Today’s writing vlog – getting the most out of feedback.
Yearly Archives: 2021
Night Train to Hardwick Chapter Six – Brazen Joy
It turned out people were seeing ghosts all over the train. Once he retrieved his amulet from Oliver, who returned it with only a touch of reluctance, Roy went up and down the length of the train and found at least one person who had seen ghost in all six passenger cars, though not in the locomotive or caboose. The crew seemed to be exempt from the hauntings so far, recent deaths among them or no. However both the conductor and the porters admitted they were seeing people talking to empty air with growing frequency.
Roy himself didn’t see Colbert again, or any ghosts at all.
As he worked his way forward through the trained after ninety minutes of fruitless talking he found himself no closer to understanding what was going on than he had when he started. There weren’t any through lines among the people who admitted to seeing ghosts in terms of age, place of origin or kind of ghost haunting them. But the mood in the train was shifting from the bored acceptance of most travelers to quietly repressed panic and that worried him. Panicked passengers were a danger to themselves and others.
He was expecting to find the orphan car to be in the worst mood of them all, given their circumstances and likelihood of being haunted. Instead he walked into a wall of noise.
The children were singing and clapping along with some kind of high spirited marching song with a steady cadence and simple tune, well suited to the untrained voices of the young or soldiers on the march. As Roy passed between the rows of orphans the sound took up residence in his breastbone, ringing through his body with a joyous, coppery tone. At the far end of the car he finally spotted the source of the sound. Cassandra Fairchild sat on a bench there with a young girl on her lap, leading the song as the child laughed and clapped wildly.
For a moment irrational excitement surged through Roy, carried on a wave of light, airy magic. Then his own fiery reserves roared forth in response. The rush of joy and anger warred for a moment before Roy’s iron hand of discipline, built over years, clamped down on both and returned them to their places. With joy and anger both quietly bubbling in the back of his mind Roy had a moment to just appreciate the music and its results. Fear was swept out of the car, driven by the bronze blade of rhythm and song. Thirty children, theoretically the most fearful and vulnerable people on the train, had become a bastion against the ghosts. He waited for a moment, listening but not joining with the song.
Once it was finished and the children had dissolved into laughing and excited discussion Roy approached and put a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “A moment of your time, Ms. Cassandra?”
She looked up in momentary surprise, her eyes wide, deep blue pools filled with the sparkling power of the storm. Then they focused on him and she frowned. “Will it take long? The children are restless.”
Roy gestured around the cabin, rapidly shifting from a gleeful energy to a sleepy contentment. “You seem to have worn them out.”
The Hearth Keeper, who was seated in the row in front, turned hallway around and said, “Go on, Cassie, he’s right. I think I can manage them like this, I already have for the last two weeks!”
The young woman deliberated for a moment then sighed and carefully shifted the girl out of her lap and got her settled on the bench. Even this child was quickly drifting off to dreamland. A moment later they were quickly moving towards the front of the train. An odd air settled around Cassandra, a distance that Roy couldn’t quite parse. He realized that Brandon wasn’t there as a buffer between them and he wasn’t entirely sure what direction to take with the conversation. Brandon had made an agreement and Cassandra had theoretically overheard it, but she hadn’t shared in it directly.
“Allow me to congratulate you, Ms. Cassandra,” he said as a way to make conversation.
“On?” There was a surprising edge to the question.
“Well… on setting up a stronghold in the center of the train,” Roy said, a bit taken aback. “I’m sure the children appreciate it if nothing else.”
“Oh… yes, I see.” She deflated a bit, whatever nerve Roy had touched apparently salved and the crackling energy leftover from her song quickly dissipating into the atmosphere. Her presence in the room diminished as well. “So why did you ask me to leave them?”
“Because I hope you can help me ensure their safety – at least to the extent we can at two hundred feet.” His gaze swept over their current car as they passed through it. It was a normal car, not set aside for orphans, and the passengers were the usual mix of middle class individuals with the occasional family mixed in, all moving to parts unknown. But even here there was an undercurrent of tension he could pick up on.
“And what could I do toward that end?” Cassandra asked.
Roy held up a finger, forestalling the conversation, unsure if anyone in the cabin was related to the ghost plague. But there was no indication that anyone gave them a second thought. Nevertheless, only once they cleared the passageway between cars and he confirmed the corridor was empty did he answer her question.
“I had a thought, just now,” he said, “and I hoped you could give me your thoughts on it.”
“Go on.” She seemed a bit more open to the discussion now. Perhaps she was just nervous in front of the crowd.
“Your brother tells me ghosts are tied to people via some emotional bond.”
“Simplistic but accurate,” she said with a smile. “Brandon’s forte.”
“Where is he, by the way?”
“He turned peckish ten minutes or so ago and went to the dining car for a sandwich. The yew shares its power with him but he is also the soil it draws nourishment from. If he is hungry his power wanes.” Another trip between cars halted the conversation for a moment. She resumed as he held the door to their car open for her. “But to your question, yes, some part of a person’s dying thoughts can shape a spell that becomes what’s called a ghost. The feelings and direction of a person’s thoughts molds a ghost in that sense, forming a sort of magical echo of those moments that lives on after them.”
Roy opened the door to their compartment as he mulled that over. “Does the feelings of the person on the other end have any impact on it?”
Cassandra swept into the compartment, a contemplative look on her face. “Perhaps. But not much of one, I would think. Places and objects can be haunted just as easily as people and clearly they do not have feelings as you and I do, yet those ghosts are as fully formed as those that haunt people. But perhaps a haunted person tints the ghost, like a colored film over a lantern would tint the light? I don’t know as anyone has ever studied it, or how you would do it without becoming a monster.”
