JAN 18TH MEETING OWLS.
SPEAKER JENN ASHWORTH ON BLOGS.
PRESENT. Margaret (Chair),Alex, Tim, Carol, Cec, Tom Mc., Sarah, Ishbel, Liz, Tricia, Neil, Julie, Dave Smith, and Keith Venables (latter prospective new members.) and myself Judy.
APOLOGIES. Bryan, Sue, Michael, Mike, Lynn and Pat.
Jenn Ashworth is a writer who also teaches creative writing groups about a range of subjects including blogs. She brought with her a good clear handout which I have tried sending you all but I’ve heard since that a member has received it 3 times where it has not shown my address. If anyone else is having difficulties and suspects spam then don’t open but I do urge you all to look at the OWLS BLOG which Cec helped create. This can be accessed by googling Ormskirk Writers and experimenting with various buttons to access what is on there already. It mostly consists of past minutes.
However if we as group decide to use the blog more frequently then we need to sign in and use it for commenting and encouraging those of us who need support for our writing in between sessions and if we can’t attend. My aim for minutes would be to end up putting them on BLOG only and then members access them there rather than in their own emails. Do remember though that I am hoping to resign as secretary at next AGM and new one may have different ideas. Comments please to blog before next meeting!!!
Now for the big news, Neil has already begun his own Blog which we can access and comment on. At next meeting we can ask him whether it has been useful to him and already he has 2 comments from Alex and myself.
I’m not going to go into any more detail over the evening other than to say it was very interesting and informative and we need to decide as a group if it is a useful way for us to go. COMMENTS TO BLOG please.
Committee meeting Mon 25th at Ishbel’s if interested in attending please contact me or just turn up. 7.30pm start.
NEXT MAIN MEETING FEB 1ST 7.30PM PRESENTATION FROM TRICIA ON ARTICLE WRITING IN PREPARATION FOR ORMSKIRK’S JO COWELL COMPETITION 2010.
Thursday, 21 January 2010
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Progression
We are trying to improve this blog and put in fresh content. OWL Members please email your thoughts with any ideas
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
Work in progress Evening. Jan 4 2010
OWLS MINUTES JAN 4TH 010.
Present. Margaret, (Chair), Neil, Sarah, Tim, Alex, Ishbel, Cecil , Mike Hill, Myself Judy, and 3 visitors, Sarah and Natalie who came to our Xmas party and Dave Smith.
Apologies. Michael Lonsdale, Sue, Pat and Bryan. (A mixture of being unwell and not wishing to risk the weather.)
Margaret opened the evening by welcoming everyone and wishing all of us a good new year. She thanked everyone who helped in some way at the Xmas party esp. Alex over the new starting game and all who came and took part.
I let everyone know that we received a Christmas card from Christine Chessyre and a cheque for £50 for our next Dora Doyle poetry evening. (Christine is Dora’s daughter who was a founder member of the club) I have sent a thank you card from us all.
1.I, Judy, read a brief New Year poem hoping for a better year. I also read a story I wish to try and get published “Half a Story” and received good comments and advice from those present.
2. Margaret read “Freedom to Live”, a short story aiming for a 600 word outlet. Well written, smacking of Shirley Valentine but to Egypt not Greece! Good luck.
3.Neil treated us yet again to a wonderfully descriptive poem written that morning watching the sun rise and the moon go down behind his house. Excellent.
4. Tim introduced us again to another very detailed world of a police force situation, real and full of imagery of the future or fantasy? Makings of a good story.
5. Mike read the beginning of his novel set in Africa with an exciting plot, lots of tension and descriptive scenes past and present. We were all hooked by “The Opportunist.”
6. Sarah flew us into the world of “The Autometer Birds” a 4,000 word story, very detailed, Characterising emotion as well as storyline. Extremely original and gripping.
7. Alex gave us the chance to hear first part of a second Act play, but one that stands on its own, too. Full of humour, action and tittle tattle with a main character stuck down a well. Well, I’m not saying any more, but would love to see it on stage.
8. Ishbel read us her piece on Festivals, could be part of her Memoirs but fascinating contrasts of Iranian Festivals and British ones. Could be an Article??! (Thinking of this year’s Jo Cowell Competition!)
9. Dave read a beautifully tragic little poem called “Pirouettes and Little Steps.” Brought tears to my eyes. Also read out a piece from his first chapter of “Touches” graphically described elderly infirm man receiving a letter raising all sorts of issues from his past. We want to hear more.
Cec rounded the evening off with a short excerpt from his memoirs called “The New Job.” Very interesting details on Typewriter Mechanics. Held all our attention.
