Excerpt: The Six

TITLE: The Six (and also: Grand Fantasy Adventure which I have not yet named) - these might be the same novel, I don't actually know yet.
AUTHOR: Rachael Elisabeth-Cahours Acklin
GENRE: Fantasy Adventure Thingy
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CHAPTER ONE: THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY NOVEL

Six pairs of yellow eyes stared at me through the dark.

Fog rolled around my feet as the growling rose in the air, signaling my doom. There was no place to escape, nowhere to run. I was trapped.

Six sets of sharp shining teeth snapped quietly, menacingly. I could hear the panting of their hot breath. I could almost feel it on my face, on the skin of my hands.

My weapons were gone. My clothes were torn. They were closing in on me with every ragged breath I took.

I tried to breathe, tried to form a scream with my frozen lips, but my body would not respond. I felt as if I could barely move.

In a split second, one pair of eyes jumped and the wolf was on me, knocking me down, snapping and roaring in my face. I was dead.
...

I woke up in a sweat, panting, clutching at my sheets. My pillows had been knocked off the bed and were somewhere I could not see at the moment.

I sat up abruptly, feeling the scream still lodged within my chest. I still wanted to let it out but now I knew it was unnecessary. My logical mind knew it was unnecessary; my heart jumped in my chest and wanted me to scream, to defend myself from the certain death that had overtaken me. My heart did not know it was only a dream.

I got up off the bed. My legs were shaking and my hands trembled as I pulled my robe from its hook on the back of my bedroom door and made my way to the warm glow of the kitchen to make myself a cup of peppermint tea.

The dreams were getting worse. This was the seventh night in a row that I had awoken like this, afraid and ready to cry out. The seventh night in a row that I had been certain I was dead before I realized it was only a dream.

Just a figment of my imagination. Ha. People who said things like that had obviously never had a truly terrifying nightmare.

I had wrapped myself in a warm blanket, still in my robe, and was sitting curled up in my favorite overstuffed chair, tea in hand. I blew on the steam and waited for my heart to stop racing.

Every night was the same dream, but the past two nights seemed worse somehow.

I sipped my tea carefully, but burned my lip anyway.

'Ow,' I winced, wryly thinking that it was better than actually being mauled to death by giant evil wolves. At least my lip would heal, although I did not seem to be capable of waiting long enough for tea to cool down. This was also the seventh night in a row I had hurt myself on a hot beverage.

Once the tea was cooler and I was able to drink it, my mind began going over the dream again, as I had been doing for a week of days. Even at work I was thinking about the dream, and it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on pushing papers around or typing on my stupid beige cubicle-ready keyboard. Every night, my body believed it was being killed, and my subconscious - not to mention my conscious - was not okay with that.
I had already lost six pounds from the stress, and while I normally would not think that was a bad thing, it was obviously for the wrong reason. I found myself holding my stomach hard with my arms while I was walking, standing, sitting, or laying down; as if I was trying to keep my insides from going away. I felt fragile somehow. Like I could be taken advantage of, and that scared me worse than the dreams themselves.

Nightmares. They weren't just dreams - they were nightmares.

Every dream was the same. In the beginning of the dream, it was sunny and warm. I was on my back in some grassy green meadow, smiling in the sunshine, relaxing. I could see trees waving in the slow wind some distance away, and knew (somehow) that my home was in that direction. I felt safe and happy.

Then, as my mind wandered through thoughts that seemed like mine in my dream but in reality, seemed foreign to me, the sky darkened. Clouds suddenly covered the sun and blocked all the warmth. I was cold and vulnerable and quite frightened. I stood up and ran toward the trees, shivering in the shadow of the rolling, boiling clouds.

In the dream, I would often try to stop and look up at the clouds, but my dream-self would not stop. She ran and ran - I ran and ran. Until I reached the line of trees, I looked neither behind me or above me, and I began to hear sounds in the distance. A very low, very menacing hum. Like the low rumble of a faraway engine, or the sound of a dangerous storm from far off. It sent slivers of fear into me, and I ran faster than I had at first.

story story story auugh. okay.
this is the part of the story where i don't know what the fuck i'm doing.
next thing i need to do is tell about the dream - i have to remember what the dream was about and make something up to go with it.

I ran and ran until my legs nearly gave out, and still in the dream world I could not find my way. I wanted to find my home, wherever that was, some place or building that I could not remember. I could not even recall what it looked like. That in itself was a frightening thing: that I could not remember where I belonged or why I was there. I only knew fear, and I only heard rumbling and growling, and the sound of a thousand snapping teeth clattering to tear at my heels as I ran, faster and faster, across the ground through the trees.

Suddenly I came to a clearing, and stopped. Soaring up through the break in the trees was a stone spire, surrounded by broken pieces of earth and stone. My heart raced and I became strangely excited by the standing spire, with its carved runes and swirls. I felt that I knew what it meant, why it was here, and what drew me toward it. In spite of the danger so imminently behind me, I reached out my hand to touch the spire; but I could not reach it. It was too far away, so I stepped up on the closest broken rock. The moment my foot touched the stone - and in that moment I realized my feet were bare, and bleeding from all the running over sticks and rocks and a twisted path - I was frozen in shock, as if an electrical current had just shot through me.

And then I was standing at the top of a high hill, under a darkening sky. The clouds rolled and boiled and seemed alive and angry, twisting and writhing as if they were in pain. I looked down at myself and saw that I was wearing leather armor, and a sword was in my right hand. My feet were no longer bare, but clad in high boots that were caked in mud and blood.

The top of the hill was surrounded by more stone spires, but each was shorter than the one I had just encountered. I looked closely at them and realized that they were sunken into the ancient ground, each in a different stage of brokenness and age. Each spire was marked with one deeply carved rune. I did not know how I knew the hill was ancient, but neither did I know why my feet were streaked in blood, or how I held the shining sword in my hand so lightly, as if it weighed no more than a feather.

I heard the growling grow louder, and my body snapped into readiness. I raised my sword in both hands, and I crouched down low to the ground and waited for them.

Suddenly, a huge wolf - almost too big to be called a wolf, because it was more the size of a bear - sprang out of the darkened misty fog directly at my head, and I swung wildly with my sword, hitting its chest, while at the same time it front feet crashed into my chest with such force that I felt my ribs had been broken.

