(another story, this one is told by Gara Sarah)
“Once, near the beginning, a man went in search of his daughter. She had been stolen away from him in the shadows of a careless night.
He searched through ancient forests and young fields. He passed through the labyrinth of the lonely mountain. He answered seven riddles and walked freely through an enchanted garden.
Oh, what joy when finally word of his daughter safe and not far off reached his ears. He cried for joy and his strength was renewed.
But when he came to the great city where she now lived, she did not remember him. She remembered no theft in the night. Her young mind was enthralled by the glories and mysteries of the city.
She told him of a handsome man who had come to court her. The father reacted with rage and told his daughter she would not be bonded to any man of this foul city. He took her by force away from the place. He did not let her say farewell to her love.”
Gara Sarah paused to gauge her audience’s attentiveness. Both seemed to be listening very well. Hm. Unusual.
“The father did not realize, in taking his daughter by force from one whom she loved, he had caused her heart to tear away from her body. He had his daughter with him again but she lived as one who has died.
She ate what was put before her. She helped with the household chores. She washed herself when instructed.
But she never laughed. She never cried. She never raged. She never dreamed.
The father wondered what enchantment had been laid upon her. He called for the trusted and wise but they could do nothing for her. He despaired. He begged for aid from the foolish and reckless who mixed potions and muttered incantations to no avail.
The father sent word to travel as far as may be by land, by air, by sea, by unearthly channels and magical means to let it be known that any one who could restore his daughter could claim anything the father had within his power to grant.
But long before the father sent out his message, the beloved of the daughter had not been idle. Great was his grief when he found she had been taken away! When he heard it was her own father, a true and worthy man, who had stolen her, the man was troubled and doubted what he should do.
Then he found her heart, torn and trembling. He vowed that nothing would keep him from returning the precious heart to the one he loved. The journey was hard. He fought seven dread beasts. He nearly perished of thirst in an enchanted garden. He passed through the labyrinth of the lonely mountain. He walked through fields of harvest and new sprouting forests. And he came to the land where his beloved lived as less than a wraith.
The beloved of the daughter did not know of the father’s offer. He went humbly to this man whom had scorn him unseen and asked permission to see the daughter. The father, worn and impoverished by countless charlatans and helpless heroes, wondered at the diffidence of this young man.
-If you can save my daughter, please do not hesitate but go at once.- He said.”
Friday, November 12, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Dance! -NaNo2010
At first, the crowd only watched. Then one little girl began to bounce and clap her hands. Keary played his fiddle straight to her and she giggled in delight. When he moved back, she grabbed the hands of two other girls and the three spun in a wild circle. The dance spread from there until Keary had to dodge and weave in his own dancing to avoid hitting another of the spinning high-stepping stomping leaping dancers.
Monday, November 08, 2010
the missing Heir -NaNo2010
“Anwell! Keary! Bryce!” Drystan skidded to a stop in front of them and crouched down, “a message came from Na-Torral. We would have missed it but I was back here before any of you and thought to escape the city for a spell. As it was, I heard only the second repetition.”
“A message?” asked Anwell.
“What did it say?” Keary rocked forward onto one knee and leaned forward intently.
“Cullen sent it. He says the Heir is dead and we must all return for an assembly in thirteen days.” Drystan bounced on his heels.
Bryce might have fallen down if he had not been already seated. The heir dead! An assembly!
“How did Cullen get such news? He has had no part in the searching.” Keary said.
“Natan is dead?” Anwell didn’t sound as though she believed it.
“No,” said Drystan, “I think he is lying.”
Something flickered in Keary’s eyes, “provocative words, Drystan.”
“Do you trust him, Keary?” Drystan challenged. “Or you, Anwell? He doesn’t travel as all vagabonds do and his words are always coated with honey. He lies.”
“Perhaps, he does.” Keary said. “Either way, we must leave at once to reach the capital of Na-Torral.” He stood, offering a hand to Anwell.
“No,” Drystan countered again, “I think we should go farther west.”
This time, Keary and Anwell said nothing, waiting Drystan’s explanation.
“The Heir lives. Cullen’s assembly is a farce, a false show in opposition to the heirship but without the heir we can say nothing against him. We must have evidence to counter whatever he has dredged up.” Drystan spoke confidently without a trace of his usual teasing humour. “So we must find the Heir first and take him with us back.”
“Drystan, what knowledge do you possess that you can speak of finding the Heir as if the vagabonds have not searched for days upon days –since you were a toddling boy!- for him.” Anwell’s words were sharp but her expression was frank.
“The Heir lives and he is somewhere west of here.” Said Drystan, “this I know. I can’t speak for any of those who have spent days upon days searching.”
“Watch your tone, Drystan,” warned Keary.
Drystan bowed his head slightly.
“You would have us travel into the outlands of Na-Gren for a… hunch? Drystan, it is no small matter to miss an assembly.”
“It will take longer than thirteen days for everyone to gather and even with the baby we travel faster than most.” Bryce pointed out. Drystan drove him crazy sometimes but Bryce had never seen the older boy so serious about anything.
Anwell spread her hands over her stomach. Keary placed one of his hands over hers, “There is that to consider as well. The outlands are no place for a birthing.”
“I don’t mean for us to wander for days.” Drystan said, “No more than a night, a day and a night.”
“You are very certain.” Anwell said.
Drystan shrugged, “I know it.” He took a deep breath, “If you will not go, then I will break my bond with you and go myself.”
“Drystan!” Anwell looked as though he had slapped her.
“It is not only your own word, you would break, Drystan, to separate would break ours as well. You do yourself and us and Bryce a grave injustice to suggest such a thing.”
Drystan’s face fell, “Forgive me, but you don’t understand that I must go. The knowing grows every moment and with it a burning urgency. Some opportunity is slipping away as we debate. I came back to speak with you because of our bond but I must go.”
Something passed between Anwell and Keary. “A day and a night and a day, then we turn back.” Keary said. He shouldered his small pack, “Let’s be off then.”
Drystan grinned and seemed more like himself. He pushed Bryce with his shoulder as he passed. “Ready to be off the highway, cousin?” He swung his smaller drum forward and tapped a quiet beat on it as he led the way.
Bryce followed behind Anwell and Keary. A tingle ran down his spine. Could they really be the ones to find the Heir? What would it mean if they did? What kind of king would the lost Heir be?
“A message?” asked Anwell.
“What did it say?” Keary rocked forward onto one knee and leaned forward intently.
“Cullen sent it. He says the Heir is dead and we must all return for an assembly in thirteen days.” Drystan bounced on his heels.
Bryce might have fallen down if he had not been already seated. The heir dead! An assembly!
“How did Cullen get such news? He has had no part in the searching.” Keary said.
“Natan is dead?” Anwell didn’t sound as though she believed it.
“No,” said Drystan, “I think he is lying.”
Something flickered in Keary’s eyes, “provocative words, Drystan.”
“Do you trust him, Keary?” Drystan challenged. “Or you, Anwell? He doesn’t travel as all vagabonds do and his words are always coated with honey. He lies.”
“Perhaps, he does.” Keary said. “Either way, we must leave at once to reach the capital of Na-Torral.” He stood, offering a hand to Anwell.
“No,” Drystan countered again, “I think we should go farther west.”
This time, Keary and Anwell said nothing, waiting Drystan’s explanation.
“The Heir lives. Cullen’s assembly is a farce, a false show in opposition to the heirship but without the heir we can say nothing against him. We must have evidence to counter whatever he has dredged up.” Drystan spoke confidently without a trace of his usual teasing humour. “So we must find the Heir first and take him with us back.”
“Drystan, what knowledge do you possess that you can speak of finding the Heir as if the vagabonds have not searched for days upon days –since you were a toddling boy!- for him.” Anwell’s words were sharp but her expression was frank.
“The Heir lives and he is somewhere west of here.” Said Drystan, “this I know. I can’t speak for any of those who have spent days upon days searching.”
“Watch your tone, Drystan,” warned Keary.
Drystan bowed his head slightly.
“You would have us travel into the outlands of Na-Gren for a… hunch? Drystan, it is no small matter to miss an assembly.”
