Bound to the Flame, Chapter V, Part II

Tags

bound to the flame, camp nanowrimo, camp nanowrimo july 2014, college, confusing nonsense, insanity, john flanagan, life, nanowrimo, national novel writing month, philosophy, rambling musings, ranger's apprentice, secret life, small rants, stories in progress, story dynamics

It’s been awhile–sorry about that. I had college applications, Iris moving, and Nanowrimo to worry about. (I’m behind on my novel, but this will take only a few minutes so I AM NOT WORRYING ABOUT IT. Studiously. :-P)

In other news, I read the first book of the Ranger’s Apprentice series by John Flanagan, The Ruins of Gorlan, and I LOVED it. The humor in the book was very unexpected, and the main character respects his mentor… I can’t think of anything morally objectionable in the book. (On the downside, there was one extraneous plot point that was not as well incorporated as it might be, but I’ll leave that until I can do a proper book review.) I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the chapter! 🙂

Warnings: Lots and lots of philosophy, maybe a little theory. Nothing too strenuous, unless you don’t like exercising your brain. ;-P

Bound to the Flame

Chapter V

Part II

Rowan fell silent again. Margery bit her lip. “Some of my father’s men were defending our coasts against Sea Raiders last winter, and two of them failed to report back in, and were presumed lost. They finally turned up in the springtime. One of them had lost a leg and two fingers. The other one had stayed with him all winter, helping him to survive and nursing him back to health. But when they came back, both of them had changed. The injured man was morose; the other was tired and worn-down. It took the combined efforts of all the men-at-arms as well as my father and brothers to get them back on their proverbial feet. Neither of them was ever quite the same, though.” Margery paused, looking sidelong at Rowan, unsure of how to continue. Without looking at her, Rowan slowly guided Obsidian onwards.

“And you’re trying to figure out if there’s some subtle way of helping me.” Rowan said. “You pity me.” He paused for a moment, biting his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid that, as far as this goes, this is the best way that you can help.” He sighed. “Activity helps, even if I’m exhausted and sore for hours afterwards.” There was a long time in which they simply rode in silence.

“It’s so quiet here,” Margery said, after a while. Rowan looked up.

“It is,” he said, without offering any explanation. Margery tilted her head on one side.

“Are they setting a trap for us, do you think?”

“Unlikely. I don’t feel any warning that might indicate on. If the silence troubles you, though, what about a walking song? Our enemies are nowhere nearby, I think, and there is no one to hear us.”

“All right…” Margery said. “You sing.” Rowan chuckled.

“Very well.”

“O’er the hills and far away

Out from a rising sun

From my door I heard Mother say,

‘I pray that soon back you’ll come.’

Among the woodlands dark and gray

While leaves all fall around

And squirrels among campfire ashes play

There comes the marching sound.

“O’er the plains so wide and far

O’er the moors so dreary

While at night a shooting star

Falls at our feet weary.

By the cliffsides steep and high

Marching to a song

When the morning dawn draws nigh

Again we pass along.

“O’er the mountains at break of day

When we rise to travel on,

In the dawning cold and gray,

We march over that browning lawn.

In the rain and in the spray

Flying from a stormy sea

Marching far, far away

We’ll come flying homeward free.

“O’er the hills and far away

Into a setting sun

Until the darkness ends the day

And stars now out have come.

O’er the fells and low green tors

Turning fast to gray,

Far from home and hearth and door

We march, far, far, away.”

                Rowan had a good voice, clear and strong, but at the same time soft and melodious; it was almost subdued, but it made the glades reverberate with sound, the earth beneath them trembling in unison with the melody. For a long while after the song had concluded, they rode along in affable silence. At last, contrary to all Margery’s expectations, Rowan broke it.

“Margery, if we are to be able to continue to evade our enemy, there is something that I must do.”

“Then do it,” Margery said, shrugging, not quite comprehending.

“No…” Rowan said. “What I meant is, I would like to—I should ask your permission first.”

“Why?” Margery asked.

“Well, if we are to remain undetected… I need to mute your presence and ground the loose magic that has gathered around you.” Margery gave him a blank gaze. “You can be sensed by magic,” Rowan explained. “But it’s harder for whoever might sense you to do if there isn’t loose magic pooled around you.”

“I don’t understand,” Margery said.

“Well,” Rowan began, apparently trying to think out the best way to explain it, “loose magic—magic that has been already drawn from the warp—”

“Start at the beginning, please,” Margery said. “You’ve explained elemental magic, but not this branch of theory.” Rowan inclined his head.

“Very well. This has to do more with the origins of magic than with the theory of magic,” he said. “Most magic remains hidden, like the warp threads under the weft of a tapestry, holding together the tapestry of life on this world. You can think of the visible world as the weft threads—magic holds them together, just like warp. Magic can be drawn up out of the warp in order to be used. But magic can not be used up, like material goods can. It simply returns to its energy phase. It tries to get back into the warp, but it takes effort or time—even both in some cases—to return. Naturally, it always seeks the path of least resistance—and living things, especially people with an innate magical talent, are like bridges straight to the warp. Thus, ‘loose’ magic tends to gather around magic users, and other living things. The easier a Wielder can connect with the warp, the more magic will tend to pool around them. Most naturally-gifted wizards have the ability to sense large ‘drifts’ of loose magic, which means that they could potentially sense all living things around them. So, if we want to go unnoticed, the wisest course would be to ‘dim’ our presence by returning the loose magic that has gathered around us to the warp.”

Margery shrugged. “Well, go ahead. You didn’t have to ask permission for that. I’m not a magic user, anyway.”

“I don’t like the idea of doing it without asking,” Rowan said. “Just… be warned. This may make you feel vulnerable, tired, weak, perhaps even ill. Everyone can sense magic on some level or other; potentially anyone could become a Wielder, but it would take time and energy. You have a slight magical ability, and that could exacerbate the effect.” Margery shrugged again.

“Well, forewarned is forearmed, I guess. Go ahead.”

Margery had expected to feel any of the sensations Rowan had described—or perhaps she hadn’t known what to expect—but she certainly had not expected the strange draining sensation that flowed through her and left her limbs feeling heavy and her head slightly dizzy. She focused on relaxing and not fighting the dizzy feeling, taking deep breaths. As the off-balanced sensation passed, Margery gave a sigh of relief.

“You responded well,” Rowan said encouragingly. He seemed dimmed, muted, diminished somehow—though it was not in his physical appearance. As far as looks went, he was just a fraction paler than before; that was all. “I may have to repeat this, periodically. Loose magic tends to build up, over time. It makes spell-casting easier. I only grounded enough so that we can blend in with nature.”

“This is more complex than I ever imagined,” Margery murmured. Rowan offered her a sympathetic look.

“Most things are that way,” he remarked. “They seem simple on the surface, but look deeper and they’re inescapably complex, yet beautifully simple at the same time.”

