WISB Chapters

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) As soon as he had finished his meal James slipped out of the keep and searched for Darl. He found the old man swinging a battered wood sword near the eastern wall. A soldier, who should have been walking the walls on lookout, seemed fixed on the activity. James found the situation laughable, after all Darl looked no more fit to swing a sword in battle than he. In a wide circle where Darl stood were a series of evenly spaced torches laid out specifically for the lesson. When he approached, Darl tossed another wooden sword up at him. He grabbed at it out of instinct, managed to knock the hilt clumsily with the back of his hand, and groaned as the flat end of the blade smacked him on the crown of his head. His Fearl quivered, but to his dismay did nothing more. A feeling appeared deep in his mind and he tried to decipher it. I’m on my own here, he thought. “Expect more where that came from boy,” Darl said. He glared and picked up the blade. It was long with enough room on the handle for two hands, and when he lifted it he found it to be far heavier than expected. “First things first. Stances. There are five basic stances. Do as I do.” First Darl raised his sword so it ran parallel with the ground—left arm at the end of the hilt and right arm at the front, right foot straight back and body facing towards the blade. This he called the ox and James mimicked it as best he could. Then Darl showed him the plow—the hilt near the waste and the blade pointing at an angle upwards—the fool—the blade pointed towards the ground from the waste—and then the roof—the blade pointing back at an angle away from the shoulder. The final position Darl called the near guard, holding the hilt to the side so that the blade ran back behind him towards the ground. He attempted to mimic them all. “Pathetic, but good.” “How could it be pathetic and good at the same time?” “It’s pathetic because you have no concept of what you are doing, and it’s good because you’re at least attempting to do something you are completely incapable of doing properly. Now, again.” James repeated the five stances and again Darl insulted him. As frustration built up inside of him he pushed himself harder and harder to get the stances correct. The motions seemed to get easier, only after a while the muscles in his arms began to protest. At first he ignored it. Then the pain forced him to groan and he dropped his arms from the ox stance. “A few minutes of hard work and you fall apart. That’s wonderful.” “Get off my back Darl!” he snapped. Darl grinned wide. “You think that Luthien’s men will just get off of your back when you cannot defend yourself? Do you think his assassins will give you time to rest before killing you? No, my boy, there are no breaks in the real world. And to think you intend to use magic. Magic will suck you out from the inside. Imagine that. Now you feel physical pain, but what if your insides felt like they were boiling? Perhaps you enjoy the sensation of your brain cracking down the middle?” Darl jammed his blade into the earth and let it stand. “I get it.” James lifted the sword and started again. He tried to let his mind wander, to avoid thinking about the aches in his muscles as he continued to push them beyond their limits. He hadn’t thought about what magic could do to him. Every time he had used it, there had been side effects. Mostly blurriness in his vision, but that had been on relatively simple spells. What if I have to kill someone? What pains would I feel then? Would I even survive? He came to realize the limitations of magic, above and beyond what he had learned in the book. Magic could kill me. After what seemed like hours, Darl stopped him and let him rest. He dropped like a rock to the ground and panted heavily. His arms burned like fire and he dared not touch them for fear of making it worse. A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips. How long must I stay here before I can save Laura? How much can I possibly learn in that time? It had occurred to him that he might be in the Farthland for many months. It would take twenty days to reach Teirlin’pur, assuming he could acquire a horse and ride from dawn to dusk, and even if he could reach that far unseen, his chances of ever reaching Laura were slim at best. He had no friends in Angtholand, and the Farthland had no allies there. He would be utterly alone. Darl came to him with a large clay bowl filled with water. He thanked Darl and drank quickly, feeling the cold liquid pour through his body as if it were rejuvenating his tired muscles. The aches remained, but he sighed deeply nonetheless. Then Darl snatched up one of his arms. He protested angrily, trying with what little energy he had to get his arm back. But Darl refused to let go, instead producing a small, round wood box. Inside was an off-white cream, which Darl dug his fingers into and began to rub over the sore muscles of James’ arms. Immediate relief came to James and he resisted no more. The salve, whatever it was, had a pungent odor, yet he ignored it as the soft sensation of