“It will take longer than thirteen days for everyone to gather and even with the baby we travel faster than most.” Bryce pointed out. Drystan drove him crazy sometimes but Bryce had never seen the older boy so serious about anything.
Anwell spread her hands over her stomach. Keary placed one of his hands over hers, “There is that to consider as well. The outlands are no place for a birthing.”
“I don’t mean for us to wander for days.” Drystan said, “No more than a night, a day and a night.”
“You are very certain.” Anwell said.
Drystan shrugged, “I know it.” He took a deep breath, “If you will not go, then I will break my bond with you and go myself.”
“Drystan!” Anwell looked as though he had slapped her.
“It is not only your own word, you would break, Drystan, to separate would break ours as well. You do yourself and us and Bryce a grave injustice to suggest such a thing.”
Drystan’s face fell, “Forgive me, but you don’t understand that I must go. The knowing grows every moment and with it a burning urgency. Some opportunity is slipping away as we debate. I came back to speak with you because of our bond but I must go.”
Something passed between Anwell and Keary. “A day and a night and a day, then we turn back.” Keary said. He shouldered his small pack, “Let’s be off then.”
Drystan grinned and seemed more like himself. He pushed Bryce with his shoulder as he passed. “Ready to be off the highway, cousin?” He swung his smaller drum forward and tapped a quiet beat on it as he led the way.
Bryce followed behind Anwell and Keary. A tingle ran down his spine. Could they really be the ones to find the Heir? What would it mean if they did? What kind of king would the lost Heir be?
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Story within a story from chapter 4 - NaNo2010
“Once near the beginning, there was a boy who couldn’t hear the music inherent. When his mother hummed or his father danced or his sister played counterpoint on her pipe, he only heard their half of the melody and rhythm. He couldn’t join in.
“He asked them how they heard the music, what it was like, but their explanations didn’t make sense. His sister said it was like the smell of the ground rain, rising up from below, and she just had to keep her feet bare to hear it well.
His father said it was like the feel of the breezes, sometimes soft and sometimes wild. He heard it best when he closed his eyes.
His mother said it was like breathing, something always happening whether you noticed it or not.
The boy tried his hardest to find the music. He would go out alone and dig his toes in the ground. He’d close his eyes and feel the wind. He would breathe deep and shallow, fast and slow. But the music never came.
And the longer he waited and hoped and searched, the more lost he felt. He knew he was meant to dance and sing. His family pounded drums and sang for him but he knew it was only an echo of what they themselves heard.
So he left.
He left his family and his home and everything except the clothes on his back and the hope in his heart.”
“He asked them how they heard the music, what it was like, but their explanations didn’t make sense. His sister said it was like the smell of the ground rain, rising up from below, and she just had to keep her feet bare to hear it well.
His father said it was like the feel of the breezes, sometimes soft and sometimes wild. He heard it best when he closed his eyes.
His mother said it was like breathing, something always happening whether you noticed it or not.
The boy tried his hardest to find the music. He would go out alone and dig his toes in the ground. He’d close his eyes and feel the wind. He would breathe deep and shallow, fast and slow. But the music never came.
And the longer he waited and hoped and searched, the more lost he felt. He knew he was meant to dance and sing. His family pounded drums and sang for him but he knew it was only an echo of what they themselves heard.
So he left.
He left his family and his home and everything except the clothes on his back and the hope in his heart.”
Monday, November 01, 2010
Hope - from chapter 1- NaNoWriMo 2010
Grey orangle light filters through the trees and eases the shadows by the time we break from the tree line up on the High Ridge.
The effects of the water have mostly worn off and I feel grateful to rest as we caome to the cliff’s edge. The wood stretchs out behind us, covering the backside of the hill. Below us, Holen lies quiet and deceptively at ease. For a moment, I wish the peace was real but that would mean taking back all the events of the last seven days. I can’t honestly wish that. I wouldn’t take back from Nathan what he has only begun to discover.
Even the murder?
He did not murder her!
“Nathan liked this place.” Nick interrupts my internal quarrel. He leans forward at the very edge of the bluff. His precarious balance makes me feel lightheaded.
“He did.” The truth of the comment strikes me then. “How did you know?”
The old man shruggs slightly and his body sways to counter balance the gesture, “You can see this ridge from his room.”
I picture the view from his window. He is right but he hasn’t really answered the question. Just how well had Nick known Nathan before he came to Holen? “Did he like high places when he was a child?”
“Perhaps.” Nick says, noncommittal again. “I had thought to come up here first before I came across your bit of skullduggery.”
I think back to the tattooed man at the well and the creepy call. “It served its purpose.”
“Perhaps,” Nick frowns, “even a little delay can help… or hinder. He has a night’s start in front of us all.” He took a breath and I knew the question was coming again. “Tell me, adalan, did Nathan leave as a fugitive, or not?”
Not the question I had expected. I would have taken offense but there was no slight in the way he asked it. He truly wondered.
“The council would mark him a fugitive.” I say. The light continues to grow. The council would be ensconced with Jared now to deliberate pursuing Nathan.
“And you?”
You are not a murderer, Nathan. “I would call him seeker.” I say at last.
“And what does he seek?”
“Sneaky,” I reply, “isn’t that another way of asking where he is going?”
“I have not passed judgment on him yet.”
I look away from Holen to face Nick, “but you would put him on trial.”
Nick meets my gaze, “He confessed to murder.”
How did Nick know that? The simple words pierce my confidence. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what he said.”
“Your entire council witnessed his confession. It is recorded in their meeting records. Do you accuse them of falsehood?”
I turn away. I can hear Nathan’s voice in my head, speaking the words I refuse to believe. I swallow and blink back tears. “Not of falsehood, I think they misunderstand.”
“You weren’t there.”
My own words turn on me. “No. I wasn’t.”
“I read the record. There is not much room for ambiguity in what he said.”
I know my anger towards Nick is irrational but I can’t keep the hot flush from spreading up my face. I ball my fists, missing the reassuring feel of my stave. “You said, you haven’t judged him. Why not if the evidence is so clear?”
“I try to make a point of not judging a man in his absence.” Nick’s voice remains impassive, making my venom even more shameful. “You seem very certain of his innocence, in spite of his own words, why?”
I open my mouth and press it shut again. There is no contempt in his statement, only puzzlement. My anger ebbs almost as quickly as it had flamed, leaving only sorrow.
How can I explain something to him that I can’t explain to myself?
My legs refuse to hold me and I sink into the grass. I hold the grief in, let it wind through the whole of me unreleased. If I cry now, I don’t know when I will stop.
Nick kneels down near me. Errol whines and whirrs deep in his throat.
“You love him.” He says.
“My heart is held in the palm of his hand .” I reply. How strange to first say the words to a stranger and not to Nathan.
Oh, how I miss him already.
Compassion tinges Nick’s next words, “If he is a man worthy of such esteem, then I promise you, I will not be his enemy.” Errol flitts from his shoulder to bump his head under my chin. He chirrups encouragement and I can’t help but smile.
“Please,” Nick says softly, “tell me where he went.”
The effects of the water have mostly worn off and I feel grateful to rest as we caome to the cliff’s edge. The wood stretchs out behind us, covering the backside of the hill. Below us, Holen lies quiet and deceptively at ease. For a moment, I wish the peace was real but that would mean taking back all the events of the last seven days. I can’t honestly wish that. I wouldn’t take back from Nathan what he has only begun to discover.
Even the murder?
He did not murder her!
“Nathan liked this place.” Nick interrupts my internal quarrel. He leans forward at the very edge of the bluff. His precarious balance makes me feel lightheaded.
“He did.” The truth of the comment strikes me then. “How did you know?”
The old man shruggs slightly and his body sways to counter balance the gesture, “You can see this ridge from his room.”
I picture the view from his window. He is right but he hasn’t really answered the question. Just how well had Nick known Nathan before he came to Holen? “Did he like high places when he was a child?”
“Perhaps.” Nick says, noncommittal again. “I had thought to come up here first before I came across your bit of skullduggery.”
I think back to the tattooed man at the well and the creepy call. “It served its purpose.”
