Resignation Edit

Resignation can be found here: http://lokisarrow.tumblr.com/post/3373369409/resignation

Resignation Edit

Fabien might be surprised that there’s two edits here, but he’s confident enough in himself and his work that we’re pretty sure he won’t mind being used as an example for how we, ourselves, can screw up.  After we sent him our original edit and he got back to us, we realized where we had missed a couple of things and dropped a couple of balls.  We went back and revised our edit, but didn’t send it to him because we’re not really ones to beat dead horses.  That doesn’t mean that, as a group, we can’t all learn from the content editors screwing up. lol 

Resignation Edit 1

After convening and comparing our notes, we think that your story is about the following: Geoffrey is an old (or older) man who just discovered something world changing.  He brings this to the attention of the governmental big cheese, Peter, who would be in charge of dealing with the problem.  Peter stands to gain from not letting this get out into public knowledge.  He brings Geoffrey to meet him and, somehow, convinces Geoffrey to resign and hand over control to a person who will probably make a very good lackey for Peter.

With that summary in mind, this is our edit of the content.

Realistically, this could probably happen 150 or so years from now.  We already have hydrogen fuel cells.  They don’t work as well as they should,  but we do have them and it’s not going to take super long for them to become viable.  You don’t want the folks who geek on that all the time coming down on you for a seeming lack of research or sense of what’s actually happening in the fuels world.  You don't want quibbling about the science to take away from the overall message.  There will still be people who quibble because it's scifi and that's what they do, but it's good to minimize the chance for quibbling as much as possible.

Slang and changes in the world (because it’s the future or what have you) that aren’t outright explained or obvious from the context should not be included in a short story.  Two to three thousand words is not a world building environment.  It’s a get in, grab your target, get out alive environment.  This is not the time to get cute or clever or try to get a catch phrase out there.  If you can’t explain what two-two long or running the bread or such as that means within the scope of mentioning it then it needs to be cut.  Future tech terms that also can’t be obviously explained through context also needs to be cut.  If you think about it, things don’t really change that much in terminology.  We still have tablets.  They’re not rock anymore and we don’t chisel notes down in them with hammers, but we still have tablets.

Most people don’t care about the science of things.  They don’t need or want every little scientific detail there is to be had.  Geoffrey isn’t writing a scientific paper for the board (and you’re not writing this for that one Chemistry major that really really likes Chemistry).  He’s writing his old buddy and basically saying, “Hey, some weird shit happened with this hurricane.  We need to talk about it.”

In a short story, no one cares about the characters enough to want to sit through them reminiscing.  Think about it like this: You sit down on a park bench.  Some old dude sits next to you.  He starts nattering on about this and that and the other that happened eons ago in his life.  Do you really care?  Why should you care?  There is absolutely nothing that will make you care unless you just happen to be that type of person who likes hearing stories from old people.  Most people are not that type of person.  What’s more, it has nothing to do with the story.

The stuff about how we have a new fuel and that new fuel has a bad side effect is good.  That’s a great concept.  It’s lost in the natter.  If you have a point that you want to make about the environment or the corruption of government or what have you, it’s lost in the natter about Corinne and Roberta and Chucky.  They, ultimately, do not have roles.

These are the people who have roles: Geoffrey as the person who discovers the doom.  Peter as the bad guy who wants to cover up the doom for his own gain. Brian the potential lackey who may or may not end up working for Peter.  That’s it.  Those are your characters.  Those are the only names we really need to know, the only people we really need to meet.

Geoffrey needs to sound less doddering.  He’s the head of something pretty big.  He sounds like a fruit basket who can’t decide which fruit he is today.  We would not buy him as the head of anything or a scientist. Ever.  We also have trouble buying that someone in his position wouldn’t put together that Peter probably holds stock still in Woburn-T-World and wouldn’t want his product removed from paying customers.  That makes Geoffrey contacting Peter seem like career, if not, actual suicide (depending on how much money is involved).

Here’s our suggestion to help with that.  Geoffrey is less doddering.  He can still reminisce a little bit, but he needs to be much more professional because this thing is absolutely serious.  It’s the end of the world.  The reminiscing should be limited to Geoffrey kind of going, “Hey, remember when you were a good guy.” So that he can continue with saying that he discovered something about the products Peter’s former company makes.  Something pretty narly.  He’s writing Peter in hopes that, basically, Peter hasn’t gone over to the dark side and will work with him to do something about the doom before the doom destroys the world.  Peter writes back basically all chummy and “Of course I’m still a good guy!”  But then Geoffrey resigns because, turns out, Peter isn’t a good guy after all.  Or something like that.

Really try to reel in the tangents.  Keep them tight and focused on Geoffrey remembering Peter as a good guy who may have been ambitious, but not a glory hound or greedy person.  Watch the dialect a little.  They’re supposed to be American-ish?  Even something as simple as spelling color  “colour”  will distract from them being “American”.  Maybe expand on Brian a little more because he’s the only other character who really matters.  Make sure your acronyms line up with what they stand for.  NOAA doesn’t match anything and the UNA doesn’t really line up with the United Americas of the North.

We know that’s a lot and you’re probably like, “Oh my god I hate these people.”  But you have a really good idea and we really want it to come across in the powerful way it should.  If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask us.  If you want to yell at us, feel free to get it out.  But we’re not changing our edits. ;o)

One more thing: Read it out loud to yourself.  Or record yourself reading it.  Or have someone else read it to you.  If a story does not read aloud well, then it doesn't read well period.

Good luck!

Resignation Revised Edit

If we didn't have to finish this story (because we had agreed to edit it), we wouldn't have. We wouldn't have made it past the second page. Since your readers don't have to read your story, there's a very good chance that they simply wouldn't finish it.

As it was, we had to re-read it, and then look back through it several times as we tried to piece together what it was about. That process took us about 45 minutes. Again, your readers aren't going to do that. If they can't figure out what's going on right away (or at least within a few minutes), they won't try to, and they're certainly not going to seek out your other works.

With that in mind, we think that your story is about the following: Geoffrey is an old (or older) man who just discovered something world changing. He brings this to the attention of the governmental big cheese, Peter, who would be in charge of dealing with the problem. Peter stands to gain from not letting this get out into public knowledge. He brings Geoffrey to meet him and, somehow, convinces Geoffrey to resign and hand over control to a person who will probably make a very good lackey for Peter.

