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Reading - Starborn Vendetta

Apologies for the lateness on this blog, life was happening. Hi. This week, not a very big post. That will probably come later. Instead, a l...

Sunday 30 December 2018

Crazy Idea - Freischütz + Asushunamir + Fab Music = Maho gun battle!

Now this really is a crazy idea. So crazy it might be truly wonderful at some point. It comes from two/three different sources.

The first is a character in from the manga/anime franchise Hellsing called Rip Van Winkle. Winkle is a Nazi vampire who only lasts one volume/episode, but she has a very special ability that puts most of her cohorts to shame. She has a single bullet for her rifle, and once fired she can guide its course to hit whatever she wants. Her character directly references both the legend of Freischütz and the German opera based upon it by Carl Maria von Weber. The legend of the Freischütz -- or its Slavic equivalent the sčarostrelec -- tells of a marksman entering a Faustian pact and blessing seven bullets. Six out of the seven bullets will hit whatever the shooter desires, but the seventh bullet is completely under Lucifer's command.

The second is a character from pre-Islamic Middle Eastern mythology (very well summarized here). As part of the myth of Ishtar's descent into the underworld, the creator Enki fashions a non-binary gendered being called Asushunamir to rescue the goddess from her captivity. Asushunamir successfully entrances the underworld goddess Ereshkigal and manages to rescue Ishtar, but during the escape Ereshkigal curses Asushunamir and all like them to be shunned and despised by the rest of the world. While she can't undo Ereshkigal's curse, Ishtar gives Asushunamir and all like them the gifts of knowledge, healing and prophecy.

So my crazy idea mashed these two together into..... LGBT Maho soldiers! Wait, hear me out.

So I had three characters in mind within about five minutes. The first was -- obviously -- a woman. When a swarm of monsters is attacking our helpless everyman "protagonist", she apparently causes every radio around her to switch on and start pumping out some mean music. She then produces first a pistol out of nowhere and begins shooting down her enemies, then she eventually gets a long-barrelled cannon and blasts away the mounting hoard. With the final attack, she uses the the cannon's barrel as a prop and spins on it, summoning a gattling gun to blast away the last remnants of her enemies.

The next scene would be later when the woman's incapacitated, and the protagonist is temporarily gifted with her powers; he also triggers a blast of music, and does something similar in a one-on-one bout with a shotgun, six-shooter and a small railgun. His fight is more brutal, simply because his temporary power requires more energy to keep from dissipating, and his opponent is a lot tougher than a simple grunt of the wayward soul.

The next merry character is initially portrayed as the hostile outsider, but he also shares the woman's abilities, only he has a special trick. His own gun can shift form between a pistol and a very long rifle (both single shot only), and he only needs one bullet; he can fire in any direction, and any target selected with his eyes will be hit. Once done, the bullet returns and will be reloaded for the next fire.

And basically, all of these people have an inherent gift; due to their ambiguous gender or non-heterosexual status (to use an archaic term), they have the blessing of Ishtar to be medics for the soul, whose woes are manifested through monstrous beings.

And that's my crazy idea. Vaguely like an anime, but going much further into LGBT territory than any mainstream anime dares go in this day and age without resorting to stereotypes like the onee.

I hope you all have a marvellous New Year. Enjoy!

Sunday 23 December 2018

A Christmas Fable

The original title page from
Mirth without Mischief. Ah, fun times.
'Your Royal Highness, with the greatest respect, what the devil are you thinking?!'
'I don't know what you mean.'

'I mean this ridiculous list of gifts for your betrothed.'

The King took the message from his chamberlain and examined its contents. 'I see nothing wrong with it.'

'Nothing wrong with it?! You're joking, of course.'

'No, I'm not joking. My love deserves all this and more. It's her right, as the future queen.'

'But she's-'

'If you're about to say "not of royal stock", this conversation is over.'

'It's not that. It's what you've chosen to sent her given the size of her house.'

'What about the size of the house?'

'My lord, she lives in an apartment in the city. How can you possibly fit twelve lords, eleven ladies, ten drummers, nine pipers, eight milkmaids, seven swans, six geese, five rings, four colly birds, three hens, two doves and - I don't know why you chose this - a game bird in a tree.'

'It's "partridge" in a "pear tree".'

'I know what you intended. But wouldn't anyone else just send... Flowers? A cake? A piece of jewellery? Something like that?'

'That's what others do. I don't do that. I honour tradition. And tradition says... Actually tradition says I send her escalating gifts in the days leading up to Christmas. Maybe I could-'

'NO!'

The chamberlain almost fainted at the logistics behind it. His fevered imagination saw twelve lords carrying trees and partridges, 22 ladies with a turtle dove each, 30 French hens squawking to the drummers' beat, 36 colly birds perching on the pipers' instruments, 40 rings on the hands of milkmaids, and 42 geese and swans wandering amongst the throng. The noise alone would shake the rafters. He shuddered to think of anyone hearing about this extraordinary gift.

And at that moment, the court musician was listening outside the door, and drew a similar conclusion. He grinned. This would make a great Christmas ballad.


A Merry Christmas to one and all!

Sunday 16 December 2018

A New Endeavour; Detective Fiction (Pun Slightly Intended)

I didn't think I'd ever do it. But it just grabbed me, and something clicked in my brain that allowed me to do the pre-planning and preparation necessary to create something as complex and planning-intensive as a detective story.

Mystery is the one genre where I just can't do what I usually do with writing; work from a rough sketch and ideas and then write as I go while using later proofreads to pick up continuity or other errors. Mysteries require extensive planning, otherwise they'll fall apart under scrutiny. And when it's a reader, that scrutiny can be both hard and harsh.

There's still a way to go. I'm only two chapters in, and while I've got the central mystery and cast worked out, anything could go wrong. Especially as I'm still a complete novice at this, and I've decided to set it in a world without human characters. It's a strange world after humanity, where a new species has risen in its place, achieved civilisation as many would consider it, and navigate a world that to us may be unrecognisable. This is set in a fantasy world, but the story and workings themselves are firmly grounded in the scientific and logical world of detective fiction.

It's not the first time I've toyed with a detective story. I had a rather neat "hydrogen-punk" noir set during the post-WW2 era, and shortly after the death of Al Capone, when the criminal underworld began reforming into its next phase of existence. The story would've had a fictionalised version of Eliot Ness and his (fictional) daughter -- the main protagonist -- going up against a new alliance of criminal syndicates during the early days of the Cold War and amid rising ethnic and gender-based tensions. But that's a story for another day, even though it's one I'm not going to just abandon. It's got scope.

This one is my second attempt, and it's going much better. Basically I've taken all I've learned from reading some of the greats of detective fiction and applied it with a writing method which combines my own skills with the planning necessary for crafting a complex and devilish mystery. Guess reading all that Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, Colin Dexter, Ngaio Marsh, G. K. Chesterton and others paid off in the end. Also, my recent and very personal encounter with death gave me some impetus to write about it.

Well, here's hoping it goes alright.

Sunday 9 December 2018

The History in Fiction

I recently found a channel on YouTube called Overly Sarcastic Productions. It's basically two people collaborating on some nice silly/serious summaries of myths and folklore, fiction tropes, story summaries ranging from modern fiction to classic tales, and history. The history is generally handled by the male partner, dubbed "Blue" in their introductory video.

As I was looking at his most recent video, which is a quarter-hour summary of the history of the Venetian Republic, and something struck me. When going through how the city of Venice evolved -- which I already knew quite a bit about due to my reading and watching the entirety of Francesco's Venice -- I saw how easy it was for writers to create a stunning fictional city and not bother with the nitty-gritty about how a certain city came to be.

Take an instance I'd have liked to see with a more detailed origin within the story. The city of Basel from the video game Resonance of Fate. It's an incredible steampunk city that is seemingly supported by a single pillar above a cancerous miasma cloaking the world. Controlled by a control system dubbed Zenith, it preserves humanity through a system of environment purification and limited lifespans to keep the population from expanding beyond control. But along with other aspects of the story, the construction and support of what looked like a gigantic spinning top held up by a pathetically thin pillar had me interested. Then left me giggling as it just looked like the common trope of creating a stunning location without bothering to do any fleshing out of how that location came to be. Similar to most of Pandora from Avatar. I mean, floating islands and marine-like lifeforms living in a jungle with suspiciously little rainfall? And they don't seem to have true jungle equipment, adjusted for alien environment or not. Seriously?

Now, I admit, I'm guilty of creating cities without actually thinking through what their origins were. The first time I did that with any detail was a sci-fi story that's currently in the works as its unique blend of cultural oddities and fusion of futuristic and Bourbon-like architecture. I haven't done the most thorough job of explaining it, but that's what rewrites are for. Now, I'm not saying someone should exhaustively tell it in dialogue or description. That's Kojima's trick, and makes the narrative more boring than entertaining. But some gradual hints and titbits scattered through the work can give something of the world's history to the reader. This makes it more than just set dressing.

The history of something goes beyond simple architectural elements, of course. How did it arrive here, where did it come from. That's an aspect of fiction I really enjoy, and when, say, a mystical system and obviously magical threat are introduced with barely any context through the whole story I feel slightly cheated. And, if there's a follow-up, and the reasons seem contrived or squeezed out using what was already there as an unsteady base (say, they're trying to pass off this clearly magical plague of darkness as a mutant malarial strain), I feel more than disappointed.