“Can you teach me?” Margery asked, suddenly, impulsively.

“I don’t think so,” Rowan replied pensively. “You’re more intuitive; you use magic instinctively, if at all. I don’t think I could teach you to use it in the way I do, and certainly not in this short a time. Not with any degree of safety. It takes a lifetime to learn properly. Magic is not a plaything; it’s a tool, and like all tools it can be dangerous if abused, or misused. It should not be used by the unskilled. Ever.” Margery bowed her head, chastened. “However,” Rowan continued, I can teach you more about it and help you to understand the gift.” Margery looked at him, grateful.

“Please,” she said softly. Rowan gazed on ahead, thoughtful.

“If you wanted to become a Wielder and were really, honestly serious about it, you could become a scholar, focusing on knowledge, discovery, and research. You would need to find a partner who specialized in focused or applied Wielding, to work with, of course, but wisdom and those who seek it are sorely needed.” Margery smiled. Rowan turned toward her, an unrecognized expression twinkling in tawny hazel eyes. “Besides, there’s another reason why I can’t teach you more than just theory.”

“What would that be?” Margery asked, ducking under a tree branch as she rode.

“Whatever would your parents say?” Rowan asked. Margery suddenly realized what the sly twinkle in the young man’s eyes was—mischief. She moved to swat him, but Rowan moved much more quickly. She missed him completely as he swiftly ducked. “There are some things you should know beforehand,” Rowan said, turning serious. “There are certain laws which should be followed, when it comes to magic. These are not merely the laws of Ertraia, but the laws of righteous Wielders everywhere. Some laws are punishable by imprisonment; others by banishment, or instant death. To seek refuge in Ertraia is to put yourself under Ertraia’s justice. First of all, magic should never be used to take a life by any means, except in the defense of life. There are certain prayers and meditations that should be undertaken subsequent to the taking of a life in self-defense. Attempting to summon spirits is most certainly forbidden. If one of the saints speaks to you in a dream or vision, that’s a different thing entirely; but you must be cautious and examine the message of such a dream, analyzing it to decide if it truly comes from God or His saints. There is almost nothing in the world that is more dangerous than a magician under the influence of a demon; you must guard yourself carefully against the mental interference of such evil forces. Magic can not defend against evil spirits; only reverent prayer can do that. Using magic to compel someone against their free will is also forbidden. Magic should never be used for personal gain. Changing the appearance—the accidents, or circumstances—of some object is possible, but only our Lord—” he bowed his head, respectfully—“can change their substance or essence. To attempt to do so would be blasphemy. It is not permissible to attempt to create life, though imitating it is allowed, under certain dire circumstances. Only God can create life, give it and take it. Saving lives, however, is most certainly permissible and praiseworthy. Creating a bond with someone and then throwing them aside without a thought is unthinkable; bonds should not be created in the first place, unless it is absolutely necessary. Bonding with an animal and then forcing it off on its own is punishable by a fine. Courting dreams and visions is not necessarily culpable, but it is generally considered to be a stupid thing to do, as it can leave you open to suggestion by outside forces that might not be benign. Some forms of knowledge are better left alone; we do not believe that the enemy is best fought with his own weapons. That makes us worse than him, because we actually know better, and yet we still allow ourselves to be provoked. Not his own, no, but with equal and opposite ones.”

Margery looked solemnly at Rowan. “So, the gift comes with responsibilities.”

“As all true gifts do,” Rowan nodded solemnly. “All true gifts are given to us so that we may serve others. We are nothing on our own. It is folly to take our gifts for granted, though this is more a matter for personal guidance, rather than for the law. We walk similar lines in magic that we do in our everyday lives. We fall in similar ways; we make similar errors. The punishments are more severe because a rogue magician can cause more harm than an average man in the same plight. The only man who might cause more damage would be one in a position of power or influence. The more we are entrusted with, the higher the expectations. We must be on our guard at all times so that our power does not corrupt us, and take safeguards against greed.” Margery nodded, seriously.

“So, are all the stories about magic true? Not the ones that say all magicians are evil, of course, but the stories about what magic can do.”

“Some of them, but probably not all,” Rowan said. “Even magic has its rules and its limitations. And there are things that should not be attempted, not merely because they can cause physical harm, but because they are morally destructive to the Wielder as well.”

“What about the stories where someone is healed of a wound that should have been fatal?” Margery asked.

“Those are more likely to be true,” Rowan replied, looking down. Margery could not help it; her eyes were drawn to the ugly old scar on one cheek. How had that come about, if…? “Ertraia’s healers are the best in Scotland,” Rowan carried on, “perhaps the best in the world. Normal wounds are easy enough to heal. Magical wounds—those dealt by direct magical means—are more difficult. Some of our healers have traveled abroad to heal the wounds dealt in war and to aid the sick, but due to the persecution of magic users and other knowledge that seems to them of magic, they have had to keep their true abilities secret, and they have grown rarer. Some of our healers have gone out and never returned, and no word came back to us of their fate. We can only hope that they yet live, and are safe and well.”

“What’s the difference—I mean, how do you tell which magic is dark and which is light?”

“No. Don’t say ‘dark’ or ‘light,’” Rowan said. “Perhaps they are, as you use them, mere metaphors, but they are not quite perfect. To use ‘light’ to imply ‘good’ and ‘dark’ to imply ‘evil’ is not quite accurate. We must remember that they are mere metaphors and not innately good or evil of themselves. Darkness predates sin; it is not evil of itself. Even the light, in this broken world of ours, is flawed. Only the Light of Christ shines perfect. Furthermore, some people use ‘light’ to equate truth, and ‘dark’ for ignorance. But this is flawed as well; truth alone, on its own, without the light of grace and divine revelation, can point people in the wrong direction. A few scattered truths do not add up to a full picture. Truth can be colored by perspective, and twisted to the selfish ends of men. Reason unguided by faith can lead down a dark path indeed. Light illuminates, but it does not always guide.” Rowan fell silent; Margery sat, overawed, perfectly still in her saddle. Rowan cocked his head to one side. “What was the question again?”

Margery couldn’t help but laugh. With his philosophical dissertation, he had obviously forgotten entirely about the question that had prompted it. “I asked how I could tell the good from the bad. Or, maybe, a right use of magic from a wrong one?”

“Much the same way as you can tell a good action from a bad one on a purely ordinary level,” Rowan said. “If either the end or the action is not morally permissible on a completely material, natural, and spiritual standpoint, you can be sure it’s wrong no matter the means, ordinary or magical. Natural law. Conscience. Both apply in any situation.”

“By natural law, you mean the moral guidelines ingrained into us, almost instinct?” Margery clarified.

“Exactly.”

They continued to travel, Margery struggling to remember as much philosophy as she could, until nightfall.