Roy frowned, watching as the young woman’s hair drifted slowly behind her, his mind absently mulling over other approaches to the problem. “So feelings direct the ghost?”
“The feelings of a long dead person, certainly,” she mused, turning to regard him with a skeptical look. “Why?”
“You just turned thirty or forty frightened orphans into the happiest people on the train.” A deep blush spread over cheeks and up to her bangs, which were just now settling into place. Roy’s frown deepened. “Couldn’t you change the mood of the ghosts just as easily? Redirect them elsewhere?”
“It’s not clear if ghosts have feelings of their own or if they’re just an echo of the dead.” She looked more and more flustered for some reason. “As I said, they’re defined by the people who died when they were created and they’re quite static. You can overwhelm them and break them, but it’s incredibly difficult. Or…”
She trailed off, her gaze unfocusing and her attention drifting. After a moment Roy decided to prompt her. “Did you hear something, Miss Cassandra?”
“No. I was just thinking of whether you could swamp their feelings…”
He cocked his head, trying to parse that. “I don’t understand.”
“Certain sounds naturally cancel each other. Our feelings aren’t quite the same, but you can drown them in other emotions…” She shook her head, her loose hair drifting in a nimbus around her. “But as far as I know its never been tried. I have no notion whether it would work or not.”
As he watched her hair settle into place inspiration struck. “What if you channeled your magic through something we know does effect ghosts?”
“Again, it’s never been tried so…”
“Let’s try an experiment.” Her eyes widened as he crossed over to her and flinched away as he reached up over her shoulder to collect his saddlebags. She darted over to the other side of the compartment, looking a bit indignant for some reason. But it probably wasn’t important so he just retrieved the bundle from the pouches and unwrapped it. “This is an old Sana artifact called a nawonota.”
The indignation drained from her face when he fully unwrapped the old bits of leather and ivory for her inspection and ghostly air whipped her hair about her face. “What is that sound?”
“I’m afraid I don’t hear anything,” Roy admitted.
“Nothing good was in there.”
“Don’t I know it. But the ghost that was here had most of its power dispersed.” He held the pieces out to Cassandra. “Perhaps you can repurpose the magic that’s left to influence the ghosts in some way?”
She looked at the fragments of the relic doubtfully. “That’s one very unsavory artifact, Mr. Harper. I don’t know if I can help you with it or not.”
Roy sighed. “It was only a thought. I’d hoped the old ghosts atunement to the power of the air might make it easier to use, your being a stone singer. But-”
He actually saw the inspiration strike. “An interesting thought, Mr. Harper. There is a sort of melody to it.” She took the pieces from him, her fingers brushing his with an electric snap. “I might have something at that. But I think I’d need your help with the experiment…”
Roy smiled and gestured for her to continue. “By all means.”
Writing Vlog 06
My latest writing vlog – thoughts on starting a new project!
Night Train to Hardwick Chapter Five – Echoes of Treason
From Brandon’s vantage point Roy Harper was more and more of a chimera. He was remarkably graceless, rough around the edges and brusk. Yet he knew a remarkable amount about druids and their power, organization and rituals. But his attitude and the obvious gaps in his knowledge suggested he, himself, had never studied at any of the Great Henges.
“Oaths upon the graves of the Founding Knights are only for druids ourselves,” Brandon said, watching Harper carefully to gauge his reaction. “I could bind myself with one but only to another druid and Cassandra will be totally exempt from any such oath. I wouldn’t mind swearing such an oath but I don’t know as it would do much unless you yourself are sworn to the Stone Circle. I suppose I could swear on the dolmen themselves, if you like. It’s the pledge we generally use with the people of Avalon.”
“That’s acceptable,” Harper said, his expression twitching slightly but not in a way Brandon could interpret.
Brandon raised his right hand and said, “I am Brandon Fairchild, and I swear upon the dolmen of Stonehenge to follow your direction for this train flight and answer all your questions truthfully, to the extent my other oaths allow.” He let his hand fall and waited for Harper to nod in acknowledgment. “Now what would you like to know, Mr. Harper?”
“Let’s get out of this corridor if you don’t mind.” He gestured forward. “The dining car is just ahead, and I could use some coffee to keep me on my feet if this goes on any longer. Will you need to let your sister know?”
“I’m sure she heard.”
It was a relatively short walk to reach the dining car, which was much like the public cars in that it had a corridor running between rows of benches except walls divided them into pairs of two in narrow booths, with an equally narrow table between them. Eating in an airborne dining car was an adventure in and of itself, but at least most trains served reasonably neat food. Soup, for example, never made the menu. An attendant took their orders – coffee for Harper and tea for Brandon – then left them to their relative privacy.
“Now then,” Roy said, leaning back on his side of the table, folding his arms over his chest. “Tell me, what is your druidic specialty? I should warn you now, if it involves burning incense in any way I don’t want you using it. Even if you use one of the handful of incenses that aren’t toxic I don’t want rumors that that kind of thing is allowed on sky trains circulating. Most people can’t tell the difference.”
“Fortunately, smoke is not the root of my power. I cultivate the yew.” Brandon held up his hand and flexed. The symbiotic plant living within him surged through his body, standing out in visible ropes under his skin. A moment later layers of bark broke through on the back of his hand. Brandon relaxed and the traces of yew influence vanished. “As you’ve already guessed, it makes me much stronger than the average man. It also makes me very difficult to hurt and I can manipulate yew wood, living or dead, with much greater ease than my peers. I know a few protective charms as well, but we’re not likely to need protection from wild trees up here.”
