I’m tired of waiting though. The story is as planned as it’s going to be, and there are always future drafts to flesh things out later. It doesn’t have to be perfect right from the start.

Which is good because there are already things about it that I know I might end up changing. Mostly about names. But, it’s time to start and stop putting it off like I don’t deserve it.

So, there we are. I know I won’t write every day, but I’m hoping to get in a few sit-downs a week. I put up a little tracker on the fiction page. I have a long way to go before this whole series is finished.

This afternoon I had a little down time between finishing up the tasks I had to do around the house, and dinner. So I brought all my notes downstairs and pulled up an ottoman to rest my feet on. I spent about an hour going through my notebook to take down notes about characters and countries, but only the ones I needed for this. I felt by limiting my scope that it was more manageable. There’s a lot more information available, but I don’t have to write it all out and remember it just yet.

I also went through card by card to see if I needed to fill in any blanks. I managed to weed out a handful more of cards which were redundant, or just didn’t help the story along well enough. I cut out 2 characters’ POVs so as not to spoil any of the suspense for the story. I made some notes on the cards about the scenes, and then put them in order. I was able to read through it once while nodding and not feeling like I needed to add anything else to it before I stopped.

That’s the point I’m at now. I have 39 scene cards, 5 character cards, and 2 country cards. I put them in the order that they’ll be written into the story. I haven’t decided what my next step needs to be. Either, I just dive in writing, or I have to plan out the scene per card, as I go along, not all at once.

Plus, once I get to the writing part, I have to decide if I’m going to type it or write it by hand. If I write it by hand, I have to decide if I’m going to type as I go, or if I’ll save it all until the end.

Here are 5 books to start reading a series on, that aren’t Harry Potter (since most people have at least heard of those by now).

Arrows of the Queen — Mercedes Lackey : This starts the Harrold’s of Valdemar series. There are tons of books in this series, grouped into trilogies. I like this first one best, because it introduces you into the world, and the main character is one that you can relate to, and just want to root for.

The Way of Shadows — Brent Weeks : This starts the Night Angel trilogy. I liked it because, not only want the main character a man, but it focused on the darker side of life. Starting out in the slums, and then staying on the shady part of the law, but still being a generally good person.

The Magician’s Guild — Trudi Canovan : This is the first in the Black Magician trilogy. The ending for the last book kind of annoyed me, but the rest of the story was well done. It shows that sometimes you have to go join the practices of the bad guys in order to protect the people from them. Fight fire with fire, so to speak. It also shows a little about perspective, and depending on who you are and where you’re from the same situation can look different from two sides.

The Amulet of Samarkand — Jonathan Stroud :  I liked the Bartimaeus Trilogy mostly because the djinn Bartimaeus is hilarious. He narrates the books, and has little asides in the footnotes. It’s a trilogy, but there was recently a fourth book with Bartimaeus in it, that isn’t related to the first three.

The Naming — Alison Croggon : This quartet was written as a translation for a scholar paper from an ancient story, . The story follows a woman as she pieces her life together with fragments remembered from her past, with the new reality she is faced with. The books of Pellinor follow her as she tries to save the world, but instead of being cliche it does a decent job of allowing her to fail at points before she’s able to find her fit in the world.

As a nice surprise some of my characters have come back to visit me from my BIG project that I’m going to work on next. I moved my room around, to get my desk and a dresser out of the way. Now I have some wall space to work with. On the wall, I taped up the note cards from the first book in the quartet.

Plotting

Seeing it like this, it needs some more fleshing out, more details added in (I’m thinking post-it notes added with details). I also cut out a good chunk from the beginning, and set it aside as either reference for back story, or a potential prequel. If that happens, and the planned sequel, than that brings the whole project up to a total of six books.

I don’t even want to think about that at this point.

To start with, I’m only going to deal with this first book. The second one is where the bulk of the first draft ended up. This first one is mostly new material. It’s like starting a new book, rather than a second draft, but the characters are familiar. I’m anxious, and a little excited too, to get going.

I just want to finish the current project first, so I guess that means I need to get typing that one up.

I feel like I’ve made decent progress. It’s been slow, since I only have a few minutes here and there, but something is better than nothing. And nothing is what I’ve been getting accomplished lately  I haven’t read a book in about a month. I haven’t had a chance to type up what I’ve written yet, but I think it might be about 2000 words or so, spread out over two weeks. Not spectacular, but it’s a small notebook that I’m using.

