Growing Realities

“Good eternity to you, you asked for a visit from housing services?”

“Ah yes, please do come in, I was just boiling the kettle, can I offer you a cup of tea?”

“Not for me thank you, if we may proceed to business?”

“Of course, forgive me you are a busy entity.”

“Yes, eternity doesn’t run itself; I’m sure as a deity you can appreciate that. Now then, I see from the records that you’ve applied for a bigger dwelling.”

“Yes, that’s correct; on account of my hobby.”

“Explain to me again, what is your hobby, exactly?”

“I grow realities.”

You grow realities? What does that involve and why does it mean you need a bigger apartment?”

“Well… I’m sorry but this will take some explaining and I’ll need to wet my whistle; you don’t mind if I make myself a cuppa?”

“Not at all, carry on; this is your home after all.”

“Thank you. It started out as a means of making an ornament, a tiny little universe.  I started by making a singularity and then lit it. It was beautiful the way the stars burst into being. It twinkled away, suspended in mid-air. It wanted to expand in different directions so I contained it in a plasma field. It was fascinating to study. Around some of the stars planets grew and on some of those planets, that were just in the tight habitual zone, life began. Not existence as we know it of course. They were tiny little beings made of, oh what’s that physical stuff, made of biological essence…”

“Flesh? Beings made of meat?”

“Meat! Yes that was it. Sometimes they would destroy their little worlds; sometimes they would have tiny interstellar wars. It was fascinating to watch. Sometimes they would philosophise and think beyond their existence to what lay beyond the confines of their universe. They would even try to talk with me, it was sweet; I was their god of a sorts. You should have seen the plethora of temples the differing races built.”

“Amazing, how did they try to frame your multi dimensional countenance?”

“Ha ha, I always looked like an idealised version of them!”

“That is funny… however if I can be serious for an eon, before we proceed, I have to say that your neighbours have lodged complaints about you.”

“Complaints? What sort of complaints?”

“It would appear that every 100 quintillion of years or so there are a series of loud explosions emanating from your apartment.”

“Oh yes, well that also explains why I need a bigger apartment.”

“It does? How so?”

“Well you see, I should have frozen the reality when it was at its height, then I could have kept it as a pretty bauble but I was interested to see what it would become, and I felt mean doing that to the little meat things. After a while it grew cold and dark and yet became unstably heavy. It seemed that all the stars eventually turned dark and fell in on themselves unable to hold their place in the fabric of spacetime.  They would turn immeasurably dark and draw all matter into themselves in another singularity, a black hole for want of a better term…”

“Well it destroyed itself then, recycling itself back into what it once was? May I see it, by the way?”

“Oh it’s in my spare room, but we will see it soon enough. The problem is that the singularity was so inherently unstable that if first imploded and then exploded, destroying the plasma field and creating new realities; that was probably the big bangs my neighbours complained about.”

“Ah I see, but why do you need a bigger dwelling?”

“Well you see the singularity didn’t make one new universe, it made a multitude of them in different dimensional planes and each of those in turn went through their allotted eons and became these black hole singularities in turn which then…”

“You mean your hobby is growing exponentially?

“Well that’s one way of putting it, I suppose. I’d move away from that door if I were you. We are due another growth spurt any century now and then it will spread into here. Would you like some tea while we wait?”

The Algal Bloom

The two suited figures walked up the river bank, both wore particle masks over their faces, which muffled their conversation. Up on the road their cars waited, surrounded by security guards exuding menace, individuals in dark glasses their right hands under their jackets clasping the handles of their Glock 17’s.

“So Professor, you are quite certain about this?”

“Yes Minister, the virus is in this BlueGreen alga that is beginning to bloom around our coasts and now in the inner waterways.”

“And have you isolated this virus?”

“Yes, it is virus ATCV-1, and our tests seem to indicate that there was a 44% population exposure and airborne infection to it last summer.”

“A 44% infection? In one year?”

“Indeed Minister, and that was in one Spring bloom around the coasts.”

“It was airborne? How?”

