepy about that van.

And that damn box held something alive.

She was about to mate cordless with recharger on the desk when the phone rang in her hand. She yelped and dropped it. It bounced off the keyboard and lay against the computer mouse. The illuminated screen displayed the words UNKNOWN CALLER.

When she tried to laugh at her skittishness it sounded hollow, forced. Probably Annabel again, calling back with more instructions since the chiller was kaput. Either that, or wanting her to drop everything and weld a new steel frame to support the cyclotron modifications. She grabbed the handset. “Chell Labs. Still Brenna.”

“Good to know you remain Brenna and not some other creature,” a male voice said over the line. She recognized the voice straight away, though she hadn’t heard it often, and had only met him in person once. The Emissary. That was it. No first or last name. Only that strange, pompous-sounding title passing as a moniker.

Damn, this she really didn’t need. What the hell else could go wrong today?

“Sorry. Thought you were someone else.” She cleared her throat. “What can I do for you, Mr. Emissary?”

“I left a message on Dr. Price’s voicemail, however, I believe in redundancy. Did a package arrive at your lab today?”

“I think maybe you should talk to Annabel about that. I don’t want to overstep.”

“I’m certain you’ve been made aware that I own every piece of equipment inside that building. Dr. Price works for me, and, by extension, a spanner jack such as yourself also works for me.” He uttered a depreciating chuckle. “I dislike being so forward, almost gauche, in declaring my rights. I find it demeaning for everyone involved. Yet, in this case I’m making an exception because this is important.”

Spanner jack. A rough translation of a northside Entropy term. A jack-of-all-trades. A wrench for hire. She knew he meant it as derisive, putting her in her place. She felt her cheeks and forehead burn, and was furious at herself for feeling even a smidgen of shame. This from a guy who called himself Emissary. What a jerk.

“A large box was just delivered,” she said, her voice cold. “Annabel—Dr. Price—called a few minutes ago looking for another package she’s expecting. It’s not here yet.”

“My jet is on the runway at Denver International. I have a car waiting and expect to arrive at your lab in less than an hour. Don’t open the box. If the other should arrive, don’t open that box either.”

“You’re coming here?” The thought made her guts clench. The workshop was a mess, as always, but even the lab looked more disordered than usual due to their heavy experiment schedule. Not how one wanted the financial backer to see the state of his investment. “Coming here today?”

“Very shortly. Please watch for the second delivery and secure it. We’ll speak more after I arrive.” He disconnected.

She set the phone on the charger with a shaking hand, the other still clutching the pipe wrench. The Emissary had always unnerved her. That creepy-scary, uber-urbane vibe. There’d been nothing overt. Not to her, not directly, but Annabel was afraid of him. He hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said he owned their lab. His funds had purchased most of the tools in the workshop as well. The drill press, acetylene torch, all the welding gear, the bending brake, and so on, aside from the scattering of hand tools she owned. He might even own a piece of Annabel in some way—rating as something far more influential than merely an employer or source of capital. The possibility unsettled Brenna enough that she’d never found the right way to ask for the truth.
She wandered from the lab in a daze. The unending roulette spin of her mind wouldn’t let any thought fall into a coherent pocket. The first and only time she’d met the Emissary in person, he’d looked her over, his dark gaze dropping to her mechanical legs, and he’d said, “Chaur.”

That word had sent ice chips rushing through her veins. A chaur had eaten both of her legs. Ten years ago, when she was fifteen. She’d been mauled along Glasstree Avenue, where the canals met, as she’d walked in the shade of one of the city’s listening towers. Long time ago, but she had the memories, the scars, and the missing parts to remind her. Most days—weeks even—she didn’t think about it. But when the Emissary had said that word, it had brought back all the paralyzing fear that had shadowed her for a long time after the attack.

Tau whined and licked her hand, as if he could read her darkening mood. She grinned and leaned down to hug him. He struggled to lick her face, and she laughed. She meant to go back to the workbench where she had the pump motor pulled apart, even took a couple of steps in that direction. Then something boomed against the box loud enough to make her flinch and shriek. She followed the shriek with a curse, lifting the wrench. Tau scrambled between her and the box, then stood still, staring at it and making no sound.
Something was definitely alive inside the box…and it sounded as if it wanted out. Only an idiot would tear back those flaps and check, even if the Emissary hadn’t told her not to open it. Had he known something was alive in there? And that smell…she recognized it—

The box began to shake and shudder against the two metal bands securing it to the pallet, loud thumps and booms filled the air. She took a step backward. Another sound came through the heavy cardboard sides. That sound…that horrible high-pitched sound that she remembered. Keeeee-kee-kee. The hunting call of a chaur.

Impossible. Insanity. There were no chaur on this side of the brane. They weren’t even native to the city of Entropy. They were from further dimensions, infesting other worlds. The one that had mauled her had broken free from the personal menagerie of a Sidhe noble. Her damn cursed luck—

“Keeeeeee-kee-kee!” came the high shriek from the box, followed by a piercing whistle. Then the box and pallet began to slide across the floor in jerks as the thing inside rammed the walls, which started to buckle under the assault.

She stumbled backward until she bumped against a workbench. Her heart pounded, a hollow boom, boom, in rapid counterpoint to the thumps from the box. The air was full of the smell of grease and metal, of iron-fillings and ozone…and, more faintly, vinegar. The reek from the slime on its body. Tau whined and retreated a little before facing the box again.

Run.

She couldn’t get her legs to obey. They were dead. Lifeless metal, worthless mockeries. Run? How could she run? The monster had eaten her legs.

Tau growled. A “Keeeee-kee-kee-kee” shriek answered, then came a huge echoing boom. Cardboard began to tear and shred, eaten away from inside. Chunks of brown cardboard flew through the air and bounced along the cement floor. Tau began to bark.

