I managed to renew my driving license without drama, despite it being overdue. Thank goodness!
Nobody asked any questions at VicRoads. They processed it, I had a new mug shot taken, a few minutes later was given my new plastic license card -- and that was that! All done with no fuss for the next 10 years.
Whew!
I'm so glad I didn't have to do the whole thing again from the start. I would have been made to go for my car license then my motorbike license all over again. The expense of that would have been enormous.
So now I'm really happy. I'm going to crank up the old bike and take her out on the road.
See ya soon...!!
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Strange Dream
Last night I dreamed I was in a shop or restaurant type building. I was making a steak sandwich for my husband, Geoff.
Outside, I saw a man wander up to the window. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60s with blonde hair. Even though I didn’t recognise the man, I knew him as my father. He was wearing a very heavy overcoat over a light coloured shirt and beige trousers.
As I watched, he collapsed onto the pavement. A woman who was passing by ran to his aid.
I raced out of the shop leaving the steak on the grill. The door shut behind me.
Outside, I knelt beside the man whom I knew as my father. I knew him as an alcoholic. His face was lined and old before its time. His clothes were old and dirty. It seemed to me that he’d been gone for a long time.
He was dying, and as I held him he tried to tell me he was sorry and that he loved me, but the words wouldn’t come out. I told him I loved him.
His face changed. It lightened. He looked years younger and the lines disappeared. A wonderful, glowing expression of peace came over him and he died smiling.
I turned to one of the male shop assistants. Again this was not someone I knew. He had followed me out of the shop. I said: “Did you see that? Did you see his face? It changed. Did you see it?” I was very excited and full of the wonder of it all. I’m not sure that the assistant had seen what I’d seen.
I seemed to need someone other than myself to have seen the wonderful transformation in the dying man.
We both looked into the shop and saw that the steak was smoking. I tried to get back inside but the door was locked. I turned to the assistant and said: “I can’t get in. The steak is burning.”
He turned the knob and opened the door. It wasn’t locked. I remember thinking that it was strange that I thought the door was locked. I took the steak off the grill and turned it off. The steak was well done but not burnt. I said to the assistant: “Geoff will have that. He likes it well done.”
Then we both went outside to where a crowd was gathering for the man’s funeral.
The shop turned into a small funeral parlour. It was narrow and dark. There were a lot of people sitting close together on the crowded pews. There was a beautiful coffin on a stand at the alter waiting for the man to be placed in it.
Outside there were many grieving relatives. Most of them were elderly people. I didn’t recognise any of their faces. I tried to tell them not to be so sad, that he died in peace with a smile.
When I looked across at the dead man, relatives were trying to put him into an antique wicker baby’s pram or dolls pram. This disturbed me a little as I thought it was a bit disrespectful, but I said nothing. The dead man was still smiling and his face was peaceful, but the wonderful radiance had gone.
I went back inside and was talking to the relatives. I was very sad for the loss of this man. I comforted one older woman and told her that I was leaving now. I told her that I was with him when he died and I’d said my goodbyes already. I didn’t need to stay for the funeral.
They all looked around and smiled and nodded. They were happy for me to leave.
I left.
That was the end of the dream. Very weird. Very disturbing. This dream is significant in some way, but I can’t quite grasp the meaning of it. I know that dreaming of funerals of people you don’t recognise sometimes means the loss of a relative that you’re not particularly close to, and could mean good luck or an unexpected inheritance. Seeing a coffin in a dream sometimes means good luck as well. I’m not sure if seeing the baby’s pram in the dream means anything at all. It was strange and out of tune with the rest of the dream. It felt wrong to me in the dream but I said nothing. I didn’t appear to have the right to say anything. I seemed to be a part of this dream family, and yet not a part of it. They all knew me and cared about me, but there was a feeling of time, distance… something.
There was such a feeling of sorrow and loss about this dream. It concerns me a bit. The connection and disconnection to the grieving relatives could mean my natural family who I don’t really know all that well. It could also mean my adopted family of which I’m a part and yet not a part of.
My guess is that some relative of mine will die soon. It seems to be an older person. I’m not sure which family this will be from. It could be either.
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
Outside, I saw a man wander up to the window. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60s with blonde hair. Even though I didn’t recognise the man, I knew him as my father. He was wearing a very heavy overcoat over a light coloured shirt and beige trousers.
As I watched, he collapsed onto the pavement. A woman who was passing by ran to his aid.
I raced out of the shop leaving the steak on the grill. The door shut behind me.
Outside, I knelt beside the man whom I knew as my father. I knew him as an alcoholic. His face was lined and old before its time. His clothes were old and dirty. It seemed to me that he’d been gone for a long time.
He was dying, and as I held him he tried to tell me he was sorry and that he loved me, but the words wouldn’t come out. I told him I loved him.
His face changed. It lightened. He looked years younger and the lines disappeared. A wonderful, glowing expression of peace came over him and he died smiling.
I turned to one of the male shop assistants. Again this was not someone I knew. He had followed me out of the shop. I said: “Did you see that? Did you see his face? It changed. Did you see it?” I was very excited and full of the wonder of it all. I’m not sure that the assistant had seen what I’d seen.
I seemed to need someone other than myself to have seen the wonderful transformation in the dying man.
We both looked into the shop and saw that the steak was smoking. I tried to get back inside but the door was locked. I turned to the assistant and said: “I can’t get in. The steak is burning.”
He turned the knob and opened the door. It wasn’t locked. I remember thinking that it was strange that I thought the door was locked. I took the steak off the grill and turned it off. The steak was well done but not burnt. I said to the assistant: “Geoff will have that. He likes it well done.”
Then we both went outside to where a crowd was gathering for the man’s funeral.
The shop turned into a small funeral parlour. It was narrow and dark. There were a lot of people sitting close together on the crowded pews. There was a beautiful coffin on a stand at the alter waiting for the man to be placed in it.
Outside there were many grieving relatives. Most of them were elderly people. I didn’t recognise any of their faces. I tried to tell them not to be so sad, that he died in peace with a smile.
When I looked across at the dead man, relatives were trying to put him into an antique wicker baby’s pram or dolls pram. This disturbed me a little as I thought it was a bit disrespectful, but I said nothing. The dead man was still smiling and his face was peaceful, but the wonderful radiance had gone.
