2200 Blues Chapter 32 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

Father Hawk gathered himself again and eventually walked off the stinging pain. His right leg had been sprained near the claw in his fall. He didn’t know how he was going to do what he had to do. 

He had flown high up above and had seen that the ravines and rivers of water had led to the mountains and canyons close to Coyote’s Rock. If he moved through the waters, he could get to the higher elevation where he could find the beady-eyed eagle. 

He knew where the water was. It was wherever that gurgling was coming from. He couldn’t fly to try and see where exactly it was because he was too weak. His left wing was stiff from the fall and he didn’t dare touch or move it for fear of what might happen if he did. His right leg was too hurt to try and kick off for flight. 

So, he walked around, limping, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on his right leg. He walked around in the grass, thinking of what to do. The grass was shorter than what it was near the gurgling.

He tried extending his left leg, standing on the tips of his claws, to peer over the grass, but it was to no avail. He could only see the really tall grasses where he had been just minutes ago. 

He had to walk there. 

But what if there was some other large animal, perhaps another bison to pummel into him? What if the same obstacle returned?

He had to protect himself. 

But what if he could use the bison to his advantage if it returned? 

What if he decided to use a bison to get into the water? First, he would have to figure out where the water was coming from. Then, he would have to wait for a bison to be heading into the direction of the water. If he hung on and flung himself off when he got to the water, or at least near enough, he could land in the water and then he could head forward, towards the mountains and canyons. 

He first needed to protect himself and make it so that he could safely travel without further harming his injured body parts. He was already weaker than before so he needed something to work as a brace for his movement. 

Father Hawk ripped off several strips of grass in front of him. He had seen Mother Hawk use braces around her legs to make it easier to walk when she was still carrying an egg that was yet to be laid. The egg had been too heavy for her legs, so she used stone braces out of asteroid rock built by a badger blacksmith to help her walk. 

Father Hawk clumped together a group of ripped grasses and wrapped them around his left leg and tied them. 

He walked a few steps, still limping off of his left leg, but not as much. He decided to continue walking, trusting that his grass cast would protect his leg for the time being. 

Looking at his wing, he cringed. Thinking about how he was going to deal with a stiff wing made him reluctant about his journey. 

He tried to move it slightly to the back, but a piercing pain shot through the wing. Father Hawk winced and brought his wing back to its original position, bent at the center, the end sticking back and extended outwards. 

What was he going to do about this?

He would have to fold it somehow. 

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like there was only one somehow. 

He would have to move it as much as he could until it was folded and out of harm’s way. 

He cringed in anticipation and shuddering all over, slowly lowered his wing. 

Pain seared all over the wing and his feathers trembled from him shaking. But he kept at it and then pressed his wing close to his body. He decided to take the wing and bend it closer to him. 

Then, he clamped down on that wing with his right wing and held it there. Slowly the pain subsided and then that wing became stiff in its new position. He would have to keep it there for a long time. 

He walked to the right, looking for a patch of ground with twigs and sticks. He brushed through the grasses until he got to it and grabbed the thickest and longest stick he could find. It was a rough light brown thing with splotches of lighter brown peppered in the exterior. 

The whole surface was wider and taller than him. He could firmly hold it by the side while it loomed over him. It was also light enough that he could also pick it up and hold it horizontal to him. 

It would have to do as a raft for now. 

He clenched his beak tightly and walked through the grasses, following the incline of hightening grasses, bracing against his pain so that he could get to the bisons. 

The winds rustled the blades of grass and for a long time that was all that he could hear. He would have to keep following the heightening grass in order to get to the bison awaiting him. 

He walked forward and the grasses in front of him started to loom higher and higher until he had walked to a point where they were taller than him. 

He kept walking, wincing whenever his right leg or his left wing coursed with pain. He told himself that he would just have to walk a bit further, grab onto a bison and once he was flung into the river by the animal’s horns, he could splash onto the river with his log and laying down on it, he could rest as the current of the water did the moving instead of his legs. 

When the grass was so thick and so tall that it all nearly blocked out the sky, Father Hawk’s left wing stabbed with so much pain that he had to stop. He squeezed his eyes in anguish and gasped. He didn’t dare move anything, especially the left wing which hurt so much. 

“It’s only a break,” he coaxed himself when thoughts of guilt at his pause entered his mind. “Then I’ll keep going for long, like before.”

Without warning and before Father Hawk had enough time to react and plan his path, a roar of oncoming rustling grass sounded ahead of him. A bison was hurtling towards him. 

When Father Hawk opened his weary and fearful eyes, the bison grunted loudly and a thick clump of grass before him pressed down. Out of the fallen clump, a blurry and furry mass of speed and power slammed into Father Hawk. In the chaos of movement and propelling force, Father Hawk was a flattened object in the wake of the beast, stuck to the beast’s head himself. 

Feeling himself slip away and fearing his proximity to the stampede of powerful bison limbs that awaited him if he fell, Father Hawk lunged. Amidst the disorientation, Father Hawk lunged up with his wings and clasped onto the bison’s blurry white horns. 

From there, Father Hawk felt himself shaking and swinging to and fro from the horns he hung on to desperately. The bison snorted, sending hot air that pushed off Father Hawk’s legs only to have them slam painfully onto the bison’s head. The animal was shaking its head, trying to rid itself of Father Hawk. So he swung to and fro seeing only blurs of brown fur, white horns, green grass and blurred slivers of blue sky.

Pain and adrenaline consumed him, making him feel like his bones were on fire while his heart pounded and his limbs were jittery with the need for movement. 

The twine Father Hawk had used to strap the log to his back still hung on, but he could feel it sliding. And if his sensations were correct, slipping bit by bit. Meanwhile, the log pounded itself on Father Hawk’s back, causing him even more pain. 

“It’s either now or never,” Father Hawk realized even while he was swung side to side. He had to let go so that he could fall into the river and float away from the grass. If he was too late and the bison hurled him away, then Father Hawk would be even more hurt. With more pain, Father Hawk might not be able to make another trip to the bison territory. 

He focused as much as he could on finding the blue water of the river as he swung, and his view moved back and forth from the left and right of the bison. He saw the bright baby blue of the sky for sure. But the blue of the river was hard to spot. However, he could hear what he was looking for. As he jerked to the left and up over the bison, he heard a sudden rush of water gurgling and streaming, only to have that sound disappear as soon as he was flung the other way to the right over the bison’s head. As soon as he was flung back to the left, he could hear the water’s sounds again. 

He had to drop his hands. He had to fly into the water. He had to let go. 

But when? It was so hard to plan something like this when he was constantly being jerked around like a ragdoll on the bison’s white horns. How could he plan? How could he see where he had to go when he could barely make out anything that he could see? 

He would have to do it. He had to trust himself. Or else he would never make it out alive again. 

He jerked to the left. He did nothing. To the right. He did nothing. To the left. He did nothing. To the right. He did nothing. 

It was now or never. 

He jerked to the left. He did nothing. He jerked to the right. He did nothing. 

He was going to let go.

He jerked to the left. He did nothing. He jerked to the right. He did nothing. 

Just about………………

He jerked to the left. He did nothing. He jerked to the right. He did nothing. 

Now……………….

He jerked to the left. As soon as his body was flung up and far away from the bison, Father Hawk let go of its horns. The bison gave a grunt which died away from his ears as Father Hawk shot through the air, propelled by the thrust of the bison. 

Father Hawk saw nothing but a blur that got even blurrier than what he was seeing before. Swaths of blue mixed in with swaths of green. Air pushed against his skin. As he whirled in the air, his head throbbed with the terrible ache of flight. Father Hawk could no longer see the bison. 

His beak was open and as soon as his shock lessened, he could hear his own hoarse screaming. 

The wind became louder than his screaming at intervals.  

A blue strip of flowing water appeared to him, disappearing under the surrounding panorama of green grass and blue sky as he spun around. As soon as it appeared, it always disappeared, replaced by green, light blue and slivers of brown dirt. 

In seconds, Father Hawk felt a crushing pain on his stomach. There was no more panorama. Only the dark brown of dirt. It was under him and in his eyes. He blinked furiously, trying to remove the stinging dirt from his eyeballs. He couldn’t use his wings which were hurting at every feather, nerve and bone. In fact, every single bone in his body throbbed and felt like they were shattered. 

Father Hawk could hear rushing water. It was louder than ever. But this time, it came from the right. 

