BLOGS

     I arrived at the temple when I was just a child of eleven summers. The bandits that killed my family were the remnants of an enemy army that had been routed by the Clockwork King during the early part of his reign. At that time, we had been told he was the best thing for the land and would reunite our people under a single leader.

     I was an orphan, it was decided, since I could read and write I would be sent to live with the priests near Mount Hakaurai. The priests who took me up the mountain led several other children with us, but they cried all the time and could not be comforted. Eventually they were given to me to lead as the priests walked out in front of us and told us to follow, but not too close.

     The trail was dusty and hard. The priests kept up a pace that was difficult and I had a hard time keeping up. The two younger children were even less able. I even carried the smaller one for a while. Whenever we would stop for the night, I would have to take them to the woods to relieve themselves while the priests foraged for food. I had never been more than a day or two from home, so the approach to the mountains seemed miraculous to me. There were waving forests of bamboo grass blowing in the wind, the air was filled with the drone of insects, and the breeze was sweet and cool, even a bit chilled in the first part of the day, but it always warmed up later and became pleasant.

     Gruff but not cruel, when we came around a particular pass, the priests stopped and pointed ahead. The appearance of the surrounding mountains was that of a jagged row of bottom teeth. Mount Hakaurai was one of a dozen spearlike mountains covered with trees near top. At the very tips of each mountain was a dusting of snow like a tiny hat. As we approached we could see the winding road that would lead to the top and it would take at least two more days to get there.

     "Master, who made this road to the temple?" I asked because it appeared to be made of a strange rock I had never seen before, it had a quality that made it glow in the evening light.

     "Let us set up camp, acolyte-to-be and we will share with you the tale of the Scaled Road of Mount Hakaurai." The priests seemed to be in better spirits once they got closer to home, so I put off their apparent earlier rudeness to their fear of the recent bandit attacks. As we were getting the camp ready, as the sun set, the Scaled Road flashed with a ripple of fire that moved quickly up the mountain. It was a marvelous effect and quieted the two younger boys for the first time on the trip. Chikamasa, the younger had been sick for the first few days and the monks took him with them to the river, and promised that Jiro and I would be allowed to go and clean up, once they got back.

     Chikamasa and the priests came back to the camp, and the boy was looking much better. He said they had been giving him some leaves to eat and others to drink in tea and it was helping. We got our chance to go to the river and cleaned our clothes and our selves. This was the first time in days we had been really able to clean up and it was wonderful. I thought this time with the priests might not be such a terrible thing. Not as good as home, but not as terrible as I first thought.

     When we got back to the camp, the priests were preparing a rabbit they caught near the road. The area at the foot of the mountains was so green and forested, there were plants and animals everywhere. Master Gen, the second oldest of the priests, was tending the rabbit, having rubbed it in exotic salts and spices, it smelled so good, I could barely wait to eat.

     "While the rabbit is cooking, let's tell that tale," said Master Shikamaru, who was the oldest of the three priests. There was once a celestial dragon, Akira the wise, who was said to be the cleverest of the Celestial King of Heaven's court. It is said when there was a need of an answer to a question or riddle, Lord Akira was always the first consulted. When Lord Akira did not know the answer he would fly to the Earth and quest until he found the answer he sought. It was said he knew every flower, every tree, every animal and could speak the language of every creature." He paused to take a sip of his tea and looked into our faces in the firelight. We were eager to hear more of his tale, and he paused dramatically before continuing.

     "One afternoon, after a great argument in the Celestial Heaven, Lord Akira flew to Earth greatly perturbed by the arguments of the celestial named Akum, dark lord of the Underworld. Akum, while unloved by many in the Court was a renowned and miraculous seer. He predicted the end of the Celestial Heavens and that a great sorcerer-priest would lead an army of demons against them. When he was asked from whence that Sorcerer-priest would be born, he was unable to divine the answer. Lord Akira volunteered to find the answer to the question of the Sorcerer-Priest and flew to the Earth.

     "Celestial dragons did not fly with wings, they undulated their bodies like giant snakes in the sky. So as he approached anywhere, he was a giant ribbon of light. So whenever he came near villages, people were always terrified of him and fled or fainted until he left. He swept the land seeking the answer to the question of the greatest sorcerer-priest until he heard tell of a priest of our Order. He flew to our mountain and landed, draping himself around the mountain from the top where his head stood at the gates to our temple to the bottom of the mountain.

     "He called out to the temple and at the time, Master Po was the greatest of our Order and he came out to confront him.

     'Ho Lord Akira, Celestial Dragon of the Heavens, what brings you to our humble temple?'

     'I am told the greatest sorcerer-priest in the world resides here and I would question him.'

     'You do us great honor, Lord Akira, but no such person dwells within. He is but a legend to us as well. It is said that one day, we will house within our walls, the greatest sorcerer to ever live. He shall have the power to turn day into night, his spiritual power shall give him dominion over the very stuff of life itself. But today, he does not exist.'

     'Then perhaps it would be best if your temple were to cease to exist. For such a force might one day rival the heavens themselves.'

     'And what would be wrong with that Lord Akira?'

     Akira tried to take flight in that moment and found he could not rise. Mount Hakaurai had been covered with hikaru dorodango, spheres of elemental mud, created from the Nine Realms, each capable of holding the spiritual essence of the nine chakras. Once Lord Akira landed, his powers were being drained away without his knowledge.

     Master Po, used his Chi to try and subdue the great dragon and their battle of wills took place. It was said they struggled for nine days and nine nights, locked in place. So great was the struggle, nothing could move near them. Priests who tried were struck dead. At the end of the nine days, the great dragon won his freedom. But his thrashings left the scales upon what would become the road to our mountain temple."

     "What happened to Master Po? Jiro asked."

     "Master Po's chi entered into the temple gate and protects us to this day. He determines who is worthy to enter the temple and removes those who would harm us." This came from the least friendly of the priests, Sasume the Grim. "Master Po was my master many years ago and I was saddened by his loss to us."

     Jiro piped up, "But Master, you said he became part of the great temple gate. Doesn't that mean he is still there?

     "Yes, child, in a way. But his body passed on a few days later and we are only able to see him when new acolytes come to the temple."

     I noticed they did not answer the most important question, so I thought I would ask it. "What happened to Lord Akira and his quest to find the greatest sorcerer-priest?"

     "That is a story for another day, children. It is late. Eat your supper. Tomorrow's climb will be hard. We must reach the halfway point to get to the shelter or sleep again in the open. Mount Hakaurai is not kind if you sleep in the open at night."

     The next morning was cold and overcast, there was a low-lying fog which reduced our ability to see more than a few miles and Mount Hakaurai was obscured from view. The priests were up early and packed the camp while we slept. They woke us last and hurried us along. They did their best to hide their furtive glances but I saw they were agitated and distressed. We all but ran up the path toward the mountain.

     As we approached, I found it harder to breathe. It was as if there were something squeezing me. My head felt heavy and my shoulders felt as if there was a weight upon them.

     "Do you feel it, boy? Sasume whispered? Do you feel the spiritual pressure of the mountain? I told you, he was touched, Gen. The seer was right. He feels the pressure this far from the mountain."

     "Shut up, Sasume. You will frighten the boy unduly. There is nothing to be afraid of. What you are feeling is called spiritual pressure. Those of us with naturally high chakras can sense the energy of the mountain and until you are properly trained, it will feel as if you are bearing a great weight. It will not harm you. When you learn to understand spiritual pressure, you will be able to sense the power and capabilities of your opponents if they possess chi abilities equal or better than your own."

     "Yes, Master," was all I could get out. Sasume grabbed me by the arm and dragged me along the path. The two little ones kept up best they could. When we reached the foot of the mountain, the day was half gone. Master Gen, looking at me, made a series of hand-signs, his hands moving in a variety of unusual shapes and then pressed them against my chest.

     "This will help a little as we climb. You must concentrate and silence your inner thoughts. The mountain feeds upon your inner fears. Now hurry." He grabbed up Jiro and put him on his back, Master Shikamaru, picked up Chikamasa, and the three priests moved as quickly as I had ever seen them. As we approached the path, my vision began to blur and I could swear I saw a shimmering coming from the road itself. Then Sasume shook me and continued to drag me up the road. I could feel a heat from the road as well, something that made my feet tingle.

     We moved up the mountain and while we climbed we passed several large spheres. Perfectly round, shiny and each was a different color. There were smaller ones spaced around them and they too were comprised of different colors and possibly different materials. We rushed past the first one so quickly, I hardly noticed it. But when we reached the second, I could see it with my blurred vision as a luminous sphere connected to the smaller ones near it and to the very road itself. When I looked at the road, suddenly I could sense something else. "Someone is following us." I blurted out before realizing what I was saying.

     "Yes, I have felt it for some time now. How could you have known?" Master Sasume looked at me. "You felt it? You can feel the Road?"

     "I'm not sure what I am feeling but its as if I can hear them talking. They are coming fast up the road. They mean us harm."

     "Then I shall stay." Master Gen puts down Chikamasa, and turns to sit on the road. Take them to the refuge. You will be safe once you get there. I will entertain our guests. Come here boy." He looked at me. You cannot afford to fall into their hands. I will teach you something now, you will need to know, but it will be painful and you will regret learning it this way. Give me your hands."

     I was terrified. His eyes had turned completely black and his hands had turned purple with a power I had never seen before. When my vision blurred, he was not just a man, he was a series of spheres, some brighter than others, and this flesh was just a tiny portion of what he was. He took my hands and I could see my own spheres, they were inside me glowing, each equally, until he took my hands, then I could feel my rage growing, my internal chakras flashed with new lights and then it burned, like I was on fire. I could not see, could not hear, all my senses were lost in an explosion so bright, the world turned white, the color of death. He let go and I was free. I could breath again and the pressure of the mountain was gone. I was light like air and knew things. Strange things, I had never known before. "Run, boy." I ran. I ran like the wind. I caught up to the priests who had gone ahead and they were moving fast, incredibly fast, their sandals slapping the road with a powerful rhythm. I matched them easily. The road melted away.

     When night was falling, we approached a small building. It was surrounded with the tiny spheres in the same number, nine, spaced equally around it. As we entered, I could feel the pulse of pressure and realized this was not just an ordinary shelter. As we entered we saw the road shimmer in the weak sunlight and it glowed again, just before sunset.

     "Whatever you see outside that door, you are not to set foot out there again until morning. You can affect nothing and no one." Master Sasume went to to the back of the building to make dinner. I felt compelled to stand in the doorway. It was open but I could not feel the wind from the road. I could see down the mountain and the evening fog had hidden the roots from view. It was then that I saw them leaping out of the fog. They were armored but not like the bandits who wore scraps of different armors stolen from battlefields of the dead. These were complete armors, beautiful and shining softly with their own light. The men were fighting someone, a priest from the robes. As he retreated up the mountain, his kung fu was masterful. He fought the entire group of at least twenty and as he retreated, each hundred steps they took, they paid for it with another man.

     They were approaching the shelter and darkness was falling. I could still see him and their battle was slowing down. He was being struck, a nick here, a cut there and then their mighty spear thrusts caught him. Before he died, he released his red chakra and the five who held him with their spears burst into flames and died with him. He landed on the ground and turned toward me. I could see him looking at me and then he closed his eyes.

The last ten of the ghostly warriors continued up the path, but they looked around as if they were expecting attack. As they approached the orb, they did not seem to be able to see us, but they kept coming. As they grew closer, I could see the glowing sigil of a great dragon on their chests, the sigil of Lord Akira.

     "Step away from the door, boy. You should not see what will happen to them." Sasume was grinning while eating some cold bread and smoked fish he had found in the pantry. Jiro and Chikamasa were so hungry they did not even look up from their plates. I could not help myself. I stayed at the door and watched as the orb we were somehow inside of began to draw their life essence into itself. They tried to resist, they used magics, but this only seem to hasten the process. The more they struggled the faster they died. They screamed while they died; an endless thing. Eventually, they lay still. The light from their magical armor was consumed and then, their very flesh. I could not sleep after that.

     Come morning, there was little to indicate anything had happened out there at all. The priests did not seem relieve however and we continued to run up the mountain until we reached the final staircase. I could see the gates at the top of the stairs. Sasume pushed Jiro and Chikamasa ahead of Master Shikamaru and he looked at me. "You must get to the gate, no matter what. This is where we part ways. You had better be worth this. Don't look back."

