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"Once Blind..." by thausgt

One year ago, Howard Jones defeated a monstrous evil, but at the cost of his eyes. Since then, he has learned magics to help compensate. The curse, however, is growing stronger as his magic does; will he solve the riddle of the curse while helping his friends?

Category: Book: 1st Chapter

Tags: Urban Fantasy, Mystery

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     Oh, gods, not again...

     The Fallen One bought himself about five seconds’ worth of breathing room with a concussion grenade. Everyone else got blown back and stunned, but I’d remembered hearing a story about him using this trick once or twice before. So, when I saw him do a little sleight-of-hand to produce the grenade, I ducked behind one of the convenient pillars in the perversion of a temple the Nephandus called home before he could pull the pin.

     Kaja, our two-fisted (and two-footed) mage, had accidentally given him the opening he needed by knocking him back into the spring of unholy ooze; heat of battle, and all. With that disgusting glop protecting him from the blast, he dropped the grenade and very nearly reduced all my friends to dog food. He got back to his feet and smeared a fresh dose of the slimy gunk on his face and neck for a little extra protection, then raised his hands. Vaguely rhythmic, utterly inhuman noises started coming out of his mouth. I guessed that it was some kind of song in the Nephandi’s secret language and meant to focus his powers for a little ‘cleansing’ of my friends’ clocks, probably for good.

     Stop it, please, stop it…

     “Here’s hoping he doesn’t know his Matter very well,” I said, almost a prayer of my own, and pitched my insurance at him. The shiny “beanball” whizzed across the room, tagging him square in the middle of his chest and spreading an extra-special concoction I’d bought from a rather bloody-minded member of Team Ether all over his front. The stuff was mostly dust-size granules of pure sodium, mixed with a pH-balanced adhesive. I had asked my contact to include a few other things to give it the approximate consistency of olive oil for a couple of seconds before it got really sticky; result: a nice, wide coating of juice that would then be nearly impossible to remove.

He stopped ‘singing’ for a second and glared at me. As he raised his hand, I started to feel woozy and knew that this was it. I couldn’t see any sign of the beanball working, the bumps and bruises that the Nephandus' servitors had doled out to me were yammering for my attention, and I was all out of defenses. Whatever he threw at me was going to send me to my next stop on the Wheel of Karma in the most unpleasant way possible...

I don’t want to see it again...

     He paused, whatever he was going to slam at me fading away as he looked down at his chest. His ‘protection’ started steaming, then smoking, and his face started to melt. Hole-card suspicion confirmed; he didn't know about this poor man's version of Greek Fire. He dropped his hands to his clothes and tried to beat the flames out, but all he did was spread the beanball-goop onto his hands and spatter it all over his front. Now the noises coming out of his mouth were screams of his own pain.

     Stay away, let him burn, don’t be a glory-hound...

     “Time for a benediction, brother,” I spat as I closed in, limping. I figured that I could ring his bell with a few old-fashioned roundhouse-punches before the beanball finished him off. The rest of the team always said that my vindictive streak would get me killed someday; I couldn't work up the concentration to care.

     His eyes were steaming as I stood in front of him. He made the mistake of trying to wipe them with his fingers, and his screams became piercing.

     Let him die now, get the gang out of here, leave him alone...

     I grabbed him by the non-smoking sides of his robe and got in close to make sure he met the One in the proper state of panic. “You’ve sung your last note, you twisted monster,” I growled.

     He smiled in the direction of my voice. “Not quite,” he said.

     STOP...

     I blinked.

     DON’T...

     He spat a blob of slime, hate, saliva, magick and beanball directly into my left eye, and then did the same to my right.

     BURNING...

 

     I woke up with the heels of my hands jammed into the rough pits where my eyes used to be. My sheets were dripping with sweat, and I could still feel the echoes of my shriek reverberating throughout the room. A whispered “Goddamn...” escaped from my clenched teeth, then another. I found the jug of water next to my bed and took a swig, gulping the coolness down.

     Most of my body wanted to curl up into a little ball and tell my brain to fend for itself. A little bit of me at the back of my mind wanted to push a fistful of pencils through the pits in my face. My heart wanted to smash its way out of my chest, and it felt like every last one of my tendons was practicing to become suspension-bridge cable.

     With a little help from a cool shower and a warm shot of single-malt scotch, the tension re-rolled back up into the little knots in my shoulders where it usually sets up shop. The rest of me felt better, just enough to pass for normal. I took the rest of the scotch out into the living room with me, grabbing my sunglasses on the way. As an afterthought, I turned and picked up the small bag that I carried my special tools in; never know when I might need to perceive my surroundings more clearly. I dropped into the large bean-bag, facing the cool breeze blowing in from the bay window and knowing that the thick towel would be covering the places where I stretched out, like it always was.

