This is Chapter 10 of Servant of the King,

and it was tough to write. But the story took over and I swear I felt like I was just typing as fast as I could to get it out.

I know it will need editing and revisions, but I feel good about the images, scenes and goals here.

Okay, I'll just say it. I love this story. I love Lakhoni and can't wait to see what he does next. The poor kid.

Alright, so here it is. I understand that a new reader will have to do a very counter-intuitive thing to read this book from the start, because they will have to scroll down to read each chapter, but the earliest chapters are all the way at the bottom.

Enjoy!

Chapter 10

            Sleep ebbed gently as Lakhoni blinked in the pleasant cool of the stone hut. He pushed himself to a sitting position slowly, enjoying the sensation of warmth under the woven blanket he guessed Corzon had put over him. He didn’t remember lying down. His dreams had already faded and he might have wondered if everything in the cavern had been one of those dreams if he could not feel the foreign tightness in his side and on his scalp.

            He sat in the quiet of the hut, looking around. The interior looked much like his family’s – no, his – hut back in the village. Sleeping mats were arranged against walls, leaving space to walk in the middle of the one-room home. Stone and wood boxes, simple and without adornment, acted as dividers between the sleeping mats. Pouches, hides, and water guts hung from hooks pounded between the large, gray stones used for the walls.

            The smell was different. Lakhoni was used to the fresh, just-awoken air that greeted him each morning at the village. Here in the cavern, despite the current of air that took the smoke away, there was a distinct aroma of old smoke. But Lakhoni also smelled a fresh aroma—meat of some kind and even something that smelled like flatbread.

            He emerged from the hut, noticing on his way out that he was the last to awake, and found himself in a scene much like the one of the previous evening. Many people crowded the fire circle, most of them with a hunk of meat impaled on a knife or steaming from a stone platter. Vena stood at the fire with three other women, using long, flat boards to remove—yes, it was flatbread—from the stones surrounding the fire.

            He stood, unsure of himself. Hunger, stronger than he had felt in a long time, awoke at all the good smells. Vena noticed him, calling out, “Lakhoni! Finally! Come get some food.”

            He straightened his shoulders. He would not look cowed by the unfamiliar. He walked to the woman, accepting a platter of meat and bread. “You’ll find water in the bucket,” Vena said, indicating a wooden bucket off to the side.

            He nodded and moved back toward the hut he had spent the night in. He sat on the stone ground just outside the hut and dug in. He couldn’t chew fast enough, and it seemed like the waking of his mouth and hunger had awoken his nerves as well. Dull pain in his side and head set in. It wasn’t as bad as the night before when Corzon had done his work and Lakhoni felt he could probably ignore it for the most part.

            He would have to be careful to not break the thread holding his wounds together. He glanced around as movement to his left caught his eye. A young man, probably only a year older than Lakhoni and obviously very strong, sat down next to him, chewing a large bite of meat.

            “You snore,” the stranger said around the chunk of deer in his mouth.

            Lakhoni chewed for a moment, swallowed, and said, “What?”

            “And you talk in your sleep.”

            Confused, Lakhoni studied the fellow. He understood after a moment. “You’re… uh…”

            “Anor,” said the stranger.

            “Yeah. The hut.” I’ve got to work on that. My mind goes way too blank.

            “Right. That’s why I could hear you snore. I bet the king of the Usurpers heard you snore!” Anor said.

            “It can’t be that bad,” Lakhoni said, glad to finally join the conversation.

            “Oh it is,” Anor said. “And you need a bath.”

            Lakhoni looked at the other boy. “Are you always this pleasant?”

            “Yes.” Anor tore another huge bite off his meal. “Do you always sleep until lunch?”

            Taken aback, Lakhoni looked around. Of course. There was no way to tell what time of day it was down here. “No. Only when I snore.” No wonder he felt so rested.

            “Lakhoni, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            Anor fixed Lakhoni with a baleful glare. “Don’t snore any more. Corzon just brought you back from the dead. I don’t want to have to make those lovely stitches useless.”

            “I’ll do my best,” Lakhoni said, talking mostly to Anor’s back as the other boy rose and walked away. There’s a future best friend, Lakhoni thought wryly. As he ate, he saw Gimno step from a group of people and approach.

            “How do you feel?” Gimno asked.

            Lakhoni shrugged carefully. “Okay. Not perfect, but not terrible.”

            “Good answer.” Gimno lowered himself to the spot Anor had just vacated. “You get to learn what it means to be one of the Separated today.”

            Something in Gimno’s voice caught Lakhoni’s attention. This sounded important. “What do you mean?”

            “It’s more than living in a cave,” Gimno said. “It’s about living according to a certain set of principles.”

            “Okay.”

            “Eat fast. You don’t want to miss this.”

            Lakhoni felt urgency from the warrior, sensing tension in the man. He gobbled the last of his meal in a few large bites. As he choked it down, he walked to the water bucket and got a drink. The water helped him swallow. Even with his hurry, he had to almost run to catch up to Gimno, who was the last person to leave the fire circle and head toward the large circle in the center of the cavern.

            Their group was nearly the last to arrive. People stood in tight bunches, all facing the altar of stones that Lakhoni had seen the night before. He noticed that the people had left a cleared path between the altar and the largest circle of huts. Everybody’s eyes were fixed on those huts.

            Soon Lakhoni saw movement. A circle of people strode from the large huts and made its way through the onlookers. When they got to the altar, they spread out and Lakhoni got a good look at them. There were eight tall, thickly muscled men in the group, along with a smaller man with hair that was made to stand straight out from his head so that he looked as if he had a porcupine up there. Two of the tall men held a young boy who seemed to be sleeping on his feet.

