Okay, so I appologize for not posting a lot of my works lately. I've been very busy with drama, school, friends, etc (excuses, excuses, excuses!). Anyway, I HAVE done more work on The Blood of the Lamb, so I wish to update you on everything with these new excerpts. Here they are, so enjoy!
The oaken panels swung back, revealing before them a colorful court of nobles, adorned with the luxuries of the lands. Men and women alike, their little children clinging to them, lined the aisle. Near the back of the room, standing imperious over the others, a throne sat. And embraced by its cushioned comfort, Illana, Arrenia’s stepmother reclined, flocked by her daughter Isabel on one side and a slave from the exotic corners of the world on another.
Inevitable chatter rang incessantly through the air, interrupted only when all pairs of eyes, some nearly blinded by age, others having not yet seen the fruits of their days, turned upon the guard and the small, frightened girl he led behind him.
Arrenia hugged herself, looking into one emotionless face and then the next. With every sense, she felt their sharp pity. Noble after noble, lord, lady, and child alike- their large, sad eyes- burdening her with despair’s ready trust, until she stumbled, catching herself upon her hands.
Like one big wave, the sea of courtiers rose, their gasps eliciting her from her reverie. Warmth rose in her cheeks, and she scrambled to her feet, covering the remaining distance to the throne in long strides. Her eyes remained on the ground, her hands folded in front of her. She clenched her teeth together, subduing the tears tugging at her eyes. So, crushed beneath the world’s conflicting weights, she crumpled to the floor in front of the queen.
“Your Majesty.” A mere quiet tremble it was, but a tremble all the same.
“Stepdaughter, you have returned. What a pleasure to see you again.”
Arrenia opened her mouth, searching her brain for the right words. Several rose to her tongue, but the leaden lump in her throat choked all sound. Nervousness twisted her hands into a tight ball. Seconds dragging on, the acuteness of time stabbed at her soul. Silence sung of the expectancy of the court, ringing in her ears louder than any melody. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she raised a pleading look to the queen.
Arching her thick brows, the woman said, “Well?”
Arrenia held her sorrow in with soft little gasps. It was all she could do not to cry.
Sliding from her seat, Isabel moved with graceful strides over to the grieving girl. Her midnight- hued robe carpeted the steps, the silver stitched crescent moon glittering dully in the light of the large chandelier. The schism of speech deepened and widened with each lengthening moment. Forcing it upward, a cold bony finger poked at Arrenia’s chin.
“So cold…so dark…so sad….” Isabel whispered. A cruel smile tipped the scarlet corners of her mouth. “Mother, perhaps we should give her a bit more of a…well…warm welcome.”
Black curls swung in Illana’s face as she shook her head. “No, darling. I think it best that she hear the sad news in front of the court.”
Arrenia’s heart pounded in her chest, beating like a booming drum until she knew everyone could hear it. Chills rattled through her body, shaking her with the intensity of their ruthless ravage. More sad news? Her mind ran wild over the possibilities each idea worst than the next. She set her jaw, trying to shun them from her thoughts all the while bracing herself for the awful truth.
“But of course,” Isabel said. “I simply thought that she might need a bit of comforting. I, after all, know how hard it is to lose a father…let alone a brother…on one night. But, as always, you are in the right, Mother. It would be good for her to be crowned before the people, since it was, after all, the people’s decision to place her upon the throne. Besides, she would have hundreds of people to share her misery with.”
Shots of pained grief ran through Arrenia as stared into the dark eyes of hypnotic deception. Drenched in doleful mournings, her stepsister’s voice was. But the statuary masquerade of stone-faced sympathy failed to conceal the truth. The eyes staring down into her own twinkled in the merriment of their wicked amusement.
A slow tear meandered down her cheek, wandering aimlessly until it fell into the palm of her hand. Her jaw clenched against the sharp throbbing of her heart, she studied the girl.
Isabel. Bewitchingly beautiful Isabel with her bottomless promises and pretty words! She could say anything, unchecked and unlimited by the world, and her people still revered her radiant beauty and held her in high esteem. She could cut and hurt all she liked, and the land would never see past her pretty pretense. With every laborious pound of her wounded heart Arrenia recalled an instance when Isabel’s slicing sayings had gone by unpunished. And with her brother gone, she found herself trapped, cornered, and hopelessly helpless in the arms of her only family.
“For that is what you would want, someone to commiserate with, is it not, little sister?” The smile widened, revealing flawlessly white fangs.
Arrenia pulled herself free and fled down aisle, hands covering her face, shouting behind her, “Get away from me!”
A Lamb stepped from misty fog of sleep, entering into the old scholar’s mind. The trees around him creaked and swayed, their old boughs nearly breaking under the breath of a light wind. A deep, strange sound of wailed distress resonated in his ears as the Creature approached, as if the very depths of the trees were calling out. Their boughs lashed at the air, their leaves falling to the ground in a flurried frenzy as the sound escalated. Bewildered and afraid, the scholar curled into a tight ball upon his mat.
But then the clouds rolled away, and a facet of moonlight struck the Lamb, playing briefly upon what He carried in His mouth. It glittered and glowed, projecting its beauty throughout the forest. He dropped it gently into a soft carpet of lush grass and nudged it toward the man.
“The time is right. Give this to the one who shall conquer.”
“It will be done, my Lord.”
With a start, the old man jumped from sleep. He stared around the cave, eyes skimming the shadows spun on the wall. The hearth hissed its harrowing farewells as the flames vanquished in the ashes.
Chill pierced the ancient one’s skin, penetrating deep into his bones. He pulled his blanket closer about him, the scratch of the worn wool soothing to his soul. Like a languishing light, the dream faded from his view. The moonlight. The trees. The forest. Even the golden glow emanating from the object.
But the voice was still there. Still, silent, and insistent, it sang its message in his ear. Like a lute on a summer’s eve, the resonating notes flowed through the air. Beating out all sound. Making it the only voice to be heard.
Tossing his blanket aside, he stood to his entire hunched height. His walking stick forever tapping the ground, he probed his way through the darkness until he came to the door.
Rap, rap, rap!
“Cora!”
An old cracked voice croaked its way down the hall. Cora threw her shall over shoulders and picked up her candle, allowing the light to crawl into the corners. Her feet sped over the ground, guided by the call of her master’s voice. She stopped in front of the door and rattled the knob.
“Is all well, my master? Are you ill?”
The age-marked hinges screeched their protest as the door was drawn inward. Candlelight leapt upon the scholar’s face, its dancing spark tracing every line furrowed
hardships of the past.
He waved his hand. “No, my dear. I am quite well. All I ask is that you take me to the library. I…have a sudden urge to be among my books.”
The young girl bowed her fair head. “Anything you wish shall be done.”
While they traversed the narrow hall, the elderly gentleman’s hand searched the inner recesses of his sleeve. Extracting a ring of keys, he fingered them one by one.
The passage yawned and stretched before them, an endless twisting trail leading deeper into the heart of the cave. A soft draft of wind blew throughout it, sweeping dust into small flurries before gently setting it down again. The candle flickered and wavered, but never went out, firmly standing its ground in the breathing battle that threatened to put it out, leaving the world forever in darkness.
Gradually, they came upon an old wooden door, cracked and splintered from centuries of use. The scholar stepped forward and nudged it with the palm of his hand, forcing it to squeak open. He squinted into the dark recesses, his age-impaired vision unable to grasp the form of what lay beyond.
“Place that candle in the alcove there, Cora….Thank you, that’s much better.”
Illumination haloed walls lined with bookshelves, revealing the forsaken religious writings- the laws by which all of Sleyvink used to run. Books of the ages, abided by men and women of years ago, now stood beneath the layers of dust, heeded by only those called to the prehistoric priesthood. They cluttered the desk and carpeted the floor- wisdom untapped by all but the very wise.
The scholar, leaning upon his cane, limped over to the desk. Half seeing, half feeling, he traced the inner edge down to a small drawer. Fingering the key, he inserted it into the lock and twisted it with slow surety.
Click!
The compartment sprang open, its single content glittering in the candlelight. He removed it from its resting place with reverence, staring in awed silence as he held it up. Then, in hardly a murmur, soft speech whispered past his lips. “The half medallion of the Lamb, our Lord and our Light. Blessed be ye, for ye will take part in the redemption of mankind!”
With that, he closed his withered hand about it, sending up a silent prayer. Oh, Lamb, keep it safe. Let the bearer who is chosen serve you well, for long and dark is the road ahead of him!
“How may I serve you, my master?”
The man shuffled back towards the doorway and grasped the girl’s shoulder. “Run Cora. Run all the way to Sleyvink. Tell the king that I have a great prize for the tournament. Say it is a great prize, and it must be given to him who will conquer.”
Clouds of gray hovered over the city of Sleyvink as the solemn procession made its way through the gates. Women lined the streets, their children before them, watching warily as the weary travelers rode by, trying to spot loved ones.
From his mount, Castor looked upon the bereaved expressions born by the passersby, and he knew why. Although they had succeeded in destroying a good part of Lydacia’s defenses, many lives lay wasted upon the cause. The newly widowed broke out into wailing as the last of the men rode by, marking the somber city with their screams of grief. Some knelt upon the ground, tossing handfuls of dirt into their hair. Others, weeping, fed the last of their coins into the hungry hands of magicians and fortunetellers. One girl of about fourteen even tugged on his leg, begging him to run her through with his sword and end her misery. With a slow shake of his head, Castor urged his horse on, his mind made up. There was no joy in the city of Sleyvink.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” a young voice shouted above the commotion. A girl shouldered her way through the multitude, her carrot red hair like a streak of sunshine in the sea of black scalps. Guards closed in around the king, making his passage nigh on impossible. Castor reined in his horse, a reminiscent pang of pain pounding in his chest. That hair. That long, golden-red hair.
Sweeping his lids with a swipe of his hand, he shook his head. His heart burned deep inside his chest, tingling every nerve with the tale of its lovelorn sorrow. He closed his eyes, trying blot out her memory with endless black bliss. The blood sizzled in his veins, the scorching simmer scourging him as it coursed through his body.
Setting his jaw, he clenched his fists. He must compose himself. Was he not a warrior? She was a woman! Had he not fought stronger foes than this?
Oh, but what a woman! Sweet and shy, and yet he sensed something else, some inner resilience. His pulse quickened as she danced across the field of his imagination.
A tug came upon his mantle. “My liege! My liege!”
With bittersweet sentiment, he opened his eyes, allowing reality to flood through him. She was his past. This was his future.
He looked down at the fair-haired girl and forced a grin. “Hello, Cora. What errand gives us the honor of meeting once again?
“’Tis my master, my lord. He has a very important message for his Majesty the King, but the crowd is so large I cannot reach.”
“Then I shall deliver it for you.”
She gripped the strap of the horse’s girdle, pulling herself closer in, the tone of her voice tumbling from its wild shout to a scarce whisper. “It’s important. Too important to be made known here. Allow me to accompany you to the palace. Please. The message must go to the ear of the king and none other’s.”
Castor pressed his lips into a fine line of indecision, eyeing up and down the girl who struggled to keep step with the trot of his steed. She had always been good and gracious to him and his family. True, she had never cared much for Lucrious, but, come to think of it, neither did he. No sword or bow adorned her person, only a small, traditionally-stylized hunting knife which accompanied all Sleyvinkians whenever they should fancy to leave their abodes and venture into the robber-ridden streets. The corners of his mouth began to tip into a smile, and he held out his hand to her.
“Fine then. Accompany me you shall. But I shouldn’t dare to let a lady go on foot.”
She took his hand, and he hoisted her behind him, instructing her to fasten her grip about him. Through the thoroughfare they ploughed, the scars of war reflected on the saddened expressions. Castor didn’t dare to look at destitution’s deathly face, preferring rather to concentrate on the crude castle before him.
Lurking in the looming shadows elongating across the abandoned hall, Lucrious pressed an ear to the wall. Its rough, sharp cold sank into his cheek, biting it with all its forbidding ferocity. His mouth curved into a sly smile as muffled mumblings emanated into his ear.
Surreptitiously spying, the painted eyes of his ancestors looked on as he softly stroked the smooth, black feathers of the bird perched upon his shoulder, speaking to it in inaudible undertones. The sly, cutting words flowed from his tongue, sifting slowly into the winged creature’s brain. It cocked its head, watching him with hypnotic attention, their gazes locked in comprehensive communication. Nodding, it soaked in the ancient Sleyvinkian language, assimilating everything into its memory.
The shadows suddenly summoned him into their depths as the door creaked upon. As candlelight crept into the dark corners, he pressed himself back, seeking to become one with the dull stones upon which he sought shelter. Covering the beak of the bird with his hand, he waited, his breath drawn in with slow, shallow drags.
His father exited the room, his wife striding with graceful pride beside him. Their words slurred together into a low hum as they sped from their lips, urgent and barely above a murmur.
Behind them, a second flicker of light fanned its way into the world. Cora came quietly, her thoughts masked by the blank white slate of her face that was determinable in the darkness. She cradled a scroll in the crook of her arm. Lucrious cast his eye upon it, its scarlet thread glowing crimson in the candle’s glow.
Cold chills cut through Cora as her arm snagged into the snare of an unseen grasp. She stopped, not daring to breathe, not daring to move. The taut, terrible grip constricted her flesh, her hand turning the ghoulish gray of marked demise. Goosebumps pricked the surface of her skin as shadowy silhouette engulfed her own. Eyes warily watching, she tensed, bracing herself for whatever must come.
The wind howled through the open window, tumbling into the corridor, its ferocity unchecked. Swept away by its murderess breath, the candle flickered faintly, then went out. Darkness crowded Cora’s mind, seeping into her soul, dilating her senses until the very stones had eyes and the people portrayed in the tapestries smiled schemingly down at her.
“Scared, are you?”
The candleholder clattered to the floor as the whisper slid into her ear. Turning about, she started once again.
A man stood before her, his features cloaked in a robe of mystery. He stood tall and erect, clenching his fingers into her. Out of the cavernous depths of blackness which covered the eyes, beaconed his glare. His nose and mouth jutted from the darkness, glowing a rotting white in the moonlight. She stepped back, her gaze fixated upon him in horror.
He extended out a pale, fleshy hand to her, the bird upon his shoulder squawking hideously. “Don’t be afraid, little one. All I wish to know is information. What is you are holding?”
She stepped further back. “It is my master’s. I don’t recall you being among the few that it interests.”
The silence about them screamed of deadly doom. Cora’s ears rang the resonating drum of her heart, her knees buckling beneath the burden of fear. With every recoiling retreat, he took a step nearer, his lips bent in a belyingly cruel smile. His fingers slid over the handle of a dagger.
“My interests are my own, and I know them full well. Give me whatever it is you carry, and no harm will be done.”
With one hand, she reached out, her grip groping upon the stones until their sharpness summoned scarlet drops of blood. Using this as a guide, she slowly began slipping her way into the shadows.
Her mind reeled as she eyed the dagger. All she desired was to be free of it all, to turn and run. But that would be a grave mistake. For that, he could have her hunted down and killed. She clutched the scroll tightly in her hand, wondering whether or not she should relinquish it into his power.
She shook the thought from her mind. A decree of her master’s! How could she? Her jawline tightened, and she stared defiantly into the man’s unseen eyes.
With a blurring movement, the man pinned her to the wall, baring the blade of the dagger against the pumping pulse of her throat. It bore into her skin, her chest swelling as it blockaded breath. An unheard plea to an unseen God wrenched its way out of her mouth. Sobs rattled through her, soft and seemingly unperceived.
Lucrious leaned into his victim, the edge of words slicing deep into her soul. “Many lives has this blade taken. Much damage has it done. If it did all it then, what is to stop it from doing it now?”
Perspiration pouring down her face, Cora gasped and gagged. Small, red rivers trickled into the groove of her neck, tickling her with a tinge of horror. The night seemed to close in around her, suffocating her in the closeness of its proximity. Seconds slurring together, the moments of her life drained with every tick, tick, tick of her internal clock.
Was it really worth it? Was the secret of the medallion really that great? She glanced from the scroll in her hand back up into his eyes.
Life versus loyalty. Loyalty versus life. Her head pounded until it hurt, the knife ever pressing against her throat. And those eyes, those ever-hidden eyes, boring through the blackness that shrouded them penetrating her skin and slicing to the soul.
“You’d best hurry,” he said. “I’m not going to wait.”
Cora could feel the thump of her heart slowing steadily. She knew she didn’t have much time. The sweat of her hand bled into the paper as she clenched in her palm.
Should she do it?
Burning in her chest, her lungs begged for air. The darkness was closer now than ever, almost blotting her vision entirely. Shakily, she extended out her hand, the scroll tucked neatly inside it.
Lucrious grasped the object and released the knife’s grip on her throat, allowing her to droop gently to the ground. Unrolling it, he scanned it over, a crooked grin sprawling across his face. Stuffing it into his cloak, he exited the room, his wicked cackling accompanied by the crowing of the bird.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Creating Francine Bentley- the Complicated Fraud Facade
Francine Bentley. Friend to all she knows. Sweet and hospitable. Middle-aged and cultured. Masquerading murderess.
What? You might be thinking, but you read right. A Party to Murder, written S.O.S. (Shine On Stage) drama director Sharon Manacapilli, centers on this deceptively docile individual and her plight to keep the Seven Chimneys inheritance for herself. But, when she hosts a birthday party for her best but ever-forgetful friend Abigail Pennyworth, she finds some of the nosey party guests know a little too much. As bodies are found dead and tension builds, Francine begins to aim the threats at herself. But, with the rest of the curious assortment she calls friends terrified into taking action, can she really keep her secret?
This is the character that I want to audition for. She'll a bit different than any character I've ever done, because her cool calm has to be backed by a motive. Many actors play their lines. If I want Francine, I'm going to have to play my part.
