Serial Saturday: "The Telmar Trilogy, Vol. 3: "The Legacy of Telmar" Part 6

"Mag, an Outskirts girl...."

Melanie met Martan's sincere face with a serious one.

"There are the Outskirts, Milord," she said in a low voice.

Martan's brow furrowed in confusion, "The Outskirts? What about them?"

Melanie was shocked, "Has Your Lordship ever seen them?"

"No; Father never spoke of them, and whenever I needed to leave the City (which was not often), it was always in a closed carriage. Frankly, I don't see why they should concern me, if they existed during Father's time and he never did anything for them!"

"But they are under your rule, are they not?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so, but—"

Melanie silenced him by taking his hand. "Then I think it is time you took stock of your jurisdiction, Lord Martan."

[…]

Martan's mask of composure melted at the stench wafting from the area, and he gawked askance at the inhabitants of these rampantly dilapidated holes in the walls. He reluctantly reminded himself that these—creatures—were just as much "his people" as the more affluent citizens to which he had become accustomed.

[…]

As the driver threaded his way down side streets and back toward the castle, Melanie looked to Martan. The young man was deeply impacted by what he saw.

"Those," he croaked, his voice so heavy with emotion that it was barely a whisper, "those are my people . . ."

"They are, Milord," Melanie replied gravely.

"But why . . . how is it that the Outskirts have fallen into such degradation? Why do those people not choose to take better care of themselves?"

"Because you give them no reason to," Melanie said suddenly.

Martan cast an arrogant glance in her direction. "I? You are blaming me for that? I had nothing to do with it!"

"Tell me, Lord Martan, how did you merit your position? What did you do to earn that lordship?"

"Well, nothing; I came to it by birth-right."

"If you came to it by birth-right then you are not required to do anything to maintain it, because it is naturally yours, correct?"

"Yes; Melanie, I wish you would tell me—"

"In a moment, Milord. If you came into the position by birth, and are not required to do anything beyond that which pleases you, why then do you not?"

"Melanie, we agreed to follow Aslan's will, to glorify him in our rule."

"Why is it your desire to please Aslan?"

Martan, thoroughly frustrated, sighed, "It is out of gratitude to his gifts to me and his love and forgiveness! Now will you explain yourself, instead of interrogating me with strange questions?"

Melanie smiled, "Yes: you asked a while earlier why the Outskirters have never bettered their position, and I told you they had no reason to do so. Consider: you, like your father and your grandfather and every other Lord of Nast, have ruled for yourself, and done things for your own benefit." She looked out the window. "The Outskirters know nothing of Aslan's love, nor how he can change a life and make things new. They know of no power in the world that can ever change them, nor people's perception of them."

Something in Melanie's words pierced deep into Martan's heart. "They must be told!" he said.

Melanie nodded, "Yes, but how would it be if they were shown an example of Aslan's love, as well as told?"

Martan whirled away from the window, "Milady, you have given me an idea! Page!"

A pageboy appeared at his Lord's call.

"Gather me the delegations, as well as the craftsmen and women of the town. Tell them to assemble in the square, as I have an important announcement to make!"

"What are you going to do, Martan?" Melanie asked.

"I am going to aid the Outskirts, myself if I have to! They will see Aslan's love!" he grabbed Melanie's hand, his eyes alight, "Melanie, we will rebuild the Outskirts!"

[…]

Mag, an Outskirts girl, pulled the filthy rag she used for a shawl closer around her. The biting wind still blew upon her bones, as if she had nothing on her skeletal frame (which was nearly true). She picked her way between garbage piles to the hovel she shared with her aunt.

A steady scraping noise would have hardly attracted her attention, if Mag hadn't caught sight of the person making it: a farmer's wife. She was (Mag thought) richly adorned in a long, flannel dress and a woolen shawl, thick and soft. To the wonderment of the bare-footed, wide-eyed girl, this angelic, queenly woman was actually sweeping the streets of the Outskirts!

Mag stood and watched as the good woman—one who usually passed through these streets without a second glance—swept all the much and filth into wheel-barrow pushed by none other than her husband. The afternoon sun drove away the morning mists as the farmer's wife looked straight at Mag and smiled! Mag hesitated and tried to shrink back into the hovel, but the farmer's wife came near her, still smiling. The fearful girl saw more movement, and saw that the streets were fairly crawling with farmers and townsfolk; what were they doing? Why were they here? Mag had never done anything wrong . . . she hoped.

The farmer's wife drew her hands up; Mag was sure this lady would strike her, but no! Instead, the beautiful farmer's wife undid the gorgeous brooch that fastened her thick shawl, and gently pulled the shawl around Mag's own thin shoulders! The girl gasped as warmth such as she had never known seeped all the way through her much faster than the cold ever had.

"Mag?" Her aunt's creaky voice interrupted the wondrous moment from within the hovel, "What are ye doin', chile?"

The farmer's wife peered into the door and asked Mag, "Is it your mother?"

Mag could not speak, for fear the dream would be over, and the farmer's wife and her shawl would disappear into the mists; she only shook her head.

"Your grandmother?"

No, again.

"Your aunt?"

Mag nodded.

"May I go in to her?"

