Falcon Island: Chapter 3 - Hamill

Chapter 3 - Hamill

            The first report of Orcs came two years after Radicus. The western Elven capital had been raided and demolished by an unknown race of barbarians. The report told of “heavily muscled men crawling from the ashy soil, gray and toothy,” and how the cannibals completely massacred the city’s defenses.  The attackers were called “Orcs,” after Ascher Orcus, the messenger who first told of their arrival.

            Ascher Orcus, a lookout, was the first to see the Orcs coming to the Elven western capital. In the midst of the raid, the lord of that capital sent Orcus to flee with his family and bring the news of the massacre to the eastern elves. Shortly after delivering the terrible news, Orcus went mad and began devouring his own flesh. In Orcus’s last days, he attacked his own family and was finally killed when he was found crouching over a pile of his son’s bones and the mangled corpse of his wife.

            Orcus belonged to family of Elven midwives. 

            The word Orc now just means “rapist.”

            Orcus was an Avox of Charbydax, the Blue.

            This is the legacy that the Blue god Charybdax leaves.  He is the god of water, healing, and community.  Only in the time since Radicus have people blamed Charybdax for the destruction of the coast and the expansion of the sea.  Water had always been a symbol of bounty and life.  Never had our livelihood been torn asunder by water before our villages started crumbling into the sea.  And every Blue Avox, since Radicus erupted, has lost his mind.

            I found nearly every day that I had periods where I was unable to think straight.  Thoughts repeated over and over behind my eyes.  I hate traveling.  I hate missions.  I hate journeys.  I hate the rain.  I hate traveling.  I hate missions.  I hate journeys.  I hate the rain.

            This mantra repeated in my mind as I threw thin strips of salted meat into my smoking chamber to dehydrate.  This set for the rest of the day as I continued my preparations.  I knelt and tried to pray.
            “Hail, divine birds….”

            But then I stopped.  What did I have to say to them?  They were not here.  I was an Avox, chosen by Charybdax.  Was not Charybdax obligated to guide me?  To protect me?  To reassure me?  The whole concept of the Avoxi was supposed to be a comfort.  Avoxi are supposed to be chosen by the gods, watched and cared for.  Charybdax was responsible for this rain and the Beating Sea.  Were not the Orcs already a grave enough threat?  I wanted him to just be gone.

            But I felt Charybdax over my shoulder, always pushing me, always questioning.  He wanted me to second-guess myself; he wanted me to live in fear, to live in between action and inaction.  During our meeting with the Elder Council, he succeeded. 

            I got up off my knees.  Prayer would not prepare me for this journey.  I took my chair to my desk and laid out my spell books.  The pages were damp and crinkled around the edges.  I lamented that I would have to take them out into the rain again.  I had three magic tomes, each in a satchel with a leather strap attached.  I packed them and stuffed them soundly with layers of fur. 

            I realized then that I did not have much else to pack.  Once I armed myself with leather armor over my faded blue tunic, put on my heavy leather boots, hung my mace from my belt and slung my tomes over my shoulder, my little hut would be empty.  I did not realize it would be so easy to leave everything behind.  Again.

            I paced back and forth for hours, waiting for the jerky.  I brought sparks to my fingers and immediately extinguished them.  Practice.  Out in the rain and the flooded plains, I needed to be ready at any moment.

            And that’s when I received a knock on the door.  A rhythmic, cheerful knocking.  Not Aureleus’s knock.

            I stood in the middle of my empty hut, a spark in my palm.  I never had company.  I had been careful not to become attached to anyone here.  Not after everything that happened in my home village.  The only person I could call a friend was Aureleus and that friendship had brought plenty of trouble as it was.

            “Who is it?” I asked with apprehension. Maybe it was someone from the shrine, come to offer a blessing.  They were losing their Chief Blue.  I suppose I should have gone to appoint a replacement, but why bother.  They would continue on without me with nothing but a whispered prayer to acknowledge my disappearance.  Aureleus said he would see me the next morning, but not then.

            “I’d really rather you just let me in.  I’m not a fan of breaking into people’s homes, but I’ll do it,” a small voice responded. 

            “I am busy.  I do not wish to be disturbed,” I said. 

            And then the door opened.  It swung inward slowly, and behind it under the canopy was one of the small folk.  “I told you I’d do it,” he said.  He stood about half my height, and strangely, the first thing that caught my attention was that he was dry.  He walked calmly inside and politely closed the door behind him.  He did not track any water in with him, and I was struck with curiosity at how he had managed this.

            He was dressed in grey leathers with the feather motif of Romox, the Grey. He had two hand-axes tucked into his belt on each hip, and a rope coiled across his chest. If not for the black mustache and short beard on his chin, he would have looked like a child playing dress-up like a soldier.

            I could not tell whether he was Halfling or Gnome.  The small folk are similar in stature.  Mature Halflings have the bodies of children with adult faces. Gnomes have a slightly thicker build with bigger heads and ears.  The distinguishing feature of Gnomes are their ears.  They are pointed, but not like Elves.  Gnome ears have multiple points instead of only one, fanning away from their heads and down their chins.

            It was strange enough to see a member of the small folk here this far north in Cloud State, but this one looked different.  “It is obvious you are from Little Wing.  What brings you to Cloud State, and here to my hut?  State your business,” I said with a frown.

