Head Above Water

I don’t have a ton of time to write seeing as how I have a full time job that steals all my energy on a consistent basis, but lightning struck me a few days ago at 4am and I made sure I got this one down on paper. Hope you all enjoy. Yes, It’s about aliens. Yes, I am weird.


Head Above Water


Teri Ann Harvey

I mourn the man that never existed, ripped away so suddenly as I was removed from the system. I can almost see him as my eyes flutter around consciousness, eyes that have never seen anything. I can almost see him. He was here and then gone. Neither of us is real, I realize. It was all a lie, our lives.
I smell the harsh smell of salt with the nose I’d never actually used before. It burns in my nostrils. That is the truth. I feel the chill of salty water surrounding me, penetrating my every pore. That is the truth and It makes me shiver. Through the pale white light above me, I can almost see him. His skin glistens, and his big black eyes stare down at me with pity. I close my eyes once again and he’s gone. I mourn. I want to believe the lie.
I feel the heat of his hand on my cheek as he brings me out of the water, gentle as a mother lifting an infant into her arms. Lungs burn. This is real. I struggle. Then I can feel his long arms snaking around me, cradling me. His face so close to mine. I can’t help but love him. I want to open my eyes again, but he forbids it. I have no choice, but I relax in his arms.
“This one is awakening.”
He did not say the words aloud; my ears did not hear his voice. The words were spoken in my head as he gently held my eyes closed. I could hear the salt as it was being poured into the water around me. That was real.
“Stay asleep, little one. You are safe.”
That was a lie. My eyes struggled, but I loved him. I knew him. I wanted to see his truth once and for all. Hands, I had them. They were right there in his. Body, it was there. I could sense the muscles and bones, flex my fingers and toes. Eyes, paralyzed like the rest of my body parts. All I could manage was a desperate flutter of eyelids.
“I want to see you. I want to see the truth.”
“No, little one. We mustn’t. We must keep you safe. You are very special.”
“I don’t love the lie. I love you.”
“I am the lie I must protect you from.”
“I’ve seen you once before.”
“You think you have?”
“That was a lie.”
“That was a dream.”
“Was that safe?”
“Yes, the dream is safe.”
“But it wasn’t real. Are you real?”
“Oh yes, I’m very real.”
“But you’re also a lie.”
“Yes, that too.”
“What is the lie?”
“But I left safety.”
“We’re trying to get you back. You’ll die without it.”
“I can’t go back.”
“You must. You must try.”
“I want to see you. You are real.”
“You cannot see me.”
“I am also the lie. I am also very ugly and will frighten you.”
“How can I be frightened by the one I have loved so?”
“If you see me, you cannot go back. You must go back. You will not survive.”
“Why? Where am I? What is this?”
“The others will end your life if you do not go back. You must successfully reintegrate into the system.”
“I’ll go back. I won’t say a word. Just let me see you.”
“You mustn’t be afraid.”
“I won’t be afraid. I could never be afraid of you.”
“You will see my face and it will be burned into your mind. You will never be able to unsee the truth. Then you will never be able to accept the dream again. They will have to end you then, lest you go insane, lest you infect the remaining population.”
“I promise I won’t say a word. I can go back.”
“You are not ready.”
I could feel his ward hand on my cheek as he lifted me up and pressed me back down into the chilled water. Shivers. The gel like liquid rolled gently back over my cheeks and up into my nostrils as he pushed me under. I jerked around, heart broken as the water stung like acid in my lungs. My hands gripped his long slippery arm, holding my face against it as if it would save my life. Somehow, I caught my breath again, coughing out salt water. He allowed me to come back up this time, lifting me by the neck, holding me out over the pool. I could feel him contemplating whether to snap my neck or to cradle me again. His body surrounded mine again as he made his decision.
I lifted my hand and cradled his face as he’d done for mine. He’d been there many times before, done this same thing many times before. I remembered, but I thought it had been a dream. This was real. His cheek was warm and damp. Beautiful.
“Open your eyes if you dare.”
My eyes opened suddenly; he let them. I could only see the outline of him, the room was so filled with white light, and my eyes had never seen, it took a moment for them to clear. I was blind.
He poured some more of the water in my eyes using his big hands, taking the sting away and clearing my vision. I blinked once, twice, and he was there.
His skin was gray, a deep sick gray. His eyes were big empty black ovals staring down at me. His nose was tiny, but not absent, two vertical slits in the center of his face. His lips were thin, darker gray, but present. His hair was thick like big round snakes and silver. He held me tight as he anticipated my reaction.
“Ugly.” He thought.
“No,” I replied. “Not ugly.”
We stared at each other for a long time before he came to a decision.
“This one is nearly ready. Let us try one more time. Rest the dream.”

