“Detective Stevens. We just got word on the earring. The blood on it was Daniel Harris’s. But the skin fragments, well, they were from Richard Vandemeer.”

Stevens was watching two men talking over the body of Daniel Harris. Facing the camera was Nolan Meekes. He raised his gun and shot out the camera. The other had been tall, wearing a ski mask and black clothes. All black, like Meekes. But it wasn’t one of the technicians. Both of them were short.

Richard Vandemeer is tall. His earring must have slipped off in the struggle they had before Meekes arrived.

Daniel Harris had seen Meeks and Vandemeer talking. He had also seen Meekes giving Mike Fields drugs. Meekes had then persuaded Vandemeer to approach Harris. Harris had dirt on Vandemeer, because of what Helen had told him, at least that’s what Vandemeer had suspected. Harris was going to blow the whistle on both Meekes and Vandemeer. He had a sense of justice that couldn’t be bribed or threatened.

So they killed him. And drowning Fields was just a loose end being tied up.

There was something more going on here. Why had Vandemeer been so afraid of what Harris knew? What had Helen told him, and how would Helen have anything on Vandemeer?

And then there was Roly Sanders. He had brought them all together.

I need the bigger picture.

Stevens turned to the CSI. Kyle Jensen was the current leader of the team. Intelligent. Loyal.

“Harris and Vandemeer had argued. They had a tustle. Vandemeer’s earring had fallen out.”

“With all respect Detective Stevens, ..”

Stevens stopped him. “I’m looking at the bigger picture Kyle. There is more at work here. You know the truth of the earring. It will come to light, but there is more. We’ve found the murderer of Daniel Harris and Mike Fields. That is enough for the moment.”

It was ironic and lame, but he continued anyway.

“We have to catch the Bigger Brother.”

• Moses dreams of Sara, of the song, and other things. 
• The twins drive Moses into Jericho.

He pulled backwards immediately. She was still, her face unchanged, looking at him.

“Master wishes to see you after you have refreshed yourself.”

She turned and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Moses wanted to know, “Who are you?”

The old woman didn’t turn, but her shoulders dropped a little.

“I had a daughter. Susan. My husband died soon after her birth, along with my dear baby. This was after the Break, so you wouldn’t know about it.” Her voice was full of bitterness. A sob choked her. She hobbled through the door and was gone.

Moses sat on the side of his bed, and put his head between his hands, uncannily resembling Joshua King.

How many characters did I write into these stories? There are some I can barely remember.

Moses sat still on the bedside. He began to run through his creation. Run through his memory of Jesse King, from the beginning.

I need a pen and paper. I need to write down my memories. Maybe then I’ll remember something useful in this crazy situation.

Moses hadn’t moved when the old lady returned, with two bigger than large men, dressed in business suits. They were so similar in appearance they had to be twins.

Samson and Heracles. They were babies, born to Timothy and Bress. Now they stand here, grown without my direction.

“You have not made yourself clean.” The old woman shook her head. “Master will not be happy.”

She tapped her cane, and the two men came forward and stood in front of Moses. Silent. Without compassion, but without anything else either.

They obeyed. That is what I had in store for them. Obedience. But obedience to King, not this.

Moses got up and rubbed his shirt down. He wasn’t too dirty, but he had come across the worlds in a t-shirt he wore to bed and a pair of shorts. The two men flanked him as they moved out through the corridors, which were stone. The only light came from luminescent globes set into the roof, which was stone as well. They walked up two flights of stairs before coming into a small ante-chamber.

Beyond stands the entrance hall we arrived into.

It was true. One of the suited men (Samson or Heracles, Moses didn’t know) opened the doors, and they walked through. The old lady came last, beckoning him forward with her crane. The two men stayed either side of Moses as he walked toward the throne. Joshua King sat there, and the Sarvant at his Right Hand. Nobody spoke as the old woman made her slow way to the left hand chair, and sat, taking her time. Of Mischa White there was no sign.

“Prophet. Your death begins today. A special day, and there is special power in the first blood spilled. Not as much as the last drop, but more than enough to begin the journey. The great journey foretold in all prophesy. That which will lead us to the promised land. The golden lands, lost Albion, ravaged and broken, but risen again as the phoenix. We seek that place. And you are the key.”

Joshua King sat slumped in his throne. He watched the Sarvant speak, and there was intelligence in those eyes, but all he did was watch. He turned those eyes (the eyes of Jesse King for sure) towards Moses, and the song within him that had been so quiet that he’d forgotten about it, burst forth. It’s rapturous melody thundered, through those eyes.

