This is a project that doesn’t begin and end with my writing fiction.  I plan to involve my daughter and perhaps my son in writing these stories.  Perhaps I’ll be able to learn to appeal to a different audience through this process.  I haven’t intended to write children’s stories even if some of my writing has come off childish.  Now, perhaps, it can be intentional.

***

Aivi was in her place, her secret place, her private place.  There was no quiet in her house, her little brother, Ro saw to that.  Here in the little cave by the little stream, Aivi could get a little peace. 

“Aivi!” came the call on the wind.  It was mother and she sounded angry.  Aivi, for her part, wanted nothing to do with angry mothers.  She hunkered down a little more and planned on returning later than she might have otherwise.  She took up her flute and played low and soft so that sounds from without were masked, but her secrets weren’t revealed.  Sometimes girls just needed a break.  Mother should understand that.

So it was a great surprise, as she played in her little cave, when there were shadows at her cave door, her mother stepped in with Ro held by his elbow.  Realization that she was discovered was replaced with anger that mother had betrayed her privacy and brought her little brother, replaced at last by cold fear.  Aivi expected to see anger on her mother’s face, but instead there was only fear.

“Aivi, stay here with Ro.  Hide.  There are soldiers coming.  Father is gathering things that we will need to survive in the forest.  Don’t come back to the house no matter what happens.” And then she was gone and her brother, Ro, remained staring at her with big frightened eyes.

***

So, the scene is set.  A girl who is a little rebellious.  A younger brother who is not her best friend, to put it kindly.  Trouble on the horizon like nothing she has faced before.  In this story I imagine that Aivi is at least 13, and probably a little more.  Because girls mature faster than boys in general, I imagine that Ro is perhaps only 2 years separated from his sister but probably seems younger. 

They live next to the forest, but it has never been their home.  They are the children of farmers so that the woods are a place to visit, but they are not highly schooled in forest craft, it will be a strange new world and very threatening.

I believe this story will be told with reference to the children’s past interactions with their parents, but at least at the beginning here they will be alone.  I hope this situation will not provide yet another “kids do better without their folks” fodder, that isn’t my intention, quite the reverse.  So I will try, in my writing, to avoid that.  –  LSO

Iamerge stepped out into the day and closed the guesthouse door behind him.  He was more than a little disappointed that Rhuary UiBirlinn was nowhere to be seen.  Another opportunity squandered, he thought.

Nothing to be done about it.  I’ve things to do anyway.  Iamerge headed for the refectory.  The wounded men were waking, and along with herbal remedies to deal with their pain would be a their need for food. 

Fortunately, the monks had done a good job supplying that need after a bumpy start.  At first, they counted up mouths and imagined they need only supply that much more, but the monks of the Biblious Monastery kept themselves on very short rations.  Wounded men needed much more, not just to feed them what they were accustomed, but also more to fuel their recuperation.

Iamerge had benefited from this realization.  It was a benefit of being with the wounded that he was fed like one.  The monks were unstintingly generous as soon as they realized their error.  Iamerge expected that there would be ample food waiting for him in the Refectory.

In a community without doors one hears things.  It wasn’t long before Iamerge began to hear urgent words.  It seemed that the meeting between Gospels and UiBirlinn had moved indoors and the refectory had become the conference room.

It was awkward, but Iamerge decided he might best be served by hovering near the door while the conversation continued.  It was not difficult to hear Rhaury UiBirlinn, “This hill of yours is indefensible as it now stands. . .” Perhaps my opportunity is not gone, Iamerge thought.

“We do not need to defend it, this place is the Lord’s,” said a voice that Iamerge guessed was the new abbot.

“Master UiBirlinn, you needn’t worry about us.  Our lives are in God’s hands.  If we die we gain reward, if it is for Christ’s sake.  Every man of us is commited to it.”  That seemed to be from Gospels.

“What madness is this?  If you mean to commit suicide, go find the monsters.  I am sure they will oblige, but do not provide the meal that brings them to my gates.”

“We do not wish death. . .” began Gospels, but the new abbot spoke louder.

“For a chance at martyrdom we would indeed count ourselves blessed, every man of us.  We do our duty before the Lord, and if He will offer us this cup of martyrdom then how can we refuse?”

“You are mad then.  These are not devils to tempt you, they are monsters who will eat you.  If you think defeat at their hands will be some honor, you go to them, but you will do nothing but feed them.  You will gain no honor, at least nothing that I would call honor.” Iamerge thought about stepping in, but then UiBirlinn continued, “Is the cow honored to be roasted, or the hog blessed bacon to be?”

“It is not that,” spoke Gospels, “ just, all things, even something that might seem senseless or tragic, can be made into good by our Lord.”

“That would be some trick, that.  The lot of you killed and consumed and that to the good?  Will you sour in their bellies and so bring them down?  Wear thee hemlock and nightshade as you go, for eat you they will.”

