Well, sort of.  This is more of a deleted scene from “Lost Children“.  I tried to fit it into the book, but it never seemed to want to lay down and roll over for me, so I left it out.  Maybe it’ll get re-used at some later date.  It hasn’t been polished at all, but I hope you like it.

Elissa slipped into the meeting hall. Kara, half asleep from Ruarin’s concoction, fussed at the ache in her gums, but soothing words from the older woman lulled her into quiet once more.

“And now, child, let us see where your life will lead you,” Elissa whispered as she stepped across the dark hall.  At a wave of her hand, several lamps next to the cauldron burst into life, bathing the swirling sand in golden light.

Elissa, still cradling the infant in her arms, reached into the cauldron and gently laid the baby down on her stomach.  She took up a pinch of the fine dust and sprinkled it over the child.  Continuing the sweep of her hand, she muttered a spell, causing the dust to stir anew.

“This is the ash of Hadash, with all of the memories of our people,” she said to Kara.  The little girl looked up at her, a line of drool running down from the corner of one mouth.  “With it, we shall see where your fate lies.”

The dust mounded up in three places, then began to coalesce into recognizable shapes.  The mounds formed into a sword, a hammer, and a gryphon.  The figures moved about the baby, then settled into a semi-circle in front of her.

“These are the symbols of our lives,” Elissa whispered.  “The sword is for a warrior, the hammer for a craftsman.  The gryphon, symbol of our family and of all of the Chanani, is for our leaders.”  She gently ran her hand over the soft curls of dark hair ringing the child’s head. “Choose, Kara, so that we may know what you will be.”

The baby looked about at the figures arrayed around her, her dark eyes fixing on each of them as her neck wobbled from holding up her head.  Elissa made a small gesture, and the figures began to parade in front of the child, each one pausing for a heartbeat in front of her before moving on.

The child watched the hammer pass without reaction.  As the sword passed, the child belched, causing its ash to scatter a bit.  A gentle smile crossed Elissa’s face at that.

Finally, the gryphon strutted to stand in front of her, and with a squeal, Kara reached for it.  At her touch, the dust fell apart, leaving behind only a puff to fall onto her hand as it passed through her chubby fingers.

Elissa picked the baby up and held her to her breast.  Carefully, she stood and turned back toward the door.

“Good, good,” she said to the baby.  Kara’s head slowly descended onto Elissa’s shoulder as she walked across the hall.  “I suspected you’d have power, but now we know.”

The matron waved her had back toward the cauldron, snuffing the lamps and plunging the room back into darkness. Kara, for her part, had fallen fast asleep before they reached the open door.

“You will have much to learn,” Elissa said as she pulled the door to the hall closed behind her, “but in time you will follow your mother’s path.”

Sorry if this is just a fragment, but it’s been rumbling around in my head for a couple of days, and if I don’t get it out soon, it’s going to claw out through my cerebellum.  Not sure if anything will come out of this, but I’ll leave the idea here to pick up later.

The planet wasn’t anything special, not in the grand scheme of things anyway.  It was the fourth satellite of its pale yellow star, the second smallest planet in an unremarkable system.  According to the ships’s database, it hadn’t had any official visits since being surveyed by National Astrographic twenty five years before the war, which meant it might not have been seen by human eyes for over half a century.

Not that much would have changed.  Perhaps in a few hundred thousand years, the narrow band of water and rocky islands around its equator would expand and liberate the rest of it from the thick ice that otherwise blotted out its surface.

“Oh, boy, another iceball,” Dot said into her her headset as she touched the control panel.

“Remind you of home?” the tinny voice of the ship’s engineer, who everyone called “George” because getting their tongues to pronounce his given name in Welsh was out of the question.

Dot ignored the jibe and read the data scrolling across her screen.  This was only her third turn controlling the two sensor probes the Beagle carried in pods slung beneath her hull, and she wanted to make sure she didn’t miss anything “Rover” and “Rovette” sent back.

“Skipper, the pups are picking up a debris cloud around the rock,” she said, pointing to the main screen.  The computer was using imagery from the probes to enhance the long-range image it displayed to the bridge. A thin, flat disk of small swirling shapes was slowly appearing around its view of the planet.

“Debris?” the captain asked.  “What sort?”

Dot furrowed her brow and read the data off, “Aluminum, some titanium, hydrocarbons, trace amounts of iron, calcium, sodium.”

A new line of data streamed across her readout, bright red and flashing.

“Captain, it’s hot.  Rover’s reporting a few big chunks of plutonium mixed in with all that.”

“The probes’re safe, right?” Skipper asked.  “Damned things are expensive.”

“They’re holding at 10 kilometers from the outward edge, so they should be fine,” Dot replied.

