20 December 2004

First Draft Done, 51,777 total words.

Bear in mind this is a first draft. I still have one Tracker, Tracker2, unnamed. And, my decision to turn Tracker3 into a woman, and back-propagate this concept has not been fully realized. She transmogrifies somewhere along the way.

And there are a lot of typos of the variety "their" instead of "there" and vice versa. Or "th" instead of "the". Or "the" instead of "then". And cases where the same descriptive word gets repeated two or three sentences in a row, which I've always found annoying. Or something is described, then re-described within the same paragraph.

Other than that, it's not horrible.

I have printed out a copy in landscape format, two columns, type size 10.5. This makes it look almost like a book when you read it, the size of a somewhat oversized paperback. Printed that way, with full page breaks between chapters, it is 144 pages.

Now I shall set it aside until mid January. Then I will read it carefully, red pen in hand, and make notes about things that were plot developments that need some tweaking, or that maybe I had completely forgot. Look at tense changes, etc. Make sure all the correctly spelled words are the correct words. This should take January and February to do. Then, I plan to partake in NaNoEdMo in March. National Novel Editing Month.

And then, I shall have my personal contest to see how many rejection slips I can garner.

fb

12 December 2004

50,978

I have added almost 1000 more words, and done some really minor edits. I estimate that it will be another 1500 words to complete.

I will not post anymore excerpts because then you will know the end, silly.

If you want a copy of the mostly unedited rough draft, you can say so in the comments, or you can email me at theglob@comcast.net

msc

02 December 2004

more more more

Sylk reflected on the fact that everyone assumed The Arbiter had been eliminated. As he had walked through the crowd, he had given a dismissive “Bah” to the crowd in response to any question or solicitation from the crowd. Now Sylk realized that it had given The Arbiter the opportunity to leave and not be followed. Brilliant!

He wondered what could possibly be on those sheaves of parchment. And why were they just now called for, instead of at the beginning? More and more questions were being introduced into Sylk’s world and precious few answers. While his mind was thus occupied, his Mentor came into the hut. This startled Sylk, as he had not noticed his Mentor’s approach. And he had been trying to pay attention. Wondering when he had lost track, he decided to go to Moa’qi and ask. But, again, when he approached Moa’qi, his Mentor glided away. Disappointed, he returned to his original vantage point, and waited for The Muktai, like everyone else.

A stirring in the crowd brought him to the present, and he watched as The Muktai filed in. The first Muktai stood and announced “We will vote. Since there are four candidates, the potential exists for a tie. In such event, the persons with the most votes will remain, be that two or three people. The fourth will leave. We repeat until one man is standing.” With a smile for the crowd, and a nod to Steropé, he added, “Or woman.”

He then formally addressed the crowd, “Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”
The next Muktai stood and stated, “Tribe, I of The Muktai select Steropé.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Herbalist.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Buitre.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Steropé.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Buitre.”

The first Muktai stated “Herbalist, you are not selected.”

Visibly relived, and heaving a sigh of release, The Herbalist rose and eagerly joined the crowd. The Muktai all filed into a different room to re-haggle the vote.

The mood in the Deciding Hut was changed. The crowd had caught its second wind. The tension and excitement was palpable. They would have a First Chair soon, and it would be of these three. As the field narrowed, alliances were shifting. While The Arbiter was still far and away considered the most obvious candidate, he was no longer touted as the obviously better candidate. Both Buitre and Steropé were beginning to have their champions. No one really knew how this was going to turn out, which was a far cry from the morning common wisdom that Moa’qi held an automatic lock on the position. Many felt a sense of ‘good riddance’ toward The Herbalist. Others were dismayed at the fact The Arbiter had not been an obvious choice, and was currently in a three-way tie.

A hush fell as The Muktai filed back in. The ritual proceeded as before, each Muktai in turn calling out their selection.

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Steropé.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Buitre.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Steropé.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Buitre.”

The first Muktai stated “Steropé, you are not selected.”

Before she could move from her seat, The second Muktai stated “Buitre, you are not selected.”

Before he or she could move from their seats, the third Muktai bellowed to the room, “Tribe, First Chair; The Muktai summon the Moa’qi and The Nominees to the Deciding Hut at once.” As one they rose and went to the center alcove. Buitre and Steropé sat in some confusion while the New First Chair rose and gave direction to people standing nearby. Runners were dispatched to retrieve the nominees and Moa’qi. Meanwhile, he and Buitre and Steropé brought the chairs of the Nominees into the center Alcove. Sylk and The Herbalist, who were still in the Deciding Hut, were pressed into service to arrange the seating.

The chairs were arranged in a stylized manner. There were three rows, alternating three chairs, five chairs and three chairs. The middle row was extended to allow for more or less even spacing. The top chair of the middle column faced down that column toward the next. That faced the same direction as did the next two. The last face back toward the head. The two outer columns were mirrors of each other. The top two faced each other. The next two face each other as well. The bottom two however were angled such that they faced the very bottom chair of the middle column. The middle column was spaced such that the outer columns could see each other without impediment.

As the Summoned Ones came into the Central Alcove, First Chair ordered the Deciding Hut cleared. This was an unpopular pronouncement. Unrest seethed through the hut. It was late, people had not eaten, it was Deepest Dark out, and the curiosity of the Tribe was bordering on insurrection. Cooler heads managed to clear the hut, but the hubbub outside seemed to just get worse. Inside the Deciding Hut, the mood was a combination of grim and confused, excited and worried.

Buitre asked, of no one in particular, “Why is Moa’qi here? You summoned the Nominees.”

First Chair replied, “Moa’qi was the first Nominee, nominated by you Buitre.”
Buitre opened his mouth, closed it.

Sylk could feel the crowd outside growing more and more restless. He commented to the room that the Tribe seemed angry. Moa’qi spoke up, saying, “Yes, Sylk, we all hear them, but cooler heads will prevail.” Until that moment no one had been paying much attention to the crowd noise, as they were occupied with impending events inside the hut. Had Moa’qi not commented on the noise, and caused everyone to focus, they probably would not have noticed the change in the crowd, and heard Gwadi’s rhyming.
Gwadi, fearing the worst, had determined to make an effort at crowd control. She was waddling about under the burden of an enormous basket of cheese, in itself presenting a comical sight. She had robbed her stores and had virtually any kind of cheese someone might ask for. She walked through the crowd, waving pungent chunks of cheese under the noses of the hungry people. At first she was reduced to just pressing hunks of cheese into people’s hands, bidding them, “Eat!” Finally people’s hunger, aroused by their olfactory sense, crowded out any sense of outrage, and they began clamoring for this or that type of cheese. Responding to her captive audience, she began singing a kind of sing-song rhyme, somewhat suggestive as all her rhymes were, and of course somewhat diverting.

“Thootr Thootr
“Rhymes with Hooter
“How could anything else be cuter
“Than a bright red rigid Thootr?”

day aftermath

Haven't typed anymore on the story, but here is an excerpt:
“In fact, sirs, I only know that Moa’qi has a reason. I do not know the reason as he would not tell me. He did explain that it would make sense at the end of the day.”

The next Muktai in order addressed him, “Sylk, why did you accept the nomination?”

“Sirs, the answer to that is very like the first.”

The next Muktai actually stood and asked, “Sylk, do you expect to be elected?”

“Sirs, I do not expect to be elected. In point of fact, I think that would be a grave mistake. I have no credibility, and there would be chaos.”

The next Muktai passed on his question, as did the next. The sixth then addressed Sylk, “Sylk, you are talented and wise. One day you will be First Chair. I foresee this. If, that is, you remain with The Tribe. That eventuality is not seen in my cards.” Mumbling low to himself he added, “Which means that you exercise considerable control over your destiny.” Louder and to the room as a whole, he added, “Today, you are not elected. Return to the crowd.” The seventh and final Muktai simply stood, and began the procession out into the main room.

Sylk followed, and kept walking past the remainder of the nominees, and into the crowd. Nodding to his mother, he kept on going out one of the entrances. He wanted to find Moa’qi, have a word, and be back in time for to witness who was among the final for the vote. Each nominee would be questioned in turn. If any one of The Muktai felt they had potential, they would return to their seats, and await either more questioning, or the actual vote. Each round of questioning could result in a narrowing of the field. Sylk felt he had plenty of time, as he perceived at least two legitimate possible First Chairs, and at least one, maybe two wild cards. Homing in on his Mentor, he broke into a trot, full of questions.

As he went running, he detected that Moa’qi went running also, but away from him! Sylk stopped, and Moa’qi stopped. Sylk started again, and Moa’qi walked away as well. Sylk angled to intercept, and his Mentor changed course to avoid. Stopping again, this time his Mentor kept walking, but in no hurry, and sort of randomly. Sylk squatted and attempted to decipher what was happening. His Mentor must know he was trying to meet him. He could read the sign better than Sylk could. It could not be happenstance that he had maintained the same distance from him for the last several moments. Tardily he came to the realization that Moa’qi did not want to meet with him at this moment. He stood and turned back toward the Deciding Hut. He would watch the selection continue, and trust to Moa’qi to contact him when it was time.

After the first few steps, he realized that Moa’qi was shadowing him back to the Hut. Evidently his Mentor wanted to remain close, but not too close. This relieved Sylk somewhat, and so he focused his attention on the Deciding Hut, and by the time he could confirm with his eyes, he knew what progress had been made. As he entered the hut, he watched The Tanner meld into the crowd, and Vela Maker summoned to one of the rooms. The Herbalist was sitting on his stool. Buitre would be next, followed by Steropé and finally The Arbiter.

In Sylk’s estimation of things, The Herbalist was one wild card for First Chair and Steropé was the other possibility. True candidates he had decided were Buitre and The Arbiter. He watched as the Vela Maker returned after a brief moment, and entered the crowd. Buitre was summoned, and disappeared into an alcove with The Muktai. They stayed and stayed. A request for water was received and water was delivered. The crowd began to be restless, wondering why the delay. Buitre emerged at last, looking drawn. He took his stool, and Steropé was called. She disappeared into the next room, and was gone for approximately twice as long as what Sylk estimated his time had been. She also sat down and The Arbiter was called.

Unless something truly odd happened, Sylk reckoned that The Arbiter would join the other three, and then there may be a vote. Of course, The Muktai may choose to subject each to additional interviews.

The Arbiter emerged after only a few moments. This seemed odd, because he should be a prime candidate, and they should have a lot to ask of him. But, the Arbiter not only left the room, he walked past the other nominees, and left the Hut! The crowd was silenced until the Criers announced the news. A general sense of consternation pervaded the air of the Deciding Hut. The crowd was uneasy, and the folks outside were getting restless. Of the three candidates, there were those with strong objections to some or all.

