This entire blog is devoted to all those authors who want a place in this enourmous world... http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/ en-us Homeschool Blogger Sat, 14 Nov 2009 22:42:00 -0600 Sat, 14 Nov 2009 22:42:00 -0600 They traveled slowly the next day as Anyia scanned the area for the Cardemoni warriors. There were none, but that was to be expected, for as far north as they were. Growing tired of overcooked or badly made food, Anyia took over the cooking. There were protests, but a glare and an excellent meal served to silence all of them. Four days out, Anyia warned Captain Orin that there was a party of Cardemoni about a day's travel ahead of them. That night was one of nervous tension. Darphinland was a peaceful country, and so even these professionals had never seen live combat against foreign invaders from the south. They sharpened their swords feverishly, then moved on to their arrows, checking the individual fletching and sharpening the points. Anyia sat nervously by as they peered down the shafts to ensure that they were perfectly straight. Except for her power, she was completely unarmed, and if the enemy realized that it was she who was warning the party of their movements, she would quickly be killed. It was an unnerving thought, and she wished that she could stay behind, out of the danger, and just send signals to them. But there was no way that what she wished to say would get there fast enough. The next morning, she strapped on the molded leather corset as firmly as possible and wrapped her braid around her head. Casting about nervously for a weapon, her eyes fell on a long, thick stick that was nearly perfectly straight. Picking it up, Anyia felt an immediate liking for the sturdy feel of the wood. She held it firmly in her hand, but had to jump up onto a rock to mount her horse. Thus feeling safer, she set off at in the middle of the party, filtering out the themes of the men around her and focusing on the theme of the nearby Cardemoni. The theme got stronger as they grew closer, but Anyia was uneasy; for though she could hear the theme of the Cardemoni, the woods around were silent, and there was no sign of anyone but themselves. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/744786/ Sat, 14 Nov 2009 22:42:00 -0600 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/744786/ Anyia rose and took Ryan's arm, and he guided her out the back door of the chapel, around a house, and back to the inn, hoping to avoid those who waited for Anyia on the porch. It seemed that they had skirted them all. Then a theme approached. Anyia moaned. It was, Alden, the blacksmith's apprentice. The tall, muscular boy swaggered up to the pair and gave Ryan a contemptuous shove in the shoulder. "Get on home, boy. I shall escort the lady there...the long way." Anyia only hung a little closer to Ryan and continued walking. Alden backhanded Ryan, causing him to stumble. "Didn't you hear me?!" he yelled. Ryan did not even spare the other boy a glance, only continued walking. Furious, Alden grabbed him by the collar and threw him backwards. "I said, GO HOME!" Ryan rose and offered his arm to Anyia again, once more ignoring Alden. Alden, filled with rage, seized Ryan and threw him onto the ground, hard. Then he firmly took Anyia's arm. "I will escort you home." Anyia pulled away. "I would prefer you not." "Anyia-" Alden stepped forward, but was gently shoved back by Ryan's weaker but firm hand. "Did you not hear the lady?" Ryan inquired. "Did you not hear me?" Alden mimicked contemptuously. "Stay out of this! It's none of your affair!" "Anyia is under my protection," Ryan replied calmly. "As her protector, I must see that her wishes are respected." Alden glared at him. "I will escort her home." "You will not," said Anyia. Ryan arched an eyebrow. "You heard her. She will not." He held out his arm to Anyia again. Alden ground his teeth in furry, drew back his beefy fist, and hit Ryan hard in the jaw. The smaller boy fell flat, slightly stunned. "Ryan!" Anyia shrieked, leaping towards him. Alden caught her arm and jerked her back. "Don't bother with him; he's not worth it." It was Anyia's turn to to the clouting, and she drew back her small fist and threw all her weight into a punch against Alden's nose, which bled from the impact. His eyes widened, then grew dark and angry. Stepping forwards impetuously, he slapped Anyia. With a wild cry of rage, Ryan leaped onto Alden's back and began punching him furiously. Alden flung him back into the dust and kicked him in the ribs. Ryan rolled away and came to his feet again. He and Alden eyed each other, then flew at each other once more. Anyia immediately saw that Ryan had the worst of the fight, but he was fast and was returning bruises for those he received. Then Alden hit him hard in the stomach and Ryan doubled over and went to his knees, gasping. Rules of hand to hand combat required that Alden move off and allow Ryan to get back up, but he kicked him in the face instead. Ryan grabbed Alden's ankles and jerked his feet out from under him. Alden rolled on top of Ryan, trying to pin him. Ryan wriggled away and got, staggering, to his feet again, all too obviously beaten, yet still eying his opponent with defiance and contempt. Alden walked into him, swinging, and Ryan fell, semiconscious. Even then, Alden did not relent; grabbing the unresisting boy by the shirt, he threw him against the ground again. "STOP!" Anyia screamed. "You stay out of this, woman!" Alden roared. "I will not! He's down! If you go any further, you'll kill him!" Alden shook a finger in her face. "Once you are my wife, you'll learn not to meddle in my affairs!" "You know what I think of that?" Anyia demanded, angry, as Alden turned back to finish off Ryan. Alden turned back to her. "What?" Anyia kicked him where she knew it would hurt the most. "That!" She leaned over Alden as he fell. "I will NEVER marry you, you infamous lump of...of...indescribably disgusting matter!" Casting her gaze about, she saw a long stick and, seizing it, brought it down on Alden's shoulders. "Take that! And that! And that! Scum! Recreant! You hurt Ryan and you deal with me!" "And me!" Anyia turned, and saw to her relief that Colton was there. The carpenter's apprentice walked quickly forward. "Get up, and let us finish this like men, if you're capable of that." Alden got up. "Alright then. I'll pound you into the dust instead of Ryan. No difference; you two are on the same level." "And I'm proud of it!" Colton yelled. "That unhired servant has more class that you could ever hope for!" Roaring, Alden swung at Colton's head. Colton ducked and drove his shoulder into the other boy, knocking him flat on his back. Alden got up and rushed Colton again, only to be flung back to the ground; while Alden had brawn, Colton had both muscle and skill. Alden's attacks grew increasingly reckless as his furry escalated. Colton, while obviously angry, retained his calm and merely beat the other to the ground at every turn. Finally he tackled him and pinned him to the ground, twisting his arm. "Yield you!" Colton hollered. Alden squirmed and howled, but at long last cried, "Yield!" Colton threw him across the dust into a heap at Anyia's feet. "Now ask the lady's forgiveness!" Alden threw him a furious glance, grinding his teeth again. "I ask your forgiveness," he muttered sullenly. Anyia whirled on her heel and stalked away to where Ryan lay. Colton siezed Alden by the shirt collar and shoved him against the nearest wall. "You listen to me. If I ever see or hear of you hurting Anyia or Ryan, I will pummel you, do you understand? Today will seem like child's play compared to what I'll do! Now clear out!" Alden stumbled off up the street, seething. Colton turned to Ryan and Anyia. "Anyia? Is he okay?" Anyia knelt over Ryan's unconscious form for a moment, then looked up at Colton. "I don't know." http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/741913/ Tue, 3 Nov 2009 23:08:00 -0600 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/741913/ I know...we don't post much. For writers, we certainly don't write. Sorry. Well, I can't give any excuses for the last few months, but for November, the excuse is a good one; most of us are doing National Novel Writing Month, with the exception of Kantare, who has not yet turned to the dark side (we'll work on that; give up and except your doom, my twin!) Aside from the fact that I'm plotting to drag Kantare kicking and screaming into a wild month of literary abandon that he claims he has no time for, there is another episode in the works, a facebook page for our beloved Flatts, and an appeasement measure for our abandoned c-box being drawn up. But what have we been doing? Well, Kantare's writing an adventure: 'The Adventures of Carston McKormic' (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Carston-McKormic/64019519891?ref=nf). I've been planning my NaNo, 'The Soundtrack', editing Sarco, and posting episodes (in order even!) on the Poverty Flatts facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Poverty-Flatts/114373243227). Theynore has been continuing his plethora of books...he has yet to finish any of them, however... And Isilwen has gone off to see the world as she works on her own writings, which I, alas, have no links for. I will pick on my nonbloods and myself to post portions of their NaNo's on here, or provide links to the locations where they post them, if they do. Keep your pens sharp! ~Justyne http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/738295/ Thu, 22 Oct 2009 18:59:01 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/738295/   Interim             The violence of the wind shook the plane with the ferocity of a lion tearing at a freshly caught animal, ripping the flesh from bone. Sergeant Gunther White gripped to the bucket seat of the U-34 Golden Hawk with an engrossed propensity that hadn’t overcome him since the first time they got into one of the new fangled contraptions. “I hope we don’t get blown off course,” he said under his breath.             It had been four months since the end of training, and only one since they’d left the mainland for the Island. Only two weeks ago they had received orders that they would be making their first combat jump. Little did any of them know they were going to spark the War over the Islands with Burgandy. It didn’t seem logical to start a war over some insignificant Islands, but Gunther was a soldier and not a politician. “I do what I’m told, and don’t ask questions.” He’d once said before going into training.             