Mag was startled. No one, whether from the town or the outlying farms, ever went into an Outskirts home!

"Mag! Who's thar wi' ye?" Mag's aunt demanded.

The farmer's wife still waited for an answer from Mag. The little girl, emboldened by the warmth encompassing her, nodded again and led the miracle woman into the place she called home.

The farmer's wife surveyed in pity the small room that was home for the little girl and her glassy-eyed, invalid aunt. The only difference between inside the hovel and outside it was the four walls around them and the roof over their heads. The garbage, the stench; it was all the same.

Mag smiled obliviously as she climbed onto her aunt's lap and gave her the shawl the same way the farmer's wife had.

"Lawd a' mercy!" Mag's aunt gasped when she felt the fine wool about her shoulders. "Whar did ye git that?"

The farmer's wife smiled, "I bring you greetings from Aslan."

Something in that name thrilled little Mag and emboldened her to speak.

"Please," she said in her delicate little voice, "who is Aslan?"

[…]

By the time Telmar approached winter, every citizen in Nast had a secure place to live. Not an ounce of edible produce remained above ground, but the unripe was pulled with the ripe, to mature safely underground where the cold would not spoil them. The wool had long since been made into many warm blankets, or yarn and knit onto many warm clothes to share.

Melanie, from the highest window in the castle, gazed anxiously at the dark, menacing clouds building just beyond the mountain passes that marked the edges of Venna to the north, and Puriva to the south. She knew Nast was protected for the most part, on account of its location within a small, flat, low, bowl-like valley between these two provinces.

Still, by the looks of the black clouds amassing on the horizon, Melanie wondered how much protection even those mountains would afford against a blizzard.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

To read the full chapter, click -->HERE<--

Story Feature: "Merely Meredith: A Modern Persuasion"

The "original" Elliot family: (l to r) Anne, Elizabeth, Sir Walter, Mary

In the spring of 2011, I began my final course of my college studies: "The Life and Works of Jane Austen." I'd grown up watching the movies and BBC miniseries (always a better option) as well as at least two adaptations of one of the novels (Bride and Prejudice and Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy; both very nicely done) but not much outside of that.
Of course, during the college class, we studied three novels: Emma, Pride & Prejudice, and Persuasion. Coming out of that, I discovered two things:

1) My favorite Jane Austen novel has to be Persuasion, in every respect;
2) I very much wanted to write a modernized adaptation of the novel, since, out of the three, it was the only one that hadn't been attempted (that I knew of)

Turns out there are a few romance novels "inspired by" Persuasion, but the reviews generally weren't favorable, and, in reading them, I would have to agree they didn't quite have the careful regard for the original author that I would have liked.

Those who have been following my blog know that I take any kind of fanfiction very seriously. Hence, I knew that an adaptation of someone else's published work would have to be approached with that same gravitas and respect. It wasn't just "update the story" for me; I wanted to think like Jane Austen would if she was a twentysomething American in the twenty-first century. The college course had assisted me greatly with that, and brought up some good points. It was time to put those ideas to profitable use!

Dramatis Personae

It is my opinion that all good stories start with establishing the characters. Since this would be an adaptation, I wouldn't need to start completely fresh, but just tweak the characters I already had.
The first thing to deal with was how I was going to replicate the British baronetcy in modern-day America. The starkest difference is that the British aristocracy could encompass and swallow the age of American history many times over; there wasn't much in the way of "old money" around here. The nearest I could figure was the concept of "oil barons", turning the Elliot family into the heirs to a sizeable fortune in Texas oil fields. Kellynch Hall became the Elliot Estate in Beaumont.

Sir Walter Elliot became George Spencer Herbert Elliot III, not only giving his line a nice big fluffy name to pass through the generations, but George Sr. may have also received the name "Gusher", a pun on both his initials (GSHE) and the fact that he could have been one of the first people to discover oil in Texas, thus netting a bunch of cheap, empty land for a relatively small sum at the very start of the Boom. (Bonus: also, because "George Elliot".... get it?) George is of course an arrogant man, very free with his funds when he feels his reputation is at stake. He carries an archaic abhorrence of any kind of modern technology: anything more current than cordless phones is a nuisance and unnecessary, the very idea of a "personal computer" used for anything besides business is unthinkable, and he prides himself in keeping the Estate as free of these "social pollutants" as the day it was built, two centuries prior. He views anything with the "environmental" label as an enemy of the family, because of the number of legal complaints and lawsuits filed against their family from various activist groups over the years.

Elizabeth Elliot became Elaine, the eldest sister and the "lady of the house" at the demise of Mrs. Elliot. Selfish, vain, superficial, and obsessed with shopping, Ellie was very likely a large source of the drain on the fortunes of the family. She cares more about appearances and comfort than practicality and function. At one time, Ellie sought to obtain the attentions of George "Georgie" Spencer Herbert Elliot IV (Sir William Elliot) as the heir presumptive to the Elliot Estate, but he declined far too many invitations before word came out of a scandalous "civil partnership" that essentially estranged him from the family for many years.