Buitre was a solid member of the tribe, but it was acknowledged that he desired power. The Herbalist was simply not liked. Steropé was, well, a woman. The Tribe was a bit unnerved, having expected and been looking forward to Moa’qi and willing to fall back on The Arbiter. There seemed to be no consensus on the current nominees. It seemed that regardless of whom was picked, much of the Tribe would be unhappy.

The Muktai emerged from their room. Usually they all came out at the same time as the nominee, but the exit of The Arbiter had so distracted they crowd that they were unaware The Muktai had not emerged. This caused a nervous stir among the crowd. None of the older members could ever remember such a strange Deciding Hut. A lady to Sylk’s left commented, “How very very weird. Suppose The Herbalist is named First Chair. His first official act will be to decide on the conflict between The Herbalist and Gwadi! How is he going to do that?” There were murmurs of acknowledgment to this comment, and it traveled around the room, becoming such a prevalent topic that one of the Criers actually shouted it out to the crowd waiting outside.

“Silence!” Bellowed the Muktai on the far left. “The Arbiter has not been eliminated. He has asked for brief recess while he gathers some information he says The Muktai need for the decision process. When he returns, the selection process continues.” He sat amid sounds of dismay and disbelief. Many common proceedings were being set aside, or bent to what some felt were past the breaking point. The level of anxiety became palpable.

The Arbiter returned, carrying sheaves of parchment. He handed these to the Card Reader, and The Muktai, without the nominees, went to the middle alcove for conference.

They were gone a really long time.

more later!

For now, I am off to THE HUNT!!

30 November 2004

Day 30, this am; 50,096


Official NaNoWriMo 2004 Winner!


I did it!!

No, it's not actually finished yet. Pretty close. Probably will be in another 1000 words or so.

Excerpts later. Woo hoo!

28 November 2004

Day 28, am, total word count, 47,549; 2083 this morning

well, I don't see how I can't get to 50 k by the 30th. I'd have to deliberately not do it.

The story won't be finished at 50k, I don't think. I need about another 5k to wrap it up.

excerpt:
When they had a moment of relative privacy, Moa’qi allowed himself a small congratulation. “Two wild cards came through there, Sylk. The Sacred One, and Steropé. Very nicely it did play. This afternoon we see if our plans bear fruit.

“Go see your mother. She will be looking for you.”

On the trip back to his hut, he found his mother walking along, talking to Gwadi. He greeted them, hugging his mother and smiling at Gwadi. His mother was congratulating Gwadi on her nomination of The Herbalist, but asked, “Do you think this will heal the rift?”

“No, it is just a start. But all things take time. Rushing things only spoils them. I should know.” She turned to Sylk, “How you holding up? Must seem odd being nominated…” She let it hang there, seeing if he would take the bait.

“I’m as surprised as anyone. Frankly, it seems to be to be a wasted nomination. No one is going to vote for a man barely out of trial for First Chair. I have no track record, no influence, no – credibility.”

Gwadi scanned his face, looking for clues as to his mindset. She was unable to find any, and this caused her to comment, “Maybe, maybe not. You are more assured than you should be. Which means you know something, or are very composed.”

She smiled at Anuncia, “Pardon on old cheese making fool. I’m just very used to looking at things and judging their readiness. He’s readier than most would suspect.” With that she turned down the path leading to her hut, and Sylk and Anuncia walked on, arm in arm. They did not talk, the time for talking was through. They walked alone with their thoughts, each with a concern about the upcoming vote, and the aftermath. They would just have time for a midday snack, and then it would be back to the deciding hut for the separate evaluations, and the vote.

Anuncia prepared a simple meal of bread and cheese, and they washed it down with water. Sylk then changed into less worn, more appropriate garments, a kind of cover up over his chest, and a longer more concealing breechclout. Suitably attired, he joined his mother, who he noted had taken time to change into a red and orange wrap, with flashes of green. He stopped and stared, trying to determine if it was just coincidence. “Come along, Sylk. What are you gawking at?”

“Mother, I have not seen that wrap before. But it reminds me of something from my trial. Where did you get it?”

Her eyes distant, Anuncia replied, “Your father designed it and had it made after his trial. He kept it until we married, then he presented it to me.”

‘After his trial?’, thought to himself. “Mother, who did Father’s Stand and Watch?”

“Jedediah himself.”

Sylk was quiet after this, his mind whirling through the possibilities. Their arrival at Center Village crowded out all other thoughts, and he collected himself, went inside to center stage, and took his former seat. Steropé came in and Sylk noted that she had also dressed for the occasion. She came up to him, shook his hand, and complimented his garb. Suddenly feeling flush, Sylk stammered a response, noting that she was very pretty. That was not what he meant to say, it had just come out, and was reduced to just sitting there looking up at her foolishly. Steropé laughed and thanked him, said she didn’t know he had noticed, turned away and, was that an exaggerated wiggle?, took her seat at the opposite end.

Sylk didn’t really notice anyone else coming in, he just sat staring at the dirt in front of him. He barely got through the reconvening of the Deciding Hut, and allowed himself to just be carried along with the flow of the events. He did not actually fully return mentally to the Deciding Hut until his name was called to go into one of the chambers off the main stage.

Single file, The Muktai filed off center stage and entered the first alcove. Sylk followed, trying to bring his head back into the game. He focused on listening with his feet, and identifying the various players of note within and without the hut. Strange, Moa’qi was not in the Deciding Hut. This revelation snapped his mind to where he was, and the plans unfolding even now. He caught sign of his Mentor on the edge of the village, coming in to the Hut. Where had he been off to? Sylk was now angry at himself, and sent his memory racing, trying to determine where his Mentor had gone, and when.

Bitterly, he realized that he had been so caught up with Steropé that he had no memory. Filing this fact away, he focused on being where he was now. All The Muktai took their seats, and Sylk stood front and center.

The Muktai that had summoned him after his nomination began The Query. “Sylk, why were you nominated?”

27 November 2004

Day 27, total word count 45,466 as of 10am Saturday the 27th.

2,047 words this morning, 1801 yesterday.

I have three more days to go, and only 4,534 words to go. Which means, at 2k per day, plus a little, I will finish Monday. If I write anything at all tonight, which I may not, since we are doing the tree thing and having Leon's woman over for cookie baking etc., I will finish a full day early!!

Oh, Tracker1 is now named Buitre. Tracker3 is named Steropé. Tracker2 seems to have dissappeared.

excerpts:
He resumed his trek toward Steropé. As he got nearer something began to bother him, but he could not tell what it was. He slowed and closed his eyes, listening, listening. He just couldn’t place what was bothering him, so decided to systematically check on everyone he cared or was concerned about. Buitre was at The Herbalist’s. Nothing seemed specifically wrong, though he felt there may be some kind of stiffness, or strain of some sort between them. But it was not the source of his unease.

Next he checked on his mother. She seemed to be fine, just walking about the hut, doing whatever. Wait. What was that? In a flash, he was running for home, pounding down the dirt path as fast as he had ever run. Someone was stalking his mother, and they were close. Rounding a hut and speeding down the lane, his hut came into view. He slowed, determining to walk casually to his hut, and ‘accidentally’ surprise whoever it was. He realized that Moa’qi was approaching from the left as well, and felt an inward relief. Whoever, or whatever it was, was on the other side of the hut, near one of the windows. “Anuncia!” It was his Master. Or Mentor, rather. That still bothered him inside, but he couldn’t worry about that now. “Anuncia!” “Coming”, his mother replied from inside the house, and Sylk felt the intruder melt away in the opposite direction. Then the sense stopped, as if it had been lifted away.

His mother came out of the hut, and Sylk decided to hang back and circle around to see what he could see in the dirt behind the hut. Moa’qi continued on toward the hut, and engaged in some conversation with Anuncia. Sylk picked up the trail around back. It was some more of those foot prints left by someone in those food coverings. But, he had been completely unable to place it. There was something wrong about the stride as well. The foot fall didn’t look right, and the weight distribution was all wrong. He had no idea what he was looking at. The footsteps went on for some distance, then just disappeared. Sylk retraced, trying to see where he had lost them. Nothing, there they were, then there they weren’t. Stepping back he scratched his head and gazed blankly without focusing. Then he realized. The foot prints had joined together as if the person or thing was standing. The surrounding area had a mild blown back look, like a localized wind had blown down on to the foot prints. This was very confusing, and he didn’t know quite what to make about it, or what else to do about it. He decided to file it away, and quiz Moa’qi about it at day’s end. In the meantime, he decided to check on things at his hut, make sure mom was OK, and then continue on to Steropé.

At his hut, Moa’qi and Anuncia were talking about nothing at all in the entryway of the hut. Moa’qi appeared totally relaxed, and would not respond to Sylk’s subtle attempts to broach the subject of the intruder. Giving up on the attempt to get Moa’qi aside to quiz him about the stalker, Sylk advised his mother that he had made a barter with Gwadi for some quesocabra. He also explained that it would be delivered, then told his Mentor he would see him that afternoon at the Deciding Hut, and went on his way.

He walked away feeling decidedly uneasy. Something very unusual had come into the village, undetected by all save Moa’qi and himself. It had left as mysteriously as it had arrived, and the fact of its deliberate self-concealment seemed ominous. And was it coming to his hut on purpose, or just any hut? And if his hut, was it interested in him or his mother? And why would Moa’qi not make himself available for discussion? None of it made any sense. And it seemed particularly ominous in light of the coming events at the Decision Hut. A portent of things beyond control or influence, Sylk felt it vital to assess. Yet Moa’qi seemed uninterested. The extra uncalculated fluky nature of the event made Sylk extremely uneasy. Why was Moa’qi so reticent?

Feeling the need for some sort of positive action, Sylk determined now to follow-up on Steropé. He did a quick sensing and headed on over to The Herbalist, which Buitre had left, and Steropé was approaching. This he thought fortuitous, and hurried his pace to arrive shortly after Steropé. He went over in his mind again the plan designed by Moa’qi. A lot depended on Moa’qi’s read of how certain people would vote. He was particularly counting on Steropé, but Steropé had not been brought into the scheme. Sylk disagreed with this, feeling enough was in the hands of chance as it was. Moa’qi felt the character and relative quick wits of Steropé would suffice, and further believed that any overt attempt to establish a plan with multiple people could compromise Steropé, and actually endanger her.

Sylk was disinclined to agree; he would honor his Mentor’s wishes, but he still wanted to see and talk to the woman before tonight.

