There She Goes Again

I've missed Anne Marie. She whispers to me at night, it's time to let her out for a while.
My offering  for Master Class Monday at Our Write Side





Anne Marie listened intently for a repetition of the cracking of leaves behind her. Though she heard no new sound, she silently circled back. The iron broadsword in her grip hummed in anticipation. She sniffed the air; was that a hint of fresh blood on the breeze? 

From tree to tree she crept forward, homing in on the scent. As she neared her target she heard the whisper of soft breaths. And something else…rhythmic tapping, so soft she almost missed it. 

Anne Marie stopped, a memory tickled at her. A thing forgotten, a thing she needed to know.

She tested the breeze again. The blood odor was thicker and foul. And another smell...sulfur. Her eyebrows rose as well as the hair at the nape of her neck. 

With only the old iron blade, did she dare to confront the thing lying in wait? For it was certainly waiting for her. 

Still soft, the tapping continued, insistent and no longer just ahead but all around. 

‘Too late to turn back,’ she told herself, ‘she knows I’m here.’

Anne Marie stood straight and sheathed the sword. 

Three more steps brought her into the circle. Its guardian smiled a welcome as it beckoned her to the center most spot.

She smirked back at the daemon; it wouldn’t be the first time she'd stood at the crossroad to oblivion. Nor would it be the last.

Joiner

Linked up with EatSleepWrite for Master Class Monday.
This is my take on the prompt "along with the crowd"



Anne huddled in the corner of the cushionless love seat. Her head bowed, arms hugging knees drawn up to her chest. Her tangled red hair hung limply over her face. Discreetly peeking through the veil of hair, she inspected her surroundings. Cinder block walls stained with moisture, an uneven, crumbling concrete floor combined with thumps from above confirmed the hunch that she was in a basement.

Elsewhere in the cellar she could hear sobbing intermingled with angry tirades of creative cursing from fellow captives. Her ears perceived perhaps a dozen other women sharing her prison.

The smell of rotting fabric vying with the medicinal odor of an anesthetic was abruptly overpowered by the the foul odor of death and decay. Fingers parted her hair, a partially decomposed hand cupped her chin, forcing her head up. She summoned an appropriate shriek as she studied the creature in front of her.

The flesh gripping her chin was spongy, and she assumed was the same purple tinted grey-green as the mutilated face. No life shone from clouded eyes. No breath expelled from between decaying lips.

Her study was interrupted by the thwack of a two by four connecting with the corrupted flesh. "Get away from her! You back off or I'll make you deader'n you already are!" To Anne's surprise, the creature shuffled away.

"You okay, honey? Ol' Squishy there, he ain't dangerous, just nosy. An' he stinks."

Anne remained silent, now studying her new companion. Dark skin with darker eyes, small in stature but large in attitude. Finally she spoke, "I'm fine, thank you. Just what is...Squishy?"

"Zombie, I guess. 'Cept he ain't tried to eat nobody. I'm Meeshie. Who're you?"

"Anne." She sized up the petite woman, then asked, "How long have you been here? How many others are there, and anyone know why?"

Meeshie offered a hand, "Well, I been here about a week, I think there's fourteen of us, maybe fifteen now." Anne grasped the proffered hand, allowing Meeshie to pull her from her seat. "Why're we here? No idea."

Anne Marie stretched, working out the kinks of sitting folded for hours. "I was grabbed off the street, same for everyone?"

"Was you workin'? Not judgin', just askin'. And, yeah, I think most of us was picked off the street."

"Working, yes, you could say that." She glanced around, trying to catch sight of the other women. "Were all of you working?"

"Nah. Only a couple really. I was just comin' back from the quickie mart with a slushie." Meeshie chuckled, "My cousin keeps tellin' me they ain't good for me." She scrutinized Anne closely, "You don't seem very shook up about joinin' the crowd."

Anne ignored the remark and cast a glance at the ceiling where the sound of footsteps had resumed. "And no one knows who's up there, calling the shots?"

"Nope, hauled here with hoods over our heads. After, we ain't seen nobody but Squishy." Meeshie looked away, shifting eyes belying her bravado. "An' that's the spooky part, spookier than Ol' Squishy himself."

Anne Marie gave an imperceptible nod, "Spooky indeed," she muttered, wondering just who was walking upstairs and what were they waiting for?

MacGoulan Arrives

   More of the Chaos in Progress, this scene is the morning after the attack on Annag's wedding feast. Pt 1 The Wedding Feast  Pt 2 Unexpected Guests



 The morning sun slid hesitantly through the broken doorway. Flies began to gather around pools of blood and stray limbs. The lazy buzzing a sharp contrast to the panicked screams and roars of rage that filled the house hours earlier.

The small party from clan MacGoulan approached the doorway with blades drawn. Nerves were on edge since entering the cluster of stone huts and encountering unnatural silence. The bodies of the clan hounds, ripped apart, littered the tracks between homes. Their calls of greeting had gone unanswered at the nearest huts.

Sionn reluctantly peered through the doorway of the clan chief's home, then stumbled back, his breakfast returning to his throat.

"They're dead! All dead!", he cried. "Killed same as the hounds, torn..."