It filled his entire right ear, blasting it with the loveliest sound Father Hawk had ever heard. He had never felt this ecstatic or relieved about a sound ever. He had never felt this happy while simultaneously hurting so much. Then, again, Father Hawk had never really had to work for much in his life. Hardship was something he could usually fly away from. 

Father Hawk still felt the weight of the large log on his back. What a relief. If he had landed on his back, it would have shattered. 

Mustering a final exertion and energy, Father Hawk grunted and shifted his weight to the right, to the water. He felt the dirt incline down to the right. He pushed gently with his throbbing claws and he slid down on the moist dirt. He no longer had to move his own muscles. The closer he got to the water, the wetter and slippier the dirt got. It worked like a lubricant that pushed Father Hawk down. 

When he could see the blue water lapping out of the corner of his eyes, he shifted enough so that he flipped over and the log on his back touched the dirt that met the water. He was still for a moment. The afternoon sun shined on his eyes, forcing them closed and the water lapped at his ears. 

Water seeped under Father Hawk’s back and took him away in its current. 

As he floated away down the river on his log, Father Hawk saw black and slipped into a fatal unconsciousness.

2200 Blues Chapter 31 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

2200 A.D. Atlantic Tribe, Desolate Plains of the Atlantic

As the windstorm died down, the old man cleared his throat and slurped on something. There was scattered shuffling of limbs and mutters outside of the egg shell in the crowd. 

Nickel had resorted to slumping at the bottom of the egg, keeping his head and back laid along the bottom while his feet were placed above him. It was the most comfortable position that didn’t hurt his neck or back. He had hated keeping his neck stooped so he had basically slid his torso down and moved his legs up. 

His egg had stayed relatively still during the windstorm, but the walls had still been battered and shaken. Even though the egg had prevented him from the iciness of the winds, he had curled into a ball, frightened by the noise of the windstorm and the shaking egg. 

Now, he lay unwound. 

Father Hawk sure did sound like an idiot. Nickel wasn’t entirely sure why the tribe worshipped him. He hadn’t proven himself to be particularly brave, at least yet. And he was very impulsive. 

His body was feeling numb from being still for so long, but being inside of the egg honestly beat being outside in the chilly orange air. 

“Father Hawk lay hurting on the ground” started the old man.

“Here we go,” thought Nickel. 

“He had seen much that could guide him further, encourage him— but also frighten him………………………………………………….

***

Beginning of Time, The Holy Grasslands. 

Father Hawk lay panting. He opened his eyes. There was no more majestic view. Only the baby blue sky above him. His body ached and stung all over from the fall. He really had to be more careful when he was flying. 

The Coyote. Father Hawk saw the Coyote. He was fearsome and frightening. 

Even from a distance, he could see how muscular and defined his body was. The muscles rippled under his fur. He had sauntered over his rock ledge, confidently peering over the distance. He was truly a beast and up close, he must be even bigger. His eyes had glinted like bright pinpricks of glaring light, boring from his head. It was almost as if they were stars themselves. 

The sight of the Coyote was bored into his mind and Father Hawk felt like its haunting was what seeped the pain all over his body. 

He slowly sat up, wincing every few seconds. 

He was filled with a freezing dread. 

No. No. No. That was what he had to confront. He couldn’t freeze. If he did, he would freeze forever and he would never be able to confront what he needed to confront. 

It didn’t matter how long it took him or how desperate he became, he had to push through. He couldn’t just fly away anymore so he had to see to the end of something. 

So he traveled again, for one more day, doing what he did the previous day. He knew that no matter how endless the grasses were, he would be getting closer to the mountains and ravines that hosted the animals he wanted to talk to. 

He knew that because the grasses were getting uneven, he would find the end of the same old grasslands eventually. 

When he got to a patch of exceptionally long grasses where the green needles clumped together and stretching upwards, curving above him. They were very thick and hard to get through. Father Hawk found himself getting his limbs stuck in the clumps. When he moved his arms and right leg forward, his left leg got caught in a thicket behind him. 

The green needles were flexible enough to push against but they were so thick that it took some time. The grasses were like spiderwebs entrapping Father Hawk in their intricate grouping. They were stuck in front of him, obscuring what lay ahead. 

But lucky for Father Hawk he could hear what lay ahead. 

A faint gurgling issued in the distance. 

Father Hawk immediately ceased moving and allowed his body to be stuck in the thicket of grasses. 

It was faint, but loud enough to pierce the afternoon and the mystique of the grasslands. 

Suddenly a shuffling sounded, becoming louder and louder. It was a roar of movement. It came from the left and sounded like a cacophony of rustling grass. 

Eventually, Father Hawk could see it. The grass to the left started to droop to the sides like the skin of a banana being peeled open. The rustling was a roar. 

A bison tore through the grass, bursting out of the green with a sheer force that Father Hawk was not capable of. 

The furry brown beast rammed into Father Hawk causing him to yelp and seethe with a stinging pain. The horns of the bison dug into Father Hawk. In the speed of the animal, Father Hawk was pressed into the animal, stuck and failing to fall off due to both its speed and force. The pain of the horns digging into his small feathered body was too much to bear. 

In the chaos of the moment, Father Hawk grabbed at the bison’s head helplessly and hoisted himself so that his arms were brought up over the bison’s horns. So he hung by his arms over the bison horns, dangling, vulnerable and afraid. 

As the bison’s sprinted, it began to huff and puff until it snorted and fumed out of its large nostrils. The hot air beat against Father Hawk’s body, pushing his lower body off a bit. But of course, his body just slammed back into the bison. 

The bison grunted loudly and then jerked his head back and forth, shaking wildly. 

Father Hawk was thrown off and sent flying through the air. The world was a dizzying mix of green and bright blue. The grass and the bright sky mixed together and spun violently. 

The disorienting panorama ended when Father Hawk slammed into the ground. His body stung all over and his vision was splotched with hazy black spots. 

2200 Blues Chapter 30 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

When he awoke, the sun was well on its way up the sky. The ball of yellow warmth loomed over him in a sky of light blue. The stolid white sheet of a sky seemed to have disappeared overnight. Only a few puffs of white clouds peppered the sky. 

A gentle breeze washed through the rustling green leaves and over Father hawk. It was cool– comforting to his feathers.

Meanwhile, the heat of sunshine beat down. It was a gentle, comforting mix of weathers that complemented each other.

Father Hawk groaned and rolled over on his stomach. He was too comfortable. And too tired. He didn’t want to leave his bed of vegetation. 

Maybe if the weather was poor, he would feel more inclined to get up and move to find a better place to be. 

He felt washed up. All the drive and rigor of yesterday’s trek seemed sapped out of him. 

Why was he here again?

That question was enough to make him dejected. He sighed and closed his eyes.

He felt so washed up. 

“No, no, no, no,” he thought. “What did Huntsman say?” If he was too late, the flower would die and he wouldn’t be able to save his wife and child. 

It would be over.

Father Hawk struggled to his claws, standing up and snarling at Coyote’s Rock which still loomed ahead of him through the grass. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaarrhhhhhhh!” he screamed. “Damn you, damn you!” He looked up at the sky and spun around, searching for stars. But there were none in the daylight.

“Huntsman!”

The wind gently whistled and the rustling of the grass was melodious. 

“Huntsman, where are you?”

Birds in the far off distance chirped.

He sighed and squeezed his eyes, shut tightly in frustration. He felt so alone. 

“Venture forth towards the coyote’s rock, travel lightly, but gather your resources and look out for the beady-eyed eagle for she will guide you further.” 

The Huntsman’s final words rang in his head. Beady-eyed eagle. He needed to get to a higher ground. And he’d seen higher ground close to the Coyote’s Rock when he had flown for little periods before. 

Father Hawk ran to the edge of the clearing of low grasses, kicked up his legs and thrust his wings to the side. 

He flapped furiously, moving higher and higher. The grasses became smaller beneath him and the world unfolded before him. 

The grasslands stretched out before him, but far ahead were rolling hills, becoming larger and larger the farther they went. Father Hawk squinted and flapped as hard as he could to take as much advantage of his vantage point. 

A thin river that he hadn’t noticed before wound its way into a gap between hills. Curling mists rose from the faint water, shrouding the rest of the hills farther down. 

