choices – Page 7 – Beyond Panic

Night Roads (5)

A rush of wind wrapped around the inn as a night storm approached, a night I’d now be spending alone because of my…. stupidity. It mattered, but it didn’t; anything in excess wasn’t a good thing, and we’d renewed our ‘affections’ that afternoon. Truth is, that probably was a mistake as well, but if I didn’t survive, I’d have lovely memories while the life leaked out of me.

Alazne and I had worked things out; we were going to kill Jonas Noll first, she said, because it would quickly dishearten the others, maybe even cause them to run. We’d start tracking him in the morning. The next planning session was with Amia, to find out what she was going to do about Malika. If she was as powerful as Amia said, and found out what we were doing, she wasn’t likely to stand idly by and let us go unfettered as we wrecked her plans. I was and wasn’t looking forward to that. Sprawled out on the bed, quieting my thoughts with deep breathing, letting the candle gutter, I heard the rumble of distant thunder; it sounded like a giant snoring under a blanket, and the sky began to flash with the heated brilliance of lightning gathering power. It had been a long day, and I had a lot to think about, but it was late and I was tired.

I closed my eyes, and stopped thinking of the details that still niggled at my mind; this was not going to go perfectly, no matter how well planned. I’d lived long enough to know that nothing ever really does. I wasn’t even sure of my motivation for doing it. Was it to rekindle what I had once with Amia? She’d changed so much, grown so powerful, no longer the innocent ingénue she actually was when we first met, that a reunion of substance didn’t seem likely. In looking back at how I filled that time between then and now, there’d been no real progress;

I was, at heart, a mercenary, mostly playing at bounty hunting. The work suited my temperament, and I traveled in the process, meeting a wide variety of crazy people, getting into harrowing situations, and somehow still coming out alive, if not always victorious. And who were these women Amia wanted to join?

Having no interest in magic myself, it had sometimes been at the periphery of things I was working on, whispers and rumors I dismissed as superstition and spent no time investigating, since it never impeded my pursuit and capture of the person I hunted. Who would benefit from them retaining their foothold, and how did Amia really know their true intentions if she had not yet been admitted to their ranks?

And then there was Alazne: young, enigmatic, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, stealthy as a spider and just as quiet. Why was she with Amia? Where did she come from, and how much of wood lore and weaponry did she really know?

She was tough to get a read on, and if it was just bravado (I didn’t think it was, I just wasn’t sure), we were both going to die by Jonas’ hand. So much for letting go. I turned, pulling the covers over me, reliving the events in my mind of a long, pleasantly physical afternoon that I could have actually been reliving…actually. It would have to suffice, for now.

Sleep was a while in coming, but eventually, her soft fingers lowered my lids, and a thought drifted up like a tendril of mist from warm soil on a chilly morning.

Great, a mid-life crisis on a rainy night. Only you, Haskell. Only you…

*************************

Sometime before morning, a floral fragrance filled the room; I knew all of Amia’s perfumes, and this wasn’t among them. Alazne, who I had no doubt could get into any room she desired, always smelled of earthy loam: a combination of soil and pine and creature.

The storm was over, and the sky outside was paling, but there was, as yet, no physical light. The woman who sat on the stool beside my bed looked at me with gentle eyes and a small smile on her lips, as if she were watching a baby she didn’t know who’d aroused her maternal instinct. Her hands reposed in her lap, weaponless, but that meant nothing in a being of magic.

“Hello, Haskell,” said a dulcet and mellifluous female voice.

I pulled myself into a sitting position, and studied her back. The smile grew a bit more, and the eyes didn’t waver, but locked with mine, inviting me into their depths.

I knew without knowing, and named her. “Malika.”

She inclined her head, and strands of a glorious raven mane draped her cheeks. Her eyes were the blue of snow in moonlight, a soft and pale shadowy blue; everything about her was still, and calm. Had she not spoken I might have believed her a piece of painted sculpture.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re here to tell me not to help Amia.”

She took a little breath, pulled the strands off her cheeks, a pretty, feminine and elegant gesture; I found myself wishing I’d done it for her first.

“On the contrary, Haskell. I’m here to tell you that I’ll help you do it.”

I let that sink in; it took awhile, but she waited, calm as a boulder in a raging river.

“Why?”

“Because we want the same thing, but I’m about to tell you something Amia doesn’t know yet, and you’re not to breathe a word.”

