Monday, October 30, 2006
Bean
Congratulations to Bean for winning the contest for a sketch by guessing correctly the model used for Caitlin. Bean, you earned it. Enjoy. For those that have not been to Bean's site, Notbean, please stop by for a fantabulous blogging experience.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Monday, October 16, 2006
Saturday, October 14, 2006
174. Thinking of You
"Yul, got a minute," asked Em.
"Sure, come on in. What's up?"
"Got a little something to hopefully cheer you up a bit. It's not much, and I'm sure with a little more time I could do better, but, well, here you go ."
"Oh my Janus Em. It's incredible."
Arms laced and tears let loose. And that is the story of how the first known sketch of Rog came to be.
Categories: Story, Rog, Emy, Yul, Sketches
Friday, October 13, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
172. A Rising Murmur
+Taren, I consider myself a patient lump of flesh with, perhaps, a fair amount of compassionate understanding, although I suspect Shen would take issue with my presupposition. Let it be said, however, I honor my threats.+ Laughter within anomalous cognition created a strange sensation within the receiver, an intention the voice used with skillful intent to effect disproportionate orientation. +How is our friend doing by the way?++Recusant to the last,+ responded Taren, unnerved as always in the presence of the voice, his mind tingling like a tooth ache from the telepathic waves of mirth as if ice water lapped at the very shore of his raw throbbing skull.
+Status update on the girl. Where are we?+
+Dr. X is inside her mind as we speak. First breakthrough was easier than anticipated. We should know more within the hour.+
+Good. And Calfuray? How is my dear sweet child?+
+Convalescing, although we are not sure how long she will remain in shock. The doctors seem to think her catatonic state is a mental reaction to defeat as much as any physical infliction. Prognosis is for full recovery, although her albugineous flesh, especially around the eyes, is causing some concern.+
+First time for everything Taren. Nothing lasts forever. As my father often said, better enjoy the fete now, for the suns of Tyrus rise faster than the backside of golden goblets toasted to marital bliss on a cold winter night. What he knew of that, well . . . , another subject for another urn. Have the Tearacs been released?+
+Yes.+
+Bring the slate over here. Where my violaceous darling has failed my sleek beasties will feast. Been awhile since I’ve allowed them to run free. How are our two friends progressing? I do so admire their ingenuity.+
Von stared into the oscillating beams blocking their path. “Mmm . . .”
“Care to translate that for me? asked Kyra. Before he could answer they both turned in unison to a rising murmur carried on the wind like cool air preceding a storm.
Categories: Story, The Voice, Taren, Von, Kyra
Monday, October 09, 2006
171. Vinaceous Luminance
Silent sentinels stood quartered brave upon ramparts high, their vinaceous luminance surrounded by a foe stifling and vast, an armada of darkness extending to the edge of the forest and beyond. A glance to the horizon spoke of help perhaps an hour or two immature--ally or adversary not known. Crouching outside the compound, Kyra looked at her watch and wondered what was taking Von so long.Her lungs labored in the thick night air, pregnant with aloetic dew. The pre-dawn mist, spurred and whipped by an easterly wind, turned taciturn trees into whispering eidolons. Fear aside, Kyra felt disoriented in the heavier than normal gravity. Each movement, each step took extra effort and a concentration to compensate that reminded her of the underwater training Papa had insisted she master.
From dancing shadows under solemn eyes, Von seemingly materialized, the frame of his fuligin capote parting the dimly lit mist with the fluid grace of a matador waving his capa. His stride, long and slow and steady, perhaps to gain the measure of the land, bespoke the precision of a Blue Oynx. What you believe Kyra, Papa often said, has power beyond the reality. Besides, he would add with a laugh, the two are one in the same. So believe. And so she did.
“Von, I have to say, I wasn’t sure I was going to see you again when the sky exploded with a flash of light and the ambient noise of the forest took pause. Not that I needed you of course.” Kyra caught the glimmer of Von’s smile in the foggy darkness as the rest of his face remained concealed within the recess of his hood.
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Von removing his hood, pleased to find humor in his companion. “Truth be known, I wasn’t all that sure I would be the one greeting you. You can thank your Papa, I have. Many times.”
“My Janus,” exclaimed Kyra, the blood draining from her face to match Von’s. His blood appeared maroon with a suggestion of scarlet and crimson in the scant light and congealed in the cool night air as if soft tar. Had he run his face through a hundred thorn bushes or been involved in the fight of his life mattered not, his face was laced with cuts skilled as the handiwork of a small town carnifax. “We aren’t going anywhere until you let me examine your cuts. These need immediate attention.” She broke eye contact and reached for the med tin in her kit.
“Kyra,” said Von in a tone so sonorous and resonant she paused. “I am not at all certain that whatever attacked me is dead nor am I certain there are not more like it on the way, which in any case, the masters of such a beast must surely know by now the unfortunate outcome, and released whatever reserve force they had at hand. Be our foe but one or many matters not. I have not the strength for another round with one so fierce and skillful.”
“And your point?
Von laughed. “Discretion is —“
“The lexis of academics writing about generals. Since neither you nor I fit either description, I’d say reserve your strength and let me clean those cuts before infection sets in. Janus knows what inhabits this place.” Von started to frown. “I’d rather you die at the hands of the enemy than in the bed of infection. I’ve been down that road and we ain’t taking it again. Do you understand?”
“Make it quick then. I have seen the puniceous eyes of death. I’d prefer not to see them again.”
“Hey, roll your eyes just a little more and your face won’t be the only thing I’ll have to set right.”