     Master Shikamaru made a series of handsigns and then grab Jiro and put him on his back and Chikamasa in his arms, he started leaping up the stairwell. When I looked back at Sasume, he was standing at the foot of the stairs and more of the armored men appeared, this time many of them with beautiful bows with wickedly-tipped arrows that shimmered in the morning light.

     Sasume stood at the ready, in a horse stance, legs bowed and arms at his side as the archers aimed and fired. He radiated power and the arrows struck him but did no damaged, each broken as if it had struck a wall. The archers fired several times and then retreated. We continued to climb the stairs and halfway to the top, we looked back. Swordsmen had engaged Sasume and he was holding them at bay. But his iron skin was not as strong as their swords and each hit took a bit of his armor away. But every time he struck one of them, they exploded with the force of his attacks. But the end was near for him. When we were within a few feet of the top of the stairs, he fell for the last time.

     The soldiers then began to climb the stairwell and would be all over us in a few minutes. When we reached the top of the stairs, we could see the Great Gate of the Temple. It was an archway that stood twenty meters high made of black stone that had been worked to perfection. Even in the morning light, it did not shimmer, rather it absorbed the light, and seemed to harness it to create more darkness. Then it spoke. "Bring them to me."

     Master Shikamaru moved the two boys to the gate and beckoned me as well. I could hear the voice of Master Po and did not know which would be worse, to approach the gate or to wait for the soldiers. I went to the gate. Two men had already died to get me this far. When Master Shikamaru took the children to the gate, both seemed asleep until they cross the threshold. Then they bolted upright and fell to the ground right out of Master Shikamaru arms. And they lay there, unmoving. "They were..." The pause was long. "Unworthy."

     "Come boy, are you the stuff of legend?"

I looked over at Jiro and Chikamasa and my vision blurred. I could see their spheres going out one after another. I could see them, sense them struggling to hold on to life. I ran to them and touched them as they lay under the gate. I could feel this power, this terrible power as they poured into me, as if I were a refuge for their spirits.

     "Boy, what have you done? They were mine to consume. How dare you interfere? Ah, look, you have the mark. I can see it on you. The darkness dwells within you. You are the one."

     All I could see was Jiro and Chikamasa on the ground and hear the voice of Master Po above me. I felt the fire of Master Gen inside of me, burning and I could hear the sounds of the warriors as they crested the stairs. Master Shikamaru stood next to me and plucked two arrows from the air right before they struck me in the back.

     I turned around and felt the well of power of the Celestial Dragon, Lord Akira, in the air, in the ground, bound tightly inside of the Gate of Hakaurai. I could sense the energy of Lord Akira inside of these soldiers and I realized they wanted me dead. Me. I did not know them, had never done anything to them, and they wanted to kill me. I reached down to the earth and touched the power of Lord Akira bound there by the dark magics of Master Po. and I reached up and grabbed Master Po, I could feel him trying to take control of me, trying to make my body his. I pulled the dark and the light together.

     Master Shikamaru was blown off the mountain when those two forces came together. His was the only death I regret that day.

     The soldiers of Lord Akira were, no matter where they were on the mountain, destroyed and absorbed into the defenses of the mountain itself. Their arms and armor were the only sign they were ever there. The Great Gate exploded and the temple walls nearest to the gate were destroyed as if a bomb had been released there. The Black Gate was no more. I stood in the center of the explosion clutching the bodies of two small boys to my chest.

     The priests climbed over the wreckage of the walls and got down on one knee before me. Then they led me into the temple and I slept for twenty days. When I awoke, they had cleaned me, dressed my injuries and told me I was the one foretold of by Akuma. I was the one who would cast down the unrighteous oppression of the gods upon man. They made this pronouncement to me as if it was the most normal thing in the world. They stood stoically looking at me waiting for my response. "I do not want that."

     "It does not matter what you want. It is fated to be this way."

     "What if I defy my fate?"

     "Then you doom the world to whatever would take the place of your great work. No seer can see beyond that point."

     "How will I take over the world when the Clockwork King has already destroyed any who oppose him?"

     "Look within you. Feel inside yourself." The Priest who addressed me was old, far older than Master Gen. I could see his age upon him like a cloak.

     I closed my eyes and could feel my chakra. I could feel the power of four beings within me. And four lifetimes.

     "We will train you, Dark One. And when you have outlived petty kings and even their kingdoms, you will be ready to topple Heaven itself.

     "And if I chose to destroy the Clockwork King myself?" He murdered my family and my friends, everyone and everything I knew.

     "Then we shall make you ready for that, as well. Rest, tomorrow we begin your training."

     And we did. The next forty years would see me gather power and skills as no man had ever had. Grandmaster Yinre, the priest who saw to all of my training would die as I became the ruler of Mount Hakaurai and its temple. As my power grew, my sense of Master Gen faded as his life energies left me. I could still feel Jiro and Chikamasa's energy searing within me. I could also feel oily evil that was Master Po searching for a way to make my power his. Who knew a lifetime would fly by so quickly?

     The lands of the Clockwork King grew and eventually bordered my own. I knew my time had come. I set out that morning, the temple bustling with the young monks who would one day become my army. But first, I had to see the land for myself. I set off to view my enemy firsthand.

Hikaru Dorodango © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

I am really excited about launching my Guardians of Destiny Series next month. I've also really became addicted to playing around with book covers lol. But here is the book cover for Specter of War -- Book One in the Guardians of Destiny series. Let me know ehat you think.

Bangkok, Thailand—April 07, 2011— The OneWoman/OneHouse

Haiti Project is hosting an art exhibition to showcase the bronze sculpture created by its founder, poet and author, Ivory Simone. The theme of the event, “Art as a tool for social justice”, will feature a bronze sculpture inspired by “Atlas” the titan from Greek mythology. The finished work entitled, “ Atlas and His Wife”, portrays the titan as a mortal man supporting his pregnant wife, Earth.

“The fullness of Earth’s belly represents the world Atlas is forced to carry on his back in Greek mythology,” Simone said, “I changed the relationship between Atlas and Earth to make them symbols of enduring love. Atlas is supporting Earth who is in the throes of labor. Their partnership, this enduring love, brings forth new life…new hope. This is the message I want the Haitian people to hear.”

The exhibition will be held on Wednesday, May 4, 2011, from 7:00 p.m. through 9:00 p.m., at WTF Art Gallery and Café, Sukhumvit 51/soi 7.  Guests will also get to enjoy the silky vocals and hot beats of Soul Publishing, Ltd, recording artist: Jeii Legend.

Limited editions of the sculpture are available for purchase. All proceeds go to support the OneWoman/OneHouse Haiti Project. For more information about the Haiti project and/or to inquire about purchasing one of the limited edition bronze reproductions of  “Atlas and His Wife” go to:

http://www.onewomanonehouse.com .

As luck would have it, Mankind's first official interaction with an alien species (that was not covered up successfully by the government) was with the Warlords of Hurumpharump. If you sound like you are clearing your throat when you are saying it, you are saying it right; when in doubt, cough and add more phlegm.

When their mighty spaceships, fifty miles wide, appeared above every major city on Earth, humanity wet its collective pants and waited for the end. For ten days, they hovered there. I hate to admit it, but we did not behave very well. There was the requisite gnashing of teeth, weeping, some self-flagellation amongst the Catholics who were forced to admit, that perhaps we had not been made in His image after all. Seeing how these aliens had been able to do something we could not, perhaps He was made in their image.

Wholesale looting, riots, destruction of government property were the order of the day until martial law had been declared nearly all over the world. Most governments cracked down on their populations until quiet streets were the order of the day. People went out to shop for food and supplies and quickly returned home. Stock markets all over the planet went offline, for fear of catastrophic collapse during this time of crisis. But nothing happened.

After two weeks of hovering there, people went back to work and tried to ignore the alien ships. Once people had resumed their normal lives; as normal as one's life could be with a fifty mile wide alien spaceship hovering above your city, the alien ships simply disappeared. All but one. The ship over New York did not leave.

News reports of the disappearance of the other alien craft caused jubilation in some, trepidation in others. Most assumed the end of the world was nigh and we had been found wanting. Scientists madly searched the sky for any trace of the aliens and nothing could be discovered.

The next morning after the other ships left, a bright beam of light, brighter than any light on Earth, except for the sun itself speared down to Earth, illuminating a five mile circle of all encompassing light. Humans within the beam, stopped moving and only those at the fringe of the beam could see what was happening within.

The aliens floated slowly and majestically to the surface of the planet and began to create a space filled with deciding non-terrestrial plants. Many of them moved, swaying to an unheard music, tentacles whipping about, and occassionally squirting a strange and noxious fluid that dissolved anything it came in contact with. Several humans, who were frozen nearby disintegrated in a pink mist as they exploded from contact with the plant venom.

The military watched from the fringe of the light barrier after several of their missiles failed to penetrate it and fell to Earth, unmoving but still quite active. After destroying several blocks of Manhattan with cruise missiles that fell far short of the target, the Navy resorted to 20 mm guns. They too, flew unerringly to the target until they reached the barrier then they promptly exploded scattering shrapnel everyone on the outside of the light shield. Dozens of people were unfortunately killed.

The president decided that he would tell the military to stand down before they killed any more New Yorkers by getting the idea that a nuclear strike would be a good option to try next. Since the military could not destroy the aliens, they were forced to watch and record. Cameras were pointed into the field only to find out, once they were turned on, they did not record anything inside it.

Then artists were given binoculars and told to paint, draw, create images of the aliens as detailed as possible. Each artist did their best to create an image as true to the aliens as they could. When the military later compared all of their drawings, each one was as different as could be. Not a single image resembled any of the creatures and none of the images resembled each other. None of the artists seem to think this was strange or out of place. What most people saw were suits of armor that seemed to be made of a metal that absorbed light. They were matt black in appearance and only small lights could be made out on the fronts and backs of the suits. Each suit carried a staff-like object which seemed to function as a multi-tool. They could destroy matter or recreate matter with the same tool.

Unable to record effectively, the military was forced to use trained observers to try and remember every possible detail they could. They would of course find out a few days later, most of those observers would remember a picnic or birthday party or some other event they enjoyed and would not be able to be convinced otherwise they were not reporting anything useful to their commanding officers. It took two days for the alien table, chairs, exotic plants and force field generators to be ready.

The President of the United States sat in his office and talked to me, an anthropologist by trade, what I though the aliens wanted. I was about to answer that question when there was a flash of light and we were both transported, along with two Secret Service agents to the center of the alien sitting area. Seconds later, every leader of every major population group on the planet began to appear, rapidly filling the entire space the aliens had created.

Food, appeared as mysteriously as we did and I decided to sit down and eat one of the apples, golden in color, from the table. It was the most amazing thing I had ever eaten. The Secret Service agents shook their heads while I tasted the apple. I assume they thought I was taking a considerable risk, but I did not think so. If they wanted to kill us, they did not have to teleport us here to do it. They could have, just as easily destroyed us in transit, or teleported a bomb to our office. Besides, the President was a cheapskate, he did not even spring for a lunch before out meeting and I was starving.

I offered the President a bite, but he look incredulously at me, so I kept eating. Once everyone had settled down, the alien plants moved up behind us and stood quietly.

"People and leaders of Earth. We are the Warlords of Hurumpharump and we are here to conquer your planet. In an effort to be civilized, we have sent away our fleet and left a single vessel over your major metropolis, New York. This was done to let you know, we do not consider you a threat in any way and it would be best for all of us, if your people surrender peacefully and become servants to our House."

The alien voice did not appear to emanate from any particular alien. They had all stopped moving once the speaking took place and stood quietly in their black battlesuits. Did I mention they were nearly fifteen feet tall? From a distance, without something to scale them against, it was quite a shock to be looking up at the terrifying image of an extraterrestrial with ideas of conquest you have to actually look up at. The alien voice continued.

"As our servants, you will enjoy lives of productive work, rather than going to offices and shuffling piles of paper from copier to closet. Why bother pretending to be working on financial derivatives when you know you would rather be working in the fields, producing Triliaifid for our armies. Once you learn how to train them and control them, you will be excellent Triliaifid harvesters. We do not expect to lose more than fifty percent of your entire species in the first year. As you grow more experienced, that number will diminish significantly and by year five, your population will begin to stabilize and return to positive numbers."

