Fit for Life

[Críostóir]

*sits crosslegged to begin the ritual of Mod Summoning*

Ommmm Mod-ne Padme Hum!

 

[Kulindahr]

*sits crosslegged to begin the ritual of Mod Summoning*

Ommmm Mod-ne Padme Hum!

Shouldn't that be "Om Mani MOD-me Hum"?

We could call it the "'Mod-Me' Hum".


Update:

I found a few chronology issues and had to iron them out before submitting. That's what I get for writing chapters on borrowed legal pads and the backs of printer pages from the trash: no chance to cross-reference and keep it 'neat'.

So now, finally, a new chapter is on its way to Auto von Mod. It should appear in post 1001, right before "Of Plans and People".

Now I have to tweak the other five chapters "in the rough" to make their chronology right.

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[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
I just finished reading about Anaph and the Celtic King "elect" enroute and at the pond surrounding the stone.

It was a great read. I can understand Anaph's concern that our newfound King sees his "mutt" lineage as "Rich" while his "purebred" playmates, who used to make mockery of him, are "Poor".

I'm hoping it won't be a bad thing, in the long run - that he will enlighten his people, encouraging them to truly become ONE people by intermixing and marrying.

The Druid waters appear to embrace him - he has hid nothing from himself, and is comfortable in his own skin - which is exactly what the waters and stone demand: Know Thyself, and to Thine Own Self be True. Without that, how can you serve others?

Great to hear from you.

 

[Kyanimal]

What DQ said!

Excellent!! And, a very appropriate "interjection"!!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

The Joy Set Before Him​

"Centurion." Episcopal guard commander Tacito Vargas turned to see the newest man, replacement for one crippled in a the previous week's market riot. Bishop Theodoro had been disturbed at prayer by the tumult, and ordered men sent to aid the Watch. Rufus had ended the matter single-handedly, though not intentionally: putting himself between infuriated townspeople and a merchant's young son who was just trying to protect his fallen father, he'd been knocked down and trampled before someone had cried out....

"It's a Bishop's man!" the scream came from a woman with a broken chair leg she'd been using as a crude sword. Her voice cut through the yelling.

"Virgin forgive us, we've trampled a Bishop's man!" a youth next to her yelled. "Make room!" The merchant was saved as horror at what they'd done brought the sound of dropping weapons, audible as motion ceased in a spreading circle -- word passing from person to person moved out like ripples across a pond.

"Pray! We must pray!" a voice cried. People began dropping to their knees. Sobbing could be heard.

Good news doesn't always come alone. For Rufus, relief from being walked on, and the sight of people backing off and showing concern, was accompanied by the sight of the beam on the front of the merchant's roof falling, friction failing in the face of the force of gravity, its aged pegs loosened by the rough treatment from the crowd. The end landed just short of the guard's knee, shattering the bone, ramming splinters into the cartilage and tendon of the delicate joint. When the rest of the beam came to rest, it tumbled across the knee itself, shattering the kneecap, driving splinters into the cup where the lower leg bone rested. Pain from the initial blow had already sent Rufus into the darkness of unconsciousness, so he was saved from the agony for which "blinding" would have fallen immeasurably short. . . .

Quite contrite men had brought Rufus back to the cathedral, leading nearly the entire number of rioters -- whose who hadn't fled to their homes in shame. Traditionally it would have meant a fade into miserable poverty. This bishop wouldn't even consider that: Rufus was now on a pension from the bishop's personal funds -- and serving as a judge in the market, where he'd already infuriated merchant and customer alike by being insightful, honest, just, unwavering, and so far beyond corruptible that was being mentioned as a living saint in some quarters, and was known as "Rufus the Just".
He'd met his match in Bishop Theodoro: when he'd claimed the traditional right of calling a cousin to replace him, the blessed bishop had merely said, "We'll see if he's suitable." Since then the cousin had proven his mettle -- barely sufficient, but acceptable. Now he was out of position during Mass -- and spoke without waiting for his superior's response.

"The man on the fifth bench, sir. He's dressed like a merchant. I know him from home. He's two years older than I am. He left the year before I did to become a guard. Sir, he became an Inquisitor."

The Centurion's blood ran cold. New or not, the man was too solid to report something like this without being certain; asking would be an insult. "Did you ever see him as one?" Some who went failed to pass the training....

"Yes, sir. He came back with an older Inquisitor, because he knew the village. "He was a novice, but confirmed."

"They meddle. In my cathedral, they meddle!" He didn't say anything about the corpse about which the Inquisitors had been gratifyingly silent. "Your post is covered?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go to the sergeant at St. Ambrose Gate. Ask him to rouse the decuriones of the eighth and ninth for a watch. You stay with the ninth, to look out for him." He glared down at the man, now kneeling, unconsciously flexing and relaxing every muscle. It was an old, old habit, from when his second sergeant took a new decurion under his wing and taught him how to really be a guard, not just a walking decoration with a sharp piece of metal.