Long ago he’d found that looking out the window was a bad idea, for it gave him more of a fear of heights than he already had. He’d gone into the new wing of the army, the Chutenfentari because he wanted to challenge himself to get over his fear of heights. He hadn’t known it would only make it worse.             Turbulence continually began to shake the aircraft violently, and he offered a silent prayer that it wouldn’t fall apart on them before they reached the Drop zone. Black puffs of smoke could be seen out the opposite windows, and all the men knew their worst fear had arrived. The deadly Anti-Aircraft guns on Grebst were firing away, causing the transports to sway this way and that to dodge the incoming projectiles. “I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN SICK BACK AT THE BASE!” Private Gorman yelled over the noise. “YEAH, YOU SHOULD HAVE!” Private Grazinski said with a smile.             Everyone laughed at the quip and then returned back to their own thoughts. Just then the plane broke in half. One of the deadly “Beringer 73’s” had opened a gash in the plane that looked as if someone had haphazardly taken an axe and chopped through it. Shrapnel tore through the plane and spewed lead and metal haphazardly. Grazinski had been hit and killed, and so had five other men. The plane began to spiral downwards, leaving the men little choice but to jump. Gunther leapt from the gash left in the belly of the plane and then pulled the ripcord on his reserve chute, and it opened just in time.             As he had been trained he counted the seconds before the chute opened. When he reached three the chute opened and he felt the shock of the canopy unfurling overhead, checking his swift descent; but not enough to make it a slow one. He could feel himself plummeting to earth, much faster and closer than he had expected. The wind began to toss him around like a ragdoll, not caring that he was going to hit ground any second. Between the bursts of wind tossing him back and forth he could see two distinct features of the land; one was that there was a farm below him, one filled with corn and wheat fields. The other thing that stuck out was that quite close to the farm was a lake, and of course with the wrong cross-wind, he could be blown into the lake and possibly drown. “I guess I’ll see in a second!” he said to himself, tensing for the familiar feeling of hitting the ground.             Solid earth contacted his feet and he slammed into the ground hard. The breath was taken from his body, and it took a minute for him to regain his stunned composure. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his head, thankful his helmet had stayed on. In the dark sky he could see the forms of some of his fellow troopers falling to the ground, though they were farther away than he was. From what he could tell, he was the only one around for quite some distance. Far off he could see the silhouette of the plane going down in flames.             He bowed his head in reverence, and then hastily gathered his thoughts. His leg roll had snapped when the blast of wind hit him, and so he would have to find it first. “Thank God I still have my rifle!” Gunther said.             All Chutenfentari made it a practice to sling their rifles around their necks and over their chests so they would not only be able to access the weapon quickly once land had been reached, but it also prevented the rifle from tearing from the body or ripping off after the initial prop blast. Gunther grabbed the parachute and stuffed it into a corner of the field and he then dashed along the edge of the woods that bordered the wheat field he’d seen while he was airborne.             It felt comfortable for him to hold the K-21 in his hands, the smoothness of the stock and the cold feel of the steel barrel. He could hear the sounds of the farm grow nearer, and then he saw what he dreaded the most. The lights went on in the house. Each man in the outfit had been briefed about the farms in the area they were to drop into. They were told that this area was a very agricultural area, and that farms were prevalent, but also run by the Burgandy Government.             This meant that troops were stationed on the farms and as a part of their training they would work on maintaining and running the farm. This was one of those farms. Quickly Gunther dove for the underbrush that was on his left and faced the house, fully ready to unleash a hail of bullets on the coming enemy. He could hear shouting in the distance above the wind that nearly drowned them out, and could see that they were all dressed for bed, looking up at the sky to see the planes going overhead. It didn’t seem that they knew he was there, but he wanted to make sure that they didn’t follow him before he was ready to leave.             He lay motionless on the ground as they ran around, not too close to his spot, and so he felt safe, for now. As he watched them run around down there he almost felt like laughing at the comical spectacle before him. All the tiny soldiers confused at the magnificent events going on around them that they weren’t even sure were happening. But what happened next was something not even he knew was possible.             One of the U-34’s flew over and men began to disembark from it, most likely confused thinking that this was their intended drop zone. Gunther knew that if he didn’t do something the men descending would be shot to pieces by the alert garrison below. Using his right hand he searched for the small bi-pod he’d specially purchased for defensive fighting, while still keeping an eye on the soldiers running around near the farmhouse. He let out a sigh of relief as he pulled it from his top pocket and he clipped it on the front of his rifle.             Flipping off the safety, while leaving the dial on “semi-automatic” he aimed at the farthest man on the right he slowly squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked against his shoulder as he watched the man go down, flailing his arms in the air while dropping his rifle. Quickly he aimed at the next soldier and fired, dropping him fast as well. The adrenaline rush that many of the instructors had said he would feel came like a torrent, raising his senses to a new high. Knowing it would be useless to leave the rifle on semi-auto he flipped the dial to fully-automatic and then let several bursts go towards the many figures that were streaming towards his position.             One by one they dropped all pitching face forward in mid stride, desperate to kill this “ghost” that was wreaking havoc among them. He threw one final burst into the chest of an oncoming soldier, not more than fifty feet from him, stopping him dead in his tracks. In dramatic fashion the soldier dropped to his knees, rifle still clutched in one hand, eyes glazed over. He just seemed to stay in that position, on his knees almost in a silent prayer. Slowly he fell over, dead.             Just as all the enemy soldiers had begun running toward Gunther had the first Troopers hit the ground safely. It looked like all fifteen of the men had dropped in orderly fashion, and from what Gunther had seen before unleashing the hail of bullets only minutes before, the plane that had been transported them looked like it was undamaged by the flak that was destroying the integrity of the mission.             Gunther was breathing heavy, the rush had left him. Reality came slammed home, and changed his perspective on the moment. The dead Burgandy soldier in front of him made him stare and wonder. Wonder who he was, if he had a family, why he was even here. Shaking off the feeling of remorse, he got up and jogged into the open where he saw the squad that had dropped was gathering. “Nice shooting Sergeant.” A lieutenant said to him, “What outfit are you with?”             When men in the Chutenfentari asked “What outfit are you with” back in ’39, they wanted to know what Battalion you were with (or what Company if you had the leisure of being dropped in the correct place at the right time.) Since the Chutenfentari were an experimental outfit, they didn’t have more than a Regiment in action at the outbreak of the Delta War. Gunther gathered his thoughts and swiftly replied, “1st Platoon, D Company, 1st Battalion sir.” “First Battalion eh?” the lieutenant said thoughtfully, “Well you’re a long way from home son. This here’s 3rd Platoon, A Company of the Second Battalion.”             Gunther was shocked. He knew that their departure was premature, but he hadn’t thought they were that far from their objective. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any of the men from his platoon since he’d landed. “Can I tag along with you until I can find a way to hook up with my outfit?” Gunther asked. “Why not?” the Lieutenant asked, “we can use an extra hand; alright everyone, here’s the situation. This farmhouse could still be infested with enemy soldiers, so I want each of you to pair up and then search the house, the Barn and the barracks. Any soldiers that fire at you, you fire back. But I don’t want anyone to be trigger happy and shoot an unarmed soldier that tries to surrender. Is that clear?”             There was a resounding “Yes Sir!” and everyone broke into pairs. Since Gunther was the sixteenth man, he paired up with a Private Yoller. They sprinted in a half-crouched manner over to the barn and then braced themselves up against the door frame, not ready to burst through the front door unannounced. Gunther signaled that he was going to kick in the door and that Yoller should be ready to open fire if need be.             Slowly he stepped back and then gave the door a resounding kick, sending it flying into the barracks with a loud crack. Shouts resonated from within the barn, which turned out to be the barracks, and Yoller froze for just a moment. Gunther could hear a shot come from within the barracks and he turned back to see to his dismay that Yoller was dead where he stood. A bullet hole now resided in his forehead, blood beginning to ooze from the fresh wound. He collapsed in a heap, and Gunther stared for only a moment.             