     “I do wish that you would stop drinking yourself to sleep,” Evan said from behind me. He was trying to sound petulant, but we had been through too much for that to fool me. "It always brings the nightmares back, and you always wake me up." He sounded tired, and that was no act. His scent drifted over to me as I listened to the sound of his footsteps cross the room to approach me from the front, tinges of fatigue and genuine worry threading through the mossy stone, damp wood and canis lups at the base of his smell. He was wearing his sweats, judging from the noise he wasn’t making as he moved, and I heard wood slide across the thick shag carpeting as he pulled one of the hand-carved stools up next to me.

     We sat for a while, waiting for dawn in silence. I took a fresh hit from the bottle of scotch and passed it in his direction; I heard him take a little swig and pass it back, giving it a shake so I knew where it was. It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciated the friendly gesture. I could tell that his body was oriented roughly the same way as mine (whisper of bare heels on carpeting near my feet, the creaking of the stool as the rear legs were compressed with his leaning back onto the couch behind, puff of air as the couch accepted its share of his weight).

I hung my bolo tie around my neck, letting the silver tips click on my bare chest. The rest of my tools and tricks would have to wait; I was feeling the need to be as ordinary and small a person as I could. Not that the rest of the crew minded much when I went through my silly little rituals that let me fake being able to see, I just wasn't in the mood right then.

A minute later, I almost changed my mind about not going through all my morning rituals; it would have been nice to have more than a guess about Evan's feelings. No ‘face-reading’ for me for a while, which was quite a drawback. It had taken this… experience… to really underscore how much communication is non-verbal. Important stuff to know, for a hopefully-soon-to-be-former blind man, since I couldn’t allow myself to lose track of that sort of thing.

     We faced the window, Evan watching the city lights under a sky slowly brightening with the dawn, me tasting the warming breeze as it brought the scents of the city wafting over me. “You're wearing your shades,” he said after a few minutes. From the sound of his voice he wasn’t facing me.

     “Force of habit," I said, adjusting them a millimeter further up my nose. "No need to put my roommates off their feed when I don't need to. Still, I do get tired of sleeping on my back all the time.”

     “Must’ve been a really bad flashback, this time.”

     “Yeah. Full surround-sound and everything. Especially the finale.”

     A few more minutes passed. Evan’s breathing was so deep and even I thought he might have gone into meditation or something, until I felt his hand curl around my shoulder and squeeze it.

     “How are your studies going?” he said, after he let go.

     “Not bad," I admitted, shrugging. "I’m getting more practice in Correspondence than I would’ve thought possible, and Kaja is better at teaching the Art of the Dragon than she gives herself credit for. I keep stumbling over puzzles on the Path of Life, though.”

     “You’re studying three different Spheres under three different teachers from three different Traditions, only one of which is your own. I’m surprised you’ve learned anything at all.”

     “All part of the charm. And anyway, it’s not like I don’t have a compelling reason.” I waggled my eyebrows.

     “Yes. The ‘curse’. Quite amazing that the Fallen Brother John was able to work it up so quickly, and under such adverse conditions.”

     “I’m not really in the mood to compliment him on his fast-casting, Evan. I’ve got maybe a year to reach Master-level skill in three different Spheres before my brain finishes adjusting to my not having any eyes, and then I’m stuck looking like a Tarantino character for the rest of my life. In this incarnation, anyway.”

     “I wish I could convince the Elders that you are worthy to be healed at the Caern of the Elements.”

     “And I wish that the Caern would work for this particular wound, but we’ve already discussed this.”

     “I know. Too often.”

     If there was one thing that had rubbed off onto me from about two years' worth of casual proximity to a part-time wolf, it was a distaste for going over old ground. We settled back into silence.


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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy the chapter. The chapter was okay. I really enjoyed the chapter.

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Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not credible, interesting or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters where somewhat credible, interesting and unique. I partially understand their thoughts, feelings, and actions. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters where credible, interesting and unique. I thoroughly understand their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and started to care about the characters.

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Category Name: The Beginning

The chapter did not introduce a problem. I really don’t want to read the next chapter. The chapter introduces a problem for the protagonist, but I don’t know why it’s important and/or it does not feel like an immediate resolution is needed. I might read the next chapter. The chapter introduced an immediate and important problem for the protagonist. I really want to know what happens in the next chapter.