Next meeting 18th Jan 7.30 N.C.H. Speaker to talk on “BLOGS”.
Committee meeting at Ishbel’s next Monday 7.30pm. Anyone expressing a wish to become more involved or with issues to discuss please contact me ASAP. Thanks to you all Judy
Present. Margaret, (Chair), Neil, Sarah, Tim, Alex, Ishbel, Cecil , Mike Hill, Myself Judy, and 3 visitors, Sarah and Natalie who came to our Xmas party and Dave Smith.
Apologies. Michael Lonsdale, Sue, Pat and Bryan. (A mixture of being unwell and not wishing to risk the weather.)
Margaret opened the evening by welcoming everyone and wishing all of us a good new year. She thanked everyone who helped in some way at the Xmas party esp. Alex over the new starting game and all who came and took part.
I let everyone know that we received a Christmas card from Christine Chessyre and a cheque for £50 for our next Dora Doyle poetry evening. (Christine is Dora’s daughter who was a founder member of the club) I have sent a thank you card from us all.
1.I, Judy, read a brief New Year poem hoping for a better year. I also read a story I wish to try and get published “Half a Story” and received good comments and advice from those present.
2. Margaret read “Freedom to Live”, a short story aiming for a 600 word outlet. Well written, smacking of Shirley Valentine but to Egypt not Greece! Good luck.
3.Neil treated us yet again to a wonderfully descriptive poem written that morning watching the sun rise and the moon go down behind his house. Excellent.
4. Tim introduced us again to another very detailed world of a police force situation, real and full of imagery of the future or fantasy? Makings of a good story.
5. Mike read the beginning of his novel set in Africa with an exciting plot, lots of tension and descriptive scenes past and present. We were all hooked by “The Opportunist.”
6. Sarah flew us into the world of “The Autometer Birds” a 4,000 word story, very detailed, Characterising emotion as well as storyline. Extremely original and gripping.
7. Alex gave us the chance to hear first part of a second Act play, but one that stands on its own, too. Full of humour, action and tittle tattle with a main character stuck down a well. Well, I’m not saying any more, but would love to see it on stage.
8. Ishbel read us her piece on Festivals, could be part of her Memoirs but fascinating contrasts of Iranian Festivals and British ones. Could be an Article??! (Thinking of this year’s Jo Cowell Competition!)
9. Dave read a beautifully tragic little poem called “Pirouettes and Little Steps.” Brought tears to my eyes. Also read out a piece from his first chapter of “Touches” graphically described elderly infirm man receiving a letter raising all sorts of issues from his past. We want to hear more.
Cec rounded the evening off with a short excerpt from his memoirs called “The New Job.” Very interesting details on Typewriter Mechanics. Held all our attention.
Next meeting 18th Jan 7.30 N.C.H. Speaker to talk on “BLOGS”.
Committee meeting at Ishbel’s next Monday 7.30pm. Anyone expressing a wish to become more involved or with issues to discuss please contact me ASAP. Thanks to you all Judy
Monday, 7 December 2009
Going Back (The Moon Can't Wait)
This an extract from the opening of my new novella, Going Back (The Moon Can't Wait) which is available in the anthology The Moon Can't Wait available from Lulu.Com, £9.95, from 7th December 2009.
The anthology is a collection of 35 short stories of romance, comedy and the occasional murder. The novella is a mystery thriller, set on the Moon in the near future. It commemorates the 1969 Apollo Moon landings and coincides with the Copenhagen Treaty on Climate Change.
The anthology is a collection of 35 short stories of romance, comedy and the occasional murder. The novella is a mystery thriller, set on the Moon in the near future. It commemorates the 1969 Apollo Moon landings and coincides with the Copenhagen Treaty on Climate Change.
Friday 1200 Zulu
“We’ve lost contact with South Pole Base.”
This was big news. I could only speculate why Mission Director Lavrov was telling me first – if I was the first.
“Who’s this ‘we’?”
“Both us and Mission Control on Earth. All radio and data contact, telemetry, complete works became silent at 0900 Zulu, Friday.”
“The Sat links?”
“Both Sat links to us and direct feeds to Earth. Whole show went off at once. No warning, no prior emergency, nothing. Just like somebody pulled plug on entire base.”
“What does Mission Control say?”
“Somebody’s got to get ass down there and find out what’s happened.” I don’t know why, but I always find it amusing when Russians try to use American slang. Especially when agitated. “Assuming worst, till we know better.”
“When do we go?”