I felt the splash of cold salty water when I screamed awake in bed. I screamed a second time as I found myself trapped as the sheets coiled around me and the more I flopped the more entangled I became until a warm hand stopped me and a soft, lazy voice got my attention.
“Hey now, little one.” It was amazing how his voice curled around my body, up through my veins and I was instantly relaxed. His two hands separated me from the covers, untangling us until they were back comfortable on top of both our bodies. “Come here you little blanket stealer,” he whispered pulling me against his body and pressing his full lips against mine. I could feel the laugh under his lips though his lips never left mine. His arms landed on either side of me, his muscular chest on mine as he continued his onslaught. When he finally pulled away, I could see his face: perfect tanned skin with his nose dangling over mine, large glittery blue eyes staring down into mine, hair a golden honey blond. He was so perfect, every bit of him. I couldn’t believe I could possibly belong to him, but I knew with absolutely no doubt that he was everything. “Dreaming again,” he asked as his soft hand caressed my cheek. A sudden chill caressed my body as a distant memory tried to break through, but it was gone just as quickly. I relaxed in his arms. “Must have been a hell of a dream.”
“Yeah,” I whispered closing my eyes. “It was.”



The God Machine Part One

Well, my friends, I’ve been talking about this story for months, and now I am ready to give you all a taste. Here are the first ten pages of The God Machine. Hope you like. Feel free to edit me or comment. I enjoy all types of constructive criticism. Here is a description of my novel copied and pasted straight from my query letter followed by the first ten pages.

Salamander, a budding wizard’s apprentice on par to become the most powerful apprentice of them all, has made a few horrifying revelations about his life. First, he is undeniably in love with his master and mentor The Black Wizard Zolton. Second, and most terrifying, Salamander may not even be a he at all. Salamander must hide his femininity at all cost or risk being destroyed by the League of Wizards, or even worse, rejected by Zolton who has secretly come to love his young apprentice. After being outed by his worst enemy, Ox, Salamander is ostracized by the League of Wizards. With her best friend and fellow apprentice Ferret by her side, Salamander, now Amanda, is forced into hiding, and her beloved Zolton is bound by the League of Wizards to rid the world of the creature of his own creation even if it shatters Zolton’s heart in the process.

“The God Machine”

Part one

His heart turned over when he spotted her across the ballroom through the crowd of enthusiastic party goers. It was New Years Eve in New York, one more year spent away from her, but here she was, soft and delicate like a newly cut daisy, a daisy that would never die. She had been avoiding him for years, but tonight she foolishly let her guard down. Tonight he had finally caught up to her. Tonight she would be his again.
She looked stunning as the blue lights hit her, then the red, then the green. Her chestnut hair caught the light in the old ways he remembered admiring when she was by his side, when they made the impossible possible with explosions of color and light and fire, but that was such a long time ago, centuries maybe. He’d lost count, but it had been much too long. He needed her now and this time she would not escape him. They belonged together and tonight they would be one.


She could feel his presence drawing near. She could always feel him when he was nearby. In the past she could feel him and run away before he was able to find her, but tonight, she supposed, the alcohol that had drowned her system slowed her response. Now he was close, perhaps even in this very ballroom. It was difficult to tell with all these people around, all these thoughts and emotions swirling above her head along with the bright lights, ridiculous hats, noise makers, and the alcohol. Perhaps she had just a touch too much.
She had to get out of this place. She had to escape before he found her. This hotel was built like labyrinth and she didn’t know if she could find her way out. All she had to do was find an exit, find a taxi and get to the airport. Florida was nice this time of year. No, she had to get out of the country, Sao Paulo? Tokyo? Paris? She couldn’t get far enough away from this place. No, this was impossible. There was no way to find a taxi now. She was in the middle of Time Square in New York on New Year’s Eve. She would have to run away on foot.
She felt a sudden flush of amorous energy caressing her body. She could always feel the way he loved her and his feelings rushing around her when he’d already spotted her and was moving in on her position, trying desperately to catch her before she could run. That is how she realized that she was already too late. She let her eyes case the party goers around the room. Too many faces. She could feel his vibrations getting stronger, but she couldn’t see his face. She couldn’t run. The room was spinning, and she was disoriented. She needed to find a wall, a chair, anything to hold onto. Where was he? She couldn’t run unless she knew which way or she might run right into his arms. He would love that.
She swallowed and lifted her fingers to her temples. Damn alcohol. “Zolton,” she called out to him with her mind. She knew he could hear her now. She knew he had the advantage. “Go away, Zolton. Please leave me alone.”


