New story about a man who loses his ear. Comedy, really. Though at some points the humor is weak. You'll have to understand that it is a rough draft, and a little rushed. I'll have to go back and draw some points out and enhance the humor at some points. It's at 11 pages.

Halloween is tomorrow. I'm actually looking forward to it. We'll sit around at Tara's and watch The Exorcist, and have a small party-ish kind of thing. Should be fun.

I'm kind of exhausted. I had an exam in my Psyc of Language class. It was ... not pleasant. I had a difficult time with it. We were allowed to have a single sheet of notes, front and back, to use during the exam. I managed to condense all 14 pages of my notes onto that sheet of paper. Impressive? I think so. It was really good that I did that, because there was a lot of questions that I don't think I would have gotten if I hadn't done that. Luckily, the last exam in the class is a take-home final. Thank God.

Next Tuesday is an exam in Archaeology of Ancient Greece. It kind of concerns me, because it can be a very difficult class. Everyone wish me luck on that.

Zeke is wearing his fancy Shakespeare collar. On Friday, he gets to take it off. Until then, he looks rather goofy. Everyone seems to enjoy it, but I'm not sure how much he likes it. I think he tolerates it, but he'd rather prefer it wasn't there. Sometimes it frustrates him.

Anyway, I need to get to bed. Later!

Hokey, so ... I'm kind of questioning whether or not I should be posting stories online because, well, there is the possibility that if I ever got published someday, someone could have stolen my stories and that would create all kinds of fun legal problems. So instead, I'm gonna post sort of a list, and if you want to read it, then feel free to ask. I'd be happy to send you a copy.

So, without further ado:
A story about Childbirth, entitled "Life is a Disgusting Thing"
A story about Minoan culture, entitled "Sacrifices"
A story about an innocent murder suspect, entitled "Noah's Parting"
A story about a bank robbery, entitled "The Bank Heist"
A story about a man driving his Volvo, entitled "Volvos and Corgis"
And soon to come ... a story about an ear (yes, the body part) running away to lead a life of its own

Feel free to request a copy of any of these. I love to share.


Anyway, the weather has grown cold--and it's absolutely delightful. I get to wear my hoodies (which everyone knows I love), bundle up warmly, and relish the bright skies and beautiful outdoors.

So, to wrap up: ask to see my stories, and I love the weather.

The second half of The Lightbringer ... sorry it took so long. There is definitely more on the way, because I know all of you people that don't exist are waiting on the edges of your respective seats. I do apologize for any strange formatting errors.

Geal was up before the rooster crowed. All three members of the royal family, along with Sir Shae and a guard of two dozen loyal men, arrived at the wooden fortifications just as the sun was beginning to break the horizon. They were escorted through the heavily-guarded structure, finally reaching the covered portico in the center where a makeshift court was held. The royals stepped forward, taking the lead, Shae’s eyes follwed them with careful precision.

Arthur was tall, statuesque. He had only the bare beginnings of a beard, eyes that were such a shining green that they almost appeared to be jade. His hair was messy, almost indistinguishable between brown and blonde, and his shoulders broader than a bull’s. He was strong-voiced, and his words carried easily over this quickly-built court. Though he spoke in a quiet voice, there was no mistaking his words throughout the open hall. He looked impressive; everything about him was kingly. He was dressed simply in blues and reds, not the royal purples one would expect of such a mighty ruler. His laugh was easy, delightful, infectious, and seemed to compel people to join in without forcing them to. The jade eyes would dance with merriment at his laugh, as if he could not contain his happiness. There was an ease about his movements, almost as if he were flowing, like water. He was quiet, unassuming. As his guests entered, he gave them quick, welcoming smile, as if he were genuinely happy to be in their presence.

“My guests, please, welcome. And do not bother with formalities,” he added quickly as Merrich and Geal bowed their heads in his presence. “We are here to welcome you. Please, eat, drink. We must have some civility before we meet with the barbarians,” Arthur invited, almost as if they were going to have lunch with Saxons.

The three Irishmen moved to take their seats near the head of the table, quietly, almost as if intimidated by the ease with which Arthur lived. “Sir Geal, you seem to have grown weary since last I saw you. And now I can see for myself the scar Hengest has given you,” Arthur began conversationally.

“Yes, Artorius,” Geal said with a smile, “I seem to be marked by the barbarians for my transgressions.”

“Transgressions? Your transgressions, good sir, have brought me relief and safety. If Geal is Irish Light, then you are truly the Lightbringer for my kingdom. You should wear the scar proudly as a sign of honor!”

Geal nodded in acquiescence. “I thank you, Artorius. But I must say, my lord, if I am the Lightbringer, then you please must be the bear for our kingdom.”

