Chapter 10 up

I know it has been a few weeks since I last posted, had to work my way out of a bit of writer's block, but I think I am back on track. Also I have mapped out the story, and I know where I am going, better late than never. Once this is finished I can begin stage 2: EDIT THE SHIT OUT OF IT.

Yeah so I have a lot of ideas for the rest of the story so the challenge is just finding the time to write it. Bit by bit I am closer to my goal.

Chapter 10

I am not disappointed with this chapter is about all I can say about it so far. On the plus side things are now moving forward.

Freah did not know what to expect as she walked into the compound. The two guards let her in without her even needing to say a word. She say Dylan standing speaking to two other men in large yellow hats. Dylan was distinctly out of uniform. No coat no hat, just a linen shirt and loose fitting linen pants. The shirt was white the pants were dark brown. Even without the uniform he moved and talked with authority and the two other arbitrators hunched lower as not to be taller than him.

Dylan’s eyes shot over to her briefly then back to the two men before him. He said a final thing and nodded dismissing them. He turned and walked to her.

“Looks like our Elaynian friends incapacitated a guard last night,” he said simply. “What do you think of that?”

“I don’t trust those two, and Dion is psychotic.” Freah said her hand rubbing her neck tentatively. Dylan saw the bandage on her neck but said nothing.

“Faecon has assured me he has Dion under control.”

“You take one of your patrollers wounded as being under control?”

Dylan smiled, “Lesson one, anyone who can be bought can be bought again. The guard is a hired hand, the Wraiths knew this. While I can’t agree with their methods they have located a probable spot for where the Maedens are hiding.”

“So that is worth such violent measures?”

Dylan’s smile faded. “It is what must be done, and the Arbitrators can’t do it. So we have to use these Elaynians. A compromise for the safety of the city.”

Freah felt oddly comforted by the fact that this seemed to trouble Dylan. He was the first person she had met in the past few days who seemed to have a heart.

“The more complex issue are the people hiding them, Faecon seems to feel they are traitors and have no rights. But by my reckoning they are still Fortynian citizens.”

Freah nodded not really knowing what Dylan expected of her. “It is complicated.”

Dylan walked away and motioned her with him. “I am telling you all this because you will likely become involved in this situation in the near future. Also I want you to understand something.” Dylan paused and looked her square in the eye. “No decision you make as an Arbitrator is to be made lightly, and no decision will be easy. We weigh good for all and good for the one everyday. We weigh the rights of one against the rights of another. We weigh all things and decide. Our decisions should benefit all and if not all then as many as we can. Compromise is key to this. To achieve compromise we must be patient.”

They arrived at patch of grass in the compound with the young Lyran sitting in the middle, his feet curled under him his back straight and his eyes closed.

“We may not be able to teach you wisdom, but we can teach you patience.” Dylan smiled motioned for her to sit before Lyran and walked away.

Lyran sat with a distant look in his eyes. Freah could see that he was looking directly at her but his didn’t even flicker as she moved before him. She curled her feet up under her like Lyran had. She figured she’d have to play along. As much as she didn’t like playing games where she didn’t know the rules it seemed that was the way of things in her life now. She hoped that sooner or later Lyran would explain, the message of patience hadn’t been lost on her. Lyran would try and wait until she spoke first. She decided she wouldn’t.

As she expected Lyran sat quietly his eyes far away, and said nothing. She sighed, this was as she expected. She took a few moments to take stock of herself. She had lived a fairly eventful life she felt. Plenty of interesting characters had passed through her doors, Dusdane among them. She wondered what state she would be in tonight when she saw him again. It would likely be the last night they would spend together for some time, if ever again.

Her posture must have sunk as she thought this because Lyran’s eyes suddenly focused.

“Posture straight, look ahead.” Was all he said and his eyes drifted off again.