            “Not even going to ask my name?  Seems a poor practice when meeting someone for the first time.  Some cleric you are.  No wonder they’re kicking you out.”  He hopped onto my cot and his feet dangled over the edge.  “The name’s Hamill, and the reason you’re wondering whether I’m a Halfling or a Gnome is because I’m neither.  I’m a Quill, a half-breed.  Got a lovely Gnome father and a darling Halfling mother.  Father’s a brewer, makes the Hop and Drop’s second most expensive mead.  Mother’s a seamstress, but you’ve probably never seen her work.  The cutest little dresses for the small folk schoolgirls.  You ever been to Little Wing?  I think I’d have remembered you and your scary friend, but he’s never been there either—“

            “Enough!” I finally interrupted his rambling at the mention of Aureleus.  “Who are you, and what do you want?”

            “Damn, you really are dense.  I told you:  Hamill, the Quill, son to a Gnome brewer and a Halfling seamstress, which is frankly more than you’ve told me.  But you’re right, I haven’t told you what I want.  You know, that’s a weird question: ‘what do I want?’  There’s lots of things I want.  A warm bed, a dry tent.  Yeah, staying this dry isn’t easy—“

            “You are not answering my questions!”  I lit my hand aflame.  “And I am growing impatient.”

            He hopped off the cot and started backing toward the door.  “Great Sagitax and Stratox, are you tense.  I’m here because I want safe passage out of Cloud State.  And frankly, you and your freaky friend are the two most powerful people on this side of the island and you happen to be on your way out.  Now, some people would ask questions about why you’re leaving, but not me.  I just want to get to Raptor’s Rock without getting eaten by Orcs.  And if your friend loses his mind and decides to eat me, then that’s only half an Orc eating me.  Ha! Get it, ‘cause your friend is…Hmm, never mind.  You get it.”

            He was just standing in front of the door across the fire pit from me.  We stared at each other for a few moments, and he started madly tapping his foot to fill the silence.

            I extinguished the flame from my hand and the smoke rose. 

            “You want out of Cloud State?  You want to go to Raptor’s Rock?  Why?” I asked apprehensively.

            “Hey, I didn’t ask you any questions.  Seems only fair for you not to ask me, right?  Besides, ‘strength in numbers’ and all that.”

            “The Elder Council would disagree.  They seem to think the fewer the better for this mission.”

            “When have you started taking the Elder Council’s advice on traveling?  They’ve never left that smoke chamber.”

            “This is true.”  I paused to consider the possible outcomes of this conversation.  “I know this will sound utilitarian of me.  What can you offer to our expedition?”

            “I thought you Blues were all about ‘community.’  Listen, I’m dry.  Are you?  You been pacing around inside for hours in your dry hut and I can still hear your boots squish.  I don’t have to prove my ‘usefulness’ to anyone.  You let me travel with you, and you might get to have dry feet for a change.  Good enough for you?”

            We stared at each other, and I could not help but smile.  The prospect of dry feet lifted a weight from my damp soul.  And like that, Hamill joined me as we met Aureleus the next morning.

Falcon Island: Chapter 2 - The Elder Council

Chapter 2 – The Elder Council

            I receive my summons at the graying of dawn.  Report to the Elder Council at first bell.  I had been awake for several hours before the village woke for breakfast, so a renewed drowsiness had crept into my eyes by the time I arrived.  When I arrive outside the council tent, an Elven chambermaid directs me to sit on the bench outside.  She stands there and watches me, tilting her head slightly at my every shift.

            I can smell the smoke of the incense from outside the chamber.  The Elder Council uses an herbal mixture to clear their thoughts.  This ancient ritual makes me nauseous.  One more reason to dread this meeting.  I hate missions.  I hate journeys.  If not for Aureleus, I would hate all Orcs.  I just want to stay in my hut. 

            “What is that in your hand?” the chambermaid asks.  She speaks in Elven.  She has probably never left this village.  Never seen an Orc.  Never heard the cries or smelled the cinders of a raid.

            My fingers clutch my totem of Charybdax, the Blue.  It is a dark wooden token with a floating duck engraved on one side and a swooping kingfisher engraved on the other.  Like these two water birds, Charybdax, the Blue, is a god of extremes.  He is a healer and a destroyer.

            “It is my holy totem.  I am a priest,” I reply. 

            “Are you an Avox?” she asks in a low tone.  I do not know what the Elder Council expects her to know about me.

            “The other clerics say I am a Blue.  I am unsure.  One is seldom an accurate judge of oneself,” I say, rubbing the token back and forth between my thumb and forefinger.

            “If you are a Blue, then what do you know of this rain?  Is this the will of Charybdax?” she whispers.

            “The wills of the gods, especially the fickle Charybdax, are a mystery, as they have always been.  It is not our duty to understand their will.” 

            This is my default advice.  It has kept me employed and steadily promoted in the Cloud State military since I arrived.  If I were to answer her honestly, I would tell her that the gods are gone.  The Orcs sweep across the island in every direction, the rain would drown us out before the Orcs even arrive, and the island is falling apart from within.  What god would stay and watch as his followers die?  The alternative to the gods’ desertion is divine punishment, and I find that thought even more depressing.

            The maid is called into the smoke chamber, and I am left alone outside.  People walk past me on the porch.  Several messengers enter and exit the smoke chamber while I sit outside and wait.  I think my headache, born of the rain pounding and dripping through the canopy, subdues me into sleep, because I am startled awake to the sound of bells. 

            The second bell is ringing, as it always does after midday meal.  Aureleus’s lumbering limbs slump up the stairs and sit next to me on the bench.