Anne Elliot became Meredith, the middle daughter and our "heroine." After graduating from the super-elite Upton Academy (as did all her family except her younger sister), Meredith took the initiative to pursue employment, netting a part-time job that came with a small apartment at a bookstore in Houston. Meredith, during her Academy years, met and started a relationship with Fred Winston (Fredrick Wentworth), a "scholarship student" at the academy--but his interest in environmental studies and modern technology quickly put him on the wrong side of her father. Hence, when he graduated and prepared to travel east to complete a Master's in Environmental Technologies at MIT, Meredith acted on advice from her mother's dear friend, Phoebe Russell (Lady Russell) and broke off the relationship. Fred went on to graduate and receive an offer to develop the project he introduced as a thesis in conjunction with NASA: the ability to grow plants in space with the minimum necessary substances. Meredith assumed this meant he would be traveling to the International Space Station, or at least be working in Florida and she reassures herself that she need not think about him any longer--but when he shows up at an Air Force base in Texas, Meredith is forced to realize that perhaps her feelings weren't as "dead" as she thought.

The final Elliot sister, Mary Musgrove, I tweaked only slightly to the name Cassandra Mangrove. She is the only Elliot who ended up not graduating from Upton, first of all because she was too "chronically ill" to complete the requirements, and second because she happened to meet the eligible young rancher Charles Mangrove and marry first among her sisters. She now lives on Mangrove Row, Charlie's family's ranch in Austin.

Charlie has two sisters, Lily and Helena Mangrove (Louisa and Henrietta Musgrove). Lily is the more free-spirited of the two, and thus has been through several boyfriends without any real attachment, while Helena has harbored a liking for Chuck Braunmann (Charles Hayter) the son of a farmer who lives down the road from Mangrove Row. This is somewhat frowned upon by her parents, Walter and Dierdre Mangrove (Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove), and particularly her status-driven sister-in-law, who hates the very idea of being attached to someone so plain, even by mere association.

Renting the Elliot Estate when the family is forced to "retire" to a penthouse in Hollywood in the face of crippling debt is computer magnate Adoniram Croft (Admiral Croft), inventor and owner of the MyCroft operating system. (Another shameless literary reference.... not even sorry...) His wife, Sofia Croft (Sophia Croft) is Fred Winston's sister. (There is also a second Winston brother, by the name of Ned, who attended MIT with his brother and became an accountant, which fact Mr. Sharpe (Mr. Shepherd), Mr. Elliot's lawyer, uses to soften the blow to George's pride when the time comes to rent the Estate)

Also in play is Penelope Sharpe (Mrs. Clay), the divorced daughter of Mr. Sharpe. She sees Ellie's acceptance of her as a "devoted follower" as an opportunity to flatter Mr. Elliot into marrying her--and Ellie is too busy basking in her adulation and trying to seek the attention of Georgie herself to notice this subversion happening.

James Harrington (Captain Harville) and his wife Wendy, and Ben Wyck (Captain Benwick) are friends of Fred from MIT who are also working on the NASA project.


At this point, I have probably only ever made it halfway through the story... eventually I might return to it (possibly, after I finish The Last Inkweaver) but for now, there is a lot still to be written... and rewritten...

Suggestions/inspirational ideas for this title are welcome! Check out "The Shelf" for excerpts from "Merely Meredith" that I have posted before. Also, if you enjoyed this, stay tuned for an upcoming post about a second "Persuasion" adaptation I have planned: "Persuasion and Pixies", a dark fantasy mash-up version!

Works-In-Progress Wednesday: "Inkweaver" Excerpt--The Labors of Shereya and Belak

"At the center of the crater was a massive forest...."

 

Belak and I emerged in what looked like a wide crater. We could see the jagged edges of the rock wall surrounding the place, jutting up above the treetops.

At the center of the crater was a massive forest. The trees bunched thickly within this valley, making its heart almost as dark as nighttime.

The whispers had started again, but I was so used to the noise I considered ignoring them. Glancing at Belak, I saw him squint and turn back toward the darkened tunnel.

"Do you hear it?" I asked him.

"The noise?" He asked. "Yes—I don't understand, though. It's... confusing."

I nodded, "Like trying to converse at a party, without knowing exactly which conversation you are a part of." 

There it was, the entire of my experience summed up in one metaphor.

Belak squinted as he tried to recall such an experience. "Perhaps; but if you can hear it too, maybe we can find out where it's coming from." He started scanning the edges of the rather small clearing as he advanced onto the grass.

A swath of poppies unfolded like vermillion cloth under his feet. "Stop!" I warned him, but Belak had already disturbed them. I saw the delicate cloud rise like steam from a kettle around him, and Belak immediately cried out and put his hands to his face.

"Gah! It's burning my eyes!"

I stared down at my own feet, but the flowers only seemed grouped in that one area.

When I looked toward the forest again, a man appeared in the middle of the road, pacing and muttering to himself.

"The knight was struck blind as his penance for unbelief, but his maiden true... Hmm... His companion... No..." Finally he stopped and looked up at me.

"What are you?" He asked abruptly. His cheeks were so hollow the bones stood out around them. He had quite a long beard, but it was thin and grizzled. The clothes he wore no doubt had once been fine, now hung off his frame in tatters. "Not his lady, for certain—at least," he giggled, "not yet. Hmm! What shall I do with a character like you in my story?"

