The Red Pearl

Malik test pafge

Listed at Barnes and Noble

The Time Travelers: A Christmas Story by Eunice Korczak

A print version of this book has been available from Blurb.com for a couple of years, and the digital version has been free at Smashwords for a week or so.

Now it is listed at Barnes and Noble for free. This is a big deal for me, since I have been a regular BN customer for years.

Before I had a Nook, I bought books from BN even though I had to drive about 100 miles to find a store. Traveling that far, I stocked up on reading material and usually came home with 8 or 10 books. And my husband would have his own bag of book purchases.

Then I received a Nook for Christmas two or three years ago and my trips to the BN store effectively ceased. Oh, stopped in when I went to the city for another reason, but buying books was no longer a priority. I had become an online customer and could shop and download anytime, even in the middle of the night.

So it was exciting to see my book listed at BN and fun to download it into my Nook.

Okay. I admit it. It doesn't take much to make me excited. But still . . .

Anusha is Restored to The Six

Anusha is Restored to The Six

Excerpt from The Quest for the Golden Flowers, which will be published this summer (2014):

The Quest for the Golden Flowers is the story of six children accidentally sucked into another realm where they must make a quest to recover magic golden flowers to save both their world and the magic realm. In this excerpt, the prophesied Six have already traveled far and met with many adventures.

The Six are Grayson, Grant, Will, Mady, Garrett, and Leyton.  Anusha is an Elvish princess who sneaks away to join The Six. Ardopla  and Parmaka are a pair of baby dragons who also have attached themselves to The Six. Griff is a young griffin the two younger children have adopted along the way.

All the kids have special powers gained through the discovery of the golden circles of power, rings with dragons etched on them. In this episode, Will uses his power of mind-speak, which he can broadcast into the minds of The Six, so they can communicate with each other and the animals without actually speaking.

Princess Anusha had been left behind to  die, but the Six found a way to rescue her.


The excerpt:

The Six remained in a line near the cliff, peering into the void. It seemed like forever. Then Leyton began hopping up and down. “I see something coming! I see something coming! Is it them?”

“I don’t see anything. It’s probably a distortion, an illusion. This is the Whorl Cavern, after all . . . Wait! I see something, too.”

“I do, too. It’s Ardopla!”

“I don’t see a passenger. Where’s Anusha?”

Everyone strained to see the approaching dragon. No one could see a passenger.

“Looks like Anusha couldn’t climb aboard with her broken leg. One of us should have gone along to help her get up on the dragon,” said Grayson.

“Yeah, but Ardopla got excited and took off too fast,” Grant said.

The dragon was coming in for a landing.

“Uh, oh!” The kids realized they were at the edge of the cliff where Ardopla would land. They scattered in all directions.

Ardopla skidded in and whammed into the transparent shield. The dwarfs who were still pounding on the other side of the barrier, panicked and ran screaming down the tunnel.

“~Ooof!~” Ardopla said into Will’s mind. “~Forgot about wall that we can’t see! Can you help princess down? Trouble getting on. Hurt leg more.~”

“Anusha’s here! She’s laying on the dragon’s back! I think she’s passed out from the pain. Let’s get her down. Looks like she tied herself on.” Will was already climbing aboard.

Everyone pitched in, even Parmaka and Griff, and Anusha soon was resting next to the fire with her head in Mady’s lap. With tears in her eyes, Mady gently brushed some stray hair away from Anusha’s closed eyes.

“This is not good. We need help,” said Grayson.

“~Need healer.~” Ardopla’s lovely dragon eyes were swirling in distress.

“~Do you know where to find a healer?~” asked Will.

“~No. Not here. Somewhere.~”

Screaming! Now what? The kids looked down the tunnel through the transparent shield toward the sound. The dwarfs were coming back, legs pumping, mouths open, screaming.

Chasing them were two of the biggest cats the kids had ever seen. Wow! The cu felicop of the foothills were huge, but these cats were tremendous; they must be the cu felimax!

The kids were horrified. The dwarfs were mean, but no one deserved to be ripped apart by those huge glistening fangs. The boys all ran to the shield and screamed and hollered, jumping around, pounding on the shield to distract the cats. When the big cats growled and slavered against the shield, the dwarfs escaped down the tunnel, running as fast as their short legs would take them.

The cats tried and tried to get at the boys, but lost interest when they could find no way to get past the barrier. Turning away, they loped after the dwarfs. The kids stared after them.

“I hope they had enough of a start to get away from those monsters.”

Everyone nodded. The boys settled at the fire with Mady and the princess.

“What are we going to do? We need to get help. But who? And we’d have to take down the shield and travel the tunnels. Where do you think those cats went?” Garrett was worried.

“We have to get her out of here. There is no sense in waiting. If we meet up with the big cats or other monsters, we’ll just have to fight them,” said Leyton.

Ellensburg - My Sixth Grade Adventure

Ellensburg - My Sixth Grade Adventure

This also is from My Life Journal, a work in progress:

When I was in the sixth grade, my parents decided to go to Ellensburg, Washington to get jobs. I was not privy to what precipitated that decision but believe the financial situation had to be dire to make such a momentous decision. We three older children were uprooted from school and community and dragged off in the middle of the school year. (Clark wasn’t born yet.)

We left before Christmas, probably November, and I think we children were convinced we were going to spend the holidays with Auntie Eleanor’s family, not the entire winter. I know I didn’t anticipate attending school there. But Mom and Dad got jobs, enrolled us in school, and we settled in.

My Auntie Eleanor and Uncle Richard lived in Ellensburg in a very large old house. Although they had a lot of children to fill up that home, they graciously offered us a roof. In the lower level, the house had apartment facilities so the families could live separately.

Well, in theory the families lived separately. In practice, it was another story altogether. We kids shared bedrooms with our cousins and both sets of kids pretty much ran through the house at will. Their Grandpa Hudson also lived there. He usually made breakfast for the whole crew of kids. It was my first experience with corn meal mush - and did I ever make up for my late introduction to that delicacy! I think he made it every morning. I don’t know how many kids we were - people came and went - but when that many tuck up to the table, everyone grabs quickly and eats whether or not you like corn meal mush! Besides, we all knew Grandpa would not coddle; you ate it or went hungry.

Suppers we generally ate with our own families, but I recall some spillover from one kitchen to the other. I suppose it depended on what was being served and whether we thought we’d get caught.

Washington was quite an experience for a timid farm girl like me and the scene of a lot of firsts for me.

Several black children attended the school. It seemed like a lot of them, but I was awed as I’d never had contact with black children before, so there may not have been as many as I thought. One of the girls became my buddy. I don’t know, but I suspect she was assigned to show the country bumpkin the ropes. I remember little about her except she must have had a tough home life.

I was so impressed that she was allowed a provisional driver’s license. Remember, we were only sixth graders. She was living with her grandmother who apparently was ill. Since Grandma couldn’t drive and there was no one else to help out, my buddy needed a license. If Grandma needed to go to the hospital, the police would arrange transport, but it was the needs of daily living like groceries and clinic appointments that required a driver in the house. At the time, I didn’t realize how tough her life must have been; I only envied her the opportunity to drive legally.

In Ellensburg, I also first experienced truancy. For some forgotten reason, Jan, my cousin, and I decided to skip school one day. After getting ready for school, we simply went out to a shed in the back yard. Our parents suspected nothing. We had reading material and were content to just sit and read the day away. But who knew a day was so long?