“We can’t prep a sub-orbital flight in under four weeks – ”
“Four weeks?” I was surprised. “Why the delay?”
“The Selena is undergoing routine overhaul and maintenance. Right now she’s lying around in Engineering Bay in about three thousand pieces.”
“Why is the car always in the shop just when you need it?” I said. Perhaps my levity was out of place. Certainly, Lavrov scowled at me.
“So we are sending team in one of the Marathons,” he added, somehow coping with his bad mood – at least he was regaining his fluency in English – “along with trailer carrying supplies for every kind of eventuality. That’s another reason for going by lunar surface route – bigger load.”
“But the surface trip from here to South Base is over five thousand kilometres – and that’s not counting the detours around craters. Especially as you get nearer – it’s, what? –– like a thousand kilometres of Himalayas.”
“It’s been done before – and that was before rougher sections were bulldozed to make causeways and cuttings,” said Lavrov. “About the same as crossing the Sahara, end to end.” His expression had not improved any, so it still didn’t sound like some kind of picnic he was suggesting. “You can average 40 kilometres an hour which means 140 hours to get there – about six Earth days. Which is just as well as it’s only seven Earth days till Lunar night on the Earth side.”
“So who’s going on this jolly jaunt?” I asked. It was a safe bet I already knew one person who would be going. John Patterson. Me.
“Jim Sellars, Dr Li, Françoise Lagrange from medical and Ajali Ndege. Then there are two newcomers. Dr Ahmed Zubaydi and his assistant, Ibrahim Rashid.”
Newcomers indeed – I recognised their names from a recent passenger manifest, but knew nothing else. “Who are they?”
“They came in on the last trip from South Base before the Selena went for her overhaul.”
“What are their specialities?”
“Apart from having visited South Base and seen how it was just days ago?” Lavrov picked up and glanced at a slim folder for several seconds like he had never read it before. “Dr Zubaydi was expert in geological survey – oil prospecting, I gather – before he joined our team.” A pause. “Rashid is – ah – his right-hand man… been with him for years. Deputy-Directory Kennedy at South will have done a more thorough debriefing, seeing as they were joining his staff. They are visiting North just to get to know whole operation.”
“And who else?”
“And your good self, of course.” He still didn’t stop scowling.
“Why just seven of us?”
His scowl worsened, if that were possible. “If nothing serious has happened, there will be plenty of people there who can take care of themselves.”
“And if it is serious?”
“You won’t need more than seven of you.”
He filled me in on a few other details for my own speciality. “One last thing,” Lavrov added. “Keep in touch with us here at North Pole Base, every six hours. You know the protocol.”
I nodded. I knew the protocol. “Anything else?”
“Get back in one piece.”
I’d kind of planned that already.
“We’ve lost contact with South Pole Base.”
This was big news. I could only speculate why Mission Director Lavrov was telling me first – if I was the first.
“Who’s this ‘we’?”
“Both us and Mission Control on Earth. All radio and data contact, telemetry, complete works became silent at 0900 Zulu, Friday.”
“The Sat links?”
“Both Sat links to us and direct feeds to Earth. Whole show went off at once. No warning, no prior emergency, nothing. Just like somebody pulled plug on entire base.”
“What does Mission Control say?”
“Somebody’s got to get ass down there and find out what’s happened.” I don’t know why, but I always find it amusing when Russians try to use American slang. Especially when agitated. “Assuming worst, till we know better.”
“When do we go?”
“We can’t prep a sub-orbital flight in under four weeks – ”
“Four weeks?” I was surprised. “Why the delay?”
“The Selena is undergoing routine overhaul and maintenance. Right now she’s lying around in Engineering Bay in about three thousand pieces.”
“Why is the car always in the shop just when you need it?” I said. Perhaps my levity was out of place. Certainly, Lavrov scowled at me.
“So we are sending team in one of the Marathons,” he added, somehow coping with his bad mood – at least he was regaining his fluency in English – “along with trailer carrying supplies for every kind of eventuality. That’s another reason for going by lunar surface route – bigger load.”
“But the surface trip from here to South Base is over five thousand kilometres – and that’s not counting the detours around craters. Especially as you get nearer – it’s, what? –– like a thousand kilometres of Himalayas.”
“It’s been done before – and that was before rougher sections were bulldozed to make causeways and cuttings,” said Lavrov. “About the same as crossing the Sahara, end to end.” His expression had not improved any, so it still didn’t sound like some kind of picnic he was suggesting. “You can average 40 kilometres an hour which means 140 hours to get there – about six Earth days. Which is just as well as it’s only seven Earth days till Lunar night on the Earth side.”
