Cooling A Fiery Soul

I'm pretty sure I haven't posted this story yet (sorry if I have). It's not one I particularly care for as it doesn't have the best of endings. Or maybe it's the climax. Anyway, you'll understand if you read it. It is historical fiction, so maybe at least you'll learn something :) I would have posted something else, but the couple things I've started aren't finished yet (one is for Faith's challenge. I haven't forgotten!).

Thjodhild stepped out of the longhouse and took in a long breath of clean, crisp Iceland air. It was a beautiful summer morning, and the world was rejoicing. The birds sang as they soared through the air. The geese waddled up the road, and she could hear the moo of the cattle grazing on the rugged countryside. Smoke arose from the cooking fires of the neighboring farm houses. A sudden yank of Thjodhild's hair brought her back from her wondering. Baby Thorvald cooed with delight, his fists full of her hair. “You are an ornery little boy,” she told the baby as she untangled the hair from out between his fingers. “I wonder where your father and brother are.”

Just then a dog barked, and Thjodhild heard her husband's booming laugh. She saw him, little Leif, and the dog running behind them up the road. Leif's little hand was enclosed in Eric's big one. He tried to match his father's large stride while chattering nonstop the whole time. Eric laughed again. His long, red hair was wind blown, and his gray eyes twinkled as they met his wife's gaze. “Good morning, my dear wife!” He gave her quick kiss on the lips and took the baby from her arms.

“And good morning to you, my mighty man! Breakfast is ready. You better go eat it before I decide to eat it all myself.” Thjodhild turned and went back through the door.

“Well, we wouldn't want that, now, would we?” Eric questioned Leif. The boy frowned and shook his head. Eric chuckled and stepped inside, Leif and the dog right at his heels.

“Master Eric! Master Eric!” a loud cry interrupted the family's breakfast. One of their thralls burst through the longhouse door, his face wild with fear.

“What's the matter?” Eric asked in a gruff voice, obviously disturbed by his breakfast being rudely interrupted. “Well, are you going to answer me or just stand there panting like a dog?”

“Eyjolf,” the thrall panted out. “He just killed two of your thralls.”

“What for!? What have I ever done to him?” Eric yelled. He slammed his big fist down hard, hitting the table. Milk sloshed out of the cups, and the dishes rattled. Frightened, the baby began to cry. Thjodhild scooped Thorvald up and tried to comfort him. She loved her husband, but this side of him frightened her, too. His anger often arose unexpectedly, changing who he was completely. Eric stormed out of the house angrily with the thrall following behind at a distance. Obviously he was afraid of what his master might do. Thjodhild cleaned up the dinner mess silently, hoping Eric would not do anything too rash.

Eric did not return until evening. His face was still flushed red with anger; but he seemed a little calmer. Thjodhild handed him a cup of water, hoping it would cool him off farther. He gulped it down but said nothing. “What happened?” Thjodhild asked. She reached up and touched his swollen eye. He flinched and pulled her hand back.

“A couple of our thralls accidentally caused a landslide on Valthiof's property. It crushed his house. Eyjolf, his cousin, killed our thralls. He claimed they did it on purpose because of a fight they had with a couple of Valthiof's thralls yesterday, so I got rid of Eyjolf.” Eric seemed very pleased with himself. “...and a friend of his.”

“Eric, you didn't!” Thjodhild had just noticed the streak of blood on the sleeve of his tunic. Her stomach churned.

“Yes, I did. They won't bother us again.”

“But Eyjolf's family will!” Thjodhild protested. “Your life is in danger now and the lives of our whole family! What were you thinking?” Loud pounding on the door interrupted her. Fear gripped her heart. She could not get herself to move towards the door. If only they could grab the children and run. The pounding continued, and Eric opened the door. The village elders entered, somber expressions upon their faces.

“What do you want?” Eric asked.

“Eyjolf's family has brought their case before us, and we have concluded that you and your family should be banished for murder,” replied the head elder. “You must be gone by tomorrow evening, or we will use force.” The elders then turned and left.

Eric sat down in front of the fire and did not say a word. Thjoldhild let her tears flow. She knew he hurt, too, even if he refused to show it. Her heart ached for him. They had spent six long, happy years building this farm. It was Eric's pride, but now they would leave it behind.

A few months later Thjoldhild stood in the frame of their soon to be new home. “It will be finished soon,” said Eric as he came up behind her. He put an arm around her waste, stood beside her, and examined the longhouse. “Soon it will be just like back in Hawksdale.” Thjoldhild tried to take comfort in Eric's words, but she new it was not true. It would never be just like Hawksdale.

“Thjodhild, I'm going to be gone for a few days,” Eric informed her.

“Where are you going?” asked Thjoldhild, not wanting him to find any more trouble.

“Since I am almost finished with the house, I need to go retrieve those beams I left with Thorgest.”

“Can't you just make some new ones?”

“Thjoldhild, those beams were my father's. They are symbols of Viking greatness and authority. I will not go without them in my house.”

