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Changers: A Family Novel
Opps! Seems agents and publishers do not like detailed descriptions of all the novels in the series for public viewing; gives too much away about what happens in previous novels. So, sorry, but I had to take down the synopsis of all but the first novel in each series. I have left a little teaser excerpt from each one to get you interested in following them.
The following are all novels in the Changer series...
A description of the entire Changer Novel Series
These novels are daring, explicit and raw. But at the heart of each of them is V, a woman who claims her freedom and lives her life on her own terms.
Forever Autumn
In the first novel, Forever Autumn, 80,000 words, V loses her innocence. From a belief that life is fair, slammed into the knowledge that life is not in the least fair, then the long hard road to balance. She marries her college sweet heart; they build an idyllic life together on The Island and grow spiritually on their Pagan Path. In the space of two years her harmonious world explodes and she loses both her husband and Father. Bereft of the stability she’s depended on, she finds herself in a dark place where she seeks bloody vengeance. She forms her goals and reaches them using her own law, no justifications and no explanations. In the process she falls in love again; only to have this man kidnapped by the same people who killed her family.
Silent Winter
Second in the series, 94,000 words at this time.
Dark Spring
Third in the series, currently at 52,000 words.
Click here for audio from one of my favorite scenes from Dark Spring; V and Adrian on the balcony.
Web of Summer
Fourth in the series, 29,000 words at this time.
Season's End
Fifth and last in the series at 8,000 words--hey! I've been working on the others, ok??
Footsteps of a Shadow
A simple story of love, lust, adultery and divorce. Or is it? As Orelle finds out more about the woman who appeared and broke up her marriage, she becomes more confused. Richard has fallen under the spell of dark magic and drugs and it is up to her to find the deep inner strength and courage to save her marriage and her world. As she follows the Footsteps of a Shadow, she is led into a world of evil powers, malicious forces and even human sacrifice.
Voice of a Shadow
Second in the trilogy.
Touch of a Shadow
Third and last.
These are all stand alone novels.
The Feebs
Four friends created a garage band while in college in the early 80’s. Over twenty years later, each one separately receives an odd message on their answer machine; the beginning rift of one of their original songs. Long out of touch with each other, Tom, a successful ad agent, Derrick, working overseas, Charlie, living day to day in New York and Emily, a high school teacher, reach out to renew their friendship of long ago. When they finally meet up at the 40 Watt club in Athens, Georgia, they find their whole lives have been preparing them for this moment and together they unravel the mystery behind their past and find the strength and courage from each other to finally face and defeat the dark forces that are again restlessly awakening.
Doorway
For thousands of years before mankind began walking on his back legs the Door existed. For the last few thousand years four have joined together each hundred years to keep the Door closed. To keep our world safe from the destruction that waited, pushed, pounded from the other side. Each century the four strengthened the closed portal. But now the force on the other side is ready to wage an all out attempt to break through. The four know this is the last time they will gather together to protect this world. This time, enlisting the aid of beings ancient and familiar, they will seal the Door forever—even when they know it will cost their lives and the lives of many others. But the opposing force has been carefully building its power and this time it is more than ready to make its final move, break through the Door and destroy everything on this side.
Distant Castles
It is a time of swords and sorcery. A serene and harmonious physical and mental training school located in a large castle by the sea is suddenly destroyed by a small army led by an angry man seeking supremacy. Deanna, the head of the school, succeeds in killing him, but only at a high price of life. Can she go back in time and avoid this bloody present by finding the man as a boy and helping him to walk a Path of light rather than dark?
A description of the entire Changer Novel Series
“Changers” is a series of at least 5 novels about V, a woman who is a shape shifter, Pagan and free. Free in that she owns herself; she doesn't answer to anyone. She loves, has sex, kicks ass, carries out the duties of a High Priestess, and has the love and loyalty of beautiful and strong men without giving up anything that is herself.
They follow the journey of a naive young woman who grows into a mature powerful force that demands the right to live the way she chooses. Full of mystic Rituals, violence and graphic sex, just like V, these words make no apologies to anyone; they reflect what all of us want in that private dark place we think no one else knows about.
When V suddenly finds herself alone she has to redefine her own life; who she has become and what she wants. Someone’s not playing by the honest rules she's accepted all her life, so she quits playing by them as well. She makes her own road, asking no permission and accepting no constraints.
It’s the fantasy every one of us has. We'll fight with V in heated battle, ripping out the throat of the child molester with deadly tiger claws. Our blood will pound with lust as we take who we want to our bed or surrender to the tender hands of our lovers as they please us. We'll stand with her under the full moon in Pagan Ritual, experiencing the Old Ways of the Earth and Sky. Because that’s what we want, freedom to break the established rules and make our own.