While on his way, he reviewed what he knew about Steropé. She was the only woman to be counted as a New Man, and a Warrior of the People. She was not one of the Sacred Ones, either, though she, like Moa’qi had no mate. Sylk had no idea how old she was, she seemed ageless in some way. There had been much consternation when she had demanded the right to Trial. Jedediah had made one of the few unpopular decisions of his reign as First Chair by permitting it to happen. Over the years, however, the fact of Steropé had become accepted, and, for the most part, no one thought much about it any longer. She was certainly among the most skilled in the tribe, both mentally and physically. She had been accepted as an equal by The Muktai, and was able to participate in all Tribal Rulings. She was a man in that respect, except she was a woman. The anomaly had ultimately been set aside as unimportant. Sylk realized as he thought about her that he was becoming totally fascinated by her, and the emotion confused him a bit. Now that he was a new man, he for the first time allowed himself thoughts of her as a woman. She was, he realized, a very striking woman at that. Sylk was not quite sure what to make of that. He kind of liked the emotion he was feeling, but wasn’t really sure what to make of it. Deciding to ignore the emotion for now, he made his way to The Herbalist.

No one in the tribe really liked The Herbalist. He was cold and distant, and could be petty and even mean. He was however, extremely talented regarding medicinal herbs, and herbs of general sana. He never failed to provide the right recipe for pretty much anyone ailments, whether it be an external bruise, or some internal injury, or broken bone. He was renowned for his headache recipe, which he had discovered on his own, and was some formulation from a certain tree bark. And, he was available to provide pain relieve of worse variety, and even, if need be, permanent pain relief for those terminal patients. This was the only time he seemed human. It genuinely affected him to have to use his herbs to kill. He did not like it, and resisted in all but the most extreme cases. He did truly have a gift. Some thought he had maybe sold his ama to the Giant Roble Tree outside of the village. In truth, he did in fact look like an old gnarled roble tree. While not liked, he was very respected for his skills and gifts, and being his apprentice would be quite a coup for the individual and a great benefit to the tribe.

He spied Steropé and The Herbalist up ahead. His hut had an additional room built onto the front, and it acted as a counseling/examination room, and medicinal formulary. He was inside the little room, with the oversized front flap propped up, creating a kind of bar area. Steropé was outside the hut, sitting on a stool, leaning over and talking earnestly to The Herbalist. He caught a fragment of the conversation as he walked up. “… how do you feel about gaining an apprentice?”

“Bah. I will live longer than anyone, as I know how to prepare my herbs and bark and roots. The tribe has no worries regarding how long I will be around.”

“Ok, but still, as a precaution…” hesitation, “never mind, that is not of any matter anyway. What matters is tonight. We can talk about what our children need tomorrow.” Here Steropé shifted position, and Sylk was suddenly aware of long supple brown legs. His arrival however, seemed to damper the conversation. He took a chance.

“Are you looking for an apprentice?”

The Herbalist turned away, making a production of looking for some specific herb for Steropé. She took advantage of this moment to flash Sylk a warning glare from angry eyes. Sylk was not sure how to read this. “Guess not”, he muttered. Turning to Steropé, he inquired after her health. She smiled and replied that she was “…fine thank you, and you?”

“I’m good”, Sylk replied. “A little tired, but looking forward to my first Decision Hut. Do you suppose my Master will be put forth for First Chair?”

The Herbalist snorted while turning around and addressed them both, “I am sure he will be nominated. In fact, there are not many who think there is any other choice. I for one realize that he surpasses any likely candidate. Yes, he will be put forth. Here is your formulation.” Sylk looked at the contents, hongos, sticks, some kind of root, sliced thin, some bark from a tree he recognized, but could not place, and something black and rubbery he had never seen.

“Thanks”, said Steropé. “Everything looks very fresh. Prepare in the usual manner?”

“Yes, put 1/3 of that package in the earthen pot I gave you, and boil with three measures of water for as long as it take you to add three more measures, while maintaining the original water level. After the third addition, remove from heat and drink it as soon as you are able to withstand the heat. That will be in the morning. Reserve the contents of the pot, and repeat the process tomorrow at Dark Fall. You may discard the contents at that time. Repeat next morning with the next third, and the day after, the next third. By the third day, you will want sleep. You should wake up on the fourth day with no complaints.”

“Thank you. I surely am indebted and grateful.”

“Bah”, was his only reply. He then turned a white bushy brow toward Sylk. “Well?”

and some more:
The Muktai to the immediate left of the one that had spoken, that would be to the right from the crowd’s vantage point, stood and announced they were accepting nominees for First Chair. Buitre immediately stood forth and nominated Moa’qi. There was a murmur in the crowd, and as the Criers called out to the village, Sylk could feel nervous movement outside. No one was surprised at the nomination, the were surprised at the nominator. Everyone there fully expected Moa’qi to be First Chair when it was all said and done. They just had not expected the nomination to come from Steropé or one of her ilk. The village was unaware of any affinity between Moa’qi and Buitre. To the people inside the Deciding Hut, it was a tad more unexpected as the body language of Buitre had revealed an unsuspected dislike for Moa’qi only moments earlier.

Moa’qi stood, and again addressed the gathering formally, “Muktai, Tribe. I respectfully decline Nomination for First Chair. I claim right as Eldest of The Tribe, to nominate someone in my place. I nominate Sylk, and relegate myself to Mentor of Sylk.”

This shocking announcement was met by a perplexed silence. The crowd outside began clamoring for word, and as the Criers began bellowing out this unexpected turn of events, the inside of the hut became riotous with shouts of dismay and surprise. Some were insulted, some felt it must be a joke. Many people just made angry noises. It was an insult and a slap to decline First Chair and nominate a child, some said. Others gathered their wits, and argued Moa’qi was well within his rights. Still others were just angry, and did not really know why. Many in the Deciding Hut were just excited. This was drama, and there was an affinity for drama and excitement among the Tribe.

The next Muktai in line stood and held his arms up toward the smoke hole. Slowly, for he was quite old himself, he approached the fire and threw a yellow powder into the flames. There was a roaring sound, and the flames leaped and expanded, and everyone felt a rush of heat. This was followed by an influx of air through the seven openings, and as the heat sucked wind and exhaled through the top of the hut, the crowd quieted. When the flames damped down to their former flicker, he addressed Moa’qi.

“You do not mean to mock the Deciding Hut?” It was phrased such that the crowd was unsure if it was a statement or a question.

Moa’qi stiffly replied, “I would not mock the Deciding Hut.”

The old Muktai turned to the other six and stated, “He is within his rights.” He returned to his seat, and the next Muktai stood and bellowed, “Sylk is nominated for First Chair. Sylk! Present Thyself!”

Trying to walk with calm confidence, struggling with butterflies and quivering legs, Sylk approached center stage and sat opposite the first of The Muktai to speak. When the last noise of the Criers had relayed this to the tribe outside, a hush fell. The pause grew turgid with expectancy. What would happen next?

The next Muktai stood and bellowed without ceremony, “Nominees!?”

Sitting, they waited for the next nominee. No one moved. Buitre was standing with a blank look on his face. All his plans had been laid low in one movement. This was a totally unexpected turn of events. He looked about, lost in his mind, trying to determine a way to salvage what had happened.

Gwadi the Cheese Maker stepped forward. “I nominate The Herbalist!

Now there was a sense of excitement in the hut as the news was transferred by the Criers to the anxious crowd outside. Again, a not unexpected nomination, and again a totally unexpected source of nomination. A party atmosphere began to grow outside the Deciding Hut. Inside the tension was of a different nature. However, there was a murmur of approval as it was realized this may heal the rift between Gwadi and The Herbalist. The next to last of the Muktai stood and bellowed, “The Herbalist is nominated for First Chair. Herbalist! Present Thyself!”

The Herbalist came forward with a bemused expression on his face, acknowledged The Muktai, nodded to Sylk, and took his place amid a buzz from the gallery. Again, The Muktai had to prompt for nominees, as none were forthcoming. The final Muktai stood and bellowed, “Nominees! And let us continue with alacrity!”

Two more people were nominated and summoned, taking their seats. One, the Tanner, was a good man. The other, the Vela Maker, was in the minds of many, kind of a throwaway nominee. They had to fill seven after all, and he had been nominated and lost before. But there were certain rights to having been nominated, and the Vela Maker was deserving of those rights, and no one wanted them to go away. The people were actually happy to see him up there again.

In the midst of the relative calm, Steropé stood, “I nominate Buitre!”

This again created a stir and as the Criers shouted out to the village, there was some dismay. Buitre was clearly a good man, very talented and knowledgeable. But, he seemed to be drawn to power, and there was some concern among the tribe. First Chair was a servant position, in essence. Many wondered if Buitre had the temperament for the position.

Buitre was visibly livid. He came forward, acknowledged the nomination, and sat gruffly, folding his arms and glaring at the ground before him.

Sylk had turned to watch as Steropé had made her nomination. He caught a glimpse of momentary triumph in Moa’qi’s eyes as she named Buitre. Sylk realized that Steropé had performed as Moa’qi had planned. He turned back around while Buitre approached center stage, and thought through the ramifications.

The last Tribal Sacred One stood and nominated Steropé. All the old wounds were torn open at that point. A woman could not be First Chair! It was unheard of, and unthinkable. Many thought Steropé was destined to be one of The Sacred Ones, as she had no mate, and seemed uninterested in men. Others noted she seemed uninterested in women as well, and therefore she was not likely a Sacred One. This started many side conversations regarding The Sacred Ones and their place in the Tribe. Often over the years there were no Sacred Ones. The anomaly that was a Sacred One just did not manifest that often. They were regarded as a sort of treasure, as they had sensibilities and a world view that often was beneficial to the Tribe. They were considered a gift, because, as noted, they were not always in place. It was not an elected position. A person was born to it or not.

The far more pressing issue was the fact that again the ranks of “Man Only” jobs were being threatened by a woman.
Steropé stood and strode majestically to center stage, and all the noise petered out. She was in fact well liked by all, and no one wanted to insult her, at least not to her face. She was the essence of composure as she took her seat.

The final nomination went to The Arbiter. This was the only other serious contender to First Chair after Moa’qi. The Arbiter was skilled at negotiating and conflict resolution. Many would support him and the crowd began to believe they were watching the New First Chair approach center stage.

The eldest of The Muktai stood and addressed the Tribe, “Behold, your nominees for First Chair! Let their names be remembered as they stand to present themselves.” One by one the nominees were called in reverse order:

25 November 2004

Day 25, Thanksgiving night, total words: 41,618

Total words typed today: 2,299. Why not one more word and make it 2300? Dunno. That's where I stopped.

I sleepy. L-Triptophan at work. Madame Bovarie, not being a bird eater, is sleepy from l-Triptoham.

