I rewrote the prologue for The Mage. I think it does a better job of setting up the novel.
Stawal knocked on the door. The house stood on the cart path through the village as did most of the buildings. It was nothing so large as the Northern cities he was used to, and he felt out of place. Still, his mission took him where it would. He hoped to conclude his business in the South quickly so that he might make it to Siridor on time. That was a proper city.
The door opened a crack and a rather old woman peered out. “What do you want, mage hunter?”
“Terrgat,” Stawal corrected automatically. He had had this conversation many times in recent weeks.
The woman waved it away. “Call yourself what you will. You have no authority here. Go back North where you belong.”
Stawal shrugged. “I am merely looking for someone. A family. I believe the father is a cobbler. By the name of Dobson?”
“Never heard of ‘em.” The ice in her stare seemed out of place in this warm climate.
“Is that so? The innkeeper told me that they were your neighbors.”
“The innkeeper is a liar.”
This was going nowhere. No one had answered at the house he had been directed to. Either the innkeeper had lied, or the family had moved on. This woman wasn’t going to help him. This far South, people seemed to forget the dangers of magic and how the Terrgat had protected them all. The war, over for centuries, was too long ago and too far away. She was right; the Terrgat had no place here.
She hadn’t waited for another question; the door was already shut. Finding the girl seemed less important than his other mission anyway. Siridor was weeks away. He may as well head there.
Taking one last look at the nearby buildings, he found himself approving of the decision to stay out of the South. The Northern cities were more to his liking.
I woke up to snow. Enough had fallen that the grass was finally covered. The street and sidewalk, too. It finally looked like winter. And still it came down. It was light, so I didn’t expect a great deal of accumulation. Yet it was more than we had had, and I was thankful.
I had to do a few things. Shower, for one. And then my weekly trip to the grocery store. I was afraid it would stop before I could walk in it, so I went as fast as I could. The music in my car – my music – seemed to compete with the snow for my attention, so I turned it off. The groceries bought and put away, I grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed out the door with my camera.
Even this felt like too much of a delay. Still, I wanted pictures of this, so I made the time. I took some pictures on the street, and then headed down by the river for a few more.
Back up to the house, I took a scarf and my smaller point and shoot (with lots of manual control), then I set out for my walk.
Walking – especially in winter – was the very first form of meditation I ever practiced. I didn’t know it then, and I would have used different words to describe it, but looking back I recognize it as meditation. And it wasn’t long before my spirit guide showed up to share the experience. She was quiet for a long time, letting me feel the snow on my face, under my feet.
I saw a slope that led down to the river, and I nearly took it. Too many snowblowers and cars for my liking up on the road. I was reminded why I used to go walking at night. As I neared the slope, I saw a father watching his kids sledding down. They were giggling and whooping. I was a bit envious of their joy and innocence, of a childhood lost too long ago. My spirit guide did not chide me for self-pity, so I did. I did not begrudge them their fun. Not wanting to interrupt, I continued down the street a ways. Before long, I came across another slope down to the bank. With the laughter of children at my back, I stood right next to the river.
After a few pictures, I decided to walk along the bank rather than climb back up. The ground was uneven, and some trees required detours away from the edge, but it was quiet. Except for the distant hum of cars on the highway, the only sound was of my breath and the quiet crunch of snow under my boots. Periods of big fluffy flakes gave way to moments of very fine grains and then back again. But it never stopped.
Further south I came across a chair right on the river near the bank. Thin ruts in the snow came across the river and up the slope to one of the houses. I thought them too narrow to be made by skis but later convinced myself (with other evidence) that they must have been. At that moment, I wanted to walk across the river myself. My spirit guide, ever present, was still silent, leaving the decision up to me. I thought it foolish to risk drowning.
We continued south sharing thoughts and feelings. I felt bad having brought my phone, but she pointed out that I was not checking it and the few status updates were probably a good idea. Since I had told no one where I was headed, the status updates would provide clues as to where to find the body if something happened. A chuckle. No one else would likely find that funny, but we did. She was serious, I knew, but she laughed with me, too.
I thought we might talk through worries and troubles, a common enough occurrence during these encounters, but she avoided it. Later, she explained that today was just for walking, for reconnecting to the world.
