Droplets from the Inkwell

Shantir the infernal spirit slunk down the corridor, invisible to most. He could sense the person who summoned him - though his kind could not truly be summoned; only invited - in the far chamber. He glided through the doors and saw a man in his forties, dressed in robes of dark red satin. The man was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. He held his hands in front of him cupped together, the fingers of each hand touching the heel of the other. The man appeared to be meditating.

Shantir approached him slowly, taking on physical substance. He could feel the man's life force and hungered for it. This one would feed him for days, if not a full week. He raised his serpent head prepared to strike.

At that moment, the man parted his hands, revealing a brilliant blue stone, which began glowing almost instantly. Shantir shrieked, his mind filling with blazing pain from the light. It was an angel stone! The pain quickly overwhelmed all thought and senses. The spirit knew he was being destroyed.

Just as suddenly, the pain began to subside. Shantir struggled to regain his senses. His vision cleared and he could see that the man had covered the angel stone with his hands again and was now staring at him expectantly. Finally, the man spoke. "Foolish creature! Did you not realize that it was not some ignorant apprentice that sent that call out to you, but a master of one of the mystic orders? We masters are not one to request an audience with your kind without having a means of defending ourselves."

"You almost destroyed me, mortal," the spirit hissed.

"Indeed, I did. We both know that I cannot actually control you, so I felt it best to make it perfectly clear why you should still agree to do my bidding."

"And why should I not simply leave this very instant?"

"Because you are still weak from exposure to the angel stone. In your current state, you cannot teleport. You will have to slither out of here. And I am willing to bet you cannot do so fast enough to escape the effects of the angel stone, should I expose you to it again."

Shantir snarled. "Very well. You have me at a disadvantage for now. Tell me what it is that you want. But remember, mortal, you have made a powerful enemy today."

Lana stood atop the hill with her her eyes closed. She held her arms out to either side, palms forward and fingers spread. She took several deep breaths, then connected with her core. From there, she sent her energy into the air behind her, seeking to stir it.

At first, I light breeze blew from behind her, caressing her back. She breathed deeply and intensified her concentration. The breeze grew stronger and soon became a stiff wind that rustled her clothing. She felt total exhilaration. She had commanded the wind for the first time.

I carried my stuff down the trail leading to the beach. I could feel the hot white sand against my bare feet and hear the crashing waves.

---

I spun as Josh's snowball hit me in the shoulder. I laughed and threw one of my own back, but my aim was wild. He grinned and threw another.

---

I lay on my stomach on the table, breathing deeply. The masseur worked the muscles in my shoulders, working out a knot. Music played softly.

---

Stacey sat in her recliner next to the fireplace. She looked up from the novel in her lap and stared into the flames for a moment, thinking.

---

Tony stood at the counter pressing the dough out to cover the full pizza tray. Once satisfied, he grabbed the ladle and poured on sauce.

---

Jack started out the door, when Ben grabbed him by the wrist . Jack turned to his lover, who pursed his lips and leaned forward.

---

Candy hugged the cliff face closely as she searched for a higher handhold with her right hand. She found one and gripped it tightly.

I sat there on one of the swings, watching families enjoying the park. I almost didn’t hear Tyrik walk up behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, and I patted one with my own hand. I continued to stare across the park.

After a minute or two, he broke the silence. “Still thinking about the argument with your mom?”

“What do you think?” I snapped, regretting it almost instantly.

“I think think you’re angry with her.”

“I am. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. At least not for being angry with her. I think you have every right to be angry with her. Hell, I’m angry with her.”

“Not surprising. She said some horrible things about you.”

He walked around me so we were face to face and knelt down so we were eye-to-eye. “I don’t care what she thinks of me, Jason. If it weren’t for the fact that she was your mother and someone you loved, I wouldn’t give a shit about her at all.”

“So, why are you angry?”


“Because she hurt you. Her own son. She completely undermined all your feelings and challenged your judgment for no good reason. Because she knew exactly what to say to make you feel like shit and actually had the gall to use that knowledge.”

Tears began to form in the corners of my eyes. he reached out a hand and wiped them away, then caressed my cheek. “Thank you. I love you.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I know. I love you too.”

“So, are still willing to be with me, even after seeing what my mother can be like?” I held my breath, worried about his answer.

“Hell yeah! I’m in love with you, not that crazy old woman. And she’s not going to chase me out of your life. Only you can get rid of me. So, you still want to keep me.”

“Oh god, yes.” We both smiled. “Guess we just won’t be going to my mother’s place for the holidays, eh?”

“We sure won’t be staying long if we do, that’s for sure. But that’s not a bad thing?”

“It’s not.”

“Nah, it just means more private time for us.” With that, he leaned in and initiated a sweet, sensual kiss. My lips parted slightly as I gave myself over to the moment, my pain fading in the presence of our shared tenderness.

Jerome knelt on the floor, building the walk of his castle out of Lego's. He studied his progress so far, then reached for a red block.

---

Luisa sat, holding her knitting in her lap. Her fingers skillfully worked the yellow yarn into a graceful pattern of knit and purl stitches.

