5
Dec
This story is a continuation of Into The Swamp
“Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!” Ellgis cursed long and loud as the bucket of stones was hoisted into the air. Even with his inventive pulley system, the strain still showed in his back and face. Fryca watched anxiously, slowly paying out a guide rope that kept the basket hidden from the path.
The hourglass sitting on a rock nearby had almost run dry by the time they finally got the basket into position. Pinning it there with with the release catch, they turned and fled. If the ropes broke or it didn’t catch all of the Knights of the Broken Wheel, so be it.
At their home outside the village, Ellgis stuffed books and notes into a bag. Experiments he could rebuild if he had the notes, but without his notes? He was worthless. Fryca threw food together, and some warm clothes. As they exited their house, a massive thump sounded through the swamp, followed by shouts and curses.
Maybe the trap caught the Knights, maybe not, but the two experimenters ran either way, pushing a small skiff deep into the swamp, following a twisting path they had marked out when they first came to the village. It was different now, the swamp changing as a living thing, but they had left signs amongst the old trees, and enough remained that they were able to find their way to a small mound, rising out of murky water.
On top was a simple hut, one room, nothing more, but it had enough supplies within that they could stay here for a time. The waters about the camp had proven fruitful fishing, and they had stayed here in the past. This was not the first village they had been forced to flee from, nor would it be the last. The Knights of the Broken Wheel were persistent in hunting down those accused of heresy, of bringing back the old ways that had shattered the world and brought down a plague upon the living.
No matter that it had been magic that had done that, and not knowledge, but the Knights discriminated not at all between magic and what they saw as analogous to magic, and so Ellgis and Fryca fled from village to village, staying only long enough to be spotted by some Wheelie sympathizer and forced to flee.
That had happened once again, and if any of the Knights had survived, well, the village would be put to the torch. Or more likely hacked apart with axes, for nothing burned well in the swamp.
The two experimenters waited for a week in their hidey-hole in the swamp, and only after the hourglass had turned over for the eighth day did they venture back towards the village and their trap.
3
Dec
I was there when the elves left their trees, and dug mines in the earth. I was there when the dwarves built ships, and sailed away upon the breath of the air. I was there when orcs and goblins laid down their weapons, and built bright kingdoms of crystal and glass.
It was an odd feeling, to see the world I had known and loved turned upside down. No longer was there the steady conflict of good against evil, of raving hordes against a small core of the good and the brave. Instead the world became grey, and dull, for evil became the petty theft of faceless bureaucracy, and good became thin, and lost beneath a see of more immediate concerns.
Without the definition that had once given this world beauty, without the sharp contrast that had given it shape, life began to sag, for the purpose that had given meaning to this world had gone away.
It was a strange life, and cultures began to fade, lost amidst a general melding of the species into one poorly made whole. In time, politics became the fad of the day, with goblin running against elf again troll against human, each proposing a myriad of complex offerings too convoluted for any to understand.
A general malaise spread across the land, and the peoples of this fair earth felt dull and poor, for their lives had no meaning but a daily trudge, and the earth faded to match their temper, vibrant colours lost amidst a sea of brown and black.
Then all the races of the world met in a great parliament, and they argued long and loud, for some had come to see their current state as an improvement upon those bygone days, while others longed for the heroic age of yore. Hands were raised, in a vote, and when they had been counted, the people had spoken.
And so I saw an orc kiss his elvish wife goodbye, telling her that he loved her. The next time they met, she would fire at him with bow and arrow, and he would charge her kind with axe and shield, and they would both be happy.
30
Nov
I have finished National Novel Writing Month as a winner, at 50700 words done for the month after the validation tool made me write another 700 to complete. That means I have done 86,000 words in two months, which is where Laeccan Waters sits today. I’m going to take a break from it for a little, to finish the first term of school, but I’m hoping it will be done by the end of January. Estimates for final length are around 125-145k, before edits.
In other good news, my first piece of flash fiction ever submitted for publication was accepted, and is now online at MiCrow. Go over there, take a look at all the pieces, and scroll down until you find mine.
Because I feel it’s finally time to do so, I’m going to begin editing stories and sending them off for submission (I don’t do either, up until now). Don’t fear that it will reduce the amount of content posted here, as I can still churn out plenty of material, although more of it will be flash.
And now I am off to enjoy today with a large cider and a cool apartment.
24
Nov
And I’m still here and still writing away happily. It’s been over a year since the blog was started, and in that time I’ve managed 100 posts (this is actually the 101st). The time in between has been quite a journey for me as a writer, doing multiple edits on Tarranau and Chloddio, learning the business of publishing, and writing the 3rd book (Laeccan Waters) in TFPL series for NaNo.
