I managed to rework the first five chapters of Shadow Runners over the weekend. I'm now working on chapters 6 and 7. I cut heaps out and joined chapters 2 and 3 into one.
The problem is that I had to keep in certain events that there's no time to work into the later parts of the story, so I didn't end up cutting as much as I originally intended to.
When I've finished the slice and dice, I'll go back and read it from start to finish and see what is "actually" in the book. It's so long since I've read most of it.
So many things have changed since the original concept of the novel that the ending is nothing like it once was. I hope this is working out for the better. I guess I'll find out when I read the whole thing.
I still have to finish off the last couple of chapters, but I thought it was more important that I fix up the rest of the story first.
If you don't lay the foundations right, the house comes tumbling down.
It's the same with short stories and novels. If the events at the start don't lead in a logical way towards events at the end, then you haven't really got a story.
You also have to make sure that, in the middle of your novel, you haven't wandered around in circles without advancing the story towards the eventual climax. The middle part is the dangerous part. You're all fired up at the start. You're caught up in the climax at the end. The middle is where you waffle if you're not careful.
You have to make sure you keep your writing tight and moving along at a fast pace. Of course, you don't want to have the pace so frantic that your readers get exhausted just reading it. There is a happy medium. That's what I'm going to make sure I have.
Catch you all next time.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Mark of the Condemned
I've changed my mind about "Mark of the Condemned". I've decided to make it the sequel to "The Shadow Runners".
This has taken a bit of rethinking on my part and a little recharacterising. Djovi is now the half human-half vedrathian son of Ranger from "The Shadow Runners". Djovi would probably be about 20 years old by the time of "Mark of the Condemned". His mother is dead and his father is unknown to him.
I had to rework Djovi's background to arrange for his birth on another other of Andaman's continents. I also had to make the High Priests herrragh instead of human. This works well, I think, and didn't seem to make a difference to the storyline at all.
I have to make sure that events at the end of "The Shadow Runners" make it possible for Djovi to be born. Ranger was going to be the hero who didn't find the love of his life on this mission. Now, I guess, he'll at least have to have one night of fun before he leaves...!
Ok, so here it is - Chapter One of Mark of the Condemned.
Let me know what you think.
By: Brittany Kingston
© 2006
Chapter One
The High Priest rambled on making symbolic gestures, shaking his stinking incense burner in Djovi’s face. Djovi glowered at him. There was no need to hide his contempt now. The mostly herrragh and alien crowd fell silent, watching, waiting, trying to catch a word or two to gossip about later.
The High Priest’s black eyes glittered with satisfaction. He carried his tail high and proud, and the crowd greedily devoured every word he spoke. Djovi knew that was exactly the way the High Priests liked to keep them. His mutterings were concluded with a grandiose gesture to the heavens and some submissive head bowing and ear lowering that wrought ooohs and aaaaahs of appreciation from the crowd.
The High Priest looked at the condemned human 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."
Djovi would have spat in the canine’s face if his mouth wasn’t so dry.
The High Priest took the key dangling from his sash and destruction the neck shackle that was holding Djovi against the centre pole. "Go in peace."
More like ‘go in pieces’, Djovi 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 death face on.
He watched the High Priest walk from the centre of the arena. It was because of such zealots he was being executed. Tears of hatred stung his eyes. He blinked them away, determined not to be seen as weak.
They’d come early one morning to his land to collect their tithings. It hadn’t mattered to them that this was the fourth year of a drought and that there was nothing to give. Rhani – his sweet Rahni – had offered them what little they’d 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. Djovi struggled to free himself from the three herrragh 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.
Madness had overcome him and Djovi 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 son before the house burnt down, Djovi fought with all the strength he had left. In desperation, he’d slashed at the nearest herrragh’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.
He clenched his jaw tight against the memory of his wife and son. He would not give in to emotion. He prayed to whichever Gods were still watching, that they grant him the strength to make his final stand. 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.
Djovi looked down at himself. He was skinny, tattered and filthy from months 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 a deep breath and let it out slowly. Wasn’t he supposed to think profound thoughts now that he was at the moment of death? What good was his faith in the old Gods now? What good was faith in anything? The condemned with faith and the condemned without would be as dead as each other at the end of this day.
Djovi 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. Djovi 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, forced to eat something that wasn’t its natural prey. While garruns in the wild had been known to kill men and herrragh alike, they didn’t usually eat them. It probably had something to do with the disagreeable taste.
Djovi 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 Djovi 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. Djovi 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 and watched 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.
Djovi 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. Djovi 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 gnaw around the shackle.
He’s going to eat me from the feet up, thought Djovi. 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. Djovi 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 chew on the other shackle. It too fell in half. Djovi 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." Djovi 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 Djovi to understand that the voice inside his head was the garrun’s. He stared at it. It stared back.
*No br’hahn will harm you, Sh’vahn.* The garrun leaned forward and touched his nose against Djovi’s. *We, the br’hahn, call your kind the Sh’vahni – kindred spirits.*
Djovi looked around wildly. The crowd had hushed and the High Priest was leaning over the rail of his balcony. His ears were flat against his head and his claws were embedded in the wood of his staff. Fury emblazoned in his eyes. Clearly, he had not expected this.
