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"THE TRINING Book Three"


Chapter 1
PENALTY FOR DESERTION: DEATH (PT 2)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of Chapter One, Pt. 1:
       "Forgive my persistence, Doctrex, but going now would be suicidal."
       "I appreciate that persistence, doctor; you're doing your job. And, I've been known to do a few suicidal things in my life," I added, enjoying a little inside joke with myself, "but, just as you are doing your job, as your General, I'm going to do my job. We are going to be leaving just as soon as I get dressed and get on my crossan."
       The medic closed his notebook. "General Doctrex, I value your decision, but I must go on record as saying I disagree with it with all my heart."
       "I'd have expected no other ethical response from you, doctor."
       "But not enough to listen to the wisdom of it?"
       "Not for a moment.”
 

Book III
Chapter One
(Part 2)
 
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1974 wds.
 
"At least let me take the time to bandage your side again before you go. You need to keep it dust free until it heals. And, you must allow me to re-do it every night before you sleep."
 
I told him I'd agree to that, and he proceeded to roll me to my side and peel off the bandage. He was behind me so I couldn't see his face, but I could see Eele's, which was immersed in the medic’s movements. At one point Eele’s mouth twitched, he arched his brows and then edged closer to me.
 
The medic said, "If I hadn't been the one to bandage this the first time, I wouldn't believe what I'm seeing. I—I just don't know what to say, Doctrex."
 
"Well, someone better say something, doctor."
 
"Checking back with my notes, Doctrex," he said, and I could hear the sound of rustling paper, "Yes, here ... You had—three days ago—a nasty oval shaped abrasion, about eight inches in width and a foot in length. You saw it yourself, Eele, when you first got here."
 
"Please, gentlemen, get to the point."
 
"It was nasty all right," Eele agreed. He bent over me. "This doesn't make any sense, Doctrex. But, it's gone."
 
"It's not just gone, Doctrex," the medic added, "but there's not even a trace of a scar. Excuse me ..." He pressed his palms to my side and began gently stretching the skin. “No scarring, no redness, skin pliant. Doctrex, I'm astonished!"
 
"It seems to me, doctor, the only thing left unanswered, then, is whether I can sit up on the cot without sparks flying off my head and blowing off the top of the wagon."
 
"Shall we test that theory, then? Eele, can you stand on that side of him and I'll stand back here? Okay, Doctrex, you want to give it a go?"
 
I figured the medic harbored an unvoiced desire I would fail abysmally. Still lying on my side, I propped myself up on one elbow, swung my legs over the edge of the cot, facing Eele. He had his arms out ready to catch me, a concerned expression on his face. I did feel a little light-headed when I raised myself to a seated position, but after a moment that went away.
 
Behind me, the medic asked—and I thought, a little disappointedly—how I felt.
 
"Hungry," I said.
 
#
 
Within two hours, Eele was well on his way back to his troops, our site was cleaned, with all debris buried, and the men were saddled, their crossans stomping the ground restlessly. Engle was beside me on his crossan and on the other side of me the medic was astride his. Normally, his crossan was tied to the rear of the wagon and pulled along, but today he decided to ride along with me a while, just to be on the side of caution.
 
I liked the medic. I admired his dedication and the courage he displayed to stick to his principles and not weaken his judgments in the face of authority. Given my admiration, I was embarrassed that I never even asked his name. "Doctor," I asked confidentially, leaning toward him. "What is your name? With all that happened in the wagon, I didn't think to ask."
 
"I think you already know I'm not a doctor," he said with a smile. "I'm a medic."
 
"Well, to me you are," I told him. "So, are you going to tell me?"
 
"The name's Braims Glassem, sir."
 
"When we get through bringing down Glnot Rhuether and we get back, I'll have some good things to say about you, Braims."
 
"That's not necessary, sir."
 
"But it is. Anyone who is good at what he does and is unswerving in his excellence, deserves to have it be known."
 
Braims smiled, but also reddened. "Being unswerving didn't keep you in your cot, sir."
 
"Well, let's just say you were up against someone whose rank allowed him to swerve even less. You did well, and you're doing well in what you're saying now. I want you to know that."
 
"Thank you, sir."
 
Engle told me the troops were ready. I raised my arm and brought it down with a loud Forward Ho and we were on our way through the cold and gloom to rendezvous with Giln Profue and what I knew was going to be an uncomfortable confrontation with Zurn.
 
Our journey was uneventful. After about an hour, Braims asked me how I was feeling. I told him there was no weakness or dizziness, no shortness of breath. He excused himself and headed back to the wagon.

We saw the glow from the torches in Giln's camp from about a mile away. If the haggard look on Engle's face, and I would guess, on my own, were any indication, by now the troops were exhausted and the glow must have been warm and inviting.
 
As we drew nearer, two riders came toward us, their crossbows loaded, but pointed to the ground. "Who goes?"
 
"General Doctrex and our troops," I shouted back.
 
He came closer until he could recognize me. "General Doctrex, sir, forgive me, but we needed to be cautious. We saw your torches and Lieutenant Profue sent us out to make sure it was you. We expected you three days ago." His sentences ran one into the other and on one breath. "We've fought off two attacks, sir, from the other side—the north west. I'll let Lieutenant Profue tell you about it."
 
"Was there any loss of life?"
 
"No, sir, but I'll let Lieutenant Profue give you the details." They turned their crossans around and we followed them into camp. Inside, I left the troops to dismount and relax a while until they got further direction on where to pitch their tents.
 
The two guides led us to the tents of the Lieutenants Profue. Both were waiting outside for me. We saluted, the guides left and I dismounted. Around their eyes, Giln and Sheleck both looked withered, with dark circles underneath them. They appeared to be a few days unshaven. We went inside the larger tent, which I guessed was Giln's.
 
Giln was the first to speak. "It's good to see you, Doctrex. We expected you sooner."
 
"Yes, it sounds like you could have used the troop support."
 
"You mean the skirmishes?" Sheleck asked. "We controlled them well, I think, don't you Giln?"
 
"No loss of life on our side. So that was good. We took out about ten of them the first time, a few less the second."
 
"They're not very smart, Doctrex," Sheleck observed.
 
"That might be an understatement, Brother." Giln scratched his head. "They're more like brutes. See how big Sheleck is? They've got to be a head and shoulders taller than him. And, they're not dressed like soldiers! They're big-chested, hairy and just—like brutes. They didn't have swords, bows and arrows, anything, except these big clubs, and those even had leaves and branches on them."
 
"Pomnots," I muttered, remembering the one that tried to break through the membrane barrier between the dimensions and attack me.
 
But I don't think they heard me because Sheleck excitedly added to his brother's narration with, "And, the reason why we didn't have any losses is that they couldn't get close enough to use their clubs. Our automatic crossbows easily took them out, though they kept moving forward, unfazed. Like I said, they're not very smart."
 
"You'll have to see one. Sheleck and I dragged one of the dead ones into camp so the medic could examine him. They are more animals than men."
 
"I'll have to do that. Now. Giln, Sheleck. I'm tired, but we need to talk."
 
There was a joint sigh that seemed to dampen all at once the spirit of victory they had been enjoying.
 
"Where's Zurn?"
 
"He's in his tent, under guard," said Giln.
 
"For how long?"
 
"Since we arrived here. That was when we discovered him. Sheleck and I talked to him in our tent first. We had to find out if he really knew what he did was wrong."
 
"And, did he?"
 
"Oh, yes, he knew we would be angry with him for sneaking himself into our unit. That was the reason he hid himself from us in the back of the ranks. I'm sure his dread of facing us would have kept him in hiding indefinitely if the one riding next to him on the way hadn't asked me about him when we made camp here. He said Zurn acted really nervous and he remembered him being with us when we were all part of the big army."
 
"I understand, but did you ask him if he understood the seriousness of his sneaking off?"
 
"Do you mean—” Sheleck started, but had trouble finishing.
 
"Are you talking about desertion, Doctrex?" Giln asked with the directness of one who was trying to buffer his waning courage by speaking loudly and clearly.
 
"Yes. But more than that, did either of you talk to him after I addressed the troops about the seriousness of desertion during wartime?"
 
"I—no," said Sheleck. "Did you, Brother?"
 
"No, we both knew in our hearts he would fight to the death before he would run from battle. And, that's what we thought would be the only reason one would desert during wartime—because he was a coward. So, do I think he considered what he did as desertion? No, I don't. I'd stake my life on it. Zurn knew he was wrong, but thought it would cause us to be disappointed in him. But, not that he deserted. Don't you think so, Brother?"
 
"Absolutely," said Sheleck, nodding vigorously as though that would help drive home the truth of it.
 
I looked down at the floor to gather my thoughts. "Giln. Sheleck. I love Zurn the way I love you two. I love him in a special way, as well. The same as you do. I love him the way a mother loves her defenseless child. I want to protect him. Right now, for example, I feel so horribly bad he’s under guard. Because I know how alone and unloved he must feel." Giln's and Sheleck's eyes welled out of shared sympathy for Zurn, but more so because I think they knew where I was taking my argument. And, I think they realized it was the only place it could go. And, they knew they were powerless to stop it—as I was.
 
"As much as we all love Zurn," I continued, "he should not be in the Army. I think, deep down, you understood that before you encouraged Klasco to get his rejected enlistment reversed. But, I don't think you wanted him left to the whims of the town-folk. I believe Klasco was out of line to use his personal clout to get the enlistment reversed. But, it doesn't stop there. I had the opportunity to let Commander Djars wash Zurn from the training classes which would have effectively removed him from the army. But, I overrode his authority. And, it didn't even end there. When Zurn was wounded and in the Jerry-Fibe infirmary, I used the power of my rank to make sure he was released to join our troops. So, all in all, there wasn't a scarcity of people to share in the blame. And, personally—" I thumped my chest with my forefinger — "you're looking at the one who owned the biggest share of the blame."
 
The two stared at me, open-mouthed.
 
"That being said, we have military law to contend with. And that says the penalty for desertion during wartime is death!"
 
"No!" both cried out, spontaneously, in one voice. "No, Doctrex—no!"
 
"Giln ... Shelleck ... The only thing ranking above me here is the law."
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
PONDRIA: According to myth, Glnot Rhuether's twin, once conjoined at the ribs.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
PAPPERING: In the provinces, the ability of one language being automatically translated into another so there is no reason for one to learn a foreign language.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
LSG,LEFT STATION GUARD: Barracks Leader.
LARZ KAILEEN: Doctrex's LSG for the Kabeezan troops
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
TRANDLE: A time-telling devise
POOL OF ARLANGUA: According to the Tablets of Kyre, the place where those who die from their own hands end up.


Chapter 1
THE METAMORPH'S RETURN (PT. 1)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the last 3 paragraphs of Book II:
       I make my decision. There is no more time to dally. I remove Axtilla's watch from my pocket, hold it in the palm of my hand. My heart's pounding in my throat. It's 11:38. Returning it, I hike one leg over the railing. The whole structure of the bridge bounces from the shift of weight. I am straddling the rope. I find the outside of one of the planks with my foot. Again, the silly thought. Watch out, you'll fall! By putting my full weight on that foot it is easy to drag my other leg over the rope railing. I am standing on the outside now, looking into the bridge. I feel suddenly very chilled. Do I turn around and jump, or push off backwards?
       An epiphany bubbles up from wherever epiphanies originate. As Doctrex, I was so militarily correct. As Victor, so arrogant. Why not leave with some humor and grace? Why not attempt, for the first time in my life, what I'd only seen on the screen of a TV, a fully executed back one-and-a-half? It would be the first spontaneous, undercooked idea Doctrex or Viktor ever acted on. I check out the water again. I am between the two families of boulders. Perfect.
       I glance for the final time at my Axtilla whose face is still in her palms. Holding to the rope, I bend my knees, then suddenly uncoil them, screaming, "Good bye my love," arcing my back as I'd seen them do in the Olympics, and then tucking my knees into my chest while wrapping my arms around my shins, spinning like the mythical Pondria—the Pondria Axtilla said would be waiting for me in the Pool of Arlangua.

Book III
Chapter One
Part 1

 
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1943 wds,
 
 
It ends with an abrupt jolt. Silence. And, then black.
 
And, an unseen observer watching.
 
Words discover form, “This …is … not …” in some far end of a shimmering vast blackness “…not … how…” growing louder and closer …how … it … ends!’ Until it fills the entirety of the profound, dimensionless black, and from its enormity a softness billows and the words melt together, settling into a thick black hummmm.
 
Something is abstractly observing all this. It is from this detached awareness it watches and listens, and it appears to be struggling mightily to be aware of its own observing. Having this awareness seems to be critical. And, at times this something seems to be very close to achieving recognition, recall.
 
So, it observes:
 
It watches as, into the center of that oily black humming, a drop of scarlet settles, then spreads, yet doesn't fill the black, but keeps within the law of its inner shape. Still, the observer sees this is about to change. Warring powers within the amorphous scarlet shape begin to push out toward the borders. The observer watches this with interest because it knows—not understanding how it knows—this is a part of recognition. There is a kinship with the evolving shape.
 
That's all it takes.
 
Merely recognizing this, he takes on the awareness of the shape. He becomes part of the duality of the warring powers. Still undifferentiated, he, or a remnant of himself, tries to dissociate, to pull free from the scarlet shape, and fails. He feels now it was himself pulling away from the scarlet within the blackness, then from the blackness itself. But, failing to detach from what had been a remnant of himself, now he is cocooned in a white liquid roar, tumbling and whirling, the remnant, attached by a piece of scarlet skin, flaps from his rib. He watches it with a kind of detached curiosity. They are bonded through the patch of scarlet skin, but he has no feeling of fraternity with this freakish thing, flapping like a banner from his rib as both whip directionlessly through the boiling, churning storm.
 
Then, what had been a maelstrom of movement … suddenly is now a profound stillness.
 
#
 
"He's as good as dead, Special Colonel Jessip. He's breathing, sure. But, let's face it. He's not going anywhere. Not for a long time. I'm only a medic. I'm not a doctor. And this isn't an infirmary. It's just a wagon."
 
I open my eyes. But I'm opening them to the inside of my lids, those flickering, buttery curtains that separate Eele and the medic from knowing I'm okay! Of course I'm going to lead. I'm back! I finished the job back there and now I'm back. I think I even brought it off with some panache this time, Eele—a flamboyance not befitting of a psychologist and certainly not a general. But it effectively closed the door with a slam. Eele, you'd understand it. Anyone who'd lead a troop of singing soldiers would understand!
 
"He doesn't seem in any pain."
 
"He may be in horrible pain, but his brain is cut off from it.
 
My brain's not cut off from anything. Listen to Eele. There's no pain. I'm not feeling any pain.
 
You've seen his side, Special Colonel Jessip. If it was blood he's been losing he'd have been dead two days ago. But, it's just been an oozing-out of something. Still, his wound has to be causing pain on some level. The real danger is infection. Special Colonel Jessip, he—"
 
"Listen, just call me Eele."
 
"Okay, Eele. Pure and simple. He needs to be taken back to camp Jerri-Fibe."
 
No! No! No! You can't let him railroad you, Eele.
 
"As the senior medic, I don't want to be responsible for him dying out here in the middle of nowhere. You are next highest in command beneath the General. Give me permission to have him taken back to Jerri-Fibe."
 
"I'm not the next. I share it. There’s another Special Colonel—Roze. This is not a decision to make without deliberation. I’ll send a courier to him now and he should be here tomorrow."
 
"Eele, he could be dead tomorrow! Do you want that on your conscience? I certainly don't!"
 
I realize I need to do something and do it now. The weight of persuasion is swinging toward the medic. It appears I have only my thoughts—wait! And my breathing! I remember the medic saying the words, "He's breathing, sure ..." Can I force a physical action compelling enough to generate some hope in that die-hard pessimist? Do it through breathing—or its lack! Summoning all my concentration, I fill my lungs as full of air as possible. That, alone, doesn't help. I thought they might notice my rising chest. I hold my breath for what is probably a minute, though it seems like five. I hear my mind's first warning that, hey, you'd better take in some air. But, instead, I constrict my chest cavity, and my throat, holding the air in more tightly. I start to feel lightheaded and wonder if a comatose person can faint. All at once, something that is not thought, but more from the survival, instinctive level, takes over and a burst of air explodes from my lungs; more air rushes in to fill the remaining vacuum, and then a fit of coughing expels that air. I feel my arms flailing. Other arms grasp at them, trying to pin me down. My eyes pop open to see Eele and the medic bent over my cot.
 
#
 
"Would you please ... get off me," I puffed, breathlessly.
 
Eele and the medic shrank back, gaping at each other.
 
After my breathing had returned to nearly normal, I asked the medic if I sounded like someone who could be dead by tomorrow. I wanted to leap off the cot, drop to the wagon floor and do a few push-ups. But, I was able to turn my head to the side and wait for his answer.
 
"No, General Doctrex. And, I admit I'm amazed! Not that you're alive—but, well, that you came out of it so quickly."
 
"It's good to have you back, Doctrex," said Eele. He was a few inches out of my line of sight so I couldn't see him, but I did see the medic's head swing to him.
 
"We're good friends," I said. "You may call me Doctrex, too."
 
"Thank you, sir." The medic advanced a little toward me. "How do you feel, Doctrex? You mind if I check a few things?" He didn't wait for an answer before he was bending over the cot, face-to-face. He was doing his job. That was good. He pried one eye and the other open. Then he pulled back. "Can you make a fist?" I did and he asked me to lift my arm up and rotate, palm up and palm down. Then he asked me to lift my left leg and then my right. When he asked me how all the various movements felt, I told him I was stiff from lying in one position, but I didn't feel any pain.
 
"My brain isn't cut off from it, you see." I watched him blush. "It's simply that I don't feel any. By the way, you told Eele if my wound had been bleeding, instead of oozing whatever disgusting stuff it was oozing, I should have been dead two days ago. How long have I been in the coma?"
 
"I don't think I called it disgusting, sir, but—"
 
"I know, I know," I smiled. "I was just editorializing. How long, though?"
 
"Three days." He made some notes, glancing up at me every now and again, then back to his tablet.
 
Three days! I wasn't with Axtilla even a full day. Could I have been in the coma a day or two before I crossed into that dimension? No, No ... I remember I was in Doctor Green's waiting room when the medic's and Engle's voice kept bleeding through—kept trying to pull me back. So, my crossing was the instant I became comatose in this dimension. Assuming it was no more than six or seven hours from waiting room to my back one-and-a-half off the rope bridge, at least two days was spent transitioning back. It's amazing how clear my memory of being back there this time is. I remember everything in vivid detail—vivid detail. The first time I crossed into this dimension, I had almost total amnesia. This time I crossed back and now have complete recall.
 
Something niggled at my mind, though. There was a dreamlike illogic to a few things I never brought up with Axtilla when we were together there. Axtilla is apparently locked into my existence on a level I'm not privy to. She knew exactly when to cross into the other dimension to meet me there. So my coma apparently triggered an alert in her consciousness. But, it doesn't explain how she had the time and the connections to become Doctor Green's assistant, given the name of Barbara. Nor does it explain how she got the Fiat 500, or how she learned to maneuver it with the expertise of a race driver.
 
Was there another explanation an honest seeker of truth would advance as a possibility? I'm sure Doctor Green or even Viktor Brueen wouldn't hesitate to conclude: "What we have at work here in your mind, Doctrex, is a classic—a textbook case of delusion—an hallucination—brought about by your fall from your crossan, or the fever that ensued from the wound on your side." They would go on to say, "There is no Axtilla. You are not a General of an army. You are not in pursuit of this Glnot Rhuether. He is an archetypal figure ... representing evil."
 
"Eele," I said, and the medic looked up from his notes, "we have a lot of lost ground to pick up. Three days' worth. Where's Engle?"
 
"He's with your troops."
 
"You need to get back with yours. And, before you leave have Engle come to me."
 
"Aren't you forgetting something, Doctrex?" the medic asked, after patiently waiting for us to finish.
 
I looked over at him.
 
"You still are recuperating. You can't be up on your crossan with all that dust being kicked up. You'd just be begging for an infection. And, that's even if you could sit on your crossan. You haven't even tried to sit up here."
 
"Well, let's do it," I said, mustering as much enthusiasm as I could.
 
"You need to just rest, Doctrex, at least for another eight or so hours, before you even sit up."
 
"I've been resting for three days, doctor." I think he enjoyed his title, but not enough to give in.
 
"Forgive my persistence, Doctrex, but going now would be suicidal."
 
"I appreciate that persistence, doctor; you're doing your job. And, I've been known to do a few suicidal things in my life," I added, enjoying a little inside joke with myself, "but, just as you are doing your job, as your General, I'm going to do my job. We are going to be leaving just as soon as I get dressed and get on my crossan."
 
The medic closed his notebook. "General Doctrex, I value your decision, but I must go on record as saying I disagree with it with all my heart."
 
"I'd have expected no other ethical response from you, doctor."
 
"But not enough to listen to the wisdom of it?"
 
"Not for a moment.”
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
PONDRIA: According to myth, Glnot Rhuether's twin, once conjoined at the ribs.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
PAPPERING: In the provinces, the ability of one language being automatically translated into another so there is no reason for one to learn a foreign language.
JED: Doctrex's personal courier.
LSG,LEFT STATION GUARD: Barracks Leader.
LARZ KAILEEN: Doctrex's LSG for the Kabeezan troops
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
TRANDLE: A time-telling devise
POOL OF ARLANGUA: According to the Tablets of Kyre, the place where those who die from their own hands end up.


Chapter 2
THE POMNOT: REVISITED ( Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

 
WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of Chapter Two, Pt. 1:
       Zurn and I had a fine time reminiscing about the incident in the tavern when Sheleck was wounded, and how we all rallied around him, about the excitement of picking out our very own crossans, later on, and training them. It got a little somber when he revisited the moment in front of the camp when we had to give up our crossans, but he brightened up again when I reassured him they would be waiting for our return from battle when we could once again enjoy riding them.
        "Zurn," I began after we had enjoyed each other's company for about a half-hour and I thought I heard the guard outside my tent, "how would you like to have your tent beside mine for tonight?"
        "You mean the guard tent?"
        "No. I mean you will be in your own tent right next to mine and you'll be by yourself."
        "Where will the guard be?"
        "You won't need a guard because you won't run away," I said, getting up again and sticking my head out of the tent opening. The guard was standing by the gear he'd brought. I thanked him and he saluted and left.

 
Book III
Chapter Two
(Part 2)
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 720 wds.
 
The Pomnot had been laid out on a blanket, on the floor of the medical tent. The medical tent was the largest in the camp, larger than the officers’ tents because it housed six cots and the tent walls were lined with medicines, bottles containing multi-colored liquids and various folded cloths and piles of swabs.
 
The Pomnot was on the floor instead of a cot because the cots were too small. Giln, Sheleck, Zurn and I stood at the filth-caked foot of the Pomnot. The stench was overwhelming.
 
The medic supplied each of us with a square of cloth he had saturated with a scent that reminded me of orange blossoms. We held them over our noses.
 
"Is he decomposing?" I asked of the medic.
 
"No, he smelled this bad the day we brought him in. Just dirt, sweat, other excretions, including several areas of infected sores and various lesions. Hygiene is apparently not one of their priorities. We've examined him and were waiting for you to come by before we had him taken out and buried."
 
The Pomnot appeared strangely at peace. His eyes were open and empty, beneath course tufts of eyebrows and a slanting forehead; they bore the unmistakable stamp of death. His mouth slack, he revealed a leathery tongue, tucked in between a set of very large and very yellow, chipped flesh-ripping teeth.
 
Based on what I already learned about the Pomnots from Axtilla they had been part of the general population at the time of the Bining, but they were not evolving and so were drawn up into Glnot Rhuether's plane where they became a race of expendables. Mindlessly programmed to move relentlessly toward the scent of the living and devour it. And, now death had released him from his blunted sensibilities, and gave him the look of peace.
 
"What were the findings of your examination, doctor?"
 
He folded his arms across a graying, white apron that had been stained with blood, already browned with age. "Rather difficult conditions for an examination, General. It was entirely superficial. Measurement, estimated weight, musculature, et cetera. The comparisons between height and girth were quite telling. No way to discern if he was representative of others of his line. I'm guessing he is. You were there with your men, lieutenant," he addressed Giln. "Would you say he was about the same build as the rest?"
 
"None of them was small, Doctor. Yes, I'd say he was about the average."
 
"What is he, about six and a half feet tall?" I asked.
 
"Just a hair under seven."
 
"Whoa!" I said, and he gave me a puzzled smile. "And his estimated weight?"
 
"About three-sixty."
 
"Three hundred and sixty pounds!" Giln exclaimed. "What are you, Sheleck?"
 
"Six-five and about two-forty."
 
"I'd guess the measurement around your chest," the medic said to Sheleck, "is in the fifty range. This one's girth is seventy-one inches. Beware of being hugged by one." He said this last with a smile that showed a row of crooked teeth. "And, those thighs—thirty-eight inches! Used to doing a lot of walking, pulling or carrying heavy loads."
 
"Tell me about his head, doctor. Particularly the forehead." I almost mentioned phrenology, but I thought better of it. "Doesn't appear to be a lot of room behind that forehead for much thinking."
 
"You noticed how it's slanted back? And you are right. My guess is it's about half the size of ours. Rules prohibit performing surgery on a corpse or that would have been my first procedure. We can only surmise from their actions. The soldiers described the beast-like persistence of someone or something that didn't understand the results of what he was doing. They always moved forward at a steady pace, straight ahead, no matter the ones falling all around them. Is that right, lieutenant?"
 
"That's right, doctor. You couldn't have described it better."
 
"Now, General Doctrex and Lieutenants Profue ... and ..." he looked at Zurn, "I'm sorry?"
 
"That's okay," said Zurn, confused at the medic's apology.
 
"I was going to say," the medic frowned at what probably sounded like Zurn making fun of him, "if we're finished here, I need to have them take him out and get him disposed of."
 
"I think we can all use some fresh air," I said.
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
TRANDLE: A time-telling devise


Chapter 2
INTERROGATION OF ZURN (PART 1)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of Chapter One, Pt. 2:
       "As much as we all love Zurn," I continued, "he should not be in the Army. I think, deep down, you understood that before you encouraged Klasco to get his rejected enlistment reversed. But, I don't think you wanted him left to the whims of the town-folk. I believe Klasco was out of line to use his personal clout to get the enlistment reversed. But, it doesn't stop there. I had the opportunity to let Commander Djars wash Zurn from the training classes which would have effectively removed him from the army. But, I overrode his authority. And, it didn't even end there. When Zurn was wounded and in the Jerry-Fibe infirmary, I used the power of my rank to make sure he was released to join our troops. So, all in all, there wasn't a scarcity of people to share in the blame. And, personally—" I thumped my chest with my forefinger — "you're looking at the one who owned the biggest share of the blame."
       The two stared at me, open-mouthed.
       "That being said, we have military law to contend with. And that says the penalty for desertion during wartime is death!"
       "No!" both cried out, spontaneously, in one voice. "No, Doctrex—no!"
       "Giln ... Shelleck ... The only thing ranking above me here is the law."

 
Book III
Chapter Two
(Part 1)

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1553 wds.
 
It broke my heart to have to remind the brothers Profue what they couldn't have helped but know. "On the other hand,” I continued, searching eyes that were hungry for hope, “I refuse to convict him without a military hearing. That would take a minimum of three impartial officers. Besides, even if the officers were present, we have more important things to do right now than to conduct such a hearing. Would you agree with that?"
 
They both rapidly nodded their immense relief.
 
"I need to have a talk with Zurn myself. I'll do that tomorrow. And, afterwards, we'll see if the medic has any clues that will help us defeat your attackers if we face them when we push forward in the next leg of our movement."
 
"Will we be going with you?" Giln asked.
 
"Your troops will follow us in five days ... unless we send back a courier saying we are in need of reinforcements. So, your troops must be in readiness to leave at any moment, but for sure in five days. Understood?"
 
"Yes, Doctrex."
 
"And, Zurn will come with me. It's important for him to be away from the two of you."
 
"I understand," said Sheleck.
 
"Yes," Giln agreed.
 
"The best thing Zurn can do for himself is to show quiet acceptance of his wrongdoing with maturity and grace while undertaking the extra duty given him as a reminder of his crime. And, if we do engage with the enemy, I expect nothing less than his full support and courage in the face of adversity. I'll be observing him closely as will a few others. I will choose them for their fairness and impartiality. Under oath at his hearing they will be his best witnesses or his worst depending on the truth of his actions. And, all you can do, my dear friends, is love him from a distance."
 
"That we will, Doctrex."
 
Asking them to have Zurn at my tent after tomorrow's breakfast, I thanked the brothers for their service in carrying out a fine campaign and I left to have my men pitch their tents for the evening.
 
#
 
"Zurn, sit down. I'll be back." It took everything I had in me to get the words out without my voice breaking. He slumpped in the chair, his spirit was broken. I led the guard outside the tent, assuring him I would be fine alone with his prisoner and he could return in a half-hour. Back inside, I took the chair opposite Zurn and just watched him, at first, without speaking. He kept his eyes focused on the ground, but after a while they made a little jerking movement up to my face and then immediately looked down. This went on for about five minutes before I spoke. "Do you want to say something, Zurn?"
 
"You are mad at me, too, aren't you, Doctrex?"
 
"I'm very mad at you, Zurn. Shouldn't I be very mad at you?"
 
"I was a bad soldier."
 
"How were you bad?"
 
"You know ...."
 
"But, I want you to tell me how you were bad."
 
"I followed after my brothers."
 
"How did that make you bad?"
 
He shrugged and shifted his weight in the chair.
 
"If you don't answer me, Zurn, I'll be even madder than I was."
 
"I don't know, Doctrex," he said, flustered, and then a whimper escaped his lips, causing him to counteract it by pulling himself up taller in his chair.
 
"That's okay, Zurn. It's just the two of us and we're friends even if I am a little mad at you. But, you know, you haven't told me yet why you followed after your brothers."
 
"I was—I was afraid the fire people would—would hurt them if I wasn't there."
 
"The fire people? You mean those fire balls that came out of the sky?"
 
"Yes. Those."
 
"But, they might have hurt you, too. Weren't you afraid of that?"
 
"No, not as long as my brothers were with me. You know? Sheleck says that's what brothers do. They take care of each other."
 
"Zurn, do you remember back when we were all together? That was back before you fell off your crossan."
 
"They took Blackie away from me when we got to camp," he said, taking a leap farther back in his memory than I had intended him to go.
 
"Yes, and that was bad, but they are keeping Blackie for when we get back. I'm talking about the time before you fell off the new crossan they gave you. Do you remember when the men ran away from the army? And, I got up and talked in front of the men? Do you remember that?"
 
"Yes, they were trying to go home. And you made them clean up the camp and help the cooks and some of the men teased them because they were bad." After a pause that I could see was filled with his private thoughts, he added, "Some of the men teased me, too. But that wasn't for being bad. That was before I was bad."
 
This was taking a turn I wasn't expecting. I needed to steer him back. "But, I want to know if you remember one of the things I said. It's very important you listen to me and try to remember. It was after I told all of our troops that those men were going to be punished. But, do you remember what I told them would happen to any man who ran away when it was wartime?"
 
"Yes, Doctrex."
 
"What did I say would happen to them?"
 
He looked confused. "Something about—de—deserting them."
 
"No, Zurn. That's what it's called when they run away. They are deserting the army. What did I say we would do to them if they deserted?"
 
A smile slowly formed, then spread. "Yes. Yes. You said you would kill them. See? I remember!"
 
"Very good, Zurn," I said without enthusiasm. And, I had to look away from him, pretending to pick up something on the dirt floor behind me, so I could close my eyes a moment and gather my composure. I turned back to him and smiled, hoping my lips weren't trembling. "Zurn, tell me this. Why would someone desert during wartime?"
 
"Because ... because they were scared. Because they were afraid the fire people would hit them. I saw one man get hit by the fire people ..."
 
"And, what happened?"
 
"He started on fire."
 
"That must have scared you. What did you do?"
 
"I did like this." He spread out his arms in an imaginary embrace. "And I pulled him down and rolled on him. And then the fire went away."
 
My heart leapt. A character witness! "Do you know his name, Zurn?"
 
He shook his head.
 
One step forward, two back. "But, weren't you afraid the fire people would hit you?"
 
"Yes. I was afraid."
 
"I was too, Zurn. I was really afraid! Did you ever get so scared you thought of running away—of deserting?"
 
"No. Did you?"
 
I'm sure my mouth dropped open. But, I could see from his expression he genuinely was interested in my answer. "No, I—I couldn't."
 
"Why not?"
 
"Well, because of the men. I mean, how could I expect them to stay and fight if I ran off?"
 
He nodded, smiling. "Me, too, Doctrex. Me, too!" He seemed thrilled to discover, I'm sure for the first time, we were part of the same community.
 
"Excuse me, Zurn." I got up and stuck my head out the tent.
 
Sure enough the guard was waiting outside, a discreet distance away. I called him to me and stepped outside. "Listen," I said, "go to Lieutenant Giln Profue and tell him I am relieving you of the duty of guarding Zurn Profue. I will take full responsibility for him. Then, tell the supply man I'll need a tent and sleeping bag. You can bring them to my tent. Will you do that?"
 
He said he would, but I saw he wasn't too happy about it. While he was gone, Zurn and I had a fine time reminiscing about the incident in the tavern when Sheleck was wounded, and how we all rallied around him, about the excitement of picking out our very own crossans, later on, and training them. It got a little somber when he revisited the moment in front of the camp when we had to give up our crossans, but he brightened up again when I reassured him they would be waiting for our return from battle when we could once again enjoy riding them.
 
"Zurn," I began after we had enjoyed each other's company for about a half-hour and I thought I heard the guard outside my tent, "how would you like to have your tent beside mine for tonight?"
 
"You mean the guard tent?"
 
"No. I mean you will be in your own tent right next to mine and you'll be by yourself."
 
"Where will the guard be?"
 
"You won't need a guard because you won't run away," I said, getting up again and sticking my head out of the tent opening. The guard was standing by the gear he'd brought. I thanked him and he saluted and left.
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
TRANDLE: A time-telling devise


Chapter 3
COLD IS THE ENEMY

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the last chapter:
       "Tell me about his head, doctor. Particularly the forehead." I almost mentioned phrenology, but I thought better of it. "Doesn't appear to be a lot of room behind that forehead for much thinking."
        "You noticed how it's slanted back? And you are right. My guess is it's about half the size of ours. Rules prohibit performing surgery on a corpse or that would have been my first procedure. We can only surmise from their actions. The soldiers described the beast-like persistence of someone or something that didn't understand the results of what he was doing. They always moved forward at a steady pace, straight ahead, no matter the ones falling all around them. Is that right, lieutenant?"
         "That's right, doctor. You couldn't have described it better."
         "Now, General Doctrex and Lieutenants Profue ... and ..." he looked at Zurn, "I'm sorry?"
         "That's okay," said Zurn, confused at the medic's apology.
         "I was going to say," the medic frowned at what probably sounded like Zurn making fun of him, "if we're finished here, I need to have them take him out and get him disposed of."
         "I think we can all use some fresh air," I said.

 
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 2222

Book III
Chapter Three

 
Engle woke me at five-thirty, telling me through the fabric of my tent that the men were having breakfast and asking if I wanted him to have the cook prepare mine.
 
I had slept through the horn that awakened the men. My sleep-craving mind tried to convince me of the wisdom of having Giln spread my orders among the troops that we would rest one more day and leave tomorrow at six-thirty. I patiently listened to it. It was the least I could do for myself. After all, Braims Glassem would applaud my decision. I needed the rest. Three days in a coma takes its toll on the body and the spirit. I had to be alert. The lives of my men depended on it. No fuzzy-headed leader for them! They deserved the best.
 
But, I sat up on my cot and put my feet on the floor. "Yes, Engle, thanks. I'll be there directly. By the way, did you see Zurn Profue there?"
 
"No, sir. He would be with his guard, wouldn't he? Should I look for them?"
 
Of course, Engle wouldn't have known about my decision. I had a hunch Jed would have known, but, that was a moot point. "No, Engle; I'll look for him when I go for breakfast. Everyone needs to be ready by six-thirty."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
I dressed, finishing the process by fastening my heavy coat up to my chin. Leaving my tent, I glanced over to see Zurn's tent and sleeping bag rolled up together as others were all across the grounds. I could only hope he would be with the rest of the men in the eating area.
 
Last night, before we went to look at the Pomnot, I chose to tell Zurn he would be leaving his brothers and continuing on with me and my men on the next leg of our journey into enemy territory. He did not take it well at all. He needed to stay here to protect Giln and Sheleck from the fire people. I told him his brothers knew he was coming with me and they agreed he would be a greater help to me than to them, since he would still have to be kept under guard here. Besides, there didn't seem to be any fire people here. Just those big, ugly looking men like we saw in the medic's tent. And, his brothers said they could handle them. "Yes," Zurn had interrupted me to say, "Giln said they weren't very smart."
 
I knew my reasoning was tenuous at best. Its design was artful if not contrived. But, I had already stretched the limits of my authority to the maximum by removing his guard. And, then had danced around the definition of wartime desertion by letting Zurn’s own words convince me he had really only done something rather naughty. All because he had not connected his act as the kind of desertion that would result in the army's taking his life. I didn't think he was capable of making that connection. So, feeding him half-truths, and exaggerating his usefulness to the troops he would be joining, I could only hope I succeeded in winning his loyalty. The only way he might avoid the desertion charge, with its death sentence, was to exhibit courage in warfare. He already proved his heroism, but didn't remember the name of its recipient. What he needed were witnesses. I'd put some feelers out—have Engle ask around.
 
I didn't find Zurn in the eating area. But then, there were few men there. Most would be getting their gear packed on their crossans in readiness for our departure. I wolfed down my breakfast and as I turned to leave I saw Engle coming toward me. He had seen Zurn just finishing up eating. I asked him to check whether anyone had seen Zurn save the soldier's life by snuffing out his burning clothing.
 
"I overheard Preez telling another soldier he saw Zurn covering a burning soldier with his own body and putting out the fire. I remember because the other one didn't believe him."
 
"He didn't mention the name of the burning soldier?
 
"No, not that I remember."
 
"And, the one who didn't believe him—do you know his name?"
 
"Sorry. No, sir."
 
"Preez. First or last name?"
 
"Last. Vig Preez."
 
"We couldn't be so lucky to have him with us, could we?"
 
"I'm not sure, sir."
 
I noted to myself that Jed would have known, but I couldn't fault Engle for not having Jed's prodigious memory. Besides, he was probably wondering why I didn't know the names of my own troops. I had the books listing the assignment of all the men. I’d check them out later.
 
#
 
I rode Rain Spirit II down the ranks of the assembled troops as though I was conducting a spot inspection. Of course, once I spotted Zurn, I didn't make eye contact, but continued on for another half-dozen rows before turning Rain Spirit II and returning to the front. He was in the eleventh row.
 
I chastised myself for obsessing over Zurn. I simply couldn't afford to expend that emotional energy with all the other priorities pressing in on me. It was enough I found Vig Preez's assignment with Gerol's Unit. Later, when my unit connected again with Gerol's, I would get a statement from Preez and his assurance he would testify on Zurn's behalf. Meanwhile, I had to trust my conversation with Zurn over our responsibility to be brave during wartime to carry him through and then trust the soldiers around him would recognize, and later testify to, his steadfastness. I could allow nothing more.
 
Engle and I had been riding along in silence for close to an hour. He was to my right. The torchbearer was on my other side. I had been passing the time observing him again and again peer into the murky grayness beyond his torch, moving his head to his left so far his chin nearly touched his shoulder. Then, slowly bringing it back to the front. I thought I knew his intent. The stories must have been on everyone’s lips of the creatures who lumbered toward the camp in a mindlessly methodical and relentless way, making no attempt to shield themselves from the arrows that brought them down in twos and threes, leaving rank after rank of plodding creatures behind them. It must have been the stuff of nightmares to those who were there, as I was sure my men had been listening to the accounts of it with open mouths.
 
I asked Engle if he happened to see the creature in the medic's tent.
 
"I saw them dragging him out. It took three men. Two really. One kept having to stop to vomit. Doubt he even touched him, he was so squeamish. I was twenty yards away but the creature's stench was so overpowering, I can understand."
 
"Do you know anything about them?" I ventured. "What they're called?" I could tell the question confused him.
 
"What they're called?"
 
"I've heard them called Pomnots."
 
He smiled at me like he thought I was sharing a joke.
 
"So, you've heard of Pomnots?" I inquired.
 
"When I was a kid," he laughed. "Every kid’s heard of Pomnots. When you closed your eyes, they came in from the darkness."
 
"Or when you were in the darkness cycle?"
 
"Yes, yes, they were always after the child during the darkness cycle. In fact, a child born in the darkness cycle was considered Pomnot Possessed by other children." He looked embarrassed. "But, why am I telling you this?"
 
I laughed. "Probably because I'm farther away from it than you. Believe it or not, I'd forgotten about most of the legend. And, to be honest with you, Engle, I don't ever remember being afraid of the Pomnot. Maybe the Pomnot legend didn't come that far south."
 
"Maybe. But, let me tell you, Doctrex, when I was a child the Pomnot was a scary thing. You were pretty sure it wasn't real, but when you were alone, either in the dark cycle or just closing your eyes and trying to sleep in either cycle, it seemed very real."
 
"But, now that you're a man—"
 
"Oh, well—at some point you outgrow the things of your childhood, I guess."
 
"I guess." We rode along again in silence while I watched the wariness of the torchbearer. "Tell me, Engle, when you saw them dragging the creature from the medic's tent, did any part of your mind make a connection with the Pomnot of your childhood? I'm just curious." I watched his eyes.
 
He chuckled. "That's a strange question, sir."
 
But, I noticed his eyes were darting about. "I was just curious," I told him.
 
"Well, I'd have to say he was scary, and I remembered thinking, 'I hope I don't dream about him.'"
 
"So, he looked like the Pomnot of your childhood?"
 
"Oh, no. No. Well—I mean, compared to a child the Pomnot was huge. And this one was huge. The childhood one was ugly, and this one sure was ugly. And, it's pretty obvious if he ever got hold of you ..." He drifted back into silence.
 
#
 
The cold seemed to descend on us at almost the very moment stone marker number twelve, and my map, prompted us to take the more northerly route. We were midway through the third day, and while we were dressed for the cold, I began to feel a tingling at my exposed nose and cheeks, and I found myself opening and closing my hands to keep the circulation in them. We had gloves, but until now few wore them. They were bulky and rather stiff and they made holding a sword difficult—shooting an arrow from a bow impossible.

Soon, we’d have no choice.

I turned my head into the fog of my breath and checked out the men behind me, huffing out the heat from their own brief furnaces and sucking back in the icy fuel in front of their faces.

I turned back to Engle. His cheeks were pink. He tried to smile but his teeth were chattering.

My map showed we were now on a direct line—north by northwest—to Qarnolt, the castle where Glnot Rhuether would be headquartered. With about two-hundred and fifty miles to go, I think we all were expecting an increase in enemy activity. But, it was strangely quiet.
 
The three units to my right would soon be bending the long lines of their troops also in a more northerly direction while the four units to my left would be arcing in a west-by-northwest route. In all, if the original routes for all the units were depicted as a fan—Eele's Fan—then, what we were progressing to now might be called the closing of Eele's Fan. What I felt was even more descriptive was a freakish eight-fingered hand, widely spread, and then slowly closing to a fist around Glnot Rhuether. Though I loved Eele, this last metaphor satisfied an emotional need in me that Eele's fan failed to do.
 
So be it.
 
By now, the fourth day, each field jacket was fastened tightly under the chin, and gloves, after Medic Braims Glassem's suggestion and my mandate, were on every hand. We couldn't afford a rash of frostbitten hands. Hoods were pulled over the heads which kept the ears warm. We hadn't seen any snow falling, but silvery splotches of ice clung stubbornly to the scrub-brush-and-shale surface of the plain.
 
On the fifth day, my unit encamped on a large, flat, ice-encrusted plain and awaited the arrival of the Lieutenants Giln and Sheleck, who would just now be leaving their camp, along with the original two hundred men, who arrived there, according to plan, a day after our departure. So within four or five days six-hundred tired soldiers would be joining our four-hundred, by then, rested ones. After two more days of rest we would move, ten soldiers wide and one-hundred deep, like a giant wave rolling toward Qarnolt.
 
In each of the seven units to my left and right, a similar growing-together of all the troops associated with each unit would be stationed in seven encampments similar to mine. All eight units of us would be like those eight fingers getting ready to close into a tight, crushing fist.
 
If everything went as planned ... the seven units on either side of me would converge on the plane of Dzur, within hours of each other. Since my troop movement was the more directly north, the other troops had more miles to travel. If there were no delays mine would arrive as much as two days ahead of theirs—all plotted out neatly on paper.
 
Engle volunteered to establish the schedule for the guards and the first contingent stood shoulder-to-shoulder at each of the four perimeters of the camp. They were allowed movement within their tight ranks in order to stay warm. A bonfire blazed nearby each line of guards, regularly fed by scrub-brush and a graveyard of fallen, emaciated trees whose roots could never flourish in the cold, black shale. We would not be wanting for heat over the next week or so of our sojourn here.
 
But, why did I have strong feelings that keeping warm would be a minor concern?
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.


Chapter 4
UNDER THE BED, BEHIND THE EYES (Pt1)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the last chapter:
       In each of the seven units to my left and right, a similar growing-together of all the troops associated with each unit would be stationed in seven encampments similar to mine. All eight units of us would be like those eight fingers getting ready to close into a tight, crushing fist.
       If everything went as planned ... the seven units on either side of me would converge on the plane of Dzur, within hours of each other. Since my troop movement was the more directly north, the other troops had more miles to travel. If there were no delays mine would arrive as much as two days ahead of theirs—all plotted out neatly on paper.
       Engle volunteered to establish the schedule for the guards and the first contingent stood shoulder-to-shoulder at each of the four perimeters of the camp. They were allowed movement within their tight ranks in order to stay warm. A bonfire blazed nearby each line of guards, regularly fed by scrub-brush and a graveyard of fallen, emaciated trees whose roots could never flourish in the cold, black shale. We would not be wanting for heat over the next week or so of our sojourn here.
       But, why did I have strong feelings that keeping warm would be a minor concern?


ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 2168
  

Book III
Chapter Four
(Part 1)
 
If there were ever a foreboding of the events to follow, it would have been the moaning, and whimpering in the tents that first night. The guards heard it, and at one point I was awakened to the mournful, unsettling sounds myself. I stuck my head out the tent flap and was able to identify four tents from which the sounds definitely came, and a fifth that was a good possibility. Those were nearby. Beyond them the moaning continued, but was less differentiated, blending into more of a continuous floating lament.
 
At breakfast, it was the topic of heated conversation, not just a little teasing. In at least one case, full-blown anger ended in a brief scuffle. No hardened soldier—and few soldiers here did not consider themselves hardened—would allow another to suggest he was weak or sissified. And unless his own wailing woke him, he could not be made to believe it was he who caused those awful noises. If it did wake him, his self-esteem would urge him to deny what his own ears heard.
 
One of those tents I identified was Engle's. One that was definitely silent, at least while I was awake, was Zurn's (which I had allowed, at his earnest request, to continue to be near mine).
 
Neither discovery surprised me.
 
During the day, which was spent in soldier play—mock fighting, lifting heavy objects (though none as awesome as the late Klipal Lesn's display of strength), racing and target shooting—I was sure the disquieting residue of the previous night still existed at the back of the brain like a lifted corner of a scab.
 
The early evening was predictably restless. As it wore on, I noticed the men’s reluctance to retire to their tents. There was no enforced curfew. It hadn’t been needed. Usually, after a full day of activity, they would be eager to climb into their sleeping bags. Now they were like unruly children, resisting sleep with all that was in them.
 
Come on! Let's play one more game of stones!
 
Did I ever tell you the story about ...?
 
Let's see if the cook has anything to snack on!
 
They used any diversion to keep from being alone in their tents. Were they afraid of being singled out as tomorrow morning's offenders? That fear would be a powerful motive. So would the fear of having the dream again that prompted the outbursts. Was it a collective dreaming? We'd seen them before, though they were careful to call them visions, not dreams.
 
Tomorrow, I'd call Engle aside and see if he would admit to having had a dream—and tell me about it.
 
As circumstances played out though, that would have been a redundant inquiry.
 
#
 
Strident horn blasts came from the southern and the eastern guards. Before I could dress myself the western guards sounded their piercing warning as well. I slipped on my pants and boots, pushed my arms through the sleeves of my jacket and was lacing it up as I burst through the front of my tent.
 
Most of the men, bearing the automatic crossbows, raced toward the southern section, with about half the amount dashing eastward. One soldier stepped on the heel of one in front of him and both tumbled to the ground, rolled over and clambered back to their feet without the loss of a beat. I was near the middle of the group racing toward the southern guard. Swords in their scabbards slapped against their thighs. Breathing came in short bursts, as much from anticipation as exertion.
 
I looked over my shoulder at the men behind us. Stopping short, I spun around. "You men," I shouted to a cluster of thirty or so, "go over there, to the western guards." They veered off in that direction. Those behind them I directed in the opposite direction. "Go east, men! We need some strength in the eastern area. Go! Go! Go! The rest of you, spread out." Suddenly, I felt like a traffic cop. "This side, fill in the gap over there, west to south. And this side, from the east to the south.”
 
It was thinning out behind me. The stragglers I let go where they would. There was a fairly equal representation now on all fronts. As I approached the southern area, I saw the archers, each down on one knee peering into the gray, their crossbows aimed and ready. I went to the five guards, standing behind the ranks of archers. "Who blew the horn?" I asked the end guard.
 
"I—I did, General, sir," he said, barely keeping it together. "I was—I was scared!" His reddened eyes were pooled with tears.
 
The one beside him sobbed softly, his throat catching. "They were coming from over there," he said, pointing, but obviously afraid to look.
 
"Who?" I asked.
 
"The—the Pomnots. I want to go ..." He stopped in a spasm of hiccuping.
 
"Where? Home?"
 
He nodded, vigorously. And, strangely, so did the other four guards.
 
"What did the Pomnots look like?" I asked. "Like the dead creature at the last camp?"
 
"No," the one in the middle said. He gulped some air. "Bigger. With big—" he made a circle with the finger tips and thumbs of one hand touching those of the other . "—Eyes this big!"
 
"And sharp, pointy teeth," the one who had blown the horn added. "I don't want to do this anymore. We need to go."
 
"Home?" I stressed. "Home to your mommies and daddies? But won't the Pomnots be there too? Under your bed? Whenever you close your eyes?"
 
Now the one at the other end was whimpering. "I'm scared. I don't want to be here. Can we go home, sir?"
 
Engle was standing off to my right, watching us warily. I didn't know what he had heard. I called him over and we walked some distance from the guards. "Get four others, Engle. Men who are level-headed. I want you and the men you choose to take these men to their tents. Humor them. They're not themselves. They're possessed by something and I don't want them around the other men. Keep them in their tents until I come back. Hurry, and tell the others they are not to mention what the guards tell them to anyone else or they'll hear from me. Got it?"
 
"Yes, Doctrex."
 
He was off. I saw him whispering in a soldier's ear, then going off to another and doing the same. I walked the twenty or so yards to one of the archers and bent down at his side. "See anything, soldier?"
 
"I keep thinkin' I do. I point my arrow in his direction, but don't want to be the first one to shoot. In case it's no one. We're all a little spooked. The eyes play tricks on you."
 
"Well, you're doing well, soldier. Keep it up."
 
I straightened up and headed toward an approaching soldier, motioning to me.
 
"General, Doctrex, sir," he said, his eyes wide. "Over there, on the eastern side, the guards are acting crazy. They're saying they saw some—you know, Pomnots coming at them. That's why they blew their horns. Thing is, it's starting to affect the other soldiers."
 
"I'm heading over there, son. I want you to do me a favor. Go to the guards over there—" I pointed in the direction of the western area. "See if there's a similar problem there. Come back and let me know. Now, hurry."
 
I took off in a trot. We didn't have much time before panic would be widespread. When I got there, one of the guards had his arms wrapped around himself and was shivering. I heard his teeth clattering from five feet away. His eyes were wide open and his lips were moving. Another was sitting on the ground, facing away from the rank of kneeling archers. He had a far-away look in his eyes. The three others were standing, but appeared to be in a state of shock.
 
I chose the first five soldiers who were standing behind the kneeling archers, acting as the back-ups they were trained to be. I called them away from the archers. Pointing to the five guards, I gave the same instructions I had given Engle to tell the soldiers he chose. I emphasized I expected them to be mature about this and if I heard they were blabbing it around, they'd have to deal with me. I led them to the guards and stayed until I felt it was under control and they were leading them to their tents. Then, I jogged back toward the western area along the route the young soldier had taken.
 
We met at a spot near enough to the guards that I didn't need confirmation they were also possessed by something.
 
"Some of the archers also are being affected by the guards. That was what took me so long. I watched a few of the archers screaming and cursing and shooting their arrows, but I couldn't see any creatures."
 
"No Pomnots, huh?" I smiled, studying his face.
 
"They're for kids, sir."
 
I proceeded to instruct this young man as I did Engle and the others. As he left to gather four other soldier-escorts, I went to the front ranks and watched the archers in silence. It didn't take long before I discovered one of the young soldiers referred to. He seemed belligerent—a little too belligerent—like one trying to scream louder than his fears. Just as he fired a volley of arrows into the gray scud, I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked slowly around and up at me.
 
"Sir," he said, leaping to his feet and making sure his crossbow was pointed to the ground. "Did you see them?"
 
"I was looking, but, no—I can't say I saw anything. What did you see?"
 
"Pomnots, sir. I couldn't let them get to me."
 
"Why? What would they do to you, little boy?"
 
I waited for a response. It took longer than I thought it would. His face was twisted in a grimace. "The Pomnot—he would eat me."
 
I found a sane-looking soldier to lead this one to his tent and stay with him. And, I was off to find the second reckless soldier the young man told me was shooting arrows into the void. Before I found him, four horn blasts blared from the northern quadrant. Heads whipped around.
 
"Men!" I shouted. "Those in the front lines, stay. Guard this area well. The rest of you men go to the northern area. I'll have more there shortly as back up. Hurry! Go!"
 
As they left, I took off in a dead run toward the southern area. I arrived, seeing them in a state of confusion, not knowing whether to stay or to go. I helped them with their decision and sent close to a hundred more troops to the north. With about a hundred and fifty men en route, I figured there were enough to hold that position until I got there. Then, if we needed to, I could send someone back for more troops.

If we were having what I was afraid of there—an actual attack, either by real creatures or Glnot Rhuether's soldiers—then the other three positions were cleverly, and magically designed as diversionary strategies.

And, I had been patently outmaneuvered.
 
I thought about it on the way. This had been a powerful learning experience. Once again, we saw the performance of mind control and magic. I hoped we had squelched the momentum of that mental possession starting to build in the men. What had I learned? First, don't send all your men to defend three fronts and leave the fourth unprotected. That was basic—or should have been. Secondly, don't spread yourself so thin. I wasted too much time trying to do everything myself. As soon as this incident was over I would select four or five men for field promotion.
 
Even before we got to the northern front I strained my ears to hear the expected sounds of metal clanking against metal. What I heard instead was shouting. Grunting. Screams of —I could swear it was screams of laughter! I heard the whir of arrows leaving the bows and the ground seemed to tremble with the weight of falling bodies. And there was a whoop of celebration. I was close enough to see the front rank of the archers kneeling. This was the first group I sent from the Western front. Behind them, the back-ups would normally also be kneeling, ready to replace the ones in front of them. Until that moment came, they were trained to occasionally leap to their feet and fire a volley over the heads of their fellow archers, then drop back down to safety behind them. But, here I was surprised to see the back-ups fully standing behind the kneeling archers and both groups firing simultaneously.
 
I soon saw why.
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
POMNOT: (Pom = Dark not = Force) Formerly on the plane below, these ancestors of the people of the Encloy were drawn up to the Kojutake during the Bining's 30 days of darkness. Fierce, living for their appetites, they are not above killing each other to satisfy their insatiable hunger. Used as Rhuether's advance force and looked upon as expendable.


Chapter 4
ARROWSTORM (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the last chapter:
       Even before we got to the northern front I strained my ears to hear the expected sounds of metal clanking against metal. What I heard instead was shouting. Grunting. Screams of —I could swear it was screams of laughter! I heard the whir of arrows leaving the bows and the ground seemed to tremble with the weight of falling bodies. And there was a whoop of celebration. I was close enough to see the front rank of the archers kneeling. This was the first group I sent from the Western front. Behind them, the back-ups would normally also be kneeling, ready to replace the ones in front of them. Until that moment came, they were trained to occasionally leap to their feet and fire a volley over the heads of their fellow archers, then drop back down to safety behind them. But, here I was surprised to see the back-ups fully standing behind the kneeling archers and both groups firing simultaneously.
       I soon saw why.


ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,565

 
Book III
Chapter Four
Part 2

 
Hundreds of creatures plodded up the hill toward us, unhurried, unafraid, their heads held high, not from pride, but more from a nose-twitching, sniffing-out of whatever was not themselves. Their sense of smell was their motivation. It was probably their only motivation, given their limited awareness. It had to be selective and discriminatory. With my own eyes I had watched, horrified during the Kojutake, as the Pomnots ripped and shredded the flesh of that fallen animal with unbelievable violence. But, as Axtilla had told me, only if they were starving would they go against their own.
 
But, now as our arrows penetrated their furry bodies and they dropped, one after another, without a glimmer of self-preservation, the dim light extinguished behind their eyes the instant they toppled in bleeding heaps. Not one creature was diverted from his forward-trudging movement by the smell of his own fallen brothers’ blood.
 
They tramped their huge, bare feet toward us, their heads slowly rocking side-to-side as if to keep the non-creature scent heavy in their nostrils. Meanwhile, hilarity abounded among our men. Hundreds of arrows flew from the bows of our laughing hunters, and fifty or more found their marks and as many creatures slammed to the ground. The men cheered and reveled, and still the creatures came. Relentlessly. Mindlessly. Perhaps a hundred or two hundred now dead. More than likely two hundred more behind them, stepping on them, climbing over them, plodding on, themselves hit and falling dead, adding to the thickening clutter.
 
As with the attack on the brothers Profues’ unit, this would not be without a sustained, grotesque humor in our victory. But, before we would have a chance to sit around the campfire, sharing our tales from each unique perspective, something caught my eye and I looked up to see a dense spray of arrows—hundreds of them—rising from behind the creatures, arcing at their apex and showering down, mostly behind us. I wasn't the only witness to it. I could hear the gasps and saw the arms reflexively being held overhead. There was no time to run away from the deluge and no place to hide. Most fell harmlessly behind us, but others clacked against the flinty ground sending up sparks. I whipped my head around to the sound of a shriek and saw a soldier fall, an arrow in his forehead. He must have been looking up when it hit. He lay perfectly still, our only casualty from the first enemy round. The medic was crouching down beside the poor man, feeling for a pulse. The medic's face, when he stood up, mirrored what we all knew. His assistant came with the pole stretcher. They enlisted the help of three other men, who with the assistant, carted the dead soldier off. The medic stayed.
 
"Men!" I shouted. "Stay calm. The worst thing we can do now is panic."
 
I divided the men into three groups, armed with their automatic crossbows. One group would stay here as back up to the archers who were busily preventing the creatures from breaking through our ranks. I addressed the other two groups: "Okay, you men circle left around the creatures, and you men to the right. You've got to engage their archers directly in battle to enable the men here to push back the creatures. Be brave, men! Can you do this?"
 
"Yes!" came the scattered response.
 
"You'd better be surer than that, men! Can you do this?"
 
"Yes, Yes, Yes! We will do it," screamed one of the soldiers. I made note of who he was.
 
The others roared his response. "Let's do it! Let's do it!" The men took off in a trot, left and right, their crossbows gripped in their hands, arrow-filled quivers bouncing from their shoulders as they ran. I knew they were scared. But I hoped the bravado they created in their heads kept them strong.
 
The sound, like a sudden rush of wind through trees, yanked my head up to see another flurry of arrows rising above us, suspended there and then pouring down on us in torrents. The soldier beside me fell to his knees and then to his stomach. I had just time to register the image of it before a scalding current poured down my legs, yanked my feet from under me and tangled me in cob-webby whorls of crackling silver light within a field of black. From my home at the far corner of the black, I was abstractly aware of the pain, without being a part of the pain of it, the beautiful symmetry of the pain of it, traveling up and down its circuitry, leaping across a synapse, spreading its news to other circuits, all in snapping, crackling, exquisitely beautiful silver.
#
 
I opened my eyes with a start.
 
"Whoa, Doctrex, don't move. Please lie still."
 
I recognized the voice as Braims Glassem, but was having trouble bringing him into focus. I wished I had listened to him, but my body pulled rank and it tried to lift me to a seated position. Something immediately proceeded to rip my leg off and I shrieked an echo back into that silver-and-red webbed blackness while I tried to hold my leg on with both hands. They must have broken through! A Pomnot was having a tug-a-war with my leg!
 
Hands on my wrists, pushing down. "Doctrex! What are you trying to do?"
 
I was panting too hard to speak.
 
"Take it easy, sir. Breathe nice and slow, that's better."
 
"My leg — can't you see? He's got it! Help me!"
 
"He's delirious."

On some level I was trying to latch onto the owner of the voice.

"You think he needs some more?"
 
"No, We don't dare. I don't think it's the pain. Probably the pressure from the bandages.
 
Bandages! Something for the pain? Why? Then, I connected with the memory. The rain of arrows. The soldier falling on his face. Such immense pain, but strangely like I wasn't part of it ...
 
"The—the men." I heard my voice saying, rising at the end.
 
"The men ..." Braims repeated, levelly.
 
I opened my eyes, turned my head to the side, waited until he came into focus. His face, crowded with concern.
 
"Don't move again, sir, please!"
 
"What happened," I said, trying to keep my voice even.
 
"We almost lost you, Doctrex."
 
"Where'd I go?"
 
My words appeared to stun him, and then he grinned. "Good! Humor's good. You lost so much blood, though. The arrow clipped an artery. If Marst, here, hadn't been there to tie it off with a tourniquet you wouldn't have made it." Marst was standing behind Braims.
 
"I want to thank Marst," I said through my pain, and he stepped out from behind Braims, beaming, blushing. "Thank you, Marst."
 
"My job, General Doctrex, sir," he said, keeping the smile.
 
"Is the fighting over, Marst?"
 
The smile disappeared. "Yes, sir." He took his eyes from mine.
 
I glanced over at Braims. "Someone better tell me, doctor. Someone."
 
"Seventy-six dead, Doctrex. Twenty-seven injured."
 
I closed my eyes, listened to my breath. In. Out. In. Out. Breathing. It did it without my thinking. In. Out. In. Out. It did it better without my thinking. Seventy-five young, vital soldiers. Last breath: Out. Out. Out. One, two, three—seventy times, Out. No more breath. No more thinking.
 
"Sorry, Doctrex," Braims said, taking me away from my thoughts. "No consolation, but we killed all their creatures, and the rest of their regular soldiers retreated."
 
"How long have I been out?"
 
"Twenty-three hours."
 
"What? What?" The shrillness of my voice, its lack of control, startled me. "When can I get up? We'll be behind schedule. The other units are depending on us. When?"

"Sir, please be calm, sir. Aren't we waiting for the others to get here? Isn't there another unit coming?  And, they'll need to rest at least a day, won't they sir? And, then we'll all leave together?"

My thinking was muddled. "Of course."

Braims bent over me, got up in my face, seemed to study my eyes.  He pulled back, sniffed and then scratched a patch above his brow.

"You need your rest."

"But, how long, doctor?"

"Unless you want to lose your leg ... or worse," he said, "three—four days more."
 
"I want the names of all our dead. I want pen and ink. And plenty of paper."
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
POMNOT: (Pom = Dark not = Force) Formerly on the plane below, these ancestors of the people of the Encloy were drawn up to the Kojutake during the Bining's 30 days of darkness. Fierce, living for their appetites, they are not above killing each other to satisfy their insatiable hunger. Used as Rhuether's advance force and looked upon as expendable.
KOJUTAKE: 1. To Axtilla and the Kyreans, the frightening world on the other side of the membrane, occupied by Pomnots and the dark entity: Glnot Rhuether. 2. In the provinces it is the afterlife.


Chapter 5
LIEUTENANTS DOWN! (Pt.1)

By Jay Squires




WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the last chapter:
       Braims bent over me, got up in my face, seemed to study my eyes.  He pulled back, sniffed and then scratched a patch above his brow.
       "You need your rest."
       "But, how long, doctor?"
       "Unless you want to lose your leg ... or worse," he said, "three—four days more."
       "I want the names of all our dead. I want pen and ink. And, plenty of paper."

BOOK III
Chapter Five
(Part 1)
 
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,695
 
Yesterday had been my first full day out of the medic's tent. Braims, good to his word, though still mightily reluctant, allowed me to leave in order to greet the brothers Profue's unit, due to arrive that day. "I want you to know, Doctrex, if you were a regular soldier, you'd be here for another couple of days before I'd let you do this."
 
"I know."
 
"Well?"
 
"Thanks?"
 
Braims rolled his eyes.
 
He put me on crutches, my right leg hiked up behind me in a kind of sling. I was certain he devised it with vengeance in mind. After an hour on them, I knew he earned his pound of flesh.
 
Giln and Sheleck arrived late in the afternoon, ahead of six-hundred men, all dead tired.
 
The brothers, though, looked more than just exhausted. I'd have never expected to see in these two such a desiccated weariness of the spirit. Were they the same two lads who had collided with Klasco and me on the steps of the tavern—what was that, three months ago? —whose vigorous youth was poised to challenge our right to simultaneously enter the same door they chose to exit?

I hadn’t noticed any difference in their appearance when we arrived at their camp, just a little over a week ago. What had aged them? Their skin was pasty and drawn, their hair lackluster. Were they ill? I glanced around at the other men. They appeared tired. That was to be expected. But none looked as spiritually depleted as these two. When we were alone, we needed to talk about it.

Their men were looking forward to several days relaxation before we all resumed the movement northward. In my heart I knew my body needed those extra days, too.
 
The brothers didn't mention my injury. They probably wanted to, but figured I would tell them in my own good time.
 
We had a lot to cover about the next stage in our journey. They needed to know about our recent battle—the damage we inflicted, but also the losses we incurred. So much to share with them about relegation of responsibilities and strategies of battle: my mistakes.
 
But, before anything, I needed to eat a little crow. I told them we'd have to have our reunion in the medic's tent.
 
Braims was happy to see me back. I knew he wanted to gloat, but was smart enough not to. My sigh let him know my cot had become my new paradise. Lying on my back, I introduced Giln and Sheleck to him. The brothers slouched on chairs next to my cot while Braims went to the adjoining tent to tend to other wounded soldiers.
 
"Are you two all right?" I asked, deciding to get right to the point.
 
The two shot looks at each other. Giln smiled, weakly. "I don't think we're going to make it through this, Doctrex," he said, putting his head in his hands.
 
"That might be for the best," Sheleck added. He attempted a smile, too, but it turned into a grimace as he rocked forward, holding his stomach with both hands.
 
"Medic!" I called out. Marst came to my cot in a run. I told him to get Braims and to hurry.
 
"Oh, yes!" he said, his eyes on Sheleck.
 
He left, and in less than a minute Braims was crouching down by Sheleck, peering into his face with concern. He pressed his fingers under his jaw and down the sides of his neck. "Any pain swallowing, soldier?" he asked, as he jammed his hand into Sheleck's armpit.
 
Sheleck didn't resist it.
 
"Again," said Braims, "Any pain swallowing?"
 
"Especially after vomiting,” Sheleck struggled to say.
 
"That was my next question. Okay, how about diarrhea?"
 
It was obviously a huge labor for him to speak. "Both," he said, "diarrhea and vomiting."
 
"Let me ..." Giln muttered. "We had to stop—go into the bushes—all the way."
 
Braims prodded and pushed on Sheleck's stomach. "Distended ... Like a rock." He glanced over at Giln. "Water! Have you been drinking much water?"
 
"Horrible headache! Need to sleep ..."
 
"No! No sleep!" And to Marst: "Bring the purified water. And, start boiling more. Lots of water." As an aside to me, he said, "I don’t think we’ve seen the last of this, Doctrex." Then, as on a sudden impulse, he pushed up the sleeve of Sheleck's jacket and pressed his face down next to his arm. He scoured it, rotating it, even appearing to sniff it. "Any of your men have vomiting and diarrhea?"
 
"Two others," said Sheleck, without lifting his head which was now resting on his forearms, spread across his thighs.
 
Marst returned with the water and two cups. Then he left and came back with two large buckets. He put one bucket by Giln and the other by Sheleck. Then he poured water in each cup.
 
"I'll take care of that, Marst," said Braims. "I need you to go out to the troops who just came in and bring the two who were sick. You’d better ask if anyone else is sick and bring them as well. Now, you two—you need to be drinking lots of water. As hard as it is for you, I want you to sit up and drink this water."
 
Sheleck struggled to sit up. He held the cup with both trembling hands. Giln sat up, and Braims held out the cup to him. He took one small drink, but then collapsed to his knees, slumped over the bucket and roared out spume after spume of vomit, as if demon-possessed. The stench was horrific. He finished, panting, hugging his knees on the floor; Braims moved past him and peered into the bucket. I turned my head and breathed through my mouth.
 
Braims stood. A medic's assistant watched from across the tent and Braims called him over. "Get another big tent, like this, from the supply wagon. Get some men to help you put it up on the other side of this one." The assistant left and Braims turned to me. "We'll have to isolate these two, and the other two Marst is getting, until we figure out what this is. If we're lucky, it's food poisoning, but that'd be only if all four ate the same food. Right now we need to keep them hydrated." He put his hand on Giln's shoulder. "You and your brother need to keep drinking water. Even if it makes you vomit. Sooner or later, you'll keep more in you than in the bucket." He poured another cup of water and held it in front of Giln's mouth, tilting it back as he drank. "Giln, right?"
 
"He's Giln," I said, "and Sheleck's his brother."
 
"Sheleck, you drinking? Here." With his free hand, he picked up the cup lying empty beside his chair, righted it, and poured it full—all while keeping just the right tilt on the other cup, held to Giln's mouth. "Here," he said, again.
 
Sheleck lifted his head and gave Braims a glazed look. He held out his hand, then changed his mind and stood up on wobbly legs. "Need help!" he whined. His stomach gurgled fitfully.
 
Braims draped his arm obliquely across his back and guided him toward the latrine while not spilling a drop of the water. Depositing Sheleck there, he drew the heavy, coated cloth across the circular pipe surrounding the commode. It provided the occupant some privacy from outside eyes.
 
Marst entered with the two soldiers Sheleck had mentioned; they were supported by two other soldiers, who, once they looked into and smelled the tent's interior, seemed more than ready to be relieved of that particular duty. Braims and Marst took over and the two left the tent, one of them gagging.
 
They deposited the soldiers in chairs next to each other, but removed by about five feet from Giln, Sheleck and me. They placed buckets beside each and Braims filled two more cups with water. The assistant who Braims had instructed to boil water, now returned with two others, the three struggling with a clay pot filled to the brim with water. A metal ladle, hanging over the lip of the pot clunked against its side as they shuffled across the tent floor.
 
The latrine curtain scraped open and Sheleck emerged, emotionless, his face blanched, strands of his hair pasted to his forehead. Braims got to him in three steps, and collected his limp body before it hit the floor. "You okay? No, don't go to sleep on me! You hear? Marst, help me get him to his chair." And, to anyone in earshot: "Will someone see how close they are to getting the other tent up?" An assistant left the tent. He returned right away and held up a hand with five fingers spread. "What five?" an exasperated Braims asked.
 
"Five minutes, sir."
 
Braims shook his head. His eyes were darting around the tent. "Where'd I put your water, Sheleck?" He spotted it on the floor by the latrine curtain. Retrieving it, he returned to Sheleck and held it to his lips. Sheleck wasn't helping. His eyes were closed. "No you don't, soldier!" He tilted Sheleck's head back which forced his mouth open; he dribbled enough water in his mouth to start him sputtering. His eyes snapped open. "That's better. Now, you've got to drink your water."
 
"Sheleck," I said, "can you hear me?"
 
He swung his head toward me, heavy as an ox, eyes half-open.
 
"Listen, Sheleck, that's one doctor you don't want to cross. When he says stay awake and drink your water take him at his word. He'll have you drinking your water awake or asleep—and awake's much better!"
 
Sheleck tried a smile but it was lopsided. He reached out and took the cup, pulled it awkwardly to his mouth, and drank. He took a deep breath, and drank again.
 
"It's my turn, brother," said Giln, up and swaying on his feet. Braims was at his side, steering him toward the latrine. Over his shoulder he yelled, "We need that tent up and four beds in it. Come on, men—work with me here!"
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
POMNOT: (Pom = Dark not = Force) Formerly on the plane below, these ancestors of the people of the Encloy were drawn up to the Kojutake during the Bining's 30 days of darkness. Fierce, living for their appetites, they are not above killing each other to satisfy their insatiable hunger. Used as Rhuether's advance force and looked upon as expendable.
KOJUTAKE: 1. To Axtilla and the Kyreans, the frightening world on the other side of the membrane, occupied by Pomnots and the dark entity: Glnot Rhuether. 2. In the provinces it is the afterlife.


Chapter 5
GLNOT RUETHER'S SHADOW (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the last chapter:
       Braims shook his head. His eyes were darting around the tent. "Where'd I put your water, Sheleck?" He spotted it on the floor by the latrine curtain. Retrieving it, he returned to Sheleck and held it to his lips. Sheleck wasn't helping. His eyes were closed. "No you don't, soldier!" He tilted Sheleck's head back which forced his mouth open; he dribbled enough water in his mouth to start him sputtering. His eyes snapped open. "That's better. Now, you've got to drink your water."
       "Sheleck," I said, "can you hear me?"
       He swung his head toward me, heavy as an ox, eyes half-open.
       "Listen, Sheleck, that's one doctor you don't want to cross. When he says stay awake and drink your water take him at his word. He'll have you drinking your water awake or asleep—and awake's much better!"
       Sheleck tried a smile but it was lopsided. He reached out and took the cup, pulling it awkwardly to his mouth and drank. He took a deep breath and drank again.
       "It's my turn, brother," said Giln, up and swaying on his feet. Braims was at his side, steering him toward the latrine. Over his shoulder he yelled, "We need that tent up and four beds in it. Come on, men—work with me here!"

 
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,714
BOOK III
Chapter Five
(Part 2)

 
"How were the creatures’ bodies disposed of?" Between his frequent trips to the adjoining tent to attend to the needs of Giln, Sheleck and the other two soldiers, overseeing the assistants who worked in shifts, around the clock, to keep water in those bodies who kept trying to doze off, and making sure someone was always boiling water for drinking, and for purifying cups and medical paraphernalia, Braims stopped by on the third day to ask me that question.
 
"I wasn't there, remember? But, my guess is partial cremation, doctor. That's what I'd have had them do if I were there. We couldn't bury them, what with the hard soil beneath the shale. And, we didn't have enough concentrated fuel to turn them to ash, either.
 
Two things I’m hoping: There's a ravine about a hundred yards from camp. I hope they burned them near there, and afterwards, pushed them over."
 
"That seems harsh."
 
"It does, doesn't it? But, they chose the place to attack us. I'm just happy the ravine was there. I hope they used it."
 
"Two?"
 
I blinked at him.
 
"Two things you hoped."
 
"Oh, yes. And that they found a place far away from the creatures to dispose of our seventy-six. We owe them that."
 
"Eighty-one, Doctrex."
 
I wasn't prepared for that. I didn’t speak for a moment. He waited.
 
"The good keep dying, don't they?" I finally said.
 
"One was from the four in the next tent." He must have seen the color leave my face. "Not one of the brothers," he added quickly. "Giln and Sheleck seem to be responding well. We got some food in them and they've kept it in so far. They'll get stronger if they can just keep it in."
 
"I'll need the names, doctor."
 
He'd anticipated my request and retrieved a folded sheet from his jacket. "And paper?"
 
I told him I had enough.
 
Before leaving he wanted to check my bandage. "Ah, it's healing nicely, Doctrex! Not like your side did, but nicely. We'll have you out of here in no time."
 
"How about the brothers? We're two days behind schedule."
 
"That's up to them. I'll tell you one thing, though—they're well enough to be asking about you. They keep saying they have something they want to tell you."
 
I asked him if I could go see them.
 
"No one goes in there, sir, but me and my assistants. They're under strict quarantine." He smiled. "Please don't pull rank, General. I'll tell you what. If they get some more food in them today that they can keep in, we'll see if they can come see you tomorrow."
 
He left and I closed my eyes.
 
I woke up feeling cold. The tent was dark. I closed my eyes and tucked my hands in my armpits. I was not awake enough to open my eyes when someone spread a heavy blanket over me. I think I figured it was my mother. I was warmer, and I might have smiled at her for taking care of me. The next time I opened my eyes, it was lighter, and I realized it hadn’t been my mother. I was a general. And, I was a fraud, unable to take care of these boys their mothers entrusted to me. In death, I was not even able to give them a proper burial. Keep them warm I could, Mamas! More than warm, I kept your boys, and my charges, a bit crispy, even. I'm sorry ....
 
And, in the gathering gray dawn I rolled over to my side, propped myself up on my elbow and smoothed out a place on the bunk to write. I opened the list to the first of the five new names:
 
Dear Mr. & Mrs Liskie:
I have the unhappy duty to inform you your son, Klatch, valiantly died defending Kabeez which he dearly loved ..."

I had just finished the third letter when the tent flap opened and Sheleck entered and stood just inside, brushing snow from his shoulders; Giln followed a moment later, and the two of them crossed gingerly to my bunkside.
 
"Doctrex," Giln ventured, softly.
 
"Looks like you two are going to pull through."
 
"Uh-huh." He glanced at Sheleck who nodded and looked at the floor. "Just like Glnot Rhuether predicted."
 
"Predicted? So, he's up to his little visitations again?" I refused to buy into the sober truth of whatever it was. I remembered the emotional hangover I experienced after that first dream—which others rightly described as a vision. I didn't want to make too much of this prediction that was obviously having its emotional effect on them. If there was a way I could remove some of its sting with a little humor, I wouldn't hesitate.
 
Any attempt at humor by converting Rhuether’s predictions to “his little visitations” was lost on them.
 
“So, the good doctor gave you leave from the water so you could visit? You are looking a lot better. You think you two are well enough to start off? We're right on his doorstep, you know—about seventy-five miles from Qarnolt."
 
"We're about ready, Doctrex," Sheleck said.
 
"We are," Giln agreed. "Glnot Rhuether said we'd be good as new. He said you would be, too, though you'd be favoring your right leg."
 
"I see. Who had this dream?"
 
"Vision. Both."
 
It was time to take out the sting. "I'm surprised the good doctor let you sleep long enough to have a dream."
 
"It was a vision, Doctrex," Giln stressed, "and we didn’t have it here. We had it the night after you and your troops left our camp." He went on to tell me about waking after the vision. He had already begun to feel weak. He went to Sheleck’s tent to tell him, but his brother interrupted his description of the vision by saying, "Yes, yes, I know. I had the same vision." Later that day, Sheleck started feeling weak and nauseated.
 
"Glnot Rhuether said two others would be stricken by the same illness."
 
"Did he say what caused the illness? And why it struck only you four? That would help Braims."
 
"He only said it was caused by curiosity. That's all."
 
"No—and duty," Sheleck added.
 
"You're right, brother. Curiosity and duty. So, what does that mean?"
 
I told him I didn't know.
 
"What he said was full of riddles." He looked to Sheleck for confirmation of some of the wording, and haltingly, he continued:
 
"Under the burden of the yoke are two ambitious new yeomen. And they are pulling the dull, many-bladed plow through a neighbor's meadow. No good can come from that. Their curiosity will sicken them. Curiosity and duty will sicken them and two more. But, they soon plow on under the yoke, for their master bids they come to him. Their master is ambitious, too."
 
And, then Giln told me Glnot Rhuether whispered the following:
 
"... and, the master and his yeomen shared the secret knowledge of his beginnings, but not the seed of that knowledge that continues to poison him."
 
At this point, I broke in: "Well, so far you get the drift of what his vision is telling you, don't you? And, he is clever. I mean, you are the yeomen, right? The neighbor's meadow is the Far Northern Province. Since you are leading your unit, you are under the yoke, do you agree? I don't know about ambitious, but anyone who is a leader can't help but feel the power that comes with it. I'll have to think about the curiosity and duty thing. But, if you have his words right, it seems like there is a separation between your curiosity and the two soldier's duty. Maybe we can think about it. You remember, I told the two of you and Zurn before we got to Camp Kabeez the secret knowledge (my voice put quotes around those two words), of how I had been made a General; so wasn't it clever that he threw that in to make his predictions of everything else appear more credible?"
 
"But, Sheleck ventured, warily, "what about the seed of that knowledge that continues to poison you?"
 
I shrugged, trying to play it down. "Well, I don't always feel I'm qualified to lead an army." I knew the truth was layered and went much deeper than that, but it was part of it—the only part I felt I could share. "So, what else did he say?"
 
Between the two of them they reconstructed the words of the vision:
 
"The Yeomen's Master bids them to come to him. The Master will not greet his Yeomen with feasting. Many blades of his mighty plow had been broken off by a band of angry neighbors. The Master, himself, was pulled from his yoke and almost destroyed.”
 
“When you arrived here, we’d already suffered casualties from a battle we finally put down. I had been wounded and you arrived unwell. It wasn’t conducive to feasting. So… go on, please.”
 
"His Yeomen will survive their sickness and be good as new. Their Master will survive his injuries. He will be good as new, though his right leg he will favor. He is ambitious. He knows it will take three yokes to pull the plows across the final meadow. There will be eighty-two less plow blades to till that soil. No good will come from it. Much despair will come from it. The Yeomen will be pulled out from under their yokes. Their plow will veer in random directions. The Master will leave his yoke. His plow will drift in random directions. One Master the other Master will join. The bride and the forsaker wait."
 
The brothers' collaboration ended and they looked over at me, expectantly.
 
"The two soldiers who got sick with you two. I know one died. How's the other doing?"
 
"He was asleep when we came here this morning. But, he spoke to me last night." Sheleck looked for confirmation from his brother.
 
"He's eating and drinking. I think he's okay, why?"
 
"Just curious. Do you figure you'll be strong enough to leave tomorrow? We can wait another day if you don't. I need the leadership, so you'll have to be strong."
 
"I'm ready," said Sheleck. "How about you, brother?"
 
"I'm ready."
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
POMNOT: (Pom = Dark not = Force) Formerly on the plane below, these ancestors of the people of the Encloy were drawn up to the Kojutake during the Bining's 30 days of darkness. Fierce, living for their appetites, they are not above killing each other to satisfy their insatiable hunger. Used as Rhuether's advance force and looked upon as expendable.
KOJUTAKE: 1. To Axtilla and the Kyreans, the frightening world on the other side of the membrane, occupied by Pomnots and the dark entity: Glnot Rhuether. 2. In the provinces it is the afterlife.


Chapter 6
PROPHECY FULFILLED? (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the last chapter:
       "His Yeomen will survive their sickness and be good as new. Their Master will survive his injuries. He will be good as new, though his right leg he will favor. He is ambitious. He knows it will take three yokes to pull the plows across the final meadow. There will be eighty-two less plow blades to till that soil. No good will come from it. Much despair will come from it. The Yeomen will be pulled out from under their yokes. Their plow will veer in random directions. The Master will leave his yoke. His plow will drift in random directions. One Master the other Master will join. The bride and the forsaker wait."
        The brothers' collaboration ended and they looked over at me, expectantly.
        "The two soldiers who got sick with you two. I know one died. How's the other doing?"
        "He was asleep when we came here this morning. But, he spoke to me last night." Sheleck looked for confirmation from his brother.
        "He's eating and drinking. I think he's okay, why?"
        "Just curious. Do you figure you'll be strong enough to leave tomorrow? We can wait another day if you don't. I need the leadership, so you'll have to be strong."
        "I'm ready," said Sheleck. "How about you, brother?"
        "Let's do it! I'm ready."

 
BOOK III
Chapter Six
(Part 1
)
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,178
 
I opened the flap of my tent and looked out at an ash-colored sheet of snow. Braims had told me about it yesterday afternoon when he rushed into my tent to urge me to wait another day—or, better yet, two—before we began what would probably be the most arduous part of our campaign. He had used the new snowfall as one of his arguments. With some of these men, their only experiences with snow were the patches that hung onto the scrub brush when we arrived. They hadn't seen an actual snowfall. Let their bodies get adjusted to it gradually. The map shows the rest of the journey to be at a ten to fifteen percent incline. We could encounter a blizzard!
 
"Do you think we should call off the war, doctor?"
 
He smiled, but briefly. "If I may speak boldly sir?"
 
"You know you can, Braims. When have you ever not spoken boldly? That's why I respect you so much."
 
"I wish there were no more fighting. I truly do! I've seen enough. But I know there will be. And you and the men will be doing it. And, there will be broken bodies I must be there to mend." He kept talking as he lifted the bandage off my leg. "I'm just weary, Doctrex." He nodded approvingly at my leg and got a smaller bandage to cover it with. "I know you have to carry on."
 
"I wouldn't think badly of you, doctor, if you stayed here with the wounded until they got better. I was planning on having a few of your medic associates do it. I'll be leaving fifty soldiers as protection. Why not let the other medics go with us and you and the recovered soldiers can follow us in a week or so?"
 
"Absolutely not, sir! My associates are competent enough to take care of these men, but they don't have the experience in battle medicine. I don't need war. But you need me, Doctrex. I'll have my wagon ready for tomorrow morning."
 
"I thought that's what you'd say. Thanks, Braims. We do need you."
 
He reached for his pocket. I knew what it meant. He handed me the sheet. "Unfortunately, they'll have one less soldier to care for."
 
I let out a huff of air. "That brings the tally to eighty-two, doesn't it?"
 
He nodded.
 
There will be eighty-two less plow blades to till that soil.
 
I tapped the name on the sheet with my fingertip. "Was he the remaining one who had gotten ill with the Profue brothers?"
 
"No, that one's doing fine. This one had a flare-up of a stomach wound infection." He massaged the back of his hand, staring at his fingers. "Had been touch-and-go right from the begin—" He took in a quick breath and looked away from me. And, then he looked back. "I'm sorry—I hate that! I feel like I failed them."
 
"I know you do, doctor. I feel that way, too. At least I have the letters."
 
He nodded, smiled, and lifted the flap. The crunch of ice under his feet grew fainter until it blended with the sound the wind made.
 
#
 
During the early evening hours I wrote the letter to the parents of Marsh Klearsig. It was one of the more difficult letters to write. His death, in an abstract, collective way, had been the subject of a vision several days before he felt that arrow rip into his stomach. The vision had only dealt the black blow with eighty-one of your comrades; you were a hold-out. You were lying there on a cot in the medic's tent, your body doing its best to get well, while the vision already had you added into the final tally.
 
How could I not consider it as evidence? If all the predictions had been true up to and including Marsh Klearsig's death, what of the future ones? Is it important to crack the code of its bizarre poetic content? Is it important to know in advance what it means that Giln and Sheleck will be pulled out from under their yokes? Or, being shown you can't alter it, is it better not to know? What were the brothers' thoughts when they heard they will be pulled out from under their yokes? Was it foretelling their deaths and their unit turning tail and retreating? It was true, after they finished recounting the vision, they looked at me—how? Pleadingly? Was that what I saw? A pleading? Were they begging me to discount the prediction, to decry the vision? Two became Yeomen, four became sick, eighty-two died, the Yeomen would be good as new, as would the Master, though he favored his right leg (which is aching as I'm thinking this) .... But, how could you be pulled out from under your yokes? That doesn't make any sense, does it? It's absurd. And, that I will leave my yoke? It was simply Rhuether's subtle dalliance with language. They would be pulled out! Ha! I would leave! Ha-ha, lads! Absurd!
 
But, in my heart I knew the capabilities of my dark soul.
 
I looked out the tent at the stage of frozen, gray scud and the curtain of fog lifting to join the imperishable dusk. I heard a few men's voices. Distant whinnying of crossans. I closed the tent flap against it.
 
Those men, readying themselves out there. They deserved more. My brief military career was built on lies, but when it came to the moment of decision I would not—I could not—lie to myself or misplace my allegiance to, and my deathless love for, Axtilla. I knew the deeper purpose for what had to be done. Somehow, Axtilla and I were destined to destroy, or both be destroyed by, Glnot Rhuether. Though I didn't know how we would bring about the final encounter, I knew right from the beginning what I had to do to get where I was now, and where my army would be going. All along, I had a kind of inner knowing I could not make my way to Rhuether by myself, but needed organization and manpower in order to rival Glnot Rhuether's demon-magic. Feeling the hand of I knew not what power—though I prayed it came from Axtilla—gently tugging at me, I pretended to be Klasco's brother to win the confidence of the Kabeezan Council. I succeeded so overwhelmingly that, with the Council's blessing, and their gratuitous bestowal of the highest ranking in the Kabeezan military, I would find myself in the position to lead my army of a combined 5,000 men to storm through the gates of the Palace of Qarnolt, to the very doorstep of Glnot Rhuether.
 
But, like Giln and Sheleck, I didn't know what would come next, though the brothers' shared vision seemed to point the way to my final scene: The Master will leave his yoke. His plow will drift in random directions. One Master the other Master will join. The bride and the forsaker wait.
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: leader of Camp Plassum.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: Leader of Camp Gortz, noted for their elite fighting men.
SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: Leader of Camp Jeri Fibe troops
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
POMNOT: (Pom = Dark not = Force) Formerly on the plane below, these ancestors of the people of the Encloy were drawn up to the Kojutake during the Bining's 30 days of darkness. Fierce, living for their appetites, they are not above killing each other to satisfy their insatiable hunger. Used as Rhuether's advance force and looked upon as expendable.
KOJUTAKE: 1. To Axtilla and the Kyreans, the frightening world on the other side of the membrane, occupied by Pomnots and the dark entity: Glnot Rhuether. 2. In the provinces it is the afterlife.


Chapter 6
MANY MORE WILL FALL (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires



WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:
       All along, I had a kind of inner knowing I could not make my way to Rhuether by myself, but needed organization and manpower in order to rival Glnot Rhuether's demon-magic. Feeling the hand of I knew not what power—though I prayed it came from Axtilla—gently tugging at me, I pretended to be Klasco's brother to win the confidence of the Kabeezan Council. I succeeded so overwhelmingly that, with the Council's blessing, and their gratuitous bestowal of the highest ranking in the Kabeezan military, I would find myself in the position to lead my army of a combined 5,000 men to storm through the gates of the Palace of Qarnolt, to the very doorstep of Glnot Rhuether.
       But, like Giln and Sheleck, I didn't know what would come next, though the brothers' shared vision seemed to point the way to my final scene: The Master will leave his yoke. His plow will drift in random directions. One Master the other Master will join. The bride and the forsaker wait.

 


BOOK III
Chapter Six
(Part 2)
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,529
 
The snow came to just the top of the crossans' hooves. It had settled in and was just starting to get slushy. Happily for the animals, there were some crossan-lovers among our troops who were knowledgeable about their care. They knew it was important to give them regular exercise, particularly in cold climates. It was they who made sure the crossans moved about outside their area of confinement. We didn't have to assign the chore to anyone. This group volunteered their time, doing it out of love. They reminded us, more by example than dictate, of the need to be with our personal crossans a little every day, rubbing them down, walking them, showing them affection.
 
I didn't need to remind myself I hadn't been spending time with Rain Spirit II. I wanted to. Now, after about a week of personally neglecting her while I recuperated, she let me know, in subtle and not so subtle ways, she noticed my absence and was not amused! When I walked by her side she whipped her tail around, slapping me in the face. Afterwards, I had barely laid my hand on her hindquarter when, with two clomps of her back hooves, she side-stepped out from under it with a snort. But, after I began to I speak to her in low, gentle tones, she started warming up to me; when I lightly scratched her neck, which she always loved, she brought her head around and nuzzled me.
 
So quick to forgive.
 
#
 
Astride Rain Spirit II's back—the dull aching in my right thigh a constant nagging reminder of the brothers' vision—I addressed the men before we began. They were facing me in a large and deep semi-circle, like a crescent moon lying on its side, the tips pointing towards me. Lieutenants Giln and Sheleck were beside me. The jets and puffs and wisps of lung-steam erupting intermittently from the mouths of the soldiers and their crossans, wrapped like a diaphanous veil between and around them and gave the scene a mysterious and an almost magical cast.
 
After assurance I could be heard by all, I began: "Men, we are within seventy-five miles of the target we have been aiming at since the beginning." I walked Rain Spirit II within the concave of the formation, making eye contact with as many men as I could. I saw Zurn's face beaming at the sight of his brothers.
 
"I wish I could tell you ..." I went on, circling back to where the brothers' sat atop their crossans, "I wish I could assure mothers, fathers and wives—could assure you and all of your loved ones the road ahead to Qarnolt will be straight and easy. I wish so much I could tell you and your loved ones that Eele's Fan , which we had begun to open a month ago, will now begin to close and—joined with the might of our combined military units, together and in one place—that the palace doors will open without resistance; oh, men, you don't know how much I'd love to inspire you with the assurance Glnot Rhuether will look out across the acres of faces of fearless soldiers, and trembling with such terror of what will become of him, he will drive his own dagger into his heart, his men will lay down their weapons, and we will march home to our loved ones, victorious, and without one … more … drop of blood spilled.
 
That is my wish for you. And for me."
 
I dipped into the crescent again, silent, watching the soldiers' eyes. The crossans milled, brushed against each other, but the soldiers sat stock still on their crossans' backs, the veils of steam playing about their faces.
 
"Now, for reality.
 
“Men, I know I'm not telling you anything you don't secretly know. This is going to be the most grueling and challenging seventy-five miles of our campaign. Glnot Rhuether will not give up this fight. We will have to take him with force. Anything you have experienced or heard about—the huge birds dropping fire balls on our heads, the catapults that tossed fireballs into the air like they were mere pebbles, the attacks by those mighty, though mighty dumb, creatures, and most of all the visions and magic he created in our own minds, making us believe things that don't exist, or rather only existed in our childhood imagination—men ... that was an example of Glnot Rhuether simply toying with us.
 
"I wish I knew, and could tell you, what horrible surprises he has been conjuring up for us over the next few days. Because if we knew we could plan for them. But I don't know. You do need to accept, though, that they will rival and possibly exceed anything he has done to us so far. I ... just ... don't ... know.
 
“I'll tell you what I do know, though." Again, I silently guided Rain Spirit II into the inside of the half-moon. She pranced, raising one leg and then the other to an exaggerated height before lowering each. I reined her to the right hand corner of the crescent, keeping my eyes on the soldiers. "What I do know is this: in spite of the fear we felt ... and who among us did not feel fear ... in spite of that, our actions hurled that fear right back in his face. Don't think he didn't notice we refused to run from adversity. Oh, some of us were confused, all right, but when that happened, others came to our aid until our minds were unmuddled. The fact is, we possess something he could not in a lifetime understand. We care for each other. Why? Because we value life. And, that is something that is foreign to Glnot Rhuether.
 
"Valuing life, caring for each other, not caving into the naturally felt fear, but, instead, rising above it, replacing it with gritty courage. That, men, is what ... will ... ultimately ... defeat him!
 
"Men, some of us are not going to be there to raise high the banner of victory. Never once doubt that banner will be raised! But, some of us are going to fall along the way. I might be one of those fallen. In fact, being totally honest, that is the main reason I have detained us now before leaving on this final leg of our journey."
 
I closed my eyes and thought of what I was about to tell these men. As unlikely a leader as I knew I was for them, there was no fear in me of battle that was anywhere near as strong as my daily, hourly, fear of being found out, of being discovered and publicly shamed for being a fraud. And yet these soldiers followed me, if not with respect, then without grumbling. Officers with a hundred times more military knowledge than I possessed worked alongside me, even befriended me. At this moment I felt the least of these men was my equal—if not my better.
 
I opened my eyes and was surprised to find them welling with emotion that any other time I might have tried to quell. "Men ... brothers ... in case I am one of those who falls—" the soldiers were swimming in and out of focus as I blinked, and felt the tears roll down my cheeks—"forgive me, but if that happens, I do not want to have my last thought as I lie dying, be that I hadn't the courage to tell you what was on my heart. So I am going to tell you now." I took an icy breath. "I wish my brain were hardy enough to remember each of your names, because I mean this to be personal, and I feel it personally for each of you. Brothers, what I'm trying to say is this: I love ... each of you." I paused again, to let that sink in. "I love you as much as your parents love you. As much as your siblings love you."

By now my eyes had cleared enough to see many of them brushing their sleeves or their gloved hands across their eyes.
 
"Brothers," I began again, "I simply can not tell you how proud I am of each one of you, and how humbled I am to serve as your leader. However many remain after the final battle to stand on the palace steps with Glnot Rhuether lying dead at their feet, or on his knees in submission, I pray this with all my heart: that those who carry home the Mantle of Victory will proclaim to all who listen that evil was, that day, destroyed by a fearless army of brothers."
 
In the midst of the spontaneous applause and cheering, a young soldier two rows behind Zurn tumbled head-first off his crossan.
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.


Chapter 7
BURROWING LIKE BRAIN-WORMS (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires


WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:
       "But, what d'you have on your mind, doctor? What's bothering you?"
       He made a sound in his throat that was supposed to be a chuckle, but was dry and grim.
       "... On my mind? Well, I'm not a doctor, sir. In fact, right now I feel like I could ... use a doctor."
       "Tell me about it, Braims." Rapid blinking. It concerned me. He always seemed in control. Now, he was right on the verge of losing it.
       "I've got something on my mind all right!" he said, a bit too loudly. He laughed, but stopped abruptly. And then he glanced about, as though making sure no one else was lurking nearby. "Voices, Doctrex," he said, confidentially, "voices!"
 

 

BOOK III
Chapter Seven
(Part 2)
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,790
 
"What do they say, Braims?" I felt my heart thumping in my chest, and the artery pulsing in my neck. I hoped my voice wasn't betraying my emotion.
 
"One will die for every three men who fall. It's not just my thoughts, Doctrex; it's an actual voice, so distinct and loud, I look around to see if others have heard it. But of course no one has. It's just me. It's in my head." His breathing was erratic and his jaw trembled.
 
"Look at me, Braims! Look! Look in my eyes!"
 
He did.
 
"You're afraid you're losing your mind. You're not, Braims."
 
It was difficult being emphatic without being loud, but I didn't notice anyone else looking in our direction. "You see, Rhuether's stepping up his act. Listen to me. He's getting more desperate the closer we get to Qarnolt. He chose you to further his magic by way of a mini-prophecy. He could have put his message in anyone's head ... in mine ... in Engle's ... in anyone's. And he will! Trust me about that. There will be others having the same doubts and fears. But he wisely chose you first. Why? Because you are practical. A man of reason. No nonsense in you. To have your mind be the bearer of the prophecy instead of some fuzzy-headed young soldier's would give it the authenticity he needs it to have. In order for you to relay the prophecy to me. I accept its authenticity coming from you. But to give it the audience he needs among the troops, he'll implant the message to a less reasonable person. You're not losing your mind, Braims. Trust me. As long as you don't fear the words in your head, they will dim over time and disappear." I placed my hand on his forearm.
 
"I hope so, Doctrex." He seemed to consider it for a long moment. Then, he took a breath and let it out through fluted lips. "But this mini-prophecy ... will it come to pass?"
 
"More than likely. But you're not connected with the result. And it's not fate you'll be witnessing—it's magic. One will die for every three men who fall. Glnot Rhuether has to stay on top of the math, himself! And while he's powerful, he's not terribly bright. You see, his last act of bravado was with Giln's and Sheleck's minds, where he implanted a vision several days before they left to join us—the exact same vision in both, as they slept. The vision contained an elaborate prophecy, and much of it has already come to pass. His prophecy is powerful, but only to look into the future, not change it. I think Rhuether did see the ends of things ... and it wasn't favorable to him and he therefore stopped short of that in his prophecy. He was counting on the vision he delivered to the brothers as planting a seed of defeat in them—and in me—since he knew they would share it with me and I would see the precise unwinding of prophecy. And I did ... that is, up until today."
 
"Today? You mean Halz?"
 
"Halz, yes! Halz's death exceeded by one the number of fallen soldiers Rhuether prophesied we would suffer before we leave for our final battle. His math was off. When my words today inspired our soldiers to rise to a higher level of valor, I believe the truth of those words filled Rhuether with such dread he knew that all he could resort to was magic, sudden and awesome magic, to stall our army's momentum."
 
"I'll fight my battle with Rhuether silently, Doctrex, but if the mini-prophecy plays itself out, and the army gets word of it, they'll start counting and wondering who will be next. Aren't you afraid panic will set in?"
 
"I've thought of it, and I know Rhuether is counting on it, but if or until it happens I can't dwell on it."
 
Sheleck reined his crossan alongside mine. "Am I interrupting anything, sir?" he asked.
 
"I don't think so." I glanced at Braims.
 
"No, we're fine. I should probably go back to the wagon anyway." He left, passing Giln who raised his hand in greeting.
 
Giln pulled beside me. "Is he okay? He seemed distracted. I don't think he even saw me."
 
"He may not have. He has a lot on his mind."
 
"I can see why," said Sheleck. "When you're a medic, and there's a mysterious death ..."
 
"Did you pick up on any feelings in the troops? It must have had quite an impact."
 
"They all feel bad, of course. Halz being so young. But thank goodness there are enough there who have clung onto your message. I heard one of the men tell them not to let one person's unexplained death distract them. He reminded them we had to keep focused on the big picture General Doctrex gave them."
 
"Good for him," I said, touched. "And did it help the others—what he said?"
 
"I think so," said Sheleck.
 
"For the most part," Giln said.
 
"Meaning?" I sensed his reservation. "What else?"
 
"Well, what you said seemed to affect everyone, and though I was on the opposite flank from Sheleck, I heard a similar comment from one of the men. He said he chose to stay focused on winning the final battle. That—concerning Halz—we knew there would be casualties along the way."
 
"Okay?" I said, questioning his absence of a conclusion. "What he said was good, but why would that bring about a 'for the most part'? What did the one he was talking to say?"
 
"It wasn't so much what he said, but more how he said it—well—or how he acted after he said it. He said, 'Well, I don't want to be one of them to fall!' He seemed really nervous. His eyes. I don’t know, his eyes were blinking. He seemed jittery."
 
"So he said he didn't want to be one of the casualties?"
 
"I guess ... he didn't want to be one of them to fall."
 
"His exact words?"
 
"Yes, sir."
 
"Giln, I want you to go back and get the young man. Make as little of it as you can, but bring him to me." And to Sheleck: "Go to the medic's wagon and get Braims. Tell him it's important. I'll explain to you both what this is about later."
 
#
 
The young man Giln escorted to me cast nervous little glances, right and left. Whatever was going on in his mind, it probably didn't help having attention drawn to him. But if I was right, he needed to have the secret he was harboring out in the open and to see he wasn't the only one feeling like he was going crazy. Approaching me, he sat erect in his saddle and saluted. I returned it.
 
"Gotzel Rektairn reporting as ordered, sir."
 
"Relax, Gotzel," I smiled. "You're in no trouble." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sheleck and Braims coming toward me from the right, Braims wearing a puzzled look on his face. I smiled at him. "Sorry, to call you back again so soon. I hope it wasn't for nothing."
 
"Are you okay, sir?"
 
I laughed outright at that, and addressed Gotzel. "Here's someone you probably don't know, and won't want to, since it would more than likely mean you were sick or hurt ... but this is Medic Braims Glassem." And I introduced him to Braims as someone "you might have something in common with."
 
Giln and Sheleck pulled their crossans away from us out of consideration for privacy, but I called them back. "No, I think you should be here as well." They returned.
 
"Gotzel, the reason you're here is because Giln overheard your conversation with another soldier in your rank. You know the conversation I'm talking about?"
 
Gotzel shot a glance at Giln, and then back to me. "Well, sir, we talked a lot. We weren't supposed to talk? I didn't think—"
 
“You remember the soldier telling another who was concerned about Halz’s mysterious death something about keeping the focus on the big picture and we should expect some casualties?” His lips began to tremble. “It’s okay,” I told him. “You’re not in any trouble. I just need to know, do you remember what you said to him?”
 
Gotzel was clearly rattled. His voice broke. He started to cry. I motioned to Giln, who moved his crossan next to him and put an arm across his shoulder. "It's alright, Gotzel. We've all been under a lot of strain. I've felt like crying myself."
 
"Yeah, don't worry about that," I said. "But I still need to ask what you told him."
 
"I—I told him I didn't want to be—" He took a deep breath, "—to be o-one of those to fall."
 
Braims' eyes shot to mine. "One of the three who fall?"
 
Gotzel stared at him through dazed, wide eyes.
 
"You know what I'm saying, don't you, Gotzel?"
 
He nodded rapidly.
 
"How soon after Halz's death did you start hearing it?"
 
Giln looked at Sheleck, who shrugged.
 
"I don't know," said Gotzel. "A while afterwards." He gave me a helpless look.
 
"I know it's scary, soldier. What we'll soon tell you will make you feel better, but can you be more specific? An hour, two?"
 
"Probably two, maybe more. I'm scared, sir."
 
"Of course you are. You want to know who else was scared?" I swung my eyes to Braims.
 
"It was about an hour after he died that I heard the voice saying, One will die for every three men who fall."
 
Gotzel's eyes were pressed tightly closed. He slowly nodded.
 
"Is that what Glnot Rhuether said to you?" Braims asked.
 
"One will die for every three men who fall," he said, his eyes still closed. And then he continued: "Keep the count. Be alert!"
 
"What! You see?" I told Braims, with ill-concealed excitement. "I told you he's stepping up his act! He's getting desperate! Gotzel, you are not going crazy. Glnot Rhuether's voice will invade more minds before it's over. I know you're scared, but you have to fight the fear. I want you to go with Braims to his wagon. The two of you need to talk. Listen to Braims. He will help you."
 
As they rode off toward the wagon, Braims glared over his shoulder at me. It was not much different from the withering look he gave me when I pulled rank on him and stupidly left my cot to greet Giln and Sheleck and their arriving troops.
 
I believed in Braims more than Braims believed in Braims.
 
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.


Chapter 7
SOLDIER'S PERFUMED INTESTINES (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:
       By now my eyes had cleared enough to see many of them brushing their sleeves or their gloved hands across their eyes.
       "Brothers," I began again, "I simply can not tell you how proud I am of each one of you, and how humbled I am to serve as your leader. However many remain after the final battle to stand on the palace steps with Glnot Rhuether lying dead at their feet, or on his knees in submission, I pray this with all my heart: that those who carry home the Mantle of Victory will proclaim to all who listen that evil was, that day, destroyed by a fearless army of brothers."
       In the midst of the spontaneous applause and cheering, a young soldier two rows behind Zurn tumbled head-first off his crossan.

