The following chapter has a particularly tricky scene at the end that I request anyone reading to pay special attention to. It's a duel between two of the main characters, one of them is blindfolded, and the fight is told from that blind point of view. Taking out the visual element is risky (especially in a fight), because we naturally gravitate toward that when writing description. I've combed over it several times, trying to remove any inconsistencies, but I'm sure I missed a couple. I'm also up for input on whether or not that POV works at all, or if taking out the visual element is dead on arrival (which sucks, because it becomes a big plot point later on).

I'd also like to mention that if anyone recognizes the opening scene, you're not going crazy...I posted it as an excerpt in one of my first blogs. It's changed a bit, so if you've read it before please read it again. To those who commented on it before, I think you'll enjoy seeing your suggestions implemented.

Chapter 4

Pharasi

 "How did it go?" Jemah asked.

     "Not well, but I expected that," Darius said, descending the steps of the Imperial Tower.

     I fear that you might be slipping, Darius. Darius frowned, remembering the words Emperor Winterhaven had chosen to greet him, words of reprimand, delivered upon the spoiled holy grounds of Pharen Itself. Fortunately, he had been kneeling, his head bowed and hiding his rage.

     "I take it that means the Emperor isn't going to do anything about Slave?"

     Darius shook his head, un-wrapping the white sash he wore over one side of his face to hide his scar. Winterhaven refused to admit him without it. He folded it, his lips moving discreetly upward, and stowed it under his belt.

     "No, Sen-Teph. He is not." The name meant "Destiny's Gift". Jemah had come to Darius' company to spy for a rival company owner named Westman. Darius had known this, of course, but played along. Six months after Jemah had joined, Slave began his raids upon them. During the initial attack, a "stray" arrow had injured Jemah, courtesy of True. One of Slave's Wolves had fallen upon him and been a hair's width away from driving his blade into Jemah's chest. Instead, his attacker's head rolled from his shoulders. Jemah later told Darius that in the second afterwards, before the body had gone limp and slumped to the side, it had looked as though Darius' head rested on the Wolf's body, because Darius had been standing behind the decapitated corpse.

     Jemah had laughed; Darius only smiled, knowingly.

     Shortly after the attack, Jemah confessed to being a spy. Darius told Jemah that he appreciated the honesty, forgone though it may be, and offered him a job. When Jemah asked why he escaped punishment, Darius' eye shifted to the arrow wound through his right pectoral. Since then, Jemah had become a captain and, on several occasions, served point for secret assignments.

     A group of Imperial guards stood nearby, watching them for any mischief. Darius gestured that they should walk on before discussing the matter of Winterhaven's reluctance further. They made their way through the arched gate, and it slammed behind them. The Imperial Hub rolled slowly out below them, a city of noble houses built of marble cut by Pharasi hands from the quarries to the southeast. His ancestors had lost a piece of their souls fighting the Osernians for those pits. They lay empty now, raped by the Forani's ever driving need for more.

     "I just don't get it," Jemah said. "Why does Winterhaven leave us to the Wolves?"

     "He walks a fine line," Darius said. Amidst the empty cobblestone streets of the Noble District he heard nothing but the wind. It carried the aroma of richly spiced foods upon which the nobility grew fat, food that had cost Pharasi lives in its delivery. "The nobles claim that the widening acceptance of the Pharasi threaten to taint their rule."

     "They fear you, is what," Jemah said. Darius nodded slightly.

     "How go things at the wall?"

     Jemah stood straight and the air of boredom that had crept into his features as the conversation steered toward politics disappeared, most likely pleased to talk of something he understood. Although a dullard in matters of the pen, give him a sword or a tool and Jemah became a scholar.

     "Smooth driving, Captain. The person I left in charge during our run tells me we had a close call the other day, but they took care of it..."

     "How so? They didn't kill them, did they?" An Imperial search party tearing apart the Quarter looking for missing soldiers would prove more disastrous than their discovery of Darius' work at their precious wall.

     "Oh, no, sir. My supervisor gave them a little bribe. Name's May Suvaris. She's quite fetching. Told me they couldn't get their armor off fast enough."

     Jemah winked, and they continued down the main thoroughfare toward the East gate. They exited the Hub and began the half-kilometer walk along the stone wall to where the Pharasi Quarter clung against it like a baby chimp clutching its mother's chest. Darius clenched his cloak around his neck to ward off the gust of northern wind biting at his back. Autumn approached fast this year. He smirked, a puff of breath escaping from between his lips. He had little to worry about, but it would be Punishment on the young girl he now saw clutching her mother's skirts, the patchwork of thin sackcloth hanging from her malnourished body. Her dull eyes met his and she buried her face further into her mother's dress. The gold in his pocket grew cold against his hip as he smiled sympathetically and walked on.

     Thousands of children like her wandered the streets of the Quarter, living in the Thinwood constructs built along a stretch of the Imperial Hub's outer wall. The restrictions placed upon the size of the Quarter had caused it to become a nearly self contained complex of tiny dwellings built chaotically atop each other and over randomly designated roadways and alleys. Most of these streets were only wide enough for two people to walk side by side and had the tendency to double back or abruptly end. Only people born in the Quarter stood any chance of finding their way around and sometimes still got lost.

     They pushed their way deeper into the market. A stranger might assume that every Pharasi man, woman and child had gathered in this small space. People milled about, squeezing past each other from place to place, often with a companion in tow. The merchant stalls stood as crowded together as the people gathered around them, arguing with each other and the vendors over prices. A thick tension rumbled amongst the crowd, threatening to snap the moment someone took an elbow to the eye or said the wrong thing. But such things rarely occurred among the Pharasi.

     Everywhere he looked, Darius saw the evidence of Foranic corruption. Crates and barrels stood stacked here and there, the Imperial seal drawn on rotting wood with flaking white paint. The Guardsman brought the Pharasi an allotment of food every month. Just enough to keep them alive, on their feet, and off the Emperor's back. A couple of men stood next to one of the barrels, fishing around for something that wasn't too bug ridden to eat with his good arm. The other arm was missing below the elbow, ending in an infected stump where it had been torn off by any number of means. Limbs went missing all the time in Winterhaven's empire, either lost to wounds, or the churning wooden gears in work camps, or during "questioning".

     But the Pharasi rarely got angry. They were paid, given food, and protected by a rotating garrison of Guardsmen that patrolled the streets and stood watch along the edge of the quarter. Even now a group of them bartered with a young woman near the entry of an alley. Just contributing to the economy. They pushed themselves against her and groped her body through the moth eaten tunic serving as her only garment, and she gave them half interested smiles that did nothing to hide the emptiness in her eyes. Once they reached a deal she disappeared into the alley, along with four of the guardsman. A fifth stood watch.

     Protecting. Guarding. And the Pharasi gathered in the market took no notice, or pretended not to. They accepted it. This was their life.

     Fight them, Darius thought. He wanted the woman in the alley to fight them. He wanted to see that last guard run into the alley, sword drawn. She would likely die, and more would follow her to serve an example, but never the less, he wanted her to fight. Wanted all of them to fight.

     Like True had fought.

     "Looks like they got some apples in," Jemah said, pulling Darius' attention from the alley. A group had gathered around a cart, no doubt wheeled in during his reverie. Jemah's stomach rumbled.

     "Go ahead," Darius said. "I can walk the rest of the way by myself. Get me a couple, will you?"

     Jemah nodded and joined the throng. Darius shook his head and headed toward his company's headquarters, the White Ox Tavern.

     "Good evening, Dar," a dark skinned man said to him.

     Darius paused on the steps of the tavern, looking up at the man's black rooted grin. "Likewise, Westman," he said. "And please, call me Darius. I have no other name."

     Westman rolled his eyes and elbowed the man next to him. "Look at this guy. So damned prudent about his name, talking like a noble, like he's one of them.

     "You should try coming up for air, Darius. Try loosing your lips from around the Emperor's member long enough to breath."

     Darius lifted the corner of his mouth, and leaned forward.

     "Perhaps if you stopped speaking like a gutter whelp, you and your Company would actually have more than an imagined chance at surpassing me in Emperor Winterhaven's favor."

     Westman's face burned, his teeth grinding.

     "Whew," Darius said, holding out his hands as if to a fire. "That warms things up a bit."

     "I should pummel you..."

     "Darius, what's happening?"

     Darius turned to find Jemah standing behind him with a sack full of apples. He held one in his left hand, a large chunk taken out of the ripe fruit's light yellow flesh.

     "Ay! Westman!" Earling had appeared in the doorway of the Ox, grinning and brandishing a handful of throwing knives. "Come to play?"

     Westman shrunk and backed away.

     "I believe you were saying something about pummeling me?" Darius asked. Westman ignored him, fixed his eyes briefly on Jemah, and walked away.

     "I'm ashamed to call him cousin," Jemah said, biting into his apple. Darius looked down at the sack.

     "That was quick," he said. Jemah grinned, bits of the fruit grinding between his teeth. Darius peered around his companion. Several of the stand's customers now sat on the ground, rubbing arms and examining various lumps and bruises. Those still standing glowered in Jemah's direction.

     Instances of violence among the Pharasi were rare, but not unheard of.

     "Right..." he said. "Come. Let us go inside."

 

***

Death can be conquered.

     Kroog sat in the tavern, turning over Euticus' words in his mind and unable to push away the suspicions that they conjured. Only those that had fought in the Border Revolts and those that served Slave knew that ancient motto. The revolts ended forty years ago, long before Euticus could've been born.

     The boy must be a spy.

     Yet he had fought so intensely with Slave's men, and attacked Slave head on. A sham, maybe? No. Kroog had seen enough pulled punches in his time. Euticus came to his aid with every intention of ending Slave, something only a fool or someone ignorant of whom they were dealing with would do.

     Kroog set his head down on the bar, trying to think of something else, when a light weight rested on his shoulder. He found True settling on the stool next to him.

     "Buy me a drink, Old Man?" she joked. Kroog snarled.

     "I'm not old. Just well aged, unlike this lot," he said, sipping his ale. True smiled and turned around, leaning back against the bar.

     "So, what do you think of our new little warrior?" she asked.

     "Do you really want to know what I think, or do you just want me to tell you how you should feel about him?" he asked, his voice muffled by the stein.

     "What's that mean?"

     "Nothing." Kroog set the stein down and turned to face her.

     "Honestly, girl, I don't know what to make of him, and when I don't know what to make of a man, I more often than not decide I don't trust him...but that's just me, so don't go spreading that around, alright?"

     "But why?"

     Kroog sighed, staring down at the bar. Uncountable scratches and carvings marred its surface. Well aged, like him. He knocked on it gently and grabbed his stein.

     "Because of something he said, and because something about him doesn't add up. He feels...out of place, like he's not meant to be..."

     "Not meant to be? What, you mean here?"

     Kroog paused a moment with his stein half way up to his lips, then said, "I mean anywhere."

     "You're drunk."

     "Not nearly enough, so. Hey, tender! Give me some more!"

     "What'd he say?" True asked, putting a hand on Kroog's massive forearm. "Please, tell me."

     Kroog closed his eyes. If wrong, he would have to deal with yet another innocent death on his hands. But if right...

     He beckoned her forward, cupping a hand over her ear.

     "Death can be conquered," he whispered. True gasped, backing away.

     "No, he couldn't have. You're mistaken..."

     "That's what I've been trying to tell my self, True, and I'd be able to believe it except that he said it twice. Once before the attack, and then again, when Slave had him by the neck. The boy'd be grass now if he'd said anything else. "

     True leaned over the bar and ordered a drink. It came quickly, even before Kroog's refill. He eyed the barman fiercely, but to no effect.

     "We have to tell Darius," Kroog said, letting the matter of his drink slide for the moment. True shook her head.

     "I'm sorry True. He's got to know."

     "But, what if we're wrong? It's possible he picked those words up somewhere else. They're merely words, right?"

     "True..."

     "Let me talk to him. Let me question him, please."

     Kroog smiled, knowing that she would not concede.

     "Think you can get him to talk?"

     True raised an eyebrow and tried to arch her back. The leather breast plate she wore rendered the pose stiff. Kroog scrunched up his face and said... "You might think of ditching the armor first."

     True looked down, frowned, and unfastened the plate. She handed the thick leather piece to Kroog and tried the pose again. Twenty years ago, such a pose in Kroog's presence would've gotten her in serious trouble.

     "Hm...passable."

     True stuck out her tongue at him and downed her drink in one long pull, then disappeared into the crowd. Kroog turned back to his stein, which remained dry.

     "Hey, tender!"

* * *

True approached Euticus' door on cat's feet, her heart drumming in her ears. This was a stupid idea, going unarmed into the room of a man under suspicion of spying, for the sheer sake of defending him. She should just trust Kroog's instincts and let him take care of the matter.