1. Second Draft = First Draft — 10% This is taken directly from Stephen King’s On Writing. A book I would highly recommend even if you’re not a King fan. It works for him because he tends to write way too much at first. For me, I might change that — to a + instead, since I tend to write a skeleton and then have to add meat to it. Come up with your own equation that you think is a good target. Having a number to aim for gives you an idea of how well you’re on track.
2. No adverbs, no passive voice. This is another King tip, but I’ve read it other places as well
3. Write the truth. When I read a book and I see something shown the way I think of the world, I relate that much closer to the story. For example: If someone writes about brushing their curly hair and not ending up with a fluffy mess, I’m immediately jarred out of the story with the thought “but that’s not real!” and I get quite indignant about it. Conversely, if someone writes about combing out their wet curls and then praying to some deity that those curls behave, than I’m much more likely to favorably immerse myself in the story. 
4. Observe, and listen. People watching, and eavesdropping are now hobbies. Try to not be rude about it, but you’d be surprised what you can learn about people, not specific people but people in general, just by paying attention to what they’re doing. Bonus points if you make up stories about a passing scene you witness and take notes about it
5. Read a lot, write a lot This is the mantra from King’s On Writing. I’ve expanded on it to include: read everything, not just your genre, to help you find your voice.
6. Daydream Imagine that your characters are walking around with you during the day, what would they be thinking about what’s going on. What sorts of conversations do they have together. Imagine yourself suddenly in the story, how would you react if you were there? Plant yourself into any story around you (tv shows, books, movies, etc).
7. Get to know your characters Become best friends with them, this sort of dovetails onto the end of #6, get to know them outside the confines of your story so that you know how they react to things that pop up in the story. If you don’t plan out everything, than it will feel more natural. Who knows, they might surprise you.
8. Keep a writer’s journal Record sights, sounds, impressions, snatches of conversation, everything. I don’t do this, but I really wish I did. It’s a way that you can practice describing things, one of my weakest points, outside of the pressure of a story. You can write about anything and it won’t really matter. It’s practice.
9. Write in all moods, all times and different locations This is pretty self explanatory, by changing up your writing in these ways, you’re able to vary the tone of your writing. If you only write when you’re happy in a comfortable chair, then the tone of what you write will tend to lean on the happy side. If you’re stressed and angry on the bus home, or it’s dark and stormy, you’ll be able to capture a better feel of an angry scene than in your happy sunny chair. It gives you a better chance at variety in your writing. Plus, you might find a new spot where you’re able to write better than in your chair at home.
10. Don’t isolate yourself Most writers that I know tend to be introverts. It’s easy to just want to hole yourself up with your story and create. After a while, your life revolves only around your writing, and you slowly run out of experiences to share that people can relate to (except for maybe other writers). Balance is important in all parts of life. Go out and do things, live your life, then go back home to write about it.

What are your writing rules?

(Did you miss read­ing parts one through seven?)

It was dark out still when she woke, with no sounds of anyone else in the cottage being awake. During her bath the night before, she’d had the chance to really think about her situation. It seemed farfetched, even though she lived it. Somehow be magically transported from her world to this one, only to be snapped up in transit to “safety,” then to follow a strange man through a forest to a city, only to abandon that city into a forest again. The men she was with were both an unknown, and not particularly friendly. She had worked herself into exhaustion chopping wood that didn’t need to be chopped, with poor tools and next to no lighting. All of that work and pain had only resulted in being laughed at for trying. They thought she was gullible for trying.

Her cheeks heated at the memory. The dinner she’d been left was the remains of some fish and vegetables that they had eaten shortly after their arrival. It was cold and rubbery by the time she got to it. Granted she had taken a long bath, but they hadn’t even mentioned she had food waiting for her.

Then there was the wizard. He seemed nice enough, almost friendly, but something about him didn’t sit right. Why was he organizing a war against a faceless Fae Queen. She had only his word about how things were run here. What if she was on the wrong side? 

What if she didn’t want to be on any side? She really only wanted to get her husband and go home. She desperately wanted to talk to him. He’d be able to straighten things out. He would know which side was which, or even why there were sides in the first place.

