Friday, April 12, 2024

Fiction: An Eagle's Flight

Yeeeees, there's a story burbling around in my feverish brain. I'm giving it the working title you see right here, An Eagle's Flight, but it could wind up called An Eagle Flies, or Where Eagles Fly, something along those lines. Don't hold me to the title you see here. But --


-- view this one full sized, and you'll see that this is the same character as the warrior on the cover. Call him Orel (at this point; the name might change later, along with the story title, though I doubt it for reasons that will shortly become clear). This is where the story begins: the reluctant hero, a man trying to outrun his own reputation ... thrice decorated by the Queen of Zarabia after extraordinary feats in battle. But those feats came at a dreadful price. Orel doesn't sleep, he dreams ... he feels possessed by the spirits of the warriors he's killed in the service of the Queen. She's old, and she dotes on him; she's like his grandmother, which is saying a lot. Orel is not native to this country. He's from the east, and arrived as an orphan boy just old enough to walk. He knew only his name. In the common tongue of  Vennia, Orel means eagle. Queen Isabeau gives him his ticket of leave from the regiment and a heavy purse, so  Orel can take his cats and his horses, take to the backroads in a Vardo like those belonging to his own people ... and find himself, get his heart and mind back into synch. But --


-- yep, it was always on the cards. He hasn't been on the road more than five or six months -- just long enough to watch springtime turn to autumn, and start to feel like a human being again (not because he's sleeping better or not dreaming, but because he and his ghosts have made their peace) -- when he runs into a couple of old comrades from the regiment. Gianna and Lynos have just left the service, and have taken soldiering work in the pay of a local thane, who advertised that he wanted border scouts. This was what they signed up for, but Count Radriq double-talked them with a binding contract ... they didn't read the fine print. Now, rather than just scouting up the source of trouble on the borderlands between Zarabia and neighbouring Kedd, Orel's old army mates are expected to root out the trouble. Since it's big trouble and they're massively outnumbered, they're up against a rather nasty wall. If they renege on the contract, they'll never get this work again, and it's all they're trained for. They're stuck, like flies in amber. So, when they meet Orel by chance, obviously they're recruiting. Or at the very least begging for help. The problem is this dude:


His name is Jevenni and he's baaaad. This Keddish warlord is building himself a rogue empire, and the bricks of its foundations are piracy, highway robbery, pillage, people-trafficking, whatever it takes. He has no scruples, and in this last twelve months has become the bane of the local thane's life. Count Radriq wants the Keddish land pirates gone, and he's holding Gianna and Lynos to the letter of a contract they signed too fast, in ignorance. Enter Orel. Help! So...


...they talk him into it, naturally enough. He's not the type to abandon friends in need. There's a couple of things he suggests: they must hire a good lawyer from Queen Isabeau's own staff, get him here, and have him reduce Count Radriq and his documentation to legal confetti. A lawyer from the capital will cost a great deal of money, but Gianna and Lynos know just where to get it. Jevenni has stolen wagonloads of valuables from the nobles of Count Radriq's fiefdom, and generous rewards have been posted. If they can recover even a tenth of what the warlord has taken, a lawyer from the city of Enashla will settle Radriq. Now...


 ...we launch into several episodic misadventures which are the meat-and-potatoes of true quest-fic, and it all leads eventually, inevitably, to this place: the land pirates' stronghold, in the ancient, ruined city of Ul-kedd-innu. To the horizon, the dead city lies smashed as a result of war, earthquake and plague more than a century in the past. Now, it is bleached bones and granite slabs. Jevenni has carved out his citadel in what used to be the palace and fortress, on the highest point, overlooking the fields of rubble-strewn desolation. According to everything his men divulge -- when captured and made drunk as lords -- he's so complacent, he doesn't post guards. In fact, it's a point of honour that he refuses to post guards: sentries and troops would only acknowledge that he is vulnerable in the heart of his own domain -- Jevenni would deny this to the death. With this information, Orel, the much-decorated veteran, favourite of the Her Serene Majesty, browbeats Count Radriq into providing a detachment from his household cavalry. But the force will hold back in the forest, waiting for a signal and letting the three specialists go in by stealth ... on the understanding that one man can pass where an army couldn't, and a specialist in creating havoc might bring the whole edifice tumbling down before the enemy knew it was happening. Under cover of darkness, in we go --