All of the faces around the table looked shocked and unbelieving at what they were hearing. Fifty percent of the population in a single year? The cheap President, Walter Fox, stood up and adjusted his tie before speaking. "Walter Fox, Republican, President of the United States, the most powerful nation on Earth. I greet you in the name of our gathered coalition of friends from all over the globe."

His voice seemed to carry to everyone sitting around the courtyard and several weak smiles returned to faces, as his familiar voice and oratory speech patterns returned order to the world. For a moment, even my head had stopped spinning and I was beginning to feel hopeful, some kind of other resolution would be reached.

"We are aware of who you are President Fox. Please sit down. Your species lacks the proper ability to resist us and by the standards of the Galactic Treaties of Confederation, your world now belongs to us, by right of Conquest."

By right of Conquest. Hmmm. I had an idea. But I remember my mother saying better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission. I stood up, adjusted my tie and horn-rimmed glasses and proceeded to make a statement that would affect the lives of billions. No pressure. "Excuse me, great Warlords of Hurumpharump (I have an ear for language, so I added the proper juicy inflection. I had to pass the President my pocket hankerchief afterward.) masters of the Triliaifid and possible rulers of Earth, I would ask if there are any rules of conflict or engagement that might stipulate how combat between our species should be fought?"

The Hurumpharump turned toward each other and then walked away from their positions behind the table to huddle together. The President looked up at me after wiping his jacket but before he could speak, the Hurumpharump answered.

"The Codex of War says we have the option of engaging in any contest we deem an effective display of strength. We studied your planet for weeks and determined your military effectiveness could not prevent us from dominating your world."

"Surely, such an advanced species would not consider it to be civilized to simply destroy a species without offering them a sporting chance to engage in a form of combat where true prowess could be determined."

They huddled again.

"Continue your proposal."

"I propose we engage in a physical contest where technology is not a factor, allowing us both to see the other and relate as equals. If you are going to dominate us, it would be better if we knew that no matter the circumstances you would be superior to us. Otherwise, as a species, we will simply rebel and rebel again."

"This is reasonable. Name your contest."

Looking out over the area, I realized we were in a park with a recreation center nearby. Then the idea struck me and I knew in my gut, it was the right choice.

"Baseball. The contest is nine innings of baseball."

#

"Are you out of your mind, Doctor? Did you agree to risk the entire human race on a game of baseball?"

"I don't see the problem, Mr. President, the Hurumpharump agreed to play and would not wear their battle-armors. They only required a month to learn to play the game. They were certain their physical superiority would be enough to learn to play well enough to beat us. Frankly, it seemed better than depending on the military to win a contest with them. We can't even take a picture of them unless they want us to. Were you really depending on the military to win? Mr. President, I understand the risks, but at least this way we get one shot at not becoming a harvesting world of Triliaifid spores where half the human race dies on the job."

"How do you know they will keep their word?"

"President Fox, your politician is showing again. These are not politicians, they are warriors. They do not lie to an enemy they do not have to. These creatures are beings of honor. I may not know much about them, but I do know this, they will keep their word. They never had to give it in the first place, so it must have value to their culture."

As I left the office, I turned to the President to say, "I trust you will keep your political interests out of your negotiations, sir. If they discover you might tell a lie, they may be inclined to kill you when they discover it. I would go with open honest discourse whenever you deal with them. I know you are a politician, so it might be a stretch for you. Do your best."

"Where will you be, Doctor, in case I need you?"

"With them, of course."

#

The Hurumpharump had a few conditions. They would be given access to a trainer or coach well versed in the game. As a matter of fact, they wanted the best the Earth had to offer. In addition, they wanted us to put up a stake to ensure we would give them the best training possible. They decided we would surrender every major league baseball player over the age of eighteen as a collateral.

The only team that would be exempt would be team they play against. If that team won, they would be allowed to retain their lives. If they lost, their lives were forfeit, and the Hurumpharump would rule the Earth for one thousand Earth years or five hundred birth cycles of the Triliaifid, whichever came first. Occasionally, a particularly fecund planet might alter they cycle, allowing them to reproduce even faster than normal. This has a slight effect on the handler's population but the benefits outweigh the risk.

Coach David Reynold's, who at the time was the coach of the World Series Champions, the San Francisco Giants, was chosen to represent the Hurumpharump team. Earth's all-star team would be coached by the Coach of the New York Mets, Nevil Maynard. The all-stars were chosen from teams all over the Earth and for the next thirty days, they would be training harder than ever. The game would be held in Yankee Stadium in New York and would be simulcast all over the world in real time.

The Hurumpharump desired to train in Florida, because without their suits, they preferred the heat and humidity. Fortunately for them (and I guess for us) it was summer in New York, so it was likely to be hot and humid during the game. It was to be held August 30.

To reduce issues of coordination, every baseball player on Earth was teleported to the light field and the all-stars were chosen from their number. Once a team was chosen, nine players and nine alternates, and three pitchers, the team was teleported to a secure location to begin their practice. They would be fed, trained and cared for, but would not be allowed to see, or interact with anyone until the game.

Coach Reynolds and myself as well as a team of seven alternative trainers would also be on hand to assist the Hurumpharump during their development. Once we gave them the specification for a baseball field, physical dimensions, physical makeup, cage, stadium and specifications they recreated one on their ship, seconds before we arrived in it, so I am told.

It was Yankee Stadium in every way (except there was no gum under the seats and no one hawking and spilling beer on me while I watched). When the Hurumpharump teleported us all to their field, they opened their suits of armor by running their hands down an invisible seam in the front and the suit peeled away showing a semi-organic, semi-machine based device/organism. Oh I wanted to be able to take a picture but I satisfied myself with attempting to memorize everything and hoped they would allow me to take my memories home with me. We were told once everything had been established, this field would be transported to an area in Florida, temporarily so they could enjoy the heat and humidity there.

When their suits opened, the smell was horrible, almost as if something had crawled into their suits and died. They were pastel colored and no two possessed exactly the same hues, shades or color patterns. Some shared certain color characteristics but I could not be sure what the riot of colors meant. Each possessed excellent muscle tone and a shimmering scale-like skin. Their eyes were large and had multicolored iris-like fields, super responsive pupils and multiple eyelids, both an inner and an outer one.

Their bodies were bilaterally similar and relatively evenly proportioned. Without their suits, they were still six to seven feet tall and all had very well developed teeth. Judging from the size of their craniums, they had a very good brain to body ratio, slightly better than ours, so they are at least as intelligent as we are. I would only know more if I had the option to observe their brains in action. I would have to enjoy what I learned without the benefit of hands on study at this time.

Once out of their suits, they were immediately rubbed with an unguent of some kind by what turned out to be servants of another species. The servants were some sort of insectovoid. They move swiftly, scraping away the ichor that came from within their suits and generously slathering on this much better smelling agent. Even without their armor, the Hurumpharump still maintained an aura of unmistakable power.

They were correct. With their physical aptitude, they were naturals for the game of baseball. With two noted issues. When we first introduced them to the bat, they were very excited. They had no directly equivalent word, and the best they could do was "bludgeon" and we let it go for the sake of expediency. When we introduced the bat, they were extremely excited, one of the first showing of any emotional state other than what would appear to be boredom. The took the bat, passed it around, hefted it, marveled at its weight, swung a few times and nodded approvingly.

I had to ask. "What are you all so happy about?"

He (I think it was a he, they all looked the same and accepted the pronoun without comment) waved the bludgeon in the air and said, "Finally a weapon, we were unsure about this idea until now. Will we all be issued a bludgeon or will we have to share it during the struggle for dominance." At that point, the other Hurumpharump made noises I equate with chimpanzees and dominance activity as they crowded around the bat wielder.

"No, no. While it is true, you will be using the, uh, bludgeon, you will not be using on the other team. You will be using it to strike the ball." Puzzled looks followed. At this time, we began to show them videos of the game and they were fascinated and intrigued. We left them alone with dozens of recordings for three days. When we were allowed to return, they had already separated into training teams and had begun attempting to play.

Which brings me to the second issue. Pitching. The Hurumpharump while physically powerful seemed to have an inherent issue with their throwing skills. They could throw reasonably well, that was not the problem. It was a issue of degree. Those that could throw accurately and with some degree of precision, were not very powerful. Those who were powerful, could not guarantee any degree of precision beyond a very general degree. While the coach was unhappy to discover this weakness, he had seen it in players before and continued to push them to overcome it. The Hurumpharump refused to use gloves and did not seemed hindered by the sting of the ball in any way. We offered to show them how to use them, but they did not seem to understand the point.

With this disability in mind, the inaccurate throwers became outfielders, and the accurate became pitchers and infielders, inelegant, but necessary. Ofter overcoming their disappointment for not getting to club anyone during the course of the game, the Hurumpharump became excellent players despite their throwing handicap. And they would be quite a surprise to our human team in one other amazing attribute.

We did not communicate often with the human team, but reports said they were in good spirits and confident of their ability to win easily. I read those reports with trepidation and hoped they would not be overconfident.

When the day of the game arrived, the Hurumpharump teleported both teams to the real Yankee Stadium and the stadium was filled with spectators who were allowed to enter the stadium at will. The stadium was packed with humans, wearing all kinds of baseball paraphernalia cheering their respective heroes on. Food was passed out, drinks were dispensed and no money changed hands. I think it was decided if the end of the world was coming, everyone should be full and perhaps a bit intoxicated. The president and his contingent as well as those world leaders who had not returned home, had an entire box area to themselves and they were adjacent to the insectovoid servants of the Hurumpharump of which there were forty or so who appeared for the game. Before the game started, the insectovoids came out to the field and groomed the Hurumpharump and provided them with uniforms with numbers. After slathering them with the unguent, they were dressed and they awaited the National Anthem.

We were surprised to find out the Hurumpharump wanted to sing the National Anthem, in English, no less. It was evident he had practiced for some time, because he sang without the translator we were so used to hearing. His accent was thick but passable and he did not embarrass himself as much as many celebrities had in the past. The song resonated with the audience and at the end, they cheered his efforts and applauded mightily. He looked puzzled and turned to me. I made the sign of approval I had seen them show each other and he appeared to be satisfied and returned to the dugout.

"Play Ball," the umpire shouted to herald in the most important game in human existence.

The Hurumpharump started the inning and when the first pitch was thrown, it was a fastball, low and outside. The Hurumpharump, number 13, seemed to be a statue until a split second before the ball crossed the plate. Then his bat was a blur of motion. It moved so fast no one could even see it. The ball disappeared in a cloud of dust as it flew down the right field line and disapeared out of field, and continued out of the stadium. The only words spoken were "take your bases, sir." And the score was one-zip. The Hurumpharump repeated this for fifteen home runs before their side was retired. After the fourth or fifth one, the stadium was as quiet as the grave. Humanity breathed a sigh of relief when their side was retired.

When the first human came to bat, a Darrell Mayers, from the Philadelphia Phillies, the crowd went wild and I found myself, caught up in the infectious energy. He tapped his shoes, smiled, pointed out into right field and stood over the plate. The pitcher watched the signs from the catcher, shook two off and then nodded. His pitch was a fastball at a whopping seventy seven miles per hour. Respectable from a Hurumpharump but nothing compared to what Mayers was used to hitting. He drove it from the stadium as if it was lobbed underhand. And the game was on.

Nine innings later, the game was remarkable for several reasons. It was the highest scoring baseball game in history, not because it was not played well. Each team did remarkably well once they adapted to the style of play of the other. When the ball was kept in the stadium, there was some of the best baseball anyone had ever seen. Spectacular plays, incredible throws, steals, I forgot to mention how fast the Hurumpharump were stealing bases; baseball had never looked so good. In the beginning, the crowd gave no love to the Hurumpharump but by the fifth inning after a spectacular triple play against the humans to retire the side, the crowd cheered the sheer beauty of the game. And soon, both teams were being cheered and for just a moment, you were able to forget the fate of the world hung in the balance. During the seventh inning stretch people got up for a moment and walked but no one left. Even the sportscasters were excited about the game.

The Hurumpharump added three runs to their total as their turn at bat ended, with the score being 157 to 154. It was possible for humanity to win and Coach Reynolds called a time out to change his pitcher. During this time, President Fox chose to come out to the dugout and he had to pass the Hurumpharump dugout. The insectovoids had chosen to come out and apply their healing unguent to the team and were bustling about the dugout as the president and his security detail passed by. President Fox shoved his way past one of the insectovoids and continued without even acknowledging the event.