Realistically, this could probably happen 150 or so years from now, if not less. We already have hydrogen fuel cells. They don’t work as well as they should, but we do have them and it’s not going to take super long for them to become viable. And if the science actually says that it would take over 400 years for something like this to happen, then you don't have a story anymore, because as a society, we're not going to use fossil fuels for another 300 years, and once we make the switch to hydrogen (a change that is already in the works), we're not going to use that for 400 years, either. Capitalism won't even last that long. A story set more than 700 years in the future would have so many changes to the world, technology, and society as to be nearly unrecognizable.

Ultimately, the reason for the water increase is a MacGuffin. The MacGuffin doesn't have to make perfect sense, or any sense at all, it just has to exist as a means to drive the story. Most people don’t care about the science of things. They don’t need or want every little scientific detail there is to be had. Geoffrey isn’t writing a scientific paper for the board (and you’re not writing this for that one Chemistry major that really really likes Chemistry). He’s writing his old buddy and basically saying, “Hey, some weird shit happened with this hurricane. We need to talk about it.”

Slang and changes in the world (because it’s the future or whatever) that aren’t outright explained or obvious from the context should not be included in a short story. Two to three thousand words is not a world building environment. It’s a get in, grab your target, get out alive environment. This is not the time to get cute or clever or try to get a catch phrase out there. If you can’t explain what "two-two long" or "running the bread" or such as that means within the scope of mentioning it then it needs to be cut. Future tech terms that can’t be obviously explained through context also needs to be cut. If you think about it, things don’t really change that much in terminology. We still have tablets. They’re not rock anymore and we don’t chisel notes down in them with hammers, but we still have tablets. This again comes back to the concept that this needs to be set no more than 150 years in the future.

In a short story, no one cares about the characters enough to want to sit through them reminiscing. Think about it like this: You sit down on a park bench. Some old dude sits next to you. He starts nattering on about this and that and the other that happened eons ago in his life. Do you really care? Why should you care? There is absolutely nothing that will make you care unless you just happen to be that type of person who likes hearing stories from old people. Most people are not that type of person. What’s more, it has nothing to do with the story.

The stuff about how we have a new fuel and that new fuel has a bad side effect is good. It's a good concept, but it's completely lost in the natter and your execution fails to make the concept work. If you have a point that you want to make about the environment or the corruption of government or what have you, great, but it’s lost in the natter about Corinne and Roberta and Chucky. They, ultimately, do not have roles, no one cares about them besides you, and they should be cut.

These are the people who have roles: Geoffrey as the person who discovers the doom. Peter as the bad guy who wants to cover up the doom for his own gain. Brian as the potential lackey who may or may not end up working for Peter. That’s it. Those are your characters. Those are the only names we need to know, the only people we need to meet, the only people who matter.

Geoffrey needs to sound less doddering. He’s the head of something pretty big. He sounds like a fruit basket who can’t decide which fruit he is today. We would not buy him as the head of anything or a scientist, despite his scientific blathering. We also have trouble buying that someone in his position wouldn’t put together that Peter probably holds stock still in Woburn-T-World and wouldn’t want his product removed from paying customers. That makes Geoffrey contacting Peter seem like career, if not, actual suicide (depending on how much money is involved).

Geoffrey should be more professional. He can still reminisce a little bit, but he needs to be have his wits about him because this thing is absolutely serious. It’s literally the end of the world. The reminiscing should be limited to Geoffrey kind of going, “Hey, remember when you were a good guy?” So that he can continue with saying that he discovered something about the products Peter’s former company makes. Something pretty gnarly. He’s writing Peter in hopes that, basically, Peter hasn’t gone over to the dark side and will work with him to do something about the doom before the doom destroys the world. Peter writes back basically all chummy and “Of course I’m still a good guy!” But then Geoffrey resigns because, as it turns out, Peter isn’t a good guy after all. As it stands now, Geoffrey is just some old fool who clearly has no idea what he's talking about or even trying to do past getting himself killed, Peter is not at all sinister or even much of a character, and the ending leaves the reader questioning if Geoffrey actually resigned, was murdered, or just dropped dead from Alzheimer's. Since this is the major plot twist in your story, it cannot be vague, subtle, or unclear. It must be explicit, straightforward, and crystal clear.

Really try to reel in the tangents. Keep them tight and focused on Geoffrey remembering Peter as a good guy who may have been ambitious, but not a glory hound or greedy person. Watch the dialect. They’re supposed to be American-ish? Even something as simple as spelling color “colour” will distract from them being “American”. Maybe expand on Brian a little more because he’s the only other character who matters. Make sure your acronyms line up with what they stand for. NOAA doesn’t match anything and the UNA doesn’t really line up with the United Americas of the North.

One more thing: Read it out loud to yourself. Or record yourself reading it. Or have someone else read it to you. This story doesn't read aloud well currently, which means it doesn't read well, period. If English is not your first language, then you should re-write it into your native language and read it out loud that way.

Conferment

After doing maths, I realized I wrote this when I was 19.  I haven't touched it since I wrote it and I'm now 32.  I am absolutely dead certain it is terrible and that if I actually read it right now, I would be mortified.  I want everyone to read it and do horrible horrible things to it.  That nasty ass porn you watch that you don't want anyone to know about?  Do worse to it.  I know you've got it in you!  You're geeks!  Make your content editor mama proud!

Conferment

     The doors were black, silver oak trees carved deep into the wood.  Above them, two tigers as long as two men were tall reached for each other, forever frozen at the tip of their embrace.  Devinale’s four thousand residents walked beneath them towards stone seats, long pastel dresses billowing slightly in the breeze and suede hats being caught last minute by quick hands. 

     They sidestepped the field of the arena, preserving the bright green grass that grew thick from the sandy turf, the blades fortified by shed blood of battling Guardians.  In the center stood a great wood stage on which all the new Guardians would proudly stand to await their guns that Bramante, the blacksmith, had crafted for them.  Made from solid titanium, each pair was unique, bearing the family crest and name of their new masters.  The grips were crafted from the rare Guardian Oak and molded perfectly to their hands.  The orange wood would darken to blood red after the first kill made by its master and turn black when his time was through.  Their value was bittersweet as were the ten new Guardians that awaited them.

     They prepared with their fathers in one of the many rooms under the arena, able to see the crowd without the crowd seeing them.  The immense crowd.  Caleb noticed one of his fellow initiates watching the citizens a little nervously.  The boy was tall and robust with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes.  He did not turn away from the crowd as Caleb walked up to him and stood beside him.

     “I did not think this many people lived in Devinale,” said Caleb.