Lakhoni did not like the look of the eight men. Their skin was painted red from head to toe. Bones pierced their lower lip and their earlobes. Their heads were bald save for a patch in the back, just above their neck. They wore leather loincloths, along with belts and leggings that were died black. Each man had a unique tattoo on his back. Lakhoni saw one man with a bear, another with an eagle and another with what looked like a wolf.

They each carried a long dagger of what must have been steel, but Lakhoni had trouble believing that these people could use so much steel on one weapon. This dagger was strapped tightly to the right leg of the men.

Lakhoni’s attention was grabbed by movement. The two men holding up the young boy—who Lakhoni realized was not sleeping but looked as if he had drunk several guts of wine—strode toward the altar. Looking closely at the altar, Lakhoni realized that it was just big enough for-

His eyes widened in sudden fear and shock. No. This couldn’t be. These people were kind and caring. No, he was imagining things.

The two mean lifted the young boy to the altar, laying him on his back and stepping backward one small pace, although they kept a firm hold on the boy’s wrists.

No. This is not… Dread filled him as the small man with the hair slid a shining dagger from his belt. The man raised his arms, surveying the crowd. Lakhoni thanked the First Fathers that he was in the back of the crowd so that the man couldn’t see his reaction.

“Brothers and sisters!” The man called out in a surprisingly large, full voice. “We are the Separated!”

“We are the Separated!” repeated the crowd. Lakhoni looked left and right. Gimno, to his right, his eyes wide and intent, was staring at the man, a strange smile forming on his mouth. To his left, Lakhoni spied Anor looking at him through hooded eyes. Anor gave Lakhoni a strange smile, then turned his attention back to the little man.

“But we are united!” The man said.

The crowd repeated this too.

Lakhoni’s throat was tight. He swallowed, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face.

“But we know the truth of this land,” the man said. Now he did all the talking and the crowd watched with rapt attention. Lakhoni didn’t dare look around him for fear he would stand out. “We who follow the true God, the creator of the Great Spirit and this world, we know the truth. We follow the true God and we will inherit this promised land!”

The man took a small step and was at the boy’s side. The boy squirmed weakly, his eyelids fluttering. “This is the promise! We will be cleaned by the blood of the son and we will take this land and serve the true God.” The small man jabbed his dagger, quick as a heartbeat, into the left hand of the boy, pulling it out quickly. Blood followed and dripped to the ground. He stepped quickly around the altar. “The son’s blood, pure and willing, makes us mighty! We will be clean.” This last was timed perfectly and the man arrived on the other side of the boy and jabbed his dagger into the right hand. Blood spilled again.

“These are the signs of the son. Through these signs we are justified and we know we must take this land back. We await our prophesied leader- he who comes from shadow but brings us to light.” The man slashed both of the boy’s feet. Blood, thick and red oozed down the small feet. The boy moaned and squirmed more.

Lakhoni swallowed, terrified. How? Why? he thought, his mind paralyzed and repeating these words in a mantra of disgust and horror.

“As our First Fathers’ father did, we offer this pure son on the altar of the true God and we await His time. The time when we will come back to light!” With this final pronouncement, the man raised the dagger high and-

Lakhoni stood frozen. The dagger slammed smoothly into the boy’s stomach and Lakhoni felt his own body jerk at the moment of impact. Sick fear made him feel like throwing up. He swallowed hard, every muscle in his body tight. He thought he might snap like a dry stick.

The dagger rose, a trail of blood following it up. “We will come back to the light!” the man screamed. The crowd repeated it, then it became a chant as the dagger rose and fell. Lakhoni shook each time the dagger penetrated the young boy’s still body.

“Be cleansed!” the man screamed, his high-pitched voice carrying over the shouts of the Separated. The crowd surged forward. Lakhoni was carried with them. He tried to push backward, to fight the tide. He succeeded somewhat, but not quickly enough to miss what came next.

The image of Gimno, Vena, Anor and Corzon, along with hundreds of other people dipping their hands in the dead boy’s blood and smearing it across their faces and bodies would never leave him.

He wanted to run, climb back to the surface and leave this world behind. But they were kind. They fed me, took me in. I thought they were good! He took a step backward, meaning to find the entrance to the cavern and get out immediately. Panic filled him. He had to get out. This was not right. Now. He had to leave now.

Gimno appeared before his terrified eyes. Lakhoni gasped, realizing he had been holding his breath in his paralyzed terror. “The first time is hard,” Gimno whispered with a kind smile on his face, a rivulet of blood running down his neck. The warrior lifted a hand to Lakhoni’s face. Lakhoni felt wet warmth cover his forehead. It dripped into his eyes. “But you are Living Dead now. The blood of the son purifies you.” The hand painted both of Lakhoni’s cheeks. He was holding his breath again, revulsion slamming inside of him, trying to burst free in a scream of pure fury and disgust. “With this blood, you become a son of the son. A warrior for the true God.”

His face warm and wet, the thick, sweet smell filling his nostrils, Lakhoni closed his eyes for a moment. He could think of nothing that he could do or say. He had to get away. He wanted to learn nothing from these people. Suddenly he wondered where the slain boy had come from. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old.

He opened his eyes. Gimno still stood there, watching him. Gimno caught Lakhoni’s gaze. “You will understand; I will teach you. I will make you a warrior and you will help me become a Consecrated.” Gimno looked over his shoulder and Lakhoni followed his gaze. He understood somehow that the eight tall, red men must be the Consecrated.

Gimno turned back to Lakhoni. He wrapped his long arms around Lakhoni in a warm embrace. His whisper, its tones soft and kind, sent a bright flare of fear and fury into Lakhoni’s soul. “Welcome to the people of God.”

This is 2250 words, making the total word count so far 17,220. That's not really where I should be to finish this as a NaNoWriMo project, but that's okay.

