Transferring five books to Crossroad Press!

If anyone has considered reading my self-published books for free on Amazon Prime, now's your last chance.

I'm going to be moving Blood of the Succubus, Gargoyle Dreams, Freedy Filkins, Faerie Punk, and I Live Among You to Crossroad Press.

I've always felt these books were just as good as any of my publisher books, but my previous three publishers always seemed overwhelmed, so I put them out myself.

Crossroad is not only willing, but eager to publish them, which is pretty cool. I like all these books and I'm hoping more people will find them.

You can imagine how much I'd appreciate it.

Anyway, if you've ever had the urge, here's where you can go.

https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00NB4S3G0

MOREGONE, a blog story, 19.)

19.) The winds swirled around us. In the distance I saw a hawk approach, flying rapidly toward me as if it was about to smash into the cliff. At the last second, the raptor glided. It shot straight upward, levitating in the updraft. The same upward flow made the footing even less steady for those of us without wings.

Ironically, the laden mules handled the task better than the humans. They plodded step by step, as if the cliffs did not exist. As I reached the curve in the mountain that would take me past a view of the tunnel above, I saw Toug emerge and I wondered if the big man would even fit on the path. But Toug stepped out without hesitation, looking sure-footed, guiding his five mules. I spied the square outline of Seed’s crate against the hornizon, then stepped around the last curve and out of sight.

The sky cleared, but instead of reassuring, it made things worse. Now, instead of clouds swirling not far below, we could see all the way into the bottom of the valley. It seemed to grow colder, as well, despite the bright sun. The white snows reflected the light back into our faces, and dazzled our eyes, until everything took on a bright halo. I turned my face away from the sun, stared at the path, and my vision slowly cleared.

I heard a yell from above, a shout of defiance, and heard rather than saw someone tumble down the cliffs, striking an outcropping with a loud thud, silencing that last utterance of disbelief. This time the caravan didn’t stop to reflect, but kept moving, as if to deny the danger.

I estimated we were halfway down before I heard another scream. I glanced back, saw two figures this time descending into the clear cold air, their arms waving as if trying to fly. They became dots, still descending, disappearing.

I couldn’t help myself—I calculated how much money I wouldn’t have to pay, and then despised myself for thinking it. I’d yet to complete a caravan without losing someone, and I’d hardened my heart to the thought, and yet when it happened, it always shook me. I retreated into math, into the logistics, as if people I knew hadn’t just died.

I didn’t know who had fallen, their descent was too swift and chaotic to make out features, but I would know them, for I knew everyone I’d hired, and was friendly with most.

The snow and ice on the path was starting to melt, but this only made the footing even more treacherous. Stay vigilant, I thought. Then I said it aloud: “Stay vigilant.” The woman behind me was named Jona, one of the first muleteers I’d hired. She muttered, “Stay vigilant,” her eyes on the path.

Moments later, I saw her foot slip, her hands scrabble against the rocks. I reached out for her, but she was already past. She let go the reins of her mule, which froze in place and let out a strange sound. Jona didn’t scream, she dropped away and was gone.

Had I distracted her? I wondered.

As if in answer, Delane, the next muleteer in line said aloud, “Stay vigilant,” and then the next person repeated it, and the words kept being repeated down the line until I couldn’t hear them anymore.

I took the reins of Jona’s mule and kept going.

I believe that would have been the worst of it if we’d been left alone.

“What’s that?” Delane said, behind me.

I looked out, saw six large birds flying rapidly toward us.

Then I realized they weren’t birds.

There were six griffins in the drift, probably a family. Each adult the weight and bulk of two men. In the Fourth Principality, they actually rode the creatures, though the captive version, raised in safety and well fed, were larger. The griffin’s wings and head, when viewed from the front looked like an eagle, but as they drew closer, the body and tail of a lion became more apparent.

Griffins didn’t usually attack men, who could fight back, but we must have seemed like easy prey stretched out across the mountain, unable to move freely.  I reached across my shoulder for the sword strapped to my back, but had difficulty drawing the blade. I almost tipped over. Instead, I reached for the knife on my belt.

By the time I looked up again, the drift was almost upon me, the talons on their front legs extended. They were coming straight at me, ignoring the rest of the caravan. I didn’t have time to think about the implications of this, but spread my feet and leaned against the cliff to make myself as sturdy as possible.

I tried to ignore the fierce look in the lead griffin’s eyes, the strange whooping sound it emitted, and focused on the talons.

