tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18395728573330327822024-03-13T00:24:12.197-04:00Magician's IntegrationThis is the sequel to <a href="http://magiciansmerger.blogspot.com/">Magician's Merger</a>. I suggest you read that one first.Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-30052786895809358612009-04-03T19:31:00.000-04:002009-04-03T19:32:52.934-04:00Hiatus<i>Magician's Integration</i> is on indefinite hiatus. Sorry.Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-77794148927491072009-03-20T21:46:00.014-04:002009-03-21T15:07:10.497-04:00Chapter 10: Whoa! Hi There.I felt Ursus's resignation and Arthur's surprise. <I>Now what?</I><br /><br /><I>Depending on how much this locus mirrors the properties of the physical dimensions,</I> Ursus thought, <I>we might have a shortcut compared to exhaustive mapping. That gazebo is a pretty spot; I bet it gets visited often.</I><br /><br />Moving our subjective viewpoint right down to turf level, we directed our gaze in turn to each of the four gaps in the hedge. When we were finished, I mentally indicated the gap across from us. <I>I think the lawn near that one has seen the most wear.</I><br /><br />Our sense of presence shifted to that gap. <I>Careful, boys,</I> Ursus warned. We moved our senses slightly into the maze. I examined to the left. To the right. To the front. Up. Down. Listen. Smell. Reach out with magic senses. Move in a little more, and repeat. We thus painstakingly made our way to the first intersection and again examined the turf for differential wear.<br /><br /><I>Left, I think,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>Lemur for left,</I> Ursus thought, creating a mnemonic. We carefully moved our viewpoint left. The next turn was also a left. <I>The lemur is eating licorice.</I> Then a right. <I>The licorice is wrapped around a rutabaga.</I><br /><br />In the process of going through the labyrinth, we only made one bad turn that required us to double back. The incorrect path had let to a sculpture that appeared to be carved from marble. It was of a voluptuous, nude woman on a low pedestal. <I>I suspect someone really likes that sculpture,</I> Ursus thought, <I>enough to wear a trail, anyway.</I><br /><br />We worked our way through the maze. One last turn, and we could see into a garden. I saw beds of flowers and other plants and some dwarf fruit trees. The size of the pears suggested that it was early summer at this locus. Studying the scene, we kept our subjective point of presence in place for a while. <I>It seems safe,</I> Arthur concluded.<br /><br /><I>Something's missing,</I> I thought.<br /><br />I felt Ursus realize what it was. <I>This place has more scrying defenses than just the trap with the garden maze,</I> he thought. <I>To our front, something is shielded from scrying. Given that before us is a garden, the blank area might be a house.</I><br /><br />With a mental shrug, we edged our subjective presence into the garden. As we had hoped, our ability to manipulate manna came back, and Ursus immediately seized control of it. He was ready to release it, thus ending our ability to scry, at any hint of danger.<br /><br />Off to one side, where our ability to see her had been blocked by the hedge of the labyrinth, stood a woman. I felt startled for a second, and Ursus almost let our manna go, but she made no threatening moves. She was wearing a carelessly tied diaphanous robe over an even less substantial nightgown, and we were treated to a generous view of spectacular cleavage. She started speaking in a language none of us could understand. There was a scolding tone in her voice, but she didn't look all that angry.<br /><br /><I>Aphrodite?</I> Arthur thought.<br /><br /><I>She's gorgeous enough to be her,</I> I thought, <I>but Aphrodite most likely was a brunette, being Greek and all.</I> The woman before us had white-blonde hair in a loose braid that fell to her waist, and fair skin.<br /><br /><I>Right,</I> Arthur agreed. <I>Freyja?</I><br /><br /><I>I don't believe she's a goddess,</I> Ursus thought. <I>Their presence tends to be more intense. That's not to say she isn't playing hob with my ability to concentrate.</I> I felt him purposefully focus deeper on our manna and his search for potential threats.<br /><br />The woman removed a crystal on a chain from around her neck and held it up to her eyes. I felt Ursus mentally "tense." <I>She's scrying us right back,</I> I thought.<br /><br />The woman quit talking for several moments while she gazed into the crystal. Our concentration split even more as Arthur remained focused on her while I tried to look around us. Our trance almost broke right then, but I managed to salvage it. <I>Look around a little, damn it!</I> I ordered.<br /><br />Arthur felt embarrassed as he complied. The woman was standing nearby, to our subjective right. To the far right stood a hedgerow. Behind us, to the right and left, was the labyrinth. A garden spread in front of us. The raised beds were whimsical free-form shapes rather than laid out formally. In front of us beyond the garden, and to the medium left, were blank areas that we presumed were warded from scrying.<br /><br />The woman let out what sounded like an excited squeal, and she regained my full attention. Smiling, she had beauty that was almost painful. <I>Are you</I> sure <I>she isn't a goddess?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br />The woman said in English, "Can you understand me?" She had an Irish lilt.<br /><br />I nodded my head. I felt vaguely aware that my physical body had given an actual nod. She continued looking at her crystal rather than at the spot that was my subjective center of concentration. "Yes," Ursus said. I felt movement in my physical vocal cords and could hear myself speak. "Can you understand <I>me</I>?"<br /><br />The stunning woman became visibly even more excited. He face and upper chest were flushed. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" She bounced in place a little.<br /><br />I felt Ursus's vigilance relax somewhat. In the face of her obvious joy, it was hard to feel threatened. "Arthur Ursus Enlil Teagan Bear Powyr at your service, Miss," he said.<br /><br />She took a deep breath, which was hard not to stare at, and visibly gathered herself. "Excuse my manners, young sir. It has been more than fifty years since I've had the opportunity to converse with a mortal, and I find myself thrilled at the prospect. I am called Alanna ni Ailfrid. If you come with good will, welcome."<br /><br />"My intentions are harmless," I said, "but I confess a tendency toward unseemly curiosity."<br /><br />She smiled some more. "You are a magus?"<br /><br />"I hesitate to apply such a lofty title to one with my present abilities."<br /><br />"If I'm right in my understanding of how mortals reckon such things, you do look to be quite young. However, you've scried this place when contact with your folk has become difficult and infrequent, you've worked your way out of my snare, and you're canny enough to ward your place of power so that I can't discern its location. Your abilities, then, are more than trivial. Are you a skilled apprentice, then?<br /><br />"In a way, but my story is complicated. For now, it would perhaps be best to simply call me a magician."<br /><br />"Aye, then, a magician you shall be called, and I am well aware of your breed's tendency to explore."<br /><br />"That is a kind way of putting it," I said.<br /><br />Alanna smiled again. "I suppose curiosity is why you were trapped for a time in my scrying snare."<br /><br />"I was practicing and decided to see what in the Abstruse World was near my closet door in the Physical World. The door linked to a spot underneath one of your rose arbors."<br /><br />Ursus had a thought. "Ah, I was wondering what my clothes closet had in common, metaphorically, with your garden. Your trap explains why my sight came out within your labyrinth, rather than at a cellar door or the like."<br /><br />"Aye, the labyrinth is a grievous folly for a garden the size of mine, but if I'm going to have it, it makes a handy element for a spell to catch the gaze of voyeurs. The Wee Folk have the habit of spying on me."<br /><br />"That wasn't what I was trying to do," I said hastily.<br /><br /><I>I can't say I blame those who try, though,</I> Arthur thought.<br /><br />"I believe you, lad," Alanna said. "I apologize for trapping you that way."<br /><br />"You have nothing to apologize for. I'm guilty of being a snoop, even if I wasn't trying to be a voyeur. I apologize for trespassing."<br /><br />"Think nothing of it. You're welcome here, now, as long as you respect my privacy more than the little miscreants who keep trying to see me in my bath do, and I'm not so old that I don't remember what it was like learning to scry myself.<br /><br />"Move your gaze to my crystal," she said.<br /><br />I hesitated, and Ursus and Arthur fully agreed with my caution.<br /><br />Alanna looked exasperated for a moment. "I grant you full guest privileges to my home and land, so long as you offer me, my family, my visitors, and my other guests no harm. While you--or your senses--are here, I will not seek to harm or hinder you in any way, and I will defend you to the best of my ability from anyone else who might try to do so. I, Alanna ni Ailfrid, swear it by my life and my power." She raised her eyebrows questioningly over violet eyes.<br /><br />After hearing an oath like that, I realized that I would be offering a gigantic insult if I didn't focus on her crystal. <I>Oaths have real power among magical folk,</I> Ursus thought. He relaxed even more. I looked at the crystal.<br /><br />Alanna was silent for a few moments, and then she spoke a few words in a language I didn't know. My diminished sense for magic felt a slight stirring. "There," Alanna said, "you'll no longer get snared in my labyrinth if you wish to pay me another visit, as I hope you will."<br /><br />I noticed, too, that I could now see a house where there was once a blank spot in my vision. By the standards of Novi Orbis, it was a small place, but it was too big to be described as a cottage. It had fieldstone walls and a shake roof. "Pretty house," I said.<br /><br />"Thank you. Let's move this conversation inside, if you will." Alanna led and I let my senses follow her. I saw to my left, in what had been another blank spot, a pond. Beyond the pond were some boxes I guessed were beehives and another hedgerow. Alanna went into a glassed-in porch full of gardening tools and assorted stuff.<br /><br /><I>No threshold effect,</I> I thought to Ursus.<br /><br /><I>There shouldn't be one after we received an invitation,</I> Ursus thought.<br /><br />I noticed that the tools were mostly made of a yellow metal. <I>It's probably bronze,</I> Ursus thought.<br /><br />Alanna let us through a door into a kitchen, and then through another door into a parlor. The walls of the room were covered by floor to ceiling shelves filled with books. Alanna waved her hand at a candle, and it lit. She took a seat in an armchair, put her small crystal back around her neck, and then picked up a crystal ball and put it in her lap. She gazed into the ball for several moments. "That's much better," she said. "Is there enough light for you, Mr. Powyr?"<br /><br />"Yes, that's fine," I replied. "I've been using dream light. Please, call me Arthur, or Art, or even Artie, Miss ni Ailfrid."<br /><br />"You may call me Alanna, Arthur. I'm extremely pleased to meet a mortal again. Your people and mine come into contact so seldom these days."<br /><br />"Do you mind me asking, who are your people?"<br /><br />She gave me a puzzled look for a moment. "I must remember that you weren't trying to find me and landed your gaze here rather by accident. In English, your people sometimes called mine the 'Good People' or the 'Fair Folk.'"<br /><br />A bell rang for Arthur. "You mean, like fairies?"<br /><br />She frowned slightly. "Yes, but that term has gathered unflattering overtones in your world, has it not?"<br /><br />"No offense intended," I said.<br /><br />"None taken, but you should take care around others. If you need a short name for us, 'the Folk' will do."<br /><br />"Thanks for the warning," I said.<br /><br />"Ach, I didn't mean to turn so solemn. 'Tis a wonderful occurrence, meeting mortal kind again. The last time I had the chance, I was but a lass."<br /><br />"I'm happy to meet you, too." Arthur was digging around in our brain trying to remember the more serious bits of lore he had picked up about fairies. Ursus, who had taken over most of the burden of maintaining our trance and controlling our manna, helped to the extent he could by thinking through bits and pieces he recalled about equivalent beings. "By the way my people estimate such things," I said, "you look quite young, still."<br /><br />"The Folk don't age in the way that mortals do, but it's true I'm considered barely fledged by the way my people reckon it."<br /><br />"But you said you were a girl fifty years ago," Arthur said.<br /><br />"Aye, I was born one hundred and three years ago. Among the Folk, one's hundred-and-first birthday is much like your twenty-first, if I have your customs right."<br /><br />"I think you probably do. Twenty-one is a traditional age for gaining a lot of adult rights and responsibilities in the Empire, although some rights have been moving down to younger ages. Eighteen-year-olds just gained the right to vote this year."<br /><br />"Your empire and its voting, that's one of the things that fascinate me about your folk. My people have never put such faith in democracy."<br /><br /><I>For that matter,</I> Ursus thought, <I>I never have, either.</I><br /><br />"I've studied government a little in school," Arthur said. "I don't know a lot about it, but I get the idea that most people in the Empire, or at least in Novi Orbis, think democracy is the best form of government."<br /><br />"You're going to school, then?"<br /><br />"Yes, I'm in grade six. That means I've had six years of schooling, so far, if you don't count kindergarten. I'm considered not fledged at all by the way <I>my</I> people reckon it."<br /><br />"But you've achieved some mastery of the occult arts," Alanna said.<br /><br />"Yeah, I guess, but I haven't been learning them at school. The situation is complicated, and there are secrets involved that I don't think I should go into." I changed the subject slightly. "You appear to be something of a magician yourself."<br /><br />"Aye, I've been told that I show promise, and I have ambitions toward being a lore mistress." She bowed her head a little when she said it.<br /><br />"Your library is impressive," I said.<br /><br />"Thank you. It sadly wants information on one of my primary interests, though."<br /><br />"What's that?"<br /><br />"When those members of a magician's lodge from the mortal realms contacted me when I was a lass, they stirred a curiosity in me about your kind. Do you see why I'm so excited you found me?"<br /><br />"I think so. What happened to the magicians you once knew?"<br /><br />"I know not. One day they quit contacting me. I knew, though, that they found touching this realm to be exhausting work needing much preparation. I tried scrying for them from this way, but I never found them."<br /><br />"You find scrying the material realm difficult, then?"<br /><br />"Aye, I get snatches here and there, which I take notes upon and then spend grueling amounts of time piecing together. Your recent increase in the mechanical arts, for instance, is fascinating to us. If I may be immodest, my paper on the subject has been well received."<br /><br />"We call it the Industrial Revolution," I said. "I guess it got started about three hundred years ago."<br /><br />"Aye, a veritable blink of the eye, and now you have flying machines and horseless carriages everywhere. And steel." She shuddered at the word. "What keeps your automobiles from smashing into each other at such speeds, may I ask?"<br /><br />"Just the care of the drivers."<br /><br />Her face went blank for a second, and then she grinned. "You're having a bit of a go at your new acquaintance, I see. I know how your kind loves to tell tales."<br /><br />"I suppose we do, but I was serious about the cars."<br /><br />Her jaw dropped open. "You people are mad!"<br /><br /><I>See, she understands,</I> thought Ursus. I felt his fondness for her go up a notch.<br /><br />"Don't blame me," I said. "The driving system was in place before I was born. Part of me agrees with your conclusion."<br /><br />She shook her head. "The magicians told me about your taming of lightning. I believe that has spread everywhere, too."<br /><br />"Electricity, yes."<br /><br />"Do you mind if I take notes?"<br /><br />"Go ahead. I wish I had a way to take them myself."<br /><br />She fetched a lap desk. In the interest of science, we studied her intently as she did so. Once she was again seated and had me in her crystal ball, she used a dip pen to take notes in shorthand without looking away from the crystal. We spent some time talking about Arthur's contemporary world.<br /><br />When I decided that I had spent enough time talking, I said, "Tell me something about this place."<br /><br />Alanna took a deep breath. "Where to begin? Do you know how the Otherworld and the Physical World are linked together in intricate loops of cause and effect?"<br /><br />"I have the idea that our beliefs and actions influence you and your beliefs and actions influence us."<br /><br />"Aye, that's a concise way of putting it. There's speculation that my very existence was the result of a resurgence of faith in the <I>daoine sĂdhe</I> among your people. We are a rather infertile race, and I was born at a time when your people began studying the old ways lest they be forgot, or so the magicians I once knew told me."<br /><br />"Wow. What would happen if they were forgotten?"<br /><br />Alanna looked grim. "It would be a catastrophe. I'm too young to remember it, but I'm told that the spread of Christianity in the mortal realms was like a continuous cataclysm mixed with a plague here. My kind doesn't grow old the way yours does, but we can fade away."<br /><br />That gave me pause for a few moments. I changed the subject. "I understand that there is more to the Otherworld than the lands of the Fair Folk."<br /><br />"Indeed. It's divided into many realms with shifting borders. Our geography--though misnomer that word is--is more complex than the Physical World's. On the larger scale, it's described better by linked concepts than by measurements of distance."<br /><br />"I've been calling it 'metaphorical dimensions.'"<br /><br />"That's a good term for it."<br /><br />"Is there any way to predict where parts of the Otherworld intersect the Physical World?"<br /><br />"Not precisely, no," Alanna said. "There will probably be a metaphorical connection between the loci, but other than that, the only way to find out is to look. Too, a locus in either realm can connect to multiple loci in either realm, and the connections can move around."<br /><br /><I>That has been my experience,</I> Ursus thought.<br /><br />"Do you have any guess about how much danger I will be in if I take an imaginary journey to the Otherworld?" I asked.<br /><br />"By 'imaginary journey' do you mean astral projection?"<br /><br />"I believe that's another name for it," I replied.<br /><br />"Two of the magicians I once knew were able to send part of themselves into the Otherworld," Alanna said. "They claimed to be leaving their bodies behind, but to my senses they looked to be right in front of me. I could reach out and touch them. That is what they called 'astral projection.' When the Folk visit your realms, we do something rather the opposite. We gather physical substance around ourselves, at least if we want to do more than float around like spirits. I'm told that in the past it was an easier thing to do."<br /><br />"How do you think I would be treated if I came here astrally?"<br /><br />"Right around this locus, you would be safe as my guest. Among the people I know, you would be well treated, and most of them would receive you with great interest. As for generally, it will vary depending on whom you are with and your location, just as it would in your own realm."<br /><br />I was about to ask her some questions about the magician's lodge. Just then, I felt a psychically jarring sensation, and Ursus lost much of our manna. Then someone started to shake me. "Artie," Mary's voice said, "I'm sorry, but you have to come up for lunch."<br /><br />My trance was shredding, "Sorry," I said to Alanna, "I'll try to come back another day."<br /><br />The look I gave Mary must have been nasty, because she took a step back. "Sorry, but Mom sent me down to get you. She called you, but you didn't answer. If Mom came down here herself and found you talking to yourself while staring into a pan of water, she would pass a brick."<br /><br />"Right," I said. "OK." My throat was sore, and I felt extremely spacey. Spacey and good, but tired. I forced myself to stand. "Lead on."Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-45156248131739980122009-03-04T06:07:00.015-05:002009-03-21T04:45:05.857-04:00Chapter 09: RightsMagician's Integration<br /><br />by Xenophon Hendrix<br /><br />Chapter 09<br /><br />Around 6:00 am, I woke up to vaguely remembered bad dreams and went upstairs. No one else was stirring yet, so after using the bathroom, I got myself a bowl of cereal and took it back downstairs with me. I still didn't feel much like eating, so I again forced myself to do so under the influence of manna.<br /><br /><I>How long can this nausea go on?</I> I asked after I had the cereal down.<br /><br /><I>You've been traumatized</I>, Ursus said. <I>It will take a while. Don't be surprised if it takes a year or two to feel normal again.</I><br /><br /><I>A year?</I> Arthur repeated. <I>Or two?</I> I felt guilt starting to mix with despair.<br /><br /><I>Keep a grip, Arthur,</I> Ursus said. <I>That's how long it might take until one day we realize that we feel OK. But it steadily will get better, day-by-day, so slowly that we won't notice it.</I><br /><br /><I>Can you ever get used to hurting people?</I> I asked.<br /><br />Ursus's memories remained riddled with holes, but he thought back to some of the times he had participated in wars or otherwise had to cause harm. <I>I've never been able to get used to it. Even after I've done everything that I can to depersonalize the enemy in my mind, I still remember that they are human beings, or other sapient creatures. Nevertheless, you can learn to experience a feeling of grim necessity rather than guilt.</I><br /><br /><I>It's my fault that we feel guilty, isn't it?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br /><I>We have three minds in one brain,</I> Ursus thought. <I>That is</I> my <I>fault. We have a difference in judgment about an important issue. Applying the word "fault" to such a circumstance isn't useful.</I><br /><br /><I>But my guilt is making us feel sick,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>Yes, primarily,</I> Ursus said, <I>but for now, you honestly feel as though you've done something wrong.</I><br /><br /><I>You two aren't going to let me confess, so what can I do to make it stop?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br /><I>I assure you that your mind will change about the wrongness of our actions. In the meantime, it best not to dwell on such things,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br /><I>Let's test our memory amulet,</I> I said.<br /><br />All the facets of my mind could agree on that. We had some reading and outlining homework for social studies to do over Christmas break, so that was as good an experimental item as any. I dug out the textbook and read a page with the amulet on, then one with it off, then on, and then off.<br /><br />I then tried writing an outline of the four pages from memory. Once finished, I checked it over using the book. The outline for the two pages I had read with the amulet on was nigh perfect. The outline for the other two pages included the high points but missed some of the details. The difference in results could have been caused by my expectations, but I didn't believe it. As far as I was concerned, the amulet worked. I redid the outline and then did the rest of the reading and outlining due after break.<br /><br />By that time, people were moving around upstairs. I removed the memory amulet so that I wouldn't remember a bunch of trivialities. I took my cereal bowl and went upstairs. Mom and Dad were up, but none of my siblings were. Dad was reading the newspaper, drinking coffee, and eating toast. Mom was drinking coffee. As I rinsed the bowl in the sink, Mom asked, "What are you doing out of bed?"<br /><br />"I went to bed early, and I had bad dreams."<br /><br />"You looked worried sick last night. Guilty conscience?"<br /><br />"I suppose that's part of it."