Had a Happy Thanksgiving. Good Night. fb

ps What no excerpts? Please see my pay site, SignoftheScreamingforMoneyHead.com

har har de har.

Day 25, 40,570 total word count. Thanksgiving Day!!

Happy Thanksgiving Day, and here's to hoping my story is not a Turkey!!

Today's Thanksgiving Excerpt:
“More importantly, you have opened my mind to the possibility of accomplishing the required training. We shall have to make use of the subterfuge of the Morning Light Run and take advantage of those early hours just before the light chases the sombre away. You will have to will yourself to feel that sense again. Just at that moment when Dark yields to Light. In fact, I think it is related to the green flash phenomena.

“Regardless, at this point, I can no longer be your Master.”

Sylk gaped at Moa’qi. “B-b-but, w-why?”

“Because, you have surpassed me. You can do something that I cannot. I am now your Mentor, not your Master.”

Sylk just stared without fully appreciating Moa’qi’s point.

Beaming broadly, “Sylk, this is a good thing. In fact, it is a wonderful thing, and brings my plan to fruition. This is so fortuitous, it causes one to wonder.” Focusing on Sylk, he said carefully, “I need you to stay awake a little while longer. I have things to plan, and you need to understand carefully your role in tomorrow’s events. Can you do this?”

“Yes”, replied Sylk, fire dancing in his eyes.

Moa’qi began talking, and Sylk began listening with every fibre of his being. They planned and schemed until well into near First Light before Moa’qi stood and said it was time for sleep. Taking his leave, he bid Sylk to sleep well for, “Tomorrow is Important.”


Chapter the nearing the end

Sylk went into his sleeping room while his mother put away the mugs and tea kettle. Laying down, he rolled back over to ask her a question, and found his mother preparing breakfast in the bright of Day. It had happened again. He sat up and took stock. He felt great! Relaxed, rested, no stiffness, nothing sore. Another timeless sleep. He came smoothly and easily to his feet and walked in to the food prep area. Once again, he had forgotten the question he had rolled over to ask. Thinking this rather odd, he was quiet, exchanging minimal small talk with his mother while he ate and thought about the coming events.

“Mother?”

“Yes my son.”

“You are aware of today’s schemings and plans?”

“Yes my son.”

“Have you no thoughts on these matters?”

Anuncio paused in her cleaning of the cooking utensils. Turning to her son, she managed, with some pain, “Sylk, this day was foreordained when we lost your father. Moa’qi is a man apart from the tribe, beginning since the loss of my husband, and continuing with the passing of Jedediah. When I accepted him as your Sustito, I knew that my dreams of a simple life would end. There will be separation and trials, and”, here she stifled a sob, “and sadness. We come to a crossroads, ordained in time before any memory of the Tribe can access. Events unfold, and we must respond as best we can. And hope. Against hope.”

She turned away, but not before Sylk saw the tears. Not knowing what to say, or how to comfort her, he finished, put up his utensils, and hugged his mother for a long time. “I will be careful, my mother. I am well-trained, and not without some skill. But mostly, I know what I don’t know. That seems to me to be more important than anything, at this point.”

She just clung tight for a moment more, and then he was out the door and down the path toward Center Village.


At Center Village, the large but disposable Deciding Hut was well under construction. Here the drama would be enacted. Sylk reviewed carefully all the various parts of this play. Noting mentally the current whereabouts of the various players, sensed through his feet even through the bustle of the morning activities, he decided to reconnoiter.

He looked for Tracker1 first, deciding that would he could stumble across him the easiest, due to his current location, outside the cheese maker’s hut. It would be simple enough to barter for some cheese, if necessary, as it was a normal morning activity. He could tell Tracker1 was nervous and excited. He too, no doubt, had plans for today. There was a Mankala Game underway, and by DarkFall it would be known who had won and at what cost. Coming around one hut, Sylk saw the two talking, Tracker1 and Gwadi. Walking up, he exchanged the morning greetings, and bid them to continue their business. However, Tracker1 was loathe to continue, and made some excuse for not having made his selection yet. Clearly, he had things to say to Gwadi that he did not want Sylk privy to. So Sylk arranged for some quesocabra, including enough barter points for delivery, and went on his way. Mentally, he determined to be aware of who all Tracker1 visited this morning prior to Selection.

Next he went looking for his closest child friend. Krugar would not be expecting this, as Sylk was no longer a boy. But Krugar would be on his trial at the start of the Season Change, and Sylk wanted to make sure that once they were both Men, they would resume their association. Krugar was outside his hut, playing a game in the dirt with some other kids. He looked up as Sylk came toward him, smiling and obviously please to see his friend. Sylk knelt down, and greeted his friend enthusiastically, telling him the trial was not all that, and assuring him that he had complete faith his friend would give a good account of himself. “I look forward to your Ceremony, my childhood friend!” Krugar smiled, said thanks, and watched a little sadly as his boyhood friend walked away. They had stretched the strictures of custom just about as far as they could without drawing open comment, and Krugar was grateful.

Eat sparingly. fb

24 November 2004

Day 24, am; 38,590 total word count.

The Ceremony of Attainment:
She paused, stood, and hugged her son. “Come! The ceremony is beginning!”

Sylk realized he had been swaying to the drum beats as his mother had relayed the story. There was so much he wanted to know, about his Father, Jedediah, Moa’qi. But, it was going to have to wait. The Ceremony beckoned.

Exiting the hut, they made their way to the main thoroughfare, and into the center of the village. The fire had been started, and was climbing skyward sending sparks as messengers on up to the impenetrable dark above. They would tell those that live beyond the clouds, that the village had a new man, and an intrepid warrior. The drumming and foot stomping created a hypnotic vibration, all the more due to Sylk’s enhanced sensory perception.

Several children detached from the encircling crowd, and surrounded him, pulling and pushing and tugging at him. He was brought near to the bonfire, where a stool had been place, and made to sit amid laughter and smiles. The drumming was phased out, and replaced wholly by the foot stomping. Various sections began their rhythmic stomps. It was in fact a chorus, with bass and treble notes, and even solos. Complex patterns were evoked, and then the chanting began. It was a variation of the flora/fauna game, with chanting instead of whistling, and the added element of energetic stomping and whirling. The story was told again of the beginning of all the world, and the development of The People. Powers clashed, and deities came and went, worlds made and unmade, but the people were extant through it all. Into this was brought the Tale of Moab and The Seven Virgins, and his quest for knowledge and understanding, and most importantly, his place in the schema of life. There was an incredible journey over incomprehensible vastnesses of water bodies. Encounters were had with seven different resources, holders of knowledge and wisdom, in some cases. In others, the authors of trials that led Moab to his own discoveries, and his own successes and failures.

Ultimately, Moab became a man through interaction with one of the virgins. Which virgin usually changed, depending on who told the story, or the proclivities of the people listening to the story. Tonight it was Celebourine, the Riddler, and the Riddle was Sylk.

Fascinated by the story, and the rhythm, and nearly hypnotized by the total sensory experience, he wondered idly who was responsible for this riddling version, and if they knew how close to reality they were. For he realized his life was a riddle and that he must go on his own journey to seek the knowledge of the Seven Virgins. It was as he had this thought that he caught, amid the stomping, a familiar vibration. Searching the crowd of jumping swirling figures he saw who he was looking for. His Master, Moa’qi. Nodding in his direction, Moa’qi returned the nod, and disappeared into the undulating masses.

The story was ending, and the foot stomping slowed and quieted, and the drums picked up again. A slow mournful dirge began, and his Father was remembered by the tribe. It was the custom that the Father approach the Son and place the Circlet of Manhood upon the brow. But as his father was no more, his memory was paid respect by the tribe as a whole with this short memorial. As it ended, the stomping began again, and Moa’qi came from the crowd, bearing the Circlet. With each step the stomping became louder and more coherent. One foot up, step forward, foot begins downward measured step, just as it touches the ground, STOMP! Slow and measured, it was easy to believe the entire Tribe was walking toward him, embodied in the person of Moa’qi.

STOMP!

Complete silence, punctuated by the crackling of the fire. Moa’qi held forth the Circlet, mouthed something in the air in some language that Sylk could not place, and which only he could hear, then lightly dropped the Circlet atop his brown. Taking two steps back, Moa’qi turned to the Village and bellowed, “ BEHOLD!”
Hasta la bye bye.

23 November 2004

Day 23, pm; 37,302 total. 2111 today

Still on track to finish Nov 30.

Today's excerpt:
Tracker1 was just beginning to pick up his hiking kit when he saw Sylk approaching. This surprised him, and threw him even more off balance. He had no idea what to do or say. This was not a youth, not by Tribal custom, but, he was still young, and physically he was not fully into his prime. While he had no fondness for Sylk, he also harbored no particular ill will. He had called him a youth from force of habit.

Sylk walked up and performed the ritual greeting, and Tracker1 fell into the comfort of routine. They touched forehead, throat, solar plexus, bowed deeply and returned to lock gazes. Sylk said “Good Fortune on your Return”, a neutral greeting with no overtones. Tracker1 responded equally neutral with, “May your dew gatherers be overflowing.”

Formalities ended, the stood for a moment. Tracker1 looked at Sylk and said, “I know that you have passed your Trial, and are no youth.”

Sylk replied, “I do not believe you intended insult. Much of the normal routine is gone. Under the usual circumstances, I would have arrived in the village, there would have been the Ceremony of Attainment, and I would gradually have entered into Man Talk. As none of that happened, I think you simply spoke out of force of habit, not out of malice or insult. Therefore, I take no insult, and where none is taken, none can be given.”

Tracker1 looked carefully at Sylk, but detected no false pride or sense of superiority. “You are clearly a Man of the Tribe.”

Sylk noted this, and stated, “Let’s put this to the past, and move forward. I must catch up to my Master. I bid you safe journey.” Tracker1 mumbled an appropriate response, and watched as Sylk turned and sprinted off toward the village.

He had a hard time categorizing his emotions. Part of him was angry, really at himself, but it was his nature to project his emotions onto others. Tracker1 did not understand the concept of introspection. He was relieved that the kid had spared him the embarrassment of having to face the tribe having insulted Sylk. He wanted to be upset at the fact the impertinent youth had forgiven him. However, he could not muster any real anger, so he just chewed on bitter thoughts, and nursed old grudges. By the time he was walking to the village, he had managed to find a way to blame Moa’qi. This made him feel better, and he was almost cheery on the return trip.


