I came down with a flu/cold thing early Monday morning. It woke me up at 2 in the morning and I knew I was done for. What I didn't know is if I would be able to pound out the last 1,880 words needed to finish NaNoWriMo. The thought of coming so far and losing on the last day was repulsive to me, so last night I cranked out 800 words and this afternoon, still sicker than the proverbial dog, I crossed the finish line. It feels good, and I have earned the right to display this:
I also managed to finish Chapter 9, and confirmed there will be a Chapter 10, as the story is not yet done. I have the ePub and PDF versions of Chapter 9 available, and without further ado the words that pushed me over the finish line:
Zuhayr stayed a pace or two ahead of Katarina the entire walk to her home, striding with rigid purpose. When they arrived at Katarina’s home Joe expected to see a small crowd arrayed outside, either protesting or keeping watch. Instead there was no one loitering about, not even the guard who had carried Ignatius from the entrance. Joe was about to ask Katarina if she were certain Ignatius was even inside when he was shocked to see Zuhayr open her front door and walk in, as if he owned the place. Katarina, showing no signs this bothered her, calmly followed Zuhayr into her abode, Joe in toe.
They found Zuhayr standing in her foyer, looking around puzzled. “Well, where is he?” he demanded. “I assumed he would be here, or did you lead me on a wild goose chase?”
“You were the one doing the leading,” Joe said.
Zuhayr glared at Joe with impatient malice and lifted his hand about to scold Joe when Katarina replied, “He is through here.” She walked beyond the staircase, then took and abrupt left turn and disappeared from sight. Joe hurried to follow after her, not wishing to be left alone in a room with the blue man. Behind the staircase he found a spacious suite of rooms, decorated in a subdued yet tasteful victorian style, complete with a parlor, a bathroom, and a generously sized bedroom. The guard was standing in the parlor, outside the door to the bedroom. His bearing and general air of alertness gave Joe the feeling that should anything go even slightly wrong Ignatius would be dispatched without thought. Joe spied Katarina in the bedroom standing next to the bed, upon which the prone figure of lay, still, unmoving, and barely breathing.
Zuhayr strode in calmly and without a sense of urgency. Joe didn’t like his attitude. He understood why he harbored hatred in his soul, but he gathered that Zuhayr had never met Ignatius personally, otherwise he would know him to be a good man fighting for the right things, and truly remorseful for the harm Sikander has done to people. Zuhayr didn’t even acknowledge the guard standing by the door, which Joe thought odd considering the fuss he made earlier, and strode right past him into the bedroom.
He stood at the foot of the bed and surveyed the motionless form of Ignatius with distaste. “So this is the man who caused all that trouble,” he stated.
“I won’t be baited into another argument with you Zuhayr. Do what I brought you here to do,” Katarina told him.
“You don’t need me,” Zuhayr sneered, “you need a mortician.”
Joe, who had moved into the room, standing just inside the door, interjected, “He’s not dead. He’s still breathing. Look.”
Zuhayr grunted, begrudgingly agreeing that Ignatius was in fact still alive. “I don’t see what I can do here,” he said lackadaisically. “It looks to me like you need a healer.”
“I thought you were a healer,” Joe blurted out.
Zuhayr barked out a laugh, “In all my life I’ve never been confused with a healer before.”
“If you aren’t a healer then what are you?” Joe demanded.
Zuhayr turned to face Joe. “Have you ever been to the circus?”
“Yeah, sure,” Joe said dismissively.
“And have you seen the side shows?”
“What, you mean like the strong man and the bearded lady?” Joe asked, wondering where this was going.
“The very same.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Joe asked impatiently.
“I am a geek.”
Joe looked at him absolutely confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Zuhayr furrowed his brows, “Exactly everything.”
“How does your affinity for computers, or comic books, or circuses for that matter have to do with this?”
“What are you talking about?”
Katarina, catching on, stepped in, “He means, Joseph, that he can eat anything.”
Joe looked at Zuhayr questioningly. “What does that have to do with being a geek?”
“A geek,” Zuhayr responded condescendingly, “is someone who can and does eat anything.”
Comprehension struck Joe. “Oh, like that guy in the circus who eats nails and bees and stuff.”
Zuhayr nodded. “Precisely.”
Joe furrowed his brow. “So what does that have to do with this?” A look of worry passed across his face, “You aren’t going to eat Ignatius are you?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Zuhayr chided.
“Then what exactly are you able to do for him?” Joe practically demanded.
“When I say I can eat anything, I mean absolutely anything. It’s not a figure of speech.”
Joe looked puzzled. “I don’t see how that will help us here.”
“Neither do I,” Zuhayr added, looking at Katarina. “He does not look as if he needs my help.”
“Come closer and inspect for yourself,” Katarina offered. “I’m sure you’ll notice it right away.”
Zuhayr simply leaned over Ignatius’s still form and took a breath, then righted himself immediately. “Ah. I see what you mean.” Katarina smiled. “It would appear a certain giant is out running amok again,” he paused. “As I recall they have been feuding for quite some time. How certain are you that Sikander is behind this?”
“Bob, the giant that did this to Ignatius, is also trying to kill me, and has been since I first arrived here,” Joe testily informed Zuhayr.
Zuhayr eyed Joe, plainly curious. “Why would Bob want to kill you I wonder?” he said to himself. “He’s not the sort to attack without reason or cause.”
“We don’t know how, but it is related. Ignatius only got hurt because he was protecting me. Had Ignatius not been there Bob and his merry band of live action role players would still have attacked me.”
Zuhayr addressed Katarina, “I’ll help, but you will still need a healer.”
“His physical wounds are minor,” Katarina said. “Once you are finished we’ll see that he gets medical attention Topside.”
“I didn’t mean for him,” Zuhayr nodded toward the bed. “I meant for the kid here. He’s got a gimpy leg.”
“It’s just a sprain,” Joe protested. “I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourself. I thought you were being chased and hounded. Maybe I was wrong,” Zuhayr said, shrugging. “In any case I’ll need some room to work, if you would be so kind as to wait outside the room I’ll get started,” he said with politeness.
Katarina and Joe exited the room while Zuhayr poked and prodded at Ignatius’s body. Katarina led Joe to a small sofa and made him sit down. “We should get a look at that,” she told him. “I want to make sure it’s just a sprain.”
“I’ll be fine,” Joe insisted. “It’s feeling better already,” he said with a wince as he tapped his foot on the ground. “See?”
“Right. Off with the shoe. At least let me put some ice on it and wrap it up in a bandage.” Joe began to protest. “I won’t take no for an answer. Either you take your shoe off or I will do it for you. Choose.”
Wincing Joe took of his shoe to reveal a red and swollen ankle. He sucked in a breath when Katarina touched it. “Let me get some ice,” she said getting up to leave. “I don’t have to tell you to stay put do I?”
“No, mother,” Joe said playfully.
Katarina shot him a glance and left the rooms. Joe turned his attention to the bedroom where Zuhayr had carefully removed Ignatius’s coat and shirt and was now methodically working over his chest alternating from smelling, to gently squeezing. He continued doing, across all of Ignatius’s chest and down his arms. Finally satisfied with his explorations he lifted Ignatius’s arm up to his mouth. Joe stifled a cry of alarm as Zuhayr wrapped his lips around Ignatius’s elbow and began to suck with great force. He paused for a breath then sucked at his elbow again, finally laying it down on the bed. He then quickly shuffled over to the other side of the bed and repeated the strange ritual again on the other elbow. Then to Joe’s amazement, and near horror, he leaned over the bed, bared his teeth, and rested his ear on Ignatius’s breast. Nodding to himself he stood up, walked back around to the other side of the bed, and leaning in, hovered over Ignatius’s rib cage, and sucked in three deep breaths of air.