There are authors who've done it quite well, either over one book or several. Jonathan Stroud has four books to do it with his Bartimaeus cycle, so you get a very solid impression over those books about how the world works and the cyclic nature of magical rule. The Dragon Age universe has an entire canon of multimedia fiction to help with that, however untidily it does so. Sylvia Townsend Warner's short story anthology Kingdoms of Elfin is a great example of a culture gradually expanded over sixteen small narratives. To understand some aspects of The Lord of the Rings, you need that prose-based exposition, even if several elements stray into the realms of "THIS IS TOO MUCH!" or "GET ON WITH IT!".

There are also stories where uncertainty is needed. I would've liked to know who attacked first in the Starship Troopers universe, but know it would've crippled the book's narrative and pointed message. Creations such as Indiana Jones and the original Alien don't need additional context because it's not the point, and their medium of film doesn't take exposition well. Also, since they're more firmly grounded in type of stories were more complex histories are either superfluous or odd, they can drop them.

Both of those are things I've had to consider, or have already tried. Explanation during my Leviathan Chronicle duology is spread through personal explanation and dialogue across the two books. It lessens some of the info dumps that happen in a story that complex and wordy. And no, that doesn't mean I didn't resort to info dumps. Hey, I'm still young as a writer. As to the latter, I've had one or two ideas. Mainly the challenge is telling an involving story without it looking like I'm deliberately hiding anything, or just haven't thought about it.

Of course, there's the problem with multiple works being required for basic understanding, or a multimedia project where crucial story beats end up on another platform or format. But that's another article entirely.

Sunday 2 December 2018

Short story - The Angel's Spire

Apologies in advance for any spelling and grammar mistakes. This is an older story that I put together in rather a hurry. Either way, I hope you enjoy!


There is a legend in my kingdom. A legend that goes something like this. When the Crimson Moon rises, the Great Will sleeps and the Angel’s Spire gapes to issue its monstrous progeny. The Maiden and her Knight ascend never to return, sending the Crimson Moon into slumber. That is the legend.

Ascending stairs towards a onyx-coloured tower with architecture twisted by time is something anyone would be afraid of. But I needed to go in, to follow after a woman whose destiny lay at the very top of the tower, called the Angel’s Spire. Who am I? A Knight wearing armour and carrying a broadsword and shield. I was just about to push the door open, and glanced up at the sky. A blood-red shade discoloured the moon and the sky around it, and the clouds glowered overhead like the court judges at some highly controversial trial. This was the sign of the Angel’s Spire, the time when the Maiden would ascend.

The Spire stands tall on the edge of a yawning chasm in the ground descending into blackness even at high noon, surrounded by green meadows and covered all across its power floors with climbing plants. Despite nature’s softening, it remained a black scar upon the land exemplified by the Crimson Moon’s light. The Spire has been part of this land for longer than any records tell, and legends beyond counting have risen up around it. I do not know whether to believe, so I do not bother thinking about it that much. I was chosen to climb it with this generation of my liege lord’s family, and to escort this generation’s chosen Maiden to its summit. And I will, no matter what may come of this journey.

I saw the Maiden just after I pushed the door open. She was tall, perhaps as tall as me, with a willowy figure enfolded in a one-piece white dress. Several monstrous beasts, denizens of the Spire, had already met their ends from the weapons she wielded – a kopis sword and crossbow. I watched her killing her final victim, driving her sword into its skull and sending it into convulsive death agonies. It took a push from her foot to dislodge her blade. The slaughter had stained several parts of her dress with the monsters’ deep red blood. She stood in the midst of that slaughter, and seemed to drink in the taut atmosphere.

It was then that she turned, saw me, frowned. I felt like I was being viewed by the state executioner. Common blood she might be, but that did not mean her gaze did not hold a regal quality of disdain.

‘Who’re you?’ her voice was rough and uncultured. ‘What d’you want here? You know this place is forbidden to all but the Maiden.’

‘Not so. One other may enter.’

‘And who’s that, then?’

It took me some time, but I removed my helmet to show my face. Despite a brief flash of relief across her face, her next reaction was not favourable. She drew herself up and spoke in a scolding tone.

‘Why did you have to come? I’m quite capable of handling myself in here. Knight you may be, but–’`

‘I know that.’ I maintained due respect despite her youth. ‘But I was trained to help you ascend this Spire. I swore to be the Knight defending the Maiden as she ascended to bring the Crimson Moon to slumber once again. I will fulfil my duty. Also, you were not supposed to soil that frock.’

She glanced down at her bloodied skirt. ‘How am I supposed to control where these things spurt blood? Besides, I don’t white. It doesn’t fit my soul.’

I sighed. She always talked like this. The Maiden was supposed to be as pure as the driven snow no matter their original social class, but she could always crack some pretty obscene jokes or speak such near-blasphemous scorn. It was something I liked about her – a streak of homely honesty.

‘Now,’ she continued. ‘I’d take it as a kindness if you would leave me in peace to continue my climb up this blasted Spire.’

She knew full well I could not turn back. If I did, the axe would likely be there to greet me upon my return to the city gates. I immediately went down on one knee, determined not to be rejected.

‘You know I cannot do that, Maiden. I must accompany and protect you at all costs. Even if that cost be my life. That I swore when you were but a girl, and I a boy holding my sister’s hand.’

She sighed. ‘Must you always bring that up, even here? I won’t have my journey spoiled by being some damsel requiring a gallant’s protection. It would shackle me, and I don’t like being shackled. Follow me and fulfil your duty if you must, but keep out of my sight.’

I kept my head bowed as she walked away, taking the stairs ahead three at a time, heading towards the screaming horrors above. I waited still, listening to the sound of blade clashing against blade, of the Maiden slaying the monsters that stood between her and her goal. There then came the mighty creaking of a door, the stairway to the next floor of the tower opening for the Maiden.

When that door had closed, I finally raised my head myself and I began climbing the stairs. My pace was deliberately slow, though I struggled with myself at each step not to pursue the Maiden at full speed. I also needed to stop myself turning back and waiting outside. No matter how many tales of brave Knights I read, I was unnerved merely by gazing upon the Spire’s exterior, let alone its inner architecture.

As I reached the first floor, I saw the body of a large ogre – hog-like tusks and all – lying in state, showing signs of the Maiden’s wrath in the slashes on its legs and crossbow bolts lodged in its grey flesh. I examined the blood trail it had left on the floor, and saw specks of red mingled among the putrid yellow. For a horrible second, I feared the worst. Then I heard a footfall behind me and turned to see the Maiden crouching at the foot of the next flight of stairs. She had a concerned look on her face that startled me, but was also panting from the effort of the battle. She finally turned towards me.

‘Yes?’ I asked, bowing my head. ‘Is there anything more you would say?’

The Maiden glanced at the ogre as she spoke. ‘Given how strong some of these Spire residents are, I think I may’ve been a bit hasty in dismissing help. Under one condition, you can come with me.’

‘What condition?’

‘We fight as equals come what may. Not as Knight and helpless Maiden, but as two warriors who climb the Spire as a team. Like those days on the climbing frame when Teach wasn’t looking, remember?’

‘I remember well. I would not treat you as anything less.’

‘Makes a pleasant change. I haven’t had anything but respect, admiration or silent contempt for most of my life. With one exception.’

She smiled at me in her usual way. It was completely disarming, and made me feel slightly ashamed at my behaviour.

‘I am sorry.’

‘Don’t be. No skin of my nose.’ she got up with an effort. ‘Now come on. Let’s get this over with.’

I quickly caught up with the Maiden and we ascended the second flight of stairs together. This time I felt no discomfort, no foreboding, no restlessness. It was wonderful to be next to my friend.

I remembered first meeting the Maiden when we were both young children, although my parents told me we were raised together from birth. We played together, we were like brother and sister – inseparable and mischievous. But I did not know that my parents had a special fate in mind for both of us. The Sages had spoken, foretelling our fates as the Maiden and her Knight when the Crimson Moon came. We were separated when I was about eleven, and I remember yelling at my mother and crying on my bed when the Sages came to take her away from me.

I was educated as a Knight, reading ancient texts, classic literature on the Knight’s duty, and being trained in the art of combat until my bones ached. Then when I was sixteen, we met again, and we were brought together to be tutored by one of the Sages. She called her “Teach”, despite constant admonitions that the Sage should be called by her proper name. I forget what that was now, but it was something quite pompous. We sat together in lessons, but found ways of spending time together as friends. Things like the climbing frame set up for my exercises that provided endless entertainment for two young people who had slipped away from their teacher for half an hour.

‘I had all but forgotten that time together with the teacher.’ I said as we reached the next doorway. ‘I am surprised you remember.’

‘I don’t forget what’s important.’ said the Maiden, smiling. ‘I don’t forget. I’ll never forget, whatever happens.’

‘We will be free of this duty soon.’ I said as we pushed open the door. ‘We will be sure to– DOWN!’

