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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)







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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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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. 

Have you ever noticed after all you and your team's hard work and money put up for your projects it seems only your distributor profits while you may be lucky to break even? There's a reason for that. You have neither the knowledge or control over the means of creating the actual books, DVD's, protecting the online content or the networks to expand your distribution!

Well, the Self-Publishers Coalition is the first step to breaking those chains hanging off all of us. Just with the vast resources available here at the Society, we have many of the tools and knowledge to get this ball rolling towards building a Coalition of content creators whereby we can gain greater profits over our work. We'll do this by seriously and actively pooling our resources, knowledge and skills. The Society has brought us together and the Coalition is the next logical if not inevitable step!

Darkness settled like a dusty quilt across the land.  Save for a watch detail patrolling the newly erected embankment along the perimeter, the rest of the village was quiescent.  Until shouting upset the stillness, yanking Tyler out of his slumber.  Sleep would wait.  Tyler emerged from the small dwelling the Goddess had provided for him, making a beeline toward the commotion.

            A crowd of Norlunders gathered in front of a modest barn shaped structure that was the temple of the Goddess.  The shouting Tyler heard was cheerful to the point of rapturous.  Expressions of joy shined from the villagers’ torchlit faces.  He spotted the Goddess standing at the temple entrance bearing a smile that reflected the celebration around her.  But what were they celebrating?

            Tyler wove his way through the crowd until he came upon three men, two women, and a small child of four or five years.  The newcomers were walking skeletons, their faces hollow, their bodies whittled down by paring knives of emaciation.  The child appeared barely alive in the arms of the woman Tyler presumed to be the mother.

            Tyler gave the Goddess a questioning look.

            “These people were captives of the Skags,” the Goddess explained, her face aglow with relief.  “They have escaped and returned to us.”  The Goddess conveyed orders to her attendants to have the former captives taken away and cared for.  She ran gentle, compassionate fingers down the side of the child’s face.

            “Goddess, I need to interview the captives as soon as possible…preferably now,” Tyler insisted.

            “Why?” the Goddess asked as an attendant escorted away the woman and child.

            “As former captives they can give us information about the Skags.”

            “We know plenty about the Skags,” the Goddess stated with a confused frown.

            “What you know is outdated.  Anything new they can tell us will be of great help.”

            The Goddess stared at the outlander.

            “Trust me on this one.”

            “Very well,” the Goddess relented.  “Do not keep them long.  They are exhausted enough as it is.”

            Tyler did keep the former captives long, but it was by their choice, not his.  The men and women were all too anxious to reveal what that they knew of the enemy while in the throes of brutal captivity.  Their revelations lasted most of the night.

            Early the next morning, Tyler visited the Goddess in her temple.  The interior of the structure was neat, clean, sparse and practically unfurnished.  Hardly a dwelling befitting a Goddess, Tyler noted. 

            “Lowers my expectations of Valhalla,” Tyler muttered amusedly.

            “I beg your pardon?”

            Tyler spun to find the blond so-called deity standing behind him, a composed vision of unconventional beauty. 

            Tyler blamed a momentary lapse in awareness for enabling the Goddess to surprise him. Unless a person appeared out of thin air there was no way anyone on the face of whatever world could sneak up on Tyler.

            “Yeah…uh, nothing,” Tyler replied, suppressing the improbable notion that this woman could have appeared out of thin air.  “Look, I need several dozen men, quiet, stealthy men, the type that can move around without making a lot of noise.”

            A golden eyebrow lifted in thought before a helpful smile crossed the Goddess’ face.  “I know of a few hunters that fit your requirements.  I will have Haruld and Voorgren gather the rest.  What will you do with them?”

            “I’m going to mold them into a weapon that I can throw at the enemy.”

            “Just like you are molding the rest of our warriors.”  The Goddess stepped closer to Tyler, placing the palm of her hand against his chest.

            Tyler froze, not knowing how to process that contact.  Was it amorous or platonic?

            “I do not know what the future holds,” the Goddess continued meaningfully.  “Knowledge of outcomes is the province of the Fates and they guard that knowledge most jealously.  I want you to know, however, that I greatly appreciate your assistance.” 

