Tag: fantasy

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

A numbing chill crept up my legs. Something warm wet my
backside. It must have been the pain that made me lose
consciousness, because afterwards it became apparent the arrow
had not gone deep. It had been stopped by the bone inmyshoulder.
The last thing I remembered was seeing Apacuana running
towards me.

“Apacuana! Apacuana!”
It had to be a dream. A strange girl’s voice startled me back into
consciousness. I was lying on the ground. I kept still with my eyes
closed, drifting back into sleep, when I heard Apacuana’s voice
much closer to me, answering back. Merciful heaven! What was going
on? A sharp pain shot from my neck to my shoulder, reminding me
that I had nearly been killed by stampeding horses and an arrow. I
turned my head gingerly. My head slid over the polished surface of
the big leaves upon which I lay—plantain leaves. I unglued my
eyelids and looked around me. What was this place? A cave?
The dirt floor was damp and cool, the air musty with a slight
pungency. I glanced in the direction of two young women who were
talking fast. I could see their figures silhouetted against the bright light
of the entrance. I gathered that the other girl was urging Apacuana to
go with her. The word Baruta came through several times, always
accompanied by a certain apprehension in their manner.
Apacuana was holding a small gourd, which she handed to the
girl while signalling in my direction. The other girl glanced at me
apprehensively, but her eyes sparkled when she discovered I was
awake. Apacuana left the cave, crawling through the opening. The
other girl, whose voice I had heard first, came towards me, gourd in
hand. She knelt beside me and stirred the gourd’s contents, her
young breasts pointing downward as though weighted by the many
loops of the seed necklace she wore.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

She could barely restrain herself from making a second
public accusation.
“You might get the answer to your question if you asked our
friend, Gregorio,” I replied, looking at Gregorio instead of Josefa.
Gregorio immediately understood. He grabbed Josefa by the arm
to forcibly remove her. I stood rooted to the ground, hoping he
would drag her away and that could be the end of it. But Josefa
remained feisty and broke away from him, running to me with a
pained expression. She leaned forward and whispered devilishly in
my ear, so that only I could hear. “I know what happened at the
river,” she said. “I know everything. I know you let her touch you!”
I jerked back from her, as though she had slapped me in the face.
The servant, she had seen me, and Josefa could barely contain the
power she had over me. There was no point in trying to deny
anything. I walked away, horrified by Josefa’s misplaced jealousy,
and dumbfounded by my inability to eradicate her secret
knowledge.
Right then, I decided I did not want to learn whether Apacuana
had bitten Josefa or not. There was a part of me that hoped she had.

In the morning, when Losada was notified of the incident, he
preferred to dismiss it as mere female hysteria rather than discern
which party was responsible. It was the prudent decision: to
concentrate on completing his negotiations with the cacique Chacao.
After mass, Losada ordered the captives brought to him and untied.
“We want to be your friends. You see we have not harmed you,”
Losada told Chacao. “We can decide to do this in peace, or we can do
it in war. We are powerful. To show you my goodwill, I give you all
your people back.”
Chacao was a middle-aged man with deep lines running down
the sides of his nose to his mouth in a permanent scowl. He did not
answer, just stood there, hands folded in front of him. It was
important for him not to appear grateful for Losada’s benevolence.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Still Waters

