My pen pours forth like a fountain, and this is the place where you can read some of what I have written. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/ en-us Homeschool Blogger Mon, 18 May 2009 20:11:00 -0500 Mon, 18 May 2009 20:11:00 -0500         Kale crashed through the bushes, cursing because of the extra noise, but unable to do anything about it in the near-complete dark.  There was no time to make course-corrections: no time, even, to plan a course.  They were after him - they were right on his heels - and he was running for his life.       The ghostly trees appeared in his path faster than he could take note of their existence, rushing at him with the speed of his own flight, and each time he barely managed to avoid them and find a path between their trunks.  Behind him, he could hear the sounds of his pursuers, just a handful of yards behind him.  They were everywhere, almost surrounding him.  He was sure there were two running abreast of him, and a few running behind him, right in his heels.  They weren't gaining, but neither was he, and he knew his strength would give out any time now.  It was a miracle it hadn't already.       Tree.  Bush.  Duck.  Jump.  Dodge.  His breath pounded in his lungs, and the fear and panic gave a whine to every time he exhaled.  His muscles burned, but his fear gave an edge and a push that he didn't have normally, and it drove him onwards, farther than he would have been able to normally.  He tripped, fell, rolled, and was on his feet again, driving his feet against the earth the same way he was breathing.  There had ceased to be any sort of grace or exhilaration to running, and now all it was was throb, throb, throb, with each step wondering if he would be able to take another one.      They were gaining on him.  That twig that snapped behind him had been closer than the last one.  He thought he could see the two next to him now - between the flickering trees, he caught glimpses of long tangled mats of hair whipping in the wind behind big, burly heads.  They knew, he thought.  They could sense he was giving out, and they were moving in for the kill.       Hurry.  Hurry.  Hurry.  He wanted to lay down and die, but he drove himself onward with that word, pouring into it all the fear of the past few months, forcing himself to push even though there was nothing left to push with.  One more step.  Two more steps.  Three more steps.  Must not let them take him.  He must not let himself die - although with every step he took, it became more and more clear to hm that that choice was no longer in his hands.       And suddenly... a clearing.  The trees parted, and before he even realized it, he was sprinting across and open space of grass, the moonlight pouring upon his flying feet.  He cried out in surprise as a pale ray of hope entered his mind, and he turned to face his pursuers, raising his sword as he did so.  Let them fight him in the open.  At least then he would be able to see their faces, and he would have some slight, frail chance.         They followed him into the clearing, as he had hoped they would, and his spine straightened as he finally was able to see them clearly.  There were five of them, as he had thought, and they were all big and burly, with wicked axes in their hands, and terrifying half-grins on their faces.  They advanced on him in a horseshoe formation, striding up quickly, undaunted by the sword in Kale's hand.      Somewhere, some bird of the night cried out in a loud, mournful voice.  Kale listened to it, his heart rate slowing as he did, thinking that the bird might be the only one to ever mourn his death.  And in some strange way, he was satisfied.  Enough that he should hear one last beautiful sound before he died.      They were upon him.  In one instant, he had moved from standing still to ducking, parrying, trying to keep his body as far away from the murderous axes as possible.  From time to time he struck out with his own sword, but it was always in vain, for an axe blade always blocked his blow, and he found he had to move will all his speed just to avoid the blows that his attempt had cost him.      Something glistened darkly on the grass.  Kale realized with half a thought that it was blood, and he wondered briefly if it was his.  But there was no time to wonder or to even care: he had become an animal of prey, moving because he knew there was nothing left to do but move.  He barely felt human any more.  The axes swung in deadly circles, pursuing him, with the certainty that sooner or later, one of them would find him and cleave him in two.  Would his dead body be anything to them once he was dead, he wondered?  Was he worth anything alive, in fact?  Though he was breathing harder than he had ever breathed in his life, he found space between breaths to laugh bitterly.  Of course not.  Nobody cared about him.  He was worthless, nothing, a no one.  What did it matter if he died?  By some wild chance, one blow from his sword landed where he had intended, and one of the men fell with a cry to the ground.  He raised his axe in an attempt to protect himself, but Kale slipped his sword past and slew him quickly.  There was only a moment in which to marvel at his good fortune when he was once again running for his life, twisting, turning, ducking, leaping.      Something struck the back of his head, not sharply, like the blade he had been expecting, but dully and brutally, like a hammer.  He fell to the grass, wondering what it was that had struck him without killing him, but knowing that it didn't matter now.  Just a matter of seconds, and he was dead anyway.      But he wasn't.  He counted to five, and he was still breathing.  He tried to raise his head to try and find the explanation to the seeming lack of activity, but the effort proved too difficult for him.  Apparently, he was wounded worse than he thought.      A rough hand reached down and rolled him over onto his back, and in another second, Kale felt a cold blade pressed to his throat.  He opened his eyes, and found himself looking into the face of one of the men, who he assumed must be the leader.  The thing pressed against his skin, he saw, was not an axe as he had supposed it was, but a sword.      "I didn't know Howlers carried swords," he said before he could think better of it.      The man above him frowned darkly.  "Now is not the time to say stupid things, boy," he said, his voice thick with an accent.  "I'm going to kill you."      "You are?" Kale replied.  "Then why haven't you done it already, instead of telling me that you are?"  He squirmed, wishing the sword wasn't so close to his neck so that he would have more room to breathe.  "What do you want with me, anyways?  I've never done you or your people any harm!"      One of the men laughed, but the chief moved his hand and silenced the man.  "What does it matter to us what you have or have not done?  We are not concerned with things like that."  He pressed the sword a little harder against Kale's skin.  "What matters is that we want you.  Now choose, boy.  Would you rather die, or are you one of those cowards who would sell his life to prevent his death?  We are always have room for another slave."      Kale didn't know if he could breathe.  He supposed he was doing it without thinking about it, but it seemed to him like an impossible action, as if he should have ceased to breathe long ago.  "Neither," he whispered.  "I choose to live as a free man."      The chief frowned at him.  "Then I will kill you," he said simply.      Kale closed his eyes.  He had been a fool.  He didn't know why he had said what he said, except for the fact that his energy was completely spent, his limbs had worked until they could work no more, and there was no strength left with which to think.  Which, he supposed, meant he was ready to die.  But his heart wasn't ready.  He still resisted it with a furious passion and a despair that made him want to weep.  It was so unfair.      "That can't be the reason," he burst out suddenly.  "That can't be the only reason you want me.  There's another reason you want me, isn't there?"       He could almost hear the man stop short, even though he made no sound.  "You ask too many questions, and you're a fool to boot," he said.  "If I'd known you would be so much trouble, I wouldn't have chased you so far."       "But you did chase me," Kale said.  "And you're not going to kill me.  You know you aren't."       The chief cursed violently in some language Kale did not know, and he felt the blade leave his throat.  "No!" he spat out.  "But of course I'm not going to tell you the reason, you dog!  I only wish I could kill you, and silence you forever!  You've been more trouble than I bargained for already!"       A kick landed on Kale's side, knocking the wind out of him.  His eyelids fluttered open, and he saw the chief talking quietly with two of his men.  They moved towards him and began to bind his arms and legs.   Kale let them do it without protesting, thankful in a small, absurd way that he wasn't being forced to move.     After they had finished tying him up, they picked him up roughly and began to carry him out of the clearing, through the forest, in some direction that Kale could not tell.  He drifted in and out of consciousness, so he did not know how long it was until they finally laid him down to rest and left him without bothering to cut his bonds.        **Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/690317/ Mon, 18 May 2009 20:11:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/690317/   Here's a story that I started on a whim, based on a crack novel that dear Pip is writing.  I don't know why, but it inspired me for a story, and I decided to write it down.  I hope you enjoy it!  *grins evilly*      ~ ~ ~     Beth sat on a small hill at the shores of the small lake and looked out towards the western mountains.  The sun was setting low behind the majestic tooth-edged peaks, and the last rays of the day were sparkling on the ripples of the water, throwing reflections into Beth's dark, thoughtful eyes as they did so.  A soft, meditative wind rose, and twirled her rich dark hair around her olive-skinned face and neck, but she was too lost in her own thoughts to brush it behind her ear again, so she let it play.     Her eyes rose from the rhythmic, continuous motion of the lake to the silhouette of Mount Veracity, and as she traced its edges in her mind, she reflected on the problem set before her.  She knew that Kale was in trouble.  