G.R. Nanda

MONDAY CONTENT: 2200 Blues Chapter 38 (Early Draft)

Father Hawk finally had a place to eat and rest. A place he could sleep in every night without having to change it as he was constantly on the move. It would have been more relaxing, except for the fact that Father Hawk went to sleep in his cot completely exhausted.

Sleep was his only real refuge from training and adapting to the world of Eagles on most days. For every morning, the battle of his will and body would begin anew.

He spent countless hours in the air, soaring alongside Eagle trainees and sparring partners, circling each other. They would interlock claws, wrestling over fresh fish. They would be locked in combat, wrestling over food in a tug of war where their wings would be spread out, folded at the end. This allowed them to put all of their energy into tugging the morsel.

As they descended to the trees, one would inevitably tear the fish away when both creatures had to flap their wings and break free to safety land.

“This will strengthen your legs and claws!” Sunjata, the Eagle trainor had told Father Hawk before his combat flights. Sunjata was an older Eagle. Despite how burly he was, his feathers were thinned, greyed and crumpled with age.

“Flight will give you advantage,” he had said the first day in his gruff, aged, but rather high-pitched voice. “but when you need to eliminate your enemies, you can’t keep flying away from them! You must drag them into the air in your flight! From there, your enemy is in your realm, encumbered by what you have and he or she doesn’t: wings! From there, you can either beat the enemy while he or she is helpless, or if the enemy is still too strong, fly high enough to drop the enemy at a dangerous height! Either way, especially if you’re going to wrestle in the air, you must gain endurance and strength for combat in the air! You must get used to dealing with external weights in the air and flying at the right time in a wrestling plummet!”

Father Hawk went on many flights where he was instructed to drag heavy boulders or sometimes wolf corpses across long distances at extremely high vantage points. At the abrupt whistle of an Eagle trainer flying below, Father Hawk would have to immediately let go of the carried object and also maintain composure with his wings in flight.

The first few times, Father Hawk was more likely to get tired quickly by both carrying a heavy object with his claws and consistently flapping his wings in between soaring with the wind.

However, with more training, each session saw improvement. Soon, Father Hawk was able to pace himself effectively and stay at it, flexing his wings out and flapping vigorously while also maintaining a strong solid grasp on his heavy object.

When he was trained over and over again in flight combat and weighted flight, he developed senses for imbalance and cues in his environment for receding heights and oncoming landmasses. He grew comfortable with the motions of combat and weighted flight.

Spinning around ceaselessly in the air had once disoriented him and he had found himself lost at when to let go. But later, he could quickly identify where to land while wrestling or let go of his opponent, simply by the appearance of a line of trees and its certain thickness.

His wings and feet hardened and grew stronger— more accustomed to the weights and exertion.

Eventually, Father Hawk would reach the middle of training sessions, his heart hammering, his body warming under the frigid airs and the cool wind tickling his feathers to make sure the warming never became burning. He would confidently beat his wings to a powerful rhythm, consistent and always forceful. The ripples in the air, no matter how strong, would beckon to Father Hawk’s path for Father Hawk was now stronger. When his beating wings had lifted him high enough, Father Hawk would soar on a tide of air. As he soared, the world below zoomed past him.

The Shadowlands that had once overwhelmed Father Hawk now zoomed away under Father Hawk, small and unimportant.

No square of the Shadowlands were stuck in time to Father Hawk. It was always fleeting, forever passing under Father Hawk’s speedy path.

When these days and training sessions came, Father Hawk felt in control. These were the days when his flight exercises finally became more exhilarating than confusing and overwhelming.

Once Father Hawk had mastered the basic training regiments and frankly, bored by them, he was moved to the more challenging training.

“The Shadowlands are filled with many creeping and prowling creatures,” said Sunjata. “They will lurk in the darkness, feeding on each other for sustenance and competition. They are monstrous animals. They will not rest in their pursuit to dominate and consume. The Shadowlands feed on their dark negative energy. They will latch onto almost anything, especially the susceptible and distracted.”

“The Shadowlands make us all susceptible and distract us all from our intended path. That’s why you must learn to dance with these creatures, tame them and eventually safely consume them so that they won’t consume you.”

“We will begin with exercises in safely capturing some of the more elementary shadowspawn: snakes.”

Father Hawk followed other Eagles up to treetops and across the forest until they reached an overhand pass where trees gave way to a hazy expanse of grey water, shrouded by darkened mists and expanding into more haziness.

“Listen closely to the waters,” whispered Sunjata after everyone had silently settled. “Observe them and any of their disturbances.”

They all stilled. They were done shifting their feathers.

Of course there was the constant sound of forest leaves rustling and whispering because of the wind. However, beyond the forest and the wind were soft rushing sounds. They were ripples cutting through the placid grey stillness of the lake.

The sounds were noticed first by Father Hawk. He couldn’t quite locate where they came from and who or what caused them. He eventually caught glimpses of splashing water exploding in small bursts across the water. But they were just that: mere glimpses. And they were just the fleeting entrails of splashes, already beginning to melt back onto the water as faint ripples and lines, spreading, then wavering back into still water.

Father Hawk squinted his eyes and carefully scanned the waters, peering around and sometimes through their shifting blankets of mists. He never looked elsewhere. His vision was encompassed by watery grey and papery, shaded mists.

He spotted a faint rippling to the far left where there were soft and small bubbles forming and dissolving in between rippling lines that bent the water before wavering.

Father Hawk squinted his eyes and followed the path of bending water closely. He watched very carefully as the arc receded. The water stilled again in that area.

Father Hawk’s eyes wandered only to the immediate surroundings of the stilling ripples.

No.

Father Hawk retained his eyes on the same spot, frowning in an intense concentration that made his face ache.

Without warning, a thin snake emerged out of the water a few feet ahead. Most of its writhing dark body rode above a crest of grey water, curling with thin foam.

Father Hawk gasped. His eyes widened as he watched the dark thing worm and slide over the water and then disappear into the depths with its tail squirming down, almost as soon as it appeared.

The water splashed, roiled in its small crescents of motion before settling to a flat stillness.

“You’ve spotted your first shadowsnake,” whispered Sunajta. Father Hawk didn’t look up at him.”

“Now, keep looking. Do not get caught in your excitement. Do not look in the exact same place. Follow the same patterns, but look for them in different places. If you become totally and absolutely fixated on one location to the point where you ignore all others, you will miss out on opportunities. In doing this, you will actually starve. There will never be enough shadowsnakes to clean out a lake or fill your belly. They are in many places.”

After a pause, he finished with:

“Prepare to be surprised. Life is the same as a lake of shadowspawn.”

Father Hawk kept an eye out for the beginnings of forward moving currents and ripples, scanning the whole lake.

MONDAY CONTENT: 2200 Blues Chapter 37 (Early Draft)

This is the corrected version of Chapter 37. The previous version actually contained the contents of Chapter 36.

The Eagle below Father Hawk caught him and moved in a uniform march down the circular platform to the right. Injured and weak, Father Hawk was unable to resist.

He only saw the crowds of tree branches up above.

“Training?” he muttered faintly. “Where are we going?”

The female Eagle who had carried him to the nesting place of the Eagles hovered over him, flapping under dense thickets of interweaving leaves, clustering against each other, leaving only small pockets of the dark sky.

“We are going to teach you how to be a bird in the Shadowlands!” she said while beating her wings, keeping her voice loud enough to be heard over the flapping and her heavy breathing. “The lands are stacked against you. You can’t survive doing what you’ve done. The Shadowlands use a force of fear and complexity to suffocate and overwhelm you. The moment you choose to give in, it becomes harder to move outwards.”

Father Hawk was silent for a while.

“Who are you?” he finally croaked. “Do you know………….” He coughed. “……………….the Huntsman?”

“We Eagles are the bridge between the earth, substance and life of Huntsman’s souldom and himself. Our natural habitats are here, the highest of the woodlands where treetops meet the winds of the sky. We ride the heavens’ winds, soar on them to survey what we can of the Shadowlands for Huntsman. We speak to Huntsman, tell him as much as we know. But we cannot walk on the Shadowlands themselves. The winds do not allow it, for they do not travel there.

