Still working on it

Hey there. I know, November is over and I didn't complete my NaNoWriMo project. That's fine, really. I might have mentioned that I didn't expect to finish the book but that I thought I might have about 30,000 words. I got nearly 18000, which is only just over half.

I'm good with that. The fact that I could keep up with my schoolwork, jobs, family stuff, and church responsibilities and still write that much makes me happy. Plus, I'm really excited about this book.

Anyway, I intend to post another solid chapter tomorrow. I would do it tonight, but I'm kind of burnt out-- pretty tired. I had a major presentation to do today in one of my classes that summed up the major project I've been working on. It went well. I've actually finished that project, as well as another final project for a second class. I've got a good start on my final design project for my Print Design class and I am mostly done with my project for Instructional Design.

All in all, I'm staying with it. Happy happy joy joy.

You know what else? People are good. People want to do the right thing. It's a wonderful thing to see.

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!

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!

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? 

Hooray for my next installment.

Golly. I love writing. Gee whiz. I get excited about the stories I get to tell. Shucks. I am really enjoying these new characters.

Anyway, here comes the next NaNoWriMo installment. This one is about 1700 words, for a grand total so far of 8350.

Read it and weep. Or smile. Or laugh. Or fume.

You know what, feel any emotion you desire.

Chapter 5

Lakhoni blinked, trying to make out the speaker in the jittering shadows cast by the now-blazing bonfire. “Who said that? Who’s there?” He saw nobody, only the swelling darkness under the trees at the edge of the village.

No, the voice had been too close for it to have come from the trees. Lakhoni turned a slow circle, beginning to wonder if he had imagined the question and the speaker.

“You know that does no good, don’t you?” The voice came from behind him again.

Lakhoni spun again. Nothing… again.

“Who are you? Where are you?” A chill oozed up Lakhoni’s neck. Was this a spirit come to rebuke him for his slowness?

“Right here, boy.”

A deep shadow on the side of one of the huts writhed. Then part of the shadow detached itself from the rest of the darkness.

Lakhoni’s breath caught in his throat. A sudden fear flooded through him. Was this one of the vengeful spirits Salno had often spoken of and that Lamorun had scoffed at? He had his answer in another moment as the person stepped into the firelight.

Now Lakhoni’s breath released as his fear made his muscles feel weak, his legs feel as if they were the branches of a young sapling. The figure before him stood at least two hand-lengths taller than Lakhoni, and Lakhoni had already reached his father’s height. The man—or was it a creature?—wore a deep red loin cloth that looked to have been made from a bear pelt. His left shoulder was covered by some kind of shining material—it looked to be bronze or something similar, and bracers of the same material stretched from his upper arm to his shoulder.

But it was the man’s face and torso that had injected the fear into Lakhoni. This was worse than a vengeful spirit. This was a demon in flesh, one of the Dead-but-Living that mothers warned their misbehaving children would steal them from their sleeping pads if they continued to disobey.

The man’s head was shaved bald and shiny, crimson tattoos swirling all over his head, face and neck. The crimson tattoos gave way to what looked like a black image of a panther on the man’s chest. The panther was snarling, long white teeth seeming to glint in the light of the funeral pyre, its lips almost appearing to drip and quiver with life. Countless scars covered the man’s chest, stomach and arms. A wicked-looking obsidian dagger was strapped to the belt of the man’s loincloth, a quiver of dark-fletched arrows peeking over his right shoulder.

As the man approached, his movements tight like a drawn bow string but graceful like the panther on his chest, Lakhoni instinctively stepped backward. The heat of the roaring fire just behind him brought him back to himself, the pain awakening him from his fear.

“It does no good, cub,” the man said, his sharp teeth glinting in the firelight, “to try to help your dead in their journey. There is no journey.” He stopped a hand-span in front of Lakhoni. “Death is the end. So a good death is what matters.”

Lakhoni realized he was looking the man directly in the eyes and he tore his gaze away. He had no idea what to say. Why would a Living Dead have come? Was it true? Did they eat the flesh of dead people?

Lakhoni knew he would be able to do nothing to stop this man if he wanted to feast on Lakhoni’s friends and family.

“Don’t worry, cub. I’m not going to eat your people. I respect the clay that is left behind at death.” Lakhoni glanced up, meeting the man’s gaze once more. He looked away quickly, turning to face the bonfire. He cast his eyes over the inferno and took a small step backwards. Maybe if I run quickly, he’ll be taken by surprise. I might be able to make it to the river and hide in the water.