Feel free to share. Heck, I invite you to share-- I'm a writer. I need readers and validation!

Ugh, so tired.

But not so tired that I couldn't do chapter nine!

Scenes. Goals. Motivations. Real characters. Story.

This is what I am focusing on.

Here's my latest installment. It's 1985 words. The total word count is now just a bit shy of 15000.

Man I'm loving this. I am a writer, when all is said and done. It's a fact.

Enjoy!

Chapter 9

            Lakhoni wondered if the spirits of his family and friends were frowning on him in disapproval. He sat on a smooth, gently cupped stone just over a pace from the large fire that burned in the middle of the homes Gimno’s family lived in. In one hand he held a thin stone platter, and in the other a blade Gimno had lent him. Slicing tender mouthfuls of venison from a hot, still-juicy chunk Vena had carved off the animal over the fire, he felt as if the suddenly pleasant circumstances were somehow a betrayal of the grief that still filled him with leaden pain. Gimno’s extended family spread around the area in the middle of the homes in Gimno’s circle, many of them laughing and chatting, but mostly just producing an all-too familiar harmony of voices and chaos.

            He should be grieving. He had never finished the dance. He should never have left the village untended.

            He felt as if he should be doing something to make his village somehow hallowed ground. He had no right to be enjoying such a meal and such company. His family, his friends—they deserved more. Their deaths, so violent, cruel and stupid cried for answer. The venison, so juicy moments before, felt like dry grass in his mouth. He reached down and lifted the cup he had been given to his mouth. The cool water helped him choke the meat down.

            Lakhoni looked down at his plate; the pink and red juices of the roasted meat mingling. He sucked in a breath as the image of Sana’s staring eyes slammed into his mind. All that blood on her limp body.

            His gorge rose. He fought it back, quickly putting the platter on the stone ground. He looked up fast, praying nobody had seen him. He didn’t want to insult his hosts; he didn’t want them to know how weak he was. He got to his feet, his heart thumping jackrabbit fast in his chest. He knew he couldn’t find his way back to the village on his own. Besides, he had decided he would stay to learn from these strange people. He wanted to be able to move like a ghost; he wanted to be able to strike fear in others the way these people did.

            No, he wouldn’t run from the Separated. But he couldn’t allow the gaiety around him to steal his purpose. He had to focus on what he had to do.

            Alronna needed him. The blood of his people cried to him from the ground, pleading for vengeance.

            “Lakhoni.”

            He turned, realizing only then that tears were wetting his cheeks. He quickly scrubbed them away, keeping his face down.

            “Your wounds,” Vena said. “You need treatment. And you need rest.”

            He glanced up, briefly meeting her gaze, then looked away. “I’m okay.”

            “Gimno told me what happened to your head. You’re not okay. Not yet, at least.”

            He didn’t know what to say, so he stood silently.

            Her hand brushed his cheek, moving to his uninjured left shoulder. It felt strong, warm and kind. “I’m so sorry, Lakhoni.”

            Her words touched the grief he held in his gut. His throat tight, he mumbled, “I’m okay.” He was done with tears. He would hold the grief inside and fan the hot embers he felt now into a flame of fury that would help him save his sister.

            She pulled gently. He looked up. “Come with me, we will get that side fixed and take a closer look at your head.” Her green eyes met his again. “And I will show you where you will sleep.” She led him around the outskirts of the communal circle. “You are part of Gimno’s tribe now, so you will stay in this circle.”

            Lakhoni walked next to Vena, listening and looking around. He wanted to know his way around soon so that he was not so dependent on these people.

            “Anor and Corzon have space in their hut,” Vena said. “We will lend you what you need until you can get your things from the village.”

            Presently they came to a hut that to Lakhoni looked no different from the rest of the huts in the circle. Vena surprised him by preceding him into the hut. When he stepped into the dimness, he saw that another person was already there.

            “Lakhoni, this is Corzon. He is good with injuries. Will you let him look at your head, shoulder and side?” Vena said.

            Lakhoni nodded. Vena left, one hand going to Lakhoni’s left shoulder again and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Get some sleep,” she said, her voice soft and difficult to hear over the tumult outside.

            The animal skin performing the duties of the hut’s door fell back into place behind Vena. Lakhoni, turned and peered at Corzon in the dim light of the hut. Corzon stood and Lakhoni realized that this man was the tallest person he had ever seen. He must have been nearly a full hand-length taller than Gimno.

            Corzon smiled and made a sound of disapproval. He moved to the doorway and hooked the skin to the side, letting more light into the small home. “I’ve got to be able to see what I’m doing,” he muttered. In the better light, Lakhoni watched Corzon go to a large stone box and dig around in its contents. Corzon was not only the tallest man Lakhoni had seen; he also had the largest nose imaginable. It was magnificent: It jutted out nearly straight from under the Corzon’s eyes, then dropped like the side of a cliff. It then came back to his face in another straight line.

            “Lakhoni, is it?” Corzon said. He sucked his upper lip into his mouth, working it for a moment. “Well, let’s take a look.” Corzon stepped back toward Lakhoni. “Go on,” he pointed at a smooth stone, “have a seat.”

            Lakhoni obeyed, trying not to stare at the incredibly skinny man’s nose.

            “Give it up,” Corzon said. “You’ll never tear your eyes away from Nose Mountain.”

            It took a moment to sink in. Lakhoni burst out laughing.

            “Yes, it’s quite the feature. A gift from my father,” Corzon said. He lifted Lakhoni’s right arm. “Keep it up please.” He prodded gently at the wound in Lakhoni’s side. “Keep your eyes open, the Mighty Nose sometimes forms its own weather system. You might see clouds.”

            Lakhoni snorted. Then he hissed as Corzon found a tender spot.

            “Right. This is going to need some sewing up.”