“There. ’Tis done,” he announced, standing tall. He turned and looked to Joe, “He’l live,” he said spitefully.
Katarina returned with a bag of ice, and ignoring Zuhayr placed it on Joe’s ankle and began wrapping it with a bandage. “You are done, then?” Katarina asked Zuhayr, not taking her eyes off of Joe’s ankle.
“Yes,” he said joining them in the sitting room.
“You got it all?” she questioned, looking up at him with frightful authority.
Zuhayr nodded solemnly, “I know better than to cross you.” He started leaving the room, “Since I am done here,” he began.
“We have further need of you,” Katarina called out quietly.
“It’s just a sprain, really,” Joe said, suddenly afraid she was going to have Zuhayr suck the life out of his foot.
Katarina smiled at Joe reassuringly. She called out to Zuhayr, “I know you noticed other scents on Ignatius,” she said.
Zuhayr turned and regarded Katarina coolly. “He still bears the stench of his so-called former master,” he sneered. “He’s just as dirty today as he was back then.”
“What you noticed were two of many pieces of an active binding.”
Zuhayr looked mildly impressed. “I never thought he had it in him to work with such skill,” he said.
“They aren’t his,” Joe protested.
“And what would you know of such matters?” Zuhayr asked snidely.
“I know enough to know and realize Ignatius was as in the dark about them as we were, and that he was surprised to find them.”
“You do know he is a skilled liar, yes?”
“This wasn’t some role he was playing. He practically died trying to save me,” Joe practically yelled.
“I can confirm the binding is not Ignatius’s doing,” Katarina said softly, bringing the heated debate to a close.
Zuhayr grunted. “What is it you want from me? You know eating bindings is a risky affair.”
“We found, and confirmed, there are many parts to this binding,” Katarina explained. “Unfortunately we were ambushed before we could find it locus.”
Zuhayr sighed, “And you want me to help you find it.”
Katarina nodded. “I know you have resources.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Zuhayr said defiantly.
“You may think you act without my knowledge, but you are mistaken.” Zuhayr began to protest, but Katarina cut him off, “Regardless there are two things I need from you. First we must locate the locus of this binding. If at all possible I would prefer if we could find all pieces of it and unravel the binding, but failing that I will need to you eat the binding.”
Zuhayr narrowed his eyes. “You ask a great deal. What is in it for me?”
“You can brag you got the better of Sikander,” Joe chimed in with sass, earning him a glares from both Katarina and Zuhayr.
“I can grant you no more than my goodwill at this time,” Katarina said quietly.
Zuhayr snorted. “I’ve worked for less, but what you ask of me will take time. Time I do not wish to spare. You will have to do better than that.”
“There is naught else I can offer,” Katarina said with firmness.
“You haven’t even told me who this kid is that Sikander is interested in him, nor why I should care to help him,” Zuhayr responded.
Katarina sighed. “Sikander thinks Joe is Helmut.”
Zuhayr’s eyes widened with surprise. He stared at Joe with renewed interest. “I’ll help,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
I'm honestly surprised I was able to get nearly 2,000 words written today. Sunday's aren't usually a productive day for me, unless naps count as productivity. I pulled some daddy time with my little girl in the afternoon, taking her out to visit with my family and we all played together. She told me she had a good time, and we've come to learn she very much appreciates quality time. That is time not spent writing that I do not regret.
I am now 1,880 words away from the NaNoWriMo finish line, but it is certain the story will not be done. I dare not even guess how many words are left, but I expect it will take me at least another week to finish the draft, which I will do. Bed is calling my name, as I have an early morning, so here is the next installment of the story:
“If you will excuse us,” Katarina said with a firm kindness, “we are eager to resolve the situation.”
The crowd made a path for Katarina and Joe. As they hurried into the city people wore looks of worry and concern. A few showed outright panic, locking and boarding up their houses, bags packed and piled in the street. These Katarina stopped to reassure all was well in Second City and their safety had not been compromised in the slightest. The city looked to be on high alert, with more than a few citizens preparing to repel invaders.
“Why is everybody in a state of emergency and alarm?” Joe asked Katarina after she stopped a fourth time to reassure someone they were still safe.
“The guards have not been called into action in over 75 years,” she replied. “It’s supposed to be a rare occurrence.”
“You’d think they would be more curious than panicked,” Joe replied.
“They are there primarily as a first line of defense against invasion. The last time a war ravaged the city, and many lost their homes and their lives.”
Joe fell silent as understanding washed over him. The looks in people’s faces bore a new weight. A little worry tickled his heart, “We aren’t coming under attack, are we?” he asked.
“No,” Katarina said with firm finality.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked.
She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Because it is my job to know. After all you have seen Joseph, after all you’ve witnessed, have you no faith yet?” she said with exasperation.
Joe looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“You have seen a great many impossible things today, and yet you still ask if the impossible can happen. You ask for assurances, you ask for a justification, a rationale, for how and why things are. Rather than simply accept things as they are you question them.”
“As you say, I’ve seen a number of impossible things today, and thus by definition they can’t have happened.”
“And yet the did,” Katarina interrupted.
“Maybe so, or maybe I’m delusional and dreaming all this up. The point is I am struggling to come to grips with all,” he waved his arms about gesturing at the city, “this. It’s a lot to take in all at once. You ask if I have any faith, I do have faith. I have faith in the laws of science and physics, laws which you and your cohorts have worked hard at shattering. So you’ll just have to excuse me if I ask questions and poke and prod and refuse to believe what cannot be happening,” Joe said testily, falling into a sullen silence.
Katarina looked at Joe with a satisfied smile on her face. In her mind the walls had been breached. Joe was coming to grips with the newly revealed world. What Joe was going through would be a lot to ask of anyone already initiated, but an Outsider would likely go mad. “Hold onto that Joe,” she said softly. “We do not violate the Laws of Nature as much as you might think. Hold fast to that faith and you will get through this.” Joe simply glared at her. “We’re losing precious time,” she said, turning around and resuming their course.
They walked for some distance further, Katarina still offering words of comfort and encouragement to those in obvious need of it, when Joe realized they were in a part the city he did not remember seeing. They were fast approaching a set of buildings shaped like overgrown chess pieces, some colored white, and some colored black. They were arranged in what initially appeared to be a haphazard fashion, until Joe realized the ground itself laid out in white and black squares.
“Is this the way to your home?” Joe asked. “I don’t remember seeing these buildings before,” he observed. “And there is no way I could forget them,” he muttered under his breath.
“We are not going to my home just yet. I need to enlist the aid of someone first.”
As they walked past a towering bishop Joe sarcastically asked, “Who’s winning?”
“Black.”
Joe stopped in surprise, “You mean to tell me this is a real game,” he asked with incredulity.
“Yes, of course.”
“Who is playing?” Joe asked, intrigued.
“They are,” Katarina said indicating the buildings.
“The buildings play themselves?” Joe asked quite astonished.
“No, the people who own and live in the buildings play.”
“So what, they each decide where to move their house each morning?”
“Each team meets regularly and surveys the playing field, then they collectively decide how to move, and simply move their house.”
“What happens to captured pieces?”
“They are relocated on the edges of the board until the game ends.”
Joe shook his head, “It must be hard finding the right house when you are invited over for dinner.”
“Not especially. The entire city follows each game.”
They walked up to the only remaining white rook on the board. Katarina rattled the door knocker which created a deep echoing sound that traveled through the entire tower. “There is one thing I must warn you about,” Katarina said as they waited, “do not stare.” Joe began to ask what she was talking about when the door opened inward on creaking hinges, and there, in the doorway, stood a nearly naked man, attired only in a pair of black shorts, his skin a vibrant shade of royal blue. Joe momentarily gawked, caught completely off guard.
“Katarina,” the man said curtly. “What a surprise to see you,” he said sarcastically. “Please tell me you are here to offer some advice, one chess master to another.”