The creature suddenly went upward, caught by the draft, and for a moment I was confused. Then I saw the arrow sticking out of its neck. I glance down to the front of the line, saw Marston precariously leaning over the path, held in place by Tomber’s long arms. He was reaching to the quiver on his back, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to loose another arrow before the other griffins were upon me.

The griffin aimed for my eyes, its long, sharp talons extended. I slashed blindly with my knife, felt the blade connect. Something dropped away as I heard the screech of the griffin, which flew one side, blood dripping from its amputated leg. But the next griffin was upon me in a flash, before I could even raise my knife.

The talons dug into my chest and I felt myself lifted, my feet dragging against the stone path. Then there was nothing under my feet. The three remaining griffins surrounded me, reaching out with their sharp beaks.

I cut at the talons gripping my chest, and suddenly I was free.

I flew into the sky for a moment, as if defying gravity, and then I dropped.

One truth I have learned in my long life: No one believes they will die. They know they will die, but they don’t believe they will die. And I believed less than most mortal men, for I’d lived a dangerous and seemingly eternal life and I saw no reason that wouldn’t continue forever.

It seemed like I dropped for long hours, though it couldn’t have been for more than a few seconds. I supposed I’d always thought I’d be calm in my last moments, reflective. Or alternatively, I’d be terrified, gibbering.

Instead my mind was a confusion, as if I couldn’t settle on a thought, as if all the unresolved things of my life besieged me, nagging me for leaving them unfinished. Floating through the air, incomplete.

The ground rose up to greet me and I had the strange sensation that I was rising to greet the ground. I saw wings out of the corner of my eyes. My confusion was replaced by anger that the griffin wouldn’t leave me in peace in my last moments.

I still had my knife in hand. Better yet, I was free to draw my sword. I reached back…

Talons grabbed me by shoulders, digging in but not quite penetrating my skin. I hung from my clothing. At first we rose, and I wondered if I was to be carried to their nest, to be consumed by their young.

I managed to free my sword and began to swing the blade, but at the last second the creature above me screeched, and it was so different a cry from what I heard before that I took a closer look.

Instead of the tawny fur of a lion, the body of my captor consisted of scales. A huff of smoke reached my nostrils, as the dragon breathed short bursts of fire with each flap of its batlike wings, as though carrying a full-grown man was barely within its capabilities.

It was a dragon, not full grown, but twice as large as the griffins and far larger than any wyvern I’d ever seen. As far as I knew, there was only one dragon in all the Thirteen Principalities.

Shatterspawn had apparently quadrupled in size in the few days he’d been gone. His  wings seemed to have tripled in length. The dragon caught the updraft and we swooped upward, until we floated over the path. Below was the unmistakable rotund body of Toug, who was holding out his hands.

He grabbed my arm as Shatterspawn dropped me. I landed on the path, was dragged the rest of the way from the edge. I clutched the earth, drained of all my strength and a wave of gratitude and joy so strong that I felt as though I was still floating washed through my body.

Shatterspawn flew away, his flight now elegant without his human cargo. The griffins were in flight, five specks against the morning sun. Shatterspawn pursued them.

I turned on my back and looked up into Toug’s concerned eyes.

“Couldn’t you at least have had your pet land me on the ground?”

He laughed. “My pet? To be honest with you, Evard, I wasn’t sure Shatterspawn didn’t consider you an easy meal!”

I got to my knees. For some reason the path now looked as broad as the Prince’s Road. I knew that I wouldn’t stumble, I wouldn’t slip, that soon I’d be on the ground and my charmed life would continue.

At least until the next time I was thrown into confusion.

Book sales momentum.

One of the first things I did when getting published was to research the sales momentum on books. What really jumped out was that most books have a peak selling period of between three and six months. Most often about four months, beginning to drop off on the fifth month.

Ideally, then, you'd want a new book to come out every fifth or sixth month to keep the momentum going.

One thing I'd learned by owning a comic shop was--if you have a good title and you are consistent about it coming out, the comic will do well. If you delay, the book will suffer, sometimes fatally.

For "Led to the Slaughter," I was very aggressive in promoting--at least, aggressive for me. I pointblank asked people to buy it. That seemed to work. It was my first book, I was pretty proud of it, and people were supportive. It got excellent reviews.
 
There's a graph I can access through Amazon that shows the sales history on my books.