            “Did you receive the summons?  What possessed you to show up after second bell when the summons said first?”  I ask him incredulously.

            “I see I’m not late.  It seems I know this Council better than you do.  I haven’t missed midday meal like you have.”

            The Elf girl exits the chamber. 

            “Please, come in,” she says.  Her thin frame holds the tent flap open, and she directs us to stoop and enter.

            I bend down and shuffle into the room.  “Thanks for making us wait,” Aureleus snorts as he enters behind me.  I cannot believe his gall, but he and the elf chambermaid exchange smiles as he walks in.  I know now, for certain, that she has never seen a true Orc.

            “That is Yisho, the Elf I spoke to.  She is the reason we have an audience,” Aureleus whispers and jabs me in the side.

            “No, you and your foolishness are why we are here,” I cough the words out through the haze from the smoke.  The incense assaults my senses like a wall, infesting my lungs.  It is spicy and hot, but it washes into me like a smooth wave.  The smoke oozes like lava, the same lava that seeps through the cracks in the Falcon Island crust.

            I detest the smoke, and the sensations of drowning.  My first several summons, I immediately created an air bubble around my face with my magic.  The Elder Council members protested endlessly, and refused to continue with the meeting until I allowed the herbs to infiltrate my lungs.  “It is the path to clarity and prophecy,” they always say.  To me, this smoke is a path to delusions and hallucinations, none of which have proven prophetic in my ten-year tenure as Chief Cleric of Charybdax.

            The nine Elders are sitting in a half circle on the wood-plank floor, with the incense spewing from a fire-pit in front of them.  Yisho directs us to stand in front of them, next to each other.

            I want this meeting over quickly, so I cough and hack through the smoke.  My eyes water and my skin glistens with new sweat.  I breathe in and drink the thick herbal mixture until the drowning is over and the waking death begins.

            “Welcome Rus.  And welcome…Graal,” the most wrinkled Elf nearly spits the last word. The Cloud State soldiers were not content to address Aureleus with his given name when he joined.  They were bitter and cruel to him, and it only got worse when he became the best warrior and tracker in the service.  I was one of the few who knew his given name, before his mother died, but I could not protect him all the time.  They all called him Graal. 

            Graal was a name constructed in Pre-Falconic to mean “tall, destructive oaf.” If there is any kind of prophecy at all on Falcon Island, is it through our Pre-Falconic names.  Although each race has its own language, the island-folk (Elves, humans, dwarves, Halflings, and gnomes) all speak modern Falconic.  Our names, however, are all constructed using Pre-Falconic roots, a language in which each letter of a word holds a primitive, basic symbolic meaning. Aureleus’s given name is actually quite beautiful and terrifying, just as he is.  Translated, Aureleus means “man who rises through destruction of the land.”  To be reduced to Graal is heartbreaking to hear.

            Yisho, the Elf, addresses us.

            “This is High Elder Paviq, the eldest of the chiefs,” she informs.

            I have never met Elder Paviq before in person, so I know it is my duty to respond to this introduction.

            “It is an honor to meet you, High Elder Paviq,” I say as I bow over the fire-pit.

            “Thank you, Yisho,” he says to the chambermaid.  He has yet to look Aureleus or me in the eye.  Maybe the herbs have clouded his vision.  “I know the two of you have had scattered experience in the Orc territory of Embertalon.  Rus, you are a very competent mage and cleric, despite your reservations.  Graal…you are a good warrior.”

            To say that he is a good warrior is a gross understatement.  For a good warrior, a weapon is an extension of an arm.  For Aureleus, his great-axe is an extension of his eye.  Once Aureleus spots a target, no terrain, no other enemy, no unforeseen fate can deter him from his game.  Aureleus has slain more Orcs than any warrior since the eruption of Radicus.  Aureleus hears Elder Paviq’s statement as I do—as an insult.

            And Aureleus cannot hold his tongue.

            “And I am unkillable thus far.”

            I do not like their open disdain for him.  They summoned us both, and if I am to believe what Aureleus told me this morning, they are sending us for a mission.  They should not treat him this way.  But I am not brave.  I wish I could say something, but instead, I shift my feet.

            High Elder Paviq shows no indication that he hears Aureleus’s taunt.  His eyes are glazed, and he continues unfazed. 

            “Yisho has brought Graal’s theory to our attention.  The Elder Council maintains that the idea of Dwarven deserters willingly aiding the Orcs into our territory is absurd and ridiculous.  It is clear you should be prized for your muscle, and not for your imagination.”

            Aureleus clenches his fists.  No amount of herbs and smoke can cloud his sense of pride.  He juts his lower teeth out like tusks over his top lip.  I pray that he does not respond, but as always, the gods do not hear.

            “And you should be prized for your long life, but not for how you have filled it!”

            Another Elven master speaks up in response.  “How dare you address Master Paviq in this way, mongrel?”

            “Master Limvay speaks,” Yisho introduces the new speaker.

            Paviq raises his hand and Limvay quiets himself.

            “However,” Paviq continues.  He pauses for a long time and breathes the smoke in deeply, “as the Beating Sea expands, and as the crust of our home cracks, you are clever to consider that we could be vulnerable from underground.  As the two of you have already learned from the reports, we have declared the Dwarven High State as fallen.  We must begin new rescue efforts.  We have run extraction missions across the island before, but the rampaging Orcs have never been as thick into High State as they are now.  Several of our best guides were never found after the Ryeldar incident.

