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Character Pages and Webnovels Updated!

“You should see all the super-neat stuff we gots in the Band Room! My friends Talitha-chan, Shannon-sama and even Ranko-chan got their character pages!”

“The first two chapters of Descent into the Ivyreef Deeps are up too, and don’t forget Hoshi’s Warrior of the Sunrise page in the Hall of Warriors.”

“Yeah! We even gots a whole ‘nother comic called Fury of the Venom Legion! Come see us again soon! Ja!”

“Well, at least now we know who she is.”

“She was in the story part that we had on Tuesday too.”

he Vicereine picked her way down the gentle slope of the gully step by step. She stopped near where Cici had fallen and very slowly began to crouch down. Using her staff for support, she allowed her hands to slide down the smooth twisted wood bit by bit. She winced and groaned in pain several times before coming to rest on her knees. She sat hunched over for a moment as if exhausted, clutching her staff to the side of her head. Her cowl hung down, covering her face. A few locks of white hair were visible along her back and along the edge of the cowl. Cici tried again to stop crying, but her ankle was very swollen by now, and her shoe was beginning to hurt her foot.

After a few moments, Reina finally placed the staff flat on the ground next to her. Cici felt a hand under her own and turned her head. She gasped as she saw a grayish slender hand with jewel-encrusted rings on all four fingers reach down and take her by the wrist. Cici sniffled and looked up. The woman seemed to be busy concentrating on something.

“Do not pull against the tree trunk.” Reina said.

Cici sniffled again. She didn’t know what to think. She was sure the robed woman was really mean, but now she sounded different. Reina looked at Cici’s dirt-streaked and astonished face. The woman’s gold-colored eyes made Cici feel better.

“I am not your enemy,” Reina said. “Sit up.”

Cici realized she wasn’t really stuck. She was just snagged on the tree and had been pulling in the wrong direction. She stopped pushing against the ground and gradually crawled sideways far enough that she could push herself up. The moment she tried to move her foot, however, she was rewarded with a stab of pain from her ankle. Cici cried out and pulled her foot up to her hands.

“Will you help me cast a healing spell?” Reina asked. Cici looked down through the blur of tears at her right foot. Her ankle was swollen and the skin around it was darker. She sniffled and looked up at Reina, then nodded.

“Sit up slowly this time,” Reina said. “Place your foot flat against the Earth. Gently.” Cici gingerly pushed herself up with one hand as Reina reached over and retrieved the Chronicler’s Lantern lying sideways on the ground. The robed woman placed the shining gold lantern upright next to her staff. The light from the lantern illuminated the side of the gully nicely. By now Cici was sitting up and rubbing her face with her hand, only succeeding in adding another layer of dirt.

“I am called Reina. What is your name?”

“I’m Cici. How come you wear so many rings?” Cici asked quietly, pointing at Reina’s hand while still rubbing her nose. Then she sniffled again.

“Because I like to collect beautiful things,” Reina replied, impressed by Cici’s inquisitiveness. “Do you like this ring, Cecilia?” she asked. Cici nodded, eyes wide. Reina indicated a heavy gold ring on her right hand set with a nearly transparent delicately faceted blue stone and decorated with a dozen smaller white gems.

“This ring is called the Soaring Chime. It was given to me long ago by a scribe named Giho skilled in the arts of gemcutting. He lives on an island in a place called the Princesses Crowns far away in the eastern sea. There are men there who dig deep into the mountains to find raw stones such as this one. The scribe spends years cutting and shaping them into Chimes. Chime stones can make sounds with magical properties.”

“What’s magical properties?” Cici asked, enthralled.

“It means this stone can ring, and the sound from it can heal your ankle,” Reina replied. “Will you help me make the Soaring Chime ring?”

“Can I?” Cici asked.

“Look carefully at the stone,” Reina said, offering her hand so Cici could see. “Do you see the upper edge? Where the tiny symbol is carved into the gold?”

Cici looked carefully and saw that the edge of the setting just above the oval-shaped sky-blue stone had a tiny symbol carved into the polished gold. If Reina hadn’t mentioned it, Cici would never have noticed it.

