If EZine Issue #16 is Here

The Annual Halloween Issue of my webzine, IF EZine, is now available! Check it out FOR FREE at: http://ifezine.com/

Annual Halloween Issue!

The Annual Halloween Issue of my webzine, If - E - Zine, is here! Read it for free at http://ifezine.com/

"Escape from the Cottonwood Chamber" -- Act I

Continuing my year-end wrap-up, I present to you a tale I first posted here on my blog on May 28, 2007 under the title "The Children of Gods".

Escape from the Cottonwood Chamber is the story of Xiao-tep, a fish-god and son to Lei-Zi the Lightning Goddess and Hapi the River God. He is ousted from the Celestial Garden by his father. Fearing his father's wrath and filled with sorrow for being unwanted, Xiao-tep travels to far-distant lands only to be tricked by Loki into becoming a warrior that feels the pain of his dying victims.

Act I introduces Xiao-tep and details his origins.

Enjoy.

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ESCAPE FROM THE COTTONWOOD CHAMBER -- ACT I

(C) 2007 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved.

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Act I of IV: The Birth of Xiao-tep the Ankh-fish of 100,000 Sorrows and Beauty

PROLOGUE: Wherein Xiao-tep is Born; Angered, Hapi Commands Lei-zi to Present to him Their Fish-Child Upon his Birth as a Meal; Xiao-tep Flees for his Life

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PART 1

Few know of the Celestial Garden; its red-lacquered gazebo with white filigree wood lattice; its brass bells tinkling when touched by the wind; the massive and ancient willows; continually blossoming apple and peach trees; the flaming tiger lilies and royal violet snapdragons surrounding it and all of this surrounded by a stream encircling the garden like a little moat flowing, river-like, counter-clockwise. It is a place of sanctuary and solitude for all the gods of all religions of all the universe. It connects the Heavens, the Vanir of Asgard, every river, time and the stars of all galaxies.

Some of the gods secretly know the Celestial Garden to be the hidden womb of all love.

It is here that Lei-zi, the goddess of thunder and wind and consort of the legendary Huang-di, would come to rest and meditate in peace. One day, while meditating, the river god Hapi entered the Celestial Garden and spied on her. His deep belly and sagging chest surged with passion for this new beauty he had never before seen.

Sensing him, Lei-Zi broke her meditation and looked up. She smiled courteously, yet was apprehensive. His head adorned with bedewed water weeds told of his holy status, but she did not recognize him.

He smiled at her, his mouth wide and full. Seeing her painted alabaster face and primmed silk coat, he bowed at the waist in the hopes of tapping into her tradition.

"Excuse me," his voice flowed effortlessly, timeless in tone and mystique.

Lei-zi stood, bowing deeply as one of equal or higher status deserved.

"May I join you?" he asked.

"It would be my honor," she smiled sweetly. They sat on a bench of green marble carved by the hands of the Cosmos, stone lions acting as the feet.

"If it is not so bold," Hapi spoke, "I have never seen a goddess so beautiful as you."

Lei-zi smiled, blushing and hot in the cheeks. "You are too kind."

"No," said Hapi. "The Cosmos were too kind when they led me to you this day."

They would meet time and again in the Celestial Garden. A splendid romance blossomed.

And so it came to pass that Lei-zi sat one day, waiting for her lover in the Celestial Garden. Her eyes jerked with every sound, every rustling bough. She smiled happily at the news she had for Hapi. She smiled at the small, swirling movement in her belly.

"My beloved," Hapi came through the dense thickets and beautiful brush to sit by his lover's side upon the bench where first they met. "I've good news."

"I, too, have news," Lei-zi responded.

"This year will be a good crop for my people. I will not flood them. They build for me a temple in my honor."

"I, too, grow a small temple in your honor," Lei-zi took Hapi's hand and placed it on her belly. He felt the small movement there. His eyes grew wide, then he squinted.

"It's not mine!"

"Of course it is! Who else-"

"You consort with men and gods alike. There are a million that could be the father!"

"Hapi!"

Hapi shook his head.

"You are the only one," she explained. "What grows in my belly has the form of a fish. Who else?"

Again, Hapi shook his head. "We cannot. No. We cannot."

"Cannot?"

"That thing that grows in your belly is the unholy abomination of two gods from different worlds. He cannot be allowed to come into being."

"But I feel him. He's yours. I feel his fins and tail and his swimming like a well-trained athlete. He is yours and mine and there can be nothing unholy of that."

Once more Hapi shook his head. "He cannot be allowed to live. Our meeting here would be looked down upon by all the gods, perhaps the Cosmos themselves. And the men. How could we rule them if they attained the knowledge of our mixed child?"

Lei-zi had never seen Hapi act so cruelly, so decisively. "But he's ours..." was all she could say.

He grabbed her and held her by the shoulders. His eyes peered deeply into her own and softened like gentle lapping waves as he spoke to her.

"Listen to me. Our child's life would be one of scorn. He would be an outcast, not of your world nor of mine. He would be something different completely and would belong to a world unmade. He would have no place. Not here, not with our kind, not within the hearts of men. His life would be moot and full of pain."

Understanding, Lei-zi said, "We'll hide him."

"For an eternity? Impossible!"

"Then what shall we do?"

Hapi's eyes grew stern. "Upon his birth you will send him to me. Only your most trusted servant must be sent with the child. No other. And he must be discreet. I will take the child."

Hapi stood to leave.

"And then what?"

Hapi looked down on his lover. "I will dress him in salt and spices and make of him my meal."

***

Part 2
For days and days Lei-zi cried, raged and did not sleep. Monsoons destroyed fishing villages, thunder and rain flooding the lands. The seas swelled and churned under her wrath.

The fisherman, Kanaka Nui, found his family starving because he could not go out upon the waters and bring home to them their staple meal. In one of Lei-zi's momentary silences, he snuck out in his canoe in the hopes of catching a mere few fish to help his family survive. But, once out on the waters, Lei-zi awoke and raged once again.

"Oh, heavens!" cried Kanaka Nui sitting in his rocking canoe, hanging on for dear life. "Why do you wage such an ambitious war? My people starve! I starve! We need to fish to live! Please, tell me, anything that you wish I will do to appease you."

Lei-zi heard his words and though she did not answer him immediately, though she did not cease her thunder instantly, the seeds of a scheme began to blossom and grow within her.

Kanaka Nui tried very hard, paddling with all his might, to reach the shore. He prayed he would make it home safely for, if he was taken by the waters, his family would surely all perish. As long as he was alive he could bring them hope.

Finally, Lei-zi ceased her sobbing. The skies cleared just a bit. Thunder and winds became distant as she appeared before Kanaka Nui as a cloud.

"Brave fisherman," she said to Kanaka Nui. "I should not be waging a war against you, for you are not my enemy. My enemy is my own lover, whose child I now carry within my belly. I am enraged by his hatred for our yet unborn child. But, if you lend to me your aid, my heartache will cease and you will be able to return to your family safely and with food."

"Anything," said Kanaka Nui. "Anything you ask, I will do! What is it you want, o Cloud Mistress?"

"I will temporarily cease my showers for three days. In that time, paddle your canoe north into the mouth of the river and catch for me a fish. A carp, preferably. If you turn over the very first fish you catch to me, I will cease my showers all together."

Kanaka Nui accepted the offer and immediately set out, paddling north towards the river.

For three days the skies were clear and the sun shining. For three days Kanaka Nui did sweat profusely under the glaring sun, searching for fish. Each day passed and hope slipped from him. Hunger waged another war within his stomach. He wanted to eat so badly. He feared his family all dead or, fearing that he may have been taken by the sea and facing starvation, may have taken their own lives. He sobbed as the sun began to dip westward on the third day.

Then, at dusk, his keen eyes caught the movement of a fish. He drew his canoe closer to it, paddling softly. He grabbed his net, flung it, and caught the biggest carp he had ever seen! He pulled it over the side of the canoe and unravelled it from the netting. It was longer than two men are tall and speckled. The flesh smelled of dense meat and the scales gleamed in the setting sun.

Kanaka Nui's stomach growled. "Surely," he spoke to himself. "If there is a fish such as this in these waters, I could easily catch another before sunset. Then I could keep this massive, beautiful carp all to myself and stay my hunger and feed my family. I could give the second fish to the Cloud Mistress."

Kanaka Nui's stomach growled. He pulled his knife from its sheath. He looked at the setting sun, then to the lone cloud floating high above him.

"No," he spoke. "If I eat this fish, I will be alive, but without much honor or dignity. Without such things, a life is valueless. I would rather die than go back on my word."

He put away his knife and lifted with great effort the grand carp high above his head, pointing it towards the lone cloud. The carp magically lifted from his hands, floating into the heavens.

As he watched it fade from sight, he heard a thunk on his canoe's bottom. Looking, he found tens upon hundreds of fish leaping from the waters into the canoe. He smiled and knew the Cloud Mistress was rewarding him for keeping his word.

***

Part 3
Little Xiao-tep, son of Lei-zi and Hapi, was born and in his place his mother sent with her most faithful servant the large ordinary carp to be eaten by the father. Hapi accepted the carp as his son and ate him and never again thought of the matter, nor did he further pursue his affections for Lei-zi.

But time passed and Hapi's longing for Lei-zi's gentle touch grew.

Xiao-tep was born a beautiful butterfly koi, grown fully to a size larger than even the carp that had been sent in his place. He was white and gold and orange in color with a bold ankh resting atop his forehead. His eyes were sparkling blue. His fins were long and flowing and white. Born with attributes from both parents, he could fly, swim, float across land and speak every language. His mother loved him immediately and named him Xiao-tep from the Chinese word 'little' and for the Egyptian sage Imhotep.

Lei-zi spent all her time with her child, teaching him the ways of men so that one day he could leave her side and exist alongside with mortals in peace and without the knowledge of the other gods, most especially Hapi.

On occasion, however, Xiao-tep would ask his mother about his father.

Years passed and Lei-zi one day brought Xiao-tep to the Celestial Garden. Xiao-tep played in the swirling stream, flew a kite and slept on the bench there.

