A Samhain Tale

This week Write at the Merge gave us, technically, three things for our prompt.  The first was to write something from scratch.  Then we were given a picture of peaches and a picture of fresh bread to help conjure up our piece.  And, since Halloween is just around the corner and I was already in mind of it from the Master Class assignment, I wanted to spin another Halloween tale.  I will admit this came in just over the 500 word limit.  I cut as much as I felt like I could in the time I had.  Please forgive me the extra few words and enjoy the tale!

“Come, children.  Gather round and I will tell you a tale,” the woman gestured as the firelight flickered around her whitened hair.

The children crowded around and settled in the grass, slices of apple and fresh bread in little hands.  When they grew quiet the woman continued.

“Samhain is a time when the veil to the Otherworld grows thin.  Spirits come back to roam this land.  But, sometimes, other things come, too.  Creatures who live in the Otherworld.”

The children were rapt, apples forgotten.

“Once, many years ago, a fairy came through.  Not the tiny creatures called fairies now.  But a creature tall and beautiful.  She had magic, strong magic.  She was curious about this world.”

“Why, Maimeo?  Why was she curious?”

“She wanted to understand why the spirits came back here, child, so she followed them across the veil.  

Gigantic feasts were laid out for the spirits.  Bonfires were as thick as fireflies across the countryside.  Music, guises, and games abounded.  She was so drawn to this world that she was not watching the time.  What happens when dawn comes after this night?”

“The veil closes and the spirits cannot pass through, Nana.”

“Yes, little one.  Those spirits trapped here must remain until the veil thins again.  And the same happened for the fairy.  Only, she was not meant to live here.”

“What did she do, Maimeo?”

“She had to find a way to survive.  So she went to Clann Carthaigh,”

“That’s us!”

“It is.  She asked your grandfathers and grandmothers for guest right until the veil thinned enough for her return to the Otherworld.  The Clann was concerned.  Fairies were not known to be very hard working creatures and winter was drawing near.  They talked late into the next night before they decided to take pity and grant her guest right.

“At first things went well.  She was a beautiful fairy and did everything she could to repay her debt for she knew of their concern.  But, things did not stay that way.  The neighboring Clann Suibhne grew jealous of the riches the fairy brought Clann Carthaigh.  Clann Suibhne began to raid Clann Carthaigh.  Soon, men were killed in the raids.  Both clanns swore blood oaths to teach the other that they were not weak.

“The fairy felt terrible that her efforts were bringing sadness, anger, and blood shed to Clann Carthaigh.  She went to the chieftain and asked for one night.  In that night, she promised she would end the feud between the clanns.  He wasn't sure he believed she could, but gave her that night.

“No one knows what happened that night.  Clann Suibhne speaks not of it.  But they left this county and have never returned.  Some say the fairy cursed them.  Others say she bribed them.  That is why they say to cross a fairy is bad luck indeed.”

The children sat in silence, listening to the fire crackle and starting at shadows.  They finished their apples and bread before thanking the woman and moving off to their beds.

In the firelight the woman watched, a slow smile and a glimmer of something more in her tilted violet eyes.

Confrontation

Trifecta gave us the word animal - as in a human being considered chiefly as physical or nonrational - this week.  As always, our responses had to be between 33 and 333 words.  This week it is a community judged competition.  So, please consider heading over there via the link above and vote for me!


This is a continuation of my Weather Rider series.  For previous pieces of the story, follow the Weather Riders tab above.

When the rain dropped off to a light mist, Caiden gestured for me to get back on his motorcycle.  Feeling like a leaf stuck in the rapids, I was along for the ride.  We chased the storm another twenty miles or so before he stopped once more.

“He’s here.  Can you feel him?”

Enjoying the rumble of his voice vibrating through our bodies pressed together on the bike, it took me a moment to answer.

“Yeah.  The power’s building.  This storm won’t be the end.”

“The next one will be out of control unless we do something now.”

I sighed.  I knew he was right.  But, growing up here I knew most all of the local Weather Riders.  None were Monitors.  All were pretty minor players.  But a Storm Rider had gone rogue.  I couldn’t deny that anymore.

