MISSPENT YOUTH

Peter Woodgate

If only I knew then,

what I know now,

a time before these lines

were chiseled on my brow.

Knowledge,

oh, you come too late,

we can’t regress,

that is our fate.

A wasted youth in many ways

as all the minutes, hours, and days

turned into years of tender bliss,

oblivious of, just what I’d miss.

It was just I, against the world,

my future, it would be unfurled.

No thought for others, just my dream,

a common trend, so it would seem.

And when I fear that I will cease to be,

before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,

I will look back on errors now I see

And think, why was I so insane?

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate Oct 2022   

Gus (2nd & Last)

 ENCROACHMENT (2^nd & Last) 

by Richard Banks 

         The weather was fine and Ewan sat almost invisible, in the deep shade of a Horse Chestnut tree. On the third day of waiting his patience was finally rewarded by the sight of Gus ambling through the arch and sitting on the garden bench. He picked-up the cigar that Ewan had left on the table and gave it an appreciative sniff.        

“You will need these,” said Ewan, emerging from his hiding place and tossing a box of matches onto the table. If Gus was surprised at his host’s sudden appearance he hid it well. Indeed he seemed pleased to see him and politely acknowledged both cigar and matches.        

“Aren’t you having one?”        

Ewan confirmed that he was, and reaching into a pocket produced one ready cut like the one on the table. They lit up and for a few seconds puffed away contentedly as two plumes of smoke drifted up into the sky.        

“Do you want to go first?” asked Gus. “After all this is your meeting.”        

“My meeting?”        

“Yes, of course it’s your meeting. You’re the one who wanted it. So, what do you want to say? No complaints I hope.”        

For a few moments Ewan felt anger. He had every reason to complain but would be losing his temper make things better? He thought not. He would do what he intended: a good natured negotiation in which the mystery of Gus’s incursions would become clear and rules set for future visits.        

“I was hoping I might persuade you to knock on my front door like a normal visitor. This is our house, you know, private property.”        

“Your house? Are you sure?”        

“Of course it’s mine!” The words came out in an angry rush before he could stop them. This was not how he wanted to sound. “Yes,” he continued in a quieter voice, “it’s my house. I purchased it two months ago from the previous owners, Mr and Mrs Campbell. They moved out on the twentieth of October and we moved in on the same day. The deeds are with the Land Registry. If you don’t believe me do a check.”        

“Oh yes, the Campbells. A great loss to the village. That’s why their name is above the door. The Management Committee wanted something pastural that emphasised the house’s rural location. Meadowside Court it nearly was. Then the local history society became involved and the Campbells got the remembrance that the villagers wanted. Have you seen the plaque in the wall?”        

Ewan shook his head and tried not to be thrown off course. “And did the Campbells hold open house for everyone who wandered uninvited onto their home and garden? This is private property, you know. Only Maisie and me have a right to be here.        

“But what about the others.”        

“The others?”        

“Yes, the people who work and live here. No matter how hard you ignore them they will never be far away.”        

“Servants you mean. Of course we have one or two servants. Couldn’t maintain a large house like this without a few servants. Village people mainly, in before breakfast and home for their tea.”       

“So, who cooks your dinner?”        

“Maisie of course, my wife.”        

“Maisie?” Surely not? A captain of industry like yourself would have married a Tamsin or Cressida, the usual union of new money with old. A Maisie? No, that would never do. Even in your younger, less opulent days you would never have settled for a Maisie.”        

“Of course I’m married to Maisie. Do you think I don’t know my own wife?”        

“Well then, where is she? Introduce me to her. How is it I have never met her?”    

 “She’s out, she’s often out. Of course she exists. Didn’t you hear the racket she made  getting past the new security system?”        

 “I remember you setting it off when you were attempting to escape. At least that’s what we thought you were doing. But if you were trying to let someone in then I’m sure that’s how it was, or at least how it seemed to you.”        

 “Seemed to….? What are you blithering on about? Are you mad? Yes, of course, you’re mad. You’re the man who invades my garden and house, steals my cigars, and then disappears, lord knows how without as much as a goodbye. If that’s sanity then I have more of it than you!”         

           The sound of raised voices was carried in the breeze blowing gently towards the house. A smartly dressed woman of middling years closed the notebook in which she was writing and clicked her tongue in disapproval; loud disagreements belonged to private, soundproof, places not the back garden where they would be overheard by neighbours. This must be stopped before it got worse. She strode across the lawn towards the arch in the straightest of lines ignoring the garden path that reached the same place in a meandering curve. Her entry through it stunned both men into silence, but not for long.        

         Ewan was first to speak. “So you want to meet Maisie, do you? Well, here she is. Maisie introduce yourself to this man. Tell him who you are, my wife of ten years. And after that phone the police, tell them we have a mad man on the premises who needs to be taken to a sanatorium.”