            “The two of you are to make your way across the island to Raptor’s Rock, the High State stronghold.  Lord Drakaz’s younger cousin, Lord Nams, is waiting for you to escort him here.”  Paviq still has not looked away from the dancing embers in the center of the room.

            Aureleus speaks before I can.  “I was under the impression you accepted my request to investigate the Ryeldar Outpost.  Instead, you are sending us to fetch a noble and bring him here.  Despite Master Limvay’s opinion, I am not a dog.”

            “I do not understand,” I interject.  I do not want to be punished for his insubordination.  If we are punished, I want it to be for asking the right questions, not for an insult.  “Why, and how, should only the two of us traverse Embertalon, a barren and torched territory swarming with Orcs? How are we to enter the tunnels of High State, where the Dwarves have even been forced to build walls out of the corpses of their own miners to reroute the Orcs?  Why are we to retrieve Lord Nams, the youngest of the Dwarven lords?  Why not Drakaz, or either of the others?  What about King Ashnard, himself?  How does he propose to escape Raptor’s Rock?  Pardon my manners, but there is no way that this could be the entire plan.” 

            I try to keep my voice calm and forceful, but Aureleus hangs his head deeper each time my voice cracks or wavers.  He hears my fear, and he knows my objections are a veil to mask my anxiety. Another Elven chief, young, slender and calm picks up a small kettle of water and pours it slowly on the fire-pit, sending steam billowing and thickening the chamber with haze.

            “Master Barca speaks,” Yisho informs us.  This elder, however, I already know.  He is the president of Stratos Tower, the Elven school of battle magic.

            “The four Dwarven lords are beseiged in their stone castle.  If we hope to preserve the Dwarven court and its people, we must relocate the kingdom.  Lord Nams is the youngest of the Paleotus family.  In King Ashnard's absence, Lord Drakaz saw fit to send Nams here first.”

            Aureleus speaks again, this time, with a harsh curiosity.  “King Ashnard’s absence?  Where is he?”

            Barca replies, “Lord Drakaz has informed us, through one of Romox’s loyal pigeons, that King Ashnard has been missing for three seasons.”

            “Three seasons!  The attack on Ryeldar happened three seasons ago!” Aureleus exclaims.  “Why did they not inform us sooner? Is he dead?  Why not declare another king?”

            “You know the Dwarves are a proud race.  They are fiercely patriotic,” Barca says, eyes never opening.  As he speaks, he moves his hands in long, swirling gestures.  The smoke dances in his fingers, where it holds shapes for only an instant before it dissipates into new ones.  “In a time when more of their home is seized daily by Orc marauders, and only pain and death are found in their tunnels below, the people look for strength from above.  They look to their King and court.  An empty throne is a sign of weakness for any nation.  However, Dwarven law states that a successor may not be named until proof exists of the current King’s death.  Until proof of his death is recovered, Raptor’s Rock will remain headless.  This is the reason you are retrieving Lord Nams first.  He is the youngest, and is therefore perceived as the weakest.  The court will retain their people’s faith for as long as the eldest heir remains in Raptor’s Rock. It is our hope that their keep will not become their tomb.”

            The haze is getting so thick, I can barely see the Elders sitting in front of me.  The entire chamber is milky with smoke, and I am unable to think straight.  I know it is the incense, but my mind swims with anguish.  I am swiftly overcome by panic and grief. I breathe in fear and breathe out dread.  The Orcs took my village seventeen years ago, but it was only a village.  Wooden huts on an open plain.  We fled, but we were wildly outnumbered and savagely overtaken.  We were only a village.

            But this—Raptor’s Rock, the keep and capital of High State—this is a mountain fortress, protected by highly trained and bred soldiers, fighting in terrain that gives them an undoubted advantage.  The Dwarves have been masters of phalanx fighting and fierce protectors of their tunnels since before the eruption of Radicus, eons before the arrival of the Orcs.  If they are falling back…if they are fleeing, then truly, there is no hope for us all.

            “There have been enough lost to the horde already.  I will not go.  I will live as a coward here in my hut, high off the ground.  You said it yourself, Master Barca.  High State is lost.”  I turn my back and take a step toward the tent flap, and the freedom of the wet air outside, when Aureleus grabs my arm.  He has never gripped my arm as hard as at this moment.

            “Rus, you must come with me.” Aureleus’s words cut into me.  Through the miasma of smoke, I can see his eyes.  I know, somehow, that this is not the incense speaking.  This is Aureleus, pure and free, pleading with me.

            “Rus is not here.  I do not know who you expected the Council to summon here today, but it was not supposed to be me.”

            Barca speaks again.

            “It has been determined that the fewer your numbers, and with the blessings of Crovax and Charybdax, you can make it to Raptor's Rock unharmed.  You will leave at first light tomorrow.  We would like you to stop at the Foothills shrine to Romox and send word of your progress.  We have not received any pigeons from that shrine for quite some time, so we fear that Orcs occupy the shrine.  If the Orcs have indeed overrun the shrine, do what you can to clear it.  We cannot allow them to continue defiling it.

            Elder Paviq addresses us again.  He opens his glassy green eyes and looks at me.  “Rus.  We have anticipated your anxiety.  Trust in your abilities.  Put whatever trust you can in your ally.  We both know how fickle the mighty Charybdax can be."  Paviq contorts his face into a weak smile.  “Graal...Aureleus,” Paviq corrects himself, “Prove your worth. Watch out for Rus and Lord Nams, and bring them back safely.  If you succeed, you will have my full respect.”

