the best remedy,” 
the best remedy,” Yvarrtasah replied. “I see no reason to act now. If they survive, we will consider then how to deal with them.” “Yes,” Sytherek agreed. “I cannot imagine that I need to remind anyone here of how humans hunted us in the past.” “These people did not come to our shores to hunt us,” Symurall said sternly. “They are lost, weak, and in an alien land. They pose no threat. Do we simply stand by and watch them die?” “If that is what fate has in store for them,” Sytherek said. “It is unwise to intervene, and probably against our own best interests.” “Mercy is a trademark of the wise,” said young Mahgrurra, who had been sitting quietly by herself. Sytherek laughed loudly, his roar rattling through the ruins and across
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the mesa. “Mercy?” 
the mesa. “Mercy?” he said. “I will show them mercy, by giving them a quick death, before the kehklik rip them apart.” “Brutality and hatred gain us nothing,” old Voranytchi grumbled. “I agree with Yvarrtasah – we should neither harm nor aid the humans at this point in time. We could not stop their islands from being destroyed by earthquake and volcano, why should we now be responsible for saving them from the kehklik?” “You compare what was not possible with what can be done,” Kyazura stated. “Some humans rescued dragons from their home world. My brothers and I were born of those who were saved by Murffyd and his people.” “The blood of Murffyd no longer runs in their veins,” Sytherek declared angrily. “They are a corrupt and degenerate species.”
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“These humans are 
“These humans are not the same ones who hurt us,” Kyazura responded. “We do not know if they are corrupt. Revenge is poor motivation, brother.” “I will not see us suffer again at their hands,” Sytherek growled. “In the past we have acted rashly,” Yvarrtasah said. “It is time to observe, and be careful before we make momentous decisions. Since the humans are in Symurall’s territory, he can keep an eye on them. Once we understand the entirety of the situation, we will make new decisions.” “No one ever knows the entirety of any situation,” Kyazura said. “Many humans will die while we wait for answers that may never come.” “Many could die, but probably not all,” Voranytchi said. Symurall growled, swished his tail, and walked a short distance away from the circle.
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side. With 
side. With the forward tug freed, The Lady’s bow started a drift shoreward as the stern tug pulled her seaward. TheyPd tow her astern into the Gulf current while the sea tug locked on forward. He knew theyPd want her tied up fast once the lines came aboard. More work. He wondered how much line theyPd let out once they were into the Gulf. It was a solid half-mile to the shore. Visibility at that distance was poor, but the shoreline had lost its bayou appearance. He checked his watch L it was just past seven. The sky, too, said it was evening, but with a peculiar hue. He noticed the wind was up.
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— 150 — 
— 150 — The sea tug was close up on the starboard, much bigger than the harbor tugs. She looked up to the job, almost new, capable of using a lot of power. Hercules Two was written across her bow- sides in large white letters. It made him feel bet- ter for no justifiable reason. The radar scanner sitting atop the wheelhouse helped, too. Her captain stood prominently in the wheel- house. He probably had a three-man crew. It was right alongside now, bumping rubber against the peeled steel of The Lady. On a muffled word through the loudspeaker, the lead line shot up and across the bow, whistling past BobbyPs head.
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MThar she 
MThar she blows,N he mum- bled, expecting to see Beluga spouting nearby. Scrambling across the bow he got the lead line, knew he wouldnPt be hauling nylon aboard. These guys had the advanced technology. TheyPd go lead line to one-inch nylon to steel cable. Cable was a three-man job, bearable with two. The loudspeaker vibrated sound again. MFeed through port bulwark.N He felt the weight grow as the cable cleared the water. Everything was heavier coming out of the water, he thought, just like evolution. The cable took time, came up grating over the deck railing, grinding against the bulwarks. His arms started to ache from fatigue. The cable did- nPt flex easily. His gloves were ripping up from
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the jagged cable 
the jagged cable threads. Twice the cable pulled up hard against his bare torso. Thin red claw marks ran across him, small rivulets of blood mix- ing with his sweat. — 151 — From a distance the effort had the appearance of smooth, poetic metaphor, flowing rhythm. It was manPs statement, his place in the struggle. Up close, it was sweat, curses and man in labor. It was noble perhaps, but there was no baby to show for it. Bobby leaned back against the winch. Ex- hausted, he looked up into the sky where his daughterPs face emerged, and cornered him.
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Her hope-filled eyes 
Her hope-filled eyes promised him eternity. He felt the sea breeze and heard The Lady Inca promise she would get him to her. The steel slap of cable against The Lady’s rail brought him back quickly. MWe are roger and go aboard ship.N He mouthed into the two-way, his first opportunity to check it against the tugPs radio. MTake it up real slow, shePs gonna mill tight. Over.N It was only a few minutes before the slack started disappearing. MTaking slack. Stay sharp up there. Over.N The grind and rasp moved into full swing. The eerie metal scraping of the bind
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grew louder as 
grew louder as the cable tightened. This was not a sound to sleep by. Grind and scrape, baby, he thought to himself. Wind yourself so tight you never come free. Just pull me home. MYouPre tight. Cables secure.N His own insur- ance policy surfaced. MCome back with weather. Over.N MThree day weather watch across the Gulf. Over.N Thanks for nothing. Weather watch could mean anything from light rain to the end of the — 152 — world. MRequest four-hour radio checks. Over.N He didnPt want to be forgotten for too long, to get too ignorant about the weather movement. MCast off stern lines.N The
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does anything.\ 
does anything.\ No one had been able to answer the question \ why\ when Kade s mother appeared at court twenty-five years ago to captivate the old king Fulstan. No one had known she was Moire, a great queen in her own right from one of the multitude of fayre kingdoms that hid under ancient barrows, deceptively deep lakes, or the disappearing islands that lay off the southern coast. She had held Fulstan s attention constantly, day and night, for one year before departing and leaving behind her a baby daughter like a forgotten piece of baggage and a man who was far worse a king than he had ever been before. Dubell had a way of seeming to pick up on someone else s train of thought. He said, \ I remember her mother. I was a
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young man then. 
young man then. The King s Company was performing The Fortunate Lands and suddenly she was there, dressed in black and her jewels like stars. The Queen of Air and Darkness.\ He picked up a book from the window ledge and absently added it to a stack on a nearby chair. \ A wiser man might have seen a potential danger in Kade. The fay who appear the most human are often more changeable and vindictive than their monstrous brethren. But I saw only an isolated child with the first stirrings of real power and the wit and the will to use it. I admit I have never felt guilty, Captain. I gave her only an elementary tutoring in the craft. If I hadn t, she would have found someone else. I m sorry for what she has done with the knowledge since
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then, but I assume 
then, but I assume no responsibility for it.\ He looked back at Thomas seriously. \ I suspect that may be lese-majeste.\ \ Perhaps, but it s a mild form of it.\ Compared to most of what goes on here. \ And we do need your help.\ He was sure Dubell realized that until another court sorcerer could arrive he had them over a barrel, and Thomas was curious to see if the old scholar would come out and admit it. Dubell shook his head. \ I took a vow of fealty when I first came here years ago. Whatever differences of opinion have arisen since then can have no bearing on it.\ The old sorcerer stood there watching the garden below, his stooped shoulders revealing his bone-weary exhaustion. Galen Dubell
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spoke so freely 
spoke so freely it made suspicion difficult, even for someone in whom suspicion was a deeply ingrained habit. And how many times does a man have to swear undying loyalty before you have to give him the benefit of the doubt? Thomas thought. At least until events prove otherwise. The couple in the court below had moved somewhere out of sight. Dubell asked, \ Has anything been heard of Grandier?\ \ No, not so far. He s not going to be so easy to find again. You haven t remembered anything else you heard Chapter Three 35 that might hint of his plans?\ Thomas asked without much hope. They had gone over all this exhaustively last night on the way back
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of Medusa, the 
of Medusa, the reptiles for hair looking to him, in his highly nervous state, like the tight, crisp curls and braids covering the head of his bride-elect, and the lines from Pitt s \ Virgil\ recurred to his memory: \ Such fiends to scourge mankind, so fierce, so fell, Heaven never summoned from the depths of hell.\ Mr. Stone broke the momentary silence by saying, in matter-of-fact tones: \ It is natural, I suppose, to a man of your seemingly nervous temperament, to be a little upset at not meeting your father; but, in my opinion, life is too short for sentiment, especially when wasted as in this case, for your father, according to cablegram sent us, is improving, and is, I dare swear, kicking his heels about St. Lawrence Hall, Montreal, waiting impatiently
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for your return.\ 
for your return.\ \ Yes, Uncle Timothy, yours is the practical view of it; sentiment is, or should be, a monopoly of the poets; self-interest, with pounds, shillings and pence, are good enough for us.\ \ Margaret means to convey, Mr. Charles, that you should be thankful to Providence that you have been spared to come to us; to a land, also, flowing with milk and honey, ready to your hand and purse,\ said her aunt, sanctimoniously adding, \ How is religious life in Toronto?\ \ Religious life?\ he said, half dazed, wholly absorbed in the thought that he was to be held in bondage by that stony-eyed woman with snake-like hair–his Medusa. \ Alas, I fear you are dead in sin, Mr. Charles. You do not even know
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the meaning of 
the meaning of my words. I have heard that New York is the most wicked city in America, and you, I fear, frequently go there to participate in the pleasures of sin. I dread to allow my niece to go out, even as your wife; it was only the other day I read, copied from one of your newspapers, that at Tahlequah, which I suppose is near you, that a Chickasaw Indian was arrested by a deputy United States marshal with three assistants; the company camped on the prairie, with the exception of the marshal, who, riding on, reached his goal; waited there until weary, he rode back, and what did he find? The entire posse with heads cut off, and the Indian fled. America must be a very Sodom and Gomorrah. But I see you are not listening to me, Mr. Charles.