She had been feeling it all day, working its way through all her bones with a sure, laborious fire.  And accompanying the flame was a blade of ice that cut through her muscles one by one - the knowledge that she was the only one who could help him.      She wanted to help him, of course.  And she knew with certainty that sooner or later, she would go to him.  She would not be able to stop herself - what could she do to resist the invisible force that was even now tugging at her limbs, drawing her irresistibly to the east?  But that didn't make going any easier, and it didn't take away the fear that rested heavy in her chest, keeping her from moving.  The problem before her was so riddled with unknowns, and the unknown was exactly the thing that Beth hated.  But those unknowns were coupled with the one dreadful certainty that, by rescuing him, she would be setting events into motion that she would have no way of stopping, once they had been started.  She had waited so, so long for this day, this time - and yet now that it was here, she was afraid.  Revealing herself to him would not be an easy thing, for either of them.      But there was one thought that gave a small glow of warmth to her heart, and that was the thought of Kale himself.  Kale - once this was all over, she would be glad for Kale.  He was her one hope, her one ambition.  She would go and rescue him.      The sun had set now: the reflections had disappeared from the lake, and the sky behind the mountains was fading into dusk.  Beth slowly rose to her feet, looking for one last time at Mount Veracity, and then turned and began to jog toward the east, running faster and faster as she went, lest fear should catch up with her.      ~ ~ ~ **Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2009 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/682749/ Sat, 25 Apr 2009 11:13:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/682749/     “Wyreya!”             Lloyden ran to her side and jerked her arm, startling her out of her frozen state.  Lloyden began to pull her as hard as he could towards the stable, and she had no choice but to follow.             The man-bulls began pouring into the tiny clearing, and their soulless cries echoed through the trees, distorting and shattering the silence of the forest.  With each moment they were coming nearer – Wyreya could hear their muffled steps, moving faster than they could run.  There was nothing left now but to pray that they would get to the stable in time.  The little hutch building came closer and closer to them.             They were through the doors!  Before Wyreya could realize what was happening Lloyden was swinging her up onto one of the plow horses, and climbing on the horse himself.  Wyreya grasped her brother’s back and buried her face in his shirt as Lloyden kicked the horse into a gallop.             A leap, a charge, a howl form the monsters, and when Wyreya lifted her face again a few seconds later the man-bulls were behind them, pursuing then into the forest.             The horse was galloping as fast as it could into the forest, yet every time Wyreya looked over her shoulder the creatures were a little closer to them than they had been before.             “Faster, Lloyden, faster!!!,” Wyreya screamed, even though she knew it was no use.  Lloyden was already urging the horse to its limits.              Without warning Lloyden reigned the horse to a complete stop, smashing Wyreya into her brother’s back.  She recovered instantly and looked over his shoulder to see what the matter was.             Before them was a wide, deep ditch, which would be impossible to cross in a hurry.  They were trapped.             “Lloyden,” Wyreya started, but before she could finish Lloyden wheeled the horse around to face their oncoming attackers.             “Lloyden!” Wyreya said again.  “Have you gone mad?”              “No,” Lloyden said.  He yanked his scythe out of his belt.  “There is no other way.”              And with a violent war-yell, Lloyden began galloping the horse towards the man-bulls.              Wyreya screamed as they plunged into the midst of the beasts.  Lloyden began wielding his scythe like a sword, severing heads from necks and causing other such damage to the creatures.  The monsters were so unprepared for Lloyden’s action that they had no time to defend themselves or move away from his attack.  Lloyden reached the far side of the group and whirled around to go at them again, but by this time the creatures were wise to his attack and had begun to move into defensive positions.  Lloyden saw that it would be no use to try and fight them now, so he galloped the horse back toward the clearing.              The first thing that met Wyreya’s eyes as they reentered the clearing was the sight of the house and the stable, both in flames.  She had no time to weep, for the second thing she noticed was that there were still some of the monsters left in the clearing.              “Lloyden!” she shouted, but it was too late.  The twenty-odd man-bulls had already seen the horse and its passengers and were leaping toward them.  Lloyden changed directions for a third time and the horse fled into the forest again.  “Lloyden,” Wyreya said as they crashed through the trees.  “We’ll never make it.  They run faster than the horse can.”              “Let’s hope they wear out faster than the horse does,” Lloyden replied.  “Use the kitchen knife.”              The kitchen knife?  Wyreya remembered and fumbled to untie the bag without spilling its contents onto the fast-moving ground.  She pulled the knife out and held it in her right hand, gripping tightly to Lloyden with her left hand.             “Now what?” she yelled as the sound of the man-bull’s pounding feet came closer.              “Try to turn around in the saddle and jab at the monsters!”  Lloyden yelled back.             Wyreya twisted around as far as she safely could and held her knife at the ready.  The creatures were right behind them, almost close enough to touch the horse’s galloping legs.  One of them reached out a clawed hand to grab Wyreya and pull her down, but Wyreya stabbed at the hand with her knife as it came close.  To her surprise the hand came completely off, and the beast fell to the ground, howling in pain.  The bull-men fell back a little, startled at their comrade’s injury, but before long they were back, running right behind the flying hooves of the horse.              “Lloyden!” Wyreya screamed.             “Just keep swinging it!” Lloyden yelled.  “Don’t stop, Wyreya!  Don’t stop!”             Wyreya slashed at the nearest pursuer, doing significant damage to the beast’s face.  Wyreya screamed at the sight, but she continues slashing.  She stabbed one of the creatures in the chest and he fell down dead.  Another received a severed throat, and yet another lost several fingers on the hand that bore his weapon, yet still the ghastly faces came ever closer to her own.              One beast reached up his weapon and dealt a glancing blow to Wyreya’s face.  Wyreya yelped with pain, but she stabbed nonetheless and gave her attacker a mortal wound.  The creatures were suffering greatly, but Wyreya’s arm was getting tired.              “Lloyden!” she yelled.  “Lloyden, I can’t do this anymore!  I can’t!”             Lloyden wheeled the horse around, preparing to give one last attack, when a man with dark red hair and a drawn sword leapt out of the woods and started fighting with the beasts.             “Flee!” the man shouted.  “I will take care of the monsters!”             Lloyden obeyed and rode some distance into the woods, where he stopped and swung Wyreya onto the ground.              “Stay here,” he said.  “I’m going back to help.”              He drew his scythe and rode back the way they had come, leaving Wyreya standing alone in the woods.             “Lloyden!” she called after her brother, but he was already gone. Wyreya could hear sound of fighting coming from the distance.             Wyreya reached up tentatively and felt her face where the beast had struck her.  It was bleeding all right, but it didn’t appear to be more than a scratch.  Wyreya opened her eye cautiously: she could still see just fine.  She would probably only have an ugly scar after a while.             Wyreya clutched her knife and stumbled back towards the fighting.  She still had a weapon, and she wasn’t going to wait for the bull-men to kill her brother and then come find her.  She arrived at the edge of the place where the fight was going on, being careful to stay hidden between the trees.  There had been at least thirty bull-men pursuing them, but now there were less than twenty.  Lloyden and the strange man stood with their backs against a stout tree, surrounded by a ring of the foul creatures.  The men were fighting splendidly, but it looked like they weren’t going to last much longer.              Wyreya crept as close to the bull-men as she could without being seen, and then leapt out of hiding as quick as a snake and stabbed the nearest beast in the back.  He fell down dead, and his companions turned, shocked at this new development.  Wyreya sprang back, but she had forgotten how fast the monsters were.  As fast as she could she clambered up the nearest tree, the bull-men on her heels.  In the tree she had a bit of an advantage: the monsters evidently were not as good at climbing as she was, but even still they were not far behind.  Without thinking, Wyreya stabbed down at the head of one of the beasts as he came climbing up the tree.  He died instantly and fell, pinning two of his companions beneath him.  Four more bull-men started scaling the tree from the other side, but Wyreya knew better than to let them come.  She knocked the first one’s weapon out of his hand before she stabbed him in the gut, he also fell and took is comrades with him.   The bull-men became wise to her defense and began scaling the tree from all sides, but by that time Lloyden and the strange man had leapt to her rescue.  They cut the creatures down from the tree and killed them swiftly.  Wyreya climbed down from the tree and looked around, realizing that all those who had been pursuing them were dead.  “Come,” the strange young man said.  “There will be more of them if we don’t leave quickly.”  “Who are you?” Wyreya asked. “That can wait for later,” the man said.  “But for now, my name is Erion.  Grab your horse: we must ride out of these woods and reach the main road by nightfall.”  Lloyden found their horse hiding in among the trees and brought her out.  