September 27, 2014
They moved through the storm like two beggars, one wrapped in a length of tattered wool, the other naked but for the bracelets about her ankles and the steel collar tight about her throat from which a chain fell and swung in a wild swaying arc to the fist of the man in front of her. Slaves didn’t wear clothes, nor did killers like the man bearing her chain, but dead nobles have no need of cloaks, and to take more, even for the killer in front her should they be caught, would have condemned her with him in spite of the gifts she possessed.
She was strong, but not strong enough to shield them entirely from the storm, from winds that would have scoured the flesh from their bones otherwise, but they still staggered through the fiercest winds and sand and dust she had ever encountered in this god forsaken land. Well, at least no gods to which she cared to bend knee. She missed her people; she missed her home. But this is where I am.
They were in the upper hills making their way to the basalt plains below, which could not be seen. It was dangerous to open eyes in these conditions but more dangerous to seek shelter, or so said the killer. Their pursuers were huddled behind rocks and tucked into crevices higher up, and the killer wanted more distance between them. He wore the blanket. He shielded his eyes from the winds she couldn’t restrain, and she huddled close to his back-- as close as he would allow --eyes closed, praying to Solumbriah that they did not stumble into a ravine or some other declivity and break their legs or necks; her skills did not include healing. And the only skill he possessed beyond inhuman tenacity was the bare blade in his left hand.
“The storm is getting worse!” She cried. “I am barely able to contain what now blows. If we do not stop soon, it won’t matter that we are chased! If any of them survive they will only find our bones!”
The killer turned his head and shouted back over the screaming winds, “I’m the one taking the brunt, Iynan! Follow and stay close! And remember your oaths!”
As if I could forget! She laughed to herself.
September 22, 2014 - First full day of Autumn
I have managed to get through the weeds of figuring out how to get my characters off the mountain, and into the new universe, and the continent and magic of Tamarast. I've been doing a lot of thinking on this and, while watching a " twilight" marathon on FX yesterday afternoon it came to me quite suddenly. The solution even allows me to avoid the whole "returning to the Consolidation" and all the plot point nightmares that would undoubtedly have gendered.
The second book in my proposed trilogy would have been the "Return to the Consolidation," and would have been boring beyond belief... to me--if I'd have had to write that block of nonsense the story I have in my head would never get finished. This new solution saves me the effort of writing something that would have ultimately been a nightmare, and save readers the time and disappointment that RttC would have been. By avoiding RttC, I'll get to keep my readers.
I've managed, as well, to figure out why my group of Muslims were so intent on destroying the project, stranding them and my pilgrims 11,000 years in the past. As it turned out the solution was quite simple. Now I don't have to spend an entire novel in the Appalachians with Tel and Mina and the rest of my mountain community. Elias and his crew can do their damage and Tel can save his father, and the solution can be part of the whole beginning of what I've been calling "Rabbit On The Mountain". Discussed, at least, as part of setting the stage for what follows. Now "Rabbit on the Mountain" doesn't have to be a full length novel, and "Return to the Consolidation" doesn't have to written at all.
Hooray, for me. Now I can focus solely on the getting to Tamarast and the wars that follow.
Eccentricity, it is fair to say, is among the most personal human traits enjoyed by everyone, to one degree (or extreme) or another. It is, quite simply, the ordinary expression of an ordinary life. That we view some more eccentric than others only goes to show how different we all are from each other. We all enjoy eccentricity, yes, but we are all as different (and pretty much the same) as the stars in the heavens-- Alike, yet different. Alike, yet eccentric.I watch, but nothing seems to move in the slow turn of ages. Planets bob upon the dark mistral horizon, but even they appear not to move to the casual gaze of minutes-- Galaxies swirl to a cadence measured in the billions of years, and our eccentricities less than blips in the aural record of the universes radioactive aria.
