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Fiction – Love is War 03:00:03:03

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

March 17, 2017

Click here to read the previous entry. 

Sotaas watched as it all unfolded. There was nothing that could be hidden from him, not a moment that passed that he was unaware of. Oh, the warlords of the Coeecians thought they were secretive when they met in their eyries or caves or tents, but there was always wildlife around them and anywhere life prevailed he could see. Even in those places where there was no life he could go, slipping between their moments of awareness.

No place was safe from him. There was no where to which he was unattached, no distance he could not cross with a thought. All space was a single space to him, though as he become more aware of that it was harder for him to focus on a single location. There were times he felt like letting himself unravel, sinking into every measurement of length and width and depth until there was nothing left of him. Some sense of things always held him back, however.

Some sense of things. He wondered if he was going mad.

His left hand ached, sometimes, but still he refused to take the gaurn off. He had left the civilized world to calm himself and sort through his feelings for treacherous Veskur and unfaithful Endrall, but his efforts in that area had been underwhelming at best. A terrible anger grew in his heart, a rage and a hatred that no one would be able to withstand should he ever let it free.

Sotaas’ reasons for remaining in the wilds were, he would have thought, obvious.

Members of his House sometimes came looking for him. They were the best trackers and scouts in all Midgard, a House that prided itself on such activities. He stood in the midst, sometimes, and listened to their words, cobbling together a picture of what was happening among the Vanir as they made war on the Coeecians.

It all seemed so trivial out here and in the wilds. The idea that thousands and thousands of people were dying in every battle over some imaginary border, over which way of living was right. Couldn’t the Coeecians see how wrong they were? Were their thought processes too flawed to understand the superiority they consistently threw themselves against? It baffled Sotaas, left him thinking that there was some part of their physiology that was wrong. No matter how many of them he dissected, however, he was unable to discover what that mistake was.

So he wandered along the borderlands, unseen by all – his nation, his House, his Njord and Freyr and Freya. No one could find him due to his mastery of the ethcinos and he vowed that he would never know a personal tie again, never be bound by thought and heart to anyone that he could love. There would be no more friends who betrayed him, Njords that asked him to do unsavory things, lovers who soothed with words while stabbing into his guts with a smile.

He moved east and further east, past the Darroken lands and into the Middle Kingdom of a people called the Hsien, then further east still to a nation of shattered islands. It was here that the sun was born every day and here where he set down to watch light vanquish darkness every last mourning. There was something soothing about the birth of light, a vision taken in absolute solitude as the days slithered past and bled together.

“Sotaas?”

The voice startled him. The question in it wasn’t one of presence; the speaker knew he was there but wasn’t certain of his exact location. Sotaas turned and stared from a place of hiding, wondering if this woman – the inventor of the Science that kept him hidden – could see through that very Science. He did not think so, but had learned long ago that it was never wise to believe that a Lady like Veskur Wyrd had any limitations at all.

“I know you’re here.”

Sotaas circled her, his consciousness wandering through the world around her. Veskur was sitting down in a natural break in the woods they were in, her bum resting on the grass, her eyes downcast. She was trembling, frightened, though of what exactly Sotaas was not certain. He drew a dryw as he circled, considered jabbing it through the skull of his old friend as he stalked around her prone form. The Lady had to know what was happening but she offered no defense, did not even raise arms or head.

“I came to a-apologize.”

Sotaas stopped. He was not certain if he had ever heard that note of quiet desperation in Veskur’s voice – he had kept tabs on Endrall and Veskur only enough to know that there had been some sort of falling out between them. Endrall, he knew, had half-heartedly tried to contact him for a while, but even the ghost of attention that Sotaas paid the darling of House Suwilo allowed him knowledge of his old lover’s thoughts; when Endrall spoke of Veskur it was in nothing but insults. He had even taken Veskur’s name away, referring to her as the dryw.

“There’s a peace offering. Will you drink with me?”

Slow, gentle, Veskur shrugged a pack off her shoulders and opened it, producing a bottle of fine wine and two glasses. She possessed none of her usual arrogance right now, Sotaas saw, held none of the manic confidence that had always been her air and armor.

“Please? I’m sorry, Sotaas, I’m sorry for everything. I don’t, I didn’t…”

Sotaas was not certain when he took Veskur in her arms. They held one another for a time, grasping at one another, holding one another steady in the face of their separation. They discussed everything, leaving no truth unlit no matter the ugliness of it. They spoke for days, the sun rising and sleeping over them as they banished all the things that stood between them.

“I can forgive you,” Sotaas said, finally. “I can forgive you because you understand that you were wrong and you came out here to find me. Do not expect me to forgive him.”

