I've been working on my summary today. When I get it all finished I'll post it and hopefully somebody can tell me if they would buy the book after reading the summary on the back. If not, I'll rewrite--an agent won't be interested in my story if the summary can't sell the book, because that's basically what they would be pitching to a publisher.
I have found that I'm not very good at this whole summary thing, as I think I've mentioned before. I either write a paragraph that would make me want to toss the book in a bargain bin, or I end up writing a page that I would never take the time to read on the back of a book. Rather frustrating, but oh well. This is the next step if I actually want to get somebody to look at my story, so it has to be done. Here's hoping I get it written tonight so I can start working on my first query letter tomorrow!
24 June 2011
10 June 2011
The king's order
“How is it you have failed me for so long?” The question was presented calmly, but Euroin knew his answer could be the difference between life and death.
“My King,” he began, bowing low before the golden throne, “forgive your servant. I have failed you until now, it is true, yet soon the Healer will no longer be a problem. She cannot escape my powers any longer.”
Simann stared at the Wizard, his blue eyes cold and lifeless. “Perhaps not. Or perhaps it is as I have heard whispered around my castle as of late--there exists still a True Wizard with powers which greatly exceed your own.” Euroin tensed, but he did not speak. In King Simann’s court, one did not speak unless given permission. “It is only by my mercy that you and those other four fools were not executed the moment you let that mere boy escape.” Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the King leaned back in his ornate throne. “Your magic has proven worthless thus far. This Healer--from where does she hail?”
“The girl is from Lurn, my King,” the Wizard answered, still bowing, for Simann had not granted him permission to stand in his presence.
“Bring me the Master of the Guard,” the King called out. Standing, Simann walked across the throne room to look out over the courtyard. He was a handsome man, and when the sun touched his blond hair it shone like the purest gold. His muscular frame moved gracefully, almost like a dancer, as he walked across the room. Within minutes the tall guardsman, Erik, was entering the room.
“You called for me, my King?” he asked as he bowed, slightly breathless from running to the throne room.
Without turning from the window Simann spoke. “You will go to Lurn with my army. Find all the traitors and execute them. When the Healer shows herself in her hometown, bring her to me. Leave me now,” he said, not once looking at either man. “It is tiring to have to do everything on my own. Send the Healers to my chambers.”
“Yes, my King,” Euroin said, quickly leaving the throne room. Once in the hall he stood straight, his eyes burning with indignation at being forced to cower before Simann. After passing the King’s demands on to a servant standing outside the door, the angry Wizard stormed out of the main tower of the castle and back to his small cottage in one of the many courtyards. He threw the door open without touching it and sent chairs, tables, and dishes clattering against walls. His black cloak billowed around him as the Wizard stormed through the room, though there was no breeze. With only a glance from the irate Wizard, a fire roared to life in the hearth.
“You seem upset.”
Euroin spun at the words, for the first time seeing the Wizard seated in the corner. “Wizard Uylti, why are you here in my quarters?”
Uylti quickly walked across the room to stand in front of the older Wizard. “Please forgive me for intruding, Master Euroin. I have some urgent news, but I was told you had an audience with the King when I arrived back at the castle so I came to wait for you here. I’m sorry for not waiting outside, but I was weary from---”
“Stop blubbering, you fool,” Euroin interrupted. “I do not wish to hear how your jumps around the kingdom put a drain on your limited powers. Tell me your news.”
“Of course,” Uylti said quietly. “As you are well aware, I have been in Nelthien searching for the traitors.”
Once again the older Wizard interrupted. “Do not tell me what I already know, Uylti. What is so important that you did not simply send word?”
“I- I thought I should, well,” he stammered, his head slightly bowed, “I thought it best to come aid in the training of the lesser Wizards, so I decided to tell you in person. On the border of Finley, in Wykel, there are rumors of a rebellion forming.”
Euroin stared silently at the other Wizard, waiting for him to continue. When it became clear that he had no more to say, the Wizard Euroin asked, “Is that all? Your ‘urgent news’ is that a rebellion is forming? We have known that since Simann first took the throne.”
“But Master Euroin,” Uylti added quickly, “this is different. There have been wagon loads of swords intercepted in Wykel as they were being sent across the border into Finley. This uprising appears to be more than just a few unhappy farmers as in the past. I believe they are forming an army.”
Euroin’s laugh surprised Uylti. “Once again, is that all? King Simann commands the greatest, most highly trained force in Tundyel’s history. They wield the finest weapons in the kingdom, weapons forged in sorcerers’ fires. Do you truly fear field men with inferior blades?” He sat down before the fire, calmer now, before continuing. “And even now all the Wizards in Tundyel are within the castle walls, learning wards and spells as we speak. Since you did not ride back from Nelthien, I suppose you did not encounter the walls Ilcren has been teaching them to weave, walls no ordinary man will be able to breech. Despite their belief in themselves, these rebels will not be able to strike so much as a stone of Castle Tundyel. Our own soldiers would not even have to lift a finger were it not for King Simann’s insane order that they go to Lurn!” Uylti said nothing, unsure of how to react to Euroin’s sudden mood change. Instead he stood quietly as the old Wizard continued.
“I have taken care of the girl myself--soon she will not be giving aid to anyone. Yet Simann is so sure of his own plan that he will have all the people of Lurn killed off before admitting that his order was not needed. Once this… annoyance is taken care of, how does that man expect us to be able to cover his reckless deeds? It proves difficult enough to weave a web to cover the ruins of a swift defeat, yet he expects us to keep the people of his kingdom from knowing that he has wiped out a city one by one!”
“I suppose,” Uylti said, “it must be almost impossible for someone without our powers to understand the complexities of a web of secrecy. Sometimes it seems as if we could better serve a King who possesses the gift--at least to some degree.” Uylti’s eyes widened as he realized the danger of speaking such words aloud and he began rapidly trying to qualify what he said. “Though it would be easier, I would want no other King, even should an heir of Rilso be found. Not that I believe an heir of that family still exists---” A knock on the door saved Uylti from digging what was quickly becoming a deep hole, much to his relief. The younger Wizard knew Euroin would not hesitate to reveal his peer’s uncertainty to Simann, should doing so raise his own status in the King’s Court and give the Wizard more power.
