Launch day! IWSG Voyagers Anthology

The long-anticipated IWSG Anthology is here! Voyagers: The Third Ghost releases today, including my story "A World of Trouble."

Voyagers: The Third Ghost
An Insecure Writer’s Support Group Anthology

Journey into the past…

• Will the third ghost be found before fires take more lives?
•  Can everyone be warned before Pompeii is buried again?
• What happens if a blizzard traps a family in East Germany?
• Will the Firebird help Soviet sisters outwit evil during WWII? 
• And sneaking off to see their first aeroplane – what could go wrong?
  

Ten authors explore the past, sending their young protagonists on harrowing adventures. Featuring the talents of Yvonne Ventresca, Katharina Gerlach, Roland Clarke, Sherry Ellis, Rebecca M. Douglass, Bish Denham, Charles Kowalski, Louise MacBeath Barbour, Beth Anderson Schuck, and L.T. Ward.

Hand-picked by a panel of agents, authors, and editors, these ten tales will take readers on a voyage of wonder into history. Get ready for an exciting ride!
Release date – May 5, 2020
$13.95, 6x9 trade paperback, 168 pages
Print ISBN 9781939844729 / EBook ISBN 9781939844736
Juvenile fiction – historical/action & adventure/fantasy & magic
https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/ 
Links:Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/dp/193984472X/
Barnes & Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/voyagers-yvonne-ventresca/1135912991?ean=2940163430857
ITunes - https://books.apple.com/ca/book/voyagers-the-third-ghost/id1493413956
Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/voyagers-the-third-ghost
Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50364415-voyagers

###

In other news: The Smashwords Authors Give Back sale is still going on, and I've changed up my sale items. The 3rd books in the series are now 60% off. That's Death By Adverb (Pismawallops PTA #3) and The Problem With Peggy (Ninja Librarian #3) at 60% off. And my novella, The Christmas Question (PPTA #4.5), is free! Last week's specials (book #2 in each series) are still on sale as well, at 30% off.

Flashback Friday: Enchanted Blasted Forest

 Flashback Friday is a monthly meme that takes place on the last Friday of the month.
The idea is to give a little more love to a post you’ve published on your blog before.  Maybe you just love it, maybe it’s appropriate for now, or maybe it just didn’t get the attention it deserved when you first published it.

Thanks to Michael d’Agostino, who started it all, there is a solution – join Flashback Friday! And thanks to Jemima Pett, who has kept it going--visit her blog to add your name to the list!

Just join in whenever you like, repost one of your own blog posts, including any copyright notices on text or media, on the last Friday of the month.

****

I dug into the archives in search of something appropriate to the season and found this story. Not exactly a Halloween story, but there are monsters enough to satisfy, I hope. This one appears to have clocked in at exactly 1000 words, and I said this about it when I first published it in May of 2016:
Chuck Wendig gave us a new challenge this week: a series utterances from his preschooler, to be used somewhere in a story. As one might expect from Chuck's progeny, they were... interesting. I selected "there's a 3-headed flying werewolf in that tree," and the rest of the Enchanted Forest came into being.

The Enchanted Blasted Forest

The Enchanted Forest is a punishment post, but never mind what we did to get sent there. They have to man the post, and soldiers don’t last long there, so you don’t have to do much to end up there. About half of those sent never even arrive.

There were six of us, and when the road entered the blasted Forest we divided up the watch. Tomo watched left, Martin right, Jock ahead, Kora behind, Shea overhead, and I was back-up to them all, scanning every direction as thoroughly as I could.

The monsters weren’t bold. If Shea called out “harpy overhead!” we’d all raise our spears and the monster would sheer off. Or Tomo would yell, “there’s a 3-headed flying werewolf in that tree!” and we’d aim our bows that way and the thing would fly away.

We only had to fire once, when a flying monkey swooped in low and tried to grab Kora. She’s not very big, but tough as nails. Martin and I both loosed arrows, but they stuck in a dead monkey. Kora had already beheaded it. She’s fast with her sword.

We were still several hours distant from the outpost when we began to wonder something. In short, we started to ask ourselves if everyone who vanished on the way to Fort End had been carried off by monsters. Maybe there was a way to get out of a long hitch in the army. Joining up had seemed like a good idea when I first went in, but it didn’t take long to knock the stars from my eyes, and if a single night out on the town could get you in this much trouble, I wanted out.

There was a guard hut halfway, and we holed up there to enjoy our lunch without having to swat away monsters. That’s when Martin asked, “Why are we here, anyway?”

“We got taken up for drunk and disorderly on our last leave.” Dumb question.

“Yeah, but…”

“Martin’s right.” I looked at each of them. “We acted like soldiers on leave and for that they sent us where only half the troops survive to even reach the post? But maybe we don’t have to get hauled off by harpies to disappear.”

“Yeah,” Jock said. “We can get eaten by 3-headed werewolves instead.”

“Or,” I said, looking from one to another, “we can appear to have been eaten by 3-headed werewolves.”

Jock was the last to get it.  “You’re saying we could run off,” he said after we all looked at him for several minutes. “Desert.” We all turned that word over in our minds as he went on. “You know what they do to deserters.”

We knew. It was a great deal faster and more sure than a posting in the Enchanted blasted Forest, but they said it was painless, which this posting wasn’t likely to be.

We finished our lunch in silence, but when we left the hut, we took the wrong turning.

“That’s our story if anyone catches us up,” I said. “Just a bit of trouble navigating.” We were still nervous at the thought of being caught by a patrol, which was the wrong worry.

Our nerves lasted until the first harpy attack. After that we were too busy to worry about the army. It seemed the creatures of the forest were a lot less bashful about attacking travelers who strayed from the military road. I began to wonder how many of the disappeared had started as deserters, and ended as dead as they’d pretended to be.

It was farther to the edge of the forest this way than the way we’d come in, so we’d have to hurry. Trouble was, we were under such constant attack that we couldn’t hurry. By an hour or two after lunch, it was plain to all of us—even Jock—that we weren’t going to make the edge of the Forest before night.

“Now what?” Shea asked.  She would. Always expecting someone else to fix her problems, that one. We couldn’t take care of that right then. We were a team and we’d only make it if we stuck together.

“We find a place to hole up,” I said, just as Kora said, “We fight on through the night until we get out.”

Martin protested. “I heard there’s things out at night here that you really don’t want to me. Things that make harpies look like pet kittens.”

We thought about that. It might be lies told to keep soldiers from deserting the fort.

It might all be true.