*Move Sh’vahn. Get on my back.*
Djovi 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, somehow turn it to his advantage. He glared down at the condemned human 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 Anubis 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." He stared down at the condemned and, through gritted teeth, he growled to his priests, "No-one makes a fool of me. I will make it my personal quest to have that condemned human and his damnable feline hunted down and killed."
Djovi watched the iron gates to his left slowly grind upward. He felt the garrun’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. Djovi 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 away from the city.
They left the road and headed deep into the forest. It was a part of Magenon that Djovi wasn’t familiar with. He was from the cultivated farmlands to the south of the city where most of the human settlers lived. He’d never been this far north.
When the garrun stopped to drink at a river, Djovi slid to the ground. He waded into the water and scrubbed at his ragged clothing and body in an attempt to rid himself of months 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 sat on the river bank watching him. *Do you want to eat?*
"I’m starved."
*Wait here.*
Djovi 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 was lush. If he strayed from this spot, Djovi 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 Djovi’s feet before retreating a short distance to eat the rest.
Djovi 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 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, Djovi could hardly wait to sink his teeth into it. To his disappointment, he found he could eat very little. Months 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 Djovi." 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 Djovi, the flames reflected like sparks in his eyes. *I am Zorrrahn. I need no repayment. Br’hahn such as I are sent out to find surviving Sh’vahni. Most of us never find one. When the old Alpha died, most of the vedrathians on this continent fled. The humans chose to stay. They have no mind powers and were not seen as a threat to the High Priesthood.*
"I’m not a vedrathian, Zorrrahn. I’m human. I don’t have mind powers."
Zorrrahn’s pupils widened. He stilled his mind and scanned the ragged man before him. *You are one of the vedrathi.*
"No. You are mistaken."
Zorrrahn purred loudly. *You are vedrathian and your mind powers are considerable.*
Djovi’s heart sank. He shook his head. "I’m sorry. I’m not who you think I am. You’ve rescued the wrong person."
*No. A mistake like that can never be made, Djovi. A bond between us would not be possible, and you wouldn’t be hearing me speak if you were human. Do you not know your parents?*
Djovi shrugged. "My mother turned up on the doorstep of the farm where I grew up one night. She was pregnant, alone and very sick. She was the daughter of an ambassador or something like that apparently and didn’t want her father to know about me. She died a few months after I was born. Jon and Sarla Levi raised me as their own son. All I know is that my mother was human."
*What of your father?*
"Nobody knows."
Zorrrahn lowered his head to his paws. *Your father must have been a vedrathian. A half human-half vedrathian with abilities like yours is very rare.*
Djovi wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to be rare or not. Whoever or whatever his father was, wasn’t important any more. He’d given up wondering a long time ago, and right now he didn’t care which half of him was what as long as he didn’t have to go back to the dungeons. "What happens now, Zorrrahn? Where do we go from here?"
The feline lowered his head onto his paws and half closed his eyes. *We go to the l’hahrim to train and learn to be Wardens.*
Djovi stared at Zorrrahn. "But the Order of the Wardens was outlawed by the High Priesthood after the old Alpha died. They said they had the great Anubis to protect them and they didn’t need pagan magic or vedrathian ward riders."
*Trust me, Djovi, there is much you don’t know. The values of the old Alpha did not die with him. The Order of Wardens is still alive. Unmated br’hahn are sent forth to seek out surviving Sh’vahni and bring them back to the l’hahrim for training. I found you. We have a long road before us, Djovi, and there is 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 death packs out looking for us. We have made a powerful enemy this day.*
Little of what Zorrrahn said made sense to Djovi. The old ways of life had died along with their Alpha. The High Priests had made sure of that. When they’d taken control, laws were changed, worship of the great Anubis was made compulsory, human churches were destroyed, and the structure of the Alpha’s court had been disbanded. Most of the ward riders had been killed, and the few who’d survived scattered.
Djovi’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 months, watched the stars make sparkling patterns across the night sky.
#
"Move, you useless gutter slug!"
Khalil Vangler nudged his friend and snickered. "She’s got a mouth on her, that one."
"And you!" Zalita rounded on the two second year cadets. "Wipe those grins off your faces and get back to work or I’ll have you both in the litter pit helping him."
Vangler and Severyn snapped to attention and saluted. When she’d stalked past, they slumped against the sides of their br’hahn.
"Brother, she is in a mood today." Torlon Severyn glared down at Rogan Baylydd who’d brought the wrath of their superior officer down upon their heads. "You’d better get used to shovelling shit, gutter slug." He nudged his friend. "If Khalil and I have anything to say about it, you’ll be on litter duty for the rest of your stinking life."
Laughing, they swung themselves up onto the backs of their br’hahn and loped away.
Rogan leaned on his shovel and readjusted his face mask. Those two made his life a living hell. He looked up from the bottom of the litter pit to where Farran sat patiently waiting for him to finish. His br’hahn flickered her ears and lifted the corners of her mouth in a feline smile of encouragement.
"Sorry Farran, I’ll try to make this quick." He shovelled the final clump of faeces into the hole he’d dug and raked fresh sand over the top. Thanks to those two, he was getting to be an expert at litter raking. The br’hahn said they liked it when he was on litter duty because they could be sure their litter was fresh and raked smooth the way they preferred.