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We have a 
We have a saintly young man here, the Rev. Claude Parks, whom I must ask to influence you to a better frame of mind, with an intense gratitude to Providence for the favors about to be showered upon you.\ Thus did Miss Stone give vent to her feelings to unlistening ears. Fond of hearing her own voice, it mattered little to her that she received no replies but to be told impatiently that \ he was ill,\ and to be compelled to waste the eloquence she seduced herself into believing she possessed, upon a man with now his hands pressed upon his feverish brow, now his eyes fixed on vacancy, now upon the entrance as though he would fain flee, incensed her almost to rage; during the absence of Mr. Stone and his niece she had determined to improve
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the occasion, and so 
the occasion, and so read him no end of lectures. The two absent ones, after a few minutes whispered conversation in the library, had crossed the lawn to a neat cottage where the clergyman in charge of the Bayswater Mission existed on one hundred and fifty pounds per annum. As they stepped through the flower beds, which the moon rising in unclouded splendor lit with her soft white light, Miss Villiers in cold, hard tones, said: \ Yes, you are right; he showed his hand, and of how much he loved me at first sight, as he asked in that scared way for my sweet sister, but bah! such maudlin folly in our wasting our precious moments over his feelings in the matter; they are of no more consequence than are the blades of grass we crush beneath our
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feet in reaching 
feet in reaching CHAPTER IX. our goal; let him laugh who wins, even though the goal be reached by a foul.\ \ Yes, the sooner we hold the lines the better; he has not spirit enough to be a runaway horse.\ \ Let him but try, there is the curb bit and halter.\ \ Oh, you need not tell me, Margaret, that you will have him well in hand. Yes, and before that paradise of fools, the honeymoon, is over,\ laughed her uncle sardonically. \ Yes, the grey mare will be the best horse this time; but what a blessing his father is laid low; it would have been all up, when he saw how cut up our precious Charles is. I
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Hartley Wiggins would 
Hartley Wiggins would not be continued within earshot. To my relief they moved a trifle farther on; but I still heard their voices. [Illustration: This discussion between Cecilia Hollister and Hartley Wiggins.] \ I cannot listen to you. Now that I m committed I cannot honorably countenance you at all; and I can explain nothing. I came here to meet you only to tell you this. You must go–please! And do not attempt to see me in this way again.\ I was grateful that Wiggins s voice sank so low in his reply that I did not hear it; but I knew that he was pleading hard. Then a motor flashed by, and when the whir of its passing had ceased, the voices were inaudible; but a moment later I heard a light quick
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step beyond the 
step beyond the wall, and Cecilia passed hurriedly, her face turned toward the house. The cape was drawn tightly about her shoulders, and she walked with her head bowed. I breathed a sigh of relief, and when I felt safe from detection climbed the slope. Pausing on the crest to survey the landscape, I saw a man, wearing a derby hat and a light top-coat, leaning against a fence that inclosed a pasture. As I glanced in his direction he moved away hastily toward the road below. The feeling of being watched is not agreeable, and I could not account for him. As he passed out of sight, still another man appeared, emerging from a strip of woodland farther on. Even through the evening haze I should have
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said that he 
said that he was a gentleman. The two men apparently bore no relation to each other, though they were walking in the same direction, bound, I judged, for the highway below. I had an uncomfortable feeling that they had both been observing me, though for what purpose I could not imagine. 20 Then once more, just as I was about to enter the Italian garden from a fallow field that hung slightly above it, a third man appeared as mysteriously as though he had sprung from the ground, and ran at a sharp dog-trot along the fence, headed, like the others, for the road. In the third instance the stranger undoubtedly took pains to hide his face, but he, too, was well dressed and wore a top-coat and a fedora hat of current style.
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I did not 
I did not know why these gentlemen were ranging the neighborhood or what object they had in view; but their several appearances had interested me, and I went on into the house well satisfied that events of an unusual character were likely to mark my visit to the home of Miss Octavia Hollister. IV WE DINE IN THE GUN-ROOM Cecilia sat reading alone when I entered the library shortly before the dinner-hour. She put down her book and we fell into fitful talk. \ I took a walk after tea. I always feel that sunsets are best seen from the fields; you can t quite do them justice from windows,\ she began. She seemed preoccupied, but this may have been the interpretation of my conscience, whose twinges reminded me
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unpleasantly of my 
unpleasantly of my precipitation into the briar bushes at the foot of the pasture, where I had witnessed her meeting with Wiggins. My admiration gained new levels. Her black evening gown became her; a band of velvet circled her throat, emphasizing its firm whiteness. It seemed incredible that I had seen her so recently, in the filmy dusk, talking with so much earnestness to Hartley Wiggins. It was my impression, gained from the few sentences I had overheard by the road, that she did not repulse him, but that some mysterious, difficult barrier kept them apart. Where, I wondered, was Wiggins now, and what were to be the further incidents of this singular affair? While we waited for Miss Hollister to appear, she continued to speak of her joy in the hills. It is not every one who can admire
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faces and eyes. 
faces and eyes. These are not to be trusted under any circumstances. ABOUT THE AUTHOR Jon was born in the State of California in 1950, and grew up surfing, hitchhiking around the country, and studying the martial arts. He earned a black belt by the age of 24, and then served in the army for a time. He attended three universities studying Sociology, Psychology, and Clinical Nutrition. Presently, he works in a family-owned business as an herbalist and clinical nutritionist. Jon walked the path of six spiritual traditions for a period of ten years before learning of the ancient tradition practiced by the Indo-Europeans. Having been in communication with his Higher Self since 1989, he was told to apply what he had learned esoterically, to reestablishing the esoteric principles in the Old Norse tradition that were lost. The “Vitkar” carried the mysteries for that tradition,
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but when they 
but when they were killed during the Inquisition, everything was destroyed, save a few fragments. Jon spent another ten years studying the works of other researchers, and was eventually able to fulfill the wishes of his Higher Self. Since 2007, he has engaged himself in pursuing knowledge regarding Dominion, whom he came across during his shamanic battles on other planes, and in other dimensions. He is a man who believes in pursuing his own knowledge, rather than accepting what is handed to him. Douglas Stauffer Chapter 1: The Murderer and Me Where to Begin? What began me on this journey? What broke me out of the quiet depression I had held so long and the generally negative view of the world I
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had clung to 
had clung to all my life? In some respects…a photo of a man. Till then, I had lived my life on autopilot; simply rising each day as I had always risen, never conscious of who I was, how I was, or why; never truly understanding the self inside this body, or the body inside this world which had always felt so alien to me. I had accumulated a lifetime of hurt, and seen a lifetime of opportunity pass, and I wasn’t enjoying it. In fact, I was hating it. My shyness and general dissatisfaction with how I was led me to dislike most everyone, but I was completely unwilling to change a thing about myself or try. Nor was I willing even
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to admit that 
to admit that perhaps I did not know everything; that I in fact knew nothing – of what was wrong, of who I was, or of life in general. And it hurt. It always hurt. Being who I was hurt. It was painful even; always gnawing at me, forever on my mind, incessantly in my thoughts. “I suck.” “I’m not cool.” “I’m not good enough.” And so I struggled. There were days I’d break down. There were nights I’d cry. There were weeks I’d go without managing a single smile. There were times I was so down, so lost, so unbelievably afraid of everything, that I couldn’t even manage to leave the house…to get to
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REEDHAM TO YARMOUTH. [Picture: 
REEDHAM TO YARMOUTH. [Picture: Decorative drop capital] The next morning we were up betimes to take the last of the ebb down to 13 Yarmouth, and catch the tide up the Bure. As there was a fresh breeze from the east, we had to tack nearly the whole of the way. At Reedham there is a swing bridge, over which the railway passes, and if the wind is foul it is always a difficult matter to sail through, particularly if the tide be against you. On the present occasion we had the tide with us; therefore, on reaching the opening of the bridge, we could shoot the yacht up into the wind, and carry her way on until through, when her head was paid off on the proper tack.