"Mother," Xiao-tep asked. "What of my father? Who is he? Is he alive? Mortal? Maybe dead?"

Lei-zi's face grew forlorn. She grabbed a small willow branch and broke it off, dipping it in holy oils and allowing it to drip into the stream like tears.

"The willow is the keeper of sorrows," she told Xiao-tep. "Take this small branch and I will tell you of your father. Let the willow cry for you."

Confused, Xiao-tep took the branch.

"Your father is Hapi, the God of the River Nile. He is a heavy man, though handsome and gentle towards me. Our love blossomed here in this quiet garden. But when I became pregnant with you, he felt your existence may be an abomination upon the Cosmos. He... he..."

"Go on, mother."

"He feels it is best if he has nothing to do with you."

This made no sense to Xaio-tep. He shook his head, but before he could ask a single question, Hapi came bustling through the brush and into the garden.

"Lei-zi!" said Hapi. "It has been ten years and though we are gods and ten years mean nothing to us, my love for you has slowed time to a crawl. I yearn for you once more."

Lei-zi's eyes grew wide with terror. Xiao-tep looked at this stranger, his father.

Hapi looked at Xiao-tep and asked, "Who is this? Another consort? He is so young. He's barely ten years of age-"

A slow realization came to Hapi. "Insolent wench! How dare you defy my commands?"

Hapi raged. Xiao-tep and his mother grew fearful. Hapi ran at Xiao-tep, his hands outstretched to choke his fish-son.


"Hapi! No!" cried Lei-zi.

Xiao-tep heard the words. He looked at the stranger. "Father?"

Hapi attacked him, but Xiao-tep wiggled and wiggled through Hapi's clenching fingers until he was free.

"Get back here!" raged Hapi. "I'll eat you alive!"

"Xiao-tep! Flee! Save yourself!"

Frightened, hearing his mother's cries, Xiao-tep obeyed. He dived into the swirling stream.

"Xiao-tep, no! He can reach you in the waters!"

Hearing this, Xiao-tep leaped from the stream and flew, higher and higher, the willow branch in his possession and dripping fast after him. Hapi screamed after his son as Xiao-tep faded into the Heavens, the willow's tears scattering like stars.

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Next week I'll be posting an act from the follow-up novel to this tale, "Warriors of the Midnight Sun".

Chapter 3 of SOAR

I've had a pretty good year, a pretty productive year. Not only did I publish four issues of my webzine and an accompanying Fan Guide, I wrote my second novel and I've started on a third. The first thing I posted on my blog this year was Act 1 and 2 of "At the Peony Teahouse" which was later incorporated into the novel I wrote this year, The Theft of Heaven. That first post was on January 4th of this year.

I wanted to end the year just as strong. With all this in mind, I decided the last four Fridays of the year for throughout December I would post samples of my fiction as blogs. First up is Chapter Three of Soar, my first completed novel. Next Friday I will be posting Act One from my fantasy wuxia novella "Escape from the Cottonwood Chamber" (Formerly known as "The Children of Gods"). On Friday, December 19th (my birthday!) I will be posting an act from my second novel, The Theft of Heaven. Lastly, on December 26 I will post chapter seven of Silent Nights - the novel I'm currently working on. It should be noted that this final blog post will be the first time in 8 years that any portion of Silent Nights has been made available to the public.

But that's all for later. For now we should discuss Soar.

Soar is the story of Led, a cyborg living in a future world where technology has been outlawed. He is recruited by Aerol Standish, the second most powerful corporate figurehead in the city of New Haven. Aerol has his doctors implanted faux wings into Led, making him a veritable angel. With the hopes of using the universal human dream of flight as a marketing campaign, Aerol hopes to use Led in order to bring science and technology back into the realms of trust and worship it once enjoyed.

Chapter Three shows Led and Aerol discussing matters of their world and the plans they have to renew humanity's love for technology and science.

Enjoy.

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SOAR (c) 2007 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved.

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER 3
Led crouched atop a giant stone bust at the corner of the roof. The gargoyle protruded from the building without wings or deformity, but in the likeness of some ancient philosopher he did not know.

His torso naked, back straining with new muscles wrapped around the frame of wings. His black and tan sacho covered his nose and mouth.

He had always wanted to fly. It was a wild and youthful dream. Six months ago the dream had been realized. With sixteen hours of groundbreaking surgery and two months of constant pain the dream was born into reality. First there had been the pain of new hardware invading his flesh, then the pain of new muscles strengthening themselves under the weight of wings.

He had already flown, but only within the confines of labs and odd chambers with a dozen or more men in white coats watching. This would be his first time in the real world, over the streets of New Haven.

Led looked down. The streets were alive with the activity of Meaters, purists that followed the law and refused enhancements. People afraid of technology, a fear born in the War Against Machines. It hadn’t been much of a war. It had been more of a crusade.

If the wings refused to work this day, he faced a fifty-story plummet.
He stretched the wings at the sunset made gold by pollution. He couldn’t see the sun, only its golden glowing effects.

He felt the air currents rippling through the feathers, judged the unseen and knew what to do to leave gravity behind. He felt the importance of the moment. He was about to realize humanity’s greatest, most universal dream.
His leg muscles contracted and he jumped.

He soared.

The wings flapped once, twice, arcing to cup the winds. He was glad for the solitude granted to him on this occasion.

Led soared.

The embers of the sun fizzled to the west over the blackened waters of Lake Wakshasa. The city streets below filled with long, drawn-out chants from unseen chanters. Stars largely unseen hinted at life high above. What few could be seen were somehow closer, though Led knew they weren’t. Not by much. Quickly they faded out, drowned by the city’s gas lamps sparking to life, forming a great galaxy of golden stars dancing below.

Led soared.

He felt like a god spying the outer edges of a galaxy.

He soared.

Streaks of lights grew brighter as the heavens grew darker. The city swirled like illumined lily pads in the night. Each light became an outpost of hope, of life, chasing away primal fears and dancing as candles at the witching hour. Led had never seen the city more beautiful.

He soared.

He twisted, spying on the city below. Each light represented a life to him, a cell within a greater organism. It was wondrous. He smiled.
Led smiled.

*****

A fat Aerol Standish sat in his massive office at an equally massive desk topped with white Italian marble. His chair was leather, cool and plush. He sat like mighty Caesar in a soft, white gown. The room dwarfed even this, the most important of men. Decoration within the office was sparse. Only an imported hand-woven rug lay in the center of the room and atop it another chair matching the one Standish sat in. An odd wooden arm descending from the ceiling near the desk held a large televisor. Potted trees and framed pictures of jungles and wild men filled the spaces of two walls. A third had a hand-painted fresco of Julius Caesar, though many people visiting the office in the past had mistaken the likeness for a younger, leaner Standish. The fourth and final wall, the wall behind him looking over the city, was nothing but a line of windows from corner to corner and from marble floor to vaulted ceiling, stretching out behind him like great wings.

He flipped through some book with disinterest. He knew Led would take his time flying about the city, which he was perfectly happy to allow.

A knock at the door.

“Come,” his voice echoed through the office.

Twin golden oak doors opened and Led walked in.

Standish looked up and noticed first the smile of his winged man. “Now there’s a sight I like to see. How was it?”

“Unbelievable!” Led said.

Standish waved him to the open chair in front of the desk. Led passed on the offer. “It’s difficult to sit in chairs now,” he explained.
Standish nodded with understanding.

Led approached to lean on the desk and stared at the book.

“Don’t worry,” Standish said. “No one will see it lying there.”

Led picked up the book and flipped through it. Standish was amazed by Led’s bold acceptance of the book.

Led was not surprised a man of Standish’s position and wealth knew how to read. He skimmed a few of the pages.

Standish recognized the act. “What’s this? Does our brute have a brain? Can he do more than wield the knife?” Standish smiled emphatically.

Led hesitated with answer.

“Come, come, my boy. We are free to speak here. No Guard will swoop down from the mountain to purge the world of our ilk. Here I am king and master and shall forever be. The arms of the Lord High Mayor cannot reach here unless first I grant permission. Tell me, dear boy, and tell me true: Can you read?”

Led nodded slowly and only once.

Standish stood, laughing. “What a find you are! A brute, a beauty and a thing of intellect! How could I ever hope to be so lucky?” He came to stand near Led and peered at him with something akin to greed. “Now tell me what you have read.”

Led lowered his head and shrugged.

“Don’t make me work for this. Tell me and tell me outright. You cannot be afraid. Here we are in a time of regressive technology and I’ve made you into a man with wings, how could your simple confession of reading be any worse?”

Led looked up, “The last thing I read was The Prince.”

“Machiavelli? By the gods, you do have a brain! It should be no surprise it’s one of my favorite texts. What think you of it?”

“It was an old thing. I got it from-” Led quickly looked at Standish. Books and reading were illegal and Led was afraid he almost inadvertently gave away the source of many of the books he had read. He continued, “Well, its pages were fallin’ out and the edges were torn. It smelled of dust and wet paper that had dried. I kinda liked the smell.”

Standish shared Led’s smile.

“But the text itself I didn’t like,” Led added.

“Why? For what reason?”

“It was good until the end. The last part revealed it all to be a shallow ploy, a pitchman’s call, a scam. It was another sale tailored for a mark. It was just another advertisement.”

Standish leaned back on the desk and considered Led curiously. “Maybe so, but that should not abolish its worth. There are some strikingly good things elsewhere within the text.”

Led shrugged and stretched his wings. “Maybe. It always seemed to me the schemes of today are our own. Only our actions will see tomorrow. That book was nothin’ but schemes. Schemes for position, power and money.”

“Not all the pursuits of money are unholy, my dear boy. And not all the advertisements are pursuits of money. Machiavelli, while unhappy in his new life, had nothing but luxurious time to pursue anything he wanted. All his cares were tended to. He may not have been rich nor in a position of power as he had once been when wrote The Prince, but he was no street urchin either. He was a gentleman of the country.”

Led nodded. “I know.”

“Then why your disapproval?”

Led was slow to answer. Finally he said, “I’m no mark.”