<br /><br />"The little son of a bitch had it coming to him." Mom, of course, didn't know about Guzman, only Carol.<br /><br />"I don't feel good about it."<br /><br />"Some people only learn things the hard way," Mom said. "It's not your fault."<br /><br />Dad could become entranced by the paper, but he must have been listening to us that morning, because he said, "Your mother's right, Art. You made an invaluable contribution to the young imbecile's education."<br /><br />Mom sometimes had an almost silent laugh. "Better you now, Artie, than some cop's billy club five years from now."<br /><br />"That's an optimistic way of putting it," I said. I went back downstairs and did fifteen minutes of picking exercises on my acoustic guitar.<br /><br /><I>We should practice scrying,</I> Ursus said. <I>There will be more things to see during the morning.</I><br /><br />We cast and purified a circle and set up our scrying pan. It didn't take us that long to achieve trance. Arthur and I immediately directed our gaze toward the Prestor's house. <I>You little voyeurs are trying to see the girls next door,</I> Ursus accused.<br /><br />There wasn't any point in denying it. <I>Yes!</I> I shouted internally.<br /><br /><I>Do you even remember puberty?</I> Arthur thought.<br /><br /><I>Puberty isn't something one can forget, no matter how much one might want to,</I> Ursus thought, <I>but we must observe some limits.</I><br /><br /><I>Did you, when you were first learning how to scry?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br />Ursus didn't respond directly to the question, but we could feel the answer.<br /><br /><I>A ha!</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>C'mon,</I> I said. <I>Let's just check out the showers. Who'll be hurt?</I><br /><br />A struggle ensued with Arthur and me on one side and Ursus on the other. Alas, experience prevailed over youthful enthusiasm, and the internal fight broke our scrying trance. We sat at the old kitchen table mentally glowering at each other.<br /><br /><I>Spoilsport!</I> said Arthur. <I>Shriveled up old spoilsport!</I><br /><br /><I>I assure you that I've never been shriveled up,</I> Ursus said. <I>How would you like it if you found out that someone was, say, spying on you while you were jerking off?</I><br /><br />I considered for a second. <I>Is she hot?</I><br /><br /><I>Not a hot female. Some old homosexual pedophile lusting after your young body.</I><br /><br /><I>Ew. You win this round,</I> I thought.<br /><br />We settled back down and again achieved trance. We saw Dad heading out to his car. <I>This will be a good exercise,</I> Ursus said. <I>See if we can stay with the car.</I> Dad opened the garage door and pulled out. By concentrating on the car, we managed to follow him all the way to his business four miles away.<br /><br />Dad was a mechanical engineer and partner in a consulting firm that did a lot of automotive work. I noticed that the desk for the receptionist was still empty as Dad passed by it on the way to his office. <I>Your father puts in long hours,</I> Ursus observed.<br /><br />We heard Dad say good morning to one of his partners. <I>I know he works hard,</I> thought Arthur. <I>I sometimes feel guilty about it.</I><br /><br /><I>Your father became a family man voluntarily, and it's hardly your decision how he chooses to spend his time,</I> Ursus thought.<br /><br />We spent a few minutes looking around Dad's office, and then we went back outside and picked a random car heading north to follow. <I>How do you control the espionage in a culture where scrying is common?</I> I asked Ursus.<br /><br /><I>Magicians make a lot of money protecting buildings, people, files, and the like. This node appears to be almost unprotected.</I><br /><br /><I>Wizards cause the problem, and other wizards fix it,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>That sums it up. We share that characteristic with lawyers.</I><br /><br /><I>We could make a ton of money spying,</I> thought Arthur.<br /><br /><I>And if your government ever finds out what we can do, we will doubtless be apprehended as a simultaneous threat and asset to national security.</I><br /><br /><I>I'm never going to brag about our ability to government officials,</I> I thought, <I>but why don't more people on this node have it?</I><br /><br /><I>I don't know,</I> Ursus replied. <I>From what we've found in the library and recognize from Arthur's study of myths, we know that this node once had a tradition of magic. Now it appears, at least to our present knowledge, to be almost defunct. I'm speculating freely, but perhaps the supply of available manna went down at some time in the past and has only recently returned to relatively usable levels.</I><br /><br /><I>Can that happen?</I> I asked.<br /><br /><I>I've never seen it myself, but I've heard half-substantiated rumors that it has occurred, always on nodes far away from the one I happen to be on at the time. I do know that manna isn't a conventional natural resource that disappears with use. I also have no idea where it comes from. That's why I translated its name to "manna" when I woke up in Arthur's head. It's something that just happens to be there, free for the taking.</I><br /><br /><I>And we are one of the few people around here who know how to take it,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>Indeed,</I> Ursus said. <I>It's a big responsibility. As our strength grows, imagine the damage we could do if we aren't careful.</I><br /><br />That was a sobering thought. We dropped the car we were following as it turned and instead rode along with a young woman drinking coffee and eating an egg sandwich from a fast-food place.<br /><br /><I>How is she steering?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br /><I>I don't think she is,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>Your automobile culture is insane,</I> Ursus thought.<br /><br /><I>I'm beginning to agree with you,</I> I said. <I>She's pretty hot, though.</I><br /><br /><I>Crazy and stupid lowers my subjective rating of attractiveness,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br /><I>Does it happen often?</I> Arthur asked, retrieving the subject. <I>Someone able to do magic going from one node to another node where people don't have much skill in it?</I><br /><br /><I>I don't know it I'd use the term "often," but it happens. The result can look similar to what happened on this node when a culture with a higher technology met one with a lower--conquest, exploitation, sometimes merely the accumulation of great wealth.</I> We shared in some of Ursus's memories.<br /><br />We stopped tracking the car as it passed the vacant lot we called "The Field" and turned our gaze back home. As our gaze passed the Prestor's house, Arthur and I made another attempt to see Mike and Terry's sisters naked, but Ursus firmly steered us home. We broke trance.<br /><br /><I>Excellent,</I> thought Ursus, <I>this body's skills are increasing at a fine rate. Now, the last time we tried scrying the nearby metaphorical dimensions, I was under the influence of adolescent hormones. (That, at least, is going to be the official story.) I want to start exploring them again, but this time in a more controlled and cautious way. Do you feel up to it?</I><br /><br />Now he was talking. I knew that scrying the metaphorical dimensions was inherently more dangerous than the physical dimensions, but they were also far more interesting. <I>Let's do it.</I><br /><br />We replenished our supply of magical energy by playing our guitar and then eased our way back into trance. <I>Remember, no fighting for control when we're scrying the Abstruse World,</I> Ursus said. <I>I don't care if we find Aphrodite herself bathing in a forest pool with nymphs. If I try to do something, I want you two young deviants to help me do it.</I><br /><br /><I>Understood,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>Might we find Aphrodite?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br /><I>Bog knows,</I> Ursus thought. <I>We'll use our closet door. Doorways, arches, and the like are all in-between places. Metaphorically, they are closer to the other realms.</I><br /><br />I studied my closet door with my scrying pan rather than look over at it directly. We zoomed in until we saw it from the point of view of someone standing just before the door. Ursus willed us to see the closest metaphorical dimension that was on the other side. What the twist of mind actually felt like is impossible to describe in any language that I know.<br /><br />After what seemed like a few minutes, the interior of the closet disappeared. We were looking at a nighttime scene that was hard to discern. Another minute of concentration allowed us to invoke dream light. Immediately outside my closet door was an arbor covered with climbing roses. Slowly, straining to hear and see, Ursus urged our perspective to move so that it was under the arch. We could smell the roses, and Ursus felt pleased over the vividness of our perception.<br /><br />Through the archway, we could see across a short expanse of lawn to a gazebo made from living trees. Eight of them grew in a circle, and their interwoven branches formed the roof. Were benches growing right out of the trunks? I wanted a closer look, and my perspective shifted so that it seemed as if I was standing in the center of the garden pavilion.<br /><br /><I>Damn it!</I> Ursus said. <I>We need to be careful.</I><br /><br />Oops. <I>Sorry, I didn't mean to take control like that.</I><br /><br /><I>Slow. Care. Watch. Listen. Think.</I><br /><br />We looked around the inside of the gazebo. The benches <I>were</I> growing out of the tree trunks. Cool. A rose arbor stood every ninety degrees around the gazebo. On the other side of the roses was a tall hedge that surrounded the circular expanse of lawn. Gaps in the hedge lined up with the arbors. What we were probably seeing dawned on me.<br /><br /><I>I bet we are in the center of a garden labyrinth,</I> I said. I had read about them in a fantasy novel.<br /><br /><I>I believe you are right,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br />With what felt like agonizing slowness to Arthur and me, Ursus moved our subjective presence over to one of the gaps in the hedge. We looked down the gap and saw paths going to the left and right. <I>It looks like it could be a maze,</I> Ursus thought. <I>I'm disinclined to explore it today.</I> We moved away, closer to the center of the lawn and looked up. In the sky back home, I could recognize the Plough, also known as the Big Dipper, and use it to find the North Star, but with Ursus slowly rotating our gaze, I couldn't see anything in the night sky that looked familiar.<br /><br /><I>Could we use one of these rose arbors for scrying, just like we're using the closet door?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br /><I>Neither our strength nor our equipment are all that powerful yet,</I> Ursus replied, <I>but we might be able to do it. I suspect, though, that we would have better luck if we took an imaginary journey to this place rather than merely scried it.</I><br /><br /><I>Are we going to try that?</I> I asked.<br /><br /><I>Someday, I hope to do so. The danger is greater, but so are the potential rewards, including interaction with whoever lives here. Someday, I even hope to enter the metaphorical dimensions with our physical body.</I><br /><br /><I>Why?</I><br /><br /><I>Travel between the nodes, for one,</I> Ursus replied. <I>Now, I'm not sure which arbor we used to send our vision through. Did either of you notice when Bear so suddenly shifted our point of view to the gazebo?</I><br /><br /><I>No,</I> we both replied.<br /><br /><I>If we had been taking an imaginary journey rather than scrying, we would now be a little lost,</I> Ursus said. <I>As it is, as a last resort, we merely have to come out of our trance. That, however, is inelegant. Let's see if we can find our entry point.</I><br /><br />We moved our perception point to one of the rose arbors and went underneath. We concentrated on bringing up a vision or our bedroom. Nothing happened. After what felt like a few minutes, we tried each of the other three arbors in turn. <I>This is annoying,</I> I thought.<br /><br /><I>All right, we'll break our trance,</I> Ursus thought. We tried. Nothing happened.<br /><br /><I>OK, we will release our collected manna.</I> We tried. Nothing happened.<br /><br />I started to feel scared. <I>We aren't in that much danger,</I> Ursus said. <I>Your family will sooner or later check on us, if nothing else breaks the trance. Or our manna will eventually run out, even if we can't let it go voluntarily. Still, this is an interesting problem.</I> We spent some time thinking about it, and then I felt the thrill of realization.<br /><br /><I>Our perception is in the center of a maze,</I> Ursus said. <I>Metaphorically, a maze is a fine place to trap things. Methinks someone has used the garden labyrinth to anchor an anti-scrying spell.</I><br /><br /><I>Hmmm, what should we do?</I> we all thought simultaneously.<br /><br /><I>The wise thing to do would be to wait it out,</I> Ursus said, <I>assuming that this pretty little trap is the extent of our problems.</I> We "reached out" with our sense for magic. We weren't there, however, in either a physical or metaphorical manner, just our perceptions were, as directed by the scrying ritual. Our sense for magic was weakened by our lack of presence, and we didn't feel much of anything with it.<br /><br /><I>Maybe we could get into a good argument with each other and break our concentration indirectly,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>The maze is the anchor of the trap,</I> Arthur said. <I>If we solve the maze, won't we also work our way out of the trap?</I><br /><br /><I>Frigging around in the labyrinth could be dangerous,</I> Ursus said. <I>Catching our perceptions here isn't exactly a friendly act.</I><br /><br /><I>It doesn't</I> feel <I>all that hostile, though,</I> I said. <I>After all, we're the ones who are snooping around. Maybe it's just someone guarding their privacy.</I><br /><br /><I>Maybe this is meant to be a warning,</I> Ursus said, <I>and if we go messing around further we'll just get people angry.</I><br /><br /><I>If they really are hostile,</I> Arthur said, <I>just waiting could be bad, too.</I><br /><br /><I>I guess we'll try the argument option,</I> Ursus said. <I>Arthur, hanging around with Danny Lukowski is eventually going to get us in trouble. Kirsten Kennedy makes me feel like a pedophile. And you need a haircut.</I><br /><br /><I>The two of you are just as curious as I am,</I> Arthur said. <I>I can feel it.</I><br /><br /><I>I'm trying to be a responsible adult,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br /><I>If you weren't in my head, worried about me being a kid, what would you do?</I><br /><br /><I>I don't know.</I><br /><br /><I>I want to try going through the labyrinth,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>I don't believe that is our best choice,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br /><I>Do I have any say in how my brain gets used,</I> Arthur asked, <I>or am I just your vessel?</I><br /><br />Bog! That hurt. <I>That's damn rough, Art,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br /><I>Sorry,</I> Arthur said. Now he felt guilty. Our body's emotions were getting whipsawed.<br /><br /><I>It's OK,</I> Ursus said. <I>You've made your point. You have rights, too, and while this is against my better judgment, it's not so much against it that I'm going to try to force you to do it my way. We'll try yours.</I><br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/03/chapter-10-whoa-hi-there.html">Chapter 10</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-86811168451289191852009-03-01T02:08:00.006-05:002009-03-04T06:24:33.974-05:00Chapter 08: This Time for SureI squinted at him. "This has become tedious, Carol." His friend Pat Hughes was with him. Pat hadn't hassled me since I broke his nose.<br /><br />"'This has become tedious,'" Carol mimicked in a high voice. "You're such a prancing faggot."<br /><br />OK, that image was ridiculous. My body had never been suitable for prancing. "This is low class even for you, Flagler," I said. "Can't you see I'm on a date?"<br /><br />"Sure thing, faggot."<br /><br />I gestured vaguely in Kirsten's direction. She was standing slightly behind me and to my right. "See, girl." I paused briefly and then said, "Come to think of it, you're the one who went to the movies with a guy."<br /><br />Yes, it was an unfair shot, but I had learned through hard experience that Carol Flagler interpreted any show of restraint to be a sign of weakness. He rushed me.<br /><br />Ursus's style of hand-to-hand fighting was intended to be a last ditch defense when all else had failed. It wasn't meant for sport. It wasn't meant to control the intransigent. It certainly wasn't meant to be an art. It was pure gutter fighting or, to put a more positive spin on it, commando fighting. Its principles were to attack the most vulnerable parts of the opponent's body as savagely as possible with the intention of ending the fight without getting hurt oneself.<br /><br />I stepped inside Carol's right-hand haymaker and jabbed with my left palm. My fingers were curled into claws. He had his chin tucked, so my blow didn't have a lifting effect, but I gave him a good smack in the teeth. I didn't pull back but dug my fingers into his face.<br /><br />He tried to grab my coat with his left hand. I did grab the arm of his with my right and pulled downwards. The thrust from my left hand and the pull from my right broke his balance. I slid my left leg behind him and kicked backwards while at the same time changing the pull to a push. I threw him over my hip. He landed hard on his right side facing away from me at Pat's feet. I refrained from attacking Carol's spine with my boots.<br /><br />The fight was over in a lot less time than it takes to describe it. I quickly straightened up in case Pat attacked, but he seemed disinclined. By the way Carol was screaming, crying, and swearing, I concluded that he was no longer a threat. I noticed that Kirsten had moved so that she could flank. She had been taking jujutsu lessons for almost four years.<br /><br />I stepped back. Pat knelt down beside his friend. Kirsten pressed herself against my side. <I>It sounds like something is broken,</I> Ursus observed.<br /><br />Carol was now on his back and writhing a lot. "It looks like I'm going to need witnesses," I said loudly to the crowd outside. "Could anyone who saw Carol Flagler's aggression please stay around."<br /><br />I led Kirsten back into the lobby. As I headed for the payphones, I noted that during the fight I hadn't felt Ursus take over control of our body, as I had during my other recent fights. Rather, it felt as if we had seamlessly worked together. I overheard someone on another phone. He apparently had already called the emergency number: "Yeah, there's a kid outside the cinema at Infinity Mall. He was in a fight, and he's screaming as if something's broken."<br /><br />I fed in some coins and dialed my home number. Mom answered. "Hi, Mom. Kirsten and I are completely fine, but Carol Flagler attacked me again."<br /><br />"Are you all right?"<br /><br />"Yeah, as I said, I'm totally unhurt. Carol, though, is screaming like he's injured pretty bad. Someone is already calling it in, so the police are definitely going to be involved. Is Mrs. Kennedy with you?"<br /><br />"Yes, she's still here. Is Kirsten all right?"<br /><br />"Nobody laid a hand on Kirsten. The only person who's hurt at all is Carol, and he's making a lot of noise. You and Mrs. Kennedy better come over here. I'm calling from the lobby of the movie theater, and Carol is lying outside a few feet from the door."<br /><br />"Shit damn it. We'll be right there."<br /><br />After I hung up, Kirsten said, "He didn't leave you any choice."<br /><br />"I guess not." I felt a bit ill. I supposed it was a mixture of my quasi-execution of Guzman the diabolist mixed with the knowledge that Carol hadn't stood a chance, given the protection spells I had cast upon myself.<br /><br /><I>He's been constantly picking on us,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>He started the fight all on his own,</I> Ursus said, <I>and he didn't leave us any gentler options.</I><br /><br /><I>I know,</I> I thought. <I>At least we didn't stomp him.</I><br /><br />"He challenged you as soon as we stepped outside," Kirsten said. My feelings must have been written all over my face for her to feel the need to reassure me like that.<br /><br />"I know," I said. "I'm all right." Pat passed us on his way to the pay phones. Kirsten and I went back outside. The cinema manager and a security guard were squatting by Carol. Some bystanders were talking to them. One of them pointed at me. Carol wasn't screaming as much, but he still was making a lot of noise. Kirsten took hold of my hand.<br /><br />The emergency workers were stationed at the firehouse less than a mile away. They arrived within a few minutes with their lights flashing but their siren off. It was the same two paramedics who had attempted to examine me after my battle with the demon. I had been wearing a ski mask at the time, had given them a false name, and had made my escape as quickly as possible. I hoped that they didn't recognize me. <I>Be calm,</I> said Ursus. <I>There is no reason that they should.</I> Ursus started a standing version of our relaxation exercise.<br /><br />When the paramedics took over, the security guard and the manager, after being directed by the crowd, walked over to Kirsten and me. "Are you hurt at all?" the guard asked.<br /><br />"Not a scratch," I said.<br /><br />Neither the guard nor the manager was wearing a coat. "Let's step into the lobby," the guard said. Once we were inside, he said, "I need your names and your telephone numbers. I'm going to have to call your parents."<br /><br />"Arthur Powyr." I spelled it. "I already telephoned my mother. Both mine and Kirsten's are on their way."<br /><br />"Let me have your number anyway, in case I need it." I shrugged and told it to him. He got the corresponding information from Kirsten.<br /><br />"What happened out there?"<br /><br />Kirsten told him, and then I told him. The cinema manager walked away and went through a door marked, "Employees Only." Mom and Mrs. Kennedy arrived. Presumably, Mary had been told to watch the other kids. Kirsten and I each had to tell the story again. I moved so that I could see out the glass door. Carol was on a stretcher and being loaded into the ambulance. <br /><br />Two police officers arrived. The security guard took them aside, and then one officer went outside while the other came over to talk to us. He turned to Mom. "Who are you, ma'am?" Mom identified herself. Mrs. Kennedy identified herself. They both gave the officer some ID. He separated Kirsten and me, with our mothers, before we told him the story, but then he let us back together. The police officer then took the names, telephone numbers, and statements of several of the witnesses. Everyone seemed to agree that Carol had attacked me.<br /><br />The other officer came back in. He and the officer who had talked to us stepped aside and talked to each other for a few minutes. About then, Mrs. Flagler came into the lobby. She spotted me and yelled as she advanced, "I told you to stay away from my son you damn bully!" The officers interposed themselves between her and me. Good men. The one officer maneuvered her as far away from us as he could without going outside.<br /><br />The officer who had questioned us said, "You're all free to go. Everyone agrees that this Flagler lad started the fight. It looks like clear-cut self-defense. We'll contact you if the prosecutor's office thinks otherwise, but I can't see how they will."<br /><br />"This isn't the first time that Carol Flagler has attacked my son," Mom said.<br /><br />"You can file a complaint," the officer said, "but given his age and the fact that the aggressor was the only one hurt, nothing is likely to come of it."<br /><br />Mom looked at him for a second and then shrugged. "All right. Let's go then."<br /><br />"What's wrong with Carol?" I asked.<br /><br />"It looks like a broken collarbone," the officer said.<br /><br />We were about to head for the door when I heard someone say, "Just a moment, please." We turned. A bald headed man in a suit and the cinema manager walked over to us. "I'm Howard Gordon, the general manager of Infinity Mall," the bald man said.<br /><br />"Hello," Mom said. "I'm Agnes Powyr, general manager of the local lunatic asylum and den mother to hoodlums, ruffians, and budding curmudgeons. This is Helen Kennedy, my assistant and confidante."