“So who’s going on this jolly jaunt?” I asked. It was a safe bet I already knew one person who would be going. John Patterson. Me.
“Jim Sellars, Dr Li, Françoise Lagrange from medical and Ajali Ndege. Then there are two newcomers. Dr Ahmed Zubaydi and his assistant, Ibrahim Rashid.”
Newcomers indeed – I recognised their names from a recent passenger manifest, but knew nothing else. “Who are they?”
“They came in on the last trip from South Base before the Selena went for her overhaul.”
“What are their specialities?”
“Apart from having visited South Base and seen how it was just days ago?” Lavrov picked up and glanced at a slim folder for several seconds like he had never read it before. “Dr Zubaydi was expert in geological survey – oil prospecting, I gather – before he joined our team.” A pause. “Rashid is – ah – his right-hand man… been with him for years. Deputy-Directory Kennedy at South will have done a more thorough debriefing, seeing as they were joining his staff. They are visiting North just to get to know whole operation.”
“And who else?”
“And your good self, of course.” He still didn’t stop scowling.
“Why just seven of us?”
His scowl worsened, if that were possible. “If nothing serious has happened, there will be plenty of people there who can take care of themselves.”
“And if it is serious?”
“You won’t need more than seven of you.”
He filled me in on a few other details for my own speciality. “One last thing,” Lavrov added. “Keep in touch with us here at North Pole Base, every six hours. You know the protocol.”
I nodded. I knew the protocol. “Anything else?”
“Get back in one piece.”
I’d kind of planned that already.
Friday 1600 Zulu
Let me introduce you to a Marathon. It’s one hell of a bit of kit. It has twelve wheels, six in the forward tractor unit and six in the so-called trailer which was attached to the tractor by a fully sealed gimballed mid-section, like a flexible bus, although it could be jettisoned in an emergency, such as sliding down a crater wall and the like. It was unfair to call it a trailer, as drive went to all of its six wheels, just like the forward unit, which in turn wasn’t really a tractor in that it didn’t pull anything. In fact, each wheel has its own drive motor which could be cross-linked to any other wheel in case any motor failed. It could carry up to sixteen people, suitably equipped, though, on this occasion the rear unit would be full of stores with no passenger space. The whole thing weighed twelve thousand kilos on Earth, or just two thousand on the Moon. All of them were nick-named the “recreational vehicle” or “RV” by everyone that used them, both at North Pole Base where I normally spent my time, and at South Pole Base. There were five on the Moon in all with at least two stationed at each base and the fifth as a kind of spare. Each one cost one point eight billion dollars. Some RV.
The reason for always having at least two at each base was for contingency. Contingency and redundancy. When you live on the Moon you never adopt the mode of thought, “What if something goes wrong?” It’s always: “When things go wrong, I can do so-and-so.” There’s always a back-up, a spare, of everything from a spanner to a spacesuit. The only exceptions at all were the Selenas – the sub-orbital spacecraft – and the Atlases, the Earth-Moon shuttle/cargo craft – it simply wasn’t feasible to have duplicates of these hugely expensive transporters at both bases – we shared one a piece at each base with at least one either on Earth and one en route – four in all – and this was thought sufficient. That had worked out well, I couldn’t help thinking, considering the current circumstances, but then no-one had anticipated a whole base simply shutting down like a blown-out candle. As for our Selena, giving it regular and thorough maintenance was our way of covering our asses. That had worked out well, too, again given the same considerations. I can be quite cynical when I put my mind to it.
Considering what was about to happen, I was probably justified.
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
OWLS Christmas Party
The Ormskirk Writers' Christmas Party is on Monday December 7th in the large downstairs room of New Church House Ormskirk.
Members admission is free and only £2 is charged for each of their guests.
There will be competions for :-
1 A Christmas Poem or Carol No more that 30 Lines.
2 A story to read at the Party Must be 100 words exactly and contain the following ten words once only in the order given. 1.french 2. terribly 3. brief 4. action 5. people 6.air 7.capable 8. glowering 9. lanuage 10. wheedling.
There will be a prize for the entry voted the most entertaining.
The guests can enter the competitions
Members admission is free and only £2 is charged for each of their guests.
There will be competions for :-
1 A Christmas Poem or Carol No more that 30 Lines.
2 A story to read at the Party Must be 100 words exactly and contain the following ten words once only in the order given. 1.french 2. terribly 3. brief 4. action 5. people 6.air 7.capable 8. glowering 9. lanuage 10. wheedling.