I went back inside and was talking to the relatives. I was very sad for the loss of this man. I comforted one older woman and told her that I was leaving now. I told her that I was with him when he died and I’d said my goodbyes already. I didn’t need to stay for the funeral.
They all looked around and smiled and nodded. They were happy for me to leave.
I left.
That was the end of the dream. Very weird. Very disturbing. This dream is significant in some way, but I can’t quite grasp the meaning of it. I know that dreaming of funerals of people you don’t recognise sometimes means the loss of a relative that you’re not particularly close to, and could mean good luck or an unexpected inheritance. Seeing a coffin in a dream sometimes means good luck as well. I’m not sure if seeing the baby’s pram in the dream means anything at all. It was strange and out of tune with the rest of the dream. It felt wrong to me in the dream but I said nothing. I didn’t appear to have the right to say anything. I seemed to be a part of this dream family, and yet not a part of it. They all knew me and cared about me, but there was a feeling of time, distance… something.
There was such a feeling of sorrow and loss about this dream. It concerns me a bit. The connection and disconnection to the grieving relatives could mean my natural family who I don’t really know all that well. It could also mean my adopted family of which I’m a part and yet not a part of.
My guess is that some relative of mine will die soon. It seems to be an older person. I’m not sure which family this will be from. It could be either.
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Licence Woes
Yesterday [Friday] I received my driver licence renewal notice. Unfortunately, to my horror, I discovered that it is a month too late. My licence expired a month ago.
As I renew my licence every 10 years, I need a little reminder when it gets near the time for renewal. Usually, VicRoads sends out a notice about a month before your licence is due, to let you know.
How come I didn’t get one? How come my “due notice” is a month late?
Now I have to wait until Monday to see if I can just renew it, or whether I have to go right through the whole process again.
This is such a nuisance and I’m so angry.
Had I been pulled over by the police for a spot licence check, I could have ended up in court and with a hefty fine for driving unlicenced. Grrrrrrrr!
Did they send a notice and good old Australia Post lost it? Or did VicRoads stuff up?
Unfortunately for me I now have to spend the entire weekend worrying about it.
Thanks ever so much!
As I renew my licence every 10 years, I need a little reminder when it gets near the time for renewal. Usually, VicRoads sends out a notice about a month before your licence is due, to let you know.
How come I didn’t get one? How come my “due notice” is a month late?
Now I have to wait until Monday to see if I can just renew it, or whether I have to go right through the whole process again.
This is such a nuisance and I’m so angry.
Had I been pulled over by the police for a spot licence check, I could have ended up in court and with a hefty fine for driving unlicenced. Grrrrrrrr!
Did they send a notice and good old Australia Post lost it? Or did VicRoads stuff up?
Unfortunately for me I now have to spend the entire weekend worrying about it.
Thanks ever so much!
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Tradesmen!
Enough is enough!
I'm actually a tradesman myself. Yes tradesMAN, not WOMAN or PERSON. I completed my apprenticeship with the printing industry before political correctness took hold. So... I'm a tradesman and proud of it.
But I certainly never treated customers the way the young electrician treated me yesterday. It was considered, way back in the old days, that common courtesy was the rule not the exception.
The electricians came to wire up our new [second hand] airconditioner.
The electrician in charge, a nice looking, rather tall young man, bitched, moaned, complained and derided absolutely everything about our "old" airconditioner, our "old" house, the "old" wiring [which was completely rewired when we first moved in here 6 years ago], and anything and everything he could think of.
He was very derisive and condescending when talking to me - I should say: at me. There was no respect or consideration at all in his manner. Even less did I appreciate the snide comments he was making to his young apprentice [a very nice young man] when he thought I was out of earshot.
I went out of my way to provide everything they needed, including a big umbrella when he was working on the roof. No, I'm not joking. We went through every umbrella in the place until we found one he deigned to work under.
After they'd finished, he sneeringly informed me that the airconditioner probably would only work for a couple of weeks anyway because it was so old.
Now, I am very blonde [naturally], and yes, I am a woman... BUT...!!!!!
The entire afternoon was horrendous! And after all that, Geoff had to spend two hours on the roof, after he got home from work, fixing the airconditioner so it wouldn't short out and burn the house down.
They hadn't connected the water properly. It was spraying down over the electric components of the motor. In fact, they hadn't turned the water on at all. When Geoff turned it on, the "on/off" lever was in such a position as to almost cut through the electric wiring.
What is the matter with these people? They are being paid good money to do these jobs. It shouldn't matter whether they have to wire up a brand new appliance or an old one. It shouldn't matter whether the house is old or new and it certainly shouldn't matter what sex the customer is.
If I'd been an elderly woman living alone and had nobody to check their work, I could have found my house burnt down around me the next day.
Oh yeah, you bet I'll have a word or two to their boss!
But the point is... I shouldn't have to!
I'm actually a tradesman myself. Yes tradesMAN, not WOMAN or PERSON. I completed my apprenticeship with the printing industry before political correctness took hold. So... I'm a tradesman and proud of it.
But I certainly never treated customers the way the young electrician treated me yesterday. It was considered, way back in the old days, that common courtesy was the rule not the exception.
The electricians came to wire up our new [second hand] airconditioner.
The electrician in charge, a nice looking, rather tall young man, bitched, moaned, complained and derided absolutely everything about our "old" airconditioner, our "old" house, the "old" wiring [which was completely rewired when we first moved in here 6 years ago], and anything and everything he could think of.
He was very derisive and condescending when talking to me - I should say: at me. There was no respect or consideration at all in his manner. Even less did I appreciate the snide comments he was making to his young apprentice [a very nice young man] when he thought I was out of earshot.
I went out of my way to provide everything they needed, including a big umbrella when he was working on the roof. No, I'm not joking. We went through every umbrella in the place until we found one he deigned to work under.
After they'd finished, he sneeringly informed me that the airconditioner probably would only work for a couple of weeks anyway because it was so old.
Now, I am very blonde [naturally], and yes, I am a woman... BUT...!!!!!
The entire afternoon was horrendous! And after all that, Geoff had to spend two hours on the roof, after he got home from work, fixing the airconditioner so it wouldn't short out and burn the house down.