         “Yes dear, I’m very happy to confirm who I am, but please stop shouting, we don’t want everyone knowing our business. Now Gus, I am indeed Maisie. Yes, it is a very silly name but it’s Ewan’s pet name for me. It is something that has, unfortunately, stuck: it is my penance for marrying a leading financier. If Ewan wants me to call the police and have you committed to the care of a mental hospital that is what I must do. As the dutiful wife of a rich man how could I do otherwise? But then, as we both know, that would be absurd. After all you are the Senior Consultant at Campbells, one of Europe’s best-known sanatoriums.”

         “What, him! A Consultant! At Campbell's? That’s our house, our home. What’s the matter with you woman. You’re as mad as he is. And how do you know his name? Did I say it? I don’t think I did. No, I didn’t, I definitely didn’t. So, how do you know?” 

         “Because I wrote it, dear. At first it was Hector, then Arthur, but finally I settled on Gus, my grandfather’s name. Gus and you are characters in a novel that’s gone wrong and got hopelessly confused. Not sure if you’re fact or fiction, a bit of both, I think. What I do know is that I can’t stitch it together like I used to, like my publisher expects me to. It should be finished but it’s a month late, and no matter how hard I try I can’t find a way through to the end. I had a plan, I’m sure I had a plan, but it’s gone. What is happening now makes no sense, none whatsoever. And that, strangely enough, is my only consolation; if I know it has no sense I can’t be without sense myself, not completely.

         So, you see, I must abandon you both and everyone else in this story, snap shut my writing book and plunge you all into a dark void from which you will never escape. It’s either you or me. The doctor thinks I should have it burnt; there’s no going back on that he says, but I can’t do that, not to you; so he has agreed to hide my manuscript in their basement where it will never be seen again. No, there’s to use in protesting I’ve made up my mind. There! It’s done! All I have to do now is walk back to The Campbells and hand it to the Doctor. So, here I go. I’m sorry, so sorry, but there really is no other way. For you, if not for me, this is The End.” 

 

                                                                                          Copyright Richard Banks                                                                                                                                               

Gus (1 of 2)

   

 ENCROACHMENT (1 of 2) 

by Richard Banks 

        The first time that Gus came by the house Ewan was pulling weeds at the top of the garden. There was a muddled conversation during which Ewan assumed that his visitor had been let through the house by Maisie. They were expecting a man in to fit some blinds but when these were mentioned Gus looked as puzzled as Ewan.

         “So you’re not from Barlows?” said Ewan, when a better question would have been, who are you? But that would have sounded brusque. There was no need for that, the man gave no cause for concern. Perhaps he was a near neighbour calling in to pay his respects, a retired gentleman; clearly, he was too old to be fitting blinds. In the time it took him to take in and briefly process these thoughts his visitor had turned towards the potatoes in the vegetable patch and was expressing his opinion that there would be a good crop this year. He recommended ‘Strong-Grow,’ “best fertiliser by a mile.” That’s when he introduced himself as Gus and, on Ewan responding with his own name, they shook hands as though a mutually agreeable bargain had been struck. What that bargain was Ewan was less than sure but any doubts he had about his visitor were all but swept away. He had a good feeling about this man. In the context of the village, he might be a useful man to know.

 

         His assumption that he was a near neighbour had now acquired a certainty that required no confirmation. This is what neighbours did out here. In the City, people kept to themselves, but in the sticks, folks were more welcoming and took the time to look in on a new arrival. Perhaps he had brought a gift, some flowers that Maisie was busy arranging in a vase. This deserved a cup of tea and, having ascertained that Gus was partial to Earl Grey, Ewan returned to the house to alert the chief tea maker to their guest’s choice of beverage. Strangely there was no sign of Maisie or flowers but the kettle was half full of water and by the time it was boiled he had set out a jug of milk, two mugs, and a teapot on a tray. He returned to the top of the garden to find Gus sitting on the bench they had just bought.

 

         “Shall we give it a few minutes to brew?” suggested Ewan, trying to remember the etiquette of tea making. Did Earl Grey require a few minutes extra or was that the other stuff from China?  He looked sternly at his watch and decided to go for four.

 

         “Lived here long?” he asked, meaning the village. There was no doubting from his speech that Gus was a Suffolk man and always had been. Nevertheless, the question was a good conversation starter and once Gus got going he would, no doubt, prove a useful informant on local affairs. And so it proved. Within ten minutes Ewan found out more about the village than he ever knew about the London suburb in which he had previously been living.

 

         “Retired then?” said Gus, evidently deciding it was Ewan’s time to do some talking. He considered what to say. Whatever he told him would almost certainly be repeated up and down the village, but that was OK providing he kept to the stuff he wanted them to know. The rest of it they would no doubt discover for themselves but by then he would be on first name terms with everyone who mattered. There were two sides to every story and when the time came for him to tell him they would understand that he had not been at fault.

