“Speed”, Part 1

Revenge is a dish best served cold. — Imperial proverb.

* * *

Talinne was precisely the kind of student her mentor Pelos despised: the professional amateur. He enjoyed all the criminal types who were his usual pupils at the stronghold, from the common burglar to the more sophisticated blackmailers, children and young people with strong career ambitions which the art and science of lockpicking could facilitate. They were always interested in simple solutions, but people like Talinne were always looking for exceptions and possibilities. For pragmatists like Pelos, it was intensely vexing.

The elfmaiden would spend hours in front of a lock, prodding at it with her wires and picks, flirting with the key pins and driver pins, exploring the hull with a sort of casual fascination that no delinquent possesses. Long after her fellow students had opened their test locks and moved on, Talinne was still playing with hers. The fact that she always opened it eventually, no matter how advanced a lock it was, irked Pelos even further.

“You are making things much too difficult,” he would roar, boxing her ears. “Speed is of the essence, not merely technical know-how. I swear that if I put the key to the lock right in front of you, you’d still never get around to opening it.”

Talinne would bear Pelos’ abuse philosophically. She had, after all, paid him in advance. Speed was doubtless an important factor for the picker trying to get somewhere he wasn’t supposed to go with the city guard on patrol behind him, but Talinne knew it wouldn’t apply to her. She merely wanted the knowledge.

Pelos did everything he could think of to encourage Talinne to move faster. She seemed to perversely thrive on his physical and verbal blows, spending more and more time on each lock, learning its idiosyncrasies and personality. Finally, he could bear it no longer. Very late one afternoon after Talinne had dawdled over a perfectly ordinary lock, he grabbed the girl by her ear and dragged her to a room in the stronghold far from the other students, an area they had always been forbidden to visit.

The room was completely barren, except for one large crate in the center. There were no windows and no other door except for the one leading in. Pelos slammed his student against the crate and closed the door behind her. There was a distinct click of the lock.

“This is the test for my advanced students,” he laughed behind the door. “See if you can escape.”

Talinne smiled and began her usual slow process of massaging the lock, gaining information. After a few minutes had gone by, she heard Pelos’ voice again call out from behind the door.

“Perhaps I should mention that this is a test of speed. You see the crate behind you? It contains a vampire who has been locked in here for many months. It is absolutely ravenous. In a few minutes’ time, the sun will have completely set, and if you have not opened the door, you will be nothing but a bloodless husk.”

(to be continued)

Dinner, 29 July 2007

Hmmm, it’s been a while since I’ve posted dinner pix on this here website thingy.

Clockwise from top left:  1/2 lb. no-nitrate bacon from Citarella’s, eggs, black pepper, 2 peeled cloves of garlic, grated Parm-Reg cheese and dried fusilli.  Most carbonara recipes call for spaghetti or linguini, but fusilli is what I had on hand.  If you really want to go the authentic route, you should get guanciale or better yet, a hunk of pancetta.

This is not the most photogenic dish. In fact, it could easily be the poster child for “white food”. This recipe calls for two cloves of garlic which, cooked gently in bacon fat, subtly flavors the sauce base and adds an interesting twist.

Voila.  Add a glass of red wine and you’re good to go.

Discussion on eGullet can be seen here.

“Heart of Darkness”, Conclusion

The sword clattered on the stony ground. The Khajiit howled with triumph.

“NO!” shouted the warrior.

J’hzuu looked up at the elf, his muzzle stained with blood. He grinned savagely, then loped off on all fours, silently, agilely, into the mist. The warrior let the leper go and ran to Ledos, as he hastily grabbed a small vial from his pack.

“Don’t you dare die on me!” he hissed at Ledos. He opened his mouth forcibly and poured the contents of the vial down his throat. “Don’t you dare die!”

After a few moments, he sat up and coughed, then gasped for air.

“Praise Odion!” The elf smiled. “You’re alive!”

“That stuff tasted foul, stranger.”

The warrior rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome.” He slid his mask off and shook his hair free. “I need a drink. What about you? It’ll be on me.” He put the helmet under his arm.

Ledos sat up, blinking. “I don’t understand,” He stammered, patting his hands over his chest. “The prophecy said that–”

“Hold up,” the warrior frowned at him, “Prophecy?”