Another man had braved a bit farther into the carnage. "Sionn, there's not just the clan dead here. There's animal...I think." He looked around, trying to understand the bodies. The clans people were badly mutilated, the bodies violently torn and shredded. The other dead were more simply slain. By sword or club.

Those dead were not of the clan. Sionn reentered the house. "What kind of men were these?", he muttered as he took in the misshapen faces. More of a muzzle than nose or jaw. Hands that ended in razor sharp claws. ‘Wulver, men that became beasts,” he thought. Nightmares made more chilling by the light of day.

Sean gasped behind him. "Sionn! There are children dead here as well! And this child, this one has no head. Sionn what..." A small moan from the back wall interrupted his morbid inventory.

Sionn drew his broadsword and made his way toward the sound. There he found the woman, her clothing ripped and bloody. A dirk still gripped in trembling hands, her red hair a wild flame about her head.

As Sionn reached for her she scrambled closer to the wall, trying to lift the blade against him.

"Hush girl. I'm Sionn MacGoulan. Are you of MacClarren? Can you say what happened?"

She tried to focus on him, his resemblance to her betrothed returned her voice to her. "Taog? Where is Taog! Where is my mother? Father!" She struggled to stand. As her eyes took in the scene around her, she fell back.

This must be Annag, betrothed of his brother. Sionn threw his arm around her, when he touched her back she screamed in agony. He turned her gently to see what caused the pain. Three deep slashes crossed her back. Blood still seeping weakly from wounds that were an angry red.

Sionn let her fall to the floor. She'd been clawed by the beasts. The old stories made it clear what to do. What had to be done. The wounds were a death sentence. MacGoulan would not abide her, betrothed of Taog or not. She was cursed and they wouldn't suffer her to live, within or without the clan. Though it grieved him, Sionn drew his sword. Grabbing a fistful of the girl’s red hair, he pulled her head back, baring her throat.

“Stop!”

The voice rang through the silence. Startled Sionn turned to the shattered doorway. A figure in long dress holding a crooked staff stood silhouetted by the sun. As she stepped into the room, he could see the wrinkled face of an elderly woman. He shook his head dismissively.

“She is tainted, old woman. And mostly dead anyway,” Sionn said. “She cannot be saved. Besides, you’ve no voice here.” He began to lift his blade again.

“Oh, but I do, boy. I so do.” She tapped her staff on the ground. A vibration began at her feet and traveled swiftly to Sionn. His arm numbed and the blade fell to the floor.

The other men backed warily away. “Don’t run off, now, children. I’ve more work for you.” Shedchuckled as the group looked nervously at each other, waiting for Sionn to tell them what to do.

It was the woman that spoke to them. “ First, bring that girl out of this filth.” When there was no immediately movement, she lifted her staff. Three men hurried to Annag’s side, lifted her roughly and scurried for the door.

“Carefully, children! Let’s not make her wounds any worse! And find a litter, you’ll move her to my home.” She turned to the other men standing amid the carnage. “The rest of you, gather what fuel you can. This must be burned. All of it. Burn the dead hounds as well.”

Sionn spoke finally, “Why not leave the girl to burn, also? She’s cursed. Whatever they were, she carries that taint now. I grew up hearing stories, I’d not believed them before, but, now…I say again, she cannot be saved.”

“I say she will be saved.” The woman’s eyes flashed at Sionn.

He snapped back, “And who are you to say this?”

“Me?” The old woman grinned unpleasantly. “Why, I am Lillian”

/>

Unexpected Guests

This next part is not as serene as the introductory chapter found here.  Annag's life is about to change...

The sun had just begun to set when the clan hounds began to howl.

“Well, my daughter. I’m thinking that MacGoulan has finally arrived to take you away.” Donnchadh took Annag by the shoulders. “I wish only the best in life for you, child.” He blinked back the tears that threatened to escape. “I will sorely miss that sunset hair.” He gave her a great hug then turned quickly away.

Taog came forward to take her hand. They would greet his clansmen together.

The hounds had continued baying, louder and more excited. The laughter and chatter in the house matched their enthusiasm.

Until one of the hounds screamed in pain. And the tone of the baying changed from greeting to terror. Then fell silent.

As Donnchadh reached for his great broadsword, the heavy wooden door burst open. A dozen bodies poured through the opening.

Annag didn’t want to believes what she was seeing. This was not the MacGoulan. This was the stories told late at night to frighten children. These were nightmares come to visit.

“Wulver!” she heard someone cry.

The beasts were upon the gathering in an instant. Taog pushed her behind him as the monsters came. She heard he screams of women and cries of men realizing they were too far from their weapons.

Her father’s blade swung hard at the first wave, one beast yelped in pain and turned away. Then targeted another man with only a heavy chair for defense. The pain maddened attacker ripped it from him, and his arm that had wielded it.

Other men had reached knives or swords, but they were no match for fangs and the claws that grew from hand-like paws.

Taog had no weapon, he made no sound when his throat was torn by gnashing teeth.

Her mother, Mara had joined Donnchadh, an iron fire poker her weapon. Six of the beasts closed on them. Annag heard her father roar his rage just before the hand that held his blade was severed by knife like teeth.

She watched his heavy broadsword fall to the ground. His body followed, pulled down by three of the creatures. She didn’t see her mother being torn apart next to him.

