The Great Winged Assassin Aleen sat like a large boulder perched on the side of Mount Bastion across the valley from where The Castle Ur stood. His vantage point overlooked the Sea of Rife and the Companion Halls of Medore. He took a deep breath in and listened as his leathery skin expanded and then exhaled slowly, meditatively. Then, again, a slow inhale, then slower exhale.
He had been practicing this form of breathing for years before a kill as it relaxed him and placed him in a state where little affected him. He drifted outward and inward at the same time moving away from his central core to a point where he was no longer attached in spirit. Time would pass and he would breath in deeply and then slowly allow his wings to unwrap from around his bat-like body startling those nearby at the unexpected exposure of a muscular frame hidden there concealed beneath a skin so black that he could stand silently and without movement during the night next to a victim or military guards and never be seen until he struck.
He was deeply feared as an assassin and plan for his removal had been in place for over a year, but he had struck first leaving not one council floor covered with spilled blood, but three of them. He had moved so quickly that those killed were never able to leave any message to alert others of his actions. He was a master of treachery and his intended kills sat nearby completely absorbed in a juvenile conversation about how famous they would all become in the near future. Not one realized their future would end that night
Chapter one: How do I love thee, let me count thy bruises.
He stood in front of her rubbing the knuckles on his right hand staring down at her where she sat on a wooden chair in front of him. He growled as she reached up to where blood trickled from the bruised flesh below her right eye. Touched it, saw the blood, then lowering her arms clasped her hands in front of her on her lap. Slowly she looked up at him with tears racing down to her chin. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he voice trembled. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The year was 1926. She was just 19 and he was 27.
He slapped her hard jerking her head to the left. She slowly recovered. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“So, my mother and sister are liars?” Blood stood against the vows of marriage. Sometimes blood is stronger, and in this case it was. “They saw you at the theater”
“No,” her voice wavered, “no they, if anyone it was Virginia and all I did was acknowledge an old school friend.”
“Who you then went into the movies with.”
“He had his girlfriend with him”
“You sat with him.”
“I sat with them, not with him,” she said her face hurting her badly. Her tongue slipped sideways and found a tooth had been dislodged.
It was just an hour before dawn when a lone figure slowly picked a path through a field of boulders that lay at the base of what was called by some to be the South Tower of The Castle Ur. As the figure went slowly walking there approaching the outer wall of the tower, a second slipped out of the dark and approached the first.
“Nadine?” the second quietly spoke, almost in a whisper. The voice was deep and rumbled like the sound coming from the distance thunder storms that never seemed to leave the land all around the mountain upon which sat the castle itself.
The first stopped walking and from beneath the hood hiding the facial features of the person there within a higher pitched voice answered simply and quietly, “Yes, Great King Mont, it is me.”
Mont flipped back the heavy dark hood exposing his rounded and bearded face. “Nadine,” his voice took on a degree of excitement. “Nadine, my sweet and dearest friend, how I have longed to see you these passing months.” He opened his arms and took several steps to close the distance between himself and Nadine.
“As have I.” the other answered softly and raised arms beckoning the first openly to be embraced. “Come to me and hug me like we have in the days past. Show you still care for me and rub my back to relieve the pain from the slow climb from below to here.”
Mont stumbled on the loose footing of gravel and stone but recovered and began to close the distance when he suddenly caught the glimpse of a steel blade concealed in the other’s hand. He stumbled again but came to a stop less than five feet from the other there in the slowing ebbing darkness as the Sun was coming up bring dawn and announcing a new day.
Nadine stepped forward and thrust the blade deep into Mont’s body as the man looked down in shock and then up as the assassin pushed back the hood to reveal their face.
Mont stepped forward and grabbed the shoulders of the other party as she pulled out the knife and reinserted it back into Mont’s body again and again and again until he dropped to his knees and then fell over quite dead.
TWISTED: FAIRY TALES FROM A DARK WOOD
(This isn’t your basic children’s book so beware.)
The land of Darkwood was bathed in a constant drizzle. It had been so for over a hundred years. Once the island had been a place of beauty, but then….the terror came. It arrived in the middle of the night and when it did it came as a destroyer, touching all that was beautiful with an angry curse. There was nothing that could be done, or so it seemed, for anyone who even looked as being opposed to the rule of Talia was imprisoned or executed immediately upon her request. How strange it seemed, she had been the most loved Princess in the land and then the change took place and she went from being good to being the most evil woman ever known. There were sections of The Castle Ur that reeked of the smell of blood; some said she bathed in the blood of young women believing it was good for her skin. There was always a parade of girls coming but never leaving. Even the Seven Dwarfs that were always by her side seemed a bit, er, put out about the whole issue but they too risked their lives if any insolence was determined to have occurred. As it was the King of the Dwarves was a prisoner in the South Tower and had been there for six months. But on this day he was allowed to go for a walk…..alone.
