Paddy's Wanderings

In the Garden ~ The Journal of Krish

from the Journal of Krish...

I practiced making ink and parchment from spring to spring and got to know the process well. I would spend the day working with Logar and Storm, building a house for Carnac. In the evening I would sit with Carnac and learn the craft. It took a long time for us to build that house, and many evenings learning how to write.

That is not to say I did not do other tasks. I would go to the grove at Wenona during ceremonies and just as often tell a tale or two to anyone who would listen. It was a busy time, and for the most part, kept all of our attention on helping Carnac start his new life with Larissa.

In many ways, it was the best of times. The war was over, and while we were not ready to join the growing village, we were ready to help a friend. It was at this time that Carnac began to pester me about writing a journal. I went along with his ramblings as a good friend will do.

So I started writing observations, thoughts, and random bits as a way to please Carnac. Then came the day of the arguement. I sit here, in the garden of Carnac, waiting for the arrival of the rest of the Chosen. I do not feel like music, the tea grows cool, and I feel an unease.

So I write. It helps sometimes. Today though, with the death of Carnac fresh in my thoughts and the feeling that this reunion is going to go bad, I remember that arguement like it was only yesterday.

It was Carnac's fault really, he had forgotton the Grove, or so I thought.. He insisted that I start to write the history of our people onto the parchment scolls. I scoffed at the idea, but he was presistent. I tried to explain that words could not convey a people. The life, the history, what makes our people who and what they are is as much a part of the people and the valley as anything he could imagine. How was I to write about a people that the long told stories could barely touch?

How was I to write into these words the passion, the life of a people that song and dance was only a shadow of the reality? To know the history, the life of a people, one would have to live that life. It is true we pass along the histories and stories and the traditions are taught at a young age and children grow into the life we all know.

How could anyone write about that and make sense to someone who had never known that life?

He smiled as I turned and walked away. I went down by the river to ease my anger. The soft flowing river had always down that for me, and that day was no different. When I went back to the house, nothing was said. For that matter, Carnac never mentioned that day again.

I sit here and I am angry again. I am angry because I see the wisdom in what he was trying to tell me and I feel foolish. He was right. Today more than ever I feel that all that I have learned I must pass on. I do not know if I have the voice to tell everything I have ever learned. I am sure I do not have enough ink and scroll to even begin the story of our people.

Time seems to be slipping through my fingers and I do not believe I can do all that needs to be done now.

Delaying the Decision ~ Journal of Krish

from the Journal of Krish...

I started keeping this journal because of Carnac. There was never much call for writing, I am a storyteller and as such, leanred how to tell a story, to entertain, to educate, to speak to people in all manner of ways.

Carnac was entranced with writing words on parchment. He learned all he could about writing words. He became a master of the making of parchment and ink and would gladly teach anyone who wanted to learn. Often, he would annoy us with his constant enthusiasm and would try to teach all of us how to write. I was the only one of us who would listen, and now I have picked up the habit of writing down my thoughts, and even, a few stories.

But I am not so foolish to think that old warriors would want to learn to write, or even read for that matter. Sometimes Carnac was slow to pick up on the hint. Well actually, he was always about a sentence or two behind the conversation. But I have always enjoyed learning, and so, I listened, and I picked up the habit.

My thoughts are scattered like leaves on the wind as I sit here looking at the shelves of journals that Carnac has left to me. He had a batch of ink settling in a pot and pieces of parchment drying on the rack at the back of the study. I should finish what he left behind before we leave, we have some time. It might be good to do some work, settle my thoughts before I go out to talk to everyone else and tell them what I plan to do.

The body of Carnac lies on the bier in the barn, but his presence is always at my shoulder. I know what I have to do, what I need to do. Sam will understand and help me. The others will argue and call me crazy, but I think they will come along. We need to bury our ghosts, finish our past, if we ever really want to emerge from the darkness.

But I am unsure..

 

 

At Tridge Grove ~ AtFoD

an excerpt from After the Fall of Darkness...

The Grove was filled with laughter and the smell of early evening cooking fires as the people prepared a harvest feast to welcome home Raif. Krish pulled out his flute and as the young children gathered round. He started a playful tune and danced off amongst the youngsters. Sam hugged Larissa close as they were swept away by the women toward the center cooking pit.