<br /><br />Howard Gordon smiled and said, "Would you step back to the office for a minute." Mom looked at Mrs. Kennedy, and then they allowed us to be herded along. Once we were in the office, Kirsten and I again had to tell the story. Mr. Gordon produced a document and offered it to Mom, "Please look this over, ma'am, and then sign it, if you will." Mom held it so that Mrs. Kennedy could read it, too.<br /><br />"It looks to me that you want me to promise not to sue Infinity Mall," Mom said.<br /><br />"That's the essence of it," Mr. Gordon said.<br /><br />"I don't think I should go signing away my rights without a good reason," Mom said.<br /><br />"Your son was unhurt, correct?"<br /><br />"So he has told me."<br /><br />"Why, then, do you want to preserve your rights to sue Infinity?"<br /><br />"Why do you want me to sign them away?"<br /><br />"Your son was allegedly attacked on Infinity's property. As far as we're concerned, we provide an environment as safe and secure as can be reasonably expected by a prudent individual."<br /><br />"This is ridiculous," Mom said.<br /><br />The manager must have said something that aroused Ursus, for I found myself saying, "Mom, he's worried that you'll get a hold of some shyster who will hit the mall with a lawsuit that's stupid and unreasonable but enough of a nuisance that they'll settle rather than go to court."<br /><br />Mom looked at Mr. Gordon and said, "Guy, you're paranoid." She turned around and led us out.<br /><br />When we reached the van, Mom said to me, "I guess I told you to give Carol a good thrashing next time he attacked you."<br /><br />"Yeah, but I reacted with pure instinct," I said. "I hope he's finally learned to leave me alone."<br /><br />"What are we going to do with you, Arthur?" Mrs. Kennedy asked.<br /><br />"Mom," said Kirsten, "Artie had no choice at all."<br /><br />We all climbed into the van. Kirsten and I took the middle bench seat and held hands on the way home.<br /><br /><I>These motor vehicles of your people are insane,</I> Ursus observed. He no longer went into a near panic when he had to ride in a car, but Ursus still loathed them. <I>It's obviously a symptom of some deep suicidal tendencies within your society.</I><br /><br /><I>I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about anything.</I><br /><br />When we got home, Kirsten and I shared a fast hug, and then she and Mrs. Kennedy left immediately. "I guess I'm going to have to make something quick for dinner," Mom said.<br /><br />"I guess. Sorry for the trouble."<br /><br />"Could you have avoided it?"<br /><br />"I don't see how."<br /><br />"Arthur, you have the right to defend yourself. You didn't do anything wrong, and I'm glad you weren't hurt."<br /><br />"OK." We went inside. I again had to tell the story. I escaped to the basement as quickly as I could.<br /><br />As I lay on my bed, I thought, <I>I wonder if I can become a hermit.</I><br /><br /><I>I'm pretty sure I've done that,</I> Ursus thought.<br /><br /><I>Doesn't it get boring?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br /><I>Sometimes boring is good,</I> Ursus replied. <I>Boring can be peaceful when the world is too much with you.</I><br /><br /><I>I think I'll become a hermit,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>We just need some more personal time,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br />Supper was macaroni and cheese and corned beef hash with rolls. I couldn't eat much. I had to tell the story of the fight to Dad. Mom told him of her encounter with the mall manager. Dad asked Mom, "Didn't this Flagler woman threaten to sue <I>you</I> once?"<br /><br />"I can't believe she would be that stupid," Mom replied. "Although she does seem to be an idiot."<br /><br />As was our custom, Mike and Terry arrived shortly after supper for some dedicated guitar work. Of course, I had to tell them the story.<br /><br />"Bam!" said Mike. "I wish I had been there to see it."<br /><br />"I'm not feeling very good," I said.<br /><br />"Didn't he deserve it?" Terry asked.<br /><br />"I suppose he did," I said.<br /><br />Danny arrived. I told him the story.<br /><br />Mr. Kennedy dropped Kirsten off for band practice. I had to tell him the story, too. "It doesn't look like you had any choice, Art," he said.<br /><br />Band practice went OK. I called it about a quarter to eight. Dad and I took Kirsten home. I walked her to her door. We had a brief hug and kiss. "Artie, are you OK."<br /><br />"I don't feel so good."<br /><br />"You look like you want to throw up."<br /><br />"I kind of feel that way, but I don't think I will. My nerves are just a bit strained; that's all."<br /><br />"Are you still upset over the fight with Carol?"<br /><br />"Kind of."<br /><br />"You didn't have any choice."<br /><br />"I know."<br /><br />When I got back home, I said to my mental companions, <I>Let's charge the amulet right now. I want to go to bed early.</I> So that's what we did. The post-spell exhaustion put me to sleep.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/03/chapter-09-rights.html">Chapter 09</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-47084627269998449872009-02-27T02:01:00.013-05:002009-03-01T02:12:40.532-05:00Chapter 07: A Great MigrationMonday, 27 December 1973--I decided to avoid people as much as possible all morning. Not for any negative reason, I simply had reached my limit for human contact. We introverts can get that way, sometimes. For breakfast, again under the influence of manna, I made myself eat two slices of toast with peanut butter and an apple. Then I made the physical part of my memory amulet.<br /><br />I decided that of the woods I had available, maple would be the best choice. With the jigsaw in Dad's workroom, the only power saw I was allowed to use, I cut a disk from the wide end of the maple pole I had gathered from a vacant lot. Then I equalized the thickness, sanded it, laid out the sigil I had designed the night before, carved it in using Dad's smallest gouge, and gave it a finish sanding. It was ready to ritually charge that night, and I still had the other side of the disk for another glyph once I determined what it should be.<br /><br />Except for a fifteen-minute break for guitar practice, I read the rest of the morning. When I came up for lunch, Mom said, "Hark! The fearsome cave bear approaches!" She was in the process of making grilled cheese sandwiches. Mary was helping.<br /><br />"Eeeeek!" said Susan as she hid behind Rich.<br /><br />Charlie pointed a finger at me and yelled, "Bang!"<br /><br />"Grrrrrr," I said.<br /><br />"Do you want one?" Mom asked with a gesture at the food.<br /><br />"Yes, please." I picked up the newspaper, which I hadn't bothered to look at yet.<br /><br />"Kirsten's really looking forward to going to the cinema with you," Mary said.<br /><br />"It's just a movie," I said, "and how do you know that?"<br /><br />"It's your first official date, and she told me when we were ice skating this morning."<br /><br />First official--oh, come on! "We've been doing stuff together for weeks," I said.<br /><br />"This is different," Mary said.<br /><br />"How?"<br /><br />"It just is," Mary said. "You're taking her to the movies."<br /><br />I looked at Mom. Mom just laughed at me. Heartless harridan.<br /><br />I change the subject. "I didn't know you and Kirsten were planning on going skating this morning."<br /><br />"We didn't really plan it. I asked Mom, and then I called Kirsten. Kirsten thought it was a good idea, so Mom drove me over, and Mrs. Kennedy drove me home. Kirsten, Pam, and I spent most of the morning together. I would have mentioned it to you, but you were down there being a cave troll, and everyone knows it's best to leave well enough alone when you're in that kind of mood."<br /><br />I hadn't realized that I had everyone trained. <I>As long as one is consistent with rewards and punishments,</I> Ursus remarked, <I>human beings are reasonably trainable.</I><br /><br /><I>What about Carol?</I> I asked--Carol (Carl) Flagler, my self-appointed nemesis. Since our confrontations had turned physical, he had been getting much the worst of it, but he kept coming back for more.<br /><br /><I>That one is particularly thick headed,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br />Mom put a sandwich on a paper plate and handed it to Mary. Mary put some potato chips on it and handed it to me. I retreated to the family room with the newspaper. The cinema listings said that Infinity Mall was showing a horror movie and a western that afternoon. We were too young to get into the horror movie, so Kirsten was going to have to choose the western. That was fine with me; Arthur liked westerns. Showtime was 1:15 pm.<br /><br />I searched the paper for any mention of Joseph Guzman, the demon summoner, and related events. I didn't find anything, but thinking about it made Arthur feel guilty and nauseated again, which killed our appetite. Nevertheless, I tried to make myself relax and forced down my lunch in small bites.<br /><br />I called Kirsten. She answered. "Hi, Artie."<br /><br />"Would you like to head over to the mall a little early?" I asked. "There's something I want to pick up."<br /><br />"What's that?"<br /><br />"A small eyehook for a wooden medallion I'm making myself."<br /><br />"'Wooden medallion'--isn't that self-contradictory?"<br /><br />"It sounds like it, but I can't think of a better term for it."<br /><br />"I suppose not. I can come over now, then. Showtime is quarter after one. The Wayne Duke movie, <I>Big River</I>, is the only one we're allowed in."<br /><br />"OK, I'll see you in a few." We said our goodbyes.<br /><br />"You made another medallion?" Mom asked. She didn't even pretend not to hear the telephone calls that took place in her kitchen.<br /><br />"Yep."<br /><br />"What did you do with the other one?"<br /><br />"I wear it around my neck." I kept it beneath my clothing. In fact, I kept two amulets beneath my clothing: the star amulet Mom knew about and the protective-circle amulet she didn't.<br /><br />"I don't see the sense of jewelry that people can't see."<br /><br />"I don't really consider it jewelry. It's not meant for others, only me."<br /><br />"Hmph."<br /><br /><I>Please don't connect it with magic,</I> I thought. If she put two and two together, she didn't say anything.<br /><br />"Can I see it again?" asked Rich.<br /><br />"Not right now." I retreated into the bathroom. I didn't really have to use the bathroom, but it was a handy way of ending a subject. I took the opportunity to brush my teeth so that I would have fresh breath for Kirsten's benefit.<br /><br />Mrs. Kennedy and Kirsten arrived. Kirsten and I shared our traditional greeting hug. Mrs. Kennedy said, "I assume you want a ride over and back."<br /><br />Kirsten was wearing slacks, which would protect her from the cold, so I said, "If it's all right with Kirsten, I'd thought we'd walk. That will give us some time to talk."<br /><br />"That sounds good," Kirsten said.<br /><br />"I don't know if it's safe with just the two of you alone," Mrs. Kennedy said. The termination of the diabolist and the resulting revelation of his activities were less than week-old news.<br /><br />"We'll be walking along a main road and going to a busy shopping mall, and there will be two of us," Kirsten said. "How could we be in any more danger than if we were out in the front yard?"<br /><br />"I'm a mother. Worry is my prerogative," Mrs. Kennedy said. She took a breath and said, "Be careful, and if you have a change of plans, I want you to telephone."<br /><br />"I will," said Kirsten.<br /><br />With that, we headed for the door. Before we could get it shut, my mother said, "Be careful crossing the street."<br /><br />"Always," I said.<br /><br />By the time we made it to the foot of our drive, I noticed that Danny, Mike, and Terry were in the process of excavating the large mound of snow in the Prestor's yard between the sidewalk and the street. The mound came to just under the lower branches of the linden tree it surrounded. Danny had a spray bottle and was coating the outside with water to create a hard dome for their snow fort.<br /><br />"Kirsten! Your lovely presence again brightens our day," Terry said.<br /><br />Kirsten made an away-with-you gesture toward Terry, but she smiled as she said, "You are so full of it."<br /><br />"She's way too cute for you," Mike said as he looked from Kirsten to me as we stood there holding gloves.<br /><br />"I tend to agree," I said.<br /><br />"It should give someone as ugly as you reason for hope, Mike," Danny said. Mike flipped him off.<br /><br />"We came to get you earlier," Mike said to me, "but Mary said you were in one of your moods."<br /><br />"I guess I was," I confirmed.<br /><br />"Do you want to come lift with us after I go home to watch Jenny?" Danny asked.<br /><br />"Lift what?" I asked.<br /><br />"Hay bales," Danny said. I must have still looked puzzled, because he said, "Russ's weights. We are going to lift Russ's weights later."<br /><br />"We decided to start lifting Monday's and Wednesday's after school," Mike said, "and then on Saturdays, because we have guitar lessons on Fridays."<br /><br /><I>Get big and strong,</I> Arthur said internally. <I>Strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. Eat raw meat. Grrrrr.</I><br /><br />"Not today," I said. "Kirsten and I were just on the way to the matinee. Remind me Wednesday, though."<br /><br /><I>I still want to cast a muscle-building spell,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>I guess we'll have to,</I> Ursus said. <I>Who knows? It might even keep us out of some fights if we look more intimidating.</I><br /><br />After we told them what was playing, Kirsten and I made our escape. "You call your friends 'hoodlums,'" Kirsten said, "but they don't seem all that bad to me."<br /><br />I decided to tell her the flat truth. "They are all pretty bright, especially Mike and Terry. Their mother is highly intelligent, well educated, and articulate, and their dad is no slouch. Blood and breeding count. That's why they can both be well spoken and come across as intelligent when they feel like putting in the effort. And effort's the thing; they're both intellectually lazy. They'll learn something if they see an immediate benefit, but not otherwise. I'm amazed that they've stuck with the guitar so long."<br /><br />"What about Danny?"<br /><br />"You've seen how he draws and can build things." Kirsten nodded. "He can really quickly pick up anything that involves working with his hands," I continued. "I'm sure you noticed how fast he's learning the drums. The harmonica--he basically taught himself how to play years ago. He's a couple of years older than I am, and I can remember him being able to play just about anything by ear that we could name when he was seven or so."<br /><br />"So why is he a hoodlum?"<br /><br />"Did you notice the origin of the basket of his pedal car?"<br /><br />"It looks like he made it from some shopping carts."<br /><br />"Those carts came out of Rodger's parking lot."<br /><br />"Oh, I see."<br /><br />"All three of them will drink booze or smoke weed when they can get them. Danny has no qualms about petty theft, especially if the target is faceless, and Mike and Terry will back most of his schemes. You also can't trust anything Danny says, either, unless you can find independent confirmation."<br /><br />"Is he a compulsive liar or something?"<br /><br />"It's not compulsive, I don't think, but reality seems too boring for him. If he has a choice between telling the truth and making up a story, he'll make up the story."<br /><br />"I guess that has some entertainment value, at least," Kirsten said.<br /><br />"Yeah, that's one of the benefits of hanging around with him." I paused to choose my words. "I don't believe you should ever allow yourself to be alone with him."<br /><br />Kirsten stopped walking. "Are you saying he's a rapist?"<br /><br />"No, I don't believe he's that bad. But I'm not at all sure that he wouldn't get pushy and just go for it. I also don't know that he'd make moves on a friend's girlfriend, but I don't know that he wouldn't, either. If he gets you alone, he could get grabby."<br /><br />"And you put me in a band with these people. Why?"<br /><br />"Put that way, you pose a good question." We started walking again. "I guess I wanted something that you and I could do together, and my friends--and sister--were already talking about starting a band."<br /><br />"And you didn't consider the hoodlum part."<br /><br />"I don't want to make them sound worse than they are. I've known them all my life, and they've never managed to get me in trouble. You just have to be willing to tell them 'no' and leave if they get started on something notably stupid. Really, Mike and Danny aren't <I>that</I> bad when compared to other eighth graders, at least from some of the stories I've heard, and Mom assures me that older siblings often lead younger siblings astray, so Terry's probably not that bad, either."<br /><br />"They don't sound like they're necessarily that good. Why not find better friends?"<br /><br />"Present company excluded?" I gave her hand a squeeze, and she smiled. "Mike and Terry live right next door. Danny lives just around the corner. I've known them a long time, but it's more than that." I paused.<br /><br />"Go on."<br /><br />"You know that Sean MacDougle and I have been friends since he moved here at the beginning of grade five."<br /><br />"Right. I was kind of surprised when I noticed that. You two didn't seem to have a lot in common."<br /><br />"We don't. There's not much we can even talk about. It's a harsh sounding thing to say, but I don't miss Sean when I haven't seen him in a while. I like him, and we get along fine, but there's no connection."<br /><br />"Oh."<br /><br />"You know that Al Gallo and I were friends since grade three or so. Al's willing to talk about anything, and he gets really enthusiastic, but I still never felt much of an intellectual connection."<br /><br />"And you do feel a connection with your band of hoodlums."<br /><br />"More than with most people, at least. I think it has to do with raw brains. There are a lot fewer smart people than average people, and Mike, Terry, and Danny are all pretty bright, despite being dangerous to know."<br /><br />We didn't say anything for a bit. "What about me?" Kirsten asked.<br /><br />All three consciousnesses in my brain felt in tune. We didn't like lying, and we especially didn't like lying to friends, and Kirsten was more than that. "You are the prettiest girl in grade six, but if you also weren't exceptionally smart, we wouldn't ever be more than casual friends."<br /><br />"I guess it's good to know that I'm valued for my mind."<br /><br />"And your personality, and your talent, and yes, for your looks, too. Plus, you know, we seem to get along really well. But I've learned the hard way that intelligence matters."<br /><br />"I guess I can accept that. I guess I have to."<br /><br />"Are you upset?"<br /><br />"Not really. You can be pretty blunt, though."<br /><br />"You shine, you know," I said.<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"Put everything together that makes you <I>you</I>, and you shine."<br /><br />"I-- Thank you." She stopped again. We shared a tight hug.<br /><br />When we got to the mall, I bought us tickets to see <I>Big River</I>, and then we walked to the hobby store. Unlike the larger mall a few miles to the northwest, Infinity Mall was friendly to pre-teens unaccompanied by adults, as long as they behaved reasonably well. We did occasionally hear of someone getting banned.<br /><br />I knew where they were, so I went right to the bins of small hardware and picked out several eyehooks. "So, what's this wooden medallion you're making?" Kirsten asked.<br /><br />"The design on it is different, but it's similar in concept to this one." I pulled my amulet with a pentagram on one side and a hexagram on the other from underneath my shirt.<br /><br />"So that's what I've been feeling when I hug you sometimes."<br /><br />"You've never said anything."<br /><br />"You've never worn it in the open, so I thought it might be personal."<br /><br />"It is. It's not meant for decoration, it's just something I like to have with me."<br /><br />Kirsten looked at it closely. "Is that dried blood in the grooves?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Yours?"<br /><br />"Yes. It makes it very personal." I put the amulet away.<br /><br />"You know," Kirsten said, "you're kind of weird."<br /><br />"I get told that a lot."<br /><br />When we got back to the theater, Kirsten said, "Mom gave me money for popcorn." She bought a large box for us to share. I bought us some pop. Before sitting down, we took off out coats and spread them over our chairs while taking turns holding the various containers.<br /><br />Despite the apparent fears of Kirsten's mother, we just held hands during the film. Ursus was fascinated by the movie, especially as a manifestation of Novi Orban culture. We had been so busy since Arthur woke up with Ursus in his head that we hadn't had much time for Ursus to observe the popular culture first hand, and there was nothing more typical of Novi Orban self-image than the western.<br /><br />In a lot of ways, westerns were the national myths of Novi Orbis. The brave colonists, seeking to start a new way of life, came from the Mother Country and, after much hardship, established a new civilization. They found the continent nearly uninhabited and almost immediately started heading west, filling it with people in a population explosion never before seen in history. The more historical westerns noted that the reason the continent was mostly uninhabited was because the natives of the new world had been almost killed off by the diseases of the old world. The more mythical ones left that ugly part out.<br /><br />England was less than pleased at this disorganized expansion. It wasn't fair to the few natives who had survived. It caused friction between other world powers--namely France and Spain--that had their own claims on the continent. Furthermore, far-flung colonists were almost impossible to tax, and their industries were impossible to regulate.<br /><br />The land hunger of the colonists was not to be denied, however, and the first of the Compromises between England and her unruly New World colonies was signed. England would be in charge of foreign policy, but the colonists would have seats in Parliament and be mostly self-governing for their internal affairs, just as long as they paid their taxes and provided for the common defense of the Empire. The Mother Country was politely told to shove any ideas about mercantilism.<br /><br />War with France was avoided by a large payment of gold, which the colonists were expected to pay back. They chafed under the burden, but they had land--beautiful, fertile land. Those who settled down paid their taxes. The restless kept heading west.<br /><br />Within twenty years of the First Compromise, Anglophone settlers, a trickle at first, started colonizing land claimed by the Spanish crown. Why not? The Spanish were hardly making use of it, and there was farmland, and ranch land, and gold. Some patriots began making noises about the entire northern continent of the New World being manifestly destined to be part of the Empire. Back east, the Novi Orban government saw fit to allow in selected immigrants who were not already Imperial subjects. Why not? There was a continent to fill.<br /><br />Within thirty more years, the Spanish crown was protesting loudly to the English crown. His Majesty William XII, King of England and nominal ruler of its by then surprisingly large empire, needed to do something about his colonists. They were ignoring the Spanish government, settling where they wished, and taking up arms whenever the lawful authorities tried to instill order. To the limited extent they would take telling, they took their orders from back in the English provinces. This would not do at all.<br /><br />William XII complained to the Imperial Parliament. The Imperial Parliament complained to the Novi Orban Parliament, which was by then in existence under the auspices of the Second Compromise. The Parliament of Novi Orbis collectively shrugged and said, "What would you have us do?"<br /><br />The Imperial Parliament emphasized, "The. English. And. Spanish. Empires. Do. NOT. Want. War."<br /><br />The English and Spanish colonies disagreed. The war was one sided from the start. The Anglophones were far more numerous, and with a wink and a nod they were backed by the growing might of Novi Orban industry and no small number of volunteers. The Spanish resistance was crushed in less than a year.<br /><br />The Novi Orban Parliament immediately annexed, with their conquerors' consent, the former Spanish colonies. In a <I>fait accompli</I>, Novi Orbis handed William XII an entire continent from the Atlas Ocean to the Zephyrus Ocean, from the Arctic Circle to the Scott Isthmus.