Fiction By Jessica

Index

2005-09-21T00:36:00.000-07:00

Herein lieth the fiction which Jessica Menn wrote. Works of literary greatness they may not be, yet she has still seen fit to post them on ye olde internet, for what fell purposes we have yet to discover. Enjoy them, or hate them, or ignore them. Here they be...

The Novel

Tapestry Of Power

The Short Stories

Any Wish Way

Courageous Commander Burns and the Lilliputian Afreet

My Lady Eibhilin

For A Kiss From You

It Makes Me Wonder

Any Wish Way

2005-09-21T00:34:00.000-07:00

HARTSBURGH--Police discovered the body of Agnes McKinon after neighbors reported not seeing her for several days. The 78 year-old woman was dead nearly a week before being discovered, and the amount of decomposition has made it difficult to determine the cause of death; although, heart failure is suspected.
The rich widow has no relatives and left no will. Her estate, which totals nearly $11 million will go to the state.

And that was that. Oh, some people read about her--after they read about the latest basketball games and glanced over the gossip of the newest Hollywood pretty-faces. Perhaps they were even troubled to read the news--to worry briefly about the gang influx or ponder who was behind the recent string of bank robberies--and, after scanning all the main stories their attention perhaps turned to the smaller news items in the back.

More than a few people talked about her vast amount of wealth and how it had been wasted on an old (though remarkably well preserved) woman, but nobody really cared that she’d died. Just as nobody had cared that she’d lived. Nobody knew anything about her. Nobody remembered the woman of twenty-five who had gained sudden wealth overnight, who had left her first husband just as suddenly and run off with one of the many suitors who turned up in the days following, who had spent her time among the entertainment elite and was featured on the covers of all the most popular magazines. Nobody remembered that. All they remembered was an old woman who kept fiercely to herself and was desperate to be bothered by no one.

But he remembered. He had seen her long and painful fall--the fights, the tears, the affairs, the drug abuse, the desperate search for happiness and the miserable failure to find it. She had been given everything she thought she wanted, and when it did not make her happy she had no idea where to turn.

And, now that she was dead, it was he who collected the short newspaper article about her and tucked in away among a large collection of newspaper articles gathered over the course of many years.

As a genie he had one great joy in life: looking back fondly upon his old exploits. Needless to say, he had been overjoyed with the invention of the modern newspaper and now kept clippings of articles on all the people he granted wishes to. It was easy enough to remember the wishes that turned out splendidly well--like that of the Sultan of Baghdad. Even thousands of years later it still sent a shiver down his spine, or would have if genii had spines. But the lives destroyed in subtle and mundane ways he quickly forgot, which bothered him because the fact that the simple and naive fell before him was as important as the fact that the clever and powerful did so.

He did, he admitted to himself, feel a twinge of...he would not call it guilt--when a pretty girl made a particularly foolish wish. But he snapped quickly back to his senses. Some of the most beautiful women whom he had ever granted wishes to had asked for the most petty, vengeful things imaginable. Though somehow, even after the Princess of Kashmir wished for the death of all the other queens and princesses in the neighboring kingdoms he could not rejoice over her destruction as he rejoiced over the destruction of her father, who possessed a far less cruel spirit.

The genie was, as you may well imagine, heartbroken at the death of Grandma McKinon (as he fondly called her), having spent, as he had, the last fifty years locked away in her attic with nothing but the sound of her television and the meowing of her cats to break the silence. The stillness in the lonely days that followed was interrupted every now and again by people entering to inspect the old home. They stomped around and spoke with trite generalities about the deceased and, in general, spent so much time doing nothing that the genie began to fear they would continue doing nothing and he would be left undiscovered. But, finally, people began coming every day, and the house was no longer silent. Indeed, there was a great deal of hustling and bustling, banging and clanging, and, from the conversation, he finally ascertained that a group of students, as a school project, was fixing up the house so it could be sold.

Of all those, there were only three who came to work faithfully every day: Kane, Johanna, and Liese. Kane, the genie found, was easy to recognize. The leader, he was constantly giving orders in a low, powerful voice. Johanna was another story entirely. Like Kane, her voice was often heard, however, she rarely had anything of value to say. She was the source of a constant stream of worthless chatter revolving around television, boys, her mother‘s boyfriend, her annoying younger brother, and Carlos...beautiful, dark-haired, smooth-skinned Carlos.

Liese the genie did not at first realize was there as frequently as the other two. She didn’t talk as loudly as Kane or as often as Johanna. As a result, he only came to recognize her presence because, as the days passed, Kane increasingly instructed her, which he sometimes did quite loudly and curtly. Apparently, some of the students who were supposed to be working on the project, were not, and Kane found himself relying more and more upon Liese.

It could, perhaps, have been foreseen that she would be the one to stumble across the box which housed the genie’s bottle. Her labor brought her all over the old house, and her quiet nature made her more aware of what went on around her, allowing her to notice the genie’s bottle which was so easily overlooked. She had walked through all the rooms in the house, checking to make sure they were clean and that nothing had been disregarded. Now, she stood at the very top of the narrow staircase that led to the attic and looked across the empty room for any sign their work was incomplete. The sun shone through two narrow windows in the west wall, its rays revealing the million particles of dust floating gently in the still and silent room. She was just about to turn and leave when she hesitated, for, in the corner where the steeply sloping roof met the floor and the shadows were darkest, she spied the genie’s box.

The dust floated less gently now and the wooden floorboards creaked as she made her way across the room. She picked up the box. It was full nearly to overflowing and was kept closed by a length of sturdy tape. This she fumbled at for a moment before managing to loose enough to grip tightly. Then, with one quick motion, she tore it from the box. The flaps popped open, and she gasped as dozens of yellowed newspaper clippings, suddenly freed from their prison, went flying through the air all around her, stirring up the dust before fluttering to the floor.

With a slight sigh, she set the box down and quickly went about gathering up the many pieces of scattered paper.

“Liese,” faintly her name was called. There was the distant sound of creaking boards and stomping feet, then louder, “Liese!”

“Up here, Kane!” she called back. “I’m picking something up.”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of Kane walking up the narrow staircase to the attic.

“What are you doing up here?” he asked when he reached the top, then, “Oh...” as he saw the scattered papers.

“What’s going on?” came Johanna’s voice from behind him.

Not answering her, Kane stepped up into the room and started helping Liese pick up the last of the papers.

“What happened?” Johanna asked as she stepped into the room.

“We missed a box,” Kane answered, as he picked up the few remaining clippings.

Johanna walked over to the box, where it sat with a solitary clipping beside it. Both of these she picked up and carried back to Kane and Liese. Three hands reached into the box to put back the various papers they held, and, at the same moment, three sets of fingers brushed against the genie’s bottle.

Every genie needs a dramatic way to make his presence known. Some prefer to exit their jars/bottles/lamps/what-have-yous accompanied by thunder and lighting as they cry out in a deep and ominous voice “Who disturbs my slumber?” as if they actually enjoyed being cooped up in that jar, or “Cower before me, mortal. I bear the power of generations within me, to bless you beyond all your imaginations or curse you beyond your worst nightmares,” which, on top of being untrue, displayed a decided lack of self-confidence.

The genie in question, preferred to come out silently in a billow of smoke, colored, of course, slightly green to hint at his mystical, magical nature. After thousands of years of practice, he had gotten it down to a fine art. The smoke curled around the three teenagers’ bodies, and, at first, they could only look in surprise and growing alarm at the wisps that surrounded them. The light of the setting sun shone eerily through the miasma and, presently, the three became aware of a figure inside the smoky cloud. It seemed at first no more than a shadow, but as the smoke began to clear the shadow revealed itself to be man--tall, white, bald, and dressed entirely in black. The genie could not help but feel at least a small amount of satisfaction at the three pairs of wide eyes.

He took the moment of their stunned silence to look them over. There was no question that Kane was the tall, black boy, but the genie was rather disconcerted when he turned his gaze to the two girls. He had pictured Liese as very plain, but both girls werequite pretty. He quickly decided that Carlos-obsessed Johanna was probably the blonde with dark roots, which meant Liese was the brunette, which he found even more disconcerting for she was, in his opinion, much the better looking of the two.

“Well,” he said when they continued to stare silently at him. “there’s no use in rubbing my bottle if you aren’t going to make any wishes.”

Liese’s brow furrowed. “You’re a...genie?” It took her forever to say that last word.

He had heard stupider questions, but that did not mean he held respect for the one she had asked. “No, I’m a stalker. I’ve spent months lusting after you, following you, searching desperately for a way to meet you. Until finally I hit upon an idea: hide myself in a bottle in a box in the house where you are working. My darling Liese--” and here he knelt and took her hand--”will you marry me.”

Her eyebrow rose as she withdrew her hand. “I’m going to assume you’re a genie.”

Kane took a step toward him, and the genie rose to face him.

“You‘re not a genie,” he said. “I don’t believe in genies.”

“And, of course, anything you don’t believe must not exist,” the genie shot back. “I bow and worship at your feet; you must be God.”

“But genies don’t exist,” Johanna declared.

“If seeing is believing you must be blind,” he answered, his lip curling slightly as he turned his face to her. “I thought too much hair-dye only made you go bald; oh wait! It’s the eye shadow.”

His insult hit home, but she did not know quite how to react. (Really, how does one react to a genie?) Besides, he gave her little chance to do or say anything as he rounded on the other two. “Well, what’ll it be? Are you going to make your wishes or should I trot back to my little bottle and wait another fifty years for someone a little smarter to come across me?”

“But genies don’t exist!” Johanna cried again.

The genie glanced back at her, and felt at least a small bit of satisfaction; he had been wrong about Liese, but Johanna was exactly as he had imagined.

“Why don’t you wish for a pair of glasses and then see what you think.” The scorn was evident in his voice, and her face clouded as she prepared to respond, but before she could Kane interrupted.

“Well,” he said quickly, “I suppose we could wish for something. The worst that could happen is it wouldn’t work.”

“Finally!” the genie cried, clapping his hands together. “Someone with some sense.”

“Wait!“ Liese had remained silent ever since her first exchange with the genie. She had, however, been regarding him closely and here she interrupted. “How do we know the worst that could happen is that our wishes won’t get answered?”

Kane looked at her, but she did not let him reply. “I’m not questioning whether or not this person is a genie. I’m assuming he is, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good genie.”

“My dear girl,” the genie replied, “with all due respect, I must point out that genies are genies--or rather genii. All we do is grant wishes, and any evil that comes to you as a result is because you did not chose well.”

“Fifty years.” She rounded on him.

“Fifty years?”

“You said you could run back to your bottle and wait another fifty years. You’re long lived.”

“Yes...?”

“How long have you been alive?”

“Since time began! And a good deal before that,” he answered with a flourish.

Her brow furrowed. “And these newspaper clipping--” she nodded toward the box--”they’re about people you granted wishes to?”

He was about to tell her, yes, when he glanced down and noticed the top newspaper clipping was about a man who had died in a peculiar incident involving a horse, a light bulb, and a chain link fence.

“Not necessarily,” he answered. “They’re there for my amusement. You try living alone in a bottle for a millennia.”

She cocked her head slightly. “Do you like being a genie?”

Her question took him aback. Up until that point her questions had been uncommon, but only because he was rarely found by the particular type of moralist she was shaping up to be. But he had never been asked such a personal question as that which she had just asked, and he was not entirely sure how to respond. Thankfully, he was saved the effort by Kane.

“Enough,” he interrupted. “The only way to solve this is to make a wish.” He looked intently at the genie. “If you’re really a genie that means we can wish for anything and you’ll give it to us, right?” Very business minded of him the genie thought.

“Correct.”

“Anything we want?”

“Yes.”

“And we each get three wishes?”

“No.”

“Why not?” demanded Kane.

“Well, all three of you touched my bottle at the same time. If it took all three of you to summon me, then I would think you’re only worth one person collectively, considering any normal person would be able to summon me alone.”

“But that’s not fair,” Johanna cried. He turned and fixed her with a hard gaze.

“I have spent more centuries than I can remember locked away in a bottle, only being let out so I can give some stranger three wishes,” he answered coldly. “Don‘t tell me what's fair.”