“Perhaps,” Nick frowns, “even a little delay can help… or hinder. He has a night’s start in front of us all.” He took a breath and I knew the question was coming again. “Tell me, adalan, did Nathan leave as a fugitive, or not?”
Not the question I had expected. I would have taken offense but there was no slight in the way he asked it. He truly wondered.
“The council would mark him a fugitive.” I say. The light continues to grow. The council would be ensconced with Jared now to deliberate pursuing Nathan.
“And you?”
You are not a murderer, Nathan. “I would call him seeker.” I say at last.
“And what does he seek?”
“Sneaky,” I reply, “isn’t that another way of asking where he is going?”
“I have not passed judgment on him yet.”
I look away from Holen to face Nick, “but you would put him on trial.”
Nick meets my gaze, “He confessed to murder.”
How did Nick know that? The simple words pierce my confidence. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what he said.”
“Your entire council witnessed his confession. It is recorded in their meeting records. Do you accuse them of falsehood?”
I turn away. I can hear Nathan’s voice in my head, speaking the words I refuse to believe. I swallow and blink back tears. “Not of falsehood, I think they misunderstand.”
“You weren’t there.”
My own words turn on me. “No. I wasn’t.”
“I read the record. There is not much room for ambiguity in what he said.”
I know my anger towards Nick is irrational but I can’t keep the hot flush from spreading up my face. I ball my fists, missing the reassuring feel of my stave. “You said, you haven’t judged him. Why not if the evidence is so clear?”
“I try to make a point of not judging a man in his absence.” Nick’s voice remains impassive, making my venom even more shameful. “You seem very certain of his innocence, in spite of his own words, why?”
I open my mouth and press it shut again. There is no contempt in his statement, only puzzlement. My anger ebbs almost as quickly as it had flamed, leaving only sorrow.
How can I explain something to him that I can’t explain to myself?
My legs refuse to hold me and I sink into the grass. I hold the grief in, let it wind through the whole of me unreleased. If I cry now, I don’t know when I will stop.
Nick kneels down near me. Errol whines and whirrs deep in his throat.
“You love him.” He says.
“My heart is held in the palm of his hand .” I reply. How strange to first say the words to a stranger and not to Nathan.
Oh, how I miss him already.
Compassion tinges Nick’s next words, “If he is a man worthy of such esteem, then I promise you, I will not be his enemy.” Errol flitts from his shoulder to bump his head under my chin. He chirrups encouragement and I can’t help but smile.
“Please,” Nick says softly, “tell me where he went.”
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Again - September Song
Again – Flyleaf
Two beats -one softer than the other- repeated with a steady rhythm just audible over the pouring rain. Deirdre let out the breath she’d been holding with a shaky sigh. Kieran’s heart still beat, with a strength that belied the pale stillness of his face. Thank God. She squeezed her hands into fists and knuckled them hard against her face. She would not break down and cry now. She focused on her own breathing, the cold rain breaking on her head, the heavy backpack pulling at her shoulders, anything but the terror of the last few minutes.
Footsteps. Someone was coming back. Dierdre grabbed one of Kieran’s limp hands to keep herself from bolting.
Matt came around the curve of the trail. His eyes flickered from Kieran to her.
“He’s not dead.” She said.
No relief lightened the expression in Matt’s eyes. If anything, his gaze became more somber. He looked away.
More feet running. Garret and Shannon appeared behind Matt.
Shivering –with cold or rage Dierdre didn’t know- Shannon went straight to the dropped backpacks and began strapping hers back on, “We didn’t catch them.” The rain had flattened her dark spiky hair to a sodden mess but she looked as menacing as ever.
“Next time.” Garret promised. He had kept his knife out and the blade looked wet with more than rain. “We’re still too close to their turf. We’ve got to move now.”
“Kieran is alive.” Matt said. The flatness of his tone frightened Dierdre. She clenched Kieran’s hand, trying to pull reassurance from its warmth. She searched Garret’s face.
“Take his pack,” Garret addressed Matt but kept his gaze on Dierdre. “Dee, we have to go now.”
Understanding hit her like a lightening strike. “We can’t leave him!”
Beside her, Matt had restrapped his own pack and hoisted Kieran’s with ease. He wouldn’t look her in the eye. Neither would Shannon. Garret’s face had set like stone, he wouldn’t change his mind.
“But he’s not dead!” She wrapped both her hands around his now and entwined their fingers.
“He’s as good as dead.” Garret took a step toward and nodded at Shannon. “And so will we be if we wait another minute.”
Dierdre shook her head. “No.” She felt Shannon take hold of the strap of her backpack from one side. Holding to Kieran with one hand, she fumbled to unstrap herself with the other. “No!”
Garret stepped over Kieran as if he were only a boulder in the path and caught hold of her hand before she could succeed in undoing the clip. She fought him and Shannon but now tears were blurring her vision and stealing strength. “We can’t just leave him!”
Shannon pinioned her arms behind her back and didn’t respond. Garret took Keiran’s pack from Matt and moved away.
“Please, Matt, please.” He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. Wrapping one arm around her legs, he lifted her over his shoulder. Dierdre swore and tried to kick free.
“He’s not dead. Kieran!”
Two beats -one softer than the other- repeated with a steady rhythm just audible over the pouring rain. Deirdre let out the breath she’d been holding with a shaky sigh. Kieran’s heart still beat, with a strength that belied the pale stillness of his face. Thank God. She squeezed her hands into fists and knuckled them hard against her face. She would not break down and cry now. She focused on her own breathing, the cold rain breaking on her head, the heavy backpack pulling at her shoulders, anything but the terror of the last few minutes.
Footsteps. Someone was coming back. Dierdre grabbed one of Kieran’s limp hands to keep herself from bolting.
Matt came around the curve of the trail. His eyes flickered from Kieran to her.
“He’s not dead.” She said.
No relief lightened the expression in Matt’s eyes. If anything, his gaze became more somber. He looked away.
More feet running. Garret and Shannon appeared behind Matt.
Shivering –with cold or rage Dierdre didn’t know- Shannon went straight to the dropped backpacks and began strapping hers back on, “We didn’t catch them.” The rain had flattened her dark spiky hair to a sodden mess but she looked as menacing as ever.
“Next time.” Garret promised. He had kept his knife out and the blade looked wet with more than rain. “We’re still too close to their turf. We’ve got to move now.”
“Kieran is alive.” Matt said. The flatness of his tone frightened Dierdre. She clenched Kieran’s hand, trying to pull reassurance from its warmth. She searched Garret’s face.
“Take his pack,” Garret addressed Matt but kept his gaze on Dierdre. “Dee, we have to go now.”
Understanding hit her like a lightening strike. “We can’t leave him!”
Beside her, Matt had restrapped his own pack and hoisted Kieran’s with ease. He wouldn’t look her in the eye. Neither would Shannon. Garret’s face had set like stone, he wouldn’t change his mind.
“But he’s not dead!” She wrapped both her hands around his now and entwined their fingers.
“He’s as good as dead.” Garret took a step toward and nodded at Shannon. “And so will we be if we wait another minute.”
Dierdre shook her head. “No.” She felt Shannon take hold of the strap of her backpack from one side. Holding to Kieran with one hand, she fumbled to unstrap herself with the other. “No!”
Garret stepped over Kieran as if he were only a boulder in the path and caught hold of her hand before she could succeed in undoing the clip. She fought him and Shannon but now tears were blurring her vision and stealing strength. “We can’t just leave him!”
Shannon pinioned her arms behind her back and didn’t respond. Garret took Keiran’s pack from Matt and moved away.
“Please, Matt, please.” He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. Wrapping one arm around her legs, he lifted her over his shoulder. Dierdre swore and tried to kick free.
“He’s not dead. Kieran!”
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
August Song
Paranoid Android
“Did you hear that?”
With considerable effort, I pulled away from my sketches to answer my usually silent friend, “What? The air filter?”
“No,” Joam shook his head impatiently, “The sound that doesn’t fit. Wait a minute and listen.”