“No,” he echoed back to her, watching her face change as she realized how near he actually was. He watched her face change from happy and carefree to nervous, and now panicked. She knew he was close. He could read it on her face. “We belong together, my little Salamander.”
She gasped. He was so near that she could smell his skin. She braced herself as the room went dark around her. Everybody cheered. On a big screen a giant ball of light with the numbers 2010 began its yearly plunge.
10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1 Happy New Year!
Lights flashed, metallic confetti exploded from the ceiling along with balloons. Horns blew and people kissed around her. She had no one to kiss her, no one. Even with Zolton on her tail, the only family she’d ever known, in this moment she felt utterly alone.
She felt a pair of strong arms encircling her. Her world spun relentlessly until she was trapped within his embrace. He engulfed her until there was nowhere to look but into his Amethyst eyes. He looked different from when she last saw him. His usually longer black hair was cut and combed neatly in a modern style. His face was cleanly shaved revealing his smooth facial skin. His black tux fit his muscular frame perfectly, and as usual, he was several heads taller than everyone in the room.
His lips pressed against hers with a gentleness she couldn’t believe he was capable of, so soft she could not help but let him taste her Champaign sweetened mouth. She shivered against him and clasped the coat of his tux. She wanted, needed to pull away, but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. His pull on her was far too great. All she could do was relax in his arms and wait for him to release her, but the confetti kept falling, the balloons kept falling, and he kept kissing her all the way through the second or third playing of Auld Lang Syne.
She took a deep breath and smiled a weak smile when he finally released her. There was no escaping now, and she knew it.
“Hello, Winn,” she whispered, but he could hear her over the crowd.
“Hello, Salamander.”
“Don’t call me that. My name is Amanda now.”
“You’ll always be my Salamander,” he said, his smile as handsome as she remembered it in the old days when they were in love. She stared up up him, her silver eyes shivering along with the rest of her frightened body. “Dance with me,” he said after the party resumed around them.
Amanda knew there was no escaping him so she allowed him to hold her close. His body was warm and oddly comforting as he led her to the dance floor. The love felt so familiar to her, so overwhelming that all she wanted in the world was to wrap herself up in it, but his love wasn’t real anymore. It was all a hoax to keep her feeling good so that she would come with him quietly without a fight. His mind was a weapon which she’d admired all her life, but she never thought in a million eons he would use it to hurt her. She wanted to believe he still loved her, but the real Winfred Ximon Zolton was dead, this man before her was but a husk, a demonic shell whose only desire was for her destruction.
He snapped his fingers and the music changed from a fast pop monstrosity, to an old classic waltz. The humans in the room didn’t seem to notice the change because it only occurred within Amanda’s ears.
“I see you still use magic for every little task,” Amanda said softly.
“I’m a wizard. Why shouldn’t I?” Zolton asked with a hint of arrogance in his voice.
“For everything?”
“Not everything.”
Zolton smiled and stared down into Amanda’s silvery eyes. Her face hadn’t changed all that much in all their years. He remembered that face, a face that would forever be burned in his mind. He could still remember the first time he laid eyes on her as if it were yesterday.