Without even flinching, Euroin opened the door from where he sat across the room. Uylti’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion, for he had never seen the older Wizard move objects without so much as a hand gesture. However, he soon shrugged the thought aside when Alek entered the room, Ilcren close behind. While they were giving reports about the training of the lesser Wizards, Osidius appeared in the doorway. Unlike the younger Wizard Uylti, the other four Wizards had long ago mastered the art of shifting and could easily move around the Kingdom of Tundyel in an instant. Osidius was more precise than the other Wizards and could shift into buildings, something none of the others practiced for fear of shifting into a wall or some other stationary object.
“Master Euroin,” Osidius began, “the prisoner has been sighted moving south through the district of Meinsley. A farmer who arrived in Lurn for the spring market was heard speaking of a man who he spotted running across his land two, perhaps three, nights ago. I ordered the farmer brought to me and questioned him myself, and I believe this man is the traitor we seek.”
Euroin stood facing the other four Wizards of his order. “Perhaps the King’s plan will not prove so worthless. Though he will not be able to draw the Healer out, if this traitor is of any importance to the rebellion forming we may be able to wipe out their force sooner than expected,” he said, the strange light sparking up in his eyes once again.
“My King,” he began, bowing low before the golden throne, “forgive your servant. I have failed you until now, it is true, yet soon the Healer will no longer be a problem. She cannot escape my powers any longer.”
Simann stared at the Wizard, his blue eyes cold and lifeless. “Perhaps not. Or perhaps it is as I have heard whispered around my castle as of late--there exists still a True Wizard with powers which greatly exceed your own.” Euroin tensed, but he did not speak. In King Simann’s court, one did not speak unless given permission. “It is only by my mercy that you and those other four fools were not executed the moment you let that mere boy escape.” Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the King leaned back in his ornate throne. “Your magic has proven worthless thus far. This Healer--from where does she hail?”
“The girl is from Lurn, my King,” the Wizard answered, still bowing, for Simann had not granted him permission to stand in his presence.
“Bring me the Master of the Guard,” the King called out. Standing, Simann walked across the throne room to look out over the courtyard. He was a handsome man, and when the sun touched his blond hair it shone like the purest gold. His muscular frame moved gracefully, almost like a dancer, as he walked across the room. Within minutes the tall guardsman, Erik, was entering the room.
“You called for me, my King?” he asked as he bowed, slightly breathless from running to the throne room.
Without turning from the window Simann spoke. “You will go to Lurn with my army. Find all the traitors and execute them. When the Healer shows herself in her hometown, bring her to me. Leave me now,” he said, not once looking at either man. “It is tiring to have to do everything on my own. Send the Healers to my chambers.”
“Yes, my King,” Euroin said, quickly leaving the throne room. Once in the hall he stood straight, his eyes burning with indignation at being forced to cower before Simann. After passing the King’s demands on to a servant standing outside the door, the angry Wizard stormed out of the main tower of the castle and back to his small cottage in one of the many courtyards. He threw the door open without touching it and sent chairs, tables, and dishes clattering against walls. His black cloak billowed around him as the Wizard stormed through the room, though there was no breeze. With only a glance from the irate Wizard, a fire roared to life in the hearth.
“You seem upset.”
Euroin spun at the words, for the first time seeing the Wizard seated in the corner. “Wizard Uylti, why are you here in my quarters?”
Uylti quickly walked across the room to stand in front of the older Wizard. “Please forgive me for intruding, Master Euroin. I have some urgent news, but I was told you had an audience with the King when I arrived back at the castle so I came to wait for you here. I’m sorry for not waiting outside, but I was weary from---”
“Stop blubbering, you fool,” Euroin interrupted. “I do not wish to hear how your jumps around the kingdom put a drain on your limited powers. Tell me your news.”
“Of course,” Uylti said quietly. “As you are well aware, I have been in Nelthien searching for the traitors.”
Once again the older Wizard interrupted. “Do not tell me what I already know, Uylti. What is so important that you did not simply send word?”
“I- I thought I should, well,” he stammered, his head slightly bowed, “I thought it best to come aid in the training of the lesser Wizards, so I decided to tell you in person. On the border of Finley, in Wykel, there are rumors of a rebellion forming.”
Euroin stared silently at the other Wizard, waiting for him to continue. When it became clear that he had no more to say, the Wizard Euroin asked, “Is that all? Your ‘urgent news’ is that a rebellion is forming? We have known that since Simann first took the throne.”
“But Master Euroin,” Uylti added quickly, “this is different. There have been wagon loads of swords intercepted in Wykel as they were being sent across the border into Finley. This uprising appears to be more than just a few unhappy farmers as in the past. I believe they are forming an army.”
Euroin’s laugh surprised Uylti. “Once again, is that all? King Simann commands the greatest, most highly trained force in Tundyel’s history. They wield the finest weapons in the kingdom, weapons forged in sorcerers’ fires. Do you truly fear field men with inferior blades?” He sat down before the fire, calmer now, before continuing. “And even now all the Wizards in Tundyel are within the castle walls, learning wards and spells as we speak. Since you did not ride back from Nelthien, I suppose you did not encounter the walls Ilcren has been teaching them to weave, walls no ordinary man will be able to breech. Despite their belief in themselves, these rebels will not be able to strike so much as a stone of Castle Tundyel. Our own soldiers would not even have to lift a finger were it not for King Simann’s insane order that they go to Lurn!” Uylti said nothing, unsure of how to react to Euroin’s sudden mood change. Instead he stood quietly as the old Wizard continued.
“I have taken care of the girl myself--soon she will not be giving aid to anyone. Yet Simann is so sure of his own plan that he will have all the people of Lurn killed off before admitting that his order was not needed. Once this… annoyance is taken care of, how does that man expect us to be able to cover his reckless deeds? It proves difficult enough to weave a web to cover the ruins of a swift defeat, yet he expects us to keep the people of his kingdom from knowing that he has wiped out a city one by one!”
“I suppose,” Uylti said, “it must be almost impossible for someone without our powers to understand the complexities of a web of secrecy. Sometimes it seems as if we could better serve a King who possesses the gift--at least to some degree.” Uylti’s eyes widened as he realized the danger of speaking such words aloud and he began rapidly trying to qualify what he said. “Though it would be easier, I would want no other King, even should an heir of Rilso be found. Not that I believe an heir of that family still exists---” A knock on the door saved Uylti from digging what was quickly becoming a deep hole, much to his relief. The younger Wizard knew Euroin would not hesitate to reveal his peer’s uncertainty to Simann, should doing so raise his own status in the King’s Court and give the Wizard more power.
