Paddy's Wanderings

The Village

A rough draft excerpt from the blasted novel. It is a story Krish is telling that takes place before the main story line, before Carnac dies. Krish is the storyteller, and as such, he tells Carnac's widow, Larissa, about the role they played in the war. This is the beginning of one of those stories..

They had been traveling for two days after the disaster of the battle by the river. A band of warriors that had arrived late were now holding the enemy, allowing the tattered remnants of the fort to retreat north to relative safety. Krish drove the wagon team hard across the uneven track, pushing everyone to their limits, trying to reach the small grove of Alyn. They were weary from battle, but Krish had hoped that the Elders would be able to help Riggs.

Sam tended his head wound the best that she could with the limited amount of supplies she had on hand. Storm prowled back and forth through the line, his arm still hanging at an awkward angle, the bandages showing fresh blood. They were all battered to some degree, none as bad as Riggs. In the hasty retreat, Sam cleaned the head wound, but Riggs was still unconscious and they were all worried.

As the afternoon of the second day wore on, they crested a small hill and could see the grove for the first time. What they had taken for cooking fires was the remnants of burned out buildings still smoking in ruins. The scouts joined them at the top hill, having secured the back trail and they stood in shock at the scene below. The small grove had been hacked apart and only a few chickens and an old woman slumped in a doorway were visible.

Krish cracked the reins and steered the wagon down the hill, the rest fanning out in a protective formation. Tired but wary, they entered the outskirts of the grove. The old woman was breathing heavy and looked exhausted as she stared at the newcomers.

'Where is everyone?' Carnac asked the old woman.

'Most of em, what is left, are in the Elder's house,' she said, 'you're too late to help.'

'We will do what we can,' said Krish looking around the commons.

With a quick shake of his head, Logar sent the warriors to the surrounding hills, setting up a defense. Krish got down from the seat and helped Carnac out of the saddle. The friends, bent from fatigue and wounds, set up a camp on the common ground.

Raif and Sam carefully lifted Riggs out of the wagon and put him into the one remaining tent they owned. The old woman watched and waited, not moving from her stool, she seemed lost. Little faces peeked out from the Elder's house, but fear was heavy in the air.

'We are going to the grove, to see what we can do,' said Vaughn.

'It looks bad, but we will pay our respects and honor these people' said Carnac.

'I will stay with Riggs, go to talk to the them,' said Raif.

Sam and Krish left the patched tent and walked slowly toward the Elder house. As they approached, a small, dirty boy rushed from the doorway holding a broom handle, swinging wildly at the two of them. Krish went down on one knee and grabbed the little guy and the broom handle.

'You go away,' screamed the boy, struggling to free himself.

'Are you the protector of this clan?' asked Krish.

'I am warrior and you go away,' he said,' give me my sword back.'

'Well then, warrior,' he said,' I am Krish from Clan Wenona and I ask that we may stay with you.' Krish said the formal words of greeting as he stood up an offered the broom handle to the little boy. He looked at Sam who nodded.

'You are Clan?' asked the boy.

Showing the tattoos on his arms, Krish formally bowed, 'I am indeed little warrior, and this is my companion Sam, she is a healer.'

The Vigil

another work in progress excerpt from After the Fall of Darkness

     Vaughn walked out into the garden and across to the stable where they had placed the body of Carnac. The full moon cast shadows across the doorway, inside a shaft of moonlight outlined the body. Leaning against the door he let out a deep sigh, Carnac needed to have the roof fixed thought Vaughn. So much needed fixing that a roof hardly mattered anymore

      He sat on a bale of hay next to Carnac and rubbed his temples. Reaching into his robe he pulled out the flask and took a drink. The voices quieted to a whisper and leaning back, he closed his eyes. The vigil was going to be a long night if he had to deal with the nightmares.

      Remembering the vial Sam had given him, he poured the rest of the powder into his flask, swirled it around for a bit and drank the rest. His head cleared and the voices stopped. He laughed out loud like a child chasing leaves in the grove. The pain was almost bearable and for a time, with the elixir running its course, he was able to sit in quiet company with Carnac.

      But the pain and nightmares never really went away. Slowly, after a couple of hours of Vaughn daydreaming of the better days, they crept back into his head. The old familiar friends came calling once again. He shuddered and fought the darkness, but as always, he could only come to a stalemate.

      Mauler appeared in the doorway, laughing his big booming laugh and pointed at Vaughn. 'I am sorry,' whispered Vaughn. The ghost stopped, pain creased the forehead of Mauler and he fell forward into the stable. The pain seared through Vaughn's head and the vision passed. The waking nightmares were returning and the flask was empty. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes and temples.

      Breathing hard, he caught a movement to his left and turned. Martek and Brandor were crouched down, throwing bones in the corner. They looked over at Vaughn and the room chilled. Blood dripped from Brandor's hand as he scooped up the bones. Martek grabbed his head, blood flowing from the wound. With pleading eyes and out stretched hands, they faded.

      His hands shaking, Vaughn slumped and reached out to the body of Carnac. Desperate for release, Vaughn cast back into the pleasant memories of his time spent with Carnac in the Grove. Those few years were filled with the wonder of youth as they learned the Way of the Clan. It was a good time, a peaceful time. With all the strength he could muster, Vaughn willed his thoughts away from the nightmare of the war to the days of peace. He sat there through the night until the rise of the morning, mumbling to his old friend.

Working on that Title

In a fit of insanity, I decided to post up a very short blurb from the blasted novel. I don't know why. I think because it is eating me alive on so many levels. I really want to finish this story, to complete this journey. I want folks to read it. I think I need some feedback as I go through the revisions, the crazy edits and the layering on process.

I have no clue if what I am doing is interesting, or entertaining, or even decent writing. I don't know. I have been wrapped in this story for over 20 yrs. Seriously. I have years of notes but no serious attempt to write the story, until last fall.

I said sure, I will do NaNoWriMo. I was unprepared and it was mid October, so I thought, lets dig this puppy out and try it. So far, so good. But I don't know, this is going out on a limb, in a big way.

See, I have tried other novel ideas and have stopped in various stages. Why you ask? Because those stories are not the story. This one is. I am too close, totally, irrationally in love with it.

~ This is a perfect example. After I typed that last line, I opened a section of the story and started reading and editing and tinkering with words and phrases and the like. That was two hours ago. I have other things I need to do today but I was lost in the story.

I think I will post up an occasional excerpt for the heck of it. I have been writing in the blog frequently about the whole process and what not. It helps. Stay tuned.

The end is just the beginning..

The end is just the beginning..

a brief excerpt..

Sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns thought Krish. He knew the formal, old ways would soothe everyone with the familiar rituals. Those old ways were fading in the new dawn, but people straddling the two worlds were more often then not, thankful for the Way of the Grove.

As a student long ago, he had learned the power of words and ritual. As a teacher in the middle years he had often spoke of the power of the old ways. After the fall of darkness, he believed and needed that power to keep him to the path, now more then ever.

The old friends crowded into the main room of the house, feeling uncomfortable and unsure. Brave warriors of the last war they may be, but in the house of their fallen friend, they were like cattle in the pen. Larissa made everyone welcome, seating everyone at the big table filled with food and wine. She nodded at Krish to start.

'Thank you for letting us into your home Larissa,' said Krish raising a mug of wine, 'To Carnac.'

The friends touched mugs, poured a couple drops to the floor, and drained the wine. The formality of the beginning of the Vigil behind them, Sam and Larissa started passing dishes to everyone, urging them to eat. None of them had the stomach for food, but they all filled plates and ate anyway, as part of the ritual they knew so well.

It was a ritual they did not always have the honor of performing for their friends, so many having died in the heat of battle and no proper way to send them to the next world. More often then not, it was a funeral pyre and a few words. For most of them, that would have been easier.