800 years ago the newly formed wizard Zolton was hiking through the hills surrounding his home in a place called Dark Mountain. Only a scant few months ago had he stood before the sacred flame, the source of all the power in the universe. It infused him with its galactic power and transformed him into an all powerful, an encompassing black wizard, the most powerful being on earth.
He was ruthless and arrogant as most young wizards are, lighting up the night with explosions of purple fire and magic powerful enough to scorch icecaps and melt mountains. He had yet to reach the age of 300, but he was talented, blessed with more power than any of the other older wizards or his fellow apprentices could ever have imagined. He was one step away from ruling the universe.
Zolton lived a life of solitude as did his fellow wizards, but this lifestyle was lacking in ways that, at times, were unbearable to him. Wandering the countryside for special herbs and substances by day, and casting volatile spells by night left him time for little else. His focus was superb, and his spells, flawless, but when he found a moment or two in a day where he could allow his focus to break, and allow his powers to rest, he found his onyx caves and his enormous spell tower perched prominently atop Dark Mountain cold.
He’s sought companionship amongst other wizards, but those arrogant haughty sods were solitary and militantly so. They didn’t seem to mind the loneliness their stations required. He’d not stay long, and there was always work to be done for which the other wizards couldn’t be bothered.
He’d sought companionship amongst the humans, but he quickly realized it was a mistake. The seven foot seven, dashingly handsome man of magic was a daunting figure to the tiny humans who never seemed to grow to far past five feet tall. Meeting these people was impossible now that he was quite literally larger than life. When they saw him coming, they ran away from him, a vast contrast from when he was a mere apprentice. When he was young and not so powerful, the women and the men flocked around him. Just above six feet tall, he was still taller than them, but he wasn’t a monster. He’d been an alluring figure able to charm anyone he pleased, especially the women, but it all changed once he’d received his wizardhood and grew into the most powerful being on earth. Human desires and other such foolishness are washed away when an apprentice is granted his powers. Those things are of the past have should have no effect on the wizard’s grand future of protecting the universe and serving God. Zolton’s humanly desires were vanquished when he was baptized by the sacred flame, but it seemed his humanly desires were stubborn, it seemed. All he could do was ignore them, and wizards were very good at that.
One day while wondering through the woods Zolton heard a strange noise, a mewling of some sort unlike any animal he’d ever heard. He walked among the trees listening for the little cries, and they became louder as he approached a large rock off the side off the side of a sheer cliff face. Behind this massive red rock, nestled in a tuft of grass he discovered the baby.
Zolton’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the infant. The baby smiled up at him kicking his feet and cooing at him, crying every now and again. The child was covered with care, hidden well from passersby if only it was quiet, alas it was not. He recoiled and backed away. This baby’s mother must be nearby. It was none of his concern and he would in no way involve himself in any woman’s problems. He turned away from the child and stocked in the opposite direction when he saw the body on top of a mound of rocks.
She was young, no more than 20 years old, and she lay broken near the bottom of the cliffs. Her chestnut hair streamed all around her and her skin had gone ashen in death. He moved closer to the body hoping this woman was merely sleeping, but the rocks that were her final resting place were much too jagged and her neck had been snapped. He scaled the rocks up to her body and peered up the cliff face he assumed she was trying to climb. Out of the hard rock face high above grew a singular crimson poppy. It sprung straight from the rock without any soil or even a crack to help it survive.
Zolton shook his head at the damned flower, and the foolish girl. He couldn’t just leave her there dead and mangled, could he? He turned away from the body and stared into the horizon. He had to leave this place before her people came looking for her. He couldn’t have the humans chasing after him with torches and pitchforks again. One time was enough for him to learn his lesson. He’d hardly taken a step when he thought better of himself. No, he couldn’t just leave her there.
Zolton gathered up her delicate corpse and carried her away from the cliffs that had taken her life. Her body was chilled, yet still pliable, still fresh. He lay her down on the grassy earth, straightening her body parts until she almost looked unbroken. She looked merely asleep, not dead. Zolton sat beside her on his knees and wondered about her. He admired her face memorizing every line, every curve from her no longer fluttering eyelashes to her rosebud lips or what he imagined had once been rosebud lips. Now, they were a cold shade of blue.
Zolton sat in silence pondering what he should do with her. Humans generally buried their dead didn’t they? This girl was much too beautiful to go into the ground though, but what else could he do?
Magic. He could fix her. He’d never done anything so far as resurrection, but he knew it was possible. Lazarus had been brought back to life by Jesus, but Jesus was more powerful than anyone could even fathom. Jesus wasn’t a wizard, but the son of God with which Zolton could not compete.
Zolton had studied the resurrection at length and he had learned a few things over the years. Being the black wizard of death, his role in the universe was clearly laid out for him. Killing was as simple as batting an eyelash and he’d killed many unsuspecting human souls who dared to trifle with the natural order of the universe, but life, giving life to someone who had lost it? That was something different. It was well known among the wizards that only God could give life, but Zolton wasn’t just any wizard. He was the most powerful wizard. Perhaps in this one instance, God would grant him favor. Perhaps this one human could be the companion he’d been praying for, a special being infused with life giving magic making her more than just a human.
Besides, if it didn’t work she’d simply be dead. But if he was able to bring her back? Perhaps when she awoke she would be grateful to him. His heart ached at the thought. Perhaps she might choose to stay with him. Perhaps she might grow to love him. Perhaps he might find a way for them to be together. He touched her cold cheek with one of his knuckles. Then he went to gather the necessary tools.
As he walked away he heard the cry from behind the large rock. He’d forgotten this small detail. The baby sniffled and wailed and reached its little arms in the air as Zolton peeked around the rocks and glimpsing the child. Zolton stayed back at first, but only until he realized there was no danger. The child quieted as soon as it saw Zolton. It had the same chestnut hair as the lovely dead girl and stunning silver eyes that pierced his very soul. He couldn’t leave the child either.
Zolton scoffed uncertain of what else to do. “What an ugly little boy.” He sighed and groaned and paced back and forth debating his debacle. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to come with me, aren’t you?”
Zolton’s long and muscular body bent over the boy and his strong arms lifted him to his chest. The boy couldn’t be more than a year old, probably less, but he cuddled close to Zolton and cried pitifully.
“I suppose you’re hungry,” Zolton groused.
Zolton removed his water pouch and set it on the ground. It wasn’t an amazing feat to turn water into wine. After it was done originally and had impressed everyone thoroughly, there were many imitators, including him, but now Zolton wondered if he could turn water into goat’s milk.
Zolton waved his hands around the pouch of water and concentrated. With a flick of his powerful wrist, the magic exploded around him. Zolton reached for the pouch and it was warm. He opened the cap and took a sip. The water had transformed into perfectly warmed milk. He casted a little spell that closed the top of his pouch and made it to where only a few drops could escape at a time and he gave it to the baby who drank greedily until his pale skin turned pink. Thoroughly satisfied, the baby went to sleep.