Erion left for a moment and reappeared with his horse, a trim-looking stallion, and the three of them rode off toward the north with Erion in the lead.          **Note: As these stories are still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/680612/ Sun, 19 Apr 2009 11:08:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/680612/   I thought I'd post more of Enchantress, since y'all gave me such positive feedback on the prologue.  (And thank you so much, by the way!)  Now, please note, this has not been edited yet, so there are sure to be typos, and I know for a fact that there a few threads started here that I accidentally drop in later chapters.  Please forgive me for that, and I hope you enjoy it.  Don't forget to give me your honest feedback!  If after reading the prologue you were disappointed by this chapter, please let me know.  I appreciate your thoughts on it!     Chapter 1   It was only after Everlyse had the dream the third time that she woke up.  Three times she had thought she had heard a knock at the back door, and had got up to open it.  But right as she opened it, the vision disappeared, and she was back in bed again, hearing the knocking.              She knew when she awoke for real because there was no sound of knocking – just plain silence.  She lay huddled under the covers for a full minute, staring at the ceiling, just trying to reassure herself that this wasn’t another dream.  She was about to go back to sleep, when for an instant she became fully awake and her mind cleared.  Of course, she should have known – a dream repeated three times could not be an ordinary dream.              Everlyse rose, wrapped herself in the old green jacket that she had draped over the back of her desk chair, and quietly tip-toed through the house to the back door.  She paused as she rested her hand on the knob, thinking of how foolish it was to act upon a dream, but then reassured herself that if there was nothing there, she could just go back to bed and forget about it.              She opened the door, and at first the dark figure outlined against the stars made her jump in surprise.  She took a step backwards in surprise, nearly falling down the stairs at her back, before she realized who it was.              The young man in the black cloak bent so that he could speak through the screen.  “It’s Andrew,” he said.  “Can I come in?”              Everlyse was puzzled, but she saw he was shivering and opened the door.  He stumbled in, nearly collapsing in a heap on the floor, and started rubbing and blowing on his fingers.              “Please, shut the door – my hands are nearly frozen,” he whispered.  He shivered, and then sighed.  “Oh, it’s so warm in here.  Thank you.”              Everlyse silently continued to watch him rub his hands together for another minute, sizing him up, before she spoke.              “Andrew, what are you doing here?” she asked in an irritated whisper.  “It’s the middle of the night, for pete’s sake!  You, a grown man, would come here in the middle of the night to visit me, a teenage girl?  Methinks I shouldn’t have let you in!”              Andrew winced.  “I know,” he said.  “I knew you would say that, and I am sorry.  I didn’t want to come, but I ran into some trouble.... and I was wondering if you could help me.”               It was only then that Everlyse noticed the blue bruise on his left cheek.  Instantly, her tone changed.  “What happened to you?” she asked, concerned.  “You didn’t get yourself into trouble, did you?”             Andrew shook his head.  “Not exactly,” he said.  “Just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and run into the wrong kind of people.  Don’t worry, they didn’t hurt me too bad or take anything from me – magic is helpful in that regard.  But they did manage to give me a few scrapes before I got away.”  He sighed.  “I guess the inner city is just not the place for me.”              “Inner city!  What on earth were you doing there?” Everlyse asked in surprise.              Andrew lowered his head a little bit.  “If you want to know, I was playing a bit of a prank.  But it cost me, and I won’t do it again, I swear.  At least, not the exact same thing.”              Everlyse shook her head.  “Andrew, you are your own worst enemy, aren’t you?” she sighed.  “Now, what do you need help with?”              Andrew pushed up the sleeve of his coat to his shoulder.  “This,” he said.  “I need you to bandage it up, if you could.”              Everlyse couldn’t see very clearly, but what she did see was a long, dark streak running down his upper arm.  “Dear me,” she whispered.  “You did get in a bad straight, didn’t you?”              Suddenly, the kitchen light was flipped on.  “What is going on?” a deep voice asked suspiciously.  Everlyse turned to see her father standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his arms folded, a half-angered, half-worried look on his face.  He stared at Andrew.  “What are you doing here?” he growled.  “Don’t you know it’s indecent to go visiting teenage girls in the middle of the night?!  What are you doing?”              Andrew’s face went white, and his attitude instantly became repentant.  “I am most sorry, sir,” he stammered.  “It’s really not what it seems, and I didn’t want to....” he scrambled, at a loss for words.              Everlyse walked over to her father.  “He got beat up, Dad.  He just wants me to bandage up his cut.”  She looked over at Andrew’s arm, and gasped in horror.  “Oh Andrew,” she cried.  “It is bad!  If it’s as deep as it looks, we need to take you to the hospital!”  She went up to him and reached for his arm, as if to search the wound.”              “It’s nothing,” Andrew protested.  “I – please don’t touch it.”  He pivoted on his foot so as to be out of her reach.  “You really don’t need to go to all that trouble for me.  Just put a bandage on it, and it’ll be alright.”              Everlyse’s father still looked suspicious, but his face had softened.  “Young man, that wound is worse than you think,” he said gravely.  “We really ought to get you to a hospital.  Something as large as that could easily get infected, especially since you got it in a fight.  How did you end up in a brawl like that?”              “No fault of mine,” Andrew said in defense.  “Downtown is not exactly a nice place.”              “And you walked all the way here?” Everlyse asked, shocked.  “Andrew, don’t you know to use a phone when you’re in trouble?”              Andrew pressed his lips together.  “Phones work fine,” he said.  “But they’re expensive these days, you know.  Besides, I’m used to walking.”              Both Everlyse and her father stared at the young magician.  “You’re broke, aren’t you?” Everlyse said.              “Same as always,” Andrew said mournfully.  “Being a street performer doesn’t pay as well as it used to.  People have computers and movies, and they don’t need wonders.  They have mp3 players, and they don’t need music.  It’s shameful the way the world has gone.”              “Why not get a job?” Everlyse’s father asked, as if stating the obvious.  “If you would work, then you would have money to support yourself, and you wouldn’t get in such deep trouble.”              “I know.”  Andrew sighed.  “But I’m afraid of being trapped behind a counter or a desk, and besides, I have more important work to do.”  He shrugged his shoulders and smiled shyly.  “It doesn’t pay in money, but it has a chance of giving the world a future it won’t have otherwise.”  Everlyse’s father nodded gravely.  “I understand,” he said.  His face became concerned suddenly.  “Sit down, please, before you fall down!  What a fool I am to keep you standing while you’re wounded.”              Andrew smiled gratefully and sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.              “Now,” the father directed, “get some peroxide, Everlyse, and the first aid kit.  If this man wishes to risk getting an infection by staying out of the emergency, then I won’t get in his way.  But the least we can do is bind it up.”             Everlyse ran to do as she was bid, and was back in a minute with the requested objects.  She found her father bending over Andrew’s chair, inspecting the wound with his fingers while the magician looked the other way and try not to flinch or cry out.              The girl set down the things she was carrying on the kitchen table and looked at her father.  “If you would like,” she began, “I could try…”              Her father looked up at her, as did Andrew.  “Do you think you could?” he asked.  “Or would that tax you too much?”              Everlyse hesitate.  “I don’t know if I could heal the whole thing,” she said.  “But I think I could help it along.”  She thought for another minute, and then shook her head.  “No, not the whole thing.  I haven’t been at my full strength ever since two days ago, when I… but never mind that.  It’s not important.”              Everlyse’s father nodded.  “I’ll clean the wound and bandage it, and after that you can do as much as you feel inclined to do.”              He proceeded to do just that.  Andrew looked away during the whole procedure, and to distract him Everlyse pulled up a chair and sat where he could look at her easily and converse with her.              “This isn’t the only reason I came to you, you know,” he said.  “I found something important out today, and I thought I should tell you.”              “Really?” Everlyse leaned forward.  “What is it?”              Andrew licked his lips nervously and looked around.  “I don’t think I should tell you here, or now.  Not that I want to keep you out of the secret, Mr. Hannigan, but….I’m sure Everlyse has told you the importance of secrecy in this matter.”              “Yes,” Everlyse’s father said.  “She has.”              “Oh,” Everlyse’s eyes went wide.  “You mean…”             Andrew nodded.  “Yes, news of that nature.”             “Oh,” Everlyse said slowly.  “Not bad, I hope.”              Andrew bit his lips and didn’t reply.  His knowing gaze was suddenly interrupted as he winced with pain and gave a small cry.             “There,” Mr. Hannigan said.  “I’ve finished wrapping the bandage.  Now I leave you to work you magic, Everlyse.”              Everlyse rose and took her father’s place beside Andrew.              “Now remember,” she said.  “No guarantees.”                She wrapped her fingers around the bandage and closed her eyes in concentration.  After a minute, she released her hands and looked up at Andrew.              “There.  That’s about half of it, but I can’t go farther.  Does it feel better?”             “Yes.”  Andrew smiled.  “Thank you, Enchantress.”             Everlyse smiled back at him, and then looked concerned.  Without speaking, she rose, went over to the cabinet, and pulled out a bagel.  With Andrew looking on hungrily, she toasted it, covered it in a thick layer of cream cheese, and then set it before him.              “There,” she said, “Eat it.  I know you’re hungry.”             Andrew looked up at her, his large, pale-blue eyes full of gratefulness, and then dived into the bagel, relishing it as if he hadn’t eaten in days.              Everlyse would have been content to watch him eat it, but she saw her father looking at her out of the corner of her eye, and when she looked at him he motioned her into the adjacent room.  Everlyse followed him, and they moved to the far end of the room where Andrew would be less likely to hear them.              “What is it?” Everlyse asked.              Her father glanced toward the kitchen to make sure Andrew was still busy eating.  “What do you think we should do with him now?” he asked.  “Does he have a place to stay?”             “No,” Everlyse said.  “Not that I know of.  If we let him go, he’ll probably end up sleeping underneath some tree.”  She bit her lip.  “I don’t know.  What do you think we should do?”             “With that arm of his, I don’t want him sleeping out in the open,” her father replied.  “I’m inclined to let him stay here for the night – but I’m not sure if that would be a wise decision.”              “Just for tonight,” Everlyse said.  “He could sleep in the basement on one of the old couches.  He would be content to sleep on the floor.”              Her father nodded.  “All right, then.”  He sighed.  “I don’t completely trust him, Everlyse – as I could never completely trust any young man who comes to our house in the middle of the night asking for shelter – but I am inclined to think that, despite his strange habits, he is honorable.”             “He is,” Everlyse said.  “He just hasn’t gotten used to the world.  It’s always going just a little too fast for him, and yet in some ways he’s always a step ahead of it.”  She shook her head.  “At least he came to us for help this time, instead of trying to bear it all by himself.  He’s done that before, and sometimes it’s nearly cost him his life.”              “Yes,” her father nodded.  “How did you know to get up to open the door for him?  I didn’t hear anything, and you know how lightly I sleep.”              Everlyse smiled, her eyes thoughtful.  “He used his magic to influence my dreams.  He talked about trying that trick before, but I’ve never actually seen him use it until now.  It was quite interesting.”              “Hmmm.  Interesting.”  Her father looked like he had more to say on the subject, but he kept silent.  “For tonight, then – or what’s left of it.”  He glanced at the clock, which read 1:30 am.  “We’ll send him on his way in the morning.”              Everlyse nodded.  “I’ll go offer that to him now.”            **Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/671636/ Mon, 23 Mar 2009 09:24:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/671636/   Hello again!  I was looking at this poor, abandoned story blog, and I was reflecting on the fact that for the first time in a very long while, I actually had something that might be worthy of posting.  This is the prologue to a new story I'm writing, which I'm either calling Magician or Enchantress.  It sort of depends on what mood I'm in.  Anyway, this section of story is definately in its rough draft, so don't critique me too harshly!  I started this story six days ago because I couldn't help myself, and for that reason, I'm still trying to work out the plot.  If you guys really like it, I might be convinced to post more.  *grin*  Enjoy!  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The Annual Magician’s banquet was the event that most of the performing Magicians around the metropolis looked forward to every year.  All of the elite in the realms of slight-of-hand were destined to be there, decked in their most mysterious or professional-looking outfits, charming the ladies with bouquets of roses hidden up theirs sleeves.  For one evening, all magic makers would be able to relax and talk freely with one another, laughing and joking the night away.              They could not have guessed that there would be a real magician in attendance this year.              His long, thin frame was clad simply in a black, shapeless coat that might have once been a cloak, and tight, forest-green pants and boots that made him look like Peter Pan gone awry.  His face was young – almost too you – but something about the look in his eyes was old, as if he had already seen everything life had to offer.  He laughed much but said little, sat at the end of a corner table, and was mostly unnoticed, except by the few who happened to look his direction, only to find his large, pale-blue eyes staring at them from under his dark, wavy locks.  He would tell jokes to those near enough to hear him, and they would laugh, but when the conversation ended those who had listened in realized that they still knew nothing about the man.              There were the usual honorary speeches, to which everyone listened patiently and politely, and the guest speaker, who set the audience laughing so hard with his witty phrases that he would have to wait several minutes for the laughing to die down so that he could continue.  Then there came the favorite event of the night: all who wished were asked to present their newest and best tricks to their fellow magicians, to showcase their talent.              The man in the black coat was the first to rise, and without waiting for permission he walked calmly up to the podium.  Everyone stared at him, and some whispered to their neighbors, inquiring who he was, but no one could make anything of him.              “I would like to thank you all for allowing me to come,” the man said into the microphone.  “This has been such a wonderful honor.”  He smiled, and something about the curve of his lips unsettled most of the audience members.              “Great magicians are both born and made – you can’t have one without the other.  A man can work for years to acquire the magician’s touch and perfect timing, but he will always lack that inbred sense of magic that a natural magician has.  But a man with talent that does not use it – he is the greater folly.  As is the man who pretends to be what he is not, which is the third thing a true magician must never make a habit of doing.”              There was a moment of silence, and then a few people started clapping, which set the rest applauding at length.  They were still trying to figure out what exactly he meant.              The man raised his hand.  “I am going to present you with my latest trick,” he said simply.  “I hope you all enjoy it.”              This was familiar turf.  The applause flowed easier this time, and the crowd of magicians waited expectantly for the illusion to begin.              What they did not expect was that all their wine glasses would slowly rise into the air, form themselves into a circle, and whirl around above their heads.              Some of the ladies fainted, while most of the gentlemen stared in shocked silence, wondering what kind of illusion this was.  Someone in the back of the room shouted for the glasses to stop, and when he did the circle slowly stopped rotating, and the wine glasses returned to their proper owners – all without spilling a single drop of wine.             The guests turned to the man at the podium, demanding him to explain this devilry, only to find that he was no longer at the podium.  Those who had been watching him out of the corners of their eyes stood up in shock, because they hadn’t noticed him leave at all.  But he was gone, and though a search was made of the building, he was nowhere to be found.              The magician, standing in a corner behind a large shrubbery, watched the growing mayhem with an unquenchable grin on his face.  He giggled to himself in the carefree way of a child, and made his way unnoticed to the door.             Once he was out in the parking lot, he completely lost control of himself, laughing so hard that the tears streamed down his cheeks, doubling over and clutching his belly in a hopeless attempt to still his mirth.              “Ah,” he said, finishing at last.  “Now that’s a good joke.  Nothing baffles a fake magician quite like real magic.”  He chuckled again, but his stomach was sore from his laughter, and he fell into silence presently.  He looked up at the stars, which shone clearly on the chill spring evening, and had just decided on trying to sneak back in to finish his glass of wine, when a voice shouted across the parking lot:             “There he is!  Look, come here, I’ve found him!”              The magician turned, saw two men near the entrance of the building who were pointing his direction, and decided that he had lingered long enough.  He whipped back around, and his long scarecrow legs carried him swiftly into the night.        **Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/661865/ Tue, 24 Feb 2009 08:46:00 -0600 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/661865/       Faeryn knocked lightly upon her brother’s door.  She knew that at this hour he would be deep in studying lessons of his own.  Whenever Faeryn saw him she was glad that she was not destined for the throne, for who could envy him the many hours of study that were required every day?  Besides the basic affairs of court, he had study battle plans, the use of weapons, the complete history of Orotaek and the surrounding nations, how to command men, how to raise or lower taxes, how to set up a draft when needed, how to attack an enemy’s castle, how to defend one’s own castle, the proper incantations to use when venerating all the gods, the proper ceremonies, what honors to accord a knight for brave service…the list went on and on.  Faeryn was glad that she only had to learn the basic knowledge required to become a counselor to the king.  Being an inquisitive person who enjoyed learning, she had picked up a lot of what her brother knew without being taught it, but that was different from being forced to learn it.  He was given strict tests every day to make sure that what he was learning was always at the forefront of his mind.  