Kyla Phillips's Blog

Purpose:  Was it Worth It is my first attempt at a more literary style of writing. Again it is a darker piece of Fantasy exploring the question; is it better to rule in hell than serve in Heaven. In this piece, I choose to answer it against my own instincts for the challenge of it. I believe in writing it is good to reexamine the convention, look at life from another point of view. After all, isn’t my job as a writer to expose you to a different side of the world?

I hope you enjoy and that this piece does for you what it did for me, reaffirm your believe whatever that may be.

Piece: Was it Worth It?

“Idiot,” came the word like a sledgehammer out of the darkness. “Felled by a woman.”

The old man emerged from the shadows. I noticed his skin was sickly pale and drawn. His burlap clothing was caked with dirt and worn to rags. His stay in the dungeon must have been a prolonged one. To find my story had reached such a lowly one as this was astounding. Should I be embarrassed or flattered?

I chose the latter.

Cold bit into my bones. The lash marks on my back burned every time I took a deep breath, yet I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

“A smile, hah. Must be insane,” the old beggar wheezed.  He gently laid his body on the hard-packed floor, shaking his head in contempt at me.

“I knew she was the devil,” I started, settling on the solitary rough-stone bench, “the minute she smiled at me. The devil tricks most of us into thinking his most dangerous attack is the hidden one. The one when we aren’t sure if it really is him or a trick of our paranoid mind.

‘That of course is false.

‘The most dangerous attack is the one he personally delivers to our door. The one with his signature scrawled in neat letters across her forehead. We take this gift in with gratitude in our hearts and a smile on our lips.

‘I knew Mona was devil-sent the minute I saw her smile, with that gentle overbite that gave her full lips a permanent pout,” I continued, the warm winter mint smell of her filling the room with the mere mention of her name. “She fell in my arms with a spark in her eyes and a burning desire between her thighs.”

Our first night came back to me in a rush. The cinnamon taste of her mouth filled my mind. The warm press of her soft body against mine brought forth a bittersweet yearning in me. I had to shake my head violently or be lost in remembrance.

“As an imperfect man, I was helpless to resist a wealthy merchant’s daughter. How was I to know? Promised as a virgin bride to another.”

I gazed down at the shackles clamped tight to my wrist, then out the small window directly opposite the gallows.

“After a month in her pleasure I sit here awaiting the noose. Many have asked me if it was worth it.”

The smile finally reached my eyes, warming my soul.

*

Dawn broke through with particular violence.  A burly, silent guard wrenched me from the shadow into the sun for the last time. The march to the gallows was a solemn one. Even the sky was filled with a splash of blood. The crowd stood like petulant statues, ready to see if my death would be quick, or would I prolong their entertainment and struggle, at the end of the rope.

The ground was muddy under my bare feet and the air fresh after the previous night’s rain. I took a deep breath savoring every beat of the end of this life.

Amidst the stone faces, I spotted my demon lover. She was shrouded in black but I saw the fires of hell in her eyes. They called me to their warm embrace.

“Remember lover,” she whispered to me three nights hence. “Die in my name and you will become a prince of the underworld. We will have an eternity together.”

The abrasive rope scratched at my neck. Apprehension made my knees wobble.  Was her promise true? Was it worth it?

I looked into her eyes. Was it worth it?

A smile bubbled its way up from the core of me.

The lever was pulled and the platform disappeared out from under me.

YES.

Photo Courtesy of http://www.myth-weavers.com

As a woman who has read more fantasy books than she can count and seen enough fantasy art to boggle the mind one question lingers at the back of my mind: Is that what women or supposed to look like?  Most Fantasy Art depicts fair skinned, half-naked, long-haired pin-ups. I read fantasy books to escape the narrow-minded, egotistical, judgement air of this world and the first thing I see when I pick up a new big is the epitome of it. How is that fair?

Isn’t there more to beauty than over-sized mammaries and floor-length hair or am I asking to much. Isn’t there something seductive about the veiled, the hidden. Can’t a woman be feminine with all her clothes on. Can’t the earth mother’s hair be wild and free.

I fund some examples of the more open-minded artists and pinned them on my board Fantasy Bound. Be a woman. Be strong. Have some clothes on.

The Dark Unwinding is a Steampunk story about a young woman struggling to do the right thing weighed against her own possible destruction. It’s about and eccentric genius who’s world may come crashing down because of the greed of another. The Dark Unwinding weaves and complex web of plots in a beautiful pattern.