“Pardon us Master UiBirlinn.  We take your point, I think, but you do not know our Lord.”  Gospels had a way of speaking that could silence you with a whisper, his very softness seemed to make his words more potent, “At one time we had plans for a tower.  It was to house our bells, famously, the very ones for which the town is named.  Perhaps we should consider making a tower to hold us safe as well as to house the bells.”

“It seems to me too late for that sort of effort. . .”

“Indeed, it was half a century ago that the plan was abandoned Gospels.”

“True, and yet our guesthouse is the foundation of that tower and the bells rest in vaults beneath it.  If God provides this extremity, perhaps he can provide the stone masons and crafters to make us a tower now that we need one.”

“Do you imagine that it could be so, brother Gospels?”

“Give glory to God brother abbot.  His timing is not man’s timing nor are His thought my thought.  Still, I have long wanted to see those bells installed, and if God will have a fortress, perhaps he will provide it and home for my bells as well.”

“If you find stone-masons then you’ve found a rare thing.  I need such myself.  I plan to raise a wall above the current palisade, but at low tide an army could walk around the fortifications near the water.  I need to extend the wall into the bay or perhaps build a wall across the dockside and fortify the wharf.  Either way I’ll need stone work if it is to be done right.”

“Are you going in?” The question from behind nearly made Iamerge jump out of his skin.  Iamerge whirled to find brother Corinthians behind him.

“I hadn’t yet decided,” he managed, but Corinthians seemed unaffected by his eavesdropping and he calmed.

“They ran me out, or rather invited themselves in and started all that and I felt the call else-where.” Corinthians smiled, “I expect you’re looking for the victuals for the wounded and the pain mendicants.” a look like concern drifted across the old man’s face, “What do you imagine they are on about anyhow?”

Not wanting to reveal what he overheard Iamerge said, “God only knows”

Corinthians beamed, “Surely that is true. He does.”  Being reminded of Providence seemed good enough for Corinthians.  God knew and so he had no need to concern himself.  “Wait here, I’ll get you what you need and be back in a few moments.  Corinthians patted Iamerge on the way by and slipped in to the refectory.

Again I’ve let my chance pass, Iamerge thought.  With nothing to do but wait, he let his attention drift back to the conversation within.

Lugh stalked off into the night.  His mind was a-whirl with thoughts, with memories that he’d shaded with pleasantness only days ago, the pleasure of Von, hopes that she might at least remember him well.  But all such thoughts were ashes.  “They killed her.” Oatie had said and he had seen in her eyes that she even feared the same from him. 

Lugh didn’t even know for sure who “They” might be, but he felt guilt for it.  Guilt for his carelessness if nothing else.  Guilt for not knowing what had become of Von and for what had come of his good intention toward her.  I didn’t think you might be in danger, I only knew that I was.

Lugh heard movement behind him.  He had no desire to talk of it, only to think and be alone with this revelation.  He had long experience with running away, he realized, and so it was no hard thing for him to slip away from Oatie. 

I needed to remember, to sort out my life.  His hand went to the bones on the thong around his neck.  I only wanted good for you, but I did nothing to make it so.  Oh bones of Von, were you ever my friend or only a curse for what I’d done?

The night among the trees was dark, but the sky was full of stars.  Lugh looked to the heavens for answers, but the stars had none.  He walked silently in the night seeking a place to think and await the dawn.  What had he done with the life that Von had given him, it seemed, at the cost of her’s?  Not much to tell.

There had been things to do.  Weyland’s kingdom under the Western Mountains had been endlessly fascinating.  Well, as endlessly fascinating as things got for a god with a short attention span.  I’d quite forgotten that when I fled the Norfolk by the Saffron River, I didn’t stop my running until I reached the Western Mountains and hid myself there.  Weyland had no more love for Lyr than did I, though Lyr wasn’t trying to kill the lord under the mountain.

I’d planned to return to Von, wanted to, expected it, planned that return, but always I put it off until there was no more reason, until Von would have looked more like my mother than a girl like Oatie.  And then, after leaving the mountain halls of Loki, after living among the tribes above the desert south, there was then no chance that she would even be alive at all. 

It wasn’t Lyr that tried to kill me then, no, a daliance in the Gallic south had nearly done for me.  The Cult of the Virgin turned those refugees of the Tuath wars into murderous monsters.  I blame the endless red day and I did not mind leaving all that behind. 

Why am I always blown from one place to another?  Weyland has his mines.  Lyr has claimed the East.  Most of my brothers and sisters live in the misty Islands of the Inner Sea.  Even Bridgit seems to have gone to ground somewhere.  I don’t hear about her moving around like I hear about my old travels.  Strange to hear the tales of your own wandering.