            Aureleus responds immediately, “When I am out there fighting to protect this state, it is only your feathery gods and Rus watching my back. Not you. I will hold you to your word.”

            “This is the collective wisdom of the Elder Council,” Paviq announces.  That is the signal that this briefing is complete.  Yisho moves to the chamber flap and directs us out of the smoke chamber. Even as I leave the chamber, I can hear Limvay yelling at how foolish the council is being, sending an Elf-Orc and a human coward to bring back Dwarven royalty.  I throw my head out from under the leafy canopy overhead and let the water run down my forehead, into my eyes, and down my cheeks and my neck.  I cough and hack the foreign fresh air.  A pounding headache rushes behind my eyes, pulsing up from my fingers and toes.  I support myself on the railing outside.

            “I think we both could stand to watch our tongues in front of the council.  We both could have lost our positions today,” I say.

            Aureleus shakes his head and looks into the forest toward the East, where the Orcs march.  “You still do not see it, Rus.  We did lose our positions today.  We have been given a death sentence.  This is exile, and we may not return while the Dwarven court is still under siege.  Our quest is impossible.  We must prove it possible, or we face our doom, as does High State.”

            Of course, I know he speaks the truth.  His entire life, he has been punished for the crimes of his father, and now, he faces the Elder Council’s final retribution for the murder of his mother.  It was raining the day she died.  Raining just like this.  I had a headache just like now.  My temples were on fire.  But I remember her name. Ori, which means, “divided one.”  She screamed as he was born.  He ripped his way out of her, like his father ripped his way in.  I was sick from the sight of the blood, and then Aureleus was here, and she was gone.

            “Aureleus.”  I breathe deep, and then the rain lights my headache aflame.  I grunt and grip my arms around my head. I fall onto my knees by the balcony.  “I remember your mother.  I was there when you were born, when your god-sign was revealed. You were almost a White when I saw that dove perched on the spire near the shrine to watch you arrive.  I had prayed for a White.  Falcon Island so desperately needed a White Avox.  I had nearly declared it.  But then, the moment you landed on the Island, a vulture, large and black as sin, landed on the spire and crushed your poor dove.  There was no disputing it.  You were a Black, and Crovax was watching you closely.”

            Aureleus crouches down next to me, slaps my back, then straightens up.  “I must prepare.  I will see you at first light.  I assume you will be awake before I meet you.” 

            “I will go with you,” I say bluntly.  “I am terrified. I hate travel.  I hate the rain. There are not many men I would go with, but I will go with you.  Into Embertalon.  To High State.  Into the belly of Mount Radicus if I have to. It is the last thing your mother asked me to do.”

            For the second time today, Aureleus leaves me standing alone and mystified as he stomps away into the rain.

Falcon Island: Chapter 1 - Aureleus

Chapter 1 - Aureleus

            I wake up cold and wet.  Another nightmare.  The steady roar of the rain outside my treehouse presses down on the forest canopy.  Thirty-four days of rain.  I might be slick with sweat, but the roof is more likely leaking again.  Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.  Thirty-four days of drip, drip, drip, drip, drip. I have nearly forgotten what being dry feels like.

            The wet and the cold are not what wake me up.  I have learned to sleep through that.  It is another nightmare.  Every night, I face a new terror in my dreams.  Every night, I die a new death.  This time, I’m drowning.  It was fire last night.  Buried alive the night before.  I’ve been poisoned, hung, slashed through the neck, stabbed through the heart.  Eaten.  The first was being eaten.  Thirty-four nights ago, the night the rain began, Orcs ate me alive.  They crawled out of the soil, eating the dirt to create tunnels.  The first thing I saw were jaundiced yellow eyes dotting the floor, then their gaping mouths with unhinged jaws tore open the floor of my hut. No one was ready.  They jumped out from underneath my cot and immediately grabbed my arms.  They each towered over me; their limbs were thick as logs and their skin was grey and green like a gangrenous fungus.  They pinned me down on my cot, then chomped down on my toes one by one.  Then my fingers, then they just dug into the rest of my flesh.  They held me down and feasted.  I woke with blood on my arms.  I had scratched myself in panic.

            I sit up slowly.  My feet swing from the cot and alight on the soggy wooden platform of my treehouse.  I take a moment to grudgingly thank the birds that I do not live on the ground.  I pull aside the drapery of the window and see that it is still dark outside.  Granted, it has been dark for thirty-four days.  Daytime is simply a brighter shade of gray now.  I have very little hope of ever seeing the sun again.

            I prepare the fire basin in the center of my platform and bring sparks to my fingers.  My one respite from the chill and my soaking bones is my fire magic.  In the face of endless water, from the sky, from the ground, from the sea, fire is the one entity that makes me feel sane.

            “Rus.”  I hear a gruff voice outside on my landing.  I know him, but this early in the morning, I am not inclined to entertain.  “Rus,” he says again, “Are you awake?  I saw you light your fire basin from outside.  Can I come in?”

            It is too early, and still too cold. I certainly will not sleep for the rest of the night, not anymore, now that he has come.

            “Just a second, Aureleus.  Give me a moment to find something dry.”  He knows I have nothing dry.  No one does. I would put my tunic on, but it still has not dried from the day before.  My tunic used to be a rich navy blue.  Now, it is a permanent murky grey, like the sky, like the water, like my skin.  I leave it slung over the back of the chair.  He knows I just need to clear my head.  The rain gives me headaches. 

            Instead, I run through my prayers hurriedly under my breath. 