“Unlikely,” Harper conceded. “What about ghosts? Any defenses against them?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much beyond the general theories of ghosts,” Brandon admitted. “We don’t engage much with the specifics, we simply study a few active countermeasures that allow us to ward them off using incense. Of course, even if you were willing to allow the use of it in this case, I’m afraid I don’t have any on hand right now.”
“Not much call for it, I presume?”
“No. If it comes down to it Cassie can deal with a ghost or two, although it’s something I’d prefer to avoid.” Brandon drummed his fingers for a moment. “Ghosts always haunt something they had a strong emotional connection to in life, be it person, place or thing. From what you’ve said in passing I take it the ghost people are seeing is someone you knew during Columbia’s civil war?”
“My company captain, in fact.”
“You must have been close.”
“We weren’t on good terms at all,” Harper admitted with a moment’s hesitation. “I was surprised to learn he was haunting me. If you know the theory of ghosts, do you know why a large number of them would gather in one place?”
Brandon considered that for a moment. “It’s difficult to say. Traumatic death is more likely to create a ghost than a peaceful death, so orphanages tend to see more of them than most. Especially since the children can see them where most people outside the haunting victim cannot.”
“But what if a large number of them arrive from another place?”
The sharp expression Brandon had noticed on first meeting Harper had made a return. “Are you referring to anything specific, Mr. Harper?”
“Colbert’s ghost visited me and claims there are other ghosts haunting this train, including some from a village we flew over.” Harper stopped to take a fortifying gulp of coffee. “Tell me, is that even remotely possible?”
“I… can’t be sure, one way or another.” Brandon considered what he knew. “It certainly wouldn’t be accidental. But if someone deliberately manipulated an emotional thread? Perhaps. Cassie might know more.”
Harper looked like he was about to say something else when he spotted something coming from the other direction. Brandon swiveled to see the conductor moving through the dining car, pausing to greet the smattering of other passengers still occupying it in the late evening. When he reached them he nodded to both men. “Everything to your satisfaction, gentlemen? I understand there was some trouble earlier.”
“Some,” Harper said. “Nothing terribly out of order, some of the orphans were jumping at ghosts. There’s something amiss on the train but it may just be a matter of flying over an old Sanna graveyard. I’m looking into it but I don’t think there’s a danger to the train just yet.”
The conductor absently scratched at his beard, his jaw working in contemplation. “Well, that is as it may be,” he finally said. “Let me know if you need my assistance with anything specific, or if there’s something the crew should be aware of.”
“Certainly.” The conductor turned to go when Harper added, “Do you know the crew well?”
The other man paused, looking a bit startled. “Well enough?”
“Have any of them lost family recently?”
He put a finger to his nose in an almost comical display of deliberate thought. “I think the day shift’s engineering captain recently lost his wife to consumption. Do you want me to check?”
“No, that’s fine. Thank you.”
Harper watched him leave long enough to confirm he was out of ear shot before he leaned back against the back of the booth and stared into his coffee. “Not good.”
“You’ve learned something important, I take it.”
“The Captain’s ghost mentioned that death specifically,” Harper said. “I was hoping he was making things up to unsettle me.”
Brandon took a sip of his tea, watching Harper and trying to parse what was bothering him. “The two of you clearly had a very interesting relationship. Care to elaborate on it?”
With a long gulp Harper emptied his coffee mug. “How much do you know about the Lakeshire War in Avalon, Mr. Fairchild?”
“We heard some news from the druids in Morainhenge, of course, but the Henges themselves are not entirely trusting of each other so it was given due skepticism.” Brandon shrugged. “Of course there are tools built into the Stone Circles to mitigate dishonesty, as you clearly know, but they really only work well in person. Binding oaths don’t do much in letters. However even if we took everything they said at face value we still wouldn’t know much.”
“Do you have any notion of how things were on the Columbian side?”
“Very little,” Brandon admitted. “Just what we read in the papers, which I have no doubt was entirely accurate and not distorted to favor or demonize any person or side of the conflict.”
Harper shared a sardonic grin with him. “No doubt, although I never saw a newspaperman within a dozen miles of a battlefield myself.”
“This relates to your captain somehow?”
Haper refilled his coffee before answering. “The Columbian regulars have a professional officer corps, you understand,” he said. “The problem was the Lakeshire War forced the Regulars to add tens of thousands of troops a year. There weren’t enough officers to go around. So when we formed new units recruits would elect their sergeants. Sergeants would elect a captain and lieutenant. And there you had it. Instant officers.”
“Elect?” Brandon kept the incredulity from his voice. “That’s an interesting approach.”
“And overall, probably an unwise one.” Harper’s gaze wandering over the dining car and into the past; a thing Brandon had seen veteran knights do time and again when recounting unfortunate memories. “For the most part companies were led by affable men with little potential as soldiers. Sometimes you got great captains like Trevor Rogers and sometimes you got captains who fooled everyone long enough to get elected but everyone came to hate. Then there were the people who were total incompetents.”
“I take it you got the latter.”
“We got the last two in one package.”
Brandon nodded slowly. “That must have been… difficult.”
“Too often it was fatal.” Harper turned morose. “We were nearly wiped out at Willow Falls because we got flanked and Captain Colbert refused to fall back and merge with the rest of the line. We lost five men we shouldn’t have.”
There was a ring in his voice that, though quiet, unsettled Brandon to the point his stomach churned and his muscles twitched. He’d heard it before, from veteran knights speaking of long ago quests, a sense of emptiness that provoked both fear and contempt. With practiced ease he put both sensations down. “Do you think your hatred of him is what ties you together?”
“In a way.” Harper had started the long trip back to the present. “We went up against a druid, dug in on Briarheart Ridge, and he raised the forest against us.”
Brandon nodded. “And your captain refused to give up the ground.”