Without even flinching, Euroin opened the door from where he sat across the room. Uylti’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion, for he had never seen the older Wizard move objects without so much as a hand gesture. However, he soon shrugged the thought aside when Alek entered the room, Ilcren close behind. While they were giving reports about the training of the lesser Wizards, Osidius appeared in the doorway. Unlike the younger Wizard Uylti, the other four Wizards had long ago mastered the art of shifting and could easily move around the Kingdom of Tundyel in an instant. Osidius was more precise than the other Wizards and could shift into buildings, something none of the others practiced for fear of shifting into a wall or some other stationary object.
“Master Euroin,” Osidius began, “the prisoner has been sighted moving south through the district of Meinsley. A farmer who arrived in Lurn for the spring market was heard speaking of a man who he spotted running across his land two, perhaps three, nights ago. I ordered the farmer brought to me and questioned him myself, and I believe this man is the traitor we seek.”
Euroin stood facing the other four Wizards of his order. “Perhaps the King’s plan will not prove so worthless. Though he will not be able to draw the Healer out, if this traitor is of any importance to the rebellion forming we may be able to wipe out their force sooner than expected,” he said, the strange light sparking up in his eyes once again.
06 June 2011
something different...
So, I haven't written on here in months, but I figured I finally had something worth writing about.
Just after midnight on Saturday/Sunday, I wrote the last sentence in my story. That doesn't mean that it's finished--far from it, I'm sure. I still have a section in the middle I have no idea how to write and then there will be a BUNCH of editing that I will need to do, but the last sentence is finished. Wow. Kinda hard for me to believe. I started writing this story when we moved out to Oregon in October 2005 and now it's almost like I don't know what to do.
The first part of the journey is done (more or less) and now comes stepping out and actually putting myself out there into the big bad world. Nathan has promised to read my story in the next few nights while he works--he's refused to read more than a sentence or two so far--and then help me write the back-of-the-book-type summary that I need in order to be able to send out query letters. I started a summary, but apparently that is not my forte. I would have had no desire to read the book I was describing, so I know I wouldn't have been able to sell it to someone else!
Since I know nothing about the publishing world, (beside the fact that it's big, scary, and super intimidating) I figure my best shot is to try and get an agent. Hopefully I will be able to find someone who believes in me and is willing to take a shot on a physicist-turned-writer. Well, in all honesty I was a writer long before I became a physicist, but I digress...
So, I will post a little more of my story here from time to time, but from now on this will be more a record of all my attempts to get somebody to read my story. It will at times be the place where I moan and groan about how I haven't heard back from Mr. SuperAgent or about getting yet another rejection. Hopefully, though, one day it will be the place where I post how Ms. AmazingAgent has requested to read my manuscript. Who knows--maybe one day it will be where I post that Fantastic Publishing House has agreed to actually put my story in print--and then I will shamelessly tell you where you can buy it :)
So, fair warning: Lots of emotion will follow!
Just after midnight on Saturday/Sunday, I wrote the last sentence in my story. That doesn't mean that it's finished--far from it, I'm sure. I still have a section in the middle I have no idea how to write and then there will be a BUNCH of editing that I will need to do, but the last sentence is finished. Wow. Kinda hard for me to believe. I started writing this story when we moved out to Oregon in October 2005 and now it's almost like I don't know what to do.
The first part of the journey is done (more or less) and now comes stepping out and actually putting myself out there into the big bad world. Nathan has promised to read my story in the next few nights while he works--he's refused to read more than a sentence or two so far--and then help me write the back-of-the-book-type summary that I need in order to be able to send out query letters. I started a summary, but apparently that is not my forte. I would have had no desire to read the book I was describing, so I know I wouldn't have been able to sell it to someone else!
Since I know nothing about the publishing world, (beside the fact that it's big, scary, and super intimidating) I figure my best shot is to try and get an agent. Hopefully I will be able to find someone who believes in me and is willing to take a shot on a physicist-turned-writer. Well, in all honesty I was a writer long before I became a physicist, but I digress...
So, I will post a little more of my story here from time to time, but from now on this will be more a record of all my attempts to get somebody to read my story. It will at times be the place where I moan and groan about how I haven't heard back from Mr. SuperAgent or about getting yet another rejection. Hopefully, though, one day it will be the place where I post how Ms. AmazingAgent has requested to read my manuscript. Who knows--maybe one day it will be where I post that Fantastic Publishing House has agreed to actually put my story in print--and then I will shamelessly tell you where you can buy it :)
So, fair warning: Lots of emotion will follow!
06 January 2011
A Delay
Hearing water rippling close by, Syndria pushed her way through briers and thorn bushes to collapse on the bank of the small stream. She dropped the pack Tamara had prepared for her next to her lap, then leaned forward and dipped her hands into the clear water. The stream flowed from a spring to the north, so it was surprisingly cold. Splashing some on her face, Syndria gasped as the icy water quickly snapped her out of the trance-like state she had walked in for the last few hours. Wiping her hands on the cleanest spot she could find on her gown, the girl untied the pack in anticipation of a chunk of Tamara’s sweetbread. Her eyes widened in delight as she took in the pack’s contents. Besides the sweetbread, Tamara had packed a hunk of salted pork and fresh cheese. There was also a small bundle tied in red trim, and Syndria’s mouth watered as she realized the pretty little bundle held molasses candies she had helped Lyddie make. Once the food was out of the pack, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Syndria tore off the soiled gown she had been wearing and tossed it aside. There in the bottom of the pack lay the deep red dress Tamara had first altered for the girl. She splashed the cold water from the stream over her body, more concerned about not getting the dress dirty than with the sting she got from the icy stream in the morning breeze. She pulled the red gown on over her head, smiling with delight at the thought of Tamara’s loving gesture. Feeling refreshed in the new gown, Syndria settled down to eat. She tucked the candies into her pocket for later, knowing that if she ate even one now she would devour them all. Just as she took a big bite out of the pork, she heard a twig snap in the forest behind her.
Lowering the pork to her lap, the young Healer cautiously peered over her shoulder into the trees. There, crouching low and almost invisible under the thick brush, waited a large tan cougar, its golden eyes intent on the girl by the water. Its haunches quivered as the cougar prepared to leap, and Syndria felt a chill run up her spine as she watched the beast lick its lips.
She rose slowly to her feet and turned to face the beast, hoping it would not be brazen enough--or starving enough--to pounce while she matched its gaze. Much to her relief, the cat didn’t leap. However, that relief soon changed to a different kind of terror as the tawny mountain lion began to inch forward.