They, whoever They might have been, probably shieldmen of his brother, Lyr, but that was only a guess, They had killed her.  Small comfort, he was not there to defend her, he never went back even to learn that she’d died.  If not for him Von would have lived.  What to do with that realization?

Should he not simply run?  Lugh thought, turning the idea over in his mind much more than he would normally, it was a night for thinking.  Who knew if Lyr would kill him now?  And yet he ran, or at least it seemed for one reason or another, often the same one, he ran and kept running though a trail that Lyr might have followed was now hundreds of years old.  The running began with Lyr, but the habit of it was just that, a habit that had become him, not an action taken for any real reason.

Lugh drifted through a young forest that rose above their camp-site, feeling his way with his feet, arms out to tough the young trees, and eyes that grew ever more accustomed to the starry night. 

This of the Norfolk is good work, he thought, making of a barren land a garden.  Sadness washed over him, If only I had shared this with Von, seen this with her, would she even have come with me?  I wonder.

Lugh came to a prominence, a rocky projection where the land fell away all around him.  He looked up at the blaze of starlight.  Look there is the Stranger, down on the horizon the great dark moon hung.  He gazed at that great hole in the starry host.  Suddenly, Traveller set a glow on the horizon before leaping into the sky, shining in colors of blue and gold and red, as it tumbled into the starry night.  How many times have I seen you, and this time the most surprising of all?  Lugh laughed, where are you going old friend?  Why shouldn’t I come with you?  Oh, that’s right, I can’t fly.

I love these nightly trips into the living blood of the city, Arashimura.  All these people with their various hopes and dreams, sins and schemes, how they plan ill on each other, and are shocked and angered when the same is done to them.  I find this sweaty soup delicious.  I move through its underbelly without causing a stir in this shape I have made for my Ka.

I meet a fellow who has directed me to a fair number of adventures.  Corbain is the name by which I know him.  Tonight we sit at table in a dank tavern I frequent.  Corbain knows the place well, but tonight he is nervous.

“Look, I told you I’d get you in touch with someone bigger and I have.” The creature sweats, he intends to betray me, he has contempt for me, and yet my reputation, the scary bits, proceed me.  He sweats more than the closeness of the dark tavern requires.  I smell his fear, ripe and acrid.  “So, when do I meet this person, Corbain?”

There is a commotion at the entrance to the Thirsty Troll.  I follow Corbain’s eyes from where we sit to where the commotion seems to originate, the entrance.  The rabble parts, scurrying from the murk into deeper shadows of this most disreputable of establishments.  When I glance back, my contact, my betrayer, has fled.

The crowded bar has cleared considerably when I look back.  I see it is for good reason.  Approaching is none other than the Lord High Captain of Arashimura, the City guard.  How very odd.  I think I shall reward my betrayer.  I feign effort to escape which elicits the desired effect. 

I see Allston Soulaucy is an angry man, passed over twice for command of the King’s Guard.  His mailed fist and armor wrapped arm slam me back into the corner and he sits in his gloriously shiny armor upon the filthy bench.  I think he looks ridiculously out of place, glittering here amongst the squalor of the Troll.  The armor however is exquisite, I realise my danger too late, I must have it.  Everyone has their own particular vice, chief among mine is an inordinate affection for shiny things.

I can actually see my reflection in the brave captain’s breastplate, remy blue-gray eyes in a crestfallen face, thin lips from which blood now trickles.  I lick up the bloody spittle with a tongue nearly as red.  My hair, my beard, such as it is, is dirty grey.  I look a proper mess.  Especially next to noble Allston.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He fairly shouts.  It is a voice for the parade grounds of the royal palace not for the Thirsty Troll. 

“I’m sure my lord knows.  I am here to meet someone.  It is what I do.”

He scowls. He is unable to make much of what I’ve said I’ll warrant, not over bright this one, a man of action and not of thought.  I flatter myself that I am both, though I don’t look it.  I see the symbol of the king of Arashimura,  Ah look at that  golden dragon, proud rampant on the breastplate, why I do believe it might be solid gold.  I seem to grovel, not meeting his eyes, but how can I with the glittering splendor of his armor?

“I was told “the Worm” would be here.”

I chuckle.  The Captain tenses, his mailed fists rise from the table.  “Calm calm, there is no need of violence.” I’ll play the weakling that he believes me.  He believes.  I speak soothingly, ”I too am called the worm by many.  If I be but a worm, still a worm I am, and THE worm, THE Wyrm at the heart of Arashimura, well, big worm, small worm, we worms keep together.”

“You will take me to your master at once.” Ah the arrogance.  I bow obsequiously and obsessively.  Again this is behavior out of the proud Captain’s experience, he looks uncomfortable.

