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!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
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.”
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