Annag’s eyes were still fixed on the blade. She’d made no sound. Her terror had stolen her screams. But her body lunged for the fallen weapon. Once it was in her hands, she felt her fear turn to anger. With strength she didn’t recognize, she swung the blade.

One beast fell, the wound in its neck pouring blood. She swung again. A second beast snarled in pain. As it backed away, one of her clansmen stuck a knife between its ribs.

She spun around hearing her young sister’s scream. She swung again, but was far too late. A moan fled from her chest as she saw her sweet  sister’s head fall from her shoulders. Her grief fuelled fury made certain the beast that was responsible was headless a moment later.

She felt fire skate across her back. She turned, blade singing through the small space. The beast that struck her was already down. The man that slew it lay dying from too many wounds, a small smile gracing his face in that final act.

Annag didn’t know how much time had passed since the attack had begun. She only knew that it was suddenly silent. No more beasts came at her. No more screams of her clan. No more growls of the unnatural beasts.

As she became aware of her rasping breath, her racing heart, her eyes took in the horror before them. Her family, her people, dismembered, mutilated, all dead. The silence was broken by one last scream. She fell to the ground as it escaped her exhausted body.

Wish Upon a Star

Write at the Merge, Week 40 

Cameron gave us two photos for inspiration this week.  You can find them here

"Why're we here again, girlie?"

"We are looking for the wulver that has chosen this place as its hunting ground, Liam."  Anne Marie sniffed the air at the street end of an alley.  "It's what I do."

Liam looked over her shoulder.  "Ye doona need ye're nose, sweetling, there's light enough ablazin' to see fer miles."

The pair continued down the avenue, at each alley, Anne Marie tested the scent.  So far, she'd found no hint of the werewolf she was hunting.

"I say ye're searchin' the wrong side a town, Annie.  No wolfman worth his hide would hunt in this light.  Ye canna even see the star through this sodium bathed backwash."

"What are you blathering about, Liam?"

"Stars, Annie, I canna see the stars."

"What stars?"

"My point exactly, lass."  Liam laid a hand on her shoulder, "Annie, let's go back to the old land.  I still own the manor..."

"The ruins of a manor, Liam, you haven't been there, in what?  Centuries?"

"All the better, no electric lights to block the stars."  Liam cocked a half smile, "Remember when we used ta sleep in the wilds, Annie.  Nothin' fer miles.  No light, just the faint glow of the dyin' cook fire.  No horns blarin', just the song of crickets and tree frogs, leaves whisprin' secrets to each other."

"Liam, are you alright?"  Anne Marie looked at her oldest acquaintance suspiciously. "You have fed recently, haven't you?"

Liam sighed, "Yes, pet, I have.  Ye needn't remind me what ye think of my condition."

"Alright then, let's get back to the business at hand, shall we."  Anne Marie returned to her hunt, sniffing the air and peering down alleys.

"Aye, Annie, the business at hand." Liam gazed into the sky, seeking the light of a distant star. 

First Impression

 
Trifecta: Week Eighty-Six
Write at the Merge Week 29
Master Class Summer Edition #3


Congratulations to the weekend winners!  There were some great writing processes, some I may implement.
I've lost my mind or just gone plain crazy.  I opted to combine three prompts this time.  I hope they work.  I listed the prompts at the end.
I'm revisiting Anne Marie and Liam.  Most of the the stories I write about them are character studies.  This is how I get to know more about them.  So on to the story...

             "Annie, sweetling!  Come meet me friend Rosie!"  Liam kicked the door open as he bellowed.  He dragged his new friend into Anne Marie's kitchen, then proceeded to rifle her pantry.  "D'ya not have anything ta eat, lass?"

Anne Marie leaned against the door frame leading to the parlor.  "There is food, Liam, root vegetables and herbs.  But, oh dear.... likely nothing to your tastes."  She eyed Rosie as Liam continued to search for meat, preferably raw, and perhaps a bit rancid.

"Rosie" stood at the kitchen table looking bored while absently running one long pink fingernail along a crack in the surface.  Unnaturally blond hair danced across broad shoulders clad in the soft black leather of a form fitting leotard.  A low slung belt sported assorted bulging pockets.  The outfit was completed by knee high, shiny, black boots with three inch heels.

Rosie caught Anne Marie's gaze. "Liam says you're a hunter, too.  I guess I expected someone...ya know, taller."

Liam threw an arm around his new partner, "Now, Rosie, doona judge a book, girlie." 

Disengaging Liam's arm, Rosie sauntered toward Anne Marie, "What gear do you prefer, Annie?"

"I prefer Anne Marie.  And I don't pack gear, I use what's at hand."

"Isn't that risky?"

"Not as risky as those boots.  They're barely made for walking, useless for running."

Rosie snorted, "I don't run.  Annie."

Liam stopped rummaging to watch the interchange, "Now lassies..."

One swift move and Rosie lay across the table, the point of a large butcher knife aimed between wide blue eyes.  Anne Marie sniffed, then raised her brows in surprise.  Releasing Rosie, she tossed the knife aside, "Get out, both of you."

Liam rushed Rosie toward the door, "C'mon, girlie...wha....Rossamund!  By the gods, lass, ye've wet yerself!"

