I'm not a very good writer, but I'm an excellent rewriter.

The Third Wish: Chapter Ten

2009-11-11T17:37:29Z

Chapter Ten

In which I'm trying to get some things in place quickly and feel like things are moving both too quickly and too slowly.

King Rafik sat across from Aarif in the king's sitting room as the king enjoyed some coffee and a mid-morning snack. Aarif had been reporting on the movements of one of Rafik's youngest sons all morning.

"Do you believe that Mundhir will betray me?" the king finally asked.

"My lord, I believe that he already has. It is just a matter of catching him at it," Aarif answered.

"You have your spies watching him already, I presume? He will not be so foolish as to be caught by a palace serpent. He will not do the deed himself. Eventually he will enlist someone within the palace to kill me. My son has always favored his mother above me, perhaps it is time to keep a closer eye on her. Leave that to me," King Rafik said.

"On a related matter, my lord. The families of the prisoners you wanted executed, the executions proceed swiftly and we have found all but one of the family members," Aarif said, bowing slightly at the admission of the missing prisoner.

"Who eludes me?" the king asked.

"Karif, the father of Asim, who was caught with coded messages from the attacking army," Aarif answered. "Karif was believed to be working for Mundhir, as well."

"Then my son has more powerful magic than I, if he can make his friends disappear. You won't find him in the city, Aarif. But if he returns, I want him executed immediately. If there is no other news, I must see to some other arrangements. Send Isam in now; he'll have been waiting for quite some time, now," Rafik said.

Isam entered, his head bowed twice as low as Aarif had bowed before the king. He stood before the king and Aarif with a ledger tucked under one arm.

"My lord, I am afraid that the arrangements you have asked for are not quite possible," Isam said, his voice quavering a little more than usual.

"Oh? And why do you fail me this time?" Rafik asked.

"There is no money for a public festival, my lord. Your coffers are running low already with the bribes and soldiers' salaries," Isam said.

"Perhaps this is not a good time for a festival," Aarif offered.

"Nonsense. The people must celebrate our victory. It is a public festival, Isam. Should not the public pay for it? Raise their taxes," Rafik said.

"The people have paid all they have in taxes. They no longer have the money to rebuild their homes and it will do no good to demand more of them, they simply do not have it. It cannot be done, my lord," Isam said.

"Cannot is not a word that is used in front of me, Isam. Find a way, or you shall pay for it yourself," the king said.

Aarif stood now, stepping toward the king, but not putting himself between the two men.

"My lord, Isam speaks the truth. The people are paying all they can at the moment," Aarif said.

Isam lowered himself to his knees, his suntanned hands in contrast to the creamy marble floor, his turban brushing the stones.

"My lord, you must allow us to open your private treasury to pay for these things," Isam pleaded, his head bowed, his nose almost touching the floor.

The king stood, his hand on the sword stuck in his belt. "Must is certainly not a word to be used with me. My private treasury is just that: mine. Do you intend to steal from me, Isam? Would you take the cloak from my shoulders, or the slippers from my feet? I will not have this failure," Rafik said.

"Forgive me, my lord. I simply wanted to make your festival as grand as you deserve," Isam said.

"I will forgive you, this time. But I will not continue to be so lenient. You have two children, do you not, Isam? A son and an older daughter as I recall. Your children shall come to live in the palace. It is too great an honor for your family, but if you continue to make such mistakes, you will not see them again to say your good-byes. Is that understood, Isam?" Rafik asked.

The color drained from the faces of both Isam and Aarif.

"Surely, my lord, this is too harsh a penalty for such a small slip," Aarif said.

"It is more than just a slip, Aarif. Be greatful that I do not believe you have had any part in this. Isam, you have failed me too many times. If you cannot manage the wealth of this city then perhaps it is time for someone else to do so. Aarif, you will to look over the all of Isam's ledgers and see if you cannot find us the money for these festivals. My people must see that their king is not afriad. We have fought of a great enemy; now is a time for celebration!" the king said.

Aarif and Isam bowed low as the king walked out of the room.

The king swatted at the gauze curtains which the breeze carried into his path. He would have had Isam's head if there were time to find a new master of the treasury, at the moment. And Aarif had tried to defend the man! His advisor obviously had an agenda of his own.

His son would have to be dealt with quietly. Perhaps a new piece of land would distract his attention for a time, Rafik thought. If not, well, he had made a point of raising royal blood to the level of sacred. Killing a prince openly would just make it easier for his enemies to justify killing a king. But was it not alright for a king to kill a member of the royal family?

He would have to tread softly.

The emerald ring on his hand began to burn more strongly. It was a moment before he noticed it. The ring had begin to burn when the army appeared at his doorstep and had not stopped since. Danger was here. A shadow caught his attention as one of the curtains drifted from the window it occupied. Whatever was behind it did not drift with it.

A man clad in a black tunic and black trousers lunged from the window frame, a long knife glinting in the daylight.

The king threw his hands in front of him, catching the hand of the man as the knife came down to the king's chest. The ruby pendant the king wore stopped the blade and the king threw his enemy back before he could adjust. The sword slid quietly from the king's belt and he heart footsteps behind him. A second man appeard, clad as the first, and bearing a sword.

The man was only a few steps from the king as Rafik turned, their swords clashing loudly as Rafik turned the attack. Now the first man had recovered and Rafik found himself flanked by the two in the narrow hallway. The first man preferred to stay back, attacking only when Rafik was engaged with the swordsman, attacking from behind like a coward. But he was fast. As Rafik turned to stop him we would jump back, letting the second man engage him again.

The king shouted and both slaves and soldiers came running, blades drawn. The two men paused and for a moment Rafik was worried that they might try to make a stand. If their only concern was the death of the king, they might hold off the household long enough to achieve it in these narrow halls.

Instead, they went back out through the windows they arrived in. Rafik tore the curtain from the nearest, overlooking a garden below, he could see the men clinging to the wall below him and climbing steadily out of his reach.

"I want them alive!" he shouted to the soldiers already running for the wall, but they either did not hear him or did not heed him.

The two men were met with deadly force before they could slip back into the shadows. Rafik cursed and made his way to the garden, Aarif and Isam both falling in behind him.

"My lord, are you alright?" Isam asked him.

"It will take more than that to kill me, Isam. Try harder next time," the king said.

Isam let out a nervous chuckle but stopped quickly when he noticed the king wasn't laughing with him.

"I doubt we'll get much information from the bodies, my lord. But perhaps someone will recognize them," Aarif said.

"They'll be outsiders. No one in the city will have any idea who hired them, even if you showed the bodies to every man in the capital," Rafik said.

The garden gate was now guarded by a dozen men, who followed Rafik into the green, hands on swords and eyes darting across the walls. The two men had fallen from the walls into pools of their own blood, half a dozen arrows protruding from each man's chest. They wore simple black clothing, not finely made but certainly not thread bare or tattered, except for the arrow holes.

Rafik kicked the body nearest him over, turning the face up to the sun. He wasn't sure what he expected, but the man's face was as blank and nameless as he had said. Neither carried anything of value aside from their weapons. They were finely made blades, but generic.

"We shall double the guard on the palace," Aarif said.

"I want to know how they got into my palace! This is the second time an enemy has reached me without so much as a whisper of warning. Will someone please tell me who is aiding them? Is every soldier in my household corrupt, or simply inept?" the king said. He kicked at the body again and it flopped at the force from his boot.

He looked down at the ring on his finger. The burn had subsided back to the original level. Already he could see a ring of red forming on his skin beneath the ring. The burn had been more intense than he had realized. But there was no more imminent danger here.

The servants were already beginning to clean up the garden. Rafik let them take the offending bodies from the grounds and ordered the guards back to their posts. The last thing he needed was an enemy slipping in somewhere else because the guards were preoccupied.

It was time to take more serious measures to find so bold an enemy. With so much to worry about, he had not even had a chance to consider what he would wish for when his lamp was returned.

Third Wish: Chapter Nine

2009-11-10T06:57:31Z

Chapter Nine

Karif caught up with the gold cloaks at a crossroads to the north. He had been following their trail for some time but even laden with that merchant, they had managed to move faster than he. Strange things seemed to follow the company wherever they went, as well. If Karif could turn back, he would have days ago.

Karif circled wide around the city, riding in through the west gate just as dusk began to form. He made his way to the well at the center of the city, feeling the heat of suspicious eyes from every wall. A crowd had gathered in the central courtyard, surrounding the merchants and king's men. Karif arrived just in time to watch some commotion as a gold cloak shouted for them to stop a young man running through the crowd. Karif stayed well out of the crowd. He leaned over to one of the local sentries.

"What is going on here?" he asked.

"Some trouble with the merchants," the guard grumbled. "That boy's never stolen a thing in his life, I'd wager my sword on it."

Foreigners did strange things to a city, and rich merchants laden with goods even stranger. Karif had watched his sons fall to such men, one by one, as their fast tongues and finery enticed them from their father's work.

The boy was persuasive enough or had enough money to buy his way into the ears and the heart of the merchant. Interesting. Karif did not even attempt to overhear that conversation. Instead, he made his way steadily toward the well and drank, pretending to refill his water skin. merchants and gold cloaks alike kept an eye on him as he passed.

"I seem to have arrived just in time for a fine market," he exclaimed to the young woman next to him, who was filling a new pot beside him.

"I haven't seen a market this grand since I was a girl. A fine day, indeed, for you to arrive," the woman responded.

Karif turned back to the crowd, making it a point to keep his eyes from the gold cloaks who were eyeing him. He nodded and smiled to those who passed him and counted the small supply of coins on him.

"If you wish to make a purchase, it might be best to do so before this town picks my friend's wagons clean," a gold cloak said, stepping up beside him to drink from the well. Karif recognized him as the leader of the gold cloaks from the capital.

"A fine caravan like this? I would think it difficult for a town this size to aford it all. Why, they've not even unloaded their best merchandise. Only the barest of trinkets they're carrying with them will be sold today," Karif replied, looking at the man from the corner of his eye.

"Where do you come from, if you don't mind me asking. This town hasn't seen visitors for a very long time. It's strange that it would see so many today," the captain asked.

"My father was fond of saying that there are no coincidences in the desert. All men meet for a reason. Perhaps I was meant to happen upon your fine caravan. My name is Asam, and I am traveling the lands to find my daughter a husband," Karif said.

"Are there no men in your own home who would marry the girl? She must be ugly indeed to draw you out so far!" the gold cloak said with a chuckle.

"Rather it is the opposite, sir. My daughter is a rare beauty. There is no man in the province who can pay the price I ask," karif replied.

"Then perhaps you prize your daughter too highly," came the reply.

"A man with only one daughter from his wife must take what he can. And surely there is a man in all of this kingdom who will pay my price," Karif said.