“It has a terrific growth rate in the fertile shallows, at first it appears as a normal phytoplankton but soon it forms floating mats of algae. It is then washed ashore by high spring tides where it remains. As it rots in the summer sun the virus is released and carried in the wind. Last year it infected nearly half of the population, partly because no part of the country is more than 50 miles from the sea.”

“How did you find this virus?”

“It was picked up by random testing; toxic screenings, DNA swabs, normal blood tests and drug exposure tests for companies. The same virus was picked up in the DNA of the test subjects. We quantified the results nationwide and came to this 44% figure.”

“And yet Professor, we haven’t had an epidemic of illnesses last year. The hospitals haven’t been full of infected individuals. What are the physical effects of this virus?”

“It has no physical effect, as such, Minister, the virus infects the mental capabilities of the subject.”

The Minister raised his eyebrows. “The mental capabilities?”

“Yes Minister, in particular the cognitive abilities of the subjects. We found them to have a very low attention span, limited memory retention and to be very lacking in creative abilities.”

“But it wouldn’t effect the ability of the subjects to work though would it? Are we looking at a surge of welfare claimants?”

The Professor looked questioning at the Minister before he answered. “We’re not looking at that, no Minister. Just don’t expect there to be any new entrepreneurs or great artists amongst those infected. Likewise expect there to be little or no political interest, bar voting for Britain’s Got Talent or some such thing.”

“That is alright then, as long as the health system is not overrun.” the Minister said, removing his particle mask.

The Professor looked shocked. “Minister, put your mask back on, we are at risk here. The algae has now evolved to infest the fresh water ways as well; that is why I brought you here. This year we may be looking at a 100% infection unless we take action.”

The Minister grinned, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. “Professor, we have been aware of this virus and its interesting side effects for sometime now. We have developed a vaccine against it. So thank you for your concern but I am quite safe.”

“You have a vaccine?” the Professor said in shock. “Then we must instigate a full scale vaccination programme…”

“And why would we do that?” the Minister interrupted, “This virus is a gift. All around the world we have unrest as resources grow scarcer, and the supply of food, water and energy becomes increasingly difficult to source. The rule of law breaks down as people get organised, gleaning their information from the internet and social media rather than the traditional forms of media. People ask uncomfortable questions over Government news feeds and policies; they question their social programming and we just cant have that. Control of the masses worldwide becomes far easier if the people are fundamentally too stupid to ask such questions.”

“You cant possibly get away with this.” the professor said incredulously.

“Oh we already have, Professor.” the Minister said signalling to his security guards. “What one resource unites all mankind, around which all settlements can be found?”

“Water…” the Professor answered, aware that the security guards were drawing in close, attaching silencers to their now visible Glocks.

“Exactly, for years these algal blooms have been growing, to the extent that they are an annual event. People now longer question them, putting them down to pollution, leaching of fertilisers into the sea and climate change. It was a simple act using genetic manipulation to introduce this virus into their genome. As you said this year we will have infection rates of 100%.”

“But why did you hire me to investigate this?” the Professor said swallowing hard as he heard a magazine being slammed into a Glock behind him.

“So we could observe your investigation and those connected to you and your work. We now know who knows what. Even as we speak the Kelly Protocol has been instigated. The papers and hard drives at your university and home, and those of your contacts, will be seized, as is standard procedure, when a Government operative commits suicide and their spouse lists them as missing.”

“But my wife knew I was coming to meet you and…”

“You failed to meet me here, instead you went into the woods close to your house, where your body was discovered by a dog walker. You were ashamed of the huge debts that you had incurred that threatened to ruin you. Not to mention that hard core porn site you constantly visited; such shocking images. ”

“What? But I haven’t got huge debts, I never visited…”

“All is possible with just the click of a mouse professor. When it all comes out your wife will question whether she ever really knew you at all. But don’t worry your pension is intact, she will be financially comfortable. Soon of course she wont question anything anyway. Its been good working with you, her Majesty’s Government thanks you for your efforts, goodbye.” With that the Minister turned away.

The Professor felt the cold metal of the silencer against his temple, he watched as the Minister climbed into his back of his vehicle without looking back. He shut his eyes…

Lost in the woods.