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) “What’s going on Pea?” James said. A few lanterns had been lit and Pea had cast a spell on a nearby vase that made it shine brightly in the room. Screams still rained in from the streets as people argued amongst themselves as to the nature of the sudden darkness and the earthquake. “I’m not entirely sure James.” Pea’s eyes didn’t meet his. “Is this to do with me?” Then Pea looked up at him and said, “Oh, no, I don’t think so.” He didn’t believe it. There had been too much of a hesitation in Pea’s voice. No, he knew that, whether directly or indirectly, the recent events involved him. Then the confused expression on Gammon’s face reminded him that the man only knew the lies that Pea had told at the gate. “I’m not who you think I am.” Gammon looked at him, brow curled questioningly. “Go on.” “I come from, well, another world.” Gammon breathed in deep as if ready to laugh, but stopped stiff when Pea gave him a stern look. “Pea, if this is some sort of joke…” “It’s not. Triska checked him. She’s up with the High Council.” Then Gammon turned to James. James looked away for a moment, and then returned the gaze. This is going to take some getting used to, he thought. Having seen Pea and Triska give him that same look, he had come to realize that it would be a common sight. “I don’t believe it…I mean, how?” “Some sort of old magic,” Pea said. Then James interrupted. “I came here looking for my friend. She was pulled in the same way. Only she may be in the hands of Luthien.” “Are you marked?” “Yes.” Then Gammon spoke to Pea hurriedly, “He can’t stay here! He will bring Luthien down on us all.” “Luthien would have to cross the Firing Rim and travel quite some distance to get here.” “Arlin City would hear about it long before they reached edge of the valley,” James said. “Right. Not to mention, unless he plans to conquer the Farthland and use its resources, his army would starve or break apart bit by bit. We’d likely stop him before he reached Arlin, or at least stall his army long enough to move James to a safer place, and, well, without proper planning he hasn’t much chance at the moment of getting here. Not for six months or more and not with a sizeable army.” “That doesn’t stop his assassins, spies, and the like from reaching this far into the Farthland.” Gammon’s concern began to spread through to James. He hadn’t considered the other methods Luthien might have to reach him. “He won’t kill me. For whatever reason he wants me alive.” The three of them stayed silent. James thought hard, feeling the Fearl pushing at his mind in a gentle throb. It seemed to calm him just enough to clear his head. With all that had been happening, his mind had become cluttered. Everything from what he had learned from the book Pea had given him, to the previous and current events seemed to build up in a tremendous mental tower blocking his thoughts. Home slowly slid away as he became more and more aware of what he would have to do to save Laura—if he could save her. That doubt came and went within him, yet he continued to push it back, unwilling to accept that he might not bring her home. He wondered what his parents were doing in his absence, imagined them frantically trying to figure out how to get him home. Then he remembered the man he, no, his Fearl had thrown into the trees in order to protect him. He couldn’t be sure if the man had lived or not. The man’s death would have made things horrible for his parents. A knock at the door broke the silence. Pea stood and went to the door. A few moments of arguing—in which Pea seemed to give in—Pea returned to the curtained room with Darl in tow. James sighed deeply and rolled his eyes ever so slightly so that Darl would have had to concentrate to see the motion. This he did not because of Darl, but rather that the man’s presence might mean he would have to explain himself and endure another long stare of bewilderment and awe. But Darl caught him and said, “I see rudeness never fails.” “I think in this instance,” Pea started, “James has deeper intentions than rudeness.” Darl’s eyes brightened. “And what might those be?” “I’m getting tired of this,” he said. “Every one of you has given me the same look. That piercing look. It digs into me like a tick.” Then Pea showed Darl to a seat, and in one long winded sentence managed to tell a brief version of James’ story. And, as James had anticipated, Darl’s face frowned and the look centered square into him. “Surprising, isn’t it?” Gammon said. “To think that this would happen now, here.” “To think I only came to speak with Triska, and instead receive the shock of a lifetime. Darkness and people from other worlds. What next? Lyphons?” Three was a long, steady silence. James spotted Pea’s face as it turned pale as the moon had once been. Then he said, “Pea mentioned that very word earlier…” The group all eyed Pea, who seemed to fold under the pressure instantaneously, but just as the little man opened his mouth to speak the door burst wide open with a thunderous boom. Four armor clad soldiers—the same armor as Gammon, only one had a red streak of metal running on both sides of