Freah obliged, her eyes meeting Lyran’s, she studied his face. The man was a little younger than she was. Must have been barely 20, but he lacked the temperament of someone that age. She had barely noticed his youth when he first came into her bar. He moved in with ease joking and laughing with men twice his age as if they had been old friends. He never paid Freah much mind, even though she had watched him with interest once or twice. A thought that never materialized into anything meaningful. Knowing what she knew now maybe Lyran knew that and kept his distance. Keeping a balance of things was what Arbitrators did.

“You’re eyes dance…” Lyran said without his eyes moving. “Don’t look at me, look past me.”

Freah surpressed an urge to roll her eyes and focused on something behind Lyran. The blurred figure of Lyran now filled her vision, without anything to distract her, her thoughts flitted to Grak and whether he would bug her to open the bar this evening. To thoughts of Dusdane and whether or not he was loafing about today. To thoughts of Dion with that passionless look as he nearly lay atop her with that knife between them. To Dusdane laying helpless to save her. She would not let that happen again. And now she was simply sitting, where was this training that was supposed to protect her?

Finally she spoke, “This is supposed to teach me patience, annoying me into impatience.”

Lyran smiled and focused his eyes. “Yes, and also to teach you another thing.”

“And that is?”

“To do nothing.”

“Well I guess I am succeeding in that.” Freah said trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

Lyran raised an eyebrow, “Really, but was your mind on nothing. No you were thinking of this and that. Probably thinking of people you might meet today things you need to do?”

Freah nodded, not understanding the connection.

“Then you weren’t doing nothing, you were thinking.” Lyran said his smile shrinking a little.

“Yes, I am always thinking.” Freah replied.

“Then you aren’t doing nothing are you?”

“You want me to stop thinking?”

“Yes” Lyran said his eyes never breaking eye contact.

“That is silly.”

“Is it?” Lyran asked.

“I said it is, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it.”

“Not implying that you didn’t believe what you said, but is it correct.” Lyran said as he stood up. “If I take a step forward I must wait till I complete that step to change directions.” He took a step forward perpendicular to Freah. “If I try and change that step before it lands I lose balance.” He jerked as he took a second step stumbling slightly in a comical manner. “You must wait till you are doing nothing before you can do something, right?”

Freah nodded.

“Body and mind are the same. Can’t move to a new thought unless you finish the old one. So an arbitrator must think of nothing. He must be passive until he is active. He must not act before he has heard therefore he must be a blank slate. Understand?”

“I think I see what you are getting at, but how do I think of nothing?” Freah responded looking up at the young man.

“Breathe, count the breathes.”

“But then I am thinking about counting…?”

Lyran smiled again, “True but you won’t be thinking about anything else.”

So Freah tried this, and much to her surprise some time after midday she found herself calm, able to shut down the voices of her head. When this happened as if Lyran could sense it a fist shot out towards Freah.

Freah reacted putting up her arms to shield her face. Lyran didn’t hit very hard, that wasn’t his aim, but the strike was fast and Freah didn’t think she would block it, but she managed.

Lyran’s face which had resumed its blank look focused on her and smiled. “Good, do you see now?”

Freah shook her head.

“Well you will, now we can start the physical part of your training.” He said standing, he offered a hand to help her up. At first Freah refused the concession but quickly realized her legs had long since fallen asleep. Lyran pulled her to her feet. Freah felt as though needles stuck out of her feet and every step let them dig in a little deeper.

Lyran led her through a series and stretches and warm ups then he abruptly walked away. As Freah began to follow a foot landed in the back of her knee and she stumbled forward and whirled around. Dylan was standing there.

“I said I would see to your training personally,” He said and straightened his back and shifted his head from side to side stretching his neck. “Now defend yourself!”

She saw the wind up but couldn’t believe that this was how they would train her. Dylan turned backwards and sent a foot flying towards Freah’s head. She ducked in time. Dylan swung his foot back to the ground sliding it back into a steady stance. Then stepped forward swinging his fists at her.

This Freah knew how to handle, can’t run a bar for as long as she had without seeing how to win a fist fight. She brought one arm to catch Dylan’s swing at the elbow. She moved in trying to land a punch into his side, but she suddenly found both arms around her and a knee coming into her side. The blow landed making Freah shudder with the impact. He shoved her away.

