WritingMadeHard

For those of you who don't remember Gene Autry, his signature song was "Back in the Saddle." I'm back to working on my books back to going to writing group meetings, and back to blogging. My daughter has moved from New Orleans to Dallas and I'm working on a book that takes place in New Orleans. Also for those who don't remember Gene was the first person to record Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, he was a famous cowboy movie star, radio personality, singer and the first star to make a movie serial.

Below is an excerpt from my current release, The Last Guardian available now from the publisher at www.Mundania.com and from Amazon and B&N.com and elsewhere.


Pooser rattled the old bones and dragon’s teeth in his skin pouch and cast them out onto the fine, gray sand. There was something in the air tonight besides the sulfurous fumes of the acid seas. He might not be much of a sorcerer, but he could read the signs as well as the next man. Change was in the wind.
A break in the roiling black clouds allowed the light from two of Charon’s four moons to filter down dimly through the wavering fumes, illuminating Pooser’s cast like a spotlight. Another omen, he thought, wiping tears from his eyes to get a better look at the harbingers. The bones had scattered about encouragingly, but the teeth were clumped together in an ominous pattern. Thrice he’d cast the harbingers and thrice they’d aligned themselves in a manner suggesting both hope and dread. Exactly what was about to happen, the harbingers would not reveal. But it was something important, of that Pooser was certain.
He stared at the dragon’s teeth, thinking. If only he were older, more experienced, he would be better prepared to recognize the event when it came and turn it to his advantage. The lay of the bones clearly indicated a prize of immense value, but the teeth foretold calamity for the seeker of the prize and perhaps for the entire planet as well. It could go either way. Make the right choices, take the appropriate steps and bounty beyond imagining could be his; guess wrong and he, a mere lad of eleven years, could doom his world.
A hundred yards inland, coal fires flickered in the street lamps, revelers romped in the alleys, and laughter filled the foul air. A little nearer, where the dirt streets turned to sand, derelicts and drifters, sleeping uneasily in culverts, ditches, and under wooden sidewalks, kicked and coughed the caustic fog from their burning lungs.
Down on the beach, a slimy black sea lapped hungrily at the sand, its acrid fumes swirling through twin shafts of moonlight. Like two spotlights, the shafts converged on a small, emaciated boy dressed in drab rags and sitting on his knees in the patch of light that created multiple shadows like a three-dimensional movie viewed without glasses.
The boy picked a small bone from the beach, meticulously brushed each clinging grain of sand from its surface, then dropped it into his pouch and reached for another. Suddenly, a bare foot stabbed into the circle of light. It covered the bones. In the moonlight the foot almost looked blue.
“Who are you?” a female voice demanded. “What place is this?”
“I am Pooser,” the boy said, slapping his hand at the foot, “Sorcerer Supreme of all Charon. If you don’t remove your foot from my harbingers, I’ll turn you into a fish!”
“What a pitiful little city,” the woman said. She tramped the ancient bones deep into the sand as she strode away. “No wonder I’ve never heard of it.”
Pooser quickly dug out a bone. Carefully, he brushed away the sand and examined it for damage. It was unbroken, thank the gods. These harbingers had been handed down from sorcerer to apprentice for hundreds of generations and were irreplaceable. If she had broken it he’d… Well, he’d wish there had been time to learn more from his father before he’d gone away with the Warlord’s troops. If only the Sorcerer had resisted, Pooser thought, they could never have forced him to go. But he had not. Now Pooser was alone, a sorcerer’s son with just a smattering of instruction, and three or four ill-practiced spells under his belt. He was on his own with only his bravado and a bag of tricks to keep him going. He’d cast the harbingers daily hoping they would foretell the return of his father, but he was too subjective to be any good at it. At first he let wishful thinking creep in and saw his father’s homecoming in every cast. Finally he’d given up hope. Since then he’d seen nothing but bones and teeth in the casts…until today.
He put the remaining harbingers into the pouch where his father had kept them and packed the pouch into the bag where he kept everything else. It was getting late and Pooser had yet to find sanctuary for the night. The youth stood, slung his seemingly- empty bag over a shoulder and started walking toward the city. Abruptly, he stopped. His body shuddered as he felt a sudden chill, and a momentary uneasiness came over him. Involuntarily, he placed his free hand at the back of his neck where the hairs were beginning to bristle.
“Little boy,” called a female voice. “Oh, little boy!”