“Fair or unfair,” Liese broke in, “it’s the way it is, so there’s really no use in arguing.”

“Well said! And very true,” he said straightening. “Shall you go first?”

Her body visibly tensed, and it took her a moment to respond. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“All right,” said Kane, “let’s do this. You said we can wish for anything?”

“Yes.”

“And is there any sort of catch?”

The genie paused, but only for effect. “There are catches to everything. A foolish wish will bring no end to your trouble. Choose wisely and there is no end to the possibilities.”

Kane thought about those words for a moment then spoke. “So, all I have to do is wish for something that will cause the minimum amount of problems and have the maximum benefits.”

“It’s not so much the wish that matters as it is the person who wishes.”

Kane studied him closely.

“Don’t look at me,” the genie told him, “look at yourself and decide how much you can bear. Wish for a billion dollars; can you handle the false friends that come with it? Wish for the world; have you the strength to rule?”

“Please,” Kane said, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly, “you couldn’t give me something I couldn’t handle.”

“As you say.”

“Okay, how does this work? Do I just make a wish or do I have to hold the bottle or do I need to do anything else?”

“My, we are very particular. Just make a wish.”

Kane was silent for a moment.

“I wish for,” he began, “I wish for,” he paused, “one hundred thousand dollars.”

“I see we aren’t a big thinker.”

“I wished for exactly what I wanted,” Kane answered, defensively. “I don’t want my whole life provided for. All I need is enough money to get through college. I want to work and get the things I have by myself.”

“Unless, of course, the work in question is actually hard,” the genie shot back, “and then you can only hope there’s a genie to bail you out.”

Before Kane could reply the genie asked, “Do you want that in cash, or should I deposit it directly into your bank account?”

“Cash is good.”

And with a snap of the genie’s fingers, a black briefcase appeared on the floor in front of him. “I’ll throw in the briefcase for free.”

All three of the teenagers looked down in surprise, and Kane quickly knelt to open the case. The corner of the genie’s mouth turned up in a slight smile of satisfaction as Kane’s eyes grew wide, and he let out a soft “damn” when he saw the rows of fifties and hundreds.

“It’s real!” Kane exclaimed holding up a wad of cash.

“Really,” said the genie with a role of his eyes, “what did you think I was going to put in it?”

“Wow,” breathed Johanna. “I’m going next.”

She apparently didn’t need to pause and give her wish any thought for she immediately said, “I wish that Carlos Torres was in love with me.”

The genie couldn’t help but smile. How many times had he granted those sorts of wishes? “As you desire.”

She looked expectantly at him. “That’s all?”

He blinked. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Really, I could have made him appear in a puff of smoke, but your wish was that I make him love you.”

And, paying no more mind to her, he fixed Liese with a stare. “And what do you want, my dear?”

Though he would hardly have admitted it, the genie was rather curious to find out what she would ask for. She had already proved herself to be entirely different from what he had first thought, and now he had no idea for what she would wish.

She was silent for a moment--a long moment--as her eyes grew unfocused and she looked off into space, thinking. He could see all of the possibilities pass before her eyes--money, power, fame, success, love each in all their various forms, each crowding to the front and pushing one another aside. Oh, the possibilities! How many times he had seen that look.

But, finally, she roused herself and, looking him straight in the eyes, said, “I do not think I will ask for anything.”

“Nothing at all?” the genie was a bit disappointed.

“There’s nothing that you could give me that I want,” she stated.

“Not even world peace?”

She shook her head, a slight smile upon her face.

“Then I wish I were famous,” Kane broke in.

“Done!” All three teens jumped at the genie’s sudden cry and the loud snap of his fingers.

“What?!” Johanna cried. “You can‘t! But!”

“I just did,” Kane answered with a smirk

For a moment it seemed Johanna was going to punch Kane...or the genie (she couldn‘t quite decide which one she was more angry at), but Liese quickly stepped between the two and said, “He can’t take it back, and you probably don’t want to punch a famous person anyway. Besides, I’m sure you want to look your best for Carlos. You wouldn’t want to break a nail would you?”

“Bitch,” Johanna muttered. She was kept from saying anything else by the sound of some classical tune or other being pounded out in annoying, high-pitched beeps. She fumbled in her pocket for a moment and pulled out her cell-phone.

“Hello,” she nearly barked, but she softened the moment she heard who had called her. “Carlos....”

Needless to say, she was out the door in three seconds. Liese, Kane, and the genie watched her go.

“Well,” said Liese finally, “that’s that.”

She and Kane looked at each other.

“Why don’t you go home,” she finally suggested.

“No, we have to finish up here,” he answered, looking around.

“I’ll take care of it.” She smiled. “You have your new fame to get used to and a hundred thousand dollars to take care of.”

“Thanks,” Kane said and, after picking up his briefcase, walked over to the staircase and disappeared into the shadows below. Liese watched him go then turned and fixed the genie with her gaze, and he realized, rather wistfully, that it was over. It had been so long since he had seen the sunlight and breathed fresh air.

“Well,” he finally said, “I have to be going now.”

“Do you want me to do anything with your bottle?” Liese asked.

“Just put it back in the box and put me with the rest of the things from the house.”

She fixed him with another look, and, gazing into her brown eyes, he had to admit he was glad she had not made a wish.

“Do you like being a genie?” She asked again the question she had gotten no answer to before.

“It’s what I am,” was all the genie was willing to say.

And with that, he gathered himself up in a cloud of smoke and retreated to his bottle.

And that, as Liese had said, was that...at least for the time being.

It did not take long, however, for the genie to collect his first new newspaper article.

HARTSBURGH -- It has been a long and rocky road, but a date has finally been set for the trial of Kane Jacobson. Surprising for a robbery, the case has gained nation-wide attention, with Jacobson’s lawyer and representatives from the many groups campaigning for his release appearing daily on television.
Brought into questioning after several bills from various banks that had suffered robberies appeared in his possession, police quickly discovered he had at least $100,000 in cash at his home. Although he continues to claim he does not know how the money came into his possession, several of his acquaintances are avowed criminals whom police have suspected in the string of bank robberies leading up to Jacobson’s arrest.
His case has mobilized civil rights groups across the nation, in particular the NAACP which is holding him up as the most recent example of the racism evident in the modern criminal justice system. Only the latest in a string of alleged injustices, Jacobson’s case has caused widespread protests, and it is only now, nearly eight months since Jacobson was originally charged, that the case has shown any sign of moving forward.

Wish granting was the genie’s art of choice, and he thought it not pretentious of him to say Kane Jacobson was one of his modern masterpieces. Oh, of course, Kane would never rise to the level of that whole Sultan of Baghdad affair, but it was amazing what you could do with just the slightest knowledge of current affairs.

Johanna he had to wait slightly longer for. On the other hand, she was someone for whom all he had to do was grant her wish just as she had asked it.

HARTSBURGH--There will be a memorial service for Johanna Briggs on Friday, June 14 at 2:00 at the Renaissance Club. Her parents and her fiancé invite anyone who wishes to mourn her death or celebrate her life to attend.
MILLTOWN--The attorney for Carlos Torres filed a formal request Tuesday for a change of venue, arguing that pretrial publicity made it impossible for his client to receive a fair trial in Wasenau County.
Torres is accused of murdering Johanna Briggs two days before her wedding to Nathan Armstrong. Torres is alleged to have harassed her repeatedly during the year leading up to her marriage. According to her family, his alleged behavior caused her to get a restraining order against him and eventually move from her hometown of Hartsburgh to Milltown. Although the police received no more complaints, it is known that Torres became a resident of Milltown one month after Briggs moved.

As for Liese, the genie’s thoughts did wander toward her once in a while. She had been very pretty, and to this day she was one of only two people who had actually refused to make a wish (the other being a monk back in 1101 who’d tried to exorcise him). But, his thoughts only turned to her in passing, and he never expected to hear of her again....

Nearly ten years later, he was stumbled upon by a young, would-be actress who went by the name Sabra, though, her real name (no surprise there) was Jennifer.

....The real surprise of the evening came when Sabra Tormèn was named best supporting actress for her wooden (or perhaps I ought to say fossilized) performance in “The Expatriate”. That she was even nominated did not add to Oscar’s luster, but that she actually won--that is one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

Anyone who's seen Liese Normandie’s performance as Andromache in “The Fall of Troy” must realize that she’s going to go down in history as one of Hollywood’s Great Actresses. However, even on the night of her painful defeat she was all smiles. I caught up with her at a post-Oscar parties and asked her about the whole fiasco. She flashed her sly trademark smile and said, “I‘m always careful what I wish for.”

For A Kiss From You

2005-09-21T00:30:00.000-07:00

The Wheat Field

Delisha stood at the edge of her father's land and looked out over a stretching field of wheat as it danced in the wind. It was a beautiful summer day. The sun shone brightly down upon the countryside. The sky was blue, and the clouds were big, white, and fluffy--the kind that children would stare up at for hours on end and turn into all manner of wonderful and magical objects and creatures. She smiled, for the wind, which was warm and strong, sent her hair and dress billowing about her and filled her heart with joy.

But 'twas not simply the wind and the sun which filled her with happiness. She was terribly excited for, upon the next day, there was to be a tournament which the king himself would attend. The whole of the town of Kerrinbrook was in a flurry of anticipation.

Of course, excited expectation was a feeling oft felt in the small town during the past month, ever since the king had wearied of life in the capitol city and had traveled to Kerrinbrook to take a vacation of sorts.

At the beginning of his stay he had announced that in four weeks time, at the end of his visit, there would be held a tourney. Almost immediately all manner of knights had begun entering the small town. Kerrinbrook's single inn was soon filled to overflowing, and any warrior who came after was forced to seek lodgings elsewhere, which was quite agreeable with the young maidens lucky enough to have parents willing to open their home to the glory-seekers.

Delisha was, most likely, the only girl whose heart was not set aflutter at the sight of one of those handsome rogues. 'Twas not for lack of opportunity, either, for her father, being one of the richest landowners in the town, had provided lodging for three knights.

Delisha, however, did not view men in a romantic light, nor did they seem to see her as a creature love. Why men showed no interest in her she did not know; she assumed it was because, while she was very comely, she was not exotic in any sense of the word. Her hair was long and brown, her eyes hazel, and her skin tanned from too many hours spent beneath the sun. She had a beautiful smile, but rarely did it light her face when she was in the company of others; more often than not, that which took her was the serious expression of a person in intense thought.

She smiled again and turned her face to the wind. What did she care if a man loved her or not? In sooth, judging from the actions of other maidens, Delisha was of the opinion that love was far more trouble than it was worth.

She began making her way along the edge of the wheat, and as she went she began to sing to herself. It was not many minutes before she reached the corner of the field. There, to mark the boundary between that field and the next, stood a tree. Delisha had passed it many times before and had found nothing particularly interesting or unusual about it and, therefore, paid no attention to it.

"That's a very lovely song."

Delisha was so startled she tripped and fell.

Someone burst out laughing. "And it's a very lovely voice. But--" and here a young man stepped into view on one of the tree's lower branches--"I think the maid who sings is even lovelier than voice or song." He jumped down and added with a laugh, "Even if she does fall down upon the slightest provocation."

He reached his hand out to her, and, when he had helped her to her feet, Delisha said, in the voice of one who was less than thrilled, "Hello, Shanahan."

When Delisha said that no man loved her, what she meant was that no man in his right mind loved her. She was of the belief that any man who looked upon her in a romantic light was at least slightly insane. It was rather circular thinking, to be sure, but it seemed to serve her.

"Hello, Delisha," said Shanahan with a smile. "What a beautiful day to meet such a beautiful maid as yourself."

Shanahan was a very handsome young man. His hair was golden, his eyes bright blue, and his body lithe and strong. He was only twenty-one years of age, yet he possessed an air of maturity and authority that made him seem much older.

He was a strange man who seemed to enjoy great experience and yet appeared as innocent and lighthearted as any country boy. Delisha could not discover for herself what his station in life was, and he would not tell her. Over the days, because, more often than not, he seemed affable and provincial rather than serious and learned, she had come to the conclusion that he was simply a farm-boy who longed for adventure and had seen perhaps a little more of the world than had she.