Liebster Award: Once again…

Tags

a wind in the door, award, camp nanowrimo july 2014, insanity, j.r.r. tolkien, life, long rants, madeleine l'engle, nanowrimo, national novel writing month, secret life, small rants, star wars

Once again, I have been nominated for a Liebster award, this time by Proverbs31teen, over at The World of the Writer. (See, I finally did it! For the fourth time in the history of this blog, actually!) You can read about the previous Liebster nominations here and here.

And now, to answer the questions…

1. Why did you start your blog? Has your reason changed since then? I started this blog mainly for the sake of sharing my writing and connecting with other writers. I occasionally use this blog to vent, but yes, this is primarily a writing blog still.
2. How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a would chuck could chuck wood? (No fair Googling!!! There’s a real answer, though.) The same amount of woodchucks Chuck Norris would chuck, if Chuck Norris was chucking woodchucks. (My brother told me this years ago.) 😛 But really, though, as much wood a woodchuck cared to chuck, I suppose. 😛
3. If you could travel to any fictional world, which one would you go to? Probably to either Middle-Earth or Narnia. I wouldn’t want to land in the middle of the Empire era, were I to go to the galaxy far, far away. I love democracy far too much. 😛
4. If you could meet with any person (real, past or present) for coffee, who would you meet with? Ooooh… Does it have to be just one!? I definitely would want to meet Washington, Lincoln and Jefferson. Perhaps Napoleon Bonaparte, I don’t know. And now we get to the lesser known historical figures. I would like to meet Gabriel Garcia Moreno (president of Ecuador from 1859-1865 and 1861-1875), because the man was a genius (he actually balanced a horrible budget and helped to move Ecuador from dictatorship to democracy, among other things!), Jacques Cathelineau (you guys all know about my obsession with the Vendee rebellion by now, probably,) because he was an amazing leader, and Jose Luis Escriva. (If you don’t know about Jose Luis, then you need to go look him up, RIGHT NOW!!!)
5. If you could meet with any fictional character, who would you want to meet? Martin the Warrior and the Murry family (from A Wrinkle in Time and its sequels.)
6. Which country do you (or would you) most want to visit? It’s a tie between the UK, New Zealand, Mexico, and Russia. (Though, if I had to choose, I probably wouldn’t go to Russia.)
7. Mountains, desert, or beach? Mountains. That was easy. 😛
8. What’s your favorite genre to read? To write in? To read, I love family dramas, mystery, adventure, suspense, historical fiction, fantasy, science fiction, speculative fiction, and dystopian best. I don’t care much for romance, especially romance with no side plots. To write, I have mostly written sci-fi and fantasy so far, with dystopian flavor and the occasional magic. I’m testing out suspense, though, with a little mystery on the side.
9. What’s your all-time favorite movie? Oh, War of the Vendee, hands down. With Courageous and Fireproof a close second and third.
10. What is your favorite movie quote? Book quote? Movies: “‘You brought the girls?’ ‘Yes! Er, was that wrong?'” (Gru and Nefario, Despicable Me), “So this is how liberty dies–with thunderous applause.” (Padme Amidala, Revenge of the Sith. Have not seen the movie, but still love the quote.) Books: “So do all who live to see such times, Frodo Baggins, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that has been given us.” (Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings.)
11. Which name would you rather have: (for girls) Gertrude or Beatrice, and (for guys) Ernest or Humphrey? Beatrice. Call it a result of 1. too much Hogan’s Heroes, and 2. enjoying the works of Beatrice Potter.

Now, for the eleven facts…

1. I dislike paperwork. Strongly.
2. I dislike being coerced into certain aspects of Raya-care (such as bathroom breaks and showers) nearly as much.
3. I love being outdoors.
4. I want to go camping this summer.
5. I have no idea who to nominate.
6. I secretly time travel with unicorns.
7. I can’t think of a fact number seven.
8. Where did I put my notebook, again? I can be very forgetful.
9. I normally procrastinate horribly when tagged or nominated for awards. (Sorry, people. Anyway, forewarned is forearmed!)
10. The last statement was a pun. (If a droid told Grievous, “Kenobi is coming,” Grevious would split his two arms apart each into two halves, because forewarned is four-armed. X-P)
11. I love puns. (Sometimes even horrible ones like that.)

Well, that’s all for this Award acceptance. Seeing as it’s the middle of Camp Nanowrimo, and I’m behind in my novel, I can’t take the time to nominate anyone (besides, I don’t know who I’d nominate… I can’t think of anyone whom I haven’t already nominated) or come up with any questions, except for one:

What does the fox say?!

Bwahahahaaha!

Answer in the comments or on your own blogs, I don’t care. But just make sure to link me back to your answers if they’re blogged. ;-P The song is obnoxious, but the question messes with people’s heads. >:-D

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Thoughts from a fortune cookie

Tags

david foster wallace, insanity, mindless selfishness, rambling musings, small rants, very short posts

This past Saturday evening, not unlike many other Saturdays, my family had Chinese for dinner.

And, as everyone knows, once you’ve had Chinese takeout, then you have to have a fortune cookie.

When I opened up my fortune cookie, I found myself looking at (besides the Chinese learning thing; does anybody else think that’s stupid and buy a Chinese grammar book instead?) this thing:

You will have many friends when you need them.

And I just thought, heck! What good is that if I’m not there for them when they need me?!

So, I’m going to try to be there. I know I’m not perfect, but I will do my best.

Anybody else hate unintentionally self-centered thinking like this? Please, let’s commiserate in the comments! 🙂

Of Peter Pan and College Admissions

Tags

catholic culture, college, controversy, counter-culture, education, homeschool culture, insanity, job searching, life, living life unexpectedly, long rants, peter pan, work

Now, I know some of my friends must be concerned. After all, Erin left the age of minority behind a few months ago, she will be attending college (again) this fall (after having attended under the early-entry clause at the age of 17) and working for a while… yes, this is a lot of stuff going on.

But the answer is no, I don’t have any intention of “growing up” any time soon. After all, didn’t Our Lord say that we should aspire to be childlike (in a good way)? And then there are all the Disney movies which praise immaturity, she says sarcastically.

On the other hand, though, I feel that in many cases, and in some ways, I was actually more mature than the people I met at college, even though I was far more naive than any of them. Perhaps it was because I was actually better prepared for college than they were? I don’t know.

That leads into my next point. I think that homeschooling has taught me more effective ways of thinking. My high IQ is not the result of native intelligence, perhaps, but the result of knowing how to exercise that intelligence. Also, I’ve been in a more mature role, one that has pushed me into more responsibility and forced me to be more proactive. In a sense, I never had the childhood that other children do. Rather than just “being a kid”, I’ve been preparing to be a successful adult all my life.

