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Fiction – Love is War 03:00:03:08

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

April 21, 2017

Click here to read the previous entry.  

 

Figo Jera had always seen the world for its light.

In his eyes, everything was beautiful. Everything had meaning. There were darker shades but they were perversions, not true things in and of themselves. Most of those shadows were outside Midgard and therefore unimportant in the greater scheme of things, but there were some darknesses that would leak into even the brightest day, little black veins that touched the light and stood un-banished. Figo had known the edges of a darkness like that, having even come to love her for what she was, but he knew that the danger of losing himself to that sort of monster was simply too great to be borne.

He had not seen Veskur Wyrd for a very long time.

A figure from his nightmares had returned – the madman Jesam. He had been Figo’s proof of evil and arrogance, a figure so consumed by solipsism that the rest of the world was nothing more than a toy for him to abuse and break. Figo himself had been such a toy, left bleeding and pleading. He didn’t like to think of it. Light should have saved him from that darkness but instead a greater darkness had come and taken away everything.

Figo had discussed that at length with Endrall, Farrell, and the other nobles that he kept in his closest circle. He threw parties for them, hosted events for them, took care of their troubles and listened to their problems – and if they did not do the same for him, well, perhaps he had no problems worthy of that name or they trusted his strength to overcome the things that they could not.

He was strong, he knew that. The fingers on his left hand twitched as the fabric of the gaurn chafed his skin. His levl was secured along his back, the dryw he had carried no more than a memory. He had seen the hated tool drowned, holding it underwater and leaving it to the tides. He had not wished to carry something so traitorous with him. Many of his soldiers had followed this practice, taking to wearing shield-gauntlets on their left forearms as another echo of their commander.

You’ve become an icon,” Hekro had told him, laughing. “Just like me. The Golden Champion and the Rose Dragon. What a pair we make.” She shook her head and clasped his shoulder. He wondered how much of that admiration was truly his and how much was a side-effect of his association with the Lady Wyrd, of the Science she commanded and the tool on her hand. He hated that he could not explain that to anyone.

He’d seen Wyrd thrice since abandoning her all those decades ago. Once had been at a public function; the two of them had resumed communication briefly over something silly and unimportant, sharing fables with one another. Figo had mentioned a time and place where he could be found, expounding on those details, but he had never meant for the woman to come.

She had anyway, keeping to the background. She watched with wide eyes, nervous as a colt, keeping to the back of the trees and looking lost, torn, and hurt. She had tried to approach him only once but had stopped immediately when Figo took a step back. She’s stared a moment longer, shaking, then simply waved and left, holding herself.

Endrall had heard of that moment, had told him that the woman was not to be trusted, that she was a monster and a foulness that needed to be kept at arm’s length. Farrell further drove that point home and Figo knew that if anyone would know these things and hold these things that it would be the two of them. Especially Endrall, who loved the woman in a way that Figo had once shared but now wanted no part of.

The next had been at random, sometime after Deeam had ascended to the position of Njord. He had been out at the markets of House Fehu when he had seen her, walking alone and shaking. He had caught her eye and seen agony writ there, a loneliness that he could not put a name to. She had looked at him and recoiled, had turned on her heel and shambled away like a corpse caught on a string. He didn’t like to think of that encounter. He didn’t like to think of that encounter at all.

What if his every moment since meeting her had been a lie, something she had created? Endrall was right; she could not be trusted and neither could anything that happened around her. Maybe she had set the entire thing up with Jesam the first time around, just so that he would accept her into his life the way he had. She was vile. She was a monster. She was completely capable of undertaking the actions that Endrall accused her of. Figo knew better than anyone that Wyrd was capable of anything.

But the look of her those last two times; the fatigue, the sense of defeat and longing. Figo was not certain what to make of that. He sighed and looked at the note that lay on the table before him, lit by flickering light suspended in the air through the application of Coeecian trickery. Vanir science could do similar things. Were they really so different?

Figo, the note before him read, Lovely Figo. You were taken from me so long ago that I have trouble remembering you – your face, your touch, the look of defeat in your eyes. I hear you’ve become a Lord and a General, a leader of the forces I fight, but we both know that’s a delusion born of the arrogance you’ve surrounded yourself with. The truth is and always has been this: you are nothing more than a whore, nothing more than my toy to use and abuse as I see fit.

Your mistakes are many but I, in my generosity, can be forgiving. You have some understanding of the damage I am poised to inflict upon your people, having seen first hand the advantage I have built myself since assassinating your previous king and taking advantage of the ceremony surrounding the crowning of your new one. Believe me when I say that the victories you have suffered are as nothing compared to what I am even now prepared to claim.

I make you this offer, my most precious whore. Come to me of your own accord. I am not saying that I will halt my plans – I will not – but if you come home to me I will cease my attacks for seven full seasons. Your people will have time to catch their breath, to mourn their dead, and you will have won that time for them. Come to me, whore, as I have commanded you. If you do not, then by the next turn of the moon I will have wiped your people off the face of your world, and still, whore, still I will take you for my own and you will not like what I do to you then.

Or perhaps you will. We know how much you adored the things I did to you.

This is the last choice that I will ever allow you to make.

For I am as I always was: Jesam the First.

Figo read over the note once, twice. The Vanir were losing – Jesam the First was an imposter, clearly, trading on the name of an old hero of his people, but his strategies were good ones. The Vanir were a hardier people but not quite so fast. The Coeecians fought brutal battles, digging in trenches and fighting for every inch of land. They cared nothing for actually winning, it seemed, striking at settlements, at civilians, at supplies, at anything they could and then running away at the first sign of trouble.

When Jesam the First said that he would end the Vanir as a people, Figo believed him. He remembered the way the first Jesam had claimed him, had touched him and used him. He remembered the illnesses he had suffered, vomiting every morning with the taste of Jesam and Farrell in his mouth, the dull throbbing ache that had dimmed the light of his eyes and shaken his spine and legs. He knew that if Jesam claimed that he could do a thing that he fully believed that he was capable of doing it.

He walked the length and breadth of his soldiers, silently naming them as he went. Many of them rose as he walked past and he smiled at them but waved off any attempt at conversation – there was no one he wanted to talk to at that moment and his men were wise enough to respect his desire for solitude. He reached the edge of his camp and looked south, into the far wilds where the collected marble that the Coeecians laughably called cities sat, tall and imposing. He thought of Endrall and Veskur, of Farrell, of Jesam and Hekro.

How many of his decisions were his own? Wyrd had always told him that she wanted what was best for him, that she wanted him to be happy. She had once explained that she didn’t need to be in his life to win – all she needed was for him to smile, to be the light that she could never be. He looked at his men again and felt like the sun, each of them a planet that reflected the light and warmth of he himself. Had Wyrd done that, too? Hekro had once said that the sort of charisma that he possessed was an inborn talent, that he had shined of greatness from the very moment that the two of them had met.

Wyrd could change that sort of thing if she desired. Figo knew she could.

Silent, he walked back through the camp. There was a way for him to win if he only possessed the courage for it, a way for him to escape all doubt while saving the whole of the Vanir nation. This method would not require him to stand and it would free him from the pain of thought, of choice, the horror that came with being a man.

He pulled the gaurn off his left hand, laid it on the desk and looked at it. How much of himself he had poured into such a complex tool and how simple it looked, a heap of inert fabric without his will to guide it. He unstrapped the levl from his back and laid it down beside the gaurn, staring at it – these were symbols, he knew, things that he would never surrender were the choice his own.

Whatever happened now was all her fault.

It took him longer than he would have thought, using Science without the gaurn to ease the process. He completed the circuit required for sending a message, directing it to what was left of the Nauthiz Coven.

To you what are left, he wrote, I have received word from Jesam the First that he is poised to destroy the whole of the Vanir as a people and to claim Midgard for himself. I believe that he is capable of doing this but he has offered to stay his hand for seven full seasons if I turn myself over to him. I am going to do this – but I am leaving you the key to our people’s salvation.

I know that you and yours have been eager to study one of the gloves that the Lady Wyrd has crafted, to study the limits of the Ethcinos Sciences that she has tapped into. I am giving you that chance; I will hide mine in a place that only one among you will think to look. Though it has been designed to work only for me, I will leave you some of my blood. Perhaps, you will discover its secrets. This is my wish.

In return for my sacrifice and my end, I ask only that you discover the secret of making and copying Wyrd’s tool, that you pass that secret to the rest of the nobility and that the Vanir, as one, stand strong against the Coeecian horde that threatens us and has now claimed me.

Endrall Sahr will be upset by my absence, as will Hekro Gherlid. I ask that you show this message to them, that they might know that I was thinking of them and that I loved them both for everything they had given me, everything that they meant to me. Tell them both that this is not their fault. Tell them both that this is my choice, made freely and of my own will.

He signed the message and sent it along with the note that Jesam the First had sent him, taking the glove with him when he snuck out of the camp but leaving his levl behind. His soldiers would find it. He hoped they would understand. His sentries stood to attention but they were looking without, not within – no one abandoned the Band of the Rose Dragon, all of them loyal to a fault. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt for abandoning them in this manner, but he knew they would all die otherwise.

Alone, out in the dark, he looked to the night sky and set the moon as his marker. He did not have much time. Shrugging out of the noble robes and leaving them and his birthright behind, he moved swiftly into the darkness of night and circumstance, the light within him guttering out with each step until there was no sign of anything other than the eternal black.

 

More coming next week. If you like the artwork, why not go and thank Meghan Duffy at duffyartdesign.com? She’s cool people.

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749

Geekenders’ Nintendance at the Odyssey

Burlesque, Culture, Events

April 18, 2017

It’s a warm Vancouver night, clear and expectant, and I’m walking towards one of the most storied venues in the city. The Odyssey was opened in 1987 and continues to operate as one of the city’s most prominent gay bars and that makes it the perfect spot for Geekenders to expand into.

A line had already begun to form at seven o’clock, the curious and familiar of both venue and troupe coming to see what the official mingling of both would result in. The answer was a smashing success, with a good crowd that was hot and ready for everything the Geekenders had to offer and a Geekenders crew fully prepared to take advantage of everything that their hosts had on hand.

People got settled, got drinks, got comfortable, greeted old friends and made new ones before the show began. The Odyssey provided a host of Nintendo-themed drinks and entertainment, including several iterations of Mario Kart and Smash Bros., letting the bar fill with classic remix video game tracks that set the stage for what was to come.

And what came? Veronica Vamp and the incomparable Stephen Blakley took the stage as Jesse and James of Team Rocket fame, accompanied by stage kitty Chantini. The two set an immediate rapport, riffing off the game and the cartoon and one another as they set the tone for the acts to follow with typical Geekenders flair.

Dee Luscious set things off as Bowser, King of the Koopas, prancing out to Amy Kurcharik and Friends’ Like a Boss and showing everyone that she had come up with an ironclad plan to finally conquer the Mushroom Kingdom: kidnap Princess Peach and put her in a castle. Dee made the stage her castle and every last audience member was captivated by her performance. It was a strong showing, equal parts funny and sensual, and it set things at ease and relaxed the crowd for whatever was to come.

With Princess Peach out of the picture, Jayne Fondue stepped up as Princess Daisy and let us know why she should be the new ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom and not just Luigi’s heart. Rocking out to How to be a Heartbreaker by Marina and the Diamonds, her facial expressions let everyone know that they were watching royalty – and when she came into the audience to thrum along with her loyal subjects, we were surprised to find her take someone on stage with her. This lucky player two was fed the freshest sort of block-fare, turned from another face in the crowd into the most famous plumber this side of Mario. The two of them stepped off, triumphant, and everyone’s heart went with them.

Artemis Lark had a difficult act to follow, but she managed. Coming out as the Kaepora Gaebora- the Great Owl from the Legend of Zelda games – she took a wild breath and claimed the space around the stage, flapping her wings and moving her head like an owl to Who Are You? by the Who, an inspired choice that Artemis turned into the ultimate audio/visual pun. Her facial expressions were, once again, perfect, and she became the show’s twilight princess as attention focused from performer to crowd.

The fine folks behind the upcoming Robin Hood: Prince of Tease were given a chance to strut their stuff while hosting the Geekenders costume contest. They’re performing an entirely gender-bent take on the classic fable and will be at the Performance Works on Granville Island from April 28th to May 13th. You can find out more by clicking here.

We were treated to two separate contests, a Nintendo-themed and a non-Nintendo themed follow up. A man wearing a full on Pikachu costume claimed the former, while the birthday-celebrating Draco Muffboi and companion Ginger Femmecat shared victory Hogwarts-bound Sailors Uranus and Pluto. Their victory was greeted with a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday sung at Draco, and a Happiest Birthday to you.