“Zuhayr,” Katarina said with a nod. “You know why I am here.”
Zuhayr turned and looked at Joe, and scowled. “And you must be the one who has caused all our present trouble and unrest.”
“What? I — no,” Joe stammered.
“Are you not the Outsider who has been stranded in Salem?” Zuhayr pressed.
Joe nodded dumbly.
“And aren’t you the reason he is now in our city, after we’ve been promised it would never happen?” the last he said turning a disdainful look upon Katarina.
“That is my doing,” Katarina said boldly.
Zuhayr eyed Katarina suspiciously, “That doesn’t change the fact that this boy has brought a world of trouble into our midst.” He turned and leaned towards Joe, “What exactly are you going to do to make amends?” he said menacingly.
“Enough!” barked Katarina. “You will leave Joe alone,” she commanded.
Zuhayr raised his hands in surrender and backed off. “My answer is no.”
“Not acceptable,” Katarina replied.
“I don’t care what you find acceptable or not,” he spat. “I will not help the one who caused the last invasion.”
“You know as well as I do that he was not at fault for that,” growled Katarina. “It is time to let that go.”
“You may let it go, but I never will. You didn’t lose someone you cared about in that invasion,” Zuhayr said, his tone laced with venom.
Katarina’s face noticeably softened, “Yes I did, Zuhayr.”
“You dare compare my wife to your prized pupil?” he shouted, spittle flying off his lips.
“I’ve never told anyone this,” she replied in a hoarse whisper, “but Anna was more than my pupil. She was my daughter.” Zuhayr stared at Katarina in obvious astonishment, his angry fire quickly diminishing. “If anyone has cause to hate I do. But I tell you again, he was not responsible for the invasion.”
“How do I know you are telling me the truth?” Zuhayr cautiously asked.
“You question my honesty?” Katarina retorted.
Zuhayr shook his head. “No. I’m . . . sorry for your loss,” he offered.
“And I am sorry for yours, but that doesn’t change the fact that a man needs your help right now.”
“Why should I?” he spat bitterly. “He’s a known associate of Sikander Cavanagh Cranmer, and you and I agree he was led the attack.”
“Ignatius is helping us fight Sikander,” Joe interjected.
Zuhayr swung his attention back around to Joe, “And how do you know he’s not helping Sikander?”
“Because he put his life on the line to protect me.”
“Who are you that you need protecting?”
“Nobody,” Joe said. Zuhayr snorted. “A nobody that Sikander wants dead,” Joe finished.
Zuhayr eyed Joe with interest. “Why does he want you dead?”
“That’s not important right now,” Katarina interrupted. “A man’s life hangs in the balance, there will be time enough for explanations later. Will you freely assist or not?”
Zuhayr sighed. “Very well. Let me get my things.” He retreated into his tower pushing the door closed as he left.
Katarina stood facing the door, waiting patiently for Zuhayr’s return. Joe, in contrast, was looking at Katarina out of the corner of his eye. The news that she had a daughter shocked him, for she looked no older than Joe, and the news that this daughter died some 75 years ago further caused him to pause and reevaluate her.
“Yes Joseph, I really am that old,” Katarina said, as if reading his mind.
Joe turned to face her and asked, “You had a daughter?”
“I did. It was a long time ago.”
“Sikander caused her death and you didn’t think to mention it to me?”
“It wasn’t relevant,” she replied a little icily.
“How is it not relevant.? The same man who has trapped me in this city and has been trying to kill me is responsible for your daughter’s death and it’s somehow not relevant? Aren’t you emotionally compromised or whatever they call it?” Joe pressed.
“I agreed to help you before any of us knew who was behind this.”
“Can you honestly stand there and tell me that when you found out that Sikander was behind my situation that you didn’t feel anything?”
Katarina turned and looked Joe in the eye, “I did feel something, yes. I felt the need to help you as swiftly and surely as I possibly could. Sikander is a dangerous man without regard for human life, and if he’s targeted you then without my help you are as good as dead.” Her tone softened, “I don’t want to see that, Joseph.”
Joe looked down ashamed that he pressed her. “Thanks,” he practically mumbled. “Thanks for that.”
“You are welcome. We will get you home safe, that is my promise to you.”
“But after that I’m as good as dead?” Joe asked.
Katarina paused before answering. “If this truly is Sikander’s work then yes. Once he knows you are still alive he will try again.”
“Truthfully, should I stay here?”
“That decision is up to you.”
Joe ran his hands through his hair, “I just want to go home and have my life return to normal. I don’t fit in here. I’m not one of you. I’m not hundreds of years old, or have mystical powers, or am a giant or something. I’m just a guy, a guy who happens to have a screwed up lineage and the dumb luck to draw stuff I shouldn’t.”
“You would not have to live down here, Joe,” Katarina said softly. “And Salem is as good a place as any to settle down, operate a freelance business, and even raise a family . . . someday.”
Joe snorted. “If I should live so long I’m not sure I would want to curse a kid with my genetics. Who knows what ancient oddball might try to kill the poor kid.”
The door to the tower opened, and Zuhayr, dressed now in a rough spun white robe with a brown leather satchel slung across his body, stepped out and joined them. “Well, let’s go,” he said and started off down the street.
Today was an awkward day for writing. An old childhood friend (he reminded me we've been friends for 30 years) was in town today and last-minute we arranged to get our families together. It had been two years since we last saw each other. It was a great time catching up, and I don't regret not writing during those hours. Despite all my socializing I still managed to get 1,000 words ahead of schedule, and if all goes well I'll finish Monday night.
I did manage to finish Chapter 8 today, so the usual ePub and PDF versions are available. I've decided that once I am done with the entire draft I will put it online in both PDF and ePub, so if you are horribly behind or are have been meaning to get around to reading my draft, you might as well wait until December. Or, you could always start from the beginning.
Here is the closing bits of Chapter 8, in which the battle concludes, and the beginning of Chapter 9, in which the fallout is felt:
Thunder rolled across the sky as bolts of lightning fell from the sky, striking the ground all around Ignatius, forming a tight circle of burnt earth. Ignatius stood resolute, staring into the trees where he last saw Bob. Thunder continued to rumble above, echoing the intensity of the battle below, as more lightning poured from the sky, accompanied by arcs of electricity snaking its way through tress, all destined for Ignatius. Ignatius didn’t waver through it all, until a limb came bursting forth from the trees on a violent collision course with his head. He ducked, dropping down to one knee, then caught sight of a spear hurtling toward him from the opposite direction. He rolled out of the way, and into the legs of an attacker, who toppled on top of Ignatius, mace flying from his hand. Cruel laughter split the air as Bob bellowed, “I win.” A cascade of lightning bore down on the two men, and struck home in a sickening explosion.
Joe screamed, “No!” Bob continued to bark gleeful laughter as the thunder subsided. The few remaining men left standing pressed the attack, charging all at once. Joe looked pleadingly up at Katarina, but saw she stood motionless, eyes closed, a single tear carving a path down her cheek. Joe hung his head in defeat, despair overwhelming him. Joe looked up as the air was suddenly charged with a cackling energy. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood up, and his skin tingled. Katarina was still motionless, her posture unchanged, but her hair was now floating, defying gravity, and an aerie blue-white light lit her countenance.
Joe didn’t see her lips move, but heard Katarina said, “Get down,” in a commanding tone, her voice full of wrath. Joe flattened himself into the ground, and covered his head with his arms as the world around him rocked and shuddered with the most violent show of force Joe had ever witnessed. Laying on the ground the breath was knocked out of him, forcing him to lift up his head and gasp for air, but there was none. Panic filled Joe’s mind as he struggled to breathe the air he knew to be there, had always been there, his mind reeling at what could have happened. Slowly his lungs filled with short breaths, then longer, more steady breaths. It took him a moment to gather himself, but looking around everyone was laying on the ground either dead or unconscious.