I fell underneath the wolf, its teeth snapping at my face, its hot breath bathing me in evil.

And just at that moment is when I awoke.

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CHAPTER TWO: Introducing the second character, based on my husband Troy

His hair was bright gold, and long, in a braid down his back.

He was dressed all in black, a sword at his side, daggers fastened to the insides of his thighs and slid inside the tops of his high boots. He wore a cloak that fluttered out behind him in the heavy wind, although right now it was soaked in rain from the previous hour.

He walked along the long rocky road, striding with a purpose unknown to any who saw him. His features were chiseled, and his eyes were piercing blue. There was no person on the road at this time, although there had been earlier, during the rain. A small, lumpy person dragging a barrow that had lost a wheel. The black-clad traveler had stopped abruptly next to him, pulled the barrow free of mud, then handed it wordlessly back to its owner. Before he could be thanked, or a word said at all, he had walked on, just as purposefully and as quickly as before.

He had been traveling for three days now, through wind and rain and over the Mountains. He had nearly been beset upon by raiders more than once, but something in his demeanor gave them pause as they were calculating their best plan of attack; which is to say, they were getting lined up to jump out at him. He knew they were there - he could sense their presence a mile away, and yet he passed by them without a word, without a challenge, and without fear. In contrast, they shrunk back into the shadows as he strode by, even though as far as they knew, he knew nothing of their plots to attack him.

Deep in a leather pouch that was secured in a pocket over his heart, lay a brilliant, yet uncut, gem stone. It was a deep green, except when held by a particular kind of person - a person with the power to weild it - and then it would turn the color of that person's power.

He himself had not touched it, and had merely folded it up carefully and secured it inside his inner shirt pocket. His quest was not to use the stone, but to deliver it to His Majesty, and quickly. He glanced up at the sky, even though it was covered in clouds and the position of the sun could not be seen at all. Somehow, he could still judge the time of day, and as a result, he sped up his walking until the casual observer may have assumed he was running.

If he were to run, however, a casual observer would probably not be able to see him clearly, for the blurring of his speed would make him impossible to lay eyes on for more than the tiniest beat of a second.

His human blood flowed with the blood of the dark elves, although he had been raised as a simple, good person by his good and simple grandparents. His mother had been a dark elf, and had abandoned him once her people had abandoned her for giving birth to an abomination such as a half-human-half-elf. In other places, perhaps a child of mixed race would not be looked upon in such harsh terms; but in the land of the Great Ones, elves and men were not ever together. Their very deepest cravings kept them from each other; it was still a mystery that his parents had ever been able to create him at all.

His father had lived only a few months after he was born, and had disappeared one dark night. The neighbors had heard him screaming and crying, pacing back and forth in the rain and the wind, and then he had disappeared altogether. Some said that he had gone mad with love, and had gone to find his true love, the dark elf that had cursed the earth with a half blood child. Some said that he had been caught and killed by the dark elves for his own part in that curse. Still others said he had killed himself by throwing himself off the highest cliff in the land of the Great Ones, the one that overlooked the Gossamer Sea, which was also known as the Sea of Sadness.

His grandparents had never really told him what they knew about it, and he had not asked. He never had met his mother or his father, and so he felt as if he was missing nothing. His life with his grandparents had been full of love, laughter, and good days. He had grown up in the sunshine and learned his grandfather's trade: leather making and black smithing. His grandmother had baked pies on warm evenings, and he had played in the creek as a child. He had climbed trees and learned to shoot a bow and bring back a rabbit for the stew pot; and when he was older, bigger game.

Once he had faced off against a pack of wolves that had come down from the mountains during a particularly long summer. They must have been hungry and had no available game to hunt, because never in the memory of the village he grew up in had the wolves come down off the mountains to hunt people.

The village wise woman had believed that their coming was a particularly dire prophecy and a warning of strife to come in evil days ahead; but most of the men of the village brushed off her talk as the foolishness of a woman who has no man to keep her busy. He had come to her more than once, however, and asked her about the wolves - because it was him who had chased them away. At least, that was how it had seemed to the men who had been working in the fields near by and had seen the whole thing.

He had been out in a grassy field, practicing with a new bow that he had just hand carved and strung himself that afternoon. He was particularly proud of it, and had spent many hours polishing it carefully before he ever set the string in the end and bent the supple wood over. He was practicing shooting toward a small stand of woods that signified the beginning of the land that lived in the shadow of the mountains. Normally, he would not be so foolish as to shoot toward the wood, but today he was foolish because he was only thinking of his beautiful bow.

He pulled the string back effortlessly, marveling at his own strength and the beauty and grace of the perfect curves of his bow; and letting go, an arrow made of ash sped straight and true toward the nearest tall oak tree. He heard its low thunk, but did not see where it landed, and so he relaxed his bow arm and began to walk toward the thicket of trees to retrieve his arrow. Belatedly, he realized that it was not the smartest idea for him to be shooting basically blind - he might lose all his arrows, or hit something he had not meant to hit.

The closer he got to the woods, the more his skin began to prickle. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt a rush of energy in his chest. Involuntarily, he looked back at the field behind him, and saw two farmers threshing wheat, several hundred yards away from him. He looked back toward the woods, and several things happened at once.

The sun went behind a large cloud unexpectedly;

A chill wind began to blow out of the north, from the mountains;

And six black wolves appeared at the edge of the woods, walking slowly, menacingly toward him. Their golden eyes glowed in the suddenly overcast light, and he froze completely still as he watched them.

The amulet around his neck, the one that the wise woman had given him for his birthday that year, felt hot, like it was burning his skin. He reached up quickly and pulled it from behind his collar, away from his chest, and it left a red mark on the palm of his hand. The pain of his hand momentarily distracted him from the cold evil of the six wolves.

They came toward him, silently still, making no sound as they glided across the long grass toward him. Even as he tried to think of what to do, whether to run or to fight, he marveled at their size. They must have been as big as ponies, or bigger, because the grass brushed across his hips - and he was almost fully grown - but it only rustled against their knees as they glided toward him.

(All evil and stuff, they're so totally evil. And stuff. And also black and with golden eyes and silent and evil. Suddenly I lost my TRAIN OF THOUGHT, ARG.)

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Story plan = eek!

