I'm I finally "that”guy? Probably not…but I'm close.

This week has already promised me to be magical.

Not JUST because you and I get to spend some time together this morning, but because things I've been working on faithfully for over a year are coming to fruition.

Even more comes to life next week.

…and then HUGE projects I've dedicated more than a thousand hours to come to life after THAT!

See what I mean by magical?

Aren't you glad you hang out with a crazy person like me?

……

That was rhetorical.

Have a great day. Have an even greater week.

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *giggle-bear* Buckley

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Buddy Keisler shoots Wendell’s chains loose and they slip through Noah’s temple, freeing a whole cellblock of caged gnomes bound for the Prime Gate... right as two monks burst in shouting that they’re escaping...

<-- Read PREVIOUS Chapter

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

Chapter 99

The streets of Clockworks City were a flood of flesh and anger.

Gnomes of almost every walk of life gathered in public places to verbalize their thoughts and feelings. Once a common group was reached, they formed groups and assaulted those who had differing opinions.

Group against group, mob against mob...marching down alley and thoroughfare, smashing or marking virtually everything in their path.

Businesses were broken into, overtaken and plundered.

Youth and criminals looking for the excuse to give into their habits and lusts, justified their actions by pointing to the unified body of anger. Such is the way of mob mentality.

Philburt Bellows watched the city burn from their place of hiding. He sat huddled under the water tower, watching the street fights raging up and down Center West Street. Not even the Centurions would step in at this point. There were too many citizens for them to deal with.

“All this wasted power,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “If they just understood that by uniting together into one body...they could have gotten what they wanted from the Government without having to resort to violence among themselves.” He pulled his sweater tighter around his shoulders. “It’s a shame, really. All wasted because of anger.”

Already Bellows, Shamas and Philburt’s assistants...including Mr. Tanklestein, were forced to flee the apartment building. Set ablaze by a mob, Mr. Tanklestein watched his life’s investment go up in smoke.

“They’ll learn,” Shamas replied, paying close attention to a small group approaching the base of the building they stood on.

“Learn?” Bellows scoffed, “Learn what? No one’s listening any more to what I have to say, Shamas. I made what I thought was the best speech of my life...and when I offered a course of action, it lasted what...a day? Now the frenzy is growing and it’s out of control.”

“That’s not altogether accurate, Mr. Bellows.” Mr. Tanklestein leaned against the cement wall, looking out over the stretch of apartment buildings still standing...a vast maze of housing for thousands of occupants. “We’re seeing the effects of what you said upon the normals, not our workers. Not the people from the lower districts.”

“There is violence everywhere, Laurence.”

“True, but the anger is only out of control up top. Even now we have reports of people working together and forming organized groups outside our factories. Places of business and the shipping docks have been protected. Life is shifting back to normal...angry hearts are calming.”

“It’s true,” Nat said over the com-link. “The speech you gave is being related by word, through text and phone. Workers from the factories are educating those in their communities...giving them a reason to join us.”

Shamas took a deep breath and stretched his arms outward. “We may just get a response from the government yet.”

“What do you mean WHRN is down for rescheduling!?” Ian roared, “I have a spot reserved to execute this troll in front of the entire city, you idiots!!” Spittle bounced off his bottom lip.

The albino’s bodyguards took a step back.

“Get me Director Cummins!” he snapped. “What do you mean, he’s retired? Fine. Fine. Get me Chairman Boehing then. What?” His face contorted, “They can’t all have retired on the SAME DAY!!” With a shriek, Ian snapped the cell phone closed and launched it across the room. The device struck the far wall and shattered into pieces.

Pale white fingers gripped the closed black suit, unnatural strength lifting the bodyguard off the floor.

“You get your entire division active and here within twenty minutes. Have them meet us in the Citadel lobby. If we can’t do a national televised special to axe this troll scum, then I will personally see to it during a private party!” With a flick of his wrist, the albino sent the stout gnome flying back against the wall.

“Y-y-yes sir!” he stammered. Jumping to his feet, he flicked open his phone and raced to the elevator. He held the doors open, waiting.

The remaining four guards snapped to attention.

“And you four,” Ian growled like a jungle cat, “will watch the two prisoners. No one gets in, no one leaves. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” they barked in unison.

Striding across the floor, Ian turned around in the elevator, giving the security team one last glare. “On pain of death.”

The delivery truck swerved again to miss the youth running across the road.

“STUPID CHILDREN!” Tumbler screamed out the window, laying on the horn. “DIDN’T YER MOTHER TEACH YA TO LOOK BOTH WAYS!?”

“Calm down,” Telly said nervously. His hands gripped the dashboard so tightly his knuckles had turned white minutes ago. “We’re almost there. We don’t want to be pulled over right now.”

“I know,” the old gnome snapped, “I KNOW!”

“There!” Nibbles pointed, “There’s the parking garage...across from the minimart.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. “Pull in and drive to the top. I’ll get them ready.”

“Right,” Tumbler blurted, flicking on the turn signal. “I’ll be glad to stop driving and get off these streets of crazy nut-job protesters!”

Telly sighed heavily, “I’ll be glad when you stop driving too.”

A weathered fist snapped out and struck the young mechanic in the arm.

“Ow!” Telly laughed.

The sliding door to the transport box slid open, Nibbles’ face popping through. “We’re here,” she said quickly, “Tumbler’s driving to the roof, so we have a clear shot at this.”

“Clear shot,” Lili repeated nervously.

“Oh don’t worry, my dear,” Chuck patted her head reassuringly, “you won’t be going.”

Steadying herself as they started the curving incline, she grabbed the orange jumpsuit. “What do you mean I won’t be going?”

Freak hooked the ladder onto the side of the slag.

Chuck looked about for his helmet. “I mean just that. Craig here will make sure you’re dropped off at the warehouse. We’ll meet back there in less than 30 minutes.” He snorted, “I’ll probably beat you, what with gravity and all.”

But Lili wasn’t laughing. She tugged at the wizard’s outfit, nearly spinning him around. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“Oh my,” he gasped, letting the helmet drop onto the floor. “What’s the matter, little one?”

“I’m going to be alone,” she choked. “Wendell, Dax and Alhannah are gone. I don’t know how to get to the warehouse if anything happened and I...” her voice failed her. Instead, she quietly shook as she sobbed into the jumpsuit.

“Hey. Hey. Look at me,” the wizard prompted, “Everything is going to be just fine.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated. “Well...I can’t really promise if I haven’t seen it, you know.”

Lili sobbed louder and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Oh for goodness... alright!” Then softer, “Alright, I promise. I’ll be back, within the hour and we’ll all go home. Satisfied?”

She sniffed and nodded.

“There now, back away, you’re gonna stain my manly jumpsuit.”

“Alright Chuck,” Freak tapped him on the shoulder, “pay attention. Put this in your ear.” He handed the wizard an earbud. “Ernie is already online and connected to the suit.”

Pushing the electronic device into his ear canal, Chuck cleared his throat. “Ahem. Testing...one...two...”

“I’m here Chuck. Hear you loud and clear,” Ernie responded.

“Here’s a warning young man...last person allowed in my head didn’t last the night. Had to lock him up, poor devil. Looney as they come now.”

Ernie chuckled into the com-link, “I’ll risk it old timer. Now listen to Freak...you need to understand the ejection sequence.”

The van slowed to a halt.

Two bangs on the cab wall. “We’re here,” Nibbles yelled.

“Right,” Freak continued, “listen carefully Chuck. You have three main buttons on the console of the S.L.A.G.. The launch, the seal and prep and the eject. The first is the biggest button...”

“Did you make it red, like I asked?”

“Yes, now the sec...”

“...and it has ‘BOOM!’ written on it?”

“It does. Now you need to...”

“...and I press that one when Ernie...”

“CHUCK!” both Ernie and Freak snapped in unison.

The wizard nearly fell over backwards. “Woah. Irritation in stereo.”

“The second button on the left...the yellow one, is a two step button. The first time will open both pods and then once Dax and Stump are in them, a second push seals them up. The last button, the green one, is the eject button. When you’re ready to go, it will launch all three sections.”

The wizard looked a tad nervous for the first time. “And the chutes...they’re all automatic? Nothing to push or pull or scream at?”

The mechanic smirked. “All automated.”

“Right. And you put rope in the cockpit like I asked?”

“We did, but I still don’t understand why you need rope?”

Chuck patted him on the shoulder and then proceeded to climb the ladder. “Just makes me more comfortable. Never know when you can use a bit of rope.”

Freak rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“I’m just saying...”

The vehicle rocked, then shuddered. The corner latches disengaging one from another. A strip of light entered the cargo chamber as the roof section separated and folded down to the sides. The entire vehicle was made for S.L.A.G. transportation. Slowly the back of the van transformed into a launching platform.

Chuck shimmied up and into the cockpit of the S.L.A.G. and strapped himself into the pilot seat. Flicking the ignition switch, the giant machine hummed to life.

“This is Pilot Glowpop, strapped in and ready to leave a bad taste in the government’s mouth. I repeat, this is Pilot Glowpop. Come in Chicken Central...do you copy.”

Ernie choked on the other end of the com-link. “Chicken Central? I’m not going to be called...”

“Ah, ah, ah...you could have called yourself anything you liked kiddo...but as I recall, you didn’t want to risk anything you didn’t need to. Hence, chicken.”

Freak laughed.

“Where are the goodies Nibbles said she had for me?”

“Small black pouch, to your left, two smoke canisters and a couple stick-explosives. The smoke you just pull the pin and throw. For the explosives, just jam the spiked end into a surface and press the button...it’ll blow in seven seconds.”

“Big explosion?”

Freak shrugged, “Enough to take a stubborn door off the hinges, I’d guess.”

“Good enough,” Chuck rubbed his hands, excited. “Uh, guys? Don’t say anything to the girl yet...but if anything goes wrong, I want you to know that I’m grateful.”

The com-link went silent.

“You kept your ends of the agreement. Win or lose...just wanted to say...thanks.”

The mechanic sniffed and quickly averted his face from Lili’s questioning stare. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Righteo!” Chuck cheered, “So aim me and fire already!”

Ernie sighed, “I’m getting a visual on the Citadel now. The calculations have to be exact for this to work.” The S.L.A.G. wings folded out and locked into place.

“It’s a big building...not likely you’ll miss,” the wizard studied the screen in front of him, “so fire!”

“Initiating firing sequence in 20...19...”

“Hey you!” snapped a voice from the end of the parking lot.

Both Freak and Lili spun around to see two Centurions, fully suited in riot gear, walking briskly towards them.

“Oh boy,” Freak stammered, “the cops.”

“Get rid of them, before they alert the Citadel,” said Ernie, “It could blow the whole thing!”

“But how?” the mechanic whined.

“Send the girl!” Chuck said quickly, “Have her distract them...”

“From a S.L.A.G. launch?” Ernie choked, “She’d have to poke their eyes out!”

Chuck shook his head, “They’re not here for us. With all the riots going on, I’m guessing these boys are hiding from having to engage more...resistant citizens. We’re just easy targets.”

“Psst!” Freak hissed at Lili, “Chuck says to distract them!”

The shocked look shifting to utter annoyance, she glared up at the mechanic. “Distract them. Really?”

“I said...what are you two doing up here!?” barked a Centurion, “There’s a curfew in effect. Show me your license and registration!”

Lili’s brows rolled forward to overshadow her eyes. “Right.” She jumped from the back of the truck and walked straight towards the Centurions.

“Evening officers,” she said in a sultry voice. Forcing a smile to her lips, she stepped one foot in front of the other, allowing her hips to sway just a bit. In an effort to hide her clenched fists, she interlaced her fingers behind her back. “We were just trying to avoid the danger down there in the streets, and...”

“I said license and registration!”

Lili’s smile grew wider. She bat her long eyelashes. “Would you at least let me see the faces of the gnomes I’m talking to?”

One mirrored helmet looked to the other.

“Please,” she added, rocking back on her heels.

“Oh...alright,” said the second officer. Slowly, both gnomes reached up and pulled their helmets free.

“Ahhh,” Lili cooed, “that’s better.”

Their smiles didn’t last. Before either of the Centurions could respond, Lili shot out a snap kick into the closest groin. The gnome heaved forward as the second stepped forward...right into her elbow strike. Cartilage snapped as his nose folded, his entire, over-sized head reeling backward. Lili pivoted her hips, dropping to a sweeping kick. The Centurion was airborne and unconscious within moments. She followed up with a jumping knee kick to the head of the first officer, rendering him likewise.

Wiping the blood from her elbow onto her blouse, she glared back at the S.L.A.G.. “They’re distracted!”

“3...2...,” Ernie continued the countdown.

Craig, momentarily distracted, lunged from the platform. He hit the ground rolling.

“1...launch!”

Double barrel jetpacks, salvaged from the losers of the last Trench Wars, exploded to life. Flame and smoke blew out, rolling down the transports bed and across the parking lot. Freak ran frantically away from the machine, cradling his bloodied elbow.

Lili covered her face as the smoke blew by her. “Good luck,” she said aloud, though only she could hear it.

Like a slingshot, the silver S.L.A.G. shot into the air, spinning wildly as it left a glowing orange and red arch in the sky.

“Wooooohooooooo!” Chuck laughed out loud. His grin stretched from ear to ear, eyes rolled back into his head as he gripped the sides of the pilot chair.

Up, up and up the machine flew, soaring towards the top of the Citadel. The last rays of sunlight glinted off the machines surface, while the trailing smoke stood out like a leaning tower of burnt marshmallows against the fading sunset.

“Five seconds to impact, Chuck,” said Ernie. “Going to swoop around to the backside of the building now. Get ready for impact in 5...4...”

The velocity continued to pin the wizard to his seat. All he could do was hang on for dear life as he was propelled through the sky. Yet the smile never left his face. Crazy as it all was...this was an adventure of a lifetime and he was beside himself with excitement.

Red lights flashed along the dashboard. Warning signals built into the S.L.A.G. to alert pilots of oncoming missiles or oversized objects used as weapons. The outer cameras showed the rapid approach of the penthouse.

...definitely an oversized object.

“And contact,” Ernie blurted out...just as the machine collided with the building. Several windows from the floors below, cracked or shattered, the metal frame of the structure bowing.

Chuck rattled violently in the pilot cage of the S.L.A.G.. Steel fingers, now gripping the outer skeleton of the Citadel, locked in place. Strange sounds the wizard could not identify, chirped and grumbled around him as the hands of the machine flash welded in place. Trails of smoke rolled over the rigid arms.

“Alright Chuck, the S.L.A.G.’s fused to the building. You’re fastened into place.”

“I can’t fall?” he asked, somewhat sheepishly.

“They’re going to have to cut that machine loose. When you’re ready, all you’ll have to do is unlock the cockpit. Normally that would cause a S.L.A.G. to lower to the ground...but since you’re not on the ground, the legs will raise to meet the chest. That should pull the escape pods into reach.” He paused, “That is...if we did this right.”

Unbuckling his seat belts, Chuck stumbled forward, his legs a bit wobbly. “Next question boys. If I’m outside and there’s a window between me and the penthouse...uh, how do I get in?” He looked about and grinned at the black pouch. Without a word, he slung it over his shoulder.

The buzz of the shoulder camera echoed through the cockpit.

“Check your monitor, Chuck,” Ernie said bluntly, “I don’t think the glass is what you’ll have to worry about.”

Black suits spread out across the living room, machine guns in hand. Some took a tactical position behind furniture, others behind cabinetry. With a nod from their leader, they opened fire.

With short squeal, the wizard hit the floor, hands covering his head. Glass shattered between the machine and the penthouse as the air crackled with gun powder and bullets.

Tink! T-t-tink! Tink! Tink! Tink! T-t-t-t-tink! echoed the sound through the cockpit, bullets ricocheting off the S.L.A.G.’s surface. It took a moment for the logistics to sink in before Chuck peeked out from under his wide rim hat.

“Oh,” Chuck gasped, peeking up from the floor, “right. I’m in here, they’re out there.” Grabbing the edge of the console, he lifted himself up from the floor and adjusted his robes. “Jumpsuit gave me a wedgie anyway,” he said to himself, then louder, “Not to worry, I’m alright.” He peered at the monitor. The bodyguards were reloading their guns. “Trouble is...how do I get past these boys without becoming Swiss cheese?”

“What’s Swiss cheese?” Ernie asked.

“Never mind. Any suggestions?”

Tink! Tink! T-t-t-t-tink!

“Well, the first thing is to...,” the S.L.A.G. started to rise, bending in half and thrusting the torso through the large opening of the window, “is get you and the escape pods into the penthouse.” The gnomes resumed their firing as the machine advanced. They spread out, taking cover behind retaining walls and cabinet counters. As the chest nestled onto the floor, the two egg-shaped containers slid forward on mechanical arms. “There Chuck, the chest and pods should be side by side. Just hit the prep and seal button on the left. Once you three are all strapped in and secure, press the escape button on the right.”

“Got it.” Tink! Tink! T-t-t-t-tink! T-t-t-t-tink! He watched the monitor until the bodyguards started to reload. “How do I open the cockpit?”

“There is a red toggle switch on the upper right corner of the console.”

Making a few clenching motions to warm up his fingers, Chuck took several sharp breaths. “You can do this,” he whispered to himself.

“What?” Ernie asked.

“Not now!” the wizard snapped, yanking the com-link from his ear. He tossed it onto the console. “Mind has to be clear.” Another set of sharp breaths. “Ready...set...” With a whip of his finger, he hit the toggle switch.

The S.L.A.G. vibrated as the cockpit door lifted. With it, an explosion of gunfire.

T-t-t-t-tink! Tink! Tink! Tink! Tink! T-t-t-t-tink! T-t-t-t-tink!

Chuck ducked behind the console with a loud “DOH!” Sparks flew overhead as bullets buzzed into the cockpit, whizzing about his head. “Come on you ninnies...empty your...”

click-click-click

“Right!” Kneeling up, Chuck closed his eyes and held his arms aloft. Ancient words came to his lips. Words he had not spoken for generations. When you’re a mägo...a really good one with proper experience, there was no need to kill the innocent. Or, in this case, the stupid. An educated weaver of magic knew how to put people to “sleep,” he finally whispered.

One by one the gnomes dropped their guns and fell to the floor in a deep and peaceful slumber.

Chuck peeked over the rim of the cockpit door. Bushy eyebrows bouncing up and down as his eyes shifted from side to side, scanning the battlefield. “Hello?” he called out, but no one answered.

Popping up to his feet, he flipped his hat back on his head. He made a wide bow. “And that is how you...,” pause, “Ah. Right. All alone,” he sighed, “Never mind.” Grabbing his rope, he slung it over a shoulder and slid down the front of the S.L.A.G. into the penthouse.

Tiptoeing, he carefully walked among the bodyguards. Shattered glass was everywhere, holes in walls and even a few planters lay in pieces, soil across the floor.

“Ungh...” moaned one of the guards.

“Whoopah!” Chuck blurted out, jumping back. “We have a live one, do we?” Snapping his fingers, the wizard’s dragon staff jumped from its hidden location to his hand. He knelt down, inspecting the muscular gnome. “You’re a strong willed one, my boy. Impressive.” Tapping a finger to his lips, “Guess we’ll have to use a stronger option.” Rising to his full height, Chuck struck the bodyguard across the head with the end of his staff.

Poking the body a few times, he nodded in satisfaction.

“Now to the business at hand,” he muttered, dashing down the hallway. At each room he dropped his staff down in front of him like a rifle, then flung the door open. When he stumbled upon President Stump, he grinned. “One down!” The gnome didn’t look mobile, however...he looked sickly and fevered. An I.V. protruded from his arm, but there were no machines. Chuck lifted an eyelid, checked a pulse and listened closely to the pattern of breathing. At least he was still breathing on his own, even though it was labored and shallow.

“What have they done to you?” he whispered, gently touching the pale hand. Eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids, sweat trickling down the sides of the President’s face. Even his lips were blue...yet the room was warm and comfortable. No window as open, no draft could be felt. Chuck inspected the liquid dripping down the tube. He was no doctor, but he had a hunch that the solution wasn’t helping.

Slowly, he pulled the tube from Stump’s arm.

Laying a hand on the gnomes head, the other at the center of his chest, the wizard closed his eyes. Once more, ancient words rolled over his tongue and across his lips. This was more familiar...an art he’d developed many years ago. There was always someone who needed to be healed. Someone who could use a release of pain. Again he repeated words that few knew. A minute passed, then another. Stumps breathing evened out, slowing, becoming steady and deep. Another minute after that, the gnomes shoulders relaxed.

Chuck let his hands drop to his sides and stumbled backwards. Tiny lights danced around the edges of his vision...and he coughed loudly.

Stump’s eyes fluttered open. “You’re...back,” he said weakly.

“Come to get you and Dax...though I don’t think we have much time.” Tucking the blankets around Stump, he started to slide his arms under the round frame, but the President stopped him.

“No, I’m staying.”

“What? You can’t stay here, my boy...not safe. Besides, I have two kids I don’t want anymore. You’re their father, so come on.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t go. The people responsible for all this trouble will be left in charge, with the power and the ability to hurt more of the good citizens of this city.”

The wizard frowned deeply. “You’re not exactly in a position to resist them, now, are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I gave my word to the people. I made an oath. It is my duty.”

“Well I’ll be...” Chuck’s mustache rose to either side of his face in a broad smile, “You gnomes never cease to amaze me. I can see why the boys chose to make this place their mortal home.”

“What? Who...are you talking about?” Stump asked, perplexed.

Chuck patted him on the head, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Overhead and out in the hall, the overhead lights flickered. A high pitched beeping rang through the penthouse. It was accompanied by a female voice.

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. There has been a breach to the Citadel security, floor 236...Presidential Suite. All available military personnel proceed to private lift #1. This is an intruder alert.”

The wizard gulped, “I gotta go.”

The President nodded weakly, “You have about three minutes before they show up,” and he closed his eyes once more.

Snatching the staff, Chuck ran to the end of the hall...the only door left.

The stench was sickening. From the moment the door was flung wide, the foul stench assaulted his senses and Chuck was forced to raise the sleeve of his robe to his mouth. Dax lay motionless on his bed. His skin, which was normally a darker shade of green, had lost most of its color. Instead, his face, chest and arms looked more like the fading paper of an ancient scroll...fragile and brittle. Tubes jutted out from his arms, neck and face...some hooked to I.V. bags hanging overhead, trailing clear and yellow liquids, while others drained the crimson red blood from him...running over the edge of the bed and into bottles on the floor.

The bottles. Dozens of containers filled with the elf’s blood were scattered across the carpeted floor.

Chuck stepped across the clusters, though he longed to kick them against the walls and shatter them.

“What have they been doing to you?” he choked out, though he forced his tears far from him. There was no time to question. No time to think. This was the last chance to escape.