A gong sounded in the distance.
"Aw, now that’s torn it!" Rogan climbed up the rope ladder and put the tools away in the shed. "Come on Farran. I’ll get you to your meal first. At least one of us will be on time. If I have to be in trouble again at least it won’t be for neglecting you."
Farran rubbed her cheek against her partner’s and laid down so he could mount. Rogan was a sweety. She wished the other sh’vahni saw him as she did. He tried so hard to please them, but he always managed to get it wrong. She heaved a deep sigh and trotted off to the br’hahn feeding shelter.
Rogan gave Farran a good grooming and made sure she had enough to eat before running off to his own quarters to shower and change. He couldn’t turn up at the mess hall straight from the litter pits. He’d be lynched.
To his chagrin, Severyn was on door duty.
"Where do you think you’re going, slug?" The older cadet had a nasty grin on his face.
Rogan didn’t answer. He saluted and attempted to push past him.
"Oh no you don’t. You can’t go in there."
"Don’t play games, Severyn, I’m not in the mood. Let me in."
Severyn’s grin widened as he blocked the doorway. "You’re late. The door’s locked. End of discussion."
For a moment, Rogan considered knocking him on his smug arse, then thought better of it. Why sink to that level? Instead, he shrugged and walked around to the back door of the kitchen. He was well known to the kitchen hands and cooks, and he was always given the royal treatment whenever he ate there, which was often. Besides, they knew all the best gossip.
He knocked on the door and was ushered inside by Galley, the constantly smiling head cook who was as round as she was tall. Nobody knew her real name, but everybody loved her. She was like a second mother to all the young cadets.
Galley sat a huge plate of roast gilly fowl and vegetables in front of him. "Eat up Rogan. You’re too thin. Put a little meat on those bones."
"If I ate as much as you want me to, Galley, I’d be as round as you are."
She flicked the top of his ear. "Cheeky brat. Eat."
Varlo, the youngest scullery apprentice sat opposite with his own meal. "Been in the pits again Rogan?"
"Yeah. It’s almost my permanent job I think."
"Never mind. The br’hahn appreciate your efforts, if nobody else does."
Rogan grinned and stuffed a whole roast potato in his mouth.
#
Zalita uncoiled her long vard so that its length snaked out behind her. She marched up and down in front of the first and second year cadets. "Today, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to learn how to use the long vard for hitting a target while mounted."
She separated the second year cadets from the novices. "As you lot have been practising cracking the long vard while on foot, you can go first." She sprang up onto her br’hahn’s back and fitted her soft riding boots into the leather stirrups of the fighting harness. "Watch."
As the cadets looked on in awe, Zalita turned Guarder towards the series of man-sized bollards set up within the sparring circle. Guarder sprang at the first bollard. Zalita stood in the stirrups and whirled the long leather vard around her like a lariat. As Guarder leaped to the left and right of each bollard, Zalita whipped the tuft of feathers from the top of each one with a snap of the vard.
After one of the yard crew reset the feather tufts, Zalita had the first cadet ride forward. "I want you all to walk through it slowly. There’s one bollard each." She nodded to the cadet. "As you approach, unfurl the vard and twirl it over your head." She demonstrated.
The first cadet managed this very well and even snapped the tuft of feathers from the top of her bollard, albeit in a slightly clumsy way. Pleased with herself, she retreated behind the last of her fellow cadets to wait another turn.
Rogan chewed his lower lip. He was adept at the short vard which was only the length of his arm and had a short, weighted grip that could be used as a baton if needed. It was for hand-to-hand combat in spaces where there was no room to unfurl a long vard. He’d had little time to practice with a stock whip like the rest of his company, but he always seemed to be on litter duty when the novices were sent out to bring in the herds.
His hand grew sweaty around the plaited leather handle. His fellow novices were managing to unfurl their vards and twirl them without getting tangled. As they waited in line, they spread out and practised the twirl and snap. Rogan imagined himself taking off an ear while trying to do that. Or worse, he thought, taking someone else’s ear off. He slumped in the saddle, the thong of his vard an untidy snake beside Farran’s right paw.
Farran purred beneath him in a calming rhythm. *You’ll do fine, Rogan. You’re very good with the short vard. Give it a try.*
He patted her sleek, tawny neck and tried to calm himself. If everyone else could do it, it couldn’t be that hard. He pulled the thong of the vard into two loose loops, like he’d seen the others do. The fighting vard was lighter than it looked and was perfectly weighted with a comfortable custom-made grip. By the end of his first year he would be expected to be a master at making his own vards. So far, they’d only practiced simple vard making with eight and sixteen strand plaits. They had to work their way up to the complicated three-tone patterned 64 strand plait of the long vard.
"You. Baylydd"
Rogan was shocked out of his reverie by the snap of Zalita’s vard close to his cheek. He straightened and saluted. He heard the sniggers from the second year cadets and knew which two would be the ring leaders. He kept his chin up and focussed on his commanding officer.
"Show us how you crack your vard. Then have a try at the target."
Farran walked forward a few paces and waited for the snap of leather over her head.
Rogan took a deep breath and wiped his hand on his trouser leg. With a flick of his wrist he unfurled the vard behind him. He brought his arm up and around then pulled back quickly. A satisfying crack echoed around the yard.