The engineer piped up, “Sounds like a ship broke up.  Maybe somebody’s reactor went critical.”

“Yeah, but it’s been out there for a long time if it spread out like that,” the captain said.  “Any hunks big enough to identify?”

“Largest piece so far is about a meter wide,” Dot answered.  “Maybe we can find something with a name or a serial number.”

“Don’t bet on it,” George said.  “It’s likely most of the big pieces have deorbited and burned up.”

“Not a lot of traffic comes this way,” the captain said thoughtfully.

“Could be from the war,” Dot suggested.

“Maybe,” Skipper grunted.

“Hey, if we can find anything identifiable, I bet two nights of kitchen cleanup that Skipper knows who it was.”

“You know, I didn’t know everyone in the Navy,” Skipper retorted.

Dot looked over her shoulder with a mischievous smile.  “You mean like that time we got in a fight with those marines and it turned out you used to be drinking buddies with two of their fathers?”

“Six degrees of separation,” the engineer’s voice teased.

“Shaddap, the both of you,” Skipper said, looking over the top of his bifocals at Dot.  His stern glower was ruined when he winked at her.

“If some of the debris deorbited, it might have survived to hit the surface,” she suggested as she turned back to her station.  “Ought to be easy to find against all that ice.”

Skipper sighed and pursed his lips for a second.  “Maybe.”

He thought for a moment, then said, “Tell Rover to keep looking through that junk for anything worth salvaging and send Rovette to survey the surface.  Look for any metal larger than a shipping container.”

“Aye, sir,” Dot said.  She caressed the controls, sending the signal that said “Good dog!” to her semi-intelligent probes, then relayed Skipper’s orders.

“Put us in a high orbit over the iceball,” Skipper said.  “We’ll hang out for a few days and see if anything interesting turns up.”

“Aye, sir,” the engineer replied.  “It’s also my duty to remind the captain that it’s his turn to cook tonight.”

“I feel like celebrating,” Skipper said.  “Not every day you stumble on salvage you probably won’t have to spend money on a lawyer to get the rights to.  Steaks sound good?”

Both Dot and the engineer hooted their pleasure as Skipper headed down the ladder to the galley.  Their ship braked into its orbit while Rovette dropped down close enough to the surface that she could scan the frozen surface.  The Beagle’s crew, human and mechanical, settled into the mundane tasks they had done dozens of times before when looking for something worth salvaging.

On one of the small, rocky islands that dotted the planet’s thawed equator, a set of dark eyes looked up and noticed that a new star had appeared in the sky, and it was moving very quickly toward the horizon.  Their owner watched as the small dot of light passed overhead, then hurried down from its perch and scuttled across the barren rock toward the long metal tube he had called home for decades.

Since it’s Saint Patrick’s Day, I thought I’d let you all have a short peek into “Lady of Eyre,” the third, and final, part of the second Minivandians book.  It’s with alpha readers now, so I expect to have it out by the end of April.

Enjoy!

Ruarin awoke to the sound of men’s voices in the corridor outside the room she shared with her father. She had fallen asleep before sunset the night before, and the soft mattress beneath her felt wonderful. A day of rest and food had done much to restore her strength, but she had decided against spending the evening beside one the fire to listen to tales and song.

She lay her head back down and closed her eyes. Sleep did not return, though, because a cacophony of barks and baying erupted in the quiet night air.

The Lady of Eyre sat up at the sound, then rushed to the window. In the torchlight, she saw a large pack of hounds, with shaggy ears flopping and long tails wagging, approaching the tavern. The night watch shouted as the vanguard of the noisy band made its way into the courtyard and halted in a cloud of dust in front of the stable.

Ruarin grabbed her robes and bolted for the door. It was then she noticed that her father, Mael, was no longer in the room. Everyone in the house seemed to be trying to get down the stairway at once, but when the men noticed a noblewoman trying to make her way downstairs, they stepped aside and let Ruarin pass.

Waiting for her outside the door was a troop of armored men and women, none of them taller than the ladies hips. At their head, Tomultach stood with his knobbed walking stick in one hand and the reins to his mount in the other. His beast was a large brown and white hound, several hands high at the shoulder, with one ear that stood up and one that flopped down over its eye. The dog’s tongue hung out of his snout as he panted from his run, but his tail was held high and wagged back and forth furiously at the ladies’ approach. Tomultach bowed low to Ruarin when she walked out of the tavern.

“Ah, but it’s good to see you, my lady,” he said in his deep voice.  He wore leather and bronze armor which shone in the light of the rising moon, and he carried a sword in a jeweled scabbard at his belt. A leather helmet set with an iron band covered his head, and a small shield rested on his saddle.

