The Elysian Fields

Her Tears Tasted of the River Acheron
by Mina Ellyse Warren

an excerpt

Her tears tasted of the River Acheron.

That gave me pause. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt such loneliness, such overbearing sadness. A subtle humour that, considering I live in a cemetery, but there you have it.

Now don’t go thinking I’m one of those boggarts or dweomerfale that feed off of that sort of thing, no, not at all! but when those tears spread across the surface of the pond like oil, coloured in a rainbow of agony and pain, I did feel a pang. Story is what I’m after, you see, and sorrow that deep has a tale to tell.

There are stories that tell of walking on water, and I was nearly needy enough to bolt straightaways over that tainted surface, but I held myself back for two reasons. First off, she was in a fragile state, and a forthright charge would do nothing to set her at ease. Even if she didn’t run, she’d not be likely to speak freely of dark secrets, now would she? No story would have meant no reason to rush to her in the first place – not that she’d know that – and I’m sure that if I went fleetly flying over the rippling waters, it would have her thinking all sorts of nasty things were about to occur, and she’d be downright uncommunicative. Not only that, but the second reason for not running the waves is even simpler.

I would sink like a rock.

~ ~ ~

I felt as if someone was watching me. Through the tears, the pond, the trees, the crypts, and the monuments blended and blurred, like an impressionistic painting. Perhaps if I had tried to focus, to wipe my eyes, even just to blink… but I didn’t really feel it was worth the effort.

Didn’t feel much of anything, really.

Distant.

Like the eyes on me.

Did Van Gogh paint crypts? The one across the way, done with dashes of still-wet paint, held staring eyes. Dead eyes – no, undead eyes, I mused. Vampires, werewolves, and zombies, oh my. Or maybe a psychotic killer behind a headstone, who picked out the perfect prey – blinded by the tears in her eyes. On any other day, those kind of thoughts would drive me away. No sanctuary when you’ve got one eye peeled for madmen with axes and chainsaws and another on the lookout for beggars and thieves, the third firmly fixed on chimeras and dragons that are feeling a nagging rumbling in their supernal bellies.

This particular day, though, no matter what weird creature might come by to grind my bones to make some bread, it would be my sanctuary.

It was the best I had on short notice, so it would have to do.

That, and, although I wasn’t exactly suicidal, if a serial killer or other monster stepped out from behind a tree and asked for a volunteer to be his victim, I’d be the first to raise my hand.

Yeah. So maybe a little suicidal.

“Hey,” I called out, throwing myself back on the perfectly manicured lawn, arms and legs spread wide, “Take me, I’m yours.”

Yeah. Overly dramatic, too.

Copyright (c) 2006 Mina Ellyse Warren

Hmmm... thought I posted this yesterday, and this morning it pops up as "restore from saved draft"... go figure.


Urban Shaman by C.E. Murphy

I was a bit leery of this, as mizkit was published by a branch of Harlequin, and for some odd reason I've never been a fan of that particular publishing house.

Despite having a lot against it on those grounds alone, I figured I'd give it a go anyway, having heard from - I think - phantom_wolfboy that Luna published at least one other author that was worth reading no matter what publishing house; and if Luna was smart enough to pick up somebody he'd recommend, maybe they had a couple other good authors as well...

For all that this is an urban fantasy, a mix of Celtic and Native American myths, at it's core this is about a particular slice of the Celtic mythos: the Wild Hunt. I've always been partial to tales of the hunt, and I was pleasantly surprised - given my initial fears - that this fits nicely into that group of stories. I feel I learned a bit out of it - and actually want to go, erm, hunt down some source material on the hunt. Despite what certain leaders of certain countries might think, it's always good to learn new things, and it's nice to have a book coax you enough that you want to find out more.

I read this in a handful of short bursts, the last of which - maybe the third or fourth time I picked it up - covered probably three quarters of the book. Good stuff, and I'm curious enough about What Happens Next in these characters lives to see where things go from here.