Perhaps the hardest aspect about Ms. Bentley is that she's two-fold- sweet to your face but plotting behind your back. However, she hardly has a minute to herself on the stage where her true nature can be revealed. How is it done, then?
Well, part of acting is reacting. When I said above that I'll have to play my part in order to get Ms. Bentley, I meant that I'll have to shed Brittany altogether for however long I must and step into Francine's shoes. A sweet disposition and a smile can easily be adopted by almost any false personality, but only for a time. Often times our expressions, the way we hold ourselves, the hardness or softness of our eyes, or a habit such as the popping of fingers or twirling of hair betray our true emotions when we do not realize it. And that's how I'm going to play Francine's part. It'll be the subtle nuances- the wringing of hands, the cold probing of her eyes, watching everyone's every move, the reaction to the bodies being discovered, and perhaps even her nervousness when encountered by the police. But when she speaks, all of it will evaporate into an inviting smile, keeping the audience guessing.
And that's probably what I love most about Francine. The magnanimous facet of her role is not what she says, it's the screaming silence waiting to explode when her slyness sits back, watching all even as she schemes the fates of some.
But what's especially hard about her? She's not me at all! In fact- she's just about as opposite me as you could get! She'd be a lot of work, and I'd probably not master her until the night of the performance, but if acting were being who you really are, would it be called acting? I doubt it. Plus I can always thank God for the chance to stretch myself, try new things, and reach for the stars.
What? You might be thinking, but you read right. A Party to Murder, written S.O.S. (Shine On Stage) drama director Sharon Manacapilli, centers on this deceptively docile individual and her plight to keep the Seven Chimneys inheritance for herself. But, when she hosts a birthday party for her best but ever-forgetful friend Abigail Pennyworth, she finds some of the nosey party guests know a little too much. As bodies are found dead and tension builds, Francine begins to aim the threats at herself. But, with the rest of the curious assortment she calls friends terrified into taking action, can she really keep her secret?
This is the character that I want to audition for. She'll a bit different than any character I've ever done, because her cool calm has to be backed by a motive. Many actors play their lines. If I want Francine, I'm going to have to play my part.
Perhaps the hardest aspect about Ms. Bentley is that she's two-fold- sweet to your face but plotting behind your back. However, she hardly has a minute to herself on the stage where her true nature can be revealed. How is it done, then?
Well, part of acting is reacting. When I said above that I'll have to play my part in order to get Ms. Bentley, I meant that I'll have to shed Brittany altogether for however long I must and step into Francine's shoes. A sweet disposition and a smile can easily be adopted by almost any false personality, but only for a time. Often times our expressions, the way we hold ourselves, the hardness or softness of our eyes, or a habit such as the popping of fingers or twirling of hair betray our true emotions when we do not realize it. And that's how I'm going to play Francine's part. It'll be the subtle nuances- the wringing of hands, the cold probing of her eyes, watching everyone's every move, the reaction to the bodies being discovered, and perhaps even her nervousness when encountered by the police. But when she speaks, all of it will evaporate into an inviting smile, keeping the audience guessing.
And that's probably what I love most about Francine. The magnanimous facet of her role is not what she says, it's the screaming silence waiting to explode when her slyness sits back, watching all even as she schemes the fates of some.
But what's especially hard about her? She's not me at all! In fact- she's just about as opposite me as you could get! She'd be a lot of work, and I'd probably not master her until the night of the performance, but if acting were being who you really are, would it be called acting? I doubt it. Plus I can always thank God for the chance to stretch myself, try new things, and reach for the stars.
Friday, November 14, 2008
A Quick Excerpt
Arrenia stepped into the palace, a wave of bliss bathing her being, the radiance of her soul resounding through her twinkling eyes. She shed her cloak into the hands of the doormen, elegantly striding forward, face uplifted, arms outstretched. Twirling about, she laughed, watching the bright hues of gold, purple, and scarlet blend together in a brilliant banner of color. Her feet strode gracefully over the marble floor, as if to the measured beat of some inaudible melody. She spun about, her skirt spinning round her legs until she stopped, her cheeks flushed crimson.
“Oh, how wonderful it is to be home!” she said.
The guard tried not to let his troubled emotions bleed onto his face. “Yes, quite…Now come, the queen waits upon her throne.”
They made their way down the hall, Arrenia drinking the familiar sights of her lofty abode. Tapestries dangled from the ceiling, their interwoven threads chronicling important events in the lives of the de la Cornias. From carved out alcoves, candles projected their light into the room. Large paintings spanned the wall, depicting the deceased members of the family with artful clarity.
And it was before one of these that Arrenia stopped….
Squinting in the dim light, she barely dared to breathe. No! It couldn’t be! Was it?
“M…m…my father.” The word issued from her lips, barely heeded. A knot tightened in her stomach. Before the guard could even answer, she knew what the truth must be.
“Dead, my Lady. He has been at peace since the day you vanished.”
Arrenia pressed her fingers into a fist, crushing them with the strength of her grief. Her heart bled the tears she had not the strength to cry. Head drooping between her shoulders, she kept her back towards the guard, allowing a veil of hair to drape over her face. Lids clenched a taut seal across her vision, attempting to shun from her sight the painful depiction of grief masquerading beneath the pretty hues of paint. Pleasant memories flowed across her mind, deepening the wound wrought by wrongdoing. She knew well the slaying hands of Sleyvink had slaughtered her father, obliterating for eternity his smiling face and laughing eyes. The tear in her soul widened, threatening to rip apart.
Why, Ino? Why?!
No answer.
The guard behind her fidgeted nervously. “Perhaps I had best go tell her Highness that your ladyship is awaiting her summons?”
Not even glancing in his direction, Arrenia said, “Of course.”
Haste shuffled him out of the room. With a sigh of sadness, Arrenia de la Cornia sank to her knees. She was alone. Truly alone.
Castor pulled the strings, narrowing the neck of the sack until the ends met. All around him, the busy bustle of people resonated through the camp. Laughter and joy crackled through the air…they were going home.
The boy supposed he should have been excited. Sleyvink, his beautiful home! The streets with vendors calling out their wares, coins flying from one set of hands to another. The incessant voice of the caller standing proudly at his podium, proclaiming the latest news. The grassy plains, dull yet vibrant with untold mysteries and secrets. And the castle looming over them all, tall and foreboding, like a restless centurion standing his post.
He sighed. Where was the magical feeling that used to tug at his insides? Many a time before, he had embraced with great joy the land of his birth- why now did it seem so inferior, so loathsome to return?
“How goes your packing?” a voice behind him said.
“Well enough, Mother,” he said, shrugging the thought from his mind.
Long strides carrying her across the grass, she stood beside him, watching his hands stumble over each other. Arched shoulders slumped limply, his fingers scurrying to and fro, tripping over the items set before him. His gaze remained fixed upon his work, refusing to meet her probing hazel eyes.
“Why so dejected, my son?”
Gulping, he said, “Nothing.”
“Think you can fool me, do you?”
No answer. A small glisten glossed his eyes. Tongue roving over his lips, he stared at the cloth wall flapping in the wind momentarily.
“It’s the girl, is it not?”
Terror’s sharp claws dug into his face, scarring him with their impression. Chill spread from his soul, tingling his nerves and freezing him in his place. The dagger he held dropped to the table below.
The woman gave out a short laugh, slipping her arm gently about him. “I am a mother, dear. Do not think I did not notice how you would light up whenever she walked in the room!”
A fleeting smile crossed the boy’s lips, the warmth of his mother’s jovial manner thawing the cold that held him prisoner. It was not long, however, before the expression vanished, replaced by the redundant countenance of sadness.
“And it is now for her you grieve, is it not?
Nodding, he sniffed. Stuffing the dagger into a bag, he tried to concentrate on his work. He clenched his teeth together, trying to squash her memory between them.
“Please, dearie, not so sad, if it please you. There are plenty of other women in the world.”
Castor sighed. “But I can only give my heart to one.”
The woman stopped, taken aback by his words. Pity stirred her soul as she studied her son, the fruit of her womb. For a moment, she saw his little infant face, hallooed in his swaddling blanket. Sleepy eyes shut tight- the faint sound of a violin, from somewhere in her memory, lilting out a lullaby. Her finger embraced by his little fist…how could this young man before her be the same boy she had cradled in her arms? He had grown so fast- did she even know him?
“Well, the jousting tournament’s in a mere fortnight. I hear it will be Sleyvink’s finest,” she said.
“But I’m not even sure I want to return!”
Her mouth curved knowingly. “Oh, you will be glad enough once you have arrived. And the contest ought to take the girl from your mind.” She took his hand and kissed it. “I’m proud of you, Castor. More proud than you could ever know. Now, if you’ll beg my indulgence, I must return to the King and help him with his packing. I will see you tonight at dinner.”
He paused as she turned away from him. The words she uttered left him neither warm nor cold, but only desolate and empty. Yet sincerity sung through her words. She understood, and in that he could take comfort.
“Very well, Mother.”
“Oh, how wonderful it is to be home!” she said.
The guard tried not to let his troubled emotions bleed onto his face. “Yes, quite…Now come, the queen waits upon her throne.”
They made their way down the hall, Arrenia drinking the familiar sights of her lofty abode. Tapestries dangled from the ceiling, their interwoven threads chronicling important events in the lives of the de la Cornias. From carved out alcoves, candles projected their light into the room. Large paintings spanned the wall, depicting the deceased members of the family with artful clarity.
And it was before one of these that Arrenia stopped….
Squinting in the dim light, she barely dared to breathe. No! It couldn’t be! Was it?
“M…m…my father.” The word issued from her lips, barely heeded. A knot tightened in her stomach. Before the guard could even answer, she knew what the truth must be.
“Dead, my Lady. He has been at peace since the day you vanished.”
Arrenia pressed her fingers into a fist, crushing them with the strength of her grief. Her heart bled the tears she had not the strength to cry. Head drooping between her shoulders, she kept her back towards the guard, allowing a veil of hair to drape over her face. Lids clenched a taut seal across her vision, attempting to shun from her sight the painful depiction of grief masquerading beneath the pretty hues of paint. Pleasant memories flowed across her mind, deepening the wound wrought by wrongdoing. She knew well the slaying hands of Sleyvink had slaughtered her father, obliterating for eternity his smiling face and laughing eyes. The tear in her soul widened, threatening to rip apart.
Why, Ino? Why?!
No answer.
The guard behind her fidgeted nervously. “Perhaps I had best go tell her Highness that your ladyship is awaiting her summons?”
Not even glancing in his direction, Arrenia said, “Of course.”
Haste shuffled him out of the room. With a sigh of sadness, Arrenia de la Cornia sank to her knees. She was alone. Truly alone.
Castor pulled the strings, narrowing the neck of the sack until the ends met. All around him, the busy bustle of people resonated through the camp. Laughter and joy crackled through the air…they were going home.
The boy supposed he should have been excited. Sleyvink, his beautiful home! The streets with vendors calling out their wares, coins flying from one set of hands to another. The incessant voice of the caller standing proudly at his podium, proclaiming the latest news. The grassy plains, dull yet vibrant with untold mysteries and secrets. And the castle looming over them all, tall and foreboding, like a restless centurion standing his post.
He sighed. Where was the magical feeling that used to tug at his insides? Many a time before, he had embraced with great joy the land of his birth- why now did it seem so inferior, so loathsome to return?
“How goes your packing?” a voice behind him said.
“Well enough, Mother,” he said, shrugging the thought from his mind.
Long strides carrying her across the grass, she stood beside him, watching his hands stumble over each other. Arched shoulders slumped limply, his fingers scurrying to and fro, tripping over the items set before him. His gaze remained fixed upon his work, refusing to meet her probing hazel eyes.
“Why so dejected, my son?”
Gulping, he said, “Nothing.”
“Think you can fool me, do you?”
No answer. A small glisten glossed his eyes. Tongue roving over his lips, he stared at the cloth wall flapping in the wind momentarily.
“It’s the girl, is it not?”
Terror’s sharp claws dug into his face, scarring him with their impression. Chill spread from his soul, tingling his nerves and freezing him in his place. The dagger he held dropped to the table below.
The woman gave out a short laugh, slipping her arm gently about him. “I am a mother, dear. Do not think I did not notice how you would light up whenever she walked in the room!”
A fleeting smile crossed the boy’s lips, the warmth of his mother’s jovial manner thawing the cold that held him prisoner. It was not long, however, before the expression vanished, replaced by the redundant countenance of sadness.
“And it is now for her you grieve, is it not?
Nodding, he sniffed. Stuffing the dagger into a bag, he tried to concentrate on his work. He clenched his teeth together, trying to squash her memory between them.
“Please, dearie, not so sad, if it please you. There are plenty of other women in the world.”
Castor sighed. “But I can only give my heart to one.”
The woman stopped, taken aback by his words. Pity stirred her soul as she studied her son, the fruit of her womb. For a moment, she saw his little infant face, hallooed in his swaddling blanket. Sleepy eyes shut tight- the faint sound of a violin, from somewhere in her memory, lilting out a lullaby. Her finger embraced by his little fist…how could this young man before her be the same boy she had cradled in her arms? He had grown so fast- did she even know him?
“Well, the jousting tournament’s in a mere fortnight. I hear it will be Sleyvink’s finest,” she said.
“But I’m not even sure I want to return!”
Her mouth curved knowingly. “Oh, you will be glad enough once you have arrived. And the contest ought to take the girl from your mind.” She took his hand and kissed it. “I’m proud of you, Castor. More proud than you could ever know. Now, if you’ll beg my indulgence, I must return to the King and help him with his packing. I will see you tonight at dinner.”
He paused as she turned away from him. The words she uttered left him neither warm nor cold, but only desolate and empty. Yet sincerity sung through her words. She understood, and in that he could take comfort.
“Very well, Mother.”
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Another Excerpt, Part 2
Note- This excerpt comes directly after the last one posted, and thus is a follow up scene.
A wild cry pierced the air, stabbing into the silence that ensued. Arrenia stood motionless, lids clamped over her eyes, unwilling to witness what she was certain must come. A thousand emotions flooded through her, seeping into the corners of her mind, crowding out her thoughts. The black vacuum of fear swirled before her, swallowing her whole, enveloping her senses. Every muscle tensed and ready, she waited on….
A soft clatter broke through her deafened senses. She opened her eyes. A sword lay on the ground, its keen shine dulled by the lack of light.
Castor grasped the throat of her dress and shook her violently. “I should have you killed for this, Arrenia de la Cornia!”
Tears rippled down his cheeks, blunting the trembling edge in his words. She studied him, attempting to read between the face lined in angered grief.
As the moments sprawled on, a slow smile twitched her mouth into a teasing smirk. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his hair, raking it back away from his face. “Yet you find yourself unable to accomplish the task, is that it, my dear warrior?”
Whiteness blanched his features for one split second. Then, slipping into a more relaxed state, he laughed softly- a quiet, wonderful laugh that rang throughout the forest, resonating off the trees and stilling the souls of all who heard it.
He tapped her nose gently. “Well said, little one!”
She slid her hand into his, enjoying in the utmost the feeling of his fingers wrapping about hers. For a moment they just stood there, her hand in his.
Castor’s face fell, his grip loosening.
“What? What is it?” she asked.
“The palace…you live in the palace?”
“Yes… What’s wrong?”
“We cannot go there! It is guarded night and day- I’ll be seen!”
Arrenia’s mouth closed, sealing behind her lips a speechless tongue. She drew her fingers taut around his in a voiceless entreaty. She knew what he said to be true. Day and night, the palace was kept under lock and key, a great untouchable fortress to all but those who lived there.
But still, in his care she found shelter from the encroaching corners of the black night, a refuge in which to hide from her troubles and find sanctuary in his presence. Her parched tongue roved over dry lips.
“Please, Castor, don’t leave me. Not now.”
“Is there any other way?”
She paused, cocking her head to one side. Then, after a long moment, she shook it. “No, I know of nowhere else I can go…..But wait- yes! You could just escort me to the gate.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You are sure? I mean, you will be safe from there?”
Her arms extended, she shrugged, a grin pulling on the corners of her mouth. “I should imagine so. I mean, has not my family most probably been searching for me? I believe they shall delight in my return and all but confine me to my room to ensure I do not go traipsing off with the likes of you again! Unless….” The smile vanished from her face.
“Unless?”
Inhaling deeply, she said, “That girl in the ball, you remember her, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“Well she is my stepsister, the daughter of my deceased father’s second wife, whom he married after the death of my mother. I have always feared Isabel for a reason I did not know, but now I think I am beginning to understand….”
Her words faded into the night, and she stood silent for a moment, then shrugged again. “But as I said, my brother will most likely put me under the utmost guard as an attempt to maintain my security, so I do not see any reason to worry.”
Castor took her chin in his hand and tipped it up until her eyes stared into his. He felt her jawline tighten beneath his fingers as she tried to look away, but he held her firmly in place. “Listen to me, Arrenia. Think about what you’re doing. You’re walking into the arms of your arch-enemy, in a place you cannot protect yourself even if a thousand men surrounded you. No matter if there’s one guard protecting you or three thousand, you will still be under the same roof as your stepsister, and no one will ever think of protecting you from her.”
Her lips curved into a soft smile as she laid her hand over his. “Castor, trust me, I’ll be fine.”
He shook her gently, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “Are you sure?”
The breeze rustled through her hair, thrusting it into the air then playfully catching it again. Floating just above her shoulders, it swirled gently around her, concealing her emotions as it crossed her face. Her gaze stared unwaveringly into his, gentle and lovely, yet determined and defiant. She nodded. “Absolutely.”