About the time we were getting bored, my mother came out to hang laundry on the clothes lines that were actually attached to the shed on one side! Suddenly our day became much more interesting. My mom was just outside, just beyond the wall. We got the giggles; we kept shushing one another as we had to be very quiet. Turns out stifling giggles makes for an interesting afternoon. At the proper time, we appeared in the house and no one was the wiser. My mom didn’t find out until I told her after I had children of my own. I don’t know if Auntie Eleanor ever did find out.

Another first that happened in Ellensburg, I’m ashamed to admit and shouldn’t even mention it, but it had a great impact on me. I learned an important lesson, and I think there is a lesson in it for other kids, too.

We had gone to a store, what we called a dime store back then. (How times have changed! Those are now dollar stores!) Well, I was enthralled by some stupid colorful pennants with “Ellensburg” printed on them. I think they were constructed of felt. I wanted one so badly but it was foolishness, certainly not a necessity and my mom would tell me so. I had no money of my own. An idea struck. Never before in my life had I considered such a thing. After looking around and noting that I was not being observed, I just took the pennant and concealed it in my pocket.

My heart was pounding and breathing was suddenly difficult. You’d think that would have been enough, and I’d have replaced the thing where I had found it, but no. I took that thing home. But then, what was I going to do with it? I couldn’t hang it on the wall to enjoy it as Mom knew I didn’t have money to buy it and would ask where and how I had acquired it. Well, maybe I could put it in with my keepsakes - ah, no - Mom would find it and the same questions would arise. By this time my conscience was bothering me, too; I felt so guilty and like such a bad, bad person. I finally just concealed it in the garbage so no one would see it and it would get taken away.

I’ve never stolen anything since. I learned my lesson. Do you think I learned it from never having a chance to enjoy my booty? Well, probably that was part of it, but I hated the feeling of being scared of getting caught, and even more I hated the feeling of guilt that stayed with me for years. I was a criminal! I did wrong, and I did it deliberately. And I could not go to my mom to tell her and ask for absolution. No, she would have been so ashamed of me. Even now as I write this I wonder if she is looking down from heaven and reading over my shoulder. If so, I’m sorry Mom, really sorry.

Living in Ellensburg was fun. I liked the big houseful of people. Always there was someone to visit with. Often in the evenings, Jude (another cousin) would come to play pinochle with my parents and the other adults. I loved to watch. I knew how to play pinochle, of course. I learned that before I started school. But they played with a double deck and at least six people! So that was interesting. But also Jude was a source of never-ending interest. She was older than me and I looked at her as a role model. I loved watching her and listening to her, especially when she laughed. I loved her and wanted to be as sophisticated as she.

Other evenings, we entertained ourselves on Dead Man’s Hill. Yep, that’s what they called it, though I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the official name. It was not far, we could walk to it carrying our sleds. The story was that someone had been killed sliding down that hill. Don’t know if there was any truth to the story, but it was an exciting hill - it was steep, it was slippery, and we moved down it awfully fast. I don’t know if I remember correctly, but in my mind we were racing between big rocks. Could be wrong. But I know one thing for sure. The story, the name Dead Man’s Hill, lent extra excitement - the thrill of fear.

We stayed in Ellensburg only that one winter. When spring was due, we went home to the farm - to plant and start the farming struggle, oops, I mean cycle, all over again.

For us young ‘uns, it meant back to our school mates. Attending a different school was an eye-opener for me. I thought all kids were taught the same things and on the same schedule. Not true, school in Washington was just a repeat of things I had already learned. For example, in Minnesota just before we left in late fall, we were just starting to learn about fractions. In Washington we didn’t start fractions until my family was ready to go back home in the spring.

So I missed the basics of fractions altogether. And I had trouble with fractions all through school. Oh, I could work with them, but I always felt unsure.

I missed the foundation of fractions, but during our stay in Washington I learned a lot of things - about children of other races, about playing hooky (our name for truancy), about stealing, and about family.

I also learned that leaving people you love is difficult, but coming home feels good.

Coming Back From the Dead

Coming Back From the Dead

Following is an excerpt from My Life Journal, a work in progress:

Reincarnation is not supported by Christianity, but some world religions do believe we are reincarnated after death. Albert Einstein, Ben Franklin, and Mark Twain believed so. I wonder what they wanted to come back as. Each excelled in some way. Did they want to excel in a different way?

Do you think you will come back again?

Whatever your beliefs may be, speculating on what form people would be assigned if they come back is fun.

I know people who would make a perfect mad dog. Winston Churchill would have had to reincarnate as a bull dog as he so resembled one, a nice doggy if rather ugly. Or perhaps he was a bull dog who came back as a person.

Some would be a sweet, purring kitten. Or maybe an irritating cat who is all over you and won’t leave you alone.

How about the person who definitely will return as a snorting, pawing bull? And perhaps be more pleasant in that guise.

We’ve all been confined in a car or elevator with the person who will definitely make his next appearance in black with a white stripe down his back.

A gossipy, garrulous person would be a macaw or maybe a parrot, repeating all that they hear. That person who nods at everything you say, perhaps a woodpecker, a downy or a redheaded, or if that red hair is spiked, a pileated woodpecker.

And that slimy person? What else? A snake. We even call those types snakes (behind their backs, of course).

Using that criteria, the sly person would be a fox and the romantically forward person a wolf. And one who snaps at you could be either a fox or a wolf. Or a snapping turtle.

And the chauvinist, will he become a pig? Nah, he should come back as a female in a land that holds females as breeding stock and slaves without rights -- and live a long life. That would be real justice.

That prissy person with lips forever pursed in disapproval? A fish, of course! Maybe a bottom feeder.

Go ahead, start speculating. I know you want to.

After deciding what others will be, look at yourself. What form would you like to come back as if you were reincarnated? What would be your choice? Similarly, what form do you think you have earned while in this life?

In my next life, I’d like to be a rich and famous author who can afford a housekeeper, butler, and gardener.

If I must come back as an animal, I’d like to be something beautiful and free. But considering the story of my birth, I’ll probably come back as a monkey. Please though, may I be spared the indignity of a red behind?

And what were you in a former life?

I have said many times that I was Woman Chief in a former life. She was a Gros Ventre girl who was captured and adopted into the Crow tribe. She adjusted and became not only a full-fledged member of the Crow tribe but a warrior chief. In a twist of irony, she was killed by a group of warriors from her Gros Ventre people. And unfortunately, not honorably in battle, but in a wicked betrayal and murder.

When I first heard about her, I just knew her story. Why do I feel such an affinity for that woman and know her story, although only one or two paragraphs have ever been recorded about her?

I’ve had other experiences of deja vu, where from experience, I could not possibly know what I know. There is a theory of a knowledge pool left by our ancestors (in the sense that all people before us are ancestors). This knowledge pool surfs the air currents, and like radio receivers, we subconsciously pick up the signals when the conditions are right.

Perhaps you are aware of the old soul/new soul theory, as well. This one claims that if you don’t get it right the first time around, you will be sent back into the world again and again until you finally do get it right. If you have been reborn several times, you have an old soul and may subconsciously recall things, making you “smarter” than a newer soul, and explaining intuition and deja vu.

These beliefs, of course, are not supported by the Christian religion either, but one can speculate. Why do I get migraines? Was I killed violently with a blow to the head in a former life? Why have I had this inexplicable pain in my arm since I was a child? Did I suffer a compound fracture in another life? Why do I have this irrational fear of fire? Was I trapped in a burning building in an earlier life?