“All you must do is tap that symbol with your finger as if you are trying to make a bell ring,” Reina said. “Then, listen for the sound.”

Cici peered at the stone and the tiny symbol, then slowly reached up with her hand and held her finger over the ring for a moment. Then she flicked her hand, tapping the edge of the ring with her finger as if testing something she had been told was very hot.

A very soft and faint glow appeared in the center of the stone and Cici began to hear the sounds of chimes and bells all around her. First one, then a second. They began to play cascades of three tones, then five. Then ten. It sounded like someone drawing a stick along a series of bells, each one larger than the one before it, making a luxurious sound like the playing of all the strings of a harp from smallest to largest.

Cici looked at her foot and was startled by the greenish swirl of energy around her ankle. She saw a pale blue glow along the outer edge of her hand where she had been cut, and a silver shower of sparkling energy around the bruise on her knee. Her ankle felt much better. The music was so beautiful that Cici didn’t want it to end. All of her wounds and bruises were healed, and the music faded peacefully along with the glow of the Soaring Chime.

“It’s magic just like my lantern! Are you a warrior like me?” Cici asked. Reina’s expression changed.

“I am all that remains,” Reina replied.

LadyStar™ Call of the Huntress is Copyright © 2007 2008 Heavy Cat Multimedia Ltd. All Rights Reserved

Prologue

The Kings Road to Thesia

he air took no notice of the foolishly brave villager as it drifted across the dusty gray hills. The morning was still and heavy with the soundless echoes of legend, like each day that had come before it since the Kingdom had fallen. His foot edged a ripped and tattered emblem still tenuously attached to its broken standard, strewn across the ground in defeat, a profound contrast to its once proud and ruthless meaning. Upon it was a vulture, its silver wings outstretched against a crest as gray as the abandoned battlefield it now memorialized. Perhaps its once great King still ruled. The marooned farmers of Thesia, first village on the Kings Road in the province of Kulnas, had no way to know.

Other than the heavy mist, his was the first presence to linger in this place since the battle, if it could be called by that name. He, like so many others, wished to understand what had occurred on that night so long ago, but only Ornas, despite the dire cautions of his fellows, dared set foot upon ground instead of road in Kulnas Forge.

Perhaps he was indeed foolish, driven by a youthful belief in his own invincibility to venture forth while others hurried through the land, glancing neither left nor right. Perhaps he could, despite the failures of so many others in the attempt, parlay foolishness into a destiny other than that of a tiller of soil.

The simple farmers of Thesia had believed that night would be their last under the stars. Families huddled in their hovels, dove under wagons and into granaries, and closed their eyes against what they never attempted to describe, fearing the very mention of what they had seen and heard would cause its return. The white fire in the skies was too horrible even for nightmares.

Ten regiments had been swept into history on that night. Under the banner of the King of Silver they had once threatened Kulnas itself, yet now their only legacy was an undiscovered tale of vengeance visited upon them by a being whose name was rarely even whispered, much less spoken. Even Ornas listened to that urgent advice. She was known as the Pure Defender of the Realm, yet many believed that she would bring destruction to any who stood before her. All but one legend were loath to speak the name LadyStar.

Will my name, Ornas wondered, be written into legend by my deeds upon this field this day? He stood only a few yards off the road, still apprehensive whatever his reckless courage. It was here that soldiers fought, he thought. Looking around he saw gray mists swirling over only slightly darker ground. The faded trees at the edges of the hilly fields leaned against the mist like rogues in an alleyway, their leafless limbs as sharp as daggers.

The air was cold. Those who knew Kulnas were accustomed to the chill of the morning. The trees and the road were his only companions, or so he hoped. Many of the villagers who still made their homes in Thesia believed this field was haunted: That any who stepped off the road here would face the same woman clad in ghostly white robes that had driven the Vulture Crest back. Stories of her victory had become part of their very culture, already cemented into the village’s traditions by the optimistic rhymes of their children, yet still careful to omit the name given her by legend.

