Introducing My Muses

Today is a special day as I am giving recognition to Claris for the first time.  Claris is a part of me, she is the part that makes things perfect.  I don’t just make cookies, Claris drives me to change the recipes and understand why they get flat, chewy, puffy, burned, doughy, moist, dry, flakey, and the things I do to peanut butter cookies that have them stain your fingers and melt in your mouth, lacks a word, but I can do it because of Claris.

Claris helps me when I look at a project, to find the most efficient method and she’s always looking over my work looking for ways to improve.  And Claris loves projects but there is a little bit of something pleasurable when Claris finally approves, there is this little spark of godhood inside me grinning.

Infact she’s annoyed with me now because I didn’t check to spell her name.  Its Clair-ees, and she’s afraid you are reading her name as Clair-iss.  Infact you need to watch Silence of the Lambs to hear Anthony hopkins say the name, because thats how I hear her name in my mind whenever I type it.   And the thing is I don’t know if I’m the cannibal or if Claris is.

I have not treated Claris very well for how much she serves me.  I have ignored her resented her and outright hated her.  Claris and I have been at war since my college years and sadly thats a LONG time.  The thing is today I realized that the war is my fault.  Claris is a part of me or if she’s just a type of Muse she is trying to improve me, to make me perfect.  Claris loves me and she wants everyone to love me.  She believes if I am perfect that the world will love me.  She fights with me because she is so very very much in love with me she doesn’t want me to fail at anything, she doesn’t want me to be laughed at or rejected.

I already have a Muse.  The one I love is called Imogena.  I've known her since I was 4.  She’s had different names, but Imogena is the latest and the longest, and she loves me just as much as Claris but Imogena is much more fun.  Imogena’s favorite words are “what if”  and she’s been seeding stories in my head everyday since we met.  Imogena knows the language of cats, birds, babies and people strolling through malls.  She’s a people watcher.  In fact on the drive back to the house after she suggest that we name Claris, Clair-ees, I turned down a road don’t usually turn down and the block was one house long before it was cut off by an alley road.  Imogena smiled at me and said “That house is an island.  What if there is some magic in living in an island house, there must be fairies in there.”

And now my head is buzzing with ideas about a house that is an island amid the river roads.  

and then Claris chimes in.  she can’t help herself, she tells me that the names of the roads around the house should be river names, and I should look up good river names, and that because the roads are river names the house is a natural sanctuary because vampires can't cross the roads and I can’t help but smile at that.

Claris will sink in deeper if I let her and then she’ll begin to tear at my words.  My writing isn’t good enough.  It isn’t efficient, and it isn’t perfect and then I either stop writing and find something to distract myself from my imperfection or I turn on myself reminding myself how imperfect I am and why would I think I can write to begin with and I STOP WRITING.

And thats not what Claris wants.  It’s not what I want.  Claris is not the black rot inside me, she’s not the abuse and neglect of my childhood.  Claris is a muse just like Imogena, she may not be a fun one but Imogena doesn’t bake, and I make some really good cookies thanks to Claris.  

I needed to name Claris today.  I needed to fully understand what she does for me and what I do to myself so that when I begin to feel like I can’t write I can talk to Claris and remind her that she can help me improve the second draft.  I need to empower myself and love myself as much as my muses love me.  I must be lovable. I have two muses.

If I were to Write a Children's Book

Princess Poppy and the Lying Lyre who Lied

By Kathryn Miller

Once upon a time in a fairy kingdom lived a king and a queen who had many many daughters all named after flowers.  The youngest princess was named poppy.  Poppy had short red hair and as many freckles as the sky had stars.  She wore orange sundresses with green stockings and a simple yellow ribbon in her hair on the days she did not wear her princess crown.

Princess Poppy loved to skip.  She’d rather skip than walk.  Her elder sisters would say, “don’t do that inside” or “that’s not the way a princess behaves” but Poppy skipped around the palace anyway.

One day while Princess Poppy was skipping she  bumped into a table knocking over a figurine of a handsome young boy playing a Lyre that was given to her parents as a gift from one of the Fairy Queens.  

“Oh no.” said Princess Poppy looking down at the figurine.  His one arm was now broken and his instrument had fallen from his grip.  “What will I do?” She said sadly kneeling down by the figurine.  “King daddy and Queen Mummy will be ever so cross.”

The little Lyre lying on the ground began to strum itself and make sounds.  At first it made tiny music but then it made words.  The words were, “Walk away.  No one saw you do this.  I won’t tell anyone and no one will know.”

Princess Poppy frowned.  She was not bothered by the fact that the Lyre had spoken to her.  She lived in a Fairy Kingdom after all.  She wasn’t sure if she should take its advice.

“But If I just walk away then...Someone else will just find you.” She told the Lyre.

“Yes, and they won’t know what happened.  They will think the wind blew me over.  And King Daddy and Queen Mummy won’t be cross with you.”

Princess Poppy looked up and down the hallway.  There was no one around.  She could just walk away.  Thinking about it made her stomach feel achy though, like she had skipped too soon after drinking lots of milk.  

“I don’t know if I can do that.” She said looking down at the Lyre.  

“Its not like you’d be lying,” said the Lyre. “You won’t be saying anything at all.”

The Lyre made sense and though it made her uneasy  so Princess Poppy walked away.  That night at when all the Princess were present for dinner King Daddy and Queen Mummy walked over the the grand palace dinner table looking sad.  Princess Poppy felt her stomach feel funny again.

Then King Daddy placed the broken figure on the table and asked, “Does anyone have anything to say about this?”  Princess Poppy fidgeted in her chair.  The other princesses merely looked puzzled.

The little lyre began to play. First there were music and then four clear words. “Princess Poppy broke me.”

“Poppy?” King Daddy said with disappointment.

“But you said you wouldn’t tell.” Princess Poppy cried.

“I Lied.” said the Lyre.

Queen Mummy walked Princess Poppy to her room telling her she  was to eat her dinner alone and have no desert.

