half is as half does

so it is half done. by it, i mean the first story in the anthology. will it be the first to appear in the book? not sure. the rest aren't done, so i don't know what order they will go in.

tonight i played spy in my wife's restaurant. she is the area director for a new chain of sports bars, and i happen to be the lucky one who is so anonymous that my face is completely unrememberable.

according to my spell-checker, that (unrememberable) is not a word. i just added it to my dictionary, so from now on it is a word.

so like i was saying above, the first story is half done. it concerns a schoolteacher. his wife. a mage.

that word (mage) is also unrecognized. i just added it, now it is.

where was i? oh right. schoolteacher. his wife. a mage. that mage's son. something bad happens (what kind of story would we have if nothing untoward happened?). i want to give my friends a little something, a piece of the story to hook you, to keep you paying attention. i won't do this often, and i welcome any comments or criticisms.

For a temple, Luke thought, as he crossed the threshold into the cave, there’s not much going on.

At least it was dry though, a welcome change after walking in the rain for half of a day. He ran his fingers through his greasy black hair in an attempt to free the gallon of rainwater that had taken up residence, stomped his feet to try and remove some of the mud that had caked itself to his boots. He pulled off his cloak, vigorously shook it in the air, and then drew it back across his back.

Good as new, he told himself, not believing it for a second. He was exhausted, every muscle aching, on the verge of passing out. A little less water on his body didn’t do anything to refresh him, but it might keep him from getting the shivers and dying before getting home again.

He had made the three-day journey from Heriam, town of his birth, to Firehead Mountain, which housed the oldest volcano in Theretis. Oldestevar, Heriam’s resident wise old man, had told Luke about the place. At the base of Firehead was a stone staircase. The staircase trailed halfway up and around the mountain, ending at the entrance to a tunnel. At the other end of the tunnel was a door. On the other side of the door was the temple.

Which was indeed empty.

No one praying at the feet of any of the statues that lined the walls. No patrons sitting on any of the pews that ran in rows from the main entrance to the foot of the altar, crammed tightly together to squeeze as many as possible into the room. No high priest extolling the virtues of worshipping Stegereoth (Lord of Stone, whose war hammer was forged on the anvil in the middle of Firehead), or priestess doing the same for Caustine (Goddess of Flame, whose loyal followers, the Scintilla, would brand themselves with hot irons to show their devotion), who had taken over when it became unpopular to follow Stegereoth any longer.

The temple had been abandoned for almost a century, when the mage Rost Them’al had sent his golems to kill all of Caustine’s followers who had been worshipping there. He had wanted them to cast aside their devotion to Caustine, follow him instead, and turn the temple into a shrine for worshipping him. They said no, so he summoned fire golems to kill them all.

so that's how it starts, the anthology. we have the rest of this one, plus nine more to go. stay with me, i'll keep you posted, and i'll put up the beginning of each one as it comes about.

until something changes, i remain grim.