Just as the sky started to lighten outside her window, she threw back the blankets and swung her legs out of the bed. She quickly dressed in clean clothes and shoved her old ones into her hiking backpack. She hadn’t unpacked any of her things the night before, so she carried it all with her to the kitchen

Once there, she found a pan and quickly and quietly as she could, made a batch of eggs on the ancient looking stove next to the large restaurant sink. She found cheese, ham and bread in the stainless steel refrigerator which looked almost brand new. When the eggs were done, she toasted the bread and melted the cheese on the same pan and assembled two sandwiches. She ate one and wrapped another up in a ziplock bag she found drying next to the sink with the dishes.

Why in the world did they have refrigerators, electric trucks, and baggies in a world supposedly filled with magic? Couldn’t magic do anything technology could, and better? If they were able to transport things from another world with ease, why couldn’t they figure out a way to evade a Queen bent on their destruction?

Or, figure a way out to make her not bent on their destruction?

Either way, it helped her keep her lunch together, since she didn’t have any magic. She found a couple apples when she put away the carton of eggs and added that to her backpack. She filled her canteen up at the sink, taking a long drink before filling it up a second time, and leaving.

She walked out the front door and around the back of the cabin. When they found her missing, if they were going to bother looking for her, she hoped they would think she’d follow the only trail she knew back the way they came and went that way.

Since she didn’t know her way around, and even if she did she’d likely get lost, any direction was as good as any other. She picked the one least likely to be of any help, and headed straight into the forest. With any luck, she wouldn’t die and might come upon a river or stream. The fish had to have come from somewhere, and she did remember seeing one of the men carrying a pole. If she found the water, she could follow it until she came to a settlement. Every civilization she knew of started out by being near water. She was bound to run into something that way. Then she might find a way out of this mess.

If her husband was the captive of the Queen, than going to see her had a better chance of getting him back, than hiding in the woods from her with a bunch of men who had dubious senses of humor did.

That was the plan anyway, but first, she had to get away from those men.

The trees were taller than any she had seen before. The bottom portion of the trunks had no branches, with enough space before they started to be easily the height of the ceiling in a house. When the branches did start, they jutted out like monkey bars on a playground. The branches were thick enough that if you could somehow get up there, it would be like an aerial road. The ground was carpeted in springy pine needles, strengthening the illusion of a room indoors.

Collette walked until her feet were sore, and her thighs burned. She sipped cautiously from her canteen, trying to preserve the water until she knew she’d be able to get more. When she set out she was cold wearing her spare set of hiking clothes. The performance fabric was light weight and meant to wick away sweat on a hot day, but the early morning had been crisp with the promise of fall. She walked faster, trying to warm up her body. The theory worked, almost too well, as she tired much faster than she would have liked, and grew overheated to the point of having to drink more water.

She watched her feet as she walked. Aaron had always been the leader on their hikes. He was the woods wise one, she just went along because the views were pretty and she wanted to do things together. She loved how happy he was in the mountains. It was enough to keep her mind off her aches and pains on the trail.

Being alone in the woods with nothing but pine trees around her, there was nothing to distract her. She didn’t know how much of her aching body was due just to being bored. She wasn’t that out of shape. Not really.

She kept walking.

A slight breeze rustled the needles on the trees, and teased at the escaped curls of her hair. It felt like most of the morning had gone by in sameness before the sound of water gave her hope. It meant she was traveling in the right direction. At least the silence also meant she wasn’t being pursued.

With the energy her excitement at finding water gave her, it didn’t take long to reach the water’s edge, a shallow river the width of two car lanes. The current wasn’t strong, with smooth rocks dotting their way across the water. She stared across through the shade of the trees until she could pick out a path across. A few of the jumps were pretty far, but still looked doable. She could wade across, it wasn’t that deep. Wet feet didn’t sit right with her; all it took was one blister to ruin a day. If she took off her shoes and socks, she risked cut feet. Walking in unknown water was a worse idea than walking with wet feet. She would have to jump and hope not to fall in.

She walked up to the edge and looked in. The water was clear, shimmering in the light that filtered down through the trees. The riverbed was lined with smooth rocks and a white sand. She took a step back and looked behind her. Where the men and the wizard even looking for her?