“But Mummy, the Lyre lied.”

“It did worse than that.  It made a liar out of you.” Queen Mummy told her gently.

“But I didn’t say anything.” Princess Poppy said sadly.  

“That can be the worst lie of all, dear Poppy.” Queen Mummy told her.  Princess Poppy nodded and vowed from that moment on to never lie nor listen to a Lying Lyre that Lies.

Myths Landing

I remember the last time I saw my mother.  She was brushing her hair and I was lying on a round couch still in my white cotton slip.  I was on my belly looking up at her, I swung my legs, kicking at nothing the way that young children do.  I was thinking how beautiful I was going to be one day when I was as big as my mother.  I was thinking that everyone said I looked just like her.  I was thinking about the way the brush moved smoothly through her chestnut brown hair, and how soft and shiny it looked.  Mother winked at me from the mirror.

“Someone should be asleep already.” she told me with gentle reproof.  She was glad I was still up.

“Why can’t I go to see the Godmother’s?” I asked her happy to watch her prepare herself.

“You will, one day.” she promised.  “And they are going to love you my dearest.”

She always called me that; Dearest.  I was her dearest.  The sky was blue, water was wet and I was her dearest.  

“Why do you have to go at night?” I asked her looking out of the tower window.  I see the moon in the sky.  We stayed in the top of the Tower then.  I could see well into the forests around the Towers of Myths Landing.  I thought I could see all the way to Briarwood on clear sunny days.  Everything was more foreboding at night.

“I don’t make the rules, but I must follow them.”  Mother said putting her jeweled brush down.  When she stood, a handmaiden patiently rose and began assembling the underskirts for the bejeweled gown that mother would be received by the godmothers in.  It took three handmaidens to fit the gown on mother properly, tying all the hidden ribbons, and securing buttons, hooks and seams.  I watched them work transfixed as they with mechanic grace transformed my beautiful mother into an even more beautiful fairy queen.  Flowers and a pearl net were weaved into her hair before a glittering Tiara was finally placed.  Before they secured the pink and gold, rose embroidered cape, she reached down and lifted me up into her arms as I suppressed a yawn.

“I can take her to the nursery” one of mother’s lady’s offered and mother laughed shaking her head no.

“This is one task I can do myself.” she said as she walked me back to my bed.

“You're more beautiful than paintings” I told my mother as she nestled me back into my now cool bed.

“I love you my little Elaine.  Never forget that.” she said kissing my forehead.  I remember that because it was not something she normally said, it was not something I’d ever forget.  The kiss didn't tingle but it didn't need fairy magic to burn its way into memory.  Sometimes love works better than magic.

Despite the growing dark, and the lateness of the hour, my mother stayed with me till I fell asleep.  That was the last time I saw her.

In the morning more handmaidens came in but I didn't know them and they ignored me as they began to back up my clothing and toys.  I asked them what was going on and I was answered by a girl standing in the doorway.  She was about twelve and her hair was black as ravens, and cut short to her neck.  She wore a black gown, but it was not a uniform like the handmaidens wore.  It was more like something mother would wear.  She reached her hand out to me.

“Come with me Elaine.  We’re going to be moving you downstairs today, won’t that be fun?”

“Where is my mother?” I asked the girl since she knew my name.  “I don’t want to move.  I want my mother.”  I was frightened and on the verge of a tantrum.  The girl with swift grace entered the room and took my hand, kneeling to be eye to eye with me.  “I’m Adele, your sister.  Your mother is with the angels now my dearest, but she wants you to come live with me.”  It was the my dearest that caught my attention and well, Adele has been blessed by all the godmother’s save Winter, that close to her I felt safe and my urge to cry subsided.  Adele even managed to pick me up.  I was not yet 3 and she was almost 13.  Her eyes were large and gentle and sad.

I didn't understand what Adele meant by mother living with the angels.  Surely she’d come back for me.  I was her dearest.  In the next few days I was moved down to the lower levels of the tower where I’d never been, and given a small room, a new nanny and many new tutors.  I had to wear black everyday because mother had died.  I sometimes fought and cried and screamed and broke things, but Mother never came.  My sister Adele almost always did and I would hit her for it and scream at her, but she would bare it and when I was calm enough she would hold me and kiss my forehead the way mother used to.

My sister Beatrice was three years younger than Adele, she was taller with golden brown hair and smaller meaner green eyes and she used to hit me back if I acted like that around her, if Adele wasn't watching.  The twins, Cynthia and Daphne were almost 6 and wanted to play with me.  Sometimes with them I could play and forget.  But every night I’d cry.

After a few weeks Daphne crawled in bed with me when I would cry.  She’d hold me and whisper things.  That's how I found out her mother was gone too.  And So was Beatrice’s and so was Adele’s.  And that's when I stopped crying for a while.

It would be a little over three more years before it would become clear, when Adele prepared us that we had a little sister named Fiona who was going to move down to our rooms with us.  I realized then that my dearest Adele was little mother to all of us, and wondered who moved Adele down here.  I was almost 6 years old and the night Fiona moved down to the princess floors I wept, but not for my mother this time.  I wept for Adele.

Sometimes I’ll read about how wonderful it is to be a fairy princess.  Our Mythlander Bards do keep the people goodly entertained with tales of our mysterious graces and delight.  It always makes me frown a bit.  The towers are amazing.  There are three levels of gardens to explore.  The South Tower is so wide that you can race ponies around the halls where they keep the princesses stables, which Beatrice and I do quite frequently.  Of course the purpose of the tower is to provide us with everything we would ever need without ever leaving the towers.  It is the most comfortable prison a princess could ask for, but that is the point.  No princess ever asks to be in a prison.

We are the treasures of Myths Landing, and need to be safely kept in the treasury.  And only worn for special occasions.  Its actually not so wonderful from this side of things when you can look out the window at all of Myths Landing but you can’t touch any of it.  I wonder if treasure sighs in the locked treasury dreaming of being worn and touched everyday.  I know I did.