We had no choice but to find out. There was no safe place to hole up for the night. No more huts, and any natural hole would surely be inhabited by orcs or dragons or ten-headed hydras.

It was nearly dark before we knew the extent of our folly.

“Keep fighting, move as fast as we can, and stick together.” It wasn’t a good plan, but it was the only thing we could do, and we all knew it, so I got no argument. We were too busy.

By dark every one of us was bleeding somewhere, and the attacks picked up. I put our chances of survival at less than 50%. Meaning I didn’t expect more than three of us to live, and I’d already picked out which three.

One of the flying werewolves got Shea before midnight. There was nothing we could do. We kept moving, and enjoyed the respite the feasting gave us.

The forest started thinning about the second hour after midnight, and I thought the rest of us might make it.

The harpies had other ideas. They attacked in force, with the flying monkeys darting between them wherever our guard was incomplete.

Martin went down under the assault, but he wasn’t enough. We broke into a full run, speed more important than battle.

We’d none of us have made it if I hadn’t tripped Tomo.

###

©Rebecca M. Douglass 2016

Flashback Friday: Dragonmistress

 Flashback Friday is a monthly meme that takes place on the last Friday of the month.
The idea is to give a little more love to a post you’ve published on your blog before.  Maybe you just love it, maybe it’s appropriate for now, or maybe it just didn’t get the attention it deserved when you first published it.

Thanks to Michael d’Agostino, who started it all, there is a solution – join Flashback Friday! And thanks to Jemima Pett, who has kept it going--visit her blog to add your name to the list!

Just join in whenever you like, repost one of your own blog posts, including any copyright notices on text or media, on the last Friday of the month.

**
I dug into the archives and found this story from 2014. It started with a Chuck Wendig challenge, apparently (according to my notes) a given first line. It suggests a world to me that might be fun to enter more deeply.

Dragonmistress

She rode in on a dragon; or more accurately, clutched in its front claw.  It wasn’t exactly the entrance she’d planned, but it had turned out to be impossible to ride astride the dragon as Korrina believed the riders of old had done.  She achieved most of the desired effect anyway: the populace gaped in awe and wonder.

Of course, they could barely see beyond Skyborne, the dragon, and when they did spot the woman in the grip of the beast, many probably thought that Korrina was not Dragonmistress, but dragon dinner. 

Dragons were big.  Far bigger than any remembered or imagined.  So much dragon lore had been lost in the centuries since the last Dragonmistress rode a dragon through the skies over their village.  No one even knew what made a woman become a Dragonmistress—Korrina only knew that, from birth, she had been pulled to the land of the dragons, and at last she had gone.

Now she had returned, in the grip of an immense dragon.  It wasn’t just the size that had prevented mounting it, however.  The neck ridge was impossibly sharp, and spiked.  Skyborne had not known, any more than Korrina, how the Riders of old had done it.  They had tried no end of ideas, with no end of unhelpful suggestions from the younger dragons—there were none older—but ended up with Skyborne picking Korrina up in her huge claw and flying her back to the village.

It wasn’t ideal, but Korrina told herself that didn’t matter.  She was, at least, alive, and had succeeded in partnering a dragon, just the way the old songs told it.  Though the old songs made the creatures seem more war-like and less . . . prickly.  The songs had definitely said nothing about prickles.

For all that, here she came with a dragon to save the village.  It would have been easier had the villagers not screamed and fled as they approached.  Skyborne circled the village lazily a time or two before landing in the square.  People scattered in all directions as they came down, and did not approach even when Korrina hopped down from the claw and shook out her tunic, which had become a bit rumpled on the flight.

“You stay here,” she instructed the dragon unnecessarily.  There was no place for her to go.  “I’m going to gather the leaders and make a plan.”

She was also going to send old Tomin into the oldest archives in search of the answer to how a Dragonmistress properly rode a dragon, and what kind of saddle she used.

Skyborne lowered her huge head and licked Korrina’s face.  “Stop that!” the girl sputtered, half drowned.  A dragon had a big tongue.  A very big, very wet, tongue.

But I love you, Skyborne protested.  It is how a dragon shows love.

“We’ll have to work on that,” Korrina said.  “I could have drowned.”  But her mind had moved on, thinking about what they had seen from the air.  What was drawing ever nearer over the hills to the south.  The barbarian army.

If she and Skyborne did not find a way to defeat them, the village was doomed.  And a dragon might not be enough.  To Korrina’s surprise, she’d learned that dragons, beyond claws and teeth meant for hunting deer and sheep, were short on weaponry.  Especially, she had found the whole fire-breathing thing to be a myth.  The gods knew how that had begun, but it was a pity it wasn’t true.  They could have used some fire-breathing.

But one thing Skyborne had given to Korrina: the respect of the Elders.  They listened to her warning, and they listened to her plan.  She gave them no chance to do anything else.  Then she held her breath.

“We must do what?” protested the Headman, a supercilious man with too much nose.  “Will you not lead a flock of dragons to burn our enemies out of existence?”

“No.  I will not.”  Korrina didn’t explain that there were no other dragons old enough to come, or that none would come without riders.  Nor did she say that they didn’t breathe fire in any case.  She just said, “We’ll do it this way or not at all.  If you don’t want my help, and that of Skyborne, we can leave.”  That got their attention, and within an hour every able-bodied man or woman was at work, digging pits across the neck of open land that led to the village.

Korrina had Skyborne take her up again to view the situation, though old Tomin hadn’t yet found out how the Dragonmistresses of old had ridden.  The claw was not uncomfortable, though it put her too far from the dragon’s ear to make for easy conversation.  That is, Skyborne could not hear her, unless she shouted.  She heard the dragon inside her own head, no matter where they were.

By the end of the second day, the pits were dug, spiked, and covered.  And Tomin had found an ancient drawing of a rider perched high on the neck of a dragon.  It didn’t show exactly what the saddle was like, but Korrina knew it must be well-padded and thick, to conform to and smooth out the spikes.  She set the women to work making one.

By the fourth evening, the barbarians spread their camp across the open land before them, and the light of a hundred fires made the hills glow.  The villagers blessed the cliffs that surrounded them on three sides, but worried as fire after fire sprang to life.

Korrina refused to fly out with Skyborne that night to survey the camps.  They would do what they must, she said, when the time came.  Also, when she had a saddle, though she didn’t mention that.  It was nearly ready.

The village would be saved.

The Dragonmistress would see to that. Of course she would.

***

 ©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2018

 As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated.