 

         He had got to the point in his narrative where he had been appointed a Vice President at Swift Erikson when to his irritation the doorbell rang and being unanswered – evidently Maisie was still out - he was obliged to abandon his visitor and let in the man from Barlow’s who having delivered the blind declared that the fitter was unwell and would phone to make a new appointment. While this was yet another irritation it at least relieved Ewan of the need to be in two places at once. He could now resume his life story and bring it up to date, but by the time he returned to the top of the garden Gus was nowhere to be seen.

 

         His disappointment was soon overtaken by puzzlement. How had Gus left when the only way out was past him at the front door? The mystery deepened when Maisie returned home professing no knowledge of their visitor.

 

         “Have you been taking your tablets?” she asked.

 

         He felt insulted she had said that; even though he didn’t need them anymore he still took two twice a day. Determined to prove that there was another way into the garden other than by the front and rear doors he commenced a thorough inspection of the perimeter fencing, including the wooden gate at the side of the house. Finding the gate securely bolted, with the additional security of a padlock, and the fencing firmly attached to concrete posts he concluded that Gus could only have gained entry by scaling the gate or fence beside it. If this was the case it seemed that Gus was remarkably fit for an elderly man who made light use of a walking cane.

 

         Nonetheless there appeared to be no other explanation until Maisie had what she called a light bulb moment which Ewan initially dismissed as “poppycock”. “Perhaps,” she said, “this man has a key to the front door.” While this explained his entry into the house it did not, said Ewan, account for Gus’s exit while he was at the front door taking delivery of the blinds. Then, Ewan also had a light bulb moment. What if Gus had followed him back into the house and, while he was busy with the blinds, hidden somewhere inside until Barlow’s man had gone and Ewan back out in the garden. What was to stop him then leaving through the front door?

 

         “Nothing,” agreed Maisie, and after a sleepless night they wasted no time in phoning an emergency locksmith who arrived within the hour to fit new locks, back and front. Secure in the knowledge that their defences had not only been restored but strengthened by the installation of a  Triple Plus Locking System their main concern became in persuading it to let them in and out. A week of anxious readjustment was followed by another week in which the intrusion of their uninvited visitor dropped down the Richter Scale to an inconsequential two.

 

         He thought he would meet Gus again in the village, on neutral territory, when another conversation would no doubt make sense of their first meeting. If there was a logical explanation to what happened he certainly wanted to hear it. But Gus was nowhere to be seen and when Ewan mentioned his name at the Wheatsheaf no one there, from the publican to the village postman, knew anyone of that name. Perhaps, he thought, it was the tablets at fault. From now on he would only take them once a day. No one would know but him. He needed to rely on his own good sense not the quackery of doctors in league with the pharmaceutical industry.

 

         Three days into his new regime the sight of a crow strutting towards the garden arch alerted him to another movement. Through a border of tall headed Delphiniums, he glimpsed two green boots lift off the ground and come to rest on the wickerwork table in front of the bench. Then a gust of wind made a gap in them and he saw the whole picture, what he was hoping not to see: Gus, sitting on the bench, dressed in the same hat and jacket as before. There were a few moments of confusion verging on panic as Ewan attempted to open the garden door before finding it locked and the key in the kitchen along with the other keys to the house. He arrived there unsure which one he needed. Was it number eighteen? He decided it was, and on applying it to the lock felt the door jolt and then open. He charged out, running for the first time in years, but to his horror, the only sign of Gus was a sliver of dark soil on the table from one of his boots.

 

         But how had he got away so quickly? Even taking into consideration the delay in opening the door there was little time for Gus to make his escape, unless, maybe, he hadn’t. There was a  shed against the back fence, perhaps he was in there? He flung open the door letting in the light that swept away the darkness inside. For good measure, he switched on the strip light, but no one was there. His disappointment or relief, he wasn’t quite sure which, was quickly replaced by panic. The back door was open. He could be in the house! Lord knows what he might be up to. He rushed back slamming the door shut and slipping the key into his trouser pocket.

 

         Armed with a poker from the fireplace, he carefully searched each room finding everything in order, nothing missing, nothing out of place. He needed a Scotch but knowing this was something they no longer kept settled for a cup of tea. He had just boiled the kettle when the clicking of a key in front door informed him that Maisie had returned from the shops and was attempting to let herself in. Her pleasure in eventually doing so was all but erased by Ewan’s agitated account of Gus’s latest intrusion.

 

         “There he was,” he said, “sitting on the bench, feet up on the table, smoking one of my Havana’s,” This last detail he remembered for the first time. He felt cold, almost in shock. So Gus had been in the house! Thank goodness he had only taken a cigar or was it more? He looked into the silver plate box where they were kept. Three light, he thought, maybe four.