As for that book, it’s currently only at 41k after 35k in the first two weeks. I’ve had a serious case of burnout, and lost interest in plowing ahead with the story. I’ll finish NaNo, but once that’s done, I’m taking a break from working on the novel for a little while. I am enjoying the story, but the pace of writing has me needing a little rest. Prior to this, I’ve never tried to write a novel in a limited timeframe, and doing 85k words in two months is a little draining for me.
And now a look back at some of the highlights of the last 100 posts. I highly recommend the Breaking an Empire and Hia Breoedd storylines.
Læccan Waters – Excerpts from my current NaNo novel. With luck, another will appear tonight.
Legends of the Burning Sands – From far in the past comes the epic of one man’s rebellion, now lost to the mists of time.
Breaking an Empire – The collapse of Hymerodraeth Heula, the Empire of the Sun, told by the soldiers who try and save it.
Hia Breoedd – A tale of Annwyd Arwedda, ruler of a tundra empire, and how he rose to power.
Jenny – The serialized story of a cloned organ replacement, forced into combat because humanity ran into deadly aliens. Incomplete.
Flash Fiction – My short fiction, with many hidden gems.
Thank you to all of the writers and others who have been supportive, chatty, or interesting. It’s made writing a lot more fun.
21
Nov
NaNo has been going really slowly for me, and I’ve lost interest in working on it at the moment, hence this story, which is the first in a short series. Hopefully I can pick things up in the next couple days.
With a twang, the rope snapped. Fryca cursed. “The bloody thing broke again. We’ll need another day or two to reset.”
Ellgis patted her on the shoulder. “It’s nothing, we’ll have it sorted out soon enough.”
“Nothing? Nothing? How can you say that! We’ve got those damn Wheelies breathing down our necks, and if this doesn’t work, they’re going to capture us.”
“We have enough. This one doesn’t matter that much.”
“But it does! If we’ve trapped them on the path through the swamp, this will sweep them into the murk and bury them there.”
Ellgis looked out over the path, where dead logs and hidden trips and pressured stones covered the ground. If the device worked, it was supposed to fire branches as spears, swing dead logs across the path, and then drop mud on those in the water. He was sure the Knights of the Broken Wheel would have never seen something like this before. And they still wouldn’t have if they didn’t get the counterweight working. Three times they had tried to attach it, but each time the ropes had failed.
They’d used stronger weaves, and more of them, but each time the massive basket of stones failed. And with the scouts reporting that the Wheelies and their soldiers were little more than a day away, if this contraption didn’t work, well, the village would have to flee deeper into the swamp. And that meant losing all of the inventions they had created.
To Ellgis, the machines were more important than the villagers. People could be replaced. Years of experiments could not. Fryca felt the same way, and so the two of them were out here, late at night, trying to fix that blasted basket. If they saved the rest of the villagers as a result, well and good.
They fumbled in the dark for some time, but without enough light to see, they became more and more frustrated, until Fryca threw her lantern into the swamp and stormed off. Ellgis followed, and the two went home.
The next morning they resumed their work, but they found the basket of stones had sunk into the swamp, and they had to spend many an hour digging it out of the muck. By the time they were ready to lift it into the air again, the scouts had fled back into the village, and the Knights of the Broken Wheel were at the edge of the swamp. This would be a trying time.
15
Nov
Had a sudden burst of flash fiction inspiration. Yes, I should have been writing NaNo (I didn’t today), but I’ll cope. Hope you like it.
The earth split apart, and the seas rushed in, and where once there had stood fertile land, now no sounds could be heard but the crashing of waves against rock, and the cry of the gulls as they flew overhead. Water danced above the grave of civilization, for down in those murky depths dwelt cities and villages full of corpses, the remnants of a bygone age.
They had sought to rule, to corral the powers of this world before their thrones, and in return the world had cracked asunder, wrenched apart by their overbearing might. And as they had torn the world, so their kingdoms were rent apart by the peasants, for those of lowly stature had never enjoyed the great benefits of magic, and had been forced to bow and scrape to the will of those who possessed such power.
No more would they do so, for in a rage they had stormed the walled cities and razed the houses of the gentry, and burnt the books of magic. Over their thighs they had broken the magicians’ staves, and in so doing doomed the earth to its fate, for no longer was there a force powerful enough to turn back nature.
And so now the waters lap above the graves of mortal men, and magic is outlawed, while those few who possess it are hunted down and lynched. It is a hard land, a harsh land, for chivalry is unknown and starvation is rampant. Even now, many decades after the collapse, the population still must fight tooth and nail for their very survival.