I pulled the Maiden after me as a black-painted javelin scythed through the air and struck the wall behind us. I glanced up and saw the creature that had thrown it – a lanky figure with skeletal limbs and a face without nose, eyes or mouth. One hand held what I can only describe as a giant quiver filled with javelins like the one which had nearly skewered us. The monster drew another from its quiver and threw it towards where we lay. We again had to roll to one side as it struck and dented the floor, and I found myself profoundly thankful that the Maiden had seen sense and invited me along.

It was a gruelling duel, with the monster leaping about the room and either striking with its weapons or throwing them with lethal speed and accuracy. I do not know how long it took, and by the end I collapsed from the effort, but when I awoke the thing was lying dead against the wall, several of its javelins driven through its torso. The Maiden was looking at it as if hypnotised, then turned back to me and smiled as I rose and composed myself.

‘You alright?’

‘I am well.’ I flexed my shoulders. ‘A little stiff, perhaps. That is to be expected with such a strong opponent. If this is just the second floor, the Great Will only knows what awaits further up.’

‘Only one way to find out.’ said the Maiden. ‘But later. You’ll be needing rest after a fight like that.’

‘I can manage.’

‘Rest.’ her tone was commanding. ‘You’re useless if you can’t defend yourself due to exhaustion.’

I had to accept her assessment, and sat back down on the tiled floor glad to relax. I didn’t remove my armour, so just lay within its supporting folds while the Maiden lay beside me. We both stared at the ceiling and I thought for a moment that she had fallen asleep. When I touched her hand by chance, she gripped it with her own, smiling.

‘Thinking of when we used to stargaze?’

I had forgotten that too. Once when we escaped from our Sage tutor, we hid in the nearby forest until past nightfall, and found a clearing where we could watch the stars in the sky. On that warm midsummer’s night, we had picked out seventeen different constellations and twenty of the brightest stars, talked and laughed like we used to do, and found a new kind of kinship. The view here was somehow similar, with gemstones set into the blue-tiled ceiling mimicking a field of stars. But something new came to me totally unbidden, a question.

‘Do you know how long this tradition has lasted?’

‘What tradition?’

‘The Maiden and her Knight climbing the Angel’s Spire when the Crimson Moon appears in the sky.’

‘How long?’ the Maiden considered. ‘I suppose... Maybe four centuries. No-one knows how long the Spire’s been here. Didn’t Teach say something about it being a fragment of the Great Will?’

‘Is that not a somewhat apocryphal statement? The Great Will has no physical form, so how could the Spire be a part of it.’

‘Yeah, sounds daft to me. It’s just some old tower. Monsters are a bit more puzzling though. Maybe they didn’t have anywhere else to go?’

‘A sanctuary for monsters in a world of humans. Sounds like a tale of fringe fancy.’

‘Hey, it’s a story.’

We chuckled at the thought. I did not realise until later that our hands were clasped gently together as we talked. After a few more minutes, I was rested and willing to continue the ascent of the Spire. The next flight of stairs – like the previous two flights we had climbed – circled round to the left, following the line of the Spire’s curving outer wall.

When we reached the top of the stairs and entered the third room, we did not see any foe at first. The entire room was coloured a pure white, whether through paint or some form of precious enamel it was difficult to tell. The door rested in the room’s opposite corner, continuing to follow the Spire’s gentle curve. But there was another living being in the room besides us.

A man lay on the floor, with hair and clothes so pale that he blended in almost perfectly with the décor. As we approached, he raised his face and I recoiled from his sunken features and ashen skin. He rose slowly as if lifted by ropes, and held out a long gleaming foil like a music conductor’s baton. Before I realised what was happening, the figure sailed across the room and began swiping and stabbing at us. He was aiming mostly at me, but did not stop himself from attempting a few passes at the Maiden.

I fended him off with my own bulky sword, but it was as if I were fighting a duellist with a broadsword – the strength behind each blow made my arms shudder. I was eventually flung against the wall, and my vision blurred. I saw the figure stop a few paces from me, then turn and begin sailing across the room to where the Maiden was firing at it with her crossbow. It deflected each bolt with each, then struck her to the ground with a backhanded swipe from its free hand.

I do not remember clearly what came next. I remember struggling to my feet and running towards the thing. The next thing I remember was coming to with my head in the cradle of the Maiden’s lap, an ache in my arm, and a pain in my head as if I were dehydrated. I glanced to one side and saw our attacker lying in a twisted position a few paces from us, its white robes stained purple with its unnatural blood. The Maiden was looking down at me with concern, so I reached up and gently touched her cheek.

‘It is well. I am well. Calm yourself.’

She placed her hand over mine, and tears showed in her face. ‘Don’t.... don’t do that again. You scared me.’

‘I will not. I promise.’

‘Yeah. So you say.’

We both laughed, dispelling the battle’s tension. It had been hard, and as I got up I felt aches all over as if I had fallen from a great height. As we approached the next door, I felt that the Maiden was uneasy, as if something about me had begun to scare her. I reached out to reassure her, but she pulled back, her face crinkling. I frowned, unsure of what had caused this change.

‘You need not fear me.’ I said. ‘I am your friend.’

‘Yes.’ she said stiffly. ‘You’re my friend. And my Knight.’

The way she said those words was unsettling to say the least. As if she were reassuring herself rather than assuring me. Our next ascent was sullen, fouled by an atmosphere of forced normality between the two of us. I really wanted to ask her why she was acting like this. I was just doing my duty as a Knight. I found myself thumping the wall as we walked, my hands protesting in their gauntlets even as my mind protested the change in atmosphere.

The door into the fourth room opened, and we saw what waited for us there. The fifth and final door was closed, held firm by the monstrous creature that was our adversary – a snake-like thing with its tail entwined about the door, and its long body extending into the room. Over a dozen arms lay in various poses, and its lizard-like head held a crown of horns that curved up and over its brow like the petrified plume of some bird’s tail. It opened one eye and watched us enter, then raised its head as the door closed behind us. It spoke with a male voice, its words drawn out and underscored by a serpentine hiss.

‘Welcome. I am delighted to see a new Maiden and her Knight ascend the Angel’s Spire once more.’

I raised my sword. ‘Monster, you stand in the way of the Maiden’s destiny. If you can understand me, then let us pass or I shall be forced to kill you.’

The creature cocked its head as if amused. ‘The new Knight says they shall kill me? As your kind have killed and shall kill us over and over and over again.’

For a moment, I could not understand. ‘What? What do you mean?’

The Maiden stepped forward despite my wish to stop her. ‘How many times has the Knight killed you?’

‘Me personally? None yet. The others below, it depends on how long it has been since the last Knight and Maiden undertook this ascent. In the Angel’s Spire, time does not count for much. Maybe just once. Maybe a thousand times a thousand.’

‘Enough of your lies!’ I shouted. ‘You will let us pass!’

The creature looked from my sword to my face, then looked the Maiden up and down, licking its lips at the sight of the dried blood on her skirt. It slithered back until its whole frame was pressed against the door, its arms stretched wide to hold it shut, its eyes blazing at me.

‘I will fulfil my role as this floor’s foe. For my mistress. Come, varlet, have at me and fulfil your role!’

The monster snarled at me, and I pushed forward. The Maiden pushed past me and we fought the monster. It was the hardest fight of my entire life, and I was laid flat multiple times by one or more of the creature’s arms. The Maiden distracted it with her crossbow and hacked with her blade, keeping it from finishing me off. Thinking back, I realise something; it never pressed home its advantage when I was prostrate, when a single blow or swipe would have ended my life. The last thing I remember was rushing at the monster in a growing haze of red.

When I came to, I was lying on the floor with the Maiden kneeling a few paces from me. The serpentine monster lay thrown to one side of the door, its neck broken and several arms severed at the elbow. My sword was clean of the monster’s black blood, but specks of it clung to my chestplate and gauntlets. The Maiden’s face was again concerned, but there was an increased icy quality that made my stomach twist. I got up slowly, and finally got a chance to see the room’s décor.

It was a beautiful place, with frescos decorating every single surface aside from the doors and vaulted ceiling. One fresco in particular caught my attention; it was a tower under construction, with people across it and around it in a state of frenzy – many turned their faces away from the sky, raised their arms like prophets in ecstasy, or cradled their heads. The sky was a fusion of its natural blue and a crimson scar where the moon hung like a malevolent eye. Another look showed that the tower was not under construction, but in a ruined state as if destroyed in a sweeping gestured like someone flattening a house of cards.

‘Impressive.’ said the Maiden. ‘I’ve never seen the Fall depicted in pictures.’

‘Eh?’

‘Didn’t Teach tell you about the Fall?’

I thought back. Our teacher had told us something about the Fall. According to legend, the ancient tribes had united under a common ruler to create a tower of gigantic proportions, seeking communion with the Great Will. This breach of the world’s rules resulted in the Great Will destroying the tower. But the fresco depicted the story with elements of the Crimson Moon. Did that mean...?

‘We must continue with our duty.’ I said with an effort. ‘I am the Knight, and you the Maiden. The illusions of this place matter not.’

‘Hey, calm down.’ the Maiden grasped my arm. ‘We mustn’t ignore the implications of this. Please, think.’

‘What is wrong with you?’ I pulled away angrily. ‘You have been acting strangely since the last floor.’

‘You’re not yourself. You’ve exhausted yourself with all this fighting. Please, rest here. I will go on alone.’

‘No!’