Ledos looked up at the elf. “I was supposed to die.” He bit his lip, then staggered to his feet. The elf handed him his sword. His hand shook as he received it.

“What did the prophecy say, exactly?” the warrior asked him, cautiously.

“That a creature of shadows and the night, scorned by some but loved by others, would rip the heart from my chest.” Ledos’ eyes widened. “I was dead, wasn’t I? That potion you gave me…brought me back to life?” He stared in wide-eyed wonder at the warrior. “I owe you my life, sera.” He started to kneel, but the elf stopped him.

“Nys, lad,” the elf said with a chuckle, “I didn’t save your life. That potion I gave you was a cure for whatever diseases that thing might’ve given you.” He winced. “That would not be pretty.”

“Then…” Ledos frowned. “My heart…”

The elf tilted his head to one side, considering. “What was that beggar after?”

“Money,” Ledos said, “So he could go to the healer…” He stopped, and his eyes widened. “No, he wanted my amulet!” Ledos reached for it, but it was gone. He swore. “That bi’shou stole my amulet!”

The elf seemed faintly amused. “Even in the mist, I could see it was shaped like a fist. Most human hearts are the size - sometimes even the shape - of a fist. I should know - I’ve seen a lot in my time as a mercenary. Does that answer any questions?”

‘…this creature will rip the heart from his chest.’

Ledos gaped.

The warrior smiled, and extended his hand. “I’m Tinuviel, by the way. The offer for a drink still stands, stranger.”

Ledos stared, still stunned with his recent brush with death. “My name is Ledos, sera.” He smiled back at the warrior, and felt the fear of the prophecy vanish. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Tinuviel smiled, and a dimple showed. Ledos smiled back - he had to admit, the warrior was rather fetching…for a dawn elf.

“Well, come on then,” he turned and started walking through the mist, “I know where we can get Nethran rum at half-price.”

Ledos laughed, then followed behind him.

His father had saved his life. That amulet, that family heirloom, had fulfilled the prophecy. Hastily, Ledos sent up a prayer to any and every god that was listening - for the amulet, for Tinuviel’s intervention… and most of all, that the prophecy did not have the literal meaning that his parents had feared.

“Are you coming or not?” Tinuviel called over his shoulder. He flicked his hips at him as he opened the door to a tavern and slid inside.

After a moment’s minor inflection, Ledos sent up another quick prayer, then grinned and followed behind his companion.

* * *

“Shiny, shiny, shiny…” J’hzuu sang to himself as he swung the amulet back and forth in front of his good eye. He grinned. His ribs were bruised, three of his fingers had been cut off, and the sore on his neck had not stopped bleeding. But he’d finally gotten what he wanted. Something special to call his very own.

“Belong to J’hzuu, you do,” he told the fist-shaped amulet as he slipped it over his head. “Take you from me, no-one shall.”

He smiled lopsidedly as the amulet slid over to his heart. He poked it with one of his good claws. “Shiny, shiny…belong to J’hzuu…”

A shadow fell across J’hzuu’s hiding place. He looked up, hissing, his ears flat against his skull. “Hsss! Be there be who! Steal my shiny, have you come! HSSS!” What was left of his fur stood up.

The wind seemed to die. Silence reigned as a misty fog crept in.

The mist seemed to get thicker and thicker. J’hzuu hissed again and again, each time with less force and enthusiasm.

“Be gone, you must!” He whimpered. “Belong to me, this does!”

THAT IS NOT YOUR AMULET.

A dark shadow materialized just above the Khajiit’s head. A shadow cloaked in darkness. It peered down at him.

YOU ARE CERTAIN IT IS YOURS?

J’hzuu hissed at the shadow, having something visible to focus his rage on. “My shiny! Take it you won’t! Belongs to J’hzuu! Always has, always will!”

REALLY? WELL, IN THAT CASE…

J’hzuu screamed as the shadow swooped down and ripped the heart from his chest.

“Heart of Darkness”, Part 3

“If I were you, I’d put that away,” a calm voice said, “The guards aren’t coming, but if someone saw you, they will be.”