“Fine.  Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Keep his attention on you.  Do whatever you need to.”

“But…”

“I’ll take care of the rest.  You won’t be hurt.  I promise.”

There was something in the way he made that promise that I trusted him despite not seeing his face.  We made our way into another park, though this was more of a preserve than playground.  Before Caiden turned the bike, I knew the rogue Rider was just to the left.  We reached a parking lot at the end of the road and I could see him.

It was Isaac.  I went to high school with him.  Only, it wasn't him.  His hair and clothes were blown askew 

from the storms.  He was muddy and wet.  There was a manical light in his eyes.  He was more animal than man.

I approached him head on.  I saw Caiden drift toward the wood line to our right before losing him.

“Isaac.  It’s me, Emma.”

He stared right through me.

“Let me help you, Isaac.  You’re not a rogue.  You’re not like this.”

His hysterical laugh chilled me to the bone as he called another storm.

Through the Monastery Gates

This week's Master Class over at My Write Side gave us the line "The black shroud of night had just begun to lift when he made his way through the ironbound doors of the monastery’s inner gate." from The Wheel of Darkness by Douglass Preston and Lincoln Child.  Additionally, because the theme for selecting the book was about thirds, we had to incorporate thirds into how we used the line - meaning we couldn't open or close with it.  I used the line as the third sentence in the third paragraph.  Enjoy and be sure to check out other great posts using this line.

He ghosted through the graveyard.  Ancient tombstones crowded around him like vultures waiting for his death.  The stones even seemed to lean in as if they could not wait to have him.  A few trees were scattered among the graves.  Spanish moss hung thick on the branches casting eerie shadows.

He knew he was in the right place when he felt the presence.  It hung in the air as thick as the mist rising up from the surrounding swamps.  That presence was what he needed to find.  The priestess said it would be in a place like this.  Somewhere out of the way.  Forgotten.

The old monastery rose up out of the shadows and mist like a gargoyle in the gloom about to launch after an unsuspecting victim.  The spirit he felt had to be in there as there were no other options and his dawn deadline was fast approaching.  The black shroud of night had just begun to lift when he made his way through the ironbound doors of the monastery’s inner gate.  It was here, of that he was now certain.

He tracked that spiritual presence into the church at the center of the monastery.  As he made his way past the first alter into the nave, he swore the spirit was laughing at him, though he heard no sound.  The rows of mushrooms and lichen growing in the pews reminded him of parishioners waiting for the priest to arrive.  He paused, listening to the rats scurry in the darkness, trying to determine where in the church the spirit hid.

A sense flared to life within him and he just knew, without any doubt, that the spirit was waiting in the scriptorium.  Making his way through the detritus time left on the nave floor, he approached the scriptorium and pulled several items out of his pockets.

The spirit burst out of the room and wrapped itself around him, dissolving into him before he had a chance to react.  His body went rigid.  His eyes fluttered beneath bluish-purple eyelids.  His hand moved to touch a bracelet, fighting for every inch gained.  Bite marks appeared on his hand and arm.  Blood splashed onto the floor.  As his fingertips brushed the bracelet, the movements got easier.  He wrapped one hand around a necklace and the other pressed against his left shirt pocket.  An inhuman scream left his lips as he collapsed to the floor. Claw marks slashed his chest and down one side of his face.  Blood sprayed the nearby pews.  As he lost consciousness, he noticed blood dripping from the alter.  It seemed somehow fitting as the void swallowed him.

He woke to the sensation of small, clawed feet scrabbling for purchase upon him.  Darkness robed the nave.  He sat up shaking the creature free from him, not wanting to know what it was.  He’d been there for most of a day at least, the growing darkness told him that.  He hoped it wasn’t longer.  The priestess was waiting and he needed to make that deadline.  Groaning at the ache in his body, he made his way to his feet and staggered out into the last remnants of light.

He grimaced at the new scars on his arm and chest.  He was thankful the marks on his face hadn’t scarred.  Then again, there were already so many scars crisscrossing his body that a few more weren’t even noticeable.

He pulled a small, worn photo from his left pocket, “You saved me once again, baby.”

He scrubbed at his face and shook his head as he returned the photo to his pocket.  Feeling so much older than he was, he made his way back to his car.