<br /><br />The official position was that the Emperor was greatly displeased. Spain was furious. A great deal of gold and a treaty were offered. Spain asked, "Can you make your barbarians <I>honor</I> the treaty?"<br /><br />The Fourth Compromise with the colonies, territories, and provinces of Novi Orbis was reached. One, they would keep their greedy paws off the southern continent of the New World. Two, they would damn well pay England back all of that gold. In less than a decade, the mines of the new territories had produced more gold than Novi Orbis owed, and the settlement continued apace.<br /><br />That, at least, was the popular version of the settlement of Novi Orbis that every citizen absorbed from countless novels, movies, television programs, stories, and stage plays; and Arthur knew the outline well. Depending on how historically accurate a given narrative was trying to be, the gruesome bits might or might not be left in. For example, the anger in Novi Orbis over the Imperial edict of 1821 banning slavery, and the resulting necessity for the Third Compromise, were usually left out of most popular entertainments.<br /><br /><I>Big River</I>, the movie Kirsten and I were watching, was set shortly after the conquest of the Spanish territories. It was thus an example of the most western of the western genre. Wayne Duke was no longer young enough to play youthful characters burning with ambition. He had moved on to the role of the grizzled survivor who had been around and knew the way things were. For somewhat different reasons, both Arthur and Ursus loved the film.<br /><br />Kirsten and I shared a kiss in the lobby before we zipped up and put on our hats and gloves. We went outside and spent a couple of moments blinking in the sunshine.<br /><br />"Right here, Powyr. Right now," I heard the unwelcome voice of Carol Flagler say.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/03/chapter-08-this-time-for-sure.html">Chapter 08</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-75622040757381618072009-02-21T14:53:00.015-05:002009-02-27T02:07:15.228-05:00Chapter 06: Some MagicMary practiced until suppertime. Mom and Dad left right after eating. Mary and I were still doing the dishes when Mike and Terry arrived. I told them to go ahead and set up. Now that they had two guitars, a bass, and three practice amplifiers, it took them two trips to bring all their stuff. When I went downstairs, I noted that the guitar stands had brought order to quite a bit of the chaos.<br /><br />Mike and Terry were going through the exercises their tutors had given them. I demonstrated the exercises that Hank had given me, and we all compared notes. Danny showed up in a little while, and then Mary came downstairs herding Rich, Charlie, and Susan with Mrs. Kennedy and Kirsten. If anyone thought it odd that Mrs. Kennedy was over in the sitting area while we practiced, he never said anything to me about it. Susan stuck close to Mrs. Kennedy. I couldn't hear much of what she was saying, but Mrs. Kennedy would nod and ask questions.<br /><br />We mostly worked on "Hop a Train (and Ride for Free)." When I showed Mike and Terry the plectrum work that was going to be involved, Mike said, "You are evil." Kirsten, experienced musician that she was, didn't have any trouble transposing the tune to her sax, and Danny could already play it by ear on the harmonica. He spent most of practice with his growing drum kit.<br /><br />We ended the session just before 8:00. Mary put Susan to bed. Because of the impending home-improvement project, band practice was cancelled for Saturday. Mrs. Kennedy and Kirsten left. Mike, Terry, and Danny hung around longer and were rewarded by being available hands when Mom and Dad returned with a van full of stuff. We all pitched in carrying it downstairs. When we were finished, Terry surveyed the pile. "We have a big job ahead of us tomorrow."<br /><br />"Don't whine," Danny said. "We're getting a better practice space than someone's garage."<br /><br />"Not complainin', just sayin'."<br /><br />"The assholes around here would call the cops if we did try to use someone's garage," Mike said.<br /><br />"Mrs. Pullik," Danny, Terry, Mary, and I all said simultaneously. That cracked everyone up. We didn't like Gertrude Pullik, the woman who lived across the street. For some unfathomable reason, Mom did like her.<br /><br />About 9:00 pm, I finally got some time to be alone with the voices in my head. I was physically weary after a long day, but I hadn't used up the strength that I tapped while performing spells.<br /><br /><I>It's probably not necessary,</I> Ursus said, <I>but given our reinvigorated policy of not being idiots with magic, it would be an appropriate gesture to work within a double protective circle until we have our amulet recharged.</I><br /><br />Yes, yes it would. I played my acoustic guitar, which was inscribed with manna attracting and controlling sigils, until we had collected all the manna we could hold. Arthur concentrated on keeping our "grip" on it. Ursus worked at putting us into a light trance. I, Bear, went upstairs slowly and quietly, so as not to attract attention, and slipped into my winter gear. I eased out the back door, which went into the garage, and then out the side door.<br /><br />The house more-or-less faced north. I walked to the foot of the driveway and stood for a little while as Ursus deepened our trance. I dug my athame, a consecrated lock-blade with a mostly black handle, from my trouser pocket and opened it up. When everything felt ready, I inscribed the pentagram for air while intoning, "May the elemental power of air bless and protect this circle and those within and shield them from prying eyes."<br /><br />I visualized a line of swirling leaves and ribbons flowing from the tip of the knife--the leaves and ribbons representing air, which was hard to visualize by itself. How does the wind feel on my skin? How does it smell? Hear the sound of someone blowing over the opening of a pop bottle. What does wind sound like as it rustles through leaves? As I drew the line of air, I fed it a trickle of manna while attempting to pace the release so that I didn't run out before the ritual was finished.<br /><br />I tromped through the snow while circling east, moving with the direction of the sun. As I moved closer to the east, I visualized the line of air slowly turning into a line of earth. I remembered the sting of wind-driven sand on my face. How does sun-warmed soil feel when I pick it up? What does it smell like? What does it sound like when a garden trowel cuts into the earth?<br /><br />The gate to the backyard hadn't been dug out, and it was well stuck. I had to climb over. I took a moment to repair my concentration and then resumed scribing the circle. When I was approximately to the east of the house I intoned as I drew the pentagram for earth, "May the elemental power of earth bless and protect this circle and those within and shield them from prying eyes."<br /><br />Paying out manna steadily, I circled south. As I did so, the line of earth flowing from the athame's tip slowly transformed into fire. Remember the smell of hot earth as a campfire heats it. Feel the fire as it warms my hands. See the dancing flames. The warm glow of a candle in a dark room. Hear a log crackle in the fireplace. I faced the brick wall that stretched across the back of the yard. I intoned as I inscribed the pentagram for fire, "May the elemental power of fire bless and protect this circle and those within and shield them from prying eyes."<br /><br />I circled west. The line making the circle slowly became water. See the steam as the fire boils the water. Hear the bubbles. Feel warm summer rain. Hear it on the steel roof of the back porch. The shock as I plunge into the Prestor's swimming pool on a hot day. Taste the water coming out of the garden hosepipe. Hear a creek trickle over its stony bed. I was to the west of the house. I intoned as I inscribed the pentagram for water, "May the elemental power of water bless and protect this circle and those within and shield them from prying eyes."<br /><br />I circled back north. I had to climb the fence on that side, too. The circle slowly changed back to air. White caps leaping from the ocean as I stood upon the wharf from which my grandfather once fished. Feel the spray. Smell the salt air. How does the air smell after a rain? Snow. See it sparkle. Feel it on my face. See the flakes blown about. Wind-driven ice. How it stabs and burns! The calm after the storm has passed. The tug of a kite string. A swirl of leaves. Wind chimes tinkling in a light breeze. I fed in the last of the manna as the circle closed.<br /><br /><I>Well, that's a rush,</I> I said to my brain mates. We went back inside and started taking off our winter clothes.<br /><br />Mom came into the laundry room. "What in hell were you doing out there?"<br /><br />"You don't want to know," I replied.<br /><br />"Yes, I do."<br /><br />"A magic ritual."<br /><br />"God damn it!"<br /><br />"I won't swear to it, but I don't believe God minds."<br /><br />"Am I going to have to lock you up in the rubber room?"<br /><br />"I'm just as sane as I've ever been," I said on my way toward the little bathroom.<br /><br />"That's just as comforting as hell," Mom said as I was shutting the door. "Get your ass back out here."<br /><br />"I have to pee and brush my teeth," I said.<br /><br />I took my time. When I was finished, no one was outside the door, so I went down to the basement and put on my pajamas and a robe. As I waited to see if Mom was going to come downstairs to continue the argument, I set up my ritual area. I pivoted the old kitchen table I used as a desk and work area away from the wall so that it was close to the center of my bedroom, and I put kitchen chairs to the north, south, east, and west. I neatened up my schoolbooks that were sitting on the table.<br /><br />On the north chair I put an old sleigh bell, on the east a dish of table salt, the south a candle, and the west a carved bowl full of melted snow, which I kept handy in a bucket. I had carved the bowl from a willow burl myself. I intended, eventually, to make all of my own ritual tools as time and opportunity permitted, because the more of himself a magician puts into a spell, the more efficient it is. Ursus assured Arthur and me that the most dedicated mages went right back to nature itself to provide the raw materials used to make the tools that they in turn used to make their ritual tools in an iterative progression. Learning all of the necessary skills was a multi-decade undertaking.<br /><br />I slid another chair, this one for me to sit on, under the southern edge of the table and put my acoustic guitar, a box of wooden matches, and my open athame on top of the table where they would be handy. I took the protective amulet from around my neck and put it on the table, too. My battle with the demon had completely discharged it. Tonight's project was to get it working again.<br /><br />It didn't look as if Mom was going to come down. I shut my bedroom door and resumed ritual work. I again summoned manna with my guitar and used the magical energy to cast around my work area a circle like the one outside. The difference was that I used the same amount of manna to construct a smaller circle, so it was stronger per unit length if someone or something unfriendly wanted to get in magically.<br /><br />I again gathered manna and took some time to deepen my concentration. The next step was the ritual purification. I took the bell from the north chair and began to shake it as I walked around the circle widdershins, for I was banishing, not creating. "May the elemental power of air purify this circle." As I slowly walked the entire circuit, I visualized great winds blowing away old magic and evil influences, leaving my work area clean and pure. Demons; old, broken circles; blotches of black goo; magnified germs; giant eyeballs with unwelcome gazes--all were lifted up and carried away.<br /><br />I replaced the bell and continued on to the bowl of water. "May the elemental power of water purify this circle." This time it was floods washing the undesirable away as I sprinkled a few drops around the perimeter. I lit the candle. Now it was fire burning them up in crackling flames. Finally, it was salt burying, smothering, desiccating. I put down the bowl of salt and continued walking the circle back to north before I returned to the table.<br /><br />I picked up my guitar and again replenished my supply of manna. I sat down and locked my gaze upon the amulet. My dried blood still stained the lines I had carved. The disk of wood was still strongly bound to me by ritual, so for that spell, at least, I didn't have to bleed. The carving, on both sides, represented a ritual circle with symbols for air at the top, earth to the right as it faced me, fire to the south, and water to the left. In the center of the circle was a glyph that represented my collective self.<br /><br />I let my trance deepen until all that was left in my awareness was the disk and my internal vision. I imagined spells bouncing off the protective circle. What might a spell feel like? Sound like? Smell like? Taste like? I pictured, heard, felt, smelt, tasted them as arrows, fireballs, bolts of lightning, rain, gas, handfuls of mud, pellets, glitter, sand, snowballs, buckshot--in short, anything my imagination could come up with. Feel my circle push them away. While I was doing that, I constantly fed the spell a stream of manna.<br /><br />Next, I knew from bitter experience my sensory reactions to getting close to a demon. In truth, what I remembered was less brutal than what I had sensed, but it was bad enough. I imagined the protective circle on my amulet stopping demons and channeling them away from me.<br /><br />Then I imagined it resisting scrying. Imagine a wizard staring into a dish of water. The water was empty. Imagine a sorcerer gazing in a crystal. The crystal was opaque. I was invisible to sight, inaudible to hearing.<br /><br />After an unknown while, the first side of the amulet felt done.<br /><br />I let my trance lighten, but I didn't come completely out of it. Ursus maintained a light trance while Arthur gathered manna and I played the guitar. I felt noticeably tired, and I knew that I could easily collapse into bed and be asleep in seconds, but I forced myself to do more. I flipped the disk over and repeated the spell on the other side.<br /><br />When it was finished, I was utterly exhausted. I hung the amulet around my neck, painfully stood up, removed my robe, and picked up my athame. Leaning on the table, I worked my way around and drew a slash through the imagined glyph for air while I mumbled, "I thank and dismiss the elemental power of air." I did the same for water, fire (blowing out the candle on the way), and earth. My last coherent thought was, <I>I should open the door for Harvey.</I> I was out as soon as I hit the sheets.<br /><br />The next morning, I was awakened by people moving around in the basement. I stuck my head out the door. I saw Dad, Mike, Terry, and Danny. "Hey," Danny said. Terry pointed and mimicked laughing at me.<br /><br />"What time is it?" I asked.<br /><br />"About a quarter after eight," Mike said.<br /><br />"What time did you get to bed last night?" Dad asked.<br /><br />"I'm not sure, but it couldn't have been that late. I'll be right with you guys." I grabbed some clothes and took them with me as I headed upstairs to use the bathroom. I heard Mom, Mary, and my younger brothers talking, but I didn't pay attention to what they said. When I was finished, I just washed my hands and splashed some water on my face before getting dressed.<br /><br />When I came out of the bathroom, Mary was in the family room with the rest of my siblings. "I've got kid wrangling duty so Mom can go downstairs and help," she said.<br /><br />My stomach was in an uproar, which I assumed was from bad dreams and the after effects of traumatic stress. I ate a piece of dry toast and went downstairs. They were already taking down the ceiling panels. I began to help.<br /><br />We worked all morning. Mom fed everyone lunch. Kirsten and her dad showed up. Mr. Kennedy stayed to help. We worked all afternoon. The kid wrangler was changed at intervals. The storage room was emptied so that we could insulate the ceiling in there, and Mom seized the opportunity to throw out some junk. We tested the soundproofing with my guitar and amplifier, and Terry fetched the Prestor's bass, which was the worst offender. The transmission through the floor was noticeably reduced, but the ductwork might as well have been a PA system.<br /><br />Everyone else went home, but Dad, Mary, and I did some work after supper. I turned in by 9:00.<br /><br />We worked all Sunday, with Mike and Terry taking time out for mandatory church attendance. In the end, we insulated the basement ceiling, wrapped all the ductwork and pipes, and took down and put back up a suspended ceiling. All the lenses for the fluorescent lighting were cushioned with putty to dampen their vibrations. Because there were ducts in the storage room, we replaced that hollow door with a solid one. We also insulated the interior storage room walls. They never had been finished, so they were easy to get at. We insulated the interior wall of Dad's workroom and replaced its door, because that was where the furnace lived, the evil heart of all the ducts. More insulation needed to be bought. The extra doors required an extra trip to the store.<br /><br />The half door at the top of the stairs was replaced with a solid Dutch/stable door, because Mom didn't want to block the cats from being able to go downstairs. Their litter boxes were kept in Dad's workroom. On the other hand, she wanted the stairs at least partially closed off at all times to prevent people from falling down them. I suspected that she liked to be able to hear what was going on downstairs, too.<br /><br />Terry plucked the bass a few times. The Dutch door made hideous vibrations. "Shit," Dad muttered. Weather stripping was applied all around the door. That mostly tamed it, so stripping was applied to all of the doors in the basement, too. <br /><br />Our various measures had reduced the PA effect of the furnace ducts but had not cured it. "Maybe we could fix it if we replaced the ceiling panels with acoustic tiles," Dad mused.<br /><br />"Those things are expensive as hell," Mom said. It was declared that music simply had to end when the younger kids started going to bed. At least we were no longer interfering with conversations or television watching.<br /><br />It was about suppertime on Sunday when the noise situation was declared adequately solved for the time being. Mom ordered pizza. Mrs. Prestor wanted Mike and Terry home for supper, so they left. Danny didn't have any better options, so he ate with us. All three Kennedy's were there.<br /><br />My entire mental collective was feeling guilty by then for the expense my parents had gone through. <I>It's not just for Arthur,</I> Ursus said, <I>but for Mary, too, and possibly the younger kids if they get interested. Still, I feel obligated to pay them back somehow. I might be permanently attached to one of their kids, but I'm not one of them.</I><br /><br /><I>Any ideas?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br /><I>Nothing in particular. It will have to be something that they won't feel awkward accepting from their children. We have time, and we'll keep our ears and eyes open.</I> <br /><br />Mike and Terry came back with the rest of their equipment, and the band went through everything we knew and numerous things we didn't until Susan began nodding. That was the signal for everyone to go home. Near the door, Kirsten gave Arthur a long hug and a brief kiss. "What a weekend," she said softly.<br /><br />"It probably wasn't as bad as breaking rocks," I said. The unusual movements and stretching had left all participants lumps of moderate pain. I seemed to be taking it worse than most of the others. My frequent attacks of nausea had reduced my food intake, and I was feeling it.<br /><br />"I don't want to find out for sure," Kirsten said. "Do you think that just the two of us can do something tomorrow?"<br /><br />Her mother heard. "Make sure that any activities are within the specified and agreed upon guidelines."<br /><br />"How about if we go over to Infinity Mall and catch the matinee?"<br /><br />Kirsten looked at her mother. Her mother looked at me. "You will keep your hands off any portion of my daughter's anatomy that she does not explicitly give you permission to touch. You will not coax, beg, wheedle, or bribe in an attempt to get said permission."<br /><br />"Understood and agreed," I said.<br /><br />"Fine. Go ahead." Did all mothers have a noncommittal <I>fine</I>?<br /><br />"What's playing?" Kirsten asked me.<br /><br />"I have no idea. There are two choices at the theater. You can pick one."<br /><br />"Make sure it's reasonably kid friendly," Mrs. Kennedy said.<br /><br />By about half-past eight, I had some solitude. All three of my consciousnesses were introverts, and over the preceding few days I had overdosed on human company. I spent a few minutes lying on my bed and collecting my thoughts. <I>First things first,</I> Ursus thought. <I>We aren't eating enough, so we are becoming weak. We are losing weight too quickly, and at this rate, we are losing muscle with the fat. If we keep up like this, we'll get sick. We need to get some more food into us.</I><br /><br />I went upstairs, dug a couple cold slices of pizza from the refrigerator, put them on a paper plate, and went back downstairs. We went through the relaxation routine that preceded entering trance, but remained just out of it. The relaxation response reduced the nausea we had been feeling more often than not since killing Guzman. We played the guitar and collecting manna. I held onto the manna to maintain the feeling of wellbeing it induced while Ursus ate.<br /><br />My mental collective had a long list of spells we wanted to cast, so we took the one from the top and spent some time designing a memory-improvement amulet. The basic sigil would be stylized eyes and ears with arrows pointing to a simplified sketch of a brain. The arrows passed through funnel-like shapes inspired by the lobster traps I had seen when visiting my mother's childhood home in Nova Scotia. The funnels made it easy for the lobsters to go in after the bait but difficult to get back out. Unlike inside the traps, I sketched inward pointing barbs in the funnels, all the better to catch escaping memories.<br /><br />Harvey wandered in and jumped up on my bed at about the same time I finished the design. Ursus thought, <I>I want to do some scrying before we go to bed.</I><br /><br />We had already discussed the issue, but Arthur and I weren't thrilled with the idea. <I>Are you sure it's not going to get us into more trouble?</I> we both asked, thinking in parallel.<br /><br /><I>How can I be sure of something like that? But I suspect, in the case of the diabolist, that a greater force steered our vision so that we could stop him. Assuming that there are no more rogue magicians close by, we should have more control, and I intend to be a lot more careful.</I><br /><br />Ursus felt our reluctance, so he continued, <I>We've been over this. Scrying has its risks, but it's a powerful scouting and information-gathering tool. Learning things the easy way is a lot safer than learning them the hard way.</I><br /><br />The problem with all of us being in the same brain was that we were largely forced to acknowledge that Ursus's argument was persuasive. <I>Yeah, OK,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>Right,</I> Arthur said. He dug out our scrying pan, an old aluminum foil pie pan we had scratched glyphs upon, and filled it with melted snow. The table was already moved away from the wall. Arthur picked up his guitar and gathered in some manna.<br /><br />Now that our protection-from-magic amulet was again recharged, casting a circle outside the house was unnecessarily provocative. It wouldn't do to rub Mom's nose in the fact that we weren't going to quit practicing magic. We cast and purified a circle around the table, collected some more manna, and sat at the table with the pan in front of us. I took my athame and poked myself hard enough to get a drop of blood. For a change, I victimized my forearm rather than a finger.<br /><br /><I>There has to be a better way to get blood,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>Maybe something sharper,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>Concentrate,</I> Ursus said. He scooped up the drop of blood and put it in the scrying water. Releasing a trickle of manna, we sat gazing into the pan and went into trance. Every time we did it, it became easier.<br /><br />We started chanting, "see, see, see," as a simple mantra. After a while, a vision began to form. It was the sitting area in the basement a few feet away. It was dark. It was boring.