The Elysian Fields

Sunday @ 7pm: I'm definitely going to need to come up another pirate story - the one I'm working on really wants to be 15,000 words or more. At the moment it's only a handful of paragraphs away from being my longest short story. Someday, it might even become that dreaded "N" word. Hopefully it doesn't go that far, even if it does grow beyond the boundaries of "short." I just don't think I'll be able to get away with skating over a few battles, raids, and other assorted piratical things before the mousetrap, as it were, snaps closed.

Some ideas are percolating into an actually-short story with Pelham and the crew of the 'awk - I can see them on board, and I know they've done other piratey bits before. They're a good way to gaining wider renown, so they must have had an adventure or two before Jilkey and shipmates started sipping ale and grog down at the Wriggling Eel... I'm just not sure exactly what those adventures - in particular, this one I'd like to tell - are. Before I get to that, though, I've got to keep playing the cat and mouse game. That longer story needs to sail to its end before the ideas sink below the waves.

The Australian steampunk thing needs to get some more attention - it keeps hinting at further details, but hasn't said, "Hey, here's my whole story!" yet. And at some point, I have to go visit with a certain heir to the Alexandrian Empire, because now that he's sitting a table with DaVinci, things are likely to get interesting. Although I think I do have to rework one of the core conceits of the entire story - the enigma that puts him on the path to the throne really needs to not involve encryption, what with that other guy's novel about codes and DaVinci and all making that whole connection seem somewhat less than original.

Further down in the piles of Stuff That's Not Done, there's The Gauntlet, which is quite a few chapters short of completion (or two chapters in, depending on how you want to look at it.) The Dreaming could use another story or two - there's still a lot more I want to do with that character and those settings. A couple of short story starts and fits are lying around, including a "prequel" to The Goblin and the Sorcerer (which is about something else entirely, but opens with the goblin and the sorcerer first coming across each other - or, rather, the goblin being caught on the edge of one of the sorcerer's spells, and unknowingly defeating the purpose of said spell.) There's also the Ellyssian Tarot - and that's likely to need a *lot* of work, as much has changed since I first outlined the deck.

For now, though, it's pirates. And maybe a poem or two.

Last minute update, Monday @ 1am: With the remaining outline still in place, the piratical type thing is 10,265 words. Mind you, the basic idea of the finale, in scattered semi-phrases (not even full sentences) is what nudges it over the 10,000 word limit. And all they've done is declare war on the Spanish navy, adding a frigate and two corvettes onto their kill list; as well as capturing most of the bounty of a well-laden ship filled with New World gold and other such trinkets. Since the sinking of the first man o' war was described in the outline as "Pelham joins Grim" or something equally descriptive like that. Seeing how this latest affair was but a very brief battle (they came, they sank, they looted) there still must be more to go with "several conflicts." It's only after that, as they return to Port Royal - likely Tortuga, given it's under British control and the Spanish navy is less than happy with them - that the finale slips into place. 15,000 words might be a bit tight, especially if Grim's daughter adds anyone besides the captain and the handsome young sailor with the nice singing voice to her own list of conquests. Sadly, for those interested in such things, I don't detail those particular events. They are, however, going to fit into nearly every scene she's in. Why, even as she killed the two refugees from the merchantman, she couldn't resist a kiss. Makes you wonder how ol' Grim can insist to the Captain that his daughter is not that kind of girl...

Even later last minute update, Monday @ 9:30am: Story is a harsh mistress. I had gobs of hours reserved for listening to the stories of two out of three of my pirate crews, and all I got from them were a few minor tweaks and embellishments. Later, upon the second attempt, which began shortly after the core of this update was written, and suddenly they were not just telling their stories, but they sang one as well. And, lo', when the dust settled and the smoke from the cannon fire thinned, the story was twice what it had been. Sadly, the characters did not quiet down - still have not - and I've gotten bits and pieces of the past, as well as hints of the future (perhaps even into the 1660's!) Two threads have presented themselves for further treatment. The first, that of the Bathoryesque female lead could be oh so much longer, but not all of her tale is suitable for mixed audiences (psychopathic murderers, and non-, and I would actually hope that there are far more of the latter in the audience, as two of these characters are enough of the former.) The other thread will wrap things up quicker, into somewhat of a neater package, and will follow closer to my original finale. In fact, the only real difference thus far is that one just might be alive in the wreckage, and of the other two leads, she is made to walk the plank first.