The blood drained from Castor’s face as his heart plummeted from his chest, leaving him ashen and looking dreadfully terrified. His mind roamed through its recesses, raking through his head for some excuse, some reason to make her abstain from this self-inflicted path. But, as he truly looked at her, noting her rigid, beautiful stoic state, he knew that she had made up her mind, and nothing he said would change her mind. He pressed his lips into a thin white line. “Very well. Have your way, you little warrioress. Just make sure you know how to fight this battle!”
She smiled once again- a big, flawless smile, her eyes suddenly alight, fanning the fire already raging within him. The heat licked at his heart, slowly but surely melting him from the inside out. A grin sprawled over his face, gradually giving way to a gentle laugh. He brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, leaning over to whisper in it. “Lead the way, little one!”
Nudging her hand into his, she took off at a fearless frolic, skipping over twigs and with a step of gaiety avoiding nearly everything that would make a noise. He tried to keep up with her, his ears magnifying every resounding snap and chaotic crackle as the earth yielded itself to the harsh beating of his feet. He winced, mental reprimands raging through his brain.
She seemed to dance before him, waltzing with the gentle sway of the wind. Her toes skimmed the ground, the moonlight braided into her hair. His heart pounded out the beat to her every sweet step. Perfectly synchronized, her steps and his heart- so intertwined that one could not be distinguished from the other.
A loud laugh parted the silence. Teasingly tugging at the arm now dangling at his side, she pulled him forward. “So smitten, are you? For a minute you looked as if you wished to drink me in and swallow me whole!”
A slight shade of scarlet colored his cheeks. “Did I?”
Delivering a delicate blow to the arm now hooked in hers, she shook her head in delighted disapproval. “You know the answer to that very well, don’t you?”
A smirk twitched the corner of his lip as he glanced at her. “Perhaps.”
For a long moment, he waited for her to laugh, for that silvery sound to linger upon the breeze. But instead she stopped, her hand tightening about his arm.
“Oh!” she declared, horror plucking the word from her mouth. “Oh!”
She wrenched away from him, dashing from the concealing cover of the forest and into the clearing beyond.
“Arrenia!” he called. But it was too late.
She knelt in the middle of ashen ruins, sobbing bitterly, the charred remains sifting through her fingers. A tear fell from her cheek, striking the ground with a mighty blow, churning the dirt below into mud. Scooping up handfuls of soil, she clasped them to her chest, crying over them as a mother weeps for her children.
Through her blurred vision, she saw a wall, stone-faced and stoic, protecting the once-exposed side of a palace. A wall she had never before seen- and one she was fairly convinced was never there.
“My home,” she whimpered. “My home.”
Still hidden behind the safety of the brambles, Castor hesitated. His heart pounded with every passing second as his mind weighed the odds of being caught should he venture outside of the wood. His mind bade him over and over to not to expose his presence- rather, to run. He had, after all, done what he said he would, hadn’t he?
But, with his own waking eyes he saw her hurt; her wounds lay open for all to see. His heart throbbed as he stood torn, not daring to venture forth yet shamed by his lack of courage in the light of her suffering. Whether it was this insecure abasement or the mind trained in practicality that kept him cowering behind the bushes, he could not tell.
She looked up at him, her hands extended outward as she screamed her bewilderment at him. “Why did this happen? Why?!”
Castor gulped. With every nerve within him, he felt the sharp slice of her words. Tension rolled his fingers into a tight ball, only to let them fall to his sides again. Perspiration burst onto his palms, a heartache hanging deep in his chest.
Him. She was accusing him for the destruction wrought by his people! Didn’t she know he meant her no harm? Couldn’t she see deepness of his affection towards her?
Without knowing what he was doing, he stepped out into the clearing, allowing the light of the moon to wash over him with its silvery glow. Her gaze unwavering, she looked steadily on, her little features pinched in sorrow. He spread his arms wide, hoping she would run into them and embrace the secure refuge he held out to her like a raft in the middle of hardship’s tumultuous sea.
But her face remained a flat and expressionless, a blank slate of emotions besides the stream of tears quietly flooding her cheeks. And beautiful…oh, so beautiful…was she as she stood there, devouring his soul with the flames of her frigid manner and melting him down until he knelt in a crumpled, heart-broken heap at her feet. He grabbed the hem of her dress as he cried out.
“Please, Lady! My people razed your home to the ground- it was not the work of my hands alone!”
Arrenia yanked away from him. “The work one pair of hands or the work of many- it makes no difference now, does it?”
He grasped her shoulder and turned her about. “Arrenia, please, I beg you! Do not think poorly of me. None of this is my fault!”
She glared into his eyes, smoldering him under the heat of her fury. “Your fault or not, this was my home.”
Sighing, he tightened his grip upon her shoulders. Gulping back his sobs, he struggled to find the right words. Her unaverted gaze still stared boldly into his own. And oh, how it frightened him! He tried to recall the number of foes he had defeated, but what had ever sapped his strength more than this girl, who razed his defenses with one look? When it came to battling with the body and defending his life, he had been well trained- but of what art was this battle of the heart, which even now throbbed from fresh wounds?
know?! Do you not see?!”
Arrenia stopped, her curled fists loosening at her sides. Tight muscles released their strain, allowing her taut composure to relax. Through the blinding blur of her tears, she a boy, doubled over in grief and pain- and suddenly her own vanquished into nothing.
She dropped to her knees beside him, the muck and mire of the muddied ground staining the elegant patterns in her dress. Brushing the hair aside from his face, she ran her fingers slowly down his neck until her hand rested on his shoulder. The heaves of his soft sobs ravaged through him, breaking him down and revealing his true heart- and the wounds inflicted by her words.
She looked away, unwilling to see the crafting created by her careless tongue. How could she be so calloused?
“Castor, I’m sorry.”
Like the sound of sweet music, her sorrowful speech lilted into the air- the resounding song of an angel resonating in the night sky. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes- those deep, watery wells swimming in sadness, drowning him in their beauty and caressing him in their care.
And moreover, she was crying. Not for her home, he realized, but for him.
“Please, don’t be angry with me. I spoke out of turn.” She folded her fidgeting hands in her lap and bit her lip.
Drawing his finger across her jawline, he prodded her gaze upward. “Never with you, little maiden… But we mustn’t remain another minute.”
She climbed to her feet, following his suit. “Why? Why not just stay here?”
He gave her a doubtful look as she caught his other hand.
“Think about it, Castor. We could meet here every night just to talk. It would be our secret. No one else would have to know.”
The seconds drawled out into minutes, punctuated by the steady beat of their hearts. Castor clenched her sleeves. Crickets sang their sweet serenade, begging him to agree, wanting him to accept. Stars winked down from their lofty heights, twinkling their mysterious joy. In the distance, a wise old owl hooted his warning.
He shook his head. “No, Arrenia. It’s too dangerous.”
Her expression fell, and she let go of him. A veil dropped between them- two lonely lovers separated by the silence, their disjoined hands hanging limply by their sides. Arrenia curled hers into a fist, bracing herself for the moment she now knew must come.
Castor opened his mouth, only to seal it shut when the words failed to come. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, to hold her to him for eternity. He wanted to feel her head upon his shoulder, to run is fingers through her hair one last time. But now all seemed so cold, blocked as they were by fate’s blow.
Suddenly, his ears caught a steady stomp.
“Guards!” he whispered sharply. “I’m sorry, Arrenia. I must be off!”
She jerked her head up in time to see him dash towards the forest. The urge of finality coursed through her veins, scalding her with the strength of its singing heat. She stepped forward. “Wait!”
He turned about.
“When will I see you again?”
“I don’t know, Arrenia…I don’t know….Now run, maiden! Get to your home before we are caught!”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I love you, Castor.”
“Now! Go!”
Gulping down her grief, she nodded. Turning towards the palace, she tried to speed away. But just then, the guard rounded the corner.
With a loud shout that reverberated off the trees and crackled through the forest, he stampeded after her. Within seconds, he had seized hold of her arms and was calling excitedly in ancient to Lydacian to his fellow guards. They swarmed around her, congratulating their friend asking her questions. She answered not a one. Rather, she glanced nervously back at Castor, arousing the attention of the guards.
Castor saw the finger pointed at him and heard babble rabble through the air. Arrenia flashed a warning with her face, and off he took. The men seized the hunt, crashing through the brush in pursuit of their game.
Arrenia stared longingly at the empty scene before her, ears wishing they could blot out the excited exclamations fading on the wind. Her finder held her tightly by the arm. He tugged on her sleeve.
“Lady Arrenia,” he said bowing. “We thank the gods for your safe return. And now, must take you to see her majesty, for the sight of you will set her worried mind at rest.”
Still staring into the distance, the girl replied. “Thank you. I should like to see my stepmother very much.”
A wild cry pierced the air, stabbing into the silence that ensued. Arrenia stood motionless, lids clamped over her eyes, unwilling to witness what she was certain must come. A thousand emotions flooded through her, seeping into the corners of her mind, crowding out her thoughts. The black vacuum of fear swirled before her, swallowing her whole, enveloping her senses. Every muscle tensed and ready, she waited on….
A soft clatter broke through her deafened senses. She opened her eyes. A sword lay on the ground, its keen shine dulled by the lack of light.
Castor grasped the throat of her dress and shook her violently. “I should have you killed for this, Arrenia de la Cornia!”
Tears rippled down his cheeks, blunting the trembling edge in his words. She studied him, attempting to read between the face lined in angered grief.
As the moments sprawled on, a slow smile twitched her mouth into a teasing smirk. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his hair, raking it back away from his face. “Yet you find yourself unable to accomplish the task, is that it, my dear warrior?”
Whiteness blanched his features for one split second. Then, slipping into a more relaxed state, he laughed softly- a quiet, wonderful laugh that rang throughout the forest, resonating off the trees and stilling the souls of all who heard it.
He tapped her nose gently. “Well said, little one!”
She slid her hand into his, enjoying in the utmost the feeling of his fingers wrapping about hers. For a moment they just stood there, her hand in his.
Castor’s face fell, his grip loosening.
“What? What is it?” she asked.
“The palace…you live in the palace?”
“Yes… What’s wrong?”
“We cannot go there! It is guarded night and day- I’ll be seen!”
Arrenia’s mouth closed, sealing behind her lips a speechless tongue. She drew her fingers taut around his in a voiceless entreaty. She knew what he said to be true. Day and night, the palace was kept under lock and key, a great untouchable fortress to all but those who lived there.
But still, in his care she found shelter from the encroaching corners of the black night, a refuge in which to hide from her troubles and find sanctuary in his presence. Her parched tongue roved over dry lips.
“Please, Castor, don’t leave me. Not now.”
“Is there any other way?”
She paused, cocking her head to one side. Then, after a long moment, she shook it. “No, I know of nowhere else I can go…..But wait- yes! You could just escort me to the gate.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You are sure? I mean, you will be safe from there?”
Her arms extended, she shrugged, a grin pulling on the corners of her mouth. “I should imagine so. I mean, has not my family most probably been searching for me? I believe they shall delight in my return and all but confine me to my room to ensure I do not go traipsing off with the likes of you again! Unless….” The smile vanished from her face.
“Unless?”
Inhaling deeply, she said, “That girl in the ball, you remember her, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“Well she is my stepsister, the daughter of my deceased father’s second wife, whom he married after the death of my mother. I have always feared Isabel for a reason I did not know, but now I think I am beginning to understand….”
Her words faded into the night, and she stood silent for a moment, then shrugged again. “But as I said, my brother will most likely put me under the utmost guard as an attempt to maintain my security, so I do not see any reason to worry.”
Castor took her chin in his hand and tipped it up until her eyes stared into his. He felt her jawline tighten beneath his fingers as she tried to look away, but he held her firmly in place. “Listen to me, Arrenia. Think about what you’re doing. You’re walking into the arms of your arch-enemy, in a place you cannot protect yourself even if a thousand men surrounded you. No matter if there’s one guard protecting you or three thousand, you will still be under the same roof as your stepsister, and no one will ever think of protecting you from her.”
Her lips curved into a soft smile as she laid her hand over his. “Castor, trust me, I’ll be fine.”
He shook her gently, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “Are you sure?”
The breeze rustled through her hair, thrusting it into the air then playfully catching it again. Floating just above her shoulders, it swirled gently around her, concealing her emotions as it crossed her face. Her gaze stared unwaveringly into his, gentle and lovely, yet determined and defiant. She nodded. “Absolutely.”
The blood drained from Castor’s face as his heart plummeted from his chest, leaving him ashen and looking dreadfully terrified. His mind roamed through its recesses, raking through his head for some excuse, some reason to make her abstain from this self-inflicted path. But, as he truly looked at her, noting her rigid, beautiful stoic state, he knew that she had made up her mind, and nothing he said would change her mind. He pressed his lips into a thin white line. “Very well. Have your way, you little warrioress. Just make sure you know how to fight this battle!”
She smiled once again- a big, flawless smile, her eyes suddenly alight, fanning the fire already raging within him. The heat licked at his heart, slowly but surely melting him from the inside out. A grin sprawled over his face, gradually giving way to a gentle laugh. He brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, leaning over to whisper in it. “Lead the way, little one!”
Nudging her hand into his, she took off at a fearless frolic, skipping over twigs and with a step of gaiety avoiding nearly everything that would make a noise. He tried to keep up with her, his ears magnifying every resounding snap and chaotic crackle as the earth yielded itself to the harsh beating of his feet. He winced, mental reprimands raging through his brain.
She seemed to dance before him, waltzing with the gentle sway of the wind. Her toes skimmed the ground, the moonlight braided into her hair. His heart pounded out the beat to her every sweet step. Perfectly synchronized, her steps and his heart- so intertwined that one could not be distinguished from the other.
A loud laugh parted the silence. Teasingly tugging at the arm now dangling at his side, she pulled him forward. “So smitten, are you? For a minute you looked as if you wished to drink me in and swallow me whole!”
A slight shade of scarlet colored his cheeks. “Did I?”
Delivering a delicate blow to the arm now hooked in hers, she shook her head in delighted disapproval. “You know the answer to that very well, don’t you?”
A smirk twitched the corner of his lip as he glanced at her. “Perhaps.”
For a long moment, he waited for her to laugh, for that silvery sound to linger upon the breeze. But instead she stopped, her hand tightening about his arm.
“Oh!” she declared, horror plucking the word from her mouth. “Oh!”
She wrenched away from him, dashing from the concealing cover of the forest and into the clearing beyond.
“Arrenia!” he called. But it was too late.
She knelt in the middle of ashen ruins, sobbing bitterly, the charred remains sifting through her fingers. A tear fell from her cheek, striking the ground with a mighty blow, churning the dirt below into mud. Scooping up handfuls of soil, she clasped them to her chest, crying over them as a mother weeps for her children.
Through her blurred vision, she saw a wall, stone-faced and stoic, protecting the once-exposed side of a palace. A wall she had never before seen- and one she was fairly convinced was never there.
“My home,” she whimpered. “My home.”
Still hidden behind the safety of the brambles, Castor hesitated. His heart pounded with every passing second as his mind weighed the odds of being caught should he venture outside of the wood. His mind bade him over and over to not to expose his presence- rather, to run. He had, after all, done what he said he would, hadn’t he?
But, with his own waking eyes he saw her hurt; her wounds lay open for all to see. His heart throbbed as he stood torn, not daring to venture forth yet shamed by his lack of courage in the light of her suffering. Whether it was this insecure abasement or the mind trained in practicality that kept him cowering behind the bushes, he could not tell.
She looked up at him, her hands extended outward as she screamed her bewilderment at him. “Why did this happen? Why?!”
Castor gulped. With every nerve within him, he felt the sharp slice of her words. Tension rolled his fingers into a tight ball, only to let them fall to his sides again. Perspiration burst onto his palms, a heartache hanging deep in his chest.
Him. She was accusing him for the destruction wrought by his people! Didn’t she know he meant her no harm? Couldn’t she see deepness of his affection towards her?
Without knowing what he was doing, he stepped out into the clearing, allowing the light of the moon to wash over him with its silvery glow. Her gaze unwavering, she looked steadily on, her little features pinched in sorrow. He spread his arms wide, hoping she would run into them and embrace the secure refuge he held out to her like a raft in the middle of hardship’s tumultuous sea.
But her face remained a flat and expressionless, a blank slate of emotions besides the stream of tears quietly flooding her cheeks. And beautiful…oh, so beautiful…was she as she stood there, devouring his soul with the flames of her frigid manner and melting him down until he knelt in a crumpled, heart-broken heap at her feet. He grabbed the hem of her dress as he cried out.
“Please, Lady! My people razed your home to the ground- it was not the work of my hands alone!”
Arrenia yanked away from him. “The work one pair of hands or the work of many- it makes no difference now, does it?”
He grasped her shoulder and turned her about. “Arrenia, please, I beg you! Do not think poorly of me. None of this is my fault!”
She glared into his eyes, smoldering him under the heat of her fury. “Your fault or not, this was my home.”
Sighing, he tightened his grip upon her shoulders. Gulping back his sobs, he struggled to find the right words. Her unaverted gaze still stared boldly into his own. And oh, how it frightened him! He tried to recall the number of foes he had defeated, but what had ever sapped his strength more than this girl, who razed his defenses with one look? When it came to battling with the body and defending his life, he had been well trained- but of what art was this battle of the heart, which even now throbbed from fresh wounds?
know?! Do you not see?!”
Arrenia stopped, her curled fists loosening at her sides. Tight muscles released their strain, allowing her taut composure to relax. Through the blinding blur of her tears, she a boy, doubled over in grief and pain- and suddenly her own vanquished into nothing.
She dropped to her knees beside him, the muck and mire of the muddied ground staining the elegant patterns in her dress. Brushing the hair aside from his face, she ran her fingers slowly down his neck until her hand rested on his shoulder. The heaves of his soft sobs ravaged through him, breaking him down and revealing his true heart- and the wounds inflicted by her words.