Readers may buy and read openly in public more mainstream fiction, but hidden inside the cover will be these books, dog eared from reading and rereading, echoing the darkest and most juicy dreams they cherish.
These novels are daring, explicit and raw. But at the heart of each of them is V, a woman who claims her freedom and lives her life on her own terms.
------------------------
Chapter Three
“The killins’ got tae stop,” she heard a voice say from behind her with a heavy Scottish accent. She turned from the body before the life had completely fled from it and faced the man behind her.
He stood in the foggy night, long black pea coat with the collar turned up against the coolness of the air, knit cap on his head.
“Dr. McCloud. Do you know I have saved your life four times?”
He shook his head. “Ya must ‘ave been working on it before A was aware of ya.”
She nodded, knowing the man behind her had finally died. “Actually, now it’s five.”
“A read about yer husband; A am truly sorry. He was a fine researcher, saved many lives.”
She didn’t move or speak.
He glanced at the body at her feet. “Makes it even harder tae understan’ what yer doin’.”
“I followed him as he followed you. When you got out of town this far, he made his move and I made mine.”
He shook his head. “That’s na what A’m talking about; ya know it.”
“There’s a list of Changers marked for death. My husband was the second; you are the third. I’m making it a death sentence for any who try to complete the list. Sooner or later, there’ll be no more who will try.”
“After this one? The next one? The one after that? When will it be enough?”
“When they’re all dead—all of them.”
Again, he shook his head, walked closer and she could make out his face in the half light of the moon. “A canna have killing done tae save me. A’m a doctor and have spent ma professional life saving those A can. A won’t allow anyone tae tip the balance back the other way in ma name.”
“These men are killers.”
“And what are you?” He was closer still. “The killins’ got tae stop; tonight.”
She narrowed her eyes, “I’ll still follow you; kill anyone that tries to kill you.”
“Nay. Na after tonight. A can’t allow it.” He unbuttoned his coat, let it fall and began to unbutton his shirt revealing broad shoulders and a muscular chest, covered lightly with dark hair. He kicked off his shoes. “Will ya stop? Go back tae yer Island and grieve as ya should?”
She felt anger flash through her, “Don’t tell me how to handle my grief!”
“Somma’s got tae; yer not handling it atall. Will ya stop?”
She shook her head slowly and he reached for his pants, dropping to all fours and before V could blink, he’d Changed into a grey wolf, circling her, growling, lips pulled back from his teeth.
She smiled in predatory anticipation and ripped her own clothing off as Adrian leapt at her. She dodged, rolling and when she came up she too, was a wolf, a great black wolf, snarling with saliva dripping from her mouth. Before he could collect himself, she jumped on him, fangs and claws ripping through his thick fur and into his skin, drawing blood.
He rolled over on her and she lost her grip, rolling and on her feet immediately; just in time for his heavy body to land on her and they became a moving mass of claws and fangs, blurred with the quickness of their movement. Snarls filled the quiet night, growls and the rustle of the leaves as they rolled over them.
Neither could maintain control for long; they were almost equally matched. Adrian was stronger but V was faster, and having very little sense of self preservation, she took chances without thinking of the danger.
The battle raged, more blood flowed, both became more wary of the other, understanding that neither would capture an easy victory.
He watched her, circled, she was swaying and he knew he didn’t have much strength left himself. She lurched towards him and he drew back his lips in a snarl; then she fell. He circled, wobbling, suspecting a trap, but she didn’t move, just lay, her bloody side heaving. He nosed her, staggered back; still no reaction. His back legs buckled and he righted himself with enormous effort.
Walking to her he lay down, curling his body around hers in the damp night, protecting her from the cold. They both slept, exhausted, Changing slowly in their sleep, moving around each other, arms and legs entangled, holding tightly to the other.
The coolness before dawn wakened her. She turned into the warm body next to her, wrapping her arms more tightly around him. Resting her head on his chest she slowly realized that this was not Nils. With that shock she became fully awake, pulling away and looking down into clear grey eyes regarding her warily.
“McCloud.”
“A think after sleepin’ wi’ me ya have the right to call me by ma first name, Adrian.”
She stood, naked in the faint light, cold inside and out. She swayed for a moment, most of her wounds had healed during the night, but she was weak from the Change and the healing. (snip!)
Adrian lay before her, looking relaxed, but she knew he would be ready like a coiled snake if she were to attack again. And Changing didn’t make her want to attack… especially as she took in his masculine body. His smell came to her and she backed away. It was a deep rich smell that attracted her in a frightening way. She couldn’t help running her eyes over his chest, rolled abdomen and (snip!). His hips were narrow and his legs long and lean.