<br /><br /><I>We should be able to use dream light while we are scrying,</I> Ursus said. After some time of concentration, we could make out the furniture. The room still <I>felt</I> dark, but we could see. It still was boring.<br /><br />We directed our vision to go upstairs. Mom had her legs on the couch. She was knitting something big, maybe an afghan. Audrey, her dog, was curled up at her feet. Dad was in a chair. He was watching television. Boring. We went down the hall. My siblings were all asleep. Boring.<br /><br /><I>This is mainly for practice,</I> Ursus said, <I>and boring is good. You were the ones who wanted to stay out of trouble, remember? I endorse your wisdom.</I><br /><br />Yeah, yeah, yeah, but still. We let our gaze wander outside. A possum was in the backyard. A narrow garden ran along the brick wall at back, and things grew surprisingly well there, considering that it had almost no southern exposure. The possum was eating some of the cabbages Mom had planted. She hadn't bothered to harvest them all.<br /><br /><I>Everyone hates possums,</I> Arthur said. <I>I feel sorry for them.</I><br /><br /><I>If any species has been given a raw deal in life,</I> I concurred, <I>it's the possum.</I><br /><br />We soon grew tired of watching the ugly critter. Our vision moved over to the Prestor house. We felt some brief resistance before we were allowed to see inside. <I>That was the threshold effect,</I> Ursus said. <I>Established homes have a certain amount of resistance to evil intent, at least that which is magically based. If we were a hostile power, the resistance would have been stronger. As it is, we're just snooping a bit and don't mean anyone real harm.</I><br /><br /><I>The threshold of our house didn't seem to slow the demon much,</I> Arthur observed.<br /><br /><I>It probably did, actually,</I> Ursus said. <I>But on the other hand, we are partially a magical being because of our ability to gather and manipulate manna. A countervailing effect is that magical beings have less inherent resistance to magic than do those who are totally mundane.</I><br /><br /><I>So you put me in increased danger the second you entered my head,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>No, I put you in danger the second I created you as my clone. It's not just a metaphor when I say that a wizard is what we</I> are.<br /><br /><I>What if I had never learned how?</I> Arthur asked.<br /><br /><I>You might have discovered some haphazard effects on your own by accident. Perhaps visions that you took to be hallucinations, or coincidences that seemed to happen far too often. In any event, the vulnerability still would have been there, but you would have received far fewer benefits.</I><br /><br />Mr. and Mrs. Prestor were watching television. We went up to the second floor. Terry was sleeping on his back. Mike was curled up in a ball asleep. He had left a desk lamp on. Colleen, who was in grade ten, was reading a book in bed. She had on a lacy cotton gown, and I spent a minute or so enjoying the view. Janet, the oldest, was home from university on Christmas break. She was…<br /><br />Oh, my!<br /><br />Ursus forced our gaze away while Arthur and I were doing our best to keep looking. <I>There is an unwritten understanding that we do not watch such private moments,</I> he scolded, <I>especially of those persons we know. It is far more impolite than snooping around, which is mostly considered an inherent vice of the wizard breed.</I><br /><br /><I>But, aw man, c'mon!</I> Arthur said. His embarrassed feeling was overwhelmed by other feelings.<br /><br /><I>No,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br /><I>Can we at least…?</I> I asked.<br /><br /><I>Yes, go ahead.</I><br /><br />I cut our ritual circle and ran for the bathroom. I needed to go there anyway to brush my teeth before bed. Efficiency is good.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/02/chapter-07-great-migration.html">Chapter 07</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-19927197582390431692009-02-19T16:13:00.013-05:002009-02-24T13:42:59.920-05:00Chapter 05: Planning and SupervisionMy muscles were stiff when I woke up Friday morning, but it wasn't anything that a little warm stretching and a couple of aspirin didn't hold in abeyance. Mom and Mary were both quiet at the kitchen table as they ate their breakfasts. My other family members were either at work or still asleep. The voices in my head were mostly quiet, too. I glanced at the newspaper as I nibbled small bites from a piece of toast with a little peanut butter. The shocking story about bodies in a freezer and alleged demonic sacrifices had been demoted to the front of the local section. The article didn't contain any new information.<br /><br />I was mostly concerned that someone might note that a kid with a ski mask, bicycle, and guitar had fled emergency workers right around the same time a supposed teenager wearing a ski mask had killed Guzman. Of course, if the police had managed to turn up a witness who had seen me enter Guzman's backyard with my guitar and bicycle, there was no way they could fail to make the connection. To my small relief, the article said nothing about that. Of course, it was entirely possible that the police had made the link but had managed not to leak it to the press.<br /><br />Danny's brothers had Jenny duty, so Danny was allowed to join the rest of the shovel crew shortly after sunrise. He, Mike, and Terry, having hit Russ's weight set pretty hard, were in worse shape than the rest of us, and we worked slower than the evening before. Because we weren't being paid by the hour, it didn't matter to our customers.<br /><br />A portion of our business was from person's whose drives we had cleared the day before. "Do you think they'll be pissed off when we make them pay again?" Terry asked. <br /><br />"Why should they be?" Danny replied. "It's not like the work we did before doesn't count." Danny's prediction was right. We attempted to charge based on the difficulty of the job, and most people realized it was easier to remove three inches of snow twice, and cost them less, than it was to remove six inches of snow once, at least when one was working with a shovel.<br /><br />With many adults having to dig themselves out before going to work, and lots of other kids with the same money-making idea we had, the neighborhood was again mostly functional by noon. Because the side streets of Packard were salted but not plowed, there still was some danger of cars getting stuck, but most of them managed to get along by following the tracks established by others.<br /><br />The snowfall turned out to be not as big as the one earlier in December, but it was big enough. We hadn't had much of a thaw from the first snowfall, so the piles were getting large. We called it a workday and went home at lunchtime.<br /><br />Mom stuck bowls of her homemade chili in front of her kids. It smelled good. "I bet you two worked up an appetite," she said to Mary and me.<br /><br />"I could eat a raw buffalo," Mary said.<br /><br />I didn't say anything. Rich and Charlie began chattering about the snow fort they were building with their friends down the street. Arthur's feelings of guilt were still playing havoc with my desire for food. The huge amount of exercise I'd been getting helped me force down enough that Mom didn't seem concerned, though. When I was finished, I said, "Thanks, Mom. That was good." I rinsed out my bowl. Mary was getting herself some more from the pot.<br /><br />I gave Kirsten a call. After I briefly talked to Mrs. Kennedy, Kirsten was given the phone, and we exchanged preliminary pleasantries. "Mom and Dad are going shopping after supper for soundproofing stuff," I told her. "Mary and I need to watch Rich, Charlie, and Susan, but we're still allowed to practice. Mom suggested that I give you a heads-up, though, in case your mom didn't want you here without adult supervision."<br /><br />"I need to talk to my mom." She did that and then said, "My mom wants to talk to yours."<br /><br />"Bog only knows how long that will take," I said, "so I'll just tell you goodbye now. If you can't come over for practice, I'll give you a call this evening to talk a little." So we put our mothers on the phone.<br /><br />While Mom was talking to Mrs. Kennedy, I said to Mary, "Could you come downstairs when you're done with lunch, please." She nodded, and I headed for the basement. When she showed up, I put down the book on Egyptian mythology I had signed out of the library and asked, "Would you like to talk about the news you learned yesterday?"<br /><br />It took her a second to get it. "What? Oh. You told me never to talk about it." She sat down on the couch.<br /><br />"I see you've put the pieces all together. Yes, it's much safer for me if you never talk about it with anyone, ever, but you've been looking worried, and I don't want you to suffer. I'll try to answer your questions, if you have them."<br /><br />"He was a very bad man, wasn't he?"<br /><br />"He was. There's no telling how many people he hurt. He killed at least two, but I suspect there probably were more."<br /><br />"And you stopped him."<br /><br />"Yes. I have mixed feelings about that."<br /><br />"Why?"<br /><br />"A man died. I killed him."<br /><br />"I imagine that's just an awful experience; it has to be, but did you have any choice?"<br /><br />"The demon and I, we fought--either in my head or in a metaphorical place. I won and sent the demon back after his summoner."<br /><br />Mary's eyes opened wide. "What was <I>that</I> like?"<br /><br />I described the battle to her, slightly edited for gore. "After I won, I could have called the police, but I chose to go after Guzman, the demon's servant, myself."<br /><br />"So you decided to go into danger when you didn't have to. Why?"<br /><br />"I fought with myself, but in the end, I wanted to make sure Guzman didn't survive."<br /><br />"I think the evil bastard got what was coming to him," Mary said in a fierce tone.<br /><br />Arthur felt shocked. Ursus remarked, <I>She's her mother's daughter.</I><br /><br />Arthur managed to gain control of our tongue for a few moments. "By the law, what I did was murder."<br /><br />"I don't know what the law says, but I can't see how what you did was wrong."<br /><br /><I>Thank you, Mary.</I> "Do you have any more questions?" I asked.<br /><br />"How long do I have to make up my mind about learning magic? I-- I don't know if I could cope with the danger."<br /><br />"You can have all the time you want--years, even. Are you still willing to be my assistant sometimes?"<br /><br />"Are you sure you should keep messing around with it?"<br /><br />"It has gone way beyond messing around. It's part of who I am, now."<br /><br />Mary thought for a few seconds and then nodded. "I promise never to talk about what happened without your permission first."<br /><br />"Thank you." Several moments passed in silence.<br /><br />"I think I'll go see if I can pick out some tunes on my new piano."<br /><br />"Have fun." She went upstairs.<br /><br /><I>Your sister is a fine, sensible girl,</I> Ursus said to Arthur.<br /><br /><I>Shut up,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br /><I>Shades of gray,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>Shut up.</I><br /><br /><I>You've been traumatized,</I> Ursus said. <I>We've all been traumatized. Killing a fellow human being isn't easy for most people. It certainly isn't for me. Still, it's best not to brood.</I><br /><br /><I>Shut up.</I><br /><br /><I>Let's change the subject,</I> Ursus suggested. <I>The next magic ritual we should do is the recharging of our protective-circle amulet.</I><br /><br /><I>I felt his fucking skull break under my fucking foot,</I> Arthur thought. That was our emotional limit, and we rushed into our room to cry for a while. Fortunately, we didn't puke up lunch.<br /><br />Bawling a bit proved to be cathartic, at least temporarily, and once we finished we went upstairs and took a shower. When I came out of the bathroom, Mom said, "Mrs. Kennedy will be staying here while you kids practice tonight."<br /><br />"I don't blame her for not trusting me," I said, "but I thought she trusted me more than that."<br /><br />"I'm not sure it's you. Certainly, no one wants you and Kirsten to do anything goddamn stupid, but her big worry seems to be that a couple of kids in grade eight are in your band."<br /><br />"Mike and Danny aren't the most upstanding citizens, but they never would disrespect <I>you</I> so much that they'd break your rules in your own house. They like you, and they know I wouldn't put up with it, or Mary."<br /><br />"I know that--at least I hope that--but I understand her concern. Younger kids usually first get exposed to bad shit from either older friends or older bothers and sisters. I should know, being one of eight." She laughed. "Quitting smoking almost killed me, and I've told you about sniffing the gasoline barrels at the wharf."<br /><br />I shook my head. "My exposure to the drug culture is peripheral, but even I know huffing is idiotic."<br /><br />"We didn't know any better, and it made us feel good. When Papa caught us, he whipped the hide off our arses, and then when he brought us home, Mama whipped us some more. I had welts for over a goddamn week." We shared a rueful headshake, and then Mom continued with her point. "When Kirsten got the bit in her teeth over you, she gave her parents a wake-up call. They don't want her running wild, and it's older kids she's most likely to do that with."<br /><br />"Kirsten's really smart," Arthur said. "I can't see her doing anything self-destructive."<br /><br />"Smarts aren't always enough. It's more complex than that, and smart people don't always take telling. They get used to being right, and go around with the assumption that people who aren't as bright as they are don't know what the hell they're talking about."<br /><br /><I>Your mother's right, you know,</I> Ursus said. <I>It took me a while to learn that lesson myself. Plus, when you're smart, you can come up with much more creative rationalizations for going ahead with your bad ideas.</I><br /><br />"But what's so special about here?" I asked. "We were all allowed to go off together as a group just yesterday."<br /><br />"There's booze here. And a lot more privacy. And it's a hell of a lot more comfortable if you do feel the urge to get up to no good."<br /><br />As she spoke, her words activated some memories in my head that originated with Ursus, and it became manifest that a nice warm house was a far more tempting setting for unwise decisions than a clump of scrub in a vacant lot, or any other local privacy spots we could find. "All right," I said. "I don't mind Mrs. Kennedy being here. All we were going to do is practice. Her presence doesn't change that at all."<br /><br />"Arthur, you know I trust you. Just letting you hang around with that Danny shows how much."<br /><br />"Yeah, I know."<br /><br />"Mrs. Kennedy trusts you, too. Just letting you near her daughter shows how much."<br /><br />"I--" Arthur felt at a loss for words, and Ursus and I refrained from helping.<br /><br />"Putting myself in Helen's shoes," Mom continued, "I'm hoping Mary stays down on the farm for a long time. I know if she comes to me next year saying that she has a boyfriend, I'm going to be real tempted to send her to school with an armed guard and lock her in her bedroom at all other times."<br /><br />"What about Mary?" called Mary, who stopped plinking and plunking on the piano in the living room.<br /><br />"I was saying that I hope Mary stays the thoughtful, sweet-natured daughter that she's always been," Mom called back.<br /><br />"Thank you," Mary said.<br /><br />I went back to the basement and read until about a quarter to three. Mike, Terry, Mary, and I walked over together to Hank's Music Emporium for our first music lessons. Mary carried the beginning piano books the parents and I had bought her for Christmas. The rest of us had guitar cases. On the way there, Terry pulled a loose snowball from the pocket of his coat. Mary was slightly in front, and he gently lobbed it so that it landed on her tuque-covered head.<br /><br />"Hey! Who did that?"<br /><br />"I remain silent," I said as I pointed at Terry with my free hand. I had brought my new electric guitar with me in its case rather than the acoustic. I didn't want the acoustic seen in public for a while.<br /><br />"In a place and time of my own choosing, I'm going to get you for that, Prestor," Mary said with a smile.<br /><br />Mike and Terry's tutors turned out to be a couple of long-haired guys in their early twenties. Hank introduced them as Brian and Andy. Mary and I browsed around the store while Mike and Terry were receiving their lessons. I bought a tuning fork and a used metronome. "What are you going to do with all the money you've been saving?" I asked Mary.<br /><br />"I don't know yet. I wanted a piano, but there was no way I could save for that any time soon. Now that I have a piano, my stuff hunger seems pretty satisfied, at least for a while." We had worked our way over to the combo organs. She gestured at them. "There's no way I could ever afford something like that, either."<br /><br />"Maybe some day," I said.<br /><br />A little before 3:30, a woman with short gray hair came in. She was thin, about medium height, and had impeccable posture. "Mrs. Fedderstein," Hank said, "allow me to introduce Mary Powyr, who I hear is very eager to learn how to play the piano. This is her brother Arthur, who is going to be taking guitar lessons from me."<br /><br />"Hello, Arthur, Mary. I'm pleased to meet you, and I'm always delighted to work with persons who are eager to learn." She shook hands with us. Her grip was firm.<br /><br />"Oh, I am," said Mary. "I've wanted this for years."<br /><br />"For weeks she's been practicing on her own on a chord organ," I said.<br /><br />"Well, I hope you haven't picked up any bad habits," said Mrs. Fedderstein to Mary, "but such dedication is commendable. Do you want to learn how to play the full-sized organ, too?"<br /><br />"Yes, but I think it's going to be a long time before I run the idea by Mom and Dad," Mary replied.<br /><br />"The piano is a good place to start in any case."<br /><br />Mike, Terry and their tutors soon came out, and Mrs. Fedderstein led Mary to one room while Hank led me to another. The room had two Checker Super Reverbs, two stools, two guitar stands, a table, and a guitar case underneath the table. Hank told me get out my guitar. He opened up the other case and got out his own axe. It was a heavily customized Checker that had its bridge pickup replaced with a humbucker.<br /><br />"It's gorgeous," I said, admiring the mother-of-pearl inlays in the ebony fingerboard and the variable-hued azure paint job.<br /><br />"Thanks, I had it done before I got married and quit being a fulltime musician." He put the guitar in one of the stands.<br /><br />"I need guitar stands," I said.<br /><br />"Plug in." I did that and got up on one of the stools. Hank had me go through the things I had been working on. I could switch between the open chords smoothly, but barre chords still needed work, and my picking could use some speed. I told him that I could read both tablature and conventional notation, at least for popular songs.<br /><br />"You have come a long way fast," he said. "It's the fastest I've ever personally seen."<br /><br />"Thanks."<br /><br />"It doesn't look like you've picked up any bad habits, either."<br /><br /><I>Of course not,</I> commented Ursus.<br /><br />"Do you always play in classical position like that, with your thumb behind the neck?" Hank continued.<br /><br />"I'll wrap my thumb around if I need the leverage to bend the neck a little, but most of my practicing is done with thumb behind." The lesson went quickly. Hank gave me some picking exercises to practice and some advice on making the barre. I decided that I liked him.<br /><br />Mary and I came out at roughly the same time. Mike and Terry were looking at amplifiers. Their new instructors were still with them talking about effects pedals. "You guys need guitar stands," I said to Mike and Terry.<br /><br />"Right," Mike said.<br /><br />"Get one for your bass, too," I advised.<br /><br />"We made some money shoveling snow the last two days," I said to Hank in explanation. I picked out two stands for myself. I wanted a gig bag for my acoustic, too, but I didn't want to burn through all of my money again. And effects pedals. I wanted effects pedals. As I paid for my purchases and lesson, I said, "Music is an expensive hobby."<br /><br />"Gearing up is," Hank said, "but once you have your instrument and equipment, it's not so bad."<br /><br />We said our goodbyes to our instructors. Once we were outside, Mike said, "Brian is really cool."<br /><br />"So's Andy," Terry said.<br /><br />"They're in the same band, Honey Lane," Mike said. "You ever hear of them?"<br /><br />"Nope," I said.<br /><br />"The whole band went to Thompson High," Terry said, referring the high school that was a short walk from our houses.<br /><br />"They have an album out. God commands that we hear it," Mike said.<br /><br />"Indeed," I said.<br /><br />"Andy usually plays lead, and Brian usually plays rhythm," Terry said.<br /><br />"But sometimes they switch," Mike said, "and they both can play bass, too."<br /><br />"And their bass player, Steve somethingorother teaches at Hank's, too," said Terry. "They said they didn't mind if we schedule the occasional lesson with him at 3:00, too; just give them some notice."<br /><br />"We've already decided that me and Terry are going to trade tutors every few weeks," Mike said.<br /><br />"That sounds like a good idea," I said.<br /><br />"I like my teacher," Mary said. "She thinks I learned an impressive amount on my own."<br /><br />"Brian usually sings lead, and Andy usually does backing vocals," Mike said.<br /><br />"But sometimes they switch," Terry said, "and Steve the bass guy can sing, too."<br /><br />"They sound like a versatile band," I said.<br /><br />"Man," Mike said, "being a musician is a most ek-skellent thing to do."<br /><br />"How is their record doing?" I asked.<br /><br />"They said it was selling pretty good regionally," Mike replied, "but that you need a national hit to make any serious cash."<br /><br />"They mostly pay their bills with performing, though," Terry said. "They round out their income giving lessons."<br /><br />"Brain said they sometimes help out Hank as salesmen, too," Mike said. "A professional musician, that's the life I want."<br /><br /><I>Have you ever been a pro?</I> I asked Ursus internally.<br /><br />He had to think about it. The memories felt hazy. <I>I don't think the relevant memories have been completely installed in this brain yet,</I> he concluded. It appeared that it was going to take a long time for all of Ursus's memories to implant themselves in Arthur's brain. <I>I think I've earned my bread that way a few times, but most of the time I've made my living as a wizard. I believe I was a king once, too.</I><br /><br />"I think I'm going to learn a lot," Mary said. She plugged Terry with a snowball just before we went inside.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/02/chapter-06-some-magic.html">Chapter 06</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-54584349145663610412009-02-15T13:07:00.025-05:002009-02-21T21:33:29.737-05:00Chapter 04: Heavy Talk, Badinage, and Ominous WarningsWhen we got home, Mom and Mrs. Kennedy were still talking at the kitchen table. They both had coffee. I think coffee was Mom's staple food. My little brothers, Rich and Charlie, both appeared to be out. Susan was in the family room playing with the cats, rolling balls for them to chase.<br /><br />"Mind if I take this drum downstairs, Mrs. P.?" Danny asked.<br /><br />"Go ahead." She looked at me. "Let's see what you got." Mike and Terry unwrapped the amplifier while I opened up the guitar case on the table.<br /><br />"What in the hell is it with you and ugly guitars?" Mom asked. "That thing looks like a festered ass."<br /><br />"That's one of the reasons I could afford it. It sounds good, though."<br /><br />"Let's hear it."<br /><br />I played "The Shepard's Lament" with some reverb and vibrato.<br /><br />"Hmph. Well, maybe you can talk your father into refinishing it for you." She paused. "You know, now that you kids are using electric instruments, we're going to have to do something about the damn noise."<br /><br />"You aren't kicking us out, are you Mrs. P.?" asked Danny, who had returned from the basement.<br /><br />"No, but I might have some strenuous volunteer work for you all to do this weekend."<br /><br />That was ominous. "What's that?" asked Kirsten.