I waited. The struggling air filter cut in and out, our cooler hummed in one corner of the room, muted conversation came from somewhere further down the hall, nothing that “didn’t fit”. “Joam-“
“Sh.” He held up a hand. His face was tense with concentration.
Annoyed, I stayed silent but my mind began to turn back to the assignment I had been working on. How could I lower the energy needed to Slyman’s limit? Maybe if I-
My thought process slammed to a halt. What was that? Now that I heard it, I wondered how it had escaped my notice before. It was mesmerizing.
Joam raised an eyebrow at me.
I nodded but didn’t speak. The noise reminded me of a pre-storm wind but more delicate and piercing with a mathematical precision to its movement up and down in pitch. I felt an absurd urge to cry.
“What is it?” I whispered.
Joam opened his mouth to speak but the sound stopped abruptly. Ponderous curiosity changed to confusion on his face. Then an alarm began to shrill.
Air breach, dorm seven. Air breach, dorm seven.
I scrambled to grab my oxygen mask as the door to our room sealed and the air filter cut off completely. The warning sirens shrilled in my ears even after I had sealed the bulky mask in place but the haunting sound from minutes before replayed in my mind. I had to find its source.
“Did you hear that?”
With considerable effort, I pulled away from my sketches to answer my usually silent friend, “What? The air filter?”
“No,” Joam shook his head impatiently, “The sound that doesn’t fit. Wait a minute and listen.”
I waited. The struggling air filter cut in and out, our cooler hummed in one corner of the room, muted conversation came from somewhere further down the hall, nothing that “didn’t fit”. “Joam-“
“Sh.” He held up a hand. His face was tense with concentration.
Annoyed, I stayed silent but my mind began to turn back to the assignment I had been working on. How could I lower the energy needed to Slyman’s limit? Maybe if I-
My thought process slammed to a halt. What was that? Now that I heard it, I wondered how it had escaped my notice before. It was mesmerizing.
Joam raised an eyebrow at me.
I nodded but didn’t speak. The noise reminded me of a pre-storm wind but more delicate and piercing with a mathematical precision to its movement up and down in pitch. I felt an absurd urge to cry.
“What is it?” I whispered.
Joam opened his mouth to speak but the sound stopped abruptly. Ponderous curiosity changed to confusion on his face. Then an alarm began to shrill.
Air breach, dorm seven. Air breach, dorm seven.
I scrambled to grab my oxygen mask as the door to our room sealed and the air filter cut off completely. The warning sirens shrilled in my ears even after I had sealed the bulky mask in place but the haunting sound from minutes before replayed in my mind. I had to find its source.
Monday, June 28, 2010
What Do I Know of Holy
June's song
What Do I Know of Holy - Addison Road
Water pours over bare feet and the cracked earth turns to mud below. The skin beneath the muck emerges, first grey, then red-brown, finally deep bronze. Calloused hands massage oil into the exposed wounds on each foot. It burns worse than the sun-baked sands but constant blistered ache burns away with it leaving a sensation of mint through her toes.
“He washed your feet?” The questioner raised one eyebrow, “After all that trouble, chasing you through the desert and singlehandedly fighting off the Skorhai, the man kneels down to scrub camel feces from your heels?”
Anna blushed and shifted in her seat. It sounded even more ridiculous to hear him say it.
“A strange man to act as both warrior and slave, a man who moves unseen with greater skill than the Skorhais’ own assassins.” The questioner focused back on Anna, “Describe him.”
“I never saw his face. I was afraid to watch and then…” Anna broke off. The desert seemed to press around her again and her heart beat a panicked rhythm. She could see the questioner’s black eyes demanding her answer but all else behind him had faded. Only the desert wind blew in her ears. She tasted the warm salt of tears running free down her face. She felt the burning again in her feet. “I couldn’t bear it. I don’t understand. Why would he choose me?”
What Do I Know of Holy - Addison Road
Water pours over bare feet and the cracked earth turns to mud below. The skin beneath the muck emerges, first grey, then red-brown, finally deep bronze. Calloused hands massage oil into the exposed wounds on each foot. It burns worse than the sun-baked sands but constant blistered ache burns away with it leaving a sensation of mint through her toes.
“He washed your feet?” The questioner raised one eyebrow, “After all that trouble, chasing you through the desert and singlehandedly fighting off the Skorhai, the man kneels down to scrub camel feces from your heels?”
Anna blushed and shifted in her seat. It sounded even more ridiculous to hear him say it.
“A strange man to act as both warrior and slave, a man who moves unseen with greater skill than the Skorhais’ own assassins.” The questioner focused back on Anna, “Describe him.”
“I never saw his face. I was afraid to watch and then…” Anna broke off. The desert seemed to press around her again and her heart beat a panicked rhythm. She could see the questioner’s black eyes demanding her answer but all else behind him had faded. Only the desert wind blew in her ears. She tasted the warm salt of tears running free down her face. She felt the burning again in her feet. “I couldn’t bear it. I don’t understand. Why would he choose me?”
Friday, June 04, 2010
Mizitordom Verse
The first couple lines of this poem showed up in my head while I was reading a book and poked at me until I finished the whole thing. It describes the climax of my novel Mesiebed (which is still not finished :P)
Third Prophecy of Arhin-Ra
And when the tide shall overtake
The farther shore in haste
One moon shall die a silent death
One banner lie in waste
A nation takes its final breath
The Tor relents his might
The waters rise to fill the breach
The new tide is in sight
The nameless shall receive a name
Cold embers flame anew
The shadow wearers flee from these
The serpent’s loss they rue
For then the rains shall fall again
And many heroes stand
The ancient lies shall bind no more
True hope shall kiss the land
Third Prophecy of Arhin-Ra
And when the tide shall overtake
The farther shore in haste
One moon shall die a silent death
One banner lie in waste
A nation takes its final breath
The Tor relents his might
The waters rise to fill the breach
The new tide is in sight
The nameless shall receive a name
Cold embers flame anew
The shadow wearers flee from these
The serpent’s loss they rue
For then the rains shall fall again
And many heroes stand
The ancient lies shall bind no more
True hope shall kiss the land
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
I Will Rise
-May song story from Chris Tomlin's "I Will Rise"-
When I step through the veil, everything changes.
The incessant buzzing stops so suddenly, the silence is like music. I take a slow breath and the air tastes free. I want to open my eyes but then the anticipation will be over. I wait.
Softly, music does begin. An oboe beckons with a sound at once so far away that I take another step forward and yet so close that my spine tingles up to my ears. How can it be both at once? I don’t know.
Other instruments join, drums, piano, guitar. If I focus, I can hear the individual melodies in the harmony. Each tells a different story. All entwine into an epic so strange and familiar and romantic, I start to laugh.
A breeze, scented with lilac and cinnamon, swirls and spins around me. It teases my face. The grass tickles my toes.
Do I dare step in further? Do I open my eyes?
A low rumble moves through the music. The light against my eyelids remains as bright as ever but now gentle raindrops fall. The wind catches the rain and tosses it about so it falls up as well as down.
Already dizzy with laughter, I spin in the rain.
I don’t know how or when it happens but the ground disappears from beneath me. I am rising, flying.
It is nothing like swimming or falling or floating or anything else I ever imagined flying might be. I’m dancing and the centre of gravity has changed. I am not drawn up or down, I am drawn further in.
The rain ebbs. My feet touch down on warm mossy rock. Mixed in with the music, I hear the laughter and murmuring of other people but the place where I wait belongs only to me and one other.
When I open my eyes, my heart knows whom I will finally see.
When I step through the veil, everything changes.
The incessant buzzing stops so suddenly, the silence is like music. I take a slow breath and the air tastes free. I want to open my eyes but then the anticipation will be over. I wait.
Softly, music does begin. An oboe beckons with a sound at once so far away that I take another step forward and yet so close that my spine tingles up to my ears. How can it be both at once? I don’t know.
Other instruments join, drums, piano, guitar. If I focus, I can hear the individual melodies in the harmony. Each tells a different story. All entwine into an epic so strange and familiar and romantic, I start to laugh.
A breeze, scented with lilac and cinnamon, swirls and spins around me. It teases my face. The grass tickles my toes.