"Bishop?" Theodoro had shut the door on the last man to call him "Your Grace".

"Centurion. Have you ever read St. Jerome's...? Oh. Is there trouble?"

Vargas pulled the 'trouble' into the study. "Bishop, this man is an Inquisitor."

Theodoro scowled at the marks on the man's face and flashed a stern question at Vargas. "Forgive; I had to be certain from his own mouth", the Centurion explained. "It is no less than he has done himself, to the innocent." The Inquisitor wisely kept his mouth shut.

Theodoro sighed and put down the broken scroll section he'd been examining. He looked at the Inquisitor with blended pity and compassion. "My son, is this true?" The honest care in Theodoro's voice, though he'd heard it dozens of times before, still nearly drew tears from the Centurion. It seemed to have an effect on the man in his grip as well.

"Yes, Bishop." The answer came as a whisper.
"Have you no respect for the law of the Church?" Theodoro's voice bore restrained pain. "Why did you come as you did?"

"I was commanded. To guard the truth."

The Bishop turned away and took a moment to tidy thing on his desk, freeing his full attention for the man. "To guard the truth", he repeated. "Who ordered this?"

"The Grand Inquisitor, bishop."

"Ah. And he guards the truth?"

"It is his duty!"

"So it is. Tell me, then: the nineteen Grand Inquisitors before him, did they guard the truth?"

"Most certainly."

"And do not the bishops guard the truth? and the High Bishop?"

"Yes, bishop."

Theodoro sighed again and looked to the crucifix above his desk. It had been carved for him by a boy with only one eye, brought in the offertory his fifth or sixth Mass in Corazon dos Reyes. The face wasn't what a person expected on such a piece; there was no pain there, only joy. After weeks in the new bishop's service, and visits to the study on nearly half those days, Tacito Vargas was finally beginning to understand why Theodoro loved it. "Por el gozo ponedo ante de El" -- For the joy that was set before Him -- read the words now burned into the expensive paneling, beneath the figure. He turned back.
"So the fifteen Grand Inquisitors and twenty-one High Bishops who first set down the Church law which says that no Inquisitor shall enter a cathedral unannounced or without official cause -- were they not guarding the truth?"

"I..." The Inquisitor frowned, a worried frown, his first real expression since entering the study. "They must have been", he whispered after opening his mouth four times with no sound.

Theodoro nodded. "Then what shall we say of these orders?" His gaze could have pinned a century in its charge.

"He said... but they....” The Inquisitor groaned miserably. “But how can he err?!"

Theodoro smiled. "Bishops err. Inquisitors err. Yes, High Bishops and Grand Inquisitors err. Now, if there is disagreement, how shall we tell? Here we have one man" -- he held out his left hand -- "and here" -- he held out his right -- "thirty-six men." He wiggled one finger on the left, all on the right. "All are sworn to guard the truth, as the Apostle commands. Whom shall we believe?"

The Inquisitor seemed to shrink in on himself. He took a step back, his eyes caught by Theodoro's. "Holy one, I do not know!"

"Centurion?" the bishop asked.

"I would say the many. It is easier for one to hear the Spirit of Truth wrongly than for the many."

Theodoro nodded, and let his right hand drift higher, his left descending, a perfect job of looking for all the world like a set of scales -- except these scales worked backwards, the truth rising into the light, the lie disappearing. "That seems wise to me, as well." He said nothing more, just sat with his right hand high, eyes full of compassion.

The Centurion managed a hundred heart beats before he decided he'd better ask. "The sentence, then, bishop?"

"The sentence. Do you know, Centurion, what Aretus, bishop of fallen lands, wrote of sentences?"

"No, bishop."

"He wrote, 'Rush not to accuse, lest your passion to accuse feed a taste for animosity; rush not to judgment, lest your passion to judge feed a hunger for vengeance; rush not to pass sentence, lest your passion for sentencing fill your heart with condemnation." Theodoro switched his gaze to the Inquisitor. "Then he added later, in a small tight hand, ‘and rush not to execute, lest you send one unprepared to meet his God.’
"Inquisitor, are you prepared to meet your God?"

The Centurion had to hold the man from collapsing. "Bishop, I do not know", he whispered hoarsely. Theodoro nodded.

"So. Centurion, find him lodgings. I think the apartment by the red lion is empty."

"Bishop, he came--!"

Theodoro's raised hand stopped further words. "He came for a lie. He must meditate on this."

"The law says, 'Shown to have broken this law, he shall be put to death'.", Vargas recited stubbornly.

There was almost a chuckle from the sere, sober man in plain black cassock. "So it does. Tell me -- does it say when?"

Centurion Vargas opened his mouth, then had to restrain a wry smile; leave it to their God-sent bishop to smuggle grace through any hole, and make it appear out of the mists. "No, it does not. Yet I think I must mark his quarters accordingly."

Theodoro nodded, conceding the point. "So it says. I believe we can dispense with bars and chains and shackles." With that he turned to his desk and picked up the piece of scroll once more.