This couldn’t be happening. A sick nightmare—

The chaur shoved through the side of the box in an explosion of shredded cardboard. Its muscular back legs scrambled for purchase on the concrete, two thick white claws veined with red screeched across the floor. It had moved too fast and smashed into one of her big rolling toolboxes, denting the side and knocking the whole thing over with a resounding crash.

The world went strange—sounds faint, distant, full of echoes, the overhead track lighting showed halos. Her mouth dry, her heart hitting so hard her fingertips trembled. That stink like vinegar…she should’ve recognized that smell right away.

The chaur staggered upright, snorting and whistling, the size of a large dog. Two powerful digitigrade legs propelled it forward, its body low to the ground, its long, thick tail held straight out for balance. Its head was a bright cerulean blue, an ice-white body covered with a sheen of gelatinous milky slime. One large muddy eye protruded from each side of its head like a frog’s eye. Neck as big around as the mouth of a 5-gallon pail, massive jaws with rows of serrated teeth. Two small forelimbs sprouted from its body just below the neck, whip-like, hooked on the end with a single curving talon, each about a foot and a half long. The chaur would snag them in prey to hold it still while biting—she had the scars on her upper thighs to prove it. It radiated warmth like a furnace, waves of heat washing against her skin, making her want to shiver. And the stink like vinegar, but sharper, almost…burned.

It thundered forward, rushed toward Tau, legs pounding the floor.

“No!” She lunged forward, dove, and yanked her dog away from the charging monster. She sacrificed her grip on the pipe wrench to grab and haul Tau, and the wrench bounced away with a loud metallic clatter.

The creature slashed at her with one of its hooked limbs as it passed. The hook-claw ripped through her jeans and scored along her thigh. She smelled blood. A instant later pain flared in her leg as if she’d burned a line into her skin with the blowtorch. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming.

The chaur rejoiced with a “Keee-kee—” then skidded into a 55-gallon drum of old fluorescent lighting tubes she kept meaning to recycle. The chaur crashed into the drum and shattered all the bulbs, flailed around in the broken glass and drove shards into its slimy hide.

Brenna rolled to her feet, hauling Tau behind her. One of her prosthetic legs hit the concrete at an awkward angle, missing the pad on the bottom, the ankle-joint groaned and the metal squealed against the ground. Everything seemed to stand out in bright, precise detail. The dazed horror and surprise had loosened its grip, or the terror had grown so great she’d shoved right through the paralyzing wall again.

She shifted, turning her knee, and pushed herself into a run. Her legs clanged as she sprinted toward the rear door. The longer she ran, the quicker she went and the easier the movement became, as if her legs wanted to go faster, ever faster. Tau ran alongside her in his lurching gait, toenails clicking on the concrete, his prosthetic leg banging.

She had to get the hell out of here, get to her quad. To the big four-barrelled gun her father had built. Real or nightmare, that pistol would settle things.

The chaur loosed a shrill whistle that spiked through her ears and drilled into her brain. It launched itself into another thundering charge. It was faster than her, had a better angle to the door, and it was going to cut them off.

She slid to a stop before the monster intercepted her, changed direction, and cut for the front door. The chaur was on her, she heard the rapid, heavy thud of its legs, the hard click-scrape of its talons right behind her. She threw a look behind her. The chaur’s blue head was thrown back, jaws yawning wide, alien eyes watching her. Crazy, but she thought she could see her own reflection in those hideous eyes—

It lunged and bit. She juked, crying out, hit her hip on a center workbench and rolled herself onto it to escape. The chaur’s jaws closed on empty air, but it jumped onto the workbench after her. She shoved herself backward, sliding across the bench, knocking off parts and tools to clatter and clang to the floor. The chaur pursued her. Tau, barking furiously, scrambled up onto the workbench behind the monster.

The chaur shrieked “Keeeeeee!” and blew its fetid breath into her face, choking her. Its two hooked limbs whipped out and snared themselves in her flesh, in her thigh and hip. She screamed in agony. It hauled her closer to its huge jaws, opening them wide, showing her the wicked rows of jagged teeth, the black flesh lining the roof of its mouth, the ropes of glistening saliva. Tau was tearing at its tail, biting and snarling, but the chaur sent her dog flying with one contemptuous thrash of the heavy limb. Now Brenna’s scream was one of rage. Her hand flailed for something, anything, to use as a weapon.

Her fingers curled around her favorite adjustable wrench.

She swung it with all her strength and smashed the chaur’s eye. The eye burst in a spray of reddish-brown fluid. The chaur whistle-shrieked and lurched to the side. The big talon on its rear leg barely missed slicing open her inner thigh. She swung the wrench again, breaking teeth this time. They snapped like a candy cane, sent white shards ticking along the scarred workbench.

She hauled herself away, got a leg under her, and kicked the monster in the bottom of the neck with her metal foot. The chaur made a gurgling sound and saliva pattered across her cheek, but one of its hook-limbs had torn free of her flesh. She screamed in anger and pain as she shoved herself backward again, ripping the other out of her muscle. Her blood stained the workbench, mixed with the chaur’s blood.

She almost got away. She rolled off the bench, missed her footing, hit her hip hard on the ground and the world grayed out for a second in a filmy washwater haze of pure agony. She battled through the haze. If she lost it now, that thing would eat her. The thought sent so much horror and revulsion shivering through her that she gave a helpless groan.

The chaur wheeled on her, its sides heaving, thrashing its hooks around, snapping its heavy jaws like a crocodile. It leapt off the workbench at her. She scrambled clear just in time. She still held her wrench, but she couldn’t kill this bastard with a wrench.