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\ I tell 
\ I tell you what, these Norfolk waters are capital places to learn to steer in. An inch either way, and we should have torn our sail against the bridge.\ \ Yes, and what with getting the utmost on every tack, without going ashore, shaving wherries by a yard or two, and watching for every puff as it comes over the grasses on the marsh, so as to make the most of it, there is more fun in sailing here than on more open waters.\ Just below the bridge is the New Cut, a perfectly straight canal, three miles long, connecting the Yare with the Waveney, and so saving a round of some eighteen miles, which would otherwise be necessary to get from the one river to the other, as a reference to the map will
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show. Now came a 
show. Now came a steady beat for several miles, until we reached the Berney Arms (on the right is the mouth of the river Waveney), when Breydon water opened out before us, with Yarmouth in the distance. When the tide is in, this is a remarkable sheet of water, four and a-half miles long by a mile broad. There are mud flats on either side of the wide channel, where herons and sea-fowl greatly congregate. The strong wind against the tide raises a respectable sea, and the tacks being longer we made rapid progress, and the motion was exhilarating. A sail across Breydon in a strong wind, is a thing I always consider a great treat. The channel is marked out by stout posts at intervals of two hundred yards or thereabouts, but it is not safe to sail too close
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the mother. \ Yes,\ 
the mother. \ Yes,\ said the thorn-bush; \ but I will not tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing to death; I shall become a lump of ice!\ And she pressed the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns 13 went right into her flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops, but the thorn-bush shot forth fresh green leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, the heart of the afflicted mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush told her the way she should go. She then came to a large lake, where there was neither ship nor boat. The lake was not
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frozen sufficiently to bear 
frozen sufficiently to bear her; neither was it open, nor low enough that she could wade through it; and across it she must go if she would find her child! Then she lay down to drink up the lake, and that was an impossibility for a human being, but the afflicted mother thought that a miracle might happen nevertheless. \ Oh, what would I not give to come to my child!\ said the weeping mother; and she wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in the depths of the waters, and became two precious pearls; but the water bore her up, as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the rocking waves to the shore on the opposite side, where there stood a mile-broad, strange house, one knew not if it were a mountain with forests
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and caverns, or 
and caverns, or if it were built up; but the poor mother could not see it; she had wept her eyes out. \ Where shall I find Death, who took away my little child?\ said she. \ He has not come here yet!\ said the old grave woman, who was appointed to look after Death s great greenhouse! \ How have you been able to find the way hither? and who has helped you?\ \ Our Lord has helped me,\ said she. \ He is merciful, and you will also be so! Where shall I find my little child?\ \ Nay, I know not,\ said the woman, \ and you cannot see! Many flowers and trees have withered this night; Death will soon come and plant them over
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again! You certainly 
again! You certainly know that every person has his or her life s tree or flower, just as every one happens to be settled; they look like other plants, but they have pulsations of the heart. Children s hearts can also beat; go after yours, perhaps you may know your child s; but what will you give me if I tell you what you shall do more?\ \ I have nothing to give,\ said the afflicted mother, \ but I will go to the world s end for you!\ \ Nay, I have nothing to do there!\ said the woman, \ but you can give me your long black hair; you know yourself that it is fine, and that I like! You shall have my white hair instead! and that s always something!\
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carry. As he stepped 
carry. As he stepped aside for a moment out of the way of this torrent, Stewart found himself beside the bearded stranger who had waxed eloquent in defense of Germany. He was watching the crowd with a look at once mocking and sardonic, as a spider might watch a fly struggling vainly to escape from the web. He glanced at Stewart, then turned away without any sign of recognition. \ Where do you go, sir?\ the porter asked, when they were safely through the gates. \ To the Koelner Hof.\ \ It is but a step,\ said the porter, and he unhooked his belt, passed it through the handles of the suit-cases, hooked it together again and lifted it to his shoulder. \ This way, sir, if you please.\
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The Koelner Hof 
The Koelner Hof proved to be a modest inn just around the corner, where Stewart was received most cordially by the plump, high-colored landlady. Lunch would be ready in a few minutes; meanwhile, if the gentleman would follow the waiter, he would be shown to a room where he could remove the traces of his journey. But first would the gentleman fill in the blank required by the police? So Stewart filled in the blank, which demanded his name, his nationality, his age, his business, his home address, the place from which he had come to Aix-la-Chapelle and the place to which he would go on leaving it, handed it back to the smiling landlady, and followed an ugly, hang-dog waiter up the stair. The room into which he was shown was a very pleasant one, scrupulously
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clean, and as 
clean, and as he made his toilet, Stewart reflected how much more of comfort and how much warmer welcome was often to be had at the small inns than at the big ones, and mentally thanked the officer of police who had recommended this one. He found he had further reason for gratitude when he sat down to lunch, served on a little table set in one corner of a shady court–the best lunch he had eaten for a long time, as he told the landlady when she came out presently, knitting in hand, and sat down near him. She could speak a little English, it appeared, and a little French, and these, with Stewart s little German, afforded a medium of communication limping, it is true, but sufficient. She received the compliments of her guest with the dignity of one
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Too much 
Too much ballast, he again cried, excitedly springing on the masked man, first tearing off his mask, disclosing the essentially manly face of a gentleman whom I frequently meet, but am not acquainted with, but in whom I take an interest, because of his tender care of a little lady I used to see with him; Mr. Cobbe springing on him with the words, too much ballast; down with affinities! hurled the poor fellow to earth, at which I cried out as you heard; his fall was a something too awfully real; one s nerves for the time suffer as severely as though all was reality,\ she added in a pre-occupied tone, as though mind was burdened with latent thought. \ But all s well that ends well; Mr. Cobbe is in mid air,
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where I fervently 
where I fervently hope he will remain.\ \ But you forget the poor man who was hurled to the earth; I know his face so well.\ \ And I know yours, Mrs. Gower, and you are safe and so am I; and as Joseph, I interpret that you are to give your charming self to an affinity, and don t fly too high.\ \ The first part of your speech is epicurean, in your second you play the mentor,\ she said, laughingly; \ but in your face I see you have something to tell me; go now to the telephone and tell them to send you your dress coat, for you have no time to go all the way to the Walker House and be back by seven.\ \ No
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use; I cannot 
use; I cannot stay for dinner.\ \ Cannot stay! Why?\ \ My father writes me he is going to sail for England at once, and wishes me to meet him at London.\ \ Well, you ought not to look so grave over such a meditated trip, Charlie, it will make a new man of you; and instead of betaking yourself to the Preston baths, a sea voyage, I should say, will set you up, making you forget the word rheumatism better than any sulphur bath in all Canada.\ \ But,\ he said, in serio-comic tones, \ what do you think of my being forced into annexation?\ \ Only that you use the word forced, I should say I congratulate you.\ \
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At the same 
At the same time that you keep your own freedom, though,\ he said, despondently; seeing her look of gravity, he continued, touching her hand, \ beg pardon, Elaine, I should not say that, knowing your past; but,\ he said brightly, \ I should like to see you wed an affinity.\ CHAPTER III. \ I am afraid such pleasant fate is not for me,\ she said, gravely. \ Do you believe in predestination, Mrs. Gower?\ he says, abruptly. 42 \ What next! from annexation to dogma. Tell me all about yourself, and it is too lovely an Indian summer day to remain in the house, come to my favorite seat in the garden.\ \ Where I
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shall give you 
shall give you an instantaneous photograph, from my father s pen, of the girl I am predestined to change the name of.\ \ From your father s pen!\ CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER IV. THE FOOT-BALL OF CIRCUMSTANCE. As they near a knoll under a clump of trees commanding a view of the road, a gentleman sauntering up the street gazes, as many do, at Holmnest with its pretty grounds. 43 \ Look, quick, Charlie,\ said Mrs. Gower, in low and rapid tones, apparently intent on spreading a rug on the rustic bench, \ there he is, I mean—-\ \ Well, I only see a very ordinary and thoroughly independent looking man, seeming
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as though he 

as though he feared nothing, not even you, and as if Toronto was built for him.\ At this Mrs. Gower, laughing merrily, says, \ And not for the Lieutenant-Governor, Mayor Howland, Archbishop Lynch, or the caller herrin -man. \ As the soft laughter fell on the air, the stranger looked towards them, and looked so intently, that involuntarily his hand is raised to his head and his hat lifted. \ You say you have not met him, Mrs. Gower; you are a very prudent woman, I must say, coming out here in your white gown, with ribbons the color of a peach, creating a sensation; you had better wed an affinity since you won t have me, and get a protector at once.\ \ That is the man I
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were there?\ \ 
were there?\ \ Oh, I dropped in quite accidentally one day last spring. I saw the sign, and remembered that somebody had spoken of the place, and I was tired, and it was a long way to the club, and\ — Dissimulation is not an art as Wiggins attempts to practice it at times. He is by nature the most straightforward of mortals. It was clear that he was withholding something, and I resolved to get to the bottom of it. \ I don t think the Asolando is a place that would attract either of us, and yet the viands are good as such stuff goes, and the gentle hand-maidens are restful to the eye,–Pippa, Francesca, Gloria, and the rest of em.\ Wiggins pried open his artichoke with the care of
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a botanist. He 
a botanist. He had regained his composure, but I saw that the subject interested him. \ You were there this afternoon?\ he inquired. \ Yes, my first and only appearance.\ \ And this is Monday.\ \ The calendar has said it.\ \ So you settled your bill with Pippa! I believe this was her day.\ \ Then you really do know the inner workings of the Asolando,\ I continued; \ I thought you would show your hand presently. Then it is perhaps Gloria, Beatrice or Francesca who minds the till on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, alternating with Pippa, who took my coin to-day. It s a pretty idea. It has the delicacy of an arrangement by Whistler or the charm of a
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line in Rossetti. 