There will be a prize for the entry voted the most entertaining.
The guests can enter the competitions
Friday, 6 November 2009
The Magic Sword
King Boden, in despair at losing yet another battle to defend his kingdom, the Kingdom of Icia, was sheltering in a cave and in fear for his life, when suddenly he was trapped by a Tall Stranger.
“What do you want?” cried King Boden. “I cannot defend myself for I have no weapon.”
“What would you wish for yourself?” said the Tall Stranger.
“If I could have anything right now, it would be a sword so that I could strike down any who threaten me or cause me fear.”
“Then take this,” said the stranger, producing from inside his voluminous cloak a sword. It was a sword like no other King Boden had ever seen. Its balance in the hand was perfection, its blade gleamed and its edge would make shame of a razor. King Boden hefted the sword in his hand. “You give me this, yet are unarmed. Do you not fear me now?”
“No,” said stranger, “I have fear of no man.”
“But why do you give me this sword?”
“I tell you this,” said the stranger. “This sword is a Magic Sword. With this, and as King, you will never taste defeat again. But you will never know love...”
And with that, the Tall Stranger was gone.
Sure enough, from that day on, King Boden was victorious in every battle. His armies grew stronger till all feared the power of Icia. Then one day he captured the Princess Alsanda, daughter of King Ezeck of the neighbouring land of Maggedor and took her hostage. Ezeck swore revenge against King Boden and declared war. But on the eve of battle, King Boden realised he was falling in love with his prisoner.
“You are indeed a beautiful princess,” he said. “I feel my heart yearning for your affection. What would it take for you to become my bride?”
“More than you have in your power to give!” she vowed. “Take yourself from me, for your presence poisons the very air.”
“But, Princess, if you would be mine there is nothing I would deny you. For without your love my heart will surely break.”
“Then let it break. Your destiny is on the battlefield and not within my affection.”
Angrily, King Boden left the Princess and went to prepare for victory or death at the hands of Ezeck and his warriors of Maggedor.
That day, on the vast Plain of Ildion, the mighty armies of Icia and Maggedor faced each other. Their weapons glinted in the pale cold sun shining balefully down upon them. King Boden had the unwilling Princess brought by guards to watch the battle.
“I ask you one last time,” said King Boden to the Princess, "If you would surrender to me as I demand, and be my bride, I would recall my soldiers. But if you deny me, you will see the men of your homeland scythed down like ripe corn.”
The Princess raised her noble head. “I and all the troops of Maggedor would sooner die than suffer such dishonour.” And she lowered her head once more and wept.
“That is your answer?” roared King Boden.
“That is the answer of all of the line of Maggedor,” whispered the Princess.
“Then so shall it be,” said Boden. With a curse, he wheeled his horse and galloped off to the head of his troops.
Arranged in the first line of battle upon the Plain of Ildion were the two cavalries, the horsemen of Icia decked in their colours of blue and gold, the knights of Maggedor in purple. The crests of their colours stood proud in the wind on the manes of the battle horses. But when at last the order to charge was given, not an animal would move from either side. The riders urged them on fiercely with blood-curdling battle cries, but the horses, snorting and pounding the earth with their hooves, refused to move forward, even an inch.
Realising the peril if his horsemen remained still and were charged by a powerful enemy, King Boden raced to the front of his troops. He had the Magic Sword, the ownership of which had made him the victor of so many battles. He could not be defeated.
King Ezeck, too, saw the danger his army was in, if the horses would not charge and attack the enemy. He galloped to the head of his army to urge them to attack. But to no avail. It was as if the horses had no wish to be a part of the wars of men.
Across the plain, the two kings dismounted from their steeds and turned to face each other. King Boden raised his sword in signal, and shouted. “King Ezeck. Our armies are evenly matched. There is no need for them to fight this day. We two can determine the outcome of this battle. Let us fight, just you and I, to decide the day.”
Ezeck knew of King Boden’s recent successes on the field of war. He had heard rumours of the Magic Sword, of how King Boden had come by it, in the cave with the Tall Stranger. He knew the promise the stranger had made that King Boden would never taste defeat as king while he had the sword. Yet he was not afraid. “I accept your challenge! He who wins our duel will win the war between Maggedor and Icia!”
“Victory in war!” cried King Boden.
“Victory in war!” Ezeck shouted back.
The two paced across the plain till they were in sword’s reach. A pause stayed them. The two armies looked on in thrall. Princess Alsanda swept the tears from her eyes upon seeing her father, standing proud. Then King Boden raised the Magic Sword and swung it fearsomely at King Ezeck’s head.