Her cordless DeWALT hammer drill lay on a metal bench near her vise. She snatched it up in her left hand, just as the chaur lunged at her, mouth gaping. She kicked it in the side of the head with her foot—no thought, moving in purest reaction—and the metal thudded against its skull. The chaur’s jaws snapped closed and its teeth scraped along the metal, leaving marks. She jerked her leg back before it could clamp down with all its bite pressure.

The chaur stumbled off balance, thrashed its tail and sent tools and parts and boxes of washers flying. She thrust with the hammer drill, pressing the trigger. The motor whined as the half-inch drill bit twisted into its neck. Red-brown blood sprayed out. The chaur wailed like a steam whistle and wrenched away from her, yanking the hammer drill out of her grip as the monster retreated, bleeding.

Her mouth was set in a hateful smile, her teeth grinding along each other, her heart thundering, every bit of her alive with electric rage as she shook with horror and hate. Tau was barking, barking, a hammering-sharp sound that echoed in the workshop as rapid as machinegun fire. The chaur rounded on him, lowering its body as it stalked forward. Blood pulsed from the wounds she’d inflicted. Its head cocked to the side to watch her dog with its remaining good eye. Tau backed away, barking.

Brenna vaulted herself onto the workbench still slick with her blood. The pain flared into bright agony every time she moved. She had no choice but to cut the pain loose, disregard it. She took two running steps, one of them sliding dangerously as the pad on her prosthetic leg lost grip for a second before catching again, and she jumped off the bench. She came down between the chaur and Tau, shock dampers in her feet eating the impact so she felt no jolt, the fiber optics canceling out the sensation of pain before it transferred to her nerves.

The chaur circled around, making the strange “Keeeeeee-kee-kee-kee” sound as though it laughed at her.

“Stay close to me, boy,” she whispered to Tau.

He stopped barking and whined. His warm tongue licked across her empty left hand. All she had for a weapon was her number one wrench because she’d lost the hammer drill. She glanced at the tools around her, keeping the chaur in her peripheral vision at all times. A reciprocating saw lay on a wooden worktable nearby. Thank God for messes and how she never put her tools away.

She dropped the wrench and grabbed the reciprocating saw in her left hand, the plug in her right. The chaur whistled as she moved, and she might’ve laughed if she hadn’t felt like simultaneously crying and screaming. She shoved the plug at one of the drop-down outlets located throughout the workshop. She missed, the prongs skated free of their holes, and she cursed.

The chaur slowly stalked toward them, swaying with predator menace. No more charging, but she knew it came to finish them. She glanced back at the plug. Shoved again with a shaking hand. Missed. Made a helpless sound of frustration and panic. The chaur drew close. She could smell the vinegar stink flooding her nostrils, and she thought she might be sick. Her legs trembled, her hands shook, and no wonder she couldn’t get the damn plug in with her hands shaking and covered with blood and a monster going to eat her—

The plug slipped into the socket. She yelled in triumph and whirled to face the chaur, raising the saw and pressing the trigger. The saw shuddered in her hand, making a hungry rattle, the blade blurring back and forth.

“Come on, fucker!” she screamed. “Nobody messes with my dog! Come on!”

The chaur reared on its back legs, screeched its “Keeeeee-kee-keeeeee-kee!” and came for her.

* * *Copyright 2013 Keith Melton* * *

Please feel free to leave a comment if you wish! Likes/dislikes, mistakes, etc. No pressure, though. You have my thanks for reading!

5. Chunk N Chip‘s The Elvis

Desserts date back to ancient civilizations, when humans consumed raw products like fruit, honey, and nuts. Over time, as foods evolve, taste evolves too. Time gets to a point where we finally get to do and try things we always wanted to as children, but could not due to age restrictions. When Elvis Presley grew up, he finally could eat peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwiches to his heart’s content. Those who have not heard of The Elvis may not immediately find this type of sandwich appetizing, but the folks at Chunk N Chip have discovered a fun way of delivering the legacy. Their version of The Elvis consists of bananas foster ice cream and candied bacon sandwiched between two warm peanut butter cookies. The bacon carries a texture similar to candied pecans, or pralines, but with its trademark salty meaty flavor. In this ice cream sandwich, the bacon adds a crunchy texture to an otherwise soft and gooey treat. Chunk N Chip changes their daily selection, so if you crave The Elvis, contact them on Facebook or Twitter and ask when they plan to carry this. Who says no to bacon for dessert?

4. Suite 106 Cupcakery‘s Pancakes N’ Bacon Cupcake

Shown on right

Some time after the frozen yogurt fad took off around 2004-2005, the cupcake trend emerged thanks to the opening of Sprinkles Cupcakes in Beverly Hills. After their success, hundreds of pastry chefs across the nation followed that trend and soon opened up their own cupcakery. Many have tried, yet many have failed due to bad cupcakes. However, some cupcake stores have proven that they deserve to remain in the business. While Suite 106 Cupcakery lacks their own independent storefront, they make up for it with their moist and delicious cupcakes. Located inside the Victoria Gardens food court in Rancho Cucamonga, Suite 106 utilizes organic and all-natural ingredients to give their cupcakes the texture, moisture, and sweetness that makes a cupcake worth it. Prominently, their frosting does not taste overwhelmingly of butter, which many other cupcakeries seem to not pay any attention to. This allows their cupcakes to portray more of the true flavors of the cupcakes rather than the richness found in most other frostings elsewhere. On weekends, their cupcake rotation includes the popular Pancakes N’ Bacon Cupcakes, a buttermilk spice cake topped with spiced bacon buttercream, real bacon bits, and maple syrup. The concept of bacon cupcakes started just a few years ago, yet many of those so-called bacon cupcakes fail to accurately balance the saltiness of the bacon with the sweetness of the cupcake, not to mention all the terrible frostings I have attempted to taste. Suite 106 understands the art of baking, as evident in their little packages of goodness. Make a road trip to Suite 106, and you will not regret it.