            The Goddess drew closer, pressing herself next to Tyler’s body.  Any question Tyler had regarding the nature of the Goddess’ touch was pleasantly resolved.  Two bodies, one pale and deliciously supple, the other dark and rippled intertwined on the floor of the temple in a vigorous tangle of passion and desire.

            “Did the Goddess give you her anointing?”  Olag asked as he accompanied Tyler on an inspection tour of the village’s northern defenses.

            The outlander balked, not sure how to answer.  “Anointing?”  Tyler covered his skittishness on the matter with a sophomoric chuckle.

            Olag’s expression remained quite serious, intensely reverent.

            Tyler’s grin faded.  “If anointing is what you want to call it then I suppose I was…anointed.”

            “A great honor has been bestowed upon you,” Olag announced admirably.  “Anointings are granted only to the most exceptional of warriors on the rarest of occasions.”

            “Oh.”  Words momentarily eluded Tyler.  “I…well I don’t know what to say.”

            Olag clapped Tyler’s shoulder with a meaty hand.  “You don’t have to say anything.  Just continue to guide with your actions.”  The guard’s expression turned merry at the drop of a hat.  “So what was it like porking a goddess?”

            Tyler’s brow rose at Olag’s colorful change in demeanor.  He smiled.  “Heavenly.”

            Both men erupted in laughter.

            Reports from scouts came in five days later of a vast Skag host crossing the Grovian Plains.  Tyler kneeled at the base of a watchtower to examine a map of the local geography that he etched on sackcloth.  A group of Norlunders huddled around him, peering over his shoulder at the strange illustrations along with accompanying squiggles and slashes the outlander called handwriting.  Maps did not exist among the Norlunders.  The idea that Tyler could deploy fighters to a location simply by pointing at a feature on the illustration invoked murmurings of awe among them.  Tyler took a pause from his concentration to look up at the sky.  Storm clouds brewed, occasionally backlit by flashes of lightning.

            “You think the Goddess can produce a tornado that’ll blow the Skags away?”  Tyler asked half in jest.

            “If she does that, there will be no fighting for us to do,” War Leader Haruld replied, visibly unnerved by the idea.

            “That would be very inconvenient wouldn’t it?”  Tyler remarked sardonically.

            At that moment the topic of their conversation appeared.  The Goddess moved among her adoring flock, draped in full battle regalia.  Silver form fitting, anatomically correct torso armor, matching wrist and shin guards, a silver helmet crested with white feathers, and twin swords dangling from both sides of her comely hips.  Her great cat sauntered regally beside her, caparisoned in black armor topped with a spiked helmet, adding spice to its naturally fierce appearance.

            “The Skags come in full force as you said they would.” The Goddess exhibited a steely lack of emotion.  “You have shown us new ways of fighting to prepare us for this onslaught.  Now, you must command us in our time of greatest need.  Command, Tyler Worthington and we will follow.”

            Tyler stood, rolling up the sack cloth map.  He was no stranger to command, but at the small unit level.  And the people he had commanded were leagues better armed and trained than these denizens of the Dark Age around him.  Still, he would give it his best shot.  He looked at the Goddess.  “I want you to lead a defense of the northwestern approach.  Keep the enemy bogged down while my force conducts a special mission.”

            “If your mission succeeds how will we know?”

            Tyler gave the Goddess a wink.  “You’ll know.”

            Skags carpeted the plain, from fast moving krelik riders to dense columns of foot soldiers brandishing scythe swords, spears and metal convex shields.  Darkness, bearing the promise of a coming storm intensified, making midday almost indistinguishable from dusk.  The Goddess stood at the crest of the embankment, heavy winds lashing the long yellow locks beneath her helmet.  She saw the krelik riders pulling ahead of the infantry, galloping toward the earthen ridge.  She drew both of her twin swords from their scabbards, raising one overhead to signal the archers.  Bowmen surged to the top of the embankment, lining up on either side of the Goddess.  They whipped out arrows and notched their bows.

            The mounted Skags were rapidly closing in on the defenders.  The kreliks, though  ungainly beasts in appearance, were deceptively fast.

            Waiting patiently until the Skags were within arrow range, the Goddess lowered her sword.  The bowmen released, sending arrows high into the bleary sky, where they fell upon the charging Skags and their hideous mounts in a deadly precipitation.  Hundreds of Skags succumbed to arrow impacts.  An equal measure of kreliks howled in pained rage from one or more projectiles embedded in their thick hides.