Snapping back to reality he turned to the task at hand. He pressed himself against the stone wall just to the right of the door frame, rifle at the ready. Taking one of the grenades on his jumpsuit he pulled the pin and then hurled it around the corner into the dark. Surprised shouts began to manifest as soon as the soldiers inside knew that they weren’t in a favorable position, and there was loud crashing and banging as he knew many of them were trying to escape before the grenade went off.             A loud explosion followed by mass amounts of smoke billowed from the open door, and Gunther took advantage of it. Spinning into the doorway he lay down a devastating burst from his K-21, bullets slapping into the bodies of helpless soldiers rendered incapacitated by the blast. Intuitively he rolled back just as one of the soldier’s had come to his senses and grabbed a rifle to return his fire. Groans could be heard echoing from inside the barracks. Rapid fire began to echo all around him and it was at that very moment that Gunther wished he’d never volunteered for this war at all.             http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/735498/ Mon, 12 Oct 2009 14:09:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/735498/ A week later, Tell and Josephina were officially crowned King and Queen of Strianel. The tall columns glistened in the sunlight that streamed through the circles of glass set into the ceiling of the Great Hall of Evenvinder. Only one, long isle was clear, all the rest of the room was packed with people. Balconies were lifted above those on the main floor of the hall, and these too were filled with people. Garlands of flowers twisted around the columns, the empty thrones, and anywhere else that they could be placed. These were accented by white peacock feathers that looked like strange snowflakes. Petals drifted down here and there, showering the shoulders of those below. Jasper shifted uncomfortably. He was wearing the formal robes of the chieftain of the SyDow, and he felt as if he were being roasted alive over a campfire. The first part of the costume was mostly normal: pants tucked into knee-high leather boots and an off-white fencing shirt. It was the second part of the outfit that gave Jasper woe. The purple velvet tunic that he wore over the shirt was fur-lined. This gave it a magnificent fur edging at each hem, but also made it unreasonably warm . Over that was a long cape, also lined with fur, that was fastened at the shoulder with a large circular broach with beautiful tracings of filigree. The cloak was a rich, deep blue that Jasper liked, but its warmth threatened to render him unconscious. To top everything off, he wore a wide circlet of hammered gold that was studded with gems. Misty stood beside Jasper, dressed in red satin. The dress was long and full and seemed to float about her. The girdle was of cut glass beads threaded on strands of silver that were braided together. It caught every facet of light, casting rainbows of color about her. Misty's hair was piled beautifully on her head and laced with strands of diamonds. Her cloak was deep purple and embroidered with fantastic designs, but its lining of black fur was causing her sweat slightly. Misty took a signet ring that she held, slipped it onto one of Jasper's fingers, and kissed his hand, making her movements flamboyant. Several people seemed to notice the exchange, and Jasper and Misty were satisfied. Jasper was not chieftain of the SyDow by birth; it was Misty's family that filled the role. But Misty was the last of her line, so Jasper, her husband-to-be, was required, by law, to take the role of chief. Only now did Jasper understand the level of respect that Misty's father must have had for him. By giving Misty to Jasper as his betrothed, Fredrick Johnson had named Jasper as his heir instead of Misty. Misty, by handing over the signet ring at a random time during the coronation, showed that it was with her full agreement that Jasper became of the chieftain in her stead. These realizations had caused Jasper to rethink all his actions since his parents had died. He had spent a great deal of time the night before talking about them with his closest friends, starting with his running away from his guardians. In retrospect, it seemed to be a miserably ungrateful action. "Ungrateful or not," Jonathan had told him, however, "you acted without intention of insult. You did not know what Fredrick had bestowed upon you. All you knew was that both you and Misty were unhappy. What you did, you did for the happiness of the woman - or more correctly, girl - that was betrothed to you, and no one can demonize a man for doing that." Jasper figured that Jonathan was right, and he found it hard to regret his decision to come to the mountains. Much had happened to him because of that decision that would have not happened otherwise, most of it good. Still, he wished that Fredrick Johnson was still living so that he could apologize for running away. A thud startled Jasper from his reverie, and he looked up to see that Tell had entered the room through a door at the side of the dais, followed by a boring-looking man in a black robe. The man opened a thick book and called out in a near-monotone, "Who speaketh for the Sarconians?" Jack, who was on the other side of the hall from Jasper, stepped forward. "I do." "By what right?" "By the right of my father, Alex, whose father was Steven..." and Jack named his whole linage back to Jason, the younger brother of Queen Amara. "Are there any descended directly from the Queen Amara?" asked the man in the robe. "There are no closer kin than that of her younger brother; the queen never married." The man looked over the thick, old book and said, "It is proper. The council recognizes thy right to speak for thy people." The man then looked around and said, "Who here speaketh for the ConVal tribe?" A short, fat man robed in bright green came forward. "I do." "By what right?" "By the right of my father, Conrad, whose father was Bryan -" the man named his linage, ending with, "whose father was Owyn, who spoke at the First Council." "It is proper," said the man in the robe. He put a hand over his mouth, hiding a yawn. "The council recognizes thy right to speak for thy people. Who here speaks for the ConYav tribe?" A tall, thin man stepped from the crowd. "I do." "By what right?" "By the right of mine father Edgar..." this linage was longer, and the man spoke in a monotone. He at last ended with, "whose father was Luft, who spoke at the First Council." The man in the black robe affirmed his right to speak for the tribe, then moved on to the next tribe, the VenTal tribe. Their chieftan lightened the mood somewhat by reciting the names with some vigour. Next was the VenDoi tribe, then the VenNon. Last to be called upon were the SyKen, the SyOnt and the SyDow tribes. "Who speaks for the SyDow tribe?" asked the man at last, his voice even more bored than before. Jasper came forward. "I do." "By what right?" "By right of my wife's linage." Though Jasper and Misty were not yet wed, for the purposes of the tribal council, betrothal and marriage were one in the same. "Her father was Fredrick, his father was Rick..." and Jasper named all Misty's ancestors back to, "John, who spoke at the First Council." The man in the black robe showed the slightest bit of interest. "Is thy wife her family's only heir?" "Yes." "Was thy marriage arranged in proper order by your fathers or those who had guardianship over thee?" "Yes." "Has thy wife given thee the signet ring of her father?" "Yes." "Who beareth witness?" asked the man. "Who didst see her place it on his finger?" Seven people stepped from the crowd and said that they had. "Very well," said the man. "It is proper. The council recognizes thy right to speak for thy tribe." The man scanned the crowd, then called out, "Does Tell ConRay appear here today as a representative of his tribe?" All those of the ConRay tribe shouted, "Yes!" Some of the knights clashed their swords on their shields to punctuate the statement. "By law, he is king in place of his father. Do the chieftains accept him?" "Let council be held," said the fat man in green who was chieftain of the ConVal tribe. Much to Jasper's relief, chairs were brought in for the chieftains to sit in, and servants entered with cool drinks. Misty perched on the wide arm of Jasper's chair, waving a small fan as fast as protocol allowed. After half an hour of debate that was actually the edited recounting of the debate that had gone on at the First Council, the chieftains rose in turn to give the speeches of their ancestors. The fat man in green rose to his feet. "Ever our people have been wandering tribes, each tending to their own affairs. All this is well and good, but the world is changing. Enemies rise up against us, wanting to crush us and rule our lands. If we are divided, they will break us one by one. But if we become one union, we will stand! Here is one willing to lead us. Let him do so! Without him, we will all perish in quicker time. The ConVal tribe says, 'Yes! Tell ConRay shall be our king! ' " Jack stood. Sweat was beaded on his forehead, for he sat in the sun, and the long, heavy robes he wore were no help to him. "For ages beyond count, my family has ruled. We have fought for our freedom from Corvan, and we have gained it. But only for the nonce. Once we were great, but now we are small, and our power is quenchable. This union will bring strength and give us all a better chance of survival. The Sarconian throne is mine, but I hereby relinquish it and vow that I shall never rise against the royal family unless they commit unforgivable atrocity against their people. The Sarconians will take Tell ConRay as their king." Jasper nearly fell asleep during the next six speeches. He was sorry to listen as once-stirring words were recited with no emotion. It was a sad fate, for the speeches were, in themselves, quite wonderful. But one could hardly listen to them, so dull they seemed. The room grew hotter. The flowers drooped, and several women fainted, as well as a few of the men. Jasper went into a half trance, occasionally feeling Misty mop his face with a kerchief. Many of the more pompous chiefs felt that it was necessary to add to the words of their ancestors, and therefore took long periods of time with their speeches. At last, it was Jasper's time to speak. He rose slowly, swallowing against the lump in his throat. "The sun rises, the sun sets, and ever the world changes. Once my