     No...that wouldn't do. Not when her own instincts testified to Euticus' innocence.

     Shifting the bowl of water and bandages she carried to the crook of one arm, True reached out to open his door, stopping when she noticed the faint traces of mud that streaked her arms. Battle sweat had stained her shirt an offensive green hue broken only by blackish-red slashes of dried blood. A musty odor invaded her nose and stirred up an awkward self awareness.

     She needed a bath, but time didn't allow for it. Darius would return soon and Kroog would tell him what he thought. She set the bowl down, wrung out a length of bandage and began to wash away the worst of the filth. She opened up the front of her blouse, just a little bit at first, then to a point where it revealed more than covered, and let her hair down to hang around her face and shoulders in a coppery mass stiffened by the collective grime inherent to Transporter life.

     I look like a bathhouse whore, she thought, ringing the bandage out so the water dribbled down her neck, over her chest, and between her breasts. Perfect.

     She threw the bandage to the floor amongst a cluster of other refuse, took a deep breath, and entered.

     "Hello, Eu..." she stopped, finding the bed empty and Euticus standing by the room's single window. A quick, uninterested glance at her standing there, half exposed, brought a fiery blush to her skin.

     "I thought I told you to stay in bed," she said, trying to make it sound sensual but sounding more irritated than anything.

     "I'm sorry. I got tired of staring at the ceiling. I had to see outside..."

     She came up beside him, intentionally brushing up against his arm. He looked down and his eyes bulged, roaming over her from head to toe. His eyes lingered, predictably, on her breasts, where the wet fabric of her blouse clung to her skin.

     "What's so interesting?" she asked.

     "Uh...oh. The town..." He swallowed, returning to the window. True moved closer, pressing against his arm.

     "Beautiful..." he whispered. True jerked back from him before realizing he referred to the Hub. She peered out the window, thinking that perhaps some trick of the light had cast an illusion of beauty over the Quarter. Instead she found the same view common to any second story window in the town's many: stacks of poorly constructed shanties, their graying wooden walls slapped chaotically together in a splintering, crooked mass. One day they would reach the top of the wall, and have nowhere to build except the already scant space within.

     "It's just the Pharasi Quarter," she said.

     "I've never seen anything like it."

     The breath of his words danced with the hairs on her neck, prickling her skin. She clutched the windowsill, trying not to show.

     "It's...um, not that impressive," she said. Euticus studied her now. Wonder swirled in those eyes, a mixture of innocence and intuition rather than the restless ghosts of victims felled by a killer or spy. He looked like Darius from the side, even though half of his face had swollen a sickly mix of green and purple; but where Darius concerned himself mostly with solving whatever puzzle sat before him, Euticus appeared to have no desire to "solve" anything. He liked to look, to savor.

     "I think it is," he said. "I am sure you could meet someone new here everyday."

     "Yes, you probably could."

     True stood back from the window sill and crossed her arms over her chest. Her seduction had failed miserably, and her motivation to do so had waned. She reached out and took his hand.

     "Let's change your bandage," she said, leading him back to the bed. He followed, keeping one eye toward the window.

     "Did you sleep well?" she asked, sitting behind him.

     Euticus stiffly turned his neck, and nodded. She lifted a new bandage from the water. Steam rose off it in waves as she rang it out and hung it on a hook in the wall.

     "You acted like a fool out there," she said, unwrapping his old bandage. "But thank you."

     "For what?"

     "Helping Kroog, what else? Ugh...this's an ugly wound. You're lucky you didn't lose your scalp."

     She gently ran her finger along the puckered edge of the gash. It had stopped bleeding, and the skin shone a healthy pink.

     "What happened?" Euticus asked, flinching from the exam. True dropped the bandage into the bowl and grabbed the new one.

     "Darius returned with a division of the Emperor's infantry from the Hub."

     "The Hub?"

     True nodded and began to place the wrap on his head.

     "S'right. We're outside its walls now, in the Pharasi Quarter. We're not to go inside, except Darius."

     "Why?"

     "Long story, but it's because we're Pharasi and the nobility're Forani."

     "You are different tribes, then?"

     "Kind of. The Forani used to believe in the Pharen, but they worship Foran now. We believe in Foran, but as a warrior, not a god."

     Euticus tried to turn, but True stopped him.

     "Ow," he said when she forced his head forward.

    "Sorry."

     "What is the Pharen?" he asked. True paused in her work.

     "Pharen is God."

     "God of what?"

     "What do you mean, of what?"

     "Of harvest? Storms? Good fortune? Of what?"

     True frowned. A pagan? If so, it would not set well with either the Pharasi, or their Forani lords.

     "Pharen is the God of everything, Euticus. There is no other."

     "He must be quite busy, then."

     "Not he. Nor she. It. And It can handle the job just fine."

     "It? How can a god not be a man?"

     True tightened the wrap quickly, her frustration getting the better of her. Euticus cried out again.

     "Pharen is not a man, or a woman, because Pharen's above such base needs. That's why the Forani hate us, because we strive to an impossible standard of being, and expect no less from others. It's almost impossible to decry one person's belief without that person taking it as an insult."

     Euticus thought on this for a moment, and nodded. At least he stopped to consider the concept, more than she could say for most outsiders.

     "They think you believe yourselves better than them."

     True nodded. "Yes, and we do, a bad state of mind when outnumbered in population and pocket. Our time's coming, though."

     She looked out the window. Over the rooftops of the Quarter hung the nearly full moon, and she thought of Darius. The tides would be restless along the coast, and so would he.

     "Why would you, a perfect stranger, fight so hard for us?" she asked.

     "I would have died otherwise."

     "If things were so simple I'd believe you," she said, moving the bowl to a table across the room. "But a man simply fighting to survive would not have gone out of his way to save a stranger."

     "Did I do something wrong?"

     "Forget it. I shouldn't question such a blessing. Like I said, if not for you, Kroog would've been killed."

     "Death can be conquered," Euticus said. True's head snapped up, her original purpose flooding back into the forefront of her mind.

     "What?"

     "Death can be conquered. My father taught it to me," Euticus said, laying back. "He was a great warrior, the last living person in my village that had ever been beyond the mountains. Well, before he died, anyway."

     True turned to the window.

     "He ever talk about where he went and who he fought?" she asked.

     Euticus shook his head. "No. I am not sure why, but he never told me about his battles. Could be because I never asked. He did teach me how to fight, though. And he taught me how to see without using my eyes."

     True's heart skipped a beat.

     "Euticus, what was your father's name?" she asked, holding her breath.

     "Ezekiel. Ezekiel Bluejay."

     True gasped. "No. No it can't be..."

     Euticus came to her side, reaching a hand out to her, but she slapped it away and began pacing around the room.

     "True, what?"

     "You...no...but..."

     True stopped pacing and, remembering the state of her blouse, wrapped her arms around her body in a strange bout of modesty.

     "There's an old story," she said. "Tells of a Blind Warrior with two sons. One would bring the Pharasi into slavery through promises of life. The other would deliver the Pharasi into Tephet, a land of freedom, through promises of death."

     Euticus raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is there a third option that does not involve slavery or death?"

     "That supposed to be a joke? Does Pharen make you laugh?"

     "True, I'm still not sure what that is..."

     "Your knowledge of Pharen is not required," entered a new voice, "for Pharen to know you."

     Darius and Kroog stood at the door, faces blank, hiding their thoughts. True hurried to Darius' side.

     "His name is Bluejay, Darius. Euticus Bluejay. His father was Ezekiel."

     "Did you know my father?" Euticus asked.

     "This certainly explains why he knows the motto," Kroog said, ignoring Euticus' question.

     "Yes..." Darius said, more to himself. "Yes. I know your father. Knew him, anyway."

     He turned to True and Kroog, and said, "Leave us."

     Kroog nodded and turned. True did not move until Kroog grabbed her.

     "Come on, old girl. There's no need for you to stay and listen." She went willingly enough, but not without looking back, one curious eye on Euticus until Kroog closed the door behind her.

***

Darius turned back to Euticus, looking him up and down. Despite his naturally tanned skin and clipped accent, his Nepheralian heritage stood apparent to any who looked for it.

     "You must forgive True. She can be most...devout," he said.

     "What is going on? How did you know my father? How could you? You are only a handful of harvests older than me, and my father had not left our village in forty before his death."

     "The autumn is coming..." Darius said, pleased when Euticus' face knit together in confusion.

     "Autumn? The Dying season? Impossible. The Living season just began..."

     "He was my father, also."

     "Huh?"

     "The spring may have begun wherever you are from, but here, it is long past into summer, and now summer fades to autumn."

      "You...you are my brother?"

     Darius smiled, leaning up against the wall. He wondered how long it would take Euticus to catch on. "Autumn is my favorite season. It is the season of change, when the old begins to be swept away..."

     "That is why they call it the Dying Season. I hate it..."

     "So did Ezekiel Bluejay," Darius said.

     "Would you stop that?" Euticus said, shaking his head in frustration.

     "Stop what?"

     "Changing subjects like that."

     "It is clear that father did not teach you."

     "Teach me what?"

     "Winter is the one I hate..."

     Euticus groaned and slammed his fist against the mattress in frustration. Darius's smile grew to show teeth.

     "If he had taught you, then you would be able to keep up with me, and believe me, this conversation is very simple."

     Euticus narrowed his eyes. "My father taught me every thing. How to fight and hunt, how to see with out seeing. I knew him my entire life, until his death."

     "And when was that?"

     "Four harv...two years ago."

     Darius stood straight.

     "Hm. Then I guess we are right back where we started now, are we not, with you a big mystery? See, my father died five years after my birth, killed by a man he called brother, my uncle. The man now known as Slave. That's where I got this..."

     Darius reached up and ran a finger over his scar. When they first met, he'd noticed Euticus staring at it. Now, however, Euticus kept his emotions guarded. On the other hand, perhaps, after coming face to face with Slave, the stranger simply believed such scars common place on the plains of Nepheralia.

     "It also seems that we are faced with our main concern towards you, young Euticus."

     "And what is that?"

     "'Death can be conquered.' You spoke those words before the battle, did you not?"

     "Yes. It is an invocation of courage. My father taught it to me."

     "Ezekiel Bluejay?"

     "Yes."

     Darius' face guarded his thoughts, and Euticus grew tense.

     "Do you know the origin of the words you speak?" Darius asked. Euticus shook his head.

     "My father only told me that it is a very old creed, one held by warriors of a long dead order."

     Darius nodded. "That is partly true, but that is not the meaning of it now. The only people who speak those words are those who hail from the east, under the command of Slave.

     "You are under suspicion, Euticus, of spying."

     Euticus turned white.

     "I can only give you my word that I am not, but I guess that is not good enough?"

     Darius shook his head. "I am afraid not."

     "So, I guess you are going to kill me, or banish me..."

     "No," Darius said, and started to the door. He opened it, and turned back in the doorway. "I'm going to give you a chance. Follow me."

***

Euticus followed Darius at a distance down the stairs and through the tavern, where the two of them drew several glances. Hundreds of dirty faces parted a way to the door before them, cramming themselves tightly along the walls so they could pass. True, Kroog, Earling, and the rest of Darius's men followed behind them into the street.

     "Kroog, Earling, clear the area and have the men form a wall," Darius ordered, and within a couple minutes Earling had cleared a twenty-meter stretch of road. Darius and Euticus stood in the center.

     "What's happening?" Euticus asked. Darius turned to True.

     "Swords, True, and blindfold." She stepped forward, brandishing two blades, and handed them to Darius. From the waistband of her trousers she pulled a long scrap of cloth.

      Euticus repeated his question. Darius began strapping the sword to his waist.

     "We are going to see if you are truly your father's son," Darius said, and True stepped up behind Euticus. She tried to wrap the blindfold over his eyes, but he ducked away.

     "What, you don't get one?" Euticus asked, keeping True at arm's distance. Darius shrugged.

     "You do not have much of a choice," he said, and Euticus allowed him self to be blindfolded after fastening his own sword to his waist. He felt True's hand rest gently on his shoulder.

     "Good luck, Eue," she whispered, then rejoined the crowd.

     Euticus drew and closed his eyes beneath the blindfold. They would do him no good. He kept his ears and heart open, however. Darius moved quickly with no sound but that of soft footfalls. No one in the crowd would hear it, but Euticus did, off to his left. He blocked the attack and their blades locked.

     Darius pushed Euticus and sent him stumbling back. Euticus spun around, knowing that Darius' back would be vulnerable, but his blade only bit steel. Darius parried the blade away from him, leaving Euticus hurrying to recover.

     The crowd around them began to cheer, making things a bit more difficult for Euticus. He could no longer rely on his hearing, but he had obtained a feel for Darius' style: quick and graceful, better fitted for show than battle.