Ledos looked up, and through the mist saw a warrior standing in front of him. From the way the warrior was wearing his armor, and from the way he carried himself, it was obvious that the warrior was an elf. Ledos felt a wave of shame was over him. Saved by an elf. And a dawn elf at that! How humiliating! From a slit in a horned mask, two intelligent ice-blue eyes stared out at him. “You look like you need a drink,” the elf’s voice commented with a laugh. “I’ve never seen a face so pale!”

“Watch your tongue, dawn elf,” Ledos snapped. “I’ll not have jokes made at my expense.”

“No?” The elven warrior tilted his head on one side, “You’d rather be attacked by a deranged leper in the mist? You’d rather be attacked by a creature who knows how to leap from shadow to shadow? You’d rather have a chat with a creature that knows how to use its claws and teeth better than you know how you use your own.” He pointed with his sword at Ledos’ crotch and wagged it derisively. “Well?”

Ledos opened his mouth to argue, then suddenly stopped. “What did you say?”

‘…born of darkness and with blight…scorned by some but loved by others…’

“I said–” But he got no further. With a yowl, J’hzuu leapt from off the rooftops and landed on Ledos, and began clawing at his face. He screamed, and tried to raise up his sword, but the catman kicked him in the gut, winding him.

“MINE!” The Khajiit screeched. “MINE BE SHINY!” Ledos felt clawed hands wrap around his throat, and found himself eye-to-eye with the demented creature.

“By the gods!” The elf gasped. Ledos sensed he was trying to help him, but he was too busy trying to save his own skin. He dropped his sword and tried to pry the creature’s hands from around his neck. The pustule on the Khajiit’s neck burst, spraying Ledos’ face with pus. He nearly screamed as it went in his eyes, his mouth, but he couldn’t breathe…

This isn’t supposed to be how it ends! Ledos thought furiously. It’s supposed to tear the heart from my chest!

“Get off him, you–!” The warrior grabbed the cat around the waist, and tried to pull him away. But J’hzuu kept a firm grip on Ledos’ neck, even as he was being pulled away. So the elf got a firmer hold around the cat’s ribcage, and began to squeeze. Wrapped in a crushing bear-hug, J’hzuu began to struggle for it’s own life. It thrashed and hissed and spat, and tried to turn and scratch the warrior’s eyes out. But for the metal mask he wore, the creature might have succeeded.

Ledos gasped for air, wiped his face, and staggered to his feet. It was no illusion. The mist was getting thicker. All he could see was a vague writhing shape - he couldn’t tell which one was the warrior and which one was the creature.

“For heaven’s sake, pick up your sword!” The elf shouted.

Ledos did so, the adrenaline coursing through his body. Giving a short battlecry, he rushed forward.

At that instant, the Khajiit broke free of the warrior’s grasp and leapt for him, claws outstretched and fangs bared.

And Ledos remembered the prophecy. And he faltered.

(to be continued)

“Heart of Darkness”, Part 2

Ledos patted the longsword strapped to his waist like a hunter would pet a faithful hound. Soon, he’d have enough money to put an enchantment on it. Give it some extra bite for when he wanted to really bring down a foe. No creature would be able to stand against him then.

A creature of shadows and the night, one born of darkness and with blight…’

“Excuse me, sera.”

Ledos yelped, and nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled. “Who’s there!” He barked. “Show yourself!” His hand was on the hilt of his sword.

A figure emerged from the mist, chuckling dryly. “Forgiveness, sera. Frighten you, J’hzuu did not mean.” A mangy Khajiit stepped out from the mist. One of the creature’s eyes stared off to the left, while the other was focused hungrily on Ledos’ face. “Moment of sera’s time, this pitiful creature does ask.”

Ledos looked the beggar up and down. Pitiful creature was right. The Khajiit’s fur was mangy and mostly missing, revealing patches of skin that flaked and peeled. Its tail looked broken, twisted at an odd angle. An open sore on the creature’s neck oozed pus and blood. And every now and then, the Khajiit twitched involuntarily.

“A leper,” Ledos said, stepping back in disgust.

The cross-eyed Khajiit nodded, its head bobbing up and down like a toy on a string. It wrung its clawed hands together. “Foul pestilence indeed, J’hzuu suffers. Aid for a Khajiit, J’hzuu asks sera?” The Khajiit smiled in an effort to put the man more at ease, but looked more like it was entertaining the thought of tearing out Ledos’ throat.

“What do you want?” Ledos asked uneasily. Was it his imagination, or was the fog getting thicker?

“A few pieces of gold, J’hzuu asks sera,” the Khajiit stretched out its arms towards Ledos. “Enter the temple, he must. Pay the healer he must.” The diseased Khajiit’s good eye suddenly glinted. “Pretty thing, this sera wears. Worth much gold, J’hzuu asks?”

Ledos lifted his hand to protect his amulet. “No.” He frowned. “Not worth anything.”

“Shiny, shiny. Pretty, pretty.” The Khajiit advanced towards him, claws reaching for the amulet.

“Stay away from me, you filthy beast!” Ledos backed away, loath to draw his sword. If the poor creature was nothing more than a beggar, then he would have to run from the guards for striking an unarmed. Oh, by the gods, look at it! There would be no way a guard could arrest him for fighting this!

“Go away, leper!” Ledos drew his sword, his temper gone. “Before I have to strike you down!” The Khajiit’s eye remained fixed on the amulet, and a growl issued from its throat. Ledos refused to feel fear - this piece of refuse dared to threaten him! “Guards! Guards!”

The Khajiit continued to advance. “To J’hzuu come, shiny thing!” It crooned, then hissed at Ledos, “Human must give shiny! To J’hzuu it must belong!”

“Guards!” Ledos called one last time. He sensed he was being backed up against a wall. Gods, that was it! He swung his sword at the Khajiit, and felt a dim spark of satisfaction as he felt it slice through bone.

The cat reared back, hissing and howling in rage. It clutched its shrivelled hand, now minus several fingers. Its ears went back, and it growled. It lowered itself to its haunches, as though preparing to leap at him. Blood dripped from what was left of its fingers and pooled on the ground.

“Oh, gods, go away!” Ledos said, almost sobbing. He swung his sword in desperate arcs, forgetting all his training at the thought of catching the Khajiit’s horrible disease…No, a part of Ledos’ subconscious whispered, You’re more afraid of the Khajiit itself. And of the prophecy. “Stay away from me!”

And suddenly, the diseased beggar was gone.

(to be continued)

“Heart of Darkness”, Part 1

A heavy fog hung low over Carthax.

Ledos pulled the collar of his cloak tighter across his neck and frowned. He’d never seen mist this thick in Carthax before. And he’d seen all kinds of weather here. He shivered, involuntarily, and again, the words of the fortune teller replayed in his head.

‘Thirteen seasons and a day shall pass, and darkness shall come upon a Thendran town. A creature of shadows and the night, one born of darkness and with blight, a creature scorned by some but loved by others…When your son sets foot in Thendran town on the day marked by the stars above, this creature will rip the heart from his chest.’

Stuff of nonsense. Babbling and dreams and nothing. But his parents had exchanged worried glances that night, long ago, in the fortune teller’s hut. Mentally (and completely in jest since he did not want to risk bringing down the anger of the gods on them), Ledos cursed them both - superstitious interfering busybodies. That’s why he’d left, changed his name, become a mercenary for hire. To earn respect. To make his own way in the world.

To prove that thrice-cursed prophecy wrong.

He’d come to Carthax many times before, and nothing had happened. Nothing at all. He was well-known here, well respected. He got nods from the locals, and heard stories - slightly exaggerated, of course - about his exploits. Yes, he’d visited Carthax many times before. It had been a long time since he’d seen his family. How long was it?

Ledos stopped dead in his tracks, cold realization dawning. Despite himself, he shivered in fear. It had been three years, three months, and a day - thirteen seasons and a day - since he’d left his home. And Carthax…well, Carthax was the capital of the province of Thendranor, was it not?

“Get a hold of yourself,” Ledos muttered, his voice falling flat in the fog. “Superstitions are for the weak and foolish.” He pulled his cape closer around himself, nevertheless - something about the fog was unnatural.

‘…darkness shall come…’

Oh, gods have mercy. Ledos shook himself. Weak and foolish! He reminded himself, and resumed his walk through town.

As he walked, he idly reached for the amulet his father had given him as a parting gift. A fist-shaped medallion made from pure gold. A family heirloom, one that showed him to be his father’s son. It wasn’t much - Ledos’ parents were sheepherders, barely able to get by, what with the strange weather, the bandits, and now those creatures coming out of the hills…

Ledos allowed himself one sliver of pity for his parents. After all, they had raised him… even if it was on omens and dreams and charms. He swore inwardly. If you wanted to live, take up a sword, and make your own destiny!

(to be continued)

“Payment in Kind”, Conclusion

Later, in the apartments they had once shared, long cold from disuse but with a fire in the hearth once again, Cadaela sat enfolded in a heavy blanket at one end of a sofa. Davian handed her a glass of wine, and she took it gratefully. Her hands, clean now and wearing her wedding ring once more, still shook violently. She drank down half before she realized it was drugged, and then it was too late.

This has happened before. Forkroot…?

The chalice fell from her limp fingers and clattered against the stone floor, spilling wine across the carpet and polished grey flagstones. She sank into oblivion once more. Forkroot, yes, a small amount and herbs from a Yellow Aes Sedai, a mild sedative. Davian carried her to the bed they had not shared in months and curled around her sleeping form protectively.

The screaming began hours later, when he realized she was dead.

* * *

Clouds swirled above the mourners at Cadaela’s burial, as though the sky itself wept for her. One of the mourners watched with somber expression and downcast eyes as Davian and Joram shoveled the last of the soil over the dead woman’s grave. The yellow fringe on her shawl had bunched about her elbows, and she concentrated on smoothing it, working hard not to smile. She painted a small frown onto her thin red lips and bit the inside of her cheek hard enough for tears to spring to her eyes. As the crowd broke up, she wiped the tears away and picked up her yellow skirt, hurrying back to her private apartments.

And so it is done. Payment for killing one of the Great Lord’s servants.

Her black hair fell loose of its pins as she threw her head back and laughed and laughed.

Author’s note

In case it isn’t obvious, the “Yellow sister” is really a member of the Black Ajah.

Living Tree

Thanks to Joe’s post from last week, this is my newest song obsession.

Watch the video. This is pure class. Beyoncé, eat your heart out.

I think I’m going to have to buy her album now….

Tides

The ceiling is decorated with thousands of bamboo sticks arranged in an undulating pattern that reminds you vaguely of the ocean.

Interior shot.

Fried clam bellies and oysters, tartar sauce.

2005 Pascal Jolivet Sauvignon Blanc, Loire Valley, France

Lobster roll, yuca chips.

Close-up of the lobster roll.

Banana pudding with vanilla wafers.

Chef Judy Seto, formerly of Mary’s Fish Camp, presents a cozy hideaway that offers a tantalizing array of choices for the seafood lover in all of us. The lobster roll is worth the trek. Imagine a buttery brioche roll overflowing with chunks of sweet, tender lobster tossed in an herbaceous aioli and paired alongside a mound of yuca chips. Fried clam bellies and oysters were perfectly greaseless, slightly spicy and addictive. Their corn pudding is legendary.

I haven’t had clam bellies in years. Reminds me of trips to Cape Cod with my mother and stepdad when I was a teenager. After the first bite, it seemed as if I had stepped back in time, to Hyannisport, 1986.

Discussion on Mouthfulsfood can be viewed here.

Tides is located at 102 Norfolk Street (Delancey Street) in the Lower East Side.

“Payment in Kind”, Part 7

In which an eye for an eye is given….

Davian was livid when he and Iseul found Joram, alone and starved half to death. Cheyn was as well-fed as his master was lean, grazing constantly on the grass beside the road. After a few meals and a night of rest, Joram was as strong as ever, though still leaner than he had been. He was unapologetic, though, which made Davian even more furious. Only Iseul’s intervention kept father and son coming to blows. Despite Davian’s anger, a place was soon found for Joram in their plan, and they waited only another day before going into Belorian to implement it.

* * *

Shouts erupted below, startling Teia from her idle reverie. A sharp, acrid scent soon filled the air; within minutes, smoke was seeping around the door to her room. Sinking to her knees to stay below the smoke, she began tapping on the door, then pounding, begging for someone to come save Teia. She could hear the other damane doing likewise, all of them unable to move past the ends of their leashes, unable to work the latch on the doors that separated them. None of them received an answer. Tears filled her eyes, but whether from panic or the smoke, she could not tell.

* * *

“Smoke,” Joram whispered and fingered the peace knot that bound his sword to its sheath.

Davian nodded grimly, but Iseul made no response. Her eyes simply seemed filled with more frost than usual, her features more stern without actually frowning. The three stood several buildings down from the inn that housed the damane. Iseul wore a sul’dam dress, and stood transfixed by a plume of smoke rising from the small structure, which was soon enveloped in flames. Windows shattered, pierced by the heat within. With a panicked cry, Joram dashed forward, followed by his father and their friend.

Iseul pushed past her companions as they neared the inn. Resolutely, she made her way up the steps, ignoring the cries of trapped damane. Davian and Joram forced all the doors open as they went down the hall. Iseul followed behind, snatching each bracelet from each peg, snapping each shut around her slender wrists, the damane trailing behind her, most of them crying softly. The last one they found was Cadaela, green eyes bloodshot, pale face flushed and tear-stained, her hair not in familiar thin braids, but loose, with a thin silver ribbon twined through one strand. She knelt on the floor and stared up at them.

“Stand up,” Iseul snapped as she picked up the bracelet, speaking as though to one of her students. “Come.”

She drew sai’dar from the damane and opened the widest gateway she’d ever made, then led them all through as Davian and Joram followed. The group now stood at their camp site, where Davian had already struck the tent. Their horses were saddled and waiting and the two men mounted, as Iseul made another gateway, going this time to far side of the Galandarel Mountains, not far from the Tower itself.

* * *

Tèia stared at the familiar landscape, confused. She turned back to look at the sul’dam and stumbled back to the end of her leash. That wasn’t a sul’dam! She fell to her knees and waited for the inevitable — the removal of the collar she had sought out, that Meris had given her. Tèia was a good damane; Tèia wished only to obey. She watched in horror as the woman wearing the sul’dam clothing unclasped each of the six bracelets, a look of profound distaste on her pretty but almost unfriendly face. The strange woman let each one drop to the ground, looking up at the men as though not sure what to do next.

“Mother!”

The younger of the two men had jumped from his horse and run to Teia’s side. She watched him expressionlessly while he knelt and tugged at her collar, trying to take it off. She raised one hand to touch his cheek, curious. The older man stood nearby, watching, a pained expression in his golden eyes. I should know who they are. She looked up at him, wondering why he looked so sad, but not caring enough to ask.

Snick. The collar came off in the young man’s hands, and he threw it aside, looking at it as though it were a serpent. Her fingers left his face and flew to her mouth, her eyes going wide. She was free. She was marath’damane again. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth while the young man put his arms around her. She did not open them when she felt him move and another set of arms encircled her.

“Cadaela.”

Cadaela. I am Cadaela. Davian and Joram. A deluge of memories swept over Tèia, overwhelming her. Her husband, and her son. Iseul, her friend, White Ajah, the head of the White Ajah. They were outside the White Tower, where she had lived for years. The true damane watched her warily, their eyes frightened, worried that they, too, might be freed. She shut her eyes for a moment, unable to look at them any longer. She repeated a silently litany, reminding herself of who she was. Cadaela, Davian, Joram. Cadaela, Davian, Joram. Her eyes were hard when she opened them again. And Mors Tynaeus.

Cadaela fumbled at her husband’s belt, grasping for the knife she knew hung there. She drew it swiftly even as she embraced the True Source of her own free will for the first time in months and opened a gateway to Mors Tynaeus’ library in Orend. She stepped through, Davian just behind her, and left it open while she advanced on Mors. He was there, seated at the very table she had used so long ago, a quill in his hand, a flash of gold gleaming between the open laces of his shirt. The nobleman rose from his chair, astonishment written on his handsome coppery features. Fiery rage blazed in her eyes as she seized the golden trinket and yanked the chain so hard it broke, then stabbed him through his heart.

The gateway still open, Iseul, Davian and the five damane watched as Cadaela slew the man who had raped her and sold her into slavery. Her wedding band hung on a thin gold chain that she clutched in her hand. She wove Fire until the whole library burned. Ringed in flames, she stood over Mors’ body, shaking, until Davian gently pulled her away, back through her gateway. She stood in his arms, still shaking, unable to look at anyone. Her hands were stained red, and one still clutched the ring.

(to be continued)