"La Tutayegua" in the SNReview

My short story, "La Tutayegua," will be published in the upcoming edition of SNReview, due out in February.  This will be the first time I've ever had a short story published, so I'm very excited.

I hope you pick up a copy and enjoy!

Dedicated to the Brothers Grimm

So I lied.  I thought I had made my last O4S-related post until we finished Book III. I had intended to post a quote from Book III on my Facebook page today, in keeping with the Christmas-themed quotes I've been posting all month.  But as I got to looking for a decent quote, I thought, well, one sentence won't be enough, better go with a paragraph.  Then I thought, well, THAT won't be enough, better go with a page.  Yeah, a page would be good . . . Well, you get the idea.

Today also marks the 200th anniversary of the publication of the Brothers Grimm's first edition of their Children's and Household Tales.  

Book III is dedicated to them and to Lewis Carroll.  

So, in honor of the season, as well as those great men whose work has brought us such delight over the past two centuries, I give you the opening chapter of Where Flap the Tatters of the King: The Order of the Four Sons, Book III.

Merry Christmas!

---

Chapter One

It was daybreak, and the countryside was barren and still.  The dry grass glittered crystalline and white, the bare black trees silvered with frost.  In some places, dead leaves or frozen clumps of bright red berries still clung to their branches.  A light dusting of snow fell, the wind eddying flurries into low drifts in the hollows and dells.  A snowshoe rabbit paused in a clearing and sat up on its hind legs, ears erect, nose quivering. 

Figures faded in from the snow and wind, bringing their sounds with them, shattering the silence with their voices and footsteps.

The rabbit leapt into the air, spun, and fled back into the dense tangle of frozen briars, its white body melting into the undergrowth.

Christophe looked reproachfully up at the sky, turned his collar up against the cold, and pulled on a pair of leather gloves lined with fur.  Behind him, Alyssa was clinging to Clayton, eyes squeezed tightly shut.  When she became sure of her footing, she raised her head, blinking as snowflakes caught in her eyelashes.

Clayton was wearing a blazer over a linen shirt and an undershirt, and he immediately shivered in the winter air.  Alyssa did not fare nearly so well, dressed in a T-shirt and pants.  She opened her bag and took out a jacket she had picked up at the airport in Edinburgh.  It helped some.

“Please, mademoiselle, allow me,” Christophe removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders in one fluid motion.

“Thanks.”  The cloak was heavy wool and very, very warm.  She pulled it tightly around herself and pulled the hood up.  Immediately, the snow ceased falling upon her.  Surprised, she looked up. 

It was still falling.  Just not on her.

She looked down at the cloak, then over at Christophe, one eyebrow raised.

He did not appear to notice and in fact had already turned away.  “Now come,” he said briskly.  “This way to my villa where await you a hot fire and food, and I shall tell you of the tragedy that has befallen our fair Corbenic.”  He gestured to the hills, perhaps a mile away, beyond a small forest where they could make out the soaring gables of a great manor house, its lights a glimmer on the pale horizon. 

He set off through the trees.  “Make haste!” he called over his shoulder.  “I cannot be missed!” 

There did not appear to be a trail, but it was evident from the pace he set through the dead undergrowth that he could maneuver through these woods blindfolded.  He seemed to be leading them on a route that ran parallel to the hills.  Dry branches snapped underfoot.  In the trees, tiny dappled wrens fluffed their feathers against the cold, chirping sadly.  They passed a frozen pond fringed with a low profusion of snow-capped evergreens, its coating of dove-gray ice smooth and absolutely pristine.  Some sort of hawk glided by overhead, white-throated, russet and black, with a black-tipped beak, its red eye flashing before it disappeared into a copse of trees on the other side of the pond. 

Alyssa turned her face up to the snow drifting out of the nearly translucent sky.  A silver circle marked where the sun was almost hidden behind a pearl-colored veil. 

“It’s pretty here,” she said in a hushed tone, as if she were afraid of breaking some enchantment.

Clayton smiled.  “When I was here last, it was spring.”

“You have been to Corbenic before?” Christophe asked, surprised. 

“I have had the privilege of seeing Four Mothers in springtime, monsieur,” Clayton replied.

“Ah, splendid, my friend, splendid,” Christophe said reverently.  “With luck, you shall again.”

At last they reached an opening in the trees, where the forest was bisected by a road—a road of smooth black flagstones, blown over with snow.  They followed it until they reached the bottom of the hill leading up to the villa.

The house was of some light-colored stone, with a shingled roof of vivid red shale.  In addition to the gables, there were steeply pointed turrets, their outlines ghostly and stark, backlit against the quickening dawn.  Dozens of windows with elaborate wrought-iron panes held gilded fleur-de-lis, egg-and-darts, ivy, heart shapes, doves.  The windows themselves were arched, rimmed with dazzling stained glass patterns of flowers in red, blue, green and gold.  The road curved in front of the house, leading off to the right where stables and a carriage house stood.