The Tea Time Travesty

Aunt Kate and Aunt Delilah are arguing again.  Its a constant comfort that these otherwise wise, calm and civilized older women take opposing sides on all things that matter and yet remain so close.  I enjoy each luncheon I attend know that whatever topic crosses the table with be grappled with and carefully pulled apart with intellect and gentle retorts and sly taunts.  Not all black cats attend the luncheons and that is a shame for the rest of them.  I plan on getting old and I want to have as much class and humor and Aunts Kate and Delilah.

We meet every sunday.  Elwood’s Diner is a clustered with large families enjoying after church nourishment and allows us to gather hidden in a crowd.  Proper dress is required to sit at the table.  Being well groomed comes second nature and is essential for a black cat.   I rest back comfortably having arrived neither to early nor too late.  Amanda tails the waitress, the clumsy sound of her chair is easily absorbed by the crowds around us.  Nobody looks at her but nobody smiles.  Amanda is the youngest black cat and she is still learning the unspoken.  I like her, she has lots of energy and sharp instincts.  I feel confident in the wyld with her in my wake, but the Unspoken are as important as any charm or mystic in keeping the pride safe.

Amanda fusses with her hair nervously.  The topic of dogs have come up again.

“I don’t think we need to get involved, “ Says Aunt Delilah, “these things have a tendency to work themselves out.”

“There is no question about whether we should get involved, dear,” Aunt Kate says reaching for the sugar, “the question is who to send.  These things tend to get out of hand, and you can’t expect men to clean up their own messes.”

According to the unspoken Aunt Delilah is putting it to a vote those that sip their tea when she sips her’s will be in agreement.  Those of us who rest are hands away from our cups vote to get involved.  Amanda is now fiddling with saucer of hers.  “Can I get some coffee please?” she asks trying to get the waitress’ attention.  Her actions are unfortunately confusing things as we seem to be tie in the vote and I kick her under the table.  Her eyes bulge in surprise and her hands slip off her cup to rub her knee.  My tactic earns me a grin from Aunt Kate and a look from Aunt Delilah.  Both of which are unspoken currency.  The vote in the matter has been settled.  The cup sippers put down their cups.

“The dogs tend to be close minded and brutal so the one who goes needs to be tactful.” Aunt Kate says after consideration.

“Expendable you mean.” Aunt Delilah says with distaste.

“Oh Goodness no Dear, I wouldn't dream of asking you to go.” Aunt Kate says with a teasing grin.

“Thus lets not have you judge who among us has the most tact.?” Aunt Delilah says sweetly.

“Pepper should go.” suggests Amanda.  Clueless still to the chain of command.  She should have made her comment to one of the younger girls like herself to be over heard.  I expect her suggestion to be ignored.

“Agreed.” says Aunt Kate.

“Agreed.” Echoes Aunt Delilah.  All eyes are suddenly on me.  Both Aunts agreed on something.  Somewhere an angel just lost their wings.  I pick up my cup and drain it gracelessly.  

“excuse me ladies, apparently Amanda and I are late for an appointment.” I say standing.

“I have no appointments today.” Amanda says now but gets up as everyone glares at her.

“Of course, Pepper.  Do be careful.  You know how men can be.  I look forward to hearing about your appointment next week.” Aunt Delilah says warmly.

“Take care dear.  I know that luck will follow you.” Aunt Kate stands and gives me a kiss on the cheek.  More currency.  I grab Amanda’s arm and pull her out of the Diner.

Savath and Drake of Skald

I do not understand the Witch, my son. I know that story by heart and I do not understand the Witch. There is no power on this world in any time, in my now or your now, that I could understand giving up my child for.  But, you are reading this in your now, and so I have given you up haven't I?

The dragon of Skald is something I do understand.  I understand him very well.  Dragons were always much more than anyone could describe them, they were greatness; massive, hungry, powerful, murderous, terrifying, greatness.  And they cultivated their own lands, pastures were peopled to feed and serve the dragons, and those were the people of Skald.  But people are not cows or sheep and they will not serve well if their only bonds are terror.  The dragons knew this.  In Skald they introduced their human cattle to a concept; Savath.

Savath is a dragon word my son and should you ever hear a dragon say it you will understand it in all its depth and subtly.  I can only crudely translate the word for you as a form of the word "mine."  The way you are mine.  Infact I only came close to understanding Savath the first hours of your birth my son.  When I held you, you were Savath to me.  Its a word of love, possession, passion, it gives both the giver and reciever of the word a bond.

During the Age of Dragons each child born in Skald heard a Dragon call them Savath and it gave them peace and purpose and a sense of their place in the universe.  Savath is so strong that after the Dragon Wars when the dragons left Skald their cattle refused to leave the lands or change the lands encase their dragons came home.

The Arcanists attempted to take them through magic and force, thinking the dragon's pets would make fine servants for themselves but they didn't understand about Savath.  The people of Skald already belonged to something greater, and would not serve the Arcanists.  They caused insurections within, they fought, poisoned, set fires were killed or set free and made their way back to Skald.

Those that didn't make it were soon collected by Drake of Skald.  He unified the men of Skald into a fighting force and they raided into Canus finding and freeing their people and bringing them back home.

  Legend had it that his mother gave birth during the last days of the Dragon Wars and taking shelter by a fallen dragon he was born coated in dragons blood.  It was thick on his mothers breasts when he took his first feeding and the dragons soul and fire nourished the baby and molded the man.

Whether the legend was true or not Drake cut a dramatic figure when he stood among his people.  Drake was a giant among men, he was a head taller and half a man broader than any man of Skald and they had already been bred to be broad and tall.

He wore and armor of black dragons scales set onto sharp edged dragon leather.  The scales were set making thorned ridges down the sides of his arms.  White steel chain linked at his sides and places where he would need flexablity.  Leather pieces were stained and sewn into the pattern of two great talons that threatened to tear off his rib cage.  More steel links ran twenty rows deep over his hips.  Shiny black leather pants fit tightly into dragon scale armored boots.  Several of the scales could be ripped off the boots and thrown as knives.