Anger boiled inside me as he kept blathering to himself.

"I am not your character!" I seethed, "And this is not your story!" To prove my point, I marched right through those deadly poppies and grabbed Belak's hand.

"What?" He cried as I jerked him out from among them. "Who are you?"

"It's me, dummy!" I snapped at him. I set my sights on the tunnel we had left. "We're leaving!"

"Shereya?" He sounded surprised to hear my voice. "It's so dark! Where are we?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came. Behind me, I heard the strange man mutter, "The lady did not answer. The knight had nearly reached his destination when—"

The rest of his words were lost in a thunderous rumble as the grass in front of us thickened and lengthened, springing from the ground in great, thorny vines. I stopped, but Belak kept stumbling forward, nearly impaling himself.

"Wait!" I thrust my arm in front of him and got us turned to face the forest again.

Belak's head thrashed like he was having difficulty standing upright. "What happened?" He asked.

"Thorns!" I cried.

"What is going on?"

I could not figure out what enchantment lay over this valley, or what sort of man we faced, who could cast spells over the area and cause such grief to a couple innocent strangers such as we.

"I think that man is doing something," I said.

The man was still mumbling. "She saw but she did not believe. Her eyes must be dim as well, though not so much as the knight leaning on her arm. When the blind lead the blind, they both fall into a pit..."

I nearly plunged to my death as a chasm opened under my feet. The only thing that saved me was the fact that Belak felt the tightness of both my hands on his arm and reacted beautifully, bracing his feet and throwing his free arm around my body like a shield.

When I had caught my breath, I looked out and saw one narrow pathway stretching across the crevasse toward the man and the forest behind him.

He was a Wordspinner, that much was certain—but he was the first of his kind to be so malevolent! And what sort of Wordspinner would have such power over the terrain?

"Why are you doing this?" I tried yelling at him, but he just kept ranting.

Another thundering rumble, and I saw rocks loosing themselves from the tops of the crags—and rolling straight toward us!

We were going to die. All the perception in the world couldn't stop a boulder.

Reader's Review: "The Cybermancer Presents" by Andrew Barber

Synopsis from Amazon:

It is the year 2051. A group of strangers are trapped in a virtual reality video game so real they don't always know they are playing it. While their bodies in the real world are gradually dying of dehydration, they must battle through a fantasy realm, a remake of Grand Theft Auto set in 1980s London and the dark underbelly of a Sims-type suburbia. They experience love, war and quite a lot in between as they progress in their adventures until, finally, they must meet the Cybermancer... 


>>>>>>>

My Review: 

A couple years ago, I picked up the book Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. It was one of the first novels that I didn't have any context for, I wasn't familiar with the author—I basically chose it because it was a Popular Pick at the library and the premise sounded interesting. I believe I had also just read "Warriors of the Edge" by Katie Bridges as well, which functioned on the same premise: characters from the real world chose to subsist and operate in a virtual realm. I loved the premise, I loved the use of the characters in both those books, and both were extremely-well written.

I mention these titles because, on the surface, Barber's novel seems like more of the same... But the more I read, the more I discovered something totally unique and intriguing. 

It's the same premise, but with one added complication: staying in the game too long could be fatal for their real-world bodies. And there is the programmer in the real world who is willing to do anything to make sure that these people stay connected, where their fate is in his control.

Granted, it's rough—but who writes a stunning first novel on the first go? I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Barber has fashioned a future that makes sense, and he keeps his readers informed using layman's terms instead of jargon, doling out technical information in palatable lumps. Meanwhile, the scenarios are fascinating as, the more the player yields to the program, the less they remember of their real-world lives. Keeping track of who they are in each game can be tricky too—but these players have an ace in the hole: a programmer who hacked herself into the game and knows all the ins and outs. If anyone can get them through safely, she can. Barber balances the technical stuff and the dire situations with dry wit and ample humor. There were several moments I stopped and reread a section because it made me giggle!

In fact, about the only thing that disappointed me in this novel was the repeated and lengthy sex scenes. At least Barber enters these scenes slowly enough, so when it does happen, I know what's coming and I can skip forward to the next section. It does pull one out of the action, though, to have to suddenly stop reading every word and just flip through till something else happens. From what I understand, the author's point was to draw on common themes used in gaming, and one of those themes is sex. Not being a gamer, I did not realize this point, and even he agrees that perhaps he went a little too far in this first novel! He assures me that it does get far less graphic and frequent and far more tactful in the ensuing novels. 

I am good with that, because, barring this unsightly feature, the adventure itself is just fantastic! I really enjoyed the concept and the characters of "Cybermancer Presents", and the ending, though immensely satisfying in a sense, did indeed leave me thinking, "Wait, that's it? I want to read more!"

Overall, "Cybermancer Presents" gets a score of *****4.5 stars*****, and if you like sci-fi, virtual reality games, cool futuristic tech, and adventures that utilize the skills of everyone involved, and do not mind high levels of graphic sex and language (more f-bombs than anything else, but still a lot of them!) then "Cybermancer Presents" is a book worth buying!