"Then you travel in the wrong direction if you come with us. You should try the king or one of the many princes of the capital city," the gold cloak said.

"Alas, but I began my search in the capital. The king laughed at my offer and suggested that he would take my daughter from me if she were so beautiful and repay me with the head of my wife," Karif answered. He had never stood in front of the king, but he knew the stories. This man, on the other hand, knew the king personally. He suddenly hoped that all the stories were true.

The king's man was silent for a long time.

"Do not spread such stories about of your king," he said quietly through gritted teeth. His hand gripped his sword tightly.

"I meant no offense, sir. I merely wished to explain that the king was not able to end my quest. I shall not repeat the story if it offends you so," Karif said, backing away several steps.

His grip on the sword relaxed and Karif noticed the emerald ring on the soldier's finger glowing.

"This part of the desert is dangerous. Travel with us for a while and perhaps you will find some way to repent for your comment," the captain said.

Karif nodded his assent but the man's attention was drawn by the merchant returning to his wares. The merchant called out that they would be closing shop and leaving in the morning. The murmur of the crowd grew as they pressed to make their final purchases. The boy who had made such a commotion slipped quietly into the crowd, but Karif could find him by following the captain's gaze.

The boy looked somewhat less gangly and young now. He made his way through the crowd as a man who knows his purpose in life. The collar of his tunic hung strangely now, and it slipped a bit to reveal a thick gold chain underneath.

Karif heard the captain suck in his breath as the gold glinted a bit in the sun. The boy had made a fine purchase, Karif thought to himself. Gold like that was worth much more than most could afford.

The captain at his side excused himself and made his way down through the crowd to the carts. Karif followed, looking over some of the merchandise in the carts to stay nearby.

"What was that about?" the captain whispered to the merchant.

"Private business, my friend. But who is this who seems so interested in us?" The merchant had turned to Karif now.

"Asim will be joining us for a time. He seeks a wealthy husband for his daughter," the captain answered for him.

"Does he? I've known some beautiful women in my time, and even paid for some of them, but I've never met a man willing to travel so far just to sell one. Come, tell me where you are from. Is there good trade along the way?" the merchant asked, clasping him on the shoulder and steering him away from their carts.

Karif had traveled enough in his days that he thought he was doing a fine job of keeping up his façade, but he kept away from specifics whenever possible, turning the conversation instead to the merchant and his trade.

Karif found it difficult to sleep that night, listening to the noises of the town, dreading the attempt to hold up his end of the conversation in the morning. Why had he ever told such an elaborate lie to gain their trust? Whatever they sought, they had not yet found it, though. that much he was thankful for.

The prince had given him very specific instructions: retrieve it by any means necessary. Karif did not wish to get too close to any of these men, yet he found himself liking Shakir's easy conversation more and more. The gold cloak was a serious man who believed a little too much in his king for Karif's taste. But Shakir was a man who Karif would have traveled with if he were permitted.

There were men on watch at the gates when Karif finally gave up on sleep but the city was otherwise empty. The first stars were beginning to wink out as dawn approached, but the dewy cold had not yet given up its hold on the town. Karif pulled his robes close and walked the city in heavy boots.

Captain Faris found him sitting beside the well, deciding on his next lies.

"We'll leave soon this morning, but there is still time before our men rise and ready the caravan. You should sleep a little more before our long journey," he said.

"If I could sleep, I would not be awake at this hour, meant only for soldiers and thieves to do their work," Karif answered.

"Worried over your daughter's price or over the journey to find it?" Faris asked.

"I wish that I knew what worried me this morning. Have you ever had the feeling that things are about to go terribly wrong?" Karif asked.

Captain Faris was silent for a moment as he stared at the empty square which had been filled with the people of this town just hours ago.

"Once. Not long ago before I set out on this journey. But then the king place this ring upon my finger himself and bade me to take this journey for him. How could I refuse such a thing?" Faris asked, holding his hand up in front of him.

Karif had seen the rings before. They would catch the eye of even the wealthiest of men and were not something one usually saw on a mere soldier's hand.

"It is a handsome ring. But what is this quest the king cannot take himself?" Karif asked.

"That is for me to know. You have your own quest to worry about," Faris answered.

He stood from the well and looked down on Karif.

"If the feeling continues, I would turn back. There is little price so great to risk your life for," Faris said.

"I could say the same to you, Captain. What would it take to turn you back?" Karif asked.

"The ending of the earth might do it," he answered.

Karif nodded as Faris walked away. He knew it would not be so easy. Still, he did not like the look in the Captain's eye when he spoke of the king. It was the look of the most devout religious men.

If anyone is still reading, I'd love to know your thoughts on the story so far. Anything worth keeping in there? I promise you there's nothing negative you can say about it that I'm not already thinking.

Third Wish

2009-11-09T05:30:46Z

Chapter Eight

The road north of the city was empty, which made Captain Faris glad, his friend Shakir upset about the lost trade, and his men uneasy. The first village they had passed through had been a djinn mirage, and the second one had been totally deserted. As they approached a third, Faris' hopes were not high.

From afar, it looked like a fair-sized village. A ring of stone buildings the same color as the sand they traveled on, surrounded by a low wall of more sandstone. The village stood on a crossroad with the east/west road through the area. As they drew nearer they could see that wooden gates sat closed on the near side of the city and many of the stones along the top of the wall had been knocked to the ground below, piling up against the wall's foundations.

A call went up from inside the city announcing that strangers approached. There was life here.

The wooden gate creaked open slowly.

Captain Faris felt himself sit a little taller in his saddle knowing that people would soon be watching him. He saw the other men of the king's guard do so, as well. They made a magnificent sight, a dozen golden cloaked men on the finest stallions riding proudly into the city.

Shakir and his wagons came behind, causing far more commotion as they passed through the gates. Children ran up behind their carts, calling out for pennies or sweets. A few of Shakir's men snuck small items into their hands. Women and men alike wandered out of their homes, looking over the carts with wide eyes. Some of them were already appearing with goods, presumably to trade.

The soldiers, on the other hand, were appreciative of the golden cloaks on Faris' men. The snapped to attention as the King's Guard passed. Some of them had been longer from home than others and were slow to show their respect. Faris bestowed a small nod to the man in command as the party reached the center of the city.

It had been a large marketplace, once. No where near the size of the capital's great market, but still large enough to fit fifty merchants. But the stalls sat empty, save for a few local peddlers. Faris made for the well in the center of the city, where a small crowd had already gathered. As none of them had come forward to greet them, he asked who was in charge of the city.

" Calm down, young man, I'm coming," came the answer from a withered voice behind them. The gold cloaks parted to allow an old man, bent and wrinkled and supported by two young boys, to pass between them and stand in front of Captain Faris.

"What brings such men to our village? We've not seen King's men out here for many year. The roads grow more and more perilous as the seasons pass," the man said.

"Indeed we have seen some of that peril," Faris said, rubbing the ring on his finger. "But it is no matter of ours. The king's business carries us north. May we have use of your well and shelter this evening?"

"The well is free for any who pass. Shelter as well, for such a small party. Our young men travel to the cities and leave empty houses in their stead. You may use one of those," the man replied.

"But what of your friend? Does the king's business require so much wealth?" the old man asked.

"I am no king's man, sir, but a mere merchant on the road with these men. The goods I carry are for anyone who can pay their price," Shakir answered, stepping away from a man apparently already attempting to barter for some cloth. "May we set up in your fine market?"

"Of course, we would welcome the trade, but the market is not so fine as it once was," the old man replied.

Shakir gave him a fine bow, flourishing his hand a little. Faris thought it looked like a mockery, but the old man smiled. The wagons trundled away from the gold cloaks, who remained at the well undoing their horses things.

Faris removed the saddle from his horse [crap, I still don't know anything about horses] and left his belongings with his men as he jogged after the leader of the village.

"Sir, what can you tell us of what lies beyond the village to the north?" Faris asked him.

The old man removed his hands from the boys on either side of him and studied Faris for a moment.

"You have come to us from the south, from the King's City, yes? What did you find along the road so far?" the man asked.

"Nothing. Abandoned villages all along the way," Faris answered.

"Is that all? Nothing else," the old man asked looking Captain Faris in the eye.

"A spirit, or spirits, of some form the first night we made camp. They called themselves djinn and warned us not to take this road," Faris answered quietly. He wasn't sure how many of his men knew what had happened, and had ordered those who were on guard that night to secrecy.

"Then you know all that you need to know," the man replied.

"A warning is all that you can give me and my men? Nothing more specific than the warnings of spirits?" Faris asked, his voice rising in frustration.

"What more could anyone need? The spirits know more than the living, young man. Even when they lie to you they should be heeded." the old man asked.

Faris nodded and left the man. The city had obviously been long dying and even if they'd had travelers from the north, Faris doubted the man knew anything more than he was telling. He surveyed the market, watching the crowds gather as Shakir's hawkers went to work. Cloth, ceramics, jewelry, and oils hadn't even been unloaded from the carts yet, but the merchant was already hard at work.

He had a set of ceramic bowls out in front of an older woman, whose eyes kept darting back to the cart. She was already wondering if there were something better yet to be unloaded. She wore what might have been the latest fashions in court twenty years ago, with just enough variation that she had never seen them worn in court. Faris made his way over to her.

"My wife has a set of bowls just like these. She uses them only on the most special occasions. Why, I believe she served the king himself on these bowls," he said, inspecting them with apparent interest. "Are you sure you wish to give these away for such a low price, my friend?"

"These rustics never know a good piece of ceramic when they see one," Shakir said.

The woman quickly struck a bargain with Shakir and walked away with the ugly bowls.

"You never had a soft touch, Faris. I could have talked her up to double that price if you'd let me work," Shakir grumbled.

"Ah, forgive me. I never learned my father's tricks as you did. But, she wanted something fashionable not something of good quality. The junk your men would have set next to the bowls to convince her wouldn't have done it," Faris replied.

"Why don't you leave me to my business, Captain," Shakir said, turning to the next man in line.

Faris grinned and stepped aside quietly. His friend really was a master at selling these people what they didn't need. Almost everyone in the market walked away laden with packages. There wasn't a potential customer Shakir couldn't make an actual customer.

Faris' eye was caught by young man who stayed out of the crowds, though. He lingered near the carts as though he wanted to buy but waved off Shakir's men whenever they approached with merchandise to offer. Faris circled the crowd until he was on the same side as the boy.

The boy wasn't much older than Faris had been when he'd met Shakir, just two merchant's sons running lose in the markets. He wore sandy colored lose trousers and a brown tunic. In his belt, Faris saw the hilt of an old dagger sticking up. Good camouflage, Faris thought to himself. The boy was watching the men, not the carts, Faris realized. If he wanted to buy, he'd be waiting for them to unload something his wanted. Shakir's men were spread out just enough to keep a watchful eye on things while still making things look accessible.

