Books of the Arcana novel

Brief Definition of Terms

The Arcana

In some unknown pocket dimension the Arcana float restfully through the void of space and time. They are sentient beings made of pure energy, and the sole citizen-ship of this universe. In order to act upon other universes the Arcana endow a select few beings with their essence, avatars. In constructs known as 'Books', the Arcana fill the crux of their life's experiences.

The Books

The 'Books' of the Arcana are scattered throughout the universe, traveling at such high speeds they seemingly appear in two places at once. Catching them is almost impossible.
Avatars who dedicate their lives to the study of the 'Books' are called Ancients and almost always, are the most powerful of all avatars. Ancients must be very de-sciplined because using the 'Books' comes with a price. Using the 'Books' sometimes causes insanity or cancer,, an allergic re-action to the vast energies inside them
Training with the 'Books' endows ava-tars with preternatural abilities. As such, avatars are labeled as either alphas or betas. Only those who actively train are labeled, those who don't train yet still can access the 'Books' are called Actives.
Betas have moderate to impressive use of their abilities, or have abilities they can not control. The most powerful betas be-come the students of high ranking alphas.
Eventually becoming alpha minors, these betas can be apprenticed for Knighthood.
Alphas have use of most or all of their abilities, and can easily destroy whole ci-ties of any moderate size. Alphas all share the ability to evolve, entering into the Knighthood. Knights have abilities that can topple whole civilizations.

Knights of the Astral Siege

Knights of the Astral Siege was formed when Sylus, Knight of the Shadow killed his brother in arms Ty, Knight of Sagit-tarius. A great war was fought. At it's end, Sylus was captured, and the other Knights of the various realms formed an order. The order of Astral Siege.
Astral Siege was dedicated to honor, to brotherhood and to discipline of mind. Its members were the Siege, 6 brotherhood of Knights of the various realms.
Prothian Bates, Knight of Brighton Hills. Known for it's mountain fields and temperate forests, Brighton Hills lay on the various archipelago several miles east of the Driftwood metropolis. Bates killed a dragon for King Harold. In Brighton Hills, dragons were plentiful and needful of mo-derate culling.
Cylia spent the first 12years of her life far away from home, kidnapped by pirates on the ship Cardinal Tip. When she was finally rescued and brought home she would daydream about the ocean. She missed the motion of the ship most, the openness of the sky.
It hadn't taken her long to become a skilled warrior, she could kill anything with a bow. Windstorm was the biggest island in her father's kingdom, it wasn't surprising she chose it to train. The old shamans introduced her to the 'Books', gypsies on their way to Cater Falls.
She became a Knight on the night of a full moon, blessed by a child shaman on one of those gypsy pilgrimages to the Falls. He showed her something that no one but her could see or hear. Whatever it was, afterward, she could do things that even for her were seemingly impossible. She was Windwraith, deadly with a bow, with knives she was a savage. Tribes called her the black sleep.
Cylia joined her father's militia squad at the request of her aunt, Victoria. The squad was responsible for keeping order in each of her father's colonies. She took down an entire coup single handed.
Troy married Sonya, he loved her the moment he looked at her, she was smiling at something someone said, at a Ball. Her blue eyes matched her dress, lace and leather fit around the curve of her waist then draped down to tops of her thighs. She was beautiful.
They set their home on the coasts of Angium The mountains curved down just over the horizon, they watched ships sail the tidal waters at night from the bed-room window. Sonya gave birth to each of his 3 children, one girl, 2 boys.
Troy was the Knight of Storms. He was a disciplined man who lived with his heart as much as his mind. The others knew him to be a fair moderator, mindful of principles and character. His word was his bond, Troy wasn't afraid to step into the front lines with his friends for a just and good cause.

Brad Rosin wasn't born a monster, the Center made him into one. Behemoth was born to be a living weapon. The idea had been to mutate him with genes from various animals in order to give him super human traits. The Center ran their experi-ments, weeks and weeks of being poked and prodded, as if he himself were an ani-mal.
Initial tests were promising, there were definite enhancements in Rosin's strength and durability. He loathed the pool tests and always put up a fuss when he had to take them. No one could say what it was that happened but it was obvious he was drowning, then he wasn't. His body had grown gills, he could breathe underwater.
No one could say what happened that very night in Rosin's room but everyone at the base heard his screams. When the guards got to him he was writhing in pain on the floor. Witnesses say he was being ripped apart, his bones snapping out of place adding mass and muscle. For what seemed forever, his screams and moans became growls.
His features where decisively bestial, he was at least 16 feet from horn to tail. He was much stronger than any of them had anticipated, he was absurdly quick and agile for his enormous size and girth. It took most of the Center's vast arsenal to control him, and in the end Behemoth was locked away in a labyrinth of underground vaults.
He remembered when Troy tore open the door to his cage, a funny little man with a cape, the night the order came to his rescue. Behemoth was taken back to Angium with Troy, where he spends most of his time in the waters. The titan trust in Troy is absolute, and without hesitation he will defend Troy with his life.
Behemoth is the Knight of Dragons, taught to use the arcana through his con-nection to life force. Of all the Knights he is capable of utilizing the raw energies of the 'Books' naturally without any purpose-ful training. The more of these energies though that he absorbs the more feral he becomes. Everything unfortunate around him becomes prey, foe and friend alike. It took Troy's intervention to calm him down enough to be reasoned with on more than one occasion.