It was a mighty blow. Yet Ezeck parried, and deflected the lethal blade harmlessly. He too struck out with his weapon, but Boden denied the steel a target in his flesh.
And so the fight was joined. On it raged, blow followed by counter blow. Sometimes the fight seemed to favour one man, then the advantage would swing the other way. But neither man took wound.
“Surely I cannot be defeated,” King Boden thought between thrust and parry, “for I have the Magic Sword. The Tall Stranger swore to me.”
For hour upon hour the epic struggle raged without rest, quarter neither given nor taken. But then, just as the sun that had blazed down upon this momentous day seemed to weary, and kissed the horizon, King Boden lofted the Magic Sword high above his head and brought it down with a crashing fury greater than any before.
King Ezeck raised his sword in defence and, as steel clanged on steel, the blade of his weapon shattered. The broken tip fell to the ground. King Ezeck, in despair, let the hilt slip from his hand and join the rest of the now-useless weapon in the dirt.
Quietly he spoke. “King Boden, you have your victory.” He stole one last look at his daughter, Princess Alsanda, in the lines of the men of Icia. Then he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable death.
But death did not come. Kind Boden, following the gaze of his adversary, also spotted the beautiful princess. He saw, even at this distance, the tears upon her face, and the sadness in her eyes, and he felt his heart leap.
“As King, you will never taste defeat again. But you will never know love.” The words of the Tall Stranger who had handed him the Magic Sword repeated themselves on his lips. He raised the Magic Sword one final time.
But the blow never fell.
Lowering the sword, he spoke, almost in a whisper, to King Ezeck. “Open your eyes, King Ezeck. I cannot strike you down.”
King Ezeck looked into the face of Boden. “What do you mean?”
“As a king, with this sword, I can never taste defeat.”
“So strike me down, for I will not live if my daughter is to remain your prisoner!”
Again Boden looked to the princess. “But, as a king, I will never know love.” He looked again at King Ezeck. “Therefore I choose no longer to be King! I am now a common man, and a common man cannot strike down a king.” And with that he laid the Magic Sword at King Ezeck’s feet.
“And what of my daughter?” said Ezeck, in a bare whisper.
“She is free,” he said. With a wave, he commanded his guards to release her. For a moment, Princess Alsanda was frozen to the spot. Then she, tearfully, ran into the arms of her father.
“Oh, my beautiful daughter,” cried King Ezeck, for tears had come to his battle-drawn face also, “I thought that I should never see your sweet face ever again.”
Ezeck turned to face Boden. “So how do we decide the battle?”
“What battle? There is no battle. There is no war. We should leave this place in peace, with honour.”
For a moment, Ezeck was unable to speak. “You could have won the day,” he said.
“I would have won nothing.”
“But is there nothing you would wish for?” said Ezeck.
Boden hesitated. “I can barely say this. But if I could have one thing, it would be to ask for the hand of your daughter, the beautiful Princess Alsanda, in marriage, for I am under her spell, a spell greater than that of any sword or weapon. And I ask, not demand. I would have her answer freely, as only her heart dictates, and I would be content with any answer, though I hope for only one.”
Princess Alsanda looked at Boden. Suddenly, now that he was no longer a king, it was as if a blindfold fell from her eyes, and she could see a handsome, wise and generous man. She turned to King Ezeck. “Father, this man is more noble than any I have ever met, nor even dreamed of. With your permission, nothing would make me happier than to be his bride.”
King Ezeck wiped the tears from his face, and for the first time since news of her capture in Icia had come to him, he smiled. “Then his bride you shall be, with my blessing.” Upon these words, she let go of her father, and embraced Boden.
At that moment, as the shade of evening was drawing upon them, a figure appeared from between the two now-silent battle lines. It was the Tall Stranger who had given Boden the sword so long ago.
Boden, recognising him, said, “How can we be of service to you?”
“It is you who have served me,” said the stranger. “I have merely come to collect the possession I lent to you.”
“You lent to me?” said Boden, astonished. “So it was never really in my ownership?”
“No man can own this sword. I take it back now, for its magic is done.”
“And what magic is that?” asked King Ezeck in awe.
The Tall Stranger faced both of them. “Know this truth,” he said. “It is a truth equally for king and peasant, high-born and humble, rich or poor. War is not the true purpose of any living thing.” He paused to smile at Boden and Princess Alsanda, hiding the sword away in his cloak.
“Then what is life’s true purpose?” Boden asked the Tall Stranger in a hushed voice.