Thjoldhild sighed. It was of no use to try to change his mind. He brushed her blonde hair out of her face, gave her a kiss, and bid her good bye. She silently watched her man leave. Would he ever give up his pride? He still seemed to have no remorse over what he had done. Hopefully Thorgest would return the beams willingly.

Eric stood waiting with five of his thralls at the door of Thorgest's longhouse. A slave girl opened the door. “Is there something you need?” she questioned.

“Is Thorgest here?” replied Eric. “I have some urgent business I need to discuss with him.”

“Yes, he is here. Come on in.” She ushered the men through the door and led them to the table where Thorgest was dining with his sons. Upon seeing Eric, Thorgest stood and greeted him.

“Eric Thorvaldson, it has been awhile. How are you doing, my friend? Come, have a seat.” Thorgest scooted a chair towards him.

“I am fine. Thank you,” replied Eric as he sat down. “I have come to retrieve my posts that I left in your care awhile back.”

Thorgest laughed. “I thought you told me I could keep them.”

“Only until I could come back for them.”

“I am sure that is not what you said. Besides, I have become quite fond of the beams. I cannot return them.” Thorgest folded his arms across his chest and stared coldly at Eric.

“You will give them back!” argued Eric. His face began to flush red in anger, and his eyes turned as cold as Thorgest's.

“No, I will not.” Thorgest motioned to one of his slaves. “Show our guests out.”

Eric balled his hands up into fists. “We will not leave without the posts.”

“Get out of my house, Eric,” Thorgest said firmly. “or I will force you out.”

Enraged, Eric struck Thorgest on the jaw, knocking him out of his chair. Thorgest's sons moved to protect their father, and Eric's thralls stopped them. Eric reached for a knife from the table. Thorgest's wife and children began to scream, and neighbors came running.

Eric sat with his head in his hands, sobbing. How was he going to tell his wife and children that he had been outlawed again? Why did he let his anger control him? Why did he kill Thorgest's sons? Now where would he go?

Thjoldhild heard the dog bark. Her heart skipped a beat. Was Eric back? She looked down the road and saw the thralls coming towards her. Seeing their bruises and somber faces, she knew something was wrong. Thjoldhild hurried towards them. “Where is Eric?” she asked. “Is he all right?” The servants motioned back down the road a ways. Eric sat at the foot of a tree, his head buried in his hands. Relieved and overjoyed to see him, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. “Eric!” she called.

Upon hearing her cry, Eric lifted up his head. Tears streaked his face. Thjoldhild stopped in her tracks. She had never seen her husband cry before. “What happened?” she asked. She stooped down and began to wipe his face.

“I'm sorry, Thjoldhild, I have failed you.”

“What do you mean, Eric?”

“When Thorgest would not return the beams, I killed his sons. I have been outlawed.”

“Oh Eric!” she sobbed.

“I've learned my lesson. I'll never let my anger control me like that again. I don't want to hurt you and our children more than I already have. Please forgive me, Thjoldhild.”

Thjoldhild took in a deep breath. She had longed to hear those words from her man for a long time. Now tears ran down her face. Her husband meant it, and she would help him in any way she could. She flung her arms around him and just sobbed.

A few hours later Thjoldhild held baby Thorvald in her arms, and Eric stood beside her. Leif held his father's hand. They all watched the shore as it shrunk away, the ocean becoming bigger. Their family was starting anew, and soon they would find another place to call home. Eric took his family to an unexplored land, which he dubbed “Greenland.” There, other vikings joined him and started a colony. Two more children were born to Eric and Thjoldhild, a son and a daughter. Leif began to show great interest in the sea and adventures. Maybe someday he would even discover a new land of his own.

Tip Tuesday - Don't Tell Me

“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” - Anton Chekhov

Anyone can tell a story (okay, not quite everyone) - create a character, put them in a mess, and pull them out. But there is more to the art of writing than just telling a story. The real art of writing, the difference between a good story and a bad story is whether or not you can go beyond simply telling your readers what's going on. 

If I told you my cupcakes were yummy, would you have any reason to believe me? What if I instead let you feel the moist cake with your own fingers, smell the chocolaty spice with your nose, and  lick the sweet, creamy frosting  off the top? Then would you believe me? Chances are you would, and you'd probably want another one too, unless for some odd reason you despise chocolate.

Show, don't tell. It sounds simple, but it is something I continually have to work with as a writer. It's easier to send you a snapshot than to actually take you there, but I know if you can not only see but also touch, hear, taste, and smell, it will be much more memorable. This is my challenge for this week and for always. Get your readers involved in your stories.

Tip Tuesday--A "Very" Bad Word

Never, ever, ever, ever, use the word "very" unless you absolutely have to. It means nothing except a little more punch that should be expressed in the word it modifies rather than in an extra adverb.