The Inquisitor looked at the Centurion who had captured him, confusion on his face.

"Regard the crucifix above his desk", the man with the sword suggested. "I have done so often, when he leaves me with questions."

He looked, but it only increased the Inquisitor's look of confusion.

"Come", his captor told him. "Your apartment awaits."

 

[Críostóir]

I love me some Saint Theodoro!

 

[DonQuixote]

Hi, Kuli! Great to hear from you. I know life has been less than a bowl of cherries, and perhaps more like a bowl of Cherry Pits, lately.

A wonderful, insightful chapter.

Creo Teodoro por Papa!

Our beloved Bishop has a truly heaven sent understanding of our Lord's wishes.
And, how to teach without tormenting.

It is a great installment.

 

[Kyanimal]

Wow! Not what I was expecting, at all! Excellent!

THANK YOU!, Kuli! For taking the time to update "Us", with such an insightful chapter, amid your own trials, and tribulations. Greatly appreciated, more than you know!

And, yeah! ... no matter what ...

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

Prince​

“You’ve chosen a name?” Anaph’s hand on the bare shoulder of the young man held him back at the edge of the Pool.

A throat swallowed hard; eyes traveled up and down the height of the Stone, then looked back down at the Pool. It looked like water, plain water, but the Druid had said it could be dangerous. It would test him, test his identity, strip away pretenses, forge him. “Yes”, he answered, thinking of the man in Servant Village who’d seemed more noble than some clan heads, who though crippled bore himself in a way that said he was the equal of any, who though he drove horses to take other people where they wished to go did not seem at all a servant – and yet served more humbly than most in that village who took pride in being Servant People. It was a good name, and would remind him that he was in his own way a cripple, inasmuch as every man had failings, and not to be too proud to serve the least.

“Then go when you wish.” Anaph’s hand withdrew. The youth faced the waters alone, this time more seriously: not as a tool, but as a forge.

Of all who’d ever faced the waters of the Pool, this one, Anaph was certain, was among the most ready. He wasn’t afraid of who he was, indeed refused to surrender any part of his heritage despite the demands of custom; he’d learned the night before that the blood of six clans flowed in him, not just two – and not merely accepted, but embraced that truth. He was honest with himself, and honest to a fault with others. No trace of concern for what others thought of him tainted his motives, no desire to please everyone warped his decisions. He judged what seemed right, and stuck to it, regardless of expediency or discomfort. So the Druid watched calmly as his prince waded in and stopped with the water halfway up his thighs, every inch toned muscle, perfect young skin glowing – at least to Druid eyes, though perhaps to Ocean’s as well, if she’d been there to look, Anaph conceded.

Every journey to the Stone is different; that’s what Anaph thought as hours passed and his charge hardly moved. Something interesting had to be going on; wading always yielded quickly to swimming, but the prince just stood there. Anaph calmed his mind and went to sleep standing, ears alert for the sound of any disturbance in the water.

But no such sound woke him; it was a voice. “How long has he been standing there?”

“Hey, Lumina”, Anaph responded. He checked certain stars. “Eight hours.” There was a difference, though. “He’s deeper, though.”

“Nice buns”, the Healer observed, noting the anatomy barely above the water’s surface.
Anaph grinned. “Very. Austin would be drooling.”

Lumina chuckled and nodded. “If the Giver of Life hadn’t brought me Patrick....” She licked her lips. “How’s the view from the front?”

“Oh, he’s well equipped. He’s made quite a few girls, and several lads, quite happy with what he’s got. If it wouldn’t be bad professional ethics... well, I could use a good throat scratching – and his could scratch a long ways down.”

Lumina laughed softly. “Does he know you think that?”

The Druid shook his head seriously. “Not! That would screw my job as advisor.”

Lumina watched as the prince slipped forward, another centimeter of flesh submerging. “Who do you think he’ll meet in there?”

Anaph turned his head and regarded her curiously. “‘Meet’? Lumina, there’s no one in the Stone. It’s all echoes, resonances, patterns and reactions. You ‘hear’ voices, or feel reactions, but those are just like automatic responses as your own thoughts reflect from the shapes of personalities.”

“Elzbédt’s in there”, Lumina disagreed, shaking her head firmly.

Anaph shook right back at her. “Residual patterns with characteristic responses.”

He sounded too much like Ryan, but she set that thought aside. “Anaph, I talked with her! It was a real conversation! She gave information, and made a request!”

Now the Druid frowned, turning to look at the Stone. “A Healer”, he mused. “Maybe... maybe she could kind of copy herself there. But the skill or power needed – wow!” An idea occurred. “I wonder, if I went and called for her....” Lumina kept her mouth shut; she doubted Elzbédt K•nay’zee would reveal herself to anyone not a Healer. “She did kind of force entry, didn’t she?” he went on. “If anyone could....” Lumina could tell from his tone and the look on his face that he was going to do it, going to seek Elzbédt.