Rock outcroppings popped up down there, the closer the hills got to the Coyote’s dwelling. From there, large boulders appeared alongside eventual canyons and cliffs, grey and dark at first. However, the closer to the Coyote, the more rust-colored splotches appeared, which eventually enveloped the entire rock formations, joining the color of Coyote’s Rock.

An endless range of hills and rocky mountains stretched across the horizon, bordering Coyote’s Rock and its neighboring rock monoliths, standing tall above everything else. They stretched into the sky and were all shrouded by darkened fog. 

Not only was it majestic, but it also gave Father Hawk hope. Here, he could find the beady-eyed eagle and the rest of the helpful animals promised by the Huntsman. Here, he could also find more of the promised resources. 

Father Hawk’s beak opened and stretched, breaking into a wide grin. He couldn’t help himself. He could make it. All he had to do was keep showing himself the end goal– remind himself of what he was reaching for. 

Out of the dark shrouds of Coyote’s Rock appeared the Coyote himself, revealed in a sliver of open air where he sauntered on all fours atop a rock ledge. His eyes looked like they were glinting and when it seemed like they met Father Hawk’s, his grin broke. He stopped flapping his wings and having stayed still in the air too long, he plummeted to the earth. 

Shrieking all the way too.

2200 Blues Chapter 29 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

Through the lush green, Father Hawk jogged, cutting through and separating clumps of grass. He accidentally ran into herds of large, furry and  brown bison who grunted at his approach or butted their huge horn-studded heads at him. When they did this, he had to frantically scuttle around the herds or flap his wings and hover away as quickly as he could.

Without his godhood, the stamina in his flight had been taken away. He occasionally soared far above the heads of packed animals alongside other winged creatures as they and the grass zoomed by in blurs. However, he wasn’t used to flying with such effort– such exertion on his wings. So, he found he couldn’t fly for long periods of time. He needed to rest from each flight and practice again.

So, most of his time was spent on foot, moving through the grass. Here, he was likely to be confronted by– if not bison, other animals who were usually bigger than him such as squirrels or long muscular deer who leaped over him while Father Hawk tried to avoid getting trampled by their legs.

It was a hardship he wasn’t used to. He toiled from hour to hour, scuttling through the long and endless grass under the endless white sky. 

When he rested in between periods of flight, he walked through the grass. Finally, he had to rest from walking itself. 

He stumbled into a patch of shorter grasses bordered by taller grasses when the sun had almost passed completely overhead. The sky was dimmer– not quite the brightsheet of white it once was. Now, it was a duller grey appearing like an overhead rock.

All around him in the distance, critters chirped and out of the endless thickets of grass appeared tiny mosquitoes and other dark insects. They fluttered with wings in the air and crawled and scuttled with little skinny legs on the dirt and on blades of grass.

They buzzed around Father hawk and sometimes nipped at his feathers and beak. When that happened, he always flinched, tried to swat them away or both.

The air was filled with the scent of dirt and below Father Hawk’s feet, the undergrowth of clustered dried grass. The former was dank and heavily odorous while the former was lightly musty.

Father Hawk had gotten so used to the feeling of sleek grass needles brushing his feathers, ruffling them. He was almost as accustomed to the grass as he had been the chilly vacuum of space pressing on his feathers, flattening them as he flapped his wings, flying through the cosmos.

There was a slight chill in the air and sporadic winds to waft it that were stronger than they were when it was brighter earlier in the day.

In this place. Inside of the huntsman’s soul.

Father Hawk huffed and then buckled down onto his knees. Up above, still visible through the border of tall looming grass, was the lump of Coyote’s Rock. It was still massive. But seemingly more so than before when Father Hawk was farther from it. But it wasn’t close enough. The dark mass that it was, was only so close that its outline had expanded a little bit.

The rock itself could now only barely be seen through the grey slivers in between the shrouding tendrils of black fog. The fog seemed to have grown thicker and blacker as the sun had passed overhead.

The Coyote himself couldn’t be seen at all.

Father Hawk closed his eyes and allowed his body to crumple to the ground. He fell on his side and rolled onto his back. He let his head loll back and sighed deeply.

He was so tired. Lying down, all of the fatigue of the day’s activity seeped in. Settling over him like a blanket that weighed him down. He couldn’t move anything. Except for his eyelids which he opened a crack, but while he felt their new weight threatening to close in.

Over him, away from the bordering grass of the edges, towards the center of his vision, a field of millions of glowing white stars beckoned him. It was breathtaking. And even more endless than these grasslands. 

Father Hawk inhaled slowly. It was fresh air and delicious to his taxed lungs. He exhaled and as he did, his eyelids grew heavier and moved slightly closer.

“Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…………….” he said quietly. 

He scanned the sea of stars and its few tendrils of colorful gaseous nebula, searching for,

“Huntsman.” His voice was a whisper. If he was going to get the Huntsman’s attention, he would have to be louder because he would be a constellation of the sky. He was just too tired. “Where are you?” he whispered. “Oh, Huntsman, where are you? Talk to me. I know you’re there somewhere. Why would you leave now? Did I do well today? I did a lot. I think I did well. Oh, Huntsman…………….”

With that, his eyes closed and sleep overtook him, leaving the sea of stars as his last sight of the day.

Memorable 2020 Summer Reads

By G.R. Nanda

Read! Read as much as you can. Especially now, during the coronavirus pandemic. Reaching out into the human imaginations of past and present time periods where the age old mythological arcs like the Hero’s Journey have been explored in different contexts is a great way to pass the time.

Many fantasy novels are about an epoch of unparalleled hardship and characters who exist through those hardships and emerge triumphant. Well, we have all been going through unparalleled hardship in 2020, the likes of which is so different from the past. So why not look for some lessons on living from fantasy? Or from different places. You could read history and truly appreciate how much easier your life compared to those who lived through the Black Plague.

Here are some memorable reads from my summer. I read a lot of science fiction and fantasy, but I always like to branch out and experience different books to enrich my knowledge. As a writer, I will pull from that knowledge so it helps to have as diverse a set of knowledge as possible.

I would to establish that the length of the commentary for any given book below does not indicate my liking for it. Just because I wrote more about the book, it does not mean that I liked it more.

Skyward by Brandon Sanderson

Amazon.com: Skyward (9780399555770): Sanderson, Brandon: Books
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Sanderson has proven himself to be a connoisseur of speculative fiction. This Young Adult science fiction novel was actually the first Brandon Sanderson novel I had read. Since then, I’ve read Elantris and the first Mistborn book of the Mistborn trilogy. While he does appear to truly excel with epic fantasy, here is a novel that is fantastic as a Young Adult novel and as science fiction.

Sanderson’s fantasy Cosmere works are about fully realized and compelling characters. Skyward is no exception. Spensa is an assertive teenage girl with a chip on her shoulder and a bravado that’s actually a mask for her own insecurities. She grows up despised by her peers for the idea that her father defected from his comrades in a battle between human starships and the Krell, a race of aliens that humans on the planet of Detritus have been at war with for a long time.

The premise of the world and conflict is one that we’ve seen before: backdrop of long lasting war between humans and an eerie confusing alien species and human militaries and governments have covered up events and truths about such war. We’ve seen this in notable science fiction works such as the novel Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card and the anime TV series Neon Genesis: Evangelion.

While Skyward is no Ender’s Game, it is a great coming of age story with a great arc for Spensa. Her arc ties into the plot, revealing new layers to the worldbuilding alongside and tied into setbacks and complications for a teenager coming into herself and trying to understand a world that presents many problems for her.

Who can’t relate to that?

There’s also a very interesting seed planted at the beginning of the book a family tradition of being able to listen to the stars.

We know that the Skyward books are for Sanderson to take breaks from his larger books like The Stormlight Archive, but he doesn’t slack off in these breaks. While we’ve seen this human race vs. alien species with governmental mystery setup, unique worldbuilding, three dimensional characters and compelling character arcs make for a strong Brandon Sanderson book.

Also, man those dogfight scenes from the perspective of Spensa piloting a starship in the sky are so fun to read! Seriously, I would say the book is worth it for sci-fi fans just because of how cool those scenes are. It’s impressive that Sanderson was able to pull them off so well in prose.

The physics and military culture is also very well researched and realized.

Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari

Amazon.com: Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind (9780062316097): Harari, Yuval Noah: Books
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This book is extremely informal to anyone looking for a dive into the source of human developments and science. It’s a careful distillation of science, history, politics, philosophy, economics and psychology that explores some large anthropological questions about the root cause of cultural patterns and societal trends like arms races and the rise of empires throughout history.