Bastion, the youngest of any Knight was born a poor blacksmiths son. His father made weapons, and raised Bastion to fol-low in his footsteps. Bastion was still a boy when an ogre killed his father, and would've killed his entire family had he not killed it. He left home soon after that.
He became a mercenary when he first started studying the 'Books'. The prisons were filled with law breakers he'd brought to justice, After a long period he saved up enough funds to afford a retreat where he went to study the 'Books' in solitude.
Bastion came to the order's attention in the wars, his skills noticeably advanced. Prothian Bates made the decision to be the boy's teacher, and Bastion entered into training. It didn't take long until he became an alpha minor, and eventually the Knight of Valor. He was content in the field, eager to earn Prothian's praise and approval.
Formidable with a sword and shield, he became the Emerald Knight, and played a major part in Sylus' defeat. Bastion craf-ted Excalibur in the fiery cores of Brighton Hill, and in some mysterious ceremony it became a conduit for his connection to the 'Books'.

There were other titans, scattered in the black void of time/space, on other count-less worlds in the eddies of the universe. In the coalition of all these knights in all these places, the Astral Siege was chosen to represent their general endeavors and interests.

Xiandria

Xiandria was a hub of 'Books' activity, a large planet on the edge of the free trade system of Andromedus. It's where the an-cients chose to set their central libraries and where those new to the 'Books' could train unimpeded by terrestrial politics. In all the realms and all the worlds Xiandria was neutral territory where everyone and anyone was welcomed.

start of my bio

Begin at the beginning, I was born in a small town somewhere in the backwoods in the south. Back then we still hadn't chanced upon indoor plumbing, winters were especially hard but at least I had plenty of room to play. At that time my favorite thing to do was walk around and talk to the trees in my aunt's backyard. It boggled my mind that any-thing could grow that big and not tip over. I imagined that one day I would be that tall and be able to watch the birds build their nests. I imagined one day I myself would fly.
By time my sister came I had the whole little boy thing down to a science. I played in dirt, I ran around aimlessly a lot, and I always spilled whatever I drank onto my shirt. I had a healthy sense of adventure, noticeable by how often I tried to climb that tree in my aunt's backyard. At the highest point, I could climb so high I could see the whole roof of the house. Despite my mom's warnings I aimed to climb higher still someday, and at the top jump down so hard I might leave a dent in the ground. I figured that's what frogs did, and back then I liked frogs.
My parents named my sister 'Divine', I assumed they didn't like her much. She was a bratty sort of child, crying when nothing seemed wrong. From my perspective she was a nuisance, I was told we couldn't take her back because, once you pushed a baby out of you it was yours. I tried to tell my parents the day she was born that one of her eyes was lopsided, but even as early as that they felt obliged to bring her home. I was told I had the responsibility of watching out for her. I took the job seriously, but I dreamed she might runaway and join the circus. That dream never came true.

Ready, Go!

What becomes of love?
Do lovers drown
At the sand's edge swept from the sea?
Do the pangs
Of their wanton deeds break them down
To be
Little more than voices in the wind?
What becomes of dreams?
Do children play
in the pool's flicker fade?
Does regret of youth
Destroy time's escapade?
Little more than doubts in the end.
And so we wander to and fro,
And spite from where we bleed
The soil, we grind and sow
And spite from planted seed.
Do flowers ever cry for sun,
Or fear cries for the dark?
Do you mourn for what you've done,
Or jump before your mark?

Move On Me

Move on me, then draw apart my eyes
That if I see you catch me by surprise.
Dance on air, then break apart my hands
That if I care you make of me demands.
You're like some ghost that I can't shake
That haunts my heart that will not break;
And I remember you like rain
Recalls the gray of sky,
Or that birds sing out
In spite of where to fly.
You will not come back for me
And I am gone from you,
And I am lost at sea,
And I am midnight blue.
Where will I find such doubt
That all my fears turn about
To cut me in, and leaves me out
Like rivers in some desert drought.

