Mindwalker, mindwalker walking my mind. So pretty and shiny those golden eyes. Beautiful hair and those lovely hands. Wonderful one get out of my head! I can't sleep I can't wake. You have stolen my dreams. Please walk elsewhere and leave me alone! I promise I'll worship I promise so please!
Yes, yes, whatever you say. I'll do your command as long as it's not thought inside my mind, so yes, yes if that's what you want I'll do it for you if you just leave me alone. Please leave my head! I can't be two inside here, please!
A chair and a table, will that be enough? Thank you, thank you, thank...
#
Neritan turned her eyes away from the farmer dangling from his ceiling. Unthinking now he was of no concern to her, but there was still more to be gleaned and she needed to know. She turned her attention to the housewife bound and gagged in a chair. Another mind to be walked, to promise and threaten. She would get the secret still, and if not from this woman, before she screamed herself to death, then more lived in the village. All sleeping and dreaming in a night not as quiet as Neritan led them to believe.
It took some effort to force them all to stay dreaming, but she reveled in making it look effortless, even if no one but she was there to admire her skill.
She bent over the woman and placed long, slender hands over a sobbing face. She loved her hands, wonderful hands. She didn't really need to touch before walking a mind, but it felt so good, so very good.
Smiling, Neritan gave the woman a stare, scaring her into silence. The sobbing was ungraceful. Shortlives were ungraceful, and yet they had the audacity to call themselves humans. A disgrace as well.
She pushed, hard, and was inside the meaty, soft complexity shortlives called a mind. Nothing like the brilliant metal sheen and order of true human thoughts. Then she started walking, delving deeper among secrets and forgotten memories. Dirty threats and broken promises, and it was astonishing how much filth the shortlives managed to amass in a mere thirty or forty years. She took a shortcut through a few layers of hidden emotions, hidden by an almost overwhelming sensation of raw fear and disgust at not being alone, and there something lay dormant.
Neritan spat with frustration. Not the secret as such, just a trail ending with another villager. She withdrew, but not until she had created a recess of guilt and self loathing.
She unbound the woman and left into the night. The housewife was asleep now, and first thing come morning she would hang herself aghast at having murdered her own husband. A giggle dropped from Neritan's lips. So good, she was so good at knowing how the shortlives thought, and she had such wonderful hands.
Showing posts with label Snapshot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Snapshot. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
To learn something every day
I had those snapshots, stills from my world I just needed to get out of my head and down on paper. Nothing really edited, which you can see if you drag them up from the archives here.
And now I find out there are markets for this kind of work. I guess I'll simply polish those snippets and put them out on a market I didn't know existed prior to dumping them here. Just so that they have a chance to pass the formal requests for first publishing rights should anyone bite that hook. And if they bounce enough times I can always push them out in this venue to get a bit of scalding telling me exactly why they got rejected in the first place.
And yes, yes, I know. Those two stills already out here are disqualified, and for that very reason I won't put anything up here that lies in the submission pipeline.
And now I find out there are markets for this kind of work. I guess I'll simply polish those snippets and put them out on a market I didn't know existed prior to dumping them here. Just so that they have a chance to pass the formal requests for first publishing rights should anyone bite that hook. And if they bounce enough times I can always push them out in this venue to get a bit of scalding telling me exactly why they got rejected in the first place.
And yes, yes, I know. Those two stills already out here are disqualified, and for that very reason I won't put anything up here that lies in the submission pipeline.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Autumn 1641, Verd
Autumn 1641, Verd
And what happens now? Armed outworlders in Keen, but they didn't look like soldiers. Thugs really, like the scum in the Free Inquisition.
Kandaren shook his head and rode on. In pursuit of sorts, but no rider could ever hope to catch up with outworlder glider wagons. No magic, he was sure of that. The wagons never ceased to function when they passed his staff master, and nothing magical worked close to the black staffs. They were so powerful that staff masters weren't allowed inside the city walls.
Madness! Pillars of the Holy Inquisition and they're never allowed inside the imperial capital. Will never be. He grinned at the irony. We hunt down anyone wielding the forbidden arts and the very city I call home lives and dies with that magic.
He had lied once before to save a life. He could lie to himself to shield the illusion. Belief, there had to be some kind of belief, or he would lose faith and so would his men. They didn't deserve that.
And that belief was what kept him on the paved highway to Roadbreak. Not that they would be able to change anything, not even carry a message, because farwriters were faster even than outworlder gliders. But it would make a difference that the inquisition cared. No matter what happened the people living along the highway had to see men in red and black, because if the Holy Inquisition didn't care then who did?
Ho rode and waved his men to follow him. Waved for them to believe a lie. That they would make a change. One squadron armed with crossbows and sabers.
He sighed as he rested in his saddle. Soon the rhythmical clattering of hooves against white stone lulled him to an uneasy sleep, and he dreamed, and he laughed in his sleep. Maybe they would matter. In a way.
And what happens now? Armed outworlders in Keen, but they didn't look like soldiers. Thugs really, like the scum in the Free Inquisition.
Kandaren shook his head and rode on. In pursuit of sorts, but no rider could ever hope to catch up with outworlder glider wagons. No magic, he was sure of that. The wagons never ceased to function when they passed his staff master, and nothing magical worked close to the black staffs. They were so powerful that staff masters weren't allowed inside the city walls.
Madness! Pillars of the Holy Inquisition and they're never allowed inside the imperial capital. Will never be. He grinned at the irony. We hunt down anyone wielding the forbidden arts and the very city I call home lives and dies with that magic.