Ruarin returned the small man’s bow. “Greetings, old friend,” she replied. “Father tells me that you’ve been most helpful.”

Tomultach made a dismissive gesture with his walking stick. “T’was nothing,” he said. “I hadn’t spoken to Echrad in too long, anyway.” He shared a smile with Ruarin over that.

Behind them, they heard someone shouting and turned to see what the commotion was. King Seanagh and his lieutenants, including Ruarin’s father, came out of the building, some already dressed for battle.

“What in hell is going on?” he demanded. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and Ruarin noticed that several of his nobles looked as if they had been drinking.

Tomultach bowed low to the king, although not as low as he had to Ruarin. “King Seanagh, I am Tomultach mac Eoghan. I’ve come here, with my family, to pledge our support in your fight tomorrow.”

King Seaghan did not return the salute. Instead, he looked about in amazement. The tavern’s yard was filled with hounds, each with a warrior upon its back. The air was no longer filled with the sound of their baying, but the occasional yip and growl did filter through the murmurs of the gathering crowd of Eyrischmen.

“How do you know there’s to be a battle?” he finally asked.

Tomultach looked up at him with one eye squinting. “Well, majesty, I doubt you got dressed up like that for a ladies’ tea,” he replied.

“How did you know the king would be here?” one of the noblemen accompanying the king demanded.

Tomultach looked up. “Lord Murchadha, is it?” he said gravely. The man nodded.

“Well, my lord, there’s not much that happens in this land that we don’t hear about,” Tomultach replied with a wry smile. “For example, last night, you had yourself a nice meat pie, half a jug of the tavern’s best beer, and a slap on the face from Master Donagh’s eldest daughter for dinner.”

This brought a rumble of laughter from the other lords, while Murchadha looked furious at having been made the butt of a joke. He sputtered for a moment before a raised hand from the king quieted him.

“Master Tomultach, I accept your service, but I must ask, what will your clan provide?” Seanagh asked once his men had stilled themselves.

“Why, only one hundred fifty of the best riders in your lands, majesty,” Old Tom replied. He gestured to the mob of hounds behind them.

“The legends say that your folk went to battle on the backs of fire drakes,” the king said.

“Well, now, that’s a sad tale, your majesty. A sad tale,” Tomultach said with a shake of his head. “You see, one of your ancestors, he was a great holy man who banished all of the serpents from the kingdom.”

“I’ve heard the story,” Seanagh said. “And now?”

“Well, your majesty, when the snakes fled, so did the drakes!” Tomultach cried out indignantly. “So, we had to find ourselves something else to ride.” He patted his hound on the flank. The dog, delighted at the attention, reciprocated with a lick that pushed his master to the side.

“Well, then you’re doubly welcome,” King Seaghan said. He suppressed a yawn, then called out. “Let’s all get some rest. Tomorrow promises to be a long day.”

Took some time tonight to do a first wash on the cover image for the next Minivandians ebook, entitled “Lost Children.  Your thoughts are welcome.

It’s a rough draft, but it’s probably pretty close to where I want it to be.

Just for kicks and grins, here’s a snippet from one of the short stories in the book:

Ruarin and Lytteren rode down the muddy track leading from the village back to their home. Their bulging saddlebags held items they had purchased at the early fall market. Ruarin had obtained spices and other things necessary for her work fending off a fever, which had struck several of their neighbors, while Lytteren had found and purchased cloth and leather to outfit herself for her journey south to visit the Aztlani. Both women were glad that the groom had thought to thoroughly oil both their saddles and bags that morning, as the weather had turned cold and wet. Both women wore heavy woolen cloaks, but were wet and shivering underneath them.

“I doubt you will miss days like this, daughter,” Ruarin said, trying to cheer the young maiden up. The realization that her studies would soon end and that she would be entering the world had struck the young lady a few days before, and her mood had become somber and withdrawn. Only her little brother’s antics and time spent playing with him seemed to bring her out of her melancholy.

“Does it never rain in the desert?” Lytteren answered, sweeping pooled water from a dip in her cloak.

“Oh, on occasion. Meztli tells me that you will arrive shortly before their rainy season, but it only rains for a few minutes each afternoon.”

“I only found enough cotton to make one dress,” Lytteren said sourly, peeking out from the hood of her cloak. “Should we try to order more from the merchants?”

“Don’t worry, child. You won’t need it for a few weeks after you leave our damp little valley,” Ruarin said soothingly, sensing the younger woman’s anxiety, “and one light riding gown will be enough to get you to the markets at Durango.”

“Father says that once I cross into Aztlan, I’ll be able to get whatever I need,” Lytteren grumped. “I just don’t like setting off without knowing I’ll have everything necessary.”