“How was the council meeting?” he asked after a time. Their prince was in almost to his hip bones.

“Lots of saying what we all knew. Lots of adjusting what we want to do against the big picture. Rigel isn’t going exploring next year, just going back to the British. Too many things everyone wants done, not enough resources or time.”

“Time is always the same”, Anaph asserted. “The limitations are in us, not in the universe.”

She chuckled. “Ocean said something like that. Ryan said then get him more people. Rigel wants more people, too. So does Devon. I think we all really do.”

Anaph nodded. He’d be happy with just one more. “I’d like another druid from back home. Someone who thinks like we do.” Lumina understood. However talented the student Healers were, there were concepts a whole world beyond them that she couldn’t get across. Talking with the other Snatched helped, but they weren’t Healers, so there was a whole world beyond them as well. Just one....

Muscle rippled, bare skin flashed. “There he goes”, Anaph murmured. “About time!”

“What spark will gain him entry?” the Healer asked him.

Anaph shrugged. “Tonight, I’d guess Elder. But the Stone has its own way – all those patterns and resonances bounce off a person and choose, like a computer program. All those old Druids... I wouldn’t bet on anything.”

“So do we wait till he’s done?”

Anaph knew the real question was “How long?” The two of them had stood for hours, frozen to the Stone. Until his latest visit, a matter of under a minute, he hadn’t grasped why. “He could be there a day – there’s no way to know. It’s like giving a language, or passing a memory through my staff – most of the time isn’t spent doing the work, it’s spent tuning in. Let’s get some tea.” He led toward a hut with smoke coming out.

Lumina followed. “Like with a radio?”

He shook his head. “More like tuning a symphony, except without even knowing what all instruments are in it. It’s why telepathy could never be used to spy on people: every brain is different, and does its own wiring, and has its own codes. So all brainwaves are different, and the energy vibrations showing thoughts in an aura are unique to each person. To give a language, I have to... build a translator from my brainwave pattern to the other guy’s. To impart lore, the Stone has to do the same thing. But first the Stone has to like measure the mind, the... character of the person. Then a judgment, kind of, gets made about what to impart, what to emphasize.” He grimaced. “For all I know, each spark has its own set of patterns, too, so the Stone might have to do it over again for each of his sparks.”

Lumina heard his frustration. “You can only learn what you can learn, kid”, she said in a lighthearted tone. “Knowing it all might blow your head.”

“I need more time to study.”

“Time is what it is”, she teased.

That got a chuckle. “Yeah. I need to make my time have more study. Or something like that.”


“Where did that come from?!” Lumina exclaimed. As the prince staggered away from the Stone, a brilliant silver torc appeared and tumbled down the side. He grabbed at it, gaining it but losing his balance. Torc and prince tumbled into the Pool.

“It was there the whole time”, Anaph informed the Healer. “I put it there this morning, before I greeted the sun. There’s a trick... life can bend light, so I made the light go around it. So we saw the stone behind it, instead of the silver.”

“Cute”, Lumina said with approval. “What held it up?”

“Lichen. When he was released by the Stone, the lichen let go.”

“Creative. Does it mean anything?”

Anaph shrugged and chuckled. “Yeah – sort of. If he’d ignored it, it would have told me he really isn’t willing to be king. He caught it, but that doesn’t mean he’s really willing.”

“That sounds like Ryan and his hypotheses that prove something by not proving anything.”

Anaph had to laugh, because she was right. “Something like that. If he puts it on before he comes to shore, that will tell us something, though: he knows it’s for him as Prince. If he puts it on while in the Pool, he has to accept that as his identity.”

“What if he doesn’t – you’ll make him king anyway?” Lumina asked curiously.

“Yes, but only after we stay here long enough he does accept it.”

“Yeah, like three years”, she commented pessimistically. But on occasion, Murphy even counters pessimism: the prince came to the surface, treading water vigorously, and forced the dripping, gleaming metal onto his neck.

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli, HI!

And, THANKS!!!
With everything that's been going on in your life, and the challenges you've been facing, lately, I'm so glad you've been able to find time to work on your Tome.

I know it's cathartic for you, and I hope it's helped you over these past several weeks of trial and tribulation.

It's also a wonderful gift that you so unselfishly share with us.

I'm definitely liking our Celtic King. A True Leader of ALL of his people - blood ties to six of the clans, and not willing to suppress any of them. He is a man who knows who and what he is, and embraces it wholeheartedly.

It would appear that the stone agrees. (Lumina doesn't think the "wrapping" is hard on the eyes, either! Of course, neither does Anaph, lol. It's too bad he can't help the prince out and scratch his itch, too.)

This was a wonderful installment, and greatly appreciated, as are YOU!

 

[Críostóir]

Well, I suppose the picture had to be the torc. I was hoping it'd be the Prince's buns!!

No, seriously, it's great to have another episode. This Prince thing is going to shake things up!

