I took ownership (isn't that the current phrase) of my inability with that friggin' shipping program and had someone who knows it backwards and forwards show me how it goes, again, step-by-step as I took notes and finally figured out where I'd screwed up. I started on the "quote" page, since that had all the information I needed on it, instead of starting on the "pickup" page and letting the system fill everything in seven steps down the line. Logic need not apply in this instance.
I hate PCs and the programs that love them. They do their best to totally destroy any self-confidence you might have the second they're given the opportunity. I'm still nowhere near comfortable with this, but I now have three pages of instructions on how to do it and only have to worry about all the occasions where none of this applies.
So the hell with it -- I'm putting POS off till Saturday and watching me some Hitchcock, tonight. I got "The 39 Steps" from Netflix because I left my DVD in SA, and I'm doing it on a double bill with another Hitchcock film they're streaming online. He's the reason I got into film to start with, so the bastard owes me a blank mind and fun time for leading me down the garden path so casually. I may even do some sketching, since I know these movies inside and out.
Y'know, I have a script I wrote where the injured hero is off to face the powerful bad guy, and the lead-up to the confrontation has the hero exiting the sheriff's office and walking up to and entering a church. In my head, I can see this as a single shot where near the end of it, the church begins to grow and seem to approach the guy as he nears it, almost daring him to "bring it on." No one seems to get that, no matter how I describe it, and to me it's so simple. The shot starts as the hero appears then the camera tracks back as he heads down the street. He walks past the camera as it keeps tracking with him, then the camera follows him as he approaches the church. Finally, the camera stops and zooms after him, keeping focus on him, then the camera begins tracking back as it continues to zoom in. And voila -- a Hitchcock shot mimicked by Steven Spielberg in "Jaws" and a million music videos.
But I'll never have a chance to try it out. It'll stay in my head, forever.
Such is the fate of those who still wait for friends to debate the too perfect state so you won't hesitate or hope fear will abate and your mind then vibrate with a world to create before it's too late.
Think about it....
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Duhh...
Today was one of those days built to make you feel dumb as a stump. Especially as regards freight forwarding. Things that make sense on the surface are the wrong thing to do, and once the logic is explained to you...you can sort of see it but it still seems contrary, even though it supposedly isn't. Then technology jumps in to make you feel even dumber. Information I input into the system we use to build shipping documents has become locked in place and I can't make any of the changes I need to, even though I'm following all the guidelines. I spent hours on it and nothing happened. Meaning I'll probably have to start from scratch and re-enter everything. It's enough to make you think you've lost your mind.
Which is not beyond the realm of possibility with me. Hell, I may be entering the early stages of Alzheimer's, I feel so out of it, sometimes, when it comes to this job. And I know one of the people I'm working for is not happy with my progress or lack thereof. I may wind up back in SA working in a convenience store, and gladly.
But when I'm good at something, I excel. A possible job came up meaning travel to Lisbon to pack a library and I had a quote for that done in fifteen minutes, including finding a Staples Office Supply to buy materials from in the center of the city. I've updated the website with the latest upcoming book fair information and another book fair from a vague reference that it ends on November 7th in New York City. I just seem incapable of the tight, intensive detail work that this job demands, and it's eating at my minimal self-confidence.
Couldn't even face POS last night, and I've already had a beer with dinner, so I doubt I'll get anything done tonight. I'm going to watch a movie. I went for months without seeing one; maybe this is me catching up.
Which is not beyond the realm of possibility with me. Hell, I may be entering the early stages of Alzheimer's, I feel so out of it, sometimes, when it comes to this job. And I know one of the people I'm working for is not happy with my progress or lack thereof. I may wind up back in SA working in a convenience store, and gladly.
But when I'm good at something, I excel. A possible job came up meaning travel to Lisbon to pack a library and I had a quote for that done in fifteen minutes, including finding a Staples Office Supply to buy materials from in the center of the city. I've updated the website with the latest upcoming book fair information and another book fair from a vague reference that it ends on November 7th in New York City. I just seem incapable of the tight, intensive detail work that this job demands, and it's eating at my minimal self-confidence.
Couldn't even face POS last night, and I've already had a beer with dinner, so I doubt I'll get anything done tonight. I'm going to watch a movie. I went for months without seeing one; maybe this is me catching up.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Slippery slope
I'm sort of caught in a malaise that seems unwilling to do anything but sit there and wonder if it should lead me down to a funk and maybe even depression. I'd rather it just get lost and let me get back to writing, but who knows where I'll go, these days? I'm fine for a bit then into avoidance for a bit then lazy for a bit then bored for a bit then down for a bit then up and back to writing...and this merry-go-round just don't stop.
So I did some reading on POS last night, no writing. And that was after I watched Guy Ritchie's version of "Sherlock Holmes" -- which I actually enjoyed. Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. make a cute couple, and Downey's comments that Homes and Watson were gay makes a lot of sense considering their interplay in an "Odd Couple" mode.
I think the reason I'm mixing my malaise with avoidance -- not a cool way to blend your mind and emotion -- is I don't know how to get into this thing that's come up between Brendan and the waitress. The bad romance angle that wants to join with everything else and is unable to find its entry point. The way it's setting itself up, right now, is like it's coming out of nowhere...and I don't like that. But I can't think of any other way to join it to Brendan's life.
So I sit. And wait for my subconscious to find the way. I'd contemplate my navel if it didn't give me such a crick in the neck.
So I did some reading on POS last night, no writing. And that was after I watched Guy Ritchie's version of "Sherlock Holmes" -- which I actually enjoyed. Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. make a cute couple, and Downey's comments that Homes and Watson were gay makes a lot of sense considering their interplay in an "Odd Couple" mode.
I think the reason I'm mixing my malaise with avoidance -- not a cool way to blend your mind and emotion -- is I don't know how to get into this thing that's come up between Brendan and the waitress. The bad romance angle that wants to join with everything else and is unable to find its entry point. The way it's setting itself up, right now, is like it's coming out of nowhere...and I don't like that. But I can't think of any other way to join it to Brendan's life.
So I sit. And wait for my subconscious to find the way. I'd contemplate my navel if it didn't give me such a crick in the neck.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Irritation
Seems my latest book has been delayed. The publisher is running behind and RIHC6v2 may not be out till the end of June, if then. I've been talking with other authors and some have been waiting six months to even hear back from them; whereas I at least have a contract. Looks like my earlier books got in under the wire as regards getting things published in a timely fashion.
POS is at 84,750 words and relationships are shifting. A waitress in a bar, who was intended as human filler for the business around Brendan, has suddenly taken center stage in a sequence that was actually inspired by Lady Gaga's video for "Bad Romance."
Man, talk about a tedious video. Lots of production value. Lots of money spent. Lots of imagination in the design of the clothes and makeup for the woman. And not one bit of thought given to making the story of the video compliment or contradict the story in the song. I mean, it's a good song and has an elegant build to a blistering ending...and all the video does is the flash and dash and cut every .5 seconds to different angles and different points in the story and different costumes and keeps at it so much, you can't get the rhythm of the piece down. I actually was thinking, "What a waste of talent and design."
That said, the song gave me a key to an aspect of Brendan's life in Houston that I'd been missing -- passion. He's just been through a horrific experience in Derry, one that nearly killed him, and after his healing period (both emotional and physical) he'd be needy. Bigtime. And not in a whiny or mealy-mouthed way. For months he's had a shell around him, protecting him, but then events jolt him, again, and send him careening down a winding mountain road at ever greater speeds, where he could go over the side and crash and burn at any moment.
And once again my literary world has overcome my real one and made me aware of one simple fact -- life's messy, and I keep trying to keep it neat. Not cool.
POS is at 84,750 words and relationships are shifting. A waitress in a bar, who was intended as human filler for the business around Brendan, has suddenly taken center stage in a sequence that was actually inspired by Lady Gaga's video for "Bad Romance."
Man, talk about a tedious video. Lots of production value. Lots of money spent. Lots of imagination in the design of the clothes and makeup for the woman. And not one bit of thought given to making the story of the video compliment or contradict the story in the song. I mean, it's a good song and has an elegant build to a blistering ending...and all the video does is the flash and dash and cut every .5 seconds to different angles and different points in the story and different costumes and keeps at it so much, you can't get the rhythm of the piece down. I actually was thinking, "What a waste of talent and design."
That said, the song gave me a key to an aspect of Brendan's life in Houston that I'd been missing -- passion. He's just been through a horrific experience in Derry, one that nearly killed him, and after his healing period (both emotional and physical) he'd be needy. Bigtime. And not in a whiny or mealy-mouthed way. For months he's had a shell around him, protecting him, but then events jolt him, again, and send him careening down a winding mountain road at ever greater speeds, where he could go over the side and crash and burn at any moment.
And once again my literary world has overcome my real one and made me aware of one simple fact -- life's messy, and I keep trying to keep it neat. Not cool.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Messin' with my brain
Or what there is left of it. "Place of Safety" has finally begun to let me move forward with it, again, but is tracking down a different road in the same journey to the same destination. And it's irritating as hell. I understand the whys and the wherefores of it...to an extent...but it has complicated the whole setup and one character has become all but superfluous. I'd drop him but he's fighting me AND the story isn't willing to let go of him, either. So WTF is going on? Where-TF am I going with this? I honestly don't know, anymore.
That's not to say I think it will change the final section. And reality is, my new direction may add meaning to the ending...if it turns out like I'm beginning to think it will. But we're having fun in the 70's, that's fer dang sure -- this part of the story takes place between April 1973 and sometime late in 1980 or early '81, then it's back to Derry.