“We didn’t have the numbers or the equipment to stop them but he insisted we stay there.” Harper’s smile was deeply unsettling, regretful but resigned. “I was second in command of the company so I was there, at the forward observation post when we saw the trees coming. Nothing I said to him could change his mind. So I removed him from command. I have no proof but given the situation I’m certain that’s when we were tied together.”
“I see.” Brandon turned to look out the window. But the sky was cloudy and the moon and stars hidden, so there was nothing but darkness. “Put in that light, I suppose I’d be more surprised if the man wasn’t haunting you.”
“I can’t be haunted by every man I’ve ever killed,” Harper said with a snort. “Half this train car would be full.”
“Even so,” Brandon said, “you can’t have betrayed the trust of all of them. With your captain you did and in a very stark fashion.”
Harper heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. It doesn’t help with the problem at hand though.”
“The matter of your captain? Or the question of what is attracting the ghosts?”
“Oh. The latter, of course.” Harper shook his head to clear it. “I do find it unlikely Olivia’s parents betrayed and murdered one another nor does she seem capable of doing it to them. So I don’t think your shared emotional tie theory works in their case.”
“Perhaps its something else, then. Did she think they were idiots, as you did your captain?”
“She seemed to think they were quite normal, respectable parents,” Harper said dryly.
“Was there anything about your captain you liked?”
“Not that I can think of,” Harper confessed.
“Then perhaps some other tie binds her parents here and your ghost has simply grabbed hold of that connection and used it to make itself visible to you,” Brandon mused. “The connection between the two of you is very unique.”
“I suppose that’s as likely as anything.” Harper got to his feet. “Let’s see if anyone else is seeing ghosts. Perhaps we can find a common thread.”
“Mr. Harper.” He paused, an eyebrow raised. “Do you regret it?”
The older man didn’t hesitate. “Not at all.”
For a moment Brandon wondered at that. It was entirely possible he’d bound himself and his sister to a deeply disturbed man. But there wasn’t much he could do about it now besides stay vigilant so he finished his tea and followed Harper out of the dining car.
Weekly Writing Vlog 05
Latest writing vlog from me – more rambling about upcoming projects.
Night Train to Hardwick Chapter Four – Leaders and Followers
A nawonota was built for one purpose: To trap ghosts. The pieces of nawonota Roy had in his bag came from one of the most powerful examples ever created. Roy hadn’t considered the possibility that the thing had the power to attract ghosts as well as trap them – the Sanna used them to defend their communities, not as some kind of hunting tool – but at the same time he didn’t know enough about Sanna magic to rule the possibility out, either. So as an experiment he unwrapped the pieces, added his iron dagger to the mix and rewrapped the lot of it.
But while he was tucking everything back into his saddlebags a familiar voice whispered to him, “That’s not why we’re here, Lieutenant Harper. You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Can’t blame a man for trying,” Roy muttered, shoving the bundle into his bag. “I can’t imagine you’ve been brought here because of me, I’d have noticed you haunting me for the last decade. So who did attract you if it wasn’t me or this thing?”
“You know that I’m here because of you, Lieutenant. All of us are, to one extent or another.” The ghost affected a pose as if it was leaning back on the padded couch across from him.
“Us?” Roy gave the ghost a hard look. “There’s more than you?”
Colbert’s face transformed into a noxious smile. “I misspoke.”
“Of course.” Less than two minutes speaking to his old Captain and he was already gritting his teeth. “If you’re here because of me why is it I can only see you now?”
“That’s something I can’t tell you. Against the rules.” The ghost looped his innards over an arm and hopped up to his feet. “But if I’m a ghost that is suddenly strong enough for you to see, how many more suddenly reaching this level of strength are there on this train full of orphaned children? And how many normal passengers have ghosts of their own? How many are like your chief engineer, who was widowed recently? How many times will you pass over a village that was nearly wiped out by a mudslide, like you did half an hour ago?”
“A town we passed over? What could possibly reach that far?”
“Rules, Harper.”
Roy rubbed the bridge of his nose, frustrated. In his army days Colbert had been incredibly opaque when asked questions about the unit’s orders and his strategy. Apparently nothing had changed in a decade of death. “Why are you here, Captain? Shouldn’t you be out on Briarheart Ridge?”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” The ghost drifted over to the window and gazed out. “Looking out on a beautiful green hillside, staring down at the abandoned walls of Palmyra-”
“People still live in that city, Colbert.”
“-but no, whatever power makes ghosts decided I had to seek out my killer, instead.”
Roy snorted. “You’ve been doing a terrible job of it, these last ten years or so.”
“Ten years, six months, two weeks and three days.” A hint of madness seeped into the specter’s eyes. “I counted every coalstoking one of them, unlike you. Ungrateful bastard.”
Roy eyed his saddlebags, weighing them in his hands for just a moment. The iron dagger was his only weapon on hand due to his mistreatment of the sword he’d brought on the trip. He couldn’t get his hands on a new one until Hardwick. But he was pretty sure a dagger, even an iron one, wasn’t a weapon that could do much against a ghost that could pass through walls. He could try reassembling the nawonota but the relic was so powerful and unpredictable, and until very recently tied to magic so malevolent, he thought that it would be more trouble than it was worth. Instead Roy put the bags back on the shelf with a resigned grunt. “Maybe I can make my own ghost catcher.”
“I told you, Harper-”
“I haven’t trusted anything you’ve said in a long time, Colbert. Dust and ashes, you’d have fed all of us to the trees if you’d had your way.” Roy turned and walked out of the compartment with a dismissive motion. “Now are you just here to bother me or was there something specific-”
The compartment behind him was empty, as was the hallway outside it. For a brief moment he felt as if he’d woken from a dream, although he was certain what he’d seen was real. Brandon Fairchild burst out of the compartment where Roy’d left him, his face clouded with worry. “Harper,” he called. “There you are. Olivia says she just saw her parents.”