The sky cannot bless the earth there, for the Shadowlands’ darkness is too strong.”

Father Hawk could hear the movements of other Eagles around the pack that was carrying him. There were the soft scratches of claws walking on the nest and whenever an Eagle made a landing or a flight out of the corner of his vision or otherwise, there was the sound of wings folding inwards and their feathers shuffling against each other.

In the background was the whistle of winds, louder than those on the ground, always faint, but forever omnipresent.

There was some rustling, followed by someone feeding Father hawk morsels of meat that were soaking wet. Father Fawk nibbled and the liquid dripped into his throat. Slowly, his strength returned.

“We do our bidding from the skies and the treetops,” said the female Eagle, “only risking travel below for unique circumstances,” and with a pause, she said, “like yours, Father Hawk.”

Father Hawk’s eyes widened.

“You know my name,” he said, more noting than asking.

The female Eagle smiled, the line across her beak stretching upwards. Her eyes crinkled, her eye-lids grew closer.

“The Eagles know many things about the comings and goings about the Shadowlands. We must. We are the watchers. Although, we do not know all. Father Hawk relies on us for information, but he cannot depend on us entirely. There are many things we miss.”

“Which means you, Father Hawk, mustn’t rely entirely on us either. We can guide you today, tomorrow and the day after. But only you can take action. Only you can ask for help. And one day, today, tomorrow and the day after will be no more. Then it will all be up to you.”

The female Eagle looked ahead to where they were all heading. She looked back down at Father Hawk.

“So, tell me, Father Hawk. Is there anything you need or would like to know?”

She and Father Hawk were silent for a few seconds.

“Well,” Father Hawk said, “what’s your name? You know mine. I guess we’re only on even ground if I know yours too.”

The Eagle’s eyelids moved closer and she gave a sly smile— almost a smirk.

“Sathi,” she said. “Good start,” she added, nodding her head. “We Eagles won’t baby you. We don’t believe in that.”

Suddenly, the Eagles carrying Father Hawk slowed down.

Confused, Father Hawk frowned and looked in the direction of his clawed feet, where the carriers were moving. The first line, pulling Father Hawk’s feet, descended. One by one, each of the three rows of the silent Eagles moved down as well, bringing Father Hawk down with them. Despite the disorientation, Father Hawk could now see more of where they were moving towards. The scenery had changed from a density of thickly interwoven leaves on branches within an immediate vicinity to a clearing atop a hill bordered by trees that provided a canopy that shaded the area.

Below, the land was sloping up and then down to rolling treetops with a gap.

They went down the steps, gaining speed and moving faster every second. After a while, when each row in the pack of Eagles stepped down, Father Hawk’s body shook, jostled by the plummeting rows.

He strained his neck to look behind him. The large walkway up above where they’d come from was disappearing behind the levels of steps, as the group walked. The traffic of Eagles on the walkway and their bobbing feathered heads disappeared as well.

The lower the steps went, the longer and wider they got. Sathi flew ahead and swerved overhead to the left, disappearing into the border of thick descending trees.

The steps grew into the lower edge of the hill, losing consistency. Along their far end, and moving closer to the center, the carefully interwoven twigs and sticks turned to mounds of grass and dirt, edging up the hill. Spots of ingrown grass popped up everywhere down the steps until finally, the steps of sticks completely disappeared.

The pack changed elevation: the front started moving up the face of the hill and Father Hawk felt his blood rush to his head.

They walked over the hill and once they reached the peak, they charged downhill. Father Hawk jangled and shuddered violently in the movement.

They bolted towards the gap. Father Hawk looked down at it during the charge. The wall of trees shook around it and the view beyond the gap shifted with the perspective of the pack’s movement. Murky cliffs and hills of darkness appeared and disappeared in the corners.

Beyond the gap, hills of green stretched downwards until they became washed over in the mists and shadows of darkness.

At the lip of the gap, when its view was most expansive, the Eagles grunted, lugging their arms back and chucking him over.

The first thing he felt was the winds ruffling him in the plummet. The view of the treetops disappeared and the long stalks of tree bark blurred around him, before descending into a steep rock face. Panic engulfed him when he saw the sharp rocks jutting out of a narrow river below him, dividing the bottom of the cliff face at the bases of the trees.

His eyes widened and momentarily, his vision blurred. He began to flap ceaselessly. He squeezed his eyes shut, daring not to witness his own plight.

He bounced up in the air, hovering for a bit, but the winds pressed him down eventually. Strong gusts pushed him down and forward, then rose back up again, ruffling the feathers on his underbelly.

So, in desperation, he beat with the wind, flapping away from their direction. To his surprise, Father Hawk felt a propulsion. He felt himself get pushed purposefully several feet ahead of himself.

Father Hawk’s eyes opened in surprise, wide and alert. His heart hammered inside of him. He stayed with the wind, stiffening his wings and tilting towards the downwards movement of the gusts behind him.

Could it be?

Father Hawk felt the final thrusts of the wind behind him and he took advantage of them before he would have to wait for the next set of gusts to arrive. He tilted upwards, keeping the bottom of his body flat against the stream of air he floated on.

He was flying.

He’d done it.

Father Hawk swerved to the left, to where the hill face stretched down alongside the gurgling ravine.

Darkness and ashy smog choked the world beyond, but the hill face was beautiful. Tufts of deep green shrubbery, dark and bristly. stuck out of the careening landmass. Around the shrubs was a sea of light green grass checkered by islands of brightly colorful flowers and stark underlayers of crusty rocks and stones.

Father Hawk leaned his body backwards and his wings up. Newborn gusts pushed him up, closer to the top of the hill where trees stuck up.

He was flying.

Father Hawk had found his old ability again.

He couldn’t shoot up like the rockets and hovercraft of his progeny.

But for now, he could ride the winds, soaring on them.

A high-pitched warble called from the cliff face. From far away, in the thicket of trees capping the rock, Father Hawk could hear an Eagle’s call.

It was many meters away close to the bend in the rock face.

Father Hawk tilted to the left, moving his right wing up and his left down. He flapped, gaining higher altitude in quiet bursts, moving higher and higher up alongside the trees.

Novel gusts pushed from behind. The tops of trees lowered in their adjacence to Father Hawk until he was soaring slightly higher than them.

The face of the cliff grew narrower in perspective as he moved closer to it and the trees were more visible. Their leafy tops expanded in his vision. He could see with more breadth.

The Eagle warble continued in constant tones. As Father Hawk swerved closer and closer to the treetops, the bigger they became and eventually, he passed over the cliff face entirely.

The call grew louder. He was getting closer. He was now directly over the treetops. The green leaves stuck out thickly, without gaps in between, and they rustled in the winds like dense seaweed swaying in constant dance-like motions at the bottom of a seafloor.

The warble became louder, closer— more imminent. Father Hawk folded his wings, allowing himself to plummet forth. When the leaves neared him enough, Father Hawk spread his wings behind him, diving through the treetops.

His body rustled the leaves and he swooped across the trees, bucking his neck and torso as well as tilting his wings to fly around branches and tree trunks.

The warbling called to him from behind shrubbery below, bordered by enormous trunks.

Father Hawk perched on a tree branch near this scene. He folded his wings and studied the sounds. The forest was quiet. There was the panoramic sound of rustling leaves, together sounding like a faintly roaring waterfall in the distance. There were distant interspersed sounds of chirping and snapping and crunching foliage and sticks. Nothing immediate. Nothing else close by.

The warbling reappeared, booming from behind the jagged line of shrubbery. Father Hawk immediately jumped from where he was perched, diving forward and spreading his wings. He swooped over the shrubbery, hovering over its thickness for several seconds. Afterwards, he saw the white heads of Eagles waiting in the gaps in between the dense leaves and branches at the edge of the shrubbery.

He passed over the edge and then over four Eagles who turned their pale-feathered heads and dark bodies to follow his flight.