The story of Katherine Tulman and her brilliant yet childlike Uncle Tully serves as the catalyst for a vibrant world filled with brilliantly crafted toys, a community built on fierce loyalty, and a plot to destroy the British navy.

Katherine Tulman isn’t your typical young female heroine. She has a strength and intelligent beyond her years. As an engineer myself I really appreciated her skill and appreciation of numbers and geometry. Beauty and brains, what more can you ask for in a heroine.

It’s a fast read but it may be hard to keep up with all the twist if you’re not paying close attention. The ending satisfies all the plots. I would definitely recommend it to any Steampunk lover or anyone who likes a strong character novel.

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Unwinding-Sharon-Cameron/dp/0545327865/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1360783638&sr=1-1&keywords=the+dark+unwinding

Ken Follet’s Paper Money follows the tangled web of events during a single day in London with a host of diverse characters. Keeping track of who’s who can be tricky at first but it pays off in the end. The essential question that this book brought up to me is, do all our struggles really matter at the end of the day.

Paper Money trails the life of hoodlums, reporters, captains of industry, and a frisky housewife. Good or bad most of them gain a little here and lose a little there. Some of what is lost is irreplaceable and tragic. Other’s win dignity, love, or just and insight into the struggle that is life.

The most resounding thing that Follet brought out in his book was crushing in its truth. After all their scheming, planning, contingency plan upon contingency most won or lost because of some event totally beyond their control. How many times have you asked, how did I get here, and realized it was through no brilliant play or your part but because of some outside force limiting your options. Hard truth Ladies and Gents, 90% of our lives are out of our hands. It’s up to us to make the rest right with our 10%.

Next on my reading list is The Dark Unwinding, by Sharon Cameron and The Great Gatsby. I might even go classic SciFi with a Heinlein book (if you don’t know Heinlein go find out, NOW).

I just finished reading Octavia Butler’s Kindred.  It is the tale of a modern (1976) black woman, Dana, that is pulled back in time to the antebellum south by her white, future slave owner ancestor, Rufus. Throughout the tale Dana’s trips back into the past last longer and longer so she fights to find ways to cope in a world that considers her nothing more than a piece of property to be kept under control.

The book weaves and emotional story amongst the horrors of our countries past. More than that it asks a question of all of us, are we as strong as our age requires us to be or can we adapt to times more perilous than ours? Dana doubted her ability to live the life of a slave, to conform the rigors and degradation of such a life. As time went on Dana wrapped her thinking around the harsh realities of a darker age yet there was a line she wouldn’t crossing knowing the consequences if anyone ever tried to push her over it.

Rufus on the other hand starts out more accepting of Dana as his guardian angel. Over time his growing responsibilities on the plantation, his dysfunctional relationship with his parents, and the prevailing mood of his time twists his view. Rufus struggles to reconcile the guardian angel he loves and the slave woman he is to control.

Kindred gave us a portrait of slavery from a unique perspective. It challenges us to look at what we think is right morally, ethically. Is it a product of our time or with it hold true fifty years from now? A hundred?

Well anyways I’m going to climb down off my soapbox for now.  Check in later for my insights on Ken Follet’s Paper Money, and Jay Kristoff’s Stormdancer.

Why?: I wrote the cage to take some of those dark fantasy ideas in my head and put them in a cool setting. This piece is all about the power symbols. If you are a fan of the genre you get them right away, if not then you’re lost in an unfamiliar world. Either way I hope you enjoy the ride.

THE CAGE

I knew I shouldn’t have come back. Two weeks away for recovery wasn’t long enough, but some addictions you can only fight so long. The Cage was my worse by far.

The cage looked like one of the dozen clubs party row. It was supremely more exclusive than the others. There were no velvet ropes and long lines keeping wannabes out. Its unassuming façade and the keeps those not meant for its walls away.

Stepping through those double shiny aluminum doors, was like stepping back into sin. The good, the righteous, they don’t venture past those doors. Sex, violence, destruction lay in the shadows, swaying gently to the hard rock music pouring from the surround sound speakers.

I didn’t come for the sex, or to fight, I came for the food. During my short hiatus, one thing remained on my mind, orange glazed lamb chops and rice pilaf with mushrooms and jalapeños.

It wasn’t the rarity of the dish that made the dining experience so special. It was eating with the sounds of the pit in the background. The smell of fresh blood in the air. The company of those with a like mind.

