As he leans forward, copying Roisin Moodlive, he notices there is a bulge in both of his overcoat’s pockets. He remembers putting the bag with the antigravity stones into his left pocket but he’ll have to look again at the note and jar in his right. His feet raise off the ground. Using his arms to move and for direction while kicking his legs back and forth as if he were treading water, he follows Moodlive around the tower of the castle.
He glances down and wishes he hadn’t as his legs instinctively stop kicking and his arms go still at the terror of falling.
“Don’t look down, and don’t stop moving,” he hears Moodlive’s distant voice warn.
As his body starts to fall he focus on leaning farther forward until there is pressure under his belly, as if he were leaning over a steam pipe. Gulping nervously, he starts to kick and stroke the air with his arms again.
Staring up he sees Moodlive slip inside a round window. He makes wider strokes to increase his speed as she peers out the window and waves for him to hurry.
The skiff docks against a cedar dock so old its planks have turned a greyish brown. At the end of the dock, he sees a crushed stone walkway and further a castle that appears vaguely familiar.
“Off you go, big boy,” the vampire in the storm grey overcoat says, while heaving up on his arm to make sure he understands.
Once he’s on the dock he turns to Roisin Moodlive and offers an invisible hand. Her lightly freckled cheeks smile up at him and she reaches up.
A dainty hand, with long fingernails curled at the ends, pushes his arm away. “We don’t help the likes of her,” the vampire in the sea green overcoat chides him.
Memories of Msizi in a rage flash before him, and as he snarls, he grabs the sides of both vampires’ heads and smashes them together.
Roisin Moodlive leaps onto the dock as the two rowers paddle the skiff away from the dock.
He glares at the rowers but they refuse to return. In a moment they’re too far for him to leap onto the skiff.
A light pressure on his arm causes him to look down.
Nodding towards the two unconscious vampires, Roisin Moodlive tells him, “We need to leave before they awake.”
“Where too,” he asks, glancing everywhere but the castle.
“To the castle. You’ll have to go there eventually anyways—to find what you’ve come for. But not through the gates.”
“How else?” he asks.
“We’ll fly?”
He blinks and waits for her to explain.
“Do as I do.”
He watches her lean from her ankles so that the rest of her body is straight. She leans so far forward he is sure she’ll fall over. Then her feet raise off the ground. “It’s like swimming,” she tells him, brushing the air with her hands and arms.
Blog Eight: Remembering the Handsome Clock and Roisin Moodlive
He can sense her behind him as the Schiff bobs up and down across the grey waves. Terror should be engulfing him as the castle looms larger but her presence is distracting him. He never expected to meet her corporeal form. It must be a lyre she is playing behind him for a harp would be too large. Strange that the vampires show no reaction to her playing. The one with sea green overcoat is tormenting the two rowers.
“Countess Mlde will be hungry when we arrive,” the shorter vampire taunts. “You two look swollen enough to satisfy her.”
“I just want to die,” says one of the rowers.
“Not likely,” the vampire in the stormy grey overcoat says in a cruel tone. “Whatever you did before must have been horrendous. And you know what the saying is, Hell is on Earth for the returning wicked.”
As he stares forward, he remembers when he first met her. He was much younger then. On a case to find the murder of a number of citizens with suspected villainous characters. It was a case he wasn’t sure he wanted to close. The family of one of the deceased wanted nothing to do with his belongings, so held an auction. Mr. Clockwind had purchased a handsome and horse clock and wanted him to see it. As Mr. Clockwind wound the clock a knock came at his shop’s door. “Just wind it a few more times,” Mr. Clockwind had told him, “I’ll be right back.”
He turned the key on the bottom of the base until it no longer moved. As he stood up to appreciate the craftmanship, a faint red glow emitted below the roof of the handsome. Diligently, he felt along the edge of the roof. A nearly invisible clasp released and the flare of red turned bright yellow, blinding him. His chest burned terribly for a moment. “Hello,” a soft, soprano voice called into his mind. “I’m Roisin Moodlive.” From behind him he could hear Mr. Clockwind returning. Quickly he pressed down on the roof of the handsome until he heard a click.
Original picture for cover by Dianne McBride diannemcb@gmail.com This was such an interesting picture that, other than cropping it to fit, I left it as is. Dianne’s husband Bob Godglick who portrays Mr. Clockwind also repairs vintage clocks. Considerate Done: Vintage Clock Repair: bgdm201@gmail.com
Chief Shabuni feels that something is missing. As the two vampires lead him towards a dock at the end of the street, he undoes the first few buttons of his shirt and slides his hand inside. The ridges of the moving scar on his chest are gone.
At the dock he glances across the choppy grey waves at a crop of trees. Further back, he can see the shadowy image of a castle.