She looked away, unwilling to see the crafting created by her careless tongue. How could she be so calloused?
“Castor, I’m sorry.”
Like the sound of sweet music, her sorrowful speech lilted into the air- the resounding song of an angel resonating in the night sky. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes- those deep, watery wells swimming in sadness, drowning him in their beauty and caressing him in their care.
And moreover, she was crying. Not for her home, he realized, but for him.
“Please, don’t be angry with me. I spoke out of turn.” She folded her fidgeting hands in her lap and bit her lip.
Drawing his finger across her jawline, he prodded her gaze upward. “Never with you, little maiden… But we mustn’t remain another minute.”
She climbed to her feet, following his suit. “Why? Why not just stay here?”
He gave her a doubtful look as she caught his other hand.
“Think about it, Castor. We could meet here every night just to talk. It would be our secret. No one else would have to know.”
The seconds drawled out into minutes, punctuated by the steady beat of their hearts. Castor clenched her sleeves. Crickets sang their sweet serenade, begging him to agree, wanting him to accept. Stars winked down from their lofty heights, twinkling their mysterious joy. In the distance, a wise old owl hooted his warning.
He shook his head. “No, Arrenia. It’s too dangerous.”
Her expression fell, and she let go of him. A veil dropped between them- two lonely lovers separated by the silence, their disjoined hands hanging limply by their sides. Arrenia curled hers into a fist, bracing herself for the moment she now knew must come.
Castor opened his mouth, only to seal it shut when the words failed to come. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, to hold her to him for eternity. He wanted to feel her head upon his shoulder, to run is fingers through her hair one last time. But now all seemed so cold, blocked as they were by fate’s blow.
Suddenly, his ears caught a steady stomp.
“Guards!” he whispered sharply. “I’m sorry, Arrenia. I must be off!”
She jerked her head up in time to see him dash towards the forest. The urge of finality coursed through her veins, scalding her with the strength of its singing heat. She stepped forward. “Wait!”
He turned about.
“When will I see you again?”
“I don’t know, Arrenia…I don’t know….Now run, maiden! Get to your home before we are caught!”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I love you, Castor.”
“Now! Go!”
Gulping down her grief, she nodded. Turning towards the palace, she tried to speed away. But just then, the guard rounded the corner.
With a loud shout that reverberated off the trees and crackled through the forest, he stampeded after her. Within seconds, he had seized hold of her arms and was calling excitedly in ancient to Lydacian to his fellow guards. They swarmed around her, congratulating their friend asking her questions. She answered not a one. Rather, she glanced nervously back at Castor, arousing the attention of the guards.
Castor saw the finger pointed at him and heard babble rabble through the air. Arrenia flashed a warning with her face, and off he took. The men seized the hunt, crashing through the brush in pursuit of their game.
Arrenia stared longingly at the empty scene before her, ears wishing they could blot out the excited exclamations fading on the wind. Her finder held her tightly by the arm. He tugged on her sleeve.
“Lady Arrenia,” he said bowing. “We thank the gods for your safe return. And now, must take you to see her majesty, for the sight of you will set her worried mind at rest.”
Still staring into the distance, the girl replied. “Thank you. I should like to see my stepmother very much.”
Thursday, October 23, 2008
A Jolly Time
Baggage cluttered my feet. Tossed by a grueling 4 hours of flight time, my friend Bekah and I sat side-by-side in the Philadelphia airport, waiting and glancing around in anticipation. Slowly, I rose. Was it? Could it really be?
"Look! There they are!" I shouted, waving one arm above my head.
We rushed forward, a torrent of joy bursting forth as we wrapped our arms around our friends Katie, Ellen, and Lauren Jolly once again. Our lips split into smiles. After nearly three months of separation and approximately four months of planning, we were finally here.
You see, after a year of laughs, midnight movie showings, sleepovers, pool hangouts, and good times the Jollys announced that they were being transferred to New Jersey, particularly heartbreaking for Bekah and me. However, we dreamed of meeting up again, and although at the time we knew the dreams might be far-fetched, it was these very dreams we clung to as they pulled out of our driveway on that dreadful last night.
And, from that little seed, that one tiny hope, sprang something we will remember for the rest of our lives- a whole six days in New Jersey, including one in New York City. And that wasn't all- Bekah and I were going alone.
So, there we were, jamming into the Jollys' van as we started our way to their house- and a whole a week of fun. As soon as we arrived, we piled our stuff into the RV standing in the driveway. For the occasion, Mrs. Jolly gave the RV into the 24/7 care of us girls. With the help of a TV, junk food, a refridgerator, bunk beds, a table, our own dishes, and many other ammenities of the home, we quickly fell into a joyous little life and it soon became the private hideaway we loved.
And through this we all discovered that we loved something else- Jane Austen movies. Doritos and Chocolate Chex Mix on hand, we all but consumed the hours with classic tales such as the old Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Persuasion, and Mansfield Park. We rooted for some couples and despised the matching of others. Just for fun, we took turns in the hair and make-up chair, trying hairstyles on each other that (we hoped) looked just like the ones on the TV.
Oh, and another thing about the Jollys- all three of 'em are completely boy-crazy. Literally, one night we spent almost thirty minutes filming ourselves screaming over Caspian (it was really interesting, especially when Bekah began fast-forwarding our favorite part and she lost her "remote privilege").
And when we got tired of boy-talk and movies, we had three options- a walk in the woods (which was quickly eliminated due to numerous ticks discovered on ourselves), a swim in their ten-foot deep pool (you could dive!), or a round of Liar, which became a favorite pastime of ours. We'd stay up into the late hours of the night, screeching that a person lied and shoving the deck of cards towards the accused. Quite a few times, Ellen ended up with 51 cards in her hand.
But the best part? A trip to New York! For a whole day, we roamed the streets of America's largest city, seeing the world-famous sights. Climbing to the top of an observation tower, we saw Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the spot where the Twin Towers would have stood, as well as the average structures of New York- all summarized into one sweeping view.
On the way up, the elevator roof was transformed into a screen, upon which abbreviated films of events welcomed us to the city. Colorful lights, which shone through the screen, lined the elevator shaft, forever illuminated our way, whether we went up or down.
After that, we perused the shops, not the least of which was the American Girl Place, where dolls, clothes, and toys abound. Although Lauren was the only one still young enough to fully appreciate this store, the scenes artistically depicting dolls interacting with items from different sets brought back nostalgic memories of childhood pastimes to Katie, Ellen, Bekah, and me.
The next stop? F-A-O Schwarz, a humongous toy store comprised of stuffed animals, statuettes, Barbie-doll-like versions of renowned movie characters such as Jack Sparrow and Scarlet O'Hara, and much, much more. It had two levels, and we spent about an hour exploring every nook and cranny. Bekah and I made small purchases- just a few gifts as well as the friendship animals that the four of us had decided to buy as a reminder of our comradship.
As the hours wore on, our feet tired of treading the bustling streets. So, after we exited the toy store, Mrs. Jolly asked, "Would ya'll like to go sit in Central Park for a while?"
Naturally (quite naturally), we said yes and our little group made its way across the street and walked into the thickets of trees surrounding this beautiful place.
For you who have never been to Central Park, let me tell you that it is every bit as lovely as it is written off to be. Carpets of green grass cover the ground, shaded to perfection by a canopy of leaves. Sunlight pokes its head in between the branches of the trees, and a path paves the way through the park. A few vendors line the entrance and elegant carriages trot by, carrying sightseers through the tourist attraction just as they might have done a hundred years ago.
After the brief respite, we boarded the subway and sped along to Times Square. As we stepped out, an immediate bustle was about us as all kinds of people went their ways. Lights and marquees surrounded us as entire theaters marketed their plays. Entire builidngs advertised shows, and nearly everywhere something was playing. My camera kept flashing pictures. As an actress, I could hardly believe my eyes. I was standing in the heart of Broadway!
Wow. So this was where it all came from. Shows with such prestige as The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera- every Broadway show I had ever heard- came from here!
Although I could have explored New York for days longer, the sun was setting and the time nearing when we must go back to the little rv that stood awaiting our return. So, we boarded the train during rush-hour- which turned out to be another adventure all by itself.
Once we entered the station, we stopped by a wall to re-group. I stared up the stairs we had just come down. They were empty- but not for long. Literally a split second later they were swarming a tumultuous current of human beings, stampeding their way to the train which would take them home.
Minutes later, we stood in line, waiting for the gates to open so that we could go onto the platform. People crowded in around us, the size growing so rapidly that we decided to split off into pairs if we had to in order to board the train. Lauren would go with her parents and the baby, Bekah and Ellen were to stay together, and I had my arm firmly linked through Katie's to ensure we didn't get separated.
As soon as the gates opened, there was a mad rush. The people around us began to press in until our whole group was going single file and everyone all but elbowing their way through.
Although we were nearly running, we got on the train in time, and arrived safely back to the RV. Popping in a movie, we enjoyed our ordered-in Chinese (which Bekah had been craving).
The next day (sadly) was our very last. But, despite our reluctancy to end the trip, we decided to make the most of what precious little time our "fearsome foursome" had left. So, we took a trip out to Blockbuster, rented four movies (which I paid for), then went to the store and loaded up on snacks and soda (which Bekah paid for). Then, returning home, we waited for nightfall....
The wrappers of candy crinkled together as we dumped them into one big bowl. Inserting the first movie, we sat down at a table of Liar and let the fun begin.
If you could see us, you'd probably laugh at our version of "fun", which is mainly defined as- record ourselves dancing to the Cha-Cha-Slide (Mrs. Jolly said she heard a thud, thud, thud, and saw the camper was shaking), dance, discuss boys in both the movies we're watching and other guys (namely celebrities that aren't in that particular movie), play Liar, videotape each other doing stupidity, and, rule #1 of our parties- giggle, giggle, giggle.
However, 5:30 Wednesday morning came much too soon, and before long Bekah and I found ourselves loading our bags into the back of the Jolly's car. Over and over again, we said our good-byes, just as we had nearly 3 months before.
But this time it was a little different. Ever since May this visit had been a dream in our heads that the four of us managed to turn into a reality while being nearly half a country away. And in our minds, in our very hearts, we knew we could do it again.
And we are. Many times before, Katie and Ellen had voiced interest in coming back for the hoedown, a country dance event organized by our co-op. Well, not many weeks ago Katie texted me saying that her mom had booked tickets for the 18th-23rd of November- five whole days for our fearsome foursome to be complete again!
"Look! There they are!" I shouted, waving one arm above my head.
We rushed forward, a torrent of joy bursting forth as we wrapped our arms around our friends Katie, Ellen, and Lauren Jolly once again. Our lips split into smiles. After nearly three months of separation and approximately four months of planning, we were finally here.
You see, after a year of laughs, midnight movie showings, sleepovers, pool hangouts, and good times the Jollys announced that they were being transferred to New Jersey, particularly heartbreaking for Bekah and me. However, we dreamed of meeting up again, and although at the time we knew the dreams might be far-fetched, it was these very dreams we clung to as they pulled out of our driveway on that dreadful last night.
And, from that little seed, that one tiny hope, sprang something we will remember for the rest of our lives- a whole six days in New Jersey, including one in New York City. And that wasn't all- Bekah and I were going alone.
So, there we were, jamming into the Jollys' van as we started our way to their house- and a whole a week of fun. As soon as we arrived, we piled our stuff into the RV standing in the driveway. For the occasion, Mrs. Jolly gave the RV into the 24/7 care of us girls. With the help of a TV, junk food, a refridgerator, bunk beds, a table, our own dishes, and many other ammenities of the home, we quickly fell into a joyous little life and it soon became the private hideaway we loved.
And through this we all discovered that we loved something else- Jane Austen movies. Doritos and Chocolate Chex Mix on hand, we all but consumed the hours with classic tales such as the old Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Persuasion, and Mansfield Park. We rooted for some couples and despised the matching of others. Just for fun, we took turns in the hair and make-up chair, trying hairstyles on each other that (we hoped) looked just like the ones on the TV.
Oh, and another thing about the Jollys- all three of 'em are completely boy-crazy. Literally, one night we spent almost thirty minutes filming ourselves screaming over Caspian (it was really interesting, especially when Bekah began fast-forwarding our favorite part and she lost her "remote privilege").
And when we got tired of boy-talk and movies, we had three options- a walk in the woods (which was quickly eliminated due to numerous ticks discovered on ourselves), a swim in their ten-foot deep pool (you could dive!), or a round of Liar, which became a favorite pastime of ours. We'd stay up into the late hours of the night, screeching that a person lied and shoving the deck of cards towards the accused. Quite a few times, Ellen ended up with 51 cards in her hand.
But the best part? A trip to New York! For a whole day, we roamed the streets of America's largest city, seeing the world-famous sights. Climbing to the top of an observation tower, we saw Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the spot where the Twin Towers would have stood, as well as the average structures of New York- all summarized into one sweeping view.
On the way up, the elevator roof was transformed into a screen, upon which abbreviated films of events welcomed us to the city. Colorful lights, which shone through the screen, lined the elevator shaft, forever illuminated our way, whether we went up or down.
After that, we perused the shops, not the least of which was the American Girl Place, where dolls, clothes, and toys abound. Although Lauren was the only one still young enough to fully appreciate this store, the scenes artistically depicting dolls interacting with items from different sets brought back nostalgic memories of childhood pastimes to Katie, Ellen, Bekah, and me.
The next stop? F-A-O Schwarz, a humongous toy store comprised of stuffed animals, statuettes, Barbie-doll-like versions of renowned movie characters such as Jack Sparrow and Scarlet O'Hara, and much, much more. It had two levels, and we spent about an hour exploring every nook and cranny. Bekah and I made small purchases- just a few gifts as well as the friendship animals that the four of us had decided to buy as a reminder of our comradship.
As the hours wore on, our feet tired of treading the bustling streets. So, after we exited the toy store, Mrs. Jolly asked, "Would ya'll like to go sit in Central Park for a while?"
Naturally (quite naturally), we said yes and our little group made its way across the street and walked into the thickets of trees surrounding this beautiful place.
For you who have never been to Central Park, let me tell you that it is every bit as lovely as it is written off to be. Carpets of green grass cover the ground, shaded to perfection by a canopy of leaves. Sunlight pokes its head in between the branches of the trees, and a path paves the way through the park. A few vendors line the entrance and elegant carriages trot by, carrying sightseers through the tourist attraction just as they might have done a hundred years ago.
After the brief respite, we boarded the subway and sped along to Times Square. As we stepped out, an immediate bustle was about us as all kinds of people went their ways. Lights and marquees surrounded us as entire theaters marketed their plays. Entire builidngs advertised shows, and nearly everywhere something was playing. My camera kept flashing pictures. As an actress, I could hardly believe my eyes. I was standing in the heart of Broadway!
Wow. So this was where it all came from. Shows with such prestige as The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera- every Broadway show I had ever heard- came from here!
Although I could have explored New York for days longer, the sun was setting and the time nearing when we must go back to the little rv that stood awaiting our return. So, we boarded the train during rush-hour- which turned out to be another adventure all by itself.
Once we entered the station, we stopped by a wall to re-group. I stared up the stairs we had just come down. They were empty- but not for long. Literally a split second later they were swarming a tumultuous current of human beings, stampeding their way to the train which would take them home.
Minutes later, we stood in line, waiting for the gates to open so that we could go onto the platform. People crowded in around us, the size growing so rapidly that we decided to split off into pairs if we had to in order to board the train. Lauren would go with her parents and the baby, Bekah and Ellen were to stay together, and I had my arm firmly linked through Katie's to ensure we didn't get separated.
As soon as the gates opened, there was a mad rush. The people around us began to press in until our whole group was going single file and everyone all but elbowing their way through.
Although we were nearly running, we got on the train in time, and arrived safely back to the RV. Popping in a movie, we enjoyed our ordered-in Chinese (which Bekah had been craving).
The next day (sadly) was our very last. But, despite our reluctancy to end the trip, we decided to make the most of what precious little time our "fearsome foursome" had left. So, we took a trip out to Blockbuster, rented four movies (which I paid for), then went to the store and loaded up on snacks and soda (which Bekah paid for). Then, returning home, we waited for nightfall....
The wrappers of candy crinkled together as we dumped them into one big bowl. Inserting the first movie, we sat down at a table of Liar and let the fun begin.
If you could see us, you'd probably laugh at our version of "fun", which is mainly defined as- record ourselves dancing to the Cha-Cha-Slide (Mrs. Jolly said she heard a thud, thud, thud, and saw the camper was shaking), dance, discuss boys in both the movies we're watching and other guys (namely celebrities that aren't in that particular movie), play Liar, videotape each other doing stupidity, and, rule #1 of our parties- giggle, giggle, giggle.
However, 5:30 Wednesday morning came much too soon, and before long Bekah and I found ourselves loading our bags into the back of the Jolly's car. Over and over again, we said our good-byes, just as we had nearly 3 months before.
But this time it was a little different. Ever since May this visit had been a dream in our heads that the four of us managed to turn into a reality while being nearly half a country away. And in our minds, in our very hearts, we knew we could do it again.
And we are. Many times before, Katie and Ellen had voiced interest in coming back for the hoedown, a country dance event organized by our co-op. Well, not many weeks ago Katie texted me saying that her mom had booked tickets for the 18th-23rd of November- five whole days for our fearsome foursome to be complete again!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Got God?
Crammed into the the backseat of our dodge mini van, I stared out the window, watching as country and cities alike whizzed by. My eye came upon a church, large in stature and mighty in width, a red banner dangling from its side.
30-minute worship service! it read.
For a moment, I thought, Cool, a 30-minute worship service! but then held myself in check. 30 minutes, huh? And we can't give God more than that?