 

[Kyanimal]

Kuli, that was Beautiful! THANK YOU!!

Take Good Care! And, yeah! ... no matter what ...

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

Blade Aid​

Urien scowled at the bustle in the Cavern as he passed through on his way to his self-assigned errand.. He much preferred wilderness, now, to his former haunts. Out where he was recognized as Druid, not where he didn’t measure up, was where he’d rather be. But this was important; however much he chafed under Anaph’s staff, however much he sought his own path, he knew the Celts needed this king – and that meant this prince needed to become king, which he wouldn’t if a certain stiff-necked and unhappy clan chief had his way.

The challenge had to happen; Urien understood that as well as Anaph would when it came. But Urien knew things Anaph didn’t, or at least knew them in reality, not in misty words imparted by a cold dead rock. Anaph would try diplomacy or something, but that wouldn’t work – the Celts respected strength, and the challenge had to be met on those terms; no restrictions or agreements, just force against force.

So here he was, skipping greeting the sun in order to catch the prince on his way to daily early-morning tree-chopping. A wry smile came to him; Ryan had come near to riding down the young swordsman the first morning; peace was made when Ryan chose a stand that needed thinning anyway, and sent a forester to mark which to topple by splintering. Urien had come to appreciate the forester; the pattern of fallen trees, many turned to lumber, other let lie, fit so naturally into the forest the disturbance faded in mere days. Though Urien preferred other arts than those having to do with the forest, he still appreciated the flow and balance, the flux and play of life energies in the great woods, with all the plants and animals. He’d finally learned what Anaph meant when the High Druid called that flux “thin”, and what Wizard Ryan meant when he said the ‘ecosystem’ was fragile, but it didn’t concern him; other Druids could deal with that, and plainly it must be strong enough – it lived and worked, after all!

And here came the prince. Anaph’s choice had what a king of the Celts needed, in depth; Urien had sensed sparks in him – Elder, perhaps? Scout, maybe? and was there a such a thing as a King spark? Not that it mattered; the object of Urien’s focus wasn’t the prince, but his sword. Urien touched the one at his own side, one he’d fashioned when he learned of the chief’s intent. It held the skills of over a score of good swordsmen, enough, he hoped, on that side of it. But that was the lesser of his purposes: the greater was in his staff, with earth-knowledge, fire-knowledge. The lad’s sword was good, but it had to be better than good, and that was the morning’s main task.

Druid-to-be stepped out to meet king-to-be. Purposely he drew his sword badly, to make it plain he was no threat. The better sword met the lesser; eyes met eyes as metal met metal. Urien held the contact and sent energies surging. “Don’t move”, he commanded.

“What are you doing?” The prince didn’t flinch back, but his gaze left Urien’s eyes and went to where the blades touched.

Urien swallowed his shock: he wouldn’t have thought the lad able to free his gaze at all, let alone so easily! Discipline kept any reaction from showing. “Imparting knowledge and skill. What is in this sword will be in yours.”

The prince chuckled. “A Druid who knows swordcraft?”

Urien shook his head. “A Druid who collects swordcraft. The skill and knowledge of more than a score of good bladesmen is here. Now it will be yours.”

The response was a nod. “Why would you do this?”

“You will be challenged. The challenger is better. With this – the challenger was better.” Urien hoped that was the case; he made himself sound confident, anyway.

“So you magic my sword, so I can win?”

“Would you rather lose?”

The prince laughed. “No – I am no fool. So I don’t think it can be so easy.”

“It isn’t. You’ll have to practice. You have three days. And there is more.” Urien paused while the final energies flowed, copying to the sword of the prince the last of what Urien had collected. He lowered his weapon. “I shall change your blade.” At the frown that came in response, he added, “Not in form, but in nature. Bring it.”

The prince scowled at the Druid’s back; he didn’t like the imperious nature. But if the man could do something to make his sword stronger, or swifter, he could put up with it – for now, anyway. Once he was king, he would have a choice of Druids to call on.

They departed from the path toward the hills and woods, to cross frozen turf chewed by horses as they roamed the valley freely. Down toward the river, to a long-shore bar Urien had chosen carefully for the minerals, for the metals, deposited in the fine silt and sand brought down from the mountains above. The small side channel was iced over; he’d checked it the day before and found it strong enough for walking, so he led on across to the sand.

“Hand me your blade”, Urien ordered curtly. The prince didn’t like the tone, but he complied.

Urien felt it, judged it – not with ordinary senses, for he was no bladesman. Druid senses sharpened by many hours of practice felt the metal, Druid talent sent waves of energy washing across the blade. He nodded, just barely; it was a good piece to begin with, and so easier to work with. The balance didn’t feel right to him, but then what did he know? – he’d ruined a few blades learning about them. This would need the prince’s guidance to get right, lest he ruin the feel.