Being a woman might have some disadvantages, but she was grateful for the freedom she had.             Eranhart opened the door, and the light from is study lamp spilled out into the hallway.  The light coming from behind was not enough to illuminate his face, but his silhouette looked hunched and tired.              “Eranhart,” Faeryn whispered, “I need to speak with you.”             “Faeryn,” he said, just realizing whom it was, “Come in.”  He stepped aside to make way for her, and when she stepped past him he closed the door.  Faeryn turned toward him and studied his face, unable to discern from his expression whether her interruption was welcome or not.  Perhaps he himself was still trying to figure that out.              “What is it you wish to speak to me about?” he asked.              “I…I’m leaving.”             “Leaving???”             “Leaving Orotaek.  Eranhart, I went to talk to Byerron – “             “That treasonous scoundrel who was imprisoned today?!”             “Yes – no, I mean, I was there, and he isn’t like that!  He only cares about the people and sees that they are oppressed.  Any other ordinary person could have said the same thing and gone home a free man.  He says that things are changing here, and that Orotaek is growing darker, and that our father is under the influence of a sorcerer!”             “That can’t be true!  Our father is a just and good man; he would not become a puppet of some religious manipulative priest.”             “But Eranhart, our father imprisoned Byerron simply for saying the people were oppressed!  What if he is right?”             “Faeryn, you are listening to the rumors spoken by a wandering troublemaker.  You are my sister, and I will not have you follow him into the wild simply because you feel that he might be right.”              “Oh, but Eranhart, if you had only been there!  He talked of his god, and he said that there is only one God, and that we have all been walking in darkness!   And he said that his god actually spoke to him, when he was in the mountains!  Oh Eranhart, to have a god actually speak to you!  I want that more than anything else in the world!  I asked Byerron to take me to his god, and he didn’t want me to go at first!  He said that it wouldn’t be right, a man traveling alone with a woman.  Does that sound like the kind of man who would lead a girl astray?  But I told him I would help him escape if he would promise to take me, and he finally said yes.”             Eranhart’s eyes narrowed.  “This is foolishness, Faeryn.  Gods don’t speak, and we are not ‘walking in darkness’, whatever that means.  We make sacrifices to all the gods, known and unknown; we have priests and seers of every kind, and enough books of wisdom to fill a dozen rooms.  No, if anything the light shines in Orotaek.  You shall not go with the man who speaks such folly!  I will prevent it!”             “Eranhart!”  Fear gave a harsh edge to Faeryn’s voice as she realized that it might have been a bad idea to come to her brother, who could easily bring her before the king and accuse her of treason.  Then she would never be able to go.  “Eranhart, you stop and think for a moment!  You are denying all of this is false without even investigating it!  You still haven’t answered my question; what if he is right?  Wouldn’t that really put us in a bad position, if there really is only one god and we deny his existence?  And how can our father be just if he threw Byerron in prison?  You are avoiding the point!  This isn’t like you, you should be listening to me!” Eranhart turned around and walked away from her without answering, but then unexpectedly he turned back.              “I will come with you to see this man,” he said.  “Then I will judge for myself whether he is honorable or not.”               Faeryn lead the way, feeling less apprehensive about the journey down to the dungeon now that she had her older brother behind her and a glass lantern in her hand to illuminate the previously dark and ominous passageways.  The realization that she had nothing to fear on this journey through the castle flooded Faeryn with relief.  She dared not think ahead to Eranhart’s meeting with Byerron, lest worry crowd out her momentary peace.              The guards at the dungeon were less suspicious and far more respectful when Faeryn came down the last stairs, leading the real prince Eranhart.  Both guards kowtowed before the future king of Orotaek and hastened to open the doors for him, paying little attention to Faeryn beyond a respectful nod.              Faeryn strode quickly down the corridor to where Byerron was, and Eranhart was not far behind.  Byerron was kneeling in a corner of his cell.  He looked up when Faeryn approached, and when he saw who she was leading he rose hastily to his feet.  He bowed deeply before Eranhart, in his gentlemanly way, but he did so in such a way that he seemed to maintain his own dignity while doing so.              Silence followed as the two young men studied one another through the bars, a small glimmer of kinship in their eyes.  Both were between the ages of twenty and twenty-five, and life had already laid heavy responsibilities upon both their shoulders.  Neither was inclined to think of the other as less than himself, for they saw in each other the same solemn, dignified responsibility: one standing proud in the glory of his future kingship, and the other resolute in his status as the prophet of a God who claimed to be the only God, and determined to follow Him, though the cost be death.  Finally, however, Eranhart turned away, as though he couldn’t bear to look at Byerron any longer.             “You may go with him,” he said to Faeryn.  “He is an honest, upright man.”  Eranhart looked one last time at Byerron, who stood silent in his cage.  In that moment Eranhart’s face betrayed more pain than Faeryn had ever seen in her brother.               “More so than I,” Eranhart murmured to himself, and he turned away without having spoken a word to Byerron.              Faeryn let her brother walk down the hall alone, and she stared after him, not sure what to make of the whole situation.  She turned to Byerron, and found that he was also watching Eranhart leave.              “He is close in coming,” Byerron said suddenly, half to himself.  Faeryn looked at him quizzically, but he gave no explanation.  After a minute he turned and walked to the other side of his cell, as if he had forgotten Faeryn altogether.  Faeryn watched him resume his kneeling position on the floor.             “Byerron,” she said, staring at the floor, feeling that somehow it was wrong to stare at him as he knelt on the floor.  She couldn’t explain the feeling, but she sensed that whatever he was doing was not for her to know.  He looked up.  “Yes?” She raised her eyes to him.  “We leave tomorrow night.  I’ll try to have everything ready.”  He half-smiled.  “Good.” Byerron turned his face away from her again, but still Faeryn lingered.  She didn’t know what she wanted, really.  Encouragement, advice…anything.   The planning of a grand escape was left entirely to her, Faeryn, a sixteen-year-old princess who knew almost nothing of the outside world.  Anyone who helped her could be convicted of treason.  She had never felt so utterly alone.  Byerron ignored her, whether intentionally or not, she could not tell.  She was forced at last to return to her room.  She slept little the rest of the night.                   **Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.                   http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/632457/ Mon, 15 Dec 2008 14:04:00 -0600 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/632457/   Goodness!  I have abandoned this blog for quite a long time!   I thought it would be best to give brief summaries of the stories I have been posting on here, tell about where they stand now, and discuss my plans for them.  Something like this has been long overdue, and I don’t want to leave you in the dark about anything that is going on.    My works, in order of importance:   The Prophet of Einehrowaye – I have been posting this story a lot, so hopefully you have some idea now what it is about.  For those of you who don’t know, it’s basically about a princess who goes in search of God with the help of a prophet.  Hence the title.    First of all, Einehrowaye is difficult to spell and almost impossible to pronounce.  I am thinking I am probably going to rename this work so that my readers can at least say it without tripping over themselves.  Any suggestions would be appreciated.    This novel still has 64,000 words.   I haven’t been working on this story for over a month, and I am not exactly anxious to return to it.  I don’t know what exactly is keeping me away, but I’m not even trying to get past it.  I am too busy trying to finish Tears for the Silent Lands.    I have an announcement to make concerning this story: because of copyright issues, I have decided not to post any more of this story.  I will post the final piece of chapter 2, but after that there won’t be any more.  I am sorry, but there is really no way around this.  I want to publish my story sometime in the future, and to post more of it now would be to violate future copyright agreements.    Tears for the Silent Lands – My NaNoWriMo 2008 novel, which won with 68,000 words!  It now has 73,000 words, and I am still trying to get it finished sometime in the near future.  It is the story of Mirriae, the last of the elves.  Unfortunately, I won’t be posting very much of this story either.  However, I will be posting a few excerpts, just to give you an idea of what it is like.    The Heart of the Wyrkind – If you recall, I posted the first chapter in its rough form.  Last time I saw it, it was 5,000 words long, riddled with clichés, and devoid of any redeeming characteristics.  I may keep toying with it, and if I do I will be sure to post more of it.  I don’t have a very high opinion of it, so don’t expect much.  I can’t even tell you exactly what it’s about.  I think it’s about this girl with magical capabilities.  I would be hard-pressed to tell you anything else.      The King of Writer’s Block – This is a story I started right before NaNoWriMo, that is at 3,000 words currently.  It is a humorous story about a king who outlaws teenage authors because he believes that they produce literary junk, and the 15-year-old girl brave enough to defy him.  I plan on posting it, because I think you would enjoy it!    