The roar of the crowd was defining and the President had to yell to be heard. "Gentlemen, I have never been as proud of this game as I am today. I want it to be known, no matter what happens, you have been exceptional today. But I want to take this moment to remind you, the fate of our species lies in your hands. You are a team comprised of the finest our world has to offer. I want you to do your absolute best in this final inning."

Coach Reynolds finished out on the mound and the President and his team rushed back to their box. The insectovoids returned a few moments later and the game reconvened. The new pitcher was one a Hurumpharump, number 6, who had been held in reserve until now. I remembered why. He was one of the few who had been able to pitch with both control and power. Coach Reynold had been true to his word. He would do whatever it took to win. It did not matter to the crowd though, they were cheering maniacally as he took the mound.

Bu Tao, of China, came to the plate and after having innings of easy hits was surprised at the speed and power of Number 6's pitches. Stepping into a more controlled crouch, he concentrates and gets a chip into left field and makes it to first. Number 6 is unaffected and takes the next batter in three swings. One out. The next batter is a giant from the Dominican Republic, Fernando Ayala, and he is easily one of the best hitters in the world. The stadium quiets down after the easy out of the last batter.

The first pitch was a rocket and is outside. The second is a curve and inside. Ayala, swings on the next pitch and misses, 2 and 1. Ayala grins and the Hurumpharump shows its teeth in challenge. The next pitch was perfect and Ayala swings and breaks his bat for a double. The outfielder, number 12, rushed hit, and had a cannon for an arm. He made the throw to home to keep Bu Tao, from scoring Men on second and third, one out.

Music blaring, crowd singing, people cheering, even the insectovoids, who until the very last few innings has sat impassively seemed agitated, their antenna waving and their second pair of hands drumming out a strange cadence in counterpoint to the music, complementary and rhythmically pleasing. No game had ever caught the attention, the crowds, the adulation this game had. It was later reported, this frenzy had caught on all over the world. If you could see the game, you were swept up in it.

David Matthews, number 42 of the Mets, came to bat and Number 6 had been briefed on the team and knew he was the best hitter with the sharpest eye. So he walked him, counting on their superior infield to take the double play against the next far weaker hitter.

Matthews took his base, visibly angered. Number 6 showed no emotion as he awaited the next batter. The next batter was from the Netherlands, Number 14, Dave Rajier. He was a good fielder and chosen because of his skill in the outfield. He was a passingly good hitter, batting .273, but no one wanted him to be hitting right now. Too much was at stake. Rajier, came to the plate, tipped his hat to the crowd, and stood ready.

The two, Rajier and number 6 filled the count, three balls and two strikes, each working their skills and the battle came down to their indomitable wills. The next pitch would decide it. Number 6 turned the catcher down 4 times before deciding. Rajier squinted, gripped and swung, hard. There was solid contact and the ball flew high into left field. Number 11, a Hurumpharump known for his leaping ability tracked it and ran toward the wall. He leaped and everyone held their breath. The ball was just shy of his fingers by about an inch. The same inch would have been successfully covered by a glove, had he been using one. Grand Slam, home run. The humans had won the game!

People cheered, music played, and everyone roared as the game came to an end. Both teams seemed exceptionally excited and ran out onto the field to hug and congratulate each other. I approached the Hurumpharump who in their excitement hugged me closely and I squeaked so that he might let me go. He was powerful but gentle and placed me back on the ground.

The cheering continued for some time and then a pleasant chime sounded and all of the stadium music subsided. "People of Earth, when we first agreed to engage in this challenge, we were certain we would be able to win. Our generations of battle experience and breeding made us believe the outcome was never in doubt. But instead, your people have proven to be resilient warriors and impeccable instructors, who taught with honor and patience. They gave completely to our players guidance in all aspects of the game and as a result, their performance was exemplary, wouldn't all agree?"

The crowd roared with enthusiasm, forgetting any sense of decorum, giddy with the win.

"It gives us great pleasure to announce we will not be using your planet as a breeding ground for the Triliaifid. We have found your species to be more developed in some ways than our own. We will instead consult with your world on more of these "games" as you call them. On our worlds, there are no contests that do not end in death, so this is a novel concept for us. In return, we shall spare your world and help guide you into the galaxy as a member of the Confederation. We will, of course, be removing weapons from your world to ensure that you do not destroy yourselves before we can experience all of your games. Your games will become the currency you will buy your way into the galactic community."

President Fox, finding his way to a microphone was incensed. "Who are you to come to our planet and dictate our social policy regarding weapons or any other state policy. The United States is a sovereign nation..."

"Enough, President Fox." The President reappeared in a flash of light in the center of the stadium surrounded by the Triliaifid and Hurumpharump in black armors. "You are no longer in a position to dictate anything on this planet. Your second in command, a Vice President Davis will be assuming control of your United States. You will be tried and likely found guilty of assaulting a higher life form in the performance of its duties."

"What do you mean, I don't remember assaulting anyone?"

A holographic image is displaying showing the President shoving his way past the insectovoid grooming a Hurumpharump.

"And? They are just servants. Who cares about servants?"

"Your crime Mr. President is the lack of manners and respect due any lifeform. You and your line will be punished directed to tend Triliaifid at our next training facility. You will be returned at the end of a ten year sentence, should you and your survive."

The insectovoids turn and wave and the Hurumpharump battle armors escort the former President into the beam.

Number 6 turns to me and places his hand upon my shoulder. "They are not the servants. We are."

"Bludgeon" © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Desi Roberto Santiago was a slacker. There is nothing wrong with being a slacker, except if you owed people money. Dezy owed very few people but the people he owed money were the kind of folks who would break one or both of your legs if you were late paying up. 

Unfortunately for him, slacking was his avowed lifestyle. He learned early in life, nothing was ever worth rushing for, or worse, putting in hard time and effort. It always disappointing and never worth the time you spent getting it. A form of perpetual buyer's remorse. So Dezy's motto was want not, work not. But he never lived up to it. He always spent more than he had and now had borrowed money from the local máfia boss, Don Milagro to keep himself in the latest tech. But Dezy had a plan.

Dezy was a bit skinny and asthmatic. His black hair was perpetually uncombed and often more than a bit dirty. He had a bit of chin hair and a line on his lip that wanted to be a mustache, unsuccessfully. His clothing reflected his overall attempts at looking prosperous, all second hand clothing that used to belong to rich tourists. None of it matched and most of it was ill-fitting only making it more apparent he was poor.

He left his day job with the same rage he felt every day. Two hours of work on the phone providing technical support to some cabrón in India, and then sent home. It wasn't even work anymore. Two hours? It took him longer to get to work, than he was there. No matter, after his next score, he was going to quit that job and maybe even come in a piss on his bosses desk before leaving.

He hated climbing the stairs to his fifteenth story apartment on the Southside of what was left of Mexico City. He stepped over Antonio on the ninth floor, passed out in a puddle of the latest pharmaceutical mierda being put out by Pharmacon. The man reeked something awful, the mix of body odor, urine and vomit might have caused Dezy to throw up, if he had anything to eat for the last few days. Instead, a burning sensation filled the pit of his stomach and he clenched his nose and jumped over the prone body on the stairs. When Antonio sobered up, he would probably be looking for a bath. He was not the only person squatting here with a pungent aroma of soaplessness. 

Living in what was called the Ivory Tower, a partially completed tenement abandoned by a construction company after the earthquake, water was in short supply past the fifth floor. Beyond that water pressure had to be created using mechanical tools. Dezy's solution was to use a salvaged bicycle and a room-mate to help bring up enough water from the street. When Dezy could spare some water or get some extra time on the bike, he would help Tony clean up but today wasn't going to be one of those days. Dezy had work to do.

It had rained all last week and Dezy's catch basins on the roof were full. He had made them several months ago after finding an old printed copy of Home Designers Quarterly, one of the last prints made before paper became illegal to produce. He found them in, of all places, the burned out quarter of the barrio, hidden in a cache of thousands of magazines, buried deep after Mexico City's great quake of 2052. Whole sections of the city were off limits, too dangerous they said, but despite his asthma, Dezy loved to explore. He used the magazine to create catch basins from plastic containers all over the city, and set them up on the top of the roof to capture the ever decreasing rainwater. Engineering a distribution system and a water-cranked dynamo with old auto batteries allowed Dezy to power his electronics.

Pumping water was never something Desi enjoyed doing, so his catch basins were a way of letting nature work for him instead. But when nature wasn't feeling generous Dezy had rigged up a bicycle in his apartment to act as his pump and could fill his bathtub in about fifteen minutes with vigorous riding. And that was the catch. It had to be vigorous. Which means he needed help. Hence his less than perfect room-mate.

"Hermano, its good to see you. What did you bring me?"

"Nothing, the same thing I bring you everyday. I got some extra work today and I need to get started. Go back to your bootleg cable." The freemium directed receiver array gave a grainy picture, in high definition, no less.

"Why you got to be like that?" Nicolas was half Russian and half Mexican, so he was a giant in tan. 

"Be like what, you are always mooching. Why don't you run out and find something to eat for us today? You could always go back to work." Nicolas' exotic appearance made him a hit with the ladies and all of the screaming meant they liked his... assets. Dezy despised him most of the time, when he wasn't wanting to be him. Nicolas went back to his room and a few minutes later, giggling could be heard through the closed door. Dezy grimaced, shook his head and picked up his Nakatomi 3270 integrated OS datadeck. Sleek and tiny, Dezy may have shoes with holes, but it was clear this piece of state-of-the-art technology was his real priority.

Dezy pulled out his oversized rig from under the sofa and plugged his deck into it. His rig was twice the size of a standard unit because of all of his extended non-standard adaptations. Numerous cards of different colors were clipped onto his primary databoard in an unsightly, and precariously balanced array.

He looked at the series of readouts and saw with the amount of water he had on the roof, he could run his deck for about eight hours. He set up the piping so he could redirect water to his bathtub and to his internal storage containers in the apartment. He would be able to capture nearly half of the water from the roof. He tapped on the pipe in a series of warning tones that he would be opening his water supply to anyone downstream and to let them know in thirty minutes water would flow until it was gone and for them to be ready. He received three taps back from three different people, so he knew most of the water would find a home.

The deck's internal battery was already nearly fully powered and he did his best to keep it that way, because he never knew when he would have work and wanted to always have the option to work even if there wasn't any water or electricity where he might be staying. The deck, in power-saving mode, might last twenty hours, but it took half that time just to find a buyer these days. Paper is lucrative, but the fines and penalties were high if you were caught trafficking in paper products or infodrops of paper from older magazines from the last century.

His initial diagnostic of his deck said the software was up to date as it could be and there was no traffic that resembled los ángeles at his current connection. That would change, the more suspicious his traffic got. Los ángeles, low Turing AI's monitored the NewerNet kept track of any packets whose pedigree they could not easily identify. Dezy's greatest hack was his ability to make his packets look completely innocent and resemble the multitude of datastreams out there already.

The NewerNet was not like the old Internet that collapsed in 2027 in the media explosion of the late 2020's. It was designed from the ground up to be completely under the control of the founding governments of the United States and Europe, the primary investors. As other countries were allowed to buy their way in, strict regulation of the traffic and content was established. Since media crashed the Internet, there were multiple control systems on media, ensuring smoother traffic and better management. This also meant the worldwide internet agency chartered by the United Nations became the impromptu police of the NewerNet. This new stricter internet was one of the most policed and controlled systems in the world. Using pre-turing AI's, the network was constantly patrolled, regulated, data managed and operating system upgraded piece of technology to ever exist.

And the most souless, thought Dezy. Once the NewerNet was established three years after the collapse of the Old Internet, big money kept the network the playground of the elite and the superwealthy. The OlderNet was restored as a shadow of itself but because so many people were forced to use it, it was very unstable and unfriendly, not to mention filled with a variety of spyware, malware and rogue viruses. The insecurity of the Oldernet allowed Dezy to use it to enter the NewerNet and meet his clients using specialized hacks Dezy had created when he was just a child of nine or ten.

Dezy activated his rainwater power system and his rig hummed to life. Gotta work fast, ten hours will vanish like magic. Indeed they did, he did not find his next buyer for almost nine hours after starting. The data his buyer was looking for was information regarding private solar technology development. Information of this nature had become government owned during the economic collapse of big business when the internet failed. Energy companies were the first services absorbed by the government. 