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) Triska, now awake and alert, had prepared a breakfast of sausages, bacon, fresh berries, scrambled chicken eggs, and boiled Fidget Fowl eggs. James ate gratefully, half choking as he wolfed down a meal for two in a matter of minutes. One of the qualities he most admired about Triska in his short time of knowing her was her ability to cook; the other was her warm demeanor. He wiped his face clean as Triska began to talk. “You two head on down to Market Street,” Triska said. “Darl should be in his usual spot. Tell him I sent you.” “Should we tell him the truth?” Pea said. Triska shook her head. “No, not now at least. Here,” she stood, left the room, and returned with a small wood box with a green weave of lace embedded in the lid. “Show this to him. He’ll understand.” James took the box and thought to look inside, but decided against it when Pea gave him a look. The box was just longer than the palm of his hand, the wood old and faded, and it weighed practically nothing, putting no strain whatsoever on his wrist. Empty, he thought. “What about the High Council?” Pea mumbled amidst a mouth-full of food. Triska took in a deep breath. “I’ll go to Nora…” “That’s the head of the Healers,” Pea leaned close to James and whispered matter-of-factly. “She’ll know what to do. I’ll get tested again of course.” She frowned, but didn’t explain. From the upset look on her face James could only assume that being tested meant a situation of extreme discomfort. He thought about the times he had been given shots at the doctor’s office, or been harassed by the dentist over his lack of flossing. He could easily sympathize. The room stayed silent for a moment except for Pea who smacked his lips and chewed his way into a third helping—from a Littlekind’s perspective. James began to think of the journey he would have to take: a long arduous journey through unfamiliar terrain amongst enemies and people who would just as soon see him dead. That’s if they left me. What is the High Council going to say? Teirlin’pur must be far, dangerous, and…if Luthien is after me, why go there? And why does he want me, and Laura? These questions and thoughts circled in his mind. No answers came, just the gentle nudge of the Fearl, now a firm entity in the back of his mind that seemed to quiver in an attempt to calm him. He shared some sort of symbiotic relationship with the Fearl; that being the only way he could think to describe it. It had protected him once, and, oddly, it seemed to care—if such a thing were possible—about the things going on in his mind. “Pea, I’m trusting you to take care of him. Is that understood?” “Of course.” “Keep him out of trouble; don’t let him do anything stupid…” “It’s a little late for that. He almost got killed by a gryphon last night. Tagron to be specific. Nasty one he is too. I think of all the gryphons I’ve met he has the worst attitude.” “Just, do your best.” “I will.” With that Triska left the table and disappeared into another room. Pea stood. “Alright, now you stay right next to me. No wandering.” James stood. “I’m not a child.” Pea scoffed at that. “On this world you are.” With that Pea motioned for James to follow and together they left Triska’s home. The sun, now completely above the distant mountains, filtered through the clouds in sharp rays illuminating the other business, homes, and people who walked along the path. Light chatter filled the air giving James the sense of a city waking. He looked around as Pea guided him down to the market, hoping he might see the gryphon Tagron. The gryphon had forgiven him, or maybe not. James couldn’t be sure. Despite the violence that had ensued the day before, Tagron had given him a warning, a word of advice even. He still didn’t understand what “look to the western sunrise” meant, but he took it all to heart, every word of it. There are ways into every city, he thought. Look to the western sunrise. Those words ran through his mind over and over. Then, as the two of them were about to turn the corner onto Market Street, James said, “How do you know if a gryphon has forgiven you?” Pea turned and curled his brow, then turned back. “Tagron spoke to me this morning.” “Oh?” “He sort of forgave me for my rudeness. I think.” “Was he short spoken about it?” He nodded. “Then you’re forgiven. Consider yourself lucky. Just don’t insult him again.” “He knows about me Pea.” Pea turned again to smile. “Why do you think we keep gryphons around? They have an uncanny ability to…” He paused for a long time, rubbing his chin. James saw the concentration in the little man’s face. “Well, they just seem to know things. I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s sort of like an instinct, only based in magic somehow. Does that make sense?” “It makes as much sense as the rest of the things in this world.” “Good.” Then together they walked into the market, now bustling wildly with all manners of people as it had the night before. Business owners yelled out deals to passersby while hagglers argued with business owners over the price of an item. Some put on shows; one used a Littlekind man as a gimmick. People crowded around the scene as the tiny man bounced around. James curled his lip in