Middle Grade Monday: The Tail of Emily Windsnap

 

Title: The Tail of Emily Windsnap
Author: Liz Kessler
Publisher: Candlewick Press, 2003. 211 pages.
Source: Library

Publisher's Blurb:

For as long as she can remember, twelve-year-old Emily Windsnap has lived on a boat. And, oddly enough, for just as long, her mother has seemed anxious to keep Emily away from the water. But when Mom finally agrees to let her take swimming lessons, Emily makes a startling discovery — about her own identity, the mysterious father she’s never met, and the thrilling possibilities and perils shimmering deep below the water’s surface. With a sure sense of suspense and richly imaginative details, first-time author Liz Kessler lures us into a glorious undersea world where mermaids study shipwrecks at school and Neptune rules with an iron trident — an enchanting fantasy about family secrets, loyal friendship, and the convention-defying power of love.  


My Review:

I just learned from the blurb that this was Liz Kessler's first book. I have reviewed North of Nowhere and Has Anyone Seen Jessica Jenkins?, both of which I enjoyed. I can see that she started right off with her love of blending the real and the almost-real, or magical elements. I think I can also see that she honed her skills with the Emily Windsnap books, and I think it shows in a higher quality in the later books.

Not that this was bad. Kessler did a nice job of capturing Emily's panic over the change that happens when she gets in the water, as well as the joy that she is able to experience. Some other elements of the story, including Neptune and his court, I found a bit over the top. I got the feeling, as well, that the author periodically forgot that the merfolk world is under water, and some elements she describes just wouldn't work (including the conversations. Ever try to talk under water?).

I read the book because the second in the series was one of our summer reads for the GMGR Goodreads group, but I wasn't excited enough to bother with that second book. This one just didn't cut it for the adult audience, though I think it might hit the target audience quite well. 

My Recommendation:
This would be a good read (beach read?) for the 8-11 set, I think. It's going to appeal primarily to girls, though in fact it's a good adventure story.

FTC Disclosure: I checked The Tail of Emily Windsnap out of my library, and received nothing from the writer or publisher for my honest review. The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."  

Middle Grade Fantasy: Granted, by John David Anderson

Title: Granted

Author: John David Anderson
Publisher: Walden Pond Press, 2018. 325 pages (hardback).
Source: Library

Publisher's Blurb:Everyone who wishes upon a star, or a candle, or a penny thrown into a fountain knows that you’re not allowed to tell anyone what you’ve wished for. But even so, there is someone out there who hears it.

In a magical land called the Haven lives a young fairy named Ophelia Delphinium Fidgets. Ophelia is no ordinary fairy—she is a Granter: one of the select fairies whose job it is to venture out into the world and grant the wishes of unsuspecting humans every day.

It’s the work of the Granters that generates the magic that allows the fairies to do what they do, and to keep the Haven hidden and safe. But with worldwide magic levels at an all-time low, this is not as easy as it sounds. On a typical day, only a small fraction of the millions of potential wishes gets granted.

Today, however, is anything but typical. Because today, Ophelia is going to get her very first wish-granting assignment.

And she’s about to discover that figuring out how to truly give someone what they want takes much more than a handful of fairy dust. 

My Review:  
This book has a lovely cover, and a story to match. Honestly, I'd have read it just for the pleasure of having a character named Ophelia Delphinium Fidgets. But the story is well worth it on it's own.

A co-worker recommended this to me in part because it reminded her of my own book, Halitor the Hero. Not the same story at all, but the books share a sort of gentle ironic humor, and a hero(ine) who tries perhaps too hard and keeps failing until the mission is accomplished. I loved the story, and felt that the tone was just right--a little funny, a little whimsical, and a whole lot adventurous.

My Recommendation:
This is a book that will probably delight readers from 7 or 8 on up. The writing is pretty accessible without being simplified, and the story is gentle enough for younger children to read and enjoy. And maybe we can all reclaim a little bit of magic!


FTC Disclosure: I checked Granted out of my library, and received nothing from the writer or publisher for my honest review. The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising." 

YA Review: Tempests and Slaughter by Tamora Pierce

Title: Tempests and Slaughter
Author: Tamora Pierce
Publisher: Random House Books for Young Readers, 2018. 464 pages.  Audio: Listening Library, 2018. Read by Ariadne Meyers.
Source: Library.

Publisher's Summary: 
Arram. Varice. Ozorne. In the first book in the Numair Chronicles, three student mages are bound by fate . . . fated for trouble.

Arram Draper is a boy on the path to becoming one of the realm’s most powerful mages. The youngest student in his class at the Imperial University of Carthak, he has a Gift with unlimited potential for greatness–and for attracting danger. At his side are his two best friends: Varice, a clever girl with an often-overlooked talent, and Ozorne, the “leftover prince” with secret ambitions. Together, these three friends forge a bond that will one day shape kingdoms. And as Ozorne gets closer to the throne and Varice gets closer to Arram’s heart, Arram begins to realize that one day soon he will have to decide where his loyalties truly lie.

In the Numair Chronicles, readers will be rewarded with the never-before-told story of how Numair Salmalín came to Tortall. Newcomers will discover an unforgettable fantasy adventure where a kingdom’s future rests on the shoulders of a talented young man with a knack for making vicious enemies. 


My Review: 
Let's just get this out of the way at once: we've waited long enough for this book! I hope that's because Tamora Pierce has the whole series on the way, and we won't wait another 5 years for the next book, because this is very much the opening shot of a series, and essentially nothing is resolved at the end. In my opinion, it's all there to set up the real conflict which must start soon, and which the reader versed in the world of Tortall knows is coming.

So, knowing that this is the opening salvo and not a complete story, how is it? In short, absorbing. I'm not sure I could even say for sure why, but it's fascinating to see the instruction of a young mage, as well as to see how Tamora Pierce creates  the young versions of characters we already know in their adult forms. Her writing, as always, propels the reader forward, and enough happens along the way to keep you reading and to make you feel that it's a book. Still, I think this would be a poor place to start with the world of Tortall, due to the unfinished feeling it gave me. Or maybe that's just knowing what's ahead? I don't think so, because that blurb above goes beyond where this volume takes us.

On another note, I was so anxious to get this that I place library holds on both the hardback and the audio book. I got the latter first, and began greedily listening, but when the hardback came in I switched (and skimmed back through the part I'd listened to). It's a complex enough story that I liked reading better than listening, though the audio was very good.

