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Snippet

This is one of the bonus stories from “Coming Home.”  For those of you who purchased the three ebooks that made that book up, this is a partial thank you.  The rest of the bonus stories will come out over the next few months.  Remember, reviews are the second best way to say thank you to a writer, and they’re much appreciated.


Losing an Old Friend

The crisp air of a fall morning greeted Elsked as he slipped through the kitchen door and trotted across the courtyard to the garden gate. Most of the beds had been cleaned out weeks earlier and covered over in leaves from the giant maple which grew in the courtyard’s center, but the pumpkin patch had been left alone until after the autumn holidays. It was a perfect morning to hunt for the greatest pumpkin in the garden.

The Young Prince’s blue eyes twinkled as he spied a pumpkin nearly as wide as he was tall, and he made a mental note to bring his father to this one first. He and his sister Lytteren had a bet on who would find the largest gourd, and he intended to collect the archery lesson she had promised if he won.

Elsked slowly circled the pumpkin, then looked around to see if any larger examples were to be found. Shaking his head, he smiled conspiratorially as he tried to remember the levitation spell his mother had told him about earlier that week.

“Just have to secret you away for a while,” he said as he patted the pumpkin’s bumpy exterior, which was wet with cold dew from the night’s frost, “then sister can be surprised when I… find you.” The boy laughed at his plan and what he expected to see on Lytteren’s face when he and his father rolled the huge pumpkin out of the garden.

Just then, he spotted a bit of pale yellow in the pumpkin patch’s sea of green and orange. Forgetting the great pumpkin behind him, he approached the oddity cautiously, then laughed when he realized that it was Turf of Azure, his mother’s hound.

“Having a nap in the sunshine, old girl?” the Young Prince said. He reached down to scratch the ancient dog between her ears, then stopped when he saw that her eyes were wide and she was panting in distress. When she sensed his touch, a whine of pain erupted from her muzzle, and she tried in vain to get up.

Elsked cried out when he saw the dog’s condition, and he ran shouting to the house. Azure returned her head to the cold ground, and tried to catch her breath while she waited for him to return.

 

Lytteren knelt down next to the dog after following Elsked back to the garden. Tears streaked the boy’s face, and Lytteren felt her own eyes water when she saw how Turf of Azure suffered. Her stomach was distended, and one of her hind legs did not seem to respond when she tried to rise from the ground.

“Shhh, girl,” the young maid said soothingly. “Be still now. Mother and father will be here in a moment.” She had sent one of the kitchen boys running to fetch them when Elsked stormed into the house, stammering about the dog and begging her to come back to the garden with him.

While they waited, brother and sister tried to calm their pet, who cried out in pain every so often as they gently ran their hands over the golden fur on her head and neck. Moments later, Ruarin and DaddyBear, both still in their dressing gowns, hurried into the garden. The Lady of Eyre gasped when she saw how her dog suffered, and paid no mind to the damp earth as she knelt down next to Azure.

“It’s alright, girl, I’m here,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. She looked deeply into the dog’s eyes, then carefully ran her hand across her abdomen. A concerned frown crossed Ruarin’s normally serene face as she mentally ticked off what she was seeing.

“Something’s ruptured inside her,” she said, choking back tears. “How long has she been out here?”

“She was asleep in front of the oven when we came back from our patrol last night,” Lytteren told her. “That was an hour before dawn.”

“Then the cook probably let her out when she came in this morning,” DaddyBear said in a deep, gentle voice. He knew how much seeing their pet like this pained his wife and children.

“Can you help her, mother?” Elsked said. His eyes were wide with fright, and the icy pit in his stomach made him fear his mother’s reply.

Lytteren placed her hands over the dog’s body and closed her eyes. “Aegritudo,” she whispered, feeling power flow through her, but not hope.

The dog’s body glowed briefly in the morning sun, showing a slow heartbeat and a dull, pulsing light in her abdomen. The Lady of Eyre’s family looked at her for an answer, but she could only shake her head.