Even Monsters Weep -a short short story-

Death came for everybody in the end. Theodore's mother had always told him not to fear it, not to run when he felt its cold hand, or breath on the small of the back of his neck. She said if he was lucky it would take him in his sleep. If he were lucky, he would never have to see Death's face on that day or maybe Death wouldn't come at all. Theodore never had that kind of luck.
Theodore didn't much care for lights, and so he kept his apartment dark. He was a desert on the inside, slept on the floor or couch. A stained table was where he kept the things he'd need that day, prepared the night prior. If he was anything, he was efficient. He was all the things a good boy should be, and wherever good, old ladies went in the next life his mother was proud of his work. “Be diligent,” she would tell him, “the world won't forgive lazy boys and vagrants.”
The harshest of her regiments left no room for anything but Theodore's best. To the world her ways might be cruel, but he knew each slap of the belt on his back was the only way she knew to love. His father lasted as long as it took for her to birth and then he was gone, it was her responsibility to beat that man out of Theodore's heart. Sometimes she'd put him behind the basement doors for days on end, to teach him the importance of not breaking her things. Why should he break what had taken hard work and sacrifice for her to get? Because she loved him, she was strong enough to let him scream and claw at the door until his fingers were raw and bleeding. Because she loved him, Theodore learned not to waste his tears.
The morning paper lay strewn out over the table by the couch. Inside it were the leftovers from past days deeds, and stories about monsters and mayhem. In one of those stories one of those monsters had a name. They called him “the Blood Beast,” for the brutality of the way he killed. Faces were mangled, parts ripped off at the joints; the cruelty of Theodore's manner might seem brutal, but they didn't deserve the kindness of Death's quick hand. None of them cared about the mess they left in wake of their living, or that their lives were wasted on complacency and sloth. To teach them Theodore had no choice, they had to learn by the belt.
The firsts were sloppy, as he learned to hone in his artistry. Keeping them alive long enough had been difficult, but Theodore never made the same mistake twice. He knew enough by the Beast's 3rd victim not to cut certain things off so quick, or to cut in places they wouldn't bleed out. Women weren't violated because, good boys kept their parts to themselves. It was just as much value in bashing their heads in with a heavy tool, their skulls crushed just fine under the swing of a random stick he brought along. He took the knife to the men, removing all those parts they might use to do bad things the way his father had done bad things to her. Theodore had become professional with blades, by victim 7 he knew just where to gash them to make them bleed but not die.
Outside, the sounds of feet screeching across the wood of the stairs filled up the empty spaces between Theodore and Death. He knew it was coming, he could feel its cold breath on his skin, like beads of sweat dripping down his face and off his chin. He could hear the click of their guns being readied, their whispers of urgency as they made preparation to come in and bring Theodore to his end. In a moment, a thud would cry out as the door splintered inward and the light of day crawled over dust and dark toward him. They would rush in and bullets would cut through the stagnant air into his flesh. He wondered if the pain would make him laugh, as it did so often the older the boy became, or if Theodore the man would go down without so much as a moan. He tried to imagine the bullets pierce his flesh, and the thought of it found nothing to cling to so it left. It was just the dark with him, his breathing and them. Very soon, it would just be the dark, his breathing and them.

Pride

They fail my Lord in words of science,
And say He made the world in more days than 6.
Yet no one can tell me if that day was as long as this day,
Or if days back then even had a name.
They fail my Lord in words of doubt,
And say He made the world for thieves and harlots.
Yet no one can find me one sinless saint that wasn't flesh
Or if men don't bleed the same red blood.
They fail my Lord in words of spite
And say He made the world for hell to hide,
Yet not one of them can tell me my day after death
Or if death itself knows why.

Nobody's Fool, the Jester

Do you wanna hear a story about the jester?
All he'd ever known was lonely,
That's how he lived.
Smile a little and they loved him,
The great pretender;
Only when no one was looking
The jester cried.
You can call them tears,
I know somebody who calls them home.
Nobody ever knew the jester,
Nobody ever knew he'd gone.
Nobody ever loved him
As much as he loved to see them smile,
'Cause when they were smiling
He was smiling too
For awhile.

Rains

Here's my heart try not break it, give it back if you don't want it
'Cause I thought it might be you
Who'd make these wishes true.
If I could rope the moon, I'd bring it down
So you could have it all.
Now I'm walking in the rain with my head turned down again,
To Hide these tears,
I get by on thoughts of you
And I don't cry unless it rains.

And Then....

Is time the reason that you go?
do you even know
why you go?
Is fear the reason that you stay?
do you even know
why you stay?

She made you and you regret
the many things you never said and things that you forget,
the words that hide inside your heart
and tear the world you make apart.
She made you and you fight
the many things you want to do and things you don't get right,
the holes you make inside your mind
and bring your world to a grind.
She made you and you despise
the many things you see with your own eyes,
the shades of smiles you hid from all
and shield their hearts from your fall.