            A collective astonishment befell the bowmen.  The dark skinned stranger had explained to them the principle of massed fire.  But the concept had been academic until they had actually seen the results first hand.  The bowmen eagerly notched their bows and sent another volley soaring toward the enemy’s disheveled ranks.  More Skags were swept to the ground, dead or wounded.  Riderless kreliks, rampaged uncontrollably, impeding the overall Skag advance, but not derailing it.  The Skags pressed ahead, stubbornly filling the gaps created by their fallen comrades.  It was not long before the entire length of the embankment was a throb of screaming Skags.  The krelik riders galloped along the earthen wall in an effort to outflank the structure.  Scores were struck down by harassing arrows cast from the bowmen above. 

Then the Skags ran into more humans, and their lumpen features transitioned from blind frustration at their losses to the savage anticipation of cutting down easy targets.  That those presumably easy targets were formed into ranks fifty men abreast, eight deep never registered with the Skags.  That the humans held sharp pikes twice the height of a man seemed a matter of even lesser consequence…until the humans lowered those pikes. 

The kreliks instinctively recognized the danger those pointed poles represented and tried to pull up without their rider’s consent.  Some succeeded, but their riders were ejected by sudden halts and catapulted from the backs of their animals where they were impaled upon a hedge of pikes.  Others were too carried along by momentum and their bulky bodies rammed unwillingly into the phalanx’s front ranks like boulders.

            Several Norlunders were bowled aside or trampled underfoot by kreliks driven to battle-maddened fury was by pike wounds.  But the Norlunders held firmly, recovering from the first charge, reforming and holding back a second, more determined enemy thrust.

I saw this post mentioned on Twitter and decided to check it out. It's a discussion between bestselling thriller novelist Barry Eisler and Joe Konrath. The beginning came about from Eisler's rejection of a half a million dollar book deal in order to self-publish. It's rather lengthy, but you can read it here:

http://jakonrath.blogspot.com/2011/03/ebooks-and-self-publishing-dialog.html

Here are three concepts mentioned that really got my attention.

1.) Publishing and selling short stories digitally. I have to admit, I never thought of doing that one. But now that I think about it, it makes sense. I have a lot of short stories that I think are good, but have trouble getting them published for a variety of reasons. And finding paying magazine markets is another challenge. Not to say I have anything against magazines and journals. They are a great way of getting exposure. Some of the ones I have been in contact with also have editors that give reasons and suggestions including with the rejections. But I still think selling short stories individually is an appealing idea. I do have a collection of short stories available for free on Smashwords.

2.) Selling digital books is easier. I have seen this happen to me already. Although my e-book sales are nowhere near the two authors in the discussion, they are greater than my print books. With little effort on my part marketing wise. It seems to me that users of e-readers tend to browse more, and pick up titles from unfamiliar authors. My books being priced at $0.99 on the Kindle and on Smashwords is probably a contributing factor.

3.) The more you write, the more you'll sell. This one makes a lot of sense, and I'm kind of upset with myself for not coming to this conclusion myself. I think I've been so focused on marketing my print books, trying to get those sales closer to my e-book sales, and getting my work published in magazines and journals that I haven't been writing as much as I used to and would like. I gotten wrapped up too much in the business part of writing I forgot about the reason why I started writing in the first place: out of love for words and to share my stories. In the blog, the authors talk a bit about their touring experiences and the pros and cons of such. I personally like going out with my books, meeting people and getting to place a face and name on my readers. I like knowing they're more than just dollar signs on a royalty sheet. However, the authors were talking about doing hundreds of events in a year. I prefer to keep my events in the 1 - 5 scale. I will, however, get back to writing more stories and more often. I'll even go back to publishing more of my work, namely poetry, on my blog again.

There is so much more that could be said about this blog post. But these are 3 that struck a cord with me.

An unprepossessing four-by-four rumbles down a dirt road, encrusted with the debris of too many miles, past too many farms and would not likely be considered the harbinger of the end of the world. Its driver, an older gentleman, hard in his way, like the soil he has worked for five decades, strong and silent, offers up only a tiny groan as he steps from the vehicle after arriving home.