“It’s too late,” she said in a voice that was barely audible over the dog’s panting. Then, she took a deep breath and continued, “Anything I can do will only make her pain last longer.”

Her son wailed as if his heart had broken, bringing a baying from the house as Water of Fire and Bounder, their other two hounds, came running to see what was wrong with their young master. Upon seeing their matron prostrate upon the ground, the dogs nuzzled Azure and licked at her face, but she could only lift her head a hand’s breadth from the muddy ground before letting it fall back down.

“Children, say your goodbyes so that we may send her to her ancestors,” DaddyBear said, emotion choking his voice. His heart ached to see both the suffering of his hound and the anguish his family felt, but he kept a placid look on his face as Elsked and Lytteren gently touched their dog for the last time.

“I’m sorry, girl,” Lytteren said. Her voice quavered as she spoke.

“Good girl,” was all that Elsked could stammer. “Good girl.”

Then, DaddyBear and Ruarin put their hands on Turf of Azure’s side. DaddyBear’s hands shook as he whispered, “Goodbye, girl. Thank you.” Ruarin was surprised to see a tear running down into her husband’s beard.

“I love you, pup-pup,” Ruarin said quietly. “We shall meet again.” She nodded to her husband, who removed his hands from the dog, whose breath was shallow and ragged. She swivelled her ear at the sound of her mistress’ voice, and again tried to stand.

Ruarin closed her eyes and fought to control the sobs she could feel trying to bubble to the surface. After a moment, she whispered, “Grasta,” and felt her power once more slip between her fingers.

Turf of Azure took a long, deep breath, then shuddered as she let it out. Ruarin’s charm took away the hound’s pain, but the light behind her eyes soon faded as her spirit slipped from the world. A moment later, she walked into a place where the grass was tall, the sun was warm, and her brother, Walks in Shadow, waited to wrestle with her.

 

Ruarin shook with grief as her husband encircled her in his arms. Their children joined them, and the four of them clung to each other while Water of Fire and Bounder howled out their sorrow. Finally, DaddyBear broke the embrace and knelt down next to the dog’s body.

“Let’s take her to her resting place,” he said quietly. Ruarin nodded gravely, while Lytteren wrapped her arms around Elsked. The young boy still cried unashamed tears at the loss of a pet he had always known.

Carefully, the Minivandian lifted Turf of Azure and cradled her in his arms. He led his family out of the garden and into a grove of trees near the creek that ran behind their home. There, in a small clearing ringed by cornus trees, lay a large piece of dark granite. Its surface was flat and smooth from where an ancient glacier had plucked it from a mountain far to the north. At its center, time and water had worn a shallow bowl, which measured a few hands across and half a hand deep. A beam of morning sunshine stretched along its length, causing the surface to glitter as if it were frosted with diamonds. On the far side of the clearing, sitting in a spot where the sun always seemed to shine, sat a jet-black statue of a shaggy war dog. Inscribed on its base was “Walks in Shadow.”

The Minivandian lay Azure’s body upon the stone. He gently arranged her legs and smoothed her yellow fur until it appeared that she was merely asleep in the sunbeam. He gestured to the other hounds, who had followed them from the pumpkin patch. They lay down in the grass, their eyes moving from the still form on the stone to their family, then back again.

The Lady of Eyre stepped forward. Without ceremony, she lifted her hand and slowly waved it in the air above the dog’s body. Elsked gasped as Turf of Azure dissolved into a pile of cold ashes, then buried his face in his sister’s side. Lytteren stroked his hair in an attempt to soothe him, while her own tears dripped unheeded from the end of her nose.

Ruarin pulled a handful of long, yellow grass from the clearing’s floor, then used it to sweep the ashes into the well at the stone’s center. As she did this, DaddyBear could hear her hum a lullaby that he half-remembered his wife singing to a small, yellow puppy many years before.