A heavy hand dropped on his shoulder. “And don’t run. I have no intention of hurting you.”

Lakhoni grimaced, sucking in a breath. The hand on his shoulder felt hot like a burning coal. The touch made his skin crawl. He wanted to pull away, but thought he might anger the man if he drew away.

“I know you can speak, cub. I heard you saying their names in that silly ritual.”

Lakhoni automatically glanced up at the man. The tall man wore a glinting grin.

“I won’t hurt you. Relax.”

Lakhoni knew this was impossible. He had to get away. The Living Dead never left anybody alive. Stories said that they would even slit the throats of their own wounded if the injured warrior couldn’t move on by himself.  They left nobody behind to tell tales.

“What’s your name?”

Lakhoni clamped his mouth shut, terrified of speaking.

“I am Gimno.” The heavy hand left Lakhoni’s shoulder and Lakhoni heard it impact the man’s chest.

Lakhoni burst into motion, flinging himself away from the fire and the specter of the devil in flesh. His head throbbed every time his feet pounded on the hard-packed dirt of the village center. In seconds, he was gasping for breath. His heart slapped the inside of his chest wetly. Air burned in and out of his throat. Blood drummed loudly in his head. It felt like minutes before he hit the tree line. He reached out for a trunk, intending to use it help him take a sharp turn toward the river.

Something slammed into his right side, flinging him to the ground. He rolled over, glancing up.

The tattooed man stood over him, breathing easily, his teeth flickering pale white from the bonfire. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Now I’ve had to break my word.”

Lakhoni sucked in air, the throbbing in his head making him feel suddenly drowsy. Suddenly he found he was more angry than afraid. This loosed his tongue. “Why are you here? Who are you?”

“I told you,” the man said, offering a hand to help Lakhoni to his feet, “I am Gimno.”

Lakhoni ignored the offered hand, pushing himself to his feet. He gripped his side as a sharp pang tore through him. His hand came away warm and wet. “Why are you here?”

“To pillage.”

The man’s brutal honesty felt like a slap. Lakhoni blinked, taken aback. His anger flared. “Only two days dead? You came to steal my people’s things, the only thing left of them, and they are only two days gone?”

“Eloquent aren’t you?” The fearsome man grinned again. He turned back toward the fire and began to walk. “It’s not stealing if they’re dead. They don’t care anymore.”

Lakhoni stalked after the man. He knew his anger could do nothing but bad. He knew also that he would not try to fight this man. This… Gimno. “I care. I’m not dead. Not yet.”

“And so we will not claim right to this village and all in it. You survive so it is all yours now.” Gimno stopped near the lowering fire.

Lakhoni stepped next to him. “Who are you to say that it’s mine? You have no right to-“

“I just said that, cub,” Gimno snapped. “I don’t need to say it’s yours. Natural law says it. The law of the forest dictates it. Just because you are too dense to understand this does not mean I will tolerate disrespect.”

            The man’s anger seemed to radiate from him in a heat almost comparable to the now-dying funeral pyre.

            Lakhoni stood silently, unsure of what he should say. Should he beg forgiveness? Would this man strike him down if he didn’t?

            “I like you, cub.”

            The sudden change in the man’s voice made Lakhoni glance up. A fierce smile adorned the man’s tattooed face, his eyes glinting. “You’ve got a spine. Most people would have turned to limp grass just at the sight of me.”

            Once again, Lakhoni had no idea what he could say to this.

            “But you’ve got to learn to speak when spoken to. This silence is insulting.”

            The man’s sudden glare stabbed into Lakhoni. How could a human go from smiling to angry then back to smiling—then back again so fast? And how had this man caught up to him so fast when he’d tried to escape?

            “We will start with your name.” The man stared intently at Lakhoni.

            If I give him my name, will he have power over me? Lakhoni thought. Of course, if he didn’t give his name, perhaps the man would use his obsidian dagger to cut him down at that very moment.

            “Lakhoni.” He tried hard to keep his voice steady and clear.

            “He has a tongue!” The man slapped Lakhoni on the shoulder. “Good to see that Lemal’s dogs didn’t cut that out of you when they cut your head open.”

            Then the rumors were true. The Living Dead had no loyalty to the king.

            “No. They left me for dead,” Lakhoni said.

            “Then you are truly one of the Dead-but-Living. Welcome.”

            The statement brought Lakhoni’s head snapping around. He found the tall man’s face, then eyes. He could detect only sincerity.

            “But…,” Lakhoni glanced at the nearly dead funeral pyre, “I don’t know what you mean.”