            Lakhoni sat quietly as he watched Corzon putter around in his box again. When the tall man returned, he carried a small pouch and a drinking gut. He handed the gut to Lakhoni. “Why doesn’t it just fall off my face? That would be a gift from my mother. No woman would marry this nose, so I will always be my mother’s baby.”

            The aroma of what was in the drinking gut hit Lakhoni’s nose hard. Some kind of fermented fruit drink. “What’s this for?” he asked.

            “Take the pain away. The sewing will hurt. A lot.”

            Lakhoni lifted the gut to take a swig. He stopped just before he got there. I will take this pain, he thought. I won’t numb it. This is my consecration. Nothing will stop me from saving Alronna. And if revenge will bring justice, I will do that too. Taking this pain is the sign of this oath. He lowered the gut. “I can handle it.”

            “No, you can’t,” Corzon said. “Drink the wine.”

            “No,” Lakhoni said. His voice sounded harsh to his own ears and he worried he might offend Corzon. “No, really. I want to feel this,” he said.

            “You’ll still feel it with the wine in you. But you won’t pass out from the pain, and I need you to stay alert until I’m done.”

            Lakhoni considered for a moment. No, he thought. He had to show his dedication. His people had died painfully and he had survived. This wasn’t a penance, but a sacrifice of his own blood on the altar of justice. “Just do it.”

            Corzon rested an angry gaze on Lakhoni. You will scream like a pig, cry like a baby, and then faint like a woman.”
            Lakhoni met Corzon’s eyes. “My village was destroyed. My family murdered.” He took a breath. “Do your sewing.”

            Corzon shook his head and pulled his upper lip into his mouth again. He handed Lakhoni a strip of leather. “Bite that. Try not to faint.”

            Lakhoni took the leather in his mouth. The first poke of Corzon’s needle in his side was not bad. The sensation of the thin twine sliding through his skin was a little worse.

            It was the pulling of the two sides of injured flesh together that sent the blackness before Lakhoni’s eyes. NO! He fought the dark away, trying not to think about the gouts of flame-like pain searing his side and spreading to fill his body. The needled pierced again, the twin slid again and then raw agony tore through him again. His teeth felt as if they would slice through the leather in his mouth. His breathing came quickly, desperately.

            “Not too late for the wine you know,” Corzon said.

            Shaking from exertion and pain, Lakhoni shook his head.

            Corzon muttered something disapproving and continued with his work.

            After a few more pulls on his damaged flesh, Lakhoni found that he could imagine the pain was a kind of energy flowing into him, then sliding down his legs and out into the stone underfoot. This helped somewhat. Although the agony was still there, especially each time Corzon tugged the two sides of the wound closed, Lakhoni found he could handle it. He felt as if he had put himself into a place where pain couldn’t overcome him.

            Before he knew it, Corzon was standing and stretching his long legs. “Well, you haven’t passed out yet. Not bad.”

            Lakhoni tried to get his breathing back under control.

            “Your side will be fine. No major damage, just torn flesh.”

            Lakhoni nodded.

            “Now your head.”

            Lakhoni reached up and pulled the leather from his mouth. “No problem. It’s tough.”

            “We’ll see.”

            The head was worse. Apparently Corzon had to do some sewing up there too, and it hurt even more than his side had hurt. Several times, Lakhoni was certain he was going to faint from the pain. Each time, an image of Sana or Zeozer would flash behind his eyelids and he would find a way to fight the blackness back again.

            “You’re tougher than you look.”

            Lakhoni opened his eyes, the pain in his jaw telling him how hard he was biting on the leather strap.

            “But now it’s time for sleep.” Corzon pulled the strap from Lakhoni’s mouth.

            As Lakhoni allowed Corzon to prepare a sleeping mat and a blanket, he imagined that the pain of the treatment had fanned the ember of his grief into a lava-hot coal of fury that he would draw from as he sought to rescue his sister from the thieving king. And justice. He would have to seek justice too; he couldn’t let his loved ones’ blood go unanswered.

            No, nothing would stop him now. He would learn from the Living Dead. He would embrace their ways—but only long enough to prepare himself for what he must do.

            He would find his sister. If she still lived, he would rescue her and kill the king quickly. If she was dead, the king would suffer a painful death.

            And if he died in the process, justice would have been sated and he would be with his family again.

            Sleep overcame him moments after he lay down. His dreams were bright, lit by a blazing sun. He moved through them like a panther through its domain, confident that all around it feared and trembled. 

Hey, if you're liking this, feel free to share with friends, families, neighbors, and enemies. Don't worry about copyright.

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For my 201st post on this blog:

It's Chapter 8 of Servant of the King!

Wow, this chapter just kept going. I bet I'll cut some out during the editing process, but man this is a good time. I love what imagination will do for us if we give it free reign.

I love my characters. I love seeing what they will do and the choices they'll make.

So thanks, NaNoWriMo, for this opportunity. Without NaNoWriMo I probably wouldn't be working on this with all the other stuff I have to do. Master's project, multiple class projects and homework, actual work, church calling, family stuff-- (In reverse order of importance!) there's lots.

Anyshmay. Read. Enjoy. Pass it on if you'd like.

Chapter 8

            The walk through the trees, the silent, glinting wraiths gliding all around him and Gimno as they progressed, seemed to last more than an hour. They followed no path that Lakhoni could discern. At times they seemed to bear north, turning slightly to the left. But the twists and turns that Gimno and his people took certainly had no pattern that Lakhoni could see. All he could tell was that they were going east. The dark shapes of the mountains far ahead had grown only a fraction by the time they came to the edge of a low hill and began ascending it.

            Gimno stopped at the crest of the hill and shadows of the Living Dead flowed around him and—disappeared. Lakhoni blinked, peering into the deep darkness. Were these people more than mortals? Did they have the power to vanish?