 

Larissa stared wide eyed at the beginnings of a raucous celebration and at the apparent ease with which her friends melded into the grove. She looked over and saw Logar and Storm bending bows with the young warriors, laughing and sharing mugs of ale. Raif had Sam by the arm, introducing her to the womenfolk with Larissa following behind, bewildered.

 

'Come, lend us a hand Larissa,' said Sam as she grabbed a ladle and stirred a large pot, 'there is plenty to do.'

 

Larissa looked over at Raif using her gift knife to carve potatoes, and it spite of the clamor and jostling of the other women, actually smiling. The change was profound. From the moment they stepped into the inner grove and were warmly greeted, Larissa's friends had changed, all except Vaughn. She could see him tending the horses and unpacking the wagon, the permanent scowl still on his face. But even now, watching him closely as she joined the other women, she noticed that he seemed less tense.

 

Larissa turned and watched Sam dance between the pots and the fire pits, sprinkling herbs she pulled from her cloak, a pinch here, a small leaf there and she too smiled. The gaiety of the grove was very powerful as most of the women started singing as they prepared the evening meal. It was a song that Sam had taught her when she became betrothed to Carnac, one that she hummed while she cooked. But the ladies of the grove sang out, the melody and counterpoint rising and falling was nothing like she had ever heard.

 

'You never went to Wenona Grove during Harvest time, did you?' asked Sam.

 

'A couple of times, but only as guests and only for a few hours when Carnac went,' said Larissa,' why?

 

'You seemed surprised by everything,' said Sam, 'if you had gone like I had advised, you could have enjoyed the feasting, the story telling and the celebrations.'

 

'I never did any of that when I went with Carnac,' she said, 'we just met with the elders, had tea, It was all very formal. Of course we went for the rituals but we lived outside the grove.'

 

'Carnac was always a little too formal, a little too stiff,' laughed Sam. 'Come on, we will show you how to celebrate harvest.'

 

Larissa smiled, took Sam's offered hand and followed her toward the women as they danced and sang while they tended the cooking fires. Raif joined them and their laugh was infectious. Larissa could see Logar in an arm wrestling match, Storm helping him and encouraging the young boys. Krish nodded to her and struck up a new tune on his flute as he danced by, the children following and singing along. It truly was a festival.

 

'I have not felt this good in a long time,' said Sam.

 

'How can you be celebrating?' asked Larissa. ' When we left this morning, everyone, myself included, was so somber, so sad. Now you all seem so happy, as if the past few days nothing had happened. All of you except Vaughn.'

 

'My dear, we have not forgotten what has happened, or the journey ahead. But if there is one thing you should have learned, even from Carnac, is that the people of the grove, even in the hardest of times when all seems lost, can still celebrate, we can still step back from the hardships and truly celebrate life.'

What Once Was ~ The Journal of Krish

from the journal of Krish...

 

Any man who says they have never felt fear is lying.

In the heat of battle, I have seen fear in the eyes of enemies and friends alike. I too, have felt this fear. Warriors fear failure, and with that failure the death of friends and comrades, and even personal death. It is constant in our warrior life.

But I have seen too, the fear of a student not passing a test, and in the eyes of the teacher, who fears their teaching has failed. There is fear in the bride and groom, the parents of a new born baby, and in a host of other places and times.

Fear is a part of life.

It is my fear that the life I have grown to love, will forever be changed. Even now, as I write in this scroll, I have changed. There was a time, and a place, where the very thought of not passing on the wisdom and the teachings of our clan under the shade of the trees was not considered. Today, I fear the old ways are fading. Today, I walk a different path.

The world has changed since I was a lad playing in the shade of the ancient wisdom of the grove. Many seasons have slipped past and many of the values, the wisdom of our people, has been forgotten or even worse, ignored. This is the fear I carry. This is the reason I write these thoughts onto scrolls. There will be a time when we are gone, and all that once was may be lost.

