Excerpt


Brief History
Elvish oral histories speak of a time when all elves lived together in a distant land, in harmony with nature and themselves. Discord supposedly arose when the ancient elves began splitting into factions: one believed that elvenkind was inherently evil, and strove to contain this evil nature with laws and a structured society, while the other held that elves were inherently good and trusted them to act on their instincts without recourse to law and organization.

There may be a germ of truth in this, as it does explain the difference between the two major groups of elves, the light and the dark. The names arose because of minor differences in skin tone, though the genetic differences between the two groups are nil. Both existed in the oral histories of the other, despite immense geographical isolation: the first recorded meeting between light and dark elves took place only in recent times.

“Light” elves
As early as the third century of the recorded era, advanced elvish civilizations had begun to arise on the western seaboard of the major continent. Beginning as a series of petty kingdoms, over the course of centuries the various elvish principalities were united under a single king. While the dynasties in power changed relatively frequently, a light elvish king remained on the throne until the very recent era of revolutions.

However, increasing dogmatism and a rigid hierarchy eventually led this sophisticated civilization to stagnate. While the light elvish kingdom was the most technologically advanced in the world at one point, by the dawn of the modern era it was weak and suffered invasion and strife on an unprecedented scale. Only recently has progress been made in forging the light elves into a modern nation state.

“Dark” elves
While a number of powerful dark elven kingdoms rose and fell on the minor continent, they never approached the size or complexity of the light elves’. By and large, most of the dark elves lived in small groups, widely scattered, living as hunters, gatherers, or farmers.

This lack of centralized states left the dark elves vulnerable to conquest from abroad, and following the reestablishment of contact between the major and minor continents, they were largely subjugated by human and dwarvish conquerors. The elves were decimated in battle, and their numbers have remained low ever since, largely supplanted by settlers from the major continent.

Biological Sketch
Elves, like humans, range considerably in height, though they are generally of slender build. While strong, they lack the constitution of humans, dwarves, and orcs and must make up for their disadvantage in strength through their lithe nature and rigorous training. Skin tone ranges are similar to those of humans, with light elves tending toward lighter colors and dark elves toward a tanner complexion.

Elves have slow and difficult pregnancies; gestation lasts fourteen to eighteen months on average, and there is a refraction period of 2-4 years before another pregnancy is possible. Elvish children also mature very slowly, typically reaching adulthood at thirty to thirty-five years. Their slow metabolism gives elves significant resistance to poison and environmental toxins, however, and also greatly increases their lifespan, which is two hundred years on average. No upper limit is known; exceptionally hardy elves have been known to live over a thousand years, though documentation is difficult to come by.

Cultural Notes
Elvish cultures are often collectivist, focusing on the good of the group over that of the individual. Many dark elves lack personal names, substituting some earned deed or distinction instead. Both “light” and “dark” elvish cultures tend toward xenophobia and isolation, and while they have never been known to enslave or conquer other races (preferring suzerainty), many elvish cultures still hold them in low esteem.

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The Royal Opera House! A name that, all on its own, evoked visions of Second Empire furniture, dazzling chandeliers, the cream of a potpourri of baronetcies and earldoms.

And Annie was there in a t-shirt and shorts.

Even the man in the ticket booth was wearing the usher equivalent of top hat and tails, and he gave Annie an odd look as she paid.

“I didn’t have time to change,” she said, trying for a sheepish grin.

“The performance is beginning in fifteen minutes,” the usher said. “They’re no longer seating people in the main gallery. You’ll have to be seated in one of the side galleries and take your seat during the intermission.”

Annie blanched. “A-are you sure? There’s still fifteen minutes left!”

“Sorry, house rules,” the usher said with a shrug.

“That’s right,” his tone and posture seemed to say. “Unlike you Yanks, we Britons know how to run a proper opera house.”

A second usher, more opulently dressed than the first, led Annie through a side door onto a small balcony with a double bench seat. To her relief, there were several others already there—mostly matronly old ladies and middle-aged men. They were all dressed better than her high school prom king, save one.

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My friend Miller Corvus is a stern and unforgiving man at first sight, but this exterior conceals a warm and caring individual.

Early in life, Miller renounced his title as a noble and became a templar’s squire, but he maintained good relations with his family regardless. For many years, Miller traveled with the Most Noble Order of the Glorious Sunrise, championing the causes of good and order throughout the kingdoms. We became good friends, he and I, the templar and the magister, even though the Order would have preferred otherwise. Eventually, he retired and set out for Westhope, where I settled after leaving the Order.

Miller’s watched his niece Nyla’s career with barely concealed disapproval, but when she came to his door unexpectedly, she and her companion Jinx were welcomed with open arms, though Miller has insisted that the two eventually repay their noble ‘benefactors.’ Or, rather, the people they’d been fleecing to make a dishonest living after the money ran out. They even wound up with a bounty on their head; when the hunter tracked Nyla and Jinx down, Miller nobly intervened, disarming the assassin and convincing her of the wrongness of her cause. Not many people would even attempt that, much less succeed, but that’s the force of my friend’s personality.