With the rush of today's society and the never-ending demands inflicted upon us by our ever-increasing responsibilities, the clamor created by our busy lives drowns out the quiet, calm voice of God. All too easily, our lives are consumed with the duties bestowed upon us and the insatiable (and unstoppable) demands of this world. With the incoming pressure to fulfill our tasks rising rapidly, our schedules soon become jammed. Soon enough, we find ourselves either looking for a place to fit God into humanity's mad dash or ignoring Him altogether.
Either way, we are fitting God into our schedules, not fitting our schedules into God.
"But how do I do that?" you might ask. "I barely have a moment to myself, let alone to God!"
The truth is, I don't know. I don't imagine any of us do. We want to live inside God's will, but can't stop the earth from turning. It's a hard problem, isn't it?
But, if we look hard enough- explore God's Word just a little deeper- we might find some tricks to help us along the way. The very best that I think of is pray. The Bible tells us we should always be praying- at work, at home, walking the dog, at school, anywhere and everywhere! I believe that if we just got in the habit of talking to God and listening for His voice regardless of whatever we might be doing, we would be so much closer to accomplishing our goal of keeping Him at the center of our lives.
The next idea is keeping the Ten Commandments- and whatever else God tells us to keep. Become familiar with the laws of right and wrong laid down by God, and try to break as few of them as possible. Let them linger in your mind as you go about your daily doings so that they will surface when the time is right for you to put them into practice. And if you mess up, don't worry. Just learn fromyour mistake, ask for forgiveness, and move on with your life.
Another way is to implement everything God says we should be as Christians. These include (but are not limited too) telling others of the Good News of Jesus Christ, being patient, squelching any quick-tempers, loving, kind, and always have a cheerful disposition. Some of these are harder than others, especially the first one. As humans, many of us tend to hesitate when it comes to sharing our faith. Excuses often pop up in our heads. But we must remember that all excuses for not obeying God in any one of the things He commands us to do are irrelevant. After all, what is more important (and rewarding!)- a saved soul or the guilty security we feel from assimilating ourselves into the world?
There is one way of leading people to Christ that is extremely effective. Now, it is understood by many Christians that no one should be forced into Christianity, and that preaching too much to people when they are nto interested often tends to turn them away. This isn't to say that you shouldn't tell people about Christ, just that you need to be able to sense when they are beginning to feel as if you were pushing your religion onto them. And what's really neat about Christianity is that the set of rules given by God, if properly emulated and exhibited to the world, will make some stop and wonder about the difference they see in you. If curiosity leads them far enough, they will ask you about it, and you will have a great opportunity to share your religion with them!
And the best part? You can do absolutely all of this while you work, while you eat, while you go about your errands, at school, etc.! So, you see that if you put God at the center of your life, He will be big enough to encompass everything else you have to do.
30-minute worship service! it read.
For a moment, I thought, Cool, a 30-minute worship service! but then held myself in check. 30 minutes, huh? And we can't give God more than that?
With the rush of today's society and the never-ending demands inflicted upon us by our ever-increasing responsibilities, the clamor created by our busy lives drowns out the quiet, calm voice of God. All too easily, our lives are consumed with the duties bestowed upon us and the insatiable (and unstoppable) demands of this world. With the incoming pressure to fulfill our tasks rising rapidly, our schedules soon become jammed. Soon enough, we find ourselves either looking for a place to fit God into humanity's mad dash or ignoring Him altogether.
Either way, we are fitting God into our schedules, not fitting our schedules into God.
"But how do I do that?" you might ask. "I barely have a moment to myself, let alone to God!"
The truth is, I don't know. I don't imagine any of us do. We want to live inside God's will, but can't stop the earth from turning. It's a hard problem, isn't it?
But, if we look hard enough- explore God's Word just a little deeper- we might find some tricks to help us along the way. The very best that I think of is pray. The Bible tells us we should always be praying- at work, at home, walking the dog, at school, anywhere and everywhere! I believe that if we just got in the habit of talking to God and listening for His voice regardless of whatever we might be doing, we would be so much closer to accomplishing our goal of keeping Him at the center of our lives.
The next idea is keeping the Ten Commandments- and whatever else God tells us to keep. Become familiar with the laws of right and wrong laid down by God, and try to break as few of them as possible. Let them linger in your mind as you go about your daily doings so that they will surface when the time is right for you to put them into practice. And if you mess up, don't worry. Just learn fromyour mistake, ask for forgiveness, and move on with your life.
Another way is to implement everything God says we should be as Christians. These include (but are not limited too) telling others of the Good News of Jesus Christ, being patient, squelching any quick-tempers, loving, kind, and always have a cheerful disposition. Some of these are harder than others, especially the first one. As humans, many of us tend to hesitate when it comes to sharing our faith. Excuses often pop up in our heads. But we must remember that all excuses for not obeying God in any one of the things He commands us to do are irrelevant. After all, what is more important (and rewarding!)- a saved soul or the guilty security we feel from assimilating ourselves into the world?
There is one way of leading people to Christ that is extremely effective. Now, it is understood by many Christians that no one should be forced into Christianity, and that preaching too much to people when they are nto interested often tends to turn them away. This isn't to say that you shouldn't tell people about Christ, just that you need to be able to sense when they are beginning to feel as if you were pushing your religion onto them. And what's really neat about Christianity is that the set of rules given by God, if properly emulated and exhibited to the world, will make some stop and wonder about the difference they see in you. If curiosity leads them far enough, they will ask you about it, and you will have a great opportunity to share your religion with them!
And the best part? You can do absolutely all of this while you work, while you eat, while you go about your errands, at school, etc.! So, you see that if you put God at the center of your life, He will be big enough to encompass everything else you have to do.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Cracking Codes and Catching Criminals- 4 years of Fun!
You know Brant and I are siblings, teens, and students. But did you know that we're also first-class detectives?
That's right. Gathering around the computer, we step into the role of world-renowned detective Nancy Drew and assimilate information, interpret clues, and interrogate suspects. Every few months, we get a new assignment...which we always manage to finish way sooner than we want to. But how can we wait, when there's a fresh criminal to capture?
Based on the books by Carolyn Keene, Herinteractive has been dishing out games featuring this famous teen detective (and sometimes her friends!) for quite a few years now. Originally created for adventurous girls, these interactive games with top-notch challenges galore have become favorites of boys and girls alike. In every game, Nancy goes to an exciting new location and, before long, has a mystery on her hands.
We got hooked on the games during the 2004 presidential elections, at which time our friend Caroline helped us beat our first case, Treasure in the Royal Tower. Now, four years and 17 games later, we still look forward to the days when the doorbell rings and there's a package on our porch.
Our present case, The Haunting of Castle Malloy, takes place in Ireland, where the mysterious vanishing of a groom-to-be is about to ruin the wedding, which is only a few days away! Some blame it on fairies, others on say it's a practical joke and he will show up at the last minute. Nancy, however, is not convinced. So, as we make wedding programs and seating arrangements, we must uncover the past of an old castle, and figure out not only who is interfering with the special day...but why.
That's right. Gathering around the computer, we step into the role of world-renowned detective Nancy Drew and assimilate information, interpret clues, and interrogate suspects. Every few months, we get a new assignment...which we always manage to finish way sooner than we want to. But how can we wait, when there's a fresh criminal to capture?
Based on the books by Carolyn Keene, Herinteractive has been dishing out games featuring this famous teen detective (and sometimes her friends!) for quite a few years now. Originally created for adventurous girls, these interactive games with top-notch challenges galore have become favorites of boys and girls alike. In every game, Nancy goes to an exciting new location and, before long, has a mystery on her hands.
We got hooked on the games during the 2004 presidential elections, at which time our friend Caroline helped us beat our first case, Treasure in the Royal Tower. Now, four years and 17 games later, we still look forward to the days when the doorbell rings and there's a package on our porch.
Our present case, The Haunting of Castle Malloy, takes place in Ireland, where the mysterious vanishing of a groom-to-be is about to ruin the wedding, which is only a few days away! Some blame it on fairies, others on say it's a practical joke and he will show up at the last minute. Nancy, however, is not convinced. So, as we make wedding programs and seating arrangements, we must uncover the past of an old castle, and figure out not only who is interfering with the special day...but why.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Another Excerpt- Hope you like It!
Note: Just so ya'll know, a good chunk of this scene is very dark and sinister. The only reason I ever, EVER write in this extremity is if it is necessary to the plot and then only when I am using an allegorization between God and the devil. So, before you proceed in the reading of this excerpt, I want you to know that this side of the story will come out as evil and God's Light will outshine the darkness more and more as the story unfolds.
Smoke curled into the night, vanishing into the dark heavens above. Slowly, the procession snaked around a fire that cackled its menace. Tongues of flame leapt into the air as a dozen figures tossed herbs into its fieriness of its fiendish depths. Arrenia propped herself upon her elbow, eager to get a better look at the scene before her.
“Get down!” came the commanding whisper.
“I want to see!” she said.
Chills ran through her, freezing her to the bone in terrified fascination. One of the figures- the one in whom Castor had taken a peculiar interest in when they first spotted this band of travelers- turned in their direction and started walking forward, seeming to screen the area as if he suspected something. Features wreathed in a cloak of a ghastly wraith, he approached with the aura of an apparition. Horrified thrills ran through the girl as her imagination began to run across its wild plains. Who was the man behind overshadowed with the huge garment? Though fear ravaged through her, begging her to look away, she found she could not.
Castor pushed her head down. “Are you a fool, Arrenia?! They’ll see you!”
Arrenia’s senses sharpened as she felt the cursory gaze scan over her. She trembled, her fear taking full effect. Part of her wanted to know what was happening as thousands of images raced paced her mind. If only she could peek up once more!
She bit her lip. No, no! She mustn’t! Castor was right- she would be a fool.
Time ticked by, seconds inching into minutes, minutes stretching into what seemed hours. There they lay, his hand shoving her head into the ground. Breath clotted in their throats, every sound magnified in the dangerous quiet around them.
At long last, Castor rose slightly, motioning for her to do the same. She peeped over the tips of grass, looking over their swaying heads and at the scene before her.
The firelight spread across the ground, dancing across the figures of the night. They no longer proceeded around the dancing flames, rather they sat in staid stances, heads bowed and knees tucked beneath them. A chant hung in the air, as threateningly quiet and cuttingly clear. In unuttered consent, they joined hands, slowly raising them upward. The chant escalated into a crazed screech. Then, all at once, the scene exploded into a maddening flurry of activity.
Screeching and chanting in turn, the figures beat the ground, flailing their arms and bringing them down. Appearing from nowhere, men emerged from the dark depths of the forest and dashed to the center of the circle created by the figures. Clad in the skins of a serpent, they wove in and out of the menace blaze. Sinuous snakes wrapped about their wrists, writhing to the ecstatic shriek ringing throughout the air. Then, uncoiling slowly, they slithered to the ground.
The figure who had held Arrenia’s undivided fascination appeared at the entrance of a tent, holding a ball crafted of crystal. Sound ceased, plunging all into a silent void. Inside the ball was the face of a girl, her eyes black as coal and hair dark as ash.
Arrenia caught her breath. “Isabel.”
Castor cocked his head, looking at her, only to find her glued to the scene. When she didn’t even give him a glance, he returned his attention to the happenings at hand.
The man held the ball aloft, allowing all to see. Thunderous applause rumbled through the night, drumming in the ears of all who heard. The girl in the ball smiled, flashing flawless teeth into a cruel grin.
Cleaving his way through the crowd, the man approached the raging flames. Setting the ball upon the ground, he probed into the folds of his cloak, producing a small bag. Reaching and grabbing handfuls of matter, he tossed it, watching it be consumed by the ravenous hunger of the hearth. Skirting the fire with slow steps, he began to mutter in a voice of near inaudibility.
“Dytok mika li kaarum,
Mun mika deak sadak,
Nwu li krokum,
Ko mea ka ta,
Oke nalaka megun,
Taka nwu magahata,
Ko mea ka ta,
Oke nalaka megun,
Ko la nwu nak,
Ko la nwu nak!”
Arrenia leaned towards Castor. “What does it mean?”
Without looking away, he repeated it, confusion filling his words.
“Die, they must,
For they do not say,
You are king,
Come here to us,
Oh blessed snake,
Take your revenge.
Come here to us,
Oh blessed snake,
We need you now,
We need you now!”
Arrenia fell silent, the chill of the night suddenly closing in around her. She shivered, the reality of the words penetrating to her bones. They were talking about someone.
The shadows seemed to lengthen and shift, swallowing the ground in their murderous jaws. The wind whispered through the boughs of the trees, its rustling dialect incomprehensive and dreadful. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled to a moonless sky.
Smoke curled into the air, slithering upwards and curving into the form of a serpent. A sharp command split the stillness, and all- even the snakes, even the girl in the ball- fell prostrate.
“Oh, sacred snake! We are your humble servants, as you well know,” the one who had emerged from the tent said. “We ask only your guidance, for we are at a loss for what to do.”
Lids closed over the scarlet orbs that sat in the socket of the eyes. Then, a voice, horrible, hissing, and the epitome of evil, cut through the atmosphere. “Mmmm…you have something to show me, I think…” The eyes opened again, flashing the face with a brilliant black interest. “Yes…you have something to show me.”
Pulling an old sheet of paper from the depths of his sleeve, the man extended it to the serpent. “We found this in a heap of clothes. Oh, snake! You have forever possessed an interest in the fate of the half-medallions. I have presented it before the assembly here gathered, and we have reached a conclusion that you alone should decide what to do about the information presented hence. We come before you, our heads bowed, seeking your guidance. Do not refuse this one request.”
For a moment, not a word was spoken. Arrenia held her breath, her hand upon the medallion which now hung from her throat, wanting to hear, but yet afraid to know.
“Yes…I am interested,” the snake began. “I have sought this for a long time….”
“But what is to be done?”
“This girl of whom you spoke in the past- she is still within your clutches?”
“Yes….”
The snake stretched its neck down until it stared into the man’s eyes. “Then I will give you no second chances. Kill her. Hunt her if need be, but I want that medallion.”
The man dipped his head. “As you wish, Sire.”
Incanted inferno shriveling to a spark, the creature slide back into the fading flames. Castor tapped Arrenia on the back, signaling her to follow him.
With the sounds of the dispersing party ringing in their ears, they inched over the ground. Noises of the night ceased as they gathered grass into their hands, pulling themselves forward. Sharpened by the silence, their sobered senses remained poised, ready for any sound indicating their discovery.
The canopy of trees swallowed them whole, spinning dark silhouettes about them in a protective guise. Once the hues of the hearth of could be seen no longer, Castor stood.
“Right. We must be quick.”
“But where are we going?”
He turned about, staring down into her uplifted little face, ashen and drawn. Her lower lip trembled before she sealed it into a firm line. Long eyelashes failed to veil her wide-eyed innocence. He knelt before her, fully aware of every ounce of trust she thrust upon him. Oh, how he wished he knew how to comfort her! Hadn’t she comforted him earlier that night? She had taken his hands…just like so…but what came next?
He sighed, caressing the little hand now resting in his own. Ravaging his brain, he searched into the recesses of his mind, but all that came out was, “You do realize, Arrenia, that you can no longer remain here.”
Sinking her teeth into her lip, she nodded, turning her head away. Mental beratings raked through his mind. Couldn’t he do better than that?
He looked at her- small, shivering and abject- and in sudden wave, such as that crashes onto the shore during a tumultuous tide, wanted nothing more than to collect her into his arms, to tell her that this long, dark night would pass and day soon would come.
But there wasn’t the time, and that he knew well, and no way to take back his words. So he stood, allowing practicality to conquer the turbulent sensations within his soul. “Come, we must go.”
For a moment, there she remained, her head still resting between her shoulders. They rose and sagged, slow and steady, to the beat of her breath. Long expanses of time sprawled before them, silence echoing in the void of sound. A light drizzle pattered upon the ground, churning the dirt into mud and filling the earth with its dampened chill.
Then, gradually, her grip tightened about his own. Climbing to her feet, she flipped her hair behind her, sending a shower of small droplets hurling into the air. Jaw stuck out in resolution, she stared into the face of fate, defiance flaring from her eyes. With a nod of her head, she said, “Right. I will do this.”
A pause filled the atmosphere. Her fingers loosened their constricting clench. “But where will we go?”
Turning her towards him, he placed his hands on her shoulders. The clouds drifted from their place in front of the moon, pouring light into the glade and sweeping the rain away with it. She stood there staring, wide-eyed and innocent, scared and helpless, like a wounded creature waiting for aid. Waiting and not knowing if it will ever come.
His head dropped, fingers digging into her shoulders. “Oh, what do I say!”
She watched as the firm backbone of a warrior she once knew snapped beneath the burdens of the world, shedding the armored mask of emotions and leaving him susceptible and shaken. A rush of pity surged over her, whisking away her fear with its tidal torrent.
A spark within her burst into flame, thawing the icy corners of a heart frozen with fear. He had done so much for her- and he of all people! He could have- by rights he should have- put her to the sword, but instead he had shielded her with his own dignity, sacrificing it for the life of an enemy.
Her eyes swam in a pool of hot tears. And what had she done to repay him?
“Don’t.”
He raised his gaze slightly. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say anything. I understand.”
She caught her breath as his stare seeped into her soul, taking her up in its caressing, protective hand, allowing it to sweep her troubles away. She reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the rugged bristles beneath her smooth fingertips. She felt him reaching deep into her secrets, overturning them and leaving them raw for the world to see.
And yet, for once, she found herself defenseless. For once she couldn’t move, bound as she was in his restricting grasp. Her heart began to beat, palpitating unchecked. She wanted to speak, but all words perished on her lips as he gathered her into his arms and held her there. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. Nothing existed save for the sensation of this embrace.
As he pushed her back, a wave of sad longing flooded the forest, chilling everything it touched. Arrenia shivered, her eyes leaking streams of tears. Oh, why did this have to happen?! Why couldn’t she stay?!