Syndria stood frozen, her wide eyes never leaving the cougar. Never before had she seen a wild animal so boldly approach a human. There had been a man in Lurn when she was a child who had tamed a wolf, but he had raised it from a pup. As the cougar crawled out of the bushes into the light, the Healer could see what had made the beast desperate enough to risk coming near. Its right hind leg was bloody and badly mangled. Patches of hair were missing and in one place low on its leg Syndria could see the white of a bone showing through.
Immediately all fears flew out of her mind as the compassion of a Healer pushed aside all other feelings. Stooping slowly so as not to frighten the injured animal approaching her, she picked up the salt pork from where it had fallen onto the ground. The cat stopped in its tracks, unsure of what to do next. Its eyes darted back and forth, looking from the meat in the Healer’s hand to the woods behind. Tossing the large chunk a few feet closer to the cougar, Syndria moved back toward the water’s edge and sat still. Cautiously the cougar hobbled forward, a wary eye constantly on the human just a few yards away. Once it reached the meat all thoughts of Syndria seemed to vanish as the big cat devoured the pork, seeing as how it never once looked at the girl.
Syndria’s heart broke as she watched the poor animal. Judging by the ravenous way the cougar attacked the pork, it had not eaten since the injury. Since she was so young when her gift had been revealed, Syndria had often managed to sneak away from Nedra during her training and use her gift on injured animals. She had healed birds with broken wings and kittens with thorns in their paws. She knew that she could help the mountain lion if only she could place her hands on the terrible injury. However, Syndria had no idea how she would be able to get close to the devastating injury without coming into contact with the teeth that were tearing into the salt pork or the terrible claws already extended.
Syndria settled in by the brook, watching the starving animal. The meat vanished quickly and the cougar began sniffing the air. It soon spotted the fresh cheese and sweetbread still lying on the untied pack halfway between it and the Healer, but was too wary of the human to approach. Syndria looked away from the cat and sat silently watching the brook trickle over smooth stones. Though she knew staying in one place for too long while she was running from the castle was dangerous, the Healer’s empathy won out over the girl’s fear, and Syndria waited for three hours before the injured animal drew close enough to eat the bread and cheese. Another long wait found the large cougar limping up to the small brook, now starting to ignore the girl just a few yards upstream.
After drinking its fill, the big cat lay down beside the water and began licking its hind leg to clean the terrible wound. Soon though, the cougar seemed to finally give in to what must have been excruciating pain and lay still, its golden eyes watching Syndria with only mild curiosity. Slowly the young Healer began inching toward the big cat, careful not to look at it. The cougar didn’t move or tense up; it just lay watching the girl. As Syndria moved into the mountain lion’s reach she made herself stay calm. Her breathing was slow and steady, her movements smooth as she reached out toward the cat. The Healer had no idea what would happen next, but she knew she had to be ready for the worst. What happened as her hand got closer to the animal, though, was like nothing Syndria had imagined.
The cougar looked away from Syndria, seemingly unconcerned with her presence. The Healer didn’t hesitate, afraid even the slightest hesitation would unnerve her or make the cougar reconsider its trust in her. As she placed her hands gently on the wounded leg and let the healing life flow through to the cat, nothing else mattered to Syndria. She no longer worried about her own safety from either the cougar or King Simann because everything she was, was now focused on healing. She drew the big cat’s pain into herself, a little shocked at the intensity. Finally, she could sense that the animal was whole again. Immediately the cougar’s muscles tensed under Syndria’s touch and he jumped up, knocking the Healer off balance in his haste. In a flash he was back in the trees, no sign of his presence left beside the stream. Looking around her, Syndria almost wondered if the injured cougar had been part of a dream, that maybe she had fallen asleep beside the stream and just imagined the whole thing. She soon pushed that thought aside, though, for she could feel the drain healing the cougar had put on her gift. She sat still for a moment to gather herself before moving on. Standing a few minutes later, she picked up the pack Tamara had sent with her. Not a crumb was left of the food and now Syndria’s stomach began to rumble as she remembered how hungry she was. The Healer shrugged her shoulders, for she knew there wasn’t anything she could do at the moment. Turning back to the water, Syndria decided to follow the brook southwest. Maybe she would come upon someone living along the water before reaching Saun who would be willing to spare some food. It would be safer if she could find someone outside of the city, since they would be less likely to know her as the Healer running from King Simann. A smile crossed her face when she remembered the small bundle in her pocket. Pulling it out by its red ribbon, Syndria took out a candy and popped it into her mouth, savoring the sweetness and hoping the sugar would give her enough energy to hold her over until she could find someplace to get some food.
Lowering the pork to her lap, the young Healer cautiously peered over her shoulder into the trees. There, crouching low and almost invisible under the thick brush, waited a large tan cougar, its golden eyes intent on the girl by the water. Its haunches quivered as the cougar prepared to leap, and Syndria felt a chill run up her spine as she watched the beast lick its lips.
She rose slowly to her feet and turned to face the beast, hoping it would not be brazen enough--or starving enough--to pounce while she matched its gaze. Much to her relief, the cat didn’t leap. However, that relief soon changed to a different kind of terror as the tawny mountain lion began to inch forward.
Syndria stood frozen, her wide eyes never leaving the cougar. Never before had she seen a wild animal so boldly approach a human. There had been a man in Lurn when she was a child who had tamed a wolf, but he had raised it from a pup. As the cougar crawled out of the bushes into the light, the Healer could see what had made the beast desperate enough to risk coming near. Its right hind leg was bloody and badly mangled. Patches of hair were missing and in one place low on its leg Syndria could see the white of a bone showing through.
Immediately all fears flew out of her mind as the compassion of a Healer pushed aside all other feelings. Stooping slowly so as not to frighten the injured animal approaching her, she picked up the salt pork from where it had fallen onto the ground. The cat stopped in its tracks, unsure of what to do next. Its eyes darted back and forth, looking from the meat in the Healer’s hand to the woods behind. Tossing the large chunk a few feet closer to the cougar, Syndria moved back toward the water’s edge and sat still. Cautiously the cougar hobbled forward, a wary eye constantly on the human just a few yards away. Once it reached the meat all thoughts of Syndria seemed to vanish as the big cat devoured the pork, seeing as how it never once looked at the girl.