Humbled, the assassin–Sigma–requested to stay the night in Miller’s cabin, which he had built a short distance from my home. The old templar responded by opening his home to her and taking her on as a squire. He may be old–in fact, being two years his senior, I’m fairly certain he is–but Miller maintains his martial training and combat skills. And, lest you worry about the impropriety of a male master and female squire, his vow of chastity.

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“I had that dream again, computer.”

“Are you referring to the recurring dream of which you have complained for some months now?”

“That’s right. Me, walking…surrounded by color and fragrance, flowers of every shape and variety. It’s…it’s impossible, but I think I may be starting to believe it may be real, computer.”

“Come now, sir. There is no such thing as flowers.”

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“I am…a leaf collector. Of sorts.” Ingram straightened a bit to encompass the room with a sweeping gesture before returning with a grunt to his usual stooped-over posture.

Ross was nearly speechless. “They…they’re beautiful.” Leaves of every shape and size danced on the walls and froms strings in the air. Most were pressed flat, with a slight acrylic sheen, and all had either a letter or a simple picture cut out of them.

“Wherever I go, I cannot help but collect a handful of leaves here and there,” Ingram said, a note of pride detectable in his voice. “Then I return home to my flower press, and once they are flattened I craft the leaves into art or a message that most associates itself with where they were collected.”

“May I take a look?”

“Please.”

Faded by age and lit into translucency by the late afternoon sun, the most conspicuously displayed leaves each bore one letter of the word LOVE.

“I proposed to my wife on a fall day, in a park,” said Ingram, following Ross’s gaze. “I took two handfuls that day; the second is with her, in the Alzheimer’s home.”

“What about that one?” Ross pointed at a phrase arced across the wall: WEALTH.

“From my first business trip to Japan. The businessmen over there thought it terribly unlucky and inauspicious.”

Suspended in the far corner of the room, the shadow hiding the monofilament wire: LOSS.

Ross examined it, brow knitted.”Your wife?”

“No, she’ll get her own when I finally…lose…her,” Ingram sighed. “That’s something else entirely. Something much darker. Perhaps when I know you a little better you can hear the story.”

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The Jack-of-Cards will, if you win a game of high-draw against it, grant a simple request. Many, to their peril, have asked for something as they would a genie, only to have themselves dealt a two of spades for their insolence. Wiser folks have used the boon to ask the Jack-of-Cards something about itself, and their reports form all that is know about the figure’s nature. Asked where it came from, the Jack-of-Cards will answer that it has always been.

Asked whether it is God, the Jack-of-Cards will laugh and allow that there are powers greater than it to which it owes no fealty. Asked why it uses a deck of cards, or what it used before cards were invented, the Jack-of-Cards will only say that it is the latest in a long line of ‘tricks.’

Those who do not wish to be bothered will have their wishes respected. But should someone, of their own free will, approach or accost the Jack-of-Cards, they will be dealt a card that has irrevocable effects on the fabric of the universe. The Jack-of-Cards will often play a simple card game with those that are willing, with a card as the penalty for losing and a request as the prize. But just as often it will fling a card at the interloper without so much as a sound.

Witnesses and researchers have attempted to catalog the effect that the various cards have, but have reached few conclusions. One report holds that the suicide king, the King of Hearts, bestows imbecility. Another holds that it besots the bearer with an impossible love, while a third has it giving immidiate and most painful heartbreak. Cardholders have vanished, had their personalities or forms subtly or grossly altered, and more.

The one thing all agree on is that the two of clubs, when dealt, brings instant and total annihilation.

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“In the frenzy over Nazi submarines laden with gold and uranium oxide, the fate of Germany’s cargo submarines from the first world war is often overlooked. Yet German merchant submersibles were calling at American ports as late as November 1916, just four months before the United States entered the war.”

“Desperate to break or at leas circumvent the British blockade, the merchant submarines, seven in all, were built by the private Lloyd shipping company. Filled with advanced German chemical dyes and synthetic medicines, they returned laden with rubber, nickel, and tin. Each voyage paid for the cost of the boats many times over.”

“The historical record tells us that of the Imperial German cargo subs, only one was successful in making two voyages before America entered the war. It and the five subs that never made a voyage were armed and sent to war. The seventh sub left for America but mysteriously disappeared, and no trace of it–nor any record of its cargo manifest–were ever found.”

“But I have uncovered evidence of a visit by the post sub, the Bremen, to Portland, Maine in late December 1916, months after its scheduled arrival in Newport, Virginia. The documents not only point to the ship’s condition and ultimate destination, but offer a glimpse of its heretofore unknown cargo.”

“And that, gentlemen, is where we need to put on our English tea dresses, for we’re all going down the rabbit hole a bit on this one.”

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Author Cecile Blanche Lamb (real name Sallie-Nikki Logan) shot to national prominence with her 2005 bestseller Between the Tweens. A tale of 6th and 7th grade girls that was alternately flighty and weightily dramatic, it landed Lamb on both the bestseller lists and the ALA’s Most Challenged Book registry. For the 24-year-old author, a struggling teacher with crippling student loans and a part-time career as a substitute, the book and ensuing controversy was manna from heaven.