The Absence – This is a fanfiction oneshot for A Tale of Two Cities that I recently wrote!  I posted it on fanfiction.net, and you can see it by going to my fanfiction profile, or by just clicking this link.  Be sure to leave a review!    And now for those stories that are currently just ideas floating around in my brain:   Iacopo – The story of a fat Italian prince.  More I cannot say, because it would ruin the plot, but it is better than it sounds!   The One that was Left Behind – A fanfiction story about Susan Pevensie after her whole family was killed in the railway accident.    There are many ideas that have been rolling around in my head, but they aren’t clear enough to tell you about.  Anyhow, that is the basic overview of my writing life at the moment!  There is much I have done, and much that I have yet to do!  Please bear with me as I try to discern what course my writing life is going to take!   Blessings, ~Cherise     **Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/629768/ Mon, 8 Dec 2008 22:29:02 -0600 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/629768/ Here's an excerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel, Tears for the Silent Lands!!!    (Note, this has not been edited at all, and it was written at midnight, so bear with me!  No stealing allowed!)   “Despite what you think,” Attalnys said, “the elves are not as strong as you suppose.”             Lonirael looked up from his papers, surprised.  “What are you saying, my friend?” he asked in surprise.  “Are you doubting our health or our defenses?”  He laughed, a deep, ringing laugh, deeper and yet at the same time higher than any mortal’s.  “Truly, Attalnys, are you giving in to these doomsday theories?”  He rose from his ornate oak desk where he had been writing in elvish and walked over to where Attalnys stood.              Attalnys remained firm.  “I am a physician among our people,” he said.  “If there is a weakness, I know.”              Lonirael looked at his friend, trying to decide if he truly believed what he said.  “Attalnys,” he said.  “Just because you are a doctor and wise among elves doesn’t mean that you know everything.”              Attalnys raised his hand and rested it on Lonirael’s broad shoulder.  “Lonirael, my friend,” he said, “You are a leader of one of the seven ruling houses.  Everyone respects you, and if you speak they will listen.”  Attalnys looked at the ground in his grave, immortal way, weighing his words.  “I wouldn’t bring this up if I didn’t think a serious matter.”              Lonirael stared deep into Attalnys’s gray eyes, and then paced to the other side of the desk.  “I see,” he said gravely.  “How do you think the elves will be defeated?  By an army a thousand times greater than the whole host of men?”              “No,” Attalnys stated emphatically.  “You know that we could never be overwhelmed by any army, were it a million times greater than the sand on the sea shore.  No,” he said, shaking his head and looking at the ground.  “Not anything like that.  When our doom comes, it will come in the form of something that seems so insignificantly weak, and yet has strength beyond measure.”              Lonirael looked up.  For the first time, there was a trace of fear hidden behind his impassive face.  It was a strange feeling to him, like a taste of a bitter fruit that he had never bitten into before.  Elves like him didn’t know fear.  They were used to not knowing fear.  Could it be that he was really more afraid of his fear than of the possibility that what Attalnys said was true.              “Attalnys,” he said, “come with me.”  He lead the other elf out onto the balcony that looked out over the elven city of Talmere.              Talmere.  City of the Immortals, city of Legends, a city that seemed to be a dream, and yet was more than real.  It was like living inside a jewel, inside a velvet dream, inside a hope-filled imagining, and yet it lay before them.  Graceful arches and towering spires, all in light, brilliant white marble.  The sun caught the glittering stone, making it live and breathe with the immortals that walked the streets.  A moment, a fragment from heaven, somehow caught within the realms of earth.              Walking in the streets and looking out of windows were those who lived in the city, elves of the highest order.  Their faces were unblemished, every one of them, and each individual walked with a marked, soothing grace, beauty in motion.  To a human eye, the elves could do nothing that wasn’t beautiful.  Lonirael stood with his hands on the rail, breathing in the air that smelled of the sweetness of the wildflowers, and knew that everything before him was a part of him.  The city, the people, the buildings and the trees that grew between them, and even the air.  He was Lonirael, high elf, greatest of a great elven house of Idraglori, which extended back 10,000 years.  He did not know that he was the last to rule over his house.        **Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/613103/ Sat, 1 Nov 2008 12:09:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/613103/ Hello all!  Just for fun, I decided to post the first draft of a new story I'm working on, The Heart of the Wyrkind.  I hope you like it!  Please forgive any mistakes or weird grammar: like I said, this will need editing.  Please comment and tell me what you think! Chapter 1 “Lloyden!” fifteen-year-old Wyreya called out the open door.  She stepped out of the cottage and smoothed her auburn hair behind her ear, worrying at the fact that her brother was late.  Wyreya knew that Lloyden couldn’t be counted on to keep perfect time while he was out working in the fields, but she still could never get over her fear that something would happen to him while she wasn’t there with him.  Today especially she had had the feeling that something evil was impending.                “Lloyden!” she called again, a half-second before her older brother jogged out from under the trees into the clearing that surrounded the cottage.  The late-afternoon sun flitted through the trees and glinted on his golden hair, and Wyreya forgot her worries about him as she paused to admire his handsome features.  Surely if they had lived in a more populated area Lloyden would have been married by now.  In a way she felt sorry that he was stuck here on a remote farm, taking care of her.  She wished she could make things better for him.              “What is it?” Lloyden asked as he ran up.             “Supper is ready,” Wyreya replied, motioning inside.  “It’s been ready for a while.”             “Well, I can’t always have fabulous timing,” Lloyden said with a smile.  His face grew serious as he stared into her eyes.  “You weren’t worried about me, were you?”             Wyreya hung her head.  “Oh Lloyden,” she said.  “You’re all I have now.  If something happens to you…” her voice trailed off.              “You shouldn’t worry about me like that,” Lloyden said gently.  “You know there is nothing to worry about.”              “Yes,” Wyreya said, looking off into the distance.  “I wish Yis was still here.  Everything felt safer when he was here.”              “I know,” Lloyden agreed.  He put his hand on her shoulder and tried to shake her out of her melancholy mood.  “But as he said: it was the right time for him to go.  We’re practically grown up.  He said we didn’t need him to take care of us anymore.”               Wyreya smiled sadly at him, still thinking of the old man they had both loved so much.              Whe shooke herself and returned to the present.  “Well,” she said, “supper is ready.  We should eat some of it before it grows cold.”  She turned, and walked into the cottage, trying to ignore the feeling that something disastrous was about to occur.    *   *   *   *   *   *   *               “Why are you so tense?” Lloyden asked during dinner.  His sister still seemed a little on edge.              Wyreya sighed and put down her fork.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “I just feel like something bad is about to happen.  She rubbed the small bump in the middle of her forehead.  As far as she knew, she had had the bump since birth.  Mostly it wasn’t noticeable and she ignored it, but sometimes it would begin to pulse and hurt without warning.  It had begun to ache during the afternoon while she was cooking dinner, and the pain had continued to grow until now.              “Why do you feel that way?”  Lloyden asked.              “I don’t know!” Wyreya shouted, suddenly irritated.  The pain in her forehead had become almost unbearable.  She stood up, feeling that she needed to take action of some sort, all the while rubbing her forehead furiously.              Lloyden sat back, shocked.  Wyreya was almost never angry with him.              “We…we need to leave…now,” Wyreya said, beginning to pace.  She didn’t know what to do with the panic that was suddenly overwhelming her.              “Now?” Lloyden shook his head.  “Wyreya, you’re not thinking clearly.  You’re overreacting.”              “No!!!” Wyreya screamed.  “We need to leave now!!!”              From outside the cottage came the sound of something crashing through the underbrush, followed by a snort and a loud wail.  Wyreya and Lloyden both froze.              All of Wyreya’s irritation suddenly melted into fear.  “What is that?” she whispered.             Lloyden did not reply, but instead rose and went to the window.             As soon as he looked out he jumped back as if he had been stung.  “We need to leave now,” he whispered urgently as he sprung into action.  He dumped what remained of his dinner into a sack at his waist, and stick the sickle he had used that day into his belt.             “What are you doing?” Wyreya asked.             “Gather what you need to leave,” Lloyden said, not taking his eyes off what he was doing.              Wyreya still remained frozen.             Lloyden looked up at her.  “Move!!!” he shouted.              Wyreya ran around in confusion, grabbing what she could.  An apple, a kitchen knife, a ring…until Lloyden grabbed her shoulder and began moving her towards the door.              “When I open the door,” he whispered, “run to the stable.  Don’t stop, and don’t look back.  Now!”             He opened the door, and Wyreya ran, too terrified to do anything else.              When she was halfway to the stable, she heard a roar like nothing she had ever heard come from behind her.  Forgetting Lloyden’s warning, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.              