 
BOOK III
Chapter Seven
(Part 1)
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,296
 
 
Braims told me he was probably dead before he hit the ground. There were no contusions at the point of contact on the forehead. Not even a bruise. His neck wasn't broken. An examination of the inside of his mouth and the tissue of this throat revealed no sign of having swallowed a poison capsule (of the kind issued to the Advance Intelligence Men to be taken as a last resort if torture became so intense they feared they might divulge sensitive information). There was no frothing at or in the mouth. The young man's name, according to his identification tag, was Halz Zinc.
 
In the medic's tent, Braims and his assistants removed his clothing and examined him from head to toe for tiny puncture wounds. They found none. Finally, he dismissed his assistants since they had little or no medical experience, and what he needed to do was unorthodox even for a medic and, "to be honest, Doctrex," he confessed, "I thought it best to have no witnesses. By myself, I opened him up to examine the contents of his stomach."
 
"So, what did you find?"
 
He took a deep breath and held it until the artery on his neck visibly pulsed. "Nothing, Doctrex. I found nothing."
 
I shrugged, staring into his wide eyes, wondering if there was more; finally, I shook my head. "I don't—"
 
"I mean ... nothing. There were no contents whatsoever!"
 
"Maybe he didn't eat breakfast."
 
"We can see if anyone saw him eat. But, Doctrex, it's more than that. Listen, I had rags stacked by the table he was lying on, to sop up the blood. I was concerned because it's usually such a job that it requires an assistant just to do it. I figured I would muddle through without an assistant, though, since the heart wasn't pumping and there would be less blood. But, when I made the incision, there was no blood—none!—none at all!" I watched him standing there, huffing, a look almost akin to fear in his face. "That can't be. I mean, it's impossible! Then, to get to the stomach and find nothing but pale pink walls—and ..." He fell silent.
 
"And?"
 
He giggled and immediately reddened, shaking his head and keeping his eyes from mine.
 
I chuckled as well. "And, what?"
 
"And ... and the fragrance of those little pink blossoms you find everywhere in the southern province. You know ..."
 
"Of course."
 
"... Filling the entire tent with the perfume of it."
 
#
 
While Braims was filling me in on his confounding experience, Sheleck, who thought he recognized the soldier, questioned those on either side of him to see if they noticed anything out of the ordinary in his behavior just prior to his fall from his crossan. Any groaning, as from stomach pain? Any sound just before he fell? They said they hadn't noticed anything. How well did they know him? Both agreed they might have seen him around. He asked them where, and was he with anyone? They looked puzzled. He just kind of looked familiar, that was all. And, then the bombshell: while there was no denying his crossan was between theirs, neither remembered seeing him sitting on it before he fell.
 
Braims and Sheleck reported their findings to me. There was no evidence to suggest suicide or foul play was in any way connected with his death. More than likely, for whatever the reason, his heart stopped. At his age of twenty to twenty-five, no heart should simply stop beating. Braims confessed that while he could open the chest cavity and inspect the heart, he was not experienced enough in that area to know what to look for. He would only be speculating. Besides, he confessed to me privately, after Sheleck left again to question whether anyone had seen the young man at breakfast, he didn't know if he could take another shock; perhaps he didn't have a heart! I agreed; at this point it would only be a curiosity. I asked Braims to provide me the usual information for a letter that night.
 
We were already several hours behind our scheduled departure. The soldiers' spirits, which had been soaring just before Halz's death, were now dampened by what they saw. Could it be the enemy was threatened? I could almost feel Rhuether's fingers plucking at the delicate fabric of what he might have recognized in us as a heightened communal certainty of our victory. If Rhuether's psychic abracadabra was behind this act, his success was his exquisite timing in this random squandering of a life. It robbed us of our momentum of determination.
 
But, his failure was the tipping of his hand. It was the same truth about Rhuether with which I inspired the men that he recognized in himself. And it terrified him. In the final analysis, regardless of what manpower and magic he used to momentarily dispirit us, our courage was buoyant; the fear he aroused in us we would rise above, would throw back in his face. We owned our freedom. I told the men how each of us possesses something Rhuether could not understand if he lived a hundred lifetimes. We care for each other. Why? Because life—living—is so precious to us. Because we value life. And, that is something Glnot Rhuether was incapable of understanding. I believed that with all my heart. And, I think I conveyed it to the men. By rising above the fear that is natural for anyone to feel, by not letting that fear destroy us, but instead replacing it with an unremitting courage—that would ultimately be the force that would defeat Rhuether!

Braims rode along side me for the first several hours. Giln and Sheleck took to riding down the ranks all the way to the food, supply and medic wagons toward the rear, and then slowly make their way back. The wagons used to be at the very rear until Arval pointed out to me that by destroying our food, supplies and our medicines the enemy could cripple our army. It made perfect sense, so we embedded our wagons within the ranks of the troops themselves.
 
"Are you wishing you'd stayed after all?" I asked the darkly pensive Braims soon enough after our departure that he would be able to return to the camp and arrange for a few others to substitute for him here.
 
"No, sir. It was as I explained before."
 
"Are you worried about the camp back there being protected?"
 
"Some." He looked at me. "But, I understand."
 
"We can't justify more. But to the enemy the camp would just be a distraction anyway. They know we're the threat they have to focus on."
 
He looked at me again, then away. "The words you said to the soldiers this morning ... they were really moving." His eyes were batting. He was clearly nervous.
 
"What's bothering you?"
 
"I was just saying ... you know, the men were really ... affected by what you told them."
 
"But what d'you have on your mind, doctor? What's bothering you?"
 
He made a sound in his throat that was supposed to be a chuckle, but was dry and grim. "... On my mind? Well, I'm not a doctor, sir. In fact, right now I feel like I could ... use a doctor."
 
"Tell me about it, Braims." Rapid blinking. It concerned me. He always seemed in control. Now, he was right on the verge of losing it.
 
"I've got something on my mind all right!" he said, a bit too loudly. He laughed, but stopped abruptly. And then he glanced about, as though making sure no one else was lurking nearby. "Voices, Doctrex," he said, confidentially, "voices!"

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.


Chapter 8
BLIZZARD (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:
       "One will die for every three men who fall," he said, his eyes still closed. And then he continued: "Keep the count. Be alert!"
       "What! You see?" I told Braims, with ill-concealed excitement. "I told you he's stepping up his act! He's getting desperate! Gotzel, you are not going crazy. Glnot Rhuether's voice will invade more minds before it's over. I know you're scared, but you have to fight the fear. I want you to go with Braims to his wagon. The two of you need to talk. Listen to Braims. He will help you."
       As they rode off toward the wagon, Braims glared over his shoulder at me. It was not much different from the withering look he gave me when I pulled rank on him and stupidly left my cot to greet Giln and Sheleck and their arriving troops.
       I believed in Braims more than Braims believed in Braims.

 
BOOK III
Chapter Eight
(Part 1)

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,986
 
The blizzard began about twenty-five miles from Qarnolt. It roared into our faces driven by a relentless wind from the north, attacking us with such fury that unless we clung to the manes and necks of our crossans we’d have been ripped off their backs. There was no more dusk. There was only white blast of driven snow. The crossans plodded on heroically, up to their knees in the gathering white powder, their shoulders knotted against the strain.
 
I loosened my grip to pat Rain Spirit II's neck. "That's my girl! You're a warrior. Keep going, girl!"
 
 Someone's hand tapped twice on my back. Any more and he would have sailed off his crossan. Was it Sheleck or Giln? They had been back among the troops. I turned, but I only saw a white, hooded phantom slide down against the far side of his crossan's neck. Whoever it was had to come forward from wherever he had been when the storm hit. It had to be important.

I was afraid I knew what it was!
 
The wind stopped with an eerie suddenness. Without the wind the snow settled down to a few flakes graying in the gathering dusk. Then that stopped. Its coming was too sudden, and it was too sudden stopping. I could see, for the first time, how the terrain had changed. In the storm I couldn't see the flinty, black face of the cliff that raised up from the plain about two-hundred feet, and stretched out to the west of our trail.
 
Sheleck raised his head up from his crossan's neck, looking bewildered. "What? What just happened?"
 
"It stopped. Look!" I pointed to the face of the cliff.
 
He followed the direction of the cliff with the movement of his head, but he seemed clearly befuddled, like he had awakened from a nightmare.
 
"You tapped on my back," I said. "Did you have some news?"
 
"I'm not sure." He shook his head rapidly, like he was shaking off a bad image. "When I was back there, and the wind and snow were at their worst, I thought I heard from somewhere in the ranks, 'Man down!' It was impossible to see anything. I wasn't even sure of what I heard. But, I came forward to tell you, thinking, I guess, you'd want to stop and search for him. I don't know why I thought we—"
 
"Here's what you need to do, Sheleck. Find out if someone fell off his crossan. If someone did and he's missing, get a dozen or so men as a search party and comb the area up to about a mile back. We'll encamp here tonight."
 
He left and I gave the signal to halt. My voice was leaden, and the command had to be echoed back on the voices of other soldiers, including Sheleck, who had just gone out of sight around the right side. "This is where we will encamp for the night, men," I shouted. "Pass the word back." I waited until I could no longer hear the muffled voices. "Okay, men, I want you to close ranks now. Move in closer."
 
My orders were repeated further back. "Close Ranks. Doctrex wants us to move in closer."
 
I smiled. The ranks closed tighter together in that familiar crescent moon formation.
 
"I want the Left Station Guards for each unit to go now to the supply wagon and get the shovels to disperse." Again, I waited. I hadn't used the LSGs as much as I had at first anticipated. Since, they were the ones their peers voted as the best leaders in their training schools, I should have relegated responsibility to them more, but hadn't.
 
"We must work together in teams," I told them, "to clear the snow for our tents. As you can see, we have the good fortune of having the cliff face as a buffer against further wind and snow. There's less snow there already, so that's where we'll start clearing it out. But we can't afford to spread ourselves too thin by going the whole length of the cliff." I pointed to solitary fissure in the face of the cliff, out of which an intrepid bush grew, like a tuft of hair from an aged nostril. "See the crack in the surface there, with the bush growing out of it? I don't want any clearing west of that. The rest of the shoveling will be south of the cliffs. Understood?" I waited for my words to sink in.

"It's not going to be easy, men. And time is our enemy. We must get our tents up and bonfires going before another snow comes. We'll have to work together. We must cooperate. Okay? Shovelers—work hard and fast but not to exhaustion. There'll be a rested person ready to take over. You LSGs—I'm making you responsible for getting them into groups and for coordinating this activity."
 
Giln had approached in the middle of my orders. He waited until I was finished and gave him the nod. "That mini-prophecy you talked about. I'm beginning to think Gotzel and Braims aren't the only ones."
 
I pulled the hood off my head, the better to hear him. The rims of my ears at once started tingling. "Tell me," I said, not really wanting to know.
 
"Back just before the storm hit, I caught the tail end of a conversation between two soldiers. One was telling the other it doesn't mean just falling off a crossan. A person can trip over a tent peg and fall. It's the number that's important. I'd have thought I was just reading something into it if he hadn't mentioned the number." He stopped, waiting for my reaction, then finished, "Should I bring him to you, Doctrex?"
 
"No, I haven't a doubt there are enough men who have the voice in their heads so that the word of it's out. I'll announce to the men we'll have a meeting after the evening meal. I'll have to bring it out into the open, so everyone can examine it for what it is."
 
Giln turned in his saddle. "Have you seen my brother?"
 
I told him about what he thought he heard during the storm, and if it was proved right he would be out on a search party looking for the fallen soldier.
 
He nodded. "I was almost blown off a couple of times myself."
 
"I think we all were."
 
"If he couldn't get to his feet right away, he'd be trampled and buried."
 
I agreed with him, and told him we should soon know. We were both solemnly silent a moment, and then I added, "I need you to continue to be my eyes and ears, Giln. Go out among the men of your unit and mine and try to get a feel for the mood of the troops. Let me know if you hear anything else."
 
He left.
 
Already the troops were beginning to disperse; they broke into small groups while still on their crossans, and those myriad of groups spread out across the white plain, right up to the base of the cliff, where there were only patches of snow up to about fifteen feet from the wall. From that point on, the snow deepened dramatically. Out where the snow was the deepest, one soldier in each group stood thigh-deep in the snow while the others cheered him on from their mounts. From each cluster of soldiers, shovels of powder were flung again and again into the air. I couldn't imagine a lovelier sight. And, out of it something strange happened. The cheering I had heard a moment ago was spontaneously replaced by My Kabeez with the heft of each toss of the shovel magically matching the counterpoint of the music.
 
I lift my eyes from the pink-flowered meadows
From the rich brown soil the shoots push through
To the wisps of clouds nudged by fruited breeze
That carries my spirit home,
Home to my beloved Kabeez.
 
I gazed out across the plain at the faces of the men on their crossans. They sang as though transfixed by the inner rhythms. And below them, their brother wielded the shovel, the tossed powder growing like blooms from a pod. And across the way were scores of blooms from their pods as the voices above them rolled across the plain.
 
My Kabeez, My Kabeez
Our province's soul
Though we Fight Far Away
In Our Hearts We Know
We Can Cast Them Within
And Behind Misty Eyes
Taste the Eternal Sweetness
Of Our Kabeez
 
Though the soldiers' boots came up to just below the knee, the diggers, in the beginning, were in the snow up to their mid-thighs. To prevent frostbite, the diggers rotated about every four to five minutes, one exhausted soldier being helped up on his crossan while a fresh and ready soldier leapt off his. After about the third rotation the snow level had dropped to near the boot tops and the soldiers could shovel longer periods. And the riders continued the chorus:
 
I lift my eyes from the pink-flowered meadows
From the rich brown soil the shoots push through
To the wisps of clouds nudged by fruited breeze
That carries my spirit home
To my beloved
My beloved
My beloved Kabeez.
 
There was something raw and elemental about those lyrics that brought tears to the eyes of the listener. My sentiments were further removed from anyone born in the provinces, however distant they were from Kabeez, yet living within my elaborate ruse, I seemed to have borrowed ownership of their pride and love of Kabeez. How else could I explain the lump in my throat just now and the tears stinging and crystallizing on my cheek?
 
"It's beautiful, isn't it, sir?" the voice behind me said.
 
I turned. It was Engle. His nose and cheeks were red inside his hood. "Yes, I'm moved every time I hear it. Do you suppose," I wondered out loud, "that the northern province has an anthem?"
 
He looked like he'd never considered that before. "I don't know, sir. Don't you think it would take a lot of people loving the province to stir them up like My Kabeez does our troops?"
 
"And, you don't think there are enough people loving the northern province?"
 
"I hope not, sir."
 
"Well said, Engle. And, I, too, hope with all my heart they don't. A fifteen minute infusion of My Kabeez into our troops' spirit is worth more than ten hours' babble by their leader."
 
"Oh, but, sir—your message raised their spirits higher than it had been in weeks!"
 
"And, their spirits plummeted in an instant, like the innocent soldier from his crossan. Oh, Engle, thank you, but they must keep My Kabeez in their hearts and on their lips. That is truly the reason why Glnot Rhuether cannot defeat us."
 
Sheleck approached us, brushing his hood off his head with his forearm. He was breathing hard and steam was huffing from his mouth. "Sir, we have combed the area for better than a mile, prodding the snow with lances every few feet, but there's been no trace of fallen soldiers. There should be two."
 
"Two?"
 
"Yes, sir. There were two empty saddles—one from our unit and one from yours. We'll have to take roll from our unit tonight and see who's missing."
 
"In the meantime, widen the perimeter on either side by about ten feet in the unlikely event they tumbled or got disoriented and crawled off to the side."
 
"Right away, sir."
 
"May I go with him, sir?" Engle asked. "They might use another hand."
 
I agreed, and as they rode off to join the waiting search party, I heard Sheleck's voice raised in song and then Engle's joining in.
 
To the wisps of clouds nudged by fruited breeze
That carries my spirit home
To my beloved
My beloved
My beloved Kabeez.
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.


Chapter 8
TWO SADDLES, ONE EMPTY CORPSE (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:
       "Yes, sir. There were two empty saddles—one from our unit and one from yours. We'll have to take roll from our unit tonight and see who's missing."
       "In the meantime, widen the perimeter on either side by five or ten feet in the unlikely event they tumbled or got disoriented and crawled off to the side."
       "Right away, sir."
       "May I go with him, sir?" Engle asked. "They might use another hand."
       I agreed, and as they rode off to join the waiting search party, I heard Sheleck's voice raised in song and then Engle's joining in.

 

BOOK III
Chapter Eight
(Part 2)
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 2,201
 
 From outside my tent I watched the exhausted soldiers taking turns hunkering up to the three communal fire pits. Some were crouched, holding their hands out to the flames. Some were lying on the hard, flinty ground, their arms cradled behind their heads, or lying on their sides, facing the sputtering fire.
 
The fuel for the fire came from the brush they had been uncovering from its blanket of snow. The snow came and stopped so quickly, and the blanket thrown off so soon, thanks to the energy and determination of nearly a thousand men, that the tumbleweeds and scrub brush had little time to absorb much of the moisture.
 
Fortunately, the brush only had to act as kindling. A group of volunteers, agreeing to scout the base of the cliff to where it appeared to end about a mile away, dragged tree branches and trunks into camp. They made several trips of it. They had found a grove of maverick trees where the cliff angled toward the north. Stunted by the poor soil condition, the grove, as if in the final throes of dying, seemed to cave in upon itself. The scouts reported the trees looked like gnarly old men, with knotted joints, leaning in on each other to keep warm.There would be fuel enough for three days of modest use or one day of extravagant use. Since there was no reason we wouldn't leave in the morning, the men enjoyed the heat.

The crossans were experiencing their own special warmth, as well, which they hadn't experienced since before the storm. They were packed tightly together just the other side of the fissure in the cliff wall and out about twenty feet before the snow started deepening. No corralling was necessary.
 
I once again enlisted the LSGs, this time to let the men know about the meeting with me after dinner.
 
Giln and Sheleck were in their tent, next to mine, and on the other side of it were Zurn's rolled-up tent and sleeping bag. We were preparing for the most grueling test of our inner resolve and I felt it would be a good time for all three, without too much fanfare, to be together. The brothers had their torch lit in their tent and their silhouette crawled on the canvas.
 
I was pretty sure Giln was trying to talk Sheleck down from his emotional discovery of one of the two fallen soldiers, not long after he and Engle left me. He had immediately come to me about it. He was rattled when he told me it was his lance that prodded the frozen corpse. Since the rest of the troops were still out shoveling snow at the time, I told him to go to Braims, get the stretcher and to secrete the body back to the medics' wagon—to swear the others in the search party to secrecy until after my talk with the troops that night.
 
The three wagons—supply, medic and food—traced a semi-circle around the outside of the middle fire pit. There was a collective groan when the cook and his helpers emerged from the food wagon with the Compact Food Packaging units. It meant there would be no cooked meal this night. But if there was ever a time when CFPs were appropriate it was now. With all the shoveling to make the campsite habitable—and the cook and helpers did their share—it left little time to prepare a meal. Besides, there was no fresh vegetation to accompany the meal. The fact was, the men had gotten a little spoiled, anyway, by having breakfast and dinner prepared for them daily since they left their training camps. Let them whine! Tonight would be the cook's holiday. And, the cook didn't mind dispensing that fact to them with their CFPs.
 
I opened my own and examined its contents. It reminded me of my first journey with Klasco to Kabeez. We had jerked meat then, too, though in larger quantities. This bread was more like a flattened version of a corn muffin. The cheese was hard and crumbly. I tore off a chunk of jerky, chewing it for a couple of minutes before finally being able to swallow it. In spite of the work involved, shifting it from one set of molars to the other, it was rather tasty. I tentatively placed a portion of the cheese on my tongue and was delighted with its creamy texture and nutty flavor. The pinch of muffin I sampled was sweet and surprisingly soft. I decided to treat it as a dessert and save it for later.

Engle had finished his CFP and sat on his rolled tent with the empty container on the ground between his legs. His knees were pulled up, his forearms across them, and he had a detached look on his face as he stared, or seemed to stare, at the fire. I wondered if he was thinking about the corpse under the snow. After a while something broke his spell and he looked away from the fire and enough in my direction it allowed me to catch his eye. He got up and came to me.
 
"Did you enjoy your meal, Engle?"
 
"It was better than I thought it'd be, sir."
 
"That was how I felt." I waited a reasonable time to allow that there was another reason I had called him over. And, then I said, "I hate to interrupt your relaxation, but I need you to enlist two or three men you can trust to help you take roll. It has to be absolutely accurate—no guesswork whatsoever. The only one you can count as present is one you see and recognize as that person, or who has identification tying him to that person. If there is anyone missing, I'll need his name." I retrieved the list from my tent. It contained on four loose pages the names of all the men in my unit, with lines running through the names of the fallen soldiers. "There were originally two-hundred on a page, but as you can see we've lost some. Tell the ones you choose to help you to guard the list with their lives." He started to smile, but I stopped him. "That might normally be an exaggeration, but this time I'm serious, Engle. This is the only record I have. Now, we have very little time. The men have been told I will be talking to them after they've eaten. So please get started." Then I added, "And on your way past Giln's and Sheleck's tent, will you send them to me?"
 
In less than a minute, the brothers were standing beside me. I was able to make short work of telling them what needed to be done. They already were privy to my concerns in light of the two riderless crossans. While the enlisted men would likely not tell them, or me, about their worries or fears, we realized there was probably a lot of talk being whispered among them. So, ready to take roll for their unit, preparatory to my talking to the men, they left.
 
The brothers were the first to return. They both had puzzled looks. Giln said, "Well, Doctrex, all are present and accounted for." He handed me the list. I studied both pages silently, remembering one of the empty crossans had been in the brothers' unit and one in mine.
 
"But how can that be?" I wondered aloud.
 
"I don't know," Sheleck said. "My brother and I checked the list name-by-name twice, making sure there was a check mark by each name."
 
"Well, at least you know the soldier you unburied isn't from your unit."
 
Engle was heading toward us, clutching the sheets in front of him with both hands, looking down at them. He smiled at Giln and Sheleck before handing me the sheets. "Sorry it took so long, sir. I could only find two I knew for sure wouldn't take any shortcuts. So I did two pages myself. Anyway ... so it's all good."
 
"What does that mean, Engle."
 
"All good. Everyone's here."
 
The brothers locked their eyes on mine.
 
"Well, that just can't be, Engle. The two you chose—could they have—are you absolutely certain?—" I sputtered.
 
"General Doctrex, sir, I only chose the ones I could count on. And they told me they only put marks by those names where the person's identification matched it. I did that too unless I was certain the person matched the name. Like Lieutenant Sheleck, here, and Lieutenant Giln ... I wouldn't have to get their identification."
 
"Engle, you did well. Thank you. Now, one last thing. Go to Braims' wagon. Tell him I need to speak with him immediately."
 
#
 
"But I tell you Doctrex, he's not human. He was in the Kabeezan uniform, the same winter uniform we were issued Camp Jerri-Fibe. I don't understand how it happened, but he's not human. First of all," he went rambling on without taking a new breath, "he was frozen as solid as a cube of ice, and that wouldn't have happened in at most an hour from when he was supposed to have fallen off his crossan." We were sitting across from each other at the small table in my tent. Outside, the men were talking around the fire. Occasionally someone coughed.
 
"You take a few breaths, Braims, and let me ask a question. All Kabeezan soldiers have identification ..."
 
He was already beginning to smile and his head started bobbing. "Yes, yes, you anticipated me. I was actually saving the best—well, or the most puzzling—for last, but he did have an identification. Yes." He pushed it across the table to me face down. I turned it over and stared at the name: General Doctrex !
 
I smiled. "It says General Doctrex, but it's got Glnot Rhuether written all over it. It's all part of his plan. He thinks he can win by confusion and subterfuge. Like the voices."
 
"Good timing. I'm hearing it now." He closed his eyes and a smile crept briefly to his lips, and then disappeared. "The fear's not there now."
 
"Good."
 
"But what I was saying, whatever the corpse is, it's not human. I covered it with blankets to help with the thawing. After an hour or so the outer flesh was a little pliant. I prodded its bicep with scissor blades and you know what happened?"
 
I shook my head.
 
"It just crumbled—the whole arm, shoulder to fingertips, bone and all."
 
"Yet it stopped at the shoulder, didn't it?"
 
"Well—yes."
 
"Think about it. Isn't that strange? Do you remember the attack of the giant birds? All very real. But not all were dropping actual fireballs. Some fizzled before they hit the ground. And, one of the birds had one of the Advance Intelligence men's head—Arz’s head—in its talons. Only problem with the scenario was that Arz was found by the advancing army on their first day out. You may not have known. We weren't making it public knowldedge then."

He shook his head. "And... what, Doctrex?"

 "It appeared Arz had fallen from his crossan and was alive, though he died later." I thought of the Wizard of Oz . "All smoke and mirrors. With Glnot Rhuether we're dealing with a passably effective magician, but with limited intellect. If you poked your scissors in the phantom corpse's forehead, probably his head, possibly head and neck, would have crumbled."
 
His face reddened. "That's right," he mumbled.
 
"Don't waste any more of your time with categories of human or not human. Okay? Poke it in enough places that it turns completely to ash, then toss it out. Think of what Rhuether's doing as simply magic. His isn't even good magic. Smoke and mirrors."
 
Rhuether was far more effective a magician than I was giving him credit for. His abilities were to worm into a person's mind and control him with fear. He even had a certain gift for prophesying future events, but it was limited by his memory or math skills. That meant he was not looking for the truth in prophecy but making it believable enough it would be effective in controlling the spirit or confidence of people. And, as long as he was leading with his ego he would always have the capability of tripping over his desires. I was counting on that happening. Until I had my final encounter with Rhuether—and I was sure that had to happen—it was important for me to pass on to the men what I knew about Rhuether's strategy. If they didn't expect he had the capability of getting into their heads they would think they were going mad, just as Braims had. They had to know in advance the antidote to such possession; it was the conscious refusal to cave in to it.
 
"Well," I said, "I think it's just about time."

"Sir?" a confused Braims asked.
 
"I need to get the men prepared for tomorrow. You might want to stick around. In fact, I want you to."
 
We exited the tent.
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.


Chapter 9
C O N F E S S I O N S

By Jay Squires

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:
Until I had my final encounter with Rhuether—and I was sure that had to happen—it was important for me to pass on to the men what I knew about Rhuether's strategy. If they didn't expect he had the capability of getting into their heads they would think they were going mad, just as Braims had. They had to know in advance the antidote to such possession; it was the conscious refusal to cave in to it.
        "Well," I said, "I think it's just about time."
        "Sir?" a confused Braims asked.
        "I need to get the men prepared for tomorrow. You might want to stick around. In fact, I want you to."
        We exited the tent.


ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,816

 
Book III
Chapter Nine
 
The men scrambled to their feet and stood at attention. They were more tightly clustered around the three fire pits and were about twenty deep flush up to the wagons, which had been temporarily moved back up against the snow bank. This allowed all the men to be within my viewing. Knowing this meeting was to begin after dinner, and that space was at a premium, the men's tents and sleeping bags were still rolled.
 
"Be at ease, gentlemen. But in the interest of space please remain standing." I turned to my left and put my cupped hand to my lips. "You men, down by the Crossans; can you hear me?"
 
"Yes, Doctrex," one intrepid soldier yelled out. Some chuckling followed.
 
I smiled. "Good for you, soldier. Still, just try to press in closer to me from that end." Feet shuffled toward me. "I'll try to be brief so you men can get your tents up and climb in them and get some sleep."
 
I tried, as I did all the other times I spoke to the men, to keep as much individual eye contact as I could. I wanted each one to feel I was talking to him.
 
"We are only twenty-five miles from Qarnolt and only fifteen from where we will be joining up with the remaining troops and preparing for our final, massive push toward Qarnolt. I'm not going to lie to you. I have a strong feeling that first fifteen miles will test your strength and your courage more than at any time in your life. By a show of hands ... individually, how many of you feel a cold fear in your gut that it will be your strength and your courage that will be put to this horrible test?"
 
I made sure my hand was the first to be raised high above my head for everyone to see. I was surprised to see a confused scattering of hands go up, probably not more than a hundred of the close to a thousand men assembled. I think my face must have registered my puzzlement.
 
"I'll be honest with you, men. I was prepared to see maybe half a dozen men not raise their hands, and if that happened I was going to tell those few to examine their hearts because I'd have thought they were fooling themselves.
 
"But now I'm happy to say it looks like I and my handful of frightened pups will be able to huddle together, knowing we will be taken care of by the courage of the multitude." I heard some snickering, I think from some of those whose hands were up.
 
I laughed outright, and brought my arm down. "Okay, okay ... let's just say I got carried away with the poetry of it all. What I meant to say was more like this: our strength of character has been tested already more than it ever would have been tested before you enlisted. You would agree?"
 
A "yes!" resounded from the face of the cliff and poured back on us.
 
"So we are operating from a higher standard of courage and strength. How many of us, if we should—and I think we shall—face unexpected adversity, how many of us—” and here I raised my arm again— "are afraid we might not live up to that high standard we had set for ourselves."
 
I think every arm shot up.
 
"Good ... Because, that's really more what I meant earlier. You can put your arms down for a moment. Gentlemen, it's important we're realistic about what's inside us so that when something unexpected and frightening does happen, we won't be blindsided by our reactions to it. We've got to expect those reactions.
 
"What has our experience in the army taught us so far?" I didn't wait for an answer. "Hasn't it taught us to feel the fear ... and then do what we need to do anyway, in spite of it? Isn't that where resolve comes in? You know you're going to be fearful—you accept that you're going to be frightened, but you resolve not to crumble under it; you resolve to stay at that higher standard you set for yourself. How many of you will resolve, with me, to not let the fear we feel rule us, not to crumble under it, but to always pull ourselves up to that higher standard of Kabeezan courage?" My arm went up, this time with a closed fist, and every other arm went up, fist closed—some pumping the air.
 
"We're all in this together, my brothers. We're all united together, under a common cause. We're also human too, aren't we? Even with all the high-sounding courage and resolve, as an individual I'm not always going to be able to practice my higher standard today as I did yesterday. And, if that happens at a time of severe testing, I'll need the courage of my brothers to buffer me up, without judgment. Why without judgment? Because tomorrow I might be in better form and you may desperately need me to buffer up your courage." I started nodding my head. "Do you see how that works, brothers?" Heads were bobbing all over the place. "Do you want an example?
 
"We needn't look any further back than our last skirmish. Do you remember how the enemy got in many of our heads?" Already, I could sense some nervousness in the ranks. "Do you remember how he conjured up images of the Pomnot in some of our minds? And those soldiers actually saw the Pomnot, in all his nightmarish goriness clambering up the hillside heading for them? Remember?"
 
I was sure I could have picked out of the assembly—judging by the color that had risen in their faces just now, their nervous glancing, their unnecessary movements—those very soldiers who had been so possessed.
 
"But, do you also remember this? I remember it. I remember their brothers coming to their aid and gently guiding them back to their tent where they talked to them, consoled them, buffered them, loaned them their courage until they got their own back.
 
"That's brotherhood! That is a true sharing of the higher standard of courage."
 
I paused to take in the faces of the soldiers. I ambled along looking into their eyes, occasionally nodding. I truly was feeling this brotherhood. True, I was taking them where I wanted to take them, where I needed to take them, but in the course of my preaching, I became a believer of the sermon. I loved these men like brothers. And I sensed they loved me as well. Some of them, I had the feeling, would give their life for me.
 
All of them, at this moment, would give their life for Kabeez!
 
I needed to make a shift in my focus, to bring the subject around to a fear that was not unlike the overwhelming fear of the Pomnots in some of them. The focus needed to be squarely on Glnot Rhuether and his magic. However compelling his possession of the soldiers' minds to those who were so possessed, I needed to place the emphasis on resolve against fear and a brotherhood of loving acceptance of the ones possessed. How many could there be who were silently terrified by the voices? Did they believe the prophesy? Had any shared with their brothers the voices that seemed to shred their sanity? Would they share it now?
 
I made the circuit all the way to where the crossans were nuzzling the ground and worked my way back, keeping my contact all the while with the eyes of the soldiers. Some eyes were welling up, I think with the pride they were feeling in themselves and their brothers. It was a wonderful, poignant moment.
 
"You know, I was just wondering ..." Here I stopped short about twenty yards from where I had been speaking, and with my toe, nudged a chunk of slate loose from where it was snugged into another piece. "I was wondering how many of you have been silently, and heroically, wrestling with those demon voices in your head, craving the assurance that only your brothers could give you, yet terrified that if you told one of your brothers and he didn't understand he might reject you or shun you?"
 
I had no way of knowing if Rhuether had chosen only the two I already knew about, but I thought that would be mathematically improbable that out of nearly a thousand men, these would be the only two. I studied the faces of the soldiers blinking at each other, turning their heads, peering over their shoulders. I picked out some, though, who seemed clearly more troubled by my words.
 
"Does that describe any of you?"
 
Some shrugged at each other; there was even some light, half-subdued tittering. For the most part the eye contact after a while returned to me. Those I had noted as appearing troubled averted their eyes from mine.
 
And, then, from behind me and to my right I heard the words, "Well, General Doctrex, if you're looking for someone who fits that description, look no farther."
 
I knew who it was, but turned to have it confirmed. Sure enough, Braims was walking toward me.

"Of course we can all come up with reasons for why we feel the need to keep it in our own head and not tell anyone about the voices and it all really boils down to what our leader said ... that we fear our brother might not understand. He might reject you. He might shun you. My goodness, he might even tell others and they will shun you. When I first heard the voice I knew I needed help. After all, I am a medic. I'm supposed to be able to keep you guys well. I even had to help General Doctrex get well when he received the enemy arrow in his leg. How could someone who helped others admit that he needed help—especially since it was something another person can't see or touch? It was in my head."
 
He stopped speaking a moment, closed his eyes and angled his head upward. A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I'm hearing it now. It—It’s not like a thought. No, it's definitely a voice. If I hadn't heard it before, and therefore didn’t know it was in my head, I'd be looking out and wondering which of you was talking. It's out—out there.” He made a sweeping gesture that took in all the men. “Also, it always says the same thing. The one whose voice is in my head doesn't have much imagination, you see. I don't know what your voice says, but mine keeps repeating One will die for every three who fall."
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.


Chapter 10
RHUETHER UNRAVELING? (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

     


WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:
       He stopped speaking a moment, closed his eyes and angled his head upward. A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I'm hearing it now. It—It’s not like a thought. No, it's definitely a voice. If I hadn't heard it before, and therefore didn’t know it was in my head, I'd be looking out and wondering which of you was talking. It's out—out there.” He made a sweeping gesture that took in all the men. “Also, it always says the same thing. The one whose voice is in my head doesn't have much imagination, you see. I don't know what your voice says, but mine keeps repeating One will die for every three who fall."
 




 
BOOK III
Chapter Ten
 (Part 1)

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,537
 
 
"You already know what mine says," a tremulous voice coming from within the assembly announced. Heads turned to watch a young soldier push through the ranks, and make his way out to Braims and me. "Many of you know me. If you don't, it's Gotzel Rektairn.” He took a fluttery breath.” I thought I was the only one to hear One will die for every three who fall. You don’t know how relieved I was that Braims heard the same words—well, except the voice in my head added Keep the count. Be alert."
 
One of the soldiers I had earlier homed in on as appearing troubled now raised his arm. "Yes! Yes!" he shouted. "Thank you! I'm not going crazy!" Tears of relief were streaming down his face. "Or if—if I am, I'm not alone. Thank you Gotzel."
 
"This is important," I said over his mixed laughter and tears. "Listen. Any of you out there—don't you be alone either. If you have those voices lodged in your brains ... our medic, Braims Glassem—I fondly call him doctor—is used to fixing things. He can help fix you, too. When I finish, I want all—every single one of you who is troubled by these voices—to meet at Braims tent. Listen to him. He can smile at his own voices now, and soon they will just go away. Poof! Like magic. Don't fight this lonely, terrifying battle alone." Turning to Braims, and then to Gotzel, I mouthed a "thank you" before addressing the rest of the men.
 
"So ... brothers ... if we can understand why someone would want to jam these quaint little words in the heads of our soldiers, it might help us better understand what the nature of the obstacles is that we will likely face over the next twenty-five miles, tomorrow.
 
"Have no doubt about it, Glnot Rhuether is a desperate man, knowing he will be facing close to five-thousand courageous soldiers who have a shared love of Kabeez, and the brotherhood of each other ... that is beyond his understanding. On the other hand, Rhuether can also be a dangerous man to me, to Braims Glassem, to Gotzel Rektairn—to any one of us alone, as individuals ... as long as he can separate us from our love of Kabeez, and our belief in our brotherhood. We must be vigilant and courageous. Mentally and spiritually, we must stay united."
 
I began at that point to remind those who had been there, of Glnot Rhuether's earliest visits to our troops. I did it in abbreviated form. I started with his invasion of my dream, before I even arrived at Camp Kabeez; and how I discovered three others who were with me, and were also connected with the Kabeezan mission who had similar invasions into their sleeping minds at the same time.

I went on to remind those who were at the first commingling of the camps as our numbers increased, and we marched ever toward Camp Jerri-Fibe. How, early on, Glnot Rhuether, came in sleep-time visions to scores of men, convincing some that their wives or girlfriends were being unfaithful back home; others that loved ones were near death, and needed them home. Some deserted but were brought back.

No one who was there had to be reminded of the absolutely unbelievable feat of strength exhibited by Stand Captain Lesn's hoisting a boulder, twice his scant weight, over his head. My words, as I reminded the soldiers now, brought such a round of laughter and chatter I had to raise an arm to curtail it.

I went on to say no one would fail to remember the next day or two later, when Lesn's friend, Morz, physically exploded.
 
And then I even described Lesn's hanging himself, since it provided an example of how one man, Lesn, basically a loner, not being a part of the greater brotherhood, had no one to go to. And based on his suicide note, he was visited by the ghost of the recently exploded Morz who tried to recruit him over to Glnot Rhuether's side.

All of this came before we arrived at Camp Jerry-Fibe, and it was capped by the spell Rhuether placed on our entire army, convincing us to believe Stand Captain Grinzy and his band of soldiers had been sent to escort us over the pass, and into Camp Jerry-Fibe. Later, I discovered from the Camp Commander that there was no Escort, and an officer named Grinzy had broken his neck from a fall a week or more before, and was in a coma.

Later I saw Grinzy in the infirmary—the very same Grinzy!
 
It was for some of the later additions to our troops, the thirteen-hundred from Camp Jerry-Fibe, led by Gerol Roze, that I offered this encapsulation of our experiences. Only some of these latter troops were here now. But all needed to know the continuity of Rhuether's magic from the beginning.
 
"Those of you," I continued, "who joined us from Camp Jerry-Fibe, have become well-acquainted with Glnot Rhuether's performance. The attack by the catapulted fireballs was apparently an entirely conventional, military attack. My thought is he discovered his army could be soundly defeated if he didn't have a hand in it.

"This might well have been the turning point for him, the start of his desperation—Glnot Rhuether's unraveling!
 
"He discovered how entirely competent we were as a fighting force.
 
"So what did he do? While we were waiting for the arrival of our final Advance Intelligent Man before we deployed our first units ... do you remember? The birds that soared down from the ice mountains to the north of us, dropping fireballs, like giant eggs, onto our camp? Some of those fireballs were as real as those that were catapulted on us earlier. Others were, at first, as frightening, but we soon discovered they were phantom weapons. They fizzled out before they hit the ground.
 
"This is what I believe: Listen to me, men ... I believe Rhuether was out of his element. He couldn't control the magic in all the birds. He is limited in his manpower and weaponry. We must remember that. Also, I think it took a tremendous amount of energy to sustain the illusion of having the severed head of our missing AIM, Arz Makel, hanging from the talons of one of the phantom birds. You'll remember, that later on, the troop unit found Arz Makel's body. He had been thrown by his crossan and was actually alive when they found him.
 
"If I'm right in my theory of Rhuether's division of attention, and his inability to sustain illusion—and I think I am right, brothers—then we need to look for ways to turn his weakness against him."
 
I paused and again studied their faces, wondering how far to take this. "Meanwhile, we need to deal with Rhuether's reversion back to the beginning of our experience with him. He was again invading our minds, resuming his magic by reviving our childhood terrors of the Pomnot. We thought we had outgrown these irrational terrors, didn't we? But we recently found them lurking just under the surface of our thinking minds. This could have been his biggest victory, but our brotherhood came through.
 
"And now we have entered his latest, but not his last chapter. It started with his establishing a mini-prophecy. He magically created an unprecedented occurrence, one that defies explanation. A young man, in the prime of his health, simply topples off his Crossan, and is dead. I thought about this ... and it is clearly the work of Glnot Rhuether. But why? To what end? I'll tell you in just a moment, but first ... would anyone who knew Halz Zinc well ... please indicate by raising your hand?" The soldiers glanced at each other, looking, as I was, for the hand to raise. "But where had you seen him? Did you see him taking his meal? Was his tent near yours? Surely, someone here had said hello to him. Well, has anyone even heard him speak?" I scanned their faces. Many were bemused, puzzling over the questions. "It doesn't surprise me, brothers. Remember a few minutes ago when I mentioned Stand Captain Grinzy and his group of escorts who led us up the pass and into battle?" There was recognition so I went on. "Again, with a show of hands, who here remembers what the escorts looked like?"
 
One soldier raised his hand, tentatively. "I remember Stand Captain Grinzy's face."
 
"Yes! Thank you! I remembered it, too, so much so—as I said—I was able to recognize his comatose body in the Camp Jerri-Fibe infirmary, where he had been for over a week. Thank you. That's a perfect example of Rhuether's inability to spread an illusion over many objects. The primary illusion was Grinzy. But the secondary ones became fuzzy. So, does anyone remember anything about Grinzy's men? Did they say anything? Remember the color of their eyes? Their hair?" I waited. "Exactly! It's a lot like our memory of Halz Zinc."
 
"But I don't understand something, sir," one soldier in the middle of the ranks said, and the ones around him pulled back so he could be seen. He lifted his hood off his head to enable him to more easily speak. "At least, I don't think I do."
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
GOTZEL REKTAIRN: The 2nd person after Braims Glassem who started hearing voices.


Chapter 10
ILLUSION SPREAD TOO THIN? (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

I KNOW!
I know, I know, I know!
Doctrex knows too, trust me!
HE KNOWS ...
his men are to-the-bone exhausted.
He knows they are craving sleep ... but he owes his men
 what he in his heart knows: that too quick and
easy a sleep now may result in
an eternal sleep later.
So, give Doctrex,
for pity sakes
GIVE ME
fifteen
 minutes more
(one more short freakin' chapter)
to guarantee the men, and this book,
a shot at survival past tomorrow.
Doctrex thanks you!

I THANK YOU!
 
WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:
        One soldier raised his hand, tentatively. "I remember Stand Captain Grinzy's face."
        "Yes! Thank you! I remembered it, too, so much so—as I said—I was able to recognize his comatose body in the Camp Jerri-Fibe infirmary, where he had been for over a week. Thank you. That's a perfect example of Rhuether's inability to spread an illusion over many objects. The primary illusion was Grinzy. But the secondary ones became fuzzy. So, does anyone remember anything about Grinzy's men? Did they say anything? Remember the color of their eyes? Their hair?" I waited. "Exactly! It's a lot like our memory of Halz Zinc."
        "But I don't understand something, sir," one soldier in the middle of the ranks said, and the ones around him pulled back so he could be seen. He lifted his hood off his head to enable hm to more easily speak. "At least, I don't think I do."
 

 


BOOK III
Chapter Ten
(Part 2)
ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,399
 
"Don't feel alone, soldier," I laughed. "If you think I have all the answers, you're wrong. I'm just sharing some observations, and making guesses. Making these guesses, and clarifying our understanding, as you're attempting to do, may be vital to our survival. So tell me what you don't understand, and don't be disappointed if I tell you I don't understand it either."
 
"Thank you, sir. If Rhuether could bring up the illusion of Stand Captain Grinzy, but just couldn't spread it far enough to keep a clear image of his men ... am I even saying that right?"
 
"So far you haven't lost me.”
 
"Well, this Halz Zinc—he was just one person, like Stand Captain Grinzy. So why couldn't he talk to us? Wait! Wait! Sir, are you saying Halz wasn't real?"
 
I smiled.
 
"But you said Stand Captain Grinzy at least existed. Did Rhuether just make Halz Zinc up out of thin air? And if he did make him up, why couldn't he have made up Stand Captain Grinzy, too? Why bother using a real person as a—a pattern?" He stopped suddenly, looking embarrassed. "Too many questions, sir?"
 
"No, no, you can't ask too many intelligent questions." I thought a moment about how to answer. "But being all out of observations here, brother, I'm afraid I'm going to have to guess. My guess is … it has to do with how he intended to use the illusion. I feel strongly he wanted me to have a personal experience of his gift of magic. So he established a paradox. A person who is in a coma is simultaneously escorting our troops. He brought me in close contact with him so when I saw him in the infirmary, there could be no doubt they were one and the same. There was even a strawberry birthmark right here ..." I pointed to my right cheek, "which I also noticed on the earlier Grinzy."
 
"That makes sense, sir, but how about Halz?"
 
"Rhuether had an altogether different use for Halz. At least that's my guess; but I'll try to tell you why. Actually, I'm thinking he had two uses for the same phantom soldier. I mentioned before that Rhuether is getting desperate. He uses his magic on those he fears. Remember that. It’s important. He obviously fears our army, because ours is clearly superior to his. He feels the only way he can defeat our army is from the inside out. That's what we'll talk about in a moment.
 
"But there was something else he feared—or, rather someone. And that someone is our medic Braims Glassem. I wish I had a clear understanding of why. But I think, in part it is because Braims Glassem has specific knowledge and training that is life affirming. He works very hard to save life. Rhuether's whole purpose is to deny the value of life. There's no way of proving it, but I believe Rhuether put his voice in our doctor's head first, so he could test its effectiveness at destroying the sanity of arguably the most reasonable, rational man here.”
 
I let that sink in a moment before resuming. "Being a medic, Braims Glassem was perhaps more curious than most about why a man so young and healthy should simply die. He examined him for the signs of poisoning, by others or self-induced. Nothing on the skin or in or around the mouth revealed anything." Here I stopped and looked back at Braims. He slowly nodded his head. "To have conclusive evidence he needed to examine the contents of his stomach, so he made the necessary incision. Braims ..." I turned to him again, "I wonder if you would tell them your findings?"
 
"Very simply, General Doctrex, the first thing I noticed was the total lack of blood when I made the incision, and later when I opened the stomach cavity. No blood at all. Secondly, there were absolutely no contents in his stomach, no undigested breakfast, nothing. And the third thing I noticed wasn't third in order of occurrence. It was actually first, but if I told it to you first there might have been such an—an outpouring of disbelief you wouldn't have heard the other two."
 
"Well, you've got our attention now, Braims," I laughed.
 
He grinned. "Well, the moment I made the incision, the air was filled with the fragrance of—I don't know what they're called—but those pink blossoms that are everywhere in the southern province. As I explained to Doctrex, its perfume filled the entire tent. And it lingered there for long after I had sewn him back up."
 
Predictably, the chatter of the troops couldn't be contained. I waited, letting it swell and peak and then ebb. When it quieted down to just a few scattered voices and I saw nearly everyone's eyes were on me, filled with questions begging answers, I said, "I wish I knew the answer, men. As close as I can get, Rhuether couldn't resist this one last episode of showing off. Everything he does is filled with his vanity, his need to be recognized."
 
"Is it even important?" the young man who had posed the earlier question asked.
 
"Good point! As dramatic as it was, I don't think it was anything more than Rhuether putting his exclamation point on the situation. What was important, was that Halz was medically proved to be a phantom soldier. He was not part of the Kabeezan army. His name, as well as the name of the soldier who reportedly fell and died during the snow storm, did not show up on Lieutenants Giln and Sheleck Profue’s or my roll sheets. They were not a part of the Army. They were illusion, the products of Rhuether's magic."
 
Again, eyes darted about, heads turned and voices raised in question.
 
"I know, men, I know. The new fallen soldier? Most of you were out digging snow, not even aware there was a missing soldier. Only a few men combed the area in search of a body. They found one, and at my request they kept it secret from the rest of you troops until he could be examined by Braims Glassem. They must have done a pretty good job of concealing it." I expected some laughter or at least smiles at that, but got neither. I continued with the results of Braims' examination, receiving some raised eyebrows and opened mouths after my description of the mystery of the soldier's thawing flesh crumbling under its being probed.
 
When I finished, another soldier raised his voice above the surface of the murmuring. "And are you saying you checked that soldier's name against the roll and didn't find it, sir?"
 
I thought I detected a kind of ironic inflection of sir. But why? I was being too sensitive. And over what? I mustered up a smile. "Well, not the name. The calling of the roll showed all were accounted for."
 
"And ... So his name wasn't on the roll, sir?"
 
"His identification was phantom, too," I said. I wondered if I were blushing. Judging from their questioning looks, I knew I had to tell them. What difference did it make? Why should that embarrass me? "You see, Rhuether apparently wanted to show off again. The name on the identification—well, it was ... mine."
 
"Yours? General Doctrex?"
 
"It's kind of funny, isn't it? When you think of it." I searched their faces. There were some smiles, but for the most part confused, perplexed expressions. But no laughter.
 
"Well," I said, "we need to wrap this up, men, so you can put your tents up, and get some sleep. I hope you—no! I'm counting on you taking everything we discussed this evening very much to heart! If I were to summarize it in just a few sentences what we should take away from it, it would be: Don't believe everything you see, hear, smell or touch, even though Glnot Rhuether's magic will seem very real. So help each other. Be each other's brother. Love each other. Love Kabeez—and we can't help but defeat our enemy. And finally, please—please! If any of you is hearing a voice in his head don't be embarrassed. Don't be ashamed. Go with the man who has defeated the voice. Go, now, with your brother, Braims Glassem.”
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
GOTZEL REKTAIRN: The 2nd person after Braims Glassem who started hearing voices.


Chapter 11
1,000 FATHERLESS BROTHERS (Pt.1)

By Jay Squires





ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,035



WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:

       "Well," I said, "we need to wrap this up, men, so you can put your tents up, and get some sleep. I hope you—no! I'm counting on you taking everything we discussed this evening very much to heart! If I were to summarize it in just a few sentences what we should take away from it, it would be: Don't believe everything you see, hear, smell or touch, even though Glnot Rhuether's magic will seem very real. So help each other. Be each other's brother. Love each other. Love Kabeez—and we can't help but defeat our enemy. And finally, please—please! If any of you is hearing a voice in his head don't be embarrassed. Don't be ashamed. Go with the man who has defeated the voice. Go, now, with your brother, Braims Glassem.”
 



BOOK III
Chapter Eleven
(Part 1)
 
I heard my name from outside my tent. "Doctrex!"
 
Unmistakably, it was Giln. I had been fast asleep and didn't want to wake up.
 
"Doctrex!" His voice was compellingly urgent without being loud.
 
"What time is it, Giln?"
 
"Three. We need to talk to you."
 
I swung my legs over to the side of my cot. "It can't wait until morning? Who are we?"
 
"Sheleck. May we come in?"
 
I didn't have to get my clothes on. In this weather, except for the bulky jacket, I slept clothed. "Come in."
 
Giln, carefully guarding his torch so it wouldn't touch the tent, backed in; he was followed by Sheleck who came in head first, but immediately turned and secured the tent flap to keep out the chill. Taking my extinguished torch from its holder and laying it on the ground, Giln replaced it with his. The tent filled with light.
 
"What is it, brothers?" I said, not able to stifle a yawn.
 
Giln shot a glance at Sheleck, who sat in a chair behind me. "That, as much as anything, sir."
 
"Giln! What is it? Don't talk in riddles."
 
"You told me to be the eyes and ears of the troops, sir. Likewise, since the men won't be themselves around me, I had two of my more valued men relay to me the words and feelings of the men."
 
"Yes?"
 
"There was a lot of grumbling going on as the men put up their tents."
 
"It was a long day. They were tired. I robbed them of their sleep." I was leaning forward, my forearms on my thighs, my hands hanging down. "I robbed myself of my sleep," I tried to laugh, but it fell flat.
 
"It's a lot more than that, sir!"
 
I turned my head to Sheleck. He was in shadow. I couldn’t see his face, but his head was angled toward the floor.
 
"Why don't you get to the point, Giln?" I turned back to him.
 
"Right to the point?"
 
I straightened up. "That's what I said."
 
"Two of the more vocal and persuasive of the enlisted men are saying you are dangerous. They've been spreading it among the troops, and I have to say a lot of them are listening."
 
"Are you?"
 
"If I were listening to them, if I believed what they were saying, would I be telling you this now?"
 
I looked back at Sheleck. "You're being awfully quiet."
 
"They're using Zurn as part of their argument," Giln went on, as though Sheleck weren't there. "They say a strong general is one who puts military law above sentiment. They're spreading it around that he should either be executed or kept under constant guard."
 
"And that's getting to you, Sheleck?" I asked, gently. "That's why you're so quiet?"
 
"Yes," he said, morosely, to a patch of the tent floor his head was angled toward. I still couldn’t make out his face.
 
"How can I deny the truth of what they're saying?" I asked, but as much a question to myself as them.
 
"They said if you hadn't stepped in he would have been washed out of school and the army at Camp Kabeez."
 
"I wonder how they found out about that?" I asked, provocatively.
 
"There are no secrets. You know that, sir."
 
That seemed a strange thing to say. "So it's all about Zurn?" I questioned. "That's why they hate me?" How odd I would say that! I meant to say, that's why they think I'm a weak General? But hate me came out instead.
 
"No, sir," said Giln, "that was a major indictment—Zurn was—but it was only part of their argument."
 
"I think you're going to tell me the rest, aren't you?" I said, intending to smile.
 
"You said to the point, sir."
 
"Giln, why are you being so distant?" I asked and immediately wondered if I was trying to postpone his message, by changing the subject. But I continued anyway. "Doctrex was always good between us."
 
"And that was their major argument. It might come as a surprise to you, sir, but the troops—or what the two are convincing them—don't respect you for your attempts at being familiar with them. They don't want to call you Doctrex. They want to look up to you as a stern father, not their brother."
 
Giln's key words respect, familiar, stern father, brother spattered my sanctimonious consciousness like droplets of hot grease. I stared at him a long time before I spoke. "Oh—and that explains your formality."
 
He didn't answer me that, but he did continue with: "They think you are a fraud, General."
 
I felt like I had taken a fist in the stomach. I could hardly hear my own voice ask: "And you?"
 
Giln stared into my eyes and a slow smile spread his lips across his teeth. With difficulty I took my eyes off him and turned them to Sheleck. "And Sheleck, do you—think I'm a fraud?"
 
Sheleck continued to keep his shadowed gaze fixed on the floor.
 
"Soldier!" I shouted. "Sheleck, look at me! Did you hear me? Look... at ... me!"
 
In some distant background I heard Giln's laughter erupting, but my eyes were on Sheleck. Suddenly I leapt off of my bunk and found his head in my hands and I wrenched it toward me. But as Giln's laughter spilled in around me so much I felt I would drown in it, I released Sheleck's faceless head.
 
"Doctrex," I heard from outside my tent. It was Engle. "Are you okay, sir ?"
 
I held up my hand. I couldn't see it in the darkness. "I'm fine," I said.
 
"You're okay ... I thought I heard you talking to someone. Telling them to look at you."
 
"I don't know. One of us might have been dreaming."
 
I heard his feet crunching on the shale as he backed away from the tent. "Good night, sir. We've a few more hours before the guards wake us."
 
"Let's make the most of them. Good night, Engle."
 
But I didn't sleep. I sat on the edge of my cot and stared into the darkness toward the far side of the tent.
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.


Chapter 11
POINT OF THE PREMONITION (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,893

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:

       "Soldier!" I shouted. "Sheleck, look at me! Did you hear me? Look... at ... me!"
       In some distant background I heard Giln's laughter erupting, but my eyes were on Sheleck. Suddenly I leapt off of my bunk and found his head in my hands and I wrenched it toward me. But as Giln's laughter spilled in around me so much I felt I would drown in it, I released Sheleck's faceless head.
       "Doctrex," I heard from outside my tent. It was Engle. "Are you okay, sir ?"
       I held up my hand. I couldn't see it in the darkness. "I'm fine," I said.
       "You're okay ... I thought I heard you talking to someone. Telling them to look at you."
       "I don't know. One of us might have been dreaming."
       I heard his feet crunching on the shale as he backed away from the tent. "Good night, sir. We've a few more hours before the guards wake us."
       "Let's make the most of them. Good night, Engle."
       But I didn't sleep. I sat on the edge of my cot and stared into the darkness toward the far side of the tent.

 
 
BOOK III
Chapter Eleven
(Part 2)
 
The road we followed toward our rendezvous point with the other units was at a three percent incline. That was according to the map, but according to my inner gauge, it was steeper than that. It was narrower by at least half of what it had been, which meant we could only ride three to four deep. The mountains lifted sharply on either side of the road. There was little vegetation on our level, but when I cast my eyes up the mountain slope to my left, I distinguished scraggly trees, similar in shape to the pines I remembered back in Viktor Brueen’s life.

But these trees today lacked deep-root nourishment. Some—probably the victim of the blizzard—were lying on their sides, their shallow root-beds looking like thinning, unruly hair.

I thought at one point I noticed some movement behind one of them which lay wedged between a boulder and another barely standing tree. But it was isolated. There would have been little room for more than one creature or person to hide.

I noticed Engle, who was riding beside me, was looking at the same fallen tree. He probably saw me staring and followed the direction I was looking.

"See anything, Engle?"

He turned to me. "I thought I saw something, sir, but it was probably a breeze up there moving some branches. Maybe shadows."
 
Giln and Sheleck were at the other side of the road, and Sheleck was engaged in slowly scanning his side of the mountain slope. Giln looked straight ahead. I pulled Rain Spirit II over beside Sheleck and watched him in silence. When he noticed I was there, he turned and smiled. "Just being vigilant, Doctrex."
 
"It never hurts, brother," I said, watching his reaction.
 
"Nothing to worry about up there, as I see it. Too steep and barren. Up ahead ..." He pointed to an area perhaps a half-mile up the road, "that could be a different story."
 
I nodded. About a hundred yards up the road, the mountain on that side reduced its incline by about twenty degrees as it simultaneously began to turn its broad, pocked face away from us and decline, along the roadside, into the valley he was indicating as being possibly suspect. It was difficult to assess from where we were, but it could be an ideal place for an ambush.

I turned to Giln and spoke his name.
 
"Yes, Doctrex."
 
I studied his eyes for a hint of irony. "Sheleck pointed out the valley up there. What do you think? Should we alert the men? It might be nothing. But it wouldn't hurt them to be on their toes."
 
"We'll get right on it." He motioned to Sheleck who came over.
 
"May I ask you a question first?" I touched his arm. "I asked you earlier to be my eyes and ears ..."
 
"About your talk?"
 
What am I doing! Does he think I'm fishing for a compliment now? That I'm that insecure? Am I? "I took some chances." I nodded to Sheleck to let him know I valued his input, too. "I touched on some sensitive areas. You know, the Pomnots. The voices."
 
"It's not like it was a secret. You know." Giln smiled.
 
I looked away, then back. "Brotherhood?"
 
"Their reactions to it? I think it made them feel good, sir. That there could be. I think they want it to be. But I'm pretty sure it frightens them, too."
 
Sheleck quickly glanced at me; I supposed to check my response to Giln's observation, particularly to it frightening them.
 
"Do you find the idea frightening, Sheleck?"
 
"But we knew you before you were our general, sir."
 
We fell into a silence. "I hope we can go into this deeper, later. But I think it's important to get the word out to the men. Don't spook them. Just have them be vigilant, okay?"
 
They took off, Giln to the left, Sheleck to the right.
 
I moved back over to Engle, who was still eying the mountain. I told him why the brothers Profue had left the ranks and it was necessary for all of us to keep a keen eye on the surroundings.
 
"I have a horn in my saddle bag."
 
"Good idea. Timing is crucial." It was accepted, two long blasts on the horn signaled immediate danger. It would prepare the troops for battle, though it would be of negligible value more than ten rows back. Fighting men could pack themselves only so densely on this narrow road, with no room to spread out on either side, before they would start shooting and hacking at each other instead of the enemy.
 
Something else troubled me. The brothers needed to be farther back in the ranks, perhaps the second or third grouping-of-ten rows back. If I were to be taken down they would be in command. They needed to be reminded of that. I looked at the valley ahead getting closer and decided we needed to work out that strategy.
 
"Engle, would you signal the troops to halt?" I think my orders caught him by surprise, but I thought this might be a good chance for him to demonstrate his leadership capabilities.
 
"Yes, sir," he said, and then proceeded with a loud, "troops halt!" The response was immediate, but the faces of the troops a few rows back betrayed their surprise as they looked first at Engle then at me. The command was continued on by someone deep in the ranks. "Troops halt!" And I heard it one more time even farther back before the brothers appeared at the front ranks and brought their crossans beside me.
 
"What is it?" Sheleck asked. "You see something?"
 
I told them of my concerns and that we needed to implement our action plan ahead of time. They agreed with my reasoning of the number that could effectively fight in such narrow confines. Sheleck suggested there should be a space of about three ranks between each grouping of forty men. I could see from his expression he wished he had recanted it since on the surface it didn't seem to have merit. I told him, without reservation, the idea should be implemented. I wasn't sure why, except that it gave each group of forty men a feeling of cohesiveness within a larger cohesiveness. But that was abstract. The fact was none of us knew from one moment to the next if what we were doing would work. A poor plan, though, was better than not planning.
 
"One final thing, my friends, there needs to be a clear chain of command within our unit. If I should die ... Giln, you would resume command in my place. If Giln should be the second to die, Sheleck would resume command. The men need to have a leader. Is that understood? Acceptable?"
 
"Yes, sir."
 
"And when we join with the other units on the Plain of Dzur the other officers' ranks will take precedence over yours. This is only to get us through the next critical fifteen or so miles. I can feel it," I said, tapping my chest with my fingertips and looking at first one and then the other, “Something is going to happen before we get there.”
 
They both nodded. I went on to tell them we needed to be dispersed within the ranks to protect the leadership. I did some quick calculation. Giln would be positioned at the eighth grouping of forty. That would be three hundred and forty men. Sheleck would have the remaining troops, which figured to be a little more than Giln's number. Engle would be my horn-blower. The brothers should each select someone to be the horn-blower for his command.
 
I sent Engle with them to help spread the troops out into the groupings of ten rows of four, with the spacing between groupings. It took close to an hour for Engle to return and tell me they were ready. I recruited two automatic crossbowmen from the row behind to fill out our row.
 
"You want to give the command, Engle?"
 
"Thank you, sir." And in a voice that was grand, he bellowed: "forward ho!" And all the newly assembled pieces of our army moved forward together like a well-lubricated machine. The closer our approach, the more I realized the map needed revision. What had appeared to Sheleck's and my eyes earlier to be one continuous valley turned out to be a number of deep, and fairly wide, down-sloping gullies lying side by side, emptying down into a basin. I imagined if the mapmaker were peering down from midway up the mountain to my left would see the resemblance to fingers spread and angling down to an open palm.
 
In the shadows between the fingers hundreds of enemy warriors could hide themselves, awaiting the command to charge up the hill.
 
We moved closer.
 
"Be vigilant, men," I urged in a hushed voice. Engle nodded and clutched his horn a little tighter. I turned to the two crossbowmen whose weapons were poised atop their saddlehorns, ready at the moment's call to raise, aim and fire.
 
The crossbowman on the outside didn't have the opportunity.
 
I watched his crossbow clatter to the shale as both his hands grappled with the six inches of shaft that had not penetrated his throat, and in the same instant the crossbowman beside him gawked in horror at the shred of flesh and a fine spray of blood that had pelted the arm of his jacket. The injured soldier gurgled a ribbon of blood down his chin and onto the front of his jacket as his weight sagged and he slipped off the left side of his saddle to the shale at the feet of his crossbow partner's crossan. An arrow whished past my ear and another ricocheted off Engle's horn.
 
Everything happened within a span of, perhaps, five seconds. Engle had apparently just now processed what happened and raised the horn to his lips. He gave two long, shrill blasts, and the spooked, empty saddled crossan charged up the road. His position was quickly filled and two automatic crossbowmen from the first rank and one from behind and the three trained their bows on the gullies and released a volley of arrows onto a hidden target. I listened for the sounds of a successful hit. Silence. Meanwhile a stream of soldiers from behind us advanced up both sides of the road and formed two ranks in front of us, I'm sure in accord with their training to protect their high commanding officer. They fired in unison down into the gullies.
 
At least one arrow found its target as a shriek, unlike any sound I'd ever heard, echoed down into the valley. The Pomnots, for all their brutish strength were stoic in their dying. No human or quasi-human had a voice box this powerful. This had to be a beast of an altogether different nature.
 
I tried to anticipate how many there could be. I heard them scrabbling up from the gullies and onto the road before I saw the first of them, my view blocked by the two ranks of soldiers who walled me in. I'd heard that penetrating roar before, from the other world, from my earthly life, and was afraid to imagine what the equivalent beast would be here in the Northern Province.
 
I was soon to find out.
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.


Chapter 12
SITTING IN ZILTINAUR'S LAP (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

 


ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,760

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:

       At least one arrow found its target as a shriek, unlike any sound I'd ever heard, echoed down into the valley. The Pomnots, for all their brutish strength were stoic in their dying. No human or quasi-human had a voice box this powerful. This had to be a beast of an altogether different nature.
       I tried to anticipate how many there could be. I heard them scrabbling up from the gullies and onto the road before I saw the first of them, my view blocked by the two ranks of soldiers who walled me in. I'd heard that penetrating roar before, from the other world, from my earthly life, and was afraid to imagine what the equivalent beast would be here in the Northern Province.
       I was soon to find out.


BOOK III
Chapter Twelve
(Part 1)
 
 
The first of the beasts launched itself like a battering ram into the chest of one of the middle soldiers of the front rank, lifted him off his saddle and threw him noisily onto the shale where it hovered over him. It was twice the span of a crossan across the shoulders and its muscles crawled under its mud-colored coat as it pinned the soldier down. Its massive head pulled back from the soldier's face, which was wide in terror. I had seen cats treating their captured mice that way, playing with them before killing and devouring them. Why was no one shooting the beast? I looked over my shoulder at the men behind me and found my answer.
 
Following their upward-turned eyes above the ranks in front, my senses were jolted by what they were staring at.
 
Lumbering toward us, close to a hundred yards away, was an enormous creature—easily forty feet tall. His body was fully armored. Unlike the Pomnot, this had human features, his face and especially his eyes radiating a gentle, almost loving demeanor.
 
I glanced over at Engle, who seemed transfixed. "What are you—?" I stopped in mid-question realizing this giant had so captivated my attention, I was no different from the rest of the soldiers; my concern for the fallen soldier had been robbed by this new competition to my attention!
 
I looked down now, expecting to see the soldier faceless with blood pooling beneath his head and gore dripping from the mouth of the creature. The last thing I expected was seeing the soldier kicking his arms and legs, and breathless from giggling ... or the beast's thick, pink tongue lapping at the soldier's face!
 
No! This was too bizarre!
 
Turning in my saddle, I shouted to the soldiers, "Men. Listen to me." Not one set of eyes turned, but all were fixed on the gentle giant who had stopped and stood now, arms akimbo, and his legs also spread in a posture of grounded authority. "Don't you see what's happening, men? Have you forgotten what you came to understand just yesterday? Don't you recognize Glnot Rhuether's signature when you see it? This is the magic of Rhuether you are witnessing!"
 
"No, sir," Engle said, gently. "Not Rhuether ... Don't you see? He is Ziltinaur. He's kind. He loves us. I didn't know he was real. None of us knew he was real, sir. But look at him, he is real—he really is! I can't see his gift bag." He leaned sideways in his saddle, craning his neck. "Can you see it, sir? I hope he has a present for me."
 
"Have you been a good little boy?" I muttered, casting another look back at the rapt faces of the men behind me.
 
"I have been good ... or he wouldn't be here—would he?" This last he asked earnestly, hoping I wouldn't deny him his illusion.
 
"Did he come to you when you were a child?"
 
He smiled broadly, never once taking his eyes off Ziltinaur. "Yes, I remember him. He came once."
 
"Only once?" I puzzled.
 
"At dusk, when I was eight. I was too old when it was dawn. I didn't believe. Now, I can believe again!"
 
So every five years Father Dawn and Father Dusk came, bearing gifts for all the good little boys and girls. I was trying to use words against a potent magic here—as strongly captivating to the child's mind as were the Pomnots, but for opposite reasons.
 
"So who is he?" I asked with a nod toward the beast whose outstretched neck the soldier, now sitting beside him on the ground, was scratching. "Rudolf?"
 
"I don't know; is that his name, sir?" asked Engle, glancing first at the beast, then at me, and finally bringing his gaze back to Ziltinaur where it lingered, lovingly, "but they go with him wherever he goes. You know, they are his eyes."
 
Of course I didn't know. I kept letting myself forget they all assumed I drew from the same experience bank as they. "Oh, sure, his eyes. I forgot about that?"
 
"I'm guessing you forgot, because you never were a believer, sir," he teased, not once removing his gaze from Father Ziltinaur.
 
"Well, I am older." I decided to take a chance. "So tell me again, how was he blinded?"
 
"I thought everyone knew that. He pleaded with the sun to stay another season so he could continue to see the happy faces of the children. When the sun refused and left him he continued to follow, never taking his eyes off him, pleading until he was blind."
 
"Everyone knows you shouldn't stare at the sun."
 
"But if you're Ziltinaur ... you do it out of love for the children! Besides, the hounds of Ziltinaur are now his eyes. Look, sir!" He pointed at the front rank of soldiers who were dismounting.
 
"Men!" I shouted, "Get back on your mounts—now! That's an order!" I turned to Engle. "They're not—"
 
"Not listening to you," he finished. "Sir, I don't think they hear you. I don't think they even know they're soldiers. I know because I've had to fight the urge from the first moment I saw Ziltinaur." He stopped and then suddenly got very excited. "Look, now you can see the bag of gifts. See?"
 
It was true. The bag was about the size of Klasco's cottage, cinched at the top with a loop of a rope to carry it by. The lovable giant, Ziltinaur, would be able to hoist it without breaking a sweat. "You, above all, Engle ... you've got to keep fighting the urge. It's all illusion."
 
I watched, horrified, as the front rank dropped down on one knee. Five of Ziltinaur's hounds were moving toward them slowly, in a crouched position. The other hound sat beside Ziltinaur and watched its brothers stalking the men like jungle cats would stalk an unsuspecting herd of antelope. But this herd had automatic crossbows clutched in their right hands. Yes, yes! Had I misjudged them? They knew Ziltinaur would be lost without his hounds. So they assumed the classic archer's position in battle. Just a few yards more. Then open fire on them!
 
I waited and watched keenly as first one, and then another laid his crossbow on the ground beside him. Then, they stretched out their arms waiting for the hounds.
 
"No! Men! Don't be fools. You're falling into their trap." I turned to the men behind me, ordering them to get their bows ready to fire on the hounds when I gave the command. Not one looked at me. Most were smiling, their eyes on the hounds.
 
I turned to stare at the crouching front rank, incredulously. The hounds were on their bellies now, their gigantic paws (the size of any of the men's heads) inching forward, playfully. One hound rolled to its back, kicking its feet in the air to the gleeful squeals of the soldiers behind me. One of the kneeling soldiers couldn't wait. He leapt to his feet and ran to the hounds, throwing his arms around the neck of one, who immediately wrestled him to the ground and dragged its meaty tongue again and again across his face. Others got to their feet and raced to the hounds as well. One climbed on the back of a hound, and wrapping his arms around its neck got picked up, and was given a ride down the road and back, the hound bucking him playfully.
 
Meanwhile, Ziltinaur once again was moving on his jerky legs toward us, his gift back slung over his shoulder. One hand rested on his hound's head. As he got closer, I wondered if I had underestimated his height, as well as his girth. Strangely, his legs —large though they were—seemed almost too weak to carry his enormous weight. He took one step, redistributed his weight, and then pulled his back leg forward. I looked at his face. Though his eyes were vacant, cloudy like poorly blended, melted pearl, his mouth wore a peaceful, loving smile.
 
"Quick," I told Engle, "go back in the ranks to Giln and Sheleck. I'm not sure they know why we've stopped. Tell them what we're seeing here. Tell them I need them here now!"
 
"Doctrex ..." he pleaded, almost in tears.
 
"Listen to me, Engle—I don't have time to try to reason with you. Go! Do you hear me! Go! That's an order, soldier."
 
"Yes, sir," he said, taking one last look at the face of Father Ziltinaur, and turning his crossan into the ranks of troops who absently spread, making room for him, probably not even aware of his passing through.
 
What I was experiencing had all the earmarks of a mutiny—but a quiet mutiny, an unintentional mutiny, so far a bloodless mutiny. A simple transference of allegiance. Of course Rhuether was behind it. He found a more effective way of worming into their collective mind than fear. The child's horror of the Pomnot disabled many of them; but thankfully, there were enough who had been able to separate themselves from the irrationality of it and they were a recruitable force against the fear.
 
What was up Rhuether's sleeve this time? If the bogeyman wasn't a powerful enough myth, why not go with Santa Claus? To what end? Father Ziltinaur, like Santa Claus, comes bringing gifts for all the good little boys in this army. Santa Claus gains access to the house in some magical way to leave gifts for the sleeping children. When these soldiers were children they only saw the residual Ziltinaur, too, who came every five years, at the change from daylight to darkness, or its reverse—came while they slept, and whose visit there was rendered believable by the gifts he left.
 
Rhuether had latched onto a potent myth this time—one that appealed to the deep-running springs of expectancy and trust that rested just under the rational mind of each soldier who laid eyes on Father Ziltinaur.
 
I couldn't say with any certainty if, instead of Ziltinaur, it had been a fifty-foot-tall Jolly Old Saint Nick hopping down from his sleigh with a bag of gifts, and waddling toward our ranks, that I wouldn't throw off my mantle of authority as well, welcome him among us, even hop up on his lap, and nestle myself into his jelly-belly abundance, trading everything in the here-and-now for the magic of expectancy and trust.
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: Gentle Giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.


Chapter 12
ZILTINAUR'S BAG O' GIFTS (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT:  2,150

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:

       Rhuether had latched onto a potent myth this time—one that appealed to the deep-running springs of expectancy and trust that rested just under the rational mind of each soldier who laid eyes on Father Ziltinaur.
       I couldn't say with any certainty if, instead of Ziltinaur, it had been a fifty-foot-tall Jolly Old Saint Nick hopping down from his sleigh with a bag of gifts, and waddling toward our ranks, that I wouldn't throw off my mantle of authority as well, welcome him among us, even hop up on his lap, and nestle myself into his jelly-belly abundance, trading everything in the here-and-now for the magic of expectancy and trust.

 
BOOK III
Chapter Twelve
(Part 2)
 
Truth was, I couldn't be sure I’d have the power to reason against a larger-than-life vision of a Santa with his bag of gifts slung over his shoulder, any more than I could expect these soldiers would listen to my exhorting them to beware of their Ziltinaur bearing gifts.
 
Beware of Ziltinaur bearing gifts ... Beware of Greeks bearing gifts!
 
My heart raced with this new thought.
 
Ziltinaur was still about seventy-five yards away—three quarters the length of a football field. And though his steps were labored and slow, they still covered a lot of ground. I didn't have much time. It would be a matter of minutes before he would be dropping his bag right in our living room—right in the midst of us.
 
I couldn't let that happen. Furthermore I didn't have the luxury of saying we couldn't let that happen. Whatever was going to be done to stop him, clearly it was on me!
 
And I didn't like my odds: if I failed to stop him, and I was correct in my assessment of Rhuether's plan, we very well might be destroyed. If I succeeded in stopping him but was wrong about Father Ziltinaur, and about Rhuether's involvement, my earlier fear of a mutiny would be an understatement.
 
It would be anything but quiet or bloodless!
 
I looked over my shoulder and then back toward Ziltinaur. He was about sixty yards away, now. I couldn't wait any longer. I turned Rain Spirit II to face the troops behind me one last time, and just before tugging the reins again, the ranks spread and Giln came through, followed by Sheleck and Engle. The brothers were staring up at Ziltinaur, their mouths open.

"Giln, Sheleck, hurry!"
 
They glanced at me impatiently, reproachfully, then smilingly up at Ziltinaur.
 
I shouted at them, "Come here! Now! If I can't count on the three of you, the army's doomed!"
 
They came to me as though I were their father and they were my petulant children just wanting to finish the game they had started before being told to come inside for the evening. I was more certain than ever I would have to face Ziltinaur alone. At this point I wasn't sure the brothers had the will to resist Ziltinaur's magical charm; and if they couldn't I had wasted precious time waiting for them.
 
"Giln, keep your eyes on me; no, don't look at him—only at me. Sheleck! Here, at my eyes only. You understand?"
 
Both nodded their heads, timidly.
 
"I'm going now to meet with Ziltinaur, and the two of you are in charge. Don't … try … to stop me! You've got to understand, this is all Rhuether's magic. If I don't come back, you'll be in charge. Resist the magic with all your might. Ultimately, the fate of Kabeez might very well rest in your hands." I was tempted to hum a few bars of My Kabeez. "Avoid with everything that's in you even looking at Ziltinaur. Can you do that, men?"
 
"We won't let you down, Doctrex," said Giln.
 
"We'll be here for you, sir," Sheleck agreed, "but what are you going to—how can you meet with Ziltinaur?"
 
"You know I haven't let you down yet. I'm not going to this time either. You'll have to trust me." I pulled on the reins and led Rain Spirit II to the rank ahead of me. At my request, they opened up for me. I approached the final rank, the ones who were on one knee, petting their hounds. "Let me through, men," I said, and a space between the second and the third kneeling soldier opened up. The hounds gave me threatening looks and one growled, but I locked my eyes to his until they turned cloudy and his flesh appeared to lose substance. I continued up the road, suddenly feeling all alone and vulnerable.
 
Ziltinaur stopped, and his hound, standing on his right side, seemed to be communicating with him through his yips and yelps, and the movement of his head under his Master's hand. From his paws to his heavily muscled shoulders, the hound stood level with my chest. Ziltinaur patted his hound's head, and lowered his own head to smile into the ten feet that now separated us. He set down his bag of gifts, and I noticed there was momentary movement inside it that settled to stillness. On the back of Rain Spirit II, I came up to Ziltinaur's knee—a knee which was covered with a kind of flexible metal webbing, attached above and below to armored thigh and shin plates.
 
His beneficent smile seemed to beg a response from me. I chose to ignore it. Why would a peaceful, loving archetypal father for the children of the Southern Province have to resort to wearing full body armor? If he had sight, his focus would have been several feet over my head. The irises were a kind of milky movement, like a silvery mist swirling behind a thin transparent disk.
 
"Have you been a good boy, Doctor X," the voice intoned softly, much too small a voice for his forty or fifty feet of height. Why would he call me Doctor X? Only Axtilla and I knew it as a humorous title, instead of the name Doctrex, into which she later compressed it.
 
"Why do you care if I've been a good boy, Ziltinaur?" I asked, absently while I steered Rain Spirit II to the right in order to get a better look at the mesh-work hinge at the back of his left knee. I guided him back to the front. "Have you been a good boy, Ziltinaur?" I watched his smile vanish, just for an instant, and then return.
 
"Empress Axtilla gives you her greetings," he said, levelly.
 
Empress Axtilla? Greetings?
 
The image flashed in my mind of Axtilla and me—as Viktor—sitting on the hard, cold road, the wood-planked bridge in the distance, hearing the water roiling below it—the water I had to join to re-fulfill my destiny. Was Axtilla there with me at the bridge, or only as a kind of projection? How could I have been anything but a projection myself? The other part of me was lying unconscious in the dust at the feet of my crossan, an open wound in my side, the medic kneeling beside me. I didn't know, any more, what was projecting what or who was projecting whom. But Axtilla was with me there, sitting knee to knee, prophesying to me that when I completed rededicating myself to my destiny, and returned to my troops, and my quest of Glnot Rhuether, I would find her there, at the Palace of Qarnolt, not by choice, but as Rhuether's prisoner. Rhuether vowed to stop at nothing to have Axtilla as his empress.
 
So was this Rhuether's way of goading me? Empress Axtilla? Greetings? Was he trying to debilitate me? To rob me of my purpose?
 
I drew my sword from its sheath and laid it across my lap. The hound growled a deep vibrato. Down the hill behind me came a collective gasp, several nos! and don'ts! and I prayed Giln and Sheleck weren't among them. But even if the brothers had resisted Ziltinaur’s hypnotic lure, and were maintaining some semblance of order, my worst fear was that the sheer numbers of possessed soldiers would overpower them and come to the aid of their Father Ziltinaur and his bag of goodies.
 
My plan was to stop Ziltinaur before he got to the troops and became Glnot Rhuether's version of the Trojan Horse being welcomed as a gift by the people of Troy. But if I failed, the Kabeezan troops would be bringing Troy to the Trojan Horse!
 
Ziltinaur, who was evidently programmed to complete his mission at all costs, foolishly preempted my fears by lifting his bag and announcing: "Father Ziltinaur is coming, children. Those of you who have been good—and I think that would be all of you—will get a gift from my bag, a gift you've always wanted." With his words, any who had planned on racing up the road to rescue him, held back.
 
I had no time to fine-tune my plan. I yanked the reins hard to the right, to avoid being crushed, or booted, by Ziltinaur's first jerky forward movement of his left foot. The instant it brushed past me, I had Rain Spirit II turned, and raising my sword, I raced beside the thigh-back and the calf arcing above, and just to the right of me. As soon as the foot planted on the road, I was beside his right knee. I swung my sword that—relative to its target—was more the size of a dagger—and felt the jar of it clear up to my shoulders as it clanged against the metal mesh at the back of the knee. The mesh held fast. Within the jerking blur of my movement, a mutinous army roared, "No! No! Don't Doctrex, don't!" I raised the sword and swung it again. I didn't bother to assess any damage it caused then, but borrowing from my hidden reserve of strength, I brought the sword back the third time. I sensed his right heel was starting to raise as I dragged my sword down through the air with the last of my strength, and as if in slow motion, I saw the mesh had indeed been severed from the previous blow; the marriage of my muscle, sinew and adrenalized thrust drove the blade with unerring guidance to and through the opened mesh.
 
I was a novice at understanding the ramifications of projection, and obviously Ziltinaur was a projection. But if the projection was the stuff of flesh and blood, of tendon and cartilage, the blade, even if not driven with enough strength to separate calf from thigh, would at least have severed the tendons at the back of the knee.

I was not prepared for what I saw—or rather felt; for, once through the mesh the blade met no resistance whatever, but sailed through the knee with such ease that my follow-through almost sent me flying out of my saddle. And what had been an almost deafening insurgency by my men, now became the stillness that follows a mass intake of air.
 
As awesome a feat as any projection is, it must always be trumped by the laws of physical nature. If Ziltinaur was projected to be man-like, however super-sized, he had to follow the physical laws of man. When my blade entered the back and exited the front of Ziltinaur's knee his right thigh had already begun its sweep forward—without bringing calf and foot with it. Strangely, no blood was projected. His body's center of gravity, having already shifted in preparation for the step, faltered an instant, and then Ziltinaur listed to the left, which would have sent him careening noisily down into the valley; whether from memory of mission or projected will, though, he regained enough balance to avoid that but not enough to keep from an ultimate fall. He collapsed backwards with a hard clangor on the road while his momentum drove him to his back, atop his bag of gifts. Moans and groans and cries issued from under him. He flailed his arms, struggling to sit up, but the heaviness of his armor prevented it and he apparently resigned himself to lying there.
 
I realized if I hadn't occupied the space where his calf and foot had been, Rain Spirit II and I would have been crushed under a couple of tons of projected metal. Instead, I was able to see an entirely different view of Ziltinaur. He lolled his head to the side and I would have sworn he was staring down the road at me. The smile was still on his face and clouds continued to drift across his irises.
 
Through his smile, he said, "Well, Viktor, you know you have not been a good boy." His irony was not lost on me. "I think your children will agree with me."
 
"I'll try to get better, Ziltinaur. Perhaps at another season's change, you'll hobble into our house with your bag of gifts."
 
I brought my eyes down to his leg where I had a clear view of the effectiveness of my surgery. I thought I saw some movement within the shadows of the hollow cylinder. If there hadn't been, my whole plan of action was in vain. I waited long enough to see four pairs of legs extruding like sausages from his knee and saw Ziltinaur, with some difficulty, lift his arm and lay it diagonally across his armored midsection. His metal-covered fingers grasped at what I realized was a latch of some kind and he pulled the cover back, letting it and his arm fall to his side.
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.


Chapter 13
ZILTINAUR SPILLS HIS GUTS (Pt. 1)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT:  1,219

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:

       Through his smile, he said, "Well, Viktor, you know you have not been a good boy." His irony was not lost on me. "I think your children would agree with me."
       "I'll try to get better, Ziltinaur. Perhaps at another season's change, you'll hobble into our house with your bag of gifts."
       I brought my eyes down to his leg where I had a clear view of the effectiveness of my surgery. I thought I saw some movement within the shadows of the hollow cylinder. If there hadn't been, my whole plan of action was in vain. I waited long enough to see four pairs of legs extruding like sausages from his knee and saw Ziltinaur, with some difficulty, lift his arm and lay it diagonally across his armored midsection. His metal-covered fingers grasped at what I realized was a latch of some kind and he pulled the cover back, letting it and his arm fall to his side.

 
BOOK III
Chapter Thirteen
(Part 1)
 
 
As dozens tumbled out like roaches and slid down either side and to the ground, I slapped the insides of my thighs against Rain Spirit II's ribs; she responded with a lurch and a flurry of hooves that dug into the road, deep and fast, and with an urgency of purpose that matched my fear. I wasn't sure of the reception that awaited me, but I was sure it would be better than where I was. I flattened myself over the saddle horn and put all my trust in Rain Spirit II.
 
Within seconds I was among my troops.
 
Many hung their heads, not wanting to look at me. Some were in tears. Others extended their arms to touch me. I was uncomfortable, not by the expression of their contrition, but because I was learning one more time just how flimsy was the fabric of allegiance. And now for this moment theirs was favoring me. There was no time for chastisement or professed understanding, though. There was time for only one thing. And that was action.
 
"Brothers, take your positions!" I commanded. Those on their crossans immediately dismounted and joined those already on the ground. They retrieved their crossbows, hanging down from the rear of the saddles by leather loops and rushed to take their position on the road.
 
Men were still climbing out of Ziltinaur's belly and knee, brandishing bows, full quivers on their backs, and sheathed swords that could be used on toe-to-toe combat. There was only a limited number who could be crammed into their hollow Father Ziltinaur. They were hopelessly outnumbered. I couldn't imagine more than a few hundred, at best. The only thing they had going for them seemed to be a total lack of rational fear.
 
Their single-firing bow was no match for our automatic crossbow. As the first group marched four across and about ten deep, not one of their arrows found its mark. Our men, kneeling in the front rank and the second rank standing behind them, fired their volleys in alternating fashion. The front line first ... and while they were loading more darts, the standing soldiers behind them fired theirs. Row after row of Rhuether's army fell under the steady and systematic flurry of darts. As one fell, another expressionless soldier climbed over the corpse only to become one himself—as well as a further impediment to the soldiers behind. Still they moved toward us, tumbled to the road and were stepped over.
 
Within a half-hour it had ended. I looked out upon the clutter of bodies, and beyond that, Father Ziltinaur, lying on his back, his armored right calf and boot lying at an angle from the last step he had taken. His left shoulder was hiked up a little more than his right, owing to the bag of wasted gifts on which he had fallen. He was still smiling. I couldn't help but think it was a smile of embarrassment.
 
He had failed his Emperor Glnot Rhuether. Not one of the Kabeezan Army had fallen.
 
#
 
It was over. Only now, I allowed myself to imagine what might have been:
 
Clearly, a different scene would have played out had Father Ziltinaur been invited into our house on two legs, all smiles and charm, gingerly placing on the ground a gift bagful of soldiers. Our troops would have already dismounted their crossans, their faces vacant and grinning. Leaving their crossbows hanging from the saddles, they would be sitting cross-legged and giddy in a tight circle around their Father Ziltinaur; his hounds would be wandering freely among them, lapping arms and faces. A magical, festive time it would be, indeed.
 
By now, Father Ziltinaur somehow seats himself, occupying a huge space—but that is just fine: his work done, he can forever sit here in peace, never having to get up and walk again. Lounging in this spot, his belly is only six or seven feet from the ground, and he thinks that is a good thing, a good, good thing.
 
When the time is ripe, just a casual sideward movement of his arm, and the latch will be slipped. But that would come later. First the gift bag will be opened. He can't help but notice their readiness. Their hands are fairly twitching with the thought of holding their gift. And his appraisal was right! They are, indeed, trembling in anticipation, pressing ever tighter around their gentle, loving giant of a Father, gazing up fifteen feet into his face ... not daring to mention gifts because that would be greedy, and being greedy would be naughty. And everyone wants to be a good little boy. But what is taking him so long?
 
He teases them with a reaching toward the drawstrings at the puckered top of the bag, and then withdrawing his arm. "But I'm wondering," he says, laying an endearing finger beside his nose, "which of you have been good little boys for your mamas and daddies? Because those are the ones who will get special gifts from Father Ziltinaur. You remember how you always got your gift? ... you woke up and if you had been good there was a gift by your pillow. Father Ziltinaur can't ask you to sleep now, but he can have you do the next best thing. All who want their gift must close their eyes and hold out their hands. If you open your eyes, or even peek just a little, Father Ziltinaur will know. You can be certain Father Ziltinaur will know! And it will be proof to him you had not been a good little boy. And he will pass you by. Imagine how you would feel with all your friends getting their own special gifts and you getting nothing. So keep your eyes closed. Now, some of these gifts might be a little noisy. And you might be tempted to open your eyes, just a peek, to see. If you do, that will be very naughty, and Father Ziltinaur will know, and you won't get your gift!
 
Are we ready? Okay, then children, close your eyes—close your eyes very tightly and hold out your hand. I am going to open the bag."
 
Father Ziltinaur waits a moment to enjoy the full effect within himself. Then, he slips the fingers of both hands into the bag's puckered mouth and loosens it. He keeps working at the mouth of the bag until it is fully open. Stealthily, the soldiers climb out, one after the other, and light on the ground. They stand still and hushed until the last soldier is out, and the bag lies at their feet like an enormous deflated balloon. There are more than a hundred of them standing there. Quietly, they withdraw their swords from their sheathes, holding them away from their bodies so there would be no accidental clanking. Then, slowly and on tiptoes they creep around the perimeter of the seated men, as they had rehearsed. Each stops at his appointed station where he will be responsible for the decapitation, preferably, of six to eight men.
 
Father Ziltinaur raises his arm, scans the men as though he saw them, then lowers his arm.
 
And the gifting begins ....
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.


Chapter 13
DECISION ON THE PLAIN OF DJUR (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT:  1,222

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:

       Are we ready? Okay, then children, close your eyes—close your eyes very tightly and hold out your hand. I am going to open the bag."
       Father Ziltinaur waits a moment to enjoy the full effect within himself. Then, he slips the fingers of both hands into the bag's puckered mouth and loosens it. He keeps working at the mouth of the bag until it is fully open. Stealthily, the soldiers climb out, one after the other, and light on the ground. They stand still and hushed until the last soldier is out, and the bag lies at their feet like an enormous deflated balloon. There are more than a hundred of them standing there. Quietly, they withdraw their swords from their sheathes, holding them away from their bodies so there would be no accidental clanking. Then, slowly and on tiptoes they creep around the perimeter of the seated men, as they had rehearsed. Each stops at his appointed station where he will be responsible for the decapitation, preferably, of six to eight men.
       Father Ziltinaur raises his arm, scans the men as though he saw them, then lowers his arm.
       And the gifting begins ....

 
BOOK III
Chapter Thirteen
(Part 2)
 
They dragged the corpses to the side of the road, and then pushed them down into the ravine. The bag of soldiers was not forgotten. Wedged, as it was, tightly under the left shoulder of Father Ziltinaur, it required six of our troops to release the bag from its armored grave. It had been flattened and was sodden, already beginning to stink.
 
Ziltinaur reminded the six, "This could have been yours."
 
They responded by pushing the bag down the ravine.
 
Before we mounted our crossans to begin the final leg of our journey, I gathered the men together. "Brothers, you've had an experience I don't think any of you want to have repeated. I warned you Glnot Rhuether would use magic against you, but I think each one of you felt you were immune to it. Now that you know you weren't, I want you to take that to heart and rededicate yourself to being vigilant. I want no apologies for what happened. And no moping around. We are still brothers and I want us all to hold our heads high and keep our eyes on the prize—which is the defeat of Glnot Rhuether. Now, get on your crossan and let's go!"
 
We left in good spirits, riding single-file past Father Ziltinaur. I’m sure more than the few I witnessed spat in the face of the gentle giant in passing—as payment due for their humiliation. And through it all, Ziltinaur smiled up at them.
 
I had developed a personal theory we would be seeing little of Glnot Rhuether, or his effects, until our final battle—which I was feeling more poignantly than ever would be my battle with him. One-on-one. The near certainty of Rhuether's absence during the remainder of our journey to the Plain of Djur was not just theory; I was feeling more of a physical connectivity to Rhuether than I cared to believe, certainly more than I'd have divulged.
 
I had an intense knowing Rhuether was exhausted from this latest magical foray. My knowing came in the manner of overwhelming fatigue that fell like a net over me the moment I led the troops on the road past Ziltinaur. I felt his sightless eyes follow me as I passed. In a voice sagging with exhaustion, he murmured: "Kind of you ... to play ... with me ... brother." And with his words, my spirit traveled to the source of Rhuether's lassitude. I felt myself sagging in the saddle to the point that, if Engle hadn't been alert and grasped me by my shoulder, I'd have fallen to the ground. I assured him I was okay, but as we rode on toward The Plain of Dzur he kept his crossan next to mine and I could sense him watching me warily.
 
#
 
We weren't the first to arrive at the Plain of Dzur. As the road leveled and broadened out into the plain, I saw Arval standing, arm raised, grinning broadly. Arval was not one to express his emotions so openly. I dismounted and we embraced, slapping each other on the back. Engle took Rain Spirit II's reins and guided her to the corral. Beyond Arval I saw the small one-man tents, the two larger ones—one for Arval and the other for the medic—and the food and supply wagons.
 
"It's good to see you, Doctrex," he said, "and so many of your army." He must have intercepted my puzzlement over his words and went on through lips that trembled, "We were told you were wiped out."
 
I shrugged. "I don't understand. Who told you?"
 
"Eele's Advance Intelligent Man. He had sent him and a courier out to get your support after they encountered some heavy enemy involvement. They were backed into a ravine, steep on both sides. He said they chose that location for protection from a sudden blizzard. But once that let up the enemy began its attack. They attacked and retreated and after awhile attacked again."
 
"Eele! Is he okay?"
 
"I wish I knew. Your unit was the closest to his army so he sent the two out on their crossans. They were able to break through the enemy lines. Once they got to your road, their plan was to split up. One began at a spot they anticipated was farther north than you could have been, the other farther south. And they both rode their crossans toward each other. The Aim was the first to arrive at a place where there had obviously been a heavy battle. At that encampment he found evidence of a large number of soldiers who had been burned beyond recognition. Some he said he knew were the enemy because of the size of their skeletons. There was also a medical tent with dead soldiers and medics inside. They hadn't been burned, but they had arrows in them and one had been decapitated. Dead soldiers were outside the tent as well. He identified them as from your unit."
 
I closed my eyes and thought of how vulnerable I had left them. And yet there were wounded who couldn't travel. They needed medical attention. They also needed protection. Obviously I hadn't left enough troops. They'd been outnumbered or outmaneuvered; murdered, captured or escaped. I mumbled something about the Advanced Intelligent Man.
 
"Sir?"
 
"I was to the west of Eele," I said. "There was another unit to Eele's east. Before yours."
 
"Yes ... the Aim and courier found most of that unit suffering from dysentery. The medics felt they were controlling it but they weren't in any condition to fight, let alone move forward from their current position."
 
"So, the two came to you." I shook my head. "Arval, I'm still confused. So, you sent some men to help Eele? What aren't you telling me? You need to tell me—good or bad—what happened!"
 
He looked to the side and his eyes started blinking. He turned back to me, shaken. "I—I couldn't send many, Doctrex. I wanted to. But I had to make a military decision. We had just suffered some heavy losses, ourselves, from some brutes—I call them disposables since they don't have any fear of dying, whatsoever. If there's anyone leading them, he's very wasteful of his manpower."
 
"Don't waste your time explaining them, Arval. Our troops knew them well."
 
"So ..." he continued. "So, I sent a hundred very weary soldiers."
 
"And ..."
 
"And ... I don't know. I can only hope they made a difference. Eele's Aim and courier went with them. Someone was supposed to come back with news. No one did. So, what was I supposed to do? I lost about forty in the battle, sent off one hundred. I had only a little over two-hundred and fifty men left." I noticed droplets of sweat had formed at his hair line. "I ordered my troops to mount their crossans and we proceeded on."
 
"The only decision you could have made, Arval. As a leader it was the only conscionable one you had." I put my hand on his shoulder. "Now, I have to make a decision. I know it won't be a wise one, militarily. But it's one I have to make if I am to live with my own conscience."
 
"I hope it's not what I'm thinking ..."
 
"It probably is."
 
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.


Chapter 14
Ignoring Giln's Premonition

By Jay Squires

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT:  2165

WELCOME TO BOOK THREE OF THE TRINING: If it's your first experience here, perhaps you'd like to read the final paragraphs of the previous chapter:

       "So ..." he continued. "So, I sent a hundred very weary soldiers."
       "And ..."
       "And ... I don't know. I can only hope they made a difference. Eele's Aim and courier went with them. Someone was supposed to come back with news. No one did. So, what was I supposed to do? I lost about forty in the battle, sent off one hundred. I had only a little over two-hundred and fifty men left." I noticed droplets of sweat had formed at his hair line. "I ordered my troops to mount their crossans and we proceeded on."
       "The only decision you could have made, Arval. As a leader it was the only conscionable one you had." I put my hand on his shoulder. "Now, I have to make a decision. I know it won't be a wise one, militarily. But it's one I have to make if I am to live with my own conscience."
       "I hope it's not what I'm thinking ..."
       "It probably is."
BOOK III
Chapter Fourteen

 
 "Doctrex ..."
 
"I've had to pull rank on a very annoying, but brilliant medic. Don't make me pull rank on you. If I can find two hundred volunteers, and I think I can, we'll be leaving immediately."
 
"I need to go, Doctrex. For my conscience."
 
"Now I will pull rank, Arval. Your conscience should be in fine shape. You did what was correct back there. And yours is the practical military mind we need right here, right now. If the truth were known—" Here, I leaned in close to him, so his ear was only an inch from my lips—"if we lived in a just world, our ranks would be reversed. And if I heard that from anyone else's lips he would be arrested for treason!" I pulled back from him, smiling, probably blushing, but still spoke in low confidential tones. "You have so much more knowledge than I about military strategy, what works and what doesn't. Soon the other six—I hope six—units will be here, and ready to launch our final attack against Glnot Rhuether. I can't think of a more qualified leader to be leading it than you. And I'm including myself, Gerol and Eele, though the three of us outrank you. Of course, we don't live in a just world, so you'll just have to muddle through knowing you're overworked and under-ranked."
 
Through most of this, he was staring at the ground. When I finished, he looked up at me. "Thank you sir."
 
I nodded, and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. "Now, if you'll call your men together, I will ask for volunteers."
 
He left, and within ten minutes both units were together. I explained, without fanfare, Eele's and his unit's circumstances, that they were under heavy siege; that it might already be too late, but if there is only one person left alive, he needs to know we did not give up on him. "I need two hundred volunteers to go with me," I said, and didn't make eye contact. "I know you've all been through a lot, yourselves, and you deserve to stay here. And so I want to emphasize, you'll gain no favors by going and you'll incur no criticism by staying. Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of time to weigh the pros and cons of it, so if you choose to go with me, please raise your hands now."
 
I was surprised to see the lack of hesitation that accompanied the first who responded. There were probably fifty. One of them was Jed. I smiled at him. Giln, Sheleck and Zurn were also within that group. I nodded, and smiled at them as well. Other hands started rising. Easily we were at the two hundred mark, most from my unit. I raised both my arms. "No, please! I'm moved so many of you feel so strongly about this, but we have enough volunteers. In the interest of mobility, I don't want to have more than two-hundred. I think we have that number from my unit." I couldn't help but feel the volunteers from my troops were making a desperate attempt at vindicating their less-than-military decorum while under Ziltinaur's spell. "You volunteers from Stand Captain Breenz's unit, I want to thank you for your dedication and loyalty, but you've already recently encountered the same large creatures that are doing battle against Special Colonel Jessip and his men. You need to rest, and prepare for the final battle with our real enemy Glnot Rhuether."
 
I tried to keep my eyes averted from Jed's, but in my vanity, I was drawn to wanting to know how strong his desire was to ride again beside me. I knew without asking what an asset he was to Arval. And I had no right to ask Arval to loan him to me, especially for this potentially dangerous undertaking. His eyes were locked on mine. He looked wounded. I turned away.
 
"Will the volunteers get to their mounts? We must leave immediately. Each of you will be responsible for three days of CFPs, and an extra canteen of water. We cannot take the food wagon with us. Do we have a medic as one of the volunteers?"
 
"Yes, sir," I heard the familiar voice answer.
 
"Thank you, Medic Glassem. While I would feel better having you with us, we need the most experienced medic to stay here for the arrival of the other troops. They may have wounded."

Braims rolled his eyes. "I do understand sir, but—" He sighed. "I do understand."

"Can you find another volunteer who's experienced?"
 
"Yes, sir."

"Send  him. Tell him what he needs to bring."

"Yes, sir, and—"

I waited, smiling, knowing he had no words to tell me he felt in some ineffable way responsible for my returning in one piece.

"Just be careful, sir."
 
I nodded, still smiling. "Okay, men, we leave in ten minutes."
 
Out of the departing scramble of men, Jed broke through and walked with full, confident stride to me. "Sir, may I have permission to speak?"
 
I smiled and nodded.
 
"Forgive me, but you need an AIM and you need a courier. I can satisfy both those positions."
 
"Well, I do have Engle," I told him.
 
"He's not an AIM, sir. But did he even volunteer?"
 
"I didn't see him, Jed, but if he didn't it was probably because he assumed he was my courier and would go with me wherever I went."
 
"This means a lot to me, sir. May I speak to him? Even if he chose to be your courier this time, it wouldn't hurt to have two. And you still need an AIM."
 
His reasoning was impeccable. "I'll speak to Engle. See if Stand Captain Breenz agrees to it. If he does, get your mount and your CFPs and water."
 
"Yes, sir," he grinned, and ran off in a trot, his curly, russet hair bobbing.
 
I turned toward the Corral and saw Engle leading Rain Spirit II by the reins toward me. After I climbed up into the saddle, and patted Rain Spirit II on her neck, I asked Engle if his was one of the hands raised earlier.
 
"Raised, sir?"
 
"To volunteer."
 
"I'm your courier, sir. I didn't think I needed to."
 
"And you didn't, Engle," I agreed. Rain Spirit II stretched up her neck, threw her head back, and whinnied. I patted her again. "By the way, your friend, Jed, will be coming along as our AIM."
 
I watched his reaction. He blinked rapidly, but without hesitation, asked: "Jed? I thought you wanted their unit to rest up."
 
"We do need an AIM, Engle. He has the training." I listened to myself, justifying my decision. "He's coming, Engle."
 
"Certainly, sir. I see."
 
The men were beginning to gather. Jed was among them. He nodded at Engle, genuinely smiled. And then he turned his head to me.
 
"We talked, Jed. And Stand Captain Breenz?"
 
"He understands, sir."
 
I nodded. The two were on either side of me, Jed to my right, the torchbearer to his. I tried to place who the torchbearer was. He had glanced at me and his eyes seemed filled with a kind of secret knowledge. But of what? I knew it would be niggling at my mind until I figured who he was, but it would have to wait.

I checked out the map. Four deep could travel the road that went east about sixty miles, then arced down on a narrower road, only about ten miles south to the point of battle. Putting the map away in my saddle bag, I addressed the men. "You have your CFPs and Water? Swords? How many are with automatic crossbows?" I was pleased to see over half of the hands shot up. Probably closer to three-quarters. I felt safer with those weapons. "Wonderful. And plenty of darts? Good. Men, we will travel four in a row. We have to make this at a full canter." I asked if there were any experts on the crossan, here. One raised his hand. "Thank you; I want you in the row behind me." He moved his crossan to that row. "I trust you to tell me when we need to rest them—when to bring them down to a trot, or to stop them. The map shows a water supply about midway. We will definitely stop there." Then loudly, to all of them: "Are we ready, then? They shouted in unison that they were. I asked Engle to do the honors.
 
"Forward, Ho!" he shouted. Jed shot him a glance. We started off slowly, and then broke into a trot; after I figured Rain Spirit II was ready, I increased her speed to a canter. They followed behind me.
 
Over the next three hours we changed our pace a number of times. I was thankful the weather was cooperating; using Rain Spirit II's body as representative, I saw she wasn't overheating, wasn't lathering overly. The expert behind me suggested we walk them the last few miles before we come upon the water supply. We followed his advice.
 
As the crossans squeezed in around the large pond, the expert warned their riders not to let their animals drink too much at one time, but to pull them back, and walk them around some before letting them have more. There were a lot of crossans so the process took longer than I'd thought it would. We were behind schedule, but we had to observe common sense.
 
I called Giln over to me. Jed and Engle, hearing me, pulled their crossans over near the torchbearer. A plan was formulating in my mind. I told Giln I wanted him to be in charge of the back one-hundred. That shouldn't surprise anyone. And I would announce it to the rest of the men. But in the interest of time, since the front ranks had watered and rested their crossans, we would proceed on, and his men would follow after they were rested. Some of their crossans hadn't had their first drink yet.
 
Giln looked away from me, then back. "I think that would ..." His words trailed off.
 
"What?"
 
"You always asked me to be direct with you Doctrex."
 
"Yes, I have."
 
"Well—I think it would be foolish."
 
"Foolish?" I felt my eyebrows rise, and hoped it had escaped his notice—but realized it hadn't.
 
"Of course, it's your decision, sir."
 
"Yes, it is, but I want you to tell me why it's foolish. I respect you, Giln."
 
"Thank you, Doctrex. You've been right so often and probably are this time, but I can only tell you what I feel. And sir, I feel it strongly."
 
"Like a vision?"
 