     Which means that he is playing with me.

     Something cold missed his face by a feather's width, nearly ending this little encounter. He needed to concentrate, to focus, but the sound of the crowd cheering for Darius caught in his ears and echoed.

     There, warm air. He swung the blade to his right. A loud clang cut through the air and vibrated down his arms. Darius allowed no pause in his attack and swung around, but Euticus knew he only needed to raise the sword straight up to block it. He parried, guiding the sword down into the muck of the road.

     The air grew hotter. Euticus smiled now, able to block Darius' frustrated attacks. Slowly the grace fell away and Darius' aggression mounted, his form becoming sloppy. He'd apparently had more practice in commanding or mounted combat than on foot.

     Euticus stayed on defense, waiting to feel an opening. One presented itself when Darius' sword glinted violently to the left. This should have meant that Darius flailed, trying to regain his balance. Euticus lashed out.

     Darius blocked his strike. Euticus felt his blade sink into something wooden, and it took a moment to recognize what had happened. He'd been relying on Darius losing his patience; Darius had anticipated Euticus' ill-founded cockiness.

     Euticus almost lost the fight right then, but when Darius cut downwards he jumped, keeping his hand on the sword. He went up and over, feeling the metal break in the middle of the blade. He rolled forward and turned, throwing the sword at Darius and employing another, mostly frowned upon though no less deadly technique: fighting dirty. He heard Darius cry out and charged.

     The crowd gasped when he felt his fist strike Darius' jaw. It hurt, bad, but the winded oomph that indicated Darius falling square on his backside presented Euticus a small victory that helped to deaden the pain. He fell upon Darius and began raining blows on his body. The beat down did not last long. Darius got a leg free and kicked Euticus in the chest, stunning him long enough for Darius to regain his feet. Euticus charged again. Darius must have anticipated the move, and when Euticus swung he felt his fist pass through nothing but air, followed by vertigo when his own movement sent him spinning wildly. Arms weaved under his own and around his neck, and something knocked his knees out. He fell to the ground, Darius coiled around him like a snake.

     "You did well, Euticus. Perhaps what you say is true. Now. Submit."

      Euticus struggled defiantly, which Darius answered by squeezing a bit tighter. Euticus tapped out, and Darius stood, helped Euticus up, and removed his blindfold.

     "Fellow transporters, I would like to introduce you to the newest member of my company. Euticus Bluejay."

     The transporters crowded around him, smiling, welcoming him with various words. The sudden attention caused another whirling sense of vertigo, but Euticus kept his feet, greeting them each in turn.

     "Join me, brother," Darius said, and Euticus turned to find Darius already mounting the steps to the tavern, his hand out. Euticus joined his side and Darius wrapped his arm around his shoulders. The tension drained under that weight.

    Brother. The word repeated in Euticus' mind. Only one other had called him that in his life, and that other had turned his back on him. He looked at Darius, felt connected to him, and examining the crowd, felt the same.

     They entered the tavern and the Pharasi inside began to clap wildly, welcoming Euticus into their fold. The heightened joy of the now suppressed his memories of Sparrow, Crow, and the childhood games they had played.

     "Get our newest sibling a drink, tender!" Darius cried. The bar keep gave him a small salute and poured a dark ale into a mug made of strange material that Euticus recognized, but could not place. When they got to the bar, Darius picked up the mug and handed it to him. When he grasped it, Euticus had a flash, there and gone, of where he'd seen the **** substance before. His smile disappeared, his eyes blank.

     "Euticus, is something wrong?"

     Euticus looked up in surprise at Darius, knowing that his change in demeanor had been drastic.

     "This mug, what is it made of?"

     Darius' face split into a wide grin, and he laughed.

     "Why, this is glass," he said.

     "Glass," Euticus repeated, running his fingers over its smooth surface. The transporters gathered around him had gone quiet, watching with intense curiosity. Earling burst out laughing.

     "You'd think he's seeing some kind of magic!" he cried, and the others joined in the laughter.

     "Drink up!" Darius yelled, clapping Euticus on the back. Euticus lifted the glass and took a drink. It stung his tongue and throat and he began to cough, eliciting more laughter. Darius lifted his glass in a toast.

     "To The Blind Warrior!" he called.

     "Hear, hear!" called the others, and then one called "To the Coachman!"

     Darius' countenance darkened a bit at this sentiment, but he quickly recovered and repeated it, though with notably less vigor. They all drank, and Euticus managed not to choke again. With the toasts said, the celebration began. A woman pushed her way forward and pulled Euticus onto the floor. They danced and others joined in, and soon the mass of Pharasi became a swirling blur of smiles and laughter. They sang and danced and drank long into the night, and Euticus found himself to be home.

This particular chapter has probably seen more changes made to it in the five years since I first wrote it than any other. Originally, it came at the end of chapter 2, but someone pointed out to me that, as I had it, the chapter was twenty pages of talk followed by five of action, and wasn't very satisfactory. So I decided to give the action its very own chapter. Let me know if you think it was the right choice.

It's also the first time we encounter Slave, the antagonist, in this draft (originally he was introduced in a scene where he gives a villainous speech worthy of a saturday morning cartoon, a scene I later replaced with the "Boma Moment"). Slave is an important character to me, because his developement goes hand in hand with what I spoke about in a previous Blog entry about making villains less villainy and more people with their own agenda. It isn't readily apparent here, but hopefully down the road it will be.

Okay, enough chit chat. Time to paint the earth red...

Chapter 3

Proving Grounds

Euticus fidgeted, staring out at the morning fog. In his village, the fog turned the shapes of trees into empty shadows under the low light. Looking out at them he could almost see the ghosts of past lives dancing through the forest, reminders of campfire stories that faded with the day, or the living of life. Here, however, on this flat plain, he only saw the shape of nothingness.

     Darius had taken the wagons Kroog managed to repair the night before and left with the bulk of the men, leaving the remainder with only eight wagons and a handful of grain sacks and old barrels for defense. Kroog somehow managed to organize this meager supply into barricades, though Euticus doubted whether it would be adequate against an attack.

     "This isn't good," said the man sharing Euticus' post. "Almost like this fog's been sent by Pharen Itself. Oh, I wish I'd not gotten caught dipping into the food stores. Again."

     Euticus laughed.

     "Oh, find that humorous, do you? Tickles your funny bone, does it? Tell me then, what did you do?"

     "What do you mean?" Euticus said, popping a piece of dried meat that True had given him into his mouth. He held it under his tongue, enjoying the strange spices and the way they made his mouth water.

     "What you do to get on Darry's **** list? That's the only reason any of us're here, except Kroog and True. We all did something wrong."

     Euticus chewed slowly. True had said something about learning how to kill, and quickly.

    "Simple enough. I'm a stranger."

     The man grinned. "Ah, a test then. Didn't think I recognized you. You're the one they found on the side of the road back a ways. Already making you fight, eh? That's one grasser of a welcome, friend."

     Euticus nodded, dropping his hand down to the sword Kroog had given him. The feel of its tightly woven grip and sure weight relaxed him. He swallowed the bit of jerky in his mouth and tore another piece off the strip in his pocket. The man eyed him while he did so, and Euticus tore off a second piece and offered it.

     "Thanks," he said, chewing the meat and swallowing it easily like a piece of bread. "Name's Jun, by the way."

     The man held out his hand, and Euticus took it.

     "Jun, the delver of food supplies, is it?"

     "Close enough. Actually, it's Glut."

     "Glut? They call you that?"

     "Mm-hm. When I get in trouble. Is my Fault Name."

     "Fault name?" Jun gave him a look that indicated most people were born with such knowledge.

     "Yeah, Fault Name. All Pharasi get a Fault Name and a Virtue Name. With this outfit, my fault name is Glut, because I eat more than my share."

     "What's your Virtue?"

     Jun smiled and said, "Haven't one yet."

     "My name is Euticus. Bluejay."

     Jun laughed. "Bluejay? What kind of name is that?"

     "My father's name," Euticus said, the humor gone from is face. Jun stopped laughing, and turned around back to his watch. Euticus did the same and found the eastern sky getting lighter.

     "Morning coming," Jun said. "Looks like Pharen smiles on...oh, Ox ****!"

     "What?" Euticus asked, moving to join Jun, but his companion had already whirled around toward the center of the camp, putting his hands up to his mouth.

     "Enemy approaching from the South East!" he cried.

     Euticus watched, bewildered, then turned. Where there had been nothing only a second before, he now saw dark shapes moving in the fog, a long, undulating wave of shadow that spanned across the horizon. They were still pretty far out, and Euticus only saw them now that Jun had pointed them out. How Jun had spotted them, Euticus did not know.

     "Hawkeye," Euticus said when Jun returned to his side, sword drawn. Euticus drew his own.

     "What's that?" Jun asked.

     "You're virtue name."

     Kroog, True, and fifty others joined them, carrying bags and barrels and forming a makeshift barricade. Kroog looked down at Euticus and smiled.

     "It's looking like your going to get to test that fancy knife of yours out a little earlier than expected, eh?"

     Euticus nodded and swallowed. The jerky no longer worked to wet his mouth. He shook his head, trying to get it together.

     The enemy advance stopped, and the world quieted around them. The only sound came from his pulse beating steadily in his ears. He stared out at a solid black mountain range of metal and flesh, the only break in the mass the valleys and peaks created by helmeted heads and armored shoulders.

     A strange, guttural cry rolled through the morning air, and the enemy began its charge. Euticus saw the dust covering the crate he used for cover begin to vibrate, then dance.

     Euticus braced himself, his arms heavy with the weight of his sword. The presence of the people on either side of him reassured him, their energy pulsing with his own, and in that moment he felt his self fall away, becoming a part of the whole.

      Becoming a Pharasi.

     The ground now quaked with the enemy's approach. The shadow passed, revealing the attackers, human attackers. Sharp, feral eyes shone from behind slightly slanted lids and flat, stony faces. Black, layered plates formed their strange armor, and they held thin swords high above their heads. Euticus' arms tightened.

     This is madness, he thought. These people look as though they were born during battle...

     "Damn..." Kroog cursed. "They send their foot soldiers first. Oh well...

     "Pharasi! Charge!" The line sprung up without hesitation at Kroog's command. Euticus found himself swept up in their fervor and he ran at the enemy, sword held out to his side. Sparrow, Crow, the village and the Birthing Pool faded from his mind. Only here and now mattered. Only survival.

     He charged ahead, first to engage the enemy. He swung laterally, taking a man in the gut. When his blade connected, it met resistance. Not the resistance of armor, but the soft, elastic resistance of flesh and muscle. Had he hit the man hard enough? Maybe his sword needed some time with a grindstone?

     The resistance vanished and Euticus' sword sunk into his victim's stomach. Blood sprayed from the wound and Euticus froze, watching the man's insides blossom around the point where the blade lay lodged in his belly. The man fell screaming, trying to hold his intestines in.

     Oh, Crow, he was still alive. Why was he still alive? A blow like that should have killed him but he was still alive and his hands were full of blood and meat and ****...

     A sharp pain flared in Euticus' arm, bringing him back to the battle. A squat man stood growling before him, a drop of blood falling from the tip of his blade. The squat man could have killed Euticus, had he not been toying around.

     The Squat Man lunged, his hair trailing in a ponytail stuck through the top of his helmet. Euticus reflexively blocked the blade, only to be blind-sided by the Squat Man's fist. The bandit jumped back, half laughing and snarling, his narrow eyes nearly closed by a jagged smile. Euticus whirled about to face him again. The Squat Man beckoned to him with a finger.

     A game, then, like the Hunters back home played against the wild hogs. Every time they touched their prey with their bare hands before killing it, they gained more respect among their ranks.

     "Two can play at that!" he shouted at the Squat Man, whose smile disappeared. Clearly, he did not care for the idea of his prey being a good sport. He charged at Euticus, this time intent on making the kill. Euticus side stepped the wild attack and cracked the Osernian at the base of the neck with the pommel of his sword. Euticus felt something give underneath the blow, and The Squat Man stumbled and fell face first to the ground.

     While Euticus waited for the Squat Man to get back up, he heard someone coming up from behind him just in time to drop to one knee. An ax sliced the air above his head, and the weight of the throw served only to throw its wielder, a tall, narrow shouldered man, off balance. Euticus drove his sword through the attacker's back. That same resistance traveled through his blade as it slid into flesh, but not so strong now.

     He turned back to his original problem, but the Squat man had not gotten up.

     Taking in the battlefield, Euticus saw Kroog take two men with one swing of his pick ax, already adorned with pieces of flesh, twisted decorations gleaming in the morning light. True impaled another. Jun latched on to someone's back and lifted the man's chin while another Pharasi slit the man's throat. He saw death, and his new benefactors dealt it.