Faris rested his hand on his sword and worked his way over to the boy. The boy tried to weave his way through the crowd and away from Faris, but the captain stayed on him. Finally the boy tried not paying attention to Faris, except that Faris could see his eyes darting to the side, watching the captain out of his peripheral vision.

"Can I help you with something?" Faris asked.

"N-no. No sir, I'm just waiting here for my aunt," the boy answered.

"I've been watching you for a while, boy. The women who were in this square when you first arrived are gone now. Why don't you point her out to me and maybe I can speed her transaction along?" Faris offered.

"I think I'd better go, then. I must have missed her in this crowd," the boy said, trying to walk away.

"Not yet. Why don’t you turn out those pockets on your trousers," Faris said.

The boy made a break for it into the crowd.

"Stupid street rat," Faris swore, going after him.

The boy was smaller and made his way through the crowd more easily, but the crowd wasn't large enough to hide him.

"Stop him!" Faris shouted.

One of Shakir's men darted forward and grabbed the boy by his tunic. The fabric tore a little as the young man tried to twist out of his grip, but it held still long enough for the man to get a hold of the boy's arm.

"What do we have here?" Shakir's man asked.

"I believe we have a thief," Faris answered, reaching into the boy's pocket to produce a handful of gold. "No boy in a village this size would carry so much wealth. He's been watching the wagons to decide on his next grab."

"It's mine, I swear. I was watching the wagons to find a chance to talk to some of these men alone," the boy pleaded.

Shakir appeared at Faris' elbow.

"And what would a boy of your age have to discuss with me, personally?" Shakir asked.

"That's for me to know," the boy said evenly.

"Then let's talk," Shakir said. He nodded to his man, who released the boy.

Faris tried to follow them around the corner, but Shakir stopped him.

"Thank you for your help, Captain Faris. Would you mind watching over my merchandise while I speak with this boy?" he said, walking away.

Chapter Seven

2009-11-08T06:15:03Z

Chapter Seven

In which I start trying to make my characters DO something.

Mundhir did not return to the palace for many days. While the guards would not keep him out, he knew how unwelcome the king's sons were. He walked among the people dressed below his station, knowing that royal finery would only make him more conspicuous among the commoners.

he noticed that even the nobles were dressing less finely these days. Those with any sense were, anyway. Some still rode through the city wrapped in their finest cloth, but in the sooty streets this brought them more than dirty looks. Mundhir had heard tales of a nobleman brought down from his horse as he rode through Trader Town the other day.

The city was ready.

Mundhir made one of his frequent trips to the bustling market inside of the city gates. Wagons rumbled along the cobblestones and tent stalls were set up in every corner that could be occupied. awnings criss crossed above him, blotting out the sun in the alleys below.

One could get lost in the sprawling market and today Mundhir allowed himself to be swept up in the crowd. The streets smelled of spices, animals, and unwashed bodies. Everywhere the crowds, the wagons, the wind in the awnings rumbled in his ears. Munhir reveled in it, absorbing the atmosphere through his skin, welcoming it, embracing it.

The barkers shouted at him, inviting him to take a look at their wares, insulting him if he did not. He chuckled at one large fellow with a wicked scar who called him a 'son of the king' as an insult has he passed. The insults were always changing.

Everywhere there were people. Citizens of the king's empire, traders from outside, nomads from the desert who belonged to no one, people with news, people with gossip, and most importantly people with information. People who knew how to get things. Knew how to find things. Mundhir needed to find these people.

Dark alleyways are more difficult than one might think to find people in. And even those who meet there are constantly worried about the King's Guard growing curious. Mundhir preferred to meet his contacts out in the daylight. He didn't trust a man who couldn't show his face; it meant that he had little sense of subtlety. And Mundhir needed subtlety.

He talked for a little while to a dye seller from the far east. He had yarns and fabrics hanging from every post in his stall, some of them dripping onto the shoulders of passers-by, who glared at the merchant as they passed. The breeze lent a sense of constant motion to the stall.

The east had heard of the king's magic, but until the merchant arrived they had not heard of the recent attack [which really needs a better name - CNN would have graphics and theme music by now!].

The nomads had news of a great army passing through their lands. They had avoided them and thus had no reliable information about the size or leader of the army. Mundhir could not even get a realiable sense of when the army had passed through their land. Some said weeks ago, others said just a few days before they'd reached the capital.

The prince stopped for a long time to speak with an herbalist who had long been a friend of his. He asked the man if he had a certain plant in his possession, one that was odorless and tasteless but would kill if ingested. They would not do business openly, of course, but the man wouldn't admit to owning any, anyway, making the point moot.

Suddenly, at the other end of the alley Mundhir was passing through, he saw a young man run from his stall as two members of the civil guard passed by.

"Stop!" they shouted as they noticed the man.

Mundhir recognized him, one of the servants who had long worked in the palace. Mundhir had helped him to set up his new identity when he left. The king did not let servants leave easily by their own choice.

As the man passed, Mundhir ducked his head away, but the man recognized him anyway. he clutched the prince's robes, falling to his knees in the middle of the street.

"Please, my prince. Do not let them take me. I don't know anything, you must not let them take me! They will take me to the dungeons and torture me. They will execute my wife and children when they learn of them. Do not let them," he babbled, sobbing into Mundhir's cloak.

The guards caught him easily, pulling him away from the prince.

"Do not let them take me, Prince Mundhir," the man shouted.

That was when the guards noticed him. They snapped to attention, keeping the crying man held by the arms between them.

"What is the man charged with?" the prince asked them.

"He left the palace shortly before the attack. The king would know what he may have told our enemies," one of them answered.

"I did not tell our enemies anything. I simply did not wish to work in the palace anymore. I feared for my life and the life of my wife. The prince, he helped me to get out. He knows that I'm innocent," the babbling man said.

The prince had no desire to get caught up in the king's search for justice.

"Take him, then. We must find the men who attacked the king," he said simply. The man's face went cold and he stopped resisting the guards holding him.

The guards took the man away. Mundhir barely remembered him. It was getting more and more difficult to be in the city and inconspicuous.

"Well, well, helping out the king's servants, my prince?" Aarif said to Mundhir, stepping out from around the corner. He stopped and gave a little bow, tilting his head slightly as he did.

"As I recall, he offered me a great deal of money to get him out of a tight spot," Mundhir replied, waving his had at the matter.

"So, a servant with a fortune. And you never asked where it came from?" Aarif asked.

"I make it a point not to question how anyone's wealth is acquired. It only leads to a sandy mirage in this town," Mundhir replied.

"Even still, I suspect that the king would be interested to hear of this. That man is suspected of treason. Who's to say that his great benefactor knew nothing of this?" Aarif replied smoothly.

"What point are you dancing around, Aarif? Do you suppose that I will pay you to keep my name out of this? From what fortune do you expect that reward will come?" the prince asked.

"I know about some of your side projects, my prince. Does your father?" Aarif asked.

"And I know about some of yours. Perhaps the king would be interested to know about you and some of his mistresses. Or I could tell him the story of your small collection of magical talismen. It is forbidden to keep magic from the king, is it not, my lord?" Mundhir replied.

The color drained from Aarif's face. Mundhir took some satisfaction in surprising the man. Aarif was a man who prided himself on knowing everything about the people who inhabited the palace. It was men like Aarif that kept Prince Mundhir away.

"But, secrets are meant to be forgotten, are they not, Aarif? Perhaps if we both ignore these things, they will go away," Mundhir suggested.

"But some things long forgotten fester, highness. I will keep this secret, but it will surely get back to your father by someone else. And you will wish that you had paid me to keep this from him. I could have done much for you," Aarif said.

He was right. Mundhir would have to step more carefully around the palace from now on. He had to hope that this would be the last incident like this, but with the king rounding up anyone suspicious, other friends of his were likely to be picked up.

NaNoWriMo: Chapter Six

2009-11-08T04:58:37Z

This post is flagged for adult material.

Chapter Six

In which I'm telling, not showing, and can't seem to do anything about it.

Also in which I'm writin' smut and painfully aware that I'm blogging this.

It had been a week since King Rafik had used his third wish and he could not stand to be in the palace any longer. Emissaries from all the neighboring kingdoms had arrived with tributes and assurances that their kings had not been involved in the attempt on King Rafik's throne. He took the gold and the slaves gladly but he did not take any of them at their word.

They were thick in his palace, mixed with the nobles who wanted to ensure the king's grace. Everyone walked as if on glass, afraid to be cut. Rafik was sick of it. The bowing, the lying, the insincere smiles, none of it meant anything.

Being carried through the streets of the city, he found different kind of depressing insincerity. The faces of the people who watched him pass were dull, lifeless shells. Their eyes looked up at him without any emotion, neither adoration nor hatred. The attack on his palace had left him with a city of lifeless dolls, just waiting to be picked up by some other child to play with.

Whomever it what who had come after him, they were very clever. They must think the city was ripe for the picking, but they were wrong. The city depends on her king, and they will rise or fall with him. King Rafik was not yet ready to fall. If they thought this city would go quietly, his enemies would be quite surprised.

But for now, Rafik was trapped in a lifeless city. He wanted to see someone feel something, anything. Even the prisoners in his dungeons showed no life, not matter how long he tortured them. They bowed their heads and acted properly cowed, but they no longer screamed when the whip was applied. They no longer begged for his mercy.

Rafik needed to feel something. He needed to know that he was alive. Back at the palace he made immediately for his wives' quarters. Samira, his second youngest wife, greeted him warmly, sitting him down in her finest overstuffed red armchair. She kneeled and removed his slippers, massaging his feet as he sank into the upholstered chair.

"It is a pleasure to see you, my lord. What can I do for you?" she said to him, looking up with a smile.

It was the same false smile the nobles wore in his throne room. He kicked her away from his feet with a growl. She recovered quickly, the smile back before most would have noticed it was gone. She cast her eyes to the floor.

"My lord, what have I done to offend?" she asked.

He pulled her to her feet, pushing her onto the bed. Her clothes came off easily and he pushed her back down when she tried to help him with his. He paused a moment, looking over her body lying naked beneath him, before he thrust greedily into her. When she only gasped, he struck her hard across the face. And again until the tears came to her eyes and a welt appeared on her cheek. He pushed her down hard onto the soft mattress and then picked up her shoulders and pushed her down again, shaking her like a ragdoll.

She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. He thrust into her harder and harder, and came as she finally cried out in pain.

He stood up, pacing the soft carpet of her room. "Why are you all so false?" he asked.

"I don't know what you mean, my husband," she replied.

"You, the nobles, the ambassadors, even the people. None of you feel anything. You all go through life as empty shells to be ordered about," the king said.

"Of course we feel, my lord. What man could live in such times and not? But to reveal our emotions is to give those around us some power over us. Love and hate, feelings are the sharpest sword available," she said.