If I go back to the beginning, when my first two Virginia Reed books were published, along with The Vampire Evolution Trilogy, the squiggly line is high and tight. Good sales, strong momentum.

Right up to the moment when the third Virginia Reed book was due to be published. Unfortunately, my publisher procrastinated for months, almost a year.

The graph line noticeably starts to fray. Becomes not quite so high, not quite so thick.

Looking back on it , I should have self-published something at that moment, but the publisher kept reassuring me that the next book was coming out soon and I didn't want to step on it. Eventually, he did publish an ebook version, but never did get the paperback out.

A year or so later, "Tuskers I" comes out from a different publisher, and again the graph is high and tight for about a year as "Tuskers II" comes out right on time. Again, I was somewhat aggressive, and people were supportive. Audio buys Tuskers and puts out a version.

Then this second publisher announces they are going for national distribution and Tuskers III will be delayed for at least a year.

This time, I do self-publish some of my finished work, but without a publisher, it's harder for me to promote. The graph frays again, starting to become loopy.

So I turn to a third publisher for "Snaked." Again, I am ready to be more promotional than usual, because this publisher really seemed to have things on the ball. Then he too announces he's going for national distribution. The book takes quite a while to come out.

The book is published... and nothing. Two months later the publisher decides he doesn't want to publish "creature" books anymore.

And the graph frizzes out.

Meanwhile, I keep writing. Meanwhile, I do believe my later books are as good or better, but I'm not willing to be aggressive on my self-published stuff.

For instance, as an experiment, I merely announce that I've published "Faerie Punk." Sales are non-existent.

Meanwhile I sold a ghostwritten book under the name of a best-selling author, which hasn't come out yet, and I'm not sure if it is ever coming out, but if it does, I'll be extremely interested in seeing how it sells. My hope was that this would turn into a regular gig, that I'd have a big publisher doing the promotional work. But it's like my first career with the bigger publishers, they take forever to answer if they bother to answer at all--what I used to call "sending my books into the void."

I'm still in the thick of writing, still feel like I'm getting better, but I'm just over here doing my thing and not paying much attention to anything else.

So I decided to just write.

I'm still in that mode, pretty much.

I have three new publishers, all of whom seem solid. The graph is starting to look better again since my books are coming out again on a regular basis, but pretty clearly I lost the momentum three times in a row.

But you know what?

I did my part.

MOREGONE, a blog story, 18.)

18.) “You will have to leave your wagons behind,” Marsianne said.

“We can’t do that,” I said, immediately thinking of Seed.

“Then you will never reach Moregone.”

From her tone of voice, I knew that she was right. I looked up at the steep mountains that surrounded us. It had always been a faint hope that we wouldn’t have to leave the wagons behind.

We loaded what we could to the pack mules. As we lined up to leave, Marsianne led Tomber’s two pack mules over to us. “The Goddess wishes to pay for the wagons and supplies you leave behind.”

I opened the top of a pack and saw glittering red, green, blue, and white stones. There had never been any real hope that this expedition would pay for itself--until now. I looked around at the Inhutians who were gathering to see us off. Many of them wore the cheap trinkets and beads Tomber had brought.

I shook my head, not understanding. Any village that could mine such gems should be wealthy beyond measure.

“We serve the Goddess,” Marsianne said, as if reading my mind. “We have no need of riches.

Two mules had drawn the applecart and I needed but one to carry my personal supplies. I took the largest crate from the back of the cart and tied it to the extra mule, then led it over to the back of the train, where Toug was loading the four mules that had pulled the dinner wagon.

“You may load this mule as well,” I said, “but leave room for the crate.”

Toug never questioned orders. He didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow but simply nodded as much as his enormous neck would allow him to nod. I went to the middle of the newly configured caravan, which was my usual position. Tomber was in the lead, with Marston astride Splittooth beside him.

To my surprise, our guide was Marsianne. The other Inhutians were ignoring us now, as if we weren’t even there.

The mayor strode to the side of Tomber, and looked back at me, as if to ask if I was ready. I motioned my arm forward. As we started out, jostling, trying to find a rhythm where we didn’t stumble over each other, I looked back. The last mule in line was the one I’d given Toug, the crate riding high. I saw a flash of brown, the crate shivered, and then it was still. Everyone else was looking ahead and no one saw it, even Toug.