This was getting to be tangled roots, and that was never a good thing, but I waited.

She gauged me a while longer than needed, and I found myself getting uneasy under that soft blue gaze. After a moment, she seemed to steel herself to trust me with her secret:

“Amia is my cousin.”

I cleared my throat, sat up straighter. “She wants to kill you.”

“And that’s why I’m here, because you have to stop her.”

“Let me guess; without letting her know who you are?”

“Yes.”

“How am I to do that?”

“Well, you spent the afternoon…planning…with her and Alazne; let’s spend what remains of the night planning this.”

I sighed.

Sleep had vanished around the corner, and the horizon began to bleed a thin stream of color.

“Very well.”

She smiled that quiet smile again, and my heart skipped a beat.

This was going to be a problem…

Night Roads (con’t 3)

Alazne led me back to the road where she met me, again in the lead, using that unerring, unnerving, confident stride she used at the start of the night, as if the sun was shining and she could see every tangled root underfoot.

“The inn’s about a mile that way; you’re going to need this.”

She handed me the lantern.

“And you won’t?”

She just smiled, and slipped back into the forest, the dark swallowing her up.

********************

The windows of the inn were dark, but the moon was beginning to set; I was loathe to knock, but I was tired, cold, and hungry, and thanks to Amia’s generosity, I would be able to afford to alleviate all three.

My knock was answered by a grizzled old man made of whipcord muscles and whiskers.

His eyes were small and mean, and he only opened the door a crack.

“I’m of a mind to leave you outside, ‘cept the missus would have m’ hide. Yer not runnin’ from the law, are ya?”

I tried a smile. “Not at the moment.”

He didn’t see the humor, and reluctantly let me inside.

“We keep a room prepared for such emergencies. Ain’t much to look at, but it will serve for the rest of the night.”

He took my lantern and led the way.

The room was as he said it would be, functional with not much in the way of luxury.

“I’ll take yer coin now, in case yer of a mind to leave earlier than we get up.”

I felt bad for his wife; left to his own devices, there’d be no inn.

His unnecessary surliness was also starting to annoy me; while it was true I woke him up, I was no beggar looking for scraps.

I paid him, and he left without another word.

Stripping down to what I would be comfortable leaving on in case of running outside in an emergency, I gave myself over to the exhaustion that had already seeped into my bones.

**************

In the morning, bathed, shaved, fed, and feeling relatively like a part of the human race again, I was back out on the road.

Finding a shady spot by mid-morning, I stopped and took a look at the list of council members.

Turns out I knew the first name: Jonas Noll.

He’d been a hunter of some renown in this area for quite some time; it was safe to assume that the game he once hunted was now faster and smarter, and he decided to stop before the law of averages worked against him.

Smart hunter, but dumb if he thought Amia was going to let him run roughshod over her opportunity to advance. He’d had some experiences with her as well, and probably decided there’d be safety in numbers.

He was wrong, and I would be the one to tell him so by ending his life, or die trying: older hunters grew craftier with the years. I would really have to plan where to move, and it had to be out of his sphere of influence, with no witnesses.

I scanned through the rest; some I knew casually, others were strangers. Out of all of them, Jonas probably posed the biggest threat.

It would best to work through the strangers first; there were five of them. Two lived some distance away, and while I didn’t really see why they’d get caught up in local politics in this place, it was a safe bet money was involved, probably in matters of voting or breaking bones, or both.

This would have to be a one day event; to spread it out would mean mounting suspicion, and while I was careful, if the right person was in the right place at the wrong time, it could mean the difference between life and death.

To hit them at a meeting would be the most practical; there’d be anonymity in the crowd, but it wouldn’t be a real test of my skills.

What Amia said about my taunting came back to mind; it was a cautionary tease: don’t mess this up.

I sighed, wanting to draw it out against my better judgment and Amia’s wishes.

All right. A one shot deal. I could use Alazne’s stalking skills to good advantage.

I put the parchment back in the back; the gold was secure under a floorboard in the room, and I got up slower than I remembered getting up before, to go get the layout of the town, a bit of trepidation in my step, because this place attracted a lot of travelers

Hopefully, no one would recognize me from a past adventure in a distant land; if they did, the assignment would stop before it began.

I decided I couldn’t take the chance.