"How dare you speak out of turn," the king said, striking her across the face.

Aarif met him as he walked out of the women's quarters.

"I hope that you enjoyed yourself, my lord," he said with a knowing smile.

"If only I had, Aarif. But I can find no relief while my city is in danger," the king said.

"Very noble of you, my lord. I have never known you to care for your city so much," Aarif replied.

"You misunderstand me. As long as this city stands in such ruins, my throne hangs in the balance. There is a spy in my kingdom, Aarif. I will find him. Why have your men brought me nothing? Not so much as a rumor has come to me. Are your men so inept?" Rafik asked.

"I'm afraid that no one is willing to speak of these things, even among friends. My men have not even been able to overhear reliable gossip these past few days. Is there nothing you can do that might point us in the proper direction, my lord?" Aarif asked.

"How dare you, Aarif? Do you not think I have turned every resource at my disposal to finding these men? Do you really think me so stupid? I have no magic to out a traitor. If you doubt me again, perhaps I shall find a better spy," Rafik said.

Aarif took a step back and bowed low. "Apologies my king. I only thought-"

"Next time, do not think Aarif. That is the king's job, and obviously it is why you are not king," Rafik said.

He left Aarif standing in the hallway and fumed the rest of the way to his own bedchamber. A servant jumped with hot coffee and bread. Rafik took it and glared at the man who disappeared quietly. Alone, he walked across his sitting room to a handsome writing desk, cluttered with maps and books of magic. Ancient objects long lost were just sitting out there in the desert for his taking, if only he could find them.

He touched the ruby around his neck and took a small key from behind it. The key unlocked a small panel in the wall above the desk. He took out a small box and an old set of farmer's clothes: the only things he had left after his first wish. The remnants of a life he no longer remembered.

The clothes were just rags, moth-eaten and threadbare. Cobwebs had grown in the compartment and a heavy layer of dust and sand flew up into the room as Rafik removed them.

His first wish -- to be king of a great empire -- had left him with no memory of a previous life, but he remembered making the wish. And he remembered wondering why he was wearing such poor clothes. He had no idea why he'd kept them, but it seemed wrong to throw them away, some how.

It had been many years before he was sure what to do with his next wished. Immortality seemed an obvious one, but when a man is given only three great wished he must consider them carefully. He held the third wish until just a few days ago. Being king gave him almost everything else he needed.

Now that he thought about it, he wondered if invulnerability wouldn't have been a better idea. Or even the ability to cast magical lightening of his own.

Some of his early attempts at magic had gone horribly awry. Impenetrable city walls, which had no gates in them. Everlasting water, which had brought floods to the desert. Mute slaves, stampedes of goats, gold that threatened to drown him – he had learned early to be careful with his magic.

The king put the clothes back into their cubby carefully. Magic had made him king and he could not go back. He would be killed, not demoted to goatherd, if anything went wrong.

The coffee on his desk had gone cold but he did not call for the servant to return. Returning the key to his necklace, he removed his sword belt and his boots. The evening was growing dark, but he could not retire yet. Instead he put on soft slippers and made his way to his storeroom of magic items.

With Faris' men seeking the lamp, new guards had been found for the room: all of them mute. He could not be too cautious, anymore.

His torchlight bounced off the gems and jewels and polished metals inside. He lit the oil lamps next to the door and made his way to the far corner of the room, the table reserved for items he believed to hold strong magic, but could not make to work. The djinn of the lamp and the rings he gave Faris required only a touch to command. These were more difficult to control. Some of them would glow or shake maddeningly, but would do nothing else. Others sat dead still.

One in particular perplexed Rafik. An onyx bottle, faceted and black, had revealed a djinn inside but the being absolutely refused to deal with King Rafik.

Rafik picked it up gently, remembering the ancient words that had revealed the bottle's magic before. As he repeated them, the bottle grew warm and began to shake in his hands.

The djinn appeared before him as a towering man, larger than the king, filling up the room to the ceiling with his presence. He was dressed in the greatest finery: expensive fabrics and great jewelry of gold and gems. The king took half a pace back, unconsciously giving the giant more space.

"Mighty Lord, I have need of your assistance. Any price you might ask is yours for the taking," Rafik said quickly.

The djinn stared down at him, his eyes narrowed and he twisted his lips into a sneer as he looked down at Rafik.

The djinn was silent. Rafik bowed slightly, growing uneasy in the quiet.

"Will you aid me in my fight against my enemies, great lord?" Rafik asked.

Still the djinn was silent. His image quivered and started to disappear.

"I have great fortunes! And the largest kingdom at my command. Anything that you could wish, I can provide it," Rafik promised. "You have but to ask."

"Anything?" the djinn asked, his voice booming in the small room.

"Ask it of me, and I shall give you any reward if you will help me destroy my enemies," Rafik answered with a bow.

The creature laughed as he sank back into the bottle. The silence after was eerie. The room felt much smaller without the djinn, and both safer and more dangerous without his looming figure.

"When you are at your greatest need, I shall take that reward," a voice loomed from the bottle.

Third Wish: Chapter Five

2009-11-06T17:32:04Z

Chapter Five

In which I worry over whether I have the physics of a desert horizon correct

Also in which Fares' name has changed to Faris

The ruby ring on Faris' finger still showed north and so they journeyed on as the mountains beyond the city walls began to loom a bit larger. Whatever storm had put out the fires in the city, it had been concentrated over the town and the sands beyond the wall were dry. Even just two days from the city along the traders' roads, the orange sands of the desert were deadly.

Shakir knew the camel roads better than Faris and knew the water holes along them. Their water skins were heavy and Faris wished to keep it that way.

The first night had been one of questions from his men. He answered them as best he could, but of course he could tell them little. Faris disliked keeping the full story from his men, but he could not risk Shakir finding out about the lamp. Shakir would get them through the desert safely only as long as it was profitable to do so. He was more honorable than cutting Faris' throat while he slept and taking the rings for himself, but only just.

Two days from the city and Faris could no longer see even the palace's high domes on the horizon. The orange sands were like a sea, stretching as far as the eye could see. He no longer even desired to look back.

He wanted to push forward faster than was healthy for their horses and Shakir was constantly reining him back. The sooner Faris found this magic lamp the sooner he could return to his king and to his son.

Faris rubbed the emerald on his finger as he thought of his king.

"You never did tell me where you received such fine rings," Shakir asked, noticing them not for the first time in their journey.

"A gift from the king," Faris said.

"That is a gift fit for a prince, my friend," Shakir said with a wide grin. The grin cracked a little as Faris' emerald glowed slightly. "And magic too. The king must think quite highly of you."

"I would not have received such a position without his favor," Faris said.

"And yet he has you out here in this wilderness on some errand? Perhaps he does not look on you as favorably as you believe," Shakir warned.

Faris let that go without comment. Had not the king trusted him with his greatest secret? He knew that the king prized him.

Up ahead they found a small village. It was just a cluster of huts around a central well, mostly used by the local goat herders. Faris halted his men and dismounted to find the village chief. They needed water and this would be as good a place as any to halt for the night. The sun was beginning to fall low in the sky.

"I do not believe that we should pause here, Captain," Shakir warned.

"Are you worried about your trade goods, friend? There will be plenty of chance to unload your goods further along the road," Faris said.

"It is not my trade that I'm worried about, but my life and yours. This village was not here the last time I came this way," Shakir said.

The village elder came out of a nearby hut, an old man in a grey turban leaning on a staff. Faris waved to him as he made his way toward the group.

"I am Jinan, leader of this village. What do you wish of us, young man?" the elder said.

"I am Captain Faris of the King's Guard. We are on a mission for the king, good sir. May we have use of your well and a place to stay this evening?" Faris asked.

"Of course, young man. In fact, we insist that you stay this evening. There are strange things in the desert beyond, things not meant to be encountered in the dark," Jinan said.

"What sort of strange things? Do you mean there are strange people in the mountains beyond?" Faris asked.

"I very much doubt that they are men, Captain. Evil creatures travel this road. One of our young men went that way and returned dressed only in rags, with no water skin, with no memory of who he was or what he had seen, driven mad by the darkness. He still screams at the night, though we have tried to calm him with all of our knowledge. This road is not to be traveled, Captain Faris. Not even at great need," the old man said.

"Why have we heard nothing of this in the city?" Shakir asked.

"Yes indeed. You are but two days away from the most powerful army in the world. Why have you told no one of this?" Faris added.

The old man shrugged. "Who would help a village like ours? We have no great trinkets to offer the king. The spirits of the desert do not bother us as long as we keep to ourselves," Jinan said.

Shakir turned to Faris and drew him aside. "Perhaps we should heed the warning. These nomads know more of the desert than even a trader like myself."

"Our errand draws us north and this is the quickest route, is it not? Any other road would take us far out of our way. Unless you suggest that we travel off the roads, Shakir, this is the way we must take," Faris said.

They set their tents on the far side of the village. Shakir instructed his men to keep a close guard on their wares.

He had piled five wagons full of goods to be traded along their way. Obviously, he hoped they would pass through wealthy cities, but Faris intended to avoid Shakir's kind of people if possible. He had no desire to haggle for his very water if he could avoid it.

As the night grew colder, Faris' men took up a watch around the camp. Faris himself left orders to be awaked for the middle shift, the worst of the three. A quarter of his men would sleep through the night while the others kept watch.

Faris stomped his feet and blew into his hands to warm up as he made his way around the perimeter of the village, checking on his men while keeping an eye to the wilderness in the darkness. As they had said earlier, they were but two days from the capital city, there would be no trouble here. Still, he did not want his men growing lazy.

He took up his post, staring at nothing and chewing on some stale bread. The wind was but a whisper this evening and the only other sounds were those of a sleeping camp: tents flapping and men snoring. Even the horses felt at ease here. As he sat, his thoughts drifted to his wife, alone with their son as he found them hiding the day he had left. If he failed, they would most likely find themselves in the same position again. Except the king would not have the magic to save them.

His thumb ran across the surfaces of the rings the king had given him. Magic had protected their kingdom for so long, and now he was in possession of some himself. He imagined the rewards the king would heap on him when he returned the lamp. He would be a rich man, richer than some of the princes of the land. Richer than some kings, even. He would have the ability to grant his wife anything she desired. He would even have the money to take another wife, if he could find a willing woman.

And his son would want for nothing for as long as he lived. He would grow into a strong man and serve the king just as well as Faris had. Faris grinned thinking of his son wearing the gold cloak of the King's Guard. His son would serve King Rafik as long as he lived, and perhaps his son's son would even be permitted to serve the king.

His entire lineage would be tied to the king thusly. It seemed right.

But first he would have to return the lamp. That thought brought Faris back to his reality and he was staring into the empty darkness again.

Except that now the darkness seemed to be staring back at him.