"Well, a strong feeling—very strong that we are going to have a big battle. An ambush, before we get to Eele and his men. It will be the strength of all of us, unless I keep some of the men back, as you’re directing. Then it will be just you and your men ... being ambushed and defeated."
 
"Defeated!"
 
"Yes. I feel it strongly."
 
"You didn't dream this? It wasn't a vision?"
 
"I knew what you were going to say when you called me over."
 
"So it was a vision?"
 
"No ... I don't think so. But I think it will happen, Doctrex!"
 
I stared at him. I knew of few men whose judgment I respected more. If only he had given me that judgment based on logic, or common sense. But I couldn't put Eele's life in the balance based on a premonition, however compelling it seemed to him. "I'm sorry, Giln. This is something I must do." I pulled out my map, and showed him where the road went south toward where Eele was socked in. Further east, three more roads came off the main one and went south. The first would be Lieutenant Shint Shuurl's and the one after that had been Arval's route. But he shouldn't have trouble taking the first one.
 
He let out a deep sigh. "No, sir, I'll take the right route."
 
"Sorry," I told him again. "Someday we may even laugh over all our visions and premonitions."
 
"No, sir. Not this one."
 
I turned to the men. "Listen up. How many have given your crossans adequate water?" I made a rough head-count. I thought there'd be more. "Well ... Okay, listen ... the men who just responded will be coming with me. The rest of you will be under Lieutenant Giln Profue's command. You will follow after."
 
About eighty men pulled their crossans into ranks behind me. Before Giln left, I reached out, and laid my hand on his shoulder. "You've always been a good soldier, friend and brother. Thank you."
 
He looked concerned. "Why are you saying it like that? Right now?"
 
I smiled. "You need to know. You, Sheleck and Zurn ... you were my first brothers. I love the three of you." I took my hand from his shoulder. My palm was sweating. I looked at it. "Now," I said, rubbing my palm. "Go to your men."
 
He left, and Jed and Engle resumed their positions on either side of me. "Do you want to give the command this time, Jed?"
 
He smiled. I noticed Engle was pouting like a teenager.
 
"For-ward Ho."
 
 
 
 
 

 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.
CFPs: Compact Food Packages (Rations) Food requiring little or no preparation.


Chapter 15
COUNT: ONE-KABEEZAN-ONE (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,705
 
BOOK III
Chapter Fifteen
(Part 1)

FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:  I turned to the men. "Listen up. How many have given your crossans adequate water?" I made a rough head-count. I thought there'd be more. "Well ... Okay, listen ... the men who just responded will be coming with me. The rest of you will be under Lieutenant Giln Profue's command. You will follow after."
      
About eighty men pulled their crossans into ranks behind me. Before Giln left, I reached out, and laid my hand on his shoulder. "You've always been a good soldier, friend and brother. Thank you."

He looked concerned. "Why are you saying it like that? Right now?"

I smiled. "You need to know. You, Sheleck and Zurn ... you were my first brothers. I love the three of you." I took my hand from his shoulder. My palm was sweating. I looked at it. "Now," I said, rubbing my palm. "Go to your men."

He left, and Jed and Engle resumed their positions on either side of me. "Do you want to give the command this time, Jed?"

He smiled. I noticed Engle was pouting like a teenager.

"For-ward Ho."

 

Giln's warning kept running through my mind as we rode. He was no stranger to visions, he and Sheleck, though they seemed to have them in tandem. And I had my own first sleeping visions—obviously more than dreams—since being yanked up and into this strange world, by little Sarisa.
 
It was as easy to doubt another's vision as it was to prove to another the validity of your own. I learned to respect the legitimacy of this dimension of my mind. Why, then, was I doubting Giln?
 
Sure! A vision and a premonition were different beasts! Giln admitted his warning wasn't a vision, but a feeling—though he called it a very strong feeling.
 
But I also knew his premonition could be easily garbled in with magic. Hadn't we been living in the realm of magic all along? Glnot Rhuether had proved himself an able opponent with his ability to romp through the unwary, indefensible mind, to make one say, do, or believe what his true mind opposed. It would not be unlike Rhuether to slink into invisible corners, and whisper his words into Giln's thoughts, making him think they were his own:

Doctrex's troops are going to be ambushed and destroyed by the enemy. I feel this happening so strongly inside. But I won’t be among them. If I, and my troops, were a part of Doctrex's troops we might have defeated the enemy. But it will never be mine to know ... because it is the General who is advising his lieutenant. Doctrex might have listened.
 
But not the General.
 
So the premonition could be Rhuether's divination. Could be ... but that presented another problem. What would Rhuether's payoff be? If it were a true premonition, and we were ambushed, and were defeated, why would Rhuether have planted it in Giln’s mind in the first place? Why not let it run its course unimpeded? Unless. Unless his payoff was the placement of the first wedge to be driven between me and one of the few people I trusted with my life. And the composition of the wedge was position, place, power. Why did I remember the bristle of Giln's word-choice foolish? I may have even smiled at his choice of word at the time, but was a part of me rankled by it?
 
The expert behind me shouted we should slow to a trot. Though I had selected him for this very responsibility, impatience rose in me now. Was it for his demonstration of power, or for the good of the crossans, that he was bringing them to a trot, and then a walk about every twenty minutes? I clearly told them how urgent it was to push forward at the greatest speed. Rain Spirit II seemed sprightly enough still. "Another five minutes," I yelled over my shoulder. Reluctantly, he answered, "As you wish, sir."
 
"How is your crossan holding up, Jed?"
 
"He's all right, sir."
 
"And yours, Engle?"
 
"He'll be okay for another five minutes, sir."
 
After about half the allotted period, I slowed Rain Spirit II to a trot, and Jed's and Engle's followed. The rumble of hooves from behind slowed. We trotted about a mile when I heard the voice behind me ask if I thought we should walk them now. I didn't answer, but I brought Rain Spirit II into a walk.
 
While we were walking our crossans I pulled the map from my saddlebag. Opening it, and laying its top half on Rain Spirit II's bobbing neck, I ran my finger down the road we were on to the triple rock marking that signaled changing our route southward. The legend bore out my feeling we were getting near; that, in part, accounted for my impatience. I folded the map and replaced it.
 
I urged Jed and Engle to keep alert to their surroundings, that we were about to go south, and enter the area where the enemy was apparently a heavy presence. Once on that road, we would only have about ten miles before arriving at the place where Stand Captain Jessip and his men were under siege. "I want one of you to go down the ranks, and warn the men to be at the ready, with crossbows out."
 
"I will!" both of them volunteered almost simultaneously. Neither backed down, and each turned his crossan, and appeared to be trying to occupy the same space.
 
"Listen," I said, "Come back here. We don't have time for petty squabbling. Engle, you are my courier; Jed, you're my AIM. This is an assignment for a Courier. Engle, tell the men."
 
"Yes, sir," he beamed, and turned his crossan back around. Jed glared at him. I realized I could have handled it better.
 
Once Engle was gone, I pulled near a sulking Jed, and asked him quietly, what had come over him. "Do I need to remind you that you chose to train to become an AIM, and you personally selected Engle to replace you? I allowed it because I trusted your judgment. Engle hasn't disappointed me." He looked at me, batting away the tears. "There are a lot of ways I wish he could be more like you. You have abilities he'll never have, but he's still a good courier just as you deserve being nothing less than a brilliant AIM. I have no doubt Stand Captain Breenz is honored to have you serve him."
 
So softly I could barely hear him, he responded, "Thank you, sir."
 
"Will you work out your problems with Engle?"
 
He nodded, and said something I couldn't hear, and didn't ask for him to repeat. Engle returned, and moved into his position on my left. He looked past me at Jed who was staring straight ahead, next to the torchbearer.
 
The torchbearer! His identity suddenly came to me! He was the jailer Giln and Sheleck ordered to guard Zurn after they discovered he had followed their unit. When I took it upon myself to have him release Zurn to me, he was unable to hide his displeasure.
 
Witness for the prosecution!
 
I made a mental note not to forget, when I returned to the Plane of Dzur, to seek out the young man from Gerol Roze's Unit whose life Zurn had saved.
 
Character witness for the defense!
 
 
The three stacked rocks at the far corner of Southern Three Road alerted the traveler of the route that, like most of the routes in this area, would take him to other roads that joined with still other roads to ultimately lead to Kabeez.
 
All roads, the saying went, led to Kabeez.
 
We halted at the mouth of the road south. The crossans made whinnying sounds back in the ranks, and closer was the clicking and tinkling of metal as the crossans shook their heads. It was all a counterpoint to a pervasive stillness spread over the gray plain on either side of the road.
 
"It's so quiet," said Engle, his head making jerky lateral movements as he surveyed the area.
 
The soil was not composed of shale so vegetation was encouraged in the way of berry bushes and hearty oaks, much like the ones I'd seen in Kabeez. Half-buried giant boulders, some clumped in twos and threes, provided ideal concealment for the enemy.
 
I turned around in my saddle. "Listen up ... A lot of the success of an ambush is their surprise, and our poor response time to it. If and when one happens, I'm thinking it will be a frontal attack. To allow for a quicker response time, I want to spread out the front ranks. Don't give them a concentrated target. If they do attack, those farther back will have time to press in on the ambushers, and respond with their crossbows." I paused, to let it sink in. "So, this is how we'll do it. We'll keep twenty yards between each of the first ten rows. When our row begins, the second row counts One Kabeezan one, two Kabeezan two, three Kabeezan three up to ten Kabeezan ten. And they begin. The row behind them counts the same way to ten Kabeezan ten before they take off. And so on. Is that understood?" It was rhetorical.
 
"Excuse me, General Doctrex," interrupted one intrepid soldier.
 
"What is it?" I responded, irritated.
 
"Your plan sounds workable, sir, but if it's true they will attack the front, as our commander you shouldn't be in harm's way. You should be back in the ranks." I recognized his voice as the one who spoke so courageously and confidently at our meeting after the Blizzard. He was back several rows.
 
"It's good to hear from you again. If we had more time, I'd ask the ranks to spread, and for you to address me in the open, but I do remember you. First, I want to thank you for your concern, and the soundness of your reasoning behind it. I'm not moving back in the ranks, however. The only change will be the distance between the ranks."
 
"One last suggestion, then, General Doctrex, sir."
 
"Which is?"
 
"That you have a trained marksman in the front row."
 
I checked the spacing on either side. There'd be room, but it'd be tight. "And who would that trained marksman be?"
 
He cleared his throat. "I helped invent the auto-crossbow at Camp Jerri-Fibe, sir, and trained the users."
 
"I'm impressed," I said. "Okay. I accept your offer."
 
Now the ranks behind me spread, and the soldier emerged and approached me. "Karule Barsach, sir." He trilled his Rs.
 
"Slip in between Jed and the torchbearer."
 
I turned in my saddle to see if everyone was in readiness.  A whinny came from somewhere in the ranks, and behind that a cough, little noises that seemed amplified in this eerie quiet.
 
"Are you concerned about ambushes, sir?" Jed asked, without preamble.
 
"Yes," I said. "We have about ten miles before we get to where Eele's supposed to be socked in, and if it's all like this, there're a hundred places they can hide and strike." I studied his face. "Are you all right?"
 
"Yes, sir," he said, and he tried to smile, but couldn't bring it off.
 
 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.
CFPs: Compact Food Packages (Rations) Food requiring little or no preparation.


Chapter 15
MIND AS A SHATTERING BALL (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires






ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,146



BOOK III
Chapter Fifteen
(Part 2)


I turned in my saddle to see if everyone was in readiness.  A whinny came from somewhere in the ranks, and behind that a cough, little noises that seemed amplified in this eerie quiet.
 
"Are you concerned about ambushes, sir?" Jed asked, without preamble.
 
"Yes," I said. "We have about ten miles before we get to where Eele's supposed to be socked in, and if it's all like this, there're a hundred places they can hide and strike." I studied his face. "Are you all right?"
 
"Yes, sir," he said, and he tried to smile, but couldn't bring it off.
 
 "I must say I feel a lot more comfortable with Karule in our row." I turned to Engle. "You doing okay?"
 
"Yes, sir," he said, glancing at Jed and then me.
 
"Well," I said, "while I'm pretty sure we're safe right here, that's not getting us to Eele. Let's go." We started walking our crossans and I heard behind us, "One Kabeezan one, one Kabeezan two ...."
 
"Doctrex," Jed broached, with the count fading into a hum under our crossans' hooves tharumping on the dirt road.
 
"What?"
 
"I was with Stand Captain Breenz when—"
 
"With Arval?"
 
"Yes, Arval, when Eele's AIM appealed—it wasn't easy to watch—when he begged us to go to Eele's aid. I was there when he told us he'd already tried your unit, which was closer to Eele's but, from all he could see, yours had been wiped out. No survivors! I remember when I heard it I felt light-headed and thought I would faint. The news almost brought Arval to tears. But on top of all that, I had to watch him refuse the AIM our full force. I think it broke his heart to do it, but we had already been fighting for our lives an entire day. Our soldiers could hardly hold their heads up ... but still he found a hundred volunteers."
 
"It was tough. I know."
 
"When I saw you were alive I knew I had to be with you again, even temporarily. That's why I wouldn't take no for an answer."
 
"You
were persistent." I paused. "Are you regretting it, Jed?"
 
"Oh, never, sir!" He appeared momentarily hurt by my question. "It’s just—if something happened to me, I'd want you to know."
 
"I would know, Jed."
 
"Sir?"
 
"Yes."
 
"I'll clear the air with Engle."
 
I looked back at the spaced rows. "We ready to go a little faster?" I hollered back to the expert. "Looks like we're all on the road."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
"Engle," I said, turning to him, "how's your voice holding out?"
 
"It's fine, sir."
 
"I want you to tell them to increase the gait."
 
"Troops!" he announced so loudly I was afraid his voice would crack. "In-creeeease gait!"
 
I tapped my heels into Rain Spirit II's side and she responded. "Yeah, I knew you'd work it out with him." I winked.

"You know," I added, "as flat as it is here, we're going to have to be seeing some rising of the land somewhere soon. You heard the Aim tell Arval, didn't you, that Eele backed his men into a ravine against the face of a cliff to protect them from a blizzard?"
 
"That's what he said."
 
"Did Arval’s troops get hit by the blizzard?"
 
"Not a blizzard, sir. We got snow, but not a blizzard."
 
"When?"
 
He looked up and to the side. I knew his reckoning would be accurate.
 
"Three days ago."
 
"Yes. Then that would be the same one that hit us." I shook my head. "Not good, Jed. Three days socked in the ravine. Cold, probably little food. Did the AIM say they were separated from their food wagon?"
 
"He didn't say, sir."
 
"All we can do is what we're doing. They deserve that."
 
I looked back at the expert twenty yards behind. He waved and nodded broadly.
 
"Engle, increase the gait to a full gallop."
 
"Troops! In-creeeease gait to a full gallop!"
 
I gave Rain Spirit II the command with my heels. Not possible to continue talking, I concentrated instead on the boulders, bushes and oak trees jittering past us with increasing frequency.
 
I was counting on my strategy of row separation working. Clumped together, our initial response time against an ambush would be slim to none. We would have to overcome panic and confusion once the enemy committed themselves before we could launch a counter attack. With the added distance, the effectiveness of our automatic crossbows could offset an otherwise devastating ambush. I glanced over at Karule. He was steely-faced, and looking straight ahead.
 
Fifty feet before us, and closing, the configuration of boulder clusters and oak trees pressed tightly against either side of the road. I wasn't sure why, but my heart started pounding as we drew near. The oak trees were nearest the road with two clusters of boulders on the left, and three on the right.
 
I remembered thinking, later,
there couldn't be a better staging for an ambush than this when a very un-ambush-like thing happened that, just for an instant, felt very silly: I experienced myself leaving my saddle and arcing over Rain Spirit II's head. I remembered, as a kind of detatched witness, watching the beautiful blond hair of her mane floating under me, and feeling foolish and exposed, listening, suspended inside an explosion of excruciatingly brilliant red, like being inside a Christmas ball that had fallen from the tree, shattering on the floor. And I am a fragmented awareness found in each of the shards, the witness acknowledging what I had been, and experiencing the sadness of knowing I wouldn't be againwouldn’t unless …
 
Unless I could take on
the voice. Let the voice gather me up, lead me, carry me back. Each word is a blisteringly hot sliver of crimson; but I must take each word-prism in, let each scorching sliver join with every other, binding together, like film running in reverse: all the separate scattered shards flying toward the center, to a spot, a dot, to the hollow pop the ball made hitting the floor, reversing itself, producing a new sound of healing, a seamless, orotund, sudden wholeness; and then a connectedness to its source, the floating upward to the needly branch of the tree.
 
" ... What were you thinking ... brother?"
 
My eyes popped open.
Brother! I closed them again before my brain could register anything but a pulsing, white-hot phosphorescence that was the voice. Kept them closed. My head was aflame.
 

"One row! And put the enemy's greatest prize right in the middle! Look at me, I am a triumph of stupidity!" He laughed a strange, chittery, mirthless laugh that was like a grater scraping across the top of my head. "Imagine! Don't give them a concentrated target. Is that what they teach in Kabeezan military academy? Hmmm? Sure! Put that second row waaaay back. Let the enemy wipe out the whole front row so the second row won't trip over the crossan carcasses."
 
Rain Spirit! No, hang onto the words. No thoughts.
 

"Gave us the time to net our prize, our booty, and while most of our men held off the rest of your army waaaaaay back there ..." again the abrasive laughter ... "a smaller number dragged our netted prize away, behind our crossans."
 
Silence lasts so long, I wonder if he's gone.
 
Then, "Welcome to your new home, brother."
 
Again, brother.
 
"But, you sleep awhile before we have our little chat."
 
Another white flash, and out of it a sizzle of red sparks, and blackness invades ....
 

 

Author Notes Thank you Google Images for your Art Work.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.
CFPs: Compact Food Packages (Rations) Food requiring little or no preparation.


Chapter 16
BUT SINCE YOU'RE NOT SAVAGES (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,461
BOOK III
Chapter Sixteen
(Part 1)

" ... What were you thinking ... brother?"
 
My eyes popped open. Brother! I closed them again before my brain could register anything but a pulsing, white-hot phosphorescence that was the voice. Kept them closed. My head was aflame.
 
"One row! And put the enemy's greatest prize right in the middle! Look at me, I am a triumph of stupidity!" He laughed a strange, chittery, mirthless laugh that was like a grater scraping across the top of my head. "Imagine! Don't give them a concentrated target. Is that what they teach in Kabeezan military academy? Hmmm? Sure! Put that second row waaaay back. Let the enemy wipe out the whole front row so the second row won't trip over the crossan carcasses."
 
Rain Spirit! No, hang onto the words. No thoughts.
 
"Gave us the time to net our prize, our booty, and while most of our men held off the rest of your army waaaaaay back there ..." again the abrasive laughter ... "a smaller number dragged our netted prize away, behind our crossans."
 
Silence lasts so long, I wonder if he's gone.
 
Then, "Welcome to your new home, brother."
 
Again, brother.
 
"But, you sleep awhile before we have our little chat."
 
Another white flash, and out of it a sizzle of red sparks, and blackness invades ....
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
"So, you are the famous General Doctrex, Supreme Commander of the Kabeezan Army?"
 
I raised my head, sputtered, up from a fetid swamp. Gagging from the back-throat taste and stench of it, I vomited. I opened my eyes, gasping for air
then inhaled more of the putrid slop.
 
"Enough, soldier!” the same voice that abraded my consciousness earlier shouted to another; a throat cleared, and then the direction of the voice turned to me. “You'll have to excuse him, as hard as it is, General Doctrex. You being my captive, he thinks you should be respecting me more. You should have bowed when I entered. Go, soldier. Fetch a towel for our guest. He doesn't realize what you've been through, general. My, you took a nasty fall. Though not the worst. One's brains were scrambled. Another so near death, we sped it along. As we did for the poor crossans."
 
I vomited again.
 
"I'm sorry, I don't know where he got that liquid from that he—um, woke you with. Well, now that I think about it, I know. Well … well … General? General Doctrex?” He paused and sniffed. “I do hope, when you finish there … um, General Doctrex, I hope—I hope you will sit up and open your eyes so we can visit. I would like to visit with you. Well, first I have some routine business we'll need to take care of and then we can visit and—and swap stories.” He said the last with a light and jaunty inflection, and then fell silent for a long moment. Then, “Where is that soldier? Sol-Jur!” he shrieked, “I told you to bring a towel!"
 
My throat blazed with the acid residue. Coughing, gagging and spitting it out, I rolled to my side, determined to work my way to a seated position. But when I put my weight on my elbow, it slid out from under me, and I splashed back.
 
"Here, here it is. Here's the towel."
 
It fell onto my cheek and ear, one corner of it draping over my nose. I scrubbed my mouth and nose, greedily, and then dug at my eye sockets with it. Already, it was saturated and slimy. I managed to keep my elbow under me this time, and scooched my way to a seated position. My head was horribly out of balance, and seemed separate from the rest of my body. It lolled left and right and then my chin fell onto my chest.
 
"Oh, good, you made it this time. You'll excuse me for not helping you. My stomach, you see."
 
With concentration, I brought my head to the center, raising it. I waited for my eyes to clear. For the first time, I took a good look at him. His hand was splayed across his ample belly as if to emphasize his point. He stared at me through tired, bored, or dissolute brown eyes. There was no imagination in them, no fire. They were slow to open, and once open, slow to close. Framing them from above were brows, like two fat, fuzzy caterpillars, and below a full, untrimmed beard, the color of dirty cinnamon. His head was bald.
 
"Another towel?" I sighed, not expecting one.
 
He closed his eyes. I thought for a moment he was dozing. But then they opened a crack. "No ... I don't think so."
 
I resisted asking him why. There was a cruelty in the way he said it I didn't want to provoke. I swept my surroundings with a slow gaze. We were in a cave, spacious, rock walls; a doorway to the right opened into at least one other room. I dared not show too much curiosity. I turned back to him. He occupied a large chair carved out of the wall, looking suspiciously like a throne.
 
"May I have a chair?"
 
"In due time. Perhaps. If you're cooperative."
 
I drew up my legs, wrapped my arms around my knees and leaned into them. "Where're my men? Where's my army?"
 
"Oh, dear!” He sucked in some air, noisily, “I was afraid you'd ask that. I'd heard how close you were to them. Even known to call them brothers."
 
"What happened—to the men?" I asked, louder.
 
"The first army was defeated soundly, General Doctrex. In spite of your new weapons, you were simply out manned and out maneuvered. Some few retreated in random directions, but they were tracked down and killed. Before we had a chance to clean up the carnage—contrary to your beliefs we're not savages, general—we heard another army coming. We pulled back into hiding and let them count the losses. They were very thorough. I wonder, were they looking for you? We let them go on. They were of no concern to us. We had our prize!"
 
He was telling me what he wanted me to hear. I didn't believe him. "How'd you get me?"
 
He chuckled. It came from a purely evil place. "Of course, you wouldn't remember. You took a nasty fall, general. You all did in the front rank. At full gallop, it was impossible to see the very thin, very sharp blade stretched tightly between the two trees at the height of—oh, about mid-leg for the crossan. It's our secret weapon and we're very proud of it. The front legs on three of the crossans were severed. The poor rider had no place to go but over the top and down."
 
In spite of myself, I heard a kind of whimper leave my throat. I struggled against being sick again.
 
"All the crossans were badly injured, and because we're not savages, we ended their misery."
 
I stared at him, unable to conceal my disgust. "Where are the others from the first rank?"
 
"Well ... there was the one I mentioned whose head burst like a ripe melon. We helped him die. It was the thing to do."
 
I put my face in my hands and tried to blot out his voice, his dead eyes, his gray lips and his moist little tongue, flickering in and out of the cinnamon bush, like a viper. But no! I couldn't afford the luxury of abandoning myself to sentiment. He was counting on my doing that. One was dead. It was a waste of humanity, whomever it was. None was more dispensable than the other. No! I removed my face from my hands. The stench of urine from my fingers still lingered in my nostrils. I took the dive he described; that part was true. The rest could be lies, but that first part was true. It's reasonable we all took the dive. If I survived it, others might have. He had my name. He had other information he had to get somewhere. At least one other had to survive. I had no way of knowing the truth about the one he claimed they euthanized in some manner—with an arrow or blade. For the time being, though, I needed to steel myself against identifying emotionally with his words.

 
"Okay, so we know I made it through. One you so ...  very mercifully killed. There were three others.”
 
“Ah.”
 
“Did you haul them away with me? Are they alive?"

 
He seemed disappointed with my question. He cleared his throat. "I'd rather talk about you, General Doctrex. If I did tell you one died since we brought you here, what difference does it make? Whether there are three or four of you alive, does it matter? After all, it's just idle curiosity, isn't it general? Or is it just to give you a leee-tle gleeeee-mer of hope! There is no hope for you, general. No hope for any of you. It's just a question of how painfully you choose to die."
 
"But since you're not savages, commander—commander what? What is your name?"
 
His dead eyes blinked slowly closed and open three times, and I wondered just then if I'd chosen the entirety of my life to be remembered for five stupid, capricious, caustic words. Did I want the irony of these words blazoned on my epitaph? But ... since ... you're ... not ... savages ...

 
"You have no need to know my name, general. Let's talk about you." He cast a glance at the open doorway in the cave wall, behind which soldiers milled around, at the ready. "I must tell you, General Doctrex, our scouts were surprised to see you leading such a tiny army away from, instead of toward, Qarnolt. Of course I was thrilled. Oh, yes! As I said, you'd be quite a prize. And you are indeed! You have information the others don't have—you being Supreme Commander of the Kabeezan Army."
 
"What others? The three in the front rank?"

 
 
 

Author Notes CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.


Chapter 16
THE UNMASKING OF ARKLYN ZARBS (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,725

BOOK III
Chapter Sixteen
(Part 2)

He looked disappointed I asked. He cleared his throat. "I'd rather talk about you, General Doctrex. If I did tell you one died since we brought you here, what difference does it make? Whether there are three or four of you alive, does it matter? After all, it's just idle curiosity, isn't it general? Or is it just to give you a leee-tle gleeeee-mer of hope! There is no hope for you, general. No hope for any of you. It's just a question of how painfully you choose to die."
 
"But since you're not savages, commander—commander what? What is your name?"
 
His dead eyes blinked slowly closed and open three times, and I wondered just then if I'd chosen the entirety of my life to be remembered for five stupid, capricious, caustic words. Did I want the irony of these words blazoned on my epitaph? But ... since ... you're ... not ... savages ...
 
"You have no need to know my name, general. Let's talk about you." He cast a glance at the open doorway in the cave wall, behind which soldiers milled around, at the ready. "I must tell you, General Doctrex, our scouts were surprised to see you leading such a tiny army away from, instead of toward, Qarnolt. Of course I was thrilled. Oh, yes! As I said, you'd be quite a prize. And you are indeed! You have information the others don't have—you being Supreme Commander of the Kabeezan Army."
 
"What others? The three in the front rank?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
"One in particular was very helpful. Well ... He took so little persuasion, my—my specialists were disappointed. We now know you have one group of soldiers waiting on the Plain of Dzur for the rest of the armies to arrive. But why aren't you with them? Why would you be traveling south with such a pitifully small army?"
 
Who would have told him that? I thought I knew Jed and Engle pretty well. If they made it through. Jed was trained as an AIM to accept death before divulging sensitive information. And the death the AIM was willing to accept, would be at his own hands by way of a poison capsule secreted someplace on his uniform. Engle had been through a lot with me. And earlier, he waged a mighty emotional battle against the hypnotic effects Ziltinaur had on the rest of the troops. But would he be as successful battling against pain? Clearly, the torchbearer—Zurn's former jailer, held a grudge against me. I didn't know enough about the co-inventor of the automatic crossbow to speculate.
 
"I'm surprised you didn't ask him why."
 
"Why you were traveling south? Oh, they did, general. Be assured they did. As we speak, they are looking for more—um, persuasive ways to free up his memory." He looked toward the door and smiled. "Oh, yes. This might be our answer." A soldier crossed to his chair, handed him a slip of paper, and bent down to his ear. "I see ... I see ... Okay, soldier, that is all." The soldier straightened up and left.
 
"So, your curiosity was satisfied?" I asked. "Now you know why I was leading my small army south?"
 
"Oh you're right, General Doctrex. It was just curiosity on my part. And my curiosity was as useless and unproductive as your reason for taking your army south in the first place—simply to discover, as you would have, that"—he referred to his note—"that Special Colonel Eele Jessip and his men didn't make it—oh, I’m so sorry, general—didn’t make it out of the ravine to join your growing army on the Plain of Dzur."
 
I shook my head. "And you tortured one of my men just to satisfy your idle curiosity?"
 
With a twisted, gray-lipped smile, he held up two fingers.
 
I clamped my eyes shut until he spoke again.
 
"The first one, unfortunately didn't make it. The second one watched him die, and after that was more than willing to cooperate with us. If he knew the really important information we needed, which, of course, only you know ... he would have been eager to tell us. And we could have simply disposed of you in a manner more becoming of The Supreme Commander of the Kabeezan Army than will be the case. Ah, well ..."
 
I forced a smile. Closed-lipped. My eyes not straying from his. "It must be quite a feather in your cap to have captured such a valuable prize as me. You think you'll get promoted for that? I think you should, don't you? Right now you have an impressive army under you. You must be—what?—a Lieutenant? A Stand Captain?"
 
He glared at me.
 
"I'm sorry. It must be a higher rank. It's just that, with Glnot Rhuether being the commander of all the armies, I figured he must be a general, and I didn't think he'd have anyone sharing that rank with him. Am I wrong?"
 
"Just stupid, general," he said with a smirk. "He is the Almighty Master. That is how you address him. You think you're so high and mighty being a general! If you were the equivalent rank for the Northern Province, The Almighty Master would have your head on a stake by now."
 
"I would be that much of a threat to him, huh?" Just keep him talking. I still had information he needed. He wouldn't kill me as long as I was useful, but he wouldn't hesitate to torture me right up to the brink of death, just to loosen my tongue. I wasn't looking forward to that part of it. Just keep him talking. "Why would he have my head on a stake?"
 
He spat. Not effectively. Wiping the strand of silvery spittle hanging from his lower lip with the back of his hand, he growled through his teeth, "Oh, it is going to be such fun watching them slowly kill you ... and to see you begging for your meaningless life!" Sudden inspiration overtook him. "You know what, General Doctrex? Now, I do want you to know my name. It's Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs." Is he actually sitting a little straighter in his chair? "Supreme Colonel is just one notch below the equivalent of your general. The equivalent to general here is Supreme Commander." With those words, his eyes, his voice his whole countenance took on the vesture of reverence, of awe. "And General Doctrex, when I provide The Almighty Master with the information you will give me—oh! and you will give it to me—" he suddenly lowered the volume of his voice and leaned toward me,—"I will, henceforth, be addressed as Supreme Commander Arklyn Zarbs."
 
"It does have a kind of lilt to it!" I said.
 
He stared at me, slowly blinking his eyes, expressionless. "You know why I told you my name? Let me explain. Because I want my name to be the last one on your lips when you beg me—not to spare you
oh yes, not to spare you, because you'll be so far beyond wanting to live—but to slit your throat, or drive a dagger into your heart, to take you out of your misery!"
 
"I see. But speaking as general to almost Supreme Commander Zarbs, do you think it wise to wait until after you've had me killed to send all this marvelous knowledge you'd extracted from me to Glnot Rhuether?"
 
"Don't say that!" he shrieked. Two soldiers raced through the door toward him. He waved them back.
 
"I'm sorry .... What did I say?"
 
"That name is never spoken. I told you! He is The Almighty Master." I noted the title didn't carry the same reverence in his demeanor as did Supreme Commander Zarbs. I also noted his outburst didn't blot out my question still raging in his mind.
 
I continued: "Still ... from the tactical standpoint, Arklyn, is it wise? I know how I would feel if an officer under me withheld important information like the capture of an important enemy officer, and then took it upon himself to squeeze the intelligence from that enemy's mind."
 
"Don't presume to think for The Almighty Master!"
 
"Exactly, Supreme Colonel Zarbs!"
 
His gray lips tightened to a grin. "I see what you're doing, General Doctrex." He crossed his arms and leaned forward. "You think I'm that ignorant, don't you? You think I wouldn't have sent a courier off to Qarnolt immediately after your capture? Really?"
 
"My mistake. But it's only about a hundred miles to Qarnolt. Shouldn't he be back by now?"
 
"Oh, you and I have plenty of time together. The Almighty Master has something else —" he stopped to clear a phlegmy throat, then smile and wink—"something to occupy his time. The empire is about to have an Empress!" He opened his mouth and eyes in full mock surprise. "Besides, maybe you shouldn't be so anxious to have him return! Are you that ready to die? To the Almighty Master you are a mere fleck of dust." He made a gesture with the backs of his pudgy little fingers of flicking dust off his shoulder. "You know the message the courier will bring back? It will be for me to bring him your head on a stake! No, no! On a platter as a wedding gift for his bride."
 
I had to wait until my breathing returned to normal. As soon as I felt I was able, I dug deep, and gave him the biggest smile I could muster. "Oh, I don't think so," I said.
 
He tilted his head, frowning.
 
"You said I was a prize, Supreme Colonel Zarbs. If you hadn't already heard about me you wouldn't have said that. So, I'm sure you're already aware that my position before leading the Kabeezan army north to Qarnolt had been a private commission to counsel various leaders of the southern provinces in strategies of peacetime politics. Not boasting, Supreme Colonel Zarbs, but I just want to remind you of something that, in your understandable desire to please The Almighty Master, you might not have thought through ... which is that I might be a little more valuable to him alive than as a head on a stick
or on a platter."
 
He paused just long enough to show me my words resonated with him. I knew he wasn't prepared to fully throw the lie back in my face. Instead, he also mustered a smile. "You might be overestimating your value to the Almighty Master. Your army and your provinces are no more than ants under his feet."
 
I said nothing, but smiled again, and kept it and my eyes on him until he looked away.
 
"We will talk tomorrow morning, General Doctrex." Yawning into the back of his hand, he motioned to someone in the other room. When a stubble-faced, square-jawed soldier approached, he called him over and whispered something to him. Then, aloud, he said, "Prepare General Doctrex's sleeping chamber." And to me he added: "I hope you will be comfortable, general, and be prepared to have a very productive visit with me after we sleep."
 
"May I shower, Supreme Colonel Zarbs?"
 
"Perhaps, after our visit tomorrow," he said.
 
The soldier yanked me to my feet with hands gripping my arms like pliers, and jerked me toward the opening into the other room. My first time standing, I had trouble keeping my legs under me. Every leering face in the room was on me as he dragged me to the far wall and spun me around, throwing me against it. The back of my head slammed into the unyielding stone, and I had some awareness of sliding down to the floor. He screamed something about staying there while he got my chamber prepared. And I think I might have smiled at whatever the others found so amusing.
 

 
 
 

Author Notes CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.


Chapter 17
SLEEP TIGHT, GENERAL DOCTREX (PT 1)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.



         ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,560







BOOK III
Chapter Seventeen
(Part 1)

"We will talk tomorrow morning, General Doctrex." Yawning into the back of his hand, he motioned to someone in the other room. When a stubble-faced, square-jawed soldier approached, he called him over and whispered something to him. Then, aloud, he said, "Prepare General Doctrex's sleeping chamber." And to me he added: "I hope you will be comfortable, general, and be prepared to have a very productive visit with me after we sleep."
 
"May I shower, Supreme Colonel Zarbs?"
 
"Perhaps, after our visit tomorrow," he said.
 
The soldier yanked me to my feet with hands gripping my arms like pliers, and jerked me toward the opening into the other room. My first time standing, I had trouble keeping my legs under me. Every leering face in the room was on me as he dragged me to the far wall and spun me around, throwing me against it. The back of my head slammed into the unyielding stone, and I had some awareness of sliding down to the floor. He screamed something about staying there while he got my chamber prepared. And I think I might have smiled at whatever the others found so amusing. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Black. Disconnected. Then, from a cotton-centered remembering: he left to prepare my chamber. The laughter. The scorched back of my head. Throbbing.
 
I tried to reach—to bring my fingers to the pain
but my shoulders and arms were snugged against an unyielding surface. With my heart racing, my body suddenly needed air; my chest and my back could not expand against the surface to allow more in. I snapped open my eyes. The room was dark. No torches? I was standing up. Why would I sleep standing up? Frantically, I tried to bend my knees, but they, too, pushed against a solid surface. My breathing stormed my ears and my exhale returned hot against my face.
 
My chamber. Zarbs ordered him to prepare my sleeping chamber. Told me he hoped I would be comfortable. He knew. He knew. Those who laughed—they knew. Snug—as a bullet in a gun's chamber!
 
My returned breath brought hot panic. "Zarbs! I'm awake now ... You said after we sleep!" I realized my lapse in protocol. "Supreme Colonel Zarbs, I can't breathe! You've got to let me out of here! I'm awake!"
 
I strained to listen. My labored breath. My heartbeat.
 
If I could knock it over, perhaps I could work myself out of it. No time to give it more thought, I made quick movements right and left and right again. Then, back to front. I combined them to produce a circular rocking movement. I realized the movement continued, jerkily, even after I'd stopped. It connected in my mind with something. A swing—sure! Only by pressing my chest against the chamber did I have enough room to crane my neck back and, straining, to look up. Flickering light from supposed torches illuminated the ceiling of the cave above the circular top of my chamber. I was able to make out three ropes attached to the outer rim of the chamber, knotted together some feet up from that and braided into one thicker rope that looped over a beam crossing the ceiling of the cave. So, I was hanging from the ceiling. I might be two inches off the floor. Or two feet. Or twenty feet. What difference did it make? My options were negligible at best, nil at worst. I brought my head down to grimace into the darkness in front of me. Add to it all, a cramping at the back of my neck! A neck I couldn't massage! I laughed. Imagining anyone hearing the maniac, I laughed all the more. I laughed until I felt my chest and back pressing against the chamber wall, trying to bring in more air. Then, my eyes pooled. I laughed even through my crying until I couldn't breathe.
 
I thought of Axtilla. I wanted my last thought to be of Axtilla. I needed to keep her image in my mind. But through laughing and sobbing and coughing what my throat dredged up—I felt her image slipping from me. I tried to bring it back, but it was no good. A fragment of a thought decided, wherever it was going I was going too. I felt myself slipping with it.
 
#
 
"You fool! You'll pay for this, soldier."
 
Sudden electric awareness.
 
"I was following your orders Supreme Colonel Zarbs. I'm sorry—what did I do?"
 
"You and you ... take the soldier, bind him! Keep him under guard. And, you two—lower him down."
 
My chamber was rocking.
 
"Gently. Gently. There. Well? Well? Open it up! You'd better hope he's alive!"
 
Metal scraped against metal. A click and then a rush of coolness. I tried to keep my eyes open, but couldn't.
 
"Catch him! Don't let him—okay! That's right, gently. General Doctrex? Sir? Can you hear me?"
 
It took too much effort to respond.
 
"That soldier will lose his head for this, sir! That's a promise! I'll see to it myself. Open your eyes if you can hear me, General Doctrex, okay?"
 
Things were knitting together in my head, but it made sense to keep eyes and mouth closed.
 
"You two, lift him up—be careful now. Not under the arms, idiot! It's not a sack of rocks. You! You get his legs. Don't drop him."
 
The idiot wrapped his arms around my ribcage. It was hard not to react to his fingers digging into my back. He trudged toward some mystery destination, huffing his horrid breath in my face. The other soldier had his arms around my thighs. My feet cleared the ground, but my arms hung down and occasionally my fingertips dragged against the cave floor. A third person must have noticed my head hanging down because he was cradling the back of it in his hands. The pressure against the tender bruising from earlier nearly brought a yelp up from my throat, but I held it to a moan.
 
"We're almost there, General Doctrex. I'm sorry you're uncomfortable." It was Zarbs. Judging from the direction of his voice, he was the one holding my head. "You'll find the bed we've prepared for you quite pleasant. You stay in bed as long as you wish. We'll have a bath prepared for you and after that, a meal. You must be starving. Okay, soldiers, let him down slowly."
 
This was no cot! I settled into a sumptuous, soft sleep, never being aware of their leaving until I woke, realizing I was alone and in a room with two lit torches on each irregularly shaped wall. Shadows of the torches danced about. There was an opening at the far end of the wall to my left.
 
I investigated what must have been fruit in the carved, stone bowl by my bed. I tested the heft of a black something shaped like an orange. I held it to my nose. It had an earthy, musky smell. My attempt at peeling it failed. Maybe it was a nut. I rejected the challenge of discovery and put it back.
 
Lying back and staring at the ceiling, I tried to fathom Zarbs' complete turnabout in how I was to be treated. Evidently, his courier came back with a message from Rhuether that somehow went beyond corroborating the suggestion I was worth more alive to him than dead. Whatever it was, it shook Zarbs' confidence in his authority to the core. I needed to find out how much leverage it offered me. Releasing whatever men remained alive here with me was the first priority.
 
I detected a blur of movement at the door and when I looked, whoever it was pulled back. After a moment a young lady—only the second female (Axtilla being the first), I'd seen since the Tavern Maids at the Thorn and Goblets Inn—approached my bed bearing a folded towel and what passed as a bar of soap sitting atop it. Heavily made-up to accentuate her eyes while deemphasizing her ample lower jaw, she glided with the confidence and grace of one who knew she outnumbered the men, probably one-hundred to one. Her robe was white, loosely bound at the waist.
 
"Your bath is ready General Doctrex. May I take you to it?" she asked. It sounded rehearsed. She bent to place the towel and soap on the bed beside me, and she turned her eyes to me at the moment mine were on the part of her robe which had just gaped open in the front. Her intent was obvious and her slow grin confirmed it.
 
"I want one thing right now, and only one. I want to talk to Supreme Colonel Zarbs. Would you send for him, please?"
 
My request stunned her. She stood up, pulling her robe together. "But Supreme Colonel Zarbs said you would be wanting a bath, General Doctrex."
 
"More than you know, but not more, right now, than wanting to talk to the Supreme Colonel. Please go get him."
 
She turned and left, leaving towel and soap and a lingering fragrance, not unpleasant, behind.
 
Within two minutes Zarbs stuck his head through the opening. "May I, General Doctrex?"
 
I stared at him a moment. "Come in."
 
"The young lady says you're not wanting a bath just yet." He came to the side of my bed. "She is rather attractive, no?"
 
I pulled up to my elbows, not taking my eyes off him.
 
"Others have found her quite—accommodating."
 
"I'm sure they have." I said, evenly.
 
"Now, if she's not to your liking ... and you want—I don't know ..."
 
"Colonel ..."
 
A slap in the face couldn't have had more effect. "Supreme—" and he stopped short. "That's fine. What?"
 
"A bath is luxury enough. I can bathe myself just fine, but first we need to talk. What changed, colonel?
 
"Changed?" He attempted to offer a smile, but it was twitchy and his eyes showed he knew I recognized his discomfiture.
 
"What changed? What did the courier's message say?"
 
He looked quickly at me, and as quickly away. Sniffing, he started to say something, but his voice caught. He dropped to his knees by my bed. "General Doctrex, sir—I had no way, I—the Supreme Master, he—" He made an attempt to reach out and touch my shoulder, and then pulled back, his hand shaking. He stared at it, then collapsed against the bed, burying his head in the blanket beside me, and sobbing.
 
I let him finish.
 

 

Author Notes CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.


Chapter 17
KARULE BARSACH'S TESTIMONY (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.

  

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,549





BOOK III
Chapter Seventeen
(Part 2)
 
"Colonel ..."
 
A slap in the face couldn't have had more effect. "Supreme—" and he stopped short. "That's fine. What?"
 
"A bath is luxury enough. I can bathe myself just fine. But first we need to talk. What changed, colonel?
 
"Changed?" He attempted to offer a smile, but it was twitchy and his eyes showed he knew I recognized his discomfiture.
 
"What changed? What did the courier's message say?"

 He looked quickly at me, and as quickly away. Sniffing, he started to say something, but his voice caught. He dropped to his knees by my bed. "General Doctrex, sir—I had no way, I—the Supreme Master, he—" He made an attempt to reach out and touch my shoulder, and then pulled back, his hand shaking. He stared at it, then collapsed against the bed, burying his head in the blanket beside me, and sobbing.
 
I let him finish. 
 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
When it was over and he looked up, I said: "The courier spoke to—your Supreme Master. What was the message for you?"
 
He cleared his throat, coughed and cleared it again. "He instructed me to personally bring you to him."
 
"That doesn't seem so difficult, Colonel Zarbs. Why are you so emotional about it?"
 
"I
I said—some things—I wouldn't have ..." He trailed off.
 
"Of course you wouldn't have, colonel, but—then again—the fact is you did."
 
"I beg you, General Doctrex!" The words tumbled out. He brought his hand over his bald head, and then rubbed the moisture into his other hand. "I—you know, I was bluffing. You had information I needed and that meant I had to frighten you. Just frighten you. I was just bluffing."
 
"So, it wasn't true? You didn't torture one of my men to death, just so the other would talk?" I swallowed hard, at the thought of that. "You seemed kind of proud of it."
 
"Just
Just bluffing," he said, following it with a short, desperate laugh.
 
"Great! I want to see my men right now!"
 
He swallowed. "I'll have them brought in. I think there are two."
 
"You said there were three until one was tortured to death. And, now you just said you were bluffing. Which is it, colonel?"
 
Shrugging, then with a pained smile he got to his feet, brushing off his knees. "I never saw your men, General Doctrex. The soldiers took them in another room to—interrogate them. They left you with me. I only got the information they brought to me. The last they told me was there were two alive. But that was before we—before I slept and you—I'm sorry General, but that soldier will lose his head for what he did to you!"
 
"Just bring my men to me, colonel!"
 
"Yes, sir, General Doctrex, right away." He went to the door but turned back to me before going through. "I do tell my soldiers to keep interrogation non-physical, but I can't always—"
 
"Just bring me my men!"
 
He gave me a quick nod and went through the door.
 
I closed my eyes and waited. My mind was guided back to the tent I had occupied while I recuperated from the arrow wound in my thigh. It was the day before we began the last leg of our journey to the Plain of Dzur. Giln and Sheleck came into my tent hoping to unburden themselves of the Prophesy they had each received. The last lines of the prophesy kept going through my mind now. The Master will leave his yoke. His plow will drift in random directions. One Master the other Master will join. The bride and the forsaker wait.
 
All along I had envisioned my voluntary abandonment—say it!—my deserting the army. That was leaving my yoke. Could the actual events, though, be the prophesy unfolding? That I didn't leave my yoke. I was thrown out from under it! The plow, the men under my command, drifted in random directions. Didn't Zarbs even say it in the same strange way when I asked what happened to my men? I was groggy, but I'm sure he said: 'they retreated in random directions.' What a bizarre way of phrasing it!
 
Now, instead of deserting my Army to pursue Glnot Rhuether, I was about to be delivered to him. One Master the other Master will join. The bride and the forsaker wait.
 
Oh, Axtilla!
 
"General Doctrex ..."
 
I jolted at the sound of my name. Turning my head to the voice, I saw Karule Barsach just inside the doorway. He limped across the floor to me, stopping at the foot of the bed. Other than the limp, and some scratches and bruises on his face, all of which could have been caused by the fall from his crossan, he seemed to have fared well. I looked from him to the door. Where was Zarbs? "Karule," I said in a hushed voice, "come around to the side here." I saw him grimacing for the first time as he moved to the side of my bed. I scooched up to a seated position, arranging the blankets at my waist. "Speak quietly. Are you the only one left, Karule?"
 
"No, sir, there's another—too injured to move," he said, just above a whisper.
 
"Do you know his name?"
 
"No, sir. Young, thin, light-brown hair." He was describing Jed.
 
I spoke with my eyes closed. "Did they hurt him?"
 
"Oh, yes, sir. He was unconscious from the fall so they didn't start working on him until he came to. First they made him watch them torture the other one until he passed out. After that they started on him. It was horrible, sir."
 
I couldn't speak for a moment. "The one who passed out ," I was finally able to say before he interrupted.
 
"He died, sir. From where I was, at least, I couldn't see him breathing. He was completely still. And they finally dragged him out of the room."
 
I had to keep my emotion out of it. "Leaving just you and Jed? That was Jed you described, the one who rode next to you."
 
"That's the one, sir. I just didn't know his name."
 
"And, the one who died," I started, trying to remain calm. "Do you remember which one he was?"
 
"I didn't know his name, sir, but he was the torchbearer."
 
"And, only you and Jed survived ..."
 
"As far as I know, sir."
 
That would have left Engle as the one, according to Zarbs, the non-savages euthanized, along with the humane killing of the crossans. I looked past Karule. You were a good soldier, Engle, and valued friend. When would I be able to send a letter off to his family? I turned back to Karule.
 
"Tell me, did you also see them torture the torchbearer?"
 
"All of it, sir. Butchery!" His lips were trembling. "They were being as brutal as they could for Jed's and my sake. So we would crack."

"And, did you?" I asked, and watched his eyes grow large before I added, "Never mind.  So ... what information were they after?"
 
He ran his hand over his head, glanced at the floor, and then at me. "They wanted to know where
where we were going, since it was away from—our target."
 
My eyes locked on his. "So, under the pain of their torture the torchbearer cracked?"
 
He glanced at the door and at me, then away. "Told them everything, General Doctrex. By the time they were finished he told them everything they wanted; about us trying to rescue Special Colonel Jessip. But sir—you can't imagine the pain he was under. The unspeakable things they had already done to him. They smashed various parts of his body between rocks until he passed out, and then woke him by throwing urine in his face."
 
"That's enough," I said. "But there is something that puzzles me, Karule. It has to do with the order that things happened. You said they wanted to know why we were going south when our target was north, right?"
 
He reached down and started rubbing his injured leg. He saw me watching him. "Hurts, sir."
 
"Yes, I'll bet it does. I'm sorry. So ... am I right, though, about what they wanted to know?"
 
"Well, yes, sir," he said, straightening up, but looking at the wall behind me.
 
"You see, Karule, Colonel Zarbs already knew about all of our armies joining at The Plain of Dzur so we could launch our attack on Glnot Rhuether. He said they got all that information from one of my men with so little resistance his soldiers were disappointed. All they needed was the timetable of the attack. And they knew that only I had that. They were planning to torture it out of me. Look at me Karule."
 
He brought his eyes slowly down to mine.
 
"You know, Karule, it just seems kind of odd to me ... what with you being there from the beginning of the torchbearer's interrogation, that the first thing you told me wasn’t that he gave them our rendezvous position on the Plain of Dzur. Right? You said they wanted to know why we were going in a direction opposite of our target.

His face reddened and droplets of sweat formed at his hair line. He looked at the floor. "Why would you forget to tell me that?"

"It ... wasn't smart, sir," he stammered. "Forgive me, General Doctrex. It's just that he held out so long before he caved in. I guess ... I suppose I thought I owed him something. I just figured I could spare him his complete dishonor. "
 
"Sure. Something else is odd, though, Karule. Tell me if you don't agree. The torchbearer told them everything—every little thing—they needed to know ... and they killed him getting it. Right? And all while you and Jed watched. It just doesn’t make sense they went ahead and tortured Jed anyway. And they left you with what—a whack on the knee?"
 
He stood there for a moment, looking past me. Then he put his hand over his mouth. He took away his hand and looked back down at me. I thought he was going to say something. Instead, his lips formed a thin, grim line, and then his eyes rolled up, revealing only the twitching bottoms of the lids; his shoulders sagged and he collapsed to the floor.
 
I closed my eyes, slid myself down to my back and pulled the covers up to my chin.
 
"Colonel Zarbs!"
 

 

Author Notes CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
ZILTINAUR: The soldiers see him as the gentle giant who came to the little children at the 5 year change of season, and if they were good, left gifts for them while they slept.


Chapter 18
DON'T GIVE UP ON JED! (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.


ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,174




BOOK III
Chapter Eighteen
(Part 1)
"Sure. Something else is odd, though, Karule. Tell me if you don't agree. The torchbearer told them everything—every little thing—they needed to know ... and they killed him getting it. Right? And all while you and Jed watched. It just doesn’t make sense they went ahead and tortured Jed anyway. And they left you with what—a whack on the knee?"
 
He stood there for a moment, looking past me. Then he put his hand over his mouth. He took away his hand and looked back down at me. I thought he was going to say something. Instead, his lips formed a thin, grim line, and then his eyes rolled up, revealing only the twitching bottoms of the lids; his shoulders sagged and he collapsed to the floor.
 
I closed my eyes, slid myself down to my back and pulled the covers up to my chin.
 
"Colonel Zarbs!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
"I want a cot here beside the bed. With blankets. And then I want you to bring in the other soldier."
 
Zarbs adopted a cocked-head look of puzzlement. "Soldier?"
 
"Colonel! I want the one you had them torture. And I want him now. On a cot beside this bed."
 
"Right away, General Doctrex. Only, understand ... I didn't—"
 
"Bring him here now!"
 
"Yes, sir. And ... the other?" He glanced down at Karule.
 
"He is ... dead. I want you to treat his body with respect. I'll want it and the other body that died under your soldiers' torture together."
 
"But he might be buried already."
 
"Then have him dug up and washed off."
 
"As you wish, sir, but—but for what purpose?"
 
"To accompany us to your Supreme Master, Glnot Rhuether's palace."
 
"General Doctrex—sir!"
 
"There may be other options. I'll consider them. Bring the other soldier in now! And the cot."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
He left, and his voice echoed stridently in another room of the cave. I waited, looking down at Karule. Here was the duty-bound young man who sacrificed the relative safety of the inner ranks to ride his crossan up front with his automatic crossbow. Was his courage only of the mindless, reflexive type? The enemy pops up, you pull the trigger on your crossbow. Death being quick and final. It was slow thought that made him first lose the edge of his courage; imagination and the claws of empathy made him a coward.
 
Two soldiers came in bearing the cot and blankets. One set the cot up beside the bed, the other placed the folded blankets on it. They turned to leave, but one held back and faced me as the other waited at the door. "General Doctrex, sir; Supreme Colonel Zarbs really didn't—he ordered the soldiers to only interrogate the prisoner ... not ... not cause them any harm."
 
"So you're taking the blame?"
 
"Oh, no, sir!
 
"Bring in my man, soldier."
 
"Yes, sir." He joined the other soldier at the door and shared an apprehensive look with him as they went through.
 
Again, Zarbs shrilled in the other room. I pulled up to my elbows and waited.
 
Nothing—no, nothing could have prepared me! Wedged between the arms of the two soldiers and bare to the waist, an unconscious Jed sagged, his head plunged forward so far the only thing identifying him was his auburn hair. Zarbs skulked behind them. As they brought Jed closer and positioned him for the cot, they tried to keep his back from my view.
 
"Turn him; let me see it."
 
The one on the left winced as they maneuvered him so I could see. The criss-crossed lashings on his back were deep, open and oozing. As they sat him on the cot, his head lowed to the side. His right cheekbone was swollen to twice its size, the skin around it and the eyelid were purple. His nose had been broken and canted to the left. Blood bubbled from the nostrils with each shallow exhale.
 
"Why is the medic not with him, Colonel Zarbs? Where is the medic?"
 
Zarbs came around from behind the soldiers. "He has seen him, General Doctrex. He said there is nothing more he can do."
 
"It's obvious he has done nothing, Colonel! These wounds haven't been dressed. I want you to bring him here now."
 
"I'll bring him immediately, General." He started to leave, but first blurted out, "But you should know the soldier who did this is in chains."
 
"Yes, I'm sure he'll lose his head, too. Just go get the medic, Colonel."
 
He left and within minutes arrived with a young, pock-faced man carrying a bag; with him was an assistant, whose gaze darted about the room. The medic examined Jed's back with a pained expression on his lips. He pressed his fingertips between the lashings, pulling the skin now and again, away from the wounds, and then came around to the front and kneeled at Jed's feet. He laid a hand on Jed's head and tilted it back. For the first time, I saw the other eye which had been hidden before. What I saw was the socket where the eye had been. I caught my breath and swallowed hard to keep from vomiting.
 
The medic shot the quickest of glances at Zarbs, and then turned a steadier gaze to me. "He does not belong here. He needs to be where we can watch him."
 
"He will stay here and you will stay with him," I said.
 
The medic turned to Zarbs, who slowly nodded. "He needs to have his wounds dressed,” he said “And these blankets won't do."
 
"I'll take the cot," I said. "You can put him here."
 
"General Doctrex!" Zarbs protested. And then to one of the soldiers, "Remove the cot. Have another bed brought here for the General."
 
"You can leave the cot, if you will, Supreme Colonel Zarbs," said the medic. "I'll sleep on it."
 
The medic's assistant announced he would get the bandages and the unguent for the wounds and he and one soldier left together. I asked Zarbs to leave us alone.
 
He nodded agreement, but before he left, he turned to the medic. "So, you now have more hope for the young man?" he asked.
 
He was desperately trying to cover his earlier lie.
 
The medic, who had resumed examining Jed, looked up, confounded. "Sir?... Oh, yes, Supreme Colonel Zarbs, well—we must do what we can."
 
There was still the one soldier left who sat beside Jed, propping him up while the medic examined him. I got out of bed. "Let me take over, soldier," I said, circling around to the front of the cot. I sat on the other side of Jed as the soldier got up and left. Jed's weight felt strange against me as I draped my arm around his back, allowing as little contact with the open wounds as possible. My eyes filled, and before the medic, still kneeling in front of us, blurred out I was aware of his stealing a glance at me.
 
"He's my courier," I told him. "A good man. You must not give up on him. You must bring him through."
 
"I must tell you, it’ll be touch and go, General, sir. I can see you love him. I will do what I can."
 
"Doctor, why didn't you dress his wounds earlier?" I had to find out. I blinked him back into focus. "Why did you give up on him before?"
 
He turned his attention from Jed and gave me a helpless, slow, side-to-side movement of his head. "I could be killed," he whispered.
 
"You didn't give up on him, did you?"
 
"S-Supreme Colonel Zarbs told me—" he stammered. "No. No, I've never seen the lad before." He said this last with whispered finality, as though letting the chips fall where they may.
 
"Our secret," I promised. "Just take care of him now."
 

 

Author Notes CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
KARULE BARSACH: After their ambush and capture, one of the soldiers Zarbs' men tortured.
ARKLYN ZARBS: Supreme Colonel of Rhuether's army, whose men ambushed and captured Doctrex and his men.
GARVIN: Medic for Arklyn Zarbs' army.


Chapter 18
TOUCH AND GO (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.

IMPORTANT NOTICE TO
MY LOYAL READERS:

I humbly ask for your patience over the
following weeks and months.  You see, before I started posting "The Trining"
the entire Trilogy had been completed. I had been faithfully backing
 up my chapters before I purchased the Scrivener progam
 (which included the last chapter you  are  about
to read today).  I had made the
erroneous assumption that the chapters were
automatically backed up on Scrivener. As you might have guessed,
my computer crashed and approximately ten long chapters, including my 
chapter notes, are now floating  somewhere in cyberspace.  I'll
be rewriting the lost chapters, but I am a painfully slow
writer. I shall probably be posting them at the rate
of a chapter a week.
SO YOU WON'T FORGET ME ... I
shall also begin re-posting a novel from
about 8 years ago. Its genre is mainstream. MY
HOPE is you will continue your loyalty to "Eddie and the
Boxcar Painter" between the chapters of "The Trining". Thank you
for all your kindnesses.


 

ACTUAL TEXT COUNT: 1,053

BOOK III
Chapter Eighteen
(Part 2)
"I must tell you, it’ll be touch and go, General, sir. I can see you love him. I will do what I can."
 
"Doctor, why didn't you dress his wounds earlier?" I had to find out. I blinked him back into focus. "Why did you give up on him before?"
 
He turned his attention from Jed and gave me a helpless, slow, side-to-side movement of his head. "I could be killed," he whispered.
 
"You didn't give up on him, did you?"
 
"S-Supreme Colonel Zarbs told me—" he stammered. "No. No, I've never seen the lad before." He said this last with whispered finality, as though letting the chips fall where they may.
 
"Our secret," I promised. "Just take care of him now."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
 Beginning to hear Jed's low moans over the next twenty-four hours was a welcomed sound. The bed that was made up sumptuously for me I had pushed flush against Jed's bed, though my mattress was a few inches higher. I was able to look over and down at Jed, lying on his side, facing me. With weighted bags placed at the back of his head and his hips, he was unable to roll to his back and undo the bandages. The medic, who gave his name as Garvin, was up at all hours of our intended sleeping, pulling the bandages back from the wounds and peeking beneath them, shaking his head, muttering, sighing.
 
"So warm," he said. "He needs liquids."
 
"Can't we give him water?" I asked. I remembered Braims forcing liquids on the Profue brothers. But they were awake. Barely, but still able to take in water.
 
"He would choke on it," Garvin said. "It could get to his lungs and he'd drown." He dipped a cloth in a bowl of water, wrung it out, and laid it on Jed's forehead. "We must hope he regains consciousness soon so we can give him water. He needs to be hydrated to fight off the infection that's sure to come."
 
"He's moaning, though. That has to be an improvement. Isn't it? Part of him is feeling the pain and discomfort of it. He's communicating in his own way."
 
"I think the time's near."
 
"Then you sleep awhile. I'll keep freshening the cloths on him and if there are any changes I'll wake you."
 
He nodded and lifted the water bowl with strips of cloth soaking in it, putting it between us on Jed's bed. "Please do wake me if he starts thrashing about or if he gets warmer—certainly if he wakes up."
 
I agreed. He climbed onto the cot, pulled the blanket to his shoulder, and within a minute he was softly snoring.
 
I sat up on my bed, removing the cloths that dried within minutes of being applied, re-soaked them, wringing and reapplying them. I used a larger cloth to cool his shoulder, neck and upper chest, cooling as much surface as I could. I found that, by fanning the damp cloths in the air before applying them, they cooled more. I hoped that little extra made a difference.
 
After about an hour, he seemed to be breathing, if not deeper, then less ragged, with a short but measurable interval between inhale and exhale. Unless it was the work of my imagination, it sounded better, less strained. But it wasn't enough to wake Garvin over. I continued replenishing the cloths. "Jed," I whispered, "I don't know whether there's a part of you that can hear me. Maybe if you do recognize my voice and know that Doctrex is here with you." My voice broke. "You don't have to say anything or do anything. Just know, while you're here with me nothing more will happen to you. Trust me on that. Let me take care of you just like you took care of me right from the beginning."
 
As I removed the cloth from his forehead and dropped it in the water, fishing for another to replace it, he coughed. I shot him a glance in time to see his body spasm and his face scrunch up in agony. A breath he must have been holding, suddenly released into a flurry of coughing. I was about to call for Garvin when I noticed he was already up, pushing my bed away from Jed's and squeezing between them. I scrambled up toward the head of my bed to better see.
 
"We've got a little cough, do we, Jed ?" the medic asked. "That's all right. Your throat's dry, that's all. You need some cool water to pour down your throat. Wouldn't that feel good? We've got some right here, Jed. Our problem is we can't give you any of it until you let us know it's all right. You don't need to say anything. Just open your eye. You'll feel so much better with your throat nice and wet. Let us know, Jed. General Doctrex is here with me. D'you know that? He wants you to open your eye. He wants to be the one to give you water."
 
"I'm here, Jed. Doctrex is here. Can you let me know you hear us?"
 
The fine muscles around his eye produced the tiniest flickering movement. I pointed. My heart was pounding. His eyelid began to flutter. Then it opened. It locked onto Garvin, stayed there briefly, then jerked up to me. I was grinning like a lunatic. He looked away, then back to me. His lips twitching. He had no voice, but clearly his mouth formed the word Doctrex. He tried to smile.
 
Garvin left the bed and returned with a canteen which his assistant had brought in earlier, filled, he assured us, with boiled water. "Jed," he said, unscrewing the lid off the canteen, "Can you take just a taste of the water? Not a lot, just enough to moisten your mouth? We'll let you tell us when you want more." While Garvin said these words, I noticed Jed's eye didn't leave mine.
 
Garvin extended the canteen toward him, but I reached out my hand. "May I?" I asked. He handed it to me. I tilted the canteen to Jed's lips, noticing his attempt to pucker that fell short. I let enough dribble out so a few drops trickled between his lips. His tongue flicked out to capture it. I glanced over at Garvin, who nodded approval. "A few more drops?" I asked Jed. He didn't have to say anything. I tilted it again, letting a few more drops settle on the inside of his lower lip. This time he swallowed.
 
"You know, Jed," I said, pulling the canteen away from him, "I was thinking a few minutes ago of that time back when you helped me draw lots for which group would choose their crossans first. You remember? That was the day we left Camp Kabeez. I knew right then I needed you as my courier." His mouth relaxed into a natural smile. But soon his eye left mine and moved to the canteen. "Less talkin' more drinkin', huh?"


 
 
 

 

Author Notes CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
KARULE BARSACH: After their ambush and capture, one of the soldiers Zarbs' men tortured.
ARKLYN ZARBS: Supreme Colonel of Rhuether's army, whose men ambushed and captured Doctrex and his men.
GARVIN: Medic for Arklyn Zarbs' army.


Chapter 19
FOR THE LOVE OF JED (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

FOR THOSE NEW TO THE TRINING, here is a summary of the last several chapters. Since it's been a while since the last post, it wouldn't be a bad idea for everyone to brush up on this summary.         

          Doctrex—his army being the second to arrive at the Plain of Djur, in readiness for an all-out assault on Rhuether at the Castle of Qarnalt—takes a number of volunteers to go back to attempt to rescue Eele Jessup and his army who had been ambushed en route to the Plain.
          Doctrex and his men are themselves ambushed and Doctrex and three men in the front ranks are captured. Doctrex is initially mistreated while one of the three men was tortured to death.
          Meanwhile Supreme Colonel Zarbs, who had so mistreated Doctrex, now makes a complete turnaround. He has been ordered by Glnot Rhuether, himself, to treat Doctrex as a guest until he is brought to the Castle.
          Doctrex, in control now, demands the two living prisoners be returned to him. Karule Barsach is the first returned. Under suspicious circumstances, he swallows a poison capsule, he could only have gotten from Jed, and dies. Jed is next to come in. Missing an eye, very near death, Doctrex and the “enemy” medic try to keep Jed alive.

 

BOOK III
Chapter Nineteen
Part 1

 
LAST PARAGRAPHS FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
 
         Garvin extended the canteen toward him, but I reached out my hand. "May I?" I asked. He handed it to me. I tilted the canteen to Jed's lips, noticing his attempt to pucker that fell short. I let enough dribble out so a few drops trickled between his lips. His tongue flicked out to capture it. I glanced over at Garvin, who nodded approval. "A few more drops?" I asked Jed. He didn't have to say anything. I tilted it again, letting a few more drops settle on the inside of his lower lip. This time he swallowed.
          "You know, Jed," I said, pulling the canteen away from him, "I was thinking a few minutes ago of that time back when you helped me draw lots for which group would choose their crossans first. You remember? That was the day we left Camp Kabeez. I knew right then I needed you as my courier." His mouth relaxed into a natural smile. But soon his eye left mine and moved to the canteen. "Less talkin' more drinkin', huh?"

*************************************************************************************************************
 
An hour, perhaps longer, had passed, and about a quarter of the canteen had transferred into Jed’s eager lips.

Garvin left the room and I continued on.

Could I be imagining it? As I brought the canteen down toward Jed’s face, I seemed to feel waves of heat generated against the back of my hand. I had already been noticing a gradual change in the fine muscles of his face, a tautness in his cheeks, tiny tremors, barely perceptible, around his one good eye. It was easily accountable in my mind to that eye’s compensation for the blindness in the other eye, so I tried to ignore it. Not a rational idea, but I desperately wanted nothing less than his steady, growing improvement now that we discovered the magic elixir of water.

I lowered my open palm gingerly to his face. It was definitely hotter. And his breathing! Why didn’t I notice that before? There was no sound to it before, but now his exhale was raspy and erratic.

I intended to mask my concern until I could get Garvin back in the room, but Jed winced, and his lips tightened to a grimace.

“Buddy?”

He stared at me, sighed out another breath and closed his eye.

My heartbeat quickened. “Jed?”

He opened his eye. A slow smile spread. But before I could respond, it contorted to tight, trembling lips.

“I know you’re hurting, Jed. Don’t hold it in. It’s okay to show it.” I stood up. “The medic will be back soon. Let me see if ...” I crossed to the front of the bed, and at that moment Garvin came though the opening of the door, holding another canteen.

“I had some broth prepared,” he said, ambling toward me. “He needs strength to fight off the infection.”

I intercepted him, out of Jed’s view. “He needs something for the pain,”

“Unguent.” He nodded. “The skin’s drying out, stretching. It causes pain.” He told me he would apply the unguent and re-bandage while I continued giving him water.

I think he sensed something more in my voice or expression, because he maneuvered his body, so he was facing away from Jed, and continued in such a muted voice, I had to lean toward him. “The next few hours are most critical, sir. I—”

I shook my head and mouthed: “No, he’s going to be fine.” I nodded, trying to smile, and I was still nodding and repeating to myself he’s going to be just fine when I returned to Jed’s side and picked up the canteen. The muscles around Jed’s eye must have been straining to find me or the canteen in my absence because now they relaxed some and locked onto my face.

“The doc’s going to stop the pain, Jed. You’ll be just fine. You know what?”

He waited while I removed the cap.

“The doc was out getting you some broth, Jed. You know? Just a little more water in you and we’re going to start with the broth. Does that sound good? Nice warm broth?”

Behind Jed, Garvin was working feverishly, his face a mask of intense concentration. I poured a few drops of water into the corner of Jed’s mouth. He made a tasting movement with his lips and tongue. But the instant Garvin pulled the bandage away from the wound, a huff of air escaped Jed’s lungs and mouth and Garvin’s eyes turned to me, reflecting something more than concern, something bordering on despair.

A stench permeated the room. I put my hand over my mouth and swallowed hard.

“Unguent,” Garvin said, and then in a louder voice, “we need more unguent, medic!”

A head looked in from the doorway, withdrew. In a few moments the helper who had been with Garvin earlier rushed through the door bearing a bowl, heaped with an amber-colored jell and a brush angling out of one of his hands. He stood staring at Garvin, and then turned away, gagging.

Garvin turned from swabbing the wounds. “Get busy, man; is that what they trained you for?” Seeing the helpless look on the other’s face, he said, “Set it down. Get out of here.”

The medic-helper jammed the brush into the concoction, set the bowl down and raced back through the door, retching and holding his hand over his mouth.

“I want to help,” I said.

“No, thank you sir, I’ll be finished in a moment. He should be feeling less pain soon. It’s important you keep him hydrated, now more than ever, and he needs strength. He’s awake, right?”

I looked down at Jed. His eye was on me. Is that a glint of hope I’m seeing?  “Yes, he’s awake.”

“See if you can lift his head to get more water down his throat. Okay? Then, in a while we’ll start the broth.”

“You up for that, Jed?” I asked. He managed a weak smile, and my heart surged.

Garvin repositioned the weighted cushions behind him, careful not to put any pressure against the newly affixed bandage. I cupped the back of his head in my palm, making note of how hot it was, and raised it up. Bringing the mouth of the canteen to his lips, I tilted it back, just a little at first, and let some trickle down his throat. I watched him swallow, and then I pulled it back. “More?”

I felt movement in the back of his head.

“You do? Good.” I tilted the canteen a little more this time, until he swallowed, and then tilted it a second time.

After about ten minutes of this, Garvin suggested we hold off for a while. “His temperature seems to be adjusting down. Let’s let his stomach rest a while and we can begin with the broth.”

I glanced down at Jed. His eye was closed. The other was like a dark crater. The light sheet covering him was rising and falling with gentle regularity.

“I think he’s asleep.”

Garvin nodded, but I recognized from his expression something was troubling him.

“Sir,” he said, under his breath, “if we may talk ...” He gave a slight movement of his head toward the wall to his left that was roughly equidistant from Jed and the door, “over there?”

I agreed, not wanting to hear what he had to tell me.

 

Author Notes CAST OF CHARACTERS:
DOCTREX: The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shore of an alien land without memory or identity.
VIKTOR BRUEEN: Doxtrex's identity before he passed over to this dimension.
AXTILLA: The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he was Pondria.
GLNOT RHUETHER: According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
GILN PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
SHELECK PROFUE: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
ZURN: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
CROSSANS: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
JED: Formerly Doctrex's personal courier; now an Advance intelligence Man.
ENGLE: Doctrex's Courier after Jed left to become an AIM under Arval.
BRAIMS GLASSEM: The Medic for Doctrex's troops. The first to hear voices in his head.
AIM: Advance Intelligence Men. Do undercover surveillance in advance of troop movement.
KARULE BARSACH: After their ambush and capture, one of the soldiers Zarbs' men tortured.
ARKLYN ZARBS: Supreme Colonel of Rhuether's army, whose men ambushed and captured Doctrex and his men.
GARVIN: Medic for Arklyn Zarbs' army.


Chapter 19
AN ELONGATED ABBREVIATION (Pt 3)

By Jay Squires

AN ELONGATED ABBREVIATION
(Not unlike cliffs notes for):
BOOK III
OF
THE TRINING
CHAPTERS 1-19

 
Faithful readers of The Trining: As you are no doubt tired of hearing, approximately the last one-third of Book III did not survive a computer crash. I'm in the process of re-creating them. Two chapters are done, but before I post them I thought it might be wise to provide the new readers a cliffs notes type abbreviation of the first 19 chapters of Book III. It will have the added benefit of being a kind of refresher for those who have been reading it all along. This is the first of three parts, to be posted (I hope) in consecutive days. I am promoting for enough FanStory cash to make it worth the readers' time.

Please understand it is not intended to have any of the dramatic build-up or character development of the original. I'm afraid, without much dialogue, it might be soporific. I hope not.

Finally, I trust the green highlights won't be too distracting. They will identify the characters, places and terms that are defined in the Author's notes.
 
#     #     #
 
(Part 3)

 
About the time things can’t get worse ...
The captor goes on to explain in graphic detail how they were successfully ambushed. A thin, very sharp blade had been extended across the roadway at the height of about mid leg of the crossans. Most of their crossans’ legs were severed and the riders sent soaring over the tops of their suddenly shortened beasts. The poor animals were mercifully destroyed.

Horrified, Doctrex asks about the others in the front ranks; his captor describes one whose head was crushed like a melon. Doctrex asks about the well-being of the other three. His captor intends rather to taunt him.

He boasts they got information so easily from the first one that the interrogators were actually disappointed. The soldier told them how all the separate units were to rendezvous at the Plain of Djur.

At any moment, he shall get the further information about why Doctrex’s puny army was heading south instead of to the Plain. As he is saying this, a soldier comes in and hands him a paper. With great enthusiasm he tells Doctrex that not only do they know the reason he was heading south, but he can personally offer Doctrex his condolences—that Special Colonel Eele Jessip and his men didn't make it out of the ravine.


Devastated, but feeling like he has little now to lose, Doctrex begins to whittle away at his captor’s confidence. He speculates aloud that capturing the Kabeezan General should certainly increase his rank. Doctrex guesses he is probably now a lieutenant or stand captain.

This riles the other, and Doctrex builds on that. Slowly, the other becomes rattled, and over time, unravels. While he earlier refused to give Doctrex his name, now he blurts out that he wants Doctrex to know his name. He wants Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs to be the last thing Doctrex hears as he begs to be put out of his misery.


But Doctrex uses his trump card: He asks if it wouldn’t be wise for a Supreme Colonel, soon to be Supreme Commander, to advise The Almighty Glnot Rhuether that he is putting him to death? Zarbs chides him for thinking he was so ignorant he wouldn’t already have sent a courier to The Almighty Glnot Rhuether.

But why is it taking so long, Doctrex wonders aloud?

Zarbs thinks it might be because The Almighty Glnot Rhuether is planning his wedding.


Doctrex continues to undermine Zarbs' confidence. A frustrated Zarbs hollers to a soldier to prepare Doctrex’s sleeping chamber. The soldier half pulls, half drags him outside into another room. He slams Doctrex into the wall, telling him to stay there until his chamber is ready. Doctrex slides down the wall, slips into unconsciousness.

He awakens with a scorching pain at the back of his head where he had hit the wall. He tries to reach for it, but can’t raise his arms from his side. He realizes his difficulty breathing. His back and chest are flush against a hard surface. He feels his hot breath against his face. He’s able to crane his neck enough to see the ceiling, with the ropes looped over a crossbeam. He is off the ground, in a chamber.

On the verge of panic, his breathing more labored, he thinks of Axtilla, He wants his last thought to be of her. The image he conjures up of her slips away and he slips with it.

The angry cacophony of screeching voices wakes him. One of them is Zarbs’. He is berating another that he will pay for it. The chamber is lowered, opened, and he is removed. Laid on a gurney, he is carried out of that room. Many turns later, he is in another room. There is a sumptuous bed there. He is placed on it. Zarbs urges him to sleep as long as he likes. When he wakes, there will be a bath for him and food. Zarbs leaves. Doctrex wonders why the complete turn-about. He will find out how much leverage this gives him.

A woman enters to give him a bath. He sees she is schooled to be seductive. He tells her he wants only one thing: to speak to Zarbs—and right away. Two minutes later Zarbs is at his bedside, asking why he didn’t accept her offer of a bath.

Doctrex is direct. He wants to know what has changed with him. What did the courier’s message say? Clearly rattled, Zarbs puts his hand on Doctrex’s shoulder, pulls it back; he drops to his knees by the bed, buries his face in the blanket beside Doctrex and sobs.

After Doctrex asks Zarbs again what message his courier brought back, he admits the Almighty Glnot Rhuether told him to personally escort Doctrex to him. Then he makes a feeble attempt to convince Doctrex he was bluffing about torturing him. Doctrex, realizing leverage is on his side, orders his men to be brought in to him. Zarbs leaves.

Karule Barsach enters, limping heavily; no other apparent injury. Doctrex questions him about what happened. Karule identifies another who is too injured to come in as the one whose crossan was between his and Doctrex's. That was Jed. Doctrex knows it had to be Engle, then, they had euthanized after his head injury. Karule says it was the torch bearer who told them everything they wanted before he died. He says they made him and Jed watch it all so they would crack when it was their turn. Doctrex continues to pursue his investigation and catches Karule Barsach in a lie. Trapped, Karule passes his hand in front of his lips. In a few moments his eyes roll up and he collapses.

Doctrex calls for Zarbs. When Zarbs arrives Doctrex orders him to have his men bring a cot and blankets and the other soldier. He also orders him to have Karule and the man they tortured to death wrapped in blankets to be returned to his men.

They bring in the cot and two others bring Jed, slumped between their arms. His back is severely lashed and oozing, his nose is broken, his cheekbone swollen to twice its size and purple. Doctrex almost vomits when he sees Jed is missing an eye. When he asks Zarbs why Jed hadn’t been cared for, Zarbs tells him the medic said there was nothing that could be done.

Doctrex insists on a medic. Zarbs, full of excuses, has a medic brought in. The medic examines Jed, says he belongs under constant supervision. Doctrex orders the medic to stay there along with Jed. Another bed is brought in, one for Jed and the other for Doctrex. The medic volunteers to sleep on the cot.

With Zarbs out of the room, Garvin (the medic) confesses under Doctrex’s questioning that he never said he gave up on Jed. He hadn’t seen him.


They place Jed on the bed next to Doctrex’s, and Doctrex immediately begins  ministering to him. Jed is braced on his side with weighted bags at his head and hips, so he can't roll back on his bandages.

His fever is raging. They apply wet cloths to his chest and stomach, but it dries almost at contact. Garvin explains they can’t give him water unless he is conscious. He gets Jed to respond by opening his eye. Jed stares at Doctrex and mouths his name.

For several hours they are able to dribble small amounts of water into Jed’s mouth. Garvin leaves the room and Doctrex continues on. He notices Jed’s breathing is irregular and his face, when Doctrex brings the canteen close to it, is radiating heat. Jed begins to moan and Doctrex tells him not to try to hold it in; he would go try to find Garvin.

He rounds the bed just as Garvin enters, saying he brought some broth for Jed’s strength. When Doctrex tells him of Jed’s pain, Garvin explains it’s the wounds drying and stretching under the bandages. He would apply more unguent and re-bandage.


While Doctrex dribbles water in Jed’s mouth, Garvin is busily preparing to remove the bandage. The first one he pulls from the wound, Jed lets out a huff of air, and Garvin’s face registers despair as the room is filled with a horrific stench. Doctrex puts his hand over his face and struggles to keep from throwing up. Garvin hollers for another medic, calling for unguent. Shortly thereafter a medic comes in bearing a tray, piled with unguent and a brush to apply it. The medic gags and Garvin angrily sends him out of the room while he proceeds to apply the unguent himself.

Doctrex continues giving him small sips of water. Garvin finishes bandaging him, readjusts the weights at his hips and head and tells Doctrex that Jed’s temperature seems to have stabilized, and after he rests a while they would start the broth so he can build up his strength.

Doctrex notes that Jed seems to be asleep. Garvin nods, but Doctrex recognizes from his expression something is troubling him.

“Sir,” Garvin says, under his breath, “if we may talk ...” He gives a slight movement of his head toward the wall to his left that is roughly equidistant from Jed and the door, “over there?”

Doctrex agrees, not wanting to hear what Garvin has to tell him.
 
 
 
 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY FROM THE GREEN HIGHLIGHTED TEXT

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM: Advanced Intelligence Men, who were trained to do surveillance and espionage work for the Kabeezan army.
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and whose head was "magically" in the talons of one of the phantom birds.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: The first of the Kabeezan Army to lead his troops to the Plain of Dzur.
JED: Doctrex's original courier, who later got permission from him to become an AIM.
KARULE BARSACH: Expert and co-inventor of the automatic crossbow, is allowed in front ranks with Doctrex.
SUPREME COLONEL ARKLYN ZARBS: Commander of one of Glnot Rhuether's outposts, and Doctrex's captor.
GARVIN: Medic under Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs. Tries with Doctrex to minister to Jed.


Chapter 19
AN ELONGATED ABBREVIATION (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires




AN ELONGATED ABBREVIATION
(Not unlike cliffs notes for):
BOOK III
OF
THE TRINING
CHAPTERS 1-19

 
Faithful readers of The Trining: As you are no doubt tired of hearing, approximately the last one-third of Book III did not survive a computer crash. I'm in the process of re-creating them. Two chapters are done, but before I post them I thought it might be wise to provide the new readers a cliffs notes type abbreviation of the first 19 chapters of Book III. It will have the added benefit of being a kind of refresher for those who have been reading it all along. This is the first of three parts, to be posted (I hope) in consecutive days. I am promoting for enough FanStory cash to make it worth the readers' time.

Please understand it is not intended to have any of the dramatic build-up or character development of the original. I'm afraid, without much dialogue, it might be soporific. I hope not.

Finally, I trust the green highlights won't be too distracting. They will identify the characters, places and terms that are defined in the Author's notes.

#     #     #
 
(Part 2)
 
HERE COMES ZILTINAUR, HERE COMES ZILTINAUR, RIGHT DOWN ZILTINAUR LANE
For several miles, there had been a narrow road with a sheer mountainside pressed in on either side. Now, the mountain levels out and on the right hand side there is a sharply sloping, deeply gouged hillside, portending the possibility of an enemy ambush.

An arrow finds its mark through the throat of the front rank’s crossbowman. He falls dead. Engle blows the horn. A group of crossbowmen filter through the ranks and form protection in front of Doctrex.

And then the magic begins.

Gigantic hounds larger than the soldier’s crossans lope toward them, yet no one fires on them. One hound breaks through the ranks and launches itself like a battering ram into a soldier’s chest lifting him off his saddle and onto his back where the hound hovers over him. But instead of having his face ripped off, the soldier is kicking his arms and legs, breathless from giggling, while the hound's thick, pink tongue laps at his face!

The men in the front ranks lay down their bows and playfully wrestle with the hounds. One soldier even rides on the hound's back. Lumbering up the road toward them is a giant man in full body armor, a bag slung over his shoulder. Engle is surprised Doctrex doesn’t recognize him as Ziltinaur. He hopes Ziltinaur has a gift in his bag with Engle written on it.

Doctrex recognizes this as the work of Rhuether. If fear hadn’t been successful with the men, Rhuether wouldn't hesitate to dip into their collective subconscious and pluck out a jolly image from their childhoods.

Doctrex is quick to see everyone is under the power of Ziltinaur.

Doctrex sends Engle into the interior of the ranks to bring the Profue brothers. Not wanting to take his eyes off Ziltinaur, reluctantly he goes. Doctrex feels he is losing command of the men. The three return, and Doctrex instructs Engle, Giln and Sheleck they have to keep their emotions under control, not to give into the magic. He’s counting on them as never before.

Mounted on Rain Spirit II, Doctrex trudges down the road to confront the grinning Ziltinaur. Atop his crossan, Doctrex is still only as high as Ziltinaur’s knee. Ziltinaur tells Doctrex, “Empress Axtilla gives you her greetings.” Then loudly he announces, "Father Ziltinaur is coming, children."

At that moment, when Ziltinaur steps out, Doctrex hacks with all his strength at the back leg, and he hears his troops groaning, “No, Doctrex, no!” After three hearty whacks the sword goes through the soft, exposed back part of the knee. Ziltinaur totters on his one leg, then falls onto his back, crushing the bag, from which issue sounds of wailing and crying. Ziltinaur unlatches a clasp on his chest, just as Doctrex races his crossan back to his men. Armed soldiers pour out of Ziltinaur’s belly like roaches, but they are easily subdued by the Kabeezan army bowmen. All the enemy are destroyed. Afterwards, Doctrex’s troops are devastated, and they are repentant. While Doctrex is forgiving, he reminds them they can’t give in to Rhuether’s magic.

As they queue past the fallen Ziltinaur, many spit on his still grinning face.

They proceed toward the Plane of Dzur.


Arval, the first to be waiting at the Plane of Dzur, greets Doctrex joyfully, since he'd heard Doctrex and his troops had been wiped out.

He explains it this way: Eele’s troops had been socked in by a blizzard and then attacked by the enemy. As a last resort, Eele sent out his courier to find Doctrex, the nearest troops, to come to his aid. The couriers came across the evidence of the fresh slaughter of Doctrex’s troops along with the murdered medics and patients in the tent. There was evidence of a battle between Pomnots and Kabeezan troops, which they identified as Doctrex's. Bodies on both sides had been burned. Next, they went to Arval’s unit for help. His troops were war weary, but he was able to get 100 volunteers to go with them to help Eele. So far they haven't returned.

Doctrex finds 200 volunteers from his men to go to Eele's aid—pulls rank on Arval, who pleaded to go instead—and after the men get the necessary supplies they leave. Among the volunteers is Jed. There is immediate tension between him and Engle for Doctrex’s attention, but it is later resolved. Giln, Sheleck and Zurn are there as well.

The two hundred men stop at the drinking pond, midway on their journey, to let the crossans drink. While there, Doctrex devises a last minute strategy to take half the troops whose crossans had already had their fill, and leave. Giln would lead the rest of the troops behind him after their crossans had been refreshed.

Giln warns Doctrex of a premonition he had that there would be a big battle after an ambush. Without the strength of the entire 200, they would be soundly defeated. Doctrex decides to go against Giln’s premonition, anyway, and proceeds with his 100 men.

As the troops reach the triple-rock marking which designates the road they are to take south, Doctrex is already having second thoughts about Giln’s premonition. Also, he berates himself for bristling over Giln’s choice of the word “foolish” in describing his taking the premonition lightly.

They take the road south. About midway to where Eele is supposed to be holed up, he stops them. He gives the directive that there will be twenty yards between ranks in order to eliminate a concentrated target. Those arrangements are made. Before they continue on, one soldier asks to be allowed in the front ranks since he is expert on the automatic cross-bow, and its co-inventor. He identifies himself as Karule Barsach. He is placed between Jed and the torchbearer. Engle is to Doctrex’s left.

With the ranks thus spread out, they start in a walk, then a canter, then a gallop. More and more Doctrex sees boulders and oak trees skittering past. He remembers thinking later, “there couldn't be a better staging for an ambush than this," when a very un-ambush-like thing happens that, just for an instant, makes him feel very silly: He experiences himself leaving his saddle and arcing over Rain Spirit II's head. He remembers, as a kind of detached witness, watching the beautiful blond hair of her mane floating under him, and feeling foolish and exposed, listening, suspended inside an explosion of excruciatingly brilliant red, like being inside a Christmas ball that has fallen from the tree, shattering on the floor. And he is a fragmented awareness found in each of the shards, the witness acknowledging what he has been, and experiencing the sadness of knowing he won't be again.

But then he hears a voice calling out to him, It is mocking him, ridiculing his plans for spreading out his ranks, so as not to present a concentrated target. And see where it got him! Then, the voice tells Doctrex to sleep a while and then they would chat.

He awakens again, choking on the urine he is lying in. The voice continues to talk. Doctrex vomits. After a while, and an incredible amount of effort, he is able to sit. For the first time, he takes a good look at the owner of the voice.

The other's hand is splayed across his own ample belly as if to emphasize that point. He stares at Doctrex through tired, bored, or dissolute brown eyes. There is no imagination in them, no fire. They are slow to open, and once open, slow to close. Framing them from above are brows, like two fat, fuzzy caterpillars, and below a full, untrimmed beard, the color of dirty cinnamon. His head is bald.

Once able to speak coherently, Doctrex asks about his men. His captor teases that he doesn't want to tell him since he knows how much he loves his men. He even calls them his brother! He finally tells him his troops were soundly defeated. Some few, he says, retreated in random directions, but they were tracked down and killed.

Then, he continues, before his soldiers had a chance to clean up the carnage they heard another army approaching. They pulled back into hiding and allowed them to count the losses. They were very thorough. He wondered if they were looking for their leader? At any rate, they let them continue on down the road to the south.

He smiles at Doctrex and adds, “They were of no concern to us, you see. We had our prize!”

 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY FROM THE GREEN HIGHLIGHTED TEXT

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM: Advanced Intelligence Men, who were trained to do surveillance and espionage work for the Kabeezan army.
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and whose head was "magically" in the talons of one of the phantom birds.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: The first of the Kabeezan Army to lead his troops to the Plain of Dzur.
JED: Doctrex's original courier, who later got permission from him to become and AIM.
KARULE BARSACH: Expert and co-inventor of the automatic crossbow, is allowed in front ranks with Doctrex.


Chapter 19
AN ELONGATED ABBREVIATION (Pt 2)

By Jay Squires

AN ELONGATED ABBREVIATION
(Not unlike cliffs notes for):
BOOK III
OF

THE TRINING

CHAPTERS 1-19
 
Faithful readers of The Trining: As you are no doubt tired of hearing, approximately the last one-third of Book III did not survive a computer crash. I'm in the process of re-creating them. Two chapters are done, but before I post them I thought it might be wise to provide the new readers a cliffs notes type abbreviation of the first 19 chapters of Book III. It will have the added benefit of being a kind of refresher for those who have been reading it all along. This is the first of three parts, to be posted (I hope) in consecutive days. I am promoting for enough FanStory cash to make it worth the readers' time.

Please understand it is not intended to have any of the dramatic build-up or character development of the original. I'm afraid, without much dialogue, it might be soporific. I hope not.

Finally, I trust the green highlights won't be too distracting. They will identify the characters, places and terms that are defined in the Author's notes.

 

(Part 2)
 
HERE COMES ZILTINAUR, HERE COMES ZILTINAUR, RIGHT DOWN ZILTINAUR LANE

For several miles, there had been a narrow road with a sheer mountainside pressed in on either side. Now, the mountain levels out and on the right hand side there is a sharply sloping, deeply gouged hillside, portending the possibility of an enemy ambush.

An arrow finds its mark through the throat of the front rank’s crossbowman. He falls dead. Engle blows the horn. A group of crossbowmen filter through the ranks and form protection in front of Doctrex.

And then the magic begins.

Gigantic hounds larger than the soldier’s crossans race toward them, yet no one fires on them. One breaks through the ranks and launches itself like a battering ram into a soldier’s chest lifting him off his saddle and onto his back where it hovers over him. But instead of ripping off his face, the soldier is kicking his arms and legs, breathless from giggling, while the beast's thick, pink tongue laps at his face!

The men in the front ranks lay down their bows and playfully wrestle with the hounds. Lumbering up the road toward them is a giant man, a bag slung over his shoulder. Engle is surprised Doctrex doesn’t recognize him as Ziltinaur. He hopes has a gift in his bag with Engle written on it.

Doctrex recognizes this as the work of Rhuether. If fear hadn’t been successful with the men, he would dip into their subconscious and pluck out a jolly image from their childhood.

Doctrex is quick to see everyone is under the power of Ziltinaur.

Doctrex sends Engle to bring Giln and Sheleck. Reluctantly, he goes. Doctrex is losing command of the men. The three return, and Doctrex instructs Engle, Giln and Sheleck to keep their emotions under control, not to give into the magic. He’s counting on them.

Mounted on Rain Spirit II, Doctrex goes down the road to confront the grinning Ziltinaur. Doctrex, on his crossan stand only as high as Ziltinaur’s knee. Zintinaur tells Doctrex, “Empress Axtilla gives you her greetings.” Then loudly announcing, "Father Ziltinaur is coming, children."

At that moment, when Ziltinaur steps out, Doctrex hacks with all his strength at the back leg, and he hears his troops groaning, “No, Doctrex, no!” After three hearty whacks the sword goes through. Ziltinaur totters on his one leg, then falls on his back, crushing the bag, from which issue sounds of wailing and crying. Ziltinaur unlatches a clasp on his chest, just as Doctrex races his crossan back to his men. Armed soldiers pour out of Ziltinaur’s belly like roaches, but they are easily subdued by the Kabeezan army bowmen. All the enemy are destroyed. Afterwards, Doctrex’s troops are devastated, and they are repentant. While Doctrex is forgiving, he reminds them they can’t give in to Rhuether’s magic.

As they queue past the fallen Ziltinaur, many spit on him.

They proceed toward the Plane of Dzur.

Arval, the first to arrive at the Plane of Dzur, greets Doctrex joyfully, since he'd heard Doctrex and his troops had been wiped out.

He explains it this way: Eele’s troops had been socked in by a blizzard and then attacked by the enemy. As a last resort, Eele sent out his courier to find Doctrex, the nearest troops, to come to his aid. The couriers came across the evidence of the fresh slaughter of Doctrex’s troops along with the murdered medics and patients in the tent. There was evidence of a battle between Pomnots and Kabeezan troops, identified as Doctrex's. Bodies on both sides had been burned. Next, they went to Arval’s unit for help. His troops were war weary, but he was able to get 100 volunteers to go with them to help Eele. So far they haven't returned.

Doctrex finds 200 volunteers from his men—pulls rank on Arval, who wanted to go—and after the men get the necessary supplies they leave. Among the volunteers is Jed. There is immediate tension between him and Engle for Doctrex’s attention, but it is later resolved. Giln and Sheleck and Zurn are there as well.

The two hundred men stop at the drinking pond, midway on their journey, to let the crossans drink. While there, Doctrex devised a strategy to take half the troops whose crossans had already had their fill and leave. Giln would lead the rest of the troops behind him after their crossans had been refreshed.

Giln warns Doctrex of a premonition he had that there would be a big battle after an ambush. Without the strength of the entire 200, they would be soundly defeated. Doctrex decides to go against Giln’s premonition, anyway, and proceeds with his 100 men.

As the troops reach the triple-rock marking that signaled the road they would take south, Doctrex is already having second thoughts about Giln’s premonition. Also he berates himself for bristling over Giln’s choice of the word “foolish” in describing his taking the premonition lightly.

They take the road south. About midway to where Eele was supposed to be holed up, he stops them. He gives the directive that there would be twenty yards between ranks in order to eliminate a concentrated target. Those arrangements are made. Before they continue on, one soldier asks to be allowed in the front ranks since he is expert on the automatic cross-bow, and its co-inventor. He identifies himself as Karule Barsach. He is placed between Jed and the torchbearer. Engle is to Doctrex’s left.

With the ranks spread they start in a walk, then a canter, then a gallop. More and more Doctrex sees boulders and oak trees skittering past. He remembers thinking later, “there couldn't be a better staging for an ambush than this," when a very un-ambush-like thing happens that, just for an instant, makes him feels very silly: He experiences himself leaving his saddle and arcing over Rain Spirit II's head. He remembers, as a kind of detached witness, watching the beautiful blond hair of her mane floating under him, and feeling foolish and exposed, listening, suspended inside an explosion of excruciatingly brilliant red, like being inside a Christmas ball that has fallen from the tree, shattering on the floor. And he is a fragmented awareness found in each of the shards, the witness acknowledging what he has been, and experiencing the sadness of knowing he won't be again.

But then he hears a voice calling out to him, It is mocking him, ridiculing his plans for spreading out his ranks, so as not to present a concentrated target. And see where it got him! Then, the voice tells Doctrex to sleep a while and then they would chat.

He awakes again, choking on the urine he is lying in. The voice continues to talk. Doctrex vomits. After a while he is able to sit. For the first time, he takes a good look at the owner of the voice.

His hand is splayed across his ample belly as if to emphasize that point. He stares at Doctrex through tired, bored, or dissolute brown eyes. There is no imagination in them, no fire. They are slow to open, and once open, slow to close. Framing them from above are brows, like two fat, fuzzy caterpillars, and below a full, untrimmed beard, the color of dirty cinnamon. His head is bald.

Once able to speak coherently, Doctrex asks about his men. His captor teases that he doesn't want to tell him since he knows how much he loves his men. He even calls them his brother! He finally tells him they were soundly defeated. Some few, he says, retreated in random directions, but they were tracked down and killed.

Then, before his soldiers had a chance to clean up the carnage they heard another army approaching. They pulled back into hiding and let them count the losses. They were very thorough. He wondered if they were they looking for their leader? At any rate, they let them continue on. He smiles at Doctrex and adds, “They were of no concern to us, you see. We had our prize!”

 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY FROM THE GREEN HIGHLIGHTED TEXT

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and was "magically" in talons of one of the phantom birds.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: The first of the Kabeezan Army to lead his troops to the Plain of Dzur.
KARULE BARSACH: Expert and co-inventor of the automatic crossbow, is allowed in front ranks with Doctrex.


Chapter 19
AN ELONGATED ABBREVIATION (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

AN ELONGATED ABBREVIATION
(Not unlike cliffs notes for):
BOOK III
OF

THE TRINING

CHAPTERS 1-19
 
Faithful readers of The Trining: As you are no doubt tired of hearing, approximately the last one-third of Book III did not survive a computer crash. I'm in the process of re-creating them. Two chapters are done, but before I post them I thought it might be wise to provide the new readers a cliffs notes type abbreviation of the first 19 chapters of Book III. It will have the added benefit of being a kind of refresher for those who have been reading it all along. This is the first of three parts, to be posted (I hope) in consecutive days. I am promoting for enough FanStory cash to make it worth the readers' time.

Please understand it is not intended to have any of the dramatic build-up or character development of the original. I'm afraid, without much dialogue, it might be soporific. I hope not.

Finally, I trust the green highlights won't be too distracting. They will identify the characters, places and terms that are defined in the Author's notes.

 
#     #     #
(Part 1)
 
General Doctrex becomes conscious enough to hear Medic Braims Glassem and Special Colonel Eele Jessip discussing the wisdom of having him transported back to Camp Jerri-Fibe to recover.

Eele won’t commit to it.

Doctrex, who makes his consciousness known to them for the first time, assures them he is going on. His troops were already behind schedule, since his mysterious gash in his side (perhaps caused by the fall from his crossan, Rain Spirit II), had rendered him comatose. The rest of the army had been divided into eight units, fanned out, but all are prepared to meet at the Plain of Djur, near Glnot Rhuether’s Palace of Qarnolt, in about ten days.

Eele leaves to return to his troops while Braims stays to attend to Doctrex as they leave.

Doctrex’s first meeting place is to be with the Profue brothers, who had gone on with their troops weeks earlier. Giln Profue had messaged him that Zurn (the brothers’ intellectually challenged adopted brother) had indeed deserted to be with them. Doctrex had suspected as much.

Doctrex’s troops arrive to find the weary, but elated, brothers who had successfully defended their camp against the Pomnots, and one of the dead brutes had been dragged into camp and was ready to be examined.

Meanwhile, Doctrex reminds the brothers, concerning Zurn, that the penalty for desertion during wartime is death.

He privately interviews Zurn and determines that he fully knew he was deserting when he concealed himself among his brothers’ troops as they left. But Zurn felt he had to be there to protect them from danger—as when he snuffed out the flaming soldier during the earlier fireball attack. Doctrex concludes he was deserting to go into danger, not escaping it out of fear.

Until he can be tried, Doctrex decides Zurn will accompany him as he continues on. The Profue brothers would then proceed after them and unite with them several days later.

Before Doctrex’s troops leave he attends the examination of the dead Pomnot, one of Glnot Rhuether’s expendables. At over six-and-a-half-feet tall and weighing more than three-hundred-and-sixty pounds, he is truly a brute, harvested for killing.

Doctrex and his troops continue on.

From the beginning Glnot Rhuether—using his powerful magic—had invaded the minds of many soldiers, including Doctrex, usually in their dreams, (which all but Doctrex stubbornly insisted on calling visions). But the closer they get to the Plain of Djur the more his magic is manifesting on a grand scale.

Now that Doctrex is waiting for the Profue Brothers to arrive, Glnot Rhuether invades the soldiers’ subconscious minds, en masse, clothed as a wholly different kind of Pomnot, the imaginary creature their parents warned them about as children, (the equivalent of the Bogeyman), who hid under their beds waiting to carry them away. With mass hysteria rampant in the camp, that imaginary foray, it turns out, is a diversion to keep them from the actual attack, a few hundred yards in the opposite direction. Once they finally do battle there, Doctrex is wounded in an arrow storm.

When the Profue brothers arrive, Doctrex is recuperating. The brothers and one of their soldiers are ill, and near death. Medic Braims bring the brothers to health, but the other dies. Meanwhile, Doctrex’s wound heals, though it would leave him with a limp.

The day before all the combined troops are to proceed onward, Giln and Sheleck tell Doctrex of a simultaneous sleeping vision they had the night before. It was an elaborate prophecy in lofty language about how the brothers’ troops would be destroyed but that Doctrex would arrive at the Castle of Qarnolt for the marriage of Rhuether and Axtilla. Doctrex tries to assure them Rhuether is only trying to undermine their confidence.

They decide they are ready to continue on. Doctrex leaves behind fifty soldiers and several of Braims’ medics to treat the remaining injured until they are able to join with them later.

Doctrex decides to talk to his troops before they depart. The men are left feeling a renewed brotherhood and respect, but just before they get the order to march, a soldier tumbles head-first off his crossan.

Braims says he was probably dead before he fell. He reveals the bizarre results of the autopsy. There was no blood whatsoever, and when he opened him up, the room was filled with the scent of the pink blossoms, endemic only to the southern province. Later, Braims confesses he is hearing voices in his head. He hears: "One will die for every three men who fall." Doctrex is able to convince Braims he isn’t losing his mind, but meanwhile, others are hearing voices in their heads as well. One, by the name of Gotzel, confesses he not only hears the same message, but an additional one: "Keep the count. Be alert!"

They must continue on, even with the fear affecting the morale of the troops. Doctrex is planning to speak again to the men that night.

In the meantime, there is a horrible blizzard twenty-five miles from Rhuether’s Qarnolt castle. When it subsides, Sheleck reports that during the midst of the blizzard he heard the call, “Man down.” Doctrex gives him permission to form a search party. While the men are shoveling snow in preparation for their encampment, and dragging a huge cache of limbs and tree trunks from a protected side of the cliff they would be camped against, Sheleck returns to tell of two empty saddles but no bodies found. They make a renewed search.

Sheleck’s second search results in the discovery of one body. Doctrex has Sheleck and another soldier take the body to Braims in secret—also swearing the others who were with him to secrecy. Since one of the empty saddles was from the brothers’ troops and one from Doctrex’s, he has the brothers take role for theirs and Engle and another soldier  take role from his troops. Both return reporting all are present and accounted for.

The mystery deepens. When Braims comes to Doctrex’s tent with the result of his examination, he is flustered. He hands Doctrex the I.D. from the body. It says, “Doctrex” on it. Braims goes on to describe the bizarre incident of poking the bicep of the partially thawed corpse and witnessing the entire arm turn to powder.

Doctrex asks Braims to stay while he has his talk with his men.

With all the men assembled, Doctrex begins by admitting his fear that the last 25 miles to the Castle of Qarnolt will test their courage like no other time. He persuades them to own up to their personal fear and with simple eloquence tells them they must fight on in spite of their fear. He gives them the example of how Rhuether had got into so many of their heads so they saw Pomnots, that were wholly imaginary, climbing up the sides of hills intent on gobbling them up. He went on to show that the very soldiers who helped them overcome their fear and see it as just that, might be the ones to need their help this next time. They were brothers, ready to help each other.

He brings the subject around to the voices some were hearing in their heads. He says he wonders if there are those who are keeping it heroically secret. He asks who has been hearing voices. One person speaks up. It is Braims. When he tells them the content of his voices, another pipes up. It is Gotzel. With his confession, others come forth.

After summarizing the variety of magic that Rhuether employed, including Lesn’s feat of impossible physical strength and his friend Morz’s unexplained explosion, the phantom birds that attacked them and one of which carried the missing Advance Intelligent Men's, Arz Makel's head in its talons, Doctrex advances a theory. He feels that as powerful as Rhuether’s magic is, he suffers under a division of attention, and his inability to sustain illusion. The larger the illusion, the more he is weakened. They need to look for ways to use his weakness against him.

That night, he hears Giln outside his tent calling his name. He invites Giln and Sheleck in. Sheleck is in shadow. Giln tells Doctrex about how the men are planning a mutiny. They feel Doctrex is dangerous. The troops want a father-figure leading them, not a brother. Sheleck breaks in to tell him the men also feel Zurn should be executed or put under constant guard. Giln is being distant and formal. He says the men feel Doctrex is a fraud. Giln laughs cruelly.

Doctrex hears Engle calling out to him. He realizes he had a dream, or vision.

The next day, on the final leg to Qarnolt, they are to encounter Rhuether’s most ambitious magical extravaganza to date.

 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY FROM THE GREEN HIGHLIGHTED TEXT

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM
AIM: Advanced Intelligence Men -- specialized troops who performed surveillance and espionage for Kabeezan Military.
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and was "magically" in talons of one of the phantom birds.


Chapter 20
Euthanasia Factor (PT 1)

By Jay Squires



FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER: After about ten minutes of this, Garvin suggested we hold off for a while. “His temperature seems to be adjusting down. Let’s let his stomach rest a while and we can begin with the broth.”
          I glanced down at Jed. His eye was closed. The other was like a dark crater. The light sheet covering him was rising and falling with gentle regularity.
          “I think he’s asleep.”
          Garvin nodded, but I recognized from his expression something was troubling him.
          “Sir,” he said, under his breath, “if we may talk ...” He gave a slight movement of his head toward the wall to his left that was roughly equidistant from Jed and the door, “over there?”
          I agreed, not wanting to hear what he had to tell me.