As regards "David Martin" -- I have a 90 page screenplay about an 11 year old boy who accidentally traps some aliens in his iMac and has to help them get back into space before some bad aliens find them. Perhaps I could make that a story and use it as a companion piece with DM to make it long enough for a published book, something through Scholastic Press, maybe, or Ace Publishing. I dunno. That might not work. I don't own the rights to the script, anymore, because I wouldn't change it enough to suit people.
Oh...that's a fun story. I'd originally written this script to be live action and it did well in a couple of contests, coming in as high as second place in one, but it didn't fit the mold for places like Disney or Amblin, so a couple of friends suggested making it an animation script. One worked at an animation studio and got some notes from producers who worked there, and we made some major changes. Cut it down to 88 pages. Intensified the action and focused even more on the lead boy. They still didn't like it 100% so more changes were ordered, including getting rid of a major character -- and that's where I balked. I did 95% of the changes asked for, even though I didn't like some of them, but because I wouldn't do 100% of them, things deteriorated between us and I finally wound up signing the script over to the people I'd been working with in exchange for some cash that I'd been paid. So...they made the changes they wanted...and the animation producers STILL didn't go for it. No one has. Nor will they.
Something I'd finally begun to notice after way too many years in film was, nothing gets made in the film industry unless 1) you have a nearly foolproof chance at making a financial killing, or 2) it comes off a highly successful item like a book, TV Series, graphic novel or play, or 3) you have a producer pushing the project who believes in it so much, he or she will not rest until it's done and will everything they must to achieve that. There's no way in hell I'll ever get a #1 because my stuff just don't fit that mold. The chances of me having a #2 are slim but vaguely possible. And I've found that none of the people I know or aligned myself with fit into #3. And finally seeing that is what shifted my focus to writing books.
I still want to make movies. That's been the core of my existence for far longer than I care to admit. But now it ain't gonna happen unless I find some way of making myself into the personification of #3, and that just is NOT in my personality. So...I'm focusing on #2 and hoping someday that will help me achieve the success I want.
Question is, how do I do it? Because none of my other work is mainstream enough for film and POS won't be ready for publishing for at least a year. And it'll take at least another year to get it into print, and that's if I'm lucky. So...while I'm still moving forward and still have a goal...it still seems like centuries away and damn it's getting hard to keep focused on it.
That's not to say I think it will change the final section. And reality is, my new direction may add meaning to the ending...if it turns out like I'm beginning to think it will. But we're having fun in the 70's, that's fer dang sure -- this part of the story takes place between April 1973 and sometime late in 1980 or early '81, then it's back to Derry.
As regards "David Martin" -- I have a 90 page screenplay about an 11 year old boy who accidentally traps some aliens in his iMac and has to help them get back into space before some bad aliens find them. Perhaps I could make that a story and use it as a companion piece with DM to make it long enough for a published book, something through Scholastic Press, maybe, or Ace Publishing. I dunno. That might not work. I don't own the rights to the script, anymore, because I wouldn't change it enough to suit people.
Oh...that's a fun story. I'd originally written this script to be live action and it did well in a couple of contests, coming in as high as second place in one, but it didn't fit the mold for places like Disney or Amblin, so a couple of friends suggested making it an animation script. One worked at an animation studio and got some notes from producers who worked there, and we made some major changes. Cut it down to 88 pages. Intensified the action and focused even more on the lead boy. They still didn't like it 100% so more changes were ordered, including getting rid of a major character -- and that's where I balked. I did 95% of the changes asked for, even though I didn't like some of them, but because I wouldn't do 100% of them, things deteriorated between us and I finally wound up signing the script over to the people I'd been working with in exchange for some cash that I'd been paid. So...they made the changes they wanted...and the animation producers STILL didn't go for it. No one has. Nor will they.
Something I'd finally begun to notice after way too many years in film was, nothing gets made in the film industry unless 1) you have a nearly foolproof chance at making a financial killing, or 2) it comes off a highly successful item like a book, TV Series, graphic novel or play, or 3) you have a producer pushing the project who believes in it so much, he or she will not rest until it's done and will everything they must to achieve that. There's no way in hell I'll ever get a #1 because my stuff just don't fit that mold. The chances of me having a #2 are slim but vaguely possible. And I've found that none of the people I know or aligned myself with fit into #3. And finally seeing that is what shifted my focus to writing books.
I still want to make movies. That's been the core of my existence for far longer than I care to admit. But now it ain't gonna happen unless I find some way of making myself into the personification of #3, and that just is NOT in my personality. So...I'm focusing on #2 and hoping someday that will help me achieve the success I want.
Question is, how do I do it? Because none of my other work is mainstream enough for film and POS won't be ready for publishing for at least a year. And it'll take at least another year to get it into print, and that's if I'm lucky. So...while I'm still moving forward and still have a goal...it still seems like centuries away and damn it's getting hard to keep focused on it.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
David Martin - The End
Got more done on POS and another element has surfaced. I'm beginning to see that my recent writer's block was my brain sorting through the info and determining this is the way to go to best illustrate the meaning behind the book. I'm back to wondering how it will all turn out.
This is the end of "David Martin" -- which at 57 pages and 11,500 words falls into an area publishers don't like. Problem is, the story does, and when I try to add to it or trim it, it fights back. So...I'm at a loss as to what to do with it short of adding lots and lots of illustrations to pad out the length. Ideas are welcome.
--------------------------
The stout knight led him from the room into a wide corridor. Four soldiers stepped into place behind him and they strode down a winding staircase. David took note of odd little things as they walked – the wetness of the granite walls, shadows cast between sets of torches, a face carved into a door they passed – and this added to his confusion.
“Is this how a condemned man acts as he walks to his execution?” he wondered. Then he reminded himself he was dining with the king, not going on his final journey. However, he did not feel like a guest...of anyone’s. And something deep within him still did not truly believe it would happen.
The stairs straightened and lead down to the entryway to another room...and David froze at their base. Before him was a cavernous foyer built of granite and polished wood. Its ceiling appeared to reach up to heaven, with bright banners and flags hanging from its many arches. Magnificent tapestries and blazing candelabras highlighted the walls, and a burgundy carpet with gold and silver thread woven into it led from the stairs to a huge engraved door that was flanked by two guards. The youth was certain his entire village could fit into this one chamber.
But that was not the worst of it. People were everywhere – beautifully dressed lords and ladies of the court, powerful barons from across the land, more of Sir Richard’s knights, wealthy merchants and ministers – all of whom had been noisily chatting with each other, but who, the instant they saw David, had grown silent and now watched him with a terrifying fascination.
David was unable to move. All he could do was watch the stout knight stride directly up to the door. Once he reached it, the man turned back to him.
“Is there a problem, Master Martin?” he called.
Words froze in David’s throat. He focused on the huge door and forced himself to slowly walk down the carpet. Before he was even halfway there, the door seemed to loom over him. Each panel in it was intricately carved and together they depicted a battle that must have been fought, with Sir Richard at its center, adding to its stature. He had to shift his gaze to its massive, beautifully-polished handles to keep from being overwhelmed.
When David was almost to the door, the stout knight stepped to one side. Neither of the guards moved.
“You must open it yourself, lad,” said the stout knight. “I do not have an audience with the king.”
David stopped. He was only a few feet from the door and the sheer height of it was breathtaking. Was threatening. Was absolutely terrifying. He stepped back.
“I can’t,” he told himself. “Sir Richard does not exist. He’s just a myth built on lies and I cannot face knowing this! I can’t!”
The boy stumbled farther away from the door. The knight watched him, frowning. The lords and ladies of the court almost sneered in condescension and self-satisfaction. Their silence seemed only to grow in depth and meaning.
David began to shake and was about to turn and run from the room when through the deafening silence he heard a sparrow chirp. He jumped and looked up to find a bunch of twigs and straw nestled at the base of a pair of flags. As he watched, a sparrow popped its head over the side of the nest, hopped off and flew out a window. An instant later, it returned with more straw in its beak and set it in with the twigs that were already in place.
A sparrow was nesting in Sir Richard’s castle. Not an eagle. Not a hawk. Not even a proud and glorious robin. Just a sparrow.
David looked at the stout knight. The man still watched him with a startling intensity. It seemed everyone in the room was holding their breath. Finally, David smiled...grasped the door’s handle...took a deep breath and pulled. The door swung open with no trouble whatsoever, and David entered the room.
As the door closed, the stout knight smiled.
David stood inside another great chamber, stunned. Gathered before him were the inn keeper and the farmer, where David had spent his first two nights, as well as the married couple who’d been attacked, the town master and his grandmother. And best of all, seated at a long table placed before a roaring fire was the knight who had come for him. And finally he knew.
“Sir Richard,” he said.
The knight rose and bowed, slightly. “Master Martin,” he replied.
Relief swept over David. “You are everything I dreamed,” he said, “and nothing like I feared.”
Sir Richard smiled. “As are you, David. As are you.”
Over dinner, Sir Richard explained that since he had no heir to the throne, he would have to anoint a successor in hopes of avoiding civil war. Barons in the north of his kingdom wanted one man to be chosen; lords to the south wanted another; and neither was satisfactory to those who ruled the east lands. So to quell the political fighting, he had determined it best to find a boy from among his people to learn how to govern the kingdom...and inherit the throne.
But not just any boy would be acceptable to one and all. He had to be not onlyt intelligent and kind, but also brave and resourceful with a proper concept of what was right and wrong and the quick wits needed to handle the intrigues of the court so that they did not explode into battles. But in the pact to accept this, the barons and lords had demanded some form of proof that the boy selected would have all of these traits.
So they had decided to test the mettle of each youth during a long journey of silence, during which he would find his beliefs scorned and his world turned on its head. There would also be trouble along the way, to see how each boy handled himself...though in David’s case, there had been more than was planned for. Sir Richard would lead each journey, under the guise of being a knight, to observe the one chosen, then he would find some pretext to leave the boy on his own to approach the castle on the final day.