Drake was a war child and his graceful stances his swift movements, warned that he was always vigilant always ready to make a potentially deadly move.

His face painted a different picture.  Years had grown him a golden beared which he kept neatly ungrabably trim.  His golden hair hung in page boy style and few hairs dared stray out of place.  His eyes hungered for something.  The color of smoke, they scanned faces and places, with a yearning.  His large human nose picked up scents no human could.  Breathing in once, the air about you told Drake where you came from that day, what you had eaten, what girl you had kissed, and if you were pleased or frightened to be in his presence.

His mouth was even more human looking, full, plump, pinkish, girlish even.  Kissable.  Do not ask how I know this my son, since Drake was of several ages before your mother's birth, but I can tell you because I am a time traveler, Drake of Skald was most kissable.

thoughts on the story so far

I've been sickish for a week and I've been wrestling with how to repost the wonderful piece I did with Skald as a 1st person narrative and flailing.  I finally figured I can't salvage the piece, I need to use it as inspiration and move on or I'm going to miss the writing groove I've got going.

So starting tonight, new stuff. built on the old stuff.

-kat

Canus in the Mysts

This is a small magic tonight.  This is time travel I’m doing.  You are asleep now as I write to you and you are reading this long after I wrote this and both are happening at the same time.  You are a child and you are a man at the same time.  I am near you and I am far gone at the same time and I am angry my son, so very very angry.  You have had a bad dream earlier and I soothed you but with all the powers there are at my disposal, I can not dream your dreams for you nor can I save you from dreams that go wrong.  That is apparently one of those lessons parents must grudgingly give in to.  I can not save you my son.  And you can not save me.

But if I can not save you, I can give you need to know to save yourself.  That will be a power that your enemies won’t expect you to have because they are not time travelers like you and I.   I’ve secretly cast a greater spell than any they can imagine while using only the magic of my wits, and the trust that I have in the allies that have placed these pages in your hand.  I do not ask you to trust these allies of mine, but I’m going to tell you why I trust them and leave you to make your own decision.

My son, I want to spend long paragraphs doting on how much I love you, it makes my eyes water thinking of you alone, but I’ve only so many pages and each word takes up space, so forgive me if these words are not the loving words a long dead mother should give her son.  

To begin with I want to tell you about the Seam.  Its where things begin and by your time where things have been forgotten.  The Seam is a real place.  Until this world’s end the Seam will always be.  Its the place on the world where the begining meets the end, the place where the world occasionally still bleeds like a woman and her moon cycles.  The Seam is vivacious with life and its forestation is dense and dangerous.  They call it the Wyldwood, or just the Wyld or just the Wood.  Different names in different places as you travel the world and all these places are the Seam.  

Do not trouble yourself with maps or geography to find it.  The Seam can not be mapped it is a place that is alive and it moves.  The Seam is veiled by a thick fog that rises out of it.  This fog has been sought after and been called the breath of the gods, the breath of the world, the womb of cloud making, but mostly it is called the Mysts. Trust nothing that claims to have bottled or contained any of it.  They Mysts are part of the Seam and it contains things but the Mysts themselves can’t be contained.  When the Mysts rise they swallow whole landscapes and change them.  Everything the Mysts touch becomes part of the Mysts and under its control, which is controlled by the Seam which is controlled by the world.  Religions have been based on this fact.  It doesn’t make it less true.

Occasionally something comes else crawls out of the Seam; a child of Mysts.  They also have many names.  Names like Doombringer, Dragonbane, and Wyldstorm. Names earned because when anything comes out of the Seam it is the beginning of great terrible changes.  The most famous Wyld One brought the age of dragons to an end.  If there is time I might write about her, but more importantly you need to know of a different Wyld One and a time when a selfish foolish woman thought to use the power of the Seam for her own purposes.

She was known as the Witch of Canus and Canus was a land of Wizardry where worth was measured by arcane power.  Wizard towers rose and fell like weeds all over Canus, some growing so tall you couldn’t stand at the top and breathe for the air was too thin, some short and fat and surrounded by layers of walls like the tower had shed previous skins.  Many were crooked and some even purposely so.  The Witch of Canus didn’t have one, but three towers, and three names, and she was long lived because she kept her rivals guessing who and where she might be next.

It is easy for me to tell you that the Witch of Canus was an evil monster but such labels allow real dangers to be dismissed.  She should be remembered and reviled not because she was an evil monster, but because she began as a simple mortal, a woman of will and arcane power.   Remember, my son, that the Witch of Canus was born, she ate food, suffered from colds and aches as any mortal.  She wore robes for status, color and because the Canus heights were cold.  She was mortal.  She became a monster.  

It occured to her one day that all her arcane power would not stop her from dying, because all things born must die.  It was said in order to discover how to avoid her death the witch sacrificed her newborn son while his cord was still attached to her that she might be both dead and alive and learn the truths that only the dead can know.  Whether or not this was true, the very legend of the act made her widely feared among all the Arcane of Canus.  

Perhaps she learned that Skald would be her undoing for soon after the nasty sacrifice rumor she became obsessed with the neighboring realm of Skald.  The king of Skald was believed to a living descendant of dragons.  For 13 years the Witch appealed to her peers among the other Arcane, that something needed to be done about the blight of Skald, but few real skirmishes happened, and Skald stayed neither threat nor threatening.  So the Witch decided she would appeal to the Seam. The trouble is that no one who went looking for the Seam ever came back from the Wyldwood.

The Wyldwood bordered Canus and Skald.  The Wyldwood ran up and around the Teats of Gya and the Dragonridge Mountians and then down on the other side and from there the Wood wandered.  From the Canus side within sight of one of her towers the witch entered the wood naked that day.  She had the symbol of the world painted on her belly.  She walked slowly in between two children.  A boy younger than the age that cracks his voice, but taller than his years carried a candle high over his head.  The boys head was shaven and painted with the sun symbol of the god Tarn.  He wore a clean white toga and was told to walk in front of the witch and to never look back.  He did so as bravely as little boys who trust their elders and have a chance to prove themselves might.  His name was Geo.