BOOK III
(Chapter 20
(Part 1)

 
Garvin proceeded to the wall and I trailed behind him, casting a final glance back at Jed. Once he got there and was in the process of turning, I noticed the brief movement of his lips as if he’d been in silent rehearsal. His eyes caught mine, blinked down and then back at me.

“What is it, Garvin?”

He held my gaze a long moment before it flitted away. “I added a small amount of a fast-acting narcotic to the unguent I applied to his back, sir,” he addressed a target over my shoulder.

“Look at me, Garvin.”

“Yes, sir. You need to know, Doctrex, the infection has already begun, and I’m afraid it’s—it’s irreversible.”

“No, Garvin.” I shook my head vehemently. “No, he’s a—he’s a fighter. You don’t know Jed. I do.” I tried to punctuate my declaration with a short laugh, but I felt the hard edge of it as it left my mouth.

He dropped his chin to his chest, clamping his eyes shut, but just for a moment, and then raised his head and stared straight in my eyes. “Doctrex ... sir, we must try to make his last hours—”

“Garvin, I told you no!” I voiced this much too loudly, and shot an anxious glance to Jed, whose eyes remained closed, and whose chest rose and fell easily beneath his blanket.
“Doctor,” I added, with modulated control, and lifted my hand like I was conducting an orchestra, “We will not—speak in that manner again. You understand? He will survive. Any words to the contrary serve no purpose. No purpose at all.”

He swallowed, and for a moment was silent. Then, “We don’t have time, sir.”

He must have seen the ire rising in me, because he stepped back, colliding with the wall. But I could see the strength of conviction in him as he advanced his foot and leg back toward me. He took a breath and squared his shoulders.

“I would beg to be wrong,” he said, “and you to be right. I know he’s like a son to you, and he’s responded to your love; that got him this far. He would have been dead by now if not for you.”

All I could do was shake my head. I blinked, fought hard to keep my eyes from filling. “Listen, Garvin, I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of patients whose infections got the better of them and they died. But let me tell you about this one—” I wagged a finger toward Jed and listened in a kind of wonder as my voice raised an octave. “This one’s got a heart like you wo—like you wouldn’t—” I stopped. I tried to control my fragile emotions—but my eyes filled.

“Doctrex,” he said, gently. “Sir ...”

I brought a gulp of air into my lungs, ran my finger across my eyes and blinked him back.

“You must listen to me, sir. We don’t have time. Jed will open his eyes soon and you won’t want to hear the pain he will be in.”

“Why? What?”

“I told you it was a small amount of a narcotic I added to his unguent. It is from the root of the Zuquanda tree. The most powerful narcotic there is. A small dose will relieve enough pain to allow sleep. That’s why he’s sleeping now. A tiny bit more will prolong and deepen the sleep.”

“It brings on sleep?”

“It relieves the pain so his body naturally seeks sleep.”

“Well, that’s good. As long as there’s a flicker of his mind working, we’re okay.” I felt fresh enthusiasm surge through me. “You need to give him enough to block the pain so we can start getting the nourishment in him. I’ll keep him awake and full of broth, Garvin. You just chase away the pain until we get him stronger.”

All the time I talked his head was slowly moving side-to-side. When he was finally able to break through my almost giddy hope, he spoke. “I wish it were that easy, sir.” His jaw was rippling, now. “The narcotic doesn’t leave the body. The initial effects of it wear off, but the narcotic itself accumulates in the body and—and we don’t know exactly how it works, Doctrex, but the second dose of it doesn’t just add to the first, but seems to multiply its effect.”

"So he goes deeper the second time?”

He shrugged, then held up his hands with a gesture of submissiveness. “It reacts—differently with different people. What we do know from shared experience is no one lives past the third dose.”

“No one lives? You mean they die? That—”

“They go into a coma first. It lasts, I don’t know, two or three days, a week more, perhaps, without water or nourishment.”

“I see ...” I closed my eyes. I knew from my experience with Braims, there was no concept of an IV, dripping life directly into his veins. The narcotic was producing an induced coma from which the patient would quietly slip away, having no water or food.

Garvin sighed. There was the hint of hopelessness in it.

“So,” I said, “that’s what you meant by making his last hours ... I don’t think you finished your thought, Garvin. How were you suggesting we make his last hours?”

“Leaving him without pain, sir.”

I was being unfair, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “By giving him a jumbo dose the second time?”

“Jumbo? I don’t—”

“A double dose, a triple dose, Garvin! Enough for the narcotic to separate his consciousness, his awareness from his body, right? Enough to untuck it and yank it away like a blanket from a bed and then whisk it off, soaring blissfully to that land where—where there’s no weather and no pain ...”

Seeing the effect of my words on him, I clamped my mouth shut. He deserved better than this. Reaching out, I put my hand on his shoulder. “Garvin ...”

“Sir, we must do something. It has to be now.”

“A small dose, doctor. As soon as he comes to, you administer just a little of it, so I can tell him about the broth—and why he needs to stay awake.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” He struggled, as though wanting to say more.

I didn’t help him. I had said enough.

“It will—” He brought his forefinger across his compressed lips and cleared his throat. “Sir, if we wait until Jed comes out of his sleep—it will be the pain waking him. That will happen very soon now. The pain will be sudden and it will be bad, Doctrex. You won’t be able to reason with him then.”

“So you’re saying we wake him?”

“It has to be, sir.”

As we moved toward the bed he fished for something in his breast pocket. He retrieved it and held out what appeared to be a tiny piece of bark, half the size of a thumbnail, to me.

“The root?” I asked.

“It’s been baked. It will easily crumble to a powder between your fingers. You can crumble it in his mouth before his first sip of water.”

“He must be told.”

“I understand.”

As we rounded the foot of his bed, Jed whimpered. I shot a glance to Garvin. He nodded, somberly. Alongside Jed, I whispered, “Jed ... Buddy.”

His closed eye fluttered and he moaned.

“Jed, can you open your eye? Can you let us know you hear me?”

Again, his eye fluttered, and then that whole side of his face tightened into a grimace. I was about to say his name again when his eye snapped open. His lips peeled back over his teeth so tightly the flesh beneath his cheekbones trembled. The tendons in his neck  knotted like ropes. But still the only sound that left his throat was a whimper.

“Because he knows you’re here, sir,” Garvin whispered in my ear.

“Let it go, Jed!” I said, in my best general voice. I rested my palm against his cheek. The flesh was hot and clammy. “Don’t hold it in, soldier; just let it rip!”

A tear trailed down the side of his nose to his mouth. The blanket was now rising and falling erratically.

“Jed, I’ve got to believe you hear me. I have something to stop the pain, but listen to me Jed, you can’t go to sleep. Even if you feel like drifting to sleep, you can’t.

As if in answer, his throat erupted with a prolonged groan. He finished with several gasps of air and the walls of the room reverberated with his roar that sounded like a wounded animal. Two soldiers came to the door, but Garvin waved them away.

“It’s time, Doctrex,” Garvin said. He maneuvered behind me and cradled Jed’s head tightly between his two palms. “The narcotic, sir.”

I held the piece of bark between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, and with my left hand squeezed the sides of Jed’s lips together, forming an open pouch of tongue and teeth. Jed fought it and Garvin had to hold the head more firmly. I held the bark over the opening and rubbed my fingers together briskly. Powder sifted down into his mouth.

“Water,” I said, brushing with my free finger errant flecks of powder that had adhered to his lips. Garvin uncapped the canteen and handed it to me, and then returned his vice-like grip to Jed’s head. I unpuckered Jed’s lips and moistened them with a little of the water. I was relieved to see him respond to it. His eye focused on mine briefly before wandering off. I tried a little more water. Could the powder already be having an effect on him? I gave him some more. To my surprise his tongue flicked out this time and caught a drop of water on it.

“It’s time to talk, Doctrex.” Garvin mouthed the words, a little less than a whisper.

“Jed ... Son ... Try to listen to me. Try to focus, okay? Soon the pain will start to go away and you may feel like going back to sleep. Don’t do it, Jed. Not yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” I poured a little more water into his mouth. His Adam’s apple shot up, then returned. “Good, you swallowed some water, Jed. Let me tell you why you need to stay awake, Jed. In just a little while we’re going to start giving you broth. You need that to keep your strength up. You understand? I think you do, son. You don’t mind if I call you son, do you, Jed? I never had a son of my own. You’ve always been the one I’d like to have. Is that okay with you?” His eye floated down and kept my gaze. I waited for it to go back, but it didn’t. I tested it by moving to my right. His eye followed.

I glanced at Garvin. He nodded.

“Jed, I want you to do something for me. I’m going to ask you a question. If you understand it, briefly close your eye, and then open it. Here goes. Son, do you remember why you must stay awake?”

His eye closed, then opened.

“Wonderful! This time, son, if the answer is yes, do the same again with your eye.” He watched me. “Is there less pain now?”

Again, his eye closed, and opened.

“Okay, last question ... Do you want me to shut up and give you more water?”

This time, accompanying the eye closing and opening, the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Very funny,” I said.

 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, General and Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM: Advanced Intelligence Men, who were trained to do surveillance and espionage work for the Kabeezan army.
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and whose head was "magically" in the talons of one of the phantom birds.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: The first of the Kabeezan Army to lead his troops to the Plain of Dzur.
JED: Doctrex's original courier, who later got permission from him to become an AIM.
KARULE BARSACH: Expert and co-inventor of the automatic crossbow, is allowed in front ranks with Doctrex.
SUPREME COLONEL ARKLYN ZARBS: Commander of one of Glnot Rhuether's outposts, and Doctrex's captor.
GARVIN: Medic under Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs. Tries with Doctrex to minister to Jed.


Chapter 20
CAUTIOUS JUBILATION? (Pt. 2)

By Jay Squires




FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER: “Jed, I want you to do something for me, will you? I’m going to ask you a question. If you understand it, briefly close your eye, and then open it. Here goes. Son, do you remember why you must stay awake?”
          His eye closed, then opened.
          “Wonderful! This time, son, if the answer is yes, do the same again with your eye.” He watched me. “Is there less pain now?”
          Again, his eye closed, and opened.
          “Okay, last question ... Do you want me to shut up and give you more water?”
          This time, accompanying the eye closing and opening, the corners of his mouth twitched.
          “Very funny,” I said.




BOOK III
(Chapter Twenty
(Part 2)
 
Over the next six hours I had to fight sleep along with Jed. Garvin tried to convince me he should stay up too, but it made no sense to me. He was obviously more the expert on the narcotic we had given Jed than I, though he admitted no one knew much about its effects. He also would have to change the bandages later and make other decisions I couldn’t make about ministering to Jed. I pulled rank on him and explained he could best serve us by getting some rest. Before climbing onto his cot, he told me to use my own judgment on when Jed was ready for the broth, but to proceed very slowly.

So while Garvin curled up on his cot, his blanket completely covering him, and snored softly, I was testing the heat of the broth on my wrist, as any good parent would. It was less than lukewarm. I licked the residue from my wrist and realized how long it had been since I’d eaten.

“Do you think you can take in a little broth, Jed?” I only asked him questions he could answer with a “yes”. He closed his eye and opened it, but I also noticed he made a few tasting movements, and then the corners of his lips twitched to a brief smile. Just as quickly, it vanished, but it was enough that I caught the intent of it. I smiled. How much energy it must have taken him just to do that. He had such a need to communicate, even in this abbreviated fashion, to make me smile.

“Okay, son, I’ve already tested this, and it’s not too hot. So, here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to give you a small taste of the broth. We’ll let it go down, and if you want another taste of it you let me know with your eye. Or would it be easier with your mouth?”

He made several movements of his lips.

“You got it.” I tipped the canteen so just a little dribbled on the inside of his lower lip. He brought both lips together and worked it around. I thought I recognized ecstasy in that eye. “Was that pretty good? Here, I’ll give you just a little more.” I had to go slowly. I didn’t want him to choke on it and throw up whatever nourishment, and probably most of the water, he’d received, not to mention complicating the injury to his back.

I continued that process for about a half-hour. I was sure he’d have let me go on for twice as long, but it seemed prudent to rest his stomach. I told him we’d let the broth settle a while.

Reminiscing seemed a good way to pass the time while ensuring less likelihood one or both of us would fall asleep. It was not as easy as I’d anticipated. I was going to share my memory of the comic incident where Klipal Lesn bent over the huge stone that no one had been able to hoist, and while rendering everyone gasping in laughter over his high-comedy antics, he raised it with ease overhead. I started to tell that story, but it might have reminded him of Lesn’s lover, Shennalen Morz, who for no reason, literally exploded. And everything—all of it—had been entangled in Glnot Rhuether’s magic. I didn’t think having his mind go in that direction would be healthy.

I realized how little I knew about Jed’s life before he joined the military. Now would not be a time to scout through memories of his childhood, schooling, parents or any of that. Not much personal history can be conveyed through the movement of an eye. I needed to do the talking.

Choosing to be more generic in my memory selection, I thought back about the evenings in the southern province. “I remember, Jed, when we used to stand outside our tents while most of the troops were asleep and there were all those pink flowers as far as the eye could see. You remember. Of course you remember ... and the time we listened to the chorus of men humming My Kabeez and you confessed how the melody moved you.”

I wanted, so much, to tell him how close I came to denying his request to volunteer for the AIM program. I was afraid of losing the companionship of one who was already a son to me. Someday I would tell him.

“Hey, buddy, let’s try you on a little more broth, okay? Are you up to that?”

He made a moist little movement with his mouth and I tilted the canteen toward his lips. From the cot, Garvin snorted, and then settled into a soft, rhythmic snore. I tilted the canteen a second time. I didn’t know if it was my imagination or the results of my wishing, but he seemed just slightly more aggressive the way he worked the broth from his lips down into his mouth and swallowed it. Before, the swallowing had seemed more reflexive, which was the reason I’d been careful not to overdo it. Now, though, he seemed to—I wasn’t sure how it could be, but—he seemed to have more personal control over guiding it down. Was it time to step it up some?

“What do you say I pour in a little more this time, Jed? Not a lot more, but listen! I don’t want you to choke, so anytime you feel like I’m giving you more than you can handle just blink your eye a few times. Can you show me that so I know—” He started blinking rapidly before I finished. “Good, good ... Let’s go then.”

The progress was even better than I had anticipated. Over the next hour, which included about a ten minute resting period, he had gone through about three-quarters of the broth, and I was already wondering whether I was going to have to wake Garvin to get some more prepared.

Something else was weighing on me besides keeping food and water in him, and sleep away from him.

I had to ask.

“Jed ... How are you feeling, son? I mean—is any of the—the pain coming back?”

I watched his eye intently. It didn’t close; it stared straight at me. Then, I heard a raspy, “No ...”

My sharp intake of air must not have gone unnoticed, because his lips spread in a thin smile.

“What? Jed, what—no, never mind—what?” I was not ready for this. I found myself grinning so widely my jaw hurt.

“Broth...” was his scratchy response to my babble.

“Broth! Sure!  Don’t talk, son.” My smile left, but as quickly returned “Broth, broth, here.” I found the canteen beside the bed where I likely dropped it when his voice rendered my grip useless. Happily, I must have capped it before I asked him the question. I uncapped it and held it to his lips. For the first time he puckered over the opening. I still acted as gatekeeper of how much would go into his mouth. I pulled it back, waited, and put it to his lips again. At this rate, there would be at the most three swallows left.

I turned to the snoring under the heap of blankets. “Garvin ...” I waited, and gave Jed another swig of broth. “Garvin,” I said, louder.

“What? Huh?” He seemed to be having a wrestling match with his blankets. “Doctrex,” he said, tossing the losing blanket on the cot and rounding the foot of the bed. “Sir... What? Sir, you’re smiling!” He looked at me, then at Jed, and then back at me.

“We need some more broth, Garvin.” I grinned.

“I didn’t—I mean, there was a whole—”

I kept my grin and added a nodding head to it. “Gone, Doc. And he wants more.”

He glanced again at Jed, then kept his eyes on him as he walked behind me, and stared down in his face. Jed’s eye steadied itself on him. “He looks good.” Garvin turned to me, then moved to the other side of me, away from Jed, and whispered in my ear, “He’s okay? Is the pain coming back?”

“No,” I answered, full voice. I shook my head and laughed. “It just dawned on me, Garvin. I asked him the same thing. Was he in any pain? It was not a yes answer.” I laughed again, noticing the strange look Garvin was giving me. “I’d only been giving him questions he could answer with a yes by closing and opening his eye. That was why he answered no the regular way.”

“He said it?”

“Yes. Hoarse, but he said it.”

“Sir, that’s good.”

“Yes! When he asked for broth—”

“What? Excuse me, but what?”

“When he asked for broth ...” When I saw his expression, I had to force the grin off my face before I could finish. “That was when I woke you. We’re out of broth.”

“Sir, I’ll go get more. This is good sir.” And to Jed, “This is good, Jed.”

He scurried across the room and through the door.

 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, General and Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM: Advanced Intelligence Men, who were trained to do surveillance and espionage work for the Kabeezan army.
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and whose head was "magically" in the talons of one of the phantom birds.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: The first of the Kabeezan Army to lead his troops to the Plain of Dzur.
JED: Doctrex's original courier, who later got permission from him to become an AIM.
KARULE BARSACH: Expert and co-inventor of the automatic crossbow, is allowed in front ranks with Doctrex.
SUPREME COLONEL ARKLYN ZARBS: Commander of one of Glnot Rhuether's outposts, and Doctrex's captor.
GARVIN: Medic under Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs. Tries with Doctrex to minister to Jed.


Chapter 20
Garvin's Painful Truth (Pt. 3)

By Jay Squires

FINAL FEW LINES FROM THE LAST CHAPTER:

“He said it?”

“Yes. Hoarse, but he said it.”

“Sir, that’s good.”

“Yes! When he asked for broth—”

“What? Excuse me, but what?”

“When he asked for broth ...” When I saw his expression, I had to force the grin off my face before I could finish. “That was when I woke you. We’re out of broth.”

“Sir, I’ll go get more. This is good sir.” And to Jed, “This is good, Jed.”

He scurried across the room and through the door.

 


BOOK III
Chapter Twenty
(Part 3)

 
The broth Garvin brought this time was heartier, he explained, than what Jed had finished. That first batch had been diluted to about half-strength. “But this one has a little more of the Kryunch in it,” he said with a grin while simultaneously flourishing a balled fist. “Yeah, this is where the Kryunch leaves his pack, if you know what I mean.” He turned his grin on me, nodding.

I nodded back and then gave him a tardy chuckle, allowing myself a brief, passing curiosity over why Kryunch hadn’t pappered. Pappering had become such an automatic occurrence any more that I never noticed any internal translation taking place. The meaning of this word was of no consequence anyway, so I pushed it out of my mind.

Jed took well to the new broth. I let Garvin feed him while I stood aside and watched, producing, I was sure, those little movements of my mouth that new parents make to facilitate the process.

Jed’s functioning eye appeared more alert. It moved with more relaxed fluidity from me to Garvin to the canteen. Unless it was my imagination, a brightness existed in his eye that wasn’t there before. So far, I was elated to not see that tell-tale slowing of his eye lid as it passed over his eye, signifying sleepiness. I found myself constantly recalling Garvin's pronouncement that the narcotic would relieve the pain so much his body would crave the sleep it lacked. Not so, at least now.

The fever had apparently broken, first with the intake of water, then the nourishment—and of course that insuperable variable, his will to survive. Did that mean his body was successfully fighting the infection?

Allowing time for the broth to settle in Jed’s stomach, Garvin moved around behind us to the other side of Jed’s bed, while I pressed in closer, ostensibly to give Jed encouraging words and praise, but also to monitor his expression as his bandages were removed. I was still having a hard time finding subjects that weren’t emotionally charged. Also, though he had articulated two short words several hours ago, he was not ready to carry his part of a conversation. I opted on just being there for him.

“You’re doing so well, Jed. You know, I told the doc how much heart you have, but even with that, you’re still amazing us.”

I looked at his eye for the affirmative blink, but he managed a smile instead; it brought one out in me, as well.

At this point, I didn’t try to stop my eyes from filling. “Look at the old man,” I said, batting them. “Bet you never thought he’d be such a—” my throat caught on the last word—“softy.”

I sniffed and wiped my eyes with my sleeve in time to see his head moving in a slow nod against his pillow.

“Okay, Jed,” Garvin said, kneeling on the other side of the bed, “time to change the bandage and put on some fresh unguent.” He smiled at me and then his head dipped down below the mattress and a garbling of syllables joined with the clinking of metal as I guessed he was preparing the unguent. “Let’s take a look,” he said, raising his head again and studying where to place his hands. His face was tensed in concentration.

I kept my attention on Jed’s face, though I was aware of the bandage being pulled away from his back, and the invasion of a too-sweet coppery stench. He blinked once, but his face seemed relaxed.

“Yes,” Garvin said, “okay, yes, this—this is better. You’re looking—better, Jed.” I turned from Jed’s face enough to see Garvin’s gaze hanging on mine an instant before attending once again to the bandage. I couldn’t quite identify the meaning I perceived there—only that it contained something different from what he conveyed to Jed.

After he finished the re-bandaging and came around to my side, he smiled at Jed. “You ready for some more broth?”

Jed nodded.

“And sir.” Garvin faced me. “Now that Jed’s got fresh bandages on, I think we can get along without you for a while. You need some sleep, sir.”

It didn’t take a lot of urging for me to agree with him. But only after I got his answer to a question.

Together we pushed my bed some six or seven feet from Jed’s to allow Garvin to move more freely without worrying about waking me.

While our backs were to Jed, I whispered to Garvin, “You gave me a look after you told Jed how good he was doing. What did that look mean, doc?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, I found it lacking. “He’s fine, Doctrex.”

“You think I won’t sleep hearing the truth? No ... I won’t sleep knowing you’re withholding something, doc.”

"Of course." Then he spoke over his shoulder to Jed. “Be right there. Just a minute.” He busied himself, tucking the bedding in at the foot of my bed, and then came back to my side, making sure he was still turned from Jed. “Sir, Jed's back looks the same. There’s still infection there—there’s still heat coming off it; but would it have done any good for Jed to hear that? Later it may take both of us to care for him. You need to sleep now.”

I had to agree with him, and told him my need for sleep was biological now. I would sleep the moment my head hit the pillow, but because of that, I made him promise he would wake me if he or Jed needed me. “And under no condition,” I added, “should I sleep longer than five hours.”

Garvin returned to Jed. I took off my boots and climbed into bed, turned to my side away from them. My head hit the pillow, but while I waited for sleep, my eyes remained fixed on the wall.
#     #     #

“Doc ... Trex.”

It came severed like that, and a part of me was trying to connect them.

“Excuse me ... Sir ...”

I opened my eyes. A rough, irregular surface slid into focus—became the wall. “What?”

“I’m sorry, sir—”

“What?” I tried to make some sense of it. Was there something I was supposed to?... I needed to do something?

“It’s Jed, sir.”

“What? Jed?” In one movement I was off the bed in a tangle of blankets, facing the wall. I spun around. “What?” Garvin pulled back from the bed. His mouth hung open.

“It’s Jed ...” he repeated.

“Is he—is he okay?” My words squeezed out of lungs that labored like I'd just run a race.

“He’s the same, sir—but, sir,  are you okay?”

I bent sideways from my waist to look past Garvin at Jed. He appeared to be watching us. I smiled and then returned a puzzled look back to Garvin.

My eyelids were still heavy, dragging sand down and back up over my eyeballs. I took a slow breath, hoping to keep most of the edge off my voice.

"You didn't wake me to ask me if I was all right."

"No, sir ... but
"

"And I can't imagine you waking me just to tell me he was the same, Garvin.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t want to wake you at all, especially after only two ...”

“Two?—what is it? I made you promise to wake me if you needed me, or he did.”

“He wants to talk with you, sir.”

“To talk?” I stole another glance past Garvin at Jed’s unchanged expression. “Talk? Did he ask you?” I must have blushed. “Well, of course he asked you, but is it safe, though? He needs his strength.”

“It seems important to him. I suggest you do most of the talking, sir.”

I gave him a weary look—It wasn’t like Jed had asked if he could listen to me—but then I replaced it with an immediate smile, the dynamics of which he seemed to grasp by returning a grin and a little shrug.

“We’ll need privacy,” I said.

“Certainly.”

“But listen ... if I call you—”

“I’ll attend to it, sir. I’ll take the soiled bandages away and then stay just outside the door.”

I piled the blankets and my boots on the bed and we pushed it across the floor to Jed’s bed, leaving standing room between them.

I went to his side and put my hand lightly on his shoulder. His frail arm was outside the blanket, his palm resting on his thigh. He smiled at me, but I figured he was waiting for Garvin, who was crouched on the other side of his bed, to leave. Garvin gathered up the used bandages, stood up and headed toward the door, holding the discolored wad of rags off to the side and away from his body.

“The doc’s gone now,” I told him as I watched him go through the door and disappear to the right. I turned back. “You okay, buddy?”

He lowered and raised his head against the pillow.

“Good.”

We seemed to be playing a game of silent eye-tag.

I managed a smile. “Doc told me ...”

“Where ...” he cleared his throat. Grimaced.

“Um ... would it be better if—?”

“Karule,” he scraped out.

“Karule? You’re asking where’s Karule?”

He watched my mouth, as for the words to form. Could he be anticipating the finality of what they would be?

“He’s—he’s dead, Jed.”

His eye lifted to mine. After a long moment, his hand began to rise from his thigh with little jerky movements, as though being guided by invisible wires. Without removing his gaze from me, his hand glided up to his face where his fingertips came together just inside his opened lips. And, then he let his arm fall back to the bed as he continued staring at me.

I nodded, broke the gaze and said, “Yes. That’s what happened, Jed. He swallowed it.”

His eye closed. He took a breath, and seemed to hold it. A tear squeezed out from the corner of his eye and followed the contour of his nose, over his lip and into the corner of his mouth.

I let my hand slide from his shoulder to his bicep, very nearly able to encircle it with my hand. I gave it a gentle squeeze. “Jed ...”

“I k—k—killed him.” He kept his eye tightly closed. Another tear leaked out.

“No, Jed—listen to me ... You didn’t kill him. Karule’s guilt killed him.”

His eye opened. “He con—fessed?” The last syllable became part of an eruption of coughing, so violent his free arm reflexively reached for the source of the pain beneath the bandages.

 

 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, General and Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM: Advanced Intelligence Men, who were trained to do surveillance and espionage work for the Kabeezan army.
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and whose head was "magically" in the talons of one of the phantom birds.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: The first of the Kabeezan Army to lead his troops to the Plain of Dzur.
JED: Doctrex's original courier, who later got permission from him to become an AIM.
KARULE BARSACH: Expert and co-inventor of the automatic crossbow, is allowed in front ranks with Doctrex.
SUPREME COLONEL ARKLYN ZARBS: Commander of one of Glnot Rhuether's outposts, and Doctrex's captor.
GARVIN: Medic under Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs. Tries with Doctrex to minister to Jed.
PAPPERING: An automatic translation system occurring in this dimension. Only some words resist being translated.


Chapter 20
He Was a Good Soldier (Pt 4)

By Jay Squires





BOOK III
Chapter Twenty
(Part 4)

 
FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
 
          I nodded, broke the gaze and said, “Yes. That’s what happened, Jed. He swallowed it.”
          His eye closed. He took a breath, and seemed to hold it. A tear squeezed out from the corner of his eye and followed the contour of his nose, over his lip and into the corner of his mouth.
          I let my hand slide from his shoulder to his bicep, very nearly able to encircle it with my hand. I gave it a gentle squeeze. “Jed ...”
          “I k—k—killed him.” He kept his eye tightly closed. Another tear leaked out.
          “No, Jed—listen to me ... You didn’t kill him. Karule’s guilt killed him.”
          His eye opened. “He con—fessed?” The last syllable became part of an eruption of coughing, so violent his free arm reflexively reached for the source of the pain beneath the bandages.
 
“Easy, Jed, easy!” I restrained his arm just as I saw Garvin racing through the door and across the room. His face was scrunched to a mask of concentration as he bent to check the bandages.

Jed’s coughing stopped as quickly as it had begun, but it left him momentarily gasping for breath. I retrieved the canteen from the floor and opened it. “Slow and easy. Take a deep breath, Jed. That’s good.” I put the canteen to his lips. “Just a little, though.”

As he wrapped his lips around the opening, I tilted the canteen back just until I could feel the water weight shift in that direction, then pulled it back. He swallowed, and relaxed back into the pillow. His eye drifted just enough toward Garvin to convey its intent to me without that intent being intercepted by its target.

I followed it with my own. “Bandages okay?”

Garvin raised his shoulders, then let them sag. “Bandages I can change, sir. We just can’t have any wounds reopen.”

“How about if I do the talking?”

Garvin shot me a puzzled smile, the meaning of which didn’t elude me. Then he addressed a different smile to Jed.

Jed returned it, but it was a weary smile.

I wondered if Garvin noticed.

“I’ll just leave then and be outside the door if you need me.”

I thanked him and he turned.

I waited for him to go through the door before speaking again. “We need to be sure and do it that way, Jed; I’m pretty sure I know what it’s about, so I’ll ask the questions and you gesture your answers.”

His frustration was etched in his face.

"I understand ... so why not just wait? Can it be that important right now? How about if we wait until you’re better—just until your wounds are more healed?”

As I began my entreaty, he’d already started shaking his head slowly, but by the time I finished it was shaking so vehemently, I opened my palm in the universal gesture of submission.

“Okay, that’s fine.” To blunt his energy just a little, I held up the canteen. “Are you finished with this?”

He indicated with his thumb and forefinger he wanted a little more.

I gave him another drink, and put the canteen on the floor, and then I laid my hand on his forearm. “Now, I have a feeling this has to do with Karule Barsach. So let me just tell you what didn’t happen. He didn’t confess anything. Okay?”

This seemed to puzzle him. He slowly moved his head from side-to-side on the pillow.

“You don’t understand? All right ... let’s just say I caught him lying. He kept trying, but the moment he could no longer justify his story, I saw him bring his hand to his mouth ...”

Jed’s head was bobbing, but his eye was closed and I knew he was struggling mightily not to lose his composure again. His breathing was rapid and jerky.

I gave his forearm a little squeeze and his eye opened. “What you did—listen to me, Jed—what you did took a lot of courage. I want you to know that. Karule’s choice of when to use the poison capsule was his own act of cowardice. You didn’t kill him. He killed himself rather than face complete humiliation.

I thought I noticed some relief. His breathing had slowed and his face was more relaxed.

“I do need to know, though, just to get the picture clear in my mind ... did you sneak Karule the capsule when you saw how he was reacting to the torture they were subjecting—” I stopped, realizing I didn’t know the name of the torchbearer.

Apparently my confusion was transmitted to him, since his mouth opened before I could say anything and “Erel—Fo—Fozzen,” tumbled out. He couldn’t conceal the grimace that pinched the corners of his mouth and spazmed his eye.

“Jed?”

He opened his eye and looked at me as though nothing had happened.

“No more words, Jed ... really. Just shake your head or raise your hand if you need something clarified.”

“Anyway, they forced you to watch them torturing Erel Fozzen ... and noticing the effect on Karule of watching it, you sneaked him the capsule, and told him how to use it—nod if I’m right.”

He did.

“And this was before Erel even started breaking down, right? And telling them what they wanted to know?”

Jed started shaking his head, his eye opened so wide his blue iris was rimmed in white. For an instant I thought he was going to be sick.

“No, Jed!” I held up a cautionary hand. “We can’t have that. You’ve got to relax. Take your time. As soon as you’re relaxed, I’m going to start again until we find the part that’s wrong.

For about a minute he lay perfectly still, his eye closed. Then he opened it and motioned me closer.

“No, now Jed, I said no more talking!”

His lips formed the word “whisper”.

I frowned, but then leaned over the bed toward his face.

His breath was hot against my ear. “Erel ... didn’t ... crack ... ever.”

I pulled back and stared at him. “What!” I took a moment and then a breath. “So, not at all?”

He shook his head.

“I see ... but while you watched Erel being tortured, and realized for the first time he probably wasn’t going to crack you knew you or Karule would be next—don’t talk, just raise your hand or something if I am wrong—so you got the capsule to Karule. Am I right so far?”

He sighed audibly and nodded.

“And there was only the one capsule.”

He again affirmed it.

“By then was Fozzen dead?”

He closed his eye as if to block the vision of it. Leaving it closed he raised his head and then lowered his chin to his chest, almost in a gesture of prayer.

“Fozzen was dead. And they removed him. Then they came back. Which—which one did they take?”

I realized my question required his response, but before I could offer a nod-able choice, he dredged out of his throat, “Me ...”

I was so sure his answer was going to be “Karule” that when instead I heard “Me” what followed was the sound of my own breath huffing out of my lungs an extended, “Ohhhhh.”

Karule had done precisely what he had accused Fozzen of doing. He took the easy way out. Told them everything after they gave him a whack on the knee, and the moment I found holes in his story he wasn’t able to plug up with more lies, he settled for the capsule.

What could be gained now by allowing Jed to offer the details of his agony?

“I think I’d better—yes, we’re going to call an end to this for now, Jed. We need to give you some more broth. Keep that strength up.” I ventured a smile, then continued: “Garvin will want to change those bandages again. You want some water? I’ve got it right down here. Here we go.”

I bent over to get it, but when I straightened up again, he was staring at me with an unblinking eye.

“Please ...” he said.

I put the canteen back. His was not a request. It was a soul-dredged plea, and my deepest instincts told me I couldn’t deny him that.

“Same rules, Jed. I do the guessing; you let me know where I’m wrong.” I took in some air and let it out noisily.

“They came and took the body away. Then they came back and—well, I guess they started torturing you.” This was not going to be easy. “In front of Karule, right?”

He shook his head.

“Not in front of Karule? So they took you to a private place to start ... on you?”

I got an affirmative movement.

“I see ... so you didn’t—that was the last time you saw Karule?”

He mouthed the word “Yes”.

“Well, that’s it then. There’s no use subjecting yourself to any more.”

His lips formed the word “Please”.

“But son, what’s the point? They separated you from Karule, took you into another room. We know they—” I swallowed. “They removed your eye, and then they started beating you. It’s obvious how badly they beat you, so we don’t need to go into it any more. Finished!”

Jed just stared at me as I rattled on.

“It’s easy enough to figure out what they did to Karule. Probably at the same time they were removing your eye and readying the whips, someone in another room decided to give him a taste of what was to come to him if he didn’t cooperate. So they whacked him on the knee. Oh, he had the capsule you gave him, all right; the capsule you probably would have taken yourself, given the agony you’d already been put through. Son, don’t put yourself through any more of it. It’s over. Yours was an act of courage. Karule’s was an act of cowardice.”

I had exhausted myself. “Just leave it alone, Jed.”

“Fozzen,” he whispered, nodding. “Hero.”

“You don’t need to talk any more. Yes ... Fozzen was a hero. Through it all he didn’t break down. You and Karule saw just how brutally they treated him. But he didn’t crack.”

I shook my head, remembering. “Karule had me convinced Fozzen was a coward.”

“Fozzen,” he whispered. “Letter?”

“Letter, yes ... please don’t talk, Jed. I’ll send a letter to his parents and tell them how proud they should be of their son. I—”

“Karule?”

I closed my eyes. How could he ask me that? “A letter? You’re asking if I’ll send a letter to his parents? Well yes, I’ll—and no, no, I won’t tell them the circumstances of his death. I won’t be doing it for him, but his parents deserve better.”

“Weak,” he said in full voice, “not bad.”

“Please, Jed, no more. You need to get well.”

“Not bad,” he whispered. With that, he smiled, settled back on his pillow and closed his eye. I was about to warn him about sleeping when his entire body was seized with a shudder so violent the bed shook.

“Garvin!” I screamed. He came through the door in a full run. Two other soldiers peered in at us.

Garvin bent over from the other side of the bed and got up in Jed’s face. “Are you in pain, Jed?”  To me he mouthed, “He’s hot.”

Jed shook his head, but then kept its movement over a wider arc, his cheeks touching the pillow on either side of his head.

“What are you trying to say, Jed?” I asked him. I stopped its movement, but saw his eye was rolled back, exposing only the bottom half of his iris. “I think he’s delirious, Garvin.”

“He’s burning up, sir,” he told me, and then shouted over his shoulder, “Need a pan of water and some rags.”

Soon a soldier raced over to the bed, bearing a pan, water sloshing out as he ran. Another came behind him with an armload of rags.

Garvin threw off the blankets, exposing a frail Jed, naked to the waist. Heat radiated off his body. Garvin placed the pan on a vacant section of the bed, nearer to me. We both began the process of saturating the rags, wringing them out, and laying them out on Jed’s body. Steam immediately rose like a fog, and the rag was so hot I had to remove it and apply another that had been soaking in the cool water. I repeated the procedure a second and then a third time, while, Garvin was equally as rigorous in applying the wet rags to his forehead and cheeks.

At some point in the process, Garvin’s eyes met mine. I saw the despair in them. I sensed he was giving up. I couldn’t let him. I shook my head in an effort to remind him we were not giving up, but the moment I did I could see he interpreted mine as a capitulation.

“The infection, sir. It’s invaded his entire—”

“No!” I shouted. “Garvin, no, he’s done it once—he’ll come through again. We just have to keep doing this.” I submerged the rag. The water was now warm to the touch. “Another pan of cold water,” I shouted as I wrung out the rag and started fanning it as I remembered doing before.

I glanced over. Garvin was staring at me. “Do like I’m doing, Garvin. Get it wet and fan it.” I shouted again to the door, “Hurry with the cold water!”

“Sir ...”

His head was bowed.

“Listen, if you’re not going to—here ...” I whipped a rag through the air until it felt cold, then applied it to Jed’s forehead and down to his cheeks and then his neck.

“Doctrex ... Sir ...”

“Where is that pan? Soldier!”

“Sir, Jed's—gone.”

"Gone?"

"He fought to the end, sir."

I laid my palm on Jed's cheek. "He was a good soldier, Garvin."

"He loved you, sir."

I pressed my lips together tightly to keep them from trembling. A sob seemed to come from nowhere and forced them open again.

Garvin turned, abruptly, as out of a realized breach of propriety. "I'll leave you now, sir."

"Yes. A few minutes. Please." I followed him with my eyes until he was gone, and then I bent forward and put my brow on the damp pillow next to Jed's head. I thought of our brief time together and I wept my goodbye without reservation or shame.





 

 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, General and Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM: Advanced Intelligence Men, who were trained to do surveillance and espionage work for the Kabeezan army.
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and whose head was "magically" in the talons of one of the phantom birds.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: The first of the Kabeezan Army to lead his troops to the Plain of Dzur.
JED: Doctrex's original courier, who later got permission from him to become an AIM.
KARULE BARSACH: Expert and co-inventor of the automatic crossbow, is allowed in front ranks with Doctrex.
EREL FOZZEN: The torchbearer of the ambushed troops, later tortured died a hero.
SUPREME COLONEL ARKLYN ZARBS: Commander of one of Glnot Rhuether's outposts, and Doctrex's captor.
GARVIN: Medic under Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs. Tries with Doctrex to minister to Jed.
PAPPERING: An automatic translation system occurring in this dimension. Only some words resist being translated.


Chapter 21
Fine Day For Zarbs' Unravelling

By Jay Squires

A Special Request to readers
new to The Trining Trilogy:

 
It will be tempting to skip the summary below and go straight to the chapter. Please take the extra five minutes to read the summary anyway. You’ll get so much more out of the chapter and have a better grounding for the remaining ones.  Thank you.   
                                Jay.



 
BRUSHSTROKE SUMMARY OF LAST 20 CHAPTERS
 
            With all but one battalion of the Kabeezan Army on the Plain of Dzur poised to attack Glnot Rhuether’s army at the Palace of Qarnolt; General Doctrex postpones that activity and takes 100 men to search for the missing Special Colonel Eele Jessip and his troops. Enroute, Doctrex and his men are ambushed. Many are killed, and some escape, but Doctrex and three of his troops are captured by Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs and his Northern Province Army. Doctrex is grossly mistreated while his men are brutally tortured. One of the tortured men is Jed, who is like a son to Doctrex.

            Zarbs sends a courier with the news of Doctrex’s capture. Glnot Rhuether returns orders that Zarbs is to personally deliver General Doctrex to him at the Palace of Qarnolt; until then, he is to treat the General as an honored guest. This forces the ambitious Zarbs to show the highest level of hospitality to this enemy whom he had been treating inhumanely, one of whose men he had tortured to death.

            In an effort to placate Doctrex, Zarbs allows his own medic, Garvin, to treat the tortured and dying Jed in Doctrex’s room. A bond of mutual respect is forged between Garvin and Doctrex. Garvin’s cousin, it turns out, was the courier who received Zarbs’ orders that reversed the way Doctrex was to be treated. It was out of their newly formed camaraderie that Garvin shared what his cousin told him about the contents of the message to Doctrex.

            The morning of their journey to the Palace of Qarnolt, Doctrex uses this shift in power to coerce his captor to make a side trip to a pond near the Plain of Dzur (where the entire Kabeezan army is assembled, awaiting Doctrex’s arrival so they can launch their attack on the Palace of Qarnolt).

            Once at the pond, his three dead soldiers are hidden under leaves and branches. Garvin volunteers to take the letter Doctrex had composed to a designated officer of the Kabeezan Army. The letter introduces Garvin who would lead them to the pond so the soldiers could be returned to the camp and given a proper military burial. The letter goes on to warn them not to try to rescue Doctrex.

            The journey to the Palace of Qarnolt resumes. Zarbs is increasingly agitated over his fear that Doctrex will tell Glnot Rhuether how he and his men were really treated. The closer they get to the marker where the road turns north to the Palace the more Zarbs a unravels.

 




BOOK III

Chapter Twenty-one
(Part 4)


 
 
Once the crossans had reached their travelling speed and their hooves settled into a kind of muted, rumbling monotony along the dirt road, I snugged myself into the corner of the seat and closed my eyes. I knew if I opened them again quickly enough, I’d catch Zarbs ogling at me, probably with a tortured look on his face. I didn’t care. Let him. Let him dredge his mind to search out any strategy that might produce in me a shred of compassion for him.

I turned my thoughts to Axtilla. After all, she was my reason for rejoicing now in the serendipity of being delivered to the Palace of Qarnalt. My fidelity had always been—would always be—to Axtilla.

Earlier, with the safety of the troops being my responsibility, my soul had felt torn asunder by the agony of having to choose, when the time would come, allegiance to one or the other: Axtilla or Kabeez. But I knew even then—at the deepest dwelling-place of my soul, I knew—my choice had already been made. May the High Council of Seven forgive me, but my allegiance would always be to Axtilla.

Besides, wasn’t this the fulfillment of Kyrean Prophesy? Axtilla’s god, Kyre, prophesied the final mighty battle would play itself out in Rhuether’s kingdom, not between armies, but—as with all spiritual battles—between the agents of spirit and matter, light and dark, good and evil. If Axtilla knew who, or what, these agents were it was locked behind her beautiful lips.

Was Kyre giving the enraptured Axtilla her final instructions at the very moment I was being pulled into the dimension of the provinces by little Sarisa Braanz? Didn’t my being yanked into the same dimension in which Rhuether ruled make me somehow party to the prophecy? What else could it be? Otherwise, it would have been too bizarre to imagine how Sarisa’s father just happened to be a member of Kabeez’s Council of Seven, the very council who would select me—a stranger to Kabeez and wholly inexperienced in warfare—as commanding General over all the Kabeezan Army. How bizarre would that have been—without supernatural intervention?

Finally—mystery of mysteries!—with the training at Camp Kabeez winding down, and deployment at hand, could mere coincidence have accounted for Sarisa choosing that timeframe to pull Axtilla up into the dimension of the provinces?

Coincidence? Or was that innocent child an unwitting participant, herself, in the slow unwinding of the prophecy’s skein?

For each occurrence and its consequence, there seemed to be an immaculate timing, that included this present moment of my sitting side-by-side with my captor and being delivered as an honored guest to Rhuether’s palace doorstep.

Two armies colliding on the grounds of the Palace of Qarnolt were not to be part of the intricately woven reticule of fate. Only this moment did the inevitability of the prophecy’s fulfillment fully reveal itself. I had no answers as to how it would play out, and where I fit in would probably always be a mystery to me. From the beginning, Axtilla and Glnot Rhuether were integral to its fulfillment. Somehow, I was to be injected into the mesh, perhaps as a catalyst. One thing was certain: the players were about to be assembled together. And one of them was my Axtilla.

Let the games begin.

The thought of soon breathing the same palace air as Axtilla, I smiled inwardly (careful not to share that smile with Zarbs).

 
My eyes still closed, I knew we were approaching the triple-rock marker, if we hadn’t already passed it. Even above the sounds of the hooves, a kind of oceanic breathing rose and fell beside me like waves, swelling up, then being sucked back down into what sounded now suspiciously like an elongated moan.

My eyes snapped open.

My earlier conjecture was wrong. Zarbs was not staring at me. Had his eyes been open they’d have been staring at a space between me and the back of the driver, but angled up above our heads. His eyes were pressed so tightly closed, though, that a number of dark, puffy slits were all that showed. His caterpillar brows were slanted down so closely together they could have been mating. His nose and mouth were scrunched up and he looked to be in exquisite pain.

I cleared my throat and his eyes immediately opened and slanted down to me. His face registered a flash of embarrassment, but I guessed he didn’t want to waste the moment. I’d seen the look before. Fear, merging into panic, possessed his lips, setting them to trembling, and as he spoke it worked down into his throat as well, attacking his vocal chords.

“Oh, g-g-general, sir.” He started to reach out and touch my arm, but thought better of it. I followed the movement of his pudgy, white hand, curiously, and watched him pull it back from not six inches from my arm and drop it into his lap. “I’m sorry, sir, I—I didn’t mean—” He brought his palms up in front of his face, stared at them. As he studied them, they too began to tremble. He buried his face in them and bent forward sobbing between his knees.

“Supreme Colonel Zarbs,” I said, in a voice I tried to keep low enough not to attract the attention of the driver. I bent down to Zarbs. “Get hold of yourself!”

It was too late for the driver. He no longer showed the discretion as before. He turned around in his seat, glanced at Zarbs, then nodded toward the rear of the wagon. Two soldiers pulled their crossans beside us on Zarb’s side.

I glared at them and shook my head. They glanced at each other, and the one closest to the wagon caught the eye of the driver and they slowed their crossans and pulled back. I shook Zarb’s shoulder, and bent closer. “Your men, colonel” I whispered, through clenched teeth. “Don’t let them see you like this!”

“What?” He pulled his wet face from his hands. The driver was back watching the road.

“You’re a fool, colonel.” I bent over to his ear, closer than I wanted to be. “It’s costing you the respect of your troops. Do you understand that?”

He turned toward me and I pulled back. “I wo—won’t have troops, General Doctrex,” he said in a hoarse whisper. His throat spasmed, like a child’s after a crying jag. He sniffed and about the time I thought he was going to start sobbing again, twin trails of snot exited his nose. He pinched them off between thumb and forefinger and sniffed again.

“Why do you say that, colonel?”

“You ...” He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “You never even ... cleaned your knees,” he said with the tone of one whose trust had been violated.

It was true that I as much as promised him I would. “Get me some water and a rag, colonel, and I’ll clean them now.”

“It doesn’t matter, now. We passed the marker while you slept. We’ll be turning north soon.” He released an angst-saturated sigh. “It wouldn’t dry in time anyway.”

We rode in silence a while. I refused to commiserate with the murderer of my men. Still, back at the pond I did say I would do something while I had simultaneously minimized in my mind the importance of doing it. Did I owe him an apology for that?

Out of the silence he said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t?”

“It’s of no consequence.” He trained his eyes fully on me. “Fifteen years gone!” He tried to snap his fingers. “He’ll strip me of my rank, General.” He slowly shook his head as his eyes swamped with tears.

“Why will he do that?”

By now the tears were streaming down his cheeks. He leaned in to me, twisting his body to keep his words from the driver’s ears. “The letter my courier brought to me was clear,” he said, deflecting his words off the palm he cupped at the corner of his mouth. ‘You will treat the general with the same respect you would afford me.’ I was to treat you in the manner I would the Almighty Master, himself. The letter went on to say, ‘Prepare your best food for him and attend to all his needs. He is to be the honored guest at our wedding at the future Empress’s request.’”

I struggled to register the same equanimity as one being told his sibling is getting married. Rhuether had been taunting me with the proposed wedding through the Giln brothers’ visions and from the voice he magically projected into Ziltinaur. Still, hearing of the wedding now, and this time from Zarbs, had the force of a dagger driven into my gut. Adding that it was at Axtilla’s request gave the planted dagger a full twist.

It took all my feigned composure to cast my unblinking eyes at Zarbs. “Go on ...”

“That’s it ... except he finished with, ‘If I discover anything to the contrary, Supreme Colonel Zarbs, you will be held personally accountable.’” He stopped, and for a moment looked like a fish gasping for air. “Oh ... General Doctrex ... I didn’t—As soon as I read the letter, I immediately went to your sleeping quarters—”

“Sleeping chamber ... you told the soldier to prepare my sleeping chamber.”

“And—yes—and—but I had no idea!” He fluttered his fingers oddly in front of him. “He’s in irons now; I told you that, didn’t I?”

“Yes; so you opened the door and found me stuffed into that tube, hanging from the ceiling—go on.”

“I had no idea. I thought you’d be in bed. If you weren’t asleep I was going to offer you the young lady to give you the bath you had asked for. You see, general, sir, there was no way I could undo what my men had done behind my back. Do you know what I mean?”

At just that moment, while he stopped to apparently assess the impact of his words on whatever expression my eyes or mouth held, the crossans slowed to maneuver the turn north; with the wagon’s turn, an odd, weighted shift skirted across my lower back, and once the turn was completed, it clamped like a claw into my right ribcage.

“Sir! Are you all right?”

I reached my left hand across and put it on my side. “A cramp, I’m sure,” I groaned. “We’ve been sitting so long.” I must have grimaced. The pain wasn’t going away.

“Shall I have the driver stop? So you can stretch your legs?”

“No.” I sucked air through my teeth. “Give me a minute.”

“But sir, you’re sweating. And your—your color’s not right!”

The hand I pressed against my ribcage was wet. I held it in front of me. The blood trailed from my palm down my wrist, into the sleeve of my jacket.

This was not a new experience to me.

Zarbs gasped and slid away from me on the seat. “Sir,” he cried, “your uniform—it’s all bloody! Oh, Almighty—”

Despite the scorching pain, I think I giggled at his misplaced priority, and then I crumpled and scraped my back down the seat on my way to the floorboard. Anything else he said was garbled, as though I was lying in the basement and aware of the muffled voices on the level above me.

Soon even that awareness dissolved.








 
NOTE: DON'T BOTHER TO CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW.
IT IS FOR A PREVIOUS CHAPTER.
THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE POSTED LATER


Chapter 21
Muddy Knees & Brief Shallow Graves

By Jay Squires







 
FROM THE END OF LAST CHAPTER:
          “Your uniform will be your ticket to safety, Garvin. There is a deep brotherhood among medics of the armies of all the provinces.”
          “Yes ... Well,” said Zarbs, “while you go get your uniform on, I’ll have your crossan saddled and ready. We really must hurry. Excuse me, General ...” He spun away from us on his seat and held up his index finger, “Soldier!  Yes, you—come here.”
          While he was thus occupied, I leaned over and whispered to Garvin, “Braims will take care of you ... if you choose to stay. Tell him I suggested it.”
          Garvin pulled back and his eyes whipped immediately to Zarbs, who was still finishing up with the soldier; he turned back to me and nodded, mouthing his “Thank you.”

BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-one
(Part 3)
 
We took the road angling south from the Triple Rock marker which would lead us to the watering pond. I remembered from my map that apparently went down with Rain Spirit II, that turning in the opposite direction at the Triple Rock marker, and going another five miles, we’d have come upon the road north, taking us to the Castle of Qarnolt.

That would be our return route after we’d deposited the bodies by the pond and dispatched Garvin with Braims Glassem’s letter to the Plain of Dzur.

Casual sideward glances at Zarbs told me something was on his mind and he was probably rehearsing a way to broach it. While I waited, I watched the splotchy gray-to-black land rolling past us beneath the torch, which angled out of its sconce about 45 degrees away from the wagon. Another torch extended out over Zarb’s side of the wagon.

The clopping of hooves was hypnotic, but I didn’t feel comfortable dozing off. So I continued on with my pastime. Zarbs was not aware of my spying on him. He seemed about ready to speak. The corners of his mouth were twitching to near-smiles.

I turned the other way in my seat to look back at Garvin who was in the first rank of soldiers behind us. His medic uniform contrasted him from the rest. I flashed him a quick smile, and then turned back to the front. My movement must have plucked Zarbs from his private thoughts for he cleared his throat. I turned my head to him.

“I remember a part of your letter,” he started tentatively, “about a—a, um—I think you called it an anthem?”

“Okay.”

“Well ... can you tell me about it?”

“I’m sure you have one of your own, don’t you?”

He looked confused. “Our own?”

I stared at him a moment. “I guess that answers my question. We have time—would you like to hear a little story?”

“Well—”

“Sure ... I remember once when we encamped for the night and were readying for sleep, a group of soldiers were humming our anthem, My Kabeez. Well, actually that happened on most evenings, and it was a very comforting and moving experience. On this particular night, though, I was outside my tent, and my courier, who was standing beside me and listening, asked me if I thought the Far Northern Province had their anthem. You see, colonel, he and I knew how important My Kabeez was to unify the troops from all the various camps in the southern province. We became brothers under one overiding symbol. As brothers, any one of us was willing to die for any other brother.”

“I see,” he said, almost dismissively, but I wasn’t about to let the subject drop.

“You know what I told my courier, Colonel Zarbs, when he asked if I thought the Far Northern Province had an anthem?”

“No.”

“I put my hand on his shoulder and said, ‘Engel, I certainly hope they don’t.’ And I must say, Colonel Zarbs, I’m happy to hear you affirm that you don’t. It will make it much easier.”

He cleared his throat and looked out at the road to his right. My eyes focused on the shadowed valley in the pink fold of skin, glistening just above his collar, where his neck joined to his polished dome.

“Even though you don’t know him by name, Colonel Zarbs ...”

His head made several staccato moves back to face me. “Who?”

“That’s what I was going to tell you.... Engel, the one who asked me that question, was the one riding next to me during your ambush. He had it much worse than I. As a matter of fact, this may help you remember him. You said that along with our crossans, your men mercifully euthanized him—you remember—? Because of his head injury ... and because—I think the way you said it was—because you weren’t savages?”

I found myself again staring at the shadow within that pink fold of skin, between his neck and his head.

 
#     #     #

When we pulled off the road and approached the watering pond, Zarbs reached out his hand and touched his fingertips to my forearm. I must have stared at his hand curiously, because he immediately jerked it back like he’d been shocked.

“I’m sorry, General Doctrex—I didn’t mean to ...”

“What, Colonel?”

“We really aren’t ...”

“What?” I asked, impatiently. “Aren’t what?”

“Sav—" His voice caught. "—savages.”

“Colonel, we’ve got bodies to take off the wagon if you’re going to deliver me to the Almighty Glnot Rhuether before he sends out a search party.”

He sighed and stared down at his fingers crawling like pudgy worms entangled in his lap.

“Will you give your men the order to help me?” I waited, but saw he was disengaged. As an officer, I felt embarrassed for him. I put my face up into his, “Supreme Colonel Zarbs ... your men, colonel! Do you think they don’t see this—what’s going on? You’ve got to take control.”

He made a quick shake of his head, blinked at me and then straightened up. “I need six men,” he bellowed. “Off your crossans and here, now.”

“Make it nine,” I corrected.

“Nine men, then, hurry—let’s go!”

Within twenty seconds, nine men were standing beside him at the wagon in the flickering torchlight.

“You will do as the general tells you.”

“I’ll need three men to a body,” I told them. “You will very gently carry the bodies over there.” I pointed toward the pond where the reeds that lined the back of it had been set in motion by an icy breeze lifted off the flat expanse of plain behind them. A mist swirled on the pond’s surface. I climbed off the seat and hopped onto the ground.

Several soldiers got into the back of the wagon, and carefully pushing and pulling on the sheets covering each body, maneuvered them to the rear of the wagon. A pair of soldiers removed the wagon’s back panel, setting it aside, and then helped slide the covered feet off the wagon and into the waiting arms of the soldiers. As they pulled them further off, three more were there to prop up the sagging hips. Finally, the remaining three gripped them around their shoulders and chest.

“That’s good, men; be gentle with them and follow me.” I led them to a roughly rectangular area, approximately five by ten feet in diameter, at the northeast section of the pond. It was recessed about six inches, the ground spongy from years of composted vegetation. My guess was it once had been part of the pond. Thanks to a medium-sized boulder and some fairly thick vegetation crowding around it, their shallow, temporary communal grave would not likely be seen by a traveler along the road.

The soldiers laid the bodies down outside the rectangle, and while four of them went out to gather reeds and loose vegetation, the other two and I busied ourselves scooping out more of the soft soil. By the time the gatherers returned we had dug out another six inches. Very gingerly, we deposited the three bodies and covered them with the vegetation. We had to make another trip of it before there was enough to fully cover them.

At last the finishing touches were added by spreading the leaves and branches about to look more random.

I dismissed the soldiers, asking one of them to seek permission from Supreme Colonel Zarbs to have Medic Garvin come over. He needed to be aware of where the bodies lay so he could lead the Kabeezan contingent to retrieve them.

I had a hunch the request would not set too well with Zarbs, but time would tell.

While I waited, I looked down at the temporary gravesites, and then I closed my eyes and thought about these young men, none of them over twenty-five. I thought of Engel and the other casualties of the ambush who hadn’t warranted this attention. They had been disposed of probably in a manner not much different from the unceremonious way we disposed of Ziltinaur’s bag-o’-soldiers, or those who poured out of his armored belly and were summarily mowed down as they raced toward our waiting bowmen.

How many of my troops had been destroyed at the site of the ambush I had no way of knowing. Zarbs bravado at the time was no true indicator. Did his men kill them all as he boasted? Or did some of them retreat back to Giln’s troops who were several miles behind us, alerting them of the ambush?

If, or until, I knew for certain, these three: Jed, Karule and Erel, for their mix of courage, weakness and heroism, that was probably a representative mix of all the soldiers, would be buried as a symbol of all the dead unknowns.

I had said my goodbyes to Jed the night he died. To Erel I simply said to myself, “You were a hero it is my loss never to have known.” I kept my eyes closed, and for the longest time no words came for Karule. Finally, I said, under my breath, “A wiser man than I said you weren’t bad, only weak. And I suppose anyone who draws breath can be heir to that.”

Someone whispered my name. I opened my eyes and turned my head in that direction.

“Excuse me, General Doctrex,” Zarbs said, “I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

Garvin stood beside Zarbs, and watched the grass at his feet.

“Yes.” Still kneeling, I looked at first one and then the other. “I needed to show Medic Garvin where the bodies are buried so he can lead Braims Glassem here.”

“Yes?”

“Didn’t you think Garvin could have found his way over here by himself?”

“General Doctrex!”

I wished I could have called back my words. Seeing Zarbs’ body stiffen, and his face blanch, a wave of guilt washed over me. Even Zarbs didn’t deserve to be publicly embarrassed in front of one of his men. I had exploited my position of strength and I did it because—because I could! If it were anyone else, I would have immediately apologized. But it was Zarbs and I needed to keep him off balance.

“Anyway, you’re here, Medic Garvin,” I said, “and here in front of me are the graves you are to direct Braims Glassem to.”

Garvin glanced at me. “Yes, sir.”

I stood and turned toward them, brushing away clumps of mud from my knees.

Zarbs’ mouth flew open as he gaped at me. “Sir ...” he whined. “General Doctrex! Your—your—”

“My what? My knees? They’ll dry, Supreme Colonel Zarbs.” I smiled at his consternation.

“But—we’ll have to go back to the camp to clean them, sir. And we don’t have time. We are already late. What am I—” His eyes welled up.

Garvin angled his shoulders to face the pond.

“Look, Supreme Colonel Zarbs,” I said, “you have water in the wagon. I’m sure there’s a rag there somewhere. We have several hours before we get to the castle. I’ll clean off the worst of it before we get there. Okay?”

Zarbs gave me a quick couple of nods, blinking his eyes. He sniffed. “Yes, let’s do that. Shall we go?”

“Yes,” I said. “Medic Garvin, do you have the letter?”

“In my saddlebag, sir.”

“Supreme Colonel Zarbs, may I thank Medic Garvin for all the help he gave me?”

“I suppose.”

I wanted to hug Garvin the way I hugged Jed the night I gave him my blessing for leaving me as my courier and becoming an AIM. Zarbs was facing us. Was he thinking I’d whisper a covert message in Garvin’s ear? I figured he already knew what his options were once he delivered the letter to Braims Glassem. Just now, I sincerely wanted him to feel something that transcended one hand grasping another. That could only come with an embrace.

That was not to be though. I extended my hand, and he his, while Zarbs watched, blinking.

“Thank you my friend.”

“Thank you, General Doctrex, sir.”

 


Chapter 21
Manipulation of Arklyn Zarbs (Pt 1)

By Jay Squires

THE ENDING OF THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:      
       His head was bowed.
       “Listen, if you’re not going to—here ...” I whipped a rag through the air until it felt cold, then applied it to Jed’s forehead and down to his cheeks and then his neck.
       “Doctrex ... Sir ...”
       “Where is that pan? Soldier!”
       “Sir, Jed's—gone.”
       "Gone?"
       "He fought to the end, sir."
       I laid my palm on Jed's cheek. "He was a good soldier, Garvin."
       "He loved you, sir."
       I pressed my lips together tightly to keep them from trembling. A sob seemed to come from nowhere and forced them open again.
       Garvin turned, abruptly, as out of a realized breach of propriety. "I'll leave you now, sir."
       "Yes. A few minutes. Please." I followed him with my eyes until he was gone, and then I bent forward and put my brow on the damp pillow next to Jed's head. I thought of our brief time together and I wept my goodbye without reservation or shame.


BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-One
(Part 1)
 
The dawn of the second day after Jed’s death. It’s as good a day as any to be a prisoner, scheduled to be delivered to Glnot Rhuether at his Palace of Qarnolt.

Jed, as close to a son as anyone had a right to be, had been wrapped in a large sheet, clean and white at my insistence, and was now lying behind us in the bed of the wagon, alongside the other two bodies, wrapped in clean, white sheets as well.

Also at my insistence, all the bodies had been bathed, perfumed, and then dressed in immaculately cleaned uniforms, boots polished. This was especially essential for Erel Fozzen whom they had rushed to bury—I was sure to cover the brutality of their torture—and whom I had ordered to be disinterred.

Jed certainly deserved as much, and while Karule Barsach died under less-than-honorable circumstances, I knew Jed would have wanted him to also be so honored. Jed’s last words in this life were concerning Karule. “He was a weak man, not a bad man.”

I wondered who scrubbed those bodies this morning, perfumed them and then dressed them. Was it the same young lady who had offered to bathe me a few days earlier, and who, just last night, repeated the offer as she gathered up my dirty uniform and boots? She employed as much seductiveness as her pasty, squared face would allow as she cooed, “Your bath is drawn, General Doctrex.”

Though I chose to bathe myself, not since our brief stay at Camp Jerri-Fibe had my body felt so clean. That was the result of soap and hot, scented water. There was a part of me, though, that could never be scrubbed clean. One does not become so interwoven with the process of inhumanity without it sullying him beneath the surface and, over time, worming to the core.

“Well, General Doctrex,” Arklyn Zarbs, said, his knee bumping my thigh as he turned to address me. “Oh, pardon me.” I glanced down at his knee and he slid back from me on the seat.

“Yes,” I said.

“I was about to say, General Doctrex, the ... circumstances of your arrival here were unfortunate, you understand—the—the—” His eyes were bouncing all over the place as he was obviously trying to remember that exact word he had memorized and now tried to retrieve. “—the consequences of war. Much that happened, though, after you were brought into my camp I was not—party to.”

“You mean the systematic dehumanizing and murdering of my men?”

“Yes. Yes. I had no control over the manner that they—and those guilty soldiers are already being severely punished, and—”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve already explained that to your Almighty Glnot Rhuether.” He seemed to study me as I articulated Rhuether’s title.

“Well, I—”

“And I’m sure it will never cross his mind to ask me how well you treated me or,” I made a flamboyant gesture, “or these men wrapped in the sheets behind us.”

A high-pitched moan squeezed from his throat. It took him a moment to speak. “He did ask that I—that we treat you as a guest.”

I feigned surprise. “Oops! Did he expect that?”

“Oh, General Doctrex, I tried. The moment I got his letter. I tr—I tried.”

“Hmmm.”

“I did offer ...” He produced a trembly smile, "...the services of the young lady—”

“Oh, yes, to bathe me. Let me see ... one event seems to crowd into another ... Help me out. I remember asking you if I could have a bath, but for the life of me, I can’t remember if that was before or after you had one of your men prepare my sleeping chamber.”

The driver must have heard his supreme colonel’s intake of breath, for he made a jerky half-turn of his head in his direction before looking ahead.

“That was not my doing, General Doctrex." Zarbs’ voice left his throat just above a whine and the driver again made a jerk of his head, though not as prominently as before. “And remember when I told you he is in chains for what he did?”

“The bath! Now I remember. The young lady offered to help me bathe after you had me removed from my bed chamber and deposited onto a real bed."

He smiled. “But you ...”

“No, you’re right; I didn’t. There were other pressing things, Supreme Colonel Zarbs.”

“Yes ... so ...” He fell silent.

I waited, and then seeing he wasn’t going to add anything, I repeated that I couldn’t imagine the Almighty Glnot Rhuether asking how well my men (whom I indicated with another gesture) enjoyed their sojourn with him.

“You’ll remember, General Doctrex, I invited you to dine with me.”

Thinking about that invitation almost made me ill. “I was ... occupied at the time.”

He sank back against the sideboard of his corner of the seat, his jowls slack, and stared through those two feet of vacant space between me and the driver.

I thought the conversation had gone just about full circle and, as if to punctuate my notion, one of the two crossans harnessed to the wagon turned her head toward us and whinnied.

“Easy, girl,” said the driver.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Zarbs stammered, “But surely, General Doctrex, you—you’re not—we can’t take your men ... back there to the Palace.”

“Oh?” I questioned.

“Well ...”

I laughed and then immediately stopped. “No, that would be stupid, wouldn’t it, Colonel?”

His jaw rippled, and he cast a quick glance at the driver, but he didn’t say anything.

“Why would I want to take my men to the enemy’s Palace? That’s stupid. No, they belong with their own army, for a dignified burial.”

“But, we—”

“No, that would also be stupid. It would be stupid of me to expect you and your men to commit suicide. Why, you might be ambushed.” I brought my gaze full on Zarbs and studied his face. He was not the same Zarbs I saw when I drifted up out of unconsciousness. Gone was the untrimmed full beard, the color of dirty cinnamon, beneath his dead brown eyes. He still wore a beard, but it was thinned out and trimmed. It left his face thinner, at the expense of a weaker-seeming mouth and chin. Even the once plump, caterpillar-like brows suffered under the emaciation of grooming. His head was freshly shaven and polished.

“I’ve another idea, Colonel,” I said, watching him wince at not hearing the full entitlement of his rank. “It will involve a bit of a detour toward, but not all the way to the Plain of Djur. In all it shouldn’t divert your plans by more than an hour.”

“And If I were ... to refuse?” He sounded tentative, but with a hint of challenge.

“But you don’t know the idea yet, Colonel Zarbs. You see, there is a pond our troops stopped at to water our crossans on our way to your ambush. It is still some distance from the Plain of Djur. A variety of tall reeds line the back and ends of the pond. The ground is also very spongy there. Some of your soldiers would scoop out some of the soil. We would place the bodies in that space and cover them with reeds and leaves.”

I watched his expression change. “You look puzzled.”

“How will your men know?”

“Excellent question, Colonel. One of your men will take a letter I’ll have prepared, explaining where the bodies are.”

“I see,” Zarbs said, but couldn’t conceal the laughter that was on its heels. “Excuse me, General Doctrex, but I am supposed to command one of my men to—as you put it—commit certain suicide?”

“No, he should volunteer.”

“...To commit suicide?”

“I believe I know one who would volunteer, Colonel Zarbs. He is the young medic who assisted me with the treatment of ... that one on the end.” I pointed to the sheet that contained Jed.

“What makes you think he would volunteer?”

“He might not, Colonel. But I’ve thought it through, and he’s the only one I can trust to deliver the message. Look at it this way ... what would be stopping one of your messengers from going a mile or so out of our sight, perhaps reading the letter, destroying it, and then swinging back to your camp long after we’ve gone on to the Palace of Qarnolt?”

“What would be stopping Garvin from doing the same?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. But I have such faith that he will first of all volunteer and secondly, that he will complete the mission successfully—that, should he decline, I shall take my chances bringing the bodies to the Castle of Qarnolt and to the mercy of The Almighty Glnot Rhuether.”

Zarbs was silent, his eyes batting so fiercely that for a moment I thought he was having a seizure. Then they stopped and he turned them to me with a sigh.

“Colonel,” I said, “I need a sheet of paper, ink and a quill, and when it’s finished something to seal it with.”

At once his face came alive with unexpected glee. “To be sure. I have just the thing, General Doctrex. I always have it with me. I would be honored to have you use it.” From under the seat, he brought out a carved, yellow and tan box, and held it in his lap, caressing the smooth sides of it, before holding it out to me as carefully as a mother would transfer her infant to the waiting arms of another. His eyes went from the box to me and then back to the box which I held in my lap. “It was given to me by the Almighty Master himself, in recognition of my promotion to Supreme Colonel.” He was having difficulty controlling the emotion that accompanied his recall.

“This should do, Colonel.” I examined the box. It was hinged on one side and clasped on the other. I released the clasp and opened it. There were slotted compartments, one perfectly sized to hold three jars of ink, and a long thin compartment with quills stacked one atop the other. Wedged into the upper right-hand corner was a perhaps two-inch square container with a hinged-lidded top that begged my curiosity, as well as Zarbs urging smile, to be lifted. I did. Inside was an approximately one-inch-tall stack of gilded and embossed stamps of some variety. I sensed Zarbs wanted to linger there a while, so I closed the lid and examined the sheets of paper that snugged into the central compartment. In lavish scroll the top sheet announced “Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs."

“This just won’t do," I told him. "I need plain, not personalized paper.”

“Oh,” he said. “To be sure ... toward the bottom are the blank sheets I use if I am writing a two or more page letter.” Still he was unable, just for an instant, to conceal his disappointment that I found anything in the box that left me unimpressed.

I fanned through the sheets until I found one that was plain, pulled it out, and then removed a quill and the ink jar, setting them between us on the seat. With the top closed it made a perfect surface on which to write. “It won’t take me long to finish this, Colonel. If you’ll send someone to get Garvin, I’ll make the proposal to him. If he refuses, we’ll always have plan b to fall back on.”

“You mean ...?”

I nodded, and the color left his face.

“Oh, but I think he can be persuaded, General Doctrex,” and following a wry grin he added, “and as his supreme colonel ...”

“I’d rather we don’t resort to that. I’ll just talk to the lad ... and let it just be a yes or a no.”

His mouth gaped open.

I laid the sheet atop the box I held in my lap and removed the stopper from the ink bottle. “If you will send for Medic Garvin ...”

As I started the letter, he dispatched one of his men to go back inside the cave and bring Garvin to us.
 

 

Author Notes CHARACTERS AND TERMINOLOGY

GENERAL DOCTREX: Protagonist, General and Leader of Kabeezan Army.
MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Doctrex's Chief Medic. Headstrong.
SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: He and his men are reason for Doctrex's mission to rescue them.
CAMP JERRI FIBE: The Last Kabeezan outpost. Center for training & weapons.
CROSSAN: Equivalent of a horse
RAIN SPIRIT II: Doctrex's crossan
PLAIN OF DJUR: Where All Kabeezan Armies were to reconnoiter before final attack on Glnot Rhuether.
GLNOT RHUETHER: Master Magician who intends to conquer Kabeez
PALACE OF QARNOLT: Where Glnot Rhuether lives with his aleged bride-to-be Axtilla, who is Doctrex's love.
PROFUE BROTHERS: Knew Doctrex before he was General. His closest "brothers" in army.
GILN PROFUE: The oldest Profue Brother (Lieutenant)
SHELECK PROFUE: The youngest Profue Brother (adjutant Lieutenant)
ZURN PROFUE: Adopted brother to Profues. Mentally challenged.
POMNOT: A huge beast (Rhuether's expendable Killing machine)
POMNOT (2ND MEANING): To Kabeezans the equivalent of the bogeyman, threats of whom parents used to use to discipline children
AXTILLA: Doctrex's love, who is Rhuether's prisoner, and alegedly his bride-to-be.
GOTZEL: One of the soldiers who, along with medic Braims, heard voices (Rhuether possessed.)
ENGLE: Doctrex's courier after his first courier became an AIM: Advanced Intelligence Men, who were trained to do surveillance and espionage work for the Kabeezan army.
LESN: One of the officers of the Kabeezan Army who, when possessed by Rhuether, performed impossible feats of strength. Committed suicide when lover, Morz, died.
MORZ: former officer, Lesn's lover, died when he exploded.
PHANTOM BIRDS: Gigantic "Magical" Birds that dropped fire eggs on the troops.
ARZ MAKEL:An AIM (Advance Intelligence Man) who died while spying and whose head was "magically" in the talons of one of the phantom birds.
STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: The first of the Kabeezan Army to lead his troops to the Plain of Dzur.
JED: Doctrex's original courier, who later got permission from him to become an AIM.
KARULE BARSACH: Expert and co-inventor of the automatic crossbow, is allowed in front ranks with Doctrex.
EREL FOZZEN: The torchbearer of the ambushed troops, later tortured died a hero.
SUPREME COLONEL ARKLYN ZARBS: Commander of one of Glnot Rhuether's outposts, and Doctrex's captor.
GARVIN: Medic under Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs. Tries with Doctrex to minister to Jed.
PAPPERING: An automatic translation system occurring in this dimension. Only some words resist being translated.


Chapter 21
Ex-General Doctrex (Part 2)

By Jay Squires

THE LAST SECTION FROM PART 1:
          I fanned through the sheets until I found one that was plain, pulled it out, and then removed a quill and the ink jar, setting them between us on the seat. With the top closed it made a perfect surface on which to write. “It won’t take me long to finish this, Colonel. If you’ll send someone to get Garvin, I’ll make the proposal to him. If he refuses, we’ll always have plan b to fall back on.”
          “You mean ...?”
          I nodded, and the color left his face.
          “Oh, but I think he can be persuaded, General Doctrex,” and following a wry grin he added, “and as his supreme colonel ...”
          “I’d rather we don’t resort to that. I’ll just talk to the lad ... and let it just be a yes or a no.”
          His mouth gaped open.
          I laid the sheet atop the box I held in my lap and removed the stopper from the ink bottle. “If you will send for Medic Garvin ...”
          As I started the letter, he dispatched one of his men to go back inside the cave and bring Garvin to us.

BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-one
(Part 2)

 
Thinking of Garvin, I smiled as I wrote at the top of the sheet, “To: Braims Glassem,” and beneath it, “From: General Doctrex.”

I rolled the quill between my thumb and forefinger, and out of the corner of my eye watched Zarbs doing his best to look inconspicuous—if not a trifle bored—in the midst of his surveillance. I cleared my throat, and reached for the ink jar. I brought it and an extra quill to the seat on the other side of me, and then I turned even more obliquely away from him so my left thigh was pressed against the edge of the seat.

“Oh, I didn’t—” he started and then faded.

“Yeah ...” I said. "You didn't."

“Dear Braims,” I wrote. Pondering what I wanted to say, I scratched a spot under my lower lip with my thumbnail, and stared out past a clump of brush to miles of grey, smoky plains. I wanted to introduce Garvin to him but subtly enough that when Zarbs read the letter—and I knew it would be pushing my luck not to let him read it—suspicions wouldn’t be aroused.

I pictured Garvin in front of Braims' tent, bending from his saddle, his arm stretched down, the letter clutched in his fingertips. Braims would take it, study his name on the seal for a brief but troubled moment. Even before opening it, he would probably give the messenger another cursory appraisal, his incisive mind racing. He would break the seal, open the letter and begin reading, looking up from it, from time to time. More than anything, I was certain in the moments after the intent of the letter sank in, and his eyes raised and found Garvin’s, there would be something silently affirming going out between them in that singular instant their eyes would lock on each other's.

There was really nothing I could tell Braims, in the letter, about Garvin.

During the two days that Garvin and I had shared that room, we were bonded by a single need, which was to nurse Jed to health, but on the day he had introduced the narcotic to Jed’s unguent, allowing him the blessing of sleep, we permitted ourselves the luxury of relaxing and over a very short time got to know each other.  Sitting on the floor, our backs against the uneven surface of the farthest wall from the door, we still spoke in hushed voices.

I found Garvin's curiosity and enthusiasm to be unbridled. He seemed inordinately interested in the military life in the southern provinces, particularly the role of the medic. When I told him how much he reminded me of our medic, Braims Glassem, I couldn't help but notice a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. His eyes grew large as I told him some of the stories about Braims. Garvin’s appetite for detail-atop-detail was staggering.

He nodded solemnly when I told him, in a voice just above a whisper, that the medical profession transcended warring factions, power and territorial domination—that he and Braims and the rest of the medics were in the honorable business of saving lives, not taking them.

“If our situations were different,” I went on, “I’d have been honored to have had you, alongside Braims, as our troops’ medic. And ...” I added, studying him closely, “I know Braims would have been thrilled with you as his partner.” I read in his expression that he was touched, almost to the point of tears, by my words.

Encouraged by his openness, I decided to probe (whether it was my subconscious mind guiding me or a healthy dose of serendipity), for little tidbits from his personal life. I wondered now if I was being directed to prepare for today's opportunity.

Garvin, I discovered, was not married, had no family. He never knew his father. His mother raised him as an only child until she died a year before. He was alone, without relatives, but too old to require care or supervision.

It was because of his rootlessness that he volunteered for service in the army, knowing—if the word on the streets was correct—he would be conscripted soon anyway, along with all other young and able men.

As I formulated my letter, scraps of my conversation with Garvin wafted in and out of my mind. I stopped several times, with quill poised above the sheet. Yes, this could work.

I dipped the nib in the ink jar, tapped off the excess. If he seizes the opportunityif he wants it to workit will work. If he doesn’t, then at least the bodies will be retrieved, and he will return to his camp after a successful mission. And I'll know I gave him a chance. I brought the nib to the paper, aware of Zarbs’ wandering eyes, and kept my shoulder in his line of vision.

Dear Braims:

You will find the bodies of three soldiers, wrapped individually in sheets, and buried under reeds and leaves in the north-eastern section, by the shore of the watering pond. The messenger will guide you there. I have verified they are wearing their identification tags on chains around their necks, but inside their uniforms.

Please see to it that the men are buried in the manner worthy of the Kabeezan Military. Speaking only with knowledge about my courier, Jed, whose body is one of the three, the singing of My Kabeez would be a lovely tribute to his memory. I’m sure the spirits of the other two, Karule Barsach and Erel Fozzen, would find it an equal honor to be remembered by the singing of our anthem.

The messenger delivering this missive to you is the medic who cared for Jed during his final hours. I know you will treat him with the dignity and respect he deserves, now and after he leads you back to the bodies.

I have one final request (though I expect you to regard it with all the seriousness of my final order to you). I am a prisoner of the Far Northern Province military. As such, I am fortunate to have been conferred the respect befitting of my rank. They will not harm me unless you are foolhardy and attempt to intercept my transport to Glnot Rhuether. That is my order to you. Do not make such an attempt.

May it be perfectly clear to you that the above is my last order as General of the Kabeezan Military. At this reading, my rank is retired and the next in the chain of command will lead the troops for the remainder of your mission.

Be brave.

Your enduring brother,

Doctrex.
 
I replaced the stopper in the ink jar, laid the quill beside it and presented a stoic face to Zarbs.

“You are finished, sir?”

“I am, Supreme Colonel Zarbs.”

“I suppose you would expect I’ll need to read it.”

“Oh?”

“Well ... yes, I really must, General Doctrex.”

I held it out to him. “Don’t smear the ink, colonel.”

“We could blot it.”

“Or you could just be careful.”

He held the page gingerly by the edges, his eyes stopping immediately at the address and salutation, then jerking along each line. It was interesting to see the places his eyes lingered longer than at others. I anticipated, while making note of this, what he felt was important. When he got to the bottom, I asked if he had any questions.

“Thank you,” he said, with a weak smile. “Well ... well, it was good that you understand we are treating you with the respect afforded your rank.”

“Colonel,” I said, fixing my unblinking eyes on his, “I lied. Okay? Any other questions before Medic Garvin gets here?” I knew he had been employing every method he could imagine to ingratiate me, so my words deflated him. I waited for him to recover. It took a moment.

“Yes, General Doctrex ... well ... at the top, you prepared this letter to be read by—” he read from it— “Braims Glassem. Not being, um, critical, sir, but you didn’t include his rank.”

I knew if he didn’t mention it here, he would when it was folded over and sealed with Braims Glassem on the outside. I took on a look of amused bewilderment. “Braims, colonel! Braims. The rank just below general. Braims Glassem.” I chuckled and shook my head.

“My apology, sir. I’d never heard of that rank.”

“So, if that’s all, we can seal it.” I reached out my hand.

“Well, I was wondering, sir ... you did use a lot of space explaining how to treat the messenger. What if, after all this, he decides against it?”

“I sincerely hope he doesn’t, Colonel. But, it could happen, I suppose. If it does, like I said, I would just have to take the bodies with me to appeal to the Almighty Master Glnot Rhuether’s humanity. You know,” I added, as though I had a flash of insight, “that might be best anyway. It would certainly be the quickest way.”

“Sometimes there—there are more important things than quick,” he stammered. “They should be buried among their fellow countrymen. I’m sure Medic Garvin will—” He looked away from me and at the cave entrance. Then, he smiled, happy, I was sure, because the conversation had been momentarily deflected, “... And there they are, General Doctrex!” He pointed toward Garvin and the soldier who had retrieved him, coming up the ramp leading from the cave. The soldier was talking to him; Garvin appeared bewildered, or perhaps just concerned, but facing straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to what the soldier was saying.

Zarbs caught Garvin’s eye and motioned him over. The soldier returned to his crossan.

Garvin saluted. “Yes, sir, Supreme Colonel Zarbs. You called for me, sir.”

“Yes, General Doctrex has a proposition for you. He suggested it to me and I authorized it, if you are agreeable to it.”

Garvin glanced at me and then at Zarbs before bringing it back to me. “A proposition, sir?”

I called him around to my side of the wagon. I told him where we were going to deposit the bodies, but that the Kabeezan army needed to be notified so they could retrieve them. When I finished, he again let his eyes drift to Zarbs who was brushing some lint off the leg of his uniform and didn’t look up.

“So if I may ask, General Doctrex,” he said, bringing his gaze back to me, “what is the proposition?”

“We need you to take the message to Braims Glassem, Medic Garvin.”

“To Braims Glassem, sir?”

“Braims is his commanding rank,” Zarbs interrupted, evidently proud of his new knowledge.

Garvin turned a bare flicker of a smile my way but it vanished when he came upon the stoniness of my expression.

“Will you remember the rank and name, Garvin—the name of Braims Glassem?”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Can you repeat it?”

“Braims Glassem, sir.”

“Will you do this?”

“Am I likely to be killed, sir?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to volunteer if I thought you’d be killed.” This was met with silence, so I added, “Do you believe me, Garvin?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good!” Zarbs jumped in to say. “Then it’s settled. Is there anything special he needs to take? Just his weapons?”

“No, Supreme Colonel Zarbs. No weapons.” I turned back to Garvin. “You need to wear your medic uniform with the insignia on it.”

“It has a red ‘M’ on the front and on the sleeve.” Garvin said.

“Yes, I know,” I told him, though I had forgotten the details. I remembered an important  part of my military education at Camp Kabeez concerned the ‘unwritten law’ on the neutrality of the medic. “Your uniform will be your ticket to safety, Garvin. There is a deep brotherhood among medics of the armies of all the provinces.”

“Yes ... Well,” said Zarbs, “while you go get your uniform on, I’ll have your crossan saddled and ready. We really must hurry. Excuse me, General ...” He spun away from us on his seat and held up his index finger, “Soldier!  Yes, you—come here.”

While he was thus occupied, I leaned over and whispered to Garvin, “Braims will take care of you ... if you choose to stay. Tell him I suggested it.”

Garvin pulled back and his eyes whipped immediately to Zarbs, who was still finishing up with the soldier; he turned back to me and nodded, mouthing his “Thank you.”
 

 


Chapter 22
Creatures on the Ceiling

By Jay Squires

DOCTREX'S JOURNEY RECOMMENCES


THE FINAL FEW PARAGRAPHS FROM LAST CHAPTER

 
          The hand I pressed against my ribcage was wet. I held it in front of me. The blood trailed from my palm down my wrist, into the sleeve of my jacket.
          This was not a new experience to me.
          Zarbs gasped and slid away from me on the seat. “Sir,” he cried, “your uniform—it’s all bloody! Oh, Almighty—”
Despite the scorching pain, I think I giggled at his misplaced priority, and then I crumpled and scraped my back down the seat on my way to the floorboard. Anything else he said was garbled, and I felt like I was lying in the basement and aware of the muffled voices on the level above me.
          Soon even that awareness dissolved.

 

BOOK III

Chapter Twenty-Two

(Part 1)


 
 
The conflagration on my right side dragged me to my back on the floorboard and rendered me distantly aware of a blurred Zarbs, sliding away from me, crablike, across the seat and up against the sideboard. At the second onslaught of searing pain, I scrunched my eyes and blotted out Zarbs with the rest of the visible world; through the blazing miasma, I could still hear him, from some faraway place, jabbering unintelligible syllables, though the word “uniform” loosed from the verbal tangle.

And then a cottony lull fell over me. I waited, my eyes clamped shut. I knew it would return, furiously and without warning, and I wasn’t sure I could endure it. I was panting. My mouth was open, my throat raw.

“Here ...”

While I tried to figure out what “here” meant, cold liquid stabbed the back of my tongue. I swallowed reflexively, gagged, and swallowed again. I was about to reel off a spate of invective against Zarbs when something slammed like a torch against my ribcage.

An exhale seemed to go on and on, until, like a window forcibly closed against the storm—it was over.

 
The presence that most recently had been the general, and before that Viktor, was now encapsulated in a mere floating fragment of self-awareness that could only watch from above.

That awareness knew, though, with profound desolation, the body of the general was dead.

So, this was how it ended for him. How sad. How stupidly wasteful it had all been. No final heroic battle against Glnot Rhuether. No embrace with his Axtilla—no last kiss.

From my station somewhere above, I watched his body being elevated from the wagon and swept along above the plains loosely cocooned in a white, whirling mist of the most serene variety. He immediately yielded to the envelopment of peace. The mist wrapped him in its wispy shroud as he continued to be wafted high above the plains where the wagon was the tiniest of dots on the brown ribbon of road.

Still observing, but connected as by an invisible cord of awareness, I watched the fine lines of sadness and worry being smoothed away, and an incredible tranquility settle over him, onto him, into him.

 
No! No! This cannot be. How can I be this awareness, separate from his body? How can I be aware of his comfort and peace and tranquility and still be an entity apart from him? I am not separate. I am Doctrex. Wherever I am, I am not dead.

I would provide the general’s body and myself the proof of it.

With an incredible act of will, I forced open the general’s eyes.

“Ah ... There you are. So the pain is gone?”

Tired-looking, veiny eyes, not three inches from the general’s—from mine—squinted now, studying, moving side to side across my face. “Dilated, yes. Excellent.”

Clearly, I was not on the floorboard of the wagon. Who was this person? His breath was not unpleasant. Some kind of mint. “Where is ...” I began, and pushed through a curtain of fog for chunks of words. “Colonel ...Supreme Colonel ...?”

He straightened up, grimaced, and turned slightly. While his breath had been minty, mine was apparently another matter. I sensed this. The social part of me struggled with the need to apologize, but another part became occupied trying to recall the missing part of the question I remembered being in the middle of asking.

As though I were releasing my grasp on a vanishing dream, I tried to hold onto the notion there had been something of vague importance I was supposed to remember. Thus unmindful, and mentally free-floating, I found my eyes grazing through the space that had been occupied by the doctor’s face one elastic moment or hour ago. Through a glittery, sparkly mist, the domed ceiling was squirming above me, undulating with a whole society of creatures that I couldn’t blink away.

I pulled an arm from under the sheet, never taking my eyes from the ceiling, and raised my index finger.

The doctor followed my finger with his head and eyes. “Yes. Creatures of the realm. Before the Almighty Master subdued and banished—”

“They’re—moving.” My arm, with its pointing finger, seemed to float away from me, toward the ceiling.

“Yes ... It’s the light, you see ...” He made a sweeping gesture to the right where at least the three torches I could see were inclined out of their sconces at about a thirty degree angle toward the ceiling. “... and another four over there on the far wall. The light can catch the carved figures just so ... that, and the effects of your eyes being dilated—yes I can see where you might ...”

I shook my head and tried a smile. “No. These are moving.” I withdrew my other arm from under the sheet and wormed the fingers of both hands together in a tangle.

He watched me, grinning and bobbing his head. “It’ll look different when you wake up.”

“No, look! There.” I floated an index finger to the right. “And there ...”

Though the creatures were without prey, they were incipiently violent, their eyes gigantic, roaming, searching; their mouths, which were enormously elastic, elongated their jaws when open. When closed, blood smirched their lips and pooled in the corners of their mouths; wounds might have been self-inflicted, brought about by slamming their mouths against their preternaturally large and incredibly sharp-looking teeth.

“You should bring your arm down now, sir. You might make your injury worse.”

I didn’t notice the hand he placed on my arm until I stopped looking at the ceiling long enough to see him guide my arm to the bed.

“Perhaps if you close your eyes, sir.”

But I couldn’t keep my eyes off them. Their population seemed to be growing. There must have been thousands. Some had their wings spread, but because of the sheer numbers, most were forced to tuck their wings to their sides; still, some were open, unfurled behind them, segmented and joined at each peak by needle-sharp spikes. The winged creatures were stirring up a memory in me. But what?

Most were monkey-faced, but in a hideous, frightful way, with pointy ears and fiercely snapping jaws. Unmistakably, there were Pomnots among them, with their dead eyes. I counted three, no four, toad or frog-like creatures, clearly in the minority, wary and with smaller eyes, but more bulbous, always jerking left and right. And serpents, tongues darting, wound in and out between the creatures, glistening onyx and amber, the colors shimmering together and separating as they slithered. All the creatures, along with the snakes, were in continual micro movement, as though they were uncomfortable in their tight environment.

“You’ll feel better if you close your eyes, sir.”

“Why?” There was more I wanted to say, to let him know there would be no feeling better with those creatures wriggling and writhing above my head; they were waiting for me to sleep. They wanted me. The moment I drifted off, the winged ones would soar down, take me away in their claws like before—like—something about a head, a severed head! And with that, the memory flooded me. The giant birds that attacked our camp, dropping fireballs. And one of the birds carried in its talons the head of our missing Advance Intelligence Man, Arz Makel.

But those were phantoms; as frightening as they were at the time, they were magical phantasms, the product of Glnot Rhuether. The creatures above me, though ...

All I could manage as I turned my head to him was, “Why?” I couldn’t even be sure what prompted my question.

“Because it’s the narcotic, sir.” His eyes drifted to the ceiling. “Those aren’t—”

“Narcotic?” I repeated it louder than I intended, and the word echoed back to me.

“A narcotic, sir, for the pain. It—”

“The root?The words didn’t come out right. I wanted to tell the doctor that Garvin gave Jed the root, but instead my mind was fretting over the correct positioning of my tongue and lips when I enunciated those words. I repeated them under my breath, but it wasn’t getting any better.

“The root, you say? Well, yes, but rendered down, distilled. You coughed so violently after I administered it, I was afraid you hadn’t swallowed any.”

“Because ... I wasn’t ...” I forgot how I was going to end the sentence.

He waited. Seeing I wasn’t going to finish, he smiled. “Ah, yes. You weren’t expecting it? See, you had just gone through one bout of pain, sir; I hoped to give you the narcotic before the next. I failed.”

I blinked at him. My eyes wanted to stay closed. I dared not sleep. Jed. The coma Garvin feared. No, I had to stay awake.

“Fine. It’s working. You should sleep soon.” He started to turn.

“But you didn’t ...” I exhaled my frustration; “I asked you ...”

He turned back. “I beg your pardon, sir?” He smiled. His eyes carried a gentle kindness.

“I said ...” I stared at him with no thought coming.

He waited a moment longer, smiled again, and told me he would be back after I slept.

His footsteps crossed the room and the door clicked shut. I opened my eyes. I didn’t remember closing them. Zarbs. That was it. Something about ...
 

 


Chapter 22
Percy: The Spindly legged Savior

By Jay Squires

PREVIOUSLY:
 
Doctrex has been delivered by his captor, Zarbs, to the Palace of Qarnolt. He is unconscious owing to a horrendous wound on his ribcage. He awakes to a doctor examining him and telling him he had been given a narcotic for the pain. Doctrex recalls how he and the medic Garvin had tried to keep Jed from slipping into a coma after being given a narcotic for pain. Panicky that he might suffer the same fate, he resolves to stay awake. Meanwhile, he is horrified by creatures, moving, crawling, on the ceiling. The doctor tells him they are carved there, but the narcotic and the torchlight throwing shadows on the ceiling is causing him to imagine their danger to him. Doctrex wants to ask about Zarbs, but he can’t seem to articulate it.
 
The Final Paragraphs of Part I
 
          “The root?The words didn’t come out right. I wanted to tell the doctor that Garvin gave Jed the root, but instead my mind was fretting over the correct positioning of my tongue and lips when I enunciated those words. I repeated them under my breath, but it wasn’t getting any better.
          “The root, you say? Well, yes, but rendered down, distilled. You coughed so violently after I administered it, I was afraid you hadn’t swallowed any.”
          “Because ... I wasn’t ...” I forgot how I was going to end the sentence.
          He waited. Seeing I wasn’t going to finish, he smiled. “Ah, yes. You weren’t expecting it? See, you had just gone through one bout of pain, sir; I hoped to give you the narcotic before the next. I failed.”
          I blinked at him. My eyes wanted to stay closed. I dared not sleep. Jed. The coma Garvin feared. No, I had to stay awake.
          “Fine. It’s working. You should sleep soon.” He started to turn.
          “But you didn’t ...” I exhaled my frustration; “I asked you ...”
          He turned back. “I beg your pardon, sir?” He smiled. His eyes carried a gentle kindness.
          “I said ...” I stared at him with no thought coming.
          He waited a moment longer, smiled again, and told me he would be back after I slept.
          His footsteps crossed the room and the door clicked shut. I opened my eyes. I didn’t remember closing them. Zarbs. That was it. Something about ...

 

BOOK III

Chapter 22

(Part 2)
 
I didn’t realize I’d drifted until, by swatting an annoying tickle on my chin, I found myself staring through a haze of confusion at the sheet tenting my toes. Coming from somewhere, a hand—it turned out to be my own—brushed over a new tickle on my nose, but by then a buzzing attacked my ear. Through a kind of detached awareness, I felt my left shoulder twitch up to confront it, and the buzzing stopped. I shook my head against the threat of a force behind my eyes, drawing me back to the strangely inviting cocoon in which I wanted more than anything to curl up.
 
I sucked in as much oxygen as the tight binding around my ribcage would allow, and let out the spent breath.
 
Just then, I noticed a fly on the sheet just below my navel, peering up at me. I puzzled over it. This was unlike any fly I’d ever seen—twice, three times the size. I locked my heavy-lidded eyes on this portly pest, as I fought against the slumber that was trying to reclaim me. I chastised myself for having already drifted. I blinked. My eyes were slow to open, and I had to refocus. Could this fly be my unlikely hero? Sleep was not a good thing.
 
Also, I dared not raise my eyes to the ceiling. They were up there. The doctor even acknowledged their existence. But smiling at my anguish, he denied the ferocious movement I saw. It was the torchlight playing on their surfaces, he told me ... that and the effect of the narcotic on my judgment. That was what caused the movement. I'd see the truth of it when I woke up.
 
Ha! When I woke up! I was right back at the first problem. The narcotic would keep me forever asleep. I would not even be aware of the creatures ripping me to pieces.
 
At this point there was nothing better to concentrate on than this fly.
 
It was now sauntering toward my face on four spindly, multiple-jointed legs, two on a side, and two stubby ones angling out from either side of what must have been his neck. Those two would be the explorer legs. Sure, they tested the terrain, left and right, giving the all-clear to the four behind. At this moment, all six were progressing toward my face.
 
It settled for a time at my sternum—I supposed to assess its options. Gingerly, I brought my chin down and craned my neck just short of cramping so I could more closely watch it. I’d have sworn it rose up on its back four legs to get a better look. I squinted to keep it in sharper focus. While it rubbed its front legs together in what was probably a thinking mechanism, it allowed me time to study those enormous disc-like eyes. The glassy surface shimmered between black and green, reminding me of an oil slick on a puddle. Meanwhile, the lenses rotated on hidden axes in continuation of its vigilance, surely to decide whether to alert the wings to escape or to communicate to the back legs the decision to continue their trek toward its target’s head.
 
Its image kept fuzzing out. I blinked a few times and squinted again, to help bring a tighter focus.
 
Keep observing ....
 
What originally resembled an oil slick, now refined itself to green clouds floating across the surface of an ink-black sky. I was reminded of the Rorschach test. Good, thought ... My other-life-Viktor knew all about the Rorschach test. Before he executed his backwards one-and-a-half off the bridge to splash on the boulders, Viktor knew what all the Rorschach symbols meant. No matter the chimera, or the skeptics among his peers who disavowed the possibility of meaning, Viktor knew the symbols had their exact counterpart in reality. The shadow was always connected to the shadow-caster. Viktor had mastered the hidden meaning of them all—used them to heal.
 
I began to mold recognizable shapes from the green clouds as they swirled, billowed, thinned and thickened on the fly’s giant lenses.
 
I dared not move my body, or even breathe deeply for fear the critter might lift off the sheet. Without having the fly to concentrate on, I was certain to slip into the eternal oblivion.
 
Garvin’s words rolled through my mind as on a reel, “We must keep Jed awake. If we let him fall asleep, he won’t wake up.” The narcotic was to relieve Jed’s pain. The doctor gave me the same narcotic for my pain ....
 
My eyelids were leaden curtains.
 
Exercise. Exercise will help. Forcing my eyes open, I stretched the muscles around them so much I thought my cheeks would split. Then I slammed the lids shut, and behind them I rolled my eyeballs in their sockets before I blasted my eyes open again.
 
I refocused on the fly which had lowered his lazy lenses fully on me now, and appeared to be amused by my entertainment. The four legs continued forward, hopping down a ridge and into a fold of sheet; for a moment it disappeared, then scaled the incline closer to me and perched on that white ridge. The entire movement brought it about an inch closer to my face.
 
It trained its lenses on me in a challenging way. The black-sky surface mirrored back the double-reflection of a drawn, weary, stubbly-cheeked face, staring back with a bewildered look. I continued to stare at it wondrously, until with a tossing back of its little head, my reflection slid off the lenses.
 
Why did he throw his head back?
 
And why am I questioning the motives of a fly? I smiled at the thought. The truth was ... I found myself growing fond of this fly.
 
With incredible concentration, I whispered what I considered a joke over thickened tongue and through lips that felt like stacked pillows, “If we ... share thith bed ... needth intro-duth ... I’m Doc-treth.”
 
I was exhausted from the effort. I waited for what must have been a full minute. “Well?”
 
Whether it was my imagination or random coincidence, I’d have sworn he cocked his head.
 
“Lovely eyth, um ... Perthy.” I smiled. “Perthy? That ... okay?”
 
I watched an idiot grin on his lenses. They twitched in their sockets, briefly scattering my reflection before it reformed, then slanted up and away from me.
 
I forced myself to study the clouds again on his upturned lenses while I fought another wave of demon-sleep sliding in behind my eyes. The clouds gathered, pooled into puffy clumps of varying sizes, squeezed together as tightly as grapes on a vine.
 
“Got to keep me awake, Perthy, my handthome Perthy,” I murmured through a grin, as I isolated a mountain from the clouds, and watched it slowly elongate, flatten out and the end of it break off, and curl up to become a kitten. Beside it another kitten took form, or puppy. No, not a puppy—a full grown dog—or a wolf. Massive now. Without a sound it reared his head back and went through the miming of a snarl. I feared for the kitten, but when I glanced back at it, it was no longer a kitten. A frog squatted there instead, staring back—and the clouds were no longer needed as a medium for my imagination. A sudden, full-blown realization squeezed the air from my lungs. Percy’s lenses were reflecting the creature-crawling ceiling back to me.
 
I brought my gaze to the sheet beyond him, keeping my eyes off his lenses while a cold, gray melancholy washed over me. Percy had violated me. Even while thinking it, the emotionality of my thoughts troubled me, but I couldn’t seem to abstract myself from its flow. I still had enough rational mind left to tell myself it wasn’t really Percy. He was just a stupid fly, but that didn’t keep me from silently asking Percy, “Why do you want me to look at all those creatures, Percy? Why? You know they’re waiting for me to sleep “
 
I blinked away tears I couldn’t control, tears that were an acute embarrassment to me; moreover, I didn’t want Percy to notice them. I blinked again and reluctantly looked back at him.
 
I bristled! Obviously, Percy didn’t care for my feelings. In fact, at this moment Percy was performing a victory dance on the sheet just inches from my face. Indeed, of all his six feet, no two touched the sheet at the same time—a marvel!—and his filament-thin, jointed legs quivered with jubilation.
 
What’s happening to me? I’m General Doctrex. I’m fighting the effects of a narcotic. It’s got me talking to a fly. Naming it. Befriending it. Allowing it to wound me. Then, feeling betrayed at its dance.
 
My heart pounded in my chest. Would Viktor have diagnosed it as narco-psychosis?
 
I couldn’t let fear overtake my imagination. Think! Think! The creatures’ movement on the lenses was natural. My imagination had created them from the clouds and they had to move because I knew, logically, that movement was the nature of clouds. Clouds move.
 
Besides, there was more, and it left me with a feeling of calm. As long as I had Percy here, I wasn’t looking directly at the ceiling. Monsters on a theater screen can’t hurt you. Dread still prevented my looking up. These phantasms were on the surface of Percy’s lenses. As long as they remained on the lenses they couldn’t harm me. Could they? The illogic of the argument aggravated me, but I couldn’t let go of it. I wasn’t prepared just yet to surrender my reasoning mind to these same creatures who threatened me when the doctor was here.
 
As though hearing my thoughts—realizing break-time was over and it was time to get back to work—Percy lowered his lenses to me. I saw myself slip into view, half-closed eyes, head bobbing, but forcing myself to keep my eyes open against the chemical forces. Percy looked up and gave me the briefest of views again of the drama those clouds and my imagination had conspired to conceive, before bringing it back down to me. It kept its lenses on my face for just an instant, and then raised them again. I watched the clouds some more, and the creatures fashioned from them, who couldn’t harm me. I even recognized a warm comfort in this, snuggling my consciousness up against the clouds like they were cuddly, familiar blankets ....
 
I jerked open my eyes.
 
My breath raged against my heartbeat. I had let sleep ravage me again. For an indeterminate period, thought had been blotted out and I had been absorbed by the puffy slumbering clouds, themselves, not by the imagined creatures those clouds produced on Percy’s lenses.
 
So add one more enemy to do battle against—the narcoleptic clouds.
 
All my enemies were gathered on one plane, attacking me from different flanks. The moment I had one under control, another would attack. I can’t ... Narcotic sleep was their commanding general. He was aloof, patient, waiting, letting his capable warriors do the work.
 
His warriors were the creatures on the ceiling who were waiting to attack me directly as soon as I acknowledged them, or after I surrendered to their commander.
 
The only one with me to face the enemy was Percy, sweet Percy, my guide, my ... my spy ... or, wait! Was Percy the enemy’s spy? I chose him. I played right into his hands. Examine the evidence: he continually taunted me with the reflected images of the creatures, teasing me into recognizing them, then pulled his lenses back on me so I could gawk at my horror-filled face! It was so easy when you considered the evidence dispassionately Yes, you Percy! Your dance, when I first saw the many faces of my enemy. Why wouldn’t you dance? They were your brothers-in-arms, pasted on your lenses—you couldn’t contain your joy, could you? Oh how you danced!
 
A melody recklessly played through my mind. I hummed. Words followed:
 
                                                Oh how you danced
                                                On the night we were wed ....
 
Why? What’s happening to me? I’m General Doctrex. I lead the mighty Kabeez army. I am not the narcotic. I must be rational. Keep thinking ...
 
If Percy was, indeed, the enemy’s third flank, then once he realized I was using his lenses as a buffer between me and the General’s soldiers, and that I refused to look up from the lenses at the creatures directly—damn you Percy!you allowed the fourth flank, the clouds floating across your lenses, to seduce my embattled imagination into surrender.
 
I suddenly felt the full, massive weight of entrapment settling over me. I breathed dry, hot air, rapid and feathery; my heart raced. I would not yield to the enemy’s general. I would die before I surrendered.
 
“I ... too ... am a general.” I said, loudly and with conviction—amazed that my words didn’t make it to my throat. Still, I was adamant in my resolve. I could no longer shift back and forth in my allegiance.
 
Gathering every bit of courage I could muster, I threw my head back, fixed my eyes on the ceiling, and felt my breath leave me; when it returned it was tugging a gasp that sent Percy circling above, before he dropped back to me, as on a piece of decaying carrion.


          TO BE CONTINUED ...


Chapter 22
Traitorous Percy's Thready Contrail

By Jay Squires

                PREVIOUSLY:
Doctrex has been delivered by his captor, Zarbs, to the Palace of Qarnolt. He is unconscious owing to a horrendous wound on his ribcage. He awakes to a doctor examining him and telling him he had been given a narcotic for the pain. Doctrex recalls how he and the medic Garvin had tried to keep Jed from slipping into a coma after being given a narcotic for pain. Panicky that he might suffer the same fate, he resolves to stay awake. Meanwhile, he is horrified by creatures, moving, crawling, on the ceiling. The doctor tells him they are carved there, but the narcotic and the torchlight throwing shadows on the ceiling is causing him to imagine their danger to him. Doctrex wants to ask about Zarbs, but he can’t seem to articulate it.