She backed farther, reaching down to retrieve her clothes, bloody and torn.
“A’ll be following ya,” he said, still lying on the ground. “Tae make sure the killins’ stopped. We’re a match for each other, but A think A can hold ya off long enough for the next one tae get away with ‘is life.” He sat up, still not trying to stop her. “Yer a fine woman, A think. Dr. Brendon was a lucky man. But find some solace, woman! Seek balance. Do want ya must tae grieve; then git on wi’ it.”
She turned; fled through the woods. She stopped a few times, didn’t hear him following.
The beginning of the Nils and V story…
Another week passed and Nils was sitting at a picnic table in a deserted area of campus, nose stuck in a book, notebook as always beside him. He would read, then take notes, then study the diagrams and make more notes. He heard the bird cry before he felt the wind as it flew by, close to his head.
He ducked, then looked up. A huge crow sat on a branch of the tree near him. He eyed it. “V? Is that you?” He felt annoyed, but relieved. She hadn’t given up on him yet.
It squawked.
“I’m studying. I know you don’t think that’s a good pastime for someone who’s in college, but I do. And I have a lot of it to do, so why don’t you just…”
With a flutter of wings, the crow took off.
Nils looked after it with disappointment. Then he looked back down at his book, questioning his feelings. It was good that she’d left. He did have a lot to do, and tests were coming up—
This time he didn’t hear it and she attacked quickly and efficiently, diving out of the air, back flapping suddenly right next to him, grabbing his pencil with her talons and flapping away again before he even had a chance to duck. She swooped overhead, crowing with glee, pencil clutched in her claw.
“Give that back!” he yelled, then looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. Following her flight he called out more softly, “Give it back, V. I’ve got to study!”
She flew near him, teasing him, then flew farther away. Cawing again, she dropped the pencil in the grass several feet from the table.
Sighing, he rose and fetched it. When he straightened up, he saw that she had landed on his book. She had her back to him, but she was looking at him over one black feathered shoulder. Her tail feathers were high in the air and she flipped them at him.
“No.” he said, knowing what she was going to do, “Don’t you dare!”
Before he could even start back, she had let loose and white creamy feces fell on the book. She waited until he’d almost reached her, then flew back into the branches of the tree, squawking.
“Oh, you!” He looked at his book, now the pedestal for a big blob of bird droppings. “Do you know how much my text books cost?” he looked at her crossly, getting a paper napkin from his back pack and trying to wipe the feces off. “And this is one I’ll need to keep for a reference in the future.” He looked back at V.
She ducked her head under one wing, seemingly sorry for what she’d done. He walked to the tree, reached up and grabbed the branch she was on. He shook it hard, dislodging her and she fell off, just catching herself before hitting the ground.
She flopped for a moment, then flew to the opposite side of the table, black shinny eyes on him.
“Don’t even think I see this as cute. Now go away. Go!” He gestured at her to go.
She clacked her beak at him.
He picked up a good sized rock and threw it at her hard.
She didn’t see it coming and took it in the chest, pin wheeling back off the table and disappearing behind it.
Nils stood for a moment, surprised that he’d been able to hit her, as he was not usually a good shot. Noticing there was no movement or noise from the other side of the table, he slowly circled it, looking on the ground.
She lay crumpled on the grass, bloodied rock next to her. Her form was small and still and he ran to her, kneeling on the grass.
“Oh god, oh god… V… what did I do? I didn’t think I’d even be able to come close to you… I just wanted to scare you off…” He reached down and touched her. Her heart was beating fast and he lifted her; heavy for a bird. Both wings hung down slackly and one of her thin legs twitched. He could see the jagged ends of two bones poking up through the center of her chest.
_______________________
The beginning of Silent Winter
Chapter One
For your eyes only, can see me through the night.
For your eyes only, I never need to hide.
You can see so much in me, so much in me that's new.
I never felt until I looked at you.
For your eyes only, only for you.
~Sheena Easton, “For your eyes only”
Martin tied off the small motorboat and stepped onto The Island’s dock, brief case in one hand, leaving the duffle bag with his clothes behind. He shivered in the cool late afternoon breeze, but he wasn’t cold. There was a feeling here, a heaviness to the air that had nothing to do with the climate. He pulled nervously on the starched white priests’ collar, pulled down the sleeves of his black jacket and smoothed his shirt. From head to toe he wore black except the small white cloth at his throat.
Wind ruffled his thick blond hair and made him narrow his bright blue eyes. He was tall, shoulders broad with muscle built from hard physical labor. There were always projects around the church and he volunteered. He liked to build things, fix things. Buildings as well as children. He took a deep breath and looked across the warped boards of the gently moving dock.