Maybe this time the priestess would finally set him free. 

Book Review: The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant, is the story of Dinah as told from her point of view.  She is a daughter of the biblical figure Jacob.  The story is a fictionalized account of Dinah’s life that is only mentioned in passing in the Bible.  It weaves tales of her childhood, growing up with all of the sons of Jacob and the tragedy that became her adulthood.  The most interesting piece Diamant tackles in this book, based on historical documents, is what has become known as the rape of Dinah.  She plays into the vagaries the multiple translations and shifts in meaning languages have undergone since the story was originally documented.

I appreciated Diamant’s story here.  While I think there were pieces of the story that were overly detailed or bogged down some in descriptions, I loved her version of this sometimes overlooked Bible story involving a woman.  I also appreciated the strength she gave Dinah while keeping her fairly true to what women may have lived like in this time period.  Even the alternate explanations she gives for the missing pieces of Dinah’s story are plausible.

All in all I would put this on the list that you will absolutely get to reading.  While it is fiction, it casts this story into a whole new light reminding us that there are more sides to a story than what is written in the history books.  Even when the history book in question is the Bible.

Random Sunday – Shirts, Bugs and Pie

I got this new shirt.  It’s black with faux leather trim.  I thought it looked really cool and looked good on me.  My husband agreed.  Now I’m annoyed with it.  It bled black all over my skin wearing it today.  I still like the shirt, I’m just paranoid to wear it again now.  I’d rather not have bluish-black worn off all over my skin again.

This weekend I noticed funky colored speckles on my ceiling.  When I looked closer I realized they were bugs.  I hate bugs.  With a passion.  Really hate bugs.  I took the vacuum after them and got rid of them.  But, they came back.  It took me most of the weekend to figure out that they were coming from the wild bird food sitting in containers by my door.  I've evicted some of the bird food and am hoping that got rid of the bugs.  If not, I may go nuts.

I probably should not have done this.  Especially considering I’m working to lose a little weight and get in better shape.  But, it’s my favorite and I couldn't resist when I found the recipe.  I made French Silk Pie.  I haven’t tasted the finished product yet, but it tasted good while making it.  I’ll let you know how it turned out, but don’t expect me to share.  I don’t know that I can manage that.  It’s French Silk Pie.

August 2012

Trifecta's 33 word weekend prompt put me in mind of my subject right away.  Feeling brave after some feedback from one of the last prompts I responded to on another site, I decided to write another poem.  Let me know what you think!

Pain

Then numbness

A tug or two

Then a cry

Such a beautiful cry

Sending tears down my face

Tiny and wet

Wrinkled and a bit blue

Delicate fingers

Steel blue eyes

Perfection

In Between

Write at the Merge gave us a photo and a Sylvia Plath quote this week.  The link will take you to the details of the prompt and other great responses.  Please be a little kind in any concrit.  I don't write much poetry anymore.

It’s the breath

     Before the first lightning strike

     In the coming storm

It’s the moment

     When Summer flies

     But Fall has not yet come

It’s the time

     When the sun has slipped away

     But darkness tarries

It’s the pause

     Before the plunge

     Into the unknown

Catching a Rainbow

Trifecta gave us a great prompt this week.  The word rainbow as in an illusory goal or hope.  I've been contemplating an idea for a while now, but I think I've been waiting for the right prompt to get it going.  This prompt seemed to be it.  So, any concrit is welcomed.  I did write this fairly quickly as my son decided to take an hour to go to sleep tonight, which cut into the time I had to write.

“Honey.  You have to stop chasing that rainbow.”

She turned to stare at her mother, “How the hell can you say that!  He’s your grandson!”

“I want him back as much as you do, Jen.  But it’s been two months.  You know what the police have said.”

“You’re writing him off.  He’s still alive.  I know it.”

“You’re hoping he is.  Jen, I understand.  But we need to be realistic.”

“No, Mom.  I believe in my son.  That’s not unrealistic, foolish hope or anything else.  That’s a mother loving her son.”

Jen threw down the dish rag and stormed out.  Her mother’s words made her physically ill.  In her heart, Jen knew Curran lived.  Somewhere.