With that island of calm behind us, we returned to the world of burlesque with Kitty Glitter proving that everyone loves a dinosaur. Appearing as Yoshi, she gobbled down every last morsel of attention with a fun and energetic showing that had the Odyssey in good spirits and ready for more.

The crowd was rocking and rollicking and feeling the passion of that performance, and so we were treated to an intense tournament of that most skill based of challenges: rock paper scissors. Contestants were culled from the crowd, their glory to be claimed or lost on stage for all the Odyssey to see. The battle was fierce and the prizes for victory mighty, with the final winner taking home the Master Sword.

You could take that prize home, maybe. You should come to one of these shows.

Donna Jazz flounced on stage to bring us back to the show as Kirby. She started things innocent, with some light instrumental that led to a nice rendition of Don’t Put in Your Mouth, the songs following the action as Kirby, of course, ate something… and we all know that Kirby takes on the power of those that are eaten. The music was swallowed and so was Donna, allowing her to transform into a very different kind of dreamland resident, Beyoncé’s Partition marking this as the perfect song to sum up the stunning performance as a whole.

As Kirby ended, the King returned: one can’t keep a bad Koopa down, and one does not turn away from a second showing from their King. The debuting Johnny Wildcard eschewed the stage entirely, showing as incredible athleticism as he swung along and pole-danced to Ain’t no rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant. Johnny hit every beat perfectly, ruling the land and the world and making the Odyssey his kingdom, and by the time his performance ended and we had managed to pick our jaws up off the floor we were certain we had seen the show-stopping number.

We were wrong.

Saffron St. James flew out from Ottawa to take part in this show, donning the yellow cap and crooked mustache of Wario. She stepped on stage and, like Wario, was greedy for our attention – but unlike Wario, she knew how to hold it once she had it. Setting herself to Crown by Angel Haze, she brought the house down, a perfect presence that proved that majesty comes from so much more than a crown.

Jesse and James saw us off and kicked off a massive dance party mingled with video games and good times, as the crowd that was there stayed and new faces showed up. A good time was had by all, and Stephen Blakley gave us some magic as he took the stage to reprise the Han Solo routine from the Star Wars burlesque. What else was he going to do? Maroon 5’s Moves Like Jagger was playing. The Geekenders crowd knew what was up, and the new faces from the Odyssey clued in quickly.

Geekenders continues to break new ground and expand their venues and fanbase. This was an awesome show with a great turnout for a Sunday night, and there’s sure to be more to follow both at the Odyssey and elsewhere. We know for certain that the Geekenders are returning to the Rio this May the Fourth (and the Fifth~!) with Star Wars: The Empire Strips Back. For our new friends that saw tonight and want more, click here and grab some tickets.

You won’t be disappointed.

All photos provided for by Zemekiss Photography, who you can learn more about by clicking here. You should do so; Zemekiss Exanto is awesome people and will capture your event with class and skill.  

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279

Fiction – Love is War 03:00:03:07

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

April 14, 2017

Click here to read the previous entry.  

 

The woman was an idiot. That was the only explanation.

Veskur and Thea had been in constant communication for decades, the letters they shared so much shorter than they once had been but still providing Thea with a sense of completion that he otherwise lacked. Even after River and Veskur had fallen apart he had continued to hold them both in high esteem, speaking with both, trying to bridge the gap that loomed ever longer between them. River was polite enough in mixed company but when given the chance to speak his mind, he could wax for hours on Thea’s favorite subject.

She’s a self-obsessed ninny,” River would say, lounging over his latest conquest. “She’s an idiot and she isn’t worthy of your time. She’s a coward who’s afraid to take anything except the misery that other people heap on her and who wouldn’t want to heap it on? She never fights back. She’s a simpleton playing at being a genius. There are better things our people might do and better people you should share your genius with.”

When Thea shared these insights with Veskur she said nothing.

She’s a hateful, spiteful little witch and I hate her,” Endrall told him, the one time that the Prince of House Suwilo came by looking for information. “She’s a dryw. You can’t trust her. She never does anything for anyone unless she can hold that person in debt for the act. She lies and spreads rumors, she’s deceitful, and she hurts people without ever really thinking about it. She’s double-faced, double-edged, a monster and a monstrosity.”

Thea wanted to strangle him; instead, he smiled and waited for Endrall to go away.

Coeecian offenses reigned down from all over Midgard. Risue was of the opinion that Jesam the First had used Deeam’s ascent to the position of Njord to place his agents all throughout Midgard. Thea agreed with him but knew that agreement meant as little as Risue’s supposition – what had happened had already happened and Thea considered Risue a failure, a rank failure in his chosen arena. Still, others listened to him, paid him the respect that they should have saved for finer minds.

We had wondered why the Coeecian front was quiet during our Njord’s ascent,” Risue droned on. “Now we know. Jesam the First used our relaxed guard to move his scouts into our lands without them drawing attention to themselves. Our intelligence informs us that they’re using some sort of trickery to communicate with one another at a distance, their number waiting for orders from their Skie warlord. What we need to do is find him but he’s been clever and gone into hiding.”

The supposedly greatest military minds of the age were quick to agree.

It was a clever move,” Hekro muttered. “We expected some sort of large scale assault, the usual stupidity and reliance on brute force that the Coeecians are known for, not this low cunning. Our scouts are searching for them, but only Sotaas Ygg has beaten their methods, yet the means of the accomplishment remain unknown to us.”

“Have you asked him?”  

“He refuses to share his secret.”

All eyes turned to Figo Jera and the gaurn on his left hand. His lips twitched, fine muscle tight on his body. Thea hated him, hated his collected presence and poseur confidence, hated the way that eyes that should have belonged only to him had once looked with such adoration at this simpleton.

Thea told none of them what he thought. Instead, he told Veskur, the same way he always had.

Jesam the First was striking throughout Midgard, small little bands of his barbarians striking quickly and fading away, the lightning of destruction followed by a slowly fading thunder. There seemed little that anyone could do to stop him. The Golden Champion herself could do little to stop these attacks and they quickly took a heavy toll on those who suffered them. A full half of House Wyrd was wiped out over the course of a single moon. Houses Verra and Ygg followed, nearly driven to extinction. Gebo, Hagalaz, and Ansu followed. Only Elhaz and Ehwaz were holding their own, the former too stubborn to die and the latter too difficult to find.

House Raido, ever the fastest journeymen among the Vanir, were pressed into service as messengers. They used their knowledge of the roads and their private Sciences to spread information across all of Midgard, to and from every Vanir noble. No one seemed to notice if one messenger or another rifled through the information that they carried; no one had time to do so.

It was in this manner that Thea learned almost all of what was going on in the world around him and came to understand more than almost any other living Vanir because there was no one – not even in his House – that could move so quickly as he.

The Vanir were being hammered into submission, only a few nobles holding their own against the tide of barbarism that threatened to wash them all of them away. There was Hekro Gherlid, of course, to the east. Figo Jera to the south. Sotaas Ygg wherever he felt like showing up, his appearances more random than the attacks of the Coeecians themselves and harder still to trace. Endrall Sahr seemed to be assuming more and more power as the other nobles panicked and fell by the wayside, his handsome features keeping the Vanir stable.

Veskur Wyrd stayed hidden in her keep, silent and moping. If only she had taken him as a lover… he would have propped her up, made her smile, given her the courage and the strength to go and fight the Coeecians as she had so many times before. He would have kept her from fracturing into the broken shell that she had become.

A rumor passed across Thea’s desk, a claim that Jesam had offered to give Midgard a chance to rebuild in exchange for some unknown thing. No matter how hard he looked, he could find no sign of what it was they were supposed to trade. He did, however, read a message from Endrall to Figo that spoke of it.

Don’t you dare do it, Endrall had written. Don’t you dare. I will never forgive you.

Figo wrote nothing back to the man who many now considered the Freya’s left hand.

Two of Veskur’s brothers were slain and the lady that another brother had been in love with, though at least her death had saved a handful of that House’s few surviving nobles.

It’s a shame you weren’t among the dead,” Thea told the woman that should have belonged solely to him. “I understand why many people would want to kill your family and particularly you, but don’t worry – neither you nor your kin are worth that sort of attention. I mean, look at Endrall Sahr. He succeeded to the ultimate degree only once he was done with you. Perhaps the same will hold true for me. Anyone else would beg me to be with them but instead you, in all your insipidity, claim that you feel nothing for me. Liar. Fool. Charlatan. We would all be better if the Coeecians had taken your life instead of your kin’s.”

Midgard would be a better place for my lack,” Veskur agreed with him.

It was the last message Thea would get from her before the entirety of Midgard fell apart.

 

Click here to read the next chapter. If you like the artwork, why not go and thank Meghan Duffy at duffyartdesign.com? She’s cool people.

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179

Fiction – Love is War 03:00:03:06

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

April 7, 2017

Click here to read the previous entry.  

 

A month passed and Veskur had not yet replied to any of the messages that Endrall had sent her. Sotaas not responding to him he could kind of understand; the man was constantly out in the wild, whatever power that Veskur had inflicted upon him making it impossible for even the most careful Science to find him. Veskur, on the other hand, never left her damn keep out in the northern wastes.

Perhaps the woman was busy. Who knew better than Endrall how Veskur could lose track of time? Yes, the woman had always been quick to come to attention whenever he called her, dropping whatever unimportant foolishness had claimed her this time around, and thus it was entirely possible that whatever project currently held her interest had robbed her ability to notice anything else.

He would talk to her about this the next time they saw one another. He was too important to be treated thusly, especially by someone as pathetic as her.

The projects that he was working on claimed most of his time now, but there was so much adoration being paid to him that he barely noticed. The Vanir intelligentsia had taken note of his work and theories, weighing them and finding them to be of merit. It was everything that he knew he deserved, everything that he had been born to claim.

Only this one thing stuck in his craw.

Hekro, the Golden Champion, was speaking to him again. She had to – his raw charisma and talent had made him much sought out among her friends and allies and some trick of the gaurn on his hand made him excel at strategies and tactics in a way that soldiers three times his age could not. She became a fixture at meetings of import, where the Freya herself discussed the wages of war as the struggle with the Coeecians continued. He even saw Figo from time to time, lovely Figo, though he kept a polite distance. Endrall sometimes found himself wondering what was behind that, but at least that beautiful man had not cut him off the way he had Veskur.

Farrell sometimes accompanied him when he went out, mostly at his father’s insistence. He never minded this, not really. Farrell had a deep insight into the nature of those around them, was quick to find the fallacies others had adopted into everything they did. They played games, sometimes, undermining the structures and bindings that others had made for their own benefit. House Suwilo benefited greatly during this time, Endrall further cementing his name.

The Vanir ceased to think of him as Sahr’s son. They started to think of Sahr as his father. It was a slight distinction, one he knew that Veskur would have appreciated above and beyond anyone else. If only the damned woman would answer him…

After nearly sixteen seasons of no contact, he took a moment to send her another message, letting her know that he was angry with her for her failure to contact him. This was meant with silence. Annoyed, he went and spoke with Thea to see if he had any insight into whatever stupidity had currently gripped the heart of his pet. Thea would tell her nothing, merely smiling as if that stupid expression should be enough to explain everything.

He sent another message, threatening to go to Veskur’s house, to force a confrontation. It was an empty threat; he didn’t actually care enough now that there were other people paying attention to him. Who needed Veskur, with her annoying ways and annoying questioning and her irritating way of talking? She made noises sometimes and operated under the illusion that she was a person, not a process meant to make him better. If she couldn’t be bothered to remember that, well, perhaps she didn’t deserve his company at all.

There were things that he had left at her home. He sent her another message, asking if she had seen them, but even this received no immediate response. Instead, another couple of seasons slipped by before a box arrived on his doorstep. Within was everything he had ever given her or left at her home, along with a note written in some language that he did not recognize. He contacted her again, let her know that this was not okay with him, that he expected better, that he was disappointed in her and everything she was and why wouldn’t she speak with him…?

He had done so much for her, couldn’t she see that? He had put up with all of her inanity and all of her insanity. She owed him more than this, was indebted to him and always would be. After all the acts of kindness he had performed for her, this was the sort of behavior she thought he was entitled to? Didn’t she realize that he was the most important thing that would ever be in her pathetic little life? Hadn’t he reminded her of that often enough, hadn’t she acknowledged the truth of those very words again and again over all the time they had known one another?

The Coeecians struck again. Figo went missing. Jesam the First seemed to have an understanding that Veskur Wyrd was a threat and he went after her House, wiping out half their number in short order. Somehow, the Skie Warlord had placed forces deep within the heart of Midgard and he lashed out with them. Gebo, Nauthiz, and Ehwaz were the hardest hit after Wyrd, their infrastructures and their peoples thrown into wild disarray. The Nauthiz Coven was devastated, those nobles left in their wake turning to him for guidance, a noble from another House – a thing completely unheard of in all the history of the Vanir. Endrall sent Farrell to act as his liaison between them, turned to Hekro and Risue to organize what forces were left.