Not wanting to wait around to find out, she hopped to the first rick. Holding her arms out for balance, she sighted her next rock and made her jump. Her arms pin wheeled until she was able to lean forward enough to counteract the weight of the backpack. It was throwing her off balance. Frowning, she was able to step across three more rocks before she had to jump again. She leaped and landed just as she heard men’s voices behind her. She quickly ran across a few more close rocks before crouching down and looking behind her.

It was Williams and Smith. Sitting on a rock in the near middle of a river she was exposed. She turned away from them and hopped to the next rock. This was a bigger jump than any of the others, and it would bring her to the center of the river, right into a patch of bright light. Keeping her eye on the large flat rock in front of her, she took a deep breath and bent at the knees, swinging her arms at her side. It worked for gaining extra distance when jumping off a swing, why not here? Preparing herself to get wet, Collette jumped.

She didn’t fall, or even have the sensation of losing her balance, and her landing made no noise. The rock she was standing on was wider and flatter than it had looked before she jumped, and rainbow colored. She looked over her shoulder, behind her Smith and Williams were shouting and waving at her from the bank. Half the distance of the river wasn’t that far away, but she couldn’t hear anything they were saying. When Williams bent down to get something from the bag he carried, she turned and ran across the rest of the conveniently placed and exceptionally flat rainbow colored rocks.

From the far bank, this side of the river had looked like more of the same: tall pine trees, empty forest floor and little light. Now that she was standing on it, the trees weren’t as tall, and instead of coniferous green, they were in vibrant fall colors, reds, gold, oranges and a few buttery yellows, all with leaves of different shapes and sizes, even on the same tree.

On the opposite shore, the two men had stopped waving at her. They weren’t trying to cross after her either. They were just standing there, with their arms crossed. Why would they follow her through the woods, but not across a river they could see her across? She didn’t want to wait to find that out either, she turned and set off through the bright forest.

Overhead a bird sang out a call, to be answered by others in a short song. She wondered if she should have filled her canteen at the river. Walking away from the water was almost a sure bet that she wouldn’t find a different source. Not being able to remember which of the men was the sniper, she hadn’t wanted to become a target by staying nearby. She changed her course to follow the river at a parallel. She was far enough away to not be seen from the river, but close enough that she could just hear it in the distance. The further she walked, the denser the undergrowth became. Her pants took most of the lashings from the small branches, but many of the thicker ones slapped hard against her shins until they felt bruised.

Rustling sounds started following her. At first she glimpsed a small rabbit and smiled. She’d always loved the small furry animals. The smile faded when she saw what looked like a large fox chasing after it. She sighed, remembering that there were more animals than just the cute ones, and she was much more likely to run into one of them. Foxes would most likely run from her, but anything bigger may not.

She walked until she was almost out of water, her legs ached, and the back of her throat felt like it was singed. The trees all looked the same. She turned back toward the water and stumbled along until she reached it. Sinking to her knees at the edge, she splashed some on her arms and face, careful not to drink any. She sipped the last of the water from her canteen before filling it up again with the river water.

She set it down to dig out her iodine form a small pocket on the strap of her backpack and squeezed in a couple drops. She put the small bottle away, and closed the cap on the canteen. She set her watch for an hour since the river had been pretty cold.

I waver because I don’t want to take away any of the organic ideas as they occur during the writing. At the same time, I generally can’t just sit down to a blank screen and make something up out of nothing. Ideas for me bubble up out of the subconscious like, well, bubbles. A blip here and there that hits the top and bursts. For my big project, I carried a notebook around in my purse to jot down notes. Then from those notes, I made an outline, wrote a first draft, read it and made more notes, before spending about a month working on a new outline.

I still don’t think it’s done, but I’m not sure what to do about it either. I think I should type it, to start. From there? I’m not sure. I’m still waffling about whether I should type it now, or wait longer, until I’m finished with To get him back.

I’m very much of two minds on that. I like the clear division of the two projects. I like having one to focus on, but since I started the big one first, I’m still technically working on two projects anyway. I don’t want to end up abandoning one for the other. That will draw them both out. I seem to have this debate with myself quite a lot.

Lately the characters in my big project have felt a little more real to me, but not yet enough to sit down to write yet.They’re starting to pop up with new information; some details that might add depth to the story.