3. Chapter One: The Modern Local‘s Bourbon Bacon Banana Donut

I blame the saturation of generic donut shops across the nation for the poor conception of donuts. In a similar vein to old food trucks, generic donut shops cause most people to view donuts as cheap sugar foods that police like to eat out of convenience. No one ever took donuts seriously until Krispy Kreme expanded in the late 1990′s. Their significant improvements on donuts paved the way for chefs and restaurant owners to attempt their skills at further improving the donut. If you seek one of these superior donuts, look no further than Chapter One: The Modern Local. This little restaurant in Downtown Santa Ana pushes the limits of quality in food, drinks, and service. With an amazing selection of eats & drinks, they constantly hold a full house on weekends. Perhaps everyone crowds around the bar because of their infamous Bourbon Bacon Banana Donut. Take a banana donut, layer it with bourbon maple frosting, marmalade, and cocoa nibs, then brûlée a banana with candied bacon bits, and sit it on top of the donut. This treat attracts eyes everywhere, which will envy anyone ordering this epic donut. The rich donut carries more density than standard donuts, so I suggest splitting the donut if possible. Once you do finally get to dig in to this donut, remember to scoop a little of every ingredient in each bite. All ingredients contribute to the dish, so you do not want to miss any feature of it.

2. The Factory Gastropub‘s Breakfast For Dessert

The media does an evil job of portraying sweets for breakfast. When kids watch commercials saying “Trix are for kids,” they program into their minds that they should eat that sugary cereal for breakfast. Sadly, many cereals oriented towards kids carry more sugar than a candy bar. I mean, how can anyone consider Lucky Charms an acceptable breakfast? Marshmallows have no place at the breakfast table. Real people eat bacon for breakfast! But what if you want to enjoy your bacon breakfast later in the day? If you so please, you can have your bacon breakfast and eat it later in the day too at The Factory Gastropub in the Bixby Knolls community of Long Beach. In this quaint neighborhood, The Factory attracts gourmet food and craft beer lovers from all over to soak in the smooth atmosphere in a quiet setting. The taps pour local brews, while the kitchen cooks up local organic and sustainable ingredients. They love to experiment with food often, and will host special dinner nights every now and then as test plates for customers to try. When an experiment works, it earns a spot on their menu. In the case of Breakfast For Dessert, this genius idea easily won hearts and a permanent spot on the dessert menu. This plate receives a scoop of peanut butter ice cream, sea salt focaccia French toast, stout-chocolate-covered bacon, and maple syrup. With as much butter as they use in the French toast, you would swear Paula Deen made this dish. The stout they use for the bacon depends on the current stout on tap. Fast food has capitalized on the idea of breakfast any time of the day, so when a local restaurant seizes this idea, one can expect great things to churn out of the kitchen. To get your bacon, breakfast, and dessert all on the same plate, head to The Factory and order the Breakfast For Dessert.

1. Animal Restaurant‘s Bacon Chocolate Crunch Bar

If it moos, oinks, baas, clucks, coos, or swims, you can eat it. Only the brave can stomach what the public does not accept as “normal” food. But when has conformity stopped anyone from doing what they want to do? The media explains the acceptance of eating chicken, pork, and beef, but at the same time, the media loves to display groups like PETA, providing a contradictory stance of survival of the fittest. As such, most people find it unacceptable to eat meats like lamb, venison, wild boar, and more. In addition, most people do not consider all parts of an animal as food, and thanks to the media, the general public shuns the notion of eating animal parts like offals, guts, and other appendages. When cooked right, people have nothing to fear, and the lads at Animal Restaurant boldly go where no chef has gone before – into the hearts of the animals. A legendary institution of Fairfax, the folks at Animal treat every party of an animal’s body with utmost care and equality. They do not discriminate against which part of the animal goes into a dish, believing in reducing waste by consuming everything. The main menu changes monthly depending on the market’s offerings, but the dessert menu remains fairly consistent. When you carry something famous like the Bacon Chocolate Crunch Bar, you would think twice about modifying that section of the menu. This dense bar of chocolate and bacon gets served with salt & pepper ice cream and vanilla bean powder. Take a moment to understand the constituents of the plate. First off, look at that Bacon Chocolate Crunch Bar. They carefully layer the bar to appear like a glorified bacon strip after slicing it. No term can accurately describe the bar, since its high density makes it beyond a cake. Now look at that ball of ice cream… Salt & Pepper ice cream. They took it a step beyond vanilla bean ice cream and made their own unique ice cream flavor, tasting like a cold creamy treat of salt and pepper. I dare you to find salt and pepper ice cream like this anywhere else in the world. Just to bring things back into perspective, the plate gets topped off with vanilla bean powder. Do not underestimate the small stature of this plate – this dense bar will easily fill up one person, so take care of yourself and whoever else you bring here by splitting the bar and ice cream. Everybody wins in this case.

Eat dessert first.

His son, Hunter, now a man of twenty six sighed and rolled his eyes, running a hand through his messy brown hair in frustration.

“Really dad? You’re asking me this now, literally as I’m about to leave?”

They were standing outside the stables by their small house. Hunter had his beautiful chestnut mare, Rosie, saddled up and ready to go with his backpack strapped to her side.

“I know, I know. It’s just that I’ll miss you son,” Corneal admitted gruffly.

Hunter’s eyes softened and he shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“I’ll be back soon, dad. Don’t worry.”

He embraced his father quickly and then swung himself up onto Rosie, making a rapid getaway before his father became too emotional.