line in Rossetti. So you have seen the blessed damozel at the cash-desk.\ \ On the contrary I was never there on Tuesday, Thursday, or Saturday, and I therefore passed no coin to Francesca, Gloria or Beatrice. My only visit was on a day last May, and my recollection of the system is doubtless imperfect.\ \ Then beyond doubt I saw Pippa. She makes the change on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Her eyelashes are a trifle too long for the world s peace.\ \ I dare say. I have n t your charming knack, Ames, of picking up acquaintances, so you must n t expect me to form life-long friendships with young women at cash-desks. I suppose it did n t occur to you that those young women who tend till and
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serve the tables 
serve the tables in there are persons of education and taste. The Asolando is not a common hashery. I sometimes fear that so much crawling through chimneys is clouding your intellect. It ought to have been clear even to your smoky chimney-pot that those girls in there are not the kind you can ask to meet you by the old mill at the fall of dewy eve, or who write notes to popular romantic actors. There s not a girl in that place who has n t a social position as good as yours or mine. The Asolando s a kind of fad, you know, Ames; it s not a tavern within the meaning of the inn-keepers act, where common swine are fed for profit. The servants serve for love of the cause; it s a sort of cult. But I suppose you
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are incapable of 
are incapable of grasping it. There was always something sordid in you, and I m pained to find that you re getting worse.\ Siege of the Seven Suitors, by Meredith Nicholson Wiggins had, before now, occasionally taken this attitude toward me, and it was always with a view to obscuring some real issue between us. He requires patience; it is a mistake to attempt to crowd him; but give him rope and he will twist his own halter. We sparred further without result. I had suggested a topic that had clearly some painful association for my 5 friend. He drank his coffee gloomily and lighted a cigar much blacker than the one I knew to be his favorite in the Hare and Tortoise humidor.
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does not appear 
does not appear to be P. onocrotalus, but a similar species, P. roseus, found chiefly in Indio-China and westward to South-eastern Europe, but occurring as far west as the River Volga (\ Cat. of Birds,\ B. M., xxvi., p. 466). In this Mr. Ogilvie Grant, the author of that section of the Catalogue, whom I consulted, agrees with me, and the locality whence the birds were derived, mentioned by Willughby, renders not unlikely. Onocrotalus in Browne s time was a general term for \ the Pelican,\ and he probably knew but one species and one individual, the escaped bird from Charles II. s Aviary. Browne s very miscellaneous collection was destroyed by the authorities at the time of the plague (see ninth letter to Merrett), and probably the remains of this Pelican perished with the rest. Anas Arctica
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clusii wch though 
clusii wch though hee placeth about the faro Islands is the same wee call a puffin co[=m]on about Anglisea in wales & sometimes [for struck out] taken upon our seas not sufficiently described by the name of puffinus the bill being so remarkably differing from other ducks & not horizontally butt meridionally formed to feed in the clefts of the rocks of insecks, shell-fish & others. The great number of riuers riuulets & plashes of water makes hernes [to abound in these struck out] & herneries to abound in these parts. yong hensies being esteemed a festiuall dish & much desired by some palates. The Ardea stellaris botaurus, or bitour[26] is also co[=m]on & esteemed the better dish. in the belly of one I found a frog in an hard frost at christmas. another I kept in a
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garden 2 yeares 
garden 2 yeares feeding it with fish mice & frogges. in defect whereof making a scrape for sparrowes & small birds, the bitour made shifft to maintaine herself upon them. [26] This is one of the birds once common enough in Norfolk, which in the present day is only a winter and spring migrant. The last eggs of the Bittern were taken in this county on 30th of March, 1868; the last \ boom\ of a resident was heard in May, 1886, in the August of which year a young female was killed at Reedham with down still adhering to its feathers; this was probably the last Norfolk-bred Bittern. In the \ Vulgar Errors,\ book 3, chapter xxvii., section 4, is a discourse on the \ mugient noise\ of the Bittern and the mode of its production,
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and in a 
and in a foot-note in the same place is a curious anecdote illustrating the difficulty of detecting a wounded Bittern, even when marked down in short, recently mown grass and flags. The spring cry of the Bittern is mentioned by Robert Marsham in his unpublished journal nineteen times, between the years 1739 and 1775, as first heard at Stratton Strawless, generally between the 15th of March and the 15th of April; and Notes and Letters on the Natural History of by Thomas Browne 21 it was on the 14th of the latter month that Benjamin Stillingfleet records it in the \ Calendar of Flora\ as heard in the same locality in 1755. He does not describe the note, but uses the words \ makes a noise.\ Marsham,
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caste. They do 
caste. They do nothing for Germany–they add nothing to her art, her science, or her literature–they add nothing to her wealth–they destroy rather than build up–and yet it is they who rule Germany. We are a pacific people, we love our homes and a quiet life; we are not a military people, and yet every man in Germany must march to war when the word is given. We ourselves have no voice in the matter. We have only to obey.\ \ Obey whom?\ asked Stewart. \ The Emperor,\ answered Bloem, bitterly. \ With all our progress, my friend, with all our development in science and industry, with all our literature and art, with all our philosophy, we still live in a medieval State, ruled by a king who believes himself divinely appointed, who can do
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no wrong, and 
no wrong, and who, in time of war at least, has absolute power over us. And the final decision as to war or peace is wholly in his hands. Understand I do not complain of the Emperor; he has done great things for Germany; he has often cast his influence for peace. But he is surrounded by aristocrats intent only on maintaining their privileges, who are terrified by the growth of democratic ideas; who believe that the only way to checkmate democracy is by a great war. It is they who preach the doctrine of blood and iron; who hold that Caesar is sacrosanct. The Emperor struggles against them; but some day they will prove too strong for him. Besides, he himself believes in blood and iron; CHAPTER I he hates democracy as bitterly tv lcd 19

as anyone, for 
as anyone, for it denies the divine right of kings!\ He stopped suddenly, his finger to his ear. \ Listen!\ he said. Down the street, from the direction of the river, came a low, continuous murmur, as of the wind among the leaves of a forest; then, as it grew clearer, it resolved itself into the tramp, tramp of iron-shod feet. Bloem leaned far forward staring into the darkness; and suddenly, at the corner, three mounted officers appeared; 7 then a line of soldiers wheeled into view; then another and another and another, moving as one man. The head of the column crossed the square, passed behind the church and disappeared, but still the tide poured on with slow and regular undulation, dim, mysterious, and threatening. At last the rear of the
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vile gods would 
vile gods would decree such inequities, that many would die, while he would live to enjoy the challenge of survival. The sun was nearly at zenith when he saw the first ship from the top of a salt-grass dune – one of the gigantic inter-island ferries, lying at an angle, masts gone, gaping holes clearly visible in its hull. After walking a bit further, he saw another ship, a trading vessel much like his lost Wayfarer, floating in calm waters beyond the wrecked ferry. His heart lifted as he saw many people. Kaylen started jogging again, waving; the nearest person shouted, and pointed toward him. Within minutes, he was surrounded by dozens, engaged in handshakes and hugs, pummeled by questions, and thoroughly relieved by proof that he wasn’t the only human in the
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universe. “Let him breath!” 
universe. “Let him breath!” a woman’s voice called out. “Don’t smother him.” The crowd separated, and a tall, muscular red-head strode forward. “Well I’ll be damned!” She looked him up and down. “Kaylen Thyr!” Kaylen laughed. “It’s good to see you, Jahsha. How’d the leg heal?” She reached down and pulled up her pant leg. A long pink scar ran down the side of the calf. “Not perfect,” Jahsha said. “But I’m not walking on stick, either.” She led him out of the crowd, chuckling. “At the moment, I’d rather be fighting pirates than dealing with this mess.” “You and me both,” Kaylen nodded. “It’s been a long time.” “It has indeed.” She wounded a bit wistful. “Where’s your ship?” Kaylen’s enthusiasm died instantly. “Gone,” he said. The memory felt oddly old
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and disconnected. They 
and disconnected. They walked quietly for a while, lost in memories. Near the wrecked ferry, 24 they reached a fire pit surrounded by few makeshift chairs, crates, and bags. “My office, for the moment,” Jahsha said, with a wry smile. Kaylen sat on one of the crates. “So you’re in charge here?” he asked, pulling off one of his boots and emptying sand. “As much as anyone is in charge of anything,” she said with a shrug. “People are still in shock, trying to absorb what’s going on.” She sat across from Kaylen, leaning back and stretching her long legs out. “The Gull was blown south by the storms. Hell, I thought we were going under
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L a small 
L a small step for hu- manity. The lock popped from the pressure of the blows, the door slamming into the wall behind it. Howie stood there, returned, suddenly, from the dead, grinning. Bobby gripped the handle of the thirty-eight, thought it over, and let it go. Howie was cleaned and his leg wound tended L dressed and bug-eyed again. MDrop your cock and grab your socks!N He strut- ted across the room, stiff-legged from his wound, and pulled the blankets from Bobby. MGet it up, amigo. WePre outta here.N Bobby pressed his eyelids tight, fighting the reality of Howie along with the early morning sun- light racing through the door. He was silent and sullen, a prisoner
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before the gallows, 
before the gallows, refusing to believe the nightmare lived. It did. He hauled his spent and naked body across the bed and to the shower. MWhat time is it?N MFifteen minutes.N Howie kept bellowing. MFood in the van. Want an upper? WherePs Gomez?N MTwo-oh-five.N Bobby turned the water hotter, hoping to scald him self and get hospitalized. Re- peated his question. MWhat time is it?N He didnPt get an answer L Howie was out the door. He was gone to room two-oh-five. He hoped Gomez killed him. The water beat hot and hard. It couldnPt be more than six in the morning. He couldPve
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slept for two 
slept for two days. — 108 — He stepped out of the shower, noticing his im- proved appearance in the mirror. He fought his thoughts, deciding to skip them altogether. He took a rain check on his memory as well. He wished hePd stayed on South Padre, on the dune, hungry and cold. He could have snuck back into Mexico, got Tanya, bought a burro and got him- self deep into the hills, forever. He squeezed the thirty-eight into his boot, safety on. In all, it took him about seven minutes before he stepped out into the hot Louisiana sun. Six oPclock, he figured, no
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more. 