     The boy nodded but said nothing.

     “I am Caleb. Who are you?”

     The boy distantly said, “I am Prince Jolin.”

     Caleb immediately dropped to his knee, his head down and hat in hand.  He had not recognized the prince due to the fact they wore the same attire.  All to be initiated today wore all new clothes: brown suede pants over rounded-toe boots of the same material, empty gunbelts hanging at their hips.  Their shirts were white and long-sleeved with rounded collars that reached halfway up their necks.  The hats were brown suede as well with the skin of a brightly colored orange snake around the crown.  There was no differentia to signify royalty.

     “Sire,” Caleb said quickly, “forgive me.  I did not know.  I meant no disrespect to you or your family.”

     Jolin, clearly embarrassed, quickly said, “Stand up.  You do not have to kneel.  We are equal.”

     Caleb stood, feeling his cheeks grow hot.  He met Jolin’s bright, even blue gaze.

     “Your grandfather saved the life of my grandfather did he not?” said the Prince.

     “Aye.”

     “Then you do not need to kneel before me.  Were it not for him, I would not be here.  And you do not have to apologize for not knowing me.  After all this training, my own mother almost walked right passed me when I first returned.”

     Caleb nodded just as a tall, lean boy with very neat brown hair and glasses over ancient brown eyes came up to them.  He was eating an apple.  Jolin looked at him.

     “We are not supposed to be eating.”

     The new boy shrugged then motioned outside with apple in hand.  “Did you notice the crowd, Jol?”

     Jolin sighed and nodded.  “Aye.”

     “You know they are here mainly because of you.  King Jonathan’s only son is finally going to become a Guardian.  Even after some thought you would not make it.”

     Caleb, noticing Jolin’s sickening expression, thrust his hand out to the newcomer.  “Caleb Dunbar.”

     The boy smiled and grasped his hand tightly.  “Trenton Wolfe.  So you are the commoner.  I thought you would be uglier.  Maybe have an extra eye.  I never would have thought you to be better looking than me.  Jolin, but not me.  Of course, it is not hard to be better looking than Jolin.”

     The prince looked at Trenton narrowly then smacked him on the back rather hard and smiled as Trenton choked on his apple.  “Would you care to repeat that?”

     Trenton pounded himself in the chest with a fist then looked up at Jolin, clearly no longer amused.  “Nay, Your Highness.”

     Their fathers called to them.  It was time to line up.  Jolin took the lead followed by Caleb then Trenton.  Behind Trenton was Adam Frenz, a tall lean boy with curly black hair and emotionless hazel eyes.  Next came Matthew Evans.  He was about Trenton's height with a shock of red hair and piercing blue eyes that shown out quite a bit through his fair and freckled skin. Behind Matthew came Joseph Tully.  He was almost as big as Jolin only his hair and eyes were black as night and his skin was quite tanned.  Following behind him was Paul Garnett and Paul's cousin, Nathan Mason.  Although, they looked nothing alike.  Paul was tall and lean with brown hair and eyes and Nathan was short and well built with blonde hair and blue eyes.  You would never know their mothers were twin sisters.

     At the end of the line came Alex Hagan.  He was short and stocky with blonde hair and nervous hazel eyes.  Behind Alex was the line for the fathers.  Jolin's father, Jonathan was first followed by Caleb's father Dylan and Trenton's father, Peter, and so on.  Each looked like an older, weather worn version of their sons, some perhaps more than others.  But, on this day, everyone was happy and looked young and in high spirits.  Everyone except Jolin.  He had to lead the entire group out onto the stage when they heard the sound of the drummers pounding their large bass drums in a march while the trumpeter announced their arrival with his instrument.  An instrument that now started to play.  Caleb watched Jolin’s wide shoulders rise up as he took a deep breath before taking his first step towards the platform in the center of the stadium.

     The crowd burst into a roar of applause when the young men came into view, but they stared straight ahead, unmoved as they walked up to the steps of the stage then up them to take their places.  Their fathers stood at the opposite end of the long stage, facing them.  Ten young boys in black pants and shirts walked up to the men, each holding a wooden box lined with black velvet containing the guns for the new Guardians.

     The boys stopped before the fathers and opened their boxes simultaneously.  The fathers took the guns out in the same fashion and turned them so the grips were facing the boys as they faced their sons.  Dismissed, the boys walked off the stage in progression and out of the field.  When the doors under the great tigers closed, each father raised the guns in his hands out to his son.  The whole stadium fell silent.  Not even one bird chirped as each boy raised his hands to the guns thirty feet away and gazed at them with stern concentration.  

     At first, nothing happened.  Then, suddenly, the guns King Jonathan held flew across the stage into the hands of Jolin.  There was still no sound from the crowd for as Jolin spun his guns back into their holsters, the other guns started to come across the stage into the hands of their masters, establishing the psychic link between them.  When the last pair, the pair belonging to Travis Shields were spun back into their holsters, the fathers parted five to each side on the stage.

     The doors under the great tigers opened and the thirty prisoners that had been placed in the dungeon over the course of five years were herded out into the bright sun, blinking and holding up their filthy hands in front of their eyes.  Caleb did not know their crimes, but he knew their actions must have been particularly heinous to be brought before them.  All the fathers went to one knee as the prisoners started to frantically search the field for a place to hide from their fate.

     They didn’t have a chance as the silence of the stadium was broken by thirty gunshots.  Thirty men went down with a third eye smoking in the center of their foreheads.  The crowd roared as twenty guns were raised in the air allowing everyone to see the orange grips turn blood red.

     Suddenly, one pair of guns dropped as their owner sank screaming to his knees.

     Caleb, alongside Trenton, immediately went to Jolin, covering him as he searched the stadium for the threat.  His attention was brought back to the stage as King Jonathan started to join his son, their pained yells echoing against the stone walls of the arena.  They were both sentients and someone was using this to their advantage.  Caleb had a very good idea who and when a deep, jovial voice started coming from somewhere in the stands, his hypothesis was confirmed.  It was the leader of the Midian Knights.

     Lehi Baylor.

     “Well, well, it does work.  The witch I stole it from called it the Weeping Stone.  Rather deceiving, actually.  Although, I suppose you’re very much near tears.  It causes a high-pitched whine of a sort in the mind of any sentient within ten feet of it when activated by the wearer.  First, you scream and cry.  Then your ears and nose start to bleed.  After that, you start to shake and have convulsions.  For a finale... Well, I don’t want to give it away.  It would spoil the surprise and I’m¾”

     The sound was drowned out by the gunshots of all fifty-two guardians in the stadium as they fired towards the direction the sound had come from.  People scattered, leaving behind just a smoking black box.  The gunshots were soon replaced by low, pained whines coming from Jolin and Jonathan followed by the voice of Lehi Baylor again.