When she had pushed all of the ashes into the hollow, Ruarin turned to her family. “Our loyal companion has passed from this world, and it is time for us to tell her story so that she will always be remembered,” she said solemnly. “I want each of you to think of your favorite memory of her, then tell it to us.”

“Mother,” Elsked stammered, “I can’t. It hurts to think of her.”

“It’s all right,” Lytteren said quietly. “We did this when Shadow died. It helps you feel better.” She released her brother and stepped forward to stand in front of the stone.

“I shall go first,” she said in a calm voice. She closed her eyes and thought for a moment before continuing, “It was a long time ago, when I was a very little girl…”

 

Lytteren shuffled her boot clad feet through the long pile of leaves running along the fence between the courtyard where she played and her mother’s garden. Her father had spent the morning raking and sweeping them up, and she had helped by picking up handfuls of them and sprinkling them about. The new puppy, whom her mother had called “Azure,” bounded along beside her. The afternoon sun blazed from her golden fur as she jumped into the pile. The little dog would explode from under the leaves, then disappear again when she landed in a deeper part of the pile.

The little girl wore the new clothes her mother had made for her to play in. The cloth was rough to the touch on the outside, but soft and warm beneath. Try as she might, Lytteren had not been able to wear through it or tear the fabric on the rocks and hard ground she played upon as she had adventures. Her brother was inside somewhere, so she had the yard, the pile of leaves, and the puppy to herself.

Where is that puppy? she thought as she looked around. Azure had yipped and barked as she jumped down into the pile, but Lytteren had neither seen nor heard her for several moments. Her ginger hair, braided carefully by the Minivandian himself, whipped back and forth as she looked for Azure. The girl waded into the pile until it was up to her middle, then called out again for her dog.

“Puppy!” she cried. “Puppy, where are you?” Her brow knotted when the little dog did not reply or come at her voice. “Puppy!”

Suddenly, a yellow ball of fur, damp leaves stuck to its side, burst from the pile. Lytteren screamed as she felt wet paws land on her chest, pushing her over into the leaves, then both of them were submerged in them. A cacophony of squeals, barks, and giggles filled the courtyard before she sat up with the chubby little puppy laying across her lap. The dog’s tail was wagging so hard that her hind end moved with it, and her pink tongue hung from her mouth as she panted.

“Azure!” Lytteren cried out, her voice full of joy and love. She grabbed the puppy on either side of her head and gave her a loud kiss on the snout, which Azure returned by stamping her wet, pink nose on the little girl’s forehead. Then, Lytteren heaved herself back into the leaves and rolled over so that the wrestling match with her puppy could continue. Azure obliged her little mistress, and the two of them cavorted in the leaves until they were spread across half the courtyard.

 

Lytteren’s tears ran down her cheeks, but they did not ruin her radiant smile. “Azure was my first pet,” she said, “and she taught me how to care for something more than I care for myself.”

Lytteren reached up and let several of her tears run onto her fingers. Carefully, she extended her arm so that her hand was above the pile of ashes, then let the drops fall onto them. She turned away from the table and let her father’s arms enfold her.

Once he had comforted his daughter, the Minivandian stepped forward.

“I shall go next,” he rumbled. “Azure was a loyal companion, and she accompanied me into the forest on many nights…”

 

DaddyBear the Minivandian walked quietly down a dark path shrouded by thin wisps of fog. Overhead, the cold light of a winter moon flashed every so often when it found a path between the bare branches of the thick forest canopy. In his hands, he carried Clyfrender, his ancient war-axe, and at his side walked Azure, the yellow hound who had become his constant companion while he patrolled his lands. The dog had her nose to the ground as she followed the trail some loathsome creature had left after raiding the smoke house the Minivandian kept behind his manor.

His wife was home with the children. His eldest son, Bjorn, had wanted to accompany the Northerner when he had announced at dinner that he would be hunting down the marauding creature that had stolen one of their hams, but a stern look from his wife had been enough to get him to disappoint the boy. Lytteren, five summers old and ready to take on the world, had sleepily fussed about being left behind as well, but she was fast asleep in her bed by the time DaddyBear and the dog had slipped through the garden gate and picked up the thief’s trail.