Arthur laughed, impressed with Geal’s answer. “So let it be—may the bards sing of the Lightbringer and The Bear for all of history!” Arthur raised his glass in toast, and the table followed his example.

Raghnall cleared his throat politely. “Artorius, if you do not mind, I have concerns for our venture. It appears that Hengest has sent his brother Horsa to divide our forces. Horsa is now sitting between us and King Lot to the north. If was do not have a single front, how shall we come out of this victorious?”

“I should suggest, my lord, that we try to rescue our friend. We must encourage Horsa to move out of position, and allow Lot safe passage,” Arthur said, both careful and carefree.

Raghnall, however, was dissatisfied with his answer. “And how shall we compel Horsa to leave? I do not suppose you suggest asking for him to move?”

“Nay, good lord, we must use arms. We have been told that Horsa’s army is small, only a provision to make it difficult for Lot to pass while Hengest continues to mass forces. If we take the initiative, I believe we can remove Horsa without taking significant losses ourselves.”

“I see,” Merrich chimed in, “But how many should we send? Who shall lead them? We have many questions yet to be addressed.”

Arthur smiled at Merrich, his eyes dancing with amusement. “My lord, perhaps you would like to take charge. I hear you are an impressive commander, and I know many troops would want to follow the renowned Prince Merrich.”

Merrich bowed diplomatically. “If that is what my lords desire, I will do all I can to bring it into being.” Raghnall nodded his head slowly, giving consent to his son.

Artorius smiled broadly. “Now then, have the Irish any more questions?”

***

The Irish were back at camp. Merrich, the inspiring prince, was taking the Irish army to rescue their staunch ally. It pulled at emotions deep inside the men, calling upon their natural desire for heroics. Passions aroused, the soldiers had assembled and were leaving within a matter of hours. Only a third of the soldiers were leaving with Sir Merrich, but after they departed, there was a strange silence in the camp.

It was in this deathly silence that Sir Geal arrived at Shae’s quarters. His father had requested that Geal and Shae organize the Irish flank. He stopped, deep in thought, only to be startled by the sound of voices inside the tent.

“I tell you, Arthur has commanded that Merrich lead the army against Horsa,” came the deep growl of Shae, hushed quietly.

“And you wish me to tell Hengest?” The voice was quiet, slitheringly snake-like, a darkness that made even a battle-hardened prince shiver.

“If he knows, then that will remove Merrich’s surprise. Perhaps with reinforcements, Horsa can destroy the Irish army, isolate Lot, and kill the Irish crowned prince. Merrich thinks he is solidifying victory, but the Saxons can take this small battle and turn it into the final victory of the war!” Shae’s voice rose in intensity as excitement took a hold on him.

Geal burst into the tent, shocking the two inside. A small, beady-eyed man who looked remarkably like a weasel froze instantly, but Shae was ever the soldier. Without missing a beat, he leapt across the tent, his large foot meeting Geal in the chest.

The air expelled from his chest with a puff as he flew backwards, ripping through the tent doors and rolling on the dirt outside in the bright light. He jumped to his feet, never stopping for a second, and his fist met his attacker in the abdomen. Geal followed it up with a strong hook to the jaw, but this barely slowed down the large man. Shae leveled his own punch, again knocking Geal back several steps.

The fight was drawing a crowd, and the weasel, fear in his black eyes, ran. The crowd of Irishmen had no trouble detaining him, while the fight between the two knights raged in the center of the mob, the sunlight glinting off their armor.

Shae was strong and unyielding. With every punch he threw, Geal felt like he was being struck with a brick. The blood ran from his mouth and nose, even from a cut across his forehead from a rock. Another mighty punch landed across Geal’s jaw, throwing him to the ground. He swept his arm along the ground, throwing dust into Shae’s eyes. The sting knocked Shae back, and Geal jumped to his feet, without a pause, landing a strong punch to the man’s temple, sending him crashing to the ground.

“He’s a traitor!” Geal bellowed, trembling with rage.

The soldiers moved in closer, tightening the ring around them. “He was going to tell Hengest of my brother’s army! He,” Geal shouted, swirling on the weasel, “was the messenger!” The soldiers around the weasel held him tightly as he wriggled in their grasp.

Shae stood up, snarling angrily, the sun casting dark shadows over his growling face. “You! I’ll rip your eyes from your—” he shouted, interrupted by a hard fist in his solar plexus.

Geal cursed, a shooting stinging pain running through his finger. “Turn them over to my father. Let the king decide to do with the traitors,” he spat and stalked away, his movements rigid with anger and adrenaline.