Gulping down his grief, Castor said, “Come, little maiden. It is home you must go. In which direction lies your village?
Arrenia hesitated, the night air nipping at her skin, the truth biting into her tongue. A slight breeze danced around her legs, trifling with her skirt as she stood there, the uncertainty shining from her being filling the air with a soundless yet explosive sense. If she made one wrong move…what would he do?
She could always lie. Just this once, her words could be untrue. Forestalled would his warrior’s wrath be, and perhaps her falsehood would escape his notice.
But had he ever betrayed her that she should do the same to him? Did he not protect her while the risk of his own blood loomed over his head?
Her long hair fell before her as she stared at the ground and sighed. Her hands in a neat knot before her, she pondered the point upon which she must now answer. Could she trust him with her very heart and soul? If she told him the truth, told him the very thing which separated him from her and held them apart, would he continue to respect her life? She knew what his duty would be, which course of action would hold him in great honor above the rest of his people….
Her hand slid around her throat. The blade’s keen edge crept into her mind, as did the sharp sting of its scratch. Her muscles twisted into tight cords, her stomach knotting uncomfortably.
But, from her heart came another tale, rising from deep within her, pushing its way upward and spilling into her mind. She unfolded fists damp with the sweat of her palm, bringing her head up slowly.
She jumped slightly as their gazes fused together, a fiery spark leaping into her chest. There it burned, increasing its heat until she sweltered beneath it, completely overcome and subdued. Her lips parted, the words issuing forth, her mind nullified.
“I don’t live in a village, Castor.”
“What do you mean?” His stare intensified as he knitted his brows.
“I…I’m not who you think I am.”
Noting the sudden tremor in her voice, he took in her wide eyes and tensed posture. Taking a step forward, he said, “You fear me.”
She took a step backwards. Gulping, she nodded. How could she not be, when one look of his eyes scaled the walls of her defenses, leaving her weak and helpless?
He smiled gently, taking her chin in his hand. “You need not be, little one. Tell me, what’s troubling you?”
She drew in her breath. “If I told you, would you promise not to hurt me?”
Dipping his head, he rested his hand upon his heart. “Upon my honor, little maiden.”
Her mind raced in wild, nervous terror, fists rolling into frightened balls. Eyes skimming over the elaborate hilt of his sword, she sucked in her fear.
“I live in the palace of Lydacia, the very one which your people tried to conquer. Castor… my name is Arrenia de la Cornia, Princess of Lydacia.”
She waited, expectancy constricting her soul. Inhaling slowly, she cleaved the oxygen from the air. Her insides twitched and fluttered, then fell into a stagnant stance. The wind halted its whispers, the boughs of the trees finally ceasing their hypnotic sway.
Glance unaverted, Castor placed a foot forward, fingers embracing the handle of his weapon. Metal rang against metal as he slid it from its sheath. If she gasped, he did not know it. All he remembered was the closing of her eyes, the turning of her head….
He raised his sword, rage coursing through his veins….
Smoke curled into the night, vanishing into the dark heavens above. Slowly, the procession snaked around a fire that cackled its menace. Tongues of flame leapt into the air as a dozen figures tossed herbs into its fieriness of its fiendish depths. Arrenia propped herself upon her elbow, eager to get a better look at the scene before her.
“Get down!” came the commanding whisper.
“I want to see!” she said.
Chills ran through her, freezing her to the bone in terrified fascination. One of the figures- the one in whom Castor had taken a peculiar interest in when they first spotted this band of travelers- turned in their direction and started walking forward, seeming to screen the area as if he suspected something. Features wreathed in a cloak of a ghastly wraith, he approached with the aura of an apparition. Horrified thrills ran through the girl as her imagination began to run across its wild plains. Who was the man behind overshadowed with the huge garment? Though fear ravaged through her, begging her to look away, she found she could not.
Castor pushed her head down. “Are you a fool, Arrenia?! They’ll see you!”
Arrenia’s senses sharpened as she felt the cursory gaze scan over her. She trembled, her fear taking full effect. Part of her wanted to know what was happening as thousands of images raced paced her mind. If only she could peek up once more!
She bit her lip. No, no! She mustn’t! Castor was right- she would be a fool.
Time ticked by, seconds inching into minutes, minutes stretching into what seemed hours. There they lay, his hand shoving her head into the ground. Breath clotted in their throats, every sound magnified in the dangerous quiet around them.
At long last, Castor rose slightly, motioning for her to do the same. She peeped over the tips of grass, looking over their swaying heads and at the scene before her.
The firelight spread across the ground, dancing across the figures of the night. They no longer proceeded around the dancing flames, rather they sat in staid stances, heads bowed and knees tucked beneath them. A chant hung in the air, as threateningly quiet and cuttingly clear. In unuttered consent, they joined hands, slowly raising them upward. The chant escalated into a crazed screech. Then, all at once, the scene exploded into a maddening flurry of activity.
Screeching and chanting in turn, the figures beat the ground, flailing their arms and bringing them down. Appearing from nowhere, men emerged from the dark depths of the forest and dashed to the center of the circle created by the figures. Clad in the skins of a serpent, they wove in and out of the menace blaze. Sinuous snakes wrapped about their wrists, writhing to the ecstatic shriek ringing throughout the air. Then, uncoiling slowly, they slithered to the ground.
The figure who had held Arrenia’s undivided fascination appeared at the entrance of a tent, holding a ball crafted of crystal. Sound ceased, plunging all into a silent void. Inside the ball was the face of a girl, her eyes black as coal and hair dark as ash.
Arrenia caught her breath. “Isabel.”
Castor cocked his head, looking at her, only to find her glued to the scene. When she didn’t even give him a glance, he returned his attention to the happenings at hand.
The man held the ball aloft, allowing all to see. Thunderous applause rumbled through the night, drumming in the ears of all who heard. The girl in the ball smiled, flashing flawless teeth into a cruel grin.
Cleaving his way through the crowd, the man approached the raging flames. Setting the ball upon the ground, he probed into the folds of his cloak, producing a small bag. Reaching and grabbing handfuls of matter, he tossed it, watching it be consumed by the ravenous hunger of the hearth. Skirting the fire with slow steps, he began to mutter in a voice of near inaudibility.
“Dytok mika li kaarum,
Mun mika deak sadak,
Nwu li krokum,
Ko mea ka ta,
Oke nalaka megun,
Taka nwu magahata,
Ko mea ka ta,
Oke nalaka megun,
Ko la nwu nak,
Ko la nwu nak!”
Arrenia leaned towards Castor. “What does it mean?”
Without looking away, he repeated it, confusion filling his words.
“Die, they must,
For they do not say,
You are king,
Come here to us,
Oh blessed snake,
Take your revenge.
Come here to us,
Oh blessed snake,
We need you now,
We need you now!”
Arrenia fell silent, the chill of the night suddenly closing in around her. She shivered, the reality of the words penetrating to her bones. They were talking about someone.
The shadows seemed to lengthen and shift, swallowing the ground in their murderous jaws. The wind whispered through the boughs of the trees, its rustling dialect incomprehensive and dreadful. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled to a moonless sky.
Smoke curled into the air, slithering upwards and curving into the form of a serpent. A sharp command split the stillness, and all- even the snakes, even the girl in the ball- fell prostrate.
“Oh, sacred snake! We are your humble servants, as you well know,” the one who had emerged from the tent said. “We ask only your guidance, for we are at a loss for what to do.”
Lids closed over the scarlet orbs that sat in the socket of the eyes. Then, a voice, horrible, hissing, and the epitome of evil, cut through the atmosphere. “Mmmm…you have something to show me, I think…” The eyes opened again, flashing the face with a brilliant black interest. “Yes…you have something to show me.”
Pulling an old sheet of paper from the depths of his sleeve, the man extended it to the serpent. “We found this in a heap of clothes. Oh, snake! You have forever possessed an interest in the fate of the half-medallions. I have presented it before the assembly here gathered, and we have reached a conclusion that you alone should decide what to do about the information presented hence. We come before you, our heads bowed, seeking your guidance. Do not refuse this one request.”
For a moment, not a word was spoken. Arrenia held her breath, her hand upon the medallion which now hung from her throat, wanting to hear, but yet afraid to know.
“Yes…I am interested,” the snake began. “I have sought this for a long time….”
“But what is to be done?”
“This girl of whom you spoke in the past- she is still within your clutches?”
“Yes….”
The snake stretched its neck down until it stared into the man’s eyes. “Then I will give you no second chances. Kill her. Hunt her if need be, but I want that medallion.”
The man dipped his head. “As you wish, Sire.”
Incanted inferno shriveling to a spark, the creature slide back into the fading flames. Castor tapped Arrenia on the back, signaling her to follow him.
With the sounds of the dispersing party ringing in their ears, they inched over the ground. Noises of the night ceased as they gathered grass into their hands, pulling themselves forward. Sharpened by the silence, their sobered senses remained poised, ready for any sound indicating their discovery.
The canopy of trees swallowed them whole, spinning dark silhouettes about them in a protective guise. Once the hues of the hearth of could be seen no longer, Castor stood.
“Right. We must be quick.”
“But where are we going?”
He turned about, staring down into her uplifted little face, ashen and drawn. Her lower lip trembled before she sealed it into a firm line. Long eyelashes failed to veil her wide-eyed innocence. He knelt before her, fully aware of every ounce of trust she thrust upon him. Oh, how he wished he knew how to comfort her! Hadn’t she comforted him earlier that night? She had taken his hands…just like so…but what came next?
He sighed, caressing the little hand now resting in his own. Ravaging his brain, he searched into the recesses of his mind, but all that came out was, “You do realize, Arrenia, that you can no longer remain here.”
Sinking her teeth into her lip, she nodded, turning her head away. Mental beratings raked through his mind. Couldn’t he do better than that?
He looked at her- small, shivering and abject- and in sudden wave, such as that crashes onto the shore during a tumultuous tide, wanted nothing more than to collect her into his arms, to tell her that this long, dark night would pass and day soon would come.
But there wasn’t the time, and that he knew well, and no way to take back his words. So he stood, allowing practicality to conquer the turbulent sensations within his soul. “Come, we must go.”
For a moment, there she remained, her head still resting between her shoulders. They rose and sagged, slow and steady, to the beat of her breath. Long expanses of time sprawled before them, silence echoing in the void of sound. A light drizzle pattered upon the ground, churning the dirt into mud and filling the earth with its dampened chill.
Then, gradually, her grip tightened about his own. Climbing to her feet, she flipped her hair behind her, sending a shower of small droplets hurling into the air. Jaw stuck out in resolution, she stared into the face of fate, defiance flaring from her eyes. With a nod of her head, she said, “Right. I will do this.”
A pause filled the atmosphere. Her fingers loosened their constricting clench. “But where will we go?”
Turning her towards him, he placed his hands on her shoulders. The clouds drifted from their place in front of the moon, pouring light into the glade and sweeping the rain away with it. She stood there staring, wide-eyed and innocent, scared and helpless, like a wounded creature waiting for aid. Waiting and not knowing if it will ever come.
His head dropped, fingers digging into her shoulders. “Oh, what do I say!”
She watched as the firm backbone of a warrior she once knew snapped beneath the burdens of the world, shedding the armored mask of emotions and leaving him susceptible and shaken. A rush of pity surged over her, whisking away her fear with its tidal torrent.
A spark within her burst into flame, thawing the icy corners of a heart frozen with fear. He had done so much for her- and he of all people! He could have- by rights he should have- put her to the sword, but instead he had shielded her with his own dignity, sacrificing it for the life of an enemy.
Her eyes swam in a pool of hot tears. And what had she done to repay him?
“Don’t.”
He raised his gaze slightly. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say anything. I understand.”
She caught her breath as his stare seeped into her soul, taking her up in its caressing, protective hand, allowing it to sweep her troubles away. She reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the rugged bristles beneath her smooth fingertips. She felt him reaching deep into her secrets, overturning them and leaving them raw for the world to see.
And yet, for once, she found herself defenseless. For once she couldn’t move, bound as she was in his restricting grasp. Her heart began to beat, palpitating unchecked. She wanted to speak, but all words perished on her lips as he gathered her into his arms and held her there. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. Nothing existed save for the sensation of this embrace.
As he pushed her back, a wave of sad longing flooded the forest, chilling everything it touched. Arrenia shivered, her eyes leaking streams of tears. Oh, why did this have to happen?! Why couldn’t she stay?!
Gulping down his grief, Castor said, “Come, little maiden. It is home you must go. In which direction lies your village?
Arrenia hesitated, the night air nipping at her skin, the truth biting into her tongue. A slight breeze danced around her legs, trifling with her skirt as she stood there, the uncertainty shining from her being filling the air with a soundless yet explosive sense. If she made one wrong move…what would he do?
She could always lie. Just this once, her words could be untrue. Forestalled would his warrior’s wrath be, and perhaps her falsehood would escape his notice.
But had he ever betrayed her that she should do the same to him? Did he not protect her while the risk of his own blood loomed over his head?
Her long hair fell before her as she stared at the ground and sighed. Her hands in a neat knot before her, she pondered the point upon which she must now answer. Could she trust him with her very heart and soul? If she told him the truth, told him the very thing which separated him from her and held them apart, would he continue to respect her life? She knew what his duty would be, which course of action would hold him in great honor above the rest of his people….
Her hand slid around her throat. The blade’s keen edge crept into her mind, as did the sharp sting of its scratch. Her muscles twisted into tight cords, her stomach knotting uncomfortably.
But, from her heart came another tale, rising from deep within her, pushing its way upward and spilling into her mind. She unfolded fists damp with the sweat of her palm, bringing her head up slowly.
She jumped slightly as their gazes fused together, a fiery spark leaping into her chest. There it burned, increasing its heat until she sweltered beneath it, completely overcome and subdued. Her lips parted, the words issuing forth, her mind nullified.
“I don’t live in a village, Castor.”
“What do you mean?” His stare intensified as he knitted his brows.
“I…I’m not who you think I am.”
Noting the sudden tremor in her voice, he took in her wide eyes and tensed posture. Taking a step forward, he said, “You fear me.”
She took a step backwards. Gulping, she nodded. How could she not be, when one look of his eyes scaled the walls of her defenses, leaving her weak and helpless?
He smiled gently, taking her chin in his hand. “You need not be, little one. Tell me, what’s troubling you?”
She drew in her breath. “If I told you, would you promise not to hurt me?”
Dipping his head, he rested his hand upon his heart. “Upon my honor, little maiden.”
Her mind raced in wild, nervous terror, fists rolling into frightened balls. Eyes skimming over the elaborate hilt of his sword, she sucked in her fear.
“I live in the palace of Lydacia, the very one which your people tried to conquer. Castor… my name is Arrenia de la Cornia, Princess of Lydacia.”
She waited, expectancy constricting her soul. Inhaling slowly, she cleaved the oxygen from the air. Her insides twitched and fluttered, then fell into a stagnant stance. The wind halted its whispers, the boughs of the trees finally ceasing their hypnotic sway.
Glance unaverted, Castor placed a foot forward, fingers embracing the handle of his weapon. Metal rang against metal as he slid it from its sheath. If she gasped, he did not know it. All he remembered was the closing of her eyes, the turning of her head….
He raised his sword, rage coursing through his veins….
Monday, September 1, 2008
And yet another excerpt
Rattled from her sleep by sharp shake, Arrenia bolted upright and stared into the darkness. Castor placed something in her palm, pressing it to her. Urgency rang from his every move, arousing alarm within her soul.
“Keep it,” he said. “Let no one know you have it.”
Arrenia undid her knotted fist, peeling her fingers back until the object lay bare in the crook of her hand. She explored the edges slicing the thin air, inhaling and exhaling with slow surety.
Eyes blazing in confusion, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her voice nought but a whisper, she said, “My mother’s medallion. But why…?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s just too many questions…no one seems to know….”
Head drooping between his shoulders, he let out a sigh. Words perished on her tongue’s tip as she took his hand in her own. The unanswered consumed him, draining his strength with the slow torture of the mind. She swallowed her curiosity, knowing that it would only burden him more.
“You look exhausted,” she finally said. “Maybe you should return to your quarters.”
Methodically massaging his brows, his head shook again. “No… No, I cannot do that.”
Rising, he walked to an overturned pile and thrust a new dagger into his scabbard. He tightened the belt about his waist, all too aware of her vigilant gaze.
“Where are you going?”
He fumbled with the buckle, trying to make his voice steady. He mustn’t let her know…he mustn’t let her see his fear.
Fear. Fear of everything. Fear for her- fear what all of this might mean….And fear of himself.
What am I doing, helping this Lydacian girl? Oh, Ino, tell me why I do this! he thought.
“I will hunt this down until I know what I need,” he said.
“Then take me with you.”
He stared at her, her eager manner mixing with resolution. Was she crazy? Did she not know what might happen? What mankind might do to her?
And yet, was it not also her right to know, and to know everything she could? A sigh escaped once again as he stood in the indecisive void between the practicality of his notions and his roiling emotions.
She rose, approaching him, her eyes never once leaving his. He watched the rhythm of her every step, his heart beginning to dance to the beat of her every move. Covering it with his hand, he attempted in vain to cease the wild palpitations pulsing through him. A wishing wave flooded over him, and he found himself engulfed with the suddenness of its power. With his entire being, he began to wish. To wish this task was not hers. To wish that the medallion had never been discovered. And, though he knew his heart thought otherwise, in his mind he wished she had never come.
“Please, Castor,” she held out her hand to him, every inch of her begging, pleading with him. “I need to know.”
Her words washed over him, flooding him with feelings anew, drowning him in the depths of her tender voice. Afraid that he might be overcome by the force swallowing him in its mystic jaws, he turned from her. Who was this little Lydacian girl who could melt a heart hardened by the hammer of war? So small, so fragile, and yet so strong!