“Grasp it”, he ordered, doing that himself, holding it point down. Hands landed by his – strong hands, used to labor, on arms used to this weapon. “Downward”, he ordered curtly. Without waiting, he thrust with all his might, putting all his weight on the grip. His companion’s reflexes were incredible – or maybe the prince had anticipated. Either way, the blade sank to its crosspiece into the sand. Urien hadn’t thought ahead to the two of them, facing each other, getting in each other’s way; fortunately for him, the prince was quite practiced at dodging: not only didn’t they bump awkwardly, but the prince supported Urien with a shoulder, saving the druid from falling on his face.

The sands grew warm. Vapor rose, but the two didn’t get wet; Urien wouldn’t have minded, but instinct told him not to soak the prince. Vapor fountained; if anyone were watching, it would be a strange picture along a frozen shore on a frozen morning. Beneath, molecules danced, minerals flaking from their parent rock, metals separating from their mineral matrices, ions flowing along unaccustomed energy lines. As the charged flow reached the blade, Urien realized with a shock that the prince was aware of the whole play of energies, touching but not interfering – and he wondered just what Anaph had chosen, why a Druid to be king? But other sparks were there – Elder, a touch of Scout, and something he couldn’t name... was there a spark for King? He didn’t have the concentration to spare for a further look; there was a task to finish.

The Prince watched, fascinated, as the layers of metal in his sword realigned, then again, and again, as though undergoing the folding the smiths used in making a superior blade. Then metal particles from the sands began to flow in, joining the layers, changing the attributes. It occurred to him that would make his sword heavier, a thought he didn’t like. But there were bits there, some of those tiny, flowing particles, that didn’t belong anyway, impurities. Without asking permission, he reached into the process with his own senses, tugging those bits away as new bits joined.

Urien held in his shock: how could an untrained boy (he no longer recognized himself as a boy) do such a thing?! and how dare he?! Urien was the Druid here – but what the prince was doing was helpful, something he hadn’t thought of, so he stored his fury for the future and accepted the cooperation.

Finally it was over. Ions ceased streaming to the blade, layers stopped re-folding, the ejection of impurities came to an end. Without letting go his grip, Urien got his feet under him; the prince copied his actions, and they stood. The druid drew the blade out, then flipped it, spinning on one grip rather than letting go. The blade’s owner matched him, one hand of each of them never losing contact. “Prick your finger”, Urien rasped, throat dehydrated from exertion.

The prince’s eyes narrowed. Suspicion lurked there, and doubt. But Anaph’s choice did as asked, though his eyes never left Urien’s. That will was strong, the druid realized, stronger than he’d expected. This one would be no toy or tool; he could forge the Celts into a power. Briefly Urien entertained temptation, then set it, too, aside; the act of the moment was sufficient for the moment.

A drop of blood left the finger of the warrior – this prince really was a warrior, however untested – and touched the metal. Anger flashed in those eyes; this was more than just a drop of blood! Urien wondered if he’d made a mistake, but decided not: without this aid, the prince would never stand against the challenger, so there was no other course: blood flashed across the surface, energies binding, adding alien properties to the metal – and tying prince to sword, sword to prince.

When it was done, the weapon was ripped from his grasp. Glass-sharp edge met druid throat: “What have you done?” hissed the prince. “Or did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I gave your sword power. When it hits other metal, it will weaken it.”

The prince considered this. “I do not believe a druid could do such a thing. What did you do with my blood?!”

Urien sighed. This prince was trouble, he felt. “I bound you to it. You will feel it as a part of yourself. You must practice with it. It will remember what your opponents do, and you can learn from that. Seek good teachers; what they show you, your muscles will learn. You must learn enough before the challenge.”

Steel departed his throat as the blade lowered. “That is not the way Anaph would have used, not the way the old Druids did.” The prince felt utterly certain of that.

Urien shrugged. “There is more than one way to do most any thing. I learned this one.”

The prince hefted his sword. “I don’t like it. But if it helps me stay alive, I won’t reject it.” Turning on the ball of his left foot, the prince took his sword and left.

Urien gazed after him, hoping the boy would never sense the other reason for the blood.

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
I SHOULD be in bed, asleep, right now.
BUT, I had some caffeine a bit late in the evening, and have been up too long.
I saw you online, and wondered, as I wandered . . .

And what an interesting turn of events.
Metallurgy and Druidology - strengthening, purifying the blade, then
infusing it with the Prince's blood to tie them together and, what else?

Urien was certainly taken aback by this Prince with multiple sparks of gift, including a rather strong one of the Druidspark! And, while he observed, by and large, he didn't shrink from enhancing when he saw the opportunity almost missed.

Thanks for the update!
Now, I really must have needs be off to bed.

 

[Kyanimal]

WHOA! That was INTENSE, "My Captain"!

And, a different, incredible, Style of writing from You!!

Amazing POWER in that!!

And, the "True" purpose of the blood?