Standish thought on Led’s wounded pride the book must have brought to him. “Making a sale is truly a delicate thing. Do it too forcefully and you risk offending the customer. Do it with a passionate plea to some universal truth and you shall be hailed practically religiously. Again, it’s not always about money. Some pursue pride and immortality. Some strive for better things for themselves or their community. It is what you and I do now with those wings and the coming Expo. What make you of us?”

Led shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”

“Please enlighten me, dear boy.”

Led thought a moment before he spoke. “It’s about validation. You’re right, money isn’t always the purpose of a sale. Most times ideas are being sold and, I think, the most passionate salesman sells his own ideas, validates his own perception by spreading his ideas. Who am I to argue with you? Who am I to argue with one of the master salesmen of New Haven? You want to sell the idea of technology back to our world. I want these wings, hoping that, maybe, some will be envious of me. Some may even accept me.”

Standish thought on this, began to speak and stopped short. The two sat in silent shared contemplation.

“Now what?” Led asked.

Standish drew nearer Led. His squat frame made Led look down at him. “We take on the world, my dear boy! We make a good pair. I’m all show and your handsome as hell. It will be easy to show you off.”

“I don’t wanna hang out in any more labs.”

Standish shook his head. “You’re through with the labs. I’ve set up more appropriate and, hopefully, more comfortable quarters for you.”

“In this building?”

“We need to keep you close. And in two weeks we’ll unveil you to the world at the New Haven Business Exposition.” Standish’s smile was wide.

Led’s smile ran away. “Am I to be a prancin’ pony?”

“Not exactly, dear boy. Tell me, what am I best known for?”

Led hated Standish’s way occasionally of answering questions with questions, feeling as though he were being baited, much like the purpose of The Prince. What scared him more was he felt he was growing used to it. “You’re the second richest man in New Haven?” Led guessed.

“And quite powerful, but I mean what business am I known for?”

Led shrugged. “It’s well known you dabble in everything. My guess would be most of your money comes from landholdings, but your biggest news-getters are your pursuits of technology. It’s your most controversial work, at least.”

Standish smiled again. “Correct! And who would be my greatest rival in that respect?”
Again Led shrugged, guessing, “Merricksen Consolidated?”
“You pay attention.”

“To my enhancements, yes.”

“Merricksen Consolidated is owned by Rollus Merricksen. One of our agents planted deep in his company recently relayed to us that Merricksen will be personally unveiling the VK-111 at the Expo.”

“What’s that?”

“An amazing piece of machinery. An automaton.” Standish grimaced. His forehead furrowed with thought. “It means my worst fears are coming true. The future of any society is its present technology.” Standish paced before Led. “These idiot politicians and religious men, these leaders do more to suppress technology. All because of the War Against Machines. Idiots! Uneducated, unenlightened, backwards idiots! Yet we call them our leaders!”

Standish grew feverish in pace and tone.

Led remained quiet.

Standish looked to his winged man. “This means Merricksen is years ahead of everybody I’m involved with. Only Savini seems to have some foothold on the future.”

“Doc Savini’s good.”

“The best! But he’s only one man. Merricksen has surrounded himself with an army of architects and designers. And now he’s got an automaton. Most companies are afraid to even dabble in robotics for fear of the law and social repercussions. But not Merricksen. He has charged ahead. He’s a devilish plan in the works if I know him.”
“Robots would be a hard sell in New Haven,” Led put forth. “He’s shooting himself in the foot if that’s his great secret for the Expo.”

“One would think, my boy, but Merricksen is a sly bastard. He has a gimmick somewhere an idea, something to make people put aside generations of technological fear and accept a new kind of automaton.” Standish continued his pacing. His bare feet slapped against the marble floors. His breathing became erratic, heavy.

Led let Standish pace for a while.

“It’s bound to be the single most advanced piece of machinery the world has ever seen!” Standish reasoned. “We don’t have much in way of detail, but it’s fully automated. I worry it may be a policing machine. With such an automaton, people would no longer be needed to guard city streets. There’s bound to be some backlash, but the argument in support of the automaton would go something like ‘Better to lose a machine in the line of duty than a life.’ The City Guard! Private security! You name it! And the cold shadow of burning clouds you have made may lend themselves to the argument. Thirty-two! Thirty-two dead by your hands alone atop my Empire Arms!”

At this Led winced.

Standish rubbed his head nervously, ruffling his matted hair.

“But the War Against Machines…” Led reminded.

“Has left us suspicious of automatons. We’ve destroyed them before. We’ve slaughtered them, insomuch as one can slaughter lifeless machines. We’ve thrown ourselves into another age of darkness and terror. I am a student of history, my dear boy. Our fellow man, however, designs against the past in some ideal for the future. Bacchus plots against Clio. What wounds he digs are deep. The mutilated muse suffers his scarring and is piecemealed together as something more Promethean.”
Led leaned on the desk. He had learned the fat man was prone to soliloquy. He eyed Standish. Led found him to be simple, though adorned outwardly in odd elaborate trappings, and self-educated. Though Led often did not understand the ramblings, he listened to the words, the tones and pace. When he felt prompted, he would reply.
“The science of the Shanist Temple is all the people answer to now and turn to for answers. To risk reintroducing robots is bold. Merricksen could be setting forth his own undoing, but influence through litigation can push past social response to achieve any end.”

“It sounds like something you would do,” Led said.

A wry smile was planted, blossoming upon the face of Standish. “Indeed,” he answered. “Rollus is gambling on the need to save, to cut costs. It’s a bet well hedged.”

“He wouldn’t risk losing everything with a line of automatons when I can’t even walk the streets,” Led said. “The backlash would be immense. He’d swing from the gallows.”
“Times change, my dear boy. Attitudes shift. It is the ebb and flow of humanity’s will that dictates technology’s progress, not science itself. Everything within society must first be justified within the popular consciousness. It’s all in the marketing and alteration of common perceptions. It’s in the ideas, just as you said. With the right image you can sell a murder. Everything can be justified if lighted properly and photographed from the best angle. This city is a ship adrift in the great stream of human consciousness. Push and pull at the rudder, steer the ship, change the course of history and attitudes and belief and reality is recorded anew.”
Led thought he could feel the tides flowing, unseen, around him. How fragile the perceptions of society now appeared to him, more fragile than human life. He felt lost, floating, a prisoner at the fingering whims of another.

“Where do I come in?” Led asked.

Standish gave another wry smile. “The VK-111 will be big news, something most everyone will be speaking of.”

Standish slowly, dramatically, approached the towering plane of windows overlooking the gas-lighted city sparkling in the night. The dancing lights were the color of aged papyrus: bright, twinkling and yellowed. Led walked up behind him, unconsciously spreading his wings to match the expanse of glass and sprawl of the city. Wings upon wings upon stars upon heavens.

“How was it… to fly?” Standish asked softly.

The smile returned to Led. He shook his head, opened his mouth to form words but was met by a drought. Led was far from a wordsmith. He was at best a street thug, a goon, the city’s cheapest muscle for hire. At least, he had been before Standish rescued him from atop the Empire Arms.

He didn’t have an answer.

He didn’t need one.

“Imagine, dear boy,” Standish said, “Imagine the Expo. Merricksen shows up with the VK-111 and gets all kinds of attention, both good and bad. Now imagine as we let loose onto the world a man that can fly! And under his own power! The VK-111 would be a giant, indeed, but a giant standing in the shadows of a god. You are the dream of Man, dear boy. Of every man of every age.”

The two men stood in silence together watching the city as two men staring at an aquarium. Standish was reveling in his self-made elation, his pre-conceived victory. Led’s mood melted into brooding. He wasn’t one to do things to please others. He was solely interested in fulfilling his own pleasures. But Standish had made his wings possible, among other things. Perhaps, Led thought, I can put on the song-and-dance routine for Standish. I’ve made my deal with the devil, now it’s time to dance. But a bitter taste remained and Led couldn’t help himself from saying, “A prancing pony.”

Standish turned his attention to Led. “Just for two weeks, my dear boy. After that you’ll be as a folk hero, accepted and loved everywhere.”

“What do we do until then?” Led asked.

“You fly, dear boy! You fly!” With a swoop of the hand Standish indicated the city far below. “Let them see you down there, flying high above their architects! Let them scream and yell and talk about you. Let them call you The Gargoyle, show them Mercury, let their eyes touch Gabriel in flight! Let them talk and wonder and toy with the ticklish fringe of panic! But don’t let them get hold of you or those wings. Simply fly!”

Over the next two weeks Led would fly at night and in broad daylight. He would promote himself freely and wildly. He would drum up business in the form of media frenzy. He would play the billboard, the poster, the advertisement. Led cared little for this, but he wanted to fly. He wanted to fly.

*****

The next morning, without breakfast and very little sleep, Led made his way to the top of the building. The city lay sprawling before him, a giant painting splattered golden with morning sunglow. Van Gogh had been resurrected and put to work landscaping the early horizon. Windows twinkled like gas lamps at night. Stars amongst steel. Tiny shines between streets.

All was quiet.

Led soaked in the silence.

He jumped.

He soared.

He smiled.

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Thanks for reading. Look for Act One of The Theft of Heaven next Friday.

Issue 13 has been published!

This year's Special Halloween Edition of If - E - Zine has been posted on my site TheLordShen.com.

Within this issue Iffy the Ifreet, the ezine's new mascot, hosts all the wonderful Halloween- and horror-themed stories!

Be sure to check it out!

Iffy the Ifreet

Gettin' Iffy

Contrary to what I had promised last Friday, I will not be posting notes on "The Elephant Crusade" this week. I have steadily working on issue 12 of If - E - Zine: The Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction! This August If - E - Zine celebrates its fifth birthday. It amazes me I've been working on the ezine for five full years. If you like science fiction, speculative fiction, slipstream fiction, horror, sword & sorcery and all that good, nerdy stuff, you'll probably like If - E - Zine.

So this week, in lieu of notes about "The Elephant Crusade", I instead present to you a video celebrating the first five years of If - E - Zine and some new pictures of Iffy the Ifreet, the new mascot for If - E - Zine.










Fear not dear reader! I will return next with with an all new story continuing the saga where "The Elephant Crusade" left off! Check back next week for Act 1 of "Song of Momoki"!