“That move would have worked if you were about fifty pounds heavier and more solidly built.” Said Dylan and came at her again with a few swings.

Freah kept her hands up and swatted away the incoming punches moving back each time. She was watching the timing trying to figure out the time to swing back. Mid-thought Dylan changed tactics and sent another devastating kick into her. This time she was hit and bowled over.

“Two things, backing up rarely helps win a fight, also never get locked into a pattern.” Dylan said and took up his stance again. “I know this will be difficult, but relax. The more you think the slower you will be. React to my attacks, don’t analyze them.”

He started with a kick this time, and Freah had no idea how she was supposed to learn how to defend if he came at her with something different everytime. The kick was high and to the face and against Dylan’s advice she backed away. The next several blows she blocked backed her into a corner. Dylan then hammered her arms guarding her head until they dropped. The last blow stopped short of hitting her in the head.

Dylan’s expression wasn’t one of contempt as Freah had expected. It was one of measuring, but not contempt. “Try to attack this time.”

He backed to the middle of the patch of grass. Freah didn’t wait and lunged at him swinging. Her blow hammered into Dylan’s upraised arm that deflected it away, but for a moment there was a shift in Dylan’s expression, a smile maybe, surprise? She couldn’t tell and didn’t wait he him to set himself before she hammered at his defenses just as he had on hers. But suddenly he wasn’t where he had been, he had moved along the arm that she had swung with and stood beside her backing away slightly with one smooth step. Freah whirled at him and tried a kick, but Dylan’s hand caught her kick at the knee and shouldered her back.

He nodded, “You are strong, stronger than I thought when I looked at you, use that.

Much of her training that day was like that. A trade off between defending and attacking, more and more Dylan emphasized the blank mind, but Freah couldn’t focus on defending herself and keeping her mind blank. Every blow Dylan landed hurt, but she noted at the end of the day, exhausted, that bruised as she was, no blow had caused her more than a bruise and temporary pain.

Dylan had been amazing, he danced by her attacks almost looking bored. Every attack had made her feel sluggish and as if she wore weighted on her arms. She mentioned this to Lyran. He smiled and shook his head saying the weights would come later. She had been brought food where she had been training, and had seen no one but Lyran and Dylan the entire day. When Dylan dismissed her she wandered through the compound to see the other Arbitrators train. She saw two young men under the tutelage of an older woman. She stood there stern shouting out suggestions much as Dylan had said in a milder, yet more stinging voice to her, but the two young men did not seem sluggish on the other hand they moved with speed that often she couldn’t keep track of, until one suddenly hit the ground. The one that fell popped back up smiling and congratulating the other and they squared off again. She felt she could never do what they were doing.

A finger tapped her on the shoulder, she turned to see a man dressed in full Arbitrator uniform.

“Freah, Dylan told you to leave directly.” The Arbitrator said.

“You know who I am?” She said shocked that not only had the man known her name but knew she had been training here.

He nodded, “Of course, we were watching with great interest. You did well for your first day.”

“I don’t see how that is, he made me feel a fool.”

“You are standing, that is an accomplishment.” He replied and led her to the gate.

“Only because he was going easy on me,” Freah said as she walked with him.

He shook his head, “Dylan can’t go easy on you. You will thank him for that one day, if he doesn’t kill you first.”

The gate shut behind her leaving her with those words to ponder. She walked through the streets of Fortyne exhausted. She kept her head down as she made her way back to the bar as sun set. She would have Grak set things up, and maybe Dusdane could help tend bar. She knew she didn’t have the energy for it.

She reached the bar seeing a few regulars standing outside, when they saw her she apologized and opened the bar. Dusdane was upstairs and quickly moved to help. Grak did likewise. It was a quiet night. Dusdane didn’t ask about what she had done that day, she hadn’t asked what he had done. When they went to bed that night she didn’t ask about the packs on the table that Dusdane had made. She held him with the last bit of energy she could manage from her trials and he held her. Dusdane’s lips sat next to her ear, and he knew he could whisper words of comfort to her, but none he knew wouldn’t be lies. Freah looked at him.