 

         Maisie was her usual calming self. “It would,” she said, “all be better once they had a cup of tea. Was it Twinings in the pot?”  He confirmed that it was. “What could be better,” she said,   “Twinings was as good as a tonic.” As usual, Maisie had saved the day; she often did, he wondered what he would do without her.

 

         Another week passed in which the police eventually arrived, departing as soon as they established that nothing had been stolen. They did, however, leave a leaflet about home security, particularly the conspicuous fitting of burglar alarms. The locksmith was re-engaged and took much pleasure in fitting his top-of-the-range alarm which he proudly claimed would be loudly audible to everyone in the village. In this, he was as good as his word and although the Securosiren X2 never knowingly repelled a burglar it could always be relied on to burst into noisy protest whenever anyone passed by on the pavement.

 

         The Police returned at the urging of local residents and it was agreed that in exchange for the alarm being disconnected they would make the capture of Gus their number one priority. As Ewan’s description of him went little beyond him being an old chap in a tweed jacket there was no shortage of suspects who were paraded up and down the High Street while Ewan observed them from a first-floor window in the Parish Hall.

 

         Rumour spread that Gus was not just an intruder; if the Police wanted him that badly he must surely be a terrorist or a deranged serial killer. Urged to pick out someone, anyone, to allay public anxiety Ewan eventually chose old Mr Cummings who was confined to a cell in the Police station until he could be persuaded to lie low at his daughter’s house in the next county.

 

         The world had gone mad, or was it just the village? In a place where nothing much happened, it was, perhaps, inevitable that when something did go wrong local residents would be more troubled than they had reason to be. He, Ewan, had allowed himself to be drawn into this mindset, to lose all sense of perspective. After all, what was he afraid of: a man, six or seven years older than himself, who had twice ventured into his garden with no obvious intent to do harm? Indeed on the only occasion they had actually met they had got on well. As for the manner of his coming and going there was surely a logical explanation that, when known, would blow away all his concerns. The best thing to happen would be for them to meet again in the garden, to sort things out, once and for all.

 

(To be continued)

Copyright Richard Banks                                                                                                                                               

Tylywoch ~ 26

Tylywoch ~ 26  The Search & Some History 

 By Len Morgan

His eyes opened, with a start, clouds obscured the sun.   A solitary Tylywoch (crow) sounded its presence.   It was much later in the day! He'd planned to be on the opposite slope of this stark hillside before nightfall.   He resigned himself now to spending a second night in the foothills.   What happened?   Had he fallen asleep he wondered, aware of the persistent caw above him, he gazed up.   As his eyes fixed on the source of his sudden awakening his vision blurred, he was looking down on himself as if seeing through the eyes of the bird.

Off to his left, he saw two figures closing on his position under cover of rock spurs and scrub.   To his right he spotted two more, under cover, waiting.   Behind him the sheer face fifteen feet high and the cave mouth.   Facing him was a narrow gully bordered with loose boulders and jagged spurs jutting up like rotten teeth.   The figures were stalking him; he blinked and found himself back on solid ground.   If he acted quickly, he would be out of sight of both groups.   He darted across the narrow hunter's track into the gully heading for the tallest outcrop.   He turned to look back, glimpsing a darting figure disappear behind one of the many boulders.   He realised too late, it was a blind gully he continued along it as far as he could in the hope of finding a defensible position.   One moment his path was clear the next it was blocked by a young woman dressed in soft tanned leather; mountain clothes.   He walked directly towards her, but she wasn't phased, she did not step aside.   Instead, she drew a sword from a shoulder scabbard.    She was slight but well balanced, juggling the blade adeptly from hand to hand, displaying a confidence and familiarity with the weapon that made him instantly wary.   Turning away from her he saw two young men, also clad in leather, barring his retreat back along the gully.   He hadn't heard them and was visibly surprised and irritated by their close proximity.   They smiled in obvious amusement.   Each held a long bow, levelled at his chest, their bowstrings were slackened but he had the impression they could lose a shaft much faster than he could cover the intervening ten yards.

His eyes narrowed.   He was angry with himself, for not being alert, he shouldn't have allowed it to happen.   He sensibly turned his anger on them for stalking him with such disregard.   He slowly drew his dark blade and backed towards the nearest spur of rock to protect his rear.   He smiled without mirth and stood waiting for the inevitable attack.   Though three to one were formidable odds, he thought immortality would surely tip the odds in his favour. 

"I hope I will not have to kill you all to teach you the error of this action," they looked at each other and smiled, "you're young and potentially have long lives ahead of you, look the other way whilst I continue my journey in peace."   They smiled in amusement but didn't reply.   "I have not yet killed, and I don't particularly want to start now…" 

"Shut up!" said the young woman "You're burbling…   If we'd wanted you dead, we'd be burying you now not talking."