After a bit more time and distance passed, I resolved to cross the river after all. Perhaps it was foolish, as I had seen no other tracks crossing it. But it has been very cold these past few days. I just knew, suddenly and without a doubt, that I would very much regret it if I didn’t try. Looking around, I saw a fallen branch that appeared relatively straight. I broke off smaller branches on it. When I was finished, it wasn’t longer than five feet, shorter than my preference for a staff, but it was sturdy. Using it to probe the ice in front of me, I started across.
It was slick under the inch or so of snow. While it was solid, I very nearly slipped once or twice. My makeshift staff kept me upright and helped me up the bank on the far side.
Now I was near a bike/walking path in Fargo, one I had ridden on many times during the summer. I stayed off it, walking as much on the edge of the bank as the brush and trees allowed. The handful of skiers and joggers, and even a cyclist, were more intrusion than I liked, but they were few and far between.
We trudged along the ground, even more uneven than on the Minnesota side, and through dense stands of saplings. It would have been easy to twist an ankle, but we didn’t care. If I did, it would be easy enough to find help. And if I couldn’t find help, well…
When we came up across the old power plant on the other side, I decided to cross back. The dam was not too much further, and I worried that the ice might not be quite as solid. So I slid down the bank and slowly made my way back to Moorhead.
I decided to continue traveling along the bank rather than climb up. I was not ready to reenter the world dominated by human beings. I would know when I was close enough to my neighborhood to climb back up.
After some time, I came to a small wood. I knew roughly where I was, but the wood was bigger than I realized. I stopped us and asked the trees for their leave to enter. She pointed out that I had no way of knowing whether they were even awake. It’s true, I replied, I am of the air, the wind my home. But water gave me safe passage today – twice! And it seems only proper that I ask these creatures of the earth for their permission. After all, if they are awake, it would be impolite to enter their home without asking. And if they slumber deeply, what does it hurt?
She smiled, and we entered. We made our way around downed trees, refusing to step on any. I took but a few pictures, and then only after again seeking permission. The trees seemed to tolerate my presence, despite the elemental differences between us. As I cleared the wood, I knew I was near where I had taken pictures a few hours earlier. I wanted to continue, but my body balked.
I left the staff with his cousins. I thanked them for safe passage and him for his assistance. My spirit guide smiled again, and we made our way up the slope and home.
Just enough moonlight entered the window to brighten her bare shoulder. Hugging her pillow, she slept on her belly, the sheet coming halfway up her back. Propped up on one forearm, he watched the barely visible rise and fall of her breath. He wanted to reach out and touch her back, but he was reluctant to disturb her.
Should he get up? Sleep had abandoned him for the night; if he wasn’t going to rouse her, there seemed little point in staying in bed. Yet he lingered. It was becoming harder not to reach out and trace her shoulder blades lightly with his fingertips, to caress her skin. He forced the urge away. She needed to sleep.
To break the spell of the moonlight on her back, he looked at her face. Her short reddish brown hair only partially covered her expression, though it was tousled from the way she had fallen into the bed. A hint of a smile on her lips fit the round curve of her cheek perfectly. Her face was made for smiling, he decided.
Now he wanted to brush her cheek with the tips of his fingers, an urge no better than the one to caress her back. He almost decided to wake her just so he could touch her, but still he resisted. Instead, he resolved to get out of bed, if only to distance himself from the temptation of her.
Crawling out from between her and the wall was tricky, but he managed not to wake her. There was a chill in the air, so he slipped his shirt and pants on quickly. She shivered slightly. Carefully, he lifted the sheet off her back in order to pull it further up and cover her shoulders. Now his hand did brush her shoulder, and he froze. Her smile grew bigger, but she stayed asleep. Relieved, he gently let the sheet wrap her safely from the cool air. Before he could make any other mistakes, he left the room.
He turned on the coffee pot in the kitchen. He was grateful she had set it up the night before, since the grinder would have surely woken her. The clock read 5:00 AM. He had an hour before she got up. There were eggs and butter in the refrigerator and bread on the counter. But breakfast wouldn’t take an hour to make, so he poured himself a cup of coffee and retrieved the paper. It should distract him enough from going back and watching her sleep…
…The door of the apartment closed, and he looked up from the laptop screen before him. His roommate had walked in.
“I thought you were staying at your boyfriend’s?”