“You’ve always come back,” she said softly.

“I never wanted to stay away,” he replied.

“Then come back from Icene, or else I’ll never forgive you.”

Dusdane let out a chuckle. “I couldn’t bare that.”

“I was serious Dusdane, I took you back here that first time because I saw in you something special, a care that you hid well. I had hope that caring would apply to me. I never realized it was for your sister. Maybe I am foolish, but maybe you could care for me as well. I thought maybe that was why you kept coming back, but I’ll never find out if you get yourself killed. So come back damnit!”

“I’ve been all over these worlds, no place scares me anymore. I’ll come back.” Dusdane said and moved in to kiss her. Lies he knew, but he wanted to help.

The next morning she left to go to training and soon after Dion came and told them their journey started early. Dusdane left Fortyne, and began the slow trek to the Iceneian gate. Freah took another day of beatings from Dylan. When she returned all she found was a note saying, “I’ll come back - Dusty.”

She stood before the masses, sad and terrible, and the masses weeped bloody tears of joy.

Eight hours looking at a screen and the whole world has the shadows of text over it.

Feeling Lovecraftian Today

The indescribable horror was.... well you get the idea.

The bloated body shifted its betentacled head in my direction.

It muttered inane words that would drive the sanest man to the very edge of the precipice of Sanity, asking for a sandwich.

This was further clenching proof that he was an utter, unsaveable, nerd.

He could feel it in his left nutsack, things were going to be bad.

Blackness is not so much something as nothing, nothing terrifies us all more than something.

He had grown simply to expect the taste of cough drops in his mouth, now the taste of his normal mouth was unsettling.

With perfect fitting clothing and appropriate color schemes she stood out from the ragged train station crowd.

He had worked there for a year and still was asked who he was when he spoke to attornies.

Everyday he got a cup of teas first thing in the morning, the tea sat cold on his desk.

It was a nice day outside, all the homless had come out again.

His hand dropping into his pocket like falling boulder he removed three dollars and eighty cents, barely enough for his train ticket, but he would make it to work today.

At the train station there stood a shaggy haired teenager, wearing a baseball cap, and carrying a sign saying "I am John Galt"

You are not John Galt, you'd have to be relevent first. Even then that is nothing to be proud of.

Was sick now I am playing catch-up

On a scale from 1 to 10, this was a bad idea.

In his attempt to get better, he walked half a mile in the pouring rain.

With a sudden jolt of surprise, he realized he was making his dad proud.

You spend your life trying to ignore your parents, yet one day you find out you are fulfilling all their expectations, sneaky bastards.

All parents posess voodoo magic, it is part of the pre-natal program.

He was the only right-handed man in a left-handed department.

He reached over from the passenger's side and ran his fingers through her hair.

She wasn't smiling at him but that smile always warmed him.

It had been too long since he had felt the touch of her hand.

He glanced at his watch tired of all the amorously choked air.

He was tired, tired of ordering things, tired of doing pointless paperwork, and tired of the fact that the real life wasn't amounting to what he thought it was supposed to.

The worst thing being that he knew he knew no way out.

He wondered why it seemed so difficult for people to behave like actual human beings.

Images and sounds swirling about, a mind lost in information fog.

With a blackberry, cell phone, iPod, and blue tooth, it was inevitable that the lightning would strike.

He felt a buzz, it took him three tries to find the right device.

His nose was abnormally susceptible to the dry air, as such his nose constantly dripped blood.

More Reorganization

Since the Many World's Project has now reached around 126 pages in my master copy, I figured it was about time to put together a better way to organize the story. Now, BEHOLD, if you click on the Many Worlds Project link under "Contents" it will take you to a list of links to each chapter in chronological order. Also the "First Time Here?" has been updated to include this new link.

Many Worlds Project

Table of Contents

Prelude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 7 continued
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10 NEW!

Appendix
Preliminary Notes