     Euticus spotted a group of their attackers engaged with a woman. They almost immediately relieved her of her sword. Not a fighter, then. Just someone on Darius' bad side. Euticus ran at them but arrived too late. They took the woman down in a torrent of blows and blood.

     Euticus came down on them screaming, killing one outright, parrying the second's attack, and slashing a third's chest before they could effectively coordinate against him. With each strike the resistance he felt grew less and less. Those left alive began to run, but Euticus picked up the fallen woman's sword and threw it, taking one in the neck. He pursued another, splitting the Osernian's back open from neck to waist, exposing the white, spiny back bone against ashen skin. This one died easily, Euticus' blade cut cleanly. He fought on, his blade sharpened by the need to survive.

     Blood from one enemy flew from his blade as he stained it with that of another. Blood ran down his face, over his hands and arms none of it his, all of it warm, all of it comforting.

     He ran his sword through the neck of one man and into the ground. He pulled it out and swung around, only to have his blow blocked by Kroog's pick ax. The blacksmith's thick arms gleamed red from the elbows down, his face and beard caked with a grayish red mixture of muck and blood. Euticus saw the others around him. The crimson fluid of life, the life of people lying broken and dead around them, bathed their skin. Euticus felt cleansed.

     "Lower your weapon, boy. Fight's over."

     Euticus nodded and fell to his knees. Kroog helped him up, putting a huge paw on his shoulder.

     "You did well. We..."

     "Kroog, Slave is approaching from the west! Slave himself is approaching from the west!"

     Kroog started forward, his eyes wide.

     "Cavalry?"

     The scout nodded.

     "Pharen, help us." Kroog turned, facing his men, and said, "Back to the barricade!"

     The transporters turned and ran. Out of the darkness of the west, the last remnant of the night, red banners stitched with the insignia of a sun emerged.

     "Death can be conquered," Euticus whispered.

 ***

Kroog's heart paused when the ancient motto escaped Euticus' lips. His hammer twitched in his hands, thirsty for the boy's blood. The only men who used those words in these times served the rogue Osernian Wolf, Slave.

     Something staid his hand, however. Taking immediate action against Euticus would only cause confusion amongst the ranks while also opening him up to attack. Ox ****, of course. He could easily crush the boy's skull before Slave arrived, and the others would never question his judgment.

     "Get to the barricade!" Kroog cried again, more to quell his suspicions before they got the better of him than to spur his men. The line sat only twenty meters away, but Kroog thought he could feel the breath of Slave's horsemen down his back.

     He reached the barricade and crouched behind it, pushing himself flat against the dew soaked wood of a crate. His ass barely hit the ground before horses flew over his head in a storm of sod and hooves. He heard screams up and down the line as horses failed the make the jump and either crashed through the barricade or landed atop his hiding fellows. Kroog closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable moment when a ton of horse came crushing down upon him.

    It didn't happen, and when the last of the horses landed on their side of the wall, he stood, hammer ready.

     "Attack!" he ordered, and the others jumped to their feet and began hacking at the horsemen from behind. The horses, unable to maneuver in the tight confines of the camp, panicked and reared, throwing their riders to the ground. Kroog's fighters fell upon them and ended their part in the charge.

     A few of the Pharasi took to the saddles of the unmanned horses and began to engage Slave's men in mounted combat. Those still on the ground swarmed the remaining enemy horses and toppled the riders.

     Kroog made short work of a group of men trying to surround him and began to make his way through the chaos toward Slave, sitting atop a mighty black horse in the middle of the battle, barking orders and fighting off the occasional attacker. Torches arced through the air and the wagons began erupting into flame.

     Kroog cleaved a soldier trying to flank him. The blow collapsed the Osernian's chest and lifted him off his feet. He slid on the grass and stopped, gurgling. Kroog made no move to finish him off. Let bastard drown in his own blood. Kroog had more important matters at hand.

     "Slave!"

     Slave pulled his blade out of a dead Pharasi's face and turned his mount to face Kroog. He smiled a grim, red toothed grin and wiped a streamer of saliva from the corner of his mouth. A mane of black hair hung about his face in thick braids and cascaded over his shoulders like water falls. Gore splattered his breastplate, deepening the color of the Crimson Sun insignia. He dismounted, heavy boots sinking into the blood muddied earth, and slapped his horse on the backside to send the animal away. The gray wolf-fur lining of his leather overcoat bristled in the heat cast by the burning wagons.

     "Kroog, the Smith. You forged this sword, I believe." He brandished his blade, a katana made in the Osernian tradition, long, thin, and slightly curved, made for speed and accuracy rather than devastating force. Kroog recognized the blade. He had forged it for a slave master in the borderlands he fought for, decades ago. Slave had carved the obsidian grip into the shape of a snarling, maned wolf.

     "Not for you to wield!" Kroog roared, lifting his hammer above his head and charging. Slave roared back, his face square and faintly lion-like, meeting the blacksmith's challenge. Kroog swung and Slave raised his katana. The two weapons met with a fierce clang that reverberated through their arms and echoed above the battle around them.

     A frustrated growl rose up in Kroog's throat and he parried his opponents blade. The hammer too heavy to bring quickly back to bear, he drove forward with his forehead, landing a blow on Slave's mouth.

     The Osernian Lord wheeled back but recovered quickly. Blood coursed over his chin from a small spit in his upper lip. He spit out a broken tooth, trailing red saliva on its way to the ground. His dark eyes fixed on Kroog's, and he grinned again.

     Kroog rushed forward, bringing his hammer around for massive blow. Slave back stepped gracefully despite the bulk of his muscle and armor. Kroog lost his balance and fell to the ground. He landed on his hammer and the spike gouged his side, cracking his ribs. He grit his teeth against the pain crystallizing through his body and rolled away.

     Another Pharasi tried to come to his aid, but Slave blocked the blow and grabbed the man by the throat. He lifted the transporter and threw him into the wreckage of the burning wagon. The flames flared, choking the air with sparks, ash, and smoke.

     "You bastard," Kroog wheezed, almost inaudible against the sounds of battle and the screams of the man burning alive three meters away.

     Slave's shadow fell over him, kicking the war hammer away like it weighed nothing. Kroog saw him only in silhouette, a familiar shape that wrapped his heart in sharp, steely fingers, and for the first time in all the battles he'd ever fought, Kroog knew fear.

***

"Kroog!" True cried, witnessing the old smith's fall. She began to make her way over, but soon had her hands busy. Watching Slave tower over a disarmed, frozen Kroog, a desperate need to finish with her attackers seized her. Kroog looked scared.

     Kroog never looked scared.

     A short blade passed so closely in front of her eyes she made out the nicks in the metal. Too close. She focused on her own battle and drove her cutlass up into the Osernian's armpit. His narrow eyes widened and he cried out. True stepped under his arm, came up behind him and pulled on her blade, slicing through her opponent's shoulder. Blood sprayed from the wound, soaking her back.

     Two more of Slave's Wolves sprung up, one before and one behind her, snarling in Osernian. One had an obvious erection and seemed to be enjoying it. She kicked him between the legs and he fell limp to the ground. The other attacked, putting up more of a fight. Now on the defensive and unable to find an opening, she knew she would not make it to Kroog.

     A small shape, silhouetted by the fire of a burning wagon, charged silently from Slave's left while the enemy commander prepared to skewer Kroog.

     Euticus...

***

 

Euticus swung just as Slave drove downward. The blow should have fatally gouged Slave, but steel now occupied the space where only a second before had been a leather joining strap. The blow grazed off Slave's armor, but it did knock him off kilter, and his sword sunk harmlessly into the ground next to Kroog's face.

     Slave spun around, backhanding Euticus with a gauntleted fist. Euticus never before felt such a blow. He felt his jaw swelling already, and considered himself lucky that it had not broken. He began to get up when a shadow consumed the light around him. Slave stalked toward him, Euticus' focus drawn to the scar splitting the side of his face.

     Damn the Vulture, it's him.

     His dream of the killer, faceless except for the scar, flashed in his mind. Euticus' blood became paralyzing ice.

     "Gutsy move, boy. Very gutsy, and it proved that perhaps I have gotten careless. Unfortunately, it only served to warn me to this fact. It will not happen again."

     Slave reached down, grabbed Euticus around the neck, and pulled him to his feet. He raised his fist in a clatter of armor and creak of leather.

     "As gratitude for enlightening me to my lack of attention, you get to die slowly," Slave said. Euticus grinned.

     "Death can be conquered."

     Slave's fist wavered.

     "Wha-?"

     Euticus used the opportunity to kick out with both legs, striking Slave in his chest and knocking him back. His grip loosened and Euticus fell, gasping. He rolled back, finding his sword and coming up in a wide stance.

     "That's twice you've knocked me off my balance, boy," Slave said. "I think I might actually remember you after I've removed the head from your shoulders."

     Slave retrieved his sword, taking no notice of the fact that Kroog had crawled away, and lifted it.

     "Do you know what the secret to fighting is, boy?"

     "That it doesn't matter how big your **** is, as long as you have the upper hand."

     Slave laughed.

     "Very good. My father taught me the same thing."

     "So did mine," Euticus said, beginning to circle. Slave found strength in power and experience. His weakness would be dependence on that power and hubris.

     A voice called out in a strange language, redirecting Slave's attention. Euticus followed his opponent's gaze and found one of Slave's men kneeling before them.

     Slave said something in reply, refocusing on Euticus. The man chattered on in his clipped, aggressive tongue, and Slave's face grew increasingly strained. Euticus recognized only one word: Darius.

     He'd come back. Euticus hoped this news would give him an opening, but Slave did not look away, or even blink. He sounded an ear splitting whistle and a massive horse trotted up, its hooves tossing up clods of red earth and trampled grass. Slave mounted, never taking his eyes off Euticus.

     "I very much look forward to meeting you again, boy," Slave said, then called for the retreat of his men. They ceased their attack, turning south and riding from the battle, disappearing into what remained of the fog. It reminded Euticus of a chaotic murder of crows taking wing from the fields back home.

     He lowered his blade, skin streaked with dirt and gore, and stared into the east, now brightening from red to pink. He watched his Pharasi hosts begin pulling the wounded and dead clear of the battle's burning wreckage. True tended to Kroog a few meters away.

     The blacksmith studied him, the welcoming gleam now gone from his eyes. Darius rode up moments later, followed by two large columns of soldiers in armor holding white banners at the front of each. Their eyes met, and Darius nodded approval. Euticus nodded back, and passed out.

This being an early chapter in a fantasy novel, there is obviously quite a bit of world builiding and exposition that goes with it. I've tried to sprinkle it throughout between bits of character developement and action, so that it comes of more natural rather than an encyclopedia entry. Of course, I'll never know how successful I've been without and outside eye looking in.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated.

 

Chapter 2

Awakening

True Aspiris sat running a grindstone over the edge of her sword, pausing intermittently to feel the edge with her thumb and frowning with each knick or incongruence she felt in the blade. Normally she would be done by now, but...

     She looked over her shoulder at the tent behind her. Her Transporter caravan had found its occupant, a strange young man dressed in animal skins, near the site of some Pharasi ruins two days before, clutching a piece of fragmented Pharasi sculpture. If Darius, the commander of her transporter company, hadn't spotted the vultures flying overhead, they would have missed him completely. Even then, vultures weren't a strange sight on the Nepheralian plain, but for some reason Darius saw fit to call a halt.

     He went to investigate the site himself, taking her and Earling, another wagon Captain, with him. True expected to find a dead chicken hog or ox...something dead, in any case. Instead they found the stranger. When Darius slung him over his shoulder, the boy whispered one word.

     Sparrow.

     "Ow!" True cried out, dropping the sword. A thin ribbon of blood ran down the length of her index finger, mixing with the thin layer of dirt that coated most Pharasi skin. She sucked on it, examined the cut -- barely a scratch -- and picked up the sword.

     She sang while she worked...

O, what will this season bring?

Love and hope for everything?

What fruits will the season bear?

Love and new life to rear?

 

     "Sparrow?"

     A grunt followed the word and True whirled around, verdant eyes searching for the disturbance. The stranger lay on the grass, half out of the tent. Her hand tightened around her sword and he retreated inside like a rabbit into its borough.

     "Well, look who's up," she said, standing straight and planting a fist on her dusty hip. The stranger said something in a language she could not understand. She rolled her eyes, sheathing the sword and mumbling, "Just my luck, I get stuck watching a foreigner."

     "W-where am I?" he asked in heavily accented though passable Nephish.

     "Aw, so you can speak some sense," True said. Looked like he had some surprises, after all. "You from Predor?"

     He cocked his head, thinking the words over. True crossed her arms, trying to wait and finding it difficult. Always did.

     "I am sorry," he said. "My other-tongue is...atrophied? I have not used it since my father left."