The first chapter, especially the first sentence, needs to pull a reader into the story and make them crave more.

Category Name: Setting

I don’t know when or where this chapter takes place. The setting was inadequately described or inappropriately used. I know when and where the chapter takes place but I can only vaguely picture it in my mind. The setting did not add to or distract from the chapter. I know when and where the chapter takes place. The setting enhanced the chapter and helped me better understand the characters or plot.

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Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

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Category Name: Dialog

The dialog caused more confusion than clarification about the characters. It was almost impossible to follow. Some of the dialog helped me learn about the characters and revealed new facets of their personalities. I could follow the dialog when paying close attention. The dialog helped me learn about the characters and revealed new facets of their personalities. The dialog flowed well and was easy to follow.

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1.      Oh, gods, not again...

2.      The Fallen One bought himself about five seconds’ worth of breathing room with a concussion grenade. Everyone else got blown back and stunned, but I’d remembered hearing a story about him using this trick once or twice before. So, when I saw him do a little sleight-of-hand to produce the grenade, I ducked behind one of the convenient pillars in the perversion of a temple the Nephandus called home before he could pull the pin.

3.      Kaja, our two-fisted (and two-footed) mage, had accidentally given him the opening he needed by knocking him back into the spring of unholy ooze; heat of battle, and all. With that disgusting glop protecting him from the blast, he dropped the grenade and very nearly reduced all my friends to dog food. He got back to his feet and smeared a fresh dose of the slimy gunk on his face and neck for a little extra protection, then raised his hands. Vaguely rhythmic, utterly inhuman noises started coming out of his mouth. I guessed that it was some kind of song in the Nephandi’s secret language and meant to focus his powers for a little ‘cleansing’ of my friends’ clocks, probably for good.

4.      Stop it, please, stop it…

5.      “Here’s hoping he doesn’t know his Matter very well,” I said, almost a prayer of my own, and pitched my insurance at him. The shiny “beanball” whizzed across the room, tagging him square in the middle of his chest and spreading an extra-special concoction I’d bought from a rather bloody-minded member of Team Ether all over his front. The stuff was mostly dust-size granules of pure sodium, mixed with a pH-balanced adhesive. I had asked my contact to include a few other things to give it the approximate consistency of olive oil for a couple of seconds before it got really sticky; result: a nice, wide coating of juice that would then be nearly impossible to remove.

6. He stopped ‘singing’ for a second and glared at me. As he raised his hand, I started to feel woozy and knew that this was it. I couldn’t see any sign of the beanball working, the bumps and bruises that the Nephandus' servitors had doled out to me were yammering for my attention, and I was all out of defenses. Whatever he threw at me was going to send me to my next stop on the Wheel of Karma in the most unpleasant way possible...

7. I don’t want to see it again...

8.      He paused, whatever he was going to slam at me fading away as he looked down at his chest. His ‘protection’ started steaming, then smoking, and his face started to melt. Hole-card suspicion confirmed; he didn't know about this poor man's version of Greek Fire. He dropped his hands to his clothes and tried to beat the flames out, but all he did was spread the beanball-goop onto his hands and spatter it all over his front. Now the noises coming out of his mouth were screams of his own pain.

9.      Stay away, let him burn, don’t be a glory-hound...

10.      “Time for a benediction, brother,” I spat as I closed in, limping. I figured that I could ring his bell with a few old-fashioned roundhouse-punches before the beanball finished him off. The rest of the team always said that my vindictive streak would get me killed someday; I couldn't work up the concentration to care.

11.      His eyes were steaming as I stood in front of him. He made the mistake of trying to wipe them with his fingers, and his screams became piercing.

12.      Let him die now, get the gang out of here, leave him alone...

13.      I grabbed him by the non-smoking sides of his robe and got in close to make sure he met the One in the proper state of panic. “You’ve sung your last note, you twisted monster,” I growled.

14.      He smiled in the direction of my voice. “Not quite,” he said.

15.      STOP...

16.      I blinked.

17.      DON’T...

18.      He spat a blob of slime, hate, saliva, magick and beanball directly into my left eye, and then did the same to my right.

19.      BURNING...

20.  

21.      I woke up with the heels of my hands jammed into the rough pits where my eyes used to be. My sheets were dripping with sweat, and I could still feel the echoes of my shriek reverberating throughout the room. A whispered “Goddamn...” escaped from my clenched teeth, then another. I found the jug of water next to my bed and took a swig, gulping the coolness down.