Some instinct drove Jen to a rundown bar several blocks from her house.  She never drank anymore.  Not since finding out she was pregnant with Curran two years ago.  That accident probably saved her life.  Things were out of control before that.  They still were for Curran’s father.

Shaking her head to clear the memories, Jen pushed the door open.  The inside was small, but surprisingly clean.  She sat down at the end of the bar uncertain of what she was doing or looking for.

“Can I help you?”  The bar tender sauntered toward Jen while giving her a thorough once over.

“I’d like a Coke, please.”

One dark brow arched over hazel eyes.  He poured her the Coke and leaned back after collecting her money.

“What else?”-

“Nothing else, just the Coke, thanks.”

“You’re lookin’ for something.”

She blinked, “My son.  He was taken five weeks and two days ago.”

Jen wasn’t sure why she’d told him that.

“What’re you willing to do?”

“Anything.”

He slipped her a card, “Call him.”

Printed in block letters, the card read Rhys Waylon.  White Wolves.  Justice is Swift.  555-489-2012.

“Who is he?”

“He leads the White Wolves.  They’re better than the police.  But, it may cost ya, and not in money.”

She pulled out her cell phone without any hesitation.

The Pond

I’m venturing out and attempting a new prompt this week.  SAM from My Write Side runs The Master Class.  It’s a prompt where we’re given a line out of a book and have to use that to start our piece.  That’s it.

This week we were given the line “It was only a duck pond, at the back of the farm.” out of Neil Gaiman’s new book, The Ocean at the End of the Lane.  Which, by the way, is a very good book.  So, here’s my response.

It was only a duck pond, at the back of the farm.  Pastures bordered it on two sides.  A forest the other two.  The pond was a bit green and not very deep.  It wasn't even that pretty.  But, it meant the world to him.  There was nowhere else he’d rather have been back in those days.  Many a day he still wished he could go back there, back to that place and that time.

The horses would roam free in the pastures.  The wind would whisper in the rushes.  There was even, on occasion, a duck or two in the duck pond.  But most days the duck pond was empty.  There, he waited for her.  She would escape from her duties to find him.  Her guards were left to fend for themselves as they’d tell her father, who would have disapproved had he known then what his daughter was doing.

They’d leave her horse among the rest of the herd and sneak into the forest.  There, they’d walk, or sit in a little glen, and talk for hours.  She always insisted on staying close enough to see the pond.  He treasured that time with her.  It only lasted that summer, but it was a lifetime to him.

There were big changes that fall.  Things took them away from there.  They’d always meant to get back to that duck pond.  Time kept spinning out her web, though, trapping them, keeping them away from that place in the past. 

Things and people continued to change.  The horses are gone.  The farm has been sold.  He wasn't sure the duck pond even had any water in it anymore, much less whether or not any ducks swam there.  And now she’s gone.  There wasn't anything he wouldn't give to go back now.

Be sure to click on the Master Class Link below to read other great stories using Gaiman's line from The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

Book Review: The Tombs of Atuan

This is the second book in the Earthsea Cycle by Ursula LeGuin.  Again, it is an old school fantasy novel.  As such, it still doesn’t move very quickly.  LeGuin spends quite a bit of effort in making sure the details are clear enough to really picture what is happening.

This book continues following Ged as he works to fight against his nemesis.  But, don’t look for Ged until the second half of the book.  The first half introduces Tenar.  She becomes the priestess of the Nameless Ones and, in the process, is renamed Arha – the eaten one.  She becomes a key figure in Ged’s life during the second half of the book.

Once again, I found myself struck by how writing styles have evolved.  Don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed The Tombs of Atuan very much.  I just can’t help but think that if it were written today instead of 1970, I wonder if it would have won a Newbery Honor, or been as popular?

It is certainly a book that I would add to the list to get to someday, higher on the list if you enjoyed A Wizard of Earthsea.  

Random Sunday – Workouts, Writing, and Life

 As I’m sitting here writing this, I’m rather uncomfortable.  I’ve been trying to work out to be in better shape and look better in a two piece when I go to Hawaii in May.  But, man, it hurts.  Why does working out have to hurt so much?  I’m convinced more people would work out if it didn’t hurt so much.