“Castor, please!”
Spinning about, he grasped her wrist. His voice reduced to a whisper, he brought his face close to hers. “Arrenia, listen to me. Discovering the mystery of the medallion holds many dangers, especially to one who wields this object of legend. Many want your life, Arrenia, and will stop at nothing to get. If you come with me, your life will be endangered. And, Arrenia, oh, Arrenia! I cannot, I will not….”
Words faded from his tongue as quiet crowded around them. A moment passed, then Arrenia said, “I want to come.”
He dropped her hand, letting it droop to her side. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he gave a slow nodded. “Very well. But stay close to me.”
She smiled up at him, her heart skipping a beat as he wrapped his fingers about her own. Falling in stride beside him, the duo ventured off into the night.
“Keep it,” he said. “Let no one know you have it.”
Arrenia undid her knotted fist, peeling her fingers back until the object lay bare in the crook of her hand. She explored the edges slicing the thin air, inhaling and exhaling with slow surety.
Eyes blazing in confusion, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her voice nought but a whisper, she said, “My mother’s medallion. But why…?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s just too many questions…no one seems to know….”
Head drooping between his shoulders, he let out a sigh. Words perished on her tongue’s tip as she took his hand in her own. The unanswered consumed him, draining his strength with the slow torture of the mind. She swallowed her curiosity, knowing that it would only burden him more.
“You look exhausted,” she finally said. “Maybe you should return to your quarters.”
Methodically massaging his brows, his head shook again. “No… No, I cannot do that.”
Rising, he walked to an overturned pile and thrust a new dagger into his scabbard. He tightened the belt about his waist, all too aware of her vigilant gaze.
“Where are you going?”
He fumbled with the buckle, trying to make his voice steady. He mustn’t let her know…he mustn’t let her see his fear.
Fear. Fear of everything. Fear for her- fear what all of this might mean….And fear of himself.
What am I doing, helping this Lydacian girl? Oh, Ino, tell me why I do this! he thought.
“I will hunt this down until I know what I need,” he said.
“Then take me with you.”
He stared at her, her eager manner mixing with resolution. Was she crazy? Did she not know what might happen? What mankind might do to her?
And yet, was it not also her right to know, and to know everything she could? A sigh escaped once again as he stood in the indecisive void between the practicality of his notions and his roiling emotions.
She rose, approaching him, her eyes never once leaving his. He watched the rhythm of her every step, his heart beginning to dance to the beat of her every move. Covering it with his hand, he attempted in vain to cease the wild palpitations pulsing through him. A wishing wave flooded over him, and he found himself engulfed with the suddenness of its power. With his entire being, he began to wish. To wish this task was not hers. To wish that the medallion had never been discovered. And, though he knew his heart thought otherwise, in his mind he wished she had never come.
“Please, Castor,” she held out her hand to him, every inch of her begging, pleading with him. “I need to know.”
Her words washed over him, flooding him with feelings anew, drowning him in the depths of her tender voice. Afraid that he might be overcome by the force swallowing him in its mystic jaws, he turned from her. Who was this little Lydacian girl who could melt a heart hardened by the hammer of war? So small, so fragile, and yet so strong!
“Castor, please!”
Spinning about, he grasped her wrist. His voice reduced to a whisper, he brought his face close to hers. “Arrenia, listen to me. Discovering the mystery of the medallion holds many dangers, especially to one who wields this object of legend. Many want your life, Arrenia, and will stop at nothing to get. If you come with me, your life will be endangered. And, Arrenia, oh, Arrenia! I cannot, I will not….”
Words faded from his tongue as quiet crowded around them. A moment passed, then Arrenia said, “I want to come.”
He dropped her hand, letting it droop to her side. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he gave a slow nodded. “Very well. But stay close to me.”
She smiled up at him, her heart skipping a beat as he wrapped his fingers about her own. Falling in stride beside him, the duo ventured off into the night.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
My New Laptop
Hey, ya'll! It's late so I'm going to make this brief. I just wanted to say that, finally, I got my very own laptop! It's a Hewlett Packard and has a black exterior with a silver interior along with a media center, music player, DVD player, and internet access (most of the websites are blocked, however). Dad plans to upload Microsoft Word, but that hasn't happened yet. But, in short, I am very, very excited to have my own portable computer and can't wait to get started with all of the typing and stuff!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The Blood of the Lamb- Another Excerpt
A crack of light peeked from around the doorway. The girl pushed upon the door, widening the crack into a brilliant beam.
A head of gray bent over a tome, writing running delicately across the page. A beard draped over his knees and brushed the cave floor. He glanced up from his work, peering at them from under bushy eyebrows, the feathery pen never once ceasing its infinite scratching against the paper. “Yes, Cora? What do you want?”
The girl, her eyes never rising to meet her master’s, replied, “The prince is here, seeking your audience, Sir.”
“Very well,” he said, putting the final strokes on his manuscript and laying his pen aside. “You may go.”
“Thank you, my master. I take my leave.” She backed out of the room. The old one’s gaze traced her steps, waiting until the door clanged its tell-tale message and retreating steps were heard.
The man unfolded his hands. “Come, sit. We are alone now- tell me what’s troubling you.”
Castor dragged the chair back from its place and seated himself upon it. Hand diving into his pocket, he extracted the medallion, watching its golden glitter as the lamplight leapt off its surface, dancing to the flicker of its flame.
For a moment, the man stared at it, drawing in shallow, slow breaths. His heart stilled, revived hope filling his soul. Wrapping his fist about it, he held it up, running a trembling finger over its jagged edge, tracing the peaks and valleys with reverent incredulity.
His eyes scanned the boy’s. “Where did you get this?”
Uneasiness cut into Castor, piercing him suddenly with the sharpness lining the prophet’s words. “A girl. I found her on the way to the Lydacian palace. She claims to be a peasant.”
The man was quiet fro a moment more, then laid the medallion down on the des, eyes still riveted to its glittering intrigue. “She might be more than she seems. Have you heard the legend of the half-medallions, lad?”
“No.”
A smile tilted the corners of cracked lips. “I suspected not. It is a closely-guarded tale, one only known amongst those of us called to my work. It is a most sacred secret, the most sacred of its kind…”
A question rose in the glassy blue of the man’s eyes. And, as Castor probed into their deepest depths, he saw a sea frothing with events far preceding the days of his father. A tumultuous sea- wrought with weary and hard times. And yet, every crease, every corner of that old face bespoke a kindly wisdom- one of which the wise only dream to have.
Then, slowly, the man said, “I think I can trust you. Yes, I think I will trust you.”
The chair screeched as it grated against the ground, giving the gentleman just enough room to stand. Turning about, he moved towards a bookshelf sprawling the breadth and length of a wall. Incohesive muttering tumbled from his tongue as he scanned his scrolls.
Castor waited in trained patience, his expression betraying neither thought nor emotion. Carved by the teachings of his father and etched with battles abounding, it remained in its staid state.
“Ah,” the old one said, pulling a large scroll from a lower shelf. “Here it is.”
A thud proclaimed the landing of the scroll upon the desk. Its parchment yellowed and language of old, it stretched out before him- a bottomless source of information.
“What does it say?”
The man looked up, surprise shining from behind his spectacles. “Why? Can’t you read it at all? What? No?! And I thought the palace school was the finest in Sleyvink!”
“As it is, Sir, but we have no need for ancient writing.”
“No need for it? Ahh, but there, my boy, you are wrong.” He re-seated himself, leaning over the table. Pointing towards the words written, he resumed. “Here, with these words and in this tongue, is the secret to life and the secret to death. Scratched upon these papers, readable only to those who are learned in the language of people populating this earth long ago, are instructions to either bring about the greatest good or the greatest evil.”
Gripping the desk, Castor said, “What is it? And what has it to do with my friend?”
The man shook his head. “I cannot tell you. None who are alive can. But I can tell you this- there is a prophecy, begot centuries ago, that says when the bearers of the two halves of a single medallion give their lives for the salvation of the world- then there will be peace.”
He placed the half-medallion into Castor’s hand. “Keep it safe. And watch for those who wish to take it from you, for through them, the world will be doomed to destruction.”
The boy nodded, rising from his seat. “Thank you. I shall do just that.”
A head of gray bent over a tome, writing running delicately across the page. A beard draped over his knees and brushed the cave floor. He glanced up from his work, peering at them from under bushy eyebrows, the feathery pen never once ceasing its infinite scratching against the paper. “Yes, Cora? What do you want?”
The girl, her eyes never rising to meet her master’s, replied, “The prince is here, seeking your audience, Sir.”
“Very well,” he said, putting the final strokes on his manuscript and laying his pen aside. “You may go.”
“Thank you, my master. I take my leave.” She backed out of the room. The old one’s gaze traced her steps, waiting until the door clanged its tell-tale message and retreating steps were heard.
The man unfolded his hands. “Come, sit. We are alone now- tell me what’s troubling you.”
Castor dragged the chair back from its place and seated himself upon it. Hand diving into his pocket, he extracted the medallion, watching its golden glitter as the lamplight leapt off its surface, dancing to the flicker of its flame.
For a moment, the man stared at it, drawing in shallow, slow breaths. His heart stilled, revived hope filling his soul. Wrapping his fist about it, he held it up, running a trembling finger over its jagged edge, tracing the peaks and valleys with reverent incredulity.
His eyes scanned the boy’s. “Where did you get this?”
Uneasiness cut into Castor, piercing him suddenly with the sharpness lining the prophet’s words. “A girl. I found her on the way to the Lydacian palace. She claims to be a peasant.”
The man was quiet fro a moment more, then laid the medallion down on the des, eyes still riveted to its glittering intrigue. “She might be more than she seems. Have you heard the legend of the half-medallions, lad?”
“No.”
A smile tilted the corners of cracked lips. “I suspected not. It is a closely-guarded tale, one only known amongst those of us called to my work. It is a most sacred secret, the most sacred of its kind…”
A question rose in the glassy blue of the man’s eyes. And, as Castor probed into their deepest depths, he saw a sea frothing with events far preceding the days of his father. A tumultuous sea- wrought with weary and hard times. And yet, every crease, every corner of that old face bespoke a kindly wisdom- one of which the wise only dream to have.
Then, slowly, the man said, “I think I can trust you. Yes, I think I will trust you.”
The chair screeched as it grated against the ground, giving the gentleman just enough room to stand. Turning about, he moved towards a bookshelf sprawling the breadth and length of a wall. Incohesive muttering tumbled from his tongue as he scanned his scrolls.
Castor waited in trained patience, his expression betraying neither thought nor emotion. Carved by the teachings of his father and etched with battles abounding, it remained in its staid state.
“Ah,” the old one said, pulling a large scroll from a lower shelf. “Here it is.”
A thud proclaimed the landing of the scroll upon the desk. Its parchment yellowed and language of old, it stretched out before him- a bottomless source of information.
“What does it say?”
The man looked up, surprise shining from behind his spectacles. “Why? Can’t you read it at all? What? No?! And I thought the palace school was the finest in Sleyvink!”
“As it is, Sir, but we have no need for ancient writing.”
“No need for it? Ahh, but there, my boy, you are wrong.” He re-seated himself, leaning over the table. Pointing towards the words written, he resumed. “Here, with these words and in this tongue, is the secret to life and the secret to death. Scratched upon these papers, readable only to those who are learned in the language of people populating this earth long ago, are instructions to either bring about the greatest good or the greatest evil.”
Gripping the desk, Castor said, “What is it? And what has it to do with my friend?”
The man shook his head. “I cannot tell you. None who are alive can. But I can tell you this- there is a prophecy, begot centuries ago, that says when the bearers of the two halves of a single medallion give their lives for the salvation of the world- then there will be peace.”
He placed the half-medallion into Castor’s hand. “Keep it safe. And watch for those who wish to take it from you, for through them, the world will be doomed to destruction.”
The boy nodded, rising from his seat. “Thank you. I shall do just that.”
Monday, August 25, 2008
The Blood of the Lamb- An Excerpt
Okay, so a while back I posted a bit on the subject of my latest work, The Blood of the Lamb. Well, I have been working on this story for quite a while, and since God has been good enough to give me a love for this work, I wish to share an excerpt with you. Enjoy and feel free to critique!
Golden beams of sunlight streamed through the canopy of trees. Arrenia’s blood pumped through her veins as the lush foliage rushed by. She clenched the mare’s mane, leaning forward as she enjoyed the breath of the wind blowing against her cheek. Her legs hugged the side of the horse. Heart racing, she whipped her head around.
“Faster!” she cried.
“Careful, little maiden,” Castor reminded. “You’ll scare all the game.”
She stretched out her arm, allowing her fingers to brush the branches. He caught it and pulled it in, only to receive a sharp, reprimanding slap upon the hand. Laughing inwardly, he sat marveling at this young creature who dared to oppose him in such a frank, open manner.
Arrenia drove her heels into the horse’s flanks, spurring her onward. Leaning over the mare’s neck, she watched the ground beneath her whizz by….
A small scream issued from her lips as she began to fall. Her hand grappled for a hold- anything that would spare her from landing in a hurting heap upon the path. Dirt sprinkled her face, which lay just inches from the horse’s menacing hooves.
Crushing her fingers in a grasp of steel, Castor yanked on the reins. The creature reared, whinnying its complaints. His legs constricted the horse’s sides as his feet slipped from the stirrups. Arrenia dangled from his grip, slipping slowly with every fleeting second.
Releasing the reins, he reached for her other hand. Cold sweat met his palms as she complied. The animal pawed at the air, sending its rider tumbling from his seat of command….
Castor found himself somersaulting through the atmosphere, Arrenia beneath him, above him, and beneath him again. Pain surged through him as he made contact with the earth. For a moment, they tottered on the brink of a hillside. The shoulders of his shirt gathered in her grasp, and he clung tightly to her arms. Tongues tied in terrification, they glanced from each other to the long descent below.
Then, with a shriek of delight, Arrenia fell backwards, pulling him with her. Toppled-on twigs snapped beneath them, rifling the forest with resonating cracks. Thistles stabbed their sharp blades into their clothing while disarrayed garlands of briars adorned their hair.
They stopped in a clearing. Letting go of each other, they rolled onto their backs, uproarious laughter subsiding to subsequent giggles.
“Well, so much for not scaring the game,” Castor observed, propping himself up with his elbow.
Arrenia plucked a blade of grass from the lush carpet beneath her. Holding it up, she watched as it tipped to and fro, dancing to the gentle whistle of the wind. Birds twittered their harmonious accompaniment. The girl closed her eyes, allowing the breeze to toss the tips of her hair.
Castor looked at her, his brows knitted in the stitches of puzzlement. “What are you doing?”
She swatted at him. “Shh! Listen!”
Delving into momentary silence, he closed his eyes. His mind focused. His ears strained. Then, “What?! I don’t hear anything!”
Arrenia lifted her face towards the sun, allowing it to wrap her in the warmth of its rays. “Shh! Hear it?”
The seconds crawled like ants on a hill. Still nothing. “Tell me, what is it?!”
She tilted her chin a bit higher. “Open your imagination. Listen to the song of Nature. Try it. You’ll hear her pretty voice.”
“Do you always do this?”
She opened her eyes. “Do what?”
“Imagine.”
She reclined, sinking her back deep into the grass. “I just like to appreciate the simple wonders Ino has provided us with.”
Removing his gaze from hers, he stared off into the impenetrable wall of trees, hoping to bore a hole, to be able to relate, to share in her source of wonder. He wet his lips. “I wish I could, too, Arrenia… But life’s too short, too fleeting. One day you’re alive, the next you’re dead.”
Her fingers hugged the stem of a flower, pulling it free from its earthly bonds. The petite, pink petals displayed their faded beauty, each telling the tale of gone days of glory as they drooped from the stem. She stroked the plant gently. “But that’s just it. Maybe life’s too fleeting. So we should enjoy it while we have it. Every…single…moment.”
She pulled one petal away and tossed it to the wind, plucking each in turn until the stem itself stood, stripped of its adornments and bared to the battering wills of the world. She handed it to Castor, and he twirled it between his fingers, examining its helpless, humble appearance.
She’s right, he thought as astonishment throttled all speech. He had certainly never thought of it that way!
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her triumphant smile. He constricted the flower, crushing what little life it had left. What was he doing, letting this Lydacian girl put thoughts in his head? The filthy wretch! Did not everyone know this? That her people could deceive for years and never be caught?
Sighing, he unknotted his clenched hands. And yet, there was something different about this girl. Something he didn’t quite understand….
He shrugged the thought off his shoulders. He’d just have to watch her…and himself.
Concealed by a sea of green foliage, a scout observed them from his post. Squinting, he clarified in his mind the image of the girl, and her identity. Then, he turned from his post and sped northward, the words of news upon his tongue….
Golden beams of sunlight streamed through the canopy of trees. Arrenia’s blood pumped through her veins as the lush foliage rushed by. She clenched the mare’s mane, leaning forward as she enjoyed the breath of the wind blowing against her cheek. Her legs hugged the side of the horse. Heart racing, she whipped her head around.
“Faster!” she cried.
“Careful, little maiden,” Castor reminded. “You’ll scare all the game.”
She stretched out her arm, allowing her fingers to brush the branches. He caught it and pulled it in, only to receive a sharp, reprimanding slap upon the hand. Laughing inwardly, he sat marveling at this young creature who dared to oppose him in such a frank, open manner.
Arrenia drove her heels into the horse’s flanks, spurring her onward. Leaning over the mare’s neck, she watched the ground beneath her whizz by….
A small scream issued from her lips as she began to fall. Her hand grappled for a hold- anything that would spare her from landing in a hurting heap upon the path. Dirt sprinkled her face, which lay just inches from the horse’s menacing hooves.