STORY TIMELINE
Chapter One: female MC introduced, establish that she has been having a nightmare for seven days. description of dream.
female MC lives on earth in normal space / time. establish some background and some history for the character so that the reader begins to sympathize with her not just because she has been having a freaking bad dream.

Chapter Two: male MC introduced, establish that he has been having a nightmare for seven days also, and description of dream. needs to be at least slightly different than her dream (seen through his eyes, obviously)
male MC lives on earth in normal space / time. male MC lives in different region of same area as female MC - lives in either city or country, opposite of female MC.

Chapter Three: supporting character introduced, establish the same dream / nightmare sequence, describe dream from their perspective.
supporting character lives on earth in normal space / time, but in totally different region of the world than female MC and male MC.

next supporting character introduced, establish the same dream / nightmare sequence, describe dream from their perspective.
next supporting character lives in the world in the dream, somewhere nearby the dream events.

next supporting character introduced, establish the same dream / nightmare sequence, describe dream from their perspective.
this supporting character also lives in the dream world, also somewhere nearby the dream events. this person is possibly a powerful mage or wizard or witch.

final supporting character introduced, same thing as all the others.
this supporting character also lives in the dream world, but is not directly involved in the action in the dream or otherwise. this is the seer / clairvoyant of the group of six.

Chapter Four: female MC and male MC have a chance physical meeting while both are trying to do things outside their normal comfort zone in order to deal with the dream they have consistently been experiencing night after night. they hit it off, feel a connection right away. they find each other attractive. something bad happens and the male MC has to protect the female MC from harm. female MC is smitten and so is male MC. they stay up well into the early hours of the morning talking, and finally admit to each other that they are trying not to fall asleep because of the dream. they begin describing their dream to each other and realize that it is the same exact dream.

they freak out. they talk about it. they feel so weirded out they want to leave and go by themselves somewhere, but are still feeling so connected that they don't feel it is possible to do so without harming themselves in some way.

female MC is so tired she begins to pass out from exhaustion, and male MC helps her home. male MC ends up sleeping sitting up next to her in her house. they fall asleep.

Chapter Five: female MC and male MC experience the dream together, but with more clarity. everything feels more real this time.

Chapter Six:
Chapter Seven:
Chapter Eight:
Chapter Nine:
Chapter Ten:
Chapter Eleven:
Chapter Twelve:
Chapter Thirteen:
Chapter Fourteen:
Chapter Fifteen:
Chapter Sixteen:
Chapter Seventeen:
Chapter Eighteen:
Chapter Nineteen:
Chapter Twenty:

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The reason I am writing this story is because I had a pretty fucking scary dream one night about wolves. Specifically, Troy and I were being attacked by, and were fighting back against, some freaking scary wolves. I remember that the sky was dark and clouded. I remember being around ruins. I remember that I screamed back at a wolf that was so close I could see its golden eyes.

I named this novel 'the six' because I golfed a six at the kick off party on friday last week. I am not sure what it stands for exactly, but I began the novel with six wolves. I'm not sure yet what else 'the six' could stand for, although possibly six heroes / protagonists against the six wolves.

The six wolves could represent six evil beings - six evil warlords, six dark elves, six black arts magicians, whatever.

In the story, Troy will be there like he is in my dream but I have not decided exactly how yet. It will be a love story, a story about a fight against evil, a story of forging a partnership through the fires of adversity. It will be frightening and scary in parts, but I want to be sure that I keep my irony, sarcasm, and wit intact. I am pretty sure that these things are signatures of mine, and I want my voice in this book. However, I do not want this book to sound exactly like me. Or maybe I do. I can't have a character based on my husband falling in love with and romancing a character based on someone other than me, right?

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I really am not that excited about writing this story. I haven't had the good writing mojo in a very long time, for fiction; I think I may scrap this one for now and begin another one here below it.

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NEW STORY STARTS HERE
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A GRAND FANTASY ADVENTURE
or, The Tale of Seven

Preface
I am writing a preface for this novel because all great novels have prefaces. Or preludes, some of them, but that is beside the point. As I said, all great novels have prefaces; and this is a great novel.

I have always been a fan of my own writing, and I knew before I even began this adventure that I would be able to make money hand over fist from writing the story of it and publishing it. Alright, so no respectable scribe has agreed to publish my works as yet, but I am certain that my luck will change. This novel will be incredible, a story - a true tale - of daring, adventure, glory, blood, and battle. There are dragons! Magicians! Wizardry of the most arcane kind! There is betrayal, and love, and loss. (Love and loss always go together, in case in your travels through life you have yet to ascertain that.)

If you see me switching back and forth between mundane speech and high speech, that is an unfortunate side effect of the very great tragedy that happened to me at the end of this novel. I cannot tell you what it was now, for that would truly ruin the story and spoil what innocence you may yet have, faithful reader. I would rather spoil your innocence throughout the course of the story itself. You need to read and know and understand the things that happened, so that when you reach the end, you will be forever changed; but the change must happen gradually.

Reading this story all in one sitting is not recommended. You should wait at least an hour or two between chapters, and if you should choose to read several chapters at once, wait until the next day to pick up the story again. The ideas found herein will change you, and forcing that change quickly can damage your subconscious and your conscious at the same time. I should know - it very nearly happened to me, and to anyone else I have told my story.

This is not just my story, however. It is the story of the group of adventurers, of which I was but one. I played a small role at first, an insignificant one perhaps, but an important one nonetheless. By the end of our journeys, I had taken on more and more responsibility. But I am getting ahead of myself once again; you must now read, and listen, and try to hear the voices of the people I write about. Try to hear what they were saying and thinking and feeling. See what they did, and understand what happened to them, and because of their actions. Do not forget them. They will teach you great things.

CHAPTER ONE: IN WHICH A TRAVELING BARD MEETS A GROUP OF STRANGERS ON THE ROAD

The road was long and straight, while at the same time being bumpy and full of dust. It was the sort of dust that puffs up as you walk, and gets the hem of your clothes dirty right away. It was the sort of dust that goes up your nose and into your throat and makes you cough. Most people who traveled the road often were prone to wearing a cloth tied around their faces and over their noses, like a bandit. You never knew whether you were about to be set upon by a villainous thug, or if it was merely your distant neighbor walking between towns.