“Tell old old Pharoah ..”

It fit. The song and the old spiritual words. As it clashed and bashed, it fit together in his head.

And then a thought occurred to him, as clear as the song within.

Jesse King is alive.

This could be true. It had to be true. Moses needed to find the sire of this pitiful wreck before him. But right now there were more immediate concerns.

The Sarvant noticed the contact of the eyes, and stepped between them, his own eyes blazing. The song quieted again. Soft, almost unheard, but Moses knew it was not gone.

“Enough. You will not look at the King again, or I will take out your eyes. There will be no more of that, until the appropriate time.”

Moses wondered how much the Sarvant could hear. And he wondered if the Sarvant knew what the song was, what it meant.

Probably.

The Sarvant walked up in front of Moses. He waved a hand at the two large, almost giant, men. He grinned.

“I see you have met Samson and Heracles. They have grown into very handy individuals to have around. And no doubt, given the .. nature of their mother, they will continue to grow, and obey.”

He knows more than I do. He knows I created them with obedience in mind.

Samson and Heracles were born to a mother who was not entirely your standard human. She looked human, and had fallen in love and married a human male, but what pulsed within (Bress) was nothing close. People had been melded with magic long long ago, mutated into something more and less than humanity. They had amazing powers, and were given to long life. They were small in number though, as mutation did not lend itself to procreation.

The general public of Jesse King’s world had labeled them Mutants, and in much the same way as the X-Men comics, prejudice had run it’s bloody course. Thirty years before the Jesse King stories began, a number of battles rocked the lands. The Blood Wars, the Rebellion, the Last Battle of Truth, Gorgon’s War (Gorgon had been a king of the mutants, a tall purple-eyed warrior who carried a claymore on his back). All names given to terrible times.

Lives were taken on both sides, thousands of dead bodies fed the crows. Magic and mutation (and muscle) lay waste to many areas, and neither side won. The mutants retreated as one, in the middle of the last battle, as though given a silent command (as indeed they were). This was good for the human armies, who were being badly beaten after the death of Berek and James, the two cousins who led the fight against the mutants.

Right before they removed themselves, a duel had taken place. Berek Staines stood over the body of James Staines, and battled against Gorgon. Berek himself was a mutant, but held this secret, until it came lose in the duel. All his mighty power was unleashed, and they collapsed in each other’s arms, dead. So a peace of sorts was arrived at, without voiced words, and it held until the time of Jesse King.

In one of his journeys, Jesse King had come across Bress, and she joined his company. Timothy had been smitten from the first, although Bress took her time. After long decades of prejudice, it was hard for her to trust.

But trust she did.

Indeed. They were married, and at the end of the second last Jesse King book Moses had written, Bress gave birth to the twins. One book later the Sarvant had murdered her, along with Timothy.

And that is where I am at.

A surreal feeling had overtaken Moses as the twins led him back into the stone bowels, deep in below the remains of the castle. The Sarvant had the lead, the old came behind him, tapping her cane, the sound echoing loudly.

They arrived at the end of a corridor. The Sarvant put out a hand and the door opened. As he passed through the way, Moses saw they were within a torture chamber. Old instruments lay there, as well as new. The song, though low, was there. It gave him peace. And the strange surreal-ality encompassed him.

Do you worst Sarvant.

Daerin Sarvant turned to him. “The first drop of blood must come now. On this day. Do you remember what marks special this time?”

Moses looked at him. Of course he remembered, he had created this place. But he wouldn’t speak to the Sarvant.

“Perhaps the travel addled your wits. Today, many years past, marks the birth of Jesse King. And, his death.” The Sarvant smiled, wicked and dark. “Of course, that was after the Break, so you wouldn’t know.”

The old woman had uttered the same phrase.

She moved forward, as the twins bodily took hold of Moses and strapped him to a table.

I remember this room now. The place that Wolverine has flashbacks of in the first X-Men movie. Where he was experimented on. I’d forgotten that.

The old woman leant, one arm holding her back, as though supporting her frail bones. She whispered in Moses’ ear. And he remembered.

“I am Sara, the Unloved.”

She grabbed Moses’ wrist, held it high, above her face. A knife appear in her other hand, and quick as shadow, Sara the Unloved slice open his skin, his veins. Only a single drop fell, slowly. The wound healed immediately, skin closing and forming new. Moses watched as the old woman, Sara, opened her mouth and took in the drop of blood.

Sara. You were loved .. What has happened?

I won’t be writing about it anymore here. Will keep my thoughts on it to my own blog.