Frantic to stay awake, horrified of looking at the creatures on the ceiling, Doctrex is convinced are waiting for him to sleep so they can devour him, He accepts the possibility that he is losing his mind. In order to stay awake, he puts all his concentration on an odd-looking, overlarge fly on the sheet. Becoming fond of the fly, he names him Percy. Then, he discovers Percy, who seems to be trying to lure him into looking at the ceiling, might be of the enemy camp. Feeling betrayed, and with no way out of his dilemma, in a final act of courage he flings his head back and stares up at the ceiling.

                                             
                                                               The Final Paragraphs of Part 2

          A melody recklessly played through my mind. I hummed. Words followed:
                                                Oh how you danced
                                                On the night we were wed ....
         Why? What’s happening to me? I’m General Doctrex. I lead the mighty Kabeez army. I am not the narcotic. I must be rational. Keep thinking ...
         If Percy was, indeed, the enemy’s third flank, then once he realized I was using his lenses as a buffer between me and the General’s soldiers, and that I refused to look up from the lenses at the creatures directly—damn you Percy!you allowed the fourth flank, the clouds floating across your lenses, to seduce my embattled imagination into surrender.
          I suddenly felt the full, massive weight of entrapment settling over me. I breathed dry, hot air, rapid and feathery; my heart raced. I would not yield to the enemy’s general. I would die before I surrendered.
         “I ... too ... am a general.” I said, loudly and with conviction—amazed that my words didn’t make it to my throat. Still, I was adamant in my resolve. I could no longer shift back and forth in my allegiance.
         Gathering every bit of courage I could muster, I threw my head back, fixed my eyes on the ceiling, and felt my breath leave me; when it returned it was tugging a gasp that sent Percy circling above, before he dropped back to me, as on a piece of decaying carrion.

 
BOOK III

Chapter 22

(Part 3)


 
Unblinking, I gaped. The domed ceiling was crammed with all the creatures I had first seen when the doctor was in my room, and just a moment ago on Percy’s lenses. Beyond doubt, my imagination had created the movement. I felt the urge to laugh and cry. The doctor was right. These creatures had been chiseled out of the surface of the domed ceiling. That and nothing more. The torchlight ignited the peaks and sent the shadows flowing through the valleys of the carvings.
 
The six torches angled out from each of the three walls I could see, and I was sure from the unseen wall behind me, they cast their light upwards to the ceiling, sending out fingers of flickering light that played with the shadows between the heads, wings and claws, and seemed to bring the creatures to life. As I watched, the spread wings did seem to waver, and uncannily, the serpent appeared to be making incremental progress toward the frog, whose eye, at that instant, seemed—rather, light and shadow conspired to make him seem—to blink.
 
Imagination. It was all illusory. Percy was once again vindicated. I smiled down at him. You merely tried to get me to see what was there. You knew only that would set me free. Surveying the truth of it, giddiness bubbled up in me. I resisted the urge to laugh outright, fearing Percy would lift off my chest in search of other challenges. I kept my grin on him. He was on his back four legs again, but now he raised his stubby front legs straight up on either side of his head, pumping first one and then the other, like a prizefighter. Was he celebrating? I winked at him. Of course! You should celebrate, Percy. That means you were on my side after all; you fulfilled your mission by forcing me to overcome my fear of the creatures. Dance on my loyal soldier.
 
I glanced back to reaffirm my courage. The creatures were still undulating their stony and benign ferocity through shadow and light. But now I watched them without dread. By isolating one creature from the others, I could see it transmogrify before my eyes while I maintained emotional distance from it.
 
So now, only the enemy General waited for me. But thanks to Percy, I could now gaze upon the creatures with equanimity. I could study each in detail. And my study of them would keep me from surrendering to the General’s charm. Make no mistake, the General was charming—charming and patient. But now his soldiers had come over to my side.
 
I started a slow and deliberate study of the ones that had been the most frightful before. I saw how the artist had inset gems into the sockets of the monkey-faced, bat-winged demon. Catching the torchlight, they glowed like coals. Added to them were the flickering shadows that mimicked a breeze, producing an eerie fluttering of the wings. Especially when one was as susceptible as I.
 
How odd that among all the creatures a bullfrog would occupy such a prominent position. Almost as comic relief, his mouth had been carved into a perennial grin, the meaty lips stretched slightly opened as they curved around either side of his head. Shadow and light played on the thin space between his lips. Eyes sat on twin mounds atop his head. In slits between sleepy eye lids, every bit as heavy-looking as mine felt, two obsidian eyes seemed to peer down at me.
 
Next I followed, with the dispassion of a scientist, the apparent progress of one of the many vipers resident on this ceiling. The artist had frozen this one’s movement diagonally down and across the generous belly of the bullfrog. My study of the viper was briefly distracted by another glimpse of the bullfrog’s eyes blinking shut and instantly popping back open. Mine shot up to meet his. They stared back, black and empty.
 
Simple Illusion ... Smiling, I pulled my attention back to the viper. His trail took him just below the bullfrog’s wide, spatulate mouth and the sagging sack of a throat beneath. The viper seemed to shimmer between flickering light and roving shadow. No wonder I so readily believed, when I was under the full effects of the narcotic, that the viper and all the other demons were a threat to me. From where I lay, only one of his gold-bejeweled eyes was visible to me, so intent did he seem to be on his prey somewhere on the other side of the bullfrog. But oh, how that one eye glittered in its bath of torchlight!
 
My attention drifted back to the bullfrog’s eyes. I kept staring at them, waiting for the elements of light and shadow to combine in the right order to simulate the blink I’d seen twice earlier. As my gaze held to those almost liquid, black orbs between the slits, a part of me noticed my breathing had slowed and softened. I gulped in some air and turned away before I could be sucked into a trance, not unlike the one caused by the clouds on Percy’s lenses.
 
This was good. I was learning my limits. Too much focus could be detrimental. I was feeling better about myself. Slowly, I was regaining control of Doctrex. During that ineffably deep sadness of a few moments ago, I thought, along with the loss of Percy’s allegiance, I had irretrievably lost Doctrex, too.
 
Perhaps the narcotic was wearing off after all. I was beginning to see myself with more clarity and reason.
 
Percy—I’m sure feeling isolated from my conversation with myself—hopped up on my chin, then to my nose. His breath gently riffled my lashes. Crossing my eyes was the only way I could see what was still a blurry double version of him. Was he trying to tell me something? “Perthy?” I felt a tickle of his feet on my chin and finally brought him into focus on the sheet in the vicinity of my chest. Tucking my chin into the center of my clavicle put me within three inches of him. “Perthy?” I questioned, again.
 
He brought his stubby front legs to either side of his little fly face and waggled his head, side-to-side, then stopped as though to study me.
 
What was that? Was he mocking me? I arched my eyebrows. “What?”
 
He hesitated a moment, brought both front legs together on one side of his face, then angled his face down to them. The surface of his lenses slipped down to his chin, and on their descent turned sullen-gray and non-reflective.
 
“What? Thleep?” I managed to get out. I stared at him, open-mouthed. “Oh, Perthy ...” I felt ill. This was final, irrefutable proof he was in the enemy camp after all. Nothing he could do would win back his allegiance.

A rage erupted from a place within me that was black, hot and thick.
 
“Nooooooooo!” I shrieked, and it echoed on in my ears long after he leaped, straight up, about four feet from the sheet, spiraled there, then zipped down to alight at knee-level. I brought my arm out from under the sheet and in one movement whipped it in an arc to within a fraction of an inch over his body.
 
“Go!” I shouted, and he shot up even higher than before and traced a wider spiral. I thought he was gone for good, until he made a pass so close to my face I heard and felt the movement of his wings, and then he glided down to a spot on the sheet near my chest. He crouched on his back four feet and stared at me.
 
“Go,” I said again, but I was exhausted from my effort, and there was no volume to my voice. My arm lay outside the sheet, but it could easily have been someone else’s. At first, I didn’t bother to lift it because I was sure it wouldn’t obey my command. But now would have been such a good time to swat Percy. It took all my concentration just to start by moving my fingers. I took a few short preparatory breaths the way Klipal Lesn did before hoisting the boulder over his head. My arm seemed to lift itself off the sheet, but before I could swat Percy it collapsed back to my side. When I saw that Percy seemed to cock his head and stare at me, I was infuriated. I tried again. My arm seemed to drift a foot above the sheet, then crash back like a fallen tree. Percy continued to stare at me, but his lenses went to a gray, flat surface as he brought his head and his eyes to his chest.
 
“Go, Perthy,” I said, knowing I was dipping deep into my energy reserves to voice it. “Get off me, traitor! I don’t want you.” I barely managed to emphasize the words with a shake of my head. He slowly raised his lenses to me and I saw my cold, loveless eyes reflected there.
 
As much as my reason raged against him, I experienced a sharp lance of isolation and loss the instant he lifted off my chest. Veering off to my right, he hovered about ten feet to the side of my bed. “Go,” I mouthed. He raised higher, banked back toward the bed and proceeded to make lazy circles around me, about midway from the ceiling. Trying to ignore him as he completed circuit after languorous circuit, I stared through his orbit at the mystery of the torchlight feathering the ridges and then getting swallowed up in the valleys of the carvings on the ceiling, creating the creatures’ subtle, macabre dance. Just now, the bullfrog’s glinting black eyes seem to slide slowly back and forth between the lids, but then ceased their movement the moment I focused directly on them.
 
I brought myself back to Percy’s orbit. Evidently, easy to forgive my outburst against him, this joyful aviator buzzed his rotation around my bed. Keeping my head still, I followed him with my eyes, one circuit, two circuits, three .... I lifted my head a little and blinked. It couldn’t be! It had to be my imagination. Extruded from somewhere behind his whirring wings was—could it be?— a contrail like a jet would leave behind, but thinner, like a thread.
 
He tightened up his revolutions over my bed, now, but their velocity was increasing, and the contrail didn’t dissipate as a jet’s would. The threads remained and he travelled at such a dizzying speed I couldn’t keep my eyes on him. I noticed, only from the configuration of the threads, that he had altered his odd circumgyration. The threads crisscrossed each other, forming a kind of webbing or a net.
 
I knew, now, what he was doing. It was his final act of aggression, and I was powerless to thwart it. I watched as he made one final circuit, performed a feat of aerial acrobatics, which I figured as his final coup de grace, and shot straight up toward the ceiling. As the net drifted toward me, but before it enwrapped me like a warm fog, I thought what I glimpsed through the tiny holes in the webbing was a pink lightning bolt of a tongue flick down from the ceiling and gather Percy to be with his brethren.
 
                       TO BE CONTINUED ...
 


Chapter 23
Could This Be Magic?

By Jay Squires

The Final Paragraphs of Cha. 22:
 
          As much as my reason raged against him, I experienced a sharp lance of isolation and loss the instant he lifted off my chest. Veering off to my right, he hovered about ten feet to the side of my bed. “Go,” I mouthed. He raised higher, banked back toward the bed and proceeded to make lazy circles around me, about midway from the ceiling. Trying to ignore him as he completed circuit after languorous circuit, I stared through his orbit at the mystery of the torchlight feathering the ridges and then getting swallowed up in the valleys of the carvings on the ceiling, creating the creatures’ subtle, macabre dance. Just now, the bullfrog’s glinting black eyes seem to slide slowly back and forth between the lids, but then ceased their movement the moment I focused directly on them.
           I brought myself back to Percy’s orbit. Evidently, easy to forgive my outburst against him, this joyful aviator buzzed his rotation around my bed. Keeping my head still, I followed him with my eyes, one circuit, two circuits, three .... I lifted my head a little and blinked. It couldn’t be! It had to be my imagination. Extruded from somewhere behind his whirring wings was—could it be?— a contrail like a jet would leave behind, but thinner, like a thread.
          He tightened up his revolutions over my bed, now, but their velocity was increasing, and the contrail didn’t dissipate as a jet’s would. The threads remained and he travelled at such a dizzying speed I couldn’t keep my eyes on him. I noticed, only from the configuration of the threads, that he had altered his odd circumgyration. The threads crisscrossed each other, forming a kind of webbing or a net.
          I knew, now, what he was doing. It was his final act of aggression, and I was powerless to thwart it. I watched as he made one final circuit, performed a feat of aerial acrobatics, which I figured as his final coup de grace, and shot straight up toward the ceiling. As the net drifted toward me, but before it enwrapped me like a warm fog, I thought what I glimpsed through the tiny holes in the webbing was a pink lightning bolt of a tongue flick down from the ceiling and gather Percy to be with his brethren.

BOOK III

CHAPTER 23

(Part 1)


 
“Did you s-s-s-s-s—” A phosphorescent, liquid sizzle sloshed out to the margins and into the corners of everything ... and as quickly evaporated, leaving a scorching pain. “General Doctrex?”
 
I opened one eye a crack. A huge pair of eyes, an inch away, stared into it. I recognized them and opened the other.
 
“You—I didn’t ...”
 
“Didn’t hear me? I asked you if you slept well.”
 
“My head.” I closed my eyes again.
 
“The residual effect of the narcotic.”
 
“Given ... for the pain ...?” One half of my mouth stretched to an attempted grin. Out came a dry, “eh-eh ...”
 
The doctor chuckled. “Ironic, yes. The pain will pass. Good that you have your humor, sir.” He gave my shoulder a little squeeze as he rounded the back of the bed to my left side.
 
The sheet folded back off my chest and stomach.
 
“No, no, you can keep your eyes closed. I just need to remove the bandages from this side so I won’t reinjure your wound. Who’s Perthy?”
 
“Percy?” I was surprised, for just a moment, at how effortlessly the syllables slid through my lips, but that was eclipsed by his question’s content.
 
“Or maybe it was Percy. You were having a lively convers—well, your side of the conversation was lively anyway.” He chuckled again.
 
“Just before you woke me?” The pressure around the left side of my ribcage lessened as he snipped.
 
He stopped to ask, “Before I woke you? Oh, my, no. This was days ago.”
 
My eyes opened. He was looking up, touching each of four fingers of one hand with the tip of the closed scissors held in the other. “Three—four—no, five days ago. I forgot I had a day’s leave away from the palace. Five days. Yes.”
 
“How long have I been asleep?”
 
He was back snipping again. “Five days, sir,” he said, not looking up. “This was not long after I left you ... when you were ... well the narcotic was doing things to your eyes.”
 
“No, no, but that can’t—” I let out a series of staccato laughs that startled me. “That just can’t ...”
 
“Well, let me see ....” The doctor made the last clip, and I felt an immediate loosening around my ribs. I might have sighed from the relief of it because he smiled at me as he straightened up, tapping the scissors into his palm. “Five days. I remember the first—”
 
“No. I mean, it wasn’t right after you left me. I was awake then.”
 
He cleared his throat and smiled. He seemed not to want to rile me. “I remember, sir, I left the room because ... well, because I felt my presence might add too much stimulation with my explaining—you know, the carvings on the ceiling. So I left, figuring if you didn’t have the added stimulation, the narcotic would take over. I went to my office. I heated that morning’s coffee and drank it. That took about fifteen or twenty minutes. I returned to the door of your room, opened it a crack, and observed you for several minutes. Confident you were under, I came into the room and over to you.” He put the scissors in his pocket and glanced down at the separated ends of the bandage.
 
“And?”
 
“Well, you were under. Quite deeply under. I lifted your arm and dropped it. No response. I did it again. Nothing.”
 
“Except it started me talking.”
 
“Oh, Perthy—Percy. Yes. Seeing you were comfortable and resting well, I decided to leave. I believe I was almost to the door when I first heard you. I returned to the bed.”
 
I shook my head. I simply couldn’t have dreamed the whole thing. Why would my mind develop this elaborate life and death drama about staying awake if I was already asleep? It took a tremendous amount of energy to stave off sleep. Before Percy began his final flight, he sat on my chest. All I wanted to do was swat him, but I couldn’t even lift my ...
 
I smiled up at the doctor.
 
“You seemed angry at him—this Percy.” I knew it gnawed at his curiosity. “You told him to go.”
 
“Hmmm.”
 
“Twice. The first time, which was why I came back. And then the second time, when ...” He coughed, and beneath his cheekbones, twin patches pinkened.
 
I knew what he had trouble articulating, but my mind needed to hear its confirmation. “When what?”
 
“Well, sir, I—I think you called him a traitor. If I heard you right. Something about not needing him.”
 
I gave him a cursory nod, and smiled. “That’s interesting, doctor. A traitor.” I nodded some more. “But you know how dreams are.”
 
“Yes, they can be bizarre. And how is your head, sir?"
 
“The pain? Not as bad. Still there.”
 
“It will pass.”
 
I knew he still had questions. But I had no reason to give him answers. I found answers to my own questions. From the moment a fly first buzzed my nose and my ear before landing on the sheet, and during the entire time I befriended and dubbed him Percy ... counted him as my savior, and then my betrayer, and finally the most despised traitor who bound me over to the enemy general of eternal sleep, I discovered not much more time passed than what it took for the doctor to drink a cup of coffee.
 
Most importantly, I learned that in the final tally, none of it meant anything at all. I gained nothing by the twenty-minute matinee in my mind. It was all a monumental waste of my time. The narcotic was stronger than my will to resist it.
 
The doctor bunched together the top cut of the bandage and piled it on my chest, moved behind me again and stood on my right side facing the mound of gauze. “I’ll try to be gentle, sir, but your wound is quite large. You may feel some pain as I pull it back from where it’s adhered to the wound. Shall we give it a go?”
 
“I think I’m ready.”
 
He glanced down at the bandage still covering my ribs on that side. “Although ... there’s no indication it even seeped through. That’s odd.” He shot me a quick glance. “Here goes, sir ...”
 
I watched him keenly. If I had to brace for the pain, I wanted to know precisely when. He lifted the pile off my chest and set it on the bed by my hips, careful not to put any tension on the gauze that might tug against the wound. Before he could even turn to the bandage covering my ribs, it simply fell away. From my angle I couldn’t see my ribs, but I got a clear look at the doctor’s reaction.
 
He stumbled back a few steps and threw his hand to his mouth. “No! No, sir, I can’t ...” After that, he seemed struck dumb, simply shook his head, staring straight ahead at it. “Unless ...” he muttered.
 
I continued to study him, as a smile twitched one corner of his mouth, then vanished.

“Unless?”
 
He blinked and stepped back to the bed. Bending close to my ribs, he stretched the skin between both hands. I knew he heard me. I knew he hoped I wouldn’t press for an answer.
 
“Unless it was magic, doctor?”
 
He appeared, or pretended, not to hear me. “I was going to apply more unguent and re-bandage and hope after another week with no infection—well ...” He looked at me with a kind of helpless expression.
 
“So, where’re the bandages and the unguent?”
 
The coloring on his cheeks went beyond pink to crimson. “Sir ... You don’t understand. You probably can’t see it, but there’s no wound to bandage. There’s not even a scar. The area’s not even pink.”
 
“But that’s impossible!” I said, feigning confusion. “Nothing can heal that fast. Can it, doctor?”
 
“Well ...”
 
“Un—less.” I drew it out into two syllables. “Magic could speed up the process a little, couldn’t it?”
 
He stood up straight. “The important thing is, general,” he said in a stiffly formal manner, and then, adjusting his demeanor, changed to a smiling, jaunty tone, “You are completely healed.”
 
I smiled at him.
 
“And there is someone who’s been quite anxious to visit with you.”
 
When he said this, the vision of my Axtilla so possessed my mind that the rest of his words seemed to come from another world.
 
“I shall let him know you are recovered.”

                                  TO BE CONTINUED

 


Chapter 24
Mystery Visitor & the Timid Tailor

By Jay Squires

IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU BEGIN THE CHAPTER.
           You’ll note the character list in the Author Notes.
           This is a different kind of character list. The main attributes of the character in question are all in caps. Below it, in lower case, is a little of the history of the character along with important interrelationships. I would urge anyone who hasn’t been a follower of The Trining from the beginning, to scan over the full history to get a feeling for what the present chapter grew from. It might be a good review for even the seasoned Trining reader.
           One final thing: because Author Notes would not let me use apostrophes or quote marks without getting weird symols, I had to use convoluted sentence structure. Please don't tell me it sounds funny. It just hurts my feelings.
        

 
             The Final Paragraphs of Cha. 23:
 
           “Unless it was magic, doctor?”
           He appeared, or pretended, not to hear me. “I was going to apply more unguent and re-bandage and hope after another week with no infection—well ...” He looked at me with a kind of helpless expression.
           “So, where’re the bandages and the unguent?”
          The coloring on his cheeks went beyond pink to crimson. “Sir ... You don’t understand. You probably can’t see it, but there’s no wound to bandage. There’s not even a scar. The area’s not even pink.”
           “But that’s impossible!” I said, feigning confusion. “Nothing can heal that fast. Can it, doctor?”
           “Well ...”
           “Un—less.” I drew it out into two syllables. “Magic could speed up the process a little, couldn’t it?”
           He stood up straight. “The important thing is, general,” he said in a stiffly formal manner, and then, adjusting his demeanor, changed to a smiling, jaunty tone, “You are completely healed.”
           I smiled at him.
           “And there is someone who’s been quite anxious to visit with you.”
           When he said this, the vision of my
Axtilla so possessed my mind that the rest of his words seemed to come from another world.
           “I shall let him know you are recovered.”


 

BOOK III

Chapter 24

 
 
 The doctor left hours ago.
 
While I waited for the promised visitor, I kept my eyes closed, studying the sounds of my environment, locating directionally the occasional pop and sizzle of the torches, hearing the slide of the sheet over my knee and thigh when I lifted one leg and laid it atop the other, the difference in the sound and direction of the air going into and out of my nostrils.
 
The cumulative effects of the last five days had taken their toll on my rootedness. Deep down, I felt disengaged, rudderless and adrift, at the mercy of shifting winds and change of current on my inner life. Most was probably the physical aftereffects of the narcotic. Time would take care of that. My headache still lingered. The doctor enjoyed telling me that would pass.
 
On the outside, things seemed just a little out-of sync, blurred, but not visually. All of my senses were out of balance. I felt like I’d lost my edge.
 
I needed to be in top form for my encounter with Glnot Rhuether.
 
The moment the doctor left, I sat up in bed and surveyed the room. I figured it made good sense to get my visual bearings first. The only door in the room was in the wall to my right, at the rear, where the back wall joined it. About two-thirds the distance between my bed and the back wall, a small, plain-looking round table sat, with three chairs pushed in. That was the only furniture. Highly glossed black tile covered the floor. There were no carpets. Six sconces angled out of each wall. The torches were lit in all but the back wall, leaving much of the rear in shadow, including the table.
 
Now and again, I closed my eyes briefly, and tested myself on the nuances of what I remembered seeing. How far did the shadow extend beyond the table? Was it shifting, or more constant? Then I opened my eyes to check.
 
Of the sconces that held the torches on the wall to my right, what was the patterning of the leather? I considered the torches themselves. Angled out about thirty degrees from the wall, the six of them about three feet apart, threw off a lot of light. I kept my eyes closed in concentration. In addition to hearing the torches, and being aware of a yellowing flicker through my eyelids, could I actually distinguish their warmth on my face?
 
I was still focusing on this when the door clicked and opened. I directed my attention to that, but felt no urgency to open my eyes yet.
 
The door closed, but there were no immediate footsteps. I doubted the doctor would return again, but if he did I could single him out without looking. I had noted when he left the last time, his footsteps had a distinctive tap and then a shuffle produced by his left foot, which he tended to slide a few inches before it lifted.
 
I waited, listening acutely. Might he still be standing just inside the closed door?
 
Just then, a chair scraped behind me. The room had something of an echo, owing to the lack of furniture or floor covering to absorb the sound, so I should have heard the footsteps to the table.
 
“Are you awake?” The timbre was pitched deeper than the doctor’s voice.
 
After a moment, I said, “I am.”
 
“The tailor will bring in your cleaned uniform and undergarments shortly. At that time he will take measurements for more suitable clothing.”
 
He paused at that point as though waiting for me to respond. But so far he hadn’t asked a question, and I had no certainty of his identity.
 
“I shall return ... shortly ... thereafter.”
 
After a full half-minute of silence, curiosity bested my prudence. “For what reason?”

The voice came now from the door. “I need no reason.”
 
The door opened. I reached the count of seven before it closed.
 
#
 
This time, there was a soft rapping on the door. I turned to it. “Yes?”
 
General Doctrex? May I come in, sir?” His voice seemed as soft as the sound his knuckles made on the door.
 
“Yes.”

The door opened enough for a head and one shoulder to poke through as cautiously as a ground squirrel who risks only the tip of its twitching nose from the hole before exposing his eyes, ears and the rest of his body to who knows what dangers.
 
“Come in,” I said.
 
He sidled the rest of his thin frame through the door, which he then closed, and stood facing me, acting not quite sure what he should do. He held a wrapped bundle under his right arm. Even from this distance, and his being in shadow, I recognized a crisply pressed white uniform, one piece, the legs of which extended down to the tops of his highly polished shoes. The uniform was belted around the waist, the buckle perfectly placed in the middle. He wore his insignia of rank
a yellow cloth measuring tape hanging around his neck, equidistant on either side to mid shin. Suddenly, he bent from the waist so far the tape ends fell to two piles on the floor
 
After an awkward several seconds in that posture, he craned his neck to peer at me through a fallen shock of hair.
 
“Please, please,” I urged him, “come in; come over.”
 
He straightened, adjusting the bundle, and then brushed back the errant strands of blond hair with his free hand. Tall, gangly, his stride was uneven, lacking confidence. I guessed he was in his mid to late twenties.
 
“General Doctrex, sir,” he said, his voice quavery. “If you will, sir, I have your uniform in this package, along with your boots, freshly polished.” He stopped beside the bed, brought the package out in front of him, and cast his glance around as for a place to set it. “If you have no objection, sir, once you put on your uniform, I need—I have been instructed to—to take your measurements so I can make you other clothing to wear.”
 
“You’re the tailor?”
 
“Yes, sir.”
 
I propped myself up, then scooted back to a sitting position. “I’m sure the uniform will do nicely, thank you. You can set the package here.” I patted a space I’d cleared on the bed.

He set the package down, but his expression indicated something troubled him. “You see ... I need to take your measurements, sir.” Then he laughed, suddenly, in an odd, chittering sort of way. “It will take only a few moments. I’m told I make quite handsome clothing.”
 
“I’m sure, but I can’t imagine needing anything other—”
 
He let out a low whistle, and his eyes darted about, just above my head, but never lighting on mine.
 
“I—I need to, sir.”
 
“But why?”
 
“I was instructed to measure you, sir, so I could make you some clothes.”
 
I smiled and kept my voice steady and low. “That’s what you said, but who instructed you?”
 
He brought his eyes briefly to mine, and just before they skittered away, I thought I recognized panic that was very near tears. “The Almighty—Master, himself,” he muttered, just above a whisper.
 
“I see.”
 
“Shall I step outside while you change, sir?”
 
I stared at him a moment longer, then smiled. “No, that shouldn’t be necessary.” I pulled the sheet away from my legs and swung them over the side of the bed. The young man retreated a few steps, averting his eyes. “If I could have you open the package for me while I get the blood flowing to my legs.”
 
“Certainly, sir.” He retrieved a pair of scissors from a slot on the side of his belt I hadn’t noticed before. A slot next to it contained something else, perhaps a marking device. He set to work clipping the cords that bound the package.
 
While he unwrapped the package, I tugged the hem of my skirt over my knees and waited for the feeling to completely return to my calves and feet. I’d never imagined a hospital skirt before, but I knew a traditional gown would have been unwieldy when the bandages covering my ribs and chest needed changing.
 
“Will you need some help standing, sir?” he asked, turning from the package, the trousers draped over his forearm and the folded underwear resting on the palm of his other hand, the way a tray would balance on a waiter's palm.
 
“No, I think I have my legs now.” I extended my feet to the floor and tested my weight on them. I plucked my underwear from his palm and he turned away from me. I pulled up my underwear and then removed the skirt over it. “Now, if I might have the uniform bottoms?” While still facing away from me, he swung his arm around with the trousers hanging over either side. I took them from his arm, put in one leg and then the other, tugged them over my hips and buttoned them. I let him know I’d finished.
 
He turned to face me. “Now, sir, if you don’t mind ...”
 
“I’ve nothing better to do, but I can’t help wondering why you couldn’t have simply taken the measurements off the uniform? You could’ve had the clothing made by now.”
 
“Uniforms are not tailored, sir,” he was quick to respond.
 
I admired this young man’s pride in his work. “Let’s do it then. Do I need the shirt on?”
 
He told me the measurement would be better with it off, and then blushed crimson when I asked him if I’d slipped on my trousers too quickly.
 
Not wanting to interrupt his concentration, I didn’t speak while he stretched the tape across the broad of my back, the length of each arm, snugged it around my waist and then my chest. After each measurement he entered some numbers in a tablet retrieved from and then replaced to his vest pocket.
 
“Your right arm is a third-inch shorter than your left, sir.”
 
“A concern?”
 
“Not to me, sir—not for making your clothing.”
 
“Well?” I smiled, letting him see an expression of confusion.
 
“Just a point of interest, sir.” The smile he returned was cautious, twitching briefly before his expression switched back to a more business-like demeanor. He stretched out a few inches of measuring tape like a tiny bridge between the fingers of each hand and appeared to study it intently.
 
“So ... just a curiosity?”
 
“Oh, no, sir! I would never ...” He swallowed so hard it choked him and started a fit of coughing.

I reached around his shoulder and patted his back. “Are you okay?”
 
His cough settled down, but between labored breathing, he managed to croak out, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean anything—”
 
“Of course you didn’t! I knew you figured the fact would be interesting, and thought I would nod, or something, and we’d go on with the measuring. I knew—”
 
“I shouldn’t have, though ...”
 
“Well, sure you should have. I shouldn’t have gone on teasing you when I knew it made you uncomfortable.”
 
“No, but sir!”
 
“No, but nothing!—You listen to me!” I announced it firmly, but not loudly, put my hands on his shoulders and locked my eyes on his. His body trembled beneath my hands. I took a deep breath, and smiled. “You’re afraid this is going to get back to Glnot Rhuether.”
 
At the mention of the name, his eyes seemed to double in size and the color left his face. Without any words leaving his lips, he mouthed, “Almighty Mas—”
 
“Listen.  Nothing that goes on here will leave this room.  You understand?”
 
He brought his head down and then up one time, very slowly, not taking his eyes off me.
 
I pulled my hands away and stepped back, waiting for the color to return. “Do you know who I am?”
 
“General Doctrex, sir.”
 
“And do you know why I am here?”
 
His mouth clamped shut.
 
“Nothing leaves this room.” I said this gently, without smiling, making sure I didn’t blink until he spoke.
 
“You are a guest, sir ... of Almighty Master.”
 
“You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”
 
“Sir ...” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “I am late with my measurements.” He opened his eyes, but avoided mine.
 
“I understand.”


                     TO BE CONTINUED ...
 
 
 

Author Notes CHARACTER LIST
[LISTED ONLY AS PRESENTED]

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She is convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (the brother of Rhuether), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. The god of Axtilla is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred Tablets of Kyre, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. Once accomplished, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams. So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and, alone, she finds her way to the palace of Rhuether. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the beginning of the book, Axtilla discovers him on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, brother of Glnot Rhuether, returned from the sea to fulfill the prophesy of Kyre, and bring about the dreaded Trining. Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an X in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He is astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor X. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex. She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy. But they get separated. Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether. Meanwhile, Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle the forces of Rhuether. Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.
GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be the destruction of Rhuether at the hands of Axtilla and the brother of Rhuether, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, (who Axtilla believes is Pondria), is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about the destruction of Rhuether.
ALMIGHTY MASTER: The name by which the subjects of Glnot Rhuether refer to him. To call him by any other name would be considered disrespectful and subject to severe punishment.
PALACE OF QARNOLT: The residence of Glnot Rhuether, the focus of the Kabeezan Army attack against Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.


Chapter 25
Eclipse of the Silver-Caned Rhuether

By Jay Squires

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID CHARACTERS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE

ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,462


BOOK III

Chapter 25

(Part 4)


FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          “I imagine it’s quite an honor to work here.”
          “Yes, sir, it is.”
          “I’m just curious, Corl; as busy as you must be, you’d almost have to live here at the palace, instead of in the village.”
          He got up and brushed off his knee, then reached back down for the package. He started to set it on the bed, but stopped. “May I, sir?”
           “Of course,” I said, then continued my other line of inquiry. “Yes ... because otherwise you’d have to work all day, and then go all the way to the village and incidentally, how far is it from here?”
          He didn’t answer, but occupied himself removing the shoes from their wrapper, which he folded and creased, and then placed the shoes side-by side on the floor. They were black, and every bit as glistening as his own.
          “Sir, if I may, I should be getting back so I can complete your jacket.” He reached back for the larger wrapper my garments were in, folded it in fourths, added it to the other wrapper, and tucked both under his arm. “Unless, of course, you have more you need me to do.”
          I told him I didn’t.
          One last smile, and he turned and made his way briskly to the door.

 
 I put on the new stockings and slipped on the gleaming black shoes, feeling every bit the well-dressed prisoner, though this prisoner needed a bath. I’d have to bring the absence of a bathing facility in the lavatory to Rhuether’s attention, there being only a toilet and a sink. Just a few minutes ago I lathered up my face and upper body, rinsed as well as I could, and dried myself. Okay for now, but I needed a real bath. Yet it would be unprisonerlike, if not imprudent, to wander about the palace looking for a place to bathe, without addressing the matter to Rhuether.
 
Finally having the torches lit on the wall near the door pleased me, though how it came about seemed bizarre.
 
Shortly after Corl left, three men entered, each bearing two unlit torches. I watched from the table in the shadows as they inserted all but one into the sconces.
 
Ceremoniously, two of the men stood at attention, backs against the wall, as the third, holding the remaining torch diagonally across his torso, marched stiffly to the nearest flaming torch. When he arrived, he brought down his lead foot so forcefully against the tile that the sound echoed off all four walls, and he followed with his other foot striking the floor beside it. He raised the torch with a slow, sacramental dignity, staring up at the fire, as if in awe, waited for the transfer of flame, then brought the torch slowly back. He held it angled away from his body, spun on his heel, and reversed his direction to the wall where his partners stood.
 
They continued to stare straight ahead as he passed them. He stopped at the first sconce in the same foot-stomping manner as before, raised his torch with somber majesty until the contacted end flared, and he brought his torch back down to the starting position. He performed the same ritual for the remaining four torches, finally stopping at the empty sconce. I expected something of a dramatic climax, though he did raise it high overhead, which he hadn’t done for the other five, and after a moment he lowered it down and slid it into its sconce. He then marched to his men and spun around to face them. No words were said, but after making a half-pivot, he led them—their steps striking the floor in perfect left-right unison—to, and through, the door.
 
I felt the urge to applaud, or yell “bravo!”, but knew neither was appropriate.
 
#
 
I sat at the table and waited. Within an hour, the door flew open and rebounded off the wall. An enormous soldier crammed the entrance. His scowl was not the worst feature in a face that was gouged with pocks and scars, and heralded a broken and off-center nose. The top of his shiny, bald head bore a decisive one-inch-wide crease, slanted diagonally, right to left. As I watched him occupying his space, his shoulders and chest barely contained within his military blouse, his feet braced against the door frame, shoulders nearly touching each side, I was sure whoever delivered that blow to his head did not survive to boast about it. The crossbow he held in his right hand looked like a child’s toy.
 
He lolled his head and eyes toward me. A tell-tale squint registered for a fraction of a second, until he brought me into focus. Poor eyesight. I made mental note of it.
 
Then, as though homing in on the fact I offered no perceived threat, his voice came bellowing out as from the back of a cavern. “The Almighty Master ...”
 
I’m sure he recognized my confusion because he gave his head a jerk and screamed it out again, “The Almighty Master!”
 
I knew I should probably stand.
 
He entered the room and then side-stepped to his left.
 
Rhuether, who had been eclipsed by the soldier’s mass, replaced him in the doorway, leaning against a silver cane. He looked rakish in white, both his trousers and military blouse. A brilliant emerald-green scarf encircled his neck and was tucked into the front of his blouse, which was opened at the top button. My eyes traveled from the silver in his cane to the silver of his eyes. As he entered, the cane-tip clicked against the tile floor.
 
The soldier glanced anxiously at Rhuether.
 
“That is all, Captain.”
 
“Yes, Almighty Master.” He moved back through the doorway with surprising agility, pulling the door closed with a studied click.
 
Rhuether stared at me a moment showing little expression, jerked his head to the left, sniffed, and then brought his attention back to me. “Your torches,” he said.
 
“Thank you.” I resisted the urge to add—remembering his parting words to me last time—“Does this mean I’m staying?” I remained his prisoner, regardless of how dapper he had me dressed. He didn’t have a reputation for stability, so I needed to guard my words.
 
Still, I couldn’t help wonder why he was acting so strangely. The blustery announcement of his presence by a soldier that might well have been cross-bred with a Pomnot. Was it to frighten me? Yet that flew in the face of his earlier concern that his subjects treat me with courtesy and respect.
 
I gave him my best smile.
 
He acknowledged my appreciation with a solemn nod.
 
“It ... it was quite a ceremony,” I said.
 
“Ah. Yes. Of course, it’s all ceremony, isn’t it?” I was apparently not quick enough to conceal my reaction, and his lips offered an odd twitch of a smile that vanished beneath his moustache. “It’s an example of peace-time discipline I require of my soldiers, each group in its appropriate way.”
 
“I see. So the ceremony today was performed by your Army’s torchbearers?”
 
He eased himself into a chair, one hand gripping his cane, the other pressing down on the table top. He groaned the moment his weight transferred to the chair. “Don’t you—rather, didn’t you—discipline your soldiers during times they weren’t in battle, so they’d be in top form, and eager, when a battle arose?” Without a pause to allow me to answer, he looked up at me and added, “Don’t you hope your successor ... on the plain of Djur, keeps your men’s skills honed to a sharp edge?” At the end of his question, which I could only assume he designed to shock me, he released a high-pitched chuckle that seemed at odds with the subject.
 
Did he think he’d spring a surprise on me with his words? Did he think I didn’t expect the whereabouts of the Kabeezan army would have been the first thing Zarbs would have told him? How—and why—did he expect me to respond to his question?
 
“So it appears your doctor allowed you out of your wheelchair?” I took my seat again, opposite him. “Tell me, Glnot, is it too presumptuous to ask how you injured yourself?”
 
His eyes whipped to mine. “What?”
 
Apparently, he found my question offensive. “So ... you’re saying I would be?”
 
“You don’t know?”
 
I took a slow, silent breath and turned away from him until I could regain my composure. I tried to keep my voice restrained. “You’re saying I don’t know if it would be presumptuous? Or you think I should know how you—?”
 
“—how I injured myself! Why do you insist on playing games with me, General?"
 
“Games? Glnot, I’ve been in a coma for five days.”
 
“And why the coma?” He cleared his throat, and then added, “General?”
 
“Why? Because your doctor gave me a narcotic, that’s why.”
 
“Don’t be coy. He gave you the narcotic so you wouldn’t feel the pain from ...” He elongated his last word and waited for me to fill in the space he left.
 
“My wound, Glnot.” I tried to smile, but I think my frustration made a liar of me. “You know something? I think I am being too presumptuous. Really, I don’t need to know about your injury.” I chuckled, but without my trying, it was laced with sarcasm. “Okay?”
 
“You don’t need to know because you already know.” He seemed to derive some joy out of badgering me.

“Since you’re so sure I already know about your injury, why even go on about it?”
 
With the start of a grin lifting the corner of his moustache, he untucked the left side of his shirt, revealing a few inches of pale skin. His grin still challenging me, he wadded more folds of his shirt in his palms and raised it above the top of a white bandage wrapped around his ribs. “Does this remind you of something?” he asked, breathless from the exertion, but keeping his full grin on me.


                                     TO BE CONTINUED

                                        ************************
 
 
CHARACTER LIST
 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

ZURN PROFUE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER, VERY CLOSE FRIEND OF DOCTREX. Intellectually challenged, adopted brother of Giln and Sheleck. Deserted his unit to secrete himself among the ranks of his brothers’ unit. Though a hero in battle, he is still considered a deserter.

GILN PROFUE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER, VERY CLOSE FRIEND OF DOCTREX. Field Commissioned 1st lieutenant in the Kabeezan Army, Zurn’s adopted brother.

SHELECK PROFUE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER, VERY CLOSE FRIEND OF DOCTREX. Field Commissioned 2nd lieutenant in the Kabeezan Army, Zurn’s adopted brother.

SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. Second in command after General Doctrex.

STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. A very intelligent military planner whose expertise Doctrex uses early on since he knows very little about planning.

ZILTINAUR: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. RHUETHER’S MAGICAL PROJECTION. The giant, armored, Santa-like person, 60 or 70 feet tall. Like Santa, he is a legend that is deep-seated in the psyches of Doctrex’s soldiers. He carries a bag (purportedly full of presents) containing Rhuether’s armed soldiers. In a compartment in Ziltinaur’s belly are also fighting men. Ziltinaur is made to function like the Trojan Horse. Doctrex’s men are under the spell, refusing to battle him. Doctrex single-handedly brings Ziltinaur down my chopping off his leg at the knee.

SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER.ONOE OF DOCTREX’S DEAREST FRIENDS. Eele commands the troops who are trained singers and their singing of the Kabeezan national anthem, “My Kabeez” keeps the men’s spirits high during battle and adverse times.

ZARBS: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. ONE OF GLNOT RHUETHER’S HIGHEST RANKINKING OFFICER. His soldiers ambushes Doctrex and his hundred men who are enroute to the canyon where Eele Jessip and his men had been engaged by the enemy and are presumed massacred. Zarbs tortures the three men accompanying Doctrex to get information from them. They ultimately die. Doctrex might suffer similarly if Rhuether didn’t sent orders to Zarbs to treat Doctrex as an honored guest and bring him to the Palace of Qarnolt.

PALACE OF QARNOLT: Glnot Rhuether’s residence, the focus of the Kabeezan Army’s attack of Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.

KYREAN PROPHESY: As Kyre spiritually communicates to Axtilla during her sleep (see above) Only through the combined effort of Axtilla and Pondria to defeat Rhuether in his land will the prophesy of the Trining be foiled. The prophesy from the Tablets of Kyre reads: “When the Trining occurs there will be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority.”

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 

 
 
 
 


Chapter 25
Axtilla Versus Doctrex

By Jay Squires

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE
ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,236

BOOK III

Chapter Twenty-five

(Part 9)


 
                         FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          “Regardless of how she feels about you now, Axtilla confessed she once did have feelings for you. During the Kojutake, when you danced like a clown around the fire to rile the Pomnot—do you remember that, Pondria?”
          Why would she have shared something that personal with him? My smile was for the role I was playing for Rhuether, but the images my mind gave me of the Pomnot trying to break through the membrane to get to me, also included the memory of Axtilla’s giggling at my buffoonery, suddenly threatened to overtake my composure.
          “Of course ... how could you forget that? Axtilla confessed that when she saw the look on your face as the Pomnot was stretching the membrane to grab you, well ... she said she felt a—a rush of tenderness—that’s how she put it—for you. She even said it grew stronger, and she was sure she recognized your feelings as the same as hers. And then ...” He shrugged and looked away.
          “What?”
          “Well, she said you left her while she slept.”


                         AND NOW ...

 
The memory drifted down like a fog, enveloping me with all its detail: We had been talking when Axtilla languished under Kyre’s prophetic power. He always spoke to her in sleeping visions, and so she was soon asleep beside me. My back pressed against a log, and hers angled into my chest, my right arm cradling her. The top of her head rested under my chin. Her hair smelled of sage and something sweet I couldn’t identify. The rhythmic tickle of her exhale danced on my forearm.
 
That was when I heard the little girl’s voice behind me, urging me away from the log. She sounded frantic. I couldn’t see her by turning my head. As her pleas became more urgent, I eased Axtilla to the ground, turned around and saw the child. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven, and she hung by her knees through a hole at the top of the membrane. She begged me to pull her down. The hole from which she hung gave entrance to the other side of the membrane, where the Pomnots lived. I had to get to her.
 
I made a running leap and grabbed her legs, but instead of pulling her down, she whipped me up through the opening and into a new dimension. Not only were there no Pomnots, but I gazed about to see sunlight that dazzled my senses and a carpet of thumbnail-sized pink flowers in every direction.
 
I searched frantically, but I couldn’t find the hole the little girl had hung down through. I was probably no more than twenty feet from Axtilla, but in an entirely new world ....
 
I looked over at Rhuether. He seemed to be giving me my space; his eyes closed, his feet rooted, shoulder width apart, and his weight leaned onto his cane, he appeared poised, comfortable and content.
 
Could Axtilla have believed I found my opportunity and escaped her? That must have been what she led Rhuether to believe. But, no ... if she had presumed it at first, that was cleared up when little Sarisa pulled her through the same hole perhaps three or four days later. Sarisa’s mother, Metra, who accompanied her daughter, explained to Axtilla how their family had fed and entertained me and how I had gone to Kabeez with her husband, Klasco.
 
Rhuether probably thought his news would devastate me, and that was why he gave me this time to process it. Putting myself in Axtilla’s mindset, I knew she had to play an incredible role while making it seem entirely believable to Rhuether. She had gone from being Rhuether’s prisoner to his promised bride. As difficult as it would be for me, though, I needed to get Rhuether to talk about the early blossoming of his love for her and what he assumed was being reciprocated. It was important to search for his vulnerabilities. But I’d have to wait until the time was ripe.
 
“So you see ...” Rhuether said so suddenly it yanked me out of my thoughts. “... after you left her, for whatever your reasons, her feelings for you—how can I say this—cooled. Yes, cooled over time.”
 
“I understand.”
 
So she didn’t choose to share with him how we got pulled into his dimension. At some point she must have told him I was Pondria. Why else would Rhuether have assumed that Pondria was determined to avenge Rhuether’s murdering him? She wouldn’t have just casually told him, though. What would be her reason?
 
I’d have to figure it all out, but first I needed to see my Axtilla.
 
I decided to attack the problem of the invitation withdrawal head on. “Glnot, I already told you I have resolved that Axtilla and I will never be together. Okay? You are going to marry her. I understand now that she’ll have nothing to do with me anyway. Is that right?”
 
Glnot tried to suppress a grin. “To put it ... kindly. Yes.” He seemed to be enjoying it too much.
 
“Then I’ll know what to expect. I guess I’ll just have to brace myself in case it’s something worse than that.”
 
“Excellent.  In that case, I will tell Axtilla about dinner tonight. I’ll wait to tell her about our cooperation. I’m not sure she would understand.”
 
“A good idea.” I looked over my shoulder at the bed. “I think I should take a nap.”
 
“You do that.” He smiled and winked at me. “You know, I think with our new cooperation, and your personal help, my wound will heal very quickly, just as yours did.”
 
I returned his smile. “Are you sure, Brother, you haven’t weakened yourself further, just since I’ve been here, by borrowing Pondria’s powers again?”
 
His eyes drifted to the ceiling, and jerked back to me, then away. He took several steps toward the door, stopped, and turned. “At the time, I didn’t want you to be too comfortable.”
 
“So you brought the creatures on the ceiling to life?”
 
“Mostly by playing with your mind. You actually brought them to life.” He sighed. “Remember, Brother, that was my gift. I’ve perfected it. It’s where I excel.”
 
I grinned as broadly as I could. “It’s good we can now talk about this, isn’t it, Glnot?”
 
“It is good. I need someone to talk with. I can’t trust my subjects.”
 
“So tell me, Glnot,” I said, smiling, “you used Pondria’s magic to create the fly—”
 
“You mean Percy?” He laughed, tapping his cane on the floor. “The doctor said you kept using the name Percy. He figured it was the narcotic.”
 
I allowed myself to look fully at the ceiling with surprising equanimity. “And the frog?”
 
He stopped tapping and shrugged.
 
“The seer may have wanted you to suffer a little longer because of that,” I said.
 
#
 
With my arms cradled behind my head, I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling—the creatures appearing flat and benign—I asked myself over and over why Axtilla would tell Rhuether that General Doctrex was Pondria. Why? It made no sense. To divulge that fact meant she’d have had to provide him with the history of finding Pondria on the shore, healing him, their journey, the Kojutake. She could have invented a story, of course. But then she’d have to worry about tripping over parts of it.
 
Why, Axtilla, why? I think I started drifting into sleep with those words on my lips, and I woke myself laughing.
 
Of course! If Axtilla hadn’t told Rhuether of Pondria’s existence, Rhuether’s army would be hell-bent on destroying General Doctrex and The Kabeezan army. It would be a battle of one force against the other, taking place at the palace. According to the Tablets of Kyre, the Trining would be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority. That would mean the Kabeezan army would be defeated and Rhuether and his army would sweep down on Kabeez and complete the prophecy unimpeded.
 
The only thing that would prevent the armies clashing, would be if Pondria deserted the Kabeezan army, as well as the General Doctrex persona, and somehow made his way into the Palace of Qarnalt. Perhaps Zarbs’ capturing me, and subsequently turning me over to Rhuether, was all guided by Kyre’s invisible hands in order to set the stage for the prophecy’s fulfillment.


                         TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTER LIST
 
 DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

ZILTINAUR: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. RHUETHER’S MAGICAL PROJECTION. The giant, armored, Santa-like person, 60 or 70 feet tall. Like Santa, he is a legend that is deep-seated in the psyches of Doctrex’s soldiers. He carries a bag (purportedly full of presents) containing Rhuether’s armed soldiers. In a compartment in Ziltinaur’s belly are also fighting men. Ziltinaur is made to function like the Trojan Horse. Doctrex’s men are under the spell, refusing to battle him. Doctrex single-handedly brings Ziltinaur down my chopping off his leg at the knee.

PALACE OF QARNOLT: Glnot Rhuether’s residence, the focus of the Kabeezan Army’s attack of Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.

KYREAN PROPHESY: As Kyre spiritually communicates to Axtilla during her sleep (see above) Only through the combined effort of Axtilla and Pondria to defeat Rhuether in his land will the prophesy of the Trining be foiled. The prophesy from the Tablets of Kyre reads: “When the Trining occurs there will be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority.”

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 

 

Author Notes PLEASE PAY NO ATTENTION TO: "The book continues with {{ A chapter that is apparently chosen at random by some demon force. The next chapter has in fact not been written yet. }} "We will provide a link to it when you review this below."


Chapter 25
You Will Dine With Us Tonight

By Jay Squires

MPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE
ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,244



BOOK III
 
Chapter Twenty-five
 
(Part 8)

 
                    FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

          He reached across and laid his trembling palm atop my hand. “But this fulfills a requirement I abrogated, Brother, not you. It is for me. You had done nothing. Yet the seer tells me I must come to you, you who have every right to want revenge for being murdered by me—come to you and beg your forgiveness and then your cooperation.”
          “And are you doing that now?”
          He closed his eyes tightly. “Yes.”
          I waited for the urging. “Pondria forgives.” I took a breath and listened for what was coming. “Now it must be carried to fruition.”
          He squeezed the back of my hand.
          The bitterness attacked my throat. Were my days as Doctrex coming to an end?


                      AND NOW ...

“We must celebrate, Pondria.” He seemed determined to show me his enthusiasm. Waving off my offer to help, he leaned forward in his chair, and grasping the curved handle of his cane, one hand atop the other, he pushed his weight into it and rose, though red-faced and puffing. “Yes. Celebrate. You will dine with us tonight.”
 
With the word “us”, Axtilla stormed into my mind and populated my thoughts. I would actually see Axtilla tonight. What would I say to her? What would she allow herself to say to me? Neither of us could share our hearts—not in front of Rhuether.
 
Oh, but just to see her!
 
I stood, and he turned to me.
 
“Of course, Brother,” he said, “this all happened so suddenly. We should perhaps go slowly. Do you agree?”
 
Slowly? Having offered, was he now retracting? I shook my head with a half-smile that I hoped hid my fear of his words' meaning. “I guess I don’t understand.”
 
“Well, until just a few minutes ago I had convinced myself your sole purpose was to avenge my murdering you by killing me.”
 
“I remember.”
 
“Well, wasn’t it a natural fear? I mean I ...” His voice faded.
 
I took a slow breath. “I understand, Brother.” Then, calmly, through a smile, I added, “The Pondria you murdered, though, was not the same Pondria who was reborn.”
 
“I know that now, Brother, but that’s the reason we have to take it slow.”
 
“Then no, I still don’t understand. Please explain it to me—in the spirit of cooperation.”
 
“Cooperation. Yes. I agree, but ...” He blew out a puff of air and took his eyes off me. “First I have to explain my change of feeling to Axtilla.”
 
His words slammed into my solar plexus and I couldn’t speak for a moment. When I was able, I produced one word: “Why?” Forcing a smile, I removed it when my jaw began to tremble.
 
“I know, now, because I believe you, that I don’t have to worry about the reborn Pondria. But to Axtilla—” His eyelids fluttered. “Brother, I think it’s best we just leave it at that. For the time being.”
 
“No. No, you need to tell me. The seer gave Glnot and Pondria the chance to rejoin. We cannot violate the seer’s trust. Tell me about Axtilla and Pondria.”
 
He stared at me a long while without speaking.
 
“Please, Glnot, tell me.”
 
“Okay,” he said, swiping his hand across his forehead. “What makes it so hard, Brother, is no matter how much you try to conceal it, your feelings for Axtilla are right on the surface.”
 
“Okay.” I took a breath. “Go on.”
 
"For such a long time—from even before you took command of the Kabeezan Army—I knew your feelings for Axtilla, and I used that knowledge every way I could to weaken your resolve. I manipulated your dreams—”
 
“Yes, to make them as powerful as hallucinations.”
 
“Or as your travelling companions called them, ‘visions’.”
 
I acknowledged what he said, but asked, “Where is this leading, Glnot?”
 
"It’s all so new to me—this change from enemy to brother. Now, to feel, as a brother, you love the woman who ...” He closed his eyes and then dropped his head.
 
Without a word, I paced to the door, turned and came back. Of course, Axtilla was acting her role. It was as simple as that. And now I needed to adopt my own role. I wasn’t even sure Rhuether knew I had gone and come back.
 
“Brother ...” I said.
 
He opened his eyes.
 
“Let me make it easy for you. It’s true I loved Axtilla more than anyone, including, perhaps even Axtilla could have known. I’d have died for her.”
 
“Have?”
 
I paused and broke contact with his gaze. “Glnot, do you remember Ziltinaur’s words before I chopped off his leg at the knee—?"
 
“A lucky swing,” Rhuether said, with a smile that had the hint of a smirk in it.
 
“Three or four, actually. Compared to the size of the back of your knee, my sword was more like a dagger. But do you remember your words to me ... before I took those lucky swings?”
 
“You mean about the empress?”
 
“Yes; you said the Empress Axtilla gave me her greetings.”
 
“Ah...”
 
“Well, I knew you tried to rob me of my purpose. It was all part of your strategy. I knew that, but as much as I tried to remove, or lessen, your words from my mind, they remained, continuing their work under the surface. And then, while I was Zarb’s prisoner, he enjoyed telling me about your upcoming wedding, and he told me how beautiful and happy the empress-to-be was. So yes, your words did end up robbing me of my purpose.”
 
“I’m sorry, Brother.”
 
“It’s just as well.” I cleared my throat so my words wouldn’t falter. “I had a lot of time to think about it as Zarbs’ prisoner. I saw a lot of good men die under my command. Some were dear friends. But I got over them, Glnot.” I cleared my throat again. “I got over them.  And ... I got over Axtilla.”
 
Rhuether massaged his temple. Something in his expression told me it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Axtilla warned me against even going to ...” He paused just long enough to signal to me his wish to call back his sentence.
 
“Going to where?”
 
“To your room, Brother.” He grinned, but it was weak, and he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “She feared you’d overcome me and well, kill me.”
 
I nodded and tried to look unshaken. Her god, Kyre, made it clear Pondria and Axtilla, together, had to destroy Rhuether in order to fulfill the prophecy. Her fear might have been valid, then.
 
“She didn’t think you belonged here alone anyway. She thought I should place you with the other prisoners.”
 
I wasn’t expecting that. I leaned, I hoped inconspicuously, against the table for support.
 
“I think you should know something, Pondria.”
 
I took a slow, deep breath through my nose. “Then tell me.”
 
“Regardless of how she feels about you now, Axtilla confessed she once did have feelings for you. During the Kojutake, when you danced like a clown around the fire to rile the Pomnot—do you remember that, Pondria?”
 
Why would she have shared something that personal with him? My smile was for the role I was playing for Rhuether, but the images my mind gave me of the Pomnot trying to break through the membrane to get to me, also included the memory of Axtilla’s giggling at my buffoonery, suddenly threatened to overtake my composure.
 
“Of course ... how could you forget that? Axtilla confessed that when she saw the look on your face as the Pomnot was stretching the membrane to grab you, well ... she said she felt a—a rush of tenderness—that’s how she put it—for you. She even said it grew stronger, and she was sure she recognized your feelings as the same as hers. And then ...” He shrugged and looked away.
 
“What?”
 
“Well, she said you left her while she slept.”

 
                              TO BE CONTINUED
 
CHARACTER LIST
 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

ZILTINAUR: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. RHUETHER’S MAGICAL PROJECTION. The giant, armored, Santa-like person, 60 or 70 feet tall. Like Santa, he is a legend that is deep-seated in the psyches of Doctrex’s soldiers. He carries a bag (purportedly full of presents) containing Rhuether’s armed soldiers. In a compartment in Ziltinaur’s belly are also fighting men. Ziltinaur is made to function like the Trojan Horse. Doctrex’s men are under the spell, refusing to battle him. Doctrex single-handedly brings Ziltinaur down my chopping off his leg at the knee.

PALACE OF QARNOLT: Glnot Rhuether’s residence, the focus of the Kabeezan Army’s attack of Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.

KYREAN PROPHESY: As Kyre spiritually communicates to Axtilla during her sleep (see above) Only through the combined effort of Axtilla and Pondria to defeat Rhuether in his land will the prophesy of the Trining be foiled. The prophesy from the Tablets of Kyre reads: “When the Trining occurs there will be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority.”

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)




 

 


Chapter 25
Sunset of Doctrex, Dawn of Pondria?

By Jay Squires

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE

ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,244

BOOK III
 
Chapter Twenty-five
 
(Part 7)
 
 
FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          “No, brother, listen. You’re forgetting what mother told us about why he gave us different magical powers.”
          He took in a noisy breath through his nose. “Go on.”
          “He said, ‘As long as we both lived as conjoined, we needed to share our powers. We had to learn the strength that lay in loving cooperation. Through cooperation, our combined magical powers would rival the gods.’”
          Crossing his arms, he pressed them to his stomach, and began rhythmically rocking back and forth. “I ignored the seer’s warning.”
          “Yes,” I said, “you did. But listen, brother, maybe—”
          “Yes!” He sat up and gripped the arms of his chair. “That’s right. You said you had an idea.”


                                           AND NOW ... 
 

“Just a thought.”
 
“Well?” He raised his brows and leaned toward me.
 
“What if the seer wasn’t finished with us?"
 
Rhuether cocked his head.
 
“What if—no, listen—what if he didn’t give up on you, Glnot, even when you killed ... Pondria? It makes some kind of sense. Why did he give Pondria another life if his death ended the twins’ need for cooperation?”
 
“Yes, but how could he ..?” His truncated question seemed to flutter with his fingers down onto his lap.
 
“How could he exercise such power ... now? Is that what you’re asking?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“It’s no more difficult to understand than how he brought on the curse to begin with. How did he cause twins to be conjoined at the ribs while still in their mother’s womb? Right, brother? And later, when he mellowed and agreed to help make the twins’—who were now young men—make their lives more bearable by endowing them with magical abilities? How did he do that?”
 
At the mere mention of magic, Rhuether’s lips compressed and his jaws tightened.
 
“I know,  Brother.” I had no idea where my words were taking me; only that they were, for the time being, keeping the advantage on my side. I didn’t want him to regress again to his feelings of injustice and inequality. “But really, we know where having different magical powers led. The point is the seer seems to have forgiven your crime.”
 
Tears pooled. He reached for his handkerchief, but couldn’t get it to his eyes before they overflowed. He dabbed the refilled sockets and wiped his cheeks and the wet spots on the front of his blouse. He swallowed, looked down, then quickly back up at me. “And you, Pondria? Have you for—forgiven me?”
 
I closed my eyes. An inner urging told me not to answer too soon. I opened them and gazed at him. “Pondria was reborn. He has nothing to forgive.”
 
“But you remember.”
 
I traced circles on the tabletop and waited until it seemed right to speak. “Pondria remembers it as it happened to another.”
 
Rhuether suddenly sat straight, his jaw muscles working again. “But this is all just some clever idea you came up with.”
 
I forced a smile, leaned toward him, and spoke softly. “But don’t you see? It’s the only thing that makes any sense, Glnot. Listen, it all points to the fact that he hasn’t given up on you or Pondria. Let me explain.”
 
Rhuether’s shoulders relaxed and he settled back in his chair.
 
“Tell me about Ziltinaur, Brother. You said you almost died from what summoning up that magic did to you. And how about the giant birds, one of them carrying a Kabeezan soldier in its talons? That couldn’t have been an easy task. And then there was Morz exploding.”
 
With each example, his head waggled up and down more fretfully, and the front of his blouse rose and fell so rapidly I feared he might faint.
 
“What I think, Glnot,”
I said quickly, waited, and then repeated—“What I think ... is this: I think this was the seer’s way of preparing you to experience the enormity of disobeying. I think, after all this time, and at the right moment, he allowed you temporary access to Pondria’s physical magic, to prepare you. Even with the giddy euphoria you must have experienced with each monster’s creation, at some point all the energy it used ultimately turned back against your own body. In its own way, Ziltinaur, and each of the giant birds, and even Morz returned to attack your body. What better way could the seer show you how pride and rebellion could destroy you?”
 
With a sudden expulsion of breath, Rhuether slumped onto his thighs, his handkerchief palmed and pressed against his face. Propelled by a rush of insuppressible sobs, his shoulders heaved, then collapsed in a stutter of jerks, and heaved again.
 
I waited for him in silence. His blouse stretched so tightly against his back that the bandage wrapped around his ribs, clearly showed through. I was relieved to see the impact my words had on him. No! They weren’t my words. Mine was the throat they came out of; my lips formed them, but they weren’t my words. Nor was their timing, inflection, volume—any of that—mine.
 
Again, the bitterness at the back of my throat reminded me, as it had after my borrowed eloquence before the Council of Twelve, just what a fraud I, Doctrex, was. The sum of the words that were fed to my mouth altered the course and consequence of everything that happened. I was an actor—but was I, Doctrex playing the role of Pondria? Or was I, Pondria playing the role of Doctrex?
 
I no longer knew.
 
Doctrex was just a name given to me by the woman I loved, the woman I would die for, the woman without whose shared love I would rather be swallowed by death. Yet, Axtilla knew the name, Doctrex, was simply a term of endearment. In her heart, she accepted my true identity as Pondria.
 
It would be only through Axtilla’s and Pondria’s combined spiritual focus that they would destroy Glnot Rhuether, and they would avert The Trining.
 
Rhuether’s grieving was coming to an end. My role would soon begin. I waited for him to respond.
 
He turned to me all at once, his pupils glistening like tiny black pebbles beneath the silvery shallows of his irises. Gone was the confidence and bluster. Even the refined correctness of his moustache sagged with the corners of his mouth. His face appeared mottled and haggard. His mouth opened, then closed.
 
I waited.
 
“What can I do now?” he asked, but clearly he did not direct it to me.
 
I listened for a prompting, but got none.
 
“Glnot and Pondria can’t reconjoin. What does the seer expect of me?”
 
“If you were the seer, what would you require of Glnot Rhuether?"
 
He stared at me as out of a vacuum of confusion.
 
I kept my tone even. “Brother, what’s been left undone?”
 
He brought his palm across the surface of his face. “How can—but of course—I must, but—” He spoke as with shards from a perceived wholeness he couldn’t accept.
 
“Might the seer be speaking through you now, Brother? Listen to him.”
 
He sucked in a deep, noisy breath, and then released it through billowed cheeks. “Of course,” he said. He looked past me, over my shoulder, his words seeming almost mechanical. “We must work together with our powers in harmony for it ... to be ... fulfilled.” Then he narrowed his gaze to me.
 
I studied him, my palm flattened against the table’s surface.
 
He reached across and laid his trembling palm atop my hand. “But this fulfills a requirement I abrogated, Brother, not you. It is for me. You had done nothing. Yet the seer tells me I must come to you, you who have every right to want revenge for being murdered by me—come to you and beg your forgiveness and then your cooperation.”
 
“And are you doing that now?”
 
He closed his eyes tightly. “Yes.”
 
I waited for the urging. “Pondria forgives.” I took a breath and listened for what was coming. “Now it must be carried to fruition.”
 
He squeezed the back of my hand.
 
The bitterness attacked my throat. Were my days as Doctrex coming to an end?


                                TO BE CONTINUED ... 
 
CHARACTER LIST
 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

ZILTINAUR: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. RHUETHER’S MAGICAL PROJECTION. The giant, armored, Santa-like person, 60 or 70 feet tall. Like Santa, he is a legend that is deep-seated in the psyches of Doctrex’s soldiers. He carries a bag (purportedly full of presents) containing Rhuether’s armed soldiers. In a compartment in Ziltinaur’s belly are also fighting men. Ziltinaur is made to function like the Trojan Horse. Doctrex’s men are under the spell, refusing to battle him. Doctrex single-handedly brings Ziltinaur down my chopping off his leg at the knee.

PALACE OF QARNOLT: Glnot Rhuether’s residence, the focus of the Kabeezan Army’s attack of Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.

KYREAN PROPHESY: As Kyre spiritually communicates to Axtilla during her sleep (see above) Only through the combined effort of Axtilla and Pondria to defeat Rhuether in his land will the prophesy of the Trining be foiled. The prophesy from the Tablets of Kyre reads: “When the Trining occurs there will be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority.”

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. A very intelligent military planner whose expertise Doctrex uses early on since he knows very little about planning. Arval is also an expert on Myths, particularly “the Myth of theConjoined Twins”.

STAND CAPTAIN SHENNALEN MORZ: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. The officer who was blown up by Rhuether's misuse of Pondria's magical powers. Afterwards, he returned as a ghost to his lover, Stand Captain Klipal Lesn's tent, urging him to join Rhuether's side and causes Lesn to hang himself.
 
 

 


Chapter 25
The Grimy Truth & a Pound of Guilt

By Jay Squires





IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID CHARACTERS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE

ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,458

 
         


 
Book III
 
Chapter 25
 
(Part 6)

 
FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 
           “How’d you do that—Brother? Did you simply climb into his mind and say, ‘Explode!’”
          He gave me a closed-lip grin, but the corners of his lips twitched. “It took a little more prep—peration. Excuse me.” He coughed. “A little tickle.” He massaged his throat and turned his rheumy eyes from mine.
          “A little more preparation.” I held my fist to my mouth and blew through the opening while never taking my eyes off him. I waited until he returned a nervous glance my direction, and pulled my hand away. “I’m guessing, then, the giant Ziltinaur took a lot more preparation?”
          With the mention of Ziltinaur, he groaned and cupped his hands over the crown of his head, like they were all that held it together.
          “A headache?”
          By now he was laboring for his breaths, and those that came to him, were in craggy gasps.
I crossed my legs, clasped my hands on the tabletop and studied him.
 
                           AND NOW ... 
 
It took a full two minutes for him to recover. Removing a handkerchief from his blouse pocket, he folded it into a square, pressed it to the socket of one eye, turned it to the dry side, and pressed it to the other. He returned it to his pocket, closed his eyes and slowly lowered his chin to his chest.
 
It was important to wait for him to speak.
 
After another minute, he lifted his chin to face me, but left his eyes closed. “You—know, don’t you?”
 
I took a chance. “That it almost killed you?”
 
His head made a tiny nodding movement, he opened his eyes for just an instant, then closed them again and lowered chin to chest.
 
I had arrived at a crucial moment in the dialogue. My mind raced to remember the Myth of the Conjoined Twins. Arval Breenz had recited the myth from memory to me. What did the seer in the myth tell Pondria’s and Rhuether’s mother? I found myself staring into the flames of the torches behind Rhuether on the back wall.
 
 
The Virgin goddess of Dry Light, Clarna, had been raped by her lover, Draal, the god of Moist Darkness. The seer warned the couple to separate for five years, and Draal agreed, returning to his home in the Far North. Clarna, no longer able to conceal her pregnancy from the seer, received the curse that her children would be twins, conjoined at the ribs. Shunned by the other gods, and fearful that, when Draal returned from the Far North to claim her in marriage, he would kill the twins, she escaped with them to the cliffs overlooking the Kyrean Sea.
 
As her twins, named Glnot Rhuether and Pondria, grew to manhood, she realized they were of an age where they wouldn’t enjoy living in the cave above the sea. She returned to the seer who was now old and had mellowed. In answer to her plea, he told her he could not remove the curse, but he would confer magical powers to her sons that might make their lives more bearable. Each would receive a different magical power, but through patient cooperation, their combined magical powers would rival the gods’.
 
Arval had recited the next part to me slowly and with such emphasis, I remembered it now almost verbatim: “As long as they both lived as conjoined, they needed to share their powers. They had to learn the strength that lay in loving cooperation. And the seer exhorted her to repeat it to the twins as he had told her."
 
Arval was right to emphasize this, as it explained Rhuether’s condition today.
 
When Clarna returned to the cave she found the boys reveling in their new powers. Pondria had been conferred the power of physical magic. He had control over his environment. He could fly through the air, provide ample food for Glnot and his mother and himself with an abundance of fish, and fruits and vegetables from who knew where. Glnot Rhuether was not as happy. Of course he travelled everywhere Pondria directed. He had no choice.
 
Rhuether’s magic was of the mental type. He could, with practice, manipulate people’s thinking, even from afar, alter their dreams and guide, or bedevil, them with visions. Glnot complained about this to his mother and Pondria. He wanted to do magic he and others could see and applaud. He wanted to snap his fingers and cause fire, to command the skies rain fish, to make the sea boil. Both his mother and Pondria told him to learn patience. His own special powers would come in time.
 
But jealousy, not patience and cooperation, ruled Rhuether’s mind.
 
Rhuether plotted his brother’s murder. He secured a dagger, keeping it hidden from him, and when Pondria slept, Rhuether drove the dagger into his heart. Then, even while suffering excruciating pain, Rhuether carved his dead brother from his side and threw him over the cave opening into the sea.
 
Just as a severed limb can, for a while, feel it is still attached, there remained in Rhuether a residue of Pondria’s physical magic. He used it to heal his own ribs, then, spinning through the air like a disk, he flew away to the Far North Province, where—Pondria’s waning powers gone—Rhuether plunged into a snow bank.
 
Meanwhile, Clarna discovered Pondria’s bloody garment at the mouth of the cave. She returned, grieving, to the seer.
 
And the final thing Arval’s voice had underscored in the seer’s words to Clarna:
 
Your sons possessed two warring souls within one body. I hastened the process with my gift to each of them. The more equally valuable but dissimilar the gifts, the sooner  the souls would force a decision: either soul-severing, mortal combat or the souls' blending in loving cooperation. If they chose to let their souls slowly ripen to a fullness of cooperation their combined powers would have rivaled the gods. But, alas! One of your sons did not possess the patience. He reversed and bastardized my warning which was: ‘As long as you both remain alive and conjoined, you must share your powers,’ until he construed its meaning thus: ‘As long as I am alive and separate, I won't need to share my powers.’”
 
 
I looked down from the torchlight and to Rhuether. His eyes remained closed, his chin down.
 
“You ignored the seer’s warning, brother.”
 
The muscles around his closed eyes tightened to a wince. His lips converted to a thin, tight line. After a moment he sighed. “Yes,” scraped from a throat as dry as an autumn leaf, and then he sniffed and looked up at me.
 
What did he expect of me now? I chose unblinking silence.
 
“So you came to avenge your murder.” A statement. Flat. Categorical.
 
I smiled, but left him only his own words to reflect on.
 
“What do I do now, Pondria? Tell me. What should I do? You are my prisoner. You know I can have you executed.” He laid the fingertips of one hand over his moustache and lips and lightly tapped. He affirmed his conclusion with several small nods, removed his fingers from his lips and said, “Why should anyone expect less of the conqueror over his conquered? Sure, I could have your head lopped off.”
 
I remained strangely calm inside. I shouldn’t have. Rhuether’d been capable of mythic madness. He proved that. Now, given my wrong reaction to his threat, mightn’t he drift over into that same madness again? Still I kept coming back to the same thing: why dress up your prisoner to lop off his head?
 
He stared at me—waiting.
 
I took a slow, even inhale, and leaned toward him. “Tell me, brother ... is that what you want?”
 
He let out a long breath and his body sagged. “Noooo.” His voice thinned out to a sound that resembled a moan. “But ... but, did you come to avenge my murder?”
 
“For murdering Pondria? No. No, Glnot, but you know what I think?”
 
“No,” he said, straightening up in his chair.
 
“Do you remember why the old seer gave us ...” I had a hard time injecting myself in the myth, but knew I had to. “He gave us each magic? Remember? Mother explained it to us?”
 
Rhuether’s face took on the look of a petulant child. “I wanted to fly and make the sky rain fishes, and the sea flame. I wanted to do all the things you did.”
 
“I know you did, brother. I know. But I’m saying, do you know why he gave us magic at all?”
 
He grimaced and scratched his cheek.
 
“It was when Mother went to him and begged him to remove his original curse, so we could be separate? You didn’t know?”
 
He shook his head.
 
The seer said he couldn’t remove the original curse, but he could help us endure being joined as we were by giving us magic.”
 
“That’s what I said.” Rhuether’s eyes batted furiously. “But he gave you—”
 
“No, brother, listen. You’re forgetting what mother told us about why he gave us different magical powers.”
 
He took in a noisy breath through his nose. “Go on.”
 
“He said, ‘As long as we both lived as conjoined, we needed to share our powers. We had to learn the strength that lay in loving cooperation. Through cooperation, our combined magical powers would rival the gods.’”
 
Crossing his arms, he pressed them to his stomach, and began rhythmically rocking back and forth. “I ignored the seer’s warning.”
 
“Yes,” I said, “you did. But listen, brother, maybe—”
 
“Yes!” He sat up and gripped the arms of his chair. “That’s right. You said you had an idea.”
 
“Just a thought.”


                 TO BE CONTINUED ...

 
CHARACTER LIST
 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

ZILTINAUR: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. RHUETHER’S MAGICAL PROJECTION. The giant, armored, Santa-like person, 60 or 70 feet tall. Like Santa, he is a legend that is deep-seated in the psyches of Doctrex’s soldiers. He carries a bag (purportedly full of presents) containing Rhuether’s armed soldiers. In a compartment in Ziltinaur’s belly are also fighting men. Ziltinaur is made to function like the Trojan Horse. Doctrex’s men are under the spell, refusing to battle him. Doctrex single-handedly brings Ziltinaur down my chopping off his leg at the knee.

ZARBS: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. ONE OF GLNOT RHUETHER’S HIGHEST RANKINKING OFFICER. His soldiers ambushes Doctrex and his hundred men who are enroute to the canyon where Eele Jessip and his men had been engaged by the enemy and are presumed massacred. Zarbs tortures the three men accompanying Doctrex to get information from them. They ultimately die. Doctrex might suffer similarly if Rhuether didn’t sent orders to Zarbs to treat Doctrex as an honored guest and bring him to the Palace of Qarnolt.

PALACE OF QARNOLT: Glnot Rhuether’s residence, the focus of the Kabeezan Army’s attack of Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.

KYREAN PROPHESY: As Kyre spiritually communicates to Axtilla during her sleep (see above) Only through the combined effort of Axtilla and Pondria to defeat Rhuether in his land will the prophesy of the Trining be foiled. The prophesy from the Tablets of Kyre reads: “When the Trining occurs there will be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority.”

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. A very intelligent military planner whose expertise Doctrex uses early on since he knows very little about planning. Arval is also an expert on Myths, particularly “the Myth of theConjoined Twins”.


 
 
 
 


Chapter 25
No Love Like Brother Love

By Jay Squires

 

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID CHARACTERS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE

ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,371

Book III
 
Chapter 25
 
(Part 5)


FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 

 
          “Don’t be coy. He gave you the narcotic so you wouldn’t feel the pain from ...” He elongated his last word and waited for me to fill in the space he left.
          “My wound, Glnot.” I tried to smile, but I think my frustration made a liar of me. “You know something? I think I am being too presumptuous. Really, I don’t need to know about your injury.” I chuckled, but without my trying, it was laced with sarcasm. “Okay?”
          “You don’t need to know because you already know.” He seemed to derive some joy out of badgering me.
          “Since you’re so sure I already know about your injury, why even go on about it?”
          With the start of a grin lifting the corner of his moustache, he untucked the left side of his shirt, revealing a few inches of pale skin. His grin still challenging me, he wadded more folds of his shirt in his palms and raised it above the top of a white bandage wrapped around his ribs. “Does this remind you of something?” he asked, breathless from the exertion, but keeping his full grin on me.
 

                                            AND NOW ...
 
"And yes, I was bandaged the same way.”
 
“Five days ago,” he started, as though not even hearing me, “while I was enjoying my breakfast in the garden, waiting for Zarbs to bring his special prize to me, I was seized with such a—a—” his fingers fluttered about his left ribcage while his eyes darted here and there. “—horrible pain that it threw me from my chair to the ground. My servant summoned the doctor or I’m sure I’d have died.”
 
“This was the same doctor who—?”
 
“The same doctor. Yes!” His jaw muscles rippled. “If you could look under this bandage, Doctrex, you would find a wound exactly the same as yours, identical in shape and size.”
 
This was the closest he’d come to telling me he knew who I really was—that I was not Doctrex, but Pondria.
 
No one had denied being Pondria more fervently than I.
 
From the moment she found me, barely alive, and washed up on the shore of the Kyrean Sea, Axtilla was convinced I was Pondria, who she claimed had been murdered by his brother, Glnot Rhuether, and thrown into the sea.
 
I remembered smiling inside as I listened to her. I was already falling in love.
 
Her sacred Tablets of Kyre, she told me, prophesied Pondria would rise from the sea. He would move about her people, winning them over with his honeyed words. His real purpose, though, was to weaken their resistance in preparation for Glnot Rhuether to swoop down on them from the north. I remembered thinking, “Why would Pondria align with the brother who killed him?” She continued: The Tablets described it as The Trining, and defined it as a sudden, easy, and complete translation of authority.”
 
I ridiculed the idea as myth and foolishness. Though I was a blank slate, with no memory of who I was, or how I ended up on the shore, I knew it was not inside me to help destroy her people.
 
I realized how deeply entrenched I’d been in my reverie—how long was my silence—but when I looked back at Rhuether, he seemed lost in his own world. He stared at the torches on the side wall, his mouth working through a sort of conversation, or rehearsal.
 
Why was Rhuether dancing around the subject of Pondria? He was convinced of it and he felt he had more than enough evidence, if indeed the wounds matched. Unless ... did he think I didn’t know I was Pondria? Could he?
 
I figured I’d test my theory.
 
I stood.
 
My movement jarred him and he jerked his head to me.
 
“You’re saying it’s identical, Glnot?” I challenged, tugging the right side of my shirt out of my trousers, and lifting it all the way to my underarm. “To this?”
 
Clearly, he was unimpressed. “Your wound’s absorbed back into the body, as mine will.”
 
“What am I missing, then? We had the same five days to recover.”
 
“With your level of sleep, your body restructured faster.”
 
“Then why didn’t the good doctor give your body the same—?”
 
He sucked in air so loudly, I stopped in mid-sentence. “Because I wouldn’t—it’s—it’s of no concern to you. I ...” His voice trailed off, and he massaged his thighs, briskly. Then he turned to me with a face that was transformed. His smile seemed to drop like a screen from the curtain of his moustache. “Well, the tailor did a fine job with your clothing. Did his work satisfy you?”
 
I tucked in my shirt. “He did a good job.”
 
“Yes, you look good. Did he show respect?”
 
I looked away from him and nodded. “Why wouldn’t he, Glnot?” I brought my eyes back to him.
 
“I must be sure of all my subjects. I can’t be everywhere.”
 
“I see.”
 
We both fell silent. He sighed and turned his head again to the torches. For the moment, he seemed oblivious of me. I needed to pursue the earlier truncated inquiry. “You know, I ...” My voice seemed to jolt him and I waited for him to recover. “I wouldn’t have let the doctor give me the narcotic, either, if I’d been conscious at the time he jammed it down my throat. He wanted it to take effect before the next onslaught of pain struck. I became conscious long enough to hear him tell me the reason he did it. He probably told you how much I fought going under once I woke up. The narcotic hid my pain, sure, but I feared I’d never wake up if I fell asleep.”
 
He watched me intently throughout.
 
“Did you have the same fear, Glnot?”
 
His eyes batted a few times and then he closed them. “Do you know ...” His Adam’s apple dipped then slid back up, “... brother, what could happen to my empire within those five days?” He opened his eyes, blinking again, and brought them to mine.
 
Brother! So he tossed me the challenge. Should I play dumb a while longer? I gave him a half smile. “I don’t know. You figured the Kabeezan Army might choose that time to attack—?”
 
His eruption of laughter resounded off all the walls, swallowing my sentence. “My brother ... Pondria ... if you knew how unequipped your Kabeezan army is to attack anyone now.”
 
He's bluffing.  I took a slow enough breath that he wouldn’t notice. “What do you mean?”
 
“Have you forgotten so soon?”
 
I stared at him. “Forgotten?”
 
“Forgotten, yes. Do you need me to quicken your memory? How far back? Remember your first problem with your men’s mass desertions? You surely remember that. It was so simple to tap into a soldier’s mind, pick out his most dominating interest and give it a little twist or a pinch.” Rhuether’s voice reached for a falsetto note with the last two descriptives, and was accompanied by a twisting movement of his thumb against his forefinger. “Visions of infidelity on the homefront, or a dying mother. The soldier had to leave, to fix the problem. Remember?”
 
I chose not to answer, hoping he would go on.
 
“Or this one.” He chuckled, his eyes distant. “What were their names? Oh, you know them, the skinny and the fat one? The lovers? The officers?”
 
I’d let him continue. He might give me valuable information. “Morz and Lesn.”
 
“Yes. Morz and Lesn. Ha! More and less—Fat and skinny. Isn’t that funny?”
 
I smiled. It was, actually. I hadn’t connected it like that before. “Go on.”
 
“So easy, Pondria. I wanted some entertainment. After Morz had his unfortunate accident,  I easily got into Lesn’s mind, gave it a little jiggle and a tweak, and suddenly he was more than despondent; he was suicidal. Give his imagination a little wisp of Morz' spirit in his tent, a spirit who tried to lure his living lover to follow him, and join Glnot Rhuether ... and poor Lesn couldn’t find a rope fast enough to toss over a limb.”

“Those are all entertaining stories, Glnot, but they were supposed to explain how the Kabeezan army is ill-equipped to fight. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

The corner of Rhuether’s lip lifted. “No, I haven’t forgotten, brother. I think I choose to keep it my—” He giggled, oddly, into his palm, “my military secret. You can understand that, can’t you?”

I chose to ignore his question, and give him one of my own. “You mentioned Morz’ unfortunate accident, Glnot. That wasn’t just getting into someone’s mind, was it?”

 
Rhuether flinched at my use of the word accident.
 
“How’d you do it—Brother? Did you simply climb into his mind and say, ‘Explode!’”
 
He gave me a closed-lip grin, but the corners of his lips twitched. “It took a little more prep—peration. Excuse me.” He coughed. “A little tickle.” He massaged his throat and turned his rheumy eyes from mine.
 
“A little more preparation.” I held my fist to my mouth and blew through the opening while never taking my eyes off him. I waited until he returned a nervous glance in my direction, and pulled my hand away. “I’m guessing, then, the giant Ziltinaur took a lot more preparation?”
 
With the mention of Ziltinaur, he groaned and cupped his hands over the crown of his head, like they were all that were holding it together.
 
“A headache?”
 
By now he labored for each breath, and those that came to him were in craggy gasps.
 
I crossed my legs, clasped my hands on the tabletop and studied him.
 
                     TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTER LIST
 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

ZILTINAUR: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. RHUETHER’S MAGICAL PROJECTION. The giant, armored, Santa-like person, 60 or 70 feet tall. Like Santa, he is a legend that is deep-seated in the psyches of Doctrex’s soldiers. He carries a bag (purportedly full of presents) containing Rhuether’s armed soldiers. In a compartment in Ziltinaur’s belly are also fighting men. Ziltinaur is made to function like the Trojan Horse. Doctrex’s men are under the spell, refusing to battle him. Doctrex single-handedly brings Ziltinaur down my chopping off his leg at the knee.

ZARBS: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. ONE OF GLNOT RHUETHER’S HIGHEST RANKINKING OFFICER. His soldiers ambushes Doctrex and his hundred men who are enroute to the canyon where Eele Jessip and his men had been engaged by the enemy and are presumed massacred. Zarbs tortures the three men accompanying Doctrex to get information from them. They ultimately die. Doctrex might suffer similarly if Rhuether didn’t sent orders to Zarbs to treat Doctrex as an honored guest and bring him to the Palace of Qarnolt.

PALACE OF QARNOLT: Glnot Rhuether’s residence, the focus of the Kabeezan Army’s attack of Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.

KYREAN PROPHESY: As Kyre spiritually communicates to Axtilla during her sleep (see above) Only through the combined effort of Axtilla and Pondria to defeat Rhuether in his land will the prophesy of the Trining be foiled. The prophesy from the Tablets of Kyre reads: “When the Trining occurs there will be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority.”

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)
 
 


Chapter 25
All Spruced Up For an Execution?

By Jay Squires

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID CHARACTERS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE.

BOOK III

Chapter 25

(Part 3)




FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          He hunched down, comically, to bring his eyes to a position of looking directly over his tapping fingertips at me. I had to force myself not to laugh at what was building to be a melodrama of the highest order.
          “Make no doubt about it, Doctrex, it would have been a bloody coup.” He brought his palms together with a resounding crack, then waited, I thought, for my response. In a moment he continued, “Yes, a bloody coup, but all the blood would have been shed in the traitors’ army.”
          A long, uncomfortable silence ensued while we stared at each other. At last, he blinked. “Any other questions, Doctrex?”
          “One.”
          He leaned toward me, his hands on the wheels. “What’s that?”
          “When do I get the torches on this wall lit?”
          He turned abruptly and wheeled himself toward the door. Before opening it, he turned himself toward me. “What makes you think you’ll be here that long, Doctrex?”
 
I had to assume Rhuether would return. I just didn’t know when—and that probably suited him just fine. I knew he had some use for me. Wasn’t having me measured for clothing the first thing he'd arranged when I woke? He’d not have gone to the trouble if the only thing showing at the end of the spike would be my head.
 
 I left the chair and made my way to the bed’s carved wooden headboard. Leaning against it, my legs crossed at the ankles, I stared past the table at the four sconces in the shadows, tipping their unlit torches toward the center of the room. If I were going to survive as Rhuether’s prisoner until I eventually joined with Axtilla to defeat him, I needed to stay one step ahead of him now. That meant not being reckless. How important was it to ask him when he’d have the torches lit? Especially since I posed my question merely to diminish the effect of his boasting. He saw through my intention. Even Zurn would have seen through it.

I smiled. Zurn had the mind of a child, and the heart and courage of a martyred saint. That he needed Giln and Sheleck went without saying, but how much they needed their brother—that I never fully appreciated until I watched them agonize over the possibility he might be executed as a deserter.
 
As he still could. If he’s alive. If he and his brothers survived the aftermath of the ambush.
 
I tried to remember the gist of Zarbs’ words when I asked about my men. After his men dragged me and the other three survivors away to the caves, they finished off any who remained, chasing down and killing the few who tried to escape. Then, while his men were cleaning up the carnage, they saw a second battalion heading down the road toward them. He said his men hid and watched Giln and his army count the dead. If Zarbs could be believed, they let Giln’s troops go. Zarbs said they had their prize in me.
 
Realizing how far afield the movement of my thoughts had taken me, I traced them back to their origin.
 
I couldn’t afford the momentary enjoyment being cocky allowed me. If I hadn’t appeared so indifferent over Rhuether’s bluster, he might have given me more clues about the strengths and weaknesses of his military. I can’t give into my self-pride again.
 
I pushed off the bed board, and went around to the side of the bed, hoisting myself up to sit on the edge of the mattress. I considered how really paradoxical Rhuether’s behavior was. Sure, I was his, but why was he so cavalier about my army? He knew exactly where they were. That would have been the first information Zarbs gave him. What high commander, emperor or—I allowed myself an inward smile—Almighty Master would not be the least concerned that the enemy army, nearly four-thousand strong, virtually waited on his doorstep for orders to attack the palace? Did he think the Kabeezan army couldn’t function with their general taken down? That a second in command wouldn’t take over?
 

I looked down at the floor and shook my head.
 
The fact was, no formal plan of attack did exist. Unless Gerol Roze assumed my command and devised one—and that assumed he arrived with his troops on the Plain of Dzur.
 
Ach! So many ifs, unlesses and assumings! The fact was, I damn well blundered, plain and simple, and I had to accept that. I had been the second to arrive on the Plain of Dzur, fresh and pumped up after our rousing defeat of the Giant, Santa-like Ziltinaur. Arval Breenz and his men preceded me. Figuring we had a window of a day or two before the last of the troops would arrive, I had anticipated sketching out some plans for the attack with Arval, expecting to modify them as needed once we had a full count of our manpower.
 
That would have been the prudent thing for the leader of the Kabeezan army to do.
 
The problem came when Arval briefed me on the presumed fate of Eele Jessip and his battalion, who had been overpowered and backed into a canyon by the enemy during a blizzard. The natural assumption was that they were massacred; an assumption—but without proof. And Eele was my friend.
 
Nonetheless, friendship was a stupid, unmilitary reason to abandon a greater cause to ride off with two hundred volunteers on a hero’s quest. What was the end result of my hubris? For me, I ended up, through an uncharted and improbable series of events, precisely where I had set out to be since the beginning of my generalship. I was in the Palace of Qarnolt, where, if the mystical future mirrored the past, the tendrils of fate were already processing the steps needed to join Axtilla with me to destroy Rhuether.
 
So much for my love of Axtilla and the fulfillment of Kyrean prophesy! But at what cost was my hubris to the young men who knew nothing of prophesy, but who died following the orders of their commander?
 
I pulled my feet onto the bed, rolled to my side, brought my knees up toward my chest, and stared at the wall, not wanting to think for a while. A few times I opened my eyes to realize I had drifted off, and I closed them again.
 
This time I welcomed sleep.
 
#
 
The familiar rapping on the door roused me. Sitting, I swung my legs over to the side of the mattress. “Yes.”
 
The door opened and the voice I recognized as the tailor’s asked if he could come in.
 
“Yes.”
 
The door opened the rest of the way and he entered, smiling and immaculately attired in his white uniform, the measuring tape still hanging on either side like a long, thin, untied tie. He came to stand in front of me. His black shoes reflected the leading curve of his trouser cuffs and part of his stockinged shins.
 
I smiled, and it brought his gaze down to look.
 
“Sir?”
 
“Shiny,” I answered.
 
“Yes, sir.” He seemed uncomfortable standing there holding something wrapped, hanging over his extended forearm while I observed his shoes.
 
“You have something for me?”
 
“Your clothing, sir, ready for you to try on. If you don’t mind, sir.”
 
“I’m sure they’ll be just as you measured. Why don’t you just leave them? What is your name?”
 
“Corl, sir. I’m sorry. Sir, I—”
 
“You have your orders.”
 
“Yes. They have to fit right for when you wear them—”
 
“When I wear them where?”
 
Instead of answering, he looked about to cry.
 
“Look, I’ll tell you what.” I was about to suggest he leave the bundle with me, and then return in a couple of hours, but he interrupted with:
 
“He wants you wearing them when he visits you again.”
 
“Did you ask him when that would be?”
 
He made a sort of closed-mouthed snort I took to be an attempted laugh. It seemed to even catch him by surprise. “Sir, I can’t presume to—”
 
“Of course not. Listen, why don’t I just try them on now?” I held out my hand for the bundle.
 
He gave it to me, and then took a half step back and offered a slight bow. “I’ll wait outside.”
 
I got off the bed, laid the package along the length of it, and started removing the cord. I glanced over before he’d gone through the door. “Leave it ajar, Corl, so I can call you when I’m finished.”
 
“Yes, sir.”
 
Removing the wrapper, and riffling through the garments, I was amazed at how many were packed into it. There were two pairs of trousers, one tan and one chocolate brown. Beneath them, two shirts, one the same shade of tan as the trousers, the other a powder blue, were carefully folded. Several pairs of socks complemented the trousers in their coloring. All the garments were solid colors. Coiled at the very bottom were two belts, side-by-side, predictably tan and brown.
 
I lifted the shirts out from beneath the trousers, and shook them out, surprised at their lightness and that there were no wrinkles. I chose the tan shirt and chocolate-brown trousers, and hung the powder blue shirt by its collar on one of the bedposts at the foot of the bed while the remaining trousers I draped over the horizontal bar between the posts.
 
I slipped on the trousers, hoisted them to my waist and buttoned them. As with my Kabeezan uniform, I realized there was no zipper, a convenience which apparently hadn’t slipped over from Earth to any of these dimensions. Instead, they had four small buttons and matching holes down the fronts of the trousers. Not for the uncoordinated or thick-fingered. Rather than button them, I first put the shirt on and tucked it in before I tackled that task.
 
Finished, I looked down at my boots, then lifted the wrapper to see if I’d overlooked a package containing the shoes. My boots had been shined before Corl brought them to me, earlier, but I couldn’t imagine he could be so finicky about how the clothes fit me only to leave me with boots better suited for trudging through the wilderness of this desolate land. I didn’t have a tie, or jacket either. How could I dress like a proper prisoner without a tie and jacket?
 
I called his name and waited. “Okay, Corl, I’m ready.”
 
I thought of calling again when he burst through the door, a bundle clutched under his arm. “Sir,” he said, breathlessly “I hope I didn’t keep you. I had to go back and get the shoes. I’d forgotten them.”
 
“So I wasn’t supposed to wear my boots?”
 
“Oh, my, no.” As he skittered across the room, bearing his bundle, he was panting, and a thin band of sweat glistened at his hair line like a slipped halo. He skidded to a stop in front of me, transferring his package to both hands and setting it on the floor beside me. At that point, his eyes must have taken in the color and cut of my trousers. Still bent over, his hand shot to his chest as, open-mouthed, he followed the contour of my trousers, then shirt, to my face.
 
He rose, not taking his eyes off me. “Perfect. Oh, my, sir, perfect. Yes.” His hand, which had been on his chest, clasped with the other there, making him seem, oddly, like he would burst into song or prayer.
 
“So you don’t have to take them back for alteration?”
 
“I’m sure I won’t, but may I look at some things?” Given my approval, he lifted my arms to the side and studied the material under my arm. “Ah, no pucker. Fine. It doesn’t feel too tight?”
 
I told him it didn’t. “I noticed there were no ties or jacket included.”
 
He stopped and brought his hands down. “Ties, sir?” He glanced away briefly then turned back with a smile. “Oh, a belt.” He pointed to mine.
 
“No, to wear around the neck.”
 
“Why, what would be its use?”
 
“Good point. There isn’t much use.”
 
“I’m almost finished with the jacket and will bring it by. And now ... if you don’t mind ...’ He was back tugging here and there on the material at my waist. Satisfied, he went down to one knee and compared one trouser cuff against the other. “Perfect. Then everything is comfortable for you?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“It’s like they were made for you,” he said with a smile he almost immediately seemed to regret.
 
“A tailor’s joke.” I laughed, and it brought back his smile, along with a blush that suffused his face all the way to the roots of his blond hair.
 
“I hope it wasn’t—”
 
“It was funny, Corl.” I liked this young man. He had an engaging smile and a sense of humor which seemed to bubble up out of a layer of cautious propriety. I wondered if I could probe him for information. “You do good work, Corl.”
 
“Well, thank you, sir.”
 
“I imagine it’s quite an honor to work here.”
 
“Yes, sir, it is.”
 
“I’m just curious, Corl; as busy as you must be, you’d almost have to live here at the palace, instead of in the village.”
 
He got up and brushed off his knee, then reached back down for the package. He started to set it on the bed, but stopped. “May I, sir?”
 
 “Of course,” I said, then continued my other line of inquiry. “Yes ... because otherwise you’d have to work all day, and then go all the way to the village and incidentally, how far is it from here?”
 
He didn’t answer, but occupied himself removing the shoes from their wrapper, which he folded and creased, and then placed the shoes side-by side on the floor. They were black, and every bit as glistening as his own.
 
“Sir, if I may, I should be getting back so I can complete your jacket.” He reached back for the larger wrapper my garments were in, folded it in fourths, added it to the other wrapper, and tucked both under his arm. “Unless, of course, you have more you need me to do.”
 
I told him I didn’t.
 
One last smile, and he turned and made his way briskly to the door.

                TO BE CONTINUED

CHARACTER LIST
 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

ZURN PROFUE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER, VERY CLOSE FRIEND OF DOCTREX. Intellectually challenged, adopted brother of Giln and Sheleck. Deserted his unit to secrete himself among the ranks of his brothers’ unit. Though a hero in battle, he is still considered a deserter.

GILN PROFUE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER, VERY CLOSE FRIEND OF DOCTREX. Field Commissioned 1st lieutenant in the Kabeezan Army, Zurn’s adopted brother.

SHELECK PROFUE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER, VERY CLOSE FRIEND OF DOCTREX. Field Commissioned 2nd lieutenant in the Kabeezan Army, Zurn’s adopted brother.

SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. Second in command after General Doctrex.

STAND CAPTAIN ARVAL BREENZ: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. A very intelligent military planner whose expertise Doctrex uses early on since he knows very little about planning.

ZILTINAUR: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. RHUETHER’S MAGICAL PROJECTION. The giant, armored, Santa-like person, 60 or 70 feet tall. Like Santa, he is a legend that is deep-seated in the psyches of Doctrex’s soldiers. He carries a bag (purportedly full of presents) containing Rhuether’s armed soldiers. In a compartment in Ziltinaur’s belly are also fighting men. Ziltinaur is made to function like the Trojan Horse. Doctrex’s men are under the spell, refusing to battle him. Doctrex single-handedly brings Ziltinaur down my chopping off his leg at the knee.

SPECIAL COLONEL EELE JESSIP: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER.ONOE OF DOCTREX’S DEAREST FRIENDS. Eele commands the troops who are trained singers and their singing of the Kabeezan national anthem, “My Kabeez” keeps the men’s spirits high during battle and adverse times.

ZARBS: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. ONE OF GLNOT RHUETHER’S HIGHEST RANKINKING OFFICER. His soldiers ambushes Doctrex and his hundred men who are enroute to the canyon where Eele Jessip and his men had been engaged by the enemy and are presumed massacred. Zarbs tortures the three men accompanying Doctrex to get information from them. They ultimately die. Doctrex might suffer similarly if Rhuether didn’t sent orders to Zarbs to treat Doctrex as an honored guest and bring him to the Palace of Qarnolt.

PALACE OF QARNOLT: Glnot Rhuether’s residence, the focus of the Kabeezan Army’s attack of Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.

KYREAN PROPHESY: As Kyre spiritually communicates to Axtilla during her sleep (see above) Only through the combined effort of Axtilla and Pondria to defeat Rhuether in his land will the prophesy of the Trining be foiled. The prophesy from the Tablets of Kyre reads: “When the Trining occurs there will be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority.”

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 


 


Chapter 25
You Are Very Reckless, Doctrex

By Jay Squires

FINAL DIALOGUE OF PREVIOUS CHAPTER
          “My military decisions do not concern you.”
          Another expressionless nod.
          “But I’m going to tell you anyway. Do you know why?”
          I shook my head.
          “Because it doesn’t matter.” He smiled, presenting both rows of teeth. “Because you don’t matter."
          As I watched his smile continue on after what he must have thought was a debilitating insult, I didn’t figure a returned smile would be appropriate. I nodded again and waited for his lips to slide back over his teeth.
          He sank into silence a moment. “Supreme Colonel Zarbs,” he finally said, “has been destroyed.”
 
BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-five
(Part 2)
 
“Destroyed?” I thought I’d hear of his demotion. Zarbs, himself, expected a complete stripping of his rank. “But why, Glnot? For capturing the enemy’s general? For that you destroyed him?” At that point, I realized I might have attributed meaning to his words that weren’t intended. Perhaps he meant his career was destroyed. “Glnot?”
 
“Yes?”
 
“How ... how did you destroy him?”
 
“He was executed.” He cocked his head. “You mean you need more description, Doctrex?” He drew the manicured nail of his forefinger across his neck. “Decapitated.”
 
I studied the floor between my feet.
 
“Need I remind you, General Doctrex, Zarbs was your enemy?”
 
I continued to stare at the floor, slowly shaking my head while he chuckled, obviously enjoying my discomfiture.
 
“Tell me, am I missing something, Doctrex?” he asked, the hard edge of humor still in his voice. “Why shouldn’t you be happy about having one less enemy soldier to contend with?”
 
“There must be reason for punishment. Any punishment. Especially, a life-ending punishment.”
 
“And so there was.”
 
I brought my eyes back to his and waited. He wanted to tell me—every instinct told me that. If I proved correct about it, though, there raised another question, the answer of which I was not as confident: Why? Not just the reason why he had Zarbs executed, but the ‘why’ behind the preferential treatment Zarbs was forced to lavish on me at Rhuether’s command, to dote on me like I was an honored guest. Rhuether’s behavior was so unlike his reputation for having the severed heads of his defeated enemies affixed atop poles, and in full view of his subjects, to solidify his power. Even his brutality, as conqueror, was carefully motivated.
 
Now I awaited his explanation for executing Zarbs.
 
Instead, he observed: “You seem to have liked Zarbs.”
 
Why this diversion? Unless ... I considered—if one of Rhuether’s subjects suddenly paraded into the room with Zarb’s head at the end of a stake, looking every bit like a grizzly lollypop, I’d have no reason, now, to hold back. I’d tell Rhuether truthfully, that Zarbs was an ignorant fool, with an incredible capacity for cruelty, while being a weak commander of his men. The truth was, though, I didn’t have any certainty Zarbs was actually dead. Was Rhuether ‘fishing’?
 
“I wasn’t in a position to like Zarbs. He was my captor. I’ve only offered my confusion that you would find him guilty of capturing, and turning over to you, the highest ranking officer in your enemy’s army. It seems odd, that’s all. Did you interpret my confusion as a kind of affection for him?”
 
He crossed his legs under the blanket, grimaced, then artfully recovered, and rested one hand atop the other on his knee. “It will be good to get out of this contraption and on my feet again,” he said, sounding weary, and inflecting it with a sigh.
 
Once again, the tenor of his words carried the hint that he wanted me to pursue this new statement with an inquiry about why he was in a wheelchair.
 
“Are you going to tell me the reason you executed Supreme ... Colonel ... Zarbs, Glnot?”
 
Clearly, my slow pronouncement of Zarb’s formal rank juxtaposed by the informality of Rhuether’s given name blindsided him. He had been hunched over his knees, but with my question, he sat straight as a rod, grasped both wheels and spun his wheelchair toward the door. He progressed no more than three feet when he stopped and whirled it back around toward me. A closed-lipped smile spread under his moustache.
 
“You are very reckless, Doctrex.”
 
“I suppose.”
 
He rolled his chair to within a foot of me; close enough for me to see the pores on his nose. “To the ignorant, your recklessness might be confused with courage. Zarbs was reckless, too, though there was nothing to confuse his with.”
 
“So you executed him for his recklessness?”
 
“The execution wasn’t performed, as you must think, on the day he turned you over to me. He was interrogated thoroughly—”
 
“For capturing me and my men?”
 
“The soldiers who accompanied him were also interrogated.” He trained an unblinking gaze on mine. “They were executed as well.”
 
With his words, my body sagged, and I reached for the table to anchor me.
 
He followed my movements with a look of amused perplexity. “Zarbs,” he said, the last of a smile vacating his lips, “had been under close scrutiny for several months. Capturing you was more of a distraction to him. He had more ambitious plans.”
 
“You killed all his soldiers.”
 
“Listen to me, Doctrex. You wanted to know, so listen! For years Zarbs had been planning nothing less than a coup to overthrow me. He had been covertly active in soliciting the support of several of the other military outposts. What stupid, reckless gall! All it would take was one of those whose allegiance he was not able to secure to secrete Zarbs' intentions along the proper channels for it to get back to me.”
 
His elbows on the armrest of the wheelchair, he tapped the tips of the spread fingers of one hand against the finger tips of the other, looking to me like two spiders engaged in testing each other’s resolve.
 
“Had he not been executed, but instead been allowed to return to his outpost, within two weeks after turning you over to me, his and perhaps a half-dozen other confederate outposts, a total of not more than a thousand men, would have stormed the palace. Of course we knew of their plans.”
 
“After you interrogated his soldiers,” I said.
 
My interruption seemed to throw him off his timing. “No, Doctrex, no!” His chest rose with a fresh intake of air. “No, we already knew about it, and our palace guards, strengthened by a few thousand loyalist soldiers, were in readiness."
 
He hunched down, comically, to bring his eyes to a position of looking directly over his tapping fingertips at me. I had to force myself not to laugh at what was building to be a melodrama of the highest order.
 
“Make no doubt about it, Doctrex, it would have been a bloody coup.” He brought his palms together with a resounding crack, then waited, I thought, for my response. In a moment he continued, “Yes, a bloody coup, but all the blood would have been shed in the traitors’ army.”
 
A long, uncomfortable silence ensued while we stared at each other. At last, he blinked. “Any other questions, Doctrex?”
 
“One.”
 
He leaned toward me, his hands on the wheels. “What’s that?”
 
“When do I get the torches on this wall lit?”
 
He turned abruptly and wheeled himself toward the door. Before opening it, he turned himself toward me. “What makes you think you’ll be here that long, Doctrex?”
 
 

Author Notes CHARACTER LIST
[LISTED ONLY AS PRESENTED]

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She is convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (the brother of Rhuether), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. The god of Axtilla is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred Tablets of Kyre, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. Once accomplished, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams. So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and, alone, she finds her way to the palace of Rhuether. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the beginning of the book, Axtilla discovers him on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, brother of Glnot Rhuether, returned from the sea to fulfill the prophesy of Kyre, and bring about the dreaded Trining. Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an X in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He is astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor X. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex. She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy. But they get separated. Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether. Meanwhile, Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle the forces of Rhuether. Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.
GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be the destruction of Rhuether at the hands of Axtilla and the brother of Rhuether, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, (who Axtilla believes is Pondria), is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about the destruction of Rhuether.
ALMIGHTY MASTER: The name by which the subjects of Glnot Rhuether refer to him. To call him by any other name would be considered disrespectful and subject to severe punishment.
PALACE OF QARNOLT: The residence of Glnot Rhuether, the focus of the Kabeezan Army attack against Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.
SUPREME COLONEL ARKLAN ZARBS: The one-time cruel officer for Glnot Rhuether, later the frightened, bungling pawn of Doctrex, he was the one whose soldiers had captured Doctrex and later turned him over to Rheuther.