Dumbly Dumbledore the Bard had been walking on this road for far too long already. Every single rock, pebble, and tiny stick in the road was making dents in his feet - or at least, that was what it felt like. He felt very grumbly and put upon, and planned to say so to the mayor of the town to which he was traveling.

His talents were in song and extended flowery prose, and he was often called upon to perform during social gatherings; but this time, the mayor was holding a sort of political gathering. Dumbly Dumbledore did not exactly understand what the mayor was doing, but it sounded as if he was either trying to win the continued favor of his townsfolk, or was campaigning to create a new, more important position for himself. The Bard had been unimpressed with the note he had received, but the retainer that came with it - a heavy leather bag full of clinking gold pieces - was more than good enough to hire his own impressive and important services.

He had been nonplussed to find out how far he needed to travel, and in what time frame, but as usual, the money was too good to pass up. He considered merely taking the money pouch and disappearing, but that would require him to actually relocate, and he was not a motivated sort of man. An entrepreneur, yes - but when it came down to comfort or excitement, he always chose comfort. And his current home was comfortable indeed!

As he walked along in the dust, with the uneven road under his sore feet, he thought blackly that he was definitely going to charge more gold pieces than normal for his being inconvenienced in this way.

There was more than enough gold in the retainer to have hired himself at least a donkey, if not a cart and driver; but Dumbly Dumbledore was completely averse to spending his own money on that sort of thing. When it came to his clients, he preferred that they send transportation for him and pay for it themselves. He had been so excited by the heavy money bag that he had completely forgotten to ensure that this new client, this Mayor of Important Burg, was sending someone to get him.

On the day he expected to leave, he had a most unpleasant and stomach-dropping realization, and confirmed it by re-reading the message that had come with the hefty retainer. It was right there: We look forward to meeting you soon, and hope we have included enough gold to secure your services and transportation for you as well. He was so offended at the sudden realization that he was responsible for his own travel expenses that he stormed off on foot.

He was already too far away to turn back and hire a donkey before he began to calm from his initial burst of indignant anger, so he just kept walking. And walking. And walking.

At this point, he would gladly hire someone to carry him on their back, if only he could get off his damned feet for a while.

Dumbly Dumbledore the Bard had been alone with his own thoughts for so long, with the exception of the occasional kerchief-covered traveler, that he did not hear the caravan approaching behind him until he was most unceremoniously startled by a yell that sounded - to him - as if it was being shouted directly into his right ear.

'GET OUTTA THER WAY, YA VAGABOND!!' shouted a coarse voice, which was followed immediately by the sound of a whip being cracked somewhere in the vicinity of Dumbly Dumbledore's buttocks. His hind end quivered in fear and the subconscious anticipation of the whip landing somewhere near or on his person, and he immediately jumped aside and fell into the shallow ditch that lay along the side of the road.

As the caravan rumbled by, kicking up far more dust than was humanly possible to breathe in, Dumbly Dumbledore rolled to a sitting position, his mouth gaping open, far too surprised to complain, which would normally have been his first and best response. There were so many people, so many beasts of burden and curtained litters carried by slaves, that the caravan itself appeared to stretch on and on into the distant horizon, perhaps miles away. He knew that it was merely the dust that clouded his vision and his ability to estimate how long the line of slowly moving people and animals actually was, but all the same, it was positively shocking. Nobody traveled by caravan unless they were wildly important, and nobody traveled this road by caravan during the dry and dusty season; it made expensive clothes far too full of dust, and tended to give the slaves hacking coughs and sicknesses of the body that made them weak and ultimately unable to carry their weight.

No slaves means no transportation for a wildly important person, so despite the fact that many important people love to travel, it was still never a good idea to do much traveling by road during the dry and dusty season.

He squinted and tried to make out the flag symbols that were fluttering in the man-made breeze, but had so much dust in his eyes that it was nearly impossible to see. He settled for staring, hard, at each curtained litter - each one more important looking than the last. 'How peculiar,' he muttered to himself. 'The further back, the more important! What a backwards way of doing things!'

The litters were crimson red, cerulean blue, bright sunshine yellow, green like the green of grass in the spring, and many colors in between. Some were solidly colored and hung with heavy fabrics that were embroidered in the same color thread as the cloth itself. Still others were many-colored, and appeared almost to shimmer in and out of the light in the dusty glare. Dumbly Dumbledore was fascinated by such outright ostentatious displays of wealth and status, and he wished very hard that he was inside one of the litters.

'Of course,' he muttered to himself in an attempt to feel better about his situation, alone and friendless and donkey-less and cart-less on the side of the dusty road in a ditch, 'it is probably hot as Beelzebub inside those curtained litters!' He gave a self-important sniff, not that anyone could hear him above the din and racket of hundreds - perhaps thousands - of people all traveling in one swaying, massive group. 'I would rather feel the air on my face! And, uh... the sunshine.'

As the caravan passed, time seemed to pass slower and slower, and the sun seemed to get hotter and hotter. Dumbly Dumbledore was sure that his ability to get up and keep walking toward that blasted town was all but compromised, when the last few stragglers finally passed him. The very last member of the caravan, a tall, thin figure dressed all in sky blue, walked with swaying, slow steps; and right as the thin blue-clad figure came within a few feet of him, Dumbly Dumbledore felt a shock like a bolt of lightning had gone through him. He gasped and involuntarily stood up, and stared right at the figure as it continued to walk away.

He wanted to say something, anything, but was unable to form any words. He gasped again and sputtered, trying in vain to speak. The figure had passed into the middle distance before his powers of speech returned.

Dumbly Dumbledore walked on, once more complaining to himself out loud about the bumpiness of the road, the dustiness of the air, and the general glum aura of the day itself. The sun had passed over head while the caravan was still taking up the entire road, and now that it was afternoon, his stomach growled and protested, and he wished he had a handy place to stop and sit in some shade, maybe take a short nap, or at least put up his feet. But there was nothing anywhere nearby, not even a single lonely tree or a small pond surrounded by greener, taller grass. For at least the next three miles there would be nothing but this barrenness, and he had hoped to be past it and to the tiny village up ahead before it was actually time for him to sit down to a meal.

Unluckily for him, that damned caravan had taken up not only the entire road, but the last part of the morning and the beginning part of the afternoon, leaving him uncomfortable both in feet and stomach, as well as with a renewed vigor for grumbling and grouching.