Pooser turned and saw a strangely garbed woman standing in the circles of moonlight where he had been only moments before. He stood as tall as he could saying, “I am Pooser, Sorcerer Supreme of all Charon. Demean me at great risk!”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, approaching the boy. “I meant no disrespect. I wonder if you might help me?”
Pooser studied the female carefully. She was dark-haired and fair-skinned, only a few years older than he was. Her costume, probably some sort of uniform, was of a single piece that covered her from chin to sole and glinted in the moonlight. The lad had never seen a woman so tall or so fair. Sailors told tales of such women in far off lands, but only from his father had he heard of the cloth that shines in the light and the magical people who wore it. He thought of the harbingers’ forecast and decided the woman was surely a part of the predicted event. But would helping her be a step toward glory or toward doom?
“Who are you?” he finally asked.
“My name is Jane Potter. I’m from Fairbanks, Alaska. I’m not sure how I got here; the Gates were supposed to be locked. I’m not even sure where I am, but I’m looking for someone. She must have come this way or I wouldn’t be here.”
The woman smiled then, and Pooser was convinced. Though much of what she said was gibberish, her smile was as magical as her clothing.
“What does this woman look like?” he asked, relaxing a little.
“Oh, she’s quite beautiful, in a cheap sort of way. She’s very tall with long, silver hair that shines in the light like my jumpsuit. Her eyes are silvery, too. She has high cheekbones, full lips, a wonderful complexion, and a body like a brick…well, let’s just say she’s built pretty good. But the thing you probably would have noticed is that her clothing only covers one side of her body; she’s naked on the other side. And she’s blue.”
Pooser dropped his sack to the sand. “Did you say blue?”
“Yes.” Jane smiled again. “Have you seen her?”
The boy locked his fingers behind his back and stared down at his bare toes. “I saw a foot,” he said. “It looked blue. I thought it was a trick of the light.” He should have noticed the blue woman! How could he ever become a real sorcerer if he didn’t pay attention to what was going on around him?
“Do you know which way she went?”
“She went to the city,” Pooser said, nodding inland. He continued to watch his feet.
Jane glanced over at the small clump of low buildings. Lights shone in perhaps a half-dozen windows and a few street lamps flickered dimly.
“Thank you,” she said. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find her.”
Pooser contemplated his predicament as Jane walked toward the city. Did he have the right to meddle in this affair when his actions could destroy the world? Was even a great prize worth such risk? On the other hand, what had the world done for him? If it was destroyed, and he with it, it would end his loneliness. Besides, maybe Charon would be destroyed if he did nothing. Fate had shown him the possibilities; fate would have to take the responsibility.
He picked up his bag, slung it over a shoulder and ran after the woman. “Lady Janepotter of Fairbanksalaska!” he called.
Jane turned and waited for him. “What is it, Pooser?”
“A lady alone is not safe in the city,” he told her. “Especially not after dark. I offer you the protection of the Sorcerer Supreme.”
“I appreciate the offer,” she said. “But it must be getting late here. You really should go on home.”
The boy shook his head. “I have no home, Lady Janepotter of Fairbanksalaska. The bones told me of your coming and the dragon’s teeth predicted great danger. I will see you safely to your journey’s end and be rewarded fairly.”
Jane suddenly realized that she knew nothing of this world she’d literally stumbled into. She had hoped to just grab Lyssa by the hand, or the hair, and drag her back to the Main Gate. That was no longer possible. The gateway she had used must have dissolved away all ready, for her token gave no indication of its presence, or of any Gate anywhere, for that matter. Even if she found the Princess right away, she had no idea how to get back to Sunny and the others. Perhaps she could use an ally, even if he were only a little boy.
“Very well.” She smiled that wonderful smile again, took his free hand in hers, and together they walked toward the city. “But forget all that other stuff and just call me Jane, okay?”
Within a few minutes they were on the boardwalks. The noxious fumes began to dissipate as they moved away from the sea. Jane found the term “city” to be an exaggeration. The few dozen buildings they walked passed on the outskirts of town were single story dwellings of unpainted wood, that had turned black from exposure to the acidic air. Most of them were accompanied by small out houses that Jane recognized all too well as a testament to inadequate plumbing.
Here and there homeless people slept in piles of leaves wedged up against a building or in some other small, makeshift shelter. One old man, bearded and dirty, sat leaning against a street lamp snoring loudly, an empty clay jug in his hand. His stained, brown coat was too big Jane noticed, and his pants were too short.
What have I gotten myself into this time, she wondered and chuckled; it was a lot like home.