They began the long trek up the hill, heads down, the wind blowing in from the open fields to either side of them. 

All three were shivering violently by the time they reached the wide, heavy front door mounted on gold and silver clasps.  Even the knocker was ornamental—thick, gold, carved with a flower design.  The doorknob was gold, bearing some sort of stylized symbol that was either a slender crescent moon or a bull’s horns. 

Christophe produced a large, ornate key, also gold.

The door opened and a rush of warm air greeted them.  They all breathed appreciative sighs as they stepped over the threshold, into the foyer.

The walls were papered in a soft ivory with gilded moldings.  The floor was marble, its pale coloring matching the exterior stone almost exactly, veined in gold, the slabs fitted together with interlocking diamonds of deep red carnelian like cloisonné, drawing the eye forward to a grand marble staircase with delicate gold railings, which held the same designs as the window panes.  The risers and treads were inlaid with more carnelian, edged in gold.  There were gold wall sconces which held not candles but crystals, their illumination reflecting the gold and cream-colored floors, filling the interior with a warm, almost buttery glow.  Every element had obviously been created in symphony with everything else.  Clayton and Alyssa regarded their surroundings, impressed with the coordinated beauty, the painstaking design of the place. 

There was a wooden door to the right of the stairway.  It opened and an elderly man appeared, thin, slightly stooped, dressed in simple clothing—a homespun shirt, with wool slacks tucked into well-worn boots.  “Master Christophe—is that you?”

He began to cross the narrow hallway to the foyer, and then froze.  His eyes grew wide as he took in his master’s appearance.

“Of course it is me!” Christophe replied impatiently.  “Who else would you be expecting at this time of day, in this godforsaken weather?  With a house key, no less!”  Christophe took off his gloves and threw them at the old man, who caught them against his chest.  “Now come!  Take the lady’s cloak!  We have journeyed far, and we must eat.”

The servant started towards Alyssa, then paused in obvious dismay.  “But Master—” he held out his hands, still clutching the gloves, in a gesture that was almost beseeching.  “What’s happened to you?  What’s happened to your--”

“What has happened?” Christophe interrupted.  “Happened?  Nothing, save that your lord has arrived with guests, tired, hungry, cold, and as yet, still unattended!”

Another servant appeared from the same door to the right of the stairs, an old woman in a faded gray dress and apron, her white hair tucked up in a kerchief.  Her lined face had been alight with joy but promptly fell at the sight of her master, the hearty greeting she had been set to utter vanishing from her lips.  She gasped and reeled backwards, her hand at her heart. 

Quickly, Christophe stepped forward.  “All is well,” he said kindly, patting her arm.  “Just fetch me my dyes.  Run along, now, Idelle.”

Obviously still in shock, she managed a curtsey.  “Yes, Master Christophe!”  She turned and scurried back through the door.  Clayton and Alyssa caught a glimpse of the kitchen beyond.

The old man, having recovered slightly, came over and took the bag and cloak from Alyssa’s shoulders.  Seeing her attire, he paused.

She was wearing what appeared to be a boy’s trousers and boots – very strange boots of a highly reflective material, too smooth and shiny to be leather, surely -- and some sort of jacket, pale green, fitted almost like a sailor’s coat but shorter, with large buttons and four wide, deep pockets on the front.  He removed that as well, and was even more taken aback when he realized that underneath, she was wearing what looked to him like some sort of thin undergarment, short-sleeved, black—nothing else could be so tightly fitted.  Indeed, it clung to her like a second skin.  He hastily averted his eyes.  What in the world had happened to these poor people that the young lady had had to resort to whatever ill-fitting garments were on hand to protect her modesty?  Her hair was not even braided, only pulled back from her face and left loose down her back.

He also took Clayton’s jacket.  Here, at least, was something recognizable; it was a suit, a very strange suit -- there was no accounting for foreign fashion -- but it was nonetheless clean and well-cut, as befitted a gentleman. 

After the servant had stowed everything away in a nearby wardrobe, he opened a door immediately to their right, which led into the dining room, lit with candles as well as sconces.  There was a table large enough to seat two dozen people easily, with a white tablecloth, set with gold cutlery and crystal.  There were gold platters and chafing dishes heaped with food.

Christophe pulled out a chair for Alyssa.  She, missing the cue completely, walked around to the other side of the table, pulled out her own chair and sat down.  Christophe peered at her for a moment, shrugged, then pushed the chair back in. 

Seeing Clayton’s look, she asked, “What?”

Christophe did not sit.  He turned as Idelle appeared with a tray bearing a little silver pillbox and a glass of water.  She also had a lap robe over her arm.

Christophe took the box and the glass.  “Thank you.”  He removed a white tablet and downed it quickly, his head back.  Still holding the glass, he gestured to Clayton and Alyssa.  “Serve them,” he ordered.  “Wrap something up for me.  I shan’t stay.”