            “A spine and honest. You’re a rare one. With a name like ‘Formidable Servant,’ it’s no surprise,” the man said.

            “How- how’d you know that?” Sana had made a point of telling her children what their names meant, but Lakhoni had always thought his name was unique to his family.

            “’Lak’ means servant. ‘Honi’ means formidable.” The man glanced down at Lakhoni, then turned to face the mountains. “Not difficult if you get some learning in you.” He began to walk toward the eastern edge of the village. “Now come. Your village will be fine for now.”

            “Come where?” Lakhoni asked.

            “To your new people. We will return soon to collect your things, but for now, you need a healer.”

            “I can’t leave here. This is my home.” Lakhoni cast his eyes about, the dark shapes of the huts standing dancing with shadows thrown by the dying pyre.

            “No, this is a burial ground. Your home is elsewhere now. You are Living Dead now, Lakhoni cub.” The man threw a glance over his shoulder. “You must trust the Separated. That is who you are now.”

And that's it so far. More tomorrow! (The new bed calleth mightily.)

I'm making the commitment now...

I hereby promise to post an installment of my NaNoWriMo project tonight, before I go to bed. So all of you anxious reader(s) (HI MOM!) can stop sipping the Cherry Zero and get back to your zen state.

This promise brought to you by a joint venture between Coke Cherry Zero and the Purpose Driven Life Foundation for Sickening Cliches.

So exhausted

Faithful readers. I'm throwing in the towel.

ON my day, not NaNoWriMo. No way, I'm having too much fun with it.

But for now, I have GOT to go to sleep. I've been suffering from a major sleep deprivation the entire week and I  need to be fully functional tomorrow.

I did write about 200 words in the project tonight, but then I woke up two minutes after the last word-having dreamt of chili and cornbread in less than one minute.

So I have to stop for now. I'm sorry, but even now the bed is calling me with insistent tones. In fact, I began writing this post on the wrong blog at first!

I PROMISE an installment tomorrow. A substantial installment no less.

Totally swamped with other stuff

I promise I'm not throwing in the towel on NaNoWriMo. I have other duties with higher priority that require my attention and energy.

I'm still mulling over this story and am really excited to keep it moving forward. If I can get what I need to done, I should be able to get in an installment tomorrow.

Stay tuned!

Wow, this is freaking great. Installment four!

Here's my next NaNoWriMo installment. Yes, NaNoWriMO is a rather silly name, but this is doing me so much good. The only problem is that I'm getting a little too caught up in this and slammed out another 2200 words today. At this point, my novel is already at 6600 words!

And I am really excited about this story.

And it's really my bedtime.

Here it is. Kristi and Melinda, I need you to tell me if I'm doing better with the emotions now. Please?

Chapter 4

It was the chill that woke Lakhoni. Opening his eyes, he tried to sit up and find a blanket to cover him. Last night, he had sucked on some grain, chewing it down with some cured meat and large gulps of water. Then he had found his family’s hut, stumbled in and had stopped only long enough to roll out a sleeping mat woven from river grasses. Sleep had come so quickly that he was now finding unchewed grain in his mouth.

“Soft enough now,” he muttered to himself, hissing at the stiffness in his body. He felt as if his joints and bones were fused tree branches. Cotton filled his head, a dull throb at the top of his head reminding him of the blow he had been dealt. He carefully levered himself up, stiffness in his neck forcing him to move his entire upper body as he searched the hut with his eyes.

No blanket.

Confused, he pushed himself first to his knees, then to his feet, swaying precariously for a moment before he put a hand on the wall. Each movement produced a hiss from between his teeth.

Why couldn’t he find a blanket? Why would the king’s raiding party take his family’s blankets? It wasn’t as if the blankets his mother made were of any special quality or appearance. Confusion combined with the heaviness already in his head. What reason would they have had to take the blankets? Had the raiding party also taken other families’ blankets?

They steal our food, he thought, our valuables—and now our blankets. How were these acts any better than the Usurpers? Did the Usurpers also steal from their own people? Did the Usurpers’ king send out murdering raiding parties that stole peoples’ blankets?

Lakhoni stepped to the doorway, one hand going to the animal skin that hung there.

Blankets. These were nothing. He had to push the silly notion from his head, recognizing that he was avoiding thinking about what would greet him when he went outside.

He had a duty.

He could not leave his people, his family, outside any longer. Scavengers would no doubt appear soon.

Lakhoni searched for his courage. He felt for it in his stomach, trying to look past the stiffness and pains in his body.

Murderous raiding party.

There. His courage sparked in the heat of sudden anger.

He had a duty.

Lakhoni pushed the animal skin aside. Bright morning sun stabbed his eyes. He closed them, gasping in shock and pain. After a moment, he blinked rapidly, trying to accustom his eyes to the light. Soon he was able to open his eyes for a few seconds, then a minute. Finally he could focus on the task before him. He readied himself, standing as straight as he could.

Movement was the first thing he saw. Scavenging birds flapped and pecked, squabbling over their morning meal. A groan escaped his lips, long and low. But fury took over and the groan became a shout. A scream. Forgotten were his pains as he hurtled forward, waving his arms in wild gyrations and curses he had learned from Lamorun flying with spittle from his lips.

The vultures squawked loudly and lifted off, their ungainly wings flapping heavily, frantically trying to reach safety from this creature that attacked them. Lakhoni meant to take the birds and destroy them, but he was too slow. They flapped up and flew toward the trees to the west. Lakhoni flung his gaze down, scanning for a nearby rock. Snatching one, he hurled it at the departing birds, praying he hit one.

The rock fell into the trees; the vultures, untouched, flapped in wide circles, moving far to the west.

Lakhoni screamed a final curse upon the birds, the words tearing through his throat. He felt as if he had swallowed a handful of sharp obsidian arrowheads. His throat raw, his chest on fire. Lowering his head, he focused on the form on the ground in front of him.

His father, Zeozer. Eyes wide, mouth open.

Lakhoni fell to the earth, his battered body protesting powerfully but unnoticed.

“Father.” Lakhoni felt transfixed by his father’s death gaze. Lakhoni tried to close his own eyes, knowing he should reach out to close his father’s. He could do neither. Lakhoni stared, unable to tear himself away. Eyes so wide open that he felt them drying already, Lakhoni contemplated his father’s body. He noticed the stick Zeozer had been using to get around on his injured leg lying some ways away.

It looked as if his father had been trying to get somewhere and had abandoned his stick.

Lakhoni found his paralysis had dissolved. He reached out and touched his father’s forehead, then gently closed Zeozer’s eyes. A sudden tremble rocketed through Lakhoni. He sucked in a breath. His thoughts moved with the speed of a an oldster telling a favorite story. His father. Where was his mother? And Alronna, his sister?

He had a duty. He must care for the dead. He must-

A sound somewhere between a grunt and a scream exploded from his mouth, his chest feeling as if it would cave in. Lakhoni tried to hold the next one back, but couldn’t. He feared the weakness that threatened to spill from him. He didn’t know if he could pull himself out of the torrent that he knew was in him if he let it flow.

He imagined that he was inserting a rod of hardened iron into his spine. He gritted his teeth. He must not allow it to flow.

He had a duty.

He passed a cursory look around the village center. Too many to bury. He would have to burn them and do the both dances: of death and fire.

Lakhoni pushed himself to his feet. Wood first. He moved toward the forest.

With an hour’s work, Lakhoni was able to build a large pile of dry branches.

As he turned from contemplating the pile of wood, he found he was shaking. He knew what he must do, but he began to worry he wouldn’t be able to do it. His head still hurt. So did his side. The other more minor pains had faded with the work, although his sweat stung in his cuts throughout the morning’s labor.

Lakhoni knew he couldn’t do it. How could he be expected to drag everyone he had known his whole life into a pile of branches, then set the pile on fire? How could he touch their dead forms, close their dead eyes, drag their limp…

He choked back a moan. Why? Why was I left to do this? Why couldn’t I die with them and let the animals and nature do their work?

“Why?” he whispered to the cool breeze blowing through the village.

It gave no answer.

He stood before the branches, his thoughts in a haze of pain and burning grief. The torrent within him surged. He swallowed tightly, clenching his lips tightly closed.

“No.”

He had no answer. I’ll never know why. He looked around the village, not seeing the bodies this time, but seeing ghostly memories of people working. Marna heating rocks for Yeval’s ancient feet. Enormously fat Salno waddling through the village, carrying his pouch of herbs he used to make healing teas for those with ailments.

“I can’t. I don’t know how,” Lakhoni whispered.

But if not him, who would do it? Who would provide the final respects for the people he had loved and who had loved him?

            “I’ll do it until I can’t anymore. The First Fathers would understand.” He turned and, before he could think anymore about it, he crouched, hooked his arms under the nearest limp form and walked backward. Carefully laying the body onto the branches, he tried to avert his eyes before he saw the person’s face. He wasn’t fast enough. It was Jona. His cousin. Lakhoni reached out quickly, closed Jona’s eyes and turned to the next one.

            If I go fast enough, I won’t think about it.

            He worked steadily for hours, deliberately staying away from his family’s hut. Salno’s gigantic form took three times as long as any other. The work seemed to cleanse him of the fuzziness that had plagued him earlier in the day. He realized that he had likely been right with his guess of the previous night. The raiding party must have left someone behind to catch any village people outside the village. That hunter must have hit Lakhoni, thinking he had dealt Lakhoni a death blow.

            Then the hunter must have dragged Lakhoni to the village and, thinking him dead, thrown him amongst the other dead. That would explain the stinging cuts all over Lakhoni’s legs.

            Lakhoni bent to the next body. Without thinking, he looked at the face.

            Sana. His mother. Lakhoni’s breath disappeared and he sat heavily, his arms still hooked under his mother’s lifeless body. Her light brown eyes stared.

            “Mother.”

            Lakhoni’s breath slammed back into him as if it would reach down his throat and tear out his stomach. His lower jaw shook as he tried to control it. His hands, between Sana’s arms and torso, trembled. The need to run filled him. He tried to get to his feet, tried to pull his hands out. He couldn’t remember how to stand. Dead. His mother was dead. Lakhoni saw the wound that had killed her, imagined the sharp edge that had sliced her smooth skin. He looked away, certain he was defiling her by looking at the wound.

            His mother.

            Killed with a casual slice of a hunter’s dagger.

            Dead. The word flashed through his mind again and again.

            Soon it was joined by other words. Killed. Murdered.

            Lakhoni felt the tears on his face and knew he couldn’t hold it back. No, he wouldn’t hold it back anymore. For his mother. Her kind nature always ready to comfort any child in the village.

            His body shuddered as the torrent of grief spilled out. His chest heaved, his mind flashing through images of Sana. Cooking in the family fire pit. Giving his father her special smile. Her strangely straight teeth glinting in the firelight. Sobs that seemed to shake his soul poured out of him. Lakhoni curled over the body of his mother, his fear, grief and anger watering her and the ground under her. He rocked back and forth, high-pitched moans escaping his clenched mouth, tears that didn’t seem to have an end streaming down his burning cheeks.

            He stayed that way for some time, until his body felt spent, his soul empty.

            No, not empty.

            Nearly empty, but there was still something there. Something hot, raw and painful like a fresh wound. But this pain was good.

            Lakhoni stood, lifting his mother’s body in his arms and carried her to the soon-to-be-pyre. He finished his work quickly, realizing by the position of the sun that he must have been bent over his mother for a long time. Last was his father. Zeozer’s body was much heavier than Sana’s, but Lakhoni lifted his body as well, knowing he must not drag his parents’ bodies through the dirt.

            As he placed his father’s body onto the pile, a thought struck him. Where’s Alronna? He knew he hadn’t found her body in the village yet. Could she be alive? Hope surged through him. It had been said that sometimes raiding parties would take people back to the king’s palace to serve the king. Maybe Alronna had been taken?

            Lakhoni began to feel as if he might know why he was preserved. He would find his sister, rescue her.

            He wanted to make an oath of vengeance, but knew that was not his place. His vengeance would have to be directed at the king, and the king was appointed by edict of the Great Spirit and the First Fathers.

            Lakhoni found two fire stones in his family’s hut, Now just mine, and gathered some tinder. The first spark caught and he coaxed the flame to life with his breath. In minutes, the dry branches under the bodies caught, orange flames questing skyward.

            He cleared his head with a few breaths, then thought of the dances he must do. His ankle still hurt, but he knew he could do what must be done. He began, starting slowly and allowing the movements to, bit by bit, take over his body. Lakhoni then began the chant that allowed the spirits of the dead to let go of those they left behind. Now came the part where he must name the dead. If this had been a normal Death Dance, the village would say the dead person’s name together.

            Only me. For all of them.

            “Salno. Jona. Yeval. Marna. Omior.” He continued, his eyes closed as he gave in to the dance. He left his parents for the end. As he twisted carefully, sliding his left foot in then stepping backward, his hands reaching toward the fire, he sang, “Zeozer. Sana.” Lakhoni turned a complete circle, lifting his arms toward the darkening sky.

The unexpected voice made him jump in shock and sudden fear.

“Why do you sing their names?” 

And that's it for today. Stay tuned for more!