"Shanahan," said Delisha, crossing her arms, "every day for the past three weeks you've managed to find some way to annoy me. I do hope you'll be leaving once the king has gone."

"Don't hope too hard," answered he with a grin as he lay down upon the ground and put his hands behind his head. "A maid such as you would make even the most restless of men think of staying in Kerrinbrook."

He laughed at the expression his words brought to her face.

"Well, I don't see why," she finally retorted.

"Maybe if you looked in a mirror more often..."

She sank down upon the grass. "So, you like me only because I'm pretty?"

"Yes," he answered simply. Delisha drew back in surprise; she felt rather insulted.

He laughed again. "But I love you because you have a spirit and a character which far outshines your outer beauty."

"I don't think it's right for you to speak of love when you've known me for only three weeks," she told him severely.

"What's wrong with speaking about love?" he cried as he sat up. "I love this day. I love the clouds. I love my father and my mother." He grew suddenly serious as he leaned closer to her. "It's not even my talk of loving you that you dislike, for any man can talk so, whether he really does or not. No, it's the fact that I truly do love you that you think wrong."

Delisha turned her gaze to the ground, for she found the intensity of his piercing blue eyes unsettling.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Yes, you do," he answered.

"Hah!"

"Look at me," he said. He said it so firmly and with such an air of command the Delisha looked up, startled. Their eyes locked, and for a moment she felt as though he were looking into her soul, but she was too proud to turn her eyes away.

"Yes, you do," Shanahan said a second time, certainty in his voice.

Delisha said nothing but continued to stare steadily back at him. For a full minute they sat like that, neither willing to be the first to move or drop their gaze, until, suddenly, the spell was broken and they both burst out laughing. Shanahan fell back to the ground and once more laced his fingers behind his head.

For a long moment they were silent and simply looked out at the field as the wind played with the wheat.

"I don't see how you can know you love me," said Delisha finally. "You've known me for a mere twenty-five days. That may be enough time to tell whether or not a girl is pretty, but, no matter what you think, 'tis not enough time to tell whether their character is beautiful."

"Of course it is!" protested Shanahan as he sat up once again. "You act as though character is something that's kept in a little box and hidden in the darkest, most obscure corner of your soul, and that only after months of digging and searching can it be discovered.

"But it's not like that, Delisha. Your character is shown in every single one of your actions." He was looking intently at her. "I've seen you protect the child from the bully, even though you cared nothing for the child. I've seen you give your gold piece to the beggar. I've seen you near tears and yet refuse to cry. I've laughed as you've walked through the streets, completely oblivious to all the men who turn their heads toward you. And I've seen you with a distant look in your eyes as you dream of far-off lands few others will ever imagine or understand."

She looked silently at him for a moment, for he spoke with such earnestness and passion that she knew not how to reply, and she felt her will beginning to break beneath his steady gaze. Suddenly, her practicallity took over, and she stood up indignately, demanding, "Have you been following me and looking at me wherever I go?"

Shanahan laughed and once again fell back down upon the ground. "Do you know what I love most about you?"

"No, and I don't care to know, either." She turned to walk away.

"It's your stubbornness."

She turned back to him, placing her hands upon her hips. "My 'stubbornness'?"

"You, Delisha, are the most hardheaded woman I have ever met. You feel emotions--perhaps more passionately than many--but you won't allow them to rule you. Good God sometimes you won't even let them to guide you. You do what you think is right and refuse what you think is wrong, and I am left amazed and wondering how I can ever convince you to love me."

She did not know how to answer and so stood there, saying nothing.

Shanahan rose to his feet and brushed himself off. "I came here today to tell you that in a few short days I shall be going off to seek whatever adventure and fortune the world has to give me."

"Good, then I shall finally be free of you."

His features fell. "Really, I was hoping for perhaps a bit more from you. Even 'good luck' would have been nice."

"And what would 'good luck' from my lips do? You'd still be a simple farm-boy who'll be killed upon your first run-in with highway robbers. You're a peasant. You weren't meant to seek adventure and ride a horse off into the sunset."

"But my name is 'Shanahan'. That's the name of the prince; certainly that must have some importance."

"If anything, it's a curse. If I were going off in search of adventure and my name was 'Shanahan' the first thing I'd do is change it."

Everyone knew that the prince was a sickly fellow who would most likely die before his twenty-fifth. He was bedridden most of the time; in fact, he had become very ill only a week before the king journeyed to Kerrinbrook and, therefore, had been unable to accompany him.

"Well, if I am to die, the least you could do is allow me to die happy."

"And how, praytell, would I be able to make you die happy?" asked Delisha hautily.

He looked at her hopefully. "Give me a kiss?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed. She had grown very weary of his company. "For the last six days you've asked me for a kiss, and for the past six days I've refused you. Do you actually think that today will be any different? Why do you continue to ask?"

He gave a grin. "Your name sounds so much like 'delicious', and you're enough to make any man hungry. What am I to do? Let myself starve to death?"

"You talk as though I'm a stew or a roast. I'm not; I'm a girl. And you, Shanahan, are an insufferable pig," she declared in indignation. She turned quickly from him and tried to walk away, but even as she did so he reached out and, taking her by the arm, pulled her back.

"Let go of me!" she cried.

"All I want is a kiss--nothing more," he said, looking hopefully at her.

"Kiss this!" she snapped as she slapped him hard across the face. "I never want to see you again!"

She pulled her arm from him and began to run away through the field. The wind blew strongly against her back, sending her dress and her hair and the wheat dancing wildly all around her. It filled her body and her spirit with strength, and like a deer she ran through the field back toward her house, leaving Shanahan to gaze after her beneath the summer sky.

The Tournament

The next day came quickly. Even before dawn the field in which the tournament was to take place was in a flurry of excitement, and by the time Delisha and her father arrived the activity was simply frantic. All of the people of Kerrinbrook and scores of citizens from the nearby townships flocked to see the joust, and they completely surrounded the field. Woe to those who arrived late, for all hope of having a decent view of what went on in the lists was gone.

The field which had been marked off as the stage for the fierce entertainment was a very large rectangle, perhaps one hundred fifty feet in length. Along one of the sides there had been built a dais upon which King Lachlan, Queen Corvina, and all the other noble people sat.

Delisha's father was the mayor of the small town and was, therefore, allowed to sit upon the dais with the royal people. Delisha was glad, for it meant Shanahan would not be able to bother her.

Of course, she thought as she looked ruefully down upon her dress, it did also have its drawbacks. Her father had forced her to wear her best dress, which also happened to be her most uncomfortable.

She was very pretty, however, in it. It was a brown dress, trimmed with gold, with the bodice tied not too tight, as some women wore their's. The puffy sleeves of her white blouse ended just above her elbows, and her hair was bound up with multi-colored ribbons. She wore no jewelry save for one small golden bracelet around her right wrist. She cut altogether the most fetching of figures.

She and her father sat at the very end of the dais, and Delisha looked out over the huge crowd which had gathered there. She had seen Shanahan earlier in the day--thankfully, he had not caught sight of her--but now, as she looked slowly over the crowd of people, she could not find him. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sir Mayor, good maid," a voice broke into her thoughts. She turned her head and saw a page of the king standing before her and her father.

"My lord, the king, says it's not right for you to sit here at the very end; you're the mayor of Kerrinbrook. Please, let me take you to better seats."

Delisha and her father rose and followed after the page who led them along the dais until, in amazement, they found themselves standing before the king himself.

"Your Majesty," said Delisha's father in reverence as he bowed.

Delisha, for her part, curtsied but remained silent.

"Mayor," said the king, "I feel absolutely terrible that you would think you had to sit at the end of the dais. Goodness knows you quite deserve to sit here on my left hand." In an undertone he added, "and it's certainly better than having that dullard Duke of Ballingham sit there."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," said Delisha's father even as the queen hit the king lightly with her fan and said, "Oh, don't speak that way about Maximilianos."

"But it's true," Lachlan hissed back. "And what sort of a pretentious name is 'Maximilianos'?" Almost before he finished speaking those words he looked back up and, his gaze settling upon Delisha, said, "So, is this your daughter?"

"She is, Your Majesty," answered her father.

"And what, good maid, is your name?"

"Delisha, Your Majesty," answered she, curtsying.

"Oh, what a beautiful name!" exclaimed the queen.

"Yes, dear, it's completely delicious," murmured the king. Delisha flushed at his words.

The king turned back to her. "So tell me, Delisha, how old are you?"

"Sixteen, Your Majesty."

"Only five years younger than the prince--and goodness knows a good deal healthier," said he to himself. "And, of course, everyone knows a princess is better than a prince any day." He turned his gaze to her. "Yes, you're exactly what I need."

Rather confused, Delisha looked at him and waited for an explanation. It was soon in coming.

"As you know, my son, the prince, took ill...again--" he held his hand to his forehead and gave a sigh--"and cannot be here. Now I am saddled with the monstrous responsibility of finding someone who can take his place during this tournament--we all know that a tourney put on by the king is not complete unless the whole royal family attends. So, will you take the prince's place?"

"Well," answered Delisha after a slight paused, "I can't very well refuse you; after all, you are the king."

"Spoken like a true philosopher!" declared Lachlan with a laugh. "Very well, I dub thee 'Princess Delisha'. Now, take your seat by my side."

"Have you ever been to a tournament before?" he asked as Delisha sat.

"No, Your Majesty," she answered.

"Ah. Then you have much to learn, but never fear; I'll explain everything about the fine art of knocking a fellow man down with a long, wooden stick."

The king went through all of the basic rules of the sport. It took him a rather long time because each rule brought to mind some sort of past incident or experience. He seemed to have an endless supply of stories. If Delisha were to believe him, fairly every last knight from the neighboring kingdom of Lokstria was an incompetent bumbler who had been defeated either by Lachlan himself or one of the king's chief knights.

Delisha could not remember having ever met anyone as engaging or as comical as the king. He had her hanging onto every word and laughing at every sentence.

He finished telling her about his run-in with the greatest of all the evil rogue-knights of Lokstria--the villainous Red Knight. According to the king, that particular knight struck terror into the hearts of hundreds of helpless peasants; of course, anyone who dressed as poorly as he would have struck terror into the hearts of anyone who looked upon him.

The king laughed, "Terrifying though he was, even Shanahan could have defeated him."

"Is that a compliment on Shanahan's part or an insult to the Red Knight?" asked Delisha.

The king gave a sigh. "The worst of insults." He put his hand to his brow and shook his head sadly. "You know not how great an insult."

Delisha looked in concern at him. "Then the prince truly is as weak and ill as we have been told?"

"You have no idea." He gave another sigh. "It begins so small--a little wine upon his thirteenth birthday. Next thing you know he's taken up tobacco and is getting drunk every night and making love to countless women, and before you can do a thing about it he's gone off and killed him...wait a minute!" The king laughed. "That's not Shanahan. That was my uncle." He leaned over and whispered. "I hated him."

He spoke not softly enough to keep the queen from hearing, and she hit him across the head with her fan, saying as she did so, "Don't speak that way about the dead."

The king straightened and, looking at his wife, smiled. "Sorry, dear." Delisha was certain that if she simply looked hard enough she would see a halo over his head.

He then turned back to Delisha. "It was the women who really did it in for my uncle. At least that's one thing I don't have to worry about in regard to Shanahan; no woman would be caught dead with him."

He noticed the look of surprise upon her face. "What is it?"

Delisha took a breath then said, "Forgive me if I speak out of place, but it strikes me as a little odd that you would speak so poorly of the prince; he is your son after all."

The king gave a sad look. "He showed such promise. In his first twelve years he was such a strapping lad, but then when he reached thirteen, just like my uncle--well, except for the tobacco, wine, and women--he went completely downhill. And there's nothing to explain it either! I swear, in the last eight years he's been well all of two months at the most."

He looked over and noticed that his wife's attention was elsewhere. He leaned closer to Delisha and whispered, "Personally, I think he's just a hypochondriac, but she..." He motioned to his wife and rolled his eyes. The queen turned her gaze to him, and he quickly sat up straight.