 A young nekko, in a pink miniskirt and black skull-covered tank slid into my favorite booth. She spotted me coming and promptly moved. Her purple tail curled up around her leg in apprehension. I acknowledged her with a nod.

Despite my recent defeat, the respect I earned wasn’t tarnished. I won ten matches in the pit, tying the human record. I would be an Equalizer for life even if I never fought again.

“Welcome back, Nakari. Wasn’t expecting you for another week at least.”

“Umm, Jocelyn, my favorite girl. You know I can’t resist a good meal,” I said, giving her offered cheek a kiss. She smelled of fries and cookies.

Joce and I flirt every chance we get. As the one person, I knew I could tease and touch without consequence; it was a good way for both of us to relax. She’s the best waitress the place has which made her my first choice for recruiter. Without her, I wouldn’t have the excellent reputation I now enjoy.

“Please tell me Cael has lamb left.”

“No prob hun, I’ll tell him it’s for you.” She stroked my hair before leaving.

Coming to The Cage was like coming back home. Outsiders didn’t get it. They wondered why we spend so much time and money dressing up, playing foolish games, immersing ourselves in iniquity.

They failed to realize not all of the tails they see are custom made attachments. Not all of the red eyes they spot are contacts, or the fangs dental implants. And the magic tricks, most are more magic than trick.

For the rare human in the know, like Jocelyn and I, being up close to the supes is intoxicating, thrilling. Testing myself in battle against their like was the best experience of my life. The scars were badges of honor, sources of pride.

A church group picketed the doors one evening. The spokeswoman screamed about how The Cage was a place of sin, a place of darkness. She was taken aback when I agreed with her. After all, Sex Rooms  took up the entire upper floor.

Still it’s the only place the freaks and outcast can be themselves, with impunity. We accept each other, no matter what. Everyone deserves a place to call home. Why is ours considered socially unacceptable?

Joce brought the steaming plate in quick order. She included a tall shot of rum. The girl knew me too well. The smell of rosemary and orange glaze trickled into my nose, making my mouth water.

“Anythin else, just holler,”

“Of course, thanks.”

Knife and fork in hand, I sliced into the succulent meat. Before I could bring a bite to my mouth, Drade came into view. His miss-matched eyes, one violet, and one silver mesmerized me. Time was swallowed whole by his gaze. When I broke free, he was leaning against my booth.

“What,” I barked, feigning irritation to hide my worry.

“We must talk,” he replied, evenly.

The leather of my black, knee-high boot groaned, as I stretched it across his way. “No thank you.” I lowered my face to my meal, hoping he would go away.

He slapped away my foot and slid into the seat before me. I reached for the dagger, tucked in the belt on my corset, before remembering whom I was dealing with. I took a few more bites of my meal before acknowledging him, trying to retain as much control as possible.

“What?”

“We are to fight,” he said.

My stomach flipped and my blood went cold. Fighting a death-dealer would be the end of me. The rare daemon-human hybrid was notoriously hard to kill, shoot, hard to injure. Drade’s reputation was for crippling opponents, killing the ones that didn’t know how to back down. I had no desire to be on his list.

“I’m not here to fight, I’m here to eat.”

Drade leaned in. The musky scent of cologne, a hint of cigarettes, and a faint undertone of cinders that all daemons gave off, clung to his skin. The hard set of his jaw demanded my attention.

“The overseer wishes to regain face. The damage you inflicted to his Equalizer cost him greatly.”

 It was a matter of pride.

Refusing the fight would label me a coward. No one would hire me to fight their case for them ever again. Worse of all the, the only haven I knew would be stripped from me. That was worse than death at the hands of a warrior like Drade.

“Was my defeat not enough for him?” I threw the fork down, splashing sauce on the table.     

Drade snatched the knife from me, twirling it with one hand. “I thought your case to be honorable and your passion for it admirable.”

I couldn’t read his face. I was reasonably sure he was trying to placate me. Not knowing for sure had me on guard.

“Him making an issue of it is a sign of his weakness, not yours.”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m in no condition to accept your challenge today. Give me your terms and be on your way,” I ordered with a strength I didn’t know was in me.

The muscles in his square jaw twitched. His eyes glowed with constrained rage. I sat back, afraid I had pushed him too far.

 “I’m not without heart,” he confessed a twinge of regret softening his husky voice.