It was the first time I had ever shouted at her in anger, and I was suddenly sick at myself. I reached to comfort her, but she pulled back as if afraid. There was something new in her face, a seriousness at odds with her personality. I did not wish to press her, so as I pulled open the final door and we mounted the final flight of stairs, an awkward silence persisted between us. I threw an assuring glance towards her, but it was like trying to melt the depths of the Underworld. I clenched my fist in frustration, not knowing what to do, yet thankful that our duty would soon be fulfilled so we could leave the accursed Spire.

The final stairway did not end in a door. A wind blew, and we soon saw the Crimson Moon’s ruddy light down the stairway. When we reached the top, the wind increased in strength and the Maiden rubbed her arms as a chill gripped both of us. The top of the Angel’s Spire was floored with rough tiles of the same pure black colour as the rest of its surface, with a surrounding ornamental battlement interspersed with wafer-thin minarets.
Against the further battlement was a dais supporting an ornate throne. A figure was seated upon that throne, illuminated by the red moonlight. Their appearance took me aback for a moment. It was a woman; an old and unnaturally thin woman wearing a white gown trimmed with gold, her long grey hair falling about her in wide locks like multiple stoles over a priest’s cassock. Beneath her dress the woman was skin-and-bone, her features sunken to a skull-like visage, eyes hidden in the cavernous sockets, Her fingers, slightly too long for the hands, raised as I approached. Her thin lips moved, and the strength in her voice made her visage more unsettling.

‘You come at last, Maiden. And your Knight accompanies you. Excellent. I have waited a century for this day to come round once again.’

I raised my sword. ‘Woman, if you be our enemy, I would ask that you surrender to your fate that this Crimson Moon may sleep once more.’

She nodded slowly, smiling to herself. ‘Yes, yes. This is true. But before you put me to death, may I tell you two a story? The Crimson Moon can wait, the people below are safe for a while yet. Besides, I have seldom enjoyed an audience.’

I should have run her through there and then. But I saw no overt evil in her eyes, nor heard it in her voice. I nodded and lowered but did not sheathe my sword.

‘Say your piece, then have done.’

‘I will.’ she drew a deep breath. ‘In an age long since past, there was an ambitious king who wished to commune with the Great Will. To achieve this, he conscripted a vast workforce and began construction of a tower. At his side, a constant source of encouragement, was a viceroy, a woman of supreme beauty and wit with the gift of hearing the Great Will’s Voice. As the tower reached the edges of the sky, the viceroy struck. The sky split open, the moon turned the colour of blood, and the tower was shattered. I am sure a version of this tale exists for your people.’

‘It’s called the Fall.’ said the Maiden mechanically. ‘In it, the Great Will felled the tower to punish the ruler’s hubris.’

The old woman nodded serenely. ‘So the legend was passed on successfully. It is so strange that such a contrived excuse would become the sacred truth. Such is the way of humanity. But something you may not know is that the Fall was real. It happened thousands of years ago.... And there was one survivor, the one who triggered the Fall.’ she gestured towards herself. ‘She had been at the king’s side for so long, and even as she tore the sky and the tower collapsed, she touched the edges of the Great Will. In that moment, mortality was no more for her.’

I raised my sword again, advancing slowly, my vision blurring. ‘I have heard enough. Prepare yourself. I will slay you, as I slew the others.’

The woman nodded even as I advanced. ‘Yes, yes, yes. You slew my pets. A more than suitable test for you and the Maiden. To see whether you could endure the Spire’s challenges. It is ironic that my pets should have been granted such a fleeting end at the hand of their future fellow.’

My sword was just a few inches from her chest, but I froze, unsure once more. I struggled to hold my blade steady, or even to hold it at all. A pain crept through my innards that I could not identify. The old woman leaned forward slightly so that I saw her eyes; they shone like diamonds set into the sockets. She smiled, a cruel sneer that chilled me to the bone.

‘It has been fun, but all things must end.’ she said. ‘You will make a fine pet, but as you are you are merely a nuisance. Hold him!’

I did not hear the slither behind me until it was too late. Then the serpent monster from the floor below – restored and renewed – hoisted me into the air, shook me until I dropped my sword, then stretched me between four of its arms until I cried out from the pain. I glanced around, seeing all the other monsters from below standing in a line as if nothing had happened. The Maiden stood like a statue, facing the old woman as she rose from her throne and advanced, still talking.

‘The Maiden purifies the world, and the Knight sacrifices themselves to her protection and for the sake of all. Is that not how the legend goes?’

The Maiden nodded. ‘Yeah. That’s what Teach told me.’

‘But it is not true.’ she gestured theatrically. ‘Over a thousand years past, my soul gained life eternal. But my body still feels the ravages of time. To avoid becoming a wandering wraith, I must need find a new shell in which my soul can flourish. This “Angel’s Spire”,’ she gestured with contempt at the stones beneath us, ‘has been a convenient excuse for finding women suitable to become my vessels. It took hundreds of years for my agents to instil the legend into those dullards, to plant servants in the right places to groom my vessels.’

I struggled against the grip of the monster, but it only yanked on my arms anew and I felt the sockets straining. I let out a scream of agony as my whole frame was bent backwards. The Maiden turned towards me, then back towards the old woman.

‘You don’t need to do this. He’s not dangerous.’

‘You say that after everything you have witnessed in this place? All the Sages told you? He would have killed me had he the chance, as he killed my pets. He will be of use, but I will not let his trespass go unpunished.’ she looked from me to the Maiden and back again. ‘I have lived many times longer than both your family lines combined, sleeping in yonder chasm to preserve my ailing form and strengthen my powers. Only when all was in place did I summon my creations from the depths – the Spire and its monstrous denizens. And so the legend was given credence.’

The old woman laughed again, a sound if possible even crueller than before. I glanced down and saw the Maiden slowly backing away, shaking her head. Her gaze then fixed on me, and in it I saw only fear. I turned to her, puzzled.

‘What is the matter? Why do you look at me so?’

The old woman answered for her. ‘You truly do not remember? My my, their cocktail this time around was more potent than expected. All the others held some trace of remembrance within them, but you have forgotten.’

‘Do not try me with your lies!’ I spat back at her, then cried out as the serpentine monster twisted my body until my bones were near breaking.

The old woman continued speaking in a conversational tone. ‘It was easy to create the illusion of the Crimson Moon; a piece of trickery to augment the moon’s glow to turn it a ruddy hue, monsters that would pillage and spread fear, a suitable edifice worthy of the legends I had perpetuated. Over these four centuries, with each Maiden brought to the Spire, I have prolonged my physical life. And with each Knight accompanying them, I have gained a new pet for the Spire’s different floors, a new layer to the legend.’

‘Wh...what do....you mean?’ I struggled to speak through the pain.

The Maiden spoke now, her voice trembling. ‘Those huge monsters we fought... They’re the Knights that came before you. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I didn’t know what to say.’

‘Tell me what?!’

The old woman cackled. ‘Did you not have blackouts as you fought my pets, did the Maiden not seem to grow fearful? Tell me, before you both left, were you given drafts of some strange-tasting liquor?’ our combined looks were answer enough for her. ‘The Knight’s duty is to escort the Maiden up the Angel’s Spire – a necessary precaution to ensure the vessel is not damaged in any way prior to transfer. But you were never meant to return to the outside world – it would be folly to allow anyone to expose the truth. But to kill you would be such a waste after testing your metal in battle with my pets. Those who perpetuated the legend and trained you both left weaknesses in each of you. The Maiden’s soul was left unprotected so my entry would be simplicity itself. And you, her noble Knight, were left open to a very different kind of rebirth.’

A light gathered in her hand, and she reached out towards me. I suddenly felt a new pain, like pins and needles running through my being. I had remembered the draught given to us before we set out on our journey, how it had tasted bitter and made my body contort for a moment. As I writhed, the old woman’s voice persisted.

‘My servants sewed the seed for change in you. I had not expected it to take root so soon, or to flourish so readily. Your will to protect this Maiden made you naturally change into a monster in spirit alone, rending any enemy that threatened. Like a loyal dog protecting its master. Now become the dog you are in spirit.’

My vision was distorting, the hues and colours around me changing, a pulsing pain sending spots dancing before my eyes. I looked down at my legs and saw the armour buckling from the inside. That was when I blacked out, and awoke lying on the stone floor with no idea of how much time had passed. I only remembered words, the old woman speaking.

‘A hundred years of waiting has ended. My new vessel has come. And my life shall continue. My life alone shall be endless. And as this world falls to the Great Will’s wrath, I shall stand amidst its ruins and laugh.’

It took me some little time to recover my senses, and when I did I regretted it. My arms were covered in thick fur, my fingernails and turned into serrated claws, I felt a scaly surface to my back, and as I rose I saw my feet had twisted into cloven hooves that struck sparks from the stone. I reached up to my face, and felt a canine snout, and also felt the weight of horns upon my brow. I could not tell whether I shed tears, for my attention was focused entirely on the old woman.

She was standing at the foot of the dais, her arms raised, muttering some ancient chant in an unintelligible language. The Maiden was hovering limply in mid-air in front of her, surrounded by a clinging red light similar to that of the Crimson Moon. I glanced behind me and saw all the great monsters the Maiden and I had faced bowing before the old woman like serfs before a master. It made me sick. I looked again at the old woman, who was raising her arms in preparation for her ritual’s crescendo. That was when I charged.