---

Daryl stood with his back to the wall, watching classmates dance together in couples and groups in the gymnasium. They seemed so confident.

---

Jorge stood in the wings watching the other actors onstage. He knew his cue would be coming soon. His heart raced with nervousness.

---

Shelly knelt in her grandmother's dusty attic, rummaging through an oak trunk of old clothing. She was amazed at the luxurious fabrics.

---

Jack reached over and ran his hand through Andy's bangs. The younger man smiled and blushed, looking at jack through half-closed eyes.

Andrus walked swiftly down the hallway of the abbey, his clerical robe rustling as he did so. He hugged the five century old codex he had been copying to him. As he arrived at the door to Mother Waltraud’s office, he adjusted his grip so he could knock with one hand. The head of his order’s voice was muffled by the oak panel. “Yes, come in.”

The Mother Superior looked up from her writing as he walked into the door and stood a few feet from her oversized desk. She set down her pen and remained silent, as if waiting for him to speak. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Mother.”

“You are one of my most devoted monks, Brother Andrus, normally quite content to do your work in quiet solitude. If you have found a reason to come see me unbidden, I have no doubt that it is a good one. So what’s on your mind?”

“Yes, Mother. Well, I was working on making a new copy of this manuscript,” he said, holding it out from his body to allow her to see it. “It’s a collection of sayings from the Sixth Prophet.”

“Ah yes, the Sixth Prophet, Louhi. I’ve read a few collections of her sayings. Well, worth preserving, I think.”

“Yes, Mother. I agree. Of course, all sacred texts are worth preserving, are they not.”

Waltraud smiled slightly. “Yes, I suppose so. That’s certainly the basis of our order’s mission to preserve and copy such texts. Though personally, I think some are far superior to others and therefore worthy of even greater care. But I doubt you came here to discuss the merits of our mission. Was there a problem with the manuscript.”

Andrus blinked, surprised by the question and how near the Mother cut to the truth. “Well, if I may show you what I found.” She gestured her approval and he came around her desk, setting down the codex and opening to his page. He pointed to a group of characters on the current page. “If I am translating this correctly, the Six Prophet declared those of the Akemian race to be our brethren.”

The Mother’s eyes scanned the indicated section of the manuscript. “Yes, I read it the same way you have.”

“But doesn’t church teach that they are our slaves, as the Lords of Light intended?”

“That is the teaching you will likely hear at the parish down the street, or proclaimed from the Holy City.”

“I don’t understand, Mother. How can this be?”

Waltraud pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from a drawer and handed her pen to the monk. “Draw the symbol in this manuscript that you render as brother.” Andrus accepted the pen and did so. “Very good. Now if you know it, draw the symbol for slave in the same language.” Andrus drew another, nearly identical symbol. “Tell me, Andrus, can you tell the difference between these two symbols?”

“Yes, Mother. The symbol for brother has an extra horizontal line right here,” he said, pointing.

“Would it take much for a careless transcriptionist to forget that line when copying this manuscript, thus changing its meaning.”

“But Mother Waltraud, I would never be so careless.”

She laughed at that. “No, you definitely would not. You were quite possibly the easiest monk to train for this task. And I suspect that your brothers and sisters would not make such a mistake at this point. Our order tends to be very strident in teaching you to care for the work we do.

“But we are not the only people who copy such texts, and not everyone shares our deep commitment to such detail.”

“So, some manuscripts might actually have the other symbol in them?”

“Two copies of this same manuscript that are kept in the lesser library of this abbey, have just that mistake in them. So this is more than a hypothetical possibility.”

Andrus wrinkled his brow. “So, how do we know that those are the copies with the mistake in them and this one is correct.”

“For starters, those copies were made a good two centuries after this particular manuscript was made.”

“So an older manuscript is assumed to be more valid?”

“To an extent, but it’s more than that. When did you say this codex was made?”

“According to the annotations inserted in the front, five centuries ago.”

“When did the Sixth Prophet live?”

“Five centuries ago.” Andrus’s eyes lit up as comprehension hit. “You mean?”

“Yes, this codex was written by Louhi herself. It is the original. Check the authorial marks for yourself, if you wish.”

“I believe you. But shouldn’t we say something then? I mean, the Church is teaching something that is clearly in error.”

The Mother sighed. “That would be a mistake. Those in charge -- especially those in the Holy City -- are far too vested in the error.”

“But surely they would take the words of the Sixth Prophet seriously.”

“My dear Andrus, you are a faithful man, loyal to both the prophets and your notion of good scholarship. Sadly, those are not traits shared by many who prefer the power that religious rule gives them. They are far too comfortable with their Akemian slaves and the lavish lifestyle those slaves make possible. They would not take kindly to anyone who would challenge that. Even all fourteen of the Prophets.”

“So, you feel they would ignore the discovery.”

“Worse. I think they would try to cover up the discovery. Even by destroying the manuscript you so lovingly carried into my office.”

Andrus recoiled in horror. “Surely not!”