Chapter 25
The Almighty Master Baits Doctrex

By Jay Squires

FINAL DIALOGUE OF LAST CHAPTER:
          I pulled my hands away and stepped back, waiting for the color to return. “Do you know who I am?”
          “General Doctrex, sir.”
          “And do you know why I am here?”
          His mouth clamped shut.
          “Nothing leaves this room.” I said this gently, without smiling, making sure I didn’t blink until he spoke.
          “You are a guest, sir ... of Almighty Master.”
          “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”
          “Sir ...” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “I am late with my measurements.” He opened his eyes, but avoided mine.
          “I understand.”
 
BOOK III
Chapter 25
 
After the tailor left, I finished dressing and then waited in the shadows, my hands folded on the table. The residual effects of the narcotic had finally worn off. I had no trace of a headache, and I felt more grounded. The sensory exercises helped. Carrying on the conversation with the tailor might have contributed to it as well.
 
The poor fellow! The fear of saying or doing something I might have misunderstood, something that could have made me feel less of an honored guest ... along with the horror I might complain about it to Rhuether, left his thoughts and emotions in a tangle. Did he even know I was a prisoner, handed over to his Almighty Master by Zarbs? He wasn’t the only one who feared Rhuether. Zarbs was petrified of Rhuether’s wrath, and I recognized, even when I was under the grip of the narcotic, that the doctor seemed careful not to ridicule my terror of the carvings on the ceiling. Even he seemed to exude caution.
 
How sad, if true, that these people were representative of the rest of the subjects of Rhuether’s Empire. Living in fear, as they were forced to, yielded no quality to their lives. How long before their yoke became too heavy? There had to be rumblings and grumblings. Probably right here in the palace. It was a question of whether any malcontent was organized. I wondered if Rhuether would be aware of any such signs of unrest. Surely he heard of them. Did he have advisors who were allowed exemption from such fears as the tailor, the doctor and Zarbs demonstrated? Could he trust the loyalty of his advisors? It all boiled down to trust, and an open channel of communication with whomever he placed his trust.
 
My mind gravitated to my troops, who I could only presume still waited on the Plain of Djur for my orders to attack the palace of Qarnolt. They were my men. I had grown to love them, and I believed I had earned their trust and respect.
 
I had been criticized, more often covertly, but a few times to my face, for the procedure I initiated in an effort to humanize the Kabeezan military. In spite of warnings from the other officers, I urged the troops to address me as simply Doctrex, not sir or General Doctrex. That was the first and seminal step. I wanted the false walls torn down that rank and title erected. I wanted, instead, the development of an overwhelming love of Kabeez and a nurturing camaraderie among all the troops, a willingness to die for their country and for each other.
 
As I stared at the door through which my visitor could emerge at any moment, I became aware my bladder was full. It would be better to leave my station now than to try to excuse myself in the midst of whatever was on his agenda.
 
The restroom was at the opposite end of the room, so I needed to go past the bed and into the torch-lit area. Rationally, I knew I had nothing to fear from the carvings on the ceiling, but I also knew it hadn’t been that long ago when my emotions had been under heavy assault. So I convinced myself there was no reason to look up as I passed under. That didn’t stop the ominous feeling that hundreds of eyes were following me right up to when I closed the restroom door.
 
On my return, another sat at the table, his face turned in my direction, but in shadow. As I approached, I began to make out his features. His hair was black, cropped short, parted in the middle and slicked back. His eyes at once startled and intrigued me. The irises were a washed out gray, so light they seemed almost to blend with the whites surrounding them. The fragile-looking white teeth of his smile, which he displayed for me now, were framed by a trimmed, black moustache, and below by a plump and almost pouty lower lip.
 
“General Doctrex,” he said, directly, and without inflection, as though he were proclaiming a truth which was self-evident but necessary to articulate before proper conversation could evolve.
 
It was just now I noticed he was not sitting in one of the three chairs, but in a wheelchair. A neatly folded blue blanket covered his lap.
 
“Sir,” I said, and noticed a wince from which he appeared to immediately recover.
 
“Please take a chair.”
 
I pulled one out from the table and brought it around so I could sit facing him.
 
“Do you know me, General Doctrex?” Again, his tone was even, without emotion.
 
“I can only guess, sir.” Once more, he winced at the ‘sir’. “I’ve never been introduced. So I would have to answer, ‘no’.”
 
His smile disappeared for a moment, and I was able to see a brief emergence of his upper lip, purple and thin as a blade, under the moustache. It slipped back into hiding with the return of his smile. “I am your host.”
 
I struggled with the indirection of the disclosure. “Ah,” I said.
 
After several seconds of an awkward silence, still smiling, he asked: “And how were you treated by the doctor?”
 
I thought about it. “Like I was a guest in his spa.”
 
“So he took good care of you?”
 
“Yes, he did.”
 
“Excellent.”
 
He seemed to consider me, my boots, my trousers, my shirt. He lingered longer at my face. “You will want to bathe and shave. I shall have my barber visit you.” He waited, his hands palms-down on the blanket. “The tailor?”
 
“Yes.” I studied his expression and thought I recognized a flutter of mild irritation in his eyelids. The smile was unchanged.
 
“I mean, he treated you well?”
 
“Yes. He did his job ... properly. He was polite.”
 
“Good. That’s good.” He stared at me. His lips met in the middle over his teeth, though the corners of his mouth still held the remnants of a smile. Lifting a hand from the blanket, he pushed his fingers through his hair. His hand drifted back to the blanket.
 
“General Doctrex,” he said in a voice that seemed louder than he intended, but after a pause he continued without reducing his volume. “Why, General Doctrex, do you refuse to address me by my name?”
 
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to address you. Your tailor as well as my captor, Supreme Colonel Arklyn Zarbs, would settle for nothing less than ‘Almighty Master’. And it wasn’t ‘Almighty Master Glnot Rhuether’. They apparently were allowed nothing more than Almighty Master since there was only one ... Almighty Master ... and that was you.”
 
“You appear to be mocking my title.”
 
“No, sir. That would be foolish of me, wouldn’t it? Rather—suicidal of me.”
 
He nodded, not so much out of agreement, but from what I gathered from his eyes as an odd sort of self-reflection.
 
“So I really don’t know how to address you.”
 
He gave my question lengthy consideration before he spoke. “For the present, if we are together, you and I, alone ... you may call me Glnot, and I shall call you ...
 
I waited out longer than a slight pause.
 
“Doctrex. But there can be no lapse of protocol when we’re among others. Then it must be Almighty Master, and you will be General Doctrex.”
 
“General Doctrex, Commander of the Kabeezan Military?”
 
He huffed and then he smiled. Seeing I wasn’t smiling, his vanished. “Is that how you are addressed? Is that truly your title?”
 
“I prefer no titles, Glnot, at any time. How does Axtilla address you when you are among your subjects?”
 
“And why would that concern you?”
 
It was time for directness. “Glnot, am I your prisoner?”
 
My question seemed to stun him. His eyelids batted several times under sculpted black brows as I waited for his reply.
 
“Does ... does that question even require an answer?” He raised a studied brow and aimed a smirk at me.
 
I chose not to respond verbally, or smile.
 
“After all, you are a General, Doctrex—and you are ...” His mouth clamped shut on whatever was to follow, and he allowed his eyes, for the first time, to stray from mine. “Did Zarbs mistreat you, or shackle you so you couldn’t escape?” He kept his eyes averted, but something in his voice sounded less than rhetorical—that my answer was important to him.
 
“Zarbs' courier gave him your instructions to treat me well.” Not waiting for him to respond, I added, “Where is Supreme Colonel Zarbs, Glnot?”
 
Answering to the torches, he told me in measured tones, “Why would that also ... be of any concern ... to ... you, Doctrex?”
 
“True. Supreme Colonel Zarbs loved you as his Almighty Master, Glnot—he revered you—but he was also terrified of turning me over to you—”
 
“Perhaps he had reason to be terrified.”
 
“That’s what I don’t understand. If one of my officers captured the Almighty Master, Glnot Rhuether, and turned him over to me, I’d be celebrating and he’d likely be promoted. Glnot, are you promoting Zarbs?”
 
“You’re making me angry, Doctrex.” He slapped his hand on his cushioned thigh. “How dare you question me about how I run my military!”
 
Had I gone too far? I knew I was pushing the boundaries of my bizarre incarceration. I wasn’t even sure why they needed testing, but I followed the faint wisp of an inner prompting. Now it told me to let Rhuether make the next move. I broke eye contact and watched the fingertips of my left hand make small circles on the surface of the table.
 
“Doctrex?” I glanced up in time to see him pull his eyes away from the circles I made and turn his puzzled gaze on me. “I want you to know I have no reason to tell you anything about Zarbs.”
 
I acknowledged with a nod, making sure it wasn’t attended with any tell-tale expression open to his speculation. He was going to tell me something or he wouldn’t have brought it up. I didn’t want to spoil it now.
 
“My military decisions do not concern you.”
 
Another expressionless nod.
 
“But I’m going to tell you anyway. Do you know why?”
 
I shook my head.
 
“Because it doesn’t matter.” He smiled, presenting both rows of teeth. “Because you don’t matter."
 
As I watched his smile continue on after what he must have thought was a debilitating insult, I didn’t figure a returned smile would be appropriate. I nodded again and waited for his lips to slide back over his teeth.
 
He sank into silence a moment. “Supreme Colonel Zarbs,” he finally said, “has been destroyed.”
 
 
 
 

Author Notes CHARACTER LIST
[LISTED ONLY AS PRESENTED]

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She is convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (the brother of Rhuether), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. The god of Axtilla is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred Tablets of Kyre, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. Once accomplished, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams. So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and, alone, she finds her way to the palace of Rhuether. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the beginning of the book, Axtilla discovers him on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, brother of Glnot Rhuether, returned from the sea to fulfill the prophesy of Kyre, and bring about the dreaded Trining. Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an X in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He is astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor X. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex. She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy. But they get separated. Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether. Meanwhile, Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle the forces of Rhuether. Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.
GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be the destruction of Rhuether at the hands of Axtilla and the brother of Rhuether, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, (who Axtilla believes is Pondria), is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about the destruction of Rhuether.
ALMIGHTY MASTER: The name by which the subjects of Glnot Rhuether refer to him. To call him by any other name would be considered disrespectful and subject to severe punishment.
PALACE OF QARNOLT: The residence of Glnot Rhuether, the focus of the Kabeezan Army attack against Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.
SUPREME COLONEL ARKLAN ZARBS: The one-time cruel officer for Glnot Rhuether, later the frightened, bungling pawn of Doctrex, he was the one whose soldiers had captured Doctrex and later turned him over to Rheuther.


Chapter 26
Doctrex Sets the Hook

By Jay Squires






BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-Six
(Part 8)





 
                                  FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

          I watched Rhuether’s reactions carefully as I told the story. Instead of his eyes focusing on me, he narrowed them to a small part of the table’s surface which rendered his reactions to my story to be unrefined. When I described the blood pouring from the father’s throat, Rhuether’s eyes winced and he grimaced. He was nearly there.
          “Of course,” I went on, “word spread of this and the demand for my services escalated. By now people took Mojo very seriously, and it was over a year before I had my second unfortunate experience as a facilitator. I figured there would always be someone who didn’t believe in it, who probably thought it was something you tell a weak-minded person over a tankard of ale.”
          Rhuether cleared his throat and scrunched one eye closed as he regarded me with the other. “So I guess you’re going to tell me about your second experience?”
          I wiped the juice from my hands with one of the napkins by the fruit bowl, pressed it against my lips, and returned it balled up to the table. “If you wish.”


                                AND NOW ...
 
 I studied the ceiling and performed a few small nods as though affirming an inner vision. Seeing he was looking at me, I shuddered, and forced a gasping inhale.
 
“What?” he asked..
 
“Just an image of it. Sorry.”
 
“Well?”
 
“The daughter and the father were sequestered in a room in the far wing of the groom’s home. The groom was a successful barrister from the city, quite wealthy, but also well past his middle years, and his bride-to-be was the daughter of a poor farmer. I thought she was a striking beauty, myself, and well understood why the aging, wealthy barrister would choose to marry her. I accepted the barrister’s money to act as facilitator.”
 
“Yes, yes, that was your business. Go on.” There seemed an edge of scorn to his voice.
 
“I didn’t learn until a few weeks after the ... unfortunate event, that two of his associates in his firm apparently made the same observation as I about the young lady’s beauty. But not willing to leave it at that, they began to speculate over how much her father stood to gain by his daughter’s union with the barrister. When they confronted him about this, he pooh-poohed their speculation.”
 
“Yes, because he loved her. I understand. I know.”
 
“Which brings us back to the night of their assignments, with father and daughter in their room and the groom in his room. I gave them their mantras to meditate on.”
 
“Mantras? Meditate?” Rhuether shook his head.
 
“Yes. I gave them each a copy of their mantras at the beginning of their assignment. Mojo magic infused these words. I strongly sensed the father and his daughter understood the seriousness of the ritual and would exercise the proper diligence. I assumed the same of the groom, as well, especially since he hired me.”
 
Rhuether fidgeted in his chair as I poured each of us a goblet of flavored water from the pitcher, slid his across to him, and took a long drink from mine.
 
“From the information I got a little over a week later from the groom’s business associates, I pieced together what happened: You see, the barrister, who was trained by education and the daily practice of his career to be skeptical, had taken his associates’ speculations far more to heart than I doubt he ever realized.
 
“I believe he started out observing the mantras and meditations, but his mind kept drifting over to fantasies of how the farmer planned to use his daughter’s charms and her proud husband’s desire to please her as a way to extract favors for himself. It pained the barrister to think it, but what could such a lovely child see in a man nearly twice her age except his fortune? Why, he bet they were in their room right now, plotting how she would extort money from her new husband the moment they married and divert it to her father’s ailing farm. Well, that was it! He would sneak over to their room, secrete himself in the shrubbery outside their window, where he’d thwart their plan before it started.”
 
I took a long drink from my goblet, but Rhuether scowled at me. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
 
“Certainly. I wasn’t there to see it, of course. I took a room at a nearby inn, within sight of the estate,and awaited the next morning when their assignments were to end. I was awakened in the night by the frantic sounds of 'Fire!' I ran to the window and looked out to see the barrister’s estate in flames.”
 
“And? And? The barrister was dead? Is that what happened?”
 
“All died. The barrister outside their window, the bride-to-be and her father, charred while still in their chairs.”
 
Rhuether stared at me, open-mouthed.
 
“You’re confused, Glnot?”
 
“The barrister left his room. He was the one lacking in faith. The young lady and her father followed their assignments.”
 
“Mojo, Glnot. Mojo. Its justice is exact. The barrister was killed because he left his room, like you said. Violation of his assignment caused his death. But make no mistake about it, the young lady and her father defied the Mojo or they wouldn’t have died. Makes you wonder what the groom saw through the window. When the fire was put out, theirs was the only room in the estate that burned. Nothing outside it, except a bit of shrubbery, within which the barrister’s charred body lay.”
 
“Mojo ...” Rhuether whispered, solemnly, and from all appearance, inwardly, and then repeated it, “Mojo ...”
 
“A powerful magic no one can hide from.”
 
Rhuether sucked in air between his teeth until his jaw muscles trembled. He wrapped his arms around himself.
 
“I think you see now why I said it’s too risky.”
 
“Do you have the mantras and meditations?”
 
I tapped my temple.
 
“Good. I must go now to Axtilla. She needs to know the severity.”
 
“She was born under the original tradition. It went back generation by generation to the dawning. I’m sure she remembers the beginnings of the variations and has at least heard of Mojo magic. I don’t think she knew of my career as a facilitator. So all that will come up when you explain to her how I studied Mojo magic. It’s up to you to teach her its severity.”
 
“I can do that. She helped me—she cared for me when I misused your magic. She’s experienced its power.” He lowered his gaze. “Yes, I can teach her its severity.”
 
"The question is whether you feel the severity.” I touched my chest with my index finger. “Here.”
 
“I know my magic and the ... and my misuse of yours. Mojo is stronger than both.”
 
“Then, I’m sure you can convey that knowledge to her, but ...” I shook my head slowly and lowered my gaze. “But that’s only half the problem.”
 
 “I know." He pressed his lips together. "Axtilla. We saw how she acts around you. How can you both share the same room, doing your assignments together?”
 
“That will work for the better, Glnot. She has her assignment and I have mine. There is no interaction between the assignments. The fact that she has no reason to talk to me, nor I her—that works in our favor.”
 
“Then what’s the other half of the problem?”
 
I stared at him a moment, then raised my brows.
 
“Me?”
 
“That’s right, Brother.”
 
“But I know the severity.”
 
“I know you do. I keep thinking of the barrister, though. He had those voices in his head, put there by his well-meaning business associates.”
 
“I told you I have no advisors.”
 
“But do you have voices just the same? It’s part of the risk.”
 
He slapped the table. His empty cup fell to its side. The fruit bowl teetered, then righted itself. “You’re speaking riddles.”
 
“Am I? Picture this: It’s very quiet, and you are meditating. Soon the mantras seem boring, your mind wanders. The thought pops in your head: 'Axtilla felt something for him at some time. What if those feelings return?'”
 
“Axtil— Ax—” He couldn’t get her name out before his stomach convulsed with such bellows of laughter he seemed to fight to catch his breath. At about the time he seemed to recover, he bent forward in his chair and continued laughing between his open thighs, tears splashing to the floor.
 
Through my own grin, I said, “So that’s not likely then?”
 
He seemed to gain some composure, pulled himself upright, and took several deep breaths. “After last night! I’m sorry, Brother, but after last night, I feel more for your safety. I’ll check before she comes over to make sure she doesn’t conceal a dagger.”
 
“Well ...” I smiled and put my hand on his forearm. “With that additional assurance, I’m not concerned with the other half of the problem.”
 
He cupped his other hand over mine. “Pondria,” he said, closing his eyes, his lips contorting with words he struggled to get out. “Pondria, you need to know—how happy I am—you are here. You’re my brother, and I—” He gulped air so suddenly I thought he’d choke on it. “I love you.”


                         TO BE CONTINUED


 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.
 
 
 
 

 


Chapter 26
Sacred Rites of Conjugality

By Jay Squires

 IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE
ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,534
 
 
BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-Six
(Part 7)


 
                       FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          My movement seemed to pull him from his reverie. He turned to me. “Pondria, it’s good you have such an accepting attitude. It makes it easier to tell you what’s been causing me such agony since last night. It’s still not easy.”
          “Why not just tell me, brother?”
          He looked away and the words left his throat and lips with a kind of raspy cry, “I will,” and he turned back to me. “It’s Axtilla,” he said, and he took in a breath. “When we had the dinner, I had hoped she would soften, and give up her—her—”
          “I know, brother.”
          “But we argued for hours last night before I went to my bedroom. As a final insult, she wants you to give her away to me.”
          I looked down and closed my eyes. clasped my fingers together and pressed them to my lips. I held that position, and waited.
          “Brother?”
          “I won’t do it, Glnot. I can’t do it.”


                        AND NOW ...
 
“But you must. As cruel as it sounds—and I know it must grieve you—Axtilla insists on it. It’s not something she prefers; it’s something she demands.”
 
“That’s not the point. There’s too much risk.”
 
“Risk? What risk?” He laughed, then stopped short when I dealt him back a deadpan look. “You’re just giving her away. If I had my way—” He gave the tabletop a whisk with the back of his hand in dismissal. "I wouldn’t give it a moment’s thought. It’s not a part of the Northern tradition, but apparently it’s a part of hers. Surely, though ... risk? Where’s the risk in giving her away?”
 
“Mojo, Glnot, Mojo.” I needed something easily remembered. So I chose the voodoo magic that Viktor, of my previous life, had a fascination with as a psychologist.
 
“Mojo? Is that one more quaint tradition from the Southern Province?”
 
I put my elbow on the table and my chin on my closed fist and stared at him.
 
“Well?”
 
“Not a quaint tradition. It’s magic—of the most powerful kind.”
 
Rhuether laughed until he choked and started coughing. He held up a finger, smiling through his cough until it subsided. “Brother ... Pondria. We—excuse me, but why are we frightened of magic?”
 
I continued to stare at him. “We should be, Brother. You, who suffered to near death through abusing your own magic, should be. And Brother, I am. That’s why I cannot give Axtilla away.”
 
Rhuether huffed, and his eyes darted about the room before they alighted, blinking, on me. “But—but I’ve got to ... we’ve got to. I don’t know anything about this Mojo. What is it? Tell me about it.”
 
I leaned back in my chair and clasped my hands. “In the Far Southern Provinces, farther south than Axtilla’s Kyre, the joining of a man and a woman is called the Sacred Rites of Conjugality. No single event is more spiritual than this. There are rules to the Sacred Rites of Conjugality. In the beginning there could be no variation of these Rites, in part or in whole. They were inviolate. Two people, so bound, were bound for life. So if one died the other could never join with a new mate.”
 
“I’m sure the history is very important to you, Pondria, but can we get to the specifics of today, right now?”
 
I smiled at this evidence of his impatience, but I needed to build up to my argument properly. “We’re almost there. Because of wars and plagues that decimated much of the population, the Sacred Rites of Conjugality were loosened to allow for freer repopulation.” I noticed signs of agitation again. “This is where Mojo comes in.”
 
“At last. Go on, go on.”
 
“While the Rites loosened, the Mojo rites, weaving in and out of all the variations, grew more powerful. Do you want me to give you some examples, or go right to the one that concerns you?”
 
“Yes, yes, I don’t care about any of the others.”
 
“Right. The father’s giving away of the bride was one of the key parts of the original Sacred Rites of Conjugality since it represented the continuity between the families. Very—very sacred.”
 
“Okay!” he said, louder than I think he intended; with closed eyes he said it again, but softly, “Okay ... so tell me about the Variations.”
 
“Sure.” I took another orongos from the bowl and peeled it as I continued. “Because of the wars and plagues there wasn’t always a father in the bride’s family to give her away. This is where the Mojo rites introduced themselves. They are very specific in the Mojo protocol for the Variant preparation.”
 
He shook his head violently. “I don’t even know what that means.”
 
“I would be the Variant by giving Axtilla away. There would be very specific preparations. The powerful magic of Mojo infuses each of these preparations. If anyone: you, me, Axtilla, the officiator—any one of us violates or doesn’t follow the preparations to the letter ... well ... I just can’t—I’m sorry, it’s too risky.”
 
“This is just foolishness and hearsay, Pondria. It’s the stuff you tell a weak-minded person over a tankard of ale.”
 
“Indeed?”
 
“Where did you hear of it?” He grinned. “And how many tankards did you pour down your throat before it seemed to make perfect sense?”
 
“Many years ago, in my younger days, at the time when the Sacred Rites of Conjugality had already loosened its hold, and yet when people still regarded the Mojo much as you do, I took the time to study its history. Tomes exist which describe it. The uses and abuses in other lands, distant in time and space from the Far Southern Provinces. Also, I tested my growing knowledge of the magic of the Mojo against what I’d heard about the rising number of deaths and major catastrophes happening to those who didn’t follow the Rules of the Variations.”
 
Rhuether put his head in his hands and rocked in his chair. “You’re making my head spin.”
 
I popped a slice of orongos in my mouth and waited for his attention to return.
 
“Go ahead,” he said, giving his head a little shake.
 
“You might think scholarly curiosity made me the single authority on Mojo in the Far Southern Province. When I paired it with the consequences of violating the Rules of the Variations I saw opportunity for personal profit.”
 
“Ah-ha!”
 
“Ah-ha, yes! As soon as my reputation came to flower, people all over the province, and even outside of it, paid me handsomely to act as facilitator. I made quite a fortune, Brother.”
 
“I’m sure you did.” He rubbed his forearm. His eyes were flat and hard. “So now we’ve come to it. How much do you want? What is your experience as a facilitator worth? Or is it payment enough not to have you executed?” He raised his eyebrows.
 
“Glnot, in your heart do you believe this is what I was leading to?”
 
He let out a quick puff of air. “No, of course not.” He reached out and touched my hand.
 
I waited for him to ask the question that would lead me into the most profound part of my plan.
 
“I don’t understand, then. Because you are a facilitator, you know what needs to be carried out to the letter for the Rules of—of what is it?”
 
Of Variations.
 
“Yes, so we’ll observe the Rules of Variations perfectly. So there’s no problem, right?”
 
“There wouldn’t be a problem if you truly believed me about Mojo.”
 
Rhuether threw up his hands. “And why do you say I don’t?”
 
“Even after I studied the literature on Mojo, and heard of the accounts of the horrible things that happened to those who didn’t take it seriously, I still found myself looking at it in an abstract way. I was preparing myself for a career as a facilitator, but I didn’t believe it in here.” I tapped my chest.
 
Rhuether sighed. “Okay, what made you a believer?”
 
“Now you’ve asked the right question.” I put the last slice of orongos in my mouth. “On my first Union as a facilitator, the father of the bride, a mere two hours into his assignment, told his daughter it was a waste of time. He got up to leave and before he got to the door, his daughter watched in horror as he clutched his throat, and blood began boiling out of his mouth. Frantically, she ran to me, and after the final word of her explanation, she fell dead at my feet. Nineteen years old, and dead of a failed heart. Why? Because she left the room she was assigned to. When I returned to that room to check on her father, I discovered his tongue was missing. His words were his deeds. He didn’t even have to leave his assigned room.”
 
I watched Rhuether’s reactions carefully as I told the story. Instead of his eyes focusing on me, he narrowed them to a small part of the table’s surface. When I described the blood pouring from the father’s throat, Rhuether’s eyes winced and he grimaced. He was nearly there.
 
“Of course,” I went on, “word spread of this and the demand for my services escalated. By now people took Mojo very seriously, and it was over a year before I had my second unfortunate experience as a facilitator. I figured there would always be someone who didn’t believe in it, who probably thought it was something you tell a weak-minded person over a tankard of ale.”
 
Rhuether cleared his throat and scrunched one eye closed as he regarded me with the other. “So I guess you’re going to tell me about your second experience?”
 
I wiped the juice from my hands with one of the napkins by the fruit bowl, pressed it against my lips, and returned it balled up to the table. “If you wish.”


                      TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.
 
 
 


Chapter 26
Big Surprise For Doctrex

By Jay Squires


IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE
ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,873



BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-Six
(Part 6)

 
                                   FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          “So, is it just you and Bips?”
          He shook his head. “Many, many more. Many hundreds more. Probably a thousand. That’s not counting the village sympathizers.”
          “Bips is the leader, then?”
          He smiled. “No.”
          “When can I meet your leader?”
          He seemed to study something on the floor, reached down to pick it up, and then, looking
back at me, he said, “You are, sir ... now.”

                                   AND NOW ...

 
 “You ...” I repeated, keeping it uninflected. “It’s probably the perfect choice, the uncontested choice ....”
 
“But ..?” He dragged his fingers across his closed eyes to remove the tears that still clung to his lashes and made another pass to wipe off what had gathered in the puffiness below his eyes. “But you wonder why not Bips?” he asked through a spreading smile.
 
“Only that he is First Order of the Palace Guard.”
 
“Yes, I know. I recruited him,” he said flatly. “I had already organized the people’s movement in the village.” He said it with no braggadocio in his voice—just stated fact.
 
“Did you know Supreme Colonel Zarbs?”
 
“The one who captured you and brought you here and ... was executed.”
 
“Do you know why?”
 
He sniffed. “Insurrection, sir.”
 
“Yes,” I said. “He organized groups of confederates, within military camps.”
 
“Stupidly, sir.” He started to smile, then apparently thought better of it. “Each confederate with his own ambition. It was not for the people. This is why there are very few Palace Guards in the movement. Bips knows this. He understands.”
 
“That makes sense.”
 
“The movement is for the people.” He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “For the people. The salute Bips gave you ... you don’t know what it means, right?”
 
I told him I didn’t.
 
“When the loose fist is over the heart, it represents the life, the heartbeat of the movement. The extended index finger stands for the person giving the salute. When he curls the finger back with the rest of them into a tight fist that means two things. All the fingers balled up represent all the people in the movement, while the fist means the power of all the people together, for one cause. The tapping of the fist on the heart connects the people with the lifeblood.”
 
“Powerful,” I said.
 
He put his fist over his heart and extended the forefinger. “One,” he said. Bringing it back and making it part of the fist, he concluded, “The movement, everyone: all.”
 
I had a deep knowing he wasn’t finished. I waited. Part of me wanted to help him, but I kept it to myself.
 
Finally, he said, “One for all. All for one.” His eyes took on a faraway look and then glassed-up and rimmed with tears.
 
Now was not the time to smile, or in any way make light of the reversed motto for ‘The Three Musketeers’, ‘All for one and one for all’. “Chiel,” I said, “is everyone so moved by those words?”
 
“If they believe in their hearts ... yes. These are secret signs—you know that, don’t you, sir?”
 
“They’d have to be, Chiel, but you said ‘signs’.” I emphasized the plurality.
 
“Yes. The ankle.”
 
“Ah, the ankle,” I repeated, and seeing him bend down and lift his right trouser leg, I leaned forward in my chair.
 
He held up his trouser leg with one hand while he pulled down his stocking with the other. “Do you see it?” he asked.
 
I studied it. “I see dots.”
 
“Yes, it represents our movement. The one dot in the middle of the ankle bone stands for the individual; me, Bips, anyone who dedicates his life for the movement.” He looked from his ankle to me. “You see the others?”
 
I counted five dots circling the ankle bone, each indistinguishable from a freckle unless, I imagined, the observer knew what he was looking for. “I see five.”
 
“One dot for each of the five fingers which close to make the fist. All for one. Each dot is perfectly placed.”
 
“I think I can see that. By connecting one dot with another in the correct sequence it would form a five-pointed star.” I traced it out with my fingertip in the space between us.
 
“Exactly! Each recruit is taught that very sequence when he receives his tattoo, and he is drilled on it, until he can spot the five-pointed star with just a glance at another’s ankle. Yet it would go largely unnoticed by one who is not of the people.”
 
“That makes perfect sense.” I marveled at the simplicity, yet the psychological sophistication of the movement. “Much more needs to be worked out between you, Bips, and me to coordinate our efforts.”
 
“I agree. We must end this tonight, but I’ll speak with Bips tomorrow. We’ll be in contact.”
 
“Good.”
 
He left me sitting there, but about halfway to the door he turned and gave me the people’s salute. I stood and returned a less refined version of it. He smiled, nodded, and continued to the door.

 
#
 
I noticed the table first when I pushed open the door to my room. Before,  it had been the only furniture in my room and was stark in its isolation. Now, in the center of the table, a large, fruit-filled crystal bowl loomed, with a silver pitcher and three crystal glasses beside it.
 
I walked toward it while my eyes roamed the rest of the room. Midway, I stopped and turned toward my bed. It had been freshly made, but with a powder blue spread. A table, smaller than the other, stood at the head of the bed. An opaque white vase, filled with red, yellow and white flowers graced it, along with a small pitcher that matched the vase, and a drinking glass. I’d check out the fruit bowl later.
 
I approached the bed. A note leaned against the pitcher. I took it to the wall where I could more easily read it under the torchlight, tilting it to get the best light and read:
 
                                                               Dear General Doctrex
                                                                       You will find fresh towels, soap and robe in the lavatory. Someone                                                                                                                              will come tomorrow to fill the tub with hot water.
 
It was unsigned. I held it at a different angle, blew on it, squinted, and then smiled. Under the “Doctrex” the writer had put a dot. My eyes roved the page. Near the top, in alignment with the dot under my name I found another dot. Midway between the two vertical dots, and near the left and right edge of the page were two more dots. I looked about the same distance below the two horizontal dots. Sure enough, two more dots.
 
With my finger tip I traced the five pointed star. First Order Bips—his signature. A signature that anyone not of the people, even Rhuether—especially Rhuether—would not have recognized.

I sat on the bed. It had been a long night. I should get some sleep. I had a feeling I'd be hearing from Rhuether early in the morning.
 
#
 
 
“I trust I didn’t wake you, brother?”
 
“No, I was just lying in bed thinking that no prisoner in the history of warfare has been treated to such luxury.”
 
“Did you like my little surprise?” Rhuether's wide smile showed me  a man  caught up in the grandness of his generosity. “The flowers? Had them picked from our palace garden just outside your door. It’s where we’ll be married, by the way. Oh, and the fruit? Our merchant buyer got them fresh yesterday morning. They prepared all this for you while we dined last night.” He made a wide sweep with his right arm.
 
“The ceremony will be conducted in the garden then?” I tried to bring it back around. Why hadn’t he talked about his and Axtilla’s conversation last night? Perhaps he thought the whole idea of having me give away the bride required tact, and needed to be broached delicately.
 
He sighed. “Let’s go sit at the table so we can talk.” He walked without his cane, though he favored his left side, and occasionally—like now—a grimace gripped the muscles of his jaw. He eased down in his chair, and I took one opposite him.
 
“Try a piece of fruit,” he said. “This one’s at the perfect ripeness.” He rolled a large orange orb in his palms. It shimmered with pink highlights as he moved it. He held it to his nose and breathed it in, and invited me to try one for myself, which I did. “They’re called orongos, and are grown only in the mountains of Kroley, but quite prolifically, so our merchant doesn’t need to buy them out each time they travel the circuit.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “Axtilla and I rode up to Kroley on my crossan.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “It was when I asked Axtilla to be my bride.” When he opened his eyes, he seemed like he emerged from a dream. “Try one, brother.”
 
“Did she say yes?”
 
“Not then, but I could tell by the way she tightened her grip around my chest and laid her head on my back that she loved me.”
 
I felt a compression in my chest and a shortness of breath, but managed to say in a teasing voice, “She could have been afraid of sliding off the crossan’s back.”
 
“Ha!” He tossed his orongos in the air and caught it. “No, my brother, you can tell these things. She did tell me she’d never met a man who excited—” He bit off the word, and turned to me with pity etched on his face. “Pondria, I’m sorry.”
 
I waved away his remark with feigned indifference. “No, Glnot, the best man won.”
 
Then I lifted the orongos to my nose in both hands and sniffed as he had done. It had an acidy citrus smell to it. I took a chance I needed to remove the outer skin and dug my fingernail into the peel. As I pulled a piece of it away from the flesh, a fine  mist sprayed out and Rhuether’s nostrils flared and he smiled. But soon he regarded me with the same look of pity as before.
 
“Don’t worry about it, Glnot.”
 
We peeled our orongos, and each of us sat without a word between us, slipping slices of the fruit between our lips, and chewing slowly, swallowing, and then peeling off another segment.
 
Glnot stared at the torches, as he had done before when something weighed on him. I didn’t want to hurry him. Soon, I felt he would share the substance of his late-night talk with Axtilla.
 
My mouth still held the taste of the last slice of orongos, and my lips tingled from their acidic abuse. I reached for a cloth napkin.
 
My movement seemed to pull him from his reverie. He turned to me. “Pondria, it’s good you have such an accepting attitude. It makes it easier to tell you what’s been causing me such agony since last night. It’s still not easy.”
 
“Why not just tell me, brother?”
 
He looked away and the words left his throat and lips with a kind of raspy cry, “I will,” and he turned back to me. “It’s Axtilla,” he said, and he took in a breath. “When we had the dinner, I had hoped she would soften, and give up her—her—”
 
“I know, brother.”
 
“But we argued for hours last night before I went to my bedroom. As a final insult, she wants you to give her away to me.”
 
I looked down and closed my eyes. clasped my fingers together and pressed them to my lips. I held that position, and waited.
 
“Brother?”
 
“I won’t do it, Glnot. I can’t do it.”

                       TO BE CONTINUED

 
                                **************************************************************************************************
 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

 
CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF:


FIRST ORDER BIPS: THUMBNAIL: Member of the Palace Guard

CROSSAN: The equivalent  of  a horse, though larger, but  having much the same features.

 

 
 
 
 
 


Chapter 26
An Unexpected Alliance

By Jay Squires


IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE
ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,351








BOOK III

Chapter Twenty-Six

(Part 5)

 
                      FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          Rhuether winced, and then his body sagged. I reached over and held him up, guiding him to my chair. He slumped in it.
          I leaned over him. “Rhuether, don’t you see, you grew beyond that earlier? That was the reason for tonight’s celebration. Listen to me ... the seer needs us as much as we need him. We must work all the harder for the cooperation.”
          He nodded rapidly and stood. “We must, and shall.” He let out a puff of air. “Now I need to work out my differences with Axtilla, Brother. I’m sorry about that part of tonight. I tried to warn you of how she would react to you, but it was worse than I’d thought.”
          I shook my head. “It was no worse than I anticipated, but the way she left, Glnot, I suspect you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
          He smiled. “Enjoy your coffee. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

 
 I sipped the now tepid coffee, hoping I allowed enough time for Rhuether to return to his room. What a strange evening this had been. The carpet behind Rhuether’s chair still bore the evidence of his fury. Slivers of glass glinted in the light of the chandelier. A now encrusted spray pattern of gravy and sauce radiated two or three feet from where his plate had shattered.
 
Poor Chiel. To be the palace’s top Chef, extolled by Rhuether one moment, then publicly humiliated by him the next. I had witnessed Chiel’s pride in his bearing when he first entered the room. I also saw the defeated look on his face when he and his food were blasphemed—and I saw something else. When he was on his hands and knees picking up behind Rhuether and Axtilla, and he thought his expression was hidden, I saw the animal rage he kept barely leashed. Were there other times he’d been on the receiving end of what Rhuether recognized in himself as behaving badly?
 
I wanted to speak to Chiel before he left for the evening, though for the life of me I had no idea why. Something urged me forward, and my urges were about all I had working for me. I felt a similar inner prompt about Bips the moment he entered my room to escort me to dinner. It was in his confidence and his air of fearlessness. What was he trying to communicate to me by pointing to his right ankle and then tapping his chest with the knuckles of his right hand? He made sure I continued watching him, and he had to know the risk of Rhuether or Axtilla turning to catch him.
 
Someone rapped lightly on the door, paused, and then opened it a crack. Chiel peeked around it. “Oh, I’m sorry General Doctrex, sir. I thought you'd returned to your room, so I brought someone to clean up the floor while I gather the dessert things.”
 
“Come in.”
 
He entered while the other followed, holding a deep-sided pan from handles at either end. Chiel stood head and shoulders taller.
 
I called him over to where I sat, then pulled my chair around so he stood between me and his helper. “Why don’t you send him back?" I said, a little above a whisper.  "I want a few words with you.”
 
He swallowed. “You do?”
 
“Yes.”
 
He instructed the young man to go back to the kitchen and said he’d come for him later.
 
His eyes blinking rapidly, he turned back to me. “Sir?”
 
“Remember Glnot said you could have one of your men clean it tomorrow?”
 
Chiel’s body tensed when I used the name “Glnot”, but I held an unwavering gaze  on him, and soon the corners of his mouth turned up just for an instant.
 
“You’re not afraid of him, are you?” I asked.
 
“Sir?”
 
“I mean, you have to be prudent in his presence, because of the power he wields—just as I do—but when I look at you I don’t see one who’s paralyzed by fear of him. Is that a fair evaluation?”
 
“Sir, I—I can’t—I’m not at liberty to ...” his words dissolved in a series of shrugs.
 
“You know who I am, Chiel?”
 
“Why, yes, you’re General Doctrex, sir.”
 
“General of what, though?”
 
“What? ... well, of the Kabeezan army.”
 
“So I’m here as an ambassador for Kabeez? Is that what you think?”
 
He stared at me without speaking. Then his mouth spread into a full smile, revealing crooked teeth. He cast a quick glance to the door, then back at me. “That’s not what I think.” He nodded. “I do know, sir.”
 
“Is it just my imagination, or am I being treated well for a prisoner?”
 
Again, he shot another glance at the door, then to the dishes on the table. “I probably should take these.”
 
“In just a minute.” I rubbed my right knee and saw his eyes move to my hand. I made a scratching movement on my calf as I reached down to my ankle, and then tapped it twice before straightening.
 
He swallowed and half-smiled.
 
“You know, your situation isn’t that different from mine, when you think about it. When you were on your hands and knees picking up Glnot’s mess, it first dawned on me. Yeah, we’re a lot alike. We’re both prisoner’s to his tantrums, right?”
 
The shock of my words forced a giggle out of Chiel though he immediately stopped.
 
“Sure, you know what I mean,” I said. “The big difference though is when something I say or do enrages him, with me being a high-ranking military prisoner ...” It was my turn to glance at the door, take a deep breath and shrug. “... you know—when that happens ...” and I brought my forefinger across my throat.
 
His head bobbed in agreement.
 
“I don’t mind telling you, when I saw his breakdown tonight I realized how fickle my life as a prisoner is. And the only reason I’m talking to you about that now, is what I saw when you were crawling around in all that muck on the carpet. You were facing in my direction, though I’m sure you didn’t see me watching you, but what I remember so vividly was the fiery look in your eyes and the clamped set of your jaw when you glared up at Glnot’s back.”
 
Chiel puffed out his cheeks with an exhale. “Sir ...”
 
“I saw it. That was the spirit I saw in you.”
 
“If he knew I did that, I’d lose my position here.”
 
I smiled. “If what? If I told him? You’d lose a lot more than your position. You’d lose your head.” I raised my eyebrows and slowly nodded. “Don’t you think I’m taking a risk speaking this freely to one who’s employed by him? It might be a real feather in your cap to tell him what his prisoner is saying.”
 
We were both silent for some time. He stared at the floor. His mouth opened and closed, like he wanted to say something, but reconsidered.
 
“Is there something you want to say, Chiel?”
 
He jerked his head and looked up. “What?”
 
“You want to tell me something?”
 
He opened his mouth and filled his cheeks, then closed his eyes as he let the air out. He resumed looking at the floor.
 
“Tell me about First Order Bips.”
 
He opened his eyes. He didn’t look up at me, but they darted about. I struck paydirt.
 
“Of the Palace Guard?” I added, as a question.
 
His face seemed to take on a trapped look. “Too—too much rests on it.”
 
I shook my head. “On what?”
 
“On ... not making ... m-mistakes.”
 
“I’m sure, Chiel. Anything worthwhile needs to be handled ... carefully. Bips seems to think you’re a good person for me to know.”
 
That brought his eyes to mine. “Sir,” he said, “W-why did you tap your ankle earlier?”
 
“It seemed the right thing to do,” I said. “Now, consider this ... ” I kept my eyes on his as I brought my right palm to my left chest and carefully performed the same ritual as Bips earlier.
 
Chiel’s eyes grew large, his nostrils flared. “Where’d you see that, sir?”
 
“Bips. He came to see you tonight, didn’t he? That’s the reason you came here. You remembered Glnot telling you to have one of your men clean up his mess tomorrow. But you had another reason to come here. Bips told you to. Isn’t that right?”
 
He smiled his full, crooked teeth smile. “He thinks you might be useful.”
 
“I’ve got an army of thousands. Waiting. Would that be useful?”
 
He began giggling. Then, strangely, tears filled his eyes. He nodded wiping them away with his sleeve.
 
“So, is it just you and Bips?”
 
He shook his head. “Many, many more. Many hundreds more. Probably a thousand. That’s not counting the village sympathizers.”
 
“Bips is the leader, then?”
 
He smiled. “No.”
 
“When can I meet your leader?”
 
He seemed to study something on the floor, reached down to pick it up, and then, looking
back at me, he said, “You are, sir ... now.”

                 TO BE CONTINUED ...
 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

 
CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF:


FIRST ORDER BIPS: THUMBNAIL: Member of the Palace Guard
 


Chapter 26
The Dog That Rhuether Kicks

By Jay Squires


IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE

ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,314


BOOK III

Chapter Twenty-Six

(Part 3)
      
                  FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER

          “Now the toast,” Rhuether announced. He had poured each of us a glass of the bruziaberry wine, and now turned to Axtilla. “You must, Darling, for the toast.”
          She gave her consent with a dip of her head and he filled her glass.
          We inclined our glasses to the center of the table. I noticed Chiel stood at the door, as he had while we ate our soup, staring unblinkingly at a spot on the floor, some five feet ahead of him.
          “My honored guest, Doctrex ...” He paused as though searching for words. “Speaking for Axtilla and myself, may the three of us discover and enjoy the peace and ... and friendliness that our provinces have not been able to find.”
          “I will not!” Axtilla said, the veins protruding from her neck.
 
“Darling!” Rhuether set his glass down and reached out to her.
 
Axtilla stiffened and pulled back from him. “It is enough,” she said, biting down hard on the last word, “for us to toast the Kabeezan Army’s General Doctrex.” She faced me for the first time and her eyes seemed to blaze. “That would make you traitor to your own Far Northern Province. That I would toast this man who is also sworn enemy to the Kyreans, would make me a traitor to my people.” She slammed her glass down with such vigorous defiance that the wine sloshed over. “No, I refuse to toast.”
 
Rhuether crossed his arms and glared at her for a tense moment, during which time her eyes never left his, and her jaws clamped.
 
I remembered a phrase from Viktor’s* lifetime that seemed to apply. ‘The first person who blinks loses.’ What would that blinker lose? Axtilla stood to lose the most. I prayed she wasn’t taking her role too far.

While they glared at each other, I let my eyes shift to the right, to Chiel, who leaned against the wall by the door. The instant I did, his head dropped to the position it held before. So in a weak moment, he got caught up in the drama. Had I imagined seeing a vanishing smile in that flash of movement?
 
A noisy exhale from the other side of the table brought my attention back.
 
“As you wish, Darling. Perhaps ...” Rhuether’s face transformed at once to one of benign acceptance. “Perhaps, in my zeal to be a gracious dinner host, I overstepped my bounds.”
 
“Perhaps,” Axtilla said, her voice cold.
 
He turned his smile on me. “Shall I try it again, Doctrex?”
 
I dipped my head and then raised my glass. Axtilla left hers on the table, half-empty.
 
“Though we have much that keeps us enemies, Doctrex,” he started, and smiled to the ceiling before looking back at me, “our apolitical bodies are united with the simple pleasures of hearty food and fine wine.”
 
“Hear, hear,” I said. Following his direction, I quaffed my wine and returned the glass to the table.
 
Rhuether refilled it and his own. “Now, let’s enjoy our meat.”
 
I sliced off a generous portion of meat, speared it with my fork, and put it in my mouth, letting it rest on my tongue for a moment. I’d had only a few pieces of fruit since waking from my coma. My taste buds came alive, and I relished the rush of juices permeating my mouth as I chewed. Next, I tried what looked like potato, but chopped into cubes, a little mountain of cubes, with a drizzle of sauce over it. I sampled one cube and found it sweet, with a somewhat grainy texture. I had just raised my second piece of meat on the end of my fork when a shattering of glass against tile jerked me away from my target.
 
“You fool! What is this? Do you expect me to eat this swill?”
 
“Almighty Master!”
 
While Chiel skittered around the table, raking shards of glass into a pile, mopping up sauce and bits of vegetable with a rag he must have snatched from the table en route, Rhuether turned to me. “Don’t eat another bite of it, Doctrex.”
 
“Almighty Master,” Chiel said, interrupting his clean-up by standing stiffly a little behind Rhuether, “if you can just tell me what—”
 
“Shut up and clean up your mess, Chiel.”
 
Without another word, Chiel dropped to his knees and once more separated glass from food. He crawled several yards away from the table to retrieve a sliver of glass and then one even farther.
 
Rhuether didn’t seem to want to look at me. I had my suspicions why. He really wanted to make this night special as the celebration of a new spirit of cooperation we had pledged earlier. I believed I’d convinced him the seer was watching him to see if he was worthy of a second chance. Rhuether knew his own greed for power led him to murder his own brother, Pondria. Now, on a night we were supposed to celebrate our spiritual reuniting, he let his need for exploiting his power surface again, spoiling our evening. Was this why his eyes were downcast and he busily tried to iron out a wrinkle in the tablecloth with his fingertips?
 
Chiel was returning on his knees, unseen by Rhuether and Axtilla, whose backs were to him. There was an instant, just before he realized I was watching him, that uncontrolled rage contorted his face. I made sure mine didn’t reflect what I saw. He stopped in his tracks. His neck and head sagged toward the floor, and his bear-like broad back and wide shoulders rose and fell with his breath. He looked up. Our eyes held. The rage was gone. Something else I came close to identifying, but not quite, replaced it. He stood.
 
Rhuether jerked his head around. “Oh, Chiel, prepare me another plate, just as before. And for you as well, Doctrex ...?”
 
Chiel swept his face past mine, and I caught his bewildered look before he made his way to the tray containing the meat.
 
“No, Almighty Master,” I said.
 
A smile flickered at his lips. “Your food was all right?”
 
“I thought it was delicious.”
 
“Would you like Chiel to at least get you some warmer meat?”
 
“This is fine.”
 
“Oh, Chiel,” he said again.
 
Chiel stopped carving and turned. “Yes, Almighty Master.”
 
“Just my plate. After you bring it, go back to the kitchen and dish up three servings of the dessert—you know, the one I love so much—oh, and a carafe of coffee.”
 
“And the warm brandy, Almighty Master?”
 
Rhuether looked at me, and I nodded.
 
“Yes, that would be fine.”
 
Chiel brought over the plate and set it down, placing a fresh napkin and silverware beside it. He unrolled the napkin containing the testing fork and knife.
 
“That won’t be necessary, Chiel.”
 
Chiel glanced away then back again. “Almighty Master ...?”
 
“You heard me, Chiel. Now, get on with you.”
 
Axtilla gave me a quick, unsmiling glance and looked away.
 
#
 
I attacked the rest of my steak greedily while Rhuether picked at his and moved his vegetables around the plate with his fork.
 
Rhuether perked up a bit when Chiel returned with the dessert which was scooped into three separate bowls, each sitting above a stem and base, like a champagne glass. The mound of dessert appeared to be a sort of baked, white pudding—baked because of the steam that wafted off the surface. A pink sauce was drizzled over each.
 
Chiel removed our dinner plates and replaced each with the dessert, including another set of smaller dessert silverware wrapped in napkins. Then he brought the coffee cups and the carafe of coffee, filling each cup. He returned to his tray and retrieved the first of three snifters of warmed brandy, setting it beside Rhuether’s coffee and dessert. He repeated the process with me and then with Axtilla.
 
Finally, Chiel returned to Rhuether with his tasting utensils.
 
Rhuether waved him off.
 
Chiel then turned to me, the fading vestiges of puzzlement still on his face.
 
I thanked him, but declined.
 
He addressed Axtilla.
 
Playing her role to the hilt, she had him taste two places on her dessert and sip the coffee and the brandy before she released him.
 
He turned back to Rhuether. “Almighty Master, will you need me for anything more?”
 
“No, you may go. Send one of your helpers to clean the spill tomorrow.”
 
“Yes, Almighty Master.” He gathered the loose items on the table, placed them on the tray,  hoisted  it onto his shoulder, and left the room.
 
Axtilla’s toe searched out my ankle, then with exquisite slowness, she raised her toe up the outside of my calf to my knee, skimmed across it with her heel and travelled down the inside to my ankle.


                 TO BE CONTINUED
 
 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

 
 DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

 
CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF:

*VIKTOR: THUMBNAIL: Before there was a Doctrex, washed on the Kyrean shore, Viktor existed as a police psychologist on Earth during the present day. After a series of bad counseling decisions, leading to the suicide-death of a woman and her two children, Viktor killed himself in a drunken stupor. Simultaneously, the body of a man washed ashore on the Kyrean coast to begin the story.

 


Chapter 26
Great Power-Flaunting Escapade

By Jay Squires

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE

ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,480



BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-Six
(Part 2)


 
                      FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER
          I raised my glass to comment on his observation when something brushed against my right ankle, broke the contact, then rediscovered it. Meanwhile, the rhythmic clinking of Axtilla’s silverware stopped. I smiled, gazing up at the underside of my glass, also scrunching up one eye, as the pressure travelled nearly to my knee before it began its agonizingly slow descent.
          “Ah, I see from your smile, Doctrex, you’re enjoying it, too. So much more than the mere taste of wine is involved if you want to enjoy the fullness of its discovery.”
          “Oh, yes,” I said. “Yes.” I hoped he didn’t realize from my breathlessness that I enjoyed the fullness of its discovery a little more than he intended.


“Now, before you taste the wine, sweep the rim of the glass under your nose as you inhale deeply—like this:” He cradled the wine glass in the upper part of his palm, the stem cushioned against the flesh between the middle and the ring finger. Then, angling out his elbow, eyes closed, and a smile twitching the corners of his lips, he slid the rim across his moustache with flourish, and enjoyed a brisk inhalation. He opened his eyes and sighed. “Try it yourself, Doctrex.”

He watched my mimicry keenly. I did it fine until an exciting disruption under the table occurred just as the rim made its transit under my nose. My wrist spasmed causing the glass to collide with my lip and a few drops to slosh over onto the tablecloth.
“Not to worry, Doctrex,” Rhuether was quick to say. “It will clean. Did you enjoy its fragrance, though?”

“Yes I did. It was ...” I replaced a few nods for the word I tried to find.

“Delicate?”

“That’s it.” I was tiring of his pseudo-sophistication. I wanted to continue my conversation with Axtilla, but she was back to dropping the silverware, picking them up, then dropping them again.

“Now, to enjoy what it’s all leading up to, taste it, Doctrex.”

I tried to ignore the slurping, then gurgling sounds he made, and simply took a sip. It did have a tart taste. “Ah, it’s very good, Glnot.” My words made him happy. After all, he was trying to be a good host.

I turned to the sound of a click to my right. The door opened a crack. I looked back to Rhuether.

“Ah, the dinner is ready.” He made a motion with his index finger and sounds at the door followed it.

A ruddy-faced, muscular man of about thirty-five, stood just inside the door, balancing a large tray, ladened with a pot, stacked bowls, serving spoons and other miscellany, on his right shoulder. No one but a seasoned server could hoist and carry such an obviously heavy load with his ease. He was tall, though, and the thickness of his shoulders, evidenced beneath his white server’s uniform, could have been developed by years of carrying heavy trays from kitchen to dining room and back, two or three meals a day. He travelled from the door to the table in five long, balanced strides, stopped, and in one fluid movement brought the tray down to the crook of his right arm and slid it onto the table.

I glanced at Rhuether who appraised the server’s every move, waiting—I believed—for a slip-up, an overturned pot, a bowl that teetered over the edge and fell. None of that happened, and Rhuether broke his concentration by downing the last of the wine in his glass.

“That was tasty, eh?” Rhuether said, smiling at me.

“Very much.”

“Yes. Well ... before we eat I shall propose a toast.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I returned the smile he had given me a moment earlier. Did Rhuether feel the need to fill a lag in the conversation? Perhaps he wanted everything to go perfectly and he felt he couldn’t do that without controlling its movement.
“Chiel, here, is our palace chef. He supervises all our meals, which I insist he also serves. Isn’t that right, Chiel?”

“Always at your service, Almighty Master,” he said with the confidence of a man used to decision-making and control over his people, while showing us a solicitous understanding of his place.

Did I detect a touch of irony in his use of the word ‘always’? Just the slightest of inflection? I glanced at Rhuether. If I was correct, he didn’t seem to notice it. I said the name several times to myself. Chiel ... Chiel ... Chiel ... I wasn’t sure how he might be useful. Who did Chiel remind me of? Sure, the one who escorted me to this room, Bips, First Order of the palace guard. I was developing quite an arsenal of useless names.

“Well, Chiel,” Rhuether said, his head tilted, “do you think we might eat this evening?”

Chiel turned to Rhuether, and only then blazoned a grin. “Yes, Almighty Master. I was arranging the greens in the bowl for the Esteemed Madam Axtilla. I believe I’m ready.”

Rhuether turned to me as Chiel brought the bowl to Axtilla, placing it in front of her. “She doesn’t eat meat, you see. Only greens.”

Axtilla glanced up at Chiel, and for the first time in my presence, smiled at him.

“But the greens seem to suit her, wouldn’t you agree, Doctrex?”

I cleared my throat. Did Rhuether actually expect me to comment on how physically attractive I thought she was? I took the prudent route and smiled.

Axtilla placed her hand on Rhuether’s arm—and another first—she leaned in and whispered, but loudly enough to carry across the table, “You are so kind, darling.” When she pulled back from him, she managed to bypass my eyes and looked, instead, back up at Chiel.

I knew she was enacting her role, but something in my chest seemed to wither with her avoidance of me.

“If you will, Madam,” Chiel said, a fork poised in his hand.

She brought her face down to the level of the salad, and seemed to study if from different angles. “This one, I believe.”

Rhuether watched the procedure as Chiel pushed the tines of his fork into the green she pointed out.

He removed it from the salad, popped it in his mouth and chewed. "Another, Madam?”

“Yes, this one over here.”

He placed the fork on the table, retrieved another and repeated the earlier process with this new green.

“Thank you, Chiel. That will be all,” she said.

He rolled the used forks in a napkin and placed it beside the tray.

“You eat meat, do you not?” Rhuether asked me.

I told him I did.

From the pot, Chiel ladled a clear liquid and what looked like a variety of vegetables into two bowls. He brought the first to Rhuether. A brothy fragrance wafted across the table. “Almighty Master?” he asked.

“Yes. From the baroot.”

He performed the same functions as with Axtilla, using three separate spoons on three vegetables, returned those spoons and brought my soup. “General Doctrex, Sir?”

I made several passes over the soup, my nostrils twitching like a rabbit’s. “This will be fine, Chiel.”

“But General Doctrex, Sir,” he said, in a subdued voice.

“Did you ... not ... hear him, Chiel?” Rhuether said, his words spaced and cautionary.

“Yes, Almighty Master." Turning to Axtilla, he added, “And would the Esteemed Madam like a bowl?”

She shook her head, but Chiel apparently didn’t see it, for he continued, “It  contains no meat, Esteemed—”

“What—does she have to do to tell you she doesn’t want any, Chiel?”

“My apologies, Almighty Master.”

“Go! Bring in the meat dish.”

We ate our soup in silence. It was heartier than I imagined; the vegetables or roots were tasty, while unidentifiable.

I looked up to see Rhuether staring at me. When our eyes locked he smiled.

“You should let Chiel taste your food,” he said, with simple authority.

Was he scolding me? “If you—think so, Glnot.”

“That’s why I ...” He stopped, made several small shakes of his head, and looked down at his fingertips, curled into his palm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Axtilla glancing at me from her salad. Just the residue of a smile clung to her mouth as she pushed her fork back into her salad.

When the meat arrived, a pepper-blackened roast, oozing juices, and perched atop a tray, once again on Chiel’s shoulder, I accepted his offer to sample it for me—much to Rhuether’s delight. I had him sample four places to Rhuether’s three, and might have driven home my point with five, if my stomach hadn’t started rumbling fitfully at the sight of the juices bubbling out of each aperture.

“Now the toast,” Rhuether announced. He had poured each of us a glass of the bruziaberry wine, and now turned to Axtilla. “You must, Darling, for the toast.”

She gave her consent with a dip of her head and he filled her glass.

We inclined our glasses to the center of the table. I noticed Chiel stood at the door, as he had while we ate our soup, staring unblinkingly at a spot on the floor, some five feet ahead of him.

“My honored guest, Doctrex ...” He paused as though searching for words. “Speaking for Axtilla and myself, may the three of us discover and enjoy the peace and ... and friendliness that our provinces have not been able to find.”

“I will not!” Axtilla said, the veins protruding from her neck.


                       TO BE CONTINUED
 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

 
 DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

 
FIRST ORDER BIPS: THUMBNAIL: Member of the Palace Guard

CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF:
 


Chapter 26
Sparks Kindled: Fire or Ash

By Jay Squires

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE

ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,953


BOOK III

Chapter Twenty-six

(Part 1)

 
                         FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER ( or TO READ IT IN FULL, SEE AUTHOR NOTES):

 
          Why, Axtilla, why? I think I started drifting into sleep with those words on my lips, and I woke myself laughing.
          Of course! If Axtilla hadn’t told Rhuether of Pondria’s existence, Rhuether’s army would be hell-bent on destroying General Doctrex and The Kabeezan army. It would be a battle of one force against the other, taking place at the palace. According to the Tablets of Kyre the Trining would be a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority. That would mean the Kabeezan army would be defeated and Rhuether and his army would sweep down on Kabeez and complete the prophecy unimpeded.
          The only thing that would prevent the armies clashing, would be if Pondria deserted the Kabeezan army, as well as the General Doctrex persona, and somehow made his way into the Palace of Qarnalt. Perhaps Zarbs’ capturing me, and subsequently turning me over to Rhuether, was all guided by Kyre’s invisible hands in order to set the stage for the prophecy’s fulfillment.

     



                                 AND NOW ...
Having slept myself out, I stretched, yawned, and now lay on my side, allowing thoughts of Axtilla to lap at and seep into my mind, when a knock came at the door.
 
“Who is it?”
 
“I’m here to escort you to the dining room, sir.”
 
“So soon?” I ran both hands through my hair, and enjoyed another stretch.
“Give me a moment.” I pulled myself up and dangled my legs over the side. I got my trousers from the bedpost, pushed my legs through, hopped off the bed, and hiked them up to my waist. In just a few moments I’d be gazing at Axtilla. I’d hoped to be bathed and clean-shaven. I put on my shirt and tucked it in. “Come in. I need only get my socks and shoes on.”
 
The door opened as I pulled one sock onto my foot and then wriggled my foot into the shoe. I looked up, the other sock in my hand, to see a tall young man in proper military attire, standing at rigid attention, five feet away, his eyes fixed on something beyond me. “You may relax. I’ll just be a moment.”
 
He brought his gaze to me and smiled. It seemed genuine and warm. “Thank you, sir.”
 
“I’d like to have bathed before dinner.” I pulled up the other sock and slipped on the shoe. “I seem to have trouble finding a place to bathe.”
 
“I shall take care of that request, sir, but not, I’m afraid, before dinner. I was instructed to bring you to the dining room.” With obvious pride, he added, “You are having dinner with the Almighty Master and his lovely betrothed.”
 
“Well, that should be lovely,” I said, with irony I believed was lost on him. “May I at least take the time to go wash my face?”
 
“Why, certainly, sir.”
 
“I’ll be just a moment.” I left him standing by the bed, his arms behind his back, and his feet spread about shoulder width apart. When I returned, after splashing water on my face, gargling, and running my wet fingers through my hair, I saw he hadn’t moved. He had a composed, almost amused, look on his face, but his eyes stared straight ahead even when I stopped a few feet to his side. “Well, are we ready, then?”
 
Only now did he turn his eyes to me. “Yes, sir. Shall we?”
 
He walked ahead of me with a relaxed, easy gait, and opened the door before standing aside so I could pass through.
 
Once in the hallway, I looked to my left. There were no doors on either side, but at the end of that hall, some thirty yards away, there was one that could open to what appeared—as seen through a glass panel comprising the top one-third of the door—a garden of sorts. Piercing reds and yellows, so uncharacteristic of the Far Northern Province the army and I had tramped through, predominated.
 
“This way, if you will, sir.” He turned to the right and I followed.
 
“My name’s Doctrex,” I ventured.
 
“Yes, sir, I was told. General Doctrex.”
 
“And your name?”
 
“Bips. First Order Bips.”
 
“First Order. Is that a rank?”
 
“Yes, sir. First Order Bips, of the Palace Guard.”
 
“I see.” I said the name to myself. Bips. First Order Bips, Palace Guard.
 
The carpet, a lavish gold and red brocade, cushioned our tread. I counted our paces
fifteen, sixteen, seventeenuntil he turned down a corridor to the left. I made a mental note of seventeen paces and began anew. On the twenty-fifth step we made another left turn. I noted the corridor also continued to the right where, from the sound of it, a great deal of activity abounded; some blended voices and clanking of something metallic.
 
“What’s down that hall?” I asked.
 
We stopped walking. “That’s the kitchen, sir,” he said. “They’re preparing tonight’s meal. I trust you will find it delightful.” As though in afterthought, he said, “Chiel is the lead chef. A good man to know.”
 
What a strange thing to say. “Does he prepare special meals for prisoners?” I asked, with a full smile.
 
“You never know,” he said, also smiling. “If anyone can get things done, it’s Chiel. A good name to remember.”
 
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. He stopped and made a half-pivot to his left before an oversized double door.
 
“If you will, sir,” he whispered, “allow me to introduce you.” He pushed open the door, gingerly, and from my position in the hall, out of sight to the occupants, I heard his heels click. A pause, and then, “Almighty Master and the Esteemed Madam Axtilla.” He had a clear, steady, confident voice. A crisp separation occurred between each syllable. “May I present the most honored General Doctrex.” He stepped again into my view and dipped his head toward me, offering a genuine smile, hidden to all but me.
 
I stopped inside the door. It clicked shut behind me. Rhuether beamed. I gave him a slight bow, and not much more of a smile, since my attention drifted instead to Axtilla, seated to his left.
 
My throat caught, briefly, but I remembered Rhuether’s warning, and expected her not to stint on her role. The mastery of her craft didn’t disappoint me. I first took in her eyes, which she made stern by tightening the tiny muscles around them, rendering them unblinkingly fixed on the wall across from her. I’d be walking through their chill on the way to my seat. While inwardly smiling, my gaze slipped down past the flare of her nostrils to the severe, shadowed line that separated upper from lower lip. Though that line didn’t tilt up at the ends, it could do nothing to conceal the sweet fullness above and below, redolent of a desire which I counted on not being for Rhuether.
 
Beneath the austerity of her countenance, her creamy white neck glittered with an emerald and diamond necklace, its nut-sized pendent nestled between the rise of her breasts. Her gold chiffon gown—all one could see of it above the table—brought to life the gold flecks in her amber eyes.
 
I had an instant memory flash from the moment I first saw the beautiful Axtilla on the shore of the Kyrean Sea (or was it the Pool of Arlangua?), with her eyes at least twice their current size—and with golden irises. Of course I had just regained consciousness, and my eyesight may not have been trustworthy. Somehow, over time, her eyes transformed in size and color, though I had no recollection of when.
 
“General Doctrex,” Rhuether said, “I’m pleased to have you dine with us.”
 
I bowed again, with more pomp this time. “Almighty Master.” I paused, directing my attention to Axtilla, while still speaking to him, and adopted a confused look. “I don’t know the correct title to use for your betrothed; ‘Future Empress’? Will that do?” I crossed in front of her line of vision and ventured a glimpse at her still unblinking eyes on the way to my chair.
 
The fingers of her right hand plucked at her eating utensils, clinking them together and dropping them to her linen napkin.
 
“Until that day arrives,” Rhuether announced, and then finished in a less imperious voice, “I think ‘Axtilla’ will be fine; do you agree, darling?”
 
She cleared her throat as though to speak  but continued to lift and drop the utensils onto the napkin.
 
Rhuether raised one corner of his mouth and moustache in a partially concealed smile meant for me. “Doctrex, your clothing looks quite nice. I must say, though, I’m surprised you didn’t wear your jacket for dinner.”
 
“It seems he has more work to do on it, Almighty Master.”
 
“More work ...?” His jaw muscles rippled. “I shall have a little talk with the tailor.”
 
“He seems conscientious and eager to please, Almighty Master.”
 
“And lazy ...”
 
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
 
He regarded me, rubbing his bottom lip with his forefinger.
 
Because I omitted his title?
 
“Do have a seat, Doctrex.”
 
As I reached for the chair back, an arm and a voice came from out of nowhere, “Allow me, sir.” I stepped to the side and let the middle-aged, uniformed man pull out the chair. I slipped back in front of it and he pushed it, and me, forward, and then he left.
 
I sat across from, and midway between, Rhuether and Axtilla at a narrow enough table to encourage intimate conversation, yet extended long enough, I supposed, to accommodate the bowls, pots and plates on the end nearest to the door through which I had entered. I presumed it was the door through which the servers would enter as well.
 
The milk-white dinner plates, their outer rims orbited by bands of delicate, gold filigree, sat in stark contrast against the scarlet tablecloth. Beside all the plates but Axtilla’s, silverware nestled in rolled scarlet napkins. She still lifted and dropped her silverware onto her open napkin.
 
“Shall we begin with some bruziaberry wine?” As he spoke, Rhuether studied the crystal wine glass he held by the stem in front of his face. The glass’s curvature distorted his features. He pulled it away. “I had it tasted before you came.”
 
Had it tasted? “I’d love some, Almighty—”
 
“Glnot, while it’s the three of us.” He uncorked the bottle. No arm or voice interceded to stop him. He reached for my glass.
 
I kept my eyes on him, wondering about protocol, while keenly aware of the punctuated clatter of the silverware to my right.
 
Rhuether poured my glass three-quarters full, handed it across to me, and then filled his own. Cognizant of the awkward omission, and still aware I might be committing a social or cultural gaff, I reached over without looking into Axtilla’s face and grasped her glass by the stem. Her palm came down smartly on the top, making a popping sound. I brought my arm back.
 
“Notice the delicate pink coloring of the wine,” Rhuether said. “To me, half the enjoyment of it comes from the combination of the tart bite and the pink color.”
 
Somehow, the word delicate did not belong in Rhuether’s vocabulary.
 
“It comes from the city of Bruzia, southwest by two-hundred and forty miles—the only place the bruziaberry grows. It is a rare wine in that it does not improve with age. The palace buyer receives advance notification of when the bottles travel across the trade route just north of our village. He purchases their entire seasonal stock.”
 
“You get them all?”
 
“Every last bottle. And they make a better profit that way.” He held his glass by the stem a little in front of, and just above, his head, screwed up one eye, and peered at the wine through the bottom of the glass.

 “It is pretty,” I ventured.
 
“Yes, it is. If you catch the overhead candle-light behind it you can see darker pink flecks caught in the wine.”
 
I raised my glass to comment on his observation when something brushed against my right ankle, broke the contact, then rediscovered it. Meanwhile, the rhythmic clinking of Axtilla’s silverware stopped. I smiled, gazing up at the underside of my glass, also scrunching up one eye, as the pressure travelled nearly to my knee before it began its agonizingly slow descent.
 
“Ah, I see from your smile, Doctrex, you’re enjoying it, too. So much more than the mere taste of wine is involved if you want to enjoy the fullness of its discovery.”
 
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Yes.” I hoped he didn’t realize from my breathlessness that I enjoyed the fullness of its discovery a little more than he intended.

                          TO BE CONTINUED

 
 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

 
 DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.
 
 

Author Notes TO READ LAST CHAPTER: CLICK HERE.


Chapter 26
I Want Doctrex To Give Me Away

By Jay Squires


IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READER: THE CHARACTER LIST IS IN THE BODY OF THE TEXT, INSTEAD OF THE AUTHORS NOTES, BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SYMBOLS THAT POP UP IN THE LATTER.  KEEP IN MIND AS A PART OF THE TEXT IT MAKES THE CHAPTER APPEAR ABOUT 1,000 WORDS LONGER, THOUGH THE CHARACTER LIST IS ONLY FOR REFERENCE
ACTUAL CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,654


BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-Six
(Part 4)


 
                       
                   FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER

          Playing her role to the hilt, she had him taste two places on her dessert and sip the coffee and the brandy before she released him.
          He turned back to Rhuether. “Almighty Master, will you need me for anything more?”
          “No, you may go. Send one of your helpers to clean the spill tomorrow.”
          “Yes, Almighty Master.” He gathered the loose items on the table, placed them on the tray,  hoisted  it onto his shoulder, and left the room.
          Axtilla’s toe searched out my ankle, then with exquisite slowness, she raised her toe up the outside of my calf to my knee, skimmed across it with her heel and travelled down the inside to my ankle.

 
We finished our dessert in silence. Rhuether appeared contemplative, his eyes never once drifting to mine or over to Axtilla’s. He finished last. Finally, cradling his snifter of brandy in his palm, he smiled over at Axtilla.
 
Her foot withdrew from my ankle.
 
“I think we should enjoy our brandy without a toast,” he said, and then turned his smile to me. “Do you agree, Doctrex?”
 
I told him I did, and then slipped the stem between my fingers, feeling the heat suffuse the pad of my palm. I followed his lead and swirled the amber liquid in the snifter, took in its fragrance, and then swished some around in my mouth. I swallowed and its pleasant warmth traveled down my throat and spread into my chest.
 
“Well,” said Rhuether with a jolting finality. He finished the last of his brandy and stood. “It’s getting rather late. I have things to do tomorrow. I shall arrange for your bath and have my barber trim your hair and shave you. Also, Doctrex, I shall make certain you have your jacket tomorrow.”
 
“I have to say, Glnot, I welcome the bath, haircut and shave. About the jacket ...” I paused until he engaged me with his eyes and then I modulated my voice, “He’s a good tailor. He wants to make sure it’s right.”
 
Rhuether nodded. “He is conscientious.” As though affirming his own observation, he nodded again.
 
“Thank you for the dinner, Glnot,” I said, and then turned my head to Axtilla. “And thank you, Esteemed Madam Axtilla.” She refused to look at me.
 
The corners of Rhuether’s mouth crinkled. “As I said, you may call her Axtilla when my subjects aren’t about. And now, assuming she won’t tear you to shreds while I’m gone, I’ll get your escort. He’s waiting in another room.”
 
He left, and when he was out of earshot, nearly to the door, Axtilla turned to me.
 
“How’d I do?” she whispered, with a start of a grin she immediately swallowed back.
 
“Splendidly.” I glanced to the door, making sure he wouldn’t return and spoil what I needed to say to her. “Axtilla, I have an idea that will allow us time together to develop our strategy for destroying Rhuether. I think it will work, but I need you to play along.”
 
She nodded, and glanced at the door as well.
 
“Convince him tonight—it has to be tonight—you want me to give away the bride.”
 
“Give away?” She shook her head in smiling confusion.
 
“That’s how it was done in my world—when I was Viktor. The father gave away his daughter to the husband-to-be. Tell Rhuether your father is dead. Tell him as a final insult to me, since you—you knew my ...” I had to swallow. “... my feelings for you, this way you could flaunt your—disgust for me.”
 
“I can do that.”
 
Her enthusiasm brought a smile. “I know you can. You proved that tonight.”
 
“Quiet!” Once again, she stared past me with dead eyes as the door opened.
 
Rhuether returned, but to my side of the table while Bips stood beside the door, much as Chiel had. It was odd Rhuether didn’t return to Axtilla. Had he planned a more personal way of saying good night, as opposed to shaking hands across the table? It wouldn’t be a handshake anyway. I’d never seen anyone in either province shake hands. Men in the Southern Provinces embraced, but I hadn’t noticed that in the Far Northern Province. He did get emotional when his guilt surfaced this morning, and he was convinced we were brothers. Add to that mix, the fact that this evening didn’t seem to go over as he’d envisioned.
 
I stood. A moment of awkwardness ensued. I decided to test some limits. “Glnot, I was wondering ... I took a nap after you left today, so I’m not sleepy. I really enjoyed my cup of coffee and would like—if it’s all right with you—to sit here and finish off the carafe.”
 
“Normally, that would be fine, Doctrex, but Bips needs to return to the Palace Guard to be relieved of his post.”
 
“I know the way back to my room, Glnot.”
 
Rhuether glanced down at the table, then back to me. Then he turned, raised his arm and snapped his fingers. “Bips, you may go now to be relieved.”
 
“As you wish, Almighty Master.”
 
As Rhuether turned back to me, I had a clear view of Bips, who reached down—keeping his eyes on me—and tapped the outside of his right ankle. Straightening up, he brought his right palm across his body and laid it on his left chest and he slowly curled in all but the index finger. Then he brought that in, leaving his fist which he tapped against his chest. This ritual baffled me, but at the same time, I recognized Rhuether’s uneasiness as he faced me—some kind of indecision—and now I needed to make sure my puzzlement over Bips’ strange communication didn’t register on my face.
 
Rhuether looked over at Axtilla. “Dear, please go back to your room alone. I have something to go over with Doctrex.”
 
She got to her feet, pressed her palms against the table, and leaned across it toward him.“With the enemy?” Her jaw quivered. “With the prisoner?”
 
“Yes. With General Doctrex. I will be there directly, Axtilla. Please go.”
 
She left the room. I couldn’t fathom why she continued on with her role. She had more than established her antipathy for me and the Kabeezan army. Then it dawned on me. If she left a trail of fuming anger behind her, wouldn’t Rhuether, when he returned to her, be inclined to placate her? Her cunning amazed me.
 
Whatever battles going on inside Rhuether since his incident with the plate must have come to a head. He made a move to turn around, stopped, then both arms shot out to rest on my shoulders. “Brother,” he said, and then his lips pressed tightly together, and began trembling. His eyes filled and he took a deep, jerky breath. “I behaved badly tonight and have ruined our second and final chance with the seer.”
 
“I think you underestimate his need to have the brothers working in a higher cooperation of magic.” I gave the classic glance to the right and left. “I’ll tell you what I think ....”
 
His eyes widened with hope. “What’s that, Brother?”
 
“I think types and levels of magic exist for the seers as well as those for whom magic was conferred. The seer gave each brother a specific type of magic to master the limits of—yours being the mental realm, Pondria’s being the physical. The combination of the two, exercised through cooperation, promised to result in the attainment of a higher level for both brothers.” While I spoke, Rhuether’s impatience grew. His eyes darted here and there. His mouth opened and closed.
 
“Brother, I know that,” he said, vigorously rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve explained all that. And the seer gave us another chance until tonight when I proved to him I was incapable of cooperation.”
 
“But don’t you see, you didn’t? For whatever reason you threw your plate on the floor, and called Chiel to task, you reflected on it and recovered. You recovered, and you relented.” I paused to allow my next words to sink in. “If you will forgive me for saying so, Almighty Master ...” I smiled, and immediately broke eye contact in deference to his power. “... You must relearn cooperation. And it probably won’t be easy.”
 
“But you were talking about the seer and his magic.”
 
“Yes, yes ... Perhaps the seer works under higher laws of magic than yours and Pondria’s. You discovered your penalty for using Pondria’s physical magic, just as Pondria would have been punished if he had tried to control thoughts and dreams and visions—those that were your special powers.
 
“You’re doing it again, Brother.”
 
I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder.
 
He jerked his eyes to my hand almost as a reflex, for it was not proper to touch the Almighty Master. He blinked a few times, smiled crookedly, and looked back at me.
 
“Back to the seer, okay, Glnot? Twice he used his magic. The first, to conjoin Pondria and Glnot Rhuether in Clarna’s womb after she had disobeyed his decree. It broke her heart, though, to see her children growing into young men, with different interests and needs. The love of her children brought her to the seer again. This was when he performed his magic the second time, out of deep sympathy for Clarna. I think, Glnot, this is where he took upon himself a major risk. He risked giving the gift of magic to her children. Only if our magic, through cooperation, evolved to the refined, godlike level would he be redeemed. When you murdered Pondria—”
 
Rhuether winced, and then his body sagged. I reached over and held him up, guiding him to my chair. He slumped in it.
 
I leaned over him. “Rhuether, don’t you see, you grew beyond that earlier? That was the reason for tonight’s celebration. Listen to me ... the seer needs us as much as we need him. We must work all the harder for the cooperation.”
 
He nodded rapidly and stood. “We must, and shall.” He let out a puff of air. “Now I need to work out my differences with Axtilla, Brother. I’m sorry about that part of tonight. I tried to warn you of how she would react to you, but it was worse than I’d thought.”
 
I shook my head. “It was no worse than I anticipated, but the way she left, Glnot, I suspect you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
 
He smiled. “Enjoy your coffee. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

                   TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

 
CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF:

*VIKTOR: THUMBNAIL: Before there was a Doctrex, washed on the Kyrean shore, Viktor existed as a police psychologist on Earth during the present day. After a series of bad counseling decisions, leading to the suicide-death of a woman and her two children, Viktor killed himself in a drunken stupor. Simultaneously, the body of a man washed ashore on the Kyrean coast to begin the story.

 
FIRST ORDER BIPS: THUMBNAIL: Member of the Palace Guard
 

 
 


Chapter 27
Pressure on a Bruise

By Jay Squires




BOOK III
 
Chapter Twenty-Seven
 
(Part 1)


 
              

                       FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

 
           “Axtil— Ax—” He couldn’t get her name out before his stomach convulsed with such bellows of laughter he seemed to fight to catch his breath. At about the time he seemed to recover, he bent forward in his chair and continued laughing between his open thighs, tears splashing to the floor.
           Through my own grin, I said, “So that’s not likely then?”
          He seemed to gain some composure, pulled himself upright, and took several deep breaths. “After last night! I’m sorry, Brother, but after last night, I feel more for your safety. I’ll check before she comes over to make sure she doesn’t conceal a dagger.”
          “Well ...” I smiled and put my hand on his forearm. “With that additional assurance, I’m not concerned with the other half of the problem.”

          He cupped his other hand over mine. “Pondria,” he said, closing his eyes, his lips contorting with words he struggled to get out. “Pondria, you need to know—how happy I am—you are here. You’re my brother, and I—” He gulped air so suddenly I thought he’d choke on it. “I love you.”
 
                         AND NOW . . .

I poured myself a glass of water and placed it between the pitcher and the vase in case I wanted it later. The fragrance of cut flowers hung in the air. I lay on my back, ankles crossed and hands behind my head on the pillow.
 
For the time being, my job was done.
 
Would Rhuether be sitting across the table from Axtilla in their living room, at this moment, explaining the severity of Mojo magic’s justice? I trusted Axtilla’s intelligence and discernment. She’d listen to the nuance of every word Rhuether delivered and  know to keep her smiles hidden. When Rhuether would sketch the image of my poring over the tomes of Mojo magic in the sacred libraries in order to understand Mojo’s monumental role in the Variations to the Sacred Rites of Conjugality, she’d deal him back an oh-so-placid, even serious, expression. She was aware how far I’d stretch my fabrication to establish plausibility or to dramatize the stories connected with it.
 
Certainly, she would recognize our hidden agenda behind the need to follow the demands of the assignments to the letter. Rhuether would provide, in all their gruesome details, the examples of how Mojo’s deadly justice dealt with every violator, and Axtilla’s face would register the measured amount of spontaneous horror.
 
Somewhere in Rhuether’s presentation, he would gently explain to Axtilla how she’d be required to spend the night before their wedding holed up in a room with the despised person whose very act of giving her away—Rhuether would softly remind her—she intended as her final thrust of insult to his heart. I was confident she’d deliver the perfect balance of resistance and disgust that Rhuether fully expected from her.
 
Oh, Axtilla! I couldn’t stop smiling. That we’ll be together, locked away from any other person for eight or nine, or even ten hours—if I decide to make that a fixed and unwavering time requirement of the Mojo assignment.
 
I rolled to my side and propped myself onto my elbow to drink, though I found it difficult to pour the water through a smile. I managed with nothing spilled, returned the glass, and then bent down a flower stem to breathe in the fragrance. Axtilla ...
 
I resumed my position on my back and smiled up at the carved creatures that had brought on such terror just two days before. The flickering torchlight still empowered the imagination to conjure movement, especially in the parts the rational mind accepted as able to move in the real world, like wings and breathing. And the blinking of the frog’s eye, even the opening and closing of its mouth. The frog had been less light and shadow, though, and more narcotic-induced hallucination appearing the moment I could no longer stay awake. Of all the creatures on the ceiling the frog seemed least deserving of the artist’s skills. What was the frog’s purpose? Except, it appeared, to gobble up Percy.
 
I glanced at the door. It had been about two hours since Rhuether had left. It was still early in the day. He probably wouldn’t wait until tomorrow to give me the results. This was his palace, though, and I’d not seen him give me advance notice when he would come by. Nor would he likely knock before entering. I smiled at the irony of that thought. The captor knocking on the door and asking permission to enter. I had already accepted myself as a guest here, not a military prisoner.
 
Not just a guest, but a brother.
 
His last words to me were, “I love you, Brother.” How difficult it had to be for him to dredge up those words. As a result of his saying them, he crossed through a portal into accessibility, and it left him incredibly vulnerable to me. Was he even aware of that? From the way he treated Axtilla at dinner, it was obvious he had already  made himself vulnerable to her.
 
I closed my eyes. Nothing more to do until Rhuether returns with the good news for Pondria ... the Brother he loves. I sighed and removed my hands from behind my head, crossing my arms across my stomach.
 
It had been so much easier when I was Doctrex and had been taught, along with all my troops in our Camp Kabeez training, what a heartless, soulless butcher Glnot Rhuether was. When he overthrew the previous ruler of the Far Northern Province to become the Almighty Master, Rhuether had ordained the other’s severed head be affixed to the end of a stake and left in front of the palace for his subjects to heed and the rest of the provinces to shudder over.
 
That image was reinforced in my mind by Rhuether’s perfunctory attitude over Zarbs’ summary execution. No matter that Zarbs had traitorous designs. He and the soldiers who accompanied him in delivering me over to Rhuether had been—say it like it was—butchered by Rhuether without a military hearing.
 
How many more exploitations of his power had there been that I hadn’t heard of? Whole villages besieged, perhaps, their population decimated? It might be useful to know.  Perhaps Bips or Chiel. I'd ask them.
 
Rhuether counted everyone his enemy. He confessed he had no one to trust as his advisor. He struck terror in the hearts of his subjects. The tailor was horrified that I spoke the name Glnot Rhuether instead of Almighty Master. Even Chiel, who one would expect to be motivated by a more courageous discipline based on hate, crawled on his hands and knees picking up pieces of glass from Rhuether’s flung plate.
 
For reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on, only Bips seemed of a different order.
 
I continued on with my eyes closed. Though I had been awake this morning when Rhuether came to visit, last night’s stimulation had swarmed my mind like a hive of bees and didn’t allow for much restful sleep.
 
Now, I had nothing more to do. Just wait. Prisoner of this almighty fog of fragrance. Passing recognition of a smile. My smile? Axtilla ... Axtilla.
 
#
 
“Brother? Pondria? Hey, sleepyhead.”
 
I rolled to my side and peered through the space between the glass and the pitcher. “Glnot. I took a little nap.” I raised to my elbow and yawned, smiling at him over the top of the glass.
 
“Shall we sit at the table?”
 
“Sure.” I scooched down to the foot of the bed, swung my legs around, and sat on the edge. Rhuether made his way to the table, evidencing only a slight limp. I hopped off  and stood there for a moment, stretching. “Did you speak with Axtilla?”
 
“Oh-ho,” he said, easing himself into the chair, “did I, indeed, speak with Axtilla.”
 
I strode to the table, smiling at what he didn’t say. “Did the Mojo shock her?”
 
“To the contrary, she seemed shocked that I hadn’t heard of it. She said Mojo magic in the Variations had to be powerful to replace the Sacred Rites of Conjugality.” He mimicked confidentiality by giving a quick glance left and right, and whispering, “I am so fortunate she chose me.”
 
“Indeed.” I smiled, and noticed a hint of a blush on his cheeks.
 
He glanced at the fruit bowl. “I ordered a fresh bowl to be delivered. Ah, yes ... I have much to do, Brother, so I also told Chiel to have someone bring your lunch by today.” He raised his eyebrows in a comic way, and laughed. “Oh, yes, a lot to do today. A lot.”
 
Evidently, he wanted me to ask. “Should I guess, Brother?”
 
“Guess?” He looked momentarily confused, or he feigned ignorance. “Oh, what I have to do? Sure, I can tell you about it. You’re a part of it. Have a seat.”
 
I sat, crossed my legs, and smiled across the table at him. “All right.”
 
“We had originally planned for the ceremony to take place after the battle between our soldiers and the Kabeezan military since your Council of Twelve had foolishly planned an all-out assault on us here.”
 
I smiled.
 
“You may smile, but with Kabeez’s best men destroyed right here on our doorstep, so to speak, it would be a simple matter for the Almighty Master and his Empress to enter the city of Kabeez and receive the Council of Twelve’s Proclamation of Surrender of all the Far Southern Provinces.”
 
“So what is the difference, then? You’ll have the marriage ceremony before the battle? There is still the battle.”
 
This time Rhuether smiled. “Battle?” He chuckled, considered the confusion he must have seen etched in my face, and then his mirth changed to full-blown laughter.

                 TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF: Recently discovered by Doctrex as the leader of the People's Resistance Movement, they form an alliance.


FIRST ORDER BIPS: THUMBNAIL: Member of the Palace Guard: He is also part of the People's Resistance Movement  and allied with Doctrex. A few others of the palace Guard are m embers of the movement.
 
 
 

 
 

 


Chapter 27
The Master Has Left His Yoke

By Jay Squires

BOOK III
 
Chapter Twenty-Seven
 
(Part 2)


 
                   FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

          “We had originally planned for the ceremony to take place after the battle between our soldiers and the Kabeezan military since your Council of Twelve had foolishly planned an all-out assault on us here.”
           I smiled.
          “You may smile, but with Kabeez’s best men destroyed right here on our doorstep, so to speak, it would be a simple matter for the Almighty Master and his Empress to enter the city of Kabeez and receive the Council of Twelve’s Proclamation of Surrender of all the Far Southern Provinces.”
          “So what is the difference, then? You’ll have the marriage ceremony before the battle? There is still the battle.”
          This time Rhuether smiled. “Battle?” He chuckled, considered the confusion he must have seen etched in my face, and then his mirth changed to full-blown laughter.


                          AND NOW ...

I waited for it to end. “Glnot,” I said, noticing he still had the trace of a smile flickering at the corners of his lips, “you must credit General Doctrex with a lot more power than he credits himself. Do you think the second in command can’t muster his force of more than five thousand men to swarm down on your palace, which is guarded by what?—two thousand soldiers, many of them with the same personal ambition for which you had Zarbs executed?”
 
My words didn’t appear to faze him. “Let me tell you about your fearsome Kabeezan army, General Brother.”
 
I smiled at his new title, and he smiled, too, enjoying his cleverness.
 
“Do you really think you have only one second in command, Brother? Do you? Tell me, how many lieutenants did you promote during your journey across the plains? Dozens? Each with hundreds of soldiers under him? Then you had your special colonels and your stand captains. What would you say if I told you each of them feels deserving of the highest command? So far they're just bickering amongst themselves.” He stopped and clasped his hands on the table, assaying me with a grin. “The Master has left his yoke. His plow drifts in random directions.”
 
My hand went to my chest, then tightened to a fist. The Master. His yoke, his plow. Those were almost the exact words Rhuether had injected into the Giln Brothers’ minds when he gave them simultaneous visions. “Glnot, you’re still using your magic against my army. You’re crawling into their minds, aren’t you? Like little worms, ugly little bugs.”
 
“Yes.” He threw back his head and laughed so fully he exposed the back of his throat, along with one missing molar. “Yes, general, although it’s not something I’m doing. It’s what I’ve already done.”
 
I swallowed hard. “And you say it with such pride." Slowly shaking my head, I added, "And this you think the seer will overlook in his demand for our mutual cooperation?”
 
His left eye seized with a sudden twitching. “This is war, Pondria. You know there can be no cooperation during war.”
 
“So the seer will just look the other way? Is that it? The seer’s going to take a holiday until the war is over? Is that what you think? He’ll make an exception for just this one ... last ... war?”
 
“What else was I to do?”
 
“Believe me, I understand your dilemma. If you waited for the Kabeezan Army to attack you here, or if you had been so foolish as to have led your army to the Plain of Dzur, you’d have been soundly defeated. Your magic was the only other thing you could use to lower the odds.”
 
He released a stream of air through his nostrils that fluttered his moustache. A hint of a moan escaped his throat.
 
I rubbed my jaw. “I think I might have a solution which should preserve the balance without using your magic. Will you listen?”
 
He huffed. “Always a solution!”
 
“Glnot, I think it will work. Will you listen?”
 
He frowned, but nodded.
 
“Suppose I compose a letter to the next in command. That would be Special Colonel Gerol Roze. In this letter, I’ll tell him I’m working within the palace to subvert the Almighty Master’s defenses.” I smiled when I said this. My words initially kept the frown on his lips, but seeing me smile, slowly his face loosened into one as well while he made a fist and shook it in my face. I laughed at his gesture. “But this is what will make it work. I will finish the letter by giving Special Colonel Roze a direct order not to attack until I let them know the time is right.”
 
Rhuether’s head was shaking before I even finished. “Won’t work.”
 
I raised my brows. “Why not?”
 
“Do you really think your Special Colonel Roze is that stupid? What would stop me from writing that letter and forcing you under the penalty of death to sign it?”
 
“A good point.” I tapped my fingertips on the table a moment. “All right, how about this? In the preliminary part of the letter I will address certain incidents that were private between specific people and myself. The weight of evidence would prove it came from me.”
 
“I don’t know ....” He scratched his temple. “I’d have to see the letter.”
 
“I’ll have it written for you today.”
 
“Wait ... How’s your message going to get to this Roze?”
 
“That will be the easiest part of all. The messenger will wear the medic’s blouse with the red ‘M’ on the front and on the sleeve. I remember the medic in Zarbs’ camp wore one.”
 
“Yes, I know. We have them. So?”
 
“Well, if the messenger wears it, he won’t be attacked and will have access to the camp. You know, it’s part of the medics’ creed.” I slapped the heel of my hand against my head. “Of course! This will work perfectly—I just remembered. The messenger, as a medic, will be delivered directly to the Kabeezan Chief Medic’s quarters. The Chief Medic, Braims Glassem, is my dear friend. We have several contact points only he and I know ... points that would prove the message came from me.”
 
“No, no, but the message contains a direct order for Special Colonel Roze.”
 
I took it slow and hoped my impatience didn’t show through. “Yes, I know. Hear me out. This can work; you won’t have to use your magic, and you’ll be exercising the cooperation the seer is looking for. But ... just hear me out.”
 
Rhuether crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and said to the ceiling, “All right, I’m listening.” He sighed and brought his eyes to me. “So we have two people reading the letter. Very dangerous.”
 
“No, we don’t.” I smiled. “Medic Braims Glassem will get the cover letter with the validation that it came from me. The orders for Gerol Roze will come in the second, and fully sealed, letter, delivered by Medic Glassem, who will authenticate it came from me."
 
Rhuether grinned. “Now it’s making some sense.”
 
“Good. I’ll need paper and ink.”
 
“You’ll get it today, along with all you’ll need for a bath.”
 
I chuckled. “It’s that noticeable, eh?”
 
He laughed. “Well, I really have to go.”
 
“Ha! So it is that noticeable?”
 
“No, I just have so much to do.” He still had the smile twisting at his lips. He got up and turned toward the door. Then, he stopped and turned back. “Oh, did I ever—? No, I didn’t. We got so involved with our armies and letters, and all, I never got to tell you when we’ll have the ceremony. In one week! Isn’t that great? One week.”
 
“That is great. That means I have a lot to do, myself. I’ll write the letter for your approval.”
 
“Tomorrow. I’ll read it tomorrow morning.”
 
“Yes, and then you need to reverse your magic before we send the messenger.”
 
He shot me a glance. “Why?”
 
“Why? Glnot, because they’re not in their own minds now. They’re bickering. You told me so yourself. Each one feels deserving of command. You’ve injected a hunger for power they didn’t have before.”
 
He scrunched up his eyes like he was in pain. “I’ll read the letter first.”
 
“Fair enough.”
 
“Good, I’ll have the waiter bring you paper and pen with your lunch.” At the door, he turned around again. “And don’t forget the bath, Brother.”
 
I smiled, but it was my turn to shake my fist at him.
 
He left the room, and his laughter continued, even with the door closed.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

 
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.


GILN PROFUE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER, VERY CLOSE FRIEND OF DOCTREX. Field Commissioned 1st lieutenant in the Kabeezan Army, Zurn’s adopted brother.

SHELECK PROFUE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER, VERY CLOSE FRIEND OF DOCTREX. Field Commissioned 2nd lieutenant in the Kabeezan Army, Zurn’s adopted brother.

SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. Second in command of the Kabeezan Army after General
Doctrex.

 MEDIC BRAIMS GLASSEM: Chief among medics in the Kabeezan Army. Doctrex's and dear friend and confidant..

 

 


Chapter 27
Educating Chiel

By Jay Squires

 
 
 

BOOK III
 
Chapter Twenty-Seven
 
(Part 3

 
                   FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

          “Yes, and then you need to reverse your magic before we send the messenger.”
          He shot me a glance. “Why?”
          “Why? Glnot, because they’re not in their own minds now. They’re bickering. You told me so yourself. Each one feels deserving of command. You’ve injected a hunger for power they didn’t have before.”
          He scrunched up his eyes like he was in pain. “I’ll read the letter first.”
          “Fair enough.”
          “Good, I’ll have the waiter bring you paper and pen with your lunch.” At the door, he turned around again. “And don’t forget the bath, Brother.”
          I smiled, but it was my turn to shake my fist at him.

          He left the room, and his laughter continued, even with the door closed.

                   AND NOW ...
 
I continued sitting at the table after Rhuether had gone, running through my mind which situations Braims Glassem would remember of our points of contact. I immediately thought of one. He had volunteered to be one of the men to go with me to rescue Eele Jessip and any of his surviving troops after they’d been attacked by the enemy in blizzard conditions. Since he was the senior medic, I had to order him to stay on the Plain of Djur and await the arrival of the other incoming troops, some of whom might have injuries. He was disappointed. He’d certainly remember that.
 
I was searching my mind for other personal connections with Braims when three soft raps clicked against the door.
 
“Kitchen service, Sir.”
 
I recognized the voice. “Come in.”
 
Chiel entered the room, bearing a tray on his shoulder. He reached his foot back and closed the door. The tray scarcely moved. He smiled. “General Doctrex, Sir.”
 
To let him know we were alone, I offered the people’s salute.
 
He beamed. “Would you like the tray on your table, Doctrex?”
 
“Please.” I pushed the fruit bowl, the pitcher and glasses to the far back edge as he swung the tray off his shoulder and set it on the table.
 
He removed the metal lid off one of the two covered bowls, and it released a ghost-swirl of meat-scented steam, which cleared to reveal succulent chunks and strips of various meats on a rice bed. He replaced that lid and removed the other. Mounds of different colored and shaped vegetables lay under their escaped steam. He replaced that lid. Then, pulling the tray toward him to the very edge of the table, he held it there with his left hand while he lifted the vegetable bowl off with his right. Setting it down in the freed-up space, he then placed the meat bowl beside it. Finally, he maneuvered both around to make room for the two serving spoons, the eating plate and the silverware, which was wrapped in a gold-colored cloth napkin. He surveyed everything as an artist would his completed canvas, moved the napkin a quarter inch to the right, approved the composition with a nod, and pulled the tray off to hang by his side. “May I set the tray on the floor, Doctrex?”
 
“Well, of course.”
 
“If you will please have a seat, I can serve you.” He bent his huge frame down and  put the tray on the floor.
 
I took my seat. “I can serve myself, Chiel.”
 
“Are you hungry, Sir?”
 
“Famished.”
 
“Then, allow me to serve you. If you wish, we can talk while you eat.”
 
“Were you asked to bring the writing supplies?”
 
“They're in the hall. I was told to bring them,” he said, with emphasis on “told” and just the hint of a smile. “May I serve you first?”
 
He was definitely in “the waiter” role—impersonal, reserved—not ready to put on the mantle of “The People’s Leader” just yet. “Yes, later’s fine,” I told him, and then added, “Is Bips coming?”
 
He removed the lid from the meat bowl and placed it upside down on the tray. I was about to ask him again, thinking he didn’t hear me, when he said, “He should be here, but probably not for long. He’s on duty.”
 
I nodded. “The three of us do need to speak—reach a mutual understanding.”
 
He took the other lid off, and as he bent to place it inside the one on the tray, he gave me a sidelong glance. Rising, he repeated, “A mutual understanding.”
 
“No one person can go into it blindly. Activities, timelines; all must be coordinated.”
 
He smiled broadly. “Let me serve you, Doctrex.” He touched the scoop of the spoon against a beef chunk. “This, or,” he moved the spoon to the strips, “this?”
 
“Both, please.” Then, to save time, I added, “also, a sampling of the vegetables.”
 
With my plate heaped and steaming, he reached for a glass and the pitcher. When I told him it needed replacing, since it was from yesterday, he tilted his head, apologetically, still holding the handle. “I’m so sorry, Doctrex. I shall give word to the kitchen they are to replace it daily.”
 
I unrolled my napkin and picked up the knife and fork.
 
“Oh, no, Doctrex, remember?” He retrieved his own wrapped knife and fork from the inside pocket of his white coat.
 
I laughed, certain he was joking. “No, Chiel. Why?—no, that’s not necessary.” I turned back to my plate, my knife poised in one hand and fork in the other.
 
“Please, Doctrex,” he said, with a note of pleading in his voice. “Would you deprive me of a taste of my own creation?”
 
I laughed, and then he joined in, both of us enjoying the warmth of our shared, forbidden camaraderie. My laughter drifted naturally into a residual smile, while his continued on a few seconds longer, stopping suddenly.
 
“So,” he said, “Is that a yes or a no?”
 
I chuckled. “Go ahead, stab away.”
 
He removed a fork from his package, looked at the plate then back at me. “Which one?”
 
I pointed, knowing anything less would only prolong the inevitable.
 
“That skinny one?” He indicated another with his fork. “That’s the one. It’s what I’d likely have poisoned. But I can’t resist it, Doctrex. See how juicy it is?”
 
I nodded my approval.
 
He speared it on the end of his tines, brushed off some of the rice that adhered to the bottom of it, and brought it to his mouth where it disappeared between his lips. He closed his eyes; a smile formed, even as he chewed.
 
“You could have brought an extra plate,” I said.
 
“Ah,” he said, and swallowed. “And if the wrong person came in? Now I’m just protecting you from being poisoned.”
 
“So much for protection. I chose the skinny one.”
 
“As you wish. This one?” He pointed, and not waiting for my response, swooped it up and into his waiting mouth.
 
“At this rate, I’ll die of starvation, not poisoning.”
 
“You should begin,” he said around the chewed steak. “The rest are fairly safe.”
 
“That’s nice to know, Chiel.” I began with the thicker chunk. It was spicier than the meat from last night; while it was tasty, the residual burning sensation blanketed the base of the throat. I followed it with a serendipitous choice of a vegetable I thought was a potato. It had  a stringy texture and  it was unexpectedly tart; I found that chewing it after the spicy meat  muted the back-throat burning.
 
“While you enjoy your lunch, Doctrex, I’ll get the supplies.”
 
I nodded, my mouth full, and he left.
 
In the hall, a low rumbling of voices stole my attention from eating. I looked up just as the door opened and Bips entered.
 
“General Doctrex,” he said, giving me the salute.
 
I put down my fork and returned the salute. “Glad you could make it, First Order Bips.”
 
He smiled. “Just Bips, if you please, General Doctrex.”
 
“And the same, Bips. Just Doctrex.” Chiel entered at that moment with the writing supplies. I asked him to put them on the foot of the bed and returned my attention to Bips. “Chiel says you won’t be able to stay long.”
 
He glanced over his shoulder at Chiel who returned from the bed to stand beside him. Bips shrugged. “I steal time where I can. But please, continue to eat. I trust the subject of our conversation won’t dampen your appetite.”
 
I slipped a forkful of rice between my lips. As I chewed it turned to liquid. It didn’t taste like rice. I didn’t know what it was, but it brought smiles to both men’s lips.
 
“You like kanit?” Chiel asked, still smiling, his face reddened.
 
“There’s not much flavor to it,” I said. “We don’t have it in the Far Southern Provinces. Why do you ask?”
 
“It’s a kind of tree grub, half the size you see here. When we lay the meat on them they eat up all the fat and swell up to this size. Everyone knows to brush them off before eating the meat.”
 
I tried not to think about how juicy they were. “I’ll remember next time.”
 
“Since we don’t know how long we’ll have before interruption, gentlemen,” said Chiel, “I think we need to understand the coordination you spoke  of earlier, Doctrex.”
 
I brushed off a piece of meat, viewing it from all sides, before putting it in my mouth. “If I may, how many factions are there?”
 
“Factions?” Chiel asked. He gave Bips a quick glance.
 
“Well,” I said, “There’re you and Bips. Each of you leads a group of a certain number. Are there any other leaders and their followers? How is the communication between them?”
 
“Ah, I see,” Bips piped in. “I have fifty-two among the Palace Guard.”
 
“Out of?” I questioned.
 
“The total Guard is 740 men.”
 
“My faction,” said Chiel, “within the kitchen workers is only five. They aren’t specialized, but they’re dedicated and loyal.”
 
“Good,” I said. I put my knife and fork down. “And outside the palace?”
 
“I’ll have to check my books, Doctrex, but I have between ten and fifteen factions within the villages surrounding the palace. All the leaders are personally trained, loyal and ... tight-lipped. Each faction has between 200 and 250 men, all ready on a moment’s notice. All leaders and followers are very careful in their use of the salute and all are tattooed, as we hope—” Here he shared a glance with Bips— “we hope you will be.”
 
I thought about it a moment before I spoke. “I’ll be honored.”
 
“Doctrex ... Bips ... The time is very near.”
 
I shot Chiel a glance. Bips shifted his weight and coughed. This seemed a surprise to him as well. “What do you mean by ‘near’?” I asked.
 
“There will be least resistance at the time of the wedding. That is when we will wage our assault.”
 
I smiled, and in as gentle a voice as I could muster, I said, “...You’ll be destroyed, Chiel.”
 
Upon hearing my words, Chiel, who had been leaning with one arm on the table, shot to an erect posture. “What are you saying, Doctrex?”
 
“Chiel, are you going to call your 2,500 men out of the fields, or from waiting on customers at a fruit stand, or weaving baskets ... to be ready at a moment’s notice? They’re not twenty-four-hour-a-day soldiers. They’re busy with their fields or their animals or their stands and businesses, working to keep food on the table. They are loyal to your cause, dedicated to your cause and ... wholly unprepared to further your cause.”
 
Bips looked at Chiel, then turned his eyes to me. “Chiel told me we could count on your Kabeezan army to work for the People’s cause.”
 
I nodded to Bips, but directed my words to Chiel. “And you’re right, Chiel—but not on your timetable. To succeed we have to coordinate in order to work from our positions of strength. The Kabeezan army is your most powerful faction, but right now they’re waiting on the Plain of Dzur for their orders to attack. Don’t you think if they could easily overpower Glnot Rhuether’s forces they’d have done so already? They’re waiting to be told when the time is right. They’ll get those orders from me.”


                          TO BE CONTINUED ...

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF: Recently discovered by Doctrex as the leader of the People's Resistance Movement, they form an alliance.


FIRST ORDER BIPS: THUMBNAIL: MEMBER OF THE PALACE GUARD:  He is also part of the People's Resistance Movement  and allied with Doctrex. A few others of the palace Guard are m embers of the movement.

 


Chapter 27
Is the Alliance With Chiel Wise?