Confident after that success, he fixed his gaze upon the first target. He urged Farran forward at a fast walk while he whirled the vard overhead as he’d seen Zalita do. When he was within striking distance, he aimed and snapped at the tuft of feathers.
Finding himself on the ground in a tangle of leather thonging wasn’t what he had in mind. Rogan pulled himself up onto his hands and knees and coughed the dust from his mouth. Farran was sitting licking a front paw, her expression clearly not pleased. Behind her, Rogan could see all the cadets convulsed in laughter.
Face burning, he hauled himself to his feet and went to tend Farran.
"Cadet."
He looked up at Zalita and managed a half-hearted salute.
"Leave the grounds and tend to your br’hahn. Then I expect to find you back here, on foot," she emphasised, "to learn how to strike at a target safely while everyone else enjoys their time off." She strode away then stopped to look over her shoulder at him. "And I will be checking up on you."
Dusty and humiliated, with the sound of laughter burning holes in his back, Rogan led Farran away from the practice ring.
#
Djovi watched the light fade from the window plunging the small house into darkness. He shook his head and hunkered down behind the hedge, turning his back on the scene. "There is nothing honorable in this."
Zorrrahn purred in amusement. *Think of it as borrowing the essentials.*
"Stealing. That’s what it is. As well as being illegal, it’s not nice." He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "Besides, those are herrragh clothes. I don’t have a tail."
*Would you rather walk the length of this country dressed as a condemned man?*
"That’s what I am." Bitterness invaded Djovi’s voice.
*No. You’re a free man now, so you must look like one. You’ll get nowhere dressed as a criminal. I’m sure, if you put your mind to it, you can find a way to repair the tail hole in the trousers."
Djovi sighed. He knew Zorrrahn was right, but he’d never stolen anything in his life and no amount of sweet talking or rationalising was going to make it seem alright.
With a rumble of what Djovi was certain was feline laughter, Zorrrahn leapt over the hedge. He removed the pegs from the garment with his mouth and snatched it from the clothes line without making a sound. He sprang back over the hedge and dropped the stolen trousers at Djovi’s feet.
Djovi grabbed the trousers and climbed onto Zorrrahn’s back. "Let’s get out of here before somebody sees us."
They bounded away into the forest where Djovi discarded his prison trousers for the farmer’s sturdy ones. He made much of inspecting the tail hole, but it didn’t seem to be all that noticeable. At least, not in the dark. "Now all I need is a shirt." He slapped himself on the forehead. "What am I saying? You’ve turned me into a thief. Is that what being a sh’vahn is all about?"
*Certainly not.* Zorrrahn sounded insulted. *But your circumstances are somewhat different to those of our usual types of cadets.*
"I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I don’t like stealing things."
*I understand. The br’hahn are not thieves. However, you and I are not in a position to be fussy.*
Djovi shook his head and smiled. "So... where do I get my new shirt from?"
*The next village. We don’t want to start rumours of gangs of clothes thieves targeting one specific area.*
"I guess not." Djovi laughed and climbed onto Zorrrahn’s back. "If anyone had told me a week ago that I’d be sneaking around the countryside with a big black cat, stealing clothes off people’s lines in the middle of the night, I’d have called them insane." He shuddered when he realised what he’d said. "A week ago this day I would have been dead."
Zorrrahn set off at a fast walk. *You can’t let what almost happened haunt you for the rest of your life, Djovi.*
"No, but I can never forget what did happen. All those months," he sighed
"just trying to survive. In the end, when my time came for execution, I was relieved. It was all going to be over. One moment of pain and then nothing." He was quiet for a few minutes, content to feel the calming rhythm of feline purring beneath him. "Do you know what that’s like, Zorrrahn? To wish for death? To expect it? I was ready to die."
*Are you saying I should not have rescued you?*
"No. I’m glad I’m alive, I think. It’s just that it took me a long time come to terms with my situation. Even though I knew I had to accept my fate, I fought against it for months. In the end, what could I do? I had to prepare myself for death."
*And now you must prepare yourself for life. A very different life.*
"I can’t even imagine the things you’ve been telling me, Zorrrahn. It’s like we speak the same language but I can’t understand a word you say. I don’t know if I can do what you ask of me. I don’t think I can be who you want me to be."
*You are my sh’vahn. That is a good place to begin.*
This has taken a bit of rethinking on my part and a little recharacterising. Djovi is now the half human-half vedrathian son of Ranger from "The Shadow Runners". Djovi would probably be about 20 years old by the time of "Mark of the Condemned". His mother is dead and his father is unknown to him.
I had to rework Djovi's background to arrange for his birth on another other of Andaman's continents. I also had to make the High Priests herrragh instead of human. This works well, I think, and didn't seem to make a difference to the storyline at all.
I have to make sure that events at the end of "The Shadow Runners" make it possible for Djovi to be born. Ranger was going to be the hero who didn't find the love of his life on this mission. Now, I guess, he'll at least have to have one night of fun before he leaves...!
Ok, so here it is - Chapter One of Mark of the Condemned.
Let me know what you think.