Behind the witch, her daughter walked.  I know that she was at the age of her first moon and she was still frightened about it.  I know that the witch, her mother had shaved the left side of the girls head but never the right and that she had the three in one symbol of the moon goddesses Brect painted on her forehead. She carried a candle she had helped hand dip made from three wicks and she was very proud of it.  I know she had been instructed by her mother to walk close enough to see her mother’s back.  The daughter's name is not important.

It seemed like they walked for hours but the girl knew that they could only walk as long as the candles stayed lit, so she watched the wax melt and counted footsteps to keep time.  When the Mysts swallowed the area the girl had become distracted by her foot counting that she was startled when it suddenly became hard to see and nearly burnt her mother’s back in a rush to get closer.  Her mother had also slowed the speed of her step and then eventually stopped. Geo walked farther and farther ahead until he and then his light were swallowed in the fog.

The girl clutched her candles tightly and heard her mother say “First gift given.”  Then the two of them waited as the world around them evaporated into a thick damp grey.  The girl shivered wondering how her mother could stand the cold.  She pulled the candle a little closer to herself for warmth when a child's voice cut through the Mysts but the girl was unsure from what direction.

“You have come to the Seam uninvited.” the child’s voice spoke rising in curiosity.

“The world needs no invitation.” the witch replied calmly.  Her daughter searched for the child but found nothing.  Then it seemed like the air was full of excited, angry children.

“You are not the world!” A chorus of them shouted.  The girl felt angry little hands pulling her hair  and her toga, but there was nothing there.  Her mother stood unmoved.

“Then why did the sun lead me? Why does the moon watch me so closely?” the witch challenged amused.  The children shrieked and their sounds were less childlike and more like savage animal.  Thefirst voice returned.

“We do not accept these questions.” The child simply stated. “Leave.”

“Perhaps I have a question you will like.  How about...Why are you here?” there was a jaded kind of laughter in her mothers voice, the kind those drunk with power and feeling invincible get.  The girl was frightened to hear her mother speak like that to the things in the Mysts.

“Why are you here?” The child repeated and then the chorus of children echoed the question a few times.  Then the forest grew quiet again.  From around her mothers left arm the girl watched the Mysts coalesce into a grey shadow form. The shape of her mother.  It was like the Mysts grew denser and denser around the form until details, eyes, a mouth appeared and then the mouth opened and her mothers voice came out from it, only richer, deeper.  The girls nails dug into the wax of her candle.  This was not a magic she was used to.

“Why are you here?” the mystform witch asked.

“The world is wounded and cries out to be healed.” Her mother responded holding out her arms marred with roughly healed scars.   Her words provoked the chorus of child screams and animal howls.

“You are not the world.” the mystform witch said stamping her foot and the earth trembled and the winds blew.  The Daughter kept a hold of the candle and used all the Arcane she had to keep the little flame brightly lit despite the howl of the wind or the rocking of the world.

“You have accepted my question.  There is a dragon in Skald.  So, why are you, who have been called to protect this land from the ravage untamed destructive hungers of dragons, here.  I call upon what spirit still lingers in here that remembers the ravage of dragons to answer that question.  A dragon still lives in Skald.  If I am not the world despite being led by the sun and followed by the moon, are you truly the Mysts when you have left even one dragon alive to threaten these lands and this forest?”

The wood itself came alive then.  Trees moved, reared their heads and howled. The winds became a tempest. The girl dropped to her knees, hit by rocks carried by the wind but she kept the candle lit and rested her head against her mother’s legs so that her mother would know the moon was still behind her.

“You are not the world!” The trees cried.

“But I have spoken truly about why I am here!” the witch screamed and her daughter could barely hear her.  It was a frustrated rather than fearful sound.  “If there is a dragon alive in Skald then, Why. Are. You. Here.”  She said the last four one at a time and everything suddenly stopped.  Around her the girl could hear stones and branches falling as if dropped.  Then everything was silent.  The Mysts began to retreat.

“Is it over?” the girl dared to ask.  Her mother turned cut and bruised from the Mysts' tantrum but she was pleased with herself.

“Not quite.  We seem to have lost Geo, so I’ll need you to lead us out of here.”  She said this kindly and the girl was grateful her mother wasn’t cross at her daughters display of fear.  She proudly showed her mother the still lit candle and her mother smiled, nodding and patted her back.  Then the girl turned and thinking of Geo held the candle higher with pride so that her mother could see it.  She didn’t know that while her mother patted her back she was transferring the symbol of the world from her belly to the girls tunic.  

The girl walked on trying to be brave.  When the Mysts began to thicken again she steeled herself to show her mother she could be brave.  Only she heard something.  Her mother’s voice from far behind her. It sounded odd and it took her a moment to put the words together.  “Second gift given.”  The girl turned to find her mother hadn’t moved from her spot.  “Mother!” she cried out in heartbreak as the Mysts swallowed her and the candle whole.

Lady of Skald

Lady looked across the room at Tarquin’s gift to the king.  She had changed from the Kingsday battle armor to a more formal outfit for the Feasting that followed.  Her Jerkin was night blue and cut down to her knees.  She wore it sleeveless, and its lower cut at the neck showing more skin than modest women dared, and proving her status as a free woman.  Her boots were the same battle ready ones she wore in the throne room, as was her blade but her hair was relaxed, the black metal thorns replaced with gold ones, just as sharp but also a teasing bit of color tangled in her dark hair.

The others gathered around Tarquin at a safe distance, since he was presenting the king with new property.  Lady who took a place beside the Demon in the throne room walked directly to Tarquin and examined this “woman” of his.  To her eyes it was a frightened boy in a light grey linen dress.  His white hair tangled about his head held bits of leaves, and the occasional crawling thing.  He was brown with dirt, but underneath that, newborn pink.  He stared fixedly at the floor and he rocked out of rhythm to the song he softly hummed.