Crashing into the clearing were a dozen creatures with human-like bodies, gray skin, and the heads of bulls.  One of them looked straight at her with his glowing red eyes and raised the thing he held in his hand, which Wyreya now saw was a spear.                      Wyreya screamed.                  Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.   http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/586221/ Sat, 6 Sep 2008 19:52:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/586221/ **Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** “I have come to speak to you,” she said at last, wishing she sounded just a little more intelligent.   She had come to respect this man for standing up to her father, and now his presence was rather intimidating.  Faeryn berated herself for this small cowardice, trying to remind herself that she was the princess, she was royalty, and this man was a beggar behind bars, a wandering no one.  But despite her impressive bloodline and Byerron’s shabby one, Faeryn felt that outward rank didn’t really matter any more.                “About what?” Byerron asked, dropping the note of cynicism now that he knew she hadn’t come only to stare.             “I…I wanted to know more about the things you spoke of up in the Great Hall.  I have never heard anyone say anything remotely like what you said today, about the taxes and the sacrifices, and about there being only one god.  And you seemed so confident, I…I believed you.  I want you to explain more to me.”             “I will.  Ask me what you wish.  It is not often that people wish for me to tell more of matters such as this.  Mostly they are reviled by what I say.  They have convinced themselves that they are unable to accept anything but a plurality of gods.”             Faeryn couldn’t help but think of her father as Byerron spoke those words.  Now more than ever she wished that her father had listened.             She paused, trying to pick one question out of the many that swirled in her mind.              “Are things really as you said?  Are the people really starving because of the taxes?”             Byerron’s face grew grave.  “They would be able to survive if it were only the taxes.  The tax is very heavy, but they could survive it if it weren’t for the daily sacrifices to the gods.”  He shuddered.  “One bull and three goats for each of the main deities and two goats for each of the lesser gods, every day, provided for by the people.”              With thirteen main gods and dozens of others being worshiped in Orotaek, this added up to a staggering number of sacrificial animals.              “You have to be lying,” Faeryn said.  “The people of Orotaek could not survive under those conditions.”             “They can’t, and they aren’t.  If you merely walked through the streets you would see.”              Faeryn grabbed one of the bars to steady herself, reaching for stability as her mind whirled in a confused vortex.  “How can my father do this?  He has always been a just and upright man, who works to do what is best for the kingdom.  How can he allow this?”             “I will tell you why.”  Byerron began pacing slowly in his cell as he talked.  “Now, I may not be completely right on all I say, but I believe my guesses will be close.  I have been watching for a long time.”  He paused and stood still for a moment, and then began to pace again.  “Your father has come under the influence of a new sorcerer by the name of Sarvoniere, who comes from the east and has brought with him the religion and worship of a new goddess: Ryselleacar.  It is Sarvoniere who has imposed the high sacrifices, and your father has listened.”             Faeryn was at a loss for words.  She was horrified, but not as shocked as she thought she should be.  “How,” she asked grimly, still wondering if she could really believe everything that Byerron said, “could my father listen to such a man as Sarvoniere.  Surely a man such as my father would see the folly of all this?”             Byerron’s face was sullen as he paced.  “Anyone,” he said, “who is not always alert and on guard may be deceived, if the deception is woven slowly and carefully.”  He stopped pacing for a second, one foot half-raised as if he were going to take a step, and looked over at Faeryn as if to say, “believe me, this is real”.  He then resumed his pacing.  “As for Sarvoniere, he had the aid of his dark magic.  Your father is really an incredible man, and he would have seen and put an end to all this by now if it weren’t for the spells that Sarvoniere has woven over him.”              “Dark magic…exists.”  Faeryn found herself clinging to the minor points Byerron had said, as if trying to avoid thinking about the points he had made.              “Yes,” Byerron answered her.  “Somewhat.”  He came to a rest in front of Faeryn.  “The effects do actually exist, but they are not accomplished by the means told of in the folklore.  Spells are not composed of powerful words that work the magic themselves, but they are actually, in their truest form, prayers to summon up dark spirits, who then do what the magician asks.”              “So…the spells control the spirits.”             “No.”              “Then…why do the spirits do what the magicians ask?”             “Because the evil spirits are working to control the minds of men,” Byerron answered.  “Carrying out a task for a magician is a small price to pay for ruling over his mind.”             Faeryn’s eyes went wide, and she shuddered.              “Sarvoniere’s mind is now almost completely controlled by those demons,” continued Byerron, “and that makes him very powerful, or rather, the demons are powerful through him.  What they will is what he wills.  And now that he has the ruler of Orotaek under his thumb, there is no end to the damage he can cause.”             Faeryn rested her forehead against the bars.  Her strength seemed to suddenly have slipped away.  “Can anything be done?”             Byerron sighed heavily.  “I tried,” he said, his voice filled with sorrow.  “I did.  I thought that perhaps I could convince the king.  He…he has listened to me in the past, when I came the other times to warn him of danger to the kingdom.”  Faeryn looked up at him, surprised at his sudden emotion.  He didn’t seem to be speaking to her anymore.              He raised his hand in the air.  “I thought…I thought that I could do it, and that he would listen to me.  I had this chance – I should have been able to convince him!  But I couldn’t.”  His hand fell to his side, and he hung his head in despair.  “I tried.  And now I’m here.  Now I can’t do anything.  I could be killed, for all I know.  Not many who have been imprisoned here have ever become free men again.”                  Faeryn stood speechless.  She could not find any words to comfort this caged man, who had tried to stop the evil in the kingdom but had only brought trouble down upon his own head.  What could she say?  How could she do anything to help him?             But perhaps there was something she could do.             “I’ll get you out,” she said.              Byerron looked at her, startled.             “I’ll set you free.  If you promise…”             “Yes?” Byerron asked.  Hope had returned to his voice.             “If…” Faeryn thought for a moment.  “Byerron, tell me about your god.”             A far away look came into Byerron’s eyes, and light seemed to radiate from within them.  He stared over Faeryn’s head at the wall behind her, seeing neither her nor the wall of the dungeon, but something Faeryn could only guess at.              “Faeryn,” he said.  “I…it was…He…” the prophet groped for words.  “I cannot…I can’t find words that will convey…the power, and the love, and…oh!  The task is beyond me.”              “What…happened to you?  Just tell me that.”              Byerron relaxed somewhat.  “I was staying with the elves…”             “Elves?” Faeryn laughed.             “Faeryn, they’re real.  I swear to you, am not lying.”             The princess stopped laughing.  She wanted to believe what Byerron was saying.  She had never been able to completely deny the existence of elves to herself, and she dared to hope that perhaps Byerron was not lying.  Her heart had leapt within her when he had mentioned them.  But she had to admit, it was easy to doubt a prophet when he started speaking of mythical beings.              “Where do they live?”             Byerron hesitated in answering, and Faeryn could tell he was debating whether or not to give away the location.              “They live at the far end of the forest behind Mount Liathan.”             “You mean…the Forest of Mist?”             Byerron laughed.  “Is that what they call it in Orotaek?  I had no idea.  The elves call it Aenywroe, which means ‘jewel’ in their language.”             “Aenywroe.”  Faeryn liked the feel of the name.  “So…you were staying with the elves…”             “Yes.”             “In…Aenywroe?”             “Yes.”             “What happened?”             “Well…I was wandering in the woods behind the lake in Raendolin, when I came upon the entrance to this canyon.  I was curious, so I walked down the narrow path until I stood at the bottom of the canyon.  On both sides were steep cliffs, and the only way to get out was to go back.             “I was just standing there, looking around me, when suddenly there was something like a great flash of light, and I fell down.”             Faeryn gasped.  “What happened then?”             “Nothing happened for a great while.  I felt that someone or something was near, and I waited for it to make a move.  I tried to get up, but I couldn’t move.             “The waiting was so unbearable, and I felt so helpless.  When I could stand it no longer I cried out, ‘Please, take me!  I am helpless, and I would rather die now than starve.’             “And then – and this is so strange, I can’t understand or explain it, even though it’s been years since it happened – I felt, as if out of no where, that someone was standing directly over me, but when I looked up I saw nothing.  At that moment I was so terribly afraid that I closed my eyes.  And then…”             Faeryn stared motionless at Byerron’s face, silently begging him to continue.              “…I…I heard a voice.  It wasn’t like a normal voice, that you hear first with your ears and then inside your head, but it seemed to start from within my head and work it’s way outward to my ears.  The sound of it was deep like thunder, but it was melodious too, like the voice was more used to singing than to speaking.  