The Mark of the Condemned
By: Brittany Kingston
© 2006
Chapter One
The High Priest rambled on making symbolic gestures, shaking his stinking incense burner in Djovi’s face. Djovi glowered at him. There was no need to hide his contempt now. The mostly herrragh and alien crowd fell silent, watching, waiting, trying to catch a word or two to gossip about later.
The High Priest’s black eyes glittered with satisfaction. He carried his tail high and proud, and the crowd greedily devoured every word he spoke. Djovi knew that was exactly the way the High Priests liked to keep them. His mutterings were concluded with a grandiose gesture to the heavens and some submissive head bowing and ear lowering that wrought ooohs and aaaaahs of appreciation from the crowd.
The High Priest looked at the condemned human 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."
Djovi would have spat in the canine’s face if his mouth wasn’t so dry.
The High Priest took the key dangling from his sash and destruction the neck shackle that was holding Djovi against the centre pole. "Go in peace."
More like ‘go in pieces’, Djovi 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 death face on.
He watched the High Priest walk from the centre of the arena. It was because of such zealots he was being executed. Tears of hatred stung his eyes. He blinked them away, determined not to be seen as weak.
They’d come early one morning to his land to collect their tithings. It hadn’t mattered to them that this was the fourth year of a drought and that there was nothing to give. Rhani – his sweet Rahni – had offered them what little they’d 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. Djovi struggled to free himself from the three herrragh 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.
Madness had overcome him and Djovi 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 son before the house burnt down, Djovi fought with all the strength he had left. In desperation, he’d slashed at the nearest herrragh’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.
He clenched his jaw tight against the memory of his wife and son. He would not give in to emotion. He prayed to whichever Gods were still watching, that they grant him the strength to make his final stand. 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.
Djovi looked down at himself. He was skinny, tattered and filthy from months 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 a deep breath and let it out slowly. Wasn’t he supposed to think profound thoughts now that he was at the moment of death? What good was his faith in the old Gods now? What good was faith in anything? The condemned with faith and the condemned without would be as dead as each other at the end of this day.
Djovi 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. Djovi 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, forced to eat something that wasn’t its natural prey. While garruns in the wild had been known to kill men and herrragh alike, they didn’t usually eat them. It probably had something to do with the disagreeable taste.
Djovi 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 Djovi 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. Djovi 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 and watched 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.
Djovi 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. Djovi 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 gnaw around the shackle.
He’s going to eat me from the feet up, thought Djovi. 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. Djovi 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 chew on the other shackle. It too fell in half. Djovi 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." Djovi 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 Djovi to understand that the voice inside his head was the garrun’s. He stared at it. It stared back.
*No br’hahn will harm you, Sh’vahn.* The garrun leaned forward and touched his nose against Djovi’s. *We, the br’hahn, call your kind the Sh’vahni – kindred spirits.*
Djovi looked around wildly. The crowd had hushed and the High Priest was leaning over the rail of his balcony. His ears were flat against his head and his claws were embedded in the wood of his staff. Fury emblazoned in his eyes. Clearly, he had not expected this.
*Move Sh’vahn. Get on my back.*
Djovi 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, somehow turn it to his advantage. He glared down at the condemned human 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 Anubis 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." He stared down at the condemned and, through gritted teeth, he growled to his priests, "No-one makes a fool of me. I will make it my personal quest to have that condemned human and his damnable feline hunted down and killed."
Djovi watched the iron gates to his left slowly grind upward. He felt the garrun’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. Djovi 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 away from the city.
They left the road and headed deep into the forest. It was a part of Magenon that Djovi wasn’t familiar with. He was from the cultivated farmlands to the south of the city where most of the human settlers lived. He’d never been this far north.
When the garrun stopped to drink at a river, Djovi slid to the ground. He waded into the water and scrubbed at his ragged clothing and body in an attempt to rid himself of months 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 sat on the river bank watching him. *Do you want to eat?*
"I’m starved."
*Wait here.*
Djovi 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 was lush. If he strayed from this spot, Djovi 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 Djovi’s feet before retreating a short distance to eat the rest.
Djovi 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 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, Djovi could hardly wait to sink his teeth into it. To his disappointment, he found he could eat very little. Months 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 Djovi." 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 Djovi, the flames reflected like sparks in his eyes. *I am Zorrrahn. I need no repayment. Br’hahn such as I are sent out to find surviving Sh’vahni. Most of us never find one. When the old Alpha died, most of the vedrathians on this continent fled. The humans chose to stay. They have no mind powers and were not seen as a threat to the High Priesthood.*
"I’m not a vedrathian, Zorrrahn. I’m human. I don’t have mind powers."
Zorrrahn’s pupils widened. He stilled his mind and scanned the ragged man before him. *You are one of the vedrathi.*
"No. You are mistaken."
Zorrrahn purred loudly. *You are vedrathian and your mind powers are considerable.*
Djovi’s heart sank. He shook his head. "I’m sorry. I’m not who you think I am. You’ve rescued the wrong person."
*No. A mistake like that can never be made, Djovi. A bond between us would not be possible, and you wouldn’t be hearing me speak if you were human. Do you not know your parents?*
Djovi shrugged. "My mother turned up on the doorstep of the farm where I grew up one night. She was pregnant, alone and very sick. She was the daughter of an ambassador or something like that apparently and didn’t want her father to know about me. She died a few months after I was born. Jon and Sarla Levi raised me as their own son. All I know is that my mother was human."