Three miles later, Dumbly Dumbledore was still complaining, although not as loudly as before. His portly frame allowed him to go for a time without eating, and still remain energetic enough to do anything he really *needed* to, but he preferred never to go for that long. He arrived in the tiny village all at once, for he had been so preoccupied with complaints and grumblings and completely new epithets that he had just then created, that he barely registered that pitifully small front gate until he was already through it.

He stopped, thankful for the rest, and immediately looked for the little tavern he knew was there. The village center was strangely deserted - the well in the middle, usually surrounded by chattering women either drawing water or wringing out laundry, was devoid of buckets, women, and people altogether. He fell silent then, and was shocked to hear the all pervading sound of nothingness that enveloped him. There was nobody here, or at least - nobody alive. He swallowed nervously then, and remembered, belatedly, that the large and cumbersome caravan had been on the road before him the entire time, and must have come through this village well over three hours ago.

Now that he looked at the ground, he could see that it was trampled down and even more of a mess than usual, indicating that either the villagers had put on a rather raucous party including dancing into the night, or that there had been several hundred people and animals marching through the village only recently.

His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach then, and he completely forgot h
is hunger. Dumbly Dumbledore was an egotist, an often greedy man, and selfish in general - but he was not a monster of a person. He had a horrible feeling that something bad, even evil, had happened to the villagers of this humble and peaceful place.

Taking a walking stick that he spied leaning against a lonely fence post, he began to cautiously and slowly peer into each low building, calling out 'Hello?', faintly at first, then growing louder as he began to realize, with a sinking nervous feeling, that nobody at all was going to answer. They were all gone. No bodies, no bones, no shreds of clothing, seemed to remain. Everyone, even the animals, was completely and utterly gone.

He ended up, at last, in the tavern that had been his intended destination at first. All the seats were empty, the stools were empty, and there was a wet rag lying on the bar next to a bucket of dirty water. 'I always suspected this place was filthy,' he said out loud half-heartedly, then sat down disconsolately on the stool closest to the door. What was he to do? Should he do anything? Did he have any responsibilities here at all?

He thought back to the last time he had been in this village. Perhaps it was six months ago, or maybe more than a year? He could hardly remember. He recognized the arrangement of the tables, the placement of the windows inside this tiny dark building, and remembered that the owner of the tavern was also a farmer, and so there was always fresh meat for the stews and the occasional steak.

Sadly (and hungrily), he got up off the stool and decided that the best thing was to simply get going, get walking, and hope to make it to the Big Important Town by nightfall, so that he could eat sometime before he went to sleep for the night. The thought of being caught outside the gates of Big Important Town after nightfall sounded distinctly unpleasant, as the ground in that area was considerably rocky and not at all comfortable for sleeping on.

As he left the tiny village, he felt as if someone was watching him. He turned suddenly and nearly tripped on the hem of his own robe, but saw nothing and nobody. He scanned the dark, empty windows and lonely doorways, but saw not a moving thing. And now that he thought of it, he had seen no birds flying overhead either. How completely creepy.

Quickly, he turned back around, and with the help of his new walking stick, he was soon out of sight of the little empty village. He could not stop thinking about it, however. Where had they all gone? What would make them leave their homes and their livelihood? It was a mystery, and an unsettling one at that. Not only did he not get lunch, he had an unsolved mystery on his hands, and was having trouble getting his thoughts to go elsewhere for a while so that he could calm the nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach.
..................

CHAPTER TWO: The Arrival

Dumbly Dumbledore had been walking for so long that he nearly forgot he was actually walking. Walking had become the thing he was, the thing he did all the time. Walking defined his existence. He walked, he put a foot in front of the other foot, he walked and walked and walked. His feet had gone numb an hour before dark, but he kept walking.

Normally, he would not have thought anything of leaving the road for a while, finding a clump of likely grass or possibly a tree stump, and curling up on his side next to it, his heavy cloak wrapped around him like a blanket, and his heavy bag doubling as a pillow. But the emptiness of the village behind him (which was now hours and hours behind him) mocked him, laughed at him, teased him and called him names and generally made him unwilling to stop and risk being alone in the dark.

He willed himself forward, believing that he was nearly there. Almost. Almost to the Big Important Town. Almost to a bed and dinner and maybe even clean clothes - although never mind the clean clothes, or a bath; he didn't really need those. What he needed was a huge bowl of stew, followed by another three or four huge bowls. Or, even better, a rare steak, bigger than the biggest platter that could be found, dripping and juicy and festooned on all sides with fried mushrooms and tender young leeks. He could almost taste it, that delicacy he so rarely enjoyed unless he was in a town as big as Big Important Town. They were the only ones that could afford the prices of such expensive cuts of meat these days.

Ever since All Hail His Mightiness The First had come into power as the newest King of The Realm and All The Invisible Parts Too, the economy of their fair kingdom had worsened and fallen ill. Everything cost too much, because so many new taxes had been levied on all the Mayors, all the fiefdoms, the Knights, and even the peasants. Where before, the peasants merely owed their allegiances to whatever Mayor protected them or whatever fiefdom they were a part of, now they also owed their allegiance to All Hail His Mightiness The First.

He said in his proclamation (his first of many) about the new taxing structure was that he needed - no, CRAVED - the obedience and loyalty of all his people, both rich and poor. And he believed that once all his subjects were to pay monetary homage to him, His Mightiness The First, they would remember for always and forever that they owed him their lives, their happiness, and their loyalty.

Everyone had grumbled about this new development, and many families immediately were bankrupted and had to join up with other families in order to keep a roof over their childrens' heads and keep at least some semblance of a meal on the table, meager as it may be. But nobody rose up against His Mightiness The First because his armies were truly Awesome, and their might was legendary, to say the least.

Because everyone now owed their monetary allegiances directly to All Hail His Mightiness The First as well as to their respective Mayor or fiefdom, there was much dishonesty, hiding, cheating, and general civil unrest. While His Mightiness The First may have thought that his plan would work marvelously and like a charm, what was actually happening was that his power was both heavy handed and uncertain.

As months went on, the winter season approaching, many farmers concocted new and daring plans for hiding the truth of their harvesting. Many of them culled their crops by night, so nobody would see how much grain they actually brought in - so that their taxes would be lower, and they could survive another year. So then the population of snitches and spies increased as well, and friends became enemies and became rich off the sweat and blood of men and women they once called friends closer than family.

