Posted by admin on May 8, 2009
Some people say the world has gone to pot.
I’m not sure I entirely agree,
But I’m not going to say anything either.
I’m just going to sit here and live me
fantasies and let the world go by.
Life and death are nothing.
I will live equally whatever happens.
The nation is gone, and others also.
But I know that in places things are different.
I have visited those happy realms.
I have felt the euphoria of utopia.
I know.
I feel.
I sense.
I understand.
I am.
Some people say the world has gone to pot.
I’m not crazy, I try not to be.
But some things must be said.
Some things must change a lot.
I imagine we are too far gone.
Despite my acts, even though I get involved
Are we really going to save life at all?
Is hope entirely gone, or can we still
Save those elsewhere who were lost long ago?
I try to see the dissapointed place.
I feel the loss of distopia.
I’m unsure.
I’m numb.
I’m cold.
I’m lost.
I’m not.
Some people say the world has gone to pot.
They are right. Or not.
Posted by admin on May 4, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
At some point between villages, far to the west, but not yet as far as Darnuth Keep, my horse threw a shoe and forced me to beg the use of a forge at a remote farm. The farm was large enough to almost be a village, and we were sure our luck would be good. Naturally events didn’t go quite as expected. The good man of the farm was willing enough to accept our gold, but explained that their smith had died, and no one else knew the art for some kilometers around. I explained that I could do the work myself if only they would lend us the forge, at which point he became both intrigued and much friendlier.
“You see, Galin, the smith, was murdered just two days ago, and we’ve not had word back yet from Daturk-thrull if their smith can come and do some work here, or if his apprentice is ready or willing to come,” said master Tarkin.
“I don’t imagine anyone would be willing to take his place until the murder is solved,” I said. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Well, no, actually.” Tarkin scratched his head and shrugged. “I would love to, but the truth is none of us knows. Galin just went into the woods for a bit of an evening stroll down by the creek and never came back. In the morning we found his body.”
“How did he die? Do you know what killed him?”
“There were three wounds, one on the back of his left leg, one in the heart, from the front, and one on his right shoulder, all deep cuts like those from a dagger. There was a rumor a few markets back that Edelo Cheshk’s bandits may have returned to the area, but there aren’t any signs of a struggle, and he was a large strong man who would have at least hurt one of them. I’m assuming there were more than one since one man would have had to be very skilled to take Galin like that and not get the same in return, armed or not.”
Pascalli, who had listened quietly to our conversation interrupted. “We will offer your farm some protection until a new smith can be found. Young Sir Lanseg has the ability to act as smith for a short while. He was once apprentice to a very great smith. Although his specialty is weapons, he can handle horseshoes just as well.”
Once again I found myself laboring at the forge. This time I gave direction to a boy even younger than myself. The work became a pleasant distraction to the questions that had plagued me earlier. I discovered for the first time in my life the true wonder of being master of a small domain and I found I was happier then than at any time since leaving the farm. Pascalli seemed to disappear for the next two days until a new rider appeared on the farm. She was a young woman, perhaps two or three summers my elder dressed in rich hardened leather and sporting a solid bow for hunting. At her side hung a traditional Tulandish cutlass. Her hair fell dark and straight from beneath the solid metal cap atop her head.
Too rich for a bandit, too surly for a beggar, I knew instantly that she was trouble. She moved with an enchanting, self-assured grace that immediately drew attention from all within eyeshot. I, however, did not notice her immediate arrival. Tulath, my assistant pointed her out.
“You there,” she called to the first person she met. “Go and fetch me the master of this farm.”
Before turning back to my work I noticed that her horse did not quite walk properly. I knew that it had cast a shoe and would be lame if not properly tended soon. Sure enough she rode directly towards the forge. She stopped short of the shop and dismounted.
Tulath began to step aside when I ordered, “Mind your fire, we’ve work yet to finish.” I did not bother to look up from the plow-blade I was mending.
“You there,” she called. I knew she would be angry, I had known enough of her breed to smell them a kilometer off. “My horse has cast a shoe. You will replace it at once.”
Tulath had slackened his pace at the bellows. “Mind your fire,”I ordered. My voice was more gruff than intended. I glanced up long enough to look her over. “That hoof will need a day or two of rest before it can be worked. Stable your mare and I’ll take care of her when I’ve a chance.”
“I am in haste. I am Dina, third daughter of the house of Taradurk; you will not keep me waiting.” She was brandishing her horsewhip rhythmically.
Pascalli had told me of the Regent Taradurk who served as lord over all the west, but the lessons of Iven were cast more solid into my soul than any fear of a title. “Surely the daughter of Taradurk knows when a horse is lame,” I replied. She swung with the whip, but the blow never connected. She had not expected my reaction, and in one swift move I stepped inside of her wide swing and grabbed her wrist. Then with a hard jerk I flung her over my shoulder and sent her sprawling on the ground beneath her horse.
“You will die for that, peasant,” she said icily.
“Not at your hands,” I replied coolly. “And if you had the brains of your horse you would have realized I am not a peasant.”
A moment of doubt quickly flickered across her eyes. I was certain she did not entirely believe me.
“He speaks the truth, daughter or Taradurk,” said a voice I had not heard the last two days. Pascalli wandered up next to her horse and was examining the leg.
“Who are you?” she blurted. “Why should I believe you?”
“Better you should ask what truth I was referring to,” he replied. I immediately burst out in a laugh and turned back to my work. “You see, my dear Dina, he has, after all, told you several things, all of which are true, and you seem rather obstinate about not believing any of it. And my name is Lord Pandrake of Gratterskeep, not that it will do you much good.” His voice was unusually kind though slightly condescending. He extended a hand to help her to her feet. She took it cautiously, and together they followed Tarkin into the farmhouse.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Three
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty One
Posted by admin on May 1, 2009
The day the shadow
came, the rabbit froze.
We found the tiny body
like an ice-cream cake,
waiting.
The shadow blight
spread like pollen on the legs
and wings of black bees;
touching, filling, infecting
matter.
With green rot in its green
gut, the shadow fell
like silk on the farm.
The chickens flipped
like pancakes on Sunday,
mourning.
The hands wrought
in shadow from light
to wake the brown cows
who slept the way people
do without black
coffee.
Steady as a broken heart,
the shadow flits on memory
until the fish inside swim
up the cold pebble path
back to the barn,
burning.
The shadow left when the rabbit
thawed in the noon darkness,
and the wild fish drowned
in the wake of warm cow
pollen.