I felt myself shaking.             “The first thing it said to me was my own name.  ‘Byerron.’  As the voice said it, I felt that it knew everything about me.  I cowered in fear, as much as a man can cower when he’s lying on the ground and can’t move.              “ ‘Byerron’, it said again, and then it asked me, ‘why have you come?’              “I didn’t know if I dared to respond.  It repeated the question, ‘why have you come?’              “I saw that I would have to say something, and I responded, ‘I found the entrance to this canyon, and I came down to look at it.  I didn’t think I’d be intruding.’              “I don’t think that was quite the answer the voice was looking for, so it asked another question.  ‘Why did you come to Raendolin?’             “I replied that the elves had found me wandering in Aenywroe, and they had let me stay.  ”It asked a third question.  ‘Why did you venture into Aenywroe, leaving behind all you had ever known?’             “ ‘I had nothing at home,’ I said.  ‘Everyone hated me.’             “ ‘Why did you decide to go where other men dared not to go?’ it asked.               “ I replied, ‘I was tired with my life.  I wanted to find something…spectacular.  Something that was beyond the ordinary.’              “The voice asked, ‘Did you find what you wanted?’  Now the question surprised me.  I thought that the speaker, whoever it was, would have figured out by now what it wanted.  I was tired of the questions.  They were digging deeper and deeper into my heart, and I didn’t like that.             “ ‘I found the elves, didn’t I?’ I responded.             “The voice repeated the question, ‘Did you find what you wanted?’             “ ‘No!’ I shouted.  I was shocked by what I had said.  That response hadn’t been anything like what I had planned.  But I continued without stopping, as if I couldn’t stop.  ‘I didn’t find what I want,’ I said loudly, my voice echoing in the canyon.  ‘I thought that when I found the elves and saw all the wonders of Aenywroe, I would…I would feel different.  But I don’t.  I’m the same as I was before.  There’s nothing left for me, you see!  No matter how hard I search or where I travel, I’m never going to find something more spectacular than what I’ve seen!  I don’t know what I’m searching for, and I’m never going to find it!’  I was so scared by how blatantly rude I’d been, and I started weeping.  I hadn’t wept since I was three years old, and I thought I wasn’t able to anymore.  I dreaded to see what the voice would do to me, now that I had been so irreverent.  I had decided by that time that I must be speaking to one of the gods that I had learned about when I was young, and I was more terrified than at the start of the incident.  I waited to see what it would do to me.    “It seemed like an eternity before the god spoke, and when he did, his answer nearly broke me.  “ ‘You came to Aenywroe,’ he said, ‘because I drew you.’ “There was nothing I could say.  Every time I tried to speak, I choked on my own words, so I remained quiet.  I heard someone wailing in the canyon, and it wasn’t until I put my hands to my face and felt the tears that I realized it was me.  Faeryn, I have never felt so weak as I did at that moment, when he spoke those words.  In my mind I kept fighting against what he was saying.  My mind didn’t want it to be true, but I knew…somehow…I don’t know how…that he was right.  And you know, while part of me didn’t want it to be true, the rest of me longed for it to be true, in a way I can’t describe.  I struggled, and then gave up fighting with myself.  I asked the first questions that came to mind. “’What do you want with me?  Who are you?’ “He answered the last question first.  ‘I am,” he said, pausing just for a moment.  “I am the one who created time, and I am the one who will end it.  I am the one who imagined the sky before any even dreamed of it, and I am the one who formed the stars out of light.  I placed the earth below the stars and gave it being, I shaped the waters of the deep and of the heavens.  I created the winds and the mountains, the forests and rivers, the plains and all green things.  I gave to the day the creatures belonging to the day, and to the night the creatures belonging to the night.  I gave life to the elves and the nymphs, to govern the earth and belong to it.  And,” he said. “I am the one who, when creation was nearing completion, breathed life and a spirit into humankind, to which you belong, for myself.’ “I trembled, Faeryn, as He spoke, and as he named each successive thing His voice grew louder and louder, and my shaking grew greater and greater until I was certain that I would never recover.  As he spoke the final words, ‘for myself’, I felt a thrill run up my spine, and I fell flat on my face.  “ ‘Lord of the Universe,’ I screamed.  ‘Do what it is you want with me!  Please do not delay my death, if that is what you wish!’ “He did not respond immediately, and the skin on my back tingled, waiting for something to happen.  When he finally did speak again, his voice was like a whisper, whereas before it had been louder than thunder.  “ ‘Byerron,’ he said.  ‘Be not afraid.  I am the one who made you, and who knows more about you than you yourself ever will.  And I know that you desire me, because that is the way I made you.  Do not be afraid.  I create no desire that I do not fulfill.  I love you like a father loves his son, and I am going to guide your steps.  I love you, Byerron.’ “I don’t really know what happened after that.  No one had ever told me that they loved me before.  I recall vowing that I would serve the Creator of the Universe with my whole life, but that memory seems distant to me.  All I could really think about was the fact that the God had said he loved me.” Byerron looked up at Faeryn for the first time in a while, and he stared at her in an odd way.  Faeryn suddenly realized that she had been crying, and that Byerron must be seeing the tears streaking down her face.  She wiped her eyes, and Byerron continued:  “He told me things, Faeryn, wonderful things, some of which I can’t even describe to you.  He told me to remember all of them.  I can’t recite them all to you now, but whenever there is a need for them to be spoken, they come back to me as if I had just heard them.  “When He was done instructing me, he told me that I was to be his prophet, and that He would show me what to do.  And He commanded me to seek Him, and to look for Him in unexpected places, and He said that He would always be near me, wherever I went.  After that He told me to go back to the house of Anwyr, so I did, with great reluctance. “I was afraid to tell the elves about my experience, so I didn’t say anything for a while.  But Anwyr could tell by my appearance that something tremendous had happened, and after a time he took me aside and asked what had happened.” “Who is Anwyr?” Faeryn asked.  “He is the lord of the elf dwelling of Raendolin,” Byerron replied.  “He befriended me when the elf scouts first found me and brought me to Aenywroe.  I don’t really know why.”  Byerron gave a half-smile.  “He has almost been like a brother to me.  I can’t really explain how it is.”  He shook his head, as if trying to clear his poor explanation out of the air.  “Anyhow, I eventually told Anwyr the whole thing, and he said that the elves had knowledge of the One and worshiped Him, but he also said that none of the elves had ever spoken with the One as I had. “ ‘The Holy One has set you apart to be special,’ he said.  ‘I am anxious to see what will come of it.’ “After that, I stayed a long time with the elves, and then began to wander into the countries of men.  I have always felt the presence of the One God with me since the day that I first met him, but not always as strongly.  A few months ago I was staying in Raendolin when I felt that He was near, and He told me to come to Orotaek and tell the people about Him.  I came, and I saw that the people were oppressed by the worship of these false gods, and since I had advised your father several times in the years of my wanderings, I went right away to speak to him about it.”  Byerron sighed painfully.  “I didn’t expect things to be so bad – with your father, I mean.  I knew that Sarvoniere was gaining a hold, but I didn’t realize how strong it was until today.”  He bent over, discouraged.  “Take me to see your God,” Faeryn said, her words appearing suddenly, as if out of thin air.  Byerron stared at her.  “Take you to see Him?  He’s not a sightseeing attraction, you know.” “No,” Faeryn said, her excitement growing.  “Not like that.  Take me to where you met Him.  Maybe He will speak to me like He spoke to you!”  “Faeryn, I’m not sure…” Byerron fumbled for words, uncertain.  “You…you know, he set me apart to be a prophet.  I don’t know if He would speak to you in the same way.” “But He might,” Faeryn said, pounding the bars in her excitement.  “He might!”  She thought quickly about the situation.  “I could set you free, and you could take me to Raendolin.” “Travelling alone?”  Byerron shook his head violently.  “No.  I couldn’t do it.  It wouldn’t be right.”  “Please!” Faeryn said.  “No,” Byerron said, stepping backward from her as if she were a crazed woman, his face clearly expressing that he was against the idea.  Then his expression softened and his eyes refocused.  Faeryn felt that he was staring through her instead of looking at her.  Neither of them spoke for several minutes. “Yes,” Byerron finally said, startling Faeryn.  “Yes.  You will let me out, and I will take you to Him.”  Faeryn drilled Byerron with a stare, trying to get him to explain why he had changed his mind, but he said nothing about it.  Eventually, after waiting to no avail, Faeryn spoke. “I will do what I can to get you out.  I don’t have any guarantees about how successful I will be.” “That is fine,” Byerron said.  “Do what you can.”  He bowed to her.  “My lady.” Byerron obviously thought the conversation was over.  Faeryn wished to keep speaking with him for hours, but, since she could find nothing else to say, she gave a nod to Byerron and strode back down the dungeon corridor, pondering everything that Byerron had said.  She barely noticed the when guards bowed to her as she exited the dungeon.  It may be late, but Faeryn knew tonight’s work was not done.                   Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/580620/ Tue, 26 Aug 2008 17:34:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/fountainpen/580620/