Josan clutched the doorframe, doubling over with a ragged cough. Smoke pricked his eyes with a hundred tiny daggers. He gagged, pressing his face into the crook of his arm.
Orange flickers laced the opposite side of the great hall, wreathing ornate tapestries in smoke. Josan’s guard gripped his shoulder from behind. As if Seris could defend against this siege.
I love music. I listen to it as I write. I find songs for characters. I listen to it on the way to work. I find a song I love and listen to it twenty times in the next three days.
When I sat down in February and scheduled three months’ worth of blog posts, I thought by the time I wrote this post that I’d be getting ready to leave.
I’m a walking contradiction.
A paradox in a pair of shoes.
Immortality trapped
in a plodding mortal frame.
Warrior’s spirit
bound with bones.
Tender heart
chained with fear.
Longing soul
weaving dreams of air.
My mind wanders among the clouds
but my feet are fastened
firmly
to the earth
Mapping foggy, crooked streets.
Boots measure weary step
by weary step,
Far behind my racing thoughts.
My chest aches
for what I can’t…
…I don’t
understand.
Ash and dust in the wind
Tears from the sky,
water and starlight,
forever bound.
Paradox in paradox.
Trickling past with
each grain of mortal sand.
For when one day,
the way shines clear
the light undimmed,
That light
will be the end.
Say you’re a Legend Seeker. Say again you’ve strayed too near a portal and have been sucked into one of the far realms you’ve only viewed though ink and parchment. Firstly, to be honest, you’ve only a 1 in 10 chance of surviving the first five minutes because, despite the supposed randomness of the portals’ times and positions, many of them have developed a nasty habit of landing first-time leapers into the middle of a battle or into a peaceful looking situation which is about to explode into an assassination or ambush.
Still, if you survive long enough to exchange introductions, you might have a chance at living out the natural extent of your life. To improve your odds, here are a collection of handy tips I’ve gathered from my own first realm leaper, Kirin the Quillblade.
Read carefully. They could very well save your life or at least lessen embarrassing incidences in your hosting realm.
Mysterious pasts:
Dragons:
Magical Blades:
Any fantasy tips of your own? And any categories you’d like me to question Kirin about next time if we do this again?
One thing I didn’t expect when I came to the DR was that less than a month after arriving, I’d be locked down on campus due to quarantine and the coronavirus. Life doesn’t tend to do what I expect.
He’d almost forgotten what they looked like.
The old soldier gripped his rifle strap tighter as if the canvas cutting against calloused skin could hold off the dull ache in his chest.
Pianos, they used to call them.
Instrument of the gods, according to her.
He’d laughed, but she just grinned.
One day you’ll see.
He swallowed hard and stepped forward. Ash crunched beneath mud-stained boots. A cool breeze crept around his raised collar. A few bits of green crept along the forest floor. Not enough to veil what happened here. Not enough…
His hands over her eyes. Smooth hands, unstained with age and blood. He pulled them away. A simple piano stood in the center of a bare room.
She said its music could contest the gods, but at that moment her laugh put every song to shame.
It was still there.
The ache in the soldier’s throat tightened.
Overhead, branches rustled with the sighing wind.
The piano rested in the center of the clearing, stained with half a century of rain and wind. It was only the tree that kept it standing, near as he could figure—a gnarled trunk, growing through the center of the piano like a prisoner’s face stretched toward the sky.
She’d been right. Its music could rival any other. Or maybe it was simply her voice.
She made up the strangest lyrics during their long walks as the shadows closed in. She’d whispered them to drive away the rumors of war. She’d laughed them as she said ‘yes’ to the greatest question a man can ask.
They’d sat, side by side on the bench, her head on his shoulder as he carefully carved into the sleek wood.
The soldier shivered and touched the battered wood. The lines were still there. Faded, but there. He traced the heart with a trembling finger.
‘The morning sings, the evening weeps. The eagles find the dead. And watching from the eyrie, the eagle child cannot speak.’
Her voice shook that night, but she’d smiled at him.
The next day, the nations ran in blood and fire. They smelt smoke on the wind.
They said her brother died. Her father and mother. He’d held her close. But in the night she was gone. He found her in front of the piano, fingers poised over the keys. She didn’t touch them.
She never played again.
He squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head to rest against the wood. A single tear traced his weathered cheek.
“You didn’t have to go, you know.” The words were barely a whisper. “You could have stayed…”
He tried. Forced her to eat. To rest.
They didn’t leave the city, even as battle overtook it.
She didn’t cry. He wished she would if only so he could wipe away the tears.
One morning she didn’t wake. The sedatives he’d given her were gone—a week’s worth in one night. It would have been so easy to follow. So easy…
“You thought the music of life disappeared.” He pressed trembling lips together. “What I would have given for you to understand…the music only left when you did.”
He’d taken her away from the flames and bullets. The piano too. Far away, to a secluded grove with only the trees to witness.
He’d buried her there. No stone to mark the place. Only the instrument she loved best, resting above where she lay.
“I told you’d I’d visit, Clare.” He blinked against the tears. “I’m back.” He traced a hand down the molded keys. They were chipped. Stained yellow and black. His fingers splayed over the last several. He pressed them in soft succession.
The rusted notes whispered through the grove like the weeping of a god.
I am a ridiculous person.
Me at my first waterfall: let’s get as close as I can before I even explore anything else. Mossy, slippery rocks? No problem. Possibility of snakes? Eh…I’ll be fine. Probably.
Me being told to practice communicating in Spanish by using Google translate to ask the kitchen ladies for another pillowcase: waits two and a half days before I venture the three-minute walk to actually do it.
As a child, my father often told me ‘people are important too.’
To be fair, he still reminds me from time to time.
I know people are important, don’t get me wrong. But people can’t be categorized on a list and checked off when done while I move on to the next thing. Hence, sometimes, I tend to…umm *coughs* forget about them.
Welp, I’ll be heading out of the country in two days. An early morning flight out of a fairly small airport, then two stops in very large airports. By this Sunday evening, I should be down in the Dominican Republic.