people had respect. Now a slave may garner more respect than we, the SyDow, the 'Last Ones." But we are not here to speak of past wrongs. We are here to choose a king. The SyDow know that change must come. But let it not come in full. Let us bring the new, but keep what is good in the old, allowing the fresh to reinforce the temper of our nation. SyDow, 'Last Ones,' we are called. Last in what? None has ever said. But let it be said now that we will be the last ones to abandon loyalty to our king! Tell ConRay shall rule us, and may the Lord watch over his reign." Jasper held out his right hand, palm out. "Hail, king." Tell turned, lifted his face to heaven, and said, "Hail, Lord." This rather set everyone off balance, for Jasper had edited the speech. He was supposed to have said, "may the gods watch over his reign," and then Tell would have hailed the gods, at which point several priests and priestesses would have thrown themselves to to trances and started screaming gibberish. The high priest would have supposedly translated their wild rantings, blessed the king, and then crowned him. Now Jasper had muddled the proceedings, the high priest was turning purple with rage, and no one knew exactly what to do. In the growing confusion, a young Sarconian Scout stepped forward and, with his voice cracking slightly, asked the people if they would permit him to lead them in prayer. There were no protests, so the young man bowed his head and spoke a simple prayer, asking the Lord to bless everyone present, bless everyone not present, and give the king wisdom to rule. Then he prayed that the high priest be spared from a heart attack and that rain might fall on the land. As he finished, the wind picked up outside, and clouds began to gather, causing murmurs to spread through the crowd. Everyone was still confused, however. The high priest had stormed out during the prayer, and since he was the one who was to have done the crowning, no one was exactly certain who should do the job. A loud 'smack' added to everyone's agony. During the dull proceedings, the two pages carrying the crowns had begun a conversation. It had turned into a quarrel and had now come to blows; they were slapping each other in turn. A frustrated knight stepped in and boxed their ears, but the atmosphere was still tense. At last, the lad who was carrying the king's crown lost his patience for the second time that day. "I don't know about the rest of you," he said, "But I am tired and hot and really want this to be over. Who's going to crown the king?" No one answered. The chieftains looked at each other, each thinking of a reason why he was qualified. The boy sighed in exasperation. "Fine! I'll do it. Kneel, Mr. king, sir, I'm not tall enough to get this crown on your head otherwise." Everyone gasped at the child's impertinence, but Tell, with a smile, dropped to one knee. The boy placed the crown very neatly on his head. "Well, that makes you king, and I figure you'll be good at it, since you've been prayed over and since you're obviously very patient to have listened to all that." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the robed man and the chieftains, then bowed stiffly and backed away. Jasper and Jack grinned at each other across the room, then called out, "Hail, king," and dropped to one knee. Everyone else in the room shrugged, then followed suit. Tell scanned the crowd as they rose. The first king of Strianel, Timothy the First, had asked his beloved, Victoria Breaker, to marry him during the coronation. Ever since then, the king's queen-to-be would stand in the crowd with her tribe, whether she was already married to the king or not, and he would come and find her. Tell finally found Josephina and made his way towards her. She dropped into a deep curtsy as he approached. Tell sank to one knee, bringing himself eye-level with her. "Josephina ConRay, will you do me the honor of being my queen?" "With all my heart," said Josephina. They rose together, and Tell, taking Josephina by the hand, led her to the dais. After enduring a long questioning from the robed man that confirmed beyond a doubt that they were legally wed, Tell called the page holding Josephina's crown forward. The queen's crown was a wreath of silver roses and gold filagree in the shape of peacock feathers. Josephina looked quite lovely in it and everyone cheered her heartily. The king and queen now took their seats on the throne and, one by one, the chieftains swore fealty to them. There was more cheering, and Tell gave a speech about what he would do for the country as its king. Then they were all released to the banquet hall for the feast as a gentle rain started to fall. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/728784/ Sun, 20 Sep 2009 19:36:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/728784/ I has finisheded it: the prologue from Underground. Of course, the whole thing will lead to the THIRD rewrite, but hey, at least it got done..... "For the Statist, liberty is not a blessing but the enemy. It is not possible to achieve Utopia if individuals are free to go their own way. The individual must be dehumanized and his nature delegitimized. Through persuasion, deception, and coercion, the individual must be subordinated to the state. He must abandon his own ambitions for the ambitions of the state. He must become reliant on and fearful of the state. His first duty must be to the state-not family, community, and faith, all of which have the potential of threatening the state."  -Mark Levin 'Liberty and Tyranny' November, 2008 - Barack Obama is elected President of the United States April 15, 2009 - Tea Parties are held nation-wide to protest higher taxes and bigger government.  The silent majority aroused by the mounting usurpations and the recent election no longer remains silent and the situation escalates. Sometime in the near future...... Texas has seceded, and other states are threatening to join them.  Desperate to maintain control, the now-massive federal government has attempted to bribe and threaten the other states and lock down on education, frantic to indoctrinate the next generation into docile servitude.  Furious parents and student bodies resist agressive government intervention, and thousands begin to move to Texas.  This is swiftly followed by the closing of the US/Texas border.  Those attempting to enter or leave the state are shot indiscriminately.  A border war erupts as the citizens of Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Arkansas and New Mexico resist the agents.  Immigration to Texas continues as a network of Undergrounders begin to smuggle people out of the United States.    In the US, horrified citizens watch as a seemingly omnipresent government seizes their freedoms with no explanation.  Regulations skyrocket, and the number of angry citizens grows drastically.  Reaction to the rouge government is varied.  Many large groups move into a state of civil disobedience.  Other communities call out their militia and openly fight the government.  The president orders troops to put down the rebellions, but the military itself is in a state of disorder.   Massive numbers of soldiers simply refuse to march on their own countrymen, and in most cases, their superiors support them firmly.  Attempts to court-martial are frequently thwarted by the sheer number of cases and the horde of furious generals.  Troops begin to disappear by the thousands, and though the government says that they were shot for mutiny, it is rumored that they are acting covertly to protect the citizens from mounting tyranny.  It would seem as if the rumors are true.  Agents attempting to raid homes are being ambushed by a mysterious, highly-trained enemy.  The government employees become cautious, even frightened, and, as government control begins to slip in certain areas, militias take over, battling the government and each other for control.  Every government crackdown attempt is violently halted by citizens utilizing gurilla methods.  Senator Hillary Clinton brings the 30th Amendment before Congress, a bill that will effectively overturn the 2nd Amendment in the name of stopping the Rebels and bringing peace.  Within two weeks, the amendment passes and is ratified. The passing of the amendment is answered with increased violence.  Most people refuse to surrender their weapons and fire upon those sent to confiscate them.  The right to bear arms is literally being slowly pried from the cold, dead hands of American citizens.  People begin disappear in large numbers, and despite the government's  every attempt to tell the public that those who disappear are being imprisoned, nearly everyone knows the truth.  A group called the Resistance Force, supposedly headed by a former Pentagon official, is setting up bases in the Rocky and Appalachian Mountains, as well as the canyons of Utah.  Some of the most brilliant minds in every field are with them, and if you have crossed the government, they are likely to find and help you.  Their mission?  To overthrow the renegade government and restore the Constitutional United States - and the Federals will do anything to stop them.  Tucker Smith dropped into a bush, his dark brown eyes wildly scanning the street in front of him.  "There he is!!" came the yell.  "Truant!  Get him!"  Leaping to his feet, Tucker fled, picking his way through yards in an attempt to throw off pursuit.  The small hand-gun hidden inside his jacket seemed to burn his chest.  With the city swaying between the control of government forces, a few petty militias, and a powerful organization called Dirk's Revenge, he needed the weapon to defend himself. However, it had been purchased late one night from a black market dealer after the 30th Amendment had been passed, and now, if he was caught - a staunch young Rebel who was closely affiliated with the quickly growing Resistance Force, playing truant from government school, carrying an illegal weapon, and partially responsible for smuggling at least ten different families across the US/Texas border - well, the possibility of him being shot right then and there was not unlikely.  Machine gun fire tore up the ground around his feet, and he ran faster, following an erratic zig-zag pattern.  Too close, they were too close.  He dodged into a doorway, pulled out the handgun, and fired in the general direction of the pursuit, shaking too much to aim properly.  