“I’m afraid it’s true. Are you familiar with The Sermon of the Eighth Prophet by the Sea?”

“I’ve heard of it, yes.”

“In the original manuscript, a vellum scroll, The Eight Prophet made a similar declaration, which was later mistranslated. One of our order discovered the mistake, and with the same zeal you now show presented her discovery to the world. The Most Holy Priest sent men from the Holy City to ‘investigate.’ They declared the scroll a forgery and burned it. Then they set about destroying any copies based on the ‘forgery.’”

“That’s horrible, Mother!”

“Indeed, I was heartbroken at the time.” She indicated an ornate wooden box on the corner of her desk. “I’ve kept the ashes of that scroll with me since to remind myself what happens when the truth contradicts the proclivities of those in power.”

“You were the monk?”

“I was. So listen to me well, my son. Cherish this codex, make a perfect copy of it. Then make a second perfect copy of it for your personal collection. Don’t object. I say this is permitted in this case, and I know the other heads of our order would agree.

“But once those copies are made, carefully tuck this codex back in it’s spot so it may stay well preserved, and speak nothing of what you learned about it to those outside our order. In fact, be careful with whom you share this discovery inside our order. Otherwise, you may find yourself crying over the ashes of something you cherished.”

Andrus nodded. “Very well, Mother. I just have one more question. What about the Akemians? I mean, they’re slaves and should not be.”

Waltraud sighed and nodded. “I have no good answer for you there. It haunts me to know that we hide the words of the Prophets that would end the suffering of others. If I thought that revealing this information would free them, I might even consider the destruction of the manuscripts worth it.” The monk’s jaw fell open. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. As much as I believe in our mission, I believe the well-being of and justice for others is more important. But truth be told, revealing these texts at this time will not change things for the Akemians. I think we need to find other ways to agitate for their freedom and hopefully obtain it. I’m thankful that many in our church are doing exactly that, and I do whatever I can to support them. I suggest you do the same.”

Andrus nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Mother. Thank you.” He picked up the codex and walked to the door. He paused. “Mother Waltraud?”

“Yes, Andrus?”

“Do you think there will come a day when we can reveal the truth and enjoy brotherhood with the Akemians?”

“I pray for it every night, my son. I also pray that the Akemians will some day want to see us as their brethren, too.”

“Yes, I can see where that may be the hardest part. Good night.”

“Good night, young monk.” With that, she picked up her pen and resumed her writing. Andrus left her office deep in thought.

I laughed lightheartedly, picking up my glass to take another sip of wine. My date grinned, and I returned my own smile, full of desire.

---

He groaned as he pushed up to his hands and knees. His uniform was covered in mud and grass. A teammate offered him a hand.

---

He held the censer in front of him, the smell of burning resins filling his nose. He walked behind one of the priests, chanting.

---

The two men lay together in on the grassy hill, their legs intertwined. George ran his head through Randy's strawberry blond hair.

---

She focused on her breathing and the finish line in the distance. Her calves and thighs groaned at being worked so hard, but she pushed on.

---

He pulled the cloth over his mouth and nose tighter to keep the blowing sand out. The sun would come up soon, bringing scorching heat.

Beren rubbed his left temple as he waited for the pain is his head to fade. He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Is the new interface giving you problems again?” Captain Sabine asked. He noted the tone of concern in her voice.

“Yes, Captain. The neuro-cybernetic engineers said it might be a problem for a while. The neural scanner is still learning to work with my brain’s particular structure.”

“I imagine so. Plus, the technology is still in beta. Personally, I might have waited another year before opting to try it out, if it had been your choice.”

Beren looked at her and grinned. “In a year, they would have expected me to pay for the procedure, which I can’t afford to do. As a beta tester, I get to do it for free.”

The captain chuckled at that. “I suppose so. At least you’re not paying them for the pleasure of allowing their gadget to send lancing pain through your skull.” The pair shared a laugh. “Do you have our course plotted for Caltori 6?”

“Not quite. I’ve managed to get five out of the seven jumps plotted before the pain got too unbearable.”

“You know this is an official mission from the Confederation, right?”

“Yes, and I know that means we need to submit our full course trajectories before we leave the station.”

“I’d like to leave within the hour. Do you think you can manage that, what with the pain?”

“Yes, Captain. I’m switching over to use the viewscreen now.”

“As opposed to...?”

“I had the system set to direct all visual feedback directly to the optic centers of my brain.”

The captain swore in Keldevaran, her first language. “No wonder you’re experiencing so much pain.”

Beren grinned. “Yeah, it’s the poorest part of the neural interface’s implementation. A lot of the beta testers won’t even try it out.”

“I don’t blame them. As new as the technology is, you’ll be lucky if you don’t give yourself a stroke.”

“Well, I figure someone has to test it out at some point. It might as well be you.”


“Well, if you have a stroke, I’m demoting you, just so you’re forewarned.”

“I suspect that will be the least of my concerns at the time, Captain.”

She laughed at that. “Fair enough, Lieutenant. Now, get back to calculating those last two jumps.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Beren saluted before turning to face the console in front of him.