My writing is usually in dire need of depth and details. All through writing the first draft I kept thinking to myself that it was just a skeleton. I knew I would need to add a lot more to it to make it feel real. I think this time, I need to force myself to write slower in order to flesh it out a bit more. I can always cut things out later, it’s much harder to add more to it after the fact. Once you’re out of that writing trance, it’s harder to break back in.

With my current story, I finally have a plan. I made some notes the other night of what happens next. Aside from one linking issue of how to bridge two parts together, I know how it will go until the end. My next step is writing all this down in order as a real outline, then continuing on. It was getting to the point where a plan was essential to its success.

I guess I can only write without a plan for so long. Oh well, you live and learn. I think I like having an outline better.

The difference? I wasn’t running through the long list of steps my husband keeps trying to help me with. When he explains it, it does make sense, but it also seems overly complicated  There’s just so much to focus on, that I inevitably forget something vital. Today, on the way to the bowling alley I decided I was just going to ignore all of that and do what I wanted to do. By the end of the day when we go, my husband has had enough trying to coach me into doing things right. By the end of the day, every time, is where I get my best score.

Maybe he knew my decision without my saying anything, because he didn’t try to coach today and I did much better than my average. As much as he helps, trying to remember everything he’s telling me is a distraction.

I think writing is the same way. I like to read helpful articles on the proper way to plot, or to develop a character, but in the end trying to remember all the rules gets in the way of the creativity. Sometimes, it’s better just to ignore the rules and trust that you know what you’re doing on some level. Go with it, and see what happens.

(Did you miss reading part one,  two, three, four, five, or six?)

General Hill pulled off the road just before nightfall, onto a rutted dirt road which kicked up large clouds of dust and rocks. Collette watched the dust out the windshield wondering how he could see. The men had quickly ignored her after her story proved unentertaining and hopeless. She jostled around between Smith and Clark, trying to hold on to her balance. Her stomach growled, a low rumble amidst the noise of the tires on the road.

The general drove until it was dark, before turning off the dirt road onto what looked like a narrow riverbed. Collette bounced and bumped her shoulders and her head on everything inside the truck. Williams in the back braced himself sitting sideways in the bed, with his legs stretched out against the other side. Before long, they pulled up outside a log cabin. It looked like one of the huts found at the top of a mountain. The lights were off, but the faint flow of the moon showed the top to be covered with solar panels.

The truck stopped at the side of the building, and the men hopped out at once. The general turned to her as she struggled down from the truck. “You’ve got firewood duty,” he said. “There’s an axe over there.” He pointed behind the cottage before bending over to plug the truck into a cord that extended from the side of the building.

Firewood? Axe? Collette looked around. Williams was unloading a box from a padlocked shed next to the cottage. Clark and Wyatt were heading down a trail the other direction with a basket and a fishing pole. Smith was inside with the lights on, walking back and forth in a room. She couldn’t tell through the windows what he was doing.

“What do you mean firewood duty?” She really hoped he didn’t mean chopping wood. If he did, she was sure to lose a finger or two.

“We heat with wood here, and need enough brought inside to cook with, and to last the night. Five bundles should be enough.” He smiled at her.

She didn’t like that smile, it gave her a crawly feeling up her spine. Where was Gregory? “Why the axe?”

“You have to make the bundles.” He laughed and went inside. He was still laughing when she saw him walk over to Smith through the windows.

Collette stood still wondering how she was ever going to chop five bundles of wood. What was considered a bundle anyway? When the straps to her backpack started digging into her shoulders, she walked around the back of the cottage to find the pile of logs stacked up under a tarp. Why hadn’t they chopped the wood before stacking it? These were just cut up tree trunks; some of them were as wide around as she was tall. There was no way she could move those. Every pile of wood, even ones in stores, were split before being put in a bundle. There was an iron basket, flat on the bottom with only two sides and a handle, sitting beside a large tree stump. The stump had a rusted old axe lodged in it.

She set her backpack down beside the pile of wood, out of the way. Collette looked over at the axe, feeling her heart start to pound faster. That rusted thing looked dangerous. She walked over to pick it up, pulling it with a jerk from the stump. It was heavier than it looked and the wood was rough. She frowned, anticipating blisters and splinters on top of sore muscles and missing figures she’d be sure to get from this task. She leaned the axe against the stump and looked around.