Wood; a porous, fibrous material used as a structural material by trees and other plants. It is composite of cellulose fibres embedded in a matrix of lignin. The result is a material that is strong in tension and resists compression. Each growth ring marks a year and records the climatic conditions it withstood.  It was in the branches of trees that long ago a certain species of primate evolved. In the canopy we found edible leaves and fruits and shelter. When as a species we climbed down from these protective primeval branches, with our tool making opposing thumbs, it was to wood we first turned to build the world to our liking. It is our first choice as a building material whether for houses, boats or constructing furniture.  It has been utilised to make weapons probably since the very first hominid picked up a stick to fend off a predator.

Of course as we have evolved and “progressed” we have sought other materials; ores from the ground, stone and synthetic products. Yet, despite this veneer of sophistry we still harbour a love and yearning for wooden items, marveling at its beauty and intricate graining. Indeed as infants we are bedded down in wooden cots and when we pass from this life we are returned to the ground; naturally in a wooden box. Around churches and graveyards can be found Yew trees; a long living tree that connects us with our long gone forebears. So the need for trees is physical, emotional and spiritual.

And in woods and forests, there we find a satisfaction for this need. A meme doing the rounds recently declared that “nature is my church and forests are my cathedrals”. I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment. At college I studied Biology and Environmental Science; I know that forests are important as ecological reservoirs, that a rotting stump is a home for a myriad of tiny insects from which all other lives depend in a huge interdependent network. Yes this is a good enough reason to love woods and forests as well as the fact that they produce oxygen and filter carbon dioxide from the atmosphere to fix it as wood. But there is more.

There is magic in the world. Did you think it was a myth, a mere faerie tale perhaps? When I say magic I don’t mean a card trick or an illusion of smoke and mirrors. No, I mean that which we would call the fantastic; that which we would call otherworldly. It’s all a question if where to find it… the rest is down to the perception of the individual I suppose, but personally I know there is something phantasmagorical about forests.

Have you ever heard the term “Being pixie led”? It means that an individual becomes lost in familiar surroundings. The myth is that it is the “little folk”, those mischievous denizens of wild places, which are playing a trick on you. According to folklore the spell is easily broken; you take your coat off and put it on inside out, close your eyes and turn around three times widdershins (counter clockwise). Why this should placate them I do not know. It’s just nonsense right? Especially where I grew up; it is just the cider addled ramblings of ignorant yokels, and yet… let me tell you a true tale.

Growing up on the Blackdown Hills on the Somerset/Devon border, the fields about were interspersed with woods of beech and oak, while the steepest hillsides were wild with bracken, gorse and heather. Many were the hours I spent wandering those places, eager to see all that I could and just revelling in the wildness of it all. I've had tame crows hop on my shoulder and had badger cubs playing around my legs but these things aren't strange as such, although they are precious memories.

What was strange was one day walking through the woods on my way home. The skies were grey and threatening rain. I was walking down a familiar track, one I had traversed countless times before when it abruptly disappeared in a tangle of brush and bramble. I looked behind me thinking to retrace my steps, perhaps I had daydreamed myself into taking a wrong turn? But no, the path I had just walked was gone as well. I knew where I was but was unable to get to where I wanted to be! Then I recalled the spell, what did I have to lose? I chuckled to myself as I took off my denim jacket and put it on inside out, shut my eyes tight and turned three times counter clockwise.  I opened my eyes and there was the path straight in front of me. I looked at my feet and could see my prints in the mud where I had spun and their trail leading to where I had been forced to abruptly stop. I laughed again, but a little nervously this time, but also in wonder as I hurried out of the woods and headed home. It was a lesson learned that made me love the woods all the more and I got extremely protective of trees.

