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The King of Nowhere Ch 6 Chapter 6
The dreamer felt a stirring, a wind on the windless plain, one that he had felt a hundred times before.
A fire was burning somewhere, melting away a link of chain.
He could feel it, that sweet odour of waking.
The sun was high in the dark sky -- soon it would be midday.
The dreamer stretched his heart, and prepared to rise.
* * *
They were sitting down on the cushions of the Receiving Room of the Shrine. Doctor Armar had been left to busy himself happy in the archives ("Ah, but it seems I have forgotten where exactly the original passage is..." she had said), and Doe, the Abessa and Thorn were sipping sweet wine as the sun was touching the top of the mountains.
"The cultists will most likely strike tonight," the Abessa said.
"To get it over with as soon as possible, before reinforcements arrive?" Thorn mused.
"Not only that," she replied, "but because tonight is the full moo
The King of Nowhere Ch 4-5 Chapter 4
The morning fog twisted its roots around the sparse trees that shielded the clearing, and the white sky hid the Sun. Doe crashed her way over the sticks and vines of the undergrowth, accompanied by one of Fala's boys, and paused to observe the opening on the forested slopes beneath Pepper Peak.
There was a large black stone pillar at the centre. Doe eyeballed it with malice. For something so suspiciously huge, it had been too damn difficult to find. She'd given up a few days earlier.
"Here it is, Miss Doe," said the stable-boy.
"Thank you, lad, you've been a real help," Doe fished her pockets, and flipped a shiny damascened coin to the boy.
The boy caught the bronze-and-brass striped Corobine penny. "Thanks, Miss Doe!"
"And don't call me Miss, I didn't study so I'd be Missed all the time. Now bugger off while I do some magicking."
He bounded off towards the village, laughing.
The King of Nowhere Chapter 3 Chapter 3
They sat at a low table, cushions and all, drinking tea, talking and having fun. Doe couldn't remember what particular things they were talking about. Master had just made a witty quip that had left the Good Lord and Good Lady in stitches. Doe laughed too.
It was quite good tea, she liked it.
"Do you like it?" Master asked, her grey eyes.
"Yes, I like it very much," she answered.
"It is ambrosia from the land of the dead," the Good Lady said grimly. Then she laughed.
"We get so tired of it sometimes," the Good Lord said.
"Speak for yourself," Master said, and took a gulp.
"You are not anchored, like us," the Good Lord said. "I envy you."
"We'll see," she winked, "I'm thinking of keeping my friend company."
Doe remembered the gold eyes.
"Dear, dear," the Good Lady patted the table, "my dear little disciple-of-disciple-of-disciple to the so-
The King of Nowhere 1-2Chapter 1
Doe was humming to herself, a habit that she had tried to learn to avoid, as she wound the woolen hairs into the mass of the grubby string.
The late afternoon was starting to slowly colour the mountains with shadow, though the sun was far from reddening the sky. The air was moist and a bit cold, mirroring the wet earth that was being uncovered from its cloak of white. Rivulets of water ran here and there, randomly spurred downward by the unpredictable topography of the valley, and ended up in pools of brown water or, more likely, as a trampled mush of mud patterned with hard four-toed foot-prints.
There was a single hair for each snow-fawn in the flock, a small enough number not to give the string any more girth than it had before she unwound it. The last hair in place, she tied a small metallic weight to one end, and showed it to the herder.
"Doesn't look like much, does it?" she asked.
The herder didn't bite. "Does it g
The First Rune of the KalevalaThis wish is what my mind now wills
for me to go and sing,
to spread my words oer wood and hills
this song of ours to ring,
Let hymns of kindred men then fly,
and thawd escape my lip,
they ride my tongue and on it lie
till teeth them broken chip.
My brother dear, my fairest friend,
do come with me today
and let us both these words attend
together all them say,
so seldom gather we so near
upon this lonely plain
as now entwind our paths are here
so let's not go in twain.
So join my hands, your fingers weave,
to sing the good and best,
to hear those golden words this eve
from youthling tongues be wrest,
the same old song that given was
from mouths of ancient gods
the hymns that opened up their jaws
of all those ancient lords:
up from the belt of that great sage,
of Väinämöinen old,
under the forge of the smith-mage
of Ilmarinen bold,
and from the tip of his good sword
of Lemminkäinen fast,
the path was made by his bow cord,
of Joukahainen last,
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