Despite his father’s concerns, Hunter had never been more certain about anything in his life. Since he was nine years old, he had made himself a resolve that he swore to fulfil. He was a simple stableboy then and he had watched, helplessly, as the old witch kidnapped Princess Rapunzel from the castle. She had disappeared from the Kingdom and was never seen again. Hunter had done the only thing he could think of at the time which was to rush to the King and Queen and tell them what had happened. He had hated that feeling of powerlessness, letting the witch get away with her crime. So he had started training secretly, practicing swordsmanship with wooden sticks and improving his riding skills each day until he was old enough to join the Knight’s Guard and swear an oath to serve the Kingdom. Eventually, he surpassed all the other knights and was offered the position of the Head Knight. But Hunter had refused, knowing full well that should he choose to accept the position, he would be prohibited from ever leaving it unless he was killed in battle or too old to remain a knight. No one but his father had understood his rejection. His father was the only person he had revealed his resolve to. He was going to find the witch and rescue the Princess. He knew they had to be out there somewhere and he had earned enough gold in his years as a knight to travel until he found them. And when he did find them, he would return the Princess to her home and send that witch to prison where she would rot for the rest of her miserable days. He wouldn’t fail the Princess this time.

Hunter travelled for days through first mountains and then forests. He bought food from small villages wherever he could and tried to get a room at local inns to sleep in, but more often than not, he ended up huddled beside his faithful horse under a blanket outside under a canopy of trees or beside some bushes. He always slept with one hand on the hilt of his sword, afraid that he would be robbed or murdered in his sleep.

Part of him wanted to turn back, give up. But the other part, the more persistent part, couldn’t do it. For reasons that he couldn’t quite comprehend, he felt that finding the Princess was something he needed to do. He would endure the fear and the cold nights spent shivering under the stars and keep going.

Another few days passed by and Hunter rode into a thicker forest that he hadn’t yet ventured through. It was a searing day and the sun was beating down on him, making his head hurt. His water canister was empty. As Rosie plodded along, slowly from the heat, doubts began crawling their way into his mind.

What if he never found her? Or what if she was dead? Or what if he did find her and she had no recollection of her life in the castle? Who knew what spells that witch had cast on poor Rapunzel?

A soft trickling sound caught Hunter’s attention, snapping him out of his ocean of worries. It sounded like there was a river or a stream nearby. Perking up, he nudged Rosie’s side with her heel and she picked up her speed. The sound gradually grew louder. His mouth became even drier with the anticipation of water. Finally, the thin stream became visible and with a joyous laugh, he leapt off the horse’s back and walked her over to the waterside. She immediately dipped her head down and began lapping at the water.

“Atta girl Rosie,” he murmured, rubbing her neck affectionately.

Unhooking his canister from his belt, Hunter filled it to the brim with the clear stream water. He rummaged in his backpack for a small dropper bottle of water cleanser, a new product that was an alternative to boiling stream water. He added three drops of it to his canister and then drank thirstily, topping it up again when he was done.

They rested for a short while, before beginning their journey again. Rosie had been trotting along for a few hours when they came upon a clearing encircled by thick trees. Hunter pushed tree branches out of their way with his sword and when his view was clear, his jaw dropped open in surprise. In the middle of the clearing was a tall stone tower stretching out towards the sky about eighty feet off the ground. He could just make out a tiny window at the top.

Hunter hopped off Rosie and, leaving her by the tree line, made his way towards the tower. It was certainly a highly unusual place to build a tower. He circled it and found a wooden door. There was no knocker attached and no handle, just a small keyhole on one side. Frowning in confusion, Hunter raised his fist and knocked loudly. He waited but there was no answer. Perhaps it wasn’t occupied. Although even if it was occupied, whoever lived there certainly wouldn’t be able to hear him knocking if they were all the way at the top. Hunter circled back around to the other side where he could see the single window.

“Hello!” he called as loudly as he could. “Anyone up there?!”

He waited a minute and then caught sight of a face peering down at him. He squinted up at the face, trying to make out any details, but it was much too far away to tell.

“Hello? Do you live here?” he asked.

The face disappeared.

“Hey, wait! I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just trying to find someone!” he yelled, frustrated.

Something was thrown out of the window and Hunter leapt backwards as it dangled in front of his face. It was a thick golden rope. Hunter looked back up at the window where it was hanging out from. The face didn’t reappear. Did they want him to climb up? He checked his belt for his sword and satisfied that it was there, he took hold of the rope in both hands, giving it a firm tug to make sure it would hold his weight. That was strange, he thought as he studied the rope closely. It was made out of something far softer than ordinary ropes. Shaking his head, he hoisted himself up and began to climb. He had barely gotten a few inches off the ground when the rope began slowly sliding upwards. Whoever was on the other end was pulling him up. Hunter stopped climbing and placed one hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for anything.

He looked back down at the ground nervously, it seemed an eternity away. The rope stopped moving and Hunter looked back up. His head was level with the window. Peering inside, he could make out the rope extending further into the room. Cautiously, he climbed through the window and surveyed his surroundings. The room was small and dark, containing only a bed and a large dresser.

Hunter eyed the rope, which extended in loops all across the room and then wound its way around a long wooden beam that reached up towards the ceiling. There was a small hollowed out section of wall just below the ceiling where a young girl sat, watching him through her big blue eyes. It was then that Hunter realised, the rope wasn’t a rope at all, but a thick torrent of hair attached to the girl’s head.

His eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know what to make of it; a strange girl with ridiculously long hair living all alone in a tower out in the middle of a forest. It was so odd.

“Um, hello,” he finally said.

She didn’t say anything, just continued staring at him.

“Do you speak English?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Oh, good. Well, sorry to bother you, I was just curious about this place. I mean it’s so isolated and in such an odd location.”