“He was being a jerk, so I decided to come home. Why are you still up?”
“What time is it?”
“After midnight, not quite one.”
“Oh. I was just trying to finish this story.”
She smiled at him, her cheeks growing rounder. Her short reddish brown hair framed the image perfectly.
“Can I read it?”
“No!” He threw his hands up over the screen. “I… I mean it’s really rough. I’m not ready to show anyone yet.”
“Later, then?”
“Yes… Yeah, later.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” The smile got a little bigger. “Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
As she closed her bedroom door, he sighed. He turned back to the computer, deleted the file, turned it off, and walked back to his own bedroom.
Applause filled the hall. The speaker smiled and nodded his head in acceptance. The crowd began filing out, chatting with one another as they left. He had clapped politely when everyone else had so as not to appear rude, but now he stayed seated. He had come alone and knew no one.
In fact he had no intention of coming to this lecture. None of it made any sense, as though it had been in another language. He had entered the wrong room and felt awkward about leaving, so he had chosen to stay, listening to a presentation he did not understand. He heard the door shut, announcing that the last of the audience had filed out. A couple of people had already led the speaker out a door at the bottom of the lecture hall.
Lingering a moment longer, he wondered where he should go next. A voice interrupted his reflections.
“Interesting lecture?”
She was seated a few rows back, almost directly behind him. He had to twist his neck to see her, which was why he hadn’t noticed her earlier. The seat wasn’t made to be sat in sideways, but he managed to turn part way to see her better. Her dark hair framed her face, but glare on her glasses obscured her eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh. I just meant… Did you find the lecture interesting?”
“The lecture?” How should he answer that? “It was okay, I guess. Not really something I’m interested in.”
“Really? Why did you come?”
Should he admit his mistake? Would she think him a fool for staying? Why did it matter? He’d probably never see her again. Who was he trying to impress? “Actually, I sort of wandered in here by mistake. I just didn’t want to seem rude by leaving.”
“Hmm. That’s a little weird.” Immediately, she appeared to regret her words and quickly tried to recover. “Also very considerate.”
“That’s okay. I was just thinking that it seemed a little weird myself.”
A little relief showed through her smile. “I’ll tell you a secret. I wandered in here on accident, too.”
He returned her awkward smile. “Well, we are quite a pair then, aren’t we?” She nodded. “I guess we should leave.” He gestured aimlessly at the room. “They probably want to lock up.”
“Well, would you like to get some coffee or something?” He hesitated. She noticed. “Or do you have somewhere to be?”
“No. No. Nowhere to be. I’d like to get a cup of coffee.” They stood and met at the top of the stairs that led to the main exit in the back of the hall.
When they reached the door, he opened it and held it for her. She smiled again, pulled a small gun from her coat, shot him once in the heart, and quickly walked away. As his life quickly seeped out of him, he found himself wishing he knew what the lecture had been about.
The room was finally quiet. The screaming had been painful to listen to, but now it was over. She sat where she had collapsed, hugging her knees to her chest. The thin nightgown hung on her body and provided no comfort from the chill. Would somebody come? Had they heard the screaming?
Maybe they wanted the screaming. For all she knew this was part of some elaborate plan. She had no idea where we she was. The room looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember seeing it before. Presumably, it was supposed to disorient her. If so, it had worked.
In spite of the disorientation, there was some comfort, too. That couldn’t be intentional, could it? Probably not. The screaming hadn’t been intended to make her comfortable, surely. So where was the feeling of comfort coming from? She could not say.
Nothing happened for a long time. The room didn’t change. She did notice it had a bed and a nightstand. The sheets on the bed were twisted and chaotic. The lamp had been knocked off of the nightstand, but she didn’t replace it. In fact, she did not move at all. Fear about who might be watching, what they might do to her, kept her paralyzed. From where she sat, she couldn’t see much else. The door was on the other side of the bed, but anything else was hidden from view.
The door was open, she realized after more time had passed. Beyond was darkness, which held nothing but terror. She dared not leave, even though she was clearly being tempted into it. But she had enough of her wits about her now to recognize the trap. Still, it taunted her, threatened her with blackness.
Finally they came. Men in blue uniforms. She did not recognize them, and they ignored her. Another taunt, she thought at first. Then she saw the body. How had she missed it before, when it lay just feet from her? They hovered over it, appeared to talk to one another.