From behind him, he hears the soft sound of harp strings gently plucked, and a voice, nearly inaudible, singing:
You are heading into danger Dimoso
This is my place
And I know
I know
You can never die here
Only be terrified, charmed, into a docile existence
Your soul Dimoso
Not your tangible body
Not your tangible mind
But the mind that holds your soul
When the time comes
Heed me friend
The song and playing end. Replaced by the soft sound of clicking heels. As the steps get closer to him, he wants to turn around. To see if it is actually her. But he dares not.
Bobbing beside the dock is an immaculately kept skiff. Two men, in fine clothes, sit with the handles of the oars in their hands. Their eyes stay open in fear.
The vampire with the sea green overcoat passes a coin to a man wearing a faded purple trench coat and stove pipe hat. The man’s eyes are hidden behind goggles with silver wings on each arm.
“I too would like to cross,” he hears a soprano voice call from behind.
Original picture for cover by Dianne McBride diannemcb@gmail.com
Between the street buildings he sees two gentlemen treading in the air. The soles of their brown Edwin Clapp shoes are the height of a nearby streetlight. One man wears a stormy grey overcoat and dark violet vest that matches the colour of his trousers. The other has on a sea green overcoat with matching trousers. His vest is pine with intricate gold designs. Both men are wearing dark purple bowler hats. As they talk, he sees the tips of their very long canines sparkle. They glance around the street as they animatedly discuss something he can’t hear.
He steps back as he sees them dive towards him.
“Well friend,” The man in the sea green overcoat says up to him with a charming lisp, “You’ve been invited to a party.
Between the street buildings he sees two gentlemen treading in the air. The soles of their brown Edwin Clapp shoes are the height of a nearby streetlight. One man wears a stormy grey overcoat and dark violet vest that matches the colour of his trousers. The other has on a sea green overcoat with matching trousers. His vest is pine with intricate gold designs. Both men are wearing dark purple bowler hats. As they talk, he sees the tips of their very long canines sparkle. They glance around the street as they animatedly discuss something he can’t hear.
He steps back as he sees them dive towards him.
“Well friend,” The man in the sea green overcoat says up to him with a charming lisp, “You’ve been invited to a party.
The harp sound in his head instantly stops. Up ahead a bourbon-coloured shop door opens. A beautiful young woman with pink hair and a pixie face glances his way. She puts a finger to her lips and disappears back inside.
“You seem to be missing your head and hands, friend,” the man in the stormy grey overcoat says up to him in a much deeper voice as he links arms. As the man pulls him forward the man inhales deeply through an aristocratic nose. “I smell frankincense. That’s rich. What we can see of you doesn’t suggest your that well off.”
“Where are you taking me?” he asks with an intentional growl to his voice.
“And although we can’t see anything there, there surely is a mouth,” the man in the sea green overcoat says with much mockery.
“There’s a party for the hierarchy here, at our very own Lady Thelma Mlde’s mansion,” replies the man in the stormy grey overcoat. “And she’s specifically insisted on your presence.”
From the side of the man wearing the sea green overcoat, he feels a painful pinprick near his ribs.
Instantly he sees an image behind dissipating fog. A now familiar woman, with a chest covered in blood, holds a silver mirror as she stands on a walkway to a castle. As she turns the mirror, he sees in its glass, himself between the two much shorter men.
Picture of Countess Thelma Mlde portrayed and taken by Leah Weir – background picture of Castle Ward taken by Leah Weir.
The harp music continues to call him and whatever tonic Lady Oolong made for him has nearly lost all its strength. He starts walking towards a street full of two-storey buildings. In the background he sees the spiral tower of a church or what he believes is a church. People bustle along the street. The image of the bewitching vampire with the succulent voice overwhelms him. He guesses that the ointment Lady Elsewhere covered his face and upper body with made his visible skin invisible to the vampire, but what about the necklace with the key? His right palm feels a lump in the pocket of his trench coat. He slides it inside. There’s a wide, thin jar and a piece of paper. Ignoring both he feels around his chest until he finds the key. He carefully unclasps it. As soon as he does it becomes visible. He holds it before him, and a blue light emits from the onyx stone within the key’s head.
His eyes widen as his mouth opens in disbelief. An endless menagerie of living stories occurs everywhere. A wolf fleeing humans. A little girl huddling in a closet. A man and woman intimate on a beach. Flashes go off and there’s a dog wagging his tail as he greets the sister he was separated from. The ever-changing images overwhelm his senses and he shuts his eyelids.
Fumbling with the key he manages to get it clasped onto the chain. When he opens his eyes, its just the busy street before him now. Except. Some of the people are swimming through the air.
The key used in the cover is from a picture of skeleton keys taken by Dianne McBride diannemcb@gmail.com
He finds himself now staring through a wispy wall of fog down a winding stairway. In the distance he can see the shadows of buildings. In his head plays the barely audible beckoning sound of harp strings. The scar on his chest begins to move rhythmically. Although he can’t see his hands, he can still feel them. Closing his eyelids, he focuses on the proprioception action of buttoning on his shirt. Next, he puts on his vest and trench coat. He raises his transparent hands before his now open eyes. As an albino he was always told his skin has no colour. Now he wonders if he is truly colourless. Tangible but invisible.