     "Left? Left to where?"

     "To spirit place," he said after a pause.

     "Oh, you mean Tephet," she said.

     "No. I mean spirit place," the stranger said. True tried to calm herself with a deep breath, and failed.

     "You best stand when you talk to me, stranger," she said, kicking the ground at his head. The stranger reeled back, protecting his eyes from the stinging spray of dirt and grass. Those wild eyes shot back up to hers, his intent clear. She reached again for her blade. He stood, matching her height. Much larger game than this scrap of a boy had fallen to her blade, and she stood firm.

     "Why you kick dirt at me?" he yelled. His bronzed skin suggested a half-breed of Nepheralian and Predorian descent, but his accent sounded unlike anything she'd ever heard.

     "You're being rude to your hostess," she said and stepped forward, convinced he wouldn't do anything unless provoked. He might scream and yell and try to threaten her, but that's all he would do. No backbone, this one.

     "Who are you?" he asked.

     "No, I don't think so. You first," she said. His eyes widened.

     "Answer me, wom--agh!"

     True's fingers dug into his throat, cutting him off.

     "Complete that statement," she said, and with her other hand grabbed his crotch. "And I'll be more a man than you before I'm done. Understand?"

     She squeezed sharply, for emphasis. The stranger nodded, and she let go with a light push. He gasped and she stepped away, picking up the grindstone and returning to the task of her sword.

     "What's your name?" she asked.

     "Euticus," he said, waddling around the fire and squatting in front of her, wincing. He sent his brown eyes wandering over her. The lack of luridness surprised her, and had it been present she would have had to trounce him again. She saw only curiosity, however, and let it slide until he said, "You dress like man."

     True slammed the grindstone and the sword into the ground.

     "That's it!" she said, preparing to lunge at him.

     "True!"

     The voice threw her off balance and she fell forward, catching her weight with an elbow. Darius strode up, his dark hair ebbing like ocean waves driven by the wind. She scrambled to her feet, coming to attention under the glare of his faintly lion-like features, perfect except for a single scar running down the right side of his face from the corner of his eye to his chin. He carried an ox skin bag tucked under his arm.

     "Ease, Pharasi," he said, and True relaxed. Darius looked down at Euticus.

     "Stand for the Company Commander," True said. Euticus obeyed, and Darius extended his hand. Euticus made no move to take it, his attention locked on Darius' scar.

     "Hey." She snapped her fingers. "Accept your host's greeting."

     Euticus blinked, looked at her, and shook Darius' hand.

     "My name is Darius, and that is my only name," Darius said. "What is your name, stranger?"

     "Euticus. Some call me Eue."

     True smiled. "Ewe? You mean like a girl-goat?"

     Laughter rippled through the crowd beginning to gather around them. Darius held up a hand, and it died down.

     "You are made of strong stuff, Euticus," he said. "We found you two days ago on this very road on our way to The Hub. We would have missed you had it not been for the vultures flying over head."

     Darius twirled two fingers in the air to illustrate the point. True saw Euticus waver and stumble forward.

     "Whoa," Darius said, catching him. "Sit down. True, get a stool."

     True sighed and went to find a stool. She returned a moment later and slammed it down before Euticus. Darius lowered the boy onto the stool and crouched before him.

     "Is she always so warm?" Euticus asked. True fingernails bit into her palms.

     "You always so insolent?" she shot back.

    "Careful what you say," Darius said. "She is my third in command. We are hospitable people, Euticus, but I do not take kindly to insults. She helped you. Show her respect."

     The stranger bowed his head slightly to True, and she let it go.

     "Good," Darius said. "Where are you from, Euticus? Predor?"

     "I am from Living Valley, at base of eastern high rocks."

     "High rocks? You mean mountains?"

     Euticus considered this a moment and nodded. True took another deep breath. The little bastard probably needed to get his story straight.

     "There's nothing but sea to the East, stranger," True said. "What you say's impossible, unless you come from west of the Bone Wastes and the Dragonspine, and that's even more unlikely than mountains magically sprouting up out of the water."

     "Sea? What is sea?"

     A chuckle went through the crowd, and one said, "I think his head broke, Cap'n!"

     "Silence, Earling," Darius said. "The sea is water, Euticus. Leagues of water, stretching into the horizon. That is what lies to the east."

     Euticus shook his head. "No, there are high rocks! My village is at base, at edge of forest..."

     "What, now there's trees in the east as well?" Earling asked. "Now I know he's broke!"

     Earling got another laugh. Darius ignored it, never taking his narrowed eyes from Euticus, who leaned away from it. True knew that gaze well, how it could turn some men into blubbering idiots crying out for their mothers.

     Darius reached into the bag and pulled out the piece of sculpture Euticus had been found with.

     "What do you know about this?"

     Euticus studied it for a second, and said, "What is it?"

     "I hoped you would tell me. We found you clutching it to your chest. Here, take a closer look."

     Darius held it out for the stranger, who took it hesitantly. True saw him focus on the symbol of Pharen, a slender figure with wings extended out and up. His eyes glazed over for a second. Why, True could not discern, but she guessed fear.

     "Well?" Darius asked.

     "Never seen before," Euticus said.

     "Don't you lie," True said. "You recognized this symbol."

     She pointed to the symbol of Pharen.

     "Saw something like it, once. Creature," Euticus said. True backed away, and heard gasps from the crowd around her. He had seen the Pharen, and had the audacity to call it a 'creature'? Her sword called to her hand. Never before had someone teased its wrath so many times and gotten away with it.

     "I think you should rest, stranger," Darius said after a moment's contemplation. His voice put her at ease. "Tell us your story when you are ready. Earling!"

     "Yes, sir?" Earling eased past True, rubbing one eager fist with his hand.

     "Have Pim make our guest a meal, and prepare the camp for another night's stay. It does not appear that we will be going anywhere tonight."

     "Yes, sir," Earling said, dropping his fist. Euticus took a relieved breath.

     "Sleep, stranger," Darius said, standing. "We have much to discuss later." He turned to True, and with a hand on her shoulder led her some distance away. Her pulse drummed heavily with each step, and when they stopped and his hand dropped from her shoulder, so did her heart.

     "I trust him," Darius said.

     "What? We've no idea who he is or where he came from! Sure, he's got a Nephish name, but can barely speak the language. And how could he possibly come from west of the Dragonspine? Even if he'd managed to make it through the range, he'd still have the desert to cross."

     "I do not think he did either of those things," Darius said.

     "By ship, then? He could've been traveling from sea side."

     Darius looked back towards Euticus.

     "Trust me, True," he said, his eyes blank.

     "I...I do," she said reluctantly, and walked away. She spared a final glance at Euticus, sitting alone in the entry to his tent, watching the camp.

* * *

Euticus lay awake for the second night in a row, kept awake by confusion. He listened to the camp outside. A distant host of drunken voices celebrated some unknown thing, perhaps just being alive. The warmth of the voices brought a lonely shiver through Euticus, and he pulled his arms and legs closer to his body. Something similar to a reed whistle accompanied the singing. Despite the familiarity of the sound, the foreign staccato beat and dissonant notes separated him further from his hosts.

     Where in the Vulture's gullet am I?

     He kept his head down while they traveled, spending more time listening than speaking. He recognized the language they spoke; it had been his father's tongue, and though Euticus had not spoken it in several years, he'd begun picking it up again quickly.

     The clanking sound of someone doing metalwork nearby added to the din and shattered his thoughts. Euticus tried burying his head deeper in the straw they had given him for bedding to stifle the sound, but soon the edges of his ears began to feel like ants crawled along over them, tiny feet poking the soft flesh and setting it on fire. He withstood the sensation for only a few moments before rolling over in a huff and sitting.

     The pounding continued outside. He stood, wincing, a sharp pain spearing through his side. He clutched at it, his hand hesitating at the soft feel of bandages. He ran his hand over the strange material, inspecting the wrap with his fingers. Satisfied, he exited the tent and followed the racket. Four wagons in various stages of repair sat in a circle nearby. Two more stood about four meters away, looking like a couple of hunters recently tended to after a nasty struggle with a boar. They would survive, but their youth had fallen behind them.

     A fire blazed six meters away. He could feel its heat on his skin even from this distance. It did not smell like a fire, however. It smelled more like burning ****.

     A stout little man, built like a tree trunk with thick tufts of facial hair, crouched over it. He pulled something from the fire, glowing metal, and put it on a nearby block. With the confidence of years, he began to hammer and shape it to his will.

     Clank! Clank!The hammer strikes flashed orange sparks in the night, drawing Euticus forward.

     "A good evening for smithing, wouldn't you say, stranger?"

     Euticus froze. The man peered back over his shoulder and smiled, revealing a set of surprisingly straight teeth.

     "You'd think an old blacksmith like me couldn't a heard you creeping on, eh? You youngsters're so damned cocky. Too damned cocky for your own damned good, you know. Hanging around this bunch taught me that one long ago. Why, just the other day, they demonstrated the fact rather gratuitously, in my humble opinion."

     Euticus smiled and edged forward, watching the man work. Several metal bands rested in the fire, slowly growing red hot. Finished with the one he'd been working on, he pulled another out with a long pair of tongs and set it on a small but heavy looking block of iron and began to hammer it into shape.

     "If not for them cocky young bastards," he continued, "we'd never got stuck here in the open, thirty leagues from the Hub with only half a cargo and a third of the people we started out with. Damned shame, their loss. Not like Pharasi just pop out of the ground, you know. "

     "They say in my village that youth is wasted on the young," Euticus said, still fascinated by the man's control over metal. The smith paused for a moment, then began to chuckle, sending tremors through his densely muscled body. Even laughter could move a mountain, it seemed.

     "Is it what they say, now? Hm. Well, guess I can agree with that. You're kind of sharp, boy. Of course, not too smart. If you were, I doubt we'd have found you half dead on the side of the damned road. You owe your life to Darius, boy..."

     "Euticus."

     "Ah. I'd be Kroog, the Black Smith."

     Kroog extended a thickly veined paw that swallowed Euticus' hand when he took it. When they shook, Euticus felt like his teeth would rattle free of their sockets.

     "What happened?" Euticus asked. Kroog dipped the metal ring into a bucket of water. The water boiled and the metal sighed. Steam poured over the rim.

     "An Osernian Wolf named Slave. We're lucky anyone's left to draw down by the fire tonight."

     "Slave?"

     "Yeah. Kind of notorious, mean reputation. Bastards grassed us on the road back from Sea Side. Luckily, Darius caught wind of it, had us hit the road early. If he'd not done that, Slave would've boxed us in, crushed us into the dirt. Damned luck he didn't. Not that I doubt the boss's skill, or anything. That skill got us out. But I never discount luck, either."

     They made their way to one of the broken carts and Euticus helped while Kroog fitted the metal onto one of the wheels. He made a few adjustments and stood, cracking his back. It sounded like dropping rocks slowly into a quarry.

     "I'm going to the Fire. Want to come?"

     "I should sleep. I'm not exactly sure what is going on with me."

     "Ah, the 'nesia, huh? My father got the 'nesia once. Never cured it. Wound up going ape ****."

     "What's an 'ape ****'?"

     "Bananas. Ha! No, it mean's he went crazy. What's the last thing you remember, boy?"

     Euticus struggled to remember.

     "I'd been traveling through the forest with Sparrow, a woman I know. Her bond mate jumped us, his people beat me. Then I woke up here, with you people."

     Kroog said, "Sounds harsh. Word of advice, boy. Don't try too hard to remember yourself. Let it come to you."

     Euticus nodded, unsure what Kroog meant, and went back into his tent. He lay down, unable to sleep.

* * *

During his tenth harvest, Euticus fell out of a tree and broke his arm. For the next couple of months, the tearing agony of trying to use this arm marked each day. The memory of that pain lingered in the back of his head even now, and since that day he'd been just a little wary of trees. Not a good thing, considering a forest surrounded the village.

     "Never thought I'd miss them so," Euticus mumbled, sitting on the edge of Darius' camp, his head lulling groggily to his chest. Grass rippled across a vast expanse of gently rolling land extending from one horizon to the other. Wispy little stalks of gold colored seeds sprang from the tops of the unchecked blades, and their movement in the wind reminded him of the Birthing Pool at midday, when the water caught the sun just right and appeared to glow.

     This faint comparison only deepened the already abysmal pit forming in his stomach. He shifted his attention to the sky, deep blue in the west fading gently to white in the east, where the sun had begun its daily journey. No clouds accompanied the sun on; with out them for reference, the day loomed overhead rather than peeked curiously at the world below. He felt like a mouse left dangerously exposed in a clearing where a passing hawk could swoop down and carry him off.