Father Hawk lowered his neck, diving to the musty brown earth. He slowly brought his legs down and flipped his wings ninety degrees so that it would resist the air instead of cutting a trajectory. He planted his claws on the dirt, scraping and finally planting his whole feet on the ground, halting to a complete stop.

The earth was mostly flattened and its dry musty scent emanated up from old cluttered leaves that crowded out a few thin plants. More fat trees crowded the border of the clearing and the distance beyond.

Father Hawk turned around to face the four Eagles. They all wore solemn expressions. Above their glinting piercing yellow eyes, their feathers were furrowed.

But the edges of their beaks were slightly upwardly cocked, betraying suppressed smiles of satisfaction.

Father Hawk grinned widely, still feeling the euphoria and exhilaration of flight.

“Congratulations,” spoke the second Eagle from the left in a deep commanding voice. “You, Father Hawk, have completed our first initiation. You can now soar alongside our Eagle brethren. If you continue to push through in the face of fear and dive into risks, you will grow.”

“Although, let me assure you: the hard part is not over. The easiest has been completed. You will feel failure in our trials, but you must persist. The Shadowlands are unforgiving and deadly as are the wolves that inhabit them. You have learned how to fly with the wind. When the winds cannot aid you, you must know how to fight.”

UPDATE: A Publishing Error Addressed

On March 8th, a typed version of chapter 27 was available for online publishing, but when it came to the actual blog post, I accidently copied and pasted the contents of chapter 36 which has already been published in my blog post titled 2200 Blues Chapter 36 (Early Draft). This resulted in the contents of chapter 36 being published AGAIN under the name of Chapter 37.

This was an honest mistake and I only realized I’d made it when I started to make a scheduled post for Chapter 37 tomorrow.

The previous blog post has been removed from my website and will be replaced tomorrow with the correct version.

For future reference, anyone can please feel free to comment below a post on any and all such publication errors. It will notify me me sooner and I also welcome constructive criticism on the writing itself.

MONDAY CONTENT: 2200 Blues Chapter 36 (Early Draft)

For hours and hours he walked and hour by hour the light of the outside vanquished. A cool humidity settled over Father Hawk in the woodlands the farther on he walked. The farther on from the water he walked, the lesser the power of the gusts became.

It was a long walk that soon turned into a trek. Father Hawk’s desire to embark to the light and exact vengeance on the wolves who hurt him, dissipated as soon as he got to the thickness of the darkness where even the tiniest fragment of light rays from behind him had been stolen by the distance he traversed. It was the middle of the woods where left, right forward and back were all equally as expansive, equally as disorienting and equally as relative. Father Hawk didn’t know where any of those directions began or ended in the sea of vegetation, dirt and thick crowding tree bark.

It was also here that Father Hawk felt he could no longer ignore his injuries. His eyes twitched rapidly, beset by bruises and battering. Where feathers had been ripped out and bare flesh was exposed, the raw bumps of the skin throbbed, burned and felt as if it was being stabbed by the icy daggers of the cool and dank forest air.

Upon entering the woods of the shadowlands, Father Hawk had found the moist, fresh scent rising up from forest soil and foliage refreshing, natural and even soothing. However, now having spent enough time in here and having traversed deeply enough, he found the musty odors rising below his feet suffocating, moldy and blighted. The darker the shadowlands, the more sickly the vegetation was. The courser it became. Starting out, Father Hawk’s feet had simply squished or flattened the plants he’d stepped on. Now, his feet crunched them and they crinkled and scraped under his feet.

He slowed to a still, overwhelmed by the deathly atmosphere, putrid aroma and endless darkness. Standing still, he could hear the faint buzzing of insects he hadn’t noticed before. They were few in number, but could be seen flitting lazily in the distance, buzzing and when they flew away from surfaces, they let vegetation crinkle as it released and extended without the weight of the critters.

There had been a piercing pain shooting up Father Hawk’s legs and biting in at every cut and bruise checkering them. Standing still, he could feel the pain seep in like it never had before.

Above his legs, his underbelly heaved and prickled with the pain of his injuries there. Father Hawk’s heart beat faster and his vision swam in blurriness. He inhaled sharply, but felt like his exhalation was caught in his throat.

The shooting pain in Father Hawk’s legs became too piercing and unbearable. They gave, loosening at the middle and letting Father Hawk fall down. In the dimness, Father Hawk could make out the darkest of all shapes; the black masses of tree lees, spinning above him.

For the first time in a long time, gusts broke through to this dense and deathly midsection of the shadowlands. Icy, shrieking winds sliced through the leaves, making them scrape against each other.

The spinning world above Father Hawk seemed as if it was going to close in on Father Hawk. Spinning around, it appeared to be on an inward path towards Father Hawk as the focal point. It threatened to suffocate him.

“No. No. No. No. No. No.”

He couldn’t die here. Not after everything he’d been through. And everything he’d accomplished. What would it all have been for if he’d just died here and failed?

“EAGLE!” he shrieked over the noise of the roaring tsunami like winds. “EAGLE!” He mustered every last receding breath. “EAGLE, HELP!”

He hadn’t seen her eyes yet, but if he wanted to be saved, she seemed like his only chance.

“HUNTSMAN, WHERE IS SHE? WHERE IS EAGLE?”

The winds suddenly died and the spinning trees slowed down. They were just slowly spinning edges. The vortex that had been closing in on him now widened.

As the winds quieted and then receded, the clamor of howling wolves replaced them. The howls were distant, faint, but ever omnipresent, fierce and collective. The trees were no longer whipped and reverted to swaying.

Replacing the frenzy of overwhelming winds was a frenzy of footsteps. Thundering beats of wolves’ paws rushed across the land from far away.

Panic engulfed Father Hawk and he tried to get up, only to slump back down on his stomach and face.

“Eagle?” he called, breathing heavily. He moaned.

There was a sharp fluttering of leaves in the treetops above. It occurred in spurts, inconsistent, but present and becoming closer. Short periods of fluttering leaves were followed by softer ruffling.

Father Hawk tilted his head up, but to no avail. He couldn’t move much and he couldn;t spot the cause of the clamorous leaves.

What if it was—

“Eagle?” whispered Father Hawk.

As if in response, a soft, but firm and berating feminine voice spoke:

“You fool!”

A flurry of shaking and snapping branches overhead to the left in the encircling treetop was followed by a large dark and feathered body with outstretched wings swooping across.

But it was only a blur. And as soon as it appeared, it disappeared into the trees opposite whence it came from.

Father Hawk’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted around he staggered to swivel his head in all of his pain.

The barking grew closer— louder. So did the wolves’ footsteps which sounded like raindrops, pattering on the forest floor, growing more incessant every second.

There was more ruffling in the treetops, but now a few feet away to the left. The bird broke through. Its wings were outstretched, dark and menacing. They were flexed and allowed for descent. Its head was a shocking white contrasted with the darkness of its lower body. Inset above a sharp, angular downwardly curved yellow beak were brighter and piercing eyes of the same hue.

Underneath her body, from feathered tufts came large orange claws, bumpy and with razor sharp nails protruding.

In a motion swifter than its descent, the bald eagle clenched Father Hawk from the spots in between his winds and his body and lifted his ailing body off the ground, battering some injuries more as she had to drag his limb limbs off of the ground first.

In seconds, he was airborne. The Eagle’s claws dug into his body painfully. The trees around him seemed to slide away under him. They receded and the treetops turned into decreasing masses of leaves. Broccoli heads. The air screamed around them and whipped Father Hawk with cold.

Father Hawk wailed incoherently.

“Shut up!” commanded the Eagle in a shrill voice. “You’ll alert the wolves to our location! The shadowlands want you to give in and surrender and that is what you have done.” She tucked her wings in momentarily and tilted to the right. Father Hawk writhed helpless underneath, folding to the right. Diving for a few seconds, she extended her broad wings, slicing the air around them and carving a smoother trajectory far away from the movement and clamor of the wolves.