“Got it, girl?” DaddyBear asked quietly as the dog snuffled first this way, then the other at a fork in the path. He could see where something large had bent the dry branches of a brambleberry thicket aside, but the dog did not follow that scent. Instead, she turned away from the path altogether and led her master deeper into the dark woods. The Minivandian could not see any tracks or evidence that something had passed that way, but his hound’s snuffling nose kept them on their quarry’s trail.

His breath coming out in puffs of vapor in the cool, damp air, the Minivandian had to jog to keep up with the hound. Her golden fur, which had darkened and become thicker as she had grown from a puppy to a war hound, seemed to glow in the forest’s half light as she darted between trees and into a thick growth of bushes.

The Minivandian could hear her pawing at the ground and barking a few feet ahead of him when he stopped at the edge of the thicket. “Azure!” he ordered in a deep voice. “Out! Get back here!” The Northerner was worried that she would stir up some animal and get mauled before he could intervene, and an axe would not work well in the confines of the thorny bushes.

Suddenly, Azure squirted out of the thicket, with something dark and low-slung at her heels. The dog yipped as the creature swiped a wide paw at her hind quarters, then turned and leaped upon her foe. A loud growl, almost a roar, filled the woods as the animal tried to fend off the dog’s attack, then it squealed as her teeth clamped down on its back.

DaddyBear raised his axe high over his head, looking for a way to strike without hitting the dog. The creature growled again, and the Minivandian heard its jaws snap on empty air as it tried to lash out at Azure. Finally, it was able to swing its short neck around far enough to sink its fangs into the dog’s flank, eliciting a howl of pain from the hound. She leaped up, trying to get free, but the beast held on. It dug its claws into the frosted ground, struggling to pull the hound back into its underground den.

The Minivandian saw the animal’s wide back as a darker blotch of black in the shadows, but now that his hound was clear, he brought the axe down in a long, whistling arc. It thudded into the creature, cutting through its tough hide and breaking its grip on Azure. The creature growled once more and turned on the Minivandian. Its teeth gleamed in a snatch of moonlight before DaddyBear’s axe swung down again, splitting its skull.

Azure limped over and sniffed the creature, then turned to lick her master’s hand as he reached down to pick it up by its short tail. DaddyBear held it up in the moonlight, then cursed under his breath.

“A skittklo, girl!” he cried out in surprise. In the moonlight, he saw its razor sharp claws, which the squat little beast used to both dig tunnels and to tear apart its prey. A pair of white stripes ran through the coarse fur of its back, and its mouthful of teeth looked fearsome even in death.

“You’re lucky you got it out in the open, dog,” he said as he tossed the carcass back into the thicket. He reached down to pet the hound, then ran his hand over the wound that oozed blood on her side. “If it had dragged you into its tunnels, I’d be looking for a new dog.”

“Come,” he said, signalling Azure with his hand, “let’s get home. You’ve earned yourself a treat.”

Azure panted happily as she walked alongside her master toward the house.

 

DaddyBear felt a solitary tear, which felt hot on his cheek, fall into his beard. Carefully, he scooped it onto his finger, then let it fall into the ashes. He turned to Ruarin, who hugged him close.

“I know, darling one, I know,” she said soothingly.

Elsked swallowed hard, then stepped forward. “Mother, may I go next?” he said. “I think I know what I want to say.” Ruarin nodded and gave her youngest son a reassuring smile.

Elsked looked at the ground, then said, “This is from when I was little, but it’s what I see when I think of Azure…”

 

The little boy crawled along the hard stone floor of the kitchen. His mother and the cook were busy doing something at one of the counters that involved puffs of flour and the spicy smell of sweetbark, but he paid little attention to that. His goal lay on a rug in front of the oven. Azure had long ago passed the age where she could enjoy frolicking in the grass with the children. Instead, she was content to lay in warm places and accept the belly rubs and pats the household gave the elder hound as she enjoyed the autumn of her years.