     “Thought you might do that.  Fire your guns all you want.  You won’t shoot me.  I’m not actually in the stadium.  This is something Leslie calls an intercom.  It enables you to be one place and talk somewhere else.” He laughed.  “Rather cute device, don’t you think?  At any rate, I don’t have much time, so listen carefully.  The people of Devinale have about three minutes to vacate the premises.  I don’t want to hurt them.  They didn’t choose to be a part of your Guardian bullshit.  They just aren’t intelligent enough to know better.  However, should any Guardian try to leave, the people of Devinale will be destroyed.  I don’t much enjoy being ambushed.  I enjoy doing the ambushing, though.”  He laughed again, a little louder this time.  “I enjoy that very much.  Oh, good.  The people are leaving.  When they’re gone, you know what to do, my boys.  Don’t let me down.  Enjoy the show, Guardians.  Farewell.”

     The disturbingly jovial voice now gone, only the near hoarse moans of the king and prince could be heard.  Caleb knelt by Jolin again and his father by Jonathan.  Blood ran from their noses and dripped from their ears, staining the collars of their white shirts.  The other Guardians on stage as well as the Guardians in the audience searched the stadium for any sign of a Midian Knight to no avail.  All they could see were the hundreds of panicked Devinalians running for the exits.  They were making it out quickly, something Caleb was thankful for.  At the exact end of the three minutes given by Lehi, the arena had cleared.

     Caleb looked around and saw no sign of any Knights.  Just the thirty-four Guardians in the stands posed and ready for battle.  Although, not all of them seemed to be on alert.  In fact, some were moving forward and placing their guns against the temples of the Guardians closest them.  Caleb started to turn and fire just as he felt cold metal against his own temple.

     “Move and you are dead.”

     It was the voice of Adam Frenz.  Caleb holstered his guns and looked across the stage to see Adam’s father, Richard, had his gun on his father just as Scott Evans put his own gun to Peter Wolfe.  Adam pulled Caleb to his feet and turned him around to see Trenton being held by Matthew.  Richard yelled across the stage to Joseph Tully.

     “Take care of the prince.”

     Joseph did this and when Adam stepped back, Caleb saw Paul and Nathan were laying on the stage with their throats slit.  Their guns lay in their hands loosely, the grips as black as night.  Across the stage, their fathers lay in the same manner.  Though Caleb could not see the Guardians in the stands, he knew they had met the same fate.  Anger was starting to rise in him more than ever when Adam moved again and something flashed in his belt buckle.  A stone the color of a teardrop and the size of a thumbprint.  Caleb looked to Trenton and used his eyes to show him the stone.  Trenton replied with the barest sliver of a nod as Travis and Alex pushed by him to help Joseph with a now convulsing Jolin.  Across the stage, the men were having the same problem with Jonathan.  Especially the closer Richard came to the king.

     Trenton said, “If you want to make your lives easier, you ought to get rid of those stones in your belts.”

     Matthew cuffed Trenton with the butt of his own gun. “Quiet.”

     Trenton shook his head and looked at Matthew as he spoke through his bloodied mouth.  “It is not polite to hit a person wearing glasses.”

     “You are right.”

     Matthew took his glasses off and threw them to the ground, smashing them under a boot.  Then he too hold of Trenton by the back of the neck and crashed his face into his knee.  Trenton straightened and smiled as blood dripped from his nose.

     “That is better.”

     He spit blood at Matthew, hitting him square in the shirt.  Matthew was about to hit him again when a gun fired.  Everyone froze.

     “Quiet!” said Richard, his normally soft voice an angry growl. “Stop it.  He is no good to us dead.  None of them are.”

     He took the stone from his belt buckle and threw it deep into the stands.  Adam followed suit.  As Jolin and Jonathan came out of their hectic daze, the imprisoned Guardians were blindfolded with black scarves and dragged off the stage.  Caleb was not sure what was to become of them, but he knew one thing.  He was not going down without taking one of the Midian Knights with him.

*******

     “How are you, Jolin?”

     Looking at the rats coming out of the holes in the wall in front of him blankly, Jolin quietly answered Caleb with, “Better.”

     “Good.”

     The three of them sat tied to chairs in a rat and skeleton infested cell somewhere in the dungeons of a broken down castle pilfered by the Midian Knights.  They had been taken there in a horse drawn carriage over very rough terrain.  Caleb guessed they were somewhere near the mountains of the east.  Although, that did not matter much to him.  All he cared about was how to get out.  They had been tied to the chairs by Guardians and were not going very far.  The Guardians had tied them together and the movement of one affected the tightness of the bonds on the others.  They could not even fend off the rats if they had to.  Thankfully, it had not come to that yet.

     “Never in my life,” said Trenton, “have I so greatly wished for the annoying cat my sister insists on keeping.”

     Caleb, who sat in the middle, nodded.  On his left, Jolin sniffed blood back up his nose.  

     “I wonder what has become of our fathers,” said the prince.

     “They are probably being questioned and threatened,” answered Trenton.  “Where are the sacred Guardian Stones, what is the password into the Cave of Ancestors.  Tell us or your sons will die.”  He laughed bitterly.  “Lucky for us, our fathers are the only three that have that information.  We get to outlive everyone.  For now.  Those rats look quite hungry.  If that pile of bones over there was their last meal, I would wager they cannot wait for us to fall asleep.”

     “We will have to sleep in shifts,” said Caleb.

     “Even that may not matter with the scent of blood I have on my shirt,” said Jolin.

     “What about your sentient ability?” said Trenton.  “Would that work on them?”

     “That stone left my head too chaotic.  I do not even think the gods could get through to me right now.”

     “How comforting.”

     “Well,” said Caleb, “they are not bothering with us at the moment.”

     “Only because they are probably not hungry enough at the moment,” said Trenton.  “When their kids start whining for food, they will be bothering with us plenty.”

     Jolin sighed.  “Rats do not whine to each other for food.”

     Trenton started to say something back when he looked at Caleb and noticed his look of sudden panic despite his blurred vision.

     “Caleb?  What is it?”

     “Gods, no.  He is just a boy.”