            “Come, cub,” Gimno gestured for Lakhoni to approach. Unsure of what to expect, Lakhoni strode carefully up the hill. When he got to Gimno, he followed the tall man’s gesture with his eyes and saw a hole in the ground. It was just wider than the shoulders of a large man. “Down,” Gimno said.

            Lakhoni crouched to get a better look. There, perhaps three or four hand lengths below the hole’s rim was a thick length of wood, sticking out of the earth. Below that length was another. Lakhoni understood. This was some kind of ladder. He looked up at Gimno again.

            “I would still like to have my evening meal, cub.”

            Feeling as if he was somehow betraying his village, as if he was accepting too easily this new life Gimno offered him, Lakhoni lowered his legs into the hold and probed with a foot for the branch. Finding it, he began to lower himself slowly, feet questing for each foothold and his breath coming quickly.

            “A warm meal, cub.” Gimno’s voice floated down.

            Lakhoni tried to move faster. He soon realized that there was a pattern to the placing of the branches: they were spaced at intervals of around five hand lengths and they were very nearly in a straight line, descending into the darkness that yawned below. Now he was using his hands to help his stability and he could go faster.

            He silently thanked the Great Spirit that he had not inherited his father’s fear of tight spaces. Several years previous, before Lamorun had gone off to fight, Zeozer had surprised his sons the day that they had come to a dark cave in a rock wall during one of their eight-day hunts. They had followed the spoor of some deer to the foothills of the mountains to the west and happened upon a cave in the dark gray rocks of the hills. After throwing many rocks deep into the cave to be certain an animal hadn’t adopted it as a home, Lamorun had led the way in. After about thirty paces, they had come to a bend, which was also where the cave narrowed severely. Lamorun had volunteered to forge ahead somewhat to see if the cave widened.

            After a few quiet minutes, Lakhoni and Zeozer had heard Lamorun’s voice calling to them that there was a cavern full of crystals. Lakhoni had immediately darted forward to join his brother. Zeozer had called out for them to be careful and Lakhoni had noticed a strange sound in his father’s voice. When he had joined his brother, the two of them called for Zeozer to come and see also.

            Zeozer’s voice had come back, “Not today, boys.”

            “Father, the crystals! They’re wonderful and I think we could sell them,” Lamorun had insisted.

            After a few moments of silence, Zeozer had said quietly, “If you were in danger, yes. But I’m not fond of tight quarters.”

            Lamorun and Lakhoni had exchanged incredulous looks. They could hear the fear in their father’s voice. “You mean,” Lamorun had said, his voice taunting, “that you’re afraid of ‘tight quarters.’”

            “I find them unpleasant,” had come the dry response.

            “You mean you don’t panic or anything, you just avoid them at all costs,” Lamorun had laughed.

            “Watch it, boy,” Zeozer had said.

            Lakhoni felt a smile on his face at the good memory. He and Lamorun had ribbed their father mercilessly for weeks afterward, Zeozer taking the mockery in good humor throughout.

            He would never have come down here, he thought. But Lamorun would have.

            After long minutes—long enough for his arms to become quivery with fatigue—Lakhoni felt his left foot touch solid ground. As he stepped away from the wall and turned to look at where he had arrived, he heard Gimno’s voice waft down from above.
            “Cub! Stand back.”

            Lakhoni looked up, stepping further away from the ladder in order to give Gimno more room. He could just barely make out Gimno’s shape against the backdrop of the star and moon-lit sky. Suddenly the man dropped, moving far too quickly to be using the rough ladder of tree branches. Lakhoni looked closer and saw that Gimno was in a free fall—a controlled free fall that is. The warrior was bouncing lightly off the sides of the shaft that lead down to the cavern where Lakhoni now stood. One foot would impact on the side of the shaft and seem to push off, then the other foot would stop Gimno on the other side of the shaft.

            The warrior descended quickly in this manner, landing lightly on the hard stone under Lakhoni’s feet. Lakhoni stared in open-mouthed stupefaction. How could a man possess such strength and speed? Was it possible that the Living Dead truly did have devils inhabiting their flesh? Suddenly Lakhoni questioned the wisdom of trapping himself so far inside the earth.

            “You look like a dying fish.”

            Lakhoni forced his mouth closed, but could not tear his eyes away from Gimno. The tall man wasn’t even breathing hard!

            “You liked that, didn’t you?”

            Lakhoni had to admit to himself that a large part of him would love to learn how to move the way Gimno did. He found himself nodding. The idea of a devil in this man, or any man, seemed too outlandish for him to hold on to. He forced it out of his mind. “I’ve never seen anything like that. How did you do it?”

            “You will learn. In time,” Gimno said. “Come.”

            Lakhoni followed Gimno into the darkness of the deep, downward-sloping tunnel. He could see only a faint outline of the man a few paces ahead of him. They passed through three sharp bends and suddenly Lakhoni could see more of Gimno. Clearly, there was some kind of light source ahead of them. He realized that the sharp bends in the tunnel kept the light from being visible at the top of the entry shaft. Had the Living Dead somehow created this cave as a hiding place? Was that even possible?

            After a few more twists and turns, the narrow tunnel they had been walking through opened suddenly into a massive, brightly lit cavern. Lakhoni had to shut his eyes tightly and blink quickly for a full minute before he could focus on the home of the Living Dead.

            It looked nothing like he had expected.

            The cavern was wider around than his village and seemed to stretch as high as the tallest tree he had ever seen. The city—for it couldn’t be called anything less than a city—seemed to be comprised of a series of circles, some large and some smaller. Large circles of small, stone houses were arranged at the edge of the cavern, following the long wall all the way around. Lakhoni immediately guessed that these stone house circles were where people lived. Many of these circles had fires burning in the middle of them. The next series of circles was further from the walls, and these seemed to serve any number of functions. Lakhoni saw that there was a stream of water that seemed to bisect the huge cavern, and many of the second series of circles appeared to have been arranged around that stream.