Father Hawk only moaned, yet his noise was muffled by the screaming rippling force of the two of them soaring above the woods. The Eagle began furiously flapping her wings, gaining altitude as well as distance away from the wolves who were thundering below the dark and distant treetops.

She flapped her wings even harder, beating at the air. Father Hawk jiggled dangerously, the movement befuddling his senses.

The air roared and pushed Father Hawk’s lower body backwards, causing him to feel as if he was being dragged through the currents of a forceful ocean of darkened air.

The treetops blurred underneath them. The dark grey havens and their smoky clouds grew ever more omnipresent as they soared closer to them. A circular glowing patch of sulfurous wisps hovered amidst ashy colored clouds. It was a reminder of a sun that traversed a sky above the shadowlands.

The Eagle whistled in a high-pitched warble. She whistled once loud enough to peirce the roaring air. Then, she whistled repeatedly, so loudly that Father Hawk cringed at how much it hurt his ears.

Similar whistling warbling sounds returned her call in repetitive patterns. More and more beaks responded, now seemingly more than a dozen. They all sang in high-pitched voices from far away.

Suddenly, rolling hills appeared out of the horizon. They were oncoming like a huge tidal wave in an ocean. Father Hawk’s eyes widened in fear, but the Eagle did not slow down. She persisted, still flapping furiously and heading forth on the same trajectory.

Rock formations appeared out of the elevated humps of treetops. Cliffaces and rocks were adorned with vines and crowned with more trees.

The closer they got, the more visible dozens of hills and rock formations became, all fading into the background where, wrapped around in smog, was the tallest structure of all: Coyote Rock.

The immediate hill beckoned over them as they zoomed closer, opening up like a hand closing in on them.

The Eagle did not hesitate. As the treetops emerged from green masses to the arms of green leaves, she simply zipped over them.

When the hill rolled over underneath them, the Eagle tucked her arms to her sides, plummeting. Before Father Hawk’s les could graze the treetops, the Eagle extended her arms, swooping downhill and around the bend to the right in a graceful glide.

A leafy roof as wide as an entire hill emerged to the side of the hill they passed. The Eagle passed under it, emerging over a ginormous nest of bark, twigs, sticks and branches as wide as a plateau, encircling a monolith of a trunk.

Here many Eagles milled around, spotting every visible side of the nest. Below them awaited three rows of Eagles, staring directly at them.

“Your training begins!” shouted the Eagle carrying Father Hawk. She swung him back and tossed him to the rows.

2200 Blues Chapter 35 (Early Draft)

It was the first real fight of his life and Father Hawk wasn’t ready for it. He flailed around, kicking with his claws and stabbing with his wings, both of which had strengthened in his rebirth. However, his newfound strength was no match for his inexperience.

And his inexperience was barely a match for the wrath and ferociousness of the wolves. They struck at him with their sharp teeth as their jaws opened wide and clamped down on Father Hawk, attempting to shred his feathers off of his body.

Many times, they did manage to. Father Hawk wriggled free many times, but feathers ripped and blood spilled in places he was either blind to or was too slow to move away from.

But he did move. He moved as much as he could. Coordinated as much as he could. Every blow he tried to land with a wing or claw. Every blow from the arched claws protruding from the pounding paws. The adrenaline. The frenzy. They both addled him. Fuzzied his peripheral vision. First, they drove him to strike back at the cascade of clawed paws swinging at him from every possible angle. He lurched to the right, dodging a leg hurling down from above to the left. Only to have to meet the oncoming punch of a paw with a hand quickly raised and quickly clenched, all the way up the leg to hold strength back with strength of his own.

All the while, he had to fight. He couldn’t only defend.

He had to take a few kicks and punches in order to throw some of his own. When he was busy kicking, he abruptly swung his left wing across and outward from him. There were three wolves in that direction. The two closest to him dodged out of the way, but the third was taken by surprise and fell back, clutching his eyes and howling in pain.

Father Hawk drove forward, ignoring the impacts of other wolves pounding him from the sides. He reached for the staggering wolf that he’d hurt, attempting to wreak fracture in the gang of wolves where a few cracks had already been formed. Attack the weak link. The wolf with the hurt eyes continued to howl and waddle back blindly. Within mere seconds, the hurt wolf moved his paws away from his eyes, revealing that they were watery and fuming with anger and Father Hawk lunged forwards, moving his right leg up. His left was outstretched behind him, having bent and pushed off. As his right leg was about to land down and his left leg left the ground, a wolf behind Father Hawk grabbed his left leg.

Father Hawk wobbled and as he twisted his body and reached for his left leg, he plummeted, falling on his beak, wings and chest. His right leg slammed painfully on the ground and searing pain shot through his claws. His left leg hung above him, still clutched by a wolf.

The adrenaline that had driven him now weakened him, stressing and disorienting him. Unable to find a recourse in his circumstance, Father Hawk was ambushed in just a few milliseconds.

It was a storm of incessant obtrusive barking and a rapid hail of kicks, scratches and punches. In time, after Father Hawk had been beaten to the point of immobility and even numbness in some places, some wolves tore out tufts of his feathers.

The barking was so maddeningly loud that Father hawk couldn’t hear his own screaming. He felt like he was in a state of perpetual panic, unable to comprehend what was happening to him after a certain point, let alone do anything about it.

So, helplessly he endured the barking and repeated spots of hot pain on his back. His eyes saw black. Father Hawk didn’t know if his eyes were closed and he had long forgotten if he had closed them.

Feeling was singular; he was being submerged in a sea of pain. He lost his agency. He could no longer direct his thoughts towards actions. He couldn’t move anything or do anything. He could only feel physical pain and the pain of not being able to do anything about it.

Eventually the incessant beating subsided, but the stinging burning pain did not. The impacts and bursts of pain stopped, but the burning did not. The impacts and bursts of pain stopped, but the bath of total hurt remained.

Sound was the only sensory input that was coherent and concrete to Father Hawk. Hearing was the only sense of his that stayed intact.

The wolves abandoned him. Father Hawk could hear their footsteps, growing ever fainter as the stones under their steps jiggled and the twigs crunched and clumps of dirt whooshed, sinking under their weight.

“Stay in your place,” muttered one of them. Father Hawk knew it was for him. Without the constant beating, Father Hawk could find the will and mobility to move, however painful it was. He writhed, trying whatever motion he could to get out of his pathetic hapless situation.

There were still wolves howling far off from the dense deepness of the woods, their visibility clouded to Father Hawk by what he knew were acres and acres of woodlands shrouded by darkness. Darkness, that ever present muddier, coming in the form of blankets concealing the light of the sky and the omnipotent force of darkness, misfortune, trials and tribulations.

Father Hawk ceased moving, struck by utter dejection. Would there ever be light on the other side of this all encompassing darkness?

“You won’t know the answer to that question unless you find the will enough to cross to the other side,” thundered a familiar voice.

Father Hawk’s eyes widened.

“Huntsman,” he whispered. Father Hawk grunted in his effort to roll over on his side. He bared his beak and squeezed his eyes in concentration even as they bulged, flitting to and fro on the horizon and then on the sky that he allowed himself to see by rolling over.

He exhaled in jagged breaths when he lay on his side, looking up at the sky and wincing in his excruciating pain.

He spotted the Huntsman glowing in his pale blue phantom body up in the starry black depths of space.

“Huntsman!” he repeated, drawing in rapid short breaths and softly whimpering. “Why— why would you let me think I was strong only to see myself fail and suffer?”

“I didn’t let you think,” said the Huntsman. “I let you know.”

Father Hawk closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Huntsman in his pain and try to reckon with and understand the being who coached him and pushed him onto his journey.

“No!” said Father Hawk, still closing his eyes. “I don’t feel strong! I feel like nothing!”

“You are what you say,” said the Huntsman. “I let you face the wolves because I knew you had become strong enough to face defeat.”

“You let me fail?” snarled Father Hawk in a quavering voice. He opened eyes that were already watery. Huntsman was a blurry pale mass. “I don’t know what to believe! The wolf leader told me that you sent me to the shadowlands to do the work you were too afraid to do!”