The end! (sorry, I think writing a story for Grace has sapped all my writing energy. Or perhaps just time. ;) )

Escape on Cloverdale Farm

   It was a bright sunny morning in mid-June on the Cloverdale farm.
    The Cloverdale farm was a very unique farm.  It lay sprawled on several acres of swamp and pond ground, with some pasture land and enough dry ground for buildings and some exercise pens.  But that wasn't the only way it was unique.  It's name had some meaning to it.  You see, the farm got it's name because that's what it's inhabitants ate.  Clover.  And the dale part has some significance to it too.  You see, all the inhabitants had the name “Dale” or some form of it.  There was Dale, the oldest inhabitant, and Deli, Dala, Daly, Dela, Delta, Dalta.... and Chip.  (Yes, that does go with Dale.  Chip and Dale, remember?)  But the most unique thing about the inhabitants was not their names, not their location, but their identity.  You see, they were turtles!  Red Ear Slider turtles!  And giant ones, at that. 
    The owners of Cloverdale farm were Farmer Joe, Mrs. Joe, and their children, Joellen, Joella, Joellie, and Little Joe.  They had all been named after their father.  Cloverdale farm was full of people and turtles who had alike names.  We will now, however, get back to the action of the story!
    It was feeding time on Cloverdale farm.
    Joella and Little Joe had morning feeding chores.  They swung a bale of clover between them as they entered the breakfast building.
    Dale, as usual, was first in line and as soon as the clover was dispersed, he gulped down a few bites and crawled to the top of his favorite rock.  He sat like a king with his claws crossed, surveying his subjects.
    Deli spied a big bit of clover and grabbed it away from Delta.  Dale narrowed his beady eyes and crawled rapidly down from his rock and over to the fighting turtles.  He whacked Deli on the head with his right claw and backed off in pleasure as Deli shrank back into her shell and left the clover for Delta.  Soon breakfast was over with no more incidents, and Joella and Little Joe rounded the turtles up and herded them into the west pasture.  They returned home to find out the agenda for the day.  Joellen and Joellie were already in the agenda room, so Joella and Little Joe raced to their seats before Farmer Joe and Mrs. Joe got in.
    “Alrighty, Joellen, you're assigned to patrol duty today.  Joellie, you'll be checking the clover supply and clover fields.  Joella, Little Joe, I noticed the west pasture fence needs fixing, so you two can work on that.”  Farmer Joe read down the task list.
    “The-- uh -- d-did you say, the west pasture fence?”  Joella stuttered, her eyes wide.
    “Yes.  Is there a problem?”  Farmer Joe asked, looking up from the list.
    “Um, well, um,” Joella gulped.  “We put the turtles in the west pasture.”  Farmer Joe’s eyes widened.           The Red Ear Slider turtles of Cloverdale farm were infamous for their escaping and hiding tactics, and if they weren’t stopped it could take days of high tech searching to locate all of them!
    “Oh, no. Oh, no!  All right, Let’s go, let’s go!”  Farmer Joe lunged for the door, the task list falling neglected to the floor.  Mrs. Joe and the children scrambled after him, tipping their chairs over in their haste.  Poor Little Joe was last in line and stumbled over the fallen chairs and task list, falling head first to the floor.  He righted himself quickly and sped after the others, grabbing his hat from the hat rack on his way out.  It wouldn’t do to forget that, no matter how urgent the situation.
    The Joes quickly loaded their miniature jets with ropes and cages and sped off into the air over the swamp ground.
    You see, if you will remember, this farm was located on swamp acres, thus, making it very difficult to go after fugitive turtles on anything with wheels! 
    So they loaded up in their jets.  They had three jets, so they could go in pairs of two, one manning the jet while the other searched.  This made it very convenient to go on turtle chases.  Though of course this didn’t happen very often.  It was merely a precautionary action.  It’s always better to be safe than sorry.  Now where was I?  Oh yes, the turtle chase!
    Mr. Joe and Mrs. Joe and all their children gunned the engines on their jets and flew over to the west pasture.  No sign of the turtles.  They’d already made their clever escape.  The fleet of jets flew on toward the swamp grounds, the passengers’ eyes peering through binoculars to try to spot the turtles. 
    Many tense minutes passed. 
    “Air! Air!  Quick, Joellie!  I need air!”  Joellen gasped, eyes wide.  She was so nervous her hands were sweating and she was loosing her grip on the controls.  Joellie’s eyes widened in terror and she fumbled with the controls on her side, frantically trying to find the air conditioner switch.
    “Hurry, hurry!”  Joellen wailed, fighting the controls with slippery hands.  Her right hand slid off and the plane dipped to left, the wing coming dangerously close to the ground.  Joellie’s hands flew, still not finding the switch.  Joellen grabbed at the controls, gripping them at the last second and the plane righted itself with a violent jolt.  Joellie’s hand flew up and hit something.  A blast of air exploded through the cabin of the plane.
    “No, no, no!  Not that much air!”  Joellen cried above the noise of the wind through the opened windows.  Joellie’s jaw dropped, and then she quickly recovered and resumed her search for the air conditioner switch.  She found the close windows switch first and the cabin began to heat up again. 
    “Joellie, what’s wrong?? Why can’t ya find the switch?”  Joellen was about to panic.  Just as her hands began to slip again, Joellie’s hand hit the right switch and a blast of cool air swirled through the cabin.  Joellen relaxed and concentrated on flying again as Joellie adjusted the binoculars and began to scan the ground.....
   