Tales had reached many lands now that King Gaelen’s soldiers no longer obstructed the scribes of Isia, Chaer, Varcarel and Kulnas from their travels. Many wanted to know more about those legends, but only Ornas allowed his curiosity to carry him off the road and into the site of one of the most significant events in the entire recorded history of Aventar.

He walked slowly, making his way further off the road and further into the slowly swirling mist. To a more frightened eye, the wisps of fog might appear to be ghosts themselves: circling, fading, then reappearing in the corner of the eye only to vanish once again. To a more apprehensive ear, the sound of the wind might have been a faint cackling: a jeer or taunt to challenge a hapless fool’s search for nothing. Her eyes could be upon me right this moment, Ornas thought, turning quickly to look back in the direction of the now obscured road. His mind raced.

If the mist be a ghost, it surrounds me, he observed. Despite his practical way of thinking, the culture of superstition he had lived among his entire life in Thesia could not be ignored completely.

He turned forward once again and huge dark shape emerged from the mist. Ornas jumped back with a shout and gasped for air. It did not move. The young man remained, his hand clutching his chest, still breathing deeply and quickly as he slowly recovered from the shock. A blackened shape sat there in the now slightly bluish but yet darker mist. It was easily the size of a small dwelling with what appeared to be several columns lying flat across it. At its base were wheels, one to the right and one to the left, each with a diameter half Ornas’ height. His eyes widened. Perhaps I have found an engine of war!

Ornas was as excited by his discovery as he was frightened by its sudden appearance. Even to one unfamiliar with the mechanisms of battle, the huge device, whatever its former purpose, was as much a ghost as the imagined shapes in the mist. Ornas surmised it had once perhaps been constructed of wood, but now only a charred husk remained. He picked at the edge of one plank with his fingers, pulling a piece of the blackened remains of its outer wall free. It was exactly the same texture as burnt kindling. Ornas was amazed.

How many men, he supposed, must have manned this once fearsome war machine? How could it now be only a shadow of its former glory? What could have defeated them so utterly?

But defeated they were. So much so that only the machine remained. No man had stood to defend it. There was not one helm, nor even a shield or weapon upon the engine or the ground near it. There was nothing except its pulverized shell: abandoned, then destroyed by power beyond comprehension.

Even valor had been first to flee this engagement, Ornas thought. Yet, there was one oddity.

Underneath a small pile of rubble towards what Ornas surmised was the front of the machine he could see the edge of what he thought might be a thick metal chain. It was intriguing if only for the fact it was not burnt. Ornas knelt under the leaning planks and supports, reaching towards the chain. He could just reach it without crawling underneath the engine, and he slowly pulled it free. A length of tarnished links looped around his fingers, and pulled straight against his grip, apparently attached to something else still under the rubble. Ornas pulled harder and the entire pile of rubble moved as a heavy disc-shaped object emerged from underneath it.

Ornas gasped as he saw its color. There was an almost transparent light greenish-colored crystal disc attached to the chain. It slid along the ground as Ornas pulled it from underneath the war machine, then lifted it as he stood up. It dangled from the chain, slowly spinning in the chilled morning air. It was a perfect flawless crystal amulet nearly as wide as his shoe, and even Ornas could tell the chain was made of silver. It was as heavy as a large grain measuring stone, a treasure beyond his wildest imaginings. Surely now he would be as famous as the men who fought here!

The air took no notice of the foolishly brave villager as he hurried back towards the road.

“Who’s Sai Magnen?”

“Doesn’t sound too good to me.”

“Fury of the Venom Legion Page Seven has been published. Visit every Thursday for a new color page.”

“Now I’m sad for her because she looks like she’s really sick or something.”

“I wish we knew who she was.”

“Page Six is up. Visit every Thursday for a new color page.”

Teko’s Magical Treasure of the Week!

“Teko found the hooded sweatshirt with the Fury of the Venom Legion Winged Crimson Heart logo, which is the Magical Treasure of the Week! Be sure to visit our Gift Shop today. We made a ton of new stuff this week, and we’ll have more new designs soon!”