“Why would you send me to something that you’re better off doing?”

“I can only look within my psyche,” said the Huntsman. “I cannot go inside. What I do in the canyons changes, molds and reinforces parts of my psyche. But unlike you, I can’t move inside the darkness of my soul— the shadowlands — a place you now have access to. You can retrieve the Flower of Life from Coyote King. My indifference and procrastination has allowed my monster, the Coyote, to imprison the gem in front of me that I knew not to guard until it was taken from me. When you ignore your problem, they can become so buried and embedded deep inside of you that it becomes harder and harder to reach for it and solve it. The less you can reach for it, the bigger the problem can grow.”

“I am acting the best I can by sending you forth and guiding you.”

“This isn’t fair,” said Father Hawk, matter of factly in a tone devoid of much bitterness. “But I didn’t have a say in the matter so why bother, right?”

“Right,” said the Huntsman. “I don’t have a say in the matter now either.”

“What do you have to say about this?” asked the Huntsman. “What do you think, Father Hawk/”

Father Hawk sighed.

“I, uh………I think I better get on my way,” said Father Hawk. “The wolves can’t beat me every time, not if I can keep getting stronger.”

“And how do you get stronger?” asked the Huntsman.

“Just like I did before,” said Father Hawk. “By fulfilling and then returning. Subjecting myself. To you and the world around me. No, I won’t die. Not now. I’m going to get back.” Father Hawk’s pain had receded. He slowly stood up, wincing and bracing against some branches that he staggered to on his left to stay balanced. As he moved more, feathers all over his body unclumped and extended, now freer.

The dank and earthly smell of the moist soil edging the lapping waters wafted over and Father Hawk breathed it in deeply. “I grow from my pain as I did in the oblivion of your soul.”

The Huntsman smiled.

“You’ll know what to expect now,” he said. “From the wolves. You’ve faced them and through your failure have brought yourself knowledge.” The Huntsman raised his arms across him and his long beard suddenly rippled to the left. From far off on the horizon the sun of a new dawn was rising over the water; a brilliant white ball with an aura of yellow that pierced the darkness of night, shattering it and letting a lightning blue emerge behind the dissipating shards of black.

The light was seeping into the heavens, causing the stars and the Huntsman to fade away.

“You have been hurt, but our newfound strength is not gone. Reach for that strength and rise above the regret and embarrassment of failure. Do not yearn for me. You have many of the answers you seek. You need just look.”

“Not all the animals of the shadowlands are malicious and the eagle still awaits. You need just look.”

“Wait!” yelled Father Hawk. he staggered forth, wincing, but staying focused on the sky. “That doesn’t tell me everything! The wolf leader! He told me much more! What are—”

The Huntsman had disappeared and many of the stars behind him were gone. The baby blue of morning was creeping over the heavens. Father Hawk sighed and turned around.

Subject yourself. Endure and cross over to the light.

Father Hawk inhaled deeply as he scanned the woodland before him in fear.

Despite the growing light, the woodlands of the shadowlands were, well— shadowy.

Further through the thickness was the darkness of narrowly spaced trees, cramped and blocking out light with their overgrowth.

Subject yourself.

Father Hawk stepped through the trees and began a long walk through darkness.

Update: Out sick. Still been writing, but no chapter today…………..Also, holy crap! Dune Messiah is awesome!

I got COVID!

I know right? It’s crazy when it happens. Especially when it happens to you. Luckily, I was in the 97% of symptoms as opposed to the 3%. I just had cold symptoms and was out of it for several days in the past two weeks, but I recovered in the middle of last week and now I’m all set. It’s weird since I live a pretty safe life and have been since the pandemic started. I only go in to school once a week and now that it’s winter, I’ve hardly left the house.

I have been writing the next chapter, but obviously I was slowed down significantly by sickness. There’s no chapter or article today, but fear not! Father Hawk’s journey is still going on inside of my notebook.

I think I will write a post about my experiences after testing positive for the coronavirus. If it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone, even if you are safe.

Everyone, be safe out there! Wear you face masks and practice social distancing! It can save time and save lives!

I’ve been reading Dune Messiah as of late and it is awesome! It expands on the themes from Dune about the consolidation of power, radicalization and the ability of power to attract the easily corruptible. The writing style and tone remains, however the narrative is drastically different from Dune’s. This is a good thing since this second book’s story takes place in a new period of the Dune universe. Everything is still reeling from Paul’s rise to power and his subsequent Jihad. There’s a TON of new stuff here. It’s not a rehashing of the same stuff. There’s more mystic and spiritual stuff added in that’s a pleasure to read about.

I also finished The Great Hunt, book two of The Wheel of Time while I was out sick. Robert Jordan does not disappoint. This one is bigger and more complex than The Eye of The World. The Dune influences also become a lot more apparent in this second book.

Anyone looking for cool Dune commentary and lore deep dives should check out the YouTube channel Quinn’s Ideas. The guy is an expert on all things Dune.

The link to his channel is https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1rFmaGLYr0Ve_Y_soxZNWQ

2200 Blues Chapter 34 (Early Draft)

“State your business with me!” exclaimed Father Hawk, breaking the nightly calm.

The wolf at the center of the advancing line squinted his yellow eyes and turned to look at the wolves on the left and the right, who slightly tilted and nodded their heads. The center wolf turned his head back to look at Father Hawk. His mouth, curving around his muzzle,upturned. The corner of his mouth to the left of Father Hawk upturned, as if in a smirk.

“State you business and if it puts me in harm, I will have to fight you!”

The center wolf’s eyes widened, appearing like glowing embers in the dark night. He raised his head back, moving the eyes back until they were small slivers of light to Father Hawk. The wolf let out a raucous later. His voice was hoarse and his laughter was grating.

“I will not submit to you,” said Father Hawk, “but I will submit to my safety.”

Father Hawk and the line of wolves both slowly advanced, inching forward bit by bit. The wolves squinted at him with baleful eyes and Father Hawk returned the stares with a threatening frown of his own.

“I’m afraid,” growled the center wolf in a deep baritone voice, “I can’t guarantee the safety of an intruder on our island.”

“Even if I tried diplomacy?” said Father Hawk, cocking his head up and to the side. He also stopped walking and raised his wings in a questioning manner by bending his wings and pointing the bend down.

“That depends on your business,” said the center wolf. He turned his head to both of his sides and raised his right paw. This seemed to indicate ceasing an advance because all of the wolves turned their heads to the center wolf and stopped in their tracks. “I’ve stated ours. Now you state yours.”

“Fair enough,” said Father Hawk. He lowered his wings. “All I seek is a passage that’s as safe as possible to Coyote’s Rock.”

“Coyote’s Rock?” wheezed the wolf closest to the center wolf on Father Hawk’s left. The wheezy wolf scrunched his eyes and left his mouth agape, wearing an incredulous expression. The center wolf continued to stare at Father Hawk, but he narrowed his eyes.

The other wolves made soft purrs and grunts of agitation and alarm as they all looked at each other, frowning, unbelieving.

“Who do you think you are?” roared the wolf farthest to Father Hawk’s right. “We take orders from Coyote King! We patrol for him! What do you expect us to do when you come to us looking for a passage to the place none must enter? His Rock is his fortress! You ca-”

“Enough!” thundered the center wolf. He turned to both of his sides, keeping a still and calm face. “We answer to Coyote.” As soon as he muttered these words to his comrades, a calm seemed to wash over them, melting their angry expressions back into stoic masks of intimidation.

“And why?” the center wolf asked Father Hawk, shaking his head in mock thoughtfulness, “do you seek passage to the fortress where none must enter?”

“Because Coyote King stole something very important to the Huntsman,” said Father Hawk. “He stole a flower that seeds the universe and that can feed……..my wife who is in great peril and pain.”

“It could save her life.”

“And if you have any shred of kindness or empathy,” said Father Hawk, feeling his heart sink at the word of his wife and the subsequent thought of his child. “-you will let me go forth.”