Why couldn’t she hear them speak? The scream had been clear enough. Had it deafened her? Their lips moved, she was certain. But no sound reached her. More people came. Different clothes, but they also stood around talking, discussing something beyond her hearing. No one paid her any attention.
They seemed upset. Had they killed this person accidentally? Had something gone wrong? Had they been sent to torture this other, only to find them dead? It slowly came to her that the body had been the source of the scream.
Yet more people came in; these brought a stretcher. Carefully, they lifted the body onto it. It was a woman. She too had been wearing a nightgown.
Suddenly, their voices reached her ears.
“She was alone in the house when we found her.”
“It looks like she was stabbed.”
“No obvious indication of who might have done this.”
For just a moment, she knew where she was as her bedroom came into sharp focus. Her face stared back at her from the stretcher. Then the world went black.
I’ve posted about this song before, but it was over five years ago, so I figure I can post about it again. Besides, I was thinking about it again this morning.
Paula Cole “Amen”
Amen for the drivers in their garbage trucks
Amen for our mothers, for the lust to fuck
Amen for the child with innocent eyes
Amen for Kevorkian and the right to die
Amen for NASA, the NSA
It’s all a front anyway
Amen for Marilyn Manson, Saddam Hussein
Amen for America and the Milky Way
Amen for Elvis, for Betty Page
Amen for Gloria Steinham and Ronald Reagan
Amen for O.J., Clinton too
Amen for the Republican witch hunt coup
Amen for Gandhi, for Malcolm X
Amen for the uprising of the weaker sex
Amen for Babylon, the third world’s call
Amen for the unity of us all
How many of these can I truly say, in my heart of hearts, “amen” for? My goal, my ideal, is all of them. It isn’t easy, and I can’t always do it. But it is what I strive for in my spiritual life. To recognize the good, the humanity, in all of human life. As long as I draw breath, this is my mantra.
I found a video of it on YouTube. It’s live, and thus she might change a few of the words, but even so, I cannot listen to this song and not feel moved.
Nearly every day, I hear pundits and politicians talk about the need to cut taxes to create jobs. To my ears, it sounds like Trickle Down Economics all over again. And it got me thinking… How best to explain this? So with a little help from one of my brothers (who drew the drops for me), I came up with a very simple explanation of this ideology.
If you don’t know what a ‘golden shower’ is, do NOT google it unless you have safe-search turned on. Instead, go to Wikipedia and search for it. You’ll still be turned off, but at least you won’t see photographs.
He looked at his hands. Empty. Impotent. Normally, emptiness carries potential, possibility. Hope. Now, it just evidenced his powerlessness.
There was a knock at the door. He looked up but said nothing. After a second, the door opened, and a woman stuck her head in.
“Are you dressed?”
“Yes.”
She came in all the way but did not quite close the door behind her. He recognized her as the nurse that had first brought him in. “Do you have any questions for the doctor?”
He simply shook his head.
She gave him a puzzled look. Why couldn’t she go away? Nothing she could do would help. Nothing anybody could do would help. He merely wanted to be left alone.
“I’m sorry, sir. But we do need the room for other patients.”
Just like that, he was being ushered, however gently, out the door. He thought about resisting, demanding she give him more time to process. Surely, it was not too much to ask, not too much to hope for. But there was no sign that she might relent, so he stood, slowly.
She held the door open as he shuffled into the hallway. He could feel her behind him as he made his way to the reception area. The sun was shining brightly through the window. It bothered him, started to give him a headache. He didn’t bother to turn and say good day to the nurse. He merely put on his sunglasses and shielded his eyes as he walked out the door into the harsh daylight.
The receptionist turned to the nurse, who had stopped by the desk to watch him leave, and asked, “Bad news?”
“No, the doctor said he was fine.” Then she shrugged picked up the chart for the next patient.
Not eat anything but healthy foods… except for pizza, ice cream, hamburgers,
french fries, and sweets in general. (I also reserve the right to add to this list.)
Not pick on politicians… unless they do something stupid.
Not buy a new computer… until at least January 4th.
Not curse at other drivers… unless they cut me off or otherwise annoy me.
Not use split infinitives… unless it is expedient to do so.
Not to fail to exercise… except when I’m feeling tired or lazy.
Entries (RSS)