He smiled. "But, the lad is not a complete failure. Were it not for him I would never have thought to come to this beautiful little town." A slightly confused look crossed his face. "I wonder how he knew about it?" He shook his head. "Ah, well, what does it matter? The point is 'twas he who suggested I come to Kerrinbrook. He said it had everything--a beautiful countryside, charming people, and comely maidens, and he was right on all three points."

Delisha smiled. "I'm glad Kerrinbrook meets with your approval."

The king opened his mouth to say something in reply, but, just at that moment, trumpets began to sound.

"Finally!" he exclaimed. "The tournament is actually beginning."

As the trumpets sounded, a man galloped out into the field. He was dressed in a costly light-blue tunic and rode upon a milk white charger. His cape and long brown hair billowed behind him as he made his way across the field. Behind him galloped seven knights. Their brightly coloured capes fluttered in the wind, and the sun glinted off their bright and polished armor. They were dressed in full battle attire save that they wore no helmets. Their faces were grim and hardened, covered with the scars of many battles.

Lachlan leaned toward Delisha. "Those are the seven greatest knights who have come to this tourney. Tomorrow will be the big tournament--the mock battle--but today these seven will be jousting. That’s the Master of the Tourney at their head, Lord Nigel--himself a knight of great renown."

Almost before he finished speaking, the eight riders galloped up to the dais and stopped short before the king. The seven knights formed one line before the dais, and Lord Nigel took his place before them and to one side.

“You have come from far and near to battle in hopes of winning honor for yourselves,” Nigel said. “Bow and pay homage to he who has provided you this opportunity.”

The knights all bowed their heads to King Lachlan.

“Battle well,” Nigel continued, “for the king looks on, ready to reward those who fight honorably and punish those who bring shame to the title of ‘knight’.”

The trumpets sounded once again, and the seven knights wheeled about and galloped to their respective places at the edge of the field, where their squires stood ready with their equipment.

“That was a pointless little speech Nigel made,” Lachlan told Delisha softly. “I don’t know why, but every tournament opens with a small, empty ceremony like that.” He shrugged. “Ah, well, it can’t be helped.”

He perked up and continued to tell Delisha about the tournament. “Like I said, Nigel’s the Master of the Tourney. ‘Tis his duty to watch the battle and decide whether a knight is fighting honorably; if he thinks a warrior is not following the knightly code of combat, then he can disqualify that man from doing further battle.”

He motioned to a knight with a brilliant blue cape who stood closest to the dais. “That’s Sir Rowell. He comes from the country farthest away, and, as such, ‘tis his right to issue the first challenge.”

Even as Lachlan spoke, Lord Nigel said words of a similar affect. Rowell, who had put on his helmet, closed the visor and, taking up his lance, prepared to issue his challenge. He began to walk along the edge of the field, looking at each of the other knights as he did so. He had just slowed before a knight with a flowing cape of green and white, when a sudden murmuring rose from the crowd at the far end of the field. Everyone looked up, and cries of surprise and delight escaped the lips of the many people gathered there, for charging across the field was a knight dressed in the blackest of armor. His black cape billowed behind him as he galloped upon his sable horse. Lord Nigel rode toward him in an effort to block his way, but the black knight thundered toward him, and Nigel was forced to back up to avoid being trampled. The knight swept past him and showed no sign of stopping until, just before he reached the dais, he reined back. His horse neighed and reared up into the air. Then with a snort, he fell forward again, his hooves striking the ground with a loud thud.

Delisha could only stare in amazement at the knight who stood before her. His visor was down, and his face could not be seen, which, by itself, leant him a sinister air, but his armor, which was covered with the most intricately carved skulls and swords and demons, truly made him look like one of the dark and deadly rogue knights of which many a story had been told.

Lachlan crossed his arms and stared at the knight. “Why have you disrupted our tournament?”

The knight’s voice was muffled by his helmet, but his words were clear. “I have come to challenge all those who are willing to fight me.”

“A rather proud knave are you not?”

“I have not yet found reason not to be.”

The king rolled his eyes and said, “Nigel, escort this pompous fool from my field.”

“Yes, Lord,” Nigel said. He drew his sword and started to ride toward the knight.

Delisha looked down at the knight, then at Nigel riding toward him. She opened her mouth, hesitated for a moment, then said, “Your Majesty, wait.”

King Lachlan turned and looked at her then motioned for Nigel to stop. “Why?”

Delisha looked out at the crowd. “Forgive me if it’s not my place to speak, but I doubt the people would be happy to see him taken away.” She smiled. “’Tis not often, or so I have heard, that things such as this happen. ‘Twould be a shame to waste it.”

Lachlan bit his lower lip.

“Also, Your Highness,” Delisha continued, “would it be fair if you had this knight taken from the field and not give the other knights a chance to defeat him; he did, after all, insult them by interrupting the tourney.”

“True,” Lachlan said. Then, turning back to the black knight, he continued, “Very well, you may battle in this tournament, but I warn you all you will win is dishonor.”

The knight laughed. “You wish.”

Nigel, who had ridden up beside the knight, rolled his eyes then said, “If you wish to battle this day you must pay homage to the king.”

“Oh, very well, very well.” The knight waved his hand dismissively then bowed his head to Lachlan.

The king glowered at him. “You are an insufferable knave, and I would not hesitate to have you beaten and thrown in the nearest dungeon were it not for the princess.”

The knight’s head shot up. “Princess?!”

The king crossed his arms. “If I have declared Delisha a princess, who are you to disagree?”

The knight bowed to Delisha. “Your Highness.” Then, sitting up, he turned and galloped across the field and took his place at the edge.

The moment the dark knight’s back was turned, Lachlan started grinning. “Oh, I do love acting.” He leaned over toward Delisha. “You played your part well too. This is certainly shaping up to be the most interesting tournament I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching. Now, if only Rowell can keep from being an ass and challenge this pompous wretch like any decent knight would,” then he muttered to himself, “That will be the day.”

Fortunately, Rowell proved himself more capable than the king believed him to be and straightway challenged the dark knight who, of course, accepted.

Down the center of the field, horizontal to the dais, there had been set a low wooden barrier, and to opposite ends of this the two knights quickly made their way. Rowell’s two squires stood nearby, ready to serve their master.

The dark knight, as it soon became apparent, also had a squire--or rather a substitute for a squire, for no man there would have called him a true squire. He was obviously a peasant boy whom the dark knight had hired to play the part. He was, however, eager to serve, and stood ready with the dark knight’s lance in hand.

The dark knight took hold of his lance, and both he and Sir Rowell made ready. The whole crowd grew silent, and the only sound was that of the wind as it blew across the field and the occasional snort or stomp of a hoof by one of the horses. The two jousters sat poised upon their horses; their garments blowing slightly in the breeze.

Suddenly a huge trumpet blast was sounded and the horses lunged forward. Their hooves cut into the ground, sending dirt flying everywhere, as they charged toward each other. The knights crouched behind their shields and lowered their lances into place.

The crowd strained to see. There was a slight smile on the king’s lips as he leaned forward. Delisha’s eyes were wide, and she could only stare in shock. The two knights were almost upon each other.

Suddenly, with an earth shattering boom they crashed together. The crowd gave a huge cheer. Wooden splinters flew everywhere, and a huge cloud of dust rose around the knights. For a moment, no one could see what had happened, but slowly, the dust settled, revealing the dark knight bringing his horse under control, and Sir Rowell lying flat on his back upon the ground.

The crowd let out another huge cheer.

“Hurrah!” King Lachlan cried. “I say, for a pompous pig, this fellow certainly is turning out rather well.”

Delisha, suddenly realizing she had been holding her breath, let go of it and started smiling. “He certainly is, Your Highness.”

Sir Rowell’s squires quickly ran forward and helped their wounded master off the field.

Lachlan leaned forward. “Now, let’s see what happens next. ‘Tis the right of the victor to chose his next opponent.”

The dark knight quickly rode back to his squire and picked up another lance then, wheeling about, started making his way down the field, inspecting the other knights as he did so. Everyone who was gathered there leaned forward to see who it was he would choose. He continued riding until he reached a knight who wore a long, flowing, red cape.

There he stopped and said something. His words carried not more than a few feet, but they obviously brought about the result he desired, for the red knight’s face twisted in a look of fury, and he slammed his visor down and prepared to do battle.

Lachlan laughed. “Oh, the fellow is smart. That’s Sir Conleth, by far the strongest of the knights here; he’s fighting him early, while he still has most of his strength.”

“He seems not very smart to me. Whatever he said seems to have greatly anger Sir Conleth; will not Sir Conleth be all the more difficult to fight now?”

“That’s the beauty of it all,” Lachlan answered, grinning. “Conleth may be extremely strong--he is in fact one of my chief knights--but his skill seems to leave him whenever he grows too angry, and this fellow certain managed to make him angry.”

The knights quickly took their stations. The dark knight, who already held his lance, amused himself by tracing circles in the air with its tip until Sir Conleth, who was still furious, grabbed his lance from his squire. The knights took their final positions and waited for the trumpet blast, summing up their opponent as they did so.

After what seemed an eternity, the sound they waited for came. Conleth gave a howl as he dug his spurs into his horse’s sides. His horse fairly leapt forward. The dark knight gave not so nearly as furious a cry, but his horse too charged forward. Their armor flashed in the light of the sun, and the ground fairly shook beneath the horses’ pounding hooves; the thunderous sound was only added to by the cries of the crowd.

Delisha’s whole body was tensed, and her fingers dug into the armrests of her chair. She started as the two knights crashed together; she could almost feel the force of their blow. The crack of the lances breaking filled her ears, and she waited to see who would fall.

But neither knight did. They galloped on past each other and finally drew their horses in past the ends of the wooden barrier.

Lachlan gave a loud hurrah. “I say, Conleth didn’t lose all of his wits when that knave insulted him.”

Delisha straightened. “Now what happens, Your Highness?”

The king was leaning forward in anticipation. “They have at it once again, and hopefully this time one of them will fall.”

Even as he spoke, Sir Conleth twisted his horse around and started howling something at the dark knight. Not all of his words reached across the field, but his basic message was clear; in a few short moment that pig of a knight would be lying in a pool of his own blood, and Conleth would be riding away with his horse and armor.

The dark knight only laughed and rode back to his place at the end of the barrier. Hoisting another lance, he waited while Conleth rode back to his position and picked up a lance of his own.

The two knights made ready. The crowd, which had caught the spirit of the tourney, did not grow silent but instead had already begun cheering. The dark knight’s horse started forward, but he quickly stopped it and took his place again. Conleth shouted something, but his words were lost beneath the cries of the crowd.

The knights sat ready, crouched behind their shields. Suddenly, the trumpets sounded, and the horses leapt forward. Once more the ground shuddered beneath their pounding hooves, and once more dirt and dust were kicked up all around them. The crowd’s cheers rose to a staggering intensity, and there was a huge, bone-jarring crack as the two knight crashed together. The black knight swayed in his saddle and almost fell but managed to catch himself. Conleth, however, went flying backward and with a huge howl struck the ground and lay still.

The whole field grew silent as everyone gathered there leaned forward, straining to see whether Conleth was wounded. His squire ran out and fell to his knees beside him. After a long moment, Conleth began showing signs of life. He was finally able to rise and with the help of his squire walk off the field.

“Well,” the king said, “Conleth didn’t make a complete ass of himself.” He laughed. “Of course, he didn’t win any glory either, but he almost unhorsed the wretch. If only he had succeeded, we would have had so much more sport to watch.”

“Why is that, Your Highness?” asked Delisha.

“The battle would have continued on foot, with sword--always a delight to watch.” He leaned forward. “But enough of that. The fellow is choosing his next opponent.”

The dark knight made no show of it but went quickly to a knight wearing a green and white cape and issued his challenge.

Delisha cocked her head slightly. “I think Conleth hurt him. He seems much subdued.”

Lachlan leaned forward. “I think you’re right. Oh, blast! And the tournament was just becoming interesting.” He began fretting. “Malvyn is a very strong knight. Wounded, tired, the dark knight’s sure to be defeated now. Da...” His last word ended with a very long, drawn-out “a”, after Queen Corvina hit him with her fan before he could say what he had wanted to.