“But you only just got here!” Idelle exclaimed, and for the first time, Clayton and Alyssa noticed her accent differed slightly from Christophe’s, her manner of speaking less refined.  Idelle set the tray on a sideboard.  “You got to rest!  And you got to get something on your stomach or else--”

“Idelle,” Christophe said quietly.  His voice was firm, but surprisingly gentle.  “Stop fretting and see to our guests.  My meal will set just as well if I eat here or on the road.”

She clearly disagreed, but went dutifully around the table to begin serving the food.  First, however, she unfolded the lap robe and wrapped it gently around Alyssa’s shoulders, letting it fall to cover her front.  “There you are, mon petite,” she said maternally, patting Alyssa’s arm.  On the back of her hand, she bore some sort of tattoo—Alyssa caught only the briefest glimpse of it before the old woman had moved away again. 

Alyssa looked down at the robe, then at the two men, utterly mystified.  Christophe shot her an amused glance before leaning across the table and helping himself to a slice of buttered toast from a plate. 

Idelle uncovered the gold dishes, revealing a whole slab of ham, a variety of sausages, pies, kippers, and steaks; egg dishes, porridge, tomatoes, biscuits, jellied pastries, currants, syrups, tea, milk.  There was enough food here for a major league sports team, including coaches, referees and commentators.

Christophe, chewing his piece of toast, raised an eyebrow.  “Idelle?  Not that I am at all angry, but . . . did you not get my message?  I thought I had requested a simple meal, did I not?”

“Well, only it has been so long since you been here last, Master Christophe.  When Cook found out you was coming, we couldn’t stop her,” Idelle said apologetically.

Christophe shook his head.  “Very well.  I surrender myself to the inevitable.”  Dispatching the last of his toast, he sat down before the plate she had prepared for him.  “Now leave us, please.  We have much to discuss.”  He unfolded his napkin with a snap. 

Idelle finished filling their plates and cups and then left in a rustle of skirts. 

The door closed and there was a pause as Christophe listened to the sound of her footsteps growing fainter and fainter. 

When at last they disappeared altogether, he shifted forward in his seat.  “As you might have surmised,” he began, his voice low, “our original plan revolved around raising an army.  By which I mean more than two.  Since that is obviously not going to happen, an agonizing re-appraisal is in order.  Thus, you must wait here, for the arrival of your fellows.  I must go at once to make sure all is arranged for their arrival-- undetected by our enemies and yours.  You may stay the night here, but no more than a night, or we risk discovery.  In the meantime, my staff has been instructed to outfit you with whatever you may require.  Then you must make your way to Four Mothers.  You will want to stay off the main roads to avoid Starry Wisdom patrols—at least, until you approach the Capital.”  He hesitated as a new thought occurred to him.  “Pardon my asking, monsieur, but you both can ride, can you not?”

“We can,” Clayton assured him.

He nodded.  “Good.  Once you near the Capital, you and all your retinue will need appropriate papers.  I will make the necessary arrangements.  But you will need a Corbenese identity, monsieur.  I suggest you become a lord.”

“I am familiar with Corbenic as Clayton Hornbeam,” Clayton replied.  “So I can be Lord Clayton Hornbeam of . . . shall we say Gachelen?” 

Christophe nodded.  “I think that will suffice. . . Yes, that will suit our needs perfectly, in fact.  Are the rest of your compatriots so well acquainted with Corbenic as you?”

Clayton shook his head.  “Unfortunately not.”

“Pity.  Then might I further suggest you pass them off as your servants?”

Clayton nodded again.  “I think that would be for the best.”

“In the meantime, try to draw as little attention to yourselves as possible.  On the way, your people should have time to become at least somewhat acquainted with our customs here, as well as recent events.  By the time you arrive, we should, with any luck, have composed a new, equally brilliant plan with the meager resources at our disposal.  Present yourself to the Prince as any visiting lord should, and I will seek you later, wherever you end up staying.”  Christophe sat back.  “So.  That I may send a message with any hope of reaching my friends in time, tell me: when do you expect your people to reach us, and where?”

“Dusk.”  The response came from Alyssa, who did not even look up from the portion of ham she was cutting.

“Dusk?” Christophe echoed.  “Can you be more specific, mademoiselle?”

“Got a watch?”

He took a small, silver watch from the watch pocket of his vest, unhooked it from its button hole and, with a slightly bemused air, passed it across the table to her. 

She examined it curiously for a moment.  It was square instead of round, set with rubies.  When she pressed the catch, it sprung open to reveal a face with not twelve numbers but sixteen—four to a side.  At least, she assumed they were numbers. 

“Which one is one?” she asked.

“Ah, forgive me.”  He pointed to the numeral in the upper right corner.  “This is one.”  He ran his finger clockwise around the rim.  “It runs this way.  An hour is sixty-four minutes.”