The Tall Stranger looked one last time at the two former enemies. “Love is.”
And, with that, taking the Magic Sword with him, the Tall Stranger was gone.
THE END.
“What do you want?” cried King Boden. “I cannot defend myself for I have no weapon.”
“What would you wish for yourself?” said the Tall Stranger.
“If I could have anything right now, it would be a sword so that I could strike down any who threaten me or cause me fear.”
“Then take this,” said the stranger, producing from inside his voluminous cloak a sword. It was a sword like no other King Boden had ever seen. Its balance in the hand was perfection, its blade gleamed and its edge would make shame of a razor. King Boden hefted the sword in his hand. “You give me this, yet are unarmed. Do you not fear me now?”
“No,” said stranger, “I have fear of no man.”
“But why do you give me this sword?”
“I tell you this,” said the stranger. “This sword is a Magic Sword. With this, and as King, you will never taste defeat again. But you will never know love...”
And with that, the Tall Stranger was gone.
Sure enough, from that day on, King Boden was victorious in every battle. His armies grew stronger till all feared the power of Icia. Then one day he captured the Princess Alsanda, daughter of King Ezeck of the neighbouring land of Maggedor and took her hostage. Ezeck swore revenge against King Boden and declared war. But on the eve of battle, King Boden realised he was falling in love with his prisoner.
“You are indeed a beautiful princess,” he said. “I feel my heart yearning for your affection. What would it take for you to become my bride?”
“More than you have in your power to give!” she vowed. “Take yourself from me, for your presence poisons the very air.”
“But, Princess, if you would be mine there is nothing I would deny you. For without your love my heart will surely break.”
“Then let it break. Your destiny is on the battlefield and not within my affection.”
Angrily, King Boden left the Princess and went to prepare for victory or death at the hands of Ezeck and his warriors of Maggedor.
That day, on the vast Plain of Ildion, the mighty armies of Icia and Maggedor faced each other. Their weapons glinted in the pale cold sun shining balefully down upon them. King Boden had the unwilling Princess brought by guards to watch the battle.
“I ask you one last time,” said King Boden to the Princess, "If you would surrender to me as I demand, and be my bride, I would recall my soldiers. But if you deny me, you will see the men of your homeland scythed down like ripe corn.”
The Princess raised her noble head. “I and all the troops of Maggedor would sooner die than suffer such dishonour.” And she lowered her head once more and wept.
“That is your answer?” roared King Boden.
“That is the answer of all of the line of Maggedor,” whispered the Princess.
“Then so shall it be,” said Boden. With a curse, he wheeled his horse and galloped off to the head of his troops.
Arranged in the first line of battle upon the Plain of Ildion were the two cavalries, the horsemen of Icia decked in their colours of blue and gold, the knights of Maggedor in purple. The crests of their colours stood proud in the wind on the manes of the battle horses. But when at last the order to charge was given, not an animal would move from either side. The riders urged them on fiercely with blood-curdling battle cries, but the horses, snorting and pounding the earth with their hooves, refused to move forward, even an inch.
Realising the peril if his horsemen remained still and were charged by a powerful enemy, King Boden raced to the front of his troops. He had the Magic Sword, the ownership of which had made him the victor of so many battles. He could not be defeated.
King Ezeck, too, saw the danger his army was in, if the horses would not charge and attack the enemy. He galloped to the head of his army to urge them to attack. But to no avail. It was as if the horses had no wish to be a part of the wars of men.
Across the plain, the two kings dismounted from their steeds and turned to face each other. King Boden raised his sword in signal, and shouted. “King Ezeck. Our armies are evenly matched. There is no need for them to fight this day. We two can determine the outcome of this battle. Let us fight, just you and I, to decide the day.”
Ezeck knew of King Boden’s recent successes on the field of war. He had heard rumours of the Magic Sword, of how King Boden had come by it, in the cave with the Tall Stranger. He knew the promise the stranger had made that King Boden would never taste defeat as king while he had the sword. Yet he was not afraid. “I accept your challenge! He who wins our duel will win the war between Maggedor and Icia!”
“Victory in war!” cried King Boden.
“Victory in war!” Ezeck shouted back.
The two paced across the plain till they were in sword’s reach. A pause stayed them. The two armies looked on in thrall. Princess Alsanda swept the tears from her eyes upon seeing her father, standing proud. Then King Boden raised the Magic Sword and swung it fearsomely at King Ezeck’s head.
It was a mighty blow. Yet Ezeck parried, and deflected the lethal blade harmlessly. He too struck out with his weapon, but Boden denied the steel a target in his flesh.