LINKS:
TheLordShen.com (home to If - E - Zine)
If - E - Zine on MySpace

Things are getting a bit iffy around here

On Friday, June 13th, I debuted a mascot for my ezine If - E - Zine: The Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction!

His name is Iffy the IFreet, the Intergalactic Gin-Soaked Gypsy.

I've been wanting to create a mascot for the ezine for quite some time, something in the vein of The Crypt-Keeper from the TV series Tales from the Crypt and originally from the EC horror comics of the same name published in the 1940s and '50s. Every EC comic had a host or mascot of some sort and being that I claim EC as a source of inspiration for If - E - Zine, it seemed only natural that I should have a mascot or host, as well.

I'll have a more thorough write-up about Iffy in the August issue of If - E - Zine, which will be the fifth anniversary issue. I hope you'll click on over to my site and check out all the issues.

And, as always, enjoy!





For further Iffy enjoyment, you can add If - E - Zine as a friend on MySpace from the official If - E - Zine MySpace Profile.

And add the ezine as a friend on FaceBook on the official If - E - Zine FaceBook Profile.

"The Ruby Bug" - Act II

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"The Ruby Bug"
(c) 2008 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved.

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ACT II: The Trek of the Ruby Bug

OLD FRIENDS IN NEW LANDS: Wherein Garu Finds the Jewel of Zingtai; Zahir the Indomitable Captures the Ruby Bug; The Friendship of Ebi and Pup

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CHAPTER 1

On a grand, large island lived Doko, a fat, happy man who sometimes was a beggar and sometimes a merchant. He would traverse the island, carrying bags of rice or millet or other grains for sale. He would smile at the people he would meet. He rarely ate his own merchandise but so amiable was he that rare was the day he would go without a free meal from some generous family happy to have him as a guest and supply their children with dreams about the adventures, some real and most imagined, as he traveled the island.

Occasionally he would find himself a companion to travel with. They would talk the day away, relieving themselves of their weighty merchandise or troubles as they walked with friendship. His most common companions, however, were rats and mice that desperately desired his grains. He would bend low when one came near and say, "If you be good to me, keep me company on my travels, then by day's end I will share some small portion of my goods with you or, should I find a kind family to house and feed me tonight, I shall stow away some of the food they provide me and feed you as we first head off in the morning." The mice and rats would often do as he said and came to be known as a friend amongst their kind.

Once, Doko found the same rat following him over the course of three travels. He could identify the rat easily by a small tuft of white fur on the back of his right ear that appeared as two crossed lines, making the letter 'x'. Doko named the rat Garu. They would eat and Doko would tell Garu tales, some heard and some experienced, some true and some imagined.

On one occasion a bandit attempted to rob Doko, but Garu attacked, biting at the ankles of the bandit. "Bite him!" Doko urged with laughter, finding the bandit's yelping funny.

The bandit heard Doko's cries as command, however, and escaped thinking Doko a sorcerer and Garu his familiar. Word soon spread that Doko was powerful with rats and never again was he assaulted or robbed. He also, however, found it harder to find a place to bed down for the night as most people were not as keen to have a guest who could command rats least of all witchery.

But Doko was fine with it. He remained fed well enough and happy as he had his friendship with Garu.

While bartering one day in a town, Doko had the opportunity to travel over seas to the mainland and make more money than he had ever heard of. "I could also start fresh there," he told Garu as he talked it out. "No one there will know me as a rat sorcerer. I could eat heartily again. While I will miss your friendship, little Garu, I know you will fend well for yourself. It is your nature. Be well, friend." And with that Doko boarded a ship to leave for the mainland.

Garu was heartbroken at the idea of losing his traveling companion and felt the urge of wanderlust in his heart. He did not wish to lose his friend and knew that he, too, could do well in the new lands. Without notice he climbed the rope staying the ship Doko had boarded to the dock and stole away with the cargo.

The journey was difficult as they were hit by three storms on the way to the new lands. Other rats had boarded, but as a group and they eyed Garu suspiciously and treated him poorly, making him fight them for bits of the cargo for food. He became quite the fighter, learning how to kick furiously with his hind legs while holding his opponents in his fore legs. Finally, Garu quietly challenged their leader and defeated him, spilling his blood and mercifully killing him. Garu became the new leader of the group of rats and they all ate well until they almost neared the new lands.

When the crew of the ship discovered holes chewed in the cargo they knew they had been boarded by rats. Several times a day men were sent into the hold to kill rats. Many of the rats died. In the end, only Garu and two others survived.

The ship docked and they ran for their lives. Garu hid in the port near the ship, eying the passengers as thy left the ship. When he saw Doko he ran to him.

Doko, wide-eyed and unbelieving, looked down at the rat. He recognized the tan fur and the way Garu sat up as he always had when begging for food. He also recognized the tuft of white fur on the back of the rat's right ear that appeared as two crossed lines, making the letter 'x' "Garu?" Doko asked. He bent low. "Is that really you?"

Garu squeaked happily. Doko smiled and laughed and pocketed his old friend so he would not be seen or chased off or worse.

They were together again, friends in a new land.

Time passed and Doko fell ill to an alien illness in the new land. While walking the wide new world they had entered, carrying grain from one country to another, Doko lay down to rest by the road as the starless night passed over. Garu remained by his side all night and in the early hours of morning, just as the fingers of dawn and the head of Etain washed the far horizon, Doko breathed his last breath. Garu cried small rat tears, squealed a soft goodbye and reluctantly left his old friend by the side of the road to be discovered a day later by another traveling merchant.

Garu wandered for a long time, unsure of things. Hunger finally came to him and he could find no food. He started eating the green mold growing on the rocks of this new land. he survived thusly for many days. then he came a large plain where he found a bit of stone completely covered in green, the Jewel of Zingtai buried there by Zom Loa, peeking from the ground. He tasted it, finding no nourishment and only hardness. He could not quite understand. It appeared to have the moss he had learned to eat, but he knew nothing of jewels or other stones. Deciding the green color was coming from inside the stone, he felt he must dig into it to get at the moss therein. he bit and gnawed until his teeth become sore and one of his long incisors broke. The pain of his teeth and of hunger drove him into a fury. He wanted so desperately to eat that he bit down hard on the stone. A small bit of it came away. He rolled it in his mouth, tasting it for flavor and angry that he found none. Hunger, however, was his driving force and he swallowed the small bit of jewel.

He screeched in agony as his body bulged, his muscles and bones grew longer, forming reforming, breaking and healing. He grew to about the height of a small man, found himself able to stand and walk on his hind legs. He grew hands like a man's. Blood and pain poured from him as the small rat transmogrified into an impossible large one. "What in the hells has happened to me!" he cried and jumped at his own voice. Never before had he been able to speak and the sound frightened him, thinking someone else was nearby saying things. He looked around and saw no one. He spoke again, testing his voice. "What is happening?" he asked no one in particular. He gazed down at himself. He grunted in his throat and heard his scratchy, gravely voice.

"I have been cursed!" He shook his head. "I do not know things and I especially donot know of green stones and witchery, but if this be a curse upon me, I wish I knew what I had done to deserve it so as to avoid doing it ever again!"

He examined the rock he had chewed. His new hands made it easier for him to uncover the thing to discover its truth. He found it to be the giant emerald it was. He thought of his friend Doko's love for jewels, though he had been rarely paid in such a way, and thought of the times he watched from behind a tree stump or bush as Doko had traded coins and jewels for supplies, including food he would feed Garu. "Perhaps," Garu said to himself, "I can trade such a jewel."

Hungrier now than ever, with a larger and therefore emptier belly, he dug the emerald out of the ground and carried it off in the hopes of trading it for a meal.

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CHAPTER 2

Zahir the Indomitable was a large man, ugly, hairy and with a nose so crooked as a knotty pines' branches. He was first and foremost a wanderer, pillaging wherever he roamed to attain his whims. He was tall, forearms like oaken roots, and a chest wide and thick. Many, when first spying him, assumed him an Immortal, a demon, a god, a Gifted One. But he was a mortal man.

He wore loose clothes, often a burgundy vest and red and white striped baggy pants with gold cuffs and lapels.

The hair on his head was untamed and greasy. His beard truly extended from his jowls and a thin goatee on his chin. Each was braided and them in turn, braided together.

Zahir rarely gave way to ale lest it be sweetened with honey, but his love of wine -- and especially plum wine -- was unmatched. He would drink the sweet liquors by the jug. As much as he loved wine, he loved fighting more. He lusted after that moment when he stood over a young whelp that moments before convinced completely of their martial abilities. He had lost only once, as a child, when beaten by his older brother.

But more than he loved wine and fighting, he loved women. He loved them not as a romancer, but as an alcoholic, like he, loved their spirits. He imbibed them. He took them in and drank deeply, haughtily, without remorse or thought of recourse. He frequented the brothels of every country he entered. He took the women there ravaged them. He would often combine his loves, appearing in the doorway of an establishment entirely drunk and as he had his way with one of their whores he would beat her senselessly. One such time he beat a poor whore so terribly that she almost bled to death, but when she recovered she gave up the oldest profession entirely for fear of having to pleasure Zahir again or more men like him.

Wherever he roamed he left a wake of damage and illegitimate children.

Zahir was a wanderer and when he drew close to the imp-filled boglands he did so on a walking path used by the fisherman of a nearby village when they took their excess catch to be sold. As he walked a small, glittering, glint of red sparkled in the path before him. He bent low and there he found a tiny bug made of ruby trekking across the path.

"What's this?" he asked, stupid with spirits. "Does wine spoil my sight? A bug? Made of ruby? A living bug of ruby! The gods be damned, I have been made rich!" He picked up the bug clumsily within his meaty hands, fumbling to capture the small thing. When at last he had the bug in his hand he tore from his vest a small scrap of cloth and wrapped the bug up neatly lest it escape. He carried the ruby bug with him for many months, bribing, relieving folks of their money for a chance to peer at the mystic bug.