Deeam contacted him, told him that he had tried to contact Veskur Wyrd and failed. The rest of the Honored Guard had come when called but Veskur was still cowering in her tower up in the frozen north, unreachable, unassailable, a power that sat bloated, accomplishing nothing. Endrall merely sneered when Deeam asked him to go and collect the Good Lady; he told the Njord that there was nothing good about Veskur and that there never had been, that they were better off without her. He named her dryw and now no one would speak in her defense.

She had no honor, no function, and no reason for being.

Endrall knew that Midgard, like himself, would be better off without her.

 

Click here to read the next entry. If you like the artwork, why not go and thank Meghan Duffy at duffyartdesign.com? She’s cool people.

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236

In The Tent Of The Tea Party

Culture, Events, Music, Reviews

April 6, 2017

A spattering of Vancouver rain clatters against the concrete of Granville Street. A drumbeat without rhythm. Heavy. Is the dampness that pulls at you the rain? Or is there something else clawing at your soul? Something in the air tonight?

Trading on a legacy of sex, drugs, and black magic, The Tea Party crave a darker part of your soul. Especially Transmission (1997). Transmission is a gate, the music the path, and tonight? Tonight, The Tea Party will be our guide.

In 1997 three kids from Windsor resolved to produce “the darkest rock and roll album Canada had ever heard.” At the time, the Canadian charts were dominated by imports like the Spice Girls, No Doubt, The Backstreet Boys, and Pop Compilation Albums. For every the Tragically Hip or Our Lady Peace, there was a Sarah McLachlan or Celine Dion.

Often called “Moroccan Roll”, The Tea Party draw on sounds and instruments from across the globe, with a fixation on Middle-Eastern Mysticism and Music. Hearing live the music of my childhood, of my heroes, fulfills. Great musicians performing their greatest works out weighs the gimmicked nature of anniversary tours. Jeff Martin plays the guitar like an Olympic athlete. While a painting ages in his attic, he pulls out a bow and makes his strings sing. Jeff Burrows gives the drums an animalistic enthusiasm. Stuart Chatwood applies bass and keyboard, adding texture on texture, painting in sound.

This album offers a snapshot into the 90s that I never really knew personally. My older brother came of age during the heyday of Nirvana and the Wu-tang Clan while I was still playing Charlotte Diamond on repeat. That great musical revolution, heard through hollow walls as my brother learned long solos and discovered new sounds. I missed it. Too young. Too shy. It wasn’t until one hot summer in 1999, the world on pause, awaiting the new millennium, bored in the basement, I watched MTV countdown the top 20 videos of the week. Between undulating pop stars and incoherent rappers lay something beautiful: “Heaven Coming Down” from the album Triptych (1999) pulled me into The Tea Party’s world.

With the singular obsession of a pre-teen girl, I devoured their back catalogue as best I could. A copy of Splendor Solis (1993) from the back of an HMV. The Edges of Twilight (1995) borrowed from my brother. And, finally, Transmission, from a dusty corner of an A&B Sound. Looking for a way to understand the world, I stumbled into a different kind of understanding. That magic still lingered on the edges of the world. If only your eyes were open you could see it all.

If listening to Transmission is like finding a stack of Picasso sketches tucked in the back of the garage, hearing it live is a gallery exhibition. A sea of people, falling back on who they grew from. Aging rockers, former goth kids, angry angsty teens, and lost souls. “Army Ants”, pulsing, sends a wave across the crowd. “Psychopomp”, dragging the enraptured souls to the underworld and back again. “Babylon”, walking a tightrope between sex and violence until finally- “Release”…

“Release” resonates with me. Reminds me of why I’m here, of the journey the last few years have been. Of all I’ve lost and gained. Of missed chances and pain… I cry. There is a sincerity to it. A beauty. Even Martin takes a pause. To thank us, all of us, for creating such a moment. The moment passes – back into “Temptation” we go.

An intermission only to pull us back into Martin’s impossible world. Speaking openly of their heroes, the band slipped covers into the middle of their own work. U2’s classic “With or Without You” (1987) appeared in “Heaven Coming Down” (1999). Parts of “Under Pressure” (1982 Queen, David Bowie) kept appearing. The 20-minute version of “Sister Awake” included “Paint it Black” (1966, The Rolling Stones) as well as their encore.

So, here we are, 20 years later, do we still need an album like Transmission? What does an album mean in an age where Artists live and die download by download?

I think we’ve forgotten the importance of telling a good story.  The journey sacrificed on the altar of destination. Music is a product. Artists are commodities. Instead of autotuned perfection, give me skill. Give me the raw emotion and passion of a psychopomp.

The next city to host the Tea Party tent will be The Roxy in Los Angeles, CA on Saturday, April 8th.  After that they’re going to the Star Events Centre in Sydney, NSW, on Friday, April 21st. If you can’t make either of those dates, you can click here to see the rest of the tour, or click here to see their incredible selection of music

 

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Fiction – Love is War 03:00:03:05

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

March 31, 2017

Click here to read the previous entry.  

 

Veskur Wyrd wore the very power of creation itself on her hand.

The gaurn she had crafted made the world around her a loom, each thread something that she could pull at, weave, color, or remove as she saw fit. But acting on one thread, she had learned, forced all the others to move as well and she did not possess the mathemagics necessary to predict the consequences of each movement. Difficult enough to know what results her more mundane actions would craft – when playing with the very fabric from which creation was wrought, well, who could say how long each thread was and how many other threads it was attached to?

She was becoming more and more hesitant to use the power she had granted herself, for she feared that each use violated the choices of those around her – thereby making her a rapist of the soul, something worse than Endrall could ever have accused her of being. She had seen the chance of Endrall and Figo becoming her lovers, of being with her into her old age. All she had needed to claim this future was patience but she had forced events to come sooner, not understanding what would happen because of her one selfish choice.

Both of them were gone now and she was alone.

Hurt, but wiser. More cautious. She would not use the power she had taken so lightly ever again.

Figo remained an absence in her life, leaving an aching emptiness in place of the joy his mere presence had once engendered. She mourned him often, dreamed of him, gentle words and soft skin, his laugh and smile. She could barely remember the sound of his voice, the taste of his laughter.

At least things seemed to be working out with Endrall. The man held her, kept her, made her feel wanted and all he wanted was to treat her as she deserved to be treated – and whenever she forgot why she deserved to be treated so, he was there to remind her. He held her and pushed her away, kept her close and whispered of his affair with Hekro. Veskur suffered these stories in silence, knowing better than to express any discomfort; whenever she tried to express anything save approval Endrall would remind her that she was disposable, that they were not friends, that she was not a thing to be trusted.

It was alright, Veskur thought. As long as Endrall was happy it was alright; nothing was more important to her. She had done so much, crafted so much harm out of her base loneliness. Endrall was right. Endrall could be trusted in ways that she could never be, not even by herself. The proof of her monstrousness was in the thing she wore even now and the knowledge her creation gave her.

Still, with Sotaas and with Endrall back in her life, she had some reason to keep moving. She started going out of her keep again, a feral presence tolerated in proper society through the auspices of those two people. River had left her, no longer speaking to her due to what had happened with Thea. Thea praised her with one breath and insulted her the next, treatment that Veskur was certain that she deserved. Sotaas argued otherwise. He was a dam against the abyss that Figo had left behind, supportive and honest.

It was through Sotaas that Veskur learned of Deeam’s coming union with Glow and received an invitation to the event. The two of them planned to go there together, Sotaas pressing Veskur into making the arrangements, knowing that she needed something to take her mind off the thoughts that had thrown her mental state into civil war. She took to it with gusto, with passion, making certain that they had transport and a place to stay, seeing to all the small details personally. Deeam himself got in touch with her.

There are treasures that the Darroken are lending us for the occasion,” Deeam said, sitting in the quiet of Veskur’s kitchen. “I know you’re familiar with that nation. Would you mind collecting them?”

Veskur said that she would be honored, made the necessary arrangements and spoke to Sotaas. The two of them would go and claim what was needed before heading south and west, into the lands where Deeam would wed his blood to his bride and ascend to the position of Njord. Sotaas was pleased with the promise of this escort mission and all that it entailed. It could mean much for both of them.

A week before the journey was to begin Veskur was working in her laboratory, trying to reconcile the mathemagics she had crafted to predict the extent of the changes she had already made. It was heady work, engrossing, and she felt a passion for it that echoed what had once driven her from one sleepless night to the next. She didn’t notice when her manservant interrupted her.

How long have you been there?” she asked him.

A quarter hour,” he replied, offering a lopsided grin. “There’s someone at the door to see you.”

Curiosity overcame passion. Very few people came to see her any more – Sotaas, Deeam, occasionally one of the Nauthiz Coven. She had been having trouble re-acclimatizing to the isolation that had once been her whole world but now, caught within numbers she had been forced to invent to describe meaning no one else would ever understand, she had lost all sense of time.

Following her manservant to the front gate of her keep, she pulled her cloak a little tighter around her body. Already she could feel the chill from outside, the chill summer wind and whispering snows that haunted her home even in the warmest months. Her manservant drew open the door, introducing her guest.

Endrall Sahr.

I can’t stay long,” Endrall said, removing the gloves from his hands. “I was visiting Hekro to the west and, well…” He stopped, looked at her.

What’s wrong?”

Hekro,” he paused, swallowed, came closer to her and waited until she had taken him in her arms. “Hekro left me. I have an invite to Deeam’s wedding but I don’t know if I can go now. I had planned on entering with the Golden Champion beside me. How am I to face the Nauthiz Coven, or Secu and Risue, or any of the others? What will they think of me if I enter alone?”

You won’t know until you get there.”

I don’t even have means of getting there, not this late. No way to get there, nowhere to stay, no means of holding ground.”

Hekro arranged everything?”

He nodded. She sighed.

You can come with me, I suppose,” Veskur said slowly. “I need to check with Sotaas first, make certain that’s alright, but I’ll see what I can do about getting you there, making certain you have a place to stay, and giving you the means to stand your ground.”

Why would Sotaas have a problem with it?”

You broke his heart,” Veskur sighed when Endrall just stared at her, eyes brimming with hostility. “Let me speak with him. I should be able to manage something.”

Alright,” Endrall nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

He left.

The first thing Veskur did after he was gone was go back to her lab to tidy things up and retrieve her gaurn. She went to her manservant, told him that she would be gone for a few days, packed a light assortment of snack food and stepped out of her home. She looked at the horizon before holding her gaurn aloft and calling on the power of the ethcinos.

In the wastes, back in the wild places where the Coeecians and Vanir were not known, out at the edge of the world was where Ygg Sotaas had settled. No one else could find him there, lost in a self-imposed exile. They were siblings now, two whom had made each other more and, like lodestones, they would find one another, be drawn to one another. It was the destiny of one to find the other, writ in the fabric of everything as if it had always been. So mote it. So mote it. So mote it.

She found Sotaas on her third day of travel. The Wanderer of Ygg came up on her from out of the green, appearing as an extension of the woods that he had made his home. They fell into one another’s arms – there were ways, now, that Sotaas completed Veskur that not even the Lady herself understood. They walked in silence for a time, learning about one another merely by being in the other’s presence.

What’s bothering you?” Sotaas asked. Veskur bit her lip.

I have something to ask you,” Veskur said. “You’re not going to like it.”

Is it about Endrall?”

Yes.”

You know he took your name from you?” Sotaas asked. “He calls you a dryw to anyone that will listen.” Veskur choked on this insult, shaken. She closed her eyes, swallowed and accepted. She deserved to be named thus.

Endrall had already explained this to her at length.

I didn’t know.” It took her a moment more to find her voice. “He wants to come with us to the wedding. Hekro left him, doesn’t want anything to do with him right now.”

And he doesn’t want to be alone,” Sotaas snarled. “He needs female approval because the mother surrogate he was rutting with left him. Whatever.”

You’re okay traveling with him?”

No, but I’ll go to make sure he doesn’t do anything to you on the way up.” Sotaas paused, looking off into the green for a long while. “I won’t sleep under the same roof as him.”

Do you want me to make other arrangements for you or us?”

No, no, I’ll come up with something.”

This late?”

You know as well as I do that there is very little that you or I cannot accomplish,” Sotaas said, holding up the gaurn on his hand. Veskur smiled, hugged the man and left him to wander the wilds a few days more.

When the day came the two of them met at House Raido to collect their things. Veskur had taken care of their transport while Sotaas had plotted their path – they would head east, into the Darroken lands, then travel south and west to collect Endrall, loop up north to High House Wynn. The journey to the Darroken lands was simple enough, their claiming of what Deeam sought equally easy. The importance of what it was they held, however, was not lost on either of them.

The Darroken were considered the most trustworthy of the other nations and existed outside the politics that defined so much of Vanir interaction. As such, the Vanir elders trusted this other nation to look after the vestments used to proclaim a man or woman as Njord, Freya, or Freyr, vestments that were as old as any of the Vanir houses, as old as Midgard itself. They both held the fabrics with a sense of awe and gratitude, knowing how rare it was for any Vanir to so much as see what they now held.

When a Vanir noble ascended to any of the three dominant positions he or she set themselves outside the normal politics and games that existed in Midgard. Their sole responsibility was to tend to the Vanir nation as a whole; they cut ties with their former House, gaining instead all the Vanir peoples as a home. The Njord was given the task of mapping the constant change of Vanir borders, of keeping those borders pure while exploring other lands and developing Vanir interests. Over the ages those that had become Njord had furthered the obligations that came with the position, exploring the avenues of science and lore as much as physical geography and the passings of history.

The ceremony that marked a new Njord saw a long rope tied around the Vanir’s shoulders, starting on the left hand, looping up the arm and around the shoulders and then down to the other hand. The rope represented the ships that the Vanir had used in the earliest days. A sleeveless cloak was then draped around the neck and down the shoulders, leaving the back exposed. The cloak had writ on its length the sigils of all twenty-seven Houses, from hedonistic Fehu all the way to meditative Dagaz. Finally, a walking stick and oar woven together of elm and ash, symbolizing the willingness to wander every last corner of the world and leave nothing unexplored.

Veskur and Sotaas held these treasures in their hands with great care. With reverence they packed them, knowing that they would have to keep the nature of their burden secret from everyone else and understanding the honor and trust that Deeam was placing in them. They were both moved to the point of giddy exhaustion, each vowing to see the sacred fabrics to their destination even at the cost of their last breath.

The Darroken lands were well maintained, the roads peaceful and trustworthy. Nonetheless, the two kept a careful eye on the world as they crossed back into Midgard, heading to the far west and into the lands held by House Suwilo. Veskur had arranged to meet Endrall far afield from the capital, not wanting to chance bumping into Sahr Eri. If anything, Sotaas was even less enamored of that prospect.

He didn’t like me very much.”

Who? Sahr or Endrall?”

I don’t think Endrall is actually capable of loving anyone, never mind liking,” Sotaas said, frowning at a gathering ring of clouds. “But, no, I meant Eri.”

Oh, good,” Veskur said, shaking her head. “I thought it was only me that he despised.”

He really did, but only because you’re as erratic as his banished wife.” Sotaas sighed, climbing to the top of the carriage and lying down. “He thought you were going to ruin Endrall’s life the way that his wife ruined his.”

Eri is the most celebrated healer of our age, right?” Veskur asked. Sotaas muttered something that might have been assent. “Just checking.”

Good on you. I’m going to sleep until darling Endrall arrives. Wake me up when he gets here.”

He’ll be here soon.”

Sure he will.”

Sotaas was lost to slumber long before Endrall’s arrival, this casual notation of his faults something that Veskur passed the time thinking about. There had been a time just after Figo had left and she had been devastated that Endrall had offered to come and care for her. The day he was supposed to be there came and went, time stretching out as she waited and waited, thought and repented, but still there was no sign of the man that would claim that they were not lovers despite them being everything that lovers were supposed to be.

She had tried to contact Endrall by means of every Science at her disposal but had learned and found nothing. In despair she had retreated to the wilds around her keep, seeking solace in wander, but she had been only a day into her wandering when Endrall had contacted her. He had been furious to find her home empty of her, demanding that she return instantly before severing all contact. He’d spent the next day yelling at her, letting her know that she was inconsiderate, evil, and valued only so much as he saw fit.

Veskur had believed him then, in the wake of Figo’s absence.

She wasn’t so certain that she believed him now.

A full day came and went before Endrall appeared. He came in the company of Farrell, though the kitsune begged off coming with them – it had merely served as an escort. This was a good thing, as Veskur was uncertain how long she would have been able to not kill the creature. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten that the kitsune had betrayed them all once upon a time but Veskur had heard the broken words spilling from Figo’s sleeping lips, had heard her former love recount the crimes this creature had committed. Endrall kissed its cheek before glancing at the carriage, offering only a brief nod of approval as Veskur poked Sotaas.

What’s is… oh. You’re here.”

Is that any way to greet me?”

Yes. It is, in fact, the perfect way.”

Veskur stood by and said nothing during this exchange. Sotaas climbed into the carriage beside her, Endrall sitting opposite them. Sotaas’ hand briefly touched Veskur’s, some form of Science that Veskur was not familiar with allowing the man to implant words in her mind: He is not to be trusted. He is going to try and hurt you. Do not let him touch you and we will get through this together. Veskur was not certain how to respond so she merely nodded, trying to make the motion look casual. She doubted Endrall would catch such a slight twitch but a quick trace of fingernail along her hand let her know that Sotaas understood.

The journey took a total of four days. They spent all that time moving, Sotaas and Endrall resting while Veskur kept going – the same endurance that let her spend weeks awake and working in her laboratory serving her here in turn. The roads were quiet, all of Midgard hushed in anticipation of the new Njord’s ascent. Even the Coeecian borders had been relatively quiet, the madness named Jesam the First keeping to himself as Deeam prepared to become so much more than he now was.

Endrall spoke of his hopes for the future, the things he had learned while serving along the Coeecian border and then back in the lands of his House. Veskur listened with more interest than Sotaas, though the Wanderer of Ygg made polite noises where appropriate and seemed to relax his guard somewhat as the days wore on. By the second day, he was even volunteering some of his own stories, speaking of far off lands that he had traveled to since his exile.

Far to the east, past the Darroken, there are people that live in huts made of thick cord,” Sotaas told them as they dipped into and through a valley. “There are poles that stretch dozens of feet into the air and hundreds upon hundreds of these cords are woven together to form cities inside, though the ways into those cities are secret and hidden. Men there are seen as little more than work animals. Their entire culture is built around the domination of men by women.”

What a strange people,” Endrall said, catching Veskur’s eyes with an indulgent smile.

It’s true,” Sotaas continued. “They live the way they do because of the weather. For a full third of the year, they are battered by winds and rains that put the worst storms that Coeecian trickery can cobble together to shame, while for another third the naked sunlight withers and blackens all human life that it touches. Their structures bend with the wind and do not fall while the cords release the heat they suffer during the hot months.

I stayed with them for a full year but I never learned their language, only their culture. They subscribe to a strange series of beliefs, thinking that the energy of their minds leaves their bodies when they die only to be reborn as something or someone else. I asked them what the purpose of such a process would be and they claimed they were working towards some form of transcendence, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

The women maintain their control of their nation through the secrets of those cords – the weaving of the individual lengths and the combining of them into structure. Though they respected me for my skills, they would not teach me or even allow me to witness their most secret craftings. I might have pushed but, to be honest, those same women have a means of fighting that can only be likened to a spider trapping things in a web. I would not like to fight them within what they have woven and have never seen the purpose in rewarding hospitality with hostility, even if the shelter offered is offered by barbarians.”

But they are only barbarians,” Endrall scoffed. “I’m certain, were we to bend our minds to discovering their secrets, we could take their weavings apart and put them back together.”

I am less certain of that.”

I’ve read about the people you describe,” Veskur said. “They were involved in that war the Darroken were fighting forty generations or so ago.”

I hardly see what bearing the ancient history of a backwards people has on the modern world, though they sound interesting enough,” Endrall said, resting his chin in his palm. “Do they really abhor males so badly?”

Yes,” Sotaas said. “The Nauthiz Coven would feel right at home.”

What about you, Lady?” Endrall asked, leaning back to best show the line of his musculature. “What mad dreams have been driving you forward?”

Equations, mostly,” Veskur admitted, shy. “I’ve had to invent three mathemagical languages to fully explain what it is I’m trying to do.”

And what is that, exactly?”

Well, we know that there had to be a prime cause of which we are all echoes,” Veskur said. “Various other Scientists have tried to cast their numbers backwards to describe what was, but the future has always interested me more than the past. It seems to me that there should be equations that could be used to predict what is going to happen, seeing that matter and energy are consistently moving forward and behave in certain causal patterns.

The truth of this knowledge proves free will a lie. We are doing what we’re doing in accordance with forces that were set in place long and long before any of us were born and will continue to move thus when we are all gone and dust. The illusion of decision, of discovery, of experience is simply that – an illusion brought upon by a pre-determined lack of understanding. Though we are advanced enough as a people to recognize that truth we are not moved past the primitive superstitions of our own history to recognize that truth completely, which is why we still think that we are making choices.

My recent passions, which are not mine so much as they are an echo of whatever the prime cause was, have been trying to trace the passage of one thing to determine the passage of another. Cause and effect chain together, you see, and if something happens in the macrocosm there will be a mirror of that in the microcosm and vice-versa, as well as everywhere in between. If one can find the equations that describe the precursor of a macrocosmic event, then an understanding can be applied using those equations to predict what is going to happen in our immediate cosm.”

A long silence followed Veskur’s description.

Is cosm even a word?”

If it isn’t, it should be.”

Their talk turned to lighter topics thereafter – the weather that followed them, the quietness of the road ahead, the lingering taste of food eaten and processed. Sotaas‘ hand found hers, fingers tapping out a certain beat to let Veskur know that he wanted to continue speaking of those equations at some future time when they had left behind unwanted company. For all his brilliance, Endrall did not notice this silent intimacy between the two that he had abandoned for reasons of his own.

We’ve known forever that there is iron in the blood of both the Vanir and the people of the lesser nations,” Endrall said. “Father has had some small success using magnets in the healing of various aches and wounds, but my studies have actually taken me a step further than that. It seems that the movement of blood within the body creates a slight magnetic field that traces the outline of the body that it moves through. This field can be tested via a series of techniques that I’ve been developing.

The testing of this field can be used to determine the necessity of surgeries and the places those surgeries would best be performed. It can be used to chart the movement of energy within the body and discover those places where the flow of energy has been disrupted, thus allowing those of us with the proper knowledge to fix whatever they problem might be, or at least make a definitive diagnosis.

My imprint in the field of medicine will be so great that it will make my father’s efforts look like the urgings of primitive trickery when compared with our Sciences. This is the length and breadth of my genius and the glory I will win for it, well, it is a good thing that the two of you know me. My accomplishments will make you both great by the simple virtue of your association with me.”

Veskur and Sotaas shared a look but said nothing.

The three of them travelled to Njordheim, the place where every Njord since the dawn of the Vanir nation had ascended to that position and where they all ruled from once they had given up their old House and home. Soldiers from honorable Gebo were waiting to greet them, providing an honor guard for the two as they carried the treasure they had retrieved between them. A pouting Endrall was not allowed to accompany them on this journey. Instead, having spotted the Nauthiz Coven, he made his way over to them in order to exchange pleasantries.

Deeam was waiting for them in his private chambers, his back to the door and his hands clasped by the base of his spine. He wore a simple long vest and a pair of pants and somehow managed to look regal despite this; his mere presence and the perfection of his being flooded the room.

You have retrieved what was needed?” he asked, his deep baritone caught by architecture and booming around them, a rolling thunder that Veskur was sure he must have practiced. They nodded, dropped to their knees, presented him with what they had collected in his name. “Excellent. I also see that the two of you came here with Endrall. This is good – I had feared in the wake of what happened with Hekro that he would not be here. Does this mean the ice that lies between you has thawed?”

As much as can be,” Sotaas said.

Veskur said nothing.

Deeam had questions for them after that, wanting to know the state of things elsewhere in Midgard and what troubles threatened from the other side of the Coeecian border. He seemed bothered when they spoke of how quiet it had been.

Jesam the First has proven to be a cunning opponent,” Deeam admitted, clasping Veskur’s shoulder. “If only you had the chance to destroy him the way you destroyed his predecessor, eh? I’m sure the chance will present itself if we give it a little more time.”

Conversation turned to lesser things thereafter. Deeam wished to speak with Sotaas for a few minutes on his own, so Veskur left the two of them to go and wander the halls to look for Endrall. The two of them would have to settle the arrangements that she had made for them sometime in the near future and Veskur, for all her insight and knowing, was beginning to trot along the edges of exhaustion.

She found Endrall chatting up the Nauthiz Coven. The eldest of them caught her eye, her typical hostility mingling with curiosity. There was a conversation there, Veskur knew, and she did not need to use her gaurn to know that it was not meant for that moment. Endrall was reluctant to leave, enjoying himself despite the quiet tension of the three ladies that he was speaking with.

I was just starting to get comfortable,” Endrall muttered as they climbed back aboard their transport. Veskur said nothing, getting the vehicle moving and taking them to the small cabin that her own contacts had allowed her to acquire.

Endrall nodded acceptance as they entered, clearly deciding that their surroundings would do for this venture. There was a single bedroom, a kitchen, and a greeting area.

I’ll take the bedroom,” Endrall declared as Veskur unloaded their things. “You can have the greeting area.” Veskur had secretly been hoping that she would have been able to fall asleep in his warmth but she accepted Endrall’s terms – to do or say anything else, she thought, would have made her the rapist or the dryw that Endrall had named her. She gave him his things and found a place to lie down and was asleep almost instantly.

She awoke one day later to find Endrall preparing for the festivities to come. He had left dishes for others to clean and no food for her to eat, but she struggled out of the sleep haze and found something to drink, using Science to boil some water and make tea. As the fog of sleep faded she looked to her own things, retrieving the clothing that she would be expected to wear at the ceremony.

We’re out of food,” Endrall said, emerging from the changing rooms and straightening a cuff. He glanced at her, frowning. “How do I look?”

Perfect,” Veskur said, staring and not bothering to hide her hunger. He spared her an amused smile, walked forward and took her hand in his. There was something in his eyes, some small fracture that made a lie of his perfect confidence. “What’s wrong?”

It was,” Endrall swallowed, closed his eyes, was silent a moment. “I don’t know if I can do this. There are a lot of people here that have direct ties to, well, Sotaas or House Elhaz. They hate me, I know it. They hate me. The Nauthiz Coven and all the rest.”

No one hates you,” Veskur said, wrapping Endrall in her arms. “No one here is going to hate you on behalf of another; we’re all Vanir here, not barbarians.”

I hear them whispering,” he pressed. “I heard them whispering yesterday.”

We’re crowning a new Njord,” Veskur said. “There’s a lot to be done. I’m not even going to pretend to know the full scope of the preparations and things that are happening but I can tell you that no one has time just now to hate you. There’s too much else to do, too much else to focus on.”

So… I’m not important?”

You are to me,” Veskur said, cupping his cheek in her hand and looking into his eyes. “You are the most important person in any room you walk into. There is nothing and no one in my sight that will ever be more – you walk into a room and nothing else matters.”

He stared at her for a long time after that.

I don’t trust you.”

I know.”

We’re not friends.”

I know.”

But, well, I will say this: you’re sweet.” Endrall frowned as he noted the clothing that had been prepared for her. “I did not realize you were going to be among the Honored Guard.”

Neither did I.”

Deeam must think very highly of you.”

Veskur muttered her agreement, taking what had been laid out for her into the washing and changing rooms. She let water soak into her hair, scrubbed the aches and fatigues of her body out, left the pools of water and pressed herself with discarded clothing until she was completely dry. Sighing, she began wrapping herself in the traditional garb of the Honored Guard, the willowing sleeves and the long jacket, the pocketless pants and tall boots. She tied her hair back as best she could, raised the hood at the back of the jacket over her brow just so, set the rings that had been laid out for her right hand onto the proper fingers and studied her reflection in the water she had left.

The only thing that looked out of place was the gaurn that graced her left hand.

She studied this for a time, deciding it was not something that she was willing to relinquish.

Endrall was waiting for her when she emerged from the room. He watched her with his piercing eyes, measuring her. She turned when he asked her to, his eyes roaming over her as if she were nothing more than meat for him to devour. He nodded approval at the ended of it.

You look beautiful,” he said, and for the first time in her life, Veskur believed those words.

They joined hands and walked to the waiting transport. It struck Veskur that she had to look like something from a fable as she helped Endrall aboard, the uncomfortable weight of the levl an awkward presence at her hips. They spoke but sparingly on the way to the center of Njordheim but of this Veskur took no note; she was lost in her own thoughts, thoughts that inevitably turned to the man sitting beside her.

In spite of everything, she knew she wanted him. She wanted to see him smile, to hold him, to take him inside of her. She gave no thought to her own pleasure; even before Figo she had found more gratification in the giving of pleasure than in the taking of it. She wanted to wake beside him, for him to wake beside her. But most of all she wanted him happy, regardless of what that meant, regardless of what that took.

Her left hand twitched.

Endrall took no notice.

They arrived long before the gathering crowd, Veskur able to find a place to rest their carriage and helping Endrall down from that height. They spotted the Nauthiz Coven chatting with Rock and a handful of others and wandered over – Sotaas, too, bore the markings of the Honored Guard.

You look good,” Endrall said, sizing the Wanderer of Ygg up with a terrible light in his eyes. Sotaas ignored him, turned to Veskur and told her that Deeam was waiting for him and a handful of others, those that had been named as the Honored Guard. Nine such people had been chosen by Deeam, another nine by Glow.

Is there anyone else in their number that we know?” Veskur asked.

No one you’d be familiar with,” Sotaas said. “Follow me, I’ll introduce you.”

There was a moment, a single moment, where she turned back and saw that same fracture of vulnerability in the eyes of the man she was leaving behind, but then Sotaas had her by the arm and was dragging her away.

What’s the rush?” she asked.

Deeam wants to speak with all of us, to prepare us for the ceremony to come.” Sotaas paused, looked at her. “Do you understand what Deeam has done by naming us among his Honored Guard?”

Not really, no.” Veskur let her confusion show on her face when Sotaas continued to stare at her. “I’ve been a virtual hermit all my life, remember? Until I invented the gaurn no one wanted anything to do with me. So, no, I have no idea what being named an Honored Guard means. I never before had reason to care.”

Alright, granted.” Sotaas’ lips twisted in a small smile. “I keep forgetting that you’re just about as reclusive as I am.”

Maybe moreso.”

Given that you don’t know even this? Probably.” Sotaas sighed, started to run a hand through her hair and got his fingers caught in the hood that covered her scalp. “So annoying.”

Granted.”

Cute.” He shook his head. “By naming us his Honored Guard, Deeam is announcing to the rest of Midgard that he views us as the most competent, trustworthy, and skilled Vanir that he knows. Should he decide to quest, it is we that he will call upon, and should he decide to go to war, it is we who will be expected to raise and lead his armies.”

I don’t know the first thing about leading armies.”

You spent five decades with Lord Figo Jera, the most feared general this side of the Golden Champion, and you know nothing about leading armies? You must have picked up something. Anyways, in times of formal duress you’ll be asked to provide protection and advice to the Njord, to occasionally act in his interests or as his ambassador, and in certain instances you will speak with his voice or act on his behalf.”

Do the people that Glow picked as her Honored Guard do the same thing?” Veskur asked, wondering if she could ask for a transfer.

You’d hate their end even more,” Sotaas grinned. “Those chosen by the Njord’s spouse stay with the Njord and their chooser at all times, keeping them both safe.”

You are utterly correct in my not wanting to do that.”

I know. Follow me. There are some protocols we’ll be expected to go through.”

They spent the morning rehearsing the things that they would do over the process of the coming union – protect the young couple, escort them from place to place, and deal with any problems that might surface. Glow’s chosen had to deal much more with the latter, for which Veskur was grateful. Most of what she ended up doing was standing around, looking important, while Deeam and Glow drew every available eye – which, Veskur thought, was exactly as it should have been.

Rings and oaths were exchanged under a sheen of lightning and a slight drizzling rain. The falling water caught the flashes of light within them, twinkling like stars as they fell down around the new Njord and his presumably lovely bride. Veskur could feel the eyes of Sotaas and the Nauthiz Coven sometimes glancing at her but she ignored them. Her attention was divided solely between the new royal couple and the healer’s scion that sat prim and watchful. She could not help but feel that she was being judged.

Do you, Deeam of House Wynn, accept the vestments of the Njord, with all the circumstance and consequence that comes with it, knowing that your life up until now and the life of your lover are forfeit? Do you relinquish all ties to House and all ties to man, forsaking all in the names of Midgard and the Vanir nation as a whole?”

I do.”

Know then that Midgard accepts you as such. Deeam of House Wynn is no more and is gone as though he had never been. Standing, Deeam Njord, and remember always that you are an extension of the land and all that the land might be.”

I will prove worthy of the name you have given me.”

And do you, Glow of House Pethro, accept the lot of keeping the Njord in check, to provide consul and confidence, to hold his secrets and guide his hand? Do you forfeit all that you were, House and name, and wed yourself to Deeam Njord as conscience and sobriety to better guide and serve the names of Midgard and Vanir?

I do.”

Then rise, knowing that Glow Pethro is dead and will be struck from all record and all knowledge. Instead there is only and ever has been only Glow Skathi, extension and compliment of Deeam Njord. Rise and let it be so.”

The two new powers took one another’s hands and turned to face the assembled Vanir nation, Deeam raising the hand of Glow as the crowd cheered. White flower petals fell from every tower in a shimmering cascade. In their multitudes the falling tide looked as a massive snowstorm, the sight of it catching Veskur’s breath and holding her still for several moments until Sotaas poked her. She noticed everyone looking at her, wondered when everyone had quieted, remembered what it was she was supposed to do.

Veskur of House Wyrd yields to Deeam Njord!”

The next member of the Honored Guard did the same until all of them had spoken that oath, pledging themselves to the service of the new Njord until either he was dead or they were. Veskur wasn’t certain what she thought about this and so tried to silence her mind. The skin underneath the gaurn on her hand itched horribly but she held herself steady, ignoring the weight at her hips, the pull of her clothing, the sweat on her skin. There would be time to tend to herself later.

At that moment the only thing that mattered were Deeam and Glow.

The roar that followed the end of the ceremony was deafening, the release of petals that accompanied that conclusion making the previous downpour of same seem as a river compared to an ocean. Every noble present raised their weapon in salute of the Njord and his love, every peasant there fell to both knees and bowed their head. The pure scope of the adulation presented in this moment rocked Veskur to her very core – she had never in her life imagined that so many people could exist, never mind gather for a single event. When she stumbled, it was Sotaas who steadied her.

A series of large meals followed the ceremony proper, a massive celebration that lasted for several days. The Honored Guard came and went as the days wore on; working in shifts so that three of their number consistently surrounded one of the two they were now sworn to. Petals were kicked up with every step, giving the illusion of treading in an ocean, some trick or science keeping those colors from fading, wilting, or ever touching the earth. In what quiet moments she could find Veskur experimented with those petals she could grab, trying to figure out how the effect had been accomplished.

She did not have very much time to herself. The Honored Guard worked in shifts of six hours on and twelve off. The idea, as she understood it, was to keep them all fresh and active. She and Sotaas ended up working alongside a woman named Sas Ansu, who at least proved to be adequate conversation and a sharp wit, so that wasn’t awful.

How do you think they do it?” Veskur found herself asking. No matter how hard she pressed down upon the color in her hand it would not touch the ground.

Which? The thing with the petals?” Sas shook the hair out of her face. “I heard it’s some secret science that the nobles of House Pethro keep to themselves. You could ask some of our opposites among Glow’s Chosen, though I would recommend waiting until after the celebration is over.”

Why’s that?”

They’ll be easier to ply then.” Sas’ voice was wry. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going anywhere. I imagine they’ll be starved for any sort of conversation in a year or two.” Sotaas smirked, saying nothing. The three of them were called away then, acting as guides for the other nobles, allowing some to go and greet the new Njord, barring others long enough for Deeam and Glow to collect themselves that they might better speak with those who sought them.

Veskur didn’t much see the point. Most of what she heard said was simple empty congratulations and everyone there seemed more eager to be seen than heard. Sotaas muttered something about social hierarchies that Veskur didn’t quite understand or care to; she just stood there, ignoring the questioning looks that surrounded her, fulfilling her role and counting down the moments to her periods of freedom.

Endrall inevitably sought her out whenever she was trying to sleep, speaking of the people he had seen and spoken with, asking for her opinion on his interaction with them. He would tell her everything, every last little detail, and ask her to analyze what had been told. He was looking for justification, for edification, for proof that he was as liked and admired and respected as he knew he deserved to be. Veskur told him the truth as she knew it and let herself fade into sleep when she was able.

Whether for sleep or for honor, he always seemed insulted when she had to leave him and when she awoke it was inevitably alone.

She missed Figo. She looked for him but neither he or Hekro were there. Her heart had always ever focused on his duty and this moment was no exception to that rule; she heard tell that he was still on the Coeecian front, watching for incursion, and that while he had been invited to stand witness he had declined the invitation. Endrall, in those quiet moments they shared, was quick to let her know that she was the reason for his refusal. Veskur could have brought up the delicate subject of Hekro but never did, not once in a thousand heartbeats.

On the final day of the festival, when exhaustion had claimed those who were there only for reason of politic or politeness and all that remained were those that truly loved Deeam or Glow, the new Njord called for musicians and invited all those with the will or means to abandon themselves in the mania of song and dance. Veskur circled around the assembled group, the Nauthiz Coven and Endrall Sahr, Ygg Sotaas and Sas Ansu, Roch Elhaz, and Gvin Berkano. The lot of them moved in graceful circles around the royal couple, singing along with the music, rocking out as hard as they were able.

Veskur stood apart, claiming a strip of floor that was not wanted.

Every time she had danced before this had been out in the woods and private, a duel between herself and music that only she could hear, but now she was sick from exhaustion and sick of people and sick with observations she wanted nothing to do with and there would be no stopping her, not now. Sliding one foot behind the other, bringing her hands around in a half-circle, she closed her eyes and let the music carry her.

She heard startled gasps as she moved but she did not open her eyes, wanting to know nothing in this moment save the joys of movement and noise. Whispers surrounded her, calls of insanity, of insult, of injury, but she refused to let those voices touch her, refused to identify any of those who spoke. She did not want to know that Endrall was insulting her. She did not want to know this.

The music fell and the music rose and she lashed out against it, seeing it as something to fight, something to rail against. Voices rang around her and she heard her own join them, warbling off-kilter and out of tune. Her face broke into a wild grin and she heard herself laughing as she leapt from one place to the next, every turn and strike in time with the music around her.

People came to the floor and left but she remained constant, a tempest brought to life. Soaked in sweat, all muscles aching and still she moved, still she sang. The sun came and went and came again and still she moved, still she smiled and laughed. This was her moment to by happy and that emotion filled her with emotions she had not felt since Figo had finally left her, since Endrall had told her that he would be happiest beside her closest friend. She danced and leaped and spun until her entire being was a throbbing fatigue and all movement itself was impossible.

Only then did she stop.

Things were quiet after that, Deeam thanking them all, Glow letting them know that they could move on with whatever it was they were meant to do now and so they did. Endrall let Veskur limp away to claim their carriage, then return to claim her in turn. Deeam went with her.

Are you alright?” he asked.

Tired, but otherwise fine,” Veskur murmured. “I have enough to get back to the cabin, but after that I’ll sleep for a day or so. Why? What do you need?”

I was going to ask you to take the vestments back to the Darroken,” Deeam said, studying her. “If you’re too tired, though…?”

No, I’ll be fine,” Veskur said. “I’ll come to claim them and Sotaas in the evening tomorrow.”

He’s not staying with you?”

He’s uncomfortable sleeping under the same roof as Endrall.”

I see.” Deaam glanced back to where the young healer was waiting and watching them. “And you’re alright sleeping thus?”

I love him,” Veskur said, the words rolling off her tongue. “I love him. I love him. I’d howl that from any rooftop I could if he would let me.” Veskur thought that Deeam looked like he might have said something else but then he thought better of it and said nothing. She shrugged it off; she was tired and there was a good chance she was seeing phantoms.

Deeam accepted the ride back to his new home. Veskur held the door open for Endrall, found Sotaas and told him what they had yet to do and asked if he was interested in making the return journey. He said that he was and told Veskur that he would be waiting come the following evening before shooing her away.

Go to bed,” Sotaas ordered. “You’re weaving on your feet.”

My calves hurt.”

The way you were moving, you’re lucky that’s the only thing causing you pain. Go.”

Okay.”

Sotaas helped Endrall back to the transport, saw both she and Endrall off. Endrall was silent the whole way back, the two of them travelling through the darkest part of the night in perfect quiet. Endrall’s fingers found hers and curled around them and Veskur’s heart fluttered from the slight contact, the sense that maybe now everything would be okay between them.

They arrived in utter darkness, even the lights meant to stand sentinel in the night long since guttered out. Endrall led her back into their small cabin, keeping her from stumbling over her numb feet and exhausted thoughts. Veskur held the keys to the door and managed to fumble their house open but nearly collapsed thereafter. Endrall’s gentle hands lifted her, held her, and guided her to the bed.

It’s lumpy anyway,” Endrall whispered. “I’ll take the living area.”

You can,” Veskur swallowed, tried to focus her eyes. “You can stay here if you like.”

Even in the darkness and through her exhaustion Veskur could see the cold that touched Endrall’s eyes at that invitation. The boy left her without another word.

She drifted unconscious thereafter, letting the tide of dreamless sleep overtake her and shatter her upon the unknowable shores of oblivion. When she awoke, it was still to darkness and the sound of hushed weeping. Exhausted, she forced herself off the slab of a mattress, creeping through the black to where Endrall sat.

Are you alright?” Veskur asked, keeping herself balanced on the entryway to the living area. Endrall looked back at her, a silhouette held by morning’s first sliver of light.

He hates me, doesn’t he?” Endrall said, holding himself. “Sotaas hates me. Just like you do. I know you do, and that’s fine because I hate you. I don’t trust you. And you know, that’s fine. That’s alright. I’m so much better than all of you. It’s jealousy, it will always be jealousy…”

He drifted off as Veskur came to him and rested her head in his lap, letting him know that she loved him, that she had always loved him and would always love him. She held his shoulders, whispering in his ear every oath of devotion she could think of, every promise writ in her heart, and all the words that passed from her lips she meant. She whispered and held and promised until he was sleeping, silent in her arms.

She knew this was the closest she would ever get to him. It would have to be enough, and it was. Exhausted, she bent over and pressed her lips against his forehead, crawled back to the room she had been given and let sleep take her once more.

When next she woke the sun was creeping past its zenith, seeping back towards earth. Endrall was still asleep as she slipped to his side, kneeling beside him and resting her head parallel with his, matching his breathing. His eyes opened a crack, a sliver, and she wished him good morning, told him she was going to get Sotaas, and asked him if he wanted to come with her. He begged off, desiring nothing more than rest. She kissed his forehead once more, her mouth brushing his skin, and then she was heading outside to where their chariot waited.

The passage back to Njordheim was quiet and simple. The vast majority of Vanir that had come here had already taken their leave, returning to whatever homes they had left behind. Only the best and brightest had stayed behind – the full complement of the Honored Guard, the Nauthiz Coven, and a handful of others. They were feasting when Veskur arrived, eating the remnants of the grand meals that had come before, and they welcomed her to their tables.

Where’s Endrall?” the youngest of the Nauthiz Coven asked.

Sleeping,” Veskur answered, catching a hint of mischief in the question. “He was very tired.”

I can imagine,” the middle member of the Nauthiz Coven said. “But he is unharmed?”

He’s fine,” Veskur replied, buttering a slice of bread. “He just needed a little more sleep.”

Endrall Sahr, Endrall Sahr,” the eldest member of the Nauthiz Coven smiled. “Who do we have to thank for his talents, really? Who do we have to thank?”

Veskur Wyrd did not reply to this, realizing that some sort of game was being played while remaining ignorant of the intent and the rules. She didn’t care what point they may have been trying to make and instead turned her attention to other things. Sotaas was there and speaking with Deeam, the two of them getting on as well as they ever did, and Veskur found herself wondering if anything had truly changed.

She could have looked into the future or changed it. The means of doing so was on her left hand even now, but she did not think she was worthy of that sort of power, not anymore; her use had caused so much change and she would never know if her violation of the illusion of choice had caused more harm than good. She suspected it had. She suspected there was no crime more profane than the one she had made with every use of her power, her only solace lying in the simple fact that no one around her could even comprehend what it was that she had done.

No one save Sotaas, as close to her as breath, and Endrall, the one she loved above all else.

The rest of her time there passed without incident. She spoke briefly with Deeam and Glow about nothing of real import, she packed the holy vestments of the Njord away with Sotaas and exchanged means of contact with Sas Ansu. Once all of that was done, she and Sotaas boarded the transport, piloted it back to where Endrall Sahr was waiting for them and began the long ride back.

Endrall tried to make conversation with Sotaas the entire way back. Veskur kept silent, allowing the man to try and mend that bridge as best he could. It was clear enough to her that Sotaas was merely being polite, friendliness meant merely to make the long journey back more bearable. If Endrall took note of Veskur’s silence or lack of comfort, he shared no care of it. Sometimes, he would turn the conversation to a direction that Veskur found downright insulting but still she kept silent.

She could have used the ethcinos to fix things, used her power to settle the distance between her two passengers, but the one who stood to benefit the most from such passage had already insulted her beyond all reckoning for doing such things. He still did not understand why there was even a modicum of chance that his doing so had been wrong. Instead of speaking her mind, Veskur tried to mend their wound with words but words alone had never been her weapon of choice. Nothing was fixed. Endrall blithely continued to speak and insult and demean, Sotaas kept up a passively insulting tirade that Endrall missed entirely.

Veskur felt herself tense from silence.

They crossed over into the Darroken lands, their strange little party. Sotaas insisted that they were being followed and even pointed out where there pursuers were. Endrall grew quiet after that revelation, fearing Coeecians, and the Wanderer of Ygg left them to scout around, promising to be back before daybreak. Veskur settled up for the night, made camp, and let Endrall wrap her in his arms.

Do you think he still likes me?” Endrall asked, voice very quiet.

You do yourself no favors by insulting others,” Veskur replied.

How can you tell?”

The way his jaw clenches when you do. The way his breathing changes, the slight narrowing of his eyes. He doesn’t much care for it though sometimes he forgets how angry he is with you.”

Me? Angry at me? Whatever for?”

You broke his heart.”

I know you’re delusional. I did everything for him. I supported him, I brought him into a world he would have never known, I brought him into the Darroken Lands long before you and he decided to go back there for whatever mad reason currently drives the two of you. I was the one that pushed him, that drove him. I hate you. He should hate you. You tried to keep him a child while I made him a man and now that he’s all interesting I feel like I don’t get to enjoy what I made of him.”

What you made of him…?”

Interesting. I made him interesting. Everything he is now I made and he won’t even speak with me. He should love me, he should be grateful. He should recognize me for everything that I did for him. But he doesn’t trust me, the way I don’t trust you, and why should he treat me thus? He shouldn’t. Not after everything I did for him.”

And to him.”

What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nothing.”

Sotaas returned as promised. He told them that there had been Coeecians out and about, a handful of spies moving quietly through the wild places, living off the land and avoiding contact. They had been following their party out of a sense of curiosity but had not recognized them for who they were, finally concluding that they were nothing more than a collection of young and stupid wandering nobles. The Coeecians had broken away from their path, having no desire to pass into Darroken land; the spies had been wise enough to recognize that as their destination.

Veskur caught Sotaas’ eye and knew they hadn’t been. Sotaas had used the ethcinos to change things, to make what he had said the truth. She felt her fingers itch beneath the gaurn on her left hand and fought the urge to see what might have otherwise been.

They crossed over into the Darroken lands without further incident, Endrall trying to patch things up with Sotaas and making things more awkward, Veskur keeping herself to herself, Sotaas subtly eager to be done with the journey and with Endrall Sahr. Veskur found herself wondering if the entire fight with Hekro had been a ploy to buy him this time, to allow him to reclaim Sotaas into his life.

If it had been, she thought, than Endrall had deeply miscalculated.

Once the vestments were returned Sotaas came to Veskur.

I’m going to go find out where the final destination of those Coeecians was,” Sotaas said, clasping her shoulder. “I will come to you after I know for certain.”

I’ll be waiting,” Veskur said. The two embraced and then Sotaas was gone, using the power of the ethcinos to vanish into the woods. Veskur felt her left hand clench. Where was the line to be drawn? When was it alright to use the power that she had discovered? She no longer knew. Too much of who she was now was wrapped up in Endrall Sahr, and Endrall, well…

Where’s Sotaas?” Endrall asked. She had left them to grab some refreshments, had even been kind enough to pick one up for Veskur. Sotaas had wanted nothing from him.

He went to spy on the Coeecians,” Veskur said. Endrall glared.

I can’t believe he didn’t even have the nerve to say goodbye,” Endrall said. “That dryw.”

Don’t talk about him like that,” Veskur said. “He’s going to find out why the Coeecians have quietly invaded Midgard. I think that’s a little more important than saying farewell.”

I do not think so,” Endrall spat. “He could have waited another second or two.”

Veskur shrugged and said nothing, enjoyed the refreshment that had been provided her and offered to finish taking Endrall the rest of the way home. Grumbling, the boy accepted.

They left the next morning, setting out in silence and with a light sprinkling of rain complimenting a golden sunrise. The emerald leaves of the trees along their path whispered above them in a thousand strange tongues, a poet’s miasma of promises only barely understood. In spite of everything, Veskur still felt her bond to Endrall, still desired the touch of that man’s hand on her flesh.

Nothing happened. They left the Darroken lands and re-entered Midgard, passed through lands dominated by several noble Houses before returning at last to the territories claimed by House Suwilo. The words between them turned once more to Ygg Sotaas, and Veskur felt herself shaking even as she said nothing.

I know I have to watch what I say when I’m talking to you about Sotaas,” Endrall said. “I don’t want you to confuse the ties that bind me and him with the ties that bind me and you.”

A terrible wave of fury bled over Veskur Wyrd and held her.

It was one line among many, one insult in a multitude. It was not a phrase that on its own would have poisoned whatever wells of emotion lay between the two of them but after everything else there was nothing left in Veskur save a terrible sense of cold. She swallowed, bit her tongue as Endrall continued talking, continued to insult, continued to hurt with the clear expectation that Veskur would bear whatever injury he chose to give her.

I think that Sotaas and I should get back together,” Endrall said. “I think that it’s time for the two of us to be together now that he’s a little more worthy of being with me. Not like you. You’ll never be worthy, were never really worth very much to begin with. You know that, don’t you? What do you think?”

Honestly?” Somehow, she managed to keep the bile and hate out of her voice. “If you work really hard at it, the two of you might become good friends. The two of you will never again be lovers.”

I can’t believe you’d say that to me,” Endrall said. “This is why I don’t trust you. Why I hate you. Why we’re not friends.” He glared at her once more before storming out of the transport and leaving Veskur alone. She stared after him for a moment, realized he’d left most his things behind, so she grabbed them and chased after them, handed them to him. He took them, glaring all the while, his entire posture meant to hurt, meant to cripple and make her less, but so consumed by hate was she that she took no note.

She returned alone to the transport, uncertain as to whether Endrall watched her or no. She did not care. She forced the vehicle to move and took it out into the wild emptiness, using the ethcinos to enhance her knowing of the world around her until she was certain she was alone. Holding herself, she fell out of the carriage and to the earth below, clutching herself until she bled, weeping until sight itself was not possible. She was so angry, so impossibly angry and hurt and she did not know what, if anything, to do about it.

As exhaustion and fatigue claimed her in an attempt to stave off the threat of madness, a message found her, some missive sent to her by the man that had brought her so low.

I’m sorry I wasn’t going anywhere good. I love you a lot. You know that.” A handful of seconds later another followed. “I didn’t mean to be reactive. You’re irreplaceable to me and I want you to be happy.”

She laughed until blackness claimed her, until senselessness rescued her from the hysteria that had overwhelmed her. When she awoke the carriage was gone, everything was gone. She lay on a mountaintop close to her home, an empty place coated by snow and invaded by her body and the gaurn that she was cradling.

Veskur pushed herself up on bleeding arms, looked up at a sun that gave light and no heat and knew it was empty as she felt. She was shaking as she remembered everything, every last detail playing out in excruciating detail.

I want you to be happy. Some people wished for things that would make them happy, Veskur knew. Some people wished for things and she had never thought much about what she would wish for if given the chance, but right them she knew with absolute certainty.

Veskur Wyrd woke up and wished that she were dead.

 

Click here to read the next part. If you like the artwork, why not go and thank Meghan Duffy at duffyartdesign.com? She’s cool people.

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Theater Review: Songs For A New World

Culture, Events, Reviews

March 25, 2017

Our world is an ever-changing complexity. The modern era is seeing a massive shift in paradigm as we gain access to information at a rate never seen before, and this shared information is allowing our species to evolve on a sociological level at a rate that would have been impossible even two decades prior. Capturing the consequences and feel of that shift in a two-hour musical is a damn ambitious goal and a nearly impossible task, but Songs for a New World tries and comes closer than you might think.

Playing from March 23rd through to April 1st, 2017 at the Pal Studio Theater located in Coal Harbour, Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, is a re-imagining of an off-broadway musical by the same name. The original was written and composed by Jason Robert Brown and was his first effort, and the Vancouver redux is the first foray done by Mary Littlejohn and Damon Jang of Fabulist Theater Productions.

The re-imagining is a series of single set-pieces that focus on disparate themes that tie together through two characters that appear only infrequently, and one is far easier to notice than the other. The entirety is minimalist, with simple costume changes, few props, and still images projected onto a floating background. The end result is individual pieces are intense but feed into a larger whole that is an emotional gut-punch, a condemnation of a dying world and a statement of hope for the one to follow.

All of the music was written twenty years ago, but the performances and terms modernize the whole and show the relevance of the stories being told. For those that worry about such things, spoilers lurk ahead. You have been warned.

The opening brings is to an airport where a soldier is looking to go to war. She is the first character we see, the one we attach ourselves to; the second is a small refugee girl, followed by a host of others. The whole cast comes and goes while singing The New World, a song about transitions and the sharp decline a life can take through unexpected events. Airports are a perfect setting for such a song, and planes have become an important symbol in our world: from the attacks on nine-eleven to the advent and invasiveness of the TSA, we are reminded that nothing is certain and nothing is stable, that the war is being fought (the soldier) but the consequences are often unintended and severe (the refugee girl).

It’s subtle, and here the story shifts from the original play dramatically. The off-Broadway show’s second song was On the Deck of a Spanish Sailing Ship, 1492, and was about a captain praying for his crew and passengers. The ship setting remains, but the boat is now full of refugees families seeking solace from the utter destruction of their homes. The greed of a very few destabilized entire countries and ruined the lives of people by setting countries against them, and the countries that were so duped will not take responsibility. The result is destitute millions, homeless nationals that have no place to go begging for a homeland of their own. It’s a stark song and a stark set and it is insanely powerful.

The darkness of that song demands a counterbalance, and we get it in the form of Just One Step. Both original and redux feature a wealthy woman climbing onto the window ledge of a highrise in an attempt to get the attention of an absent and cheating husband. Here, this is played for laughs – the celebrity insanity and over-reaction one might expect from someone on a reality television show, where the attention is more important than the outcome. It’s sung by Charity Principe and it’s both uncomfortable and genuinely funny, a tightrope walk as perilous as stepping onto that window ledge, but handled with grace by the performer. It’s important to remember that we joke about the things we’re not comfortable discussing, and the illogical extreme emotional reactions we’re taught are real by reality television is warping and damaging entertainment.

Switching again to utter darkness, the screen above shows pictures of war-torn Somalia, a product of rampant colonialism where the result has been civil war and child soldiers. Actress Shina Lakasa comes out dressed as such a child, and her fragile voice belies a powerful presence that makes a beautiful mockery of I’m not Afraid, a song that speaks of the fears that rule other people and the chains they have wrapped around her, a realization that leads to her casting those people aside. It’s intense, stark, and mighty, a slap in the face to an audience still reeling from the emotional whiplash of prior scenes.

When the scene ends and the world fades to darkness there is a palpable sense of relief that is mangled by the appearance of homeless people. The audience was taken aback, not sure how these invisible people snuck into the theater until they are revealed to be part of the show. The song they sing, the River Won’t Flow, was originally a duet between two derelicts, but here it becomes an ensemble piece that speaks about a system that is stacked, vicious, and all-consuming. Of note is addition near the end, where a police siren sends the homeless people scattering – they know that the police are not there to serve and protect them, and the song only concludes when the police are gone.

The small refugee girl then returns to briefly steal our attention, a small moment that feels isolated and intimate. Played to vulnerable perfection by Arta Negahban, her brief but haunting memory ends and leads us into something that looks more lighthearted, at least at first.

Kate MacColl takes the stage to sing Stars and Moon. The song is about a woman set upon by three suitors and the song is improved here. The direction and performance make it clear that this is a woman torn by conflict: she is lost between what she wants and what society says she should want. She listens to society in her choice and… there’s a song called America by Simon & Garfunkel, about two lovers that train across America. It’s catchy and fun and, towards the end, there’s this aching moment of melancholy and there’s a moment here where Kate captures that exact feeling, a single moment where mirth turns to silencing heartbreak. It’s impossible to look away from, impossible to ignore.

Following this is another song that undergoes a similar journey. She Cries was initially a song a man sings about the power women have over him, but here it’s subverted. The man is a bartender giving advice to drunken fools, the idiots and pick-up artists that are as trapped by the horrid dating game as the bartender is himself. The tragedy here is a reminder that the first thing toxic masculinity asks young men is to mutilate their own emotional well-being, but the only thing ignoring emotions does is cause them to fester. It’s another powerful moment in a string of them, and singer Aerhyn Lau left the stage to thunderous applause.

The first act was not done yet, though. Viciously, brutally, a taste of the tragedy to come: Rema Kibayi rules the stage with Steamtrain. Both the original and the redux tell the story of a young man pursuing a future in basketball, taking spoken asides to tell of the hardships he’s overcome. The original played this straight, but Rema adds complexity to the song by making it clear that this is his only way out of a created hell, an impossible dream that he can achieve but will have a heavy price. He will pay it, and gladly, and his command of the song and his performance left the audience breathless and in need of the intermission that followed.

We were given fifteen minutes to catch our breath, to recover and settle.

Talk was excited, brittle, and when the lights faded the audience hushed and waited, needing whatever was to follow.

Originally, the World was Dancing was a song about a man whose father bought and lost a store, and how that made him leave his fiance. It was trite there, but here… the singer is presented as a drunken frat boy who learns that the market is not his friend, that nothing is permanent. He moves the arms of his first love to another girl and then to a man, pulled by the forces of society to marry his first love but yearning for the arms of his man he truly loves. His world falls apart and all he learns is not to trust, not in the world or the systems of that world, and the shame he feels leaves him desolate and his world broken.

After that the audience needed something light, so we’re treated to Cheryl Mullen performing Surabaya-Santa, the tale of Mrs. Clause getting ready to leave Santa. It’s cute and does what it has to do, lighten the mood of the audience, but once again there’s a subversion here: Cheryl takes the lyrics and turns them into something, a critique of codependency and the importance of being your own person in a relationship. It’s fun, but this isn’t the sort of musical that lets us have fun moments without being punished for it.

So, naturally, we get Christmas Lullaby, a song that was originally about a woman reacting to news of her pregnancy with wonder and comparing herself to the Virgin Mary. Arielle Tuliao’s performance comes from the perspective of someone utterly alone and very much pregnant, and the joy of the song turns to ash when she realizes how very much alone she is. Abandoned, homeless, her comparison to the Virgin Mary is born of pure desperation, a cry for help from a god she will never see.

The world fades to darkness. Images blaze to light: riots against police brutality, the DAPL protest, others. A single barred spotlight manifests and frames Frankie Cottrell as he sings King of the World. This is one of the play’s most powerful songs and Frankie delivers, turning the ravings of a deluded man to the warcry of an imprisoned American Dream, the very best a country has to offer locked away for fighting for the things a country was founded on and strived for. There’s a shock that runs through the crowd as they realize the full weight of what is being implied: that the American Dream itself has been locked away by the greed of the people that know ruin that nation and the people that live therein. The song offers a final note of hope, however, a slim chance for a better world to come.

I’d Give It All For You is a statement of that hope. The boy whose father bought and lost a shop searches for the man he fell in love with, the two of them both wandering the highways of their homeland in search of one another. They find one another, they love one another, and by the honesty of the search and the finding, it is implied that their lives can truly begin.

Their moment, lovely as it is, ends. The soldier from the opening scene saves a refugee and the two of them flee from unseen attackers, a brief moment that cuts and leads to another woman.

The Flagmaker was meant to be the song a woman who sits at home, weaving and holding her house together while her husband and son fight in the war. Here, the woman is fighting for herself: the song becomes a feminist anthem as images of suffragettes and feminist figures flicker on the screen behind, giving a glimpse at some of the struggles women have had to suffer to come as far as they have and reminding us all that the battle is not yet done, not for some, not until we are all equal.

For others, though… Flying Home was always a song about a dying soldier, the soldier from the beginning. She dies saving someone and her soul sings about flying home, about how her duty is over and she will know peace. The original play implied a sense of glory, but here there is none of that: war is stupid, her life was paid to sate the greed of men she will never meet, her life spent protecting the innocent lives that were ruined by those same men. It’s a powerful song and a powerful performance and it feels like this is where the play should end…

… but the refugee girl takes the stage once more. There’s a short transition at an airport, the soldier’s mother waiting for a child who will never come home and refugees seeking an echo of the home they have lost.

Hear My Song, the finale, is an echo of both the first and second songs. We return to the refugee camp where the song is a funeral dirge for everything lost and a prayer for a more compassionate future, one where they may have a home once more.

It ends. The audience stands, claps, the cast bowing to thunderous applause. There people walking out at the end look shocked, thoughtful, chattering amongst themselves. This play makes you work for answers, for meaning, and this iteration is incredibly dense. Ambitious? Yes, and all the more beautiful for it. Highest possible recommendation; if you have the chance to see this, do so.

You can learn more about Songs For A New World be clicking here, learn more about Fabulist Theater Productions by clicking here, learn more about PAL Studio Vancouver by clicking here, or purchase tickets by clicking here. Do get tickets online – the show I got to see was sold out, and the general quality of what was on stage should keep them packed for the whole of their run. Still, this is well worth seeing and those tickets are worth their weight in gold.

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Fiction – Love is War 03:00:03:04

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

March 24, 2017

Click here to read the previous entry.  

There were moments, so many small moments, where Endrall missed Veskur.

He didn’t understand why the woman just couldn’t keep her mouth shut and accept whatever treatment he chose to give her. Didn’t she understand that her every moment with him was a gift that no one else anywhere in Midgard could give her? He stood outside her keep one night, scared of knocking on the door, terrified of being turned away. Finally, he screamed at the woman he had abandoned.

I don’t think you’re a rapist!” he cried, again and again. He saw Veskur appear on the battlements and so he pressed on. “I never thought you were a rapist and I already apologized but you’re never going to accept that apology, are you? You want me to crawl. You want to make me small. What do you want me to do? Beg to be in your life? Everything you have was given to you, I was given to you!”

The silhouette of her vanished and was gone. No matter what he said or how he called, she did not return. Her manservant came out eventually and told him to leave. He felt like stabbing the man, ending his life and entering the place that had felt like home for so long, but in the end, he shouldered his coat and walked away. The healers of House Suwilo had never tried to be fighters and he didn’t even have a levl, only a dryw. The other man would have torn him apart.

Dejected, Endrall went home. In his talks with everyone else, he took to referring to Veskur as the dryw, refusing to address her by any other name or title. His father merely looked at him and said nothing. His mocking smile and wise glances spoke volumes in and of themselves. Veskur had never had many friends or allies and Endrall was charming, the heir to House Sahr. It didn’t take much effort to poison the hearts of everyone else against her.

Soon, people that had never met or even seen the woman were speaking against her and Endrall found some comfort in that – but in the darkest hours of morning, when he was alone and he could not hear even the heartbeats of anyone else, he would hold the gaurn that she had made him and rock back and forth. Why had she rejected him? He couldn’t understand it. It was infuriating. How dare she? How dare she?

Sotaas had finally re-emerged from whichever hole he had gone to hide in. Endrall had sent him letters, not bothering to try and look for him or even enter the lands held by House Ygg. He had liked some of the people there and the things they did for him, sometimes comparing Sotaas to members of his House and telling the scout how he came up short.

There were things that Endrall had left with Sotaas and things that Sotaas had left with Endrall in turn. The wanderer of Ygg came to House Suwilo alone to collect what was his. Endrall tried to speak with him about Veskur and all that had happened, getting nothing more than half-hearted monosyllables in return to his witticisms and soothsaying. Sotaas said something about how he had done the bare politic minimum to contact him during his long absence and that he was well aware of this.

Don’t you know my efforts, no matter how slight, are equal to the greatest efforts of anyone else?”

Sotaas did not respond to this truth. It was probably too large a concept for his feeble and empty mind, Endrall thought. Glancing at the gaurn on his hand, however, Endrall said nothing more. For all that Sotaas was more feral than rational, the man still had access to the ethcinos and Endrall had never learned what it was, exactly, that Sotaas Ygg was capable of.

Veskur’s birthday came and Endrall knew better than most how often people forgot that day, knew how much the Good Lady tried to pretend that the lack of well-wishers didn’t bother her. He used Science to contact the woman, wishing her joy in the coming year. It didn’t surprise him when Veskur responded, her words not entirely hostile. They spoke a little longer but never in person – always through intermediaries or through the Sciences that the Lady had developed, refined, and perfected.

They spoke like that for some small time, Endrall taking the time to feel the Good Lady out and get a handle on her fractured psyche. She was still weak, still wounded, still nothing more than a pet. She mentioned how angry she was at how she had been treated but told Endrall again and again that she loved him and would do anything for him.

She was lying, of course.

His father was the only person that would ever love him.

Even knowing that, however, Endrall felt that there was still some use to be taken from the Lady Wyrd. He played along with her game, dismissing her complaints and ignoring the lies of her pain. He knew she wasn’t really real, wasn’t a real person. She was just a toy, a pet, something to be used – and when she remembered her place she made him feel better, sang his fears away and eased away his doubts. He would ride her and tease her again, he knew, and though he would be sated, he would never sate her and she would thank him for it. He was certain of it; certain he could make her see things the way he wanted her to.

When he proposed that they meet somewhere neutral she agreed to do so, the feel of her so very eager. He made the arrangements, picking a spot not too far afield from the seat of Suwilo influence. They had not seen one another in five full passings of the seasons.

Lady Veskur Wyrd was much as Endrall remembered her – unkempt hair and ruffled clothing, eyes maddened from far too little sleep and far too much energy. She stepped out of her carriage and ran a hand through her hair, walked into the inn that he had told her to go to, people that believed the lies he had told them looking at her with narrowed eyes. Veskur didn’t notice them, took a seat, ordered something to drink, sat and began to mull things over; Endrall watched over her for a time. He had arrived hours previously but he affected being late, going so far as to apologize for it before wrapping her in his arms.

He felt her stiffen and he smiled as he felt her resolve slowly vanish, the scent and presence of him overwhelming her pathetic need to stand apart. She told him she had brought him a gift once they had parted and showed her what had been wrought; an offering of power, a draught of the liquefied life-force of Midgard herself. Endrall eyed it and smiled, the two of them settling in to eat as she stumbled her way through a conversation. She was trying so very hard.

They talked at length about many things; why Figo had left her and what had happened to him since, about Endrall’s heated affair with Hekro. It secretly pleased him to know that Veskur had not been with anyone since he had left her to rot in the northern wastes, but that very leaving was an event that had stuck in her craw, a lack she felt the need to hold against him.

You left me,” Veskur said, holding one knee against her breast at the table, staring at him with eyes that held far too much to be real. “You were an absence in my life in every way. I couldn’t get a hold of you. You clearly didn’t want me anywhere near you. So why am I here now?”

This is why you can’t be trusted. I don’t owe you anything for this,” Endrall said, waving one hand in casual dismissal, taking the tone of an adult speaking with a difficult child. “I was angry with you. I hate you. I don’t trust you. It’s perfectly okay for me to not be in your life when I’m angry with you.”

You could have let me know.”

Endrall shrugged. They moved on to other topics.

Endrall told her about what he’d done with his time since escaping Jesam the First, how he had returned home to a hero’s welcome and how even his father had been there to greet him. Veskur listened with rapt affection, asking the occasional question as Endrall waxed about his accomplishments in the field of healing. Already he was beginning to eclipse the works of his father; his theories were bearing fruit in every field of medicine that House Suwilo practiced and many felt it was only a matter of time before his works dominated the studies of every noble in his House.

He asked Veskur what she thought of that but the woman was not gushing enough in her praise, so he interrupted her, speaking for her. He knew from long experience that anything that she had to say would just anger him – he told her this, looking into her eyes.

It’s not just what you have to say,” he told her. “It’s how you say it.”

She started whining about being spoken to in such a way, so he paid for his own food and left the inn, staring in the window as the woman sat there dumbly, staring at the gift that he had neglected to take and the emptiness that was where he had been. Eventually, she struggled to her feet, dropped some gold for her meal with the innkeeper and shuffled out after him.

You speak with too much flair,” Endrall told her. “What you say, what you feel, it isn’t that important and it certainly isn’t as deep as you make it sound.” She said nothing, merely following him as he walked away from the city and into the woods surrounding it.

She said nothing, merely following him as he walked away from the city and into the woods surrounding it.

See, here’s the thing with you, Veskur. You make it sound like you’re so much more than you are by speaking in terms of poetry and philosophy, but we both know you’re little more than an empty shell. You whine and moan about being so tired, so lonely. You talk about how Figo abandoned you but we both know you never cared about Figo; you just liked having him around to boost your own ego. If you had cared about him, well, you never would have done what you did.

But you did do what you did. And, no, I don’t have to apologize for what I said then. I don’t think you’re a rapist and I never said that but I do think that you’re a monster. You’re incapable of even the most basic kindness without expecting something in return, you like putting people in your debt. It’s why I don’t trust you, why we’re not friends, but it is simply who and what you are. You should be hated for it, but you know what? I love you anyway. I love you because I’m kind, because I’m great, because I’m the one of us that’s worthy.

I don’t trust you, Veskur. You talk about yourself too much, the things you feel and the things you think, and you talk about them as if either of them matter. Yes, you can hold me. Do so now. I’ll tell you everything important, share with you all my deepest secrets. I’ll rely on you, take comfort in you, be supported by you, but you must remember that you are not worthy of the trust that I have chosen to give you. We are not friends. You understand this? We are not friends.

I read your missives and they were all poetry, all asking which of us had it worse. It’s you that does, a thousand times you, and do you know why? Because, in the end, I have my father’s love. I have Figo and Hekro and I’ve had Sotaas in ways you never will. I touched their hearts in ways that you’re not capable of. And look at you, all alone, rotting away in the wastes that your parents gave you.

My father loves me, supports me, but he never gave me my own keep. He never really gave me very much beyond love and support. So, you see, I’m better than you. I’ve built everything I am while you just accept everything that comes your way. You suffer the abuses that you do because you think you deserve it and you are absolutely correct in that thought.

And you love me, right? You love me. Say it. Say it. Say it.”

I love you.”

Of course you do.”

He held her, drew her into his arms, and he knew in that moment that everything would be alright for the people that mattered.

 

You can read the next chapter by clicking here. If you like the artwork, why not go and thank Meghan Duffy at duffyartdesign.com? She’s cool people.

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181

Geek Chic Hoplite

Culture, Lifestyle

March 23, 2017

Our CEO recently posted a picture of his new table to his facebook feed and got a general response of “yup, that’s a table.”

But it’s not just a table. It’s a Geek Chic branded Hoplite, and he wants to talk to you about what makes that special.

Our CEO needs more caffeine, clearly. The actual URL is www.geekchichq.com. The play he’s going to on Friday is Songs for a New World, which is playing at the PAL Studio Theater in Coal Harbour, Vancouver, and you can find out more about it by clicking here. We’ll have a review of it up on Saturday morning.

Aaron’s got a book out, which you can find learn more about by clicking here or purchase by clicking here. If you’d like to read a sample of his work, here’s a link to the last Love is War chapter, the next part of which goes live tomorrow.

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102

God of Comics: X-O Manowar #1

Books & Writing, Culture, God Of Comics, Reviews

March 22, 2017

X-O Manowar #1

We spent four years calling X-O Manowar the best of all comics. We then went into detail explaining why we said this, and you can read that explanation by clicking here. Everything we said still rings true and Valiant is about to take Aric of Dacia into a whole new storyline.

For those that don’t know, Aric of Dacia was a land-locked proto-Viking at war with Rome who mistook some aliens for Romans and attacked him. He got abducted, led a revolt, was chosen by their God, teleported back to earth more than a thousand years later, fought Italy until Italy surrendered, went back to free his people, and then brought his people home.

I’m brushing over the finer details for the sake of not repeating myself, but Aric saved the world, an alien civilization, and all sentient life in the cosmos. He learned and fought and began to desire only peace, and we learn that he found what he wanted at the beginning of this comic.

He’s given up the armor, settled on an alien world, and is tilling the land. All he wants is to tend his crops and live with his mate, an alien woman he’s met on this new and primitive world. He wants to be left alone, free from the war and violence that defined his every waking breath. Even the god-armor that gave him power lies dormant and Aric is finally at peace.

So, of course, some people are going to cross him and spoil everything.

Here’s the set-up: an alien army comes recruiting and decides to drag Aric to the front lines to be used as canon-fodder, but this is motherfucking Aric of Dacia, and he will win this battle so that he can go home, but the aliens leading this army won’t let him leave, won’t hold up their end, and are going to force him to fight. They have no idea who they’re dealing with or what they’ve awoken, because Aric of Dacia is not the sort of person you want to push around.

Matt Kindt is taking over writing duties from Robert Venditti, and if there’s anyone that can bear the weight of Venditti’s crown it’s got to be Kindt. He’s the force behind the utter brilliance that is divinity, also from Valiant, and if he brings the same sense of pathos and epic to this title that he brought to that one, then we’re in for one hell of a ride.

Tomas Giorello is handling the art, and you might know him from his work on various Star Wars and Conan the Barbarian comics, which might be the single greatest resume possible to work on X-O Manowar.

Seriously, get in now. If this run ends up being even a tenth as good as the original it will still be mind-blowingly excellent.

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