To my surprise, we turned away from the mountains upon leaving the village. Marsianne led us downhill for a time, then turned north along a high ridge. The ridge ended at the side of a tall cliff. It looked like a dead end from where I was, but then Marsianne and Tomber disappeared from view, as walking into the rock face.

Rows of gigantic boulders were at the base of the cliff and the path led around them. The trail wound its way between the boulders and the cliff side, until turning abruptly into a large crevice, which led steeply downhill. The light rapidly diminished as my eyes struggled to keep up. I bumped into the rear of the mule ahead of me, which hawed indignantly.

The train started moving forward slowly, and as it turned a corner, I saw flickering light ahead, which grew brighter as I approached. It was only in the last few yards that I saw that there was a small cave entrance, about as tall as a man astride a mule, and just barely wide enough to accommodate its girth. 

Marston was at the side of the entrance. Along the trail leaned a row of torches, which he was bending over and lighting one by one, handing them to every other member of the party and then ushering them into the darkness beyond.

When I reached his side, he handed me the torch without comment. I knew that the man hated confined spaces and suspected he’d volunteered to hand out the torches as a way to avoid the inevitable until the last moment.

I started forward. Behind me, Marston finally spoke in a low voice, “I hope this isn’t a trap.”

Not bothering to turn around or answer, I ducked my head instinctively as I led my mule into the cave. There was a large cavern beyond, which the light of the torches couldn’t quite reveal fully. It was obviously a staging ground, with tents and tables, half completed torches, bail of straw, bags of broken stone with gems embedded, picks and shovels, and other sundry mining equipment. At the far end of the chamber were two tunnels—one leading steeply downward, and one spiraling gently upward.

To my surprise, Marsianne was climbing to the top of the spiral, and ducking into another hole as I watched.

A chill went down my spine, though I could see no reason for a trap. If the Goddess had wanted to do us harm she didn’t need to trick us.

Marsianne I wasn’t so sure about. She’d avowed her dedication to the Goddess, but it had seemed to me that she was leading our party begrudgingly. Still, I doubted she would flout the Goddess’s wishes.

I reached the top of the incline, looked back down into the cavern. Toug was entering from the far side, and I could see the shadow of Seed’s crate against the torchlight.

Seed must be terrified.

I wasn’t sure how I knew this.

I ducked into the tunnel at the top. The path was worn as if it had been traveled upon for generations. The walls were carved, arching overhead, with plenty of room for even those of our party who were mounted atop mules. The passages were carved smooth, our footsteps echoed. No one spoke.

The tunnel ran straight for what seemed miles. There were little side passages every few hundred yards, much narrower and darker. I felt winds from a few of them, and even when I didn’t feel the wind myself, the torches flickered.

The long level stretch suddenly ended in a split, again either going upward or down. Again, Marsianne chose the upward path, a tunnel that narrowed, it ceiling now so low that I had to duck.

Poor Tomber. He must be bent over in half.

The rocky sides were now dark and seemed to reflect the torchlight, but even then I didn’t realize what I was looking at for a long time.

My torch brushed against the top of the tunnel and sparks rained down, and only then did I see the red tint to the walls.

I stopped abruptly. The snout of a mule pushed against my back, and I heard the curse from the person following me. I thought I recognized Hutson’s voice.

Lifting the torch closer to the wall, I put my hands out and ran my fingers across the smooth, glasslike surface of red obsidian. Not just a few fragments, which would make a person rich in the Thirteen Principality, but what appeared to be an entire mountain of it.

“What’s wrong?” Hutson asked.

“Don’t you see it?”

“See what?” There was no mistaking the confusion in his voice.

From behind him, I heard shouts. “What’s the hold up? What’s going on?”

Melete was The Goddess of Memory. Which also meant she was the Goddess of the Forgetting. She was protecting her realm by making sure that no one knew of a mountain of the rarest mineral in the Thirteen Principalities.

“Nothing,” I muttered, then raised my voice so that the others could hear. “Carry on!”

We continued upward, the tunnel getting narrower and lower with every mile, until there was barely enough space for a fully laden mule to pass. I was deep in thought, wondering why I was immune to Melete’s spell—or was she granting me a glimpse?

In the darkness, I reached into my pack, drawing out the small hammer I used to secure the spikes of my tent. Still walking, I slammed the head of the hammer into the wall beside me, my other hand trailing beneath. There was a sharp pain in my palm. I slid the hammer into my belt and reached out gingerly to feel the sharp glass fragment in my hand. It was wet with blood.