Looking at him Lady suddenly thought of her younger brother, now years dead.  He had been eager, joyful, and at times gentle, and she had grieved that with all his blessings he had not been given enough strength in this world.  His memory proved far stronger than his sword hand as he was slain in his first duel.  There should have been nothing of her dashing confident, adoring brother who promised he’d win a protectorate for his sister.  Still the longer Lady looked at him the more her heart began to ache.  To end the ache she looked up at Tarquin.

Tarquin's formal dress showed off the wealth and power of the Wail Stone protectorate.   He wore a black leather jerkin made of mountain drake, naturally beveled in black diamond scales.  It was thin and light.  Highly polished silver ornamented over the sleeves and at the collar and hung a dozen rings deep under the bottom of the Jerkin. The peach tree, his family's crest was painted in bright earth tones across the jerkin's chest. Under it he wore a shirt of thick warm grey linen, puffed at the upper arms, and gathered near the wrists under more mountain drake leather, this time straps woven together into slick black shiny bracers.  

There was nothing unusual about his dark grey trousers except the belt that secured them was taken as a battle trophy from his earlier duel, the buckle was a gold dragon swooping down for the kill, it's talons gripping and locking the belt.  It was a bragging piece of jewelry made to be dueled over and Roid had lost it that morning over his false claim against Tarquin.  Steel snakeheads bit and locked the sides of Tarquin's boots, the left boot sheath to a thin dagger.   Tarquin's wounded arm was in a casual sling made from a long wide peach colored ribbon.



“Give him to me.” Lady demanded of Tarquin, and the Skald lord just looked at her and blinked as if he hadn’t heard right.  “Don’t play the fool, Tarquin, you think our king will honestly believe this is the great prize that the others challenged you to possess?”

“Give her to you?” Tarquin said to clarify.  

“As pretty as your boy is Tarquin, he is no she, and you risk the kings wrath to trade him a pretty slave boy when he expects an exotic woman.”  Lady’s tone was reasonable rather than argumentative.  “Give the boy to me.  It will save your life and I will take good care of him.”

“This is...was...my salvage, Lady.  and I’m sorry she doesn’t seem feminine enough for you, but assure she is no boy.  I found her wandering naked out of the wyldwood.” Tarquin didn’t hide his amusement very well although he wanted to trouble from Lady.  She had survived more challenged than some of the older lords of Skald.

Lady almost accused him of lying as she looked down at the boy, suffering under the gazes of more and more people who clustered into the feasting room to get a peek.  Tarquin was unsettled by Lady’s scrutiny.

“He can not think, or breathe in here.  There is too much, to many people in this room for him.” Lady said bending to one knee and reaching a hand to the boy.

“I agree, this room is making her upset, but I need to present her to the King.  I do not want to seem in defiance.”

“And that is why you will give him to me.” Lady decided, she pulled a leaf from his fine white hair and was rewarded with the boy noticing her.  His eyes the color of morning sky now drank her in but he did not smile, he stayed worried.  She nodded to the boy and stood back up to face Tarquin.  “Somethings are protecting even in defiance of the king, or why bother to call yourself a Lord of Skald”

“Well said.”  Drake could not help but grin at the surprise his sudden presence gave.  “Now, what are we in defiance over?”

Canus in the Myst

The Myst was not entered into lightly, expanding and contracting within the Wyldwood as if it was the breath of the world.  Many wandered in and never wandered out again, and nothing that entered left unchanged.  For that reason the Wizard Queen of Canus did not come alone.  She brought to candle bearers, one male and one female both lovely and unspoiled which even considering their youth was a rarity in Canus.  

The male led, carrying a tall wide yellow candle the symbol of Tarnasus the Sun God painted on the boys face and on the candle.  The girl carried three candles tied together wicks to be one, each a slender taper of a different color, white, red and blue, each taper had one of the three symbols of Breck the moon goddess upon it.  Boy and girl wore the same simple white linen tunic.  The witchqueen wore nothing as she walked between them, the symbol of the world painted on her belly.

The three of them traveled slowly into the Wyldwood, careful of their steps, moving toward a fog that got increasingly thicker.  When Tanassus light could no longer be seen by the Witch queen she stopped allowing the boy to wander on his own deeper into the Myst, the first gift was given.

The girl was instructed to remain as close as needed to watch the witchqueen’s back and now she was so close that the heat of the three as one candle could be felt.  The candle holder of Breck trembled as she both heard and felt the air around her speak.

“You have come uninvited.” the Myst said in a voice child like, to youthful to tell if it was male or female.

“The world needs no invitation.” the witchqueen said to the air, she was pleased to have gotten a result so quickly.

“You are not the world.” the myst child said from a different direction, annoyed.

“Then why did the sun lead me, and why does the moon watch me so closely.” the witchqueen countered.  The mysts were silent long enough for the witch queen to chuckle softly, surprising the candle girl.

“We do not accept your questions.” the myst child said directly in front of the Witchqueen. “Leave.”

“You do not like those questions, well how about this one,” The ageless witchqueen said reaching her arms forward in peace towards the voice. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” The Myst echoed in a chorus of children's voices from different directions.  A form that might have been the shadow of the witchqueen for its height and shape perfectly matched came forward far enough to be seen without being close enough to offer details.  “Why are you here?” the myst form asked in the witchqueen’s voice.

“The world is wounded, the world cries out to be healed.” the witchqueen said. “Her arms showed scars.

“You are not the world.” the myst form growled.

“You have said that before, but you have accepted my question, let me clarify it. There is a dragon in Skald.” the witchqueen said plainly. “so why are you, who have been called to protect this land from the ravage untamed destructive hungers of dragons, here.  I call upon what spirit still lingers in here that remembers the ravage of dragons to answer that question.  A dragon still lives in Skald.  If I am not the world despite being led by the sun and followed by the moon, are you truly the Mysts when you have left even one dragon alive to threaten these lands and this forest?”