Syndria’s heart broke as she watched the poor animal. Judging by the ravenous way the cougar attacked the pork, it had not eaten since the injury. Since she was so young when her gift had been revealed, Syndria had often managed to sneak away from Nedra during her training and use her gift on injured animals. She had healed birds with broken wings and kittens with thorns in their paws. She knew that she could help the mountain lion if only she could place her hands on the terrible injury. However, Syndria had no idea how she would be able to get close to the devastating injury without coming into contact with the teeth that were tearing into the salt pork or the terrible claws already extended.
Syndria settled in by the brook, watching the starving animal. The meat vanished quickly and the cougar began sniffing the air. It soon spotted the fresh cheese and sweetbread still lying on the untied pack halfway between it and the Healer, but was too wary of the human to approach. Syndria looked away from the cat and sat silently watching the brook trickle over smooth stones. Though she knew staying in one place for too long while she was running from the castle was dangerous, the Healer’s empathy won out over the girl’s fear, and Syndria waited for three hours before the injured animal drew close enough to eat the bread and cheese. Another long wait found the large cougar limping up to the small brook, now starting to ignore the girl just a few yards upstream.
After drinking its fill, the big cat lay down beside the water and began licking its hind leg to clean the terrible wound. Soon though, the cougar seemed to finally give in to what must have been excruciating pain and lay still, its golden eyes watching Syndria with only mild curiosity. Slowly the young Healer began inching toward the big cat, careful not to look at it. The cougar didn’t move or tense up; it just lay watching the girl. As Syndria moved into the mountain lion’s reach she made herself stay calm. Her breathing was slow and steady, her movements smooth as she reached out toward the cat. The Healer had no idea what would happen next, but she knew she had to be ready for the worst. What happened as her hand got closer to the animal, though, was like nothing Syndria had imagined.
The cougar looked away from Syndria, seemingly unconcerned with her presence. The Healer didn’t hesitate, afraid even the slightest hesitation would unnerve her or make the cougar reconsider its trust in her. As she placed her hands gently on the wounded leg and let the healing life flow through to the cat, nothing else mattered to Syndria. She no longer worried about her own safety from either the cougar or King Simann because everything she was, was now focused on healing. She drew the big cat’s pain into herself, a little shocked at the intensity. Finally, she could sense that the animal was whole again. Immediately the cougar’s muscles tensed under Syndria’s touch and he jumped up, knocking the Healer off balance in his haste. In a flash he was back in the trees, no sign of his presence left beside the stream. Looking around her, Syndria almost wondered if the injured cougar had been part of a dream, that maybe she had fallen asleep beside the stream and just imagined the whole thing. She soon pushed that thought aside, though, for she could feel the drain healing the cougar had put on her gift. She sat still for a moment to gather herself before moving on. Standing a few minutes later, she picked up the pack Tamara had sent with her. Not a crumb was left of the food and now Syndria’s stomach began to rumble as she remembered how hungry she was. The Healer shrugged her shoulders, for she knew there wasn’t anything she could do at the moment. Turning back to the water, Syndria decided to follow the brook southwest. Maybe she would come upon someone living along the water before reaching Saun who would be willing to spare some food. It would be safer if she could find someone outside of the city, since they would be less likely to know her as the Healer running from King Simann. A smile crossed her face when she remembered the small bundle in her pocket. Pulling it out by its red ribbon, Syndria took out a candy and popped it into her mouth, savoring the sweetness and hoping the sugar would give her enough energy to hold her over until she could find someplace to get some food.
20 November 2010
The Master Wizard
Euroin’s black cloak swirled in the still room, whipped around by an invisible force. The Wizard stood in the north tower of the castle, a tower seldom visited. This tower had imprisoned the True Wizards prior to their executions, binding them in a web of powerful spells none of them had been able to untangle fast enough. Only when all of them died had the web suddenly snapped, leaving in its ruins the remnants of dark and dangerous magic. Though the Royal Wizards were quick to use any powers available to them in their service to the King, through the years none had called upon the dark magic created out of the murder of the three True Wizards. Tonight, though, Euroin planned to do just that.
The room he stood in was small but ornate. It had once served as the meeting place for the King and the Wizards, and marble statues stood against each wall. What once had been beautiful likenesses of the creatures which roamed Tundyel had taken on menacing appearances the moment the True Wizards died. Regal cougars now looked like ravaged, starving hunters intent on the kill; mother bears that had been protecting their cubs were now ready to devour them. The room was filled with an evil you could feel even before stepping over the marble threshold.
Since the Healer had first escaped the castle, Euroin had been focusing on finding her. He had been searching across the kingdom but had not been able to detect the girl’s presence anywhere. The only explanation was that she had been hidden by magic, so Euroin had begun searching through every trace of spells in Tundyel, sifting through the layers to find what had been hidden underneath. Despite all his best efforts, Euroin had found nothing more than the simple spells cast by his fellow Wizards to cover memories of King Simann’s atrocities or the complex webs made to hide the ruins of some village or farm the Royal Guard had destroyed. Nowhere could he find a spell covering the young Healer. Before now, anytime Euroin wasn’t able to find someone he concentrated on was because that person was dead. This time, though, Euroin knew this was not the case. He had not been able to find either the Healer or the prisoner since they had left the castle. As much as Euroin despised the idea, the Wizard had been forced to admit that some more powerful form of magic was hiding both traitors. To Euroin, this meant there was only one thing left to do. That was what had brought him to the North Tower.
His eyes closed, Euroin watched as strange remnants of magic swirled around him. Many of the spells were utterly foreign to the Wizard, spinning in colors and patterns he had never seen and couldn’t name. Throwing his arms out wide, Euroin called the spells to him and felt the dangerous magic coursing through his body. It took all his strength to keep the magic from overpowering him and destroying him where he stood. The dark magic battered the Wizard, tossing him about the room and crashing him into the many statues. The strange new power sent shock waves through his body as Euroin struggled to regain control. His mind was completely empty of all else--the only thing he could see was the swirling magic. As he was being thrown around the tower, Euroin blocked the pain out and tried to concentrate on finding the right spell. He couldn’t find the Healer, but the Wizard was determined to stop the girl. Suddenly he fell to the floor, the malevolent magic leaving him in a heap on the cold stone.
For a moment Euroin didn’t remember what had happened. He looked around in a daze for the marble statues, most of which had been knocked to the ground while the Wizard was being thrown around. Confusion spread across his face when he saw that some of the animals were gone. The confusion changed to satisfaction as understanding dawned on him. The young Healer would soon face an unimaginable challenge, one she had no chance of surmounting on her own.