I heard you tell that you don't cry
a well thought out but tempered lie.
You stopped for more than 8 long years before
they fell and you let it out, but
you won't be doing that anymore
as whispers turn to shout
she may be gone but you're still here,
wake up and see yourself be true.
Because even if everything else should disappear,
you're still left with you.

Is time the reason that you go,
do you even know
why you go?
Is fear the reason that you stay,
do you even know
why you stay?

Jacqueline-a short story

Memories are like films where the mind fills in the broken parts, things either time destroys or the heart can't bear to recall. I'm not sure which one of those apply to the first time I met her, but I knew then as I know now, My life wasn't whole without her in it. Her brown eyes and brown hair that hung down off her shoulders, she was beautiful without trying, and when she smiled I couldn't help smiling back. I memorized her, every freckle and contour, every curve and angle she possessed. It was instantaneous, whole.
“Are you a friend of Tyler's,” she asked on the elevator. On my way back to work, she was on her way back to her apartment to get ready for the rest of the day.
“Yeh,” I answered. “You should come to the party tonight.” Tyler and Daniel wanted to celebrate moving out, I had wine and we were going to sit and laugh about old and new times.
She laughed, “not sure it's a party if only 3 people show up.”
“That's why you have to come then.” I was quick and agile with the banter, unlike me really but that's the affect she had over me. I only knew I had to see her again and it didn't matter to me how or why. A couple of friends moving out of their apartment was as good a reason as any. Just like that then, it was settled. We laughed some more at some things and the elevator door opened and she sprang out.
“I think you're cute,” she called out rounding the corner. Then she was gone for that moment, leaving me with a smile on my face on cloud nine.

Work was a part time first in a bed and breakfast, the family I never had. Tanya as-signed me random tasks each day to keep me from getting bored with repetition, it came as no surprise to me that she'd be the one to notice my jovial disposition when I came back.
“That must've been some lunch,” she joked. She was older but not by much, so when she joked it was always with a coyness I assumed mother's had when they were clowning around with their children.
I had never been good at hiding things, no reason why that would change regardless to how good I felt, “I met a girl.” Even hearing myself say it was strange, if only because in the real world that sort of thing happened all the time. The way I said it though pointed out that it rarely happened to me. “I think I'm in love,” I gibbed.
Tanya danced around the broom she was holding like the prince danced with his prin-cess in some children's story. “Me thinks Bastion's got a girlfirned,” she sang.
“I hope so,” I heard myself say, so it had to be true.
The whole world was a new place for me starting that day. The sun shined a little bit brighter coming into the windows, falling across the counters and table tops like stars across the heavens. I was alive as if before that I wasn't. The inn smelled like spring to me should smell, bread and oil and incense. I breated in deep breathes to take it all in, as if I had never smelled anything like it before. All because of her.

Time blurs the exactness of moments with her, things we might've talked about as we spent our time together. That first night on the stairs she told me everything, her life and hopes and fears. She was born in a small town, had a mother that never seemed to notice whether she was there or not there. Hints of tragedy and turmoil, tears that fell for various reasons she didn't have to put to words for me to understand, I took it all in without hesitation or doubt. Even that last thing she wanted to tell me but was afraid of how I might react, that thing about leaving home before home had its way with her and she'd be ruined.
“I'm only 16,” she said with her chin tucked down.
I was 16 2 years ago before that, but she hadn't told me because I wasn't 16 anymore and I knew why even if we didn't say the words that said so. I told her I didn't care a-bout that, and I meant it. She was there and I was there and that's all that mattered. I was willing to forgive her anything, to accept everything and be damned otherwise. In that very instance I was in love with her.
We sealed the moment with tender kisses, an embrace. That's how it was in the too few days that followed. The in between moments when I wasn't around her I felt a hole inside my chest big enough to swallow the world. Those times were hard, but then after work stopped I would be with her and everything made sense again. It was natural to either one of us that we made love on the same stairs she told me her life, my first time with anyone. Afterward, fireworks from some festival rang out over the canopy of stars and downtown rooftops like some sign of our union. We laughed at the coincidence but I like to think she could feel what I felt, that it was fate. The powers that be themselves sang of our love, and we were blessed.
We were together for days, then weeks then months. One season became the next and it seemed like that's how it would be for us forever. I should've known better, but I was lost in her. I don't think she ever realized how much she meant to me, even if every day I told her or did some thing that said as much to her. My whole world became her.
Having to let her go was the hardest thing I had ever done, and even now I'm not sure how I was ever strong enough to do it. It was like I was standing outside myself that night watching her get into the car, not understanding the depth of it until the head-lights vanished into the distance and she was gone. The finality hit me, I couldn't take a breath or get rid of the one inside me. I fell apart in so many different ways that night. The world I thought I knew was empty, a place I no longer knew the name of. I'd find myself going to places I went with her to feel her. She was my ghost, and for the rest of my life I'd be haunted.