...long story short: subterfuge, stealth, swordfights and a liberal dash of strange sorcery, and by morning, the land pirates have scattered like roaches. Jevenni is extremely dead, and dawn finds Orel on the crenelated roof of the old fortress, right above the warlord's lair. Under the free, open sky, he is once again making peace with his ghosts and his father's old gods. The eagle -- for this is his name -- is trying very hard indeed to fly high and free, but will his flight carry him away from trouble, or right to the next battlefield? No one knows. Both Gianna and Lynos are injured, though not badly. They sent up the signal flare; the count's cavalry came in fast to scour the ruins for prisoners, and now Gianna and Lynos are only looking for the warlord's cache. They find it -- but in any case, they have actually fulfilled the contract. They no longer need a lawyer from Enashla. They take a portion of the spoils for themselves, as is only fair, and for himself, Orel takes enough to buy him the time, peace and quiet to begin again...


...and the story ends with a full-circle moment, right back where it began. At dawn, Orel hitches up his horses, stocks the Vardo, and is on the road again, headed away from anything remotely like a battlefield. In his ears, the ghosts' thin voices continue to whisper, but he has made his peace with some of them, and believes the others can be persuaded in time. The new sun is warm on his face, the open sky and moors lie ahead in the west, with snow-crowned mountains ringing a horizon so vast, it looks like the whole world. Now, perhaps the eagle can fly free after all. 

ooOOooOOooOOoo

So ends this basic plot. In the writing, the details will change; names will change; a map will be sorted out, and the episodic parts will be tied down into a tight-knit structure. But this is more than enough to get my muse quite excited, and I think I'll enjoy writing this one. The art is not new. These are all 2019-2021 renders, featuring G8 Dae as Orel, G8 Rex as Lynos ... and I can't remember the G8 Female character who appears as Gianna, but she's in the DAZ library somewhere. That's the good old Millennium Horse, plus the DAZ Cat, many, many foliage and furniture props, and the old Gypsy Wagon from Renderosity. Everything here was rendered in Iray; a couple were painted comprehensively in Photoshop afterward. I was messing about with images and ended up, by chance, with these open in Irfanvew, in sequence ... the story just popped out at me! 

Thursday, March 28, 2024

Celebrating the beginning of something wonderful!

This is the time to mark the beginning of something: just as it gets underway. The well-known Sherlock Holmes author, Mike Adamson, and I have been talking about collaborating for some time, and in the last ten days we've made a strong start with two stories that are out on submission at this time. 

Of course, I have the highest hopes for those stories -- to begin with, I definitely believe that Mike and I do our best work when we work together, and it'll be interesting to see how this shakes down. (I designed, built and illustrated his website there, and I perform most of his editing.)

There's nothing firm to report at this point, sales-wise, but everything has to start somewhere. The acorn syndrome. The two stories we've produced recently are a horror piece and a climate change SF tale. 

If anything comes of them, I'll return to this post with an update, and if not -- there are so many more stories to be told, and I believe we have a promising future as cowriters. With no skerrick of doubt, something will bear fruit.

At the very least, this is going to be interesting. And there is a dreadful understatement! 

In other news, my shocking case of writer's block shows early signs of ending at last. Hurrying it along is the acquisition of a new tool (or toy if you prefer). We got a fantastic deal on powerful 10" tablet with its own Bluetooth keyboard, and I couldn't resist. If this doesn't restore my desire to actually write, rather than blogging and editing, nothing will! The stories are right there, burbling in my imagination, about one millimetre under the surface; they just haven't been able to get out in ... oh, a long time. Too long, in fact. Time to change that.

Wednesday, January 24, 2024

Announcement: Firegrounds will be published in ANALOG Science Fiction

The best possible news today ... Firegrounds will be appearing in ANALOG Science Fiction, probably early in 2025. This is my third outing with ANALOG, and I'm absolutely thrilled.

The story concerns a woman working for the RFS, or Regional Fire Service in South Australia's desiccated, ravaged mid-north, maybe half a century from now. Climate Change has happened. Past tense. It's not a question of stopping it ... now, survival is all about preventing fires, and this story examines ways and means of doing that, utilizing the cutting-edge Ai and robotics of the 2070s...

All of which falls apart somewhat when you've lost your husband to this job, and your teenage son is going so far wrong, you're haunted by the worst of all intuitions about him and his friends, some of whom are already incarcerated, others at liberty by a thread. 