A new chapter of “The Prophet” should go up tonight hopefully.

Good writing!

How does the character know this?

Can the character really make that leap?

Are there too many hints being dropped? Too much foreshadowing and backwards remembering?

Again, I’ve missed my self-imposed deadline for posting the chapters. Completely went past Thursday morning for the Daine Stevens chapter. I’m okay with it though. Content :).

Good Writing!

Here and there lay the classic marks of the ages. Most were in disrepair. The hedge maze. The circle of standing stones. Column archways. Huge trees, stretching high and wide, even in death and dying.

As they approached the small building amidst the ruins of the large, the double doors swung open to greet them.

It was a single room. Bare except for a row of wooden chairs along either side, and a larger chair at the end. Behind that, although Moses barely noticed it, was a ragged tapestry, showing the signia of the King family. Jesse had recovered it in one of his adventures. It had been stolen hundreds of years before, in darker times.

There were two people in the room. One sat in the larger chair, which was a throne. The other sat in the first wooden chair to the left of the throne.

Two thoughts occurred to Moses in quick succession.

(i) How small has grown the Council of Kinds.

And (ii) There is noone seated at the Right Hand.

These two ideas had been extremely important in the books. The second much more than the first.

An old woman sat in the left hand chair, watching them enter with rheumy white eyes. She said nothing.

Sitting in the throne was Joshua King. At least, that’s what Moses guessed. The man had his head buried between his hands. He was gaunt, a stick figure. Skin and bones. Haggard.

They waited before this man. Mischa said nothing, but there were tears in her eyes as she looked at the son of Jesse, and then at Moses.

“I’m sorry,” Mischa White whispered to him, then grabbed his arms. “Do not forget the Three, Prophet. Whatever comes, remember them.”

The man on the throne looked up.

“Hello Mother.”

Moses hadn’t written this, but he had been close. However, Joshua King did not look like his mother. Or if he did, it was hidden behind his father in him.

Daerin Sarvant.

As if thought could create reality, Moses heard the voice of evil behind him.

“Greetings prophet. I am glad you have finally arrived.”

Daerin Sarvant walked to the throne, and took his seat at the Right Hand.

“Prophet,” His voice was everything Moses had imagine it to be. Smooth. Silky. Strong. The voice of the Serpent.

“You are here in the flesh at last. Now, indeed, can my plans become reality. Your death will be long and hard. The more pain you go through, the better it will be. You are The Prophet, and within your lifeblood the greatest of power can be found. True magic.”

Moses managed to turn as he heard footsteps behind him. Clothed entirely in black, the assassin stood there. The Sarvant Hounds he had called them.

My hearing must be getting better.

With invisible speed, the assassin reached up to Moses’ shoulder, squeezed, and all went dark.

At the moment, I’m at the crest of the wave. Had a big family weekend, and completely forgot about updating Taels last night (Sunday). Work is busy, both salary and my company.

Am working on the new “The Plastic Detectives” website. Found a good theme tonight, now just have to work out how the content will be presented, and the content itself. Almost finished the second episode’s script. Also, brainstormed a bunch of ideas for further episodes.

The Prophet is gathering momentum. We are now within the world of Jesse King and Daerin Sarvant. Of magic and swords and death .. Of Mischa White.

This week sees the end of the first Daine Stevens Mystery. It’s a little too brief, but I guess I wrote the whole episode to fit into an hour of tv.

The story of Moses Lawd is definitely stirring creative juices in my brain. I’ve been thinking more about the second Part, and how the end game will be brought about. Possibly, because I like stereo-types, there will be three Parts. We’ll see.

But mostly, I dearly want to get the next Plastic Detectives episode done. Get the website finished. Start giving the kids little bits of paper with the website on it to give out to friends. Viral marketing at it’s best.

Good writing!

• We meet Daerin Sarvant.
• Mischa betrays Moses, but tries to give hope.

Next time in “The Daine Stevens Mysteries“

• The mystery is wrapped up, kind of.
• Stevens knows the bigger picture isn’t finished.

Moses Lawd woke to the sound of his grandmother’s voice. Except joined with it were the voices of yesterday. They had dissipated slowly the night before, as he lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come.

The anticipation was there also, excitement in his veins as he pushed himself out of bed.

“Tell old old Pharaoh, To let My people go.”

He was now thirty-three years old. He looked out at the sun rising over the hills. Yesterday’s strangeness had begun with the dawn.

As if to welcome the sight, the bright orb in the sky, the song in his head, now wordless, rose in exultation.

Moses turned away, and thought about eggs for breakfast. The phone rang, putting an end to that.