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

nterior stunned her, and she felt a twinge of guilt. This must be terribly
expensive. Why had Cam chosen such a place? To impress her?
But he appeared at ease in their surroundings, was recognized by
both the maitre’de and the wine steward, and had obviously been
here often. Determined to enjoy the evening and the company of
the man who had lavished attention on her since the moment he
had appeared at the door of her apartment, she settled back in the
delightfully comfortable chair and relaxed.
Until the wine was brought and their order taken, they made small
talk about the hospital, his parents and her family in Emblem. Then
Cam smiled and raised his glass.
“To our meeting again, and to our future meetings. Together we’ll
set the Holy Cross on fire.”
He touched his glass to hers, then put it down and looked at her
soberly. “I want to ask you something – at the risk of having you tell
me to mind my own business.”
“Ask away.” She knew what was coming, but her spirits were too
high tonight to be dashed by the mention of Morley’s name.
“Are you … that is, are you still seeing Morley?”
Tyne raised her glass to her lips, and looked steadily into Cam’s
eyes. “No,” she said.
“Oh.”
He appeared baffled by her brief, straightforward answer as if he
had expected her to simper and evade his question. Well, she was
through simpering over Morley Cresswell. He had dumped her, and
that was that … all in the past … over … done. And why should she
care? She did not need a stubborn, pig-headed, unsympathetic farmer
in her life. Was she not here, in this posh restaurant, being wined
and dined by the handsomest intern the Holy Cross had ever had the
honour of admitting to its program? And was he not looking at her
with the fondest admiration? So she did not need Morley Cresswell.
Goodbye, good riddance.
Tyne put her glass on the table with a thump. And to her horror
and distress she burst into tears.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Savages and Beasts

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

“Yes, I do. I’ve been in this position for almost five years
and since my first month, one November night, around nine
o’clock I was paid a visit by the Head Master of this facility,
Father Jerome, who, that night for the first time but not the last
violated me in the most disgusting way; He has been doing this
occasionally, whenever he would feel up to it, no questions asked
no permissions granted…”
“Father Jerome” Anton talked to himself, “somehow the
impression I got for the man, the first time I met him, was that
he would never take no for an answer…”
Mary turned a little so her eyes would dive deep in Anton’s
and smiled at him. Her smile seemed forced, stressed smile, yet it
was her smiling lips that Anton looked at and enjoyed their shape
and promising tomorrow. She took his hand before she continued.
“Yes Sister Gladys and Father Jerome are lovers, for a long
time, I’d say from the day of his arrival here, they seem to match
in many different ways and the way our rooms are lined upstairs,
you’d notice when you come for some reason upstairs and spend
time you’ll realize that her room is next to Sister Helen’s and next
to hers is mine, all the men’s rooms are on the opposite side of
the upstairs hallway with Father Jerome’s in the middle. He’d
just walk out of his and within ten or so feet he accesses Sister
Gladys’ room or mine.”
She stopped and took a breath, the freshness of the August
day just outside the truck window and the freshness of the slow
flowing water of the Thompson River blew certain moist on her
face moistening it; she pulled Anton closer to her and kissed him.
“Sister Gladys followed Father Jerome each time he paid a
visit to me and since she saw me as a competitor who I never have
been nor would I ever want to become, in fact each time Father
Jerome came to my room, he plainly and simply raped me,

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Poodie James

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

He spoke at service club meetings. He lectured at
the college. He played golf as he always had, seldom and badly. It
was a way of socializing; he detested the game.
Sam restrained himself from meddling in the affairs of Winter
and Franklin; he promised his partner and his wife that he would
keep hands off the firm. Despite his efforts to stay busy, the boredom
of retirement began to overtake him. Pete Torgerson’s predecessor
as mayor asked Sam to fill the unexpired term of a full-time
municipal court judge who died. The term had less than a year to
run. When Sam told her about it, Liza was reluctant and then, the
more she thought about it, relieved. Sam accepted the judgeship.
On the bench and in chambers, he discovered in himself gravity
and patience, qualities that during his years of arguing before
judges he never imagined he had. He enjoyed the work. Before the
term ended, he announced himself a candidate for a superior court
seat. The bar association endorsed him. He won easily and was
nearing the end of his second term.
There was nothing official about it, but Sam Winter had
become a sort of guardian to Poodie. In 1934 when the bank foreclosed
on the Thorps, Jeremy Stone asked him to come up with a
legal guarantee that no one would throw Poodie off the property.
On Sam’s advice, the bank gave Poodie a life estate in the cabin.
That’s where he was now, reading, no doubt, Sam thought. The
little man came to the door in his shorts and sandals, grinning,
holding Breasted’s History of Egypt, a book the judge had always
meant to get around to.
“Listen, Poodie” Sam began.
Poodie’s grin expanded. He cupped his hand behind his ear and
cocked his head, eyes intent on Sam’s face.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Sorry, Poodie. I mean, we have to discuss
something. It’s about the mayor.”
The grin diminished. Poodie spoke a couple of sentences. Sam
hunched his shoulders and spread his hands.
“Better get your pad and pencil,” he said.
Poodie invited the judge inside.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