Even if you disagree with any of Yuval Noah Harari’s claims, his intellect, research and deliberation make for a compelling read that is ought to be appreciated and considered.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

To Kill a Mockingbird (Enhanced Edition) (Harperperennial Modern Classics) - Kindle edition by Lee, Harper. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.
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This book is a classic that’s a careful snapshot of a time bygone with issues that still linger today, unfortunately.

It’s also a great work of drama and literature. Crispus Atticus is one of my favorite characters in all of literature including all of the novels that I have ever read.

His court monologue is also one of my favorite monologues ever.

This is a great showcase of how childhoods and perspectives are affected by things like privilege, peer pressure, alienation and societal problems.

Just because of its subject matter, I recommend this book to people of all tastes

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens: 9780451530578 | PenguinRandomHouse.com: Books
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Dickens is Dickens. His prose is Dickens prose and reflects the embellishments of a literary Victorian England gone by.

Granted, reading this on my own resulted in more going over my head than if I had read this for an English class. Nonetheless, anyone interested in the classics and anyone who wants to learn about the political climates of past historical periods should check out this book.

Christopher Nolan has said that The Dark Knight Rises is heavily inspired by this book, which makes me want to re-read it. TDKR is a movie that like A Take of Two Cities carefully depicts the political anxieties of its culture at the time of its publication. That can be said of the entire Dark Knight trilogy which is a great post-9/11 commentary of Western civilization.

The Foundation Trilogy by Isaac Asimov

The Foundation Trilogy (Foundation (Publication Order) @ 1-3) - Kindle edition by Asimov, Isaac . Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.
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I wrote about this series extensively in my two blog posts about it and I still stand behind what I said in them. This is very interesting work of cerebral science fiction and also a snapshot of the writing styles of older early 20th century science fiction. There is very little substance for characters and the three books are very plot and concept oriented. There is little to no action as all of the wars and battles occur outside of the page.

Nonetheless, if you can get past the distinct and sometimes difficult writing style, you can be immersed in a saga of political speculation that is based off of the fall of the Roman Empire. There are lots of thought provoking questions posed about the changes in political movements over the course of the generations that inherit them.

This series also champions science and reasoning. A galactic empire is on the decline and a group of scientists and thinkers retreat to the edge of the galaxy to form the Foundation, a research group centered on finding a solution to the Empire’s decline and distilling the culture of the empire into the Encyclopedia Galactica for generations who live after the fall of the Empire.

This is all prompted by the psychohistorian Hari Seldon who predicts the fall of the empire. Psychohistory is a fictional science centered on the study of political systems and cultures which use mathematics to accurately predict the future of political systems.

Cool stuff. My lengthier blog posts about this series are posted at the end of this article.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter Series #5) by J. K. Rowling, Mary GrandPré, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®
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I read the Harry Potter series when I was in middle school. Picking this book up over the summer at the age of 16, I was curious to see if the teenage woes of this story were accurate to what I’m through right now. I wondered if the read would be any different since I actually have gone through the adolescent phases of Harry Potter.

I picked up the fifth book particularly because I’d just gone through the year that Harry had gone through. His fifth year was my sophomore year.

I can attest that the adolescent gripes and experiences in this book are definitely true to real life. Confused about how to girls? Check. Getting caught up in what your peers think about if even if you don’t want to? Check. Getting stressed over mounting schoolwork and increasing responsibilities? Check. General moodiness? Check.

The Harry Potter series will stand the test of time as being an extremely unique coming of age story that blends the British school story with fantasy and mystery.

The kind of portal fantasy that Harry Potter is, is a response to the gradual starvation of spirituality that Western civilization has gone through due to an overemphasis of scientific thought and objectivity. Those are the anxieties that are exaggerated in the Dursley household where imagination of any sort and anything outside of “normal” is basically banned.

No wonder those books connected with so many people! While most of us don’t live with Dursley types, so many of us are from suburban communities like the Dursley’s and have lived amidst a culture of scarce spirituality.

The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan (being the first book in The Wheel of Time series)

The Eye of the World (The Wheel of Time, Book 1): Jordan, Robert: 8601419297696: Amazon.com: Books
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This is a behemoth of an epic fantasy novel. I rank it as one of my favorite books ever and Robert Jordan as easily one of my favorite writers ever. Jordan deserves to be ranked among the likes of J.R.R. Tolkien as one of the greatest of Western fantasy authors and speculative fiction authors.

His is a refreshing take on fantasy because it moves away from the mold of traditional European fantasy. Like Tolkien, Jordan served in a war, the Vietnam War. His exposure to and research in Asian culture is on display as the name itself, The Wheel of Time refers to the cyclical nature of the world’s magic and pattern of history which occurs in repeating ages. This is alludes to the cyclical nature of time in Buddhism and Hinduism.

The influence on Sanderson is also on display. The characters are extremely well realized, diverse and Jordan describes the psychological effects of the story on the character as Sanderson is well known for doing. Female characters share just as much of the spotlight as the male characters and are just as powerful and have just as much agency if not more.

The effects of an “adventure” take its toll on characters whose psychological consequences are carefully explored. The character’s agony, exhaustion and trauma are detailed. Jordan is obviously drawing upon the toll that war had taken on him.

Fans of Dune will find influences here and shared characteristics between this epic fantasy and the science fiction epic of Dune.

This is a great blend of world cultures, taking from European culture as well as different Asian cultures and the world mixing supposedly continues throughout the series. In that light, The Wheel of Time is truly American fantasy because of how much of a melting pot its cultural influences are.

The story starts off in a traditional hero’s journey format and displays a lot of unique culture, but around the one-third mark it really takes off pacing wise and becomes tonally darker. From there on out, the world unfolds rapidly becoming bigger and bigger with each page.

This is a wonderful and super effective coming of age story and a must read for anyone coming into fantasy.

Carrie by Stephen King

Carrie: King, Stephen: 9780307743664: Amazon.com: Books
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Carrie is a Stephen King classic. His trademark suspense, thrill and scare factor are all on display in this book which can also qualify as science fiction.

You can find the hidden anxieties of a late 20th century suburban American mosty white town that was also on display in It.

It is hard not to empathize with Carrie so when she does do questionable things, it makes them even more horrifying since you can understand her motives very well.

This is a short read and an exciting one at that. I highly recommend this to fans of speculative fiction. Stephen King does not go as in depth as a book like It, but it shares a lot of characteristics including an elaborate depiction and condemnation of bullying.

I’m going to have to write an whole blog post on Stephen King and Stranger Things and how they resonate so well with an America of anxious suburbanites like myself.

The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury

Amazon.com: The Martian Chronicles (9781451678192): Bradbury, Ray: Books
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The Martian Chronicles is a wonderful work of science fiction and speculative fiction. It is a great speculation on the human colonization of a foreign planet and the potential interactions of human beings and aliens.

Here, aliens are akin to the many indingeous cultures of real life Earth history who were trampled upon, marginizaled and eventually driven out and stripped of their culture by colonists. This book is definitely a commentary and critique of Western colonalism. It’s also a warning about the potential capitalist ventures and monopolizations of space exploration.

This isn’t a surpirse for Bradbury since so much of his science fiction works serve as warnings. I mean, the guy wrote for The Twight Zone for god’s sake!

There’s a lot of wonderful flowery prose depicting large Martian landscapes and also exploring the mysticism of the Martians themselves. The human colonizers are the scientific, materialistic and capitalistic culture trampling upon a culture of authenticity, appreciation for nature and art. In short, they are the the culture that emphasizes spirituality.

Badbury predicted a lack of interest in things like reading, religion and art in Fahrenheit 451 and that commentary is also found here. There are many lone human characters who defect from other humans for reasons related to ethical disagreements and a disdain for a lack of appreciation or spirituality on the part of humans.

The book consists of self-contained cerebral stories each with its own message that pertains to the overall message of the book. This is a must read for science fiction fans and a great encapsulation of the “water canals on Mars” era in science fiction when it was falsely believed that there were canals on Mars.

At the end of this article is linked a video dissecting the book and explaining the canals on Mars phenomenon. The reason is actually hilarious.