more. He climbed through the open panel door at the side of the van and started working his way through a couple of take out containers. Drowned his coffee in pack- ets of sugar, holding it between his hands, staring blankly out the opened door at a New Orleans morning. The good life could be anywhere. He no- ticed Robert ForsterPs car was gone. Maybe it was a dream. He wished it were nothing more than last nightPs nightmare. He shook his head. His life was distorted, but it wasnPt making him that stupid. He watched Howie through the windshield, talking to Pierre, pulling money from his brief- case, favoring his
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leg. Gomez, 
leg. Gomez, dripping wet and shirtless, wandered up to the rear door looking a lot as if he was sleepwalking. He climbed in with- out any acknowledgment. MGomez.N The Mexican opened one eye in time to catch the containerized food. MGracias.N He mumbled the word, looked over where the body bag used to be, almost looked at Bobby, took a bite. He kept — 109 — eating while Bobby watched in silence. Difficult to figure, this Gomez, hard to know what went on inside his head. It was an easy out to write him off, as Bobby had initially and erroneously. But this Mexican inex plicably held himself beyond all of them, in his silence, inside himself.
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There was something 
There was something ancient about the man, something of another civiliza tion, someonePs reincarnation. Bobby figured it, looked at him, and realized no- body could disguise himself more com pletely. Howie limped to the van. MIPve got a lot of pain here, guys. IPll get the job done despite it L me and the Demerol.N He looked for sympathy while he glanced through the window at them. He got nothing but blank stares. He put a look on his face as if mommy had just sent him to his room without dinner and if hePs lucky shePll come up and beat him later L confirm she still loves him. The pout didnPt last long. Howie wasnPt able to avoid himself much.
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\ Oh, don 
\ Oh, don t start. Roland could send you to the edge of the earth and I would not care.\ She smiled for a moment, but her expression became bitter as she smoothed a section of the embroidery. \ Master Conadine 21 was sent for today from the Granges to help deal with Grandier. He should be here within the week. It was the worst stupidity not to wait for him and to send you with only Dr. Braun.\ \ If I d had the choice, I might have gone anyway,\ he admitted. \ If we had waited any longer Grandier could have killed Dubell.\ \ And taken a handful of men, and only Dr. Braun?\ Her lips thinned. \ Never mind. Roland did it to
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aggravate me, and we 
aggravate me, and we know who encouraged him to it, don t we?\ Ravenna tested the sharpness of her needle with a finger, then selected another out of the case Lady Anne held ready for her. \ And what other mischief has Denzil been up to lately?\ Thomas took a seat on one of the stools near her chair, feeling his weariness as a tight pain across his shoulders. The episode with Grandier had worried Ravenna more than she had revealed to Aviler or the others, but he let her change the subject. He said, \ He visited a banker on the Riverside Way yesterday, but that was about a gambling debt. If he s planning something now, he s taking more care with it.\ \ Perhaps.\ Ravenna carefully threaded the needle. \ Someday
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he will miscalculate.\ 
he will miscalculate.\ Thomas shrugged. \ Roland can always pardon him.\ Denzil was Duke of Alsene, Roland s older cousin on his father s side, and acknowledged favorite. There were men who had more respect for the finer feelings of their dogs than Denzil had for Roland, but the young King still clung to him. It was undoubtedly Denzil who had talked Roland into sending a small contingent of the Queen s Guard to beard Grandier in his lair, knowing Thomas would be bound to lead them, and knowing that it would infuriate Ravenna. Thomas reminded himself there was nothing to be done about it tonight. But he was looking forward to the moment when the news reached Denzil that he had gone into Grandier s house and brought Galen Dubell out alive without losing a single man.
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\ What did 
\ What did the Bisran ambassador want?\ \ To accuse us of harboring Grandier.\ She made a gesture of exasperation, willing to be led away from the subject of her son s favorite. \ And also to present a new list of their heretics sheltering in Ile-Rien, so they could be arrested and returned to Bisra to burn for their crimes. That the Bisran Inquisition has no authority within our borders is immaterial, apparently. I wish I knew why the ambassador is so certain that Grandier is here with our blessings.\ She coughed, and Lady Anne hastily produced a lace-edged cloth for her. Watching her accusingly, Thomas said, \ You re not feeling well.\ She had caught a lung flux last winter when they had gone to Bannot-on-the-Shore to quell a minor upheaval among the
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Björkan: Ehstí 
Björkan: Ehstí (E): Manar: Lákar: Ingvar: Daku: Othalar (O): These categories are of significance in conceptualizing the role each Rune plays in the context of its general concepts and esoteric aspects; but as we shall see, they all play a role in creation. By way of correlation, we will come to understand runic functions, and thus, to gain a conceptual awareness of how it is that the “All,” through these universal forces, effectuates not only creation, but also every other function in the universe. As vowels in any language cement all words together to form a phonetic cohesiveness, so too, do the vowel Runes of the Elder Futhark ( , , , , ) cement it together into a cohesive working whole, with Solí
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as the axis. 
as the axis. The Runes represent, then, what can be termed “The Magical Language of the Universe,” with Solí lending its support to each of the vowel Runes, or “primaries” as we often refer to them. This “language” is how the “All” communicates itself to us. Through an understanding of each Rune’s function, and through runic attunement, the initiate on the path not only gathers information on the proper use of the Runes, but also learns how to properly communicate with the “All.” The Runic Correlation Chart is divided into five spheres of influence with each set of Runes connected to the primary through mode of operation: Runic Correlation has its application to our development on the path of enlightenment and transcendence, but what we are looking for here, is its application to “creation.” Each sphere is based on a
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primary Rune, which 
primary Rune, which in turn, receives its objective from Solí. – Isar’s objective as the primary Rune in the sphere of Energy’s origin is to manifest the basis upon which creation is founded, and to still the energies of her two very powerful satellites, when required. Light is first, and self-perpetuating. Isar controls, because she magnifies Light. The only Runic forces she does not control are those of Solí, because he is the direct extension of the “All,” which is the source of Light. Although Isar controls all the other Runes, the most interesting relationship of this nature, is her control of Thurisar – . As the 3rd Runic Light which is red, he embodies the subatomic structure of all existence, which is Sound. Therefore, one might reason that Thurisar is out of the realm of Light, and therefore, remains autonomous.
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Isar’s energetic 
Isar’s energetic connection, however, is through Sound, since she embodies both Light and Sound. She controls Thurisar through her ability to magnify more or less Light, which he depends on for his manifestation. The Sound Matrix, after all, is but a magnification of Light. Isar’s other satellite is Reinu – , who directs all movement in the universe. The ongoing creation manifesting in all evolutionary processes, then, is entirely under his direction. Reinu provides the vehicle when we are accessing either the past, or the future time tracks. As an individual power, he maintains his own rhythm independently of outside forces, which makes him the director of all movement in the universe. He, who controls rhythmic structures, controls the direction of movement. This principle can be seen in music, where the rhythmic structure carried by the rhythm section of a band
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loved him dearly, and for many years, after he had left their city, continued to \\ remember him with gifts of love for his long and faithful service among them\\ . In 1583, to the sorrow of his congregation he had accepted a call to Malmø, a city on the eastern shore of the Sound. But in this new field his earnest Evangelical preaching, provoked the resentment of a number of his most influential parishioners, who, motivated by a wish to 8 blacken his name and secure his removal, instigated a suit against him for having mismanaged an inheritance left to his children by his first wife. The children themselves appeared in his defence, however, and expressed their complete satisfaction with his administration of their property; and the trumped up charge was wholly disproved.