And yet, I had the childhood that “other children” never had. I was sheltered, but nurtured. I suppose that if I had a point of comparison, I would call the homeschool experience superlative. And best of all, it has given me a grip on both the best of childhood and the better part of adulthood, so that I will never forget what it’s like to be young. It has given me a means to be immature in a very mature way, so to speak. This is the essence, I think, of Peter Pan. Except that he isn’t under the same pressure as the otherwise-normal children around the world who are pressured by the Zeitgeist into wearing a sophisticated, dirty mask. Here and now, in the ultimate anonymity of this blog, I’m taking off my mask. You may not see my face, but you know who I am.

After all, worldview and attitude give more to identity than does all the sass in the world.

So, here’s to Peter Pan and his Masquerade, the Masquerade of which I am a proud member. Here’s to the beautiful counter-cultural experience of homeschooling. Here’s to being a rebel for a reactionary cause.

Hooray for Peter Pan! And hooray for shocking people in admissions.

Bound to the Flame, Chapter V, Part I

Tags

bound to the flame, insanity, procrastination, stories in progress

I told you it wouldn’t take so long this time! And look, just for you: a longer chapter clip! 🙂 Enjoy!

Bound to the Flame

Chapter V

Part I

                The silence was ominous, thunderous. Rowan rode ahead of her, eyes straight forward, dark and brooding. The air seemed oppressive, heavy.

“Rowan?” Margery asked, after a long silence, in a small voice. “Are you angry at me for being determined to come with you?” Instantly, she saw the boy’s lean back straighten, as if he had suddenly become aware of her presence.

“No,” he said. “No, I’m not angry. Anger would be entirely unproductive. I was irritated that you wished to come, though there was no good reason for you to do so, except for the bonds of friendship, and so many reasons why you should not come along. If you—if both of us—are not cautious, we could cause what is generally euphemistically termed a ‘diplomatic incident.’ Still…” Rowan paused. “I am grateful for your aid, and company.” He smiled, somewhat cautious, a little shy, at her, sealing the pact. Margery smiled in return, relieved.

“But my going with you should be taken as a sign of our goodwill toward your kingdom,” she said, pursuing the conversation.

“It all depends on how our parents take it,” Rowan replied. “They might see it that way—they might see it as an impropriety.” Margery was silent. It was clear that Rowan was in the habit of thinking things through far more thoroughly than she was in the habit of doing. Rowan continued pensively, though not to Margery; he was thinking out loud, she realized. “Julian was taken, not me. That makes precious little sense. Why? My position was unpredictable and they could not find me anywhere? Troubling. The intimate familiarity with our plans and schedule that this theory suggests hints at a traitor. Why even be in the Ertraian camp at all? Were they trying to start a war with us? Was it meant to provoke… or was it… was it a threat? More frightening still, was it a warning? Or is it merely a ploy, to distract us from the real threat?”

“If it’s the last one,” Margery ventured, “then we may have made a mistake, rushing off like this.”

“My mother will not view it that way,” Rowan asserted. “Julian is her son by bond if not by blood, and besides, we never leave our own unaided in Ertraia. We take care of our own clans.” Margery nodded.

“That’s what my mother always says, too,” she said. “I guess we have more in common than some people would like us to believe. But… you know… it always made me feel a little strange. What about people who you don’t know—who you’ve never even met in your life before—who are your kin as well? What if you had to choose between a family member you didn’t know, and a friend who you’d known your whole life but wasn’t of the same blood? What then?” Rowan shook his head, slowly.

“I don’t know,” he said gravely. “The heart is a fickle servant. It can lead you truly, or it can lead you astray. You would have to weigh both options carefully and then choose—not that it would make the choice any the easier.” He sighed. “I feel a little strange, too, when I meet someone whom I’m apparently related to but have never seen in my life before. It’s a queer, hollow sort of feeling. For much of my life, I’ve been kept in seclusion, to keep me safe. I don’t know how many people outside the ones I knew in the castle. Even the castle itself was very remote… I grew up in a stronghold in the mountains, far from the palace in the capital city of the nation.” Rowan took a deep breath, fidgeting with the collar of his cloak. “In fact, other than someone who visited when I was still very young, I think you’re the first person I’ve known who was close to my own age.” Suddenly falling silent, Rowan stilled.

“What is it?” Margery asked.

“I’m not sure.” Rowan replied quietly. He lifted his staff from where it had been lying across his knees and slid it into one of the saddlebags. He stood up slightly in the stirrups, looking carefully about him at the clearing they stood in. The black horse moved uncertainly. “Quiet, Obsidian. Steady,” Rowan murmured, casting about in search of something. He slowly slid from the horse. As he dismounted, he passed the reins to Margery, scanning the ground carefully. He limped awkwardly across the clearing, searching the grass, the standing plants, the tall flowers, the bushes, the trunks of the trees. He gave a soft, slow, satisfied sigh at last, then lay down on the ground, full length, with one ear pressed to the forest floor. “It’s as I thought,” he said, rising slowly and painfully, though not without a satisfied, justified expression. “They passed this way, sure enough. The birds and the beasts are still discussing it, in their own language, and the trees still shudder in fear and pain. I can not hear any murmur of their feet, no matter how distant, but the other signs do not lie. We’re on the right track; this is no false trail.” With Margery holding Obsidian’s head for him, Rowan mounted, then they set off once more.

They rode in silence for a while, then Rowan said, “We—or rather I—won’t be able to use magic on this quest, from now on, for safety’s sake. We don’t want the men we are pursuing to catch us as well, or notice us passing through. Indeed, I hope that our presence will go undetected. Magic is far too visible and obvious, and its active use can be sensed from miles away.” Margery grinned, guiding her mount gently around a broken stump that protruded from the ground in the center of her path.

“So we’ll be doing things the old-fashioned way, then.” she said.

“Your way.” Rowan smiled, amused. “Right.” They lapsed back into grim silence.

“What will we do when we catch up to your brother’s kidnappers?” Margery asked, after a pause. Rowan glanced momentarily up at the lowering sky overhead, jarred out of his own private thoughts.

“I don’t know,” he said solemnly, stubbornly. Margery looked at him, hoping that he was joking, and was jarred out of her complacency by his stern expression.

“You don’t have a plan?” she squeaked, then bet her tongue. Rowan gave her a candid glance.

“It sometimes helps if you don’t plan too far ahead,” he said. “At the moment there are at least two hundred possible scenarios, of which about sixty or so seem a little more likely than the others. There are thirteen which seem very likely, but I can’t tell until we’re there. I have some idea of what I’d do in any given event, but I am not sure yet which event will come to pass.”

“You’re keeping all those possible contingency plans in your head? How can you ever keep them straight?” Margery said in awe. Rowan barely glanced at her.

“I have a good memory,” he said, his voice flat. It was impossible to tell if he was joking or not. Margery frowned.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Rowan. What is it like, being able to use magic? Rowan paused, silent, for a while, before answering.