“Ooh! Isian Badlands. That’s Isia! The same place from the trunk we found in my attic in The Dreamspeaker!”

“Good eye, Goofy Bird, good eye. I wonder how far that is from where we showed up? You think the Venom Deeps might be around there?”

“I still want to know who she is. Maybe she really is that Vicereine person from Call of the Huntress.”

“She seems mean, though.”

“Well you’d be mean too if some guy was trying to stab you with a giant knife.”

“I’d zap him with my lantern like the Halloween monsters!”

“Little bit is fearless, isn’t she?”

“Heheheeeee…”

“Page Five has been updated. Fury of the Venom Legion updates every Thursday with a brand new color page.”

Teko’s Magical Treasure of the Week!

“Looks like this week’s Magical Treasure is our brand new Ajan Warrior of the Sunrise black t-shirt.”

“Ooh, nice design. I guess this means we’re going to have a new Sunrise page in the Hall of Warriors pretty soon.”

“Yeeeee! I can’t wait. The best part is Shannon-sama donates some of what the Gift Shop makes to benefit the Willie Mae Rock Camp for Girls! We got lots more gifts in Shannon-sama’s shop too. See ya!”

“Okay, now I’m starting to wonder who he is.”

“What does exsamency mean?”

“‘Excellency,’ Cici. It’s a way of addressing nobility.”

“She’s a noble?”

“Page three is up. Fury of the Venom Legion updates every Thursday with a brand new color page.”

“Hiiii everybody, it’s me Jessie! This week’s LadyStar Chapter of the Week is a real neat one. It’s from our first book, The Dreamspeaker, and it’s a chapter that’s called Swifty River. It’s about when Talitha found this real spooky forest where these little lights float around the trees and a pond. There’s this little bridge that’s real important later too. We hope you like our story! Be sure to visit us every week for a new best chapter! Ja!”

“Here is a preview of page three of Fury of the Venom Legion our all-new color LadyStar web comic. Fury of the Venom Legion updates every Thursday.”

“This is a preview of page 18 of The Varcarel Jade the free LadyStar web manga. The Varcarel Jade updates every Monday with a new page.”

I can't remember when I first read Sheila Ballantyne's Imaginary Crimes, which came out in 1982. At the time, my clothes all came from thrift stores (I remember a blue plaid skirt that looked like a Catholic school girl's - and it really must have been a girl's because it was way too short), and it was rare that I had the money to buy a book. So I probably spotted it at the library. At the time, I was probably reading three or four novels a week (that's what happens when you have to take the bus everyplace). So for a book to stick with me, to be read and re-read, that's saying something.

If you haven't read Imaginary Crimes, you should. You can pick up a copy at Amazon for a penny, plus shipping.

Here's what the New York Times had to say about the book in her obituary: "A semi-autobiographical account of a young woman raised by a father who is a confidence man. Organized as a series of brief, accumulating shards, “Imaginary Crimes” is set in the Pacific Northwest and California, in a time ranging from the 1930s onward. It tells the story of Sonya and her younger sister, who after their mother’s death from breast cancer are left in the dubious care of their father, Ray. Always looking for the next get-rich-quick scheme, Ray is eventually jailed in a land swindle."

The book was heartbreakingly honest. It cut to the bone. As a writer, I might admire the mix of third and first to tell the same story. As a human being, it's her feelings toward her father that caught me up.

In the early 90s, I wrote to her (care of her publisher, no Internet then), and she wrote back. They had just started filming the movie version here in Portland (with Harvey Keitel), and she told me how they had her write new scenes and sent her videotapes of what they had filmed. I told her how the house the main characters supposedly lived at was next door to my hairdresser's. They paid him money to spray his house with fake dirt so that the neighborhood would look down on its luck. More than a dozen years later, I still remember the thrill of getting that letter from her.

Read her essay here on how she became a writer.

Read her obit here.

I can only hope one day to write a book as true as Imaginary Crimes.





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