“Sometimes it’s fun to step off on faith alone,” Ruarin replied, smiling at a memory. “You won’t learn if you don’t take chances.”

The steady rain became a downpour as they rode down the muddy track, and they continued in silence rather than try to shout over the sound of raindrops striking their cloaks. Their horses, patient as ever, just kept putting one hoof in front of another, unmindful of the sticky mud their steps threw into the air.

The rain lessened after a while, and the clouds began breaking up, allowing strong sunlight to poke through. Lytteren pulled the hood of her cloak down and shook the wet from her clothes. Ruarin followed suit, and the two chatted about the news they had heard at the market as their horses’ hooves sounded on the boards of a bridge. Beneath them, they could hear the creek flowing swiftly through the pilings.

“So, Marcy and Pol will be married in a few weeks?” Ruarin asked. She had known Pol since she and the Minivandian had taken up residence in the manor and he was a small boy, and she had helped Marcy’s mother deliver her child a few winters later.

“Yes,” Lytteren replied. “Marcy wants me to stand up with her at the wedding, so they’re moving the date to before I leave.”

“You can wear the gown we made for your appearance before the empress in Texcoco,” her mother replied. Something caused her brow to knot, and she reined her horse to a halt at the edge of the bridge.  The Lady of Eyre cocked her head to listen, then turned this way, then that in her saddle

“Did you hear that?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

Lytteren stopped her horse and listened as well. At first, she only heard the occasional drip of a raindrop making its way through the leaves of the sycamore trees lining the creek and the rush of the water beneath her. Then, she heard a faint whimper coming from under the bridge.

Lytteren turned her horse from the road, stopping it at the water’s edge. Dismounting, she stooped down and peered into the gloom beneath the bridge.  Something small moved in the shadows, causing her to take a step forward to see what it was.

“Mother,” she said after a moment, “I think there’s a puppy under there!”

“Is it all right?” Ruarin replied, climbing down from her horse. Cautiously, her hand on the hilt of her dagger, she joined her daughter.

“I can’t tell. It’s too dark under there,” Lytteren replied.

Ruarin bent down to look, whispering “Solas.” A small dot of light, sharp green in the gloom, illuminated the underside of the bridge. There, huddled against the first piling and covered from head to tail in yellow mud, was a small creature. It shakily raised its head, revealing soft brown eyes and a black nose. Its floppy ears hung next to its long, thin face, and it opened its mouth to let loose a whimper of fright at the sudden brightness.

“Have no fear, little one,” Ruarin said soothingly, reaching out an open palm.

The little dog stretched out its neck, sniffing the offered hand, then stood. It shivered, either from cold or weakness, or possibly both, and took a tentative step toward the two women. Lytteren sucked in her breath at the sight of it, especially the sharp shapes of ribs and hipbones jutting out beneath its filthy hide.

“Oh, the poor thing!” she said, taking another step forward, unmindful of the hem of her dress as it dragged in the mud.

“Careful, daughter,” Ruarin admonished her. “It may be sick, or at least unused to people.”

The dog proved the Lady of Eire to be mistaken, as it sniffed Lytteren’s hand a few times, then licked it with a long, pink and black tongue. Its tail wagged weakly a few times, then it took another unsteady step toward them.

Ruarin and Lytteren stepped out from under the bridge, followed by the dog. It moved slowly and unevenly, taking faltering steps in the mud. Lytteren went to her saddlebag and retrieved a length of string from one of the packages.

“Let’s take it home, mother,” she said, walking back. “Perhaps she’s just lost.”

“Well, we certainly can’t leave it here,” her mother answered. “The poor thing won’t make it through the night!”

Lytteren cooed soothingly to the dog as she walked to it, patting it gently on the head while she ran the string around its neck.

“There’s no collar,” she said.

Ruarin frowned at that. “If she’s a stray, then that will make it harder to find her master.” In her mind, she counted the number of hounds, cats, and other creatures their household already hosted. She wondered at how she would convince her husband to accept another, no matter how dire the need.

Lytteren tied a knot in the string, then ran her hand down the hound’s mud-covered flank. “It hasn’t eaten in days, I’ll wager. The poor thing is starving.”

Ruarin took a critical look at the creature, seeking signs of disease or injury.

“What’s that between her shoulders?” she said, reaching down to touch a hump of dirty fur which ran along the dog’s spine from its shoulders to halfway down its back.

The dog arched its body at her touch, and to their amazement, its mud-covered hair parted to allow something to extend from its back. The dog’s tail, on the other hand, wagged back and forth in happiness at the attention.

Lytteren brought her muddy hand to her mouth in shock.

“Mother,” she asked in wonder, “are those wings?”