            Lakhoni saw people washing clothes in some of those circles, while in others children played or people worked. He saw several groups of people working with wood and tools while others scraped at animal hides. Still other circles seemed to be devoted to basket weaving and more.

            In the very center of the cavern was a large, nearly empty circle. However, in what must have been the exact center of this innermost circle, Lakhoni saw a neat pile of stones with a huge, flat stone on top of them. An altar. His village had one too, but nowhere near as big as this one.

            He let his eyes drift over the cavern, completely thunderstruck. This did not look like the eerie tombs that the stories said the Living Dead lived in. His eyes lit on a particularly large circle of homes directly across the cavern from him. The stone houses in that circle looked to be larger than the others in the city.

            It came to Lakhoni that he had been standing stock still for at least several minutes.

            “Not what you expected,” Gimno said. It was not a question.

            “Nothing…” Lakhoni trailed off, turning his head toward Gimno. “How?”

            “We found it sometime after we got sick of Lemal and his raiding parties and left,” Gimno said.

            “It just looks like a normal city,” Lakhoni said.

            “Yes, but it’s the city of the Living Dead. The Separated,” Gimno intoned in a deep, throaty voice.

            Lakhoni grimaced at Gimno.

            “Of course you’ve heard the stories. We’re ghosts, spirits who will steal you from your bed if you don’t mind your mother and father.” Gimno chuckled, starting down a path that led into the middle of the cavern. These paths criss-crossed the stone floor, winding between circles and homes. “We don’t mind the stories. They keep people nervous.”

            “The tattoos help, too,” Lakhoni said.

            Gimno stopped, cocking a wry smile at the boy. “Yes,” he said. “They do.” He set off again. “Enough talk. I’m hungry.” The tall men quickened his pace, Lakhoni following closely. Lakhoni let his eyes wander as they walked. Seeing the fires burning in the middle of the circles of houses gave him pause. Where did the smoke go? He looked up and immediately had his answer. Although it was quite dark at the ceiling, he could see there was a little smoke gathered at the top of the cavern, but that it was moving rather quickly toward the far wall. Looking behind him, then ahead, he saw that there were several small openings above the tunnel entrance that he and Gimno had just come from. On the far wall were more holes. Somehow there must be a current of air traveling through those holes that drew the smoke out.

            Gimno led Lakhoni to a circle of houses just to the left of the largest circle of big houses. Entering the circle of homes, Gimno called out, getting the attention of several people bent over the fire. “Where’s my dinner?”

            A tall, raven-haired woman laughed loudly and detached herself from the group of people at the fire. “Did you bring fresh meat or just this beat-up squirrel cub?”

            “Anor should have arrived long ago with my kill. What? Have you burned it and buried it under my bed to hide the evidence?” Gimno smiled at the woman.

            She smiled back. Lakhoni saw that her head was shaved on the sides and back, and that her black hair grew only from the top. “No. I gave it to my other husband.”

            Gimno roared with laughter and caught the woman in a tight embrace. Lakhoni turned away, sudden grief slamming into him with the force of a charging bear. The exchange had been too much like those between Zeozer and Sana.

            “Who have you brought us?” Lakhoni felt a hand under his chin, turning his head. He looked up into warm, smiling green eyes. The hand slid up his cheek to the top of his head, then to his wounded shoulder. “And what have you done to him?”

            Lakhoni glanced at Gimno.

            “Not me,” Gimno said, moving to the fire and spreading his hands before it. “Lemal’s attack dogs. His name’s Lakhoni. They left him for dead. He needs curing, Vena.”

            The woman, Vena, caught Lakhoni’s gaze. “Yes. Food, rest and healing. Welcome, Lakhoni, to the Separated. You have come home.” 

So Chapter 8 is 2088 words. This brings the grand total to 12,990 words. Not bad eh?

Golly what fun!

Look who got done early!

It's only 9:30PM and I'm posting my next installment of Servant of the King.

Just as a heads up, I'm coming up with this story as I go-- which is kind of a fun experiment. In truth, the nugget of the story about Lakhoni has been percolating for some time, but much of this has been pretty much spontaneous. I point this out because as experiments go, I recommend this one. I'm learning to fight the internal editor off, leaving ever more grievous wounds on him after each battle.

Right then, here's the chapter:

Chapter 7

            Death. The rich, sweet stench of rot assaulted her. She reeled back, spinning to get away from the gaping maw before her. She felt sure that a hand, gnarled and dripping and with claws of sharpened bone, would reach from that pit to grab her if she didn’t move fast enough. Before she could take a step, her pathway was barred by indistinct, looming figures. Their hazy shapes looked like wide, stunted trees, but with pale yellow eyes glowing from their shadowed faces.

            She spun again, heart hammering in her chest, desperate to find an escape. Long arms, deep with shadow and menace reached for her. The stink of the pit filling her head and body.

            All strength left her and Ree screamed in hopeless terror.

            She was sitting in her bed, sweat making her skin feel sticky and chilled. Cold light filtered through the nearly translucent animal skin covering her window. Heart beating wildly, she looked around quickly.

            A dream. It had been a dream. She was home, safe. In her father’s palace, in her room.

            Ree hugged herself tightly, then, still too cold, snugged her woven blanket around her. She felt like she could still smell the stench of that horrible pit, feel the hands of those figures just behind her shoulders.

            What had the dream meant? Omnio, her father’s spiritual advisor, claimed that all dreams had a meaning; that dreams were messages sent by the First Fathers and the Great Spirit. Omnio said that most people were just too blinded by their flesh to understand the messages.