I slid the sharp object into my pocket, hoping it wouldn’t cut through as it chafed against the bottom.

A few hundred feet further along, I did it again, even daring to stop for a few moments to get more than one fragment. Hutson cursed behind me, but I ignored him, and then hurried to catch up with to the others.

A cold wind blew against my face. The sound of those ahead of me, which had been loud and echoing moments before, became muffled. The train slowed and stopped.

“What’s happening?” I shouted ahead. No one answered; it was if the head of the snake had been cut off.

A circle of light shimmered ahead of me. I pushed my way past the woman immediately preceding me, and then the next mule and next traveller, and the next, until I reached someone too bulky to pass. For a moment I was stumped, then I crawled over the top of the mule, slipped over its head, feeling it snap at me as I passed. I made it the rest of the way to the light and stepped out into a wind so strong I almost lost my footing.

We were high up the mountain. Above there were only a few hundred feet of rocky pinnacle. From where the tunnel ended there was a small shelf of rock, not quite level, big enough to comfortably accommodate only the first third of the caravan. Below appeared to be a straight drop down into the clouds.

“Why aren’t we moving?” I asked.

“Where?” Tomber said, gesturing to the sheer cliffs.

Marsianne stood with her back to the mountain, eyes closed, her face white. I started to make my way to her. I hadn’t taken more than two steps before my feet went out from under me and I started slipping across the shelf. My fingers scrambled for traction, but slid off the icy surface. My feet struck something hard just inches from the edge, not quite enough to stop me. My legs bumped over the barrier and I knew that I couldn’t stop.

I was jerked back, my legs dangling over the edge. Tomber had ahold of my cloak, drawing tight against my neck. His long arms were stretched, his legs wrapped around the only rock protruding from the flat surface. With a grunt, he pulled me up. On my hands and knees I managed to crawl back to the tunnel entrance.

Marsianne hadn’t moved. From where I was, I shouted at her. “Is this a trap? Why have you led us here?”

Without opening her eyes, she motioned downward. “This is the way…”

“It can’t be done,” I said flatly.

“It can be done because it has been done,” she answered. She edged her way inch by inch toward me. I grabbed her when she came within reach and shook her. I felt like pushing her off the mountain.

She opened her eyes long enough to point.

To one side of the shelf I saw a straight line of snow. I followed Marsianne’s example and inched my way toward it with my back to the mountain and pushed my foot against the nearest accumulation. A small avalanche dropped away over the cliff, revealing a path not more than three feet wide.

The line of snow circled downward around the mountain until bending out of sight.

“Impossible!” I heard Marston exclaim.

 I closed my eyes, in my mind the objection seemed to echo; impossible, impossible, impossible.

I felt someone brush past me. Tomber walked onto the path, sliding a little at first, but managing to stay upright. He went to the next accumulation of snow and kicked it away, revealing another ten feet of path.

He nodded. “Not much choice is there?”

“There is no way we can all get down that way,” Marston insisted.

Tomber laughed grimly. “Oh, we’ll get down all right, some swifter than others.”

 “You know what I mean…” Marston muttered.

The cold seemed to be increasing with every moment we stood there hesitating. “If we are going to do it, we’d better start now,” I said, willing myself to join Tomber on the path. He carefully crossed the cleared stretch, kicked away again at the snow, then moved on. It was starting to look almost routine.

I looked back at Marston and Splittooth.

Cursing, Marston started toward me. Splittooth let out a loud haw, but followed. The mule seemed more surefooted that us humans. Before I turned away, I noticed Marsianne pushing her way into the tunnel and out of sight.

The path sloped downward gradually; any steeper and we would have slid off. Even so, it was slow going, the humans inching along with our backs to the rock, the mules seeming impatient, their hooves clattering on the stone. If just one of us froze, it would doom everyone behind them.

I looked back. A long line of figures stretched upward, moving so slowly that they didn’t appear to be moving at all. As I watched, I saw one of the figures jerk, then start to fall. Whoever it was reached out for the nearest mule, which toppled over sideways.

I couldn’t tell if the horrible scream came from the human or the mule or both. They tumbled out of sight.

No one said anything, but it took a long time before the line began moving again.

MOREGONE, a blog story, 17.)

17.) Something round and hard was shoved into my mouth. I awoke, almost choking on it. Seed hovered over me, his eyes wide in the moonlight.

“Eat!” he hissed.