Crushing her fingers in a grasp of steel, Castor yanked on the reins. The creature reared, whinnying its complaints. His legs constricted the horse’s sides as his feet slipped from the stirrups. Arrenia dangled from his grip, slipping slowly with every fleeting second.
Releasing the reins, he reached for her other hand. Cold sweat met his palms as she complied. The animal pawed at the air, sending its rider tumbling from his seat of command….
Castor found himself somersaulting through the atmosphere, Arrenia beneath him, above him, and beneath him again. Pain surged through him as he made contact with the earth. For a moment, they tottered on the brink of a hillside. The shoulders of his shirt gathered in her grasp, and he clung tightly to her arms. Tongues tied in terrification, they glanced from each other to the long descent below.
Then, with a shriek of delight, Arrenia fell backwards, pulling him with her. Toppled-on twigs snapped beneath them, rifling the forest with resonating cracks. Thistles stabbed their sharp blades into their clothing while disarrayed garlands of briars adorned their hair.
They stopped in a clearing. Letting go of each other, they rolled onto their backs, uproarious laughter subsiding to subsequent giggles.
“Well, so much for not scaring the game,” Castor observed, propping himself up with his elbow.
Arrenia plucked a blade of grass from the lush carpet beneath her. Holding it up, she watched as it tipped to and fro, dancing to the gentle whistle of the wind. Birds twittered their harmonious accompaniment. The girl closed her eyes, allowing the breeze to toss the tips of her hair.
Castor looked at her, his brows knitted in the stitches of puzzlement. “What are you doing?”
She swatted at him. “Shh! Listen!”
Delving into momentary silence, he closed his eyes. His mind focused. His ears strained. Then, “What?! I don’t hear anything!”
Arrenia lifted her face towards the sun, allowing it to wrap her in the warmth of its rays. “Shh! Hear it?”
The seconds crawled like ants on a hill. Still nothing. “Tell me, what is it?!”
She tilted her chin a bit higher. “Open your imagination. Listen to the song of Nature. Try it. You’ll hear her pretty voice.”
“Do you always do this?”
She opened her eyes. “Do what?”
“Imagine.”
She reclined, sinking her back deep into the grass. “I just like to appreciate the simple wonders Ino has provided us with.”
Removing his gaze from hers, he stared off into the impenetrable wall of trees, hoping to bore a hole, to be able to relate, to share in her source of wonder. He wet his lips. “I wish I could, too, Arrenia… But life’s too short, too fleeting. One day you’re alive, the next you’re dead.”
Her fingers hugged the stem of a flower, pulling it free from its earthly bonds. The petite, pink petals displayed their faded beauty, each telling the tale of gone days of glory as they drooped from the stem. She stroked the plant gently. “But that’s just it. Maybe life’s too fleeting. So we should enjoy it while we have it. Every…single…moment.”
She pulled one petal away and tossed it to the wind, plucking each in turn until the stem itself stood, stripped of its adornments and bared to the battering wills of the world. She handed it to Castor, and he twirled it between his fingers, examining its helpless, humble appearance.
She’s right, he thought as astonishment throttled all speech. He had certainly never thought of it that way!
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her triumphant smile. He constricted the flower, crushing what little life it had left. What was he doing, letting this Lydacian girl put thoughts in his head? The filthy wretch! Did not everyone know this? That her people could deceive for years and never be caught?
Sighing, he unknotted his clenched hands. And yet, there was something different about this girl. Something he didn’t quite understand….
He shrugged the thought off his shoulders. He’d just have to watch her…and himself.
Concealed by a sea of green foliage, a scout observed them from his post. Squinting, he clarified in his mind the image of the girl, and her identity. Then, he turned from his post and sped northward, the words of news upon his tongue….
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
A Jolly Time
Baggage cluttered my feet. Tossed by a grueling 4 hours of flight time, my friend Bekah and I sat side-by-side in the Philadelphia airport, waiting and glancing around in anticipation. Slowly, I rose. Was it? Could it really be?
"Look! There they are!" I shouted, waving one arm above my head.
We rushed forward, a torrent of joy bursting forth as we wrapped our arms around our friends Katie, Ellen, and Lauren Jolly once again. Our lips split into smiles. After nearly three months of separation and approximately four months of planning, we were finally here.
You see, after a year of laughs, movie midnight showings, sleepovers, pool hangouts, and good times the Jollys announced in March that they were being transferred to New Jersey, particularly heartbreaking for Bekah and me. However, we dreamed of meeting up again, and although at the time we knew the dreams might be far-fetched, we clung onto it as they pulled out of our driveway on that dreadful last night. And, from that little seed, that one tiny hope, sprung something we will remember for the rest of our lives- a whole six days in New Jersey, including one in New York City. And that wasn't all- Bekah and I were going alone.
So, there we were, jamming into the Jollys' van as we started our way to their house- and a whole a week of fun.
As soon as we arrived, we piled our stuff into the RV standing in the driveway. For the occasion, Mrs. Jolly gave the RV into the 24/7 care of us girls. With the help of a TV, junk food, a refridgerator, bunk beds, a table, our own dishes, and many other ammenities of the home, we quickly fell into a joyous little life and it soon became the private hideaway we loved.
And through this we all discovered that we loved something else- Jane Austen movies. Doritos and Chocolate Chex Mix on hand, we all but consumed the hours with classic tales such as the old Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Persuasion, and Mansfield Park. We rooted for some couples and despised the matching of others. Just for fun, we took turns in the hair and make-up chair, trying hairstyles on each other that (we hoped) looked just like the ones on the TV.
Oh, and another thing about the Jollys- all three of 'em are completely boy-crazy. Literally, one night we spent almost thirty minutes filming ourselves screaming over Caspian (it was really interesting, especially when Bekah began fast-forwarding our favorite part and she lost her "remote privilege").
And when we got tired of boy-talk and movies, we had three options- a walk in the woods (which was quickly eliminated due to numerous ticks discovered), a swim in their ten-foot deep pool (you could dive!), or a round of Liar, which became a favorite pastime of ours. We'd stay up into the late hours of the night, screaming that a person lied and shoving the deck of cards towards the accused. Quite a few times, Ellen ended up with 51 cards in her hand.
But the best part? A trip to New York! For a whole day, we roamed the streets of America's largest city, seeing the world-famous sights.
Climbing to the top of an observation tower, we saw Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the spot where the Twin Towers would have stood, as well as the average structures of New York- all summarized into one sweeping view. On the way up, the elevator roof was transformed into a screen, upon which abbreviated films of events welcomed us to the city. Colorful lights, which shone through the screen, lined the elevator shaft, forever illuminated our way, whether we went up or down.
After that, we perused the shops, not the least of which was the American Girl Place, where dolls, clothes, and toys abound. Although Lauren was the only one still young enough to fully appreciate this store, the scenes artistically depicting dolls interacting with items from different sets brought back nostalgic memories of childhood pastimes to Katie, Ellen, Bekah, and me.
The next stop? F-A-O Schwarz, a humongous toy store comprised of stuffed animals, statuettes, Barbie-doll-like versions of renowned movie characters such as Jack Sparrow and Scarlet O'Hara, and much, much more. It had two levels, and we spent about an hour exploring every nook and cranny. Bekah and I made small purchases- just a few gifts as well as the friendship animals that the four of us had decided to buy as a reminder of our comradship.
As the hours wore on, our feet tired of treading the bustling streets. So, after we exited the toy store, Mrs. Jolly asked, "Would ya'll like to go sit in Central Park for a while?"
Naturally (quite naturally), we said yes and our little group made its way across the street and walked into the thickets of trees surrounding this beautiful place.
For you who have never been to Central Park, let me tell you that it is every bit as lovely as it is written off to be. Carpets of green grass cover the ground, shaded to perfection by a canopy of leaves. Sunlight pokes its head in between the branches of the trees, and a path paves the way through the park. A few vendors line the entrance and elegant carriages trot by, carrying sightseers through the tourist attraction just as they might have done a hundred years ago.
After the brief respite, we boarded the subway and sped along to Times Square. As we stepped out, an immediate bustle was about us as all kinds of people went their ways. Lights and marquees surrounded us as entire theaters marketed their plays. Entire builidngs advertised shows, and nearly everywhere something was playing. My camera kept flashing pictures. As an actress, I could hardly believe my eyes. I was standing in the heart of Broadway!
Wow. So this was where it all came from. Shows with such prestige as The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera- every Broadway show I had ever heard- came from here!
Although I could have explored New York for days longer, the sun was setting and the time nearing when we must go back to the little rv that stood awaiting our return. So, we boarded the train during rush-hour- which turned out to be another adventure all by itself.
Once we entered the station, we stopped by a wall to re-group. I stared up the stairs we had just come down. They were empty- but not for long. Literally a split second later they were swarming a tumultuous current of human beings, stampeding their way to the train which would take them home.
Minutes later, we stood in line, waiting for the gates to open so that we could go onto the platform. People crowded in around us, the size growing so rapidly that we decided to split off into pairs if we had to in order to board the train. Lauren would go with her parents the baby, Bekah and Ellen were to stay together, and I had my arm firmly linked through Katie's to ensure we didn't get separated.
As soon as the gates opened, there was a mad rush. The people around us began to press in until our whole group was going single file and everyone all but elbowing their way through.
Although we were nearly running, we got on the train in time, and arrived safely back to the rv. Popping in a movie, we enjoyed our ordered-in Chinese (which Bekah had been craving).
The next day (sadly) was our very last. But, despite our reluctancy to end the trip, we decided to make the most of what precious little time our "fearsome foursome" had left. So, we took a trip out to Blockbuster, rented four movies (which I paid for), then went to the store and loaded up on snacks and soda (which Bekah paid for). Then, returning home, we waited for nightfall....
The wrappers of candy crinkled together as we dumped them into one big bowl. Inserting the first movie, we sat down at a table of Liar and let the fun begin.
If you could see us, you'd probably laugh at our version of "fun", which is mainly defined as- record ourselves dancing to the Cha-Cha-Slide (Mrs. Jolly said she heard a thud, thud, thud, and the camper was shaking), dance, discuss boys in both the movies we're watching and other guys (namely celebrities that aren't in that particular movie), play Liar, videotape each other doing stupidity, and, rule #1 of our parties- giggle, giggle, giggle.
However, 5:30 Wednesday morning came much too soon, and before long Bekah and I found ourselves loading our bags into the back of the Jolly's car. Over and over again, we said our good-byes, just as we had nearly 3 months before.
But this time it was a little different. Ever since May this visit had been a dream in our heads that the four of us managed to turn into a reality while being nearly half a country away. And in our minds, in our very hearts, we knew we could do it again.
And we are. Many times before, Katie and Ellen had voiced interest in coming back for the hoedown, a country dance event organized by our co-op. Just last week, Katie texted me saying that her mom had booked tickets for the 18th-23rd of November- five whole days for our fearsome foursome to be complete again!
And what was best about this bash? We stayed up all night!
"Look! There they are!" I shouted, waving one arm above my head.
We rushed forward, a torrent of joy bursting forth as we wrapped our arms around our friends Katie, Ellen, and Lauren Jolly once again. Our lips split into smiles. After nearly three months of separation and approximately four months of planning, we were finally here.
You see, after a year of laughs, movie midnight showings, sleepovers, pool hangouts, and good times the Jollys announced in March that they were being transferred to New Jersey, particularly heartbreaking for Bekah and me. However, we dreamed of meeting up again, and although at the time we knew the dreams might be far-fetched, we clung onto it as they pulled out of our driveway on that dreadful last night. And, from that little seed, that one tiny hope, sprung something we will remember for the rest of our lives- a whole six days in New Jersey, including one in New York City. And that wasn't all- Bekah and I were going alone.
So, there we were, jamming into the Jollys' van as we started our way to their house- and a whole a week of fun.
As soon as we arrived, we piled our stuff into the RV standing in the driveway. For the occasion, Mrs. Jolly gave the RV into the 24/7 care of us girls. With the help of a TV, junk food, a refridgerator, bunk beds, a table, our own dishes, and many other ammenities of the home, we quickly fell into a joyous little life and it soon became the private hideaway we loved.
And through this we all discovered that we loved something else- Jane Austen movies. Doritos and Chocolate Chex Mix on hand, we all but consumed the hours with classic tales such as the old Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Persuasion, and Mansfield Park. We rooted for some couples and despised the matching of others. Just for fun, we took turns in the hair and make-up chair, trying hairstyles on each other that (we hoped) looked just like the ones on the TV.
Oh, and another thing about the Jollys- all three of 'em are completely boy-crazy. Literally, one night we spent almost thirty minutes filming ourselves screaming over Caspian (it was really interesting, especially when Bekah began fast-forwarding our favorite part and she lost her "remote privilege").
And when we got tired of boy-talk and movies, we had three options- a walk in the woods (which was quickly eliminated due to numerous ticks discovered), a swim in their ten-foot deep pool (you could dive!), or a round of Liar, which became a favorite pastime of ours. We'd stay up into the late hours of the night, screaming that a person lied and shoving the deck of cards towards the accused. Quite a few times, Ellen ended up with 51 cards in her hand.
But the best part? A trip to New York! For a whole day, we roamed the streets of America's largest city, seeing the world-famous sights.
Climbing to the top of an observation tower, we saw Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the spot where the Twin Towers would have stood, as well as the average structures of New York- all summarized into one sweeping view. On the way up, the elevator roof was transformed into a screen, upon which abbreviated films of events welcomed us to the city. Colorful lights, which shone through the screen, lined the elevator shaft, forever illuminated our way, whether we went up or down.
After that, we perused the shops, not the least of which was the American Girl Place, where dolls, clothes, and toys abound. Although Lauren was the only one still young enough to fully appreciate this store, the scenes artistically depicting dolls interacting with items from different sets brought back nostalgic memories of childhood pastimes to Katie, Ellen, Bekah, and me.
The next stop? F-A-O Schwarz, a humongous toy store comprised of stuffed animals, statuettes, Barbie-doll-like versions of renowned movie characters such as Jack Sparrow and Scarlet O'Hara, and much, much more. It had two levels, and we spent about an hour exploring every nook and cranny. Bekah and I made small purchases- just a few gifts as well as the friendship animals that the four of us had decided to buy as a reminder of our comradship.
As the hours wore on, our feet tired of treading the bustling streets. So, after we exited the toy store, Mrs. Jolly asked, "Would ya'll like to go sit in Central Park for a while?"
Naturally (quite naturally), we said yes and our little group made its way across the street and walked into the thickets of trees surrounding this beautiful place.
For you who have never been to Central Park, let me tell you that it is every bit as lovely as it is written off to be. Carpets of green grass cover the ground, shaded to perfection by a canopy of leaves. Sunlight pokes its head in between the branches of the trees, and a path paves the way through the park. A few vendors line the entrance and elegant carriages trot by, carrying sightseers through the tourist attraction just as they might have done a hundred years ago.
After the brief respite, we boarded the subway and sped along to Times Square. As we stepped out, an immediate bustle was about us as all kinds of people went their ways. Lights and marquees surrounded us as entire theaters marketed their plays. Entire builidngs advertised shows, and nearly everywhere something was playing. My camera kept flashing pictures. As an actress, I could hardly believe my eyes. I was standing in the heart of Broadway!
Wow. So this was where it all came from. Shows with such prestige as The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera- every Broadway show I had ever heard- came from here!
Although I could have explored New York for days longer, the sun was setting and the time nearing when we must go back to the little rv that stood awaiting our return. So, we boarded the train during rush-hour- which turned out to be another adventure all by itself.
Once we entered the station, we stopped by a wall to re-group. I stared up the stairs we had just come down. They were empty- but not for long. Literally a split second later they were swarming a tumultuous current of human beings, stampeding their way to the train which would take them home.
Minutes later, we stood in line, waiting for the gates to open so that we could go onto the platform. People crowded in around us, the size growing so rapidly that we decided to split off into pairs if we had to in order to board the train. Lauren would go with her parents the baby, Bekah and Ellen were to stay together, and I had my arm firmly linked through Katie's to ensure we didn't get separated.
As soon as the gates opened, there was a mad rush. The people around us began to press in until our whole group was going single file and everyone all but elbowing their way through.
Although we were nearly running, we got on the train in time, and arrived safely back to the rv. Popping in a movie, we enjoyed our ordered-in Chinese (which Bekah had been craving).
The next day (sadly) was our very last. But, despite our reluctancy to end the trip, we decided to make the most of what precious little time our "fearsome foursome" had left. So, we took a trip out to Blockbuster, rented four movies (which I paid for), then went to the store and loaded up on snacks and soda (which Bekah paid for). Then, returning home, we waited for nightfall....
The wrappers of candy crinkled together as we dumped them into one big bowl. Inserting the first movie, we sat down at a table of Liar and let the fun begin.
If you could see us, you'd probably laugh at our version of "fun", which is mainly defined as- record ourselves dancing to the Cha-Cha-Slide (Mrs. Jolly said she heard a thud, thud, thud, and the camper was shaking), dance, discuss boys in both the movies we're watching and other guys (namely celebrities that aren't in that particular movie), play Liar, videotape each other doing stupidity, and, rule #1 of our parties- giggle, giggle, giggle.
However, 5:30 Wednesday morning came much too soon, and before long Bekah and I found ourselves loading our bags into the back of the Jolly's car. Over and over again, we said our good-byes, just as we had nearly 3 months before.
But this time it was a little different. Ever since May this visit had been a dream in our heads that the four of us managed to turn into a reality while being nearly half a country away. And in our minds, in our very hearts, we knew we could do it again.
And we are. Many times before, Katie and Ellen had voiced interest in coming back for the hoedown, a country dance event organized by our co-op. Just last week, Katie texted me saying that her mom had booked tickets for the 18th-23rd of November- five whole days for our fearsome foursome to be complete again!
And what was best about this bash? We stayed up all night!
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