    “Look!”  Little Joe cried in the plane he and Joella were in.  Joella kept her eyes on where she was going and said,
    “What is it?  You see something?”
    “Yes! Look!”
    “No, I can’t!  I’m flying here!”
    “Oh.  I kinda forgot.”
    “Uh huh.  Then how’d you think we were flying?”
    “I don’ know..... oh!  I saw Dale.”
    “WHAT?”  Joella swung the plane in a tight circle and started flying back the way they’d come.
    “Up ahead.”  Little Joe said.
    “Little JOE!  Why didn’t you say something before I turned around?”
    “Well, you were in such a hurry I didn’t want to disturb you or anything.”  Little Joe grinned and started to chuckle.
    “Lil’ Joe, this ain’t a laughing matter!  We’ve got to get those turtles home!  Now you better get your rope out and be ready to get Dale!”  Joella instructed as she turned the plane around again. 
    “Alrighty!  I see him again!”
    “Okay.  Can you get him?” 
    “I think so.”  Little Joe frowned in concentration as he lowered his rope through the opening in the floor and got himself into a position to rope the turtle.  Joella began flying in a tight circle around Dale so Little Joe could get a better aim.  He twirled the rope around and around, aimed, and then let it go. 
    “Got ‘im!”  He cried triumphantly. 
    “Can ya haul him up?”
    “If I tie the rope to the pulley.”
    “All right then.  Tell me when you’ve got him and I’ll radio the others.”
    “Ten four.”  Little Joe connected the rope to the pulley and began to haul the big turtle up.  Several minutes and gallons of sweat later, the monstrous turtle was safe and sound in the cage.
    “Pa, do you copy?”  Joella asked.
    “Yes, go ahead.”  The voice came over the radio.
    “We’ve got Dale.” 
    “Good!  See any of the others yet?”
    “Not yet.”
    The search continued.  ...
    “Joella?”
    “Yes, Lil’ Joe?”
    “I’m hungry.”
    “Hungry?”  Joella shot him a disapproving glance.
    “Well, it is nearing dinnertime, after all.”  Little Joe explained, raising his eyebrows.
    “Well, if we could find these turtles, we could get home and eat dinner!”
    “Oh.  Right.  Well, let me finish this chapter and I’ll get back to looking.”
    “Finish your chapter??? Little Joe!  You’ve been reading??” Joella’s jaw dropped in dismay.
    “Well...”  Little Joe grinned sheepishly.
    “We’ll never get any of those turtles found if you’ve got your nose in a book!  Now get back to looking, would ya?”  Joella said, greatly exasperated.
    “Oh, all right, all right.”  Little Joe scowled and grabbed up the binoculars again.
    “Hey look!”  He shouted.  “I see ‘em!”
    “You do?  Where?  How many?” 
    “Right there, on that little island!  I think it’s all of ‘em!  Lemme see...  There’s Deli, and Dela, and Dala and Daly and Delta and Dalta!”
    “Where’s Chip?” 
    “Um.... he ain’t there... oh, wait!  There he is, swimming towards the island!”  Little Joe exclaimed excitedly.  “We’ve got ‘em!”
    “Not yet, silly.  We’ve just spotted them, is all.  Why don’t you radio the others and get us some help?”  Joella instructed.
    “Why of course!”  Little Joe hurried to the task and soon the other two jets were circling back towards the island.  With the expert roping of Mrs. Joe, Joellie, and Little Joe, soon all eight turtles were safe and sound in the jets, and the family was headed back towards the ranch. 
    Once the three jets had been safely landed, the turtles were herded into the barn and locked in tight for safekeeping until the fence in the west pasture could be fixed.  Then the family headed into the house for a long awaited and much needed meal!  After all, such hard work builds a mighty big appetite, especially for growing children like Joellen, Joella, Joellie, and Little Joe!
   
                The End!

A Dinner With 42

Grace flipped open her mail box and pulled out and odd assortment of business letters, advertisements, and letters from charities. Shutting the little door she turned her steps back up the paved driveway and began sorting through the envelopes. Mostly they were for her parents but an indigo blue one caught her attention and separating it out, she saw it was addressed to her. There was no return address. Curiously she tore it open and removed and ornately engraved envelope. Tucking the other parcels under her arm she opened it and began reading the following:

Miss Grace,

You are cordially invited to join us for a celebration luncheon. See you there!

There was no signature, no time, and no place. Entirely befuddled she closed it back up and took the other mail out from under her arm. In her surprise she nearly dropped it. Her family’s mail had somehow turned into a trim black clasp purse.

“Hey Mom!” She began running toward the house to show her Mom but midstride she froze. She was not on her driveway nor even near her house. She was in a huge room with a large dinning table taking up most of the center. At the table sat a group of 42 men she had never seen. Shrinking back she looked from one face to another for an explanation.

A man in a curly white wig rose from the head of the table, “Welcome Madam. You will be sitting there,” pointing with a finger nearly hidden under a sleeve of ruffles, “Next to Mr. Harrison.”