*What of your father?*
"Nobody knows."
Zorrrahn lowered his head to his paws. *Your father must have been a vedrathian. A half human-half vedrathian with abilities like yours is very rare.*
Djovi wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to be rare or not. Whoever or whatever his father was, wasn’t important any more. He’d given up wondering a long time ago, and right now he didn’t care which half of him was what as long as he didn’t have to go back to the dungeons. "What happens now, Zorrrahn? Where do we go from here?"
The feline lowered his head onto his paws and half closed his eyes. *We go to the l’hahrim to train and learn to be Wardens.*
Djovi stared at Zorrrahn. "But the Order of the Wardens was outlawed by the High Priesthood after the old Alpha died. They said they had the great Anubis to protect them and they didn’t need pagan magic or vedrathian ward riders."
*Trust me, Djovi, there is much you don’t know. The values of the old Alpha did not die with him. The Order of Wardens is still alive. Unmated br’hahn are sent forth to seek out surviving Sh’vahni and bring them back to the l’hahrim for training. I found you. We have a long road before us, Djovi, and there is 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 death packs out looking for us. We have made a powerful enemy this day.*
Little of what Zorrrahn said made sense to Djovi. The old ways of life had died along with their Alpha. The High Priests had made sure of that. When they’d taken control, laws were changed, worship of the great Anubis was made compulsory, human churches were destroyed, and the structure of the Alpha’s court had been disbanded. Most of the ward riders had been killed, and the few who’d survived scattered.
Djovi’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 months, watched the stars make sparkling patterns across the night sky.
#
"Move, you useless gutter slug!"
Khalil Vangler nudged his friend and snickered. "She’s got a mouth on her, that one."
"And you!" Zalita rounded on the two second year cadets. "Wipe those grins off your faces and get back to work or I’ll have you both in the litter pit helping him."
Vangler and Severyn snapped to attention and saluted. When she’d stalked past, they slumped against the sides of their br’hahn.
"Brother, she is in a mood today." Torlon Severyn glared down at Rogan Baylydd who’d brought the wrath of their superior officer down upon their heads. "You’d better get used to shovelling shit, gutter slug." He nudged his friend. "If Khalil and I have anything to say about it, you’ll be on litter duty for the rest of your stinking life."
Laughing, they swung themselves up onto the backs of their br’hahn and loped away.
Rogan leaned on his shovel and readjusted his face mask. Those two made his life a living hell. He looked up from the bottom of the litter pit to where Farran sat patiently waiting for him to finish. His br’hahn flickered her ears and lifted the corners of her mouth in a feline smile of encouragement.
"Sorry Farran, I’ll try to make this quick." He shovelled the final clump of faeces into the hole he’d dug and raked fresh sand over the top. Thanks to those two, he was getting to be an expert at litter raking. The br’hahn said they liked it when he was on litter duty because they could be sure their litter was fresh and raked smooth the way they preferred.
A gong sounded in the distance.
"Aw, now that’s torn it!" Rogan climbed up the rope ladder and put the tools away in the shed. "Come on Farran. I’ll get you to your meal first. At least one of us will be on time. If I have to be in trouble again at least it won’t be for neglecting you."
Farran rubbed her cheek against her partner’s and laid down so he could mount. Rogan was a sweety. She wished the other sh’vahni saw him as she did. He tried so hard to please them, but he always managed to get it wrong. She heaved a deep sigh and trotted off to the br’hahn feeding shelter.
Rogan gave Farran a good grooming and made sure she had enough to eat before running off to his own quarters to shower and change. He couldn’t turn up at the mess hall straight from the litter pits. He’d be lynched.
To his chagrin, Severyn was on door duty.
"Where do you think you’re going, slug?" The older cadet had a nasty grin on his face.
Rogan didn’t answer. He saluted and attempted to push past him.
"Oh no you don’t. You can’t go in there."
"Don’t play games, Severyn, I’m not in the mood. Let me in."
Severyn’s grin widened as he blocked the doorway. "You’re late. The door’s locked. End of discussion."
For a moment, Rogan considered knocking him on his smug arse, then thought better of it. Why sink to that level? Instead, he shrugged and walked around to the back door of the kitchen. He was well known to the kitchen hands and cooks, and he was always given the royal treatment whenever he ate there, which was often. Besides, they knew all the best gossip.
He knocked on the door and was ushered inside by Galley, the constantly smiling head cook who was as round as she was tall. Nobody knew her real name, but everybody loved her. She was like a second mother to all the young cadets.
Galley sat a huge plate of roast gilly fowl and vegetables in front of him. "Eat up Rogan. You’re too thin. Put a little meat on those bones."
"If I ate as much as you want me to, Galley, I’d be as round as you are."
She flicked the top of his ear. "Cheeky brat. Eat."
Varlo, the youngest scullery apprentice sat opposite with his own meal. "Been in the pits again Rogan?"
"Yeah. It’s almost my permanent job I think."
"Never mind. The br’hahn appreciate your efforts, if nobody else does."
Rogan grinned and stuffed a whole roast potato in his mouth.