After quietly searching the land for years, Sir Richard found three youths with what he believed would be the proper qualities to be king. The first two had not even made it to the castle walls. David had succeeded, admirably.
“But what made you think I could do this?” asked David.
“The quick-witted manner in which you saved your friend from drowning,” said the king, “even though you cannot swim. And your willingness to help your grandmother without being asked to. And the way you protected your town from a hungry fox while also protecting that same fox from those who would happily have killed her. And the fact that you did all of this without concern for what the townspeople might say or think. These actions showed you are willing to face not only the terrors of the world, but also the terrors within your own society...and yourself. Only a strong man can do this, and a king must be a strong man in order to protect what he has sworn to protect.”
“But I’m not a king,” whispered the boy, overwhelmed. “I’m just David.”
The king tousled David’s hair, smiling. “I know,” he said. “But never forget – I was once ‘just Richard’.”
So David’s grandmother joined him to live in the castle, and David learned the ways of Sir Richard’s benevolent rule. And word spread throughout the land of how Sir David single-handedly saved a Spanish princess from abduction. And how he fought a ravenous bear to the death. And how he prevented the assassination of a baron and his wife. And finally, how Sir David had chosen the most beautiful girl in the kingdom to be his queen, a girl whose eyes gently sparkled like sapphires dancing in the firelight.
This is the end of "David Martin" -- which at 57 pages and 11,500 words falls into an area publishers don't like. Problem is, the story does, and when I try to add to it or trim it, it fights back. So...I'm at a loss as to what to do with it short of adding lots and lots of illustrations to pad out the length. Ideas are welcome.
--------------------------
The stout knight led him from the room into a wide corridor. Four soldiers stepped into place behind him and they strode down a winding staircase. David took note of odd little things as they walked – the wetness of the granite walls, shadows cast between sets of torches, a face carved into a door they passed – and this added to his confusion.
“Is this how a condemned man acts as he walks to his execution?” he wondered. Then he reminded himself he was dining with the king, not going on his final journey. However, he did not feel like a guest...of anyone’s. And something deep within him still did not truly believe it would happen.
The stairs straightened and lead down to the entryway to another room...and David froze at their base. Before him was a cavernous foyer built of granite and polished wood. Its ceiling appeared to reach up to heaven, with bright banners and flags hanging from its many arches. Magnificent tapestries and blazing candelabras highlighted the walls, and a burgundy carpet with gold and silver thread woven into it led from the stairs to a huge engraved door that was flanked by two guards. The youth was certain his entire village could fit into this one chamber.
But that was not the worst of it. People were everywhere – beautifully dressed lords and ladies of the court, powerful barons from across the land, more of Sir Richard’s knights, wealthy merchants and ministers – all of whom had been noisily chatting with each other, but who, the instant they saw David, had grown silent and now watched him with a terrifying fascination.
David was unable to move. All he could do was watch the stout knight stride directly up to the door. Once he reached it, the man turned back to him.
“Is there a problem, Master Martin?” he called.
Words froze in David’s throat. He focused on the huge door and forced himself to slowly walk down the carpet. Before he was even halfway there, the door seemed to loom over him. Each panel in it was intricately carved and together they depicted a battle that must have been fought, with Sir Richard at its center, adding to its stature. He had to shift his gaze to its massive, beautifully-polished handles to keep from being overwhelmed.
When David was almost to the door, the stout knight stepped to one side. Neither of the guards moved.
“You must open it yourself, lad,” said the stout knight. “I do not have an audience with the king.”
David stopped. He was only a few feet from the door and the sheer height of it was breathtaking. Was threatening. Was absolutely terrifying. He stepped back.
“I can’t,” he told himself. “Sir Richard does not exist. He’s just a myth built on lies and I cannot face knowing this! I can’t!”
The boy stumbled farther away from the door. The knight watched him, frowning. The lords and ladies of the court almost sneered in condescension and self-satisfaction. Their silence seemed only to grow in depth and meaning.
David began to shake and was about to turn and run from the room when through the deafening silence he heard a sparrow chirp. He jumped and looked up to find a bunch of twigs and straw nestled at the base of a pair of flags. As he watched, a sparrow popped its head over the side of the nest, hopped off and flew out a window. An instant later, it returned with more straw in its beak and set it in with the twigs that were already in place.
A sparrow was nesting in Sir Richard’s castle. Not an eagle. Not a hawk. Not even a proud and glorious robin. Just a sparrow.
David looked at the stout knight. The man still watched him with a startling intensity. It seemed everyone in the room was holding their breath. Finally, David smiled...grasped the door’s handle...took a deep breath and pulled. The door swung open with no trouble whatsoever, and David entered the room.
As the door closed, the stout knight smiled.
David stood inside another great chamber, stunned. Gathered before him were the inn keeper and the farmer, where David had spent his first two nights, as well as the married couple who’d been attacked, the town master and his grandmother. And best of all, seated at a long table placed before a roaring fire was the knight who had come for him. And finally he knew.
“Sir Richard,” he said.
The knight rose and bowed, slightly. “Master Martin,” he replied.
Relief swept over David. “You are everything I dreamed,” he said, “and nothing like I feared.”
Sir Richard smiled. “As are you, David. As are you.”
Over dinner, Sir Richard explained that since he had no heir to the throne, he would have to anoint a successor in hopes of avoiding civil war. Barons in the north of his kingdom wanted one man to be chosen; lords to the south wanted another; and neither was satisfactory to those who ruled the east lands. So to quell the political fighting, he had determined it best to find a boy from among his people to learn how to govern the kingdom...and inherit the throne.
But not just any boy would be acceptable to one and all. He had to be not onlyt intelligent and kind, but also brave and resourceful with a proper concept of what was right and wrong and the quick wits needed to handle the intrigues of the court so that they did not explode into battles. But in the pact to accept this, the barons and lords had demanded some form of proof that the boy selected would have all of these traits.
So they had decided to test the mettle of each youth during a long journey of silence, during which he would find his beliefs scorned and his world turned on its head. There would also be trouble along the way, to see how each boy handled himself...though in David’s case, there had been more than was planned for. Sir Richard would lead each journey, under the guise of being a knight, to observe the one chosen, then he would find some pretext to leave the boy on his own to approach the castle on the final day.
After quietly searching the land for years, Sir Richard found three youths with what he believed would be the proper qualities to be king. The first two had not even made it to the castle walls. David had succeeded, admirably.
“But what made you think I could do this?” asked David.
“The quick-witted manner in which you saved your friend from drowning,” said the king, “even though you cannot swim. And your willingness to help your grandmother without being asked to. And the way you protected your town from a hungry fox while also protecting that same fox from those who would happily have killed her. And the fact that you did all of this without concern for what the townspeople might say or think. These actions showed you are willing to face not only the terrors of the world, but also the terrors within your own society...and yourself. Only a strong man can do this, and a king must be a strong man in order to protect what he has sworn to protect.”
“But I’m not a king,” whispered the boy, overwhelmed. “I’m just David.”
The king tousled David’s hair, smiling. “I know,” he said. “But never forget – I was once ‘just Richard’.”
So David’s grandmother joined him to live in the castle, and David learned the ways of Sir Richard’s benevolent rule. And word spread throughout the land of how Sir David single-handedly saved a Spanish princess from abduction. And how he fought a ravenous bear to the death. And how he prevented the assassination of a baron and his wife. And finally, how Sir David had chosen the most beautiful girl in the kingdom to be his queen, a girl whose eyes gently sparkled like sapphires dancing in the firelight.
Friday, June 4, 2010
David Martin - part 7
POS has taken an interesting turn in direction that sort of took me by surprise -- and includes the appearance of a new character -- so I'm following it just to see what happens. I'm now at nearly 82000 words.
This is the next to the last section of "David Martin." No comments, so far. I wonder if anyone's reading it?
----------------
The next morning, David slowly bridled the pony. His hands trembled as he tied the strap. His eyes constantly glanced down the road, searching for the knight but finding nothing. Finally, he led the pony onto the road...and just stood there and gazed at the castle. A dozen people were already waiting for the drawbridge to lower.
“Please come, Sir Knight,” he whispered.
But then with a loud groan, the drawbridge slowly, slowly descended, seeming to beckon him closer. And the gate-keeper grumpily waved the people forward. David took a deep breath, forced himself to mount the pony and quietly rode up to wait his turn in line.
The gatekeeper was obviously a man impressed with his own sense of importance. Each person wanting entry to the castle had to explain who he was and why he was here, in complete detail. Every now and then, a pair of knights would gallop past without so much as a nod. But they were the only ones allowed to do this, and that they did it seemed only to increase the man’s anger. By the time he got to David, he was all but snarling.
“You, boy,” he growled. “What’s your business?”
“I...I’m David Martin,” he replied, his voice barely under control. “I’ve come to see Sir Richard.”
“Who’re you with?”
“I’m alone, sir.”
The man looked at David as if he were insane. “Say again?!”
“Sir Richard has sent for me.”
The gatekeeper laughed. “Where’s your escort? The king would never have you come alone!”
David shook at the scorn in the man’s voice. He was barely able to reply, “He...he was with me, but...he’s been detained.”
The gatekeeper shoved the pony away from the bridge, sneering, “Go home, you lying little urchin!”
David’s eyes flashed with pride and anger! Never had he been called a liar before! Never! He spun the pony back to face the drawbridge and cried, “I do not lie! I am David Martin, and I have an audience with the king!”
The gatekeeper raised his fist to strike David! Before he could, a stout genial knight rode up and shoved the man aside without a thought. “Master Martin!?” the knight said. “Good heavens, we expected you yesterday. Where is your escort?”
“He’s been detained,” replied David, trying to shake the anger from his voice. He exhaled, drew himself taller in his saddle, took a deep breath and asked the stout Knight in a splendidly even voice, “May I now enter?”