Elsked had always been fascinated by the hounds, and giggled and laughed when his sister had brought one close enough to pet. The dogs had shown curiosity about him from time to time, but little hands are usually not gentle hands, and losing fistfuls of fur, even when done with love, was not something they enjoyed.

Now, though, the Young Prince could come to them.

Azure opened one green-gold eye as the child scuttled across the floor to her, but did not rise from her resting place. She lifted her head as the boy leaned against her, then let out a contented sigh as he dug his fingers into the loose skin around her neck and started to scratch.

The hound yawned wide as the young master snuggled his face into her fur, then pressed her cold nose against his cheek when he stuck his face close to hers. This elicited a squeal and a giggle from him, and he latched onto one of her velvet-smooth ears and scratched behind it like he had seen his sister do.

Azure stretched out all four paws in contentment, careful to not scratch the child as he moved down and patted her on her flank. Slowly, she rolled over on her back, exposing her belly for him to rub. He laughed as her hind leg began to shake in time to his scratches, then used his hold on her fur to pull himself up onto his feet.

Azure looked up at her young master for a moment, then stood up next to the child. Elsked wobbled on his feet as she did, but was able to grab two handfuls of fur to steady himself. The elder dog nuzzled him under his chin, and the little boy giggled as her whiskers tickled him.

The dog took a step away from the boy, but then Elsked took a step of his own. Azure took another step, which Elsked copied. Soon, the pair were making their way across the kitchen toward the counter where Ruarin and the cook labored. When they had reached the midway point, Ruarin noticed the movement and looked up in surprise to see her son taking steps alongside the hound.

The Lady of Eyre caught a cry of surprise before it could escape and startle her son, then watched as Elsked let go of Azure and took the remaining steps toward her on his own. He fell into her arms just as he reached her, then she swept the boy up and embraced him. He squealed in delight and gave her a gap-toothed smile, and she kissed his cheek.

“What a big boy!” she and the cook cried out together, then Ruarin looked down at her dog. “And what a good girl!”

Azure looked up at her mistress and the young master with her tail wagging slowly. Her face, now almost white with age, held a hint of a smile as she turned and slowly walked back to her place next to the oven.

 

Elsked’s face was wet with tears as he finished his story, as was Ruarin’s. She remembered watching her son take his first steps using the dog to aid his balance. The Lady of Eyre lifted her hand to take one of Elsked’s tears for him, but he wiped them with his own fingers and let them drip upon the ashes.

“It’s not much of a story,” he said in a hushed voice, “but it’s the best I have.”

Ruarin scooped him up and squeezed him against her breast. Together, they rocked back and forth for a moment before she put him back down and took a deep breath.

“And now,” she said in a quiet, sad voice, “it is my turn…”

 

Distant thunder rumbled in the night as the Lady of Eyre slept fitfully in the big bed she normally shared with her husband. A late season blizzard had swept down from the north, and its wind and snow rattled the house in its fury. A low bed of coals burned in the fireplace across the room, and the glow from its embers threw stark, uneven shadows against the walls and ceilings. Outside, the wind moaned through the trees, and pellets of ice rattled down onto the manor’s roof.

Ruarin mumbled in her sleep, the memory of some horror disturbing her dreams. The smell of the fire, which she normally found pleasant, reminded her of the smoke of a cottage burning and of creatures leaping out of the darkness to strike at her.

She cried out, lifting her arms and clawing at an unseen phantom, when the sound of something whining and scratching at the door filled the room. Ruarin paid it no heed until the whining had risen to a mournful howl that woke her and brought her up from her bed before she knew where she was.

The Lady of Eyre looked about her bedchamber in confusion for a moment, then her mind returned to the real world and she realized that it had all been a dream. All of it, it seems, except for the scratching of something at her chamber door.