They hadn't connected the water properly. It was spraying down over the electric components of the motor. In fact, they hadn't turned the water on at all. When Geoff turned it on, the "on/off" lever was in such a position as to almost cut through the electric wiring.
What is the matter with these people? They are being paid good money to do these jobs. It shouldn't matter whether they have to wire up a brand new appliance or an old one. It shouldn't matter whether the house is old or new and it certainly shouldn't matter what sex the customer is.
If I'd been an elderly woman living alone and had nobody to check their work, I could have found my house burnt down around me the next day.
Oh yeah, you bet I'll have a word or two to their boss!
But the point is... I shouldn't have to!
Monday, January 30, 2006
Already Gone
I wake to late afternoon sun; there should be moonlight.
Outside, the air is still and warm but the leaves have turned gold.
As in a dream I walk around - looking at things, touching things,
and gradually, I come to know that I’m not really here.
The house feels empty and silent.
The things that I love and use, are all here.
The chairs, the table, the lamps, the incomplete tapestry in the corner.
All stand as though waiting for me to pick them up.
Everything looks exactly the same, but everything feels different.
There is a smell of age, of dust, of sadness.
Slowly I wander, remembering the springs and summers of my time.
Somebody still lives here; I feel the emptiness in him as well.
And yet there is peace here. It emanates from everywhere and makes me smile.
I wonder if he smiles any more.
Does he remember what it was like when I was here?
All is as if I am still here.
But I am already gone.
Brittany Kingston
© Monday, January 30, 2006
Outside, the air is still and warm but the leaves have turned gold.
As in a dream I walk around - looking at things, touching things,
and gradually, I come to know that I’m not really here.
The house feels empty and silent.
The things that I love and use, are all here.
The chairs, the table, the lamps, the incomplete tapestry in the corner.
All stand as though waiting for me to pick them up.
Everything looks exactly the same, but everything feels different.
There is a smell of age, of dust, of sadness.
Slowly I wander, remembering the springs and summers of my time.
Somebody still lives here; I feel the emptiness in him as well.
And yet there is peace here. It emanates from everywhere and makes me smile.
I wonder if he smiles any more.
Does he remember what it was like when I was here?
All is as if I am still here.
But I am already gone.
Brittany Kingston
© Monday, January 30, 2006
Write, Write, Write
That's all there is to it really. If you're a writer, you write... and write... and write.
You slave away over a hot keyboard, cutting, pasting, rewording, checking spelling and grammar... Practicing and perfecting your art in the hope that one day you'll become a recognised, well-loved author. Computers are wonderful creatures, aren't they? We work with whole blocks of text now, instead of just one line. Whole pages appear, disappear [sometimes without our permission], and reappear in other parts of our novels in the blink of an eye -- or the click of a finger.
I remember my old typewriter days. I wrote a complete novel on one. Tedious. Laborious. Frustrating. Those are just a few words that come to mind. However, those were the days I was thanking my lucky stars that I had a typewriter. It was state-of-the-art. It was electric. It had a correction tape. Yippeee! I could correct my errors as I went. I thought those days were heaven.
The alternative was pen and paper. Ugh! Just the thought of putting pen to paper in the mechanical, muscle cramping, medieval ways of old gives me the shivers. We've come a long way.
Now, writers talk about disks, cds, dvds, memory sticks. We email our work all over the world and keep in touch with people we never see in person.
But the one thing that has never changed is that writers write. They don't just put words on paper. They create worlds, people, feelings, emotions. And they are driven to keep writing against all adversity.
Can a writer stop writing? No. It's always there. Even if it's lurking beneath the surface, it's still there -- that urge to create, that urge to get the words onto the page.
By that definition, I am a writer. So are a lot of my friends. None of us are household names yet, but we're hanging in there, writing, writing, writing...
You slave away over a hot keyboard, cutting, pasting, rewording, checking spelling and grammar... Practicing and perfecting your art in the hope that one day you'll become a recognised, well-loved author. Computers are wonderful creatures, aren't they? We work with whole blocks of text now, instead of just one line. Whole pages appear, disappear [sometimes without our permission], and reappear in other parts of our novels in the blink of an eye -- or the click of a finger.
I remember my old typewriter days. I wrote a complete novel on one. Tedious. Laborious. Frustrating. Those are just a few words that come to mind. However, those were the days I was thanking my lucky stars that I had a typewriter. It was state-of-the-art. It was electric. It had a correction tape. Yippeee! I could correct my errors as I went. I thought those days were heaven.
The alternative was pen and paper. Ugh! Just the thought of putting pen to paper in the mechanical, muscle cramping, medieval ways of old gives me the shivers. We've come a long way.
Now, writers talk about disks, cds, dvds, memory sticks. We email our work all over the world and keep in touch with people we never see in person.
But the one thing that has never changed is that writers write. They don't just put words on paper. They create worlds, people, feelings, emotions. And they are driven to keep writing against all adversity.
Can a writer stop writing? No. It's always there. Even if it's lurking beneath the surface, it's still there -- that urge to create, that urge to get the words onto the page.
By that definition, I am a writer. So are a lot of my friends. None of us are household names yet, but we're hanging in there, writing, writing, writing...
Saturday, January 28, 2006
8.08 p.m.
No writing done today. The storms were too bad. I ran around all day cleaning the house, vacuuming up after the tradesmen had finished putting the air conditioner on the roof and installing the ducting. Great! A wasted day.
At least it cooled down a little.
Can someone pleeeeeeeeeze explain to me how a fridge – something we only put clean food in – can get so grotty and disgusting!!! I cleaned out the bottom of my fridge today. Yuk. It was revolting. It was full of water and slimy stuff. How on earth does it get that way? It’s nice and clean now, but I bet it won’t stay that way for long. [sigh]
At least it cooled down a little.
Can someone pleeeeeeeeeze explain to me how a fridge – something we only put clean food in – can get so grotty and disgusting!!! I cleaned out the bottom of my fridge today. Yuk. It was revolting. It was full of water and slimy stuff. How on earth does it get that way? It’s nice and clean now, but I bet it won’t stay that way for long. [sigh]
Another One?