“Looks like someone noticed the great big metal thingy crashing into the building,” the wizard mumbled, looking for some form of clean sheet. He yanked open a cabinet door and pulled an extra blanket from the shelf. “Come on monkey...this’ll have to do until we can get you to a better place.” But he hesitated.

Dax’s pale skin unnerved him. Lips of grey blue, charcoal rings under his sunken eyes...this was not an illness. His closest friend was being poisoned. Leaving the staff to stand on its own, Chuck quickly tossed the blanket across a free space on the floor and then proceeded to pull the tubes from Dax’s body. Blood seeped out and ran freely across the pale surface of his skin.

Placing hand over head and heart, Chuck closed his eyes and whispered the words of healing.

There was a cost for using such magic unprepared. Blood drained from the wizards face, until his own countenance took upon the mirror image of the evolu. His knees nearly buckled then, and his eyes popped open wide...his mouth dropping open, gasping for breath.

“That’s all for now,” he coughed. Grasping Dax under the arms, he pulled the evolu from his bed and let the oversized feet thump onto the floor and dragged him onto the blanket. Nodding, “That should help.”

Beep-Beep-Beep, the alarm continued to echo throughout the penthouse. Chuck whipped around the hallway, pulling the prone, pale body across the floor behind him. Dax’s body flipped and rolled, banging into the walls, the wizard grunting from the exertion.

“Diet,” Chuck yelled aloud, “That’s the new word you need to learn!”

“Unghhhh,” moaned the bodyguard as they passed.

Chuck stopped, looked around him, then gave a short whistle. His dragon staff raced around the corner, jumping into his palm. Following the momentum, he swung the wood and knocked the guard back out.

He wasn’t sure how much time he had left, but it wasn’t much. Reinforcements would be here soon...and they’d be killed or captured. Unfortunately, his money was on the former. “Ungh,” he grunted, pulling himself up onto the S.L.A.G. until he could reach the console. Fingers stretched and hunted about, locating the small earbud.

“You still there?” he stammered, winded, “’Cause this is a LOT more exercise than I was willing to contribute, I’ll have to you know...”

“Chuck!” Ernie screamed.

“What!” the wizard screamed back, whipping around, crouching in a defensive posture with his fists up.

“You’re there!” cheered the gnome into the com-link.

Frowning, “Well of course I’m...where else would I be?” He shook his head, irritated. “Stupid child.”

“I just...,” the gnome started to explain, but the wizard cut him off.

“I have Dax.” Glancing back at the evolu’s body on the floor, “How do I open these pods again?”

“Left button is to open and seal.”

“Thank YOU,” Chuck said, smacking the left button triumphantly on the console. “Got it!” He quickly slid off the nose of the machine and dashed to Dax’s side. “Almost out of here, little one. Just a few minutes and you’ll be...”

“Wow” Ernie chimed impressed, “You’re amazing!”

Chuck grunted under Dax’s dense weight, dragging his body out of the blanket. “Well I have been working out a bit. Leg presses, squats...,” he turned towards the S.L.A.G., just in time to see the pilot cockpit close.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” he shouted, dropping the evolu with a thud and sprinting towards the machine.

“Don’t panic,” Ernie said calmly, “I have this covered.”

“You do?” Chuck asked, perplexed. Lights flashed from behind the cockpit window and the pods retracted from the penthouse altogether. “Because I don’t think...”

“Trust me,” Ernie insisted.

The wizard shrugged and wandered back to Dax. “Ok, but I’m going to need another pod to put this monkey into.”

“What monkey?”

“Dax.” Snorting, “It’s just a nickname I...”

“Dax?”

With a gust and billow of smoke, both pods and the chest piece of the S.L.A.G. shot out the window and into the air, rockets blazing.

Chuck dropped Dax onto the floor...again. “That’s what I said.”

“You’re not IN the pods?!!” Ernie screamed.

Nose flaring and mustache quivering, Chuck stared at the shell attached to the side of the building. His only escape plan...had escaped without him. “No,” he whispered, fuming, “we are not.”

“Then why,” said the gnome, perfectly mimicking the wizards tone, “did you press the eject button?”

“I didn’t,” he replied with a deep breath. He let his eyes fall upon Dax’s seemingly lifeless body, “I pressed the left button.”

For several moments only static could be heard over the link. The wind whipped through the opening of the building, the alarm suddenly cutting out.

Chuck glanced around him, eyes flicking about.

The S.L.A.G. was completely useless to him now. Nothing was left behind that he could use except a giant frame now welded to the side of the Citadel building. The guards spread out over the floor would be waking up soon and the big cootie which he’d struck twice with the staff would be overly joyed to catch them. The elevator numbers were rolling up, which meant whatever forces that gathered to deal with this perceived threat would be here momentarily. Dax was completely unconscious and would be of absolutely no help whatsoever.

Brilliant.

Pulling the rope from up and over his shoulder, he dropped down next to the evolu and rolled him back over, into the blanket. Folding the top and bottom together, Chuck completely encompassed Dax and then wrapped his torso with the cord, making sure to loop the rope between his legs every third rotation.

“You were facing the console...weren’t you?” Ernie finally asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Chuck muttered.

“Doesn’t matter? You just shot your escape pods out of the building and, oh yeah....you weren’t in them!”

Rope is a wonderful thing. You never know when a good, long strand of weaved cord will come in handy. Hang a tent, use for a clothes line, or, in this case...jump from a skyscraper.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated without stopping. With Dax secure, Chuck used the remaining line to strap the body to himself. “I have rope.”

“Rope?” Ernie coughed, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he replied, pulling the bud from his ear, “That you are distracting me,” and he tossed the bud out the window.

Struggling under the weight, Chuck rose to his feet. “Come here you,” he called to the staff, which obediently jumped to his aid. Stroking the dragons head affectionately, he wandered across the glass fragments and to the ledge of the open window. “Wake up,” he prompted, “I need your help!” Wood lids blinked. Looking out over the vastness of...nothing, Chuck gripped the metal frame next to him. “Oh my.”

The staff gave a short yap, shaking its head as it came to life. Its voice carried the undertone of cracking branches.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” Chuck replied nervously. Did he dare to look down and see how big of a chance he was taking? He peeked and instantly regretted it. “That’s where you come in.”

The crystal eyes looked up, the small head tilting to one side. The creature gave a short gurgle, then a few short yaps.

“Did I accuse you about anything? No, I did not!” the wizard snapped, “You are not at fault. I am not blaming you...for ANYthing here, alright!” Then, lowering his voice, “But I do have to rely on you now.”

A short pause, then several more yaps, ending with a soft growl.

“Because,” Chuck said soberly, looking into the crystal eyes, “If you don’t, we’re going to die.”

The dragon snorted, then nodded its head.

“I need you to fly us down from here,” he said softly.

Sharp squawks and hisses snapped out from the dragon’s beak, which bobbed up and down like a telegraph machine.

“What happened to the humility and willingness to help your master?” he bellowed, eyes watching the elevator numbers growing.

Hisses were followed by a sharp snort, the dragon looking away.

“Changed your mind!?! It was two seconds ago!”

The creature’s eyes refocused once more on the wizard, its head making bobbing motions while the beak opened silently in rapid succession. If any words were spoken, only its master could hear them.

“I know you’re not an umbrella, but if a British nanny can float around with an umbrella and a handbag...you should be able to carry a gnome and an elf!”

Snort.

“He is not fat,” he retorted, “But I’m afraid you’re out of time,” his voice quivered. Behind them, the elevator dinged and the door slid open.

Closing his eyes and gripping the staff in a death grip, Chuck jumped.

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

I shared an awkward interview with the public on Tuesday.

We did the interview, I cleaned it up, then posted.

The rough edges were sanded off because that’s what Field Guide entries do. They’re for information, even if that information is…conditional.

Not that I lied. That’s not what I do.

This was about…safety.

My safety, if I’m being blunt.

Here’s the part I sanded off.

Buddy Keisler ‘drafts’ his own life while he’s still living it. No, that’s not a metaphor. I’ve gone out of my way to confirm this impression from witnesses, including someone who was standing three feet from him in that specific warehouse.

It’s…oh, hell, I call it spooky.

The guy narrates himself in third person while the bodies are still warm! What’s worse, is somewhere in the last week, he sat down and turned that warehouse into an actual manuscript page.

Don’t believe me?

I got a copy.

Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m connected.

Here’s the thing about publishers: if they can use words to make a buck, whether they create them or leak them to get publicity, they’ll do it.

Bookworm’s people leak like a sieve when there’s a good story attached.

…and this is a very good story.

Since you paid to be here,…you get the page Buddy didn’t write for print.

Just…burn it when you’re done, okay?

From an unfinished draft, working title “The Cage Job”

Bookworm counted the guards twice before he moved.

…because a professional always counts twice.

Amateurs gets retired on miscounts.

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

I have interviewed kings.

I have interviewed a dying dragon.

I once interviewed a man who was, at the time, on fire.

…ask me later, it’s interesting.

None of them were harder to pin down than a bestselling novelist.

Buddy Keisler writes the epic Acid Rain series.

If you don’t know this thriller series, ask any gnome in Clockworks under the age of two hundred and watch their face change. His hero, Bookworm, is a half-gnome, half-Kutollum assassin with a tragic past and a magnificent jawline.

Buddy Keisler is a gnome.

Full gnome.

No Kutollum blood anywhere in him.

He is also has a secret, which mirrors his fictional character.

I did not know this when I requested the interview. Honestly, I was a bit excited, because I too, am a fan of Mr. Keisler’s writing skills.

Unfortunately, I found out partway through, when he explained... at length... well, you’ll see it soon enough.

Here is what I got out of him,…before he remembered he doesn’t do interviews for free.

H.L.: Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Keisler, it’s a huge honor for me. I’m a fan of your work.

“Are you now? That wonderful. I need a few more fans.”

H.L.: Last count I read was over 200 million dedicated fans. You’re hardly lacking attention.

“316,873,492 dedicated fans to be exact, by my last count.”

H.L.: What?

“I have trackers on my sales pages, and the publishing company is required to provide statistics within 48 hours of any sale through their own channels.”

H.L.: Really!?

“It’s part of my contract.”

H.L.: Fascinating. Well, why don’t we start simple, so we can share a different perspective with potential readers who might not have discovered you yet.

“Sounds great. Shoot.”

H.L.: Bookworm is fictional. You are not. How does that work, exactly?

“What do you mean, ‘How does that work’? I’m a fiction writer. It’s a story. It works however I make it work. I would have thought the most famous fishis in Clockworks, with a specialty in archeological deduction and living in the same tavern as a famous bard, that you’d understand stories.”

H.L.: How…do you know where I live?

“I always do my research before I make a connection with someone who wants public information about me. It’s called insurance.”

H.L.: But…I don’t even live on Pävärios.

“And your point is what, exactly?”

H.L.: I…never mind. My curiosity is about your process. Many writers write from their own life experiences. But your main character is an assassin, so how do you make these books feel so real…and so authentic?

“Bookworm is inspired. There’s a difference. He’s got the tragic backstory, the exotic bloodline, the cheekbones I frankly do not have. I gave him everything I wish I had and kept the actual…well,…’employment opportunities’ for myself. Cleaner that way. Nobody really suspects a guy who writes about something of also doing that something.”

H.L.: And the... doing that something, from Bookworms perspective, is called something specific, I understand.

“I help people retire, Höbin. That’s all. Amateurs use other words. Disgusting words. It’s crude. It has no craft in it. When a job goes clean, that’s a retirement, and the client should be thanked for the opportunity to demonstrate professionalism.”

H.L.: You mean Bookworm.

“What?”

H.L.: You said ‘I help people retire’. You mean Bookworm helps people retire. Don’t you?

“Of course I do.”

H.L.: Uhhhh….okay.

“Are you following what I’m saying so far?”

H.L.: I’m positive I am, actually. Which makes this a curious matter.

“How so?”

H.L.: You’ve published six books in this series: A Clean Kill In Clockworks, A Messy Resurrection, Winner Will Fall, Assumption Games, Momentous, and The Killer Accident. Every single one of your books has hit the #1 spot on the New Yoke Times Best Seller list. All of them stayed in the top three spots for over twenty weeks, and A Clean Kill in Clockworks stayed at #1 for forty-TWO weeks.

“Correct. What’s your point?”

H.L.: I just imagine that you’ve made a considerable number of credits for those masterpieces of word art?

“Still waiting on that point, Höbin.”

H.L.: Bookworm has uttered many times, “A guys gotta pay the rent.” A great line, to be sure…but I’ve heard you say the exact phrase in multiple interviews when people ask you why you write.

“That’s correct. You gotta pay rent. Just a fact of life.”

H.L.: Then why be a….um…well. How do I say this? Then why the ‘extracurricular activities’?

[He smiled then. It wasn’t a polite smile, either. More like a person whose been found out and needs to measure the level of exposure before dealing with situation…]

“Nice save.”

H.L.: It shines a bit of light on the comment you made as you walked in. Clicking off your cell, you mumbled something to the effect of “certain jobs not going clean”?

[His face changed in an instant. I will describe it as a gnome remembering a great personal injury.]

“Four times. FOUR! A bird landed on my rifle. A bird. I have been doing this for decades and a common city PIGEON has cost me more professional dignity than any guild rival ever managed. Then a truck makes a wrong turn, gets stuck in traffic and has to back up, reflecting sunlight into my eyes at the exact wrong…second. What are the odds, right? Then my own grenade launcher decides to have opinions. I have never, not once, had a job go this poorly, and I’ve retired people at their own weddings.”

H.L.: You mean Bookworm.

“What?”

H.L.: You mean your main character, Bookworm, has retired people at their own weddings.

“Of course he does. That’s his job.”

H.L.: Did you consider that the universe might be telling you something?

“I considered several things, most of them profane.”

H.L.: You found out, eventually, that your target was a reader. A fan, even. I’ve heard…rumors…that you have a strict code to never ‘retire’ a fan?

[It was here that his whole posture changed. His shoulders relaxed, then adjusted his thick glasses on the bridge of his nose. The assassin had left the room and only the author remained in his place.]

“I have a rule, Höbin, and it is the only rule I have never broken. I do not retire my own readers. I don’t care what the contract says. I don’t care what they’re paying. If you have read my books, if you have loved Bookworm the way I meant him to be loved... you are safe from me. That is not negotiable. Frankly I was insulted anyone thought I’d need reminding.”

[When I asked him what happens to a contract when the client finds out the assassin quit on principle, he smiled. It was a smile I did not entirely enjoy and he said that was a conversation for another day.

I believe him….and decided not to ask further.]

Höbin’s Verdict

I have met professional killers before. Most of them are dull men with sharp tools, and there is nothing interesting to write about a dull man.

Buddy Keisler is not dull. He is a gnome who has built a whole second identity purely so the first one has somewhere safe to hide. Somewhere in the building of it, the second identity became more real to him than the first ever was.

He loves his readers more than he loves his contracts.

That is either the most unprofessional thing I have ever heard from an assassin, or the most gnomish.

I suspect both.

His next book, whenever it lands, will sell obscenely well.

I intend to buy it.

I will not be telling him that.

...more when (and IF) I get the nerve to ask him anything else.

Believe everything until you prove it otherwise.

— H.L.

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Measles are miserable, and not an experience I recommend.

Just looking around at the tiny bodies in our front room, sprawled across the couch, on air mattresses and hunched in camping chairs…

It makes me itch.

A lot.

Welcome to the Buckley house, where we love you, feed you, make sure you get your nasty-tasting-but-helpful-herbal tinctures on time, switch between Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen to keep that 103 fever under control, and keep the air conditioner on 24/7 to take the edge off.

What a week!

Most of my attention has been on family, but I've not been a slacker by any means. Chapters written, art created for speed drawings, and side projects finally coming to a completed close for August!

WooHOOOO!

That's it. That's all I've got.

Hey……I'm tired.

Have a great day. Have an even greater week.

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *don't-cough-on-me* Buckley

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: The techno-mägo finally tell me the truth... Noah’s been feeding his own people to the Täuku through the Prime Gate to buy Clockworks’ safety, and the assassin sent to kill me turns out to be a fan I just might talk out of it...

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Chapter 98

Mr. Upshot pushed the rest of the chemical through the syringe.

The sea-green liquid rolled down the tube, mixing with the clear fluid in the I.V. “There you go. He’s all set for another 24 hours.”

“And Dax?”

The scientist flashed a wry smile. “I’ll look in on him now. Make sure he’s acceptably comfortable.”

Ian frowned, “Not too comfortable.”

Mr. Upshot stopped at the door, but did not turn around. “Of course not.”

With a quiet click, the albino and his employer were left alone.

“It’s all about to come to an end,” Ian whispered, the faint, sour smell of his unbrushed teeth and last meal on his breath. He reached over and patted the prone hand reassuringly.

Everything was going according to plan, more or less.

Yes, there had been hiccups, but through it all, new opportunities had presented themselves. Delicious opportunities. The kidnapping of the Stump children was a perfect example...the albino couldn’t have planned anything better than that. Now he had control of the government, the media and the military forces of Clockworks. The Gnolaum couldn’t be controlled, he’d proven that...but his rants made in public, especially his declaration of revolution, had set the city on fire. Emotions were running amuck and crimes were being committed left and right as riots surged in every district.

It was the perfect diversion.

The violence and rebellion would mask just about any moves Ian cared to make. Even the Church had fallen into silence. Ian didn’t know where Wendell was at this point...but he no longer cared. The people were exactly where the albino wanted them and it was time to make his final play.

“Just one more pesky detail and I can usher in a new age for our people,” he smiled. There was an air of pride and triumph in his voice, but President Stump couldn’t hear a thing.

Sweat beaded across his brow and cheeks, sickly green rings around his eyes. The only sound that could be heard in the room was the faint hissing sound of oxygen pushing through his nose tube.

Ian watched the rapid eye movements under Stump’s lids, the sign of deep sleep. “I hope you’re dreaming of better days, my old friend,” he whispered again, leaning back in his chair. “Because those days are almost here. That’s why I did this, you know. It had to happen. We’ve become weak, tolerant of the despicable ways in which we are seen by the other races.”

Ian stood up abruptly, shoving the chair from him. Spinning on his heel, he paced the length of the President’s bedroom. He was so close. So very close. Had he missed anything? For several minutes he pondered his glorious plans...the steps he’d been forced to take and the alliances he’d made. No one would understand the horrible sacrifices he’d had to make to get this far. Would it be worth the risk?

“It’s worth the risk,” he said to himself. His mouth curled into a devious grin. So what if there was confusion, violence, or loss of life. “It’s all worth it,” he said louder, “We deserve to be so much more. We are the ones who have technology! Our people work on computers, develop lasers and build combustion engines...while we cower to the people around us,” he sneered, “the people we fear, who still use quill pens and parchment! They use horses...while we use monstrous S.L.A.G.s!”

He laughed out loud then. It was such a preposterous thought...to fear races that were so obviously beneath the genius of the gnome race.

“I will turn this around to our advantage, Potifur.” He stopped pacing, and laced his fingers behind his back. “The people won’t care what we had to do to rise out of this dung. In the end they will praise your might and determination to bring them into the light...even if I have to kill half the population to do it.”

There were things to do. Plans to put in motion.

Without another word, Ian stepped out and closed the door quietly behind him.

Not once did he notice the weak, yet conscious eyes of Stump upon him.

“You couldn’t throw them in the garbage can? The trash is ten feet away!” Freak kicked the empty cans of Jolt-Juice out of his path, “I’m going to add this into the workers rules and regulations of the company.”

“Oh my,” Nibbles snorted out loud, “Listen to the business owner...wanting to regulate how we work now?”

Telly laughed, holstering the drill at his hip. Grabbing the sides of the ladder, he flipped his boots to the outer edge, squeezed his legs tight and slid down. “Maybe he forgot that he got this contract with the help of his friends, huh?”

“No,” Freak teased back, jabbing the tall gnome in the ribs as he passed by the ladder, “but the managers should know what won’t be acceptable work behavior in their individual shops.”

“Managers?” Telly gulped, “Like, being in charge kind of managers?”

Freak laughed.

“Individ...you mean we get shops of our own?” Nibbles squealed with glee. She watched the TNT owner change from a stride to a bounce, a sly grin on his face.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot...ever since Chuck delivered on the first part of his promise. Just on the off chance that he can pull the rest of this off, what would I actually do? How would I want the company to run?” He shook his head, “I couldn’t just offer you guys a job. That would be stupid. Besides, Telly’s completely right...I couldn’t do this without you. Not just this crazy opportunity...but for years of help. You’re all brilliant. The best talent I’ve ever seen...and I thought...this might be a good time to think about expanding. On this opportunity, I mean. If the contracts are as big as we think...why not make departments, so you can do what you love the most. After all, you deserve it...and you guys are like family.”

Tumbler flipped up his welding helmet. “If we don’t get this thing in the air, there ain’t gonna be a business!”

“Awww, Tumbler,” Telly complained, “you’re ruining the moment.”

“I ain’t doing no such thing. We have to keep our side of the deal, remember? So get back to work!” But the old gnome grinned to himself. He stared up at Freak until the fat gnome noticed. Tumbler nodded, “But I like yer thinking, Craig. A lot.”

“How close are we for a test run?” called Ernie from the S.L.A.G. pit. He wandered out into the stadium with the Stump twins in tow. “I’m done.” Strapped to his shoulders and chest was a mini console with two joysticks. “The software is loaded and I’m itching to try this out.”

“You really know your stuff, Mr. Trench,” said Kip, “I’ve never seen someone build electronics that fast.”

Ernie adjusted the dials on his device. “When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, Kip, some things become a matter of habit.”

“...and he’s rich,” Buffy whispered to her brother.

Kip pushed her back and rolled his eyes.

“The last of the reinforced plate is in place,” Tumbler banged the machine with a gloved fist. “Nib...what about the pods?”

Welded to the thigh plates of the machine were two egg-shaped containers. Nibbles tightened the bolt holding the door securely in place. “I’m good here. The pods should be big enough to carry Dax and the President, but I’m a bit nervous about the chutes. These aren’t standard deployment devices...there’s no knowing if they’ll work correctly.”

The Trench Brother grinned, “I wouldn’t worry about Chuck, he’ll be fine.”

“I still think you’re crazy,” she pressed, “There are a dozen things that could go wrong with this. Why can’t we weld another tank on the back...double the fuel...”

“Because,” he cut her off, “we would have to rely on the old bird knowing how to maneuver for a landing...which is, I assure you, far more complicated than aiming him at the tower and shooting him towards it.” He softened his tone and forced a smile onto his face to calm her fears, “Besides, the bigger the fuel load, the bigger potential for a bomb. Burton is getting him up to speed...and with this as the main backup,” he patted the device strapped to his shoulders, “we’ll be able to get him to the penthouse. Don’t worry.”

Kip frowned, “You sound like you’ve done this before, Mr. Trench.”