            “Hail, divine birds.  End this dreadful rain. The end.”  Then, without putting my shirt on, I open the door and Aureleus stoops through the doorway and stomps his way in.

            “If that is how you pray every morning, it’s no wonder the rain hasn’t stopped.”  Aureleus stands a full head and shoulders taller than I am.  He has grown so fast, and he seems never to stop.  After he dwarfed me in height, his muscles swelled with power.  He is a specimen of physical accomplishment.

            I thought he would not hear my morning prayer, said more out of habit and ritual than out of faith, but I should have remembered his gift for prying.  Aureleus inherited only the best attributes from his parents: he has the keen eyes and ears of his mother, an Elf.  I knew her briefly before Aureleus was born. Aureleus’s brawn and massive physique, he received from his father, an Orc.  It leaves a sour taste in my mouth to imagine his father, with gnarled teeth and grey skin, hulking above the rest, inflicting an elf with his curse, raping her and leaving her to suffer. Aureleus is the only one of his kind, an Elf-Orc, and he always reminds me of our impending doom.  But then I look at Aureleus’s calm face and slouched shoulders, warming up by my fire, and I know that he is just a boy trapped in the visage of our enemies.

            “It is not polite to snoop on someone’s prayers. And if Charybdax and none of the other gods are listening,” I continue, “why should you?”

            “It’s not snooping.  You’re a human in an Elven village. One of the only ones here without pointy ears,” Aureleus grins from behind the flame and flicks his pointed ear with his finger.  He often points out my un-Elven nature, as if this is some detriment. I would much prefer my human blood to his Elven blood tainted by our enemies. 

            “And am I not to listen to one of our revered clerics?” he asks with a wide smirk. He has pulled my one chair to the fire and taken a seat, leaving me to stand.  He removes his wet tunic and drapes it over my almost-dry shirt.  “An Avox of Charybdax, surely you must have some sway over this rain!”  He removes a boot and pours out mud onto my floor.  The dank stench fills my hut quickly.

            “I suppose I’ll prepare breakfast while you sit there and warm yourself up.”  I pull out a trout I had been saving from the water barrel.  I gut and filet it, then lay the filet on a damp plank over the fire.  The salty aroma of the fish mingles with the rot of Aureleus’s large wet feet.  The smell lingers near the back of my throat.

            He is quiet while the hickory plank fizzes and pops, and the fish steams.  I decide that if he will linger, and his sour odor with him, I would know his purpose. “Aureleus, it is very early in the morning.  Why are you not asleep, and why are you here instead of in your barracks?”  

            He responds in a hushed tone.  “I’ve been thinking about the Ryeldar Outpost.”

            “The Ryeldar takeover again?  That was three seasons ago.  What is your fascination with that lost outpost?” I ask.

            “No, sir, I’m not just talking about the takeover.  I’m talking about the attack.  How did we not know it was coming?  How did we not have any warning?  I’m more interested in knowing how it all happened.  I know we lost a lot of men and a lot of land at that outpost, but I think we learned a lot more about our enemy.” 

            It always scares me to hear Aureleus call the Orcs the “enemy.”  Surely he must know how many times his own comrades in our army have said the same about him.

              “What did we learn, Aureleus?  What did we learn that we did not already know?  They are savages.  They torture their prisoners. The only reason they do not immediately kill their prey is to watch it squirm.  They want to see the looks on our faces as they peel our flesh from our bodies!”  I take a deep breath.  He knows what this topic does to me.  He knows Orcs send waves of anxiety through me.  I attempt to hide my fear, but I am certain I fail.  “Our men were likely tortured for a week before we even learned the outpost was lost.  What more is there to learn about the damned Orcs?”

            He just looks at me with his dark eyes.  He does not turn away.  “Are you finished with your burst of panic?  May I continue?”

            After a few moments, my breathing slows, and I consider what Aureleus might say. Ryeldar was our westernmost camp. The attack on the Ryeldar Outpost was a mess, mainly because it took us nearly a week to find out that anything was even wrong.  Two caravans of supplies went out to Ryeldar, each two days apart, like normal.  When the first caravan never returned to Stratos Tower, a messenger pigeon was sent.  When the bird never returned, Stratos Tower sent a human messenger.  It was only after the loss of eighteen people and three birds that a scouting party was sent to investigate.  The scouting party reported the loss and the takeover.  Smoke from the outpost, skulls on sticks, drawings in blood on the walls, and the Orcs, the hulking toothy brutes marching the perimeter with their rusty swords, playing like soldiers, and others slinging bodies over the ramparts tied by their ankles.

            Orcs made me sick.  They did all the same things to my village, but we saw them coming.  Some of us got out and relocated here to Cloud State villages.  Not a single person from Ryeldar has returned.  And now, Aureleus is convinced he has some new information to explain how these brainless thugs managed to completely take over our most frontline military installation.  Even through its impossibility, I need to know Aureleus’s theory.

            “Please continue, Aureleus,” I say, returning to an air of calm annoyance.

            Aureleus rears up his thick chest and raises his hands in front of him, like he is holding the idea up for me to see.  “Underground.  I think they came from underground!”  His smile is big and toothy like his forbears, and I can tell he thinks he is the cleverest man in Cloud State.

            “Don’t be preposterous,” I respond.

            “It’s not preposterous!” he retorts.  “How else could they have taken the outpost without us seeing them?  Ryeldar is in the central plains of the Island.  Have you been there?  You can see for spans without anything blocking your view.  Unless our own bird-gods lifted them up and they flew to Ryeldar, an underground approach makes the most sense!”