Faris blinked, wiping a hand over his eyes. It was still darkness before him, pure, unblemished darkness, but now there was something there.

He didn't know what it was, but he knew that it was looking at him. Behind him he heard one of the horses begin to whinny, and another joined it, and another. Faris didn't turn to look. His eyes were fixed on whatever was before him. He stood up and took a step forward, extending his hand out like a blind man looking for the cane he knows must be there somewhere. The air in front of him felt thicker and even colder than it had before.

The hairs along his arm stood up. He brought his hand back, rubbing the emerald his king had given him. He took a deep breath and stepped forward again. The air was definitely thick. This time he felt resistance as he put his hand forward. There was definitely something out there.

"What is that?" his lieutenant asked, coming up behind Faris.

"I'm not sure. Stay with the camp and protect the village if something should happen. I wish to get to the bottom of this," he ordered.

He steadied himself and took a long step into the darkness, followed by another. Three paces in, he could no longer see the campfires. The wind was picking up steadily as he went, whipping the cloak about his shoulders with smacking noises.

The wind sounded like laughter. Faris began to suspect that he was being played with. He began to grow angry.

"Who's there? What is this?" he called. Only the wind answered, its laughter assaulting his ears. Faris put a hand on his sword and called out again.

This time the wind's answer sounded less playful.

Eyes appeared before him. He fell back a pace, pulling his sword halfway from its sheath. They were deep, golden eyes, with amber pupils and a dark orange rim around the iris. They sat in front of his face and if they were part of some larger object he could not differentiate it from the darkness. They just sat there; they did not advance.

"Who are you? What is this darkness?" Faris asked.

"The darkness is us," the wind whispered all around him. "We are it and it is us. Long ago the darkness consumed us and now it is all that we are."

"Are you men or spirits?" Faris asked.

"We are djinn, spirits who cannot exist in your world. Long ago we tried to cross into your existence and now we are trapped in it, both a part of it and apart from it," the darkness answered.

The eyes seemed to glance at Feris' hands. "We know what you seek, Captain Faris. The lamp is better left unfound. The king has had his three wishes and they have been more he could have ever wished for {bad author, bad}. Let the lamp rest where it is."

"I have a duty to my king," Faris said.

"If you pursue the lamp, find a better reason. Duty to such a man is a bad reason to die," the djinn said.

As suddenly as a desert shower, the wind died and the darkness faded back to night.

"Captain Faris," his lieutenant called to him from the camp.

Faris turned to wave that he was alright, but stopped. The village behind them was no longer there. Only the desert road and the well remained.

They dismantled camp and moved on in the darkness.

I'm going to stop with the disclaimers. Suffice it to say, anything tagged NaNoWriMo is a first draft.

NaNoWriMo: Chapter Four

2009-11-06T17:27:18Z

Chapter Four

Which really should be set a little later than it is

Mundhir, twenty second son of King Rafik, sneered at his father's show in the throne room earlier today. He had watched that façade from behind the white curtains, lurking among the petitioners as his father made a fool of himself. Mundhir knew that it would do no good. The men his father had managed to round up were no one. They likely weren't even involved, considering that his father's final wish had wiped his enemies from the face of the earth.

He left the palace in disgust along with the other petitioners. He had clothed himself as a merchant with a black piece of cloth over the lower half of his face. A few of the guards recognized him, but none gave more than a nod of acknowledgement. The King's sons were often known to dress below their station outside of the palace.

As the twenty second son of an immortal king, Mundhir would never inherit anything from his father. He was lucky to even be given a title and some land to make a living from. He did not expect anything from his father, anymore. Even rooms within the palace were beyond his reach so he would ask nothing and expect nothing and go about his business without his father's interference.

Outside of the palace, he made for his stone home on the furthest ring of noble houses from the palace. He had no wives and no heirs with whom to share it and it felt empty and cold after the bustling palace, even with the cadre of servants greeting him.

In his foyer he found a friend waiting for him.

"Karif, what brings you to my home?" he asked pointedly.

"My apologies, highness. Did you hear of your father's proclamation today?" he asked, bowing low.

"Of course. I was in the room when he made it. Can you believe the fool he is making of himself? If he thinks that he can save himself by executing a couple of dozen slaves and nobles he will find it a great surprise when the people show up in his bedchamber with knives and fire," Mundhir said.

"They say that they will execute the families of those prisoners. Highness, my youngest son is among them. They will be coming for me. You must help me," Karif said, falling to his knees and grabbing the prince's hand.

"How could your son be so careless, Karif? What does he know of me?" Mundhir hissed, pulling Karif to his feet.

"Nothing, highness. I swear my son knows nothing more than what I ordered him to do. Please, you must hide me ," Karif said.

"I cannot help you if you stay within the city. If they come for you, I can do nothing against my father, yet. You must leave the city, and I need you to do something for me," Mundhir said.

"Anything, my prince," Karif said.

"The king has sent out members of his guard in search of something. That can only mean he has set his sights on retrieving his lamp. It is the only magic I know of that is strong enough to have defeated that army. You must follow them and find the lamp first. If you do this for me, Karif, I can promise you whatever riches you desire," Mundhir said.

"Of course, highness. I will find this lamp for you. But how am I to find it?" Karif asked.

"The King's Guard went north. They are a large enough party that you should have no problems following them. I can also offer you this," he said, drawing a water skin from a nearby chest. "It is the only magic I have that will aid you. This water skin will never run dry. Take it, Karif, and may the gods bless us in this. My father is a monster. I must find some way to remove him from power."

Karif bowed low as he took the skin. He held it with both hands as he bowed and turned to leave.

"And Karif, you must tell no one of this. Take no one with you and return with the lamp as soon as you can," Mundhir said.

"Of course. Whatever you ask, my prince," Karif said quickly, obviously startled by this addition to his quest.

Mundhir sighed with relief as Karif left. He hadn't been sure who he would send to recover his father's magic. Karif's son had been the perfect impetus to put someone in his lap for this mission. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Now he had to get plans in place here at home.

The Third Wish, Chapter 3

2009-11-05T15:36:18Z

Okay, I'm going to try and clean things up a bit around here and only post completed chapters instead of these "half of chapter three, part of chapter four." It means that today's post will be a little weird, since I'll be repeating part of chapter three from yesterday.

Chapter Three

In which I forgot about that vase from the magic broom closet

Also in which I am struggling with anachronisms

By morning, most of the fires left in King Rafik's city were cooking fires in those houses that still had hearths. He had worked all night over the vase from his storeroom to produce rain. Control over the rains was a simple task compared with the magic to destroy an army. The latter he no longer had. The rains had only cost him the life of his next son before birth. The djinn of the vase, who could control the weather, was an exacting negotiator.

Aasif was busy spreading rumors about how the king had vanquished his enemies. Some rumors said he had routed them himself, with fire from his fingertips. Others heard a story of a vast army of djinn who cleansed them from the steps of his palace like sand skimmed from the top of a shallow pool. And still a third story claimed that the king had merely to command it and the power of the necklace which hung around his royal neck would glow bright and destroy his enemies.

King Rafik knew that Aasif would be careful to keep any mention of the lamp out of his rumors. Even still, the king's lamp had been associated with many inexplicable acts, from miraculous cures to children who suddenly liked their vegetables. It was at once a holy grail and a boogey man to his citizens. Not all of the rumors could be squashed.

Soon it wouldn't matter what magical items the townspeople spoke of in the market. Fares would return his lamp and he would have three new wishes to make. He savored the thought of what he might do with them as he ate his breakfast. The fruit tasted better with a hint of victory, and it would taste like manna from heaven when his lamp was returned.

Rafik sipped a glass of chilled wine as his treasurer, Isam, joined him. He bowed low, almost to the floor, as he entered and the king lifted a hand to signal him to rise.

"So Isam, how bad are the damages to my city?" he asked.

"My lord, the gates all along the King's Road have been destroyed, as have most of the homes and shops along the way. The fires spread through half the city, taking both lives and merchandise without preference. Most of the stone homes against the palace were spared, as was the palace itself, but the poorer homes have been completely obliterated. The army left most of Traders Town alone, though, so there is some good news," Isam reported.

"What do you mean they left Traders Town alone? They came in through the front gate, which means they passed right through the out town. Why would they not destroy it, as well? It is a major source of income for us," Rafik said.

Servants came to take his plates and refresh his wine. Isam stood a few paces back from the other side of the table, a red cloak over his shoulders today. He kept his hands to his sides, but they were constantly twitching.

"I don't know, my lord. Shall I make further inquiries?" Isam asked.

"I doubt that you will find anything. Most of those who knew were obliterated with the wish. Anyone who plotted with my enemies will have vanished to one of the other kingdoms or will be smartly disguised. But do have your spies keep their ears open. Now, where do we find the money to rebuild the gates and repair the walls? We shall have to tax the people," King Rafik asked.

"My lord, most of the people have nothing left. Even if they did have some possessions survive, surely they will be loathe to part with them. Taxing the people now will only create ill will towards your highness," Isam said, bowing low as he did.

"Then do you have the money in your own coffers, Isam? Perhaps you will sell one of your daughters to pay for my walls. Or would your wife fetch a higher price? The people must have walls to be protected and I will not have an army take advantage of us in this state. The gates must be replaced immediately," Rafik said.

"Of course, my lord. But would it not be better for the palace's great wealth to pay for some of the cost?" Isam asked, his voice trembling only a little.

"Absolutely not. And we will talk no more of it. Handle this, Isam, and smooth over whatever problems the people may have," Rafik said.

"Yes, my lord," Isam said, bowing and backing out of the room. He backed three steps from the table before turning his back on the king.

Rafik finished the wine in his glass and waved the servants off as they tried to refill it. He stood, begrudging his aged body. What was immortality without eternal youth? His first wish had gone so well, but he had been somewhat less specific with his second wish. A mistake he learned quickly not to make when dealing with magic. Now he would live forever within an aged body. At least he had found the lamp before he had become decrepit.

It was important today to let his subjects see him. He would not venture out into the chaos of the city; there was too much risk in the open streets today. But he made it a point to get the word out that he would be holding court. Justice was what his people needed to see. They would think twice about moving against him soon enough.

His throne room sat several stories over the front gate of his palace, with its enormous balcony overlooking the courtyard below. A circle of columned arches supported the domed roof above him, which was inlaid with lapis and tiny mirrors that mimicked the heavens at night. The mirrors caught the flickering torchlight, reflecting it back into the room.

White curtains hung between the columns, separating the aisle behind it from the throne room proper. Similar curtains hung over the door out to the balcony. They had been pulled back today to let in the light and a view of the city: a constant reminder that the king's enemies would not prevail.

Petitioners waited in the room next door, until the king was ready for them. King Rafik entered with fanfare, his white cape billowing behind him as he walked. Today he was dressed in a gold damask tunic and gold turban, with heavy black boots and his sword buckled over loose white trousers. His white cape hung in heavy folds behind him. He tossed it to his side as he climbed the three steps of the dais to take his gilded throne.