How did I know a particular fact as if pulling it from a hat? Could it be that I have lived many lives? Have I messed it up many times and been sent back time and again to get it right? Being a bumbler, it actually seems possible.

I may not believe these ideas, but I think it only fair to warn you, treat me nice or I’ll come back as your colonoscopy doctor and it won’t be pretty.

The Time Travelers: A Christmas Story

This is an excerpt from The Time Travelers: A Christmas Story. The Time Travelers is a preteen story about five kids who accidentally travel back in time to see Grandma as a kid. The print book is available at Blurb.com (Eunice Korczak)  The digital version is free at Smashwords.com (Eunice Korczak)

“Open your eyes,” said a grown-up voice.

Everyone froze at the sound.  Whose voice was that? One by one each kid opened only one eye.  Then suddenly all eyes were open, peering through the Straws-and-Connectors construction. 

One by one, mouths fell open.  This didn’t look like Grandma’s library!

Leyton, the irrepressible, never quiet and shy Leyton, whispered very quietly, “Will, who is that lady?”

With a stunned look on his face, Will whispered back, “I don’t know, Leyton, but I don’t think we’re in Greenbush anymore.”

“We were traveling in time, not space,” whispered Garrett.  “We should still be in Greenbush, just in a different time.”  Being closest to the exit, he crawled out of the straws-and-connectors structure, and tugged on his pockets as though looking in them for some courage.  He must have found some. He looked at the lady and rattled off questions, “Who are you?  Are we in Greenbush?  Is it still 2011?”

The rest of the kids tumbled out as the woman watched, and Grant wondered if they looked as ridiculous as a bunch of circus clowns tumbling from an under-sized car.  Like Will, she had a rather stunned look on her face, so maybe she was more surprised than amused.

The woman didn’t look unfriendly, though, just a little disbelieving.  “Aren’t you children a mite young to be time-travelers?”  When no one had the courage to answer that strange question, she went on.  “I’m the Widow Malarkey.  No, this isn’t in Greenbush, but it’s near the town.  Are you from Greenbush?  And why did you ask about 2011? Are you traveling from that year?  Did you have trouble?  No one travels such short time periods.  It’s dangerous. Now, I’ve answered your questions, and it’s time for you to answer mine.”

With some trepidation, Grant stepped forward and said, “Yeah, we’re from 2011.  I guess you could say we had a spot of trouble, since we were just playing and didn’t expect to move through time in a toy construction.”

“Nah uh!” blurted Leyton. “I was driving, and I knew we’d go to a time when Grandma was a kid.”  Then he pulled his mouth to one side and asked the woman, “Are we in a time when Grandma was a kid?”

Grant rolled his eyes, “But Leyton, but we were going in our imaginations, not really going through time.”

“Uh, Grant, I think we really went through time, though,” said Will.

The Little Dragon Named Blingolee

The Little Dragon Named Blingolee

I wrote this little story for my granddaughter several years ago:



So the little dragon named Blingolee crept into Mady's house to see if she was the most beautiful granddaughter.

Quietly, quietly she sneaked up the stairs, awakening no one - not Mom, not Dad, not the brothers. She approached the bedroom door, carefully turned the knob, and eased the door open a crack.

Well, the only thing visible on the bed was a lump under the blankets, not even a pink nose was peeking out! Blingo sighed. What in the world should she do?

"Hmm. I came this far, risking waking the entire family. Should I chance a little more boldness and sneak to the bedside?"

After deliberating for a couple of minutes, she decided to go for it. Easing the door wide open, she stepped carefully into the room, stopped for a minute to watch the breathing lump on the bed. Determining that the lump was still asleep and breathing quietly and evenly, Blingo approached the bed.

Holding her breath, Blingo slowly and carefully lifted the blankets away from Mady's face. Oh, she was so beautiful!

"But pretty is as pretty does," said Blingo. "I wonder if this girl is as pretty inside as she is outside." 

When Mady opened one eye and peered out from her bedding, Blingo realized she had spoken aloud. "Oh, oh, now I'm in trouble," she said, again speaking out loud.

Rubbing her eyes, Mady asked, "Why are you in trouble?"

"We are not to allow humans to see us, and you have just looked upon me," replied Blingo.

"Well," said Mady, "I cannot lie because that is not right."

Blingo's eyes looked sad, but she agreed, "No, good girls do not lie."

"Don't look sad, Little Dragon. No one will ask if I've seen a dragon, so I will not get you in trouble."

"That is very good of you," said Blingo, "but can you really keep a secret? Many little girls cannot."
"Oh, I can," said Mady. "I would not want to get anyone in trouble. Besides, I said I would keep your secret as long as no one asks, so if I told then I would have lied about keeping it -- and I do not lie."

Blingo smiled and said, "Your Grandma Eunice was right. You are her most beautiful granddaughter - both outside and inside!" Then she grinned, "Of course, you are her ONLY granddaughter."

Blingo and Mady both laughed.

Blingo stole quietly out of the house and Mady turned over and went back to sleep.

No one ever asked, so Mady never told her secret and Blingo didn't get in trouble, but she no longer took such risks just to satisfy curiosity.

And though she looked, Blingo never found another granddaughter quite as lovely as Mady.

Back After all This Time

It's been a very long time since I last posted to this blog. Illness, adjusting to retirement, dusting off and working on some manuscripts, starting some new writing projects - none are good excuses, but I'm using them anyway.

I plan to use this blog to share some excerpts from things I'm writing or have written. I've been sending excerpts to various family members via email, but some of them may not care to get them. Others who are not getting them may wish to see them. This solves the problem. Anyone who wishes to see them can drop by here. And those who don't, well, they don't have to stop by.

I'll also plan to post details about any items published.

I may even inflict upon you some personal ideas and information about events.

Some of the manuscripts I am currently working on are very old. I worked on them off and on along the line but didn't spend much time at it while working on a "real" job.

Some projects are quite new, adopted to help myself adjust to retirement.  Since my retirement was not of choice and I had been extremely ill just before being ousted for age and illness, I had some difficulty resigning myself to the new status.

I think I've found a way to live with it now; I'm focusing on my first love - writing.

At Blurb.com (Eunice Korczak, Snooky): A family album/family history is available in print. Also the print version of The Time Travelers: A Christmas Story is available at Blurb.

At Smashwords (Eunice Korczak): The Time Travelers: A Christmas Story is available free in several digital formats.

Perhaps the next project to be completed will be The Quest for the Golden Flowers (the title is subject to change).

Right now, my boards at Pinterest (Eunice Korczak) include one for Quest for the Golden Flowers book and one for The Red Pearl.  There I pin images from which to draw ideas for characters, settings, clothing, and other details. I have several boards with a myriad of pins. They are mostly for my own use or enjoyment, but you're welcome to take a look.

I also have an account at Watt (Eunice Korczak), but it is new. Not much there yet.

Later.

Let's Dance

This morning I awoke thinking about a lady I never really knew.  In fact, I only saw her a few times at dances years ago.

When I was younger I loved to dance, swinging and swirling to peppy music, interpreting the joy within the melody and beat, feeling the joy of a young, vibrant body producing endorphins as a by-product of exercise.  It was more invigorating than a long run in the morning dew.