***

Merrich returned the next week. Many were missing: friends, fathers, brothers. They were triumphant, but it was bittersweet. Many were lost in the battle; but the Saxons did not expect the attack. Horsa was killed; Merrich had returned unharmed; King Lot had safe passage, and his armies were camping outside of Arthur’s fortifications. Merrich had trouble breathing—a mace had struck his chest, leaving a starburst scar, and Geal had broken his finger against the traitor’s head. The Irish were deep in mourning for their brethren, but necessity compelled them forward. Raghnall and his sons worked alongside the other kings, working hard to create a strategy against Hengest.

The Council of Kings lasted several days. There was much to talk about, much to decide. It seemed at times that too many kingdoms had gathered together; so many were jostling for position, so many were trying to come out bigger than before. The kings all had differing fights with the Saxons, and different ways to deal with them after the war. Many strategies for battle were proposed, and many discarded. It was on the fifth day that the plan was decided.

The English would ride to field, forming at the center, with the assembled kings flanking on both sides. Raghnall’s armies were in the left flank, led by both him and his sons. They would try to draw the barbarians up Badon’s Hill, where the steep terrain could slow down the advancing Saxons to a near-complete stop. If everything went according to plan, the English could draw the Saxons in close, and the flanks could circle around, enclosing the barbarians. The Saxons should be trapped, making for easy targets.

***

Bleak December. Snow covered the field, pristine and unbroken. It smoothed over the valleys and hills, making land flat and even. The Great Equalizer. Trees dotted the landscape, small pockets of green on the field of white. The boughs of the tree hung low under the weight of snow, and an eerie silence permeated the landscape. There was a quality of stillness, a stillness that seemed it could never be broken, but soon it would be shattered like glass.

Sunlight danced across the snow, reflected upwards by the white, giving the entire field a sense of glowing, radiating light. The men shifted uncomfortably, standing impatiently at the top of the high hill. With this vantage point, they could see the darkness in the distance: the barbarians. The soldiers stamped impatiently; the tense feelings hung in the air. Everyone moved quietly, trying to steel themselves for the battle ahead.

Merrich stood quietly between his father and brother. His breath steamed as it left his mouth, curling and twisting like a snake. None of the three said anything—this was not a time for words. The Irish were behind them, silently at the ready. Their swords were drawn; cold could make them difficult to remove from the sheath. He went through moves in his head, concentrating on the ordeal before him. Merrich looked over to his brother—he was surely doing the same—and then back to the field. Hengest was readying his own troops. The dark spot in the distance was slowly changing shapes as the men organized themselves. The intense light made it hard to see the Saxons, but the threats were obvious when the line began to march forward in a slow, deadly charge. Merrich turned to the men behind him and raised his sword slowly, deliberately. “Ireland!” he shouted, the cheers of the soldiers drowning out his echo that bounced off the snow.

The yelling started to come together, making a terrible roar. “Merrich the Strong!” the Irishmen shouted in unison, swinging their swords in the air. “Geal the Lightbringer!” The shouting reached a fervor, and with a single swing of Merrich’s sword, the men broke, charging toward the barbarians as the snow began to fall.

***

Geal walked back, struggling in the deep snow. His leg was covered in blood, running down toward his foot. At the top of the hill, he turned. The snow, so pristine, was now a deep maroon, the violence made more pronounced by the purity that had existed before. Men lay dead and dying beneath him. He turned, unable to look back. The plan devised by the Council of Kings had worked perfectly. The Saxons were slowed trying to run up the steep hill, exposing them to arrows, while the armies led by Arthur circled around them, trapping them. Nothing went wrong, but the young knight was still filled with a sick feeling. He had never been in such an expansive battle, never seen so much death. Geal felt sick to his stomach.

“Geal,” a voice said softly.

Merrich stood up, his face bloodied. His shoulder was drooped, exhausted from heaving the heavy sword. “Hengest has escaped. His personal guard surrounded him and broke through the right flank. Arthur went after him, but they can’t catch him. And father—we can’t find him.” Merrich looked down, ready to fall in exhaustion.

A soft cry rose up the hill, alerting the two men. “We have found Lord Raghnall!” came a voice, barely reaching them. “My lords, he—he didn’t make it.”

Merrich collapsed, the snow making a cloud around him.

***

He stood at the top of the hill, the sunlight peaking over the horizon. The reds, purples shot across the sky. The grass before him grew from blackness to olives and sages, to emeralds and jades. The trees were just as he remembered them, full and strong. The castle sat, nestled in safety, flags flying high. The coast crashed gently on the shore, a soft, soothing noise rising into the air. The sun pulled higher, the water growing into a brilliant blue in the illuminating rays. Sir Geal was home once more.