Anne Marie sighed.  Nothing worse than an amateur hunter.  Except perhaps a foolish ghoul, trying to make her jealous with his new partner. 

Should she tell him his new playmate, Rossamund, was a boy with a girl's name?


Write at the Merge..."This week, we’re offering a photograph — feel free to use any or all of the items in the photo as part of the prompt."







The Master Class.....


From Trifecta 'Writing Challenge....

CRACK
1a : a loud roll or peal <a crack of thunder>
  b : a sudden sharp noise <the crack of rifle fire>
2: a sharp witty remark : quip
3a : a narrow break : fissure <a crack in the ice>  
  b : a narrow opening <leave the door open a crack><cracks between floorboards> —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out <a player who fell through the cracks in the college draft> <children slipping through the cracks of available youth services>
4a : a weakness or flaw caused by decay, age, or deficiency :unsoundness
  b : a broken tone of the voice
  c : crackpot
5: moment, instant <the crack of dawn>
- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.LETuMiLK.dpuf

Moon Drawn

Tightrope – 100 Word Song


I'm ba-ack...with my always slightly different(read twisted) view.  So here are 100 words inspired by Janelle Monae’s Tightrope chosen by Deana aka The Bobina.

It was on the clearest, coldest nights she felt the call.  Her back rigid as she watched the full moon set, only a few more hours before sunrise let her breathe normally again.

She pulled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, tugged the hood farther over her flame red hair.  Emerald green eyes reflected the pale moonglow.  How easy it would be to just let go.  

Only an ancient binding spell kept her human.  And her will to resist the call.

But, oh how easy it would be.  To step off the thread thin tightrope between beauty and beast.

It's Not Over

Trifecta: Week Eighty-Three   
and
Write at the Merge, Week 26

After my Trifextra offering, I was inspired to create a new character in my ever changing world of Anne Marie McClarren.  So I'm throwing two prompts together this week,  this image from Write on Edge..

and, from Trifecta Writing...

This week's word is:

RUSTY
1: affected by or as if by rust; especially : stiff with or as if with rust
2: inept and slow through lack of practice or old age
3a : of the color rust  

  b : dulled in color or appearance by age and use <rusty old boots>
4: outmoded
5: hoarse, grating

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.31EjgJ5O.dpuf

Damp air touched his face, a soft caress awakening him.  Jean Philippe Michel L'Parre struggled to raise rusty eyelids.  As consciousness returned, so did memory.

She'd been there, in his lair under the lighthouse.  Lying in wait for his return at sunrise.  He remembered the surprise followed by the pain.  Excruciating, burning pain.  It immobilized him as she sealed the entry of his cavern.  His final memory had been of black, dry silence.

His eyes adjusted to the dark as he slowly moved his weakened extremities.  Arms lethargically drew his hands over his body.  When they reached his unmoving chest, he grasped the rotting wood of the stake driven there. 

He twisted the shaft free, the accompanying scream reverberating in the small space meant to be his tomb.  The elder memory of pain blotted out by fresh agony.

He lay still, willing strength to return.  Vengeance growing hotter as the burning wave of pain subsided.  He threw the offensive wood, its clatter echoing more softly than his cry.

Hours passed before he became aware of the sound dripping water.  Then the scuttling of tiny clawed feet.  Here was the creature that had breached the seal, inviting the wood moldering wetness.

Curiosity drove the rat closer.  L'Parre waited patiently as it sniffed and shuffled about his feet. When it moved within his reach, he snatched it with one emaciated hand.  Not bothering to bring it to his fangs, he simply twisted its head off.  He held the body over his open mouth, letting the crimson flow run down his throat.

When the blood no longer ran freely, he used both hands to wring the remaining rusty drops directly into the gaping hole in his chest.  

He tossed the empty body  the same direction as the stake.  Then closed his eyes once more, resting, to let "nature" take its course, while he dreamed of the demise of Mademoiselle McClarren.


   

One More Time

Trifextra: Week Seventy-Three

Congratulations to the winners this week!  I finally got around to a little reading.  Trying to find to time write and read around an eighty hour work week is a challenge all on its own.  I can't imagine how the guest judges manage it, as well as our esteemed editorial staff.  So...
  On to the new prompt.  This weekend we're asking for 33 of your own words inspired by the idiom, third time's the charm.  This familiar phrase may have an indeterminate origin, but its meaning is clear.  Whether or not you include the phrase itself is up to you.  Just make sure to use exactly 33 words.  And, as usual, have fun with it! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.gxgESHhl.dpuf




"Did ye not stake Michel L'Parre last year, Annie?"

"I did, Liam.  After your attempt didn't take."

"Well, sweetling, sharpen yer iron an' I'll bring the garlic. Third time's the charm, they say"

Ancestry

Write at the Merge, Week 16The song is “Tiny Dancer” from Elton John, and you can use the lyrics, the music or anything about the video that inspires you.
Trifecta: Week Seventy-Three
On to the one-word weekly challenge where we ask for a 33-333 word response to the third definition of a given word.  If you need a refresher, click here for more information on how to play.  Be sure to check that you've used the correct definition this week!

color (noun)

3: complexion tint:

  a : the tint characteristic of good health

  b : blush

Anne Marie sat away from the crowd.  She settled in the shade and shadow of an old oak, well removed from the lake's sandy beach.  