The king crossed his arms, scowled, and, when he could think of no other words that would be suitable in the presence of women, muttered, “Blast it!”

Lachlan’s worries, however, proved unfounded, for, not only did the dark knight send Sir Malvyn flying from his horse upon the first pass, he did is with such a force that Malvyn was knocked unconscious and had to be carried from the field.

The crowd, now thoroughly behind the black knight, erupted in thunderous cheering. Lachlan gave a huge howl of delight, which sent Delisha, who was already grinning from ear to ear, into a fit of laughter.

“I knew he would do it!” the king exclaimed. “I never doubted him for a moment!”

Corvina rolled her eyes. “Please, show a little dignity; you are the king, after all.”

Lachlan waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, be quiet.” He focused once more on the field. “Now, who next shall fall beneath the dark knight’s unwavering hand?”

The dark knight seemed to regain his strength beneath the cheering of the crowd, and he went galloping over to a grey-caped knight.

“Sir Dominic,” Lachlan informed Delisha.

The dark knight slowed then began walking around Dominic as though inspecting him. When he had completed his circle he shook his head, said something to him, then galloped off. Dominic’s face turned red with fury, and he howled a curse after the dark knight.

Lachlan laughed. “A knave to the core this dark fellow is; I like him more by the moment.”

The dark knight rode over to a knight who wore a brown cape and issued his challenge then turned and started back toward the wooden barrier.

“Sir Ruskin,” the king said, “a churlish fellow if I ever knew one, but, then again, all people from Lunmark are. And to think, when I was younger, my father wanted me to marry the Lunmarkian princess.” He shuddered. “Well, at any rate, unless I miss my mark, Ruskin will receive a thrashing today; perchance it shall knock some sense into him.”

By this time, the two knights had taken up their lances and sat ready upon their horses at opposite ends of the barrier. The crowd had not grown weary of cheering and, in fact, had grown more enthusiastic by the minute. Their shouts and howls filled the air.

Lachlan watched the lists closely. “The dark knight is wearied. I wonder how well and quickly he’ll dispose of Ruskin.”

Delisha eyed the dark knight intently. She could feel her heart pounding.

Suddenly, the trumpets sounded. The horses flew toward each other. The knights lowered their lances into place. Delisha held her breath. The pounding of her heart seemed fairly to drown out the cries of the crowd. She started as the two knight’s crashed together.

The cheering of the crowd reached a climax. A scream escaped her own lips as she saw Ruskin go tumbling from his horse. He hit the ground with a thud and did not move. Lachlan gave a huge cry.

Ruskin’s squires ran out onto the field and quickly carried their fallen master away.

Lachlan turned to Delisha. “I say, if he keeps this up, I’m going to have to ask that dark knave to be on my court!”

“But, oh!” Delisha exclaimed as she saw the dark knight suddenly slump forward before catching himself and once more sitting up. “Look at him. He’s wounded and tired. Look at how he’s favoring his left arm.”

The king suddenly grew concerned. “You’re right.” He eyed the knight for a moment then murmured to himself, “Wounded with three knights left. He’s never going to survive.”

Delisha watched in dismay as the dark knight made his way toward a knight with a black and white cape. “But surely there must be something you can do. You are the king after all.”

The dark knight reached the other knight and issued his challenge.

Lachlan looked out over the wild crowd. “I can’t paused the tourney. I may be the king, but I doubt these people would care.”

Delisha gave a disheartened sigh as she watched the two knights take their places and make ready.

“Oh well,” Lachlan said. “The fellow’s already won four horses and four sets of armor. If he’s unhorsed by Dubhan he gives up one horse and one set of armor--no loss. Hopefully he won’t be that wounded and he can still join my court....” He was startled from his musings by the sound of the trumpets.

The horses thundered toward each other. Delisha watched in silence not even daring to breath. Just before they crashed together she closed her eyes. She could hear the cries of the crowd, and she could hear the cracking and splintering of the wooden lances. The cheering of the crowd swelled, and slowly Delisha opened her eyes.

“Hah hah! He did it!” the king exclaimed with delight.

“He did!” Delisha cried as she saw the dark knight still firmly seated upon his horse and Sir Dubhan upon the ground, struggling to sit up. She started laughing with relief. “He actually did.”

“Only two knights left--Sir Dominic and Sir Nevin--and this fellow just might pull it off.”

Delisha watched as he made his way toward the two remaining knights. “He must be incredibly strong, even for a knight.” “Definitely.” The king leaned forward and stared at the knight intently. “I have to get him on my court.”

As Lachlan spoke, the dark knight reached a knight who wore a yellow cape. Delisha took him for Sir Nevin. The challenge was issued, and they both rode to their places.

Delisha’s face clouded. “He’s still favoring his left arm.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” the king replied. “I’m sure he’ll do fine.”

Almost as if to reassure her the dark knight, who had looked over and seen them staring at him, raised his hand slightly and nodded his head to them. He then turned and prepared for the task at hand.

The trumpets sounded, and Delisha watched intently. It was almost as though she were there with the dark knight. She could feel the muscles of the horse moving beneath her and hear the hooves striking the earth. The lance dropped into place. She winced and gave a slight gasp as the two knights met with bone-jarring force.

But neither one fell. They continued on past each other and finally reined their horses in and turned around.

Delisha and Lachlan were not the only ones who were anxious. The whole crowd had grown concerned for their hero, and they shouted out many words of encouragement. He seemed to draw strength from them, and, as he rode back to his place, he sat up straighter in his saddle.

The two knights took up their lances and prepared once more to joust. The trumpets sounded, and the horses charged forward. The cries of the people rose as the horse thundered down upon each other. The ground fairly shook as they crashed together. Nevin went flying from his horse. The dark knight nearly went tumbling to the ground also, but he managed to grab hold of his saddle and pull himself back up. The cheering of the crowd was deafening.

The king’s cries were added to the crowd’s. “This fellow is amazing! Six knight’s all in a row! ‘Tis a wonder I’ve not heard of him before. Mark my words, one day his name’ll be known throughout the whole land. He’s truly one of the greatest knights I have ever seen!”

Delisha, though relieved that the dark knight had unhorsed his opponent, was not nearly as excited as Lachlan. “Nevin almost threw him, and he still has one knight left to fight.”

“Ah, but Sir Dominic is the weakest of the seven. Have no fear.”

“Dominic may be the weakest of the seven, but those seven are the strongest of all knights who’ve come here.”

Lachlan patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m sure the dark knave will do splendidly.”

The two knights, lances in hand, were already at their places. The whole crowd grew silent, and only the sound of the wind could be heard. Suddenly, the sound of the trumpets blasted across the field. The horses leapt forward, and the crowd burst into cheers. Delisha could hear nothing save the pounding of her heart as she watched the horses bear down upon each other. Closer and closer they drew until, with a cracking, splintering, deafening sound, they crashed together.

Delisha gave a gasp of horror as she saw the dark knight go flying from his horse. He struck the ground hard and went rolling over several times until he finally came to a stop and lay still.

Dominic, however, did not escape unscathed. The dark knight’s blow sent him reeling. For a moment it looked as though he would regain his seat, but, even as he reached for his saddle, he became so unbalanced that he went sliding from his horse.

Lachlan jumped to his feet and gave a huge howl. His cry was joined by the cries of the hundreds of other people gathered there.

“He still has a chance!” the king exclaimed. “He still has a chance!” He sat back down. “Now the battle continues on foot. The victor is whoever dehelms or knocks out the other knight first.”

“But he can’t even stand up!” Delisha cried as she looked upon the fallen dark knight. His squire knelt beside him but seemed unable to rouse him.

“Stand up!” Lachlan howled as he once more jumped to his feet. “Stand up!”

The whole crowd began shouting out for him to do so.

“I’m the king; I order you to!”

“Please stand up,” Delisha whispered.

Slowly, the dark knight began to stir. The cries of the people rose in intensity. He pushed himself up to his knees. His squire reached out to help him, but he pushed him away. Finally, with a supreme effort he rose to his feet. The crowd erupted into even greater cheering.

“He did it!” Lachlan exclaimed. “Never in all my years...He actually did it!”

The dark knight took his sword from his squire and began walking to Dominic, where he stood, sword in hand, a few yards away.

Lachlan took his seat once more. “He’ll be hard pressed, but I still think he has a chance.”

Delisha bit her lower lip as she looked in concern upon his left arm. He had obviously been sorely wounded.

The sound of their swords clashing together rang across the field. The dark knight reeled back and barely regained his footing before Dominic fell upon him. He managed to block Dominic’s first blow but the second struck him in the leg. It glanced off his armor, but it sent him lurching. Shouts of dismay arose from the crowd.

With a growl the dark knight pushed himself forward and sent his sword slicing toward Dominic. Dominic blocked it and thrust him back. The dark knight took a few stumbling steps and fell to the ground. With a cry Dominic launched himself toward him. The howls of the crowd filled the air.

Dominic sent blow after blow raining down upon the dark knight. Delisha closed her eyes; she couldn’t bear to watch. The dark knight could barely duck the blows much less fight back. Suddenly, with a grunt, he kicked out his foot and struck Dominic in the knee. Dominic gave a cry and stumbled back, giving the dark knight time to roll to his feet.

Dominic quickly recovered and once more flew at the dark knight. He drove him further and further back until they battled right before the dais. Dominic’s sword slice through the air toward the dark knight. The dark knight ducked out of the way, then gave a groan as he fell against the wooden railing of the dais.

“Sir knave!” Lachlan cried. “Twenty gold pieces if you finish Dominic!”

There was a loud thud as Dominic’s sword struck the wooden railing, just inches from the dark knight’s head.

Suddenly, the dark knight gave a huge snarl and propelled himself forward. He slammed into Dominic and sent him reeling back. The cheering of the crowd swelled as he sent blow after blow down upon Dominic.

Dominic was completely unprepared for this suddenly burst of strength and fury. He was driven back to the very middle of the field where he crashed into the wooden barrier and went tumbling to the ground. The dark knight fell down after him and, with one quick motion, grabbed his helmet and yanked it from his head. The ground shook with the frenzied screams of the people.

Dominic gave a huge howl and pushed the dark knight from him. He struggled to get on top of him, grabbing at the dark knight’s helmet as he did so. The dark knight held his arms up in a feeble attempt to ward him off.

Sir Nigel galloped out to where they fought and jumped off his horse. He shouted something, but it brought no result. He grabbed one of Dominic’s arms and pulled him from the dark knight. Dominic screamed out a curse and swung his arm at Nigel. Nigel ducked out of the way then sent his fist slamming into Dominic’s face. Dominic staggered back then fell to the ground unconscious.

Delisha was laughing with relief.

“I can’t believe it!” the king cried. “Seven battle-hardened knights at one time! I can’t believe it!” He was jumping up and down like an excited school-boy, but Queen Corvina did not tell him to stop making a fool of himself.

With Nigel’s help, the dark knight struggled to his feet. His squire, leading his horse, ran out to him. With their help, he mounted then turned and rode toward the dais.

The king, seeing him approach, suddenly regained some of his dignity and quickly sat down. The knight reached the dais, stopped, and bowed his head to Lachlan.

“You fight as no knight I have ever seen before,” said Lachlan with awe. “Tell me, what is your name? For surely you must be some great knight of renown.”

The dark knight’s voice was soft and muffled by his helmet, but his words were clear. “I am not yet ready to tell you that.”

“But you will in time, I trust?” Lachlan pressed.

“In time.”

“Soon I hope.”

“In time.”

The king seemed a bit miffed by his reply, but he moved on without argument. “You have proved yourself a great hero and have certes earned the right to declare who shall be this tournament’s Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Queen Corvine rose. In her hands she held a beautiful, finely wrought circlet of gold, inlaid with small, sparkling rubies.

Lachlan glance over at it then back at the knight. “Which maid do you find fit to wear the crown?”

The knight reached out and took it. He rode but a few steps to where Delisha sat and stopped before her. “I can think of no woman more worthy to bear the title of Queen of Love and Beauty than you, though this trinket seems hardly beautiful enough to grace your brow.”