I bit into the apple without thinking. The crabapple was green and tart, and my mouth puckered from the sour flavor.

Along with the bitterness came memory. It was as if it exploded into my brain, everything I’d ever forgotten, the absolute truth of every moment. It was almost too much.

“Eat it all, stem and seed,” my tormentor insisted.

As I chewed, the vivid memories receded but didn’t disappear. I knew they’d be there if I called upon them.

Instead, I remembered the last few days.

I stood up, ready to do battle, but Seed pulled on my hand. He motioned for me to be quiet, and then proffered a sack to me. I opened it and saw round shapes and I knew what he wanted me to do.

Seed had a second sack of crabapples in hand. At the doorway, he turned left and I turned right.

In most of the houses, the residents looked up when I entered and shrank against the wall. In one or two they actually tried to stop me. With the delusions gone, I was easily strong enough to hold them back.

Several of men and women I fed crabapples to spit them out, but I patiently handed them another apple and told them to chew them down, “stem and seed.”

By the time dawn broke, we were armed and ready, ordered in lines down the center of the town.

Most of the denizens didn’t come out, though a few scurried along the sides of the houses before ducking into different doorways.

Finally, as I expected, Mayor Marsianne emerged and slowly approached. She seemed older and more crooked than the day before.

“What will you do to us?” she asked.

“The gems you offered Tomber…are they real?” I asked.

“They are. Take them and go.”

“I wish I could, Marsianne. But that is not why we are here. Do you remember what Tomber asked when he first arrived?

“What Tomber wanted is impossible. No one is allowed to gate through the gate.”

“The gate?”

“The Gate of Memories,” the mayor said. “It is impossible, for upon leaving you forget why you wanted to leave and return. It is a gate to nowhere.”

“What about Moregone?”

She fell silent for a moment, looking around her as if there was an answer in the air. “Why do you insist on remembering? Moregone wants to be forgotten.”

“Then how is it you remember?”

“We do not follow the Mirror God. We answer only to the Goddess.”

She suddenly straightened, the crook in her neck disappearing, and fell to her knees. She lowered her head to the ground.

I looked behind me. At first all I could see was a glimmer of white light, from which shadows slowly emerged, the outline of a woman. For a brief moment I thought it was Lady Favory, but instead of red hair, this woman had pure white hair down to her waist. Her face was unlined, her figure an hourglass. She was clad something that shimmered blue, then white, then blue in the morning sun.

The Goddess.

I almost fell to my knees, but caught myself and merely bowed my head.

“Greetings, Edward. It has been a long time.”

Edward. That had been my name, which over the centuries had morphed into Evard.

The tartness of crabapple rose on my tongue and with it a long lost memory.

“Good morning, Melete.”

I was too annoyed to use her title: Goddess of the Gate.”

“I wondered if you would ever return, my love.”

Her voice was husky, as I remembered it. I also remembered how she sang, the deep and melancholy sound of it. A wave of nostalgia washed over me, from when I was young, the first time I saw and heard this land, the intensity of innocence.

“I told you I would come back someday, Melete.”

“I am surprised that you remember so much.”

I nodded, but in truth, when I reached for the memories, they were gone. I had the vivid impression that memories were there but vanished each time I came near.

But the Goddess I remembered, her name, her touch, her smell.

 “You cannot go back, Edward, anymore than you can return from death.”

“So you are saying this is an afterlife of some kind—or that the land beyond is?”

“They both exist in the now, as you exist in the now—but the gate is closed forever. To open it would be to doom both realms.”

I knew then that it was hopeless. In truth, I suspected so from the beginning. She was a Goddess, and I was but a man, if a long lived one.

“What of Moregone?” I asked. “Which world does it belong to?”

“Moregone is Moregone,” Melete said. “Someday, perhaps, it will be a third realm, and it will expand as its people’s imagination expands, until one day it splits apart, for such is the way of things. We remember until we forget.”

“I don’t remember you being so cryptic, Mel,” I said, smiling. “I remember you were rather blunt and even crude. It’s what I liked about you.”

“Even Goddesses change, my love. I tried to keep you from making a mistake, convinced my people to give you the riches you desire. I do not understand how you overcame my spell.”

Seed was nowhere in sight and I decided that, for now, I’d keep his identity to myself. I wasn’t sure who or what he was, only that he was a friend.

“Will you try to make us forget again?” I asked.

“I have given you my warning. Do as you will. Goodbye, Edward.”