The center wolf let out a low and evil chuckle that rattled on until it became a raucous laugh.

The wolves at his side chuckled as well, staring at Father Hawk with bared jaws and the same old glinting predatory eyes.

“Compassion!” exclaimed the center wolf. “There is no such thing as compassion on this side of the world. We stand in the shadowlands of the huntsman’s psyche!”

“What?” muttered Father Hawk. Shadowlands? He thought that he had been sent out of the Huntsman’s shadow when he’d received a new body. He was in the grasslands! At least, that’s where he thought he was.

“I’m in the grasslands!” said Father Hawk. “The ethereal grasslands.”

“No, you’re not,” said the wheezy wolf. “At least not anymore.”

“Well then,” said Father Hawk, noticing the uncertainty in his voice as his authoritativeness was weakening, “how much do the shadowlands take up the Huntsman’s psyche?”

About as much as the grasslands, kid,” said the deep-voiced wolf farthest to the head wolf’s right.

“The shadowlands are large!” boomed the center wolf. “The shadowlands cover as much territory as there are wolves like us. And to your detriment and to the expansiveness of the Shadowlands, there…… are…………..millions of us,” he snarled.

The line of wolves savored the last words and seemed to slowly advance again and loom over the earth as if on cue.

Father Hawk didn’t want to let the wolves’ words be final.

“Hold on!” he said, trying for a bolder voice. He frowned as well. “Where exactly is Coyote Rock? Can it be found in the Shadowlands? Or the grasslands? Or is it-”

“-somewhere else,” finished Head Wolf. “Your words are not beyond us………………..Father Hawk!”

Father Hawk’s eyes widened and he froze.

“How– exactly do you know my name?” asked Father Hawk in as cool and as low a voice as he could muster.

Head Wolf hung his head back and roared with more of his raucous laughter.

“We are from the shadowlands!” he roared, letting his head loll back to eye Father Hawk threateningly. “We have lived and breathed in the shadows– the shadow of the Huntsman’s soul. We hear his repressed secrets hissing in the dark like forbidden whispers. You’ve only seen the light side of his souldom. The innocence. The infantilism. The lies.”

Head Wolf raised his front legs and stood on his hind legs, hoisting his body up and flexing his muscles. His fur rippled over them.

He raised his front limbs out across him in triumph.

“WE – are the BADLANDS!” he roared. His wolf cronies shuffled their feet on the ground, kicking up tufts of dirt. They opened their jaws, wagged their tongues and bared their fangs.

“We are the hell- the necessary forest fire and it is inevitable that we burn through souldom!” The Head Wolf’s cronies ran and jumped up and down around the head wolf. Their yellow eyes glowed brighter than ever, fuming with fury.

The center wolf turned his head to Father Hawk and looked at him questioningly.

“You don’t know where you are,” said Head Wolf incredulously. “You don’t even know where we are,” he said, pointing his front paws at Father Hawk and then at himself. His cronies moved around less and went back to looking at Father Hawk. They still shuffled around and wagged their tails and tongues.

“This!” said Head Wolf, raising his front limbs back out across him horizontally. “ -is reality! This is the storm that the Huntsman has repressed- tried to hold back. BUT HE HOLDS US BACK NO LONGER!”

His cronies all leaped up and down. Barking, they circled and sometimes started farther away, but always returned to his immediate vicinity. They growled, snarled and barked loud gruff barks that pierced the calm of the night.

“The shadowlands are the Huntsman’s true reality. The dark side he wants to ignore. You see, Father Hawk, you have been deceived. There is no righteous quest for you. The Huntsman sent you to his Shadowlands to do the dirty work he doesn’t want to do.”

“What he fails to acknowledge…”

The barking of the other wolves prompted fainter barks and howls to rise from the thick woods beyond, joining the chorus of ecstasy. Head Wolf was their leader and he was feeding them belief.

“…is that the canyons he roams, hunting after poor animals like us, are the SHADOWLANDS! The real life projection of an inner world he would rather ignore.”

The barking and howling was its loudest now, echoing, deafening. Yet, it still wasn’t deafening enough to surpass Head Wolf.

“His world is our world,” he snarled. “Whether he likes it or not. So what do you say?” He pointed his front limbs at Father Hawk. “Join us and chaos will reign, taking its rightful place in the world!”

“My wife,” thought Father Hawk, clenching his beak shut and frowning. He had to hold on to something. “My child………LIFE!”

“No!” shouted Father Hawk. “I’ll never join you!”

With that, he screamed in fury and leaped forward, sprinting towards Head Wolf.

Without Head Wolf moving or saying anything at all, his cronies leaped at Father Hawk and like that, they were upon him.

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars – REVIEW/COMMENTARY

Christopher Paolini, left To Sleep in A Sea of Stars, right

Christopher Paolini has an incredible life story. He’s both talented and incredibly lucky. All successful authors are lucky, but Paolini is luckier than what is normally considered lucky for any author. That is because he wrote a novel as a teenager and then published it in his early twenties to critical acclaim and attained author stardom.

His debut novel, Eragon is a behemoth of a fantasy novel for a teenager. I think I should make that clear. As a teenage science fiction writer, I can say that achieving even the slimmest sliver of his success would be amazing and incredibly lucky for me.

I read about half or one third of Eragon when I was ten, but started some other book and so I put Eragon down. I remember liking it quite a bit, but also that I found to be a bit derivative of Star Wars. This is something that has been noted by many different people. I still clearly remember noticing that the idea of a squandered culture of trained individuals’ suddenly being accessible to a young farm boy who has to evade a large scale power that has done the squandering is right from Star Wars. To be fair, that premise from the original Star Wars trilogy is probably from something else or more than one thing altogether.

I can’t speak strongly on Eragon since I haven’t finished reading it and I was ten when I last read it. I have no clue what I would think of it now, but I’m still planning on picking it up again because of how big of a deal it is.

I just want to see what another teenager did for his debut novel since I am working on what will be my debut novel. Also, I remember reading Eragon was fun. That was my first epic fantasy.

All stories are remixes. You can’t escape tropes and archetypes. When used correctly, they are tools and not limitations or disguises. Some stories are just more overt about how much of a remix they are.

Besides, Paolini wrote this when he was a teenager. I can cut him slack on that front for being derivative of fantasy tropes.

He made it big, got a movie made out of the book and became an established fantasy author in the most unlikely period of a writer’s life: his twenties.

Since wrapping up the Eragon sequels in The Inheritance Cycle, he has been hard at work for a decade on his first science fiction work, which was released this past September. A lot of time has passed since Paolini was a teenager. He is now a seasoned writer and an adult with more experience.

I picked up his new book, To Sleep in a Sea of Stars from a library and read the 848 page science fiction epic. The word epic should be emphasized. So much of this book follows the format of an epic fantasy and is a quest story.

Science fiction has seen a trend towards fantasy in recent times. It seems to have been spurred by the New Wave breaking from the technicality and plot orientation of older science fiction and moving more towards the character based, the psychological and the literary. Dune also seems to have spurred a direction towards the epic in the science fiction genre.

The subcategory of science fiction fantasy has been established and honestly, the intersections between pure science fiction and science fiction fantasy is pretty blurred. You could argue that science fiction is a form of fantasy. There are so many fans of fantasy AND science fiction. The intersection is really blurred when readers and writers are fascinated by the fantastical and unreal of ALL forms.

Especially with the success of fantasy in recent years from Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings, the Harry Potter film franchise and even HBO’s A Game of Thrones, it seems like there is more of a thirst for mythological stories.

As I’ve brushed upon in previous articles, at least part of that could be due to the lessening of religious life and spirituality.

So, given all of that, it really isn’t a surprise that science fiction has become more mythological and borrows more from mythological motifs than say Isaac Asimov did in his sci-fi stories.

However, there is no lack of scientific research and science based worldbuilding. At the end of the book is a whole scientific paper on quantum physics and the science of the FTL interstellar travel of the story.

In the extensive index at the end of the book is actually the name of a character from the Inheritance Cycle who serves as an easter egg. However, where the definition or otherwise description should be is a note that tells us that the input cannot be identified. Cool stuff.