Children ran amok, parents yelled warnings about swimming too soon after eating, young couples sat staring dreamily into each other's eyes.

Anne Marie's eyes were fixed a little girl with dark curls and an infectious smile.  She was accompanied by her mother and grandmother. The girl was spinning in circles on the sand as the women talked. 

A small smile bloomed on Anne Marie's lips as she followed the girl's dance.  Memories surfaced in wisps of foggy images.  Of a beautiful man with dark curls and perfect smile.  Of a young girl with flame red hair and cheeks that glowed with the color of impending motherhood.

Unbidden tears flowed down those same cheeks centuries after her world was changed.  Her young man's life ended before his daughter was born.  Her daughter stolen from her at birth.

Her daughter, seen only once from a distance all those long years ago.  She'd kept track of the bloodline, knew of all the daughters born after.  Had watched from a distance the two older women when they were but toddlers.  Had known of the birth of this one.  

This one, this tiny dancer that so resembled the child she never held.  This one, that stopped spinning to look across the space between them.

With head cocked to one side, that perfect smile lit the girl's face.  She raised one chubby hand and waved merrily at Anne Marie. 

Just as she began to lift her hand to wave in return, the women took notice, "Katie Crowe!  What were you told about strangers!" Her mother gave the girl an exasperated look.  "I've told you, Mom, she never pays attention."

Caroline Crowe followed her granddaughter's gaze, caught the eyes of the woman under the tree.  A feeling of recognition washed through her.  "She pays more attention than you know, Natalie.  More than you know." 


Anne Marie has been a recurring character in many of my stories.  Katie Crowe is part of the "novel" I've been... ahem... working on.  Somewhere along the way, they became part of a bigger story that links them together.  Most of the bits I've shared here are under the labels at the top of the blog.  Annag of Clan MacClarren/Anne Marie MacClarren and Renewal; A Tale of Katrina's Kitchen.  This is the first time I've put them in the same post.





  

Dig Two

I have to admit, I've missed Anne Marie and Liam,  the music more than the words built this...

"The elder ones always put up such a fuss, sweetling?"

Anne Marie shrugged as she finished cleaning the gore from her sword.  "Depends on how tired of it they are."  She grimaced as she resheathed her weapon.  "If you must feast on it, Liam, wait until I've left."

"There be things even ghouls won't eat, Annie, me love.  Werewolf bein' one," Liam answered.  "Suppose I ought dig a hole for the bits 'n pieces ye've left?"

Anne Marie raised her head, redrawing her blade at the same time.  A low growl repeated from several yards away.  

"Better dig two, Liam."




As always you have 7 days from right now to write 100 words inspired by my wife’s love of The Band Perry and their new song, Better Dig Two. Make sure you use the linky below and then tweet/book o face/and smoke signal your handiwork. Tell a friend or 50.

Slices of Secret

I think this piece stands alone, it is related to the post found here...

Master Class #6

Once again, we’re trying something new. Shannon was asked to pick any fiction book, turn to page 77 and give the seventh sentence as the prompt. This week, you will use the sentence somewhere within the body of your story. You can not use it to open or end your story. Please use bold font on the prompt sentence so that it can be found easily. Shannon chose Lev Grossman’s “The Magicians” and the prompt is:

He felt like a safe cracker who – partly by luck – had sussed out the first digit in a lengthy, arduous combination.

Liam strode purposefully to his rooms. He squashed the urge to run.  No reason to attract undue attention. His prize would mean little to anyone else, but that didn't mean it would be safe.

Once behind locked doors, he lay the loosely wrapped package on the stained counter top. Hesitating only a moment he unfolded the paper.

Liam felt a mixture of excitement and dread as he appraised his find. A slice of muddied green stone, the copper band around it badly corroded. He carefully pulled the last bits of metal away.

He pulled a worn velvet lined box from the room's only closet. Inside were nine more green slices graduated in size. The smallest was the outermost piece of a rounded stone. Within each slice, the image of a woman, her mouth wide in a scream, was imprinted.

"Who are ye, I wonder. And why does my Annie keep three of ye, and hunt for more," Liam spoke to the images laid out before him. He could feel the spell in the stones.  They pulsed erratically in the dim light.

Curious, he arranged the slices by size. Then stacked them one atop the other, ending with a rounded end-piece. He picked the pile up as a whole and could feel the pulse strengthen and grow steady.  The pieces tried to hold themselves together.  He felt like a safe cracker who – partly by luck – had sussed out the first digit in a lengthy, arduous combination.  What power might he gain if he could gain control of those bits that his Annie held?

Liam tightened his grip, his movement caused the pieces to shift and lose their hold on each other.  They reverted to the erratic rhythm.

Somewhat unnerved, Liam laid the ten slices carefully in the box, making sure to shuffle them out of order.

"Don't know who ye are, yet. But I'd as soon you didn't be asneakin' up on me at midnight before I find out."  He closed the lid and returned the box to the back of the closet shelf.

I Am Not Afraid

Whee I got to pick the song this week!  I chose John Wayne by Billy Idol, you can see it here:  http://t.co/Tmt4JQg






“ I'm not afraid,” he’d said.

He didn't understand. It wasn't a matter of his fear, it was a matter of his choice. A choice that changed everything between them.