She studied it for a moment.  “They’ll be here at 8:28 in the evening.”  Closing the watch, she passed it back to him.  As he re-pocketed it, he eyed her with new interest.

Clayton set his glass down.  “So we know what time.  Where?”

“Not far from here.”  Alyssa looked back at Christophe distractedly.  “Your hair’s darker.”

“Then the dyes are taking their effect.”  Christophe glanced at Clayton.  “I’m sorry, do you prefer older men?”

Clayton turned red.  “We’re getting off the subject.”

There was a pause as Alyssa held Christophe’s gaze.  At last, she said, “About four miles west of here.”

“There is a clearing there,” Christophe said.  “And good conditions for a temporary gate.”

She nodded and absently dug out her pack of cigarettes, shook one out.  No sooner had she touched the filter to her lips then a flame appeared to light it.

She looked at the ornate lighter in Christophe’s hand, then to his face, and back again.  Guardedly, she leaned forward to let him light it then settled back again, exhaling a plume of smoke.  She gave him a small nod of thanks.

He smiled and stood.  “As much as it pains me, I must depart.  Eric and Idelle will see to your needs.  You will certainly need some proper clothes.  And,” he drew a large purse from his pocket and set it in front of Clayton.  “Permit me, monsieur, but I am sure you do not have local currency.”

Clayton accepted the bag.  “Thank you.”

Christophe turned and started towards the door, then turned back to them.  “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, pointing his finger at them for emphasis.  “Do not know me.  When we meet at court, it will be as for the first time.  Please understand, I am regarded as somewhat . . . infamous.  A libertine, in fact.  It is a reputation I have worked very hard to cultivate, and I trust you will do nothing to dispel it.”  They nodded and Christophe smiled again.  “Until then,” he bowed, “Adieu.”

---

Best Christmas Tales

Our little Charlie Brown Christmas tree

I should say, "Best Christmas Tales for Snooty Literary Types Like Me."  Ahem.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with my oeuvre, (and if you’re not, WHY NOT?  This is my blog you’re reading!), I’m a big sap when it comes to Christmas. 

I love everything about Christmas—snow (so long as I don’t have to drive in it), lights, roaring fires, pines, cards, gifts, carols, the whole shebang.  

Why?   Well, there’s just something about this time of the year that I have always found magical.  There is a very old tradition linking ghost stories and Christmas—think about the ghosts in A Christmas Carol.  The framing device in The Turn of the Screw is a bunch of old friends gathered together at Christmas.  Even the song, “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” includes the line: there’ll be scary ghost stories and tales of glories of Christmases long, long ago . . . 

This was popularized, as so many of our traditions by the Victorians, but I imagine there are roots in paganism—I won’t bore you with the new agey details, but Christmas is the solstice, the longest night of the year, when it was thought that the veil between the worlds was the thinnest.  The perfect time for ghosts to walk.

So, yeah, as someone with a lifelong fascination with horror stories, I am naturally drawn to tales of Christmas, and, whenever possible, weave references to Christmas into my own work.  My two children’s tales are Christmas-themed, and were written as Christmas gifts to my best friend and writing partner, Coyote, and his family.  In the Order of the Four Sons series, significant events in the characters’ lives take place at Christmas. 

In honor of the occasion, I thought I’d share a list of great Christmas tales—something sort of off the beaten track from the usual Scrooges and Grinches.  With the exception of Bridget Jones, these stories are somewhat overlooked, probably because no big Hollywood production has ever been made of them. 

Will Make You Laugh: Bridget Jones’ Diary by Helen Fielding
This is a bit of a cheat—the framing device is more about New Year’s and New Year’s Resolutions.  But I make it an annual Christmas read anyway, and it's chock-full of references to holidays . . . including Valentine's Day and, er, VE-Day, so I reserve the right to include it in other lists.  Just so you know.







Will Make You Cry: “A Worn Path” by Eudora Welty
This story is about an old woman who makes the long trek from her country home to Natchez to pick up medicine for her grandson.  Her determination to get there despite her age and the many obstacles she faces are heart-wrenching enough, but the end?  The end is simply devastating.  If you read, be sure to have tissues handy.





Will Make You Wanna Pick Up a Sword and Go Slay Some Dragons:  “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” by the Pearl Poet
One of the greatest knights of the Round Table has a Christmas adventure.  'Nuff said.




For a Bit of Intrigue:  “The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle,” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Yes, Holmes.  I adore all things Holmes about as much as I adore Christmas.  Watson, who is happily married at this point in the series, comes to visit Holmes on Christmas.  Holmes, meanwhile, has been brought a puzzling case-- a man has found the titular blue carbuncle in the throat of a Christmas goose.  Surely there are easier ways to make pate?




Will Freak You the Fuck Out:  “Nicholas Was” by Neil Gaiman
This super-short story (less than 100 words!) packs a wallop in the thrills 'n' chills department.  This tale actually inspired me to start writing my own Christmas stories to give away as gifts.  Gaiman wrote it to send out with his Christmas cards one year, which I thought was a fabulous idea.  I came across it in his short story collection, Smoke and Mirrors. 