The room he stood in was small but ornate. It had once served as the meeting place for the King and the Wizards, and marble statues stood against each wall. What once had been beautiful likenesses of the creatures which roamed Tundyel had taken on menacing appearances the moment the True Wizards died. Regal cougars now looked like ravaged, starving hunters intent on the kill; mother bears that had been protecting their cubs were now ready to devour them. The room was filled with an evil you could feel even before stepping over the marble threshold.
Since the Healer had first escaped the castle, Euroin had been focusing on finding her. He had been searching across the kingdom but had not been able to detect the girl’s presence anywhere. The only explanation was that she had been hidden by magic, so Euroin had begun searching through every trace of spells in Tundyel, sifting through the layers to find what had been hidden underneath. Despite all his best efforts, Euroin had found nothing more than the simple spells cast by his fellow Wizards to cover memories of King Simann’s atrocities or the complex webs made to hide the ruins of some village or farm the Royal Guard had destroyed. Nowhere could he find a spell covering the young Healer. Before now, anytime Euroin wasn’t able to find someone he concentrated on was because that person was dead. This time, though, Euroin knew this was not the case. He had not been able to find either the Healer or the prisoner since they had left the castle. As much as Euroin despised the idea, the Wizard had been forced to admit that some more powerful form of magic was hiding both traitors. To Euroin, this meant there was only one thing left to do. That was what had brought him to the North Tower.
His eyes closed, Euroin watched as strange remnants of magic swirled around him. Many of the spells were utterly foreign to the Wizard, spinning in colors and patterns he had never seen and couldn’t name. Throwing his arms out wide, Euroin called the spells to him and felt the dangerous magic coursing through his body. It took all his strength to keep the magic from overpowering him and destroying him where he stood. The dark magic battered the Wizard, tossing him about the room and crashing him into the many statues. The strange new power sent shock waves through his body as Euroin struggled to regain control. His mind was completely empty of all else--the only thing he could see was the swirling magic. As he was being thrown around the tower, Euroin blocked the pain out and tried to concentrate on finding the right spell. He couldn’t find the Healer, but the Wizard was determined to stop the girl. Suddenly he fell to the floor, the malevolent magic leaving him in a heap on the cold stone.
For a moment Euroin didn’t remember what had happened. He looked around in a daze for the marble statues, most of which had been knocked to the ground while the Wizard was being thrown around. Confusion spread across his face when he saw that some of the animals were gone. The confusion changed to satisfaction as understanding dawned on him. The young Healer would soon face an unimaginable challenge, one she had no chance of surmounting on her own.
10 November 2010
Syndria
Smothering the curse under her breath which threatened to escape through clenched teeth, Syndria pushed herself up out of the unladylike heap in which she had landed. Though the moon shone brightly high above the trees, the ground underneath was dark. This was not the first time the Healer had tripped over some hidden root in her haste, and Syndria could feel the throb of a sprained ankle. The pain didn’t bother her--she had dealt with much worse in her years of healing--but the limp caused by her injury frustrated her. Though a Healer had the ability to heal any injury in others she could not use her gift on herself, so Syndria just kept moving. She knew the sprain wouldn’t be able to heal naturally unless she gave her ankle a chance to rest yet there was no choice but to keep moving. If she stopped this close to Caron it would be only a matter of hours before King Simann’s Royal Guard was upon her.
“Yeah!” she scoffed, “As if I have much more than hours anyway. I’m certain the King has his Wizards following my every move, biding their time. After all, King Simann wouldn’t want to waste any energy having his guards follow me if they can just wait until I stop somewhere.” Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, Syndria brushed aside all her negative thoughts. “So, I just keep moving until I find someone, anyone, to help in my cause. Men are taken to the castle weekly for questioning and torture--surely I am not so blind to the intentions of others that I cannot find the men who oppose Simann’s cruelty. If any of the Ancient’s gift for reading people rubbed off on me through the years, now is when I need it.”
Dusting off her beautiful gown, hoisting the pack to her shoulder, and taking a deep breath, the young Healer picked up her pace. Looking around in the moonlight she took in the trees, the bushes, the flowers just starting to peak out. Somewhere above her an owl hooted, and a brook babbled in the distance. At the base of a tall oak Syndria spotted sticks and twigs leaned up against the trunk, undoubtedly the workings of some child erecting what his mind’s eye saw as a mighty fortress. This land was what she must fight for, its people her master. If they could not see Simann for the tyrant he truly was, it was the young Healer’s duty to open their eyes to the truth. She would fight to free her people, even if the battle seemed futile. If needed, Syndria was willing to sacrifice her own life to see the good people of Tundyel freed form Simann’s oppression.
“Yeah!” she scoffed, “As if I have much more than hours anyway. I’m certain the King has his Wizards following my every move, biding their time. After all, King Simann wouldn’t want to waste any energy having his guards follow me if they can just wait until I stop somewhere.” Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, Syndria brushed aside all her negative thoughts. “So, I just keep moving until I find someone, anyone, to help in my cause. Men are taken to the castle weekly for questioning and torture--surely I am not so blind to the intentions of others that I cannot find the men who oppose Simann’s cruelty. If any of the Ancient’s gift for reading people rubbed off on me through the years, now is when I need it.”
Dusting off her beautiful gown, hoisting the pack to her shoulder, and taking a deep breath, the young Healer picked up her pace. Looking around in the moonlight she took in the trees, the bushes, the flowers just starting to peak out. Somewhere above her an owl hooted, and a brook babbled in the distance. At the base of a tall oak Syndria spotted sticks and twigs leaned up against the trunk, undoubtedly the workings of some child erecting what his mind’s eye saw as a mighty fortress. This land was what she must fight for, its people her master. If they could not see Simann for the tyrant he truly was, it was the young Healer’s duty to open their eyes to the truth. She would fight to free her people, even if the battle seemed futile. If needed, Syndria was willing to sacrifice her own life to see the good people of Tundyel freed form Simann’s oppression.
31 October 2010
Simann's cruelty
This section jumps back to Paodin, the night right after he met Audon and his mother.