Little nods Paolini has planted in this book, many of which are to various parts of sci-fi history include a fictional culture named after the famous American science fiction writer Robert A. Heinlein as well as the name drop of the “hunter-seeker” a tiny floating remote controlled killing device from Dune whose purpose has not been changed for the Fractalverse, the universe in which this book takes place.

It seems as if Brandon Sanderson and his Cosmere is rubbing off on the world of science fiction and fantasy. To Sleep in a Sea of Stars is the first book in a shared future universe called the Fractalverse.

Unlike the Cosmere, the Fractalverse stories take place in the real world or universe, except this is a projected future version of the universe.

The scope of this universe in TSIASOS is staggering. It utilizes the familiar space opera tropes and concepts of the interstellar government and the presence of interstellar corporations monopolizing on resources and endeavors. The Foundation series by Isaac Asimov and the Dune universe by Frank Herbert are some of the earliest space opera endeavors like this. Like Foundation and Dune, To Sleep in a Sea of Stars portrays a galaxy with many different colonized planets and the problems arising from selfish corporations.

While Paolini’s science fiction book is in many ways a really good science fiction novel it is no Dune. While the mythological storytelling here is bound to send ripples through sci-fi, Paolini’s entry into the genre is not on a Sanderson level of groundbreaking. Instead, this is a great showcase of worldbuilding, unique and creative takes on space opera concepts with some of Paolini’s own sci-fi concepts, as well a promising universe with many potential stories to tell.

Hopefully the experience Paolini attained by writing this book can help him in writing even better science fiction.

The first few chapters of this book seem to cover the major events of the entire Alien movie, but it takes the 1 hour and 57 minute story and condenses it. This isn’t a ripoff, but so much of what happens in the overall plot of that movie occurs in mere chapters.

Kira Navárez is a very well realized character. Christopher Paolini is very good with female characters and there are other female characters other than her in the book.

Eragon didn’t have many female characters, but it seems like since his teenage years, Paolini has become more experienced. He’s an adult married to a wife. It seems like the life experience that has been gained since Eragon has given him more insight into female characters and more prolivity to writing them in the first place.

I will say that as a teenager, I am in teenage Paolini’s boat. Writing female characters is hard for me right now, so I naturally write more male characters in 2200 Blues.

Readers will immediately empathize with Kira as she is thrust into a happy circumstance. She becomes engaged to the man she’s in love with while working with people on an important mission as a xenobiologist.

A tragic accident results in the alien that she unintentionally brought on board the ship killing all of her creamtes, including her fiance. She is the only survivor and the xeno has latched onto her body, forming a symbiotic relationship with her.

We start off with the protagonist given a blissful circumstance and then having that circumstance ripped away and replaced by a much uglier one.

Following her tragedy, Kira has to deal with corporate hassling. Eventually, she escapes onto a spaceship that serves as this book’s Prancing Pony or Mos Eisley cantina. Here, we learn of the many different kinds of people who exist in the galaxy and partake in interstellar travel. We are introduced to Numenists, a very interesting culture of number worshipping humans, constantly looking for the ultimate number.

Mental health is explored in depth in this book, to my immense pleasure. Throughout the story, Kira has to learn how tos stop beating herself up for the past errors, which were in her hands or otherwise. Gradually, she moves towards acting and thinking in the present, reaching out to others and striving for a better future.

There is a great sequence in this book where Kira and her newly adopted crew travel to a planet with an extremely unique topography and hemisphere. The adjustment to this planet is explained very well and is honestly one of the coolest sci-fi scenes I have ever read in prose.

SPOILERS

At the 3rd act of the book is an amazing Lovecraftian encounter with a space monster that the plot has been gearing up to. It’s connected to the Soft Blade (the name for the xeno) and its effects on Kira. This is the climax of the story and it is when Kira undergoes a physical and mental catharsis. It is here where she truly stops beating herself up over the past and moves on.

It is a wonderful climax and fictional catharsis.

NO MORE SPOILERS

The most jarring thing about the book is its pacing. While it doesn’t always detract from the quality of the story, it does sometimes take away from the propulsion of the narrative and action. Sometimes, I felt like I was just waiting for things to become faster and return to the action of the story. However, there are many great aftermaths here, following an action peice or other major plot event. When the story slowed down in many instances, Paolini took the time to depict the psychological repercussions of the plot on the characters, specifically Kira.

This story is ultimately about overcoming tragedy and trauma. It’s about rising above pain and anguish– embracing it so that it can even be used as a weapon. That’s clearly illustrated in how Kira uses the Soft Blade, an entity which initially caused her tragedy.

For the same reasons that the story of a traumatized Bruce Wayne turned Batman connects with us, the story of Kira Navarez does as well.

This is a really cool sci-fi story with great thoroughly explained concepts and a very detailed universe. The worldbuilding is top-notch, delivering you a wide scope through the eyes of the protagonist making her way through the narrative while also maintaining the idea that there is actually so much more in this world outside of the pages. The exposition and word building information is delivered seamlessly with the story without overwhelming or boring the reader.

The tone of this space opera harkens back to the optimism of writers like Isaac Asimov. This is not a warning like Dune. Rather this is purely a celebration of innovation and space exploration. Paoloni uses the romanticism of fantasy to imbue his science fiction with optimism for innovation.

This is a good space opera and a great first sci-fi novel. I am looking forward to more science fiction stories set in the Fractalverse. Hopefully, the movie adaptation that’s been announced turns out to be good. Hopefully, Paolini’s participation with the script makes it as great as possible.

IMAGE LINKS

2200 Blues Chapter 33 (Early Draft)

“You’ve worked hard,” said the huntsman. Father Hawk could see his large blue body looming high in the black expanse and hear him as well. However, Father Hawk couldn’t see himself and he certainly couldn’t hear any sound he would normally create whether that be his feathers shifting against each other or his own breathing.

What Father Hawk could tell about himself was that he was worn down and tired. He felt disjointed. His perception felt fragmented. He was looking up at the huntsman from many different angles below.

Even though he felt no body of his, he felt some sense of direction in that he felt as if the black expanse was an oppressive weight pushing down into a thin place of existence– in other words, him, Father Hawk.

“You’ve done a lot, my boy,” croaked the huntsman. He sighed and looked up at – at nowhere really in the black expanse. The huntsman’s long silvery beard now dominated Father Hawk’s view, shimmering with a bright glow as it quivered and moved with the huntsman’s head.

“You see,” said the huntsman in a steadier voice. He still looked up, away from Father Hawk. “When I hunt the animals of the canyons, I get to know them very intimately. It’s the only way, really. Only way to track them down is to understand their life and where it will take them.”

“Therefore, I love them dearly. I see them for their unique habits, movements and characteristics. It makes me love them for who they are.”

“The threat I pose in the canyons forces them to move and work and burrow and sometimes build. I am their hardship which forces them to grow. I am the pressure which builds them up.”

“So I……………am their father.

“The huntsman was quiet for a bit, so his words settled in on Father Hawk, allowing him to register their weight. They seemed to be sinking in the huntsman’s mind too, for he was looking up with a thoughtful and open-ended expression. His eyelids were open pretty wide, but they were crinkled at the edges towards his ears. His pupils dropped down in weariness and his eyelids drooped. His mouth opened a crack and his dark blue lips sagged. There was a soft rushing sound as if a wind were rustling grass. It was the huntsman inhaling through his nostrils.

Little silver strands of glowing hair rustled and revealed themselves to Father Hawk inside of the huntsman’s nostrils before disappearing with their layer into darkness.

They rippled. Parts glowed in Father Hawk’s view before darkening and being replaced by a luminosity that made its way to the right. Moving. Changing. The light rippled from side to side.

The huntsman’s large mouth opened wide, letting a gaping black hole emerge, almost as black as the expanse around them. He sighed, letting out a noise like a roaring hail of a waterfall frothing with foam.