Here’s a bit of a scene from “Coming Home”

Ruarin giggled at the thought of the faces in Dovlinia the next morning, and soon the Minivandian’s laugh joined her.  Ruarin walked to stand next to DaddyBear, saying, “I’ll miss doing things like this.  It’s definitely more exciting than rolling bandages or spinning thread.”

She put her arms around DaddyBear’s middle and hugged him tightly.  DaddyBear returned the embrace, and they stood like that for a few moments.  Then, without another word, Ruarin slipped her arms around the tall man’s neck and drew his face to her own.  She looked up at him for a moment, her green eyes sparkling in the starlight.  DaddyBear met her gaze as he gently kissed her lips.  Their embrace grew tighter and their kisses more urgent, then Ruarin lay her head against his chest and sighed.

“I should go back to the inn before I do something I’ll regret,” she said softly.

“I won’t regret anything,” DaddyBear said, running his rough hand down her soft hair.  He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her sweet scent.

“I’m afraid I might,” Ruarin replied.  She kissed him once more, cupping his scruffy cheek in one hand, then slipped off into the darkness.  “Good night,” she said, her soft voice drifting back to caress the Northerner’s ears.

DaddyBear remained next to the fire for a long while, watching as the coals flared and darkened in the cool breeze. Finally, he kicked dirt over the fire and followed her back toward the tavern.

This is a chapter from a story that’s been rolling around in my head for a couple of years. I actually finished it, then realized that I’d ripped off somebody else’s premise, so it went back in the “do someday” bin.

While I’ve been working on the second Minivandian’s book, it’s been whispering in my ear to get at least a little attention.  Not sure how this is going to turn out yet, but I’ll probably do it as a short story while I’m doing research for the second Via Serica book.

Let me know what y’all think.

Warning, this one has a bit of strong language.

I took the elevator down to street level rather than take the stairs.  I knew that Sid or one of his flunkies was watching me through one of the myriad cameras he had bolted to the inside and outside of the building.  Taking the ancient elevator down would give me a moment to think without giving them anything to put on the blooper reel later.  

That much money meant that either someone really cared about these kids, or someone figured that I wouldn’t be around to collect the second half of the fee.  Hell, it might just be both.  They definitely knew that waving that kind of cash around would get someone to bite. I was feeling a tug at my bottom lip as the hook got set nice and tight.

When I walked out of the elevator and across the lobby to the front doors, the locks buzzed open for me.  Sid might be a paranoid, but he was a polite paranoid.  Of course, he owed me.  I was the one that pulled him out of the sewer after the thing that poisoned him and gave him his rictus decided that Sid wasn’t worth dying over. I never told him that I went down there because he owed me money on a handshake deal, and I wasn’t going to let him die without paying.

Hitting the sidewalk, I looked up at the sky.  The moonless night was still dark, with no hint of pink on the eastern horizon.  I’m not superstitious, but unless I can’t help it I prefer to do this kind of work in the daytime. Only a few of the bad things in the world are either afraid of the sun or downright hurt by it, but being able to see what was in front of me without the aid of a flashlight just felt better.  Since it was only a few minutes across the bridge this time of day, I had a chance to get a bite to eat and look over the case file before heading over.

The air had the consistency of frothy soup, which is pretty normal for the bottom of the Ohio valley in the middle of a summer night.  It was almost four in the morning, and the temperature and humidity were both somewhere in the 80’s.  Ah, Louisville, you never fail to make me yearn for the luxury of such garden spots as Greenland, or maybe Point Barrow.

A scan of my surroundings showed that the junkies were, for the most part, right where I had left them: stationary and nodding off.  The exception to this was up on his feet, across the street from Sid’s building, and waving his arms at a small figure wearing a hoodie.  The yellow glare of the streetlight above him threw his shadow across the sidewalk and the face of the woman he was haranguing.

“Baby, I got whatever you need!” he was saying in a loud, high voice, his hands and head punctuating his words in jerks and slashes.  “I got weed, smack, coke, meth, whatever!  All you gotta do is be a little bit friendly, and Jaquan will let you have a taste for free!”

“I don’t know, baby.  What you lookin’ for?” asked the woman in the hoodie.  Her voice had a sort of squeaky timber to it, and her accent was one hundred percent street.  As she spoke, she put her hand to the zipper of her hoodie and pulled it down a couple of inches.  The skin of her throat and upper chest glistened in the lamplight.  When I saw her radiant smile, I swore under my breath.

“Hey!” I said as I stepped from behind my truck.  He didn’t seem to notice, but the target of his attentions moved her head a little to get a look at me.  Yep, it was her.

“Hey!  Stereotype! Leave her be!” I said again, this time a little louder and a lot deeper.  Almost unconsciously, I pulled my overshirt back behind my holster as I stepped into the pool of light in the middle of the street.