Amia was going to have to help me. My face needed to change, but not drastically. It was the small changes in details that threw off eyewitnesses: a moustache where there wasn’t one, a scar, an eye patch, or just growing longer hair, could make all the difference in escaping bounty hunters leafing a town with Wanted posters.

Unfortunately, I’d learned through experience.

With everything in me thrumming with resistance, I began walking the path back up to her place. She wouldn’t be happy to see me, but she might help me, and I really did need to speak with her about utilizing her mysterious protégé.

Journey to Word Mountain

When he arrived after many days, he was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted.

It was still some distance away, but at least within view, and he spoonfed his heart what little hope he was able to convey, since it lifted his spirit to at least be able to see it.

He began thinking about walking the pleasant paths, carefully picking those he wanted; it wouldn’t be that the others were not good, but he would not need them. He lit the fire of his imagination, poured some warm wine into his mouth, found some shade, and took a long, much needed, and peaceful rest, drifting off as the stars peeked at him and the moon rose to put bathe him in its soft, pale lemon light.

In the pleasant cool breeze of the coming morning, amid a raucous chorus of birdsong, he set off for the final leg of his journey.

He would climb to the summit, and from there, be able to pick and choose his next path.

At mid morning, he stopped, not quite believing he’d made it: the mountain was in front of him.

He could see it, feel the wind that emanated from it, see the shadows cast by the rising sun, and his heart swelled within him.

It was nothing short of glorious!

Wanting to gather strength, he ate a light meal, checked the large empty spaces of his bag, and approached the base of the mountain with an almost holy reverence, even as his vision scanned about for the first word.

He saw it, and his heart thrilled. Kneeling to pluck it from the clutches of the tangle surrounding it, he held it up, examined it, and satisfied that it would do, he placed it in his sack.

“Once.”

The next word, being somewhat unusual, took him longer to find, and it was almost noon before he finally saw it. He repeated the morning ritual, and again, the word went into his bag.

“upon”

By the time gathered the other two, ‘a’ and ‘time,’, the sun was going down, and he began to realize

This is not going to be as easy as I first thought.

But he had his opening line….

Night Roads (con’t 2)

We walked back in silence; that is to say, Alazne and I were silent. The thick forest was alive with sounds of the creatures of night, hunting and being hunted, croaking, cricketing, rustling, whooshing, hooting, clicking, buzzing and glimmering.

Alazne knew the way back, with no second guessing. As a tracker and hunter, I was impressed, if a little unnerved. She had advanced skills for someone her age, and I had questions I didn’t want answers to, so I stayed quiet and followed in the wake of light from her lantern.

Walking down the paved path to Amia’s door, my heart began to beat faster, part nervousness, part excitement, and if I had to really analyze it, part fear. It had been years since we were together, and though I had no idea how time had been to her, I knew what it had done to me, and it wasn’t pretty, and it hadn’t been kind.

She sat in the light of a healthy hearth fire, her legs curled under her, her auburn hair gleaming in the firelight. Her evening dress was a sky blue trimmed with dark blue curlicues that ran the length of her sleeves and around her waist.

Fixing her bright green eyes on me, I almost stumbled.

“Haskell, my friend! It is good to see you.”

“Hello, Amia.”

She rose from the chair like a queen about to spit on a peasant’s head, and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

Alazne had made herself disappear; I could tell it was something she had a lot of practice doing.

“Sit, please.” Amia indicated the chair opposite her. I sat, and she poured something into a cup and passed it to me. It was steaming, and smelled like bitten warm plums in high summer.

“The best of Inkara wines.”

“I’ve always liked Inkara.”

“You’ve always had reason to.” She smiled at me, and against my better judgement, I smiled too.

“It’s where we met,” she reminded me.

“How could I forget?”

“If you didn’t forget, why didn’t you come for me?”

“If I’d known you wanted to be found, I would have.”

“You left me, Haskell. I can’t begin to tell you what I needed to do to survive.”

“Do I need to know?”

“You selfish, pigheaded–”
I put the cup on the table next to me, and stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving again. You have no claim on me, Amia, and I’ve none on you. Whatever game you’re playing, I want no part in it. I don’t know how you found me, I don’t know why you sent a child I don’t know to bring me here, but to invite me here to reprimand me because I’m not a mind reader–”

She stopped, and seemed to collect herself. “I’m sorry, Haskell. Please, sit down.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, sitting. “I need your help.”