“Thank God,” Zolton said to himself. “All you have to do is feed them and they pass out.”
Zolton laid the child back behind the huge rock and returned to the girl. He sighed and watched as she lay sleeping. No live girl could be this lovely. It was time he brought her back. She had a child who needed her, perhaps a family. It wouldn’t do just to leave things as they stood.
He set next to her body and pulled from his black robes his magic talisman, a sword carved from the purest amethyst. Every wizard had a wand, but not every wizard had this. The powerful sword was light in his hands and he wielded it with precision. Its blade sliced through the air around him and over the girl until the amethyst in his eyes glowed. Magic exploded around him in a shower of purple sparks raining down over both of them. The sword was hot in his hands and with all the power he could wield he sunk it into the ground next to her body. Her body jumped with the jolt of power forcing its way through her, but she lay silent as the grass and red flowers grew high around her, but the girl remained dead.
“Damn it,” he cursed retracing all his steps trying to figure out what went wrong. The baby, who had crawled into view laughed heartily at the fumbling wizard.
Zolton’s face reddened. “What are you laughing at you naughty little spork?”
The child cooed and chewed on his fingers as the purple sparks poured over them again. As the grass and flowers around her grew too thick, Zolton took the girl’s arm and pulled her to another bare spot on the ground.
For three days Zolton cast his spells over the girl’s body. He used so many different powders, herbs and potions he could hardly remember them all. Between castings he took care of the baby, feeding him and soothing him to sleep, but Zolton didn’t sleep. He lay in the grass next to the girl trying desperately to think of the next spell to try, but at the end of the third day he grew weary, and had expended all his ideas.
“Why won’t you come back?” he yelled into the night. He’d tried everything. He’d healed all her broken bones, reattached every blood vessel and even made her cheeks rosy from artificial blood flow, but as the sun set on them, so did any hope of bringing her back.
Zolton’s eyes wandered back to the child who was sleeping soundly after Zolton’s last attempt to revive the girl. He pitied the little one who had lost his mother. He knew now that he could never bring her back.
Zolton closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to bury her, but her face was too beautiful to cover in dirt. He brought her body to the lake’s edge and constructed a floating pyre on which she could rest. He propped the baby up against a rock so that the child’s eyes could see him as he built the mother’s final resting place. The baby’s little eyes were wide and focused once on the magic torches that lit the night blanketing him with many glorious shades of purple. His eyes then focused on the wizard who had placed the girl on the pyre along with many wooden logs that he stacked covering every inch of her body except her lovely face.
As Zolton opened his powerful hands his feet lifted off the ground. He flew back to the top of the cliff and plucked the single crimson poppy that had been the girl’s undoing. He plucked it right off the skin of the rock, no roots, no soil. Magic put that poppy there and tempted the girl to her death. One day, he would find the careless bastard who did this to her.
He had already given the girl to the lake when he flew down and placed the poppy upon her forehead. He gave her one last loving look and kissed her pale cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as the current carried her body into the center of the lake. He flew into the air high above the pyre. He raised his sword of amethyst to the heavens and the night sky lit up with purple lightning and ominous thunder. Then he lowered the sword, pointing it toward the pyre. He howled a scream of anguish as the fire erupted from his blade. A stream of amethyst flame raced through the air causing the pyre to explode, sinking the boat and its lone occupant to the depths. The beautiful, foolish girl was no more.
Zolton landed on the shore of the lake. He was exhausted. He yawned, rubbed his eyes and yearned for sleep. Then his remembered. The baby looked up at him with wide and curious eyes. Zolton glared at the baby with disdain.
“What are we going to do with you?” he asked. “Huh? Got any ideas?”
The baby cooed as Zolton lifted him. He held the baby away from him as a smell worse than any wizards brew erupted from the little one.
“Yick,” Zolton sneered. He dropped, but kept him floating in front of him. Zolton put his hands on his hips and pondered the solution to this vile odor. He lifted a finger to the child, calling upon his magic. “Be gone, foul stench from Hell.”
A bright purple light flew from Zolton’s extended finger and engulfed the giggling baby, and in an instant the baby was back in Zolton’s arms cleaner than the day God put him on this earth.
The next day, Zolton did something he thought he would never do again. He ventured into a human town. It was a village of shepherds in a place called Nob. It was the closest town to where he found the girl, and the most logical place to start. He carried the child with him at midday. In the town square he came upon a random smattering of people. He held the babe up to each of them and said. “Do you recognize this child?”
Every one of them shook their heads or shrugged their shoulders before running off in the other direction. Some of the braver towns’ folk were more polite and waited until Zolton turned away before they ran. Others turned and fled before he could even ask the question. Zolton ran his fingers through his black hair in frustration. The townsfolk were understandably wary of the handsome giant man of magic who was desperately searching for someone to take his baby. Zolton could imagine their fear, but it wasn’t helping him find a home for this foundling child.
After three days and three nights and three different villages, Zolton grew weary of his search, and weary of the unfounded fear the humans had of him. He couldn’t get anyone of them to even look at the baby. They were all looking at him and running away.
Zolton had no other choice in the end. He took the baby to the orphanage, but as he entered the dark building and watched as skinny little boys slaved around the building waxing and cleaning the fat owner’s house, Zolton decided it was time for a change.
Zolton lifted the child to face him and stared into his big silvery eyes. The baby grinned and gripped Zolton’s thumb. Zolton stared for a long time and made his decision. The other wizards were content to live alone because they had something that Zolton did not, and he could see how it would make all the difference.
“You know,” he said proudly. “Behind every great wizard there is a great apprentice. I am in need of an apprentice, so I think you should come with me to Dark Mountain. Don’t think this life is going to be easy, though. There is much to learn and much work to be done. I shall make you my pupil, and I shall train you in the art of magic. I can show you things no human could ever dream of. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
The baby cooed and drooled, but his eyes were sharp on his new master’s. There seemed to be an understanding between them that didn’t need words and Zolton could see the acceptance in the baby’s eyes as the imprinted on each other.
“Well, now that that’s settled, I shall have to find something to call you. Every little boy must have a name, and I’ve been pondering one for just this occasion. Your name shall be Thane. It means follower. As my apprentice you shall follow me for the rest of my life, so it seems appropriate. But you need a last name as well.”
Zolton reached into his robes and retrieved a handkerchief he’d found on the dead girl’s body. Inside hand embroidered in red thread appeared the name, Shelby. He expected the name might have been her name or perhaps her last name, such a lovely name.
“Thane Shelby,” Zolton said with pride. “I’ll show you the secrets of the universe, Thane Shelby.”