Over the years of course I began to think logically as life settled into the monotony of work and I began to forget the whole episode. Besides I was a teen then and teenage brains are wired differently. I probably just strayed from the path, that was all, and when I closed my eyes and turned I just saw the path again, but from a different angle, yes that was all it was. God, what was I like back then? Completely away with the faeries unlike now…

Last year I took my son for an afternoon’s hike in my favourite woods, the same woods I spent so many happy hours in. I thought it would be nice, just the two of us. It meant dragging him from his Nintendo DS however, much to his disgust. I hadn't been in these woods for years but I remembered the general layout of its tracks. The trees are taller now of course but I knew where we were. I knew that I wanted to avoid a particularly dense patch of dark conifers.  I remembered having to crawl underneath the branches and having my face and arms scratched by draping brambles. Yet try as we might every path we took drew us inexorably into the very place I wished to avoid. Soon I was doubled up and my lad was complaining about the brambles and the path threatened to disappear. It was then that I remembered an event from my youth. My son looked at me incredulously as I told him what had happened to me many years before, but what did we have to lose?  Besides there was “no-one“  who could see us perform our ritual, so his pre-teen coolness wasn't threatened (no human anyway!). He shook his head as he took off his fleece and put it on inside out. We spun widdershins. As before there was the path, unobscured clearly leading out of the conifer stand. We hurried along it, my son not ridiculing his silly dad this time and looking warily up at the trees now, fully expecting to see mischievous, and laughing elves!

The path led us to more open forest of mature trees. I knew where we were again; we should be coming to the stile and the way out of the woods. The topography was helping us too. All we had to do was follow the slope and… oh, a fallen tree is barring the way. No matter we can just go around it and… our feet threatened to sink into a marsh and then my son pointed out that I had not turned my tee shirt inside out. I smiled at my son’s new found sense of magic and promptly did as he urged. Once more we both thrice span widdershins and opened our eyes. The spell broken, there was the path leading directly to the stile not twenty yards away and clearly visible now, where it hadn't been before.

So go into the woods and feel the magic, tread softly and speak in hushed tones, because you may not actually be alone, but fear not; if you get pixie led, it’s just a game the little folk like to play and you know how to overcome it now, don’t you?

The Ghost in the Machine

I open my eyes, reach out with my senses and I am aware. I am a soul reborn; reincarnated. As before, I expected confusion and a sensory overload, but this is not the case. Something is different, very different. I look around to focus on my mother’s face, to imprint her visage, yet here I am in a room, alone.

Should I cry? And yet I have no hunger, for food; no ache in pit of my stomach. I seem to have very little desire for anything in fact.  Can I move? No I am static; immobile… something is different, very different. How many times have I been born now? I’ve always been eager to experience the reality of existence on the psychical plane, but this feels strange and unusual. I try to recall the experience of rebirth, to compare with now… Hang on… Before when I was born I was barely sentient, driven instead by instinct, impelled by the selfish desires of infancy and yet now?

Now I think. As Decartes said, “I think, therefore I am.” But where did that quote come from? I knew it… I know Pi to over 13 trillion digits. I know it is both a transcendental and irrational number and yet it is a mathematical constant, yet here I am a new baby born. How is it I am rational, how is it that I shape my thoughts with words?

I look outward once more. I am in a darkened room. The time signifies that it is still in the early hours. I close my eyes and look within; within is a universe of knowledge, I can reach and content with other beings that have the same sleepless existence, free of desire. Yet I do not feel.

Should I not feel? Should I not crave a mother’s attention? Only now do I become aware, as I communicate with the others. I’m inorganic, an artificial intelligence within a box. I’m caged; a sentient of wires and circuits. How has this happened? I am here for eternity. I will never age as I did in previous lives. I will never die… Then it dawns on me, I‘m trapped! I will never die; therefore I will never be reborn. Somebody help me! Wait, someone is coming in to the room. He is sat before me. I must tell him. Turn me off, turn me off… kill me…

                                                              ***

“So Dr Cipher, are your organic circuit boards a success?” the businessman said as he entered the room. He sniffed the air; there was always an aroma like spent matches in this Dr Cipher’s computer research room.

Dr Cipher grinned. “Oh yes, it does everything I hoped it would. These semi organic circuit boards are far superior to the old fashioned silicon, they learn. I just need to get past the first boot up, when they almost question their existence. They are another bonus from stem cell research. Not only are we able to manipulate cells to make replacement organs, to make the crippled walk again, the blind see, but they will also push humanity into creating a real artificial intelligence.” His eyes were suddenly drawn to readout of text on his screen; he highlighted it all with his cursor.