Ah, the dancing.  I wasn’t  good at it, but I went to dances and hoped to find at least a few people willing to overlook my lack of talent and share my exuberance.  If no dance partners were forthcoming, I had to just sit and listen to the music.  The joy was greatly diminished.

But the lady in my thoughts this morning didn’t wait for dance partners; she didn’t allow the lack of partners to control her joy.  This old gal would get up and glide and swirl around the dance floor by herself despite the snickering, laughing people. She’d close her eyes and glide, smile as she swirled, and ignoring the rude hicks, she seemed to enjoy herself far more than the dancers constrained by partners.

I don’t remember, but perhaps I laughed with the rest. I do remember feeling embarrassed for her and terribly, terribly sorry for her, as she not only lacked dancing partners but seemed to have no friends.  I remember watching her, awe-stricken at her courage.  I don’t think I was any shrinking violet, but I certainly did not have the courage to dance without a partner, to take responsibility for my own joy.

As I look back, I respect that courage even more than I did at the time.  I don’t know her story, not even her name. I suspect, though, that she had a life partner at one time, perhaps even a family. She could have chosen to be a sad, solitary, old lady.  And perhaps she was most of the time.  But in that moment, she danced.  In that moment, she took responsibility for own joy and faced life on her own terms.  She did not sit around waiting for a dance partner; she danced. She did not let circumstances control her; she just danced.

This year our extended family has been bombarded with deaths, medical crises, and personal trauma, but when I awoke with this lady on my mind, a lady I haven’t thought of in years, I realized we all have a choice – in this moment, we can dwell on the events of the past year or we can embrace the joy of Christmas – the birth of Christ.

We don’t need a dance partner, we need courage.  We don’t need a young, vibrant body, we need heart.  We’ve had a tough year, but tomorrow we can face our problems, our grief.  In this moment, let’s open our hearts to joy and let our souls dance.  

It is Christmas.   

In this blessed moment, let’s dance.

Snooky Kaye Dec 2010

Bring me no flowers

Bring me no flowers in

the silence of the kirkyard
Bring me no whispers and
professions of love

Cry me no tears in

the peace of the kirkyard
Cry not your lonliness
to blue skies above

Bring me hugs I can feel

in a sunny day of life
Bring me smiles I can see
filled with happiness and cheer

Bring warm, gentle love

in the light of the morning
'Ere the silence of the kirkyard
bring sweet laughter to hear

Sheraine is captured (Malik Story)

This is part of the Malik story.  Here the second protagonist is introduced.  As I mentioned previously, the stories of the two protagonists (Malikand Sheraine) run separately and parallel until they meet.

"Hie! Hie, there! Move you mangy beasts!"

The wagon tore across the prairie at breakneck speed, but Belzak continue to lash the span of Rhinovoren.

In the back, Sheraine lurched helplessly with every jolt of the wagon. Her shackled wrists, chained to the wagon bed, were bloodied and her arms felt as if they were being ripped from their sockets. Supplies, torn from their restraints, flew about striking her defenseless body.

"Turn me loose, Belzak!" she screamed. "I am being killed!"

"Hold on, Miss," Belzak yelled over his shoulder.  "We can't stop until we're clear!"

With both hands, Sheraine grasped the pin anchoring her chains and struggled to her knees.  She glanced up at Belzak's bouncing back.  Just then an arrow tore through the back of his head, spattering her face with blood and bits of bone.  Transfixed with horror, she stared at the gore-ridden arrowhead and short length of shaft protruding from Belzak's skull. Before she could close her eyes, he crumpled and disappeared from his seat.

Peering over the seat, Sheraine saw a mounted soldier attempting to grab the reins to gain control of the team.  Then he, too, was shot. He fell from his saddle and disappeared into a cloud of dust and flailing hooves.

The rhinovoren galloped on at full speed. Sheraine was at the mercy of the terrified, unchecked beasts and the deadly chaos in the wagon box.

Suddenly, one of the animals went down taking the other with it in a confusing jumble of legs, rolling bodies, and dust. Seemingly in slow motion, the scene unfolded before her panic-stricken eyes.  As the front of the wagon rose over the bodies of the fallen animals, she glimpsed a portion of azure sky through the canvas cover. The wagon turned end over end and she was cast into blissful darkness.

-------

Sheraine could hear muted voices.  The blackness in which she was enveloped seemed lighter, more gray than black, but her eyelids were too heavy to open. She struggled to lift them, then surrendered to sinking darkness.

She felt a cool, damp, soothing sensation on her forehead and someone lightly caressing her arm.
"Look. Eye movement.  I think she's coming around."  It was a pleasant voice, a woman's voice.  Even in her semi-consciousness, Sheraine felt the adrenaline coursing through her body.  Home, she thought foggily, I'm home again.

Reaching deep within herself for strength, she forced her eyes open. The figure before her blurred and faded, but slowly her eyes focused on a beautiful, red-haired woman with piercing blue eyes.  Beautiful, but not familiar. Sheraine sighed; she was not home.

"So at last you've decided to join us.," the woman said with a friendly smile.  "We wondered how much longer you would sleep."

As Sheraine raised her head, lightening flashed behind her eyes, and she winced. She became aware of pain in her knees, elbows, wrists, and left shoulder. She felt like she'd been overrun by a team of rhinovoren.

"Lie back," the woman gently commanded. "You'll not be up and about for some time yet."

Taking a deep breath, Sheraine sank back.  She exhaled to a stabbing in her ribs and a fire in her chest. She was lying on a bed of robes, warm and comfortable.  Or it would be comfortable, she thought if one excluded the pain. Continuing her survey, she realized she was in a tent.

Looking at the woman again, she whispered, "Where am I?"

The woman, still lightly touching Sheraine's arm, smiled faintly, then turned to a massive hulk of a man and asked, "Leopoldo, did you bring the gammaquaff?"

Leopoldo, nodded silently and presented her with a bag that looked as if it were made from an animal skin.

"Thank you," the woman said as she poured from the contents of the bag into a small gourd.  Placing the bag with the remaining liquid careful into his outstretched hand, she told him, "You may inform Solomon our guest has awakened."

He nodded and turned to leave the tent.

"And, Leopoldo, tell him to stay the hell out of here until I decide he may visit."

Without acknowledging that remark, the man bent his large frame and left the tent.

The woman turned to Sheraine and said, "When you feel better, there will be time for questions and answers.  For now, it is sufficient that my name is Thorn and you are safe. Thorn gently raised Sheraine's head and placed the gourd to her lips.  "Drink now.  This is gammaquaff. It will help to heal your injuries."

The liquid smelled vaguely like freshly mown hay. Sheraine drank and found it pleasantly sweet and refreshing.  She could feel new strength course through her body almost instantly. "Thank you, Thorn," she whispered and lay back amidst the robes.

Thorn rose.  "Rest now. I will be back soon.  Should you require anything simply ask Marissa. She will stay with you."

Marissa was an elderly, deeply tanned woman with a face heavily lined and creased by years in the sun and hair liberally streaked with gray.  Her dress of soft, tanned animal skin was adorned by patterns of colorful bead work. She smiled sweetly at Sheraine.

"Rest, child, and let your cares float away.  You are safe with our people," she softly advised as she gently tucked Sheraine into her sleeping robes.

Marissa had the manner and touch of a grandmother, and Sheraine did feel safe. But her cares did not float away. Her mind raced with possibilities.