            “Aureleus, it is too early in the morning for these ridiculous ideas!  I do not find them funny or worth discussing.  Never in the twenty-year history of Orcs on Falcon Island have we seen any evidence of burrowing Orcs!  Orcs are simply too stupid!”

            I regret the words as soon as I say them.  Aureleus knows, and he stares me in the eyes again.  He is only sixteen years old, but he is stronger than any man I know.  His stare knocks the wind out of me like a fist.  Aureleus responds after a few quiet moments, just as before. 

            “Are you finished?”

            “Yes.”

            “I will ignore that racial slight.  I am not stupid.  Orcs can burrow.  Our legends have them crawling out of the belly of the volcano Radicus, and thirty-four nights ago, you dreamt of burrowing Orcs.  I have been keeping track, too.”

            I hate being an Avox of Charybdax, the Blue.  Every dream I have is seen as prophecy, and never as just my own neuroses. 

            “It was only a dream,” I say.

            “You say dream, Rus.  I say message from the gods.  As a child of Crovax, myself, I do not believe in coincidence.  This season-long rain is not coincidence, and neither are your nightmares.”

            “Aureleus, you have the wisdom and faith of a child, and that is sometimes refreshing.  But listen to me now.  Be reasonable.  How could the Orcs dig?  They do not have the tools, or the expertise.  Any expeditions would end in cave-ins, unless of course…”

            “Dwarves, Rus!  Dwarves.” Aureleus completes my frightening line of thought.    “Deserters.  We know from the reports that Orcs are in the Dwarven tunnels of High State. We know their phalanxes are falling.  I think Dwarves are helping the Orcs on our side of the island in order to save their own skins.”

            “This is a heavy accusation.” I pause to take a breath.  “I will take it before the Elder Council for their consideration.”

            Aureleus grins again.  “I already have.  Pack your things, we leave tomorrow at first light.”

            “I beg your pardon!”

            “I already told them.  I talked to Yisho, the chambermaid, who told Elder Paviq.  He approved.  Of course, he approves every mission that sends me out to die, but I’ll show him I am right.  You can expect a summons to the Council today to discuss it, but you might as well pack up.”  Aureleus had stood up and was putting on his soaked tunic and muddy boots.

            “Wait, Aureleus, you can’t volunteer me for your fool-hardy missions!  I can’t go out there again.  The rain…”  My voice falters.  I hate appearing weak to this mighty warrior.  I sigh and say, “I am too old for a trip like this.  The rain makes me nervous.”

            “Everything makes you nervous, Rus, but never fear,” and suddenly, Aureleus is his cheerful, relaxed self again.  “I will protect you, as you have protected me.”

            His blast of insight strikes me again, and he is out the door into the pouring deluge.

           

Falcon Island - Introduction

I spent a long time in 2013 creating a fantasy setting.  It was like Lord of the Rings on a much smaller scale, and some friends helped me sketch out some of the events of that world.  Now, I'm writing it down into a short story.  What you find posted here on my blog will be first drafts, with very little revisions.  I am hoping I can get some very basic feedback from those who read this.  So in the chapter entries, feel free to leave comments with feedback, questions, and even ideas.  My goal will be a new chapter every three weeks.  I am considering this my New Year's Resolution.  Below, you will find my proposed schedule:

1/3/15: Chapter 1 - Aureleus

1/24/15: Chapter 2

2/14/15: Chapter 3

3/7/15: Chapter 4

3/28/15: Chapter 5

4/18/15: Chapter 6

5/9/15: Chapter 7

5/30/15: Chapter 8

6/20/15: Chapter 9

7/11/15: Chapter 10

8/1/15: Chapter 11

8/22/15: Chapter 12

9/12/15: Chapter 13

10/3/15: Chapter 14

10/24/15: Chapter 15

And then November is Novel Writing Month, so maybe I can finish it then.  We'll see if I still have a lot more to go, or if it is wrapping up by then.

Wish me luck.

~Travis Koneschik, M. Ed.

Gay Marriage, Boy Scouts, Chick-fil-a, and Slactivism

There are so many thoughts I’ve been afraid to post.  I didn’t want to add tinder and fuel to a useless fire.  A fire that is burning through our nation but is not providing any cleansing, catharsis, or renewal.  It just rages.  And rages.  And rages.  And it’s not stopping.

The fire is about gay people.

Turn back now, because I’m going to plow into this hard and I’m not going to stop.  If you’re reading this, it means you want to know what I think about it.  My language may be raw and rough at times.

Here it goes.


My Opinion on Gay Marriage

I guess I was lucky to be born straight.  Women are awesome and beautiful.  Men are awesome and beautiful.  And I think men and women go great together.  I’m so glad that I fell in love at an early age to a beautiful woman and that everyone thinks we are awesome and beautiful together.

I’m Catholic.  I will never be completely 100% okay with gay people getting married.  But I will NEVER condemn a person for loving someone.  Love is the greatest of human emotions. There is no way that I can, in good decent conscience, condemn a person for loving another human being, whether that person is male or female.  I just can’t.  You can spout whatever verse or law you want at me, but I’m not going to change my mind.  And no one else is either, so everyone might as well stop yelling at each other.

That being said, I think the government should hurry up and let the law marry gay people and stop trying to force churches to marry gay people.  Churches aren’t going to do it, because they don’t believe in it.  But gay Americans are still Americans, and they deserve the same legal right I have in this country to love my future wife.