A fourth man appeared from behind a rock, "Jax, isn't it?   Master swordsmith late of Hartwell?"   He drew his sword. "If you can make blades half as fine as does Terrek, we have sore need of your services." 

Jax smiled as he viewed the sword in the hand of the man who knew so much about him.   "If your measure is the blade you are holding, it was made by me." He replied, "the pommel design is uniquely mine.   How many swords do you require?"

"Thousands!" was the reply.

Jax laughed, "It would take me fifteen years to produce that many even if I had the inclination, which I don't…"

"Terrek said you're a fair swordsman, and that you might be difficult, we do not wish to fight.  We would hate to cause you injury, but the West needs your help and if that is what is needed to persuade you then so be it..." He said pointedly with a shrug and an easy smile. 

"So what is the big emergency?" 

"The Bluttland forces is massing at Tain point on the far shore of the Stalbech.   They plan to take advantage of the political unrest they have stirred up in the Cheilin Empire; now verging on civil war.   They intend to strike out across the water and establish a bridgehead from which to launch an offensive into the heart of the empire.   The Clans will defend their home territories but will not release troops to defend the crossing point.   That job falls by default to the 13^th Clan; the Tylywoch.   It has for many years been our policy to train all non-Clan peoples to use weapons.   We have the manpower but only one in three can be armed from our existing store of weapons.   All smiths in the empire are being coerced into forging swords, amongst them Terrek, who suggested that you may have ideas to speed up the production.   Are you his son?" 

"Why do you ask?"

"You both have the same characteristics, blue eyes and pale hair." 

"Yes we are related, and yes assuming you speak true, I know of a place. Somebody who could produce blanks, that we can finish in a fraction of the time, but the price…" 

"Finance you can leave to us, we only require your skill." 

"And, how would they be transported?  But that is not my problem, I am on my way to the Eternal City…" 

"You would be well advised to postpone your trip at this time, can it not wait until the Empire is safe, we urgently need your services, and we will pay handsomely…"

"It is not a question of money." 

"Ah!  An affair of the heart perhaps?" said the young woman with a knowing smile that irritated him, because she'd gone straight for the heart. 

"How long do we have?" asked Jax ignoring the question and the ensuing smiles.

"Approximately two weeks, mayhap a month at most…"

"A month?   You jest with me, it's not nearly enough time, and where will they need to be delivered?" 

"They are needed at fort Stokk thirty miles North East of the 4^th Clan border in the East.   It's a hundred miles from their proposed landing sites, if the Blutt try taking Stokk they will be overextended and we will crush them.   Yet it's within two days forced march." 

"Why not simply prevent their landing?" Jax asked.

"Oh believe me we will try, but there are over three hundred miles of wild coastline to be defended along the Stalbech.   The terrain is difficult to traverse rapidly or defend in depth with the forces at our disposal.   They have priests and priestesses able to communicate over long distances.   If a beachhead is established, they will all be heading in that direction, in minutes, to consolidate the position.  We are so unprepared, and we will be outnumbered ten to one.   Possibly, with hostile Clans at our backs."

"Who!" asked Jax incredulously.

"Certainly the 9^th Clan, and possibly others they may have turned.  It will depend on the depth of infiltration that has taken place.   If we pull forces from key positions to throw them back, other areas will be left unguarded.   So, eventually, we will have to concede..."

"You may as well surrender now with that attitude," his anger evident, "do you think I'm going to labour long and hard to produce superior weapons to hand over to our enemies?    You might as well surrender now and save me the effort, honestly what is the point?" he shook his head turning away in exasperation.

"Believe me we will not surrender or retreat one step, they will have to kill us all.   I'm just presenting you with the reality of our situation.   We need a miracle!   But of course, you can't help us, you're too busy chasing after a pretty young woman eh?" 

"One miracle coming up," he said under his breath.   

.-...-.

Jax closed his eyes and pictured Terrek's forge. 

"I see you have made a start brother," he spoke to Terrek, mind to mind. 

"It seems we have a dilemma which cannot be resolved without the aid of Orden." Terrek thought.

"Can we reach him?" Jax asked.

"You already have."  Orden joined the conversation.

"If you can supply us with blanks, we can finish them.   But, we will need others to furnish them.   Also, carriers to transport and deliver your blanks to Hartwell and the finished swords to Stokk" Jax continued. 

"There are people in Hartwell who can fit guards and grips, transport is a job for the Tylywoch," Aldor joined the conversation. 

"Aldor?"

"You have spoken with Aldor before?" Orden asked.

"No," Jax replied.   "I've heard the name somewhere." 

"Yes," thought Aldor.  Jax may well be here today thanks to prompt action taken by Tylywoch on a lonely mountain track near to Sudoren, the place he calls home.  

.-...-.