Firegrounds is a story that's very close to my heart. Somewhere far, far down the track, I think there's a full novel to be derived from the foundations built by this little piece. In this incarnation, it's only about 4,000 words, but a lot of world building went into it, and one day ... one day ... So I took out half an hour and lashed up a cover to illustrate the story, and help to celebrate the sweet process of the contract signing. 

Watch this space, and when the issue is published, I'll blog about Firegrounds again.

Monday, January 22, 2024

Announcement: Root and Branch appears for the second time, ebook and paperback

What a great pleasure to announce that  Root and Branch is appearing in reprint! This is a slightly abridged version of the original text, but the cuts are by no means major. They don't detract from the story in any way; it's mostly a swatch of backstory and characterisation here and there that's been pruned away to make a large story fit into a smaller space.

The Sunshine Superhighway: Solar Sailings anthology is available via Amazon, from Jay Henge, in both Kindle and paperback editions. 

The story concerns the troubles faced by a living city who has contracted a disease. The city grew, and is still growing ... she's home to a million souls who have nowhere else to go. And she's dying. The race is on to find out why, and find a cure, but it appears there's no hope. Until the sky gypsies arrive with their living, flying showboat, Capricornia. Meet the charismatic and irresistible magician and stage manager of the greatest show in the sky who, quite by chance, holds out a skerrick of hope for the city of Waratah. 

Find Sunshine Superhighway: Solar Sailings at Amazon right here, and ... good reading!




Saturday, December 30, 2023

Happy New Year, 2023!

 

Wishing everyone a brilliant, safe, prosperous and peaceful 2024 ... may there be peace in our time, to coin a phrase; let good health visit your home, and happiness infuse life for every one of us. 

Happy New Year from South Australia, on this sunny afternoon, New Years Eve, 2023. Out with the old, in the the new!

(A Photoshop painting in honour of the occasion)

Wednesday, December 27, 2023

The Night After Christmas ("Whoville Chainsaw Massacre")

 


'Twas the night after Christmas and Whoville was rocking

With the kind of wild party that brings people flocking.

The noise and the booze, all the singing and dancing ...

The racket and rumpus, the shmoozing and prancing ...

Would drive to the point of starting a riot

Any poor fellow who just fancied quiet.

And you already know who was sane by an inch:

Poised on the brink was the poor old green Grinch.


By nine in the morning even Max was vibrating

With the jackhammer jollity; it’s not overstating

That not even Max could endure so much ‘cheer,’

No matter how snockered one became on Who beer.

And by two in the P.M., oh, Maxie was worried,

For the Grinch looked so manic; the beast who’d been buried

Beneath fudge and tinsel, and the charm of a child

Had clawed back to the surface ... and my, he was wild!


All the popping and bopping, the preening and prancing,

The swinging and zinging, and -- oh, the break-dancing!

Were more than the Grinch could guess how to endure ...

And then, all at once, he envisioned a cure,

For there by the Christmas tree, flat on the floor,

Was one lonely present. A forgotten chainsaw.

And the Grinch had no sooner set eyes on that tool

Then he said to himself, “Grinchie, you’ll been such a fool,

To think you could bear all this ruckus and humbug,

This rumpus and dumpus, this scampus and scumbug,

This noise, noise, noise, noise, that these Whofolk call ‘fun,’

While the stores are all closed and you can’t buy a gun --

There isn’t a fowling piece (nor even a pheasant),

But one of these idiots forgot his best present!”

For under the Christmas tree, left on the floor,

Wrapped up in red ribbons lay a brand new chainsaw:


All shiny and sharpy, all toothy and jagged --

Just begging for gasoline! So, out the Grinch swaggered

With a light, empty gascan and a bag full of quarters,

To the gas station downtown, with a brain full of slaughters ...

There wouldn’t be any Who left to make noise!

They’d be peacefully absent, the Who girls and boys.

The Who-guys and ladies would be quiet as the snow --

And Cindy-Lou Who’d be the first one to go.


For the Grinch could envisage the headlines tomorrow,

When no Who in Whoville survived to feel sorrow --

Here was a task to which the Grinch felt quite equal

(And MGM’s already contracted the sequel):

GRINCH II: WHOVILLE CHAINSAW MASSACRE.

Pearls That Were His Eyes

First Published in Shorelines of Infinity #11; Reprinted in Lockdown SciFi #3. Tom Mallory watched fear twist the rookies’ faces for an i...