I’ve noticed my writing has suffered a bit lately.  Might have something to do with all of the things already on my plate.  I haven’t had much in the way of inspiration recently either.  I’m not happy about it.  I need to figure a way out of this writing slump.  If anyone has any great ideas, let me know.  Until then I’m going to work harder at writing for the prompts at Write on Edge and Trifecta.  Not sure what else to do.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that life bites.  At least a good portion of the time it does.  There’s just been a lot of stressful, unhappy making things going on.  Might have something to do with why I’m struggling to write as well.  Hmmm.  Bears some reflecting.  I need to decide what to do about the crappy things happening.

So, yeah.  There you have it.

Book Review: The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan

The Lost Hero is the next series of books by Rick Riordan.  This series picks up after the Percy Jackson series ends.  There is a whole new cast of characters, but at least some of the old characters come back in this book.

The book opens with the new characters.  They don’t know they are demi-gods.  Their adventure begins when they’re attacked.  They end up at Camp Half-Blood where the real adventure awaits in the form of a metal malfunctioning dragon, amnesia and a missing father.  Hints of something even bigger than the prophecy in the Percy Jackson make their way into the story as well.

This book feels quite a bit like the Percy Jackson books.  So far that is a good thing in my opinion.  I am a little nervous that there will be too many similarities and ruin the fun of the series by ending up feeling like a rehash of Percy Jackson.  But, as I said, this book avoided that.

I would add this to the list of books to read, particularly if you are a fan of the Percy Jackson series or similar young adult series.

Random Sunday – The Weather, Exhaustion and Zucchini

Yep.  You read that title right.  This week’s Random Sunday will hit on the weather, exhaustion, and zucchini.  So, hold on to your hats cuz here we go!

I’ve decided this just isn’t fair.  Today the high was about 77 degrees Fahrenheit.  Tomorrow it is supposed to hit 100 degrees.  Come on, people!  It’s September!  A – we’re not supposed to have 100 degree weather in September.  B – who ever said the high was allowed to swing that drastically in one day!  I just hope the air conditioning in all of the various locations I need to be in tomorrow holds out.

Wow.  I’m tired.  I’m wrapping up another class for grad school this week.  That involves a fifteen to twenty page paper.  I’m not done with it yet and it needs to be turned in by Friday.  Trying to finish that, keep up with my one year old son, and manage the rest of the daily household chores is about killing me this week.  I just gotta make it ‘til Friday.  Then I’ll get a break for a few weeks.

And here’s the zucchini.  I was grating zucchini tonight.  The plan is to be able to make zucchini bread as soon as it is cool enough to actually be willing to turn the oven on.  In the process of grating it, I’ve discovered zucchini will dry into an odd skin on one’s own skin.  It feels rather odd and I’ve washed my hands several times trying to get it off.

And there you have it.  The weather, exhaustion, and zucchini all in one post.  Now I’m off to wash my hands.  Again.

The Space Between

I really enjoyed the prompt from Write at the Merge this week.  While the music itself wasn't connected to my writing, the idea of the space between was what got the wheels turning.  This is another excerpt out of a long, and yet unfinished, work.  Any concrit, as always, is much appreciated.

Mesara slipped to the ground.  Her dark hair created an inky shadow across her face.  Tyrhan, across the cavern and still engaged with one of the Renashi, caught her collapse through the fighting.  The stellar nimbus surrounding her was gone.  Fear strangled his heart.

Tyrhan maneuvered the Renashi into giving him an opening.  He dispatched the Renashi with a quick thrust to the chest.  Tyrhan used his momentum to push the body out of his way.  He needed to find Meathar and get them both to Mesara.  Most of the Renashi were fleeing now.  Tyrhan hoped that meant Mesara and Meathar were able to defeat Amnor, but finding out didn’t matter that much at the moment.  Making sure Saylen’s children were still alive did.

Meathar had been between Tyrhan and Mesara when the fight began.  As Tyrhan pushed his way through the remnants of the fleeing Renashi, using his sword to clear a path as needed, he found Meathar covered in blood.