Merry Christmas to all, and as always, happy reading!

The Carcosa Soundtrack: Part II

Part II of the Carcosa soundtrack.  Picking right up where I left off . . .

SPOILER ALERT. Proceed with caution. 

**10/12/21, Edited to add, I used to have YouTube videos embedded in this post, but videos have a way of getting yanked. So I've created Spotify playlists for all the books. The Spotify lists actually have more songs than what I included in these posts, so, I hope you enjoy the bonus tunes. 

Spotify Lists:

The Order of the Four Sons

Carcosa

Where Flap the Tatters of the King

The Sacred Heart

Necropolis

Going Forth by Day

If you want my commentary on the songs, here are the other soundtrack blog posts:

The Order of the Four Sons

Carcosa, Part 1

Where Flap the Tatters of the King

The Sacred Heart

Necropolis

Going Forth by Day

The Carcosa Soundtrack, Part II

17. Kate’s Vision – Fernando, ABBA

"I was so afraid, Fernando
We were young and full of life and none of us prepared to die . . .”

Yeah, I went there.  While Kate is tripping balls to whatever crazy mushrooms the Eerin gave her in Canungra, she starts singing fucking Abba.  You know O4S could fall squarely into the horror genre with no problems, right?  It’s not like we made a secret of that. 

On a serious note, she has a long, strange trip, and Fernando Rios, the poor operative from Book I who got mauled by eretics, makes a cameo.  Can you hear the drums, Fernando?


18.  Doomed Cities & the Unmaker – Apocalypse Please, Muse

“It's time we saw a miracle
come on it's time for something biblical
to pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end of the world . . .”

One of the things Coyote and I enjoy best about writing this series is getting to create myths—there’s a certain amount of world-building required of any sci-fi.  But having our characters troop through other worlds means we get to go off into any number of fascinating digressions, such as the Eerin’s mythology about the Unmaker.  Time for something Biblical?  Well, gnostic, if you want to get technical . . .

19.  Nathan DePriest – Red Right Hand, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

“He's a god, he's a man,
he's a ghost, he's a guru
They're whispering his name
through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
is a red right hand . . .”

This song is so perfect for Nathan, it kinda hurts. 

20.  Five Towns - On the Eve of Destruction, Barry McGuire 

“This whole crazy world is just too frustratin' . . .”

The five towns are a frustratin’ kinda place. 

21.  Diego – Devuelveme el Corazon, Adriana Bottina

In ingles, roughly: “But to kiss your lips, I lose my heart, the heart of a night . . .” 

Kate gets tempted by a handsome, gentleman rancher named Diego.  But seriously, she will always be JD’s girl.

22.  Nightmares - Enter Sandman, Iron Horse

You may recall that I put the original version of this song on the Book I soundtrack.  Of course, for Carcosa, we had to go bluegrass. 

23.  Hormiga – Country Death Song, Violent Femmes

“Gather round boys to this tale that I tell.
You wanna know how to take a short trip to hell?
It's guaranteed to get your own place in hell.
Just take your lovely daughter and push her in the well.
Take your lovely daughter and throw her in the well.”

Another unbearably perfect song.

24.  Bill & Emily – Georgia On My Mind, Ray Charles

Bill serenades his Georgia Peach.  I can think of worst first dates.

25.  Old Geb – Natural Blues, Moby

“Don’t nobody know my troubles but God.”

Old Geb’s got troubles so hard when he lets our heroes take shelter in his farmhouse.

26.  El Camino del Diablo – King of Arizona, Clutch

“We are the King of Arizona.”

Vickers and the Yellow King.  It would be frightening if it didn’t mean that, once again, Vickers finds himself stranded in rural environs—his personal definition of hell.  Karma’s a bitch. 

27.  Calvera – Don’t Go Into that Barn, Tom Waits

“Shiny tooth talons
Coiled for grabbing a stranger
Happening by
And the day when home early
And the sun sank down into
The much of a deep dead sky . . .”

Nathan’s lair.  Many have entered, few leave.   

28.  The Shoot-Out – Banditos, The Refreshments

“Well, I’ve got the pistol, so I’ll keep the pesos.

Yeah, and that seems fair.”

Obviously, we end on a note of gunfire.  Obviously. 

29.  End - Better World A-Comin’, Woody Guthrie

We can only hope for our heroes’ sake that this is true.

So there you have it, folks.

Hopefully the next O4S post I make will be announcing the completion of Book III, Where Flap the Tatters of the King.  

Exit Carcosa.

Next stop: Corbenic.

The Carcosa Soundtrack: Part I

So I actually had a friend I don’t see very often email the other day, basically all, “Where the eff is Book III already?” 