It was so abrupt I almost laughed, until I realized he was serious. Never having spent time with the man I didn’t know what I was expecting. This wasn’t it.

The reputation of the death-dealers was brutal, cold. Drade was at the top of his game, the favorite Equalizer for the overseer of the pit. The man before me didn’t seem like a coldblooded killer. Why he felt to need to reveal this side of himself to me was beyond comprehension.

 “If you don’t want to fight, then don’t. I’d really appreciate not having you break me in half.”

He didn’t smile.

“Honor is important to me, as it is for you. My father and the overseer owed debts to each other. Those debts have been passed to me. Would you do differently? I have not heard you refuse the fight.”

“Then why the speech? If our fate is set, why discuss it?”

The silence between us was long and thick. I gripped the rum glass, the single ice cube still the size it was when it went in. They always kept it too cold inside for my taste. That’s the problem with having fairies run the place. It could be minus ten and they’d be perfectly comfortable.

The dark liquid burned my throat, much like the words defeat and destruction. They were barreling at me like a runaway train. I stood to face them like Don Quixote and his windmills. While he was immortalized because his life had a touch of bravery mixed with tragedy, I would be erased.

Erased because the overseer was too arrogant to let a perceived slight go and too powerful to be ignored. Because Drade and I lived and died on the reputations we built. Erased because I dared to be a fighter, in a world of magic, instead of to merely exist, in a world of humanity. 

“I am unsure how to explain,” Drade said. “I am rarely unsure, which makes me all the more confident you are the woman I thought you to be. My desire was to let you know, I respect you. No matter what happens between us, Selena’s case is mine as well.”

Anger swelled in me. I didn’t need his pity, his condemnation.

“No, I lost that fight. I lost her right to dispute the matter.”

I was reminded of the Equalizer’s credo. We are champions for hire. To give our lives in defense of a cause we think just is the highest honor our profession has. There are no courts in the realm of magic, just two fighters praying to whatever gods they believe in the truth is on their side. The master of the pit – the fighting stage at the rear of the restaurant, makes sure each match is settled according to the terms.

When Selena chose to marry a human, against her clan’s wishes, I volunteered to be her champion. Draco blood was passed from mother to child. They had no basis for denying her request.

The thick claw marks on my back and the scorch mark marring half my right leg was nothing compared to what Selena lost. The law of the pit ruled. She had to say goodbye to her true love. Drade couldn’t overturn that, no matter how strong a fighter he was.

“In the arena, yes the matter is settled, but there are other ways to change a Draconian’s mind.”

“You would do that?” My desire to see Selena happy overrode any worry I had for my own well-being.

There was a tortured look in his eyes that excited me. Couple that, with the way he continued to twirl the blade and I couldn’t help but imagine us in a more intimate situation.  I would have given my left breast if dangerous, tortured men, didn’t attract me so, but it did have its rewards.

“Can and will. I need, for once, to risk everything for a truly worthy cause. I need to do something for someone other than myself,” Drade said with confidence.

I wanted to be pissed at him. He was doing it to clear his conscience. There would be no need to assuage his guilt if he took it easy on me. That kind of thinking wasn’t worthy of me, so I swallowed it, with a healthy dose of rum. 

If he could save Selena, who was I to complain?

“I’m grateful for your compassion,” I said. I reached out for my knife. He laid it in my palm. Our rough hands brushed against each other.

“To terms,” he said ruining the tender moment.

“To terms.” I nodded before returning to my, now cold, meal.

“Two weeks to the hour.”

We both glanced at our watches, 6:15.

“Blades only,” I said, over a mouthful of rice.

“As you wish. One on one. Armored.”

“To the death,” I asked in barely a whisper.

“Not necessary,”

I wasn’t sure if being crippled was preferable to being killed, but I rather have the option for now. “Agreed.”

I offered up my hand. He shook. The deal was set.

I shouldn’t have come back. I should have said goodbye to this way of life the last time it nearly killed me. Some addictions you can’t defeat. The Cage is my drug of choice even knowing it will be the death of me.

End

Tears welled up in Ianeke’s eyes as she watched her partner, Manoro, scoop up his son. The look of ecstasy on his face was priceless. The consuming jealousy she felt for them rocked her to the marrow.

  When she married Eckhart, they both agreed to wait until their lives were settled before attempting to build a family. Three years passed before she felt like they were missing out on a part of life. Eckhart was more than happy to give her a child; he only put it off because he had no desire to pressure her. For three months, they enjoyed trying, to no avail, but there was no pressure. They had a lifetime to build a family.