“Well,” he smirked, flipping the power switch on. The mechanics backed away from the S.L.A.G. as the machine rumbled to life. Ernie’s smirk transformed to a wide mouth grin of satisfaction. “I wouldn’t say I’ve done this exact thing, Kip...but my brother and I did go to prison for something similar. This isn’t that much of a stretch.” Winking, “This should be fun.”

The twins looked at one another dubiously.

“It won’t solve all the challenges, but if I have it calibrated correctly,” Ernie stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth as he turned the dials on the mini console, “I should be able to pilot the basic functions of the S.L.A.G. should anything go wrong.” Gripping the two joysticks tightly, he pushed them forward. The machine, which had been repainted from a neon blue to striped gradients of silver and grey, took a step forward...then another. Ernie sighed. “It’s a bit slow on the response time. That’s not good.”

“Not good?” grunted Tumbler, throwing his gloves to the ground. “If ya can’t take over, these boys can get killed!”

“I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice,” Ernie replied soberly, “If the old bird is right, we’ve run out of time.”

“You could always change your mind and pilot this bucket for me,” Chuck said from behind them all. He strode out from the pit with Burton and Lili. They both looked extraordinarily nervous beside him.

Ernie shook his head. “I’m grateful and all for the deals you’ve made and what you’ve done, Chuck, but I’m not going back to jail for anyone. Breaking into the Citadel is not an option. It’s just not smart.”

“Goodness boy!” the wizard blurted out, “No one claimed to be smart, just desperate.”

Nibbles put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “What are you wearing?”

Chuck snapped the goggles over his face and zipped up his bright orange jump suit, which made him look more like a fruit popsicle than a pilot. He wore large black boots, laced up over his calves and black leather gloves. Across his chest in big, black letters was the slogan: ‘Old Men Shoot For The Moon.’ He ran a thumb under the words and grinned. “Cool, huh?”

“Cool is not the word I would use,” Tumbler chuckled. Telly jabbed him to silence.

“How did he do?” Ernie asked his brother.

Burton stared back, numbly.

“Well?” Ernie prodded.

His brother scratched his cheek, averting his eyes, “He did learn how to turn the engines on.”

Telly gulped. “And you want him to fly thousands of feet into the air?”

“Well...,” Burton scratched his head, “No.”

“Then how is he supposed to get this machine up there and rescue Dax?” Freak gasped. “We made all the alterations...and Nibbles even made him some special goodies for the security, but you still have to pilot the darn thing...”

“Bah!” snorted Chuck, “Just aim me at the penthouse and shoot me up. Traveled with the Barkum and Buntley Circus for ten years back in the day. Colby Barkum was a clever gnome...used to shoot me out of a huge cannon,” he jabbed Burton in the shoulder and winked, “Kids loved it. Landed in whipped cream.” His face froze, “Course... I never liked waiting for them to eat me free.” He shuddered.

“This is hardly the same thing as propelling a person through the air.”

“Oh I know that,” the wizard balked, “we’ll need a bigger cannon. That and a whole lot of whipped cream.”

They all sighed.

“Why do I have to know all the silly details about piloting anyway? I have brighter people down here who can do that for me,” and he patted Ernie on the back.

Ernie bit his bottom lip nervously, “Chuck, the controls...”

“So, we ready to go?” the wizard cut in, clapping his hands together eagerly.

“Not quite,” said Burton. “We can’t launch from the stadium. The trajectory is all wrong. If we aim you from here, you’ll smack the backside of the building and miss the penthouse altogether.”

“Right,” Chuck said thoughtfully, “It wouldn’t be proper to smack anyone’s backside.”

“Stop it,” Lili poked him. “You need to listen carefully...they’re trying to help.”

“Sorry.”

“Because of all the riots breaking out in the city, I think we have a great opportunity to get this machine into a key position. The government has Centurions posted all over the place as extra eyes and ears, so we’ll need to use one of the parts trucks instead of a S.L.A.G. carrier. If you launch from here, all the fingers will point to us.”

“Can’t let that happen,” Ernie said plainly, “They’ll shut us down.”

“Right,” his brother nodded, “which...”

“What about coming back down?” Lili asked. “Won’t the Centurions be watching?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Burton assured her, “Chuck knows what to do.”

She snapped her head around at the wizard, “You do?”

Chuck tapped the tip of his nose.

“This doesn’t make sense!”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Deloris whispered, giving her husband’s shoulders a light squeeze, “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“But I’m so close!” he clamored.

“Which is why this is all so exciting,” she almost laughed. Morty hadn’t had much sleep...only cat naps, attacking him at moments. As soon as his eyes would open, he was back at the side of the PROMIS. Fine tuning, rewiring and retesting the device to make sure the energy output was even and stable. She ran her fingers through the wild and now matted white hair, intertwined with his prescription goggles.

Morty rubbed his red eyes and shifted the papers on the kitchen table. With the city in such an uproar, no one seemed to be paying attention to the warehouse. It was nice to sit out in the open. Three boxes with notes and diagrams were opened next to the black generator his father had left him. He looked at the intricately crafted metal container, tapping his fingernail on the table’s warped surface. “That thing is starting to annoy me,” he grumbled.

“You’re just tired,” Deloris encouraged him. “You need to take a nap and come back to this. Pushing beyond your limits isn’t going to do anyone any good. You’re close, darling, so very close.”

“Then why can’t I see it!” he snapped. Deloris stepped back, which was enough for the tinkerer to notice his mood. “I’m sorry Del. That was...rude.” His head dropped forward with a thud onto the table. “I just can’t see it. The missing piece. It’s eating away at me.”

“It could be so much worse.”

“I know,” he sighed.

The front door opened and slammed shut, causing them both to jump.

“Stupid, fat, ignorant...pig!” Höbin swore, stomping past the kitchen.

“What happened to you?” Morty called out.

Höbin skidded to a halt and shuffled back to the doorway. The historian had a huge handkerchief held to his nose, splotched with red stains. “Stupidity!” Dropping the cloth, Deloris and Morty gasped. His right eye was swollen and black, the bridge of his nose split and his top lip fat as a grape.

“Wow,” Morty’s brows jumped high. He looked up at his wife, “You’re right. I could end up like him.”

“Har. Har,” Höbin mocked, “You were right. I should never have gone out to find the seal.”

“Did you get caught?” Deloris asked, concerned. She moved to Höbin’s side and inspected his broken nose. “This is a nasty cut.”

“I’ve had worse,” he grumbled, “but no. The Shade ring did the job...it was the sorry excuse for a gnome I met once I got there that did this to me. A fat swine, named Adrian.” He snorted, then flinched, his hand going back to his nose. “If he’s a tinkerer, then I’m a troll.”

“Didn’t find the seal, I’m assuming?”

Höbin slid into the chair next to Morty. “Not even close, but I don’t believe they have it.” He touched the broken bridge of his nose with a finger and flinched. “He thought I was a bill collector after his...inventory.” He laughed. “Inventory.”

“So what happened to your face?” Deloris asked, checking the freezer for ice.

“Apparently I wasn’t the first person there, asking questions.”

Morty’s jaw dropped open, “The seal?”

Höbin nodded, “That’s my guess. So he locked the door to the shop when my back was turned and hit me when I spun around. Never saw it coming.”

“Well I hope you popped his back,” Deloris muttered. She took a handful of ice and placed it in a dirty rag.

“Deloris...that doesn’t sound like you!” Morty said, but he chuckled. “Condoning violence like that.”

“Don’t worry,” Höbin replied, “there wasn’t any violence involved.” He held up his cybernetic arm and pulled back the bottom two fingers. Small needles protruded from the tips. “I tasered him before he could swing a third time.”

Morty laughed louder, “Third?”

The historian shrugged. “He was faster than he looked.”

Deloris handed Höbin the cloth. “So the seal is gone.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think fat boy ever had it. If he did, he’s too stupid to know what or where it is.” Slowly, he touched the cold, wet cloth to his nose. “Oooo. Ow. I...think I’m missing a puzzle piece here.”

Morty snorted, “That makes two of us.”

His attention went back to the black box.

“Which way!” Buddy hissed, checking the silencer attached to the end of his rifle.

Tabbermain looked down the multiple corridors. They didn’t look at all familiar.

“Here,” Doddle whispered, “I’ll do it.” Without explanation, he stepped out in front of the group, hugging the wall. Guards and unarmed monks continued to wander the halls, forcing us to duck into side rooms.

“We need to keep moving,” Buddy hissed again, training the rifle back onto the hallway, “And I’m plugging anyone who sees us.”

“What if it’s another fan?” I added, hoping to evoke mercy in the assassin. I kept the wooden box filled with artifacts clenched tightly to my chest.

“I’m already going against my gut,” he warned, “don’t push your luck.”

“Shhhh!” Vin whispered.

Doddle closed his eyes and whispered something I couldn’t discern. Cupping his hands together, he blew lightly between his thumbs. A few more words and he opened his palms. A tiny light, the size of a pea, jumped up, into the air. Twirling and flipping about the gnome’s head. “Take us to the Gate.”

Off the light buzzed, whipping around the first corner.

“Let’s go!” Tabbermain encouraged, patting his fellow mägo on the back.

The three old gnomes found it challenging to keep pace with the tiny light as it flickered around corners and down deep hallways. It tapped against closed doors until opened for it, which usually led to stairs leading further down into the ground. It wasn’t long before the sounds of other life tapered off to silence.

“How far are we going?” I asked, now feeling more uneasy than sure of myself. The air grew colder as we descended, the gnomes shivering...including Buddy.

“I’m giving you ten minutes,” he said bluntly, “not a second more.”

Tabbermain nodded. “I remember where we are now. It’s just beyond this door.” He nodded to Doddle.

The tiny light vanished.

“Be careful and quiet,” Vin added, “They keep this area well guarded from the rest of the temple.”

“It’s because they shouldn’t be doing any of this!” Doddle growled. He bobbed up and down in place, raising his fists up like a boxer. “Someone needs to deal with them...”

“That,” Buddy said matter-of-fact, “would be me.” Sliding to the front of the line, he put a hand on the doorknob.

“No killing,” I reminded him.

The assassin paused, then slowly turned around. He glared at his fellow gnomes, “Do these monks down here work for Noah?”

They nodded.

“They know what he’s doing with these people? Knows where the Gate opens and what will happen to the citizens when they step through?”

They all nodded again.

Buddy looked up at me, his jaw set firm. “Right.”

Yanking the door open, he quickly slipped through.

All four of us crowded at the door, pressing our ears to the cold metal surface. At first there was nothing. Then a faint sound like compressed air being released. It was promptly followed by screaming. First one female, followed by many others. The outburst was immediately followed by gunfire. The explosions echoed. Something heavy then dropped against metal...like a metal grate, vibrating the door. There was a rattling noise...running...more gunfire. Another rattle. The series of noises repeated three more times as the screams continued.

I grimaced, fingers pressing and clawing at the door. No, no, no, I panicked, He’s killing everyone!

“We have to get in there!” I whispered frantically. “Tabbermain, please...Buddy is...”

But the door suddenly opened. A small hand pushed it wide. “I’m what?” he eyed us all. Then, “Come in, come in my friends,” the assassin waved, performing a slight bow. “Threat eliminated, dear gentlegnomes.” Buddy looked up smugly, “...and Wendell.”

The chamber looked like a warehouse, made of cement and metal. Attached to the hallway door was a catwalk, suspended ten feet above the floor. Narrow and made of weaved metal strands, it stretched across the length of the room, ending at another door in the cement wall. It was open, revealing computer consoles and several chairs. Two bodies lay at the end of the catwalk. One robe crumpled over, gun in hand, at the top of a staircase. The second body lay just inside the far room. I could only see up to the monk’s waist, but the trail of blood ran across the floor and under one of the chairs. My stomach turned.

Down below were a series of large cages, three on either side of the warehouse.

Gnomes filled every container.

I gasped. There has to be nearly a hundred gnomes in here...or more! My eyes wandered over the faces, dressed in white clothes, all huddled together. That...bastard is sending... I choked on the thought. Women and children were common among the faces peering back up. These were not just those forgotten from the furnaces below. Three more guards, all with weapons, lay sprawled on the cement floor, dead.

“Wendell!” someone called out.

I turned around. “Enid?” I gripped the railing, searching the dozens of faces below me. “Enid...is that you?”

“Yes,” the old gnome cried back, pushing his way to the front of the cage. Enid’s hand was firmly on the shoulder of a child.

“Simon!” I cried aloud. Simon. Thank goodness.... “Are you guys alright?”

Buddy jabbed me in the leg with the rifle. “The stairs are over here. Let’s get a move on...we have no idea when others could show up or check in.”

Hoods draped over faces, hidden in shadow...each of them had a stream of blood running down their chests, like crimson ties. I stepped over them, cautiously.

“Lucky thing I popped the last one,” Buddy grunted, nodding to the body just inside the doorway. His words echoed his facial expressions...cold, calculated and unfeeling. “He almost got to the phone. Could have sent for backup.”

“He could have lived,” I whispered, disgusted.

“He could have gotten us all killed,” the assassin sneered back, but he quickly adjusted his demeanor. Nodding to the cages below, “Including the kid you came for, so stop your whining and let’s get going. Move it!”

Tabbermain, Vin and Doddle were already at the cages, six boxes of weaved steel, filled with wearied faces which reflected their fate. Though their bodies and clothes were clean, every pair of eyes carried with them the terror of the tortured soul. Tabbermain whispered into a lock, as if imparting some great secret and one by one, levers turned and doors popped open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Buddy snapped, “We’re here for a boy and I’m assuming that old one...for Wendell, that’s all!”

“But,” Tabbermain stammered, “what...about the rest of these people?”

“Not my problem.”

“Mr. Keisler, please...” started Vin.

“I don’t know what these folks did to be stuck in here...”

“They didn’t do anything,” I cut in...the anger rising in my voice, “That’s the point, Buddy...they’re completely innocent. Snatched from their homes, kidnapped, brought here...and now they’re going to be fed to Täuku through the Prime Gate!”

Several of the women and children let out a terrified shriek.

Blood drained from the writer’s face. Slowly the rifle lowered in his hands as the assassin looked around at the captive faces.

“They’re...what?”

I lowered my voice. “These people, all of them, are going to be given as sacrifices to the Täuku.” I leaned closer, so only Buddy could hear me, “As food.”

“Hey,” cried a caged gnome, “Isn’t that Buddy Keisler? It is!”

The writer’s head popped around as a murmur washed through the prisoners.

“Wow!” cried another, “The greatest writer of all time came to save us? Three cheers for Buddy!!”

“WooHAW!” they boomed in unison, “WooHAW! WooHAW!!”

I turned around just in time to see Doddle whispering something to the gnomes through the bars. Noticing my attention, he stepped back quickly and started whistling.

“You’re the greatest, Buddy...we love you!” yelled the gnome closest to Doddle.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

The assassin seemed unable to control his emotions. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he let the rifle slide back on the sling strung over his shoulder. Arms open wide, he yelled, “What kind of a horrific world do we live in when my loyal fans are treated like animals?!” Tears streamed down his cheeks. This did not last long. Eyes narrowed and lips curled back into a vicious snarl. For a moment, I thought the writer had discovered the ruse.

“I will not let this happen,” Buddy vowed. “We’re getting out of here.” He blinked out the wetness and pushed the thick glasses up with a gloved finger. “All of us.”

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

The Black Market does not employ locks.

It employs witnesses.

I’ve said this to visitors for thirty years and watched exactly none of them believe me, right up until the moment they did. Humans especially. They walk into the Market expecting shadows, blades in alleys, the usual cheap theater of the criminal underworld, and they miss the actual machinery entirely.

The machinery is attention. Old, patient, and total.

This is the account of what that attention did to a family named Vail. I’ve pieced it together from Sänä testimony, the Triad’s own record, and one very reluctant interview with a locksmith’s niece.

Some names I’ve kept.
A few, out of what remains of my professional decency, I have not.

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Do I need to say more?

If you’d like to read the short story…

If you like this video, please let me know…

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

People assume poor places make people small.

Make them mean.

Grabby.

It’s not true.

The impression I’ve likely given people as I travel the globe, searching for truth, betrays that truth. I grew up believing the opposite, and forty-some years of travel hasn’t once talked me out of it.

So if you read these words, and I’ve offended you or, TGII forbid, hurt you by my bad example…please forgive me.

I know better.

For all our faults, District Nine was kind.

Not because it could afford to be…but because it couldn’t afford not to be.

Let me set the scene, since half of you have never smelled coal smoke and machine oil together and think that sounds romantic. It doesn’t. It smells like a district that works too hard for what it gets. Gear Lane and Ninth Main crossed two streets from my mother’s workshop. Iron shutters on every storefront. A crooked clock tower in the square that leaned two degrees left and never got fixed, because nobody had two coins to rub together for a thing that already told the time close enough.

The Perra family ran the bakery on the corner. They were a family you would meet once and never forget them. Three generations of happy, humble gnomes. Same ovens, same songs softly being sung while working,…same flour dust in the same cracks in the floor.

Same smiles.
Same round bellies.
Same kindness.

Here is what I actually remember, and I’ve checked this against my own notes twice because I don’t trust nostalgia... I trust records.

Even my own.

I remember Old Man Vantt and my mother going eleven months without speaking after he shorted her on a gear order. Real grudge. The kind neighbors build a wall out of.

I remember him climbing onto our roof in a hailstorm eight weeks into that silence. Our chimney flashing had torn loose and my mother was seven months from delivering my sister. My father had been sent on an assignment by Morphiophelius Smith and the techno-mägo, and I was too young to do it. Old Man Vantt spend the whole day on our roof, repaired the damage, and several other spots at a critical point.

When he left, he did so sopping wet, with a solemn expression…and a single tip of his cap to my mother in respect. Some things simply weren’t up for debate.

He never mentioned the gears.
She never mentioned the roof.

That’s District Nine.

That’s every poor gnome quarter I’ve ever documented, if I’m honest about the pattern instead of precious about my own childhood.

The argument was real. The disagreement mattered.
But not as much as the person having it with you.

I bring this up because Jaime played me “We Got Us.” A Gear Girls track. I won’t pretend I’m equipped to review music... I catalogue ruins for a living, not choruses. But something in it got past the mustache, past the grumbling, past forty years of professional detachment, and landed somewhere I don’t let visitors.

It pulled me straight back to that roof windowsill. Watching a gnome my mother wasn’t speaking to, fixing a problem we hadn’t asked him to fix.

And then, the way these things do, it kept going.

It put me in a kitchen with my beloved Sylvia. Twenty-two years of her.
…and…
…and I won’t say more than that.
Some records I keep for myself.

It put Alhannah in my head, my amazing daughter, out there being fiercer than I ever managed to be. Protecting others. Fighting evil.
…and my boy Green, who I think about more than I write down.

Home isn’t a place for me anymore. Hasn’t been in a long time.
But it’s still a shape. And that song traced it.
So.
Advice.
Since you didn’t ask for it…and I’m giving it anyway.

The world’s in a state. I don’t need to catalogue that for you, you’re living it same as I am. Everyone’s got a reason to stay angry at somebody right now, and most of those reasons are fair.
Honestly, I don’t know if it’ll change.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Likely not.
Be the fool who fixes the roof anyway.
Not because the argument didn’t matter.
It did.
Have that argument.
Finish it, even.

Just don’t let it decide whether you show up.

Keep the ledger of who wronged you if you must. I’m a chronicler, I understand that impulse better than most. But keep a second ledger too, of who needed you regardless, and answer to that one first.
Always first.
When the day ends and you have to look yourself in the mirror…
You just might find a familiar face smiling back at you.

District Nine taught me that…and this song reminded me of it.
Thanks, Jaime.
Good friend, that boy.
I’d rather pass this wonderful song on than sit on it.
No, that’s not sentiment. Just good archival practice.

Listen to the song.
Download it.
Share it.
A lot.

Höbin Luckyfeller
FieldScribe, still owed a roof repair by approximately three people, none of whom I’m naming.

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The systems are now in place. Now i test them.

Oh crap, let's hope they WORK!

I know I may be rambling this morning…so sorry about that…I'm just feeling SO GIGGLY, it was challenging to keep my stuff together to film.

Almost a full year of intense effort is about to pay off, and all the benefits are for YOU.

Yes…you.

Don't look at me like that.

Who did you THINK I was doing this for?

[shakes head]

Right. Watch the video, have a great day and if you have ONE GOAL TODAY — make sure it's bringing someone new to Life of Fiction.

Well, no.

FIRST goal should be tell your significant other that you LOVE them.

THEN find a new person to tell about Life of Fiction.

Priorities.

Have a great day. Have an even greater week.

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *almost-always-giggling* Buckley

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Noah works Wendell over on the altar, twisting every gasping answer he give’s into a lie his scribe can scratch down... while Tabbermain and Vin beg him to leave the boy be...

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

Chapter 97

“Noah knows I’m the Gnolaum?”

“Yes.”

“He’s looking for my friends, so he can round them up?”

“Yes.”

“...and bring them here too...?”

“To send them with the rest of us.”

“Which is?”

Tabbermain gulped, but didn’t reply. The blood drained from his face.

Okay, this was bad. “You can’t tell me...or you won’t tell me?” I prodded. Whatever the gnomes had done to me, the Ithari was able to fully restore my strength and alleviate some of the soreness from my muscles. Though I was still chained to the altar, it was more frustrating than painful at this point. I looked to the other two gnomes, but they didn’t look any more enthusiastic about sharing this apparently bad news.

“It’s because it’s our fault,” Vin finally whispered. “We’re the cause of all this death.”

“What are you talking about, death? Noah’s the one who dragged me into this...I certainly don’t blame you three, so don’t...”

“It isn’t about you being captured,” Tabbermain piped up. He sniffed, but refused to look up. “This is about the Prime Gate. We fixed it for Noah...and now he’s using it without anyone in Clockworks knowing.”

There was a way off this island? A way out of here!? Wait, why would they be so bummed abou... “Uh, what exactly is Noah doing with the gate? It can’t be all that bad.”

All three gnomes looked up at me wide-eyed.

“Ok,” I gulped, “maybe it is that bad.”

“They’re being sacrificed,” Tabbermain whispered, dropping his eyes back to the floor in shame. “A trade, for our freedom.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Where is the gate being opened to? Humans wouldn’t harm you, that I know of. Neither would evolu. The dwarv...I mean, Kutollum? Is that where the gate is opened to?”

They shook their heads.

“Then where? Come on you guys...I can’t help if I don’t know what the snot is going on! Speak up!” My raised tone sent all three scampering into the straw. “Oh. Sorry.” Taking a deep breath, I tried again. “Look, I have friends who were taken by Noah’s goons. Sweet people, who helped me. Nursed me back to health when no one else would.” I paused, lowering my tone, “Like you gentlegnomes.” Tabbermain and Vin looked up. “The gnomes are very special to me...so if someone is hurting you, I want to know about it!”

A few quick nods between them and they scooted as far forward as their chains would allow.

“We need to talk as quiet as we can, so Noah won’t discover what we know.”

“What’s that!?” Doddle belted out, “You’re whispering again and you KNOW I’m hard of hearing! Speak up!!”

“SHHHHH!” Vin waved his arms. “We’re whispering on purpose, you dolt, so SHUT IT!”

Doddle crossed his arms and flopped back into his straw bed, huffing.

Tabbermain rolled his eyes and sighed. “Techno-mägo aren’t exactly loved, but we’re not illegal in Clockworks either. We’re a quiet group that find the arcane fascinating...and the fact is, we’re only frowned upon by the religious, and not even the whole of them either. It’s mainly the clergy here, who freak out when things start floating around or change shape. Monks start crying ‘evil this’ and ‘possessed that’. If they don’t control it or can explain it away, the clergy immediately tag it to be of demonic origin. That’s why the few of us who exist, usually stay hidden...or work for the government if we reveal our talents at all.”

“What about me?” I asked. “They have me pegged as some religious icon!”

“Oh, well,” Vin smirked, “that’s different you see. You’re supposed to get your powers from the Gods, while we dabble in the no-no’s of the Universe.”

“Right,” I chuckled. “So how did you end up in here?”

Tabbermain sat back and folded his legs under him, resting his arms across his knees. “The three of us were assigned to do a little work for the Centurions. Simple stuff, nothing big. Deal with a growing vermin problem in the sewers. Place a few enchantments in the tunnels...scare the rats off and the like. It was something we all had experience in. Completely normal stuff...or so we thought.” He gave Vin a grave look, “As soon as we’re deep in the tunnels, the commanding officer of the Centurions has us gassed and brought here.”

“Noah has a charming way of inviting guests,” I winced, tugging my wrists.

“Noah gave us a choice,” Tabbermain said, “work for him, or our children and grandchildren would suffer the fate of the heretics.”

I frowned. “Suffer the fate of...” but I stopped short. The look on both Tabbermain and Vin’s faces said enough. “Right. Never mind. It’s bad.”

“So we agreed,” Tabbermain breathed, “What choice did we have? He brought us down here and showed us a set of stones. We worked for weeks before realizing what it truly was. The Prime Gate of our people...the one artifact the government had destroyed to prevent entrance to our lands.”

“We knew the symbols,” Vin cut in, “and I have to admit, I was fascinated too. We weren’t being treated badly...”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “chains and straw are my thing too.”

“We weren’t in here at that point! We had rooms, beds, ate in the hall with the brother monks...,” he sighed. “It wasn’t half bad, really. Hearing rumors that we were called upon divinely as workers to open the way to our salvation sounded pretty wonderful.”

Tabbermain patted him on the shoulder. “But it was all a lie, as you can see.”

“I’m not understanding...” I said, “what changed, that you’d end up prisoners?”

Now it was Tabbermain who scoffed. He shook his head in disbelief. “We should have seen it coming. Noah had us forge chains that would resist certain magic. We were told he’d been commissioned by the President to create a safe place for captives from other lands to be held for trial. We, of course, wouldn’t know of any agreement like that, so of course, we agreed. No sooner had the work been completed on the gate, and we were placed in here...captives to our own craftsmanship.”

I shook my head, “You still haven’t answered my question. All this, because you’d completed the reconstruction of the Prime Gate? That hardly makes sense. Why not let you go? Send you home, where no one would be the wiser? Doesn’t sound like you were a threat.”

“Ahh,” Tabbermain sighed. “But we were a threat.”

“We stumbled upon Noah’s reason for using the gate,” Vin said with disgust. “He was coddlin’ with the enemy.”

“He was what?” I asked.

“Noah was opening the gate and selling our own people to the enemy as slaves!” Vin snapped louder. He looked around and lowered his voice. “That thin-lipped snake has been giving our own kind to the Täuku as a sacrifice offering...to secure Clockworks safety.”

No.

My head slowly rested against the cold stone, the silver band prickling under my skin.

No. No. No.

Why would anyone betray their own people to their enemies? Flashes of a hunched robed figure came to mind. Lili cowering on the basement floor of Til-Thorin. Snake-like tentacles slithering out from under the dark hood...magic flame. Flame that never stopped burning...

I shuddered.

“Why,” I gasped. “Is it money? Power?” I looked up, “Why would Noah...”

“Because of you,” Tabbermain whispered, cutting me off.

The chamber fell silent.

“Me?”

The gnome nodded. “The prophecy everyone talks about...that everyone quotes, is only a part of the whole.” His eyes grew moist, his face conflicted with concern...and regret. “It’s not a pretty ending.”

It never is, I sighed. “And you know this, how?”

“It’s not just a religious prophecy...it was for the mägo of the people as well. Given to us all hundreds of years ago, being passed down through the years. Many of our families remember it...but the general population cared nothing for religious or magical whisperings of future times.”

“And I’m in it?”

Vin nodded. “The Gnolaum is. So if you have the job, kid, yeah...it’s about you.”

So this is why Noah’s on edge? Why I’m chained up in here? “I would never hurt the people of this city!”

“We know that,” said Tabbermain, motioning to me to quiet down, “or that’s what we believe anyway. But Noah is so convinced that you will plunge this city into darkness, he’s made a pact with the followers of Mahan, that when the Dark Lord returns, this island will be left alone. He’s buying our freedom with the blood of the innocent.”

“That’s why we’re chained in here,” Vin added, “because we saw one of his detestable offerings and tried to stop him. Tried to close the gate and dismantle it.”

Tabbermain nodded to the other side of the room. “The monks tortured Doddle over there, for days, until we revealed everything we knew...everything we’d seen.”

“Which sealed your fate here,” I concluded.

Vin silently tapped his nose.

This keeps getting more twisted as I go! I couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of disgust. Not that I hated the gnome people, but that this truth, this revelation about Noah, the leaders of Clockworks and the casual disregard for innocent life turned my stomach.

I clenched my fists tight and...heaved.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

Come on Ithari...we’ve been here long enough!

Taking a deep breath, I pressed my knees against the stone altar and pushed off with my hips and thighs.

You’ve granted me strength before! Give it to me now!!

“Unnhhhh!” I grunted.

I could feel the power surging through my veins, but the chains didn’t budge.

“You can’t break those, boy,” Vin warned me.

“I’ve got this!” I grunted back. Thoughts of Simon’s face, terrified in front of a Täuku beast. Would they work them? Beat them? Eat them? The anger beat a powerful rhythm in my chest.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

Again I heaved, pulling with all my might until my face turned beet red. “Shuuh!” I gasped, falling forward against the stone. Sweat beaded across my forehead. Blood trickled across my wrists where the spikes bit into my flesh. “Why won’t this move!?!”

“That’s what we’re trying to tell you, Wendell, you cannot use magic against these chains! The enchantments detect the magic and use the power against you!! The harder you try, the stronger the chains become.”

“ARRRGH!” I yelled, scraping at the stone with my fingertips. “I’m USELESS!”

“No, you’re not,” Vin said calmly.

Tabbermain looked over shocked, but the gnome was focused on me. “You have given the people something to live for. Something to fight for. Doesn’t matter if they have the wrong information about you...they have the right intent and the right desire. That makes you different, Wendell Dipmier. That makes you better than a prophecy.” He smiled as I looked over. “And we will help you find a way out of here.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Noah said, disgusted.

He pressed the button, stopping the recording, then leaned back in the leather chair. The spring squeaked as he did so.

“Do you have all you need then? Enough to convict the human and turn the population against him? I don’t want any chance of the people loving him. I want them to despise and loathe him. “

“We have more than enough.”

“Excellent. The sooner you can edit the conversation, the sooner we can sacrifice these delusional heretics and get back to a peaceful existence.”

The monk bowed low as Noah arose from the chair. “As you wish, isä.”

Noah grinned.

I stood in the crisp night breeze. It felt delightful against my hot skin. The moons were out and the faint scent of honey was in the air.

Nothing looked familiar to me, but I’d grown accustomed to that. I was on a new planet, among new people. New experiences and expectations. The trees, the forest, mountains in the distance, and...

Howling.

At first it sounded like a wolf...something I might hear on Earth. Yet something about it was off. The hair on the back of my neck rose up.

“Hello?” I said aloud, but there was no one to answer.

Another howl cut through the night air.

This time, much closer.

That’s a bit close for comfort.

I looked about.

There was a small cluster of rocks in the distance.

Move Wendell.

A howl.

Right. Not good being out in the open.

Get To The Houses, Wendell.

The stars were out in their majesty. The twin moons were high in the night sky and for a moment, I was able to catch the fading flame of Erimuri. I longed to go back there...to have a safe place to just be. To rest for a time without having to worry about expectations or doing something wrong.

To be alone.

Get To The Houses, Wendell.

Another howl.

I blinked again, the sound was near the tree line of the forest. I sprinted towards the rocks. Looking back at the trees, I caught glance of shadows whipping across the landscape!

Get To The Light, Wendell!

The breeze blew across the open fields of grass, up the hillside, over me and into the forest. If it was an animal, it was sure to have my scent. All around me, encasing the valley, were mountains. Huge formations of stone, jutting up from the ground, tops covered in snow.

Have I...been here before?

Another howl...this time from the open ground.

It made my spine jump.

“Ok, maybe we should move faster now,” I whispered nervously. “Move your butt, Wendell, before someone finds it!” That’s right, keep moving, I told myself...pushing my legs to move faster and faster.

This is, until I stepped into an animal hole and twisted my ankle.

“Argh!” I cried out.

Rolling onto my back, I brought my knee towards my chest.

My ankle.

Dang it!

“We’re on the run and you have to go and wound your ankle?!” Doubt whimpered.

My ears perked back as the world around me seemed to hold its breath.

For several long moments, I bit my lip to keep silent. With all my might, I tried hard to blend into the nothing that was silence.

A silence that was soon broken by a faint hissing sound.

“Get up, Wendell,” Doubt urged me. “I don’t CARE if you’re hurt...it’s time to move your butt!”

Releasing my leg, I flipped over to my belly and forced myself up onto my knees. Scanning the ridge where I’d just come from, there was nothing to see. Just open space at the end of the sloping hill.

Then I heard it.

The hiss.

Great. Snakes.

I hate snakes.

Not more than ten feet away, a cluster of large rocks mocked me and my feeble efforts. Using my arms and knees, I worked my way across the grass like a wounded animal.

“Come on, you can do this,” Doubt growled. “Move it!!”

Another howl...but this one was close enough to cause me to slap a hand over my own mouth for fear of crying out. Rolling the last few feet, I froze at the edge of the rocks.

Stay calm, Wendell. You can do this.

Not knowing where to go or what to do, I ducked my head and tried to curl my body between the stones. Wolves...or whatever that was howling, was far scarier than a hissing snake.

Well,...as long as it was a small snake.

Already the pain in my ankle was subsiding. I could feel the warmth washing over skin and pulsing through bone and muscle. Would it be enough? I needed to find some sort of...

The sight of the buildings, sitting in a cluster of light and safety almost made me cheer. I bit my lip. The buildings were still a ways off...much too far to make a dash with a wounded ankle.

So what now, genius? You don’t even know where you are...or what that thing is out...

My attention was immediately pulled back to the present.

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

It sounded like scraping. Something large, being dragged over gravel.

Hssssss.

Crap. Crap. CRAP!

Hands shaking, I held my breath, quivering. Of course it’s a huge snake! Why would it not be? I’m out here, in the middle of nowhere, all by myself, no clue how that happened, so why wouldn’t there be something big, nasty and dangerous to eat MY FACE!??

I clenched my eyes tight.

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

Stay calm. Keep...calm.

The sound drew closer and closer. Sliding up to the far side of the boulder I was hiding behind. I wanted to breathe. I needed to breathe...but fear of being found kept my mouth closed.

Skkrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I inched my hand to my mouth and silently sipped air through tight fingers.

It...stopped.

My eyes wide, darting back and forth, searching the shadows around me without moving my head.

Please go away. Please, please, pleeeeease...

All I could think about was being eaten.

Long fangs, piercing my legs, injecting the deadly poison to paralyze me long enough to swallow me whole.

I’m going to die the death of digestion!

I regretted all those late nights watching those horror movies mom never wanted in the house. Stupid teenagers screaming and dying because they wouldn’t listen to adults.

I don’t want to be an animal pop tart.

Hssssss.

I clamped down on my bottom lip.

It’s moving!

I clamped my fingers over my mouth.

A howl in the distance cut through the night.

Hssst.

Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt.

The movements were fast and loud...briefly scraping up against the rock where I trembled and hid.

Please. Please. Please, I pleaded. Don’t eat me. There has to be a nice fat...bear or...I stopped whimpering.

Wait a minute.

I have been here. I know I have.

I looked around me carefully. The trees, the grass, the stupid hole I fell in. I quickly took in everything I saw. It was just like the dream back at Til-Thorin. Over and over I’d had the same dream. Some of the pieces shifted or changed, but the whole of the experience had remained the same. That was the point.

The underlying message.

This has to mean something, I convinced myself.

Then I saw it.

The light from the moons cast long shadows along the ground. Dark shapes moved near my shoulder.

It was not a snake.

Tattered and worn, perhaps wounded, the creature was dragging itself across the rocks and grass. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing at first. The contours didn’t follow any recognizable form I knew, but one thing looked certain...the beast had been in a fight. Its skin, which hung loosely from its body, looked flayed. Both arms, back and belly were rent like fabric, long fibers hanging from the frame.

What IS that thing?

It looks like...

No! I-it can’t be!?

I watched it sway, slithering from my position and dragging its mass over open ground. I’d seen that before. I knew I had. My mind raced, hunting for clues...some memory that might help link this creature to my past.

I peeked over the rocks. Gratefully my position had gone unnoticed and I used that advantage to stare. The pain in my ankle was all but gone now...which meant I could bolt for the homes down the hillside. Or...I could follow the creature, discover what it is and why I had such a familiar feeling about it.

Follow it. On my own. Out in the open.

Riiiiiight.

The creature was still moving away and would soon reach the distant edge of the forest. Once it’s out of sight, I’ll make a dash for it. The lights in the distance were a bright sign of hope. I wondered, then, if the people who lived there would know what I’d just seen?

Almost there.

I watched the slithering shadow carefully.

Keep going, you ugly, that’s it. One. Two. THREE!

Pushing up to my knees, I grabbed the rock for leverage and jumped to my feet.

I sprinted for the homes in the distance.

“See ya suck...”

HSSSST!

Poised silently on the far side of the rock was a second creature.

It was not a wounded animal.

I cringed, stumbling back from the outcropping. I gasped for breath, unable to inhale as I looked squarely into the hood of my nightmares. The empty hood.

“Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.”

Trembling, my feet shuffled backwards.

“No,” I choked, “You’re not real. You’re just,” but I couldn’t finish the statement. Thoughts and feelings collided with such clarity...it all came to me in an instant.

YOU!

The creature swayed in front of me, reeling up like a viper. The robe of charcoal blackness.

Til-Thorin.

The dreams.

The things seeking after the shard.

That’s what you are!

But...I hesitated.

It wasn’t real. The robe didn’t exist. It had been another creature in a robe that I fought.

One with magic, trying to kill Lili.

Lili....

Hollow, vacant holes stared back where a face should be. Shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, reaching out...yearning.

“Clossssser child. Let ussss end your pain.”

Like a specter, it moved slowly towards me, crawling, prowling along, pausing only to stand upright. It towered over me even while it hunched, arms outstretched, fingers...or the cloth in their place, curled inward. The words projected into my mind chilled me to the bone.

“You made your choice, boy.”

“NO!” I screamed, my senses returning. I realized my mistake.

The robe lunged...but not before I arched wide, sidestepping to avoid its attack. The swipe from fleshless claws raked only air as I became a blur of motion.

I never heard the approaching footsteps, nor the panting of the great beast.

With a thunderous growl, a giant wolf lunged in front of me and sunk its teeth into the outstretched arm of the tattered robe. Larger than two full grown men, the canine rammed into its prey. Landing on the far side of the rocks, it whipped its head from side to side, jaw clenched tight.

A high-pitched screech ripped the night air, sending chills down my spine.

There’s monsters everywhere!

Without looking back, I spurred myself on, gulping air as I ran.

There was only one place to go.

The village.

I had no idea how much time I had before the robes would be upon me...or the wolf would be looking for more food. The last thing I wanted to do was lead danger right to their doorsteps. But I was going to need help. Hero or not, I could not do this alone.

Not yet.

Have to get everyone’s attention.

“Välo,” I barked, followed by, “Teho!” Light quickly gathered around me, blazing like a beacon and brightening the area. I held the image of my skin, glowing like the noonday sun. I hope this doesn’t hurt.

“Teho!” I shouted, again.

Light flared from the Ithari, bursting through the black fibers of my shirt.

HSSSST!

The robe, right on my heels, fell back from the light, a tattered sleeve covering the gaping opening of the hood. The creature slowed its pace to a crawl.

“HEY!” I bellowed, “WAKE UP! EVERYONE UP! YOUR VILLAGE IS UNDER ATTACK!” It wasn’t the accurate truth, but I didn’t have time to explain. “LET ME IN!” I cried, “LET ME INNNN!!”

I didn’t stop running until I’d reached the nearest hovel. My momentum was so great, I slammed into the front with a loud bang.

“Who is it?” called a trembling voice from inside.

“My name is Wendell,” I shouted back in gulps, banging on the door with a fist. “Monsters. Out here. Trying to eat me. Help!”

But the door remained closed.

“Come ON!” I shouted even louder, “You guys have wolves the size of cars and those....those....oh, let me in! Let me in!” I banged on the door frantically, reached over and rapped on the window, but drapes covered every inch.

“Sanctuary!” I shouted, “Refuge! Haven! Asylum!” I flipped around and placed my back against the door and whimpered, “Mommy?”

I never imagined my life would end as a doggy treat...

“Go away,” replied the voice warily, “It is night! No torch burns that bright...which means either you be the problem...or you have magic with you. If you have magic...then it is you who be the problem!”

“What?” I gasped, “Are you serious? I’m trying to...ok, get inside to save my skin, but hey...I’m also warning you! Have a little compassion...so what if I’m using magic?!”

It had never occurred to me that people might not be accepting when it came to magic. I’d naturally assumed what I’d seen over the past few months was the norm. Then again, I spent most of my time in the presence of magic using individuals.

Had I been wrong?

Was the use of magic actually frowned upon or taboo?

I shook the thought from my mind. There wasn’t time. It didn’t matter right now. The robe was already at the edge of the village.

Waiting.

I turned my head slowly, the swaying motions at the edge of the light catching my attention. The thing hissed loudly at me.

Oh boy, I gulped.

The light of Ithari suddenly...dimmed.

In the gloomy distance, two more shadows converged...the faint hissing echo growing louder with each moment. The giant wolf was almost done working on its own rebelling meal, tearing one of the robes to shreds.

Would it attack another robe...or me?!?

NOT GOOD!

I flipped back against the door, my confidence quickly waning. I screamed frantically, “Come ON! I’m trying to help!!”

“Then go away!” the voice yelled back, now irritated. “Best thing you can do is move along...take your problems with you, I say!”

Ithari’s light waned...and finally vanished from under the black cloth of my t-shirt.

“But there’s...danger,” I pleaded. Please don’t shut me out. Please listen to me. People are going to get hurt. “Why won’t you listen to me?” I whimpered weakly. “The creatures are...the robes...” but it was no use. My forehead rested against the wood surface of the door.

“Please open up...” I whispered, to no use.

“That’s why I’m in here and you’re still out there,” the voice chided, “You made your choice, boy.”

My eyes fixed on the door.

I lifted my head.

“What...did you say?”

“I said,” repeated the voice cooly, “You made your choice, boy!”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

My feet stumbled back from the door, hands clenching into fists. The voice...the words...they sounded familiar.

Too familiar.

The wood of the door splintered, ripping from the hinges. Fragments flew outward, forcing me to raise an arm and protect my eyes. A heavy rancid scent of decaying meat and molding rot rolled out from the doorway...assaulting my senses. It made the world spin and my eyes water. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I reeled back, gagging.

In the shadows of the doorway, rising up to dwarf the height of the framework, lurked a robe. Black as midnight, tattered and frayed...it lunged.

Ithari flared like the noonday sun.

I blinked...and all went dark.

I blinked again...this time clenching my lids tight. I could feel the cold metal wrapped tightly around my wrists...the metal band around my forehead.

“It was just a dream,” I whispered to myself.

A horrible, confusing dream.

I looked around the dim room. The candles had all but gone out now, leaving a single torch near the door as the only source of light.

Tabbermain, Vin and Doddle all snored peacefully in their straw piles. The small bodies, curled up like children, made me smile. They have to be three times my age...yet they look so cute when they...

My head perked up.

Shouting, out in the hallway.

First one voice, then another.

Then all went silent.

My ears twitched. A faint sound caught my notice.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The latch to the cell door jiggled. A pause, then a moment later, the slab of wood slowly pushed open.

At first I wasn’t sure what it was...small and black, but as the person entered the room, I recognized the muzzle of a rifle. A pale gnome, with thick glasses and dark braided hair stepped through. The braid was so long, it wrapped at least twice around the gnome’s neck. A tiny backpack hung from shoulders, a pistol strapped to each hip. In his hand was an oblong device, a tiny red light flashing in rhythm of the beep, beep, beep.

Seeing me chained to the altar and the other prisoners similarly confined, the stranger pushed the door closed behind him.

“Do you realize how hard it is to sneak into this temple, past three dozen armed guards and find you?” he asked in a high-pitched, whining voice. It sounded like something from a child’s cartoon.

“I...don’t,” I said, confused.

The gnome grinned and then laughed, ending with a sharp snort. “Easy as eating pie. Just need a tracker,” he held up the palm device, “and shoot the guards as you go.”

“You killed everyone on the way in?” I gasped.

Feigning shock, “I am NOT a barbarian. I’m a professional. We don’t use the word kill,” adding a drawl, “We say ‘retire’. It sounds more civilized when you knock someone off.” He smirked. “No one was retired, gnome-scout’s honor...well, unless they deserved it.”

This is all I needed, a new level of crazy.

“Who are you?” I said.

“You don’t recognize me?” the gnome asked, astounded. Cradling the rifle in his arms, he turned to one side, displaying his profile...then to the other. “Recognize me now?”

“Can’t say that I do,” I said.

The gnome grumbled. “Then I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

My brows crinkled. “I thought you didn’t use the word, ‘kill’?”

“Yeah, well, I do when it’s going to hurt...and with what you’ve put me through...I’m going to kill you. Slowwwly.”

“What?” I squeaked, “Why? I haven’t done anything to you...we don’t even know each other!”

Tabbermain stirred behind me.

If this assassin is going to kill me, better that the gnomes not wake up. No witnesses. If no one knows he’s here, he can do his thing and just let them live and move on.

Thin brows dropped down the high forehead to hover over his eyes, “Oh, but you have done things to me.” He stepped forward and lifted a thick soled boot, resting it on the side of the altar. “Horrible things.” It was then that I noticed the tape and bandages on the gnome’s left hand. “You’re bad luck!”

I pulled at my chains, but the stranger put a hand over the links to quiet them. Holding a finger to his lips, the gnome slid the backpack off and placed it next to Noah’s box of artifacts at the other end of the altar. He set the rifle down on top of it.

“You see, Mr. Dipmier, I was hired to put a bullet through your head.” Taking his glasses from his face, a white cloth appeared in his hand. He started cleaning. “Well, not a bullet, per se...but it was my job to, and I quote, ‘assist you in expiring within a public place’, end quote. I tracked you, followed you...and in every situation, I had the perfect setup. The wind, the lighting, plenty of people to see the gore...and proof for me to get paid. I’ve done this for years, you see...so when things go wrong once, it’s annoying. But when it goes wrong each and every time? Well, that means something else is at work here. Something fighting against me.” Sliding the cleaned glasses back onto his face, he leaned close to my face, “Something bad.”

Replacing the white cloth inside his vest, he stood up and stretched. “The first shot was when you had your interview at WHRN.” He held up a make believe gun, aiming through invisible sights at me, “It was perfect. Perched up high, low wind, hidden behind a cement ridge...and then at the precise moment, a bird lands on my barrel. A bird!” He clamped his lips tight. “An actual freakin’ bird. The bullet ricocheted off a gutter and hit me in the arm.” He rolled up his sleeve to display the bandage. “You were out of view before I could reload!”

He started to pace, his upper lip twitching.

“My second try wasn’t optimal, so I decided not to take any chances. I used a tracker bullet.” Stepping closer, he wedged his thumb into the crook of my shoulder. “Feel that tiny lump?”

I grunted and nodded. There was a light pinch over my rotator cuff.

“The bullet breaks apart on impact...small grains of rice, which act as transmitters. So I can pick you up with,” he lifted the oblong, black device, “this. But just as I pulled the trigger, a vehicle pulled up in the street below your balcony speech, reflecting the sun precisely in my eyes. I flinched, you got hit in the shoulder and that poor cop got it full in the chest.” He sighed. “Didn’t even get paid for that one.”

“It just sounds like bad circumstances,” I replied. My stomach dropped out, thinking about the officer that died because of me.

“No!” he sneered, raising an index finger, “I control my circumstances, through preparation, timing, planning...but not with you. Even when I was fed up and decided to blow you and your cohorts up, my grenade launcher misfires, blowing up the water tower behind me.” Sniffing, “I...almost...drowned. ME!” He looked at me pleadingly, “Do you realize how horrible life would be, without...me?”

I smiled weakly, hoping it looked like compassion.

Oh joy.

Isn’t there anywhere in this city where people are normal?

“Then,” he snapped, raising a fist, “I figured, forget the public. He just needs to die and I’ll take photos to get paid. No brainer. So I track you below the city, and set explosives in the pipes. But do they go off when they’re supposed to? NO THEY DO NOT!” he yelled aloud, “IT BLOWS UP WHEN I CHECK IT...,” his shoulders bounced in a sob, “including my pinky finger!” Raising the right hand, I counted four digits. His pinky looked like it had been cauterized at the first knuckle.

“So here I am, dedicated as I am, to finish the contract I started. Slip in, slip out, no one will know I was even here.” He grinned triumphantly.

“Buddy Keisler!” cried Doddle, “Oh my goodness, is that really him?! Guys, wake up...you’ll never believe who’s here!”

No, no, no...Doddle, you silly old...

“You know me?” the assassin asked cautiously. His hands drifted to his sidearms.

“Are you kidding?” Doddle beamed, “I’m your biggest fan! The Acid Rain series is the greatest spy novel series ever written! It’s magic, poetry, and sheer brilliance for the discerning reader!!” The smile exploded into deep, hysterical laughter. “You...are...the...coolest...author...EVER!”

I winced as the assassin dashed past me to Doddle’s side.

“You...really think so?”

Huh?

Doddle reached up and shook the assassin’s hand briskly, “Please tell me Acid Drip will be released soon, because I can’t wait! I’ve read all your books four times already...and I helped start District 14’s Buddy Keisler’s Buddy’s Club!”

Buddy beamed with glee. “You didn’t!”

“I DID!”

The assassin pounded his chest with a fist. “You guys are my FAVorite fan club. Glenda is the best coordinator I’ve ever communicated with!” He paused, looked around at...no one, then whispered, “The book drops next week, actually.” He added a wink, “And I’ve included three bonus chapters on Bookworm’s background as a tracker.”

Doddle clapped his palms together, then interlaced his fingers. “Ooooooh!”

My jaw dropped as Buddy Keisler squatted down next to the old gnome and started shooting the breeze about character development, worldbuilding and the try/fail cycles of writing.

I sighed.

No, no,...over here. Just shoot me.

Nothing makes sense to me anyway.

“I must be dreaming,” Tabbermain whispered, “is that....,” he rubbed his eyes, “NO!”

“It IS!” cheered Doddle.

“Buddy Keisler!” hooped Vin, “In our dungeon cell? How cool is that!?”

“Yeah,” Doddle grinned, patting the famous author on the back, “He came here to kill Wendell.”

“What?” stammered Tabbermain, “Kill, the Gnolaum?”

Buddy shrugged. “Guys gotta pay rent.”

The gnome looked crushed. “You’d kill a fan?” He glanced over at Vin, giving him a sharp elbow in the ribs. “Isn’t that a shame, Vin?”

“What? Oh. Oh! Yes...complete shame! What, other readers might get the wrong impression that you don’t appreciate our praise.”

Buddy looked between them, confused. “Fan? Him? But he’s human!”

“Ah,” Tabbermain challenged, “but he lived here for quite a while undercover as a gnome.”

The assassin gasped. “You don’t say!”

Tabbermain glared at me.

“Absolutely!” I jumped in. “I wanted a chance to experience the culture...and what better way than to partake of brilliant literature?”

The gnomes grinned in agreement.

...but then it hit me.

I HAD read Buddy’s books, or at least one of them, anyway.

Freak had provided me with a copy of ‘A Clean Kill In Clockworks’ while I was resting in between Trench battles.

And...it was good.

As in, addictively good!

“But you said you didn’t recognize me.”

I gulped, “Ah. Well...”

“Oh you can’t blame him for that,” chimed Doddle, “you didn’t start putting your picture on the cover until book seven anyway!”

Buddy pondered and nodded to himself, “True. It was quite a risk, being identified. I had a lot of contracts to fulfill back then.” He studied me, “You...really like my books?”

I could finally provide a big, honest grin. “Are you kidding me? Huge fan, but I have to admit, I was only given a copy of ‘A Clean Kill In Clockworks’. I didn’t know there was a series! Seriously, a half-gnome, half-Kutollum assassin, masquerading as a writer? So cool!”

If he kills me, I’m going to hell.

“What I loved most about the book, though, was how Bookworm made each of his assignments look like the death was a natural cause. Truly, Mr. Keisler, your writing is amazing.”

A very special kind of hell.

Now it was the three techno-mägo who looked shocked.

I winked at Tabbermain.

The assassin smirked. “Wow. The Gnolaum, a fan.” But his face instantly contorted, “Wait a second,” he glared at each of the captives in turn, “I was paid to kill a fan? Those dogs, want me to knock off my own readers!?? DEVILS!”

“You don’t have to kill any of us, you know,” Tabbermain added.

Jumping to his feet, Buddy strutted to the altar and snatched up his rifle. Clicking off the safety, he gave the techno-mägo a devilish grin. “Oh I know...and I don’t plan to. Though someone is going to meet their maker soon enough.”

He took aim at my chains.

I flinched and pluckily turned my head away.

“That won’t work,” Vin started to say, “it’s enchanted and completely...”

The weapon fired, the echo near deafening.

Metal shattered, plinking off the stone walls. I tried to hide my face, abruptly slumping back onto my rear, fire coursing through my arms and back.

“...vulnerable to physical damage.” Vin finished.

“Huh,” grunted Tabbermain, “didn’t think to protect it from guns.”

“Nor me,” sighed Vin. “Good thing.” He held up his own chain still binding his ankle. “Next?”

Buddy grinned a sly grin. “Absolutely.”

Three shots later, they were all free. I groaned loudly as I tried to stand up.

“UNGH! So stiff!” I grunted.

The Ithari was already working, pulling the pain out and pumping energy into my limbs. My back popped and bones creaked as I rose to my full height.

Buddy took a step back, as did the other gnomes.

My joints and muscles realigned as I stretched.

“Ooooooo. That feels SO GOOD!” I moaned. There was only one more problem. I held the shackles up...still hanging from my wrists. “What about these?” I said, wiggling the stray links still attached.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Doddle laughed, and snapped his fingers.

The shackles fell from my wrists, the pins pulling out of my skin.

I looked down at the gnome. “How...?”

He winked behind his thick glasses, “Without the magic, they’re just metal...and metal we can do, right boys?”

Vin cracked his knuckles and grinned wickedly. “You are SO right, Doddle. And I’m achin’ to show these religious goons just how much.”

Tabbermain grabbed his friend by the shoulder. “We’re not here to fight, Vin,...we’re here to get out.” He gave a short bow, “Thanks to our most excellent author-friend.”

Buddy beamed.

“I’m not leaving yet,” I said soberly. “Not without my friends.” I patted my jeans, then slipped my fingers into my pockets. They’d taken the letter. My heart sank, the hope of having some definite direction as to what to do now gone. Kneeling down, I leaned my head toward Tabbermain. “Would you help me take this off?” I pointed to the pointed circlet still piercing my brow.

“Oh...yes!” the gnome replied, inspecting the artifact.

“But you’re friends are probably gone by now,” said Vin, “not much use in trying to save what isn’t here, boy.”

“We don’t have time for this gentlegnomes...and gentlegnola....,” Buddy grunted, “Whatever. We need to leave...now.”

The four gnomes looked up at me expectantly.

Gripping the corner of the altar to steady myself, I grit my teeth and groaned. Removing the silver band was like being clawed across the scalp with razor blades. “Owww!” I flinched as Tabbermain pulled the artifact free.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

I rubbed my forehead, blood trickling down my sideburns.

“I owe you...and I thank you for that help...but I can’t leave my friends.” I looked at the assassin bluntly and unafraid. “I won’t leave them. Any more than I would leave any one of you, now that I’ve met you. Some of these gnomes are just children, without parents to care for them. They can’t be left behind. So I would ask you, if you know the way, to show me where Noah keeps the prisoners. Though I’m not asking you to come with me.”

“I’ll go,” Tabbermain said immediately. “I know where they’re being kept...but I also think that Noah ought not to have a Prime Gate under his control. I helped put it in his hands, so this is partially my responsibility.”

“Our responsibility,” Vin added. “I’ll go as well. I helped build the Gate, I’ll help take it down.”

“Well you’re not leaving me behind!” stammered Doddle. “But I’m not taking any blame. You built the gate before I got here, so it’s your fault, not mine.”

They all laughed.

I looked to the assassin. “Thank you Buddy,” and I held out a hand.

Buddy stared at the large open hand and scoffed. “If anyone’s killing you, it’ll be me. I won’t give anyone else that satisfaction while we’re within these walls...but this was NOT supposed to be a rescue mission!” He rolled his shoulders back, feigning annoyance. “Lost quite a chunk on this job...and someone’s going to have to pay.”

I considered the words, keeping my hand outstretched. “Agreed. I’ll think of something. You have my word on it.”

Reluctantly, we shook hands.

“And,” I added quickly, “I’m not leaving these.” Grabbing the circlet, I popped open the ornate wooden box, tossed it in and snapped it shut. I tugged on the ropes weaving in and out of the wood and started tying them into knots.

Without warning, the door to the cell burst open...and two overly muscular monks barged into the room. Wielding clubs, one cried aloud as he charged, “Escapees!”

Spinning on his heels, Buddy Keisler popped the rifle up to his hip, trained on its new target. “They burst into the chamber, desperate to apprehend the escaping prisoners. But Buddy was too quick for them, his reflexes honed by years of intense field work and refusing to die, despite the odds.”

“No killing!” Tabbermain shouted out, but it was too late. The gun fired twice.

Both monks spun around, smashing their heads against the wall. They collapsed to the floor. Trails of red seeped out from under their robes. A soft moan escaped their lips and one rolled onto his back.

“Well I’ll be,” Vin gasped, “he shot them both in the leg.”

Without pausing, Buddy stepped forward. “Showing uncommon mercy, mainly to improve his reputation, Buddy knocked the guards out...so that his prowess would be whispered among the corrupt religious sect.” Grasping the end of his rifle, the assassin used it like a bat and struck both monks across the face.

“Why does he talk to himself like that?” Tabbermain whispered.

“I think,” Doddle replied quietly, “that he’s writing as he works.”

“Then let him do his thing,” I added, pulling the wooden box under my arm, “And let’s get out of here before someone else shows up!”

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Every engineer in Clockworks City will tell you the same thing about wings.

They’ll tell you a jetpack doesn’t stall.

A jetpack doesn’t fold when a javelin clips the strut.

A jetpack burns hot and steady and predictable, and predictable keeps you alive in the Trench.

Then they’ll fold their arms, look at you like you’re a slow child, and say that anyone who trades a jetpack for a set of mechanical wings has decided, on purpose, to die in front of two hundred thousand paying strangers.

I have heard this speech four times now. From four different engineers. Word for word, near enough. And when four clever people agree that precisely, my old scholar’s brain starts itching, because it usually means they’ve all read the same book and none of them has checked whether the book is right.

So I went and checked.

Read more

I was here for the 200th Anniversary of this country.

I'm gonna try to be here for the 300th.

DID YOU PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT'S HAPPENED ACROSS THIS COUNTRY?

America is worth celebrating.

I am so grateful for the greatest gift of liberty this world has ever witnessed, and I hope you are as well. Those of us who live in this country are more blessed than any other people on Earth.

My thanks go out to God, my ancestors who fought and died to give me this liberty, my parents who gave me birth, and the men and women who KEEP defending these liberties I love so much.

My hope is that you had a wonderful holiday, that you were and are loved, and that things only continue to get better!

Have a great day. Have an even greater week.

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *buckles* Buckley

P.S. — IF you are a writer or game designer, DO NOT MISS THIS LAST CHANCE. The Advanced Worldbuilding Course is likely to be one of the best resources you'll ever have to expand your worldbuilding skills. This is the biggest discount I offer, and there are 5 coupons left. That's it.

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MONDAY & WEDNESDAY mornings at 9am Pacific, ’s Ann Kimbrough, will encourage you, make you smile, and give you that much-needed nudge to accomplish your weekly writing progress!!

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Noah works Wendell over on the altar, twisting every gasping answer he give’s into a lie his scribe can scratch down... while Tabbermain and Vin beg him to leave the boy be...

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Chapter 96

The phones continued to ring...until Ian had them removed altogether.

Constant reports of fights, fires, vandalism, mobs rummaging through the streets, destroying property populated the airwaves. The flat screen mounted to the wall continued to show updated clips and photographs of the chaos rolling through Clockworks like a shadow stretching out from a waning sunrise.

All the captains, chiefs, commanders and executives responsible for every military and civil fighting force was seated around the giant table.

“And how is the President doing?” asked a uniformed gnome.

“He has been sedated, General Bink,” Ian Twofold replied grimly, “from the sheer grief of his children be snatched by terrorists.”

“Can nothing be done?” asked another.

Ian removed his mirrored glasses and placed them gently on the table. He took a moment and rubbed his eyes with white gloved fingers. “All that can be done is being done gentlegnomes. I was placed under the strictest orders to attend to the troubles erupting in this city...to quell these rebellions and to execute the core cause.”

“You mean the troll,” asked a silver-haired gnome.

“I do.”

“That might not be the wisest course of action,” spoke up another. “There has been no documented proof of violence from this Dax...and he was, after all, one of the favorites from the games. Do you truly think the best course is to execute the poor fellow?”

Ian slapped his hand down onto the table so hard, the crack resonated throughout the room and caused several gnomes to flinch back into their chairs.

“Not wise? Poor fellow?!” clear eyes glared behind the albinos focused scowl. Several attendees averted the intense gaze. “What am I hearing? Are we not responsible for the welfare and protection of our people? Are we not the leaders of this fair city? If it is not we, who can rise to the challenge and do what is right when all other recourses have failed? Who can be turned to? I ask you all, WHO?”

Spinning around in his chair, Ian lifted the remote and clicked.

“Even the media stations have been infected by this unforeseen disruption to our way of life! What do you think will happen next? And all because we allowed strangers into our lands!”

General Bink cleared his throat and sat forward in his chair. “The Gnolaum is not considered a stranger in my mind. He belongs to all races of this world.” Several heads nodded at the notion. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a human.”

“But we don’t actually know that Mr. Dipmier is the Gnolaum,” Ian barked.

“Then you admit to being wrong during your press conference?” The executive smiled wryly. “From what I remember, Ian, it was this administration that welcomed the Gnolaum and proclaimed his authenticity to the city.” Leaning back in his chair. “That puts you in a tight spot.”

All the gnomes around the table nodded in agreement.

“That was not my decision,” Ian said cooly. “I was following orders, nothing more. Now I have an opportunity to clear this mess up and save the administration from ruin by reestablishing order in this city.”

A loud knocking cut into the conversation, followed by the office doors swinging wide. A young female, dressed in a powder blue miniskirt and a black blouse and shoes, rushed in. Gripped tightly in her hands was a manilla folder. Nearly two inches think, she strode briskly around the table. Without a single acknowledgement of the others in the room, she leaned forward and whispered in the albinos ear.

Officers and executives looked curiously at one another.

“What?” Ian burst out loud. His face contorted in anger and a venomous look was thrown at the young female. “Give me that!” he sneered. Snatching the envelope from her hands, Ian slapped it down on the table and flipped it open. Photographs slid across the polished surface before the startled assistant could grab them. Dozens of pictures were piled high, along with typed reports.

“What are these?” asked General Bink.

Ian reached out to snatch them all back, but the military leader slid a single picture out of reach. Using his finger, he pulled the photograph in front of him. It was a panoramic shot of a grocery store...or what used to be one. Gnomes were flooding both in and out of the structure, carts filled with food, water and various supplies. Most were male, though some were accompanied by females. The scene showed mothers and their children off to the sides of the photograph, staying far from the activity. The windows of the store had been shattered, graffiti spray painted across the walls and the blurred image of a violent riot inside the location could be seen in the background. General Bink slid the picture to his right, so the other leaders might see for themselves.

“It looks like this mess is growing beyond your control, Ian,” Pink said cooly.

“Nonsense,” was his only reply, but it didn’t sound convincing.

“What else do those reports contain, Mr. Assistant to the President?” asked an executive, studying the photograph closely. “Because this looks like a much bigger problem than you’re suggesting. One that would affect not only my stock holders...but the whole of my company.”

Ian forced a smile as he replaced the mirrored sunglasses onto his face. “Just some minor skirmishes in the mid districts. Youth, feeling a bit rambunctious and overstepping their bounds. Nothing the Centurions can’t handle.”

The executive nodded to the stack of pictures. “That looks like a great deal of overstepping.”

Standing up abruptly, Ian grinned wide and motioned to the door. “I think this meeting was a tad premature. Why don’t we reconvene in a day or two, shall we? Thank you all for coming, the secret service will see you out.”

Curious and wary stares were tossed the albino’s way...yet Ian remained calm and stoic. His pearl white smile never wavered. When at last the elevator doors closed in front of the last leaving party, he collapsed back into his chair.

“What is going on with this city!?” he raged, “It was not supposed to happen like this!” Spittle foamed along his bottom lip. His head snapped around at the girl. “What else do you have on this?”

“N-nothing, sir. That’s all we’ve collected so far. There are fights occurring in the streets now. It’s everywhere. The normals are retreating to their homes, while the lifts to the lower districts are being closed off.”

“Closed off?”

“Yes, sir. The reports say that the lift operators have sided with the factory workers and muddles and have removed themselves...parking the lifts at lower levels and then turned them off. No one can travel below except by ramp or stairs.”

Ian’s anger subsided. “What about supplies? The stores in these pictures?”

“Without the lifts, sir, there are no supply chains. At least not from the factories below. The greenhouses have been closed off, all manufacturing has ceased...and the delivery chains have joined them. Drivers won’t work until this can be resolved. More than a six hundred truckers were assaulted, fifty eight placed in hospital. So they shut down.”

Ian slammed a fist on the table.

The girl gulped and shifted uncomfortably beside him. “The city is being closed off, sir.”

“What about the utilities? Water, sewer, electricity?”

“Still on...though there have been some demands from members of the Public Works.”

“Demands?” Ian frowned, “What demands?”

The girl once again, fidgeted in place. “They...uh, well...”

“Oh spit it out, will you!” he snapped. “What do these criminals want?”

“They want...the resignation of this administration, sir.” She leaned over carefully and slid a few pieces of paper aside, searching for a report. “The Workers United are demanding the government faction be placed into the hands of the City Counsel until a new election is called.”

There was a momentary lull as Ian stared down at the official letter, which happened to be signed by Philburt Bellows himself. The lull was followed by extraordinary laughter.

“Are they serious?!” he cried, “Toss our control into the laps of that decrepit group of pencil pushers and social groupies?” he threw his head back and cackled.

The young lady took a step back.

“So all these years we’ve allowed Bellows the freedom to dip his toes into the various pools of our society...only to have him gather his dogs together for a fight?” Slapping his palms on the table, his fingers curled like claws, his nails scraping the surface through his gloves. “So be it. I’ll give them a fight they will never forget! A fight this city will never forget!!”

“Ahem.”

“What now!?”

“They made a second demand as well, sir,” the girl peeped just above a whisper. She pointed to the letter.”

Snatching the paper up, Ian scanned it as he read aloud. “blah, blah...we demand that you surrender your office and blah, blah....ah, here it is. As we have determined in our own minds that the Gnolaum is in fact, the one of prophecy, we also declare, as a united people, that his specific associations could pose no threat or harm to this people. Thus, we demand that you release the evolu, known to the people as Dax, within the next cycle. Refusal to honor this request will bear with it, immediate and city-wide consequences. We do hope your wisdom exceeds your previous judgement in these matters as we have secured the core resources of this island and will, if required, use them for the good of the people. Respectfully, Mr. Philburt Bellows.”

White hands rent the paper violently into dozens of pieces.

“Get out,” he whispered aloud. “Now.”

Walking briskly across the carpeted floor, the young lady hurriedly closed the doors behind her.

All the plans, all the efforts he’d made over the years…carefully, meticulously, working his way up the chain of command and into the good graces of the government faction, for what? To lose it all? To go back to pasting flyers on lamp posts for lowly city reps trying to make a name for themselves? He sneered, thin lips curling back. No. It was a mistake to have worked for others. He should have run for office himself. But then he would have been watched too closely. Someone, eventually, would have worked out what his true intentions were.

Now he was being called out. The President was sedated and out of the way...for now. The officers of this administration would be forced to administer his word for the time being, but for how long? How long did he actually have before the wave of truth came out and all his plans were exposed?

“All because of this stupid human and his friends!”

Ian didn’t bother to wipe the drool from his bottom lip.

“Fine. If that’s how we have to play the game, then that’s how we will play it.” With a single fling of his arm, Ian exploded the papers into the air.

“This is NOT what I had in mind!” Philburt cried out. The smoke was still rising from several fires he knew were started by people advocating his message, but not following his example. The streets were packed with screaming gnomes...volunteers from the factories below. They walked, hand in hand, chanting and speaking to any ‘normal’ they met. Workers rushed from door to door, handing out flyers that explained what was happening in Clockworks and how the government was exerting unrighteous dominion over the people. It was an urge for those in wealthier circumstances to come out of their shells and support their fellow citizens in their right to earn something more.

But few would agree.

Philburt and Shamas looked out from the apartment rooftop.

The city looked like a maze from up here. A maze that looked impossible to solve except from up here. A perspective and view that allowed for one to see the overall picture of what was in play. What barriers there were and what turns had to be made.

It wasn’t easy.

The normals were too engrained in their lives...the patterns of relying on the government for assistance, thinking it was the only way. The best way. What did it matter if other people suffered, so long as your own life maintained a steady flow of consistency and security?

But at what cost?

Runners were turned away from door to door, house after house, apartment after apartment. The normals retreated into their homes, shut their blinds and ignorantly waited for the situation to pass. This was, after all, someone else’s problem.

That’s when the violence started.

Some of the younger volunteers had had enough. The snide remarks, the disgusted glares, being turned from place to place without a single consideration for others. The truth of Clockworks City...of how people treated one another, was quickly thrust into the light.

...and the light was an ugly one.

A knocked over trash can, a rock through a window...that’s how it started. Before the day was through, groups of youth, thousands in number, had started painting over windows, along walls and other high-profile locations.

Normals Hate The Poor.

The Unwanted.

We Are Not Slaves.

Equality Or Nothing!

“You can’t control it all,” replied Shamas, “And even if you could, would you want to? Be like the government faction...seeking to control others?”

“No,” Philburt said soberly. He watched another window being broken by rocks, “I wouldn’t. I’d rather teach the people correct principles and let them govern themselves. Encourage them to do good.”

“Most of them are. Just look at them. Yes, there are some hot heads out there...but there is a lot of injustice these folks have been dealing with,” he shrugged. “Being treated like dirt wears on you. I know from personal experience.”

“It doesn’t make what they’re doing, right.”

“No, it doesn’t. But you also warned them. You placed the plan in front of them and those who vary from what you have committed to do will have to suffer the natural consequences of their actions.”

“They’ll be furious.”

“No,” Shamas corrected him, “They’ll be guilty of crimes. The anger is a choice...as are their actions right now. Your focus needs to be on guiding the masses in the correct efforts.”

“I just...” but he stopped. There was no point regretting his actions now. It was too late. The wheels were in motion and this was an all or nothing effort. Things had to change in Clockworks City...or else. “Has anyone from the administration replied yet to our demands, Mr. Tanklestein?”

The old factory manager sat at the small, round kitchen table. His kitchen table. On it were charts, papers and a sparkling laptop.

“No, Mr. Bellows. Not a word as of yet...but the day is not over yet.”

Nathan Taylor looked up from the screen, his wheelchair hardly fitting in the tiny nook used for a dining room. “Are you serious about using the Public Works as leverage?”

Bellow looked over his shoulder, but said nothing.

“Right then,” Nat replied, “I guess that answers that.”

“It will put millions at risk,” Shamas said quietly so only Philburt could hear him. “The moment we stop the water...or the power. Think of the hospitals. Think of how many people will suffer...maybe even die.”

The business owner looked up at him sharply. His nose flared. “How many have already suffered for the negligence of these wealthy gnomes who care nothing for their fellow gnomes? We have never said that things need to be equal...only in opportunities. We are not asking for a penny...and we earn what we keep.”

“You don’t have ta sell me.”

“But I feel I do at times. I don’t want this plan to be confused with replacing one bad set of decisions with another.” Bellow’s expression softened, “This is about being aware and taking off the shackles, not robbing one people to give to another. That’s what this government has done!” Taking a deep breath, “Using the utilities will turn the focus of the masses onto this administration. If we cannot change their minds and encourage a resolution, then it will be forced upon them by their own followers...because they will be seeking for relief. But no more relief than these workers seek themselves.”

They stood in silence for several minutes, both staring out the windows. As the light waned over the great city known as Clockworks, the fires set by the anger of mobs grew brighter.

Shamas sighed loudly. “I wish Wendell were here. Maybe he could talk to the people and calm them down.”

Philburt Bellows leaned against the window frame. The light from the fires reflected in his dark eyes. “I’m afraid that this has gone far beyond what even the Gnolaum was expecting.”

“Goodness,” Höbin whispered aloud, “This is a bit more than I was expecting!” The streets were rampant with enraged and overenthusiastic citizens wanting to shout out every last personal squabble and injustice of their lives. The historian had to hug the sidewalk several times, just to avoid being trampled by fleeing mobs. “Where did all these people come from?”

Youth jumped on top of parked vehicles, windows exploded in a nearby restaurant and a chair rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. Dozens of gnomes lined the walkways, arm in arm, shouting up at scared faces looking out from apartments and barricaded homes.

It was utter chaos.

“Then again,” he smirked. Patting the shade ring on his right hand, Höbin kept his pace even and his voice low. The magic was once again working as promised. He could move about without being noticed, so long as he didn’t create any reason to warrant direct attention. Gnomes walked or ran past him without a word. Without a single glance.

Lucky for the fishis, the address Höbin secured was within walking distance. Almost half a day...but he didn’t have to use a public transport, which would have drawn unnecessary attention to himself. The result would have been jail...or worse. As it happened, the Mushcranks lived in the lower districts, under the warehousing plateau. It was curious, that the most famous of all tinkerer families would make a hole in such a dangerous and poverty stricken locale.

Höbin stepped into the shadows of a deserted shop doorway and checked the paper again.

“2242 Boorum Street.,” he grunted, “This is Boorum, but...”

The buildings on Boorum looked almost depressed. The cross breeze from the refinery districts carried the soot and other caustic chemicals over to plaster themselves on the brick and steel buildings. Smaller family-owned manufacturing plants, like a cobblers shop, weavers and the like, lined the street, their walls and foundation slowly eroding away. This was the area of the city where it was undecided of whether it should be zoned remodel or historical.

That meant no one cared.

Not a penny would be spent to refurbish the buildings, nor pay to have them demolished and removed. Once upon a time, Höbin thought, this must have been a charming place to visit. Now it was a corridor of tired, hunched over buildings that no one wanted anymore.

A group of youth shot past Höbin, hooping and hollering, while the last boy sprayed bright orange paints in waving lines across the brick walls as he ran. A sudden wind change threw overspray into his hair and the side of his cybernetic eye.

“Blasted...,” he started to shout, but thought better of it. He was out and extremely vulnerable. If it wasn’t for the desperation in finding the last seal, he wouldn’t risk this. So he wiped the paint off as best he could with the sleeve of his jacket and kept walking.

2242 Boorum was an old repair shop. The painted sign on the front that read ‘Mushcranks & Beyond: If we can’t fix it, we can come up with something better’, was faded and in many places chipped or missing. However, the lights were on in the shop, which was a good sign.

At least someone was home and Höbin had the right place.

“Steady, old man,” he whispered to himself, “You need to do this right and not blow it.” But what should he say? There was no telling what the seal even looked like. He only had a description from Morphiophelius of what the seal from Til-Thorin looked like. He’d traveled around the world to Väthinerä, but that was only the resting place of the first seal. Only the Nocturi and whomever stole it knew what it looked like.

“What do I say?” Höbin said aloud.

“Say whatcha like,” chortled a short fat gnome, stoking a rather thick cigar. He had a tattered grey apron on and bear arms, wielding a broom, “that’s my rule, it is!”

Höbin nearly fell over in shock. He’d never heard the large gnome approaching. “Uhhh, yes. Exactly. That’s what I was thinking?”

“Lookin for a clock? A refurbished uPad perhaps, for the grandkids maybe?” The gnome wiggled his wiry eyebrows at the historian, “You’d be the talk of the reunions, you would...buying the little ones a custom detailed, refurbished uPod. Oh yes you would!” He pointed at Höbin and then tapped his own eye, “Looks like you’re a gnome up on popular technology.”

Not knowing what to say, Höbin...nodded.

“Thoughtcha might! Can always pick ‘em, I can!” He waved, “Come on in, good sir...I’ll show you me wares and ya can pick from the best.” With a grunt and a train of thick white smoke rolling up and over his forehead, the obese gnome led Höbin down a short flight of grungy looking stairs.

Pushing on a rusted door they stepped into the shop.

Small shelves lined the walls, piles and piles of oddly stacked...Höbin was not sure what they were, though the historian would most likely call...junk. Chipped cups, TV’s with cracked screens, radio hybrids made from scraps and retro telephone parts, the absurdities never ended.

“Interesting shop you have,” was all he could think of saying, not wanting to offend.

The fat gnome grinned pridefully, smoke shooting from his nostrils. “Adrian Mushcranks, “ he beamed, holding out a dirty hand. His chunky fingers wiggled in place until Höbin finally gripped them in a firm handshake. “Master repairman, at yer service. If me and me son can’t fix it, well...we’ll invent something even better, we will! Now let me show you me special selection of fine custom wares.” Waddling behind the counter, he proceeded to lay small electronic devices onto the glass between them.

Well, Höbin assumed they were electronic devices, but in truth he wasn’t quite sure.

Two of the five items looked like uPod shells, but one was missing a screen, wires protruding from the device. The other was covered in random ink markings. The rest, well...they looked more like sardine tins that electronic devices.

“These are...your special items?” Höbin asked.

Adrian just smirked. “It’s a mobile entertainment device.” He reached down and wiggled the tiny red and yellow wires, “Built to hook up to you entertainment system. Plays music, movies, maybe even games! Even comes with a remote.” He patted the device, winked, and then plopped down a huge metal box onto the counter with a thud. It was covered with buttons and dials.

“You call that a remote?” Höbin asked shocked. “Aren’t remotes supposed to be convenient? Portable?”

Adrian waved the comment away. “Phhaw! People want flexibility, adornments for their homes! That’s why this comes with its own custom stand.” He flipped a plastic milk crate onto the counter, wiggling his eyebrows. “And if it’s decor yer worried about, I’ll throw in a custom doily to give the set ambiance.” He grinned wide with the last word, waving his hands over the trash.

This couldn’t possibly be the same family Höbin was looking for?

Was it?!?

“I uh,..” he stumbled for words, “Nice wares, but I’m looking for something specific.”

“Ahh...a discriminatory kinda customer, I see.”

Höbin bit his lip to keep from chuckling. “MmmHmm.”

“Do you have something specific in mind?”

Here goes everything. “Actually yes. I’m looking for antiques of a particular type. My agency says your family,” he paused, pulling the scrap of paper from his pocket, “if my information is correct, descends from the famous Mushcranks? As in the microchips, copiers, industrial lifts Mushcranks.”

The gleeful look on Adrian’s face vanished without a trace. He spit his cigar onto the floor without taking his eyes off of Höbin. “Maybe I is and maybe I ain’t. Who wants ta know?” With slow and precise movements, the round gnome waddled out from behind the counter.

“Oh, well, it’s only me asking,” Höbin said, adding a quite gulp at the end. “Just me.”

“Well,...just me,” Adrian said with a scorn, “why would you be wantin’ ta know about my family? Cause I’m awful tired of you lot snoopin’ round here, askin’ all sorts of questions I can’t answer! I don’t take ta threats comin to me home where me old lady and kids sleep.”“

Confused, Höbin rattled through the forms and names he’d looked up...and completely missed the shop owner walking around him and bolting the door shut.

Adrian cracked his knuckles.

“You ‘n me is gonna have a little talk and work all this out.”

Höbin smiled and turned around. “That’s a wonderful idea...,” he started to say.

That is...until the shop keeper broke his nose.

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There’s something your body does when it’s bracing for impact.

It holds its breath.

Not dramatically.
Not consciously.
You don’t decide to do it.

You just...stop breathing fully.

You take in just enough air to keep moving.
You stay tight.
You stay ready.
You wait.

And the strange thing…the thing nobody tells you…is that you can do this for months.

Years, even.

Walking around in a permanent low-level brace, never quite exhaling, never quite letting yourself settle, because some part of you decided a long time ago that it wasn’t safe yet.

You probably don’t notice you’re doing it right now.

I've held my breath for 36 years.

Here’s what it looks like.

It looks like not finishing the thing because finishing means it can be judged.

It looks like not sending the message because sending means you might not hear back.

It looks like not starting because starting makes it real, and real things can fail.

It looks like keeping your best ideas in a notebook where nobody can touch them. Keeping your biggest dreams quiet because quiet things can’t be laughed at. Keeping yourself just small enough that the fall, if it comes, won’t be too far.

It looks like waiting.
Always waiting.
For the right time, the right circumstances, the right version of yourself that’s finally ready.

It looks like a held breath.

And the longer you hold it, the more normal it feels.

Until you can’t even remember what it felt like to breathe all the way in and all the way out and just...be okay.

Ezra knows this feeling.

“First Breath” wasn’t the first song Gear Girls recorded for this album.
It was the last.

Because Ezra couldn’t write it until she understood what she was describing.

Not intellectually.
In her body.
The specific weight of a breath you’ve been holding so long it stopped feeling like a choice.

And then the specific lightness of letting it go.

That’s the song.
That’s what she wrote.

Not the dramatic moment…not the triumph, not the breakthrough…but the quiet second right before.
The moment you realize you’ve been holding on, and your body finally, finally decides it’s allowed to let go.

That’s what tomorrow is.

The album drops tomorrow.

Ten songs.
Ten different ways of saying the same true thing:

Wide Open isn’t a celebration of having arrived.
It’s an invitation to finally exhale.

And here’s what I’ve learned about exhaling after a long hold: it’s not dramatic.

It doesn’t feel like fireworks.
It feels like relief.
Like your shoulders dropping half an inch.
Like something you didn’t know was tight finally going soft.

It feels like: oh. I didn’t have to be that afraid.

So before tomorrow, I want to ask you something.

What are you holding?

Not dramatically…not the big obvious things you already know about.
The small stuff.
The thing you haven’t sent.
The conversation you’ve been rehearsing for six months.
The project that lives in your head because your head is the only place it feels safe.

What breath have you been holding so long it started to feel normal?

Because tomorrow, Ezra and Juno and Katt are going to exhale on your behalf. Fourteen months of work, one album, ten songs, released into the world with no guarantee of anything except that it was true and they made it anyway.

And maybe that’s permission enough.

Maybe that’s the signal your body was waiting for.

The album drops tomorrow.

Wide Open.
July 4th.
Gear Girls.

This is what it feels like right before you finally exhale.

Go ahead. Let it out.

First Breath is Track 1 on Wide Open. The album releases tomorrow -- July 4th -- on Spotify and at lifeoffiction.com.

Have a listen: FIRST BREATH

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Share Life of Fiction — Jaime Buckley’s Wanted Hero Universe

^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

There’s a moment most of us have had…where something goes so wrong, so publicly, so completely, that it feels like a verdict.

Not a moment.
A verdict.

The relationship that ended badly. The job you lost. The thing you said that you can’t take back. The version of yourself that showed up on the worst day you’ve ever had and did something you’re still ashamed of.

And somewhere in the wreckage, a voice starts narrating.
Quietly at first.
Then louder.

That’s who you are.
That’s the real you.
That’s what you’re made of.

Here’s what I want to say to that voice: you're a liar.

One chapter is not the whole book.

Think about the stories you love most.
The ones that changed something in you.

Now think about what would have happened if the author stopped at the hardest chapter.

The hero face down in the mud.
The relationship in pieces.
The dream declared officially dead.

If that’s where the story ended, we’d call it a tragedy.

But it didn’t end there.
It kept going.

And what came after…the getting up, the rebuilding, the discovering what was actually true about that person…that’s the part we remember. That’s the part that mattered.

You are not at the end of your story.

You are in a chapter.
Possibly a very hard one.

But a chapter is not a conclusion.

It is not a character summary.
It is not evidence of who you are permanently.

It is just what’s happening right now.

The Gear Girls know something about this.

“Still Yours” didn’t come from a comfortable place. Ezra, Juno, and Katt didn’t write that song from the top of the mountain. They wrote it from somewhere much lower…from the moment after everything had already gone wrong.

And what they found there, in that place, was something stubborn and true.

You are still yours.

Your worst hour did not transfer ownership of your future to anyone else.
It did not revoke your power.
It did not write the ending.
It just... happened.

And now it’s behind you, trying to pretend it’s bigger than it is.

Your worst hour wants a permanent seat at the table.
It wants to narrate your next decision, your next attempt, your next relationship, your next dream.

Don’t give it the chair.

Here’s what you do instead.

You let it be what it was.

A hard hour.
A hard day.
A hard season.

Real, yes.
Painful, yes.
Something you carry with you, probably always.

But you stop asking it to define what comes next.

You look at it honestly…not to minimize it, not to pretend it didn’t happen…but to see it for exactly what it is.

One data point.
One chapter.
One moment in a much longer story that is still being written.

What drove me personally was considering:

The people who move forward are not the ones who had ‘‘easier worst hours. They’re the ones who decided that their worst hour was not the last word.

They got back up.

Not because they had more strength than you.
But because they refused to let one chapter narrate the rest.

The power is still yours.

It was always yours.
Your worst hour didn’t take it.
It just made you forget for a while.

You are not the worst thing you’ve done.
You are not the hardest season you survived.
You are not the verdict that voice inside keeps reading back to you.

You are still in the story.
Still in the fight.
Still capable of what you were capable of before it all went sideways…and probably more, because hard chapters have a way of building things in us that easy chapters never could.

One hard chapter is not the whole book.

Stop letting it narrate everything that comes after.

The power is still yours.

“Still Yours” is Track 9 on Wide Open, the new album from Gear Girls. Available July 4th on Spotify and at lifeoffiction.com.

Have a listen: STILL YOURS

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Share Life of Fiction — Jaime Buckley’s Wanted Hero Universe

_{FieldScribe’s note. I have spent my life writing down other people’s histories... kings, wars, creatures that would happily eat the lot of us. This one is mine. I am putting it where strangers can read it, which every careful instinct I own calls a mistake, and I am doing it anyway. Some things kept in a drawer help no one. What follows is a letter I wrote to my daughter, Alhannah... about her mother, and the principles two stubborn gnomes built a life on. Beneath it is a shorter one, written long before, in a hand I still cannot read all the way through without stopping. Take what’s useful. Leave the rest.
...H.L.}

My Life With Your Mother

You’d think things would become easier after I won your mother’s heart, but nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, everything got infinitely harder. No one liked the idea of me marrying your mother but my own parents. Your mother had to fight to marry me. She finally had to turn her back on everyone, including Grandma and Grandpa Gearspinner, and walk away with me.

Oh, everyone eventually came around... especially when I started winning research awards... but only because they finally saw my dedication and devotion to your brilliant mother. These experiences taught me a great deal about life, people, and what it takes to stand firm within our own lives.

Sometimes we want to yell and kick and scream at Tgii for the cruel tricks played on us. Maybe you personally need to cut off a few extra limbs from an enemy. But the point is... we need ways to vent. That’s ok. We’re not less as people because of it. It’s that little screw on the top of the old steam cooker. You have to turn it, letting the pressure out, before the whole pot explodes.

You’re a tough cookie, just like your beloved mother... but I want to share a few things with you.

Alhannah, you asked me once how I did it. You hear about the “perfect” marriage your mother and I had. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, sweetheart, but we did have principles we lived by. This began with the loving relationship we had, but when I sat down to write it out, I realized the same would apply to most relationships in life. Friendships included. So don’t think I’m trying to sway you in your life choices. I’m not. Just consider this a story about your parents... and if by some remarkable stroke of luck you can use it, feel free.

All I ask is that you put your assumptions aside, open your mind, and accept what I have to say at face value. Put it to the test and see if things don’t happen for the better.

Know Who You Are

The best thing you can do for yourself, sweetheart, is to know who you are. I know you well enough, Alhannah, to know you’re going to balk at this. Don’t. You have yet to take the time and make the effort, the true effort, to discover who you are. You’re more than you realize. This takes time, and extraordinary circumstances, to uncover and discover for yourself.

The reason I stress this so much is that it is the foundation of your existence.

Alhannah, you must know and understand your place, your heart, your mind... your very worth as a woman and a warrior. You have a tendency, a belief, that you need outside sources to confirm your value... and that’s wrong. You don’t. It’s not that it wouldn’t be wonderful, but the opinions of others can’t be the foundation of your world. Not if you want to reach your full potential. Your life has to be built on who you are... and on being a complement and a helpmate to others.

Friends, family... it’s all the same.

The most damning word I have ever heard used is “compromise.” The word is misused so often. Yes, compromise means to come to an agreement or a concession with another, so common ground can be created. But too often it is applied to principles, which should never be compromised. Knowing who you are and what you stand for allows you to live without compromising your principles while navigating the plethora of personalities you’ll encounter.

There is nothing wrong with changing your views according to new knowledge and information you receive, but you should never compromise the principles you live by. The challenge, then, is for you to truly understand what those principles are. Once you know... not believe, not have faith, but know... you are going to be pleasantly surprised at how much simpler your life becomes. When your life is based on established principles, your decisions in any given predicament are already made.

Don’t Settle

I know I’m your father, and a father’s opinions only go so far, but you need to know that you are a beautiful young lady. When I say beautiful, I mean it in every definition and possibility of the word. You are also strong, both in will and in mind. That being said, my biggest fear is that you become so anxious, so frustrated and desperate because things are not going the way you want or hope, that you make the wrong associations.

Never, never, NEVER settle when it comes to relationships. I don’t care if he’s 2’1” tall, hair black as slag oil, teeth white as snow, eyes blue as the sea, and a credit account as large as Philbert Bellows’. He could still turn out to be an egotistical, chauvinistic dirtbag without scruples or conscience. Don’t settle. It doesn’t matter if it’s a partner for a job or someone you meet through one. Associate with gnomes who are your equal.

People don’t have to be your equal in all things, and they won’t be, but friendships and long-term relationships should match your intellect, your heart, your desires, and your convictions. Everyone has value, but not everyone has the same value... it doesn’t make a person better or worse or less than you, but it could mean they are less compatible.

The key is this: if you want any relationship to last, look for those who share your values and beliefs.

Say What You Mean

You’re not one to hold your tongue, Alhannah, but that doesn’t mean you speak from the heart. This will always be a burden to you if you don’t overcome it. There are dangers to speaking your mind and to speaking your heart. Dangers, disappointments, and heartache... but you have to build a life on what can be, not on fear. Learn to say what you truly mean, so that others can understand you.

It took a long time for me to understand this with your mother. We had different definitions for the same words, which caused a lot of confusion early in our marriage. I had the same problem with Morty Teedlebaum. Making the effort to be honest and open with one another... not unkind, not blunt to the point of rudeness, but open and willing to explain our definitions... allowed us to communicate. Over time, we learned one another’s individual languages. In your mother’s case, we discovered our language of love. Mine was to show her through my actions, through gifts and attending to her needs, while she expressed her heart through her words and through being physically close to me.

By understanding this about one another, and remaining open, asking patiently and softly for clarification when confused, we grew closer every day. That’s what other people missed... it’s not that we never had disagreements or misunderstandings, but we worked everything out in a loving and respectful way. I spent more time holding her hand and cuddling, leaving her notes when she least expected them. Your mother, in turn, became ever attentive to the small details of my life... listening to my excitement over work, helping me organize my files and artifacts. It was heaven.

The same principles apply to friendships, or any relationship, both personal and professional.

The male species will never truly understand the female species unless, through patience, we work together. That’s what I learned through twenty-two years of marriage. We cannot read your minds, as much as you wish we could, nor can we discern the subtle hints you make. My counsel to you, my dear, for your sake and for the sake of those you associate with, is to say exactly what you mean, and to mean exactly what you say.

The Night Grammy Slapped Me

I’ll never forget what happened right after I proposed to your mother.

I was so excited. It hadn’t been more than a week after having my fingers bitten off that I felt the urge to ask your mother to marry me. To her, of course, it seemed awfully sudden... but for me, well, I’d been in love with her for years, waiting patiently for her to notice me.

It was a long weekend, and because I was doing so much work for the government, I was away most of the time. It didn’t make any sense to find a place to live, shelling out money for a home I didn’t use... so I still lived with papa.

It was over dinner.

Your mother was supposed to come over and eat with us, but she had an assignment to complete.

I’m sitting at the table, laughing over a silly joke your papa told... something about fungus and the underwear of a Therrin. Your grandmother comes out carrying a platter of mushrooms and beets from the garden, and I said aloud, “I proposed to Sylvia, and she said YES!”

Without warning, your grandmother’s hand whipped out and slapped me across the face.

My mother, who had rarely so much as raised her VOICE, had actually struck me.

“What did you do that for?” I asked.

“Did you ask her father’s permission?” she asked.

I looked at her curiously, and I have to say, I was utterly confused. Your papa, on the other hand, who has always been the strong role model for me, sat there in silence, eating his mushrooms. He didn’t even bother to look up at me. My mother stood over me like a volcano ready to erupt.

Not sure what to say, I replied, “Why would I do that?”

My mother proved to me that night that the national quick-draw competition had nothing on this old bird. Her hand whipped out a second time, faster than I could blink, and slapped me so hard my head spun.

“OW!” I yelled. “What was THAT for?”

Shaking her head, she said, “Höbin Luckyfeller, I certainly hope you intend to rectify this.”

My father looked up and nodded without a word. That was all I ever got from my own mother, bless her heart. But it was that night that I heard, for the very first time, the proper etiquette of family government. I had no clue it was expected of me... not out of law, but out of respect and honor for our family... to go through the proper channels and ask for your mother’s hand in marriage.

My father and I talked through the night until breakfast. He shared important rules for a gnome to live by, and I think it’s important to share them with you. My hope, Alhannah, is that you’ll use them to judge the worthiness of the gnomes around you. These are the very same rules and beliefs I live by, and the ones I built our family upon.

My father taught me that nothing should be desired more in a family than peace, love, and union. He said these are essential to happiness, and it has been my experience that he was absolutely correct. But in order to have these desirable things, my father recommended I observe the following rules... many of which you will recognize as I relate them.

RULE ONE: If I decided to be a husband and to secure a helpmate, I should find that right person, or “The One,” by BEING that one first. I needed to be a good person, able to govern myself. He said that if I could not govern myself, I certainly could not govern a family. I was to give my life in service to others, for by serving others I would develop the character worthy of a good companion.

RULE TWO: Next, I was told to use wisdom in the choice of a wife. He stressed this for a specific reason. The male species tends to look wholly at the beauty of the countenance and the splendor of the apparel, and is drawn by artful smiles and the affected modesty of females. You are not immune to this, Alhannah. You are more lovely than you realize, and gnomes see it. But, papa cautioned, all of these, without genuine virtue, are like dewdrops just before sunrise. They glitter for a moment in the sun, dazzling our eyes, and then they vanish.

Instead, he said, look for a kind and amiable disposition; for unaffected modesty; for industrious habits and sterling virtue; for honesty, integrity, truthfulness, and cleanliness of person and apparel. He said to look for skills to assist in your lives together, and for cheerfulness, patience, stability of character, and above all... the genuine ability to control and govern one’s every thought and deed.

Alhannah, can you see how perfectly your mother fit that list? She was disciplined and skilled, intelligent and wise... with a kindness and love and patience so deep I have never seen it equaled.

RULE THREE: Papa said that since I had found your mother, possessing these very qualifications, I should seek to obtain her hand lawfully and honorably, through the Council of her father.

It was only then that I realized why my mother had slapped me. I never knew it was my duty, or even respectful, to approach your grandfather and ask his permission. I’d never heard any of this. But my desire to do what was right... to formally ask to court and marry his daughter... made a HUGE difference.

Luckily, my adventures with your uncle Chuck and Dax proved to be the greatest assistance in winning your grandfather’s approval. Visiting lower Humär, I was fortunate enough to attend a betrothal ritual. Prince Molimau had been courting a local chieftain’s daughter and was preparing to ask for her hand. Chuck pointed out that the custom in the islands of the southern seas is to bestow a gift upon the father, for the young man is seeking a blessing. In this case, Prince Molimau offered twenty goats and twelve cows, which he gave to the chieftain.

When I explained to your mother my intention to speak with her father, she went home over the weekend and arranged the meeting.

I was invited to their home. We had a simple dinner, mostly in silence. Your grandfather retired to his study without a word, poring over the intricate watches and clocks of his trade. What I knew, however, was his little-known passion for the exotic races and customs of the world. It was my ace up the sleeve. It had come to my attention only weeks before, through my own father, who had heard your grandfather request a rare book on island cultures while in Boltbottom Books.

It was a lovely evening... time spent with your mother and my soon-to-be mother-in-law... but your grandfather never called me to his study. I was about to go home when your mother marched into the study and reminded your grandfather that I had come to speak with him in private. He quickly called me in.

The talk was a short one. I have to admit... I was terrified. Your grandfather was a very large man, and it’s hard not to shake in your boots when a 3’6” gnome towers over you. But I stood my ground, spoke respectfully, and asked for your mother’s hand in marriage. What your grandfather wasn’t expecting was an offering.

I didn’t have goats or cows, but I had spent the previous night hunched over the kitchen table, drawing a collection of cartoon cows. Each bovine was actively engaged in an island custom or tradition, such as a fire dance or a slap dance. Nine cows, and a sketch of a burger on a grill, all tucked into an envelope.

The reaction was unexpected. Your grandfather burst out laughing, and it grew louder with each cartoon he turned to. Before the meeting was over, he gave me his word that he would seriously consider my proposal and discuss it with your grandmother.

The very next day, during lunchtime, your mother burst into papa’s shop, screaming, “HE SAID YES... HE SAID YES... HE SAID YES!” Then she stopped herself, slapped a hand over her mouth, and whispered, “But you can’t know that. I’m supposed to bring you to my father.”

So I can witness that this rule, this law, is for good reason. And I have maintained, to this day, a wonderful relationship with your grandparents.

RULE FOUR: Papa stressed how important it is never to betray the confidence of others. There are many things an affectionate, confiding spouse, or even a friend, may wish to share with you that they would be very unwilling to have shared with others. Keep the secrets of those close to you.

RULE FIVE: Never speak of the faults of those close to you to others. In doing so, you speak against yourself. No one is perfect, so you should never speak of another’s imperfections. By doing so, you not only injure yourself in your friend’s or your spouse’s estimation, but they will come to expect that you’ll speak against them when they’re not around. This weakens their confidence in you and sows division in your relationship.

If you must tell someone of their faults, always do so in private, and always in the spirit of kindness and love.

RULE SIX: Avoid anger and a fretful, peevish disposition in your relationships. Papa said this applies especially within your own family. If you allow yourself to be overcome by a hasty spirit, using harsh words, you will sour the feelings of others against you, and most likely beget the same in return.

It was here that my father gave me the wisest counsel concerning these rules. He said to do my very best to keep the right, loving spirit within me, a gentle disposition, and to avoid finding fault with every trifling error I might see. Not just in my own life, but in my children. He said this would discourage my family, that my children would begin to think it impossible to please me. Or worse, that you would all become indifferent to me, and wish for my absence.

I hope that has never been the case.

RULE SEVEN: You should always practice impartiality, as far as circumstances allow. Let your love and your kindness abound toward all. Though it may be hard, you must use your own judgment regarding your duties to others... never swayed by feelings over principle, including your own. Don’t decide hastily on partial evidence. Weigh everything in open light, to avoid becoming unjustly prejudiced. Again, everyone has imperfections and weaknesses, each growing and learning at a different rate.

Be patient.

When your mother and I were about to be married, she called me into a side room. We were all dressed up, ready to meet the guests, ready to stand before the priest, and she said, “We need to talk.”

I’m thinking, NOW? We’re about to get married, then run off for the honeymoon... and you want to talk about something NOW?

What your mother explained to me is something I will never forget.

She expressed her devotion and dedication to who she really was, and to the principles she lived by. You see, Alhannah, your mother had two simple goals. She wanted five children. Five! It’s what she’d always wanted, but she’d had to set that dream aside because she couldn’t find The One. Her other goal was to be a mother. You’re old enough to remember how dedicated she was, how much time she spent with you and your brother. She made me promise that after our first child, I would care for the family... and she would never have to work again. The military hated me for it, and even her parents disagreed, but she didn’t care. That was her dream, and I kept my word.

It’s one of the great regrets of my life... that your mother accepted that last job from N.E.R.D.S., the one that claimed her. The one time she herself made an exception...

That’s how I met your mother, sweetheart. All the trials, and all the patience, it took to secure her love.

One last thing.

As I was preparing to write to you, I found a set of old letters your mother had written. Some were to me... some of our correspondence... but I found something else.

Next time you come to see me, I’ll give you the original.

For now, just enjoy.

My Little Dumpling,

I know you wanted to come with me this time.

I’m sorry I had to leave you behind, but I’ll be home soon.

The world isn’t always a nice place for the little people, so I promise you... after this last trip, I’ll never leave you again. I’ll be the warrior-mommy, and you can be my Dumpling.

Your job, until I get home, is to obey daddy and to protect Green.

Alhannah, I am so proud of you. You’re growing so fast, and I just know you’re going to surprise everyone and become the most amazing warrior-princess. When I get home tomorrow, we’ll dress up in our blue jumpsuits and battle the bad guys together.

Just mom and her little girl.

Love you. Always and forever,

Mommy

I love you also, Alhannah.

Please be safe.

Dad

_{That is where I’ll stop. A scholar is meant to end with a conclusion. I find I don’t have one... only the rules, the people who taught them to me, and a daughter I would trade every cybernetic and every field guide I own to keep safe. If you have someone like that... go and tell them. Now. Don’t make my mother slap you first.
...H.L.}

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This is ALL ABOUT YOU!

You get that, right?

I hope you get that. I try my darndest to tell you each week…that the reason I'm here and that I still write and share stories, games, and more, is because you matter.

You matter to me, you matter to those around you.

Keep that in mind as you watch me babbling for 20 minutes, okay?

This is YOUR fault.
…in a good way.
(wink)

Have a great day. Have an even greater week.

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *the-cool-dad* Buckley

P.S. — IF you are a writer or game designer, DO NOT MISS THIS SALE. The Advanced Worldbuilding Course is likely to be one of the best resources you'll ever have to expand your worldbuilding skills. This is the biggest discount I offer, and it's for one day only.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: With his ruthless lawyers behind him, Chuck takes control of WHRN and the Brothers Trench, giving Freak and the TNT crew just 48 hours to build a flying S.L.A.G. and rescue Dax from execution...

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Chapter 95

I looked up through my sweat-drenched hair.

It was hard to blink, trying to get the salt water out so I could see clearly, but it was no use. Sweat drizzled across my eyebrows, pooling at the bridge of my nose.

I blinked again anyway.

Even the sharpest pain had lost its effect. My body flinched from reflex now. The razor cuts burned with a fire that had diminished to a dull ache.

So…tired.

I blinked again.

Perched on a tiny stool sat a fat monk with large, round glasses. Dipping his quill pen into the inkwell, which was balanced precariously on the corner of the altar, he continued his scribbling. Pushing the glasses back up onto his bulbous nose, he muttered, “...and that’s all I know. Right then,” he looked up at Noah—who seemed preoccupied in his own anger. “I have a wizard, Dax the troll...”

“He’s...,” I sputtered under my breath, “not...a troll.”

“Right then,” scribbling, “I’ll place a footnote here to that fact. Uhhhh, here we are—a girl and you came here because you were dead and now you’re not, which was accomplished by gnome technology.” He stopped, reading the notes over again, just to make sure he got the wording correct. “Um, father Noah...I was unaware that we had the ability to bring people back from the dead.”

“We don’t,” Noah snarled.

“Ah, yes, but Mr. Dipmier just said...”

“THIS,” snapped Noah, reaching over and grabbing a fist full of the fat gnome’s hood, “is why we interrogate! To sift through the LIES!”

“You got what you wanted,” Tabbermain whispered, “Let the boy be.”

Noah released the scribe and strolled casually around the alter, side stepping the small trails of blood soaking between the cobblestone. With each step, Tabbermain and Vin withdrew…scuffling up against the wall and dragging their chains with them. The monk sneered at the aged prisoners, holding the tiny whip high. Blood dripped from the speckles of flesh trapped between the jagged grooves of the weapon.

“Would you like to take his place?” he warned.

Both gnomes cowered and shook their heads vigorously.

Noah turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. It disgusted him to be here. To look upon the human filth anchored to the alter. It disgusted him that a human was even in Clockworks, polluting his homeland. But it infuriated Noah even more that he could not break the will of this creature who the people were calling the Gnolaum.

Without warning, Noah spun around and dropped his forward knee, using his whole body to power the blow of the snake whip. Metal shards tore through black cloth and embedded deeply into my flesh. Blood splattered up Noah’s dark robe and across his cheek.

I quivered, but made little sound. There was no energy left. Something in each strike that shattered any resilience I had, or resistance to pain. My outstretched hands, held in place by the chains, spasmed against the stone, then went limp. My eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, fluttered briefly...then closed.

“Disgusting,” Noah hissed, wiping his face with the sleeve of his robe. He’d have to change now. Clean the heretic’s blood off of his person. It would not do to have the monks look upon him as anything but the most civilized of leaders. It would cast doubt in uneducated minds…to see their spiritual father doused with the blood of...he looked down at Wendell...an enemy.

Tossing the whip into the open box, Noah reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a worn handkerchief. He wiped his cheek properly.

“This will continue, until I get the information I am looking for, Mr. Dipmier.” Examining the cloth, he folded it over and used the clean side to wipe his cheek again. “Or,” he stared down sternly, “until it’s time for the offering. Either way, your visit here is about to come to an end.”

A heavy knock sounded at the door.

Noah kept his gaze upon Wendell. “Enter.”

Light from the hallway torches trickled into the chamber and a thin, wiry figure strode past the scribe and up to Father Noah.

“We may have enough,” he whispered. He glanced over uneasily at the scribe, then down at the unconscious human. “I think you should take inventory yourself, isä.”

A sly grin flashed over Noah’s face…a predator smelling the blood of wounded prey. His wide nostrils of the hawk-like nose flared, “Good.” Shoving the handkerchief back up his sleeve, he turned abruptly and strode towards the door. “I’ll give you time to consider your predicament, Mr. Dipmier,” the comment had an undertone of danger, assuring that it would be conveyed to the hero when he woke. Noah turned at the doorway and glared back at Tabbermain, though his comment was meant for Wendell. “I would advise you not to squander it. For when I return, the enchantment granted by your fellow inmates will be broken and we will allow the chains of frost to do the work they were initially created for.”

Tabbermain averted his gaze. His quivering fingers absentmindedly rubbed his wrists.

The guards filed out of the chamber after Father Noah, the flustered scribe scooping up his pen, ink and papers. Lifting the hem of his robe with one hand, supplies in the other, he dashed through the door, before it closed sharply behind.

“Ungh! These theatrics,” Noah grumbled, waving at the torches. Pulling a small chain from around his neck, he aimed the tiny device attached to the end and clicked one of its many buttons. With a whirl and click, rows of florescent bulbs flipped down from hidden compartments, flaring overhead and flooding the hallway with artificial light. Noah gave a sigh of relief. Composing himself, hands slid into the folds of his sleeves. He gave the scribe a warning glance, which kept him at a distance, escorted by the monk guard. Noah then turned back to the messenger. “Report.”

Now that the overhead lights were on, the thin gnome looked even more gaunt compared to his superior. His sharp cheekbones cast shadows across his face, and his paper thin lips were a near replica of Noah’s own. He bowed his head quickly, “Yes, isä. We have recorded your conversations as instructed. The quality of sound is quite good. Perfectly useable.”

“Footage?”

“We have taken footage at key points of your conversation, but I don’t think we have much to use. The lighting is bad, angles and you,” he hesitated, not wanting to anger Noah, “tend to move about a lot while you speak.”

The monk did not slacken his pace. “Did you get any close ups?”

“We did. A few during your more compassionate poses and the Gnol---,” he started to say, but a sharp glare from Noah gave the monk second thoughts. “...human, at his most emotional or angry. We should be able to piece enough footage together, if you feel the quality is good enough.”

The session had gone on for hours, despite Noah’s efforts to break Wendell. It wasn’t as impressive so much as frustrating. Though he’d wanted the human to reveal his secrets, Noah was more interested in causing a great deal of pain and suffering. Payment for all the injustices against the gnome race. Of all the injustices about to befall the gnome race. “Mr. Dipmier has remarkable recuperative powers.” Too remarkable for a mere human, but he didn’t make that thought known. “We will let him rest for now, see to these recordings you have made and if they fall short, well,” his devious smile returned, “we’ll have to provide the boy with another opportunity to confess.”

The group followed a turn in the hallway, then another.

“Is he a mägo then?” the messenger asked aloud.

Noah snorted. “Did you not see his performance at the WHRN station? Of course he’s a mägo, you fool.” He did nothing to hide his disgust at the word describing the grotesque magical practitioners. “And he’s had the aid of those thorns in my side.”

“We did keep the footage of Tabbermain aiding the boy, isä. Would you like that separated out? It could be used to begin a new inquiry.”

Father Noah shook his head and slowed his pace to a crawl. The guards behind them placed firm hands on the shoulders of the scribe. They stood afar off, granting privacy to their leader.

At the end of the hallway, two monks armed with guns, stood guarding the main exit…thick transparent walls and a single steel door, separating the original dungeon and the remodeled basement of the holy shrine of TGII.

“No need. The techno-clowns have nothing further we can use, now that the gate has been reactivated. The scales, dear brother, have finally been tipped in our favor.” A smile peeled back over both their thin mouths. “The Religious Faction will soon be the only faction in control…and the only faction left!”

The monk looked over Noah’s shoulder at the scribe, then whispered, “And if you cannot find where the last seal is located?”

Father Noah gave a wary glance at the armed guards ahead of them “Then no one shall find it,” he hissed, grabbing the monk’s robe and pulling him closer. Gritting his teeth, the thin black mustache quivered on his upper lip. “I will cast that human into the darkness where he belongs…to be consumed with the rest of the traitors!”

“A-as you say, Isä Noah,” the monk shuttered, “so shall it be done.”

Noah nodded and made a fluid gesture to the exit. “Now show me what your department has recorded.”

I stumbled.

Hands outstretched, I gained my balance before falling over.

My feet felt so very heavy.

No, it wasn’t that they were heavy. My muscles didn’t seem to want to work.

The smiley, its bright yellow face practically glowing on the front of my shirt, was frozen in a content expression, completely inanimate.

Weird.

The sound of crickets tickled my senses. It was something I hadn’t heard in months. You just don’t hear those sounds of nature in Clockworks City, and I hadn’t realized I’d missed the sensation. I walked to the edge of tree line and looked up.

Nothing about this area looked familiar.

The sky was clear, the moons high. I could even see the flower formation of lights on Iskäri-Käläm. Erimuri was alive and bright tonight.

My head swayed from side to side…the sheer weight of it taxing the muscles in my neck.

I noticed a glow in the distance. Walking up a little ridge, yellow lights flickered down the hillside.

A town? Village maybe? I didn’t actually care, so long as it wasn’t ablaze or deserted.

“Well, you’ll never know unless you start walking, Wendell,” I said aloud.

Shifting among the rocks, careful with my footing, I started my way down, focusing on the lights of the dwellings.

I looked down at my hands. Though they looked normal in the moonlight, my fingers felt swollen.

Sore.

Tired.

Needed to rest.

It was then that I noticed.

The mountains seemed so large and intimidating, now that I’d left the protection of the forest. Giant formations jutting up from the ground, tops covered in snow…glistening in the moonlight. The curtain of trees in front disguised the base of the mountains...like black fingers trying to claw at the sky.

An animal howled in the distance.

“Okay Wendell, we are walking,” Doubt gulped.

Good idea.

Walking fast and focused, going toWARDS the light sounded wise to me. My feet moved quickly, but I restrained myself from a full-fledged sprint. I mean, the last thing I wanted was to be noticed by a would-be predator, right?

Right. Of course.

It could be…hungry…on the hunt for human fast food.

Another howl.

I’d read an article once that intermittent sprinting was a very healthy exercise. Being healthy was a good choice…and I wanted to make good choices.

How did I get here?

“Just keep sprinting,” Doubt gulped.

I know, but…the last thing I remembered was being chained to a stone alter. If I was right, somewhere in the Church or temple of TGII.

“What does that matter right now?”

I swallowed as the third howl ripped through the silence of the night. This time it was close.

Too close.

What good was intermittently exercising, anyway? Tough guys go all out and push themselves, right?

“Yes!”

I could see the buildings better now. Fields of what looked like corn and other plants were growing tall, with barns in the distance. Lanterns ablaze outside small homes.

Shadows moved.

…and my heart skipped a beat.

“Horses,” coughed Doubt. “We’re okay.”