     “What?  Who?  Who are you talking about?”

     “He is all I have left of her.  Please, no.”

     Jolin looked at him.  “Left of who?”

     “My wife.”

     Trenton said, “Wife?  You are sixteen.  How could you have had a wife?”

     “Nikolai was her father.  She lived with us when I trained.  Nikolai allowed us to marry.”

     Jolin said,  “But who is this boy you speak of?”

     “My son, Jordan.  The last gift Melissa gave me before she died, the gift that killed her.”

     His blue eyes grew wide.  “Where is he?”

     “He was with my mother.  Now… I fear the worst.”

*******

     A day later, they found themselves in a square room with white stone walls brightly lit with many torches.  On the far wall three men were chained two feet above the floor, their clothes hanging in shreds and stained with blood from whip administered cuts and gashes. They held on strongly even as their sons were set before them and one of the knights walked up behind Jolin with a knife.  Caleb recognized the man immediately.  An older commoner Guardian who lost his final battle.  Tall and strong with black hair and hazel eyes, Caleb would know Jason anywhere.  

     Jolin looked at him with some recognition as he placed the tip of his knife against the tender skin under the corner of his right eye, but obviously could not place him.  His blue eyes shifted to the knife then Baylor as he walked over to King Jonathan.

     “You love your son, don’t you, Johnny?”

     The King remained steady and silent, his blue eyes piercing Baylor.

     Baylor went on.  “You wouldn’t want to see him hurt would you?”

     He continued to say nothing.  Baylor watched his bright, stolid eyes a moment then sighed and nodded.  “I’ll take that as a no.  Very well.”

     As Baylor turned to Jason, Jonathan turned to his son and Caleb heard the distant echo of his voice as he spoke.

     <You will survive this, my son.>

     Then Caleb heard Jolin, stronger in his mind than Jonathan.  <I know, Father.>

     Jason adjusted his knife then smiled a nefarious smile before sliding the knife beneath skin and slowly cutting off a thin strip of to the corner of his mouth.  Caleb tried to gain hold of the knife with his mind, but could not.  When he looked at the handle, he saw why. The handle was inlaid with diamonds, dampening his ability.  All he could do was watch as blood gushed and the prince remained stolid even as Jason threw the piece of his flesh to a rat that had come out of the wall.  The rat took it back into its hole greedily.  Caleb fought back the urge to vomit as Baylor turned back to Jonathan.

     “That must be hard for you to see.  You couldn’t possibly want to see it again.”

     “What I want does not matter.  You would do good to learn that.”

     Baylor shrugged.  “As you wish.  Go ahead, Jason, complete the set.”

     Jason did not hesitate to place his knife against Jolin and cut his left cheek to match the other, only much more slowly this time.  Jolin did not let the tears that stood out in his eyes fall and blood trickled from between his lips as he bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out.  The front of his shirt had a new crimson stain down the front and Jonathan glowered at Lehi, never taking his angry eyes from the man.

     “Well,” said Baylor, “looks as though the prince is stronger than we thought.  Very well.  Take them back to their cell.  The sight of him is making me sick.”

     As they were taken out and Jolin slipped into unconsciousness, Caleb distantly heard the king.

     <Be strong, my son.  Your mother and your kingdom is going to need you to be strong.>

*******

     The next day, Jolin was left unconscious in their cell as Caleb and Trenton were taken back to be placed before their fathers.  Jonathan immediately noticed his son was absent and his voice was booming in their minds.

     <What have they done with him?>

     Trenton answered.  <He was left in our cell, unconscious.>

     Before Jonathan could say anything else, Jason came in holding a small chain.  At the end of the chain was a collar around the neck of a young girl in a light brown dress.  She was tall with dark hair and eyes, her hands cuffed behind her.  Jason threw her to the ground between Trenton and Peter.

     “Does she look familiar gentlemen?” said Baylor.  “Aislinn Wolfe.  Daughter of Peter and sister of Trenton.  Do you love your little sister, Trenton?”

     “If you lay a hand o¾”

     Trent was cut off by a cuff from Jason.  “Quiet, boy.”

     Aislinn, who was now on her knees, gave Jason a look of murder.  Baylor saw this and smiled.

     “Good, good.  They enjoy the scent of anger.”

     Peter raised his head.  “Who?”

     “Why, the ants of course.  The Aphrah Desert fire ants.  The angrier their victim, the more ravenous they become.  It is the same with fear.  They do love to eat the fearful.”

     Aislinn looked up at her father. “Do not worry, father.  I will gladly give my life to protect the Stones.”

     “Such loyalty!  However do you do it, gentlemen?”

     The men glared at him and remained silent.  Baylor shrugged.

     “Bring the ants.”

     The guard at the door opened it and another knight walked in with a small jar.  He passed Caleb and stopped before Aislinn.  After forcing her to lie down on the floor, he opened the jar and shook its contents out onto the front of her dress.  Thirty or so large ants spread out over her body as she lay completely still.  She was very quiet until welts started to form on her skin where the ants stung her with their painful poison to paralyze her.  Then she began to whimper softly.  Peter looked away and Trenton looked on in silent anger, hot tears standing out in his eyes.

     Baylor said, “Care to speak, Peter?”

     In response, the duke just spit on Baylor’s shirt.  Lehi looked at it with distaste then turned to the door and made a gesture with his hand.  Another guard walked in with a very large jar and easily emptied its contents over Aislinn who opened her mouth to scream, but could not.  The poison had already paralyzed her voice.  She tried to move away from them, but her moving only caused the poison to move even faster through her blood.  When her eyes met those of her brother, he just shook his head, unable to speak.  She turned to Peter and he forced a warm smile as he spoke in a soothing voice.

     “I love you my child.  Do not worry.  I will be with you soon.  Your mother will be there as well.  In fact, she is already waiting for you.  Do you see her?”

     Her eyes became distant and she managed to smile and nod. She mouthed the word, “Mother” before her eyes drifted shut and became covered by the red bodies of the ants.  Trenton had to look away from the rampage of red bodies that were banded together to form the shape of his sister.  After only a very few minutes, Caleb could see the white of bones between the ant bodies on her arms and face.  This was when Baylor stepped forward.

     “Take this out of here.  It’s making me nauseous.  And take them back to their cells.  Maybe after the rats have crunched on them some, their fathers will be more talkative.  Guardian or not, no man with as much honor as you say you have can be that hardened.”