Warning: As evidenced, this title is not suitable for children... but "Warriors of the Edge" most certainly is! For a taste of the same kind of fun "group-of-strangers-with-a-role-to-play-in-a-virtual-realm" adventure that's "kid-friendly," use the link above to click over to that post and pick up your copy of Katie Bridges' book!

Further Reading: (GameLit/Virtual Reality/Dystopian Future)
-Domechild--Shiv Ramdas  
-Warriors of the Edge--Katie Bridges
The Untamed Series--Madeline Dyer
       -Untamed 
       -Fragmented 
Puatera Online--Dawn Chapman
       -Desert Runner
The Jill Andersen Series--J. D. Cunegan
       -Bounty 
       -Blood Ties 
       -Behind the Badge 
       -Behind The Mask
-Dissolution--Lee S. Hawke

-Adaline--Denise Kawaii

Serial Saturday: "The Telmar Trilogy, Vol. 3: The Legacy of Telmar" Part 5

"Each of you will go to the five other provinces ... and travel to as many
markets as it takes to distribute all your goods freely..."

[Excerpt from Chapter 10]

After breakfast one morning, Melanie brought up a suggestion she'd been mulling over for quite some time.

"Lord Martan, I have seen the success of the giving-houses, and the way they work so smoothly among out own people. Besides, even in these few weeks since Aslan drove the merchants out, the market has become the trading-place I always wanted it to be."

Martan looked up at Melanie with arched eyebrows. "There's a plan at the end of this, I know it. Very well, you've begun nicely, Lady Melanie, now finish it!"

Melanie chuckled. "Well, all right then, here it is: what if we took half of the surplus apportioned for the giving houses, and divided it into five parts, and sent five delegations into the other provinces, to give away the produce and goods for free? It would broaden our horizons, and make an affirming national impact!"

Martan's expression did not show the support Melanie was looking for, and he did not leave Melanie in suspense for long.

"I can give you numerous compelling reasons why this quaint idea of yours would simply not work: First, you recall the reputation Nast has had since the olden days."

Melanie frowned. "You mean, the old saying, 'It's no good if it's Nastie'? Don't tell me it's still the national consensus!"

Martan nodded ruefully, "I'm afraid so, at least among the nearby provinces, I'm not so sure about Sordell and Telami." He rolled his eyes, "and that abominable Outskirts only serves as a reinforcement of the deplorable opinion.

"My second reason: I'm sorry, Melanie, but it's just not fiscally possible. Have you seen the farms?"

"Well, yes . . . some of them, but—"

"Then you know the condition of the majority of farms in Nast. Last year's harvest was barely enough to feed ourselves, much less for trading in the marketplace. We even had to close down some of the giving-houses, for lack of surplus. Planting season was very bad, as well. I am glad you—ah, Aslan—drove away the merchants, else we would have probably incurred debt with them in addition to the debt we still owe the other provinces!"

"Martan," Melanie chided, "have faith! I'm sure Aslan would approve of the formation of giving-delegations! How about this: we wait two months, till the harvest, and if there is enough, we will take it as a sign that it is Aslan's will to send out giving-delegations. Would you give your permission to this?"

Martan signed and shrugged. "Well, you are my superior . . ."

"Oh, stop it!"

"Very well; if there's a good enough harvest (which I doubt), we will send out your delegations."

Melanie sat back with a triumphant smile, "Thank you, Milord."

[…]

Melanie called together the fifty artisans and farmers living on the farms around Nast, and divided them into five delegations of ten people each. Before sending them out, she told them her expectations of them.

"Each of you will go to the five other provinces of Telmar: Puriva, Eveston, Sordell, Venna, and Telami. Stay as a group and travel to as many markets as it takes to distribute all your goods freely. You are to take no money or form of payment for them, and you must continue traveling around the province until your wagons are empty."

"But Milady," one of the farmers asked, "What if we are beaten? What if the other Telmarines refuse to accept what we offer simply because it is from Nast? What if they try to kill us?"

Others chimed in, but Melanie raised her hand and received instant silence.

"Citizens of Nast—farmers and artisans, all! You forget whose you are! From whom have we received this bountiful harvest?"

The farmers hesitated until an old weaver spoke up, "From Aslan."

Melanie nodded. "If Aslan can make such fruitfulness from barren ground, can you not have faith that he will so much more protect you, who are all infinitely more precious than all the harvest in the world?"

She sat back, satisfied with the grateful expressions on the faces before her. "I shall eagerly await your reports, which you must give immediately on your return. Aslan be with you all!"

>>>>>>>

[Excerpt from Chapter 11]

Nearly a week after the delegations departed, Melanie and Martan sat at breakfast when a servant announced the arrival of the first delegation.

"Escort them into the great hall!" Melanie ordered.

Such a bedraggled group met her eyes! Many bruises, a few black eyes, cuts and scrapes, and a few even had broken arms or legs. Melanie received them graciously.

The "head delegate," a potter by the name of Jord, bowed (carefully, on account of his bruised ribs) and announced, "We went to Puriva, as you sent us, Your Ladyship."

"At the first few markets, we were completely ignored. In the third one, we met with minimal success, but in the name of Aslan, we persevered, just as you instructed us. Many merchants, when they found we were from Nast, beat us away from the market, and spoiled all our goods. We did not think we could continue on, but we have returned, our wagons are empty, and, by the Lion, we are in one piece! Hail Aslan!"

Melanie clapped her hands enthusiastically, "Well done! I will see that my personal doctor attends to all of you."

The Purivian delegation bowed and left. Melanie turned to Martan, "You see? Perhaps this won't turn out so very terrible after all."

Two days later, the delegation to Venna returned with empty wagons and downcast faces. Their leader reported:

"We were teased and mocked at every market we saw. We were not harmed, but that was because no one even wanted to get near enough to touch us. We were ever mindful of your orders though, Milady, and we purposed to persevere until we could find someone willing to accept our food.

"We had been traveling for four days, and still no one would accept our offerings. We knew our food would begin to spoil if we could not give it away, so we prayed to Aslan to lead us to someone who would take our food."

Melanie listened with wide eyes, "What happened then?"

The man shrugged. "We were passing a farm where the farmer was out mucking his pigsty. He asked us who we were, and what we were doing, and when we told him of our dilemma, he offered to take al the food! At first we were grateful, but immediately on receiving the produce, he carelessly threw it to his pigs! We reproached him, but he shrugged and told us that was all it was good for, because it came from Nast! The indignity we suffer, Milady!"

Melanie smiled sympathetically, "Such indignities will not go unnoticed, my friend. Remember that Aslan had to suffer indignities for our sake, too. Tell me, how did you dispose of your other goods?"

"We traveled in the furthest villages from the marketplaces, where there were many infirm and elderly who could not go to market, or they could not afford the wares sold there. They accepted goods from our hands willingly enough!"

"Excellent; it is exactly why I wanted you all to go! Consider the size of the other provinces, the number of markets they have. Their wealth has made them forgetful of others, and if citizens of their own province do not come to the aid of the poor, who then shall look after them? It is we who must show them Aslan's love, not only to the poor people who receive us willingly, but to the farmers who think ill of us as well.

"Well done, good farmers! Please partake of a banquet I have prepared in your honor."

She gestured to the massive table, and the delegation accepted their Lady's unwarranted hospitality graciously.

That very evening, the delegation to Eveston returned with their empty wagons, unscathed and looking quite pleased with themselves.

"Hail, Lady Melanie!" the leader began, not knowing that two other delegations had arrived ahead of him, "I am pleased to report that we have carried out your orders with little or no opposition. Verily, when the people heard the goods were free, they were only too willing to forego spending money on useless trinkets and receive more practical things from us!"

Martan was surprised at this man's boldness. "How can this be? What did you say to the people that made them so receptive?"

"We merely told them that we offered goods and produce at no cost, and they welcomed us."

Melanie sensed a lie concealed in the half-truth, and sought to bring it out by asking, "And when they asked you where you came from, how did you reply?"

The pompous delegate's eyes immediately dropped, and he tried vainly to raise them. "I—ah, we . . . That question did not often come up, so—"

"How did you respond?" Melanie persisted.

The man was so ashamed, he could not answer her, so Melanie immediately deduced what it would have been, and said it herself. "I think the question came up more often than you will admit. You either avoided it, or perhaps you reassured your customers that you were not from Nast." She frowned upon the guilty crowd. "Why are you so ashamed of the one province in Telmar who knows Aslan? Is the Great Lion so capricious, that he would condone generosity and dishonesty in the same breath? You have given everything away, but you did so by deception. You did not obey my orders with honesty. You are dismissed, for I have nothing more to say to you."

They filed out of the room, completely cowed.

[…]

After the last delegation had returned safely, Melanie turned to Martan. "Well, Milord, how has our project fared in your eyes?"

Martan replied reluctantly, "Rather like I feared. It may take forever for Nast to be rid of her terrible reputation, if Aslan wills we should be rid of it at all!"

Melanie shrugged, "I think he does will it. I believe, Martan, that we shall see the tide of fortune change its course at Aslan's paw within our lifetime. If there is one thing I have learned from Aslan, it is that we must be content to wait for him in such matters."

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"Inkweaver" Excerpt--A Needle in A Haystack

"I stood in a field among at least two dozen fresh, clean haystacks..."

Belak! I had almost forgotten about him—almost. “Where did he go?” I asked her. “Where did you send him?”

“I did not send him, dear,” Jacqueline was dangerously close to becoming the aggravating woman she was at first. “He did depart in pursuit of his gift.”

“But where?” I repeated.

Jacqueline actually turned away from me as she cleared the tea tray and prepared to wash it, as if her conversation with me was purely inconsequential.

“Part of the skill of a Writer is the ability to hear the Telling of any Wordspinner,” Jacqueline gave as a non-answer to my very direct question. “Just listen, and you’ll find it. Hurry; he’ll want to find it as soon as possible, and he won’t unless you help him. Be his Eyes, Shereya.” She disappeared into the back room and did not emerge.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Confound propriety when a strange woman has just spirited away your dearest friend! I charged right back there after her—

And entered an empty room. Root and bulb edibles hung from the rafters. The walls were lined with shelves of pots and cups and bowls and vases of every shape and color. I saw the colors radiating from them like the light from inside a gem. As the lights danced over my eyes, the whispers seeped into my ears. So Jacqueline had made her escape—no matter! There wasn’t much I could do about it now. I found my way to the door at the back of the room. Once I reached the street and closed the door, the whispers faded. I sighed with relief. Would I ever get used to it when such a thing happened?

I had silence for several wonderful seconds—then a voice, clear and faint, as if from some great distance in among the crags of the valley, radiated over the breeze. Whatever it was, I heard it loud and clear. The Tale very clearly meant for someone like Belak. It did not call to me like Tales were supposed to call the ones they were meant for—but based on what I knew of Belak, I knew that once he started hearing that Tale, he probably would follow it right into the teeth of danger.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Jacqueline stood right behind me, talking as if she could read my mind. It just wasn’t possible, and I think we both knew it—but that didn’t stop her. It only meant that she found me very predictable. I turned and looked at her, my mind still trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, and what I should do about it.

Jacqueline made a “shoo” motion with her hands. “Well, go on then! He’s never going to make it without you.”

I rolled my eyes and started off toward the wide plains at the back of the valley.

When I reached the place where the sound was the loudest, I stood in a field among at least two dozen fresh, clean haystacks—and at least half a dozen more that had already been torn down and scattered. Another haystack collapsed, and I saw Belak: shirtless, humming to himself in time with the Tale I was hearing, digging through each straw and watching it closely as he decimated the stack. Finally, he looked up and saw me.

In the bright afternoon sun that filled the sky over Moon Valley, the sweat on his shoulders glinted as he stood.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” I responded; was there some sort of enchantment I didn’t know about?

Belak kicked over the lump of hay in front of him and slid down to the ground. He wiped the sweat from the end of his nose with the back of his hand.

“Are you going to help me, or what?” he panted.

He seemed to know more about what was going on than I did—which was a first.

“What exactly are you doing?” I asked him.

Belak snorted and gestured to the field. “Well, Shereya, what does it look like I’m doing?” He rubbed the back of his neck and turned back to the half-demolished pile of straw. “I’m trying to find a needle in one of these haystacks!”

My mouth actually dropped open. Belak stretched, and the muscles in his shoulders rippled. He turned to survey the field, squinting like he always did when he was making a strategic plan.

"Wait," I said, "You're not serious, are you?"

He was pawing through the hay again, tossing it into the air and watching, I assume, for the glint.

"Of course I am!" Belak told me. "You heard Jaqueline: there's a prize in it for me!" He stopped digging and winked at me. "If you help me, I will split it with you."

I stepped through the strewn straw and started sifting away beside him. Not that I wanted any part in whatever prize awaited him; I just wanted to be closer to those dark eyes.

Thinking of Belak's eyes reminded me of what Jacqueline had said about mine. Writer's Eyes... Some extra perception might be good in a situation like this, but how was I going to use a skill I did not understand?

"Belak," I began as we moved on to the next haystack, "have you ever heard of something called a Writer?"

Belak squinted at me. "I'm not sure I have," he said. He pulled an armful of hay out of the side and the top of the mound tumbled over our heads. We shared a laugh, especially at the way the straw stuck in Belak's thick dark hair.

"You, sir, have been well and properly thatched!" I joked.

Belak shook his head and sent pieces of straw flying far and wide. "There," he said, smoothing his coif. "Better?"

I reached over and plucked a stubborn stalk out of the dark tangle. "Much," I said.

His skin felt rough and unexpected as he reached up and took my hands. My heart jumped in my throat and suddenly I was aware of how close together we were.

"I'm really glad you're doing this with me, Shereya," he said softly.

I had no words to respond. I could almost taste his breath as we sat there under the haystack. I pushed against the prickly pile beside me to take my mind off the rush of emotion.

"Of course I would help you, silly!" I told him. "You're my friend, and I know you would do the same for me."

"Absolutely," he replied, turning back to the haystack and combing through it with his fingers. "So about how long do you figure it should take us to find the needle?"

I sighed as I saw the twenty other stacks we still had not searched. "There is no telling how long—I mean," I gestured to the scattered hay, "it could be in a stack we haven't searched yet, or it could have just as easily slipped through your fingers."

He snorted. "Careful now, you sound like you're speculating."

I shook my head. "Not speculating, just... observing."

Serial Saturdays: "The Telmar Trilogy, Vol. 3: The Legacy of Telmar" Part 4

"Aslan shook his golden mane and sounded out one long, loud Note..."

[Previously, in Chapter 5]

The Lord Steward glared at the crouched, hooded figure at his feet. "Stand up! Are you inciting a revolution, stranger?"

The figure obediently stood. "It is not a revolution, your Lordship, it is revival."

The hooded stranger tipped her head back slightly, but did not uncover. The Lord Steward heard her gasp.

"You are not Sir Taurin, nor are you like him enough to be his son!"

He answered, "Nay; I am Martan, son of Melonni, son of Taurin, the first Lord Steward of Nast." He looked sharply down at the stranger, "I am ill-used to being so free toward an accused rioter. Who are you?"