A servant brought him wine on a golden tray as the first groups of petitioners were let in. The first served were always the lesser noblemen. Men with grievances who were any higher ranked than these men would have no need to petition. The higher noblemen could take their problems to the king directly or buy their way out of trouble. But these were young nobles, second, third, or even fourth sons of great men who had no real fortune of their own.

King Rafik treated these men with grace, remembering that even if they were of little consequence, their families were important. Most of them were looking for compensation after their homes or goods had been destroyed. King Rafik paid them less than they were asking but more than he felt was truly due them. It was a weakness to ask him for recompense when they should find some way to make the money again on their own.

One man was attempting to wed the daughter of a merchant who refused to give his blessing. The merchant, of course, was not present to give his reasons. He would not have been permitted in with the noblemen. But Rafik could guess, given this particular young man's reputation. Not only was he a great womanizer, but he had been said to send some of his women away with bruises. Still, the merchant had no right to refuse. Rafik granted the marriage.

-----

He would lose the support of the merchant, though. That daughter was his only child.

The king handed his empty glass to a servant as the commoners were admitted. They entered in order of rank and wealth. Most of them were also looking for recompense for their destroyed homes. Some had less mundane land disputes on their farms or accusations of thievery during the recent chaos. The king heard their complaints and gave his sympathies, but he insisted that he could do nothing for them.

He commanded noble and common man alike to remain as the third group was led into the room in chains. These men were suspected allies of King Rafik's enemies. They were men who either had access to the king's secrets or good reason to wish the king dead. It was a long list of suspects, and a long line of men who were led into the throne room.

Noblemen and servants alike stood before the king. The guards threw them to their knees and one of the slaves began to beg for the king to have mercy. Rafik motioned for him to be silenced.

"Who are you to defy the will of your king?" he asked quietly. He leaned back in his throne, an ugly grin on his face as he studied the men below him. "Who are you men to plot against me? I have given this kingdom everything that I have. My protection, my wisdom, my magic, what would this kingdom be without me? How dare you aid my enemies?"

He stood up, looking down onto the bowed heads below him. Every one of them had been beaten, of course, as Rafik's soldiers attempted to pry some information from their lips. Either loyalty or magic compelled them, though. Of course, some of them had been accused out of convenience to get rid of some of King Rafik's dissenters, but that did not matter so much.

He took the three steps down from the throne slowly, letting the sound of his boots reverberate off the marble. He snapped his cloak loudly, seeing the shoulders of some of the prisoners flinch as he did so.

"I am your king. If any one of you is man enough to do so, kill me now," he said, removing his sword belt and holding it out to them. The guards stepped forward, hands on swords, and the king signaled them to stay back. Not a man on the floor in front of him had the guts to even glance at the sword offered, let alone rise and take it.

He laughed long and hard.

"Even my youngest wife is more a man than any of you," he said with a sneer. "You will be executed publicly, as will be your families, and your property will be sold to pay the salaries of our guards and soldiers. If you have anything to say which might aid us in our search for these men who are so bold to attack my very palace, I may show leniency to your families."

Not a man stirred. Rafik knew it had been unlikely, but perhaps one of them would still speak before they were executed. He nodded at the guards, who took them back to the dungeons to begin their torture again.

Day 3: The Third Wish

2009-11-04T15:41:23Z

"I cannot stay," he whispered. "The king has need of me and I may be gone a long time, my love. But I could not go without seeing you one more time."

He kissed his son on the head to avoid the tears he saw forming in her eyes. His son smelled of ash and spices underneath. He was fond of playing in the storerooms and was often discovered with smudges of cinnamon or cardamom on his tanned face. He squirmed to be free of his mother's grip now that emotion had weakened her hold.

"But why must it be you? The king commands a thousand men, surely he can send one who has no son to leave behind. If he snapped his fingers he could send a thousand men across the desert; why must he send you?" she asked.

"He has paid me a great compliment by choosing my men for this mission, Lina. A great compliment indeed," he said, glancing from her face to the new rings on his fingers.

His gaze met hers again and he smiled. She had been his wife many years, long enough to understand the intricacies of the palace. And before that she had been the youngest daughter of a nobleman who had taught his daughters well in their duty. Already her face was beginning to smooth. She was regaining control over her emotions.

Quietly, she set his son on the floor and whispered in his ear to go to his father. Fares embraced his son tightly, his soft hair against his fathers stubbled jaw. It was difficult to pull away. He stood up, kissed his son and his wife one last time and turned to go. {this guy turns to go a lot!} The king had commanded speed. He had no more time to linger this night.

Captain Fares made his way back to the palace, where his men were readying their wagons. Already the journey seemed almost too much to bear and it had not even begun. He rubbed the emerald ring the king had given him, taking comfort in its warmth. As he walked a light rain began to fall, a good omen for his travels.

Chapter Three

In which I forgot about that vase from the magic broom closet

Also in which I am struggling with anachronisms

Rafik sipped a glass of chilled wine as his treasurer, Isam, joined him. He bowed low, almost to the floor, as he entered and the king lifted a hand to signal him to rise.

"So Isam, how bad are the damages to my city?" he asked.

"I don't know, my lord. Shall I make further inquiries?" Isam asked.

"Of course, my lord. But would it not be better for the palace's great wealth to pay for some of the cost?" Isam asked, his voice trembling only a little.

"Absolutely not. And we will talk no more of it. Handle this, Isam, and smooth over whatever problems the people may have," Rafik said.

"Yes, my lord," Isam said, bowing and backing out of the room. He backed three steps from the table before turning his back on the king.

Usual disclaimer: I'd love comments, but I am aware that it's not very well written yet.

Yesterday's NaNo Progress

2009-11-03T16:33:33Z

Chapter Two

In which the silver ring given to Captain Fares has no known purpose.

Captain Fares studied the rings on his calloused fingers closely as he left the throne room. Gifts from the king were to be treasured, especially gifts that were so powerful, and yet he stared at this with unease in his stomach. He paused at one of the windows in the hallway, its white curtains billowing in the cool evening breeze. The gauzy curtain could do nothing to mask the burning city behind it.

The king's lamp was gone. Fares could not remember a time before that lamp and its protection. He rubbed the emerald ring the king himself had placed on his finger. It felt warm against his skin. Protection: that couldn't be a bad thing for a man in his position. The silver band was an unknown, but he had not the tools to deal with it now. He pushed it out of his mind. It was the ruby that troubled him most of all.

As he studied it, one of the gems began to glow faintly. The lamp was to the north. He sighed. Who was he to refuse the king's command? Fares left the window with a last look at his home and continued back into the bowels of the palace to muster his men. They would need supplies and horses and the king had commanded that they leave immediately.

His men were too well trained to complain. They would be sure that they were well out of earshot before any groans were heard. Supplies were easy enough with the king's personal command, but it was impossible to know what to pack for them. How long would they be away? Would their journey lead them through the cities or the desert?

Fares knew that he would need a guide: someone who knew the kingdom better than he. Maps of the desert could only be so detailed, and knowledge of the villages along the way would be almost as valuable as knowledge of oases in the desert. He left his men to their planning and left the palace through one of the side gates.

There was only one man Fares could think of who could lead him on such a journey. An old friend of his childhood whose life had taken him on a different path many, many years ago. While Fares had joined the King's Guard, and taken pride in his golden cape and bright sword, Shakir followed the path of the merchant, joining a questionable guild who would transport anything through the kingdoms without question, for the right price. He took pride in his reputation and in his money. He could not be trusted with great secrets, but then Fares would not be telling anyone of the object of their quest.

The streets of the city were even more chaotic than they looked from above. Merchant's carts had been overturned in the streets during the panic, women herded small children into safe streets, what few possessions could be saved had been cast onto the streets where thieves lurked hoping to find a pile of unguarded treasures, and everywhere things burned.

The cloak of the King's Guard did not serve him well this night, as citizens of the king begged for help as he passed through the streets. The cobblestones were slick with what little water did not make it to the fires. As Fares neared the river which ran just inside of the city's main gate, the bucket brigades grew thicker. The gate itself consisted now only of charred splinters scattered across the eastern side of the city. Workmen were already putting a temporary gate up, but it would be months before another gate as grand and imposing as the original was ready.

He paused at the river and slipped the heavy brocade cloak from his shoulders. It would serve him even less on the other side of the water. Clustered against the wall of the city's front gate was a merchant town that was in fact little more than a thieves den. Not all men who came to the city would be allowed into the king's capital. Some were barred with good cause, others weren't. But the city outside would serve their needs anyway.

Fares rolled his cloak with care and left the bundle with the guards at the front gate. He felt naked without the cloth and shivered in the cold night air.

The man he was looking for preferred the company outside of the city. Fares made for his warehouse at the richest center of the outtown. There he found Shakir's men desperately trying to save the goods inside from the fires of the neighboring buildings.

"Who goes there!" one of his men called as Fares approached the doors of the warehouse. The blade in the man's hand flared wickedly in the firelight.

"I seek Shakir, and old friend of mine. Is he within?" Fares called.

"Whose voice is that?" a voice behind him challenged.

Fares turned, a broad smile on his face as he recognized the voice.

"These are ill times for such a grin, Captain Fares," Shakir said.

"Who can help it when one meets such an old friend?" Fares replied.

The two embraced each other for a long moment before Shakir pulled away.

"But why does an old friend seek me in such ill times?" he asked.

"I have urgent business and need of a man who knows his way through this world. May we talk inside?" Fares asked.

Shakir led him inside and ordered his men outside. The warehouse was filled floor to ceiling with wooden crates with bits of straw poking out around the seams. They had been moved away from the walls so that the only space left to walk was a large alley between walls and crates. Sharik's men were busy pouring water on both the fires next door and the warehouse itself so that the thatched roof dripped onto them constantly.

Shakir had an office in one corner of the building. It was filled with the finest furnishings from around the world. Rugs from the east, a huge wooden desk from the west, and a fine couch and chairs from the north. His friend had indeed done well for himself.

Fares took the spot he was offered on the couch while Shakir brought the porcelain coffee service from a side table. He took the offered cup and took a long drink, savoring the dark brew while letting Sharik study him for a moment.

"What business does a king's man have with a man like me, Captain Fares?" he said as Fares put the cup down on the table beside him.

"Do you remember when we were children? You found that snake in the reeds and it bit you when you picked it up. I carried you home and the doctors said that I'd saved your life. Do you remember the debt of gratitude you promised me, Shakir? I have come to let you repay that debt," Fares said.

Shakir nodded slowly. "And what would you offer me that would repay such a great debt?"

"I must journey to the north on urgent business. I said that I had need of a man who knows his way through the world. That is true. Will you accompany me and aid me in this journey, Shakir?" Fares asked.