“I’m all right.  It’s Amnor’s.”

“Mesara’s down,” Tyrhan reached down to pull the younger man to his feet.

As Meathar got to his feet he froze, “Look up.”

The Wildrose vines that had been raining from the ceiling were gone.  Vanished as if they never existed.  The two men locked looks for a moment.  No words were needed.  As one they turned and sprinted to Mesara’s side.

Meathar pulled his sister into his lap, cradling her to him, “Come on, ‘Sara.  Wake up.”

Tyrhan searched for a wound but found nothing.

Several tense seconds passed.  Then, Mesara reached up to touch Meathar’s face.

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes still closed, she stretched her other arm out to take Tyrhan’s hand.

“I’m so sorry.”

Then she went limp.

Book Review: The Madman's Daughter

Next up on my list to review is The Madman’s Daughter by Megan Shepard.

This book is a twist on the classic The Island of Dr. Moreau by H. G. Wells.  The story follows the daughter of Dr. Moreau.  She is living in disgrace in London following her father’s banishment due to his experiments with vivisection.  Through a series accidents and chance, she learns that what she has been told is not entirely the truth.

The book goes on to intersect and overlap the events from The Island of Dr. Moreau.  Only, in The Madman’s Daughter, the story is told from Dr. Moreau’s daughter’s point of view.  It is an interesting take on this classic story.  There are times where I felt the writing bogged down a bit and scenes could have been shortened some.  But, overall it was an interesting story to read.

I would be careful, just as with the original H. G. Wells story, about letting younger children read this.  There are several scenes that, while not explicit, allude clearly to some rather graphic material.  That being said, I’d put this book on the list of books to eventually get to reading.  Not something I’d put very high, but certainly worth a read when you get a chance.

Random Sunday – Wednesday, Picture Prompts and Vacations for Vacations

Yep.  I know it’s Wednesday, not Sunday.  But I was gone on Sunday and haven’t had a chance to catch up with my posts.  It’s been rather hectic between getting ready to go and being gone and cleaning up from being gone.  So, you get the Random Sunday on Wednesday.  Just think of it as some bonus randomness.

Which, speaking of being gone, I've decided.  We should be allowed a vacation for a vacation.  I mean, seriously.  Think about all of the work that goes into getting ready to leave.  Even if it is only for a weekend.  Then think about all the work that needs to be done as soon as you get home.  There should be some law.  You get a vacation for a vacation.  Maybe I’ll run for office some day on that platform….  Nah.  I don’t like politics.

And here’s the switch to a totally different subject.  The Don’t Panic Picture Prompts are going on hiatus for a little while.  I think I’m the only one consistently responding to them.  I've seen one other person respond to a few.  I’ll give it a little while to, hopefully, build up a few more readers and then try it again.

Discovery

This week's Don't Panic Picture Prompt put me in mind of my Weather Riders series again.

We were waiting out the storm under an overpass about ten miles from the park.  Sitting on the curb, I studied him.  Not his physical looks, though they were quite an enjoyable view, but his spirit.  Something about him both drew me and scared me.  I couldn’t put my finger on what the “it” was and that bothered me.

His back was to me rummaging through a saddle bag on his bike, “Look.  Things may get a bit dicey when this storm gets to where it’s going.”

“I didn’t get the sense it was a rogue.”

“It is.”

There was something in his answer, maybe the tone of voice, which made me suspicious.  One heartbeat later, my suspicions were confirmed.  He’d somehow detached a part of his bike that became a sword almost three feet in length.  He checked it thoroughly; the ease with which he handled it told me this was a well-used and well-loved weapon.  It also told me what kind of Weather Rider he was – an Enforcer.

I know, technically they’re called Monitors.  But, when part of the job is to stop rogue Weather Riders by whatever means necessary, the Enforcer nickname fits better.

He must have sensed my discovery because he replaced the sword with deliberate care before turning to me.

“I told you.  I’m not going to hurt you.  I just need to finish this job.”

“What if it’s someone I know?”

“Then you can either help me talk them down or leave before it gets bad.”

The ruthless practicality in his voice sent chills across my body.  He was certainly not the kind of man I wanted to cross.  Ever.