***
As Paodin pulled off his boots and laid his pack aside, he thought about the boy’s reaction when he had mentioned the King. Though Audon had raised his son with the knowledge that Simann was not the true King, Paodin had rarely seen the hatred this young boy’s heart held for Simann even in the resistance fighters of Gelci. What had happened to cause the boy to be filled with such rage for a man most adored? Shrugging, Paodin knew he would not find the answer to his question in the dark barn, so he settled back into his makeshift bed and pulled the lighter blanket over himself. Just as he closed his eyes, Paodin heard something moving around outside. Jumping quickly to a crouched position he grabbed his boots and pulled them back on as he peered out the small stall window. In the moonlight he could clearly see a shadowy man making his way toward the chicken coop from the tree line behind the widow’s house. Remembering Adair’s earlier statement about having lost too many birds already, Paodin pulled his sword and silently made his way to the barn door, ready to face the man who was apparently the cause of that loss.
Sneaking across the yard behind the man, Paodin approached cautiously. He had encountered a limited number of thieves in his life, and not one of them had been ill prepared for a confrontation. Though this coward stole from a blind widow and her son under the cover of darkness, Paodin thought it better to err on the side of caution than to run full speed into the point of the robber’s blade. A few steps behind the man, Paodin extended his sword and placed the tip against the base of the thief’s neck.
“Stand, coward,” he whispered intensely, “and face me.” As the man turned, Paodin spotted the tools in his hands.
“Lower, your sword, good fellow,” the man said quietly, “and tell me how you have come to be staying with Evan’s widow.”
Paodin ignored the man’s request and kept the sword positioned at the stranger’s throat. “The mistress of the house is fully aware of my presence. It is you who should explain yourself. Move toward the barn, away from the house. I do not wish to alarm its occupants.”
“Nor do I, lad.” The man nodded slightly as he slowly stepped forward, Paodin’s sword never losing contact with his skin. The two men moved quickly toward the barn, Paodin keeping a steady pressure on the thief’s neck. Though he had no desire to kill the man standing before him, he would not hesitate if the man’s actions proved such drastic measures to be necessarily. Once inside the barn Paodin backed his prisoner into one of the many empty stalls before lowering his sword slightly. He studied the man in the pale moonlight as he questioned him.
“Speak now, man,” Paodin said, his voice calm. “What are your intentions here toward Lady Brigitte?” Even as he spoke, Paodin was forced to admit to himself that the man looked nothing like a thief. He was well dressed and well groomed, though not clean shaven or in fine clothes.
“Despite my appearance at the chicken coop,” the man began, his voice as calm as his accuser’s, “you have my word that I intended to do nothing more than mend the fence. The boy- Adair- mentioned in town this morning that he would be working on it today. Judging by the workmanship,” he continued, “it would seem he had some help.” Raising his eyebrows the man gazed steadily at his captor.
Paodin pondered the man’s words silently before he spoke again. “Your words seem honorable, but what reason do I have to believe you?” Unconsciously Paodin had lowered his sword even more and now rested the point of the toe of his boot as he listened to the man’s reply.
A smirk tugged lightly at the corners of the man’s mouth. “Surely you are not blind! Look around--can you honestly tell yourself that this place has been cared for by a child and his blind mother? While the lady of this house is indeed very capable, I fear she was not one for farm work even before her injury, though not from a lack of trying.”
“Perhaps I am a fool,” Paodin sighed after a long silence, “but I believe you.” Looking around the dim barn he spied a milk bucket in a corner. Whatever cow the widow had milked, it had dried up long ago. Paodin wiped cobwebs coated with dirt off the bucket and then tossed it to the man still standing in the empty stall. “Have a seat and we will talk.” Stepping over to his makeshift pallet in the next stall, Paodin picked up a small box which appeared to have once housed a farmer’s tools and then turned to the man.
“You seem to know Lady Brigitte well,” Paodin began. “Why do you come to help under cover of darkness?”
“It seems I have known her my entire life,” the man smiled, sitting. “Her husband Evan was my best friend and sole confidant. Before we speak of the lady, though, I would like to know who I am speaking with, if you will do me that courtesy.”
“Of course, sir. My name is Paodin, son of Audon of Gelci. Right now I am on a journey of sorts, which has led me far from home and exposed some formidable enemies.”
“Ah!” the man exclaimed. “I have done business with your father on occasion, whenever he has found the time to travel down here to Lurn. I suppose you are the young boy who was with him on those trips. He is a good man and I have little reason to doubt he has raised his son to be honorable as well.” Leaning back casually against the barn wall, he continued. “My name is Jamis. Because of your father, I believe I am safe in speaking freely with you. Now, you asked why I come under cover of night?” When Paodin nodded, Jamis answered with a question of his own: “Did the boy know you were correcting him?”
Paodin frowned. “How could I tell him so? Adair is proud and believes himself capable of providing for his mother---”
“Exactly,” Jamis interrupted. “I owe it to Evan to look after his family since he was killed, but I cannot do that at the expense of his son. The boy has been thrust into manhood much too early, it is true, but despite his youth he is very much a man. Without his pride, his dignity, a man is nothing.”
Nodding his understanding, Paodin asked the older man, “You said your friend was killed. Was that attack the same one that left his widow scarred and started the fire of hatred for King Simann burning in his son’s heart?”
Studying Paodin, Jamis replied, “So, the boy has told you of his contempt for our King.”
“Not in so many words, no. I believe his statement was that he would like to run him through with a pitchfork.”
Jamis laughed, a rich, though bitter, laugh that seemed to fill the barn. “Adair has never been one to mince words, much like his father. I fear that one day that trait will earn him the same fate as Evan. My friend was… not happy with the King, and he was one of a few who were very vocal about their opinions. They came in the night, the guards, and attacked Evan and Brigitte as they slept. Evan never had a chance to even defend himself. He and his bride were both left for dead, but not before the King himself had a chance to steal everything of worth from them both. Evan was forced to watch, bleeding and helpless, as Simann raped his wife and then slashed her face, leaving the scars you see today. Brigitte then heard her husband die at the hands of Tundyel’s beloved King.” Jamis’ words were full of hatred and pain as he continued. “I don’t know why the boy was left alone. Maybe Simann saw how much more cruel it would be to leave the child with his dead parents. Or it could be that he just didn’t care what happened to the boy. Perhaps Adair was attacked but in a way that left no visual scars. We will probably never know. Yet somehow the nine year old boy was able to nurse his mother back to health. He has been taking care of her for close to three years now, with only a few nightly repairs from me.”