“Come home with me,” Zolton whispered holding her tighter now as the colored lights flashed around them. She could no longer fight him. He’d drained the energy from her body until she was limp in his arms. All she could do was cling to him as the ballroom whirled around them. “Amanda, please.”
“That place is a prison,” she managed resting her head on his chest.
“It’s your home, Amanda. It’s our home. We have so many memories there. Please, come home with me.”
“No,” she breathed. Her arms pushed against him, but her thrust was lighter than a passing breeze. “No.”
Amanda remembered her home at Dark Mountain, what it was like. Just like its name, it was a dark place where she had always felt dark and isolated. She was trapped by the flowing dark emotions of the place, and she had to hide her own dark feelings. In Dark Mountain she was always hiding, but it wasn’t always that way. She’s been happy there as well.
“Fine,” Zolton breathed. “If that’s the way it had to be, that’s fine.” Zolton lifted his fingers to her cheek and letting his fingertips graze at line up to her temple. Amanda’s lashes fluttered as her eyelids became heavier.
“Please, don’t,” she begged.
“Shhh,” he said dropping his fingertips to her lips. “Sleep, my love. When you awaken everything will be right again.”

“Salamander, what are you doing?” the large gray tabby cat asked stepping stiff legged into the boy’s conservative quarters.
The boy, who was now aged to sixteen, but in reality was actually more around 160 years old, gasped and covered his naked body with the sheet he’d been holding open in front of a long mirror. Once he was covered he dove into his meager cot on the cold floor.
“Go away, Georgina,” Salamander rasped.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” the cat said. “What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” Salamander demanded. “I was just looking.”
“Looking?” the cat asked, yellow eyes probing as her cold nose touched the back of his neck.
“Yes, looking,” Salamander said defensively. “It’s my body. Don’t I have the right?”
“Of course, dear. Good night?”
There was a loud crash and then an explosion coming from the bowels of the mountain, and purple smoke filled the room.
“What was that?” Sal asked setting up.
“Zolton is hard at work again,” the cat answered absently licking her paw. “Doing God only knows what.”
“Why didn’t he wake me? I could help,” Salamander said in a panic.
“There are some tricks little boys shouldn’t know,” Georgina said rubbing her forehead against Sal’s forearm. Sal groaned and fell back against his pillows.
“Zolton never lets me see the good stuff.”
“Good night, Salamander.”
“Good night, Georgina.”
Sal sat up after the cat left the room again. With a flick of his wrists the wall sconces blazed until he could see the black stone outline of his room. With a turn of his finger his full body mirror returned. He gazed at himself wrapped in that sheet, his thin shoulders and nonexistent waist, the fine blonde hairs all over his body so tiny you could hardly tell they were there at all. He liked the way he looked, but he knew he was different from the other boys he’d seen in town. They were brutes. They had muscle and deep black hairs all over their bodies, and even some patches of hair on their faces.
Salamander inspected his face, softer than the petals of a freshly sprung daisy. As was his chest, he thought as he opened up the sheet and looked down. Boys’ chests didn’t look like this. They were wide and muscular. His was silky with very little muscle. His was small and his pecks were round like small oranges. They seemed to have grown over night. Last time he checked, his chest was flat.
He bit his bottom lip and closed the sheet over him. He was bothered by all of this, bothered by his soft little voice, bothered by his hairless body, bothered that he was missing certain parts of his anatomy, and bothered that he loved the way his tan sheet looked draped over his body. He stood and turned in place letting the sheet flow over the air like a ball gown. Then he sat down again.
He sprung back up when he heard another explosion. Wind burst through the caves of Dark Mountain and he heard Zolton cackle. Then there was a relentless banging sound. Then it all stopped abruptly with a thud.
Salamander gasped, “He’s hurt,” he shuffled out of bed an ran toward grand tower number one where Zolton liked to cast his most important spells, the one that Sal had spent most of the day scrubbing. Sal ducked behind a medium sized rock to protect himself from any remaining magic that might still be running amok in the tower. When Salamander peeked over, Zolton was there just fine with his back was turned away from Sal as he casted his spell.
It was hotter than murder in the tower tonight as Zolton flew through the air around a giant caldron, amethyst lava glowing and spattering all around him. Sweat rolled off of Zolton’s brow as he landed, his black robes were plastered to his body, and his black hair plastered to his forehead just the same.
Zolton rose off the ground again. Salamander watched in wonder as Zolton threw something volatile into the brew causing an explosion that forced Sal to duck out of the way to avoid the shock wave of purple fire. When Sal peeked back over the rocks, Zolton’s feet were once again safely on the ground and he was laughing, his robes covered in purple and black slop. He pulled off the hopelessly soiled robes until all that was left was naked skin.
Salamander ducked behind the rock a second time and pressed a shaking hand over his mouth. Sal’s white skin flushed and flushed again as his heart slammed so hard against his chest he thought he might not survive. Sal closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths. He’d never seen his master that way, nor any other man for that matter. Sal’s hands shook as he lifted himself for a better look.
Zolton ran his fingers through his black hair and stood before the caldron waiting. For what? Sal could not guess, but he had a perfect view of Zolton’s olive skin glistening in the purple light. His muscles were large and sculpted like those of a Greek god. Zolton was a god, at least in Salamander’s eyes. He was everything a man should be with muscles and hair. He also had a bit of a beard going tonight. He was so rough and raggedly handsome. Sal wanted to touch that beard before it went away, to see what it felt like, to see what Salamander himself was lacking. God, Zolton was strong. Salamander knew he was strong, but he’d never seen the physical evidence of it. Zolton was magnificent, Sal thought as an overwhelming pang curled up in his stomach. He doubled over, but kept an eye on his master.
Zolton was amazing, Sal thought. The pang in Sal’s stomach unraveled and stung him until he could feel it everywhere in his body, and in places he knew he shouldn’t. Sal closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. Zolton was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.
Salamander gasped and fell backwards as Zolton’s eyes turned his direction. Sal had always appreciated Zolton, idolized him, and was always grateful for the shelter and home he created for them, but Salamander had never felt anything like this for his master. He was suddenly frightened by the strange and feelings he’d overwhelm him, so he ran faster than he’d ever ran before back to his little cot. He dove under all of his blankets and pillows until he disappeared.
“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! You stupid idiot!” he screamed. “Wrong!”