Zahir brought the ruby bug to the silversmith Ko Fong and paid him to fashion for him a tooth. Ko Fong did so, removing Zahir's right upper incisor and replacing it with the silver tooth. The ruby bug was mounted on the outside of the tooth. And though Zahir could not be certain, he grew stronger and was able to withstand greater periods in which his stamina was tested. He also, Zahir found, grew ill more often than he ever had before in his life.

"Kindly sir," said Marcin to Zahir as they sat in an elaborate drinking house filled with plush pillows and tapestries. Marcin was an extravagant merchant, wearing gold on his fingers and in his ears and nose and carrying with him a stable of five stallions and three men that tended to all his wares. He was fat, another sign of his success and wealth, and rarely stood except to walk into a drinking house or inn. "I know fine collectors from all over the world. May I inquire as to a price that you have on the bug?"

"To see it? A mere coin of the realm, enough for a drink of wine," responded Zahir.

Marcin shook his head. "That is not what I intend. What I desire is to own your bug. Surely I can match any hefty price you could quote."

Zahir considered this, then shook his head, "Rarely do I need such elaborate frippery, but I've discovered I'll grow more money if I keep this bug, enough to get me free drink and whores the rest of my life at least and that is all I care for."

Marcin stared at Zahir. "I wish to have that bug, kindly sir, and I will pay any price. If it is wine and women you desire, perhaps I can set up a deal with the owner of this very drinking house to provide you both until the day you die."

Again Zahir considered Marcin's offer. Again he shook his head. "And what if I travel to another land? Would you follow me and negotiate such a deal with a drinking house there? No, I will keep my bug."

Angry, dejected, Marcin called for his servants to help him off the pillows and left Zahir alone. But a few hours later, after Zahir had drunk himself sleepy, Marcin and his men returned with a fourth man in tow.

"Kindly sir," Marcin said as his servants shook Zahir awake. "I wish to discuss the matter of the bug again."

"Huh? What? The bug?" Zahir blinked the wine from his eyes. "Oh," he said as he recognized Marcin. "The pestering merchant. If you've a coin, I'll et you see my bug. Nothing else can be discussed between us."

"I thought, perhaps, a man such as yourself occasionally enjoyed a good gambling game. I brought this man here," at this the fourth man, a massive taller and thicker than Zahir with a fat paunch, stepped forward. "to challenge you to a drinking game. If you can can hold more drink at the end, I will grant you your prize of choice. If he, however, consumes more than you, I get your ruby bug."

Zahir burped. "I've already been drinking. He looks sober as a newborn."

"That is the offer."

"Then I refuse the offer," Zahir lay back on the plush pillows behind him.

"Perhaps I should introduce the two of you first. This is Macia Thrace, a mercenary."

Zahir lifted his head and eyed the tall, rotund man. "Well met," he mocked and lay his head back down.

"Your name?" Macia grumbled, feeling the insult of not having the stranger with the bug introduce himself in return.

Zahir waved a hand, as if shooing a fly, and said nonchalantly, "I am Zahir the Indomitable, master of the fight, of wine and of women. Now let me sleep."

"Sit up and drink or stand and fight," said Macia.

"Go away, Macia. As a mercenary surely you know what it is to imbibe and need rest. I will play games with you later." Zahir rolled over on his side, his back to Macia and Marcin.

Further insulted, Macia approached, grabbed Zahir's arm and pulled to lift him up. Zahir spun lazily, kicking a leg out and sweeping the legs of Macia who fell with a mighty, muffled thud atop several pillows. Zahir readjusted his position as though about to sleep, opened one eye and peered at the fallen Macia, smiled and said, "Rest with me, friend. Then we will play."

Macia growled as he stood. "Stand, coward! Stand and fight!"

"I thought you wanted to drink?" Zahir kept his eyes closed.

"Either will do," Marcin interjected.

Zahir sighed. He sat up and called for more wine. "Very well. We will have both. First Macia the Mercenary and I will drink as carousing old friends. Then we will fight. But," Zahir caught Macia's attention as he sat near him and said, "be warned, friend, if we fight it will be to the death. I am no cleric, no man of mercy. I have learned better than that."

Macia nodded. They were brought wine. They toasted to one another's deaths and laughed hysterically as they told tales of past exploits. They caroused as old friends, as Zahir had said.

And though Zahir had been drinking long before Macia, though Zahir took two drinks to Macia's one, it was Macia who at last feel forward, face buried in a pillow, from too much drink.

Zahir looked to the nearby Marcin, who was stunned. "Your man is no man," Zahir told him.

Marcin's face grew red with rage. "Kill him!" he commanded his three servants.

The three men charged, bending to grab Zahir who hurriedly stood, his arms caught by them. One man grabbed each arm and the third fondled Zahir to find the hidden ruby bug.

Zahir shifted his weight and sent the servant holding his right arm toppling into a pile of pillows with a hip toss. He grabbed the neck of the man holding his left arm and so great was the squeeze he placed there that his thumb punctured the servant's throat and sent him reeling away, gasping for air.

The third servant, bent low, looked up. Zahir thrust his pelvis into the servant's face abd sent him falling backwards on his butt. Zahir was on top of him then, using both hands to strangle the servant. His face turned red with strain as the servant's turned purple.

Marcin struggled to stand from his seated position. Seeing this, Zahir quickly raised a hand and slammed a palm into the nose of the servant he was strangling, driving it upwards and breaking part of the servant's face. Zahir then stood and grabbed the fat Marcin. The people in the drinking house screamed, running, emptying out. Zahir was left alone to slowly choke the life out of the fat merchant.

Zahir searched the dead merchant's body, found a sack of coins and left the drinking house without paying for the wine he and Macia had been drinking. "Once again," he smiled, "I get free drinks."

Zahir walked into another country where he signed with an independently owned ship filled with scoundrels like himself and assigned as privateers on the seas. He sailed with them for many months, looting merchant ships from other countries and chasing wine and women in every port. He did not know how to swim, but had he known, he thought, that such a life was possible he would have learned to do so and taken to a ship long ago.

To his great surprise Macia Thrace, the mercenary he had once caroused with in a game of drink, signed on the same ship and they became partners in future exploits. They would often recount their first meeting and laugh hysterically and toast to one another's deaths.

Tragedy, however, seemed to follow them. The small ship, named Baqir, was twice caught in monsoons and four times boarded herself. On each such occasion the ship lost more than half her crew in bloody struggle for life.

At last the whole ship was taken ill, so ill that six of the crewmen died. The sickest of all, it seemed, was Zahir the Indomitable. He was allowed to lay in his hammock bed, unable to move or eat or drink, barely capable of speech. Rumors were started. Many of his fellows knew of the ruby bug he carried and it came to be known as the object that cursed them.

"Zahir," the men said, "you have brought onto our ship a thing so foul that we, too, are made foul by ill-fortune and illness. Give us the bug so we may throw it into the sea."

Zahir, soberly afraid for the first time in his life, accepted he would soon die. He asked to see the captain of the ship, a man named Faraj, who kindly granted the requested. Captain Faraj went to the dying Zahir's side.

"I fear," whispered Zahir, "the men may be right. I fear the bug is cursed. I do not know its origins, but I remember where I found it. It was on a path near the boglands and a small fishing village. I feel the best course is to rid this ship and my fellows of this bug and I feel it best to send the bug back to the lands in which I found it. I can only counsel. Had I the strength, I would gladly take a rowboat and return it alone, but I will die soon, Captain."

Captain Faraj nodded. He reached into the mouth of Zahir and, with a small spat of blood, removed the tooth. With a knife he extracted the ruby bug from the silver tooth and stored it in a small wooden box inlaid with abalone the color of green jade in his own quarters. He then told his men to set a course for the boglands, that they would return the bug and rid themselves of the curse.

Zahir's last words were heard by his old friend Macia. "Wherever that bug doth go, follows with it a trail of blood."

"So many time I've toasted your death," Macia told him, "and now that you near death, I wish I hadn't."

Zahir smiled weakly.

Zahir the Indomitable succumbed to illness en route to the boglands. He died sober, hungry, and without a woman at his side. He went without a fight. He merely slipped into a deep sleep and never awoke.

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CHAPTER 3

In a small country in a small part of the world lived the family Sor. They were a poor family of meager means and the local authority's taxes, which were exorbitant, took the last bit of wealth they could claim. They were starving, living sixteen to a hut and struggling to raise rice in a time of great drought. The Cosmos, it seemed, had destined them to a life of harshness for one day Lady Sor, a waif from starvation, approached her husband and said, "Dear husband, I fear what I must tell you. I am pregnant."

Husband Sor looked at her in astonishment. "Are you certain?"

Lady Sor nodded. "I've not menstruated and last night, as I lay sleepless in the heat of the summer's night, starving and angry with the way of things, I felt our child move."

The family gathered round her and the matter was discussed. "It's been so long," said Husband Sor, "since I've had any water except that which I suck from the soil that I cannot believe my body could make any fluid. Now my wife is with child and it will surely die as we've no food nor any means to care for it. When this cild is born, we must do the proper thing and bury it, alive, as a sacrifice to the gods in hopes of rain so that we may not all perish."

"No!" cried Lady Sor. "I cannot kill my child!"

"We are so poor, to bring a child into this home is to kill it," argued Husband Sor. "To bury it is to release it from the bondage in which we live."

But Lady Sor was adamant. It was her mother, an elderly woman lying next to her own grave, that suggested, "We must bundle the child and set it adrift. We must carry it to the sea over the hills and allow the gods there to guide the child as they see fit. If the child is to die, it is their will. If the child is to live, they will sail it to new lands and a new home."

"But, Grandmother Sor," Husband Sor called her this though they discussed the death of her grandchild, "we are all needed here to work so that we may earn what little we can for the food the local authority sells to us. Not a one of us can spare the time to carry the child over the hills to the sea and set it adrift.

"No. It cannot be done. We will bury the child when it is born."

"Perhaps," Grandmother Sor said, "I could take the child. I am near my own death. Every day I lie here while I watch my family toil to feed me us all, myself included. Age has stricken me nearly immobile."

"If you cannot work here," answered Lady Sor, "you cannot carry a child to the sea."

"I can," argued her mother. "And I will."