Do I dare step in further? Do I open my eyes?
A low rumble moves through the music. The light against my eyelids remains as bright as ever but now gentle raindrops fall. The wind catches the rain and tosses it about so it falls up as well as down.
Already dizzy with laughter, I spin in the rain.
I don’t know how or when it happens but the ground disappears from beneath me. I am rising, flying.
It is nothing like swimming or falling or floating or anything else I ever imagined flying might be. I’m dancing and the centre of gravity has changed. I am not drawn up or down, I am drawn further in.
The rain ebbs. My feet touch down on warm mossy rock. Mixed in with the music, I hear the laughter and murmuring of other people but the place where I wait belongs only to me and one other.
When I open my eyes, my heart knows whom I will finally see.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Just For Now
Caution: language
Snow fell in big soft flakes to disappear in the brown slush at the side of the road. Eva turned away from the quiet street into the quieter trees of the river valley. Over the past nine days, she had almost worn a path through the brush though it wouldn’t be visible tomorrow if the snow didn’t stop.
Surprised by a patch of ice, she fell over backwards with a jolt. “Shit!” Stars twinkled momentarily in her vision and her left hand burned where she had scraped it along a thorny branch trying to stop her fall. The wood-carved jewelry box remained cradled safely in the crook of her right arm.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
She pushed herself back to her feet but the cold wetness had already seeped through her jeans and underwear. She bit her tongue before another expletive could slip out.
I know you can’t hear me now but it still seems wrong to talk that way around you.
She hugged the small box closer to her side and pressed forward. Her left hand found a new steady tree branch to grasp before each step. The site lay only a little further into the brush, just far enough to be hidden from accidental discovery. A large blue spruce marked the spot. Eva knelt at its foot beside the shoulder deep hole she had spent more than a week digging. Snow dusted the dented kitchen spoon she had discarded after finally finishing yesterday afternoon.
Note to self: A shovel is a household necessity and can save your hands three layers of blisters.
The morning’s snow lined the bottom of the hole like a soft white blanket. Eva held the box in her lap for a little longer. She ran one hand over the nailed down lid. The hours she had spent sanding its edges in grade 8 had left it as soft and smooth as baby skin. She traced the writing on the lid slowly:
Gloria Christa Rose
December 11th
“I know three names is a lot, especially for someone as small as you but I couldn’t decide. I hope you don’t mind.”
She traced through the letters backwards. The dull ache in her chest spread through her belly and throbbed in her ears but no tears came.
Guess a person can only cry so much before they’re dried up.
“Sorry.”
Eva exhaled and lowered the box into the makeshift grave. Sitting back on her heels, she slipped her fingerless gloves off. She pulled a very wrinkled and spotted piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it.
“Now, I haven’t been to a funeral since I was three so I don’t really know the words to say.” She smoothed the paper out against her legs, “A minister’s the person supposed to do it but I wanted to keep this just the two of us. I hope that’s okay.”
Eva cleared her throat and coughed. “Sorry. There should probably be some scripture about heaven but I can’t remember any and I remembered this one verse so…” She cleared her throat again, “Um, but we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” She shrugged her shoulders, “I’m not really sure what it means but it sounds poetic and the treasure part makes me think of you.
And now I think the minister would pray but I’m going to skip that part. You never had the chance to do any bad things so I’m sure you don’t need any special praying. There’ll be lots of angels looking after you.” Eva bit her lip, “I’m sorry I’m not there to hold you.”
She swallowed and looked down at her sheet but the words she had written last night didn’t seem right anymore. She set the paper aside. Taking a handful from the pile of dirt, she sprinkled it over the box. The dirt made a dull rapping sound against the wood. It hurt.
“Sorry.”
The hole seemed to take longer to fill than it had to dig while she worked but once she had finished, it felt far too short, only a wink of a moment to make the grave disappear like it had never been.
Eva wiped shaky hands against her already dirty jeans. “I hope you aren’t missing me. I wouldn’t have been a very good mom. I didn’t even realize how much I wanted you until after you were gone…
She fidgeted with her gloves, unsnagging pine needles.
“I hope it wasn’t something I did that made you come so early. I haven’t drunk or smoked anything since I found out about you.
I hope it didn’t hurt.”
Still no tears. She picked up her notes again. “The last thing is always a song. I know Amazing Grace is generally used but I can’t remember the verses very well and this one has your name in it. It’s one of my favourites too.”
She took a deep breath, “so anyway, here goes:
Angels we have heard on high sweetly singing o’er the plain
And the mountains in reply echoing their joyous strains
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo”
The song slipped between tree branches and snowflakes upwards. It lifted with it some of the ache leaving behind something like peace… hope?
Eva let the hope settle inside. By the time she stood up to leave, it would slip away again but just for now she would hold to it.
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo
Snow fell in big soft flakes to disappear in the brown slush at the side of the road. Eva turned away from the quiet street into the quieter trees of the river valley. Over the past nine days, she had almost worn a path through the brush though it wouldn’t be visible tomorrow if the snow didn’t stop.
Surprised by a patch of ice, she fell over backwards with a jolt. “Shit!” Stars twinkled momentarily in her vision and her left hand burned where she had scraped it along a thorny branch trying to stop her fall. The wood-carved jewelry box remained cradled safely in the crook of her right arm.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
She pushed herself back to her feet but the cold wetness had already seeped through her jeans and underwear. She bit her tongue before another expletive could slip out.
I know you can’t hear me now but it still seems wrong to talk that way around you.
She hugged the small box closer to her side and pressed forward. Her left hand found a new steady tree branch to grasp before each step. The site lay only a little further into the brush, just far enough to be hidden from accidental discovery. A large blue spruce marked the spot. Eva knelt at its foot beside the shoulder deep hole she had spent more than a week digging. Snow dusted the dented kitchen spoon she had discarded after finally finishing yesterday afternoon.
Note to self: A shovel is a household necessity and can save your hands three layers of blisters.
The morning’s snow lined the bottom of the hole like a soft white blanket. Eva held the box in her lap for a little longer. She ran one hand over the nailed down lid. The hours she had spent sanding its edges in grade 8 had left it as soft and smooth as baby skin. She traced the writing on the lid slowly:
Gloria Christa Rose
December 11th
“I know three names is a lot, especially for someone as small as you but I couldn’t decide. I hope you don’t mind.”
She traced through the letters backwards. The dull ache in her chest spread through her belly and throbbed in her ears but no tears came.
Guess a person can only cry so much before they’re dried up.
“Sorry.”
Eva exhaled and lowered the box into the makeshift grave. Sitting back on her heels, she slipped her fingerless gloves off. She pulled a very wrinkled and spotted piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it.
“Now, I haven’t been to a funeral since I was three so I don’t really know the words to say.” She smoothed the paper out against her legs, “A minister’s the person supposed to do it but I wanted to keep this just the two of us. I hope that’s okay.”
Eva cleared her throat and coughed. “Sorry. There should probably be some scripture about heaven but I can’t remember any and I remembered this one verse so…” She cleared her throat again, “Um, but we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” She shrugged her shoulders, “I’m not really sure what it means but it sounds poetic and the treasure part makes me think of you.
And now I think the minister would pray but I’m going to skip that part. You never had the chance to do any bad things so I’m sure you don’t need any special praying. There’ll be lots of angels looking after you.” Eva bit her lip, “I’m sorry I’m not there to hold you.”
She swallowed and looked down at her sheet but the words she had written last night didn’t seem right anymore. She set the paper aside. Taking a handful from the pile of dirt, she sprinkled it over the box. The dirt made a dull rapping sound against the wood. It hurt.
“Sorry.”
The hole seemed to take longer to fill than it had to dig while she worked but once she had finished, it felt far too short, only a wink of a moment to make the grave disappear like it had never been.
Eva wiped shaky hands against her already dirty jeans. “I hope you aren’t missing me. I wouldn’t have been a very good mom. I didn’t even realize how much I wanted you until after you were gone…
She fidgeted with her gloves, unsnagging pine needles.
“I hope it wasn’t something I did that made you come so early. I haven’t drunk or smoked anything since I found out about you.