The agents dropped against the pavement of the street, cursing.  "D-- Rebel!" yelled the sergeant in command.  His voice rose in pitch with his anger, flying almost into a falsetto as he screeched, "Shoot him!  Shoot him!"  Tucker fired twice more at the agents before the door swung open and he was jerked inside by a young woman.   "Quickly," said the girl holding onto his arm.  "Out that window there!  I'll scream, say you attacked me, pretend to go into hysterics and trip the agents up!  GO!"   "Thanks," Tucker gasped as he jumped out the window and ran.  More cursing erupted from the house behind him as the girl screamed and started her hysterical female act. This is the nice thing about being a part of the Resistance, Tucker thought as he raced down the streets.  Most everyone is on your side.  Many a trash heap was 'accidentally' overturned behind him onto the rushing agents, and those who dared leaned out their windows to give him encouragement, filling the air with rebel yells and age-old slogans from the days of the revolution.  Guided by warnings from the residents of the subdivision, he turned his steps towards Three-fold Parish.  Three-fold covered a quarter of the city and was controlled entirely by Dirk's Revenge.  Tucker did not trust Dirk's Revenge. They had been known to hand Rebels over to the government if the reward was big enough; however, there was no substantial reward on his head, only a couple hundred thousand dollars last time he checked, which wasn't much when one factored in inflation. Tucker suspected that the Revenge would probably shoot the agents for their own purposes and ignore him entirely.  The borders of Three-fold Parish loomed in front of him: a pile of burned out, collapsed buildings laced with barbed wire, mines, and dead things.  Bullets ricocheted around him, whining past his ears, screaming of sudden, violent death.  He passed the reek of the border and entered the Parish.  The street was covered with grass-filled cracks, and the empty houses were pocked with bullets and shrapnel.    A row of black-clad gunmen from Dirk's Revenge emerged from a boarded-up house, taking positions behind crates on either side of the street.  Tucker tripped on a loose board as he came upon them, and they dragged him unceremoniously behind the barricade.  Tucker began to rise, intending to run on, but two of the men promptly trained their guns on him.  Tucker obediently remained lying on the ground as the agents chasing him came cautiously up the street.  The gunmen waited silently for them until they were within a few yards, then opened fire.  The agents crumpled to the ground without getting off a single shot.   One of the agents had fallen near the crates, and Tucker could see him: young, scared, coughing up blood.  His eyes met Tucker's, and the two boys stared at each other, so alike, yet so different, both fighting for the cause they thought was right.  The terrified blue eyes burned into Tucker's soul, and he wondered if the boy had ever considered that his life might end this way, watching his blood seep into the cracks in the asphalt.  "I should have known," the young agent whispered.  "I should have listened.  Oh, why?"  He flung his arms over his face as a gunman rolled him over with a boot, and his piercing scream of fright was abruptly cut off by a shot. Tucker lay still and said nothing, for the guns were now trained on him.  "Who are you?" the gunmen demanded. "Tucker Smith."  Tucker knew that his life depended on total honesty at this moment as much as it might depend on total dishonesty in but a few minutes.  One of the men pulled out an iPod Touch, worked with it a moment, then said, "Resistance kid.  Got a reward on his head." "How much?" "Two hundred and fifty thousand." "Two hundred and fifty thousand WHAT?" "Dollars." "Alright, kid.  You run, and watch out for them agents." Tucker ran. Several minutes later, he reached his home.  The doors were locked, as usual, but his sister, Angela, had seen him coming and swung the back door open before he could knock.  The house smelled of chicken and old books.  His mother was at the stove, stirring a stew, his father was reading the latest Resistance newsletter, and his younger brother, Darcy, was sitting on a stool at the counter, building a laptop, a carrot clenched between his teeth.  Angela flung her arms around Tucker's neck and bent her head to his shoulder.  "Are you okay?" she asked as he broke the embrace. "Yeah," he said, "just shook up." Angela flung an arm around his shoulders as they walked to the table.  She was as tall as he and quite slender.  Her voice was deep and rich, like dark chocolate, and sometimes, like now, Tucker would forget that she was a girl.  "What happened?" she asked.  "You're all sweaty." "I got shot at."  Everyone in the family turned and looked at him as he sank into his chair.  "Agents found me over by fifth.  I was just about caught a couple of times and had to run to Three-fold.  The Revenge got them; just about got me, too."  Tucker thought again of the young agent he had seen die and shivered.  Until now, the government had been faceless, the rumor of a nameless hatred that destroyed you, piece by piece.  For the first time in his life, Tucker had seen past the sunglasses, identical uniforms and aura of invincibility.  And he had not seen a hate-filled beast, but a fellow human whose eyes begged forgiveness, asked him to somehow halt the terrible death...the scream, the shot....Who was the monster, the Resistance, the Revenge, the government, the people who had brought them to this?  So this is civil war. he thought.  Father against son, brother against brother, the bloody history of mankind and their struggle for liberty. The Resistance radio broadcast was coming on again.  The family leaned forwards and ate in silence, listening to the news of the day that one would not get from main-stream media sources.  Surprisingly, the broadcast continued.  Usually, the government managed to stop them after half-an-hour or so, but not this time.  This time, it continued for over two hours before the signal was finally taken over. "Meeep!" said the radio.  "This signal is being traced.  If you are listening to this broadcast, you will be found and shot.  Meeeeeep!  Blip, blop, Meeeeeeeep!!!"  They turned it off and Tucker fiddled with the buttons on the short-wave.  Through the background of soft static came a transmission from the Texas stations and the slightly nasal voice of a Country Music star drifted through the kitchen.   "Oh tell me, tell me, Is the world gone crazy, Or am I livin' in a dream?"   http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/706293/ Wed, 8 Jul 2009 17:55:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/706293/ Of all the siblings I am the bad one. Here I am, trying to reform and be good like my brothers and sisters. *sweetly bats eyes and adjusts her halo*  Anyhow. I thought I may as well post, and what better scene then the grub scene. Enjoy-the story not the grubs.  Isilwen Jessie was sitting with some of the women when D'Arcy walked over to her and sat down. He was holding something in his hand, but Jessie did not notice it at first; she was too busy braiding strains of leather together. She had no idea what it was going to be used for, but the woman had been teaching her how to do it. D'Arcy watched her in silence, then he touched her arm to get her attention. “Jessie?” he asked. She looked up and smiled at him. “Aye?” He grinned, and held the bowl out to her. Jessie looked inside, and saw it was full of wiggling, white slugs. She looked up at D'Arcy, wondering what he wanted her to do with them. He noticed the look of confusion, and for a moment he looked confused to. “Doesn't everyone know what to do with these?” he seemed to be saying. However, he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, reached in the bowl, and grabbed one of the grubs. With an encouraging smile, he placed the grub in his mouth, and chewed. Jessie felt sick. He didna dae what I thought he did, she tried to convince herself. He held the bowl out to her again, and she knew she was in for it. Sure, she ate Nate's cooking, but eating a grub was pushing it; wasn't it? Even she would not go that far! D'Arcy did not take his eyes from her face. He seemed to be searching for the right word; when he finally found it Jessie had to smile, it was one of the words she had taught him. “Eat!” he declared in triumph. Jessie shook her head. “I canna!” she gasped; she looked down at the writhing grubs again. “I dinna eat bug D'Arcy!” The only word he understood was eat and D'Arcy. He grinned even wider, and grabbed another one. He popped that one in his mouth, and ate it happily. Jessie closed her eyes and clenched her stomach, but D'Arcy did not seem to notice her agony. In fact, he went so far as to pick one up and held it out to her. Jessie tried to pull back, but there was such a look of delight in D'Arcy's eyes, that she knew she couldn't. He was trying to be friendly to her, and share, apparently, a rare treat with her. “Father, I think this is the weirdest think I've e'er done,” she whispered as she slowly took the grub from D'Arcy. The fat thing wiggled between her fingers as she held it; she looked more closely at it and saw two beady black eyes; they seemed to be looking right at her. “I canna dae this!” she moaned, she tried to hand it back, but D'Arcy wouldn't take it. He made eating motions. Jessie screwed up her face, held her breath, and did whatever else she could think of to make it easier. She then looked at D'Arcy one last time and whispered, “'Tis yer fault if I die!” then she placed the grub in her mouth. At first nothing happened, it just sat on her tongue. Then, it began to move around, and she almost choked. She could feel it crawling around inside her mouth, little feet on her tongue. She almost choked, but forced herself to remain clam. She decided not to chew it like D'Arcy did, but to swallow quickly. With one defiant gulp she swallowed, and nearly lost it. She could feel it sliding all the way down, feet tickling her throat. Once it was down Jessie closed her eyes, and fought back the sick feeling in her gut. When she opened her eyes D'Arcy was grinning at her; at least he looked pleased. All Jessie could think of was how she had a grub wiggling about in her gut. D'Arcy held the bowl out to her again, but Jessie knew without a doubt that she could not go through that again. Without a word she leaped up, and scrambled away to get a breath of fresh air; and tried not to loose her dinner-and the grub. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/705642/ Mon, 6 Jul 2009 17:11:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/705642/ She stood in the dusk, heedless of the wind that whipped her hair about her face, mindful only of the salty drops that slid down her face, clear as her name, Crystal.  The view spilled before her green eyes was beautiful, but she was beyond noticing it.  Her brother, seeing her trembling shoulders, came up behind her and gently laid a hand on them.  She flinched at his touch. "Walker?" "Yes, it's me.  Don't turn around.  It's hard enough without..." he trailed off. She turned around anyway, looking up into her brother's face for the first time in her life.  His blue eyes, once green, had never had to angle downwards to look into her eyes, but Walker was a foot taller than he had been the day before, and he towered over his sister. Walker felt the shiver that ran through her when she saw him and felt a stirring of anger and sadness; anger at the wicked enchantress who had altered his appearance for nothing more, it seemed, than her own amusement, and sadness that his sister should have fear in her eyes when she looked at him.  Crystal saw the pain in her brother's expression and understood it.  She, too, had had her appearance altered, though not the same extreme as Walker.  The enchantress, in testing a potion, had made Crystal beautiful, almost beyond compare.  Crystal hated it.  Ravishing females had far more to worry about than girls with average appearances.  "Why?" she whispered, turning away from her brother and leaning on the railing of the small balcony on which she stood. "I don't know," said Walker, coming to her side. "How can life ever be the same again?" Crystal asked softly. "It can't be," Walker replied blandly. "Why is that so hard to accept?" Walker shrugged.  "Maybe 'cause we like normality." "I've got to keep holding on to the hope that maybe it'll all be normal again." Walker turned away from her.  "It's a dead hope," he said, his voice holding a tinge of bitterness. "Why?" He spun back to her.  "Why do you think?!  That enchantress has altered my appearance, and you, my sister, didn't know me!  How could I possibly expect anyone else to?  I'm not Walker Firestone anymore.  I'm turning into a strange person that I don't even recognize!" "No, Walker.  You're still the same, to me at least." "I won't be if we stay here much longer," Walker muttered. "Walker...." "That's it!  We're escaping." "What?  How?" "I don't know.  But we can't stay here." "Are you mad!?" Crystal cried. "Much more of this confinement and I will be."    Crystal slept restlessly that night.  Walker paced the room, sliding his hands over the green walls, peeking behind the blue curtains, moving the mismatched furniture around.  He muttered to himself constantly, playing out theoretical scenarios one after the other under his breath.  At last he leaned against the wall.  With a moan, he slid down it and dropped his face in his hands.  "No.  No.  No...." he whispered. Crystal watched him, peering through the darkness, tears pooling in her eyes.  He hated to see her brother look so defeated.  He leaned his head back against the wall with a dull thud, staring bleakly out the window. A hair-thin crack ran up the wall.  Suddenly, a piece of plaster  crashed to the floor.  Walker jumped up, starring at the wall.  Crystal jumped up from her couch and ran to his side.  There was a shudder, and a six foot square area of the wall opened.  Musty, stale air drifted towards them.  An icy breeze came from the black hole, tugging at their clothing.  Crystal shivered in her shift.  More plaster fell to the floor, covering it in white powder. "Quickly, Crystal.  Get your things," said Walker.  "That plaster falling is certain to draw the enchantress."  He ran to their couches and grabbed the blankets.  Crystal pulled on her threadbare dress and picked up a battered comb; all that she had.  Walker put a blanket over her shoulders like a cloak, then flung another blanket around himself.  Grabbing her hand, he led her over to the passage.  After hesitating a moment, they entered it.  It turned immediately, and a few steps later, everything was pitch black.  Crystal shrieked and clung to her brother.  Slime dripped from the ceiling.  Moss and other fungi's that, somehow, needed no light, hung from the beams and traced across their faces and shoulders. Walker put an arm around Crystal and pulled her forwards, groping in front of them with a hand.  Crystal screamed once more as her foot caught in something.  Walker pulled her free but slipped on the floor.  They fell, and only after much scrambling did they regain their feet.  In the slick passage, they stumbled many times.  The corridor twisted and turned, always leading steeply downwards.  At last, Walker and Crystal came to a steep flight of stairs.  They struggled down it, feeling blindly about them in the darkness.  Walker lost his footing.  Bending to save him, Crystal slipped and fell after him.  They tumbled down the stairwell and crashed into a wall.  Pulling themselves up by the wall, they groped forwards, searching for the next leg of the passage.  Then their feet touched nothing and they fell into inky blackness.   A massive splash sounded as they reached the end of their fall.  They rose from the water, gasping.  Crystal screamed and went under, swallowing water.  Frantically, she clawed her way back to the surface.  A pale green light slowly illuminated their surroundings.  They were in a cave.  The walls were smooth.  Ten feet up, there was a balcony.  The enchantress stood on it; it was the end of her wand that created the green glow.  "How do you like my arena?" she asked them.  "I made certain that all the passages in this castle led here.  You get a log and a sword.  The moat is that way.  If you can get out, you are free. If."  She laughed.  The deep pool of water in the cave was suddenly illuminated from the side under the water, turning the water to green glass.  Crystal screamed again as she looked downwards; the bottom of the lagoon was strewn with bones.  There was a splash as a log fell into the water, a sword embedded in it.  Walker and Crystal swam towards it and grabbed hold of it, panting and glad that they no longer had to tread water.  Walker pulled off his blanket cloak and laid it over the log, then kicked off his boots.  With a determined look, he seized the sword in one hand.  Kicking their feet, brother and sister began to head towards the moat. The water near the entrance roiled.  A sea-serpent raced towards them, mouth open.  Walker stabbed at it.  It rolled away.  Taking a breath, Walker dove after it.  Crystal could see him, suspended in the clear water across from the serpent, his sword glittering in the eerie light.  He swiftly collided with the beast, and took hold of it, grasping at its scales.  The serpent thrashed, and the distorted shapes Crystal saw told her nothing.  Walker surfaced grabbing air, then dove into the troubled water again.  Looking up, Crystal could see the enchantress looking downwards at them, her dress the same green as the water and her skin a ghastly color because of the reflection.  Her black hair swirled about her as she laughed at the blood that came to the surface of the quieting water.  Crystal's heart seemed to stop.  Then Walker surfaced, sucking in the air with huge gulps.  The serpent surfaced as well, but belly up, blood streaming from its mortal wound.  Crystal kicked the log over to Walker, and he threw an arm over it, still panting.  Crystal took the sword from his weakening hands and began to guide the log towards the moat again.  Another serpent came at them.  Crystal trembled with terror, knowing that Walker could not fight again yet.   "Right behind the skull," Walker gasped to her.  Crystal pushed away from the log and dove under the water.  The weight of her dress carried her downwards swiftly.  Her hair floated around her as she opened her eyes.  Kicking slightly, she was able to stop her descent.  The serpent came at her, roaring soundlessly.  Crystal thought of the tales of dragons that she had heard, for it was as if the beast was flying.  The shock waves of water buffeted her.  In the first collision with the beast, she failed to strike the vital place behind the skull.  The sea-snake hurtled past her to the bottom of the lagoon, where it began to turn around for another charge.  Crystal returned to the surface, pulled in a deep breath of hair and dove to meet it.  This time, she followed Walker's example and grabbed ahold of the snake.  It rolled wildly.  Drawing back the sword, she plunged it all the way through the serpent's neck.  It convulsed, then died.  The body began to drift towards the surface, and Crystal let it carry her.  Coming up, she breathed in the sweet air in great gulps.  Walker grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm over the log, supporting her.  Nothing else challenged them as the dark eyes of the enchantress watched them drift out into the moat. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/694233/ Sat, 30 May 2009 17:25:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/694233/  From my new book, I will lift my eyes to the Hills. That is all :D I can't stay and chat all day now can I? :D The sun was ruthless, it was almost as if it found delight in beating down on them. Striker whipped the sweat off his forehead and looked at his companions; the only one who did not seem to be having trouble with the merciless heat was Ben-Argon. Striker shook his head, he was going to freeze in the mountains. “North west,” Callan was grumbling under his breath, “we'll never get back to the mountain at this rate! We are going to be drug all over this blasted desert!” “You want my help or not?” Trystan demanded. Callan did not answer him but continued muttering under his breath. As the days wore on things went from bad to worse. When the party had left Kallum's home they had taken as much food and water as they could carry, but as the days passed and their supply dwindled, patience followed it. Soon their tempers were as hot as the sun over head. “Exactly who are we looking for, or are you just leading us on, hoping to find someone as we go,” Callan walked up beside Trystan and tried to draw him into a fight. “They are not the easiest people to find,” Trystan muttered. “Who are they?” Striker did not speak much, and each time he did his voice was cold and hard. Trystan laid his hand on the hit of his long, thin sword. “They are the, the Scouts.” Callan stopped dead in his tracks. “You never said anything about the Scouts!” he snapped, he grabbed Trystan's arm and spun him around. Trystan shrugged his shoulders. “I promised you an army, what does it matter if they are nobleman's guards or Scouts?” “Are you as dumb as all that?” Callan demanded, “Scouts and Rangers do not fight together.” Ben-Argon shifted his feet, he knew trouble was brewing. “It is time for a change,” Trystan said in a scornful tone in his voice. “Once they find out the Sea Raiders have invaded I am sure they will help...” “We don't need help from Scouts!” Callan growled, “I knew I should not have trusted you!” “Where else are you going to get help?” Trystan's eyes flashed, “the noblemen? Take it from someone who has lived in the desert; the noblemen care nothing but for themselves! You won't even be able to get farmers to help! They have their own troubles with harvest! If anyone helps you it will be the Scouts!” “And how exactly are they going to help me?” Callan snapped. “They will help take your head from your shoulders,” Striker grinned. Callan turned on him. “Maybe they will do the same to you! That would be one consolation!” There was a gleam in Striker's eyes, as if he agreed. Ben-Argon stepped into the middle of it all. “I wouldn't be worrying about them yet,” he said, “seeing as we have to find them first.” “Easier said then done,” Striker muttered under his breath. They all turned and looked at him with surprise; he quickly shaded his eyes and studied the countryside. “What do you know about this?” Callan took a step closer to him. “Does it really matter what I know?” Striker demanded. Trystan crossed his arms over his chest. “It might,” he said warily; he looked very closely at Striker. “Have you seen the Scouts before?” Striker bit his bottom lips until he tasted blood; he had a sudden urge to yell and hit something. “It doesna matter,” he muttered, “now, are we going to stand here all day?” Striker moved forward, walking quickly. The others hurried after him and let the subject drop for the time being. A few days later another spat started between them, this time it was started by Ben-Argon. “Oh! What I wouldn't give for a roasted fowl right now!” he said as he placed a hand over his growling stomach. Callan, who had yet to get out of his foul mood, grumbled, “Now we shall have to put up with a whinny nobleman!” Ben-Argon turned on him, hand on his dagger. “What?” he snapped. “Nothing,” Callan snapped back. Ben-Argon ground his teeth. “That was nothing!” “Knock it off you two,” Striker muttered, “you are acting like children!” Ben-Argon and Callan both turned on Striker. “Children!” they snapped. Striker glared at them and Trystan rolled his eyes. “I am with Striker on this one,” he muttered. “Keep out of this!” Callan growled. A fight nearly broke out at that moment, would have, had not a sudden shadow passed over them. All four of them looked up, they were very surprised to see a huge, black cloud drifting between them and the sun. “What is that?” Callan asked, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. “Rain cloud?” Ben-Argon asked, not being able to see it he could only guess. He felt sure it could not be a rain cloud as he could not smell rain in the air; and it was the wrong time of year. “It is too, dark,” Trystan rubbed his head uncertainly. “I haven't seen anything like it before Ben-Argon,” he added after a moment. Striker studied the cloud, it was not moving, just hanging in the sky; and it was all alone, all around it the sky was blue. “How could it have just appeared like that?” he asked no one in particular. Callan shook his head. “Well, it can't do us any harm since it is in the sky, we should keep walking.” They followed this plan, but the cloud had sobered them a great deal. All that day they could think about nothing else but that huge black cloud, and as they walked it seemed to follow them. It might not have been too bad had it, in blocking out the sun, lessened the heat; but if anything it only made things worse. Now the air was heavy and it was hard to breath, stuffy. “We need to stop,” Trystan was the one who first said it. The others were more then ready to agree by then, and they sank down to the sand; without a word they all opened their water flasks and took drinks. “We have to get out from under that cloud,” Striker looked up at it again; it seemed to him as if it was lowering in the sky, he rubbed his eyes. “And how are we going to do that?” Ben-Argon asked, he fought back a yawn. It struck him how tried he was, he wondered what was causing it. “I think I could sleep for a whole week,” he said over a yawn. Trystan stared at him. “Are you feeling well Ben-Argon?” he asked quickly. “Yes,” Ben-Argon nodded his head, annoyance in his voice, “you don't have to worry about me all the time, I am not fail just because I am blind!” Callan leaped to his feet suddenly. “What is that?” he demanded, he stepped on something. “What?” Striker looked up at him. Callan pulled his foot up and everyone but Ben-Argon looked down. Trystan's face went as white as a sheet and he leaped to his feet; Callan saw the look of horror on his face and jumped up as well. Striker took a step backwards and Ben-Argon stood as well, though he had no clue as to what was going on. “What is it?” he asked. “One of the Scorpions!” Trystan said in a tight voice. Ben-Argon took a step backwards, his face went as white as Trystan's. Striker knelt down by the dead bug while Trystan looked at the cloud again. “What is so bad about one scorpion?” he asked, he had heard about them of course, but this one was dead now; no harm there. “We have to get out of here,” Trystan suddenly said. Striker looked up. “Why?” he asked, “what is going on here?” Ben-Argon fixed his blind eyes on Striker. “Scorpions do not travel alone,” he said, “they travel in packs, and they fly. That is no cloud, it is a swarm of scorpions, very deadly scorpions!” Striker looked at the cloud again, even as he looked he saw something black drop from it and fly at him; it dropped to the ground at his feet, and for the first time he got a good look at a desert scorpion. It was as black as night, except the tip of its stinger and its eyes which were blood red. The scorpion was not more then two inches long, its tale was the same length. Its wing were glossy black and folded at its side; it was truly hideous. It fixed its red eyes on Striker as he stood staring at it, then it darted forward and extended its tale. Striker drew his sword and leaped out of the way; when the bug was within range he chopped it in half. He looked back up at the cloud. “Come on!” Trystan snapped, he pulled everyone out of their state of horror. Quickly they hurried after him. Before leaving though, Striker looked back down at the scorpion and saw that its blood, which was like acid, was eating away at the sand. He ran after the others, suddenly feeling sick; fear was an unknown feeling to him. Even as he took off running he felt, rather then hurried, a buzzing in the air. Looking back he felt his stomach drop to his boots when he saw that the cloud was moving, coming right at them! “Run!” he yelled, though he knew the others did not need him telling them that. Trystan grabbed Ben-Argon's arm and they took off. They were able to run faster over the sand then Callan and Striker, but the other two had a good motive for keeping up. As they ran, and the buzzing came closer, they knew there was no way they could out run them; when the first scorpion darted past them this was confirmed. Striker, who still had his sword in his hand, spun around and cut one in half as it flew through the air; it fell to the sand and started sizzling. Trystan let go of Ben-Argon's arm and drew his own sword, Callan saw what they were doing and followed their example. With a sinking dread Ben-Argon did the same. They all stood, back to back in a tight circle as the scorpions descended on them, covering them in blackness. Buzzing filled their ears as the scorpions flew around them, they could see nothing but the blood red; it was for this that they aimed. They knew they hit them when they heard a hissing, sizzling noise. The scorpions were so close together, however, that there was little risk of missing; even Ben-Argon stuck down many just by swinging his sword about. They were doing rather well, until they noticed something, they were not cutting down as many. When they took a closer look horror filled them; the acid was eating away at their swords! “We have to get out of this!” Callan yelled at the same time Striker yelled out in pain. “I've been stung!” he cried. Callan was still swinging his sword, but one managed to break past and sting him on the arm; instantly a fiery hot pain tore through his arm, then it went numb. His useless sword fell from his hand and dropped to the sand. The scorpions seemed to realize they had the upper hand and moved in; they began to sting the young men without mercy. They all dropped to the sand and tried to protect their heads with their hands. As weariness washed over them all Ben-Argon heard something that broke through the constant buzzing; he listened and thought it sounded like the wings of a huge bird. Suddenly a shriek filled the air; they covered their ears, it almost felt as if it was going to burst their ear drums. The buzzing grew louder, it seemed to be lifting them and carrying them off, it was followed by another shriek, then silence; deadly silence. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/694219/ Sat, 30 May 2009 16:19:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/694219/ As a matter of fact, the mission was unusual, for nothing happened.  Both mentor and student had expected to run into serious difficulties, considering the condition of the Scout they were replacing, but apparently he had cleaned out all the antagonists in the area when he was wounded.  Even the elements were oddly cooperative.  This gave Jasper more time to think and ask on-field questions than usual, and the conversation began turning to religion quite often.  