I had an idea for a short story. No, not another short story that turns into a novel like “Mark of the Condemned”. A real short story. I should keep plugging away at the other three novels I’m working on.
Susan and I have decided to drop “The Half Burnt Bridge”. It’s very 1970s and 1980s. A bit dated. Parts of it are really well written, and other parts need a complete overhaul. We’ve decided to shelve it for now. The stuff we’re writing now is much better. Perhaps we’ll find a market for it some time and that will give us a reason to rewrite it. It’s not a bad story. It just isn’t quite there yet. So... into the archives goes “The Half Burnt Bridge” and our beloved characters Jason and Brant.
I haven’t had much luck getting my short stories published yet. I had a “near miss” with one magazine and my “Sword of Anubis” vampire story. They even wrote a comment for me which I thanked them for. They said they seriously considered publishing the story but the point of view swapped too many times for them. They said the rest of the story was very strong and they liked it. I’m going to have a good read to see what I can do about that. A bit of rewriting can fix those POV problems. I like to write in third person omniscient which a lot of magazine publishers don’t like. They prefer third person subjective. But I like to get inside all the characters’ heads. Back to the drawing board for “Sword of Anubis”. If I’ve been sloppy with my POV, I can easily fix that. If not, then it’s ready for a new market. Wish me luck.
OK. It’s back to Ranger and Jaxxlar the Shadow Runners now.
Susan and I have decided to drop “The Half Burnt Bridge”. It’s very 1970s and 1980s. A bit dated. Parts of it are really well written, and other parts need a complete overhaul. We’ve decided to shelve it for now. The stuff we’re writing now is much better. Perhaps we’ll find a market for it some time and that will give us a reason to rewrite it. It’s not a bad story. It just isn’t quite there yet. So... into the archives goes “The Half Burnt Bridge” and our beloved characters Jason and Brant.
I haven’t had much luck getting my short stories published yet. I had a “near miss” with one magazine and my “Sword of Anubis” vampire story. They even wrote a comment for me which I thanked them for. They said they seriously considered publishing the story but the point of view swapped too many times for them. They said the rest of the story was very strong and they liked it. I’m going to have a good read to see what I can do about that. A bit of rewriting can fix those POV problems. I like to write in third person omniscient which a lot of magazine publishers don’t like. They prefer third person subjective. But I like to get inside all the characters’ heads. Back to the drawing board for “Sword of Anubis”. If I’ve been sloppy with my POV, I can easily fix that. If not, then it’s ready for a new market. Wish me luck.
OK. It’s back to Ranger and Jaxxlar the Shadow Runners now.
Writing Day At Last
Yay! Geoff is back at work today. I can now spend all day writing, if I want to.
I just finished talking to Maureen [friend at Ararat] on the phone. Only a two-hour phone call this time. Quite short really. I was catching up on the fire situation. Very scary over Halls Gap way. This hot, windy weather doesn’t help either.
Today is supposed to be another 37 degree day. It looks really stormy. I wonder if we’ll get any rain. Probably not.
The workmen are still up on the roof, in the roof, all over the roof... installing our air conditioner. At long last we’ll have cooling for this house. I don’t mind the heat – as you know – but last night wasn’t pleasant. It was 32 inside the house and it didn’t cool off. It will be nice to just turn on the cooling and get a good night’s sleep. I usually don’t have any trouble sleeping in the heat, but last night there wasn’t even a breath of air moving anywhere. The fan was only moving hot air about. Hmmmmm. Must be getting soft in my old age.
I just finished talking to Maureen [friend at Ararat] on the phone. Only a two-hour phone call this time. Quite short really. I was catching up on the fire situation. Very scary over Halls Gap way. This hot, windy weather doesn’t help either.
Today is supposed to be another 37 degree day. It looks really stormy. I wonder if we’ll get any rain. Probably not.
The workmen are still up on the roof, in the roof, all over the roof... installing our air conditioner. At long last we’ll have cooling for this house. I don’t mind the heat – as you know – but last night wasn’t pleasant. It was 32 inside the house and it didn’t cool off. It will be nice to just turn on the cooling and get a good night’s sleep. I usually don’t have any trouble sleeping in the heat, but last night there wasn’t even a breath of air moving anywhere. The fan was only moving hot air about. Hmmmmm. Must be getting soft in my old age.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Mark of the Condemned
Chapter One or Preface
The High Priest rambled on making symbolic gestures, shaking his stinking incense burner in Jovahn’s face. Jovahn glowered at him. There was no need to hide his contempt now. The crowd fell silent, watching, waiting, trying to catch a word or two to gossip about later.
The High Priest was enjoying every moment of his performance. The crowd greedily devoured every word he spoke, and that was exactly the way he liked to have them. He concluded his mutterings with a grand gesture to the heavens.
He looked at the condemned man with an over-exaggerated expression of pity. “When you meet the great and terrible Almighty, my son, I hope he finds it in his heart to grant you a modicum of mercy.”
Jovahn would have spat in the High Priest’s face if his mouth wasn’t so dry.
The High Priest took the key dangling from his sash and unlocked the neck shackle that was holding the condemned against the centre pole. “Go in peace.”
More like ‘go in pieces’, Jovahn thought. He was still chained to the pole by ankle shackles so he couldn’t escape, but it was good not to have the weight of the metal collar around his throat. Now, at least, he could stand and meet his end face on.
He watched the High Priest walk from the centre of the arena. It was because of religious freaks like that he was being executed. They’d come early one morning to his land to collect their tithings. It hadn’t mattered to them that this was the third year of a drought and that there was nothing to give. Rhani, his sweet Rahni, had offered them what little they had in their larder, but the bastards wouldn’t take it. He and Rahni were seized and held while the High Priest’s henchmen threw burning brands on the roof of their house in punishment for withholding their tithe.
Rahni had struggled. She’d screamed that the baby was still inside, but they ignored her. She bit the arm of the noviciate who held her and broke away. Jovahn struggled to free himself from the three men who’d been holding him down, but with a knife at his throat, all he could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolded before him. He saw the head priest lift his cross bow and take aim. He screamed out a warning – too late. The bolt had flown straight into his wife’s heart. She’d fallen through the doorway, her arms still outstretched toward their baby.