#
Zalita uncoiled her long vard so that its length snaked out behind her. She marched up and down in front of the first and second year cadets. "Today, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to learn how to use the long vard for hitting a target while mounted."
She separated the second year cadets from the novices. "As you lot have been practising cracking the long vard while on foot, you can go first." She sprang up onto her br’hahn’s back and fitted her soft riding boots into the leather stirrups of the fighting harness. "Watch."
As the cadets looked on in awe, Zalita turned Guarder towards the series of man-sized bollards set up within the sparring circle. Guarder sprang at the first bollard. Zalita stood in the stirrups and whirled the long leather vard around her like a lariat. As Guarder leaped to the left and right of each bollard, Zalita whipped the tuft of feathers from the top of each one with a snap of the vard.
After one of the yard crew reset the feather tufts, Zalita had the first cadet ride forward. "I want you all to walk through it slowly. There’s one bollard each." She nodded to the cadet. "As you approach, unfurl the vard and twirl it over your head." She demonstrated.
The first cadet managed this very well and even snapped the tuft of feathers from the top of her bollard, albeit in a slightly clumsy way. Pleased with herself, she retreated behind the last of her fellow cadets to wait another turn.
Rogan chewed his lower lip. He was adept at the short vard which was only the length of his arm and had a short, weighted grip that could be used as a baton if needed. It was for hand-to-hand combat in spaces where there was no room to unfurl a long vard. He’d had little time to practice with a stock whip like the rest of his company, but he always seemed to be on litter duty when the novices were sent out to bring in the herds.
His hand grew sweaty around the plaited leather handle. His fellow novices were managing to unfurl their vards and twirl them without getting tangled. As they waited in line, they spread out and practised the twirl and snap. Rogan imagined himself taking off an ear while trying to do that. Or worse, he thought, taking someone else’s ear off. He slumped in the saddle, the thong of his vard an untidy snake beside Farran’s right paw.
Farran purred beneath him in a calming rhythm. *You’ll do fine, Rogan. You’re very good with the short vard. Give it a try.*
He patted her sleek, tawny neck and tried to calm himself. If everyone else could do it, it couldn’t be that hard. He pulled the thong of the vard into two loose loops, like he’d seen the others do. The fighting vard was lighter than it looked and was perfectly weighted with a comfortable custom-made grip. By the end of his first year he would be expected to be a master at making his own vards. So far, they’d only practiced simple vard making with eight and sixteen strand plaits. They had to work their way up to the complicated three-tone patterned 64 strand plait of the long vard.
"You. Baylydd"
Rogan was shocked out of his reverie by the snap of Zalita’s vard close to his cheek. He straightened and saluted. He heard the sniggers from the second year cadets and knew which two would be the ring leaders. He kept his chin up and focussed on his commanding officer.
"Show us how you crack your vard. Then have a try at the target."
Farran walked forward a few paces and waited for the snap of leather over her head.
Rogan took a deep breath and wiped his hand on his trouser leg. With a flick of his wrist he unfurled the vard behind him. He brought his arm up and around then pulled back quickly. A satisfying crack echoed around the yard.
Confident after that success, he fixed his gaze upon the first target. He urged Farran forward at a fast walk while he whirled the vard overhead as he’d seen Zalita do. When he was within striking distance, he aimed and snapped at the tuft of feathers.
Finding himself on the ground in a tangle of leather thonging wasn’t what he had in mind. Rogan pulled himself up onto his hands and knees and coughed the dust from his mouth. Farran was sitting licking a front paw, her expression clearly not pleased. Behind her, Rogan could see all the cadets convulsed in laughter.
Face burning, he hauled himself to his feet and went to tend Farran.
"Cadet."
He looked up at Zalita and managed a half-hearted salute.
"Leave the grounds and tend to your br’hahn. Then I expect to find you back here, on foot," she emphasised, "to learn how to strike at a target safely while everyone else enjoys their time off." She strode away then stopped to look over her shoulder at him. "And I will be checking up on you."
Dusty and humiliated, with the sound of laughter burning holes in his back, Rogan led Farran away from the practice ring.
#
Djovi watched the light fade from the window plunging the small house into darkness. He shook his head and hunkered down behind the hedge, turning his back on the scene. "There is nothing honorable in this."
Zorrrahn purred in amusement. *Think of it as borrowing the essentials.*
"Stealing. That’s what it is. As well as being illegal, it’s not nice." He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "Besides, those are herrragh clothes. I don’t have a tail."
*Would you rather walk the length of this country dressed as a condemned man?*
"That’s what I am." Bitterness invaded Djovi’s voice.
*No. You’re a free man now, so you must look like one. You’ll get nowhere dressed as a criminal. I’m sure, if you put your mind to it, you can find a way to repair the tail hole in the trousers."
Djovi sighed. He knew Zorrrahn was right, but he’d never stolen anything in his life and no amount of sweet talking or rationalising was going to make it seem alright.
With a rumble of what Djovi was certain was feline laughter, Zorrrahn leapt over the hedge. He removed the pegs from the garment with his mouth and snatched it from the clothes line without making a sound. He sprang back over the hedge and dropped the stolen trousers at Djovi’s feet.