Jasper had come a long way from that first conversation with Jack in the attic, but he still lived in terror of the gods, both those of the plains and the Lord.  This left him divided.  The gods required that he serve them, the Lord required that he serve Him and Him alone.  Jasper could not serve both, but neither could he choose one without invoking the wrath of the other.  It came down to deciding on which was real and which was the invention of man.  Neither existing was not an option for Jasper - he was convinced that there was some sort of deity.  If there wasn't, where had the world come from and why did things like snowflakes look like the work of a master craftsman?   Why were the stars scattered across the sky in patterns that looked like archers, dragons, or other recognizable shapes, and why did the tip of the Great Horn always point to the north? There were too many proofs for him to ignore. The question burst out of him one night beside the campfire.  "What about the third condition?" "What?"  The confused look on Jonathan's face made Jasper realize that he needed to explain what he had been thinking about before going further.   "Ryan did a lesson one night about the three conditions.  But he...as he covered everything the Lord did, living a perfect life and then willingly giving it up - it only covered the first two!  So what about the third condition?" "The guilty accepting the sacrifice of the innocent?" "Yes.  How does one do that?" "You have to die," said Jonathan, "and you have to be buried." "As the Lord was?" "Yes.  If we are united with Him in His death, we shall be united with Him in His resurrection." "Did you die?" Jasper asked slowly, after mulling this over. "Yes," said Jonathan. "So...this must not be a...uh...death death." "Physical death, you mean?" "Yes," said Jasper.  "So how is it done?" "Well, you die, meaning that you utterly forsake your former way of  life and commit yourself to living in a way that will please the Lord." "And the burial?" "That is done in water.  It symbolizes the grave." "And resurrection?" "That is when you come up out of the water." "So what, in short, does the Lord want from me?" Jonathan looked Jasper straight in the eye.  'Everything." "Isn't that a little, well, drastic?  I mean...everything!  It's too much!" "It's no more than He asked of Himself.  While He was here, He devoted himself to teaching and caring for people.  When He died, He gave His life for you so that the powers of evil would have no power over you.  He gave all He had to give and then some." Jasper was shaking his head.  "Still..." "Life is easier when you are in His hands, too.  I know, it looks rougher; you have to give up things that look good, but later, it pays off.  You live a life with fewer regrets, and the regrets you do have are from times when you strayed from His ways." "Ryan once said that is was a terrible thing to fall into the hands of God," Jasper commented. "God is perfect and just.  If all of us got our just deserts, we would die, for no one is perfect, and God cannot accept someone who is not perfect.  But what has been done in His sacrifice allows us to fall into the hands of God without the stains of our past life, and God is not only just, but loving and merciful." "So, let's say I give God everything, what do I get?" "You get the privilege to stand in the presence of God as his child, holy and loved beyond measure."  Jonathan watched Jasper's face for a moment, then said, "You take the first watch and think."  He rolled himself into a blanket. Jasper sat and pondered.  Everything.  Everything.  He pulled up his knees and rested his chin on them.  When you give someone everything you have to give, you give them your very self.  He considered similar happenings back on the plains that he knew of; debtors who could not pay back the money that had been loaned to them and so had to give up everything of value that was their's - even themselves.  When you give someone yourself, you belong to them, and they can deal with you as they like; you have no rights.  But when you give God everything, he makes you his child...after he gave you the ability to even approach him to give him everything. Now that I consider it, what do I have that I can truly call mine?  Myself, my life, and my family; Kaia and the Breakers.  But God created me and gave me life, so those are a gift from him.  And God granted that my sister would be born into my family, so she is a gift from him.  And then he granted me my second family after I lost my first, so they are a gift from him as well.  So in the end, God gives me everything I have and gets nothing back but a willing heart, and that only if I come to Him.  To me, it seems he asks so much, and yet, in truth, it's not hardly worth anything at all.  But somehow, it's enough. Jasper had stopped wearing his talisman after he became a Scout Student, but he had never put it from his person.  It had ridden in a little  pocket for some time, now he drew it out.  'Everything' is still hard, but I'll start here.  He dropped the talisman into the fire.  Slowly, as the night went on and the wind moaned its lonely way through the pines, he began to give up the hatreds and grudges he had held within him.  A thing Ryan had said helped him in this.  "Hatred and grudges don't die in a day, and you won't ever be completely free of them in this life.  The important part is not so much getting to a place where you don't have those thoughts as it is getting to a place where you surrender those thoughts to God as soon as you have them.  Giving yourself to God is a starting point, not the finish line." It was at that moment that Jasper realized that Jonathan had only been pretending to be asleep.  Jonathan now looked keenly at Jasper.  "There's a deep creek down thataway," he said, meaning that he was willing to immerse Jasper on the spot if Jasper wanted him to. Jasper hesitated.  They were on a mission.   The Aranara could fall on them any minute that they were not on guard.  But then Jasper decided that the Lord was more important than the Aranara; if he got himself killed doing what the Lord had commanded, so be it.  "Let's go." The water in the creek was ice cold and took Jasper's breath away as Jonathan lowered him under it.  When they came up out of the water, Jonathan left Jasper alone on the creek's bank, sensing his student's desire for solitude. A shining light came from the trees, and Jasper turned.  The light was brighter than midday, and yet Jasper felt no need to shield his eyes.  He became aware of a presence, awesome and powerful.  Jasper trembled as the majestic figure emerged from the light, but he felt no terror.  Instead, he looked into the figure's deep, ageless eyes, his heart throbbing with alternate joy and fear.  The figure stepped forwards and laid his hands on Jasper's shoulders.  Jasper stood and shook, his blood flying through his veins many times faster than it should have. "Be still," said the figure gently.  Jasper shivered once more in response to the figures deep, unearthly voice, then stood still.  "Tell me your heart," the Lord said, beginning to walk. "I daresay You know it better than I myself, Lord," said Jasper, naturally falling into step beside Him. The Lord smiled.  "I know everything, Jasper, but that does not mean that I do not enjoy it when My children talk to Me about what they think and feel." Jasper's mind was blank for a time, but then a question he had wanted to ask for a long time came to him.  "Why did my parents die?  Why couldn't we have just  stayed the happy family that we were?"  Emotion poured into him at a rate he would not have thought possible, and tears started pouring down his cheeks like a spring thaw.  In front of anyone else, he would have been embaressed to be crying so hard, but here, it seemed natural to let emotions surface and play themselves out, since there was a tangible sense of not being able to hide them. "I have a plan for you, Jasper, and it involves you being here, in the mountains.  If your parents had not died in the plague, you would have been brought here a different way; a way that would have been far more painful." "What would have happened?" The Lord reached up and wiped the tears from Jasper's face.  "It is not for you to know what would of happened, for that knowledge would only hurt you.  What did happen is far more important." "Is that why I was adopted into the Johnson family and engaged," Jasper flinched at the memory, "to Misty?  So that I would run away?" "One of the reasons, and the only reason you are to know for now." "Why can't I know the other reasons?" Jasper burst out. "Because they will be revealed in due time, and it is not a good idea to rush such things.  At this time, you are not yet ready to accept the other reasons." They walked a little further, then sat down near a small cataract.  "Will I ever see my sister again?"  Jasper asked. "You will." "I was so angry, being separated from her like that.  I never thought of myself as an angry person, but I was angry.  Angry at the people who took my sister from me, angry at Misty for treating me like she did, angry at the Johnsons for pledging her to me with no regard to how I felt.    Did...did all of those things have a reason?" "Nothing that happens happens for no reason.  The reason may be quite small, but there is still a reason." The longer they spoke, the more words poured out of Jasper.  It was as if his heart had become a book that lay open on the rocks for them to read.  He did not know how long they stayed there; time seemed not to exist when the Lord was present.  At last, the Lord rose to leave. "Will I see you again?" asked Jasper wistfully, looking up at him and feeling like a time of joy and healing was drawing to a close. The Lord looked at him gently and placed His hands on his shoulders.  "Yes, you will.  But, until then, always remember:  No matter where you are, I can always hear and see you.  Read the Words that I left with you, talk to Me, and I shall be with you, always, even at the very ends of the world."  Turning, He melted away into the trees. Jasper returned softly to camp.  Jonathan lay on his back, breathing quietly.  Jasper lay down on the other side of the fire, curled into his cloak and a wool blanket, and fell asleep. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/692065/ Sat, 23 May 2009 23:28:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/TheInklings/692065/