My Recommendation:
If you are a fan of Pierce's, you've been waiting ages for this book--for any new novel. So jump in and go for it, unless you have the inhuman patience to wait for the next book so you can have the whole story at once! If you are new to Tortall, than I'd suggest starting where the author did, with the Alanna books.

Final note: Pierce's books waffle on the edge between juvvy and YA. There's nothing about this that rules out readers of, say, 11 and up. But there's enough violence and enough of maturing young people to make me feel it's more appropriate for those over 13.

FTC Disclosure: I checked Tempests and Slaughter out of my library, and received nothing from the writer or publisher for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."  

Middle Grade Review: Xander and the Lost Island of Monsters

 

Below is the cover on the edition I read. Wonder why they made those small changes, but in any case, I prefer the first one. It's hard to see any of the details on the book I got from the library. It's a nice illustration of how small changes can improve a cover.

Title: Xander and the Lost Island of Monsters (Momotaro series #1)
Author: Margaret Dilloway. Illustrations by Choong Yoon
Publisher: Disney/Hyperion, 2016. 309 pages
Source: Library

Publisher's Summary: 
Xander Miyamoto would rather do almost anything than listen to his sixth grade teacher, Mr. Stedman, drone on about weather disasters happening around the globe. If Xander could do stuff he's good at instead, like draw comics and create computer programs, and if Lovey would stop harassing him for being half Asian, he might not be counting the minutes until the dismissal bell.

When spring break begins at last, Xander plans to spend it playing computer games with his best friend, Peyton. Xander's father briefly distracts him with a comic book about some samurai warrior that pops out of a peach pit. Xander tosses it aside, but Peyton finds it more interesting.

Little does either boy know that the comic is a warning. They are about to be thrust into the biggest adventure of their lives-a journey wilder than any Xander has ever imagined, full of weird monsters even worse than Lovey. To win at this deadly serious game they will have to rely on their wits, courage, faith, and especially, each other. Maybe Xander should have listened to Mr Stedman about the weather after all. . . . 

My Review:  
 This one gets a mixed review. It wasn't bad, but especially in the early stages, I found myself wandering away from it to read some non-fiction I was plowing through. That's not usually a good sign for an exciting work of fiction. So I did some thinking about what the problem was.

I've mentioned before that I'm not super keen on books where ordinary kids find out they are some super-hero in another world, or in an unseen part of this world. Thanks to someone from the Great Middle Grade Reads group for pointing out that this is the Percy Jackson formula, and that this book suffers a bit from feeling like a PJ-wannabe, because that is the problem. Not only is it overused, but the result is a fairly predictable story line (even the use of 3 kids to make up our hero team seems to be pretty standard), and Xander is even the conventional unheroic hero who doesn't know what powers he could have because he's just so average.

On the other hand... once I hit the tipping point, I had no trouble sticking with the book and finishing it, and I found some aspects of it commendable, and some were better than PJ. Really big in that area was the pacing. I recently read the 2nd Percy Jackson (The Sea of Monsters) and found that it felt like nothing but a race from one crisis to the next, with little character development or plot subtlety. In this book, there was a little slower pace and the characters have some depth, including relationships that change and develop.

I appreciated that the author chose to use a non-Western mythology (I haven't checked to see if she made it up or borrowed it). I also thought she handled the parent question really well. I've had discussions before about the need to get parents out of the way in order to let the kids have their adventure. In this case, the adventure is to rescue the parent, and I thought she handled it well when Xander's father is finally found, and of course wants to take over and keep Xander safe--but he can't, and they both have to deal with that. (Come to think of it, that part is not unlike what happens in A Wrinkle in Time). It rang true, in any case.

My Recommendation:
This was something I probably wouldn't have read if it weren't our GMGR book of the month (and fills the X spot on my reading challenges). But it's a pretty good read, and I'd recommend it for kids who like adventure. Anyone who liked Percy Jackson will probably like this, though I think this is aimed at a slightly younger audience than he is--the peril feels a little less scary and there is definitely less gore.


FTC Disclosure: I checked Xander and the Lost Island of Monsters out of my library, and received nothing from the writer or publisher for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."  

Friday Flash: Thieves of Soveriegnty

A quick job of producing a story more or less to the theme Chuck proposed two weeks ago ("the danger of undeserved power," and I can't imagine what made him think of that). I had trouble getting inspired (which is why I didn't write the story last week, when it was due), but I managed to come up with something that I devoutly hope is not prophetic. I'm not wild about it, but I did manage to write it.

Thieves of Sovereignty

The faces on those gathered around the king’s bed were grim. The ruler of the small nation was young and he should have shrugged off his illness. But he didn’t. He had grown more and more ill, until now there was nothing to be done but keep a death watch.

Among the grim faces in the death chamber were some whose grief was a false mask. These were the men and women who had managed to make themselves favorites of the prince, a boy of only ten years, and more spoiled than boded well for the nation. His pet courtiers made sure he remained that way, showering him with gifts and flattering him at every turn.

When the king died, the boy would be king, but utterly unfit to rule. He would have a council of regents, of course, but the hidden smiles told the tale of who would sit on the council, and who would rule.

In the small hours of the night, the inevitable happened. The king breathed his last, and a sob broke from more than one throat, either from grief at the personal loss of husband, father, and friend, or from fear of what would become of the kingdom in the hands of Prince—now King—Lewan.

The senior noble present, Duke Merrin, laid the king’s hand gently on his breast and closed the unseeing eyes. Turning, he laid a hand on the shoulder of the half-sleeping Lewan, and said, “The king is dead. Long live the king!”

The courtiers echoed the wish, and Lewan began to cry.

*
In the weeks that followed, the fears of Merrin and the others proved well-founded. Lewan showed little interest in learning the job he now faced, and he listened only to a few of his favorites, none of whom Merrin trusted. The Council was too heavily weighted toward those who preferred to keep the boy weak and ignorant.

A meeting took place in a very private room indeed, where Merrin and the few nobles he trusted could be confident they would not be overheard.

“Arlan and Roscina seem to be the only people to whom Lewan will listen now,” the queen whispered. “He openly defies me when I attempt to make him do what he must. He seldom sits through and entire Council meeting, and he neglects his studies. He says that as King he doesn’t have to do any of that himself.”

Merrin looked at Queen Kaia with pity. She was reaping a bitter harvest for the over-indulgence that had, after all, been not so very different from that shown to most wealthy children. Only Kaia, too often ill to oversee her son’s upbringing closely, had not known to just what extent his love and loyalty had been stolen by the courtiers who had provided him with the toys, ponies, and sweets he wanted in excess.