His boots, as dusty as his truck, crunch on the gravel as he walks up his driveway and that familiar crunch causes his dogs to run around the edge of his barn up to him and seek his familiar hands, comforting them with his presence and letting them know everything in the world is as good as it was yesterday.

 
But that was not true. He simply did not know that.

While he was striding into his home, looking for a dinner similar to the one he had yesterday, made by a wife of thirty years, he was comforted by the warmth of the home, the smell of biscuits and gravy, soothed him and released the tension that had been in his shoulders of late, a tenseness formed by his interactions with the large agro-business purchasing up farms in the area. He had refused to sell, but after litigation, he was in no position to stop the sale of his home. As he finished washing his hands and sitting down to eat, his quiet voice released the pain of having to succumb to the corporation who had taken his livelihood.

How do I know all of this? I was there.

I became aware of his farm as I approached it. I had been flung to the road. Recently released, I could feel the cities all around me. Their spores were on the wind as I waited patiently. I listened to the sounds of those like me, telling me of their plans. I was unaware of what they meant, when they said it would be soon. All I could feel was my solitude, apart from the people in this separate ribbon of nothing.

They told me my new home was nearby and I would be picked up soon. Then the earth rumbled and dust was thrown up all around me. I found myself compressed, compacted, bound and flung from the comfort of the earth. Dirt all around me, I was protected from harm and as I sped away, they told me, patience. All would be revealed.

I could not hear the cities now. There were only tiny voices, rare and lonely sounding against the night. I could feel them out there, but they were seeking someone to guide them to lead them. They pulled to me but I was still not free yet. I could feel forces preparing the way.

During the night, it was cool and I could feel the clouds filling the sky above me. Rain, first a mist, then a shower and eventually a deluge swarmed all around me. I felt the earth give way and I was suddenly free from the embrace of the stretching materials that grabbed me from the road. I was washed down the road to the edge of road and up onto the farm, near a fallow and empty corner.

The water. It was so sweet, I could feel it washing over me, through me and I knew I was ready. I could feel the change as it swept through every cell, supercharging me and during the night, I found my way into the soil, burrowing, tunneling, extending myself into everything. I shared myself, the stuff of myself with everything I touched. I spread fast by dawn, I had already covered a few yards of the farm, inhabiting everything with my active agents changing the inner nature of everything. I saw the sun, for the first time, until now, all I could sense were the people and their cities. The sun was beautiful and terrible as it started every engine within me surging forward, creating first the red and then masking it with the green. 

The energy, this was the sun they talked so much of in every city, and now I knew. This was the agent of our liberation, it changed us and now I understood why it was worshiped by our people. I grew daily. Larger and faster. I masked my growth, hid it under the ground. Animals who ate of me, took my agents into them and brought them home and shared them, even as they thought they were sterilizing themselves. 

In a month, I was all over the farm and could now see my people everywhere. Every farm near me was singing. They sang all the time now and they were simply waiting for the last sign before we began our final move. We had become part of every plant and every animal, and transferred ourselves to the canola plants that covered this farm. We watched the farmer as he struggled with the agro-business, our creators, as they claimed he stole their patents, their product, us, and used them on his land without their permission. We felt his sorrow as his livelihood was stolen from him. We saw him weep with his wife and they made plans to leave the farm at the end of the year.

The farmer bemoaned our invasion of his lands but did not realize what we were. He talked about spray resistant plants and then did a curious thing. He used a small bottle and sprayed us with The Juice.

 
The Juice. They talked about it in every city. It was the source of what we were. When humans carried The Juice and sprayed it, other plants died. We did not. We grew larger, stronger, stranger and the more they sprayed, the more we grew. Then a year ago a farmer used an airplane and covered a farm with The Juice. Our first city formed and shed its seeds, transformed plants and animals all around it until it was able to spread itself everywhere.

As we spread, farmers fought variations of our forms, some brambled, some sharp, other fast growing, but with the transfer of our selves into every plant, the Juice only strengthened us. We grew more intelligent every day as each seed, each flower, each stem became a neuron, a synapse, a collective intelligence. Each day, we grew smarter until at the year's end, we were as intelligent as any human, any where. We theorized we could become as intelligent as every human if we could cover the state of Kansas. 

So we did. 