The Dreaming : A Dragon's Tale
by Everett A Warren

an excerpt

On one cool evening in the Month of the Boar, I wandered the Market at Fayleigh, in the cool light of the three moons. Set within the heart of the city, bounded by walls higher than those that kept the storms from the Olephian Sea at bay and higher than those which guarded the landbound approaches to Fayleigh, the market was of such legendary status that I had first heard of it long before I knew in what realm the city might be found. It is said, in more realms than one and in realms more distant than this one, that if it is for sale, it can be found in the Market at Fayleigh. It was on my first visit there, as I strolled by stalls and stores, perusing their wares, that I first heard Thaumaturge tell a tale.

He was just gathering a crowd about him, and, through it all, his eyes caught mine alone, although I was far from him. Unsure of who or what he was, I approached the back of the audience and lost sight of him. As he began to speak, I manoeuvred for a better view, and found one atop a disused crate by a closed stall. He spoke of strange and wondrous things, and I was as enchanted as any who stood listening. It was mythic, in a way, but held something that rang true, as if he spoke not of the heroic events from ages past, but of the here and now, or perhaps the morrow and beyond.

A brave hero fought valiantly alongside a powerful archmaji, and between the two, a great evil loosed upon the world was brought to bay. A common theme, I'll admit readily enough, but it was far from common in the hands and voice of this speaker. I merely smiled at the end, whilst the rest applauded and tossed a gold coin or more onto the cloth he had spread out for such a collection. His tale was well worth such a steep fee – for I had seen how highly the Fayleighans prized their miserly ways, where parting with mere copper was a difficult enough task – yet I could not bring myself to step forward, for I was slightly unnerved at certain elements in his tale and at the way his eyes seemed to find me, and glimmer, when he spoke of the hero, and the way in which his odd medallion seemed to share in this flickering secret, finding my hand tight upon my sword-hilt at each such occurrence.

It was then, as the old tale-spinner gathered up his collection cloth, as the audience faded into passer-bys, as the torchlights flickered as surrogate for the last of the sunlight, and as I myself turned my back to him to walk out of the market and find an Inn, it was at that moment that the thief chose to strike. He moved swiftly, I am sure, although I did not see where he had hidden himself, certainly it was not anywhere in the direct vicinity. Scooping the cloth and treasure therein, pushing the old man backwards, clutching the medallion about the story-teller's neck, and then rushing with treasures in hand swiftly up a banner hung from a small shop, so passed the thief. My senses already heightened by the odd inferences in the telling, I had noted the near silent approach and even still, I barely turned fast enough. All that I saw was the departing thief bounding over rooftop and away.

With but a look to the old man, who sat up before the admirers rushed back, squealing and afraid, to assist him, I doffed my cape and bounded to the rooftops with all the grace of my feline form. Eschewing the two legged travel I preferred in more civilised regions, I ran on all fours, sure that nothing could elude me in the hunt. I tried not to think on my last two images of Thaumaturge, one being similar to the glittering glances given I during the story, the other, just before I disappeared across the roofs was equally unnerving, for one does not generally smile when they have recently been relieved of a small fortune.

Copyright (c) 1997, 1999 Everett A Warren

You can read the complete story in my collection, Cautionary Fables: Warts & All, available on Amazon.com or by order from your local bookseller.

The Dreaming : A Prelude
by Everett A Warren

“So what have you been, then?"

”For the last 144 years, I have been a cat. I jumped through Timehenge, you see."

"Timehenge? Oh, I see. You mean Stonehenge, of course. You dreamed you were a cat playing in the ruins."

"No, I mean that I dreamed I was a cat and I used the Henge to travel back in time. And for every night, more than fifty two thousand of them, I have been having a continuous adventure as a cat, black as night, with eyes ice blue, and a shock of white fur atop my head."

( The old man sat back and thought a bit, then answered carefully... )

Copyright (c) 1996 Everett A Warren

You can find this story in my collection, Cautionary Fables: Warts & All, available on Amazon.com or by order from your local bookseller.