All of their attendant information was also absorbed. The cache of publications Dezy had found had to be a library extension because his database linked two dozen articles and five of them were specifically about the processes used to make advanced solar cells. Dezy was able to convince his client to the astronomical finder fees of five hundred thousand New Pesos. That would be enough to pay off Don Milago and get the price off of his head. There would still be enough to get a new deck and upgrade this shitty old rig to something more state of the art. Maybe even new. He might even share the wealth with his stupid room mate for all the times he spent riding water into the bathtub when Dezy couldn't. He would blow through his fifty thousand in putas and tequila, but that would be his business.

He arranged for a meeting place with the client with a time delay activation. The client would only get the key to break the encryption twenty minutes before the drop. No military or police can mobilize in that kind of time. At the first hint of betrayal, Dezy will vanish into the crowds and will never be seen. Dezy could hear the knocking of the pipes and see the pressure timer indicating he had used up eight hours of water and was about to run out of pressure. He turned off the pipe, leaving thirty or so minutes of extra water to spare. He tapped the pipes again and everyone responded with thanks and shutting off their values until the next time.

Exhausted, Dezy fell into a dreamless sleep. 

#

"Salir, puta, vete a casa de tu madre." Nicolas was drunk and threw the woman's clothes out of the apartment door. As she ran by in disgust, she snatched the money of his hands as she passed him. He in return smacked her on the ass and lifted the heavy door back into the locked position. Nicky stank of sex and went into the bathroom and noticed the tub was more than half full of water. He considered just jumping into the water, but not completely crazy, Nicky drew a small bucket from the wall and filled it with water. Using this he cleaned himself up and admired himself in the mirror, again.

Nicky hated the putas. They always thought they were better than him. Selling your ass is not a job he would say, but they would just laugh and take his money. Nicky noted sunrise had just taken place as he left out of the bathroom and lit up the eastern side of the building without a completed face. Feeling better after his washing up, he grabbed the last of the cheese and stale bread from their refrigerating pantry. 

We need to score soon, there ain't shit in here to eat now. As he chewed the tough bread and slightly dessicated cheese, Nicky had an idea. He had been following Dezy a few days ago and knew he had found a new cache of paper. Nicky mentioned idly to Dezy they could sell the whole lot at a black market paper pulper and make some good money. Nicky had sold stockpiles that size for easily fifty thousand New Pesos. Dezy had told him to wait until he had finished his survey, but well, he aint my boss. I can get that money and give him his fifty percent and be in hookers, booze and money for weeks, if he managed it right. Nicky went to his closet and put on a good suit. It was never a good idea to meet Don Milago looking anything less than perfect.

#

Dezy woke hungry and feeling just a bit sick. The sun shining through the open east face of the building was hot, very hot. He was sweating and knew this would be another one of those three digit days. Washing off the stink of his sweaty night's sleep, Dezy had wanted to be up and out before it go this hot, and now he would have to be climbing in the heat of the day. The drop was tomorrow so he couldn't let it wait. 

He opened the pantry in the partially complete kitchen. The cheese and bread were both gone. Cabrón. That was enough cheese and bread he could have left half for me. Why do I deal with him? It isn't like we are even friends anymore. After tomorrow, I will just move out try and rent a small house closer to the center of town near my job. I will be able to pay the rent for a year, giving me time to figure out my next move. Even after I give Don Milago his cut and interest, I will be set for months. I could even take my time with my next project.

Dezy's stomach rumbled, breaking his reverie. Okay mijo, we have fifteen pesos left. Just enough to grab something to eat and get over to the zone. This would be his last meal for a while if this drop didn't work. He changed out of his good clothing and put on some tan khakis and a backpack. In the pack were his deck, water, rope, duct tape, a filtermask, gloves and waterproof folders to move the product in.

The climb down did nothing to improve his state of mind. It seemed everyone had the same idea to sit in the stairwell, because it was fifteen degrees cooler in the concrete isolated tube. By the time he reached the street, he was hot, annoyed and more tired than when he woke up. The five miles to the zone was thankfully uneventful other than a few nu-chickens waddling down the road, their oversized breasts making it nearly impossible for them to escape the children chasing behind them.

Seeing those children put him in mind of Nicolas. When they were younger, they were just like these kids, chasing chickens for dinner just like mother asked us to. Nicky was fun back then, reckless, wild and completely fearless. Those same traits make him an irresponsible adult. His transformation was a gradual one, and it didn't seem to be complete until after their mother died. Mom told Nicky to take care of me because of my asthma and that he was the man of the house. But right after mom died, we lost our home in the quake and we lived on the street until we found a place at the Ivory Towers. Falling in with Don Milago and his mafia was the worst thing Nicky ever did. The worst thing I did was to listen and join with him. But today, that ends. Dezy's mental ramblings had distracted him from the distance and the heat. He came to the edge of the earthquake zone, still marked with orange traffic cones and concrete dividers at the edge of the sinkhole.

The center of Mexico City sat on an underground aquifer which had existed for millions of years. As the city grew and demanded more water for its twenty million inhabitants, the aquifer slowly lost water faster than it gained it from rainwater and mountain run off. The day of the great quake, a 9.3, one of the greatest quakes of all time, teamed up with the collapse of the aquifer cavity and you have one of the worst natural disasters in history. Nine million people died in the initial collapse. The poorest quarters of town outside of the city proper, the barrios, survived with collapsed buildings but without the catastrophic loss of life.

The edges of the city farthest from the sinkhole were still relatively accessible if one was careful and tied very good knots. There was something wrong with the area as he approached. The cones had been moved from their normal positions and the concrete barriers were parted as if to allow a vehicle past. Slipping down behind rubble, Dezy followed the road, determined to figure out what anyone in a vehicle could possibly want down here. The road was unstable and a truck was simply the stupidest thing you could do.

When Nicolas showed up at Don Milagro's villa it was still early in the morning, with only the slightest hint of the coming heat. The gate guards let Nicolas through with only a cursory glance and a quick pat down. Nicky was of course, unarmed. Very few people could afford a firearm these days. Two guards waved Nicky toward the house and he made his way up to the side of the pool where the Don was having breakfast in the shade of a tree that blocked the morning sun.

The Don smiled as Nicolas came into view and stood up to greet him. He was a huge man, still vigorous-looking despite his age and salt and pepper hair. "Nicky, sit down with me and have breakfast."

Nicolas thought to refuse but the Don's tone left him with the impression he did not have a choice. "Si, Don Milagro, Gracias."

"Now tell me about your project, Nicky."

"Well, I need a truck and some men to help me move some paper. I found a large stockpile of it in Old New Mexico City."

"Really?" Don Milagro's face was smiling but his dark eyes didn't. His eyes were all business. 

Nicolas continued "Its near the edge of the collapse zone and I believe there is several tons of it. I have a buyer lined up willing to convert it at their own facility. So, all we have to do is pick up the load, move it and drop it and they are promising me $175,000 New Pesos for the shipment."

"What would you want from me, Nicky? You sound as if everything is already worked out."

"I need manpower and a truck, Don Milago. To move that much paper, quickly, will take at least 4-6 men."

"And what is my percentage of this endeavor if I provide you with fast manpower and a vehicle?" The Don had stopped eating and fixed Nicolas with his complete attention. Nicolas suddenly felt hot and sweat burst out underneath his shirt, a cold sweat, decidingly uncomfortable. 

"I was thinking of splitting it, 60/40. With the sixty going to you, of course."

"It seems a bit one-sided to me, mijo. I am providing the truck, and up to six men to work in the heat of the day, near a dangerous sinkhole. I certainly hope you can do better than that."

"Of course, Don Milagro. What was I thinking? I meant to say 80/20, seeing how generous you are being with your men and your overall support."

"Now you know that you and your brother are in deep debt to me at the moment. But I think of you like family. I would like to think you would want to help out your younger brother in his time of need. He owes me enough money, at this point, for me to have his kneecaps shattered. I like you, Nicky. I understand you. Greed and avarice are things near to me. Your brother, not so much. I do not understand his motivations and what I don't understand, I don't have any use for."

"I don't follow you, señor." Nicolas did not like where this conversation was heading.

"Your brother is in debt to me for nearly 250,000 New Pesos. I have not tried to call that debt in for some time, because he is usually good about paying me, but now the word has gotten out that he owes me this money. I cannot have my reputation being damaged, having anyone saying that I am weak, and I cannot control my men. I need you to make the problem of your brother go away. Necesito que a desaparecer."

"Don Milagro, you know I will do anything you ask me to. But he is my brother."

"He is your problem, then. He has my money or you make him disappear. I shall show you my generosity. Keep all the money from your little paper excursion. I will call it your fee. Feel better, now? I will have the men and truck ready within the hour. Finish your breakfast.

Nicky could barely eat anything and he was starving. His stomach felt like a pool of bubbling acid. What in the hell was he going to do?

#

Dezy could not believe anyone could be this stupid. The truck was parked backward on a steep slope, with the backdoor open. But this whole are was unstable and could slide into the sinkhole at any time. As it was, the repository was nearer to the edge than he would have liked. He used his line to tie himself off and began to pay it out behind him, watching his every step until he came to the drop point. As he got closer, he could hear the voices of the men and a couple of them sounded familiar.

Alfredo? What's he doing here? Is that Nicky? Dezy slips out of line of sight of the van. Alfredo, Nicky and two others come around the corner pulling dollies with containers filled to the brim with paper from his stockpile! 

"Tú pendejo!" Dezy ran out and drew back with all his strength and knocks Nicky flat on his ass. "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

"What? Do you know how much this is worth?" Nicky clutched his bleeding lip and jaw. He sat up but did not move.

"Do you? How much do you think you are going to get for this?"

"I have been promised 175,000 New Peso, cabrón. Now you need to get out of my face, so I can get back to work."

Dezy's rage grew ten times stronger and made him reckless. He kicked Nicky in the chin and screamed at him. "Estupido. I will make more money from a single page than you would for this entire lot."

The remainder of Don Milagro's men lifted not a finger to interfere. This was a family matter and they turned around and found a nicstick to smoke and share while the two worked out their issues. They would follow whoever came out on top.

Dezy's rage tightened his chest and his breathing became labored. He started wheezing and fell to his knees.

Nicky shook off the kick and got to his knees. "Mijo, slow down. Calm down." He hefted Dezy to his chest and held him close. "Breathe slower. You are always so over-excited. Mama was right to leave me in charge."

Dezy weakly struck out at Nicky and then turned into his chest as his breath slowly came back to him. He began to cry. "Why Nicky, why do you always want to screw up my things?"

"I don't know, Dezy. I'm always jealous of you. You can do so many things with your mind. I'm just a dumb jock. Selling your paper was petty. I just wanted to make some quick cash. I'm sorry."

The four men from Don Milago's villa had finished their nickstik and turned to look at the two men. "Is this lovefest over? Can we get back to work?"

Nicky looked at Dezy with inquiry in his eyes. "Wait here. Hold this rope. I will be right back." Dezy moved into the partially collapsed building and dropped off a floor adjacent to the stairwell Nicky had been using. The paper Dezy needed was several levels below what they were moving. He could tell from the covers of the books he was seeing they had not reached the information he planned to sell. Working quickly, he grabbed the publications he had already set aside and put them into his pack.

He tugged the rope and shouted up, "Okay, pull me up."

Nicky and his men pulled Dezy back to the first floor. "Go ahead, do what you need to. Be careful, this area is less stable than it looks. Don't go beyond the second floor."

"Okay, you heard the man. Let's get moving." As Alfredo and his team move out, Nicky turns Dezy towards him and knocks some of the dust off of him. "Dezy, Don Milagro is really pissed about the money you owe him. Can you pay him?"

"I think so. If my buy goes down tomorrow, we will be alright. I will buy us out, free and clear."

"That's great. Is everything in the bag?" Nicky turned away for a second while Dezy starts wrapping his line. When he turns back, he has brandished a gun pointed toward Dezy. "Give me the bag, Dezy."

"What are you doing, Nicolas?"

"I promised Don Milagro that I would make you disappear. You have caused him to lose face, and I want to move up in his organization. So you give me the bag, I sell what you have in it, move this paper, and I get it all. A promotion, money, status."