“Indeed you may, lad,” the man replied. “With me.”
He led David past the astonished gatekeeper and inside the castle’s walls.
The courtyard was huge and bordered by the stables, a blacksmith, a pen for animals and a barracks. The open area was strewn with straw amidst the mud, and foot soldiers practiced their drills while knights playfully battered each other with their broadswords. Women cooked in one corner and children raced about, laughing and squealing and being chased by yapping dogs.
David noticed all of this in a glance. He also noticed that people everywhere stopped and stared at the vision of a knight leading the pony of a scraggly-looking youth. He paid them no mind.
“We were about to come look for you,” said the stout knight. “There’s been word of trouble on the west road.”
“A few thieves, here and there,” said David.
“I thought as much. You’re from the far west, am I not correct?”
David nodded. “Whitlock.”
“I was there, once, to collect the king’s duty. A very pleasant village.”
“Thank you.”
They reached a side entrance to the castle keep and dismounted. A page took the pony’s reins. The stout knight opened the door and said, “I’ll show you to your chambers, now.” Without another word, he led the youth inside.
They climbed a dark narrow staircase that circled higher and higher and higher and just when it almost seemed to be endless, they reached a door barely wide enough for David to enter. The stout knight motioned him through, so in he went.
David found himself in a fair-sized room with another larger door and long narrow windows that looked out over the west and south. Its furnishings were elegant in their simplicity – a carved-wood bed with hand-sewn coverlets, an intricately woven tapestry on the wall, a long table with two chairs in the center of the room – but everything seemed rather...impersonal. He turned back to the stout knight.
“May I have a bath, please?” he asked.
The stout knight smiled at him from the other side of the door. “Of course, lad. And something to eat?”
“Yes. Please.”
“So be it. I’ll call for you when Sir Richard is ready. Rest until then.”
With that, he closed the door and David heard him walk back down the stairs. Then David sank to his knees, unable to move or even to think.
Within an hour, David had bathed, dressed in fresh clothing and eaten part of a sumptuous meal, all without a single coherent thought in his head. Then he stood beside one of the windows and watched people pass along the road he had just traveled. His eyes followed it as far as they could, and he tried to imagine he could see Whitlock in the far distance, but he knew he could not. Then he lay back on the bed and tried to sleep, but he knew he could not. Then he tried to figure out if he had done something horrible enough to warrant punishment by the king, but his mind was too busy whirling.
Here he was, ready, waiting to meet the great and glorious master of this kingdom, but which one was he about to see? The Sir Richard who had slain a dragon and sent an entire army into flight? The Sir Richard who saved damsels and lead his men into battle against overwhelming odds? The Sir Richard who could kill a mad wolf bare-handed, be it sorcerer or not? Or was it to be a frail unsteady old man built of nothing more than half-truths and exaggeration – or even worse, a myth that did not exist? He had no idea, whatsoever.
The more he thought about it, the more certain David was that he would merely be taken into a room and met by the Lord Chamberlain or Master of the Guard and told, “We’re sorry, but the king is too busy; I’ll deal with you, lad.”
Oh, what fun the town master and so many others in the village would have with him, should this visit turn out that way. “Thought yourself good enough to meet the king, did you? Stupid child. Head always in the clouds and filled with the thoughts of an idiot.” His life would become a mockery and not even Nana could protect him from it. But it would serve him right for thinking himself worthy of anything more.
He looked around the room, but it told him nothing. He returned to the window, but found he could not hear the birds or squirrels over the clamor in the courtyard. He wanted to cry, but he knew he could not let himself. “The knight would never do such a thing,” he told himself. So he just stood there and watched the sun dip lower and lower into the horizon. As it was about to vanish into a sky of brilliant pink and gold and violet, the stout knight knocked on the larger door.
“May I enter?” he asked.
It took David a moment to reply, “Please do.”
The man stepped into the room. He was now dressed in a more formal uniform, and his eyes were bright with pride. “The King requests you join him for dinner, Master Martin,” he said.
“The king requests.” So he was to meet Sir Richard. So he was about to know the truth.
This is the next to the last section of "David Martin." No comments, so far. I wonder if anyone's reading it?
----------------
The next morning, David slowly bridled the pony. His hands trembled as he tied the strap. His eyes constantly glanced down the road, searching for the knight but finding nothing. Finally, he led the pony onto the road...and just stood there and gazed at the castle. A dozen people were already waiting for the drawbridge to lower.
“Please come, Sir Knight,” he whispered.
But then with a loud groan, the drawbridge slowly, slowly descended, seeming to beckon him closer. And the gate-keeper grumpily waved the people forward. David took a deep breath, forced himself to mount the pony and quietly rode up to wait his turn in line.
The gatekeeper was obviously a man impressed with his own sense of importance. Each person wanting entry to the castle had to explain who he was and why he was here, in complete detail. Every now and then, a pair of knights would gallop past without so much as a nod. But they were the only ones allowed to do this, and that they did it seemed only to increase the man’s anger. By the time he got to David, he was all but snarling.
“You, boy,” he growled. “What’s your business?”
“I...I’m David Martin,” he replied, his voice barely under control. “I’ve come to see Sir Richard.”
“Who’re you with?”
“I’m alone, sir.”
The man looked at David as if he were insane. “Say again?!”
“Sir Richard has sent for me.”
The gatekeeper laughed. “Where’s your escort? The king would never have you come alone!”
David shook at the scorn in the man’s voice. He was barely able to reply, “He...he was with me, but...he’s been detained.”
The gatekeeper shoved the pony away from the bridge, sneering, “Go home, you lying little urchin!”
David’s eyes flashed with pride and anger! Never had he been called a liar before! Never! He spun the pony back to face the drawbridge and cried, “I do not lie! I am David Martin, and I have an audience with the king!”
The gatekeeper raised his fist to strike David! Before he could, a stout genial knight rode up and shoved the man aside without a thought. “Master Martin!?” the knight said. “Good heavens, we expected you yesterday. Where is your escort?”
“He’s been detained,” replied David, trying to shake the anger from his voice. He exhaled, drew himself taller in his saddle, took a deep breath and asked the stout Knight in a splendidly even voice, “May I now enter?”
“Indeed you may, lad,” the man replied. “With me.”
He led David past the astonished gatekeeper and inside the castle’s walls.
The courtyard was huge and bordered by the stables, a blacksmith, a pen for animals and a barracks. The open area was strewn with straw amidst the mud, and foot soldiers practiced their drills while knights playfully battered each other with their broadswords. Women cooked in one corner and children raced about, laughing and squealing and being chased by yapping dogs.
David noticed all of this in a glance. He also noticed that people everywhere stopped and stared at the vision of a knight leading the pony of a scraggly-looking youth. He paid them no mind.
“We were about to come look for you,” said the stout knight. “There’s been word of trouble on the west road.”
“A few thieves, here and there,” said David.
“I thought as much. You’re from the far west, am I not correct?”
David nodded. “Whitlock.”
“I was there, once, to collect the king’s duty. A very pleasant village.”
“Thank you.”
They reached a side entrance to the castle keep and dismounted. A page took the pony’s reins. The stout knight opened the door and said, “I’ll show you to your chambers, now.” Without another word, he led the youth inside.
They climbed a dark narrow staircase that circled higher and higher and higher and just when it almost seemed to be endless, they reached a door barely wide enough for David to enter. The stout knight motioned him through, so in he went.
David found himself in a fair-sized room with another larger door and long narrow windows that looked out over the west and south. Its furnishings were elegant in their simplicity – a carved-wood bed with hand-sewn coverlets, an intricately woven tapestry on the wall, a long table with two chairs in the center of the room – but everything seemed rather...impersonal. He turned back to the stout knight.
“May I have a bath, please?” he asked.
The stout knight smiled at him from the other side of the door. “Of course, lad. And something to eat?”
“Yes. Please.”
“So be it. I’ll call for you when Sir Richard is ready. Rest until then.”
With that, he closed the door and David heard him walk back down the stairs. Then David sank to his knees, unable to move or even to think.
Within an hour, David had bathed, dressed in fresh clothing and eaten part of a sumptuous meal, all without a single coherent thought in his head. Then he stood beside one of the windows and watched people pass along the road he had just traveled. His eyes followed it as far as they could, and he tried to imagine he could see Whitlock in the far distance, but he knew he could not. Then he lay back on the bed and tried to sleep, but he knew he could not. Then he tried to figure out if he had done something horrible enough to warrant punishment by the king, but his mind was too busy whirling.
Here he was, ready, waiting to meet the great and glorious master of this kingdom, but which one was he about to see? The Sir Richard who had slain a dragon and sent an entire army into flight? The Sir Richard who saved damsels and lead his men into battle against overwhelming odds? The Sir Richard who could kill a mad wolf bare-handed, be it sorcerer or not? Or was it to be a frail unsteady old man built of nothing more than half-truths and exaggeration – or even worse, a myth that did not exist? He had no idea, whatsoever.
The more he thought about it, the more certain David was that he would merely be taken into a room and met by the Lord Chamberlain or Master of the Guard and told, “We’re sorry, but the king is too busy; I’ll deal with you, lad.”
Oh, what fun the town master and so many others in the village would have with him, should this visit turn out that way. “Thought yourself good enough to meet the king, did you? Stupid child. Head always in the clouds and filled with the thoughts of an idiot.” His life would become a mockery and not even Nana could protect him from it. But it would serve him right for thinking himself worthy of anything more.
He looked around the room, but it told him nothing. He returned to the window, but found he could not hear the birds or squirrels over the clamor in the courtyard. He wanted to cry, but he knew he could not let himself. “The knight would never do such a thing,” he told himself. So he just stood there and watched the sun dip lower and lower into the horizon. As it was about to vanish into a sky of brilliant pink and gold and violet, the stout knight knocked on the larger door.