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his enemies still 

his enemies still wanted to have him removed and, choosing a new method of attack, forwarded a petition to the king in which they claimed that \\ Master Hans Chrestensen Sthen because of weakness and old age was incompetent to discharge his duties as a pastor\\ , and asked for his removal to the parishes of Tygelse and Klagstrup. Though the king is reported to have granted the petition, other things seem to have intervened to prevent its execution, and the ill-used pastor appears to have remained at Malmø until his death, the date of which is unknown. Sthen s fame as a poet and hymnwriter rests mainly on two thin volumes of poetry. A Small Handbook, Containing Diverse Prayers and Songs Together with Some Rules for Life, Composed in Verse, which appeared in 1578, and A Small Wander Book

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published in 1591

published in 1591. The books contain both a number of translations and some original poems. In some of the latter Sthen readopts the style of the old folk songs with their free metre, native imagery and characteristic refrain. His most successful compositions in this style are his fine morning and evening hymns, one of which is given below. The gloomy night to morning yields, So brightly the day is breaking; The sun ascends over hills and fields, And birds are with song awaking. Lord, lend us Thy counsel and speed our days, The light of Thy grace surround us. Our grateful thanks to God ascend, Whose mercy guarded our slumber. May ever His peace our days attend And shield us from troubles somber. Lord, lend us Thy counsel and speed our days, The light of Thy grace

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the lower passions. As 
the lower passions. As you become the master of your destiny, your view of what constitutes such great significance as to demand all your emotional energy will undergo drastic changes. You will no longer hyperventilate over possible danger, the prospect of love making, or the excitement of an adventure. You will certainly enjoy all those things, but your countenance will take on a quality of calmness, which is generally perceived in terms of spiritual maturity. Rather than the ego causing a whirlwind of emotional activity, the Higher Self will establish a detached state of awareness. The first key to unlocking your inner power is an inner communication process with the Higher Self, as we discussed in an earlier chapter. Many years ago, I read an old book entitled, “The Magus”, in which I was surprised to find a reference to this process of inner communication. In fact, it
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was suggested that 
was suggested that the occultist use his or her source of inner communication in the development of such powers. It is not my intent to promote occultism, but merely to point out the fact that the Higher Self is your key to success in all your endeavors. The second key to unlocking your inner power is learning how to work effectively with the Higher Self. Most people do not benefit from learning how to utilize their inner communication, because they allow the ego to undermine their process. They react emotionally when an issue arises, taking a stand without first consulting the Higher Self. They feel they don’t need to, because the truth of the matter is self evident. They don’t even consider the possibility that there could be underlying circumstances unknown to them, or that their view may be clouded by prejudice, fear, or emotional passion. When they
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do consult the 
do consult the Higher Self under such circumstances, it is generally for the purpose of asking something like: “should I confront this person”? When they get a yes answer, they assume that their perspective is correct, and that the Higher Self agrees with them. Often, though, the Higher Self wants you to confront someone because by doing so, you will learn a truth that you were unaware of. If you fail to consider such possibilities, and to be specific in your questioning of the Higher Self, there will be unnecessary conflict. Many people fail to benefit from their inner communication process, because they only utilize it when they feel they need something. First of all, the Higher Self knows what you need much more than the ego does, and is in a better position to provide it. Secondly, this process is not simply for assistance when we want it.
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This is a 
This is a path whereby we develop a oneness of consciousness with the Higher Self for the purpose of becoming established in the peace that is commonly associated with the Kingdom of God within. It is important that we determine what the Higher Self wants us to study, and where we may find either the materials, or the instruction we need. He or she must be able to direct us on a moment-to-moment basis, regarding every situation that arises. Allow the Higher Self to plan your day, every day. A well known religious admonition which in practice goes largely forgotten is to “be in the world, but not of the world”. I say largely forgotten, because nearly everyone is too busy raising their families, making a living and planning recreational activities to remember. They are busy being of the world. Some people will argue with me, saying
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palace, their ranks 
palace, their ranks drawn from the families of the wealthy merchant classes or the gentlemen landowners. Vivan had held the post of Commander for the past five years, and even though the Cisternans were ultimately under the King s authority, Vivan had no particular political ax to grind, and Thomas found him easy to deal with. The Commander said, \ A midnight expedition? How exciting.\ Chapter Two \ I would have preferred to stay here and help you guard the stables, but duty called,\ Thomas told him. Vivan snorted. The old king Fulstan had made the Cisternans his bodyguard out of dislike for the Albonate 14 Knights, who had held the post traditionally. When Fulstan s son Roland had taken the throne, his mistrust
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of anything belonging to 
of anything belonging to his father had led him to demote the Cisternans and return to the Albons. Going from the King s Own to the King s Old had been a great loss of prestige for them and the Queen s Own had never let them forget it. Another sore point was that their ceremonial tabards were dark green trimmed with gold, making them good targets and appropriate decor during midwinter festivals. Gideon reined in near them and dismounted, asking, \ Captain, what orders?\ \ Send these gentlemen back to the Guard House.\ As the lieutenant came closer and Thomas could lower his voice, he added, \ Go to Lucas. Tell him what happened and then wait to see if the Dowager Queen has questions for you. I ll see him after this meeting.\
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He wanted to 
He wanted to double his share of the guard placements and put a watch on Dubell. \ Yes, Captain.\ Gideon nodded. Vivan was eyeing the old sorcerer with grudging curiosity as Galen Dubell and Braun dismounted. He asked, \ What were you doing, kidnapping scholars out of the Philosopher s Cross?\ \ Exactly,\ Thomas said as he went to join the sorcerers. \ I could never keep anything from you.\ Thomas led Dubell out of the wet chill of the courtyard and through the inner gate at its far end, passing under the spikes of an old portcullis. Dr. Braun trailed behind them. In the wall beyond, a heavy ironbound door guarded by two alert Cisternans led into one of the corridors that ran inside the protective inner siege walls.
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The corridor was 
The corridor was raw stone, lit by oil lamps and undecorated except for scribbled writings by present and long-dead occupants. Dubell shook his head. \ I lived here for many years and there are still parts of this place I have never seen. I am quite lost, Captain.\ \ We re in the siege wall opposite the south curtain wall. The Summer Residence and the Adamantine Way are behind us at the opposite end of the corridor, and we re going toward the King s Bastion.\ This siege wall divided the newer section of the palace with its open garden courts, domed Summer Residence, and the terraces and windowed facades of the Gallery Wing from the jumbled collection of ancient blocky bastions, towers, and walls on the west side. A steep stairway led up into
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who had lived 
who had lived it. The engines were visible through the steel rungs of the gangway steps. Two of them, big as trucks, sitting there like the sphinx, knew every- thing and told nothing. It surprised him to see them still intact. Probably someone would cut through the side in Brownsville and take them out whole. The propeller shafts, one for each engine, stood four feet high and twice that around. The same dark mud like sludge covered the bottom two feet of them. TheyPd have to be chained down. A competent sea tug would carry her at five knots in good weather, and that meant the screws would turn just that fast. If they turned,
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theyPd spin the 
theyPd spin the shafts into dead engines. It was bad enough in itself, but in reverse it was a lot like winding a watch inside out until it imploded. YouPd have gears, springs, and hot bits the size of truck tires flying everywhere. BobbyPd seen it happen fifteen miles off Hali- fax, pistons the size of a small car engine punched right through the hull; a man hePd known for five hours lost his guts when a chunk ripped into him. It was indiscriminate specificity. A man hurt in the vitals could suffer a long time be
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it became an 
it became an eternity. Firsthand wasnPt some- thing you could get out of a book. Nobody wrote that well. He remembered, too, how nobody re- ally gave a damn. He recalled carrying his buddy up out of the engine room so they could bag him. The owners didnPt lose a word in their bitch about engines blowing apart, who was responsi- ble and what it was going to cost them. Bobby told them to blame the carcass if they were really desperate. He saw the lights go on. He laid the man on the open body bag atop the stretcher. He didnPt hesitate. He walked back to the fat mouthy one whose lights were still flashing from BobbyPs suggestio
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the neck, rubbing blood 
the neck, rubbing blood and slime all over him before he dropped him onto the deck. MYeah, you fat fuck! Blame the carcass!N He wasnPt thinking consequences when he jammed his boot up under the throat and slammed the manPs head down hard on the steel deck plating. MI guess this screws my bonus, eh.N The other two had backed way off, looking for cavalry. He lunged at them and laughed his way off the gangway. DidnPt even get off the docks be- fore they had him for it. Beat him generously in the back of the patrol car. He was sentenced to two years less a day, the fat man ended up with partial paralysis. Bobby didnPt give a damn about that,
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it was losing 
it was losing his daughter over it that made it tough to handle, made him lose his cool in custody and get a couple months psychiatric evaluation time. He never got — 85 — to the legal time. One night he climbed a fence, stole his daughter back, and ran. He still figured it was worth every minute. The night he climbed the fence, he said good- bye. He blew the fat suitPs car to pieces. It didnPt kill him, didnPt hurt anybody. Bobby just wanted the soulless grunt to walk around looking over his shoulder for a while. He thought about it while he sat there
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and could see the 
and could see the limping bastard sitting at his break- fast table, gulping coffee and bitching at his kids, sending the wife out to start the car. Bobby smiled at the thought L what some women would do for security. The memory faded as he stood there in the en- gine room, knee deep in the sludge as his eye caught the soot covered brass nameplate screwed to the engine room wall. He waded across to it and started scraping the filth away, uncovering it like a relic. It was written in Spanish, MInca Tupaq yupanquiM. He stumbled through the pro- nunciation while he
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by flickering flame, 
by flickering flame, they talked in short bursts, exhausted, lost and confused; none of them looked up, and if they had, they would not have seen the dark observer against a cloudy evening sky. High above, Sytherek contemplated them. Just a quick dive, a few bursts of energy, the satisfying crunch of his jaws on flesh – his deep hunger for vengeance urged him to act, yet he held his anger, watching, considering. Killing these few would accomplish nothing; hundreds of other humans littered the shores, more than he cared to count, more than his stomach could hold. Being in Symurall’s territory, he was also loath to breach protocol. No, he would need to use other, less direct means of dealing with the human problem. His decision made, he hurried away, south. Sytherek
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had not visited 
had not visited this kehklik nest in many years, and now regretted his laxity. As years had turned into decades and decades into centuries, he’d begun to believe that Symurall’s plan would work, that the inhabitants of Tramora would remain forever isolated by words and ocean. Sytherek chided himself for failing to keep his own plans in motion. Now that nature had dispelled the illusion of security, he hoped the nest was capable of fulfilling its intended destiny. As the kehklik mounds came into view, he sensed his brother nearby. Retreating into a cloud, Sytherek masked his presence and only approached the kehklik once Symurall had departed. Nothing was amiss, much to Sytherek’s relief. If anything, the Jozin’s Peak hive was remarkably healthy and unusually large, and the dragon felt a certain sense
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of pride that 
of pride that one of his establishments had thrived. He circled, noting the large number of conical white mounds and the intense activity around them. Workers gathering necessities from the surrounding forest; he envisioned the queen and her aides, deep underground, rapidly hatching eggs, making subtle changes in chemicals to produce the desired units. Fighting kehklik had already begun gathering into neat formations; elegant overseers walked among the growing army. The hive was reacting to the newly-arrived humans – better than he’d expected. After a moment’s consideration, Sytherek decided that earthquakes had put the hive on alert days earlier, before the first human had set foot on Syraqua’s shores. The attack would come very soon; the battle would heavily favor the kehklik. The humans were disorganized, unarmed, and scattered.
