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:

Day 11, am; 17,796 total. 802 words yesterday am, 1922 this morning

Hit a bit of a wall the last two days. Then released a torrent this morning. Basically, I started worrying about plot, and how good it was, and whether it was going in the right direction, and second guessing and even wiped out one whole paragraph and started it over.

Thought about it last night, just didn't feel like writing. Vegetated on the couch staring at the dancing flickering images in front of me, kind of like staring into the random patterns of a campfire.

Got up this morning, quit worrying about it all being to talky or wordy or dialogy or whatever, and just typed. Hit over a thousand words an hour. My average, roughly, based on time increments no finer than 15 minutes, so take it with a grain of salt, is 1002 words per hour. Which is much more than I would have ever imagined.

Anyway, I am on pace to finish on time!

Today's excerpt

Chapter 3
Ahogándome

The first sensation Sylk had that something was wrong, was that he was sliding. Still not quite awake, he struggled with the sensation of sliding. Then some primitive part of his mind started yammering for attention, adrenaline flooded his system, and he was wide awake. And he was sliding. He could barely see. It was not quite first light. Usually he slept for another 20 minutes or so. He could not see clearly. But he was sliding. Frantically he tried to gain purchase on the rocky slope. It was too damp, too slick. Casting about frantically, he saw his spear sliding beside him. He contorted violently and just managed to grab it. He was still sliding, and it seemed he was going faster. And, he was beginning to be in deep water. The hardness of the spear comforted him a bit, and he calmed down enough to take stock of his situation. The water was getting deeper, and he was no longer simply sliding. He was being pushed. Then he heard it. The roar of the cataract. He panicked for a good 40 seconds, flailing his arms, poling the ground with the spear, frantically trying to slow his progress. ‘Oh my god, I’m going to go down the waterfall!’ This was followed by the more immediate concern that he had managed to open his mouth underwater, and while attempting to breathe in, had inhaled a quantity of water. Coughing and choking, struggling against the flow, his body tiring, a deep and abiding fear settled within him. Death. It was coming for him. He stopped struggling, and found he was now floating, holding onto the spear.

He found himself mildly surprised at how buoyant the spear was. Somehow in his panic he had rotated onto his stomach, and was holding the spear in front of him, perpendicular to his body. In this position, he had managed to clear his lungs. The immediate danger of suffocation over, he regained control of his mind, and began to think seriously about how to stay alive. ‘Think. Think. This can’t be the end. While I’m alive, I will strive.’ He was moving rapidly toward where the water hurtled off the edge and down to the plain below. He remembered walking to the edge to watch the waters flow through the constricted depression, remembering how it seemed to back up and swirl violently, and he wondered how he would survive even that. His neck and shoulders weary, he bowed his head down and rested it on his spear. HIS SPEAR! Looking at the length, nearly double his own height, he calculated that lengthwise it was too wide to get through the depression. Could he wedge it just so, and cling to it like a newborn sugar glider, just out of pouch, until the torrent subsided? He did not know, but he knew that it was most likely his only hope.

Fast he was coming up on the decisive opportunity. Struggling against the current, he willed his arms to hold the spear crosswise. When he hit, if it actually lodged, he would have to lock his arms around it, as he knew he could not maintain a simple hand grip. Fast, fast, too fast he was born by the now raging current towards all too probably doom. The water roiled and boiled and buffeted him back and forth, nearly tearing the spear from his grasp. ‘Here it comes, now or never’, he thought. Wrenching his body with a savage violence, he got in position and WHACK! the spear was locked in place. He shoved one hand under water and back around the spear, passing beneath it and locking his left arm. Wham, he felt the spear bend farther than he thought it could, and he realized that it may break. He was driven under water, and could do nothing but hold on, and hold his breath. Seconds went by. Buffeted, he fought the urge to breathe. Realizing that he had to get air someway, he pulled himself back tight to the spear, worrying about both the spear and his arm. Odd thoughts came to him. He thought he saw his Master, what, under water? He struggled against his clamoring lungs. His chest pounding, stars blinking in and out, his eyes shut against the current, he willed himself to the spear and managed to get his face above water for just a moment. Loudly exhaling, then taking in a ragged noisy breath, he went back under. His strength was failing him. He was going to die. Why not let go? It would be over quickly. No worries. The pounding in his lungs, his heart straining, he made one more attempt to pull his head up for air. Kicking his feet, his face crested, and again a ragged explosion out, and a desperate intake, and under again. He could not feel his left arm. One eye felt like it was going to pop. He was running out of breath faster this time. He slipped a little, panicked and repurchased his hold. ‘How very strange’, he thought. ‘In a few minutes, I will try to breathe water, and then I will fly through the air.’ He was feeling tranquil now, calm, and realized he was accepting the inevitable. ‘What a waste’, was all he could think. He was working again on no oxygen, tried to pull himself up, could not, resigned himself, and was about to let go, when his face was suddenly out of the water. “Bouahaaaaaaaa”, he exhaled, sucked in a sobbing ragged breath, violently exploded that one out, greedily sucked that in, and repeated several times.