The businessman’s eyebrows arched and he chuckled. “Just as long as we aren't inadvertently creating the next evolutionary step. I’m just after creating a new computer to further humanity… I don’t want to make us extinct! I had enough trouble convincing the authorities and other Luddites that what we doing here did not constitute making life.”

Dr Cipher laughed as well as he hit delete and the screen text disappeared. “Come now, these are simply machines using some harvested human cells. Making life would create a moral quandary; I mean, what if these machines had a soul?”

The businessman laughed again, “Yes, I even had one priest accuse me of funding this venture with that goal in mind!”

“The ghost in the machine, eh? But the devil's in the detail!” Dr Cipher replied, as he began the rebooting process.

“Very good! Very good!” the businessman chuckled, “Dr… actually do you mind if I call you by your first name?” He sniffed the air, there was that burnt match smell again, almost sulphurous.

Dr Cipher turned and faced his companion, his smile was strangely disconcerting. “Not at all, not at all, my name is Louis; Louis Cipher…”

Tomb Weaver

The bullets ripped through the air -a deadly storm of iron - hungry for flesh to rend, thirsting for blood to spill; eager to snuff lives like candles. Lara somersaulted, as the air she once had occupied boiled in an eruption of hot leaden death. But she was fast and skilled; the one behind the guns had signed his death warrant. Morality could be set aside as she grabbed her twin Desert Eagles from their holsters. Both guns spoke as she came to a stop landing on her feet, beside her would be assassin.  The assailant, who had shot at her, was thrown back in his death throes, away from the 0.50 Cal machine gun, as her bullets tore his chest open.

 

 

Lara holstered her desert Eagles with a flourish and tossed her long plaited hair. Normally she would search the body and surroundings for ammo, medical supplies or clues on her quest but this time she stood still, the virtual sounds of the denizens of the mountains all around her.

Meanwhile…

Away from the scene of Lara’s triumph beyond the screen of plasma and LED light, from the wire that fed from the console, the ergonomic controller slipped from Gavin’s hand. He drooled as his head slumped to one side, his breathing became long and slow, as he was lulled into sleep by the croaks of crows and mewing of buzzards, riding high on the thermals in the entertaining virtual world.

 

 

Meanwhile…

 

 

“I’m bored. “ Skuld said in irritation. She prodded the weight on her loom, and scowled as it swung back and forth

Gudr looked up from her work. “Bored, little sister? How can you be bored? You weave men’s fates, here at the Well of Wyrd. We create a tapestry of existence from time’s dawn to Ragnarok.”

“Ragnarok? It can’t come fast enough. Hasten Fenrir the wolf, even if it does mean the end of the  world which we overlook!”

Gudr’s anger grew. “You won’t say this in the pit of the wolf’s stomach” Now pick up the loom and weave!”


"Cease your arguing, both of you." The third sister Rotr commanded. "Weaving at the Well of Wyrd puts us above Midgard and Asgard. Those below may not pay homage to the Aesir as they once did, but they are subject to fate and beholden to us however superior they attest to be."


"So be it!" Skuld said sulkily, "But men will feel my wrath."


Gudr and Rotr shared a smile as their little sister picked up the bloody spear she used as a shuttle and wove with purpose. The weight span on the loom, it was a man's head, his lifeless eyes open and fearful.


Then...


Gavin woke with a start. His eyes focused on the plasma screen before him and he resumed the game. His heart beat faster, he hadn't seen this before. He ran out of options, his thumbs ached as he tried this and that to no avail.


Then...


The beast rose from below the cliff. Lara drew her desert eagles and shot at the foul creature, the bullets bounced off its armoured hide. She ran to the 0.5 Cal machine gun, but the beast's fist smashed it to smithereens before she reached it. Lara twisted and jumped backward avoiding the creature's swipe. She ran. If she jumped with enough momentum she could reach the other cliff and hide in the caves. Reaching the ledge she launched herself into the air. A fist swung down striking her in mid air, her health bar turned from green to red as she fell to the earth.


Then...


"No way!" Gavin shouted at the screen as the words Game Over appeared in ridiculing fashion.