The black and empty void of a world heaved forward. Though Father Hawk couldn’t feel his own body, he felt a rising– pushing weight from below. He felt like he was being impelled towards the huntsman, moving closer to him, even though he wasn’t.

It was the force of an emotion turning into a thought about to burst into speech. In the form of a question.

“You’re my father?” asked Father Hawk. “Are you my father?”

The huntsman looked down at Father Hawk with a smile and eyes that crinkled in the smile. He chuckled loudly. The noise seemed to consume the space of the void and in turn was consumed by the vacuum of the space, made whole and constant.

“Why yes,” he grated. “The father of Father Hawk! Now isn’t that quite the enigma?”

Enabled by the words he’d spoken, Father Hawk felt the new power of being able to summon a voice in the void, to speak more.

First, he chuckled. Then he spoke:

“Yeah. I mean, I guess. I never thought of having a father. I was a god so I assumed that the universe was made for me instead of the universe having made me.”

“Ahhhhhhhhh……….,” said the huntsman. “That is where you are changing. Once you are able to willfully subject yourself to your world– your environments, subject yourself to its legacy. Subject yourself to me!”

There was a thundering in the void that punctuated the huntsman’s last words. A deafening crackle followed by many echoes that seemed to bounce across the void.

“Ahhh……….,” repeated the huntsman. “I see what is happening. Keep listening, Father Hawk. You are like the phoenix, sent to oblivion by the fiery throes of death and then reborn by the fire. We are in oblivion– the shadow of my psyche and soul. You are reborn only through self transformation.”

“Self transformation starts with subjection. Subject! To responsibility. Subject yourself to your limitations. Do you realize what I am saying?’

A thin web of blue lightning coursed through the black void, first appearing as random glowing lines, then edging down around the huntsman in larger beams of jagged light.

They sizzled and electrified wherever the final ends touched in the destinations of their glowing path. Father Hawk knew this because he could feel wherever they touched. Wherever the lightning struck, the sensation of touch was returning to Father Hawk. It was almost as if he had………………. a body.

Shocking white beams coursed through the space in jagged shapes, dodging the huntsman. Auras of blue light emanated from the jagged white paths, creating edges and an outline. All of the lightning clustered together in a bundle of blue fraying, spindly, twisting and morphing electricity. Lightning struck from many different directions – up, left and right. It was a tapestry of change and twisting that all ended up in the same focal point. It was a net that had been cast down from above and situated like a hemisphere.

“Yes, yes,” muttered the huntsman. “You are changing, Father Hawk! Change is how you are reborn from the darkness and from death.”

At the focal point of electricity, Father Hawk could finally feel. The lightning was slowly materializing into a shape. Beams of light were joining into glowing white lines that smoldered and produced steam as they were formed out of the heat and the light.

Wherever lightning kept striking, thunder crackled, louder than ever. Faster than ever. They were like echoing drums that beat faster and faster in a victorious melody that was escalating to-.”

“My son is born,” said the huntsman, looking down with half-closed awestruck eyes.

Escalating to Father Hawk’s return. The storm of lightning was bequeathing a body for Father Hawk. Out of the focused bundle of electricity, Father Hawk was given smoldering limbs to wade in the blackness. And eyes to look out of at the storm of lightning cascading around the Huntsman like hailing rain that brushed and bounced off of his looming blue body.

A chest, Father Hawk’s head and limbs appeared. The lightning kept coursing down even though Father Hawk was now able to move his wings in front of him to his chest. He could barely make out his feathers when glowing light dripped off of him like magma and steam arose wherever the lightning bolts danced on his body.

“I knew it!” shouted the Huntsman over the roar of thunder. “I knew you had it in you! You called the storm with your understanding. Now, since you have a body, I can cast you out of the shadow of my soul!”

“Return to the grasslands, Father Hawk! Do not fear pain! Subject yourself to it. And you may become GREAT!”

With that, the Huntsman pushed his hands down, sending a wave through the void that pushed Father Hawk in his glowing hot body and the swarming lightning away. Father Hawk was pummeled down so hard that he couldn’t even flap his wings.

“REMEMBER!” boomed the Huntsman as his voice grew ever fainter and his image was blocked out by Father Hawk’s trailing electricity.

“I only spoke the words. It was you who did the changing!”

The world roared around Father Hawk. He crashed into dark waters that submerged him in shallow ground. The cold shocked him and dampened the light. The dying embers of light illuminated bubbles arising from Father Hawk’s sizzling body.

Struggling for air, Father Hawk pushed himself up with his claws. He emerged with his torso sticking out of the pool, dripping water and steaming.

His heart pounded and his beak was agape, panting for air.

The grasslands were darkened by the night sky. In front of him was the reflection of the glowing white moon, rippling in the pool due to Father Hawk’s emergence.

He waded through the water and found that the ground was inclining. He quickly made it to the shore, a crusty material of damp dirt and stone. Ahead of him was a small clearing and short grasses, shrubs and bushes. At the circular edge, the clearing gave way to a grouping of piled rock boulders directly ahead. They were surrounded by twisting vines that wrapped around the rocks and the bark of trees with masses of fluttering green leaves. Their broccoli shaped heads intersected each other and formed a wall Father Hawk could not see through.

Even in between tree trunks and vines was a shrouded darkness with only faint figures of even more trees.

Father Hawk’s breathing had slowed and his panting had receded into a more even and calm breathing.

While the light had faded from his body, little sparks and tailings of electricity remained, dancing across his body. They skidded across his feathers, disappearing and then suddenly reappearing somewhere else on his body. They gradually became smaller, narrower and fewer. Their incessant buzzing grew quieter.

His body was the same as before, but with none of the cuts, bent feathers, grime or other injuries sustained on his previous time in the Holy Grasslands. He was also more fit. He had more fat under his feathers and patting himself, discovered harder muscles.

Countless and myriad white stars dotted the sky, but the Huntsman wasn’t to be seen amongst any of them.

Father Hawk was on his own.

Several stealthy wolves emerged out of the woods, slipping around tree trunks, under vines and over them.

They were all furry and had muscles popping out from under the fur. Their worming backs, underbellies and chests were bulky, the moving muscles rippling under the dark gray fur. Meanwhile, their legs were angular from strong solid bones and narrowed on the way to their paws. Their ears were tall and pointy and underneath, their eyes glinted yellow with a predatory hunger.

Three emerged from the left, one from straight ahead and two from the right. The closer they moved to Father Hawk, the more they advanced in a circular line, closer to each other than they initially were.

They snarled and growled in low grating voices. They bared their sharp triangular teeth and fangs, licking them with long tongues.

Father Hawk stood still, frowning.

Was he ready?

If he wasn’t ready now, he never would be ready.

He would submit himself to any challenge that lay ahead here on out.

Father Hawk crouched and raised his wings, ready to fight the monsters ahead of him.

Hans Zimmer and parental woes

By G.R. Nanda

It’s interesting that Hans Zimmer has worked on soundtracks for stories about male protagonists/heroes who were born into families of privilege and power, but after a tragic death of the protagonist’s parental figure(s) and a subsequent destabilization of the hero and his family’s position in the setting they once had a reign over, the hero goes through a transformative journey that will culminate in them claiming their family’s inheritance and fulfilling their role in their setting. We see this in not only The Lion King, but also in The Dark Knight movies, Batman V. Superman and in the story of Dune, the book which is getting a soundtrack by Hans Zimmer for the 2021 film adaptation. Simba, Bruce Wayne and Paul Atreides all have a LOT in common. Perhaps Hans Zimmer’s gravitation towards these kinds of stories has at least a little to do with his own father’s tragic death when Zimmer was just a young boy.

Image via https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/proxy/E04yZcxZdjQ2g0-rw8vBDOQIRTaZBQoQfo6ujXe-wnCo9PRp4uu0E4df9bw2w4Xa0JkM-dhiA-s5vP5YrN3OXaJoGVh7vLEEQGkQBsD_j6qUeK4U8KzBgGa6UEOqwfLOjZ7bApCVa0oyaVDVD5iVNRKLGDgzJiRF37U