“Arlan and Roscina are but two members of the Regency Council,” Merrin pointed out. “They cannot rule.”

“Not now,” she whispered. “But what of the future? And what of the others who have come to their side, knowing who will be in favor in four years?”

Lewan would rule in his own right from the age of 14, a thought which made his tender years seem too close to adulthood for comfort, when Merrin thought about the manner in which the young king was being corrupted.

“There are but we five on the Council who hold true loyalty to the king and the nation.” Ewin, the younger brother of the dead king, and uncle to the current ruler, knew the danger to the kingdom better than any. “If we cannot do something, I have little faith in our surviving to see Lewan crowned in his own right.”

*
Ewin’s words proved prophetic. One of the loyal nobles was thrown from his horse and killed. An accident, of course, but no one was fooled. When rumors began to circulate that Ewin plotted to take the throne himself—a solution that in fact the secret group had considered, and he himself rejected—he was forced to flee the country, escaping from the castle minutes ahead of the King’s Guard. Another of the nobles vanished without a trace, possibly choosing exile over death.

Merrin hung on to his place on the Council, as did Kaia, but their voices were drowned in those of the many nobles who echoed whatever Arlan and Roscina proposed, including suggesting with increasing frequency that Lewan need not suffer through the long meetings.

Kaia fought to make him better than he was. “Lewan! You are king. Your duty is with your kingdom, and you cannot leave the rule of your people to others.”

“But I can’t really rule until I’m 14, Mama. I’d rather go riding now, and this meeting is boring.”

Merrin took a risk. “If you do not pay attention now, young man, and listen and learn and make what decisions you may, you will not be fit to rule in three more years.”

Lewan grew angry. Arlan and Roscina egged him on. In the end, to save his life, Merrin resigned from the Council.

*
In the second year of the Regency of King Lewan, the Duchy to the north took advantage of the weakened state of the kingdom. The last of Lewan’s loyal nobles were killed in the battle.

Some said that Arlan and Roscina had led the invading army. No one by then, however, dared to remember that they had come from the borderlands, and no one questioned why or how they continued to hold authority in the kingdom, let alone how it was that they alone of the Council survived the fighting.

They had had stolen their power inch by inch, and now it was all theirs, and the people would bow to their will.


Lewan and his mother fled in the night, though she had to drug him to make him come. The young king still believed that his favorite courtiers were his friends.

It might not matter, Kaia thought as she rode for the far border, her unconscious son draped over her saddle. But it might. It might be worth the effort to keep herself and her son alive. Maybe someday she would see her errors corrected, and the kingdom restored. But not until Lewan had learned what it was to work for his living. The thought gave her a certain pleasure.

***

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2018
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

S is for Simon Sharp #AtoZChallenge

S is for Simon Sharp, of The Camelot Kids by Ben Zackheim

In a nutshell: Simon is a stubborn, independent, resourceful kid -- mostly because his luck runs the gamut. His best days can end up as his worst days. And his closest friends can be his greatest enemies.

His biggest secret is that he's the reincarnation of a Knight of the Round Table.

Favorite line: "How many more surprises does Merlin plan to pull out of his beard?"

I reviewed this one recently, and found it a highly enjoyable read.

 

 Learn more about Ben and his books on his web page.

#AtoZChallenge #HisFor ...Halitor the Hero

 

H is for Halitor the Hero

In a Nutshell: Halitor is a hero-in-training who has a terrible tendency to be klutzy.
Biggest Secret: He is scared to death of girls, known to him as Fair Maidens. They make him especially clumsy.
Favorite line: "The Hero's Guide to Battles, Rescues, and the Slaying of Monsters say so." Doesn't matter what's going on, Halitor expects it to match the instructions in his textbook.

A Fair Maiden who breaks all the rules. A Hero who fails everything by the book. It'll be the adventure of a lifetime...if they live past breakfast!

Publisher's Blurb: Halitor has failed at every apprenticeship under the Ice Castle. He figures it’s his last chance when his parents foist him on Bovrell the Bold as an apprentice Hero, and he pores eagerly over the Hero’s Guide to Battles, Rescues and the Slaying of Monsters. But Halitor infuriates his master when he drops his sword and gets rattled around Fair Maidens. When his master abandons him at an inn in Loria, Halitor is ready to give up and just be a kitchen boy. But Melly, the young kitchen wench, has other ideas. She wants to go find her father, and soon the two are battling monsters and worse on a wild journey to her home. Before they are done, Halitor has learned more than just how to be a Hero. 

Kindle
Paperback at Amazon
Smashwords
Barnes and  Noble--Paper and Nook
iBooks
Kobo Store
Paperbacks also in the Createspace Store

Following the suggestion of fellow blogger and amazing author Jemima Pett, I'm doing a very simple A to Z with characters from my writing and the books of my author friends! I'm just posting a brief profile, sometimes a quote, and the book cover with links. Though you may also see some of my typical reviews (when I feature other peoples’ books) and the usual Friday Flash Fiction.

Middle Grade Review: The Camelot Kids, Book One

Title: The Camelot Kids, Book One
Author: Ben Zackheim
Publisher: Ben Zackheim, 2014. 503 pages
Source: I won a paperback copy in a giveaway.


Publisher's Summary:
Here it is! The complete collection of The Camelot Kids Parts 1-4, with new illustrations and extra story.

The Camelot Kids is a series that tells the story of Simon Sharp, a 14-year-old orphan. Simon isn’t a normal teenager. He’s a kid on a mission. He's determined to find a place to belong.

If you ask him how his parents died, he'll tell you King Arthur killed them. They died looking for proof that Camelot is real.

An estranged uncle flies Simon to Scotland for room and board. The fourteen year old soon discovers someone wants him dead. But who cares about some outcast teenager from America?

When a grumpy, 3276 year old Merlin shows up to protect him, Simon finds that the answer is an epic adventure away.

Packed with surprises, The Camelot Kids is a fresh take on the beloved myth.

My Review:
First things first: I "met" the author through Goodreads, and have shared space with him in the Bookelves Anthology projects. I have also reviewed and totally loved his Shirley Link mysteries for middle-grade readers. That said, I was honestly thrilled to win the giveaway, and my review reflects my honest opinion.

I also want to note that I included the first line of the blurb above to clear up something that had me confused, a little. This book combines four books into one volume (and one continuous story, to be fair), which explains the high page count, as well. Now for the review:

I loved it. I'll confess to just a hint of trepidation as I went into this, because I've gotten kind of tired of the "ordinary kid discovers he's something else in a fantasy world" model (see Percy Jackson, for example). I think Ben nailed it. He certainly swept away my doubts in fairly short order, leaving me free to dive into the world of New Camelot and enjoy myself. 
  