Strength born of madness had overcome him and Jovahn had fought his way out of the grasp of the three young priests. One of the novitiates tackled him and managed to get the knife to his throat again. Still hoping to reach his infant son before the house burnt down, Jovahn fought with all the strength he had left. In desperation, he’d slashed the man’s throat, but the weight of numbers was against him and he’d been overpowered and knocked unconscious.
Later, he was told that the novitiate had died of the wound, and that was why he’d been condemned to death instead of just being shipped to the mines. He didn’t know if that was true or not. He didn’t care. Death would be better than a life underground anyway.
Tears stung his eyes at the memory of his wife and son. He swiped them away with the back of his hand. It didn’t matter that he was being executed. He had nothing left to lose except his life. And what was that worth without Rhani and Darrik?
The High Priest disappeared through the door with the serpent and the cross embossed on it. He’d have a good seat for the fun that would follow. He reappeared on the balcony and climbed up onto the dais where he sat looking piously regal.
Jovahn looked down at himself. He was skinny, tattered and filthy from weeks in the dungeon and the brand on his left forearm that marked him as one of those who were condemned to death, had festered due to lack of sanitation. The striking serpent was barely recognisable beneath the weeping scabs. No matter. He wouldn’t live long enough to die of an infection. He took deep breath and let it out slowly. Wasn’t he supposed to think profound thoughts now that he was at the moment of death? Where was his faith? Jovahn stared up at the High Priest. He straightened his back and struck a defiant pose even though he was powerless to stop the shaking of his body. He didn’t want to be afraid, but he was. He wanted to die with dignity. He’d even fasted these past two days so he wouldn’t disgrace himself at the last moment, and he’d made sure his bladder was empty before he was led out into the centre of the arena. He looked up at the sky. A perfect, hot sunny day without a cloud to mar the deep blue overhead. A perfect day to die.
The crowd roared. Jovahn pressed his back to the pole and closed his eyes. He heard the grates spring open, and quiet descended over the arena. He couldn’t hear the footfalls of the garrun. They stalked their prey silently, so he’d been told. He knew it was there, though. A gasp from the crowd told him it was very close. It would be over soon. He would be with Rhani and Darrik in the afterlife. At least his death would be quick. The beast would have been starved for a week to make it fierce and hungry, and it would have been teased to provoke its anger. He felt sorry for it. It too was a prisoner here, starved and beaten, then forced to eat something that wasn’t its natural prey. While garruns in the wild had been known to kill men, they didn’t usually eat them. It probably had something to do with the disagreeable taste.
Jovahn would have liked to have seen a High Priest tethered to this pole. How would one of them meet their maker? With quiet dignity? Or like most men, screaming, shitting and pissing in terror? A huff of breath on his face made Jovahn open his eyes. He wished he hadn’t.
A huge black nose was inches away from his own. Whiskers as long as his arms stood out from the broad, black face. It was a male garrun easily three hands taller than a horse and twice as long. Gold eyes were staring into his. Jovahn was struck by the feline’s beauty, its sleek lines, the sheen on its ebony fur, and the intelligence in those beautiful eyes. It was no dishonour to be at the mercy of a creature of such majesty.
“Make it quick,” he whispered. “Please make it quick.”
The garrun’s ears pricked forward at the sound of his voice. It sat down, watching him with an almost readable expression on its face. The tip of it’s long tail rose and fell like the tapping of an impatient foot.
Jovahn closed his eyes again. If it didn’t kill him in a moment, he would surely die of fright. “Go on, get it over with.” He turned his head and waited.
Suddenly, it felt like a rasp had been drawn up his body from his thigh to his shoulder. The crowd began to laugh; nervously at first, then, as the true magnitude of the ridiculous overtook them, unrestrained guffaws and shrieks rang out. Jovahn opened his eyes. The creature had licked him. Was he too dirty to eat? Was it tasting him to see if he was ripe? He almost laughed – more out of hysteria than from any sense of humour. Then one huge paw batted against his ankle and the feline lowered its head to lick around the shackle.
He’s going to eat me from the feet up, thought Jovahn. I’m going to live long enough to see myself eaten alive. Terror like liquid ice coursed through his veins. Sweat trickled down the centre of his back. He didn’t care if the crowd saw that he was shaking and sweating, nor that his supposedly empty bladder had added an extra depth to his humiliation. The large ebony feline of death was licking at his feet.
There was a plink and the corroded old shackle sprang open. Jovahn looked into the face of the garrun. His panic was such that he couldn’t even see straight. Was the beast smiling? The garrun lowered his head and began to gnaw at the other shackle. It too fell in half. Jovahn was free. Free to run. But he was frozen in horror. The beast wanted him to run. It wanted to chase him down and tear him apart like an animal. It was sitting there watching him expectantly.
“No.” Jovahn looked into the garrun’s eyes, pleading with him. “Thank you for letting me die a free man, but I won’t run.” He shuffled forward on legs that wouldn’t obey. He opened his arms and lifted his chin to expose his throat. “All I ask is that you kill me quickly.”
*Kill you? Do you not know what you are?*
It took a moment for Jovahn to understand that the voice inside his head was the garrun’s. He stared at it. It stared back.
*The br’hahn will not harm you, Sh’vahn.* The garrun leaned forward and touched his nose against Jovahn’s. *We, the br’hahn, call your kind the Sh’vahni – kindred spirits.*
Jovahn looked around wildly. The crowd had hushed and the High Priest was leaning over the rail of his balcony. His face was red and his knuckles were white where they gripped his staff. Shock and anger warred to take control of his features. Clearly, he had not expected this.
*Move Sh’vahn. Get on my back.*
Jovahn walked as though his legs had turned to rubber. He climbed onto the feline’s back and clung to the longer, thicker fur of its ruff. The beast rose with swift grace and prowled around the arena giving the crowd a good, long look. He stopped before the High Priest and roared in defiance.
The High Priest glanced around at his coevals. Those dolts weren’t going to be any help. They were sitting there with their mouths open like half-wits. The crowd was beginning to mumble. Soon, mob mentality would take over and he would have a riot on his hands. He had to take control of the situation, turn it to his advantage. He glared down at the condemned sitting on the beast. How dare that creature defy him. The beastmaster had sent a pet out instead of a wild animal. He would pay with his life for this insult. The High Priest saw only one way out of this. To save face, he would be forced to free that cursed priest murderer.