Von laughed. “Damn, that hurts.”
“What? I’ve haven’t even touched you.”
“Touch all you want. Just don’t make me laugh again.”
Categories: Story, Kyra, Von, Papa
Sunday, October 08, 2006
170. Playground of Angels
Warm water flowed at the behest of gravity, absolving body and soul alike in the silent vestibule of reprieve. Question not my son your good fortune, his dad would say, but fall on bended knee and give thanks, for that which is given by the hand of grace can be taken just as quickly by the foot of hubris. She had taken the news just as he had imagined and he had wondered upon the day angels conspired to touch the heart of one such as his beloved Caitlin.Prepare yourself, she had said, for a night filled with the love of many moons distilled into mere hours. I love you dearly my captain, and if you don’t know the depth and breadth of my well, I intend to remove all doubt before Rubion and Triste turn the melanic sky blue as watered milk. With a crystal reflected wink and a firm blessing to his hide, she had sent him to clean up while she prepared their sanctuary of repose.
As he stood under the cascading shower, his feet firmly planted on the imported nankeen tile, rising steam cleansed each pore with a diligence to match the occasion. One night, he reflected, to stock the granary of his mind for the long voyage ahead. Lose yourself in the moment; swim with the current for the shore of tomorrow’s siren call will steal your appointment with life given half a chance.
Caitlin lit the last of a hundred candles moving quickly to place the cardinal flowers of passion beside the purpure ones of fidelity. She had picked them from her garden in the morning to grace dinner, but as a sailor sets sail on a changing wind, such had events shifted their tack. Each flower released a slightly different aroma, which symbiotically trumped the finest handmade oils. Memory, her mother had taught, is strongest in the regions of smell—a lesson not forgotten and more invaluable than she had ever imagined at the time. She knew her competition and she would fight memory with memory in the mind of her peripatetic husband.
Slipping on her silk crimson kimono with luteous trim, Caitlin’s trembling hands slowly and gently fastened the sash as lovers fasten bows for the purpose of release; she smiled, reflecting that the same fate awaited the fresh linens so carefully tucked only hours before. Her hair was naturally primrose, which she highlighted with essence of goldenrod giving forth a metallic sheen that looked charged with sparkle in the soft light of distant stars. Red eye shadow stood in marked contrast on her pristine porcelain white skin, framing sapphire blue eyes as lush meadows bow at the feet of mountain lakes fed from the sacrifice of spring snows.
John emerged into the orchestrated symphony of light and aroma with eyes only for the maestro standing center stage. They say souls know not neither time nor distance in the weaving of two into one and in this instance, neither the hounds of hell nor the angels of heaven could have pierced the space between his eyes and hers. The room seemed to expand and contract with the sighs of its keep as a mother might with the happiness of an only child. John would say many years later there was only one date ever left blank in his journal, for the unfolding of events in those hours of union rose to a level beyond the language of men and into the realm of kindred spirits given entry to the playground of angels.
Categories: Story, John Discovery, Caitlin
Friday, October 06, 2006
169. Living Lantern
Zeke lifted his glass in a single fluid motion throwing back the last bit of amber snoot like an old sea captain bailing out his sinking vessel, resigned to going down with his ship. Not one to drink much, a few shots would have normally gone straight to his head, especially since sustenance had neither been wanted nor welcomed. Not tonight. The events of the day and the events to come wrapped his mind in a protective coat of impenetrable soberness as if the darkness of reality filtered the alcohol from his bloodstream before it could work its magic of deception and illusion.Looking out the cove window, Zeke caught sight of a rare three moonrise as a bitter smile marked the memories of better times and he wondered if even the heavens were mocking him now; putting him in his place as if to say, look now little one. The wind whipped and swirled and he could see the white caps in the cove jostling with the shore like school boys shoving and pushing in line. What was would remain but a memory for the morrow and the fortnight and beyond heralded a page not written even in the imaginations of the great Hynerians of letters.
The night air felt heavy with anticipation of rain and hail and the trees outside the estate swayed and bowed in their own melancholy language as if to say we too are innocent of the crime, yet condemned nonetheless. Zeke took a deep breath of the humid heavy air, his short grey hair looking all the shorter in the brisk coil. His white tunic flapped to its own complaint revealing a musculature of one many years inferior and he felt his eyes, so full of liquid protest just a few minutes before, ache in dryness, their essence stolen by a remorseless gale.
Looking to his left, the sway of a single lantern caught his eye and against brute force his ducts succeeded as mother memory squeezed a drop of juice the child could not manage. Although it had been more than a decade, it seemed just yesterday that he had taught Kyra the art of constructing a living lantern. They had gone out night after night in search of the sea-amines, walking up and down the wet beach, hoping that this would be the night the sea would give up its most rare treasure. Sea-amines were native to the area around the cove, glowed, when in harmony or some would say love, with a porphyrous iridescence, and if properly cared for, could be domesticated. When housed inside a living lantern, their magenta radiance illuminated the porch with a slightly pulsing light.
Soon, thought Zeke, what nature had given, she would reclaim. Yet, still, on one small vessel, somewhere beyond the sable turbulence, a heart beat strong and that heart carried the hope and promise of life beyond this catastrophe. Holding the lantern in his hands, as if to calm the life within such as to calm the life without, Zeke closed his eyes and gently kissed the slightly warm shade. As our fates are destined to cleave not, so our spirit lives on beyond the touch of local disturbance. Kyra, wherever you are, we love you. May Janus be with you my dear child.
Categories: Story, Zeke, Kyra, Hyneria
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