Moa’qi had watched Sylk leave, and stood on the trail as the two Trackers approached. He explained that Sylk was going back to try to mend the rift, and that he would wait there for him. The two Trackers commented on the courage and general upstanding nature of Sylk, and continued on toward the village. Moa’qi watched until they were well out of sight, and then listened with his feet to see if there were any change in path, or slowing up of their pace. As there were no changes, he took off at a ground swallowing pace, angling away from the probable path of both Sylk and Tracker1, and heading toward the body.

He wanted to see the condition, and judge the cause of death. He searched the sky for any sign of the Cadaver Cleaners, that usually would circle any body. There were none, and this caused him consternation. He also was listening and tracking the locations of Sylk and Tracker1. They were on path to the village, nothing unusual there. He loped on, wondering if Sylk could be wrong. Then, as he came over a rise, he spied the blue/grey uniform of The Other, and slowed to a stop. It was as Sylk had said. The man was laying on his side, apparently dead, but, offering no sign but a visual one. His face was hidden in the ground and partially under one arm. Moa’qi had a sensation of, well, not of cold, really more of just absence. This was outside his realm of experience, and he did not know what to make of it.

Deciding to experiment, he gathered up some pebbles and bits of wood, and started by throwing one at the body. What he saw, he had a hard time comprehending, so he did it again. Same thing. So, he changed position, getting closer as well, and threw another small rock. He watched carefully as the rock nearly landed on the body, then slowed, and kind of poured off to the side, as if it had been caught in the sweet syrup sometimes poured on flatcakes. It just kind of landed, and slid to one side, slowly. He thought he noticed something just before it hit the ground, so he tried again with a stick. Yes. Just as the stick slid off to the side, there was a brief moment before it hit the ground when it was ‘let go’ by whatever was coating the body.

Moa’qi decided to vary his experiment, he searched about until he found a good sized rock, about the size of his head. He carried it with some difficulty to the body, lifted it, and dropped it where it would hit the shoulder. He watched carefully to see if the body would move or flinch or otherwise be affected by the weight landing on it. The rock fell, and actually slowed, coming almost to a stop on top of the shoulder and arm of the body. It hesitated, and Moa’qi on his hands and knees, could see that the rock did not touch the body. There was a sliver of light between the rock and the body. Then the rock slid slowly toward the chest side of the body, and melted it’s way down the side, and around the obstruction of the left arm trapped underneath, and slowly edged away from the fingers until coming to rest in the dirt.

He stood and looked at what was before him. It made no sense, and he could not think of anything he knew, or had ever heard of that would explain this queer behavior of the body, and things touching it. Not knowing what else to do, he decided to attempt something new. He went in search of a small tree from which he could break a large, still living limb. He would prod the body with the insulation of the living stick, and see what he could see.

Finding a suitable stick, he proceeded without success to touch the body. Pushing slowly and deliberately, the end of his branch would encounter a sticky-slidyness, and, try as he might, would slowly glance off to one side or the other. He tried prodding, then pulling away, and immediately pushing back, thinking that perhaps at that moment when it let go of the stick, it would rebound in some way, and not be as effective. No luck. Finally, as much out of frustration as anything else, he simply took to whacking at the body with the stick, and thinking while he would pull the stick off the body. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, absently raising the stick and then bringing it down, ‘whack’. He would then lift again, having become interested in feeling the sensation of the stick being caught in tree sap or something like it, then suddenly being let go, when on the last whack, he couldn’t lift the stick.
later dudes.

21 November 2004

Day 21, pm; 34,028 total, 2613 today.

On track and ready to roll downhill from here. Except I don't think 50000 words is enough to finish the story...

We shall see.

excerpt:
Sylk had not expected this, and sat down, hoping the rest would follow suit, giving him time to think. Gratefully, he watched as Moa’qi and Tracker3 immediately sat, and were then joined by Tracker1 and Tracker2.

Choosing his words carefully, he began, “I am not understanding why I am the only suitable apprentice for The Herbalist.” As there was no response, he continued, “Also, I am unsure why this seems to be the best tack to alleviating the tension between Gwadi and The Herbalist. Sure, he may be distracted, but it seems to me that Gwadi overplayed her hand. Since she rarely does or says anything without fully understanding the repercussions, it seems to me that she desires this discomfort.”

There was some silence and some uneasy shifting by the men. Tracker1 started to speak, “You meddle in things…”, but was cut off by Tracker3, “You are a perceptive one. Yes, Gwadi’s actions were deliberate. But, The Muktai do not agree with her. While The Herbalist is the one visibly upset, Gwadi is the one potentially in trouble with the Tribe.”

“Still, this is not really appropriate to discuss with a youth.”

Moa’qi stood abruptly, gathered his things and began to walk off. He did not offer any ritual departure nicety, nor did he look back. Sylk, his face red from the insult, quickly gathered up his things and hurried after him. He also did not look back. Tracker2 and Tracker3 gave withering looks to Tracker1, and turned from him to gather up their own belongings. Tracker1 looked uncomprehendingly at the two other trackers, then at the vanishing figures of Sylk and Moa’qi. He stood and looked at the Trackers, and asked, “What?”

Derisively, Tracker2 said over his shoulder as he walked away, “Sylk completed his trial. In fact, he looks downright healthy after a month in the wild. I remember your dead ass dragging in from your trial. You nearly died out there. And, he has been apprenticed to the premier man of the Tribe.” Snorting, then spitting, he finished, “You called him a youth.”

The two Trackers walked on and did not look back. Tracker1 finally understood. He had insulted a New Man and a Warrior of the People. He had called a Man that had successfully completed his trial, a youth. It was about the only insult that could not be taken back. He stood there, rapidly becoming alone, and pondered his options. Truly, he had not meant to insult. He was not really about all that. He hung his head down, and looked at the ground.

Meanwhile, Sylk, reeling from the insult, walked silently beside Moa’qi. Something about the whole thing really disturbed him. It took him about 200 paces to sort it out. This was not good, and it was not to anyone’s benefit. He looked up at Moa’qi, and made that observation aloud. His Master surprised him with a huge smile and a clap on the shoulder. “Yes, that is very true. So, the question becomes, who can fix it and how?” Sylk stopped and looked back from where they had come. He raised his arms slightly, spear in one hand, as if to say, “What can I do?”

Interpreting the gesture correctly, Moa’qi replied, “Remember, in the Tale of Moab and the Seven Virgins, when he meets with Pittacus of Mytilene?”

“I’m not sure I’ve heard that verse.”

“No? That’s odd. Here, I’ll give you the Maxim. The entire verse you will learn later. Pittacus stated that ‘forgiveness is better than repentance’.”
Sylk understood immediately, and turned back on the trail. He would go to Tracker1, and they would have a meeting of the minds. He stopped himself though, remembering The Other in the wilderness, the strangely dead/inert One. “Master, on my run I came across what I believe to be the male Other that injured the woman.” Moa’qi stiffened, and took Sylk by the shoulder. “Where?”

Using the Flora/Fauna game, he whistled the location markers, knowing that would be the fastest way to explain. Then he added, quietly, as the other Trackers approached. “He’s – dead. At least I think so. He was badly burned, one leg beyond recognition, almost gone. Yet…”, he hesitated, not knowing how to explain, “he was – strange. Frozen. Not cold. No heat. I – I couldn’t touch him.”

Moa’qi looked intently at him, listening carefully. He was nodding absently, and when Sylk finished he just looked up, then back toward where the body was. Seeming to come to a decision of some sort, he looked back down at Sylk and said, “Do what you must. I will see you in the village tomorrow.”

Sylk looked at him, “Tomorrow?”

“Go!”

Sylk went.
ciao baby, got to mambo.

Day 21, am; 33,236 as of 9:30 am Sunday.

I will have to type much more today. Got kind of sick yesterday, and only did 1,245 total words that morning, none at night. the previous day, only typed 954 words. So, today is a make up day. Typed 1821 words this morning before this post.

So, I shall provide a three fer excerpt, going back in time a bit. Caution. There be typos aplenty. Also, this is longer than usual, to make up for missing so many days of posting.

Lastly, those of you that wish, feel free to make any comments by clicking on the comment link at the end of each post. You can post anonymously.

the first of three:
“How would the Tribe not know?” asked Tracker2.

“Simple enough. This apprenticeship, made in the wild, with only us five as witnesses, is simply not addressed. There is a public display when Sylk is apprenticed to The Herbalist. Afterward, as Sylk goes out to meet the needs of herb gathering, Moa’qi can meet with him out of sight of the Tribe, and conduct the bulk of his training in the wild.”

Tracker3 opened his mouth, then closed it, attempting to mask this change of mind with a long sip of coffee. Moa’qi peered at Tracker3 from under his brow, while considering the suggestion of Tracker1. Tracker2 offered, “This duplicity does not seem right. Usually only ill comes from such deliberate subterfuge.”

Tracker1 nodded, saying in a conciliatory manner, “It’s just a suggestion. I suppose we can just leave the situation with Gwadi and The Herbalist alone, and let nature run as it will.” No one seemed comfortable with that. Stirring from his self-imposed silence, Moa’qi asked, “Are there no other suitable candidates for apprenticeship to The Herbalist?”

Tracker3 replied, “None with Sylk’s aptitude. He is, as you noted, somewhat unique.” Tracker2 agreed with a nod. Tracker1 was silent. Finally Moa’qi spoke, “I am against this surreptitious apprenticeship in principle and in fact. Nothing good can come of it, and frankly, I cannot honestly state that Sylk will not be the worse for this. The need for me to train in private will mean that I cannot take advantage of those opportunities that present themselves in the course of events. The quality of the training will drop dramatically. I doubt I can pass on what I must.”

“What then, of Gwadi?” asked Tracker1.

More silence. Each man alone with his thoughts, the Dark wore on. Finally, Tracker3 suggested they sleep on the issue, and discuss openly in the morning. Sylk startled the men by piping in with “Good idea! That way I can sleep, and tomorrow I can actually be involved in my destiny!” Tracker3 chuckled and bid everyone good night. Tracker2 continued to sip his coffee and stare at the fire. When he finally finished, he also turned in. Sylk actually fell asleep at this time, and thus missed the conversation between Moa’qi and Tracker1.

excerpt 2:
Silence ensued. Tracker1 was off-balance. This was not going the way he wanted. He had wanted to apprentice Sylk to The Herbalist, but it may be that it would not happen naturally. For reasons that he barely dared think on, he did not want Sylk apprenticed to Moa’qi. But he was, and there was no denying it, with three witnesses.

However, First Chair could make decisions for the good of the Tribe, and depending on who was First Chair, he could potentially influence the flow of things in the Tribe. And have the right people apprenticed to the right people.
Probing, he asked Moa’qi, “Will you then refuse the office?”
“As you mentioned earlier, Tracker1, there is another time and another place for this conversation.”