And so the fight was joined. On it raged, blow followed by counter blow. Sometimes the fight seemed to favour one man, then the advantage would swing the other way. But neither man took wound.
“Surely I cannot be defeated,” King Boden thought between thrust and parry, “for I have the Magic Sword. The Tall Stranger swore to me.”
For hour upon hour the epic struggle raged without rest, quarter neither given nor taken. But then, just as the sun that had blazed down upon this momentous day seemed to weary, and kissed the horizon, King Boden lofted the Magic Sword high above his head and brought it down with a crashing fury greater than any before.
King Ezeck raised his sword in defence and, as steel clanged on steel, the blade of his weapon shattered. The broken tip fell to the ground. King Ezeck, in despair, let the hilt slip from his hand and join the rest of the now-useless weapon in the dirt.
Quietly he spoke. “King Boden, you have your victory.” He stole one last look at his daughter, Princess Alsanda, in the lines of the men of Icia. Then he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable death.
But death did not come. Kind Boden, following the gaze of his adversary, also spotted the beautiful princess. He saw, even at this distance, the tears upon her face, and the sadness in her eyes, and he felt his heart leap.
“As King, you will never taste defeat again. But you will never know love.” The words of the Tall Stranger who had handed him the Magic Sword repeated themselves on his lips. He raised the Magic Sword one final time.
But the blow never fell.
Lowering the sword, he spoke, almost in a whisper, to King Ezeck. “Open your eyes, King Ezeck. I cannot strike you down.”
King Ezeck looked into the face of Boden. “What do you mean?”
“As a king, with this sword, I can never taste defeat.”
“So strike me down, for I will not live if my daughter is to remain your prisoner!”
Again Boden looked to the princess. “But, as a king, I will never know love.” He looked again at King Ezeck. “Therefore I choose no longer to be King! I am now a common man, and a common man cannot strike down a king.” And with that he laid the Magic Sword at King Ezeck’s feet.
“And what of my daughter?” said Ezeck, in a bare whisper.
“She is free,” he said. With a wave, he commanded his guards to release her. For a moment, Princess Alsanda was frozen to the spot. Then she, tearfully, ran into the arms of her father.
“Oh, my beautiful daughter,” cried King Ezeck, for tears had come to his battle-drawn face also, “I thought that I should never see your sweet face ever again.”
Ezeck turned to face Boden. “So how do we decide the battle?”
“What battle? There is no battle. There is no war. We should leave this place in peace, with honour.”
For a moment, Ezeck was unable to speak. “You could have won the day,” he said.
“I would have won nothing.”
“But is there nothing you would wish for?” said Ezeck.
Boden hesitated. “I can barely say this. But if I could have one thing, it would be to ask for the hand of your daughter, the beautiful Princess Alsanda, in marriage, for I am under her spell, a spell greater than that of any sword or weapon. And I ask, not demand. I would have her answer freely, as only her heart dictates, and I would be content with any answer, though I hope for only one.”
Princess Alsanda looked at Boden. Suddenly, now that he was no longer a king, it was as if a blindfold fell from her eyes, and she could see a handsome, wise and generous man. She turned to King Ezeck. “Father, this man is more noble than any I have ever met, nor even dreamed of. With your permission, nothing would make me happier than to be his bride.”
King Ezeck wiped the tears from his face, and for the first time since news of her capture in Icia had come to him, he smiled. “Then his bride you shall be, with my blessing.” Upon these words, she let go of her father, and embraced Boden.
At that moment, as the shade of evening was drawing upon them, a figure appeared from between the two now-silent battle lines. It was the Tall Stranger who had given Boden the sword so long ago.
Boden, recognising him, said, “How can we be of service to you?”
“It is you who have served me,” said the stranger. “I have merely come to collect the possession I lent to you.”
“You lent to me?” said Boden, astonished. “So it was never really in my ownership?”
“No man can own this sword. I take it back now, for its magic is done.”
“And what magic is that?” asked King Ezeck in awe.
The Tall Stranger faced both of them. “Know this truth,” he said. “It is a truth equally for king and peasant, high-born and humble, rich or poor. War is not the true purpose of any living thing.” He paused to smile at Boden and Princess Alsanda, hiding the sword away in his cloak.
“Then what is life’s true purpose?” Boden asked the Tall Stranger in a hushed voice.
The Tall Stranger looked one last time at the two former enemies. “Love is.”
And, with that, taking the Magic Sword with him, the Tall Stranger was gone.
THE END.
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