She turned her back and walked away.

“I am not afraid,” she told herself, “I am not afraid of being alone.”

It would be better that way. No hearts to distract her. No one to tie her down.

“Tonight, it changes. I keep my soul to myself. No more pretense of normalcy.”

She mounted the waiting pony, clutched the familiar hilt of the ancient sword.

“Just you and me, my love.”

The Wedding Feast

This is the first chapter of my work Work in Chaos, the one I post bits and pieces of about the internet.  
It introduces Annag, of Clan MacClarren, long before she takes the name Anne Marie.  Shortly before her life changes.  Forever.  I haven't pinned an actual time or geographical location yet.  I'm still researching and changing my mind.  A lot.  But, here it is....

A slight breeze ruffled Annag’s already unruly red curls. She’d stepped outside the crowded stone house for a moment to take a final look around. She leaned against the outcrop she’d known all her life. The smell of the clan‘s sheep filled her nose. This was her last night on the moors of Clan MacClarren.

Soon the small party from clan MacGoulan would arrive. After a feast and music and dancing they would gather her and Taog, along with her few belongings, to begin the journey back to his home.

It was a fortunate turn for her. At nearly 20 years, she was considered old for marriage. The limp form a childhood injury had made her an undesirable choice.

It had also been a benefit. She was marrying a man she had grown to love. Taog had been sent to train with her father, Donnchadh, chief of her clan. A warrior however, Taog was not. More a bard and dreamer. She had more skill with weapons than he had acquired. It was a joke between them, he’d raise the babes and she’s protect the family. During his time with the clan, they had talked and laughed and dreamed together. Her father upon seeing the budding romance, saw a way to bind the two clans together as well as finally finding a match for daughter.

Taog had slipped behind her as she took her last look of home. He knew she was excited yet anxious about the changes that were coming.

“Are you sure, love? Can you make this move” he asked. She leaned into him as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand sliding to the swell of her belly.

“Yes, of course. I’m just nervous. I haven't met any of your family but your brother.” Sionn made her uncomfortable, he was twin to Taog in looks, but his personality was completely opposite. “Besides, its a bit late to change my mind now.” She laid her hand over his. Protective of the small life within.

Taog knew how she felt about his twin, he chuckled, “he grows on you. He’s not as tough and surly as he seems. Well, mostly not.”

She laughed with him, turning to face him. She gazed into his eyes, a dark blue that made her think of deep water. She wanted to look into them forever. His thick black hair curled tightly against his head, unlike her own temperamental locks. She lace her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

“Oh sweet lass, you’ll make us miss the party if you start that.” His voice made the words a caress. She held tighter, trying to pull him to the ground.

“Annag! Come in girl, the MacGoulan will be here soon”, her mother, Mara, called. Annag reluctantly pulled herself away. “You've been saved,” she whispered, “this time..”

As they returned to the chief’s house, the clan hounds greeted them with wagging tails. The wonderful smell of roasting mutton caused her mouth to water as she opened the door. Her younger sister, Danae was following their mother from hearth to table, helping as best as her small size allowed.

“There you are, girl! Sneaking about with that young man again, I see.” Her mother teased. “Think you would have learned a lesson from that.” She gestured to Annag’s rounding middle.

“I take full blame for the state your daughter finds herself, and I’ll pay the price.” Taog pretended chagrin, for only a moment. He laughed merrily, “I take that back, the lass is to blame. It must be that red hair, all over the place, it blinded me.”

“Oh really, you will blame me? The price you will pay is not what you expect, I think.” She punched him playfully. “Remember, I’m much better with the broadsword than you, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

He grabbed her hand before she could strike again, “but my harp and my voice will soothe you. And the babe.” He grinned, “which is good, because your singing will just scare the poor thing.” He let go her hand and ducked quickly behind a table before she could plant another blow.

Mara shook her head, but inside she felt warmth. The chatter between the two reminded her much of the way she and Donnchadh had been years ago. They still loved one another, but the job of keeping the clan together took much time and energy.

She interrupted their play by assigning them tasks to get ready for the arrival of Taog’s brother and the few others that would escort the couple back to MacGoulan clan home.

Her happy mood was only slightly marred by the thought of her eldest daughter going away. She chided herself, “MacGoulan is only a two days trip. I can visit her and my grand babe whenever I wish.” That thought kept the tears away. Though she knew there would be no stopping them when she watched her daughter’s back walking away.

Joy Ride

Write at the Merge: Week 4
This week we were given two images, I chose this one;


        They'd been riding since dawn,the shaggy ponies kept a steady but leisurely pace. Liam  dismounted  at the top of the highest point in the area. The small specks in the distance encouraged him to remount and coax the quickest pace the animals were capable of maintaining without over taxing them.

       After a few hours he said, "We're about to be overtaken, lassie. We'll need to be findin' some cover quick."

       Anne Marie cast an exasperated glance at her traveling companion. "Who wants to kill you this time, Liam?  Some angry husband, perhaps?"

       "Are ye sure it's not yerself they're a trackin' girlie? It seems I've pulled ye outta a scrape or two."  Liam had alit and given his pony a slap on the rump.  The stocky animal lumbered a few paces away and began munching on grass. "Stupid creature. They'll eat ye if they kill us."