***
As Paodin pulled off his boots and laid his pack aside, he thought about the boy’s reaction when he had mentioned the King. Though Audon had raised his son with the knowledge that Simann was not the true King, Paodin had rarely seen the hatred this young boy’s heart held for Simann even in the resistance fighters of Gelci. What had happened to cause the boy to be filled with such rage for a man most adored? Shrugging, Paodin knew he would not find the answer to his question in the dark barn, so he settled back into his makeshift bed and pulled the lighter blanket over himself. Just as he closed his eyes, Paodin heard something moving around outside. Jumping quickly to a crouched position he grabbed his boots and pulled them back on as he peered out the small stall window. In the moonlight he could clearly see a shadowy man making his way toward the chicken coop from the tree line behind the widow’s house. Remembering Adair’s earlier statement about having lost too many birds already, Paodin pulled his sword and silently made his way to the barn door, ready to face the man who was apparently the cause of that loss.
Sneaking across the yard behind the man, Paodin approached cautiously. He had encountered a limited number of thieves in his life, and not one of them had been ill prepared for a confrontation. Though this coward stole from a blind widow and her son under the cover of darkness, Paodin thought it better to err on the side of caution than to run full speed into the point of the robber’s blade. A few steps behind the man, Paodin extended his sword and placed the tip against the base of the thief’s neck.
“Stand, coward,” he whispered intensely, “and face me.” As the man turned, Paodin spotted the tools in his hands.
“Lower, your sword, good fellow,” the man said quietly, “and tell me how you have come to be staying with Evan’s widow.”
Paodin ignored the man’s request and kept the sword positioned at the stranger’s throat. “The mistress of the house is fully aware of my presence. It is you who should explain yourself. Move toward the barn, away from the house. I do not wish to alarm its occupants.”
“Nor do I, lad.” The man nodded slightly as he slowly stepped forward, Paodin’s sword never losing contact with his skin. The two men moved quickly toward the barn, Paodin keeping a steady pressure on the thief’s neck. Though he had no desire to kill the man standing before him, he would not hesitate if the man’s actions proved such drastic measures to be necessarily. Once inside the barn Paodin backed his prisoner into one of the many empty stalls before lowering his sword slightly. He studied the man in the pale moonlight as he questioned him.
“Speak now, man,” Paodin said, his voice calm. “What are your intentions here toward Lady Brigitte?” Even as he spoke, Paodin was forced to admit to himself that the man looked nothing like a thief. He was well dressed and well groomed, though not clean shaven or in fine clothes.
“Despite my appearance at the chicken coop,” the man began, his voice as calm as his accuser’s, “you have my word that I intended to do nothing more than mend the fence. The boy- Adair- mentioned in town this morning that he would be working on it today. Judging by the workmanship,” he continued, “it would seem he had some help.” Raising his eyebrows the man gazed steadily at his captor.
Paodin pondered the man’s words silently before he spoke again. “Your words seem honorable, but what reason do I have to believe you?” Unconsciously Paodin had lowered his sword even more and now rested the point of the toe of his boot as he listened to the man’s reply.
A smirk tugged lightly at the corners of the man’s mouth. “Surely you are not blind! Look around--can you honestly tell yourself that this place has been cared for by a child and his blind mother? While the lady of this house is indeed very capable, I fear she was not one for farm work even before her injury, though not from a lack of trying.”
“Perhaps I am a fool,” Paodin sighed after a long silence, “but I believe you.” Looking around the dim barn he spied a milk bucket in a corner. Whatever cow the widow had milked, it had dried up long ago. Paodin wiped cobwebs coated with dirt off the bucket and then tossed it to the man still standing in the empty stall. “Have a seat and we will talk.” Stepping over to his makeshift pallet in the next stall, Paodin picked up a small box which appeared to have once housed a farmer’s tools and then turned to the man.
“You seem to know Lady Brigitte well,” Paodin began. “Why do you come to help under cover of darkness?”
“It seems I have known her my entire life,” the man smiled, sitting. “Her husband Evan was my best friend and sole confidant. Before we speak of the lady, though, I would like to know who I am speaking with, if you will do me that courtesy.”
“Of course, sir. My name is Paodin, son of Audon of Gelci. Right now I am on a journey of sorts, which has led me far from home and exposed some formidable enemies.”
“Ah!” the man exclaimed. “I have done business with your father on occasion, whenever he has found the time to travel down here to Lurn. I suppose you are the young boy who was with him on those trips. He is a good man and I have little reason to doubt he has raised his son to be honorable as well.” Leaning back casually against the barn wall, he continued. “My name is Jamis. Because of your father, I believe I am safe in speaking freely with you. Now, you asked why I come under cover of night?” When Paodin nodded, Jamis answered with a question of his own: “Did the boy know you were correcting him?”
Paodin frowned. “How could I tell him so? Adair is proud and believes himself capable of providing for his mother---”
“Exactly,” Jamis interrupted. “I owe it to Evan to look after his family since he was killed, but I cannot do that at the expense of his son. The boy has been thrust into manhood much too early, it is true, but despite his youth he is very much a man. Without his pride, his dignity, a man is nothing.”
Nodding his understanding, Paodin asked the older man, “You said your friend was killed. Was that attack the same one that left his widow scarred and started the fire of hatred for King Simann burning in his son’s heart?”
Studying Paodin, Jamis replied, “So, the boy has told you of his contempt for our King.”
“Not in so many words, no. I believe his statement was that he would like to run him through with a pitchfork.”
Jamis laughed, a rich, though bitter, laugh that seemed to fill the barn. “Adair has never been one to mince words, much like his father. I fear that one day that trait will earn him the same fate as Evan. My friend was… not happy with the King, and he was one of a few who were very vocal about their opinions. They came in the night, the guards, and attacked Evan and Brigitte as they slept. Evan never had a chance to even defend himself. He and his bride were both left for dead, but not before the King himself had a chance to steal everything of worth from them both. Evan was forced to watch, bleeding and helpless, as Simann raped his wife and then slashed her face, leaving the scars you see today. Brigitte then heard her husband die at the hands of Tundyel’s beloved King.” Jamis’ words were full of hatred and pain as he continued. “I don’t know why the boy was left alone. Maybe Simann saw how much more cruel it would be to leave the child with his dead parents. Or it could be that he just didn’t care what happened to the boy. Perhaps Adair was attacked but in a way that left no visual scars. We will probably never know. Yet somehow the nine year old boy was able to nurse his mother back to health. He has been taking care of her for close to three years now, with only a few nightly repairs from me.”
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