Amidst the ruins of the old there comes the first buds of a new country, a new society, as irrigation spreads water across dry fields, and men of great ingenuity ply their trade in secret workshops. But all about does danger stalk, for those with little love for the new order seek to take what they can, and these bands of marauders have grown great and terrible in the time following the cataclysm.
And in the west, there is a new stirring of magic, a bitter magic, a cold magic, feeding its hunger for revenge, for retribution against the peasants who wounded it so. Not yet recovered, the world stands atop the precipice of a great chasm, and a single push will send it teetering over the edge. They intend to give it that push.
24
Sep
Days passed by, and I wept in sadness for their loss. Months strolled along, and I waved goodbye with my heart aching. Years disappeared into the mists, and I bawled openly. I saw friends come and go, family born and dying, the kindness of strangers, all the little acts of life. But I was not in any of these scenes. I had been redacted, removed from life by fate.
I watched from the sidelines now, seeing life as it would have been without me. I lived a movie, seeing someone else take my place, take over the actions I once made. I saw other men father my children, other men raise them, and I shuddered inside. I saw my wife beaten, and I howled in rage, but could do nothing.
Every day that I watched became an agony, and when the story of my life had swept before my eyes and I had been tortured once more, the reel would flicker, and then it would start again, another telling of my family’s life without me. Each was subtly different, and all horrible. Eventually, I began to doubt my own existence, to wonder if I had ever met my wife or had children.
I wished for the peace of death, but I long ago had been shown death was no release for me. I shuddered in memory of what had happened to my liver. But this, this was a thousand times worse. I had been let free, given the gift of a normal life, only to have it snatched away at the end and used to torture me again and again.
The movie showed another man meeting my wife for the first time. My heart broke.
23
Sep
Wind whipped Isabella’s hair as she leaned out the window. “David, come here!” David obediently looked out, then sat back down to his book. “Beautiful, dear”.
“You have all the romance of a shrew, husband. We are flying across the country on a beautiful clear day, and you’ve got your nose buried in some tripe about a long lost jungle creature.”
“Izzy, I am quick content with my lot in life. I have seen the country many a time. I have not seen this book before.”
“You are such a bore.” Isabella flounced off, heading to the bar where someone of more suitable personality would entertain her. Above, the engines of the mighty dirigible whirred and whined, a constant background hum.
Isabella was quite pleasantly drunk when she returned to their cabin. David glanced up and sighed. He’d have to tuck her in again, and make sure she didn’t do anything stupid. She was a wonderful lady, but hardly the most skilled with self-control. Rather unbecoming to her stature, but all the more endearing because of it.
David was hopeful their escape had gone unnoticed, but became more and more apprehensive as the days passed. Airships were hardly inconspicuous, and someone had to have noticed.
His premonitions were proven right the next day, as dawn broke not with the rising of the sun, but with the rattle of gunfire and the deep-throated cough of cannons. Dashing to the window, David saw small gnats buzzing in the distance, charging about the dirigible. “Blast! Isabella, we have to get you to the emergency plane!” She moaned in response, still sleeping off her exuberant consumption of alcohol.
Grabbing her by the arm, David threw Isabella over his shoulder and ran down the corridor, bumping into walls and doors as the airship slewed about, trying to defend against those pesky bi-planes that harassed her.
A soldier stepped into David’s way, banning his entry into the escape chamber. David growled, and the soldier stepped aside, suitably chastened. Handing a still sleeping Isabella into the escape plane, David waited. Here, deep in the bowls of the airship, there was nothing that could be heard except occasional vibrations.
The order to abandon ship came over the speakers soon after. Isabella, now awake, squawked with indignation at the command, but silenced when David climbed into the pilot’s seat. Behind him, two more pilots climbed into the other escape planes. Today, they would not be trying to escape, but instead draw the pursuers away.
Isabella grabbed onto David’s shoulders as the bottom dropped out from under them. The rotary engine sputtered into life, the retaining hook let go, and they were off. Above them, the airship listed badly to one side, helium chambers punctured and spilling buoyancy. There were three gnats angrily buzzing about, and they broke off from their attack on the airship to speed down upon David’s biplane.
Their attack was too predictable, and cannonfire from the dirigible downed the third in line. The second swung away at the flak burst, but the first raked his guns across the wings despite David’s best effort to dodge. The metal groaned, but held together. Isabella shouted imprecations at the aircraft, then grabbed the ring-mounted machine gun in the rear turret. She wasn’t going to let those bastards get an easy run at it the second time.
The second plane came in high and from the right, but between Isabella’s gunfire and the arrival of the other two escape planes, it was driven off before it could fire a shot. Seeing numbers evenly matched, the escape planes engaged the gnats in a dogfight, trying to force them away from David and towards the still functioning firepower of the dirigible.