“You…”

“Yes, Haskell. I need your help. I have no one else to turn to. I made inquiries, and they told me you were traveling here, to my homeland. I left this place, but I had Alazne stay and tend it, and keep away intruders.”

I sat, curiosity getting the better of me; Alazne was slight of build. She looked like a waif that would reach a weight of ninety pounds in a soaking rain.

“Who is she?”

Amia smiled. “There’ll be time for that later. She’s more formidable than she looks.”

I let that pass, and after an appropriate moment, I brought it back to the subject.

“What’s your problem?”

“I came across some information I wasn’t supposed to; there’s a council gathering against the Priestess Guild. They’ve been accused of sorcery. I need to warn them.”

“Are you part of them?”

“I made my attempt, and they were to get back to me. I don’t know my status.”

“So what role does the council play?”

“They want to kill them. They’re afraid of the arts the priestesses use, and they think they’re going to take over the land.”

“They have more than enough power to do that if they want; the council should know that.”

“The old council did. This new one is headed by a firebrand named Malika. She’s made it her mission to disband the Priestesses and see them executed for witchcraft.”

“But they’re mostly Healers, right?”

“There are some who dabble in the darker arts. We, or I should say, ‘they’, have their secret sects as well, but they are not involved in a take-over bid. That isn’t true, and the council knows it isn’t.”

I sipped some more of the plum wine, and savored it this time.

The fire crackled cheerfully in the silence we’d left as Amia took a sip for herself.

I sighed, knowing I shouldn’t have asked, but those green eyes were pulling me back out of the center of myself, and my resistance crumbled like a fortress of sand.

“What do you want me to do?”

She threw a purse of gold and a rolled up scroll at my feet. “Hire some mercenaries, or whoever you trust, and kill the men on the council. Their names are on the scroll. Take as long as you need to, and don’t say a word to them; I know how much you like to talk, even during a fight.”

I swallowed. She had the truth of it; if I knew I was better than the person I was against, and going to win, the taunting was inevitable, though completely unnecessary. I couldn’t help it.

“And Malika?”

Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds with a phosphorous center. It gave me chills, and I quickly suppressed the memory of the last time I saw that fire.

“I’ll take care of her. Since I’m not one of them yet, it can’t count as betrayal.”

“All right.” I picked up the pen and signed the agreement, then the other form for the supplies. “Where do I sleep?”

Amia laughed, and it was like chimes ringing in a major key, in a gentle wind, on a cloudless day.

“Alazne will show you out,” she said.

Alazne was at the door, holding it open, lantern in hand, the wind frippering her cloak about her.
I chuckled at my stupidity, but there it was.

I made a grand sweeping motion with my arm.

“Lead on, Alazne,” I said, slipping out after her as the door closed by itself behind us, driven by Amia’s power, and I heard the lock click.

RAIN

As I listen the rain

Each new drop’s a fresh new pain

Memories blossom in my brain

As I listen to the rain

To new places you have gone

Laughing as you travel on

Never caring, dusk til dawn

It’s my heart you’ve walked upon

As I sit and watch the sky

Cry the tears I cannot cry

Clouds all hide the reasons why

As I sit and watch the sky

Others hold you in their arms

Never hearing the alarms

Muffled by your many charms

Unaware your poison harms

Solitude’s new denizen

Seems the sun won’t shine again

I was very happy then

Guess I’ll just remember when….

I Am the Headsman

I am the headsman.

I collect

the blank stares of the

stupid,

the ineptitude of the

clueless,

the relentless levity of the

perpetual clown.

I am the headsman.

I collect

the pride of the

arrogant,

the boasts of the

insecure,

the innocence of the

naive.

I am the headsman,

I collect

the schemes of

my enemies,

the dreams of

my friends,

the fantasies of

my lovers.

And when I can

no longer

lift the gift of death

I bear,

I will set the bloody basket afire,

and climb on top

to burn

away,

the final dissolution

disillusions…

Victory Flags (Daily Post repost)

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Enough Is Enough.”

You should know:

Victory Flags are not always grand, unfurling banners embroidered with gold sigils of lions rampant, soaring eagles, flame-spewing dragons, diving falcons, and weapons of war, planted at the heads of armies, looking down into valleys of defeated foes.

Sometimes…

they’re just the right words of comfort in a time of despair,
or dirty, blood-soaked rags stanching bleeding wounds,
or taking a deep, ragged breath before making the next shaky effort…

sometimes it’s looking up the mountain at the descending hordes gathered against you

and getting back up to stand, and exhale a whispered, defiant declaration
into the howling winds and roiling clouds of your most ferocious storm,

“I’m still here.”