“I wouldn’t ask that.”

“Did you know he asked me not to take a lover after he left?” Sotaas felt bile rise in his throat. “He told me it would break him to see me with someone else. And then, not a moon after his absence, he was lying with an echo of his mother.”

“Hekro.”

“If that is her name.” Sotaas scowled, clenched and unclenched his hands. “What has been happening in Midgard?”

“Much. Where would you like me to begin?”

“Politics and succession. I would like to know what sort of jungle I’m getting into now that I am rejoining the rest of the Vanir.”

Veskur smiled and nodded, telling Sotaas everything she knew.

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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409

Fiction – Love is War 03:00:01:04

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

September 4, 2015

Every week, we’re going to post some new fiction for you to devour and read, with original art as a header, and then a collected version for purchase from our store when the book is complete. Questions? Comments? The writers are right here, and they’ll respond as they’re able. 

***

Click here to read previous entry.

***

– 03:00:01:04 –

Deeam Wsael, the Apparent of House Wynn, studied the ballroom around him with his usual aloof demeanor. He had made a study of contented stoicism, achieving in that air a perfection that all his House strove for. He was a good man, strong and graceful, his deep baritone a voice sought for song, his strong arm and amhr sought out on the battlefield, his warm presence sought out by the romantically inclined of both genders. The rigors of the world seemed too small for him in the eyes of everyone else, but he accepted all that came his way with an easy grace. Many sought his ear and consul, knowing that he was to be the Duke of House Wynn, and likely the Freyr of all Midgard thereafter.

He scanned those that had risen to this occasion, a celebration to mark the reclamation of Ashaewulo’sabberkena just a few seasons past. The combined forces of Houses Gebo and Hagalaz had used the worst defeat the Vanir people had ever suffered in that valley to springboard themselves to ever greater victories. Their revenge now assured Vanir dominance over that complete area of land. He was told that the thanks fell to a number of generals and heroes, though a very brave few – the ones he trusted the most – whispered that all that had been won could be laid at the feet of a single woman.

That woman in question was easy to spot; she kept towards the back walls, thinking herself out of sight but merely being out of place. She looked uncomfortable in the dress uniform of a soldier, her hair a tangled and barely woven mess. She had added a strange glove to her ensemble in a style Deeam did not recognize. A single cup was held in one hand, untouched, while she looked at the various people around her with a bewildered smile. This was not a noble who was happy to be here, Deeam realized, not a person who was used to dealing with other people.

Another noble hovered around the woman, keeping everyone else at bay. A young man that Deeam recognized, one of the up-and-comers from House Jera who had been given Ashaewulo’sabberkena in the past and lost it with the disgraced Hekro Gherlid. Unlike the Golden Champion, this young man had found himself a captive of the Coeecians, surviving his time with them somehow. There was still a shine to him, a touch of some grace that Deeam recognized, like calling to like.

“What was her name again?” he asked.

“Do you mean the boy? He’s Figo, son of someone, born of House Jera.” Deeam turned to find the speaker, River Megru of House Mannaz, smiling. The other man was older, bigger, a harpist and something of a rake, his reputation as a genius matched only by his reputation for breaking hearts. He was currently sprawled in a chair, his fingers roaming over the strings of a large harp. “Ah, but your pronoun was feminine. That implies your curiosity is focused on the woman currently trying to avoid contact with everyone else. That would be Lady Veskur, daughter of someone, born of House Wyrd. She’s the one no one wants to credit with saving the day.”

“Thank you. Informative as always. Perhaps you might tell me why not?”

“Well, she’s crazy.” River sniffed, strumming his instrument as he took stock of the room. Deeam had never met anyone better at reading or riling a crowd. “Not much of a people person, not much of a leader, not really much of anything. And, also, House Wyrd. Do you know them? No? They’re one of those minor Houses that never seem to do anything. The rest of us keep hoping they’ll die out. We’d be better off without them.”

“There’s warmth in your voice when you speak of her.”

“I think it would be fun to settle her nerves.” River grinned, plucking a few more strings. “I’ve met her a few times. She’s got her own little hovel up in the north, lives there with a single servant. He’s fun. She reminds me of what I might have been like at her age if I’d been a reclusive little shit.”

“And so you have a soft spot for her.”

“You could say that.” River sighed, a look of frustration crossing his features – Deeam had watched River in the past and been amazed at his ability to insult people into doing what he wanted, but he knew from that expression that his favored method of influence had meant nothing to the woman they were both watching. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh. “I don’t get her, but she’s a good head if you ever want to discuss theory of any kind. There’s little else to her. She’s no Golden Champion. How’s Hekro recovering, by the way?”