It had taken him years to take this step; he would not turn back. He didn’t know why he had to come here to realize his dream of a home for heterogeneous Changer children, he just knew he had to. Taking a week off from his regular duties had been a hard decision; there was always so much to do. But he felt it was time to finally begin his personal transformation as well as his dream of the home.
He walked slowly to the two enormous carvings that came right out of the face of the rocky cliff. Rising above him on the left was a roaring tiger, ears back, crouched and ready to attack. On the right was a wolf twice as tall as he was, snarling muzzle wrinkled, teeth bared. As he passed between them towards the steps that led precariously up the vertical cliff face he felt again the touch of some otherworldliness. Stopping, he leaned a hand against the warm rock and looked back along the dock.
The magic of the sculptor’s hand had turned the side and back of the tiger into a woman’s naked form. His heart pounded and he drug in a started breath, suddenly cold, then hot. He recognized the face and body and looked to see the wolf from this angle was a man he’d seen and touched in his dreams. Dreams that had become more vivid and intense over the last year; that had led him here, to The Island, a place he’d only heard whispered about in shadows and hinted at in carefully coded words.
_______________________
Excerpts from Dark Spring
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For a reading of a part of this work, go to (Warning: takes a LONG time to load):
Click here for audio from one of my favorite scenes from Dark Spring; V and Adrian on the balcony.
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“I’ve seen a lot of Changer hair, but not any like this.” Her forehead wrinkled, “It’s… disturbing.”
“I thought Changers were top secret.” Bill said, nodding towards Jeff.
“He knows about them. He’s seen the hairs.”
“And the hairs are more disturbing than the crime scene photos?”
“Jeff, I’ll see you sometime in the future, yes?”
“Um, yeah…”
V walked down the hallway with Bill to his office, smelling him and liking it… a lot. “Like I said, I’ve seen violence and death. The half formed Changer hair reflects the mind of a man who can no longer control his animal urges and so represents a continuing danger of more violence and death.”
He sat behind his desk, she sat in a chair in front of it, “So those he attacks but does not kill will begin to Change?” He carefully pushed pictures of her bare shoulders away… again.
She laughed and Bill was surprised to realize that it was the first time he had heard her laugh. It was musical and made him feel happy.
“That’s not the way it works, Bill. And that’s not what’s on your mind anyway.”
He raised his eyebrows and she smiled.
(snip)
Bill felt himself turning red.
“Now I’ve embarrassed you.” She shook her head, “I forget sometimes how Norms hide so much from each other. With Changers it isn’t so easy. We say a lot with our body language, and it’s not easy to lie with body language.”
“I’m just trying to keep up with the flood of information I’ve been receiving ever since you walked into my office.”
(snip)
“Then why...?”
She looked down. “Over the years I’ve become used to putting my wishes,” she looked at him, “and desires, aside. I’m not here to enjoy myself. You don’t know what heart breaking pain and tragic destruction I’ve seen. Every time I leave the Island, it’s to face horrors and try to stop more from happening.” Her voice was low, sad.
“Are Changers so violent, then?” Bill asked quietly.
Her head snapped up and she was on her feet, hands on Bill’s desk, face very near his. She had moved so quickly he hadn’t even seen it and thought of a striking snake. He didn’t back away from her.
“No, Bill. Not the violence of Changers. The violence of your people. Maybe we aren’t human. Humans are capable of far more brutality than I’ve ever seen Changers exhibit. A woman dead. Her entrails were used to strangle her own children. I’ll never know which of them died first.” Her eyes became distant and her voice softened to a whisper, “Did she watch her children be strangled with her own intestines as she died? If I’d just gotten there a few minutes earlier…” Her eyes focused back on his, bright, intense and her voice became harsh, “It wasn’t a Changer that did this. It was a Changer and her children who died.” She swept the files on Bill’s desk onto the floor. “And you think photos of clean quick deaths shock me? No. The ability of humans to hate what is different so much that they can do such things. That continues to shock and sicken me.”
She straightened, walked to the door. “I’ll follow you from a distance. You’ll be attacked again and I’ll be ready.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’ll find the Changer and I’ll kill him. Then I’ll leave and go home. Until the next time.” She faced the door again, hand on the knob. “I know what you’re wondering. Yes, I found him. Yes, I killed him. And I would again.” She sighed and he could hear the bone-weariness in it. “I have already. He wears many faces and names, but I seem to keep finding him, over and over again.” She opened the door and he stopped her with half formed questions.
“Your Father..? Your husband…?”
She did not turn. “Both Changers. Both killed by Norms.”
She was through the door and Bill let out a breath that he had not known he was holding.