He held his staff over his head until all attention was centred on him. “Be still, my people. There is no need to fear.” He struck the heel of the staff on the stone floor of the balcony three times. “You have all been called to bear witness to this miracle. I have had a vision. The Great and Mighty One has spoken to me. He has decided to show mercy to this man as proof of His greatness. Let it be known that we allowed this man his freedom.”
The crowd roared in approval.
The High Priest pointed to the arena’s main entrance. “Raise the portcullis. In the name of the Almighty, let this man and his beast go free.” But not for long, he thought. No-one made a fool of the High Priest and got away with it. He would make it his personal quest to have this condemned man and his damnable beast hunted down and killed.
Jovahn watched the iron gates to his left slowly grind upward. He felt the feline’s muscles bunch beneath him and only just had time to entwine his fingers in its ruff before it sprang through the opening and raced out onto the main carriage way.
Horses and pedestrians screamed and scattered as they loped past. Jovahn couldn’t believe the strength and agility of the garrun as he twisted and turned to avoid them all. He clung to the animal with his legs and arms hoping he had the strength to stay on until he was well away from the city.
They left the road and headed deep into the forest. It was a part of Magenon that Jovahn wasn’t familiar with. He was from the cultivated farmlands to the south of the city. He’d never been this far north.
When the garrun stopped to drink at a river, Jovahn slid to the ground. He waded into the water and scrubbed at his ragged clothing and body in an attempt to rid himself of weeks of dungeon grime. The brand on his arm still burned and itched, but the rest of him felt much better for the wash.
The garrun was sitting on the river bank watching him. *Do you want to eat?*
“I’m starved.”
*Wait here.*
Jovahn watched the feline leap away into the undergrowth with a grace and strength he envied. He gazed at his surroundings. Everything seemed so bright after the darkness of the dungeon. There’d been a forest near his farm, but it had looked nothing like this. Here, the trees were tall and close together, and the undergrowth lush. If he strayed from this spot, Jovahn knew he’d never find his way back. He had no choice but to do as the garrun told him. He felt so small here, so lost and alone. Even if he could find his way out of this jungle, he had nowhere to go, nobody to go to. He sat and stared into the water, fascinated by its movements and by the play of the fading light over its crystalline surface. Just as he was beginning to fear he’d been abandoned, the garrun returned carrying a young antelope. He tore one of the animal’s back legs off with one mighty bite and dropped the haunch at Jovahn’s feet before retreating a short distance to eat the rest.
Jovahn thought his hunger would kill him as he searched the river bank to find a couple of stones that looked like they might give off a spark. He gathered dry grass and twigs to set the fire with then sat down to play with the stones. It took several strikes before he managed to light the dry grass, but eventually he managed to get a fire going. It would have been so much more convenient if he could eat the meat raw like the garrun, but even as starved as he was, that thought didn’t appeal to him.
The meat smelled so good as it cooked, Jovahn could hardly wait to sink his teeth into it. To his disappointment, he found he could eat very little. Weeks of surviving on the bare minimum had shrunken his stomach. He found a flat, sharp stone and cut the remaining meat into sections. At least he’d be able to take some of it with him.
He looked over at the sleek black form of the feline. Gold eyes turned to watch him. “My name is Jovahn.” He felt foolish talking like this, but the animal had heard and understood him before. “Thank you for saving my life, garrun. I owe you more than I can repay.”
The feline approached and settled himself on the opposite side of the fire. As he watched Jovahn, the flames reflected like sparks in his eyes. *I am Zorrrahn. I need no repayment. Br’hahn such as I search our whole lives to find one of the Sh’vahni. Most of us never find one. The Sh’vahni have become very rare since the beginning to the reign of the High Priesthood.*
Jovahn wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to be rare or not. “What happens now, Zorrrahn? Where do we go from here?”
The feline lowered his head onto his paws, half closing his eyes. *We go to the l’hahrim to train and learn to be Wardens.”
Jovahn stared at Zorrrahn. “But the Order of the Wardens was outlawed by the High Priesthood after the old king died. They said they had the great Almighty to protect them and they didn’t need pagan magic or ward riders.”
*Trust me, Jovahn, there is much you don’t know. The values of the old king did not die with him. The Order of Wardens is still alive. Unmated br’hahn are sent forth to seek out Sh’vahni and bring them back to the l’hahrim for training. I found you. We have a long road before us, Jovahn, and there is so much I have to tell you, but for now, rest. When your stomach is full and some of your strength regained, we’ll continue. I suspect the High Priest will have his men out looking for us. We have made a powerful enemy.*
Little of what Zorrrahn said made sense to Jovahn. The old ways of life had died along with their king. The High Priests had made sure of that. When they’d taken control, laws were changed, worship of the great Almighty was made compulsory, and the structure of the king’s court had been disbanded. Most of the ward riders had been killed, and the few who’d survived scattered. Jovahn’s head, which had only been full of thoughts of survival since his incarceration, now was full of too many foreign thoughts – most of them, if not treasonous then definitely blasphemous. He rolled onto his back and, for the first time in many weeks, watched the stars make sparkling patterns across the night sky.
Brittany Kingston © 2006
The High Priest rambled on making symbolic gestures, shaking his stinking incense burner in Jovahn’s face. Jovahn glowered at him. There was no need to hide his contempt now. The crowd fell silent, watching, waiting, trying to catch a word or two to gossip about later.
The High Priest was enjoying every moment of his performance. The crowd greedily devoured every word he spoke, and that was exactly the way he liked to have them. He concluded his mutterings with a grand gesture to the heavens.
He looked at the condemned man with an over-exaggerated expression of pity. “When you meet the great and terrible Almighty, my son, I hope he finds it in his heart to grant you a modicum of mercy.”
Jovahn would have spat in the High Priest’s face if his mouth wasn’t so dry.
The High Priest took the key dangling from his sash and unlocked the neck shackle that was holding the condemned against the centre pole. “Go in peace.”
More like ‘go in pieces’, Jovahn thought. He was still chained to the pole by ankle shackles so he couldn’t escape, but it was good not to have the weight of the metal collar around his throat. Now, at least, he could stand and meet his end face on.