We’re working on it—I promise.  But we always knew that it would take the most time—we have always expected it to be the longest and most complex book of the series, with all of the heroes and villains reunited in one world.  The world in which it takes place, Corbenic, is also very complex and detailed, filled with a whole new cast of characters.  Corbenic has been under development for nearly eight years now.  We hope you find it is worth the wait.     

In the meantime, to tide you over, I have compiled my soundtrack for Carcosa: The Order of the Four Sons, Book II.

It’s actually two soundtracks—I managed to narrow my extensive playlist to 30 songs.  So sue me, all right?  Nothing’s too excessive for my beloved characters.

So, here’s the soundtrack for Part I of Carcosa. 

SPOILERS AHEAD. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Spotify Lists:

The Order of the Four Sons

Carcosa

Where Flap the Tatters of the King

The Sacred Heart

Necropolis

Going Forth by Day

If you want my commentary on the songs, here are the other soundtrack blog posts:

The Order of the Four Sons

Carcosa, Part 2

Where Flap the Tatters of the King

The Sacred Heart

Necropolis

Going Forth by Day

The Carcosa Soundtrack, Part I

1. Bathory’s Bath – She’s Always a Woman to Me, Billy Joel

“. . . she'll promise you more
Than the Garden of Eden
Then she'll carelessly cut you
And laugh while you're bleedin' . . .”

A dangerous woman ahead of her time?  Whether you call her Erzsebet, Elizabeth, Eliza or Mistress, it’s totally Bathory’s theme song. 

2. The Cantina – Roadhouse Blues, the Doors

“Well, I woke up this morning, and I got myself a beer
The future's uncertain, and the end is always near . . .”

What remains of the team, Kate, JD, Murphy and Doug, find themselves in a little cantina on the edge of nowhere.  At least there’s booze. 

3. Cecil’s Funeral – Dust in the Wind, Kansas

“All we are is dust in the wind.”

David Morgan’s eulogy, as sung by Kate.  A little uncomfortably close to the Yellow King’s observations, wouldn’t you say?  “The taste is dust.  It always is.”   

4. The Rosslyn Chapel/St. Matthew’s Field – Mysterium, Libera

“. . . the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away. . .”

We love the juxtaposition of pagan and Christian imagery with the Rosslyn Chapel and St. Matthew’s Field.  It fits the Order very well, since it’s an organization that embraces pretty much all world religions since ancient Egypt. 

5. Glacier Songs – Landslide, Smashing Pumpkins

“And I saw my reflection in a snow covered hill . . .”

This one’s kind of an inside joke between Coyote and me.  There’s an old Russian member of the Council of Names, Kovach, whose sole purpose in the Order is to guard a transdimensional gate in the Arctic.  We think he and his glaciers have an unhealthy relationship.  We imagine that, as he is sitting at the table in the board room, he is thinking, (in a thick Russian accent, of course), “Can we hurry these proceedings along, please?  I need to get back to my glaciers . . .”

Ok, maybe only Coyote and I think that’s funny.

6. The Dormitory/Terminus – I May Not Awaken, Enya

“Even from a child

A wish is not enough

For me, for me the sky may fall

And even from a child

A dream is not enough

Could be, could be the sky may fall

Could be, could be the night ends all . . .”

Is it any wonder that so many Oracles commit suicide, when one of their defining characteristics is the Terminus Revelation-- a vision of their own demise?  Things start to look pretty pointless when you have a countdown on your life.

7. Slothzilla –  Aenima, Tool

Lyrics are unimportant.  When it comes to the roaring Cuisinart with fur, it’s all about volume. 

8. JD – Bad Like Jesse James, John Lee Hooker

JD Garnett.  Bad like Jesse James at any age.  And, incidentally, one of my favorite songs of all time.

9. The Desert - Mean as Hell, Johnny Cash

“And the devil said now I got all what's needed to make it good hell and he succeeded
He began by putting thorns all over the trees
He mixed up the sand with millions of fleas
He scattered tarantulas along the road put thorns on cactus and horns on toad
Lengthened the horns of the Texas steer put an addition to the rabbits ear
Put a little devil in the bronco steed and poisoned the feet of the centipede
The rattlesnake bites you the scorpion stings
The mosquito delights you with his buzzing wings
The sunburst are there and so are the ants
And if you sit down you'll need have soles on your pants
The wild boar rooms on a black chaparral it's a hell of a place that he has for hell
The heat in the summers are hundred and ten too hot for the devil too hot for men . . .”

It’s like Johnny is singing about the red wastes of Carcosa—if anything’s alive in that place, it can probably kill you.  Or at least make you wish you were dead.

10. Clayton & Alyssa – My Darling, Wilco

“We were a family, my darlin’
Right from the start.”

Aww, Clayton and Alyssa.  Of course, you know their song had to be short, but very, very sweet. It kills me every time he calls her “child of my heart.”

11. Doug’s Passing – Ave Maria, Andrea Bocelli

Farewell, Doug.  You will be missed.