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) Inside the Healers’ shop James had the sudden feeling of calm. Something about the way the bookshelves were laid along the walls and the warm red and brown drapes that hung from the ceiling seemed to pull all the anxiety out of him. It reminded him of home, only it clearly was alien to him. Yet that thought above all the thoughts running through his mind soothed him. He followed Pea through a wall of drapes into a room covered in pillows and lit candles. The aroma of ginger replaced the cinnamon and cocoa that had overwhelmed him upon entrance. Pea motioned him to take a seat, and he did, finding a small cushioned chair nearby. Pea did the same. “Pantifilus,” a soft female said from behind a wall of brown curtains, “is that you?” “How did you know?” Pea said. “Because whenever you walk into this house it suddenly smells like ginger.” Pea snickered. A short, pudgy woman appeared through the curtains and eyed the both of them warmly. The top of her head barely met with James’ chin. She wore a thick brown dress that fell all the way to her feet and her face beamed bright and wide. “Pantifilus, you old fool. What brings you back here? Those pixies didn’t hit you with another spell did they?” “No midnight wanderings for me this time Triska. I was fortunate and unfortunate to not find any.” Triska nodded. “And who is your guest?” “I’m James.” He stepped forward to shake the woman’s hand. She took his hand graciously, bowed her head, and shook gently. He nodded back, remembering Pea’s recitation of etiquette early that day. “I found him not too far off from the Old Oak.” Triska looked between them. “He’s why you’ve come then?” “Yes. I think he’s either lost his mind or never had it to begin with. You should hear his story. It’s quite charming.” Pea grinned a wide, sarcastic grin at James. James frowned back and then looked at Triska, who now eyed him with further enthusiasm. James looked away a moment as Triska peered at him. Then he told her what he had told Pea—plain and simple. She only looked at him, for that he was thankful. Pea had simply laughed uncontrollably. At least in this instance he sensed that someone at least considered his story, if only for a brief moment. “That’s an interesting story.” “It’s the truth.” Pea broke in and said, “Well, do you think you can fix it?” “No problem at all. I’ve treated worse insanities.” “What happens if what I’m telling is the truth?” He said that with a hint of bitterness. I’m not insane. Triska smirked. “Then the tables turn and I get a full dose of reality. Healers can only fix, not mess things up. But there hasn’t been a person here from another world in as long as my ancestors could remember. Shall we begin?” James nodded. “Good, now sit down and relax.” As he did, Triska slipped out of the room and produced a small cup of a steaming liquid. A familiar scent lifted his spirits—jasmine. Triska handed him the cup. “Drink this. It will help you relax. Just a mild concoction of my own. Herbs and the like.” He took a sip, swished the liquid in his mouth, and nearby choked at the sudden rush of flavor that sent every taste bud yearning for more. Then he gulped the rest down, ignoring the slight burning sensation that followed. Warmth filled every inch of his body, powerful and intoxicating warmth. “Good. Relax and close your eyes.” James felt two warm hands slide to the sides of his head. They were comforting, worn hands. Then a burst of light filled his vision, despite his eyes being closed. More lights came and he had the feeling that something lurked in the back of his mind, wandering aimlessly along the imaginary paths that connected everything there. Images of his childhood came and went, then of his parents and Woodton. It seemed as if his entire life were passing by at the speed of light, so fast he hadn’t the time to dwell on any one thing. Then a burst of red flashed into his vision, followed by a roar—the same roar that had come from the satin bag. The sound ripped through his mind and attacked the entity that had brought about all the images. Darkness covered his vision. Then the darkness lit up with the presence of the same inhuman eye. A bellowing scream forced James to open his eyes. He couldn’t take the sounds any longer. The rush back to reality, or to James that was how it seemed, gave him a long bout of dizziness. When it settled he noticed Triska laying a few feet away panting loudly with Pea by her side in a vein attempt to comfort her. Both looked at him in fear. Droplets of sweat fell from Triska’s forehead. “What is it?” Pea said. “The eye! He’s been marked by the eye!” Pea broke away from Triska and raised his hand violently. A burst of energy hit James in the chest and he found himself suspended in the air with legs and arms drawn in four opposing directions. He struggled to break free. “You’re a spy from Angtholand!” “No!” “Don’t lie to me. Triska is no fool. You’ve been marked!” “I only saw it through the satin bag. The eye took my friend!” Pea started to speak but was abruptly cut off by Triska. “He’s not lying Pea. He’s not lying. Everything he’s said is the truth.” “What? How is that possible?” “He came through a satin bag. Very