“My lord may wish to slay me now then.” I cringe, I grovel, inside I laugh, “This worm would be a poor servant if I came for no good reason to the master.  He would kill me for less and not so quick.” I bear my thin chest as if I expect him to draw his longsword, as if he even could.  Look there in the reflection, why I can count my ribs and look at me, so pale, my fishbelly whiteness.  The breastplate must be silver plate.  I glance up to gauge him, he looks disgusted.  Now I notice that he is wearing the most exquistite helm, polished golden and surmounted by a dragon much like the breastplate.  I know bliss.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he chides me.  The oaf is thick of neck holding up so rich a helmet I shouldn’t wonder, but his head is mostly bone. I do believe the dragon on the shining helm is solid gold as well.  We have negotiated, I have won, that I never doubted.

“If there was some urgent matter of import to my lord, The Wyrm, he might not strike me down out of hand.  What matter might I bring to the Wyrm at the heart of  Arashimura that would preserve my poor life?”

Such a highplaced official will be hard to explain, especially one who is so indescrete as to invade the dark alleys of the capital city.  My mind is awhirl with the delicious danger and. . .

“There have been dreams.  A force that threatens the king, that threatens all Aerenor. . .” My lord Captain has learned some descretion, this passes to me at a whisper and I confess, I lean closer for more of this delicious tidbit.

“A dream?  A nightmare?  Why I dream fearful things almost on a night. . .” I lie with conviction.  I do not dream, neither do I sleep.

My lord of the Guard is not pleased, his eyes narrow as if he has detected mockery, but he will never realize that this all, this of my shape, this of creeping among the dregs is all mockery.  It amuses me.  “No ordinary dreams, nay, these have fallen on the high priests of the one true church.”

“Truly?  Even those mighty in things divine?”  I seem to ponder as if I am as dull witted as he.  Oh, what can this mean I seem to think? 

But I know now what this means to Allston Soulaucy, the past-over, this would undoubtedly be the concern of his superiour, the Commander of the Kings guard, and if indeed it threatened all Aerenor at least the Marshall of all the armies not to mention Lyemis himself.  My glittering friend would upstage everyone and so earn the advancement that he has failed to achieve so far. 

I feign resolution, as if a dull mind has finally come to some understanding.  Uh, but now it slips away into some concern.  I watch my prey’s face fall as he sees a question rise to my lips, “but isn’t this the purvue of the Lord of Whispers.  .  .”  I say and then I pause as if a completely new idea has just sprung to mind, “. . . or surely Tolver Maldrace, the Lord Commander of the King’s guard?”

Allston glowers predictably.  Just as predictably he says, “The Lord of Whispers does not have the confidence of our Righteous King, and as to Maldrace, well, I do not doubt his loyalty, but I fear this might be beyond him.  My concern is for Lyemis, for Aerenor.”

“Still, it might be that the Lord of Whispers should be consulted, not bother you with such as th. . .”

“NO no,” The Captain glances around seeking ears that may betray him when the ears that have betrayed him hang on either side of his pea brain. “I seek confirmation outside of the palace, clarity that will preserve our King.”

“Oh yes, long may he live.”  Again the wheels seem to churn slowly behind my eyes.  I will take him by way of my favorite brothel and by secret ways to my lair.  Allston will never get his promotion, but then what he will learn will be of little use to Lyemis anyhow.  And now I come to a firm decision and the words form and I say, “This must come to my master as soon as can be.” 

There is delight that shines on Allston’s face almost as brightly as his glittering armor.  This will be enjoyable.  I do so love surprises.

Iamerge could not imagine what to do.  His friend, normally a tower of emotional strength, was devastated and though he could think of nothing to do he was there, witnessing the break-down.  Finally, reflexively, Iamerge reached out and patted the man on his shoulder where he lay.  Conal seized him with his one good hand and wept and wept.

Iamerge might have run, but anchored by Conal’s iron grip he could not.  He sat and desperately tried to think of what to do.  At last Conal’s grip loosened as his sobbing subsided.  When Conal finally released his hold completely Iamerge felt relief and yet, strangely, a sense of loss.  He reached out and patted the man as he’d done at the first.

“Thank you Iamerge, you’re a true friend.”  Conal whispered, then he lay back and covered his tear reddened eyes with his arm. 

“If there’s anything I can do. . .” Iamerge offered.

From across the room a gruff voice called, “What do I need to do to get something to eat in this place?”

Iamerge and Conal both burst out laughing.  Iamerge punched Conal gently on the shoulder before he rose and was treated to the same old twinkle in his eye that he’d come to expect from the man. “I’ll have to see if the hungry monks have left us anything.”

“I need bark tea!” came a quavering call from another quarter, pain evident in the voice.

“I can get you some cold,” called Conal. ”I’m sure the brothers will bring hot later.”  Conal and Iamerge exchanged smiles and went to their duties, self imposed though they were.