World Mythology Third Edition: An Anthology of the Great Myths and Epics by Donna Rosenberg (reading still in progress)

World Mythology An Anthology Of The Great Myths And Epics: Rosenberg, Donna: 9780681274938: Amazon.com: Books
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This books has taught me a lot about World mythology and the culture and history that determines and influences it. It spans regions from Ancient Greece to the ancient African tribes of long ago. This world spanning curation allows one to see the archetypical parallels of different cultures’ mythologies.

Each region and myth is started off with historical background which explains what historical and geographical circumstances affected the mythologies.

Save the Cat! Goes to the Movies: The Screenwriter’s Guide to Every Story Ever Told by Blake Snyder (reading still in progress)

Save the Cat! Goes to the Movies: The Screenwriter's Guide to Every Story Ever Told: Snyder, Blake: 8601200913934: Amazon.com: Books
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This book is a very useful tool for anyone interesting in screenwriting or at least story structure. It details a format that most culturally successful movies follow. It spans so many different genres and typed of stories. There’s a whole section called “Dude with a Problem” where “Dude with a Problem” movies from Die Hard to Deep Impact are dissected.

Personal favorites of mine such as Alien, The Matrix and Blade Runner are also discussed.

Everything is viewed through the Blade Snyder Beat Sheet named by the author of the book after himself. The Beat Sheet consists of 14 parts.

Each movie is analyzed and then compared against its “type” of story and a list of similar movies is included.

This is a great thoughtful book for anyone interested in screenwriting. It’s also a sequel to a book called Save the Cat! The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need.

External Links

The Foundation Trilogy

Part 1: https://grnanda.wordpress.com/2020/07/27/asimovs-foundation-trilogy-in-speculative-fiction-part-1/

Part 2: https://grnanda.wordpress.com/2020/09/07/asimovs-foundation-trilogy-in-speculative-fiction-part-2/

The Martian Chronicles

2200 Blues Chapter 28 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

“Great,” said Father Hawk. “Great.” He looked down and squinted. “But…………..I am great!” he shouted as he looked back up, frowning at the huntsman who hovered placidly in the sky. 

“I-I’m a god. Or I was. I was a god. I could fly all through the universe. I already was great.” 

The huntsman cocked an eyebrow.

“Were you?” he asked. “Was that chance or did you actually do something to make you deserve to be a god?”

Father Hawk was silent. He finally sighed and answered.

“No, yeah. I guess I didn’t do anything to……………deserve being a god.”

“That was at the hands of the universe, wasn’t it?” said the huntsman. “Only the universe is truly great. Greater than you. Greater than me. You were given godhood. You didn’t earn it. That cannot be called great.”

“What you choose to do with what you are given is what makes you great.”

“Yeah? Well!” started Father Hawk. “The godhood given to me is gone! You took it away from me!”

“To teach you a lesson. Your goodhood made you weak. You grew comfortable in your power. You became restless and the lives of your wife and child are paying for it.”

“How do you know these things about me?” said Father Hawk.

“The soul of every animal I kill in my canyons passes into me in its death. I learn about every animal and then give it a safe sanctuary to exist in for all of its toil.”

“You are now in that sanctuary: the ethereal grasslands.”

“But,” started Father Hawk, “I don’t want to be here!”

“I know,” said the huntsman. “You and I know that flowing through your blood and heart and locked into your brain is the yearning for flight into the stars. You were meant to be a god. And you can strive to rightfully claim your godhood and in doing so, prove………….greatness. “

“But look!” said Father Hawk. “I can’t use the powers of god anymore. I can’t go get that flower!” he pointed in the direction of the rock formation and its flower. “I have nothing.”

“Do you?” implored the huntsman. “Do you have legs and arms? Do you have eyes and a brain? You have the gifts of being an animal.” 

“Do not forget that an animal you are!” said the huntsman, pointing at Father Hawk.”And before you can be a great god, you must be a great animal.” 

“Because that’s what you are, aren’t you?” he asked. “An animal.”

“And what kind of god were you before? You were a hawk god. An animal that was a god.”

Father Hawk’s eyes dropped as he let the words sink in. 

“Some of the other animals hated me because I was a god,” said Father Hawk. “In the canyons.”

“So they did,” said the huntsman. “They didn’t want to share their lands with someone who’s lived with so much more than them. There’s nothing you can do about that. What can you do right now?”

“You have lost your godhood, but have you lost your will?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” said Father Hawk.

“Well, you must know and soon or else you’ll be too late to return to godhood and save your wife and child,” said the huntsman.

“If you really care!” said Father Hawk, “why don’t you just give the flower to my wife? You don’t even have to give me godhood! But I can’t bear what I’ve let happen to my wife and my child! That’s the reason why I left  and ended up in your canyons!”

“Well, here’s a start!” said the huntsman who’d started beaming. “Putting someone else before you. And not just any someone. The mother of your child and the child itself. Would you have done that without hard times? If your godhood had not been taken away? If you were still flying through the universe from star to planet to asteroid to star, without a bit of physical harm laid on your feathers, would you have put someone else before your gratification, thrill and escape?”

“I don’t know,” muttered Father Hawk. There was silence for a few seconds.

“Anyway,” said the huntsman, “like I said, the coyote guards the flower that I could once pluck freely. It was a flower that grew in random places, waiting for me to water it and eat and then share its petals with the universe.”

“The eternal coyote was a pup growing on the Misty Moon. He was the only animal bigger than me I’d ever seen. But since he was merely a babe, I let him be. I was actually scared of him. He grew so big on the Moon, with only the Mists to look through, so I let him be. But he was looking over my canyons too. And the bigger he got, the more he needed to eat. The small plants of the Misty Moon weren’t enough. So he spotted my flower and leaped for it, falling into the dark cavern you walked in.”

“Scared he would do harm in my canyons,  I closed off the hole with rocks. I thought he would die in the dark without food or water. But I didn’t know there was a pool below his ledge and glowing crystals to keep him pleased and seeds from the flower to consume.” 

“Those were seeds I was supposed to plant to grow new flowers. I can’t do that anymore and one day, the seeds will run out.”

“I underestimated the coyote and the darkest depths of my canyons. Now, he prowls there, haunting my spirit and mind,” he said, pointing towards the coyote in the distance and his rock formations which were shrouded in darkness. “The deepest and darkest of ourselves can feed our monsters if we don’t intervene. If we do nothing. I learned the hard way.”

“Wait,” said Father Hawk. “You…………..were…………….scared?”

“Why yes!” exclaimed the huntsman, chuckling. “Even I, the eternal huntsman who’s been prowling these canyons for age immemorial, have my own shortcomings. I am powerful, but I am not perfect. I am flawed and like everything and the universe itself, I am always learning.” 

“That is something you have to accept soon because you can’t keep running away from all that plagues you. You can’t run away from your mistakes as you’ve been doing.”

“I am too big to reach into the coyote’s dwelling. The stars and my constellations make me big and give me many views, but even the cosmos have their limitations. Only an animal as small as you can reach in it. I have bequeathed this quest to you because of your mind. While your godly powers are gone, you still have the intellect of a god. You are smart enough to converse with me and to deal with the coyote.”

“So………………….what do you say?” asked the huntsman. “Do you accept the quest for the flower?”

“I want to,” said Father Hawk. “It’s just that I’ve never really done anything like this before. I’ve become so used to running away from my problems that confronting something like the coyote seems……………impossible.”

“It will become possible in your mind as soon as you prove it,” said the huntsman. “Like any challenge, you will learn more about it and yourself as you work on it than if you don’t.”

“You will make mistakes along the way, but learning from them will make you stronger.” Father Hawk pondered everything he heard. The journey of this quest seemed to promise hardships and frightening experiences. But what was the other path? It was being stuck here.

In the grasslands, trapped amongst other animals in the endless fields– fields of the same. Same everything. Same grass stretching on and on. 

The mass of green needles swaying gently smelled fresh and earthly. The gentle breeze wafted the natural scents from all around. 

However, staying in one place against the moving grass, the needles were prickly on Father Hawk. He realized that he had to move with the current or the current would scathe him.

It was time. To take a stand and venture forth for a greater thing. Father Hawk had a wife and child to save, an invading coyote to destroy and a godhood to reclaim. No matter how fresh the air was, if he stayed here too long, he knew he would grow sick of it. If he couldn’t bear the same small terrain of a planet for so long that he had to soar into the cosmos, he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear the same lands of grass for so long.

He had to move and venture to the coyote. 