He could breath, the water had crested and was subsiding. But, he was not out of danger. The current was still strong, and Sylk realized that though he was not in danger of suffocation by water, he could still very easily lose his grip and be dragged to his death. Even if all the water were gone, he may have prevented one death only to succumb to another. The world was being very mean and capricious, he thought. Then, he decided since he had hung on this long, he may as well hang on a little longer.

Obviously, there are some events missing between the last excerpt and this one. If you want to know, then you'll have to buy the book! Hah. fb

Day 9, am; 15,072 total, only 900 this morning

I am in a hurry today. Lot's to do at work. Even with this pitiful exertion this morning I am on track to finish on time. So, anything I write tonight is gravy. Woo hoo!

Day 8, pm; 14,172 total words, 2361 today.

Wow. At this pace, I'm on track to complete on November 28th!

I just finished at about 11:58 this evening, so this really counts as my largest word count in one day. Since my goal is 2000, I feel pretty good right not.

I'll post excerpts tomorrow maybe. But for now, it is to bed. fb

Day 8, am; 13,063 total, 1252 this morning

26% done! back on track. At this rate I will be ahead, and can take my birthday off, and Thanksgiving day, I think. Or at least not have to write 2000 words on each of those days. I should easily break 2000 words per day.

Today's excerpt:

“Oookay, I shall continue.” Moa’qi shifted his position to focus intently on Sylk. “You know some things can hear better than us, others can smell better, right?” Sylk nodded an assent. “Ok, that means they can hear things that we can’t. Obviously. Not so obviously, it says something about our senses. Or, proffers a question. Namely, we know that some animals can hear things we can’t hear. It would seem logical that there may be some things that exist that they can’t hear either. Doesn’t mean that sound does not exist, only that they can’t hear it either, right?”

“Yeah.”

Moa’qi paused. Sylk was not responsive. He seemed rebellious.

“What’s bothering you, son.”

“My brain - hurts.” Sylk looked at Moa’qi. “It’s too much” he implored.

Moa’qi considered this for a moment. “Right. Okay then. A little less talk, and a lot more action.” But he just sat there. Sylk fell back, and went immediately to sleep.


When he woke, Moa’qi was gone. He looked around, and could not see any sign of him. No kit. No camp! The fire area had been cleaned, and all sign, ashes, everything, removed. Nothing. The light was getting late. Sylk stood up and looked around. Walking to the edge, looking at the path down, he calculated that he could not get to the ground before dark. Which meant camping on the ledge, or, possibly, getting to the ground entirely too fast. He gave a tight smile at his grim humor. He turned back around. He really could not believe his Master had left him up here. Not that he could not survive. He had passed his trial, he was a man, he needed no sitter.

Sitting down, he inventoried his supplies. He had naturally set aside some portion of every meal containing foods that spoiled slowly. He had water. He could live on this for two days. Relaxing, he realized he might be able to see that red globe and that green flash again. This excited him a bit. He decided to walk toward the center of the rock, and sit where his Master had been sitting. He strolled slowly, almost lazily, his mind elsewhere. It was warm here, he realized. The rock was warm, and seemed warmer as he moved to center. At the center, he saw something that he had managed to forget about, and was chagrined. His spear. He had not even noticed it missing. Moa’qi had possession of it last, while doing that tapping thing. Sylk had fallen asleep, and upon waking, didn’t even notice it was gone. He looked at the spear a long moment, humbled. His Master knew he would come here, and he knew he would forget about the spear. His Master was teaching him even now.

Sylk sat down in the center of Flat Rock and considered all the things he knew, and did not know, about Moa’qi.

Moa’qi was now easily the oldest in the tribe. He was also inarguably the most skilled at virtually any skill or task. Where he was not best, he was second best. He had never taken a woman, and some thought it strange, because he had also never exhibited the propensity toward being one of the Sacred Ones, those who only consorted with their own gender. He therefore had no children, but he had not become one of the de facto grandfathers of the tribe. His only close friend had held First Chair. No one else really knew much about him. After a Bruta Stampede had taken Sylk’s father, Moa’qi had been selected to pass on that knowledge which is to be passed from father to son. Which he did, with remarkable efficiency and little warmth.