[I seem to have gone off on a political tangent here, heh heh heh. This might be a nice place to wax philosophical about the current economic times if I like. W00t.]

... Rantiness aside, that I cannot even remember the thought process on anyway, ha ha ha ...

Dumbly Dumbledore stumbled on through the darkness, toward a dimness he could only barely begin to make out in the distance against the stark blackness of the night. Evening had long since passed, and twilight was also gone. The stars were out in all their shimmering coldness, and there was a half moon to light his path; at least, it would have lit the path if he had been looking at it, but Dumbledore had been walking for so long and in such a state of memory and worrying that he barely registered that he was walking at all.

He quite suddenly tripped on a larger than usual rock in the path, tried to catch himself, and pitched forward to land in an ungainly and painful heap right on his bulbous nose. Rather than curse and swell with anger as he would have usually done, he merely whimpered and sighed and considered for a span of seconds just staying there and going to sleep. Perhaps whatever bad things roamed the night would not see him lying face down on the road, because they would be looking for people who were hiding elsewhere, right?

As he lay there thinking all these silly ridiculous thoughts, a strong and powerful hand clamped down onto the back of his neck and lifted him up off the ground, seemingly without effort. He blinked and swung his arms and began to sputter.

'Hey! Hey now, what are you - '

'What purpose do you serve by lying in the dust?' asked a dry, sarcastic voice. 'Brush off your clothes and get moving!'

Dumbly Dumbledore felt himself being set down gently on his feet, and he was surprised to feel that he was no longer tired, and was able to see clearly in the darkened night - at least as clearly as one can see when the moon is the only light at hand.

The figure standing before him was clad all in blue, from head to toe, and the blue itself seemed to be alive. Dumbledore eyed the figure curiously, but was unafraid. In the back of his mind, he knew that his lack of fear should make him worried, but he was currently incapable of worry.

'What... who...' he stuttered, waving his arms about once more.

'We can leave that for a more opportune time,' replied the blue figure. 'Now it is time to finish your journey. Walk this way,' he commanded firmly, and began to stride in the direction of the town.

Dumbly Dumbledore, for a second time in the same day, was speechless; but this time, he was not afraid. He merely began to walk. One foot in front of the other, he walked and walked and suddenly found himself before the gates of the town he had been seeking all day.

CHAPTER THREE: Something Is Afoot And Nobody Is Talking About It

As if by magic, the gates of the town swung open silently as soon as Dumbly Dumbledore and the mysterious tall blue figure approached them. He saw no guards, and looked around suspiciously, wondering why the gates were empty at night.

The blue figure led the way, gliding silently across the cobblestoned pathway that led into the town center. They passed through one more set of gates, which also swung open without being touched. There was still nobody to be found guarding the gates or anywhere else.

Dumbledore began to be extremely uneasy, remembering the entire village that had disappeared after the caravan had passed through it, and remembering that the blue figure, who had been walking at the very back of the caravan, had rendered him incapable of speech for quite some time after he looked at him. Maybe he was the one who had caused all those people to vanish into nothing but thin air. Maybe he was planning to make this town full of people disappear as well - maybe now was when Dumbledore should run away!

He turned and looked over his shoulder, then apprehensively back at the blue figure, who was looking right at him. He came to a sudden and complete stop, staring back into those mesmerizing eyes. What color were they, anyway? Blue and gold together? What human person had eyes like that? Surely nobody - who was this person - Dumbledore felt himself about to scream out in terror -

'Please, my friend, calm yourself,' said the dry voice. The blue figure held up his hand, a peaceful seeming gesture, and as soon as he did Dumbledore felt nothing but calmness and rest. What had he been afraid of? Surely it was nothing.

=======================

november seventeenth, two thousand nine @ six fifty five post meridian

actually i am very impressed that i have written as many words as i have. i did not think i would get this far before my brain gave out, and i think i have it in me today to write a lot and a lot and a lot. at least i hope so. i have so much catching up to do, lol.

and of course i can do it. i am so looking forward to doing this. i am going to win, i can actually feel it. i can feel the adrenaline rush of uploading my novel and feeling that shock of excitement when it turns over fifty thousand words. it is time for me to win again. i need to do this for myself, for my writers, for nanowrimo itself. i need to restore the faith in myself that i had several years ago. that faith then got all used up in fighting tim and in being so afraid and determined and having the shit scared out of me at all the ways things can go wrong.

...

so as i was saying before, actually i was not saying this at all - that is only for word count padding, heh heh heh. any how! um. what?

so i just went and changed the baby's diaper because poor troy JUST changed her from a wet one, and i came up to say hi to her and so on, and of course she had pooped. because of course. so i changed it and now i am sitting back down here and it is two minutes into the sprint, and i truly really hope that this story i am writing now is going to be an awesome one, or at least a story that i can continue to write for a while (at least until the end of november, am i right?) because i really do truly want to win. and i will. win, that is.

oh, i have to tell about this.

today we went and visited two antique shops in holly when we went out for our date. and before i say anything about the antique shop, i want to say that i am so happy we are going on dates now. even though we are taking one or two of the little ones with us when we go, we are GOING on DATES and this is probably only the second real actual date we have ever even been on. isn't that the craziest thing? we met during a con so there was no 'date' then. when i picked him up for the one and only other date we have been on, it was a movie (spider man three, what a waste of film) and a shared plate at steak and shake. and a lot of making out in the car, in the egg, ha ha, and trouble on my end with trying not to have sex with him in the car.

even then i was having trouble keeping my hands off him. it is because he is so vibrant and alive and full of handsomeness and sexiness and hotness and goodness and beautifulness. i want to be with him, for him to be with me, for us to be with each other. i want to be as near to him as a person can get to another person. i want to be with him the way a woman is with a man, and the way a man is with a woman.

any way, what was i saying?

our dates. i am so happy we are going on dates now. seriously so very happy. it makes my heart sing and my soul is happy too and it is just amazing, what a little bit of forward momentum can do for a relationship, and for my attitude about this whole thing. this whole thing being, our relationship. i was so ready to give up. i was ready to throw in the towel and quit, and i actually tried to several times. some how, and for some reason, i was unable to actually quit but did i ever want to. i wanted out of the pain and out of the sorrow and rage and all the bad horrible nasty habits i was developing and all the bad horrible nasty things we were saying to each other all the time. how awful, all that fighting and being awful to each other. i truly hope we are past doing that now. it takes a lot of self control not to do that, but damn is it hard to have that self control at all when you feel for all the world like the person whom you love and trust the most is now doing his or her best to twist the knife in your heart in the most expert and perfect way possible.