Djovi grabbed the trousers and climbed onto Zorrrahn’s back. "Let’s get out of here before somebody sees us."
They bounded away into the forest where Djovi discarded his prison trousers for the farmer’s sturdy ones. He made much of inspecting the tail hole, but it didn’t seem to be all that noticeable. At least, not in the dark. "Now all I need is a shirt." He slapped himself on the forehead. "What am I saying? You’ve turned me into a thief. Is that what being a sh’vahn is all about?"
*Certainly not.* Zorrrahn sounded insulted. *But your circumstances are somewhat different to those of our usual types of cadets.*
"I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I don’t like stealing things."
*I understand. The br’hahn are not thieves. However, you and I are not in a position to be fussy.*
Djovi shook his head and smiled. "So... where do I get my new shirt from?"
*The next village. We don’t want to start rumours of gangs of clothes thieves targeting one specific area.*
"I guess not." Djovi laughed and climbed onto Zorrrahn’s back. "If anyone had told me a week ago that I’d be sneaking around the countryside with a big black cat, stealing clothes off people’s lines in the middle of the night, I’d have called them insane." He shuddered when he realised what he’d said. "A week ago this day I would have been dead."
Zorrrahn set off at a fast walk. *You can’t let what almost happened haunt you for the rest of your life, Djovi.*
"No, but I can never forget what did happen. All those months," he sighed
"just trying to survive. In the end, when my time came for execution, I was relieved. It was all going to be over. One moment of pain and then nothing." He was quiet for a few minutes, content to feel the calming rhythm of feline purring beneath him. "Do you know what that’s like, Zorrrahn? To wish for death? To expect it? I was ready to die."
*Are you saying I should not have rescued you?*
"No. I’m glad I’m alive, I think. It’s just that it took me a long time come to terms with my situation. Even though I knew I had to accept my fate, I fought against it for months. In the end, what could I do? I had to prepare myself for death."
*And now you must prepare yourself for life. A very different life.*
"I can’t even imagine the things you’ve been telling me, Zorrrahn. It’s like we speak the same language but I can’t understand a word you say. I don’t know if I can do what you ask of me. I don’t think I can be who you want me to be."
*You are my sh’vahn. That is a good place to begin.*
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
The Sun is Shining
Yeah - at last the sun is shining!
A frosty -2 outside, but that sun's a-shinin' and I'm a-headin' for the movies again today. Rather naughty of me, I know, but I love going to the movies.
A couple of weeks ago I saw "Pirates of the Caribbean". I loved it. Loads of fun. And, of course, watching Johnny Depp is always a pleasure. Yesterday I went to see the remake of "The Omen". I thought it was even better than the first film. Full of suspense and nice and creepy. I was glad I watched it in the middle of the day. Walking outside into bright sunshine after the movie felt weird. Today I'm off to see "Superman Returns". Don't know what it'll be like, but it sounds like fun.
And after all that...?
Back to my writing - of course.
Speaking of which... I've joined a new poetry site Poetry Poem. Surf on over to read my poetry at "Inside the Author's Mind". No short stories or novels on that one - poetry only.
Have fun!
A frosty -2 outside, but that sun's a-shinin' and I'm a-headin' for the movies again today. Rather naughty of me, I know, but I love going to the movies.
A couple of weeks ago I saw "Pirates of the Caribbean". I loved it. Loads of fun. And, of course, watching Johnny Depp is always a pleasure. Yesterday I went to see the remake of "The Omen". I thought it was even better than the first film. Full of suspense and nice and creepy. I was glad I watched it in the middle of the day. Walking outside into bright sunshine after the movie felt weird. Today I'm off to see "Superman Returns". Don't know what it'll be like, but it sounds like fun.
And after all that...?
Back to my writing - of course.
Speaking of which... I've joined a new poetry site Poetry Poem. Surf on over to read my poetry at "Inside the Author's Mind". No short stories or novels on that one - poetry only.
Have fun!
Monday, July 10, 2006
Goodbye Mintie
This morning I discovered my little feathered friend, Mintie, the peach face parrot, dead in his cage.
I'm not sure how old Mintie was, but I estimate that he was at least 16 years old. He died quietly and peacefully in his sleep.
He was always a cheerful little creature that chirped and danced around his cage. No cat we've ever owned has gotten the better of him. Neither have any of the dogs. Mintie was one to hold his own in the arena of prey and predator. He always came out the winner.
I'm going to miss his cheery chirps around this house for quite a long while. He sleeps now, out in the garden beneath some nice native daisies.
It's been a pleasure having your company and your friendship for so many years, Mintie.
May your spirit fly free, little Mintie.
Be all you were meant to be.
Go in peace with my love.
I'm not sure how old Mintie was, but I estimate that he was at least 16 years old. He died quietly and peacefully in his sleep.
He was always a cheerful little creature that chirped and danced around his cage. No cat we've ever owned has gotten the better of him. Neither have any of the dogs. Mintie was one to hold his own in the arena of prey and predator. He always came out the winner.
I'm going to miss his cheery chirps around this house for quite a long while. He sleeps now, out in the garden beneath some nice native daisies.
It's been a pleasure having your company and your friendship for so many years, Mintie.
May your spirit fly free, little Mintie.
Be all you were meant to be.
Go in peace with my love.
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