"So this was all an act? You had planned to kill me the next time you saw me no matter what?"

"I'm sorry, Dezy."

"It doesn't have to be like this. I can get us clear. Just trust me."

"You have been promising me you would make a big score for the last twelve years. We have been living hand to mouth since Mama died. Its always one more  job, one more scheme and we'll be set. Well, I am tired of waiting. I am taking my shot now. I am so sorry."

"Fuck you, Nicky." Tears welled up in Dezy's eyes as he hands over his backpack.

Don Milagro comes around the corner and looks at Nicky with pride. "Well done, my boy, well done." Don Milagro puts his hand out and Nicky hands him the gun. 

"I will be giving you your reward today, Nicky. I told you, I respect greed and avarice and you are a testament to the effect of money on family relationships. Milagro had been pointing the gun at Dezy and then turns suddenly shooting Nicky in the gut. Nicky staggers backward and falls into the house where the last of the Don Milagro's men are rolling out the last of the paper.

"Now my boy. I understand you were in the business of selling paper to buyers. I have been told I have been thinking too small and there is a lucrative business arrangement we could be working out. So, to show me your renewed value, you will give me the drop coordinates and your contact codes. Work with me, and we could all be very wealthy. With that truck alone, I am confident we could become very wealthy men."

"You lied to Nicky. To make him bring you to me."

"So true. His greed made him easy to confuse."

"And if I work for you, what would make me think you won't do the same thing to me?"

"You are more valuable to me alive, of course. But only if you cooperate."

Dezy hears a pinging noise with a rhythm that sounds familiar. It happens three times before he realizes he recognizes it; the water's about to start flowing signal. Dezy hadn't taken his rope off from around his waist and shoulders. He began to back up toward the edge of the sinkhole. "I don't see how I can trust you. You just killed my brother. He may have been my half-brother but you killed him anyway. Like you would kill a dog."

"So what? To me, he was just a dog. A dog I paid to bite who I wanted him to bite. You are wasting my time. Give me the coordinates and the access codes. Otherwise I will just shoot you and consider today a wash. I made a little money and got rid of a couple of problems."

The tapping got louder and more insistent. "Go in there and find out what that noise is. If it Nicky, feel free to beat him to death." The four men rushed off to comply with the Don's request. Dezy felt the shelf vibrating and realized what Nicky was doing.

"I need to key the code in myself. It will only activate with my biometric signature. Hand me the bag." Dezy put his hand out and the Don, hesitates for a moment and then gives the bag to him.

Dezy reaches into the bag and the Don raises his gun and points it at Dezy. Dezy pulls out the deck and activates it. He puts his key code in and begins entering the twenty four character string. His hands are shaking so he puts the backpack onto his back while he contines to enter code. Then there was a snapping, cracking sound and the shelf shook violently, bounced once and fell away.

"Te quiero, mijo", was the last thing he heard as he fell freely into the open sinkhole. The Don, unable to maintain his footing, he slid toward the edge of the shelf and was flung into space. He turned as he fell and shot five times before he disappeared into the darkness. Dezy saw the line pay out and then there was a snap and he lost consciousness.

When Dezy woke up, he was bleeding from a scalp wound. Bloody but not fatal. He climbed up the rope and realized he did not have his deck. Didn't matter; he had activated the dropcode and would meet the client on time.

When he got to the top he saw the truck was now on the edge of the shelf, but still able to be driven. He got in and found the keys were still in the ignition. He looked back and saw the entire stockpile was now inside the truck. As he drove away, wiping the sticky blood from his face with a towel he found inside the truck, he wondered what Costa Rica looked like this time of year.

Paper © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

A short story audio book from my series. Listen for free!

www.ellisbeetle.com/blog

I had opportunity to meet and talk with Elvin while attending The Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival in 1994. I had previously listened to his recordings and watch footage of him playing with John Coltrane. I knew of his importance musically. During his drum clinic he took a liking to my son and I. After we talked for a time and later that evening at the concert spoke again. He encouraged me and talked about the importance of good timing. “Timing is everything. So work on your time.” he said. As a bassist I’ve always found it wise to try and learn from people who play other instruments. I never thought it was wise to just run to the bass player because I play bass. I didn’t know this way of thinking was putting me on the path to where I am now and where I am going. In my series, The CERULADONS, the battles are massive. Taking over planets is no easy task and there must be some form of orchestration to obtain that goal.
Here is a example of how rhythm was used in the civil war.


Now lets observe a more advanced progressive approach to moving troops and winning battles.

I’d like to introduce you to my first Rhythm God and CERULADONS charatcer:

Dkuun Khg (inspired by Elvin Jones September 9, 1927 – May 18, 2004)







Listen!

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Disclaimer:
Characters created by Sam Cosby are based solely on the individual’s creativity and music ability. It is not intended to create a divergence from the inspireds financial gain, marketing capability or ability. It is in no way a representation of the individuals’ personal lifestyle, religious orientation, or political beliefs.

www.ellisbeetle.com/blog

It was a dumb idea. Going down to New Orleans for Mardi Gra with his friends. To top it all off he had some strange chick fall in love with him, and in his drunken stupor that persisted for the entire week they were there, he married her. This whole occurrence would have been fine if there wasn’t the issue of him already being married to worry about. But all was well they left New Orleans the morning after Mardi Gra ended with his new bride still sleeping in bed. He figured that had ended this embarrassing chapter of his life, and that it would only come up over drinks with his friends. Boy was he wrong…


A few weeks later he began to feel a pain in his crotch. His first thought was that his Louisiana bride had given him an unexpected wedding present, an STD. worried he would pass it on to his wife he slept on the couch for a month straight. He had to wait to go to the doctor about it because he didn’t want his wife getting suspicious. But then a strange thing happen he felt the pain in his hand. He didn’t know what to make of it. One night at the dinner table with his wife and kids he could feel the pains all over his body. He did his best to ignore them. But the pains became worse, and worse until the pain of what felt like a sword going through his chest rushed through him. He stood up and yelled in agony. His wife and children looked on in fear, and confusion as he fell on the floor in writhing pain.



The crying priestess

With Voudou doll of husband

Abortion clinic

-William Landis

The sky was darkened by steel-grey clouds, running toward the horizon's setting sun, as if to extinguish its light on this scene of urban justice. The scaffold, hastily erected seemed eerily at peace in this riotous sky, blood red near the edges like a vein opening and flowing into an nearby gutter. Angry flashes of lightning as a storm, riding a hot desert wind blew in from the west, drying the mouths of the onlookers, waiting to see this bastard get hung. Flies blew in with the wind, the biting kind, and they seemed angrier than most days, biting and stinging and drinking from everyone. Even these desert-hardened folk were annoyed by them. 

Not that it would take much for that to be the case. They had waited all day while the scaffold was being built and they restrained their urge to rush the jail and make their own justice. The sheriff, Brody Atkins, standing outside with his Winchester rifle, freshly cleaned and charged and known for the sharpest eye this side of Texas, and a temper to match made it clear, there would be no justice today but his. In Kansas City, we do things by the book, he said. And he was willing to shoot anyone to make sure they understood.

He always said, a town needed laws. There were mutants and chimera out in the badlands surrounding the gates of Kansas City but that didn't matter none, if there were no laws in the city either. He ran a fair town. There were two deputies and a town militia, mostly for show these days, that got together once a month to drill and help people keep their shooting skills up. But mostly, charges were burned up on targets, there hadn't been a mutant attack for over two years. There hadn't been much of anything until this bandit and his friends show up a few months ago. 

The sheriff and his deputies handled the roughest and worst behaved members of that crew in a shoot out where Old Man Percy was killed. But the leader of the group was not around at the time and a warrant was put out for his arrest. Messages from Oklahoma said a man matching his description was wanted for murder and he had taken up with bad men upon being run out of town there. For sheriff Brody Atkins, that was all the incentive he needed. The reprobate was found after he returned to the city, claiming to be out hunting, and was promptly arrested.

Having technically committed no crime, the sheriff could not hold him. But he was relieved of his firearms and told to be on his best behavior while the sheriff waited for a Marshal Van Raken to arrive in town in a few days. The suspect was named J. T. Wilks. He surrendered peacefully claiming he would be found innocent. But in this frontier town, suspicion was akin to guilt. It did not take long for the locals to harass J. T. Wilks in a local saloon.

JT, never known for holding his temper among his people, in the altercation, managed to serious injure several patrons of the bar. During the fight, it became public knowledge JT was a passer, a mutant who could pass for human. It was not illegal to be a passer, but most city's had ordinances that insisted any unregistered mutant must report to the town sheriff and announce their mutation. Unfortunately, most after making such an announcement were run out of town immediately or killed on the spot. Hence most passers said nothing and did their best to keep their mutations out of the public eye. JT was superhumanly strong, it took nearly eight men to hold him down until he could be bound and brought before the sheriff. 

Two of the men he fought died of their internal injuries, several days later. He was promptly returned to the jail to await the Marshal who would also sit as the judge for the trial. Needless to say, while he was not the same man the Marshal was expecting to find, it no longer mattered as he was in violation of local laws in Kansas City. His trial was swift, perhaps too swift, and the judgment was never in doubt. He would hang by the neck until he was dead at sundown tomorrow.

 When the time came, JT was brought out in cuffs and many of the townsfolk had never seen him before today. He was a giant, nearly black as coal, with arms that looked as if they were forged of steel. Removed from his baggy clothing, his massive proportions became apparent, especially when standing next to the giant that was Sheriff Brody. JT stood a head taller than Brody. His eyes were in a stern and unsmiling face, sharp lines, as if sculpted from onyx and as he was lead to the scaffold he did not look down.

 He looked into the audience, who was breathing shallow and excitedly and he noted the various shapes, colors, sizes and scents wafting upward toward the gallows. The smell came in on the hot wind, with biting flies. The flies landed on everyone but JT. Their avoidance was a small comfort, as the sky grew dark and rain began to fall.  It was a trickle at first, and then it grew stronger. The audience, recognizing the weather, simply pulled up their hoods or put up hand-made umbrellas but kept them low to their heads. Men with hats simply pulled up their collars to protect their necks and waited stolidly for the main event.

 A reverend came up with JT and stood by him. "Son, is there anything you want to say to the people as a sign of contrition for your acts?"

 JT looked at the reverend, and the intensity of his stare, caused the normally nonplussed man of the cloth, who was used to dealing with the damned souls of this world, to look away and clutch himself seeking his holy symbol. "Padre, don't waste my time. Since your little town knows nothing about justice, I will seek mine in the next life. Now get outta my face. I got some dying to do."

 The sky opened up as JT was positioned over the drop door and the noose was placed around his neck. He did not flinch, nor fight with his captors. The two deputies were stationed across from the scaffold on nearby rooftops and were in position to shoot him if he did not comply. JT had seen them as soon as he stepped on the scaffold, and knew any resistance would get him shot. The rain began to pour so hard, it became hard to see the audience and JT became enraged even as he ignored the charges being read to him. The rain flowed into his ears, over his face, and he could not wipe it away, because his hands were bound behind his back. He could taste the sweat as it rolled down his face into his mouth, mixed with the tang of the sulfurous rain.

 "...having been found guilty of murder, you have been sentenced to be hung by the neck until you are dead." Brody was having to shout over the sound of the rain hitting metallic roofs nearby. A crack of lightning and a boom of thunder sounded immediately after the word dead, as if there was a punctuation to the sentence from on high.

 "This is your last chance, my son, God wants to hear your prayers and for you to beg for forgiveness." The reverend stood near to JT so he did not have to yell. They were intimately close as the preacher whispered to him.

 "Tell your God, I rebuke him and there is nothing he can do for me, that I have not already had to do for myself. I don't need his help or want his mercy. Now get out of my face, Padre, before I do something you'll regret."

 "May God have mercy on you anyway." The reverend backs away from JT and looks to he hangman.

 "Be about your work hangman, I am beginning to get bored with all of these folk standing around in the rain. Do me." When JT Wilks looked out over the crowd, he did not feel the peace of a man going to his death. He felt conflicted, wronged and sickened by the need of these people to find a scapegoat for their spiritual weaknesses. His disgust with the world rose into his throat and he roared defiantly as the hangman pulled the switch. His primal scream terrified the onlookers and several turned away in fear. In that moment, a bolt of lightning struck JT as he fell through the trapdoor and the noose tightened only for a split second around his neck. The flash of lightning caught the entire town staring at JT as he lit up with the bolt of lightning from the top of his head to his feet.