She disappeared. Not in a flash of smoke, not with a shining light, but she was simply gone as if she’d never been there, and for a moment I wondered if she had been.

“Who were you talking to?” The voice sounded as though it came from far away.

Marston stood over me. I was prone on my back on the ground, my clothes muddy as if I’d been rolling in the dirt. I grabbed his extended hand and he pulled me to my feet.

Everyone was staring at me as if I was crazy—everyone but Marsianne.

I marched up to her, waving the others to stay behind. “You will tell me how to find Moregone,” I said in a low voice, “or I will burn down your pathetic little village.”

I didn’t mean it, of course. At least I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t going to end my quest for Moregone just because a Goddess got in the way.

Marsianne looked me in the eye. “You are the Eternal Wanderer. I did not know until the Goddess addressed you. I will show you the way.”

I heard a gasp behind me. Unnoticed, Viccare had followed me over. Now he was staring at me like he’d never seen me before. “You…?” he began, but nothing else came out. Then he knelt before me. “The Mirror God has commanded me to follow you wherever you lead, milord.”

“Get up,” I said. “You are no longer a Blue Pilgrim. You can do whatever you want.”

He shook his head, but didn’t try to argue.

From that moment on, every time I looked toward the boy, he seemed to be staring at me.

MOREGONE, a blog story, 16.)

16.) It appeared to me that every citizen of Inhut was there, just a few more people than belonged to our caravan, perhaps numbering fifty. They were gathered in the enclosure at the center of the town. The houses were square and unadorned, built in a circle and side by side with a wall between each one. None of the buildings were taller or wider than the others.

The people were small of stature, both men and women, and there were few children in sight. Perhaps they were hidden away. They wore clothing that were various shades of brown and gray, blending in with their surroundings, both natural and manmade. I saw neither grazing livestock, nor plots of gardens in the rocky soil, and I wondered how these benighted people survived the cold and windy highlands. Both the town and the surrounding landscape were bleak, devoid of vegetation or color.

Tomber looked like a giant among them, half again as tall as most of the adults. His grin was infectious though, and I felt my heart lighten at the sight of him. He would know if there was danger, and to see him so relaxed was encouraging.

He stepped out and shook my hand, then turned and motioned toward a small, delicate woman, who was wrinkled and bent.

“Marsianne, this is Evard Just, the man I told you about.”

She wrinkled her forehead looking up at me, as if I was an alien creature.

“Evard, this is Marsianne, the mayor of Inhut.”

I bowed to her and she appeared amused at the gesture. “Welcome to our home,” she said, her voice crackling like dry paper. “We have prepared a banquet as a celebration of friendship.”

She turned and lifted her hand. Moments later, the inhabitants of Inhut were scurrying about, setting up tables and chairs in the courtyard. The food they brought out from the houses appeared to consist of mostly stews and soups.

“Allow us to contribute to the festivity,” I said. I looked over at Toug, he nodded and quickly took command.

In the end, we provided more than half the food for the “banquet,” which we were more than glad to do. The expedition was nearing its goal, and it wouldn’t hurt to lighten our load before we attempted the mountain passes.

It was fortunate that Toug was able to scrape together a meal so quickly, because what the Inhutians offered was pretty thin gruel, though I had little doubt it was the best they could provide.

Despite an obvious effort to restrain themselves these poor people couldn’t hide their craving for the provender we provided. This was obviously a poor and backward village, with citizens who were ignorant of the outside world. When I mentioned the Thirteen Principalities, only Marsianne seemed to know what I was referring to.

The children came out of hiding for the meal. They looked malnourished, which explained the stunted stature of the adults. They stared at us with wide eyes, as if we were mythical creatures. They were especially interested in Lady Favory, who was a head taller than any woman of the village, and who seemed to glow in health and vitality. She also stood out because she had changed into a bright scarlet dress for the banquet.

The young ones approached her shyly, and touched her raiment, and then ran away. One young boy said “Goddess” before he scurried off.

Favory seemed to take all of this attention as her due. I saw her glancing over at Viccary a few times, as if to say, “See what you’re missing?”

Above us, clouds swirled through the high peaks, and I could hear the winds beyond the walls, but within the circle, it was still and quiet, except for the murmur of talk. By design or accident, the two groups were blended, with alternating seating. My people appeared to be relaxed.

No one is on guard.

How had that happened? I looked around for Marston to ask, but he was surrounded by several of the village women—apparently, his relatively small size made him attractive.

