Preview Chapter: "Foresight", Chapter 9

A while back I wrote a short novelette.  It took me a very long time to write it, but I have written almost as much on this squeal in the last year as I wrote entirely for "Hole in a Field".  To show that I have been doing something with the little mystery I created I present you with a sample chapter for what will become "Foresight" (Ironic).

Chapter 9: Things not of this World

            Centipedes.

            I felt them moving across my skin the ends of each step the lightest of pinches.  Too many to count.  The room was lit by moonlight and they glistened.

            The room rolled and shimmered.  It crawled.  The collective foot falls of thousands of them made a constant *hisssss....*.  My skin would shiver if it were not paralyzed with tension to keep from upsetting those hundreds already journeying across my body.

            Then he emerged from the door.  He was cloaked so that no flesh showed, nothing showed only the voice was detectable, "You look unwell my friend."  It wasn't said in a known language, it was spoken in the words of primeval, the base code of the universe, understood by anyone, like you would understand yourself, or the things you wish to do.

            "I am covered in insects," I said.  "I was woken up, by being covered in insects."

            "I do remember such feelings well enough," the Cloak said.  "I apologize.  These things... a product of my disruptions.  I did not intend to cause you harm."

            "Can you get them off me?"

            "Not without some complications," the Cloak replied.  "Something from where I am from."

            "Okay," I said watching the door.

            The was black and had no handle and was in an arch, as if someone was going to partition my room into two smaller rooms and decided to start with the door and frame.  The Cloak pushed it a crack letting light and noise through the crack.  The light was harsh and yellow and blinding to my sleep widened pupils.  The sounds like a thousand clicking tongues and fingers strumming to hear the rattling click of keys on a keyboard.  Sound without meaning.  Just discordant noise.

            Then another shadow entered the room and started slurpily-crunching its way around the floor.  blinded by the harsh yellow I saw it more as a mishmash of parts then a complete whole, a broad back like a big flat turtle, but the limbs were shiny like a carapace, and the head looked like a worm or snake with a face that opened like a orchid with a half dozen little tongues clicking out to pull in the bugs around my floor.  Then the thing moved to my bed, I closed my eyes and felt its front limbs holding it up on the bed, and little by little the tiny pinches disappeared replaced with a hot dry breath and the occasionally wispy lick of a tongue tube on one last patrol for centipede.  Then the beast dropped off and shuffled into the yellow and clicking.

            "Better now?"

            "Why does it do that?" I asked sitting up and taking a more firm grasp of the Cloak standing gormlessly in my room.

            "Each time I move in an out the natural world gets a sort of burst and tends to construct that energy making copies of the vermin that happen to be around."

            "A clone army of centipedes," I closed my eyes, and let my mouth and tongue wag as I shook my head and rubbed and scratched at every inch of myself.  "The most unsettling thing a person can wake up to."

            "Again, I--"

            "Apologize, yes, I know.... Thank you," I said.  "This is really just part of my life.  How can I be of service?"

            "Something is happening," said the Cloak.

            "Okay," I replied.  "What?"

            "I know you cannot hear or feel it my friend, you are not as sensitive as many who work for you.  But I can hear it in the Room that Hangs in Darkness, I can hear it at the Everywhere Motel.  There is a sound more and more of your people will start to hear."

            "What does it mean?"

            "Unknown," the Cloak replied.  "I hear it like distant screams, so loud as to be garbled, so distant as to be faded.  And the universe has a lot of background noise to bother me with."

            "So you hear a noise from over a hill, but the water fall you are standing next to keeps you from hearing the message clearly."

            "That analogy would be apt, yes."

            "Well, what you are hearing, does it sound like a roaring cheer?"

            "No."

            "Cry for help?"

            "No."

            "Is it the sound of someone crying in pain?"

            "At first I thought so," said the Cloak.  "But it has changed.  Now it sounds more like... a growl.  It sounds like hunger."

            I looked at him in the darkness, my composure came back to me then.  I got up and began to get dressed, making sure to keep the light low and aimed away from my guest.  Fumbling with my silver key necklace being tangled for a second with the tie.  "Has anyone in the organization already been bitten?"

            "What?"

            "The Growling... Have any of the people I am in charge of fallen victim to this thing."

            "Some have, yes," the Cloak said.  "They have walked into the mouth that is growling and are already being chewed."

            "Anyone else?"

            "No one directly working for you," said the Cloak.

            "Odd way to word that," I replied.  "Are any of my people proximate to this right now?  Anyone who can be warned?"