A dozen homes, maybe, scattered about. The rest of the landscape was fields, prairies and scattered clumps of trees.

It looked like any farm you might see back home on Earth.

Another howl.

…followed by a distant growl.

Not distant enough.

“Crap. Crap. Crap!” Doubt squealed. “You gotta R—*”

My legs took off with a life of their own.

Trying to suck in air, sweat started beading across my forehead.

Looking over my shoulder again, one of my heels landed on the edge of a flat stone. The moisture caused me to slip, throwing me off balance. I couldn’t catch myself…and tumbled forward with a grunt.

I hit the ground.

Hard.

“Argh!” I cried out. Rolling onto my back, I grabbed at my leg.

“We’re on the run and you have to go and wound your ankle?!” Doubt snapped.

The world around me seemed to hold its breath.

For several long moments I bit my lip to keep silent, trying hard to blend into the nothing that was silence.

Get Up Wendell.

“Hey,” Doubt gasped, “what is SHE doing here?”

That silence was broken by a faint hissing sound.

Scanning the ridge, there was nothing to see. Just open space at the end of the sloping hill.

Again I heard the hiss.

Get To The Houses, Wendell.

“LISTEN to her,” Doubt panicked, “Move it!”

Not knowing where to go or what to do, I ducked my head and tried to curl my body to mimic a stone. Wolves...or whatever beast was howling, was far scarier than a hissing snake.

...as long as it was a small snake.

“What are you DOING?!??” Doubt panicked. “Don’t mimic rocks…mimic a bird and FLY!”

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Ithari pulsed through bone and muscle. Already the pain in my ankle was subsiding and I could feel the warmth washing over skin.

Would it be enough?

“Let’s find OUT!”

The farms were still a ways off…much too far to make a dash with a wounded ankle.

“So what now, genius? You don’t even know where you are...or what that thing is out…”

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

It sounded like…scraping. Something large, being dragged over gravel.

Hssssss.

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Get To The Houses, Wendell. Get To The Light!

Crap. Crap. CRAP! Hands shaking, I held my breath. Of course it’s a huge snake! Why would it not be? I’m out here, in the middle of nowhere, all by myself, so why wouldn’t there be something big, nasty and dangerous to EAT MY FACE!??

“You know it won’t eat our face, right? IT’S GONNA SWALLOW US WHOLE!”

Not helping!

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

I clenched my eyes tight. Stay calm, Wendell. Keep...calm.

This is where I would probably wet myself.

If I wasn’t such a hardcore tough guy, that is.

“No worries,” Doubt whimpered, “I did it for us.”

I wanted to breathe. I needed to breathe, but fear of being found kept my mouth closed.

Skkrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

My eyes wide, they darted back and forth, searching the shadows around me without moving my head.

I’m a rock. BE a rock.

Please go away.

Please...

I’m not even chewy!

Just skin and bones….all gristle.

I regretted all those late nights watching horror movies mom never wanted in the house. Stupid teenagers screaming and dying because they wouldn’t listen to adults. I didn’t want to be an animal pop tart.

Hssssss.

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

A howl in the distance cut through the night.

Hssst.

Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt.

The movements were fast and loud.

Get To The Light, Wendell!

Please. Please. Please, I trembled. Don’t eat me. I don’t taste good. There has to be a nice fat...

Then I saw it.

Long shadows stretched out across the ground, fed by the moons light. Dark shapes…rising across my shoulder.

It was not a snake.

Tattered and worn, the creature dragged itself across the rocks and grass. The contours didn’t follow any recognizable form I knew, but one thing looked certain...the beast had been in a fight. Its skin, which hung loosely from its body, looked flayed. Both arms, back and belly were rent like fabric, long fibers hanging from the front.

What WAS that thing?

It looked like...

No! I-it couldn’t be!?

I watched it sway, slithering from my position and dragging its mass over open ground.

I’d seen that before.

I know I had.

My mind raced, hunting for clues…some memory that might help link this creature to my past.

“What does it matter!??” Doubt squealed. “Let’s get OUT of here!”

I peeked over the rocks.

I couldn’t help but stare as the shadow swayed, slithering away from my position and dragging its mass over the open ground. At the same time, curiosity didn’t take place of the gratitude I felt. My position had gone unnoticed.

Wendell, the rock, Dipmier was still alive.

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

The pain in my ankle was all but gone now…which meant I could bolt for the homes down the hillside. Or...

“Or!?!! What do you mean OR??”

I could follow the creature, discover what it was and why I had such a familiar feeling about it.

“Follow…,” Doubt choked. “Are you INSANE?!??”

Follow it. On…my own. Out in the open?

“Riiiiiight. You hit your head. I know it. Gotta be brain damage…”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the wisest choice.

“No duh.”

The creature was still moving away and would soon reach the distant edge of the forest. Once it’s out of sight, I could make a dash for the lights in the distance.

The bright sign of hope.

I wondered, then, if the people who lived there would know what I’d just seen?

Almost there.

I watched the slithering shadow carefully.

Keep going, you ugly, that’s it.

One. Two. THREE!

Pushing up to my knees, I grinned. “See ya suck...”

HSSSST!

Poised silently off to my left was another creature.

It was not a wounded animal.

It was worse.

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

I gasped for breath, unable to inhale as I stared into the hood of my nightmares.

The empty hood.

“Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.”

Wendell…RUN.

Trembling, my feet shuffled backwards. “No,” I choked, “You’re not real. You’re just,” but I couldn’t finish the statement.

Thoughts and feelings collided with such clarity…it all came to me in an instant.

YOU!

The creature swayed in front of me, reeling up like a viper. The robe of charcoal blackness.

Til-Thorin.

The dreams.

The things seeking after the shard. That’s what it was!

But…it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be! The robe didn’t exist. It had been another creature in a robe that I’d fought.

One with magic, trying to kill Lili.

Lili....

Hollow, vacant holes stared back where a face should have been. Shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, reaching out...yearning.

“Clossssser child. Let ussss end your pain.”

Like a specter, it moved slowly towards me, crawling, prowling along, pausing only to stand upright. It towered over me even while it hunched, arms outstretched, fingers…or the cloth in their place, curled inward. The words projected into my mind chilled me to the bone.

“You made your choice, boy.”

“NO!” I screamed, my senses returning.

I realized my mistake.

The robe lunged.

…but not before I arched wide, sidestepping to avoid its attack. The swipe from fleshless claws raked only air as I became a blur of motion.

Wendell…RUN!

Had to get away.

Without looking back, I spurred myself on, gulping air as I ran. There was only one place to go.

The village.

I had to warn them.

No. My brows dropped forward.

I have to protect them.

It’s time to do more. To be more. That meant accepting the mantle of the hero. I’d accepted the responsibility in front of others...even in front of the Iskari High Council…but I’d not accepted it for myself.

Evan was the real hero. I knew that now. He was the one everyone actually wanted. But they had ended up with me instead.

It was time to accept that fact once and for all.

Exerting all the strength I had, I put distance between myself and the robe. The hissing sound faded into the background of the crickets.

“If I’m not the hero,” I huffed out loud as I sprinted, “then it’s time I learn how to be one!”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

The words felt...good.

Powerful.

The village was close and I had no idea how much time I had before the robes would be upon them. Great, I frowned,…I’m leading the danger right to their doorsteps.

But I would need help.

Hero or not, I couldn’t do this alone.

Not yet.

I had to get everyone’s attention.

“Välo,” I barked, followed by, “Teho!” Light quickly gathered around me, blazing like a beacon, brightening the area. I held the image of my skin, glowing like the noonday sun in my mind.

“Uhhhh, Wendell?”

“Teho!” I shouted, again.

Light flared from the Ithari, bursting through the black fibers of my shirt.

HSSSST!

The robe, right on my heels, fell back from the light, a tattered sleeve covering the gaping opening of the hood. The creature slowed its pace to a crawl.

“HEY!” I bellowed, “WAKE UP! EVERYONE UP! YOUR VILLAGE IS UNDER ATTACK!” It wasn’t the accurate truth, but I didn’t have time to explain. “TO ARMS!” I cried, “TO ARMS! TO ARMS!!”

I didn’t stop running until I’d reached the nearest hovel. My momentum was so great, I slammed into the front with a loud bang.

“Who is it?” called a trembling voice from inside.

“My name is Wendell,” I shouted back, banging on the door with a fist. “Your village is about to be attacked by...,” but my voice cut off.

What the crud do I call those things?

I had no idea what to say, what to call these things chasing me without sounding like a complete lunatic. “Demons,” was the only word that came to mind, but I didn’t say it out loud. The villager wouldn’t likely open up hearing that. “We need to warn your village!”

But the door remained closed.

“Did you hear me?” I shouted even louder, “You’re under attack!” I looked into the front window, but drapes covered every inch.

“I heard you,” replied the voice warily, “and it is night! No torch burns that bright…which means either you be the problem...or you have magic with you. If you have magic...then it is you who be the problem!”

“What?” I gasped, “Are you serious? I’m trying to warn you! So what if I’m using magic?!” It had never occurred to me that people might not be accepting when it came to magic. I’d naturally assumed that what I’d seen over the past few months was the norm? Had I been wrong? I shook the thought from my mind. There wasn’t time. It didn’t matter right now. The robe was already at the edge of the village.

Waiting.

I turned my head slowly, the swaying motions at the edge of the light catching my attention.

Oh boy, I gulped.

The thing hissed loudly at me.

The light of Ithari dimmed.

In the gloomy distance, two more shadows converged…the faint hissing echo growing louder with each moment.

Not good.

“NOT GOOD!” Doubt concurred.

I flipped back against the door, my confidence quickly waning. I screamed frantically, “Come ON! Blast you…I’m trying to help!!”

“Then go away!” the voice yelled back, irritated. “Best thing you can do is move along…take your problems with you I say!”

Ithari’s light waned...and finally vanished from under the black cloth of my t-shirt.

“But...there’s danger,” I pleaded.

Please don’t shut me out. Please listen to me. People are going to get hurt.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” I whimpered weakly. “The creatures are...the robes...” but it was no use. My forehead rested against the wood surface of the door. “Please open up.”

“That’s why I’m in here and you’re still out there,” the voice chided, “You made your choice, boy.”

I lifted my head, my eyes fixed on the door. “What...did you say?”

“I said,” repeated the voice coolly, “You made your choice, boy!”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

My feet stumbled back from the door, hands clenching into fists.

The voice...the words...they sounded familiar.

Too familiar.

The wood of the door splintered, ripping from the hinges. Fragments flew outward, forcing me to raise an arm and protect my eyes. A heavy rancid scent of decaying meat and molding rot rolled out from the doorway…assaulting my senses.

It made the world spin and my eyes water.

Slapping a hand over my mouth, I reeled back, gagging.

In the shadows of the doorway, rising up to dwarf the height of the framework, lurked a robe. Black as midnight, tattered and frayed…

It lunged.

Spinning on my heels, I was unable to take even a step before razor claws raked across my back.

Blood sprayed from the gaping wounds.

I cried out into the darkness.

“Don’t do it…you’ll get us all in trouble!” Vin snapped. He reached out and grabbed Tabbermain’s wrist.

The gnome yanked his hand free and whipped his head about to face his friend. “Weren’t you listening? Noah already knows we helped him!”

“You helped him, not I,” Vin said sharply. “Don’t blame me for something you did.” He looked around him, wondering where the hidden cameras must be. Behind stone? Behind cobweb? “And you’re the one getting us into further trouble!”

With a deep sigh, Tabbermain’s face softened. “I’m sorry old friend. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that and it was very unkind.”

“Yes it was,” Vin pouted, folding his arms.

“Please forgive me.” Then softer, “The boy is in so much pain, can’t you help me? I don’t have the strength to do this alone. My talents are in metal and stone, not flesh and bone.” Tabbermain watched his friend huff and roll his eyes…yet Vin did not move from the straw he lay upon. “He could die if we do not lend him aid.” Poking Vin’s leg with a boney finger, “And you would be responsible for helping put the famed Gnolaum to death, plunging the hopes of the people into darkness.”

That got his attention. Vin popped up into a sitting position. “Oh no you don’t,” he grumbled, “You’re not gonna put that on my conscious!”

Tabbermain turned his head to hide the grin on his face, “A wise choice, as always.”

Vin grumbled again, realizing he’d been played. “Let’s get this over with. If we’re going to tick off the monk, we might as well do a thorough job of it.”

“That’s the spirit, you old coot!” shouted Doddle from the other side of the room.

“Oh shut up!” Vin snapped, but it only made Doddle laugh louder. “Can you reach him? My chain isn’t as long as yours...”

Tabbermain reached out for Wendell, fingers stretching for his heel. The hero lay prone across the alter, shuddering violently. The blood across his back still seeped from open wounds and every few minutes, the unconscious hero sobbed loudly.

Grunting and pulling at the chain on his own ankle, the gnome could barely touch the end of Wendell’s sneaker with a fingertip. “No,” he gasped, “he’s still too far away.”

“Here, let me try to pull him closer,” Vin said in a kinder tone.

“No,” retorted Doddle, “save your strength for the healing…you’ll have to help Tab. I’ll do it from here. I don’t have to touch the boy.”

Tabbermain and Vin nodded, scooting back into the straw.

Pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his wide nose, Doddle let his neck relax and his head fall forward, chin resting peacefully upon his chest. Raising his hands into the air, fingers spread wide, the gnome began reaching through the air...searching.

“Focus,” Tabbermain whispered, but it was more for his own benefit than to be heard, “you can do this.”

Doddle’s head tilted ever so slightly. His hips rocked forward until he was kneeling erect. Suddenly his hands stopped, fingers tense and curling inward, as if latching onto something which could not be seen.

“Push his legs out,” Vin whispered then, a smirk worming its way onto his face. “You’ve got it, Doddle. That’s it.”

Inch by painful inch, Wendell’s feet pushed out behind him. His torso lay upon the altar, with little pressure upon his legs…but he’d been kneeling for more than a day, hunched over the stone structure. His legs were stiff and numb, unwilling to so easily comply. Chains held his arms and wrists in place...but nothing bound the boy’s legs.

Doddle grunted then, his face flushing a beet red. His hands and arms trembled, muscle tight as he leaned ever forward, pushing at the invisible object.

“Almost there!” Tabbermain encouraged him.

Wendell’s knees scraped across stone, inch by inch, until, with a sudden jolt, his legs shot out behind his hips...and past the two gnomes.

“You did it!” Vin cried with glee. He grinned at Tabbermain, “The little fart actually did it!”

Doddle’s eyes rolled back into his head. Like a plank, he fell backwards into the straw. For long moments all that could be heard was his labored breathing. Wheezing and gulping, like air being forced through a straw.

“Doddle?” Vin called, “Are you alright?”

Tabbermain’s face grew pale, “Doddle! Speak to us!!”

Sitting up, the gnome adjusted his crooked glasses and blinked several times in rapid succession. “Woo,” he shook his head, “That was...,” he wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, “...intense.” Then looking over to his friends, he smiled brightly. “It worked?”

Tabbermain clapped his hands together, then rubbed them vigorously. “Perfectly.” Staring down at Wendell’s legs, he gave Vin a nod. “You ready?”

The grumpy gnome sat up on his knees and similarly clapped his hands together. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Faster and faster they rubbed their palms together. As they did, each gnome began to hum. Deep, from the base of their chests, in a single, carefully picked note. The notes added to one another. Clinging. Amplifying until the chamber was filled with a deep rumbling of power. Taking a sharp breath, they continued the perfect note...and their hands began to glow. The pink of their flesh sparkled, but not with light. Red spots appeared, like the reflective surface of a ruby, spreading across wrist and palm, working down to their fingers.

Reaching out, Tabbermain ceased the labor of friction and placed his palms under the lip of Wendell’s jeans, grasping his ankle. Vin, without a word, followed suit.

Wendell let out a gasp..his head wincing upward, only to thud back down onto the cold stone of the altar.

Both gnomes took another sharp breath and continued the solid note.

“That’s it!” giggled Doddle.

Color flooded back into Wendell’s body. The blue in his lips faded, his cheeks flushed. But that was not what the gnome stared at.

Across the hero’s back, the open wounds started to mend. Layers of torn flesh reached across the gashes, created by the arcane whip, and joined together. Tiny fibers, connecting to one another, until the wounds closed in full and pulled tight. Each slash left its mark across Wendell’s flesh…but within moments, his torso was completely healed. Even the mägoweave repaired itself, now free to do what it was enchanted to do. Gashes and tears mended themselves until at last, Wendell lay upon the altar whole.

Tabbermain and Vin ceased their chant. Their own blood now trickled down from their noses and they swayed. Tabbermain fell onto his back exhausted.

“Thank you,” he whispered aloud. “I could not have done that without you, Vin.”

“No,” Vin gasped, leaning heavily on his hands, “No you couldn’t have.”

I stirred. A faint moan escaped my lips.

Both Vin and Tabbermain moved back from my legs as I tried to right myself. Grabbing hold of the corners of the altar, I drowsily lifted my head.

“Where am...,” I moaned again, this time, much louder, “Oh.”

“How do you feel?” Doddle asked cheerfully.

Rolling my head from side to side, my neck popped several times. “Like I’ve been chopped into bits and glued back together.”

The gnome scrunched his face. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“I wouldn’t recommend trying it.” Ok, forget the glue…I felt like I’d been stepped on by a giant. My head throbbed loudly, bass drums beat like thunder in my ears. I let my forehead rest on the stone. The tiny tink sound, accompanied by the prick of a pin along my brow, reminded me of the silver circlet still wrapped around my skull. I flexed the muscles of my back, rolling my shoulder muscles. The searing pain was gone.

Completely gone.

I looked at Tabbermain, who was sitting cross-legged and wiping the blood from his nose onto the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “Did you do this? Heal me?”

The gnome shrugged.

“We both did,” grumbled Vin, sniffing, “you’re welcome.”

I felt foolish, it taking so long for the comments to make sense in my head, but it was obvious now. These were mägo. The... “Are you...techno-mägo?” I asked, curious.

Tabbermain studied my face for a moment in silence before nodding.

Suddenly I didn’t feel so alone. “Thank you,” I added, forcing a grin across my weak face. “I’m very grateful.” I looked over at Vin, who sat there, glaring. “To both of you.”

Vin huffed, but he stopped glaring.

“I helped too!” squealed Doddle, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, “Though, I don’t really know healing magic.”

“Well I thank you anyway,” I grinned, “for your part.”

Doddle beamed.

The pain in my head had grown through the night. I was finding it much harder to focus on anything for very long. Even now, my eyes blurred and I could only see the gnomes’ faces if I blinked over and over, shaking the fuzziness from my head. It was like standing in a fog, wrapped around your face. You were aware of more, but you just couldn’t see but a few inches from your face. “You wouldn’t happen to have a way to get these shackles or this crown-thingy off my head, would you?” I asked hopefully.

Tabbermain shook his head. “I don’t know much about the artifact on your head...but those chains cannot be broken by magic. Of that I know for certain.”

So much for trying. “How do you know magic can’t get me out of the chains? Maybe the person who made them left a flaw in it?” It was reaching, but I was ready to grasp at anything at this point.

Again Tabbermain shook his head. “There are no flaws in the chains.”

“But how do you,” I started to say.

“Because we made them, boy!” snapped Vin, folding his arms in finality. “We were the ones who created the chains. Together, the three of us…and they’re made to withstand any magical force or coercion. They’re made to hold mägo fast...and over time to drain their ability to focus and perform the magic itself.” The gnome lifted his own leg into the air, the single chain dangling from his ankle. “So smart we were...to make our own prison.”

I slumped backwards, as far as the shackles would allow. Wonderful. “What about the thing on my head? Can you do anything about that?”

Tabbermain stared at the ring of silver and shook his head again. “We did not create it…though we know a fair amount about it.” Pointing at my head, “It’s meant to weaken your resistance to suggestion. The longer you wear it, the easier it will become for Noah to get whatever information he’s looking for.”

“But I don’t have anything to take,” I sighed, frustrated. “Why doesn’t he understand that? It won’t matter what questions he asks…he won’t get what he wants...because I don’t have any secrets to uncover! There’s nothing for me to lie about. I came here to mix among your people and to help unite the population. Once that was done, I was going to leave.”

The gnomes fell silent. Each glanced at one another, but the bulk of their attention remained focused on me.

“What about the seal you’re looking for?” Tabbermain asked. His eyes darted around the chamber, hoping to locate the hidden eyes and ears of Father Noah. The statement was so matter of fact and unemotional, my mouth popped open.

“Uhhhh,...what?”

Tabbermain frowned. “There are two deceptions here. One is, you are lying. You are looking for the seal...of the Demoni Vankil. You know it’s here, in Clockworks, and you still look for it. You cannot leave without it…I can see that plainly in your face. The second lie is not yours, but Noah’s.”

Now it was my turn to frown. “He would probably trust me more if he believed that I was actually the Gnolaum. I understand that everyone’s talking about me like some prophet or divine being…but I’m not. I admit that! But I can prove that I’m the host of the Ithari…I am, in fact, the Gnolaum. If he allowed me to get up, I could show him the gem in my chest. Easy as can be! I’d let him examine me, the gem, whatever he needed…so there would be no doubt in his mind that I am, in fact, the real article!”

“But that is the second lie, Mr. Dipmier,” Tabbermain said calmly, though he looked visually disturbed. “Not only does Noah have exactly what he needs to carry off his plans...he has always known that you are in fact, the Gnolaum.”

The words hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer. “B-but...that doesn’t make any...”

A look of pity crept across the gnome’s face.

“That’s why you are in here.”

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Ever found yourself at a fork in the road of life and not sure which path to take?

That's where I'm at.

I am blessed.
I've achieved a great deal in my life.
I'm also very hopeful about the future.

…but I have to make some choices that conflict with my beliefs and goals.

Do I use a tool that seems to anger a huge swath of the creative community, or lean into what I've been shown, so I can continue to write freely, even if i can't draw?

I'd ask what would you do, but you're not me.

I've been drawing for 55 years.
I've clocked a minimum of 197,100 hours drawing.
I've had close to 1000 clients since 1986.
I've won awards and made a great living drawing for other people.
I've received 5 Stars from EVERY client I ever had (100% true).
I've created and sold comic books which have had well over 1 million downloads (and counting).
I've gone through hand surgeries…
I've had carpal tunnel in both hands…
I've broken my hands and fingers multiple times…
I've got arthritis.

…and I'm quickly losing my ability to draw my wonderful characters.

The characters I've lived with since 1990, and who I am committed to telling their stories to the world.

So I am searching diligently to find other ways to bring my creations to life, IF I cannot use my own hands.

Have a great day. Have an even greater week.

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *never-gives-up* Buckley

P.S. — If you’re a writer and you’re new here, check the links below. Anne from Tell Me a Mystery runs a weekly writing stream where we hang out, visit for an hour, and do writing sprints. It’s low-key and it’s good.

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