Are these the people who attacked the wagons?  If so, they must be warlike and fierce. They live in tents and sleep on robes of animal skins. Does this mean they are wild and nomadic?  What would they do if they found they had kidnapped the princess of the Rhitwizah Queendom? Would they sell her, hold her for ransom, or let her loose? And where are the soldiers who were escorting the wagons? Have the soldiers told them who I am?

If this was the land of these people, why did they allow the wagon train to come so far before attacking? They had traveled for days through endless grassland and had seen no people, only vast herds of rhinovore, huge beasts with one thick, blunt horn on their nose.  Although these animals were the same as the beasts that pulled the wagons, the herd animals were fascinating.  The wagon beasts were tame and plodding, the animals of the herds were wild and free - free . . . Sheraine lingered on the word; it seemed so long since she had been free.

Sheraine's mind went back to the last day with the soldiers.  Belzak was the only one she knew by name.  It was he who brought her food, drove her wagon, and saw that none of the other soldiers came too close. Belzak was her shadow.  When she was permitted to bathe, Belzak was there; when she attended to her personal needs, Belzak was there; wherever she looked, Belzak was there.  Captivity was a humiliating thing.

Under other circumstances she may have liked Belzak. He was old, probably as old as her mother. Although not too bright, he was cheerful, but he was her jailer.  Even so, she was horrified at his violent, horrible death.

The attack seemed to come from nowhere - and everywhere. Sheraine was forcing down her morning ration of  mush and water when, suddenly, the sky seemed filled with arrows. Three soldiers went down almost as one, and the camp erupted in confusion.

An officer yelled at Belzak, "Get the woman into the wagon and secure her tightly."

Belzak lifted Sheraine as if she were a sack of meal and threw her into the wagon.  As he shackled her wrists and chained her to the wagon bed, he mumbled. "I'm sorry, Miss. I'm sorry, Miss."  His hands trembled and his eyes betrayed his fear.

Sheraine had not caught sight of the attackers. Were the people who now held her the warriors who had attacked? Or did they come upon the wreckage and rescue her? She decided she must be wary and began formulating a fictitious story before sleep overtook her.

---

Malik at Malgrey Castle, Cursed by Horobah the Malignant (Malik Story)

This, of course, is another portion of the Malik story.

Warning:  Although this part of tthe story is completed, some parts are not.  Large parts have not yet been written.  The story is not being completed in order, so changes may be necessary to make everything fit.  The parts I'm sharing I hope and plan will remain as is, but I'm not promising.

This is the beginning of Malik's participation in the story. (Another protagonist's story coincides with Malik's and then the two stories merge and continue together.)  The portions posted earlier happen after this part.


Helpful definitions: rhinovore is a large beast of burden, ornigress is a large flightless bird.



Malik glared at Horobah The Malignant like an angry baby ornigress defying a rhinovore.

"Ah," Horobah purred, "At last the Prince Dominus of Rijarik Realm pays me a social call.  I am most gratified."

Malik's lips tightened and his entire body tensed as though preparing to launch an attack, but he neither moved nor answered.  Though tired, filthy, and aching from traversing half the continent bound and chained, Malik was determined to hold his temper and maintain some semblance of royal dignity.

On his twenty-second birthday, as was the custom for all royal males of Rijarik, Malik had set out on his solitary trek inspecting the borders of the Realm.  As was also the custom, he traveled incognito and lived off the land.

Malik began his trek with inspecting the craggy, coastal borders of the Ahratay Bay. One evening as he sat near his fire contemplating the movements of the dark bay waters, five travel-weary men approached his camp. They claimed to be local peasants hunting the reindeer for sustenance for their families, but Malik suspected they were outlaws.  Still, his supplies and weapons were modest and he had nothing worth stealing.  Because these men, too, were subjects of the Realm, he shared his fire and meager provisions with them.

After the men had eaten, they and Malik all bedded down near the heat of the fire.  The warmth and the murmuring of the bay waters lulled Malik to sleep.

Suddenly, roughly, he was jerked awake to find himself surrounded by the five men.  Before his heart had ceased hammering, he was bound and chained.

The man who woke him laughed savagely, "Now, Princeling, let's go for a long ride."

Malik was not overly surprised they had recognized him.  Although he wore peasant attire, he knew it was a rather ineffective disguise.  His streaked flaxen hair, slightly darker mustache and beard, and sun-browned skin did not give away his identity in a land of blond outdoorsmen, but his intensely blue-violet eyes and unusual height did.

That they dared to assault him did surprise him. After all, no royal personage had been assaulted since the assassination attempt during the reign of Rijar Dominus Verohk more than three hundred years before.

Since then, both the Vicis and the the Dominus royalty had used their Powers to protect the lives of their families. When a child was born, a weardian spell, a protection ritual, was immediately performed. If the child died of violence, a curse upon the perpetrators was automatically activated.  Actually, Malik didn't know what sort of horrors would befall the killers and he doubted anyone knew anymore, but the threat of unknown horrors had kept the royalty safe.  Until now.

But the men hadn't killed him.  Instead, they had hauled him across the continent in a rhinovore-drawn wagon to the demesne of Horobah the Malignant.  Malik wondered if Horobah had devised a way to circumvent the curse.

"Come now, Princeling. Have you no manners? Is it not customary for a guest to greet his host and thank him for his hospitality?"

Staring into Horobah's colorless eyes was like looking into translucent ice in which small black bugs had been frozen. Malik dropped his gaze only to stare into the empty eye sockets of a small, fanged skull suspended from Horobah's neck. The sight loosened his tongue.

"Are you not aware of the curse that will befall you if I am harmed?  Surely you do not think having your minions do the deed will absolve you.  The onus will be on your head.  The curse will find you."  Malik wasn't sure of this, but it seemed likely that the curse would have such provisions.

Horobah laughed, or Malik thought that's what it was although it sounded more like the mating cries of the ornigress than human laughter. But then, he reflected, Horobah may not be entirely human.

"Princeling, Princeling.  That curse is only activated upon your demise. My hospitality does not include your assassination."

"Your minions spoke of the Prince Vicus Kador assuming the throne upon my father's death.  If I live, he cannot become heir to the throne."

"You err, Princeling. He will assume the throne if you have disappeared."

"Do you propose to keep me prisoner for the rest of my life, then?  I promise you I will make your life miserable. I will continue attempting to escape until I become free.  Then I will make your life even more miserable. I will be the Rijar Dominus and I will return -- with all the power of the Rijarik Realm behind me."

"You will not escape me, Princeling."

"I will. And what do you gain from taking this risk? What benefit to you putting Prince Vicus Kador on the throne?"

"I will gain power," Horobah said as he spread his arms.  The flowing sleeves of his filthy raploch burnoose hung from his upraised arms like wings.  With his large, sharp nose, colorless eyes, and malicious grin, he looked like an immense bird of prey about to swoop down from the dais to attack Malik.  "I will have control. I will have Rijarik Realm.  And when I have Rijarik, I will take Rhitwizah Queendom."

Malik drew himself up so sharply his chains rattled.  Incredible!  The demented, evil fool planned to control the entire continent! But, how? Kador?

"You lie, filth of the Malgrey Mountains! Your plan will not work, and I cannot believe Kador is behind this scheme."

Horobah swung his right arm forward, his burnoose wing flowing and swirling, and angrily pointed at Malik.

"Kador will take the throne, and I will have Rijarik and Rhitzwizah!"