Roy grimaced. “I think there’s going to be a lot of that going on soon. It sounds like half the people on this train might be haunted. I don’t suppose your parents are dead? Or one of your siblings died at a young age?”
Brandon pulled the door to the compartment closed behind him. “So far as I know there’s no one who would haunt either of us. What’s going on here, Harper?”
“How should I know?”
The Avaloni man offered a helpless shrug. “You knew the name of the first ghost that appeared. You picked a druid and a stone singer out of a crowded train with no hints. You seem like a man who knows quite a bit.”
“The druid part was easy.” Roy grabbed his sleeve near the shoulder. “All you super strong types have those gussets in your shirtsleeves so they don’t rip when you really go to town. And your ‘belt’ is clearly made of some kind of wood. Pretty safe bet that someone like that is a druid. You and your sister talk like you’re experts on stone song, which is pretty much the only craft in Avalon more secretive than the druids, and that means one of you is a singer. The old customs forbid a singer from taking the Oath of the Stone Circle, therefore it’s not you. I just noticed a few things and drew inferences. You seem to know an awful lot about ghosts. How is that, just because of your sister’s talents?”
Brandon shrugged. “It’s something the Stone Circle has dealt with, from time to time, so we’re all trained on the rudiments of the subject. Cassie undoubtedly knows more but she doesn’t share a lot of the details. As you say, the singers are secretive and only share most of their secrets with their students. Although you should know she has very good hearing, on top of the voice. She’s probably listening in on this conversation as well, just so you’re aware.”
“Good ears,” Roy said with a grimace “Yes, I didn’t know that.”
“So.”
Roy spread his hands. “So what?”
“What did the ghost tell you, back in the public car?”
“Nothing relevant.”
Brandon gave Roy a skeptical look. “Nothing? Forgive my saying so, but you don’t seem like a great expert on the subject of ghosts. Would you know what’s relevant?”
That was an awkward question, because it was true that Roy knew very little on the subject of spirits and their capabilities. “Shouldn’t your sister have heard that conversation already?”
The younger man covered his embarrassment pretty well, but not well enough that Roy couldn’t pick up on it. “She could hear the tone, but not the words.”
Roy took a moment to weigh the possibilities. The Fairchilds seemed like a deep potential resource. A fully trained druid would, by default, know more about basic magic theory than he would. The full nature of stone singers was a closely guarded secret but legends surrounding the first know singer – Meryl of Linds, First Advisor to the King – suggested they had some power over spirits in general. Ghosts and spirits were not exactly the same thing, but they were similar enough. While three years of army life and another eight as a mercenary firespinner and railway detective had taught him a lot of practical, day to day magic tricks, dirty fighting techniques and esoteric trivia his knowledge of the grand theories of magic were rudimentary at best and few of them concerned the immaterial.
On the other hand, a druid was a sworn Knight of the Stone Circle. They could be inflexible.
But there were layers to the Stone Circle that Roy was only beginning to understand. Perhaps that was to his advantage. “Alright, Mr. Fairchild,” Roy said. “If you’re really determined to take a hand in this matter we can go over all that. But first, there are some ground rules. If you don’t like them, then you’ll have to step back.”
“Perfectly reasonable.”
“First, whenever possible I make the decisions. I’m the one who answers to the Railway for the lives and property on this train.”
Brandon nodded immediately. “That is a given, no matter what.”
“Glad to hear it. Second, you have to explain whatever druidic magic you have at your disposal up front.” Roy watched Brandon closely as he spoke, gauging his reactions. “Your sister has to explain any part of her abilities that might be relevant. I know that stone singers are rare and secretive, with good reason, but I have to be able to make informed decisions or I can’t agree to allow you to operate on this train.”
This time Brandon was more hesitant. “I suppose that’s reasonable, if I can have your agreement not to disclose anything you learn.”
Roy nodded. The real test came next. “And third, we’ll swear to the these requirements. On Pelinore’s Grave.”
Writing Vlog 04
I’m usually a few chapters ahead of what I’ve published here, so now, at the halfway point of Night Train to Hardwick, I’m starting to think about what to do next. Here’s a few of my thoughts!
Night Train to Hardwick Chapter Three – Hauntings
Brandon caught himself before he ran over Harper but unfortunately Cassie wasn’t quite as quick, slamming into his back with a muffled squeak. The car was in an odd state, with half the benches empty and the passengers dangerously packed into the other half. The engineers in the locomotive were probably working overtime keeping the car balanced and even with the rest of the train. Brandon had a half moment to wonder what was going on before he heard Harper whisper, “Captain Colbert…”
Everyone seemed to be looking at something in the middle of the car but try as he might Brandon couldn’t tell what it was. He was about to tap Harper on his shoulder when Cassie took his arm and pulled him back.
“There’s something there,” she whispered. “I can hear it.”
Harper walked towards the center of the car, suddenly looking less like a seasoned railway inspector – no, detective – and more like a sleepwalking child. Brandon cleared his throat. “Is everything alright, Detective?”
“What are you doing here?” Harper asked.
Brandon shifted from one foot to the other and back again, a deep discomfort working its way up his back and spreading through the roots of his muscles. He leaned over to his sister and whispered, “What do you hear?”
“It’s not clear,” she whispered back. “Something there is talking to him, but-”
“You always were one for following orders,” Harper said, acid creeping in to his voice.