Simon's world, both before and after he discovers New Camelot (or is dragged there, kicking and screaming), is vividly painted, with visuals that I found clear and compelling. Simon's challenges as an orphan are believable, with just a hint (in retrospect) that there is something more to him. And the characters he meets along the way have depth--often a great deal more depth than Simon imagines. 

The pacing is really nice--it's fast-moving, but the action isn't so non-stop that you get dizzy watching it. It's exciting, but I believe well within the bounds for elementary-aged children--the violence is less than in Percy Jackson, and though people die, the gore is kept to a minimum, and the reactions to their deaths feel genuine.

The book is impeccably edited, and the illustrations by Ian Greenlee are fascinating,  though at first I found them a little dark. They have a complexity that yields to study, though, so I think are a nice addition to the book.

I am eagerly awaiting the next installment.

My Recommendation:
For kids from about 9 up, who like fantasy, and for anyone who loves the Arthurian legends. I have to confess that my own studies of the earliest stories--Mallory's Morte d'Artur and the Lays of Marie de France--are too long ago for me to offer much check on how the Ben used the material, and I never did read T.H. White's books. But this is a great addition, if readability and interest count!

FTC Disclosure: I won a copy of The Camelot Kids in a giveaway, and received nothing further from the writer or publisher for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."    

Friday Flash: The World in the Palm of Her Hand

Chuck's challenge this week was to pick a random image from Flickr and let it inspire a story. After a long trip down the rabbit hole, I stopped looking at pretty pictures and selected one.


The photo is by Truus.
Since I'm not sure if it's okay to post, the picture is here.
And when I went to find that link, I found a photo that is even better for the story.
Check them both out!

The World In the Palm of Her Hand

All Lissa knew was that she was supposed to save the world.

In point of fact, she didn’t really know even that: she’d had a message from some mysterious old man who refused to show his face, exactly according to regulations. The message read, “She has the world in the palm of her hand. Don’t let her drop it.”

In theory that left the field so impossibly wide open that there was little hope of finding the right woman, but Lissa had a bit more to go on than the message suggested. For one thing, since she got the memo, she could assume that the woman was somewhere in Lissa’s region.

All the Guardians had their own regions to watch over, and Lissa’s was large, but sparsely populated. That would help.

Further, she could feel disturbances in the powers, so she ought to be able to sense the problematic woman.

But Lissa had no idea what the message meant, beyond trouble. Was the problem a politician about to do something stupid and trigger World War VI, ending everything? Or some well-meaning genius trying to cure diseases who might instead unleash a plague that would wipe out all life?

Lissa spent two full days researching all the possible madwomen, scientists, terrorists, and politicians in her region and, for good measure, the regions touching on hers. None of them seemed in a position to do anything of world-ending import, either of malice aforethought or by accident.

She then spent two more days racing about her region trying to sense an imbalance.

Nothing.

Nothing, that is, until she got to the boundary with Region 76. What she felt there wasn’t what she expected, but it needed investigation all the same. The assignment of a mission didn’t relieve her from the duty to look out for other disturbances.

Crossing into another Guardian’s territory was frowned on, except in hot pursuit. The paperwork required for a waiver was extensive, and Lissa, like most of her fellow Guardians, opted to skip it and hope she wouldn’t be caught.

Following her instincts, she went looking for the Guardian she couldn’t feel. Something had happened to—what was her name? Lissa had to look through the records a long way back to find that the Guardian of Region 276 was Ilga, and that she had been a Guardian since the days of the horse and buggy. Now Lissa could feel only the faintest hint of her presence in the area she was meant to protect.

She followed that trace through an agricultural landscape that seemed to have been frozen in the 20th Century. The early 20th, if Lissa was any judge. Was that Ilga’s doing, or just the inclination of the locals?

On the third day Lissa found her: an old woman, sitting in a farmyard doing absolutely nothing. Only her aura told Lissa she’d found the missing Guardian. Ilga held something shiny in her hand, and at first Lissa thought she was admiring herself in a mirror, gone childish in her final days.

When she got a better look, Lissa felt dizzy. The object was not a mirror, but a crystal gazing ball. Lissa had seen such things, mostly in the Guardian’s Museum of Silly Human Artifacts, where they sat next to a collection of cracked and glazed Crazy 8 Balls.

A gazing ball in the hands of an ordinary human was just a piece of pretty glass that reflected the world back in a beautiful distortion. In the hands of a Guardian, it could quite literally contain the world, and turn it upside down.

Ilga looked up and saw Lissa. Her smile was not what the young Guardian would have liked to see. Someone had miscalculated: Ilga should have been retired long ago; what Lissa saw looking from those ancient eyes was the pure madness that could come of centuries of trying to keep humans from destroying themselves.

“So you’ve found me.” Ilga’s voice was old and cracked, but calm.

“You’re upsetting the Messengers.”

The old woman cackled. “They are such fuss-budgets. I’ve nearly finished here.”

Keep her talking, Lissa encouraged herself. The first rule of stopping destructive lunatics was to keep them talking. Usually they were human lunatics, but Lissa figured the same rule applied to a Guardian who had slipped a cog.

“Finished what?” she asked, with what she hoped was the right blend of interest and indifference.

“Loading the world into my ball. So much easier to watch this way.” She held up the ball on her hand, and Lissa felt herself turn cold. Ilga had done it. The ball cleared, no longer reflecting the sky. An ever-shifting view of people and landscapes played in the depths. The constant motion made Lissa a little sick, but she knew what had to be done.

The ball could no longer be destroyed. It would have to be taken to the head Guardian to be disassembled with utmost care. For now, whatever happened to the ball would happen to the world.

The Messenger had been right: Ilga held the world in the palm of her hand, and she didn’t seem to be particularly concerned.

“Why don’t you give me that?” Lissa asked as casually as she could.

Ilga only cackled and balanced the ball on a fence post, stepping back to admire it. Lissa felt the shift in gravity as it moved. This was bad.

“It will do very well there,” Ilga said, and walked away. Torn between a need to stop the woman from any more madness, and the need to protect the gazing ball, Lissa hesitated a moment too long. The earth made another jolting adjustment, and the ball began to roll from the post.

Lissa caught the movement from the corner of her eye, and launched herself in a long, desperate dive, arms outstretched to catch the world in the palm of her own hand.