22.      Most of my body wanted to curl up into a little ball and tell my brain to fend for itself. A little bit of me at the back of my mind wanted to push a fistful of pencils through the pits in my face. My heart wanted to smash its way out of my chest, and it felt like every last one of my tendons was practicing to become suspension-bridge cable.

23.      With a little help from a cool shower and a warm shot of single-malt scotch, the tension re-rolled back up into the little knots in my shoulders where it usually sets up shop. The rest of me felt better, just enough to pass for normal. I took the rest of the scotch out into the living room with me, grabbing my sunglasses on the way. As an afterthought, I turned and picked up the small bag that I carried my special tools in; never know when I might need to perceive my surroundings more clearly. I dropped into the large bean-bag, facing the cool breeze blowing in from the bay window and knowing that the thick towel would be covering the places where I stretched out, like it always was.

24.      “I do wish that you would stop drinking yourself to sleep,” Evan said from behind me. He was trying to sound petulant, but we had been through too much for that to fool me. "It always brings the nightmares back, and you always wake me up." He sounded tired, and that was no act. His scent drifted over to me as I listened to the sound of his footsteps cross the room to approach me from the front, tinges of fatigue and genuine worry threading through the mossy stone, damp wood and canis lups at the base of his smell. He was wearing his sweats, judging from the noise he wasn’t making as he moved, and I heard wood slide across the thick shag carpeting as he pulled one of the hand-carved stools up next to me.

25.      We sat for a while, waiting for dawn in silence. I took a fresh hit from the bottle of scotch and passed it in his direction; I heard him take a little swig and pass it back, giving it a shake so I knew where it was. It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciated the friendly gesture. I could tell that his body was oriented roughly the same way as mine (whisper of bare heels on carpeting near my feet, the creaking of the stool as the rear legs were compressed with his leaning back onto the couch behind, puff of air as the couch accepted its share of his weight).

26. I hung my bolo tie around my neck, letting the silver tips click on my bare chest. The rest of my tools and tricks would have to wait; I was feeling the need to be as ordinary and small a person as I could. Not that the rest of the crew minded much when I went through my silly little rituals that let me fake being able to see, I just wasn't in the mood right then.

27. A minute later, I almost changed my mind about not going through all my morning rituals; it would have been nice to have more than a guess about Evan's feelings. No ‘face-reading’ for me for a while, which was quite a drawback. It had taken this… experience… to really underscore how much communication is non-verbal. Important stuff to know, for a hopefully-soon-to-be-former blind man, since I couldn’t allow myself to lose track of that sort of thing.

28.      We faced the window, Evan watching the city lights under a sky slowly brightening with the dawn, me tasting the warming breeze as it brought the scents of the city wafting over me. “You're wearing your shades,” he said after a few minutes. From the sound of his voice he wasn’t facing me.

29.      “Force of habit," I said, adjusting them a millimeter further up my nose. "No need to put my roommates off their feed when I don't need to. Still, I do get tired of sleeping on my back all the time.”

30.      “Must’ve been a really bad flashback, this time.”

31.      “Yeah. Full surround-sound and everything. Especially the finale.”

32.      A few more minutes passed. Evan’s breathing was so deep and even I thought he might have gone into meditation or something, until I felt his hand curl around my shoulder and squeeze it.

33.      “How are your studies going?” he said, after he let go.

34.      “Not bad," I admitted, shrugging. "I’m getting more practice in Correspondence than I would’ve thought possible, and Kaja is better at teaching the Art of the Dragon than she gives herself credit for. I keep stumbling over puzzles on the Path of Life, though.”

35.      “You’re studying three different Spheres under three different teachers from three different Traditions, only one of which is your own. I’m surprised you’ve learned anything at all.”

36.      “All part of the charm. And anyway, it’s not like I don’t have a compelling reason.” I waggled my eyebrows.

37.      “Yes. The ‘curse’. Quite amazing that the Fallen Brother John was able to work it up so quickly, and under such adverse conditions.”

38.      “I’m not really in the mood to compliment him on his fast-casting, Evan. I’ve got maybe a year to reach Master-level skill in three different Spheres before my brain finishes adjusting to my not having any eyes, and then I’m stuck looking like a Tarantino character for the rest of my life. In this incarnation, anyway.”

39.      “I wish I could convince the Elders that you are worthy to be healed at the Caern of the Elements.”

40.      “And I wish that the Caern would work for this particular wound, but we’ve already discussed this.”

41.      “I know. Too often.”

42.      If there was one thing that had rubbed off onto me from about two years' worth of casual proximity to a part-time wolf, it was a distaste for going over old ground. We settled back into silence.

43.

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