Let him have this moment.

As soon as I thought it, the urgency to post guards dissipated.

For most of the meal, Tomber sat at the other end of the table, bend halfway over to talk to Marsianne. As the Inhutians scooped up the last of the food, I motioned my Tomber over.

“Are they ready?” I asked my scout. “Will they help us?”

“Everything is prepared. We need merely load up the pack mules and head home. This will be your most profitable venture yet, Evard.”

I stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of his words.

“Head home?” I repeated.

“The last couple loads of trinkets seemed to open up the floodgates, Evard. It appears that these people are miners, who trade precious gems with the lowlanders for everything else. You should see the mines—they go on forever, so deep you can feel the fires of underworld!”

“I’m most pleased to hear that, Tomber. We’ll certainly try to load up on our way back. But meanwhile, what of Moregone? What of the pass over the Shield Mountains?”

It was Tomber’s turn to sound mystified. “Moregone? What is that?”

I reached out and took hold of his arm, my fingers digging into him. He winced and looked down. “What’s wrong, Evard?”

“You were supposed to find us a guide over the Shield Mountains,” I hissed.

“Over the Shield Mountains?”

It was clearly a strange concept to him. I watched him try to puzzle it out and then he pulled his arm away. “I always wondered what it was you liked about this part of the world,” he said. “But I enjoy these people—they are honest and hardworking.”

I opened my mouth to argue and then wondered why. What was I so upset about?

I looked down the table at my people. It was hard to distinguish them from the villagers now. Everyone appeared very attractive to me. How had I ever believed these people to be stunted? They were merely small and delicate.

Half of them appeared to have wandered away. As I watched, Hutson the carpenter rose hand-in-hand with a young woman and stumbled off toward a nearby house.

How nice, I thought. It’s wonderful that our expedition has been such a success. Maybe we didn’t get everything we wanted…

My mind went blank for a moment. What was it we had wanted?

Marsianne appeared next to Tomber; with him seated, she was face to face with him. She leaned into him and gave him a kiss on the lips.

Strange. I’d thought the mayor old and wizened when first I saw her, but now I saw that the wrinkles were merely laugh lines and her face was lovely.

Tomber rose from his seat and swooped Marsianne into his arms. “See you in the morning, boss.”

I opened my mouth to object as he staggered away, then wondered why. What was it that was so bothering me? Everyone else seemed happy.

Toug stood by the dinner wagon, cleaning up. I wandered over to him.  

He looked up at me and I could see the same confusion I was feeling in his face.

“I took by one bite of their stew,” he said. “There was something in it.”

“What do you mean?” My question was polite—but really I couldn’t seem to care.

“There is something wrong, Evard.”

I laughed. Of course, the great chef had been offended by the Inhutian food. No surprise there.

He stood staring at me for a few more moments, frowning. Then his face cleared and he smiled. “Well, I think I’ll get a start on breakfast.”

I walked away, wondering what kinds of precious stones Tomber had managed to get for us. I would ask him in the morning. There was no hurry.

A young woman approached and I recognized her as one of the village women who’d brought the food to the tables. She smiled shyly at me. “We have a bed for you, master. Come this way.”

She led me to the back of her house, where there were blankets laid upon the floor. Moonlight streamed through a narrow window. I lay down on the hard ground, and it seemed to me completely comfortable. I almost asked the woman to stay and I was pretty sure she would have, but in the end I was just too sleepy.

I closed my eyes, smiling.

The ending comes.

Went on my walk yesterday with the vague intention of thinking about the ending to Moregone, but didn't really expect much.

Sure enough, about halfway through the walk, it started coming to me.

How does that happen? It's hard to reconstruct the thought process, because it is so vague and uncertain.

I know that it usually starts by posing the question: sometimes specific, sometimes general.

I knew in this case that the whole theme of the story was memory. I knew that the protagonist was moving from the known world into the forgotten realm by the way of a mist-filled cave. So I knew that something affecting his memory needed to happen.

But what?

I thought about coming back home to look up quotes about memory, Wiki entries, philosophy and science, to see if anything was sparked.

As often happens when I'm stumped, the answer was the exact opposite of what I was pondering; It isn't that the protagonist forgets something but that he remembers. 

There was then a quick leap to the ending, things I'd been setting up all along. Getting them to all mesh into a single story line that resolves all the different threads.

This is why I write, I think. The satisfying solution to a plot.