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his chair. Quentin 
his chair. Quentin Salient put his TV face on again, all tight and interested. “Mmm,” he intoned, swinging round to face Lego. “Ivan Lego?” Lego lifted both eyebrows in genuine surprise. “You won’t be leaving that in, surely?” Pamela Scratch scoffed loudly into her mike. Quentin Salient permitted his TV face to slacken. “I hear you, Ivan,” he ruefully exhaled. “But they might find it a bit confusing if she gets introduced and then never says anything.” “You’re not,” Pamela Scratch incredulously cried, “contemplating this cover-up!” “So cut her introduction as well,” shrugged Ivan Lego. Pamela scoffed again. Vladimir Vonk said: “While we’re at it, beret-boy,
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might we excise 
might we excise her hideous and ill-informed slur on my Door?” Salient grimaced like a man on a headache ad. “Think of the alternative,” said Ivan Lego to Pamela Scratch. “Do you really want to be seen proposing, on prime-time TV, that the media is engaged in a conspiracy of silence about a case that you then proceed to talk about for ten solid minutes?” “I note that she gets to keep her hat,” commented Vladimir Vonk bitterly. “It’s a paradox,” Pamela Scratch told Ivan Lego. “I thought you revelled in them.” Salient rubbed hard at his anguished temples. Rosemary Robinson-
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Robinson stared, blinking, 
Robinson stared, blinking, at a mysterious but fixed point in the middle dis- tance. “At the point where paradox shades into bullshit,” said Ivan Lego, “I stop revelling.” “She sports it with perfect impunity, this ridiculous hat of a Victorian gentleman!” Salient: “You realise we’re looking to fill fifty minutes here …” “Maybe you could just lose my ‘conspiracy of silence’ comment, and put everything else to air,” Pamela Scratch proposed. “I could live with that.” 89 “Oh for the sake of God!” cried Vladimir Vonk. “Could we stop molly- grubbing this spoiled little girl and maybe get onto my portion of this cir- cus?”
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By 
By this stage Salient was beyond caring. With an exaggerated and rather peevish sweep of his palm, as if whatever happened from now on was destined to be a matter of laughable inconsequence anyway, he gave Vonk the floor. Vonk, after some brief but strenuous gyrations in search of the right camera, embarked on a long and impassioned speech about the way that Lego’s book, as far as he could see, challenged only one assumption – namely, the assumption that a book should have words in it – whereas he, Vladimir Vonk, had personally supervised the construction of sculptures that challenged two, three, even four assumptions at once – that is to say, double, triple, or even quadruple the number of assumptions challenged by Lego in his
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book. “And yet 
book. “And yet where,” Vonk demanded, “are the trumped-up media fun- fairs in honour of my work? Where is the troupe of television sycophants licking my boots? Where” – he spanked the rickety desk with one of his tanned hands, causing its flimsy components to wobble dangerously – “are the hordes of installation-loving young girls for whom I sculpted away my youth?” Beside him, with no warning of any kind, and with no connection whatever to the point at hand, Rosemary Robinson-Robinson began to speak. “Let me say this,” she said, aiming a fusillade of blinks at a nearby patch of carpet. “Let me say this and no more. As a comment on the logic of late capitalism. This morning, on my way here, to this, I
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or her inner 
or her inner guidance. Technically, the Higher Self, being indigenous to the true spiritual realms beyond the Great Abyss, possesses no gender. However, we have all been incarnating within the material worlds of dualism for eons of time now, and each one of our Higher Selves have picked up certain traits which lend themselves to either one gender or the other. If we are heterosexual, then chances are that our Higher Self is of the same gender that we are in this incarnation. Once we have made this commitment, we need to realize that it is possible to relax the mind while focusing inward with a question, and to have that question answered. For most of us, it is advantageous to receive confirmation of the answers we receive, through a physical response to questions designed to elicit either yes or no responses. For example, I might receive
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a fluttering in 
a fluttering in my right eyelid for a yes response, and a fluttering in the left for a no response. I might receive a rush of warm energy up my torso for a yes, or a cold rush of energy downward for a no. Most people balance on their feet, and are pulled off balance forward for a yes response, or pushed backward for a no. Personally, I receive a movement in my neck muscles, either pushing my head forward, or pulling it back. Ultimately, we want to receive direct communications from the Higher Self, and use the yes/no response to verify our interpretations. There are a few Adepts who are capable of establishing one’s connection to the Higher Self, while releasing all potential interferences from the auric field, and establishing protection against outside forces which would attempt to mimic the Higher Self. Some people, however, either feel that
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they have no 
they have no need for such procedures, or that they are fully capable of establishing their own connections. I won’t be so presumptuous as to suggest they can’t do this, but for those who feel that they would like assistance, that which is required will be forthcoming automatically, through the Mani-Om-Saw Institute, at mainomsah.com. For those who elect not to take advantage of either the discourses or the workshop, be aware that unless a person is undergoing spiritual purification, interference in the inner communication process is generally not an issue in any case. Many people are of the erroneous notion that once we have learned all our lessons, we can stop incarnating here and move on. Learning lessons is not what it’s all about. First of all, we must undergo a spiritual purification process as I mentioned before, wherein certain energies retained in the subconscious, along
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with associated emotional 
with associated emotional passions are released in our transcendence of those karmic issues. This allows our vibratory frequencies to increase beyond what would normally be the case. Secondly, Dominion’s electromagnetic time loop interfaces with a psychic time loop placed on each of us, keeping us within its cyclic pattern. Thus, our awareness and “conscious will” in the after-death state, may allow self determination between incarnations; but they will not prevent us from having to return to Dominion’s hell, eventually. The psychic time loop is easily removed as one becomes attuned with the Higher Self through either the discourses or a workshop, but another karmic trap exists. In the Hindu tradition, there are four kinds of karma discussed. There is past karma, present karma, and future karma which are explained in accordance with the perspective of the guru giving discourse at the time. The fourth kind of karma is
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\ God protect 
\ God protect us,\ Berham muttered, and uneasily studied the cloudy darkness above. The others ignored him. Berham was short, rotund, and had been wounded three times manning barricades in the last Bisran War. He claimed that the only reason he had left the army was that servants wages were better. Despite the little man s vocal quavering, Thomas was not worried about his courage. \ What are you saying?\ Gideon asked the sorcerer. \ You mean we could fall down dead or burst into flame the moment we cross the threshold?\ Chapter One \ The uninitiated so often have ill-conceived ideas about these matters, like the fools who believe sorcerers change their shapes or fly like the fay. It would be exceedingly dangerous
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to create heat 
to create heat or cold out of nothing…\ \ So you say, but…\ 4 \ That s enough,\ Thomas interrupted. He took the rope and tested it again with his own weight. The first floor of the house would be given over to stables, storage for coaches or wagons, and servants quarters. The second would hold salons and other rooms for entertaining guests, and the third and fourth would be the owner s private quarters. That would be where the sorcerer would keep his laboratory, and very likely his prisoner. Thomas only hoped the information from the King s Watch was correct and that the Bisran bastard Grandier wasn t here. He told Gideon, \ You follow me. Unless, of course, you d like to go first?\
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The lieutenant swept 
The lieutenant swept off his feathered hat and bowed extravagantly. \ Oh, not at all, Sir, after you.\ \ So kind, Sir.\ The brickwork was rough and Thomas found footholds easily. He reached the window and pulled himself up on the rusted grating, balancing cautiously. He felt the rope jerk and tighten as Gideon started to climb. The window was set with small panes of leaded glass and divided into four tall panels. Thomas drew a thin dagger from the sheath in his boot and slipped the point between the wooden frames of the lower half. Working the dagger gently, he eased the inside catch up. The panels opened inward with only a faint creak. Moonlight touched the polished surface of a table set directly in front of the window, but
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the darkness of 
the darkness of the deeper interior of the room was impenetrable. It was silent, but it was a peculiar waiting silence that he disliked. Then the window ledge cracked loudly under his boots and he took a hasty step forward onto the table, thinking, Now we ll know, at any rate. Dust rose from the heavy draperies as he brushed against them, but the room remained quiet. \ Was that wise?\ Gideon asked softly from below the windowsill. \ Possibly not. Don t come up yet.\ Thomas slipped the dagger back into his boot sheath and drew his rapier. If something came at him out of that darkness, he preferred to keep it at as great a distance as possible. \ Tell Berham to hand up a light.\ There