Kwan Yin and Kali
Sorry! This piece is being submitted as a short story and it seems publishers don’t like having the work on the internet when they are considering it. If it gets accepted, I’ll post where you can find it.
Later in the novel, the dark man revealed...
V knelt down and touched Brad’s shoulder and was suddenly and completely THERE. Each one of us has our own special place in the Sacred Web where we are connected directly with others who are a part of our experiences. V slowly let her perception of the web fade… fade… to be replaced with Brad’s. She saw the web from his place, the golden pulsating stands connecting him with others in his life. She quickly found the single fragile thread that connected Brad with the dark man and followed it, leaving her body, the Island, Brad and Sam, all of it behind. She sped along the strand, knowing her time was short—
And found herself in an office. It was a large office with floor to ceiling windows directly in front of her, the afternoon sun slanting in, a big city framed. Behind a desk sat a man using a computer, the flat screen bathing his face in light. He was handsome—breath takingly so. Dark hair curled around his olive face, full lips pursed as he contemplated some problem on the screen.
V looked behind him again, searching for something that would identify this place, this man. To her right she saw shelves along the wall. Some were solid; not revealing their contents, others were glass and she could see a collection of knives. There was a door in the wall and she turned to see the wall opposite the desk. Another door, much larger than the other, with book cases on each side; large books on the shelves… attorney?
Then she saw the table, with a miniature city built in white on top. One of the buildings had an open roof showing details inside. On the wall behind the tiny city were framed diplomas, certificates, news stories. She tried to get a closer look, but could not make out any names. A big drafting table sat against the wall, top tilted so she saw a series of drawings spread across it. What looked like a cross between the Eiffel Tower and the Seattle Space Needle from several angles…
Suddenly, she felt eyes on her and turned back to the man at the desk. He had stood up and was looking at her—straight at her. She shivered. He should not be aware she was there. But it was the look on his face that made her shudder.
He was smiling, making his features even more attractive—except for the WAY he smiled. It was a hungry smile, a predator’s smile of anticipation—
She backed up, feeling the golden strand behind her and moving onto, into it, away from the office.
His essence followed her and she was surprised again. How could someone who knew about the Sacred Web, could feel it and walk it, commit such atrocities? She backed up farther and the office disappeared and she was surrounded by the Web, strands shimmering and pulsing with energy—but he had followed her, she felt him getting closer and knew what Brad had felt. She backed up more, then stopped.
She could not go back to the Island—that would lead him to it, to Brad and Sam, all her friends… Just as she had gone into his office, he would be able to step onto the Island.
In her mind she immediately sent out a quest for help. To all her friends on the island, to all those around the world connected to her through her web, she sent out her plea. And all of them—each one—no matter where they were or what they were doing-responded. Immediately and with all the power they could pull in around them. They absorbed from their surroundings and sent it through the web to V.
V still “faced” the dark man, both had stopped when she had. She felt the power building up behind her—so much power. She had never worked with this much power, nor in this manner. Just as she thought she would not be able to contain the power any more, the dark man started towards her again.
She let the energy pass through her and speed along the thread to the dark man. It hit him unaware and shot him back along the thread, back into his body still standing at his desk.
The blow was so hard that he was flung back into his chair, which shot back into the glass of the window. The window was unbreakable, but the chair wasn’t. He felt his head whip back against the glass and his jaw snap shut on his lower lip. The chair cracked, the back broken. He sat for a moment, not unconscious, not quite, but with a totally blank mind for a few moments.
As his head cleared, he reached up to feel the knot already forming on his head. He tasted the familiar flavor of his own blood and touched the cut on his lip. And smiled. At last. At last a powerful worthy adversary. Someone who might… just might be what he had been looking for most of his life. He absently patted the smoldering front of his Armani suit.
Someone powerful enough to kill him.
There were subtle hints of the area being closed off as Bill, Jeff and Adrian arrived but they weren't stopped. Bill drove his black SUV to the isolated house and parked behind a car already there. The three got out and walked up to the door. Dave opened it at their knock, then stood aside to let them enter.
Bill and Jeff were already pulling on their gloves as they walked in and saw Sam at the same time.
Stunned to a stop, they just looked at the blood soaked rug, the two naked and twisted forms on the floor. Sam lay with his head on a man’s chest, too still to be sleeping. The other man's eyes were open and staring into space.
“Oh, Sam,” Bill said, walking forward carefully so he didn’t compromise any evidence. He knelt down and touched the cool body with his latex covered fingers while hearing Sam say in his mind, “I'm a heterogeneous Changer in the flesh, man. Not many of us around,” and he could see the sun gracing the black hair and easy smile. “And now, one less,” he said sadly.