###

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2017
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Middle Grade Review: The Twistrose Key, by Tone Almhjell

 

Title: The Twistrose Key

Author: Tone Almhjell

Publisher: Dial Books for Young Readers, 2013. 354 pages.

Source: Library

Publisher's Blurb:

When a mysterious parcel arrives at her family’s new home, eleven-year-old Lin Rosenquist has a curious feeling she’s meant to discover what’s inside.

Much to Lin’s surprise, the ornate key contained in the parcel unlocks a spellbinding world called Sylver, hidden behind the cellar door. Sylver is an enchanting land of eternal winter, inhabited by animals that shared a special connection with children in the real world, either as beloved pets or tamed wild animals. In death, they are delivered to Sylver, where they take on a curiously human-like form and still watch over the children they cherish. While Lin is overjoyed to be reunited with her beloved pet, Rufus, she soon learns that the magic of the Petlings and Wilders is failing, and snow trolls want to claim Sylver for themselves. Lin must discover a way to stop them and save this enchanted world. 

My Review:

This was a group read from my Goodreads Great Middle Grade Reads group, which is how I learned of it, since I hadn't seen it before. And I admit that though the general premise sounded good, I wasn't totally grabbed by it, nor was I immediately drawn into the book when I started reading. I think I was trying too hard to understand where we were; the "real world" felt just a bit odd even before we entered the fantasy world (I think because that real world is in Norway?). When the story did move into the fantasy realm of Sylver, I got more into it, but I was halfway through before it grabbed me and made me finish the rest in pretty much one sitting (staying up much later than I should have in the process). 

Sylver is well-realized, but I had a little trouble believing in it until the action got well under way. The land of the the Petlings is a little odd to me--frozen in an eternal winter, which unlike the winter in Narnia seems to be a happy thing for the animals. And there seemed to be some things that passed without much explanation, though I'm not sure if that was a flaw or helps the reader to feel with Lin, who has to figure much of it out on the fly. 

It might have been nice to be able to get a little acquainted with Sylver before Lin has to start racing about to avert disaster. It feels like a world that would be nice to see without threats around every corner, as well as making it a bit more plausible. Because Lin's mission is so urgent--it must be completed before that very midnight--and because time in Sylver is a bit elastic, the pace is both (for my taste) a bit too fast and a bit too unbelievable. I kept waiting for the poor girl to get a nap, as the roughly nine hours from her arrival to the moment the task must be completed seem to stretch to something more like a couple of days. I think that time frame weakened a generally solid story.

My Recommendation:

Despite my reservations, this was an enjoyable read, and I think that children 9 and up will enjoy it. Most of them probably won't be worrying about how long Lin can keep going without rest, and will just enjoy her courage, stamina, and ingenuity. And the wintry setting makes it feel like a good holiday book!

FTC Disclosure: I checked The Twistrose Key out of my library, and received nothing from the writer or publisher for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."   

Didn't get any good books for Christmas? Have some gift cards to use up? Consider picking up a copy of one of my books as a New Year's Treat!  

Friday Flash: Huntress

Warning, arachnophobes! This story is about fighting spiders!

Last Tuesday, in a post about finishing your work, Chuck Wendig wrote "Writing is a journey. Driving is a journey. Sometimes driving means taking the exit — get off the highway, and find the backroads. Drive down the backroads, you might see some unexpected sights. You might see a weird little restaurant, or a pretty bridge, or some guy riding an elk hunting giant spiders with a flaming crossbow." He then went on urge someone to write that story about the guy riding the elk. Well, Chuck, you were wrong on one point--that rider's no guy. But for the rest...here's your story.

Huntress

“They’re back.”

Artima looked up from the weapons she tended with the attention a woman lavishes on that which keeps her alive. “What?”

Herbert of Callia always looked like he’d lost his last friend. His expression now suggested that he’d found that friend rotting behind the castle. “The spiders.”

“I thought they killed all of those while you were still learning arms.”

The little man shrugged. Herbert swore he had no dwarf blood, but he was small, hairy, and mean enough she figured that for a lie. “Looks like they didn’t get them all.”

He was also her armsmaster, and Artima knew what he wanted.

“You never taught me how to fight the spiders.”

Herbert sighed. “I never thought you’d need to. But now…Call everyone to the practice courts.”

#

The horses were restless. Neither Artima nor her companions in arms could see any spiders, but their mounts knew. They rode into battle anyway, horses trembling.

Twenty-seven young knights fought the huge arachnids, which fired blasts of acidic webbing from spinnerets they directed with uncanny force and precision. The knights fought with spears and arrows. The latter kept them out of range of the webs, but arrows seemed to enrage the creatures more than they disabled them.

Then the webbing hit the horses. The animals screamed with the pain, and every horse bolted for the camp, with or without their riders.

Worse, when the knights regrouped to nurse their wounds and those of their mounts, most of the horses ran again. Several knights went in pursuit, and no one was deluded enough to think they meant to drag the animals back.

Artima looked at the shrunken group of fighters. “We’ll have to fight afoot.”

No one looked pleased, but no one actually said they wouldn’t. The creatures had to be defeated, and they had vowed to defend the nation.

Artima found Herbert of Callia. “Tell me everything you know of fighting the spiders. Our knights defeated them once. There must be something we’re missing.”

He looked up from a huge book. “I have yet to discover how it was done. Only that they, too, found that horses couldn’t be made to fight spiders.”

Horses, thought Artima, have more sense than humans.

She mustered the remaining knights and led the charge into the spiders’ lair. The giant creatures waited in the trees above, firing web at the fighters, then dropping onto them with their venomous fangs. Screams of the wounded—both human and arachnid, for the humans battled ferociously—echoed from the hills. Artima fought with sword in her right hand, dagger in the left. The creatures were too close to make use of spear or bow. Her back against a tree, she swung, lopping the head from a spider even as a hot band of webbing shot from above onto her left hand. She dropped her dagger, leaping from under the tree before another strand could entrap her. Pulling a horn from her belt, she sounded the retreat.

Again the little band of fighters—reduced now to less than a dozen—gathered in the clearing by the large fire Herbert of Callia had kindled.

“I know now what you have to do,” he said.

“Tell us.”

“Not all of you. Just Artima.”

“I say, why?” That was Boris. He nursed a gash on his arm where a web had dragged, searing the flesh as it went, but he was ready to keep fighting. “Tell us what to do, and we’ll all go back.”

Herbert shook his head. “It can only be Artima. You will see.” He looked again at his prize pupil, the only female knight left standing. “You need a mount that has no fear of the spiders.”