            "Perhaps," said the Cloak, "Though it is being managed for now at the expense of those they are working with."

            "Names?"

Roads of Bone, Chapter 9: Apprenticing

I am doing a little experiment.  I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere.  Since I have not prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted mess.  I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will ever finish.  This is the link to CHAPTER 1.  (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up very broken sentences in previous chapters.  This is why I need an editor.  I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do too.)

Chapter 9: Apprenticing

            Pasgard sat at a table with three plates and a basket of pita in front of him.  One plate covered in tomato slices and cream cheese, the second a shrinking pile of toasted strips of sheep meat drizzled with white sauce, the third was empty and had been sponged clean by pita bread.  There was a gourd that had been hollowed out and filled with water, a cup of steaming tea, a pitcher of juice, and as Malachite approached the table he could see Pasgard signaling the waiter with his eyes to bring more of whatever had been on the empty plate.

            The restaurant itself was filled with people, shipwrights, milkmaids, pickers, planters, shearers, tanners, and a little girl hiding by the door looking over at Pasgard.  Though everyone seemed to notice Pasgard shoveling food into his mouth, at least they did until Malachite drew their eyes in his direction, and the whispering started to be about him a bit too.

            "Nice of you to order some food for me," said Malachite approaching the table, now the entire restaurant was glancing and murmuring about the two of them.  "How did you know I would find you here?"

            "I didn't, and I didn't," said Pasgard.

            "Oh," said Malachite sitting and gesturing for a pumpkin beer to the waiter who was bringing a plate of trout with the head still on (had Pasgard eaten the last one's head and bones too?)  "I managed to find us travel to the next town down the Color Line, we should find easier passage from there to Bone, then catch a free rafter from there."

            "Good," Pasgard was eating mouthfuls of meat, but stopped to reply and then took a moment to breath heavily.  "Excuse me, I am eating too fast and I need time to digest a bit.  I can feel it piled almost to the top of my throat."

            "Take your time," Malachite could see the man sweating.  "You want a beer?  It seems like the only thing you haven't ordered."

            "No," said Pasgard.  "Never got a flavor for it."

            "You mean 'never got a taste for it,'" said Malachite correcting Pasgard's words.

            "Taste for it, taste for it," repeated the wizard as he slowed his breathing and adjusted his sash with his thumbs.  "I never got a taste for it."

            "You'll forgive me," said Malachite.  "But that is akin to you telling me that you have been to the moon.  I have been drinking beer since I was twelve.  You could float a castle in the beer I have drank.  I love beer almost as much as I love women." saying this as he looked around the restaurant he got the eye of a woman who had been whispering while looking at he and Pasgard.  Malachite smiled and she looked plainly disinterested.

            "Or perhaps I like beer a bit more," Malachite continued.  "Wine then?"

            "I do not drink alcohol," said Pasgard

            "Saying that definitely would mark you as a foreigner on the Southern Fork," said Malachite.  "Everyone drinks there, most LLC's insist on a daily ration of alcohol be considered part of their pay.  Farmers and Brewers have professional rivalries and sponsor groups of lancers in jousts, hunting competitions, sword fights.  Like rich people controlling their own private armies trained under the guise of sport."

            "The Caliph sponsors that," said Pasgard.  "It is expensive, why would a drink maker do that?"

            "Mostly they just hold matches because they get to sell stuff on the day of the game: sandwiches, beer, slices of fruit, dips, and anything else.  Brewers are a part of life here, and that helps them to be.  Makes for a culture of drinking."

            "I understand, and had I been born in Orchard Town to a widow and my older brother had left to fight for Maunder, perhaps we would all drink but I was drafted and..." Pasgard gestured to Malachite to finish.

            "The state faith of the Caliphate prohibits alcohol," said Malachite.  "I am sorry, I was trying to relax you. and beer helps me do that."

            "I am sorry," said Pasgard. " I know I am clouded."

            "I think you mean 'gloomy' when you say 'clouded,'" said Malachite picking up a tomato slice and holding it till Pasgard nodded.  "Do you still follow the faith of the Oases?"

            "I have tried alcohol many times when I was in the lands beyond the desert, and it was like drinking... I don't even know, something bad.  Never got a taste for it," Pasgard started gulping juice until he drained half the pitcher and then again sat back a bit loosening his belly sash with his thumbs.  "That drink is very good, what is it?" asked the wizard noticing the bubbles in the juice and burping into his fist.