An emotion that had been bubbling below the surface in Tracker1 for several years came to the surface. He did not know what to name it, he just felt it. A seething violent sensation. Moa’qi was so smug, so self assured. Truth be unshaded, Tracker1 was afraid of Moa’qi and felt inferior. However, his temperament would not allow him to feel inferior, and so he twisted a bit inside, and found or manufactured numerous instances of some slight or other perpetrated against him by Moa’qi. He sat in the dark, nursing his ill will, and plotting. He did not turn in for a long time.

excerpt 3 (please note, i have also taken to not naming the chapters, and I lost count, so bear that in mind.:
Chapter whichever


Sylk felt a prickling sensation over his whole body, and was instantly awake. It was still Dark Time, and there was absolutely nothing to see. Playing across his body was a tingling that was somehow familiar. Laying still in the total darkness, he struggled with his memory, trying to place the sensation, trying to remember where or when he had felt it. The sensation was so strong and unmistakable, sweeping over him from left to right. Not until it passed, and his body no longer subjected to the dancing touch playing across his body, was he able to begin to search his memory cleanly.

Holding still, staring into the opaqueness above him, he was drawn back in his mind to the morning of the dying girl. When the impossible vessel that (what did his Master call it, a ScramJet?) had come from the sky and rotated, he had felt a muted version of this sensation. It had happened as what he took for the nose of the conveyance had rotated past him. Gently rotating his head in the direction the prickling sensation had left him, he thought he could barely discern a reddish sparkling crossing the ground. As it encountered the sleeping form of one of the Trackers, there was a wraithlike interplay of blue and red dancing and flitting across the body. Then it was gone.

Laying in the dark, his senses straining, he strove to feel, hear, see, taste, touch, anything. A Bruta herd lay off a day’s march oblique to the village. He could feel the three Trackers. Moa’qi he had recognized by comparison with the three. This surprised and intrigued him. He had not noticed Moa’qi before, except when he was moving. He theorized that he had been sensing him along, but that his mind had disregarded the information as non-vital. But this morning, after the prickling sensation, when he was not taking anything for granted, he could now feel things that were not moving, like The Bruta, or his Master.

One of the night crawling ropy creatures was moving into it’s den in the ground. From this Sylk knew that morning was coming. He realized at that moment that the timing of the prickling sensation had been when people were often deepest asleep. Slowly and noiselessly he contracted his abdominals and hip flexors and sat up.

It was still pitch black, and there was not yet even a hint that Dark was surrendering to Light on the horizon. Yet, it must be close to time. Faintly then, he felt a new sensation, a strange yet this time familiar feeling. Dew began to precipitate out of the chill dark. He felt it form on his skin and in his light clothing. He almost felt that he could see it, then realized that Light was coming. He watched as drops appeared on his forearm, coalesced and slid. He was intent, comparing and contrasting visual information with what his skin was sending. He noted the dew gatherer nearest to him, as it gradually filled. And for the first time he realized he was awake before his Master.

Ok, bonus excerpt:
Moa’qi finished up the movement by bending his elbows and allowing his hands to come naturally down and to his sides, and then forward to lightly rest on his knees, at the original starting point. The last vestige of breath was released through these final actions, and then he breathed naturally. Sylk realized it was morning. Every movement had mimicked the action of Light sweeping through Dark, and had been timed accordingly. There had been two full breaths. Enormously deep and controlled inhalations, and immaculate, deliberate exhalations. Sylk had also perceived a certain resonance within Moa’qi’s body. It seemed to be to, or from, or maybe in response to or acknowledgment of, the high frequency oscillation he felt from the light source on the horizon. A queer kind of sense memory flooded his mind, and he realized the light source contained, at a lower kind of intensity, or was it simply that it was competing with numerous other pulsations, that prickly sensation he had experienced in the Dark. As he was noticing that, it disappeared, covered or masked by the riot of sensation his skin was feeling from the Light. The innervation almost overwhelmed him, and he shook his head and more or less turned off or set his perceptions on mute, that he could recover and not be insensate due to over-stimulation.

He stood abruptly, slaking the dew from his body in a detached automatic manner. Struggling with the urge to run and shout, the nervous tension in his body felt unbearable. He looked mutely at his Master, raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, and bolted. He ran away from the coming light, toward the vestige of Sombre disappearing at the opposite horizon. Legs pumping furiously, he distracted his mind with exercise. He ran until his lungs were pounding, and legs tiring, and he pushed himself harder still. His mind had to come to grips with the demands on the body, and he began to regulate and husband the breath, changing his breathing pattern to allow for easier inhalation and more fluid and less constricted exhalation. This reduced the somewhat antagonistic relationship found then the heart and lungs are called upon at the same time, when the deep breaths can constrict and inhibit smooth pumping, and engendered an environment conducive to a cooperative effort. Of necessity, he had slowed some, and was no longer at the frantic, nearly panicked pace, but he was till running at what most would consider top speed. His healthy tuned body was coming under control, and he ran now with a will and determination to rid himself of what he imagined were the toxins of too much thinking and not enough action. Running hard, he rounded a bush and began a sweeping circle to take him round to camp. He could feel his mind relaxing, and his gait slowed, though it was still a run, not a trot or jog. He was moving at probably 3/5ths speed when he spied the body ahead. He was moving so fast that he could do nothing but leap through the air, and over the body. He did not stop running, but did slow. He judged from the location and the size that it was likely The Other from Flat Rock that had injured the girl. He noted the location, the lay of the land, some key markers on the horizon, and slowed to a trot that he could practice a flora fauna whistle marker to relay to Moa’qi. He struggled with how to identify The Other, as there was not a whistle sign for that entity. Finally, he melded a symbol for a Tribe Mate, and Bruta. He hoped that Moa’qi would make the connection, and that the Trackers would simply think he botched one or the other. His Master would know better, since he had demonstrated mastery on their hike to Flat Rock.

And finally, to get us up to speed:
“Let’s eat!” from Tracker3. Tracker1 did not participate in any of this, seeming aloof. He did come and sit and eat, and eventually the shared camaraderie of a relaxed meal in the open brought him out. Soon they were all talking and exchanging trail chit chat like normal. Sylk reflected on the value of shared mealtime. Truly salubrious, it could heal emotional wounds, mend minor infractions, efface distrust and replace with understanding. He smiled as he ate, feeling very good, and with an appetite to match. Tracker3 interrupted his thoughts with a question that he was doubly curious to hear answer.

“Moa’qi”, he began, “what may you tell us of this apprenticeship of Sylk’s and the Morning Sun Run?” Sylk paused in his eating, wondering what the response would be, since he knew there was no such thing, and it was a cover up for his indiscretion and lack of control this morning.

“I will share this with you, as it is not so much a secret of training or apprenticeship, as it is a conveniently forgotten tribal principle.” Moa’qi shifted easily and sipped some cardamom coffee. “You see, during the night, the breathing oftentimes becomes shallow. Why do we breathe? Of course so that we stay alive, we all know that. But how does it work?” He paused while everyone thought this through.” The old ones, of which perhaps I am the only one in that range today, used to tell us children that there was some sort of exchange taking place inside. They used to say ‘Out with the old air, in with the new air’. I asked my Master one day, why that saying started with out, rather than in, since if you don’t breathe in, you will die. He responded with a question, as he oftentimes did and asked me if we wouldn’t die if we didn’t breathe out. I had no answer of course, and told him so. So, he explained that we kind of do what fire does. We burn our food, and we must get rid of the smoke. He said it was just as important to get the poison smoke out of our bodies as it was to get the fresh clean air inside. He said the lungs can become partially full of this smoke, and we can lose some of the capacity for removal of smoke, if we don’t make sure that we use all the lungs at least for some period of time. He stated that since we are inherently lazy, the best way to do this was to run. Running hard, because of the demands placed on the body, both a need for clean air, but, and this he insisted quite clearly, the more important requirement to rid the body of smoke, forced the lungs to be used to capacity. And, he added, that it appeared that this type of huffing and puffing was in general a very good tonic for the whole system.

“My Master added that the morning time was the best time for this because the air was the cleanest and freshest, and so you weren’t breathing in any ‘smoke’ to add to the smoke you must be rid of. So, for years, he had me do the morning run. Not a jog, mind you, but a run until you can’t run. It doesn’t require much time or much distance. Up hill is best. But, here I sit, healthy and whole, and I believe because of the morning run.”

“But,” objected Tracker3, “I have never seen you run. You did not run this morning.”

“Quite true. That, though is the secret part of the apprenticeship that I shall not share.” And that ended that line of conversation.


toodley oodley ooo

18 November 2004

Day 18, evening, 29,216 total word count. 2,022 today.

On track to finish on November 30. I am 58% done. Wow.

Today's excerpt:
The Trackers then set about the meal preparation, which had been delayed by the conversation and history lessons. Just as Moa’qi had done for Sylk on his original return from the wilderness they all prepared and served Moa’qi and Sylk. It was the same type of fare, sweet cakes, savory sausages, and more of the thick rich cardamom coffee. Sylk realized this must be some sort of tradition. He thanked the Tracker earnestly for coming to look for them, and for carrying such amounts of food. It was the first time he really ate without thinking, and he was enjoying the easy camaraderie. The men all spoke freely about things he was not used to hearing. Sylk stayed out of these conversations, not because he couldn’t join in, but because of lack of anything relevant to say. This was Adult Talk, and he had not been privy to such talk before.

Moa’qi had started the conversation by a general request for news of the tribe over the last 5 lightdark cycles. Tracker1 began with a simple recounting of stores of food, prospects of hunting, Bruta sightings, etc. Tracker2 picked up with some light information that Sylk gradually realized was basically gossip: who was seeing whom, little romances, someone being with child, and finally a funny story about a spat over dew gatherers between The Herbalist, which everyone respected for his knowledge and disliked for his demeanor, and Gwadi, the cheesemaker.

Gwadi was a tribe favorite. Not only did she make cheese from the cabrito milk, but she was always ready with some quip or anecdote apropos to the situation. Her humor could be biting though, and sarcasm always seems to be appreciated by everyone except the recipient. But her genuine good nature, and underlying kindness prevented anyone from staying angry. There was always something happening around her, people laughing, and people getting upset. But the anger always passed, and she was genuinely liked by everyone. The story was recounted thusly:

Apparently Gwadi had come out of her little hut to find The Herbalist holding one of her dew gatherers, and a full skin of water. The Herbalist was renowned for failing to set out his gatherers each evening, and had been suspected of ‘borrowing’ water from the Tribe. No one really minded at the moment, it being the wet season, and plenty of water was available. And, no one would ever refuse water when there was need. But water theft could be a serious crime, all the more because it was not necessary. This laziness on the part of The Herbalist was nearly legendary, and he did not cherish holding such a reputation. It was suspected that he avoided the reputation by getting up very early and taking a little from all. It was, however, a problem, and the Muktai were being asked to address The Herbalist. The essential dishonesty was troubling to the people of the tribe, but his herbal knowledge was valued and required. It was kind of a pickle, and there was reticence to address the issue.