Ruarin crossed the room and opened the door a crack. She peeked out into the hall to find Azure, the younger of their two dogs, sitting on the floor and looking up at her.

“Go lay down, girl,” Ruarin ordered. “‘’Twas only a dream.” The dog, who was normally obedient to her mistress’ commands, tilted her head to the side but did not budge.

“I’m fine,” the Lady of Eyre said, opening the door a bit wider so that she could step out into the hall. To her surprise, the dog jumped through the gap and rushed between her legs. Before she could spin around, Azure had leaped onto her bed and was sitting upon the coverlet.

“No,” Ruarin said sternly. “No dogs on the bed!” She emphatically pointed to the floor. Azure, for her part, merely cocked her head to the side again, as if she did not understand the words.

“Azure!” Ruarin barked. “Get down!” In response, the hound flopped herself down on the mattress, placing her head upon her folded paws. Her green eyes glowed in the light of the fireplace.

Ruarin’s mouth quirked in irritation. She was exhausted from three restless nights without DaddyBear to warm her bed, and the memories of the nightmare still vexed her.

“Stubborn hound,” she growled as she stalked over to the bed. “Fine, stay there, you brat. Just mind you stay on the master’s side!” Azure let out a contented sigh as she closed her eyes and rolled over onto her side.

Ruarin lay back down and let her eyes close. “Just need some sleep,” she muttered as she felt her body relax once again.

Soon, she slipped into the dream again. The roar of the fire filled her ears as she tried to find her way to the door. Above her, the thatched roof collapsed, sending burning timbers down to fall on either side of her. She tried to scream, but smoke seared her lungs, cutting the sound off. Suddenly, Ruarin felt a weight on her side, then something cold and wet was against the skin behind her ear, and she could feel something snuffling at her hair.

Ruarin’s eyes popped open, and she looked up at the ceiling of her bed chamber. Next to her, Azure nuzzled against her neck and poked at her cheek and ear with her nose. Ruarin took a deep, shuddering breath, and felt the fear and pain of the dream melt away as her hand found the hound’s ear and scratched at her fur.

“Oh, girl, it was just a dream,” the Lady of Eyre said once she felt her heart stop thudding in her chest. “Thank you for waking me.” Azure replied by rolling over to give her mistress somewhere new to scratch.

Ruarin sat up on one elbow and regarded the hound. Azure met her mistress’ gaze, then stretched out languidly and closed her eyes.

“Alright, you win,” the Lady of Eyre said as she lay back down. “You may stay until the master comes home, but don’t get comfortable.” The dog answered her with another contented sigh, followed by snores as she fell asleep.

“Brat,” Ruarin mumbled as she let herself drift off to dreamless rest.

 

Ruarin’s eyes brimmed with tears as she remembered Azure protecting her from the phantoms of her own memories, then she caught one and let it drip into the ashes. She took up a stick from the ground, and began stirring her family’s tears into the dust.

“Azure was a good dog,” she said, “and we ought to always remember her.”

Ruarin stretched out her other hand and whispered, “Meabruchan”. The ashes swirled around the stick, then flared in the sunlight. When Ruarin lowered her hand, a statue of a hound with golden fur and a mischievous smile on her face lay at the bottom of the hollow in the stone. Upon its base was carved “Turf of Azure.” Carefully, Ruarin lifted it up and walked over to the sun-drenched side of the clearing.

“Azure knows we miss her, and we will never forget about her,” she said softly as she set the figure down next to that of Shadow. “This will be here for as long as we keep her in our hearts.”

For a long moment, the Minivandian’s family stood in silence, watching as the morning sun shone on the memorials to their companions. Finally, DaddyBear let out his breath and motioned to Elsked and Lytteren.

“Come, children,” he said in a low, gentle voice, “let’s go back to the house. We need to feed the other dogs, and a bit of breakfast will do our spirits good.”