As one world fades, a new one is born. I have tried to walk on both paths, but again, it is fear that keeps me from finding my way to the grove. So I do both, and hope, if such a state still exists for me, that some of what once was will carry to the new dawn.

 

Carnac's Nose ~ AtFoD Excerpt

a small excerpt from After the Fall of Darkness...

At the top of a small hill in a clearing, Logar and Storm had stopped and seemed to be arguing. Even back toward the lands of home, they still sent scouts forward for safety. As the rest of the group approached, Storm and Logar fell silent. Krish could see a faint trail leading to a line of smoke to the north. Something they had missed as they passed by last night in the fading light. Krish turned to Carnac who was smiling, eyes closed and breathing deeply.

 

'What are you doing?' asked Krish.

 

'Can't you smell that?' asked Carnac, 'that is the smell of summer sausage cooking in the frying pan.'

 

'How can you can smell that?' asked Sam, 'that smoke must be a couple leagues away, at least.'

 

'Ahh good food is hard to come by,' said Carnac, 'and I could use some right about now.'

 

'Well if we would stop letting Krish cook for us, not only would our sense of smell return, but we may actually start to enjoy eating again,' said Storm.

 

'As if you are any better,' said Krish, punching Storm in the shoulder.

 

'And if you would stop before dark, I could gather more herbs and actually cook some decent food,' said Sam, 'but no, it's always hurry, catch up, stop dawdling from you men.'

 

'This doesn't get us anywhere or answers the question of who, or what is making that smoke,' said Calorn.

 

'That is exactly what I was trying to find out from Storm,' said Logar.

 

'You know about the smoke?' asked Krish.

 

'Not exactly,' said Storm,' I just noticed the path yesterday, thought maybe there might be something interesting down there.'

 

'I doubt there is much in the way of wine or women,' said Krish, 'you can get all the song you want here though.'

 

Raif snorted and danced over toward Storm, nudging him. Laughing, Sam pinned him from the other side and they all chuckled. With Storm it was always something. Not waiting for the rest of the group to stop playing around, Carnac started walking down the trail, following his nose. Krish waved them down the path, hoping it was indeed just an isolated farm and not another trap.

 

They needed to be on their way, it was a couple weeks of walking back and a side trip was not a very good idea with Elder Odae waiting. Then again, as they walked down the hill, Krish could smell cooking sausage and their supplies had been kinda slim the past few days. The little village shared what they could, but the travelers ate little, seeing how tough times had been for the people.

 

Leave it to Carnac to decide to go wandering off in search of food. He was not the biggest of men, rather short actually, that was why he went to study with the Druids. Carnac wasn't built for the life of a warrior, but he could eat like one, and there was no doubt he smelled fresh food cooking as they all could smell it now.

 

Sure enough, Carnac's nose led them to a small creek with a big farmhouse and stables. This place was one of the manor houses they had heard about but had never seen. The people that lived here were the type of people who had left the grove, and only attended to the village or Elders during ceremonies. This farmer was doing well and seemed safe enough, which raised the hair on the back of Krish's neck in warning.

 

'Hold my friends,' said Krish as they approached the treeline, 'We should announce ourselves before we enter the good man's property.'

 

'Speak quick, you are already on the master's property' said a voice from above,'Who is your master and what is your business?'

 

'I am my own master, a free person,' said Krish, holding out his hands, 'I am Krish from Clan Wenona and these folks are my companions.'

 

Storm rolled his eyes and edged back into the trees. Krish was sounding all important again and likely to get them killed. Logar and Raif slipped off to the right to get a better view. Krish and the rest just stood there, waiting. Storm shook his head and looked over at Vaughn, at least he seemed ready for a fight.

Where the Wind Blows

It is Day 5 of NaNo and I have exactly... let me count here.. 3,102 words on a new project completed. Six hundred words a day on average. I need to do around 1800 to make it to 50k by the end of the month. This does not bode well.

In the past month, I have wrote less online, a lot less. I have delved deep into last years project and.. got lost. The goal was to have a working, finished copy for people to do a beta read. I have not even got as far as the better 1/2 alpha read. Heavy sigh...

My espectations are way beyond my means. I am kinda like that. I gave my self a year to have a finished novel and thought I would be shopping it around starting this month. It is not gonna happen. So I keep working on it. I will get there.

And that is my problem. I am stuck in that world and it is really hard to get out of it. I say this knowing full well that I have done just over a hundred freelance articles online. I have also produced about 300 blog posts in that time. I have published a few poems and even had a short story in an anthology. Behind the scenes, I have worked on countless poems and over a dozen short stories. I have even ventured into sheeple stories and stuff like that, stuff that is more non-fiction but still story like, i.e. the sheeple stories.

I have also worked on that blasted novel for many, many hours. To start a new novel project seems foolhardy at best, but that is what I am trying to do. Ambitous or insane, I dont know which, but there it is.

I guess I will go wherever the wind blows, see what I can see. Maybe I wont make it this year, but thats okay. I do write more, a lot more. Some of it even seems.. cool. Maybe thats the point, to just do it, worry about all the other stuff later. It will happen when it happens.

Until then.. keep on scribbling.

 

The Return ~ AtFoD

an excerpt from After the Fall of Darkness

Vaughn looked up from his seat next to Carnac, the pain of his grief was pushed aside by the white hot pain of loss. It was one more burden he had to carry and he staggered to his feet. It was happening again, this time the lost friend was Riggs, he could feel it. Leaning heavily on the staff, he walked out into the garden.

 

Logar grabbed his head and moaned. He felt the passage of Riggs and knelt down to catch his breath. He looked toward the stable and saw Vaughn stagger out, the look of terror on his drawn face. Logar, looking through the rising fog that hid the dawn, saw Raif come from around the front of the house, panting heavily with the strain.

 

Krish had felt the loss of Riggs and trying to catch his breath walked up stairs. Sam was walking down from the tower, her face wet with new shed tears. She had felt the loss, could feel the sickness of the passing of Riggs. Larissa came out of the bedroom at the sound and stopped in the parlor, looking at her friends.

 

'What has happened?' she asked.

 

Gritting his teeth trying to keep control he said, 'Riggs has died.'

 

Larissa burst into tears and slumped to the floor. Sam knelt down beside her and cradled her head as her own tears ran down her cheeks. Helping Larissa stand, Sam and Krish guided her through the kitchen and out into the garden. Vaughn Logar, and Raif were standing there, the sickness lining their faces. Sam sat Larissa on the bench and tried to control her rapid breathing.

 

'Has anyone seen Storm?' asked Krish.

 

They all shook their head, their breath coming in ragged bursts. Krish felt a tightening in his chest and sat down. They had to find Storm, but the loss and the sickness was overwhelming. Krish stood and looked to the Grove, the dizziness slowly receding. The old friends were trying to shake off the sickness when out of the fog, stalked Storm.

'What happened?' asked Krish as Storm stopped in front of him.

 

'You all felt it, Riggs is dead,' said Storm walking to the trough. He scooped up hand fulls of cold water, splashing his face. 'I followed the trail, then lost it, but the Betrayer has been here.'

 

Logar and Raif put hand to sword, Vaughn bowed his head, mumbling about death. Sam looked at Krish as he sighed heavily and clutched Larissa's hand. The thought that the Betrayer had returned, was stalking them again, cast a heavy cloud over the group.

 

'Where is Riggs?' asked Krish.

 

'I was walking, thinking of Carnac, following the Vigil and decided to go see Riggs,' said Storm,'I should have gone over there last night, I should have checked in on him.'

 

'Where is he now,' said Krish.

 

'He is staked in the Grove,' growled Storm, 'sacrificed like a bull. The Grove has been desicrated for all the good it did anyone.'

 

'Logar, Raif, take Larissa to the stable,' said Krish, 'protect her and Carnac. Storm, take us to the Grove.'

 

Raif grabbed Larissa and walked into the stable, barring the door. Logar drew his sword and stood guard, looking bigger and angrier then ever before. Krish and the others followed Storm as he headed back into the fog toward the Grove. Storm unsheathed his sword, his eyes hardend to black pools of ice. Krish toyed with a dagger, keeping a close eye on his companions. The sickness was replaced with grim determination and raging anger. The Betrayer had returned.

Sunrise Pause ~ The Journal of Krish

excerpt form the Journal of Krish...

We were up and waking long before the sunrise. The night air was cold and in spite of the fog, we traveled straight and true. We have stopped and are now resting after we had peformed the morning ritual of the sunrise. The fog is slowly lifting as the morning warms my tired legs.

I am tired, but I can not sleep for long. I can feel the drawing down of the darkness ahead. I can not see Carnac or the house near the grove, but I can feel it pulling me through the mist. I believe the rest will be there, to send Carnac to the next life, but I can not see that far ahead. Sam tells me not to worry,we will all be there, and she is right.

To clear my thoughts I have started reciting the history of the people to Sam as we walk. She knows the stories and is used to my storytelling or singing as we travel. It is that familiarity that I hope will help me gather the words I will speak at the ceremony. As much as the tradition of passing the histories to young people is important, this one moment means everything to me. The old ways are a comfort to both of us.

If my old teachers saw me writing in a scroll, all of these thoughts and ideas, they would laugh at such foolishness. But, I still do so every day. I don't think there is a story or song in my fears or dreams. I do think it is important I write this down, to feel what I feel. Someone will read it and maybe understand a bit of our brief time in this life.

The task at hand is calling, time to finish my tea and for us to continue our passage to the valley, to home. It is like walking into a wind, but the urgency and the desire to honor our friend is strong and we will be there.

 

To Forget ~ The Journal of Krish

an excerpt from the Journal of Krish..

I trained for many years in the Grove, learning to be a storyteller. I did well, and learned from the Elders with the hope of one day joining their ranks. I knew the history of the People of the Valley, all the epic songs and stories that make up who we are. I did not learn from scrolls or books, but rather, from the minds of the Elders.

I learned not to forget.

I remember the war, all too well. I have composed several songs and ballads and in the tradition of our people, I have passed those on to other storytellers, to perserve the memories of that time. Tales of courage and honor, of heroic deads by the young men and women who fought the evil that had invaded our home, I sing of that in the stories I tell. I sing of the glory and bravery.

I remember much more then that.

I don't hear the clash of swords or the battle calls, but rather the wail of dying horses and the weeping of wounded men. The battlefield is not some green pasture, but rather a morass of mud and blood. A victorious day is the chance to survive to sunset and measured by the warmth of the fire and the amount of drink needed to wash away the smell of fear and death.

I can not forget.

Some welcomed us home as heroes, most shunned us. We won the war and lost our way. I don't talk about that. Sam and I sometimes do. A few times, when we were still all together, we would drink away the darkenss and tell the sad tales. But really, in truth, no one wants to hear that, to really know.  That is why I write in this journal. Someday, some one may want to know.

I will never forget.

 

The Journal ~ A Moment to Breathe

from the Journal of Krish...

It has been a long day of walking but we have come far, over halfway home if I am correct. I believe we will see the valley tomorrow evening if we can keep up the pace. I am tired, like I have not felt since the last days of the war. My grief has been replaced with a dull ache that starts in my feet all the way to my back. Maybe it is age, maybe it has been the lazy summers of sailing and casual living.

Sam and I talked very little today. I think our thoughts are centered around making it home as soon as possible. Our feelings, as deep as they run, are buried under the task at hand and filled with grief. I don't know what to think, what to feel. I am as lost as the day we came home years ago, maybe more so.

Carnac had found home. He had a wife and a place to live out the rest of years. He had found the peace that, even now, has eluded the rest of us. Only four years, most of which the rest of us spent wandering. Even over the long distances, it has not been hard to keep track of my old friends, gossip of the Chosen travels the winds.

I regret that the last message I sent to Carnac was this past spring form the Grove at Ludin. We should have travled back long before now. I miss those evenings under the night sky, sharing a pipe and a mug of ale and talking of the trees and the stars.

Time to drink my tea, rest and try to get some sleep. Somehow, Sam produced a stew with some of the dried meat and set a small bowl down next to me. I just noticed the aroma. I am more hungry then I thought and by the look on her face, the small smile, she knew. At least the smile returned, even in a moment to breathe, it felt like the sun on a misty river.