The girl didn’t answer. Her eyes never left his and he swallowed nervously. Something about her stare was unsettling, yet strangely mesmerizing.

“How did you find me?” she asked finally, breaking the silence.

“I was looking for someone. And I found this tower,” he answered.

“Who were you looking for?”

“Rapunzel.”

“Rapunzel?” she repeated.

“Yes, the princess who was kidnapped as a child.”

“Why are you looking for her? Were you sent to kill her?” she asked.

“Kill her? Of course not! Why would anyone want to kill her?” Hunter said incredulously.

“I only ask because you’re carrying a sword,” she pointed out.

“Oh, right. Well that’s just for self-defence. I don’t kill people unless I have to.”

“So then why are you looking for her?”

“I want to find her and rescue her and bring her back home to the kingdom where she belongs.”

“And this kingdom… they want her back?” the girl asked, tilting her head.

“Of course they do. She’s their princess.”

The girl fell silent for a moment as though thinking something through.

“Well, you’ve found her,” she said.

Startled, Hunter stared at her and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “If you were really Rapunzel, you would have said so to begin with.”

The girl widened her eyes, looking offended at his accusation.

“I just wanted to be certain you weren’t going to hurt me. You can’t blame me for not trusting anyone after living with that old witch for the past fifteen years.”

Hunter wasn’t convinced. Everyone knew that the witch had kidnapped Rapunzel and everyone knew it was fifteen years ago.

“If it’s really you, tell me the name of your childhood horse.”

“Chastity. She was a gorgeous black mare,” she answered without hesitation.

“Alright. And the name of the stable boy that used to teach you how to ride?”

“Hunter. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

“You’re looking at him,” Hunter said, smirking.

“Oh how wonderful. I’m being rescued by a stableboy,” Rapunzel scoffed, wiping the smirk off Hunter’s face.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a knight now. They offered me the position of Head Knight but I refused because I wanted to come looking for you.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed by that?”

“A little gratitude would be nice,” Hunter snapped.

“Don’t take it personally. I live in a deserted tower with an old witch and have yards of hair strong enough to strangle an elephant with. Not a lot impresses me anymore,” she said with a casual shrug.

“Huh. I had pictured this playing out so differently in my mind.”

Rapunzel slid down the beam and landed on the floor in front of Hunter.

“Did you think you’d be my hero and I’d fall madly and hopelessly in love with you?” she teased mischievously.

 He chuckled awkwardly. “Uh, not quite that dramatic.”

“So then, how do you propose on getting me out of here?” Rapunzel asked, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Hunter looked around. Aside from the window, there were two doors in the room. He went over to one of them and turned the handle. It was locked. So he tried the other one. This one opened and he went through only to find himself in a very small bathroom with no other doors or windows to escape from.

“Really? The doors? You don’t think that after fifteen years I’d have had the brains to try leaving through the doors?” Rapunzel scoffed.

Ignoring her, Hunter went back to the window and looked out.

“What if you tied your hair up to something in here and we both went down out the window and then chopped it off once we got to the ground?”

“Ha! I am not chopping off my hair!” Rapunzel insisted.

“Why not?”

“Because growing my hair to this length is the only thing I’ve ever accomplished. There’s no way I’d chop it off.”

“So you’d rather be trapped in here forever than chop off your hair?” Hunter scoffed.

“Yes,” Rapunzel said stubbornly, sitting down on her bed as though to make her point.

“Does she ever let you out of this room? The witch, I mean,” Hunter asked.

“No. But she does come in to check on me every now and then and gives me something to eat and drink.”

“Alright, then we’ll just have to wait for her and I can ambush her with my sword. I’ll tie her up and we can take her back with us where the King and Queen will throw her into prison.”

Rapunzel shrugged nonchalantly.

“She must have to leave sometimes though, right? To buy food,” Hunter mused, settling down on the floor against the wall across from Rapunzel’s bed.

“No, she has it delivered.”

“Delivered? Who on earth would deliver food to her? Everyone hates her!”

“I don’t know. It’s a man, I think, but I’ve never seen him up close and she won’t tell me who it is.”

“Do you at least know why she took you?”

Rapunzel hesitated and looked away.

“Not really,” she finally answered.

“Surely she’s told you? I mean you’ve been living with the woman for fifteen years. She must have said something to you.”

“I think she was lonely. And she wanted revenge on the Kingdom because they made her feel like such an outcast, like she was different and didn’t belong. I think it’s rather sad actually,” she said, a faraway look in her eyes.

“Don’t tell me that you actually feel sorry for her? She kidnapped you!”

“Oh no, I certainly don’t sympathise with her, the old witch,” Rapunzel said, a flash of anger briefly lighting up her eyes. “It’s more… the idea of feeling that way that saddens me.”

Hunter didn’t say anything. He didn’t understand. As far as he was concerned, the old lady deserved everything she got. At any rate, she would definitely deserve being imprisoned for the remainder of her life; poetic justice.

A lock clicked loudly on the door and Hunter leapt to his feet, unsheathing his sword and holding it ready. He grabbed Rapunzel’s wrist and crept backwards, ushering her behind him and out of sight from the doorway so that they could trap the witch in the room.

The door opened and the old witch hobbled inside. Her hair was almost completely grey now and still as frizzy as ever. She took a few steps forwards, peering towards the bed for Rapunzel. Hunter quickly crept up behind her, blocking the doorway and pressed his sword lightly against her back.

“Turn around slowly and extend your hands out, palms up and wrists together,” Hunter instructed.

The old lady did so, her eyes filled with confusion.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” she asked, her voice croaky with age.