One escape plane fell to the ground, struck by guns mounted on the airship. The other was soon on fire, bright flames gushing from holes in the fuel tank. Leaving it to its death, the two gnats swung back around, chasing down the fleeing biplane. David turned the plane at an angle to their pursuit, giving Isabella angle to fire around the rudder.
The pursuit split, one coming high, the other low. Machineguns crackled, and Isabella launched an answering stream of tracer. The bursts fell wide, and the two pursuers swung around for another pass.
The lower of the two planes disappeared into a cloud, and failed to come out again. Perhaps luck was on their side. The higher stooped like a hawk, coming down at a steep angle to avoid incoming fire. The tactic worked, for Isabella’s turret could not aim high enough to shoot the fighter, and his fire came down unimpeded onto the biplane, tearing off a corner of the upper wing. Isabella swung the turret and waited, and as the gnat flew past, she unleashed a close range burst into the top of the plane. It burst into flames and spiralled down, the dive ending with a heavy crash into the ground.
Lifting her hand to his lips, David gallantly kissed his wife, then settled into the task of escaping from this damn country. The deposed queen and her husband flew north, hoping some day to come home once more.
11
Sep
The ideas that occur while showering…
I raged against the dying of the light, but it was an empty rage, a hollow rage. All but the last glimmers of the sun had gone, and the death that is twilight stole over the land. I knew this time had to come, and I accepted it, for I had been a party to the slaying, to the degradation. My hand was one of those that had held the sickle, and through action and inaction I had let it drop. Thus had I helped slay the light.
Now came the dark times, the end times, as the world built a bitter cold shell about itself, hoping to protect what little remained of the glorious times when light had gleamed fully across the land. Perhaps it would work, perhaps not. I only knew that I would not be here to see the ending. Those of us who had slain the light had looked at one another and parted in sorrow and sadness, one last night of hedonism before a shadow stole across us. That next morning, we said tearful goodbyes and walked away, never to see or hear from one another again.
We each travelled long and far, heading to distant peaks and observatories where we could see what we had done, where we could see the dying of the light. For my part, I choose mountains near my home, where I could see what I had done, and impale myself on the spear of shame.
I was the last of the slayers, the last to keep a tenuous grip on life. One by one, I had felt the others slay themselves as they had the sun, dying in the hopes that it would resurrect the great beauty of the skies. I alone remained, and a bitter anger fuelled me. I would not die until I had seen what I had wrought, until I was the last creature to walk the living planet. I would force myself to see each moment, to live each day in pain, to face the anguish as I woke and saw no sun. I would not take the easy road, the sure road, the quick road. No, I would stay, stay until there was nothing left but me.
And so here I stand, my eyes turned west, watching the setting of the sun for the last time. The sky to the east is the black of night, and no stars twinkle in the heavens above. Below me, the village of my home cries out in fear, for rumour and knowledge has reached them, and they turn to the old ways, the evil ways. Tonight, my daughter will be sacrificed, a foolish demand that the sun return. Tomorrow, it will be another man’s daughter, and so on until there are no more left. Then it will be the turn of the boys. This village will not last.
I go to my cave now, for I have seen the dying of the light. I have seen the sun sink below the horizon for the last time. Now I will wait, and I will watch for the end of all things.
9
Sep
Life was a strange beast here, for it ebbed and flowed with the tides of the moon. In the morning, all creatures would die, and in the afternoon, find themselves revived as they once were. Even those that had been consumed as prey woke up once more in their homes.
The moon was a cruel mistress, for it did not remove the memories of their deaths. Every day, another death would be added to a long litany of memory, and so creatures became warped and twisted things, their memories consumed by pain. Some sought suicide as a way out, thinking that if they killed themselves, they would be well and truly dead. Alas, that was not to be, and so they grew despondent, dying but never dead.
Evolution was a slow and stunted thing on a world where every creature died at six hour intervals, but progress was made, and eventually the creatures decided that they must crack the moon, must sweep their cruel mistress from the sky. Many years passed in frustration and failure, as despair overwhelmed the creatures and anguish caused them to destroy their own experiments. But all things come with the passing of time, and a weapon was created that could crack the great devil in the sky.
It was used, and low and behold the demon of the skies split apart in a great explosion. The moon swept across her children one last time, and cursed them with ash and fire and destruction that lasted for many aeons, and when it was done, the creatures rejoiced and danced and sung. A great celebration was held, and all manner of joyous speeches were proclaimed.
That evening, as the sun swept out of the sky, all creatures died, to wake with the rising of the fiery globe.