A man midway down the table stood up and pulled out and empty chair next to him. His white beard made him look a little grandfatherly and though his suit coat was unexplainably long in the back he was more sensibly dressed than Mr. Wig, and Ruffles.

Shyly glancing at the men closest to her she slid into the offered chair and only then noticed that she was wearing a dress. A long, expensive feeling dress whose material she could not name.

Mr. Harrison assumed his seat on her right and the gentleman on her left reached out a polite hand. “I am Mr. Cleveland.” His brown mustache had a humorous way of wiggling when he talked.

The man at the head of the table spoke again, “Now that our guest had arrived, shall we begin?”

A chorus of agreement followed. From across the table a partial blonde asked an entering waiter, “Are the chops courtesy of Mr. Arthur?” A ripple of laughter spread around the table but Grace tried to hide more in her chair. She was completely lost.

They were expecting her? She was being served dinner with them? How did she get here? Who were they?

“You are quite Madam.” Mr. Harrison startled her.

Someone who she didn’t see offered. “Does she say more than two words at once? If not she must be related to Mr. Coolidge.”

A man seven places to her left leaned forward and began to look at her very hard. “She’s not.”

Another ripple of laughter and Grace felt her face heating up at being the center of attention.

“Perhaps Miss Grace would like to hear some about us rather than hear us talk about her?” That came from a gaunt looking man with dark hair and a matching beard traveling around his chin who sat on the other side of the table.

“That is a good idea sir. Though I have a feeling there is not much we could tell her. The world knows just about everything we would wish to tell.”

Grace felt her courage surge. “Please,” She turned toward the head of the table, “Would you tell me who you are?”

“Who we are?” Mr. Harrison echoed. “My dear Madam, isn’t it obvious? We are the presidents!”

I wrote this short little story for two reason: One, because today is President's Day. So, happy President's Day fellow authors and kind readers!

Two, because I wanted to acknowledge someone  very special today. You guessed it--Grace, our moderator! It is her birthday so I decided to  star her in my short story. I don't know how accurate I was in portraying what she would really do if dropped into the above situation but I did my best!

Happy, happy, birthday Grace! Thanks for being a wonderful moderator...oh, and friend too! ;) I hope you enjoyed the story!

The Door

    I am planning on posting the rest of The Value of All, but I have decided to do some editing on the second part (something which I haven't gotten around to yet) since I did not like it very well.  So, I decided to post (I think) the best story that I have ever ritten.  This story will also fulfill the challenge that I posted last month. :) 

    The verse that goes along with this story is:  Song of Soloman 8:4 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, until he please.

          I balanced a garland of flowers on my head and laughed up into the rays of sunshine.  The sky was a clear, deep blue unmarred by any clouds.  Joy seemed to spring out of it and swallow me up.  I twirled as I laughed again, my voice echoing out across the field.  As I spun, laughter, from a different voice, echoed back.

          He was here, striding across the meadow, light shining from His face. 
          My child. 
          The words did not need to be spoken.  I was His.  I would always be His.  As He came up beside me I slipped my small hand into His big one. 
          Come. 
          Tall grass whipped about my knees as I walked along beside Him.  Ahead of us, a small grove of trees grew larger and larger as we neared it.  My heart pounded.  Many times had I gazed at this place and dreamed about what resided within.  He had told me He would one day show me what was in it; that day had come. 
          It was cool beneath the branches of the trees, and the grass still carried traces of dew.  Birds flew about my head, singing songs of happiness.  It was all so beautiful.  Then I saw it.  A door.  It was clear like glass with a golden handle. 
          “Where does it lead?” my voice rose with excitement. 
          He looked at me, His eyes deepening with love.  “That is something you will not know until you open it.”
          “May I open it?”
          “You must have a key.”
          I looked back at the door and realized He was right.  “Where is the key?”
          He did not answer; instead He pressed something hard and cold in my hand:  the key.  I eagerly fingered it, then took a step towards the door.
          “It is not time.”
          Those quiet words halted my steps.  I looked at Him, confused.  “Then why did you give me the key?  Why did you show me the door?”
          He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.  “There is a reason.  But it is one I cannot tell you yet.”  He leaned close, His eyes tender.  “One day it will be time to open the door, but until that day, do not enter it.  Wait for me.  Trust me.” 
          Love for Him welled up in my heart.  I threw my arms about Him.  “I will wait.”

                                                                   ˜  

           I sat quietly in the tall grass fingering the precious key.  It had been several years since He had given it to me, yet it had never lost its beauty.  And never once had I forgotten about it.  I would often place my hand over the small, leather pouch that I carried it in to reassure myself that it was still there.

          My child. 
          The voice rang in my ears.  My heart leapt as I whirled and ran towards the approaching figure.  “Is it time?”  I asked breathlessly, my heart thumping with excitement.
          “Not yet.  Come, follow me.”
          I looked away, trying to hide the disappointment on my face.  When I looked back I saw He was looking at me, sorrow in His eyes.  Shame washed over me.  He had told me to trust Him. 
          Together we walked out of the field, through a stand of trees, and into another field.  However, unlike the one I had just been in, this one was filled with other girls.  They too carried pouches like mine. 
          “Do they have keys as well?”
          “Yes.”
          “Do I get stay here with them?”
          “Yes.”
          My eyes shone with joy.  How wonderful it would be being able to wait with so many girls.  I would no longer be alone. 
          I looked at Him and smiled. 