Together, their arms around each other, the family returned to their home. At the mention of breakfast, Bounder and Water of Fire had raced back toward the house, their yips and cries echoing from the manor’s stone walls.

Behind them, the statues warmed in the sunshine.

Snippet

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.”

New Book

Lady of Eyre“, the last book in the current Minivandians story arc, went live on Amazon this morning.

Here’s the blurb:

From the young prince’s competition in the derby of wooden chargers to the tales of his family’s past come close calls, challenges, and triumph!

When the Lady of Eyre and Daddybear make it to her native land, all is not well. One lord is raiding and enslaving, and others are silenced by gold or lies. When he sets his eyes on Daddybear’s lady and her lands, though, he awakens the full cunning and fury of her barbarian!

Like I said, this completes the story of how the Minivandian and his lady make their way from the Northern Wastes to their own home.  Snippets can be found here, here, and here.

Thanks to everyone who helped out with the story and cover.  It definitely wouldn’t have been as much fun and the product wouldn’t have been quite as interesting without them.

Anyway, hope y’all enjoy.  Remember, reviews are always welcome!

An Idea

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.

Snippet

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.”

 

Announcement and Snippet

Lost Children, the next installment of The Minivandians, is up for pre-order on Amazon.

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Here’s the blurb:

Elsked’s adventure continues! In the second of three stories, the Minivandian’s son trades tales of his pets and  their misadventures for another story from his parents past.

After escaping the frozen north, Daddybear and Ruarin find refuge with the magical kin of an old friend. Before they can make their way home, treachery will strike the city, leaving death and disappearances in its wake. In an idyllic lakeside city harboring the ancient evil that drove its people from their ancient homeland, can the Minivandian save his Lady of Eire?

Lost Children picks up where Quest to the North left off.  Ruarin and DaddyBear are still trying to make their home, but they find themselves on a little bit of a detour.

The book will go live on January 26, but you can pre-order it now.  I hope you enjoy it, and remember, the best way to compliment a writer is to leave an honest review and spread the word.

I put up a snippet for one of the short vignettes here, and here’s the first chapter of the longer portion of the book.  Enjoy!


The moon hung over the trees, full and blood red. It shone down on a young man in robes as gray as a dove’s wing as he walked up a long flight of rough-cut stone stairs. To one side of him, moonlight danced on carved scenes of ships and people, while on the other, dark trees growing from the steep hillside blocked his view of the water below. The cheeping of tree frogs, taking advantage of the last warm weather of early autumn, competed with the voice coming from the temple above him to drown out his slow steps.

He cradled a cloth-wrapped bundle in the crook of his arm. It would occasionally wriggle, and once he had to bring his free hand up to steady it as he continued his march upward. Any sound it made was drowned out by the noise of the forest and marshes surrounding him. The young priest paused when he reached an open space at the top of the stairs and looked around.

The temple was ancient, and only its main chamber had been reclaimed from the forest. The young man’s ancestors had hewn it from the living rock of the low hill upon which it sat, and he could almost sense the power of the earth running up through it. The side opposite him was open to the night air, and he could see the full moon framed above the forest. Above him, the sound of singing echoed from the high, domed ceiling, making it sound as if a chorus were serenading him as he made his way into the chamber.

An alabaster altar, polished until it shone in the torchlight, lay at its center. Fine, white linen cloths covered it. Upon them, a silver basin and pitcher reflected a red and orange glow back at him. The same light reflected from the wall behind the altar, making the ship carved in its white stone appear to be ablaze.

His mentor and teacher stood with his hands on the altar. Where the young man wore robes the color of a mourning dove, his flawlessly white garments were a stark contrast against the dark stone. A long sword hung from his belt, its golden hilt shining in the light. It contrasted with the iron chain that swung from his neck. The older man’s eyes were closed as he crooned a prayer in a high, powerful voice. His song rang from the high ceiling, and its rhythm followed the young priest’s heartbeat.

The young priest stepped forward and bowed to his master.