Delisha flushed. “You only say that because I am the ‘princess’ and you wish not to offend me.”

“I say it because it’s true.”

For a long moment Delisha simply stood there, her face turning redder by the moment, and looked down at him and the golden circlet.

“Delisha, just take it! How hard can it be?!” he suddenly cried, throwing the crown at her as he did so. Then, with one quick motion, he reached up and pulled his helmet from his head.

“Shanahan?!” Delisha, Lachlan, and Corvina all exclaimed together.

“Who?” asked Delisha’s father.

“Now can I have a kiss,” Shanahan demanded.

“What?!” asked Delisha in surprise.

“Shanahan?!” Lachlan cried again.

Shanahan gave a lopsided grin. “Hello, Father.”

“Father?!” exclaimed Delisha.

“What is going on?” asked Delisha’s father.

“Yes, ’Father’,” said Shanahan, “and as the prince of Loorland I demand you give me a kiss.”

“I’m not kissing you!” Delisha cried.

For the first time a look of pain crossed Shanahan’s face. “I just had my arm dislocated and broken in ten different places. Surely I deserve a kiss.”

Delisha crossed her arms. “You’re sweaty, and you smell bad.”

King Lachlan roared with laughter.

The crowd by this time had figured out what the dark knight was after and had started chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“Please?” Shanahan begged.

Delisha stood there for a moment, the chanting of the people sounding her ear, as she looked down at Shanahan’s pitiful expression.

“Oh, all right,” she muttered. She leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“That’s all?!” Shanahan cried.

“And it’s more than you deserve,” Delisha declared with a scowl as she sat down.

Another look of pain crossed his face, as he grumbled, “At least I get my twenty gold.”

“Oh, yes...about that,” Lachlan suddenly said. “I was thinking. You’ve already won seven horses and seven sets of armor, you’re the prince of the whole land, and you have a lot of explaining to do to me and your mother...so why don’t we just make it ten?”

Shanahan was leaning forward slightly in his saddle. The pained look had not left his face. “What?”

“Well...”

“I don’t feel good,” Shanahan suddenly groaned.

“Shanahan!” Lachlan cried, but, before he could do anything, the prince went sliding from his saddle and tumbling to the ground. Delisha gave a gasp of horror.

Instantly, Lachlan was on his feet, calling out for the servants to help Shanahan. The prince’s squire, who was already at his side, rolled him onto his back. Shanahan’s face was twisted in pain.

“No kiss, no gold, a broken arm,” he grumbled, “a bloody lot of good being prince did for me.” By this time he was surrounded by servants who helped him to his feet and started to carry him off the field. “I feel terrible. I want to go to sleep. I should have been born a farm-boy.”

King Lachlan and Queen Corvina quickly walked from the dais and followed after their son. Delisha silently watch them, a disheartened look upon he face, until they disappeared in the crowd.

She looked around and suddenly noticed the golden circlet lying at her feet. She bent and picked it up. “I want to go home.”

The Apple Tree

Delisha’s room was small, cozy, and very simple. The floor was composed of well-swept floorboards. There was a single closest for her to store her clothes in, a small table which was at that moment bare, and her bed, freshly made, in a corner. The room was lit by by the first faint rays of morning which shone through a single window, behind which could be seen the branches of an apple tree swaying slightly in the wind.

Delisha stood in front of her mirror and stared glumly at herself. The last thing she wanted to do was go to the tournament that day, but, as the crown on her head asserted, she was the Queen of Love and Beauty, and her father had insisted she attend. He had, in fact, gone so far as to give her one of her mother’s old dresses, which was something he had never done before.

It was a beautiful, lavender dress with a very coquettish open bodice, the strings of which criss-crossed down her belly. The long sleeves were slit down the sides and tied together once right above the elbows and again at the wrists so that the white blouse beneath could be seen. It fit her well, but Delisha was not entirely comfortable in it. She had never worn blouses that were even remotely low-cut, much less one that actually revealed cleavage--if only a little. She had put on a necklace in the hopes that it would draw attention away from her breasts, but it seemed not to help.

With a sigh she had given up hope and turned to her hair. In her closet, she had found a large, gauzy, violet scarf. She had not worn it in ages, but it went perfectly with her dress, so she immediately set about binding her hair up with it.

As she did so, she suddenly heard a thump against her window. She glanced over but, seeing nothing, assumed it had been a branch hitting against the glass. She finished with her hair and took a step back, surveying herself in the mirror. She gave a slight smile. She had to admit she looked pretty, and she could almost get used to the fact that her breasts could be seen.

She started as another thump came at her window. She turned and looked at it closely. What she had heard was not a tree branch. She walked over to the window and threw it open.

A slight cry escaped her lips as her shoulder was suddenly struck by something. She looked wildly around and, glancing down, saw a small, green apple rolling across the wooden boards.

“What the...?” With a scowl she picked it up and hurled it outside then slammed the window shut.

“Ow!”

She glanced backed out.

“Shanahan!” she exclaimed as she saw him sitting on his horse below her window. She turned and ran from her room.

“No, wait...!” she heard him cry, but whatever else he said was lost to her as she disappeared through her doorway. She ran along a short hallway and down a set of stairs to the main floor. She continued on until she reached the back door where she finally stopped. She stood for a moment, staring at the rough surface of the large, heavy door then, with a deep breath, took the handle and pulled.

She stepped out into the early morning light. The sun had yet to fully rise, and the air was still chilly with the night. Shanahan sat upon his horse a few yards away, an apple in his hand, poised ready to throw, but, when he heard the sound of the door opening, he stopped and looked over. His whole face lit up.

“Delisha!” he exclaimed then hurriedly slid off his horse and started walking toward her. His left arm was bandaged from shoulder to wrist, and there was a large, dark bruise on his forehead as well as several small cuts on the rest of his face. His skin was pale, and his whole body seemed to sag slightly, but his blue eyes were still bright.

“You look beautiful this day, Princess,” he said. “The sun may shine, but ‘tis you who lights the morning.”

Delisha silently crossed her arms and, leaning against the frame of the door, regarded him solemnly. At that, Shanahan slowed then came to a halt all together, several feet away.

“You’re very persistent,” she finally said.

“And you’re very stubborn.”

She said nothing in reply and there was a moment of awkward silence which Shanahan finally broke. “I...wanted to apologize for the way I acted yesterday--throwing the crown at you and demanding a kiss. I was not feeling well.” He suddenly laughed. “And now I just struck you with an apple.” He gave a bow. “I apologize for that too, milady. ‘Twas an accident to be sure, though that kept you not from defending yourself admirably. I have no doubt but that my brow shall soon bear another bruise very nearly as large as the first.”

Delisha smiled softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” She started walking toward him. “You have no need to apologize about yesterday. For one who was wounded and exhausted, you acquitted yourself quite well.” She stopped, and her face flushed slightly as she looked down and stared at his left hand. “If truth be told I was at least a little worried about you. How is your arm?”

He smiled. “Bruised and cut along the whole length but broken only once. I sprained by shoulder also, but I shall heal in time and be no worse for wear.” His voice grew softer. “Were you truly serious when you said you worried about me?”

She nodded but did not look up. “Yes.”

He gave a lopsided grin. “Does this mean I can have a kiss now?”

Delisha laughed and rolled her eyes. “No.”

“’Tis your last chance to give it, for today I am leaving.”

Delisha crossed her arms. “I am not going to kiss you.”

Shanahan’s face clouded with a frown, and he placed his good hand on his hip. “I just fought seven knights--all for a kiss from you. I’ve tried everything short of stealing, but every time you refuse me. What do I have to do to win your favor?”

All traces of laughter left Delisha, and for a long moment she stood silent, thinking, looking at anything save his face, and growing more downcast by the moment. Suddenly she turned and walked to the foot of the apple tree.

“Delisha...” began Shanahan as he followed her, but she cut him off.

“My father has told many a tale of knights and royalty, and, by all accounts, they are not men I should be kissing.”

“Delisha,” he said again, this time right behind her, “that is not the reason. Only two ago you knew naught but that I was a simple farm boy, yet still you would not kiss me. Why not?”

Delisha stood, unanswering, and stared at the bark of the tree.

Shanahan reached out and touched his hand to her shoulder. “Delisha...”

She brushed it away. “What does it matter whether you be prince or farm boy?” Her voice was trembling, and she cursed herself silently. “What does it matter if you’re a handsome knight, or if I enjoyed our conversations, or if I find myself liking you? The fact still remains that less than five weeks ago you had yet to set eyes upon me, and, as you just told me moment ago, you shall be leaving today, and we shall, most likely, never see each other again. How, under such circumstances, do you expect me to believe your desires are honorable?”

“But Delisha I love you.” He reached out and touched her again as he struggled to convey all that he felt. “I love you more than words can describe. I have since the moment I first saw you.” He hesitated, and his brow furrowed, but he pressed on. “What...what if I said I wanted to marry you?”

Delisha’s face flushed, and she crossed her arms, brushing his hand once more from her. “Now you’re just playing with me.” She turned her face slightly toward him. “You’re a prince, a future king. Prince’s do not marry farm girls.”

Shanahan threw up his good arm. “Blast it, Delisha! I do!” He moved to her side and leaned his back against the tree trunk. “You have no idea what life as a royal is like.” Delisha looked up at him. “You’re surrounded by hundreds of people all willing to do anything to gain your favor--flattery, backbiting, bribery. Men give their wives to you, and the women willing comply all in the hopes of bending your will to theirs. It’s disgusting.” He glanced at her. “You sat beside my father yesterday. Surely you must have seen what he’s like. ‘Tis his way of dealing with the inanity and depravity he’s constantly surrounded with. Even at twelve years of age, I could see it, and I couldn’t stomach it.” He leaned his head back and stared up at the branches, and, for the first time since his speech had begun, he smiled. “I pretended I was sick, and most people left me alone then because they thought I was going to die and therefore wouldn’t be able to help them in their quest for power. My parents let me travel wherever I wanted in hopes that I would find a climate that suited me, and with the help of my nurse I was able to sneak away, unnoticed, for months on end.” He closed his eyes. “I remember the first time I saw you. Two years ago, I was in Corrlin when the smallpox broke out. You and your father were among the people who came to help us. You had drawn water from a well and were trying to carry it to a nearby house, but the bucket was very heavy. I tried to help you, but all I succeeded in doing was getting myself roundly bawled out and told to lie back down unless I wanted to make myself sicker than I already was.”

Delisha’s eyes grew wide, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “I remember that! I remember you. You were one of the people I took care of, and one of the few who never complained or told me to hurry up.” Her voice grew softer. “You were too busy showering me with compliments.”

He gave a lopsided grin. “Smitten from the start.”

Delisha looked down and tried to hide a smile. “I thought it was because you were delirious.”

“What?” There was a rather hurt tone in his voice.

“Well, you were one of the sicker people there.” She looked up. “Why did you not tell me before who you were?”

He grew silent and thoughtful for a long moment. “You are so...unapproachable,” he finally answered. “Ever since I first saw you, I’ve come to Kerrinbrook as often as I can. I usually stay with Charles, the butcher’s son--in fact, he is my squire. Every time you would come in to buy meat, I would greet you, and every time you would return my greeting without so much as glancing in my direction. I would watch you walk down the street. You were always looking at the clouds, and, even when you weren’t, there was still a far-off look in your eyes. You seemed so distant, and I could never work up the courage to speak to you.” He laughed. “I know it sounds foolish; I’m a man, a prince, a knight, yet I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to you.” He smiled. “But, when I finally did, I found you ever so easy to be with.” He looked at her. “You are everything I ever imagined and so much more.”

When he had finished, Delisha remained silent for a very long moment, her head bowed.

“Perhaps I have misjudged you,” she said quietly. She looked up. “But still, I must wonder why, if you truly love me as you say, you are leaving to go seek adventure.”

“Not adventure,” Shanahan answered. “Knowledge, experience. One day, if God wills it, I shall be a king. Loorland is a mighty country--one of the greatest in the world.” His brow was furrowed and his jaw set. “I want to be a good ruler--to wield that power with wisdom. But wisdom is not something oft found among the petty, bickering lords of the palace.”