“In a sense, you know already,” he said. Margery stared at him, puzzled. Rowan sighed. “Everyone is interconnected. That’s the main feeling, one of unity. It’s not just like feeling at one with nature—it’s also feeling nature, together with the world around you, being able to feel other living creatures—every living creature tends to draw in loose magic. Every person has some magical potential, but not everyone is aware of it, or has the patience to develop it. It takes dedication, patience and willpower. The weak-willed don’t last long in magic lessons, ever. It tends to unearth hidden flaws and cause tension along latent fault lines, and a master who could be so callous as to ignore his student’s distress and allow him or her to continue in the practices that were troubling him or her would be a pretty poor master indeed. On the other hand, Margery… you happen to have a slight magical aptitude yourself. I don’t know if you could ever be a Wielder, but you probably have an innate ability to sense and diffuse and even evade magic, on a very instinctive level.” Margery stared blankly at him. Rowan sighed. “It’s complicated,” he explained. “Very much so. I thought you should know,” he said defensively. “It’s how you got past the border wards—on a subconscious level, you felt the wards and bent them around you, willing yourself through. It’s very clever, come to think of it. Those wards are designed not to break under any circumstances, but they can be temporarily lifted in places to allow people in and out—and apparently, they can also be bent around a person in order to slip past them undetected. We thought our greatest danger was when we lifted the wards—but now, it seems that the greatest danger is that those wards are permeable, if one moves gently enough… Perhaps that is how the spy got into Ertraia?” Rowan paused. “I wish we had some way of getting a message back to my mother, but since we can’t use magic without the risk of detection, I can think of no practicable way.”

“So, familiars are just legend as well?” Margery said.

“Precisely. It is possible to magically bond with an animal, but it should not be done, and rarely does it make sense to spend so much time with one creature as the word ‘familiar’ would suggest.” Rowan took a deep breath.

“There may be no traitor in Ertraia, after all,” Margery said, anticipating him—or rather, stumbling along in his wake, catching his drift only with some difficulty and almost inordinate pride.

“Indeed, but I’m afraid that we can’t dismiss the possibility so lightly, unpleasant as it may be.” Rowan fell silent, pensively, and Margery did not break the silence. She sat in mingled wonder, awe, amazement, and fear. She could not help but feel somewhat overawed. Rowan’s mind seemed to work on a very different plane from hers, a more complex and sophisticated one; it was humbling to admit it, but true nonetheless. He was very intelligent and had made good use of his studies, which embarrassed and shamed her by comparison. She could not help but feel inferior next to him. Then again, the way he had trained his mind was very different from the way hers had been trained. Margery sighed inwardly. Single-minded, focused, ordered; that was Rowan. Scatterbrained; that was her.

“That’s almost insulting,” Rowan commented. Margery blushed. She swallowed, furious with herself. Had she been thinking aloud?

“No,” Rowan replied, “but it’s pretty obvious what you were thinking. Your train of thought is very clear. I have a bad habit of addressing people’s thoughts rather than their words, and some people find it… disconcerting.”

“You can read my mind?”

“No, but it’s hardly my fault if you don’t keep your thoughts to yourself, isn’t it?” Rowan retorted. Almost against her own will, Margery giggled. Rowan stared. “You are a very strange person,” he said. Margery nearly fell off of Celad, she was laughing so hard.

“I’m not strange!” she protested. “You’ve just never met a girl your own age before, haven’t you?” Rowan shrugged. Margery grinned. “I knew it!” she proclaimed.

“So, basically, you’re saying that all teenaged girls are strange?” Rowan asked, confused. Margery burst out laughing again.

“No!” she exclaimed. “I’m just saying that we must seem strange to someone like you, at first. Oh, and that not everyone is as sensible and logical as you—thank goodness,” she added as an afterthought, for good measure. Rowan promptly relegated it to the intricacies of an outside world he would never quite understand and dismissed it from his mind. He paused, and Obsidian stirred beneath him, stamping one hoof in impatience. Rowan reached down and patted the destrier’s neck, reassuringly. Obsidian pawed the ground, scratching a furrow in the damp forest loam, but stood still. Rowan glanced around, as if to ensure that they were headed in the correct direction, then nodded and urged Obsidian forward.

“I wonder if my father and mother are all right, where they are, if they’re still in council, what they are doing, if they even know yet that Julian has been kidnapped. It seems as if we’ve been continuing on like this forever.” he said thoughtfully. “I hope they’re not looking for me, that they didn’t waste their time in sending out search parties.” Margery snorted.

“I know my parents won’t,” she said. “They’re used to me vanishing for odd intervals, even for days at a time, sometimes. They generally don’t worry about me—they know I’m off adventuring and will be back, perfectly well and in good spirits sooner or later, with lots of new yarns to spin.” Rowan listened, his face hard to read, though not unpleasant, or undisposed to listen, and certainly not disapproving or antagonistic.

“It sounds like a pleasant arrangement,” he said, neutrally. Margery hesitated.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious you’ve never been away from your family before,” she said, cocking her head on one side. Rowan shook his head.

“No, I actually have. Before I was injured, I used to ride far and wide, exploring, in between my studies. Mother was comfortable with it, as long as I told her before I left and came back to her straightaway after I had traveled to my heart’s content. I used to ride out with Father and the Rangers, or the Knights; I knew Ertraia like the back of my hand. It is true that I have lived in seclusion for much of my life, but I was never confined to the castle. Just because I have never been outside Ertraia before doesn’t mean I have had no experience with adventures. However, Margery, this is not an adventure. This is deadly serious. It’s a rescue attempt. My brother’s life may be at stake. There is no room here for error, or foolish heroics, on either of our parts.” He gave her a long, even look. Margery nodded, seriously.

“I understand. I’ve read enough about history and military operations to know that much.” she scoffed. Rowan grinned.

“Indeed. I’ve never really understood why such a vein of knowledge could be frowned on as part of a princess’ studies, or for that matter, why it should be frowned on for a prince to work in a garden, or to know how to mend his own clothes, if need be. I couldn’t quite follow why it sent the housekeeper into hysterics when I cleaned my own room. I like my room the way it is. She had a different idea of cleanliness entirely.” Rowan snorted. “She never could make up her mind where things should go. I swear they wound up in different places every time, and certainly never where I wanted them.” Margery giggled.

“I think all housekeepers everywhere must be related, somehow,” she joked. “They all seem to tidy up in a way that only leads to a bigger muddle!”

“Perhaps it’s their way of ensuring they stay in work?” Rowan mused, dryly. Margery burst out laughing.

“That has to be it. Either that, or none of them has any sense.” she laughed. Rowan laughed softly, a pleasant sound that did not seem at all out of place among the woods.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, then noticed that Margery was staring at him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just that, well, I think that has to be the first time I’ve heard you laugh… I mean really laugh.” Rowan frowned.

“I must have laughed before, at some point,” he said. Margery shook her head.

“No, I don’t think you did,” she replied. Rowan was silent for a while.

“Am I really that serious?” he asked at last. Margery sighed.

“I think you are,” she said. “That, and you have a very wry way of delivering your humor.”