He watched the High Priest walk from the centre of the arena. It was because of religious freaks like that he was being executed. They’d come early one morning to his land to collect their tithings. It hadn’t mattered to them that this was the third year of a drought and that there was nothing to give. Rhani, his sweet Rahni, had offered them what little they had in their larder, but the bastards wouldn’t take it. He and Rahni were seized and held while the High Priest’s henchmen threw burning brands on the roof of their house in punishment for withholding their tithe.
Rahni had struggled. She’d screamed that the baby was still inside, but they ignored her. She bit the arm of the noviciate who held her and broke away. Jovahn struggled to free himself from the three men who’d been holding him down, but with a knife at his throat, all he could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolded before him. He saw the head priest lift his cross bow and take aim. He screamed out a warning – too late. The bolt had flown straight into his wife’s heart. She’d fallen through the doorway, her arms still outstretched toward their baby.
Strength born of madness had overcome him and Jovahn had fought his way out of the grasp of the three young priests. One of the novitiates tackled him and managed to get the knife to his throat again. Still hoping to reach his infant son before the house burnt down, Jovahn fought with all the strength he had left. In desperation, he’d slashed the man’s throat, but the weight of numbers was against him and he’d been overpowered and knocked unconscious.
Later, he was told that the novitiate had died of the wound, and that was why he’d been condemned to death instead of just being shipped to the mines. He didn’t know if that was true or not. He didn’t care. Death would be better than a life underground anyway.
Tears stung his eyes at the memory of his wife and son. He swiped them away with the back of his hand. It didn’t matter that he was being executed. He had nothing left to lose except his life. And what was that worth without Rhani and Darrik?
The High Priest disappeared through the door with the serpent and the cross embossed on it. He’d have a good seat for the fun that would follow. He reappeared on the balcony and climbed up onto the dais where he sat looking piously regal.
Jovahn looked down at himself. He was skinny, tattered and filthy from weeks in the dungeon and the brand on his left forearm that marked him as one of those who were condemned to death, had festered due to lack of sanitation. The striking serpent was barely recognisable beneath the weeping scabs. No matter. He wouldn’t live long enough to die of an infection. He took deep breath and let it out slowly. Wasn’t he supposed to think profound thoughts now that he was at the moment of death? Where was his faith? Jovahn stared up at the High Priest. He straightened his back and struck a defiant pose even though he was powerless to stop the shaking of his body. He didn’t want to be afraid, but he was. He wanted to die with dignity. He’d even fasted these past two days so he wouldn’t disgrace himself at the last moment, and he’d made sure his bladder was empty before he was led out into the centre of the arena. He looked up at the sky. A perfect, hot sunny day without a cloud to mar the deep blue overhead. A perfect day to die.
The crowd roared. Jovahn pressed his back to the pole and closed his eyes. He heard the grates spring open, and quiet descended over the arena. He couldn’t hear the footfalls of the garrun. They stalked their prey silently, so he’d been told. He knew it was there, though. A gasp from the crowd told him it was very close. It would be over soon. He would be with Rhani and Darrik in the afterlife. At least his death would be quick. The beast would have been starved for a week to make it fierce and hungry, and it would have been teased to provoke its anger. He felt sorry for it. It too was a prisoner here, starved and beaten, then forced to eat something that wasn’t its natural prey. While garruns in the wild had been known to kill men, they didn’t usually eat them. It probably had something to do with the disagreeable taste.
Jovahn would have liked to have seen a High Priest tethered to this pole. How would one of them meet their maker? With quiet dignity? Or like most men, screaming, shitting and pissing in terror? A huff of breath on his face made Jovahn open his eyes. He wished he hadn’t.
A huge black nose was inches away from his own. Whiskers as long as his arms stood out from the broad, black face. It was a male garrun easily three hands taller than a horse and twice as long. Gold eyes were staring into his. Jovahn was struck by the feline’s beauty, its sleek lines, the sheen on its ebony fur, and the intelligence in those beautiful eyes. It was no dishonour to be at the mercy of a creature of such majesty.
“Make it quick,” he whispered. “Please make it quick.”
The garrun’s ears pricked forward at the sound of his voice. It sat down, watching him with an almost readable expression on its face. The tip of it’s long tail rose and fell like the tapping of an impatient foot.
Jovahn closed his eyes again. If it didn’t kill him in a moment, he would surely die of fright. “Go on, get it over with.” He turned his head and waited.
Suddenly, it felt like a rasp had been drawn up his body from his thigh to his shoulder. The crowd began to laugh; nervously at first, then, as the true magnitude of the ridiculous overtook them, unrestrained guffaws and shrieks rang out. Jovahn opened his eyes. The creature had licked him. Was he too dirty to eat? Was it tasting him to see if he was ripe? He almost laughed – more out of hysteria than from any sense of humour. Then one huge paw batted against his ankle and the feline lowered its head to lick around the shackle.
He’s going to eat me from the feet up, thought Jovahn. I’m going to live long enough to see myself eaten alive. Terror like liquid ice coursed through his veins. Sweat trickled down the centre of his back. He didn’t care if the crowd saw that he was shaking and sweating, nor that his supposedly empty bladder had added an extra depth to his humiliation. The large ebony feline of death was licking at his feet.
There was a plink and the corroded old shackle sprang open. Jovahn looked into the face of the garrun. His panic was such that he couldn’t even see straight. Was the beast smiling? The garrun lowered his head and began to gnaw at the other shackle. It too fell in half. Jovahn was free. Free to run. But he was frozen in horror. The beast wanted him to run. It wanted to chase him down and tear him apart like an animal. It was sitting there watching him expectantly.
“No.” Jovahn looked into the garrun’s eyes, pleading with him. “Thank you for letting me die a free man, but I won’t run.” He shuffled forward on legs that wouldn’t obey. He opened his arms and lifted his chin to expose his throat. “All I ask is that you kill me quickly.”
*Kill you? Do you not know what you are?*
It took a moment for Jovahn to understand that the voice inside his head was the garrun’s. He stared at it. It stared back.