it is the ones we love the best that can hurt us the most, and it is the hardest thing in the world to trust that person again once they have hurt you.

so anyway, as i was saying - we are going on dates now on tuesday afternoons while the older two kids are in school, and so today we decided to go to holly for our date. i had a one pm appointment but i changed it to tomorrow so that i would not have to be back in my office until almost three, which was a great idea. we were able to get there early - before noon - and find a little place to eat, then we walked around and around and discovered some things and some places and wandered through some stores and some alleys and it was really very awesome and nice.

the first store we went into was the holly antiques mall (i think that is how it is spelled, and i have their business card but i don't have it with me right now so i am just going on what i can remember). inside, they have a lot of really incredible and amazing things: old books, records, cowboy accessories like guns and holsters and belts and whatnot, and right when you come in the door they have a freaky collection of CHAIRS FROM MASONIC LODGES. i shit you not. i didn't touch them and will NOT ever touch them whenever we go back because oh my holy hell and heaven, those chairs are layered and layered in bad evil energy.

i made the mistake of touching a very old african spear that had killed two lions - there were two holes bored in the spear head itself to show that number off - and was high on a weird crackly adrenaline sort of energy all the rest of this afternoon.

i think that antique stores are like drugs to people like troy and me; touching things that other people have touched, and used, and breathed on, and talked into, and lived in; it's all so full of energy that just got left behind. energy from what they were like, how they were feeling at the time, how the other people around them were feeling. energy from where they lived and who they were. all of it just everywhere all over it, some of it nervous like crackling lightning, some of it light and sweet like a old woman's breath. but all of it is there and it was all cast into shadow because of those damn chairs.

insane, i tell you, to have them ANYWHERE. i cannot imagine the kind of filthy evilness that is all over them and around them, and i would not want them in my house or anywhere near me. it's actually creepy to me that they are as close to me as they are, down there in holly over fifteen minutes away from my house. eeeeeeeek.

okay so where was i. i was talking about those creepy things. yes.

anyway, what i was looking for while we were there was something that another witch - or just another woman who could see and feel and understand things like i am learning to - had owned. i wanted something that had a particular energy to it that would draw me and make me want to have it. not that i am purposefully trying to invite bad energy, although perhaps i did just that today, but i wanted to see what it felt like. what all of it felt like.

i explained to troy that it was like i was a kid who had never had sugar before and i went and tried a piece of every single candy i could find, because i wanted to know what it tasted like. and i got too much in my system.

when i came home i did go outside after a little while so i could ground myself somewhat. i put my bare feet in the grass and my hand in the grass and touched the dirt as best i could. i never know exactly what to do, and i still feel self conscious about it all. but if there is one thing i am learning, it is that each of us have our own particular and personal power. no other person can tell me exactly what i need to do because i am the only one who can figure that out. i am the only one who knows who i am, what i am, and what i can do. well, besides the deity, that is.

and that is another thing. i now believe that there is not just God, but also Goddess. i believe that the goddess and the god are both existing, together, that they are separate from each other, not twinned; not aspects of the same thing; but different from each other. different like troy and i are different from each other, but together like we are together. one like we are one. of one mind, but not of one consciousness. not a borg or a hive mind but two beings in tandem with each other, doing things in conjunction with each other. god and goddess.

i need to learn more and i am not sure how difficult it will be to learn this sort of thing without tipping off everyone i know - and i really don't want to be thought of as a witch unless that is what i decide i am going to do. however, i don't see what else i can call myself if not a witch. perhaps i only want to be a mystic. perhaps i want to do some spells sometimes, but only mostly rituals and things like that. i want to observe seasons and things of that nature, and put myself and my actions in alignment with what is right and good and moral. i want to follow the lord and lady. i am so happy i do not have to give up everything that i grew up believing, but that now i can simply understand it better. i don't have to be stuck thinking that there is only a masculine god - not that there is anything wrong with a masculine god, but it is not so easy for a woman to identify herself with a masculine god because he is not in fact a female. i now feel as if i have to heavenly parents that can mentor me, love me, support me, and teach me. just as my parents were supposed to, and they did to a degree. i don't think they did anything less than what they thought was the best plan, but some times i do wonder if they fell down on the job. maybe just a little bit.

ugh. my elbow hurts and i have a funny pain in my arm. perhaps it is time to stop for the night. :p

-------------------------------

that was creepy! some kid (or person pretending to be a kid) asked on twitter if he could shadow me for a class project. it was probably just an innocent request, but it creeped me out seriously. ewwww!

ugh. okay, so the baby is going to bed - but she is very upset. i hope she doesn't cry forever and ever and ever, or really for even five minutes. i have such a thin skin now about her crying, and it's probably because she is the last one. until i have grandkids of course, which EEK! i don't even want to think about that, for crying out loud, what brought that on? geez. FUCK.

maybe it's time for some writing exercises, heh heh heh.
fuck fuck fuck fuck shit shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck fuck shit shit shit shit and so on and so forth ad infinatum bla bla blah something else in latin i wish i could speak latin augh she is screaming and screaming and arrrg i hate it when this happens.

so joey is downstairs washing his dishes because he skipped that to go to bed earlier. i wish he did not have so much trouble with stuff. now he is leaning on the sink faucet AGAIN even though last time that happened he broke the fucking thing and we had to buy a new one. jesus effing christmas!

so more words. i need to write more words.

she is still crying! i so so don't like it when she cries like this. i wonder what else she thinks she needs right now? company? more food? we just changed her diaper and it was full of stinky stanky poop, but her butt looked fine so i don't think at all that she has a diaper rash of any kind really. and she recently ate, although not a heavy meal - but she got full enough i am pretty sure.

ooh. she's quiet now. nope, i spoke too soon. dammit.

my call for lookilulu, that podcast that will be recorded, is going to start at 9:30 now instead of 9:00 - which is good because i'm far too stressy and busy right now. arg.