---

Sorry, this feels a bit like a filler chapter. But it’s kind of necessary. You’ll find out why sooner or later. ;-P

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Another Invasion… Maybe?

Tags

completely random posts, gum, insanity, selay'uu, small rants, star wars, story dynamics, the hunger games

Hello, everyone! I thought you all might want to read this. It’s sort of early-version Selay’uu… sort of. For instance, no portals this time… Bummer. And it doesn’t even have a title, even in My Documents, aside from “random stupidity.”

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 😛

---

Thnap.

Obi-Wan looked up from his book to shoot a fulminating glance at Katniss Everdeen, who was instantly recognizable (don’t ask me how). She was sitting on the other sofa, chewing gum. Erin was typing busily away on the computer, seemingly not noticing the invasion of her mind palace by a character she had only heard about, never met in person. Katniss took no notice of the dangerous look, but at least she didn’t snap her gum again. Obi-Wan went back to The Silmarillion. He had always felt an odd kinship with Glorfindel and Beren…

Thnap, pop. Obi-Wan tossed his book down on the coffee table (which was covered in loose sheets of paper covered with Erin’s writings) and glared at Katniss. Suddenly, her gaze snapped up to his, as if she hadn’t even been aware of his presence before. She grinned at him, unapologetically, and popped her gum again. Obi-Wan could feel himself blushing, but he was more annoyed than embarrassed by the interruption, dangerously near to flirting as it was. Of all the cheek! he thought. He scowled at her. Katniss actually had the gumption to look over her shoulder, then point to herself, mouthing the word, Me?

I thought that was abundantly clear, Obi-Wan thought. He wasn’t bothering to mute his body language, either. Snap, snap. Not again! Obi-Wan frowned and put a finger over his lips. Katniss looked at him, raising both her shoulders and her eyebrows.

“You and I have very different notions of quiet, my friend,” he grated, dangerously low. Katniss looked offended.

“What are you talking about? I can be quiet,” she hissed under her breath.

“Then stop popping your gum!”

“I’m not popping my gum!”

“Oh, what do you call it, then?”

“Don’t you dare use sarcasm with me, mister!”

“Go flirt with someone else!”

Their little tiff was interrupted by a quiet cough. Both characters turned to see Erin, who had spun in her swivel chair and was now watching them both, her expression indecipherable and her arms crossed across her chest.

“Obi-Wan, I need your help, please,” she said after a long moment. Shooting Katniss a dangerous glance, Obi-Wan straightened his tunic and marched stiffly to the author’s side. He dropped on one knee to survey the computer screen. “And Miss Everdeen—how’d you get in here?” Katniss shrugged and vanished, off to plague Midnight instead.

---

Well, that’s that. What do you think? Stupid, right? 😛

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Clumsy Hacker (Me!)

Tags

browsing, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, hacking, insanity, long rants, madeleine l'engle, madness, one hundred follows, passwords, rambling musings, the internet, the web, yay

Wow, 100 follows… 4,016 views… that’s doing pretty good, I think. Celebration time!

You know, when the webmaster looks at log-on stats, I think I’m probably most of them, if you know what I mean. Normally, I’m pretty good about remembering my passwords, but at times I mis-type with the best of them, and then the (much rarer) times when I can’t recall my password, and the worst days of all, when I can’t seem to even get my security question right! (Yeah. Severe.)

I guess that when the webmaster looks at the site stats, when I’ve had one of those horrible days, it looks like someone has been trying to hack that account.

A very clumsy hacker.

Which leads to the question, clumsy stupid hacker, or clumsy stupid normal citizen just trying to get back into their account, or clumsy above-average citizen having a very bad day?

Because bad days happen. (Yup, it all goes back to politics. ;-P )

And because even Charles Wallace gets migraines.

Bound to the Flame, Chapter III, Part II

Tags

bound to the flame, insanity, novels, original stories, original work, philosophy, stories in progress, theory

Sorry it has been so long. My life has been busy to the extreme of sanity. But I’m finally posting this again. Enjoy!

Warnings: None for this chapter. A lot of theory is discussed, and Adyn acts up. Nothing special. ;-P

Bound to the Flame

Chapter III

Part II

                Margery met Rowan in the chapel that morning, for prayers. She gave him a sidelong glance. It seemed that he wouldn’t be done for a long while; he was kneeling upright, hands folded demurely, large golden-hazel eyes turned slightly up toward the makeshift altar in the pavilion. The lights cascaded down over him in a golden shower of shifting, glittering dust motes, adding to the home-like atmosphere. Margery slid into a row of pews, kneeling down as she did, and shooting another sideways glance at Rowan. He looked as if he was exhausted, but drawing comfort and strength from this place.

After a long while, Rowan made the sign of the cross and rose. He picked up the stick that was resting against the pew beside him and made his way out of the makeshift chapel, struggling to genuflect. He limped slowly out of the tent and into the open. Margery followed. “I thought you were going to tutor Adyn…” she began.

“I am,” Rowan replied, “but only after we’ve had breakfast, and once we’re well within the woods. We don’t want any trouble. Meet us in the glade by the stream with the two standing rocks once you’ve eaten. That’s where we’ll have our classes.”

“All right. I’ll see you then,” Margery said.

 

Margery ate breakfast with her family and some of the other members of her clan and made her way into the woods as soon as she had finished. This was perfectly normal for her, so no one remarked on it. She followed the stream that ran through the encampment at Cremlegged, instinctively avoiding the forest on the side of the encampment that faced the ancient circle of standing stones in the woods beyond. She didn’t know why, but she dreaded to enter that ancient star wheel. She found her way easily to the glen Rowan had specified. Just as he had said, there was a stream flowing through an open glade with two large gray moss-covered, lichen-encrusted boulders at its head. She perched on one to wait, enjoying the sunny morning in the woods.

She was sitting there, as pre-arranged, on that same stone, when Rowan finally appeared, leaning heavily on his staff and shepherding a reluctant Adyn ahead of him. She rose, quickly. “What took you so long?” she asked.

“Adyn has a ritual of playing hide and go seek before magic lessons,” Rowan replied succinctly, with a little irritation evident in his breathless voice. Adyn grinned, unabashed, then he looked up at Margery with a look of awe.

“Are you a pixie?” he asked, eyes wide. Rowan groaned.

“That’s a marvelous way to start an awkward conversation, Adyn.” he reproved. Almost miraculously, the incorrigible, insufferable grin reappeared on Adyn’s face. Rowan sighed. “You’re impossible, obstreperous, and frustrating, and you’ll likely come to a bad end one of these days.” Rowan sighed and faced round to Margery. “Once in a blue moon, one word in three will get through to him. Not much more than that, though.” He sighed and gestured to the base of a nearby tree. “Shall we begin?” Margery stared at the huge—at least ten feet across—pixie ring that stood a few feet away, under the canopy of a spreading oak.