     A chirping sound made the image all too real, and jerked to find the source. He stepped around the back of his tent and found a group of strange birds pecking at the ground about a hundred yards away from the camp. Upon closer inspection, the only things birdlike about them were their feet, movements, and call. They possessed bodies too round to fly, covered with what looked more like fur than feathers. Their wings amounted to little more than stubs, and in place of beaks, they had a strange, fleshy tube overhanging a narrow jaw full of peg like teeth.

     He spotted one that had wandered away from the rest and approached it slowly. It stopped foraging and tilted its head, looking up at him with one fearless eye.

     Am I really so unthreatening? He wondered, reaching down to touch the bird when something hit it, lifting it off its feet in a flurry of down and blood.

     "Good, work, stranger. We may keep you around, yet."

     True appeared beside him, a bow in her right hand and a quiver of arrows strapped to her back.

     "What is it?" Euticus asked, turning back to the dead fowl and poking at it with his foot. True bent down and picked it up by the protruding arrow, blood running down the shaft and pooling in the space between her thumb and forefinger.

     "Breakfast," she said, a hungry look of satisfaction on her face. "Come on, I'll share. This time."

     Euticus studied her on their way back to the camp. She wore a sword on her hip, the same one she'd been working on when he first saw her. He had thought it might be Darius' sword, but the fact that it belonged to this woman sparked his curiosity. That, and not only the bow, but her apparent skill with the bow, turned his curiosity into a bonfire.

     "So, you are a hunter?" he asked.

     "When I need to be," True answered. "Other times I'm a warrior, or a thief. Also been a whore, when the occasion called for it, and one day I suppose I'll be a mother, too."

     Euticus blinked.

     "You certainly live up to your name, don't you?" he asked.

     "Not sure I follow."

     "True. You know...you are very honest. Where I come from, some might take it as too honest for your own good."

     She whirled around on him and said, "Then it's a good thing we're here and not there, isn't it?"

     Euticus swallowed, saying, "I suppose so."

     True leered for a second longer before continuing. They arrived at the heart of the camp, where twenty fires blazed at once. Groups of ten clustered around each one. For the most part these groups consisted of five men and five women, though the number skewed in a couple of cases. They sat in circles, some poking at various cuts and bruises, others nursing hangovers or cooking breakfast. A glut of strange and familiar scents teased at Euticus' nose, making his mouth water. True led him to a fire with nine men who, upon seeing her approach, stood up at attention.

     "Ease, Pharasi," she said, and they relaxed. Euticus scratched is head, unable to grasp the concept of a woman leading men. The fate of the bird, soon to be their meal, helped to clarify.

     "Ah, looks like the Cap'n brought some meat for us..." one said around a mouthful of potato.

     "Thanks to Euticus here," she said, taking a seat. Euticus raised his hand in greeting, but the gesture withered when the men ignored it.

     "What's he doing here?" one of them asked. True patted the ground next to her. Euticus settled uneasily, the men fixing him with dark eyes.

     "He helped catch your breakfast," she said, throwing the dead bird on Euticus' lap and handing him a knife.

     "Would you honor us, so?" she asked. He nodded and took the knife. The men collectively held their breath when his hand wrapped around the hilt.

     "Why is your group different?" he asked, and began cleaning the bird. The men exhaled, but continued to watch his hands.

     "What?" True asked, and looked around. "Oh, why aren't we Balanced?"

     Euticus paused in his task, turning the word over in his head.

     "Balanced?"

     True closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. "You really are lost, aren't you?"

     Euticus thought the answer obvious, so he said nothing.

     "Part of our faith, the Pharasi faith. All things require balance in order to work. Man and woman need each other to survive. Light creates darkness, and without light, darkness has no meaning. Same with life and death...if we did not know death, would we have a word for life? So on and so forth. We try to reflect this fact in our lives. So, five men and five women per group.

     "As for your original question, our group is different because we don't have any more women to put in it, and too many men."

     "Doesn't that mean you are offending your beliefs?"

     "No, it simply means we don't have the right number of men and women. We strive to attain balance, but it, like all things, has an opposite."

     "Imbalance."

     True nodded and began shuffling around in her pack.

     "There are no trees here," he said, more confident from the success of his last question.

     "Course not," True said. "These're the plains, you fool." Laughter from around the fire greeted her.

     "The plains?"

     True stopped in the middle of fishing a potato out of the pot and gave him a baffled look.

     "Yes, plains. A huge, grassy field extending five-hundred leagues in every direction from the Imperial Hub. There're a few sporadic growths of weeds here and there, and the occasional town or inexplicable stone wall, but for the most part, just grass.

     "What were you expecting?"

     "Forests," he answered.

     "You'd be a tad far south for that. And I'd hesitate to call the Velphan Wood a forest, much I would a grove. To the south're the jungles of Predor."

     Euticus paused his cleaning of the bird. "Jungle?"

     The word came out of his mouth awkwardly, Jongol.

     "Yes. It's like a forest, only...different. Air's hotter...hurry up with that chicken-hog a bit...the plants're...what's a good word..."

     "Sharp..." One of her men suggested.

     "Close enough, thank you, Brill. The plants're sharper, their leaves flat and waxy. And instead of wolves they got big cats, and snakes that'll swallow you whole, and talkin' birds, among other things."

     "Sounds horrible," Euticus said, ripping out the...what had she called it...chicken-hog's guts in a spray of blood.

     "Actually quite lovely," True said while he searched for a place to set the entrails. One of the men gestured to him to hand them over. Euticus did so, and the man set them behind himself. "If you survive, that is," True continued. "Only been once, myself. Right after joining Darius. He grew up down there."

     Euticus didn't reply, too engrossed in finishing with the chicken-hog and curious of its taste. True told him he had done enough and yanked it away, spit it, and laid it over the fire in the pot's place. She took a pinch of herbs from a pouch on her belt and sprinkled it over the bird. It sizzled, a pleasant aroma wafting off of it. His mouth began to water.

     "Say, how old're you?" She asked, finishing off her potato.

     "Thirty four harvests," he said, and she gave him a skeptical eyebrow.

     "What?" he asked.

     "Seventeen years? That's it?"

     The men around the campfire chuckled.

     "What do you mean, 'that's it'? This, seventeen 'years', as you put it, is the most important in the growth of a man. It is when..."

     Euticus looked away. At seventeen, village custom dictated that men took their father's name. First Son Crow would become Father Crow, and Father Crow became the Elder Crow. But Euticus had a different kind of name, a "Nephish" name. Did such customs apply to him?

     "When what?" True asked.

     "Nothing," He said.

     "Looks like the children have taken to fighting each other already," Kroog said, passing by with his hammer leaning against his shoulder. True and Euticus shared a brief, blush inducing look. Kroog laughed and continued on his way.

     Euticus turned back toward the fire and the men, no doubt feeling robbed of their chance to dispose of this newcomer. That did not stop them from thinking about it, apparently. Euticus could sense the murderous thoughts lurking behind their stabbing eyes.

     "Can you fight?" True asked.

     "A little," Euticus said.

    "If you're going to stay with us, you better learn to fight a lot. We're transporters, if hadn't figured it by now, and we've got a lot of enemies.

     "Other nations're constantly trying to sabotage our shipments. Course there's nothing we can do about it. Got no proof, and we don't take to flinging off accusations that cost us our alliances, however fragile they've become. Not that the word of a Pharasi goes very far, anyhow...."

     True's voice trailed off under the sound of a sudden commotion somewhere on the eastern side of the camp. Transporters began springing up around the campfires, running past them toward the din. True stood and stopped someone.

     "What's going on?" she asked.

     "It's Boma, Noon's son. A rider came out of nowhere and just dropped him at the edge of the camp..."

     True darted away before he finished. The other men followed after her. Euticus watched, unsure what to do, and decided to join them. They gathered around Darius, crouching next to a young man. The young man lay nude in the grass, his skin pale and bruised. His ribs showed through his skin, and...

     "Oh, Crow," Euticus muttered, seeing that the young man had been castrated. He searched the crowd and found True.

     "What happened?" he asked.

     "Slave," she said. "Slave happened."

     Kroog handed a blanket to Darius, who unfolded it and placed it over Boma's broken body.

     "I...is my father here?" he asked. Darius placed a hand on the boy's forehead. Euticus could see tears brimming in his eyes.

     "No, Boma. I am sorry. Rest now..."

     Two riders cantered over, crossbows slung across their back.

     "Did you find him?" Darius asked. One of the riders shook her head. Darius cursed under his breath and turned to Earling.

     "Help Kroog take Boma to a tent."

     "Yes sir," Earling said. He helped Kroog lift Boma, and they started away. The crowd began to disperse, cursing the man they called Slave. Euticus remained a moment, staring at Darius. The Transporter captain stared into the east, focusing on something unknown to Euticus.

     "Let's go," True said, turning back for the fire.

     "Who is this Slave?" he asked on the way back.

     "I want to call him a demon," she said, "or a monster. But he's only a man, and that's what frightens me most."

* * *

Darius watched the sun creep below the line of the horizon, painting the western sky a deep crimson, while in the east, the sky began to fall away, exposing the star studded heavens beyond the borders of the earth. He found no solace in either area.

     Soft footsteps in the grass called his attention. True crouched beside him, picked a blade of grass and played it gently through her slender fingers. Watching her, his heart softened, admiring her strange grace. He recalled the first time he'd seen her, standing over the body of an Imperial guard that had gotten too fresh with her and covered in blood. She had stabbed him in the groin with a dagger.

     "How is Boma?" she asked. Darius' fists clenched quickly.

     "He will survive," Darius said. "But I do not think he will ever be able to live."

     "Slave'll die for this," True muttered. Darius sensed the lack of conviction in her voice, but did not mention it.

     "How did your talk with the boy go this morning?" he asked after a moment.

     "He knows some things, but I'm not sure if we can trust him in battle."

     Darius nodded. "He has never killed. Either directly or indirectly. Yet," Darius paused, searching for the right word. "There is shame in his eyes."

     "You think he's a spy? The Osernians have mountains..."

     "No. His guilt is in the past, rooted in some personal matter. Give him a weapon, and double the watch."

     "You believe Slave'll attack again?"

     "After this morning, I expect it. Sending Boma back to us served only one purpose, to rattle us, and that purpose has been achieved. We need to level ourselves, but I doubt we can in time. Which is why I am taking the undamaged wagons and leaving."

     "What?" True said, standing up. "But there's no way we can get everyone out if we leave now..."

     "Not we, True. You and Kroog will remain here with a small force, and wait for my return."

     She stepped back, her face scrunched in thought. He wanted her to argue, to ask why. She would not, though. She never did; none of them ever did. Such blind devotion made respect difficult, but it did not keep him from loving them.

     "You promise to come back?" she asked.

     "I promise."

     "Alright then," she said, stepping away. "Just remember what'll happen if you don't and I survive."

     "Your faith in me knows no bounds, does it?"

     True smiled and said, "It hasn't failed me yet, so no."

     The image of her standing before him with a weary yet sincere smile on her face caused a longing in his heart, and even when it passed he could not completely shake its echo.

     "You have a task," Darius said. True nodded and went back to the camp, leaving Darius with his thoughts.

     Slave.

I figured it was high time to post a bit of fiction. I'm looking for general advice on technique, flow, sound, possible cuts and additions, and the overall quality of the story itself. I've gone over this so many times that I have trouble distancing myself from it. Any suggestions will be greatly appreciated, and reciprocated.

 

The Coachman by Ryan Pierce

Chapter 1

No Peace Lasts Forever

 

A killer unwinds trembling fingers from the hilt of his dagger. The blood of a mother and unborn sister flows over tanned skin, staining the mother's tunic. Her eyes roll from the two men behind the killer and linger on the killer's twisted scar, and recognition banishes whatever will remains from her body. She slumps against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

     "You-- this can't be..." she whispers in his ear, her last breath vanishing against his neck.

     The killer backs away and the mother crumbles to the ground. The dagger juts from her pregnant belly, a perverse phallus ending life instead of seeding it.

     A voice calls out and the killer turns. A boy races toward him, his eyes aged by bloodlust, and the killer smiles.

     The boy rushes in under the arms of one of the other men and slams into his side. The man stumbles and the boy winds steady fingers around the knife on his belt, unsheathing it. The other man moves to stop the boy, who ducks under his reach and plunges the blade into his gut.

     The boy's eyes focus upon the killer. He screams, swinging the blade wildly. The killer dodges the weapon and brings up his sword, opening a crimson gash on the boy's face from the chin to his eye.

     The boy drops his weapon and reaches up. The killer's own scar twitches when the boy explores the wound, and he smiles again. With a hammer-like fist he backhands the boy, who lands unconscious next to his mother.

     The killer turns, his form masked by the light spilling through the door. The silhouette morphs into a winged beast, and the mother's lips move one last time, her last breath a whisper, pleading. Accusing.