Delisha crossed her arms. “So, would you have me simply stay and wait for your return, whenever it is you choose for that to be?”

Shanahan was taken aback. “Well, no...not really. I never thought about it.” His face flushed, and he threw his arm up in the air. “I don’t know.” He turned and walked several paces away.

His shoulders slumped. “I’m being rude and selfish. You’ve probably already received hundreds of marriage proposals.”

Delisha walked to him. “I think you vastly overestimate that number.” She placed her hand on his arm. “And I think you are too harsh on yourself. If you were another, your words would be true, but you are the prince and you have a reason for doing what you do--a reason that seems to me to be good and honorable.”

He turned slowly around. “Does this mean you’ll wait for me?”

“In a way,” she answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Simply this, in your absence, I promise to marry no other man, but I do not promise to be your wife. You know so much more of me than do I of you. I want you to return and finish your courtship.”

He took her hand in his and held it tight. “Oh, I promise! It would take an army to keep me from returning.”

“If you are so certain of your return, then I trust you can tell me how long you will be gone.”

Shanahan’s brow furrowed and he grew silent as he thought for a moment. “Three years?” he finally answered.

Delisha tried to hide a smile. “Do you mean to make an old maid of me? Most girls would have already borne their first child by then. One year.”

“But I could scarcely travel anywhere before I would have to turn around and come back again.” He grinned. “Not that I would dislike that, but it would defeat the whole purpose of the journey. Two years.”

Delisha smiled. “Done.” A thoughtful look suddenly crossed her face. “Do you think other people settle their affairs in such a fashion?”

Shanahan laughed. “No, but we are not ‘other people’.” He paused then continued. “There is, however, one thing I should like to do traditionally.”

Delisha looked at him questioningly.

He pressed on. “Most men, when they are knighted, vow to serve a lady. ‘Tis in her name he battles. Oftentimes he shares his spoils with her, and always he protects her. I long ago made such a vow for you, but ‘tis customary for the woman to give the knight some sort of favor he can carry with him into battle. I would love to have such a token from you.”

“Of course,” Delisha answered. She hesitated. “If I had some...”

“That scarf upon your head,” Shanahan broke in.

Delisha touched her hands to her hair. “Oh. Of course.” She quickly untied the scarf and held it out to him.

Shanahan’s eyes were sparkling as he took the purple cloth. “Thank you.”

He quickly tucked it away in a pouch on his belt then looked once more upon her. The breeze caught Delisha’s hair and sent it swirling around her face. Shanahan put his arm around her waist and drew her close. His voice was soft. “Now may I kiss you?”

Her cheeks turned red as she looked up into his bright, blue eyes. “Yes.”

He bent his head, as she stood on tip-toes and put her arms around his neck. They held each other close, and he pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was warm and gentle, and it filled Delisha with peace and comfort. She could feel his body so close to her, and his arm around her, and she held him tighter. For a long time they stood, their bodies pressed together, their eyes closed, drinking in the moment. The breeze blew softly around them, catching at their clothes and hair, caressing their faces, and the morning sun covered them with its warmth, until finally they parted.

Shanahan looked down at her and with a soft smile touched his hand to her face. “It was worth the wait.”

Delisha drew herself up. “Of course it was.”

Shanahan burst out laughing. “Most maids so sure of their charms are not so niggardly with the dispensation of them.” With his arm around her waist, he started walking toward his horse. “You are very special in that respect. I could have had fairly any maid I chose, but glad I am I waited for you. I miss you already, and I have yet to even leave.”

Delisha smiled softly. “Well, the sooner you depart the sooner you shall return.”

They reached his horse, and he turned to her. “I will think of you every day.”

“And I shall wait for your return.”

“Oh!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I almost forgot.” He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small leather bag. “After many complaints and so much moaning it sounded as though he would die, my father finally agreed to give me the twenty gold pieces he promised.” He grinned. “Rather, nineteen, he could not quite bring himself to pay the full amount, saying instead that he deserved something from me considering I’d lied about my health for the past eight years and caused him and my mother ever so much pain.” He chuckled. “At any rate, I should like you to have this.”

Delisha’s eyes grew wide. “Are you certain?”

Shanahan looked at her in surprise. “Of course I’m certain. Far be it from me to take your scarf and leave you with no means to buy another.”

“But this is enough to buy fifty or sixty scarves.”

He pressed the bag into her hands then kissed her quickly once more upon the lips. “Then go buy yourself fifty or sixty.”

He turned to his horse and, clutching the saddle with his good hand, hoisted himself up. He looked down at her. “I will return; I promise.” Delisha looked up at him and nodded. He tapped his heals against his horse’s sides and started forward.

As he rode away, he turned his head often to look back. Delisha stood and watched him go. The wind blew across the fields and through the branches of the apple tree. It caught at her hair, and she put her hand to her head to keep it from blowing in her face. The early morning sun shone across the sky, dimming the stars, tinting the clouds rosy with its rays, and lighting the yet hazy horizon.

“Good bye,” Delisha whispered.

It Makes Me Wonder

2005-09-21T00:25:00.000-07:00

It has been many years, but I still remember the trees. They were tall and grey and, from a distance, hazy against the dusky sky. The wind blew often from the west, and that, I think, is why the branches of many of the trees stretched toward the east. During the winter and the early spring, when all the leaves had fallen, one could look up and, though the wind did not blow, imagine that the trees still danced to its song.

The trees did not make up a forest--simply a small glade--but a more wonderful and magical place could not be found. As a child, I would spend many a day exploring all the secrets hidden there.

It was a place of freedom in an otherwise dark world, a place to which I could run after a long day spent in the indoctrination center--or, as the government preferred to call it, school--a place where I could escape all the pressures placed upon me by others. It was a place where my imagination could run wild.

Every tree had its story. There was the tall pine in the center of the glade beneath which two warring generals of old had made their peace. There was the beautiful willow, beneath whose boughs many a pair of lovers had met. And there was the solitary tree at the very edge of the glade. What type of tree it was I know not. It was old and dark, and it’s branches, gnarled and twisted, spread out in the most terrifying of fashions. I was certain that at one time a witch had stirred her evil brew beneath it.

Perhaps the most wonderful of all the trees was the old, sturdy oak which stood but a short distance from the witch’s tree. It was the home of a dryad named Boris. He had lived for more than two hundred years and had seen many people pass through that glade--lovers, knights, kings and queens, and who knows how many others.

He was one of the oldest of the glade’s denizens, but he did not look old. I never saw him fully--just as I never saw any of the creatures there fully--but I caught glimpses. He was rather handsome. His skin was the colour of bark, his eyes rich, dark brown. His hair, which was long and wild, was green during the summer, but in the fall it would turn to brilliant shades of red and orange. He was rather pleased with that fact and no little egotistic. (I think it made him feel better before his hair turned dull grey and brown with the winter.)

He was a rather blustery fellow, but one never doubted that, if a friend of his were in danger, he would risk his life to save him. Everybody loved him...in particular the dryad of one of the birches. She thought him dreadfully handsome and had fallen head over heals in love with him.

Poor Boris spent much of his time evading her advances, for he was in love with one and one alone--the willow on the other edge of the glade. He was convinced that a beautiful maiden made her home in that stately tree, and he was determined to make her his. Every day without fail he would tromp across the glade, sit at the willow’s foot, and whisper sweet nothings for hours on end. The willow was my favorite place to sit, and I found that if I sat quietly enough and listened hard enough I could catch bit and pieces of his words. If nothing else he was romantic; too bad it was wasted on a tree.

The pixies all laughed at him, but, then again, the pixies laughed at everything. The glade came alive with their small voices and their silly antics. They flitted about constantly in games of tag and hide-and-seek. And sometimes, upon the wind, I could hear their voices lifted up in song. Their voices may have been small, but I have never heard any others sing with such beauty as did they.

Try as I might, I could never quite see them. All I could catch were the shortest of glimpses, save for once. Nearly eight years had passed since I first began coming to the glade. I was sixteen. I was making my way through the trees when suddenly out from behind some leaves there darted something small and blue. I stared in shock as it slowed and hovered before me. It was a pixie. How old he was I know not, for his feature, sharp and smooth, seemed ageless. He was blue from head to toe and clothed only with a loincloth. On his head he wore an over-sized hat, which he preceded to take off as he bowed low before me. Then, with an impish grin, he stuck out his tongue and flitted off.

That glade was a beautiful place. I loved lying on the ground and simply staring up at the trees. The clouds too were magnificent to behold. They were where great kings and queens made their homes. One could see the cities and the palaces stretching across the sky.

I remember how beautiful it was, and nothing anyone can do or say can erase that memory.

I wish I had never told Julien all that I thought and felt. But how could I have not? I loved him so very, very much.

I remember we sat outside at a table on the open porch of a small restaurant. The cars whizzed by, and overhead one could occasionally see a shuttle. Usually, the shuttles were simply bound for destinations across the globe, but that day I remember I saw one bound for the moon.

I could never quite keep myself from feeling a slight wave of pity when I saw one of those shuttles. The moon was the place where the government sent all the criminals they deemed to be great menaces to society. The moon is a harsh and unforgiving world, and I could not picture then, nor can I picture now, anyone who could truly deserve such a fate.

Julien and I talked much that day. I enjoyed his company so. During the course of our conversation, I found myself gazing up at a nearby tree. Something prompted him to ask me what it was I saw. I know not why, but I told him all about the pixies, dryads, kings and queens who peopled my imagination.

His face grew dark as he said, “Eyes as beautiful as yours ought not see things which don’t exist.”

I laughed and told him, “I doubt you would find my eyes as beautiful if I didn’t see the things I see.”

How I wish that he had understood. I tried with all my might to make him see what I saw. We argued much over the next few weeks, until finally he gave up and simply reported me to his superior.

I still can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe that anyone could willingly cause as much pain as he did to me.

It has been many years since I have seen the trees and the clouds and felt the wind against my face and the warm rays of the sun. They locked me away in a sub-level of some dark complex. They put me hard to work doing meaningless chores--filing papers mostly, though sometimes I write reports on some pointless thing or other. They tell me I do my work well, and, because of that, they say, I cannot leave; I serve society best here in a world lit by artificial light.

They tell me fairies are not real. They are things to be imagined only by small children, and even then it is frowned upon. I, however, am a grown woman, and for me to see the things I see is detrimental to society.

It makes me wonder. Why are they afraid of creatures which exist only in my imagination?

Courageous Commander Burns and the LilliputianAfreet

2005-09-21T00:19:00.000-07:00

Courageous Commander Burns dashed heroically, albeit madly, through an immense cavern in what he preferred to call a "reverse attack". He skidded to a halt in front of a reflective surface and checked just to make sure he had not lost his staggering good looks during his inverted charge. After all, the simple facts that he had been transported into a parallel universe in which magic reigned supreme, that he accidentally killed the Emperor of the Universe (the difference between a bottle of diet RC and poison is so miniscule CCB could hardly be faulted for mixing the two up) which started a war for universal dominance, and that he was being chased by giants of Lilliputian size, who were intent upon offering him up to the evil, demonic, monstrous afreet whom they worshipped and who was even more Lilliputian in size than they were, were not enough to keep Courageous Commander Burns from looking his dashing best.

He had attempted to escape the horrendous Lilliputian giants by dressing up in the clothes of a woman. The fact that the make-up was smeared and the dress was torn really got in the way of the heroically handsome look he desired.

Having gotten that minute's indulgence of his vanity out of the way he continued running dashingly and heroically (and fearfully and panickingly) away from the giants.

But, oh, for Courageous Commander Burns, for he knew not that he was playing right into the very hand of his giant Lilliputian pursuers, for they were not chasing him so that they might catch him and bring him to the evil, demonic, monstrous afreet which they served, indeed, no! They were chasing him directly to the evil, demonic, monstrous afreet. But, oh, for Courageous Commander Burns, for he knew that not.

CCB heroically retreated into the dark recesses of the vast cave until he was almost run over by Sylvester Stallone who was running in the opposite direction.