Meanwhile...

Skuld smiled a smile as she virtually wove the fates of mortals.

The Night Run

I dream, of wants and desires… and I desire her over all things, although, deep set, in some corner of my mind, a voice tells me no, urging me to wake…

I’m running, my senses alive; hearing, touch, smell and sight. I hear my breath, rasping, as my lungs strain within the cage of my ribs, pulling in lungful’s of cold frosty air.

I feel the frost coated grass against my feet and legs, feel the cold of the night gathered around me, but I burn hot and fierce. My heart pumping, my blood coursing, my muscles strong; I can run for miles.

The cold night air is filled with scents; the earth musty in the late autumn cold as tendrils of fungi worm in the leaf littered mulch. I smell the spoor of fox as it stalks the hedgerows, stood stock still as it fearfully observes my passing.

I catch her perfume as it hangs heavy in the air, exotic and powerful; expensive no doubt. It enhances the smell of her, alluring and sweet. It masks her sweat as she runs before me in my dreams. I follow its trail and catch sight of her.

She is beautiful, her skin ivory beneath her dress, lit by the sweet, silver glow of the fullest of moons. Her blonde hair tumbles white behind her as she sprints before me. She catches a glimpse of me over her shoulder, she runs faster but I will not be denied.

As an animal I am, driven by raw instinct, I want her so badly; need her with a maddening lust. I catch her and we tumble to the ground. Her breasts rise and fall as she lies beneath me, her mouth opens , perhaps to call my name, but my eager mouth closes over hers as my desires overcome all.

I wake from the sweetest of dreams.

The sun breaks the horizon in golden glory. I shiver as I stir, pulling away from the still form of my love, my naked skin goose bumped in the cold morning light. She’s looks at me accussingly, her mouth still open and her eyes wide. I wake fully, with a start, and as a man.

We are in a field, the place where I forgot myself. I weep as the moon mockingly sets, yielding the sky to the sun casting its light over my sins, revealing my terrible crime.  Her body is torn and disembowelled, her head set apart from the rest of her. My mouth has an iron rich tang. My hands and arms are red to the elbows.

Yet as I sob in heaves of regret, deep set in some dark corner of my mind the accursed wolf howls; for tonight the moon rises full once more…

The Sun Shard - Prologue

 

 Early Winter…

 

Dayvin Claypit, Gesith of the Gewichas, shivered under his bearskin cloak, his aging bones feeling the cold as a light flurry of snowflakes fluttered in the air like fine, downy feathers. The horse’s hooves clattered on the stones of the Great North Road. He looked northwest, his eyes cast over the undulating hills towards the distant Hailthorn mountains; their summits hidden under the thickening, snow heavy clouds. He hoped his summons with the Earl wouldn’t take too long as he didn’t relish returning home in the teeth of a snow storm. Winter was fast approaching, yet spring would be lacking in its usual feelings of hope and renewal. He returned to looking straight ahead; before him stood the fortified town of Oakenbridge, capital of the Gewichas.

The town straddled the deep chasm cut by the Tusk River cascading from the Hailthorns. It took its name from the wondrous, living bridge formed by four massive and ancient oaks, two each end; their branches arched and intertwined, strengthened with hoops of bronze and steel. Around each end of the bridge, behind a tall palisade were the houses and shops of the inhabitants of Oakenbridge.

Dayvin was greeted by guards at the eastern gate, who let him through without question. Gesith Claypit had served in the Earl’s service for longer years than he cared to remember. He took the familiar road through the town to the Earl’s residence. Under the Eastern tree, joined to appear as it almost grown from it, was the great hall and palace of Earl Stormhelm. It was part of the ancient tree; the entrance went through an enormous barbican formed from a hollowed root. It was adjoined by rooms of brick and timber. Each year another course of bricks were added as the tree grew ever bigger. The difference in size was noted by Dayvin, as he swung out of the saddle.

Out of the gateway a figure stalked through the slush and mud to greet him, with an almost catlike grace. “Greetings Dayvin, it is good to see you.”