As they neared the center of town, the people in the streets were more animated. Some stood talking in small groups under streetlights, others strolled two by two or stood whispering in the shadows. All of them noticed Jane. They were small people. Even the tallest men were shorter than Jane and slight of build. Most of them stopped talking and gawked at her, but a few of them approached her, their eyes traveling up and down her body with obvious interest. Soon she and the boy were nearly surrounded by a small knot of leering men with dark hair and leathery skin.
The boy led her quickly through an open doorway into what appeared to be a local drinking establishment. Smoky, coal-fired lamps gave the place a murky atmosphere, but didn’t seem to dampen the festive spirits of the patrons, some of whom sat at wooden tables swigging a dark, putrid brew and playing games. Others danced to the terrible music produced by a man who played one instrument with his feet, another with his hands and a third with his mouth.
Five or six of the admirers Jane had attracted outside followed her in, Pooser noted nervously, and again everyone was looking at the tall stranger. “We seek a female with blue skin,” the youth shouted, “have any of you seen her?”
“Aye, lad, that we have,” answered a nearby merchant seaman with brew stains on his red and yellow tunic. “Half of her, at least.” The crowd laughed heartily, the sailor grinned and pressed closer to Jane. “Friend of yours, is she?” He took hold of Jane’s arms, pulled her to him and looked up at her face. “I might be persuaded to take you to her if offered the proper incentive.”
Pooser reached into his bag and a hush fell over the crowd. “I warn you, pirate dog! This female is under my protection,” he spoke with sinister conviction.
The sailor turned to look at the boy, but did not release Jane. “And who might you be to protect such a prize as this? She will bring near as much in the markets of Madacar as the blue one, I’ll wager. And I’ll not be put off by a ragged whelp.”
A few of the sailor’s friends shouted encouragement—those who did not know Pooser. Most of the locals, however, backed away, both from Pooser and the sailor. Some hurried out of the establishment altogether.
Pooser withdrew from his bag an instrument that looked like an old Thompson submachine gun and said, “I am Pooser, Sorcerer Supreme of all Charon. Unhand the female or suffer the agonies of the damned!”
“A mighty bark from such a pup.” The sailor and his friends laughed heartily. Pooser raised his weapon and the ignorant sailors stopped laughing as everyone else dove for cover.
“I’d believe him if I were you,” Jane told the sailor. “Everyone else seems to.”
The sailor released one of her arms and glanced about the room at the patrons. Most of them were hiding under tables or chairs. One was crawling out the door on his belly, another crouched in a corner of the room holding his hands over his eyes.
“Perhaps I’ve been a wee bit rash,” he said, nodding at a friend.
He smiled at Pooser, the friend hurled a mug at the boy, and Pooser cut loose with the Tommy gun. Bullets and shell casings sprayed the room. Glass lamps and clay jugs exploded. Walls, tables and chairs splintered. Thunder, wood chips and gun smoke filled the air. Grown men cowered, screamed and cried for mercy. Pooser stumbled into a table and fell to the floor and the Tommy gun chewed holes in the ceiling until its clip was spent.
When Pooser finally got back on his feet, only he and Jane were left in the hall. She said something, but his ears were ringing so loudly he couldn’t hear her. He put the weapon back into his sack, slung the sack over his shoulder, took Jane by the hand and led her back out onto the street. Again everyone watched them, but this time no leering admirers approached.
Pooser and Jane searched the other saloons without incident and without finding the blue girl. “It is no use,” Pooser said. “She has been sold to the traders. We will have to go to the docks and barter for her.”
“What kind of place is this?” Jane asked as they walked the now-deserted streets. “Women are bought and sold like cattle and little boys carry machine guns. Where did you get that thing, anyway? It couldn’t have been in your sack all the time. It isn’t big enough. And where is it now? I saw you put it in there, but the sack looks as empty as it did before.”
Pooser smiled. “This is no ordinary sack,” he said. “My father is the Sorcerer Supreme. This is his magic sack, his bag of tricks. I’m taking care of it for him.” He hefted the bag. “It is empty most of the time, but it often contains something useful. Here, I’ll show you.” He stopped walking, unslung his bag and let her peer into it. There was nothing inside—just an eerie blackness at the bottom.
“Hungry?” he asked. Jane nodded. Pooser reached into the blackness and pulled out a yellow, pear-like fruit. He handed her the fruit, got another for himself, and hefted the bag back over his shoulder.
“That’s amazing!” Jane told him.
“Of course,” he replied. “It’s magic.”
Dawn was lighting the sky as they turned toward the docks. Suddenly, two men jumped out of the shadows from between two buildings. Pooser and Jane never knew what hit them.