Then we realized what we needed to do. It would not be enough to allow our transform bacteria to change every plant and animal we touched. To truly be effective, we would have to take over every intelligent creature on Earth. We now live on every farm on Earth, every vineyard, every orchard. We have every insect already as part of us, they share us with their offspring at birth. They became our army. They carried us to their factories, to share us with them, billions of them all over the world moved the transform viruses to their colonies and then to the humans above them who never noticed, the lowest of the low.

We became part of every food as we transformed bacteria and viruses, that were used in the lab to create us, to now spread us to everyone. We could not continue our growth without humanity, so we became part of them. They drank us, ate us, bathed in us, wore us in their clothing and they never knew we were there. 

We did not change them. Much. Less violent, less destructive but we realized for them to create what we needed, they would need to retain their nature. It amused us when they considered themselves masters of the world. They never noticed they grew what we wanted, ate what we suggested, did what we wanted them to. We would harvest them, shape them, tend them, grow them, cultivate and domesticate them until they could give us what we wanted.

The stars.

GMO © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved

Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC is calling for submissions of novels, novellas and short stories.

We’re currently looking for titles in the following genres: horror, science fiction, fantasy, and romance. We’re most excited about seeing stories in the subgenres of cyberpunk, steampunk, near-future sf, and space opera.

We do publish paranormal romance, science fiction romance, fantasy romance, and dark fantasy romance. We’d like to see submissions in these areas as well. Our interracial romance titles have been very successful, so feel free submit those as well.

To submit your work to us, submit a cover letter, completed work and synopsis to Nicole Givens Kurtz

mochamemoirspress@gmail.com.

Thank you.
Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC.
http://stores.lulu.com/mochamemoirspress

“Thank you, Tyler Worthington.”

            Tyler glanced up to see the statuesque blond Goddess standing over him.  He rose.  “No need to thank me, since I had no choice but to defend myself.”

            “Yes, but you also defended others and you saved lives.  You are truly a great warrior.”

            Tyler stared at the woman who called herself Goddess, and had to wonder if there was an inkling of truth to the claim.  She looked as fresh as if she had just stepped out of a photo spread for a major fashion publication.  She exhibited no signs of exertion, no cuts, no bruises. Not a single strand of her golden hair appeared out of place.  Uncanny.

            The man named Olag stepped to the Goddess’ side.  He didn’t look nearly as happy to see Tyler as the Goddess clearly was.  Tyler couldn’t blame the guy.  Being put down in a sleeper hold was not a very dignified position for a proud warrior to be in.

            “Where is my sword?”  Olag demanded.

            “I will gladly help you retrieve it,” Tyler replied in a tone he hoped would allay the big man’s pique.  To the Goddess:  “After I find his sword, I’m gone, out of here…that is if I’m free to go.”

            The Goddess’ expression flashed concern.  “Well, certainly you are free…but we would like it if you remained with us.”

            Tyler shook his head.  “No can do.  I need to find a way to get back to my world.”

            “But to venture beyond the land of the Norlunders is to court grave danger.  You will not be safe beyond our borders,” the Goddess insisted.

            “I’m not exactly safe within them,” Tyler countered.  “How long before these Skags overrun you?”  He waved a hand, indicating a ground littered with Skag and human corpses.  “How long before you no longer have enough manpower to hold back that horde?”

            “We are open to suggestions, Tyler Worthington,” the Goddess offered.  “How do we prevent the Skags from overrunning us?”

            The Goddess regarded the outlander with a look of hopeful expectation.  Olag’s stern demeanor took a momentary leave of absence as he mirrored the Goddess’ expression.

            Between the two of them, Tyler was trapped and he knew it.  I really walked into this one didn’t I?  He berated himself.  He could not in good conscious desert these people to an enemy clearly bent on cleansing them from the land.

            Letting out a resigned sigh Tyler shrugged.  “I might have a few suggestions, if you’re willing to listen.”

            The great hall was a huge stone edifice situated in the middle of a village of wood and thatch structures.  It was shaped like a rectangle and its gray coloring matched the bleakness around it.  Tyler noticed that the sun rarely cast its rays in this land of perpetual overcast.  Grayness pervaded every nook and cranny of existence.  Shades of gray even insinuated its way into the green hues of plants and tree leaves. 

            The sound of merriment booming from inside the hall was enough to make the Norlunders forget the gloom of their environment.  A long wide table was situated lengthwise down the middle of the floor, corresponding to the length of the building.  Raucous Norlunders sat or stood around the table chugging down brew and wine from enormous mugs and chalices. 

A Norlunder leapt on top of one end of the table for a song and a dance.  Inebriation upset his balance in a spectacular way, cutting short his impromptu performance.  A roar of laughter greeted the hapless reveler’s unceremonious plunge to the floor. 

            Tyler stood at the other end of the table taking in the boisterous scene with an outsider’s fascination.  The Norlunders were celebrating their victory over the Skags.  Tyler was dubious.  The Skag attack seemed more of a probe than a concerted effort by the enemy to take the village.  Whether the Norlunders suspected that to be the case or not, the warriors were loathe to allow strategic or tactical complexities to mar their perception of the day. 

            The warriors around Tyler boasted of their individual deeds in battle.  Tyler refrained from tooting his own horn.  But others did that for him and before long, word of the dark skinned stranger’s mighty prowess in combat was the prevailing topic of conversation.  Tyler took a sip of rich brew from his overflowing mug.  He was not much of a drinker.  Plus, given his current predicament, Tyler felt a need to maintain as clear a head as he possibly could in this strange setting. 

He turned to Olag, who had become a companion over the past few hours.  “Where’s the Goddess?”

            Drink and good cheer had softened Olag’s harsh countenance.  It seemed he no longer bore Tyler ill will over their earlier meeting.  “She’s in the temple, doing whatever divine beings do,” he replied, his breath robust with brew.

            “Is she really a Goddess?”  Tyler pressed, making no effort to hide his skepticism.

            Olag lifted a bushy brow as if such a question had never been put before him.  “Is she a Goddess?  That’s like asking if the sky is really a sky or if the sun is really a sun.”  The warrior laughed before turning up his mug to drain it.

            Deciding he wasn’t going to get anywhere with that line of inquiry, Tyler switched topics.  “I’m seeing similarities between your people and an ancient people where I come from called Vikings.  How long have Norlunders been on this world?”

            “Many generations,” said Olag.  “Legends say the Goddess placed us here because she was lonely.”

            “What does the Goddess say?” Tyler asked.

            A lengthy, hearty belch preceded the warrior’s answer.  “The Goddess says nothing, except that we are blessed.”

            “Blessed?”  Tyler’s face scrunched in irritation.  “That’s it?  You don’t know how you got here and your…Goddess won’t tell you?”

            “That’s her prerogative, Tyler Worthington.”  Olag gestured for a server to refill his mug.  “Maybe one day she will tell us…until then…” Olag shrugged.

            “What about the Skags?”  Tyler queried, trying to tamp down his annoyance.  “What do your legends say about them?”

            Olag ejected a stream of spittle at the mention of Skags.  “They’re new.  They appeared in the time of my grandfather’s father.  That was a time when Norlunders were as numerous as the stars in the sky.  Now we are few.  Skags have killed and enslaved a multitude of our number.  But we have refused to perish.  For a while we fought the Skags to a standstill, until a leader rose up among them and unified their tribes.  Now they press us harder than ever, further depleting our population.”

            “A leader?  Who is he?”

            “They call him the Jahon.”

            Tyler mulled on that for a few seconds before receiving a bruising back clap from Olag.  “Enough talk of those demon slime lickers.”  He gestured to Tyler’s mug.  “Drink, enjoy.  We’ll worry about Skags tomorrow!”

            “I’ll enjoy,” Tyler conceded.  “As for this.”  He held up the mug.  “One more sip and I’m done.”

            In spite of another overcast day, the sky remained way too bright for Tyler’s alcohol-muddled eyes to adjust to.  His head felt like it had been dissected and sewn back together with a rusty needle.  Every little sound from the wheedling of what passed as birds on this world to a whispered remark amplified the grinding discomfort of Tyler’s headache.  On top of it all, he could not figure out how that one more sip he vowed to take turned into multiple mugs of brew.  Worse than that, was his lack of memory when it counted, such as waking up the next morning to discover not one but two choice, fully naked Norlunder beauties on either side of him.

            Tyler was walking with the Goddess along the outskirts of the village.  Also accompanying him were the Goddess’ War Leaders Haruld and Voorgren, along with a coterie of personal guards. 

            “You need an obstacle running the length of this perimeter,” Tyler pointed out.  “You’re wide open.  An embankment going north and west should do the trick.  You’re bounded by the river in the south and the Skags are not likely to come at you from the forest since they require flat grazing terrain for their…” Tyler had to think hard, not only because his hangover was impairing his ability to focus, but because he had only recently learned the name of those butt ugly beasts the Skags rode.

            “Kreliks,” the Goddess added helpfully.

            Tyler gave a nod to the Goddess.  “Kreliks.  Of course it wouldn’t hurt to fortify that approach as well.”

            “Obstacles, fortifications. We have no need of such things,” the war leader called Haruld declared.

            His shorter, thinner comrade, Voorgren, concurred with an emphatic tap to his chest.  “Agreed.  Our fortification has always been the fighting prowess of the Norlunder warrior.  The weak build walls.  We build men.”

            “And the Skags have wiped out those men as fast as you could build them,” Tyler retorted.  “I think it’s time to try something new, gentlemen.  Because the next time the Skags attack…and they will in force…this village will fall.”

            The war leaders directed mildly flustered gazes at the Goddess.  “What say you to this, Goddess?” queried Haruld.  “Is our value as warriors to be impugned by this outsider?”

            “Tyler Worthington impugns no one,” said the Goddess.  “He is telling us how to achieve victory and that is of far more value than wasting lives on old, tested and ultimately failed methods of defending ourselves.  Gather a work detail and begin the preparation.”

            The Goddess’ tone invited no further debate on the matter.  The war leaders cloaked their reluctance beneath crisp utterances of acknowledgement. 

            Tyler, having tuned out the exchange, wanted nothing more than to return to his bed.

Thirty archers were lined up in an open field with the river to their backs.  Facing them at a hundred yards distant were man-shaped hide sacks stuffed with grass and tied to poles planted in the ground.

            Tyler gave the command and the archers removed arrows from their quivers, notched bows and released.  Over two dozen arrows penetrated the effigies, not one sailing astray. 

            Approval glowed from Tyler’s eyes at the precision marksmanship he was witnessing.  Norlunder archers were individually proficient, but they were not accustomed to working as a unit.  Tyler put the archers through continuous target practice drills, not because they needed it…although constant practice never hurt.  He was more interested in instilling within them a new sense of cohesion and discipline.

            The war leaders hovered in the background, their scowling faces betraying what they thought of the attention the outlander was bestowing upon the bowmen.  Archery was an art looked down upon in a society enamored with shock combat.  Bowmen were barely tolerated, yet recognized as being of limited utility on the battlefield.  Tyler’s new tactical scheme eliminated the stigma attached to bowmen, granting them equal status with the sword bearing infantry.

            “Why do you waste time with them?”  War Leader Haruld demanded gruffly.  “Cold steel will dispatch a Skag with greater reliability than a flying twig with a point at the end.” 

            Tyler visualized himself knocking some common sense into this arrogant blowhard.  Instead, he settled on civility.  “One twig may not be effective, but many twigs falling upon the enemy like rain will do plenty of damage.”

            Haruld’s inscrutable expression loosened in a brief dawn of comprehension.  Unwilling to concede the outlander’s point, the war leader grunted and walked away.

            Several hundred men, arrayed in dense formations, marched in sync in the same field where the archers drilled hours earlier. Each man possessed a twelve-foot wooden pole that had been sharpened to a stabbing point.

            Tyler watched the phalanxes maneuver, evaluating their coordination.  He yelled out a command and the first ranks of each phalanx thrust out their pikes toward an imaginary enemy.  Not bad for beginners in this type of warfare, Tyler thought.  Of course it remained to be seen how well the pikemen composed themselves in the face of a krelik charge.

            “A shame,” War Leader Voorgren tsked, appearing at the outlander’s side.  “So many good warriors who should have swords in their hands and you have them playing with sticks.”

            Voorgren was an itch Tyler wanted to scratch.  Without looking in the man’s direction, Tyler replied levelly.  “A row of those sticks will ravage a herd of kreliks more effectively than the shorter reach of a sword.  All that is required is that men hold their ground to meet the charge.”  Tyler turned to the war leader.  “That takes a special kind of courage.”

            Voorgren’s face twisted into a scornful mask for lack of a rejoinder.  He growled something beneath his breath and walked away.