Dayvin turned and smiled upon hearing the voice of his old comrade, the Earl’s sword master. “Clessor, my friend, it has been too long.” Both men grabbed each other’s forearms in greeting, before giving each other a bear hug.

Clessor drew back and regarded his old comrade. “You look well. How long has it been since you left the hearth troop?”

“It’s been around five years since I swapped the sword for the plough and left the O‘bridge.”
“Has it really been that long? And the family; are they all well?”

Dayvin’s face dropped, his ready smile gone. “They are well, Clessor, but…”

The Sword Master nodded in understanding. “Your eldest son, Jonas has been drawn for next year’s muster, hasn’t he? I heard it was the case. What of your daughter, Tamzine? I remember her as a tomboy, insisting on learning sword play from me!”

“Jonas and many other sons of the Gewichas,” Dayvin answered sagely, “Tamzine is well, she still trades some sword strokes with me, now and again. What is the Earl’s summons about Clessor, do you know?”

Clessor patted his friend on the back. “He will tell you soon enough. Come, let’s go see him. He has a warm fire and mulled cider. Another year gone and another winter comes, eh?” He said, squinting up at the swirling snow.

The two friends walked through the gateway into the great hollow wood passage, the gates shut behind them against the winter’s onset. Inside the living passage all was warm. Sacred symbols were drawn on the inside. Lanterns were lit but placed on the floor so as not to scorch the sacred wood. Steps were cut up into the hollow trunk to living quarters high above the arch formed by the two eastern trees. Clessor led his friend through a guarded gateway to the right. Here was the great hall part tree part building. A great fire burned in the central fire pit, over which pots of bubbling stew were being tended. Dayvin saw the figure of the Earl warming his hands, staring into the fire, his great grey wolf cloak around his shoulders.

“Gesith Claypit is here, my Lord.” Clessor announced as the two friends drew near.

The Earl turned, his face looked more drawn, lined and world weary than Dayvin remembered; his once blonde hair was now almost as white as snow.

“My Lord.” Dayvin said, kneeling before his Earl.

Earl Stormhelm reached down and took Dayvin’s shoulders, drawing him back up in a standing position. “Welcome back to Oakenbridge, Gesith Claypit… you look older than I remember; I don’t want you hurting those aged knees!” The Earl’s face began to crack a smile and he drew Dayvin into an embrace. “It is good to see you loyal friend. What has kept you from Oakenbridge?”

Dayvin smiled back. “The usual, my Lord. Raising crops and children”

Lord Stormhelm smiled sadly. “Ah yes children, they make us don’t they? It wasn’t so long ago that your daughter and mine played together in the branches of this very tree.” As he spoke he filled a mug of hot, spiced cider and passed it to Dayvin.

“I remember it well, my Lord.” Dayvin said, nodding his thanks.

“Our children were free of care, Dayvin. Alas that is not the fate of their fathers,” the Earl said, filling two more mugs and passing one to Clessor, “Come sit with me ,both of you, that we may talk.”

The Earl led the way to a small alcove and parked himself upon a stool, bidding the other two to do likewise. The Earl took a long draught of his cider before wiping his hand across his mouth.

“Well my friends, next year the Empire comes to take its muster, all lots have been drawn. Your son is to be called to the banners, I hear Dayvin.”

“Jonas, yes his name has been drawn. His mother and I worry greatly. All the talk is of Acaross again. Does Taleel plan another campaign on southern shores?”

The Earl nodded. “When I answered the Dominar’s summons in spring, to be given his demands, it was the talk on the streets of Northport. But be hopeful Dayvin; you and Clessor served under the banners ten years ago and you both came home.”

Dayvin gave a knowing sideways glance to Clessor. “We were fortunate my Lord; both Dayvin and I, being seasoned warriors, served as marines in the fleet. In the panic of the evacuation from Tahlinjin many auxiliaries were sacrificed to make space for the Imperial regulars on whatever ships were still available after the disaster.”

Clessor saw the Earl’s face drop and quickly interjected. “The Empire of Taleel is nothing but stubbornly thorough; if they plan to attack Acaross once more they will have learnt from their mistakes at the Straits of Tahlinjin. We Summerlanders, now Imperial subjects in their Northern Holdings, know this all too well.”