<br /><br />"Mr. Powyr and I were discussing installing sound insulation in the basement. The hung ceiling needs to be dropped, and the insulation rolled out and fastened. We're going to need to wrap the pipes and ductwork, too, and install a solid door at the top of the stairs. We'll pay for it, but it would be nice if the people practicing down there helped out with the work."<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />"I'll be here first thing Saturday morning," said Dan. He was good at that sort of stuff.<br /><br />"Yeah, me and Terry too, I guess," said Mike.<br /><br />Kirsten looked at her mother. "You should help out, too, after your jujutsu lesson on Saturday," Mrs. Kennedy said. "I'll drive you over." Of course, there was no need for Mary or me to respond.<br /><br />"I have to get going," said Dan. "I'll see you guys later for shoveling. Are we going to practice?"<br /><br />"We shouldn't start skipping it, if we're serious about it," I said. "I guess we'll practice from 6:30 to 7:30, and then resume shoveling after that." I turned to Mike and Terry. "If you guys can get over here right after supper, we'll get in some dedicated guitar time before everyone else shows up."<br /><br />"I take it you ambitious young go-getters are planning to go shoveling drives again," Mom said. "Don't overdo it this time."<br /><br />"Heh," said Dan. "I guess I shouldn't have hit the weights so hard earlier." I saw him to the door.<br /><br />When I came back, Terry was telling Mom about lifting weights that afternoon. Mom said, "Be careful with that crap. You can rack yourself up pretty bad if you don't know what you're doing."<br /><br />"Danny's brother Russ seems to know what he's about," said Mike. "He was showing us." Mike paused for a second. "I think I'll go hang with Dan while the snow piles up enough to be worth shoveling. It's not right that he gets stuck alone so often."<br /><br />Mike cleared out, and the rest of the kids, except Susan, went downstairs. I was the worst billiards player there, so I let Kirsten, Pam, Mary and Terry play while I set up my new guitar in what had become our rehearsal corner between the pool table and the stairs. The amp had a practice setting that boosted the bass at low volumes. I put that on, adjusted the volume so that the electric wasn't any louder than my acoustic, opened up the guitar songbook that Kirsten had got me for Christmas, and started looking for a song to learn.<br /><br /><I>No, not "Stick in the Spokes",</I> advised Ursus. <I>This early in your relationship, you don't want Kirsten to wonder if you're singing about her.</I><br /><br /><I>Maybe it would be for the best if I let her go,</I> said Arthur. Now that the excitement was over, Arthur was starting to feel guilty again, much to the dismay of Ursus and me. His feelings of guilt, of course, were experienced by all of us.<br /><br />Ursus tried a different tack in dealing with Arthur while I made use of our developing ability to think of three things at once and searched through the book for a good song. Ursus carefully recalled the terror of the girl who the diabolist was going to sacrifice. He remembered the demon attacking our protective circle around the house and then later attacking us on our bicycle. He imagined the fear of the women who were found dismembered in Guzman's freezer. <I>Guzman murdered his own wife, Arthur</I>.<br /><br /><I>We went to his house to kill him. We had no idea that he intended to kill that girl. Then when we had him down, we finished him off. I might be just a kid, but I know enough about the law to know that that is murder.</I><br /><br />Ursus let out a mighty mental sigh. <I>Yes, technically, by the laws of your land, we murdered that man. Arthur, I hate to play age and wisdom vs. youth and immaturity, but I understand what you are going through. Right now, you're maturing rapidly, but you still have a youthful tendency to see things in black and white sometimes. The real world doesn't work that way.</I><br /><br />Arthur fumed. I felt my face flush. <I>I know that murder is wrong.</I><br /><br /><I>I very much don't want to have to spend years locked up in a juvenile prison if you spill the beans and manage to convince a judge that we committed premeditated murder,</I> Ursus said. <I>And if you think about it, I'm sure you don't want that either.</I><br /><br /><I>Arthur, will you trust me?</I> Ursus continued. <I>In a relatively short while, a year or so--at most two--your picture of the world is going to be a lot more complex. I know, because I went through the same development, and you have a copy of my brain. By that time, I'm sure you'll agree with me that we had no choice about Guzman.</I><br /><br /><I>So you're saying,</I> Arthur said, <I>that in about a year I'm going to become more immoral, maybe evil.</I><br /><br />I could feel Ursus losing patience, but he tried yet another angle. <I>Remember a few weeks ago when you lied to Miss Gorse about getting into a fight with Al?</I><br /><br /><I>Yeah. So?</I><br /><br /><I>Why did you do that?</I><br /><br /><I>I didn't want to get punished for a fight I didn't start.</I><br /><br /><I>But the rules of your school say that all students in a fight are to be punished, no matter who starts it.</I><br /><br /><I>Those rules are wrong.</I><br /><br /><I>So it's OK to break rules that are wrong,</I> Ursus concluded.<br /><br /><I>Maybe, but the rules against murdering someone aren't wrong.</I><br /><br /><I>Not usually, no. But in the case of Guzman, they were incomplete. Your society has no rules at all about what to do with a demon summoner.</I><br /><br /><I>We had him beat, and then we killed him. That's murder.</I><br /><br /><I>If we had left him alive with his power and knowledge intact--and I have no idea how to remove them on this node--it was just a matter of time before he summoned another demon.</I><br /><br />I could feel Arthur becoming increasingly upset. His mixture of guilt and confusion were becoming nauseating. <I>I think,</I> I purposefully interjected, <I>that "Hop a Train (and Ride for Free)" is a good song to learn.</I> It had a somewhat harder beat than what we had been practicing, and a faster tempo than "Paragon's Parade", which was the current fastest song in our repertoire. <I>It will make us work on our picking skills.</I><br /><br />I think the change in topic was welcomed by all three of my consciousnesses. I felt general assent about the song choice, and then Arthur said to me, <I>You know, we need a name for you.</I><br /><br /><I>What?</I><br /><br /><I>I'm Arthur. He's Ursus. Who are you?</I><br /><br /><I>I'm both.</I><br /><br /><I>That's not very convenient. Do you want to be called "Both"?</I><br /><br /><I>Eh, call me "Bear," then.</I><br /><br />Ursus had largely figured out the local music notation, so it wasn't that difficult to begin learning the song. After we had worked on it a bit, Pam asked, "Is that 'Hop a Train'?"<br /><br />"Yeah. I take it I have a ways to go before it's clearly identifiable."<br /><br />"You're picking it up really fast, if you just started learning it," Kirsten said.<br /><br />"You are present at my first attempt."<br /><br />"My boyfriend--super genius."<br /><br />"I wouldn't go that far," said Mary.<br /><br />Did Mary just zing me? I looked at her. She had a small smile on her face, but it was mixed with worry. <I>It looks like we're going to have to talk to her,</I> Ursus noted.<br /><br />"My boyfriend--regular, everyday genius?" inquired Kirsten with a grin.<br /><br />"That's a little better," Mary allowed.<br /><br />"Your boyfriend--bright weirdo?" Terry asked.<br /><br />"To be fair, I think he is somewhat beyond bright," Kirsten said.<br /><br />"Your boyfriend--brilliant weirdo," Pam said.<br /><br />"Now you're going too far again," Mary said.<br /><br />"What's between bright and brilliant?" Terry asked.<br /><br />"Does anyone have a thesaurus?" Kirsten inquired.<br /><br />"You aren't borrowing mine," I said as I went back to studying the song.<br /><br />After they had played for a while, Mary asked, "Are you sure you don't want to shoot a game, Artie?"<br /><br />"I'm fine, but it's nice of you to offer."<br /><br />After some time, Mrs. Kennedy called Kirsten and Pam. "We better leave before the roads get too bad, and I should start dinner anyway." I went upstairs with them and gave Kirsten a goodbye hug.<br /><br />Once they had gone, Terry said, "It's starting to pile up. Do you think anyone will hire us yet?"<br /><br />"Let's do our drives and see if anyone else is out shoveling. If they are, it's a signal that people are worried about it getting too deep to move easily." So that's what we did. Mary and I did our drive while Terry did his. After a while, Mary and I went over to help Terry. His sister Colleen must have realized what was happening, because just as we were finishing up the Prestor drive she came out and all four of us did the drive of the old folks who were the Prestor's other next-door neighbors.<br /><br />"We're going to go shoveling again, Coll," said Terry to his sister.<br /><br />"We made a killing last time. I'm in if I'm welcome."<br /><br />"If it's anything like last time, we can use all hands," I said, "and I'm not going to overdo it as much."<br /><br />"No, certainly not," Colleen said. "According to the weather, if we get as much snow as expected tonight, it will be one of the snowiest Decembers on record for the Detroit area."<br /><br />"Maybe you should give Mike a call at Danny's," I said to Terry. "While you do that, the rest of us will see if we can drum up some business."<br /><br />The retired man a few houses away was out clearing his drive. Colleen, Mary, and I walked up to him. "How much?" asked Mr. Bearse.<br /><br />"Right now, a pound," I said. "If you wait until it's deeper, though, it will be more."<br /><br />"Do it, you little thieves." He smiled when he said it.<br /><br />We set to. Soon Terry and Mike joined us. As planned, we adjourned for supper and practice, from which Kirsten was excused for bad travel conditions.<br /><br />Of course, Mary's piano arrived while we were eating. It was an upright model, and the deliverymen put it in the living room. It would have been more useful in the basement, but there was no way a leased piano was going down there. They warned that it probably would need to be retuned and gave Dad the card of a piano tuner recommended by their employer.<br /><br />After practice, Danny helped our snow removal efforts. Having learned from our previous mistakes, we paced ourselves and knocked off a bit before 10:00. "If we don't overdo it, we'll be able to get up first thing tomorrow and pick up some more work," I said when I thought people were starting to reach their limits.<br /><br />"I'm done," said Mary. With that, we adjourned.<br /><br />"Anyone want to help me rip off a billboard?" Danny asked. He pulled a pair of locking pliers from a pocket of his well-worn sheepskin coat.<br /><br />"Why?" asked Terry.<br /><br />"I want to make a couple drum stools. What they want for one in Hank's is way more than I want to pay."<br /><br />"I'll help," said Mike.<br /><br />"Can I borrow a hammer from your garage?"<br /><br />"Why not?" The two of them headed for the Prestor's garage and then the vacant lot we called "the field." It usually had a billboard or two along Cord Road. Liberated billboards, often made from good plywood, had provided Danny with much building material over the years. Mary and I went home.<br /><br />Ursus took note of Arthur's feelings. <I>You don't seem offended at all that someone's property rights are about to be violated,</I> Ursus observed.<br /><br /><I>I guess not. Billboards from the field just seem to be a natural resource.</I><br /><br /><I>Clearly, taking them is theft.</I><br /><br /><I>That's true, but it doesn't feel like it. Also, the things are damn ugly. Pulling them down aids beautification.</I><br /><br /><I>That's just rationalization,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br /><I>I agree,</I> Arthur said, <I>but I can't get worked up over billboards.</I><br /><br /><I>Neither can I,</I> said Ursus. <I>I just wanted you to note a shade of gray.</I><br /><br />After Mom and Dad asked us about our earnings, I swallowed a couple aspirins with a full glass of water before heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth. "Are you hurting already?" Mom asked.<br /><br />"I'm a little sore, but those were mostly to make sure I didn't hurt as much in the morning."<br /><br />"That sounds like a good idea," said Mary as she moved to duplicate my actions. Mom shook her head, but she didn't say anything.<br /><br />Harvey the cat followed me downstairs. My brain mates and I practiced scales on the acoustic for about ten minutes, then Ursus thought, <I>We are going to keep working magic.</I><br /><br /><I>I guess,</I> thought Arthur. <I>I hate all the trouble it caused, though.</I><br /><br /><I>Magic didn't cause the trouble. Guzman the diabolist caused the trouble. Magic allowed us to discover his depredations. If we hadn't scried him, who knows how long he would have gone on hurting people before he was caught?</I><br /><br /><I>Was it all a coincidence?</I> I asked to interrupt the feeling of building guilt from Arthur.<br /><br /><I>What?</I><br /><br />Ursus was already getting the answer to his question before I thought it explicitly in mental words, but I "said" it to him anyway. When we were split like that, it seemed more natural. <I>Living so close together that we could easily reach him.</I><br /><br /><I>I don't know. I've sometimes thought that there might be a benign force in the multiverse, and magic, I believe, polices itself. If you make a promise involving magic, for instance, and you break it, it can look like the multiverse itself has turned against you, your "luck" gets so bad. I've seen it happen, and I've been careful never to make any oath on my magic that I couldn't easily keep.</I><br /><br /><I>Let me get this straight,</I> thought Arthur. <I>You think God or magic or manna or something caused Mom and Dad to move near Guzman so we could one day stop him?</I><br /><br /><I>Either that, or it made Guzman move near your parents. I don't know it for sure, but through my long life I've been in the right place at the right time, or depending on how you look at it, the wrong place at the wrong time far too often for me to believe it has all been coincidence.</I> We were treated with examples from Ursus's memory.<br /><br /><I>Oh. Being a wizard is an even bigger responsibility than I thought,</I> Arthur said. We were feeling mixed pride and apprehension.<br /><br /><I>It can be,</I> thought Ursus, <I>but it's also a lot of fun.</I><br /><br /><I>Amen to that,</I> I thought.<br /><br /><I>Now, getting back to what I was about to get at,</I> Ursus said, <I>I was acting foolish when I let us leap into magic without taking adequate safety precautions. That demon could have easily killed us. From now on, we're going to proceed more cautiously.</I><br /><br />We climbed into bed. Ursus explained some of the precautions we were going to take. Harvey made himself comfortable on my feet. We had nightmares as we slept, but that was to be expected.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/02/chapter-05-planning-and-supervision.html">Chapter 05</a><span style="font-weight:bold;"></span>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-27491096727416374052009-02-10T23:22:00.008-05:002009-02-21T21:11:30.129-05:00Chapter 03: Warnings and DealsThere was a big crowd all talking at once. I noticed a look of horrified comprehension growing on Mary's face, and I decided to ease down the basement stairs. Because I was the last one in through the back door, I managed to do this without calling attention to myself. I went into my bedroom and collected my life savings. I also brought along the hard-shell electric-guitar case my parents had bought me for Christmas. It would protect my new guitar on its trip back home.<br /><br />By the time I got back upstairs, the discussion had moved into the kitchen. I stood in its entrance. Mrs. Kennedy was saying, "I watched the television news at lunch time. They're still protecting the identity of the teenage girl, but the reporter said that she was adamant in claiming that a teenage boy rescued her and that she had no idea who he was."<br /><br /><I>I hope the teenage boy story sticks,</I> remarked Ursus mentally.<br /><br />"I just can't believe some random passerby happened to arrive in the nick of time," Mom said.<br /><br />"It seems unlikely, but all I know is what I read in the paper this morning and saw on the news this afternoon," Mrs. Kennedy said.<br /><br />"Do you think it's a cult?"<br /><br />"I don't think there are any devil cults at St. Dionysius," Mike said.<br /><br />Mrs. Kennedy ignored Mike's comment and answered Mom, "One occasionally hears of Satanic cults, but they've always struck me as poseurs. This girl is supposedly claiming that she was about to be made a genuine human sacrifice in propitiation of a demon."<br /><br />"Drugs," said Terry.<br /><br />Mrs. Kennedy didn't ignore Terry. "The reporter at noon said that they tested her for drugs in the hospital, and the results were negative."<br /><br />"Not all drugs show up on tests," Mike said.<br /><br />"Where did you hear that?" Pam asked.<br /><br />"Danny told me," Mike replied.<br /><br />"Drugs or no," Mom said, "there's a dead man who had his wife and another woman cut up in his goddamn freezer."<br /><br />"Should we be getting so graphic in front of children, Agnes?" Mrs. Kennedy asked.<br /><br />"I've already heard it on the news, Mom," Kirsten said.<br /><br />"And Arthur read it in the newspaper," my mom said.<br /><br />In a voice loud enough to carry, I asked, "Hey, guys, can I borrow your wagon?" in reference to Mike and Terry's Gyroscope Glider, which had come in diversely handy in many projects and activities over the years. To the best of my knowledge, gyroscopes had nothing to do with either its production or operation.<br /><br />That put me at the center of attention. "Sure," said Terry. "I'll get it out of our garage for you."<br /><br />"Let's get going, then," I said.<br /><br />On our way out the door, Mrs. Kennedy said, "All of you be sure to stick together."<br /><br />"Be careful crossing the street," Mom added.<br /><br />Once the door was shut and we were out of earshot, Kirsten said, "Parents! They think we're all still infants."<br /><br />Kirsten, Mike, Pam, Mary, and I milled in the Prestor's driveway while Terry fetched the wagon. Once he hauled it out, I put the guitar case in it. Terry seemed content to keep pulling, so I let him.<br /><br />"Do you think there's a cult, Artie?" Kirsten asked me as we walked hand-in-hand (glove-in-glove) along Dewey Drive.<br /><br />"I doubt it," I said. Mary was walking behind us with Terry and the wagon. I wished I could see the expression on her face. I was sure she had deduced earlier that I was the one who had killed the diabolist. <I>Please, Mary, don't say anything to incriminate me,</I> I thought.<br /><br />"What do they hope to gain in sacrificing someone?" Terry asked.<br /><br />I kept my mouth shut, but glanced behind me. Mary did look worried. Mike turned so he was partially walking backwards and said, "Abraham was going to sacrifice Isaac in obeisance to God's will." He and his brother were attending Catholic school.<br /><br />"But why would God, or some demon, give a care? What's in it for them?"<br /><br />Mike just shrugged. Ursus said, silently, <I>There's power in a blood sacrifice, power in death. A demon, at least, receiving a sacrifice, feeds.</I><br /><br /><I>It annoys the hell out of you, not being able to lecture, doesn't it?</I> I asked Ursus.<br /><br /><I>Yes, smartass.</I><br /><br />We turned onto Bradley. "It's just really sick," said Pam.<br /><br />"Well, yeah," said Kirsten. "Satanists with sex slaves aren't healthy citizens." We turned onto Cord.<br /><br />"Was she really a sex slave?" Pam asked. Her voice noticeably quieted on the word <I>sex</I>.<br /><br />"The news said he chained her up in his basement and repeatedly raped her," Kirsten replied. Rape was an even heavier topic than sex for kids Arthur's age, and everyone grew silent and remained that way until we reached the corner of Cord and Wool.<br /><br />That's where Danny caught up with us. As he cut across the parking lot of the gas station on the corner, he asked, "Hey, did you guys hear about the perv murderer who just got offed over that way?" He gestured in the right direction. I suppressed a groan as the conversation resumed.<br /><br />Mary and I remained silent while the others talked until we reached Hank's Music Emporium. I should have realized it was going to be busy on the first shopping day after Christmas. We left the wagon outside, of course, but I carried in the guitar case. I noticed several salespeople working.<br /><br />"Hey," Hank Dunnington, the owner of the shop said in greeting. "You here for lessons?" he asked with a gesture at the case. "Hey, Kirsten," he said when he noticed her. She took saxophone and the occasional flute lessons there. Kirsten waved.<br /><br />"I'm here to buy a guitar. I have a due bill," I replied. My friends scattered to look at stuff, but Mary stayed close to me.<br /><br />"You can leave that behind the counter while you look, then." I handed the case over to Hank.<br /><br />"<I>I'm</I> going to be taking piano lessons here," said Mary.<br /><br />An expression of realization came on Hank's face. He said to me, "I remember now. You're the kid who bought an acoustic here a little while back. Your folks were in here telling me to fix you up with a quality electric. Thanks for putting in the good word."<br /><br />"That was Mary," I said. "She knew I was happy with the acoustic."<br /><br />"Thanks, Mary." He looked back at me, "How's the learning been going."<br /><br />"I've been making good progress, I think."<br /><br />"He's a natural," said Kirsten, who was close enough to hear.<br /><br />A customer approached the counter. "I'll meet you by the guitars when I can get someone to take over here," said Hank. "Maybe we'll plug one in and see what you can do." Kirsten was looking at saxophones, and Pam was with her. Danny was in the drums. Mary and I went back to the guitars, where Mike and Terry were. The brothers already had some brand new instruments, but I understood the desire to just look at them. Guitars were almost as pretty as girls. Even the sense of guilt that Arthur had been continuously giving off diminished.<br /><br />"Humbuckers or single coil?" Mike asked as I approached.<br /><br />"I'm thinking humbuckers, but it's not set in stone." I started looking at prices. The standard brands of the big-name manufacturers were out of my reach. Both Curtis and Checker, though, manufactured "junior" lines in the Asian Territories that I could afford, and then there were the many used guitars and knockoffs.<br /><br />I stepped around Mike when he stopped to look at a Baron Ace. Ursus checked the sustain on some of the guitars as we walked down the aisle.<br /><br /><I>I need to remind myself that I have to buy a practice amp, too,</I> I said.<br /><br /><I>We're going to have to plug some of these in before we know for sure what's any good,</I> Ursus observed.<br /><br />Near the end of the aisle, we saw it. "It's not as ugly as my acoustic," I said to both Mary and my brain modules.<br /><br /><I>No, but it does have an appealing homeliness,</I> Ursus said.<br /><br /><I>It looks like someone really got a lot of use out of it,</I> Arthur said.<br /><br />"Maybe it just needs a little love," Mary said.<br /><br />The price was less than the junior lines of the name guitars. <I>I wonder if it's any good.</I> I took the guitar out of the rack. The finish wasn't battered so much as worn away.<br /><br />Ursus looked it over with an experienced eye. <I>There are no twists in the neck, and the frets aren't nearly as old as the rest of the guitar.</I> He strummed it a few times. <I>The sustain's good.</I> He quickly put the guitar into tune.<br /><br /><I>I wonder who made it,</I> I said. The guitar lacked all identifying information. It had two sets of humbucking pickups, one tone control, one volume control, and a three-way selector switch. There was a threaded hole for a whammy bar, but one wasn't screwed in. The body was a symmetric double-cutaway design, kind of an hourglass with a big bottom. The back was contoured for comfort. The instrument originally had been stained multiple shades of brown.<br /><br /><I>With the finish already damaged,</I> Ursus said, <I>we wouldn't feel so bad about cutting sigils into the guitar.</I><br /><br />Before we could finish our inspection, Hank found us and said, "I see you've again discovered the best buy in the store."<br /><br />"How so?"