“Lucky to be alive. Sahr Erison is seeing to her healing.”

“I’ve heard even Sahr can’t heal all her wounds.”

“Four seasons past and she’s still in intense care.”

“Give her to me. I’ll see her healthy again.”

“I’m sure you would,” Deeam chuckled, shaking his head and hoping that River would take the hint. “What can you tell me about Figo?”

“He still has all his teeth.” River shrugged. “To be honest? Afore Figo tied himself to her, I thought our dear Lady Wyrd preferred the company of her own gender, or maybe her letters and books.”

“Charming. Anything of actual interest you feel like sharing?”

“Not especially. I’ll be checking the youth at House Raido next, seeing if there’s anyone there worth noting, but I doubt it.” River glanced around. Deeam knew that expression, knew that the man had already decided who he would be insulting into bed that night. “I’ll get back to you. Oh, and your betrothed is here.”

Deeam looked around the room, trying to spot the mysterious woman that he was set to wed, caught sight of her. Those of her House dressed like no one else among the Vanir nation, every inch of her and her line covered in dark violet and blue fabrics. The nobles of House Pethro had shared a long association with a distant nation that always covered themselves thusly when dealing with outsiders; Pethro and her descendants had adopted the behavior. Many thought it was a restrictive practice, but Deeam knew better. He’d had taken the time to learn about the ways and customs of the woman that he was to marry.

He had initially been insulted when he had discovered that the real reason that the nobles of Pethro kept themselves so covered was spiritual hygiene, an insult that had been mollified when he came to understand that those same nobles considered him spiritually pure; it was the reason they wanted one of theirs to marry him.

Glow Packrt was her name. He could feel her eyes on him, could see that brief moment of stillness as she took in all that he was, feeling her approval wash over him. They walked towards one another, locking arms as the assembled nobility muttered and whispered.

Most of them did not approve, Deeam knew, but none of them mattered. The marriage was arranged and the two of them had discovered a passion for one another.

“I missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

He felt her fingers, her naked fingers, touch his and knew that there was no higher compliment that she could give him at that moment. He smiled, transcendent, the two of them making their way through the crowd. They moved with slow confidence, taking their time, pausing to dance when River stepped up to the podium to play his harp and sing, even Deeam even joined the rake from Mannuz on stage for a song or two. With two exceptions, there was not a single person he did not talk to in the early or mid-evening.

It was not until late evening that he finally managed to corner that final pair, but he had kept an eye on them all night.

“Good evening.” Deeam knew what to expect from them from what he had observed over the course of the night; Figo would take point, all smiles and friendliness, while Wyrd would stay behind and join the conversation as necessary. “I’m glad the two of you could make it.”

“Why?” Wyrd asked. It wasn’t a challenge, Deeam realized, but an honest question.

“He’s being polite,” Figo answered, rolling his eyes from Deeam to Veskur, his smile one of genuine affection. “It’s considered a good way to strike up a conversation with people you don’t know that well.”

“Oh.” Wyrd blinked, considering, then held out her ungloved hand with stiff politeness. “I’m glad the two of us could make it, too.” Deeam took her hand. She looked tall and frail but there was a manic strength to her, more a product of will than body.

“I hear you won back Ashaewulo’sabberkena for us,” Deeam said. Figo paled at the mention of the valley, but given what had befallen him at that place this was hardly surprising; Wyrd’s quick refusal, on the other hand, was.

“I just applied certain theories into practice that had been tested elsewhere.” She shrugged, looking pleased with herself. “The armies were the ones that actually fought. The generals and things. I just used Science.”

“What kind of science?” Deeam asked. Wyrd turned nervous and looked to Figo, who gave her a slight nod and him a quick wink.

“Okay. Okay.” Wyrd took a deep breath. “Current theory holds that everything is made up of energy that vibrates at different speeds in order to become different kinds of energy. This variation of vibratory speed results in different forms and a multiplicity of those forms. Holding those forms apart from one another requires a borderline structure, which I call rune structure.

“These structures funnel that core energy in different patterns, allowing it to interact with other forms in a set series of ways that are, potentially, infinite in their number. However, while the possible interactions are probably limitless, the circuits that the energies travel along are not, and, with the proper application of science and knowledge, one can make that energy travel in pre-determined ways. An application of this process of will over other is found in the common sciences.

“However, the common sciences are barbaric for the most part and the similarities between what our people do and, say the Coeecians and their rituals are matters of detail rather than knowledge. This is troublesome, as it implies that we are no more advanced than the Coeecians, or any of the other people that exist outside of Midgard. I believed that this fault was a matter of thought rather than a concrete rule, and so began studying these core energies, their applications, patterns, and behaviors.