It would be a long time before Moses ate food cooked in his kitchen. But Moses didn’t know that yet.

“Moses, it’s Ted.”

Moses waited, as per usual, but there was a different tone in Ted’s voice. Strained.

“They have Sue and the kids. They’re going to kill them if I don’t get you to come.”

Ted never joked about his family. It must be serious. Moses grabbed at the phone.

“Ted, who has them?”

There was shaking on the phone, noises in the background. A muffled thump. Bam. Crash. Then another voice came on the phone.

“Mr. Lawd. You would be wise to stay at your home until my people arrive. Do not leave, we will find you. If you do leave, this man’s family is dead. As it is, they are nearing death. Perhaps it would be merciful to kill them.”

Moses heard Ted shouting, “Noooooo! Moses, I don’t want them to die!”

This is crazy. What is happening?

“Stay where you are Mr. Lawd. All will be well. For them at least. Possibly for you, but time will tell us the answers.”

Another saying from his world. “Time will tell us the answers.” Allan James was fond of that. A father figure to Jesse who died early in the stories. Giving his life for Jesse, who had betrayed the old man at the end. It had brought Jesse back from blackness.

“Listen, what do you want? I’m just a writer, and Ted is just my editor. What’s the problem? Money” Is that what you want?”

The laughter on the other end of the phone was deep and abrasive.

“Fool.” Click.

The phone went dead. Moses wondered whether he should call the police.

And tell them what? But if I do nothing ..”

He was dialling the number for the local police station when the doorbell rang.

Moses froze, hand halfway up from the phone. He wait, listening.

“.. Police. How can I help you?”

Moses put the handset down, cutting off the call. He crept along to the stairs. Rushing up them he came to the room above the entrance and looked down. There were no cars in sight, and a single old woman stood at the door. Something made him look across the fields that lay between him and the main road. A line of black station wagons drove into view.

What was that movie? Twister. Ha.

But he had the lady to deal with, and pushed the entourage of black out of his mind.

Coming to the front door, he brushed his hair back before opening it. Reaching for the handle, the song within him burst forth anew.

“Hello Prophet.”

It was Mischa. At least, a very old version of Mischa. Seventy years if a day.

“I have returned for you,” She looked back over her shoulder. “And you must come now. They are approaching.”

Moses stood there, looking at her. The eyes were the same, and the voice. But just yesterday he had seen this woman in vibrant strength and beauty. The figure before him was a little stooped, gray-haired, and handsome instead of stunning.

“This is not a request Prophet. You will come now.”

She grabbed his wrist with the same strength, maybe a touch weaker, but iron still. Moses looked up at the sky for the last time. The world spun, turned into gray, and then there was blackness.

Her voice spoke in his mind.

“Rest easy Prophet. You are travelling between the worlds. This place is peace. But even it is passing.”

Moses looked about. There were cracks appearing in the fabric of whatever reality they were passing through. Glaring red light broke through, and he could see it eating away at the darkness. Although it wasn’t darkness. His eyes were adjusting, and it was not dark. There was light, but it was fading.

“Careful now, we pass the boundary again.”

There was a flash, and Moses felt his body gain weight again. His legs were unprepared, and he stumbled to the ground. Mischa’s hand was still grasping his wrist. He pulled his arm slowly away. Where their flesh had touched was pink, like newborn skin. It tingled, and very quickly a streak of blue flashed across it.

“We have arrived.”

It was the land in his mind, but more .. and less. Time had passed from the land that existed in his mind.

“How long has it been since you came to see me the first time?”

Mischa looked at him, speaking with some regret. “Three score and ten. The power of the Three ..”

Moses cut her off. “I know, I wrote this remember?” He grinned, in spite of the growing fear. The song was sweeter here, if possible. Resounding in his head. It should have hampered his thoughts, but he found himself thinking very, very clearly.

“Why did you call me Prophet?”

Mischa looked away. “I cannot tell you.” Moses could see her tiredness.

But he needed time to think. If this was his world, then it should abide by his rules. The ones he had created. However, seventy years is a long time. A lot could happen in that time, if the world was alive and breathing.

And it certainly looked to be that. They had arrived on a slight hilltop, lush short-cropped grass was under their feet. A line of stone made a circle around them, deep blue color moving through the stone.

Shows it’s power.

He had been fascinated by the mythos that was Stonehenge. The Druids, the magic, their respect for nature. It was here. The deep blue was the power of the Three. But it was more. At least, in his mind it was.

Still. First things first. He needed to find the Three. That was important. They held the key. They were the cords that held creation in place.