I hope it didn’t hurt.”
Still no tears. She picked up her notes again. “The last thing is always a song. I know Amazing Grace is generally used but I can’t remember the verses very well and this one has your name in it. It’s one of my favourites too.”
She took a deep breath, “so anyway, here goes:
Angels we have heard on high sweetly singing o’er the plain
And the mountains in reply echoing their joyous strains
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo”
The song slipped between tree branches and snowflakes upwards. It lifted with it some of the ache leaving behind something like peace… hope?
Eva let the hope settle inside. By the time she stood up to leave, it would slip away again but just for now she would hold to it.
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Into the Black
Falling to the black
Slipping through the cracks
The smell of lightning hung heavy in the air. Dark clouds approached from the left. Barak resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and kept his eyes on the danger in front of him. Avi would lead the refugees out of the black desert to safety in spite of the storm if only Barak and the few who stood with them could delay the soldiers long enough.
“They’re coming.” Lora fidgeted on her feet not far from him.
No one answered her. The sound of many boots tramping over hard rock rang over the distant thunder and the dark red and grey of the Capitol soldiers’ uniforms stood out all too well against the black landscape. They moved slowly now that they had crossed into where the black desert’s treacherous cracks rippled beneath a thin layer of rock but they hadn’t turned back.
Thirty-six. Thirty-six of the Capitol’s best against seventeen desperate but mostly untrained refugees. Maft. If we can just slow them down…
A soft moan came from behind Barak. Some one else had been counting the odds as well.
“Peace,” Barak spoke loud enough for each to hear and took a few moments to meet the eyes of as many as he could, “stand firm. Listen for Achala and Ethan’s warnings. Do not let yourself be moved from the safe ground.”
Achala, unarmed and unafraid, winked at him. Perhaps even more so than Avi, she knew the pattern of the desert’s cracks and had confidence in using them against an enemy. But she didn’t know how relentless the Capitol could be.
He could smell them now, a mix of aeran dye, mated iron and bloodlust. He recognized the face of the Captain but didn’t know the man’s name. Several of the soldiers carried the Capitol’s short crossbows but Barak did not think them foolish enough to use them here. Ethan’s arrows, on the other hand, held no risk of enflaming the volatile desert.
So much for your dark inventions and trickery. Your numbers are your only advantage here.
Rain began to fall in slow heavy drops. Perhaps the Captain sensed the trap ahead because he brought his soldiers to an abrupt halt still some distance away but well within Ethan’s range. Barak willed an arrow to fly straight into the Captain’s unprotected neck but none came.
Curse your sense of honour, Ethan! What are you waiting for?
The thunder rumbled closer but neither side moved as the Captain studied the refugees with undisguised suspicion. Impatience chafed at Barak. When the Captain turned his way, he offered a full mocking grin.
Scared?
Recognition and anger spread across the Captain’s face simultaneously. He gave a harsh command to his soldiers and a half dozen moved in front before the whole company started forward again. Short swords rasped out of sheaths.
Ten more steps… Four, three, two-
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Project Daybreak
Whoever thought getting up to watch the sunrise was a good idea anyway???
I’m gonna die.
Those were my two thoughts climbing up the hill this morning. My back hurt, my lungs hurt, I had a stitch in my side, my pulse was pounding in my ears and I was positive that I would not make it for sunrise. I had completely underestimated the time it would take to go from the parking lot at the bottom of the hill to the peak. The sky to my left through the trees was a vibrant orange before I was halfway and the light grew with every step.
Just one more curve, I told myself, but the road’s spiral never ended.
Then, finally, it did. I had reached the parking lot at the top of the hill (which doesn’t open until noon) and was barely a minute away from the peak. The sun has probably risen. I should just go sit on a bench and catch my breath, I thought. I don't even care anymore. :P
But my legs had passed that initial point of utter collapse a curve ago and now they just kept walking of their own volition. Up the final steep set of rocks I climbed and found what we mortals like to call Heaven.
Man alive. How do you even describe the beauty of it?
The clouds above whirled with red and blue. The streak clouds just above the vibrantly orange sea held a mix of yellow and pink. Moutain peaks on the right, snow dusted, rose out of mist and seemed nearly imaginary. The darkness of the city’s trees combined with the gold specks of streetlights made it look like the starry sky had fallen to earth.
Then came the sun!
I had NOT missed that moment of sunrise. Ooo la la! I even had time to pull out my laptop and start writing this blog as I watched a flame-like pinprick of orange in the layers of clouds grow and rise until I couldn’t look at it for the brightness, its reflection in the ocean twice the size of itself.
Now, the sun has moved up into the clouds above but the subdued radiance lingers in soft pastels. The wind teases at my face and fingers. The birds glory in the new day.
I think I remember why someone would want to get up and hike a hill to watch the sunrise. ☺
Thank You, Abba. Your artistry this morning gave a feast to the eyes and the soul. I love You!
I’m gonna die.
Those were my two thoughts climbing up the hill this morning. My back hurt, my lungs hurt, I had a stitch in my side, my pulse was pounding in my ears and I was positive that I would not make it for sunrise. I had completely underestimated the time it would take to go from the parking lot at the bottom of the hill to the peak. The sky to my left through the trees was a vibrant orange before I was halfway and the light grew with every step.
Just one more curve, I told myself, but the road’s spiral never ended.
Then, finally, it did. I had reached the parking lot at the top of the hill (which doesn’t open until noon) and was barely a minute away from the peak. The sun has probably risen. I should just go sit on a bench and catch my breath, I thought. I don't even care anymore. :P
But my legs had passed that initial point of utter collapse a curve ago and now they just kept walking of their own volition. Up the final steep set of rocks I climbed and found what we mortals like to call Heaven.
Man alive. How do you even describe the beauty of it?
The clouds above whirled with red and blue. The streak clouds just above the vibrantly orange sea held a mix of yellow and pink. Moutain peaks on the right, snow dusted, rose out of mist and seemed nearly imaginary. The darkness of the city’s trees combined with the gold specks of streetlights made it look like the starry sky had fallen to earth.
Then came the sun!
I had NOT missed that moment of sunrise. Ooo la la! I even had time to pull out my laptop and start writing this blog as I watched a flame-like pinprick of orange in the layers of clouds grow and rise until I couldn’t look at it for the brightness, its reflection in the ocean twice the size of itself.
Now, the sun has moved up into the clouds above but the subdued radiance lingers in soft pastels. The wind teases at my face and fingers. The birds glory in the new day.
I think I remember why someone would want to get up and hike a hill to watch the sunrise. ☺
Thank You, Abba. Your artistry this morning gave a feast to the eyes and the soul. I love You!
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Blind Arol
The priestess crouched on the black stone behind the curtains. Her hands moved through a squat pink tongue of fire she could not see. It did not burn her. Sullen night held sway outside of the temple walls but Arol did not care. Blazing sunlight or moonless dark, it was all the same to her.
Without removing her focus from the Hya flame, she spoke, “What do you want?”
Only a beast’s eyes could have made out the intruder’s form. Very few ears besides Arol’s would have marked his jungle cat tread.
“I wish to give you sight.” Said the man. His voice held the polished accent of the Capital’s citizens.
Arol wove her flame, “Only the god can give sight.”
“So it is said,” said the man. He pushed aside a transluscent black curtain to stand before the embers, “But tell me, Arol, what would you give to be able to see? To know color and intangible shape?” He knelt and plunged his own hand into the fire’s heart, which spurted blue in response, “To know light?”
Arol brought her palms down on top of the embers and the fire vanished without smoke. Darkness, nearly as deep as blindness, smothered the temple.
“Perhaps for this,” said the stranger, “you would offer even your soul.”
Without removing her focus from the Hya flame, she spoke, “What do you want?”
Only a beast’s eyes could have made out the intruder’s form. Very few ears besides Arol’s would have marked his jungle cat tread.
“I wish to give you sight.” Said the man. His voice held the polished accent of the Capital’s citizens.
Arol wove her flame, “Only the god can give sight.”