Sylk felt both lucky and cheated. He could not remember his father, as he was not even one season when the accident had happened. He did realize that he had prospered greatly under Moa’qi’s tutelage. His skill, as compared to the other children of his seasons, was fuller, more complete, more mature. He was grateful and so he wondered again about his Master.

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Day 7; pm, 11,811 words so far. 2027 written today

Tired. must sleep. excerpt:

“Again.” Sylk closed his eyes. This time Moa’qi tapped on the ground as he walked away. Sylk listened again through his muffled ears until he could hear nothing anymore. Moa’qi, began weaving back and forth, now near, now far. He also began to vary the strength of the tapping. The effect was such that Sylk finally gave up trying to hear. His sense of hearing was unreliable, and easily tricked. Sylk was frustrated, and growing tired of standing. Just when he was about to ask for a reprieve, he realized that what he thought he was listening to, he was not actually hearing. Rather, he was sensing somehow the tapping of the spear. His brain had been reading the input as sound. But it was not sound. It was – in the ground! Wait. It was moving. The tapping was circling him, just out of hearing. He instinctively turned to face toward the source of the tapping. As soon as he oriented on the tapping, it stopped. Sylk stood still, straining to sense his surrounding, and waiting for the tapping sensation to start again. There! To his left. Three taps? Yes, three. He turned to face it. Again it stopped. Sensing, sensing. There! One tap, behind him. He turned. As he was turning, he sensed, or did he feel? The tap moved just ahead of his rotation. He stopped and stood still. Tap. Behind him again. He removed one hand from his ear, pointed, then replaced. Tap. Different somehow. Same direction, but - Ahh, closer. He pointed again.

The exercise continued for quite some time. Sylk’s arms were quivering, and he finally just let his arms down. Tap. How odd. He knew there was a tap, but he did not hear it even with his ears uncovered. He turned and opened his eyes. For a moment, he could not see his Master. Tap. He swiveled to his left and saw Moa’qi, but he was too far away! He watched the spear come up, then drop. Then he felt the tap. How bizarre! He did not expect the time lapse. He sat down, and watched as Moa’qi walked toward him. There was something different, something about his Master walking toward him. What was it? Finally, he realized that he was thinking that he was hearing the footsteps of his Master. But, he could not hear them. He frowned, waiting for Moa’qi, hoping that he would get some answers this time instead of more mind bending questions.

“Lunchtime!” Moa’qi sat next to him, and produced some hard tack and his own water holder, offering it to Sylk. “Ever hear anyone talking about someone having a sixth sense?”

“Yes”, Sylk replied.

“What are the senses?”

“They number five: sight, sound, hearing, taste, touch.”

“And the sixth sense?”

Sylk frowned. What was the sixth sense? “I don’t think there is a sixth sense.”

“Very good. As it happens, you are correct. Of course there aren’t five senses either. Or four.”

“How can you say that?” Sylk asked.

“What, do you think hearing and seeing are different?”
Sylk felt like saying “Duh”, but refrained. Instead he asked, “Aren’t they?”

“Most people think so. But it is a question of degree, or perhaps more correctly, of orders of abstraction.”

Sylk just looked at him.

“Hmmm. You are not following me at the moment are you.”

Sylk was surprised by a yawn, then said, “I’m really very tired for some reason. May I lay down while you talk?”

“Oh sure. Go ahead and sleep through this important lesson.”

Day 7; am; 11,003 words so far, 1219 this morning

OK, if I will only do 1000 tonight, then I will be back on track.

Excerpt:

It was time. He picked up the little stick he had brought with him, tossed it over his shoulder, and hit a surprised Sylk right in the chest. “Sit with me, and look at the world.” Chagrined, Sylk did as he was bid.

“How did you know?”

“Later. Tell me your discovery.”
Sylk stared at his Master, suddenly more confused than ever. How? How did Moa’qi know he had reached an answer? Not knowing what else to do, he decided to just answer the question.

“Confusion is a form of stress. The best response to stress is to grow. In the case of a stressed muscle, it grows stronger. In the case of a stressed mind, it grows smarter. We can use different words to describe different growths, but in the end, I believe that Growth is the Proper response to Stress.”

“Excellent!” Moa’qi clapped Sylk on the shoulder. Excellent.” He paused an looked mischievously at Sylk. “Why do you suppose we have this confusion? Why don’t we just know everything we need to know?”

This brought Sylk up short. “Well…” he started, then stopped. “Uh, well, the thing about confusion…” he stopped again. “See, I don’t know if confusion is a consequence or a - a - well, a cause. That’s it. It may be a cause or it may be an effect. I don’t know.”

“Very good. Do go on.”

“Well, ummm…” he trailed off again, thinking furiously. “See, if it is an effect, then it is something designed to prod us forward. But, like any tool, if not used properly, it can be dulled. But, I don’t know where I’m going with that. I’m confused.”

Moa’qi laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder again.

“Does this confusion upset you, or enervate you?”

“Huh? Uh, well, actually, since I know that expending effort can probably yield some, er, growth, I guess it kind of is exciting at a certain level. I guess.”

“Why don’t we just know everything we need to know. The Bruta seem to have everything they need.”

“True”, Sylk replied, almost absently. “But, they really don’t grow mentally, do they?”

“Hah! If they do, it certainly doesn’t show!” Moa’qi laughed some, and looked appreciatively at his apprentice. “You are recovering nicely. I will now show to you my secret. But Sylk, if you share this secret with anyone, you will no longer exist to me. There will be finality to our relationship exceeded only be the death of one or the other. Do you understand?”

“No, not really. I guess that is a warning. I give you my word as a Warrior of The Tribe. I know no stronger oath.”

“That will have to do. I only caution one last time. I will not forgive you if you discuss this with anyone. It may be necessary to save your life, and perhaps the village. This is the critically important fact you must absorb.”

With that Moa’qi stood and moved back to their little camping area.

“Sylk, take up your spear, and throw it too me.” Sylk did so. Now, cover your ears, and close your eyes, and do not speak.” Sylk followed the instructions. Moa’qi moved some distance away, and tapped the rock with the end of his spear. Sylk could hear the sound, muffled though it was. He waited. There, the tap again. Farther away and too his – left? He strained to hear. The tapping started up, in a familiar rhythm. It came close, moved away, then was gone. Sylk stood obediently, straining his senses. “Where am I?”

Sylk shouted in surprise, leapt in the air and scampered away. Thoroughly startled, he stared at his Master. Last he thought he had heard, his master was away and too the left. He realized that he was foolishly still holding his hands to his ears, and felt suddenly silly.

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Day 6, pm, sort of. It's 12:42 am on Day 7 actually. 9,784 words total; 2537 today!

Finally wrote twice in one day. First time since the first day. So, though it is technically Day 7, I'm counting the above as Day 6 word counts. Sue me.

Getting ready to leave Flat Rock. Here is tonight's excerpt"

Yes, it was collected dew. But, for the first time in his life, he wondered where the dew came from. And realized that he had no clue. He stood to watch as the torrent subsided, and the heat of the day began. Listening carefully, the sound lessened and finally stopped. Silence filled his senses. Down on the ground, there was always some kind of noise. Animals, insects, people; something was making some kind of noise almost continuously. Even during the night. Thinking back, he felt that there had been no noise last night. He was not sure, he had been in such a state from the day’s events that he could not recall. Standing motionless, he finally heard the slow measured breathing of his Master. Looking down at him, watching him sleep, Sylk was alarmed to see a kind of smoke rising from beneath him. ‘Is he on fire?’, he thought wildly. Casting about frantically for some gathered water, he realized the whole of Flat Rock was smoking.

“It’s called steam.” Moa’qi was sitting up. “Another word is evaporation.” Sylk did not respond. The sight was fascinating, and he sat down in his own area of steam, wondering what exactly was happening.

Moa’qi continued, “On the ground, the water disappears. It is soaked up by the earth. Here, on this rock, any residual water that does not pour down to the earth below, sits in tiny pockets until the heat of the day causes evaporation. You’ve seen it before, without realizing it. Or rather, if you will think, you have seen water disappear from surfaces that probably are not soaking it in.”

Sylk did not reply. His brain was having a minor temper tantrum, and he was trying to prevent it from taking over his body. It was too much. He was being asked to absorb way too much information, way too fast. In self-defense, he recalled a question from last night regarding confusion and a comparison to stress. He was certainly confused, and he was certainly stressed. Sylk bent his mind to ponder this one issue, and attempt to get at an answer. He felt close to the answer. Moa’qi had been pleased with some of his responses last night. The full answer that his Master desired had thus far eluded him. At least, he had received no indication that he had met his Master’s requirements regarding this issue. But, he was sure he was close.

The day wore on, and Moa’qi left Sylk alone. While Sylk sat and pondered, he got up and made an inspection of the surrounding area. He noted the little cache of sticks and twigs that Jedediah and he had hauled up here two years ago. He ticked off in his mind the disappointing observation that Sylk had failed to question where their fuel came from last night. Which observation only convinced him further that he needed to give Sylk some space, some time to assimilate. It was, he recalled, with no small difficulty that he had absorbed what his Master had shown him. In fact, he still worried over the finer points of the basic concepts. He would give Sylk until after mid-light meal. He would test him further on the healthy human reaction to confusion. If Sylk was ready, if his mind were fertile, Moa’qi would plant the seeds that would sprout into the beginning principles of The Ruminantia.

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