“I accept the quest,” said Father Hawk. He looked up into the pale eyes outlined in the ghostly apparition of the huntsman with a furrowed, scrunched determination. 

The darkness of night behind the huntsman was fading away to light. The stars were fading and blinking out. The six large stars that made up the huntsman’s body were disappearing alongside the huntsman himself included.

As he faded away, he spoke his final words that morning:

“Venture forth towards the coyote’s rock, travel lightly, but gather your resources and look out for the beady-eyed eagle for she will guide you further.”

And with that, he faded away completely, replaced by the baby blue of the morning sky. 

2200 Blues Chapter 27 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

Even as he was spinning, Father Hawk could feel his heart sink. He never felt inevitability more than now.

Plummeting in space, he could do nothing as he moved closer and closer to the huntsman.

The huntsman’s legs trailed behind him in a blue haze that melted away into the stars.

He suddenly reached behind him and pulled out a bow that was hanging on his back. He pulled an arrow from a quiver and notched it on the bow in a single quick motion.

The glowing white string of the bow whined with its strain and the bow creaked. In a flash, the arrow shot through, whizzing loudly.

It was a flaming white shooting star that coursed through the cosmos and engulfed Father Hawk in a burning fire.

Everything was white. Father Hawk could not see his body. He could only see white. It was everywhere and everything.

Eventually, Father Hawk gasped as he hit a prickly surface. Looking down at his claws, he could see that what he’d landed on was a patch of tufts of green needles. It was grass and as Father Hawk moved around, pressing his body on different patches of grass and feeling new tufts poke at him, more of the grass revealed itself to him.

Leaning to one direction, patches of green appeared out of the white haze. Leaning to another, green emerged in that direction. Moving elsewhere, patches formed in other areas like fog was lifting away from them.

Blurred edges cleared away to show new patches of grass as Father Hawk inched closer and looked all around him.

He stood up and shook his head and ruffled his feathers, shaking off some dirt and pebbles. He blinked and looked around.

The large meadow was expanding. Rolling fields of grass growing– pushing into the white expanse.

Father Hawk felt an ant scuttle underneath him, pressing the blades of grass and causing him to flinch. 

The ant disappeared into the grass. A breeze passed through, blowing blades of grass to the left, causing them to rustle in a soft musical sound.

From far off were chirping sounds, faint at first and constantly interrupted by the sound of the wind and the rustling grass, but growing ever louder and multiplying.

Grass pressed together and crinkled with the dirt behind Father Hawk. He whirled around and came face to face with a squirrel with beady eyes and a coat of bushy brown fur. Father Hawk cringed and moved backwards, fearing what the squirrel would inflict on him.

But the squirrel did nothing but sit on hind legs, poised while its furry tail arched back,  moving its jaw in a munching motion and boring its big black eyes into Father Hawk’s.

The squirrel was nearly as big as Father Hawk, which was unusual for the god who was so used to being the bigger animal before he entered the great huntsman’s canyons.

The squirrel was even bigger than the rest of the small feral creatures he’d encountered. It was a squirrel bigger than the squirrels of the canyon. This all meant that Father Hawk was even smaller in these grasslands than he was in the canyons.

The squirrel made a soft clicking noise and bared two large teeth and then quickly bounced away, scuttling into the thickness of the grasses in front of Father Hawk before disappearing.

There was more chirping as the breeze died down and a flock of tiny songbirds emerged from the distance, flying high over the grasses and then over Father Hawk’s head.

The grasslands continued to expand ever outwards in the far off distance. Green blurs pushed out. Where there were blurs bordered by a white haze, hazy green patches of grass popped up.

And wherever the grasses expanded, more animals and critters appeared.

Out of the grasses emerged quiet deer poking their antlers into the grass, traveling in small groups to the right and left.

Their tan hides and lean bodies were close enough to be seen in between the thick blades of grass.

More songbirds appeared, chirping musically. They were small and frantic. They were dark and light colored, but with associated splotches, white and dark.

Butterflies popped out of the ground, fluttering with brightly colored wings. They were orange and blue and they were all dotted by black.

All around, the growing grasslands were coming to life and life was just as big if not even bigger than Father Hawk.

The borders of the grasslands were expanding and curiously enough, in the far off distance, rock outcrops formed out of the white haze. 

Dozens of grey and rust-colored rock formations and cliffs appeared, encircling the grasslands far away.

And then, directly in front of Father Hawk, a large slab of grey rock appeared far away and protruded into white haze. A white cloud was passing over its topmost ledge. When it passed, a tree with pink leaves appeared at the top. When Father Hawk looked closely, he saw that it was actually the flower from the wet cave of the canyons. The flower was the size of a huge tree and the rock mound was now the size of a mountain.

It was separated by chunks that jutted out of the sides, just like in the cave. A part of the ledge sticking out from the middle moved.

It was the coyote, a faint blur of grey in the distance, blending into the grey and orange rock.

Father Hawk whirled around. A herd of elk walked together in the grass against the dark horizon. The sun hung in front of the sky over the far off cliffs and rock faces, edging towards the middle of the sky.

Farther down, on the opposite end of the hemisphere, the light blue of the sky made way for a deep velvet and dark blue spotted by the milky splotches of constellations and their pearly white stars.

The same grouping of six stars hung, looming over the walking elk. The more Father Haws looked, the more the pale apparition of the huntsman glowed to life.

Once again, the man with the billowing white locks of hair and the bulging sinewy muscles loomed over him. 

“WELCOME TO THE SANCTUARY OF HEAVENLY ANIMALS!” he thundered.

“Now you are truly an animal of nature. You are no more a god and you do not have god-like powers anymore.”

“You can live here. Or, if you want to return to reality, travel to Coyote’s cliff and return a stolen flower to me.”

“In return you will be given a petal from the flower which you can use to heal your wife and you will be given a seed from the flower to plant a home for your child.”

“When all is done, you will be more than what you came into my canyons as. For you will have shown greatness.”

“And therefore, you will be great.”

2200 Blues Chapter 26 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

“The coyote stared at Father Hawk with glaring yellow eyes that glinted with a strange brightness.”

“Father Hawk’s heart sank. He was almost too tired to be afraid or run away. It was indeed getting tiresome, constantly running away, constantly being surprised and chased away by some new threat.” 

“It was too much. Maybe, Father Hawk thought, he was okay with this confrontation this time. Maybe, he could just allow what was going to happen to happen.”

“ He was frozen. He was trembling, but he was too tired to move. He couldn’t bear facing the wolf, yet his eyes were locked into its eyes.”

“Father Hawk’s own beady black eyes were staring into the yellow depths of the wolf’s.”

“They were a strange bright yellow. Yellow surrounded a narrow black slit in the middle of the eyeball.”

“The more time Father Hawk spent looking into the wolf’s eyes, the more he could make out the finer details: thin marks– strips of yellow encircling the black slit in dark and light shades of yellow.”

“The coyote blinked. His dark eyelids slowly closed, moving over his eyes. When they reopened, the beam of light shooting down from the ceiling was brighter, thicker.”

“Father Hawk looked up and he saw hundreds of faintly glowing crystals embedded in the rock ceiling around the gaping hole where the beam of light came through. The crystals were of varying sizes, all jagged and all of a pale bluish-white complexion.”

“Father Hawk looked down at the reflection of the ceiling on the water he was standing in.”

“Besides the faint ripples, the image was pretty close to that of the rocky roof.”

“In the water, Father Hawk saw many glowing shite orbs against an expanse of dark rock.” 

“It looked like stars against the black expanse of space.”

“The spots of bright white light rippled in the water, but as Father Hawk stilled, the water became calmer. The stillness in the water made it really appear as if it was a pool of stars in space.”

“Father Hawk took another step in the pool, breaking the stillness with ripples once more.”

“The image of the roof and its crystals jiggled. The glowing pinpricks brightened and turned whiter. The substance of the water grew darker.”

“The coyote let out a bark that penetrated the quiet of the cave and startled Father Hawk. He gave a start and staggered backwards. He let out a yelp before he plummeted into the water, consumed by the pool and its starry reflection.” 

“Father Hawk closed his eyes and a stinging chill enveloped him, pouring into every part of his body. He was caught in the overwhelming movement of freefall.”

“He gasped and opened his eyes to find himself in the deep starry space that was reflected in the pool. There were crystals no more; for now they were stars– so many stars dotting the black expanse he fell in. Spinning and falling through, the stars became rapid lines of movement and white masses, all of them dizzying him.”