            What would he say about this one? Ree shook her head, deciding to just try to put the images out of her head. She sidled to the edge of her raised sleeping pallet and lowered her feet into her soft skin slippers. She briefly considered going to her father’s throne room to try to puzzle out the lock on his stone box, but discarded that idea. There would be guards and she just needed to do something to get her mind off her dream, not get into serious trouble.

            Ree reached up and removed her cloak from the carved bone that had been stuck into the stone wall of her room. Tossing her blanket onto her bed, she donned the cloak and wandered around her room. She idly picked up trinkets as she passed them on the shelves her father had ordered built for her. A shiny bronze set of earrings that her father said were shaped like shells felt smooth and good in her hands. She wondered if she would ever see the ocean. It was only three days journey to the east, but her father had never allowed her to make the trip.

            He had to protect his precious flower.

            Ree put the earrings down, picking up a delicate, wood figurine of a beautiful woman. She had found this one on the colorful mat spread out by a young boy in the market square of Lemalihah. The boy had claimed that the carving was of one of the First Fathers—which would of course make the woman a First Mother—but Ree preferred to think it was a carving of her mother.

            Whenever she asked her father about her mother, his answer came quickly, “She died in childbirth.” Ree would often ask about siblings and other family, but Lemal always insisted that her mother had no family. Ree wondered why she didn’t just believe her father, but he always seemed to be in such a hurry to push Ree off the subject that she felt like he was hiding something. But what could he possibly feel like he had to hide? Try as she might, Ree could never imagine what the secret could be. Her father was king; he could do whatever he wanted. Why would he care about hiding something from her?

             Carefully replacing the carving, Ree decided that a walk in the night air would help her calm down and slow her racing thoughts. She knew that her father loved her. If he didn’t want to tell her something, it wasn’t for her to question. Besides, she was probably imagining things. As Ree moved toward the door, one of her father’s favorite sayings came to her mind. “There goes your imagination. Better catch it before it gets you in trouble again!”

            Ree let her door close slowly and made her way down the hallway to the main corridor that wound in a slow circle around the inner, second-story walls of the palace. Down the stairs and out into the courtyard or to the terrace? Feeling too lazy to go down stairs and then have to climb them again, Ree opted for the terrace. Her slippers whispered on the heavy stones of the floor as she walked. She held her cloak more tightly around her body, keeping the chilly night air away.

            She soon came to the doorway to the terrace and slipped outside. A blue-white moon hung heavily in the sky almost directly overhead. It was surrounded by a thick carpet of stars that glinted and shimmered in the autumn air. Ree took a slow deep breath, soaking in the evening. An image of the stench-filled pit flashed through her mind, but she fought it off, opening her eyes wide to take in as many of the stars as she could.

            Ree stepped closer to the edge of the terrace, looking out over the city that spread out from the palace. She could see only two or three small fires, or maybe they were torches, in the stone homes that encircled the huge building that was her father’s palace. She walked back along the terrace to the other edge. This side of the terrace dropped straight down to one of the side courtyards of the palace. As she approached the edge, she heard an indistinct voice.

            Instinctively ducking, Ree almost dashed back inside, but curiosity got the better of her. She lowered herself to her hands and knees, crawling carefully to the edge of the terrace. Down in the courtyard, she saw the paddock and low stables where horses were kept, and behind them she saw a dim light filtering out through the gaps around a door to the slaves’ quarters. She stayed in that position, listening in the direction of that light. After a moment, she heard the voice again. She couldn’t tell what it was saying, but it was a man’s voice.

            The voice got louder for a second. It was Shule! Ree wondered why Shule, her father’s favorite warrior, would be in the slaves’ quarters this late at night.

            Then she heard the other voice—a girl’s. It was loud and frightened. Ree didn’t hear it but she knew that Shule must have slapped the slave girl to keep her quiet, because the girl’s voice suddenly cut off.

            Ree easily understood why Shule would want to keep the girl quiet; he should not have been in there. The slaves belonged to her father, King Lemal, and her father had made strict rules about other men spending time with the female slaves. If Lemal found out about Shule’s presence in there, especially this late at night, who knew what would happen?

            Ree decided to tell her father in the morning. She had never liked Shule and she would love seeing the angry man get in trouble.

            As she eased herself backwards, Ree wondered why Shule would be visiting a slave this late at night. Why would he take the risk? Ree knew perfectly well what men and women did together, but Shule had access to plenty of other slaves and servants.

            When she was close to the doorway back into the palace, Ree stood and hurried toward her room. Yes, Shule was breaking a rule and he deserved to get in trouble for it. Wait, she thought, almost stopping as the thought struck her. I can’t tell father, he would want to know what I was doing out on the terrace in the middle of the night. And even if Ree spoke only truth, there was little chance that her suspicious father would believe her. It didn’t help that Ree had already spent much of her life in front of her father as he rebuked her for her curiosity-driven antics.

            But what was Shule up to? That same curiosity grew in her with every step she took toward her room. By the time she had closed the door behind her and slid back under her blankets, Ree had made her decision.

            Shule was up to something and it was against the rules. She would find out what the man was doing and then decide whether to tell her father. If Shule was doing something really bad, her father would appreciate knowing and would thank her. Then maybe he would see that her curiosity wasn’t only a bad thing. And if Shule was just being a stupid man following his desires, maybe Ree would keep it quiet until she found a use for the knowledge.

Alright. So that's about 1500 words. This brings the current grand total to just shy of 10,900 words. 

Works for me! Let me know what you think and feel free to invite others to follow along. 

Here's Chapter 6 of Servant of the King

I got to this late tonight, and was beginning to fade as I finished. I really should have gone to bed as soon as I finished replacing the kitchen faucet, but this story called!