   Sixteen years ago, we found a young woman in an advanced state of pregnancy who had been viciously beaten, raped, and left for dead.   She was taken to the Inn at Sudoren by two warriors whilst Malik and I followed her attackers.   We made contact, as I recall, late mid-morning on the second day of our pursuit.   There were a dozen of them, and they were not common criminals.   A fact we had suspected since we first saw the tracks left by their horses.   If they rode at all, common criminals would ride hardy mountain ponies short stocky and unshod.   These men rode thoroughbred horses with long stride patterns and steel-shod hooves, 'not common mounts for use in the mountains' said Aldor.   They were liveried professional soldiers, with due respect, so we followed them until nightfall when they made camp.   They had been disguised, now they threw off their nondescript civilian clothing.   We watched a man, who having checked the path for pursuit, entered the camp and stripped off his over shirt, adding it to the blazing fire.

"That’s Kurdik royal house livery." Whispered Malik.  "Obviously there has been a cull in one of their Royal houses.   A leader has died, and the firstborn has decided to rid himself of his rivals, he is killing his father's wives and children to ensure his clean succession to the throne.   Are we to let them get away with this?" 

Aldor smiled inwardly, Malik never minced words he was fiery and passionate about upholding the law.   His view was that, if you allow one transgression to pass, even from outside the Empire, the floodgates would open.  The Kurdik guards were obviously contemptuous of local law and customs, and completely unconcerned with possible pursuit, or they would have kept going at full speed until they were across the border. 

The Tylywoch way is not to simply rush in hot-blooded, but to employ stealth and minimise the potential risk to themselves.   They did not glorify killing or consider it a way of life, it was at times simply a necessity.   They therefore refused to recognise or subscribe to any rules of chivalry governing the conduct of conflict…   At the end of the day, dead is dead!   All they concern themselves with is accomplishing their goal! 

The sensible path was simply to slit their throats whilst they slept, but where was the gain in that?  Neither the wrongdoers nor their masters would learn anything from it.   Two hours before dawn they silenced the three guards.   Then, moved swiftly through the camp decapitating every other warrior, and placing his head between his legs.   Seven died.  The four remaining, would have bad dreams for the rest of their lives.   The notes written in Kurdik and pinned to the survivors' chests read:

Cheilin justice is swift, for criminals, and those who pay them.   Tell your master to check under his bed in future, before falling asleep, or he may never wake up!

On their return to Sudoren, they entered the common room at the inn, in silence, and the occupants knew by their demeanour that justice had been done. 

.-...-.

"How fares the woman?" Aldor enquired.

The inn-keep shook his head. 

Aldor slumped into one of the many trestle benches, his elbows on his knees, allowing his head to fall into his hands as he contemplated the spotless scrubbed board floor. 

"There were a dozen after that one defenceless woman, we allowed four to go free as a warning to their master, not to use Cheilin as their personal killing ground."

The inn-keep nodded without reply.   Somewhere in the inn complex a baby cried.   

"At least the child survived," Aldor observed. 

"My wife has organised his feeding, she is quite taken with him, she named him Jax..." 

" A fine name," said Aldor "Mistress Karpe is a good woman.   Does she plan to keep him?" 

The inn-keep nodded again. 

"I thought as much.   Do the people of Sudoren know how to keep a secret?"

"Not all know when to be silent if that's what you mean?" 

"Under the circumstances, it would be expedient to invent a different scenario to explain his acquisition," Aldor said pointedly. 

"Why!   He was abandoned, left on the kitchen stoop." The inn-keep said grinning mischievously. 

.-...-.

They were introduced and exchanged news, Aldor quickly explained to Jax how the Tylywoch and the quads worked.   "The group you are currently with are 'Fire quad' led by Bran the controller, Galein the young woman is a healer, whilst Uvlan and Plavin are warriors."

  "She didn't look as if she was planning to heal me!" said Jax ruefully, "quite the reverse." He smiled inwardly. 

                                              .-...-.

"Are you OK?" she enquired in a concerned voice. 

"Thank you yes Galein.   How long was I absent?" He asked.

"You mumbled something about needing a miracle, then you went stiff for about a minute, how did you know my name?" 

"Aldor.   You are Fire quad Bran, Galein, Uvlan, & Plavin." 

"He's Uvlan, I'm Plavin (the handsome one)," said the shorter warrior completely unfazed. 

"Well let's get back to Hartwell, Others will soon be arriving, some with wagons, to transport non-existent weapons, and others to furnish blades when Terrek and I have finished them.  Others will be bringing us blanks, as we speak, look lively we only have weeks to get ready for the party."   He smiled and clapped Bran on the shoulder. 

"You heard the man, let’s get moving," Bran echoed. 

(To be continued)

                                                                                    Copyright Len Morgan 

 DESTINY

Peter Woodgate

Malcolm was dreaming, he felt soft kisses all over his face and arms.