Katarina knelt down by Joe’s head and whispered in urgent tones, “Are you alright? Can you stand?”
Joe managed a weak, “I think so,” then pushed himself up unsteadily.
“Good. Come with me, quickly.”
“What about Ignatius?” Joe asked standing up.
“I’ve got him. Come we must go now,” she said taking off back up the trail they had come, Ignatius’s limp body flung over her shoulder.
Joe scrambled to his feet and chased after her. “What did you do back there?”
“We don’t have time right now. Just run.”
“Didn’t you take care of them?”
“Run,” came her curt command.
“But where are we going?” he demanded.
“Back to Second City,” she replied.
Chapter Nine
“Why not the hospital?” Joe said, recalling that when they walked to the park he saw a hospital across the street.
“It won’t do him any good,” Katarina barked back. “No more questions,” she snapped back.
Joe had to hustle to keep pace with Katarina, who, despite carrying Ignatius jogged down the path and out into an open field. They ran out in the open, cars were driving up and down the street just off to their right, people were jogging ahead on the same path, and there was a parking lot full of cars and more than a few people milling about. Joe worried what would happen when people realized a girl was carrying a man away from the hospital. Joe lowered his head and followed Katarina, deciding to tune out any distractions, running with the hope that the entrance to Second City was not far away.
They kept running. They past the stadium and ran around the soap box derby run, then veered sharply up a hill, following a path right to the front door of an old farm house. Joe barely had time to register the incongruity of finding a preserved farm house in the middle of a 90 acre park, which boasted playgrounds, tennis courts, a full stadium with bleachers, and soap box derby run. In his distraction at seeing the house he tripped and found himself sprawled out on the ground, his face full of grass and dirt.
“Joe, are you alright?” Katarina called out, stopping and turning to inquire.
Joe spit grass out of his mouth. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He looked up and saw, off in the distance, nestled in and amongst a rose garden, a white gazebo standing proud in the park. “What is it with this town and gazebos?” he asked picking himself up off the ground.
“This way, it’s not far,” Katarina called out, grabbing Joe’s hand and dragging him after her, heedless of his slight limp. Joe stumbled after Katarina as they came around the house heading for the greenhouse. Katarina pulled Joe in after her and carefully checking that no one else was in the greenhouse with them she slammed the door shut, then promptly opened it again. Joe barely had time to shoot her a quizzical look when she shoved him through the open door then lunged through after him.
Joe stumbled, then winced as his ankle screamed at him, and he fell to the ground landing on his backside. He was about to shout something unpleasant to Katarina when he realized he was surrounded by angry looking guards pointing all manner of medieval weaponry at him and Katarina. It took him a moment to realize he was once again on the landing overlooking the impressive Second City, only this time it did not appear he was welcome. Thinking Katarina was still in the park and not yet through he quickly and nervously shouted, “I’m with Katarina!”
“Stand down Guardsman,” Katarina’s voice rang out with authority. The guards faltered but did not lower their weapons. “I said stand down,” she repeated. “I have a wounded man here in need of medical attention.”
“Forgive us milady, but you yourself told us never, under any circumstances, to allow that man into the City,” one of the guards said, an iron firmness to his voice.
“I am well aware of my standing orders,” she replied testily. “I am exercising my right to grant him access this one time. Stand down,” Katarina said with finality.
As one the guards lowered their weapons, and all but one silently melded back into the shadows. “I will escort you and your guest to your destination. He is not to leave my sight. You know our way.”
Katarina nodded then turned her attention to Joe who sat on the ground stupefied but relieved. “I am sorry Joseph,” she said, offering her hand to help him up.
Joe shook his head. “It’s alright. I guess. Now can you tell me why were are here instead of a hospital?
Shaking her head Katarina said, “I can’t give you full explanation, but suffice it to say we are protected here, and his wounds cannot be looked after by the doctors in that hospital.”
Joe took a moment to look at Ignatius. He hung limply on Katarina’s shoulder, color drained from his face, his arms and legs akimbo. Joe had to look hard to discern any sign of breathing. “He’ll be alright?”
“We’ll see, but I fear we must hurry.” Turning to the guard she asked, “Guardsman, are you willing to carry this man to my home?”
The guard nodded his head in a swift, firm motion, then carefully plucked Ignatius up an slung him over a shoulder. Without another word he jogged down the steps heading for Second City. Joe began to follow but winced and cried out when he put his weight on his right foot. Katarina snapped her head looking first at Joe then at his favored foot. “You’re injured,” she said.
“It’s just my ankle. I might have sprained in when I tripped,” Joe said. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”
“Put your arm around my shoulder and at least let me help you,” Katarina said, pulling Joe’s arm around her shoulder with one hand while wrapping another around his waist and pulling him in close.
They hobbled down the steps, Joe sucking in breath now and then as tried to use his right foot, only to have Katarina gently scold him and threaten to carry him if he did not take his weight off that foot. By the time they got to the outskirts of the city the news of Katarina’s arrival had spread as many rushed out to meet her flooding her with questions. She assured them she was alright, though clearly many were concerned given Joe’s state. “It’s nothing,” Joe tried to reassure them. “I sprained my ankle when I tripped over my own feet.” That hardly put them at ease.
“What is he doing here?” they demanded. “You promised he would never be allowed down here.”
Katarina stopped to address the crowd. “Ignatius Blackmoore was gravely injured while trying to protect both me and Joe,” she told them. “He showed great courage and selflessness, and in order to save his life I have brought him here.” The crowd murmured disagreeable. “He is not conscious,” she told them, “and he will remain that way until I am satisfied he can safely return. You have my word.” At that the murmuring subsided, though clearly many were uncomfortable with the situation.
I don't know what happened today. I took the day off. I intended on writing at least 4,000 words. I got a good night's sleep; my wife let me sleep in until 9. I could not concentrate on my novel. Despite the abundant sleep I even took a nap in the afternoon. I broke my habit: I tried to write during the day, rather than the evening. When I did start writing at my usual time the words flowed better. Things were less forced and I made better progress.
Despite my slow start and underwhelming progress I did manage nearly 2,400 words, most of which is a rather protracted fight scene. I didn't anticipate the fight lasting as long as it has. I'll end it soon, as this is not the climax of the story. Until then you'll have to wait and see just what happens. Again, I am starting this evening's excerpt with some context from last time.
Joe wiped his brow. “Nevertheless I need to get back home. I need some kind of normalcy right now.” Joe looked from Ignatius to Katarina. “What is our next move?”
“We still need to find the rest of the binding if we are to unravel it,” Ignatius sighed. “That will take some time. We don’t know how many different pieces there are to this one, nor where they are hidden.”
“I thought Mortimer was able to get us a list of locations,” Joe said.
“He did,” Katarina replied. “But as we found out at Mission Mill not all of them are related to your predicament.”
“So we just need to keep looking then,” Joe said with finality.
“It’s getting late,” Katarina countered. “We are losing daylight and we all need some rest.”
“I’ll rest when I get back to my home,” Joe practically growled.
Katarina looked to Ignatius who only shrugged. “There was another location nearby, in Bush Park. We can try there while we still have some light,” Katarina suggested.
“Great. Let’s go,” Joe said, launching himself off the bench and out of the gazebo.
“Do you know where you are going?” called out Katarina as she hurried after him.
“Nope,” Joe called out. “But I expect you’ll show me the way,” he turned around showing a big grin on his face. “Come on, we’re losing daylight, and I’d like to be home now.”
Katarina took the lead, walking them out the way they came in, past the now quiet and nearly dark house, and back to the sidewalk. Taking a left she practically marched up the street.