˜  

 
          “Hey!”
          I turned and looked at the girl calling to me.
          She ran up to me and grinned, “When are you going to show it to me?”
          “Show what?”
          “Your key.  I’ve seen everyone’s but yours.”
          I hesitated.  No one had seen my key but Him.
          “Come on.  Please?”
          I firmly shook my head. 
          “Oh, you are no fun,” she pouted.  But within moments a smile lit her face, “Have you heard that one of the girls has gone through her door?”
          “Really?”  Hope rose within me.  Perhaps my day would arrive soon.
          “Yep.  And guess what,” she leaned close and whispered, “She went without Him saying she could.” 
          I paled.  “B-but no one is supposed to go through their door until it is time.”
          “Seriously, do you still hold on to that idea?” she rolled her eyes, “Listen, all the girls here have already given up on Him knowing the proper timing.  I mean, seriously, think about it.  How many girls have gone through their doors since you got here?”
          “Um,” I frowned trying to remember, “maybe one.”
          “Exactly!  If you want to go through your door, you had just better go on through.  Because if you are waiting for Him to tell you it is time, it isn’t going to happen.”
          I stared at her.  How could she say such a thing? 

˜  

 

          I was alone.  I slowly sank down to the ground and buried my face in my hands.  All the other girls had gone through their doors.  Each one had announced resolutely that there was no reason to wait.  Even though I had resisted what they said, my resolved was crumbling.
          “Where are you?” I groaned softly, tears coursing down my cheeks.
          My child. 
          I froze.   It was Him.  He stood in front of me, His eyes tender. 
          The words sputtered out of my mouth, “I-Is it time?” 
          He looked at me for a long moment and sadness filled His eyes.  “Not yet.”
          “What?” I slowly stood to my feet, rage building within me.  How could He say this?  “I have waited for years and years.  All the other girls have left.  Why haven’t they gotten in trouble?  Why do you just stand aside and watch them go through that door?  They haven’t suffered any consequences!  In fact, some of them have come back through the door and have come told me how wonderful it is on the other side!”  My voice rose with anger.  “I don’t understand why you are making me wait here all alone for a day that will never come!”  I turned away, sobs choking my throat. 
          My child.
          “No!  I’m not your child!  I hate you!”
          The words hurt Him.  I could see the pain in His eyes.  But I didn’t care.  I whirled and stalked away from Him.  I wasn’t going to wait any longer. 
          In a few moments I was in the small grove of trees that housed the door.  My door.  I flipped the pouch open and pulled the key out.   The door stood in front of me glistening as brightly as ever.
          I walked up to it and ran my hand over the surface.  Little tingles ran up and down my spine.  What was beyond it?     
          Wait for me.  Trust me. 
          I clamped my eyes shut.  Those words had been said years ago.  He had never meant them.  If He had, He would have already taken me through the door. 
          Why did you give me this key?  Why did you show me this door?  I looked up at it, desire twisting my insides.         
          Wait. 
          I sank to my knees.  Thoughts whirled through my head.  I didn’t understand.  Why? 
          For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.
          I looked at the key then I looked at the door and I wept.  The tears ran down my face and dropped to the ground.  I was unable to quench their flow.  All my dreams, all my desires, were being trampled into the ground.  I wanted to go through that door.  I had waited my entire life to go through it.  But that was not what he wanted.
          “Please, forgive me.”  The words were barely more than a whisper from a broken soul.
          My child. 
          He stood beside me, love pouring forth from His face.  Then I realized I had never been alone.  He had always been there right beside me, waiting for me to turn and look for Him.           
          Once again I threw my arms around Him.  Then I leaned back and looked into His face.  “Take it.”  I pressed the key into His hand. 
          His eyes warmed and He drew me close. 
                                                                            ˜  

          I stood in the field staring out across the rippling grass.  Around me young girls played.  Over time, more girls had entered the field excited about the day they could enter their door.  The words I had greeted each one with were, “Do not be afraid to wait.”  And so far they had waited.
          “I have something I need to tell you.”
          I turned to the young girl and smiled, “What is it?”
          Her face lit up with joy, “I gave Him my key.”
          I pulled her into a hug, my eyes brimming with tears.
          My child.
          Beyond the girl he stood there, waiting.  His hand was outstretched holding something.  A key.  My key.  The key I had given Him. 
          The little girl pulled out of my hug and squeezed my hand.  “It is your turn now.”
          I looked at her and I looked at Him.
          He nodded. 
          Together we went to the grove.  My door still stood there.  He began to press the key into my hand.  “No,” I refused it, “I want you to open it for me.”
          His eyes grew tender.  “Do you see why I had you wait?”
         “Yes.  I was not ready before.  I am now.  But only if you go with me.”
          He stepped up to the door and inserted the key into the lock.  He pulled the door open and waited for me to step through. 
          I looked at Him and I looked at the door.  Then I gently slipped my hand into His.  Together we walked through the door.