By Jay Squires

PART III

Chapter Twenty-Seven

(Part 4)

 
                          FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

           “There will be least resistance at the time of the wedding. That is when we will wage our assault.”
          I smiled, and in as gentle a voice as I could muster, I said, “...You’ll be destroyed, Chiel.”
          Upon hearing my words, Chiel, who had been leaning with one arm on the table, shot to an erect posture. “What are you saying, Doctrex?”
          “Chiel, are you going to call your 2,500 men out of the fields, or from waiting on customers at a fruit stand, or weaving baskets ... to be ready at a moment’s notice? They’re not twenty-four-hour-a-day soldiers. They’re busy with their fields or their animals or their stands and businesses, working to keep food on the table. They are loyal to your cause, dedicated to your cause and ... wholly unprepared to further your cause.”
          Bips looked at Chiel, then turned his eyes to me. “Chiel told me we could count on your Kabeezan army to work for the People’s cause.”

        I nodded to Bips, but directed my words to Chiel. “And you’re right, Chiel—but not on your timetable. To succeed we have to coordinate in order to work from our positions of strength. The Kabeezan army is your most powerful faction, but right now they’re waiting on the Plain of Dzur for their orders to attack. Don’t you think if they could easily overpower Glnot Rhuether’s forces they’d have done so already? They’re waiting to be told when the time is right. They’ll get those orders from me.”

                          AND NOW ...
 

Chiel’s white-knuckled fists thumped repeatedly against his thighs; his muscled arms hung rigid and trembled at such a frequency that, if they'd been made of glass, they’d have shattered. “Meanwhile, Doc-trex,” he said through clamped jaws, “our people are starving. Starving!”
 
His voice rose and Bips cast him an anxious glance.
 
Chiel’s nostrils flared as he took in a breath. He seemed more controlled when he started again. “Physically, Doctrex, they are starving—but especially spiritually. They don’t have the will to hold out much longer.” He closed his eyes a moment, and then he opened them. “Our youngest and best were conscripted into Glnot Rhuether’s army for what he calls the Great March to the Southern Provinces. They’ve been fattened up, muscled up, and their minds twisted up to accept their Almighty Master’s cause as their personal glory. It’s bad enough our people will battle their own children; it’s worse that we’re left with soldiers in their second half of life.”
 
I let out a long sigh and sought out the pain in Chiel’s eyes. “My friend, your love for your people slices me to the heart. And because of that, I must be even more emphatic. Your words, dear Chiel, prove what I’m saying. The People’s army, by themselves—” I held up an index finger— “will be defeated in one day, and those who remain will be made vicious, humiliating examples of.” I stared at him and slowly shook my head. I felt his love and pain so acutely, tears sprang to my eyes. “I understand, more than you know, the terrible vengeance of your enemy. The long-term punishment he will rain down on all who remain—the women and young children of your villages—will dwarf your army’s defeat.”
 
Chiel’s head slumped to his chest. He shut his eyes so tightly tears squeezed through his lashes, and his chin trembled.
Bips stepped over and, though six inches shorter, reached up and cupped his palm on his leader's shoulder. “Listen to Doctrex, Chiel. What he says makes sense.” He smiled at me and looked back up at Chiel. “Let’s see what his plans are.” He gave his shoulder a squeeze and brought his hand down.
 
After a moment, Chiel nodded with short, jerky movements, his head still down.
 
“First of all, Chiel, our timetable is almost the same as yours,” I said. “So your people won’t have long to wait. In fact, though I can’t be sure at this moment, it might be sooner than you anticipated with your plan.”
 
Chiel’s head, and then his brows, shot up. “Is that right?”
 
Bips grinned and pounded his fist into his palm like he needed to restrain himself to keep from dancing.
 
“That’s right. But I’ll need your help. I don’t think I’ll be able to give you more than one day’s notice to alert your army. And we’ll need to exercise the strictest of security until then. We’ll have a lot of details to work out in the meantime. But first I’ll need one of your most trusted men to get a message, pre-written by me, to the Kabeezan Army’s next in command, ordering him to begin the march to the palace.”
 
“I can do that. Only ...” he trailed off.
 
“His safety? I understand. I can assure his safety.” I turned to Bips. “I’ll explain everything in detail later, but can you get a Medic’s vest with the ‘M’ on it?”
 
“Easily. From the laundry.”
 
“Excellent. Chiel, I’ll get the written message to you tomorrow for your safe-keeping. You must give a lot of thought to the messenger you choose. You must trust your life to him. If he fails, the mission fails. He’ll need a speedy crossan that can take him and the message to the Plain of Dzur in the shortest time possible. I believe it’s less than an hour away?”
 
“If it were straight away—less than three-quarters of an hour. But to avoid detection he must travel the trade route south-westerly from the village, until he can cross back. A little over an hour.”
 
“That’ll still work. Do you have someone in mind?”
 
“I do.”
 
“He must take nothing but the message. No weapons. He’ll be safe.” I turned to Bips. “When can you get the Medic’s vest?”
 
“Tomorrow.”
 
“Will you make sure Chiel gets it tomorrow? The messenger must wear it.”
 
“Tomorrow, wrapped in paper.”
 
“Gentlemen,” I said, “I have much to do today.” I stood. “We will coordinate everything later.” I gave them The People’s salute, and they returned it with obvious pride.
 
Bips left first. Chiel stayed to stack the bowls, plate and utensils on the tray. He added the pitcher and glasses. “I’ll send someone today with the juice and cups. Also a fresh fruit bowl.”
 
“Thank you, Chiel.” I sensed something troubled him, and I thought I knew what. Until today, Chiel was the People’s movement. It would not have happened without him. And now, with a few words, and with the statement of obvious and indisputable fact of his People’s unpreparedness, he found himself suddenly absorbed into a larger system, and in the end, that system was the shadow which would be cast, not his. He was a good man. But in him—as in all men—burrowing through the rich soil of compassion was the root-bed of power which could grow the way of tolerance or the way of tyranny. I hoped my alliance was a wise one.
 
He hoisted the tray up onto his shoulder and turned to leave.
 
“Chiel,” I said.
 
He turned back.
 
“I want you to know, Chiel, nothing will happen without you. When it’s all over, it will be The People’s victory, not the Kabeezan army’s. You have my word.”
 
“Thank you ...” Blinking rapidly, he failed at a smile, turned, and drew in two stunted breaths as he strode to the door.
 
#
 
Within fifteen minutes after Chiel had gone, four men came with the bathwater. They struggled with a huge metal cauldron with two thick rings on either side through which they’d threaded long poles, and each one manned an end. As they moved gingerly toward the washroom, the steaming cauldron slid forward and back on the swaying poles, as well as rocked side to side, nearly, but not quite, sloshing its scalding water out of the container. It took them two trips, spaced a half-hour apart, to fill the tub in the washroom. A young lad followed behind the four, bearing the towels and soap.
 
At some interval between the two bath fillings, a young man from the kitchen service came with a bowl of fruit and two fresh pitchers of flavored water, one for the table and one for the bed stand.
 
I allowed a bath as the reward for finishing my two letters, which I’d almost completed by the time the cauldron-bearers and the towel and soap carrier had left. After bathing I might relax with an orongos, or possibly experience a new piece of fruit.
 
I put the stopper in the ink jar, put the jar and the quill on the stack of unused paper, and placed them all under the bed. I stood and was working into a good stretch when a rap on the door pulled me out of my hard-won languor. “Yes, who is it?”
 
No answer.
 
“What do you need?”
 
“General Doctrex, Sir ...” came the timid voice. “It’s Corl, your tailor.”
 
“Corl! Come in, come in. You must have my jacket.”
 
Once in, he took short, choppy steps toward me, grimacing, keeping his eyes on the floor. He carried a wrapped package in both hands.
 
“Corl, what did they do to you?” I knew, and it sickened me, but I hoped for some sort of corroboration from him. From the terror-filled expression my words brought to his face as he stood before me, I knew I could expect no help from him.
 
“Your jacket, Sir.”
 
I took it from him, set it on the bed and turned back. He opened and closed his blackened eyes, slowly. He bent forward slightly from the waist, his breathing shallow and raspy. Were his injuries internal? “Corl, have you seen the medic about this?”
 
He started to laugh, evidently thought better of it, but left the hint of a smirk on his lips for just a second before a mask of pain replaced it. He made an effort to recover and even tried to stand straighter. “Please, Sir ... try it on. It must fit—fit perfectly.”
 
“I’ll try it on, Corl, but let me get you a chair.”
 
“No, no! Please, General Doctrex, just try it on. If it doesn’t fit, I must—”
 
“Yes, I understand.” I tore through the paper to get the jacket out. Holding it out in front of me, I wanted to laugh at this gaudy, gold jacket with the wide lapels and three shiny, ebony buttons down the front, but Corl’s tight-drawn eyes told me to slip it on.
 
“Button it, if—” he closed his eyes, as though summoning a reserve of strength, “—if you will.”
 
I rushed to button it, and then tugged the bottom down level on both sides.
 
“T-turn, please.”
 
I did.
 
He nodded and a small smile formed.
 
“You did well, Corl. It feels comfortable.”
 
He closed his eyes and the smile stayed. “Thank you, General Doctrex.” He turned with difficulty and began his slow, excruciating exit.
 
There was nothing I could do—nothing he would let me do. It was obvious he’d been soundly beaten. He probably thought my displeasure in not having the jacket in a timely fashion had brought it about. Further reprisals terrified him.
 
I could only stand by and watch him leave. I wanted to call Rhuether to task for this, but I had managed to maneuver myself into an intricate and precarious balance of power with Rhuether. Making a bad decision now could bring everything crashing at my feet.
 
“Corl,” I said before he left, “promise me you’ll see a medic ....”
 
“I’ll be fine, General Doctrex.”


                     
                     TO BE CONTINUED ...

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF: Recently discovered by Doctrex as the leader of the People's Resistance Movement, they form an alliance.


FIRST ORDER BIPS: THUMBNAIL: MEMBER OF THE PALACE GUARD:  He is also part of the People's Resistance Movement  and allied with Doctrex. A few others of the palace Guard are m embers of the movement.

CORL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE TAILOR: A loveable meek tailor who is totally at the mercy of anyone in power. Regarding his tailoring, though, he is an artist.


 


Chapter 28
Empire's Stability VS. Corl

By Jay Squires


BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-Eight
(Part 1)



 
                          FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          He nodded and a small smile formed.
          “You did well, Corl. It feels comfortable.”
          He closed his eyes and the smile stayed. “Thank you, General Doctrex.” He turned with difficulty and began his slow, excruciating exit.
           There was nothing I could do—nothing he would let me do. It was obvious he’d been soundly beaten. He probably thought my displeasure in not having the jacket in a timely fashion had brought it about. Further reprisals terrified him.
          I could only stand by and watch him leave. I wanted to call Rhuether to task for this, but I had managed to maneuver myself into an intricate and precarious balance of power with Rhuether. Making a bad decision now could bring everything crashing at my feet.
          “Corl,” I said before he left, “promise me you’ll see a medic ....”
          “I’ll be fine, General Doctrex.”

 
                           AND NOW ...
     
“Did you sleep well, Pondria?” Rhuether had been sorting through the fruit, one piece after another, as though inspecting it for quality, and had replaced the last piece when he'd asked me his question and then let his eyes graze the room while waiting for my answer.
 
“Yes.”
 
He pointed toward the bed. “Ah, I see you got your jacket. I’ll have a closet brought to your room. You shouldn’t have to hang clothing on the foot of your bed.” He turned to me. “Do you like it?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Good. How well does it fit?”
 
“Well.”
 
He raked his fingertips up and down his cheek. “Pondria, something troubles you.”
 
“Why should something trouble me?”
 
“Yet it does.”
 
“In that case, I think you know what it is.”
 
He stared at me a long moment, twirling first one end of his moustache and then the other, then closed his eyes and nodded slowly.
 
I waited, not wanting to interrupt this potentially volatile moment.
 
HIs eyes narrowed. "I must take certain actions to maintain stability in the empire. You'll do well not to question what I do," he warned, effectively closed the front door to further inquiry.
 
 “I suppose you want me to try it on for you?” I asked.
 
“Why? You said it fit well.”
 
“Yes, but to get your opinion.”
 
He shook his head. "Opinion! What opinion
what did the tailor say?"
 
“He seemed satisfied with it. He had me turn around and move in various ways to check the fit. He tugged at it here and there.”
 
“Well?”
 
“I was more interested in getting him into a chair. He refused, though he could hardly stand. He shouldn’t have even come here. Someone else should have brought the jacket.”
 
“Pondria ...” His voice carried caution in its rise, like a wave about to crash into a sea wall.
 
“Yes, Brother, I know. I shouldn’t question what you do.”
 
“Still, you question it.”
 
“But this isn’t something you did. I accept you need to maintain stability in the empire. And some people must be punished. You order it to be done, though, and I know you intend the punishment to fit the crime. That’s why I couldn’t believe what they did to the tailor. Glnot, we both agreed at dinner that he is a good tailor. And yet your enforcers beat him like he was a criminal. I’m sure he has at least cracked ribs.”
 
Rhuether let out a deep sigh. “Has he seen the doctor?”
 
“Excuse me, but you have a palace doctor, and he's answerable to you. The thought of going to the doctor would terrify any of your subjects after they’ve been punished for being an ... an unstable element in your empire.”
 
His eyes widened until the flattened silver discs of his irises were circled in white, before he blinked and lowered them. “I will have the doctor examine him. I did order him punished, but not excessively. He’s a good tailor. He is useful to me. I don’t want his usefulness diminished.”
 
The resolution of the clash of our opposing energies relieved me. I forced myself not to smile,  though, out of the joy of that release. Corl, a good man, a friend, an unjustly punished man, would get the care he needed and deserved. Yet I merely nodded in my response to Rhuether and tried to maintain a detached demeanor, an expectation that of course Glnot would do the right thing. But it was for the wrong reason. He was trying to live under a new faith that the seer was giving him a second chance.
 
But for that
for my defending one individual man whose life at its end would amount to an investment in a pile of cloth, scissors, thread and measuring tapeI risked countless thousands of lives and the freedom of the people of the Far Northern Province; I cast with the throw of the dice the trust of two dear friends and leaders of the People’s movement; ultimately I risked losing the final battle fought side-by-side with my Axtilla against the force of Evil this man beside me represented.
 
“I have the letter for you to read, Glnot. May I?”
 
He picked up a piece of fruit, gave me a quick glance and returned the fruit to the bowl. “If I approve, I’ll relinquish control, Pondria. I’m not convinced that would be wise.”
 
“You relinquish nothing, Glnot, but the magical spell you placed on my soldiers.”
 
He laughed. “Precisely.”
 
“And releasing it simply allows them to be right-minded enough to accept the orders that come from their general. Once their minds are clear and they have their orders, military law rules them. Military law is a powerful magic of itself.”
 
“I don’t think I can trust that.”
 
“Forgive my bluntness, Brother, but it’s because you’re thinking as an emperor. If anyone in the Kabeezan Army violates his general’s orders, he will be charged with high treason and be hanged. The Army will await their general’s promised order to attack, but since I am your prisoner and you control the messaging system, they won’t get the message.”
 
Rhuether started with a small, but growing smile. “Ah ... the Kabeezan Army is like a powerful giant with many arms and legs but without a head.”
 
I smiled back. “And have you forgotten your biggest advantage in releasing your magic spell?”
 
Rhuether nodded reflectively. “I know, Pondria; I know. My worthiness is being tested.”
 
“The seer. Exactly.” I paused. “Brother ...” I waited for him to turn to me. “I can actually feel his presence. Can you?”
 
He closed his eyes, and almost imperceptibly, his lips trembled. “Yes, I can.”
 
He turned to me, but I broke eye contact and cleared my throat. “Let me get the letter.”
 
I felt his eyes follow me as I got down on one knee and removed the two letters from the stack of unused paper. When I got to my feet and turned back, he smiled.
 
“You’ll notice I have two letters,” I told him as I took my seat. “You will seal both after you approve their contents. The messenger will take the first one to the chief medic, Braims Glassem. Actually, since the messenger will wear the medics’ vest he will be given safe passage and be taken to Medic Glassem’s tent.” I handed him the first letter. “Keep in mind, the second—and sealed—letter which you’ll read next, is for the next in command under me, Special Colonel Gerol Roze.”
 
Rhuether was not yet reading the letter. Instead, he was watching me carefully as I gave my explanation.
 
“So this Medic Glassem,” he said, after I stopped, “will take the second sealed letter to your next in command. How do I know he’ll get it?”
 
“It’s all in Medic Glassem’s letter. It asks that the messenger accompany him to deliver the sealed letter to Gerol Roze. Don’t forget, the letter to Roze contains my orders for him not to attack until I specifically direct him to attack. The letter also instructs him to give this messenger a signed letter in return, stating he is prepared to comply with my orders.”
 
“And if the messenger doesn’t come back, Pondria? Or if he does, but without the signed letter by your second in command?”
 
“Then you’ll be no worse off than now. You reinstate the spell, and they’ll become a flabby and useless giant with five thousand heads all screaming at each other.”
 
The image apparently appealed to him because his mouth spread into a huge grin, and he reached over and patted my forearm. “I feel very strongly it won’t come to that, Pondria.”
 
He picked up the first letter, flattened it out on the table, and bent over it, his lips moving as he silently sounded out the words. He looked up at me and then back to the letter. Tapping  his forefinger on it, he looked up again. “Why did you start it this way?”
 
I turned the letter around and read aloud: “‘I’ve thought so many times, Braims, how grateful I am to have refused your request to go with me and my hundred volunteers in our rescue attempt. You might have been one of our many soldiers whose life was sacrificed. When I do order the attack on the Palace of Qarnolt, they’ll need you there to attend the wounded.’ I shrugged. “What’s confusing about that?”
 
“Why did you tell him you’re grateful you turned down his request to go with you?”
 
“I think I see what you mean. Do you remember your first objection to these letters? That Braims and Roze would believe I wrote them under duress?”
 
“Oh, yes,” he said, reddening.
 
“This was a personal conversation Braims Glassem would remember. And he would remember that only he and I were privy to it. You’ll find another personal note in the second letter. It will help Gerol Roze recognize its authenticity.” I scanned down the second letter. “Here it is ...” I read from it: "‘Gerol, it’s important for you to know the faith I have in your command of the Kabeezan army once I give the order for you and your men to descend on the Palace of Qarnolt. Do you know when I first realized you were a strong leader of our men? It happened when we were under siege and you couldn’t find me. You took the initiative to lead a battalion of troops to attack and destroy the enemy fireball launchers.’” I brought my gaze back to Rhuether. “Here are both letters.” I pushed them across the table.
 
While he read, I rooted around the fruit bowl and came up with a cluster of nutlike objects. I plucked one from the cluster and lightly squeezed it. It gave slightly. I brought it up to my nose. No scent.
 
“Do you always sniff your riggles?” Rhuether asked.
 
“They don’t have them in the Southern Provinces.”
 
“I see,” he said. “The letters are fine, Pondria. Let me see ... yes.” He pointed to the bottom of each. “You’ve signed them. I’ll seal them individually, and seal them both together in a larger carrier you’ll address to, whom?” He looked again. “To Braims Glassem. Is that right?”
 
I told him it was.
 
“I will send off the messenger this afternoon, wearing the medic's vest ...” He held up one finger. “Yes, not taking anything but the carrier—no weapon.”
 
“When do you remove the spell?”
 
“The moment the messenger leaves. Your men will have no memory of ever being under its effects.”
 
“Excellent. Well ... it looks like we both have our work to do.” I waited, but he didn’t make a move to get up. “I must begin at once with the Mojo assignments for you, for Axtilla and for me. It will take a considerable time. We have only a week.”
 
“Six days,” he corrected, beaming.
 
“All the more reason.”
 
He stared at me, cocked his head and sniffed. “Pondria ... are you giving me leave?”
 
I rolled the riggle between my finger and thumb then smiled up at him. “Yes, I guess I am—Almighty Master.” I spread my smile into a full grin.
 
He slapped his thighs and got to his feet. “Well, then I’d better take my leave. Oh ...”
 
“Yes?”
 
He nodded to my fingers. “You chew it until the flavor is gone, then toss it out.”
 
“Like chewing gum?” I asked.
 
“More like a riggle.”


                                    TO BE CONTINUED ...

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.


CORL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE TAILOR: A loveable,  meek tailor who is totally at the mercy of anyone in power. Regarding his tailoring, though, he is an artist..

BRAIMS GLASSEM- THUMBNAIL: MNOR CHARACTER. the dedicated senior medic who always tried to convince Doctrex to take it easy.

SPECIAL COLONEL GEROL ROZE: THUMBNAIL: MINOR CHARACTER. Second in command after General Doctrex.







 


Chapter 29
Cleaning Lady's Mighty Siege

By Jay Squires

BOOK III
 Chapter Twenty-Nine
 (Part 1)

 
                                   
                                           FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
         “Excellent. Well ... it looks like we both have our work to do.” I waited, but he didn’t make a move to get up. “I must begin at once with the Mojo assignments for you, for Axtilla and for me. It will take a considerable time. We have only a week.”
          “Six days,” he corrected, beaming.
          “All the more reason.”
          He stared at me, cocked his head and sniffed. “Pondria ... are you giving me leave?”
          I rolled the riggle between my finger and thumb then smiled up at him. “Yes, I guess I am—Almighty Master.” I spread my smile into a full grin.
          He slapped his thighs and got to his feet. “Well, then I’d better take my leave. Oh ...”
          “Yes?”
          He nodded to my fingers. “You chew it until the flavor is gone, then toss it out.”
          “Like chewing gum?” I asked.
          “More like a riggle.”


                           AND NOW ...
 
A blank sheet of paper lay on the table, the upper left-hand corner of whose whiteness my quill-tip marred with black dots of irresolution. With the fingers of my other hand, I massaged the back of my neck. Where had the time gone? Rhuether had returned two days earlier with the letter signed by Gerol Roze. I remembered his signature as unique and virtually unforgeable. Receiving the letter meant the Kabeezan Army no longer languished under Rhuether’s spell,  and they would be gearing up for the attack.
 
I had my final meeting with Chiel and Bips and alerted them to be prepared to move forward even before the target date of the wedding ceremony. During his rounds, Bips would stick his head in the door morning, noon and evening to receive my goodbye wave. Chiel dropped off my meals, instead of having his usual workers do it. Between meals, those workers who were part of the People’s movement pulled extra shifts so that twenty-four hours a day someone would be within shouting distance of my room. They needed to get to Chiel within minutes so his courier would be on the back of his crossan, the attack letter in-pouch, racing to the Plain of Dzur.
 
Neither Chiel nor Bips had an inkling that Axtilla and I would engage in the final battle with Rhuether. Nor would they—or I, for that matter—know where the battlefield would be. Once I had my rendezvous with Axtilla, on the eve before the wedding, I would learn the time and the place of our encounter with Rhuether and whether it had been divinely ordained by Kyre, or whether we’d need to sketch out some plans between us.
 
I’d had six days to complete Rhuether’s, Axtilla’s and my Mojo Assignments. It should have been an easy enough task. Only Rhuether’s had to be completed in intricate detail, so it could guide him through eight to ten hours of activity. His needed the ring of authority and authenticity from the opening message to the affirmation at the end.
 
Axtilla’s and mine could be blank assignments, with just identifying covers to make them appear complete.
 
The first four days had passed with many of my waking hours spent bent over the table, which doubled as my writing desk. Each day, dozens of partially completed sheets lay crumpled on the floor to be scooped up at day’s end and burned. Why was I having such a difficult time completing roughly eight sheets of text?
 
Certainly, many of the deterrents were external. Right from the beginning, I spent many hours a day fielding distractions over which I had little control. Some of them were routine, some were even welcome, but many were unexpected, unwelcome, and vexing.
 
The routine distractions I dispatched easily enough. Chiel wanted to prepare lavish meals for me, but I convinced him I needed only cheese and fruit for breakfast and lunch, and a small dinner I could eat while I worked. Problem solved.
 
Rhuether had chosen this time to have the barber perform his grooming sessions on me daily, in preparation for the wedding. I bargained for a haircut on the day before the ceremony and dispensed with all but one manicure, performed the day of the haircut.
 
The bringing in and removing bathwater had been scheduled for daily. I opted for every other day and then later in the evening so I could use bathing as a reward for my daily writing. I needed that incentive. I was already beginning to worry.
 
Yesterday, with three days left, I encountered the first unexpected distraction. All the torches in the room needed replacing.
 
I had already experienced the elaborate ceremony of the placement and lighting of the torches on the south wall. Yesterday’s replacement of the torches exhibited the same pomp and pageantry but multiplied by four. Consistent with their apparent “Creation of Light” theme, they couldn’t simply replace one section at a time. Instead, they extinguished and removed all the torches, one at a time, with the last one’s removal plunging the room into pre-creation darkness; after about a half-hour of black silence they brought in the first lit torch, followed a minute later with the second and then the third. They were in no hurry. The entire process, from the removal of the first torch to the placement of the last one, took better than two hours.
 
Yet if I were totally honest with myself there was a period of time in the midst of those two hours I could have worked on Rhuether’s assignment. There had to be some reason—though I couldn’t put my finger on it—I had so much trouble with it.
 
It was not possible, however, to write during today’s most thorough room cleaning imaginable. The women (it was only the second time I’d seen women in the Far Northern Province, except for my immigrated Axtilla), stormed into the room without knocking. The youngest-looking of the lot hefted wooden water buckets, one in each hand, sloshing water with every step.
 
Another, who appeared to be the spokeswoman if not the leader, rested a broom on her right shoulder. Thin, but buxom, with strands of gray threaded through her brown hair, pulled tightly over her ears and bound at the back. A third, and quite fidgety woman, entered and immediately flitted about the room dusting everything that rose from the floor. All three women wore identical uniforms. Dark gray trousers and light gray blouses.
 
The spokeswoman—I had been right about her—stopped in front of my table. “Sir,” she said, “we are here to clean your room. We clean everything. You must leave.”
 
Something in her voice told me she wouldn't be reasoned with, but I figured I’d try. “I’m very busy. Suppose I stay here while you clean everything else, and then move while you clean the table and around it.”
 
“No, General. That won’t do. You must leave.”
 
“But where? Where can I go?”
 
“The garden. There is a chair and table there.”
 
“How long will it take?”
 
“Two hours.”
 
“Two hours!”
 
Her eyebrows shot up to inverted V’s. “Maybe three hours.”
 
“Why must you clean today?”
 
“Because that’s when we do it. Now you must go.”
 
My mouth dropped open. I wanted to smile at her audacity, but dared not. Her last statement carried a ruthless finality to it.
 
I gathered my supplies, and left the room.
 
 
For the next two hours I sat at the small round table in the garden. The table’s surface was merely decorative, with large, irregularly-shaped metal netting criss-crossing the surface. It was well crafted, and the reticular design would have been a delight for the eyes if one could marvel at it through a covering of glass. Writing on the table would be impossible.
 
I held the sheets of paper in my lap, not wanting any to scatter when the occasional breeze dipped in from over the western palace walls, to my right. Just now a new breeze riffled and bent the stalks of huge red and white blossomed puffs, and two seconds later, breathed past me, leaving in its wake those blossoms’ spicy extravagance.
 
I put the ink jar and the quill beside the table on the finely-chipped, stone groundcover that comprised as much of the perimeter of the garden as I could see from my chair. The little chips of stone, each no larger than a fingernail, were painted red, blue and gold. Among these stone chips I discovered a larger stone which I brushed off and placed on top of the sheaf of papers.
 
I leaned the chair back and rested my head against the white stucco of the palace wall. I had reached a crisis in time management. No longer could I allow myself the luxury of excusing my inactivity on any of the distractions. Two days—that was all I had. Not even that long. I could do nothing without sleep, so I had only about twelve actual working hours.
 
Unable to write during my few hours in the garden, I had to use the time to get to the bottom of why my mind was so oddly intransigent.
 
Why did Rhuether’s assignment summarily close my mind’s door to the flow of thought? It wasn’t that Rhuether would need further convincing. The examples I’d given him of the violation of the Sacred Laws of Mojo reduced him at one point to a state of near trembling.
 
As intimate as Rhuether was with his own magic’s power, as well as the self-destructive power of Pondria’s Magic, which had almost destroyed him when he chose to misuse it, he now readily bowed in submission to what he recognized as the far more superior magic of Mojo.
 
I thought back about my elaborate ruse. My process of convincing him was a major victory! I couldn’t have asked for one so devastatingly complete.
 
Through a matrix of my own conniving mind, I developed the lofty edifice of the Sacred Laws of Mojo and its absolute destructive power over any of its violators. The moment Rhuether accepted it, the web of entrapment had already begun to wrap around him and even send roots through his mind—and all without my giving him as much as a peek into its interior.
 
I couldn’t contain a small smile. What was this edifice I created but a chimera? Mirrored constructs that reflected and played off the Almighty Master’s free-floating fear of retribution by his subjects; the thick sludge of guilt over murdering Pondria, and the subsequent shame of being the root cause of his own mother’s suicide. Out of that crucible of fear, guilt and shame, another mirror created one more reflection—an image of his own, as-yet-unrecognized, craving for self-immolation.
 
I pulled my head away from the stucco wall and brought front legs of the chair, crunching to the ground. How do I know this? How do I know of his profound need to author his own destruction. He doesn’t even know he has this longing, so how do I know? And why?
 
I shook my head. Fear had set my imagination whirling. What difference did it make? The only thing I had to keep my mind on was Axtilla’s and my mission. But, no! No, no, no ... There will be no mission unless Axtilla and I get together to plan it. And there will be no rendezvous unless Rhuether’s assignment is completed.
 
 Focus—I had to focus.
 
Why were my thoughts so leaden? My imagination—a day before the dinner—had soared. That was when I convinced Rhuether, who was eaten up with cancerous guilt over his fratricide and over his responsibility for his mother’s death—convinced him that his brother had forgiven him, and the seer offered him a second chance. I needed to tap back into that source of inspiration.
 
I gently massaged my temples with my thumbs. Those words—the forgiveness, the second chance, the hope I infused in Rhuether’s mind—where did the words come from? It seemed I opened my mouth and they emptied out of their own volition, that I merely observed the woof and warp of the words as they turned white to black and black to white.
 
Rhuether began as my captor, and with a few words he became the prisoner in his own palace.
 
All through the magic of words. I had taken him from victor to the defeated. And he had no awareness of it. He considered himself the Almighty Master, yet in fact he became needy and vulnerable, thanks to words. Thanks to my words.
 
I had brought him where he was today. Hadn’t the formation of my thoughts and machinations created images and feelings in Rhuether’s mind?
 
With that realization, an alien chill leached to my body. I wrapped my arms around myself. My teeth chattered. I leapt from the chair and stalked off, distantly aware of the rock chips crunching under foot. I trudged the width of the perimeter, staying next to the palace wall.


                               TO BE CONTINUED ...

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

CHIEL: THUMBNAIL: PALACE HEAD CHEF: Recently discovered by Doctrex as the leader of the People's Resistance Movement, they form an alliance.

FIRST ORDER BIPS: THUMBNAIL: MEMBER OF THE PALACE GUARD:  He is also part of the People's Resistance Movement  and allied with Doctrex. A few others of the palace Guard are m embers of the movement.
 

 


Chapter 29
Doctrex & the Gold-Necked White Bird

By Jay Squires

BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-Nine
(Part 2)

 

                                FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
 
          I gently massaged my temples with my thumbs. Those words—the forgiveness, the second chance, the hope I infused in Rhuether’s mind—where did the words come from? It seemed I opened my mouth and they emptied out of their own volition, that I merely observed the woof and warp of the words as they turned white to black and black to white.
          Rhuether began as my captor, and with a few words he became the prisoner in his own palace.
          All through the magic of words. I had taken him, from victor to the defeated. And he had no awareness of it. He considered himself the Almighty Master, yet in fact he became needy and vulnerable, thanks to words. Thanks to my words.
          I had brought him where he was today. Hadn’t the formation of my thoughts and machinations created images and feelings in Rhuether’s mind?
          With that realization, an alien chill leached to my body. I wrapped my arms around myself. My teeth chattered. I leapt from the chair and stalked off, distantly aware of the rock chips crunching under foot. I trudged the width of the perimeter, staying next to the palace wall.
 

                              AND NOW ...
 
At the east wall, where the foliage was dense with pink and white blossoms the size of my head, I stopped, certain I detected movement. I slowed my breathing and moved only my eyes, first to one blossom, then to the next, until a confirmation of movement, accompanied by a slight rustle, startled me.
 
There, in a tangle of stems and twigs beneath the blossoms closest to me and almost camouflaged by those blossoms behind, a fluffy white bird with a gold-feathered throat and eyes like glittering black coins, preened itself. It dragged a white feather through its beak, never once taking its eyes off me, and let it fall back to its wing, sought out another and drew it through.
 
Except for Rhuether’s magically created flying creatures, this was the first bird I’d seen in either of the provinces.
 
It didn’t shy away under my gaze, but in fact hopped across the stem and onto another closer to me while those black disks of its eyes held steady on mine. Was it waiting for something from me?
 
“I have no food,” I said, convinced the sound of my voice would send it flying.
 
It drew up one hinged leg, tucked it into its soft underbelly, and cocked its head.
 
“Hello,” I said, and filled the awkward silence with the sandpapery sound of my palms rubbing together. The disks of its eyes shifted on their axes as it considered the sound or the movement.
 
I puzzled over it a while longer and then turned to go back.
 
About midway, I heard my name whispered as clearly as if the whisperer stood beside me. He intoned it again, and then it rose in a chant, more compelling of a response: Doctrex ...? Doctrex ...? The chant surrounded me so palpably I stopped. It came from all directions. I whipped my head left and right. I even twisted from my waist and scanned the section of the garden from which I’d come. The white bird was gone.
 
“What?” I asked, but not too loudly.. “What do you want?” I tried to keep my voice level and unemotional while my eyes sought out the source of the voice.
 
Mighty General, tell me ... which words were the keys to unlock the palace of Rhuether’s mind?
 
“Who are you?” I waited, letting my eyes rove the hedge lining the wall to my right. Then I looked behind me again at the empty perch. Almost as an afterthought, I added, “What words?” I cast my eyes over my shoulder to the palace, angled them up toward the eaves and the sloping tiled roof.
 
The words you suddenly became too modest to accept as your own.
 
“Modest?”
 
Disbelieving. Timid. Frightened.
 
“Where are you? If you come out, we’ll talk.” Silence. A rustling to my right. A pathway had been cleared through the painted stone-chips and disappeared between two hedges against the wall. I traced my jaw between my thumb and forefinger. “You have a high regard for Rhuether’s mind to call it a palace.”
 
His mind is his palace because it’s where he’s confined. How did you put it? 'Rhuether began as my captor, and with a few words he became the prisoner in his own palace.’
 
I took a few shallow breaths and felt the flutter of my heartbeat in my throat.
 
You are of two minds, General Doctrex.
 
“Two minds ...” I parroted.
 
I believe you’re partial to the first one—the one that claims authorship of Rhuether’s captivity .... Isn’t that right, General Doctrex?
 
I tried to slow my breathing.
 
You enjoy being at the helm of Rhuether’s mind ... guiding it wherever you choose. Defrocking the Emperor, while at the same time teaching the Almighty Master the joys of cooperation. He broke the last word down into its syllables, articulating them in a sing-song voice.
 
“Tell me,” I started, then stopped. I took a deep breath and spoke through a smile I tried to keep the trembling out of: “Are you ... the seer?”
 
If you truly believed that, General Doctrex, you’d be of one mind and would already be liberated.
 
I closed my eyes. Very slowly and deliberately, I said, “That was the first mind. You said I was of two.”
 
Ah, the second mind. You’re sure you want to know the second mind?
 
“You said there were two.”
 
Yes I waited, but the voice demurred.
 
“My ... second mind then?”
 
That you truly are the fraud you always accused yourself of being, General Doctrex.
 
My heart raced. “They were ...” I cleared my throat. “They really were your words that convinced the Council of Twelve?”
 
You needed help.
 
“If that’s the case, you helped me before that, didn’t you? In Klasco and Metra Braanz’ cottage, when I entertained them with stories of my ...”
 
Adventures? Yes. Yes ... little Sarisa’s mother and father—
 
“Sarisa! Sure!” I felt like running around the garden, whooping and clapping my hands in celebration. “You were more than the words that tumbled out of my mouth at the Council’s chamber, and the tall tales you slipped into my mouth to pass the time after dinner in the Braanz’ cottage. You were also the muscle in a little girl’s arms and legs, sufficient to pull a grown man through a hole in the membrane.” I paused. “And ... and later on, Axtilla.”
 
There wasn’t much happening down below—with Axtilla sleeping in the crook of your arm.
 
“Ha!” For a while the voice and I were silent. I needed time to process this new information. Images of the cottage returned. All their eyes riveted to mine, waiting for the next word, the inflection, the lift of my eyebrows, the flutter of my fingers. Even the sullen Klea, in her bed, stared, enrapt.
 
Yes, it was all necessary. Your stories needed to be grand and enchanting. Klasco had to be drawn in and mystified by your fraudulence.
 
I took in a deep breath and pressed my lips together.
 
He needed your fraudulence. You were the hub of his magnificent scheme—to have a person with no allegiance to the Southern Province pose as his brother from the far South. What better person than Doctrex to personify that brother, to invent a history impressive enough the council of Twelve would allow a non-Kabeezan to enlist in the Kabeezan Army?
 
“Which is all I wanted,” I said more loudly than I intended. “It would have been so much easier to be an enlisted soldier.”
 
For you, perhaps, but even then only to a point—a final and completed point. Without your convincing and eloquent oratory ... today, at this moment, you would be a rankless soldier in a cot-less tent on the Plain of Dzur.
 
“But in that tent I’d plan my escape from the camp, and to the Palace of Qarnolt.”
 
For which you’d have been killed. That final and completed point. Your value would have been wasted on personal, frivolous love.
 
“Frivolous!” My body seized and began trembling. My hands clenched, but I had no target.
 
But none of that’s important.
 
“Not important?” I laughed venomously. “What is more important than the one person I would give my life for?”
 
That you convinced Rhuether his salvation comes through cooperation. Much more important.
 
“You!” I wagged my finger toward the voice. “You! Your words,” I said through my teeth, “they took possession of my mind and mouth and they convinced Rhuether of his need for cooperation.”
 
Cooperation ... yes. General Doctrex ... with whom is Rhuether to cooperate?
 
“With his brother. With Pondria.”
 
A long silence ensued.
 
“Are you there?” I asked. I swept my gaze to the right and over my shoulder.” All right,” I said, and with that my body took on a sudden heaviness. I opened and closed my mouth. “With—with me. Is that what you’re waiting for? Rhuether needs to cooperate with me.” Then, as suddenly as the heaviness had come over me, my body now shucked it off. I was left buoyant.
 
You won’t be it, General Doctrex, until you own it.
 
“I am Pondria. I do own it. I was Viktor Brueen in my other life. ”
 
I know.
 
“I ended that life—but you must know the reason was love—‘frivolous love’ you call it.”
 
For the love of Axtilla.
 
“It was then I became Pondria.”
 
In the Pool of Arlangua. But how did you know you were Pondria?
 
“I—I—” Searching my memory, I was left with only that stammer.
 
How did you know?
 
"Axtilla had explained it ... was the only way."
 
Oh, you make this so difficult. Was it the only way for the two of you to unite on the other side?
 
“Yes.”
 
But you didn’t wake up as Pondria, did you?
 
“I ... um ... I was General Doctrex. I was in the medic’s tent. I had Pondria’s wound on my side. The medic was amazed how quickly the wound healed. Soon we were back on the way to the Plain of Dzur.
 
Pondria is a mask you put on and take off.
 
I smiled at his words. “I am Pondria. General Doctrex was the mask I put on and took off.”
 
Because the Kabeezan Army needed General Doctrex. Without him, they'd have succumbed to Rhuether’s Magic.
 
“But that was you, putting your words in Doctrex’s mouth, guiding his hands and feet.” I laughed at the image that formed in my mind. “Doctrex was as much your puppet as my mask.”
 
General Doctrex was fully capable of being a great leader of his men. The voice came from behind me. Then in a confidential tone, and near enough to my left ear that if he were human I’d have felt his breath, he added, He understood his men’s needs and he earned their respect. It was easy to imagine his next words delivered an inch or two away from my nose and while studying my eyes. Still, he was consumed by an inner knowing there would come the day he would abandon his army to join with his Axtilla.
 
“So you devised another way to remove me from my army and get me into the Palace of Qarnolt. Never mind it squandered the lives of upwards of a hundred of my best soldiers, some of them dear friends.”
 
It came at a cost, he whispered in my right ear. All worthwhile things do.
 
“Well, I’m here now.”
 
Yes. You’ve come a long way, General.
 
“I am Pondria. There is no General, no Doctrex.”
 
To that, Pondria, be forever true.
 
I was drawn, not to the substance, but to the sound of his words: his last words “forever true” lifted up and then slipped back away from me in mellow oscillations which brought my head around to the hedge on my right. Above the hedge-top stubble, framed against the dirty, gray dusk I’d grown accustomed to in the Far Northern Province, the white bird I’d seen earlier hung suspended. It was the same bird, though larger and more magnificent than I remembered—with its opulent span of white wings, and held between them as in cupped palms the downy, gold-necked body. Majestically, the wings, carrying the words “forever true,” pumped up and down, as though driven by invisible pistons, and carried them both away on pulsing cushions of air.
 
I found myself staring down at the fingers of my hands, webbed together, clasped atop the reticulated metal of the table top. The awareness just came upon me that I’d been staring at them for some time. Under the table, my legs were crossed at the ankles, the toes of my shoes pointing off at angles, strangely reminding me of... of ...
 
Wings!
 
I whipped my head to the right, then brought it slowly back, following the upper line of the hedge. What was I looking for? At about midway, I peered up above a path that separated two hedges and frowned at the smudged gray skyline.
 
“General Doctrex—Oh! I didn’t expect to scare you.” The cleaning lady didn’t try to conceal her mirth. “You needed your sleep earlier, so I gave you another quarter hour.”


                              TO BE CONTINUED ...

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 

 


Chapter 29
Cleaning Lady at the Palace Ball

By Jay Squires



BOOK III
Chapter Twenty-nine
(Part 3)






 
                         FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
           I found myself staring down at the fingers of my hands, webbed together, clasped atop the reticulated metal of the table top. The awareness just came upon me that I’d been staring at them for some time. Under the table, my legs were crossed at the ankles, the toes of my shoes pointing off at angles, strangely reminding me of... of ...
          Wings!
          I whipped my head to the right, then brought it slowly back, following the upper line of the hedge. What was I looking for? At about midway, I peered up above a path that separated two hedges and frowned at the smudged gray skyline.
          “General Doctrex—Oh! I didn’t expect to scare you.” The cleaning lady didn’t try to conceal her mirth. “You needed your sleep earlier, so I gave you another quarter hour."

                       And Now:
“I wasn’t asleep.”
 
“Then I wasted a quarter hour, General Doctrex,” she said. “Your room is cleaned.”
 
I corrected her address under my breath and smiled up at her. “Thank you. That didn’t even take two hours, did it?” I kept my smile.
 
She didn’t return it. Her face was sweaty. A strand of graying brown hair clung to her forehead. “Now if you will follow me inside to inspect it.”
 
“That won’t be necessary. You and your workers may leave. I’m sure you did an excellent job.”
 
She drew in two staccato breaths through her nose. “Yes, we did, and I have dismissed them. Now if you will follow me inside to inspect it.” Her knuckles pressed into her waist, and she planted one dirty trousered leg, a circle of wetness at the knee, in front of the other.
 
I stared at her a moment, at her clamped jaw, her thin, straight lips. Hadn’t she been informed of my special status here? Did she consider me a common prisoner? I leaned toward her. “Listen, I’ll gather my papers and be right in,” I said, emphatically, my eyes fixed on her, unblinking. "You may wait for me in my room.”
 
Exhaling now with a snort, she spun around and lurched through the door, slamming it behind her.
 
As promised, I picked up the stack of papers from under the table, held it in one hand, the quill and ink jar in the other, and smiled as I got to the door. This was bizarre.
 
In the hallway, I slowed my pace, seeing her holding the door of my room open. She closed it after I walked through. I stopped just inside.
 
What she lacked in social charm, she and her workers made up for in work ethic. I’d never seen a room sparkle as this did. Each individual black tile on the floor became an onyx mirror, and collectively they caught and tossed back the torchlight in hundreds of dizzying directions. The ladies had scrubbed the white walls from floor to ceiling, leaving not a hint of soot from the torches. They’d made my bed, and the powder blue coverlet seemed, from this distance, to be stretched so taut I hadn’t a doubt in my mind that a tossed coin would bounce off its surface. The refreshed crystal pitcher on the bed stand brimmed with a two inch depth of ice cubes and two spotless glasses rested upside down on a napkin beside it. An array of fresh flowers emblazoned  the vase.
 
I went to the table where I noticed a fresh bowl of fruit. Smiling, I put the writing supplies under the table, and then returned to her.
 
“Uh-huh. Yes,” I said.
 
“To your satisfaction, General Doctrex?”
 
“It will be fine, I’m sure.” I turned my eyes from the flowers to her. “I have a question.”
 
She puffed out her cheeks. “What’s that, General?” And while she waited for my response, she looked up toward her brows, and back down at me.
 
“The way you’re acting now ... would it cripple your dignity to smile?”
 
“My dignity?”
 
“You and your ladies worked very hard here.”
 
She tilted her head. “We worked very hard. Yes, we did.”
 
“Then show your pride. A smile would be a good way of doing that.”
 
She straightened and pulled back her shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me, General Doctrex. With your approval of our work, I must leave.”
 
“Sure. Why not?  Are you in that much of a hurry, though, to clean another room?”
 
For a moment I thought I would receive the requested smile. The corners of her mouth began to curl up, but her eyes simultaneously squinted to slits. “I must go home to bathe and wash my hair.” She made a failed attempt at twirling a few strands of her hair around her forefinger, but they lifted like straw and fell back against her sweaty scalp. “Do you know why, General Doctrex?”
 
I raised my brows and smiled at her.
 
“Because I have the palace ball to attend tonight.” She turned and headed to the door. “That is,” she added, before opening it, “if the seamstress has my ball gown ready in time.”
 
The door slammed behind her.
 
“Let’s see if I can help you,” I said. Closing my eyes, I formed an image.
 
In a few moments, the door opened a crack. The only things that showed were a very frightened pair of eyes and a jeweled tiara which had slipped down her forehead to the bridge of her nose. Somewhere, muffled behind the doorjamb, a timid voice asked, “What just happened?”
 
I knew immediately what a fool I’d been. I closed my eyes again, retrieved the image of her as she had been. The door clicked shut. I hoped that would be the end of it, but when the door opened again she faced me in her dirty, dark gray trousers and light gray blouse. Her eyes looked a little out of focus.
 
“General Doctrex,” she said, but seemed to look past me.
 
“You and your ladies did an excellent job,” I told her, and then smiled.
 
She shook her head as though my compliment counted for nothing. “Did—did you see that?”
 
“What?”
 
She touched several places on the top of her head—was she feeling for the tiara?—blinked a few times and then slowly, tentatively, spread her lips into a quivering smile.
 
I nodded. “Have a nice evening.”
 
She felt around for the door knob, keeping her eyes on me. “Um ...”
 
“Yes?”
 
“About that palace ball ...” She scratched her eyebrow, absently, and pursed her lips.
 
“Oh, that ... I knew you were joking.”
 
She nodded and backed through the door, pulling it closed.
 
I shook my head. “Well, Pondria, could there have been a worst first day on the job?”
 
#
 
I pulled the blankets over me that night, exhausted from all that had happened in the garden and all I let—no, all I forced—to happen afterwards in my room. I had slipped into Pondria’s skin with unexpected ease. And there was the rub. I acted on my new identity wantonly and without forethought.
 
I became Pondria-the-child when mother had returned to the cave to tell Rhuether and me of the magic the seer had conferred upon us. She entered the cave to discover her conjoined sons spinning like a disc through the cave. In spite of her protests, I spun Rhuether and me out the opening of the cave, dipped down to the foam of the sea and back, laughing all the while.
 
I was that Pondria today when I converted the disgruntled cleaning lady into a gowned princess, for all it mattered to me, complete with glittering tiara and probably white laced gloves and fancy slippers, though I didn’t see them.
 
On a magical whim, her life, after that one instant, would never be quite the same. At best, in the seconds before she opened the door enough to peek in, she had seen herself as the most beautiful she would ever be. She probably reached up and felt the smooth skin on her cheek, breathed in the fragrance her perfumed body exuded. How many would have loved to have had that opportunity?
 
At worst, I might have opened forever the door to madness. Had demons slipped into her mind? The gown and long white gloves never existed; she wore her grimy trousers and stained blouse. She stood, grinning at first, outside the door in the hallway. So proud of herself for telling me about the palace ball. Had the demons punished her for being proud? For lying? She knew they skulked around some dark corner of her mind now, waiting for the moment of her inattention to again possess her. Maybe the next time they’d change her into a whinnying crossan. No, she had to be alert. Always. She needed to be constantly vigilant.
 
I yanked the blankets up under my chin. Stupid, careless disregard for consequences. And one more thing to worry about when I needed sleep. But no ... she wouldn’t become mad. She had a strong mind. An irascible mind. I flounced onto my side and smiled. She had more to worry about than insubordination. Like losing her head. Where did Rhuether find her?
 
Rhuether ... He’d be by today, expecting to hear I’d completed our Mojo Assignments. Of course he couldn’t see his—not until the moment he sat alone in his room. I could buy some time there. Tomorrow he’d be busy overseeing the preparation of the garden for the ceremony the following day. But that night—tomorrow night—he had to be in his room, Mojo assignment in his trembling hand. I’d prepared him well for it. His hands would be trembling all right. And Axtilla ... and ... I ...
 
I flopped to my back. Sleep! I needed sleep. I had to complete the assignment tomorrow. And how would tomorrow differ from the days before? What kept me from writing it? Where was the voice that spoke through me when I convinced Rhuether of the seer’s second chance? I needed that voice tomorrow. Did the voice belong ... to the seer?
 
I must have dozed for a moment because when I opened my eyes my knees were curled into my chest. No sooner did my eyes open than the lids were as heavy as leaden bands. A mysterious stillness slipped over me.
                                   TO BE CONTINUED:
 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)
 
 
 
 

 


Chapter 29
Rhuether's Embarrassing Predicament

By Jay Squires

 I apologize for this pivotal chapter’s length, but I couldn’t find an easy place to snip it into two. After you’ve finished it, I think you’ll agree it’s all a piece of the same cloth. I suppose I should mention it’s not as long as it appears because of the Character List at the end. Please enjoy.
I’ll see you at the other end.

 



BOOK III
 
Chapter Twenty-Nine
 
Part 4


 
 
             FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          Rhuether ... He’d be by today, expecting to hear I’d completed our Mojo Assignments. Of course he couldn’t see his—not until the moment he sat alone in his room. I could buy some time there. Tomorrow he’d be busy overseeing the preparation of the garden for the ceremony the following day. But that night—tomorrow night—he had to be in his room, Mojo assignment in his trembling hand. I’d prepared him well for it. His hands would be trembling all right. And Axtilla ... and ... I ...
          I flopped to my back. Sleep! I needed sleep. I had to complete the assignment tomorrow. And how would tomorrow differ from the days before? What kept me from writing it? Where was the voice that spoke through me when I convinced Rhuether of the seer’s second chance? I needed that voice tomorrow. Did the voice belong ... to the seer?
          I must have dozed for a moment because when I opened my eyes my knees were curled into my chest. No sooner did my eyes open than the lids were as heavy as leaden bands. A mysterious stillness slipped over me.

 
I only realized the brevity of my sleep when I opened my eyes and noticed the water pitcher I was facing had only half the cubes melted. Yet I felt strangely rested and peaceful, as though I’d slept without a care for eight hours. But even that short a sleep wasn't without a dream, and it seemed to account for my peacefulness now.
 
 
The mysterious white, gold-necked bird had returned—this time to Pondria’s work-table. He stood regally at the far side of the round table and watched with cocked head as Pondria’s hand drew the quill from side to side across the page, slowing only to dip it into the ink jar and tap off the excess before continuing. After he’d completed one page, he blotted it, set it on the floor under the table, got a blank sheet and proceeded without further pause.
 
After finishing so many pages he lost count, he looked up to discover the bird was gone, but in his mind the words, “forever true” billowed, rising, falling and rising again, as though being borne aloft on the white bird’s wings.
 
 
Throwing off the covers, I leapt out of bed. I slipped into my clothes, poured myself a glass of water and took it to the writing table. Standing a moment behind the chair, I stared down at the table. The fruit bowl—there yesterday—was now on the floor. In the center of the table, the quill lay obliquely across a fresh sheet of paper. The ink jar sat behind and to the right of the paper. When I had entered from the garden, I decided to store the writing supplies under the table, not wanting to spoil the symmetry the cleaning ladies worked so hard to produce.
 
Smiling down at the paper, not a single doubt wormed in to align with the illogic of what needed doing. I experienced a sense of the miraculous that Doctrex’s mental set had bolted against, but which my new mind required in order to complete Rhuether’s assignment. Placing the water glass on the table, I slipped into the chair, rubbed my hands together and bent over the blank sheet.
 
Only much later, did I experience the full-blown memory of picking up the quill, dipping its nib in the ink jar, and being unusually interested in the sound of the tap-tap-tap of the quill against the jar. The first touch of nib to paper, however, I could only infer from the result. I didn’t know how much time had passed before I discovered myself rolling the quill between my thumb and forefinger. I glanced from it to see a neat stack of written sheets on the table, and behind it, an empty water glass.
 
I counted the pages—twelve—and began reading them. What amazed me, by the time I was about halfway through, was the absence of crossovers, and no discernible misspelled words. The most important thing of all was the feeling of stern authenticity which permeated the instructions. Rhuether would not counter that authority. As I neared the end of the pages, I found myself unprepared for the sensuous imagery within the meditations. The images were designed to draw the meditator, through repetition of chants, deep into the roots of an all-embracing trust and the cherishing of others—all traits which had been absent in Rhuether, and would be anathema to any dictator.
 
I had only to seal the pages and await Rhuether’s arrival that morning. Similar sealed, but blank, assignments awaited Axtilla’s and my meeting.
 
Axtilla! My heart raced at the thought.
 
#
 
When Rhuether entered, I looked up from the orongos I was peeling and smiled. Three sealed assignments held a mystical presence at the left edge of the tabletop, next to the fruit bowl. Rhuether’s eyes grazed past them as he pulled up a chair, opposite mine.
 
With a slight nod of his head to the stack, he said, “Is that ...?”
 
“The assignments, yes—the seal only to be broken in your room on the eve of the ceremony.”
 
“As you made abundantly clear. And the ones below are yours and Axtilla’s?”
 
I nodded, separating the orongos down the middle and putting the rounded end of half of it on the table. “Is ... Axtilla ready?”
 
He put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. “I asked her at dinner.” He compressed his lips and opened them with a smack. “I must say, Pondria, it’s sad to see her at a time she should be bubbling with joy—seeing her so somber—I’m sorry Brother—at the prospect of spending an entire night meditating with you.” His entire face slowly evolved into a grin.
 
“I can imagine,” I said, jamming a generous segment of orongos in my mouth.
 
After a moment, he drew his brows together. “Are you all right?”
 
I cleared my throat and laughed. “Yes. I took in too big a slice.”
 
“May I?” He pointed to the half on the table.
 
I told him he could.
 
“I only half joked with you before, Pondria,” he began, pushing a slice of orongos between his lips and talking around the fruit as he chewed, “and I think it would be prudent to search her before she leaves for your room.”
 
“One can’t be too careful, I suppose.”
 
He nodded, half smiled, and nodded again.

“Now, the question of security.”

“Security?” He chuckled. “I have my guards, as does Axtilla, but why? What security?”

“Glnot, you should know by now the severity of an assignment being interrupted. Make sure you alert your guards that under no circumstances are they to enter your room. Even knocking on your door at the wrong time can disturb or destroy the flow of the Mojo.”

He nodded, looked away, blinking, and then back. “That makes sense, but ...” He got an odd smile and drew his fingers up and down his jaw-line. “You and Axtilla have the same problem, don’t you?”

“You anticipated my request. We would need, at the very least, a sturdy lock for the door.”

“I’ll have the lock installed tomorrow ... but as you said, someone could still knock.”

I considered this. “It's not likely to happen at a time that most are sleeping
and I'm just a prisoner here."

"But still ..."

"I think I see what you're getting at. Why risk it, right?  So how about this? You said Axtilla has guards, as well. Why not have them escort her to my room, and then they can stand outside the door until our assignment is complete?”

He agreed and smiled across at me, his elbows still on the table, hands clasped and his chin resting on his knuckles.


"I do have one last item to cover. Rhuether, you’ll find a final instruction for you after you’ve completed your meditations according to the timetable in the assignment.”
 
“And what will that be?”
 
“Of course, I can’t tell you the Mojo content now.”
 
“No, no, of course not.”
 
“I’m just telling you so you’ll be prepared for it. The assignment itself will advise you after you’re finished there to come to this room immediately to receive the final Mojo content."
 
“The assignment will tell me exactly when?”
 
“Yes, exactly.”
 
His eyes darted about the room. “And where will Axtilla be?”
 
“Her guards will have already escorted her back to her room.”
 
“What if we should pass each other?”
 
“You won’t if you follow the assignment as it’s written. The timing is perfect.”
 
He nodded and we ate our fruit in silence. I chewed, looking at the table and occasionally letting my eyes rove to his. He stared the whole time over my head, his last slice of orongos held an inch from his lips.
 
“Is something troubling you, Glnot?”
 
He glanced at me, popped the fruit in his mouth and shook his head, vigorously.
 
“Now would be the time, before you begin your assignment, and Axtilla and I begin ours.”
 
“It’s not about the assignments, Brother. I trust you that they are clear.” He unfolded a cloth napkin and shook it out, then pressed it against each corner of his mouth, and replaced it, wadded, back to the table.
 
“Then what?”
 
He tidied either side of his moustache with his forefingers, looked again at me then away, pink rising to his cheeks.
 
“Glnot?”
 
He drew in a short breath and released it forcefully, filling his cheeks. “Brother ...” Two more short breaths through his nose. “I never asked before. It wasn’t important, so I just ...”
 
I smiled at his discomfiture. “What’s that?”
 
“You said you lived in the Far Southern Province. Did you ... were you married there?”
 
I thought of my brief married life as Viktor and transmigrated my lie. “Yes.”
 
He brought his palm across his forehead, and then rubbed it with the other palm, frowning. “Did you ... have any children?”
 
I paused, trying to pick up his line of reasoning. “No children.”
 
“But you ... but you ... but you could ... have,” he stammered. “Correct?”
 
I dared not guess where he was going with this fractured inquiry and would mold my answer accordingly. Given the myth of Mojo I’d promulgated, though, I needed to be cautious. It seemed the best course of action involved lying outright. “She died ... before—”
 
“She died. I see.” He nodded, his face revealing no expression of sympathy. “But you could have.” He expected me to agree with the statement.
 
“She wasn’t pregnant before she died.” I hoped that would stop an uncomfortable line of questioning.
 
“But if she had lived—”
 
“But she didn’t, Glnot. What is it you want to know?”
 
“Well, did you ...” The blush which had gradually withdrawn beneath his collar, began to rise again, until his entire face was suffused and seemed to even radiate its heat.
 
I decided to wait him out.
 
He fidgeted in his chair and his neck pulsed. “I mean ... were you in—intimate with her?”
 
“Brother,” I said, “you’ve just got the jitters, that’s all.”
 
“But were you, Pondria? There’s no one else I can ask, and—and you are my brother.”
 
“Why? Are you afraid you won’t be able to?”
 
His hands, before I asked my question, had rested on the table, his perfectly manicured finger-tips lifting barely enough to clear the surface before sinking back onto it. He blinked a few times, then locked into that space above my head, and his eyes filled. He reached for the napkin he’d used earlier and held it to his eyes in both hands. His fingers trembled. After a moment, his head made a slow movement to the right, and then just as slowly to the left, then increased the tempo and he finally settled into shaking it so rapidly the loose flesh of his cheeks trembled with the movement. “Yes,” he said. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”
 
Common decency, as well as prudence, told me I needed to be gentle. “Have you ever—Brother have you ever ... had trouble before?”
 
His breathing came in short bursts. He opened his mouth only to close it again. “Have you seen the women here, Pondria?”
 
I tried to keep from smiling but didn’t succeed.
 
“Then you have?”
 
“There aren’t too many, Glnot.”
 
“But that wouldn’t cause you to smile. You’ve seen some.”
 
“Well ... yes, the cleaning ladies.”
 
“They are among the more attractive ones.”
 
Again, I couldn’t hide my smile; I waited a moment before speaking. “But ... surely—I mean, you are the Almighty Master.”
 
“Yes.” He sighed. “I am the Almighty Master, and at one time or another, I had some of the better looking maidens from the village brought to the palace—all volunteers, of course.”
 
“Of course. And?”
 
The left side of his face twitched so savagely he covered it with his hand.
 
I looked away, concentrating all my attention to digging through the fruit bowl.
 
“None of them,”—and I glanced over to see the twitching had stopped and he’d removed his hand—“I assure you, none possessed my lovely Axtilla’s beauty.”
 
I spoke while resuming my rummage through the fruit bowl, “And have you had trouble responding to ... Axtilla?”
 
“Brother!” He leapt to his feet. “I am not a Pomnot!”
 
I rejoiced inside, but I kept it to an understanding smile. “But of course you’re not. I didn’t mean to offend you. I wasn’t referring to being intimate with her. But, you know, being a man ... sometimes, just being close to a woman of Axtilla’s beauty—just brushing your body against hers, or, or watching the way her eyes glitter when she as much as glances at you, the fragrance of her body, the sweetness of her breath—tends, well, to arouse something in you ... to bring a heaviness, perhaps, to the—to the pit of your stomach—”
 
“I’ll thank you, Pondria,” he said, sinking back to the chair, and jabbing a finger at me, “never to speak of the future Empress of the Far Northern Province in that manner again.”
 
I bowed my head. “I apologize.” Truly, once I’d started describing the wondrous aspects of Axtilla’s beauty, my emotions, not to mention my vacuous gazes, I was sure, and fatuous smiles, I no longer personally controlled. My apology was sincere, but along with it came a silent self-chastisement. This close to victory, I can’t excuse such sloppy activity.
 
My head still bowed, I felt a hand on my arm and looked up.
 
“I was being too sensitive, Pondria. I don’t control Axtilla’s beauty. It’s for all to see—unless,” he laughed, “I choose to keep her veiled when she’s out among my subjects.” After a brief—and his eyes revealed—reflective pause, he added, “but after your description, it’s good that she—she—”
 
"I know, Brother; you don’t need to tell me again.”
 
“... that she despises you so.”
 
Our exchanged smiles over his last comment transitioned to a long, awkward silence.
 
“Well,” I said.
 
He sat stiffly in his chair, his shoulders straight, and stared at me. Then he tried to smile, but it was crooked and quickly disappeared. His shoulders suddenly slumped as though the brace of pride that held them up collapsed. “I am worried, Brother.”
 
It was time for a major factual lie which I hoped might explain the deeper truth Viktor had experienced over the course of his practice as a psychologist. In fact, I would simply change the venue of the truth. “If it’s any help to you, Glnot, I can’t begin to tell you the number of times young grooms confided the very same fears to me as I interviewed them on the Mojo assignments before their night of pre-marital meditations. I hope you remember this: the fact is, nearly all men feel they won’t be able to perform on their wedding night.”
 
Rhuether’s brows rose and broad grin flattened the ends of his moustache. He patted his chest. “Oh, good, good .... So I was being—I was—I don’t really need to worry? Is that what you’re saying?”
 
A tight band gripped my chest, even as I spoke: “That’s right; that’s exactly what I’m saying.” My eyes glanced off his and focused on the wall behind him. The real reason ... the real and very dark reason he needn’t worry, though, was that he would never experience the wedding bed with Axtilla. But why am I letting his fears concern me? Now’s not the time to get sentimental. I revisited my memory of the scowl on Rhuether’s face when he berated Chiel on the night of the dinner. It underscored the fact that Rhuether relished his power. It didn’t take much imagination to picture Zarbs facing the Almighty Master to hear the pronouncement of his death sentence. I forced my eyes back to Rhuether, whose lips still held a vacant, satisfied smile, and whose gaze seemed to float here and there about the room. Now was not the time to forget that Rhuether was a tyrant, resolved to conquer Kabeez, the final stronghold against him, and reign as Almighty Master over all the provinces.
 
Rhuether slapped both palms against the table and stood, grinning down on me. “Well, I can oversee tomorrow’s preparation for the wedding with a happy disposition. You’ve relieved me, Brother. Thank you.”
 
I rose from my chair and reached for his assignment, which he grasped in his left hand as he bent awkwardly across the table, his right hand extended. I started to reach for his hand, but he gave his head a quick shake, so I leaned in. Wrapping his right arm around my shoulder he pulled me into a hug so our heads moored together.
 
“I’m a happy man, Pondria,” he said, his voice, on the verge of giddiness, vibrating against my head. “Thanks to you, I’m a happy man.” He pulled back and rapidly added, “So ... the assignment begins tomorrow night.”
 
“Precisely at midnight. Axtilla should arrive here at a quarter till. Unarmed."
 
“Unarmed,” he repeated, and again oddly tapped his palm in a flutter against his chest, his silver eyes glassy. “Forgive me—so the next time I see you will be after the solitary part of my assignment, when I return to your room to receive the final Mojo—directive?”
 
“I can’t say, but yes, after your assignment.”
 
His eyes had reverted to their steely-silver dryness when he turned and left me staring at his back as he strode from the room—shoulders erect—and looking every bit the figure of the proud Almighty Master who rendered his subjects to be filled with inchoate terror.

                        TO BE CONTINUED:
 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 


Chapter 30
The All-Nighter

By Jay Squires




BOOK III
Chapter Thirty
Part 1


 
                       FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

          “I’m a happy man, Pondria,” he said, his voice, on the verge of giddiness, vibrating against my head. “Thanks to you, I’m a happy man.” He pulled back and rapidly added, “So ... the assignment begins tomorrow night.”
          “Precisely at midnight. Axtilla should arrive here at a quarter till. Unarmed."
          “Unarmed,” he repeated, and again oddly tapped his palm in a flutter against his chest, his silver eyes glassy. “Forgive me—so the next time I see you will be after the solitary part of my assignment, when I return to your room to receive the final Mojo—directive?”
          “I can’t say, but yes, after your assignment.”
          His eyes had reverted to their steely-silver dryness when he turned and left me staring at his back as he strode from the room—shoulders erect—and looking every bit the figure of the proud Almighty Master who rendered his subjects to be filled with inchoate terror.


                      AND NOW ...

Axtilla would arrive in fifteen minutes, escorted by her guards, and for the second time today, I tested the bolt lock Rhuether’s locksmith had installed this afternoon. Though crude, it seemed sturdy enough. I slipped my finger in the hasp and gave it several jerks and one steady pull. The hexagonal nails he'd driven into each corner of the back-plate did their job. The bolt that attached to the door jamb was about the size of my index finger. It slid smoothly into and out of the hasp.
 
Why was I concerned? The guards would stay in the hallway and surely Axtilla warned them that if they valued their heads they weren’t to enter or knock for any reason. The only one who could countermand those orders would be Rhuether, and he’d be living under the throes of his own fears. Still ...
 
I returned from the door, smiling at my overabundance of caution. A crystal pitcher, filled with juice, sat next to the replenished fruit bowl on the table, alongside two decorative goblets. At my request, Chiel’s waiters had brought two pitchers, four goblets and the fruit bowl when they returned to pick up the dinner trays, plate and utensils this evening. They placed the other pitcher and the glasses on the bed stand.
 
Fifteen minutes! I laid my hand across my chest. My heart galloped into my palm and fingers. I grinned and glanced about the room.
 
Rhuether’s promised closet, a fine looking piece of furniture, its doors gilded with gold-leafed scroll, now graced the foot of my bed. Two men had brought it in last night, and before I had a chance to hang my clothing in it, a youngster entered, identifying himself as the laundryman. He carried off all but the clothing I wore, assuring me I needn’t be concerned. He’d return them the next day.
 
He kept his word and arrived this morning, a few minutes after the four water bearers hauled in their steaming cauldron, hung and swaying between the two long poles. While they left to get the second cauldron, the laundryman came and began hanging up my pants, shirt and the gaudy, gold jacket for me to wear at the wedding. He placed my shoes, polished to a high gloss, on the closet floor with several pairs of folded socks alongside.
 
I should have taken all these activities as harbingers of the busyness the fates had planned for my day. Waiting for me at the table when I padded out of the utility room after my mid-morning bath, sat Rhuether’s barber, prepared to give me my final haircut and shave before the wedding. By prior agreement, today’s was to be the full treatment, which included a manicure. Though I hedged, feeling my nails were already clean and fairly well-shaped, he was adamant, so I negotiated a small vial of the heady cologne he’d splashed on my face after my shave. I might find some use for that later.
 
I was already yawning before he’d finished soaking, clipping and buffing my nails; I hadn’t slept well last night in anticipation of seeing Axtilla tonight. So after a total treatment time of better than two hours, I finally ushered the barber from my room. I anticipated an afternoon nap before Chiel’s waiters would arrive with my dinner. I was just about to slip under the covers when a loud knock brought me out of the bed. Before I could put on my trousers and shirt, a phlegm-incrusted baritone voice announced through the door that he was the locksmith.
 
There would be no napping through his pounding nails into the door, but I might find time for a few minutes sleep before dinner arrived. As if to chide me for even hoping for such a luxury, not five minutes after the locksmith left, in walked two of the housekeepers (their leader conspicuously absent), and made straight for the bed. One stripped off the sheets and blankets, while the other tidied the bed stand. Characteristically, neither spoke a word, and the one, laden with an armful of linen, left the room to return a few minutes later with large folded squares of crisp-looking sheets and larger squares of fluffy blankets. Her partner, as if by unspoken agreement, turned away from the bed stand and together they moved up and down the bed, unfolding and snapping the sheet they each held from either side, letting it parachute down to the surface of the bed; they measured how much hung over the sides with the efficiency of an engineer and then tucked it in, folding down six inches at the top. They spread the blankets and jammed the pillows into fresh cases ... and without a word they left.
 
I would not be napping at all.
 
 
Five minutes before Axtilla’s scheduled arrival, having brushed my teeth, combed my hair and refreshened my face with cologne, I waited at the table. Something was wrong, though, with the seating. I didn’t want to sit across the table from her, each of us peeking around the pitcher or fruit bowl in order to talk. I brought both chairs to face each other and kept the table within reach beside us. I considered munching a piece of fruit when she entered, but that smacked of staged indifference. We knew the depth of our feelings for each other—feelings we had to conceal from Rhuether through almost comic exaggeration. With the two of us alone, and the rest of the world locked out, we didn’t need a curtain of pretention erected between us.
 
Axtilla would arrive within the next few minutes. I left the door unlocked for the time being. A tangle of soft voices in the hall drew my attention. Two heavy knocks hammered against the door, followed by a male voice, “The Empress Axtilla requests entrance.”
 
“She may enter,” I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my words.
 
The door slowly opened. I got to my feet as Axtilla framed the doorway, staring at me, unblinking. My eyes drank in her image. Her ankle-length, powdery pink gown probably hadn’t been chosen for the wedding. The neckline dipped below the slow rise-and-fall of her upper breasts, and a midnight-blue locket, hanging from a gold chain, lay against one white mound, the bottom of it hidden beneath the shadowed mysteries below the neckline. A darker pink sash encircled her waist, and the ends of it cascaded down from where it was knotted in front.
 
She looked lovely standing in the doorway, though her amber eyes scowled at me. The guards, who were evidently still under the impression I was their Almighty Master’s prisoner, sneered over Axtilla’s shoulders. Under Rhuether’s orders, they had likely searched her for a weapon prior to leaving her room, and she’d have played her role to the hilt—as she did now.
 
She glanced over her shoulder. “Well, I’m in. You have your orders.”
 
“Yes, my Empress,” they said in unison, doing an about-face and taking a long step into the hallway.
 
Axtilla turned to the door. She latched it and inclined her head slightly to the door jamb. She paused, as though undecided, then grasped the deadbolt and slid it silently into its hasp. She turned back to me. The expression she’d reserved for the guards melted away and yielded to a mischievous smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, the flecks of gold dancing in her amber irises.
 
“Sit,” she whispered.
 
“Yes, my Empress.” And I did—watching her glide toward me, never taking her eyes off mine. I opened my mouth, probably to jabber something nonsensical, but she saved me the embarrassment by crossing her lips with her forefinger. I grinned my puzzlement as she stepped to the side of the chair I’d reserved for her, and she began her slow movement behind me, trailing her fingertips across my left shoulder, arousing an involuntary shudder as her nails invaded the sensitive hairs at the base of my neck, crossing then to my right shoulder, where she slowed to give it a tantalizing squeeze. At that point, I reached my hand across my chest to place it on the back of her hand, but it was too late. She slipped now into my field of vision to my right and moved across in front of me, behind her chair.
 
“Axtilla,” I murmured.
 
Turning her head my way, she smiled and then drifted away from me toward the bed.


TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTER LIST (AS NEEDED)

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 


Chapter 30
Almighty Kyre In Bed With Axtilla?

By Jay Squires

 
MY APOLOGIES FOR THIS CHAPTER'S LENGTH. TO HAVE LOPPED IT IN TWO WOULD HAVE BEEN LIKE LEAVING A BANANA SPLIT HALF-EATEN.

 

BOOK III
Chapter 30
Part 4

                      FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER

           Before I could do or say anything more, she took in two short breaths, blew out a puff of air, and rolling to face me, she snaked her arm under mine, joined with her other arm behind my back and hoisted me on top of her. Strands of hair pasted to her forehead, and through them her eyes were glazed, but steady. She smiled as though nothing had happened and said, “You dream too much.”
          It was obvious what she was getting at. Now was no time for dreaming. It was clear to me—and I was sure it was clear to her—it was time for action. Still, those tears were real. Damn, but they were uncensored and true. She did swoon when we first kissed ... and in her kingdom, the young men’s fear denied her of experience. She was innocent. If I allowed myself to overlook her false bravado, I was no better than a rutting dog. “Axtilla ...” I swallowed. “Are you sure—?”
          “Oh, for the sodden beard of Kyre, Pondria!” She scowled, but instantly her face transformed with a lusty laugh, and in one swift movement, she brought her arm between us, found and positioned that rutting part of me, and with a thrust of her hips, rammed me into the heat of her.


                     
AND NOW
 
I cradled Axtilla in my arm, her hair tickling my cheek delightfully and strands of it coiling to nest on my chest. We had tasted the fullest measure of pleasure, not just once, but three times, with one shared glass of water during the briefest of intermissions before the last. I grinned up at the ceiling, my jaws near cramping. Even the creatures there were benign, perhaps entertained. I glanced at the frog, the very one who’d swallowed Percy, the fly, during my drug induced hallucination on my first night in the room. Now, with the flickering light and shadow produced by the torches, it seemed—I could almost swear by it—I’d just observed the membrane of his one lid slip down over that eye, then snap back open, completing a lewd wink.
 
I sighed and inclined my head to Axtilla. “You know, we really need to make a complete ... change of agenda.”
 
She turned her languorous face to mine, scrunching one eye. “What?”
 
“I said you look gorgeous without clothing.”
 
“Liar,” she said, draping her forearm across her breast, but unable to slow the smile spreading to her lips.
 
I resisted the effects of that smile on me. “Seriously, we haven’t much time, dear. We have to work out a strategy and decide our roles in it. Timing is everything.”
 
“Timing is everything,” she mimicked, pulling her head from the cradle of my arm and flouncing to her side, away from me.
 
A chill washed over me. “Axtilla!” I turned to face her back, laying my hand on her hip and sliding it down to her knee and back as I heard myself babble, “Axtilla, we can’t—I mean, what? I don’t—”
 
She mimicked that, as well, and then poured out a long moan that trailed off into two shallow inhales. Sliding my hand down to the crook of her arm, I pulled her closer and snugged my thighs into the backs of hers. She tensed and then erupted in a spasm of sobs. I resisted the temptation to interrupt with words but continued to hold her tightly to me, rocking her gently, waiting for it to play itself out. When she got to the frayed end of one breath, she gasped two or three times, gulped in a fresh air supply and continued. I resumed rocking her until her sobs settled into whimpers, then isolated hiccups.
 
When they were replaced by long, deep breaths, I released my hand from her arm and pulled back her hair. It exposed a damp, mottled, but still lovely profile. I bent over her shoulder and pressed my lips to her temple. Pulling back, I whispered, “Are you all right, my love?”
 
She sniffed, released a long breath, and sniffed again. “Oh, Doctrex, I was such a fool!”
 
Doctrex! How long had it taken me to slip into the spirit of Pondria, to give up the General, with all his military pomp and pride? I corrected: “Pondria,” simply, without inflection.
 
“I was a fool. I had no right.”
 
“What fool? What right?”
 
“Back when I entered Viktor’s life. I had no right to do that.”
 
“You had no choice but to do it.” I put my hand on her shoulder, gave it a gentle tug. “Turn around, Axtilla. Look at me. You were not doing your will, but Kyre’s. Please ...”
 
She yanked her shoulder out of my hand. “I can't turn around. I can’t look at you, Doctrex. I can’t.”
 
“Why do you keep calling me Doctrex? I’ve accepted that I’m Pondria. You know I need to be Pondria.”
 
“That’s the point!” She flipped to her back, but she kept her eyes averted. “You should never have become Pondria. I should never have driven you to the bridge, and I—I—oh, Doctrex, how could I have urged you to jump?” She rocked her head side-to-side on the pillow.
 
“No, no! You know General Doctrex didn’t jump. He had fallen from his crossan and was lying on the plain with the newly opened wound on his side. It was Viktor you drove to the bridge. Why am I bothering to tell you this? Kyre sent you to Viktor, and you escaped with him from the hospital—”
 
“To drive him ... to ... the ... bridge, yes! To convince him he should jump ... to kill himself. I'm no better than a murderer.”
 
“If you’re to remind me of what happened, Axtilla—Axtilla, please look at me—” I pulled her face toward me. “If you’re going to tell it, don’t leave out the vital parts. Viktor had jumped off the bridge before; don’t forget that. He jumped because he had nothing to live for. You weren’t responsible for that. He had screwed up his life, and he tried to kill himself ... but botched it. And it was because he botched it—don’t pull away—that he was put in an insane asylum. He was angry. He wasn’t a model inmate there. He was abrasive.” I put my hands on either side of her face, bent in and kissed her, a gentle kiss. “You know I’m right. You had nothing to do with any of that. Dr. Green had the perfect method for settling Viktor’s unruliness. The good Doctor had the means to buff down all the ruts and pits and jagged corners of Viktor’s behavior—never mind that his brain would end up as a bowl of electric spaghetti when the Doctor finished.” I smiled and gave her a little nod. When I pulled my hands away from her face, I nodded again. “You prevented the Doctor's butchery by escaping with Viktor from the hospital.”
 
“But you’re missing the whole point, Doct—I can’t call you Pondria any more—Doctrex, yes, that’s better.” She tried to smile, but her lips weren’t cooperating. “I was sent there to do Kyre’s will. I was sent there, Kyre told me, to take the first step in bringing the prophecy to fulfillment.”
 
“Exactly! And you did!”
 
“But don’t you see? It was the only way to guarantee our fates would be joined. We would both be in Kyre’s hands to fulfill that prophecy. I wasn’t doing it out of duty to my people or out of obedience to Almighty Kyre.” She sniffed and brought her fingers across her pooling eyes. “My sweet, sweet Doctrex, I was purely selfish. I joyfully obeyed Kyre because it gave me assurance that you and I would be together to defeat Rhuether.”
 
“Pondria ...”
 
Her brows dipped in confusion. “What?”
 
“You and Pondria, together, would defeat Rhuether."
 
“Only because I convinced Viktor to jump again, and—and not—” she stopped to swallow, “and not botch it this time.”
 
We both smiled at that, but she stopped to wipe away the tears once more.
 
I waited for her to finish and settle back on the pillow. Leaning over, I gave her another light kiss but pulled back the moment the heat of her breath stormed my face. As much as I craved to abandon myself to her one more time, we had to devise our plans without our passion for each other getting in the way. “Listen,” I said, and took a deep breath, “As soon as Doctrex regained consciousness, the medic explained how near he’d come to dying because of the fall and the wound on his side. The only miracle the medic witnessed was of Doctrex opening his eyes. The medic couldn’t see the bigger miracle, but you and I know that the instant Viktor died his spirit entered Pondria, and in that same instant, Pondria’s spirit entered Doctrex. It was only when that happened that Doctrex was revived.”
 
Axtilla pulled herself up to one elbow, her lips trembling. “I’m so afraid.”
 
I mustered my most reassuring smile. “It’s because we haven’t worked out our plan yet. You’re thinking of the worst that could happen, because we’re unprepared. I promise you—”
 
She shook her head vigorously. “No, no, it’s not that. Rhuether will have the palace guard all around him. It’s just you and me against all—”
 
I interrupted her with an outright laugh that narrowed her eyes with anger. “Are you forgetting, Axtilla? It will be Kyre alongside you and me ... and you know he’s more powerful than any palace guard. I kind of like those odds, don’t you?”
 
Her eyes began to dart all over, a look of terror in them. “I don’t—I can’t explain. There’s something we don’t know; something we haven't been told ....”
 
“What do you mean? What don’t we know?”
 
“I don’t even know. I ... don’t ... know!” she wailed, and immediately threw her hand over her mouth. Then she pulled her hand away and added in an almost manic whisper, “Something Kyre's not disclosing.”
 
I blinked and frowned. She used the moment of my consternation to cup the palm of her other hand behind my head and tug me down to her waiting mouth. Her kiss was too urgent, though, and the echo of her last words still clung to my mind. There was little passion in my kiss.
 
She pulled back a few inches and the beginning of a smile tugged up the corners of her mouth. It continued to spread as she looked past me, blinked a few times then looked back at me. “Sure,” she said, and she scrambled up from her elbow to sit cross-legged, with her back against the headboard. She suddenly seemed transfixed. “Sure, we—you and I—we won’t have to fight Rhuether. It’s the middle of the night. Rhuether’s occupied in his room, too frightened to come out. You and I ... we’ll just leave the palace.”
 
“Axtilla,” I began.
 
“No, listen. We’ll ... just go. We’ll get crossans from the village and—and we’ll travel the trade route. I know it well, and we’ll get clear out of the Northern Province. Yes ... to Kabeez!” she said loudly. “We’ll—it’ll be so beautiful, Doctrex. We’ll build us a cottage in Kabeez ....”
 
I stared at her.
 
“It’ll be a cottage like the one Klasco and Metra have, with trees and crops, and we’ll have children—you do want children, don’t you? Like their little one, Sarisa.”
 
“Axtilla,” I mouthed, with no force behind it. I feared she was beyond reasoning with, at least for the moment. I laid my hand on her knee. She glanced at it and then covered it with her own hand.
 
She started again, but with less fervor, “We can be—like Klasco and Metra. You’ll go off to the fields, and ... I will stay home and wait for you. And I’ll have your meal waiting ... and we can go to bed afterwards and ... and make love—”
 
“What about Kyre?” I asked evenly.
 
She closed her eyes for a moment, and when they opened laughter bubbled up from deep within her. It continued on, though she tried to speak through it and failed. She pinched her lips together between her thumb and forefinger, until the laughter subsided. Finally, with a huge grin, she was able to say, “Kyre will have to find his own—”
 
I gave her a curious, closed-lipped smile. “That’s not what I mean, darling.” I held her hands in mine. “Can we ever travel far enough to keep away from Kyre? Where would we hide?” Pulling her hands to my lips, I kissed them and gazed over them at her amber eyes, still glistening from her recent tears. “But afterwards,” I said, as I smiled and glided my palm from her wrist to the crook of her arm, “after we destroy Rhuether, we will leave this all behind, and we’ll build our cottage in Kabeez, and we’ll have a brood of children.”
 
She glanced down for a long moment and then slowly nodded, but the doubt hadn’t left her eyes.
 
I climbed off the bed and reached for my underwear, in a heap beside my trousers. “We still have a few hours before dawn. Once we get dressed and are sitting over at the table, I’m sure we’ll both think more clearly.” I chuckled, pulling my underwear to my waist and reaching for my trousers. I gave them a hearty shake, hoping to get rid of any wrinkles that might have set in. Stepping into them, I cast a glance at the table to make sure it had everything we’d need for our planning. Still looking at the table, I hoisted my trousers over my hips and buttoned them. I let out a short laugh. “Next time we’ll have to remember to hang up our clothes.” I hoped this would prompt a laugh out of her, but there was nothing.
 
I turned to see her sprawled on the bed, facing me, her eyes closed. “Wait, wait a minute, sleepyhead. I know I wore you out, but you can’t sleep now. We have work to do.” I bent down and retrieved her gown, near my ripped shirt and strewn buttons, and hanging it over my arm, brushed it with my fingers. I glanced back at her again, but this time her nearly closed eyelids fluttered, and within the slivers of white beneath them, her eyes rolled like marbles in milk.
 
Draping the gown over one shoulder, I kneeled beside the bed. I was tempted to touch her, to comfort her, but I remembered the night she had the sleeping vision on the plain; she had been with Kyre, then. Now was not the time to interrupt. Perhaps Kyre was giving her the step-by-step plan for us to take down Rhuether. It was Kyre's prophecy, after all. He knew how it would end as long as the proper steps were taken. Who better than Kyre to disclose to Axtilla what those steps needed to be? I waited, wishing I could daub the sweat beading on her forehead. The corners of her mouth twitched.
 
Her body suddenly stiffened, and a moan snaked out from the depths of her, “Oooooooooooooooo!”
 
Though my eyes were on her the entire time, the eerie sound of it jolted me.
 
Elongated words stretched from her mouth. “Noooooooooooooooo, I can’t. Howwwww? How can I?”
 
Then, as abruptly as it began, it ended. Her eyes popped open. She sat up, her jaw slack, her eyes glazed; she swung her legs around and pushed off to the floor, glancing about at my crumpled, ripped shirt, my shoes and stockings.
 
“Are you looking for this?” I asked, holding out her gown.
 
Without a word she plucked it from my hands, maneuvered it around and pulled it down over her head.

In silence, I watched her dress. There was so much I wanted to ask her, but the memory of the aftermath of my own meeting with Kyre in the garden was still fresh in my mind. My experience had apparently been so exhausting, I’d fallen asleep at the garden table. Her brief sleep had certainly not been refreshing. She needed time to recover.
 
She put on her slippers and turned her back to me, pulling her hair over one shoulder. During the lengthy process of hooking together the clasps, she sighed three times but didn't say anything. When I finished, I gathered her hair, pulling it back over her shoulder where it tumbled in a soft cascade down her back.
 
She turned to face me. “Before Rhuether even leaves his room this morning,” she said, her voice level, “we can be far away on the trade route.”
 
“Axtilla,” I whispered, slowly shaking my head.
 
She nodded and leaned in and kissed me. “I do love you,” she said.
 
“I love you, too. Listen ... we’ll have everything planned out in an hour. We won’t have a thing to worry about.”
 
“I know,” she said. "In an hour we won't have anything to worry about." She took a deep breath. “Before we start, would you pour me a glass of water?”
 
“That’s the spirit.” I turned to the nightstand and smiled as I held the goblet we had shared earlier. I’d use that one for me. I set the other goblet beside it, filled both, and turned around, still smiling.
 
She was at the door, her hand on the latch. “It would have been such a sweet life, my Doctrex,” she said, and slid the bolt across the hasp.


                     TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTERS & TERMS (AS NEEDED):

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)


VIKTOR BRUEEN: THUMBNAIL: On the Earth plane he was the catalyst whose attempted suicide caused his spirit to only partially unite with Pondria’s in the Pool of Arlangua. Later, when Axtilla was sent to Earth by Kyre, she helped Viktor complete the suicide, hence the full connection with Pondria.


 


Chapter 30
Let the Seduction Begin

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of sexual content.



BOOK III
Chapter Thirty
Part 3




 
                        FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER
          “I feel honored, Axtilla. Does that mean I’m the—the—” I grinned foolishly at the back of her head, and shrugged.
          “Don’t feel honored,” she said, crisply. “My father was the leader of the Encloy. That made me royalty. The young men were terrified of me.”
          “I still feel honored,” I said.
          “How noble,” she said, with so much buoyancy under the last word it threatened to float away. “There is a Kyrean saying—I always thought it was a stupid Kyrean saying—that goes: ‘First you lay them down, then you kiss them.’”
          I tried not to let my mouth register the humor, but she turned her face back to me before I succeeded.
          “Now, Pondria,” she said, looking for all intents like she would smile along with me, “if you will unfasten the back of my gown ....”

                              AND NOW ...

She turned away from me while gathering her hair and pulling it over her shoulder. The back of her now exposed neck flushed, and the ridges of her uncovered ear looked delicately pink, like a shell.

It took me a moment to figure out the latching. A row of ten loops made of the same cloth as the gown lined the left hand side, about an inch apart. Each had been pulled across the opening and looped over a metal clasp, which was then snapped shut, flush with the gown. I addressed the first one, smiling at myself. This former General’s hands never shook in battle as they did now. I took a slow, quiet inhale and aimed my breath’s release to the floor, while I managed to unlatch the top one. I completed the second, third and fourth, watching an inverted triangle of flesh appear beneath the widening gap. Another clasp, and then the next, revealed more of her back.

Axtilla giggled. “Your breath ...”

“Oh, I’m—”

“—But you are breathing; it’s warm, and isn’t that marvelous?”

“Is it heavy, or does it sound slow and calculated?”

“It’s hot, and ...” She drew in a thin gasp. “Oh! It’s tickly and exciting.” Her head dipped, and the backs of her arms moved along her side; in a moment, the dark pink sash which had circled her waist lay at her feet.

I unhooked the last two clasps, leaned in and gently pressed my lips to her back. She shuddered, sucked in a breath, and I pulled back to witness an invasion of tiny goose bumps.

She whispered, “Pon-dri-a,” in three almost breathless syllables.

I slipped my hands beneath the cloth covering her shoulders and lifted the fabric enough to allow its slide down the front of her arms. I hoped I kept my breath’s intake to myself when I glimpsed the shadowed underside of her breast before her arm reactively pressed to her side.

She turned to face me. Her forearm lay across her rib cage just under her covered breasts, and its presence there was all that kept the weight of the bunched fabric above them from falling to her waist. She brought her eyes slowly to that arm, then up to my face. One brow arched, aristocratically, and her lips spread into what I knew she intended as an easy, taunting smile—a ruse that the tiny tremors in the corners of her mouth denied.

I returned her smile with one I was sure admitted the same diffidence. My breath came in jerks and I was certain just a casual glance would have revealed to her the fluttering at the front of my shirt.

Looking down once more, trying to keep her smile steady, she watched her own spread fingers draw across her midsection, as though someone else directed them, and her gown tumbled over her breasts.

Only later would I recall, for that eternal instant, with her gown now gathered like a pink froth of clouds around her waist, how I must have gawked like a teenager at his first conquest before I drew back into my maturity and gazed upon—not a prize I’d won—but Axtilla’s gift, with the joy of its unwrapping meant for both our sharing. For a moment, I felt rapturously trapped like an insect in the amber of her eyes as I reached out and placed my palms, thumbs together, above her breasts, my forefingers feeling the pulse at the sides her throat. My eyes never leaving hers, I slowly trailed my fingers down from her neck. Part of me was aware of her appraising smile as I arced my fingertips to trace, from the center outwards, the half-circles of her upper breasts. As the weight of her breasts’ outer orbs settled in my palms like firm, warm fruit, I lifted my gaze to her now closed eyes; her lids twitched as in a dream. The upturned corners of her lips held the slightest tremble, and the strip above her upper lip glistened. Her throat produced something between a moan and a whimper as my thumbs left the cupping of her breasts to orbit her dusky pink areolas.

At that moment, her entire body began to sway in a tight orbit of its own, and remembering the effect my kiss had on her earlier, I pulled her into my arms. A groan replaced the pleasurable moan from a moment ago as she leaned away from me, and in one extended movement, her hands flew up to my chest, her fingers struggling with the buttons on my shirt. Her groan continued, deep and elemental; then flustered, she yanked both sides from the center, sending buttons flying. Laughing aloud, I pulled it off my shoulders and shrugged it down my arms, behind me, to the floor.

Empowered by the beast in us, we became a tangle of arms and legs. While she busied herself unbuttoning my trousers, I slipped my hands beneath her gathered gown on either side of her hips, worked it onto her thighs, and then, moving my hands to the back, eased it over her buttocks. I lingered there a moment longer until I felt a coolness on my thighs as my trousers fell at my feet. One last tug and her gown lay at her ankles. She stepped out of it, as I did my trousers.

Only I wore underwear. She bent down and slipped her fingers under the band and walked them around to the back, administered a brief massage, and coming again to the side, in one quick movement she peeled them to my knees. I danced them the rest of the way to my ankles and stepped out.

We stood inches apart, gazing down at each other. Wide-eyed, she managed a deep inhale while I struggled with my diminished breath. Lifting her onto the bed, her lightness amazed me. She lay on her back, staring open-mouthed at the ceiling. I lay facing her, my thigh stretched across both hers.

“It’s like the creatures are watching us,” she murmured and after a moment added, “And I don’t care.” She giggled and turned her face toward me. “Let them.”

“Shall we give them something to remember?” I asked.

Without waiting for an answer, I adjusted my weight, pulled up to my elbow and brought my mouth near hers, in readiness to whisper her name, but the sudden pressure of her mouth against mine, and the briny sweetness of her lips and breath made words not simply extraneous, but a clutter. Our tongues met. They searched and tasted, teased and promised, communicating an inexhaustible lexicon.

Then Axtilla pulled away from me while I still lay on my side, and she fell back against the pillow, panting through a smile.

I released a long breath through fluted lips. “If you only knew how much I’ve dreamed of this moment, my love.” I let out a torn sigh. “My Axtilla ...”

She turned her head to me, her lips trembling. Then rolling her head back, her eyes filled and spilled over, leaving a silver trail alongside her nose to her mouth.

“What’s wrong? Darling ... Axtilla!” My mind raced back over the words I’d used that caused this reaction.

Before I could do or say anything more, she took in two short breaths, blew out a puff of air, and rolling to face me, she snaked her arm under mine, joined with her other arm behind my back and hoisted me on top of her. Strands of hair pasted to her forehead, and through them her eyes were glazed, but steady. She smiled as though nothing had happened and said, “You dream too much.”

It was obvious what she was getting at. Now was no time for dreaming. It was clear to me—and I was sure it was clear to her—it was time for action. Still, those tears were real. Damn, but they were uncensored and true. She did swoon when we first kissed ... and in her kingdom, the young men’s fear denied her of experience. She was innocent. If I allowed myself to overlook her false bravado, I was no better than a rutting dog. “Axtilla ...” I swallowed. “Are you sure—?”

“Oh, for the sodden beard of Kyre, Pondria!” She scowled, but instantly her face transformed with a lusty laugh, and in one swift movement, she brought her arm between us, found and positioned that rutting part of me, and with a thrust of her hips, rammed me into the heat of her.


                          TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTERS & TERMS (AS NEEDED):

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)


Chapter 30
The Grand Performance For Kyre?

By Jay Squires

BOOK III
 
Chapter Thirty

 Part 2




 
                   From the Last Chapter:

           “Sit,” she whispered.
           “Yes, my Empress.” And I did—watching her glide toward me, never taking her eyes off mine. I opened my mouth, probably to jabber something nonsensical, but she saved me the embarrassment by crossing her lips with her forefinger. I grinned my puzzlement as she stepped to the side of the chair I’d reserved for her, and she began her slow movement behind me, trailing her fingertips across my left shoulder, arousing an involuntary shudder as her nails invaded the sensitive hairs at the base of my neck, crossing then to my right shoulder, where she slowed to give it a tantalizing squeeze. At that point, I reached my hand across my chest to place it on the back of her hand, but it was too late. She slipped now into my field of vision to my right and moved across in front of me, behind her chair.
           “Axtilla,” I murmured.
           Turning her head my way, she smiled and then drifted away from me toward the bed.

 
                  And Now:
 
I'd longed for this moment since that day on the Kyrean plains when I leaned my back against the log and she slept—her soul with Kyre—but her lovely body snug against my chest, her head cradled in my arm. For too many times to count after that, she visited my dreams as I slept in my tent—in General Doctrex’s tent.
 
Now, she left no doubt she wanted me. My desire churned in my belly. What force, then, restrained me from leaping from the chair and racing toward her, and out of my zeal, perhaps even arriving at the bed ahead of her? Why was my mind, instead, assaulted by a familiar, cautionary whoooof-whoooof-whooo-whoooof, as of huge wings beating the air in flight? She moved like a goddess, her slippers skimming the surface of the floor with hardly a sound. I only half-rose, something warning me I’d be treading forbidden, sacred ground. Sinking back to the chair, I could only gawp at her as she reached the bed and lingered there, her back to me, the fingers of both hands spread, and their tips settled on the surface of the blankets as softly as spider legs.
 
Her head downcast, she continued standing there for a time. Her hair had been pulled back to a chignon and was fastened by a jeweled comb, exposing her lovely, pale neck.
 
Still I sat.
 
“You feel the presence, too?” She directed her words to the blanket in a voice just above a whisper. At last she turned—her hips pressed against the bed—and half-smiled at what must have been my stricken expression. She sighed and the vestige of her smile disappeared. “Of course you do, my darling.”
 
How could I tell her my spirit had just been visited again by a sort of winged communication, the embodiment of which I had earlier encountered in the palace garden, and later in a dream? I stood, but dared not move toward her. Not yet.
 
“Do—do you feel him here?” she asked.
 
I brought my eyes down from hers and nodded with a slow, weighty movement. “Wings,” I said, almost as a question, heat rising to my face.
 
“Wings?” she asked with astonishment attending the lift of her voice.
 
I looked back to see confusion drawing down her brows. “They’re in my memory from the bird I—well, who spoke to me in the palace garden. A white bird, with—with—”
 
“With a gold ring of feathers around his neck?”
 
“Y-yes.” I cocked my head and smiled at her, the corner of my mouth lifting in a bemused smile. I attempted humor. “Is he yours? Did you lose him?”
 
Not at all amused, she rubbed the back of her neck, beneath her chignon, and grimaced. “It’s one of Kyre’s manifestations. I’ve never seen it, but it’s spoken of in the Sacred Book of Kyre.” For just an instant, her eyes narrowed. “But he revealed himself to you?”
 
Did she take that as a personal affront? Is she jealous? A need to succor her—to even underplay his appearance—overwhelmed me. After all, Kyre was her God.
 
“He’s only appeared to me in sleep images,” she added. "Why would he manifest himself to you?”
 
I shrugged. “Perhaps ... Doctrex didn’t want to die at Pondria’s hand?”
 
“Die? At Pondria’s hand? That’s an odd way of putting it.”
 
“Well? Isn’t that it?” I asked. “There in the garden, I apparently wanted to hang onto some part of General Doctrex’s arrogance.” All at once, an image tried to slash its entry into my mind from—it seemed years ago—when Doctrex trained at camp Kabeez. What was it? I remembered standing at the window of my room peering through the trees, searching for Axtilla. Of course, it was Doctrex, not me. He had just read the letter from Klasco, explaining that little Sarisa had pulled Axtilla up through the same opening she had yanked Doctrex through earlier. Klasco’s letter said Axtilla was on her way to me. But that was where the image ended. Nothing else happened. Because Axtilla didn’t show up. Why was this memory now trying to hack its way into my mind, trying to draw me back to that time?
 
“And?” she asked.
 
I was unaware how long I’d been in my thoughts. “Well,” I said, and shrugged, “Pondria must have won.” I gripped the chair on either side of my thighs and leaned forward. It was absurd to have to raise our voices just to talk across the thirty feet separating us, as though we were on opposing cliff edges, with a treacherous gulf between. Still, I failed to push myself off the chair.
 
A distant, unfocused look drew her gaze from me. “There was a time when Doctrex battled with himself—himself and the General. Arrogance was involved then, too.”
 
“I—um ... Doctrex didn’t know any other General,” I said, confused. “He was the only—”
 
“No ... no. The General who battled inside Doctrex ... back when Doctrex plotted to desert.”
 
“Noooo. I never—he never—what? Desert? When? He never considered deserting.” I smiled and shook my head. I had the urge to wag my finger at her. “Don’t you think I’d remember that?” I chuckled, but it sounded foreign to my ears. “When? When was he going to desert?”
 
“Back in your quarters. In camp Kabeez. Kyre erased your memory; everything that happened after you were looking out your window for me.”
 
“That’s all that happened. I looked out the window. I remember. I had gotten Klasco’s letter saying he’d given you a crossan and you were on your way to Kabeez. That’s why I—why he stood at the window. He wanted you so much, Axtilla.” I paused, gulped in some air, and pounded the knuckles of my fist into my chest for emphasis. “I want you—” A sob clutched at my throat. I swallowed it back—“I want you now, Axtilla. I want—Pondria wants you!”
 
“And I want you, too, my Pondria.”
 
“Then why ...?” My voice trailed off.
 
“Kyre urges me.”
 
“Urges you? You’re not asleep.”
 
“I see—or deeply sense—Kyre in my sleep. He talks to me like a grandfather to his grandchild.” Again, her eyes seemed to lose their focus. “It’s indescribably ... lovely.” She blinked and brought her gaze back to me. “At other times he urges me. But it’s powerful.”
 
“Why? Why does he urge you now?”
 
“I don’t ... know ... exactly. The time at Camp Kabeez; you were in a crisis. Then, it wasn’t just an urge. I was in the spirit of Kyre. I was there in the room with you, in spirit, with Kyre speaking through me.”
 
I smirked. “I really think I would remember—”
 
“I told you the memory was expunged. But I watched you ... as you fell apart. You were—what would Viktor have called it? Two minds. Two—Schiz ... something.”
 
“I was schizophrenic? What?”
 
“Yes, now I can papper it from your mind. Schizophrenic. There was Doctrex, the man I fell in love with when he danced around the fire and challenged the Pomnot.”
 
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I looked away. So she did love me back then.
 
“And, and then there was the general. He was separate from you. He stood aside and glared down at you, collapsed on the floor, sobbing. The general was stern; he was unyielding, like a judge. He’d have been the first to slip the noose around Doctrex’s neck if he deserted.”
 
I shook my head again. “I don’t—”
 
“Because Kyre took ... away ... your memory.” Her quick inhale betrayed a trace of impatience. “Listen, Kyre needed the Kabeezan Army to successfully march to the Plain of Dzur. The army needed a leader. Kyre had no use for the blubbering mass of lovesickness, hugging his knees on the floor. You’re smiling, but that’s what Doctrex was. He couldn’t lead himself at that point, let alone the army. He needed the general’s structure, the general’s—what do you call it?—backbone, his sense of duty. But there were two people. The general needed you, too, as much as you him. He needed his brittle edges softened. He needed Doctrex’s gentle nature, his forgiving heart ...” Her voice trailed off and a smile spread over her teeth. “... he needed all that I loved in Doctrex and that I love now in Pondria.”
 
I swallowed. “Oh, Axtilla, why? I want you. You want me. Why do the beating of those wings keep me here and your urgings keep you there?” The anger boiled up in me. “Kyre!” I shouted. “What do you want of us now?”
 
Axtilla’s head whipped to the door. Then she turned back to me and spoke in an unusually soft voice, “A little less general, Pondria, my love. You can’t storm the Halls of Kyre.”
 
“Then what does he want?”
 
She turned her eyes to the floor, frowned, and then brought them back to me. “He demands your heart and mind to be of one person. And that one person must be Pondria.” She closed her eyes a moment, nodded, and opened them. “Only an undivided Pondria can join me to destroy Rhuether.”
 
“Please believe me—and tell Kyre—General Doctrex is just a name. I became Pondria in the garden. I strengthened my hold on Pondria when I performed my first crude magic back in my room.” I laughed. “Oh, it was unpracticed, unpolished, and—oh, so careless—but I owned it, Axtilla. It was mine. I am Pondria, and you ... and I ...” I paused and then continued in a reduced volume only she could hear, “will together destroy Rhuether.”
 
She stared at me a moment, then cocked her head. I started to say something, but she held up her hand, palm flattened toward me.
 
A slow smile spread her lips. “We’re alone again, Pondria, my Pondria.” Tears rose over her amber irises, making them shimmer like gold coins in a brook; the tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Please ...” She spread her arms.
 
I stepped away from the chair. No pounding of wings. The floor was solid enough beneath my feet, though my knees betrayed my confidence in those first few steps toward the bed.
 
Our fingertips touched, interlocked briefly, and then released as I leaned in. The warm flesh of her inner arms sent shocks of pleasure through me as I slipped between them; I felt their brief shudder before she snugged me into her, and they locked behind my back. Her face found the notch between my chest and shoulder, and her intermittent breaths, and its spreading warmth, tantalized me. I breathed in the fragrance of her hair. My fingertips found the comb at the nape of her neck, slipped it from its mooring and freed her hair to billow onto her back.
 
Pulling her head away from my chest, she tilted her face back. “Kiss me, Pondria.”
 
I cradled the back of her upturned head in my palms, guiding her opening mouth toward me. From between the twin rows of her teeth, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, then returned to nest behind the white reefs. Remembering the months of agonizing separation and longing, I heard myself exhaling, “Axtilla,” into the waiting heat of her mouth.

The instant our lips found each other, her shoulders slumped and, to keep her from sagging to the floor, I angled my arm across her back. It was for only an instant, and then she jerked, found her legs, and her body stiffened.
 
“Are you—?”
 
She stopped my words with an unsteady smile. Then she made a half turn away from me. Her ear and the back of her neck reddened. “It happens to all Kyrean maidens with their first—when they ...” Her voice drifted into silence. Then she swallowed. “I thought it had passed me by.”
 
“I feel honored, Axtilla. Does that mean I’m the—the—” I grinned foolishly at the back of her head, and shrugged.
 
“Don’t feel honored,” she said, crisply. “My father was the leader of the Encloy. That made me royalty. The young men were terrified of me.”
 
“I still feel honored,” I said.
 
“How noble,” she said, with so much buoyancy under the last word it threatened to float away. “There is a Kyrean saying—I always thought it was a stupid Kyrean saying—that goes: ‘First you lay them down, then you kiss them.’”
 
I tried not to let my mouth register the humor, but she turned her face back to me before I succeeded.
 
“Now, Pondria,” she said, looking for all intents like she would smile along with me, “if you will unfasten the back of my gown ....”


                To Continue . . .
CHARACTERS & TERMS (AS NEEDED):

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)


VIKTOR: Doctrex's incarnation in the Earth dimension. Brilliant, but arrogant, police psychologist.

CROSSAN: Roughly the equivalent of a horse.