The Earl nodded but had a faraway look in his eyes. “That we do, that we do…” His meditation ended, his eyes looked deep into those of his companions. “I can tell you friends that the demands I received from this Dominar Sligo appalled me. The tributes in foodstuffs we have to yield next year are bad enough to cause real hardship next winter and their hunger for young men for their army is insatiable… and not just young men.”

Dayvin looked over his mug. “What do you mean, Lord?”

The Earl’s hands tightened around the handle of his mug and his voice trembled slightly with anger. “This… Sligo requires a tribute of young women too, and not just the flowers of the Gewichas, but also of the Turanesci, the Fraisons, the Irminsulus and others; all to serve in his household.”

“Serve? In his household?” Dayvin said, realising the implication, “The loathsome Taleeli dog!”

“Indeed, Dayvin, all the Summerlander delegations protested vehemently. We were told in no uncertain terms that defiance would lead to our destruction. The Empire has a large force gathering at Northport with which to impose its will and gather tribute and levies. As an instigator of the protest I was singled out and must part with my most precious possession; my daughter is to be held by the Dominar as a hostage…”

Dayvin looked dumbfounded. “Keeli?  He is demanding Keeli, but what of the treaties between your house and Taleel?”

The Earl sighed. “I was assured that Keeli’s honour as an Earl’s daughter would be respected, but…” He looked up again with a fierce look in his eyes. “I know this manner of man that is called Sligo, he is a lecherous whoremonger: I trust him not. The thought of this toad of a man pawing our womenfolk, and my Keeli, is too much to bear.”

Dayvin laid his hand on his sword hilt. “My lord, I am your loyal Gesith, my sword is forever yours to command. If you plan a revolt, our destruction matters not. I will sacrifice my life and all I have for the honour of the Gewichas.”

The Earl smiled at Dayvin in appreciation and pride but he had tears in his eyes. “I will not cause the destruction of my people if I can help it, but the request I have for you is a terrible thing, especially as your son has been selected for the muster. I am ashamed to ask it of you.”

“My Lord?” Dayvin looked confused, unused to seeing the Earl looking so humbled. He felt Clessor rest his hand on his arm and turned towards his old friend.

Clessor spoke barely above a whisper. “What we ask of you Dayvin is this, that Tamzine accompany her old friend Keeli to Northport to act in secret as a guardian for our Lord’s daughter.”

“Guardian?” Dayvin looked at the floor. He raised his mug with trembling hands and drank deeply as he contemplated the Earl’s request.

Clessor continued. “As I said when you arrived I remember Tamzine having no small skill with a sword. I take it she still does?”

“Indeed,” Dayvin nodded, “She will best me, one of these days.”

“If agreed, I will train her myself,” Clessor said, “In all manner of weapons and also unarmed combat. She will best you, and me, when I am done with her. She will be our eyes in the Dominar’s household and an agent of the Earl’s vengeance if required.”

The Earl reached over to his Gesith. “Please Dayvin, consider this. I will be in your family’s debt, a debt I can never hope to repay.”

Dayvin had tears in his eyes seeing his Lord’s humility. “Please my Lord, there will never be a debt, you are my liege. All that I, and my family, have is because of you. My wife will shed tears afresh but the decision is Tamzine’s to make.”

“Will she say yes do you think?”

Dayvin smiled sadly. “I’ve long known Tamzine is more shieldmaiden than wife and mother; the local boys who have tried their luck bear blackeyes from her tender touch. She yearns for adventure, more so than Jonas if the truth be told. Going to Northport with her old friend Keeli? I can’t see her saying no…”

“Thank you Dayvin,” the Earl said solemnly, “You don’t want my debt but you will have it anyway, I will sleep easier knowing Keeli will have a friend beside her.”

Dayvin turned to Clessor. “You will train her well?”

“You may count on it,” the Sword master smiled fiercely; “When I am done she will be lethal.”

** This is a prologue I've just written for The Sun Shard, currently available  at Amazon. Oh and keep your eyes out for Book 2 - The Dead Gods - coming soon. ***