The myst came alive with a storms energy. Thunder and lightning shook the ground and Breck’s candle went out, the winds roared, and gathered rocks and sticks into a whirlwind around the witchqueen and her candle bearer, the girl let out a gasp of fear but her queen stood keeping her arms up in peace ignoring the storm.

“You are not the world. You do not belong here.  You will leave now or will come to painfully and lengthily learn the difference between you and the world as the living heart of the deepest earth.” the mysts promised.

“World or not, I’ve nothing to fear from an oathbreaker.” the queen said lowering her hands.  The storms fury ceased.

“You are bold, arrogant and foolish.” the myst queen said walking now close enough for her features to be seen.  She was the Queens mirror left matching right. “We could easily kill you and forget you before your last breath left your body.”

“But even then you still couldn’t answer why you here here, could you?  If there is a dragon alive in Skald, why are you here?  I call on the Wyld one within you. I call on the ashes of Ember.  I call on the memory of dead wizard kings slain defending the wyldwood.  Answer them, children of the mysts, why are you here if there is a Dragon in Skald.  because that is why I am here.”

The mysts grew thicker and the girl had to rest her head against the queen to see her back.  No one addressed them but the sounds of the storms returned, lighting, and hail, the screaming of beasts of prey.  Then the mysts thinned again and standing where the shadow queen had been was a shadow Tarnasus, mirror to the boy who had been given to the mysts.

“We accept the question.  We will consider our answer,” the boy who was not the boy said then he evaporated back into the mysts.

“Then I shall continue my wandering.” the queen said pleasantly and she waved her fingers over the candles of breck re-lighting them.  “Now you shall be my guide, walk in front for me.” the queen said gently to the candle bearer who nodded solemnly. “Yes mother.” she said and began to lead away. The queen placed her one hand on her stomach and pointed at the back of the girls tunic.  The paint began to erase itself off her belly and repaint itself on the tunic.  The girl walked dutifully forward never realizing the queen was not following and the mysts followed the girl and thickened around her till she was soon gone from sight.  The second gift given.  The queen safetly made her way out of the Wyldwood

Skald cont.

The forgotten seed had found its way to the human skin bound cover of the gilded book of law perhaps having gathered moisture from the air from its trip away from the kings finger, the little seed seemed glued to the surface and no amount of leaning or bending the book would cause it to slip off.  The Blotched white demon was unwilling to shake or let go of the book, even turning it upside down seemed sacrilege, causing the demon to snarl and whine in fearful frustration.  He had backed up nearly tripping over his fine robes to the very limit of his leash swinging the book in desperation but the seed stuck fast.

The weary dragon king of Skald did not suppress the slow smile that surfaced as he watched the demon's antics.  The rest of the lords and the lady had hastily retreated leaving him alone with his demon.  Tempius' tail split in twain down its fork both appendages moving independently in quick, aggressive swishes of the air and even the gnarled wing began to unfurl in the demon's desperation.  He turned to wipe the top of the book against the leg of the throne and rigidly stopped screaming at the seed indeed as if the rich frightened sound of his more than human voice would convince the seed to move on its way.  The seed was unmoved.

Finally Tempius dropped to his knees as if in reverent prayer trembling as it held the precious book, it attempted the gentlest of breaths trying to stir the air to catch the seed and blow it off the book.

The king of skald slowly rose up the steps to his thrones dais, he walked over to the demon as Tempius whimpered in his failure.  The king feeling merciful licked his finger to stick it on the seed on the book but Tempius realizing its masters intent yanked the book away.

"Do not touch it! You can not must not touch it." Tempius cried out nearly hysterical.  His robes tore as blade like scales flipped on jagged edge of the demon's scales.  He jerked to book to itself with so much force it almost hit itself with the book.

"Tempius." Drake said gently and he reached out his large uncalloused hand to stroke the demons cheek in an attempt to calm it.  "I touch you all the time unnatural thing that you are, I think I can handle a seed."

"Talisman, traitor,spy!" Tempius shouted at the seed.  "It is worse than an unnatural thing. It is the un unnatural thing master, it is of the mists." and Tempius hissed the word mists.  Drake held his hand steady on the book and removed the seed back to his finger.

"Or perhaps its just an adventurous weed, have you considered that?" Drake asked not hiding the laughter in his voice.

"It reeks of the un unholy!"

"Talisman?" Drake inspected the seed again.  "Rather tiny don't you think?"

"Power, master.  It has come to spy, it served the Tarquin lord, came from the lords hair as he battled, worn on him, extra armor. It is un unnatural master, please vanquish it with fire."

"You fear the strangest things, Temp.  If this is a talisman it was rather weak.  Tarquin was challenged twice and no one was pulling punches."

"and yet he livesss." Tempius said as it hugged the now taint free book of law.  "mist born thing, cast its spell and you were all dear child where you should have shown the mercy of steel.  Everyone waited. They hunger for another display, they hunger for the destruction of their lessors and proof that they are each survivor of skald your favorite lord."

"I could still unshieth my sword of your so hungry for the mercy of steel?"

Tempius eyes widened and he bowed his head reverently.  Its body tensed and its tails fused back together coiling around its feet. Drake held a silence as if in in decision before laughing. "no, you have already down enough damage to your pretty robes, I need not add to it."

"You should heed my words and burn the thing master." Tempius advised gaining a small measure of his earlier control.

"From the mists you say.  Well your my talisman now, and I fear nothing natural or unnatural." Drake told the seed. Then he unlocked Tempius leash. "Return the book and redress yourself Tempius.  If the little seed disturbs you so much I can't wait to see what happens tonight when we meet the seed maker."

Skald part 2

"How unlikely." Drake thought staring at the seed.  It could have been a speck of dirt, dust, a hair cleaved and floating from one of the previous battles, strands of an ornamental feather, the air down in that hall was thick, and cold and ready carried the dead bits of the living was well as dried sweat, blood and skin, but this tiny thing, white filament treelike in shape but light and fragile enough to catch the slightest motion of the air and to carry it's precious cargo, a tiny brown skin containing the potential to find soil, make root, burrow into rock, explore a fault, drive itself into foundation, crumble all that was unnaturally made and reclaim this hall to the forest.  It was power.