“As Father Hawk fell for some time, the space cleared up for him. His legs trailed above him as his head plummeted. Spinning around, he caught the sight of the coyote still standing atop a rock ledge which was now suspended in space and illuminated by a colorful gaseous nebula of blue, green and red peppered by white stars.”

“Down below, six huge stars– six massive glowing orbs moved towards Father Hawk.”

“Out of their shape popped the huntsman– a ghostly blue apparition. His muscles bulged, his eyes glowed and his beard flowed.”“‘WHAT DID I TELL YOU?’ boomed the huntsman’s voice.”

2200 Blues Chapter 25 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

“Fear flooded Father Hawk.”

“He stopped trembling from anger because now he was trembling out of fear.”

“It was like a sharp bar of ice– a long icicle that plummeted on him, piercing him from his head to his gut.”

“His eyes were wide with fear. He stood in one spot, transfixed at the sight of the huntsman who was hovering above him in the sky.”

“There was no escape. These were the huntsman’s lands.”

“His whole life, Fathe Hawk thought that the universe belonged to him– that he was free to roam and see all that he pleased.”

“He thought that he had seen all and therefore he knew all.”

“The more time he spent in these canyons, the more he was realizing that he didn’t know as much as he thought and that he couldn’t see as much as he thought.”

“‘I know that look,’ said the huntsman in his booming voice that shook the canyon walls. ‘It’s the look of fear I see whenever I stand over my prey open for the strike.’ “

“‘But what I wonder is why you are angry. That is not something I see in the animals of these canyons often. The rest of them are too busy being afraid and running away to be angry or to scream at the sky.’”

“‘Well, most of them don’t want to call my attention.’”

“Father Hawk opened his mouth, wanting to shout. Do or say anything defiant. He had to voice his strength. He would not submit.”

“Instead, all that came out was mumbling and moaning.”

“The huntsman frowned.”

“‘Who………are you?’ he asked. ‘What is your story and how does it bring you here in this state?’”

“Trembling, Father Hawk’s feet gave away; he walked backwards slightly and he slipped over smooth stones. He planted his palms on the ground, catching himself. He gulped a large breath of air and scurried to his left. Without looking up, Father Hawk rushed to the wall and its many pits and recesses looming ahead of him.”

“‘Why do you run?’ thundered the huntsman. ‘Fleeing is futile before me!’”

“‘The more you run and run and run and run away–’’

“There was a loud rippling noise, like the shaking and vibrating of twin suns sent across the universe. It was followed by a crash as the sound of a thunderclap emerged, followed by ricocheting and the crumbling of many rock ledges towering high above.”

“Father Hawk flinched and fell on his back in time to see the lasso that was in the huntsman’s hands, extending out over the heavens, licking the rock tops in its wake. As it retracted, it sent rubble raining down the wall above Father Hawk like snow.”

“-the more my hunt advances!” continued the huntsman. “The more you leave me no other choice!”

“Father Hawk found a corner in the wall: dark, crowded and over boulders and rubble leading into a tight cave of darkness.”

“There was another whip, beginning with a vibration and followed by the crack and thundering of broken, crashing rubble.”

“‘You cannot escape!’”

“Father Hawk got caught in the narrow space between pieces of rock, but he clawed at it so hard that it broke off and he scuttled deeper, furiously. All the while, the canyon walls and the rock of the runnel were vibrating furiously.” 

“‘Your size aids you, hawk!’ shoute the huntsman. But just for now! I’m too big to crawl after you, but these are the canyons I’ve known for eons and eons!”

“‘The constellations are ever present and ever-watching. They are my dominion……I am the constellations……………”

“His voice died away in echoes that rebounded far far away. Father Hawk was now deep into the recess of the wall he climbed into.”

“He was panting and he soon became too busy to keep crawling across the jagged rocks. He stopped and his sight blurred. His whole body throbbed and stung with the force of zooming across rough rock.”

“His feathers were torn and bent. His legs were chafed and scratched by the rock. They also trembled. His knees buckled and he lay panting on the floor.”

“As his head lay on the bumpy rock, his feathers became drenched. Father Hawk peered around him and noticed water droplets clinging to the rocks everywhere. He looked up and saw strings of streaming water faintly pouring down rock in the darkness.”

“The water was cool and felt good against him. It made some of the pain lessen.”

“His head was throbbing painfully, but it subsided slowly and slowly. Father Hawk could now hear better. However, his ears still rang with the crashing and breaking rock from outside. And he still heard crashes. He couldn’t tell whether they were echoes of his mind or actual crashes.”

“But he could hear something else now. Something that he could hear more and more with every passing second. It was the trickling and gurgling of water beyond the dark tunnel he was in.”

“There was something else out there. Something………….wetter and………………bigger.” 

“It was behind him, farther down the tunnel. Father Hawk grunted and got on his feet. Fear– fear of the tunnels and fear of what was beyond the tunnel mixed inside of him and created a bursting energy.”

“Curiosity soon joined the mix and Father Hawk soon found himself in a trance where he was stumbling forward, fearful, but controlled by an inevitability that he couldn’t understand.”

“The gurgling became louder. The further down the slope of rocks he went, the more the water streamed downwards until Father Hawk felt like he was walking down a river.” 

“Slivers of light appeared at the edges of streaming water: little white and silver strains. They grew brighter the further down Father Hawk moved.”

“A small circular opening was illuminated out of the lower depths, showing the end of the tunnel to Father Hawk.”

“The light was coming from there, however faintly. A thin beam was coming out of the opening.”

“The beam entered the pool and danced in little slivers wherever there were ripples. Drops of water were falling down from where the beam came.They fell down and made quiet “plops” and rippled outwards in circles. Father Hawk stepped ever closer to the end of the tunnel. He had walked over several steep piles of jagged rock and was now traversing a smoother embankment that was a few feet away from the rock arch.”

“The water was the loudest it had ever been. Father Hawk’s claws were stepping further into the water, submerging his skinny legs in the cold.”

“He puffed out his feathers and held his wings high across his body. He was already moving into something hawks weren’t supposed to move into: water. He might as well make sure his feathers didn’t get wet.”

“Light glimmered across the pool in thinning lines and in even smaller lines across the water in the tunnel. The archway was directly above Father Hawk. Water dropped from its jagged surface and spilled on Father Hawk’s head and wings, slightly wetting his feathers.”

“He immediately squeezed his eyes and puffed his wings in close over his head. Entering through the archway, Father Hawk saw that the cavern was a lot bigger than he had thought before.”

“What more? The beam of light was coming from a pocket in the roof far up above. But where was that light coming from if it was nighttime? Father Hawk didn’t know.”

“A tall mound of rock stuck up out of the water behind the beam of light. There was a ledge that stuck out of the mount around the middle where there were tufts of drenched-looking fur, some leaves, cracked skeletons of tiny creatures and what looked like dried up and chewed pieces of meat.” 

“At the very top of the mound on a smooth and tiny surface, jutting out of the ever thinning rock was a small patch of what looked like dirt. On top of that was a single lonely flower. Even in the darkness, the petals’ bright color shone fiercely.” 

“Father Hawk stopped wading through the water to admire the strangeness of a flower growing deep in the depths of canyons.”

“The flower was thin and looked slightly stooped over.”

“Father Hawk moved closer towards the mount, sloshing through the water, faster than before.”
“The feathers of his bottom quickly drenched and he jumped back, causing bigger ripples in the pool.”

“There was a snarl that sounded from ahead. Father Hawk froze in fear.”

“A dark mass moved out from behind the mound. It was slow and stealthy. Suddenly, it crept forward, paws first, followed by its long, muscly and furry legs. It jumped onto the lower ledge of the mound, pushing a skeleton and its bones off the ledge and revealing itself to be the coyote it was.”

“The bones plopped in the water, causing a small splash.” 

2200 Blues Chapter 24 (Early Draft)

By G.R. Nanda

Concept sketch of Eagle’s “basement” by G.R. Nanda

“Deep into the canyons he ventured, scuttling below rock ridges and frantically flapping away into the distance.”

“And always– always, he was fearful, always on the move from the ever-watchful gaze of the huntsman who was also moving, stealthily creeping along ledges and canyon walls, always keeping a high ground so that he could maintain a vast view of the lands and so he could stay still and melt into the outlines of dotted stars, becoming constellations of poised animals and hunters.”