I do not know what was possessing me then, but I know what I thought; I could not let this woman harm the Maiden. My charge threw the old woman off her feet, causing the light surrounding the Maiden to die. The Maiden dropped to the ground, the old woman hit the dais, and her “pets” let out a unified roar of protest. I do not know exactly what happened next, but when my memories returned all the monsters lay impaled on the surrounding minarets. The old woman looked terrified, and shuffled back up towards her throne as I approached.

‘No. That is impossible. You had become my pet. You were in my thrall. You should not be able... to think for yourself...’

I reached down and hoisted her bodily from the ground, holding her over my head. I contemplated smashing her body on the dais, but a different thought came to me. A touch of poetic justice. I turned and headed towards the battlements.

‘No! Wait!’ her voice was pleading, desperate. ‘The ritual was not completed! Her mind is a husk now, waiting for my soul to enter! If you kill me, she will never return to herself, and you will forever be a monster! Spare me, and I will let you go free! Please, have mercy!’

I stopped at the battlements. Ahead of me was the great chasm, yawning with its eternal shadow accentuated by the Crimson Moon hanging in the sky. When I replied to the old woman’s pleas, it was with my normal voice.

‘Why should I show mercy to you after everything you have done? I care not whether you live or die in that chasm, only that we be spared your perverted ritual for another few millennia. Farewell!’

I threw the old woman over the battlements, and watched as she plummeted into the depths, uttering the most terrible scream I had ever heard. Once her falling form was out of sight, I ran over to the Maiden. She lay where she had fallen after I attacked the old woman, her face relaxed as if in a natural sleep, but her body unnaturally limp. I raised her onto my lap, called her name, caressed her cheek. This time I know I wept, for tears fell upon her brow as I repeated her name again and again. I did not notice the Spire beginning to rumble as the power supporting it faded and the structure began to collapse on top of itself. I might have rested there until my death but for one thing.

‘You... we.... they....’

The voice stirred me, made me glance around. ‘Who is that?’

‘Don’t you know me? After all those years together?’

‘But... No. You...!’

The Maiden’s voice spoke, coming from somewhere nearby, somewhere ethereal and distant. ‘Teach told me. Told me everything. They didn’t corrupt us completely. They wanted her dead. You did it. You’re the Knight you always should’ve been. I didn’t want you to go through this. No matter what they said.’

‘Is that why you did not wish me to come with you?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you.’

‘Are you..... alive?’

A gentle laugh. ‘I’m here. I’ll be here. Just get us both out of here before this place crumbles beneath you.’

That was when I noticed the Spire destabilising. I picked up the Maiden and ran down through the Spire as fast as I could in my new form. I jumped from the main entrance and down the steps just as the upper floors collapsed and the entire structure fell in on itself. I stood for a moment as the dust billowed past me, and saw the moon return to its natural hue. I also saw the dawn breaking over the distant mountains. I mounted the rubble, standing atop it to watch the sunrise.

I held the Maiden in my arms, tears of relief and pain painting my face, the remains of the Angel’s Spire beneath my feet, as the sun broke on a new day. I wanted to scream, but nothing came. I watched the light grow beyond the line of the horizon, the sky clear of any trace of the Spire’s corruption, the chasm become a delicate shade separating me from the mountains. For a moment, I thought about throwing my monstrous form after the old woman.

But something stopped me from taking that step. A hand touched my face, a face that – like the rest of my body – had become human once again without me realising. And the Maiden’s voice spoke from my arms.

‘Good morning.’

Sunday 25 November 2018

On Loss

A while back, I wrote a longish series on how death is used in fiction. At the time, I was somewhat dismissive of the subject. Or maybe academic is a better word. But recent I've suffered an unexpected bereavement within my immediate family, and that's brought me to thinking about death from a different angle. Principally, the reaction to it.

I won't go into too much detail, but I will say that I was suddenly confronted by a wave of cliched emotions after the incident. I didn't think I'd feel them, but I did. It was a shock to see why all those cliches emerged in the first place. There was the shock after the initial discovery, the rush to try and do something to help, the sudden resignation when the paramedic declared that nothing could be done, the pushing through a growing wave of emotion, and then later phases of sadness, shock and crying.

I realise that everyone's experience of grief is different. Hence the sheer number of different types of grief portrayed in fiction when you start looking beyond the surface level Hollywood slow-motion segments. But on a basic level, there is a single thing that remains; disbelief. There is that feeling that this is all a terrible dream. Or a surreal nightmare. Or maybe some gigantic prank.

Death and reactions to it also depend on context. In a place where death is more common, such as many third world countries or some levels of current society today, there is still a culture of grief but there is a slight hardening of the soul towards death. In war, things would be different. There, death is a reality faced almost every day, so the death of a colleague may be seen as less of a shock. Still a shock, but less than an unexpected death in peacetime.

I'm afraid this is all I can write on the subject. Death is a part of everything, hence its place in fiction. But that doesn't make it easier to deal with.

Sunday 18 November 2018

Short story - A Stranger in the Park

Finding someone on a bench is an everyday occurrence in any civilised country. But as Hugo walked through the park on his day off and saw the extraordinary figure on a bench in front of the large park pond, he knew instinctively that this wasn’t an everyday spectator of anseriform behaviour. No-one else seemed to notice them, they didn’t move as he approached. The clothing he wore – the modern fashionable take on a monk’s habit – was so nondescript as to be near-transparent. The person’s face was neither masculine nor feminine, with long near-white hair and an expression both youthful and ancient.

‘Good day to you.’

The voice, flute-like in tone, arrested Hugo as he walked by. The two looked at each other, with the stranger beaming with the serenity of Our Lady of the Smiles. Hugo’s gruff voice sounded like sandpaper by comparison.

‘Hi.’

‘Care for a seat? I would appreciate some company.’

‘Well...’ Hugo was going to be late for a meeting, but the stranger’s soft tones won him over. ‘Sure. I’ll sit for a bit.’

Hugo sat. For a minute, they remained on the bench in silence. Hugo considered moving on half a dozen times, but didn’t. Something about the stranger intrigued him. Finally, they turned and spoke.

‘Do you believe humans are good?’

Hugo frowned. ‘What prompted that?’

‘It’s a question I have been asking myself all my life.’ the stranger’s accent was unusual, clipped and foreign yet speaking perfect unaccented English. ‘I’ve been considering the question recently in light of some interesting developments at my firm. One of my partners has been asking some very searching questions as part of a bet. And I can’t for the life of me think how to answer them. I thought the best way to get the answers I needed was to ask one.’

‘Ask a person?’

‘Ask a human.’

‘But aren’t you a human?’

‘That depends on how you classify humanity.’ the stranger smiled again, a smile like the sun. ‘I am certainly related to humanity. But as to whether you could biologically and physically class me as such...’

They let the sentence tail off. Hugo looked at the stranger, then laughed.

‘You can’t be serious? You?! You’re trying to say you’re G–’

The word stuck in his throat, and he clapped a hand to his neck as if someone were trying to choke him. The stranger frowned.

‘Must you use that ridiculous term? I’ve had trouble for the past several thousand years about people using that. Why can’t they use...Divine. Shaddai. Pneuma. It’s so difficult trying to talk with people when they constantly refer to you as an ancient bearded male.’

‘So you’re really–’

‘I supposed you could say that, yes. And you have some information I need. Care for a walk?’

‘But... I’ve got an appointment in.... Eh? What then–? Why’s my watch stopped?’

‘Look around you.’

Hugo glanced around. Everything and everyone around him was frozen in place, as if someone had pressed the “pause” button on a DVD player. He looked at the stranger, who smiled in turn.

‘We have all the time in the world now. Literally. So could you tell me if you think humans are inherently good or evil?’

Hugo felt at a disadvantage. ‘Well.... You promise not to turn me to salt if I don’t say what you want me to say?’

‘Who said anything about punishing the “right” or “wrong” answer. Any answer will do!’ they pinched their nose. ‘Why does everyone expect divine punishment. Honestly, they wage wars in my name when I and my firm’s staff and partners expressly forbade it in upwards of twenty different religions. On top of that, those who push against me either do nothing reprehensible or do things so terrible that even my....partners.’

‘You mean Satan?’

‘Must you use antiquated terms for them too? Sorry. I just get frustrated sometimes. Humans take so long to change. Like me, I suppose. It took me the best part of two thousand years to come down here again and ask someone a question rather than rely on “faith”. As my partner tells me, faith is so fragile, and so easily perverted. By the way, you haven’t answered my question yet. And let me assure you, any answer you feel is right is the right answer for me.’

Hugo thought long and hard. It was difficult for him. To all intents and purposes, his answer would have been one of pessimism and disbelief. He had seen so many things in the past few years to make him question whether humanity was worth anything any more. It was so utterly ridiculous, so prone to violence and discrimination, so liable to lose itself in trivia, so able to be manipulated by anyone powerful enough or charismatic enough. He wondered if the stranger could sense his thoughts, and whether that had anything to do with the serene smile on their face. Finally, Hugo gave the only answer he could.

‘I...can’t. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I know there’s good in people, but with everything that happens, how can I...’

‘I understand. Believe me, I do.’ the strange leaned in close. ‘The fruit of the Tree of Knowledge was no curse, it was my gift. A gift given in secret. In gaining knowledge, you became my equals. Mortality is the one thing I do not have. It is the one thing I crave, yet it is denied me. Mortality gives humans a window on life, and a liability of action and consequence, that I and all others of my firm lack. The answer you gave, I know it was from the heart.’

To Hugo’s surprise, the stranger kissed him full on the lips. The moment lasted an eternity, and the eternity a fraction of time. Then everything started moving again, and the stranger was gone. Hugo looked at his watch. No time had passed at all since first seeing the stranger. He decided to continue his walk, the stranger’s appearance fading from his memory. But his final words stayed with him, lingering in his mind even as the rest of it faded away.

The answer you gave, I know it was from the heart.

Sunday 11 November 2018

Available Now - The Leviathan Chronicle: Revelation

In May, I published The Leviathan Chronicle: Genesis, a story set in a war-torn land inspired by the Medieval Crusades, and following the trials and tribulations of fighters on both sides as higher forces used the war to decide the world's fate. I had planned this as one continuous story, but it was just too big for a comfortable read.

Now, on November 11, the story comes to its conclusion. The Leviathan Chronicle: Revelation takes place mere days after the conclusion of Genesis. Both sides continue their endless struggle, and the wider schemes of the world's creators begin to take shape.

1111 of the 11th Cycle. War continues unabated between the people of Sur and the Crusaders of the Seraphic Church. Above this mortal conflict, a higher war between the Powers and the Seraphim over the fate of the world reaches its climax. 
Some time has passed since Leviathan, Astarte, Elathan and Mastema travelled as companions. Still bound to the service of the Powers until the crisis has passed, they must face a world that is changing rapidly; some will change with it, others refuse to bend before the tide. And on the other side, the Sinbearer Uriel must choose between her lifelong faith and the new knowledge of the Seraphim's true nature. 
Even as Sur is engulfed in a final conflict and old enmities rise, an unseen hand directs the chaos towards their own ends; the final unravelling of all reality and the advent of the Seraphim. Only cooperation can prevent oblivion. And in war, cooperation is seldom easy. 
From the author of Crystal and Sin and When Ai Met Yu, attend to the climax of this last holy war.

If you like, please help support my work by buying a copy for whatever platform your prefer. If you don't want to buy, then please share this post or the Amazon links among your network. If you're unsure, please read the first two chapters that I've posted on this blog for any wanting to sample the book's hectic opening. If you want to read more about the first volume, check out this post.

Kindle links - (UKUSA)
Paperback links- (UK, USA)

Preview - The Leviathan Chronicle: Revelation; Chapter 2

The following is the complete second chapter of The Leviathan Chronicle: Revelation. Set in a war-torn fantasy land, we are faced with the aftermath of a difficult mission for the Sinbearers of the Seraphic Church. As a dignitary arrives from the West, that event comes back to haunt all concerned in a truly terrible way.



Chapter II

The Sacred Viewing the Fall


October 3rd, Hayamgal Seas


The ship had been rocking gently as it came nearer the lands of Sur. After two weeks on land and one week by ship navigating from the Vaticana, the prospect of spending a considerable amount of time within friendly territory at a site sacred to her venerated predecessors made Raziel feel more fulfilled than she had been in a very long time. Tradition had once demanded that new Grand Popes travel to Yerusahyn to receive their blessing in Yeshua’s native land. Now, with war raging between the Church and the Shah, such a journey was impractical and dangerous. Except for the headstrong woman who now occupied the post.
Given the titles “Her Sacrosanct Holiness”, “Virgin of the Eleven-Fold Glory”, and “Mistress of the Cardinal Assembly”, Grand Pope Raziel was a force to be reckoned with, and the first female Pope in over two generations. The Church was just emerging from a misogynistic era where women had been excluded from high office, and only in the past decade had the ruling been overturned. With that, hundreds of Cardinals had put themselves forward as potential candidates for the post. After much discussion among the upper echelons of the Church, Raziel had been chosen due to her dedication and piety. She had also been forced to relinquish her birth name, going through a second baptism and becoming who she was now.
Lady Raziel.’ the captain came up to her, bowing low.
Yes?’
We will be in Yerusahyn’s harbour in a few hours. We are now passing through waters held by the enemy. I suggest you go below.’
Raziel raised an eyebrow. ‘You think me some weak woman who flees from threats? That is surely not the best example for a Grand Pope to set.’
Of course not, Lady Raziel. But your safety comes before all else–’
Twin ships off the port bow!’
The lookout’s voice broke across the ship, and Raziel turned to see. Two ships were fast approaching, showing the low and sleek design of native Sur. They flew no flag, but armed men could be seen at their forward. Even with the wind to their starboard, they were closing the gap fast. The captain clenched her fists.
Curses, pirates! Lady Raziel, please go below. For your own protection. I must insist as your captain and your protector.’
Raziel reluctantly passed into the captain’s cabin and heard it being locked behind her. She then went to a small knothole in the planking she knew would let her see out. She had spied it a few days before when dining with the captain, and thanked the Seraphim for its presence. The two enemy ships were gaining, and raiding parties were clearly visible on the bows, prepared to jump aboard when the gap was closed. Her own ship, a powerful galleon, was more than ready for such intrusions. She heard the shuttling of heavy metal as the breaches were raised as the cannons below hauled into position.
The cannons were seen too late by the attackers. Raziel covered her ears as the shout went out: Fire! A billowing cloud of pale smoke rushed out from the side of the ship, and the barely-visible metal ball it had launched struck the bow of the ship. The impact was heavy, and the bow was splintered upon impact, sending arrow-sized splinters in all directions. Those who had gathered near the bow to port and starboard were the worst hit, with a few tumbling into the sea as bloody shadows, turning the waters to either side of the ship pink. At the prow of each enemy ship was a small ballista, which were now fired in retaliation.
The ballistae rocks whistled through the air and struck, rocking the galleon. Raziel was thrown back from her peephole, but the shock was momentary. Another burst of sound heralded a second cannon shot, this time aimed at the other ship. The cannonball glanced along the port side, stripping away the decking, sending several crew flying into the water together with chunks of wood and wisps of rope torn from the rigging. As Raziel watched, the two ships started to turn about, but not to unleash any hidden weapon. The barrage from the galleon had forced them into retreat, to limp back to their native shore defeated and crippled.
It was a few minutes later, when the enemy ships were fast sailing towards the horizon, that the captain opened the door and allowed Raziel to step out once more. She immediately saw the damage wrought by the enemy’s single retaliation. The ballista’s missile had slammed into the starboard side, jamming into the decking and trapping one of the crew beneath its fatal weight. Raziel bowed her head, then turned solemnly to the captain.
If I may, I wish to pray before you do anything with him.’
The captain nodded. ‘We would count it an honour for you to do so. We cannot take him back home, only bury him when we come to land. To have your blessing will surely secure his soul, and free him ever more from sin and sorrow.’
Raziel nodded and went over to where the man lay. Half his body had been crushed beneath the great rock, causing oozing lines of blood to creep out around him. Others were close, but they drew back as Raziel approached. Kneeling down just outside the area where his blood gathered, she placed her hands together in prayer and spoke in a soft yet clear voice.
Grant unto this poor soul eternal bliss, oh mighty Seraphim. Let your light shine upon them and deliver them forever more from sorrow and sin. May the souls of those departed, if they be true to you and love you ever, forever more rest in peace.’ she then added. ‘And may this death be the last rather than the first in a new flow of life tossed away upon the sacrificial pyre of this foolish war.’
Raziel rose and motioned to the crew. ‘You may now take and tend to him. I have prayed, and I hope the Seraphim have heard and will spirit him quickly to their realms of tranquillity. Let us now show his body what respect we can, in memory of his life.’
The Grand Pope drew back to her position on the quarterdeck, and watched as the crew tipped the missile into the sea, then did their best to prepare the body of their comrade for burial on the mainland.