“That’s none of your concern,” Hunter said coldly. He unlooped a coil of wire from around his belt and used it to bind the old lady’s wrists together. “I’ll be taking you back to the kingdom where they’ll arrest you and Rapunzel will be returned back to her parents.”

The old lady’s eyes widened.

“Oh no! No, you mustn’t do that, young sir. I’m afraid you don’t understand what really happened.”

“Oh really? Do enlighten me,” Hunter said sarcastically.

“It had to be done. They didn’t have a choice. Taking her away was the only answer,” the old lady explained.

Hunter lowered his sword slightly.

“What do you mean?” he asked curiously.

“I wouldn’t have done it for no reason you know. I’m not actually a witch. Witches don’t exist. I’m just an odd old woman who people choose to label as a witch because I’m different from all the rest of them. The way they all stared and whispered and took longer routes through the town just to avoid coming near me was getting too much to bear. I used to be more resilient to that sort of treatment, but I suppose the old age is taking its toll for I’m not as emotionally intact as I used to be. That’s why I agreed to it. I wanted to leave the town and I wanted to help raise a child without the cruel nature of the townsfolk to influence her. And besides, it isn’t as though I had anything to leave behind.”

Hunter’s lip curled up. “You’re really playing the pity card? You kidnapped an innocent child because you wanted to get away from the town? That’s no excuse; that just proves you’re not only a horrible, heartless woman, but also a pathetic coward!”

She shook her head, her hands waving around desperately. “No, no, you don’t understand. It wasn’t my idea. They came to me in the middle of the night a few nights before I took her and asked me to do it. It was the only thing they could do; I could see it in their eyes. And they didn’t want to do it. They had to. I agreed to help them because it meant I could leave town. I certainly wouldn’t have done that man any favours if there wasn’t something in it for me. Not after the way he had treated me, constantly expressing his dislike and contempt for me.”

“Who? Who asked you to kidnap her?” Hunter asked.

Before the old lady could open her mouth to respond, Rapunzel had snatched the sword out of Hunter’s grasp and, using all her strength, buried it into the side of the old lady’s neck.

Please vote!

I am not a person that enjoys clubbing very much. Don’t get me wrong, I love going out with good friends, if it means some fun. I adore going to dinner in nice places, anything from a small, local restaurant to a high-end food masterpiece.

There is just something special about going out for food. The depth the conversations can reach, inspired by a delicious Italian meal, accompanied by a rich glass of dark red wine, spending hours in the romantic, dim environment and the quiet, relaxing music, all of these small details help me forget reality for a moment. As if for a second, the only people in the world are my friends and me, without any enemies, without any troubles, without any problems.

Ever since I moved to London, I became a huge admirer of the typical British pubs as well. I would even prefer them to the noisy nightclubs that are constantly packed with horny, drunk people, trying to get with each other. The pub is the place where the environment engulfs me, takes me to a different time where I feel more in place, and I open myself more to people.

I can enjoy a nice glass of vodka (only Finlandia, I am quite a snob about my alcohol) and cranberry juice, talk about or watch my favorite sport with fellow passionate fans; I can even be chatted up at the bar by a decent man, who stopped by for a pint after a hard day at work. Far more acceptable than a drunk, unemployed dude grinding against me on the dance floor.

And then, there was today. As I stated before, I really love spending time with my friends, and if that happens in Central London, the opportunity becomes irresistible to me. I am one of those people that suffer from undying, constantly fueled, furiously burning passion for London. I often say that it is the only man I will never be able to leave.

I forgot to mention that I sometimes work as an actress. Nothing big, yet, but a couple of minor roles on camera, and a few main roles on stage. I never get money for that, of course, but that does not mean I don’t enjoy it. I recently helped out a friend with a project, and her wrap party was yesterday. And it was going to be in Central London. I didn’t hesitate, of course, since in a twisted, somewhat psychotic way that meant a date with the love of my life. A date, tragically ruined by immature company and the burdens of being an adult.

One of the biggest dilemmas I am facing in my life right now is actually quite a simple question. Am I the one who is not yet mature, because I’m not at all attracted to drinking alcohol, clubbing, and hooking up every night? Or am I in fact too mature for the company I usually spend time with, since I am more focused on achieving professional success, I prefer to spend my free time in a more relaxed manner, and my biggest dreams consist of heights worthy of a Hollywood romantic comedy? For the moment, I am inclined to believing in the second version, even though I feel like I am still yet to determine the actual answer.

One of my friends, who will be called Samantha, for the sake of anonymity, believes she is a very mature woman. And she praises herself on her ability to lure men, have her way with them, and then discard them as unneeded accessories. I, personally, find her means to be bordering, if not overstepping entirely into the realms of trashy, but as it is her life choice, I have no say.

I previously mentioned that my date with London yesterday was ruined by the responsibility of being an adult. And it all started with a passed-out girl on the train taking us from our peaceful dwelling in Zone 4, to the fast-lane lifestyle of Zone 1. Too much alcohol is not a very pleasant feeling as I have learned from my previous experiences (which I am not very proud of), and yet students tend to think that it’s the way to be “cool” and “the life of the company.”

As three guys finally managed to carry her body off the train, I ended up on a station in the middle of nowhere, with a passed out girl, and another twenty drunk students (I have been completely sober for the past two months, and I have set strict limits to my drinking, both alcohol and financial ones). I found myself in a situation that required a lot of responsibility, and as such I didn’t hesitate when I dialed the number 999 and pressed the green button.

The conversation with emergency was one of the shortest, but most intense ones I have had in my entire life. When someone’s life and well-being are at stake, there is hardly any room for hesitation or misunderstandings. As the medics came, I was the first (sober one) to offer escorting the girl to the hospital, so that I could contact her parents and be there when she wakes up. And, no, I didn’t know her. We worked together, but she was a complete stranger to me. At this point, Samantha pulled me away with the words: “You need to stop sacrificing and caring so much about people you don’t know.” And that, my dear reader, is what inspired this blog.