“-but its voice is indistinct and-” she visibly flinched. Brandon began to reach for the yew around his waist but Cassie stopped him. “Whatever is over there it knows Mr. Harper. And doesn’t like him very much. I don’t know if we should interfere.”
“I don’t care,” Harper snapped. “You need to clear off this train and take your new general with you.”
The children shifted, murmuring in barely controlled fear. Harper’s eyes seemed to track with something standing up in the seat in front of him. Then Brandon heard it, some sort of echo at once distant and immediate, a wild and malicious laugh that swept through the train car and faded.
Cassie let out a breath and shook herself off. “It’s gone now.”
“What was it?”
“I couldn’t tell just from the voice,” Cassie said. “Some kind of spirit. Maybe just a ghost, maybe something more significant. Mr. Harper definitely recognized it as much as it recognized him.”
“Probably a ghost, then,” Brandon said, watching as the man in question moved further into the car to speak with the Hearth Keeper. “We should keep an eye on him, just to be sure he’s not consorting with anything sinister.”
“Can you tell me what happened, ma’am?” Harper asked, taking his hat from his head and holding it in both hands.
The Hearth Keeper, a matronly woman in her mid forties, made a helpless gesture, her expression one of concern more than fear. “The children saw it, didn’t they? Poor man with his belly cut open. He kept telling them the train was never coming down again. What kind of notion is that? Everything that flies falls in time, don’t it?”
“That’s my experience, ma’am,” Harper replied. “But you didn’t see the ghost?”
“Haven’t got the sight, not me. But I knew they saw something. They was too scared to be running a prank.” From the confused expression on his face it was clear Harper didn’t understand what had happened.
Brandon cleared his throat again and stepped forward. “It’s a matter of age,” he said. “Those who haven’t gone through puberty tend to be very attuned to ghosts and spirits. The sight starts to fade around the age of ten but it can take as long as a decade to fade. Most lose it in a year or so.”
Harper’s gaze sharpened and focused on him. “I didn’t know that. Thank you, Mr. Fairchild. But if that’s true, why did I see Captain Colbert? I’m well past twenty.”
“Since you knew the ghost’s name,” Brandon mused, “you may have a personal connection that attuned you to it. That can enhance your ability to perceive them.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps…” Harper’s attention wandered for a moment then he turned back to the woman and continued his conversation. Brandon glanced around and realized Cassie had moved over to the place the ghost had occupied.
He moved over and asked, “Anything out of the ordinary?”
“No,” she said. “Not even an echo of what was here. But its voice seemed to harmonize with the sound of the train so well, almost as if the soul was a part of it. Very odd.”
“Ever heard of anything like it?”
“No.” Cassie’s face told him that worried her, which was enough to worry him.
“The Hearth Keeper’s agreed to come with us in a moment, so long as her husband feels its safe here,” Roy announced, crossing to join them. “What was it you wanted to ask the girl about, Miss Cassandra?”
Cassie straightened up, looking a bit surprised at the intrusion. “Yes! I thought it was odd only one of the children in the compartment saw the ghost there and I wondered if the girl had latent talents as a river seer or stone singer. Those children looked old enough to have lost their sight.”
“Is.. she in danger?” Harper asked. “Her or the train?”
“The train isn’t, if that’s the case,” Cassie said. “But she’ll need a mentor to help her get her gifts under control. She could be attracting ghosts the children are seeing without even knowing it.”
“Then we’d better figure that out before anything else. We’ll go in a minute.” Harper crossed away to the other side of the car, stopping to talk to the Storm Watcher.
“Do you still think this is just a stray ghost?” Brandon asked, leaning in for a measure of privacy. “Or is it possible we got called in this direction because of a seer or singer?”
“It’s only one or two ghosts at the moment,” she replied. “But it is possible there’s a singer or seer on this train and that’s where the leading came from. We do resonate with each other, from time to time.”
The Hearth Keeper was approaching them so Brandon bit down on the other questions he wanted to ask, instead turning to her and saying, “Can we help you, ma’am?”
She gave the two of them a stern look. “Is it true that you can recognize someone with the Sight?”
“I know a test or two we could give,” she admitted. “But if they don’t reveal anything it doesn’t mean Olivia isn’t a river seer or something similar. Definitively disproving that requires a good deal of in depth exercises.”
The Keeper nodded, her expression turning shrewd. “It would be a good thing to know. Those kinds of talents could open many doors.”
Brandon kept the smirk off his face, but only barely. The Keeper’s calculating assessment strongly reminded him of his mother’s attitude when she learned of Cassie’s gift. She was a much more profane woman than the one before him but some things were universal, it seemed. Unfortunately that attitude glossed over the harsher realities of gifts like Cassie had. The Hearth Keeper had a few other questions for Cassie but Brandon tuned them out, instead keeping an eye on the rest of the car. The children were nervous and upset, but gradually calming down. However the undercurrent of fear remained.
“I think the children will be alright with your husband,” Harper said, returning from his conversation with the Watcher. “Let’s go and talk to the girl and see what you can see.”
A moment later the four of them were hustling back up the length of the train. Once they were again clear of the breezeway Harper asked, “If you’re wrong, and Olivia isn’t what attracted Captain Colbert’s ghost to this train, what could be the cause?”
“Ghosts aren’t spontaneous phenomenon, for the most part,” Brandon said. “They’re attracted to someone or something. Generally speaking, an untrained river seer can yank them from their normal path just by catching sight of them, stone singers can get attached to them by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Otherwise, they don’t generally leave their patterns of haunting.”
“So,” Harper mused, “is it possible Miss Cassandra picked up this ghost somehow? Said the wrong thing?”
Brandon found himself reappraising Harper for the third time in an hour. “No. She’s far too experienced to make a mistake like that.”