Even as parents across the nation demonstrated to have Lamb’s book removed from libraries and reading lists, the author wrote a sequel, Tween Choice Awards. It may not have impressed the critics who lauded the first title, but Lamb soon turned the book into a series with a new entry every year. By 2010 the fifth book spent ten weeks on the bestseller lists even as the controversy faded and critics (as well as readers) began to complain that the later titles were stale and derivative. Even so, Lamb amassed thousands of followers on her blog and Twitter accounts.

In November 2010, Lamb’s husband Michel Logan returned home to find his wife’s study in tatters, with broken windows, other signs of forced entry and struggle, and no sign of Lamb other than her cell phone under a desk. The computer was destroyed and the draft of Lamb’s latest book was missing. After he called the police, Michel was approached by his wife’s fans, who shared the last message poster to her Twitter:

“i thnk theres soemone in teh house.”

A nationwide manhunt was soon touched off, and Lamb became an instant cause celebré in social media, even among those who had disparaged her writing. #helpcecilelamb was the number one tag the week after the author vanished, and major news organizations covered the case with obsessive detail. Friends and publishing industry figures organized a fundraiser to help cover the cost of the ongoing investigation, and there was talk of renaming a major young adult industry award after Lamb.

But just as quickly as the narrative was established, it began to unravel. Investigators learned that Lamb had been carrying on an open affair with a coworker, and letters surfaced in which Lamb claimed that her side of the issue wasn’t “sympathetic” enough if it came to a messy public divorce. Forensic investigators found that the shattered glass was consistent with an inside breakage, and recovered text files on the computer showed that the novel on which Lamb had supposedly been working was all lorem ipsum filler.

Indeed, a careful analysis of the scene revealed that Lamb had taken a taxi and that, far from being abducted, she had been seen with an unknown male companion at her favorite health spa in New Mexico. As public opinion turned against her, the sightings ceased. Though the police were loath to devote additional resources to a hoax, the case officially remained open.

Lamb’s whereabouts remain unknown to this day.

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“So I managed to stagger to the health center to ask about the fever, headache, and chills that’ve kept me on my back all week.”

“And?”

“Health center thinks whatever I have is a viral infection against which they can do nothing, though they jabbed me with a sharp object just to be sure. They encouraged me to keep shoveling ibuprofen at the problem.”

“So you think that even after bloodwork they don’t know what it is?”

“Yeah. I’m totally doing a patient zero here. I bet it’s Ebola, or maybe Super Aids.”

“Wouldn’t Super Aids require you to have sex with somebody that isn’t, well, you?”

“You get Super Aids from direct eye contact. That’s why they call it Super Aids.”

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Adam knocked on his sister’s door. “Virginia? Why are you still in bed?”

A groan from inside, something that might have been “long night.”

“Virginia! It’s past six and we need to get you fed and warmed up before the test!”

“It’s not ’til the 27th,” Virginia mumbled. “Go away.”

“Today’s the 27th, you lazy good-for-nothing! Get up or you’ll have to wait a whole year to take the test!”

“Yeah, sounds good. Wake me then.”

Adam shook his head. Another wild, late night no doubt–might even have something to do with the shotgun blasts Elmer Culloden mentioned at the pump earlier. But he wasn’t about to let Virginia throw away her chance to be a Prosperity Ranger…and to be out of his hair. He squared himself, put his weight on his good leg and battered the door open with his shoulder.

Virginia had pried up a plank from the wooden floor and set it against the door, one of her favorite tricks. It splintered and the door loudly crashed down upon it, raising a cloud of dust and sand (the girl never had been able to keep her room clean). Despite the racket, the pile of blankets and skins on the rough frame bed barely stirred.

Adam hobbled into the room. “Virginia! I don’t care what you were out doing last night, but if you don’t get up now, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Put it on my tab,” his sister mumbled.

Adam sighed. As much as trying to oversleep didn’t become Virginia MacNeil, daughter of Marshals Vincent and Patricia MacNeil and soon-to-be Prosperity Ranger, it surely became Virginia, the little sister he had to live with day in and day out. And with his bad leg, there was no dragging her out of bed.

The alarm clock then. It was a luxury, it was dangerous, but there was no choice. Adam had been holding it back for a time when his sister’s unbecoming sleep patterns and the work that needed to be done clashed in the most desperate way.

He limped outside and returned bearing a heavy Remington 1858 black powder revolver.

At the first shot, Virginia started violently under the covers. At the second, she poked her head out, wild-eyed, from beneath them. “What the hell, Adam?”

Her brother cocked and fired once more. “What’s that, Virginia?” he cried. “I can’t hear you over the ringing in my ears.”

The last shot had appeared to be aimed directly at her; Virginia rolled out of bed snarled in a heap of covers. “Have you gone crazy? You could’ve killed me!”

Adam, noting with some amusement that his sister had been sleeping in her work clothes again, dropped the hammer on an empty chamber. “Just a blank powder charge, Virginia,” he laughed. “But even then, shouldn’t a Prosperity Ranger be ready for an attempted bushwhacking in bed?”

His sister swatted black powder fumes out of her face. “Not funny.”

“Says you. Now put out those embers before your bed catches afire and come to breakfast.”

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