12. Overdose – Neither Can I, Slash’s Snakepit

“I'm sorry so much
For bringing my own living hell to
Your door
But things had gotten heavy
Everything was deep
Nothing really mattered
So I just went to sleep . . .”

Oh, Bill.  Accidental overdoses are nothing to fool with.  Thank God for Murphy: “Oh, he so needs a stomach pump.  Can we get two?  Can we make it a double?”

13. The Cobar – Lose Your Soul, Dead Man’s Bones

“Oh,
you're gonna lose your soul, tonight . . .”

The Cobar is one of our freakier creations.  It’s a dead gate, standing in the middle of the Carcosan desert:

. . . a massive, bowl-shaped depression.  The earth inside it was a pure salt-white, utterly smooth, with no rocks to mar its dead perfection.  A few yards below her, around the outermost edge, was a ring of tiny, desiccated corpses: lizards, snakes and rodents, their papery flesh fused together in a hideous tangle, all pointing at the center of the bowl.  Concentric rings of death with progressively larger animals, getting closer and closer to a pair of stones in the center, leading to an opening she recognized with a sick jolt. 

It was a gate . . . was a gate-- past tense.  She wasn’t sure what it was now.  At one time, there had been an archway there.  Now only the ragged standing stones remained, and something between them that she could sense more than see.  A fissure, pulsating unpleasantly . . .

14. Vickers – Put You on Game, Lupe Fiasco

“I am the American dream,
The rape of Africa
The undying machine,
The overpriced medicine,
The murderous regime,
The tough guy's front,
And the one behind the scenes . . .”

When you get right down to it, Aaron Vickers is a gangster, pure and simple.  So, for me, his song had to be a song about greed and corruption.  He’s also based on a boss that I had who had a penchant for sports analogies, so the phrase, “put you on game,” seemed entirely fitting.

15. The Prophecy – There Are No More Tickets to the Funeral, Diamanda Galas

“And on that holy day
And on that bloody day
And on his dying bed he told me
‘Tell all my friends I was fighting, too . . .’”

The Order’s Oracles share a collective vision.  That can mean nothing good.

16. The Eerin – Return to Innocence, Enigma

“That’s not the beginning of the end . . .”

This is another instance where the mood of the song meant more to me than the lyrics.  I find the Eerin, despite their rather gruesome history, to be a source of hope in otherwise dire circumstances.

Stay tuned for Part II of Carcosa, where we hit the five towns—and Nathan DePriest.

Our Miss Engel

This short story is available on Amazon, Smashwords, and other ebook retailers.

Excerpt

2 September, 1909

I received a letter today from the Ursuline Academy. It seems I have found a job.

When I informed my parents of my decision, my father said, “You watch those papist types, Clara. They’re a funny lot.” I don’t know what he means by that. From her letters, the Reverend Mother seems perfectly kind.

13 September, 1909

We exchanged a few more correspondences before settling on 20 September as my first day of teaching, a Monday. I will take the train to Paola on Saturday morning and should arrive before noon, which will give me just over a day and a half to get settled in.

I myself went to a good Lutheran school, and have nothing but cherished memories of my teacher, Miss Taylor. When I finished my eighth grade primer, she hugged me fiercely and said, “Clara, you just make me so proud.” She had tears in her eyes. I knew right then that I was going to become a teacher, like her. We are quite learned here in this part of the world, with a fine theatre and the Carnegie library. Also, Papa is something of an intellectual. He was a teacher back in Germany, so I suppose you could say it is in my blood. My brother and I were brought up to be diligent readers and encouraged to express ourselves through writing and discourse.

As I was studying to get my teacher’s certificate, Papa was fond of telling me that many schools in America are based on the Prussian model of teaching. “The German people know something about education, Clara,” he would say. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Behind my book, I would smile. “Yes, Papa.”

I must confess my tastes run far more to novels than to the philosophical treatises Papa is always urging me to read. We find something of a compromise in poetry, thank the Muses! Like most of the men in the tri-state area, Papa is a miner. Joplin is known for blackjack and lead. Both my parents have worked very hard for everything we have. When they first came to this country, they spoke very little English. But as their English improved, so did their prospects. Mama worked as a seamstress for a time, and Papa worked his way up from shafting and drilling to become a foreman, and we moved out of our cabin by the mining camp into a proper house off Grey Avenue. They wanted my brother and me to sound like perfect Americans. That was easy enough, as I was born in Joplin. Gunther was born back in Frankfurt, but he was just a little thing when they brought him over, so doesn’t really remember any German at all. I suppose that is just as well.

Anyhow, I am very excited about the position. My first school—my first pupils! I wonder what they will be like.

The Order of the Four Sons Soundtrack

As I've been preparing the books for print, I find myself living, eating, breathing and dreaming all things O4S even more than usual.  So, in anticipation of the (hopefully very soon) release of Book I in paperback, I thought I'd share some of the songs that inspired us while we wrote.