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.

Death to Lizzington

The psychiatrist watched him as he pulled back the curtains, looking out at the pleasant meadow of his new home.

“How are you today, Mr. Smith?”

“That’s a pleasant looking meadow.”

“Aren’t most meadows?”

He looked at her, astonished. “Oh no! No, not at all. Some are quite dark, with things crawling around inside them, things you don’t want to see…”

She wrote a note, but didn’t dwell on it.

“Why do you think you’re here?”

He let the curtain fall. Now it was just the fluorescent lights in the office.

“She ruined my show.”

“Who did?”

“That young woman, on the blog. She ruined it. She sent a petition, and they read it, and did it, and ruined it all…”

He was getting agitated; she signaled, and the burly attendants moved closer to the door.

“Do you not understand?” he said. “It’s a pattern: from ‘Moonlighting’ to ‘Who’s the Boss’ to ‘Cheers’ to ‘Night Court’ to ‘Family Matters’ to ‘Boy Meets World,’ the pattern is always the same, the question is always the same: Will they do it?

“And they always, always do! But this was a haven. I found it after its first season. I watched it, and watched it again, enjoying the byplay, the intrigue; I’ve never seen Spader more brilliant, and the young actress had looks and talent, well matched with him. I had finally found a show worthy of my attention, but shortly after I’d found season one, I met her, the one who ruined things.”

“How did you meet?”

“Not physically. It was on a writing site, before the Internet chips we now have in our brains. She’s since gone on to fame and fortune as an author.”

He sat back, a wan smile on his face: “She posted about her first book signing, and I sent her a congratulatory note. I confessed to a bit of jealousy. Humorously, of course…”

“Of course.” (note scribble)

“But then, I saw her next post, and it was the beginning of the end: a petition for Lizzington!”

“Lizzington?”

He sighed. Was she not listening?

“Yes, Lizzington. It was trendy back in those days to combine the names of couples. Google it, or whatever it is you do now. Brangelina, Bennifer, Kimye, and other assorted nonsense. This was the pairing of Lizzie, a detective, and Ray Reddington, a mastermind and villain. First part of her name, last part of his: Lizzington.”

“I see…” (note scribble)

He leaned forward, holding on to the arms of the chair, sneering.

“No, you don’t see. They listened to her. They received her petition, and they listened to her, and created Lizzington.”

He sat back, deflated. “And in season 3, the detective and villain kissed. The show was over for me then. I’d begged her not to send it in, pleaded.

“Do you know what her answer was?”

The shrink shook her head.

“A quote from Spock: ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.’ I knew who Spock was before she was born, and she sends me a quote from Spock!”

The attendants looked inside.

“That’s rather cryptic.” (note scribble)

He sat back, wiping the tears away.

“Oh, oh yes. Cryptic. Cruel, even. High-handed. Dismissive. There’s a bunch more. Shall I recite them all?”

“No. No Mr. Smith, I think we’ve got enough to go on.” (note scribble)

“I’m suggesting you spend a few days with us; we’ll notify your job, and these nice young men will escort you to your room.”

“Is there a window?”

“Yes, I believe there’s a window.”

“May I walk in the meadow?”

“After dinner, yes, you may walk in the meadow.”

“Oh, good. It’s such a pleasant meadow…”

She stood up.

“I’ll be by to check on you tomorrow, Mr. Smith.”

He smiled, endearingly. “Very well.”

The attendants came in, and lifted him gently to his feet.

“This way, sir.”

“Wherefore didst thou do this, Megan?”

“Did you say something, sir?”

“No, no young man. Lead on. Lead on…”

Sorry I Scribbled

I’m sorry I scribbled.

I mean, I know how

you

everything

inside the / line\s

I’m sorry I scribbled over

your

picture of what

should look like.

I’m sorry if I used the

wrong color.

I’m sorry that I don’t

conform

Crayola’s decrees…

But what the hell.

I’m innovative.

Pass me the green one…

Throne Room

I died in this chair.

Returning

only to see the

growing shadows

of dusk

once more,

the rusted mailbox

filled

with letters

from my

child,

a portrait

done over

webs…

I leave

no footprints,

no tears

to stir

my ashes

mingled

with

dust

on the

creaking floor.

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