“So it is said,” said the man. He pushed aside a transluscent black curtain to stand before the embers, “But tell me, Arol, what would you give to be able to see? To know color and intangible shape?” He knelt and plunged his own hand into the fire’s heart, which spurted blue in response, “To know light?”
Arol brought her palms down on top of the embers and the fire vanished without smoke. Darkness, nearly as deep as blindness, smothered the temple.
“Perhaps for this,” said the stranger, “you would offer even your soul.”
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Lament
Key: A minor
Time signature: ??
A C C B G A
These 6 notes are haunting me. I started singing them while reading about the 2005 Pakistan earthquake and they keep looping back over again in my mind. I don't know if they are a remnant from a song I've heard or the opening of a song that wants to be written.
Only 6 notes but they call forth the brush of a desert wind, the ache of unshed tears, the letting go of a desperate loss.
Strange.
Time signature: ??
A C C B G A
These 6 notes are haunting me. I started singing them while reading about the 2005 Pakistan earthquake and they keep looping back over again in my mind. I don't know if they are a remnant from a song I've heard or the opening of a song that wants to be written.
Only 6 notes but they call forth the brush of a desert wind, the ache of unshed tears, the letting go of a desperate loss.
Strange.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Beautiful Bride Word Study!
In my last post, I shared an excerpt called "Beautiful Bride" which I had written for fun as an exercise.
While I was hunting for a name for my POV character, I discovered something that I think is uber-cool, sweet awesome and worthy of many other overused adjectives.
I googled "Hebrew word for bride" and found out that the Aramaic word for bride: "Kallah" comes from the verb "kalal" which means to complete, perfect, make complete/perfect.
Why does this make my mind spin in circles?
Because the Church is the bride of Christ. And we are being made perfect by Him.
Ha!
As an add-on, one of the google entries that came up pointed out that the verb kalal would have been used by Jesus when he said "It is finished" on the cross.
The original connection, according to the online lexicon, comes through the second definition of kalal which is "to crown, to put a crown upon" which is no less cool. :)
While I was hunting for a name for my POV character, I discovered something that I think is uber-cool, sweet awesome and worthy of many other overused adjectives.
I googled "Hebrew word for bride" and found out that the Aramaic word for bride: "Kallah" comes from the verb "kalal" which means to complete, perfect, make complete/perfect.
Why does this make my mind spin in circles?
Because the Church is the bride of Christ. And we are being made perfect by Him.
Ha!
As an add-on, one of the google entries that came up pointed out that the verb kalal would have been used by Jesus when he said "It is finished" on the cross.
The original connection, according to the online lexicon, comes through the second definition of kalal which is "to crown, to put a crown upon" which is no less cool. :)
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Beautiful Bride
Writing exercise based off the song "Beautiful Bride" by Flyleaf
Strengthen your arms now
Train your fingers for battle
Urgency's here now
Train your fingers for battle
“You are dead certain? Can nothing I say change your mind?”
Kallah tightened the strap on her arm guard. She flexed her fingers and rotated her arm in a short circle. Hand tailored for her, the armour fit like a second skin.
“Kallah, please,”
She met Ezekiel’s eyes. Fear lay across his face and made him appear small, not at all like the warrior he was.
“Consider again what you are doing.” Desperation lent intensity to his quiet entreaty.
She had considered. And feared and fought and doubted. What words were left to say? “I am showing our people that there is hope.” She said as firmly as she could. She glanced up to where dawn light slipped through a tower window.
Propriety forgotten, Ezekiel took her shoulders and turned her back to face him. He shook her as if to punctuate his words, ““But there is no hope!” For a moment only his harsh breathing sounded in the hall. Then, although she had offered no reproof, he dropped his hands abruptly from her shoulders and turned away. Hot red flushed his cheeks but his voice returned to its previous volume, “Not even a fool’s hope… Kallah, you must not do this.”
“I have made my choice, Ezekiel,” She put a hand on his shoulder, “please, I would not have us part in anger.”
Ezekiel shrank back from her, shaking his head. When he spoke again, his voice shook as well, “I would not have us part at all.” He looked as though he might cry but forced a laugh instead, “I knew it was useless to try and dissuade you. Stubborn as your father.” He backed away from her. In the dim light, she could still see him swallow hard when he stopped near the doorway. “Farewell, princess.” His words fell hollow to the tiled floor and seemed to shatter there. He was gone before she could reply.
Strengthen your arms now
Train your fingers for battle
Urgency's here now
Train your fingers for battle
“You are dead certain? Can nothing I say change your mind?”
Kallah tightened the strap on her arm guard. She flexed her fingers and rotated her arm in a short circle. Hand tailored for her, the armour fit like a second skin.
“Kallah, please,”
She met Ezekiel’s eyes. Fear lay across his face and made him appear small, not at all like the warrior he was.
“Consider again what you are doing.” Desperation lent intensity to his quiet entreaty.
She had considered. And feared and fought and doubted. What words were left to say? “I am showing our people that there is hope.” She said as firmly as she could. She glanced up to where dawn light slipped through a tower window.
Propriety forgotten, Ezekiel took her shoulders and turned her back to face him. He shook her as if to punctuate his words, ““But there is no hope!” For a moment only his harsh breathing sounded in the hall. Then, although she had offered no reproof, he dropped his hands abruptly from her shoulders and turned away. Hot red flushed his cheeks but his voice returned to its previous volume, “Not even a fool’s hope… Kallah, you must not do this.”
“I have made my choice, Ezekiel,” She put a hand on his shoulder, “please, I would not have us part in anger.”
Ezekiel shrank back from her, shaking his head. When he spoke again, his voice shook as well, “I would not have us part at all.” He looked as though he might cry but forced a laugh instead, “I knew it was useless to try and dissuade you. Stubborn as your father.” He backed away from her. In the dim light, she could still see him swallow hard when he stopped near the doorway. “Farewell, princess.” His words fell hollow to the tiled floor and seemed to shatter there. He was gone before she could reply.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
January Goals Update
So far I am keeping up with blogging and practicing guitar weekly (although the guitar practicing is pretty laughable, no song yet)
Writing on the other hand, I have not done 4k biweekly. I don't think I am even close so I have decided to revise that to 5k/month. It will be difficult to measure still because I am focusing on my Ùghdair rewrite which is more editing than new writing. Anyhoo, we will see how February goes. Mostly I want to write EVERY day, even if it is just a blog or my prayer journal.
I've started on a few of the other goals but nothing to report as completed yet.
Into February, we go!
Writing on the other hand, I have not done 4k biweekly. I don't think I am even close so I have decided to revise that to 5k/month. It will be difficult to measure still because I am focusing on my Ùghdair rewrite which is more editing than new writing. Anyhoo, we will see how February goes. Mostly I want to write EVERY day, even if it is just a blog or my prayer journal.
I've started on a few of the other goals but nothing to report as completed yet.
Into February, we go!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
A Place in My Heart for You and Me
Walk over the dusty floorboards, dust motes swirl in shafts of light.
Misty rain slips through a glassless window.
A stream of clear cool water winds from the surrounding wood and encircles the foundation.
It soaks over the underlying rock and rushes through the cracked walls.
Barefoot in the sun-sparkling puddles, knees smeared with dust.
The one will wash the other away.
Misty rain slips through a glassless window.
A stream of clear cool water winds from the surrounding wood and encircles the foundation.
It soaks over the underlying rock and rushes through the cracked walls.
Barefoot in the sun-sparkling puddles, knees smeared with dust.
The one will wash the other away.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Ùghdair notes
In the second draft, I am adding letters, emails and notes to my MC between chapters. I hope they will help fill some of the plot gaps from the first draft and be an interesting lead-in to the letter at the end.
These two notes come between chapters 4 and 5 and would be in a handwritten font when printed. They would also have scrapsheet/stationary backgrounds to show they are separate.
Rae the Sunshine,
(a.k.a. best assistant stage manager ever)
Kudos for your brilliant suggestions in the Midsummer Night’s Dream meeting! The show would not go on without you. A couple months early I know, but the Tim Horton’s gift card is my thank you for all the blood, sweat and tears that the audience will never see.