It didn't belong here but here it had come reminding the dragon king of Skald that from tiny things great things were made and unmade.  Below him, his lords, his lady seemed unaware, unchanged from kingsday to kingsday.  Though they gathered in their armor, as normal, showing their strength in action or lack of action. Though they stood in usual places and barking and crooning, showing off or keeping still, the room had a strange taste that day.

Drake licked his lips still gazing at the little brown seedling resting on his finger, and with a slight roll of his shoulder the mantle and cloak to slipped down to the seat of the Dragon encrusted throne. The dais he was on towered half the height of the hall and when Drake stood his massive figure was hallowed by the soft blue lights cast from the glowing stones.  Leaping graceful to the floor he landed cat like between the young men. Most in the hall gasped in awe and excitement, as their statue-god-king sprung to life and stood among them.  Tempius pulled itself back away from its master with a hiss and Lady chuckled softly at the demon.

"Something is different." Drake said at first to the seedling and then he looked over at each of the two younger lords.  With a flick of his fingers the seedling floated away.  The challenger wore a helmet of black iron as much to hide his youth as to protect his head.  A sparse beard of some red and tan hairs coated his chin.  Tall and thin under his layers of leather and chain, an eagle clutching a serpent was pounded into the meat of the leather across his now puffed up chest.

 "This is not about respect or insult." Drake decided.

"But my king, he-" the challenger began and the rest of his words froze in his throat as the king turned his full attention on the young lord.  There was no malice on Drake's face, no look of anger or threat, he regarded his young lord more like an unusual insect that one might observe before crushing.

"Tell me I'm wrong." Drake said gently, his hand reached out and rested on the shoulder of the youth and he breathed in through his nose tasting the secrets in the air between the two men.  "You stink of Envy."  Chin upraised, battle ready and locked by the kings grip on his shoulder the young lord said nothing watching his kings expression carefully hoping to be given enough warning to defend himself.  Drake released his grip and gave what was for Drake, a gentle push that sent the young lord staggering back.  The the Skald forgot him, turning his eyes to the other lord.  The Young challenger was wise enough to continue to back away to the shelter of the onlooking lords, and though dismissed he'd be sure to regale all for a fortnight how the king touched him.

The challenged stood absolutely still as one who finds himself standing in a pit of vipers.  He kept his hands out and clear away from his blades, he was helm less and anxious sweat trickled from clomps  of dark sweat soaked hair.  There were fresh cuts in the leather over his left arm, and a missing patch at his side, where chain covered bruised flesh.  "My King." his said with a desperate reverence attempting to bow.

"You are abnormally unpopular today Tarquin." Drake said acknowledging the bow.  "To be challenged once on a kingsday brings a certain level of respectability to the winner, to be challenged twice..." Drake didn't finish his sentence.  He looked to his hand but the seed was gone.  Ice blue eyes cut through the air scanning this peculiar lord.  "To be so unliked is a dangerous thing in Skald.  These men and this woman are your brothers and sister, to be ready to come to your defense should the Canus Witch choose to make you her prey...yet today hasn't been about sharpening your skills but tearing you down Tarquin.  In front of me.  Endangering your protectorate."

"I am innocent of Roid's charges and I was innocent of Holster's My king, and my steel is ready to prove it." Tarquin said carefully.  Drake was a head taller and half a man wider than most of his lords and this close to Tarquin the younger lord seemed a child next to him.

"Innocent of the charges perhaps.  But Innocent Tarquin?"  Drake breathed in through his nose again, nostrals flared and condemned. "I think you have sinned Tarquin."

"My King!" Tarquin exclaimed horrified.  "I would not-"

"But you have, Tarquin, and they know it.  They know something I do not.  You bother my brood, they want to take you down a peg, because you have placed yourself above them somehow.  But how, Tarquin, how have you strayed from the path?"

"My king I do not know." Tarquin said in earnest, he looked around at the lords.  Tempius gazed pitieously at him the way he might a condemned man.  Lady shifted no longer bored, but anxious now, waiting for the blood to spill.

"You have aquired something Tarquin, haven't you?" Drake said looking up in the air as he began putting the pieces of the day together.  "Something worth defending, fighting for.  Twice in one day if need be, something distracting, something special."

"I.." Tarquin started to defend himself and stopped, shoulders rolled down in resignation. "I've a right to keep what I alone salvaged." The lord looked over at Tempius who tenderly clutched the book of law.

"Yes, yes, ofcourse." Tempius backed him up with an encouraging nod. "If you came across something in need of your protection, if you are strong enough to keep and hold it, the law of salvage is quite clear."

"But my dear lord, the brood around you is uncertain about your strength to hold this new property of yours." Drake opened his arms to the room.  His expression one of a father's pride over his children.

"But I have proved myself in battle today." Tarquin spoke to the other lords.  "And I am content to proove myself again to any one else who needs a lesson on the strength of the Tarquin axe."

"I am not that content.  I need that strength at Wail Stone.  I need a man I trust at the edge of the mists and Canus.  For this reason this salvage that is making you so unpopular, has now become my property." Drake told the man with care.  Tarquin's eyes flashed with anger.  "Unless you'd like to challenge me to prove my strength?"

There was a tight moment in the hall.  Many longed to see their king in a blur of motion unshieth his singing blade and paint the dragon tiles red.  Tarquin bowed in defeat much to their dissapointment.

"Forgive me my king.  My sin was not presenting her to you when I found her.  Accept this gift now."  Tarquin said while still bowed.

"Send for this precious thing and both my brood, and my mood shall be content young Tarquin." Drake said with a warm smile.  "I have had enough of kingsday.  unless there is anyone else whose challenging need is greater than your kings wish to retire, I suggest you exit the hall."