Now she stood under the scorching summer sun childless and husbandless. Ianeke racked her brain in search of what terrible crime she could have committed to anger God so, that he would snatch away her Eckhart. Maybe some choice she had yet to make condemned her love to this cruel fate.

She lost not only her reason for living, well before his time. The leader of their unit was gone. Leaving monumental shoes for her to fill.

Ianeke took a deep steadying breath, straightening her uniform jacket. She would not disgrace his funeral by entering with tear-stained cheeks. Her composure regained, Ianeke nodded to Manoro before moving forward off the gravel parking lot onto the manicured green lawn of the graveyard. 

Sinai, Manoro’s woman, laid her hand on Ianeke’s shoulder. The grass, still wet from the morning’s rain, crunched under their measured footsteps. The smell of disturbed earth clung to the air at Eckhart’s grave; his coffin perched on the trellis ready to return to the earth.

As per the ways of their order, he lay in a simple pine box, his body unpreserved by the chemicals of the modern world. He would fertilize the earth as God intended. That brought Ianeke little comfort.

The crowd had already gathered graveside. The line of soldiers, in robin’s egg blue, stood tall against the glare of the sun. Ianeke caught sight of Eckhart’s parents, seated in the front row. His mother’s face was veiled but the sorrow in her eyes could not be contained. His father held his emotions at bay but his back was stooped, not by the years, but by the pain that tore his heart in two. 

Taking a knee before the parents of her deceased beloved, Ianeke took a minute to let the grief take hold. She placed her head in her mother-in-law, Bonae’s lap, taking in the rosy scent of her. Bonae stroked her hair gently and whispered in her ear.

 “Be strong my child.”

 Zaci, her father-in-law, lifted her face. His light grey eyes pierced the depths of her, his slender hand held strength she would not have guessed. He seemed to pour courage into her, not a word needed between them, for understanding. 

Her respects paid, Ianeke joined her brothers and sisters in blue at the opposite side of the casket, Manoro at her side once more. The white cloaked priests stood at the head, their faces stoic, having had to do this too many times in recent months.

“Let’s bow our heads in remembrance of our fallen brother,” the orator intoned. “He was a brave solider, fighting hard for our freedom, not quickly forgotten. He has passed on into the hands of God, no longer having to worry about the pains of this life. It is we who have to suffer on without him, waiting for that day when we will be reunited. Take hope in the knowledge that you will embrace your brother, husband, son, once again. Pray now and say your goodbyes, until the kingdom comes.”

Silence spread like wildfire as they prayed for Eckhart and the strength to carry on without him. Ianeke added a wish for justice to her whispered pleas. There was no more point to her than to make sure his death was not in vain, that vengeance was served. After that deed was done, she would be more than happy to join him in the rest of the grave.

“Honor Guard,” Manoro called out. “Present arms.” 

Ianeke stiffened, aware of the finality of the next act. Her heart wanted her to fling herself on that coffin and ride with her beloved into the darkness. Her head told her that would be a waste of whatever life she had left and a dishonor to his memory. Her emotions so raw there was no sense to them, so she stayed rooted to the spot.

“Fire.” The seven guns rang of as one, eerily in time with her heartbeat. The ground rumbled and the heavens burned with the sound of them. Once, twice, and a third. Why didn’t one of them find her chest and end her struggle? That would be too fine a death for so pitiful a thing as she.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. From the earth we came and to the earth we return,” the priest said as if that was enough explanation as to why Eckhart was gone.

The music started to play and the wench whirled to life, its mechanical squeal at odds with the organic melody of harp and flute. Ianeke kept her eyes on the horizon knowing, if she watched her heart lowered into the ground, she would never climb back out again. Instead, she focused on what came next. As a guardian, she had a job to do.

Her husband had caught a bullet protecting the princess. With him gone, that left her and Manoro in charge of the detail. During this tumultuous time in the country’s history, that job was more important than ever. The fourth world war was five years running and the death toll was greater than the first two combined, with no end in sight. 

Eckhart wasn’t the first their unit has lost and he won’t be the last but Ianeke was determined to fight that much harder in his memory.

“Rest now my love,” she whispered against the wind. “Till next we meet.”

Welcome to WordPress.com! This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.

Happy blogging!