He had lied once before to save a life. He could lie to himself to shield the illusion. Belief, there had to be some kind of belief, or he would lose faith and so would his men. They didn't deserve that.
And that belief was what kept him on the paved highway to Roadbreak. Not that they would be able to change anything, not even carry a message, because farwriters were faster even than outworlder gliders. But it would make a difference that the inquisition cared. No matter what happened the people living along the highway had to see men in red and black, because if the Holy Inquisition didn't care then who did?
Ho rode and waved his men to follow him. Waved for them to believe a lie. That they would make a change. One squadron armed with crossbows and sabers.
He sighed as he rested in his saddle. Soon the rhythmical clattering of hooves against white stone lulled him to an uneasy sleep, and he dreamed, and he laughed in his sleep. Maybe they would matter. In a way.
Spring 1641, Hasselden
Spring 1641, Hasselden
Another wave rolled in, and riding it Eyresteus landed his boat on the beach.
Kandaren looked at the old man dragging it further up the shore. Not a good day then. Otherwise Eyresteus would have called from his boat to get the other fishermen to help him land his catch.
Greybeard, harpoon and boat moved like shadows against the setting sun, but Kandaren didn't need to see to know every movement, every sound and even the feeling of wood polished smooth as Khanati silk. A childhood spent and lost by the sea had taught him well, and when it claimed, first his father in a storm, and then his mother during a winter that heard her racking until she only had her life left to cough up, Eyresteus took him in.
For seven years he had been mentor, grandfather and father in one. Now he was only an old man who had once been the center of the world, and he had grown old.
Self conscious of his uniform he backed away before Eyresteus could notice him. Right now Kandaren only wanted to be the happy youth who had managed to forgive the unfairness that took his parents, and that youth had no place in the Holy Inquisition. And his mission here had no place with decency.
Eyresteus must have known whatever it was that ate a young boy's mother from the inside, and it was all too obvious that he never forgot it.
"See your dad," his wife had said half an afternoon earlier, unholy light shining through threadbare blankets covering her body. She must have known he would see it. She must have known he would see it healing her, and she had always been the one knowing people.
Now he had seen the man who was his father in all but name, but he didn't plan to be seen. Later he would lie to his staff master, and someone, somewhere around Hasselden, would live on to use the forbidden powers. Decency. He wouldn't kill a healer who took such a risk to help a poor woman.
Kandaren shrugged. That was a lie. He wouldn't kill a healer who gave his father's wife a few extra years. Lie or not, all that mattered was that he wouldn't kill.
Another wave rolled in, and riding it Eyresteus landed his boat on the beach.
Kandaren looked at the old man dragging it further up the shore. Not a good day then. Otherwise Eyresteus would have called from his boat to get the other fishermen to help him land his catch.
Greybeard, harpoon and boat moved like shadows against the setting sun, but Kandaren didn't need to see to know every movement, every sound and even the feeling of wood polished smooth as Khanati silk. A childhood spent and lost by the sea had taught him well, and when it claimed, first his father in a storm, and then his mother during a winter that heard her racking until she only had her life left to cough up, Eyresteus took him in.
For seven years he had been mentor, grandfather and father in one. Now he was only an old man who had once been the center of the world, and he had grown old.
Self conscious of his uniform he backed away before Eyresteus could notice him. Right now Kandaren only wanted to be the happy youth who had managed to forgive the unfairness that took his parents, and that youth had no place in the Holy Inquisition. And his mission here had no place with decency.
Eyresteus must have known whatever it was that ate a young boy's mother from the inside, and it was all too obvious that he never forgot it.
"See your dad," his wife had said half an afternoon earlier, unholy light shining through threadbare blankets covering her body. She must have known he would see it. She must have known he would see it healing her, and she had always been the one knowing people.
Now he had seen the man who was his father in all but name, but he didn't plan to be seen. Later he would lie to his staff master, and someone, somewhere around Hasselden, would live on to use the forbidden powers. Decency. He wouldn't kill a healer who took such a risk to help a poor woman.
Kandaren shrugged. That was a lie. He wouldn't kill a healer who gave his father's wife a few extra years. Lie or not, all that mattered was that he wouldn't kill.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Snapshots
I'll start writing something I call snapshots here. Not right away, but they'll pop up from time to time.
I'll label them as such to make it easier to set them apart.
As the rewriting part of my work comes closer I've identified a few major problems with the WIP as it stands now, and a couple of them effectively shuts down the outlining of my next book.
The snapshots are mainly to get me back on track again.
Expect 200 to 1000 words long scenes. No real story as such, but the scenes will be set within the time frame of my main story. I get a setting and a reference to an event written and you'll have a piece of the world where the real story takes place.
And yes, I know. First publishing rights out the window for each and every of those snapshots. I don't care. They're not really meant for publishing in the first place.
I'll label them as such to make it easier to set them apart.
As the rewriting part of my work comes closer I've identified a few major problems with the WIP as it stands now, and a couple of them effectively shuts down the outlining of my next book.
The snapshots are mainly to get me back on track again.
Expect 200 to 1000 words long scenes. No real story as such, but the scenes will be set within the time frame of my main story. I get a setting and a reference to an event written and you'll have a piece of the world where the real story takes place.
And yes, I know. First publishing rights out the window for each and every of those snapshots. I don't care. They're not really meant for publishing in the first place.
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