     The two boys were returned to their cell where Jolin still sat unconscious.  A rat had begun to nibble on the toe of his left boot but ran off when people approached.  Trenton was in great shock, leaving Caleb to try and convince the guards to put them closer together with Jolin in the middle.  They did.  As Caleb had hoped, the condition of the prince and his need for their help gave Trenton a focus and brought him out of his dismay.  

     “We have to protect Jol.”

     “Aye, I know.”

     “Do you think he has lost too much blood?”

     “Nay.  I think he will be all right.  But, when he wakes, he will be weak.”

     “We have to figure a way out.”

     “Aye, we do.  Any ideas?”

     “Nay, but I am thinking.”

     “Good.  So am I.”

*******

     Two days went by.  They were given no food and just enough water to survive.  Jolin was only partly aware for those days, but on the third day when they took all of them out of there again to face their fathers, he forced himself into lucidity.  His father was clearly glad to see he was all right though he himself was quite beaten.  They all were.  They looked like they had been burned all over.  Caleb looked at his father as Baylor paced between the two groups.  If Baylor was going to follow suit, they were next and both knew exactly what Baylor would play this hand.

     “Well,” said Lehi, “you’re a tenacious bunch.  I’ll give you that.  But I think I may have something today that will make you talk.”  He looked at the door guard.  “Bring in the boy.”

     Both Caleb and Dylan looked on, trying to hide their mounting horror as a small boy of about two toddled in followed by a dark haired woman in a long white coat.  He had pale blonde hair and emerald green eyes just like his father and grandfather.  When he saw Caleb, his eyes widened in his chubby face.

     “Daddy!”

     The woman quietly stood by in the corner as the boy ran up to his father and climbed in his lap, snuggling close against him.

     Caleb could not help it.  He began to cry in fury.  He looked at Baylor.  “If you lay one finger on him, I will hunt you down like a mad dog.  I swear this in the name of my ancestors.”

     Jolin and Trenton said in unison, “As do I.”

     Baylor laughed.  “That’s well and good, boys.  Very noble.  But what makes you think you will make it out of here?”

     Caleb smiled bitterly.  “What makes you think we will not?”

     Baylor looked at him a moment then his eyes drifted to Jordan like the eyes of a starving vulture.  When he spoke, his voice was silk.  “Jordan, come over here, please.  Come to Uncle Lehi.”

     The boy looked at Lehi then to Caleb who said, “Nay, Jordan.  Do not listen to him.  Stay here."

     Jordan stayed.  Lehi grew impatient.  He walked over to Caleb and simply plucked his son from his lap.  Jordan started to scream and kick, but Lehi was too strong for him.  He carried him over to Dylan and lifted the crying boy up to his face.

     “Look, Jordan.  It’s Grandpa.  If I hurt you, it’s because of him.  It’s because Grandpa doesn’t love you.”

     Lehi took a step back, holding the terrified and shaking child in front of Dylan.  “Now, Grandpa, tell us what we want to know.”

     His back teeth ground together, but he remained silent.

     Lehi lifted the boy over his head then let go of him.  Jordan dropped more than six feet to the hard floor.  Caleb winced as his son hit and the sound of his leg breaking echoed through his mind.   That crack followed by Jordan screaming echoed through all their minds.  Lehi picked the boy up by the shirt collar and forced him to stand on his feet.  He looked at Dylan.

     “Tell me what I want to know.”

     Dylan sneered at Lehi, but said nothing.

     Lehi backhanded Jordan and there was another crack as his nose broke.  Mercifully, that blow knocked Jordan unconscious.  Still, Caleb was insane with anger.  Although the ropes that tied him were not weapons, his anger empowered him.  The ropes came untied and as they fell to the ground, Caleb jumped at Lehi.  The two men tumbled to the ground, Jordan falling to the side where he lay limp on his back.  With Lehi beneath him, Caleb took hold of his shirt collar and shook him violently, pounding his head into the stone floor.  

     His beating of Lehi was short lived as the four guards in the room advanced on Caleb with their swords.  Diamond inlaid swords he could not control.  When the tip of one set against his throat, he thought of just driving himself right onto it.  Then he heard his father in his mind.

     <Nay, son.  Jordan is not dead and will not be.  He will survive and he will need you.  So will Jolin and Trenton and all other Guardians.  They are relying on you.  If Lehi gains access to the Cave Of The Ancestors because of you thinking with your heart and not your mind, he will have power over all of us.  You must not let that happen.  The three of you will be the sole protectors of  the Cave and Stones when we die.  Your wills together will keep them hidden.  If even one of you is killed, the security will be weakened.  You must not let that happen.  Let them bring you back to your cell.  Between the three of you, you can escape.>

     Caleb looked at Lehi, into his expressionless brown eyes, then his gaze moved up to the knight who held his sword at his throat.  He let go of Lehi and stood, letting himself be tied up again as the woman in the white coat gingerly took Jordan out of the room with her.  She was completely unreadable.  When Caleb was tied and Lehi walked over to him, his anger was quite clear.  He backhanded Caleb then looked to the guards.

     “Get them out of here.”

*******

      With Caleb in the middle and their guard asleep outside, Trenton and Jolin reached out to him with their minds, giving him support.  His extreme anger of earlier not there to help him, it took him quite a bit longer to find a connection with the ropes around him.  They were mad from many thin vines woven together and Jolin was able to use his connection to nature to allow Caleb to will them untied.  Almost two hours after they began, the ropes around Caleb were lose enough for him to work his way out of them, which he did quickly.  Then he untied Jolin and Trenton.  Jolin stood and reeled, but when he took his first step, it was firm.  He looked at Caleb and Trent.

     “Stand behind the door,” he said quietly. “I will lure the guard in.”

     They took their places behind the heavy wood door and Jolin went to it, looking out the small barred window at their guard.  Caleb heard the guard stir then stand and draw his keys.  As long as Jolin could keep his eyes on the man and close by him, he would be able to control him.  When Caleb heard the sound of keys in the lock and the door start to open, he poised himself.  Jolin would have to step away and lose his eye contact with the guard.

     Indeed, as the door opened, Jolin took a step to the side and the door stopped opening.  The guard made a confused grunt and started to close the door again when Caleb grabbed hold of the bars in the window and kept the door open.  Trenton took his opening, stepping around the front of the door to grab the guard and break his neck with such speed the guard was not even aware of him.  When Caleb stepped over his limp body out the door, his expression was still one of confusion from the fact he was opening the cell door.

     Jolin bent down and picked up the keys from his hand as well as his sword and dagger.  He gave the sword to Caleb and the dagger to Trenton.