 Because they were all watching, save the few who turned away, most were blinded by the lightning for many minutes. During that time, the few who had turned back saw JTs burning body lying on the ground, slowly moving, turning squirming as electricity still played across his body, slowly draining into the ground. Steam and smoke rose from him as he got to his knees. His face, looking down was unreadable, and the noose hung loosely around his neck with the burned end still smoldering on his chest along with what appeared to be a scar, on his face and his chest, as if the lightning had arced from his chest to his face before destroying the rope that, by all rights, should have killed him.

 As he stood up, the last of the onlookers had seen his giant form rising and crossed themselves with their various religious signs and many slunk away under the cover of the rain. But most stood there wondering what would be the outcome of this turn of events. Sheriff Brody looked to the two deputies and raised his hand, and then waved them to come down to him. Brody climbed down off of the scaffold and began to move toward JT who had already begun walking toward the gates of the city.

 "You know I can't help you, right?"

 "Did I ask? Am I free to go? Or will you shoot me in the back as I leave the gate so the chimera will eat my corpse and you won't have to spring for my burial?"

 "Nope, 'fraid not. I know the law better than the next man. You are free to go from here. God set you free."

 "If you say so."

 "I do have one bit of advice, if you're willing to take it."

 "What's that, sheriff?"

 "Head for New Texas if you can."

 "Now why would I want to do that?"

 "Because if I was to say to the locals that you were heading for New Texas, most would hesitate to follow you."

 "I see. I don't suppose you could see your way to letting me out of these cuffs."

 "Sorry, no can do. The law says, as the Lord frees you, you must go. No one will stop

you from reaching the gate, and I will prevent anyone from following you the next twenty four hours. After that, you are on your own. I hear New Texas is really nice this time of year, and they may have work for you as well."

 Talking louder, JT replied, "New Texas, it is then."

And then Brody whispered, "Now off the record, while they may have work, there are other things going on there you might want to be aware of and as you get closer to the city. We have heard nothing from them for over two weeks, so something is wrong. A man who brings back news could find his way to making friends."

 The smaller gate set opened while the larger and main gate stayed closed. The sheriff walked out with JT and they continued down the road toward the south. Outside the gate, nature rapidly took over anything that was not the road. Stunted and gnarled trees with strangely shaped leaves hung casting lengthening shadows.

 "Personally, I ain't got nothing against your kind, if you know what I mean. And I wish I could do more to help you, but you understand." Then the sheriff grabbed JT by his forearm and before JT could move, a knife materialized at his throat. "On the other hand, if this knife were to get dropped during our tussel, I might forget it was out here in my hurry to get inside.

 JT kicked upward with his knee into the groin of the sheriff, who managed to turn his hip into the blow preventing the full contact JT was hoping to make. This, in turn, forced the sheriff to move his knife from JT throat and JT snapped his massive head forward, cracking the sheriff on the forehead and knocking him forcefully backward into the dirt. The knife, flew through the air and landed in the underbrush. JT noted its landing but kept his eye on the sheriff. When the sheriff looked back at JT, his eyes had changed color from the deep sapphire blue they were when he was reading off JT's list of crimes, to a fire-golden hue with catlike slits instead of round pupils. He looked up at JT and blinked again. His sapphires had returned. He got up and dusted himself off before turning back up the road.

 "You have a hard head there, partner. I hope you will be able to keep it on your shoulders. Try not to come back here anytime soon. Ya hear?"

 "Sheriff, did you do this? I know it is possible for some...."

 "Don't look at me, I don't know nothing about it. It's said, the Lord works in mysterious ways. You and He, have unfinished business, I reckon." The sheriff began whistling some strange tune as he disappeared around the bend heading back to the gate.

Forsaken © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

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Stay blessed!

My short story "Two Souls: A Love Story" is up this week in Hogglepot Journal.

You can read it at: http://hogglepot.com/index.php

The story is part fantasy, part romance, and part ghost story. Check it out.

Thanks!

P.S. To my knowledge, the journal is actively seeking submissions.

Below is a scene which was originally going to be the opening scene of my "Medjay" story, but I've decided to scrap it for reasons explained at the bottom of this post. Hopefully people will still enjoy it...

***

A cool nocturnal wind howled across the city of Waset in southern Kemet. Most of the people had retired to their mudbrick homes for the night, but their defenders, the warriors known as Medjay, still stirred. They either patrolled the torch-lit streets or guarded important buildings such as temples and nobles’ estates. In the case of Sheftu and Emsaf, it was the Temple of Amun they were protecting.

These two individuals stood in front of the Temple’s towering front pylon, equipped with bows and bronze swords. Sheftu was a tall, slender woman whose skin was dark umber in color whereas Emsaf was a burly man with a honey-brown complexion; both had gained muscle from years of training and exercise. The two intensely studied the road and buildings before them for the slightest movement.

Or they had been…Sheftu had to admit that her eyelids were growing heavy, as were her weapons. Her feet ached from all the standing. Only her commitment to her mission kept her from collapsing into sleep, and even that was wearing thin with time.

“When are they going to change the guard?” she whispered. “They should’ve done it long ago.”

“I think that too, but complaining does nothing,” Emsaf said. “Besides, who knows, something exciting might happen any moment now.”

“If only.”

Like many of her fellow Medjay, Sheftu had chosen the career out of a hunger for adventure and action. So far, however, her appetite had not been slaked. Most of the miscreants she had brought to justice were mere pickpockets, drunkards, and embezzlers, not the ferocious bandits she had anticipated fighting. Still deep within her mind was the spark of optimism that this would change, but even that had dimmed.

The silence of the night was broken by a low growl. Upon hearing it, Sheftu was awakened to full alert. Her neck hairs prickled and her heart began to throb faster.

“What was that?” she asked Emsaf.

“By Amun, I’ve no idea,” Emsaf said, wide-eyed just like her. “It sounded almost like a lion.”

“A lion this deep into town? Impossible!”

There was another growl. It was slightly louder than the last, as if the thing which had made the noise had drawn nearer. Whatever it was, it clearly was not a lion---that much Sheftu knew.

Her curiosity piqued, the female Medjay began to step away from where she had stood, but Emsaf grabbed her by the shoulder before she had gotten far.

“We cannot leave our post!” he said.

“I won’t be away for long, I promise. You can stay here.”

Emsaf shrugged. “Fine. But be careful.”

And so Sheftu, unsheathing her bronze sword, stole down the street, carefully scanning the alleyways branching off it as she moved. The growling continued to send icy serpents slithering around her spine. As time passed it grew louder, which she knew meant she was heading towards it. That raised her heartbeat to the point when it sounded like war drums being pounded furiously.

Then, peering into a dark alley, the woman spied a pair of yellow eyes staring at her, glowing brighter than the torches’ fire. Sheftu was so stunned that she froze as still as a statue. And yet the Medjay was in for an even greater strike of horror when the eyes’ owner crawled out into her street…

A four-legged creature, it did vaguely resemble an oversized lion, especially its head, but that had long ivory daggers for upper fangs. The mane was made not of hair but of writhing snakes’ tails and the body was covered with glistening red scales. Black sabers stuck out from the paws and a scorpion-like barb from the long tail’s tip. The animal’s steamy breath stank of rotten flesh.

“What in Sutekh’s name are you?” Sheftu gasped.

The creature did not answer. Instead, after lowering its body to build momentum, it sprang forward and pounced on her. The Medjay writhed her body to free herself, but the monster’s great weight pinned her down. She could think of only one other way out: fight back. Repeatedly she struck her attacker’s breast with her weapon, but every time the blade was deflected by scales.

“Why won’t you get in?” she cursed in frustration.

Only when she luckily hit a groove between these scales was she able to drive the sword in. An eardrum-shattering roar escaping it, the beast recoiled. This allowed Sheftu to slide out from under it and jump back onto her feet.

Again the animal launched itself towards the Medjay, but this time she was able to dodge it. Dust flew up when the predator landed. Sheftu then lunged towards the creature to stab it again. But, with one sideward swing of its tail, it knocked her off her feet and sent her crashing against a building’s wall.

The warrior groaned from back-racking pain as she tried to push herself back up. At the same time the monster was charging towards her with its reeking jaws agape. The sheer terror of this sent a rush of desperate power through Sheftu’s veins. Now that she was energized, she slashed across the beast’s mouth with her sword.

The Medjay’s antagonist raised its bleeding head and released another agonized roar. While it did so, its prey decided to press her advantage by thrusting her sword at its breast. She wanted to stab its heart. Alas, the creature, with a swipe of its paw, slapped her away.

Sheftu worried that her bones may have been broken from the impact. To her relief, they weren’t. She managed to jump back up and thought about how she would attack next. Where was another vulnerable spot on this animal? She had to find one quickly, but fear scrambled up her thinking.

Before she could calculate her strategy, the monster started towards her again. It raised its paw for another swipe. The woman knew that one slash of those long claws could kill her, but she, too dumbstruck by terror, froze.

Interrupting this was the whistle of an arrow that plunged its head into the creature’s tail. Looking past the beast, Sheftu saw to her delight that Emsaf had entered the scene with his bow.

“Need some help there?” he shouted over to her.

The animal twirled around, sprang towards Emsaf, and pinned him down just as it had Sheftu. The female Medjay watched her friend fend off their enemy’s jaws with his bow’s grip. When the bow finally snapped, Sheftu was stung by horror for her companion. If she didn’t act now, his gullet would be stabbed by those fangs.

The woman, letting out a warlike shriek, shot towards the monster’s head and punctured its skull’s top. Her blade had sunk deep enough to split the brain, so the monstrosity finally collapsed with a loud thud. It was dead at last.

“Are you all right?” Sheftu asked Emsaf as she pulled him back up.

“Do you have any idea what that...animal was?” he panted back.

Just as Sheftu opened her mouth, she was interrupted by a hissing sound. She looked at the creature’s corpse and saw, to her shock, that its flesh was evaporating into black smoke as boiling water evaporates into steam. Not a trace of it remained after a short moment.

“That…could not have been a mortal beast,” the female warrior said. “Only a priest would know of such things.”

Emsaf’s eyes suddenly widened as if shocked by something. “That reminds me, we need to check the Temple!”

The two Medjay hurried back to the Temple of Amun and entered it, running back halls lined with limestone columns until they reached the building’s main chamber. Normally this would contain a golden sculpture of Amun, the Supreme Creator, which brilliantly reflected the orange light of oil lamps, but Sheftu and Emsaf were horrified to find that it was nowhere to be seen.

“Holy Neteru---it’s gone!” Emsaf said. “What happened to it?”

“Someone must have stolen it in our absence,” Sheftu said back. “Now the world shall suffer because of us!”

Sheftu did not sleep well that night, for she was too consumed by worry. With the idol of Amun, the Highest of the Neteru, gone, Kemet would be thrown into chaos as terrible catastrophes racked it like the pain she still felt from the monster’s attacks. There was also a lesser worry about how the Hem Neter of Amun would react to the news. How on earth would she explain it?

***

Now onto why I've chosen to scrap the scene. I did some research on what sort of things would have happened at night in an ancient city, and I learned that there were no street lights in ancient times, so the Medjay wouldn't have been able to see the creature well enough to fight it. Also, it occurred to me that a roaring monster in the middle of a city would wake a lot of people up.

Oh well, it was a nice writing exercise anyway.

The twin swords of the Goddess formed a lethal duet, singing a song of blood and slaughter.  The shrieks of dying Skags was the chorus and the Goddess provided the deadly direction in this violent symphony of combat.  Skag infantry had erected ladders along the embankment to facilitate their ascent up the sloping earthwork.  Norlunder arrows exacted a steep toll among the foot soldiers.  But the latter’s numbers compensated and before long Skags and humans were locked in struggle atop the embankment.  Norlunders and Skags, afflicted with mortal blows, toppled down one or the other side of the barrier.  A majestic, armored cat swam in and out of this heaving sea of butchery ripping into Skags at will.

            The sky grew darker and the howl of the wind increased in proportion to its gaining strength.  The wind’s noise was a blessing and Tyler wondered whom he should thank for that bit of fortune.  The Goddess?  He gave in to a distracting grin before  refocusing on the encampment ahead.  Just as the human captives had described.  He beheld a large tan colored tent in the middle of a constellation of smaller tents.  Skag soldiers were scattered among the tents, but a large gathering were assembled on the far side of the camp at the summit of a hill.  The top of the hill overlooked the Norlunder village where a siege was in progress. 

            Tyler saw humans in the camp as well.  Bedraggled, defeated wisps of their former selves, slaves to Skag masters.  The humans performed a variety of chores from serving food, to lugging kindling to feed the many cooking fires that glowed from tent to tent. 

A Skag confronted a human slave, a withered old man bearing a large jug.  The Skag held out a mug for the slave to fill.  The man upturned the jug toward the proffered mug, but accidentally spilled a dollop of its content.  Some of the liquid splattered on the Skag’s foot, not enough to polish a thumb nail, but unfortunately for the slave, just enough to provoke his master.  The Skag looked down at his booted foot, growled an indignant remark and drew his sword.  One swipe, punctuated by a hilt deep thrust and the old man crumpled lifelessly to the ground.  The jug rolled out of the slave’s hand, but the Skag scooped it up before it emptied out completely.  As the Skag put the jug’s spout to his lips, Olag, who had crawled beside Tyler in time to witness the murder, gritted his teeth.  “I would see that spawn of a demon whore gutted like a diseased sow!”

            “Yeah,” Tyler agreed, aching to implement that very fitting retribution.  Discipline held him in place.  He turned to look Olag squarely in the eye.  “We have to stay focused, Olag.  What we do here will avenge the crimes Skags have committed against your people.”  Tyler rose to a crouch, removing a short wide bladed sword from his scabbard.  A leather belt, fitted with small knives tucked into niches was draped diagonally across his torso.  Village blacksmiths at Tyler’s request had forged the light, easy handling sword and the knives.  Tyler pointed his sword toward the cluster of enemy soldiers at the top of the hill.  “Our target is there.  Follow my lead.”

            Olag’s arctic blue eyed gaze transitioned from hot and smarting to inhumanly frigid.  He motioned an inspired nod and rose. 

            Behind him one hundred and eleven handpicked warriors resumed their skulk into the Skag camp.

            Surprise was on their side.  Tyler and his chosen few sprang it with ruthless, terrifying precision.  Three Skag sentries dropped where they stood, clutching blood spurting throat wounds before they knew they were dying.  The Norlunders who dealt the fatal blows scampered fleet footedly away from their kills toward another set of idle sentries deeper into the camp. 

             More inattentive Skags went down in a blur of steel and crimson.  Tyler ignored the takedowns, his attention fixated on where his feather light footfalls were leading him:  toward the edge of the hill.  Toward the soldiers clustered around their leader, the Jahon. 

            A muffled cry wavered through the air.  The sound was just loud enough to override the wind and the clamor of a near distant battle…just loud enough to prompt a Skag at the fringe of the cluster to look behind him.

Tyler’s sword spoke, bloodily aborting the astonished shout the Skag was about to give.  The outlander’s blade sank into a second Skag before the first one he dispatched had hit the ground. 

Olag ran his heavy sword through the chainlinked back of a Skag, withdrew his bloody weapon and bashed another Skag in the face with his blade hilt’s iron pommel.  The crushing blow caved in the Skag’s nose, leaving a blackened depression in the middle of his face as he tripped backwards.

            The Jahon could not have chosen a better summit from which to observe and direct his warriors as they sought to overrun the enemy village.  The battle was hard fought, but he could smell the sweet, ripe scent of impending victory.  A sudden eruption at his rear cracked his concentration.  The Jahon, his flanking generals, and bodyguards pivoted as one toward the source of the disturbance. 

Through a barrier of bodies, the Jahon caught snapshot glimpses of sword and axe wielding Norlunders engaging his soldiers in a frenzied brawl.  The Jahon’s admiration for the Norlunders’ clever attack on his camp competed with his rage at their brazen intrusion.  The battle below would wait.  He unsheathed a long shafted weapon with a broad axe head…an axe head that was still crusted with the blood of previous victims.  Rallying his bodyguards around him the Jahon led a juggernaut advance toward the thick of the fighting.

            Tyler ducked a sword swing, plunging the point of his own weapon through the side of his opponent.  The Skag’s mortal cry was a murmur in Tyler’s awareness as he pressed determinedly toward where the Jahon’s scalp and skull standard loomed.  He executed a pirouette like move, cutting down two Skags on his flanks.  He savat kicked a foe in front of him, probably cracking the sternum as the Skag was propelled off his feet.  A spearhead came at him.  Tyler knocked the shaft aside with his sword, pulled out one of his small knives and flicked it.  The blade embedded itself in the right eye of the spearholder.

 Tyler withdrew another knife, tossing it underhand.  A gleam of razor sharp metal flew into the open mouth of a Skag as he came at Tyler flailing a sword.  The Skag’s robust battle cry spiraled into an agonized gurgle as he torpedoed forward.  Tyler leapt over the body, slashing an opponent across the chest upon landing, then following up with a thrust to the gut.  The dying Skag bent forward as Tyler whipped his blade out of the wound. 

            Tyler saw a shield wall coming at him.  Somewhere in the midst of that wall was the Jahon, standing almost head and shoulders above soldiers that were nearly a foot taller than the average human. 

Norlunders surged down the path Tyler had cut for them and threw themselves at the shield bearing Skags…only to be viciously stymied.  One Norlunder was speared through the heart.  Another human dropped lifelessly to his knees after a Skag clipped a divot from his skull with a meat cleaver-like implement. 

The Jahon burst through the protection of his soldiers as if no longer willing to be denied his share of the killing.  He heaved his mighty axe and its thirsty blade drank its full share of human blood wherever it was directed.  

            Tyler took in the sight of this monstrous figure for a brief, measuring instant.  Then he slipped a knife from its niche and hurled it at the Jahon.  A bodyguard lunged before the Skag leader.  The blade bounced off the edge of the guard’s shield. 

            The Jahon’s attention riveted on Tyler and locked.  Keen, discerning eyes gleamed from a visage that looked like a formless blot of clay.  The Jahon had to have been the biggest Skag Tyler had ever seen up to this point.  His skin was pale as chalk, massive arms packed with the muscle required to heft an axe that may have weighed more than a man.  The Jahon’s mouth, permanently snarled as it was, expanded into a feral grin.  He raised his axe and charged.

            Tyler had a half dozen countering moves mapped out by the time the Jahon lumbered within killing range.  Danger coming at him from his right periphery prevented Tyler from executing one of those moves.  He jerked to one side, eluding a spear jab from one of the Jahon’s bodyguards.  Tyler swung upward, his sword striking the spear shaft.  He barely had time to jump backwards as the Jahon’s axe blurred past him, slicing through Tyler’s chain-linked torso vest with enough penetration to score the flesh beneath.  The glancing impact sent Tyler reeling off balance.

            Olag appeared at Tyler’s side, his eyes ablaze with berserker fury.  He cut down the spear-holding Skag and went after the Jahon who was fending off attacks from a trio of Norlunders.  The Jahon swept his axe in a wide radius and a Norlunder’s head went sailing above the fray in the weapon’s wake. 

Olag tried to close in on the Skag leader but ran face first into the Jahon’s forearm.  Olag dropped, stunned by the battering ram blow.  The Jahon zeroed in on Olag with his axe lifted, preparing to deliver death.

            “No!”  Tyler screamed, pulling out a knife and pitching it toward the Jahon. 

The Skag leader let out a pained grunt, his swing interrupted by a knife buried in the back of his wrist.  The Jahon plucked the blade out and turned to this dark skinned outlander determined to finish him once and for all. 

Tyler sprinted toward the Jahon with the same thought in mind for his opponent, but again he was sidetracked.  A Skag bodyguard rushed him with a mallet.  Tyler dove low beneath the swing, delivering a cut to the bodyguard’s ankle deep enough to sever the achilles tendon.  The guard tottered sideways. 

Tyler was barely upright when he was batted off his feet by the thrust of a convex shield.  The outlander fell and fell and kept falling in a graceless tumble down the side of the hill.  Tyler clutched at the dusty surface in a desperate effort to slow his descent.  At that breakneck moment he realized that he had lost his sword.  Even worse the Jahon was bounding down the hill in sure-footed pursuit.  The Skag’s light, balanced strides over so steep a terrain belied his immense girth.

            The Jahon came at Tyler with the ferocity of a revved up bull.  Tyler doubted he would have been able to avoid the bite of that crimson-washed axe blade.  Part of his mind lamented his failure to kill the Jahon.  Another part applauded the attempt and dipped into resignation at the fate that came flying toward him bearing a predator’s leer.

Then a blinding squiggle of light gouged the ground between Tyler and the Jahon.  A

tingly sensation, like a touch of static brushed across the exposed parts of Tyler’s skin.

The Jahon, jarred off his feet by the blast of light, flopped to the ground, his momentum flinging his bulk scathingly down the slope. 

Tyler and the Jahon ended their descent at the base of the hill. 

            Despite his grogginess, the human moved as swiftly as his banged up body would allow toward the Jahon.  Tyler spotted his sword and scooped it up. 

The Jahon lay sprawled on his belly.  He twisted around onto his back, a pained grimace woven into his face.  The Skag leader’s sunken eyes flared wide at the sight of a sword-clutching human looming over him.

            Tyler swiftly straddled the Jahon, plunging his sword into the Skag’s chest like a stake driven through a vampire.  Extricating the blade, Tyler stepped back cautiously, observing his dying foe. 

            The Jahon tried to rise.  One hand clutched his profusely bleeding wound as a fading glow of hatred shined a dimming light on his vanquisher.

            “You…are…not like the others of your kind,” the Jahon rasped harshly.  “Who are you?”

            “I’m somebody who’s a long way from home,” Tyler replied wistfully.

            The Jahon’s face softened in seeming consideration, before lapsing into an empty eyed stare of death.

            Exuberance and weariness marked the Norlunders’ victory celebration.  It was indeed a victory, however indecisive it may have been. Tyler had banked on the Skags retreating after the death of their leader.  The Skags’ unity had been a tenuous affair held in place by the iron manacle of the Jahon’s will.  Now that the Jahon was no more, the Skags would revert back to their divisions.  This did not mean that the Norlunders were off their radar screen.  The Skags were still going to raid human lands.  What Tyler had given the Norlunders was a respite from the threat of extinction.  Nothing more.

            Tyler paid a last visit to the Goddess.  A crowd was assembled around the temple engaging in song, dance and praise.  When the Norlunders saw Tyler, he became the focal point of the their delight.

            Olag appeared before the outlander, gripping his shoulders before enfolding him in a fierce bear hug.  A huge dark bruise from his encounter with the Jahon marked one side of Olag’s face. The big warrior undoubtedly bore that mark with pride.  “I hear you are leaving us,” Olag commented with solemn concern.

            Tyler’s face registered regret.  “I can’t stay, Olag.”

            “That saddens me,” a woman’s voice floated from behind.

            Tyler turned around to find himself facing the Goddess.  “You’re very good at sneaking up on me,” he remarked, almost playfully.

            A smile parted the Goddess’ lips.

            Tyler regarded the woman with renewed curiosity.  He tried to cling to his skepticism in regard to the Goddess’ claim to…well…godhood.  But certain things impinged on his rational mind.  That stroke of lightning that distracted the Jahon when he was about to strike Tyler down.  A random weather event? Or her doing?

            Tyler discovering his sword within convenient reach when he thought it was lost.  Coincidence? Or her doing?

            The outlander shook off those questions.  His rational mind reasserted itself.

            “Please stay with us, Tyler,” was what the Goddess spoke aloud.

            Please stay with me echoed from the silence of her heart.

            Tyler picked up on what was unsaid, and was surely tempted to accept her invitation.  He almost did.  “I can’t.  I need to find a way back to my world.  Staying here won’t lead me home unless you can utilize your powers of divine intervention.”

            “It was not my intervention that brought you here,” said the Goddess.

            Tyler raised a hand.  “I know.  It was the Fates.  I tell you what, I’ll offer a prayer to you for success in my quest.”

            The Goddess acknowledged with the deepest sincerity.  “I will do all I can to make sure your prayer is realized.”

            With that Tyler bade farewell to the Goddess, Olag, and the rest of the village.  He departed afterward on a journey he hoped would lead back to the world he knew.