I finished the first draft of Her Tears Tasted of the River Acheron - the story formerly, temporarily, titled as Mount Auburn. After finishing, I debated on the title for a while, and finally went with the first line of the story - something that I've done in poetry, but I don't think I've done with fiction.

It has changed in tone and subject from what I had expected - one of the characters was not who I thought they were, and, sadly, the other characters live to regret that. Or don't live, depending on which one you're talking about. And the ghouls had to keep as quiet as possible, so as to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

If anyone would like to give it a once-over, let me know. I've got a couple of questions of opinion that I'd like to ask after it's read - although, if I think about it for a while, I might make some changes in the way I tell the central part of the tale before I get any feedback on it.

Just for the record, I'm looking for both general and specific feedback - I'm not expecting line editing, just comments about what works and doesn't work for a handful of readers.

I've got one copy of the earlier short story, Full Moon Poetry, out there - two, if you count the one Deb is looking at. I'd like to get at least one other set of opinions on it before wrapping up all the feedback and getting it ready to submit for publication. For the record, Full Moon Poetry is not poetry - it is a fantasy fiction piece, with a title that seems to be misleading, and, thus, will probably be changed before it goes prime time.

Until I get that feedback, the only story I have floating around is the anachrotech Mad Max one. I've been listening in on the COALS list about steam power in Australia. I want to have a really good grasp on the trials and tribulations of 1) running a steam powered vehicle; and 2) doing so in Australia. Although this will probably be a short story - at least to introduce the character and setting - this will take a lot of research to get it right. Who knows, maybe a novel-length story concept will appear, with all the novel-length information gathering.

Oh, if you extend "story" from "short fiction" to "novel," I suppose that's not the only one I've got rambling around. I still have Kryptos to work on - the alternate history/anachrotech piece I started many, many moons ago. I suppose I could tie that into the world of the Mad Max story, but Kryptos is actually much higher tech at a much earlier time. The feeling of the two worlds is also very different - a Victorian Western vs. a Hellenistic Renaissance.

This is still pending some feedback from Deb - two parts are needing revision, and the opening itself is one of them. An urban fantasy, taking place in an unspecified city. Completely subject to change, although even if re-written to exclude everything here, I expect this portion is still true. The title itself is subject to change, despite that being the first thing I came up with. Other than the name of the consulting company mentioned here, the moon, despite having a pivotal role, only makes an appearance at the end in summary form - and that would be the other weak point in need of revision.

Have you ever noticed that sayings such as "As the crow flies" always seem to have a connotation that differs from what one would expect should they analyse it closely?

Take this saying and translate it to its intent, and what you really come up with is "In a straight-lined path" which is a great simplification of the actual path any bird might take betwixt point A and point B, should they ever arrive at point B in the first place.

So following the given advice, one would think taking side detours for a fragment of shiny or for a small taste of prime road-prepared raw flesh would be quite apropos. Travelling that straight and narrow path would, of course, give way to more important things such as evading or mobbing predators. If one was to travel as the crow flies, one simply must engage in all manner of minor excursions, of storytelling, of crops theft, and of other random mischief.

Mina wasn't really considering any of that as she tried to reconcile the spoken word with the small, touristy map with the lay of the land. She was, however, wondering about the three dimensional nature of crow-flight, especially in regards to crossing vast expanses of steel, glass and concrete – for the lay of the land had precious little real, actual land in view, unless one counted the caged in bits of earth wherein were planted small, struggling trees or the occasional window box in some of the residential brownstones.

Point A to point B had never seemed clearer when the old man rattled on about crows, and south easterly, and flying. Point A – her entry to the city – was still clear in her mind, but she wasn't sure how long that would last. She was fast losing hope of locating point B – Full Moon, a consulting company, with a position awaiting her there – and she had no faith in retaining the ability to trace her way back after another set of twists and turns.

She had thought a city laid out so logically should have been an easy matter for navigation, what with their alphabet marching one way and their numbered avenues another.

She looked around once more, scanning the horizon – which didn't take much as the buildings led her gaze up, and none too far away – and then looking back across the street.

Well, that was that. The alley way misplaced itself since she left it.