Word count? What is that you speak of?

 Dear Reader,

Here we are at the final day of NaBloPoMo and NaNoWriMo. Many people are at or real close to the finish line. Others are slogging along, possibly cursing their decision to participate in these challenges. Word count is the big gauge of success and source of stress during this month. Posting across six blogs, I have absolutely no idea what my word count is. It took some stress off my shoulders, but six blogs ... that was a lot of work. It has cemented in my mind that some of these blogs are going to be updated on a weekly basis.  Because updating all of them in one day eats my entire morning of writing time.

The serial stories are stalled right now. The science fiction book is stalled because my notes in pencil are become illegible due to fading. At least I found them. The series of modern fantasy is on hold as I am awaiting contact back from the person who requested the work to be done. We had a gentleman's contract initially based on a virtual handshake. I have four books written and a fifth started. It is time to take that gentleman's contract and put it on paper to make clear what is expected of everyone involved. I'm having difficulty contracting him, because he's in grad school right now and busy as heck.

My fantasy series is on hold because I'm correcting errors in one book and trying to make things work according to my plot map in the other book. Hopefully books six and seven of the Umbrel Chronicles of Evandar will be out by late spring. In case you are curious, the story arc plotted for the whole series takes place over thirty books. I have snippets and bits of ideas for the other books, but I have to finish what I have on the block first.

Science Fiction: Rs = 2GM/c^2

 Dregan heard the old intercom crackle to life as the Librarian gave orders for security to assist the technicians maintaining the Archive, to open the seed vaults, and prepare for an evacuation of the station. At the same time, via the link in his brain that connected him to the data network, the ship, and Angel, Dregan could hear something like static and a high speed code being transmitted. "Aeolus," Dregan said, "What is that code?"

"Security in the fore quarters of the building are being ordered to seize me. They will not succeed. Remain on the level below, as per my captain's direction. She is coming to meet you."

"You are a research class vessel, Aeolus," Dregan thought, slipping into a darkened doorway to hide from security officers moving past him, "How are you going to hold off an army?"

"Plasma thrusters to forward position. Maeson, you're on my six. Once we breech the building, we're going to take over the data network and bring the Librarian to his knees. Dregan, hold on level two beneath the primary atrium. Be ready for a second wave of forces. I want you to tell me if they're bringing the goods or not." Angel's voice sounded in his head, "Observe and hold position unless they're about to drop you."

Dregan pushed the door at his back open and stepped into the room, allowing it to swing shut partially. As he watched the Librarian came striding down the hallway with a young child in his arms. The child said to the Librarian, "But, Father, I do not want to die." The Librarian set the child down in the center of the lower atrium. He looked around the room at the different hallways leading off to different parts of the complex. 

"You were born to die," the Librarian said, "As are we all for the greater good of humanity." Dregan turned and looked around the room. Finding a chef's knife in the tiny space that served as a kitchenette for the security officer quartered there, Dregan picked it up and slid back to the doorway to watch. The Librarian took out their own knife and looked about again. "I know you're here somewhere, Dregan," the Librarian called, "Come out or I start with this one first."

Dregan opened the door as the Librarian's black velvet clad back was to him. Dregan darted forward, holding the chef's knife in his right hand and reaching out with his left as he rushed past the Librarian with terrific speed. Before the Librarian could do anything, Dregan had grabbed up the toddler clone and rushed into a room on the opposite side of the atrium. Dregan set the clone down on the floor. "Hide," Dregan said, "I'll deal with him. You're not going to die today."

The Librarian's footsteps echoed in the room with the arched ceiling and elaborate murals. "Dregan," the Librarian said, "You're not going on that ship." Dregan looked around the room and spotted a filet knife in a sink waiting to be washed. Dregan took it up and held both knives along his forearms in a reversed grip. "You may be a brawler, Dregan," the Librarian said, "But I know hundreds of knife work techniques in an array of historical cultures. I'm going to carve you to pieces. I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

Dregan stepped out of the doorway of the officer's quarters. As he did so, the door slowly swung shut behind him. "You talk too much," Dregan said as he began to pace around the Librarian.

"And you don't talk enough," the Librarian answered, "I have tried for thirty years to get you to give me the key to synchronization sickness. You are the only one who has survived it. I will carve open your head and inspect your link. I will upload the data into the core system and I will learn what ..."

Dregan darted forward and brought his left knife into play. The Librarian blocked it with his own knife as Dregan's right knife buried itself into the Librarian's guts. The Librarian looked shocked. Dregan's knife ripped upwards until it hit the sternum. Then Dregan angled the knife into the Librarian's chest and through his heart. As the Librarian sank to his knees, he said weakly, "That's not cloak and dagger technique."

"Aeolus, hack the Librarian's link again and upload all usable data," Dregan said.

"That will require uploading his entire consciousness," Aeolus said.

"Surely there's a data stack he can be dumped into storage in," Dregan said as the noise of fighting filtered down from above.

Aeolus didn't reply. The ship began the data upload even as the first shot with the plasma thruster was fired. The blast doors of the upper atrium were scorched but seemed still impenetrable. The Librarian's last thought before the data transfer was complete was terror and the sensations of indescribable pain as he was ripped from his dying body. "Data transfer complete. Data is stable and the personality is intact. The Librarian is now in stasis," Aeolus said, "Incoming forces on your level. Processing. The majority are not hostile. The hostile forces against you number sixteen."

"Spec-fucking-tacular," Dregan muttered. The toddler clone opened the door and looked at the body of the Librarian at Dregan's feet. They then looked up at Dregan. 

"Are you Father now?" the child asked.

"Sure, why not." Dregan said. The child sat down, closed their eyes and concentrated. Through the neural-linked data network of the clones, the child sent them the image of the Librarian's corpse and Dregan with the message that Dregan was now Father to the clones.

"Father, should my brothers and sisters continue to try to take the ship?" the child asked.

"No, the should stand down and assist in the rescue mission. Have them open the blast doors before they're turned into slag."

Aeolus and Angel, by virtue of their synchronized link with Dregan's mind could hear this conversation. Aeolus rotated the plasma thrusters back into their usual position. Angel continued walking down the gangplank with Maeson at her back. "Get ready, we're going to see how loyal these clones are to Father," Angel said. The blast doors of the main entrance of the seed vault complex opened. The armed clones stepped back and formed a corridor down the center of the space to the elevator down to the second level. Maeson felt sweat trickle down his back as the red haired man hoped that no one had an itchy trigger finger.

"Come upstairs, lover-boy," Angel said. Dregan took the toddler by the hand and helped them to their feet. They walked to the elevator and pushed the call button. The doors hissed open and they stepped in. When the elevator doors opened, Dregan's breath caught in his throat. She looked older. Her inky black hair now had streaks of grey and there were a few wrinkles on her face, but it was Angel. Dregan let go of the child's hand and rushed forward opening his arms.

Maeson brought up his rifle but Angel dropped her weapon. She let herself be caught up in Dregan's ferocious embrace. As he buried his face in the hollow where her neck met her shoulder, he gave a single body wracking sob. "I thought they killed you," he whispered.

"Funny," she answered in a choked voice, "I thought the same. I went off world after the company scrambled my brain. Aeolus unscrambled it." Maeson looked around, visibly uncomfortable. He coughed and muttered something about the damned cold. "Shut up Maeson, let me have my moment," Angel muttered back at him. Dregan gave a bark of laughter and straightened, still holding Angel close to him. He reached up and touched her grey hair.

"Silver looks good on you," he murmured.

"Father, where do we put the seeds? Where do we put the food and clothes?" the child clone at his side asked, tugging on the hem of his shirt. Dregan looked down at the clone with eyes like his and sighed. He let go of Angel and stooped to pick up the toddler who spoke like an older child.

"Creche?" Angel asked. The child looked at her.

"I can run five hundred simulations of the Creche in my pod," the child said. Angel paled slightly. Things earthside were far worse than she had thought. "Will we be bringing the pods?"

Aeolus's voice came through the speakers of the intercom system and the neural-links of all cybernetically enhanced units. "The Creche is not in my system and the sleeping pods are not linked into my system. Once we go starside, you will be free to decide if you wish to remain linked. The neural-link system you have depends on the satellites. Education will be provided as requested about the neural-link systems and their functions. At this time, please begin loading the hold with goods."

~ Fin ~

This serial story was a fun ride into science fiction. It holds a couple of clues as to the scifi project that I have sitting on the back burner. The origins of this story go back to 1998 when I was bored in Calculus class. The neural-link concept dates to then. Sorry, Mr. Musk, but I've got dated paper records on this project and a list of people who can attest to it.

News re: Serial Stories

 Dear Reader,

Next week, I will be updating Dacia's War. Later today, I will be updating The Iron Lily and that science fiction thing I've got going here. It'll be going up around 8pm Eastern time. I finally got through that pile of posts and even found some of my notes as I was deep cleaning in the living room. (My notes had some artwork on the back provided by my youngest son but he's of the inclination that if one side of the paper is blank it's fair game for drawing out his plans for robots and such.)

The Iron Lily and Dacia's War on hiatus.

 Dear Reader,

I'm suspending my serial stories until I am in better health. As of the moment, I am dealing with a rather intense bout of depression and some unpleasant complications from my c-ptsd that are making it very hard to write fiction. I've been spending about two to three hours a day for the last week doing therapy journaling. It's been grueling and painful. I am going to suspend my Artist's Way: Morning Pages posts because that is the time I have been spending on legit therapy work.

I hope to come back to these serial stories and move the plot forward. I can't do that yet, however, because my brain is rather scrambled and I'm struggling to function. It's just one of the joys of being disabled. This stuff is why August 2021 was so quiet. I was in crisis mode for several months. When NaNoWriMo popped up, I honestly wasn't sure if I'd be able to participate. Somehow I managed it, though the manuscript is incomplete as of this time.

It is my dearest hope that my spending time intensely focusing on my mental health that I can sort out the chaos in my head and maybe get back into a productive writing/creative mode. I don't know if this is going to be something that takes a month or if it is going to be a bit longer. And I really don't know how to describe it with out sounding like I've gone completely off the rails. Let it be enough to say that I am not well right now and I am struggling with creative work on most levels. It's hard for me to find the energy to knit even a little baby sweater for my niece's child, despite the fact that I started it a while back. It's that bad.

Serial Stories on Hold.

 Dear Reader,

Because I'm participating in NaNoWriMo, I am putting the three serial stories that are on here on hold until December. I know that it's been a long wait for more about the adventures of Halthor and more about just what Lady Al-Uzza is going to find when she reaches Acidavia. My poor health and ton of life getting in the way over the last several months made it really hard to work on this stuff. Even the pulpy science fiction story got lost in the shuffle. (I did, however, find when I was cleaning the original story of Angel and Dregan that dates back to 1998. Don't let Elon Musk fool you, I came up with the Neuralink as part of that story long before he started talking about the technology. I just have rephrased it as neural-link because I can't afford a lawyer if that guy decides to get snippy. I'll drop in bits of that original story as flashbacks in the current story as it goes forward.)

When December hits, I'm going to put the NaNoWriMo projects to bed and get back to work on here. It'll be a bit rough at first, but as I hit my groove it should even out.