<br /><br />"It's a homemade guitar, and I knew the man who built it. His widow sold it to me the other day. The neck is carved from a solid piece of mahogany. So is the body, and then it was given that maple cap to make it a bit prettier. The neck is glued in and fit tightly. The fret board is ebony, which feels better on your fingers than rosewood after long hours of playing. The frets are nearly new. The electronics and hardware are all good aftermarket stuff. Those are sealed, sixteen-to-one machine heads. Watch this."<br /><br />He reached over and pulled on the tone and volume knobs, showing me that they had integral push-pull switches. "Pulled out, only one half of the humbucker is turned on, so the guitar sounds more like a single-coil Checker. Pushed in, both coils are on, so it sounds more like a typical Curtis.<br /><br />"The guy who built it was a working musician who wanted an instrument that was durable and versatile. Unfortunately, he never got famous, or I would be able to charge a big premium for it. As it is, it doesn't even have a brand name, so I can't charge what its worth."<br /><br />"What was his name?" asked Terry. He and his brother had come up to listen while Hank was talking.<br /><br />"Fred Bobberts. Ever hear of him?"<br /><br />"Nope."<br /><br />"If you have some records cut in Detroit, you might find him listed in the credits. He did some session work over the years. He also played a lot in the local clubs."<br /><br />"Let's plug it in," said Ursus.<br /><br />Hank took the guitar, led us over to a Checker Super Reverb Combo Amplifier, jacked in, and turned on. He put a strap on the guitar, put the guitar on, and adjusted the volume and tone controls. He then played through the complex opening of "Pool Hustler" with the selector toggle in the middle and both humbuckers activated. He then did it again with only one coil of each humbucker on. He did it yet again with just the bridge pickup on, and so on through several of the available combinations.<br /><br />Then he handed the guitar and a plectrum to me. Pam, Kirsten, Danny and a few other customers had joined us. Dan was carrying a used snare drum. Arthur felt nervous but undaunted. I slung the guitar, adjusted the strap, and quickly worked through several sets of scales. Then I played "Up in the Air" as a chord melody rather than sing it. A few people applauded, so I played through again, just the chords, and I sang the melody. That would show 'em. They made the mistake of applauding again, so I played them "The Shepard's Lament" and then sang "Bob Dobson."<br /><br />I didn't give the guitar back to Hank. There really was no question that it was mine, now.<br /><br />"What was the tune you played just before 'Bob Dobson'?" Hank asked. "It's real pretty."<br /><br />"It's called 'The Shepard's Lament'," Mike said.<br /><br />"Arthur learned it from a voice in his head," added Terry.<br /><br />Hank gave me a skeptical look and asked, "You write?"<br /><br />"Sometimes," said Ursus. "What kind of deal can you find me on an amp?"<br /><br />Hank had his copy of the due bill. "I can't swing the guitar and more than a small practice amp for this much."<br /><br />"I have some more, if you have something in mind that's worth it."<br /><br />"How much?"<br /><br />"Let's go count it." It was perhaps bad bargaining strategy to let a salesman know how much I had in advance, but Hank gave off the vibe of being a good guy. Plus, he was the owner. If I managed to provoke his sympathy, he had the power to give a steep discount. We went over to the counter, and I counted out the rest of my savings, including all the change.<br /><br />He thought for a bit. "You seem to care more about sound than name. There might be something I can do." He went over to the amp rack and pulled out a full-size combo model. He took it back near the counter and plugged it in. The brand name said "Go Box Max Reverb."<br /><br />"This is a used semi-knockoff, from our friends in Formosa, of a Checker Super Reverb, but it uses fewer valves and more solid state components. Being used, you can expect to start replacing the valves it does have sooner than otherwise, but none of them are proprietary, so you can pick replacements up everywhere. It's professional equipment, suitable for any venue up to ballroom size or so. Try it out."<br /><br />Terry helpfully fetched the guitar cord from where I had left it near the Checker. I plugged in, adjusted the volume, ran through some scales, and played "The Shepard's Lament" again. Then I did it over with the reverb and vibrato turned on.<br /><br />"Sounds good," said Danny.<br /><br />"I agree," said Kirsten.<br /><br />It sounded fine to me, too, and Ursus approved. "All right," I said. "I'll take this guitar and that amp."<br /><br />"There's still a problem," said Hank. "I'll be cutting my profit to the bone, even for all the money you have." I was about to tell him that I was sorry we couldn't do business, but he continued, "Your parents mentioned something about lessons. I normally give a ten-percent discount for regular students here, and that would be enough for us to do the deal. What do you say?" Hank was a good salesman.<br /><br /><I>Ursus, I don't want to go spending my parent's money on lessons I don't need!</I><br /><br /><I>It often doesn't hurt to have someone critique the style of even an experienced musician,</I> he said, <I>and we're still working on this body's muscle memory, no matter how fast we've been progressing. Besides, he didn't say how long we had to take the lessons. We can always quit if they aren't helpful.</I><br /><br /><I>Sometimes, I wonder if you are evil.</I> "When are lessons available?" I asked Hank.<br /><br />"Lots of tutors work out of this place, and someone can be found at pretty much any hour. Heck, I have an old bluesman giving lessons here to the nocturnal after the bars close. It's more a matter of making sure the practice rooms don't get overbooked, but if you can come here after school during the week, I'd like to tutor you myself. The speed you've been making progress intrigues me."<br /><br />"All right, I guess we have a deal."<br /><br />Hank went back behind the counter and pulled out what appeared to be a schedule book. "How about Tuesdays and Fridays from 3:00 to 3:30?"<br /><br />"I don't get off until 3:15. I'm still at Jewel Staid."<br /><br />"Three-thirty?"<br /><br />"All right."<br /><br />"See you tomorrow, then, or would you rather wait until school starts back up?"<br /><br />"Tomorrow's good."<br /><br />"Mom and Dad said I could get piano lessons here," said Mary. "May I schedule the same time?"<br /><br />"All right. We have several piano teachers available who can work then. Do you have any preferences? Any particular style of music you want to concentrate on?"<br /><br />"I want to learn it all," Mary replied.<br /><br />"We have a retired schoolteacher who likes to keep her hand in and is willing to work then. White hair. Doesn't take any crap. She'll make sure you practice."<br /><br />"Is she mean?"<br /><br />"Nah, just stern. She's a big marshmallow underneath, but don't tell her I said that."<br /><br />"All right," said Mary.<br /><br />"Mrs. Fedderstein it is." Hank made an entry in his book. "Do you want your first lesson tomorrow, too?"<br /><br />"Oh, yes."<br /><br />Danny moved to put the snare drum and a couple sticks on the counter. I got out of his way and saw Terry and Mike look at each other. "What about us?" Terry asked.<br /><br />Mike spoke up. "Do you have any more openings right after school? Our mom said she'd get us lessons. I don't see where she'd mind them being here."<br /><br />"Three-thirty is now pretty well booked solid," said Hank. Danny handed some money to the salesman behind the register.<br /><br />"Me and Terry go to a different school from Mary and Art. We can get here by three, if we haul ass."<br /><br />"Hey, that's great. Two for 3:00. What are your last names, and do you want to start tomorrow, too?"<br /><br />"Prestor," said Terry. He spelled it out. "And yes."<br /><br />"Guitar players, I presume," said Hank.<br /><br />"Yeah," said Mike. "Bass too. Electric, and we want to rock."<br /><br />"I know just the instructors you guys need. Bring your instruments; we'll supply the amps." The front window was visible from the counter. "It's snowing. Did you guys walk over here?"<br /><br />"Yeah," said Dan.<br /><br />"That amp is going to get heavy if you have to go very far."<br /><br />"We brought a wagon," I said.<br /><br />"Foresight, ah, foresight. I wish my kid would learn some." He turned to an employee, "We need to bag their stuff up good."<br /><br />I noticed Hank put a strap and guitar cord in my case with the guitar. As he was doing that and his assistant was taping a couple of big plastic bags around the amplifier, Terry asked, "Are we going to go snow shoveling again?"<br /><br />Mary groaned.<br /><br />"I'm in," I said, "considering that I am now busted flat."<br /><br />"I need to watch Jenny," said Danny, referring to his little sister. "But if it's still coming down when my mom gets home from work, I'll catch up."<br /><br />I carried my guitar. Mike carried the amplifier. When we were just about to leave, Hank said, "Thanks. And you kids be careful. There have been some weird murders going on right around here--Satanic rituals or something."<br /><br />I bit back a frustrated scream while Kirsten said, "Our mothers have been warning us, too." A few more words were exchanged about the shocking news before we got outside. The amplifier and Danny's new snare filled the wagon, so I carried the guitar in its case. Mary appointed herself guardian of the amp. She walked along side with a hand on its handle as Terry pulled.<br /><br />When the conversation threatened to remain on the topic of the murders, Mary, Bog bless her, changed the subject. "You know, my piano is scheduled to arrive this evening. I can hardly wait! Well, it's not really my piano; Mom and Dad are leasing…." We talked about music on the way home.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/02/chapter-04-heavy-talk-badinage-and.html">Chapter 04</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-25015177134166281082009-02-06T20:46:00.013-05:002009-03-21T04:56:11.009-04:00Chapter 2: GrrrrrrrWhen I went back upstairs, Mom asked, "Did you want a ride to the music store today?" For a Christmas present, she and Dad had put enough money on account at Hank's Music Emporium for me to pick out a good electric guitar.<br /><br />"I don't know," I said. "I was thinking that the members of my supposed band might want to get involved."<br /><br />"Why do you say 'supposed band'?"<br /><br />"I refuse to believe we have an actual band until we play an actual gig, and performing for family members doesn't count."<br /><br />"Your friends seem to be taking it pretty seriously."<br /><br />"Yeah, I'm especially impressed with Mike and Terry. They never stick with anything this long."<br /><br />"Maybe you've helped them find something they like."<br /><br />"Maybe. I thought I'd go over to Danny's. Mike and Terry are supposed to be there." They had come by earlier while we were working on the basement and had said that was where they were headed.<br /><br />"I don't want you to go any farther than that by yourself, and remember to let me know where you are."<br /><br />"Having to come home every time I change location is going to be mighty inconvenient."<br /><br />"Tough shit. There's a killer running loose, and I want you to be safe. Make sure you stick together with your friends."<br /><br />"I read the newspaper article, too. The Guzman guy who got killed had two bodies in a freezer and he was about to make a human sacrifice out of some teenager. It sounds like the guy who offed him did the world a favor."<br /><br />"Maybe. If so, why did he leave the scene? He rescued that girl; he would have been hailed a hero. Maybe he's mixed up in this Satanic shit himself."<br /><br /><I>See Arthur,</I> I thought. <I>Mom's a bit confused about why we split, but she thinks that saving that girl was heroic.</I><br /><br /><I>We didn't go there to save the girl,</I> he replied. <I>We went there to kill the diabolist.</I><br /><br />Ursus mentally interjected, and he was angry, <I>We killed Guzman in defense of ourselves and your family. Saving that girl was a wonderful side benefit.</I><br /><br />While Ursus took up the argument with Arthur, I turned my attention back to Mom. "I don't know any more of the details than you do. He could have been anyone." Actually, I knew lots more details than she did. I fled the scene after killing Guzman because I didn't want to try to explain how a not-yet-twelve-year-old managed to take out an adult male in good health. The local cops already knew me as the kid who had somehow beaten the hell out of four other boys around his own size, and my life didn't need the drama. If I got caught anyway, I had acted, presumably, in the defense of an innocent. If things went bad and I got in trouble for leaving the location of a homicide, or some similar violation, I was chronologically not yet a teen and could get away with pleading youth and stupidity, I hoped.<br /><br />"My ass! Are you telling me he just happened to arrive just in time to hear the screams of the damsel in distress--in the wintertime, through closed windows?"<br /><br />She had an excellent point. It was time to make a strategic retreat. "Yeah, it does sound like she got really lucky. I'll make sure you know where I am." I headed for the door.<br /><br />"I still don't like you playing around with this magic shit. Some evil bastard less than a mile away is supposedly sacrificing people to demons in his basement while at the same time my own son is performing God knows what kind of black magic in mine. Is this horseshit some kind of new fad going around?"<br /><br /> Mom saying "black magic" ended Ursus and Arthur's argument and brought their attention back to her. Ursus was already angry with Arthur, and I felt him become toweringly pissed off. I hoped he didn't gain control of our tongue. I said, as calmly as I could, "One, to the best of my knowledge, it's not a fad, just a coincidence. Two, accusing someone of black magic is a serious insult, and in certain times and places, the charge has led to people being executed or lynched. I'm sure you've heard about the witch hysteria in Europe."<br /><br />"Then why in hell are you frigging around with it?" I noticed Mary walk out of the hallway. When Mom started yelling, Mary scooped up Susan, turned around, and went back the way she had come.<br /><br />"I've done nothing that can be called 'black magic,' Mother, and I kind of resent you saying that I have. Magic is like any other tool. You can use it for good or bad. My attempts have all been for good."<br /><br />"I'm not sure the Bible makes that distinction." Ah, there was the essence of her concern. Mom's Christianity was eccentric, but it was there.<br /><br />I was on somewhat shaky ground. In truth, most of my knowledge of the Bible came from movies and a kid's storybook. I said, "The Bible has good men channeling miracles, casting out demons, and receiving prophesies. Those are all acts of magic. I don't claim to be a biblical expert, but I'm pretty sure it makes an implied distinction between magic used for good and magic used for evil."<br /><br />That made her pause. "I'll think about it."<br /><br />"Thank you." I felt Ursus calming down. "Can I go now?" I forced some of the tension out of my body.<br /><br /><I>Damn, old man, you have a temper.</I><br /><br /><I>Sometimes. Did you think yours was purely a result of your environment?</I><br /><br /><I>I guess not. So much for age and wisdom, eh?</I><br /><br /><I>Wisdom helps one choose the things to get angry about.</I><br /><br />"Are you going to call Kirsten before you leave?" Mom asked.<br /><br />Kirsten Kennedy was about as impressive as a girl in grade six could be. She played several musical instruments--her mother, a former music teacher, had started her on piano at age five--was highly intelligent, and exuded self-confidence and charm. She was also, allowing for taste, one of the prettiest girls in grade six. She had wavy auburn hair, big green eyes, exquisite bone structure, a spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and a heart-shaped face. She was tall for her age, and she was already filling out. She wore glasses, but Arthur, a born nerd, thought they gave her an appealing air of intellectualism. Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have been terrified of her, despite knowing her since kindergarten.<br /><br />Normal circumstances, however, had permanently ended for him when Arthur woke up with Ursus in his head. Because he had taken up residence uninvited in Arthur's body, Ursus felt indebted to him. Although Kirsten made Ursus feel like a pedophile, he had recognized how much Arthur liked her. Spotting a way to pay some of the interest on his debt, Ursus saved Arthur from himself during a few unfortunate incidents involving Kirsten. Kirsten got the message that Arthur liked her and sent the return message that she liked him back.<br /><br />So at the tender age of not-yet-twelve, Arthur found himself with a girlfriend. The situation appeared to amuse his mother. Kirsten's mother was not so amused, but she realized that her self-assured daughter was going to do what she wanted to do. Therefore, Mrs. Kennedy aimed at containing any damage. She set out a list of firm rules for Kirsten and Arthur, and comforted herself with the thought that Arthur was a better choice for first boyfriend than most.<br /><br />I, the slowly emerging third mind, hadn't been consulted in the least. Of course, when Ursus first showed up, I hadn't been around very much of the time, and when I was present, my original personality was a great deal like Arthur's. This, presumably, was a consequence of the fact that I had total access to Arthur's memories, whereas Ursus's memories were only fractionally present in Arthur's brain. When Kirsten was near, I usually thought in parallel with Arthur as a unified duo while Ursus tried to make himself as scarce as he could inside a shared skull. Unfortunately, Arthur was now in the throes of guilt, and I was going to be forced to work separately from him, lest he confess. I hoped it wouldn't be too awkward.<br /><br />I dialed Kirsten's number. Mrs. Kennedy answered. "Hello, Mrs. Kennedy. This is Arthur Powyr. May I speak to Kirsten, please, if she's available?" Mom had drilled decent telephone manners into me. If I ever told someone on the phone, "Hi, is so-and-so there?" she would make me apologize and ask again, correctly.<br /><br />"Hi, Arthur. I was just about to call your mother. Did you hear about the homicide not too far away from you?" For good or ill--I couldn't decide which--Mom and Helen Kennedy were becoming friends.<br /><br />"Mom and I both read about it in the paper. It's been bothering Mom. Would you like me to put her on?"<br /><br />"I'll let you speak with Kirsten first. You can put her on when you finish. Here's Kirsten."<br /><br />"Hi, Artie." I felt a warm glow of affection arising from Arthur.<br /><br />"Hi, do you want to go to the music store with me in a little while? The band of hoodlums might be present, if it's OK with you. I was going to ask them along, but I called you first."<br /><br />"I'm not a hoodlum," shouted Mary, who had again emerged once the yelling had stopped.<br /><br />"Correction," I said, "the band of hoodlums and Mary."<br /><br />"I'll ask Mom." I waited. When Kirsten came back on, she said, "It's supposed to snow later, so Mom doesn't want me riding over on my bike. She doesn't want me to be alone, anyway, with killers running loose, so she said she'd drive me. Is it OK if I bring Pam along?" So far as I could tell, Kirsten had a bit of a loner streak, and Pam was her only close friend, if one didn't count Arthur.<br /><br />"Sure. Pam is generally tolerable."<br /><br />"I'm glad you approve of my friend."<br /><br />"Hey, half the time I barely approve of <I>my</I> friends. Pam is practically golden."<br /><br />"Hmmm, maybe I should tell her that."<br /><br />"What? That she is a higher being than a band of hoodlums?"<br /><br />"I'm not sure that's what I'd emphasize, no. Anyway, when should we be there?"<br /><br />"How about a half-hour? Mike and Terry are probably at Danny's. I'll go check out Danny's Christmas loot and see if they want to come along."<br /><br />"Half-hour it is."<br /><br />"All right, I'll see you in a few. Your mom wanted to talk to mine." We said our goodbyes, and I got on my winter gear to go to Dan's. I left the coat and ski mask I had worn during the incidents of the day before at home. It would be bad if I were recognized from my clothing. Instead, I wore my new coat and the tuque Aunt Kate had knitted for me, both Christmas gifts. For the same reason, I left my bike at home and walked. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but the girl I had cut loose from the altar had surely given the police my description.<br /><br />As expected, Mike and Terry were there, as I could see from the presence of their bicycles. Danny's oldest brother, Tommy, answered the door and followed me to the basement. Danny's mother was at work. Danny; Mike; Terry; Danny's second oldest brother, Russ; their little sister, Jenny; and Russ's friend Shane were all there. I soon learned that Russ had received a weight set and bench for Christmas, and they were all, except Jenny, engaged in trying it out.<br /><br />"Who got the speed bag?" I asked after I noticed it mounted from the ceiling.<br /><br />"I got that, too," said Russ without looking at me. He was spotting Shane, who was doing bench presses. "Try it out, if you want.<br /><br />"C'mon, two more," he said to Shane, who was breathing hard. Both Russ and Shane were shirtless. They were in excellent shape. Both wanted to join the commandos when they graduated from high school.<br /><br />There was no way I was going to hit a hard leather bag with my unprotected fist. Then again, Ursus's fighting style, my body's fighting style by default, seldom used fists. I gave the bag a series of heel-of-palm strikes and edge-of-hand (sword hand) blows.<br /><br />"Have you been studying martial arts, Art?" asked Russ, who had finished spotting Shane. Tommy was getting on the bench.<br /><br />"Nah, I just read a lot."<br /><br />"I heard you kicked the asses of four guys around your age," said Shane. He was breathing hard, but not gasping.<br /><br />"I got lucky, and I fought dirty," I said. I also had help from a magic spell, but I didn't say that.<br /><br />"That's the only way to fight, if it's serious," he said. Russ started counting out Tommy's reps. I smacked the bag several more times, trying to build up a rhythm while attacking it from every possible angle. I ended with an upward palm strike to an imaginary chin.<br /><br />"Hey, Art, want to give it a try?" asked Dan, gesturing at the weights.<br /><br />"All right. Break it down to whatever Mike was using."<br /><br />I got on the bench and did one rep. "Add about ten pounds," I said.<br /><br />"Oooo, tough guy," said Terry, as Dan and Mike complied with my request.<br /><br />"Nah, I'm just a bit huskier than Mike." I did nine reps. The last one was getting difficult.<br /><br />"C'mon," said Russ. "One more." I forced out one more for ten. My arms burned.<br /><br /><I>I don't think lifting to failure is a good idea,</I> thought Ursus.<br /><br /><I>I'm not in the mood to start arguing with these guys,</I> I thought back.<br /><br />When I got off the bench, I was breathing hard. I was in better shape than I had been before Ursus took up residence, but I still had a long way to go. I gasped to my friends, "I came over here to see if you wanted to go to Hank's music store in a few minutes. I was going to look at the electric guitars."<br /><br />"Got some Christmas money you want to spend?" asked Tommy.<br /><br />"My mom and dad put some guitar money for me on account there."<br /><br />"Tolerant parents, buying you a guitar," he said.<br /><br />"Mom just got me some drums," Dan pointed out to his big brother.<br /><br />"Yeah, but Mom is gone when you get home from school. It's the rest of us who are going to have to suffer."<br /><br />Danny flipped him off, and was immediately put in a headlock.<br /><br />I remarked on Tommy's observation to me. "They were leery at first, but I bought an old acoustic with my own money and started learning. Once they saw how serious I was, they became pretty supportive."<br /><br />"I can only go if we can get back by 2:30," said Danny, still secured by his brother. "Tommy and Russ are going to work then." He left unstated that it was his job to watch Jenny when everyone else was gone.<br /><br />"All right," I said. "Kirsten and Pam will be at my house in a little bit. Then we can go."<br /><br />"Who are these girls?" asked Tommy. Russ and Shane started setting up the weights, this time on the floor.<br /><br />Mike answered for me. "Kirsten is Artie's girlfriend, and Pam is Kirsten's buddy."