Finten took the potion, looked at it and handed it back without
even tasting.
“What is this vile green stuff? It’s going to make me retch again.”
“It’s allium and mint. Drink it. You’ll feel better.”
“Garlic juice! If it kills me, I’ll be relieved.”
Finten closed his eyes and quickly drained the cup. He took a deep breath, then
another. Slowly, the nausea passed.
“Ah, my dear, good friend. Thank you. Thank you. Bless you, Brother. Now look
after your patient, Father Gofraidh.”
Rordan moved toward the old man but Gofraidh motioned him away. Rordan
sat and closed his eyes to the impending headache that always came in stressful
situations.
As the sky grew dark, the wind intensified to gale force. The sea roiled and heaved.
Mountains of angry water tossed the small craft dizzily through the air to the top of
a white-capped wave.
Brother Ailan cried out above the howling wind, “Holy Mother of God.”
Father Finten completed the prayer, “Ora pro nobis.” A reflex bred out of habit.
“Lord, save us,” the usually jovial Ailan whispered as the cauldron shifted, the lid
popped off, and the hapless cook grabbed to rescue a chunk of peat. “Ouch! Damn!”
The tiny craft slipped back, down, down, down. A fountain of icy water washed
over the six miserable monks, huddled together, holding on to the shifting struts.
Leather bulged and snapped against bleeding fingers.
Brother Ailan struggled to unstop a bag of whale oil to pour the contents on the
frothy waves. The bag slipped from his grasp. Putrid smelling oil ran over his feet
into the bottom of the boat and sloshed over Rordan’s and Finten’s feet. “Merda!”
Shit! Rordan swore. Father Finten didn’t even look up.
Once more, Ailan lifted the bag over the side. A wave crashed in, spreading more
oil in the currach than on the waters. While he struggled to return the remaining
whale oil to its storage under the floorboards, Brother Ailan watched a wall of water
crash in to knock the lid from his peat cauldron once more and swamp the smouldering
contents with a mighty hiss.
The shape of the boat seemed to change with each twist and turn. Like a struggling
sheep nipped in shearing, the currach pranced, kicked, and butted with creaks
and groans. The wind howled like demons in agony.
Each time a wave broke against the bow, a torrent of spray swamped the boat. The
Brothers bailed for their lives with buckets and cooking pots.
Father Gofraidh lay half submerged by water in the bottom of the currach. The
old man held a crucifix firmly in his left hand while his right held desperately to the
seat above him.
Mountains of water marched, threatened, marched on. The wind tore the tops
off the waves. Sleet drove horizontally, caking hair and clothing in dripping slush.
Brother Rordan, to stem his own fear, chanted, shakily at first then with increasing
gusto,“Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiae.” Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy.
His voice rose above the wind and waves as though the angels sang. The wind paused
to listen. For an instant, there was calm. Then, a mountain of dark green water rose
above the tiny craft and the miserable mortals were about to be flattened by one giant
slap. Miraculously, the currach glided slowly up the sheer wall.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

The Unquiet Land

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

night beyond the window. But tonight was different. Tonight the heavy, unmoving air grew stagnant; it weighed upon the room unstirred by old Finn’s gusty tales. Tonight the old sailor’s verbal gales had died to barely audible sighs.
Finn appeared to be unaware of the deepening depression that had settled over the homecoming party. His mind was on the day many years ago when he first saw Padraig: a skinny boy in short pants, writhing on the cobbles of a market square, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Never would he forget the sight. The crowd pushed back, staring in ignorance and horror at the boy’s convulsions. Two mongrel pups snapped at his legs and arms, and a sheepdog snarled and barked, its vicious teeth bared as if ready to rush in and chomp them into the boy’s neck.
“The whelp with the trousers isn’t putting up much of a fight,” someone said, and the crowd started to laugh. Ignorance and horror relaxed into mirth.
“I wonder what he’d do with a bitch in heat,” said another.
Finn waded through the crowd as through a field of barley, pushing the people aside in anger. He burst into the clearing where the boy was lying still now, his face in the muck that covered the cobbles of The Square. Finn kicked the sheepdog hard; it ran off into the crowd with a howl of pain. The pups pranced around him, yelping still, as Finn knelt down, rolled the boy over and picked him up in his arms.
“I spit on you all,” he shouted to the crowd and carried the boy away down the sloping street to where his fishing boat was tied in the harbour.
Now the Devil’s child, his own adopted son, was home again, a priest.
“I hoped to make a man of you, Padraig.” Finn was rising out of his reverie. “And I made a monk. Well, I suppose that’s not a bad accomplishment, considering what I had to work with. Come now, gentlemen, let’s not look as if we’re at a Presbyterian wake. Let’s drink. Let’s eat.” He turned towards the door that led into the kitchen. “Caitie! Jinnie! Bring us some supper. We’re half a dozen hungry men in here.”
Supper revived the company. Even Clifford forgot his headache and his queasy stomach. He enjoyed the food, the conversation, the dark red wine that everyone started drinking again in large measures. The more they drank, the more convivial they became. Only Finn MacLir seemed more subdued than usual.
“We had many more people here to welcome you last night, Padraig.” Slattery’s purple face was taking on a crimson cast like a spectacular sunset.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

In Turbulent Times

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

‘Not capable enough, Clifford. Caitlin needs a doctor. Mother Ross says so herself. She’s worried. Mrs Starkey says she’ll give you anything you need from the doctor’s surgery.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Clifford. ‘I have everything I’m likely to need here.’ He dithered. Then he drew a deep breath and said, ‘Very well, Michael, I’ll come right away. Let me get my stuff together and put my rain-gear on.’
He climbed back upstairs to his room.
Hurry, Clifford, hurry, hurry, Michael kept saying to himself. For God’s sake, hurry.
At last Clifford came down again, buttoning his raincoat. He carried a black bag in one hand. He shouted down the hall, ‘Timmins, we’re leaving. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Don’t lock the gates.’ Then he turned to Michael and said with a levity lost on the distraught father-to-be, ‘Now, let’s be off to the rescue of this fair damsel in distress.’
He followed Michael to the main road and climbed into the trap. The shafts tipped up, the harness jingled and creaked, the pony snorted and tossed its wet head. Michael jerked the reins a couple of times and shouted. He turned the pony and trap around, and off they went, slowly at first, until the pony found its stride.
God, what a miserable night to be born, Clifford thought. He was nervous. He had already delivered three babies, but they were easy, straightforward births, the first two under supervision. This one sounded difficult. A breech birth at least. Perhaps a Caesarean. He would rather have kept clear of this ordeal but found it impossible to refuse. He had a reputation in the village where many already regarded him as the best new doctor in Belfast. The village was proud of him. This birth would enhance his reputation or shatter it like a dropped mirror. Clifford was worried in case it might go badly. As the rain-beaten cart bounced and swayed towards the MacLir house, Clifford frantically recalled everything he ought to know about breech births and Caesarean sections. By the time he and Michael arrived in the yard behind the house Clifford was confident he could handle any complication. His reputation was assured. It was not the village that was looking on, he thought with typical self-importance, it was the world.
As he rushed across the farmyard to the back door, Clifford slipped on a wet, muddy cobblestone and almost fell. He only just reached the door in time to check his forward fall with his free outstretched hand. That frightened him. Tonight he could not afford to be clumsy.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Poodie James

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

heat of friction on his backside, and his spine raked over the door
jamb. He tried to raise up, but they jerked him backward down the
step and onto the ground. The clubbing began. He wrapped his
arms around his head and tucked into a ball.Two of them straightened
his body by pulling his hands and feet while the biggest man
alternated kicks with blows from a length of wood. The clubs and
boots battered his arms and legs, his torso, his shoulders. The pain
was like fire on his skin. The ache went to the center of his bones.
They let him go, then knocked him off his feet when he got up,
laughing at his contortions when he twisted and thrashed to evade
their clubs.They were killing him, he thought.He was going to die.
Suddenly, the big man was on his back and Engine Fred was on
top of him with a forearm bearing down on his windpipe. Poodie
sat up and saw the other two running down the lane. His head
throbbed. Three more hobos came down along the path from the
jungle. The man on the ground got an arm free, knocked Engine
Fred off balance and was up and running away. He disappeared
into the orchard, headed toward the river. Two of the hobos ran
after him, but came back shaking their heads. It all happened in the
space of a few minutes. The Thorps slept through it, but Engine
Fred told Poodie that he heard a scream. Poodie didn’t know that
he was capable of screaming.
Dan Thorp called the police the next morning. By then, the
hobos had hopped a freight. Poodie could not identify the thugs.
The bruises on his face and body took weeks to heal. Thorp put a
lock on the cabin door. The attack was the worst thing that had
happened to Poodie since his mother died. He lived it over in his
dreams night after night for months. Years later, he still awakened
in fear that the men would come back.
Alice Moore looked up to see Poodie James’s face floating just
above surface of the checkout desk, a stack of books next to it. She
had never seen that face without a smile. She looked at the books;
Howard Carter’s The Discovery of the Tomb of Tutankhamen, three
books about whales, a collection of de Maupassant stories.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

amazement, our eyes locked often, for my face was in darkness and
my eyes half-closed. She somehow sensed my gaze. My heart
rushed a little every time, as if some strange and invigorating
connection had established itself between us.
The men had been tied around a tree, including the boy who
had fought to free Apacuana. I wondered who he was, likely her
brother.
Losada, along with Gregorio and Pánfilo, had entertained himself
in pacifying the Indian boy, but the youth’s courageous rejection of
every kindness didn’t amuse Losada long, and he had ordered him
tied up with the men.
My head throbbed. I was feverish again. I lay with my back to
the fire, concentrating on the frogs and crickets singing their night
song, hoping their music could distract me from my growing
queasiness. The fire crackled as sap pockets exploded, sending
fiery dots into the sky.
The moon was full, though there were some clouds. I was still
learning to read the signs of the sky in this new land. The rainy time
had just begun, and I was surprised at how suddenly the water
poured from the heavens and, just as suddenly, stopped and the
skies cleared.
My head felt ready to burst. I put a hand to my head. A moan of
agony and desperation stuck in my throat, and I sat up, closing my
eyes and swaying with dizziness. My breathing had gone from
heavy and deep to shallow and fast.
I crawled on all fours to the nearest tree and puked bile that made
me shudder with its bitterness. I had nothing in my stomach in the
way of food. A temporary moment of relief came over me, and I sat
with my back against the trunk, blinking owlishly, until I
remembered Apacuana again. What would become of her?
A head popped up in front of me, silhouetted against the fire. It
was Tamanoa. “What is the matter?” he asked. “You are sick again!”
“I’ll be all right in the morning. Don’t worry, I know these pains. I
get them occasionally.”
“What pains? Where does it hurt?”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522