Jaquan the junkie and wanna-be unlicensed pharmacist turned his head to the side when he heard me coming. “Fuck you!” he bellowed, turning around with his hands out to his sides.  A more religious man would have thought he had his hands out as if he were being crucified, and that probably wasn’t far from what was going to happen if things got out of hand.  To me, he looked like a fool that wasn’t aware of the danger he had all around him.

“Man, who the fuck you think you are?” he bellowed as he took a step at me.  When my face came completely out of the dark, he stopped dead and dropped his hands.  “Aw, shit, man, I didn’t know it was you!  I was just trying to do a little business here.  I didn’t know she was yours.” he said as he started backing away from both the woman and me.

“She isn’t mine, but she sure as shit ain’t yours, neither.  Get your skinny ass off my street before I decide to throw it in the river.  You hear me, Jaquan?” I said in a quiet, forceful voice as I stopped just inside the cone of the streetlight’s glare.

“No problem, Boogieman!  I got shit to do over on Liberty anyway.” he said, turning and starting to shamble away as quickly as his legs would take him.

“Sid tells me that he sees you around here again, I’m gonna beat your ass and then take you to your grandma’s house!  Now get the fuck out of here!” I growled.

Jaquan the Junkie turned the next corner to the rhythm of his brethren’s cackles in the doorways behind me.  I turned to the petite figure he had been ‘doing business’ with.  As she faced me, her delicate features came into focus.  She had big, soft brown eyes, an unlined brow, and full lips.  Her skin was the color of rich chocolate, and a few curls of her dark hair poked out under the hood of her jacket.  Her eyes twinkled as I approached her.

“Sarah, that’s hunting over bait.  You know Sid doesn’t like things like that happening around his place,” I said softly.  There was no need to talk any louder with Sarah, since she could have heard me whispering a block away.

“Marty Shelby, as I live and breathe.” she said in a cultured bluegrass accent, a smile coming to her face.  She’d replaced the squeaky tone she used with Jaquan with an easy purr that I’d known all my life.

I hate being called ‘Marty,’ and Sarah knew it.  Hell, there were probably only a few people alive who knew my name in the first place, and even Sid knew better than to call me ‘Marty’.  Only my grandmother and my parents had ever gotten away with calling me ‘Marty’, and they’d been in the ground for years.  Of course, Sarah had once remarked that she’d been owned by one of my great-something grandfathers, and she’d helped raise me, so I guess she was family.

“Luring in junkies so you can have a bite to eat is beneath you, lady.”

“A girl’s got to have a little fun, now doesn’t she?  I just needed something that was still warm and didn’t come out of a plastic bag,” she said, the smile transforming into a smirk.  

People like Sarah reject the title “vampire”, but they pretty much fit old Bram Stoker’s description.  They’re undying, at least not from old age, and they have a need to supplement their diet, every so often, with living, human blood.  Never seen her hypnotize anyone or turn herself into a bat, but she knew a few tricks.  She ought to.  Sarah had been at it since before the Civil War.  Matter of fact, she’s in every photograph or story about my family as far back as we can find.

Yep, there’s always been an Aunt Sarah.  

“You owe me breakfast,” she said pointedly, striding toward the passenger door of the truck.

“Come on,” I replied, opening my door, “I need a cup of coffee, anyway.”

This is a bit from the upcoming Minivandians book.  Please, let me know what you think.

They reached the top of the pass just as the sun began to dip below the horizon.  A cold north wind whistled between the peaks on either side of them, whipping their cloaks as they looked about for shelter.  Ruarin found a small rock overhang that offered some protection from the wind.  DaddyBear spent the last few minutes of daylight tending to the horse and looking for firewood while she unpacked their blankets and some food.

Soon, they had a cheerful fire going.  DaddyBear showed Ruarin how to make a thin soup out of dried meat and berries mixed with melted snow.  They used this to soften some of the rock hard bread, and ate in silence.

“I know that wasn’t the finest meal you’ve ever had, my lady,” DaddyBear said as he finished his portion.

Ruarin smiled across the fire at him.  “My belly is full, and for the first time in days, I’m under a hard roof.  I think this will do, my lord,” she replied.  “Besides, the company is good.”

DaddyBear snorted at that. “This trip would not be as pleasant without you, Ruarin,” he said, gazing across the fire at her.  She met his gaze for a moment, then looked down at the flames.

“You look tired, my lady,” he said, breaking the silence.

“It’s been a long day, and I did not sleep well last night,” Ruarin said without looking up.

“You’re restless in your sleep.  What troubles you so badly in your dreams?”

Ruarin did not reply.  In the flames, she saw a ghoul reaching out to her in the dark, then Simon lying helpless across Blacktooth’s saddle.  All of this was surrounded by smoke and flame.