Gwadi had emerged and pretty much caught him in the act. She stopped, went into an exaggerated stretch and yawned a loud ululating yawn that almost but not quite sounded like an alarm. Probably not coincidentally, it sounded like the Bandit Alarm. Naturally, since most people were awake and preparing to exit their huts, the walkways between the huts were suddenly crowded with witnesses. By this time, in her exaggerated stretch, she had nearly bent over backward to the ground, and her ululation cut off with a strangling noise. The stage now set, she straightened up, looked The Herbalist in the eye and exclaimed “What are you doing pouring your water into My Water Skin? What, do you think I need your charity??”

People started laughing, as all water skins are clearly marked with beadwork or paint clearly signifying who was the owner. This tack stunned The Herbalist, and his confused expression caused more laughter.

“I know I am getting old, and I know you are without a Mate, as am I, but this symbolism is too much.” She stopped and let this sink in then, “I am not so old that I am desperate however. Many of the young new men I have trapped, er, entertained in my hut.” Laughter from the Tribe. “But, if you have such a hot desire to fill my emptiness with your fullness, then there are the usual channels for accommodating your randyness!” This prompted gales of laughter from the witnesses.

Flabbergasted, The Herbalist shouted “I am not filling your skin with my water!” More laughter. Red faced and shouting, “I was pouring your water into my skin!” His confession out of his lips in front of the whole tribe, he stood there, purple in his embarrassment. Some uncomfortable nervous laughter escaped from various witnesses, but petered out into silence. The man had confessed to a crime in front of multiple witnesses.

Feigning mock seriousness, Gwadi walked up to The Herbalist with a grave look. “A wrong so publicly confessed can only be forgiven. It is the way of the Tribe.” She took the skin from the stunned Herbalist, poured a measure into her dew gatherer, and handed it back. Winking and with a smile she said, “If however, you ever wish to fill me up, you will find me pliant and willing.” Turning she walked into her hut with an exaggerate wriggling movement and disappeared inside.


When the story was over, and the laughter subsided, Tracker3 commented that while the incident was indeed humorous to the tribe, it had been more than humiliating to The Herbalist. He had been in a dark humour, and there was concern, as he was unusually gruff with all. Of greatest concern was the fact that he seemed to be nursing a deep grudge against Gwadi, and the air of tension seemed ominously portending.

“I fear that the situation must be defused in some manner. I had hoped to broach this subject with you, Moa’qi, under somewhat different circumstances. You see, The Muktai felt that it would be provident to provide the tribe with an heir to the Herbalist. This would perform three results, distract The Herbalist from his anger and chagrin, provide a diversion for him, and a measure of restored respect, and provides the Tribe with an Herbalist for the future.

“I had hoped to apprentice Sylk here to The Herbalist.”

seeya. fb

Day 18, 28k+ so far, 1200 or so this morning

Did not write last night either.

Didn't post any excerpts this morning either. Went to work instead.

Will post excerpts tonight after I knock out another 2k or so words.

fb

17 November 2004

Day 17, total word count to date: 27,194. Did not write last night.

Took last night off for my birthday so will have to write another 1000 words tonight to stay on track. But that is OK, as the is the original plan.

Note for this excerpt: I have introduced three new characters, and rather than waste time trying to come up with names right now, they are designated Tracker1, Tracker2 and Tracker3. Later, probably at the end of the month, I will determine their names, and through the magic of find and replace will give them some sort of suitable name.

Today's excerpt:
This stopped the conversation while the men considered how to answer a dumb question from a Man and Warrior of the Tribe without offering insult. The Trackers looked at Moa’qi, but he sat impassively, sipping cardamom coffee. Tracker2 took a breath, and began, “You are a New Man, and so your question is fair. Some would say you were brought early to this knowledge, though, that decision is solely that of your Master, and therefore above reproach. However, it is usually done”, pause with a glance at Moa’qi, “under different circumstances.” With this small speech, Tracker2 had gently chided Moa’qi, and excuse Sylk’s dumb question. He then proceeded to explain the tribal custom concerning Flat Rock.

“Countless seasons ago, the village was not where we are today. In fact, the village was not the size it is today. It was in fact larger. We were not in the place we occupy today. We were in fact within one day’s hike of Flat Rock. A man in need could get there and back within the same Light. The mystery of the water was known at that time, and was common knowledge to all above 20 seasons. This then is where you receive the vague hints and legends of ‘streams’ and flowing water.

“For reasons that are debated, the tribe suffered an illness, and about 1/3 of the tribe was lost to an implacable death. It was horrid, attacking the lungs and skin, and the first to go was our medicine maker. With no one of his skill, and no knowledge of the issues creating the illness, we were laid low. Their was dissent, and strife, and much ancillary disease, as we were unprepared for the disposal of so many bodies. That is when we began the Burning as the Final Ascent. We used to place our dead back into the Earth. Now we send them to the sky. Even this caused great dissent and consternation.

“Finally, there was a split and a plan. Approximately ½ the tribe determined to move. From that group we remain. We have rebuilt about to about 70% of the original tribe at the time of the split. However, we are currently only about 30% of the original thriving tribe.

“Flat Rock, while always considered a place of power, is also a place of dread. We moved far enough from it that it was more than a day’s hike away. And we focused our attentions in other directions. And the lore of Flat Rock was relegated to the Muktai, to disseminate in time to those they would.” Tracker2 paused and looked again at Moa’qi, seeming to need direction. He received none, and so continued cautiously, “This because… there are those that believe-”, furtive glance at Moa’qi, “-that Flat Rock was simply the, ahh, victim… of circumstance. And in truth, no ill has befallen those that make the trek.”

Sylk had been listening to all that he was hearing, while formulating what he figured had to be the obvious question. He took advantage of the break in the narrative to ask, “What of the other tribe.”

Tracker1 spoke with a hollow tone, “We do not speak of that.”

Tracker2 and Tracker3 looked uncomfortable. Moa’qi sipped carefully on his cardamom coffee, looking over the top of his cup at Tracker1. Lowering his cup, he said to the group, in general, “We do not withhold information from Men of The Tribe.”

Tracker1 flinched, as though slapped. Tracker2 and Tracker3 looked away. Sylk followed suit. They sat in an uncomfortable silence.

Addressing Moa’qi, Tracker1 finally spoke. “Obviously, we do speak of this, as there are those that know, that the lessons and stories may be passed on. But, the narrative is difficult, and filled with concepts not in our tribe. Usually this is done in Council. I feel it is prudent to continue this tradition at least.”

Moa’qi nodded assent. “Your words are wise Tracker1.” Speaking to Sylk, he said, “That question will be answered in time, by the tribe, in the usual manner. Tracker1 reminds me that many standards have been – bent. These processes exist for good reason, perhaps it is time to reassert their legitimacy, lest you think that nothing matters. Please, Tracker2, continue the narrative of our tribe.”

Looking relieved, Tracker2 took up where he left off. “The Muktai, then, as a unit, commonly determine who will be told what of Flat Rock, and the time. The only person I know of that received information regarding Flat Rock outside the normal program was Jedediah…” Here Tracker3 flashed a quick glance at Moa’qi, then Sylk, then back to his mug. “… and he of course was destined for First Chair.

“The tribe gradually lost general knowledge of Flat Rock, just the stream legends and a few archaic words, such as ‘drown’ remain. But they are treated as fantastic stories or even allegory. Representative of an Idea, not a Fact. Part of the lore of the Tribe.

“In fact, however, it is a legacy, and like most legacies, has the potential for a negative connotation. It can be a bequeathing of value, or a transmittal of – disease.”

Again Sylk took advantage of the break in narrative to ask another question. “This disease. Was it localized? Did moving the Tribe distance it from the source of disease?”

Moa’qi answered. “Yes.” No one else spoke.

“Was there ever any discovery of what caused the disease? I ask, because I wonder if it was a localized phenomenon, then perhaps we endanger the tribe by going near the origination point.”

The Trackers appreciated this question, as it demonstrated the fact of the New Man. No childish question, it went to the heart of what matters, i.e., the safety of the Tribe. Nodding approvingly, Tracker3 spoke for the first time, “We appreciate your question. The short answer is apparently not. There has never been a reoccurrence since we have moved. There is debate about whether something specific to our new location provides tribal protection, or whether the source of disease vanished with the last of the dead.”


ciao for now. fb

16 November 2004

Day 16, and It's my Birthday! 26,015 total words. 1,249 this morning.

I am on track, even if I don't write another word today. The spreadsheet generously provided by someone from NaNoWriMo indicates a projected finish day of Nov 30.

Cool.

Today's excerpt
He pressed hard against Flat Rock, sensing the approach of two bipedal somethings. There were little short-lived instances of a strange light. The creatures would stop, the light would come and go, and they would move. Whatever they were, they were approaching the campsite. Sylk realized he recognized the movement of one of the creatures, their visitor from earlier in the night. The other was smaller, and more delicate in movement, but with that same weird otherworldly feeling.

He could actually hear their footsteps now, not just feel their vibrations. They were in reality quite clumsy, but Sylk also realized that, had he and Moa’qi been relying on sound alone, they would have had little time to make a getaway without being detected. He was very grateful for his newly developed sense. He also realized that Moa’qi either had a much higher or attuned sensitivity, or that he must have expected this. Sylk resolved to ask about this in daylight, when he felt they would be safe.

The two creatures arrived at the site, and a light blazed forth. There was a moment of silence, then some loud harsh words from one, and the other, softer, more controlled, shushed the first. They walked about for a second or two, trying, Sylk guessed, to pick up a trail. There was silence again, and then a low heated discussion. Sylk could not make out the words, but the emotion was apparent. One was angry, the other imploring. The discussion ebbed and flowed, then stopped for a moment. The light flicked off. The harsher voice, which Sylk now characterized as male, began the imploring again. The other did not respond. The imploring continued until it changed character, and became anger as well. This was followed by a long silence. The softer, more controlled voice said something curt, and the strange unnatural white light blazed again. Sylk saw a beam sweep the rock face in front of him. He wondered if the optical illusion would hold under those lighting conditions. It swept back again, and the softer voice, which Sylk determined to be female, had a quizzical tone. Sylk realized that she was noticing something odd, but could not figure it out. The male became impatient, and the arguing started in earnest.