“May I enter?” he asked.
It took David a moment to reply, “Please do.”
The man stepped into the room. He was now dressed in a more formal uniform, and his eyes were bright with pride. “The King requests you join him for dinner, Master Martin,” he said.
“The king requests.” So he was to meet Sir Richard. So he was about to know the truth.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
David Martin - part 6
Wheels as regards POS are still cranky. Here's more of "David Martin."
--------------
The knight did not return by the next morning, so David readied himself for the last day’s journey. The farmer gave him bread and cheese and apples and pointed him towards the castle.
“You should be there by mid-afternoon,” he said. “The road twists and curves but it is the best way. Are you sure you won’t stay with us?”
“I am expected,” said David. “But I do thank you for your hospitality.” Then he offered the man one of his copper coins.
“Oh, no, please, Sir Knight,” said the farmer. “It is we who thank you. Had it not been for you...”
The youth smiled at the man. “What we swear to protect must be protected...but I – I am not a knight.”
The man still refused to be paid. So David shrugged and started away. The farmer and his family waved and called their farewells until he reached a turn in the road. Then he remembered Emily’s words and stopped, a chill running down his back. What if he was being called for punishment? To be slung into Sir Richard’s dungeon for some as yet unknown offense? But no...if that were the case, the knight would not have left him. Or would he have? The events had come upon them so suddenly. David was at a loss. He finally looked around to find Emily waving to him from the entrance to the barn, and the picture she made looked like home.
“I could stay here,” he told himself. “I could stay here and be happy. I don’t have to meet Sir Richard...not really...”
He turned the pony around and started it back to them. But then a butterfly drifted up to him and brushed his face with its simple blue and white wings. It danced before him, like it was asking him to play, then flitted off on a gentle breeze, heading in the direction of the castle. David smiled...found himself returning Emily’s wave and then turning back and continuing on around the curve.
The road did indeed twist and turn through a land of rolling hills and wide fields flowing in the breeze. The sky was crystal blue and the whispering air was gentle against his skin. Birds and squirrels and more softly colored butterflies seemed to escort him along, singing or chattering or coyly brushing his hands with their wings.
He rode without thinking, without looking ahead more than he absolutely had to. He just kept moving forward, as if drawn to the castle by a string tied to his wrist. Sometimes he let the pony trot. Sometimes he cantered. Sometimes he just stood beside a stream so he could watch the trout jump about in the icy water.
He passed an increasing number of people. Some of them returned his smiles; some of them snarled at his apparent good humor. But most of them seemed pre-occupied with problems he would never know. The road grew dirtier with the refuse from man and animal, and the fields grew smaller and smaller, and the farms were now tightly bound by stone fences, their meager crops and few animals intended to feed little more than those living in the attached hovel.
As night approached, he passed through a thick darkening forest that suddenly ended...and before him stood the gleaming towers of Sir Richard’s castle. And it was far more glorious than he could ever have imagined. Cut from the purest granite, the bright walls stretched hundreds of feet in every direction to surround a castle keep that rose four – no, five levels up from the ground! Its turrets were capped by colorful flags whipping in the brisk breeze, and soldiers were visible keeping watch in every direction. A huge sturdy drawbridge leapt across a wide moat that surrounded the castle and was the sole entrance to the courtyard. To David, it seemed only the thatch-roofed huts gathered near the drawbridge could prevent the entire structure from floating into the clouds.
He could not move. The presence of the castle was too great, too overpowering, too wonderful to bear. People brushed past him in every direction as he watched a very large, very angry gatekeeper stop anyone who wished to cross the bridge over the moat. The man turned away as many people as he let pass. But then he, in turn, was ignored by pairs of knights who trotted inside as other pairs of knights galloped from the building. All of them were proud handsome men with the same air of certainty and purpose David had seen in his own knight. And he forgot his concerns and fears and felt an intense pride that he lived in a kingdom of such wonder and possibility.
Until he realized two of the knights leaving the castle were headed directly toward him! Suddenly, David was terrified. What if they were sent for him? What if they were coming to arrest him and take him to prison? He panicked and frantically glanced around, then noticed a small, dirty inn was close by. He scurried into its courtyard and dismounted then watched as the knights thundered by to continue on down the road.
Now David felt foolish. “I behaved like a scared little boy,” he sneered at himself. But he was still shaking, so he decided to stay at the inn. And he secretly prayed the knight would catch up to him in the morning.
The inn was dirty and crowded, the stench of ancient ale drifting about the room. Two of his copper coins bought David a corner near the fire and a slice of roast to nibble upon. And let him listen to excited talk about how one of Sir Richard’s knights had saved a princess from abduction in a nearby village.
“Twenty of them,” said one man. “He fought off twenty of them like they were nothing!”
“Her father’s King of Aquitania, I hear,” said another.
“Wrong!” cried another. “Spain!”
“Oh, of course,” sneered a fat waitress. “And why would a Spanish Princess be here?”
“Maybe Sir Richard’s finally getting married, again,” cried the first man.
“It’s about time,” said a farmer sipping a mug of ale. “He should find himself a nice lady and settle down!”
The inn-keeper joined them, wiping his hands on a filthy apron. “It’s those knights of his what should settle down,” he said. “Always off prancing around the countryside chasing lasses. D’you think one’s around when you need him?”
“To toss out a dead-beat boarder?” snipped the waitress. “Why would they bother?”
“And why not?” the inn-keeper huffed. “I pay my taxes just like anybody.”
“When you have to,” laughed the waitress. Many in the crowd laughed with her.
Then another man nudged David and said, “I saw you come in from the west. Do you know anything about that knight saving a princess?”
“No,” said David. “I saw one of Sir Richard’s knights keep some men from stealing a girl’s sheep. And he saved a man and woman from robbers, but that’s all.”
“Must’ve happened after that,” snorted the man.
“The boy doesn’t know about it because it happened to the east, you fool,” snapped the inn-keeper.
“No, it was north!” said the waitress.
David found it odd that people here seemed more concerned with the doings of Sir Richard’s knights than with the king. Then a thought struck him. “Tell me,” he asked, “what does Sir Richard look like?”
The waitress exchanged startled glances with everyone in the room. “I can’t remember the last time I saw him,” she said.
“I never have,” said the farmer.
“I caught a look at him a few years back,” said the man, “but all I could see was his hair was already white and he was barely able to stay on his horse, he was so shaky.”
“That was the archbishop,” snapped the inn-keeper.
“Well he has to be old,” said the waitress. “He was king here before I was born.”
“Nobody’s that old,” laughed the inn-keeper. The others joined him as the waitress stormed back to the ale-room.
David snuggled into his corner. That sense of fear was gnawing at him, again. No one knew. All he had heard on this journey were stories about Sir Richard told by people who had never seen the man. Not even the knight would speak to David of him. The youth was beginning to wonder if Sir Richard was just an old man who governed by way of his legends and his knights. Or worse – what if he never even existed? The mere thought of such a possibility threatened to make him ill, especially since the Sir Richard of David’s dreams had always been strong and perfect and...well, real! But the man had to exist, because David was about to meet him.
Wasn’t he?
He closed his eyes, trying to banish the hundreds of questions making themselves known to him, and he whispered to himself, over and over, “I’ll know, tomorrow. I’ll know then.”
--------------
The knight did not return by the next morning, so David readied himself for the last day’s journey. The farmer gave him bread and cheese and apples and pointed him towards the castle.
“You should be there by mid-afternoon,” he said. “The road twists and curves but it is the best way. Are you sure you won’t stay with us?”
“I am expected,” said David. “But I do thank you for your hospitality.” Then he offered the man one of his copper coins.
“Oh, no, please, Sir Knight,” said the farmer. “It is we who thank you. Had it not been for you...”
The youth smiled at the man. “What we swear to protect must be protected...but I – I am not a knight.”
The man still refused to be paid. So David shrugged and started away. The farmer and his family waved and called their farewells until he reached a turn in the road. Then he remembered Emily’s words and stopped, a chill running down his back. What if he was being called for punishment? To be slung into Sir Richard’s dungeon for some as yet unknown offense? But no...if that were the case, the knight would not have left him. Or would he have? The events had come upon them so suddenly. David was at a loss. He finally looked around to find Emily waving to him from the entrance to the barn, and the picture she made looked like home.
“I could stay here,” he told himself. “I could stay here and be happy. I don’t have to meet Sir Richard...not really...”
He turned the pony around and started it back to them. But then a butterfly drifted up to him and brushed his face with its simple blue and white wings. It danced before him, like it was asking him to play, then flitted off on a gentle breeze, heading in the direction of the castle. David smiled...found himself returning Emily’s wave and then turning back and continuing on around the curve.
The road did indeed twist and turn through a land of rolling hills and wide fields flowing in the breeze. The sky was crystal blue and the whispering air was gentle against his skin. Birds and squirrels and more softly colored butterflies seemed to escort him along, singing or chattering or coyly brushing his hands with their wings.
He rode without thinking, without looking ahead more than he absolutely had to. He just kept moving forward, as if drawn to the castle by a string tied to his wrist. Sometimes he let the pony trot. Sometimes he cantered. Sometimes he just stood beside a stream so he could watch the trout jump about in the icy water.
He passed an increasing number of people. Some of them returned his smiles; some of them snarled at his apparent good humor. But most of them seemed pre-occupied with problems he would never know. The road grew dirtier with the refuse from man and animal, and the fields grew smaller and smaller, and the farms were now tightly bound by stone fences, their meager crops and few animals intended to feed little more than those living in the attached hovel.
As night approached, he passed through a thick darkening forest that suddenly ended...and before him stood the gleaming towers of Sir Richard’s castle. And it was far more glorious than he could ever have imagined. Cut from the purest granite, the bright walls stretched hundreds of feet in every direction to surround a castle keep that rose four – no, five levels up from the ground! Its turrets were capped by colorful flags whipping in the brisk breeze, and soldiers were visible keeping watch in every direction. A huge sturdy drawbridge leapt across a wide moat that surrounded the castle and was the sole entrance to the courtyard. To David, it seemed only the thatch-roofed huts gathered near the drawbridge could prevent the entire structure from floating into the clouds.
He could not move. The presence of the castle was too great, too overpowering, too wonderful to bear. People brushed past him in every direction as he watched a very large, very angry gatekeeper stop anyone who wished to cross the bridge over the moat. The man turned away as many people as he let pass. But then he, in turn, was ignored by pairs of knights who trotted inside as other pairs of knights galloped from the building. All of them were proud handsome men with the same air of certainty and purpose David had seen in his own knight. And he forgot his concerns and fears and felt an intense pride that he lived in a kingdom of such wonder and possibility.
Until he realized two of the knights leaving the castle were headed directly toward him! Suddenly, David was terrified. What if they were sent for him? What if they were coming to arrest him and take him to prison? He panicked and frantically glanced around, then noticed a small, dirty inn was close by. He scurried into its courtyard and dismounted then watched as the knights thundered by to continue on down the road.
Now David felt foolish. “I behaved like a scared little boy,” he sneered at himself. But he was still shaking, so he decided to stay at the inn. And he secretly prayed the knight would catch up to him in the morning.
The inn was dirty and crowded, the stench of ancient ale drifting about the room. Two of his copper coins bought David a corner near the fire and a slice of roast to nibble upon. And let him listen to excited talk about how one of Sir Richard’s knights had saved a princess from abduction in a nearby village.
“Twenty of them,” said one man. “He fought off twenty of them like they were nothing!”
“Her father’s King of Aquitania, I hear,” said another.
“Wrong!” cried another. “Spain!”
“Oh, of course,” sneered a fat waitress. “And why would a Spanish Princess be here?”
“Maybe Sir Richard’s finally getting married, again,” cried the first man.
“It’s about time,” said a farmer sipping a mug of ale. “He should find himself a nice lady and settle down!”
The inn-keeper joined them, wiping his hands on a filthy apron. “It’s those knights of his what should settle down,” he said. “Always off prancing around the countryside chasing lasses. D’you think one’s around when you need him?”
“To toss out a dead-beat boarder?” snipped the waitress. “Why would they bother?”
“And why not?” the inn-keeper huffed. “I pay my taxes just like anybody.”
“When you have to,” laughed the waitress. Many in the crowd laughed with her.
Then another man nudged David and said, “I saw you come in from the west. Do you know anything about that knight saving a princess?”
“No,” said David. “I saw one of Sir Richard’s knights keep some men from stealing a girl’s sheep. And he saved a man and woman from robbers, but that’s all.”
“Must’ve happened after that,” snorted the man.
“The boy doesn’t know about it because it happened to the east, you fool,” snapped the inn-keeper.
“No, it was north!” said the waitress.
David found it odd that people here seemed more concerned with the doings of Sir Richard’s knights than with the king. Then a thought struck him. “Tell me,” he asked, “what does Sir Richard look like?”
The waitress exchanged startled glances with everyone in the room. “I can’t remember the last time I saw him,” she said.
“I never have,” said the farmer.
“I caught a look at him a few years back,” said the man, “but all I could see was his hair was already white and he was barely able to stay on his horse, he was so shaky.”
“That was the archbishop,” snapped the inn-keeper.
“Well he has to be old,” said the waitress. “He was king here before I was born.”
“Nobody’s that old,” laughed the inn-keeper. The others joined him as the waitress stormed back to the ale-room.
David snuggled into his corner. That sense of fear was gnawing at him, again. No one knew. All he had heard on this journey were stories about Sir Richard told by people who had never seen the man. Not even the knight would speak to David of him. The youth was beginning to wonder if Sir Richard was just an old man who governed by way of his legends and his knights. Or worse – what if he never even existed? The mere thought of such a possibility threatened to make him ill, especially since the Sir Richard of David’s dreams had always been strong and perfect and...well, real! But the man had to exist, because David was about to meet him.
Wasn’t he?
He closed his eyes, trying to banish the hundreds of questions making themselves known to him, and he whispered to himself, over and over, “I’ll know, tomorrow. I’ll know then.”
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
DAVID MARTIN - part 5
Working on a possible way out of the block on POS...more later.
---------
Another day passed with them traveling in silence. The land they rode through was pleasant, though the farms were now smaller and the people a bit less friendly. The knight’s stature assured their passage and respect, but he took little notice of anything except the road. As for David, his mind was too lost to be truly aware of what was around him. The only time he smiled was when a pair of squirrels appeared beside them and chattered at him, only to be chased by an angry bluebird.
At night by the campfire, David silently watched the sky explode with more shooting stars. He counted at least a hundred before he lay back to sleep.
The knight also remained silent, but he cast more quick glances at the boy. He noticed how David’s brow was constantly creased with thought and how he rode, moved and ate with a deeper concentration. And as the knight settled back to sleep, a hint of sadness crossed his face.
On the afternoon of the fifth day, they stopped to water their horses at a stream. The knight had dismounted and was re-attaching the strap to his saddle when a shrill scream was heard, followed by frantic barking! He glanced around and quickly pointed to a grove of trees.
“There!” he cried.
David instantly turned, kicked the pony and raced for the grove as the knight re-mounted.
David rounded the trees to find a tall man struggling with a furious shepherd girl as another man tried to fend off her dog. A herd of sheep swirled nearby, bleating in fear at the uproar. The girl was barely as old as David and was kicking and biting the man between cries for help.
The boy exploded in fury! He saw a broken branch lying nearby, guided the pony over, grabbed the branch and shouted, “Stand fast!” Then he galloped toward them!
The tall man was barely able to turn before David whipped the branch against his back! More angry than hurt, the man released the girl, pulled a long gleaming knife and spun to face the boy. The second man finally slung the dog aside and raced to help his partner.
David reined the pony about, saw the man’s weapon and yanked out his own knife then roared back to them, swinging both branch and knife in the air and hollering, wildly! The picture he made gave the men pause. Then the shepherd girl began slinging rocks at them and the dog re-joined the fracas, so the men turned and ran down the glen. The dog chased after them, yapping and nipping at their heels with a happy abandon.
David leapt from the pony to beside the girl just as the knight thundered around the trees. The boy pointed after the men.
“Those two!” he cried. “Down there! They were attacking this girl. I think they wanted her sheep.”
The knight pulled his stallion to a halt. “Escort the girl to her family,” he ordered. “Stay with them. If I have not returned by morning, continue without me.” Then he raced after the men.
“Without you?!” David cried. “No! Wait!”
But the man did not hear him. David saw the thieves disappear around a distant thicket of trees, quickly followed first by the dog and then the knight. Reluctantly, he turned to the girl. She was scratched and her sleeve was torn, but she was otherwise unhurt.
“They snuck up on me,” she said, breathlessly. “If they hadn’t, I could’ve stopped them. But that’s what they did, so I couldn’t.”
“It’s fortunate we were here,” said David.
“It is, Sir Knight,” she replied. “My thanks.”
“Oh, I’m not a knight. I’m just David.”
“I’m Emily, ‘Just David’,” she said and cast him a sideways glance.
David caught his breath. He had not realized how pretty she was or how blue her eyes were. “Emily,” he finally said, “where is your family?”
“This way,” she said, then she whistled for the dog. He came bounding up, very satisfied with himself, and herded the sheep into following Emily as she led David to her family’s farm. He walked at her side, leading the pony.
“Where were you going?” asked Emily.
David hesitated. “Sir Richard’s castle,” he carefully replied.
“Why do you want to go there?"
David was barely able to keep his surprise at her question under control. “Why would I not?”
“Because it’s big and dirty and crowded.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Oh, yes. My father goes there for market and I usually go with him. It’s not even a day’s journey from here.”
“I’ve never been.”
Emily looked at him, quizzically. “Where are you from?”
“The...the west of here. Five days’ journey.”
Her look turned to amazement. “You came all that way just to see the castle?!”
“Not exactly,” David smiled. Then he drew himself up and said, “I’ve been summoned by the king.”
“Oh,” said Emily. “What did you do wrong?”
David froze at the shock of her question. The thought that he was being brought to Sir Richard for punishment had never crossed his mind. He could not think of anything he might have done that would warrant such a thing...at least, nothing that would gain notice from anyone greater than the town master.
Emily laughed. “Oh, don’t look so worried, ‘Just David.’ You’re not in chains, so I don’t think it’s anything really bad. Maybe he does just want to meet you.”
David forced himself to smile at her. “My name is David,” he said. “David Martin.”
Emily smiled back. “My father’s farm is just over this hill...David,” she said. Then she gaily continued on. He slowly followed her, still reeling from her question.
When Emily told her family of what David had done, her mother prepared him a meal fit for a king as her father and brothers fed and groomed the pony. Then they bade him sit at the head of the table and listened with rapt attention as he told of his journey to the castle. While he spoke, for some reason he kept noticing how Emily watched him with her sideways look. And how her hair shone like spun gold. And how her eyes gently sparkled like sapphires dancing in the firelight. Then he thought of his grandmother and how her room was just as warm and friendly as this one, with good food and steady laughter.
And tears stung his eyes. He felt as if he had lost something during this journey, something he treasured but did not know what it was, just yet. All he knew was, his heart ached like it was empty and would never be filled, again.
But then Emily gave him a slice of bread and butter with honeycomb and a bowl of milk, and her mother lay blankets by the fire for his bed, and for a moment he felt better...but all he could thank them with was a smile.
---------
Another day passed with them traveling in silence. The land they rode through was pleasant, though the farms were now smaller and the people a bit less friendly. The knight’s stature assured their passage and respect, but he took little notice of anything except the road. As for David, his mind was too lost to be truly aware of what was around him. The only time he smiled was when a pair of squirrels appeared beside them and chattered at him, only to be chased by an angry bluebird.
At night by the campfire, David silently watched the sky explode with more shooting stars. He counted at least a hundred before he lay back to sleep.
The knight also remained silent, but he cast more quick glances at the boy. He noticed how David’s brow was constantly creased with thought and how he rode, moved and ate with a deeper concentration. And as the knight settled back to sleep, a hint of sadness crossed his face.
On the afternoon of the fifth day, they stopped to water their horses at a stream. The knight had dismounted and was re-attaching the strap to his saddle when a shrill scream was heard, followed by frantic barking! He glanced around and quickly pointed to a grove of trees.
“There!” he cried.
David instantly turned, kicked the pony and raced for the grove as the knight re-mounted.
David rounded the trees to find a tall man struggling with a furious shepherd girl as another man tried to fend off her dog. A herd of sheep swirled nearby, bleating in fear at the uproar. The girl was barely as old as David and was kicking and biting the man between cries for help.
The boy exploded in fury! He saw a broken branch lying nearby, guided the pony over, grabbed the branch and shouted, “Stand fast!” Then he galloped toward them!
The tall man was barely able to turn before David whipped the branch against his back! More angry than hurt, the man released the girl, pulled a long gleaming knife and spun to face the boy. The second man finally slung the dog aside and raced to help his partner.
David reined the pony about, saw the man’s weapon and yanked out his own knife then roared back to them, swinging both branch and knife in the air and hollering, wildly! The picture he made gave the men pause. Then the shepherd girl began slinging rocks at them and the dog re-joined the fracas, so the men turned and ran down the glen. The dog chased after them, yapping and nipping at their heels with a happy abandon.
David leapt from the pony to beside the girl just as the knight thundered around the trees. The boy pointed after the men.
“Those two!” he cried. “Down there! They were attacking this girl. I think they wanted her sheep.”
The knight pulled his stallion to a halt. “Escort the girl to her family,” he ordered. “Stay with them. If I have not returned by morning, continue without me.” Then he raced after the men.
“Without you?!” David cried. “No! Wait!”
But the man did not hear him. David saw the thieves disappear around a distant thicket of trees, quickly followed first by the dog and then the knight. Reluctantly, he turned to the girl. She was scratched and her sleeve was torn, but she was otherwise unhurt.
“They snuck up on me,” she said, breathlessly. “If they hadn’t, I could’ve stopped them. But that’s what they did, so I couldn’t.”
“It’s fortunate we were here,” said David.
“It is, Sir Knight,” she replied. “My thanks.”
“Oh, I’m not a knight. I’m just David.”
“I’m Emily, ‘Just David’,” she said and cast him a sideways glance.
David caught his breath. He had not realized how pretty she was or how blue her eyes were. “Emily,” he finally said, “where is your family?”
“This way,” she said, then she whistled for the dog. He came bounding up, very satisfied with himself, and herded the sheep into following Emily as she led David to her family’s farm. He walked at her side, leading the pony.
“Where were you going?” asked Emily.
David hesitated. “Sir Richard’s castle,” he carefully replied.
“Why do you want to go there?"
David was barely able to keep his surprise at her question under control. “Why would I not?”
“Because it’s big and dirty and crowded.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Oh, yes. My father goes there for market and I usually go with him. It’s not even a day’s journey from here.”
“I’ve never been.”
Emily looked at him, quizzically. “Where are you from?”
“The...the west of here. Five days’ journey.”
Her look turned to amazement. “You came all that way just to see the castle?!”
“Not exactly,” David smiled. Then he drew himself up and said, “I’ve been summoned by the king.”
“Oh,” said Emily. “What did you do wrong?”
David froze at the shock of her question. The thought that he was being brought to Sir Richard for punishment had never crossed his mind. He could not think of anything he might have done that would warrant such a thing...at least, nothing that would gain notice from anyone greater than the town master.
Emily laughed. “Oh, don’t look so worried, ‘Just David.’ You’re not in chains, so I don’t think it’s anything really bad. Maybe he does just want to meet you.”
David forced himself to smile at her. “My name is David,” he said. “David Martin.”
Emily smiled back. “My father’s farm is just over this hill...David,” she said. Then she gaily continued on. He slowly followed her, still reeling from her question.
When Emily told her family of what David had done, her mother prepared him a meal fit for a king as her father and brothers fed and groomed the pony. Then they bade him sit at the head of the table and listened with rapt attention as he told of his journey to the castle. While he spoke, for some reason he kept noticing how Emily watched him with her sideways look. And how her hair shone like spun gold. And how her eyes gently sparkled like sapphires dancing in the firelight. Then he thought of his grandmother and how her room was just as warm and friendly as this one, with good food and steady laughter.
And tears stung his eyes. He felt as if he had lost something during this journey, something he treasured but did not know what it was, just yet. All he knew was, his heart ached like it was empty and would never be filled, again.
But then Emily gave him a slice of bread and butter with honeycomb and a bowl of milk, and her mother lay blankets by the fire for his bed, and for a moment he felt better...but all he could thank them with was a smile.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
David Martin - part 4
David Martin
The next morning, David and the knight rode side by side under an overcast sky. The land seemed bleak and lonely. No birds or squirrels were heard or seen dancing beside the road. Even after the sun began to peek from behind the clouds, David could not shake a feeling of emptiness until they stopped by a pond for a noonday meal. They had seen no one on the road or in the farmhouses they passed, so all they had to eat was some dried venison the farmer had given them.
David studied the area around the pond. It had been cultivated into fields of oats and barley. The steady breeze made them billow like soft waves upon a shadowy sea. Shrubs lined a swift dancing brook that fed into the pond and then spilled over a small dam to continue on its way, but not a tree was to be seen anywhere.
“How sad and greedy,” thought David. “The wind blows too strongly through the grain and will damage it. Had they left some trees, it would not be so harsh.” Then he turned to the knight and said, “If you build a fire, I’ll catch us some fish.”
“Can you do that without a net?” asked the knight.
“Of course.”
The knight set to building a fire as David took the horses with him. He tied the stallion and pony to a sturdy bush so they could drink then wandered down the brook to the pond. He finally found a spot dotted by reeds where it was shallow enough for him to wade into. He removed his shoes and rolled up his leggings, then quietly slipped into the water. It was cold...but it felt right.
He saw a number of trout wandering between the reeds. He carefully dipped his hands into the water and fluttered his fingers as if they were part of the vegetation. A curious trout poked over to see what he was doing and slipped close to David’s hands...and the boy whipped it out of the pond and onto the bank. As it flopped around, he returned his hands to the water and repeated his actions. But now the trout were more wary.
As he waited for another one, David’s mind drifted back to the first time he had done this. It was a year after his mother’s passing, and an old man traveling with a group of gypsies had shown him the trick. He remembered how Nana’s eyes had lit up when he carried in a fish that seemed as large as he was, and for the first time he had felt as if he was helping her instead of adding to her burden. She had roasted it with onions and herbs and they had baked apples for dessert, and he had known even Sir Richard could never have eaten so well.
But now looking back, he realized that the fish was not so very large and that he had eaten most of it. And yet, Nana’s eyes had shone with pride, and even though he had brought home many more fish in the years following, she still spoke of how wonderful the first one had been.
Another trout tickled itself over his fingers. Without a thought, David whipped it onto the bank...and looked up to find a huge brown bear with black markings watching him from the other side of the pond.
David froze. He had seen a bear only once before, with that same group of gypsies. It had been kept on a rope and danced around and around at its owner’s command. David had thought it was really a man in a bear skin, it seemed so human. But this one was definitely an animal.
The bear fixed its honey black eyes on David and did not move as the boy slipped his fingers back into the water. But this time when a trout finally brushed over his fingers, he flipped the fish onto the opposite shore next to the bear. It grunted and devoured the fish as if it was starving. It was then that David noticed the broken rope around its neck.
He tossed the bear another fish then carefully began to back out of the water. He was almost to the bank when he heard a whispery, “Stand fast, David.” He turned to find the knight slowly approaching, his bow and arrow at the ready.
“Don’t, Sir Knight,” whispered David. “He’s not dangerous. See the rope? He’s a pet that’s wandered away. He just doesn’t know how to find food.”
“He is a creature of the wild,” the knight replied. “If he feels threatened, he will attack you.”
“Not unless I try to take his fish. But I won’t need to, for we have our own.” He held up the two trout. The bear grunted at him, then began to eat its second fish.
The knight lowered his bow, warily. David joined him and asked, “Is the fire ready?”
“It is,” replied the knight, eyeing the boy with curiosity.
Then they heard someone approaching and looked down the brook to see an elderly man striding up the other side.
“Lay down your arrow!” he cried. “That’s my Grissom! That’s my Grissom!” He strode right up to the bear and grabbed the rope. “Stupid beast! You could have been killed, and all for a little fish!”
“You there,” called the knight. “This animal is your property?”
“It is, Sir Knight,” replied the elderly man. “Much to my sorrow, sometimes.”
“Then keep it tethered more securely! We cannot have such creatures roaming the land. Someone might be harmed.”
“Oh, Grissom would never harm a soul, Sir Knight. He was raised by me from a cub. But he does like to go wandering.”
The knight scowled. “The next time he goes ‘wandering,’ his pelt may wind up on a castle floor!”
The elderly man scowled right back. “You don’t have the right to threaten that! Not with a family pet! Ask anyone in these parts; they’ll tell you Grissom’s as gentle as a lamb!”
David could not believe his ears. “How dare you speak to us in such a manner?!” he cried. “This is one of Sir Richard’s knights! And how are we to know your bear’s not dangerous? We’re not from here! He would have every right to shoot it -- !”
“David,” snapped the knight, “leave this to me.” He turned back to the elderly man. “The boy raises a valid point. Had he not noticed the rope around your bear’s neck, he might not have kept me from releasing my arrow. And as he said, we are only passing through. As do more and more people, these days.”
The elderly man withered under the knight’s glare. “I understand, Sir Knight,” he said. “A thousand pardons. I’ll keep Grissom tied up better, in the future.”
“See to it,” said the knight. Then he lead David back to the fire as the elderly man took the bear away.
David was so angry, he could barely eat. To have a stupid old peasant argue with one of Sir Richard’s knights was bad enough. But then to be ordered silent when he was standing up for the man was almost too much to bear. He refused to even look at him through the entire meal.
The rest of the day passed in complete silence. David did not cast even so much as a glance at the knight, but the man did look at him, now and again, seeming even warier.
Then as evening began to descend, they noticed the smoke from a farmhouse trailing into the sky. The man said, “We shall bed there for the night.”
David hesitated, remembering the old man and the farmer and the married couple. “I...I’d rather sleep outside,” he said. “If you don’t mind, Sir Knight.”
In answer, the man turned his stallion from the road and led David to a small clearing. They built a fire to heat the venison, and they ate in silence.
The sky grew darker and darker, adding to David’s sadness...a sadness he could neither explain nor understand. In fact, he could not think of anything. Not his grandmother. Not his mother and father. Not his town. Not even his best friend, Corey. And most especially, he could not think about Sir Richard. Something in him was whispering that this journey was a mistake, that he should turn back before he learned just how many lies and childish assumptions his world had been built upon. He knew the awareness would not be joyous.
To help himself ignore it, he watched a thousand-thousand stars slowly fill the heavens and glisten against the blackness, and finally he offered a gentle smile as embers leapt from the fire in a vain attempt to join the glorious display.
Then a star shot from the sky, flared into brilliance and disappeared. Two more quickly followed.
“Did you see that?” he asked the knight, in wonder.
The man looked at the sky as several more stars flashed past. “I’ve seen them many times,” he said.
“I haven’t,” said David. “Not like this.” Another star shot past...and David heard himself ask, “Sir Knight, have you...have you ever been afraid? Truly afraid?”
The knight stretched and lay back on his blanket. “Many times,” he said as he closed his eyes.
David finally looked at him, for a long long time, then returned to watching the embers dance into the darkness. One final shooting star flared into brilliance as he sighed and whispered, “I haven’t. Not like this.”
The next morning, David and the knight rode side by side under an overcast sky. The land seemed bleak and lonely. No birds or squirrels were heard or seen dancing beside the road. Even after the sun began to peek from behind the clouds, David could not shake a feeling of emptiness until they stopped by a pond for a noonday meal. They had seen no one on the road or in the farmhouses they passed, so all they had to eat was some dried venison the farmer had given them.
David studied the area around the pond. It had been cultivated into fields of oats and barley. The steady breeze made them billow like soft waves upon a shadowy sea. Shrubs lined a swift dancing brook that fed into the pond and then spilled over a small dam to continue on its way, but not a tree was to be seen anywhere.
“How sad and greedy,” thought David. “The wind blows too strongly through the grain and will damage it. Had they left some trees, it would not be so harsh.” Then he turned to the knight and said, “If you build a fire, I’ll catch us some fish.”
“Can you do that without a net?” asked the knight.
“Of course.”
The knight set to building a fire as David took the horses with him. He tied the stallion and pony to a sturdy bush so they could drink then wandered down the brook to the pond. He finally found a spot dotted by reeds where it was shallow enough for him to wade into. He removed his shoes and rolled up his leggings, then quietly slipped into the water. It was cold...but it felt right.
He saw a number of trout wandering between the reeds. He carefully dipped his hands into the water and fluttered his fingers as if they were part of the vegetation. A curious trout poked over to see what he was doing and slipped close to David’s hands...and the boy whipped it out of the pond and onto the bank. As it flopped around, he returned his hands to the water and repeated his actions. But now the trout were more wary.
As he waited for another one, David’s mind drifted back to the first time he had done this. It was a year after his mother’s passing, and an old man traveling with a group of gypsies had shown him the trick. He remembered how Nana’s eyes had lit up when he carried in a fish that seemed as large as he was, and for the first time he had felt as if he was helping her instead of adding to her burden. She had roasted it with onions and herbs and they had baked apples for dessert, and he had known even Sir Richard could never have eaten so well.
But now looking back, he realized that the fish was not so very large and that he had eaten most of it. And yet, Nana’s eyes had shone with pride, and even though he had brought home many more fish in the years following, she still spoke of how wonderful the first one had been.
Another trout tickled itself over his fingers. Without a thought, David whipped it onto the bank...and looked up to find a huge brown bear with black markings watching him from the other side of the pond.
David froze. He had seen a bear only once before, with that same group of gypsies. It had been kept on a rope and danced around and around at its owner’s command. David had thought it was really a man in a bear skin, it seemed so human. But this one was definitely an animal.
The bear fixed its honey black eyes on David and did not move as the boy slipped his fingers back into the water. But this time when a trout finally brushed over his fingers, he flipped the fish onto the opposite shore next to the bear. It grunted and devoured the fish as if it was starving. It was then that David noticed the broken rope around its neck.
He tossed the bear another fish then carefully began to back out of the water. He was almost to the bank when he heard a whispery, “Stand fast, David.” He turned to find the knight slowly approaching, his bow and arrow at the ready.
“Don’t, Sir Knight,” whispered David. “He’s not dangerous. See the rope? He’s a pet that’s wandered away. He just doesn’t know how to find food.”
“He is a creature of the wild,” the knight replied. “If he feels threatened, he will attack you.”
“Not unless I try to take his fish. But I won’t need to, for we have our own.” He held up the two trout. The bear grunted at him, then began to eat its second fish.
The knight lowered his bow, warily. David joined him and asked, “Is the fire ready?”
“It is,” replied the knight, eyeing the boy with curiosity.
Then they heard someone approaching and looked down the brook to see an elderly man striding up the other side.
“Lay down your arrow!” he cried. “That’s my Grissom! That’s my Grissom!” He strode right up to the bear and grabbed the rope. “Stupid beast! You could have been killed, and all for a little fish!”
“You there,” called the knight. “This animal is your property?”
“It is, Sir Knight,” replied the elderly man. “Much to my sorrow, sometimes.”
“Then keep it tethered more securely! We cannot have such creatures roaming the land. Someone might be harmed.”
“Oh, Grissom would never harm a soul, Sir Knight. He was raised by me from a cub. But he does like to go wandering.”
The knight scowled. “The next time he goes ‘wandering,’ his pelt may wind up on a castle floor!”
The elderly man scowled right back. “You don’t have the right to threaten that! Not with a family pet! Ask anyone in these parts; they’ll tell you Grissom’s as gentle as a lamb!”
David could not believe his ears. “How dare you speak to us in such a manner?!” he cried. “This is one of Sir Richard’s knights! And how are we to know your bear’s not dangerous? We’re not from here! He would have every right to shoot it -- !”
“David,” snapped the knight, “leave this to me.” He turned back to the elderly man. “The boy raises a valid point. Had he not noticed the rope around your bear’s neck, he might not have kept me from releasing my arrow. And as he said, we are only passing through. As do more and more people, these days.”
The elderly man withered under the knight’s glare. “I understand, Sir Knight,” he said. “A thousand pardons. I’ll keep Grissom tied up better, in the future.”
“See to it,” said the knight. Then he lead David back to the fire as the elderly man took the bear away.
David was so angry, he could barely eat. To have a stupid old peasant argue with one of Sir Richard’s knights was bad enough. But then to be ordered silent when he was standing up for the man was almost too much to bear. He refused to even look at him through the entire meal.
The rest of the day passed in complete silence. David did not cast even so much as a glance at the knight, but the man did look at him, now and again, seeming even warier.
Then as evening began to descend, they noticed the smoke from a farmhouse trailing into the sky. The man said, “We shall bed there for the night.”
David hesitated, remembering the old man and the farmer and the married couple. “I...I’d rather sleep outside,” he said. “If you don’t mind, Sir Knight.”
In answer, the man turned his stallion from the road and led David to a small clearing. They built a fire to heat the venison, and they ate in silence.
The sky grew darker and darker, adding to David’s sadness...a sadness he could neither explain nor understand. In fact, he could not think of anything. Not his grandmother. Not his mother and father. Not his town. Not even his best friend, Corey. And most especially, he could not think about Sir Richard. Something in him was whispering that this journey was a mistake, that he should turn back before he learned just how many lies and childish assumptions his world had been built upon. He knew the awareness would not be joyous.
To help himself ignore it, he watched a thousand-thousand stars slowly fill the heavens and glisten against the blackness, and finally he offered a gentle smile as embers leapt from the fire in a vain attempt to join the glorious display.
Then a star shot from the sky, flared into brilliance and disappeared. Two more quickly followed.
“Did you see that?” he asked the knight, in wonder.
The man looked at the sky as several more stars flashed past. “I’ve seen them many times,” he said.
“I haven’t,” said David. “Not like this.” Another star shot past...and David heard himself ask, “Sir Knight, have you...have you ever been afraid? Truly afraid?”
The knight stretched and lay back on his blanket. “Many times,” he said as he closed his eyes.
David finally looked at him, for a long long time, then returned to watching the embers dance into the darkness. One final shooting star flared into brilliance as he sighed and whispered, “I haven’t. Not like this.”
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