            "Sparkling fruit juice," said Malachite looking at the remaining food.  "You are going to eat all this?  This is a meal for a small family."

            "Yes, the restaurant is going to rename the dish to the "foreign wizard", though I would settle for just having the drink named after me."  Pasgard sighed.  "Malachite, am I just some crazy old man?"

            "I had assumed that you were," said Malachite.  "But that isn't all you are.  Though it is a little crazy to be going where we are going at your age."

            "Thank you for that honesty," said Pasgard dryly.  "I was disappointed with myself and wanted to fill my guts to feel a bit better."

            "Why?"

            "Because, I never got a," Pasgard paused remembering. "Taste for alcohol.  So drinking myself to good feelings is not something I can do."

            "I meant, why did you feel disappointed?"

            "I was putting on a little show at that tea house and met a little child," said Pasgard.  "She asked me how the show was done."

            "Did you tell her?"

            Pasgard looked at Malachite incredulously.  "It takes years to teach it properly.  It is not something that can just be answered over a cup of tea."

            "You probably could have just said: Magic," Said Malachite.  "And that would have satisfied her, she is just a child after all."

            "It is not about giving the easy answer," said Pasgard.  "Very few people ask 'how'.  When you find someone who does, it is like finding a good gold mine.  There is a great wealth there, but you must spend money on tools, work, time to get to that wealth.  With a child you have to teach them.  Those who are curious are too few, and make the best wizards."

            "Did you tell the parents?" said Malachite.  "They could do something in the future to help him learn."

            "The child was a girl," said Pasgard.  "But she didn't have parents it seemed, and that is not the important thing, why I am eating is because when I was younger I would just make her an apprentice.  I have had a dozen, but now I am too old."

            "A little girl?" asked Malachite.

            "Yes."

            "Like the one who has been spying on you?"

            "What?"

            "I noticed her when I came in," she is hiding over by the door," said Malachite gesturing with his eyes and smiling.  "She must be waiting for another show."

            "She should have one," said Pasgard.  "Though now that I have been followed by an unnoticed child I tried to vanish away from I feel older.  I used to be a man of shadows and fear."

            "You are the only man wearing a gold turban in the town," said Malachite.  "You are not going to be hard to find in a crowd.  Disappearing mysteriously is not going to be your strong suit in this part of the world."

            "That makes me feel a little better," said Pasgard.

            "You're welcome," said Malachite.  "Wait here a minute."

            "You keep telling me to wait," said Pasgard as Malachite got up and headed for the door.  "I don't know why you can only do things while out of my sight."

            Malachite walked to the hiding spot of the little spy.  "Excuse me young lady," he said to her as she hide behind an empty table.  He loomed over her, and her simple clothing contrasted greatly, he felt almost like a bully confronting her.

            "Hi," she said.

            "Why are you spying on my friend?" he asked, taking a knee so as to look her eye to eye.

            "I don't know," she said.  "Waiting for something amazing I guess."

            "Can I ask where your parents are?"

            "You may," she said.

            Malachite waited before realizing she was waiting for him to ask.  "Alright, where are your parents?"

            "You probably know as well as I do," she said.  "Not at all."

            He couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not.  "What is your name?"

            "Apple."

            "That is adorable," said Malachite.

            "Thank you."

            "Is there anyone who takes care of you?"

            "Me."

            "I can see why he liked you," said Malachite looking at her quizzically.  She had said it so flatly that it had to be true, but at the same time it was so sad it was almost funny.  "Come with me."

            They walked back over to Pasgard, who had emptied the plate of toasted meat.

            "This is Pasgard," said Malachite to Apple.  "Pasgard, this is Apple.  She is coming with us."

            "Is that wise?" asked the wizard.

            "She's homeless and you said yourself you wanted her as a student," said Malachite.  "Seems like a good idea in my eyes."

            "She's homeless in one of the most well fed cities in this part of the world," said Pasgard.  "We are going to a dangerous part of the world."

            "That is a fair point," said Malachite.  She probably did manage to eat well in a city that had such a surplus of food, or she could be the only one not eating.  "Let me ask her.  Apple?"

            "Yes?"

            "Do you want to leave your life of being homeless but surrounded by food to go on a secret adventure with a mysterious wizard and a flashy knight, learning magic and sword fighting along the way."

            The girl seemed to tremor with excitement for a half second and smiled.  "That maybe sounds fun."

            Malachite looked right at Pasgard.  "Adorable.  She's coming with us."