THANK YOU! dearest Kuli!!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

Helper​

“So he’s ready?” Rigel asked over his steaming spiced wine, courtesy of Antonio. He glanced over at Crystal, who with Melanie seemed to keep avoiding his gaze. He wondered what they were hiding – some Solstice surprise, no doubt; maybe another new musical instrument, like the harp they’d surprised Ryan with, and the highland-style (so Crystal said) drums that had welcomed him? Anaph was working up to something else; of course his Prince was ready to be king, or he wouldn’t have brought him.

“Depends who you ask”, Anaph replied. “The High Druid says he’s as ready as he can be. The kid from America has no clue what it takes to be ready to be a king. The clan chiefs expect someone as old as they are, and won’t believe anyone so young could do the job. Elders Crûánåch and Daithi are mildly optimistic. Elder Geróanåch says no one under thirty should be a king, and Elder Maitiú objects to anyone having authority except Druids, clan chiefs, and elders. The only ones with authority who welcomed him in that village were Aidanna, Franagh -- and Maolmin.” The Druid looked amused. “She greeted him like some long-lost son or grandson.”

“And the village girls drooled all over him to provide welcome?” Ocean asked with a giggle spawned by too much hard cider.

“None of that for the future king”, Anaph said with a firm head shake. “Bad enough if he gets kids outside the hut once he’s king.” It was a judgment Ryan found surprising, but he was still struggling with the changes in Anaph over the last half year.

“Does inheritance work that way with the Celts?” he asked. “I mean, would it cloud the succession?”

“No, inheritance of the gold torc will work the way the Druids say”, Anaph answered, “and the Druids will say what I say. But it would still complicate things if people come claiming to be blood.”

“And just what will you say?” Rita asked.

He grinned at her. “You tell me, Brilliant Babe – what should I say?”

Her laugh was relaxed, something it had been only rarely since last leaving Cavern Hold. “Comes the Druid to the Wise Woman, seeking wisdom!” she pronounced with dramatic flair. “Well, what I would say is that it goes to close blood, but to someone capable. I’d stretch it to first cousins, and let the clan chiefs pick.” She mentally dared him to contradict.

But he nodded. “That’s about what I was thinking, except the clan Druids will have a say. I’m almost ready to say clan chiefs, clan Druids, and head Wise Women. But that could get messy, too.”

“Politics is always messy”, Chen pointed out. “But the triad isn’t a bad way to go. You have warriors, priests, and sages there in your chiefs, Druids, and wise women. But there’s someone who should have a veto power though not a vote.” They all waited; after a dozen seconds Chen gave up thinking someone would actually ask. “Healers. Lumina, I get the feeling Healers can sense when someone is, well, grasping and greedy and violent and stuff.”

Lumina nodded, though barely. “Some of us. I can, occasionally. Shannon and Shannon can sense it without even seeing the person – they saved the Hall from an intruder one night before he’d even broken in. It’s... a threat to Life we feel. The twins say it’s like telling a wound is going bad before removing the bandages. To me it’s more like the sour taste of a wine that’s going bad. It hits in different ways, for those who sense it.” She looked troubled. “But I’m not sure that’s a power you should give us.”

“I think it merely existing would keep the process more honest”, Tanner said. “Those who had ambition would know they’re going to be looked at by a Healer before it was over. That would make them nervous, and I think the Druids at least would sense that. I bet a Healer veto wouldn’t be needed very often at all.”

“Make it layers.” They all turned their attention to Casey, who was lying on his back on the thick bearskin rug by the fire, Streaker serving as a softly-purring pillow. Oran sat next to him, dumbfounded at the new link with one of Streaker’s kittens, which had climbed into his lap and claimed him. Occasionally the two cats looked at one another with approval, as though they’d done something quite satisfactory. “Like this”, the Scout went on, “first let the Healers look at candidates, and approve or disapprove. Then let the Druids look at them, and approve or disapprove. Then let the Wise Women... interrogate them”, he put it with a grin, “and approve or disapprove. Once all those have said, ‘These guys cut it’, let the clan chiefs vote. That way your Healers”, he directed to Lumina, “won’t be some looming threat, they’ll be part of guaranteeing that a guy is healthy and sound and trustworthy and wise and all that.”

“No set order”, Melanie suggested. “Healer, Druid, Wise Woman, but not in any certain order. So no one would seem more important.”

“Not a bad idea”, Ryan agreed. “Rita? You’re the one he asked.”

Their Wise Woman laughed again. It dawned on Rigel that she’d started laughing more, and more happily, since she had more private time. “Good ideas, is what I say. Anaph, you heard ‘em, you make the decision.
“Now”, she said firmly, pinning him with her eyes, “what did you really have to say to everyone, now that the snacks are gone and some of us are thinking about naps?”


Their Druid sighed and looked troubled. He turned to watch the flames for a bit, then stepped to stand in front of them. Oran’s kitten looked up at him and kneaded at Oran’s abs with open claws; Oran winced and blood welled up. “Make your nest nicely, small one”, Anaph advised softly. “Your partner can be perforated.”