     "Euticus..."

 

    "No!" Euticus Bluejay screamed, sitting up in bed. Calloused hands met sun browned skin, searching for a twisted scar. They found only the night stubble of a young man.

     Just another dream, then.

    The last echoes of his terror faded against the dawn light leaking into his hut, replaced by anxiety. The first day of the Living Season had come, bringing with it yet another death.

     Death can be conquered, his father would have told him, in the other-tongue of his homeland.

     Light reflected off his father's sword from its place on the wall, punctuating the thought. Euticus turned his head from the memory of his father and splashed water from a basin on his face and neck. It cut through the residue of his nightmare like a blade, peeling it way and leaving him somewhat refreshed.

     He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, concentrating on the sensations of the world around him. The crack of an ax splitting wood met his ears, followed by the hollow sound of each half hitting the ground. The Elder Grackle, no doubt, replenishing his stores after breakfast. Speaking of, the aroma of bacon and eggs wafted through Widow Cardinal's window next hut over. Children played in the thoroughfare outside. Their mirth brought the first traces of a smile to Euticus' lips, but when he recognized the tell tale call outs and answers of Blind Love, those traces disappeared.

     He shook his head and opened his eyes, dispelling the mental images in his mind. A young man weathered by memory stared at him from the surface of the water. He remembered carefree childhood evenings cast in red by the Resting Season sun while The Daughter Sparrow wandered around blindfolded, looking for him and their friend, First Son Crow. One day she caught Euticus. After running her hands over his face, she guessed his name, meaning they would be together for the rest of their lives.

     Children's nonsense. Nothing ever came of those foolish games.

     Euticus pushed away from the basin and stretched, studying the village from his door. Smoke rose up from behind some of the huts, reminding him of a fire that once raged among his people's homes. Screams from that night still haunted him while lying in bed, waiting for sleep to come and knowing the horrors that faced him when it did.

     He looked up at the mountains. Their faces glowed pink with the light of dawn, blushing from the horrible winged secrets they kept in the night, secrets which sought fit to lurk within Euticus' dreams.

     Dreams at night, memories by day. For Bear's sake, why wouldn't they let him be?

     Euticus turned toward The Birthing Pool, shimmering just beyond the village. Fishing boats rocked from side to side in its calm waters, their owners casting woven nets in hopes of a large catch before midday, when the sun would beat relentlessly off the surface.

     Village folklore told of a man who would be king, and that the people of the Valley would know him when he skipped a stone from one shore of the pond to the other. A group of boys stood at the water's edge, trying their hand. None of them could manage a single skip.

     How many days had Euticus wasted in that pursuit, with nothing to show for it but a killer throw that, while a far cry from making it across to the other shore, put him closer than any other? Too many to count. He could not remember a single day before his father's death that didn't begin with him working his way to the pond with a handful of rocks, heart filled with the belief that today would be the day, and end with him walking home, head high with the assurance that he could try again tomorrow.

     "Oy! Euticus!" someone called. The voice belonged to Father Hawk, waving at him from the head of a formation of hunters. Boar's blood stained their already dark skin a deep maroon. Various pelts taken from previous kills, mostly black bears, lay draped over their shoulders. Finely sharpened antlers hung from their loincloths, thirsting for the jugular of whatever kill the hunters made. Euticus nodded respectfully, watching them stride into the forest. Next harvest he would join their ranks and finally regain some sense of purpose. His belly rolled at the prospect, but it also brought the promise of manhood and respect.

     A pleasant voice invaded his ear and increased his self doubt.

O, what will this season bring? 

Love and hope for everything?    

I hope the season will bring for me

Love and Warmth and happy dreams

 

    Daughter Sparrow rounded a bend in the road, followed closely by First Son Crow. Sparrow's shoulder length black hair took on a life of its own in the morning sun, lifted gently by the breeze. An unguarded smile testified all that anyone needed to know; she would be bound at the end of the week to Crow.

    Sparrow saw Euticus and smiled. He did not smile back.

    "Why so glum?" Sparrow asked, joining him.

     "Yeah, Eue," Crow said, leaning against the remains of a fence. "Why so glu..."

     The fence creaked and began to drift under his weight, cutting him off. Sparrow fought laughter.

     "Watch yourself," Euticus said. "I've been meaning to fix it but, you know..."

     "Right...Euticus the Brave, stooping to manual labor? Psh..."

     "Crow..." Sparrow said, putting a hand on his shoulder to silence him. "Play nice."

     "Yes, Crow," Euticus said. "Behave."

     Crow's shoulders rose with a restraining breath.

     "What possesses you two, lately?" Sparrow asked, moving between them. "Ever since Father Bluejay died the two of you have constantly been at each other's throats."

    "I suppose that's my fault," Euticus said. "I'm angry, and I have been taking it out on the wrong people...maybe."

     Euticus focused that last maybe on Crow, who looked away.

     "I know how you must feel," Sparrow said. "But two harvests have passed, Eue. That can not be the only thing bothering you."

     Yes, but your father died trying to protect his hunt partner. Mine died because his hunt partner ran away.

     Euticus looked back out over the village, rubbing his forehead. Ever since that day, when Ezekiel Bluejay had gone into the woods with Father Crow and not come out again, the familiar sights and sounds of the village made his body ache and his head throb.

     "Shouldn't the two of you be making plans?" he asked.

     "Can't argue there," Crow said, uncrossing his arms. "Come on, Sparrow."

     "You go on," she said, waving Crow away. "I'm not letting Eue off that easy."

     Crow's jaw tightened, perhaps ready to grab her and pull her along with him, but one look at Euticus and the rigidity of his spine disappeared. He slumped away, saying, "Find me later."

     "I will," Sparrow said, sparing him a glance. Crow stood watching them for a moment before making his way toward the center of the village.

     Sparrow stepped forward and put a hand on Euticus' bare shoulder. He tensed under her touch and turned away. The children's game neared its conclusion. Judging from the fit one of the boys threw, the girl had guessed his name.

     "Reminds me of some one I know," Sparrow said, poking Euticus in the ribs.

     "If memory serves correctly," he said, pushing her hand away, "I believe I made you cry."

     "It serves correctly, sir. Though only partially."

     Euticus raised an eyebrow, starting for the apple tree next to his hut. "Oh?"

     "M-hm, because after you made me cry I slapped you. I remember clearly. You went quiet and got all red, and then your lip started to quiver...oh it was so adorable..."

     Euticus grunted, plucking an apple and biting a chunk out of it. Behind him, Sparrow cleared her throat. He turned to find her with arms crossed, the bottom of her buck skin skirt bobbing with the tapping of her foot.

     "What?" he said through a mouthful of apple.

     "You know very well what. I would like an apple, please, and you know I can't reach the good ones."

     Euticus swallowed and lazily reached up, pulling another apple from the branch.

     "You know, you used to be taller than me," he said, tossing it to her.

     Sparrow picked the apple out of the air and said, "Things change."

     Euticus paused mid-bite for a second, finished, and leaned back against the tree. She sat next to him, munching on her apple.

     "I've been thinking--" she began.

     "Uh-oh--"

     "Shut up and listen. I've been thinking about the past...good gods, the past. You know what my mother always says?"

     Euticus shook his head, throwing the rest of the apple away along with his appetite. Sparrow planted one fist on her hip, hunched slightly over, and waved a finger through the air in mimicry of her mother. Euticus thought it either a very good imitation or a vision of Sparrow's own future.

     "She says, 'you know you are getting old when you have a past to think about.'"

     "I like that," Euticus said, nodding. "Know what my father always told me?"

     "What's that?" Sparrow asked, leaning forward.

     "Death can be conquered."

     Sparrow shivered and looked away.

     Euticus sat, closed his eyes and ran his hand over the grass. It felt springy under his touch and left his palm tingling. Sparrow shifted closer to him, so that their shoulders touched.

     "Anyway...." she said. "I've been thinking about everything we used to do together, like your foolish scheme to see how deep the Birthing Pond goes, or that time we tried to find the remains of the Death Widow. You were always an adventurer, unlike the rest of us, until...."

     "My father."

     "Huh? Yes. After that, you...you were so damned dark all the time. I regret it now, but I feared speaking to you-"

     "Must have been nice, because I can't seem to remember a time, even a day, when you did not at least bother me in passi--OW!"

     Sparrow pinched him, leaving a red welt to blossom on his bicep. He rubbed at it gently while she continued.

     "Crow and I always had fun because of you. I miss that so much."

     "What is your point?"

     "Just that, well, just because Crow and I are being Bound doesn't mean we will forget you."

     Euticus shuddered, tried to suppress the emotion that pounced into his chest, but a sudden, gasping breath betrayed his composure.

     "That's it, isn't it? You're worried about the Binding."

     Euticus' denial failed in his throat, emitting an embarrassing squeak.

     "You know," Sparrow began, "Of all the things we did, that first little foray of ours remains the clearest. You remember, right? When we went looking for the Temple of Life?"

     Euticus nodded slowly. How could he ever forget that night? How could he ever forget with his dreams reminding him almost every night of that gray skinned, winged horror?

     "I fell," Sparrow went on, "And you pulled me out. You saved me. That's why I remember it. You went to investigate that awful sound, and Crow the Chickenhearted ran away, and I followed you. I can't remember what you found..."

     "I found nothing," Euticus lied.

     "I don't believe you. Every time some one brings it up you look terrified."

     "I said I found nothing," Euticus said. Sparrow shrank away from him, the first time she had ever done so.

     "I'm sorry," Euticus said. Sparrow's hands loosened their grip from the fold of her skirt. For a long while they sat, pretending to watch the village. More columns of smoke rose up from the huts, almost completely vertical. The children had returned inside or moved on to some other part of the village, perhaps to lift their skirts and drop their trousers to see if the rumors about boys and girls being different were true. Crow, Sparrow, and he had done the same, and so had many of the others their age. Odd, that something so innocent could become such a problem later in life.

     "Let's go see it," Sparrow said.

     "What?"

     "The Temple. Let's go see it, just you and me, no Crow. I want to see it, Euticus, not just hear about it. You do too, I can tell. Part of you believes you can still skip that stone...."

     "I haven't skipped stones in years."

     "So you say, Eue," she said, moving closer to him, so close that he could feel her breath on his neck when she spoke. His fingers stopped pawing the grass and clamped down on a handful of cold soil. "But I've seen you from my window at night, standing on the shore of the Birthing Pool, holding a stone in your hand. You never throw it, but I can see that you want to. Come on. Just us. It'll be fun."

     "What about Crow? If you tell him he'll say no, or want to come along..."

     "Forget about Crow," Sparrow said, sitting up and crossing her arms. A strand of hair fell from behind her ear, covering her eyes. "He doesn't own me. Not yet, not until week's end..."

     Euticus did not know what to make of this reaction, and said nothing. Still, her words remained, heavy in his heart.

     "Forget it," she said, standing. "I'll just go by myself."

     "Huh? Wait, Sparrow..."

     She whirled around, arms crossed, jaw set, and eyes darting away from his whenever he moved to make contact. Euticus knew she'd made up her mind. If he didn't go with her, she would go alone. What would he do then, if something happened to her? No, best not to chance it. Besides, he did want to see it, the place his father had always warned him never to go to. This might be his last chance.

     "What?"

     "I'll come with you," he said. "Just let me get a tunic and my pouch."

     Sparrow's face nearly split, and she clapped.

     "I'll wait right here."

     He went inside, slipped on a buckskin shirt, wrapped some jerky and dried berries in a cloth and stuffed them in his pouch. Something hard inside bumped against his knuckles. He grabbed it and pulled out a flint, studied it for a second, and put it back in. Better to have it, after all.

     Sparrow still waited for him outside, and upon discovering this he felt both relieved and disappointed.

     "Ready?" she asked, and he shook his head. "Good. I wouldn't want my protector to get too comfortable."

     Euticus didn't like the implications in that statement. Sometimes Sparrow would spout things out without giving any thought to what she said.

     "Let's go," he said, and they made their way to the edge of the Village. Euticus kept his distance from Sparrow. While village tradition did not forbid a man to be seen with the future bond mate of another, getting too close often led to complications. If Crow saw them and took the wrong impression, he'd be within his rights to beat the piss out of both of them. Knowing Crow, he didn't think that would happen, at least not to Sparrow.

     They reached the edge of the forest and his concerns about such things vanished. Standing before the trees of the realm of Bear, he decided he'd prefer a beating to being separated from Sparrow. He probably deserved one, at any rate.

     "Stay close," he said. Sparrow clutched a handful of his tunic and he led her onto the old road. Thick growths of foliage choked the path just a few meters ahead. The branches clawed at their clothes and snagged on Euticus pouch. Humidity, sweat, and discomfort thankfully replaced fear.