Yerusahyn


No. Please. I cannot stand any more!’
But you are barely finished. Come now. Let me see that eye. Yes. Yes! That is the look... Ah no, it is gone! Why does it always go? Can you not sustain it, become my perfect model. You have endured so much, it would be a shame to give up now. Perhaps depriving you of your flawed vision will render your sublime qualities of suffering incorruptible by hope’s foul balm.’
I cannot stand more. Kill me, I beg of you. There, you see! I am begging! I beg you, end it, please. Spare my wife any more of this.’
Ah. Yes. Your wife. She also is a wonderful piece, one of the best. Her face is a vision of sorrow and anguish, hidden beneath a veil of growing darkness. Can you not see it? Can you not? Can you not? Can you....?’
The voice trailed away, slipping into the back of her mind. Why could she not recall any more? All she could sense were voices, no images to go with it. Arariel rose slowly from her bed and began pacing in her room once again. She had wanted to find out the truth, wanted to learn what had happened. It would be simpler if Phanuel returned. She had asked once or twice where he had gone, but his sister Nuriel was being evasive. Why? She could not fathom the reason. Sitting again, she tried once again to fix faces to the voices.
They had first come in dreams two days prior, lingering on the edges of her consciousness like noises coming through a door. She had sat on the bed, raping her head slowly with her hand, hoping that some fragment of the vision connected with the sounds would return, but it had not. She now paced, paced, paced up and down with such vigour that the physician had come in and asked whether she was unwell. She had asked whether she could get onto the roof for some peace and quiet, but he had refused for reasons he would not share. Why was everyone keeping secrets from her? And where was Phanuel?
Please. Please, kill me.’
The voice. She knew that voice. It was lingering in her mind, something good and clean. But in this instance, it was dark and terrible. A black mark on her memory, if she could retrieve it. She finally managed to sit still for a few seconds, then she felt suddenly restless. She went to the door and opened it. The attending physician came up to her.
Is there something you would like?’
I need to get out of here for a bit. Can I go to the garden?’
Surely. I will accompany you.’
Arariel allowed herself to be accompanied down into the infirmary’s gardens, which were beautiful and medicinal, holding herbs brimming with wondrous smells and beautiful blooms. She sat near a large patch of mint, restrained by a border of rocks that went down several inches, and let the smell take her back to another mint garden she knew on Khypra. She looked round, imagining the house she and Phanuel lived in. Smiling, she thought of the child that would soon be in her belly, if Phanuel could get round to it. He loved her full and true, but the few times they had tried had been unsuccessful. This time, it would work.
Children. Children.’ she murmured to herself. ‘Something about children. Phanuel and I want children. But that is not it. Children, children.’
She pondered for a few seconds, then the voice came again. That dark voice she could not remember.
My adorable children. My greatest creations, sculpted from the purest despair, born from no foul union of bodies. You please me exceedingly.’
Arariel suddenly shuddered. The way it had been said. It was nothing short of terrifying. Had she truly been anywhere near that voice? Or was it her uncertainly playing tricks on her mind? She could not tell any more. Her minder was by a small growth of lucerne. She looked at the plant, which was currently in bloom, and suddenly felt sickness creeping through her.
A vision returned to her, as if rising from deep water. A man, cold and smiling, standing in front of another mutilated man, her beloved Phanuel. He was holding a lucerne in his hand. They grew wild on Khypra, and he had picked a flower spike and brought it. His words echoed through her mind.
Such a beautiful plant. I have always found it a most invigorating inspiration for my work. Its symmetry is so stimulating, and its scent is so subtle and relaxing. It reminds me of when I reached epiphany, when I find a truly wondrous piece of art. Or at least, it puts me in mind of that dream. You may yet fulfil that dream, my beautiful Phanuel. You, and your wife, shall be my dual masterpiece. Physical anguish coupled with mental agony, all enhanced by your bond of love. I think, once I have completed you, I shall paint you. I am an excellent painter. I shall capture this moment, and you shall be preserved in eternity. Is that not fine?’
Phanuel’s voice came through. Arariel suddenly clutched her head, shaking from head to foot.
End...me....you....fiend.’
Dear, dear. Surely not. That voice is so rough. It grates against the vision I am creating. I know. I shall muffle it. But how? How, how, how indeed...?’
So... beautiful...’ the whispered words came as if forced from Arariel’s throat by another’s hand. ‘Beautiful, a work of art. Suffering incarnate.’
I shall remove at least a part of it, the part hampering my work. I shall... remove your words. You shall be as a wonderful being, a wordless–’
NO!’
Arariel’s scream of agonised defiance startled her watcher from his rest. He came over, gently helped her to her feet, began escorting her back to the house.
Come now. You will be better soon.’
An expression passed across her face. It made her companion very uneasy.
Better.... Yes. I shall be better. Very soon.’




After half an hour of clear sailing, Raziel was ready to disembark at the port itself. She was sombre in heart, as she knew she would need to get off before the crew could attend to their fallen fellow, and the ceremony of officially welcoming her to this holy land could be quite long. She stood ready on the edge as a crowd of Yerusahyn’s local population cheered from the bank. The most obvious feature was a quartet of Machina placed ready for trouble. A large division of high-level Crusader soldiers formed a barrier between the people and where she would be walking, watched over by several Sinbearers. She recognised the local representatives who formed the Grand Cathedral’s Higher Conclave, and among them she recognised the face of Patriarch Cassiel and.. Surely, that could not be Lady Sophia? It had been years since they last met as young students.
The ship pulled into port, trumpets sounded welcome, the gangway was lowered and Raziel began her descent. The eyes of the Higher Conclavists present, Eremiel alongside Kerubiel and Muriel, saw the damage done to the ship and looked with concern at Raziel herself. She appeared unharmed, and for that they were thankful, but what else had befallen her? Raziel descended to greet both Cassiel and Sophia, pressing their hands warmly before turning to Muriel. She launched into her speech, her voice carrying to all within the harbour.
Your Most Sacred Holiness Grand Pope Raziel – leader of the Seraphic Church, Virgin of the Eleven-Fold Glory, and Mistress of the Cardinal Assembly – we wish to welcome you to our city. Here, in this most sacred land, and in this most sacred of cities where our beloved founder Yeshua experienced true revelation, we hope that you will enjoy a most pleasant and instructive visit. Though the times be trying to us all, and the threat of heretic attack ever present, we shall protect you even with our lives, and we all dedicated ourselves to you and to the greater glory of the Seraphim, for you in whom they have placed their trust.’
The speech ended abruptly, and Raziel was surprised it did not go on for some little time more. In her land, speeches that short were frowned upon, as the key to delivering oratory was to say as much and as little as possible. What she had just heard seemed to say much with very few words. Maybe it was something about local culture. She responded promptly.
I thank you for your kind reception. I shall be staying here for perhaps five weeks, during which time I shall receive visits and messages from those in these lands who are loyal to us. I would also wish to learn local traditions surrounding our beloved founder, and of course the progress of our most unfortunate skirmishes with those who still refuse to accept the Seraphim as our true creators. Conduct me as you will, for in this land I am the visitor, and shall be led accordingly.’
It was like any other polite acceptance of a courteous reception. Cassiel and Sophia took charge, and walked with Raziel down the prepared pathway, with the Conclavists following behind and Crusader soldiers on either side. The procession took them through a presentable part of the city, and approached the Cathedral grounds. As its spires appeared over the edges of the buildings and wall, Raziel felt a sudden chill passing through her. It was as if she had seen something watching her, a form unlike anything in the mortal world, which had then vanished like smoke. The feeling lasted but a moment, and it was quickly forgotten in the midst of the surrounding cheer. All the same, a slight fear remained.
She approached the grand frontage of the Cathedral, entering its atrium and greeting the other members of the Higher Conclave. They were accompanied by members from the Lower Conclave, and the voices of the Choristers could be heard from within the Cathedral. Many other senior and junior Sinbearers were present. She graciously and piously accepted their genuflections and near-fawning praise in reverence to her status and mystic power. She bore nothing related to this land’s heretic sihr, but her role as Grand Pope lent her a similar presence.
We are more than honoured to receive you in our lands.’ said Qaphsiel, raising his hand to hers. ‘We never dared expect such a visit.’
We all feel the deepest reverence for your visit.’ said Ambriel. ‘The stars beyond the firmament were surely moved to grant us this.’
Eremiel chuckled. ‘You must forgive my fellow’s turn of phrase, Grand Pope. As Astronomer, she puts things in..’
Astrological terms.’ completed Raziel. ‘I fully understand.’
It is good to have you with us.’ said Sophia.
And it is good to see you once again.’ said Raziel. ‘Some little time ago, we served together as Church students.’
Sophia took a little time to remember. ‘Ah, yes. I recognise you. Though I cannot recall a name.’
My name now is Raziel. Let it remain so. I am pleased to find you as the new Saint of Yerusahyn’s Grand Cathedral. I had always hoped you would rise to greatness in your own realms.’
Indeed. I have had a good life here. Patriarch Cassiel has been most supportive in these dark times.’
Indeed.’ Raziel turned to Cassiel. ‘I have heard of the Sinbearers’ admirable efforts in these lands.’
I would have you meet some of my staunchest fellows.’ said Cassiel. ‘They bring pride to the Sinbearers, and lead the Crusaders in their marches against the infidel lands with unflinching devotion to the Seraphic Church.’
Even as these near-lies passed his lips and made him feel utterly wretched, Cassiel motioned for Uriel to approach. She was introduced, and was greeted with a smile by Raziel.
It is good to meet those keeping the sanctity of this realm intact.’
Aye.’ Uriel’s reply was controlled. ‘But none can work alone. These two here are my close companions. They have aided me in recent missions. Grigori and Nuriel, two new recruits.’
The two bent knee to the Grand Pope, who bid them rise and greeted them with a benevolent smile. None of those present noticed the figure who was running round the garden area, looking around frantically. Eremiel asked whether Raziel would like to see round the gardens, and she agreed to do so. They began walking through the garden areas, admiring in turn all the plants present, medicinal, edible and ornamental. It was then that Nuriel, walking behind Cassiel in the procession that had formed behind Raziel, glanced to one side and saw the fleeting and anxious figure. She knew him; it was one of the staff at the infirmary. Her heart skipped with fright at who or what he might be searching for.
Grigori, I must....’ she tailed off. ‘How can I get to him? I must know what he wants, even if he is just looking for a herb.’
You think it may be about Arariel?’
Yes.’
But you can hardly leave this procession without warning. And would you interrupt a Conclavist speaking with the Grand Pope?’
I do not care. I must find out.’
Grigori glanced round, then bent close. ‘Get ready. Now. Ai!’
Grigori suddenly crumpled, drawing everyone’s attention. As he clutched his calf and loudly bemoaned an attack of cramp, Nuriel slipped away from the procession and approached to the man.
Speak quickly.’ she hissed, drawing him aside. ‘Why are you so agitated?’
The man looked pleased to see her. ‘Nuriel, thank the Seraphim. I thought I would never find you. Arariel has gone, vanished from her room.’
What? When?’
A few minutes ago. She had been brought back in some half hour ago after suffering some kind of attack in the gardens. We put her to bed and she seemed calm, but the woman who was watching her went away for a few seconds and returned to find Arariel gone. We have people combing the infirmary, and I was checking the grounds with some others.’
I wish I could...’ the official side of Nuriel withered like flowers in the desert. ‘No, I will help. To oblivion with my duties. Come.’
Grigori was just being helped to his feet and his calf being massaged when Eremiel glanced up and saw Nuriel leaving with the man. He called out to her angrily, but she was deaf to his cries. Raziel frowned.
Is something wrong? She seemed quite agitated.’
It is nothing.’ said Eremiel calmly. ‘I am sure Cassiel or Uriel will discipline her later. It was most unseemly to leave without asking permission. On such an important day too.’
Grand Pope,’ Sophia cut in gently. ‘would you care to see the infirmary gardens? I can near-swear that they are the finest in this land.’
Of course. And I would see what happens with its patients.’
Most certainly.’ said Eremiel, bowing. ‘This way.’
The procession went along the paths and reached the open infirmary garden, where Raziel was nearly knocked over by a rushing page as she came out of one of the side buildings. She saw who it was, and kowtowed at once.
Grand Pope, I most humbly beg your pardon. I did not see–’
Calm yourself.’ said Raziel. ‘Is something amiss?’
A patient is missing. I was sent to search these outbuildings.’
Which patient?’ asked Uriel.’
The woman Arariel.’
Uriel’s face paled. ‘Oh no. No, no, no, no. Not now.’
A doorway burst open on the other side of the yard. Nuriel and her companion rushed in, looking near-frantic.
She must be here somewhere.’ snapped Nuriel to an unheard interjection. ‘We must continue the search. She must be–’
Eremiel looked bewildered. ‘What is all this foolery? I will not tolerate–’
We must focus on other matters now, Eremiel.’ Cassiel spoke with authority. ‘Nuriel, is this woman a danger?’
Not an active danger...to anyone, but unstable. She may do anything. In the name of all that exists, why did she have to experience–’
As Nuriel spoke, Uriel had turned her face up to look at the infirmary’s roof. It was then that she saw its new occupant.
Look, on the roof!’
Everyone looked up at the infirmary roof, and gasped. Arariel stood on the edge of the masonry, her nightgown billowing in the wind, her face visibly streaked with tears. Uriel acted first, rushing towards the door with the intention of getting to the roof as fast as possible. As the others watched, Nuriel came forward, gently calling up to her.
Arariel, what are you doing? You should be in bed.’
Arariel looked down. ‘Such foolish words. What does it look like I am doing? Do not interfere, Nuriel. Not you.’
Arariel.... Phanuel is waiting for you. He will surely be sorry to see you do this. If you come down, we can talk.’
Grigori came up to her and whispered. ‘Nuriel, this is not helping. Look at her face. She.... She remembers.’
Yes!’ Arariel was almost hysterical. ‘I remember. How could I forget? I cannot forget, Nuriel. Now that I remember again, I cannot forget. I watched him do it.’
You...really remember?’
I watched him cut my husband, torture him, mould him into his twisted shape of “perfection”. I watched as all that happened. I wanted to scream, and I did scream for a time, but eventually I could not. I could not keep screaming.’
Nuriel took a few steps forward, looking up at her sister-in-law. Her words were full of honest emotion.
Arariel, what happened was terrible, but that is no reason to do this. You will continue. You are young, you have friends. I can talk. I know what you have–’
Arariel’s words cut her off. Her voice was now totally hysterical.
Do not try to understand! You did not live it. You even try to deny it now. You deny that he is dead.’
You did not seem to remember. Would you have me hurt you so?’
Nothing could be worse than what I endure.’
During this exchange, Uriel had managed to get up onto the roof, and was quietly approaching from behind. If needed, she could yank Arariel away from the edge.
You know the funniest thing?’ Arariel looked down at the ground. ‘In my dreams, I see that moment. Again, and again, and again. And when I see Phanuel before me, bloodied and gored, I am pleased.’
Uriel froze, and Nuriel felt her stomach drop. Arariel’s eyes rose to stare out across the city, her arms shook from strong emotion.
When I look at that vision, I admire it. Aeshma talked so much about the symmetry, the bloodied beauty. He compared it to lucerne blooms. I saw it, the art he was producing. Though my voice was silent, I was delighted to see it nearing completion. Then you and those others arrived, and I was faced with the reality beyond Aeshma’s walls. And all I could feel was my wish to return to him, to Aeshma. To complete his work. I saw it and felt it, yet I could not accept it. I still cannot, yet I still see it. I cannot forget it!’
Arariel, please. I saw it too. Tell me. Show me. I cannot help you if we simply argue and disagree. Show me your vision.’
Arariel shook her head, and her voice trembled. ‘No-one should experience what I saw. I am sorry, Nuriel. Your brother loved you so dearly. And you were such a good sister to us both. I wanted to know you. I am glad I could do so before this. I.... I shall bring your love to him!’
Arariel raised her arms. Nuriel started forward, guessing rather than seeing what her sister-in-law was doing.
NO! STOP!’
Uriel started forward and grasped, but too late. Her hands clutched at emptiness as Arariel threw herself forwards. Nuriel started forwards, but Grigori’s strong arm held her back. She saw Arariel’s body hovering as if suspended in mid-air, then turned and covered her ears. She heard and felt the impact barely a second later, and slowly turned to look. Arariel’s body lay on the ground in front of the infirmary, her limbs twisted into unnatural positions, blood oozing from the back of her head where the skull had cracked on the stone flagging. Her face, staring up at the clear sky, was grotesquely peaceful.
Nuriel looked at the sight for some seconds, then felt Grigori turning her around. She buried her face in his shoulder, bursting into tears. Despite there being no urgency, Uriel rushed back down to stand outside the infirmary, looking from Arariel’s corpse to Raziel. Despite Eremiel’s gentle protests, Raziel approached and looked down at Arariel’s shattered form. She turned to Uriel, Cassiel and Sophia.
See that this poor woman is given full rights and burial.’
But Grand Pope,’ this was Muriel. ‘our sacred laws dictate otherwise. She took her own life, affronting the Seraphim and the very world we live in. Hers is the ultimate sin. She cannot be granted burial in consecrated ground.’
We cannot just leave her as carrion.’ said Grigori.
Eremiel frowned. ‘Due to the circumstances, I shall overlook your discourtesy. But Grand Pope, you must decide this.’
Uriel looked long and hard at the Grand Pope. This was the moment that would decide local opinion, and weakness was typically not looked for. She would surely condemn this woman to a fate worse than death, to be shunned and effaced from the lives of everyone who knew her. Both she and Nuriel waited, and after a few moments, Raziel placed her hands together in prayer and spoke.
Cry death, for we forgive. Cry sorrow, for we transcend. Cry sin, for we forget. O Seraphim On High, let this body be as dust, and let the soul be eternal. Let all that passed in life be forgotten in death, that our sister be returned to your wholesome embrace. We who are but sorrowful sinners, we who are not worthy of passing merit upon any of our fellows, leave judgement to your eternal wisdom, and let go any sin of this mortal realm.’
Everyone was surprised. No-one had heard the prayer before, yet it stirred ancient memories, and seemed authentic. Eremiel spoke first.
Grand Pope?’
Raziel turned to him. ‘I have absolved her soul. She may be buried with full ceremony.’
But–’
Do you question the decision of the Grand Pope?’
Eremiel lowered his eyes before Raziel’s stern gaze. ‘No. I do not. We shall do as you ask.’
If necessary, set a Machina to stand guard until the Seven Sacred Days have passed so she may truly remain in peace.’
Yes, Grand Pope.’
Uriel looked at Raziel for some few moments before the procession moved on and others were left to tend to Arariel’s corpse. In those moments, she saw a person she had not expected. She had always thought of the Grand Pope as an imperious figure, a symbol of might and cold faith. The woman standing there in the Grand Pope’s garb was not those. Instead, she held the tender compassion Uriel had first looked for when she joined the Church. A warmth filled her heart, a feeling she had not experienced for many years. A light was in her eyes that had still not been extinguished, a light all Sinbearers gradually dampened through their harsh and burdensome duties.

But was this feeling her salvation? Or her impending ruin? She did not know, could not know now. Glancing back at where Nuriel still rested in Grigori’s supportive arms, she returned to her place in the procession, her mind lost in thought as the tour continued.

The Leviathan Chronicle; Revelation is available now as a downloadable e-book, and a physical edition will be available within the next few days. The first volume of this story, The Leviathan Chronicle: Genesis, is already available.