Now you know where I stand.  Gay people:  no problem.  Gay marriage:  law-yes, church-no.  Are we clear?  Moving on.


Gays and the Boy Scouts of America (BSA)

As a former employee of the BSA and as an Eagle Scout, I’d like to make some observations.

I grew up in the Boy Scouts of America, and I’m so proud to be an Eagle Scout.  I learned so much about responsibility, friendship, planning, teamwork, accomplishment, and outdoor and survival skills.  I did not learn about love or sex in Scouting.

I have a good friend, one of my groomsmen in fact, who is gay, and he is also an Eagle Scout.  I deliberately avoided using the word “but” in the previous sentence.  He is gay AND an Eagle Scout.  Being gay doesn’t undo the character that is built through the Scouting program.  It doesn’t undo the amount of community service, care for others, leadership development, and knowledge of outdoor skills.  Being a Scout is a state of mind and a state of character.  Someone’s sexuality plays no role in that development.

Robert J. Mazzuca, Chief Scout Executive until August 31 of 2012, tells new Scouting professionals and seasoned veteran Scouters that not homosexuality, but 

“Sexuality of any kind has no place in Scouting.”  

What does this mean?  It is not the Scouting program’s goal, nor should Scouting be used as a vehicle, to teach kids about love and sex.  Public displays of affection between any kind of couple don’t belong in Scouting, and sex certainly shouldn’t have any place in an organization that teaches values to kids.

The Boy Scouts of America is a private, volunteer-run, values-based, educational institution.  Private, volunteer-run, values-based, and educational.

Private:  can make up whatever damn rules it pleases.  Boy Scout units are owned and operated by Charter Organizations.  That means an outside organization adopts the Scouting program as its own private method of community outreach and service.  That Scout unit thereby follows the rules and procedures of the Boy Scouts of America, but also of the Charter Organization.  The vast majority of these Charter Organizations are faith-based institutions, i.e. churches.

Volunteer-run:  meaning the Charter Organization supplies the unit with volunteers for its operation.  Volunteers are checked through two sets of approval:  approval with the Charter Organization, and approval with the Boy Scouts of America.  There is no space on the application for membership to mark whether you are gay or straight.  There are spaces to provide references, and previous involvement with youth and value-based organizations.  So, the BSA checks your references and previous youth interaction.  That’s it.  There is a place on the application for Charter Organization approval.  If a particular unit is with a church or other faith-based institution, or any institution that isn’t gay-friendly, they most likely won’t approve said gay individual’s application for membership, because that institution feels that gay individual isn’t fit to teach values to children.  Wrong or right, that institution owns and operates the unit, and they supply it with volunteers that they feel are fit to teach and mentor kids.  So, if you find a unit that isn’t gay-friendly, deal with it, and go find one that is.  There are many Scout units that are chartered through other organizations like Chambers of Commerce, banks, even radio stations, PTOs and PTAs, or you can even start you own program through Lone Scouts or as a “Parents Of” organization.

Values-based and educational:  Imagine if the teacher at the elementary school stood up in front of your child and started talking about sex.  Is that the teacher’s place?  Absolutely not.  That’s your job as the parent to teach your child about love, and to help them understand it.  You, as the parent, need to be the one helping your child discover their feelings and their sexuality.  Those aren’t the topics that random parents and volunteers should be teaching your child.  If you want some outside organization to teach your child about homo- and heterosexuality, then the Boy Scouts of America isn’t for you in the first place.  The BSA has a lesson plan, and sexuality isn’t in it.

The Boy Scouts of America has been following its rules and regulations for membership for 102 years and is showing no signs of stopping or changing.  They are a private organization and can enforce their own private requirements for membership, as is each Charter Organization.  The BSA will continue to back up the requirements for membership that are enforced by the Charter Organizations because the Charter Organizations are the ones supplying the volunteers in the first place.  I will continue to support the Boy Scouts of America because of what they've given me, and if I have a boy, we'll be involved in the Scouting program as a family in a unit that approves adults fit to lead, whether they are gay or straight.

Chick-fil-a and Slactivism

Chick-fil-a doesn’t support gay marriage.

Who the fuck cares?  It’s a fucking fast food chain.  Their only goal is to cook awesome chicken and make money doing it.  They don’t even remotely make policy concerning gay marriage.

“Slactivism:” A pejorative neologism combining 'slacker' and 'activism,' sometimes spelled 'slacktivism.' Engaging socially in activism that requires little or no effort as part of a lifestyle or self-identity. Slactivism usually produces no appreciable results and often perpetuates poor research and hearsay.  [http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=slactivism]

NO APPRECIABLE RESULTS.  Going or not going to Chick-fil-a on a specific day isn’t going to make an iota of difference in affecting policy change.  Liking a Facebook page, or even writing a blog just doesn’t have the force behind it to DO anything.

Yes, I appreciate the fact that I’m writing a blog about slactivism.  Lol.

If you say you care about something so much, e.g. for or against gay marriage, write your policy-makers, donate money, and vote for your representatives at all levels of government, not just national.  Hold a rally or benefit and invite your policy-makers to be there.  The Boy Scouts of America are thriving because people who believe in its goals consistently donate money to that organization.

If you are so outraged at a national policy, is boycotting the chicken as far as you’re willing to go?

So that’s that.  Not many people have asked any of my opinions on these topics, but I have them.  This might just be for my benefit to write them down here.  Thanks, and have a wonderful day.