I couldn’t enjoy my night any further, it is safe to say. I was thinking about that moment, thinking back, going through my entire life in this city, and then it dawned on me. I had two people living inside of me, and while one of them was created at birth, the other one was made in London. I found myself trapped in some twisted, sick version of the fairytale, in which the Beast didn’t marry the Beauty, he kept her locked up in the tower, allowing her to come out only once in a while, until both of them found a way to exist in the same place, without completely destroying each other.

Samantha doesn’t know the real me, only a few bits and pieces. So do most of my friends, both the ones I trust and the ones I don’t. And while sitting at the club, watching them scream, drink, and make fools out of themselves, Cinderella decided it is time to go home. London Underground, however, is far stricter than the Fairy Godmother, and while the last train doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight, it does leave Oxford Circus at 11:30 pm. And the only thing Cinderella lost that night was not her shoe; it was her desire to fit in. As Marshall Mathers said: “She learned her lesson then, because she wasn’t trying to impress her friends no more.”

So this is what this blog is about. It is just the diary of a damaged person, a woman torn in half, recording her thoughts in hopes that one day people might understand her and she might understand herself. The experiences that changed me, the pain that taught me, and the people that help me move away from the edge, as well as the ones who pushed me towards it. It is a diary, but it’s not secret. So welcome to the world of Doctor Lilly and Miss Lilith.

With love, Lilith.

Charter 1 of Dancing With Life by Tina Lindegaard

   Writing Table: I already presented myself to you; so now let me introduce you to my book. To do so I give you Chapter One; the book is published in English and Danish. You find the blurb of the book at My Books.

Happy reading

Her eyes catch the first snowflakes that blend with the movements of the wind. Soon the whirls of snow dance like light veils outside the window. She bends forward and rests her elbows on the white windowsill. She feels a slight cold from the window, but the living room is warm, and she can still smell the tomato soup and the bread she toasted earlier in the evening. She watches how the snow, that has now worked its way through the maze of the wind, stains the asphalt. She can see her own reflection in the dark window, but has no time to dwell on it for long before a sound catches her attention. A car door slams with a surprisingly loud noise in the white world outside. Then the cat’s nose touches her cheek looking for love and attention.

Almost automatically, her hand strokes the cat’s head before it grips the handle of the mug and her attention returns to the cold surface of the window. Only this time she doesn’t look at the snow. Instead she searches out her own reflection. At first glance the reflection looks strange and unknown, and she almost jumps when she slowly recognizes herself. She becomes aware of the smell of coffee. The lines in her face are deeper than she remembers. The dark hair is a little tousled around her face. The reflection seems remote and a little sad to her. The cat’s eyes meet hers in the window and for a while they seem locked in each other’s search. She puts the cup down again, but that little moment of inattention has unlocked the cat’s eyes from hers. This results in another little push from its nose. She smiles as she looks at the cat and lets her hand glide over its head and continue down its back. The cat slightly closes its eyes and clearly enjoys her repeated movements. Slowly it begins to purr – a quiet sound at first, but growing gradually louder.

“What if I had known what I know today? What if I had had that knowledge earlier in life?”

She has not taken her eyes off the cat as she speaks. It sits there quietly with eyes half-closed, just receiving, while it keeps on expressing its pleasure loudly.

“How many mistakes do you think I could have avoided? Hmm – and how many do you think I would have made anyway? It’s as if I keep repeating my mistakes over and over again – and it even surprises me every time.”

Slowly she stands up, moving her shoulders up and down. She moves her head from side to side and then back and forth. She touches the muscles in her neck and seems satisfied with the result, so she stops. She looks at the amazing dance of the snow in front of her window once more. Every time the flakes are caught in the light of the street lamps, they shine as if they’re blinking. They whirl into the oblivion of the darkness, only to turn up in the light again with a new beauty. She smiles to herself and turns away. She thinks. For a long time, she stands completely still before she almost imperceptibly shakes her head. Then she walks over to the living room door where she suddenly stops. A smile spreads over her face as she reaches for the top shelf of the bookcase.

“I have dusted you so many times without ever really relating to you.”

Her eyes follow the notebook with its orange plastic cover as she takes it down from the shelf. She notices the pattern of the cover and scratches it slightly with her fingernail.

“Look.”

She turns to the cat.

“I bought this because I meant to start a diary.”

Her finger picks at the corner of the notebook.

“I never started it. I was always too busy.”

She looks at the cat still sitting in the window, but it doesn’t notice her. Its tail moves from side to side, and she knows that it has seen something interesting in the street. She looks down at the notebook and tilts her head a little. She sighs quietly and walks over to the window to look down into the street, but she can’t see what’s so interesting. She stays there a little while. The cat’s tail rhythmically sweeps over the painted wood of the windowsill – never seeming to stop. There is nothing there. She looks at the cat that still doesn’t pay her any attention and tiredly shrugs her shoulders, puts the notebook down and turns out the light as she leaves the living room.

“Bed time, miss pussycat.”

The cat turns its head and looks after her as she leaves, before turning its attention back to the street below.

However, it’s not long before she hears the familiar thump of the cat landing on the parquet floor. It looks around the living room, sits down and scratches its neck. Finally, everything seems to be OK and it follows her into the bedroom.

© Tina Lindegaard //MouseJournal.com//

Are you interested in buying – here is where to go for the English version and for the Danish version.

Steamed Sea bass with salt baked organic celeriac,rope mussels in a Craigie’s cider dressing and tarragon essence with roasted Jerusalem artichoke.