“Do you bring this child to our god willingly?” the white-clad priest asked in a gentle voice.

“Yes, I do.”

“Is he a member of our people?”

“Yes, he is.

“Then prepare him.”

The young priest lifted the baby up and gently placed him on the altar. He untied the bundle of cloth enclosing the child, then poured warm water from the pitcher into the basin. As he did this, the older priest held his hands over the water and prayed.

The younger man wet one of the cloths, then washed the baby from head to toe. The child laughed as the soft cotton ran over his skin, and his toothless grin caused both priests to smile indulgently. After the little boy was cleansed thoroughly, the young priest picked him up again.

The older priest took some oil from a flask and rubbed a mark on the child’s chest with his thumb. He carefully placed his hand across the crown of the infant’s head, and bowing down, whispered a blessing into the child’s ear. The baby giggled and squirmed, then reached up and toyed with the old man’s beard.

“Present him to the god!” the elder priest ordered as he gently untangled his whiskers from chubby fingers.

The young priest bowed to him, then swaddled the baby in a thick, soft cloth. He turned and faced the idol, which dominated the wall opposite the altar.

It was wrought from iron, with two golden horns curling from the sides of its head. The throne upon which it sat was carved from the same rock as the temple, but had been polished smooth to reflect the glow coming from the huge mound of embers burning beneath it. Its eyes, crafted from flawless red jewels, glowed against the dark stone of its bearded face.

Two outstretched arms beckoned to the priest. The waves of heat rising from below the god seemed to make its fingers move before his eyes.

As he took his first step, the young priest placed his hand on the child’s head and whispered, “Etezh.” The child’s dark eyes immediately closed in slumber.

Behind him, the white-clad priest began to chant in an ancient language.
Bal Haamon!
God of our fathers!
Bal Haamon!
Father of the people!
Bal Haamon!
Protector of the city!
We bring you our offering!
Accept our sacrifice and bless your people!
Crush our enemies, end our struggles!

The younger man sang along with his master. He moved with the rhythm of his prayer as he slowly walked toward the idol. His eyes watered from the heat rising from the throne’s base, and tears ran down his smooth cheeks. The god’s red eyes glimmered in the shadow of its beard as he placed the child in its arms. Stepping back, he bowed low to the idol.

As he straightened, the idol’s arms fell to its lap, and the young priest glimpsed the cloth bundle, pale against the god’s dark throne, drop into the fire as a stone drops into water. A brief flash of light and pungent smoke overcame him for a moment, then his vision cleared to show the smiling face of his god.

Both men bowed until their foreheads touched the stone floor. After a long moment, the older priest rose and spoke to his assistant.

“Bring up the other one,” he ordered.

~~~~~~

The young priest sat on a ledge overlooking a moonlit beach. Below him, small blue flames winked from the surface of the marshlands at the water’s edge. Behind him, he could hear his master packing away their vestments and sacramental vessels. He breathed in the cool air, feeling its soft caress on his red face.

A gentle hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He looked up into the smiling face of the older priest, now wearing a simple, drab cloak over his clothing.

“Bal Haamon smiles on us,” he said, taking a seat next to his assistant. His tone, as well as the look on his face, was exultant.

“He demands a high price for his happiness,” the younger man said quietly.

“He provides for us, and he will bring our people back to glory.”

“Is this what the god wants?” the young priest asked morosely. “How many more children must we give to him?”

“This is how our forefathers worshipped,” the older man replied, “and we have fallen far since we neglected our god.”

“So, there’ll be more?”

“Oh, yes, there will be more,” his master said with a grave nod. “Three hundred were given to save the old city. We will sacrifice as many as it takes to elevate its replacement.”

He looked out upon the water for a moment, then clapped the younger man on the shoulder.

“Come,” he said, “let’s get back to the city. It’ll be dawn soon.”

EBook Cover and Snippet

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.

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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?”

Snippet

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.

Snippet

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.”

Snippet

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?”