"Sly!" the courageous commander cried in surprise, "What are you doing?"

"Attacking backwards!" the dog-faced, beefcake actor called over his shoulder right before he slipped and fell down a huge hole in the ground to his death below.

Now, had Courageous Commander Burns been an intelligent, thinking commander he would have pondered upon what Rambo had just told him. Had Courageous Commander Burns been the pondering type he would have noticed that, before his untimely demise, John Spartan had been doing exactly the same thing that he himself had been doing, namely, assaulting backwards. But Courageous Commander Burns was not a thinking, pondering, wondering, reflecting, speculating, surmising, hypothesizing individual; therefore, he continued running the way he had been and in fact did not stop even long enough to notice that Rocky had fallen into a hole in the ground and killed himself.

Courageous Commander Burns suddenly ran out into a brightly lit cavern which was monstrous in size. He skidded to a halt and looked in terror upon that which towered over him, for it was the evil, demonic, monstrous afreet. The monster was dressed in a grey suit, had gray hair and a big nose, bit his lower lip, and said, "I feel your pain."

Courageous Commander Burns did the only thing one could do when confronted with a fifty foot tall William Jefferson Clinton. He screamed--long and loud.

(Now you, O Blessed Reader, might be wondering why the evil, demonic, monstrous afreet was fifty feet tall when it was specifically stated earlier in the story that he was evenmore Lilliputian in size than his giant Lilliputian followers; therefore, I will state right here and now that you have no right to judge me; what's right for you may not be right for me, so shut up and mind your own business; it’s wrong to be intolerant.)

Bill stretched the long arm of government out to grab Courageous Commander Burns. Closer and closer it came, and louder and louder CCB screamed.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" The courageous commander shrieked."NOOOOOOOOOO!"

***

Courageous Commander Burns awoke in a pool of sweat. He would have to get a bucket to bale it all out he realized as he surveyed the foot of liquid which sloshed upon his floor. He gave a sigh and banished all thoughts of the dream from his mind. He always had nightmares when it was tax time.

My Lady Eibhilin

2005-09-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

My Lady Eibhilin,

I sit to write you what I cannot say to your face, yet I
find my words are almost as unpolished and awkward as when I
speak aloud. 'Tis strange that I, who have commanded so
successfully so many hundreds of men, have not command of my
own tongue, and I would wager because of that you think me
sullen and rude.

Do you remember the night--it seems so long ago--shortly
after we first began the journey here to the castle
Tremayne? 'Twas the night the world seemed more still and
silent than you or I had ever seen before. There was not a
cloud in the sky, and the moon and the hundreds of stars
shone down and lit the whole countryside with their silver
light. 'Twas the night you asked me who I was and where I
had come from and what my life had been before I became a
soldier--or had I always been a soldier? I told you not
then; I said it did not matter, but the truth was I was too
ashamed to tell you.

I suppose I must have had a mother and a father, for what
man does not? But I never knew them, for they either died
or abandoned me--how often I wish I knew which it was--and I
was left a child on the streets of Errylon.

The capital city can be a dark and dangerous place for those
who have neither homes nor families to escape to, and it
shows no mercy to those who are weak. I learned to be
strong. I learned to fight. I learned to never show pain.
I learned to hide all of my emotions under a proud, dark,
ruthless facade. And I learned to hate everything and
everyone.

There were a few who excused my actions, saying I had no
father to teach me that which was right; how could one
expect me to be other than what I was? But deep within my
heart I knew what I did was evil, but I could find no way to
escape. I continued to kill because it was the only way to
live--because if I did not I would be killed. I continued
to steal because I had no other way to gain that which I
needed. I continued to be ruthless because if I ever showed
mercy, others would take that as a sign of weakness and
throw me down from the position of leadership which I had
worked to hard to attain.

I hated my life. I hated what I was. I hated the chaos,
the cruelty, and the blood, but I saw no way to leave it. I
sought comfort in the arms of women, but all I found was
emptiness and despair, and I learned to hate and despise
them even more than I hated and despised the rest of
mankind.

When I was, perhaps, nineteen, King Ashlin ascended the
throne and, almost immediately following, declared war upon
the neighboring kingdoms. He sent recruiters throughout the
whole of the country, first asking then forcing men to join
the army. I had no wish to become a soldier, but I had no
choice in the matter, and I decided that if I had to be a
soldier I might as well be as good a one as I could. I soon
learned that I had rather a talent for spilling blood in the
name of the King, and I progressed quickly through the ranks
until now I am a captain, and who knows but that I might
soon become a general.

I hated the army even more than I hated the streets of
Errylon. In the capitol city, what I and other criminals
did was illegal, but in the army, not only was it accepted,
it was, in fact, encouraged. Farms were pillaged, men
murdered, and women ravished. True, I did not rape the
women or join often in the looting, but I did not speak out
against those who did. In sooth, 'twas not any great
morality on my part which kept me from doing as the other
men did but simply because I knew I would not be filled.

I longed so much for death to take me, but it would not come
on the field, and there was something within me that would
not allow me simply kill myself. So I continued on
murdering men with whom I had no quarrel and conquering
countries to satisfy my King's lust for power.

I know not whether you know this; if you do not, I now tell
you. 'Twas I who was largely responsible for the
destruction of the city Marise and thus the fall of your
country. The battle plan was mine, with but a few changes
made by General Raleigh, and 'twas I who led the main
charge. I have never seen so much blood as that which I
caused to fall that day, and the shame and sickness which
wells up within me at every thought of it I know I shall
never lose.

That night, when the battle was finished and Marise
destroyed, I stumbled through the broken remains. My way
was lit by smoldering fires, and my ears were filled with
the cries of looting soldiers and the screams of terrified
people. I knew not what I was doing or where I was going.
I simply wanted to escape, but it seemed the further I ran
the louder the cries and the more ravaged the city became.
Around me I could see people running in terror and soldiers
destroying that which had not been already destroyed. I
wanted to cry--to scream--for them to stop, but no words
would come.

I stumbled forward and fell to the ground, and as I
scrambled to my feet I suddenly caught sight of you. You
were lit by the red glow of a dying fire. Three men stood
before you, and you were backed up against a wall. Your
eyes were wide with terror, and, in your hands, though I
know not how you managed to do so, you held a sword that
seemed nearly as long as yourself.

For a moment I could do nothing save stare. Your dress was
torn and your face streaked with dirt and tears. Your
auburn hair fell wildly around you. You seemed so very
innocent, and as I looked into your eyes it was as though I
saw you screaming out in anger and accusation. What had you
ever done to deserve such a fate?

Suddenly, one of the men ran forward. You lashed out at
him, and I heard him give a cry as your sword cut into his
cheek, but, even as he did so, one of the other men grabbed
you by the arm and struck your sword from your hand. I
could hear your screams of terror; they seemed to pierce me
to my soul, and suddenly I heard my own voice join yours as
I found myself charging forward. With all my might I pulled
one of the men from you and threw him to the ground.

All three soldiers turned to me and would have fought me had
they not suddenly recognized me. 'Twas I who had been
responsible for the day's victory, and, as such, the first
of the spoils went to me. With words of anger they turned
and left.

I reached down to help you rise, and with a cry you sent
your nails digging into my cheek. Anger filled me and I
grabbed you tightly by both arms and yanked you to your
feet. You struggled with all your might against me, but I
paid you no heed. I dragged you after me through the city,
and the more you fought the tighter I held you. My fingers
dug into your skin, and I knew it hurt you, but I could not
keep myself from doing so. All I knew was that if I let you
escape another man would take you.

I brought you to my tent. You were still trying so
desperately to escape so I tied you up. You begged, you
wept, you pleaded for me to let you go, but I would not
listen to you. I was so overcome with the fighting of the
day and the turmoil I had just gone through that it took all
my energy just to roll up in a blanket before I fell
asleep.

The next day I learned that the war against your country was
finished and we had been victorious. I had served well and
faithfully and was, therefore, allowed to return home. I
considered releasing you, but then I realized there was
nowhere for you to go. I had destroyed your home, and now
it was my duty to take care of you. I know you viewed it
not so then, nor do I think you do so now, but there is
nothing I can do save ask for your forgiveness.

I was still afraid that you would try to escape so I kept
you tied. Your stony silence was almost more than I could
bear. I tried to act as though it did not matter, but I
would wager all I succeeded in doing was making you believe
I was even more a brute and monster than you already thought
me to be.

As you know, I did not keep you bound for the whole of our
journey to the castle. After about a day you seemed to grow
slightly more acceptant of all which had taken place, and so
I thought it safe to let you go.

I will not forget a day of that journey. You were so very
sad and silent, and yet not even all which had happened to
you could keep you from noticing the beauty which was around
you. Several times I saw you looking up at the trees or the
sky, and there was such a look of happiness upon your face.
But, beneath the happiness, there was an unmistakable
sorrow--a sorrow which I had put there. Every time I saw
your blue eyes lit with joy, I could not help but wonder
what they would look like had war--had I--never come to your
country and put that hint of sadness in them.

I know not whether it was truly you or simply my wishful
thinking, but you seemed to grow more content as the days
went by. Several times you tried to converse with me, but
each time I said little in reply. The truth is I was too
guilty to speak with you. I had destroyed your country,
kidnapped you, and forced you to come with me to a strange
and foreign land...and, on top of that, the more time I
spent beside you the less I wanted to leave you.

I am certain many a man before me has told you how beautiful
you are. Coming from my lips, it must seem repulsive, yet
still I cannot help but tell you. You are the most
beautiful woman I have ever seen and the most sweet and
noble and innocent. Would you despise me very much if I
told you I loved you?

I have wanted to tell you that from almost the moment I
first saw you. Several times I tried, but when you looked
at me the words died in my mouth, and instead I said
something about the weather or how long the journey was, or
I fell silent altogether.

Each day of our journey was both a torture and a pleasure.
Each day I told myself I would tell you how I felt, yet each
day passed without me doing so.

Finally, the day came when we reached the castle. It was
built within the highlands, far different from the forests
of your native country. It was mid-morning, and the sun
shone brightly out from behind the hills. We sat upon our
horses at the base of the hill, and for a moment you simply
gazed up at the castle. The sun shone across your face and
made your hair sparkle in its light. Your eyes seemed
fairly to dance, and a small smile played upon your lips.

As I looked upon you my heart sank, for I was struck by the
sheer baseness of my love for you. You had suffered far
more than anyone, much less a woman, should have suffered,
and 'twas because of me that you did so. Yet, in spite of
all you had been through, you did not let pain and sadness
rule you. You laughed and smiled, and, though I know not if
you know it, you were more noble and gracious than a queen.
I turned quickly from you and looked up at the castle
myself, for I knew then that I would never be able to tell
you what I felt.

I have done all that is within my power to make your life
here at Tremayne comfortable. I pray I have succeeded.

Since you have come into my life, I have been filled with
more joy and yet more sorrow than ever I have felt
before--joy in that I have found in you all the nobility and
peace which were denied me during my days on the streets and
in the army, and sorrow in knowing that any kindness you
return me I will not deserve.

I have stayed silent this whole year, but, though I know I
deserve you not, I can keep silent no longer. Will you be
my wife?

The King has called all men to arms, and I am off to war
again. I know 'tis rude to ask you such a question in a
letter which you will only read after I am gone, but,
perhaps, it is for the better; my absence will remind you of
what I am and that which I have done.

I pray with all my heart that, in spite of my past, you love
me and will consent to be my wife, but, if you do not, you
have nothing to fear; I will speak no more of it and will
continue to provide for you as I have up until now. If I
die during the war, you also have nothing to worry about; I
have seen to it that all which I possess (no small amount)
will become yours.

If what I have said has insulted you and you wish no longer
to see me, I can find another home for you--perhaps one
closer to your native soil. Or, if you desire to remain
here at the castle, you have but to tell me, and I will take
myself somewhere else.

There, I have finally said all that for so long I have
desired to tell you. And, now that I have done so, I find
that I am at a loss as to how to end this letter. A formal
ending seems not proper, but I wish not to insult you by
sounding too familiar. So, with the risk of sounding once
more too brusque, I end it simply--

Tristam