“I discovered methods of solidifying the structures those energies traveled through into solid and definitive shapes that could not be broken. Common ritual searches through a plethora of possibilities and tries to bring the desired outcome to reality. By applying a solid form to one choice and only that choice, the scientist can destroy all other possibilities by creating a feedback loop from one undesirable possibility to the next, thus eliminating even the chance of those possibilities ever coming into being.”

“I see,” said Deeam, though he truly didn’t. Figo caught his eye and gave him a sympathetic smile as the Lady Wyrd, smiling and relaxed for the first time since he’d seen her, continued.

“This glove is a tool that allows those energies to be channeled in ways that I see fit,” she said, holding up her glove for his inspection. It looked like there were bits of wood woven into the fabric, and a blank disc was held suspended on the back of her hand. “It’s a circuit that summons forth whatever outcome I desire with respect to certain affinities while destroying any other outcome that might exist in any given action.

“For example, the structures that create living as opposed to unliving things have core behaviors and patterns with respect to the potential that they have as achieved through the applied chemical processes that we call birth. Different organisms of the same species possess different capabilities with respect to skills and ambitions, to say nothing of personality. Through the application of the equations and mechanisms that I have invented, one can influence, change, or define what those capabilities are and the tier at which they exist.”

“Interesting,” said Deeam, interrupting when Wyrd finally paused for breath. “There are other people that I still wish to speak with, but I would like to know more.” Deeam said this last only when he caught sight of the disappointment that festered in the woman’s eyes.

“I was planning to return home tomorrow to continue my work, but I could postpone.” Wyrd licked her lips, looking around nervously. Figo squeezed her hand. “Your Majesty.”

“That will be quite alright,” Deeam answered, nodding his head. “And, please, call me Deeam. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your studies but I cannot, regrettably, come to you. Why don’t I send someone your way who you can talk to at length?”

“The Lady Wyrd is uncomfortable with people she does not know in her home,” Figo said, a note of protectiveness in his voice.

“I can be mindful of that.” Deeam glanced around the room, caught sight of a certain rake and smiled. “I believe you know River Megru?”

“He is a passing friend, yes.” Wyrd glanced through the crowd, then bowed her head, her breathing unsteady.

“Why don’t I send him to you?” Deeam was pleased at Wyrd’s wordless response, though he noticed that Figo was less than happy at the suggestion. “You and he can discuss your theories at length. I believe he must make a stop at House Raido, then Isz, but I can have him veer north thereafter. I cannot imagine him taking longer than a season or two.”

“That will do, yes.” Lady Wyrd forced a smile. “I would be delighted.”

“Would you mind if I borrowed Lord Figo for a moment?” Deeam asked. Lord and Lady looked at one another. “It’s nothing of consequence. I just need to know some things about her House. I can leave you my betrothed as company, and it will only take a few moments.” Wyrd seemed uncomfortable with the idea until Glow brought up something having to do with the transference of energies, and then the two of them became consumed with their exchange of theory.

Lover is War 04

“Is she stable?” Deeam asked, as soon as he and Figo were out of earshot.

“Mostly,” Figo said, looking back at where the Ladies were talking. Deeam recognized the look of Figo, his sense of ownership when it came to the Good Lady Wyrd. “You can see why the others don’t like giving her accolades, though, right?”

“Yes,” Deeam said, studying the woman from a distance. “She’ll never be the type to rally the troops, will she? Never be social or comfortable around others.”

“She could be, she just doesn’t care to,” Figo shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “There’s passion there. Her House is thrilled that she’s let me into her home and that she seems to have taken an interest in me.”

“Do you care for her?”

“She saved my life.”

“But do you care for her?”

“She…,” Figo paused, considered the question. “There’s a surprising depth of passion in her, a hunger that I know she’s shared with no one else. She’s strange, brilliant.” Figo’s cheeks went red, his eyes distant. It was answer enough.

“Her glove… is it a simple mechanism or is there some trick to it?”

“I’m not certain. She keeps it to herself, though she’s told me she’ll make me one.”

“Figure out how it works,” Deeam said, looking around. “If one person wielding such a weapon can turn the tide of battle so simply, imagine what it would be like if all the nobility had such power? It would end violence among us.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

“I’ll do it.”

Deeam and Figo circled back to where Wyrd and Glow were still talking, the two Ladies discussing the applications of some form of what Deeam assumed was alchemy. Wyrd seemed excited again, her eyes bright as she smiled and admitted she knew nothing of what Glow was saying but that she would be eager to learn. Figo joined Wyrd and took her by the hand, leading her away, explaining that he and Glow would want to spend some time alone together, and the bewildered Lady followed her better half.