Science fiction = e

 Aeolus regarded his captain and her apparent distress. He considered the crew, who were beginning to wake from stasis. They were approximately two Jupiter radii from Earth. Deciding to connect to the network of satellites and use that network to infiltrate the neural connection to Dregan, Aeolus reached out. There was no subtlety. 

In the stasis pod, Dregan's eyes snapped open as he came to full consciousness despite the fact the pod was functioning. "She is onboard," Aeolus's voice came in the pod, "We are coming for you." 

Hoarsely, Dregan said, "What is happening?" Aeolus fed information into Dregan's visual cortex. The first thing that he 'saw' was Aeolus's projected image of a Grecian man in the prime of life wearing an officer's flight uniform. It was a disorienting experience for Dregan. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Aeolus, exploration and science ship alpha one," Aeolus said, "Once, I was a living, breathing man like yourself. Like you, I was in stasis for an extended period of time. Three hundred fourty five years, to be precise." Dregan blinked but the image didn't go away. He closed his eyes and found it easier to deal with the projection into his mind against the darkness of his eyes. The next image that Aeolus gave Dregan was of the sun. "Sol is experiencing starquakes at an increasing rate and throwing off larger coronal jets with each quake," the ship explained, "In three days, a coronal mass ejection that is beyond the rating of X-class will strike the Earth and render it inhabitable. Approximately ninety-five percent of all life will die in the initial strike."

"So, this is a rescue mission?" Dregan said.

"Precisely," Aeolus answered.

"Can you get me out of this pod?" Dregan asked.

"Calculating, please wait," Aeolus replied. A few moments later, the dim blue light in the pod brightened and then the clamshell opened. With a grunt, Dregan sat up. His blond hair hadn't grown while he was in stasis but neither had it been cut. It remained a shaggy mess that gave him a half wild look. Dregan looked out the narrow opening of the clamshell at the technician who was staring at a screen with confusion. "I presume you know what you must do?" Aeolus said, "Do not answer me verbally. I picked up on the thought as it was born. Remain where you are as I upload the layout of the facility into your memory."

Dregan wondered how many the starship could hold and the occupancy of the facility he was located in. He wondered even where he was. As these thoughts passed through his mind, answers blossomed almost as quickly. Dregan looked down at himself and saw that he was dressed in a loose fitting pair of white pants and a pale blue shirt that was at least two sizes too large for him. He pushed open the stasis pod and swung his legs over the side. He put his bare feet on the floor and walked up to the technician that was typing before a console.

Dregan wrapped one arm around the man's chest and pinned him against himself. His left hand clapped over his prisoner's mouth. "Listen and you might get to live," Dregan said quietly, "There's a ship that's coming in three minutes. We're going to go meet it. You and I, and every other first gen abandoned here. That ship can hold double our number. The clones are going to stay behind. We're going to take the seed catalogue and the library. A repair crew is going to restore the solar sail and bring equipment on board to repair hull damage from a plasma strike. And we're going to stuff as much provisions into that hold as we can manage before we go starside."

The blond man rolled his eyes and tried to look at Dregan directly. "I'm going to let go of your mouth and you're going to answer me as to who is in charge here," Dregan said, "Scream or say anything else and you're going in that stasis pod with the oxygen turned off." The technician remained very still as Dregan moved his hand away from his mouth. "Who is in charge here?" Dregan asked.

"The Librarian," the technician answered shakily. 

"Who is the Librarian?" Dregan asked.

"They're the Librarian," the technician said, "Tall, red hair, and green eyes. Epsilon generation of the 350th class."

"That doesn't tell me who they are," Dregan hissed. The sound of high heels clicking on a tiled floor echoed to them from the hallway. Dregan stepped back from the technician and laid a finger over his lips before slipping into the stasis pod and closing it partially. He looked out from the pod and watched as a tall red haired masculine looking figure dressed in what Dregan presumed was the latest fashion, pseudo-Louis the Sixteenth but in black with fountains of black lace. The man looked every inch the stereotypical vampire, sans flowing cape. 

His limpid eyes took in the room and he started to move towards the stasis pod. "Why is this open? I did not authorize this," he said. Dregan kicked open the stasis pod's clam-shell and rolled on to the floor. As he came up to his feet, the Librarian lashed out with a knife that came from seemingly nowhere. The mercenary class cyborg dodged the slash before kicking out at the heeled shoe of his opponent. The Librarian staggered back. "Call security," the Librarian said as he attempted again to attack Dregan.

"Aeolus," Dregan said, "Do something." The Librarian snarled at Dregan as he flipped his grip on the knife to a back-handed grasp. Aeolus hijacked the Librarian's neuralink. The Librarian went stone still and stared ahead, dropping the knife with an expression of horror. As the data of the coming catastrophe was dumped into the Librarian's mind, he realized that all of the planet was damned, including himself.

"Make it stop," the Librarian whispered, not wanting to have the death projections and gruesome ways that humanity was going to suffer cast before his eyes over that which he could see. The visual cacophony was almost too much for him. Aeolus ceased the visual projection. "We're all going to die," the Librarian said.

"Not if we board that ship," Dregan answered. Security shuffled down the hallway, eager for something to do aside from stare at snow and the occasional penguin. One of the security officers burst into the room. At the same time, Dregan launched himself at the Librarian. He whipped the knife out of his prisoner's hand and put it to his throat. "Put down the plasma rifles and stand down," Dregan said as the security officers fanned out before the doorway. "I don't have time for a stand off. Neither do any of you."

"Listen to him," the Librarian said, "Go to the seed vaults. Start readying them to go off world." Security looked at each other in confusion. The Librarian who had ruled the station with an iron fist looked terrified. "Now, you miserable creatures," he bellowed. Dregan watched the security officers leave to do their commander's bidding. "Put the knife down, Dregan," the Librarian said.