A three-fold cord is not swiftly broken.

Mischa turned away and began walking south. “Follow me Prophet. The King will want to see you immediately.”

The King? Is that Jesse?

Moses had put within the story the similarities between Jesse King and a king (ruler). But Jesse King, so far, had abandoned all attempts to make him leader. His was a single journey, a lone wolf, like the Phantom. Although not dressed in purple tights.

If seventy years has passed, who knows what is different. King could have died. If the world grew on as I wanted it to, anything could have happened.

He followed Mischa White along the road, through the woods. Sounds of life echoed across the ground. Birds, animals. Fish danced across the water of the creek they crossed.

Ulrik’s Stream. And the standing stone .. Jesse’s Door.

Coming out of the woods, they reached the road. A car was coming around the bend, it’s motor noisy. Mischa took up residence on the side of the road, following the road towards the car. Moses followed. He had a pretty good idea where they were going.

Jesse King had owned a mansion. It was large, sprawling, and very very debonair. Lavish parties were held there, the beautiful and famous congregating to socialise at the home of one of the richest men in the country. Of course, to Jesse, it was a game. His riches had come in the first few books, after rescuing various people, and investing in some very nice ideas. Henderson was the brains behind Jesse King’s money. Jacob Henderson. A man with the golden touch.

As they came to the edges of the city, Jericho, Moses was struck anew by how real everything was. Moving. Alive.

This is real, as real as anything can be. I can touch the ground, feel the air. I can walk, run. I can probably be killed.

Jericho had been a magnificent city, and then a broken place, retaining some vestiges of the haunting beauty that once brought the greatest of kings and presidents to visit.

They would gaze upon it’s beauty, and be lost for words.

Jericho had sung with magic. It’s fall was terrible, and the magic broken.

But the city before him had taken on a look of new life. It sparkled.

The magic is here again.

Jesse King’s mansion had been on the outskirts of Jericho, and as they crested a hill, it’s towers came into view. Almost. They shimmered, as though a mirage. Moses looked hard at the buildings, and saw them fall away. There was nothing but a lonely house. Single and desolate.

“What happened here?”

Mischa did not look back.

“Madness came upon the King. Daerin Sarvant returned from the dead and befriended the King. Nothing is as it was.”

Moses stopped. “Wait a minute. We are talking about Jesse King right?”

At that Mischa also stopped, and turned to face him. There were tears in her eyes. “Jesse King has been dead almost seventy years. Not long after I first visited you.”

Her back was stooped, though vigour still remained in her body. Her mind sharp. But Moses saw the pain that rested in her.

What kept her going? Mischa White had been experimented on as a child, and this probably accounted for her extra long life. Her other talents, her mutations had come about during and after the experimentation.

“Prophet. You should have returned with me then.”

Moses’ anger leapt. “How could I have known? You were my imagination! None of this should be real!”

That doesn’t ..

“.. Make me any less alive.” Mischa had anger in her too. “Come. We must go. The King, Joshua King, son of Jesse, awaits us.” In a lower tone she added. “As does the Sarvant.”

Stevens arrived. They were waiting. Brown and three Uniforms making sure nothing was touched.

Brown stepped over.

“Sanders was in his office, on the laptop. His secretary, Jeyne Anderson .. That’s right, Anderson, sister to Jess Anderson. Anyway, she was sitting in a chair, crying.”

“I walk in, and there is a gunshot from here.” He pointed at the chair.

Stevens walked over and swivelled the chair. It’s deep blue satin was stained with red.

“I presume this is the third Technician.”

Brown nodded. Stevens looked at Sanders. The man was looking older. A little scared perhaps.

“I just discovered that this man,”

Brown added his name over the top of Roly Sanders. “Nolan Meekes.”

Sanders grimaced. “Yes. Him. He is not who he said he was.”

“The man was trafficking drugs. He used his position here to seek out those with the desire and the need.”

The Boss.

Stevens tapped his lip. “Explains a lot.”

But not everything.

There was a note on the table. Underneath it was a digital tape.

“My name is Nolan Meekes. It never seemed to worry me. The killing. The drugs. But I know this time I wouldn’t have gotten away with it. I’d rather be facing the Almighty than the Detective.”

Stevens folded the paper. It had to have been the lamest suicide note he’d ever read. If it was truly from the heart of Nolan Meekes then Stevens wasn’t as good a Detective as everyone though.

And his reference to the Almighty. Strange, almost like bait.

It was time to get everybody out of the house. Stevens had a feeling that the death of Nolan Meekes would be the end of the investigation.