"You could not survive such a trip!" cried Husband Sor.

"Then you will have two less mouths to feed."

After much arguing it was decided Grandmother Sor's suggestion was the best. The child was born, a male child they named Xi-Wang. They bundled him and placed him in a basket that could float, kissed him, placed him in his grandmother's arms and given compassionate farewells. At dawn the day after his birth Grandmother Sor set out with the child, heading over the hills to the sea.

The trek was long for her as she was very old and more than once she almost dropped the child, but her love for the child and her family pushed her on. She stumbled here and there, but did not stop, not ever for water or shade, on her way over the hills.

At last, at dusk, she came to the sea and placed the child in the wet sand where the tides were slowly moving in. She fell prone on the beach. Her body absorbed the cool feeling of the water beneath the sand. She drew in her last breath and died beside the basket, the child within hungry and crying.

The tide came in and swept him away. Some time later the body of Grandmother Sor was also taken by the sea.

The child floated all the next day, sailing madly atop the currents, until a fisherman from the fishing village near the boglands spotted the basket heard the child and steered his small boat towards him. The fisherman plucked the child from the water, took him home and raised him as his own. The fisherman named the boy-child Ebi.

Ebi grew to be a strong man and learned the trade of his father. His origins were never hidden from him, but more than once his adoptive father expressed his love for Ebi as his own son.

His father died as Ebi was entering manhood, leaving his seaside cottage and boat to him.

Knowing the young Ebi must be lonely, a nearby neighbor and friend brought to Ebi the gift of a dog. "I know a dog is another mouth to feed," said the friend, "but perhaps you could find use in him. He is a small dog, the runt the litter. He was born to my brother's bitch. He is a farmer in the northern part of the country. The dog is already a good swimmer. Perhaps you could make of him a fisherman?"

They laughed at this, but Ebi happily accepter the dog. "Now I can have an ear to listen to me sing as I fish," Ebi joked.

The following day Ebi loaded his boat with his usual small meal, his cane pole and his new dog. As he fished that day he sang to the dog who nipped playfully at the fish that was brought aboard. Ebi laughed hysterically at this. "It would seem you'll make a fine fisherman indeed," he told the dog.

He spent the day singing and laughing, watching the dog rest when he grew weary with excitement, his head lying on the bottom of the boat. "Are you sleepy, pup?" he asked and laughed. "Is all this hard work too much for you, pup?"

Later in the day, as Ebi rowed his boat back into shore, he watched the dog wagging his tail when the cottage came into view. "Are you glad to be home, pup?" Ebi asked, but as he neared the shore the dog jumped from the boat, splashing frantically through the seafoam and nipping at the gnats collected in the air above the beach. Ebi found this funny and laughed so heartily that his boat slowly drifted back to sea. When his laughter slowed, never quite stopping, he rowed back into shore to teh awaiting dog. "Have you a fun day of play, pup?" he asked.

It was then Ebi realized he had yet to name his dog, that he had been calling the creature 'pup' all day long. "You'll need a good name, pup." said Ebi.

That night as they ate a meal of fish and warmed themselves by a fire, Ebi considered the dog. It was a white dog, a small spaniel with burgundy-colored ears and tail. the ears ended in long curls of fur. As they rested Ebi wondered at a name. At last he climbed into bed. The dog sniffed at his feet and lay beside him. Ebi smiled, laughed. "You're always welcome to share warmth here, pup," he told his dog.

Time passed. Ebi could think of no good name. He said at last, "Think that I must forever call you 'pup'. Is that fine with you, Pup?"

The dog jabbered and yapped, wagged its tail and nearly smiled.

"Pup it is then."

They lived happily for many years in peace wit the sea, helping the nearby imps of the bogs and growing old as friends.

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CHAPTER 4

A stranger came into the fishing village many years later. He was a traveling merchant and when he heard the tale of Ebi's discovery by his adoptive father, he paid Ebi a visit.

"Have you any knowledge of your life prior to arriving here in the village?" asked the stranger.

Ebi shook his head. "No, I have none. I was told I was much too young to be at sea, however, perhaps a mere few days old."

The stranger said, "I believe you to be Xi-Wang, son of the Lady Sor. For many years she has spoken of you with great sadness in her eyes. They set you at sea because they could not afford to feed you, to care for you. Most of your family is now dead and Lady Sor is dying."

"I've a family?" asked Ebi. He heard more of the stranger's tale and soon decided he must go to see this woman before she died, before he lost his chance to meet what was perhaps his mother.

"She is quite near death," said the stranger. "You would have to go this instant and ride madly to reach her side in time."

Ebi considered this. "I have no horse," said he.

"I do," claimed the stranger. "My business is done and I travel in the direction you need to go. I will ride with you."

Ebi, excited and rushed, went to his friend and neighbor who had given him Pup. "Dear friend," said Ebi, "would you kindly care for my Pup in my absence?"

The neighbor shook his head. "It is not desire that keeps me, but economy. I have a house filled with children and while surely they would love a dog to play with, I cannot feed another mouth. But fear not: all dogs are scavengers and survivors at heart. Leave him at your cottage and he will fare well enough on his own until your return."

Ebi thought on this. He returned to his cottage and knelt near Pup. "Pup, dear Pup. I must pursue the chance to meet my mother. I fear I must leave you here, but know I that you will fare well. The journey is long and will take some few days riding hard on horseback and I simply cannot take you with me. Stay here and I shall return to you." At this he kissed Pup's forehead, gathered a few things together, mounted the stranger's horse with the stranger and rode off in a hurry, leaving the small fishing village behind.

Pup sat watching, feeling the pull of his leaving master as Ebi quickly faded from sight. Pup did not eat or drink the rest of that day, nor did he sleep or play, nipping at the gnats flying over the beach. Instead, he sat watching the road his master had taken, waiting to see a sign of his return.

Kalavata flew overhead later that day. It occurred to Pup his master, his friend, Ebi may not return. Pup lay on the road watching, considering things.

At last Pup stood up and trotted lightly down the road, smelling for his master's scent, following the path he had taken.

******************************

CHAPTER 5

For two days Pup followed the scent that grew weaker. He, too, grew weaker, finding it difficult to forage for food. He went gaunt, thin with starvation until his ribs could be seen through his flesh. He panted heavily, drinking when he could find water, fresh or stagnant.

Pup came to a small farm along the road. He went to the door. The cottage he had shared with Ebi had a doorway without a door and could not figure out the obstacle. He sniffed the air and could smell fresh death as the old couple of the farm, the eldest of a family, lay dead inside, taken in the night by terrors and coughing sickness.

Pup found the farm's well. It had attached a gravity-fed system that slowly renewed fresh water in the troughs of the animals on the farm. He drank from it. he sniffed the air and smelled chickens. Salivating hunger drove him to find the coop.

Pup invaded the coop with ferocity. He ate one chicken and was about to eat another when mad growls came to him. The farmers' dog, a wolfhound, had found Pup and was angry with his intrusion.

The wolfhound barked.

Pup back away until his butt touched the side of the house.

The wolfhound attacked, biting and clawing. His mouth grabbed hold of Pup's ear and he shook his head. Pup yelped in pain and fear as his right ear tore from his head. He bit again and gouged out Pup's left eye. The wolfhound pressed the attack, his teeth sank deep into the belly of Pup.

Pup, desperately, placed all four of his paws on the wolfhound's chest and kicked. The wolfhound backed away, the air rushing from his chest.

Knowing he had no choice, knowing he was weak with hunger though he had just eaten, knowing he hadn't the skills or knowledge to outrun or out-fight the wolfhound, Pup determined he must kill while he had the chance. He pounced. The wolfhound, stealing choking for air, collapsed beneath Pup. they roiled in the dirt, kicking up dust. Pup bite down on the wolfhound's neck. Tasting blood, his jaw clenched further and he whipped his head side to side, tearing the throat out of the wolfhound.

Pup sighed, spitting out the hunks of the hound in his mouth. He sniffed at the dying dog. He lay down for a moment, panting, afraid, jittering with nerves and watching the wolfhound's chest rise and fall quickly. He then rose and returned to the troughs to drink deeply. He licked his wounds, many of which were deep and bleeding profusely. He lay beside the cool well and slept for a while. When he awoke, he was afraid once more. He was hungry, but wanted to leave the farm behind. He licked his wounds some more before stepping back onto the trail, anxiously trotting with in the direction of Ebi's scent, his one ear flapping as he went.

******************************

CHAPTER 6

Ebi did not make it in time to meet his mother. In fact, she died as he rode into the village. But he attended the funeral, a meager funeral it was, and visited with the people who had once called her friend. The stranger that had loaned himself and his horse excuse himself from Ebi, stating he had business to tend to. Ebi never saw him again.

After a few days' consoling, sharing tales and working with his dead mother's friends to thank them for their kindness as they fed him he gathered up his belongings to head home.

On the morning he left the village he was met on the road by Pup.

Astonished, Ebi stared. He could barely recognize the beast that ran up to him and sat, busily working its tail back and forth in happiness. "Pup?" asked Ebi as he knelt. "Is that you?"

Beaten, battered, missing an ear and an eye and with a hole in his belly, Pup barked softly, affectionately at his master. Ebi held Pup in his arms, crying. "Oh, Pup. Oh, Pup. Oh, Pup. What has happened to you? Did you truly follow me all this way?"

Pup answered with a simple wag of the tail.

Ebi returned to his mother's village and asked for herbs and food for Pup. The people there were poor and could do little to help the dog, but they made attempts. They spoke also of the wonderful friendship between Ebi and Pup.

With healing herbs and extra food, Ebi and Pup took to the road, heading back home. On the way Ebi stopped by the old farm. He discovered the kindly elderly couple that had made a meal for him and the stranger on their way to see his mother were now dead. He stopped for a day to let Pup rest as he buried the couple properly. Pup sniffed the air towards the dead wolfhound who had crawled up under a grove of nearby trees and died, but he remained far from him. He whimpered at Ebi throughout the day, wanting desperately to leave the farm. On the next day, after a night's rest, they did. And on that day, as they stopped to rest in the shade of an old oak, Ebi eyed his dear old friend. "you are the greatest friend. I love you," he told Pup as he hugged him.