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) James found shade under a massive tree—a thick, walnut shaped thing with branches running like vines in and out of themselves. He sat there in awe. Angtholand, wide and magnificent, stretched for miles in every direction, seemingly untouched by human hands except where he had seen a city. Pure, he thought. He could just imagine what the people back home would do to a place of such beauty. Destroy it. A short spurt of nausea dropped into the pit of his stomach. Traveling through the portal, tunnel, or whatever it was had left his insides feeling out of place, as if they had been turned upside down, rolled around, and then flipped suddenly to their original position. He likened it to the feeling he sometimes got on the ocean bobbing up and down in the never-ending waves. James felt horribly alone, and rightly so. He had nobody to turn to on Angtholand, no friends or family, and no allies. It had been far too long since someone had passed through the satin bag for there to be allies. He needed them the most, that he knew; friends he could deal with later. He looked towards the city again. It was obvious now that people lived there as he could see small plumes of smoke rising up the face of the connected towers, and if he squinted there were people walking along the stone bridge between the towers and the tops of the walls that encased the city. He guessed that the city sat only a mile or two away, which he found fortunate. Every other identifying feature that he could see—the mountains, lakes, and rivers—were many miles distant from where he had landed. Only one river came close to the city, but that added distance to the journey he would have to make. A city also meant the greatest chance of him finding out where Laura had been taken. James found his bag, swung it over his shoulder, and started to walk through the pasture, taking care to stay in the shorter grasses. He didn’t know what sort of creatures lived there, nor if they were dangerous. The terrain was easy, the ground smooth with few rocks to hinder his movement. Tall grasses and little green flowers that stuck up like sore thumbs among the tans and golden browns filled his vision. Hidden deeper in the grass were little blue plants tinged with purple lines. A few birds fluttered away from him, flapping their golden and crimson colored wings hurriedly. A perfectly pristine landscape in his eyes. No place in Woodton could match the beauty before him. Yet he missed home and the comfort of a familiar terrain. Something scurried around in the grass nearby and drew his attention with a giggle—childish and bubbly. When he turned towards it, another giggle rang behind him, and then a moment later as he turned again, at his side. James felt no fear, only a sense of curiosity that pushed deep and hard at his instincts. He took a few more steps and heard the giggle sound again, this time in front, followed by a sudden burst of movement in a tall batch of grass as if a faint wind touched them. To his surprise a tiny leg appeared through the brush, covered in an emerald fabric. On the foot was a large black shoe. Another leg appeared and the creature scurried out enough to show its behind. James marveled at the size of the two legs. They were less than a foot tall, as thin as two pencils lying side-by-side, and completely clothed in the tiniest pair of pants that he had ever seen. Then the creature came out completely from the brush, dragging behind it a suitcase proportional to its size. James looked down at the barely two foot tall man-like being that stood before him. The beard gave James the only identifying marker that it was male. The little man seemed to ignore him as he unraveled his red cloak and allowed it to fall over his emerald pants and shoes. Then he brushed himself off and looked James straight in the eye. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to stare at people?” the man said. His voice had a strange accent that James had never heard before—almost as if it were European or British. “I-I.” James tried to speak but couldn’t think of anything good to say. He’d heard of dwarves, even seen them on television, but never had he heard of such a tiny person in his life. The man stood there a moment, staring up at James. His little green eyes, scruffy brown beard that traveled up the sides of his face in long sideburns that collided with two pointed and furry ears, bushy eyebrows, and light tan skin were so foreign to James. Even the little hat on top of his head seemed out of place. “Well,” the man said, breaking the silence angrily, “should I say hello first and introduce myself or were you planning on showing me the courtesy of interest?” James stuttered again, before saying timidly, “I’m James.” The little man smiled warmly and gently bowed, pulling his hat off and swinging it to the side delicately. “I am Pantifilus the Great. You may also call me Pantifilus the Wise, or for conversational purposes you can simply call me Pea.” “Pea?” “Yes. P-E-A. Stands for Pantifilus the Extraordinarily Abnormal.” Pea stood straight. “I might have you know that when a man bows to you it is quite rude not to bow back.” “Oh, I’m sorry.” James bowed quickly to Pea. “Where are you from that you would not know that

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) James sat up. He took a moment to let the dizziness and throbbing pain fade away and then slowly stood. With one hand he rubbed his eyes and with the other he felt the large knot that had made its home in the back of his head—hard and round. “Dinner’s ready,” his mother called from the other room. A few hours had passed since his parents had had their argument, or ‘serious discussion’ as he liked to call it. He had spent the time watching the ceiling. It had occurred to him that he had no choice but to question them. The fact that he had overheard things he wasn’t even supposed to know might lend him the leverage he needed to get the rest out of them. The Council, whoever they were, wouldn’t allow his parents to leave because of what they knew, and he doubted that he would be given any different treatment. He wondered how many people in the town had seen the inside of the Manor. Either the people who had were keeping silent, perhaps ordered to do so by the Council, or few people really knew what was in there. James had never paid much attention to who came and left Woodton, but now as he thought about it he realized that not many came and not many went. James stretched his arms delicately. He still felt lightheaded and didn’t wish to strain himself. Then the cloth caught his attention, the same cloth from the Manor. He looked with disbelief. He had forgotten all about it. Yet, it wasn’t just the sight of the cloth that truly suspended him in disbelief. The cloth was clean. There were no bloodstains or marks. It looked brand new. And his arm felt fine. He plucked at the knot in an attempt to get it off. When it didn’t work he opened a nearby desk drawer and produced a pocketknife. He flicked the blade out, but the instant the blade touched the cloth it tightened like a snake. The knife fell from his hand and he clasped at the cloth as it began to cut the circulation off. A moment later and the cloth loosened and resumed its original tightness. The design of Saint Brendan’s Cross shimmered. James swallowed hard. His heart thumped as fast as a mouse in his chest. This is insane, he thought. What is going on? I’m losing my mind. The thought was absurd; he knew that. He was far too logical to succumb to insanity. Regardless, something about the last day and a half made him feel like he really was going crazy. The only bit of sanity he could grab onto sat in whatever it was that his parents knew. Angtholand. “Oh dear! You didn’t have to get up. Dinner in bed.” James’ mother came into the room carrying a tray. Sitting in it were a glass of water, a bowl of pudding, and some sort of mushy looking soup that resembled rotten fruit. James nodded softly and sat down. He hated soup, a product of his inability to eat it properly. His mother would say “don’t slurp” or “close your mouth when you swallow” any time so much as a drop of the stuff escaped his lips. If he could help it he avoided the stuff. “Besides,” she continued, “you should be resting. Understand?” She set the tray down on the bed then pointed. “What is that on your arm?” “It won’t come off,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Did you get it from the Manor?” He looked her in the eye to tell her yes. She understood and took hold of the cloth and tried to untie it. “I tried that. It just…” As if on queue the cloth squeezed hard on his arm. He groaned and she let go. James looked into her eyes. She didn’t look at all surprised, but he could see through her attempts to look oblivious. “You can’t take things like that. It’s stealing and I won’t raise a thief. And why did you have to tie the knot so tight!” “Laura tied it.” “Yes, well Laura will be getting a talking to by her mother I imagine. Now eat your soup and I’ll get some scissors.” She scurried out of the room. James sat down and poked at the steaming bowl of goo. He wasn’t sure what to call it. It looked strangely like a yellow clam chowder, but there were chunks of chicken in it. Peas too. He gave up trying to guess and took a bite. It didn’t taste half-bad and he took another before sipping some water. His mother came in a moment later brandishing a massive pair of scissors that looked more like sheers than conventional scissors. If she had been someone other than his mother James would have been frightened by her stance. She stood like a murderer in a movie, shadow tracing along the ground in a long line as light poured in over her shoulders. She walked over to his bed and sat down. Taking the scissors she tried to work the pointed edge under the cloth on his arm. The cloth tightened violently, pushing the point of the scissors into the muscle. He yelped in pain as a small trickle of blood escaped from under the blade. She retracted the scissors in a knee-jerk reaction. “Mom, you can stop hiding whatever it is you’re hiding,” he said. She looked at him, brow curled confusedly. “I overheard you and Dad.” Her face contorted to that of fear. “I’ve seen an eye,” he emphasized ‘an’ because he couldn’t be sure if it were the same eye