"There is, of course, more to it than all that, my friend. I suppose that you have told me all you will of it, though. But this sounds like a journey for the king. It would be a favor I do for him, not for you, Captain Fares," Shakir said.

"But the king has commanded that I be the man to undertake this journey. I am afraid that if I journey into the reeds I shall come upon another snake. I need your help, Shakir," Fares said.

"For you, Captain Fares, I shall do it for a much lower fee than for any other man," Shakir said.

"I would expect no less. Whatever you ask, it is yours, but we must leave tonight," Fares said.

They negotiated their price and talked over a few arrangements before Fares stood to leave. He had his own final arrangements to make.

"Fares, it has been a long time since I've seen my old friend without the gold cloak. You look good without it, my friend," Sharik said as they reached the door of the office.

"I would not trade that cloak for all the gold in your pockets, my friend," Fares said as he left.

The fires in the nearby buildings had almost burned out when Fares emerged. He heard Sharik ordering his men to get the wagons together as he made his way back to the main gate to retrieve his cloak.

Once inside, he worked his way back up to the palace. The streets were beginning to calm down as the fires either burned out or had grown too large to even battle any longer. The dead and wounded were being collected by family, now, and those who had no where else to go were simply sleeping in the streets. Heads barely turned now as his gold cloak passed.

Crowds had gathered at the gates of the palace, begging for their king's attention. Fares knew they would have a long wait.

His wife and son had a modest stone residence alongside the palace wall. Fares was relieved to see that the fire hadn't touched the neighborhood. A servant greeted him at the door with cool water. He found his wife at the back of their storeroom, clutching their young son to her breast.

"Fares, we were so worried about you. We heard that the army made it all the way to the palace. What happened?" his wife asked.

"It's alright now, Lina. The king has taken care of our enemies," he said, kneeling to embrace her to his chest, their son smashed between them.

Disclaimer: This is the first draft of a novel for NaNoWriMo. The idea is to write quickly and edit later. Still, comments are always appreciated.

NaNoWriMo Chapter One

2009-11-02T05:45:12Z

King's Third Wish

Chapter One

The city at the heart of the desert stood in flames. King Rafik watched his city burn from the balcony of his throne room, the smoke blocking out every star in the lapis sky. People scurried from building to building below him, pouring the river onto their homes bucket by bucket in a vain attempt to stop the flames.

The large emerald ring on his first finger burned, signaling an enemy nearby. He snorted softly at the irony: the ring hadn't reacted while an army broke through his gates and reached his very doorstep.

"How did it come this far?" he asked no one in particular, though the room was full of men.

"My lord?" his chief advisor asked from the cavernous room behind him.

A child screamed in the street below and, as Rafik watched, no one stopped to comfort him. Many children would be orphans in the morning.

"How did my enemies get so close to me, Aarif?" he shouted.

The advisers in the room all backed away as the king entered the room, keeping their distance. A servant appeared at his elbow with a bow, offering wine and food, and the king waved him away.

"They must have been cloaked by some powerful magic, my lord," Aarif said.

"Of course they were cloaked by magic. No army can breach the wall of this city or cross the great river without my permission. I would know who taught them of this magic. Someone must have helped them, perhaps even someone in this room," Rafik said.

"And what of the lamp, my lord?" Aarif asked.

"The lamp is gone. You know that as well as I do," King Rafik said.

Three wishes. The powers above had granted him three wishes when he found that lamp in the desert. Knowing that the king held such power had been the only thing protecting his head many times in the past, and now it was gone.

"Offer a purse of gold and gems to the man who returns the lamp to you, my lord," Rafik's treasury keeprer, Isam, suggested.

"And make it known that I have indeed lost it? No, I must recover the lamp from the far corners of the desert before anyone discovers that the last wish has been used. Tell no one of this, or I shall have the two of you executed alongside your families," King Rafik said. He turned on his soft-soled slippers and stalked out of the room.

The palace was in chaos. While the fires raged outside, the king glimpsed servants hurrying through hushed hallways to perform their duties, torn between their duty to the king and their desire to help their families and friends outside of the palace. Their bows were fleeting and shallow as he passed them.

He left the throne room with its expansive balcony and billowing curtains, and he left the torch lined hallways of the upper palace, travelling down and down by spiraling staircases until he came to the very heart of his palace. Here, armed guards attended the doors rather than servants, and they bowed deeply as he approached. He took a torch from the sconce on the wall as he approached the doors.

Rafik spoke the password before the heavy studded wood doors and they shuttered and swung open for him, closing again under their own power as he passed through them. The room was windowless stone and small: the size of a servant's bedchamber. He lit the nearest lamps with his torch before putting it into another sconce. It was lined with rough wooden shelves and tall tables, every one of them covered with trinkets. More hung from the ceiling on long chains or filled tall baskets on the floor. They were made of a myriad of materials. Gold, silver, precious gems, pottery, and stone, all were represented.

At the center of the room, a gilded pedestal stood empty.

The king strode among the aisles, stroking some objects, stopping to examine others. He paused over an enchanted map of his kingdom. The land under his rule was colored a brilliant gold, while the desert beyond was a deep grey, owned by no one but the nomads. Areas under the rule of his rivals were black and the borders fluctuated constantly as minor battles were fought between them. The area around his capital had gone black. Was the map so slow to change, or had he truly lost his city?

He came to a table covered in necklaces, rings, and bracelets. He touched the ruby pendant on his chest for a moment as he looked over the contents of the table. It was sorted between those of known magic on the right and those of unknown magic on the left. Pendants were laid out carefully in the center of the table while rings and bracelets were stacked to the side.

On any other day he'd have lingered over the unknown pieces, but instead he spread out the rings of known magic. He chose out three: one of gold with a huge emerald in the center, one with a cluster of rubies set into the band, and a plain band of silver. Clutching them in his fist, he walked over to a shelf at the very back of the room. On it were a variety of bottles, vases, and vessels of all kinds. At the very top of the shelf sat a large ceramic bottle. He grasped it with both fingers, his nimble fingers lifting it carefully.

With the vessel tucked under one arm and the rings in his other fist, he left the room.

"Come with me," he ordered the captain on duty as he emerged.

"My lord, how goes the battle? My men are ready to fight, should you ask it of us," Captain Fares offered, dropping to one knee once they pair had reached the throne room. His loose white pants turned grey at the knee as ash coated the floor, drifting in from the balcony.

The king waved his advisors and servants out of the room before continuing.

"The battle is over, Captain. But there is something that your men can do for me. Your guard are the most loyal men under my command. You have never failed me, Captain. For your loyalty, I grant you the gift of these three magic rings," King Rafik said, holding the rings out before him.

Captain Fares bowed his turbaned head lower.

"The emerald is a ring of protection," he said, beckoning Fares to approach. "You activate it by rubbing it, like this."

The king rubbed the ring on Fares' finger and it gave off a brilliant green glow. Fares' eyes grew wide and he pulled his hand back from his king and stared at it as though he had suddenly sprouted another finger. Rafik kept a sneer off his face. The poor soldier was still afraid of magic, despite all that was going on around him. That made him an even better man for the job than Rafik had believed at first.

"The ruby is a ring of finding," the king said. Fares offered his hand gingerly this time and the king placed the other two rings on it.

"What needs to be found, my lord?" Fares asked, inspecting the new rings absently.

"Your men are the most loyal in my company, Captain. You must retrieve something for me as I cannot go myself and must find someone to go in my stead. To destroy our enemies I have had to use the final wish offered by the djinn of my lamp. It has been cast to the far reaches of the lands and now you must retrieve it for me," King Rafik said.

"Anything you wish, my lord. If we have to scour the entire desert, the lamp will be found," Fares said.

"The rubies in the ring represent the cardinal points on a compass. The one nearest the lamp will glow at all times. Follow the ring's guidance and the lamp shall be found again quickly," the king said.

"And the third ring, my lord?" Fares asked.

"The silver band is for your silence. Tell no one of this mission, Captain Fares. If one word of this mission passes your lips anyone within hearing, including yourself, shall be killed by the djinn in this ring. Once it has been placed on your hand, only the king can remove it," the Rafik said.

Fares' hand twitched as the ring glowed, its spell taking effect at the king's command. He bowed deeply, keeping his hands stiffly at his sides.

"Gather your men and leave tonight, Fares. I want my lamp back," Rafik said.

"Yes, my lord," Captain Fares said.

King Rafik watched him go.

"I suppose you heard all of that," he said aloud after Fares had gone.

"It is my job to know all things in the kingdom, my lord. By your own command," Chief Advisor Aarif said, stepping from behind the billowing curtains that hung between the columns of the throne room. He approached the king and bowed low as Rafik dropped into his throne.

"Will that ring really kill any man who hears of this?" Aarif asked.

"No. That ring is almost worthless. But I need him to fear for his life, and the lives of his men. Fares isn't the best because he's smarter or tougher than the other captains. He's the best for this mission because his men would follow him into Hell. The emerald will ensure that he's completely loyal to me. His men are completely loyal to him. But a little insurance never hurts," King Rafik said.

"Ah. Speaking of insurance, my lord. Treasurer Isam's son has been taken into custody, as you asked. He will remain in our care until this has been resolved, one way or another. Isam won't be mentioning the lamp to anyone, either," Aarif said.

"Good. Now if only we can find the traitor who gave the enemy the secrets of our defenses, we may just have a chance," Rafik said.

Usual disclaimer: National Novel Writing Month encourages very fast writing and very little editing, but I'd still love to read your comments on this work in progress.

Microfic

2009-10-20T03:25:16Z

I know there's sort of an unspoken rule between Twitter users and non-Twitter users: thou shalt not talk about Twitter outside of Twitter (or: the first rule of Twitter is you don't talk about Twitter; or: what happens on Twitter stays on Twitter), but I'm going to break it for a moment.

Since the advent of the 140 character limit of Twitter, a new style of fiction has sprung up: the microfic (also called the nanofic, the twitterfic, or the very short story (#vss)) -- stories told in 140 characters or fewer (including spaces). I've written a few and want to post them here. Some are more successful than others.

"Didn't you sleep well?" Mina asked, pouring the coffee. "I slept like the dead," Lucy said, fingering the twin marks on her neck.

Earth Day: We kept a jar of earth under the sink, handed down over the years. No one goes back to the homeworld to worship anymore.

“Should we tell the man in the lab coat it’s all an experiment?” one white rat asked the other. “Not until he finds the cheese.”

Atop the last hill above the spaceport they climbed out of the cars to admire the view- all but Kate, who saw only death in those ships

There was a vampire sitting on my couch when I came in. "Mina let me in," he explained. I glared at my cat. "Traitor." She just purred.

Death became a real jerk when he decided to take up celebrity autograph collecting.