Of Men and Dragons--Part 2

    “Lydell!” a loud voiced pierced the silence.

    The girl turned, her blue eyes searching the forest, “I’m here!”

    Footsteps approached.  Robert squinted trying to see who it was.  A tall elf with black shaggy hair strode towards them.  “Lydell,” the elf said firmly, “I’ve been looking all over the place for you, thinking that you had been kidnapped by this man. What are you doing?  Don’t you know better than to run off with a stranger?!  You could get hurt!”  He crossed his arms and glared at her, his brown eyes flashing.

    Unabashed, she smiled and answered, “He couldn’t hurt me, and you know it.  Besides, you gave him an awful greeting into our land.  I was hoping to make a slightly better impression.”  She tossed her hair saucily.  “Robert, meet my brother, Lyden.”

    Robert stared at the elf with surprise, anger, and fear all mixed into one.  This was Lydell’s brother?  The one who was less then friendly?  He shifted uneasily, surprised at Lydell’s carefree manner.  Her brother looked like he could break a horse in half if he wanted to.

    Lyden ignored Robert and said firmly, “I can take care of him.  Go home.”

    Lydell sighed and rolled her eyes then she whirled around and ran off through the forest, her gold hair flying.  Robert watched her go then turned back to the elf.  His eyes immediately were drawn to the sword hanging by his side.  The sheath was silver with a slightly cooper hue.  While Robert could only guess what the blade itself looked like, the handle was a piece of art, with tiny carvings that looked like they would unlikely be felt when the sword was used.

    “Come.”  Lyden walked off briskly.

    Robert hesitated, and then followed.  He did not want to risk the elf pulling out his sword.  It was not long till Robert could hear voices in the distance.  Just when he was beginning to wonder where they were coming from, they entered a town.  At least, that is what he thought it was.  There were no houses built on the ground.  However, when he looked up, there were houses in the trees.  They seemed to be carved out of the tree itself.  This place gets stranger and stranger all the time.  The small, excited voices of children filled the air as they played some sort of game that resembled tag.  Then a wild yell filled the air as a chunky young boy tackled a smaller one.  The little boy yelped and tried to wiggle out of the others grasp.  Lyden shoved his way through the group of children and grabbed the boys and pulled them apart.  “Visky, Aaron, stop it now.” 

    The bigger boy, Visky, snapped, “Well, then, why don’t you tell that Aaron to leave.  He doesn’t even know how to fight.  He is chicken!”

   “I am not!”  Aaron lunged at Visky’s throat.

    “Stop it, stop it right now!!”  Lyden shook them both firmly.  “Both of you go home.  And I mean now.”  Aaron turned and quickly walked away, a relieved, but slightly angry look on his face.  Visky glared at him and mumbled something under his breath, then left as well.  Lyden watched them go, and then motioned for Robert. 

    As they continued on through the village, Robert could not help but ask a question.  This place was so strange.  “How many towns do y’all have?”

     Lyden studied him for a moment as if wondering why he wanted to know, then answered, “There are many small villages like this one, however, there are only five major towns.  The one we are headed to is called Absconditus.” 

    Robert nodded, and was quiet for a few seconds, then asked another question.  “Are y’all the only ones who live in this land?”

    “Y’all?  What type of word is that?”

    “Um, you know, you all, everyone.  The elves.  Are your people the only ones living here?

    “Oh, well, yes and no.  We are the only ones who live around here, well, except for the Odisunus; however, there are rumors and legends of others things, creatures, people, whatever you want to call them, that live elsewhere.  Of course, there are the dragons that live up on the mountains, but I suppose Lydell has already told you about them.  They are all she talks about.”  His face hardened.

    “Are they as dangerous as she told me?”

    “Worse.  They are unstoppable, undefeatable, untamable, and unlikeable. ” The elf’s eyes narrowed in anger and hate.  “They are killers with no regard for anything else but themselves.  They may seem to be intelligent, but I think that they are just big beasts with a few things that they do well, like any other animal.”

    Robert was surprised at his vehemence.  But I don’t blame him. If they are as bad as they seem, then there is no way to ever live without the fear of them attacking. “What do they look like?”

    “If you have any more questions about dragons, you should ask Lydell.  I don’t wish to talk about them anymore.”  Lyden quickened his stride. 

    “What are Odisunus?”

    Lyden stopped and looked at him, “Listen, when we finish our journey I will make sure you find out everything you want to know about Odisunus, dragons, and-and anything else you are curious about.  Understood?” He stopped in front of a large tree on the edge of the village, and shouted up at the house in it.  “Anyone home?!”

    Behind them a voice answered, “No.”

    Robert turned to see who the voice belonged to.  An elf, slightly shorter and stockier than Lyden stood there, a twinkle in his eye.  Lyden smiled in greeting and said, “I need to ask a small favor.

    The jolly looking elf leaned against a tree and said, “Ask away.  You know I am always willing to help out a friend.”

    “I need two horses with enough stamina to make it to Absconditus by this evening.”