I'm really enjoying this. The things I've learned in workshops and from published authors careen through my mind as I write. I think that's good and bad. Good because I'm remembering goals and scenes, character depth and connection and so on. But I have had to work hard to keep the internal editor away!

Back foul fiend!

So with no further fanfare:

 Chapter 6

            They left the light behind quickly. As they walked, Lakhoni felt as if he was fading away into the trees, his soul dissipating into the deepening shadows under the wild boughs. He glanced over his shoulder, glimpsing the glowing embers interspersed with dark shapes that were all that remained of his family. No, there is still Alronna. Lakhoni focused on moving his near-dead body forward, the distance between him and Gimno lengthening steadily. I’ll find her.

            An idea flashed. Maybe he could slowly let Gimno get farther ahead of him and then he could just duck into the trees. But the fierce man had caught him so fast the last time! Where would I go? If he went back to the village, Gimno and his people would find him immediately. He could go to Lemalihah, the capital city and try to make a life there while he planned a way to find Alronna. But what could he do? Was there work to be found for a villager like him? Lamorun had often talked about going to live in Lemalihah or some other big city, going on about how much different life was there.

            Of course, Lamorun would never go to a city now. Lakhoni wondered if things would have been different if Lamorun and the other older boys had been around to fight.

            That is the real thieving. Bitterness, an old friend, filled Lakhoni. Forcing every man and boy of fighting age to wage war on the Usurpers to try to get the Abundance back. Yes, that was the worst robbery his village had suffered, even if it had been over three years ago.

            “Keep up, cub!” Gimno’s voice sliced through Lakhoni’s thoughts. “If you make me miss my evening meal, or even late for it, perhaps I shall spit you and roast you as a tender appetizer!” A rich, rolling laugh filled the forest, echoing amongst the trees.

            Lakhoni instinctively lengthened his stride for a few steps, but remembered that he had thought he could escape if he got far enough behind. But then, he really had nowhere to go. True, Gimno was a terrifying-looking person. But the warrior’s laugh sounded so much like Salno’s, and he had seemed sincere when welcoming Lakhoni into the ranks of the Living Dead.

            The decision made, Lakhoni stretched to catch up to Gimno. For now. But soon, I’ll go find Alronna. When my wounds are healed, Lakhoni told himself. In another few minutes, he was able to walk abreast of the tall man. Lakhoni hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to ask.

            “Whatever it is, by the First Fathers just say it!” Gimno’s loud voice seemed to challenge the now fully dark night.

            Lakhoni breathed deeply. He couldn’t live in fear of this man. “When will we get to your people?”

            “We will arrive at our settlement in another hour.” Gimno threw a quick glance down at Lakhoni. “But my people?” The man snorted.

            Lakhoni bristled. It was obvious the tall man was mocking him. “What?”

            “You have much to learn, cub.”

            “I’m not a child!” Lakhoni said. “Why do you call me cub?”

            “There’s that spine!” Gimno slapped Lakhoni on his injured shoulder. Lakhoni tried not to hiss in pain, but couldn’t stop the sudden intake of breath.

            “What?” Gimno stopped walking, placing a gentle hand on Lakhoni’s other shoulder and pressing down to make him stop too.

            “Nothing.” Lakhoni tore his eyes away from Gimno’s fierce gaze.

            “You are injured more than I thought.”

            Lakhoni felt probing fingers on his shoulders, chest, sides and back. Gimno muttered as he conducted his examination. When he was finished, Gimno trapped Lakhoni’s eyes again. “You must not hide serious injury. You weaken yourself and you weaken your cohort at the same time when you do this.”

            “I’ll be fine.”

            “Yes, you’ll be fine. But in the meantime, while you heal you will be weaker and that could make things very much ‘not fine.’”

            Lakhoni had no idea what Gimno was talking about. What was a cohort?

            “Is there anything else?”

            Lakhoni met Gimno’s eyes again. He searched for a reason to say there was nothing, but he surprised himself by being honest with the man. “My head. That’s why they thought I was dead, I think.”

            Gimno’s hands, strangely gentle, brushed over Lakhoni’s head. After a moment, Lakhoni felt the weight of Gimno’s stare again.

            “You should be dead.”

            “What do you mean?” Lakhoni asked.

            Gimno turned and began walking, his left hand on the back of Lakhoni’s neck, firmly pulling the young man along. “That blow should have killed you. Your brains should be giving an unfortunate vulture gas right about now.”

            “I have a thick head.”

            That rich, rolling laugh that sounded like it came from a fat man echoed through the forest again. “Or perhaps you’re too stupid to know when to die.”

            “Maybe my brains hid in my feet,” Lakhoni said. He was surprised to feel a smile beginning to stretch his lips. He fought it away.

            “I think it more likely that you simply don’t have any brains at all.”

            Lakhoni glanced up at the man. Gimno’s teeth glowed in a wide smile. Lakhoni had to fight his own smile away again.

            “Back to your question,” Gimno said after many minutes had passed.

            “What question?”

            “About my people and when we would get to them.”

            “You said an hour.”

            “No, I said we would be at the settlement in an hour.”

            Lakhoni bit his tongue to control his retort.

            Gimno spread his arms wide to both sides. “But my people have been with us this entire time. Open your eyes.”

            Lakhoni’s heart skipped as shadows suddenly slinked closer to him. As the shapes got closer, he realized that he and Gimno were surrounded by other people of the Dead-but-not-Living. Shiny heads and torsos glinted in the pale light of the rising moon.

            At that moment, desire overcame his fear. Lakhoni decided he would learn to move like the Living Dead, how to fight like them. Then, when he could beat any man in combat and he knew he could not fail, he would go and find his sister. 

So that's it for today. That's about 1030 words, putting the story at about 9300 total so far. 

I'm having a good time, how about you?