>there is benefit< Anaph looked surprised at the assertion from Streaker. The image came of something from the cat’s claws streaming through Oran.

“Well, then”, he responded lamely. With a shake of his head, he turned to the gathered Snatched.

“Rigel, the Snatcher is... helping you. Or trying to”, he announced bluntly.

Dark anger came to their leader. “I thought we were done with that!”

“Easy, big guy”, Chen advised. “Hear him out.”

“Thanks, Scout One”, responded Anaph. “It’s not touching us – listening, but not touching. But it’s doing things to people around us. Have any of you noticed people becoming more cooperative, more agreeable, more helpful?” His gaze swept the room.

Rita nodded and waved a hand. “I have. The Hold administration here is working together almost eerily well. I don’t have to stop arguments – I almost don’t have to do anything!”

Ryan nodded agreement. “I’ve seen that, too. Astrid and Yulla and Eiryka don’t just get along, they help each other. And at Wizard’s Tower, the teamwork is almost like at State. Plus, our new vassal lords from the south listen to me like I was... oh, a Saint back from heaven.”

Devon made a similar report, as did others: Tanner, Ocean, and Chen especially. It had begun, they agreed after discussion, about the time Rigel had been back in the Constant Hills, dealing with Osvaldo and the Council. Why then was only conjecture – and they had a lot of conjecture.

“So the Snatcher’s manipulating people to help us?” Rigel asked, summarizing but questioning. “So, Osvaldo’s loyalty to me might not be natural?”

“No, it’s natural, I think”, Anaph told him. “But the Snatcher is... accenting things, toning things down. I’m not even sure it really knows what it’s doing, because I still don’t think it understands us, even after all these centuries of having humans around. But I know what it’s up to – guess, guys.”

“Easy”, Ryan responded. “It brought us here to do a job. Rigel told it fine, but we’d do it our way. So it’s helping us succeed, so we’ll go do the job sooner. Right?”


“Basically. But I have a guess about that: remember I grabbed some things and it helped? I think we’ve been doing some things that like aim at what it needs done, like getting ready -- maybe somehow helping already. So I think it sees us as actually working toward doing the job. Maybe we aren’t doing it the way it wants, but we are doing it. But I don’t think it understood Rigel really clearly, Ryan – just that he was really pissed, and like totally enraged about my staff being a tool it used. But we worked to survive, and headed in basically the right direction. Then we linked up with other people it’s Snatched, and got them helping us. I don’t think it ever had the idea that any of its groups might actually work together, or maybe that a new group would get an old group to help, or whatever it sees. But the way it’s poking its nose in, it’s helping get us all together” – he looked right at Rigel – “under your command.”

“I wonder if anyone ever tried to talk to it before”, Ocean mused. “Maybe we’re the first, and it sees that our spirits have to be free, to accomplish things.”

“Just not mine”, Rigel muttered.

Rita heard, and laughed. “Poor Rigel, slave to all! No, you don’t like to lead, but you could at least admit you’re having fun!”

Rigel looked startled and slowly sat up straight, looking at her. “Huh – you’re right; a lot of the time, I am having fun.” He shook his head, a bemused expression on his face. “Okay, Anaph, I won’t object to the Snatcher being helper. But make sure it knows I don’t want to be King of the world, okay?”

 

[Críostóir]

A fascinating turn! The complications never stop coming.

How you'll unravel all this I can't imagine. But I'm sure going to stick around and watch!

 

[DonQuixote]

Crio,
Welcome back to the story. I've missed seeing you around, man.

Kuli,
Verrrry Interesting, as Artie Johnson would say.

Poor Poor Rigel.
The nasty Snatchers are still sticking their noses in.

BUT, only to smooth things a bit for Rigel to do his thing, the reluctant "king"?
No, he's becoming more an Emperor - or International Ambassador and Military Strategist, Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces.

And, what's this, the kit scratching his new "mate" has benefit, according to Streaker to the Lord High Druid? Hmmm, what does the claw inject into our newest super scout set of man and feline extraordinaire?

You continue to craft a tale of tremendously tantalizing theory and possibilities.

Thanks, so much, our dear, dear friend.

 

[Kyanimal]

Great to have all "Our Peeps" back together for a comfy confab! (Was Austin passed out in a corner?)

I'm liking the Succession plans, but see "The King" is still going to be a bit of a hard sell to some. I'm sure it will work out, though, and, perhaps with The Snatcher's "help"! Still curious about what "the job" might be ...

THANK YOU! for sharing this amazing World inside your head, Kuli!!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

Great to have all "Our Peeps" back together for a comfy confab! (Was Austin passed out in a corner?)

I'm liking the Succession plans, but see "The King" is still going to be a bit of a hard sell to some. I'm sure it will work out, though, and, perhaps with The Snatcher's "help"! Still curious about what "the job" might be ...

THANK YOU! for sharing this amazing World inside your head, Kuli!!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

I have to share it, or they'll come knocking holes in my skull to be let out.