“I take it that’s the park up ahead?” Joe asked upon noticing the expanse of forested land on their left, continuing off into the distance. Katarina nodded. “It seems like a rather large park,” Joe said, worry creeping into his voice.
“It’s a 90 acre park,” Katarina confirmed.
“Please tell me you have some idea where in the park we are headed,” Joe pleaded.
Katarina nodded at the tall oak trees looming over them. “I suspect it’s one of these trees.”
Joe looked crestfallen. “There must be hundreds of trees.”
“Aye,” confirmed Ignatius. “But we need only concern ourselves with the old ones.”
“They all look old,” Joe pointed out.
Ignatius chuckled. “I suppose they do. I have a fair idea where we need to go,” he said, veering off the sidewalk and into a wooded parking lot. “I think you’ll find it’s this way.”
Joe followed Ignatius without a word, and plunged into the darkening woods after him. The trees stood proud and tall, and sheltered those within their care not only from the sun, but also from the hustle and bustle of life outside the park. There was a quiet and stillness lingering in the forest. It was inviting and lulled people into a sense of safety. As if to prove the point a pair of squirrels ran chittering toward the trio, stopping a short distance from them, and stood on the hind legs, as if begging for food.
“I am sorry dear friends,” Katarina said to the squirrels, “but we do not have any food today.”
The squirrels cocked their heads at this, chittered to each other, then scampered up the nearest tree and vanished from sight.
“Tame squirrels,” Joe commented.
“They’ve come to trust that people are generally kind and giving,” Katarina said.
The came upon a jogging trail in the midst of the trees. Ignatius walked onto it, paused, then strode deeper into the dark forest.
Noticing how dark the forest was getting, Joe was about to ask if either Ignatius or Katarina had a flashlight with them when Ignatius stopped short. He crouched down and motioned that Joe and Katarina should do the same. Joe looked frantically around but saw nothing.
“What is it,” Joe whispered to Ignatius.
Ignatius shook his head then waved vaguely at Joe, who understood Ignatius to mean he should remain silent. Katarina placed a comforting hand on Joe’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. After a moment Ignatius stood up, saying, “I thought I heard something up ahead. Must have been a squirrel.” He shrugged. “This way,” he said, continuing deeper into the gloom.
They walked for a short distance then came upon a small playground nestled in and amongst the trees. There was a single toddler swing standing alone, just off the path, a mere short distance from a slide and a set of swings and a picnic table.
“Seems like an odd place to put a kiddie playground,” Joe said in hushed tones. “If I were a kid I wouldn’t want to play here.”
A cry split the stillness of the moment. Ignatius dropped to one knee, hand outstretched menacingly, pointing off into the gloom of the forest. Katarina moved to stand between Joe and the origin of the cry, then pulled him down to a crouch, whispering to him, “Keep your head down.”
Joe cowered on the ground, crouching, and cursing himself for hiding behind a girl. “What is it?” Joe hissed. “What do you see?”
“Nothing,” Katarina whispered back.
Another cry assailed them, followed by the muffled sounds of a skirmish. Dim sounds of wood clashing against wood wound its way through the forest, followed shortly by cries of victory and painful defeat. A sickening thud sounded just ahead, and a small round object fell to the ground. Joe panicked. “Please don’t tell me that’s a human head,” he whimpered into Katarina’s ear.
A dark, vaguely human shape, bearing what looked to be a menacing knife, or sword, loomed out of the forest, causing Joe to cringe, but he could not look away. It was bad enough to be hiding behind a girl, he would not look away. As the figure drew closer Joe saw it was a young man brandishing a stick wrapped in foam and duct tape. Stooping down he picked up a dripping wet foam ball, which he brandished with a certain viciousness. Turning around he let out a fierce, bellowing war cry, the thew the ball back the way he came and ran forward, his improvised sword extended before him.
Ignatius relaxed and stood up. Joe and Katarina did the same.
“Is that what I think it was?” Joe asked.
“There’s a group of guys who engage in live action role playing round about here in the park,” Ignatius said. “I expect that was what I had heard before.”
“You’ve got those guys out here too?” Joe asked. “I ran into a few of their kind back in college. If you ask me they aren’t all there.”
The woods echoed with a series of battle cries. Joe smirked. “You know, they would sound more frightening if they weren’t so few.”
A branch above Joe’s head rang out with a loud crack and came crashing down. Joe dove out of the way just before it slammed into the ground, where he had just been standing. Picking himself up off of the ground he looked at the fallen limb and saw one end was charred black. About to call attention to this detail Joe looked to Katarina and Ignatius and saw an onslaught of dark figures running towards them. Too late, Joe realized they were under attack.
“Stay down!” Katarina shouted at Joe as the trees around them erupted in a cacophony of loud cracks and explosions. Joe’s head reeled as he realized they were being ambushed. Looking up into the trees he saw branches burst into sudden flame, then just as suddenly extinguish as they came crashing down to the ground. Katarina held her hands aloft and braced herself for impact. The branches and limbs sped toward the trio, and to Joe’s utter astonishment careened off an invisible barrier, sliding safely down away from them.
Ignatius, standing only a few feet in front of Katarina, flung his arm out toward the fallen limbs. Making a fist with his outstretched arm he made a grand sweeping gesture bringing his harm straight in front of him, then opened his fist. A thick limb flew off the ground and hurtled itself with great force toward the onrushing figures. There were a few cries of surprise, and few muffled curses, as the limb crashed into two of the figures with a resounding clangor of wood against metal. Ignatius repeated the gesture sending yet another limb hurtling at another pair of figures who, this time expecting resistance, ducked behind trees, the limb crashing to the ground somewhere off in the distance.
“They’ve got mages!” someone bellowed from the attacking party.
“They can’t attack what they can’t see,” came a faint reply. As if someone flipped a switch the woods outside the playground became impenetrably dark. Tendrils of inky blackness flicked into the playground at the edges, as if the sudden darkness were alive and searching. Ignatius, crouching low to the ground, drew a series of figures in the debris on the forest floor. With a quick exhalation of breath the woods around them were suddenly populated with baseball sized floating spheres of blue-white light. The light revealed a stygian thing winding its way through the trees, gently embracing cloaked figures slowly advancing.
Joe looked all around them, looking for a line of retreat, but finding none called out, “We’re surrounded.”
Katarina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her lips began to move ever so slightly, though no sound came out, then in a sudden motion she exhaled and slammed her hand into the ground, palm first, fingers splayed wide. The instant her hand touched the ground an invisible wave of force ripped through the air, passing harmlessly through Ignatius and Joe. It sped through the forest tearing through the stygian tendrils, reducing them to nothing more than an incoherent black mist, and slammed into the cloaked and robed figures with such force that many were knocked to the ground.
A lone figure, brought down to one knee by Katarina’s attack, launched himself at Ignatius with a wild cry. Rushing toward Ignatius he passed under one of the spheres of light and Joe saw his face. “It’s the same kid as before,” he hissed in shocked warning. Where before the young man was waving a padded stick, Joe now saw he was brandishing a polished blade of steel, and wore a small wooden shield on his other arm.
Ignatius, aware of his onrushing attacker, remained crouched until his opponent was nearly upon him. Shifting his weight to one side he lunged with his feet and threw himself under the swing of the sword. As the sword arched to the ground harmlessly behind Ignatius, he brought his open palm up into the chest of his assailant. There was a sudden bright flash of angry red where Ignatius’s hand impacted. The would be warrior flew back in a delicate arch and landed limp as a rag doll a couple of feet away, wisps of smoke rising from a charred hole in his chest. Joe gaped, forgetting to breathe. It took a moment for the reality of what he saw to sink in, whereupon he thew up.
“I see you haven’t lost your touch,” a voice boomed out of the trees. Ignatius remained silent and grim faced. “I wonder, old friend, do you know any new tricks?” the voice taunted. “The last time we fought to a draw. Don’t think that will happen again.” An arc of electricity shot through the trees, racing straight for Ignatius. Ignatius snapped his hand up and caught the bolt as if he were playing catch.
“Let the others go,” Ignatius said, his voice carrying with authority. “This is between you and me, Bob.”
The giant who twice before tried to kill Joe emerged from the cover of darkness and scowled at Ignatius. “I can’t do that. I’m here for the boy. This is your only warning old friend: leave now, and I’ll let you live. This need not be your fight.”
“I thought he was dead,” Joe groaned “You said he couldn’t swim,” he whispered at Katarina.
“Stay close, and keep your head down,” she responded.
Ignatius looked up at Bob and cooly defied him, “I’m afraid this is my fight. I’ve grown rather fond of the boy.”
“Suit yourself,” Bob said with a wicked grin, then raised his hand, pointed at Joe, and let out a fierce roar. Joe ducked his head as sparks erupted in violent fury mere inches from him. With a crashing roar the small band of cloaked figures raised their arms high and all at once charged. The blue-white light from the floating spheres reflected off steel swords, maces, and a spear as men of all sizes crashed through the trees with war in their hearts, and thoughts of honor and glory running through their heads.
Ignatius flew into what at first appeared to be a furious dance, but as men were swept off their feet, some by fallen limbs crashing into them, others simply folding under the impact of invisible blows, it became apparent Ignatius was waging war. Another attacker drew near to Ignatius and swung a mighty blow, only to have it dodged. He didn’t have time to flinch in fear or regret as Ignatius drilled his palm into his chest and just as before there was a bright flash, and the man arched back and fell to the ground unmoving.
Katarina whirled around, turning her back toward Ignatius, and extending her arms outward glared at the charging men. Without so much as a twitch of a finger or a quiver of a lip the four nearest combatants collapsed to the ground grasping at their throats trying desperately to breathe. The remaining men slowed, but did not stop. Katarina remained unmoving, as still as a statue, and three more feel clawing at their throats. The charge faltered and drew short as the sight of their comrades turning blue at their feet gave them pause.
In the chaos of the charge Bob slipped back into the cover of darkness biding his time. Ignatius stood still, two more bodies laying still and smoldering on the ground around him. “You would waste the lives of noble men, who seek honor and glory?” he growled into the darkness, shaking his head in sorrow and pity. “You know they stand no match, no matter how many you send. Spare their lives at least, and face me in a duel,” he challenged.
I made a last-minute adjustment to my plot tonight, rather spur of the moment. As I've known all along I'm discovering and exploring this novel as I'm writing it. I only have a skeleton in mind, and some times I don't even have that clear. Tonight I realized that Mission Mill was not overtly related to our tale. It's there, and hopefully my little twist will be developed greater during revision. What this allowed me to do is add in an extra scene (or two), and so our trio find themselves at Deepwood Estate tonight.
Tomorrow being Thanksgiving, and given that I am 2,000 words ahead of schedule today, I may not get any writing done. I want to spend time with family, and while I expect I will have some time to myself before going to bed, I don't want to push myself if I don't have to. So with that thought in mind, may these words tie you over:
Joe waited as patiently as he could, but the site of a grown man groping the foundation of a building, while a young woman leaned on his shoulder was too conspicuous. Joe worried that at any minute someone would see them, and Joe didn’t know how to answer the inevitable questions. “Not to interrupt, but could you two look a little less out-of-place?” Joe hissed. They both shushed him.
“I can’t quite make it out,” Ignatius said. “It’s too faint, almost like it’s deep within the foundation.” He stood up from the foundation.
“Let’s keep trying,” Katarina said, leading them into the museum. “They have kept the original water wheel turbine. Perhaps there is something there,” she suggested, walking up to an impressive display of vintage mechanical technology.
Ignatius walked up to the turbine and looked at it. There were some visitors touring the museum, and not wanting to draw attention to himself he refrained from closer inspection. “I can’t be certain,” he whispered. “Perhaps once the room clears out I’ll be able to do a better inspection.”
Deciding not to loiter too long near the turbine they casually walked through the museum, reading the plaques and playing the part of the interested tourist. The museum boasted to have some of the original equipment from when the woolen mill was operational, as well as various artifacts of the time and trade. By itself the museum was far from boring, and listening to Ignatius whisper comments about his recollections of the era preserved in memory by the museum was fascinating. “I still remember the first time I saw a factory,” he was saying. “The thing both impressed and frightened me.”
“Why’s that,” Joe asked quietly.
“Well my boy, for one thing the speed at which they worked, and the amount of work they got done in a day was astounding. The potential to change the pace of life was astounding. But the place was soulless, and inhuman. In a way it felt like it was dehumanizing people.”
“You mean having machines replace humans?” Joe pressed.
“Something like that. Looking back now I see that in some ways it did make life worse, but in many ways it made life much better.”
“And we still have that tension of losing jobs to machines,” Joe chimed in sardonically.
“True, true. But you yourself should know, dear boy, being the designer that you are, that there has been a growing trend of people returning to hand crafted goods and products,” Ignatius countered.
Joe shrugged. “It’s inconsequential. It’s just a few people hawking their wares on the Internet, that’s all. By and large we still consume mass produced goods.” Joe looked up from reading a display and looked over at Ignatius, “But we’ll never manage to mass produce good design,” he said with a grin.
The number of people milling about dwindled and the three of them nonchalantly made their way back to the water wheel and the turbine. As there was no one in the immediate vicinity Ignatius endeavored to take a closer look.
“Careful,” Katarina whispered as Ignatius moved to touch the casing on the turbine.
Ignatius grunted. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to lose my hand any more than you want me to.” He leaned in and let his hand over over the assembly, closed his eyes and concentrated. He shook his head. “I’m still not getting anything.”
“Here, let me,” Katarina said, laying her arm on his shoulder.
Ignatius cocked his head to one side, as if listening for something, then finally pulled his arm back and sighed. “Nothing.”
“So what does that mean?” Joe asked.
“Nothing,” Ignatius said. “It means nothing, except that we’ve wasted time.”
“Humor me,” Katarina said with a knowing smile. “We’ll find something else here. Why don’t we try the waterways, or one of the other buildings.”
They shuffled out of the building and into the waning daylight. Katarina led them across a bridge and toward a collection of old period houses. As they grew closer Joe spotted a giant mass of black metal sitting in a frame on a concrete pad. “Hey, what’s that over there?”
They walked over to it and discovered it was the original turbine. Without prompting Ignatius walked up to it, examining it. He ran his hands over the black outer casing while looking intently at it. He even crouched down and stuck his head inside the turbine inspecting the inside. Being sure that no one was watching he closed his eyes, leaned in, and rested his ear on it. “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. . . .” he exclaimed, and then raised his head enough to lick the turbine. Pulling back smacking his lips he gave a worried look to Katarina. “You were right. This is a binding, but its signature is different from any other that I’ve come across.”
Katarina raised an eyebrow. “Different how?” she asked, resting her hand on the turbine.
“For starters, it has a unique taste.”
“You sure that’s not just the metal?” Joe asked.
Ignatius turned and glared at Joe until he realized the question was genuine. “No. Each technique of binding has it’s own signature that some of us can actually taste. This one is different. It’s strikingly similar to Sikander’s signature, but distinct enough that it cannot be his. Furthermore, I can say with certainty that this binding differs from the one I felt in the foundations of the building.”
“Is there any way you can gauge how old the binding is?” Katarina asked.
Ignatius shook his head. “No. But I can tell you it’s never been used.”
“So what are we saying?” Joe asked. “Are you suggesting someone other than Sikander has been here and worked an impossible set of bindings?”
“That’s exactly what we’re suggesting,” Katarina replied. “Furthermore, I’m willing to bet that someone is Helmut himself.”
Joe did some quick math in his head. “I thought you said he died a long time ago.”
“Disappeared,” corrected Ignatius.
“Fine disappeared. Either way there is now way this is near old enough for him to have done it when he was known to be alive. So are we saying that Helmut is alive today?”
“Not necessarily,” Katarina cautioned. “He was here at some point in Salem’s history, that much we can deduce. But as to his fate after that, well . . .” she shrugged.
“I take it we can assume that we won’t find anything of my binding here?”
“I’m afraid not my boy. There’s just no possible way Sikander would even try.”
“Where to now? What is next on our list?” Joe asked tiredly.
“The nearest one is Deepwood,” Ignatius replied. “Though that’ll still be a bit of a walk.”
“Do we have a choice?” sighed Joe.
“Not really,” Katarina said, placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder.
“Let’s get going then,” Joe said.
There was no time for conversation as they hurried to the Deepwood Estate, Katarina setting a grueling pace that had Joe wincing from the sharp pain in his side. When they arrived at the entrance to the estate Joe had to pause for breath, leaning over with his hands on his knees. When he righted himself once again he beheld the house for which the estate was known. Before him stood an exquisite nineteenth century victorian home, right out of a storybook. The house was painted a cool white, which accented its many windows, and served as a relief to show off the curves, arches, and angles otherwise hidden in its frame. Off the center of the house rose tower, serving as the only third story window Joe could see, but the views from that room must have been magnificent. Joe stood and marveled that something so beautiful could exist in such a modern city, in what used to be a frontier of the wild west.
“Joe?” Katarina called turning back looking for him.
“This . . . this is amazing. This is a Queen Anne Victorian house, right here in the middle of the city.”
“I know,” Katarina said. “Any other day and I would arrange for you to have a tour, but. . . .”
“What is this town?” Joe asked, still leaning on his knees. “On the one hand it appears to be a modern city, but the deeper you look the more things start popping out at you.”
“This is a town, like many others,” Katarina assured him.
“But how many have all manner of historical sites like these?”
“Many, Joe.” She walked over and laid a hand on his arm. “Come on. The sun is nearly down, and we’ll need what little remains to find what we are looking for.”
Joe stood up and allowed Katarina to lead him around the back of the house and into the formal gardens, whereupon Joe was impressed once again. The care and attention paid to the gardens was evident, as plants were arranged to form paths, and patterns. The grass was kept short, but lush, inviting people to walk and even lounge on it. Small boxwood were precisely trimmed and served to line peat gravel walkways and create borders between sections of the garden. There was not a section of the gardens that had not been given careful attention. It was, in a word: manicured.
Katarina led him through the gardens, around the house, back to the front. They passed through an old tennis court, not yet restored to working order, and ended up meeting Ignatius in a tiny green gazebo tucked away into the side of the hill at the front of the house. Joe could look up and into the windows of the house, and hear cars driving by behind him. “Oh what I wouldn’t give to have seen this place when Salem was young,” Joe uttered.
“It was a sight to behold, to be sure,” Katarina replied.
Joe eyed her curiously and was about to ask a question when Ignatius let out a quite exclamation. “It’s here, and it is Sikander’s.”
“Good news?” Joe asked hopefully.
Ignatius gave Joe a look of commiseration. “Not exactly I’m afraid. I can now confirm that this location and the church are both part of an active binding. I can also confirm that we are dealing with a complex binding with many parts. The thing is distributed throughout the city.”
Joe slumped onto the wooden bench in the gazebo. “Got any other good news?” he asked sarcastically.
Ignatius looked at Katarina and back to Joe. “Just one other thing. I can’t be certain, but it appears this binding is configured to target a specific individual.”
“How is that news?”
“What I mean,” Ignatius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “from the beginning this binding was set to only trigger when a particular individual set foot within its bounds.”
Joe sat up a straight. “Are you saying this trap was laid specifically for me, decades, even centuries ago?” he hissed.
Ignatius shook his head. “Not as such. Like I said, I cannot be certain. What I do know is there are certain indicators that only a particular person could spring the trap.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying it was no accident you were sent here, to Salem.”
“Can you determine any of the criteria the binding is using to keep Joe here?” Katarina asked.
Ignatius shook his head. “I don’t have enough of the binding. But knowing Sikander, if he were targeting a specific individual he would use something of theirs in creating it, like a strand of hair, or a fingernail.”
“Which brings me back to my point. If that were true how could he be targeting me before I was even born?”
Katarina looked at Joe with a measure of pity. Joe caught on. “Wait. No. No, we’re not back to that.”
“It would make sense Joe.”
“No it wouldn’t. Let’s say Sikander used a piece of Helmut’s hair for this binding, and let’s assume I am his descendant. That doesn’t explain why the trap would trigger for me. I’m not an exact copy of Helmut, and before you go thinking it, I’m not Helmut himself pretending to be some kid named Joe.”
“I can assure you we were not thinking that,” Katarina said soothingly.
“The binding may not be so specific that it would trigger for only Helmut,” Ignatius chimed in. “It may only look for certain genetic characteristics. Look, what it means is you were singled out. Sikander thinks you are a threat to him, and whether or not we can get you free of this binding doesn’t mean you should rashly return to your life in Springfield. As long as he thinks you are a threat to him he will come after you.”
Joe wiped his brow. “Nevertheless I need to get back home. I need some kind of normalcy right now.”
If there is one thing I fear in regards to my professional life it is stagnation. The field of computer programming is far from a closed field; it is an exciting industry to be a part of, one with low barriers to entry, huge rewards, big payoffs, job satisfaction, and dynamic, vibrant, change. It is because the field is still open and being explored that stagnation in this field is especially dangerous, and yet I’ve met far too many people who have grown stagnant, and I have yet to meet an employer who actually combats it.
» moreI’m restless. At this time of night I should be calming down, relaxing, and preparing to go to sleep. I should be putting the day in a box and that box on a shelf, ready to archive it in some great warehouse of dusty, forgotten, boxes with faded labels. I’m not. I’m agitated; I’m frustrated; I’m wound up so tight I want to scream, yell, and engage in some full-contact physical activities (preferably ones where I’m the only one doing the full-contact, or I won’t last a minute).
» moreI may have stumbled upon something today, something I’m not sure I want to deal with. Some time when I was a kid my folks cautioned me against being lazy. My memory is hazy on the occasion, but knowing me I was probably being admonished for staying indoors reading books rather than going outside and playing, a condition I still suffer to this very day. Since that day (and probably even on that day) I’ve taken offense to being construed as lazy, but I’ve also been quite afraid of becoming lazy; somewhere, somehow our society has determined that laziness is a horrid trait placing a social stigma upon it. Quite often we blame things on the lazy, and quite often we label people as lazy when they don’t do what we think they ought. So when I force myself to be lazy and then feel physically better for it I find myself in a weird state of inner turmoil.
» moreI find myself in a situation I honestly thought I would never be in; and yet I am not altogether surprised at the turn of events bringing me here, just greatly disappointed. An event that should have been heralded with cheers, celebrations, and loud buffetings of congratulations has instead been met with shock, stunned silence, and a general miasma of upset feelings. I have been made an uncle, by my very own brother-in-law, to a bastard.
» moreLife has been a whirlwind these past months. Some say time flies like an arrow, but I rather think time plays tricks on us advancing forward when no one is looking, and before you know it half your life has passed you by and all you did was blink. I should be back from whatever blogging limbo I was caught in. I have a few things on my mind that I will make time to write about, and as we decide to sell our house and buy a new one I’m sure that will present all manner of blogging fodder (read: I’ll have one thing to write about which I will put off due to packing and un-packing, and will then forget about and thus make up some drivel about the stress of moving).
» moreI grew up with stories; when I learned to read I consumed as many stories as I could. Somewhere along the way I wanted to tell my own stories and write them down. Somehow that goal was never quite true, for I also wanted my stories to be complete, and somewhere I got it in my head that a story is not complete unless it has been published. I am beginning to question that: what does publishing do?
I used to think that publishers were a sort of filter but I have books on my shelf that flagrantly violate the rules of grammar and I'm utterly shocked; I was taught that we should use complete sentences, and every sentence must have a verb. Some authors and publishers disagree. So this cannot be true: bad books get published.
I have also caught myself thinking that publishing in some way validates a man or woman as an author. Put another way, you aren't a "real" author until you are published. Does publishing validate the writer as an author? Am I something less if I never sell a book to a publisher? Does self-publishing not count? Does self-publishing only count if I function as both a publisher and as an author, and publish authors other than myself? And if publishing does validate, does a small-press count, and if so, how small can I get away with? Here's a good one: do you have to publish to paper, or can you publish electronically?
Some time ago I concluded that being published means only one thing: your particular story is marketable. If a story is published that means that some person (or persons) believed they would be able to sell the story for a profit. It does not guarantee a fan base, although it probably does guarantee that a few people will at least read your manuscript.
As someone who would love to call himself an author I really only care about one thing: I want an audience. I've given up on the idea that I'll ever make a living at writing. I have a day job, and that is consistent with all the writing advice I've ever heard. So if I only care about having people read my writing I'm seriously wondering why I still have this pipe-dream to one day be a published author, although I now no longer know what that means, nor what it would mean.
What does it mean to be published, and what does publishing do?
A friend of mine reportedly owns Pride and Prejudice and Zombies which I have heard about and summarily dismissed as it sounded corny and a bit cheesy. Upon discussing it tonight I may have changed my mind. The idea of a victorian gentleman having to fend of zombies is immanently interesting to me. There is a great juxtaposition of victorian mores and the usual zombie tropes. There has got to be some really fun conflict inherent in that, not to mention all manner of ending possibilities (does the hero give in and abandon polite society never to return to it, or does he succumb to the horde and die a martyr to his ethics?).
And then a second and more light-hearted possibility sprang to mind: a steampunk zombie hunter. Battling zombies with the lasted mechanical inventions that only the steampunk genre can provide could make for a not-so-horror but quite action oriented tale. Sort of a steampunk version of Army of Darkness and how could that not be cool?
Here's another thought: why not use this as a basis for an RPG? I would love to play either a victorian gentleman or a steampunk lad faced with zombies. Any takers?
It dawned on me tonight after I finished reading yet another short fiction horror story. Horror is too broad of a category and is more often a miss than hit with me, and so I thought about what kind of horror stories I really like: ghost stories. I like haunted house stories too, though those are largely ghost stories, but I'm realizing that most anthologies and magazines of horror stories have quite a lot of stories that just don't interest me at all, and yet even the oldest and most classic ghost stories still keep me coming back to read them. Maybe I need to find some modern ghost story anthologies.
Addendum: Upon further reflection I can add what I call "creature" stories to the list as well. This would include stories like Frankenstein, the Mummy, wolf-men, and Dracula. The more imaginative the monster/creature the better, which may be why Lovecraft is quite fun.
Maybe I'm alone in this, or in the minority, but I cannot play any kind of horror video game (survival horror or FPS horror) when it's bright and sunny outside. The juxtaposition is just too great. I have a small collection of horror video games I'm itching to play, and now that the October has arrived bringing with it dark clouds, grey skies, and the nearing of an end to this accursed Daylight Savings Time, I will have plenty of time to indulge myself in some zombies and monsters!
All stories have a climax, a high point. Most stories put this at the end, leaving only a little room to allow the reader to climb down off the metaphorical mountain. There is good reason for this: when the point the reader cares about is resolved, they lose interest. I cannot help but wonder how, or even if, that point was missed with the latest Batman movie (The Dark Knight). We just got back from seeing the movie and I thought the movie was over and wrapped up a good 20 minutes (or more, I didn't check my watch) than it actually was. I spent that last bit just sitting there wondering why the movie was still playing and how I could have misread the signals. I'm not sure I did; either the climax came too soon, or I assigned too much importance to a minor plot point.
Did this ruin the movie for me? I'm not sure. It did leave me with a very different experience than with the first movie, and I will need to re-watch it in order to really judge it, now that I know how to watch it. I will have to conclude that for a first-time watcher who knows a little about the Batman universe, I thought the story was over before the director did, and that is probably not a good sign as far as I'm concerned.
Birthdays are a curious event; they are curious because we wait a full year to celebrate a person's entrance into this world. We were all too eager to celebrate Emma's first birthday, but in truth, I celebrate her birthday every day of the year. I suppose I could be accused of being a Proud Papa, for Emma is a delight and a joy. If there is one thing holding me back it is that God is the author of her life; all I am doing is raising her. I often think of what a gift Emma has been, is, and will hopefully be, and with a humble sincerity thank God for her daily. It is not because she is always cheerful that I thank God, nor for those precious moments when she clearly indicates she wants Daddy Time; I thank God because He gave us a child to love, to care for, and to raise to become an heir of the Kingdom of God. Of all the ministries God could bestow upon a man (or woman) the ministry of raising a child may very well be the most important and most profound. It is humbling, and at times frightening, that God would leave such an important task to broken, inferior, and imperfect people. If there is one thing I have learned in my first year of being a dad, it is that in this too must I rely upon God's strength and God's will if I hope to be at all successful.
» moreI clocked off work a bit earlier than usual that fateful Thursday; I had managed to drag my sorry self out of bed before my usual time, thus I had more time in my afternoon to enjoy the sudden rain storm. Holly and Emma were out at a swimming party, ironic that the heavens would open up to overflow our gutters and flood our streets with their thirst quenching rain. I opened a couple of windows, grabbed a fiction magazine I have been wanting to read and set my mind upon relaxing. Before I could even sit down and settle in a loud explosion crashed through my neighborhood: the freak rain storm was in truth a thunder storm. Even better! We don't get much in the way of thunder and lightning, and it's always a treat to watch it from a safe distance.
» moreChristmas, while still a religious holiday in which we celebrate the birth of Jesus the Christ, has always been a family affair in my life. For good or for bad, when I think of Christmas I think of family first and church activities second. There is a joy in giving gifts, of seeing someone's face light up when you get them something they want. The joy is especially great when it's a child's face breaking at the seams with excitement. We'll have to wait a little while for that, not because Emma doesn't get excited — there are many pictures to prove Emma's face is nearly stuck in a perpetual state of happy-happy-joy-joy-oh-boy-am-I-excited — but at her age Christmas was more about family than it was about presents and toys, with one exception: foil tissue paper and gift bags make the best toys!
» moreCultural icons are a fascinating study. It amazes me how an idea or symbol can travel well beyond it's contextual borders and yet still convey something of it's original meaning. Take the White Christmas as an example. There exists, in my mind at least, this ideal that Christmas should be flocked with snow; this image is powerful enough that while my family sold Christmas trees years back, people were in the market for flocked trees, which were normal green trees painted white with fake snow. Salem rarely sees a white Christmas; I can only remember one in my three decades, so when one comes around it seems like a special occasion begging to be marked with joy and celebration. I say this by way of painting a picture of my soul as I sped away from my happy home, flecked with melting snow, with the promise of a heavy snow storm on the wind. This year we made merry in the southern climes of Northern California, which while southern were still cold and wet (alas, no snow).
» moreIntentions being what they are it won't do much good to declare I had many in regards to documenting the aspects of our lives these past three months. Three months in the life of a small child can very well be half of it! Life has been moving at either a break-neck pace or has become ensnared in the muck and mire of circumstances that are better left historical and thus forgotten. With Christmas nearly upon us and two holidays already passed with nary a word it is high time I write something, though I fear it shall not be in any great depth.
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