       Anne Marie sniffed the air, "I'm fairly certain I don't know this pack."  She chuckled at Liam's discomfiture over her gift.  "It's you they want.  I just want to know why."

       He sighed in resignation. "They think I've disrespected them in some way, I imagine."  Liam looked back at her, "Sweetling, if ye want t' live, I suggest ya get off that lump and draw that slice o' iron ye're a carryin'".  The distant sound of hoof beats was closing on them.

      "I don't use my blade to kill honest men." She turned her pony toward a stand of trees as if to leave.

      "Though I admire yer high principles, I never said they was honest, m'dear.  And ye'll find that out if they kill me."  Liam's eyes roamed her form, "they'll see ye as the spoils.  Even dressed as a man, ye're very comely."

      Anne Marie snorted, then smiled sweetly, "In that case, perhaps my best option is to kill you.  Leave your pretty body where they can find it, and escape while they grieve your loss.  Or rather, the fact that they didn't get to kill you themselves."

"If'n ye kill me, darlin', ye'll not find yer treasure.  So ye have need of me, and ye'd miss me.  Besides, ye just said ye didn't kill men."

      "I said honest men, Liam.  That doesn't apply to you."  She grinned as she dismounted, drawing the iron great sword. "Though, I might miss you.  A little."  She could hear the laboured breathing of horses.  The party was almost upon them.

      "That's me girl!"  Liam chuckled and together they turned to face the eight riders that entered the clearing.


For those that recognize these characters, this event is before Liam undergoes the change that makes him immortal.

If Wishes...

For the first week of  Write at the Merge, I play around with only dialogue.



"Why do you keep coming around?  You know you annoy me." 

"I'm here to keep ye company, sweetling, ye spend too much time alone."

"I like being alone. I particularly prefer being alone to being followed about by a fool who chose become a monster, so afraid of death he'd risk his soul."  

"T'wasn't a fear of death, girl.  And which path to immortality would ye have rather I'd chosen?  This seemed the least malicious, and was convenient at the time."

"None.  Immortality is an unnatural condition, I had it thrust upon me.   You could have died. It would have saved me the trouble of killing you eventually."

"Aye, true that. But ye've not killed me in the last four hundred years, no matter how often ye threaten."

"It's only a matter of time."

"Well, darlin', until that time I'll be droppin' in on ye.  Because ye  oughtn't be alone all the time.  Because sometimes ye need one that has known ye longer than anyone else.  One that can tell when the years have weighed too heavy for too long."

"You give yourself a lot of credit in the subject of my feelings.  What makes you believe you're an expert?"

"My continued existence.  And this continuing conversation.  I only wish ye'd look upon me as ye began to long ago."

"Long ago you were a man.  A man I had begun to trust, and yes, to have feelings for.  Your choice destroyed that man."

"I am still that man!  Look at me, girl!  I cheated death to stay for ye, I paid an ugly price, to stay with ye.  For the love of ye. I chose."

"You chose.  You chose to become something I cannot abide.  When I thought I might care about someone again, you stole him from me.  Had you died, I could have mourned you.  I could have had a funeral, an ending.  Every time you come around, you reopen that wound, it can never heal!  I wish you had died."

"Then, kill me.  Kill me and free yourself, lass."

"I wish I could.  But then I'd be alone.  All the time."


The Prompts:  the song below and the word: Wish

Rock You Like a Hurricane

sharing a piece of my nanowrimo project.  just because.  and remember, it's nano, quantity-not quality.




Andrew was coming in hard and merciless. Anne Marie was swinging a hammer with the rest. Boarding up windows, ready to ride out the storm.

As the winds blew in, the sky darkened. She’d come here to investigate the stories of zombies. She’d seldom followed up on this type of report, most were crap. But this particular area seemed to have more than its share of urban legends about them as well as a run of mysterious and gruesome killings.

She cursed herself for not looking at long term forecasts for the area. Hurricane parties were not going to further her research. She pounded a final nail and scurried indoors to wait out the storm.

The low rent complex she had chosen was mostly empty. The hold out residents were those with the glassy eyes of drug users that had no where else to go. Most were camped out in the building’s narrow hall. Curled up in pitiful balls, enduring various states of jonesing. The mostly conscious eyed her warily as she passed, her steps disturbing the perpetual dust and other debris that ever lined the worn carpet.

None dared to bother her since she had physically removed the few that thought her rooms to be an easy target for robbery and other amusements by assault. Anne Marie never feared the criminal fringes of humanity. A few broken bones and other embarrassing injuries had them walking a wider path when they caught sight of her. After all, they were merely human. Of course, she rarely feared the inhuman either. They could handled, though she found killing them to be the easiest and obviously most permanent answer.

She let herself into her rooms. The boarded windows made the space seem close in the darkness. With no power, she resorted to candlelight. The lazy flickering gave her a feeling of calm that electric lighting never could. As the storm gained strength, she settled into a comfortable overstuffed chair with a pile of pages, some computer printed, others were copies of notes from the local police, along with many newspaper clippings, all covered with notes scribbled in her own hand.

She was intent on her work, when she became aware of a sudden lull. The eye, she thought. Soon the other wall would arrive with another round of screaming winds and pounding rain.