Fully clothed, he starts to walk down the steps. Anger fills him at the thought of being drugged by Lady Elsewhere. When he was younger, he often had to fight to survive. Both his parents have vitiligo, and he knows they were often treated harshly. But no one considered them magical, until he was born. Perhaps that was why, when the traveling Impi warrior, Msizi found them huddled behind a rock on the shores of Victoriara Lake, he took pity on them. Msizi fled his homeland, Zululanderra, after it was conquered and renamed. He was the tallest man Dimoso had ever seen, and his own parents are tall.
As they traveled together towards Tunisiarra, to find a ship to Londonerra, where his parents hoped he would be safe, Msizi taught Dimoso the Bantu language. One day, he saw Msizi standing on a knoll with his assegai spear and cowhide shield, staring into the distance while singing. He walked in front of Msizi, so the warrior would know he was there, and asked, “What is that song?”
“Rage,” the warrior replied in his baritone voice. “Stand beside me and learn it while I watch for enemy and game.”
They say I am weak for not inhaling cohoba
And seeing what is hidden
They say I am weak for not drinking mampoer
To the point of oblivion
But I am stronger than they
For I am always full of rage
It lurks inside waiting to lash out
I am strong for not inhaling or imbibing
Because if I wasn’t
You would be dead
There’s something you don’t understand
Rage doesn’t care about the vessel it uses
Rage doesn’t care who it destroys in its path
Over the half year it took to reach Tunisiarra he learned to read and write from his parents and how to track and fight from Msizi. Only a few times did he see his mentor rage. Msizi warned him ahead of time to stay away. “It is not when I’m shouting angerly but when I go still,” Msizi explained.
He didn’t have that kind of rage inside him thankfully. But he also never wanted to find out. So, he stayed away from laudanum and the underground opium dens that filled the catacombs of Londera.
One step after another, he goes further into this strange place, and as he does, the harp strings beckon to him ever louder.
As Chief Shabuni enters the block of ice he sees something different than the city he originally saw. How much did Lady Oolong’s tincture warp his thoughts? In front of him in shades of white and blue are elongated buildings within an egg-shaped vignette. “What–,” he begins to say when he hears Lady Oolong’s voice singing in his head.
Welcome to the Dreamscape Chief Shabuni
Where the bend of everything occurs
Welcome to the Dreamscape Chief Shabuni
That terrifying place in dreams
When everything, everything makes sense
Just one more step forward Chief Shabuni…
He stares down and sees endlessness through where his upper body and arms should be. His eyelids instinctively squeeze shut. His right hand covers the scar on his chest.
A soprano voice, he knows from the real place he has departed, calls to him.
Find me, Dimoso
In the place I fully exist
In the place I feel real
In the place I never thought
Thought we could meet…
He takes a step forward.
I asked Dianne McBride to send me one of her abstract art pieces with the theme of buildings.
Original abstract art by Dianne McBride diannemcb@gmail.com
Chief Shabuni steps into a natural corridor where everything is tinted blue. Giant trees grow everywhere along a carpet of stones. Directly before him is the root in the shape of a nest. A little farther away is another block of ice. He hears Lady Oolong’s voice in his head, your clothes are beside you. Gather them but don’t wear them yet. As he gazes around for his shirt, vest, and trench coat he notices his chest, belly, and arms are invisible. His heart begins to race.
Don’t forget to grab a few of the shimmering stones in the shape of eggs, Lady Steamsail’s voice tells him.
He sees a leather bag with drawstrings on top of his clothes. As he bends down to gather a few eggs he opens his mouth to ask why. His eyes bulge painfully as he feels his breath rush out. Desperate for air he grabs two of the oblong rocks and tosses them into the bag. Without hesitation he picks up his clothes and heads towards the block of ice.
Through the ice he sees a bustling street. There’s something strange about the people but he can’t worry about that. His body is crying out for air.
As he takes a step forward the image in the block of ice disappears into swirls of mist. There’s a face behind the whisps of grey. He’s nearly at the block when he jolts to a stop. A woman with enchanting green eyes stares arrogantly back at him. His skin crawls in horror at the sight of her sharp fangs and the blood stains that run down from the corners of her mouth.
I see a stovepipe hat with goggles, she sings in a mocking tone.
Trousers and shoes
And absolutely nothing holding clothes
And a leather bag
A spectre, a wight, a ghost?
She inhales from her nose.
A tinge of magical power
But not anyone I’m looking for
You may pass
He realizes its good that he held his breath in terror the whole time she sang. The image of the street reappears and he dashes towards it before there is no oxygen left inside him.
Caedar Writing & Artwork 