<br /><br />"No shit?" asked Tommy, as he let Danny go. He was grinning. "I didn't even know you were interested in girls yet, Art."<br /><br />"What can I say? It was kind of an accident."<br /><br />"How does one get a girlfriend by accident?" asked Shane. "This technique, it intrigues me."<br /><br />"Well, first she caught me staring at her, and then later in the day, I asked her to dance during the square-dance unit in gym. After that, the rest just sort of fell into place."<br /><br />"Man," said Tommy, "I hated that unit when I was your age."<br /><br />"Yeah, I would have said it sucks, but I can't complain about the Kirsten part."<br /><br />"Let that be a lesson," said Shane. "For some unnatural reason, chicks love to dance."<br /><br />"We're going to do dead lifts next," said Russ, bringing the discussion back to the business at hand.<br /><br />"Do we have time for another set?" asked Danny.<br /><br />"Yeah, but then we should head out," I replied.<br /><br />"Hold the bar like this," said Russ, "one hand over and one hand under. Before you lift, tighten your stomach muscles. Keep your back straight and the bar right next to your legs." He demonstrated with a light weight on the bar. When he had again put the weight down, he said, "Put the weights right back on the floor between reps, pause, and re-flex your abdomen before lifting again. Don't drop them! We don't have a platform built yet, and Mom will shit if we crack the floor.<br /><br />"You go first, Terry. See how that feels."<br /><br />Terry tried it. Russ watched his form and said, "Keep your back straighter. Try keeping your eyes locked on a point on the wall in front of you." We eventually all did a set of dead lifts. While we weren't taking our turns, Dan showed me his new drums. It was a basic set: snare, kick drum, high hat, two tom-toms, and a crash cymbal. Two stacked milk crates with a cushion on top were behind the kit.<br /><br />"I still need to get a throne and a floor tom, at least," Dan said.<br /><br />"What?" I asked as I mentally pictured a king's chair.<br /><br />"A stool. Drummer's stools are called <I>thrones</I> for some reason."<br /><br />"Ah, OK."<br /><br />"I figured I'd leave this set here to practice with and keep building up another kit at your house. I'm not going to say anything to my mom, but the stuff I've been trading for is better quality."<br /><br />"Sounds like a plan to me," I said.<br /><br />Arthur's three friends and I were about to head upstairs and leave, when Dan said, "I think I'll grab a fast shower. I'll catch up with you guys."<br /><br />Mike and Terry walked their bikes beside me as we headed home. "This is ek-skellent," Mike said.<br /><br />"Hmmm?"<br /><br />"We are actually forming a band. Chicks. Weed. Maybe even groupies."<br /><br />"Is that some kind of fish?"<br /><br />"What? Oh, hell no. They're chicks who put out for musicians."<br /><br />Ursus was familiar with the concept, if not the word. "I think we are a long way from that, and my girlfriend is in the band. And my sister."<br /><br />They both laughed at me. "You can still have the drugs, Art."<br /><br />"I don't want drugs."<br /><br />"Man, why is it you want to be a musician again?"<br /><br />"Maybe I like music," I said.<br /><br />"That's fucked up," said Mike. He was grinning.<br /><br />"You need to work on your priorities, young man," said Terry in an unnaturally deep voice. I just shook my head and laughed. At about the same time we arrived home, Kirsten's mom pulled into our driveway with Kirsten and Pam.<br /><br />Kirsten and I had a quick hug and kiss, but it felt incredibly awkward without the Arthur part of my brain in charge. Ursus and I were more or less willing him not to take over. Arthur said to us mentally, <I>Look, I promise not to say anything about killing Guzman when Kirsten is around, OK?</I> Being in the same head, we could tell he wasn't lying, so Ursus and I relaxed with more than a little relief.<br /><br />Kirsten gave me a funny look as I let her go. "Is everything OK, Art?"<br /><br />"It's--all right," I said as I held the door for everyone as they went inside. Of course, the topic of conversation instantly became the "Satanic" murders.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/02/warnings-and-deals.html">Chapter 3</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-41939957459100159112009-02-05T00:44:00.008-05:002009-02-09T08:53:15.262-05:00Chapter 1: Movement and Strife"Yield, peasant," commanded the demon.<br /><br />A shiver went down my back. "No!" I screamed in defiance.<br /><br />I ran away. The demon chased me. It wanted me to make obeisance to him, to be his minion. I ran until a gray-haired man blocked my escape. I was terrified, but I couldn't let the man stop me.<br /><br />I leaped into the air and kicked him in his face. He fell to the ground, and I stomped on his head until his skull shattered. Blood and brains stained the earth and my boots. I felt my stomach begin to turn.<br /><br />Then I awoke from the nightmare with a start. My heart was pounding, and my fright was bad enough that I decided I didn't want to go back to sleep, so I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.<br /><br />It was Thursday, 23 December 1973. Wednesday, Boxing Day, I had killed a man. All three minds in my head were upset about it, the youngest one, Arthur, to the point of constant guilt and nausea. The oldest mind, Ursus, didn't feel any guilt, but he wasn't immune to the nausea, and taking a human life still upset him. My third mind, the resultant of the merger of Arthur and Ursus, was somewhere in the middle.<br /><br />In any event, I didn't have much appetite as I went through the morning routine. Nevertheless, after I left the bathroom, I got a big bowl, put in a little cereal, and forced myself to sit at the kitchen table and eat it. Mom had noted my lack of appetite the evening before, and if she thought I was off my feed--in addition to the unusual amount of time I had been spending asleep the previous few weeks--she was sure to put two and two together and conclude that I was ill. I didn't need the restrictions on my movements that such a conclusion would bring, especially over winter break. Especially now that I had killed a man.<br /><br />I had the morning newspaper in front of me. I had already established the precedent of reading the paper, so that in itself was not notable, despite my body being not yet twelve years old. I saw that my crime had made the front page, below the fold.<br /><br />"Are you reading about the Satanist murder?" Mom asked me. We were the only ones at the table. Dad had gone to work. Mom's sister and her sister's husband had gone home the evening before. My younger siblings were not yet out of bed.<br /><br />"I just started the article," I replied.<br /><br />"You were over that way yesterday. Did you see anything?"<br /><br />I felt a stab of guilt. "Nope, not a thing. I just checked out the junior high school and rode around on my bike."<br /><br />I'd had to tell a lot of lies over the previous few days, a fact that distressed all three minds in my brain. We loathed telling untruths, but sometimes a lie was the lesser evil--by a large margin. In fact, though, I had seen everything that had happened at the crime scene, because I had done much of it.<br /><br />"What if you had wandered into that place and got hurt?" Oh-oh, her mother instincts were kicking in, and her blue eyes looked worried.<br /><br />"I didn't, and I wasn't," I said. After a second, Mom nodded and gave me a little smile.<br /><br />I returned to my reading. During mid-morning Wednesday, in a middle-class neighborhood of the suburban city of Packard, Michigana, an unidentified male wearing a ski mask had broken into the home of one Joseph Ernesto Guzman and pummeled him to death. Packard, a peaceful suburb of mostly peaceful Detroit, didn't have an exceptionally high crime rate, so any local murder was news, but the lurid details had moved the story from the front of the community section to the front of the entire newspaper.<br /><br />A fourteen-year-old girl, name withheld to protect a juvenile's privacy, had called in the homicide. She alleged that Mr. Guzman's assailant had heard her cries for help and saved her from being sacrificed in propitiation of a demon. She also alleged that Mr. Guzman, with the assistance of said demon, had been forcing her to sneak from her home to his, where he had sexually assaulted her on a recurring basis for the past several months. She thought her alleged rescuer was possibly a teenager, but she could not be sure. His ski mask had rendered him unidentifiable.<br /><br />The girl described Mr. Guzman's basement as having an altar, a shrine dedicated to demons, and a wall-mounted chain to which she was regularly secured. Police sources confirmed her general description. She also alleged that Mr. Guzman habitually practiced animal sacrifice--killing chickens, rabbits, sheep, and goats.<br /><br />The newspaper had no knowledge of whether she was under the influence of drugs or had a history of psychiatric problems.<br /><br />Even more shocking, according to department sources, police investigating the homicide had found the dismembered bodies of at least two women in Mr. Guzman's basement freezer. One woman remained unidentified. The other had been confirmed as Mr. Guzman's wife. Authorities were trying, so far unsuccessfully, to locate her relatives.<br /><br />The article went on to collect the usual quotes from the neighbors: Isn't it shocking? Something needs to be done about crime. He was such a quiet man. Demon summoning? The end days must surely be coming.<br /><br />Most important, from my point of view, no one had heard or seen anything unusual at the Guzman residence on the morning of the crime. Unless the information was being withheld, no one had seen me enter the Guzman backyard or house. Of course, the police were eager for any leads to the whereabouts of Mr. Guzman's killer.<br /><br />I was that killer. Ursus, the consciousness of an ancient wizard, believed that our murder of Mr. Guzman had been pure self-defense. To his mind, calling a murder "self-defense" was not paradoxical in the least. It was true that our killing of Mr. Guzman met the definition of murder under the laws of our current home. It was also true that these laws prescribed no method for dealing with a magician both willing and able to summon demons. Killing him had been the only way available to prevent his sending another demon to kill us, and maybe Arthur's family in addition.<br /><br />Arthur, the consciousness of a sixth grader, did not yet understand that whereas illegality and immorality could overlap, they weren't necessarily the same thing. He felt terrible, evil. On the one hand, he longed to confess. On the other, he feared the penalty that would result. Worse, he felt like a coward for fearing righteous punishment. He was the main reason our appetite was suppressed.<br /><br />I, the third consciousness, didn't really have a name. I was the result of the merger that began the day Arthur woke up several weeks before and found Ursus in his head. Much of the time, all three of us went along in harmony, all thinking of ourselves as "I" and working in unison. At other times, we divided. During some of those times of division, we disagreed. I could have genuine conversations and arguments with myself. I also could think of three things at once, an ability that had proved useful.<br /><br />It's hard to say what age the merged part of me should have been considered. Sometimes I thought and acted more like Arthur--especially when I had first come into existence. Sometimes I thought and acted more like Ursus. Furthermore, I had all of Arthur's memories at my figurative fingertips (cerebral folds?), but still only some of Ursus's. <I>Ursus</I> still had only some of his own memories. Their installation into Arthur's brain had turned out to be an extended process, mostly happening when we were asleep, with no end in sight. I supposed I had a long way to go before I developed a final personality.<br /><br />At any rate, I agreed with Ursus's conclusion. I'd had misgivings at first, but my--<I>our</I>--fight with the demon summoned by the diabolist we had killed had convinced me. The demon summoner had needed to be stopped, legally or illegally. I felt shaken up over killing someone, but I didn't feel guilty, not really.<br /><br />Ursus and I kept working on Arthur--comforting, distracting, and reasoning with him--but it wasn't something we could do without his realizing it. Because he was in the same head with us, he knew our program. He also understood that the two of us were determined to keep him from confessing to murder. Unfortunately, none of us understood how our body decided which consciousness had control over it at any given time. (It might have had something to do with who <I>wanted</I> it the most, but we weren't sure.) It was possible that one day he'd be in charge of our tongue and spill the beans.<br /><br />I supposed we'd burn that bridge when we came to it. In the meantime, I was pleased that the article never mentioned that at roughly the same time the homicide had taken place, a boy wearing a ski mask, carrying a guitar across his back, and riding a bicycle had fallen unconscious into a snow bank. Emergency workers had been summoned to help him, but he had fled before they had completed their evaluation. Either no one had made the connection, or the police were keeping it close to their vests.<br /><br />Actually, I hadn't been unconscious; I had been fighting the demon in my head. Once I had defeated the demon, I sent him back with orders to kill his summoner. Doubtless, it had looked like unconsciousness from the outside, and I didn't blame the three teens who had gone for help. Still, they had increased the peril I was in an unknown amount, and had made it necessary for me to evade the paramedics before I had gone to Guzman's house and finished him off, the wounded demon only having hurt him. <br /><br />I turned to the comics in an attempt to please Arthur. He liked the comics. So did Ursus, who hypothesized that there was more truth in the cartoons than on the front page. Mom must have seen that I was done with the news story, because she said, "Terrible, isn't it? What this world is coming to?"<br /><br />"I couldn't say. To me, this world seems like it always has."<br /><br />She sighed. "I suppose. It's easy to forget that things have been buggered up your entire life. When I was a girl, you never heard anything about people worshipping Satan or conjuring demons. At least, I never did."<br /><br />"I don't hear much about it now," I said.<br /><br />"I do. I've heard about people becoming pagans and heathens, and I saw someone who claimed to be a witch on television last week. Shit, if you haven't been pulling my leg, you've been dabbling in magic yourself, and I've seen some of the books you've been getting from the library."<br /><br /><I>Danger,</I> Ursus thought to me.<br /><br />"Mom, I promise you I'm not a pagan, heathen, witch, Satanist, or demon worshipper."<br /><br />"How serious are you about this magic bullshit?"<br /><br />"I've done some stuff, and it has seemed to work. You saw for yourself how well the money-finding spell went," I said, referring to a successful spell I had cast more than once.<br /><br />"'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.'" She said it in a musing tone, not as a commandment. Her religious beliefs were complex and probably heretical, as far as I could tell, but she was approximately an eccentric Christian. "Are you leaving yourself open to Satan?"<br /><br />"I'm not a witch, and I have nothing to do with Satan," I said.<br /><br />"Can you be sure?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"How?" Mom asked.<br /><br />"I don't ask for the assistance of evil spirits, and I've done nothing evil myself." Arthur laughed hysterically in my head. I forced myself to remain calm. "I don't believe the Bible equates magic and witchcraft, anyway. It's full of magic done by supposedly good people. Moses was obviously a magician."<br /><br />"I wonder if she was on drugs?" Mom asked.<br /><br />I was confused by the apparent non-sequiter. "Who?"<br /><br />"The girl who claimed she was going to be sacrificed."<br /><br />"If you find out who she is, you could ask her."<br /><br />"Smartass."<br /><br />I tried changing the subject. "Will you help me carry my bed downstairs today?" I had been given permission to turn an unused room in the basement into a bedroom.<br /><br />"I guess. Wait until everyone is up."<br /><br />"OK. I'm going to go get cleaned up." I rinsed out my cereal bowl and headed for the bathroom.<br /><br />Before I could make a complete escape, Mom said, "There's a killer loose. I don't want you to go far from home, especially alone, and I want to know where you are when you go out."<br /><br />"OK. I'll make sure you know where I am."<br /><br />"And I want you to quit playing around with magic."<br /><br />"I told you, I don't do anything bad. I certainly don't traffic with demons."<br /><br />"Reading about a girl claiming she was about to be sacrificed to one makes it not such a joke."<br /><br />I headed for the bathroom without saying anything more.<br /> <br />"Get your ass back here," Mom ordered.<br /><br />I stopped walking. "I can't make any such promise," I said.<br /><br />"Is that nonsense so important to you?"<br /><br />"If it's nonsense, why are you worried about it?" I went into the bathroom.<br /><br /><I>I'm not going to promise her that I won't do magic,</I> I thought.<br /><br /><I>Indeed not,</I> Ursus replied. <I>Promises involving magic tend to be self-enforcing in unforeseen ways.</I><br /><br /><I>Maybe it would be for the best,</I> Arthur thought.<br /><br /><I>Could you really give it up?</I> I asked Arthur.<br /><br /><I>I don't know, but all it has done is cause us problems.</I><br /><br /><I>How can you say that? It has made us some money, got us into better shape, and saved us from a severe beating.</I> In addition to a money finding spell, I had cast a physical protection spell that had allowed me to beat four boys in a fight without getting badly hurt myself. I had also performed various health and fitness rituals, and I was indeed losing weight and gaining muscle and endurance.<br /><br />Arthur had no answer to that, and he went back to brooding over the killing. I showered and did the rest of the standard morning cleanup. When I came out, all my siblings were up. Susan, the youngest; Charlie, the next youngest; and Rich, the kid in the middle of the pack, were watching a cartoon in the family room as they ate their cereal. Mary, the second oldest, ate at the table. Mom was putting on the wash.<br /><br />"I'm going to get started cleaning the accumulated junk out of my new room," I said.<br /><br />"Don't move it to the storage room yet," Mom said. "Just move it out to the middle somewhere; a lot of that junk can be thrown away. I'll be down in a few minutes to give you a hand."<br /><br />I did what I had been told and worked at it steadily for a while. When Mom arrived with Susan in tow, I had everything moved out except the contents of the walk-in closet and the old kitchen table I had recently moved in. Mom was carrying a couple of large corrugated boxes and a roll of garbage bags.<br /><br />We proceeded to spend the entire morning cleaning out the basement, Mom occasionally going upstairs to work on the wash. She didn't say anything more about magic. Rich and Charlie escaped to a friend's house, but huge-hearted Mary came down to help out and wrangle Susan. In the end, besides general cleaning, we had thrown out a bunch of junk, moved everything out of the walk-in closet in my new room, and rearranged the storage room.<br /><br />Finally, we started putting things back into my bedroom. "Are you going to leave this table in here?" Mom gestured at the old kitchen table that had been downstairs for as long as the Arthur part of me could remember. <br /><br />"I've been using it as a place to study. I figured I'd keep it until I had a desk, or at least a better worktable." Mom nodded at that. We then took a big rug that would cover most of the floor and worked around the table to put it down.<br /><br />A tall chest of drawers--about five feet high--came out of the storage room. It didn't match any of the other bedroom furniture in the house. Mom and Dad had bought it used when they first got married. Stained a light brown, it completely lacked ornamentation, but it was made out of a hard wood--probably white oak--and sturdy. It appealed to my tastes, and it and the big closet would easily hold all of my stuff from the old bedroom I had shared with my brothers, except for the books.<br /><br />"Well, let's go get your bed," Mom said. We did that, and then Mom and Mary made lunch while I carried all of my clothing that still fit downstairs. I gave the clothes that I had grown out of to Rich. It was all too big for him, but he eventually could use it. <br /><br />After lunch, I put a small table beside my bed to use as a nightstand and hung the poster of a polar bear my friend Danny had drawn for me onto my new door. I still needed a bookcase, and the walk-in closet lacked a door, but finally having some privacy would be wonderful. For a few minutes, at least, all three minds in my brain were happy over our new bedroom, even Arthur.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/02/chapter-2-grrrrrrr.html">chapter 2</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1839572857333032782.post-24055972995975983552009-02-04T20:45:00.009-05:002009-02-05T00:52:01.907-05:00Author's Note and WarningThis is the sequel to <a href="http://magiciansmerger.blogspot.com/">Magician's Merger</a>. For those of you who are reading this note who read that novel, thank you. I appreciate it. I learned a lot writing it, and to the best of my knowledge, I received only one destructive, nasty bit of criticism. Everything else was either fair and/or constructive. Thanks again.<br /><br />I originally intended for my next chunk of long writing to be better planned than <i>Magician's Merger</i>, but I'm just not getting anywhere with it. So once again, I intend to write and post as soon as the rough draft gets its first rough editing. This author's note constitutes your fair warning.<br /><br />I make no promises. I will post when I post with no guaranteed schedule or frequency. I know that this is bad marketing. I plead human weakness. My blood sugar isn't the most stable, and I've also become prone to anxiety attacks. When my blood sugar is acting up, my creativity is killed; and the more seriously I take something, the more likely an anxiety attack is to strike. Therefore, and I'm warning potential readers right here in front, I intend to take this as non-seriously as I can.<br /><br />If you are not yet scared off, I'm going to admit right now that I don't have much of a plot in mind. Much like <i>Magician's Merger</i>, the plot is going to grow organically. Such a plan leads to flaws. The plot of <i>Magician's Merger</i>, for example, is unbalanced, has dangling threads, and some false starts. I can pretty much guarantee that <i>Magician's Integration</i> will have some or all of the same problems.<br /><br />If you are still not scared off, I have no idea how the story will end. It might not end. I might simply keep it as an open-ended serial, as Alexandra Erin is doing with her highly recommended <a href="http://www.talesofmu.com/">Tales of MU</a>. (Go read her stuff before you read mine. Hers is much better.) I might even run out of steam and leave it a dangling serial sitting here on the Interwebs, abandoned and alone.<br /><br />If you are <i>still</i> not scared off, I invite any reader who so wishes to be a volunteer copy editor. Just post a comment at the end of the chapter with any mistakes that you see. These include, but are not limited to, continuity errors, typos, grammar and usage mistakes (not in character), misspellings, and bad or confusing punctuation. I am not insulted in the least when someone does this. I feel grateful.<br /><br />As the above paragraph implies, I feel free to edit, even rewrite, the story as needed once it is posted. Some people disagree with this policy. I disagree with those people.<br /><br />Readers who are willing to read early postings should be aware that they are basically reading the alpha release. If you want to read the beta release, I invite you to wait a few days from posting. (The release candidate and gold version, however, might never get here.)<br /><br />If you are <i>still, still</i> not scared off, welcome and thank you.<br /><br /><a href="http://magiciansintegration.blogspot.com/2009/02/chapter-1-movement-and-strife.html">Chapter 1</a>Xenophon Hendrixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13993059147024069203noreply@blogger.com11