     "Look!" Sparrow said, coming to a place along the ancient road where the ground dropped away into a deep gully. "This is where I fell."

     Sparrow knelt down to examine the drop, but Euticus focused on a spot further up the road and to the right, about two hundred yards deeper in. In the midst of the thriving forest undergrowth he saw a dead space, like someone had carved out an oval shaped chunk of the green wall. Rectangular stones with an unnatural texture of grooves and rises lined the edge of the clearance. Amongst the stones, the feathers and delicate bones of birds and small animals littered the blackened soil. A faint, smoky smell hung in the air.

     He picked up a stick and poked at the dirt inside the circle. It broke apart into thin chunks and rustled leaf-like under his prodding before disintegrating into a fine dust, exposing dirt sharing the tan color of the road.

     This is where he had encountered the gray demon twenty harvests before. A tree had fallen on it, and black ooze had bubbled from its strange mouth, lined with flexible strands of writhing flesh in place of teeth. When it saw Euticus it began clawing in the dirt, trying to drag its broken body toward him. He shivered at what could have happened had the thing succeeded in doing so. Gurgling on its own blood, facing death, Euticus saw that it only wanted one thing: to kill him. He saw no trace of it now, nor of the tree that had crushed it

     Sparrow tugged at his arm, pulling him back to the present. She smiled gently down at him. He stood and turned away, hiding an upward tug at his own lips.

     "Do you even know how to find this temple?" Sparrow asked some time later. The sun had long since passed over head and their shadows stretched deep into the trees, disappearing under the natural darkness of the forest.

     "At the base of the mountains, directly east of the village. The road leads right to it."

     "Are we even on the road?"

     "Yes." Euticus pointed to a couple of ruts in the ground. He grinned, confident in this fact, and the doubt on her face eased.

     "Okay, then. Lead on," she said. Euticus continued, finding her willingness to follow him a bit troubling. He had never actually been to the temple; no one had, save his father, assuming his stories were true.

     It mattered little in that moment, however. They were children again.

     Steam rose like specters from tiny mounds in the ground, turning the air heavy and wet. The air smelled faintly of rotten eggs, and the forest began to thin out until it consisted only of blackened tree trunks stretching crooked branches into the sky. Euticus thought it looked a bit like lightning, only from the ground, and stopped.

     "Euticus, what is it?"

     "Shh. Listen."

     "I don't hear...I don't hear anything. Euticus, are we-"

     He nodded, knowing what she would ask. The hunters had a name for this place: Death's Maw. No one save Euticus' father had ever been beyond it.

     "I think we're getting close," Euticus said, moving slowly. An hour later, they entered a clearing.

     "Thank the Bear..." Sparrow said, pushing through the skeletal remains of the tree line. The mountains appeared no closer, their black peaks creating a jagged edge against the red sky, like some terrible thing had torn the top off of the world.

     "We should turn back," Euticus said. "They'll be missing you in the village."

     "Oh, c'mon," Sparrow argued. "Let's keep going. At least camp. Yes, let's camp. I'd rather camp here than walk in the forest at night, agree?"

     "Sparrow, I don't think...

     "I don't care what you think!" she yelled. Euticus jumped back.

     "I...I'm sorry, Eue. I didn't mean to be cross. Please. Let's just camp."

     Euticus sighed, taking in their surroundings. The trees, the ground, everything dead, everything but them. They should be safe. Safer than trying to make it back to the village before nightfall, anyway.

     "We'll camp here, then. I'll get a fire started."

     Sparrow helped him gather wood and with help from the flint Euticus kept in his pouch, they had a fire within a few minutes. They settled opposite each other, watching the dancing flames. Euticus stole a glance at her, shifting in the silence. He began to speak when Sparrow asked, "Do you think we'll be happy?"

     "What do you mean?"

     "Crow and I. Do you think we'll be happy once we are Bound?"

     Her eyes peered through the fire, focused on some distant thing.

     "Why wouldn't you be?" He threw another piece of wood into the fire. It flared, sending sparks twirling up into the sky, and settled again. "You and Crow are getting along, aren't you?"

     "Mostly. It's just...he's..."

     "A bore."

     "Yes...I mean...no...I...yes."

     Euticus laughed, pulling Sparrow's attention from the fire. She grabbed a stick and threw it, hitting him in the chest. It stuck feebly in the folds of his tunic.

     "Wha-?" he said, looking at it, and began laughing even harder.

     "I can't believe you're laughing at something like this. I'm having doubts about being Bonded to a man I believe I love, and you treat it like a joke..."

     "Sorry. Do you want to hear what I think?" He plucked the stick from his tunic and tossed it into the flames.

     "I'm not so sure..."

     "Too bad. You love him?"

     She briefly hesitated, then nodded.

     "Then consider yourself lucky. The Binding ceremony rarely occurs out of love. And I know how Crow feels about you. He's probably pulling his hair out right now."

     Frowning, she brought her knees up and rested her head upon her arms. Euticus leaned back, groaning. What in Vulture's name did she expect him to say?

     "What about you?" she asked, the left side of her face squished by her arm.

     Euticus jerked up. "Me? What do I have to do with anything?"

    "You under appreciate your role in our lives, Euticus. In my life. You're like a brother to Crow, and me, well..."

     "Well, what?"

     "I never forgot about that time I..." she stopped, looking away "...guessed your name." She blinked, tears flowing now. Hands folded and fidgeting in his lap, he let her cry.

     "I love you both, so much," she said after a long moment. "But I know I can't have you both. And he asked me first and ..."

     "I don't matter, Sparrow," Euticus said, thinking it funny that Crow the Chickenhearted had found the guts to ask Sparrow for her hand before Euticus the Brave. Euticus the Foolish. "You join with Crow. He..."

     "He what?"

     "He returns your love."

     Sparrow backed away. "Wait...what? What about you?"

     "No," he said. "Not that way."

     Sparrow shook her head. "You're lying. You just don't want to be a problem..."

     "I'm not..."

     "Don't say that!" She crawled around to his side of the fire, settling next to him with her legs folded under her. "You've always tried to act like you're unimportant, but you are. You've helped shape my life. You are a part of it. You can't ignore that. I won't let you."

     "Sparrow..."

     She stopped him with a kiss, freezing him, but when her lips pressed fully against his he melted and showed his lie by returning her passion. They drifted to the ground and soon they lay entwined by the warmth of the fire, their hands running over each other, finding their way under buckskin tunics and exploring parts of each other they always knew where there but denied until now. The warmth of their flesh flowed into each other and thunder grew in their bellies, their lips tasting one another passionately, greedily.

     Euticus tasted salt on Sparrow's face. He stopped and found her crying again, a different breed of tears.

     "Why are you stopping?" she asked, her hair splayed out around her head, its color deepened by the light of the fire. Her eyes glistened, and something in them that he had never seen before, something both good and bad, beckoned to him. If he let it take him, he could not turn back.

     "I can't do this," he said, though the rest of him shouted otherwise. Sparrow reached up and ran her palm over his face, then down, grazing over his chest and coming to rest between his legs. He felt something threaten, a sharp spasm, his resolve nearly destroyed.

     "I won't leave Crow, but I want you before I lose the chance. Please, Euticus. Love me..."

     "Crow will know when..."

     "No, he won't. We've already been together."

     Euticus tried to speak, but his lips only trembled.

     "Save me again, Euticus," she whispered. "Save us both."

     His body demanded her touch, and had he not loved her so he might have given in...
     "Take them!" cried a voice too familiar to both of their ears, and arms much stronger than his own pulled Euticus away from Sparrow and slammed him into the dirt. Sparrow screamed and grabbed a piece of wood from the fire. She prepared to hurl the torch at their attackers when someone grabbed her wrist from behind. The torch fell and she turned to face the village Eagle's cold eyes. Crow stood behind him, his lowered face lit grimly by the light cast up from the fallen torch.

     "Crow...oh no..."

     "What should we do, Eagle?" One of the men holding Euticus said. "Death?"

     "No!" Sparrow screamed and tried to run at them, but the Eagle held her back.

     "That is for First Son Crow to decide," he said. Crow came forward, and Euticus heard one of his captors sneer.

     "H-he will not be killed," Crow said. "Brother will not kill Brother. Take him to the Temple that he wanted so badly to see, and block the entrance. Give him a weeks worth of food and water. That should be enough for him to find the other side."

     The Eagle grunted, affirming Crow's decision to the others with a nod.

     "Crow!" Sparrow said, struggling against the Eagle's hold, which only tightened.

     "Quiet, child. You share his blame. Consider yourself lucky that First Son Crow doesn't do the same to you."

     "If you do this, I'll never forgive you, I swear! The Binding is off!"

     "Then you go with him," the Eagle said.

     "No!" Euticus yelled.

     "Shut up, thief," one of his captors said, striking him.

     "Eue!"

     "Let him speak," Crow said. "And don't strike him again, unless necessary."

     The man sneered again, deferring to the Eagle, who nodded, and the captor eased up.

     "Sparrow," Euticus said, and the Eagle let her go. She ran to Euticus and held him.

     "Eue, I'm sorry..."

     "Listen to me, Sparrow, for once in your life. Don't be stupid. Go with Crow. He's right-"

     "What? No, it can't be like that--"

     He pushed her back so he could look directly into her eyes.

     "Sparrow, don't throw this chance away."

     "But...it's my fault."

     "Yes. But it's mine, too. Go."

     Sparrow looked back at Crow, then Euticus.

     "If you love us, go to Crow," Euticus said. She looked slowly between them, then down at her shaking hands. He wanted to reach out to her, tell her not to worry, but he could not, not because of the men holding him back, but because it would have been a lie.

     Sparrow looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning everything that had happened. For a brief moment Euticus thought she might actually choose him, and the selfish part of him wanted her to. If she really loved him, she would ignore what he'd said, be willing to face exile standing by his side.

     She backed away, and went to Crow.

     Crow stepped before Euticus, who made no move to break free, and placed a hand on Euticus' forehead. He whispered, "This is what you want, isn't it? A way out, guilt free? Just, free. Simple. Hm...and they call me a coward.

     "Go, Euticus. Live well, and know I will always consider you a brother." He removed his hand and spoke to the men. "Take him now, and do exactly what I said."

      The men dragged Euticus away.

     "Sparrow...." Crow began.

     "Do not speak to me," she said, walking away. Crow followed close behind her. The last man watched them go, and then caught up to the others.

     "Chicken heart and the Eagle are gone," he said.

    "Good," said another. "Let's give this double blooded bastard what he deserves."

     Euticus thrashed against them, pushing one of the men away but unable to do much before the other man kicked him between the legs. Nauseating pain shot up through his stomach and he crumpled to the ground. The blows came in a storm of dust. It caught in his nose and mouth, which hung soundlessly open and streamed dirt thickened saliva. Tears squirted out of his eyes, making mud on his face. The beating went forever, on and on until after the world slipped away. He did not cry out.

     He wanted this, after all.

One of my favorite characters on the new Battlestar Galactica was Gaius Baltar. His fate at the end of the series has me divided. On the one hand, I'm kind of pissed that a character who comes off as such a weasel found redemption, and wonder if someone that, on the surface at least, came off as only concerned about himself throughout the entire series deserved to "find Earth". This is the guy whose first thought is to call his attorney when he finds out he inadvertently caused the genocide of the human race, after all. On the other hand, just because he thinks of himself first, doesn't mean he doesn't consider the lives of others eventually. There's a powerful scene early in season 4 in which the atheist Baltar prays for the life of a dying boy, offering up his own life, and you can tell its genuine: he isn't doing it for the benefit of those around him (he thinks they're all sleeping).

Anyway, his behavior made me look at myself. When the 9-11 attacks occurred, I was waiting to go to boot camp (I'd been meant to go five days before, but my date got pushed back.) Watching those planes crash into the WTC, the first thing that went through my mind was "Holy ****, I'm going to war". It wasn't until later that I started to think about the thousands of lives that were lost. Does that make me a "bad person"? Maybe, but I don't think so. After all, it didn't stop me from shipping off when I was supposed to. I could have called the recruiter at anytime and said "Nope. Changed my mind." I went through with it, and eventually had the best four years of my life.

All of this has affected my writing, of course. One of my goals in revising my work has been to make villains less villainy and more people with their own agenda, not necessarily "evil". In some cases I'm actually trying to go so far as to convince the reader that the antagonist might be justified in his intent. At first I thought this might deprive me of the "punching bag" moment, when the hero opens up a can of whoop ass on the villain. Then I remembered my favorite moment of Return of the Jedi when Luke goes berserk on Vader and beats him into submission. That's a great whoop ass moment, but because a part of us likes Vader, and understands what happened to Vader, it adds another layer to the whole thing.