"Kador is a good man. If he took the throne, he would not give control to the likes of you, daemon spawn," Malik replied.

"Kador is a weak man. There are those of his family who control him. And I control them. When your father dies -- which can't be long -- we will have Rijarik."

Malik's chains rattled again.  Who in the Vicis Royal Family could be behind this?  Impossible to tell. The two royal families shared government power, but the Dominus family held not only the Rijarship but all the primary posts. The Vicis family held only the deputy posts. When the throne falls to the Vicis family, they become the Dominus family and take all the primary posts. Therefore, virtually every member of the Vicis family stood to benefit from a change in rule. And this change could occur only when the Rijar died without a male heir to the throne.

Malik shuddered.  Horobah was right; Kador, though a good man, was weak.  Malik was the only male heir of the Dominus family, and his father was very ill, had been these past two years.  Anger boiled up knotting in his throat.

"You won't get away with this, you ill-begotten son of a sea serpent," he shouted.  "My father will search--all the land, if need be."

"They will not search, Lord Princekin."  Horobah's voice rose as he stepped to the edge of the dais. "They think you dead."

"Father will know the curse has not been invoked, Evil Breath of an Ogre. He'll know I'm not dead."

"Think, Little Princeling.  The curse is activated by killing, not accident nor natural death.  You were not killed; you were drowned in the bay. There is no body.  Ah, but the fishes of Ahrahtay Bay have eaten royally."  Another mating call of the ornigress escaped from Horobah's mouth. "Yet there was proof of your folly, and that proof is now in the hands of your father."

Malik slumped in his chains. "I will escape.  I have Powers. Fatherless Deamon!"

"Your Powers are puny, and you know not how to channel them.  You think to pit them against my mighty Powers?"

Malik's chains rattled again as he jerked upright.  Horobah apparently had efficient spies and informants in Rijarik, perhaps in the Dominus castle itself.  It was true; although Malik had his geaster, his magical birth-amulet, his powers were just beginning to assert themselves.  Over the years, he had received some informal instruction on how to deal with magic, but had not yet received his formal training.  That was to commence upon return from his trek.

"My Powers will grow.  I will destroy you, Grunt of a Peasant's Sty," Malik shouted.

Horobah's eyes seemed to sizzle like a hot poker set to ice.  And they're not just thawing, Malik thought, they're coming to boil, steaming. He knows I will become a threat, and it worries him.

Horobah lifted a bony arm and pointed a long, dirty finger at Malik.  "You shall have Power, Impotent Princelet. You shall name your own poison."

"I promise I will destroy you," Malik shouted.  "I will find a way, you mangy she-dog!"

Malik felt a dizziness, a weakness.  His surroundings blurred and leached of color. Rubbing his eyes, he crumpled to the floor and writhed in cadence to the rhythm of the pain pulsing through his body. Gradually the pain eased. But his eyes!  He rubbed at them. It felt strange. He looked at his hands--paws. Paws!

The mating call of the ornigress again issued from the dais. "Impotent princekin to bitch dog. How fitting. But your choice of mangy she-dog is not only fitting; it is perfect. You have solved my problem.  How, Princelet, will you now escape? How will you invoke your growing powers without voicing them?"

Malik's angry retort emerged as a furious growl. Lunging forward, he realized his chains had slipped from his thin canine limbs.  Free! He leaped onto the dais, growling his rage.

"Away, you mangy cur!" Horobah yelled, kicking at him.

Malik latched onto the leg coming at him and sunk his fangs into it. Horobah doubled his fist and slammed it into the top of Malik's head.  Malik involuntarily released his grip on the leg. Horobah let fly with another kick, connecting with Malik's ribs. Searing pain flashed through his body. Another kick connected. Malik fell from the dais.

"Prentice! Get in here!" were the last words Malik heard as his vision darkened and silence descended.

A World Apart

 I wrote this in 1995.  A camp in the woods, a late night campfire, and a perfect autumn night conspired to awaken my muse mouse.  The following resulted:


A firefly: glow dancing in the night
          just beyond the edge of light;
A silent choreography of love
          in glowing, graceflul flight.

The whispering wind: gently,
          gently caressing the trees,
Coaxing sighs, soft murmurings,
          from quivering, trembling leaves.

The stars: wickedly winking
          at foolish lunar retreats
To hide, shyly radiant
          'neath guazy cumulus sheets.

A campfire: casting light,
          waves of color and intensity-
Crackling, flaring - sharing the
          burning heat of passion.

Time: suspended - caught
          on a perfect moment
In an empyreal world
          delineated by love.

The Fire of Fall

Driving out on this bright and lovely fall day re-opened my eyes and mind to the great outdoors.  The trees, even whole groves, were aflame with autumn colors.  When had I last actually looked at the trees? Maybe at spring budding.

Seeing the trees afire with color reminded me of a poem I wrote some years back about walking through the crackling fallen leaves, thereby aurally rekindling the visual fire.

I have no idea where that poem is, but maybe I'll dig it up one of these days and share it with you.  Meanwhile enjoy the season.  Fall is the best - but always too short.

Misty River - Reflections on Life and Friendship

Misty, misty river
Views fore and aft are dim
Our destination is not clear
And neither where we've been

Fragile little vessels
Straining against the flow
Raging through the defiles
Lonely, lonely, on we row

Two lonely little vessels
Meeting blindly in the mist
Lashing the two together
Into a steady companionship

Bravely, bravely sailing forth
On this sturdy, steady ship
Seeking the eternal ocean
Together in the murky, murky mist

Malik and Kazar at the Pit (Malik Story)

This is part of a longer story. To make any sense of it you probably need to know:

Malik is a prince who has been turned into a female dog by an evil wizard (he can speak canine when in dog form)
Silas - a very high-strung chipmunk that Malik has met after escaping the wizard's keep (he is a linguist and knows canine speak)
El Kazar - a big wolf, fierce and territorial but not evil (of course he speaks canine)
geaster - a birth stone (received at birth) always a comfort to the owner, a channel for magic when wielded by a person with magic
This portion of the story takes place after a moonlit chase - El Kazar, chasing after Malik who was a stranger encroaching on Kazar's territory, ends up trapped in a pit


Silas, with an expression of horror, replied, "In the pit." His tone coarse with distress, he continued, "I couldn't stop him. He was intent on pursuing you and didn't see me signaling."

Malik slowly, painfully gained his feet and stretched his neck to look over the log. A dark pit gaped just beyond the downed tree. With Silas clinging to his back, he trotted around the log and cautiously approached the hole.

A sorrowful whine escaped from the shaft and reverberated through the stillness of the moonlit night. Malik's heart juddered at the sound. A strange sense of urgency overcame him, and he forgot his enmity and terror. This was a poor, helpless beast caught in a fatal trap. It would be a long, suffering death.

Maintaining caution, step by careful step Malik and Silas approached the rim of the pit. Peering in, they could dimly see by the light of the moon. Kazar was fighting to free himself from tangled, green tendrils. He seemed panicked. Somehow, Malik could feel Kazar's panic and his rapidly increasing exhaustion.

"Jump," Malik yelled. "Jump." El Kazar made a valiant attempt, but for naught. The pit was deep and the tendrils held him fast. This was not the way. "Save your efforts. Rest and we'll think for a moment."

If only I had my geaster, even though I'm a dog, I'd try to bring forth my undeveloped powers, Malik thought. Suddenly he felt an assurance in his heart. He didn't know where it came from, but he simply knew he would save this magnificent beast. He had to. After all, he was not only a dog, he was a prince of the Rijarik Kingdom. He only needed to calm himself and think. In man form, how would he solve this conundrum? Tools. As a man he would look at tools to solve this problem - somehow bridge the height, somehow use a line to pull the wolf up. As a dog, tools were useless.

Silas was pacing, muttering, peering over the edge of the pit, "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. What can we do? What can we do?"

"You can settle down. Settle and think." Malik hissed through his teeth. "We need to consider the problem calmly. Think. We could use the log right here next to the pit. It's conveniently situated." Silas began bouncing and chirping. "No, as a dog, I have no arms," Malik said pushing against the log with his head and one shoulder. "And I don't have the weight to push it to the proper position."

Silas, no longer bouncing and chirping, plopped down and sat with head hanging. Then he popped up, slid down off the log, and joined Malik next to the log. "I'll help. We'll be a team."

Malik nearly growled in anger, but instead put his shoulder to the log in furious frustration. Next to him little Silas pushed with all his might grunting loudly. Malik cocked an eye in his direction, his frustration growing until it felt as though it would vent through his ears. He knew they would accomplish nothing, but as his anger increased he pushed without letup. Suddenly, he fell to the ground. The tree was rapidly upending and Silas was flung up and away. As he lay panting, he watched in horror as Silas took flight.

Shocked, he realized what he was seeing. One end of the log was now up in the air, the other disappeared down into the pit! The height of the hole was bridged. Malek grinned widely as Silas came wobbling and wavering back and sprawled on the moonlit grass.

"What are you grinning about?' Silas asked testily. Malik, still speechless, just pointed his nose in the direction of the now upended tree. Silas stared, only now grasping the significance of the trunk poking out from the pit.

Slowly his eyes turned to Malik, who grinned again and said, "Silas, you sneak! Why did you not tell me of your magical abilities?"

"Me?" Silas squeaked. "I have no magic. No, no,no. I have none. Any magic in the deed had to have come from you."

Malik's grin disappeared and he choked. "Me? I have no magic yet." He faltered, then continued in a wondering voice, "Not yet. But I'm of an age for my powers to assert themselves. But, no. I'm a dog. I have to be a man, don't I?"

"Well, I don't know, I don't know. But it didn't come from me." He made a show of peering around the meadow. "Doesn't seem to be anyone else with magic in the vicinity, now, does it? Unless it came from El Kazar. But no, no, no. If he had magic he wouldn't be in the predicament, he's in, would he? So then, it appears your powers can assert themselves even while you are a dog. My, my, my."

Malik rolled over and studied the bright moon as he considered Silas' words. Well, now, this was an interesting turn of events. If his powers were developing, how would he direct and control them as a dog and without training? This he knew was a trying time even if the recipient was a trained young mage, as developing powers were difficult to control, capricious and unpredictable. It was rather like a boy's uncontrollable adolescent voice change, but with dire possibilities.

Kazar howled piteously, and Malik and Silas both started. "Oh my, oh my, oh my, is El Kazar pinned under the log?"

Both rushed to the edge of the pit. "Are you all right? Did the log crash onto you?" Malik called down.

"No, I didn't get hurt. But I'm still trapped."

"Just climb up the log," Malek offered.

"I think it is too steep, but I can't try it. I'm tangled in these confounded tendrils and can't get loose," Kazar growled.

"Silas can climb down and assist you." He glanced at Silas who hissed irritably. "Well, you can, Silas. Why not?" Malik said.

"I don't like that pit. Not one bit. Not a bit."

"Well," Malik replied. "You are built for climbing. You could easily climb down, help release him, and climb back out. No problem."

"No problem. No, indeed. Easy for me. Oh, yes, indeed, very easy," Silas grumbled sarcastically. Malik simply stared at him until Silas dropped his eyes. "All right, all right," he mumbled. He slowly approached the upended log, paused and said, "Nasty pit, dirty pit, I don't like this. Not one bit."

Malik merely growled softly deep in his throat.

"All right, all right. I'm going already, yes, I am," he said as he began making his way down the log.

Upon reaching the bottom, he climbed over and around the big wolf and examined the tendrils binding Kazar. "Yes, yes. I'll just gnaw apart this one at the back of your neck and this one at the base of your tail. Then I think you'll be free. Yes, yes, I think that'll do it. Then we'll escape from this dirty pit. Dirty, dirty pit."

He began gnawing at the vine which looped around behind Kazar's neck. After only a couple of chomps, he drew back sharply, spitting and choking. "Oh, bad, nasty. Oh, terrible stuff. I can't chew that. No, no, no." A low growl reached his ears; he looked up into Karzar's eyes and dropped his gaze to the dripping muzzle below. "Okay, okay. I'll do it. I'll do it." And he set forth on the task immediately.

Soon, Kazar was free of the tendrils and happily testing his freedom in the limited space, while Silas spit and gagged dramatically, groaning as if he were dying. Kazar shot a look in his direction and suddenly Silas forgot his misery and scampered quickly up the log.

Malik called down to Kazar, "Just climb up the log. You'll be free in no time."

Kazar attempted to climb but his paws did not offer the purchase that Silas' claws did. It was too steep. He couldn't do it.

"What can we do? What can we do?" Silas moaned.

Malik said, "Quiet. Think."

"Use your magic, my prince. Use your magic."

"Silas, I have no control over it. I don't know how to use magic." Malik pondered for a moment, then suggested, "Maybe we can use those vine tendrils. Do you think there is one long enough to reach from the top to the bottom of the pit?"

Silas groaned. "You'll insist I gnaw those putrid vines again. You will. I know you will."

"Well, you'll have to find a long one and bring one end to the top. I suppose you'll have to grip it with your mouth to do that."

"Not so bad as gnawing it. Okay, I'll go down in that dirty, dirty hole again." And off he scampered, down the log into the pit.

Kazar, having heard this exchange, had already scouted out the vines, carefully keeping his distance from them. He pointed out one that looked long enough and Silas grabbed it without a complaint. Pulling and tugging, he labored up the log saying nothing because his mouth was full, to his utter disgust. As he reached the top, Malik grabbed the vine, and Silas immediately let go and exaggeratedly began spitting.

Ignoring Silas' drama, Malik trotted out far from the hole to extend enough line to avoid any slippage back into the hole. When he released it, he was glad he was far from Silas and facing away from him, so Silas couldn't see him gagging.

Trotting back, he looked into the pit. "Grab the other end, Kazar. If I pull as you climb, we should finally have you free."

"I've been looking and I cannot find the other end. This vine winds around and around and seems endless."


Malik looked at Silas, who began moaning, "Why me? Why me? The little guy always gets the raw deal." Both Malek, nearby, and El Kazar, from the bottom of the pit, gazed, expressionless, at him. "Oh, all right. All right. Down into that dirty pit again."

Once more he climbed down the log. Ignoring Kazar, he quickly gnawed off the vine at the right length, gagged and spit, perfunctorily this time, then rushed up to the rim. "It's done. Now you pull, Malik, and I'll keep watch and direct you."

With Malik at one end, Kazar at the other end, and Silas officiously directing the action, the big wolf was soon free. All three were exhausted by this time, so Kazar thanked them quickly but profusely, then extended an invitation. "We're all tired, the night is soon done. We need a secure place to sleep. I know just the place."


Malik, feeling like a blushing young girl must feel when indecently propositioned, hung his head not knowing how to respond. "Uh, no, I think not. You see. . "

"She's a he. She's a prince. She doesn't want a mate," Silas burst in.

"I won't pretend I understood all that," Kazar said with a bemused expression. "But neither of you has anything to fear. You've saved my life and El Kazar will not forget it. You will always be safe, welcome guests in my domain. You have my friendship for life."

More Cliche' Mashing

Cliche' mashing was not an intended feature of this blog, but banishing one by writing about it did work (mostly). Now, it seems I have a couple more banging around in those nether regions I fondly refer to as my mind.

Just last week, I was introduced to a new way of expressing "testing his mettle." While reading a book, an old book utilizing the old convoluted and self-conscious prose of the time, I came across a reference to a man's metal. It was a free Kindle version of the book and I dismissed it as a typing error, but then it was repeated.

I thought, "Well, even authors of days gone by made mistakes." What intrigued me, though, was not only a total of three references to the man's metal, but also a description mentioning the iron in the man!

So now I have this mashed cliche' running through my mind while I wonder, "Did the author not know the difference between mettle and metal or was he deliberately playing with my mind?"

Wish he was still alive so I could ask.

So while we're at it, here's another that flits in and out of the cobwebs between my ears - "for all intents and purposes." I think the mashed version, for all intensive purposes, was brought to me verbally, but I don't remember for sure.

I think what intrigues me the most about mashed cliches is the way they sound like the originals and can mean almost exactly the same, but can also mean something different.

Okay, I'll admit it - I'm a word geek.

But still, I want these bothersome phrases banished. Begone!

College 30 Years Later

This post, too, is inspired by the young man entering University of Minnesota as mentioned in the previous post.

When I decided to go to college some thirty years after high school, family and friends reacted in a variety of ways. Some were very supportive, some carefully avoided comment, and some were openly amused. One even suggested that I may not have time to earn a degree before retirement!

I tried to play it casual, tried giving people the impression that this was no big deal, but it was, in fact, a very big deal to me, on a par with going to the dreaded high school.

Let me share some items from my journals. Here are some excerpts from entries near the beginning of my first quarter:

My first visit to the college was to the financial aid office to check on the costs and the various methods for paying for a venture into higher education. On that and subsequent visits to that office, I felt uncomfortable, but I could pass myself off as a visitor in the corridors, so it wasn't too bad.

Then came the day of assessment tests. Now there was no way I could pretend I was just a visitor. This was a test day, indeed, and the assessments weren't the only tests to face; I had to begin admitting I was a student.

I began worrying about the ordeal forty miles before reaching the school. It was tempting to just drop the idea. I think even my car was hesitant about it, because it didn't travel as fast as usual. But I summoned up some courage and speed and arrived with time to spare.

I decided I would do this thing and it wouldn't be too bad. I refused to think ahead to the beginning of classes. I would concentrate on how great it would be to complete my education. Somehow I would endure.

The first day of classes approached; this would be another real test! It was also the first day of a new job. Although my new employers knew I was going to school, one full day on the job was strongly encouraged. I was willing; I could put off the first day of class. Yes, I was very willing!

But there had to be a first day sometime, so the next day at the appointed time, I tripped off to class, albeit with a great deal of trepidation. As I walked through the corridors carrying books and supplies, I hoped everyone would assume I was faculty (in a matter of weeks I had promoted myself from mere visitor to faculty!).

Hoards of young people were passing through those corridors. They all seemed familiar with the layout of rooms, the routine, and one another. (Did I mention that I always seem to be the only one who doesn't know these things?) How do people know these things?

Arriving at my first classroom, I felt uncomfortable, but no one seemed to notice me and my advanced age. They ignored me. When the class began, I directed my thoughts to it.

Later in the journal:

I am amazed. The students either talk to me or ignore me -- either way they make no big deal of it. I guess I had expected the young people to be openly disparaging; I don't know why.

Because I did not expect to enjoy this experience, I had decided to grit my teeth and just endure. Though I still experience some discomfort, I am beginning to feel more at ease and am enjoying my classes.

Near the end of my first quarter:

As I was perusing the new schedule, I realized I am beginning to feel comfortable in the role of student. I guess I had resigned myself to feeling strange and uncomfortable for the duration, but I enjoy the courses and am gaining much from this experience. After all, the pursuit of knowledge should be a life-long project and not the exclusive prerogative of youth.

I'm excited about the next quarter. I do, however, sort of hate to see this quarter end.

So, young man beginning at U of M, if an old person can adjust in just one quarter, you, being young and probably mysteriously knowing all the rooms, routines, and other students, will settle in very quickly. You'll do great!

School begins anew

The school year has begun and I know a young man who is beginning his first quarter at U of M. I'm sure it has been a less-than-comfortable week for him. Brings to mind some of my school experiences.

I can still remember my first year of school (yeah, I CAN remember that far back!). We lived in a remote part of northern Minnesota on a farm and seldom went to town. We didn't see friends, relatives, or neighbors much, either. In other words, I was an isolated little 'fraidy cat when it came to meeting people (brave about hanging in the uppermost branches of trees, though).

We did not have pre-school or kindergarten but were plopped right into first grade. I had the advantage, though, of an older brother attending the same elementary school as I. He was in a different room, but rode the same bus with me, and it was a comfort to know he was in the same building.

Before I started school, my older brother missed the better part of a year due to a severe illness. During that time, he was home schooled by my mom while I hung over her shoulder. I learned a lot, including how to read. So although socially I was far from ready for school, academically I was more than ready and anxious to learn more.

I survived the shock of my first days at school and predictably loved the exciting new world of playmates and classmates and regimented learning. Each summer was a great break, but I was ready to return to school long before the next term began.

Until . . . high school!

For high school I was even less prepared. My little three-room grade school ran out of grades after eighth, then we were bussed to a consolidated high school. Okay, I'll concede the high school wasn't very large, but after a three-room school and an eight-person class, that place seemed immense!

And as it always happens with me, everyone else seemed to know all the other people, where things were, and what was expected. I knew none of it! I was terrified! I was lost. I was alone.

Unlike grade school, adjusting to high school took a long time. But I survived and finally did become comfortable with it. I suffered only one discernible lingering effect - for at least twenty years after graduating, I wandered the halls and corridors of that frighteningly large school in my dreams desperately hunting for my locker!

Well, back to the young man at U of M. The University truly is a very large school, but he is so much more prepared for the transition. He has attended large schools all of his life and previously has made successful transitions between schools. He's very talented academically and has experience with college courses. He's braver and socially more adept than I'll ever be. Although he may become lost or disoriented at first, I doubt he'll spend the next twenty years wandering around that school in his dreams.

The American Can

Every can along the road I feel a duty to inspect
And I sadly must report that some I must reject
For though they're billed as rest rooms, there is no room to rest
And as for cleanliness and comfort they'd never pass the test

You'll find no unused paper, clean towels you cannot see
Yet crumpled used towel litter there will always be
The pot won't flush, the sink won't drain, still we must confess
That even here, sometimes, we're pleased to be a guest

For tho there is no place to rest and the room's a total pit
It can seem a shining palace, 'cause there is a place to sit
We drop upon the throne and sigh, "Life's simple pleasures are the best"
For after all, nature's urgent call wasn't bidding us to rest