“Funeral pyres,” she said simply, “I see death.”

DaddyBear nodded gravely.  “You’ve seen much that you’ve never prepared for, Ruarin.”

That sounded familiar to her ears, although she could not place where she had heard it before.  Her brow creased as she looked up at the Northerner.

“How can you prepare to see so much death?” she whispered. “What makes you not care to see these horrors?”

“I never said I do not care, and the dead visit me in my sleep, on occasion,” DaddyBear replied, now taking a turn at gazing into the flames.  Faces, some of enemies, but mostly those of friends, stared back at him.

After neither said anything for a long while, he looked across the fire at her and said in a low voice, “Life throws many horrors at us, my lady.  Some let the horror consume them, some run from it.”

“And you?  What do you do?”

“To me, it is a prod, driving me onward.”

“Onward?”

“Yes, to a place where the horrors do not reach as far into life.  Where I can ride without finding villages burned to the ground and littered with the dead.  I want the lands of my fathers to be at peace.”

“My home is like that.  Wars are far away.”
“Are you sure it has always been like that?” the Minivandian asked pointedly, his eyes blazing in the firelight, “Are you sure it will always be that way?”

Here’s a scene from the second Minivandian’s book.  My goal is to have it out before Independence Day.  Hope y’all enjoy.

DaddyBear the Minivandian held Ruarin’s hand as they walked across the gangplank connecting their ship to a wharf at Dovlinia harbor. He could feel his companion’s hand shake a bit, and her palm was cold and clammy.

“We should have waited for a better tide and taken a larger ship, my lady,” he said soothingly, “I hate to see you in such a state.”

“We would have sat for weeks in that reeking cesspool the Islanders call a port,” Ruarin replied, her tone betraying her discomfort, “I traded a little seasickness for getting home before the solstice.”

The pair stepped onto the wharves planks, moving aside to let other passengers disembark. Merchants from the Islands bustled onto the dock, then turned to wait for their wares to be unloaded. Soon, a small crowd gathered, made up of people from the ship and locals watching out of boredom. The dock was in good condition, but a grime of soot and salt lay upon everything that did not move. A lone seagull sat upon the top of a piling, watching the crowd for anything that could be stolen.

Ruarin let go of DaddyBear’s hand and gently touched his bearded face.

“Just let me look out on the water until the world stops moving under my feet, and then we can go,” she said quietly.

DaddyBear took her hand in his, then kissed it gently.

“Stay here while I get our things,” he replied, “If you need anything, I will be near.”

The Northman watched as a gang of men and boys walked up the gangway and began hauling bundles of goods and baggage from the ship to the wharf. Their clothes were not much more than rags, and their bodies betrayed a life of hard work and meager food. Thick iron rings encircled their necks, leaving marks on their skin from where it rubbed as they worked.

A tall, thin man in black leather breeches and a filthy woolen shirt stood nearby, bawling out orders to the workers as they unloaded the small ship. The short whip in his hand beat a tattoo against his thigh as he hummed to himself between shouts.

The ship’s master approached DaddyBear. He and his wife had done as much as they could for Ruarin during the three days it took to cross to Eire, and he hooked his head in her direction as he addressed the Minivandian.

“How is your lady, my lord?” he asked, his voice raspy from shouting orders during their entry into the harbor.

“She’ll be all right in a few moments,” DaddyBear replied, “Travelling by ship on rough seas just didn’t agree with her.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen a conjurer have trouble crossing water,” the sailor said with a knowing nod, “Perhaps she’ll do better next time.”

“Perhaps,” DaddyBear said. He pointed to the work gang unloading the ship. “What’s that around their necks?”

“The slavers put those on their chattel hereabouts,” the ship’s master said sourly, spitting on the dock, “Those men are truly damned. They’re worked to death, then replaced with some other unlucky soul.”

“I didn’t know Eire allowed slaves,” the Minivandian said, watching as several men carried a large pallet of cloth down the gangplank.

“I’ve only ever seen it here in Dovlinia, my lord,” the master replied, “and only in the past year or so.”

“I’ll have to ask Ruarin about it,” DaddyBear said, spying their baggage on the ship’s deck, “Come to think of it, I think I’d rather carry my own bags today.” The Northman waited until there was a break in traffic down the gangplank, then walked back up to gather their things.

As DaddyBear went back aboard the ship, Ruarin looked out at the small, rocky islands that lay a few hundred yards from the shore. As she watched, a large sea bird plunged down into the green water, then returned with a struggling fish in its beak. The air was filled with the sound of the surf crashing against the islands, the cries of the birds as the squabbled over some trifle or another, and the quieter sound of water lapping against the docks.