As Ebi returned to the fishing village he was met by his neighbor. Ebi shared the experience of the journey and told how Pup had followed as the neighbor fed them, welcoming them home.

Ebi returned to his cottage that night and as he did he spied a large ship in the distance. Between it and the shore was a small rowboat with three men. They came ashore and hailed Ebi.

"Wll met," said one. "I am Captain Faraj of the ship Baqir. This is the boglands, is it not?"

Ebi nodded. "Close to. The bogs themselves are beyond the hills behind my cottage."

"Then we have a gift for you," said Faraj. One of the men with him produced the jade-colored box and handed it to Ebi. "Consider it a gift," said Faraj, then hurriedly boarded the small boat. His men started rowing, fighting the currents to return to their ship.

"What is it?" Ebi called.

"A gift!" cried Faraj.

One of the men with him, a conscious needling his mind, called out, "Take care for with it follows great harm!"

Faraj reprimanded him. The men drew hidden weapons and watched Ebi.

Ebi grew afraid. He watched as the men returned to their ship and under the curtain of Kalavata's wings set sail, fleeing from sight like a wraith in a dark cave.

Curious, Ebi entered his cottage and made a fire. Pup lay at his feet as he examined the box. He opened it. Inside was a small pouch and upon opening that out crawled a small bug made of pure ruby.

"How," Ebi wondered, "could a small bug, a bug of ruby, bring anyone harm?"

******************************

CHAPTER 7

Black tentacles whipped out, one after the other, slowly pulling Zom Loa into the boglands. He came the next morning, the morning after Ebi had received the ruby bug from Captain Faraj, seeking shelter and food. Ebi, cautious for he had never witnessed so many people coming into the small village as he had in the last weeks, invited the odd man in. "Are you a Gifted One?" Ebi asked as he stared at the man's tentacles.

Zom Loa nodded, proudly stating, "That I am."

Ebi fixed for him a meal of dried fish. "I would have fresh fish if it were not that I returned from a journey yesterday," he explained.

"I am on a journey myself," replied Zom Loa. "What was the nature of your journey?"

"I went to visit my dying mother."

This startled Zom Loa as he recalled the deaths of his own parents. "I lost my mother many years ago," he said. "It was difficult for me. I am sorry for your loss."

"Thanks you. What would the business of your journey be?"

Zom Loa considered lying, but felt he had no reason to fear a simple fisherman. At the same instance, however, he felt he should not be completely open with his destination and purpose lest he be followed. "Adventure," Zom Loa settled. "All us Gifted Ones seek adventure."

Ebi laughed. "I've heard that."

They shared a meal and several stories, which Zom Loa ate up almost as voraciously as the dried fish. "You were set adrift as a child as well?" he asked Ebi.

Ebi nodded. "That I was, thought I never knew the purpose until recently. I believe it was due to the poverty my family lived in. Perhaps they felt I had a better chance surviving on my own at such a tender age rather than with them."

They chuckeled at this absurdity, but a pang of truth hit them both.

"I never knew my real family," said Zom Loa.

They shared more stories and discovered they liked one another, perhaps in that they shared so many similarities. Ebi invited his guest to stay the night and rest from his journeys. Zom Loa gladly accepted.

As they sat by a warming fire that night, their feet propped, Pup sleeping nearby, they chatted lightly. Ebi kept watching his guest's tentacles, venerating them.

"As a Gifted One," said Ebi, "perhaps you could aid me in some small matter."

"As repayment for your hospitality, I would," said Zom Loa.

Ebi left Zom Loa by the fire and returned the box Captain Faraj had given him in the beach the night before. He opened it, opened the pouch and produced the ruby bug. "Would you know anything of this?" Ebi asked and told the tale of how it came into his possession.

Zom Loa's eyes grew wide with greed. "With such a bug," he thought to himself, "I could repay that bastard king the money he claims I've stolen and cease my running." He said none of this to Ebi, however, stating, "It is indeed a marvel. What is it?"

Ebi shook his head and put the bug away. "I know nothing of it. I thought, since you are a Gifted One and your kind often is wealthy with knowledge, you might know something of it."

Zm Loa lied. "It is a mere bug, though it is made of ruby."

That night, as Ebi and Pup slept, Zom Loa lay awake thinking of the ruby bug. He wondered if he could, like a thief, steal away with it in the night. He kept his eyes wide, hoping to train them to the night so as to navigate the dark cottage. He went to the table near Ebi's bed and grabbed the box. He opened it quietly and took out the bug. A small whine near whine made Zom Loa jump, his fingers fumbling for the bug and finally dropping it.

Pup, who had come to his side, quickly snatched the ruby bug up in its mouth as a gnat and swallowed it.

"No!" Zom Loa cried hoarsely.

"What's that?" Ebi awoke.

Pup coughed spasmodically.

For a moment Zom Loa's tentacles shot out, some at Pup and some at Ebi. Those creeping towards Pup wanted to choke off the bug's passage so as to keep it from sliding further down his throat. Those reaching for Ebi wanted to kill him in fear. they finally slacked and Zom Loa spoke in the darkness, "It is your Pup. He seems to have taken ill."

Ebi, worried, set fire to a lantern and inspected his Pup who was coughing, choking wildly, the bug crawling all throughout his gullet.

Zom Loa grabbed up the box and showed it to Ebi who had yet to see it. He lied once more, "He must have gotten after your bug."

"Oh, Pup!" Ebi cried. "He has been known to nip at and eat the gnats. Now this."

Ebi tried to keep Pup calm, but could not. The dog, convulsive and frightened, ran outside onto the beach.

******************************

CHAPTER 8

Neboshazzar flew through the cold night sky, descending on village after village to steal away with newborns and loved ones. Once in his possession, Neboshazzar would eat the hearts and bowels of his victims.

He came to a small beach near the boglands. Far below he could feel grave concern, the love of mortals, and it sickened him. He spied those on the beach. One was a mortal man, the very an from which he could feel love flowing. He thought of killing this man, but found instead his love for a dog was the source of the commotion being made.

the evil, dark harpy dived onto the beach, extending his silvery claws and snatching up the coughing dog.

"Pup!" cried out Ebi as he watched the horrid creature carry off his friend before running in the direction Neboshazzar flew.

Zom Loa grabbed Ebu by the arm. "That is a most wicked creature. Yo can do nothing for your dog," and though Zom Loa secretly desired teh ruby bug, he was willing to give up hope of owning it to avoid Neboshazzar.

"I have to! He is my friend!" and Ebi ran.

Zom Loa followed closely behind him.

Neboshazzar came to rest atop an old, dying oak named Dodona. Dodona shook in the wind with the intrusion, but was too weak to throw the vicious Neboshazzar from her limbs. As Neboshazzar was about to feast, the ruby bug slipped into Pup's stomach. He grew to incredible size, falling from the oak. Neboshazzar perched atop the tree and watched as the once dog turned into a massive, bipedal demon with canine features. It grew to a size taller than the old oak. Its head remained as Pup's had been except it grew four massive teeth like tusks, two upper and two lower. His forehead sprout spiked horns. His torso came to be as a man's with a thin layer of fur. His front legs grew into muscled arms with gigantic clawed hands. He remained missing and ear and an eye.

The new creature gurgled evil laughter as it swatted at Neboshazzar. "Think you could eat my soul?" the demon-dog spoke. It laughed some more. "Your ugliness amuses me. Come, bird, join my ranks. I've come to ruin the world, too. Together we can be quite powerful."

Neboshazzar screeched with horrible joy.

Ebi watched this all from a safe distance. He stepped forward. Again Zom Loa held him by the arm and said, "Don't. He is a powerful thing now, unlike your Pup."

Ebi turned on him, his eyes streaming with tears. "He's my Pup," was all he said.

He stepped towards the demon-dog and called, "Pup? Is that you? It is Ebi, your old friend. Pup?"

The demon and the harpy looked down on Ebi.

"Pup?" asked Ebi.

The demon, now far from the being that was once Ebi's Pup, did not recognize this small mortal that approached. It picked Ebi up in a clawed hand, brought him to its mouth and bit the fisherman in half. As he chewed, laughing, he threw the legs to Neboshazzar who bloodied himself feasting on them.

Zom Loa watched it all from underneath some brush. He watched as they spoke; as they ate; as the demon-dog grabbed Dodona and stripped it of it's dead branches, uprooting it and making it into a club for itself.

Neboshazzar landed on the demon-dog's shoulder. The demon wandered off.

Zom Loa, when he felt it was safe, ran off to find a path and carry on towards the Peony Teahouse.

******************************

I hope you enjoyed Act II of "The Ruby Bug". Check back next Friday to read Act III!

If - E - Zine

I was going to post the story "The Ruby Bug" today, but with publishing Issue 11 of If - E - Zine(tm) on my website on Wednesday, I found myself a bit short both on time and energy to complete today's scheduled post. In lieu of "The Ruby Bug", I've decided to post a teaser photo of an up-coming mascot for the ezine.



Coming Friday, June 13th!

This is inspired by the classic cover art from Sticky Fingers, perhaps the greatest album put out by the legendary Rolling Stones rock group. The original cover was conceived by none other than Andy Warhol.

Be sure to check out If - E - Zine(tm) here:

TheLordShen.com
If - E - Zine on MySpace

Xiao-tep and his wuxia world return this Friday!

The universe of Xiao-tep returns this Friday!

Last June and July I posted a 5-part epic wuxia tale about Xiao-tep, The Ankh-Fish of 100,000 Sorrows and Beauty in the blogged novella "The Children of Gods". January of this year I then posted "At The Peony Teahouse", a continuation of tales from the same universe starring some of the same characters.

Now, this Friday, I begin posting "The Theft of Heaven", the next story within the series. In this new story, we will be introduced to Momoki the Marmoset and his friends. This story will lead into another and all of it will lead up to the proposed summer blog-buster tale "Warriors of the Midnight Sun"! I expect to do a lot of blogging this summer as I write these stories. I'm certain it will take my time ALL SUMMER LONG. Be sure to watch for it all here at http://lordshen.blogspot.com/.