“The huntsman was like a shadow of the starry sky, always sweeping to and fro, always stealthy. He was majestic and powerful.”

“When Father Hawk managed to spot him, he was carefully molded into a constellation. Father Hawk was usually dark and translucent, but his features were always sharp and large. His chest was broad and heavyset. His long eyebrows and beard were bristling and waving in the wind. Despite his muscly features and nimble movements, his face showed age. It was lined with wrinkles and his hair was grayed.”

“His eyes were hard-set, lined with age, dark and deep with a thoughtful and time-tested knowing wisdom.”

“Whenever his ancient brown pupils laid their gaze upon Father Hawk, an all-consuming fear flooded him, filling him with a desperation and propulsion of energy. He would look away from the watchful gaze and move as fast as he could in the opposite direction.”

“Many days, when Father Hawk found himself in the solace of a concealing cavern, the roof of a ledge or the protection of a wall after flying in many varying directions, all the while dodging the fiery stars of whizzing arrows, he would shed tears and sniffle.”

“Why? Because he no longer felt like the god he was. Here he was in the canyons, small, vulnerable and unknowing like the rest of the busy eagles, squirrels, elk and turkeys he passed now on a daily basis.”

“Father Hawk would scuttle on his weary legs and claws towards the dying embers of a setting sun that was already faint in the starry sky. After being chased relentlessly by the old huntsman, he could walk away to retire to sleep, assured by the reality that the old huntsman would retire to sleep a night too.”

“Father Hawk would sometimes walk past gurgling rivers, mighty winding rock walls, giant boulders, caverns or jagged pitfalls on his defeated nighttime walks.”

“Sometimes, he would pass a herd of proud feathered turkeys or jittery and fluffy rabbits, perking their ears and keeping low, close to the walls. Or groups of a few giant elks, tall, strong-limbed and quick.”

“Always, these animals paid Father Hawk little mind. Always, Father Hawk felt alone, alienated. Everyone else seemed to be quick footed (or winged), on the move to survive. They were too busy herding to pay Father Hawk much mind. No one regarded him with the dignified air of a god.”

“Father Hawk felt terribly alone and terribly unspecial.”

“He was even starting to question whether he was a special god.

“Or any kind of special thing.” 

“Nothing came as easy as it used to.”

“Life had changed seemingly overnight. Everyday was filled with anxiety and work. Father Hawk had to feed himself, no longer sustained by the suns of energy and nutrients that he and Mother Hawk had been replenished by. He was far far away from his home. Now, the sun in the sky was lonely and distant.”

“Father Hawk had to peck for worms or fish at the banks of rivers.”

“By the end of the day, after his own hunting and after keeping away from the throes of the huntsman, Father Hawk was simply too exhausted to even attempt flying out of the canyons, away from the huntsman’s sight and back into the cosmos.”

“Father Hawk had never felt so trapped in his whole life.”

“He decided that he was going to escape the canyons– or die trying.”

“It was going to be one-shot.”

“Once concerted effort.”

“The cold red sun was setting on Father Hawk’s 24th night. Twilight was settling in and the canyons were losing their warm luminescent tint. Every night, the canyons turned their dullest darkest shade of gray.”

“The animals of the canyons stopped scuttling, chirping and flapping. Many of them burrowed in for the night. They stayed under the rock surface that served as highways for frantic creatures and in nests made of rare twigs and bark.”

“Darkness settled in. As it settled in every night. Thicker than kupernacle slime. Seeping in. Blanketing the world under a starry sky ruled by a lonely moon glowing dully overhead.”

“The darkness created drowsiness.”

“But as Father Hawk had figured out, it also created a cover, a concealment for those who could fight their nightly drowsiness.”

“He’d been storing grub, worm meat and leaves in a corner of a deep cavern set into a looming cliff, awaiting the night when he would have to consume much to keep him moving through the exhaustion of the day that would inevitably seep into the drudgery of a waking night.”

“He frantically shoved the skinny meat and the leaves alongside the dirt that he dragged along, into his mouth.”

“He gobbled as much as he could and crouching slowly and stealthily, moved out and into the cold grey rock of the night, only illuminated by the faint light of the stars and the dull moon.”

“He moved slowly– cautiously because the darkness shrouded what was in front of him and because his movements might tip off the huntsman. Especially now, when all was so deathly still and what would have been the barely audible noise of stepping over some rocks was loud and piercing, becoming the focus of a world that had become deathly still– deathly quiet.”

“The gray rock only appeared gray at the tops of formations sticking up into the sky. The lower the rock, the darker and more pitch black it was.”

“There were only slivers of dull gray showing atop the topmost layers of rock sticking up into the sky.”

“Father Hawk would not dare to fly into the heavens right away because he knew that the flapping of his wings would be loud and stand out more than it usually did.”

“He would have to creep up and up. Slowly and carefully, inching up a slope of rock and more slopes of rocks that were further up until he was at a topmost layer,  then he would be close enough to the stars and fly away.”

“By the time the great huntsman heard him, Father Hawk would be long gone into the depths of space.”

“Father Hawk was surrounded by giant walls of rock, which was a problem. The walls were sticking out and upwards pretty narrowly.

“He could not get on even footing with the walls when they shot up so starkly.”

“They were mountains he could not climb. Mountains that were out of reach.”

“All that he found himself doing was wandering aimlessly throughout the endless corridors of scraggly rock and jagged ravines of water that whispered in its soft gurgling flow between the giant walls.”

“Pockets and large holes appeared out of the rock spires above Father Hawk, showing swaths of stars, endless and sprawling– dizzyingly so.” 

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

The story suddenly paused as the noise of the whispering winds came into a much larger focus than before. The man who had been narrating coughed and cleared his throat.Then, he inhaled deeply and slowly sighed. 

Then, he continued.

“Father Hawk was alone amongst the looming walls and ledges of rock whose underbellies he purposely sought out in order to hide as far below as he could from the sky and the sight of the huntsman.”

“But now, he felt more trapped than he ever had before.”

“His muscles ached, he trembled with exhaustion and his feathers quivered.”

“Finally, under all of the pressure and the pain of missed sleep, Father Hawk heaved forward and crashed on his butt.”

“The proud boisterous god who had once known no limits in the universe was now reduced to a withered, skinny stooped-over animal with dirt and grime caked into his dry feathers.”

“Defeat and the pain of his hurt ego caused tears to well up in his eyes and stream down his face, dripping off of his feathers and his beak.”

“He moaned in anguish and squeezed his eyes shut. He gritted his teeth and when he opened his eyes, they were wide and furiously glaring. He bared his teeth and shot a hateful look at the sky. His anguish had turned into anger and resentment.”

“He stopped moaning and started screaming.”

“‘Curse you universe!’” 

“Tears continued to flow from his eyes. They made his vision murky, blurring the white wells of stars together amidst the blacker and bigger well of space.”

“‘Curse you and your wretched- stupid huntsman! If I had to destroy you both, I wouldn’t care if I had to take out myself with you!’” 

“Father Hawk jumped off of the boulder he sat on, legs trembling. He shook a fist at the sky.”

“‘I don’t care if I’m destroyed! As long as the universe is destroyed with me.’”

“Father Hawk wiped away tears from his eyes.”

“Up above him, he saw more clearly  and what he saw was a group of stars falling down. They were six stars in the shape of a rhombus: three hanging towards him and three trailing behind. The one in between was  the corner that was the part the farthest away.”

“They all seemed to blur, brighten and grow larger, leaving hazes of faint luminescent auras in their wake behind them.”

“Suddenly, a broad body with thick limbs appeared as a blue haze behind the descending stars and their glowing white trails.” 

“There was a sharp howl, followed by a ‘pop!’ that cracked and thundered through the heavens as the body pushed itself onto and out of those stars.”

“The stars were back to normal and now provided a spectre-like illumination for the edges of the huntsman, strong, glowing and hovering above Father Hawk.”

“He held a wiggling whip above his head. His beard flowed to the left and his eyes bored into Father Hawk’s under the huntsman’s frowning bristling eyebrows.”

“‘Well, that’s an awful lot of anger,’ he spoke in a grating aged voice that boomed from the heavens to the canyons that vibrated in effect.”

“‘More than I’ve ever seen in any of the animals I’ve hunted and have graced these canyons.’”

“‘I almost don’t want to hurt you………..out of pity for all the pain you’ve inflicted upon yourself.’”