He woke up, opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling. Bloody fan has been left on again, he thought, what a waste of electricity. I’ve told her so many times, “it won’t cool you down, it just moves warm air around the room.”

Malcolm glanced left, his wife was fast asleep, and, for a moment, he thought about turning it off. “Better not, I’d probably wake her up

 in the process and that would be a disaster.”

He continued to stare at the ceiling and his mind wandered as the soft hum and movement of the blades drew him up and through the pulsating fan.

In a flash, he was jettisoned from Earth and past the moon, “I must be travelling at the speed of light” he gasped as the planet Mars loomed in front of him.

Malcolm had always been interested in astronomy and, on favourable nights, (usually when it was cold and the sky was clear), you would find him, with his telescope, out in the garden.

 It was since his retirement, some 30 years previous that he had put all his energy into keeping himself busy, unfortunately, as the years flew by, he found his body could not keep up with his brain.

He was frustrated and grumpy, “who said retirement was bliss” he would repeat to himself, “bloody idiots. Was I put on this Earth simply to play my part in ensuring that the human race would continue. No, there is a bloody big Universe out there and I would like some answers, I refuse to lay down and act like an 80-year-old is expected to.

So, here he was, rushing towards Mars at the speed of light, Then, he was past the Red Planet hurtling towards the asteroid belt playing “dodge the rock” before passing through on his way to the “gas giants” of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. He was gaining speed as he passed the sad looking demoted Pluto.

Once, when discovered, was crowned as a minor planet but now reduced to satellite status and pushed aside by the recently discovered mystery planet nine.

Malcolm could hardly believe his eyes as he burst through the Milky Way and, grateful he had not been sucked in by a Black Hole, made his way past areas where stars are born, these are given the names Crab and Horsehead Nebulas. His head was now in a spin as he encountered Pulsars Supernovas and distant galaxies of all shapes and sizes.

But why, he’s thinking, what is it all for? Perhaps it is to teach me that I am unable to explain what has been displayed before me. The sheer size and beauty

Of the canvas stretched out for all to see, yet, unexplainable.

It appears, perhaps, I should be resigned to accepting my fate and trust what I am unable to alter.

 

Malcolm was awake again and opened his eyes, the fan was still on, it had all been a dream. A dream perhaps yet a warning, did he need to alter his thinking?

Suddenly a voice broke his thoughts. Happy Birthday Darling, I’ll go and make a cup of tea and you can come down and open your present.

Still feeling rather bemused by his recent dreams Malcom trudged downstairs and was greeted, in the lounge, by a rather large and heavy box, no doubt from Amazon. Was he ecstatic as his present was unpacked? Well, yes and no.

The negative thought was “another bloody assembly Job” the positive “it was a fire pit.” Malcolm had often remarked on how lovely it would be to have a fire outside whilst drinking a pint or two in the colder autumn evenings.

“Well, what do you think about that then,” his wife smiled whilst handing him a cup of tea. “Ah, that’s great,” Malcolm replied whilst juggling thoughts within his head. The present, on the face of it, would appear a truly thoughtful gift, even though he did not relish the assembly.

However, Malcolm's mind was on the march again.

Conversely could this be an attempt, by his wife, to give him a taste of his destiny.

What do you think?

Copyright Peter Woodgate  

 

Personal Wellbeing ~ 22

 Daily Body Maintenance Routine (for 60+)

 The Barefoot Medic

I’m not a smart arse!  I just know that because I exercise each organ, muscle, & sinew daily my health will be as good as it can be, at 77.  I’ve exercised this way daily since 2012 (10 years) and I'm confident that I will still be doing it at 90 (if I live that long).

 

It’s really not an arduous routine, my aim is to work as many muscles and organs as I can, daily. 

 The axiom is: 'If you don't use it you lose it!'  

If you wish to join me you will need to put aside ten minutes (10) daily; the time it takes to make and drink a cuppa…

Even better news, you don't have to do it all at once, you can spread it through the day.  It's like car maintenance, check that everything works, on a daily basis.  You only have one body, so look after it!

In addition, you will need to take the dog for a walk, daily.  Walking is an excellent form of exercise; leave the car at home!

"Never lay if you can sit!  Never sit if you can stand!  Never stand if you can walk!  Never walk if you can run!  But, do everything in moderation..."

 

.-…-.

 

 1:  I do 20 Faux push-ups resting my hands on the kitchen sink feet 2 feet away (you can do 10, or less of these) don’t over-exert!  This is not exercising as such, just body maintenance.  Some you can do some you cannot; do what you can…

 

 2:  Then 20 leg stretches hands on the kitchen sink bend at the knees then straighten (you can do 10, or less) don’t over-exert!

 

 3:  Then 20 arm raises (alternate arms); include 10 with clenched fists (do what you can)

 

 4:  Then 20 side arm stretches include 10 with clenched fists (dwycan).