“I’ll trust your judgment. How likely is it that there’s some other seer or singer somewhere else on the train?”
“It’s not impossible,” Brandon admitted. “But it’s not likely.”
“How likely is it that Olivia just so happened to snag a ghost out of my past within a few hours of my boarding this train?”
“I have no idea, Mr. Harper. I imagine the odds are quite small.”
The shorter man let out a long suffering sigh. “Well, it’s all we’ve got to go on.”
The Hearth Keeper unlocked the door to the private compartment a minute later. The room was really meant for four, perhaps six if some of them were young children, so it ran out of room quickly. Brandon was in the process of easing himself into a narrow space on the bench beside Cassie when Harper’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, squeezing uncomfortably. “Well,” Harper said, “get to it. I’ve something of my own to follow up on.”
And then he was moving forward again, heading towards their compartment with purpose. For a moment Brandon wondered what the detective was doing but Cassie gently pulled him the rest of the way into the compartment and his thoughts moved on. The girl, Olivia, had recovered with the strength of youth and now chatted happily with the Hearth Keeper.
“And you’re sure it wasn’t just a nightmare?” The Keeper was asking.
“It wasn’t, ma’am,” she said with great sincerity. “There was a man in the couch with no stomach. Like he just peeked up through the cushions!”
Beside him, Cassie began to hum quietly. For his part, Brandon assessed the children with a more critical eye than he had at first. Olivia looked the youngest, possible still young enough to see a ghost naturally. Clark appeared oldest, at least thirteen and probably fourteen, he would likely reach adulthood in a year or so.
But best to be certain. He cleared his throat and asked, “How old are the three of you?”
The tone of Cassie’s hum changed slightly.
“Eleven,” Olivia said.
“I’m fourteen,” Clark added, “And Annie’s almost thirteen.”
The redhead nodded her affirmation.
Brandon gestured in his sister’s direction. “And what do you see here?”
All three of them stared blankly for a moment. Finally Clark said, “A pretty lady?”
Annie gave him a forceful shove, prompting some purely juvenile outrage. Olivia’s attention turned to them and the Hearth Keeper intervened to break up the argument. Cassie stopped humming.
Once things calmed down the Hearth Keeper turned back, hands clasped, and said, “Well?”
“I’m afraid there’s no sign of either talent among them,” Cassie said. When the woman’s face fell she hastened to add, “But that may be for the best. The path to mastering either gift is very difficult. Still, there might be one among your children. Could we talk to those in the public compartment as well?”
“Of course. You three children had better come with us then.”
The Hearth Keeper bustled the lot of them back out into the passage and towards the back of the train. Brandon spared a moment to look for Roy Harper, but the detective was nowhere to be seen.
Wednesday Writing Vlog 03
Latest writing vlog out! A sidebar on the importance of constantly developing.
Night Train to Hardwick Chapter Two – The Face of Death
Roy was pounding on the door of the second compartment down when he realized the Fairchilds had followed him. He caught sight of them out of the corner of his eye as they approached and he shook his head. “What do you two think you’re doing?”
“If you’re a railway inspector I think you’d know,” Brandon said. “Nosiness is a part of life on a train.”
Any rejoinder Roy wanted to make was cut off when the compartment door popped open and a worried father peered out, his family in a worried huddle behind him on one of the compartment’s couches. “What’s going on?” The man asked. “Who are you?”
“Roy Harper, Packard Railway Detectives,” Roy said, pointing towards the medallion he was wearing. “Did you hear a scream just now?”
The father nodded as his wife pointed to the wall rearward and said, “It sounded like it came from there.”
“Thank you,” Roy said. “Please stay in your compartment for now. I’ll send the conductor by when we’ve determined everything’s all right.”
He turned and headed towards the next compartment, looking over his shoulder at his erstwhile compartment mates. “I don’t suppose you’ll remain in your compartment as well?”
“Is that an order, Inspector?” Brandon’s sister asked.
“No, Miss Fairchild-”
“Cassandra, please.”
That took Roy a bit aback, he’d heard the Avaloni were sticklers for propriety with names and stations. Maybe there was some nuance to it that Columbia had forgotten. “It’s not an order, Miss Cassandra,” he said, “just a strong suggestion. And the title is Detective. The Creighton Railway Inspectors don’t like us getting confused, although as I see it that would help their business.”
The siblings shared an unreadable look, the kind close knit families tended to use when they needed to communicate some simple thought quickly, without wasting time on things like words. “I’m aware this is your duty,” Brandon said gently, “but perhaps we could be of some assistance. We’re no strangers to trouble on the sky train.”
“I’m sure you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” Roy said, glancing at the saber in Brandon’s belt subconsciously, “but the Packards are trained and competent to protect others and the train itself when it’s airborn. So I’d appreciate it if you’d return to your compartment. The last thing I want is a druid knocking us out of the coalstoking sky.”
He cut off Brandon’s attempt at answering by banging on the next door down the corridor. To his annoyance the Fairchilds remained in the passage but he wasn’t willing to escalate the matter. Not only wouldn’t it help him discover the source of the scream they’d heard, he actively wanted to avoid dealing with druids as much as possible. Not just because it was a healthy lifestyle – he had little patience for such things in his day to day – but because he’d spent enough time in the last week doing just that and he was ready for a break.
The compartment door opened before his thoughts could run further down that rabbit hole, revealing an ashen faced boy of maybe thirteen years. His stringy brown hair hung nearly to his shoulders in disheveled locks. He was dressed in a rumpled brown shirt with no collar over ill fitting denim pants held up by worn red suspenders. Roy immediately recognized him, not personally but for what he was. The other two children in the compartment wore equally rough clothing and looked about the same age. The boy looked up at Roy, licked his lips and asked, “Can I help you, sir?”