Just as she opened another can of soda, she heard the crash of the outer entry door. The heavy footsteps that followed were muffled only a small bit by her closed door. Her hearing was more acute than most people, she could sort out the sounds of shuffling that would be the residents winding themselves into tighter balls as heavy footsteps moved along the hallway. Boots, she decided, well made, heavy boots.

The ancient broadsword that traveled with her had made its way to her hand. She stood in practiced balance, ready to defend or strike. Which ever she deemed necessary.

“Annie! Annie, me love! I know you're here, I can smell ye!” the heavily accented voice, funneled by the narrow confines of the hall, seemed to fill her room.

With a sigh of annoyance, she relaxed her stance slightly. She knew the owner of that voice. Had hoped never to hear it again.

Anne Marie could feel the boot tread stop in front of her door, “come on sweetling, let an old friend in. It’s positively monstrous out there.”

She could refuse to answer, but it wouldn’t stop him, just make him more determined to get a reaction from her. Giving irritation to her voice, she answered, “Go away, Liam, I’m not in a mood to entertain you, and I’m far too busy to be bothered with killing you right now.” She gave a short snort of regret, “I should have killed you last time. I was evidently in a far too generous state.”

He chuckled, “you'd not be the first lass that wanted to do me in, m’dear. Its my wanderin’ eye always gets me in trouble with the ladies.”

“Then please, wander your eye elsewhere, there’s naught here to see.”

“Hah!. Slipped into the “auld” English a moment there.” The doorknob jiggled as he tested it, knowing it would be locked. “You're too tense, girl. All worried about fitting in. Have you adopted the local drawl as well?”

Anne Marie growled under her breath. Her ability with language and dialect had served her well. She could pass for a local almost anywhere in the world. Yet Liam could cause her to make mistakes. That made him dangerous, perhaps more dangerous than those she hunted.

She resigned herself to his presence and returned the blade to its worn leather sheath. “Soft as a babe’s breath that was.” Liam’s hearing was almost as good as her own. “ I’m glad you've changed your mind about killin’ me right now.”

“Right now, but I could reverse that decision easily if you annoy me much more.” She turned the flimsy lock and opened the door. The point of the dirk she held to replace the sword drew a single drop of blood from Liam’s neck as she blocked him from bursting into the room. “Not so fast, I’ll need an inventory of your knives first.”

Liam rolled is eyes dramatically, “Annie, I’m here as your friend…”

“Now, Liam. How many and where.”

“Fine lassie. There's the blade is me right toe, the buck knife, a switchblade in me left pocket and three of them throwing stars from the Japans in the right. A tension triggered blade on one arm and the other,” he grinned with pride, “the other is released and pointing at a target right below your pretty bosom.”

Anne Marie side stepped with practiced ease, her dirk taking an extra layer off his throat out of spite. “You are a fool, Liam. I will kill you one day.”

“But not today, Annie, not today.” He glanced quickly around the small space, then made himself comfortable on a small love seat across from her chair. “Sit down, girl! Relax.”

Anne Marie returned to her chair, gathering the papers and clippings she’d dropped when Liam made his noisy entry. “Ive never been good at small talk, Liam, what do you want? I would like to finish my research, when the storm has passed I have things I need to do.”

“Company, Annie. You told me long ago that immortality was over rated. I know now what you meant.” The smile he gave her now held a hint of sadness and regret. “You're the only one left has known me most my life.”

‘You made you own choice, I warned you.” Anne Marie had limited pity for him. “Why don’t you track some of your blood? Become the obnoxious well to do uncle. And leave me alone.”

“I just don’t have the stamina to track my bloodline like you did. I have to say though, I was intrigued when I found you had left Renewal and your little great great great…how many? Granddaughter.”

Liam eyed the papers, “that’s why I'm here to help you out, sweetling. I have info ye need to finish your task and get back to stalking your descendants”

“I. Work. Alone.” She said each word quietly, yet the force made her meaning clear.

“Aye, I know, the lone gunman. Er, swordsman…woman, whatever.” Liam wave a hand in dismissal. “I still have info. I know some things ye don’t. So. You can hear me out, and let me help, or I can take my knowledge elsewhere.”

The elsewhere caught Anne Marie’s attention. “What do you mean, elsewhere? Who else would believe, much less be interested?” He was hinting at another hunter. She hated dealing with other hunters. They were, generally, ill equipped, undereducated, and mostly, in the way.

“Oh, there’s others. Here. Drawn by the same stories probably caught your eye, lassie.” Liam knew he had her attention now. “Scary murders, no suspects. Fresh bodies disappearing from the local morgue…”

“Bodies disappearing?” Anne Marie hadn't come across any news of body snatching.

“Got ye now, haven’t I, lass.” He didn’t even attempt to hide his delight. “Aye, girlie, bodies gone missing overnight. And often the theft, if that's what it is, is followed by another unpleasant crime scene.”

He snatched the stack of papers from her hand and started to study them. “For someone that pokes fun at me accent, you oughtta start writin’ in that language you're speakin’ at the moment.” He could make no sense of the characters scrawled in the margins of the reports and clippings. The alphabet used had disappeared over a millennium ago.

Anne Marie smiled sweetly, “ there's a reason for that. Of course, if your info is legitimate, I might translate some of it for you.”