The stranger threw back her hood. Her dark hair draped loosely over her shoulders, and her dark-blue eyes blazed. With a loud voice she cried out,

"I am Lady Melanie, heir of Lord Fausberg and rightful Regent of Nast! Now, Steward, I demand a full account of your dealings with my land!"

[Excerpt from Chapter 6] At this startling announcement, the nobles and advisors of Martan's court leapt to their feet. The captain of the guard blanched with fear at the realization that he called the true heir of Nast (and the person who legally held his life in her hands) a heretic.

Martan reeled in shock. So this was Lady Melanie! She was the one Grandfather Taurin wanted his son and grandson to always remember! She was the young girl in the old legends of Nast who supposedly called down terrible judgments on the old merchant clans that once plagued the city. She was also the one Taurin waited forty long years for, because he loved her and none else.

When Lord Steward Taurin began to grow very old, still waiting for her return, it took every one of his advisors and nobles to convince him that if he did not marry, his line would end, and the Lordship would pass to another. Taurin was heartbroken at Melanie's absence, but at long last he came to terms with the low probability of seeing Melanie in his lifetime.

He sent searchers out forthwith, scouring the land for one as near resembling Melanie as they could find. A girl named Pollah, with sparkling blue eyes and brown curls, arrived at the castle, and she became Taurin's wife. Their marriage was a happy one, and produced Taurin's heir, whom he named Melonni in memory of the woman now standing in his grandson Martan's court.

Lord Steward Martan immediately leapt from his throne and knelt before his lady. A simple wave of his hand, and all the nobles in the room followed his example. Melanie blushed modestly at the respect shown her.

"Rise and report," she said, fighting to recover the composure more befitting her as the one in charge.

Martan stood instantly and gave the history of Nast since Melanie's strange disappearance.

[…]

"My father was seventy-two when he suddenly collapsed on a hunting expedition in Beren Wood. He died soon afterwards, and I became Lord Steward of Nast," Martan finished. "Nast remains in debt as she ever was, and not much else is worth reporting, Your Ladyship."

He took her hand with a suddenness that surprised her. "There is something I would like to know, though," he said. "You have led the people of Nast in a revival," he looked her straight in the eye, "now lead their lord."

At this invitation, Melanie willingly told Lord Steward Martan the message of the True Naslan.

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[Excerpt from Chapter 7] The guards at the door to Martan's court started and trembled in fear at the sight of the enormous Lion, but when they saw the smile on Melanie's face, they relaxed and opened the door for them.

Martan and his court were no less astounded than the guards were when Melanie and Aslan entered, but Martan recognized the Lion and immediately knelt before him.

"Lord Aslan," he said, "I am your servant; what would you have me do?"

Aslan bent down and licked the top of Martan's head in a Lion's kiss.

"It is good that you call me Lord in faith, not having seen any sign, my son," Aslan said. "Rise now and assemble the people in the Square. Tonight, all shall witness my power."

Stunned, Martan immediately called a public gathering. There was some confusion as the night-market had just begun, and soon the market was too full for selling or buying, and people wondered what on earth the Lord Steward meant by calling a gathering so late at night. Martan silenced them all with a wave of his hand.

"People of Nast!" he cried, "This lady now standing next to me was among you yesterday. She has led you all in exposing the grave error we have made concerning the Great Lion, whose name is Aslan.

"I hereby decree that the worship of the Naslan shall cease, and there shall be no more models of Aslan made, but we shall worship him for what he is: himself! The Temple shall hereafter be used as a meeting-place to learn of Aslan, the True Lion, not only in the evenings, but also at any time during the day!

"Finally, my people," he continued, silencing the cheers that erupted at the last statement, "it is with great pleasure that I present to you the true leader of Nast. I, as you know, am only the steward of Nast. People of Nast, we have waited one hundred years for this return, and now bear ye witness! I present the Lady Melanie!"

Melanie stepped up to the balustrade where everyone could see her. The whole crowd cheered, and Melanie distinctly heard a familiar voice cry,

"Lion alive! It's Mella! Daen't she look fine now, Brion?"

Melanie smiled at the people and waved her hand.

"People of Nast!" she cried, "You recall how I told you of Aslan, and beseeched you to follow his ways and his example. Now, behold, Aslan himself has come among us, and he desires to redeem the oppressed, to free those in bondage, and to heal the sick!"

Aslan moved forward and the whole assembly cried out at the sight of him, some in joy and some in fear.

"Bear ye witness of his power!" Melanie said.

Aslan shook his golden mane and sounded out one long, loud Note.

To those who believed and were faithful, that Note seemed to seep with a delicious warmth into the very center of their being. The lame felt new life in their limbs, the eyes of the blind were opened, the ears of the deaf unstopped, and the tongues of the dumb loosed.

To those who had set their hearts against Aslan, however, this Note cut through their hardness life a beam of light in the dark. They covered their ears, they ran to the inmost places of their sumptuous apartments, but still the Note persisted, penetrating, cutting, and exposing. There was no help for these people but to leave the country altogether, and they did. Every cruel man, dishonest merchant, and arrogant noble scrambled for the nearest border. The throng of faithful ones moved to the center of the Square as Aslan's enemies poured out from their buildings, holes, and booths; running, running, desperate to escape that awful, ringing, deadly Note.

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