“Wouldn’t you rather use the pixie ring?” she asked. Rowan shrugged.

“Suit yourself, but you might as well make yourself comfortable,” he said, adding a slight emphasis on the last word. “We’re not doing magic practice today. Only theory. And mystique isn’t really worth much. There’s not much point in exhausting yourself just to sit in a circle of mushrooms.”

“That’s all it is?” Margery asked, disappointed.

“Quite everything,” Rowan replied. “Though some plants are thought to channel magic or have magical properties, mushrooms often just make you hallucinate. They have nothing to do with magic at all. In other words, they’re perfectly normal. There was a rumor, once, about mushrooms that could supposedly block a magic user’s abilities, but that’s just legend, with no substance that I know of. They just started calling those things pixie rings because someone thought that a toadstool would be a nice little place for a pixie to live. I don’t know why they would think that. It might make a nice place to hide under if you got caught outside in a downpour, but it would make a pretty poor seat or house in the long run. I think that pixies would really rather prefer trees, actually.” Feeling rather foolish, Margery sat down on a low stump nearby, and Rowan began the lesson.

“Much of modern magic theory is based on the work of Greek philosophers, such as Empedocles and Aristotle… you remember that much from last time, don’t you, Adyn?” The boy nodded. Rowan continued. “The Aristotelian theory of the elements states that there are not four, as in Empedocles’ theory, but five. The first four, which you probably already know, are earth, air, fire and water. The fifth Aristotle called ‘ether.’ He postulated that it was the material which made up the heavenly bodies, the stars, sun, comets, and planets. Maewyr the Great, whom we consider to be the first of the true Wielders, was the one to come up with the idea that the heavenly bodies were made up of similar materials and elements to Earth itself, and the fifth element, ‘ether’, was in fact, the essence of magic itself. All the work of later Wielders in theory is based off of his.

“According to Maewyr, the two classic elements most akin to magic are fire and air—air, because it is invisible, like magic is; only its effects are commonly seen and felt—and fire, because it is pure energy, just as magic is. Magical manipulation of the elements is a very large part of traditional magic, and more challenging than simple telekinesis or enhancement of the senses. Most people have an affinity for one, or two, but it takes training to effectively wield all five. Magic and fire are the two most difficult to use, as both are pure energy and as such are hard to control, but for the same reason they are the easiest to summon. It takes practice and experience with the elements to control plants and growth, and to learn to bend and summon light, which is considered the highest form of magic.

“Each element has an extension, or a separate form or continuation beyond itself. Some are both. The extension of fire is lightning. Water’s is ice. Earth’s is stone. Air’s continuation is rain.”

“Why rain?” Margery interrupted. Rowan looked at her, half-bewildered at having his discourse thus interjected.

“The air feels moist at times, does it not?” he asked. “And clouds come from the air, and rain comes from clouds. I think there is rain hanging suspended in the air at all times; it only falls occasionally, though.”

“Oh,” Margery said, subdued.

“Elemental storms are the most dangerous form of this kind of magic, especially since they can be so hard to master and remain in control of, and can be so easy to start in some circumstances.” Rowan continued. Adyn’s eyes wandered, following a butterfly across the pixie ring. Rowan sighed, frustrated. “And you’re not hearing a word of this, are you, Adyn?”

“Nope,” the boy said cheerfully. Rowan groaned.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to turn him into the kingdom’s champion,” he confided to Margery. “The little scaramouch.” Margery looked surprised.

“He’s supposed to become the Champion?”

“Well, what did you expect? He’s too scatter-brained to be a Seneschal,” Rowan bemoaned.

“Then… why are you training him? No offense, but you’re just a kid like me. Younger, even. How old, exactly, are you, anyway?”

“Seventeen,” Rowan replied, scuffing in the dirt with the toe of one boot.

“I’m a year older than you, then,” Margery said. She glanced at Rowan, coyly. “I thought you were younger.” Rowan sighed.

“Everyone tells me that,” he said. Margery shrugged.

“So… why are you, of all people, training Adyn, then?” Rowan sighed.

“I think it’s partly because of… the accident… to keep my mind off things. Keep me from brooding.” Margery frowned.

“Accident?” she asked, uncomprehending.

“Your highness, I’m crippled.” Rowan said bluntly. Margery gasped, both her hands going to her mouth. Rowan carried on, ruthlessly. “I’m not so badly crippled that I’m helpless, but one of my legs is weaker than the other, and some days the pain is so bad I can’t even walk at all. Since I can’t always walk and ride, I can’t be a knight in the strict sense, so I teach instead.” He glanced around, to see Adyn attempting to sneak off. With a startling burst of speed, he caught the miscreant by the collar and dragged him back. “Where do you think you’re off to, wretch?” he asked. Adyn struggled helplessly.

“I can’t help it if you’re boring, can I?” he snipped back. Rowan shook him gently.

“You just want to sneak back and see what’s going on at the Gathering, don’t you?” he said, softly. “A Wielder does not seek adventure or excitement for their own sakes!”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want to be a Wielder,” Adyn retorted. Rowan’s eyes widened and he dropped Adyn, taking a step back.

“How can you say such a thing?” he asked, horror-struck.

“I don’t want to spend my life stuck in some moldy old castle in Ertraia! I want to see the world and have fun!”

“Adyn, being a wielder is an honor and an ancient tradition, and you have the potential to be the greatest,” Rowan said. “You can’t just throw that away! You can not disregard the Call like that!”

“It’s my life,” Adyn said obstinately.

“You wouldn’t go back to what you had before my mother took you in,” Rowan pointed out threateningly.

“I was a baby,” Adyn said, his voice whiny, completely ignoring Rowan’s ominous tone. Rowan’s dark eyes flashed.

“How can you be so ungrateful? You have talent, Adyn, talent, and you could be greater if you tried harder, but no! You throw it away the first time you see fool’s gold! There’s a reason why it’s lying by the wayside, Adyn, and that’s because it’s worthless!” Rowan gestured to the stone upon which Adyn had previously been sitting. “Now, sit back down, and we’ll complete the lesson.” Adyn stepped away, shaking his head.

“No. Not anymore. I’m not doing this any more. I’m leaving!” Rowan gripped the staff.

“Adyn!” he called after the boy, but it was too late. Adyn dashed off, ignoring him, vanishing into the surrounding trees in a matter of seconds. Rowan moved to run after him; limping a few steps, he tripped over a tree root and fell, stumbling and falling flat on his face, sprawled across the soft, moist loam. He gasped in pain. “Adyn!” he called again, but Adyn was gone. Margery ran to his side and helped him to his feet. Rowan limped forward, leaning against a tree exhaustedly for a moment, drawing in a slow, painful breath. Margery moved with him, supporting his slender form.

“Rowan…” Margery began.

“No time—I have to find him!” Rowan replied, anxiously.