“Foot prints, boss,” Jeff said, as he snapped photos. He stood away from the mangled bodies, not looking at them.
They followed them outside to the deck where they faded out going towards the steps.
“The other body was found down the beach. Signs of a fight…” Dave trailed off. “Eric Baton’s corpse is there.”
“Who is Eric Baton?” Bill asked as the four men followed the shore line towards the scene. “And who are you?”
“Dave Borneo. He was hired to destroy the Division.”
“The Division?”
“Long story; an organization I run that protects Changers and other targeted groups of people. Started it a long time ago, after I met V. She and I have the very same ideas about how to approach attaining safety for Changers.”
“Violence and killing,” Adrian said, “But that isn’t all V does.”
“No. And it’s not all I do, either.”
Bill sensed the tension between the two men.
They reached the scene, a bloody mess in the sand, and began to examine it.
Jeff picked up a few hairs with his tongs and looked closely at them. “Hair… short and red. Not from V or this corpse.”
“It could be from V,” Dave said, looking at the large feline footprints in the sand. “One of her forms is Tiger.”
“Tigers have black and gold fur, sometimes white, but I’ve never seen red.” Jeff said.
“A have,” Adrian said, kneeling in the sand, touching one of the padded footprints. “When she becomes Tiger, two things are always true. First, she’s ready tae kill and second, she always has two red strips of fur on each cheek. Like war paint. Real tigers don’t have red fur, but she always does. A never knew why--”
“This trail in the sand… it looks like it was made by the flippers of a large sea turtle.” Bill said, shinning his flashlight at a trail of long indentations offset from each other disappearing into the sea.
“Sea Turtles don’t hang out here,” Jeff said, joining him.
“No…” Bill said, “But Changers are indigenous everywhere,” and looked at him.
Jeff nodded, understanding.
Excerpts from Footsteps of a Shadow
Yet another man lay on top of her. He was heavy on her chest. It was hard to breath, she began to black out...
She woke with a start. Eric lay on her chest, meowing quietly, green eyes luminous in the dark. As she came to full consciousness she reached out to Richard. He was not there and his side of the bed was cold. Eric jumped down, paused at the door, looked back at her, meowed, then left the room.
Orelle pushed back the covers, sat up and reached for her robe. Her muscles were stiff and a cramp started in her thigh. She sat back down, massaging it out. As the tenseness left she noticed marks on her wrists. Something called to her from memory. A dream. Cloaked figures, Emma and Richard, something...something had been done to her but the dream was already starting to slip away.
She rubbed her face, put her glasses on, then slowly stood, carefully stretching her legs. Throwing her robe over her shoulders, she walked to the door and down the hall. No one in the bathroom. The kitchen.
Starting down the hall she saw Eric at the guest room door, standing on his back legs, pawing the door knob. She felt her stomach tighten. She reached out to scratch him when she heard the soft voices. Emma's, then Richard's. A low giggle followed by a deep chuckle.
Orelle stood motionless, eyes not seeing the familiar poster of the woman advertising Job papers on the hall wall. A cold rod had passed through her body from head to crotch, skewing her heart and stomach over a freezing flame. She felt sweat suddenly under her arms, rolling down her sides as she shivered. She felt the exact pattern of the carpet under her bare feet. Then Eric brushed against her legs and she blinked. She realized she'd stopped blinking and her eyes had gone dry. Now they watered.
She bent down and picked up Eric, held him close to her stomach. She felt as if having him there would keep her guts from spilling out onto the floor. She heard the murmur of voices inside the room and was walking before she knew it. Now she felt nothing. This isn't happening, she thought, and memory tugged at her again. Emma and Richard watching while she...while she was...something.
Then she was not thinking anything. Her body put Eric on the bed, took her robe off, put her into bed. She was awake when Richard came back. She pretended to be asleep. She felt him get into bed. He smelled like sex and another woman.
Later in the novel…
Richard parked the car carefully beside the house. As he passed the coleus he stopped to check for mealybugs. Orelle said Coleus always got mealybugs. Once again he felt the almost silent spot inside of him that used to be a direct line to Orelle.
He sighed and continued to the front door. It opened easily and he stepped gratefully into the heat. The temperature had fallen suddenly, and he wondered if it would snow tonight. And he thought of the only other time it had snowed here. Orelle and he had... No more of that! That was over and it was time to stop remembering every moment he'd spent with her.
His mind was really wandering this afternoon. He hadn't been able to concentrate at work and had come home early. He put his briefcase down and went into the living room.
Emma was bending over a wooden apple basket full of what looked like flesh that had been buried, then dug up.