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He couldnPt do 
He couldnPt do it, though, couldnPt do anything L the tranquilizers. The lawyer smirked as he delivered his re- marks about Bobby not being in a position to give care at the moment, Mhaving gone from an assault, to a second assault in this very courtroom, to psy- chiatric assessment, to treatment.N The judge wasnPt listening. It had been a bad marriage, him left alone with his kid. They had history together, the two of them, nothing but each other. Every day he thought of it. Then he hit a scumbag and they took her. The judge talked now. Bobby twitched on the planking as ganar en forex

the gavel hit 
the gavel hit the stand. They took her hand to lead her away. She called out to him. Her eyes were full of fear. She pulled free and ran for — 51 — him. He stood up in the prisonerPs box to catch her, pick her up and carry her away. No dice, not that day. The smell of the ship filled him again as he moved his body stiffly, lifting and stretching. Again he heard the sparse, dull sounds coming from her stern, breaking the silence. Slowly, he made his way across the planking of the bilge floor to the bulkhead door leading astern. MCucha!N He heard
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Gomez before he 
Gomez before he saw him. He heard the barely audible curses mixed in with the grunts. MEste chingado sheep! Puta sheep!N More grunts. Conversational Spanish and torn up Eng- lish mixed in an unfamiliar harmony. Until that moment, Bobby had been unaware that Gomez spoke any English. Bobby figured the grumbles and curses equalled hatch resistance, the softer bits of communication going as praise to whatever cooperation the twisted steel offered, a fine sample of communication without actual content. Bobby got halfway across the hold before he could make out GomezPs shadowy figure, bent al- most double at the far end of the hold. As hePd suspected, Gomez
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was struggling 
was struggling with a bilge hatch. Bobby headed for him slowly, paying ample at- tention to the flooring, avoiding the dark jumbles of broken gear. He concentrated on his own foot- ing, not thinking to announce his arrival. He was — 52 — close enough to chuckle at Gomez working in his underwear, when he startled him. He frightened him so badly he had to move quickly to avoid the heavy chunk of pipe Gomez swung with his fear. Avoiding the first wild stroke, he fell back- wards over broken crating. On his back, he looked more than just defenceless. Gomez was on him instantly, the jagged length of pipe raised
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to kill whatever haunts 
to kill whatever haunts threatened him. He was all fear and menace. MGomez!N Bobby shrieked at him, arms over his face, more to avoid watching himself die than as a useful defence. Gomez held the steel tubing over Bobby for eternal seconds, caught himself, cursed and eased up slowly, his body dissolving into the antithesis of its former intensity. The pipe dropped behind him, arms falling to his side as he slid himself to the flooring. MPuta! Puta! No Me Chinge! Pen- dajo, Bubby.N Bobby knew now he wasnPt the only spooked one on board as he pulled himself up across from Gomez. He watched the exhausted expression on the MexicanPs face. It reflected the empty state of his own strength, rest
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and hunger indicators 
and hunger indicators not registering on any of his gauges. Both of them were in sad shape. They said nothing. Slouching and looking like a pair from the dungeon, they sat in silence, star- ing at each other through dust-laden obscurity. They were getting to know each other in some subtle, unspoken way, destined to be shipmates, locked together by chance. — 53 — MHatch no es bueno, Bubby. She burn up bad, mucho. Everything bend, nothing fit bueno. Puto sheep.N Gomez rolled his eyes with unplanned comedy. MHijo de puta, sheep!N Bobby spotted the rolling eyes amid the Span- ish curses and smiled. The absurdity of their
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it. Too much 
it. Too much ale. I’m lying on a tavern floor… “Good morning,” the dragon intoned deeply. “Okay, so I’m not drunk,” said Kaylen. His throat was incredibly dry, and he started coughing. 4 “I suggest use of the fountain,” said the dragon. Kaylen stumbled over and scooped water greedily into his mouth and over his face. It was cold and delicious. “My name is Symurallix-akora-dashakahn –” and the dragon’s tones trailed off into a series of rumbles and growls. “I don’t think I can pronounce all of that,” Kaylen rasped. “You may call me Symurall, as the dwarves do. And your name is?\ The man took another drink. “Kaylen Thyr,” he replied, before dunking his entire head and
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shaking it. Dwarves? 
shaking it. Dwarves? Soap and a towel would have been nice, but water alone went a long way toward making him feel alive again. It occurred to him that the dragon was speaking in Erashi, and he began to wonder if this dragon was not so strange, after all. All myths are based on something real, Kaylen thought. Wiping water from his eyes, he looked around. The dragon was still very much there, more than two hundred feet of it, looking vaguely familiar. Given that it hadn’t tried to eat him, Kaylen wondered what it wanted. “You present a mystery,” said Symurall. “Speak for yourself. We don’t have dragons in Tramora, at least not real ones.” “Tramora perished in fire, earth, wind and water.” “Yes,” Kaylen replied flatly. He knew he should feel something – despair
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or anger or 
or anger or fear, anything but the emotional void surrounding the knowledge that everyone he knew, every place he’d been, was probably gone. The dragon stretched, bringing its head closer to Kaylen. It seemed a pleasant-enough face for a dragon, almost friendly. The observation did little to comfort the man. “Your presence is a surprise,” Symurall said. “You’re rather surprising yourself.” The dragon’s inquisitive look urged Kaylen to continue, and he couldn’t think of any reason not to. “I’m a sailor, a captain, actually. My ship is… was… the Wayfarer, out of Vandoval.” He sat heavily on the edge of the fountain. “Two nights ago, we saw a blinding flash and glow to the north; after that, it was storms and flaming hail until we sank. As for why I lived and
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These, as remarked 
These, as remarked by their editor, with regard to some other manuscripts published[A] in 1684, under the title of \ Certain Miscellany Tracts,\ were doubtless \ rather the diversions than the Labours of his Pen; and … He did, as it were, drop down his Thoughts of a sudden, in those spaces of vacancy which he snatch d from those very many occasions which gave him hourly interruption;\ but I cannot in this instance agree with the conclusion arrived at by the same writer that it \ seemeth probable that He designed them for publick use,\ for they appear to be the rough drafts or memoranda used in the production of the finished letters (which are unfortunately not forthcoming), and were never intended for publication in their present crude form, thus rendering pardonable such annotations as I have ventured
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to add. But 
to add. But before proceeding further it is necessary to consider briefly the time and circumstances under which they were written, and the state of what passed for Natural Science at that period. [A] The \ Miscellany Tracts\ were put forth by \ Tho. Tenison\ (1636-1715), who afterwards became Archbishop of Canterbury, but was then the Rector of a London parish, St. Martin-in-the-Fields. He had been a Norwich school-boy, and subsequently minister of St. Peter s Mancroft. He was doubtless well acquainted with Browne and his family, and hence his reference in the preface quoted to \ the Lady and Son of the excellent Authour,\ who, he says, \ deliver d\ the papers to him. Browne wrote early in the second half of the seventeenth century, during a period of great awakening in the
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study of Nature. 
study of Nature. Hitherto it could hardly be said that a direct appeal to the works of Nature had been the prevailing method. Aristotle was still the established authority, and commentaries on his works occupied the minds of men to the exclusion of original investigation, notwithstanding that this great philosopher had himself, both by precept and example, urged the importance of direct observation and inquiry; the Mediaeval school of thought still prevailed and cramped every effort at progress. How keenly Browne lamented this spirit of slavish adherence to tradition may be judged from a passage in one of his Essays in the \ Vulgar Errors\ condemning the obstinate adherence unto antiquity; he writes, \ but the mortallist enemy unto knowledge, and that which hath done the greatest execution upon truth, hath been a peremptory adhesion unto authority; and more especially the
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establishing of our 
establishing of our belief upon the dictates of antiquity. For (as every capacity may observe) most men of ages present, so supersticiously do look upon ages past, that the authorities of one exceed the reason of the other.\ In another place he argues that the present should be the age of authority, seeing that we possess all the wisdom of the ancients which has come down to us, with that of our own times added. In fact, Browne s motto appears to have been \ prove all things and hold fast only to that which is good.\ [B] Notes and Letters on the Natural History of by Thomas Browne [B] There was one form of ancient authority before which Browne bowed down with absolute and 7
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