When the world ends the kitties will survive, twiddling their prosthetic thumbs, worrying over where they will find their next meal.

Once upon a time there was a princess who had to marry a prince. When the duel ended in a draw no one was happy except for the bookies.

The pen said, "Don't use me! I'm cursed. I write only a perfect page of prose; nothing can ever compare." Of course, he used it anyway.

November Approaches

2009-10-15T19:27:51Z

Oh, my all too seldom used writing journal.

What this was supposed to be: A place to keep and catalogue my writing work. Somewhere to post my stories so that friends could read them and give me feedback all in one place with easy (or fairly easy) access. Somewhere that I could look back and see my writing progress.

What it has become: Dusty.

Yes, I still write. I just don't finish anything. And thus, the pages of this journal sit blank. I do expect to have a new story coming by the end of the month.

What this post is really about:
Next month is November -- National Novel Writing Month. In the past, I've posted daily dumps of my novel in progress here. This is your one warning that in 15 days this may occur again. I may even manage to post all the way through the month instead of stopping the posts half-way through as I become too embarrased of the work in progress to show it. I don't know.

Crash

2009-07-25T04:55:48Z

The challenge: Write a fragment of a story from the POV of an unreliable narrator -- third person limited (or attached) narration.

In the end, I'm not sure I achieved the challenge, nor am I satisfied with what came out.

"I'm going back to the others. Are you coming with me?" Sarah asked.

She was perched on a boulder, a favorite spot of hers, looking down on Sam where he lay. He looked up at her; let his eye linger on the soft curve of her waist under her space suit. He thrust his hand out, groping, until it settled on the bottle of whiskey at his side. He took a long drink.

"Why are you still here?" he asked.

She looked offended. Her darks eyes were hooded as she drew her eyebrows together.

"Don't you think it's about time you came and joined the others?" she asked.

"No," he said.

Just across the forest the other crewmembers had stayed with the wreck. They were like family to him. But he couldn't stand the way they looked at him, as though the crash had been his fault. He couldn't stand the whispers, the talk behind his back. When he moved away from the crash site and across the forest, only Sarah came to visit him.

"They don't blame you, anymore," she said, sliding off of her rock.

He stared up at her, standing over him now, her face framed by her dark hair, cut short to be more manageable in zero-gee. He wanted to reach up and stroke her face. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, again. He finished off the last of his whiskey, instead.

"You're out of booze. By the look of this trash, you're out of food, too. You'll have to come back to the ship sooner or later, unless you plan to take up hunting," she said, kicking at the detritus that surrounded him.

He staggered to his feet. "It's not a ship, anymore. To be a ship, it hast to be capable of flight. It's just junk, now," he said.

"It's still home," Sarah said. She walked away toward the tree line, toward the crash site. "Are you coming?"

Sam followed.

He approached the crash site slowly, his hand raised against the glaring sun as he stepped from the shadow of the forest. A twisted mass of debris lay at one end of a deep gorge, the other end of which was beyond the horizon. There were signs of old habitation – empty food packs and dead batteries – but Sam saw no one else. Sarah was perched atop a stone on the other side of the trench.

"Maybe the radio will work for you this time," she said to him as he entered the cockpit.

He let his eyes adjust. The shade inside was only marginally cooler. Thick layers of dust covered the surfaces, clouds of it exploding into the air with each footstep. The pilot's chair sat on its side in front of him. He ran a hand over it as he clicked at the instrument switches. Every instrument, every light, everything was dead inside. The door into the crew cabin was open at the back of the cockpit, but beyond it the ceiling had met the floor during the crash. Everything inside had been crushed.

A third door exited onto the other side of the crash site. Sarah was out there. So were the rest of the crew. Sam stepped out onto the dirt, his eyes locked on the stone below Sarah. The crudely etched cross and the name on the grave haunted his nightmares. It was her name.

"I didn't mean any harm," he said. "I tried to land us safely."

"I know," Sarah said. "But you didn't, did you?"

His eyes scanned the area, pausing only for a moment on each of the grave markers. No, he didn't get any of them down safe.

Coward and Spaceport

2008-09-11T07:15:37Z

The challenge, part one: to write 100-150 words of narrative in short sentences of no more than seven words each, no fragments allowed.

I think this is a continuation of my Untitled (Try the Blue Stuff) story. 115 words.

The explosion was close by. We stayed under the table, waiting. The smoke wouldn’t clear. We couldn’t see anything. We could only hear shouts. Some of them were in English. The rest were alien languages. We knew that people were hurt. Some of those would be humans, too. We stayed under the table, anyway. Finally, our ears stopped ringing. I got up. Debris was everywhere. People and aliens were everywhere. Some of them were alive. Some of them weren’t. I couldn’t do anything for them. Aliens in uniform ran past me. They ran toward the center of it. I ran in the opposite direction. This wasn’t safe. That much was definitely certain. I ran away.

The challenge, part two: to write up to 350 words of narrative that is all one complex sentence.

I actually rather like this sentence. It's 122 words long. It is 122 words of science fiction.

As Kaitlin and her companions crested the last hill on the approach to the spaceport, the sun caught the metal, glass, and other materials of the ships, bathing the land in an orange glow and scattering the light into a hundred directions, causing the convoy of cars to stop and take in the spectacle – passengers spilling out across the grass to stare open mouthed with clear expressions of wonder on their faces – except for Kaitlin herself, who had seen spaceports before, both here and under alien suns and regarded them no longer with childlike wonder or joy but as something more sinister than the others could fathom, they having not been through the last few months in space that she had experienced.

Thanksgiving, Without a Break

2008-09-11T03:49:10Z

The challenge: to write a paragraph to a page without using punctuation or paragraph breaks.

I hate this challenge. I think I died a little inside writing this. It's supposed to teach me how wonderful punctuation is. I didn't need a lesson; I love punctuation. As you might have guessed, what follows is one very long runon sentence.

It should be illegal to starve dinner guests on Thanksgiving while the turkey is still cooking and the casseroles are still being prepared even if that is smoke pouring out of the kitchen while the family looks on horrified demanding that something be done to rectify this situation considering that they came here for this burnt and shriveled hunk of fowl that is pulled from the oven gingerly moving casseroles and desserts aside to make room smoke detector screaming instead of the dinner bell the family looks on in mourning for the center piece of their dinner ruined and their evening looking bleak as Grandma lays into the hostess about the proper way to dress and cook a turkey even if she last used an oven in 1973 and no one wants to upset the already upset hostess who never thought she would need a back-up plan and is now faced with the choice to throw the turkey out or force an inedible bird on her dinner guests

The Story of Lonely-God

2008-09-04T05:12:54Z

The Challenge: to write a story or paragraph meant to be read aloud, using onomatopoeia, alliteration, repitition, etc. but not rhyme or meter.

I'm not 100% happy with this, so feedback is appreciated.

The myth is mine, but I'm sure I'm not the first person to come up with it.

In the beginning Lonely-God lived alone and lonely. Sitting silently she thought long and hard about her solitude. Lonely-Solitary-God was bored and bored Gods are not happy Gods. After long contemplation Cunning-God conceived a plan to create for herself a partner. And so God, bored and lonely, split herself into two, God and Goddess. The two took to each other immediately upon meeting. No-Longer-Lonely-God and No-Longer-Bored-Goddess fell in love and found fine ways to amuse themselves. Goddess grew large and gave birth to First Man. First Man’s growing pains were great and he was lost and lonely being the only man. God and Goddess thought to create for him a friend. When they split his fragile body into two, as they themselves had split into two, they instead created only a great chaos. From that chaos formed the great stars and the humble planets. God and Goddess were sad and thought long on what they had done. When Sorrowful-Goddess swelled again and gave birth to First Woman, God and Goddess put her very fragile body on a planet where she could be kept safe. There First Woman thrived but was also alone and lonely. And so God and Goddess added to First Woman’s world Second Man, and the two fell in love and found fine ways to amuse themselves.

Zombie drabble

2008-08-04T18:46:37Z

You can blame LJ's recent writing prompt about a Zombie Apocalypse and Whitney reminding me how fun drabbles are.

It was always one more week, one more and we'll go back. We'll go home and check. But we never did. We left with nothing. A few snacks, some fuel, a car. We had one book that we'd all read now and half a deck of cards and were on each other's nerves. It was getting cold and we had no coats. The radio was quiet. The forest was empty, eerily so. No animals, no people, only us. We hoped. We were afraid. Not knowing was the worst part. But how long until you know the zombie apocalypse is over?

TORn quickie

2008-06-05T17:19:12Z

The challenge: use 10 pre-chosen subject lines from TheOneRing.net's message boards.

Yeah, I wanted to see him shimmy and shake.
I don't think they shifted the mountain range and here's why..
You mean those rocky things?
A bit too blue for you?
I think it's lace.
Well, how about two guinea pigs?
Prettiest corpse on the battlefield
It can lie flat, but...
Death by sewing needle.
Wow...is that what it looks like?

Two Rohan soldiers come across Haldir's body at the end of TTT:

“Well, if that isn't the Prettiest corpse on the battlefield! Funny, I thought elves were immortal.”
“Elves? How can you tell it's an elf?”
“The fabric under his armor... I think it's lace.”
“Wow...is that what it looks like? Don't see much of it around here. It's cool that it can lie flat, but... Anyway, didn't protect him much now, did it?”
“No. Death by sewing needle, I suppose.”
“I thought he was killed by an orc.”
“I thought they were uruks. Might as well have been female dwarves for all I can tell.”
“Well, how about two guinea pigs?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, sure that too. It's a shame, I wanted to talk with him at the victory celebration.”
“Yeah, I wanted to see him shimmy and shake. It's going to be downright depressing without the elves there.”
“A bit too blue for you? Guess it's just as well. Hey, do you think the Horn of Hammerhand moved those mountains?”
“You mean those rocky things? Nah, I don't think they shifted the mountain range and here's why...”

Fade to black.

Two LotR Themed Drabbles

2007-12-04T20:40:40Z

Legolas walked one last time through the great city of Minas Tirith, stopping here and there along his way at places long remembered. He looked again at the banners in the morning wind as a gull cried overhead. Finally he came to the silent street. He lingered just a moment beside his dear friend. The farewells had already been made long ago, but he would not leave without a last glance at Aragorn's tomb. "Good-bye for the last time, old friend. Would that I could take your love with me, but I fear that she has left us forever."

As he walked up the hill, the first thing Frodo saw was the Party Tree, covered in lights and streamers of many colors. Snippets of music wafted down to him on the wind. Today was a special day. Today was his birthday. And his Uncle Bilbo's. Bilbo always threw a party for the pair. But today's was a party of special magnificence. Today Frodo became an adult. For a moment he stopped, thinking of turning before the top of the hill. But the sounds of laughter and of good friends reached him and called him the rest of the way.