Stiffness of mind can be a problem and should be noted to tend along with a great deal of anger. I deal with anger. I have problems with anger. I can be very un-nice with anger when it overtakes me and lately it has been near me too much. I think it is just that the world is moving at such a strange pace and what I hope for is not actually happening but the reverse is. Maybe that holds true for you as well. In any case being catatonic would be a problem not only in Milwaukee but in Bradenton as well.
I wonder if people can really change or is it just backwash that we get when we think we changed and then something happens that drags us back into all the same shit. I don’t know. I just known that when looking at my life I can see too many mistakes.
Its a new day and hopefully a day where anger doesn’t creep in to my life or yours.
Oh, and I have never been in Milwaukee but I understand they brew a very fine beer there.
Death speaks thru the window of the train
While we travel going nowhere from the past to the present
in our clothes from best to worse and back again
looking for the answers to the riddle of questions
wanting to know who the Three Stooges represent
in our lives spent deceived by the world surrounding. 5.23.17
I noted that The Little Mermaid, as she is titled on her blog, liked several of my posts. I also noted that she has a huge following. I am envious. I am a writer. Writers write because they want people to read what they write. I have nowhere near the followers that she has. Can I be envious? I think respectfully envious is appropriate. She obviously is hitting the mark as is Opinionated Man, another blogger with huge outreach. So, what is the magic?
I don’t know. I am trying to figure that out.
In the meantime I will watch and read their posts and be amazed at what they have to say and also that of the people who comment on their posts.
Here is a link to one of The Little Mermaid’s posts:
by improve everywhere
Do you like poetry? I like poetry. My dogs have always like poetry. Have you ever heard me read poetry? How about if I sang it to you? Any chance for that? Come on where’s the support here, there, over there. It has to be here someplace, why else would I write poetry? Happy poetry, sad poetry, nonsense poetry, and serious poetry. Ok, you can just sit and read then…..but if you do make it MY poetry that you read: The Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems on Amazon, or for a very select few, Rabbit in a Box also on Amazon.
You do want to support me, don’t you. Of course you do. Amazon, Gordon Kuhn….come and buy a book! My dog thanks you.
What a wonderful idea, I thought, to actually be interviewed by someone who was professional and knowledgeable about my writing. What a treat. And so, when asked, I answered with a loud, “Yes.” How could I not and I found the experience most entertaining and educational at the same time.
First off, I am not the brightest person when it comes to computers and anything electronic hates me from the first handshake. That held true with trying to get Skype to work. It kept rejecting my passwords and then went nuts when I tried to reload with another email address. So, there I was panicking a full hour before the interview and poor Claire who resides in the UK was wrong on the time difference between there and here. She said 10 AM and it was 9:40 when I wrote on Skype asking if we were connected. She wrote back that she had just come home from shopping and that the time for our conversation was 10 and we had an hour to go. I told her it was coming up on 10 and then she realized the time difference was 4 and not 5 hours. So she set off to get the interview going.
She is incredibly professional. She sent me her list of questions and she followed that list perfectly. I was thankful that she had done that because I knew where we were going and there were no surprises.
I am attaching the link to the interview.
Please go and enjoy it and write back and tell me what you think. Claire can be reached at her site http://www.booktalkradio.info she can also be found at her page on Facebook:
So, if you are an author and independently publish you own works contact her. She is easy to talk with and lots of fun.
Jan and I were very fortunate to have as a dinner guest yesterday evening Diane Brinker who was one of the eight sisters of Kathleen Briles. There were 9 girls and 2 boys. Diane shared a lot of details with us and it was a pure blessing to simply be able to sit and talk with her. In some ways, having conversations with her and others, the people in these stories become family to me as I ride along listening to the fun days and the sad days. It is so sad to me to meet them with all this pain brought about by one person, and the tragedy is that Kathleen would not have died if the FBI had not failed to keep their computer data base up to date. Diane shared photos of her sister and her family with us. It was a wonderful evening but so tragically brought about. It leaves me with a major responsibility to write Nightmare in Terra Ceia with as much sensitivity as I can muster.