No one jumped out, saying “Gotcha!”

Was it not a joke then?

She waited, listening to the mosquitos buzz, a soft rustle in the leaves from the wind and the very faint sound of running water. No one came to stop her. The tree trunk sections stacked away were too heavy to move. Many were over fifty pounds. Tucked against the far side of the little cottage, were smaller logs, the branches of the felled trees.

Collette grabbed three and carried them to the chopping stump. They were flat on the bottoms, like someone had cut them with a chainsaw. If they had a chainsaw, than why in the world was she chopping wood in the dark with a rusted old axe? It was quickly getting too dark to see.

She set one branch section in the center of the large stump, then hefted the axe.

The branch fell over.

Collette stared at it in confusion. It was flat on the bottom, why wouldn’t it stand up? She looked around again, squinting in the fading light. There weren’t any other tools around that she could see, and nothing else that looked like it would hold a log in place.

She wanted to just throw the axe away and ignore the whole thing. Getting angry, she held the log she was trying to shop up and swung the axe with one hand at it. It lodged just a fraction of the blade in the top of the wood. When she lifted the axe away, the log came with it. Shrugging, she lifted the axe with the log wedged onto it with both hands, and brought it down hard enough to jar her shoulders.

Her hands felt rough and tingly from the impact. The axe barely went through a third of the through. She pushed her hair from her eyes and tried again. It didn’t budge. As rusty as it was, it was probably dull too.

It took several more tries before she managed to get the log cut in half.

Her arms shook, her hands felt like they were on fire, and her shoulders ached in a cold patch between the shoulder blades. Collette breathed heavily trying to get her body to stop shaking. She was covered in sweat, and the small bits of wood that flew off from the chopping process were stuck to her skin, making her itch.

Collette sank down to her knees, chest heaving as she gasped for breath. There was no way she’d get all the wood cut, she might not even get this one log done. She let her arms flop down by her sides, hitting the ground and getting covered in dust. She looked up at the sky and wondered what she was doing.

Chopping wood wouldn’t bring Aaron home.

The stars blinked down at her from unfamiliar formations. They were closer together and there were more of them.

She forced herself to her feet once her breathing evened out, feeling achy in all her joints. This after one cut? She picked up the axe again and began to slowly chip away at the next half of the log.

The axe ripped at her hands until they were raw and bleeding. After finishing the other two logs, so that she had twelve sections from the three branches, she had almost half the wood basket full. The axe was slipper with her blood and she felt sick to the point of dizziness.

A lumberjack she was not cut out to be.

Collette lay on the ground letting the cold seep through her clothes into her back. It was full dark, and the stars swam in and out of focus. She cradled her hands on her chest hoping the bleeding would stop. Her shirt was soon stuck to her body with it. She couldn’t help but whimper at the pain. She cried silently, the tears falling down the sides of her face. She hated to cry, all it ever did was give you a headache, a stuffy nose and a lump in the throat to choke on.

Behind her head, dried leaves crunched and a man swore.

“Collette? Are you all right?”

Running feet, then she saw Gregory’s face upside down above hers.

“Do I look aright?” her voice came out as a croak. She struggled and failed to sit up. Instead she settled for glaring up at him.

“What happened?” Gregory looked around them, his eyes wide and glowing.

How did his eyes glow? She lifted her hands to show him the battered flesh. “The wood won.”

“What the hell are you doing chopping wood alone and in the dark?” Gregory’s face changed from concern to a snarl. With the glowing eyes, he looked almost sinister. “Where is General Hill?”

“Inside.”

“Can you get up?” Gregory looked over her body. “Where else are you hurt?”

“My hands.” She tried rolling over, her cold muscles stiff and unwilling. “Ugh. My back, arms, and my head.” She closed her eyes against the dizziness and dancing glitter colors. Even with her eyes shut the rainbow glitter didn’t go away. It danced in her vision like a kid was playing with a kaleidoscope. If it didn’t stop soon, she was going to be sick. Her stomach clenched at the thought.

Gregory sighed beside her, and she heard him sit down. He took her hands in his and she screamed, the pain racing up her maimed palms to light up behind her eyes adding lightning bolts to the rainbow glitter show. The pain was quickly followed by a soothing cool sensation of water lapping over her skin. She sighed and put her head down in a patch of grass.

When the pain had faded, she lifted her head to look at Gregory. “Where were you?”

He winced and took his hands away from hers, taking the cooling sensation with them. “Trying to get some answers.”

“Did it work?”

“No.” He helped her to her feet.

“What happens now? Why are we at a cabin while your city runs away to hide?”

“We’re just here for the night. I need help to defeat the Queen. I don’t have the people or the resources anymore to fight her.”

“Why am I here, then?”

Gregory turned to start walking toward the cabin. “You’re here because I didn’t want one more person getting caught in my fight. And now?” He looked around, gazing up at the stars. “Now, I’ll have to ask for even more.” He shook his head and continued walking.

“What about Aaron?”

“Your husband? If he’s smart he won’t cause any trouble.”

Collette snorted.

Gregory looked back at her over his shoulder.

She answered his questioning look with a smirk. “He’s brilliant, but not causing trouble? He’s locked in a cage like a zoo animal.” She shook her head, her hair falling in her eyes and sticking to the sweat on her face.

Gregory closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Then we should find him soon.”

“Isn’t he in the dungeon of the castle?”

“He’s in Mariette’s dungeon, yes, but her dungeon isn’t beneath her castle.”

“Why not? Isn’t that how castles work?”

“Maybe Earth castles did, but here, things are different. Who was prisoners poisoning the atmosphere of a palace?” He reached the door but didn’t open it. “No, your husband could be in one of a dozen heavily guarded fortresses whose locations are apparently a better kept secret than my cities were.”

“So you can’t help me.”

“I can help you.” He turned to face her, looking down from the top step.

“How?”

“Once I’ve defeated the Queen, she will tell me where he is.”

“You’ve already lost.” Collette wanted to slap the wizard. “How can you say you’ll defeat her, if she’s already beaten you?” She could feel the lump in her throat again as her cheeks heated up.

“I’m not dead yet.” Gregory’s voice came out low, like a growl. “I will keep fighting until she sees reason, and then I will bargain with her to get your husband back.”

“Why? What is he to you that you’d fight to save him? What are you fighting for that he matters?”

“He’s a very skilled human who learns quickly. I met him on the last battlefield and he fought honorably. He beat my best fighters with his smaller band. I wish to offer him a job.”

Collette stepped back, feeling like she’d been slapped. “A job? Are you kidding me?” Where was the sense in that? She was here to take him home, to Earth, to their house, away from this madness.

“There is a lot you don’t understand, Collette. More is at stake here than reuniting you with your husband. This war has been brewing for longer than you’ve been alive. It won’t be solved with one defeat on the part of the Queen. I don’t wish to endanger my citizens even after a victory. He is the best chance I’ll have of rebuilding what I once was.”

“You can’t be serious?” Collette felt the blood drain from her face. She should have known, the wizard was only helping her find Aaron because he wanted him for himself. When the wizard’s expression didn’t change she wanted to cry again. She felt the sobs shaking her shoulders, but no sound, and no tears came out.

“You need rest. Take a hot bath, eat some dinner, and we’ll talk more in the morning.” He opened the door to the cabin and a bright light blinded her as warmth, the sound of sizzling meat and a strong scent of onions hit her all at once. He went inside without waiting for her.

She looked away to the truck. Could she take it and get away somehow? Her backpack was still by the chopping stump. She hurried over to get it and made it back to the truck to find out that the keys weren’t in it. She had no idea how to hotwire an electric truck any more than she knew about chopping wood.

The wood that was still in the basket.

She wanted to cry at the thought of carrying it into the cabin. She stood in front of the door a second time, holding her backpack and looking back at the clearing when the door opened again.

Gregory stood there, looking angry. “What are you doing?”

“The wood.” She let her voice trail off, and gingerly shouldered her backpack. “I needed my clothes, but I forgot.”

The wizard grabbed her by the shoulder and brought her inside. It was so bright she couldn’t see at first. “Go get cleaned up.” He pushed her in the direction of a hallway with only one door at the end, then walked away from her.

Collette set aside the feeling of panic rising from her belly as she made her way down the hallway. A bath did sound nice.