Roy removed his hat and said, “Everything all right in there, son? The neighbors said they heard screaming.”
The boy gestured behind him where the other two, both girls in simple, faded dresses, clung to each other. One had short black hair and a tear stained face, the other a stringy redhead with an apologetic expression. “Sorry, sir,” the redhead said. “We think Olivia had a nightmare. She’s… she’s new.”
“What does that-” Roy put a hand in Brandon’s chest and pushed him another step back into the passage. Once both hand and man were out of sight of the girls, Roy pointed emphatically back up the passage towards their compartment.
“Where’s your Hearth Keeper, son?” Roy asked, trying his best to tune out the whispered conversation in the hall behind him.
“She’s in the second public car,” the boy said. “She was going to say the evening cant.”
“Couple of hours late for that,” Roy muttered. Then returned his attention to the children. “But you don’t see anything wrong with the young miss?”
The dark haired girl – Olivia – made an effort to pull herself together. Her lips quivered a bit but she managed to point to the seat across from her and say, “I saw it. There was a dead man in that seat.”
The redhead put a hand on her head, ducking it down a bit. “I’m sorry, sir. Her parents… were in a fire, two months ago. She’s had nightmares for-”
“But he was stabbed!” Olivia wailed. “I don’t know who he was, but it wasn’t Ma or Pa or…” the girl’s voice slipped from coherence into meaningless grief.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said. “She’s not-”
“I understand, son.” Roy donned his hat and stepped out of the doorway. “Do you want me to fetch the Hearth Keeper for you?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Harper?”
Roy took a deep breath and marshaled his patience. At moments like this the whisper of fire running through the body of the train seemed to grow to a shout, telling him the simplest way to solve his problems was to burn them all away. But the role of magic was to listen to him, not the other way around. “What is it, Miss Cassandra?”
“Could I speak to Miss Olivia? There’s a chance she didn’t dream what she saw.”
“I didn’t!” The girl exclaimed, the vote of confidence restoring enough self control to make her coherent again.
There was definitely something out of true in that compartment, whether the young girl was having nightmares about her parents or seeing visions of stranger things, and it was technically Roy’s responsibility to sort it out, at least to the point where he could determine if it was a danger to the train or its passengers. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do but he kept his Packard license for a reason and until he was ready to give it up there wasn’t much choice in the matter. “We’ll go and speak to the Hearth Keeper, then. What’s your name, son?”
The boy started a bit, apparently not expecting to be called on. “Clark, sir.”
“All right, Clark.” He pulled the aluminum medallion off his neck and dropped it into the boy’s hand. “I want you to hold on to that. If anyone comes to your door and checks on you, show them that and tell them I gave it to you while I went to get your Hearth Keeper. All right?”
Clark’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. “Don’t you need this to fly, sir?”
“You can’t fly just by holding a chunk of aluminum, son,” Roy said with a laugh. “You need a lot more of it than that, plus a furnace of fire to empower it. So don’t go getting ideas. Just hang on to that, and know the Packards are looking out for you. We’ll be right back.”
The door swung closed behind him as he started towards the back of the train. The footsteps of the Fairchild siblings fell in behind him. “That was kind of you,” Cassandra said. “They’re all quite lonely and the gift helped. Who are they?”
“Orphans.” Roy waved a hand to encompass the train. “It’s not uncommon for rail lines to offer open space on trains to orphanages, who can send their older children along the route in an attempt to find them living situations. Unfortunately out here there’s always a disaster or plague or Sanna raid or rogue elemental to generate a new crop of kids like them, and we can’t do much but try and place the more independent ones quickly.”
Roy opened the door to the railcar, suspending the conversation as the three of them crossed the wooden boards between the cars. The wind of their thirty mile an hour passage, whistling through the enchanted tin safety mesh, combined with the creaking of the bronze links holding the boards in place and the cars together, made any attempt to talk futile. Only once they were safely inside the first public car, picking their way through the benches, did Brandon speak again.
“I’m surprised I never noticed one of these groups before.”
“We don’t advertise they’re here,” Roy said, giving a meaningful look around the car. Most people ignored them, which was the polite thing to do, but he still didn’t want to bring attention to the large group of children with only two supervisors onboard. “Although the Packards don’t really have a hand in these groups.”
“You’re a Packard, can’t you at least interview one of them?” Brandon asked, sounding skeptical.
“On the strength of Miss Cassandra’s request? No. Besides, I’d prefer not to step on the toes of their caretakers.” He glanced around the train car but didn’t see anyone under the age of fifteen that wasn’t with a family. He still dropped his tone a couple of degrees. “Besides, those kids have been through enough, they don’t need strangers inserting themselves into their lives willy nilly.”
“Willy nilly?” Cassandra asked.
“Yes. Lacksidaisical.”
“Of course.”
The Fairchilds finally stopped asking questions, for which Roy was grateful. They crossed the rest of the car and into the next in silence.
The occupants of the next car all stared at them as they entered, which was odd but not as odd as the way everyone was packed into the back of the seating benches, with four or even five young children crammed into benches meant for two. A middle aged woman in the red and brown robes of the Hearth Keepers was on the left hand side, the youngest children clinging to her. On the right, near the middle of the compartment, was a man about the same age in the gray and blue of the Storm Watch. He was frantically waving them away, eyes roaming through an area halfway between him and the front of the car.
A semitransparent man sat on a bench in that area, his ghostly innards piled around his feet, a bitter expression on his face. When Roy met his eyes the specter’s face morphed into a chilling smile. “Lieutenant Harper.” The ghost’s whisper seemed to reach every corner of the car. “We meet again.”
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