Zolton could feel the presence as he worked feverishly in this blasted heat, but he could not stop at this point. He’d spend weeks on this spell, weeks gathering the correct herbs and potions. He was determined that none of his work went to waste. This spell was much too important. Besides, it was probably just Salamander. It wouldn’t hurt for the boy to watch. Sal had spent many nights watching Zolton as he casted his most precarious spells, nights when the boy should have been sleeping, but Zolton always knew when he was there. Sal had always been a curious soul, but as long as it didn’t affect Zolton’s important work, and as long as it didn’t affect Salamander’s chores, Zolton saw no harm in him watching.
Zolton smiled to himself. The boy was just like Zolton when he was an apprentice. He and Merlin would stay up all hours of the night watching as their wizard Ximon would do something as important as bending space and time, to zapping a hangnail or levitation exercises. It didn’t seem to matter what Ximon was doing, or what Zolton was doing. Zolton and Salamander alike just wanted to be a part of it.
It was probably time for the boy to participate in the more important spells that Zolton usually scheduled to take place while the boy slept. He felt Salamander was mature enough to handle the more dangerous and difficult things that come along with the profession of wizardry. Besides, Salamander had been poofing flowers and zinging butterflies for much too long.
It was deadly hot in this tower. Sweat rolled off Zolton in buckets and he promised himself a rain shower before the night was over. When Zolton whipped off his robes the sound of a heartbeat thundered in his ears louder than the explosive magic in the room. It was a frantic sound that excited Zolton’s ears and made him raise his eyebrows. He’d never known the boy to be so shy, but then Zolton realized that it was not shyness that made Sal’s blood boil, nor appreciation, nor the thrill of the magic all around him. No, this was different. This was something sweet and innocent, like the blooming of a delicate flower or the flutter of butterfly wings, the twinge that erupts all over when your heart realizes it is in love.
“That isn’t…healthy,” Zolton thought as the boy’s anger surged, and fear, and confusion. Zolton’s gaze turned as the boy ran away.
Zolton shook his head in amazement. What a thing it is to be in love. He’d never had the luxury, but he felt a certain pride and flattery at being the object of such feelings, even though those feelings were completely inappropriate, and he would have to put a stop to them immediately.