Hole in a Field, Chap 9

A little while ago I wrote a short story for the L. Ron Hubbard "Writers of the Future Contest".  I did not win, and I know why, my story is really more horror than Science Fiction or Fantasy.  But I decided that I will post each chapter here on my blog.  There are 37 very short chapters, for a total of 15,000 words, about a fifth of a modern novel.  Here is the start.

Chapter 9:

“Do you think any of these stands have food in them?”  wondered Maxwell.

“Thanks,”  Wilton had been too preoccupied to remember that he was hungry.  “Now I have the overwhelming need to look.”

Clair stood with her newly acquired mallet and concentrated on their surroundings. She had never been able to prompt visions and premonitions to come to her before, more just letting herself be open and hoping the universe let things drift into her mental awareness.  But even if she had never been able to, some of the other White Hat psychics could and she had been experimenting with the concept for a while.  Meditation, hypnosis, pot once or twice while in Europe; while she had won a few scratch off tickets it had never paid off in a crunch time before (though considering how many crunch times she had seen and the fact that she was still around, maybe she just wasn't fully aware of how good her gift was.)  Regardless of all previous experience being a failure to launch, trying to be psychic seemed one of the best possible uses for her time as Maxwell and Wilton were currently halting the group’s progress through the carnival in search of elephant ears and sugar waffles.

Clair began her inner searching, and after a few minutes of coming up with nothing, she began to physically wander, staring off into space as she took small and slow steps forward and around different booths.

“Eureka!”  Wilton exclaimed as he halted tearing through a set of cupboards in a booth he had noted as having a deep fryer.

“What’d you get?”  Maxwell bounded out of his particular search pattern and up to the serving window of Wilton’s new-found kitchen.

“The proverbial gold mine of junk food," said Wilton.  "Unlike caramel apples they are not vaguely nutritious, and unlike cotton candy they have sustaining substance.”

“Corndogs?”  Said Maxwell.

“My god, Max," said Wilton happily, for the first time since the fall into the underworld.  "You most certainly do have the deductive skills to be a White Hat.  Help me start the fryer.”

Maxwell ran around through the booth’s back entrance and began cranking knobs on the cooker. As it boiled to life he turned to face Wilton, finding the man holding a knife out to him.

“Keep this with you,” Wilton said.  “I don’t know why you need knives to make carnival food, but I think it may come in handy.”

“Cool by me.”  Max put the thing away in his pocket, hoping he wouldn't accidently cut the hell out of his hand later by accident.

At this point both of men had sort of lost track of the bigger picture, and had in the meantime gained a much smaller, more conquerable, picture in the cooking and devouring of corndogs.  Clair, conversely, had become a little too focused on the big picture, and had wandered in a psychic-seeking-the-answer-to-it-all frame of mind out of sight of the other two.  She did however wander into the sight of something else.

A shrill and spine-chilling cackle suddenly roused Clair from her not-quite-dreaming and forced her to ready her mallet at the source.

“Shall I tell your fortune, or maybe read you palm.  I’ll see your future, and it won’t take long.  Madam Zorrena is at your call.  Come with a question, anyone at all.”

Clair relaxed slightly, allowing her mallet to lower, but did not let her hostile and frustrated gaze drop from the gypsy woman’s face.  Though only a wax torso in a glass case, the attraction remained one of the strangest things Clair had happened across that day, and that list seemed to show no signs of ceasing to grow.

Clair then stepped toward the old (old almost to the point of being an anachronism) device and examined it closer.  It had two slots, one for a coin payment, and the other for the card that told the fortune.  Clair patted her sides, each pocket in turn, until realizing that her change had gone the way of the repelling gear.  She allowed her head to drop, and looked at her toes in hopeless bit of I-thought-maybe-I-had-been-led-to-this-point-by-my-gift-but-that-appears-to-not-be-so moping.  Between her toes, sitting flat on the clean hewn stone ground, was a single quarter.

Clair was starting to get a this-must-be-a-'my-gift-lead-me-here'-vibe, and picked up the quarter, allowing her mallet to fall from her grip, flat on the ground between her and the machine.  She then dropped the quarter into the slot.

Madam Zorrena’s eyes flashed, her mouth stood agape, she swayed her head from side to side raising it back as if to scream, then lowered it as if in a trance.  Lastly the head rose back to its original location, and she disappeared from view the glass of the machine had gone dark.  A click followed and a card emerged from the second slot.  Clair picked it up to read the words: 'LOOK BEHIND YOU!'