If you like wuxia, martial arts, mythology and high fantasy adventure tales, you're sure to love "THE THEFT OF HEAVEN"!

New issue of the ezine!!!

Issue Number 10 Is Here!

Hey folks,

I just published issue 10 of If - E - Zine(tm). It's filled with FREE science fiction and fantasy stories. Here's just a sampling:

In "From Here to the Stars!" we meet Tad Manly, a luchador catapulted into worlds beyond known space!

"Rescuing the Dead" sees the return of Sgt. Drake, an ultra-futuristic space marine in hot pursuit of psychics.

"Zalam in the Lost City of Adul-Ra" is a sword & sorcery tale with a giant alien protagonist in a world of might, magic and mechano-men!

Finally, in "Captain Destiny & the Creature from Atrius-99" we read of the exploits of Cpt. Destiny... the first human to discover a planet populated entirely by kaiju!

Feel free to check it out at:

http://www.thelordshen.com/

Just a little reminder...

If - E - Zine(tm) Issue #10

Hey folks,

As you may know, I publish an ezine of science fiction and slipstream fantasy on my website. Issue #10 of If - E - Zine(tm) is slated to be published on my site Wednesday, March 19th. It's an exciting time for my ezine. This August it will be FIVE YEARS OLD! Be sure to look for it. And, as always, If - E - Zine(tm) is the Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction!





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Vikings vs Zombies Part 2 -- "Hunter of the Dead"

Sorry for the belated post today. My disrupted sleeping schedule has really thrown me off.

And now for Part 2 of "Hunter of the Dead"!


“Ordak!” Haffdann’s cries went unanswered. His hands had found the grip of a short sword and it was working well against the horrors raiding the huts for flesh. Strapped to the other arm was a shield he used to bash and push away the offending monstrous raiders.

Haffdann estimated the creatures’ numbers to be thirty, perhaps more, but seemed as a hundred score for no matter how he worked the blade against them, Haffdann could not send them to their graves.

Oil had sparked into flame. Great billowing black clouds roild before Haffdann’s eyes until he could make no sense of direction.

From out of dark mists came a form without features or with features hidden by the dark, curling fingers of smoke. Haffdann gripped his prized sword and shield, readied himself. “Come ye beast! Come be met by the steel of Haffdann the Frenzied!”
“Ho, Haffdann!” came a booming baritone from the shadows in shadowy smoke. “When last we met you were Haffdann the Pig-herder!”

Features resolved into view. Haffdann straightened, relaxing a bit, recognizing the insane Siggurd the Berserker.

“I do not know what these men are,” he said to Haffdann, “but by Tyr I’ve not had so much fun killing! They’re better than slaying Saxons!”

“You would like ‘em. They fight back.”

Siggurd stood over seven feet tall and had blazing red hair made redder still by blood and reflecting fire. His beard, as fiery as his braided mane, was shaved only at the chin and neck so as to appear his sideburns had overrun the sides of his face and hung low, braided beyond the jaw into two pointed horns that hung to his chest. In his hand he carried a war axe.

Siggurd used his free hand to slap Haffdann on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. Haffdann nearly fell over from the playful blow.

A creature melted from the darkness. Siggurd readied his axes and eyed Haffdann. “Choppy-choppy!” he said as he charged, swinging, not waiting for Haffdann. The beast’s head was cleanly separated from its body and fell to the snow, its mouth biting at the air. The headless body groped aimlessly.

Siggurd swung again. The blade sliced down through the shoulder of the headless body, cleaving through the chest and out the side of the torso. Ribs cracked and popped and half the torso fell away, its lone arm clawing desperately at the frosty ground being tainted red with what little blood the body was spilling.

With a third swing the legs came free, kicking helplessly.

“What wonderful enemies!” Siggurd bellowed. “Tyr blesses us this day with enemies that never stop fighting!”

Haffdann followed reluctantly as Siggurd pressed into the smoky shadows, spilling seas of blood.

* * * * *

Ordak stepped out of the hut, his face and furs stained with small splotches of red. Few of the monsters remained and through the choking smoke he could see Siggurd happily tending to them. Haffdann came running to his side.

“Thank the gods,” Haffdann huffed, his face now smeared with the gore of unholy battle. “Your woman… how fares she?”

Ordak said nothing. He did not so much as look at his friend. He stood silently staring at his feet, wondering.

Haffdann understood. He placed a gentle hand on Ordak’s shoulder and said, “Your sorrows are mine.”

Ordak found a wood pile and sat there. Ovbjorn approached a bow in his hand and a quiver strapped to his back. Siggurd, laughing, finished his dismemberings and joined them.

“A bow will leave you in want of a blade,” Siggurd told Ovbjorn.

“I didn’t get the chance to make that discovery myself.”

“Off hiding behind a yew tree, no doubt,” Siggurd frowned in disgust.

“Avoiding an enemy to discover the nature of my kin,” Ovbjorn defended.

Siggurd spit.

Ovbjorn gave no retort.

Siggurd looked to Ordak. “What weighs on him?”

Haffdann approached, speaking quietly, “His woman was taken this night.”

“All our women were taken this night and half our Viking brethren!” Siggurd replied in a not-so-soft tone.

“Siggurd!”

“Bah!” the berserker approached Ordak and squatted before him. “Ordak, friend, give me your ear. Now is the hour of lamentation, but in the hour that’s to follow we must choose what destiny to follow. There’s likely more of these creatures. Even if not, their origin must be discovered and our fallen brethren avenged, though they may be riding with the Valkyries to Valhalla as I speak this to you. Siggurd Saxonbane does not intend to allow this night’s bloodletting to go unchallenged. Those… beasts we met fight well and I love it. I must find more. I must find their origin.”
“There’s no reason we must think there could be more,” Ovbjorn said.

Siggurd stood, “And if we do not prepare for the possibility we will join our fallen kin. If that is your wish, then so be it. But if I am to fall to these creatures, it shall be in their hunting.”

Ordak grabbed Siggurd’s wrist and caught his attention. “What manner of beasts are they?”

Siggurd shook his head unknowingly.

“My grandfather,” spoke Haffdann, “if his tales are to be believed, told me once as a child of a creature that did not die outright for it was already dead. There are many variations on them, but they are all called draugr.”

“The walking dead,” added Ovbjorn ominously.

With that we know why they do not die,” Siggurd said. “We know our enemy better already.”

“They can never die,” added Haffdann. “except by fire and then drowning the ashes.”
“Then let’s start throwing the bit and pieces on these fires!” Siggurd called.
As they worked to pile the body parts of the draugr and their own dead kith and kin onto the fires, Ordak thought quietly.

As they watched the bodies burning, rags across their faces so they could more easily breathe, Ovbjorn spoke. “We have offended the dead. In some way we must have tread upon the sacred, now they hunger our flesh.”

“We don’t know that,” Haffdann replied as he and carried one last half-body to the flames. “I know this man,” he indicated the body as they threw it, wiggling, onto the fire. “I bartered with him for his daughter’s hand for my now dead son before the heavy snows came. These are not monsters. They were once men.”

“Who were his people?” Siggurd asked.

“The Danir over the moutains.”

“The creatures that attacked us this night, were they all once Danir?” ordak asked.

Haffdann did his best to peer into the flames and find faces. “Perhaps some, but not all.”

“Then we seek out our vengeance against the Danir. Over the mountains we go,” said Siggurd.

“No,” said Ordak, “We have a good ship and strong winds approaching to fill our sails. We ride the waters.”

“The winds will not last,” Haffdann said. “They never do. We four cannot row alone.”

“I will not leave my ship,” said Ordak. “And the waters will be safer.”

“What’s this? Does Ordak wish to run?” challenged Siggurd.

“No. Vengeance is poison curdling in my throat, but in these snows the mountains will kill us before we meet with the Danir.”

“As would four men at the mercy of Aegir.”

“I go the way of the mountains. If you three wish to join me, I ask only that you keep up,” Siggurd issued.

Haffdann lowered his head in thought, then looked up at Ordak. “The way of the mountains,” was all he said.

Ovbjorn looked upon Siggurd’s mass and his bloody axe. He wondered if they could stay instead, but knew they idea would be argued down. “I go the way of the mountains,” he spoke.

The burning pile of corpses and undead reflected in Ordak’s eyes. He watched, defeated. “I cannot fare the seas alone. Make the duties light upon yourselves: Load the rest of the bodies onto the ship and set it adrift and aflame.”

* * * * *

They worked into the early hours of the morning loading the longboat. They first unloaded every provision they could carry before piling on the bodies and ashes. Siggurd spilled oil all over the hull and bodies. They then waded waist-deep into the icy sea, pushing the ship free from shore and setting her adrift.

Ovbjorn stood on the shore with an arrow wrapped in rags soaked in oil and set afire. He shot into the air. His aim was true. The ship burned.

The four stood on the shore a long while, not speaking. They watched only.
After some times Haffdann spoke, “We should use our final hours of night to rest before we set out for the mountains.”

They all agreed.

Each turned from the shore except Ordak.

“Ordak, come,” said Haffdann.

“All that I was is now dead and gone,” Ordak spoke. “I, too, am now dead… or gone. Ordak’s people are all slaughtered and burned to ashes; his mate eaten alive but unholy monsters that were once men; his ship sinks, burning.

“I am no longer Ordak. Ordak is no more. Call me Ordak no more for he has died this day.”

Haffdann, fearing his friend losing his mind much in the way Siggurd does in battle, approached slowly and spoke softly, “Then what name takes you?”

“Call me now Urdgar, Hunter of the Dead.”

“Urdgar,” Ovbjorn’s voice was a whisper of misty morning air. “‘A Fate of Blades’,” he translated.

Siggurd slapped the now-named Urdgar on the back. Urdgar rocked under the weight of the loving blow. “Come Urdgar,” Siggurd said, “We must rest for tomorrow we slaughter.”

The mountains loomed in the distance. Cold snows began to descend in frozen fury. High on those mountains, speckled against their frosty peaks, yellow, dead eyes peered out of the darkness.

I hope you enjoyed! Watch for more tales of Urdgar the Hunter in the future!