Ruarin’s stomach, which had been doing somersaults ever since they had left the port of Poole, was finally settling down, and it no longer felt as if the dock was rising up and falling beneath her. With a sigh, she looked about for DaddyBear. Spying him on the ship, she smiled.

“Always making sure things are done to his liking,” she said quietly. Shrugging, she turned and walked toward shore.

I’ll just take a step on my homeland, she thought, noting the brightly painted tavern signs at the end of the wharf, then I’ll wait for him there. It’s been too long since I’ve been home.

As Ruarin went, the tall slave boss watched her pass. He examined her from the bottom of her green woolen dress to the top of her auburn hair, and a grin parted his lips to show several yellow teeth separated by black gaps. Ruarin noted his leer, but ignored him, turning her head to block him from her vision.

Not to be deterred, the foreman called out in a thick Northlands accent,

There once was a lady from Eire,

Whose hair was the color of fire.

Her looks are so fine,

She ought to be mine,

I wonder if she is for hire?

Hearing this, Ruarin rounded on the man, her green eyes blazing and her cheeks flushed.

“How dare you!” she demanded, her tone harsh.

“Just a bit of fun, girlie!” the thin man said with a knowing smile, “I wasn’t getting your attention any other way, now was I?”

“You filthy bogshite! I am finally returning home, and the first man I speak to is a piece of garbage who insults me?”

“Now, now, no need to get testy, trollop!” he retorted, “I was just having a bit of fun.”

Ruarin’s eyes narrowed, and her hand went to the hilt of her dagger. “I ought to have the guards come and take you away, you scum! If you were even worth the effort, I might set your hair on fire for talking to me like this!” she shouted.

A look of anger passed over the man’s countenance, and he raised his whip hand and held it back is if to strike the Lady of Eire.

“You little tramp! I am Ignatz, Lord Ottvar’s gang boss!” he said in a menacing tone, his lip curling back from his rotten teeth, “You better learn your place before I GLERK!”

His threats were interrupted as DaddyBear the Minivandian jerked him up by the back of his shirt. In his surprise, Ignatz let his whip fall to the dock with a hollow thump. His boots, filthy from walking through the streets, dangled a foot above the dock.

Lifting the man up to eye height, the Northerner said, “Is there a problem, my lady?” His voice, though low, was filled with menace.

“This… gentleman decided it would be worth his time to harass me,” Ruarin said, “And when I objected, he decided to insult me.” At her words, DaddyBear brought the man’s face closer to his and shook him like a rat.

“You took it upon yourself to dishonor my companion and lady, did you? You insignificant little slaver, I ought to take that whip and lay your back open with it!” he snarled, his voice rising to a loud growl.

“Slaver? There are no slaves in Eire!” Ruarin exclaimed.

“Tell that to our little friend here,” DaddyBear replied in a more gentle tone, “He’s the boss of that gang that’s unloading the ship.”

Ruarin grabbed the thin man’s shoulder and turned him toward her. DaddyBear’s fist did not, causing the shirt to tighten around his neck.

“I just do my job!” Ignatz sputtered, “Lord Ottvar allows for slaves in Dovlinia now!”

“We’ll see about that,” Ruarin hissed, the tips of her fingers poking into his chest.

“In the meantime, what shall we do to him to atone for insulting you, my lady?” DaddyBear asked, shaking his prisoner once again, “Shall I beat him for you, or do you wish for parts of him to go missing?”

Ignatz’s eyes widened a bit more at that, and he began to struggle against his captor.

Ruarin considered the pair for a moment, then shrugged.

“No, if I wanted him hurt, I’d do it myself, and he’s not worth the effort. I think he’ll think twice before harassing a Lady of Eire again, won’t you, Ignatz?” Ruarin replied, poking him in the chest again.

Ignatz nodded emphatically, his words cut off as DaddyBear jerked him a few inches higher. Ignatz kicked at the tall Northman, but his eyes were beginning to roll into the back of his head as the front of his shirt cut off his air.

“Well, if that is what you wish, my lady,” the Minivandian said, “then I will leave him whole.” He took a step to the side of the wharf, dangling Ignatz over the water.

“But this filth needs a bath, so I’ll do him a service,” he said, releasing the almost limp slave driver and watching as he dropped into the harbor with a plop. Ignatz bobbed to the surface, spitting out water and grabbing at the dock’s pilings.

Turning, DaddyBear picked up their bags with one arm and offered the other to Ruarin.

“Come, my lady,” he said, “Let us get some refreshment, then I shall hire horses for our journey to your father’s home.”

“That sounds wonderful, my lord,” Ruarin said with an impish smile. She took the Minivandian’s arm, and together they walked down the wharf and stepped onto the soil of Eire.