*The br’hahn will not harm you, Sh’vahn.* The garrun leaned forward and touched his nose against Jovahn’s. *We, the br’hahn, call your kind the Sh’vahni – kindred spirits.*
Jovahn looked around wildly. The crowd had hushed and the High Priest was leaning over the rail of his balcony. His face was red and his knuckles were white where they gripped his staff. Shock and anger warred to take control of his features. Clearly, he had not expected this.
*Move Sh’vahn. Get on my back.*
Jovahn walked as though his legs had turned to rubber. He climbed onto the feline’s back and clung to the longer, thicker fur of its ruff. The beast rose with swift grace and prowled around the arena giving the crowd a good, long look. He stopped before the High Priest and roared in defiance.
The High Priest glanced around at his coevals. Those dolts weren’t going to be any help. They were sitting there with their mouths open like half-wits. The crowd was beginning to mumble. Soon, mob mentality would take over and he would have a riot on his hands. He had to take control of the situation, turn it to his advantage. He glared down at the condemned sitting on the beast. How dare that creature defy him. The beastmaster had sent a pet out instead of a wild animal. He would pay with his life for this insult. The High Priest saw only one way out of this. To save face, he would be forced to free that cursed priest murderer.
He held his staff over his head until all attention was centred on him. “Be still, my people. There is no need to fear.” He struck the heel of the staff on the stone floor of the balcony three times. “You have all been called to bear witness to this miracle. I have had a vision. The Great and Mighty One has spoken to me. He has decided to show mercy to this man as proof of His greatness. Let it be known that we allowed this man his freedom.”
The crowd roared in approval.
The High Priest pointed to the arena’s main entrance. “Raise the portcullis. In the name of the Almighty, let this man and his beast go free.” But not for long, he thought. No-one made a fool of the High Priest and got away with it. He would make it his personal quest to have this condemned man and his damnable beast hunted down and killed.
Jovahn watched the iron gates to his left slowly grind upward. He felt the feline’s muscles bunch beneath him and only just had time to entwine his fingers in its ruff before it sprang through the opening and raced out onto the main carriage way.
Horses and pedestrians screamed and scattered as they loped past. Jovahn couldn’t believe the strength and agility of the garrun as he twisted and turned to avoid them all. He clung to the animal with his legs and arms hoping he had the strength to stay on until he was well away from the city.
They left the road and headed deep into the forest. It was a part of Magenon that Jovahn wasn’t familiar with. He was from the cultivated farmlands to the south of the city. He’d never been this far north.
When the garrun stopped to drink at a river, Jovahn slid to the ground. He waded into the water and scrubbed at his ragged clothing and body in an attempt to rid himself of weeks of dungeon grime. The brand on his arm still burned and itched, but the rest of him felt much better for the wash.
The garrun was sitting on the river bank watching him. *Do you want to eat?*
“I’m starved.”
*Wait here.*
Jovahn watched the feline leap away into the undergrowth with a grace and strength he envied. He gazed at his surroundings. Everything seemed so bright after the darkness of the dungeon. There’d been a forest near his farm, but it had looked nothing like this. Here, the trees were tall and close together, and the undergrowth lush. If he strayed from this spot, Jovahn knew he’d never find his way back. He had no choice but to do as the garrun told him. He felt so small here, so lost and alone. Even if he could find his way out of this jungle, he had nowhere to go, nobody to go to. He sat and stared into the water, fascinated by its movements and by the play of the fading light over its crystalline surface. Just as he was beginning to fear he’d been abandoned, the garrun returned carrying a young antelope. He tore one of the animal’s back legs off with one mighty bite and dropped the haunch at Jovahn’s feet before retreating a short distance to eat the rest.
Jovahn thought his hunger would kill him as he searched the river bank to find a couple of stones that looked like they might give off a spark. He gathered dry grass and twigs to set the fire with then sat down to play with the stones. It took several strikes before he managed to light the dry grass, but eventually he managed to get a fire going. It would have been so much more convenient if he could eat the meat raw like the garrun, but even as starved as he was, that thought didn’t appeal to him.
The meat smelled so good as it cooked, Jovahn could hardly wait to sink his teeth into it. To his disappointment, he found he could eat very little. Weeks of surviving on the bare minimum had shrunken his stomach. He found a flat, sharp stone and cut the remaining meat into sections. At least he’d be able to take some of it with him.
He looked over at the sleek black form of the feline. Gold eyes turned to watch him. “My name is Jovahn.” He felt foolish talking like this, but the animal had heard and understood him before. “Thank you for saving my life, garrun. I owe you more than I can repay.”
The feline approached and settled himself on the opposite side of the fire. As he watched Jovahn, the flames reflected like sparks in his eyes. *I am Zorrrahn. I need no repayment. Br’hahn such as I search our whole lives to find one of the Sh’vahni. Most of us never find one. The Sh’vahni have become very rare since the beginning to the reign of the High Priesthood.*
Jovahn wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to be rare or not. “What happens now, Zorrrahn? Where do we go from here?”
The feline lowered his head onto his paws, half closing his eyes. *We go to the l’hahrim to train and learn to be Wardens.”
Jovahn stared at Zorrrahn. “But the Order of the Wardens was outlawed by the High Priesthood after the old king died. They said they had the great Almighty to protect them and they didn’t need pagan magic or ward riders.”
*Trust me, Jovahn, there is much you don’t know. The values of the old king did not die with him. The Order of Wardens is still alive. Unmated br’hahn are sent forth to seek out Sh’vahni and bring them back to the l’hahrim for training. I found you. We have a long road before us, Jovahn, and there is so much I have to tell you, but for now, rest. When your stomach is full and some of your strength regained, we’ll continue. I suspect the High Priest will have his men out looking for us. We have made a powerful enemy.*
Little of what Zorrrahn said made sense to Jovahn. The old ways of life had died along with their king. The High Priests had made sure of that. When they’d taken control, laws were changed, worship of the great Almighty was made compulsory, and the structure of the king’s court had been disbanded. Most of the ward riders had been killed, and the few who’d survived scattered. Jovahn’s head, which had only been full of thoughts of survival since his incarceration, now was full of too many foreign thoughts – most of them, if not treasonous then definitely blasphemous. He rolled onto his back and, for the first time in many weeks, watched the stars make sparkling patterns across the night sky.
Brittany Kingston © 2006
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