“That would help,” she said, not trying to hide the sarcasm. “You have such a horse tied behind a tree?”

Herbert shook his head. “Nor can it fear fire. Flaming arrows will defeat the spiders.”

“Oh, that makes it easier. We’ve dozens of horses that just love fire and spiders.”

“No horse. And only a woman can ride this mount.” Herbert stepped into a thicket and returned, leading a bull elk by the antlers. He seemed to be muttering spells into its ear, which at least made the creature obey.

“Come here, girl!” Herbert of Callia didn’t wait to see if Artima obeyed. He gestured at Boris. “Give her a leg up.”

Artima was glad of Boris’ help. The elk was as tall as her warhorse, and wore no tack. Boris held out laced hands and flung her upward, to land a little too heavily on the bony spine of her new mount.

She muffled a curse as Herbert let go the antler. “He’ll obey your commands,” he told Artima.

She ordered the animal to stand, and it waited calmly while Herbert took a crossbow from one of the other knights, and passed the quiver up to Artimas. She slung it into place while he wrapped the curve of the bow in cloth and dipped it into the fire. When it burst into flames, he handed her the weapon.

“Now go!”

The elk ran toward the heart of the spiders’ lair, as Artima pulled an arrow from the quiver and set it alight as well. The men were running behind her, also armed with torches and bows to fire flaming arrows. It didn’t matter. Her mount bore her straight to the enemy, and her bow sang as it burned, firing arrow after arrow into the ghastly creatures, who screamed and burst into flames themselves as her bolts, each catching fire as it passed through the burning cloth, sank into body after bloated body.

When Herbert sounded the retreat, the forest was ablaze. They had only to shoot any that tried to escape the flames.

Artima let the villagers and soldiers, who appeared only after the spiders were dead, deal with the fire. She dropped the charred remains of her crossbow and slid from the back of the elk, resting a singed hand on its neck.

“Thank you.”

The great beast turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving only a pile of steaming manure to prove it had ever existed.

 ###

Friday Flash: The Present Will Be Infernal

It was a random title draw at Terribleminds.com this week, but I confess I simply picked the title I liked best. For your reading pleasure, 997 words.

The Present Will be Infernal

That was what the prophecy said: “The present will be infernal.” My Da always added, “and the past and future don’t look so good either.”

Most of our suffering was on account of the war. Anytime we managed to get some small crop, seemed like either an army came along and requisitioned the whole thing, or two armies came along and held a battle atop our fields, trampling them to mudholes.

Corpses don’t make for good fertilizer, at least not right away.

Our village always managed to just scrape by, but it wasn’t pretty. That explained Da’s take on past and present. As for the future—our village won’t have one. The armies took our young men. They’d always taken some, the ones who itched to get out, or who thought they wanted an adventure. But this time, King Tellert declared a muster, and claimed every male of fighting age. He defined “fighting age” pretty broadly. I wept when my Da left, side by side with my brother.

The chances were slim that we would meet again, in this world or any other.

When we all got over our shock at losing sons and brothers and husbands, and any men we might have courted, we realized the future was gone too. With only a few young brides, none of them in the family way, our village was doomed.  No men, no babies. No babies, no future. With the war raging by, it’s hell now, but soon enough it’ll be…nothing.

“There’s only one thing to do.” Our headman, Balthazar, could barely stand, but we paid attention. If we didn’t, he could still swing that cane he leaned on. “We must leave. Find a new home with another village.”

“What?”
“Give up?”
“How could we survive?” 

“Silence!” Balthazar’s voice cut through the babble of frightened women and elders. “Leave, or stay here and die slowly. Each of you,” he looked from face to frightened face, “must make that decision for yourself.” Silence fell as women realized they must decide alone. In a handful of cases, they had to decide for children, though those were precious few. Not many youngsters were born to our war-trampled village, and fewer survived infancy. They turned to each other, bewildered.

I turned to no one.  Da and Paulo had been my only kin. If they lived, they would know of nowhere to find me but our village. I didn’t know what to think. We had already lost everything to the infernal past and present, and now the future passed out of reach.

Balthazar had one more thing to say. “I will not go. I cannot walk so far.” Voices interrupted to clamor that they would carry him, but we all knew that was a lie. Several ancient men and women hobbled to his side. “We will wait together,” Granny Teela said in her cracked voice. She didn’t say what they would wait for. She didn’t have to.

“Who will protect us on the road?” The woman who asked that wept as she clutched the hand of her young daughter.

Sheena stepped forward at the head of a half a dozen women of our age. Two men, too old for the army but still able to wield a spear, joined them. “We will guard.” Sheena looked at me, questioning.

I shook my head, and looked at the cluster of our eldest elders. My path was clear.

“I will stay. The elders will need someone who can bring water and cook.” And, I did not say aloud, fight. The present might be infernal, but I would not see these elders into hell without a fight.

“Alone?” Sheena didn’t bother saying I would be little use. I shrugged.

“You will need all the arms you can get to survive your trip. I have no family. I will stay.” I knew what I was saying, and Sheena met my eyes with a look of pity and respect mingled. She knew, too.

#
Seven of us stood in a silent cluster and watched the ragged column of our past and future shuffle away into the distance. Since the army had taken all our draft animals, and even the goats, the women were bowed under burdens far beyond their strength.

When they had passed out of sight, I limped to the well and drew a bucket of water. The elders went into the village hall, where people had placed many of the things they could not take: the best beds, food, enough to last out our short lives. I collected bows, spears, and even a couple of swords that the men had left behind when taken off by the army.

I would face hell with a full armory and with a full belly.

#

When the army came, they marveled that the village was silent and still, save for a single line of smoke from a single chimney.

I stood in the doorway and watched the long columns approach. This wasn’t the army that had taken Da and Paulo. Thus my last hope fled. I would die alone. I touched my sword, and clutched the spear in my left hand. Beside me, four bows thrust through the arrow slits, but the arms that wielded those bows were weak and wasted.

“There is nothing here for you,” I called out to the soldiers. “We are the remnant of a dead village. Ride on.”

Their general threw back his head and laughed. “Ride on? Why not take what we might, and kill those who remain?”

“Why not indeed? Though you will find little enough to take, and why kill those who are already on the brink of another world?”

My people came from the shadows to stand beside me, and the man stared.

“It is as you say,” he marveled. “Only the old and dying, and guarded by a girl-child with a crooked leg.” He turned his column and they marched away.

The present would remain infernal.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016