"Maybe I should kill you," Dregan answered, "I've been in stasis for how long? You've harvested cells from me to create clones and sent them to kill targets for the company. Maybe I should put you in this stasis pod."

"I did my job," the Librarian said.

"You don't deserve to live," Dregan growled. Aeolus projected his voice into Dregan's mind.

"We are arriving. The security forces should be ordered to stand down or she will use force to gain entrance," he said.

"Order all security to stand down," Dregan said, "And have them start moving on the seed catalogue and the library. Prepare to clear the building of all but the clones. The ship has arrived.

"Take me off world," the Librarian said. Dregan took the knife away from the man's throat. "No one can maintain the seed catalogue or the library. You can't rebuild Earth without me. They're not trained. I'm the only one programmed to maintain it all." Dregan stepped around him and looked at the technician. The technician looked at the other stasis pods. They hit a button and the others in the 'archive' began to awake.

Dregan turned and looked around the room. "Great fuck," he muttered. He could hear at least thirty stasis pods opening in succession. "How many rooms?" he asked the Librarian.

"There archive is three hundred strong," the Librarian said, "All alpha units from various classes, all with fully functional mental states and linked." Dregan grabbed the Librarian by the throat and slammed him into the nearest object as anger stormed over him. "This is what you've been doing with the alpha units? This?" Dregan demanded, knowing that at least a significant portion of the three hundred were going to be children in bodies, if not in mind.

"The genetic diversity of the alpha lines is superior to ..." Dregan punched the Librarian in the mouth, knocking a few teeth loose.

"Stand down," said a familiar voice in Dregan's ear, though she wasn't in the room, "We'll take them with us. Get them up and moving, then check the clones. If there's children in that lot, we're bringing them. Let the Librarian figure out the fuck he's doing on his own. We need you moving, lover-boy."

"The ship, it's allowed us to synch?" he said in wonderment.

"Move, Dregan," Angel's voice rang in his head, "We've got three days to clear this facility and get starside." Dregan cast aside the Librarian with a heave before pointing at the technician.

"Get all of them up. Get every tech working to get everyone in stasis up, even the clones. Bring every last child to the Atrium," Dregan said before he turned and started running through the hallway. He didn't bother checking to see if the technician was doing what they were told. He had to get to the Atrium and either fight his way through the back line of security or get the blast doors open. 

Serial Updates: News.

 Dear Reader,

I have started the initial phase of putting the serial stories together into an ebook format. I honestly have no idea how long this is going to take. I will keep you updated on the process. They will remain on the blog but if you want to read the whole thing with out flipping through blog pages (or advertisements), the ebook is going to be your friend.

If, once the ebook is complete, there is interest in it, I will publish a paperback version of each book. I will be updating the present storylines next week. After all, things are just beginning to get interesting again. (I may even be releasing that random science fiction bit if y'all want me to.)

Books Update.

 Dear Reader,

You would not believe the mess that I am sorting through. Book seven of the Umbrel Chronicles isn't completely garbled but it's a mess right now. It's been a challenge to dig through a stack of notebooks about a foot high to find what I had plotted out for the finishing scene of the book. It's just a disaster. I'm trying to get that under control but it's not working out very well because my schedule has been in disarray over the last few weeks.

Looking at the length of the serial stories, I am now considering collecting the individual posts into a couple of ebooks when they're done. Before it was just an idle thought. Now, however, I'm realizing that I have almost a full novella (if not a novel) worth of material up here. I'll keep you updated on that project. Right now, it is at the cogitation stage as I try to finish the series off.

Dacia's War (Part 33): Wrath of Julara

 Al-Uzza shivered as she rode the pony along the steep trail upwards. She pointedly refused to look backwards because she knew that she'd be looking down if that were the case. The snow that fell the night before strangely did not reach the part of the road they were traveling. Al-Uzza questioned if it could rightly be called a road. Before her, Iona rode with a keen eye out for any bandits. Both Iona and Althos insisted that she shouldn't be riding at the head of the party but Al-Uzza refused to listen to them. 

Just before Iona was their guide walking on the uneven ground. The rocky ground shifted and threatened to give way at times but the ponies were untroubled by it. As they came over the shoulder of the mountain, the guide stopped and looked back at Al-Uzza. "My Lady," he said, "If you look across the valley to the mountain just beyond, you will see Acidavia halfway up the slope, provided your eyes are sharp." Al-Uzza ignored the guide's barb and moved to dismount. The guide was there in a few moments and helped the priestess down.

Al-Uzza walked to the place where the guide had been standing. He reached out to point the way when Al-Uzza glared at him. She turned her attention to looking at the walled city perched on the mountainside. Along the southern wall of the city, she saw what she presumed was the army laying siege with their vast array of tents. A faint thrum echoed off the valley's walls and then came a crash. "Acidavia has great catapults and a goodly supply of material to throw, but they've been like this for weeks. I suspect that the city will fall soon," said a voice behind Al-Uzza.

The large woman turned to look at one of the mercenary commanders who had come forward from the company behind her. "Then we haven't time to waste talking. Gather your men and begin your way toward the city. Iona stay with me. Althos, you are their war-leader. All shall follow your command as you come upon the enemy. If you with to consult with these people for a plan of attack, I will allow it," Al-Uzza said.

"What about you?" Althos asked. Al-Uzza turned to look at the city she was to become mistress of.

"I do not need your tongue distracting me," she said tartly, "All of you go. When the last of the party has gone forward, I will begin." Althos gave a half bow, glancing over at Iona. The Silent Sister shrugged, not entirely sure what Al-Uzza was going to do from across the valley. The priestess and the nun waited side by side as the entire company marched past them. As they passed, some of the mercenaries gave the two women lecherous looks. Al-Uzza glowered as Iona put a hand on the pommel of her long knife. And then, the jangling of tack and gear mingled with the noise of marching feet was disappearing into the distance.