    His eyebrows shot up, “That is over one hundred miles away!”

    “I know, but I need to make it there by this evening.  Queen Veragus is expecting me.”

    The man hesitated then nodded.  “Follow me.”  He led them a short distance into the woods.  There a group of seven horses grazed.  He quickly picked two horses, a bay and a black, from the herd.  “These are the two best ones I have.  They should get you there in time,” he said while placing a saddle and bridle on each of them.

    “Thank you.  I am in your debt.”  Lyden quickly swung up onto the chestnut and motioned for Robert to take the bay.  “I will return them to you as soon as possible.”  He raised his hand in farewell, then whirled the horse around and took off at full gallop.  Robert quickly followed.

                                         ~

    Wind whistled by Robert’s ears as the horse picked up speed.  The ground below him was passing at such a dizzying speed that he tightened his grip on the saddle, then scolding himself, let go of it.  Had he not ridden horses all his life?  Why should he be scared now?  In front of him Lyden bobbed up and down on his horse seeming completely at ease traveling at this speed.  I must not let him realize that this pace makes me uneasy. Rotern thought determinedly.  Since he was young, he had always worked at being the best; the one that everyone stood in amazement of.  Now it was different.  He had never been in a situation where he had to follow another person’s leading.  Others were supposed to follow him.  His father had continually warned him that one could not live like that.  He had insisted that the only true leaders were the ones that were servants first.  Robert had scoffed at the time.  Now, he wasn’t so sure if it was as silly as it sounded.  He had always assumed that his father was wrong about everything.  After all, he claimed to be one of those crazy Christians.  Time and time again his father said, “Robert, you need to stop the direction your life is going.  It will only lead to destruction.  Believe me, I know.”  Perhaps he did.  According to stories his mother had told him, his dad had been quite reckless when he was younger.  One day when he came home, he was changed.  He said it was because he had become a Christian.  Perhaps the thought that someone more powerful than you and can make you mind, makes you behave better.  That has to be the reason for the change.  But I won’t be so stupid.  No matter what the temptation.  However, even with that resolution, Robert felt a tug at his heart.

    For the next hour, the horses ran at a full gallop.  Finally, when Robert thought that his legs were about to fall off, Lyden pulled up his horse at a small stream and said, “We will let them have a quick drink of water.” 

    Both horses stuck their noses out impatiently, wanting water.  As the bay drank, Robert quietly stroked him while wondering if Lyden would answer a question.  It can’t hurt to ask, he thought.  “Why are we going to . . .” he stopped trying to remember the name.

    “Absconditus?”

   “Yeah.”

    “Do you really have to ask?  It seems like you would know.”  Lyden shook his head.  “We are going there because you are a complete stranger to us.  We don’t know who you are, or what type of creature you are.  You aren’t an elf, and because of that, we cannot trust you,” a look of frustration crossed his face, “Now, let us go.”

    Robert shakily mounted.  What would happen to him?  From what it sounded like, there was no such thing as humans in this place.  That made him an oddity, and if all other elves were as suspicious of him as Lyden was, he was in big trouble.

    Dusk had just begun to fall when Lyden stopped his horse and pointed ahead.  “There is Absconditus.”  This city, unlike the village they had passed through, had buildings that were built on the ground.  Curious, Robert asked why that was.

    “All houses meant to be lived in are in the trees, but schools, stores, and stables are built on the ground.  It is just easier.  The palace is also built on the ground to make it more accessible.”  Lyden clucked to his horse.  The horse snorted and moved to a canter.

    Robert clucked to his horse also.  “Why do y’all choose to live in the trees?  It seems rather strange.”

    Lyden shook his head.  “Strange?  Why is it strange?  It is our nature.  It is what we do.”

    Tactfully Robert decided to remain silent for the rest of the trip.  It was late and there were few elves on the streets.  Robert had thought that the streets might be paved in some way, but they were just plain dirt.  You would think that a major city would have paved roads. 

    Lyden pulled his horse up in front of a large iron gate and called out something in another language.  The gate slowly creaked open and they moved on through.  There were as many trees in here as there were outside the gate.  It was as if someone had built the gate to keep the trees in.  Ahead of them a large ornamented building sat.  Tall double doors with tree carvings on them swung open and two elf soldiers dressed in mail and well armed with swords rushed out and challenged them.  Lyden quickly said, “I have come to see the Queen about the matter of this stranger.  She is expecting me.”  The one on the left nodded and ran back inside while the other held his sword at ready. 

    A moment later the elf returned.  “The Queen awaits you.  Follow me.”  Two other elves came out of nowhere and held the horses as they dismounted.  The large doors closed behind them with an ominous thud.  Fear snaked up Robert’s spine as they walked down the large barren corridor.  This place gave the feel of as if one was walking to their death.  Up ahead another set of double doors loomed.  A detail of soldiers drew their swords, but did not challenge them, yet their eyes seemed to say that any of them would willingly kill them if they attempted anything.  The doors swung open as if on their own accord.  As he entered the room, his eyes were attacked by a swirl of light and color, then a firm voice said, “Welcome.”