“What do you think of her?” Deeam asked his lover, but only once he was certain the other two were out of earshot but still within his sight. He could see how the two of them balanced each other, both of them naive in so many ways; Figo was as much diplomat as soldier, and his Lady would need both in the days to come. Still it was clear that Figo had been wounded by his time with the Coeecians – his savior was the perfect distraction, a rock upon which Figo could rebuild his world.

He thought that they complimented one another beautifully.

“She’s utterly mad.” Glow whispered. She was covered head-to-toe in the custom of her House, which made reading her expression impossible, but Deeam could see that she was shaking. “I am certain she knew nothing of the Lemurian concept of the soul, but the moment I began describing the basics she grasped it and started making sense of things that even I had trouble with. Have you heard the tales of her wondrous glove?”

“I have.”

“If anyone were capable of making such a weapon it would be she,” Glow whispered. “I’m not sure if her findings are a good thing or not. Did you hear what she plans on titling her application of Science?”

“What?”

Ethcinos. It’s a verb in the old Darroken tongue.”

“What does it mean?”

To Hope.

Neither of them took note of the winged guest who sipped at Deeam’s finest wines.

***

More is 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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764

Fumbling Towards Maturity

Opinion, The Truth

August 9, 2013

There’s this idea that giving something a rating because it contains nudity, foul language, sexual innuendo, drug use, actual sex, or ultra violence somehow makes it more mature than something that does not. This is something that needs to stop. None of those things are, in and of themselves, any more mature than a thing that lacks any or all of those qualities – it’s not the trappings, it’s the context of them that makes something mature. The quality of how those tools are used to tell whatever story they’re being used to tell. (more…)

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773

Casual Kindness

Lifestyle, Opinion, The Truth

March 31, 2013

Our passions and differences go a long way towards defining who we are and what we’re capable of – they are they very foundation of personal strength, and that is something that we need to remind one another of.  This is why I’m sick of the idea that strength is about tearing people down for their passions, differences, or definitions. That doesn’t do anything other than promote insipid acts of cruelty that spiral down into self loathing for everyone involved. (more…)

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469

… and Faith from Ashes

Opinion, The Truth

February 23, 2013

It’s been noted that physical laws tend to carry over from one scale to the next: the microcosm reflects the macrocosm. Ideas, information, and systems are all the same thing. Even we, as people, are made up of different kinds of information, be that information RNA or memory.

As we age we have a tendency to become more fixed in what we believe to be true and more dismissive of new information, thinking that age gives us the right to ignore change. If we make that choice and cease allowing new information to take root within ourselves, we condemn ourselves to pining for what was instead of reaching for what could be. (more…)

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389

The Death of Religion…

Opinion, The Truth

February 15, 2013

I’m gonna piss some people off. That’s fine. It’s alright to be mad – religions have become one of the things we define ourselves by and use to explain the world around us. We believe, we have Faith, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a fine thing to hold onto.

Except it isn’t, or wasn’t. The Industrial Age engendered a strong sense of nihilism and controlled information because it needed those qualities to shape the world into what that paradigm needed the world to be – a place of finite resources that needed to be mined. It was able to undermine priesthoods the world over through science (not that this was science’s fault) by disproving certain tenants that various dogmatic religions held true. (more…)

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640

Paradigm Shifts Happen

Opinion, The Truth

January 13, 2013

Last time, we touched on the idea of paradigm shift. This is actually some pretty heady stuff, but it’s a concept that needs to be addressed.

See, the world changes. Our understanding of the world changes. We are not the apex of human thought or evolution, and not even necessarily the apex of human thought or evolution throughout history. Our species is in a constant state of flux and our understanding of the world goes with it.

We’re doing things now that would have been considered impossible five hundred years before now, and it’s likely we’ll be doing things five hundred years down the line that we currently believe are impossible. We laugh at our forebears’ understanding of reality and their simple moralities, but our descendants will laugh at ours, so try not to judge what came before you without considering the time in which those understandings and moralities came from. (more…)

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638

Bullshit Journalism

Opinion, The Truth

January 2, 2013

You might not know this, but at one point news was supposed to be objective.

Well, as objective as possible – true objectivity is impossible, as we’re all the sum of our perspectives and experiences. The news has always been slanted for or towards its audience, not really telling people anything they don’t want to hear. We don’t want to know that whatever bad guys we’re fighting are like us, and we don’t want to know that our comforts come at a cost. Fair enough. (more…)

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