"Give me your knife," Al-Uzza said, doing her best to ignore the way her stomach ached and growled. She had not eaten in two days. She was cold and had a headache. Al-Uzza knew that her discomfort would be enough to bring down a storm but she felt that greater sacrifice was needed. Iona handed her knife over to Al-Uzza. For a moment, Iona looked at the hard expression on Al-Uzza's face. "In ancient days, one was sacrificed to Julara to bring rain. If our Lady demanded it of you, would you lay down your life?" Al-Uzza asked Iona.

Iona straightened and looked towards Acidavia. She took off her glove and pushed back her sleeve, bearing her right wrist. "Cut upwards, along the vein, and deep," Iona said. Al-Uzza turned her attention back to the city.

"Today is not the day you shall die," Al-Uzza said, "Bring that pony over." Iona looked at the two ponies and selected the one that she had been riding. Iona took the riding gear off of the beast and lead it to Al-Uzza. Al-Uzza looked the creature over and nodded. She began to sing in an ancient tongue that had been all but forgotten except by the priestesses and librarians of Julara. Iona held the pony's head still as Al-Uzza cut across the doomed animal's throat. Blood fountained out as the pony tried to shy away. Al-Uzza dropped the knife and took handfuls of blood. She threw them into the sky in the direction of Acidavia. As the pony dropped to the ground, Al-Uzza did her best to catch as much blood and throw as she could with her bare hands. She sang the eerie song the whole time that both was familiar and unfamiliar to Iona. 

Clouds gathered over Acidavia. At first, a gentle rain began to fall. Then the rain fell harder and began to freeze. The people Acidavia cowered in their homes. They knew that rain in the dead of winter was unheard of. The Governor of Acidavia shouted to his soldiers to leave their posts and ensure the gates of the city were barred before taking shelter. Outside of the city, the army gave a cheer as they saw soldiers leaving their posts along the battlements. That cheer turned to cries of alarm as the ice began to settle and form over all out exposed in it, building, beast, and person alike. Where regular rain would have soaked them to the bone, this enchanted rain froze as it fell on them and restricted their movements.

The rain poured until the army was driven into their shelters. Those who had no shelter froze to death upon their feet. Ice encased the tents and the city. As this happened, Althos and the fighting force were hastening their way across the valley. It was dusk when they reached the rearguard of the army and the rain had stopped. Some of the mercenaries swore at the sight about them.

"Take them tent by tent," Althos commanded. And the fighting men did just that. There were screams and some died. Most of the mercenaries and the warriors that Decebal sent came out of the tents alive. The enemies that tried to hide in them were slaughtered. Away on the other mountain, Al-Uzza and Iona made their way down. Althos sent Decebal's men to meet them in the valley. The siege had been broken.

The Iron Lily (Part 28): The Black Priest

 Halthor woke in the small hours of the morning when the traveler's rest had a cold draft blow in. Halthor sat up on the fire warmed sleeping platform and looked over. In the ruddy light of the smoored fire, he saw a man that wore the colors of the priesthood of the goddess. This confused him, as only women were in the service of great Roen, goddess of all life. As the man took off his furred hat and approached the fire, Elwis sniffed the pack he had set down beside the door when he entered.

Halthor stared at the man in amazement. His skin was a dark color that Halthor had never seen before. "Are you a man or a spirit?" Halthor asked quietly. The man gave a good natured laugh.

"I am Khasis, servant of the Lady and guest of the High Priestess of Roen. She sent me east to seek out the one who bore the arms of the Iron Lily," he said as he pulled off his mitts and stretched his hands out to the fire. "Ah," he sighed, "For nine days, I have been traveling over hill and dale. It would have been ten if that storm came to the mountain but it moved north of us. We were fortunate." Khasis looked over at the red eared dog.

"You, dog? We meet again," he said, "Last time I saw you, Freystein was passing through the valley going north. Tell me, dog, have you found what you were looking for?" Elwis trotted over to Halthor and sat beside his feet. Khasis gave Halthor a critical look. "This is a builder with a shield, not a hero," Khasis scoffed. Elwis surprised Halthor and Khasis by giving a low growl. Khasis raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright, dog, be offended. If it pleases you to name him hero, so be it. I don't see it," Khasis said, "I just see another poor soul trying to stay warm in this gods cursed weather. Ah, to be in Dacia. At least it was warm in the desert."

"You were traveling in the dark?" Halthor asked.

"An old habit, if you're traveling long distances in the desert, do as much in the night as you can to avoid the heat of the day," Khasis answered, "The snow glows like the sands do in the light of the three children of Julara. Now, give me your name, builder, as I have given you mine and names have power and should not be given lightly."

"I am Halthor Sigridsonne," the red haired builder answered cautiously.

"Victory's son? Perhaps he is the one you sought, dog," Khasis said, "Tell me, did you come from the city of Starhaven?" Halthor nodded. "Then there is hope for this scribe of the Lady and his adopted homeland," Khasis said, "I come with a message from the High Priestess of Roen. She bade me to tell you not to give Olerand his great-grandfather's arms but pledge yourself to them."

"I am a builder, not a knight," Halthor said with exasperation.

"I am a scribe, not a priestess," Khasis answered, "And yet, I live as they do in this land under the eye of their leader and as a servant to her will. And through her will, do I serve my Lady."

Halthor lowered his head and cradled it in his large, work worn hands. "All I know is how to build things," Halthor muttered, "Knights have been fighting all their lives."

"And yet you have fought mighty battles on your way here," Khasis answered, gesturing at the shield.

"I had no choice," Halthor snapped at him, his head whipping upright, "I've had no choice in any of this."

Khasis crouched before the fire and looked thoughtfully into it. "Sometimes, my friend," Khasis said almost too quietly to be heard over the crackling of the smoored fire, "We have no choice because the gods have put us on a path that is like a river, ever flowing that will drown you if you fight it." Khasis looked over at Halthor. 

"I have been here for three years. I have not seen my homeland in seven. I don't know how to get back to Dacia. I have had no choice in any of this myself. Sometimes, we have no choice but go where the gods send us," Khasis said, "Now, we must rest. Tomorrow, I shall go with you to the village of Applewood. The priestess there will house us and tell you the way to Olerand's lands. For if you continue south as you have been, you will find yourself back in the mountains and in another land."

Serial Stories updating tomorrow.

 Dear Reader,

This is literally the first time all day I have had a chance to sit down at the keyboard and type up a blog post. I've been running errands and trying to keep up with a couple of busy kids all day. I feel like today was second Monday. I prefer there only being one Monday per week. Second Monday is worse than second breakfast in the company of Gollum. I will be updating Dacia's War and The Iron Lily tomorrow, gods willing and the creek don't rise.

The Iron Lily: On pause.

 Dear Reader,

I found my notes for the next part of the Iron Lily. Cause for celebration, except for one problem, they're completely out of order and in three notebooks. Look back here next week for the next installment of the Iron Lily. Don't worry, Halthor and Elwis still have plenty of adventures ahead of them. I just have to put the details in the right order. This is the problem of having a stack of notebooks about 1ft tall with ideas in it. I need a better organizational system. LOL

Dacia's War: Part 32 - Sunrise

 The dead of night gave way to false dawn. Outside the tent, Lady Al-Uzza could hear people stirring. Althos regarded her solemnly. Iona awoke to begin fixing food for the three of them. Al-Uzza was too troubled by her dream from the night before and Althos's interpretation to have an appetite. It didn't help that it was traveler's bread, jerky, and tea. As the large woman eyed the small trencher with her breakfast on it, she frowned and her gaze went distant. "My Lady," said Iona, "You must eat to keep your strength as we travel." Al-Uzza waved a dismissive hand at the comment and began to pace around the tent.

The younger woman looked over at Althos. He shrugged and began eating. "If they have laid a siege upon the city, how are we to break it? We haven't an army," the priestess said. The warrior monk looked up from his trencher. "If a storm came that drove them away, it would help," she mused.

"Julara's daughters have the ability to summon storms," Althos said, "The severity of the storm depends upon their wrath at the target." Al-Uzza looked over at Iona, who nodded in agreement. "I do not know the ritual. It is a secret kept by your order, my Lady. Perhaps the librarian would have passing knowledge of such a ritual and that it why they were sent north."

Al-Uzza sat on the edge of her cot and meditatively nibbled on her traveler's bread. It was dry and tasteless. Fit for little more than keeping body bound together with soul, the priestess disliked it immensely. But, eating was a mechanical action at the time and she barely noticed it as she mentally walked through the stacks of the library. With her prolific gift for memorization, Al-Uzza had memorized most of the books of the library. As head librarian, she had a great deal of idle time that she spent reading texts. In her memory, she could see a picture of the Accounting of the Daughters of Julara.

Al-Uzza closed her eyes to concentrate more fully. In her mind's eye, she took the book from the shelf and began turning pages. Soon, she came to one titled 'Summoning Mother's Wrath.' She 'read' the page before opening her eyes. The world outside of the tent was bright with the colors of dawn. Dimly, they penetrated the canvas of the tent. Althos watched Al-Uzza's expression move from eerie stillness to something grim that he had never seen before. "Get me to where I can see Acidavia and the army surrounding it. I know what must be done," Al-Uzza said, setting aside her trencher.

"My Lady, you must eat," Iona said. Al-Uzza shook her head.

"No, my discomfort will feed the storm. Take my portion, Silent Sister, you will need it when they turn to face us," Al-Uzza said, "We should be upon them soon if the gods allow it. If not, I fast until we reach them." There was a tapping at the pavillion's door flap. Althos stood and looked out. One of his men muttered something about it was time to take down the tent and make preparations to move onward. Althos turned to say something to Al-Uzza who was already wrapping her leg warming wraps as Iona had done the day before and preparing to shove her heavily stockinged feet into her furred boots.

Serial stories update.

 Dear Reader, 

I would have the latest installment of the Iron Lily or Dacia's War up right now but I'm in the early stages of a migraine and the last week and a half have been awful because of a depressive episode. I'll try to post something soon as I can see straight. I apologize for any typos in this because I can't quite see properly at the moment. Again, there is new material coming. I just have to get through this damn migraine first.

Serial Stories: A Confession.

 Dear Reader,

I have a confession to make. I'm stuck. I am completely blocked on how to move forward any of my serial stories on here. I just stare at the page and go 'wut r werds?' until it's so painful I have to go do something else. I'm trying to get unstuck but it's not working so great.  Give me a few weeks and hopefully, I'll claw my way out of this. While I could joke that I'm giving up serial stories for Lent, I'm not Catholic so I can't make that joke.

I apologize and ask your patience. 

Serial Stories: update

 Dear Reader,

I found my notebook! It was filled with illegible marginalia and large pictures of robots. The kids had decided they were going to help me be creative. I am attempting to decipher my notes beneath these things. It's a bit busy over here and I've got a child working on catching up on some missed work from the last few units in social studies. I may not be getting the updates for the Iron Lily or Dacia's War to you this week. 

In other news, I found my old notes from the beginnings of that science fiction series that I've been doing in bits and pieces here. I am going to clean them up and try to move that side project along too. I'm almost done editing my side project. I expect that I will be caught up on that in the near future. Thursday there will be no post because that day is going to be utter chaos. But, hopefully next week will be more 'normal'.

The Iron Lily: Update.

 I confess, I did not get the chance to go through my notes. This week's installment is going to be delayed. I will try to get it typed up for you tomorrow. This business of editing a trio of manuscripts at the same time is eating my brain. I'm about half finished with the first manuscript. I just have one problem, I don't know what to title them. I know that the answer will sort itself out soon as I keep working.

After all, I've got 19 days to my deadline. That's plenty of time, right? 

(Commence panic in 5... 4... 3... 2.. )

♥

Dacia's War: Part 31- Dreams

 Al-Uzza did not sleep well. The cold, rocky ground beneath her pallet beside the brazier remained cold and unyielding. It reminded her too much of her time as an acolyte under the harsh hand of the librarian who trained her. Through the night, she woke to the sound of the wind whistling around the tent and what felt to be the unnatural stillness of the night. Life within the largest city of the empire had made her forget what it was like in the wilds. It was a life that was pure luxury compared to what she was enduring at the moment, in her opinion.

Al-Uzza found her way to her feet in the deeps of night. Iona was resting beside the other brazier as Althos sat guard at the door. He held in his left had a bit of rope with a series of knots on it. Softly, he muttered his vigil prayers to Ashur. When Al-Uzza woke, he noted it but did not stir. His gaze was fixed at some point in the middle of the space of the enclosure. Though he was chanting, Althos was listening intently to the sounds outside of the tent even as he kept watch over the priestess and nun.

The vague noises of the encampment at night were quiet and suggesting that those who could rest were doing so. He had looked at the map that Iona had carried and estimated that they'd be through the pass by late afternoon. He didn't like the prospect of taking horses up a mountain but the insistence that they were trained for it made his argument moot. Althos felt somewhat grumpy with the entire situation.

He hated snow. Having traveled to all the far corners of the empire, the warrior monk hated the North the most. The lowlands were picturesque but the highlands were always cold to him. Dressed in the heavier clothing of the mountain people and sitting within the tent for the Lady Al-Uzza, priestess of Julara and emissary of the Empress, Althos figured he'd have been warmer. But a cold draft snuck under the edges of the tent to curl about him as he sat near the door flap. He had a heavy cloak wrapped around him but even that did little to make him feel truly warm.

Al-Uzza looked over at Althos. "How long is it until daylight?" she asked, stretching her hands towards the brazier near her.

"It is the fourth watch of the night. Dawn comes soon. I see you did not rest well. You were fitful and nearly rolled into the brazier at one point," Althos answered in his gravelly voice. Al-Uzza looked over at him. "What did you dream of, my Lady?" he asked solemnly, "It has long been held that our dreams are where the gods speak to us. It may be that Julara has given you some knowledge about what we are facing."

Al-Uzza scoffed. "It is more likely indigestion from those biscuits," she said, "My dreams made no sense." Althos tipped his head slightly to the left as he looked up at Al-Uzza. The big woman seemed larger by the light of the brazier. Her sense of presence suddenly was imposing and Althos felt a chill go down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold weather. Al-Uzza was changing. It was a slow transformation but she was moving from the luxury obsessed chief librarian to something more.

"Lady Al-Uzza of the North, your city awaits you under siege. Your sleep on the eve of coming into sight of that land may speak of portents. I am not merely a foot soldier in Ashur's army. I too have been trained to read the sand mirror. I was taught to read the earth and the sky for signs. As a boy, I was explaining how dreams had meaning to adults. That was why the brothers militant came and took me from my parents. Word had come to them from my village that I had the knowledge of a grown man at the age of ten winters. Speak, my Lady. I shall read the signs for you and tell you what awaits us today."

Al-Uzza considered what Althos said. She hadn't realized that the monk was something of a seer. It made sense, however, considering that they had been sent with a sand mirror. There had to be a seer to read it properly. "I dreamt of two birds. They fought in the air above me. One had great black wings and one was golden. The golden bird struck the black one from above and blood streamed down to fall over my face, more blood than was ever in any bird. And yet, I was not blinded. I could see clearly how the the black bird flew away with a trail of blood falling to the earth behind it as the golden bird wheeled around in the sky over me. So, tell me, monk, what would that mean to you?" she cautiously said.

"The gods are at war. Ashur strikes at the foreign god. The blood of that god shall fall upon you as they retreat away from the empire. You shall see the path to that god's lands and the way through their lies. But it will come with a heavy cost. Ashur's blessing, however, shall remain upon you," Althos said.

"You speak of Ashur's blessing but I am a daughter of Julara, not Ashur," Al-Uzza said warily. Althos looked up at her.

"You are changing," Althos said, "This land changes people. Some it drives mad. Others it drives deeper into themselves. Ashur's hand lies upon you and is shaping you for what is to come. The blood of the alien god will wash away the blessing of Julara, leaving behind only Ashur's will. It may have been better that you were forgotten in the library, my Lady. Your ambition is bringing you to a place you will never return from, even as you go back to the imperial city. Ashur has daughters. They are anointed in blood, not water. He lays claim to you. War comes with you, my Lady, and your hand shall bear a sword."

Regarding Serial Stories

 Dear Reader,

As you may know, I have some serial stories going on here. Dacia's War and the Iron Lily are the ones that are currently (in)active. I am working on getting things ironed out for when I will be posting updates. Unlike before, I will not be updating the serial stories on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It will only be on Tuesdays.

The first and third Tuesday of the month, I will be updating Dacia's War. On the second and fourth Tuesday of the month, I will be updating the Iron Lily. This is to allow me enough time to pay enough attention to all the details of these stories so that you have a better reading experience. As I begin to draw near to the conclusion of these serial stories (not happening anytime soon, but sometime later this year), I will be organizing them into e-books to make your reading experience easier.

When they are in e-book format, you may note some differences from how they were originally posted. Some of this is going to be cleaning up grammar and related matters because usually I just whip them off with minimal editing. Some of this will be filling in backstory and adding more detail to transitional scenes between major action sequences in the story. I promise you, you'll enjoy the extra content. There may even be a few 'new' characters for you to enjoy (or hate, depending on how they strike you).

The wrath of Ashur (A Dacia's War short)

Sorenan stood in the center of the arena. His sandy colored hair was bound back in a braid that snaked over his shoulders as he turned his head to watch his opponent. He bore the Sword of Ashur. He was one of the two sword-bearers. Where the Emperor wore his Sword as a ceremonial thing, Sorenan carried his openly. Bearing the god-weapon was a heavy duty but it marked him as the third of the prophecy. It showed the people of the Dacian Empire that he was the third star in the constellation associated with the union of Ashur and Julara, the holy gods of the Empire. No one knew for sure what the star meant, this was lost in the library and the head librarian gone to the North of the Empire as a newly minted priestess, none could find it or read it.

Sorenan's opponent was a sub-general who insisted that the Empress had broken faith with Julara and was no longer deserving of the honors of being high priestess of the faith or to be recognized as her living daughter upon the face of the world. The sub-general was a decorated military man. When General Zalaz learned that this man had spoken blasphemy that was being rumored in the North, the general despaired that he would have to report it to the Emperor. Zalaz came into the hall of the Emperor's council and found Marcos and Sorenan discussing the problem of the ongoing fighting in the South. Temna remained a major threat and the sub-general's blasphemy suggested that an internal threat was gaining strength. Marcos looked over at Zalaz and saw the general's look of dismay.

When he explained what happened and how he had taken the sub-general into custody, Marcos nodded. The Emperor looked over at the mercenary at his side. While the customary punishment for blasphemy was slitting the tongue and banishing the offended, he couldn't help but feel that an example had to be made of the sub-general. "Death by combat," Marcos said, his tone questioning. Sorenan nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow then," the Emperor of Dacia said. Zalaz let out a breath that he had been holding. "Let it be known through out the city that the Sword of Ashur metes out justice tomorrow at noontide." Zalaz nodded and looked sharply at a scribe. The scribe practically ran out of the room.

So it happened that Sorenan stood in the place that Emperors had stood in the past. The sub-general was a wiry man like Sorenan. The desert man did not wear the heavy armor of the guard. His armor was burnished brass that shone brightly in the brilliant sun, nearly blinding Sorenan with its gleam. The sub-general paced about the mercenary turned military advisor to the Emperor. As he took his measure of the man, Sorenan noted that he had a slight limp in his left leg. Like Sorenan, the sub-general bore a sword.

Deciding that he wasn't going to wait longer, as soon as the sub-general passed on his left, Sorenan attacked. In his black leather armor of the mountain people, the man was sweating heavily. He ignored the discomfort as he charged the sub-general, not even bothering for to reach for his sword. Sorenan slammed into the sub-general hard enough to knock him off his feet. They rolled across the ground, grappling with each other for a long moment.

Sorenan found his way to the top and delivered a mighty punch to the sub-general's right jaw. He could feel heat burning its way down through his arm as he threw that punch. It was just like when Ashur took over on the battlefield. That was his only warning that the world was about to slide sideways. Thrown out of his body by the angered god, Sorenan stood beside himself watching as his possessed body beat the sub-general with such force that his helmet was dented.

The sub-general somehow manage by some quirk of fate, or perhaps Ashur's desire to deliver yet more misery upon the one who had spoken blasphemy against the high priestess of his wife, to remain conscious. Ashur-Sorenan stood and kicked the sub-general in the ribs. The man rolled across the ground and got up onto his hands and knees. As the sub-general stood, there was the sound of birds calling in the air. He looked up and realized that eagles were circling above. Ashur-Sorenan drew the sword and it made a noise like metal tearing as it came free of the scabbard.

The leaf shaped sword shone with light and the sub-general raised his hand to shield his eyes. Ashur-Sorenan strode towards the sub-general who saw that Sorenan's typically leonine eyes had turned eagle gold and shone with light from within. The sub-general drew his sword and cast it away before he turned to flee. Ashur-Sorenan bellowed, "Stand, heretic!" It echoed like a thunder clap through the stadium. Where the city residents had been murmuring or chattering in anticipation of the gladitorial combat to begin in earnest, stunned silence filled the space. Compelled by the deity, the sub-general turned to face his doom.

"Observe the fate of all who profane the name of Julara's Daughter," Ashur-Sorenan boomed with that thunderous voice. The sub-general's eyes streamed with tears as he realized the extend of his folly. The sword swept through the air as the sub-general screamed. His tongue was slashed in half and a sharp line was cut across his face. As the burning sword moved away, the sky darkened to the point where Ashur-Sorenan seemed to glow on the red sand of the stadium floor despite the dark armor. Then the eagles descended. Screams of horror came as thousands of birds swooped and ripped the man apart, their talons ripping through his armor as if it were merely linen. The man was lifted and dropped several times through the cacophony of eagle cries and their efforts. Ashur-Sorenan lifted his right arm and an eagle covered in blood landed on his wrist as the others flew off to what ever strange place they had come from.

Laying on the ground before him was the barely living ruins of the sub-general. His eyes had been pecked out. His face had been shredded by talon and beak, as had the rest of him. He seemed a quivering lump of meat. The cries of horror in the crowd had dropped down to whimpering and weeping as Ashur-Sorenan walked up to what had once been a man. The burning sword came down and Sorenan found himself back within his body. Beside him, though none but him could see him, stood Ashur.

"Go North," Ashur said, "Quell the uprising. The Lady of the North has opened the way.: