Serial Saturday: The Suggestion Box, Vol. 2! List #12

"Alexander VanTussel"

Suggested by: Lindsey Bruno

The List:

Name: Alexander VanTussel

Place: A Library

Time: 1 am

Object: A rocks glass

The Result:

The grandfather clock in the hallway struck one, and the chime echoed through the empty, dark halls.

He lifted the tumbler to his lips, and the caramel-brown bourbon slipped down his throat from between the half-melted pebbles of ice.

They were late.

He sat among the shelves stacked high with wonderful volumes full of vast power and immense treasure. He set the glass on a coaster. What a shame none of these books could tell him the information he needed. That was why he had sent them out in the first place.

He heard the wet smack of their soft feet on the patio as they neared the house. His lip curled in a sneer. How had it come to this? Alexander VanTussel, confined to his home, all of his best-laid plans at the mercy of a gaggle of slimy, slow-witted goblins? Each warty foot-pad only reminded him of the number of times he had failed to get what he really wanted—what he was only moments away from achieving now.

Alexander rose from his low-slung armchair and flung the French doors open wide. A dozen squat, grey-green creatures with yellow eyes  carried a struggling black body bag into the library.

"Well?" He demanded, his piercing grey eyes surveying the promising prize.

One of the disgusting scavengers gave the signal and they all dropped the bag, which landed with a thump.

"All in order, sir," the goblin grunted, a dopey smile plastered across his frog-like face.

Alexander eyed the unmoving bag. "Alive?"

The goblin rubbed his head. "And kicking, if you get my meaning, sir."

Alexander rolled his eyes; how did the expression run? "Subtle as a goblin"—and this was all he could manage to conjure from the Otherworld. Mordecai VanTussel would be turning in his grave if he knew what his descendants had been reduced to.

"Open it!" He commanded.

The goblins hastily unzipped the bag. A head of bright-red hair flopped forward when they raised the body.

Alexander glared at the goblin.

"My instructions were absolutely clear."

"That they were, sir, no question. He's probably just a bit winded from the journey—was a powerful long ways. Just give it a mo'." The goblin, anxious to please his master, gave the prisoner a lusty crack on the head. The young man jerked back into consciousness and blinked weakly up at the tall form leaning over him.

"Darren Alexander," VanTussel uttered the name contemptuously and with a cruel smile. "Protector of the Ecrivaine."

Darren tried a smile, but his face was so swollen after taking such a beating from the goblins that he could only manage half a smirk. "That's me," he croaked.

VanTussel leaned in close. "Then why did my minions find you alone? Where is she, Darren?" He spoke softly, the malice saturating his velvet voice. "Where is this Dragon-conjurer you should have been protecting?"

Darren allowed his head to loll forward, so the goblin on his right grabbed a tuft of red hair and yanked it back, forcing him to look up at Alexander.

"Where is she?" Alexander seethed. "Where is the Ecrivaine?"

Darren winced as the goblin jerked on his hair. "You'll never get her," he shot back.

Boiling with rage, Alexander grabbed the front of the young man's collar and hoisted him into the air. 

"I am Alexander VanTussel!" He thundered. "My family has always borne a connection to the Otherworld, and hanged if I don't get myself the bloody dragon!"

Darren struggled to breathe under the furious grip of the older man, and his toes just barely brushed the ground. But he managed a cocksure smile. "Go hang, then," he rasped.

Alexander dropped him with a forceful push, and Darren collapsed on the floor. 

"Take him to the dungeon!" He ordered the goblin. "Torture him till he tells everything he knows. I will find the Summoner myself."

The goblins complied willingly, leaving Alexander alone in the library once more. Scowling darkly, he poured himself another drink. He would get no sleep until he had found a way to recapture the Midnight Dragon who had escaped from his ancestor so long ago. It belonged to the family, and Alexander wanted it back.

And when a VanTussel wanted something, he got it.

Next Part>>>>>

Throwback Thursday: Introduction to the World of Phantasm (Part 1)

Painting by Pamela Poole

 

PART I—The World of Phantasm

Far in the recesses of the universe where all fantasy worlds reside, there is one in particular that by some unfortunate chance received a connection with certain persons on Earth. It is called Phantasm. A world of perpetual sunshine (since the sun rotates at a fixed point in the world’s viscous atmosphere), Phantasm is alive with vivid colors and thriving plants, flowers and creatures.

Phantasm is a world of markedly consolidated landforms. There is one mountain range (the Great Range), large swathes of grassy meadows punctuated by tall, extensive forests (this area is called the Meadowglades), and a single Lake, (known by all as “the Lake,” for it is the only body of water in the known part of the world.) The Great Range stretches so far that not even the dragons have reached the far side of it. Phantasmians assume that those mountains wholly cover half of the world while the Meadowglades cover the other half. No creature has ever been able to travel far enough across the mountains of the Great Range to see if this is true.

The Great Mountain Range dominates the Phantasmian landscape. Contrary to the dead, grey stone of the mountains of our world, the Phantasmian mountains are swirled with hues of blue and purple ranging from bright magenta to deep-ocean blue. This is the domain of the dragons: sage, judicious creatures who are not mindless savages, though they are not very gentle by our standards! The furthest any non-dragon ever dares to go is a string of mountains on the front fringe of the Great Range, called the Sayhoun Mountains. At the center of the Sayhoun Mountains is the eyrie of the gryphons, full of caves and outcroppings where the magnificent creatures rear their young.

The Lake of Phantasm is many miles wide and many deep, home to thousands of merfolk and the last water horse in existence. Situated in a protective corner of the Sayhoun Mountains, the water in the Lake is constantly refreshed by waterfalls of melted snow and glaciers mixed with the warmer rainwater to provide a very comfortable environment neither too hot nor too cold. In the Lake there is a certain kind of plant called uandino (wan’-din-oh) that creatures without gills can use to breathe underwater. The plant grows very tall underwater, and has long, triangular leaves of dark green with streaks of blue and purple in it. On the back of each leaf is a gooey, mucosal substance that, when rubbed over the mouth, clings to the skin and enables one to breathe without letting water in. It stretches without breaking to any width, and once outside the water, it peels off easily.

The Meadowglades are home to the six-inch-high fairies and elves. The fairies live in special house-flowers out in the meadow called misti. Misti have the appearance of spine-less barrel cacti. The color of the misti depends on the preference of the fairy that builds it, as do the number and color of the flowers that decorate the top of the “cactus.” The elves live among the trees, in mushroom-like “houses” called quirts. As with the misti, the color and shape of the quirt depends on the occupant’s preference. The quirt “neighborhoods” are not grouped around the base of a tree, but wind up the tree itself, often spiraling all the way up to the crown of the tree. Also growing on the trees are dark-green vines of edkidna, a delicious fruit. The edkidna is shaped like a mango and has a thick, citrus-like rind. It’s coloring is a brilliant yellow with small red flecks and streaks. To eat it, the edkidna must be smashed against a hard surface, like a stone or a tree-trunk, which causes the rind to split and break easily away from the orange, melon-like flesh. 

A most singular plant in the Meadowglades is the venim (ven-im’, with the accent on the second syllable) plant. It flourishes on Phantasm and is a very communal plant, growing in thick clumps in the meadows, or around the bases of the trees in the forests. It grows in the form of a bush, with tall stalks growing together from a common root, much like mint; indeed, it looks very much like our mint plant. The leaves are bright green with blue tips. The flower is large and beautiful, with many petals of red and purple, with golden-yellow pistils in the center. Every creature avoids these plants, even the herbivores. The venim plant is a natural preservative, essentially stopping the aging process of anything it comes in contact with, whether it is ingested or picked. To preserve clothing, one can store ones clothes in a chest full of dried venim leaves, like mothballs. The clothing will never wear out and never need mending. If ingested, the creature will never age again, but will remain exactly as it was the moment it ingested the venim. If it is only consumed once, it will not remain in the creature’s system any longer than a normal food would, and once it passes out of the digestive system, it has no affect on that creature. Regardless, it is a terrible plant to all Phantasmians, and all creatures generally avoid it.

            Scattered respective distances apart over the Meadowglades are various towns in which live different species: a few Giant-towns, several dwarf-towns, and a few empty towns once inhabited by creatures who either went extinct or were banished to the Underworld. Most of these buildings are made of sod or stone.

            The Underworld encompasses the whole inner core of the planet, ten miles underneath the surface of Phantasm from any point on the spherical world. Here is where all the darkest, most evil creatures reside, shut off (for the most part) from the rest of the world above: small goblins, man-size ogres, giant Cyclopes, vampire bats the size of a grown man, shriveled, wrinkled hags, witches, werewolves, squat trolls, burly minotaurs, and other nameless creatures born out of nightmares. The Underworld is a dark place, pleasant to them, for all the Underworld creatures possess the ability to see in the dark, and cannot stand the light. Mostly, the Underworld consists of long, snaking tunnels twisting round and round, all leading to the very heart of Phantasm, an area about sixty miles in diameter, fully sixty miles below the surface. There is a mutual truce between the Underworlders, more like a “stay-out-of-my-way-and-I-won’t-kill-you” pact. Their only opportunity to rise to the surface is if there is an evil influence on the surface that summons them. Otherwise, they must remain below. Underworlders enjoy fire, but water burns their skin. Underworlders, when attacking Phantasmians, will often use torches, for the flames do not bother them. Every Phantasmian who has been attacked by Underworlders knows to keep a pail of water handy. The only way for the Underworld to ever have access to Phantasm is if the Underworlders are summoned by dark magic by someone in Phantasm (typically an intruder, because no Phantasmian in their right mind would ever think of opening the Underworld).

            As with most fantasy worlds, there are characteristics of this world simply impossible on Earth. For example, the sky in Phantasm is an actual, physical surface capable of supporting weight, sort of like an atmospheric “canopy.” Only objects launched at an extremely high velocity by mechanical means can penetrate the membrane; it is impossible for any creature to do so, and it is much higher than even the dragons have ever flown. Consequently, the exact composition of the sky is unknown, or even what is inside the sky (between the membrane and the outer atmosphere). The clouds and stars are directly a part of the membrane itself, though the stars are only visible at night. No one knows for sure, but since the Moon-Beems are the only things in the sky that glow at night, it is believed that perhaps, as the Moon-Beems work around their hive, small parts of the glowing orb flake off into the night sky and cling to the sky membrane, glowing there for many days until they wear out and fall to the ground.

           

The sun and moon are very different on Phantasm than in our world. The Sun is actually a part of the outer atmosphere, and this is what rotates, rather than the world itself. The moon is a large, cratered, satellite planet, similar to ours, only it is much smaller, and contained in the sky-membrane. The moon is actually a hive for the Moon-Beems, large insectoid creatures whose appearance is a cross between termites, honeybees, and lightning bugs. They work busily in the craters of the hive at night, and as they work, they glow, giving the moon its light. The Moon-Beems are also the cause of the moon’s rising and falling. The fervent action of the Moon-Beems lifts the moon up into the sky at night, and when the Sun rotates to the surface of Phantasm, the Moon-Beems cease their activity, and the moon sinks below the mountains.

            Perhaps the single most unusual feature of Phantasm is their reckoning of time and history. Since the sun and moon are not the “heavenly bodies” like we have, there is not really a means of numbering the days—not by seasons, months, years, or even hours. A single day in Phantasm is split up into five segments: dawn, morning, midday, evening, and night. Phantasmians are generally content to live on a day-to-day basis, perhaps counting a journey’s length by the number of days, or reckoning the time since some event by days (or when the days become too numerous, they refer to it as simply “a long time”), but largely ignoring the need for hours or timetables.

            History, too, is somewhat capricious. This is because Phantasm and any other world (such as Earth) may connect at any point in the history of either world, rendering it impossible to maintain an accurate historical record, as new discoveries and events collide, where perhaps a man from the 19^th century reaches Phantasm and lives there long enough to be joined by a man from the 20^th century, and they in turn team up to affect the lives of others from Earth in the 21^st century, meanwhile another person from a completely different timeline in another world will find its way to Phantasm and completely eradicate the existence of the 20^th-century man, thereby changing history for Phantasm and affecting that man’s place in the history of Earth. Or a man from the 21^st century might think he was the first human to set foot on Phantasmian soil, only to find that someone from the 17^th century had already lived and died there. History on Phantasm is like science on Earth: new discoveries render it as an ever-changing circumstance.

Did you enjoy this? Read Part 2 HERE.

Works-In-Progress Wednesday: "Princess of Undersea"--Exposed

Image from a Google Search

Giles sighed as he traversed down the hall after everyone had eaten and retired for the night. When would Nathan learn? He had thought the tour would be most successful; indeed, he had never seen the prince so devoted to kingdom matters as he had been. Then the Queen arrived and he was back to being the old Nathan again.

Only when his guests were safely retired did the young prince remember the one guest to whom he still and would forever owe a debt. Unfortunately, she had taken her leave some time before, so what did Nathan do but send Giles to make sure she was comfortable?

Chattering voices caught his attention. Did one of them belong to Lady Illeinina? Giles stopped to listen outside the door.

"Did you see the stables when we came in? Oh, just think of the carriage rides!"

"Frankly, mother, I was more interested in the gardens; so wide and beautiful! Royal life is everything we imagined!"

"You're lucky your Prince still looks young and fresh," the first voice snorted, and with growing consternation Giles was forced to conclude that he was listening to a conversation between the Royal ladies of Crossway! "The King is certainly much more withered than the sea witch made him out to be."

"Remember, mother? If I can get the prince to marry me, you won't have to marry the king."

"Good point; you’ll have to get him off these reform ideas of his, though; no sense in getting altruistic just when we have the chance for ultimate power!"

“Don’t worry, Ma; I’ll make sure our money isn’t wasted on the poor, dying peasants of Overcliff.”

“That’s my girl.” The Queen laughed. "Speaking of peasants—if only the ladies of Port-Town could see us now, eh, Meggie?"

"Ma!" Whined the Princess, "stop calling me that! You've got to remember I am Melinda now. Though," she broke off with a giggle, "I was more thinking of what Lord Jamison might think of his laundress hobnobbing with the King!"

Both women dissolved into giggles. Giles had heard enough. He burst into the room, red with wrath.

"Impostors!" He seethed, "Traitors!"

Devaine and Meggie rose to their feet in alarm as Giles stepped among them.

"How dare you!" Devaine began, but Giles stopped her.

"I know what you are!" He cried. "You are in no way the royalty you claim to be, and certainly it will come before the king at once!" He turned to march back out and leave them standing there.

A gust of wind rushed through the room and slammed the door in front of his face.

Devaine sauntered up behind him. "You see?" She taunted him. "You are only a servant. The true power is with us." She smiled sweetly at him, her eyes glinting cruelly. "And if you dare interfere with our plans for Overcliff," her eyes narrowed. "We will kill Prince Nathan. Have I made myself clear?"

Giles could not tear his eyes away. How could one woman have the wherewithal to pull off such a fantastic charade?

"Perfectly," he replied.

She did not waver. "Perfectly, what?" prompted Devaine.

"Perfectly.... Your Majesty." The words tasted like bile on his tongue.

She nodded. "That's better. You may go."

Another wind swept around him and carried Giles out the door and closed it behind him.

[...]

The next morning, Ylaine awoke a heavy yawn and a sigh. When she stretched her mouth and gasped, she heard a slight popping sound. She stopped; what had popped? Something in her throat? She breathed again. Something fluttered. Suddenly, it seemed that Ylaine could not get as much breath as usual, that she had to gasp several times to get the amount of air in one breath. Then she knew what happened: her gills were coming loose. She was losing her humanity, because Nathan had ceased to love her.

Ylaine tried to go about as if nothing was wrong, dining with the royals as normal. She noticed that the King and Queen talked more openly about the joining of the two kingdoms, while Nathan ignored them to wait on Melinda. Ylaine felt that as long as she hid the sound of her furious, shallow panting, she could find a way to reverse this process.

As they dined that afternoon, Melinda turned her sapphire gaze upon the poor lady.

"My dear," she warbled, "Are you all right?" The princess grasped Ylaine's hand out of apparent concern. As quickly as she grabbed, she released. "Oh my! Your hands, they feel so cold, like a fish!"

Ylaine looked at her hand in alarm. Was it her imagination, or was her human skin beginning to flake off, revealing the scales underneath?

The breathing difficulty increased. Ylaine knew that she had only a short time to regain the prince's attention. She could not do that while Melinda clung to him like a leech.

"Nathan..." she began, but she could not think of anything to tell him that would send a clear enough message to him without alerting the princess. Ylaine stood and left the room. On her way out, she heard the princess speaking to Nathan.

"She looks so very unwell! I don't know what's gotten into her. No matter! Dear Prince, you have a lovely green out behind the castle. Do you, perchance, play croquet?"

Ylaine ran to her room. Water! She needed water to saturate her throat. Her gills were not all open because her throat was too dry, but her lungs were no longer processing air as well as a human's did. She found the washbasin and the jug of water. Speedily, she poured the whole jug in and dunked her face.

Relief at last. Ylaine gasped and spluttered as her gills flapped open at the presence of water, and she could breathe normally again.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her out. Ylaine coughed and spluttered as she looked into the horrified face of Giles.

"My lady, have you gone mad?" he demanded forcefully. "What is the meaning of this?"

Ylaine began panting again, and her knees felt weak. She looked down. Her wet human skin was flaking off at an even greater rate. She had no choice but to tell the truth right now, or she would die.

"Giles!" She panted. "You...must...know... the... truth...I...am...not...the...lady...you... think...I...am." She held up her hand for him to see. He held it in his own and studied the revealed scales in surprise as Ylaine continued. "I am...m-mermaid...traded...voice...to become human...to find...the man...I love; but... the spell...wearing off...soon I... will be... mermaid again...and...die...unless I can... win him back!"

Giles dropped her hand. "Lady Illeinina—"

She smiled ruefully and shook her head. "I am... Princess Ylaine... of Undersea."

"Your Highness, then," Giles insisted. "To me and to every other human you are none other than the Prince's savior. He owes you his life, we owe you our prince." He rested his fingertips against her chin and tipped her face up. "No more, no less," he assured her. "Therefore I will do everything in my power to provide whatever you need." To demonstrate, he turned and called a passing servant. "Hello, there!"

A maid stuck her head in. "Yes sir?"

"Ask no questions, but only draw a large bath for the lady. Take care it is not too warm."

The orders confused the maid, but Giles had said not to ask questions, so she complied.

Giles assisted Ylaine to the bed. "There is talk of attending the carnival tomorrow, but I will try to speak with Nathan this evening. Rest now, Highness."

The maid left, and Ylaine eagerly slipped into the water. She gulped deeply, feeling the water lift her gills and breath reenergize her whole body. When she emerged a few hours later, she checked her skin carefully. Luckily her hands were about the only thing showing any scales. A pair of gloves took care of that, and Ylaine could be human once more. She sat before the large hearth as the sun set. She heard a knock at the door.

Queen Devaine stood outside, bearing a tray with two covered platters and two goblets of spiced wine. Her expression was all sympathy and concern.

"I heard you weren't feeling well," she said, coming in and setting the tray on the table, "so I thought you might appreciate some supper with a friend."

Ylaine stared at the plate. She was very hungry, and the wine smelled good. She had thought that Princess Melinda and Queen Devaine viewed her as a threat, but perhaps the whole plot had been the workings of the princess alone. She sat down and supped with the Queen, feeling the stress of the day ebb from her body. She ate the food and drained the goblet; she had never known drink to taste this good. There was a hint of the sea about it...

Ylaine's head dropped, and she slumbered deeply. Devaine smiled as she stood and glanced toward the window.

"Madame Nayidia was right," she mused as if to herself. "The vixen is not human after all."

A breezy reply wafted on the wind. "No sea creature can resist the taste of jetsam-weed. You have done well, Devaine. Soon Overcliff will be yours."

Devaine smirked at the unconscious victim. "Sleep well, little mermaid." She extinguished the lights and closed the door.

>>>>>>

Excerpts from "Princess of Undersea":
-"Undersea and Overcliff" 
-"The Wish" 
-"The Witch and The Storm" 
-"The Bargain" 
-"Fish Out of Water" 
-"Walking Through Overcliff" 
-"Dining With The King" 
-"Enter The Queen"
-"The Exchange" 
-"Carnival Showdown"

Serial Saturday: The Suggestion Box, Vol. 2! List #11

Suggested By: Clari Noel

The List:

Name: Brad Duncanson 

Place: A hidden walkway inside of big trunk 

Time: the year 4093

Object: Frozen orange juice

The Result:

"Watch out!"
"Steady!"

The needless warnings echoed in the dusty, musty darkness. Brad rolled his eyes and adjusted his headlamp. It had to be here somewhere... He scanned the crags around and checked the compass. They were headed southwest into the uncharted region of Rien-à-Voir-Ici in northern France—the most ironic name for a mountain ever invented, thought Brad. The name literally meant "Nothing to see here," and nothing could have been further from the truth. The pathway to get to the cave was through a forest of trees so thick and tall that the morning dew hung in a constant blanket of moisture clear into the afternoon. Brad and the other spelunkers got the distinct impression of impossible age—which happened to be exactly what Brad Duncanson was looking for: the First Tree, one rumored to have been growing here in a cavern beneath France since the earliest days of the world, if not the Day of Creation itself. Geologists had traced the origins of the matter in this cave as far back as the year 4093 BC—and Brad wanted to be the first person to lead a team down to its furthest point, just to see what was there. Inside, the ancient cave system was a maze of rocks massive and small, irregularly shaped, and singularly formed by the environment. There was certainly much to see!

The tunnel stretched onward as the ceiling and floor neared each other, creating some very difficult passages on account of all the loose boulders. 

One of the explorers tripped and two others had to catch her before she smacked into a sharp protrusion. She regained her footing and immediately grumbled, "Can't believe we come so bliddy far down just to find a blooming tree!"

Something glinted in his field of vision, and Brad froze in the exact same position he had been, craning his neck to see what it was: a message, left in spray paint on the cavern wall that screamed "Turn Back!" in a disused early dialect of French. Brad sneered in disgust and kept walking. Who would come all the way down here just to tag a natural wonder such as this?

Ironic as the location had been, another point of irony arose: the deeper they went, the more spray painted warnings they saw. 

"Go away!"

"Get out!"

"Stop looking!"

"Leave now!"

What kind of sick joke was this? Brad detected a change in the air pressure as they moved on. 

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

A deafening screech made them all cower and cover their heads, as if the sound waves would cause a cave-in. A flashing red light bathed the area. Brad, hands clenched over his head, inched forward to find the source. His eyes found the strobing LEDs while his hand searched out the small plastic "motion detector", the sort that came in a Super Spy Jr. Kit. He found the toggle switch in the back and turned the device off. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief in the silence. 

"Sacre chatts!" Cried the local on the team, "what was that about?"

Brad shrugged, but he kept crawling. He slid his hands along the rock—

Then suddenly, his hands brushed something softer and warmer than rock. He placed his hand over the area, and felt it creak just slightly. Wood! Brad pushed harder. A series of cracks resounded. Excitedly, Brad turned to the rest of the group, lined up behind him on their hands and knees. 

"Push!" He called.

The hiker behind him latched onto his boots, and Brad braced both hands on the wood as he used the momentum to carry him forward. The wood panel split, and Brad tumbled onto a smooth walkway. He rolled into his feet. 

They were inside a tree; wooden walls reached high into the ceiling above them. The walkway was tall enough for them to stand, and it stretched far beyond the reach of their headlamps. Brad moved forward cautiously. Was this the Tree they sought? 

The walkway emptied into a massive chamber at the heart of the tree. Brad froze and looked around to get his bearings.

"Whoa," he breathed.

"Sacre chatts!" Muttered the Frenchman.

The chamber was a veritable museum of every decade ever, all jumbled together in a mind-blowing juxtaposition: a flintlock musket rested against a transistor radio; a medieval chalice stood upon an original Beatles record. A department store dress form wore corduroy bell-bottoms and an authentic-looking Viking helm. Brad found a small stone crock tucked in a cool corner, like a refrigerating method from before the discovery of freon, and inside was a can of frozen orange juice concentrate. 

The sheer amount of stuff all packed in the cavern made everyone dizzy so that no one paid much attention to the scraping noise echoing from the back of the cave. Brad shook his head. "What is this place?" He murmured.

A soft grunt behind him caused him to turn around.

His entire team sprawled on the ground, unconscious. The last figure standing was a squat, dark little man with strange beady eyes, glaring at him.

"Intruders!" He growled in French. "Thieves! How did you find this place? What are you doing here?"

Brad could not fathom how a short little man could incapacitate an entire crowd in such a short time with virtually no noise. 

"Wh-who are you?" He stammered.

The dwarf looked at him, leaning on the old, bent spade in his hand like a cane. "I am Pierre," he replied. "Who are you?"

Next Part >>>>>

Poetry Tuesday: Practice Makes Perfect

Cover design (and the poem's inspiration!) courtesy of Emily Ecrivaine

In front of the mirror

She primps and she preens,

Her name on the posters,

Her face on the screens,

Hanging out with the "cool" kids,

Who do what she orders,

But when the chips fall,

She has no true supporters.

Over and over, and do it again;

Habits spring out of the time that we spend—

If your life isn't quite what you were expecting,

Practice makes perfect,

So what are you perfecting?

They speak and she listens:

Their advice is her guide;

"It's about what you look like,

Ignore what's inside!"

"Keep up with the fashions,

And wear yourself thin!"

Satisfying the world's passions

Setting out to fit in—

Over and over, and do it again;

Habits spring out of the time that we spend—

If your life isn't quite what you were expecting,

Practice makes perfect,

So what are you perfecting?

It's not a big deal,

Just a drink, just a puff!

She'll know when to stop,

When she's had just enough—

But sooner or later,

To refuse will be tough,

With peers come great pressure,

And quitting is rough.

Over and over, and do it again;

Habits spring out of the time that we spend—

If your life isn't quite what you were expecting,

Practice makes perfect,

So what are you perfecting?

One day she will wake up,

Her dreams have all flown;

And weeds have now sprouted

From the seeds she had sown;

Her life is so empty,

Her future unknown,

In pursuit of perfection,

She perfected ALONE.

Over and over, and do it again;

Habits spring out of the time that we spend—

If your life isn't quite what you were expecting,

Practice makes perfect,

So what are you perfecting?

You don't have to look flawless,

A kind heart will suffice;

You don't have to be known

For your tabloid-grade vice!

Your habits stick with you,

And they come with a price

Since practice makes perfect,

Make your practice precise.

Over and over, and do it again;

Habits spring out of the time that we spend—

If your life isn't quite what you were expecting,

Practice makes perfect,

So what are you perfecting?

©Leslie Conzatti (2014)

Serial Saturday: The Suggestion Box, Vol. 2! List #10

Suggested by: Kaytra Copper

The List:

Cordelia Quincy 

Iceland

Summer, early 1900s

Glass window 

The Result:

Faith nearly fainted when she saw the wings spreading black against the brick walls of the alley—surely they weren't attached to the poor man!

Courtland doubled over in pain. The enormous wings flopped against the narrow sides, and Faith heard the sound of smashing glass as the tip of one wing collided with a window somewhere high up.

"Confound it!" Cried Darren, glaring at Faith as if the whole mess was her fault. "Can't you do anything about those things? We bloody well can't even leave the alley now!"

Faith trembled from head to toe; her mind was completely muddled. This was all a bad dream... It had to be a dream... She gulped for air, and managed a few shaky breaths—but the wings were still there. What had the man—now passed out underneath his wings–said when it all happened? Somehow he was convinced that Faith would be able to write something and affect reality? She shook her head; such things only happened in stories!

"I don't know," she whispered, "I don't know." She didn't know what to write, she didn't know how to fix whatever this was... She doubted that, if directly questioned at the moment, she would even manage her full name!

A person leaned out the broken window.

"Hello?" She called down, unperturbed, it seemed, by the unconscious man with the gigantic dragon wings on the pavement below. She waited till Faith looked up. The woman gasped. "Finally!"

Faith frowned as the woman made her way down to the second landing of the fire escape. She climbed down and seemed to inspect Faith very closely. Her piercing blue eyes were offset by the dinginess of her dirty-blonde up-do. 

"Not quite what I imagined, but you'll do," she mused brusquely. 

"Huh?" Faith scrubbed the tears from her face and squinted at the woman.

The newcomer smiled. "The name's Cordelia Quincy. Come inside, I'll explain everything."

Faith glanced back at the man wrapped in a leathery shroud of wings. "What about—"

Cordelia paused, puzzled. She glanced at Darren. "I thought she knew," she murmured at him.

The redhead shrugged. "I've been trying to tell her this whole time."

Cordelia clicked her tongue. "Here," she said to Faith, "He can stay there for now. I will show you what to do."

Faith entered a room positively stuffed with nothing but furniture and books. She skirted a stack of musty novels to reach a sagging brocade sofa. Darren shifted a pile of papers to collapse in an armchair next to the couch. Cordelia bustled about, then pointed to Faith's notebook. 

"All right," she said, "Do you have a pen?"

Faith shook her head. She opened the pages. "There's stuff I've already written—"

Cordelia shook her head, "Oh no, it's got to be fresh. Here, use this." She dug around a small end table till she found a pen among the loose papers. 

Faith hesitated. "So," she absently twirled the pen in her fingers, "now what?"

"Write," Cordelia said with a grin. "Describe your friend out there with as much detail as you can—then deal with the wings."

Faith thought of the strange man with the dragon wings laying unconscious in the alley. The memory flourished in her mind, with sharp textures and just the right words to describe the important things. "Deal?" She asked.

Cordelia waved a hand, "Don't get rid of them entirely, we might need them later; just reduce them to a more manageable size."

Faith looked from Cordelia to Darren. "You both are crazy; you know that, right? Acting like I can just write something and make it happen..." Her voice trailed off as she saw that her skepticism was not getting her anywhere.

Darren smirked. "Well, there is the Dragon," he said.

Faith's face burned; he was right. Maybe there was something more going on than she realized. She rubbed her locket between her fingers for good luck, and began to write.

"The shadowy man sprawled on the floor, his body weak from the transformation that had just occurred. The black leather wings wrapped around him like a blanket—"

"Incoming," Cordelia sang out, just before a tremendous thump sent Faith rocketing out of her chair with a "Gee-whiz!"

Courtland was there! Somehow, he has materialized in the house, everything exactly as Faith had described it.

Darren shoved away the pile of books that had collapsed on him. "You couldn't have bloody made the wings smaller first, like Miss Quincy asked, could you, Writer?"

Faith felt the sickening muddle overtaking her brain, but when she looked at the paper, the word "floor" caught her attention; now there was a man with a twenty-foot wingspan in a room with an eight-foot ceiling and only fifteen feet across—and that was without all the wardrobes and bookshelves. 

"Sorry," Faith groaned. She kept going.

"The black, leathery wings began at once to soften. As the man regained consciousness, the wings retracted in the way they had unfurled, gradually sinking into the recesses of themselves against his back. Courtland opened his eyes."

The minute she finished the sentence, she heard a gasp. Courtland rolled over and blinked slowly.

"I..." He slurred weakly. "What—how did..."

Cordelia reached behind a stack of leather-bound classics and produced a small pot and a stack of porcelain cups.

"Tea?" She suggested.

Courtland revived fully within minutes, and everyone introduced themselves. He glanced uneasily at Faith, but she could tell he much preferred the size of his wings as they were now, judging by the way he shifted and flexed his shoulders as he perched on an ottoman in front of the sofa.

"So, now that we're all here," Cordelia stated, "I think it is high time we got everything out in the open," she stared directly at Faith, "particularly as it pertains to the Ecrivaine."

Faith sighed with relief. "Oh, yes please!"

"How much do you know?" Asked Cordelia, which made Darren groan and slump further in his chair.

Faith shrugged. "Practically nothing; I didn't even know what the dwarf was saying till he brought me to Darren."

Cordelia blinked, "The d—oh! You must mean Pierre! Yes, well, he is certainly very, ahem! Involved, when it comes to matters of the Ecrivaine and her les mots puissant, or Words of Power."

Faith remembered the funny little man saying the same words, and her eyes popped open. "Oh! That's what he meant?"

Cordelia nodded. "They say it was the Words of Power that brought the Dragon out of his world and into ours, sometime during the Thirty Years' War. My ancestors received custody of it when it showed up a few centuries earlier, badly wounded from some sort of battle, and the first of my line nursed it back to health and gained for our family the privilege of being Guardians of the Dragon." Cordelia paused and indicated a large portrait of a young woman hanging over the fireplace.

"My ancestor, Cailleach Thorne, was the last one to see the dragon before it disappeared for over a century. Since then, we have always been on the lookout for it, and anything associated with it—including the Ecrivaine."

"But if the Dragon favored the House of Thorne," Courtland objected, "What's so special about Brodgar and its Brides?"

Cordelia tilted her head. "Brodgar? Now where have I—oh yes!" She lunged for a stack of encyclopedias and heedlessly pulled one out of the middle, sending all those above it crashing to the floor. She opened to a page marked with the illustration of a ring just like the one Courtland wore.

"This ring originally belonged to the Thornes, and I think Brodgar must have gotten ahold of it, which is where the legend of the Brides came up." She noticed Courtland's hand for the first time. "Is that it?" She gasped. "No, it can't be; the Dragon-Mark's effects would not have been so severe if—"

"No it's not," Courtland confirmed. He glanced at Faith. "She has it."

"Do not!" Faith cried. "All I have is the locket and my—" she stopped as she distinctly felt something in her pocket where she was not in the habit of placing things. She shoved her hand inside as a memory leaped to her mind: crawling through the long dark tunnel with Pierre, jostling against him as he muttered a long French phrase, and just barely noticing his hand straying too near that pocket before they tumbled out of the archery target.

She pulled her hand out, grasping a thing she had never laid eyes on before. Courtland sat forward. "The Ring of Brodgar! So, the shrimpy little thief had it on him the whole time, and he was just waiting for the Ecrivaine to come along!"

"Not quite," Cordelia corrected. "Pierre didn't acquire the Ring till about one hundred years ago."

"Then where was it all that time? Lady Iona told me she had lost it on the moors."

The woman shrugged and sipped her tea. "By all accounts she did—but then, fifty years later, someone found the ring on the moors: my great-grandmother."

"Well then," Faith demanded, "how did it end up in France?"

"Near the start of the First World War, in the summer of 1914," explained Cordelia, "my grandmother made the first attempt to use the Ring to summon the Dragon and send it back."

"What happened, then?" Asked Darren, emerging from the depths of the armchair.

Cordelia set aside her teacup. "It came," she admitted slowly, "but the spell to cause him to return went very badly because she was trying to do it in a crater on Iceland." She bit her lip. "Grandmother lost the Ring, but more than that, she lost our family's privilege as well. The inheritance of the Ecrivaine transferred to Lady Iona's line because of her carelessness, and my family was charged with awaiting the arrival of the Ecrivaine," Cordelia nodded at Faith, "whom we would know because she would be there when the attic window smashed."

Faith blinked. "Seriously?"

Cordelia shrugged. "No one else had done it in one hundred years, till it happened in your presence by accident."

"So if the place is so important," put in Darren, "where is the right one supposed to be?"

"I can answer that," said Courtland. "There is a henge, a circle of stones on Orkney—where we should have met—called the Ring of Brodgar. This is where we must be to send the Dragon back, and I am afraid this deadline is tomorrow."

Darren tossed his hands in the air. "Bloody perfect," he growled. "We just missed the last ferry, and the longer we wait, the less chance we have of succeeding!"

Cordelia raised her hand. "I think I might have an answer for that."

"What?" asked Faith.

Cordelia pointed to Courtland. "His wings; Faith, he could carry you across to Orkney."

"Carry me?" She squeaked. "What if I'm too heavy? What if he drops me?"

"He's Dragon-Marked, I doubt that will happen. But I believe I have something..."

She vanished amid the maze of the house and returned with a mass of straps and buckles.

"Here we are," she said, "It's a dragon-harness my grandfather invented, but we never used. It's designed to fasten around a dragon's shoulders and allow movement of the wings, while giving the passenger something to hold onto; what do you think?"

Courtland eyed it dubiously. "I think it's our only option, so we've got to try."

"Just, please let's go somewhere quiet!" Faith begged.

Cordelia drove them all out to a deserted cliff and helped Courtland into the harness. He unfurled his wings and took an experimental jaunt off the cliffside and back.

Cordelia smiled when he landed. "You're getting the hang of it. I think you will be just fine." She turned to Faith, who gripped her notebook in one arm while the other hand fingered her locket.

Cordelia nodded to her, "Do you know what that locket is?"

Faith shook her head. "My uncle picked it up at an antique shop in the little town where he and my aunt live. It doesn't open—"

Cordelia picked it up and the two halves of the locket sprang apart. Inside was a lovely white marble cameo.

Faith gasped. "Who is it?" She asked.

"Her name is Magdalena Cristoforo—the first Ecrivaine. She found you."

"Found? I don't—"

"Are you ready, Faith?" Courtland called.

She joined him and Darren, who turned to her.

"Well, this is as far as I go," he said. "My work is done."

"Thank you," said Faith, "for everything."

Darren nodded and loped down the long road back into town.

Faith got into position standing in front of Courtland, and Cordelia fastened the straps around her and showed her how to hold on.

"Good luck," she said.

Courtland took a running leap off the side of the cliff and they were airborne.

Next Part >>>>>

Monthly Reading List: September

(Not pictured: Chronicles of Steele: Raven (Episode 1)

Hunt for Red October (Jack Ryan #3) Tom Clancy

Well, that only took me a week and a half to read! Another great book by Tom Clancy. His character Jack Ryan is neither overused and in absolutely every scene, nor is he cliched into oblivion. It was a long book but absolutely worth the read. (And knowing that Sean Connery played one of the main roles in the film adaptation helped a lot!) Clancy uses the same attention to detail as Crichton, with the smallest oversight causing unexpected consequences. What happens when the U.S. Navy discovers that Russia's most powerful and advanced submarine has not only dodged the surveillance of its own country, but now they're gunning right for American shores? The Hunt begins!

The Tin Collectors (Shane Scully #1) Stephen J. Cannell

Almost didn't finish it. It's definitely a lot grittier than the crime novels I am used to. But I am glad I mucked through because I think it halfway redeemed itself in the end. 

Honestly, I only decided to read this because Cannell plays poker with Richard Castle. So at least two thirds of that set is worth their NYT Bestseller statuses... In my opinion, anyway.

Shane Scully is the typical good-cop-on-the-wrong-side-of-politics, and he's got temporary custody of a kid named Chooch who is as troubled as they come; he's being investigated by a feisty female federal agent who nearly cost him his career before, and this last situation threatens to be the one that gets him. Then, of course, as the facts begin to unfold and clues begin to surface, all is not as it seems...

Where Patterson dealt in weak characters in settings either outrageously exaggerated or unamusingly cliche, Cannell gives more of a "good, old-fashioned cop thriller" vibe, with some very colorful and well-founded characters to boot.

Scarlet (Lunar Chronicles #2) Marissa Meyer

Meyer does it again! Her characters are real and entertaining, the mesh of fairy tale with dystopian sci-fi is absolutely stellar, and I cannot wait to get my hands on the next book!

She's telling a different story (Red Riding Hood, to the last book's Cinderella) but the treatment is the same... And in the process of introducing a new story and new characters, Meyer does a fantastic job of continuing where she left off in the last story and then bringing two girls from opposite sides of the world together. I love they way she foreshadows... Suddenly things that seemed small and insignificant in one storyline become central to the action in the next book, so you'd better pay attention! I loved every minute of this story!

Flyte (Septimus Heap #2) Angie Sage

So far so good. Sage continues her wonderfully entertaining saga of the ExtraOrdinary Wizard Apprentice Septimus Heap and his gaggle of wonderfully distinct characters populating her heartwarming story.

Septimus continues his development and must deal with not only the reanimated skeleton of the great evil wizard, DomDaniel, but also his ambitious brother, Simon, who is so outraged that Marcia chose Septimus as her apprentice that he is willing to do anything for DomDaniel to gain his approval and try to outdo his brother.

In the same way Magyk largely dwelt on getting acquainted with Jenna, here in Flyte we get a deeper look at Nicko, another Heap brother more welcoming to Septimus than Simon had been. Old characters and new, with unexpected tunnels and subterranean caves and a surprise dragon hatchling that expand Sage's fantastic world still further! 

The Rithmatist (Rithmatist #1) Brandon Sanderson

To be honest, I had always hated geometry. It has long been one of the most confusing and least practical branches of arithmetic. 

Leave it to Sanderson to make it entertaining! In his alternate world where the regions of the United States are all islands separated by waterways, there is a sort of Rithmatic power that brings two-dimensional chalk drawings to life—and attacks depend on certain angles, one's defense is only as strong as one's ability to inscribe perfect geometric shapes, and those who can't draw are vulnerable to those who can.

Not only is Sanderson's story accompanied by detailed diagrams that coincide with descriptions in the story and add an air of legitimacy to the situations described, but the characters are distinct and wonderfully individual. Many of them made me laugh! I really enjoyed this book... Too bad the sequel isn't coming out till next year!

Ruby Red (Precious Stone Trilogy #1) Kerstin Gier

Wow! I am so pleased to be proven wrong time and again with these suspiciously-smarmy-but-actually-fantastic YA novels! 

This one, I admit, I actively avoided because it mentioned kissing a handsome guy in the blurb on the back. The piece of advice I would give if this was a "How To Library" post was just to avoid books that broadcast their "romance" factor as their selling point; I am not a fan of smut because I feel that the characters are so busy fantasizing about each other that they don't ever get to actually DO anything of merit.

As with "Cinder," let me be the first to admit I WAS SO WRONG.

The main character, Gwyneth, was wonderfully dimensional. She does not fall into the "Family Dork" trope, nor the "destined for something more" cliche; I actually found her quite likable and credible. Oh, and the book isn't about romance; it's about the genetic disposition for time travel. And it actually makes sense, and the two love interests are from the same time period, so there's no "star-crossed lover" sort of tripe that usually clutters up YA novels with this premise! VERY fascinating!

This first book does an incredible job of both "setting the board" with the characters, if you will, and presenting questions that no doubt will be answered in the next books. Here I go into another series!

Chronicles of Steele: Raven (Episode 1) Pauline Creeden

Holy crow, what a tale! A couple months ago, followers might remember I featured a review of another book by Pauline Creeden, a supernatural sci-fi story. She's at it again, this time with a steampunk adventure like you've never heard before!

Raven Steele is a Reaper, a trained assassin who has taken many lives, and saved almost as many—till she happens to save the life of the Young Baron. Her world is thrown into a panic as saving the boy's life means taking so many others—yet at the same time, Raven must not exceed her quota, so potential threats to her mission are left alive to chase her once more as she struggles to bring the boy safely to an unknown end. I finished the first "episode" and was all ready to read the next one! Creeden never fails to entertain and uses realistic characters to stir the imagination!

(Since this was an ebook, I'm going to include a link to it: get your copy by clicking--> HERE <-- I strongly recommend it!)