PAPPERING:  A type of authomatic translating of a foreign language into one's own. When Doctrex/Pondria first encountered it, pappering was attended by the lips of the other person being slightly out-of-sinc with the translated word. But soon he became acclimated to it.

KYREANS: Inhabitants of the city of Kyre (named after their supreme deity and Author of the Book of Kyre) Axtilla's home is Kyre.

ENCLOY: The elitist ruling sect of Kyre. Called Encloyists.

 


Chapter 31
All For Love of Axtilla

By Jay Squires





BOOK III
Chapter Thirty-one

 
              

                From The Previous Chapter:

          She nodded and leaned in and kissed me. “I do love you,” she said.
          “I love you, too. Listen ... we’ll have everything planned out in an hour. We won’t have a thing to worry about.”
          “I know,” she said. "In an hour we won't have anything to worry about." She took a deep breath. “Before we start, would you pour me a glass of water?”
          “That’s the spirit.” I turned to the nightstand and smiled as I held the goblet we had shared earlier. I’d use that one for me. I set the other goblet beside it, filled both, and turned around, still smiling.
          She was at the door, her hand on the latch. “It would have been such a sweet life, my Doctrex,” she said, and slid the bolt across the hasp.


               And Now ...

Axtilla slipped through the door and pulled it closed. A low rumble of voices in the hall. I stood, mouth agape, a goblet of water in each hand, my mind racing to make some sense about what she’d done. My prior training as a general, however, rushed in to tell me speculation was unproductive. I needed to go after her. Still, the guards were with her and armed to do her bidding, whatever that was. Why would she leave? We'd volunteered to fulfill Kyre’s prophecy, and that meant we had to do it as a team. She knew that and still she left. I had to find her.
 
I returned the goblets to the night stand, and turned toward the door, only then realizing I was still barefoot and shirtless. I tripped over my shoes in my rush to the closet where I grabbed a shirt and pair of stockings. Slipping my arms into the shirt, I shrugged it on and sat on the bed, stockings in hand, still trying to get my bearings. The only way Axtilla’s actions made any sense was if Kyre had given her additional information in her sleeping vision. Whatever the information was, it obviously rattled her, but to the extent that she would abandon everything? I yanked up my stockings and slipped my feet into the shoes, shaking my head. No, it just didn’t make sense. Why would Kyre insist right from the beginning that we would act together in single-minded purpose—then make a fundamental change to which he made only her privy? I tied my shoes, stood, and buttoned my shirt on my way to the door.
 
As expected, the hallway was empty. Not even a distant sound of voices. What a fool I was not to have gotten the location of Rhuether’s and Axtilla’s rooms. A good general would have, knowing that Rhuether would fortify himself in his guard-protected room if it came to pitched battle inside the walls of the palace. Of course, he was so trusting at the end, I could have finessed the location of his room out of him. I could have finagled almost any information out of him. The point was I didn’t.
 
I continued to berate myself as I got to the end of the one hallway and took the one to the left.  Even an unexceptional general would have asked First Order Bips for the information. Who better than an officer of the Palace Guard to know where those in their charge lived? I approached the hallway that tee'd in two directions. The formal dining room where we’d eaten several nights ago was a room off the hallway to the left, and I could already hear the clangor of pots in the other direction. I turned to the right. Chiel will know where Bips … I rolled my eyes, the heat rising in my cheeks. The head chef in charge of tasting their food should be able to tell me where he delivers the food.
 
Gingerly, I pushed one of the large swinging doors enough to peek through. The laughter and loud voices inside immediately stopped. Before long, a young man with sweat-beaded forehead and unruly black hair, stuck his head through the crack.
 
“General Doctrex,” he said with a grin that spread across mottled brown teeth. I remembered him as one who’d delivered food to my room on occasion. He pulled the door open more and gave me a partially concealed People’s Salute.
 
“Where’s Chiel?” I asked quietly.
 
“I will wake him, Sir. He asked us to wake him whenever you arrived.”
 
I thanked him and the door closed.
 
Within two minutes a very sleepy-looking Chiel pushed open the door, slipped through it, and stood before me. “Sir,” he said, stifling a yawn, “It’s nearly dawn. Is it time? Are we—”
 
He stopped in mid-sentence when I shook my head. “Not yet. Not this minute. But you should put your courier on notice. It could happen at any moment.”
 
“I have two, Sir—one for the day and one evening, each knowing exactly what to do. I’ve been sleeping here, so I’m ready at all times to notify whichever is—”
 
“Okay, listen. I don’t have time to explain, but I need the directions to Empress Axtilla’s room. Right now. It’s urgent.”
 
The corner of Chiel’s mouth twitched.
 
“Just—no Chiel—Don’t even—”
 
“Oh, no, Sir … I-I didn't mean ... I’ll show you.” He proceeded ahead of me toward the dining room, then past it. “At the end of this hall, you’ll turn right.” We made the turn and he continued his instruction. “You’ll pass two cross- hallways and turn left on the third. The second cross-hallway takes you to the door opening to Glnot Rhuether’s garden and suite.” He paused, and seemed to consider smiling. “So make sure you take the third. Turn left to where it ends with a door, and that opens to the Empress’s garden. You will see her suite at the far end.”
 
“Is there a separation between Rhuether’s and Axtilla’s gardens … and suites?"
 
“An eight foot wall separates them, but there’s a gate in the wall near their suites.”
 
“Locked?” I asked.
 
Again he looked like he would smile but instead a telling blush suffused his cheeks. “I never had reason to ask, Sir.”
 
I nodded. “How far back is the Empress’s suite from her hall door?”
 
“Twenty, thirty yards.”
 
We passed the first cross-hallway. “And the garden … what sort of garden? Bushes, hedges, trees?”
 
He thought about it. “Some bushes. No hedges or trees.” He stopped and turned to me. “Sir?”
 
“Yes?”
 
“You do know it’s guarded?” He waited for my reaction.
 
“I figured it would be.”
 
“Two guards, generally.”
 
“On which side of the door?”
 
This seemed to confuse him at first. “They’ll be outside her door
the door of her suite.”
 
“Not the hallway door? All the times you delivered food there, they’ve never been on one side or the other of the hallway door?”
 
“No real reason to since the door that opens to the garden is locked.” He paused briefly, then smiled. “The Head chef has his privileges …. Here.” He detached a key from a ring and handed it to me. “Be careful, Sir. A lot depends on you and your army.”
 
I smiled at his priorities.
 
His face reddened. “Be careful for yourself, too, Sir. Of course! That goes without saying.”
 
I nodded, still smiling. “Make sure you and your courier are in readiness. I’ll take it from here.”
 
He gave me the People’s Salute and turned; I continued down the hall, passing the second cross-hallway. I had the bizarre urge to tiptoe as I glimpsed the door at the end that opened to Rhuether’s private garden.
 
I felt a vague unease that I was without plans. On the other hand, plans could contribute to rigidity when facing the unknown. How much noise would the hallway door make in opening? Would either or both of them be facing the general direction of the door, so that any slight movement would draw their attention? Would they have their weapons in hand, or nearby? I had no weapon. I should have got a knife from Chiel. I shook my head, frowned. Just as well. With only a wall separating their gardens, the sound of an injured or dying guard would alert Rhuether’s guards. I’d have to employ quieter methods.
 
My thoughts turned to the cleaning woman in her gown and tiara. Stupid, clumsy magic, that … and I'd had plenty of time alone afterward to practice my magic, to refine my technique. Instead I spent all my free time thinking and dreaming of ... of ... I sighed. Axtilla … what was going on in your mind, my love? Why did you leave?
 
I peeked around the corner of the third hallway. I couldn’t tell Chiel that today’s situation with the guards would be different from a routine food delivery day. What had Axtilla told the guards on the way back to her suite? To keep her suite under close surveillance? To shoot any intruder on sight? Or did she assume I wouldn’t come after her?
 
At the door, I bent down and pressed my eye to the keyhole. While it would have been nice to have gotten a clear view of the suite’s front door, with the guards sitting in front, playing a game of stones, or better yet one, or both, sleeping against the wall, I could only see the bottom portion of a sizable bush and the beginning of a path on the other side of it. The bush would provide ample cover if I could get to it without being seen. I pulled back from the keyhole and let my eyes rove the perimeter of the door. It opened out toward the garden. Much easier for the guards’ eyes to detect its movement. But it was what it was.
 
I took a deep breath and inserted the key. If Chiel was wrong and even one guard was positioned on the other side of the door ... I didn’t want to think of it. I held a firm grip on the door knob as I turned the key, listening for the click. I left the key in the hole and now had both hands on the door knob, turning it, but ready to yank it closed at the first sign of resistance. I pushed on the door gingerly until it cleared the frame and produced a thin, vertical line of light. My palms were slick against the door knob as I pushed it open about an inch, and then another. I braced myself and waited. Nothing. I angled my head to the door and peered out. Sparse flowering bushes on the other side of the pathway, all the way to the separating fence Chiel had mentioned. An inch or two at a time, I continued to push the door open, alert for a tug on the door, and listening also for the sound of voices. When neither came, I drew in another lungful of air and opened the door wide enough to crawl through. I was reluctant to lead with my head, but every indication told me they weren’t within striking distance.
 
When I got through to the garden side, I looked both ways, let out a breath, and slowly closed the door. Before it latched, I reached my hand in and withdrew the key, pocketing it.
 
I kept close to the ground as I crawled to the protection of the bush. Dense and broad at the bottom, it narrowed as it rose to where it peaked at about ten feet, and overall resembled a hanging teardrop. I pushed myself up to a crouch and peeked one eye around the right side of the bush. I got a clear view of Axtilla’s suite over clumps of leafy, flowering bushes . No guards on this side of the door. I straightened up, satisfied that the bush was broader than my shoulders, and I peered cautiously around the other side.
 
One of the guards was leaning his upper body over the balustrade at the end of the raised porch nearest the suite, looking at, or for, something alongside the building. The porch was about five feet wide where the balustrade connected at the front with another that ran the length of the building, save for the small break allowing for the three steps leading from the path’s end to the porch. A lovely palace suite, worthy of a prospective Empress—one who, as long as I had breath in me, would not go beyond being prospective. Her last words drifted into my mind. It would have been such a sweet life, my Doctrex.
 
My jaw seized with trembling. “It still will be,” I said, under my breath. “I promise.”
 
I glanced up at a patch of brownish-gray sky. There was never a sunlit dawn in the Far North Province, no beauty, no color. But dawn was approaching, and based on the timing I built into Rhuether’s assignment, he should leave his suite within an hour to begin his trek through the hallways to my room. If all had gone according to plan, Axtilla and I would've had our strategy choreographed, and she'd have been back in her room by now … and I’d be waiting in my room.
 
I studied the guard, who still peered around the corner of the building. His sword’s scabbard pressed against the balustrade and extended out behind him. Two crossbows leaned against the front wall. Also another sword and scabbard lay amid a pile of straps which I assumed were used to secure it around a missing guard’s waist.
 
What better time than now to catch the one guard by surprise? Except for the gulf of some thirty yards between us. I got down to my knees and stuck my head around the other side of the bush. This side would be my only option. Too broad a path and too much open space on the other side. I moved out in a crouch, staying close to the ground. I had to assume the guard was still intent on what he was looking for. I scrabbled toward a bush, much smaller than the one I’d just been behind. My thighs—unused to any exercise, and now being in constant flex—were on the verge of cramping. I dove behind the bush just as I heard a voice.
 
“Your turn,” the reedy tenor said.
 
I lay on my stomach, with the bush—only three feet tall, at best—between me and the guard I’d been observing. Through the lower branches I could see him now looking down over the railing, his eyes moving toward the front.
 
“I’m fine,” he said, his eyes on the back of the other guard, just now coming around the corner of the porch, and in my view. “They’re relieving us in half an hour.”
 
“I’m relieved now.” The new arrival laughed as he mounted the steps.
 
I let out my breath. If either had glanced in my direction he couldn’t have missed seeing my legs protruding from the back of the bush. I could wait no longer. Clearly, no other cover existed for me, and twenty yards still lay between me and the element of surprise. I pulled in my legs and worked my way into a low squat. I was ready if they spotted me.
 
The guard turned his back to the railing, crossed his arms, and seemed to watch his partner keenly. “You’d better look like a guard on duty when they show up.”
 
“I know, I know.” He reached for his scabbard, lifting it by the strap.
 
It was time. Gathering all my resolve, I drew in a breath and sprang up to my full height. “Gentlemen,” I said, with all the cheerful enthusiasm I could muster.

              
TO BE CONTINUED

 
CHARACTERS & TERMS (AS NEEDED):

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 
 


Chapter 32
... Such a Sweet Life, My Doctrex

By Jay Squires

BOOK III
Chapter Thirty-two

 
   FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER
          I let out my breath. If either had glanced in my direction he couldn’t have missed seeing my legs protruding from the back of the bush. I could wait no longer. Clearly, no other cover existed for me, and twenty yards still lay between me and the element of surprise. I pulled in my legs and worked my way into a low squat. I was ready if they spotted me.
          The guard turned his back to the railing, crossed his arms, and seemed to watch his partner keenly. “You’d better look like a guard on duty when they show up.”
          “I know, I know.” He reached for his scabbard, lifting it by the strap.

                        AND NOW
It was time. Gathering my resolve, I drew in a breath and sprang up to my full height. “Gentlemen,” I said, with all the cheerful enthusiasm I could muster, hoping the element of comic confusion on the tail end of their startled surprise might buy me another few seconds. The unarmed guard spun around, his mouth open, brows arched. His scabbard, which he held by the strap, swung around with his body and clattered on the floor beside him. The other guard’s hand flew reflexively to his sword.

“No, no, no,” I said, with a laugh. “I’m harmless—no weapons—see?” I raised my arms and rotated my open hands for emphasis, keeping a smile that was somewhere between uncontrolled jollity and abject craziness plastered to my face.

They turned to each other just for an instant, probably wracking their brains over how I got in and wondering whether one or the other forgot to lock the door—and I needed no more time than that. Closing my eyes in concentration, I brought both forearms in front of my face, a few inches apart and balled my fists, imagining them as heads, and pressed one forearm into the other. I opened my eyes in time to see the guards sliding, each into the other, as though they were on ice. At first they seemed dumb-struck, and their hands came up to protect themselves, though not quickly enough to stop the impact of their colliding chests.

“Hey, what are you—?”

“What am I? What—?”

I sprinted toward the steps, skidding to a stop at the bottom. “Gentlemen,” I said, to an inattentive audience, “how can you enjoy your dance through all that chatter?” I mounted the steps. Crossing the porch to the front door, I couldn’t resist a glance back at them, whirling about the porch, faces red as tomatoes, mumbling frantically through lips they couldn’t open.

As useful as it was, I detested my magic—the sense of power it filled my head with, at the expense of its victims. The guards’ eyes were round as large coins and filled with muddled terror as each labored not to look at each other.  Mine was purely physical magic. If I possessed Rhuether’s mental magic as well, I’d probably have the guards not only dancing, but relishing it, even enjoying a burgeoning passion for each other.

Still, if the door was locked, I would use my magic one more time. I gave the door knob a slow turn, and surprisingly the heavy door opened. Perhaps Axtilla felt comfortably protected by two waltzing guards. A brief smile formed as I entered, but then I pressed my lips tightly together, and I locked the door behind me. A torch angled out from each of the four walls, all but one lit, and they sent an array of shadows dancing across the red and gold carpet.

“Axtilla,” I called out, in a soft, tentative voice, something in me not wanting to startle her.

No answer.

To the right, a stairway led to the second floor. I’d try the two bottom rooms first. Crossing the living room, around a rich, plum-colored couch to the first door, I repeated, “Axtilla?” a little louder than before. Still no answer. I knocked, waited, then opened the door of a supply room containing sconces and torches. Shelves lined two walls with unused torches stacked on one side and brass sconces, slipped one inside the other, on the opposite side. From the floor, a faint smell of burnt fuel wafted up from the used torches stacked against one wall.

I knocked at the second door. It opened to a cleaning supply room, filled with buckets, brooms, mops and sundry rags, neatly folded.

There were two other doors, the last one abutting the suite’s back wall. There, a hallway turned to the right. If I followed it for the length of the rear of the house, undoubtedly other entrances would open to other rooms, but I could spend my time more profitably looking for Axtilla upstairs. Reuther would never tolerate having his future bride and empress living among the working staff.

I strode back through the living room and stopped at the foot of the stairs. An oddly palpable sensation of cold dread washed over me and down my spine.  

Halfway up the stairs a random thought attacked me. I stopped short. A back door! One of those unexplored doors at the back of the house could be the exit from the suite. Axtilla had to feel as much imprisoned by her guards as protected by them. Once she returned from my room, with them safely guarding the front of her suite, she simply could have walked out the back.

My heart sank. It would have been such a sweet life, my Doctrex. She’d begged me to leave with her, to escape and find our way back to the Southern Province, to Kabeez, to freedom, to happiness.

I glanced back up the stairway, experienced a strange fluttering in my stomach, and the moment my foot pressed down on the first carpeted step, the sudden, full impact of the terror Axtilla had felt in my room slammed into me with the force of an ocean wave. I had no inkling of the source of my knowing, but viscerally, I accepted the truth of it. I recoiled into a backward step, physically almost washed off my feet. Then as quickly as it came, the wave vanished, but in its place a deep, boundless dread swelled around me like I was adrift in a bottomless, shoreless sea.

Too late—I was too late. I’d refused to listen to her. Whatever Kyre’s words were, they terrified her, and she reached out to me. I turned away. We had work to finish before the dawn. While I tallied our remaining hours and minutes like a miser counts his coins, she knew her god somehow had changed the rules. She knew Kyre had altered one or both of our roles, had changed things so impossibly, the knowledge of it severed her from our mission, leaving her godless and—unless she could recruit me—alone!

It would have been such a sweet life, my Doctrex.

“It still will, Axtilla,” I muttered, as I pushed through the dread that weighed me down as much as if I dragged an anchor behind, and plodded up the rest of the stairs to the landing. Down the long hallway, three doors faced the front of the suite, and across the hall, two faced the rear. I stopped in front of the three. The middle door was larger than the others, with a magnificent gold doorknob.

I rapped on the door.

Nothing.

“Axtilla?” After a moment, I pressed my ear to the door. I said her name again, waited another moment and then stared at the doorknob. Was I about to realize my worst fears? My heart hammered against my chest. You actually did it, didn’t you, my love? When I refused, you said your goodbyes in my room and then you escaped the palace.

I gripped the knob, gave it a slow turn, and not surprisingly, the door showed no resistance to being nudged open. Through the crack, I tried her name one more time before pushing it all the way open.

I sucked in a quick breath at seeing the bird with the golden collar of feathers flit from somewhere behind the door to the arm of a scarlet settee in the center of the room. In two quick lateral hops, he faced me, cocking his head and showing an ebony eye gleaming in the torchlight.

I stepped inside and closed the door. “Where’s Axtilla?” I demanded.

From a voice with no center, coming from no point within the room, certainly not from the bird, yet a voice that was resonant and clear and everywhere, as much inside my head as outside, I heard, “Axtilla is here.”

Over the ebb and flow of the waves of my breath, I managed, “Axtilla’s here?” The only other door to the room was behind the bird, who hopped from one end of the settee’s arm to the other, as though it were a perch. “Axtilla!” I half-shouted as I raced, in full-grin, past the bird and settee to the door, flung it open, took a step inside, staggered and fell to my knees, grasping onto the foot-post of the bed to steady myself.

“No, no, nooooooo!” I howled, letting go of the bedpost and falling to my elbows and knees, like I’d been clubbed. I covered my head with my hands and tried to make myself small. You can’t, Axtilla, you can’t! I rocked, sobbing, my head still in my hands, my nails digging into my scalp. I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to blot out the image. “Axtilla—no!”


Get up, Pondria. The voice was stern, but fatherly, and as before, came from everywhere and nowhere, inside my head and out.

I pushed myself to my knees, my breath spasming with each inhale. The bird perched on the other foot-post. He balanced on one leg and stared down at me.

Using the foot-post as a brace, I pulled myself to my feet, keeping my eyes off Axtilla, looking instead at the floor.

You must attend to what is ....

I felt sick. My heartbeat thrummed steadily, a vibration, with no silence between the beats. I glanced at the bird, then let my eyes follow the wall leading to the headboard, and then down at an angle, slowly, slowly down to the pillow cushioning Axtilla’s head.

I drew in a quick breath and blinked away a sudden rush of tears. Her eyes were open as though not to have missed the last flickering instant of living before it snuffed itself out. Her once lovely amber irises were now only a thin gold ring surrounding the black of her dilated pupils; each like a sun in full eclipse.

… such a sweet life, my Doctrex. Her last words to me. The last words I’d ever hear from her.

Attend, Pondria ....

My wobbly legs took a first step to carry me to her, but then a sudden sob tore from my throat, and I felt as though an outside force had lifted me onto the bed, as though I just discovered my upper torso lying half across hers as I buried my face in the gown covering her breasts and wailed uncontrollably. It may have been ten seconds or ten minutes that I lay there, the breath of my mouth and my nose creating a circle of heat in the fabric that covered the space between her breasts. And from an island of silence in a violent sea of lamenting, I had an errant thought—if I could create enough heat to warm her cold flesh, I might ignite the heartbeat beneath.

A familiar voice rolled like distant thunder. A godly kind of magic that would be, wouldn’t it ...?

I drew my mouth away from her gown just enough to direct my eyes to the creamy underside of her jaw, straining to see if a pulse rippled the skin. I rose to my elbow, with the uneven, jagged breathing of one whose body had been abandoned to crying. I pulled myself closer to her face. Her head was slightly canted toward me. One of my tears dropped to her chin. I wiped it away with my thumb.

With a sigh, I used the edge of my forefinger to lower her eyelids, and I gazed down on a now sleeping Axtilla. On an early morning in Kabeez, I could have been the first to awaken. I’d let you lie there languorously—let you sleep until our hungry little boy woke you. Before I’d climb out of bed, though, and dress for my work in the fields, I’d bend over and gently press my lips to yours; not enough to wake you, but enough to make an imprint, like a stamp pressed into warm wax, on that unsleeping part of your mind.

Sleep my Axtilla …. I brought my mouth toward hers now, but stopped. Her lips were slightly parted, and a faint powdery residue pocketed in the seam where the upper and lower lips joined. I leaned in and kissed that corner, then pulled back to focus on a faint dusting that trailed down to her jaw. The edge of her pillow beneath her jaw slowed the powdery stream, but a tiny, white pile of it, half the size of my littlest nail, rested on the mattress beside her shoulder.

I stared at it a long while until the voice swelled and whirled around me like I was inside a tornado: Enough to render you violently ill for a day, but you’d recover.

I hurled a glare over my shoulder at him. “Why?” My voice was supposed to possess all the force of my pent-up rage, but what squeezed from my throat was more like a whimpering plea. “Why, Kyre?"

The omnipresent voice rumbled inside and outside my head, There could be no other way than this, my son.

I found my voice. “Don’t call me your son, you—bastard!” I bellowed. Scrambling to my knees, I whipped around, and blindly launched my body, with fingers curled, toward a target just above the foot-post. The bird squawked, but my hands came up empty, and the bedsprings groaned beneath the weight of my body, sprawled diagonally across Axtilla’s thighs and calves.


                          TO BE CONTINUED ...

 
CHARACTERS & TERMS (AS NEEDED):

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 


 


Chapter 33
Pondria Visits Three Viktors

By Jay Squires

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Dear Reader: If you have not been reading
the novel from the beginning, please
go clear to the bottom and read:
The Three Viktor Brueens.
Otherwise, you won't
understand much
of this chapter.
THANKS!



BOOK III
CHAPTER 33:
 
                              FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
          I stared at it a long while until the voice swelled and whirled around me like I was inside a tornado: Enough to render you violently ill for a day, but you’d recover.
          I hurled a glare over my shoulder at him. “Why?” My voice was supposed to possess all the force of my pent-up rage, but what squeezed from my throat was more like a whimpering plea. “Why, Kyre?"
          The omnipresent voice rumbled inside and outside my head, There could be no other way than this, my son.
          I found my voice. “Don’t call me your son, you—bastard!” I bellowed. Scrambling to my knees, I whipped around, and blindly launched my body, with fingers curled, toward a target just above the foot-post. The bird squawked, but my hands came up empty, and the bedsprings groaned beneath the weight of my body, sprawled diagonally across Axtilla’s thighs and calves.

                                  
   AND NOW ...

For what must have been a full minute, I lay where I'd fallen, across Axtilla’s legs. The whooh-whooh-whooh of Kyre’s wings drifted in and out of my awareness above me while he probably looked for a place outside my reach to land. My heartbeat thumped into the mattress. Useless noise. Twice I had attempted to end my life, the second time succeeding. Now, I wanted nothing more than to have that life end. What meaning was there without Axtilla?  I had nothing to live for. Nothing! I was empty. Worse—I was hollow, my ripeness scooped out like a melon, and a dry shell was left behind. The reality of my heartbeat continued to mock me.

A warm pressure settled in the center of my back.  Thought stopped and I focused.  A gently kneading, loving, warming pressure.  “Axtilla!” I pushed myself off her legs, onto my knees and turned to see her—just as death had left her.

My spirit was already battered. Why one more cruelty?

I craned my neck to see Kyre perched atop the open door, preening himself. He looked down at me, curiously.  

I moaned, and like an automaton, I climbed off the bed and stood beside it, numb, staring at the wall. I exhaled a shallow sigh, then bent over the bed again, cradled Axtilla’s face in my hands, angled my head to hers and kissed her gently on each eyelid and her lips. “Sleep, Axtilla,” I whispered, and turned to Kyre.

He pulled one of his wing-feathers through his beak as he watched me approach him.

I stood at the open door and stared up at him.  Remembering my failing voice earlier, I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Do you think I fear you, Kyre?” I waited, watching him pull another feather through his beak then reach up a claw to scratch, with blurred speed, beneath his closed eye.  Finished, he stood on both feet, his claws clinging to the top of the door, and ruffled up his feathers, as if to make him appear impressively large. When he returned to normal, I said, “Don’t you see there’s nothing more you can do to me, Kyre?  You’ve taken away my reason to exist, and I want to die. I’m eager to have you kill me—you understand that? Kill me!”

The bird made a cooing sound deep in his throat.

“Now, Axtilla …” I went on, scowling at him, “Axtilla loved you, and she feared you,  right up to her death—right up to when you killed her. Given her love for you, her love of her people, and having the unshaken belief that you needed her—that she was a vital part in fulfilling your prophesy of the Trining—why, she was your greatest asset.” I shook my head. “But me? Do you think I care one fig what happens to the Kyrean people now?” I became acutely aware of my upper lip twitching and wished I could control it.  “Without Axtilla,” I continued, “do you think I care whether your prophesy fizzles out?” I ran my tongue under my upper lip, hoping to quiet it before my finale. “So … do us both a favor, you feathered son-of-a-bitch, and kill me!”

I figured this had to draw him out. One doesn’t call any god a “son-of-a-bitch” to his face without it eliciting some reaction. I wanted his vengeance to be swift and final. I wanted it to be deadly.

Twice, the bird raised his wings from his side with ceremonial precision. Then he ruffled his feathers, as before, and flapped his wings until they lifted him off the door and carried him to his former spot on the far foot-post.

He spoke with a surprisingly gentle voice this time, still not identifiable as coming from its source, rather wafting all around it and still, strangely, within my own head: “Your anger … is understandable ….” Every syllable was distinct and crisp. His following words were unhurried. “Your desire for extinction … as well.”

“Listen, Kyre,” I said, feeling renewed self-righteousness bubble up inside, “if we’re going to chat together right up until you decide to reduce me to a cinder with your lightning bolt, at least don’t insult me by having my last memory be having a talk with a bird.” My lip was acting up again. “If you’re concerned that my looking on your true form will kill me … well, that’s—that’s what I want!”

“Why would that … kill you?” He waited for me to answer.  After a long moment he continued. “Do you think Kyre has a body … one like yours … but one you mustn’t see, without dying?” Another extended silence. “Pondria … will you be less insulted to see me as I am? To hear me as I am?”

I didn’t recall answering him, but it seemed, when I tried to reconstruct it later, that I watched the bird on the foot-post abstract into a thousand blazing shards,  much as if it were a reflection on a pond, shattering when a pebble was tossed in the center of it. The entire room became as impermanent and unsubstantial as that pond’s enlarging ripple would if it suddenly turned on its side and occupied my full field of vision. And its recalled image wasn’t something “out there.” Rather, it shimmered away from me one moment, then tilted toward me the next, at times penetrating my body.  That which I saw, and my thoughts about what I saw, were fluid—but more than that—more like a body of water pressing into a body of oil. Added to the visual experience—yet with the certain knowledge it had always been a part of it—was Kyre’s voice, or rather a hodgepodge of words detached, but in the process of joining and again separating, yet all the while being congruent, understandable, and as before, as much inside me as outside.

It became clearer when I recalled my earlier experience with the mystery of pappering, the ability on this plane to instantly translate a foreign language into my own understanding. I could never figure out how it worked; I only knew it did. And now it was the same understanding while, for the time being, I seemed to be listening to the mysterious mechanics of the translation. “Hear me am as … I am … as to I am see me?” Though the sound of his words now melted into my ears like viscid globs of nonsense syllables, I clearly understood him to ask me if I would rather talk to a recognizable human form.

“Yes,” I told him, feeling dizzy and nauseous. I closed my eyes.

From somewhere within the dancing, shimmering chimera, a scraping sound approached.  I opened my eyes. A somewhat familiar, less-than-middle-aged man sat in a wooden chair in front of me. I also found myself in a chair that hadn’t been there before, facing him. The man was stylishly attired in a black suit. Against the background of a white shirt that gleamed so brilliantly it forced a series of blinks from me, a cerulean blue silk tie was affixed with a scarlet pin at mid-point. A single button just below the tie pin closed his suit coat. His brows were raised inquiringly above icy-blue eyes, conveying a haughty while somewhat bored look. Hauntingly familiar. I studied his face, running my mind over the soldiers Doctrex had known in the Kabeezan Army and not connecting with any.

“Better?” he asked.

I raised one shoulder to my ear, not knowing how to respond. “Better … than a bird,” I said, finally.

He lowered one arm from his lap to a jar of brightly colored jellybeans on the floor beside him, inserted a small hand, rattled the jellybeans with a flutter of manicured fingers until he found the one he wanted, and brought it to his mouth.

I watched him chew. Jellybeans?

When he opened his mouth to speak, his red tongue had bits of masticated candy adhering to it. “I chose someone of a serious nature for you to … chat with, Pondria. I think you’ll find him an … appropriate choice in at least one respect.”

I frowned. “Why are you talking in riddles, Kyre?”

“It would perhaps be better for you to use the name of the person I’ve adopted for this purpose.”

I shook my head and let out a huff of air. “But it’s you. Why …? What …?” I held up my hands in frustration. “What do I call you?”

“I suppose you might call me Dr. Brueen.”  He cocked his head in the odd way the bird had.

“Dr. Brueen,” I repeated, but not as a question.  Then I did ask, tinged with disgust, “As in Dr. Viktor Brueen?”

“Oh dear,” he said, “you think I’ve chosen wrong?”

“You didn’t do a good job duplicating him.”

“It’s not surprising you didn't immediately recognize him, Pondria. You are rather far removed from Doctor”—he said the title with emphasis—“Viktor Brueen. Doctrex was closer to him. After the general fell, unconscious, from his crossan, his living spirit returned to occupy the not-entirely-dead Viktor. Doctrex recognized the disturbed, alcohol and drug addled Viktor that he, Viktor, had become after his attempt to kill himself failed.” He chuckled. “How complicated it gets when one cannot successfully kill oneself.”

I glared at him. Why did he drone on when I just wanted to die?

He went on with the trace of a smile. “Even General Doctrex would have had trouble recognizing the earlier version of the doctor you are talking to now, who was enjoying his height of power and self-absorption.” He reached into the jar again, and amid the rattling, pulled out a green jellybean, popping it in his mouth. “General Doctrex was the result of a failed suicide. You, Pondria, are the result of Viktor’s success.”

“And I am asking—No, no, I am begging you to do it again.” I felt the tears rising to my eyes. “Kill me, Kyre!”

“Dr. Brueen …” he corrected with a smile. Green painted the corners of his mouth.

“Why? Why did you choose … this one … to become the person I once was?” I sniffed and held the sleeve of my shirt to my nose, then pulled it away.  “Why do you have me talking to him?”

“Because earlier you asked me why I … allowed Axtilla to kill herself.”

“No!” I shouted. “Allowed?  Allowed her to kill herself?  You came to her in a vision. She fought it, Kyre. I was there. I saw how much she tried to resist you.”

“Ah, yes, the timing was … unfortunate. Necessary, but kind of a … mood spoiler.” He flashed a quick grin and dug his hand in for another jellybean. “But once she returned here to her room,” he continued, popping another red one in his mouth and chewing with a kind of passion, “she realized there was no other way.” He held up a hand, palm out. “Now, Pondria, I must insist you let me finish. You are accomplishing nothing by your interruptions, and I assure you, you’ll understand why Axtilla did the only thing she could have done.”

“No! That’s the same thing you said before …. It’s a lie.”

“Pondria, why did Viktor, after he met with Axtilla on Earth, decide to kill himself?” He studied me keenly, watching my reaction to his continued effort at making this Doctor Brueen appear in his worst aspect.  While he spoke, red drizzled from the corner of his mouth.  

“Because,” I said, “well, because Axtilla convinced him that only by killing himself could Pondria come … into being and help fulfill the prophecy—”

“Axtilla needed Viktor to kill himself for him to be a part of the prophecy?”

"Along … with … Axtilla.” I punctuated the last three words by rapping my knuckles together after each. Again the tears came and blurred out the figure of Dr. Brueen, and his red slobbery mouth.

“But Axtilla was needed there to convince you.”

I did my one shoulder shrug and wiped my eyes.

“I was in Axtilla’s sleep to convince her.” He raised his hand again to quiet me. “Both you and Axtilla are necessary for fulfillment of the prophecy.  You will be there together today.” He paused, watching me—until he saw the hope rise to my face, then he added, “but just as General Doctrex’s spirit was on Earth to embody Viktor, so will Axtilla be in spirit to work with you to destroy Glnot Rhuether.”

The moment of hope vanished.  “Damn you, Kyre! I want Axtilla—not her spirit.” Dropping off the edge of the chair to my knees, I began sobbing again.  I slammed my fist into my chest, and then threw up my arms. “Kill me, Kyre. Make it complete this time, and final!"

Again, the room blurred.


                          TO BE CONTINUED

 
 
 
THE THREE VIKTOR BRUEENS
 
FIRST DR. VIKTOR BRUEEN: [Reader first introduced to him well into Book I (in flashback) ...]: Police Psychologist. Very arrogant, controlling. His self-absorption and desire to be in control puts him in a dangerous situation where he gives bad advice to his officer/patient who has spousal abuse issues to try to mend fences with his wife. The result is renewed spousal abuse resulting in the wife drowning her two children, and then killing herself.
 
SECOND VIKTOR BRUEEN: Viktor loses job, then his license to practice, spirals out of control with heavy mind-blotting drinking culminating in an attempt to kill himself by jumping off a bridge. He is actually dead for a time, but is resuscitated by an off-duty EMT, out fishing with his child.
          During the five minutes or so he is dead, his spirit enters the Pool of Arlangua where Pondria’s spirit and Viktor’s spirit almost unite, leaving a gash on Viktor’s side.
          An amnesiac with a bad gash on his side regains consciousness on the shore of the Pool of Arlangua, near the Kyrean Sea
[This marks the beginning of the novel] and in a cave nearby, Axtilla heals the wound. Later names him Doctrex.
 
THIRD VIKTOR BRUEEN: Since Doctrex (Later to be General Doctrex) is really a flawed version of Pondria because of the unsuccessful incarnation, Kyre sends Axtilla to assist in a true incarnation.  While Doctrex and his army are beginning the last leg of the journey to the Palace of Qarnolt, the wound on his side opens and he falls from his crossan, near death. His spirit goes to Earth where he enters Viktor’s body. Viktor, after his unsuccessful suicide attempt, had been put in a mental facility where he was a bothersome inmate. Now, highly medicated, Viktor is going to be interviewed by Dr. Green to determine if he will be a candidate for Electroshock therapy. Axtilla, under the guise of Nurse Barbara, is Dr. Green’s assistant.
          Axtilla helps Viktor escape and drives him to the bridge he had jumped off of earlier. After a tearful moment when they confess their undying love for each other, she convinces him of his need to complete his suicide so he can incarnate with Pondria and together with Axtilla the two of them can fulfill the prophecy by defeating Pondria’s brother, Glnot Rhuether, thereby preventing the Trining from occurring.
          The instant Viktor dies and incarnates with Pondria in the Pool of Arlangua, Pondria’s spirit enters the near-dead Doctrex, who rebounds, amazing the medics, and goes on with his troops towards the Palace of Qarnolt.
 

















 




 


















 


Chapter 34
Kyre's Play and the Pliancy of Time

By Jay Squires

BOOK III
 
CHAPTER 34

 
              From Previous chapter:
           “I was in Axtilla’s sleep to convince her.” He raised his hand again to quiet me. “Both you and Axtilla are necessary for fulfillment of the prophecy.  You will be there together today.” He paused, watching me—until he saw the hope rise to my face, then he added, “but just as General Doctrex’s spirit was on Earth to embody Viktor, so will Axtilla be in spirit to work with you to destroy Glnot Rhuether."

The moment of hope vanished.  “Damn you, Kyre! I want Axtilla—not her spirit.” Dropping off the edge of the chair to my knees, I began sobbing again.  I slammed my fist into my chest, and then threw up my arms. “Kill me Kyre. Make it complete this time, and final!"

Again, the room blurred.


                      AND NOW

 
“You must understand something,” Kyre announced while I hunched like a slug in front of the chair, on my knees and elbows, fingers knit behind my head.
 
A cool palm cupped my shoulder, gently squeezed.
 
“You must understand something,” he repeated, patiently.
 
“Kill me,” I murmured against the floor, my breath returning humid and hot.
 
“It happens the only way it can, even your attempt, this very moment, to hide from your destiny.”
 
“No, kill me!” I shouted.
 
A palm on the other shoulder. Together, they gently urged me to my knees. He knelt, his face uncomfortably close to mine, but smiling: genuine, caring—each palm cradling a shoulder. “Come, son, sit.”
 
Too weak to protest, I pulled myself up to the chair and stared dully as he slipped back into his and crossed his legs.
 
He watched me without speaking, a new smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “Pondria, remember this. Axtilla grew to love you as the man she named Doctrex. Later, when you became Pondria, she loved you the same.”
 
I thrust out an arm toward Axtilla’s bed. “And for that you—”
 
He held up his hand, and in the midst of my sentence my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
 
“You remember the hand in the center of your back?”
 
My tongue was freed. “That was—”
 
“—Axtilla. Yes. A promise, Pondria. You loved Axtilla. You will love her again. That’s her promise.”
 
“But …” I stared a long time at the floor between us, trying to process his words. Then, I slowly shook my head and looked up. “You said it would be Axtilla’s spirit.”
 
He smiled. A strange smile, with one corner of his mouth upturned, along with his well-trimmed brows. Leaning forward in his chair, he asked, “You tell me you loved Axtilla only for her body?” He held up a hand again when I started to protest. “No. No, listen. You must never for an instant let it leave your mind, even during the most demanding warfare with Glnot Rhuether, that Axtilla loved you as the man she named Doctrex. She loved you again—no, she loved you still—when you became Pondria.”
 
I stared at him. He’d said the same thing before. Almost with identical words. Besides, something more troubled me. What was it? A partly formed thought nibbled at the corners of my mind. Sure! Earlier, in my room, she kept calling me Doctrex. If she loved me as Pondria
 
Because fear gripped her.” He waited for my shock at his violation of my thoughts to subside, then continued: “Her memories reverted to the person she first fell in love with. She needed to distance herself from her destiny. So she tried to convince her fantasized Doctrex that a future waited for the two of you in Kabeez—a cottage, children.” He sighed, I thought to milk out the drama.
 
“And to think I wouldn’t listen!” Forever that would haunt me.
 
“Nonsense! No, it was good that you didn’t. Yours was the voice of higher reason. I think I can even remember your exact words: ‘Can we ever travel far enough to keep away from Kyre? Where would we hide?’ You were quite convincing, you know. In fact, it was only afterwards, with her fantasy destroyed, that she fell into her sleep.”
 
“And you slithered in right there at her weakest moment to tell her she had to kill herself.”
 
“Oh, no. That would have been premature. I needed to strengthen her resolve, bolster her high purpose, reestablish her destiny.”
 
“So it was from her resolve and high purpose that I heard her cry out in her sleep, Kyre? When she pleaded with you, ‘I can’t. How can I?’ What did you whisper in her ear if it wasn’t that she had to kill herself?” I glared at him.
 
“Oh, my …” Keeping his unblinking—and I was convinced reptilian—eyes on me, he felt beside his chair for the jar of Jellybeans and brought it to his lap. “It is true,” he said, studying the side of the jar, then digging in his fingers up to his palm, letting the jellybeans sift through his fingers until he found the one he was looking for—“it’s true I communicated more than the reminder of her purpose.”
 
“Yes,” I said simply and waited.
 
He fished out a yellow one and brought it to his mouth. Biting off the end of it, he continued as he chewed. “Some things exist, Pondria, which would complicate the fulfillment of—of certain vital activities if you had knowledge of them beforehand.”
 
“Trust me.”
 
“I’m afraid not.”
 
I let out a long exhale. “Since I’m an integral part of that fulfillment, I say it’s my … right … to know!” I slammed the word right so hard in the sentence, spat it out so loudly the blood raced to my head.
 
“I see,” he said, with a calmness that counterpointed my anxiety. He slipped the rest of the candy between his lips. “If a Kabeezan soldier had made the same claim, how would General Doctrex have responded?”
 
He caught me blinking and silent a few seconds longer than an effective rebuttal would allow.
 
“Probably best if you consider me your general.”
 
“Best for whom? What if I refuse to take part in the battle with Rhuether?”
 
“You mean what if you desert?”
 
My mind flashed to Zurn.
 
“While it is true Zurn deserted to join his brothers,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “what is the military without law? Besides,” he continued after a long enough pause to punctuate that I had no viable answer, “don’t you think the general’s happy to leave that … untidy business to the Kabeezan military courts?”
 
A thin, weary sigh escaped my throat.
 
“Of course. I know. The general would never abandon Zurn. He’d spent too much time building up alibis in his mind and seeking out witnesses of Zurn’s courage in battle to desert him now.” He sniffed and returned the jar to his feet. “Now Pondria, let’s talk about you.” He smiled in gentle encouragement. “You’ve enlisted for a mission that’s more important even than the Kabeezan Army’s. Your actions could be instrumental in bringing the Far Northern Province to their knees.”
 
I squirmed uneasily in my chair. Could be instrumental? And why did Axtilla’s part in this seem noticeably absent?
 
Kyre sat suddenly straight as a rod. “You will perform your role in this, Pondria,” he said, with more than a tinge of sternness in his voice, “and I have established Axtilla’s role.” The whites of his eyes enlarged a moment around his ice-blue irises, then returned to normal. “I am your general. No military court or tribunal is higher than your general.”
 
I chuckled, but it was deep and mirthless. “You can’t make your threat any clearer.”
 
“But …” He threw up his hands, palms open, and his face adopted the expression of mock surprise, with a slow shake of his head and an open mouth which slowly transformed to a smile, “the point is, you shouldn’t feel threatened. On this stage, in front of which I am the only audience, the actors have all played their parts, including your antics now, which I am enjoying as added suspense, leading to the climax. Only I know how the play ends.” He took a deep and rattly, nasal breath and tilted his head. “Now, understand this, Pondria ...” He leaned forward in his chair, coming to within a foot of my face, so close I saw the yellow coating on his tongue and smelled the fruitiness of his breath. “If I tired of your—ha!—your foreplay and wanted to get quickly to the play’s ending, do you doubt for an instant that within a blink of your eye I could have you sitting across from Glnot Rhuether, with all of this …” he made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm, “as a mere memory in your mind? Or,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “not even a memory … should I choose to expunge it? Instead, I’m inclined to allow you the illusion you can direct your own actions.” He pulled back from me and got to his feet. “So shall the play … resume?”
 
Resume. I sighed, slowly stood, and gave him a feeble smile. He’d won. I’d begged him to kill me. Now, he effectively had. I didn’t know how much of what he told me was true. It was unfathomable that I could do nothing that wasn’t already recorded on my way to, during, and after the final confrontation with Rhuether—and of that only Kyre knew the outcome. On the other hand, I was convinced a god who could become a bird, then transform himself to an arrogant, near-middle-aged, jellybean-popping psychologist, could transport me, invisibly, some two hundred yards away to a chair, sitting across from Rhuether, with or without a memory of being in this room. Would he scrape out of my brain the memory of Axtilla’s sleeping body? How much of my memory of her would he leave me? Any? Again the tears seeped from my eyes. General Doctrex had controlled his emotions. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
 
Crossing the room one last time to her bed, I gazed down at her and tried to smile. My lips trembled. I brushed my fingers over her hair, and bending over her, wiped off a tear that had fallen on her cheek. With my lips to her ear I whispered, “I don’t control anything anymore, Axtilla. I don’t even control whether I will remember you as you lie here now, in the beauty of your sleep … or earlier when we made love … or …” A sob ripped from my throat and I pulled away from her, taking in two spasmed gasps before returning, “or anything, Axtilla.” I released a protracted moan, not caring that Kyre would hear it. Then, I let out a long breath through pursed lips, my tears falling freely to the sheet and disappearing beneath her neck. “You promised we would find each other again. It’s—it’s all that keeps me going.” I kissed her ear, the taut flesh just beneath her cheekbone, and finally her lips, breathing deeply the fragrance of her. Then, I stood and turned toward Kyre and the door.
 
“Goodbyes are hard,” Kyre said, holding out a handkerchief as I walked stiffly past him, “but she will make good her promise.” Even that sounded to my jaded ears like it ended as a question.
 
I exited the bedroom without looking back at Kyre, passed the settee and had my hand on the large knob, when my training as a general engaged my strategic mind. Surely by now the new guards would have come to relieve the two I had left in such a compromising position on the porch. Of course I had muted them, but the new guards would have realized something was awry, and their first priority was the safety of their Empress Axtilla. Why, then, hadn’t they stormed Axtilla’s suite? Would they have gone, instead, to get back-up guards? Were they waiting to ambush me when I left?
 
Kyre’s voice jarred me out of my thoughts: “Don’t worry about racing to your appointment with your destiny.”
 
I spun around and glared across the room at him. What is he telling me? Why not worry about it? Was it postponed? “What!” I shouted.
 
“Oh, no, no. My, no, it’s still on.” He stood, leaning against the door-frame, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed at the chest, looking every bit the sophisticate. “It’s just that you’re about to waste your time in defensive mode when it’s not necessary. You were concerned that the relief for the waltzing guards had come and you might have dozens or hundreds of guards about to converge on the suite. Perhaps you should understand the pliancy of time … when in the right hands.” He paused, uncrossing one of his arms, and tapped his chin with his finger. Then he smiled wryly. “That’s what makes the play possible, you know? Only about two minutes of your life has passed since you entered the suite. You’ll still have time to get back to your room, even to make the bed, before Glnot Rhuether arrives. I don’t want you to hurt yourself on the way.”
 
“But then you’d already have seen that on the stage.”
 
He grinned and touched his fingertips to his brow, offering a flamboyant salute. “You are a good student, my son.”


                      TO BE CONTINUED
 


Chapter 35
Only I Know How the Play Ends

By Jay Squires

BOOK III

Chapter Thirty-five

 
                       FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER
 
           “Oh, no, no. My, no, it’s still on.” He stood, leaning against the door-frame, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed at the chest, looking every bit the sophisticate. “It’s just that you’re about to waste your time in defensive mode when it’s not necessary. You were concerned that the relief for the waltzing guards had come and you might have dozens or hundreds of guards about to converge on the suite. Perhaps you should understand the pliancy of time … when in the right hands.” He paused, uncrossing one of his arms, and tapped his chin with his finger. Then he smiled wryly. “That’s what makes the play possible, you know? Only about two minutes of your life has passed since you entered the suite. You’ll still have time to get back to your room, even to make the bed, before Glnot Rhuether arrives. I don’t want you to hurt yourself on the way.”
          “But then you’d already have seen that on the stage.”
          He grinned and touched his fingertips to his brow, offering a flamboyant salute.
“You are a good student, my son.”

                                 
AND NOW. . .
 

“I’m not your student,” I mumbled, realizing I might as well have said it loudly and distinctly. Nothing was secret around Kyre. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. So only two minutes had passed.  That meant the guards probably had given up the struggle but not yet the humiliation of being belly-to-belly. They would be trying to avoid looking into each other’s eyes as they moved in slow circles around the porch. Their replacements, if they’d been about to arrive within those two minutes, may have  found themselves lying on the carpet in one of the maze of hallways, instead, wondering why their shoelaces were suddenly tied together; if not that, it could be simple amazement that they were somehow hopelessly lost though they had navigated these hallways a hundred times before. If Kyre couldn't keep each of the myriad of activities coordinated within the pliancy of time, of what value was pliancy?

At the landing, I cast my eyes down the stairs, scanning the first floor. I refused to abandon common sense, regardless of Kyre’s word. "Whoops," came just as easily out of the bird's beak or one of the Viktor's mouths. I descended the stairs, looking to the right over the railing. A fine place for someone to ambush me. The shadows turned out to be unoccupied.

Crossing the living room to the front door, I caught a glimpse between the drapes of the sweat-drenched back of one guard and a blur of the other’s bewildered gape-eyed face as he made his turn toward me. Then it was his back, and the other was facing me, a rictus twisting his lips. I’d seen that horror-filled grin before on the faces of more than one of my Kabeezan soldiers when they encountered the boogeyman clambering up the hillside to get them. They realized it was a childhood fantasy, but they also knew at that moment the boogeyman was real. Their mouths held grins while their eyes bulged, even though I tried to reason them through it.

Rhuether’s mass-hypnosis had worked at nearly its greatest efficiency there—only to be exceeded later on by the giant Ziltinaur, the evil Santa with his bagful of soldiers. That was Rhuether's masterpiece, though he paid dearly for it, almost dying.

I went out onto the porch.

“Mmmmmmmuh … Aummmmmmmm,” their moans chorused, and they renewed their shimmying against each other as they struggled to face me. Not under their control, their bodies kept circling slowly away from me, like a moon orbiting its planet.

“I’ll be out of your way in just a moment,” I told them.

“ Aummmmmmmm,” they protested,  slow-twirling farther away from me, toward the railing at the corner of the suite.

I crossed the garden to the palace door and removed the key from my pocket. Slotting it, I gave the knob a turn and pulled it toward me enough to angle a view of the hallway. I didn’t want to be surprised by the replacements if
in spite of Kyre's manipulationthey happened to be turning the corner and heading toward the door.

Empty. Slipping inside, I closed the door, then stopped and stared at it.

I couldn’t leave these two, toward whom I felt no personal enmity, to be discovered by their replacements in a career-altering position. On the other hand, I didn't want two newly freed and very angry guards racing in pursuit of me. First things first, I'd have to keep them muted until later. As far as I knew, there were no distance restrictions to my magic, so I could remove the spell the moment Rhuether and I were in the room together. At that point, Rhuether's guards would be at parade rest outside the door, given the orders not to open it for any reason.

Now I would extricate them, still muted, from their embrace, but the moment they reached for their weapons, they’d find they were moving as under water; very thick, syrupy water.

Fixing the image in my mind, I pushed open the door and watched them pull, tentatively, away from each other. They stood about a foot apart, glaring. They were out of my range of hearing, but their faces were contorted in the effort to speak. The one who had been leaning against the balustrade earlier shoved his open palms into his partner’s chest, a herculean effort that registered as engorged veins and tendons in his neck. The assaulted one’s gaping mouth and widened eyes reflected his amazement as his chest and shoulders rocked back. He returned a right palm, almost as an afterthought, into his aggressor’s chest.  

With that, they seemed, simultaneously, to tire of expressing their masculinity. I waited until they slogged their way toward their weapons, casting bewildered glances at each other, and then I clicked the door closed and turned to face the empty hallway.

Kyre’s words rolled as on a loop through my mind: “Only I know how the play ends.” The words had faded while I worked out my solution for the guards and watched their sluggish pantomime, but the moment I closed the door his words droned back to fill every corner of my mind. Was my choice in altering their spell also a part of the unrolling of my destiny? For Kyre to know how the play ended meant he had already watched it to its conclusion. He said my antics of expressing my grief, of pleading to have him kill me, added to the moments of tension leading to the climax.

I got to the end of the hall and peered around the corner to the right. No guards.  Next I would pass the one leading to Rhuether’s garden and suite.  I strained to listen. It could be a game-ender to peek my head around that corner and find myself face-to-face with Rhuether and his retinue on their way to my room. But why? Why worry? It was all part of the acting out of the play. Kyre promised I would get to my room before Rhuether and would have time to make the bed and tidy things before he arrived.

“Only I know how the play ends.” The ending ... Axtilla didn’t even know of her part in the play's ending until shortly before she died. If then. Kyre knew whether her death was voluntary.  Clearly, Kyre gave me the lie when he refused to disclose how the play would end. How did he put it? It would complicate the fulfillment of—what?—the fulfillment of certain activities if I knew them beforehand. But what difference are complications if he knows how the play ends?

I passed the hallway without bothering to look to the right, crossed another and came to the corridor that would take me past the dining room where Rhuether and Axtilla had hosted the banquet in my honor. The next hallway would take me to my room. After I made my turn, I stopped. Only Kyre knows how the play will end. 

I returned to the cross-hallway and turned toward the kitchen. My nostrils were assailed, not unpleasantly, by cooking meat. Listening at the door for Chiel’s voice among the clatter of metal against metal, and punctuation of laughter and bantering, I knocked.  As before, immediate silence followed. A few moments later the door opened a crack and Chiel’s head protruded.

“General Doctrex,” he said, and he stopped, appraising me through blinking eyes. “You don’t look well, Sir.”

I nodded. “Chiel …”

“Yes, Sir.”

“It’s time.”

He threw open the door and half-stumbled out into the corridor. For a moment, I thought a hug was imminent. This was his moment—what all his preparation had culminated in. “You’re ready?”

“I’m ready. You need to send your courier with the letter.”

A grin spread beneath glassy eyes. “He’ll be on his crossan in ten minutes time.” His white chef’s uniform rippled at the chest from his heartbeat. “You’re okay?”

“Yes. Hurry, Chiel.”


He grinned and disappeared behind the door.

 I proceeded toward my room.



I was not prepared for what looking down on my bed would do to me. A breath seemed to come from nowhere. I let out the trapped air in a sudden rush. The sheets, crumpled, hanging to the floor on the far side, held the mingled scents of our bodies. The pillow still bore the imprint of Axtilla’s head.

I flopped onto the bed and buried my face in the pillow, inhaling the fragrance—even if imagined—of her hair. What did hallucination matter, if it brought her closer to me? I released a snort. I was mad anyway. Who but a madman would carry on conversations with a bird? Was it a victory when I complained to Almighty Kyre about the indignity of that? I laughed, feeling my breath's heat in the pillow. Where was the victory? Instead, he reacquainted me with the jellybean-breathed self I was before—how mad was this?—before I bashed my head against the boulders, or drowned, or both, and became Pondria. No, not Pondria!

Raising to my elbows, I shook my head violently. I took tufts of hair in each hand and had the urge to rip both handfuls out. No, not Pondria. I was General Doctrex to myself and my men. I had to be cajoled to be Pondria later, by a stupid bird in the garden.

I rolled to my side and scrunched the pillow between both arms. Why was I laughing? I didn't feel like laughing. I ran my sandpapery cheek forward and back against the pillow case. I took a few breaths of air, then continued again. Once the bird convinced me I was Pondria, then Axtilla—Axtilla tried to make me into Doctrex again. Still laughing, I flopped to my back. Doctrex!

Some rational faculty in me worried that I might not be able to stop laughing. Just to prove I could, I did stop, but then began sputtering through closed lips until another laugh ripped through.


                       TO BE CONTINUED
 
CHARACTERS & TERMS (AS NEEDED):

DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

 




 


Chapter 36
Assassinate the One Who Loves You

By Jay Squires

PART III

Chapter Thirty-Six

 
                        LAST LINES OF PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

          I was not prepared for what looking down on my bed would do to me. A breath seemed to come from nowhere. I let out the trapped air in a sudden rush. The sheets, crumpled, hanging to the floor on the far side, held the mingled scents of our bodies. The pillow still bore the imprint of Axtilla’s head.
          I flopped onto the bed and buried my face in the pillow, inhaling the fragrance—even if imagined—of her hair. What did hallucination matter, if it brought her closer to me? I released a snort. I was mad anyway. Who but a madman would carry on conversations with a bird? Was it a victory when I complained to Almighty Kyre about the indignity of that? I laughed, feeling my breath's heat in the pillow. Where was the victory? Instead, he reacquainted me with the jellybean-breathed self I was before—how mad was this?—before I bashed my head against the boulders, or drowned, or both, and became Pondria. No, not Pondria!
          Raising to my elbows, I shook my head violently. I took tufts of hair in each hand and had the urge to rip both handfuls out. No, not Pondria. I was General Doctrex to myself and my men. I had to be cajoled to be Pondria later, by a stupid bird in the garden.
          I rolled to my side and scrunched the pillow between both arms. Why was I laughing? I didn't feel like laughing. I ran my sandpapery cheek forward and back against the pillow case. I took a few breaths of air, then continued again. Once the bird convinced me I was Pondria, then Axtilla—Axtilla tried to make me into Doctrex again. Still laughing, I flopped to my back. Doctrex!
          Some rational faculty in me worried that I might not be able to stop laughing. Just to prove I could, I did stop, but then began sputtering through closed lips until another laugh ripped through.


                       AND NOW
 
My memory skittered over just when it had transitioned: for now the manic laughter was gone, but what replaced it yanked my mind back to earlier terrors.
 
I lay on my back, arms like taut ropes, bed sheet fisted in both white-knuckled hands at my sides. I gaped at the coiling, constrictor-like creatures on the ceiling, some the girth of a man’s thigh; a myriad of eyes pulsed yellow-to-red-to-orange, like fanned coals; elsewhere, spoked, gray wings flapped and slapped against each other as massive bat-like birds tried to disentangle themselves and lift off. I reminded myself, as I had before, it was all torchlight and shadows—but why, then, could I now feel the wind of their whipping wings? My pulse throbbed in my throat, and I cowered against the vision of a viper slithering across the bullfrog's face, over the surface of one eye, while the other eye blinked tranquilly. The frog’s mouth was clamped to a thin line, but out of the corner a tiny diaphanous wing protruded. Percy’s legacy.
 
Feeling nauseous, I concentrated on slowing my heartbeat. Torchlight, shadows. I willed my biceps and forearms to slacken and managed to wiggle my fingers. Taking in a breath, I released it and sucked in another. I closed my eyes and studied the mechanics of my breathing: the slow, massive, rising wave of it, sucking up everything beneath it; reaching its zenith, it struggled to rise higher still, as though sensing death was in its release, and then feathering, it crashed and emptied everything back to the dry sea floor … and into my breath-craving lungs. Another wave waited to swell, to realize its arc's crowning peak, then die once more into another waiting swell and after that, another, and still another.
 
I rolled to my side, pushed myself up to sit, my legs hanging over the edge, took another breath and pushed off to the floor. My legs barely held my weight. Bending, I braced my hands against my thighs, all the while keeping my eyes trained to the floor.
 
I made the bed with slow, studied movements. The moment I stopped thinking, for even an instant, about what my next move was, my hand collapsed to the bed, followed by the other—awaiting instruction. Still I persisted. Over what seemed like a half-hour, but what was, in all likelihood—given the pliancy of time—only five minutes, I finished making the bed.
 
Then, on my hands and knees, I picked up all the buttons and the wadded shirt Axtilla, in her passion, had ripped off me in the early hours of the morning. Recalling it, I felt the corners of my mouth start to twitch into a smile, but found myself, instead, burying my face in the shirt, my throat burning from the claws of new sobs. Axtilla … Where are you, Axtilla? Lumbering to my feet, I wiped my eyes and nose and tossed the shirt in the shadowed back of the closet. I labored with the effort of changing into my last clean shirt, buttoned it with fingers that felt twice their size, and—head down—shambled to the round table to await Rhuether’s arrival.
 
I no sooner sank into the chair than I heard two short raps on the door, followed by two more, a bit louder.
 
The pliancy of time.
 
 #
 
Rhuether sat stiffly across from me in full military dress, complete with blue and red ribbons and medals of gold and silver, all of which contrasted with his tailored jacket of the purest white; a gold epaulet blossomed atop each shoulder. A one-inch gold stripe ran the length of his cerulean-blue trousers. His ceremonial sword which had hung almost to the floor when he entered, now lay across his lap. His black shoes had been polished to such a high sheen that the torchlight flickered on their surface.
 
Despite his grandeur, he couldn't conceal his weariness.
 
"Pondria," he said, his eyelids slow-opening and then closing with exaggerated languor. He offered me a smile, and his eyes again slipped closed and remained so until my greeting caused them to snap open.
 
"Glnot," I answered, returning a smile.
 
I didn't want to smile. Nor did I want to engage him in small talk that would lead to discussing his Mojo assignments, and inevitably, questions about Axtilla's and my assignments. Somewhere in the midst of it all would loom his excited plans for tomorrow's wedding … and it would all be preparatory—would all funnel down—to the disclosure that I had to share, a disclosure that my own mind chose to waver on the brink of shattering rather than to accept. “Was it a long night, Glnot?”
 
He nodded before he opened his mouth to speak, then continued nodding throughout his answer. “Yes, it was, Brother. The Mojo was a stern master.”
 
I nodded as well, and my eyes roved toward his right hand that lay across the scabbard of his sword, his thumb tracing the contour of one of the decorative jewels. If any good would come of our being together, it would be giving me something to focus on. It would keep me out of myself, away from the craziness that seemed on its way to possessing me just a few moments ago. Time was my ally. At some point I would be forced to cross a line, to commit myself to an action that would be irreversible. I had to be mentally prepared for that first step. Simply thinking of my earlier terrors caused my eyes to flicker toward the ceiling before an act of the sheerest will brought them back.
 
 I glanced over to Rhuether. He had been watching me all the while, and at that moment, he inclined his head, and seemed to survey the ceiling. He turned back to me. "Remind me after the wedding to have the artwork cleaned. There are so many peaks and valleys for dust to cling to.” He laughed. “Sometimes, when the light is just right—"
 
"Yes,” I said too quickly, then cleared my throat. "Yes, I'll remind you."
 
We were both quiet a moment, then Rhuether let out a noisy exhale through his nose. He shrugged. "Well? I'm here. You said this was an important part of the Mojo assignment."
 
I nodded and tried to remember what my reason had been for having him return to my room after his assignment. The only reason that made any sense was to give me the opportunity to learn more of the planning stages of the wedding ceremony. Had Axtilla and I been able to strategize the execution, last night, then today's conversation might provide the where and the how of carrying it out.
 
Rhuether chuckled. "I was so afraid I would run into Axtilla on my way over here. With what you told me about how unforgiving the Mojo—"
 
"Did you perform your assignments in your military uniform?"
 
White encircled his silver irises. "I wasn't—you didn't tell me what to wear!"
 
"There're no Mojo restrictions. I was curious, that’s all. It seems uncomfortable.”
 
“I thought it appropriate given the assignment’s seriousness."
 
“Ah … true. And it went well … the assignments?” I took a breath and offered him what I hoped was an expression of relaxed expectation. Trying to avoid the discussion, or where it might lead, was like avoiding a … pomnot in the room.
 
“I read the required material and followed each segment with the timed meditation. I performed everything to the letter.”
 
“Good.”
 
“And yours and Axtilla’s …?” His eyes roved from chin to  mouth, causing me to wonder if I was trembling, and then settled on my eyes. “How did your … assignments go?”
 
I took a very slow, deep, hopefully concealed breath before I answered. “Well.” I sniffed. “They went … well.”
 
He scratched his cheek while one corner of his mouth tipped up and a pink flush began to rise from under his collar, to suffuse his face. “Did she—is she agreeable, then? I mean, to let you give her away?”
 
“Remember, it was her idea to begin with.”
 
“Yes, but you and I both know …” Another wave of redness swept over what had started to fade. “We know it was her way of—I’m sorry, but her way of humiliating you. I’d hoped that … given all the time you’d have together—”
 
“She’s …” I interrupted, but was overcome by a wave of acidic nausea. I waited for it to pass, and then, noting his puzzled expression, muttered an apology and pointed to my throat as I cleared it. “I swallowed wrong.” I shook my head. “Anyway, she’s over that, Glnot.”
 
He beamed and his eyes misted. “That means more to me than you know, Brother.” He blinked, waited, I thought for my comment, and then nodded.
 
I didn’t like the turn this had suddenly taken. I wanted—I neededto feel complete, unwavering hatred. It wouldn’t be easy to execute one who cared for my feelings. I needed to fill my mind with images of the other, the real Rhuether.
 
I revisited the image of Chiel crawling around the floor, picking up the scattered food from Rhuether’s flung plate that had shattered. Then there was the bruised and puffy face of Corl, the tailor, who hadn’t finished my jacket according to Rhuether’s timetable. And now, this uniform. Was this the ceremonial uniform Rhuether had worn after he'd overthrown the emperor of the Far Northern Province to begin his reign? Was he wearing it when he greeted his throngs of new followers, the commoners who knelt before their Almighty Master, posing on the dais above them? Did the Almighty Master deign a glance down also at the four stakes, one bearing the head of the deposed emperor, looking a little naked and embarrassed, and the others of his generals, staring with fish-eyed bewilderment?
 
“Glnot,” I started, about to broach the dreaded subject of the wedding myself, as much to avoid Rhuether’s amazement over Axtilla’s transformation as to lay the groundwork for a strategy to destroy him. I halted in mid-sentence, though, when a wisp of perfumed air from somewhere behind me brushed like a warm breath across my right cheek, circled in front, lingering at my lips, seeming to circle them, then turning and rising at an angle, sweeping past my ear, leaving behind a sound like a sigh.
 
Rhuether cocked his head, grinning. “You find my name amusing, Brother?”
 
“Amusing?” I asked, trying to control my fluttering breath.
 
He nodded. “You said ‘Glnot’, and then you started smiling.” He stared at me, waiting.
 
My mind raced to invent a plausible reason for smiling. The last thing I’d told him was that Axtilla no longer felt the need to humiliate me. While that might have been something to celebrate, it was hardly reason to smile. Help me, Axtilla …
 
A bramble of voices outside the door drew Rhuether’s attention away from me. His face twisted in fury as he leapt from his chair and spun toward the door, his sword clattering against the chair legs. “This better be important!” he shouted.
 
“Not me …” The muffled voice in the hallway sounded very near tears. A thud against the wall rattled the door. “You—you were in charge.”
 
“You found the two.”
 
“Both of you—all of you—get in here!” Rhuether squared his shoulders and glowered at the door.
 
The door opened a crack.
 
“Did you hear me?” Rhuether screamed, the veins at the sides of his neck bulging.
 
A head peeked through. “Almighty Master—”
 
“Yes! Yes! What? Where are my guards?”
 
The door opened wider and three others entered, one holding a crossbow at his side. The two who weren’t armed pushed their way to the front, but still stopped short of approaching Rhuether.
 
“Which one of you has a voice?” Rhuether glanced over his shoulder at me, gave me a pained smile, his head a quick shake, and turned back. “Well? Come on, men ….”
 
One of the two in the front glared at me, his eyes narrowing, and then turned to Rhuether. “Almighty Master, you told us to guard the door and not let anyone in for any reason while you,” he jerked his head toward me, “and the prisoner were talking.”
 
“You will answer later for the reason you chose to disobey me.” He laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Right now someone had better start talking."

                TO BE CONTINUED:

 
CHARACTERS & TERMS (AS NEEDED):
DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

Pomnot: One of the witless monsters of the Far Northern Province, considered "an expendible."  Think Big Foot. 

 






 
 


Chapter 37
The End of Days?

By Jay Squires

BOOK III
Chapter Thirty-Seven


 
 
                  FROM END OF PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
 
          The door opened a crack.
          “Did you hear me?” Rhuether screamed, the veins at the sides of his neck bulging. 
          A head peeked through. “Almighty Master—”
          “Yes! Yes! What? Where are my guards?”
          The door opened wider and three others entered, one holding a crossbow at his side. The two who weren’t armed pushed their way to the front, but still stopped short of approaching Rhuether. 
          “Which one of you has a voice?” Rhuether glanced over his shoulder at me, gave me a pained smile, his head a quick shake, and turned back “Well? Come on men ….”
          One of the two in the front glared at me, his eyes narrowing, and then turned to Rhuether. “Almighty Master, you told us to guard the door and not let anyone in for any reason while you,” he jerked his head toward me, “and the prisoner were talking.”
          “You will answer later for the reason you chose to disobey me.” He laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Right now someone had better start talking."

                  AND NOW ...
 
"I understand, Almighty Master, but if you please, these two …” He reached his right arm back, without taking his eyes off Rhuether, and laid it across the back of the one who'd been first to open the door, pulling him forward, “this one and his partner came racing down the hall toward us. He told me it was urgent he speak to the Almighty Master. Isn't that right, Gorzi? Come on … tell him.” He turned to the brawny, prematurely balding man, who did all he could to keep from making eye contact with Rhuether. “Tell him. Tell him what you told me."
 
Clearly flustered, the man, whose forehead beaded with sweat, stammered, “Oh, A-A-Almighty Master, I—we had gone to relieve the two who guarded Her Empress’ suite. What we found when we got there—well the two guards could … couldn’t talk.” He flattened his hand on his chest and closed his eyes, his head bobbing, as though visualizing it. Then he opened them. “Couldn't talk, and … and they could barely move their bodies. Strangest thing, watching them. Like they were walking under water. Well … well, anyway, one of them used his dagger in the garden dirt to write this one’s”—he raised a trembling hand and pointed at me—"this one's name.”
 
Rhuether swung his head around to me, the right side of his face twitching, then turned back. “So? There’s more …?”
 
"Yes … more. You see, Almighty Master, the entire palace guard had drawn lots to see who would be Her Empress’ escorts to the prisoner's room last night. Those two won. They were ordered to stay outside this room," he jabbed his finger toward the floor, "and when the meeting was over to escort her back. So … so what would be your prisoner's reason to go back, later on, to her suite?" He stopped briefly to consider the lean young guard who held the crossbow. "I’m the one telling you this, Almighty Master, because I'm the ranking officer, but with your permission …" He swallowed. "I need to have the lad, Hyl, tell the rest because—well, while I stayed to get more information from the two—whatever you call them—magicked guards, I sent him, Hyl, to check on Her Empress' safety.” He gave his partner, whose crossbow hung awkwardly at his side, an apologetic shrug.
 
Hyl, who had been slowly shaking his head the whole time Gorzi spoke, continued shaking it now, his unruly thatch of blond hair whisking back and forth as he stared at the floor. I bent to my left over the armrest to see around Rhuether’s back. Twin trails of tears followed the contour of Hyl's nose, gathered there in the creases, and since his head was bowed, spilled, leaving tiny splats on the tile between his boots.
 
"Hyl," Gorzi said, his glance lighting on his partner, flickering over to Rhuether and then back, "son, you have to tell the Almighty Master."
 
Hyl's lips moved, but at first he produced no words. Then he said, "I—I can't."
 
Rhuether took three steps to plant his feet directly in front of Hyl. I didn't see the initial movement of Rhuether's arm, but realizing what was happening, in the time it took to suck in a mouthful of air, an unmistakable smack resounded of flesh-against-flesh. In the same instant, Hyl's head whipped to his right, followed by a blur of Rhuether's open palm coming around into view.
 
It was high time to get out of my chair. I took a step to my left, the better to keep my eyes on the movements of all the guards. Truth was, I could have made a trip to the utility room and returned without being missed. All eyes were on Rhuether, and I’d experienced one more example of the terror his subjects held for him.
 
While Hyl stood in a shaky semblance of military attention, Rhuether pulled his hiked sleeve down to his wrist, gave his shoulders a little shake to readjust the fit of his uniform and appeared to hold himself taller than usual. "You are already in a lot of trouble … what is your name?"
 
"Hyl, Alm-m-mighty Master." His voice cracked. The entire left side of his face radiated, raw and pink. He sniffed and tried to conceal a moan that was as much a whine—the sound a child might make after his father has given him the first whack, and he cowers, anticipating the pain of the second, knowing it's coming, yet not knowing when it will arrive. I found myself grimacing for him. Hyl was not much older than a child; probably one of the village recruits Chiel had anguished over—mere children lured by the promise of adventure and the glory of participating in the Almighty Master's Great March to the Southern Provinces. He was fifteen, perhaps sixteen.
 
"A lot of trouble, Hyl. Don't make it worse. Speak!"
 
Hyl's lower jaw trembled as though it were detached from the rest of his face. "Almighty Master, Her—Her …"  He choked on the words and the tears crowding his throat at the same time, and he bent forward into his thighs in a fit of coughing, ending with a retching gag.  Both hands flew up to cover his mouth, and his crossbow clattered to the tile floor. Remarkably, the nocked bolt had survived the fall to the tile without firing. 

Rhuether raised his right arm, this time with clenched fist.
 
Hyl straightened his body, his mouth a rictus of horrible expectation. As his arm flew up to protect his face against the blow he knew was coming, the words he couldn't say before now tumbled out, "Her Em-Empress is-is-is dead." With that, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed in a tangle of limbs.
 
Slack-mouthed, Rhuether stared straight ahead through the empty space that Hyl had occupied before he fell. Slowly he raised his hands and clamped them over his ears, and he began to shake his head. The remaining guards had back-stepped to the wall, all eyes but Gorzi's fixed on Rhuether. Gorzi regarded his crumpled partner with an expression I could only describe as the remorse a stronger person feels who'd pledged, and failed, to protect the weaker. I'd seen a similar powerlessness on the faces of the Profue brothers after I told them their ward, Zurn, would have to be tried for desertion.
 
Rhuether brought his arms down, squared his back, and in a voice that commanded the unmistakable tenor of the potentate whose words must be obeyed, simply said, "No."
 
Gorzi swung his gaze from Hyl to Rhuether, but he said nothing.
 
"No, there has been a mistake; a mistake for which that one—" he pointed to the unmoving Hyl— "will assuredly pay."
 
Gorzi turned his eyes to me, then back to Rhuether. His eyelids fluttered, and he brought his hand across the top of his bald head. "Almighty Master … if I may … Hyl—you see, Hyl would never—"
 
"Axtilla is dead," I said to Rhuether's back, in as gently firm and level a voice as I could muster.  How could I fault Rhuether for his mental state? My mind threatened to close down rather than accept Axtilla's death. As much as I despised Rhuether for what he was, the horror he had propagated; as convinced as I was that I had to destroy him … how could I deny that he could love Axtilla to the fullest depth, as I had?
 
I watched the small, convulsive movements of his back and the wide-eyed perplexity of the guards who were facing him, and I realized their Almighty Master was quietly, but publicly, sobbing.
 
"Nooooooo," issued as a jagged fragment of his denial. He whimpered, and his shoulders sagged just an instant, before he pulled them back up straight again and cleared his throat. "No, no, no … This one—I don't know yet why, but—"
 
"Brother, it is as Hyl said. Axtilla is dead."
 
In an instant for which no one could prepare, Rhuether's hand dropped to his sword's hilt, and in one movement of a glinted blur his sword whipped out of its scabbard, over his head, then swept down just as Gorzi threw himself across Hyl's body. In the same dizzying instant, I charged forward and dove into Rhuether's side, just above the waist, my momentum interrupting his sword's full follow-through, but not before it left a black, bubbling gash on Gorzi's shoulder, as Rhuether, his sword and I tumbled away from them.
 
The two remaining, who were Rhuether's personal guards, were on top of us within seconds, pulling me off Rhuether. Gorzi, looking bewildered, stood beside the still unconscious Hyl, his hand pressed against his wound, blood oozing between his fingers. One guard yanked me to my feet and pushed me several feet away from Rhuether, who lay curled in a fetal position; his eyes pressed tightly closed, the sockets wet. A bubbly froth issued from his lips.
 
While the guard worked his way behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest, the other stood staring a moment at Rhuether before he scrambled over to retrieve Hyl's crossbow. He inspected the bow closely from different angles, then took it with him to kneel by Rhuether.
 
"Almighty Master, should I get the medic?" he asked in a soothing voice.
 
Rhuether's eyes snapped open but didn't seem to focus on anything. Tears glistened on his eyelashes.
 
"I can get him here right away, Almighty Master."
 
Rhuether lifted his head from the tile and angled it to the guard. He brought a hand slowly to his lips and made several sweeps across them, then frowned down at his wet palm and fingers. He dragged the back of his forefinger across his nose and looked at the shiny swath on his knuckles. Finally, he worked his way to his hands and knees and then, with exaggerated slowness, to his feet.
 
The guard's grip around my chest tightened as Rhuether turned and trudged to stand at my feet.  He locked eyes with me. The silver disks of his irises seemed to float above, then dip below, wavering beneath rising tears.
 
"You did it. You killed her." His inflection fell between a question and a statement.
 
"She was already dead." It would be pointless to tell him about the bird.
 
"I was blind. You really did love her, didn't you?"
 
I sighed and felt my chin slip to my throat socket. I blinked and fought back tears.
 
He jabbed his palm so hard into my chest that the guard rocked back before he righted himself and gripped me tighter. "It’s so clear now. You thought you could rekindle her …" he chuckled, dryly, "her dead love for you. But when she denied you her … favors, you waited until the guards escorted her back, and then you went there, used your magic on the guards, went inside and killed her. If you couldn't have Axtilla for yourself, you weren’t going to leave her alive to … to make me happy. You robbed me of the one thing that would complete my life." Little nets of froth gathered in the corners of his mouth as he spoke. "You couldn't endure seeing someone conjoined with me as you had been."
 
Not joined—but conjoined? The image was so bizarre it took all my will not to smile. I could only envision our being locked together at the ribs as an abstraction, as myth. I had no memory of it. And if mythological, neither did he.
 
"You told me the seer demanded that I learn cooperation. Isn't that right, Pondria?" Two streams poured, unimpeded, over the lower rims of his eyes and dripped off his chin. "Isn't that right, Brother?"
 
I saw the stretched, white skin of his knuckles an instant before they smashed into my jaw. Gagging on the blood trying to slide down my throat, I struggled to keep from vomiting as I tried to shake some order back into the melting room.
 
"Right, Brother?"
 
When I heard, as much as felt, the horrible crunch on the other side, I only remembered—before remembering slipped away—a misguided gratitude for the shackle of arms which made it unnecessary for me to rely on my useless legs. I woke to find someone's fingers—Rhuether's?—lifting my jaw from my chest. I imagined the fingers to be raising up a bag of stones from beneath. I ran my tongue over my teeth. They might have been loosened, more than likely were, but they were still mine. The blood oozed from a tuft of mangled skin on my inner cheek. I swallowed, grimaced. "Why would …" I wiggled my jaw—no bones broken there. "Why would I want to be conjoined with you?" Blood drooled out the corner of my mouth.
 
"Why? Why? Because you were so privileged, Pondria." His voice raised a tremulous octave while his words raced to leave his mouth before his emotion overtook them. It was the voice of a child suffering an injustice. "The seer gave you the fun kind of magic and—and you made things spin and move and disappear …" a flurry of whirling arms and hands accompanying his tumble of words, "and then come spinning back again … and you made Mama happy with all the things your magic did for her. You thought I didn't notice that, Pondria? You thought that didn't hurt?"
 
My limited and jostled faculties told me I profited nothing by not playing along. I brought the myth back to mind. "I was your brother. We were children. I didn't think of that."
 
He gave my face a slap, but it was a child's slap. "You thought I didn't see how you enjoyed giving Mama everything I couldn't give her?" He was breathing heavily, now, and choking on the tears that clogged his throat.
 
I glanced past Rhuether. Gorzi took Rhuether's inattention to look after Hyl. He brushed the hair off his forehead and tapped him on his cheeks until he opened his eyes. Then he took him by the armpits, grimacing from the pain, and dragged him to the wall. The other guard didn't bother to help, just pulled his attention away from the drama that was unfolding thirty feet away to give them a desultory glance.
 
Rhuether wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve and took two hiccupping breaths. "You don't think that h-hurt knowing I could never compete with you?"
 
"I didn't think of it as competition, Glnot."
 
"Shut up! It's Almighty Master."
 
He slapped me again, but it was another child slap. The guard must have realized Rhuether's ineffectiveness because he balled his fist on the arm whose grip was against my flesh and ground his knuckles just under my rib-cage.
 
"You ignored the hurt I was feeling. But I found a way to make you hurt, didn't I, Pondria?" His breath was so heavy now I considered that whatever his plans, they might be interrupted by a heart attack or stroke. "I killed you once, Brother, and I'll kill you again." He turned his head to look behind him at his other personal guard. The child in his voice was gone. "You … come here with your bow." He turned back to me, his eyes slits.
 
The guard considered Hyl, who was recuperating but still groggy. He gave a questioning glance at Gorzi. After all, it was Hyl's crossbow.
 
"Don't do this to him, please," Gorzi muttered, keeping his voice from carrying. "He called you."
 
The guard shrugged and approached Rhuether. "Almighty Master ..."
 
Rhuether slid his gaze past me to the one tethering me. "Take him to the wall." He raised his eyebrows to me, and his lips curled to a smirk.
 
The guard gave my rib cage a final grind of his knuckles before pushing me to the wall, about ten feet from the door. On the other side of the doorway, Gorzi and Hyl leaned, watching. The guard whipped me around and slammed my shoulders into the wall. "You'll stay here," he said through his teeth. He moved several feet away and looked at Rhuether for instructions.
 
Rhuether settled in the chair, his back to me.
 
I grinned, though my lips trembled. "I thought you'd be manning the bow yourself, brother. Instead, I see you don't even want to watch."
 
Rhuether dragged his chair around to face me. "You're right, Pondria. It was out of misguided sensitivity. I thought you wouldn't want me to witness any last-second begging … or the release of your bladder or bowels."
 
"Do you really expect that to happen?" I think I pulled off a smile.
 
Rhuether raised his arm and turned to the guard who held the crossbow in readiness. "When I drop my arm, shoot."
 
"Yes, Almighty Master." He raised the bow.
 
From thirty feet away, the bolt tip, black and shiny, and the polished shank, held a steady bead on my chest. The crossbow didn't waiver as the guard faced me, though his eyes turned to the left to watch Rhuether, whose right hand was held high.
 
“Goodbye, Pondria,” he said, in weary disdain.
 
Only Kyre knows how the play … I took a breath.
 
Rhuether's arm dropped.
 
                  TO BE CONTINUED ...
 
 

Author Notes I'm fully aware of this chapter's length. There was no place I could find to cut it off sooner. I see it's only seventy-nine paragraphs long, though, and some paragraphs are only one sentence long. Now ... does that makes it seem shorter?

THANK YOU, Lindatribuli, from FanArtReview, for your dynamic "Behind The Mask."


Chapter 38
Fragrance of Clarna's Grief

By Jay Squires

BOOK III
Chapter Thirty-Eight.


 
             FROM END OF PREVIOUS CHAPTER:
 
            Ruether raised his arm and turned to the guard who held the crossbow in readiness. "When I drop my arm, shoot."
           "Yes, Almighty Master." He raised the bow.
            From thirty feet away, the bolt tip, black and shiny, and the polished shank, held a steady bead on my chest. The crossbow didn't waver as the guard faced me, though his eyes turned to the left to watch Rhuether, whose right hand was held high.
           “Goodbye, Pondria,” he said, in weary disdain.
            Only Kyre knows how the play … I took a breath.
            Rhuether's arm dropped.

 
                    AND NOW ...
 
I don't know what I expected in the instant Rhuether's arm dropped. In the three times I'd used my magic before, I'd closed my eyes to concentrate. I couldn't close my eyes now, and with my heart pounding so powerfully in my throat I thought I would vomit, concentration was impossible. Nonetheless, with the drop of Rhuether's arm and a faintly perceived clicking sound, the bolt ricocheted off the wall near the ceiling above my head, then clattered off another wall some distance behind Rhuether's chair. The guard's expression matched my surprise as his crossbow clearly pointed at an angle well above my head.
 
"What?" said an astounded Rhuether. "What just happened?"
 
"The bow, Almighty Master … The instant I pulled the lever a gust of wind—I don't know—lifted the bow up? You had to feel it, Almighty Master. Didn't you feel it? It was a gust. A gust that strong had to pass by you to get to me. I-I—"
 
Watching Rhuether, I recalled the breeze which caressed my cheek, lips and ear earlier. Axtilla! Her spirit was here.    
 
"Are you telling me what I felt?" Rhuether's brows arched above bulging eyes. "No! There was no wind. There was a guard who lost heart. You know what happens when a guard of mine loses heart? Oh, you'll find out. You can count on that. In the meantime …" He motioned to the guard who had constrained me before. "We can't use the one who got too close to my blade earlier." He scowled at Gorzi. "And the man-child next to him, who was so fainthearted he passed out rather than face me.” He sniffed. “That leaves you."
 
"Yes, Almighty Master." The guard crossed the floor in four brisk military strides. "I am ready."
 
The offending guard held the crossbow to his chest, like it was a baby. "But Almighty Master, if you would give me another—"
 
"Another what? Chance? It's enough that you are replaced as my personal guard. I haven't decided whether you'll be losing your head." He gave a nod in Hyl's direction. "The fainting child can't have the same hope."
 
Hyl gasped and then began whimpering behind his palm. Gorzi put his arm across his partner's shoulder.
 
"Shut him up!" Rhuether shouted. "Keep him quiet, or I’ll perform the execution now."
 
Gorzi bent in close and whispered something to Hyl, who straightened up and struggled to compose himself.
 
Rhuether turned to his personal guards. "Now, give him the bow, gust-man, and take your place by the prisoner."
 
Reluctantly, he handed over the bow, looked like he was going to say something further to his Almighty Master, wisely didn't, and plodded to the wall, keeping a generous distance between himself and me.
 
"I'll need another bolt," the new bowman said, more to himself, and then addressing Rhuether, "Almighty Master, may I get another bolt from Hyl?"
 
"I don't know how else you'll get the job done …. Go!"
 
The guard scrambled to Hyl's side. Hyl had two bolts out of his quiver and waiting for him.
 
"Why will you need two?” Rhuether asked. "How many bolts does it take to pin him to the wall?"
 
"Just one, Almighty Master." He handed the extra back to Hyl.
 
"You do have a true aim, don't you … what is your name?”
 
"Justiz, Almighty Master," he said, offering a self-conscious half-bow, and appearing, to my perception, disappointed over recognizing his anonymity.
 
"And your aim, Justiz? We wouldn't want him squirming and crying with a bolt pinning him to the wall through his thigh, now would we, Justiz?"
 
"My aim is true, Almighty Master. I’m ranked third in the entire Palace Guard. Now, if you want it through his thigh or arm … or any other location, I can do that, Almighty Master."
 
"Oh, but that would be so painful." Rhuether tapped his chin with his forefinger. "I'll give you my decision momentarily. But wait! Why don't we ask the prisoner?" He turned a smile to me, but the side of his face held the trace of the twitch I'd seen earlier. "Pondria, do you want death to come quickly? Or very painfully and over time?"
 
I smiled, surprising myself that I kept it steady. "Wherever he aims, I'm counting on another gust of wind."
 
"Justiz, here, can reckon the days of life left to him on whether another windstorm brews in this room. Isn't that right, third-ranked Justiz?"
 
The guard laughed, but with too much enthusiasm to be authentic. "There can be no wind in a closed-off room. I will stake my life on it, Almighty Master."
 
"Oh, you most certainly will." Rhuether paused on the last word, a little smile forming. "Now … in the interest of time, instead of entertainment, I will have you aim for the prisoner's heart. Understood?"
 
"Understood, Almighty Master."
 
"And the penalty for missing your shot?"
 
"Understood, as well, Almighty Master. May I load my bow?"
 
"That's the confidence I like from my personal guards. See how eager he is, Pondria?"
 
"You are so fortunate, Brother." I watched the ease with which Justiz prepared the bow, first putting the front of the barrel, which was fitted with a cocking stirrup, against the floor. He slipped his foot into the stirrup, and clutching the string on either side of the barrel, he pulled with a steady motion until he slipped the string into the catch, locking it in position. He removed his foot from the stirrup and held the bow in front of his face, turned to face me, then peered down the empty groove at me. He smiled, proud of himself, I was sure. Next, he slipped the bolt into the groove and fitted the nocked end into the string.
 
"Yes," he said, "I am ready, Almighty Master." He faced me, one leg in front of the other, the crossbow pointing to the floor.
 
"I'm sure you are." Rhuether smiled at Justiz, then at me. "Are you ready, Pondria?"
 
"I have a bit of a headache, Brother. I don't suppose—"
 
"Let's see if I can take your mind off it. Justiz …?" He raised his arm above his head. "When it drops …"
 
"Yes Almighty Master."
 
I kept my inhale steady to its end, then slowly pushed the exhale through my nose, maintaining my focus on the black tip, aimed at my chest. Concentrate. Watch for the instant his curved finger pulls on the lever.
 
For the second time today, Rhuether's arm dropped.
 
Justiz's finger pulled.
 
Split, I thought, with such concentration I didn't recall seeing the bolt leave the shaft. I had the uncanny sensation of having a handful of leaves thrown in my face. What I actually saw was the bolt shattering, one foot from my chest, and the parts of it whittling off in all directions. There followed a collective gasp and the shuffling of feet. Justiz stared down at his bow, dumbfounded.
 
Rhuether leapt from his chair. "Again?" he shouted.
 
The former unsuccessful shooter, against the wall near me, finally seemed to gather his wits out of a desire to revitalize his tarnished reputation. He leaned toward me about to pounce. I recalled from the myth how Pondria had, spun himselfRhuether attachedlike a giant wheel, out of the cave, down to the surface of the sea and back up to the cave. With the guard’s momentum bringing his fingertips to a half-inch from my shoulder, he was suddenly jerked up and away, and with a gasp spun up the wall to the ceiling, then across the wall, dipping below the sconces, rising again to the ceiling on the other side.
 
Justiz’ expression seemed to beg Rhuether for mercy. "Almighty Master …" he said, his clasped hands under his chin, "I don't know … what?" His attention was momentarily drawn to the spinning guard's progress around the perimeter of the room. "What?" He pointed. "What?"
 
Rhuether turned to Gorzi. "You … go to the palace guards. Send a battalion here immediately."
 
"Yes, Almighty Master. " Hyl followed Gorzi through the door.
 
Rhuether reached for his sword, gave his empty hand a puzzled look, and then his eyes flew to the spot where he'd lost it during our earlier scuffle. He glared at me and then motioned to Justiz. "My sword—get me my sword."
 
I glanced from Rhuether to the sword, and just as Justiz reached his hand for it, the sword slipped a few feet away. He grinned stupidly at Rhuether and made another lunge toward it, only to find his hand grasping at air as the sword danced, clicking hilt-to-tip, away. Meanwhile, the spinning guard was traveling toward us on the last leg of his first circuit.
 
Rhuether ran a hand through his hair, the right side of his face going through another fit of twitching. His head inclined to the ceiling and his lips curled to a grin. The creatures began to crawl like thick gruel in a pot.
 
"Your memory's longer than that, isn't it?" I asked him, giving the ceiling another uneasy glance. "Have you forgotten you almost died the last time you used physical magic? Don't be a fool, again, Brother."
 
Rhuether dug his fingers into his side and grimaced. "Even that would be"—his face twisted—"would be a joyous death … taking you with me. Look. Behind you."
 
I turned in time to feel the heavy slap against my side and back and looked down see the white serpent wrap his body, like a vise, around my waist. My feet lifted from the floor. From the ceiling, the remainder of his white body writhed and curled, pulling me into it.

Below me now, Rhuether's mouth stretched in a gaping grin. Then he bent over, his arms grasping his side, and dropped into his chair. "You're killing yourself, Brother," I screamed down to him and had to stop as I felt myself up to my chest in the embrace of the warm coils. Soft, sinuous movement rolled beneath my feet.

 
My magic … I closed my eyes and visualized myself floating back to the floor, the ceiling above nothing but carved stone, torchlight and wavering shadows. The air forced out of my lungs caused my eyes to snap open. Whatever the reason, my magic wasn’t working.
 
Pulling one arm free, I pushed my elbow down against the moving white surface, trying to leverage myself out of this quicksand of flesh. Failing that, I pounded my fist against it. Again, my breath squeezed out of me. I discovered a foot hold and pushed up with my thighs, using all my strength and finished, unsuccessful, gasping for more air.
 
The tile floor, like a mirage, seemed to shimmer closer, then farther away. I caught a blurred glimpse of Justiz on his belly going under the bed, the sword skittering out the other side.
 
With no more foothold and my muscles flaccid from the effort, I found myself suctioned deeper, up to my chin in what appeared, to my oxygen-starved brain, as a frothy white sea foam. I grasped for a last gulp of air before I slipped beneath and everything turned white-to-dirty-gray. I closed my eyes, clamped them shut. I thought I heard Rhuether laughing, but then I realized it had to be the sound of the beast's digestion, a deeply personal gurgling, pinging, grumbling, pounding … pounding …? I isolated my own heartbeat from the other sounds! My throat and chest were taut with the effort to push out, push through to where the air was. My entire body vibrated like a plucked string ….
 
The start of death. No more panicky need to struggle for air.
 
I opened my eyes. My head had pushed through to the surface and I was breathing once more. Again the sludgy, rolling waves of sinew, my arms somewhere below. The stench was hideous, but I never felt happier to breathe it in with each inhale.
 
Still, it would be only a matter of time before I was sucked back under. Axtilla … Where are you?
 
Enjoying my breaths while I gaped through the fetid swampy haze, somewhere between the slow-blinking frog and myself, I discovered a gold-ring-necked bird bobbing on the surface of the morass. Kyre?
 
You certainly are making the play interesting. His voice rose and dipped, distorted by the undulating waves of flesh.
 
"Where is Axtilla? You promised she would—"
 
In spirit, Pondria … With that, he paused. And spirit once removed. For a moment he disappeared behind a roll of reptilian white, to emerge a moment later.
 
"What do you mean 'once removed'?" I asked, rankled by his obscurity. "She saved my life down there as a timely gust of wind. And before that, I felt her unmistakable breeze, smelled her fragrance and heard her sigh, but …" Why were my eyes leaking again? "I need Axtilla, not her spirit."
 
Her fragrance. Name it.
 
I tried to remember. "It was … well … it was sweet."
 
Like the pink blossoms in the Far Southern Province? Ah yes. You know their name?
 
The olfactory memory came back at once, even blotting out his last question. "That was it—the fragrance. The pink blossoms."
 
You have a moment before you get dragged back under. Why not watch the play with me? Try to ignore the distractions you produced with your magic: the one still crawls after the sword. He's nearly to the utility room. The other spins by on the front wall with the regularity of the setting sun or the rising moon.
 
At that moment, my body, which had been feeling, in all its parts, some degree of immediacy with the huge reptile's pulsing, moving body, became suddenly detached from everything and I plummeted beneath the surface, trying desperately to tread the air. Speckles of yellow motes drifted in front of me, and beyond them elongated white mounds wrapped over each other, rolling toward me like long white floured loaves, kneaded by invisible hands … until I felt the press of one or more against my thighs; then more from behind, below the calves and up from the bottom of my feet and again I felt the dreaded intimacy as I broke through the surface.
 
The bird continued as though I had never left. So ignore those distractions and watch the last scene of the play unfolding. You had left Rhuether sitting in his chair feeling the pain of using the forbidden, wrong magic to place you in your rare predicament. The pain he feels now, though, is nothing so severe as he is about to feel. Watch, my dear Pondria.
 
I looked from Kyre down to the sad visage of Rhuether, slumped shoulders leaning in between his knees, arms wrapped around his midsection, one hand gripping his side, blood pulsing out from his palm.
 
Magic can be devastating when wrongly used.
 
Kyre stopped so suddenly I turned to him.
 
Have you thought of their name?…
 
"Their name? Whose name?"
 
The pink blossoms' name. Let me help you. They are called Clarna's Grief

"From the myth ... Clarna was Rhuether's and ... and ...." My throat refused to release Pondria's name.

Clarna is Rhuether's ... and your

 
A shriek sliced through the room coming from Rhuether's chair,  followed by, "Mama-a-a-a-a!"
 
And now the second act proceeds to its conclusion.




             TO BE CONTINUED ...
 
 


Chapter 39
Pondria Leaves the Theater

By Jay Squires

 
BOOK III
Chapter Thirty-Nine
(The first part)
 
SUMMARY OF THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER: With his men's failure to kill Pondria, Rhuether resorts to physical magic, and though its use opens the wound in his side, he has the terrible white serpent descend from the ceiling and return with Pondria wrapped in its coils. After a few bouts of near drowning, Pondria is raised to the surface where he discovers the god Kyre in the form of a bird, bobbing on the waves. Kyre enjoys viewing it all as a play, with him acting as director. Now the third act is beginning, and it appears Pondria won't be around to watch his brother being invaded by an invisible force ….

 It was obvious, not a cell of Rhuether’s body had escaped the unwanted invasion. The lower orbs of his silver irises twitched under his upper lids and the whites were stretched to their limit in a sightless gaping. His palms, one crimson from having covered his wound, now clamped over his ears, and that left the blood to pulse unabated from his side.

“Mama-a-a—I didn’t want—Oh, please don’t! It wasn’t fair-r-r-r ….” His final word dissolved into an open-mouthed gasping for air, and his entire body was wracked in a fit of vibration.

Now you must go, Pondria. I’d hoped you’d be able to see the play’s conclusion. I think you just might have enjoyed the third act. Ah, well … Au revoir!

As though I had been given the final and irrevocable cue from the play’s director, my foothold withdrew. Drawing in my last gulp of air, I slipped under and down through the fetid flesh-folds with no less a feeling of finality than did Viktor Brueen the moment his—the moment my—fingers loosed from the rope of the bridge and I began my fraction-of-a-second descent.

Then, I had chosen the manner with which I would meet death. It was a final dignity I'd allowed myself. I achieved it by attempting to execute a back one-and-a-half, with nothing to judge its success but the boulders below.

Suicide honors that final autonomy.

Now, I was given no choice. At once sucked down through the timeless, digestive chatter produced by layer upon layer of coils, I kept my focus on the only asset left me—my held breath.

As General Doctrex, during a number of those uneventful nights in my tent, I practiced holding my breath, timing it in my head, reasoning the development of increased lung capacity might come in handy, yet never imagining how.

Now, I had my answer.

Three-minutes and twenty seconds was the limit I had grown to back then, and I had learned to recognize several benchmarks along the way to achieving it. Ninety seconds into it, I felt a vague malaise, perhaps the body’s pre-warning system. At about two minutes, ten seconds, I started becoming lightheaded, and there were sparkles of light at my right and left peripheries. Now, at this moment, and in this darkness, the sparkles were a full-blown firework show, filling my entire field of vision.

I sensed I had a little over a minute before …

My descent was jerked to a stop by an abrupt constriction at some unseen center that settled its pressure just beneath my rib cage. At the same moment, the bottom fell away, and my hips and legs dangled in space. My arms hung free. I dug my fingers into the flesh that constrained me. It was surprisingly pliant.

My lips were numbing. The final benchmark of my experiment there in the tent, before my breath had exploded from my lungs.

My fingers found the softer under-flesh of the coil. The skin crawled away from my fingers, and its grip around my waist loosened. A residue of thought—more an observation—the serpent is ticklish!

Just as my lungs whooshed out.
 
At some far corner of my awareness, I found myself rolling to my side in some vast vacuum, dragging fistfuls of what could only be the serpent's flesh with me into my roll. Within darkness I opened my eyes.

What? Where?

I discovered, clutched in my hands, wads of blue blanket from the tangle that wrapped me in an untidy bundle. Where was I? I was not in my room. This was not the palace. My eyes roved only that space they could take in without moving my head. Too much had happened not to be wary. Walls fashioned of split wood, pitched to keep in the warmth. It seemed so familiar. Two walls intersected at the corner, the left wall held the heavy door, the metal latch hanging to the floor. Unlocked. Good, if I need to I can make a dash for it later. The wall to the right had a small window cut from it, and white curtains were sashed at either side by a blue cord.

Behind me,  metal clanged against metal, then stopped. Then scraped and stopped. Don't look. I released my grip on the sheet and sent my hand to my side as stealthily as I could, feeling for a dagger, then realizing at the same time its folly. The slosh, as of water in a container, followed, then its flow as it was poured out.

"Are you awake?"

I drew in a sharp breath. No! No! My heart thrummed in my throat.

"I'd have woke you earlier, but oh! you were having night terrors as you never had before!"

This couldn't be. Is it another of Kyre's cruel enactments—part of the play after all? Or did he mean I'd miss the play because I would be acting in it? I closed my eyes, refusing to turn, to acknowledge the voice—that voice—that sweet voice, the voice whose owner I'd have given my life to embrace! Wave after wave of the most profound sadness enveloped me, and then, without turning, I discovered myself overcome by spasms of sobs.

Fingers pressed into my shoulders and a warm heaviness fell across my upper body. Hot puffs of breath against my ear. "Darling … Doctrex … you're frightening me. Please."

"G-go away," I managed to free from my sobs. "Fly away."

"Go away! Look at me, Darling, please. What do you mean?"

Hands tugged at my shoulders, rolling me to my back, then the other side. I saw a face, shattered by light and wet lenses. I ran my hand across my eyes. She came into focus. "No! I can't do this. You took her away from me once, Kyre, then you teased me just today with her—her—her—with a breath of her—of someone passing me—and now this! Go, just go!"

This ghost, this … whatever it was that Kyre produced for his pleasure and my agony was manufacturing tears now. But it was Kyre, only Kyre, and he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes glazed, and tears followed the contour of his nose to his lips.

 "Don't do this to me, Darling. Was it your night terrors? That's what it was, wasn't it?" He removed a strand of hair that had trailed across his tear-dampened mouth. "Why are you say-saying this about Kyre, Doctrex? Kyre never took me from you. Why? How could he? We're here. We've been here."

I remembered the simulacrum of the jelly-bean-popping Viktor Brueen that Kyre had manufactured during my grief in finding Axtilla's cold, dead body—how real he'd made him.

I sat, and slid to the edge of the bed. "I know how you work now, Kyre. Nothing is too sacred for your damned play, is it? Turn back into your bird-self and fly away from—from wherever you brought me."

Kyre lunged toward me and threw his arms around me, his wet cheek against mine. "Please, Doctrex, I'm me, I'm your Axtilla. " He squeezed me more tightly to his body, jerking frantically with his sobs.

"You bastard! You killed the only Axtilla I'll ever, I'll ever—"

"Doctrex, look at me." Kyre pulled back from my face. "Look at me, Darling. I don't know what happened in your night terror. I should have woke you earlier—I know you're still possessed by it. But how can I be anything but what I am?" He released a sudden gurgly laugh that came from the same place as his tears." I'm not the same Axtilla. Of course I'm not. I'm not tough like I was back there." Kyre put a slim finger across my lips. "No, listen, Darling. I'm not the same because you, and our life here, made me different. But you're not the same Doctrex, either, now that you have calluses on your hands and plow-dirt under your nails. Look at us. We're both different."

Kyre ran his fingertips over the cushioned part of my palm. It was tough and ridged, not yielding to his touch. "Are these the hands of General Doctrex? Or of Pondria?"

 "I left Axtilla dead," I said, flatly.

"Dead? Dead! How could you have left me dead. Where? Left me where dead?"

"On her bed, damn you! On her bed!"

"On my bed? Oh, my darling Doctrex, the last bed I was on was your bed. I hardly think I was dead there." Kyre smiled the same taunting smile Axtilla had used, there on my palace bed.

"No, no, no, Kyre, don't play that game with me!" I tried to keep the desperate pleading from my voice; my eyes were filling again. "Don't you dare do that! After she left, I followed her back to her room, just the way you had it planned. She was there where you had either convinced her of her …" my throat let out a groan, "…of her high duty. Or more likely you forced the poison down her throat."

Kyre pulled back and seemed to be studying my face. "Now I know it was the night terrors. Don't you see, Darling? There is no way you could have followed me back to my room."

"And yet I did, Kyre," I said, emphasizing his name.

"No. No," he said with forced patience. "We escaped the palace just like I begged you to do. Has your night terrors wiped that clean from your mind? I know you struggled against going. I used every argument I could think of, but you were honorable, and you had your troops. It was only because I thought so completely that your honor had won out, that I left you in your room. But escaping was the right thing for us to do. It was. Deep inside, you knew it was the right thing, didn't you, Darling? Our right for happiness—that was even greater than your honor. When you caught up with me in the hall, oh, I was so joyous I thought my heart would burst through my gown. Love had won out!"

I stared at the one Kyre had fashioned. He hadn't quite mastered the beauty of the original. He made her only slightly flawed. He made her with crows-feet, tiny though they were, on the outsides of her eyes. Her smile lines were carved too deep, the skin of her cheeks a bit more porous, and her hair, cut now in a more rustic fashion than in the palace, he'd woven a few strands of gray in the midst of the brown.

"Can you honestly say you've regretted one moment of our life here?" Kyre challenged me. "Can you, my Doctrex?" He chuckled. "Remember how frustrated you were in the beginning, telling me you would never be as good a farmer as Klasco? But after seven years of working the soil, planting and harvesting …"

Seven! Seven years! I found myself staring past him, rubbing my calluses. I looked at my hands, the backs, the palms. My nails were chipped and dirty. I had a scab on my right index finger and one on my wrist. My work as General Doctrex had been more cerebral in nature. It hadn't been three days earlier when I'd bathed and had my nails clipped in preparation for the marriage ceremony. And the barber had given me—I reached my hand to my shaggy hair hanging over my ears—Damn! A haircut ….
 
 
Give me a moment more? I have a couple of things I'd like to cover: first, you may be aware I am publishing my Noah Winter mystery/thriller novel at the end of this month. If you're not … I am. While the doors for admittance to the Book Launch Team is closed, I do have the PDF for RSVP: Invitation to a Chumash Massacre available for free. All I ask is the courtesy of an Amazon review when you complete it. Fair enough? PM me your email address. Secondly, if you've not subscribed to the Sticky Words Newsletter, it's not too late to receive vol. 2 next week. Use this link to sign up and snag a free e-book bundle. A sweet deal!  https://mailchi.mp/706b2a53cda6/sticky-words-by-jay-squires (I'm working out some kinks on that site, so if you don't get your books, let me know. I've got pull with the big man. I'll get 'em for you. BTW, you'll have to paste the link to your browser to get it to work.)
 


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