It’s Evil Editor’s third anniversary. I lurked around there for a long time before I said anything because he, like Miss Snark, scared the pee waddling out of me.
I’m not even sure what prompted me to post a comment the first time. Seems like such an important conquering of fear ought to be stamped indelibly in my memory, shouldn’t it?
I learned a lot of things about me and my writing from Evil and his minions. Even if a person only reads through the comments on other postings, there is a wealth of information. Evil is spot on with his advice. I don’t always take it because I am bullheaded at times. I’m sure this aspect of my persona will get an adjustment also, but he is always kind and professional about it. I imagine him throwing darts at my avatar at times, though.
He is probably one of the best kept secrets on the internet. I’m not a very good secret keeper so I often refer people to the literary lair where he slices apart queries and openings with glee…and a chainsaw.
That I lust after his, well, suffice to say, I lust is an understatement. I dream of it often. I go back to the picture of it and get out a magnifying glass so I can see it closer. I create scenes where I see it for the first time. I fantasize about seeing it so often I know every single variation, every detail and even how it changes according to how the light hits it. I kneel down and caress it, tracing my fingers over it slowly and obsessing with the smooth, inviting surface. It stirs something deep and primal within me; a longing I know will never be slaked and yet I continue to think of it. I couldn’t stop thinking of it if I wanted to and heaven knows I have no desire to stop wondering and dreaming about it. Sometimes I think just finding another would satisfy me, but I’m not sure it will. So, I continue on in my twisted little fantasy world where it is all mine to treasure
Yes, my friends, Evil Editor has the most amazing wood inlay medallion in the front hall of his house.
And now, my humble tribute to Evil Editor on his anniversary.
An excerpt from Paladin. This scene includes a character based on another character we all know and love.
Paladin-Gentyl meets Thalmar’s archivist. All rights reserved.
“He said you can read them there or wait until he archives them. I don’t think Mother flirting with him is going to change his mind. Speaking of changes, it’s time for the tower change. Did you take Gentyl by them?”
“They were beautiful,” Gentyl replied. “I never dreamed anything like that was possible.”
Thalmar pointed his finger at a cloak draped over a gargoyle near his door and the cloak began to lift, then he flicked his fingers and the cloak settled back over the statue. “I don’t think we’ll be gone long enough for it to get chilly. Magic can be quite lovely, Gentyl. The ice wizards have two brothers who are very talented artists, as well as promising young initiates. Yesterday, they filled the walls with amazing mythical scenes sculpted in ice.”
Saerowyn grabbed another lemon cake. “I’ve always preferred the feral magic. Their people walk around in animal skins like barbarians, terrifying most of those ninnies in the other schools. It delights me to no end. Watching the animals cavort in the walls is also amusing.”
“You’ve always been partial to feral wizards.
Saerowyn smiled. “Yes, yes, I have.” He nodded to Gentyl. “I’ll bring you back so you can see the towers in the different controls. It’s quite interesting, even to me.”
They arrived at the library where stacks of books loomed from the stone floor like square stalagmites. Heavy wooden shelves lined the library walls and formed partitions jutting out into the room. The shelves jutted out at right angles from the walls in the corners and stopped short of meeting so there was an angled opening into the reading areas. Gentyl could imagine classes being conducted in the center of the room, but now there was only a large ebony desk. It was long enough and sturdy enough to hold a man’s body, as evidenced by the one lying on it when they entered the room.
The man was laid out on his back with his arms folded serenely across his chest. His head, which rested on a stack of leather journals, was bare aside from the thick thatch of reddish brown hair.
A small white hound with large brown and black spots lay in front of the desk as if guarding his master. He stood up and stretched, then walked over to Thalmar and sniffed his hand. Thalmar reached into a small pouch and pulled out a piece of dried meat he tossed to the dog who jumped up in the air and caught it.
The man on the desk spoke without opening his eyes. “Word, you are a poor guardian.”
Saerowyn fed the dog the remainder of his lemon cake. “He’s probably hoping for someone to rescue him from his idiot master. Don’t you have something to do besides sleep on the desk?”
“I’m not sleeping,” the man replied, his eyes still closed. “I’m meditating on Brother Miron’s journals. I can’t decide where to archive them, so I was hoping they would tell me where they belong.”
Saerowyn coughed. “If you would let me borrow them, you’d have lots of time to decide where they belong.”
“Gentyl,” Thalmar said, “this is Emil my archivist. Emil, this is Gentyl, Father’s new aide.”
Emil sat up and swung his legs down. The robe stayed bunched up around his knees, revealing legs as white as a fish’s underbelly and covered with hair thick enough to make him look like he was wearing fur legging. His toes wriggled in worn and colorfully patched sandals.
“Do you think you could pay your archivist enough to at least buy some decent shoes?”
Emil glanced at Saerowyn and then down at his feet. “They’re comfortable. What’s wrong with them.” He turned his attention back to Gentyl. “Greetings, Gentyl. I am Emil and this is my faithless guardian, Word. A mighty beast, mightier than the sharpest sword. There is nothing stronger than words, or in this case, Word. And, even though Word is a powerful beast, it does little good if my guardian runs to the first person who bribes him with a treat.” He relented his scolding when the dog looked properly repentant.
Emil adjusted his robe and covered his legs. “What is wizard watch worth these days, Gentyl?”
“What is it worth to put up with this cantankerous old fool?”
She looked at Thalmar and then Saerowyn, not sure how she was supposed to respond. “I don’t understand. It’s my assigned duty.”
“Interesting. Most young guards pay others to take wizard watch. Are you poor?”
“Don’t be insulting,” Saerowyn snapped. “She’s happy to be my aide. Aren’t you?”
Gentyl nodded and picked up one of the journals on the desk. She didn’t respond when
Saerowyn grumbled about Emil’s poor attitude.
Thalmar stepped forward. “Do you still have those books Abion had?”
The archivist hopped down and straightened his robe. “Ah, yes.” His blue eyes lit up like a child watching a street magician breathe fire. “I asked Melith to look at them to see if she could translate them. Melith, where are you?”
“In the corner.”
Saerowyn rolled his eyes. “There are four corners, darling.”
“The west corner.”
They went to the west corner first, but discovered her in the north one.
Happy anniversary Evil.