and speaking of the podcast, i am SO nervous! how do i know i won't sound like a boneheaded fool? i hope she can edit out the stupid stuff i might say, haha. :p and now i have to go to the bathroom but we are word sprinting for at last four more minutes so i really want to get in as many more words as i can. i actually like doing it this way. i think i might actually win this year, which i hope to God i do, because i'm really tired of trying and failing.

of course, who likes to try and fail? nobody that i know of. i know mistakes are necessary, to teach us how to be, and i suppose that in making mistakes in the past two years of nano i should be able to see what i learned from that. i guess i learned that having too much to do results in not being able to do anything much at all, let alone do anything with any kind of excellence. and i also learned that i tend to expect far too much out of myself most of the time. i can't believe it took me two years in a row of that same mistake to realize that i had too much on my plate.

three years ago (or whenever that was?), i only had a job and my kids at home and a relationship with a stupid husband; but that was it. there were really no fights, not much relationship drama at all. not much kid drama either. not much work drama except every now and then, and mostly it was just petty stupid silly shallow stuff with my family that was going on. it was really easy for me to just sink into writing and get it done, and i had no problem except a few times during the month. i remember that around thanksgiving it got difficult, but other than that i don't remember getting too far behind.

i also remember that once i had gotten to about 10,000 words, it started to be easier. like i knew a little better what i was doing; like my characters knew me as much as i knew them and we had a sort of friendship going on. like they expected me to come back every day and find out more about what was going on with them. i started to feel less like i was making everything up and more like i was creating and learning at the same time.

.........................................

so i just have been drinking a large tall glass of merlot or something, you know a wine, and yeesh it really hits me hard haha. oy. OY!!! i tell you!

i had the FUCKING WEIRDEST dream this morning - after i got lissie on the bus and sent joey back to bed to sleep because obviously he felt bad enough to fake sick so whatever the hell, i don't care sometimes. i mean he needs to be a good kid and all and i want him to be responsible and shit but sometimes i JUST DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH IT and i'm sure that is not a good thing. but i digress. i think. what was i talking about?

oh yes. the weird dream. i hardly even want to type it here because it was so fucking weird, it is just that it was about my sister buffy, you know bethany (of course you know who in hell i am talking about because you are A DOCUMENT and i am writing it, and i know her, so obviously if you are at all sentient you are an extension of my own consciousness and knowledge and so yeah whatever). i do not even remember why i was in her house or hanging out with her or around her at all honestly, but in my dream i accused her of being a bitch (basically) and she admitted to have been sleeping with tim for like a long time. i believe she said 'well you're not married to him any more so whatever' and i was completely grossed out and she then revealed that it was HE who was the father of noah, not whats his name that guy, um daniel. which is actually impossible to have happened - okay not impossible but not probably because i had not even met tim yet at that point and neither had she because she was completely embroiled in her stupid relationship affair thingy with daniel and got pregnant and what not. WHAT NOT.

ugh, so it was gross and i woke up all WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT and i did not even want to talk about it for a while because it was so damn disturbing.

dammit only four thousand six hundred and thirty eight words so far, no fair yo. maybe i will be able to write more tomorrow. i want to write, i truly do, just apparently not enough.

you know what is bothering me, as long as i am journaling here and making you, dear document on my computer and in the google computing cloud, my bestest of best friends - what is bothering me, is that i have been doing a not so great job of making time for shiva nata and meditation and stretching and just BEING in the morning like i was for a while. i think that i have a problem letting myself be healthy. i keep trying to be fine on what i already know, what i can already do - like taking vitamins on monday and expecting that i will feel like awesome shiznit all week until next monday. really it isn't smart and really it is quite silly and even maybe stupid, but i am doing it nonetheless and i am doing it to myself in fact. and it isn't nice and i need to stop. and and and. so.

=====================

I am just going to go ahead and vent and try to figure some things out here because, who knows, maybe it will be good fodder for my novel or one of my characters or something. Lord knows I have enough in the way of relationship and communications problems that I could write entire novels just about the stupidity and futility of arguing and fighting and misunderstanding and being misunderstood.

So Troy and I have this problem: we are in a situation in which we both misunderstand each other on a very very regular basis. It is so regular it happens at least once a day, if not several times.

When we argue, it always starts out as a misunderstanding. Usually what happens is that I am having a day in which I really just want to be able to react normally to how I am feeling, and be able to say out loud with honesty what I think or how whatever it was just hit me. This happens after I say or do something totally neutral and Troy misunderstands it to have been a bad thing and apologizes because he thinks he did something wrong or caused some hurt. I nearly always want to say IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT YOU STUPID BASTARD, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS THINK EVERYTHING IS ALWAYS YOUR FAULT, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE ANYWAY, but usually I hold my tongue and bite it hard and what ends up coming out a very strained sort of 'it's not your fault, it's fine', which only escalates the situation because now he doesn't think I am being honest.

Well fuck me sideways, but whenever I am honest, you cannot handle it. You freak out because you think you have well and truly offended me terribly, and that it is time to pack your shit and just go and be gone already. Whenever I am truly trying to communicate and figure out what in the hell happened that we are suddenly yelling at each other and I am waving my phone around saying I am about to call the police and you are strong-arming me and not letting me go into rooms or walk around the house freely, I want to just call down fire from on high and burn this whole motherfucking place up. I am tired and beyond tired of doing this all the time. I am tired of not being able to ever just say how I feel because you always take it on as a personal mission to make it better. I am tired of not being able to react in an authentic way because I am trying to hold back anything you might see as evidence that something bad happened that you need to fix. I am tired of the fights and the screaming and of me trying to kick you out and you never ever leaving. UNTIL we try to talk it out (again!) later, and then you decide that you have seen the light and must now go. AFTER I HAVE ALREADY SAID I WAS SORRY AND WANT YOU TO STAY.

I don't know why you can't just leave. Just go, take my heart with you, and stay gone. I can't keep doing this because it's exhausting and it hurts and I don't like the depths and heights that I go in my anger. I don't like that you won't let me calm down alone and you always take away my ability to deal with the anger on my own. I don't like that you have left bruises on my skin. I don't like that you have taken down my curtains twice - the second time by force, and ripped them in half. I don't like that you fixed what you did, because even though I wanted them never to be ripped in the first place, I can't handle seeing the sewn up rip in them day after day after day. I can't handle seeing the refinished cof