-Ryan
51 days and counting til SUMMER’S HERE!
I think you, Rev and I should kidnap Ryan to Silvan Lake for a pregrad celebration on May long. When I asked him about it, he said something about needing to study and prepare for the play. Pfft! My bro the responsible one.
Anyhoo, facebook me before youth group if you need a ride.
LOVE YOU!
Kyra
BFF
These two notes come between chapters 4 and 5 and would be in a handwritten font when printed. They would also have scrapsheet/stationary backgrounds to show they are separate.
Rae the Sunshine,
(a.k.a. best assistant stage manager ever)
Kudos for your brilliant suggestions in the Midsummer Night’s Dream meeting! The show would not go on without you. A couple months early I know, but the Tim Horton’s gift card is my thank you for all the blood, sweat and tears that the audience will never see.
-Ryan
51 days and counting til SUMMER’S HERE!
I think you, Rev and I should kidnap Ryan to Silvan Lake for a pregrad celebration on May long. When I asked him about it, he said something about needing to study and prepare for the play. Pfft! My bro the responsible one.
Anyhoo, facebook me before youth group if you need a ride.
LOVE YOU!
Kyra
BFF
Monday, January 11, 2010
Esperar
Sometimes I think all of life is a lesson in waiting and I wonder again what it really means to hope.
When I say that I hope in Him, there is very little of wishing and very much of anticipating and expecting. But sometimes He seems to take a very very long time.
Abba, you know my heart. How much longer?
Psalm 127 (KJV)
The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
2 When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.
3 Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.
4 One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in his temple.
5 For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock.
6 And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto the Lord.
7 Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me, and answer me.
8 When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek.
9 Hide not thy face far from me; put not thy servant away in anger: thou hast been my help; leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.
10 When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.
11 Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies.
12 Deliver me not over unto the will of mine enemies: for false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty.
13 I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
14 Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.
When I say that I hope in Him, there is very little of wishing and very much of anticipating and expecting. But sometimes He seems to take a very very long time.
Abba, you know my heart. How much longer?
Psalm 127 (KJV)
The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
2 When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.
3 Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.
4 One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in his temple.
5 For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock.
6 And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto the Lord.
7 Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me, and answer me.
8 When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek.
9 Hide not thy face far from me; put not thy servant away in anger: thou hast been my help; leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.
10 When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.
11 Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies.
12 Deliver me not over unto the will of mine enemies: for false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty.
13 I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
14 Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
E Chord
I unearthed the family guitar today from the closet only to discover...
that the third string had been most cruelly torn!
*sorrow*
The missing third string marred the first practice session for 2010 but I did manage to tune the other strings using my Mac's GarageBand application and played an E chord. I know, impressive but you gotta start somewhere. :)
Now, I need to find the time to go get the guitar repaired. Not likely anyone else will do it.
I wonder how much it costs to replace a third string?
that the third string had been most cruelly torn!
*sorrow*
The missing third string marred the first practice session for 2010 but I did manage to tune the other strings using my Mac's GarageBand application and played an E chord. I know, impressive but you gotta start somewhere. :)
Now, I need to find the time to go get the guitar repaired. Not likely anyone else will do it.
I wonder how much it costs to replace a third string?
Friday, January 01, 2010
And now for 2010!
1. Finish Ùghdair!
EDIT: (second draft check if you overlook the missing chapters...)
2. Find a position before my temporary full time line ends
EDIT: Check!
3. Take 2 or more roadtrips
EDIT: Check!
4. Go to bellydancing lesson with Vilma
EDIT: Check!
5. Blog weekly
EDIT: not check...
6. Take a nursing or writing course
EDIT: Check!
7. Go through the new e-bds online
EDIT: Check!
8. Write 4k (or edit 5 chapters) biweekly
EDIT: Write 5k/month, write EVERY day in one form or another
9. Get contacts or laser eye surgery
EDIT: Check for contacts!
10. Go for massage therapy (especially while benefits covers it!)
EDIT: Check but only twice
11. Have an LAJ memory party with Christa and Karine
EDIT: Check
12. Write a screenplay for a musical passion play (?with assistance)
EDIT: Barely started...
13. Practise guitar at least weekly
EDIT: Not check
14. Sunrise at Cattle Point
EDIT: If I can change that to a certain mountain then check!
15. Finish Newbery Medal list of books
EDIT: Check
16. Write a letter/email re: a political issue
EDIT: Not check
17. Buy pattern scrubs
EDIT: Nope, bought plain coloured ones
18. Continue memorizing Psalm 119
EDIT: Check
19. Do a monthly writing exercise
EDIT: Check! :D
20. Watch a documentary or two
EDIT: don't think so
21. Make a home video from old clips
EDIT: Check
22. Learn to sing Jesus Loves Me in Chinese
EDIT: not check
23. Bake blackberry pie
EDIT: Did blueberry pie!
24. Washington/SLC road trip
EDIT: Check but not exactly as expected
25. Write true stories of other people
EDIT: Not check, definitely going on the new year list
26. Reconvene the MICDB and initiate new members
EDIT: Fail
27. Compete in ballroom dancing
EDIT: Not check
28. Skip rope
EDIT: Check but not much
29. Go house hunting
EDIT: Check
30. Have a tea party with mailed invitations
EDIT: not check
31. Grow something green
EDIT: not check
32. Read books on writing
EDIT: Check!
33. Pick blueberries at a U-Pick
EDIT: Nope, went up a mountain instead, which is better!
34. Help Daddy with house church
35. Join a young adult group
EDIT: Check!
36. Volunteer
EDIT: Check! Reminds me I need to send an email.
37. Find a writing conference to go to
EDIT: Nope, not yet
38. Listen more for God's silence
And we're off!
EDIT: (second draft check if you overlook the missing chapters...)
2. Find a position before my temporary full time line ends
EDIT: Check!
3. Take 2 or more roadtrips
EDIT: Check!
4. Go to bellydancing lesson with Vilma
EDIT: Check!
5. Blog weekly
EDIT: not check...
6. Take a nursing or writing course
EDIT: Check!
7. Go through the new e-bds online
EDIT: Check!
8. Write 4k (or edit 5 chapters) biweekly
EDIT: Write 5k/month, write EVERY day in one form or another
9. Get contacts or laser eye surgery
EDIT: Check for contacts!
10. Go for massage therapy (especially while benefits covers it!)
EDIT: Check but only twice
11. Have an LAJ memory party with Christa and Karine
EDIT: Check
12. Write a screenplay for a musical passion play (?with assistance)
EDIT: Barely started...
13. Practise guitar at least weekly
EDIT: Not check
14. Sunrise at Cattle Point
EDIT: If I can change that to a certain mountain then check!
15. Finish Newbery Medal list of books
EDIT: Check
16. Write a letter/email re: a political issue
EDIT: Not check
17. Buy pattern scrubs
EDIT: Nope, bought plain coloured ones
18. Continue memorizing Psalm 119
EDIT: Check
19. Do a monthly writing exercise
EDIT: Check! :D
20. Watch a documentary or two
EDIT: don't think so
21. Make a home video from old clips
EDIT: Check
22. Learn to sing Jesus Loves Me in Chinese
EDIT: not check
23. Bake blackberry pie
EDIT: Did blueberry pie!
24. Washington/SLC road trip
EDIT: Check but not exactly as expected
25. Write true stories of other people
EDIT: Not check, definitely going on the new year list
26. Reconvene the MICDB and initiate new members
EDIT: Fail
27. Compete in ballroom dancing
EDIT: Not check
28. Skip rope
EDIT: Check but not much
29. Go house hunting
EDIT: Check
30. Have a tea party with mailed invitations
EDIT: not check
31. Grow something green
EDIT: not check
32. Read books on writing
EDIT: Check!
33. Pick blueberries at a U-Pick
EDIT: Nope, went up a mountain instead, which is better!
34. Help Daddy with house church
35. Join a young adult group
EDIT: Check!
36. Volunteer
EDIT: Check! Reminds me I need to send an email.
37. Find a writing conference to go to
EDIT: Nope, not yet
38. Listen more for God's silence
And we're off!
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