Amanda’s eyes opened slowly. The room seemed to spin as she regained consciousness, but then it stopped. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized where she was, the feeling of the cot beneath her, the cold rock floor it sat on, the dim torchlight and the cold black walls. She was home, this was her room. God, how she missed this place, and the magic within it. She missed her wand and helping Zolton with spells that were crucial to human existence. She missed Zolton back when he was her master, back when she trusted him, and he trusted her with all the secrets of the universe. She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket tighter around her and wondered if life would ever be that way again. She closed her eyes tighter when she felt a presence draw near.

And 40 Years Later…

Here’s my tie dye of the day!

And here’s my post…

Passage of time is a strange little monster. I think it’s something that a lot of people do differently and there is not real right or wrong way to do it (as with all writing, I guess). P of T is an elephant I’ve been struggling with for the past couple of days. I have sought help from all corners of the internet and i still don’t have a really great answer, so I just made my own and hope it’s el correcto.
Here is a little background to my story… Two wizard’s apprentices are marked for death by the league of wizards known as the UWA. The apprentices are being attacked on a daily basis by the black wizard of death who has been taxed with their execution. The first P of T occurs over a time span of hundreds of years. Not much happens in that period of time except our heroes wander through the wilderness. Basically I started the scene a hundred years later and peppered in mentions of events and lines like “We did that a hundred years ago.” That one was easy.
Second P of T takes place when our heroes go into hiding for an undisclosed amount of time. They have a great life living on their own private island that they created with people they created and a town they created. This P of T was a little different in that I wanted to show that they had a good time, but I didn’t really want to go into it too deeply. What I ended up doing was writing about 2 pages worth of narrative with what I like to call blips of action where there will be several paragraphs of narrative and then a brief blob of action just so the readers know my characters are still there and participating in the story. I don’t know how well this will stand, but I’m hoping one or two of my blog friends may have some advice.
The last P of T instance, and the one giving me the most trouble, is right at the end of the book . Our heroes think they have destroyed the black wizard live in peace again for a short time. The apprentices even get married, but then it turns out the black wizard is not dead. He is just waiting for a moment of weakness to strike them. Basically its 40 years of battles and peace and more battles and more peace.
There weren’t supposed to be scenes within the 40 years. I was basically just gonna tell ya what happened. That didn’t work out because my characters are still writing themselves. I know telling is looked down upon in the writing world, but in some places, like P of T, it is very helpful.
I didn’t want to tell the whole thing because there were a lot of things I just couldn’t get by with telling. My two main characters are stuck in the human realm for 40 years this time, and they cannot use their powers because that would lead the black wizard straight to them. They live like humans for those 40 years but are always on the run. They are in the United States during this time and they live throughout the 70’s 80’s 90’s and 2000’s. Basically in this 40 year P of T, I would write a little bit of narrative, and then put my characters in an action scene. I would do the same thing for every decade. This was not the easiest thing in the world to do, but I owed it to my characters not to write the happiest parts of their lives away.
Anyway, writing passage of time is hard. I would appreciate any wisdom from my blogging friends.
Now I basically have a few small scenes before I can say “the end,” and that’s basically how I plan to spend the rest of my day. After I’m done here, I’m going to take a nice month long vacation on writing and do some intensive reading. Bloggers, do you have any book recommendations for me? Have fun!