 

 5:  Then 20 shoulder taps (bend arms to touch shoulders), 10 with clenched fists (dwycan)

 

 6:  Legs apart 10 alternate arms reach down to your knees stretching at the waist to either side (dwycan).

 

 7:  Feet together repeat 6: above.  Reach down to your knees, clenched fists, stretching your waist to alternate sides (dwycan).

 

 8:  Feet together, do tummy rolls 10 clockwise, then 10 the opposite way.

 

 9:  Bend your knees and place your hands on them and roll them 10 times clockwise, then 10 the opposite way.

 

10:  Then 10 times raise straight arms from your side, touching above your head, then down, finishing behind your back.

 

11:  Then 10 times roll arms slowly (forward butterfly stroke, straight elbows) 5 with clenched fists.

 

12:  Then 10 times roll arms slowly (reverse butterfly motion, straight elbows) 5 with clenched fists.

 

13:  Stand 18 inches from a wall, arms by your side, and bend slowly back at the waist until your head touches the wall (to a count of 10).

 

14:  Turn and place hands on the wall, bent elbows, your feet should remain in contact with the floor.  Shake your legs (thighs & calves) to a count of 10.

 

15:  10 times: Swivel at the waist whilst throwing arms from side to side in a swatting/punching motion.

 

16:  10 times: Swivel at the waist whilst punching your elbows behind you (side to side) at shoulder height alternately ~ left then right ~ with clenched fists.

 

17:  10 times: hands behind back (supporting) bend forward at waist 45 degrees or as near as possible straight knees (down~up, down~up).

 

18:  10 times: Legs 3ft apart, turn to face left, lean forward (weight over the left knee) bend & flex knee to the count.

 

19:  10 times: Legs 3ft apart, turn to face right, lean forward (weight over the right knee) bend & flex knee to the count.

 

20:  10 times: Feet apart twist upper body while slapping chest with one hand and lower back with the other simultaneously.

 

21:  10 times: feet together Repeat the above accentuating hip swivel.

 

22:  10 times: legs straight and 2 feet apart, stretching down towards left foot, then to the front, then right foot, then between your legs. Then repeat to (1 hippo~pota~mi, 2 hippopotami), up to… 10.  (you should not be trying to touch the ground or your toes) this is stretching your back, calves, and thigh muscles.

 

23:  Stand on your left leg, raise your right leg, and stretch your toes towards the floor to a count of 5.  Then toes to the ceiling to a 5 count. 

 

24:  Then twirl your foot clockwise to a count of 5. Then repeat counter clockwise to a count of 5.  Kick your raised leg to the side as high as you can then down. 

 

25:  (REPEAT) above standing on your right leg.  (Did I say you can use a hand for support?  Or, fix your eyes on a point called spotting?).

 

26:  Spine Stretch: Stand feet together, raise your hands above your head to count of 3, stretch up on tiptoes to a count of 7 then lower your arms to your side to a count of 10.

27:  (REPEAT)

 

28: 10 count slowly windmill arms to the front; in opposite directions clench fists 5.  (Deep Breath on each count ending with a sharp exhale of breath)

 

29:  (REPEAT) above in opposite direction.

 

30:  Same as above but fast inhale to a count of 5, then clench fists and exhale to a count of 5.

 

31:  (REPEAT) above in opposite direction.

 

32:  20 count: link hand in fireman’s grip, (like Charles Atlas) pull in opposite directions while raising hands above your head (to count 5) then slowly lower to the front (count 5), down to waist (count 5) back to chest (Count 5).

 

33:  20 count: hand together in praying position & push palms together, raise above your head (count 5) then slowly lower to the front (count 5), down to waist (count 5) back to chest (Count 5).

 

34:  10 count: link fingers and rock hands thumbs up, forward, and back.

 

35:  10 count: praying position raise arms so palms separate, then push fingertips together and push hands away from your body to the count.

 

36:  Flex left wrist down to a count of 5, then up to a count of five.

 

37:  Repeat the wrist flexes on your right hand.

 

38:  10 count: Hands by your side palms facing back, shake hands, and arms flapping at the wrists.

 

39:  10 count: Hands by your side palms facing your legs, shake hands and arms flapping at the wrist while raising them slowly to shoulder height then slowly lowering them).

 

40:  Legs together Hands on calves, nod head (x5), shake head (x5), role head clockwise (x5), role head counter clock (x5), rock head on shoulders L/R (x5), push the head back (x5).

(If doing this makes you feel giddy it may help if you close your eyes.)

 

41:  10 count: Hand above your head and shake them (Jazz Hands). 

 

42:  10 count: Hand above your head and wriggle your fingers fast.

 

That concludes your 10-minute body maintenance. It's taken considerably longer to write it all down so I can fully understand it.  But feel free to ask questions if you are unsure about any of the routines...

Live long & prosper…

 The Barefoot Medic