“No. Wait.” Margery said. “You can’t catch him by your own speed, Rowan. You have to use your wits. And before you can find him, you have to rest.” Rowan groaned.

“I have to find him soon,” he stressed. “You don’t know Adyn as I do. He’s going to try to run away. His response to anything that doesn’t go his way is to run. And here, he could run anywhere.”

“But he won’t run just anywhere,” Margery said. “You know him. You can make an educated guess as to where he’ll go. And I—Right now, I need answers.”

“’Need’ and ‘deserve’ are dangerous words,” Rowan said coldly. “It would be both arrogant and shallow to take your high birth for granted, Your Highness.” Margery dashed his icy words aside as if they were so many annoying insects.

“I may not know Adyn, Rowan, but I do know humankind.” Rowan stiffened.

“And you’re saying that I do not?” he asked dangerously.

“Adyn didn’t really mean everything he said to hurt you,” Margery carried on, brashly ignoring him. “He… well, to be harshly accurate, he feels interest in me, almost fascination. He was showing off in front of me, trying to impress me. You were just an unintended victim caught in the crossfire, nothing more.”

“Do other boys act like this?” Rowan asked.

“Yes, I think it’s part of their natural disposition. Hormones are terrible things.” Rowan groaned.

“Why does Adyn have to pick someone twelve years older than himself to develop an attraction to? Sometimes I swear he’s just doing it all on purpose to give me grief.”

“Haven’t you ever had a crush on someone?” Margery asked. Rowan looked confused. “Puppy love. You know.” Rowan frowned, still confused.

“No, never.”

“Maybe it has something to do with you being so short,” Margery mused. Rowan dismissed the comment as unintelligible, walking slowly off, leaning heavily on his staff. “I’ll help you look for him,” Margery offered, running after him. Rowan paused and turned, a look of relief on his thin, narrow face.

“You will?” he said, tawny dark eyes deeply grateful. “Thank you.”

“Where would he go?” Margery asked, catching up. Rowan looked throughtful.

“When he’s having fun, he generally hides where he thinks I’ll never find him, but when he’s mad or upset, there’s no telling where he’ll go. He might even consciously put himself into danger of some kind, just to spite me.”

Margery nodded. “Where did he come from?” she asked. “I heard you say that your mother took him and his mother in.” Rowan sighed.

“Years ago, his mother came to us. She was a an orphan, and had been chased from her home by accusations of sorcery, though she was not a magic user in actuality. She was about sixteen, then. My mother offered her work in the royal household, and she took care of me when I was little. Eventually, she left us to get married. A few years after that, she came back. Her husband had been murdered by sea raiders. She took care of me, again, after I was injured two years ago. Adyn was a child at the time. He doesn’t remember anything about the sea raiders’ attack, and he doesn’t understand. He’s a volatile child. I’m afraid of what he’ll do when he’s a bit older, old enough to be interested, anyway, and finds out what really happened to his father. But, when he’s upset, he runs to his mother, she’s the only parent he’s ever known…” Suddenly, Rowan froze.

“His mother—that’s it! Margery, he could be in one of two places. One is with his mother. Hurry back to the encampment of Clan Caerlen and ask around for Taryn. If Adyn is there, with her, well and good. If not, tell her I’ll find him.” The determined ring in Rowan’s voice said he would brook no argument. Margery nodded and set off to find the mysterious Taryn. Rowan headed off into the deeper woods—toward the circle of the Cremlegged.

 

The Random-Guy-Who-Has-Nothing-To-Say

Tags

authors, characters, insanity, jane austen, mrs. bennet, pride and prejudice, villains

If he gets boring, you can just kill him off.

Nah, just kidding.

It seems that every story has one of these dorks. Even unintentional ones. You know the type… people who have absolutely nothing to say and yet won’t stop talking. At. All. He’s a cousin of the guy who is utterly ridiculous (like Mrs. Bennet, blaming other people for things that are all her fault, and being stupid about everything, not being able to be serious and think clearly about anything, and just being obnoxiously empty-headed), and as such, he is far more likely to drive you insane than be boring. This guy is determined to point out the obvious, yell at innocent people for stuff that is most definitely not their fault, and make things even harder–and sometimes even worse–than they should be, by rights. As such, he may become the Unintentional Villain. He is doubtless the one to tell the insecure character (whose fault it really is not) “This is all your fault!” and get a punch in the face from the protective friend who really doesn’t want the insecurities of the other character made worse. This guy is a genius at making things worse. He’s outrageous. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely impossible. (Why am I doing this post, again? :-P)

Is that why people actually like him?

Dystopian is the New Romance

Tags

bbc sherlock, beauty and the beast, bound to the flame, brave, disney, divergent, dystopian fiction, frozen, insanity, long rants, madeleine l'engle, pixar, romance, star wars, tangled, the hunger games, veggie tales

Of course it is. No matter what the romance authors say. I suppose it was bound to happen; romance is being replaced.

Just kidding. Nothing really can compare to the juggernaut that is romance. It even outstrips fantasy (though, let’s face it, fantasy fans are more passionate than romance ones.)

But, if you look at recent book sales, I think you’ll start to notice a trend. Think of all the literary versions of BBC’s Sherlock (which, you’ve got to admit it, for a show to be like that and go from zero to sixty in that little space, that never happens!), like the Hunger Games. Dystopian. Divergent? Dystopian. Veggie Tales?

Okay, I guess it could happen… 😛

And now I find myself caught up in the genre. I was writing a dystopian-style alternate universe Star Wars fanfic, and all of a sudden… Bam!

It mutates into an original dystopian and I topple over the line between fantasy and sci-fi and land solidly (on my posterior, no less) in the dystopian fiction world.

It’s happening more and more often. I mean, really, Bound to the Flame started as a crossover between Star Wars and Brave (I wanted to see what would happen if Star Wars took place in the historic Scottish Highlands, and then Merida hopped in, and for some reason Qui-Gon Jinn and Tahl were the king and queen of a small kingdom and guess what? They have a son named Obi-Wan! Who promptly goes off on his own tangent like he always does…) that gained influences from A Swiftly Tilting Planet (Rowan’s disability and the way he gained it? Blame L’Engle. It all came from Matthew Maddox. I even borrowed an Ecthros or two! Or five…), Beauty and the Beast (umm, yeah. Rowan’s not comfortable with being half-crippled, no matter what he tells you to your face.), Tangled (minus the lock on the tower and the sheer isolation, but for some reason Margery is Flynn Rider and got herself arrested to get herself into the tower), and possibly even Frozen, though I haven’t even seen it yet!!!

Dare I say, oops?!

I guess I’d better just enjoy my own madness, at this rate. 😛

But anyway, about dystopian. It’s here to stay, people. It’s all about stepping up and standing out. It’s about purpose. It’s about people who really make a difference.

And maybe that’s what makes it so powerful.

Then, too, it’s a challenge. After all, not everyone can rely on an innate magical ability, can they?! 😛

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!