Sworded Tales

Mireya del Castillo didn’t mind the term privateer but she was a pirate at heart.  The sole daughter to a brood of children, she inherited the composite female beauty of the family line and the fiery spirit to match.

The del Castillos heralded from a long line of marine merchants, specializing in materials and sculpture designed for ship craft.  Mireya was a talented shipwright that spent the great majority of her life upon the seas.  Her evolution from craftsman to artisan and sailor to pirate came to pass despite her father’s best attempts to steer her clear of such a perilous life.

Such was not to be her fate.  The sea flowed in her veins. Continue reading

Sixty-seven years earlier…

Sail duels were not uncommon.  With a great majority of islanders skilled at navigating the air currents between land masses, mid-air battles were a natural evolution.  Song and legend recount some glorious air engagements where blood rain painted the skies for days at a time.  This particular duel was personal though.  Two single combatants settling a challenge issued in honorable form. Continue reading

Merinde sat swaddled in her cloak, cross-legged before the fire.  The warm stew bowl was cupped in her hands and contentment resonated from her.  Gerard and Anibel watched her, sharing glances at the evolution of noises coming from their third.

Gerard was sitting as well, propped against a rock with one leg pulled up towards him.  “The basic needs are never truly appreciated, unless they have been absent.  I’m pleased that the stores here were intact.”

“Mmm, what did you call it?” Merinde asked.

“Rockaway Chimney.” Continue reading

A greenhouse wasn’t someplace Lydia associated with murder.  The toasty temperatures.  The fragrant breezes.  The rainbow hues and aisles of natural wonder.  Those were elements of serenity and reflection that engendered a holy atmosphere.  Muted library conversations and dappled sunshine were not cohesive with blood splatters and screams.

She was squatted down over a bed of dahlias envisioning the vibrant starbursts erupting in her own flower boxes.  A splash of liquid on the plastic wall behind her pierced through the sedate hum of the circulating fans.  They weren’t calling for rain, and Lydia turned expecting to see a worker wielding a hose in the next house.

Her mind had difficulty registering the bright crimson runnels on the plastic sheeting. Continue reading

At the flaming burst of fire on the field of battle, Thorum got a bit skittish.  “Right.  Well, no sense in keeping you folks,” he said, backing away from Erellia’s blaze, “I’ll just be heading back to check on the morale of the troops and all.  There’re some matters that, uh, need attending.”

The armored man then turned and made quick work of the distance between the camp and the settlement as best he was able with his limp.

Kurn held his place as Zulian approached, coldly confident in the face of her supposed ire and bravado.  Had to admire her spunk, though.  He didn’t hide his appraising glance of her as she approached but experience kept him tactically aware of her shoulders and her hips — he noted she was not tensing to attack. Continue reading

Another screech of metal.  This one the Nix grating along the top of the Cherokee.  It crunched into the rear door, still open for unpacking the supplies inside.  Screams from the house.  Horror but not terror, but I knew those would switch if my wife made it onto the porch.

Amber sucked in air beneath me, sobbing and doe-eyed.  We rolled to the side and I hauled her up, guiding her toward the porch.  “The house, walk, do not run.” Continue reading

Constable Tormarin was the rigid sort.  Rural life and a disfiguring birthmark upon her face drove her to develop a stunning physique and penchant for swordplay.  A strength of character evolved from staring folks in the eye, daring them to comment on her appearance.  Folded into this iron will was a sense of integrity that was outshone by few.  When her charismatic power blossomed and men were drawn to her, she found none that were worthy of her attention.

Continue reading

The launch pulled the horror from Jorey’s face.  She turned her attention skyward and reveled in the rush of air.  Sputter shrieked in delight next to her, but she heard none of it.  She was a flier at heart, a soarer, and when she was aloft, the entirety of the world was hers.

She released Sputter and the youngster flapped open his sails and spiraled into lazy loops.  Jorey rode higher on the cannon’s push and opened her own sails at the apex of her ascent.  She drifted in that moment of perfection, her eyes finding Sputter and picking out Gorm’s big frame further ahead on the drift. Continue reading

The tension between the two women crossed the barrier between physical and spiritual.  Words boiled between them and an eruption was imminent.

Gerard’s contented whistling brought both women up short.  They turned and watched the ranger performing his routine camp ritual, adding fuel to the fire and shaving a few root vegetables he had procured along the way into a small pot.  His smile as he went about his work was laced with a simple purity that diffused the arrogant spike of conflict hanging between them.

Both women saw it and felt it. Continue reading

Farrin pulled himself up with one hand, yanked the other free and slapped Horil.  Her head rocked back and a face of rage returned in its place.

“Have you lost your mind?” she said, spittle flying in addition to the blood, “I ought to just drop y–”  The thought died on her lips.

Farrin’s gaze dared her to find a flaw in his action.  She could not. Continue reading