     “Find our guns.  I will help our fathers.”

     Trenton started to protest when Jolin held his hand up, his eyes stern over the dark red stripes Jason had given him.  “Do not argue.  It is better we are separate.  I will be all right.”

     “But you have no weapon.”

     “I do not need one.”

     They jogged through the corridor they were in and up a flight of stone steps, finding they came out in a room near the castle kitchen.  The smell of bread came at them, reminding them of how starved they were, but there was no time for food.  Jolin stood in the door, his eyes closed a moment and his hands on the wall.  When he opened them, they were bright.

     “Our weapons are north of where we are now and our fathers west,” he said in a whisper.  Though it would have been best for them to speak mind to mind, they had not formed enough of a psychic bond to function without the aide of their fathers.

     “Most of the castle is asleep,” Jolin was saying, “but there are a few guards and the bakers in the kitchen.  Be careful.”

     They each laid their hands on their shoulders then went their separate ways.  Feeling the pull of his weapon, Caleb went forward with Trenton.  The bakers in the kitchen did not notice them pass by into the hall, nor did they notice Caleb swiftly slit the throat of the guard outside the door.  The hall they found themselves in did not go north, but instinct told Caleb to turn left, so he did.  Even though they only had torchlight to see by, it was clearly not a very plush hall they walked down.  Especially for a castle.  This was something obviously taken care of by a group of men who cared more about destroying their enemy than having velvet draperies.  Some of the doors they passed were badly warped from water that seeped down through the cracks in the main structure.

     Most of the castle was in this shape, Caleb noticed.  From what he could tell, it was once a Guardian castle.  Broken and disfigured tiger images lined the walls and decor.  He wondered what caused the move.  His thoughts were interrupted, however, when Trenton grabbed hold of his shirt and pointed to a statue standing by itself on a pedestal.  It was of a sitting tiger and in better shape than most of the others.  Trenton quietly spoke.

     “In the new castle, those types of statues open doors.”

     “We do not have the time to search through secret passages.”

     Caleb started down the hall when he heard many voices.  Far too many.  They spoke of the dead guard found in front of the kitchen.  Without having to be told, Trenton hurried over to the tiger and pulled on it.  A small crawl space opened in the wall to the right of it.  Trenton went in first on his hands and knees and Caleb followed.  When he was in, Trenton ran his hands over the wall to find the switch to close the door.  Caleb was momentarily caught in a slight panic when the shadows of the coming men appeared on the walls and Trenton had yet to find the switch.  Then the door slid shut and they were thrown into complete darkness just as the sound of marching, booted feet came around the corner.  When the group passed, Caleb spoke in a whisper.

     “It may be too dangerous for us to return to our previous path.”

     Trenton answered in an equally quiet voice, “Then we shall continue through the tunnel.”

     “It is too dark.”

     “Not for me.  Just take hold of me and do not let go.”

     Caleb found the back of the pants Trenton wore and took hold, letting Trenton guide him through the tunnel.  They only had to crawl a few feet before they were able to stand.  Caleb could make out nothing in the darkness even though Trenton walked along steadily and confidently in front of him.  It seemed like they were walking forever through the musty earth smelling tunnel, maybe even in circles, and Caleb was beginning to worry when Trenton stopped.

     “We are here.”

     His apprehension leaving him, Caleb felt the pull of his guns in a room just on the other side of a wall to his right.  The tingling in his hands was unmistakable.

     “How do we get to them?”

     In response, Trenton led him to the right and down another tunnel which they had to crawl through.  He heard Trenton running his hands over the dirt walls then a click.  A space in the wall opened in front of them and Caleb was momentarily blinded by the light.  When his eyes adjusted, he followed Trenton into an armory.  The walls were lined with swords, daggers, axes, and other such weapons.  In the middle of the room was a table where the swords were sharpened.  Their guns lay on this table on either side of the sharpening wheel.  Caleb immediately went to the guns, but when he turned to Trenton, he found his companion quite occupied by a metal brace of sorts that Trenton had already attached to his right, lower arm.  He spun his arm in a windmill and a small spiked ball on a thin chain shot out from beneath his wrist across the room into the wall where it lodged itself in the stone just under a group of gold handled swords.  With a slight tug, the ball went flying back to Trenton who looked at it approvingly.

     “I could get used to this.”

     “Well, get used to it later.  We have to find Jolin and return these guns.”

     Trenton nodded and walked over to the table, almost walking into it.  Without his glasses, his depth perception was not as good as it should be.  After taking a slight step back, he picked up his guns and tied them around his waist.  Caleb had already done this and turned at the sound of the door to the armory being opened. He drew his guns as did Trenton when Jolin walked in followed by their fathers.  Though badly beaten, the elder men moved about swiftly and with agility.  Caleb and Trenton relaxed, holstering their guns.

     Jolin said, “Why are you still here?  We thought you would be looking for Jordan by now.”

     Trenton said, “We had to take a detour.”

     King Jonathan walked over to his guns and as he buckled them around his hips said, “There is no time.  The Midian Knights know we are free.  It will only be a matter of time before they find us.”

     His guns already on, Dylan said, “Jordan is not here any longer, anyway.  When Baylor saw you could break free from the ropes, he left and took Jordan with him.”

     Caleb started to speak when Dylan held up his dirt and bloodstained hand.  “Do not question me.  We do not have the time.”

     “No, you do not.”

     They calmly turned to see Richard Frenz standing there.  Behind him stood all the others that had betrayed them.  Despite his clothes being torn or burned and both bloodied and dirty, King Jonathan stepped forward.  He did not draw his guns.

     “Lehi has already left, you know.  He left you here for dead along with his weaker knights.  Come back to Devinale with us.  All you have done against the Guardians will be forgotten.  You can start anew.”

     Richard smiled.  “Do you take me for a fool, Jonathan?  We both know full well there is no forgiving of treason when it comes to the Guardians.”  His smile turned sad and he walked further in the room.  The others followed, spreading out.  They all looked melancholy.

     “You see,” said Richard, “we did not have faith in you, my lord.  When Lehi came to us with this plan, we felt that there was no way you could withstand his torture.  We knew we could not.  That is probably why the three of you were entrusted with the sacred secrets and not us.”  He smiled sadly.  “That is why we joined him.  We felt it would be better for us to join him of our own accord than by force when he gained control of the Stones.  We were weak, Your Highness.  Our behavior was reprehensible.”