"Oh, Richard. I was hopping you'd come home early." Emma stood. Actually, she'd known he would come home early. How could he stay at work when he'd had two hits of acid mixed into his lunch? She eyed him carefully. Yep, he was flying.
"What are those?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Ginseng roots. I just dug them up in the woods. You know, that wild area by the old cemetery?"
He nodded, still looking at the things in the basket.
"See how they look like things?” Emma held up one, "What does that look like to you?"
"Ah, George Washington's head."
Emma laughed, then picked up the basket and headed into the kitchen.
As she passed with the basket Richard saw a small human form sprawled on top. He blinked, but the basket was too far away to see clearly. "Boy, do I feel weird."
"Just sit down and watch some TV. I'll bring you a drink."
He hadn't yet mentioned what was really bothering him. He didn't want to go to the party Emma had planned tonight. He dreaded telling her. She would be mad. Maybe cry. But there many things they had been doing together that he no longer wanted to do. He sat down, taking his shoes off and propping his feet on the stool. He reached for the remote control and the TV informed him,
"It cuts!" It slices!" A man was cutting up a cucumber with a shiny knife at an incredible speed, his smile constant, eye contact with the camera never wavering.
Richard switched the channel.
A cooking show. The hostess looked old, pinched. "You have to use very young peas--before they have matured." She opened a pea pod, letting the small, fragile looking seeds fall into a large metal bowl. "Now let's go to the garden."
"It's time to thin your carrots." She wore a garden apron now and leather gloves. She looked like an evil old witch in her herb garden. Green weeping willows swayed behind her. "Instead of throwing these on the compost pile," she reached down, grabbed something and brought it up, "they make the perfect third ingredient for the baby dish casserole."
The camera went in for a close up of the wrinkled, pinkish orange fingers. "These are baby carrots. It is important to have them very small and tender for the butter sauce to--"
Richard switched channels again. Emma came in, gave him a drink, disappeared back into the kitchen.
He suddenly got up, turned off the TV, followed her. He had to have some kind of reassurance, a loving touch. As he entered the room, his eyes were drawn to a big metal bowl. Emma was washing the roots and putting them into the bowl.
He looked down. The head was on top. He picked it up. It was cool and damp, slightly slimy to the touch. This root hadn't come up all in one piece, making George Washington look like he'd been decapitated. Richard raised it and saw the tendons and veins hanging down.
He dropped it back into the bowl.
"How about this one?" Emma held out another one. "What does this look like?"
"A dumpling," Richard said, wiping the slimy feeling from his hands onto a paper towel. Then he looked harder at the crescent shaped object. "No. Wait. A black eyed pea." It did have a dark spot near the middle on the inside of the curve. But no, the color was way too light for a black eyed bean. This was fleshy, white, pinkish. "It's a fetus. My God that's what it is!" He could see the vague outline of a tiny hand, then the small heart near the middle began to flutter in time with his own heart. (continued)
From Part One…
He was waist deep in the dark waters of a swamp, walking beside an ancient wall. His black hair hung in waves down his back and he was naked except for a leather loin cloth. Broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist. He continued, until he came to the end of the wall. Looking around it, he saw an arrow of water coming towards him; the ripples telling of something large approaching under the water. He stood; knowing that running was not possible. Not only must he do what he came here to do, running would not save him; here or in the future when they gathered…
A long neck with a small head slowly rose from the water; followed by the coarse shell of a large turtle. It stopped near him and turned around. He saw that it a turtle made of stone. How did it float? What made it move? He wondered nothing as he stepped onto the turtle’s back in the dark swamp. It moved forward and he steadied himself to keep from falling off.
He again became aware as they approached a large circle of rotting stumps. The turtle carried him into the center and he stepped off onto a small hillock. Around him were the symbols of many of the living beings of the Earth; from worms to beaver, insects to trees, horses to elephants and bears. Here he would be heard, his message judged and the decision to help in the quest or to turn away would be made.
He sang. He sang of the Door. Closed, but being pushed from the other side. About the four that came together every hundred years to keep the Door closed and Earth safe. His voice rose as he formed the picture of what would happen to the Earth if the Door opened; death, flames, cries of pain and horror, devastation; of a silent, empty place where there was no laughter, no mating, no growing… no life… emptiness.
After a pause, he began again. In this song, the Door was no longer a door, but a solid, impenetrable wall. The other side could no longer have any effect; it was closed forever. There was joy and peace on earth… but… some no longer sang. Four humans lay dead upon the threshold of the forever closed door. And close by, touching them and laying as quietly, were animals; fur singed, brave guts laying in heaps, smoldering tree trunks, blood mixing, staining the Earth, the ashes of leaves caught on the dry wind, claws and paws raised in death towards the sky, muzzles gaping with last anguished screams.
He raised his arms slowly to the sky as his voice took on a depth and tone never before heard in this place. He was singing now of the souls released in this war; released to join the Sacred Web, aware of all that is, was and ever shall be, flying in perfect love and perfect trust. Dead, yet more alive that ever, becoming one again with the Mother, to rest and be reborn into a place that no longer existed in fear of the Door opening into utter evil darkness…
He bowed his head as the last note slowly echoed from old tree to old tree. He saw at his feet tokens. On each wooden disk there was a living being; on this one a squirrel, on that one a tiger, still another had the perfect image of a single blade of grass on it. Others moved through the water and were carried by the gentle current to his small island. He gathered each one with reverence and gratitude, placing them with loving hands into his leather pouch.
From Part Three…
Beth went back to the place where water and land came together. It was night and a full moon. The light reflected off the iridescent scales of the Serpent. The big head nodded.
“Forgiveness of self is most often the hardest of forgiveness,” She hissed.
Beth bowed her head, understanding at last.
“Here,” the Serpent said, coming close to Beth, “take one of my scales as a token of our alliance. My people and I will aid when called. The very waters of the Earth will come.”
Beth reached up and grabbed one of the saucer sized scales and pulled. It was embedded; it was a part of the Serpent.
“Pull, daughter,” She hissed, and Beth planted her feet and put all of her strength into it. The scale came away, blood running from the wound.
“With scale and fang we will come,” She hissed and Beth watched as the Serpent’s head arched down at her forcefully. At the last moment, Beth realized that the Serpent was not attacking; She crashed into the rocks near Beth’s feet, raised Her triangular head and hit the rocks again. From a mouth that was bleeding, She hissed, “Take my fang!”
Beth reached into the great mouth and took the fang that had been smashed into the rock.. It was loose, but still attached. The Serpent pulled away and Beth hung onto the fang, her hands wrapped around it. At last it came out and Beth stood, the giant scale in one hand and the huge fang in the other.
She shifted the fang into the hand that held the scale and picked up some seaweed that had been brought in by the tide.
The Serpent opened her mouth wide and Beth packed the empty socket to stanch the blood flowing from it. She felt the barest flicker of the Serpent’s tongue on her cheek, then she was alone, watching the ripples in the ocean, the Serpent’s blood drying on her hands.
Deanna took the full force of the sword blow to her upper right arm and felt the bone shatter and warm blood begin to flow. He thought that it was over and bent over her, a smile curving his scarred lip.
“No one,” he said, “is as powerful as I am. No one comes close.” He put his sword point under her chin.
That was when she put all her remaining strength into the one last thrust with her blade, landing it deep, deep into his chest.
His look changed slowly to one of surprise, then anger. He slipped to the side on his back. She reversed positions, trying to ignore the agony of her shattered arm; it was important to watch the soul of the person you killed release and flow back to the source. As she looked down she became lost in his black eyes. She saw there his soul story. The trauma that began his journey down this dark path. The crossroads where he took whichever path was darker, more fearful, to reach his current place.
And she saw more. She saw what might have been if only a chance occurrence had happened in his early life. What he might have become, have achieved. The influence on the world that had been twisted, bent and warped out of all good.
Finally she realized that his eyes were unfocused, his soul had left and she was alone. She rose slowly, right arm useless at her side. Around the sandy outer courtyard was strewn death and destruction. Many of her friends, apprentices and servants lay dead, dying or horribly mutilated.
“Deanna!” She turned to face the blood splattered man calling her. Golden hair had escaped and held leaves, dirt and other matter that she did not want to identify. Several wounds showed, some still seeping blood and he walked with a limp. One eye actually hung from the socket, encrusted with dirt and blood.
“You’re alive!” Greg came to her and wrapped his arms around her as she saw the red darkness roll in.
_______________________
When she woke her first thought was that her arm hurt. Greg sat in a chair drawn up to her bed, head resting on the bed, snoring. She reached out her hand and rested it on his head.
He awoke and looked at her. He smiled.
She noticed the bandage wrapped around his head, over his left eye. “I’m thirsty,” she said, “And my arm hurts.”
He stopped smiling, but poured her a glass of water from a near by pitcher. “Your right arm?”
She nodded, swallowing the cool liquid as he held her head.
“Hurts and itches.” She looked down at her arm. Or where her arm would have been. What lay next to her was a stump, taken off near the shoulder. She blinked, understanding slowly dawning.
“Deanna,” Greg began.
“No, don’t,” she said through her haze, “It’s not too much of a price.” She met his eye, “Not compared to the price so many others paid.”
Greg sat with his back to the headboard, her head cradled against his chest.