There was a scuffle, a scream, a sound of flesh hitting Flat Rock, and a crunch. Then one set of sounds moved off into the dark, carrying the light source with it. The other stayed where it was, and did not move. Sylk was unsure, but he thought the male had run off, and the female remained. He guessed from the sounds, and the flight, that the female had perhaps been killed or at least injured severely. They lay still for what seemed like forever. Moa’qi did not move. Sylk dared not.

He lay still in the dark, and finally relaxed. He knew there was nothing nearby, and with the cozy comfort of Flat Rock, he knew that he would be aware of any movement coming near. He slept.

A roaring, gushing sound awakened him. He sat up, wiping the dew from himself, and realizing he was hearing the cataract. It was nearly deafening. He turned toward Moa’qi and realized that again, when he woke, Moa’qi was sitting, looking at him, having woken up some time prior. Sylk wondered if he would ever wake up before his Master. Then, some prescience told him, that he really never wanted to. The thought troubled him, and he looked away. Glancing out toward the plain, he asked, “Is there danger?”

“Always. Come, we look to the cataract first.” They stayed on the ledge and moved toward the sound. Soon they were in a mist, and became soaked again, as if a new dew had fallen. Sylk could see the rushing water ahead. Moa’qi tapped him on the shoulder and bid him move toward the edge and peer over. The sight was awe-inspiring. The water hurtling over the edge was pounding into the ground below. White foam was spewing everywhere, and the mist hung about like clouds. Sylk thought he detected a hint of color, in a kind of arc, near the base where the water was pounding. He pointed it out to Moa’qi. Moa’qi just smiled. Speech was impossible in the noise. Sylk returned his attention to the crashing water, and then looked out toward where the water was spilling out from the depression. He knew now why the ground looked as it had the day they had arrive. The power and fury humbled his mind. He gazed mutely for a while, before looking around the surrounding ground near the hollowed out area. He noticed at that moment a body of some sort almost directly below him. He motioned to his Master again, pointing down. Moa’qi nodded, and tapping Sylk’s shoulder again, turned to leave.

When they were far enough away to carry on conversation, Sylk asked again about danger. He was given the same laconic response. “Always”, was all his Master would say. Sylk was wearying of this enforced mystery, but did not dare broach the subject now.

Sylk chewed on his lip. Was this going to be another of those kinds of days? He chose his words carefully, and began, “Right, but, last night we moved just after the fire died completely. You were in a hurry, but not worried. We hid. There was two of – them. We remained silent, and now we talk. So, the danger, if that is what we hid from, must be not nearly so near. So, are we in imminent danger?”

“Why do you ask questions which have already been answered?”


May or may not write tonight. It is my birthday, you know. ciao. fb

15 November 2004

Day 15, The Half Way Point. 24,766 total words; 2157 today

Statistically speaking, I am at 50%. And, it is half the month.

Woo hoo

Tired. Will post excerpts tomorrow.

14 November 2004

Day 14 22,609 total; 3377 today. None at all yesterday.

Yesterday I kind of took the day off. Didn't write one word.

Today, I did 3,377, as that is what it took to get back on track. Feeling pretty good. That is easily my high word count so far.

Today's excerpt:
“This is the Tale of Moab”
“which is about the tail of Moab”
“which twas in front, not in back”
“and very hard it was packed!”
“with a mind of its own”
“and sometimes a bone”
“twould seek that which it lacked”

“Moab had quite the tiller”
“against boredom it provided much filler”
“he would till all the fields”
“till his tiller annealed”
“he would low like a cow”
“oh the fields he did plow”
“but some would simply not yield”

“Again then, to the seven seas”
“to learn what it would take to please”
“you mean the seven virgins!”
“to satisfy those urgin’s”
“as you like as they say”
“with these words we will play”
“but he’d need the skill set of surgeons”

The rhyming and word play went on an on recounting his visiting of the seven virgins while they finished and cleaned up and prepared for sleep. Sylk had lost track of the whereabouts of the visitor in the dark, but Moa’qi indicated that it had in fact moved off. They reached a stopping point to the Tale of Moab and Sylk asked what had been in the dark.

“Tell me”, Moa’qi replied, “what you were able to determine.”

Sylk recalled as best he could the original vibrations, then replied, “bi-pedal, though it did not feel like any of our tribe. Something was different. It is hard for me to tell. Since we’ve been off Flat Rock, it is like”, he hesitated, trying to find the right description. “Well, like I have cotton in my ears. Or feet. Something.”

Moa’qi just nodded so Sylk continued, “but it was not any herd animal, or any of those creatures that come out at night, sliding along. I have to guess it was a man, except, well, it wasn’t. Something about the sound of the steps. The gait was wrong, and the – sound, er, vibration, just wasn’t right… somehow.” Sylk was embarrassed. He was fumbling, and couldn’t really figure out why. But the vibration on the ground was muffled in some as compared to Flat Rock. He got distracted by this line of thought, and asked “Why could I sense things on Flat Rock better than on the earth? The vibration had to be transferred through the earth to Flat Rock, didn’t it?”

“Later.” Moa’qi was stern. “What else do you recall?”

Sylk looked at his Master’s face in the dying light from the fire. It had a hardness that concerned him. “Are we in danger?”

Moa’qi’s face softened. “Answer me. What else did you feel, sense; what else do you remember?”

Pausing to gather his sense/thought, Sylk replied, “It came slow and haltingly, trying to mimic natural sounds. From that direction…” he started to point but Moa’qi tossed a dew gatherer to him, forcing him to alter his movement to catch it.

“Don’t point. Just talk. Natural hand gestures.” His master war very earnest.

“Well from more or less opposite the way we came to Flat Rock, and roughly perpendicular to where I believe our village lies.” He paused. His Master said nothing. “Then, when it finally moved again, it was back the way it came, only, I’m not sure that wasn’t intentionally misleading.”

“Interesting. Why do you say that?”

“There was less care in the movement away then there was here. Like it wanted us to know.”

“Very good.” Moa’qi prepared bedding. “We go in the morning as originally planned. We will wake early. We will gather our hidden gear, then double time it to the village.”

“Moa’qi, what was that in the dark?”

There was a long silence. Finally Moa’qi spoke softly, “You remember the stories, when you were very young, about The Others? The short ones with the blue eyes and the different skin?”

12 November 2004

Day 12, am; 19,232 total, 1227 words this morning, 1328 last night

On pace. Feeling pretty good.

Today's excerpt:
He was also allowing himself to be distracted by the feeling of various animals and their activities as he continued on down the rock. Now that the sensation had been brought to his attention, he was caught up in it, nearly reveling in the new found experiences. It was nearly magical that he could know where something was without actually seeing it or hearing it. Of course, the sensation was not perfect, and it was not totally reliable. He spent most of the trip down simply verifying the sensation with visual or auditory confirmation. About half way down it occurred to him that hunting was going to be a lot easier. And, the Seek the Hidden game would be, well, child’s play. He commented on this to Moa’qi.

“Yes. Of course, since you are a new man, you will put behind you childish things, and take up the things of a man.”

Sylk thought about this. Some of his friends were still two seasons away from trial. He remembered when an older friend of his had come back from trial, all haughty and distant, barely acknowledging his existence. He determined to not act that way, but he also realized that the relationships were now different. While occupied with these thoughts, Moa’qi interrupted his reverie with “When we get to the plain, let me know when you sense the tribe.” This added a new dimension to the experience. Sylk would learn the outer extent of his ability to sense through his skin. They were passing through the third switchback when the trail leveled some. Sylk had forgotten that it had grown steeper as it had neared the top. What he had not noticed was that it apparently had narrowed near the top as well. He was about to ask Moa’qi about it, when his Master broke into the Hunter Jog, and hastened down the trail. Confused, Sylk followed suit. They wove back and forth down the path and Sylk lost count of the switchbacks. After clearing each switchback, the path grew slightly wider, and more level. And each switchback brought an increase in speed. When they were finally running at nearly full speed, and Sylk’s lungs and legs were beginning to protest, they stopped abruptly, and Moa’qi pointed down. They were at the end of the trail, and would have to jump the last 15 or so feet. Moa’qi lightly stepped into space, and landed in a soft easy crouch. Sylk followed suit, though he had never jumped from such a height. When he hit, he landed wrong, and knocked the wind out. He struggled for that panicked moment when you think you may never breath again, and gradually his lungs re-inflated.

The ground had seemed farther away, and he realized that it was part of the illusion. He had only dropped about 7 feet, and now he knew why Moa’qi had landed so easily. While he caught his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, he wondered why the rush down the rock.

Moa’qi was already preparing camp, when dark collapsed on them again. Sylk realized they were on the day beginning side of Flat Rock, and so while the last light of day was vanishing on the opposite side, the rock hastened apparent Dark Time. Fumbling in his new kit, he pulled the finely made fire maker tools and had a fire going in almost no time. Again, Moa’qi threw some sage on the fire, and the pleasing and relaxing aroma draped about them like a blanket.

“In the morning you will see the destination point that you struggled so hard to avoid this morning. I will wake you early, so that you can watch the progression and marvel at the power.” Sylk listened absentmindedly to his Master. He was aware of something in the dark. In the fire light, he made the sign of silent caution with his hands. Something out there was moving and it was moving toward them. The ancient warrior did not even acknowledge Sylk’s signals. He just went about preparing their meal. Sylk realized that he was failing to provide the type of help, courtesy, and respect that a person in his position was supposed to offer a person in his Master’s position. He’d kind of gotten used to being ministered to, with all the mental and physical challenges that had worn on him. But, he was not in distress now. Chagrined, he began to move to help.

Low, slow, then so quick he almost missed it, Moa’qi moved his hands to a position that Sylk determined was out of sight of what ever was in the dark, and then signed to him the symbols for caution and spear. Sylk froze for a moment, then sorted out that he was to act as if nothing was happening. He looked around for his pack, gathered it up, and simultaneously positioned himself near the spear, to the left of Moa’qi, and with his back toward the rock. Whatever it was stopped moving.

Moa’qi then, as naturally and unaffectedly as he could muster, busied himself with the normal routine meal preparation. Moa’qi began some inane small talk, affecting a jovial, carefree attitude, and Sylk haltingly followed suit. Gradually, he relaxed into the farce, and was able to act as if they were the only ones there. Whatever it was remained motionless for quite some time, in fact through their whole meal, and post meal clean up. They were taking turns telling the old tale of Moab and The 7 Virgins, a ribald tale full of puns and various characters and parts, which had entertained the Tribe for untold seasons. It went something like this: