The Mantle

Part seventeen

The Mantle is a serialized fantasy story. More about it here.Table of contents

They struck camp while a full moon looked on. The bare trees black and the ground silver and they like a pair of hooded wraiths haunting a dead place. Because he knew the way, Simeon took the lead. He paused at the dry creek and looked back to find the old man had stopped to gawk at the desolation.

The air still tasted burnt; Simeon wondered if it was possible to scorch the wind.

The bandit’s boot prints had hardened in the mud; tracking them east was not difficult. Free of the need for close study, Simeon watched the shadows that pooled darkly and waited for something to materialize as though from a portal. …

The Mantle

Part sixteen

The Mantle is a serialized fantasy story. More about it here.Table of contents

It rained the next two days, a miserable, steady drizzle that left the world damp and dripping. Simeon huddled in the back of their shelter, layered in extra clothing, his back pressed up against hard stone to avoid puddles that grew larger by the hour. Not knowing if the bandits were yet afoot, he could not risk a fire. And so he sat and shivered and watched the gray rain fall.

He’d set a battered tin mug at the edge of their shelter to collect rainwater, and when it was full he crawled out to retrieve it. He drank off the top half so as not to spill it, and then cradling the old man’s head, forced water into his master’s mouth. Most of it ran off the side of his face or moistened his scraggly beard. If any got into the old man’s throat it was mere dribbles, but Simeon supposed that was better than nothing. …

The Mantle

Part fifteen

The Mantle is a serialized fantasy story. More about it here. Table of contents

Simeon awoke in the depths of a moonless night and forgot for a moment just where he was. He was shivering with the cold – the rock upon which he was curled leached the heat from his body, and a bitter wind gusted and blew.

He sat up and listened.

The old man was unconscious, his thin ribs moving with a regular, shallow rhythm. His skin was cold to the touch.

Simeon retrieved their bedrolls from the swallowing bag and layered them atop his master. …

The Mantle

Part fourteen

The Mantle is a serialized fantasy story. More about it here. Table of contents

The fire leapt from its bed of blackened wood, alighting on the lip of the iron cook pot where it poised as though uncertain. A tendril darted, beak-like, in Wax’s direction. The bandit cursed and fell over backwards in his haste to get away.

The flames bid him no mind, for they had found what they were looking for.

They flew into Simeon’s outstretched palm and coiled tightly there like a napping cat. Simeon touched the flames to the ropes bound across his chest. …

Based on the signs in my neighborhood

Like many after the surprising outcome of the 2016 election, I remain skeptical of polls that show Biden with a substantial lead in these final days of the election. So I decided to do some informal polling of my own, based on the highly scientific method of counting the signs in my neighborhood.

You’ve probably heard a lot about Michigan in the past few weeks. We are a battleground State, which essentially means we are, in composite, that rare voter that is somehow still undecided after the past four years. …

The Mantle

Part thirteen

The Mantle is a serialized fantasy story. More about it here. Table of contents

They were three in all, each as wretched as the last. The other member of their ragged company emerged blinking from the trees and gaped as his fellows went past. His face had the look of melted wax, all shiny and ill-formed. He leaned on a spear with a rusty iron head and wore a drapery of stinking furs.

Their camp was a few paces into the press of trees. A pair of crude canvas lean-tos. A darkly stained wooden stump and an axe buried in the wood. An iron pot nestled in a circle of stones. Mismatched items in a disheveled heap: flowery dresses and the jagged shards of a broken mirror and a small wooden chest upended and the tatters of a silk tunic and much more buried. …

FanFare

On the eve of season two

If you’ve followed me for any length of time it should be apparent that I am a bit obsessed with The Mandalorian. It is not hyperbole to suggest that it may be the only good thing to come out of 2020.

Even though I have the show imprinted on my brain, I rewatched it to make the wait for the new season a little more bearable. Here’s a few fresh thoughts I had while watching.

Baby Yoda is way cuter than you remember

Maybe it’s just a reaction to 2020 blues but I was not prepared for the cuteness of the baby. I can’t help but blabber like a fool at the TV every time he comes on screen. I’m a 40 year-old man – it’s kinda embarrassing. …

The Mantle

Part twelve

The Mantle is a serialized fantasy story. More about it here. Table of contents

They were within sight of the end when the old man fell.

The bridge rolled like a wave, wooden planks clapping and rattling. Simeon grasped the rope and held on. He turned back to help his master.

One bony ankle was thrust between slats and the old man had bloodied his nose in the fall. He stood groggily, clinging like a wet garment.

“Master – hurry.”

The old man’s head lolled on his shoulders. “Oh bugger,” he muttered.

Simeon draped a bony arm across his neck and seized the old man about the waist. He picked up the staff and started across, bowed by his indifferent burden. …