     Richard walked up to Jonathan and knelt on one knee in front of him.  The others knelt where they stood.  “My lord, I ask on behalf of all of us for your forgiveness.”

     Jonathan knelt and placed his hands under his shoulders, lifting Richard to his feet with him.  Then he took hold of his face gingerly.

     “You are forgiven, Guardian.”  He looked up at the others.  “All of you are forgiven.”

     Matthew Evans stood then and walked forward, up to Trenton, surprising the later boy by handing him his glasses.  They were repaired and good as new.  Trenton put them on as Matthew spoke.

     “I apologize, brother duke.”

     Trenton nodded and Matthew returned to where he previously stood.  Adam rose to his feet then and approached Jolin who eyed him mistrustfully even as he dropped to both his knees and put his head down, his arms hanging at his sides.

     “Forgive me, my prince.  I did not know what Lehi was going to do to you.  I was a fool.”

     Jolin raised his hand ever so slightly as if to backhand Adam then looked at his father.  When he saw the sadness in his eyes, he relaxed a little and nodded.

     “I forgive you.”

     “Thank you, my prince.”

     Adam turned to Caleb who stood to the right of Jolin and took hold of his slender hand.  “I ask for your forgiveness as well, Guardian.”

     Caleb nodded.

     Adam stood and returned to his place by his father.  King Jonathan smiled and nodded, drawing his guns.  “Well, let us find what is left of the Midian Knights.”  He looked around the room with a ruthless gaze.  “Then kill them.”

     As the group walked into the overgrown courtyard, they spread out and stopped.  The remaining Midian Knights were there waiting for them, swords in hand.  With a yell, the rogue Guardians ran at them, guns drawn.  Though they could have just shot the thirty-seven or so knights and be done with it, they allowed themselves fatal wounds before pulling their triggers.  

     Caleb and Jolin chose to take down the men running at them with their guns as did their fathers, but Trenton chose to use his new found toy.   Perhaps with the right practice, it would kill, but with his novice skills, all it did was bash in an ear or break a nose.  Caleb saw Peter taking it upon himself to finish what his son started, making quick work of the injured knights.  One fell to his knees in front of Caleb then fell forward when his already bleeding head exploded.  This was the last Midian Knight to be slain in the grassy enclosure.

     The remaining Guardians spun their guns back into their holsters and looked around.  Most of the rogue Guardians were dead, the rest dying.  One of these was Richard Frenz.  He was propped up against an abandoned cart with old hay in it, holding his side which was bleeding profusely from a slash wound.  Adam lay dead next to him, his throat slit.  Jonathan walked up to him and knelt beside him.  The others slowly followed as Richard held up a shaking hand.

     “My lo¾”

     Jonathan took his hand and shook his head saying, “Shh.  Do not talk.  I know what you mean to say.  You have apologized enough.  It is not entirely your fault.  If you lost faith in me, it is because I have not given you ample enough proof of my worthiness to be your leader.  That is why I am not going to let you travel through the Dark Abyss on your own.  With my help, you will make it out and you will be returned to your rightful place in the ancestral chain.  All of you will.”

     Richard gave Jonathan a questioning look, but when he opened his mouth, he just choked on his own blood.  Then he was dead.  Jonathan placed his hand across his chest and closed his eyes then stood.  Jolin was immediately next to his father, his eyes questioning.

     “Father?  How do you mean to help them through the Dark Abyss?”

     The king looked at Dylan and Peter, who came to stand by him then he looked back to his son.  “We are going to join them.”

     Each man walked over to a Midian Knight and picked up a dagger then returned to their previous positions in front of their sons.  The three boys felt panic start to grow inside them as they slowly began to realize what was going to happen.  Jolin started.

     “Nay!  You cannot do this.”

     Jonathan favored his son with a melancholy look.  “I have to, Jolin.  All of us do.  We were their leaders and we failed them.  Like a good shepherd which goes in search of his stray sheep, I must go after the Guardians.  But, I can not do it alone.  I need the support of Dylan and Peter.  This was inevitable, Jolin.”  He smiled.  “But do not worry.  I have seen what the future holds.  You will be all right.  All of you will.”

     Dylan stepped forward.  “First, however, there is the matter of your legacy.”                                 

     Caleb shook his head.  “It is too soon, Father.  We are too young.”

     “Nay, my son.  You are old enough.”

     Trenton stepped forward then, his look sad but understanding.  “The misdirected Guardians need our fathers more than we do.  We will still have each other.  They may not even have that.  They are alone, falling through their own nightmares without any way out and half of those men are boys no older than ourselves.  We gave them our forgiveness and now we need to give them our help in the only way we can.”

     Peter looked at his son then walked up to him and took him tightly in his arms saying, “Thank you, Trenton.  You have made me proud.”

     Caleb and Jolin looked at this a moment then sighed and turned to their own fathers. Jolin spoke first.  “Very well.  If you must.  I hope that one day I can be as good a king as you, Father.”

     Jonathan nodded and held out his dirty hand to his son, his shirt hanging in tatters around his wrist.  Jolin took it and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug.  Caleb looked into the green eyes of his father and though neither spoke, Caleb gave his consent.  He stepped forward and hugged his father.  There was a strong tingling sensation throughout his body and he realized Dylan was passing the secrets Lehi was trying so hard to get out of him.  When Caleb stepped back, it was clear as to why Lehi could not attain the answers he so desperately wanted.  The Guardians did not know them either.  Caleb could feel the knowledge in the deepest part of his being but he could not access it.  It was much like traveling through the desert towards the horizon and never closing in on it or even leaving the sandy patch you started on.  He looked at his father.

     “Give Melissa my love.”

     Dylan nodded, even though there was a very real chance he would never reach the place Melissa had gone to.  “I will.”

     Jolin and Trenton had stepped back and now all three boys stood frozen as their fathers raised the daggers in their hands so they may suffer the same deaths as their dependents.  Then they favored their sons with rueful smiles before plunging the weapons into their chests, piercing their hearts with the sharp daggers.  Each man fell to the ground, the grips of their guns turning black.  Tears streaming down his face and looking straight ahead, Jolin spoke.

     “Go find a cart and some horses so we may take them home.”

     Caleb and Trenton looked at each other then headed for the stables.  When they were out of sight, they heard Jolin cry out.  Out of the three of them, he had the closest relationship with his father.  And now he sat knelt over the his corpse, holding it close to him as he wept while Caleb and Trenton held each other in the only moment they had to grieve.