I know, I know.  All the cool-kid authors are doing it.  But seriously, I've been sound-tracking my own work since I was 12.  Most authors that I've ever met, in fact, have always done it, it's just Stephanie Meyer went and blew our little secret.  Sound-tracking your stories is one of the great guilty pleasures of writing-- that, and coming up with a dream cast for your own film/TV adaptation.  But that's another list for another day.    

So, here are some of the songs we listened to while scribbling out scenes of monsters, magic, portals, and undead serial killers on the loose in little Missouri towns.  Enjoy!

Also, SPOILERS AHEAD. Consider yourself warned. 

**10/12/21, Edited to add, I used to have YouTube videos embedded in this post, but videos have a way of getting yanked. So I've created Spotify playlists for all the books. The Spotify lists actually have more songs than what I included in these posts, so, I hope you enjoy the bonus tunes. 

Spotify Lists:

The Order of the Four Sons

Carcosa

Where Flap the Tatters of the King

The Sacred Heart

Necropolis

Going Forth by Day

If you want my commentary on the songs, here are the other soundtrack blog posts:

Carcosa, Part 1

Carcosa, Part 2

Where Flap the Tatters of the King

The Sacred Heart

Necropolis

Going Forth by Day

The Order of the Four Sons, Book I Soundtrack 

1. The Beginning - The Sorcerer's Apprentice 

Natch.  A song about a novice who's bitten off more than he can chew?  And honestly, can anything sum up Kate's innocence and whimsy like those woodwinds?  I've always imagined that if the O4S books were adapted into a TV series, this would be its theme song.  And for a bonus, this symphonic poem by Dukas even features -- that's right -- a glockenspiel.  For those of you who've read Book II, you know why that amuses.

2. Excelsior Springs - Heartland, by George Strait

"Sing a song about the heartland,

The only place I feel at home . . .

Where they still know wrong from right."

Okay, so some of my song selections may contain irony.  A little.  

3. Missing Children - Down by the Water, PJ Harvey

"I lost my heart/Under the bridge."  There is no more perfect description for our kidnapped children, lost in a place defined by its waterways.  But more important than that, this song's instrumentals, as well as Harvey's whispered refrain at the end, are both creepy and seductive-- like Katarina, who is herself the ultimate lost child.


4. The Royal Hotel - This House is Haunted, Alice Cooper

"No more singing, no more laughing, no more sunny days
She left and took the colors with her, buried in her grave
This is where we climbed the tower, this is where she fell
Then when her young heart stopped beating, I went to hell."

Jessica Degler, this song's for you and all the sad little ghosts of the Royal Hotel.


5. Kate's Magic Lesson - Symphony #25, Mozart

Peering through the slots in the blinds, he spoke in a ruminating, almost musing sort of tone.  "When I was younger, I worked out of a field office on the east coast.  I was fortunate enough to get very good seats at a Mostly Mozart concert.  I was near the front, and it sounded as if the orchestra completely surrounded me.  I could hear every cello, every violin, every crescendo that Mozart had written throughout the three-hour performance.  I could almost see very spire of sound that he had built with his genius.

"Now," he turned back to Kate.  "Listen.  What do you hear?"

Kate receiving her first magic lesson from Dr. Doug Grigori.  This one's kind of a no-brainer.


6. The James Diary - Frank and Jesse James, Warren Zevon

"On a small Missouri farm
Back when the west was young
Two boys learned to rope and ride
And be handy with a gun . . ."

All true, but we add our own little, shall we say, twist to that particular story.  Keep on ridin', ridin', ridin', Frank and Jesse James, and be sure to slay a few demons on behalf of the Order while you do.  Not to mention, protect a certain magical artifact of incalculable power.


7. The Grave of Thomas Howard - Hey Man Nice Shot, Filter

"Now that the smoke's gone
And the air is all clear
Those who were right there
Got a new kind of fear . . ."

The scene in the old graveyard is really where our heroes see their first action, going up against Kat and a horde of bloodthirsty eretics.  Fortunately for us, our heroes have lots of guns, lots of bullets . . . and Kate.  This is also the scene where she first gets her hands on the Wand of Deleth.  This song has some appropriate lines, but I've always liked it for this scene just because it's good and loud.  It just begs to be played during a scene with lots of gunfire.


8. MJ-12 - Guerilla Radio, Rage Against the Machine

"All hell can't stop us now."

To me, MJ-12 represents the evils of government corruption, though this is another song choice based more on decibel level than thematically-relevant lyrics.


9. The Hall of Waters - Horizon, Eri Sugai

In stark contrast to the previous two selections, the Hall of Waters is a place of serenity, peace and healing.  The vocals on this remind me of cool, lapping water.


10. The King in Yellow - Voodoo, Godsmack

"I'm not the one who's so far away."

Poor Bill.  He gets branded by the alien being Akhenaten, better known as the Yellow King, which triggers his isolation and the beginning of a long downward mental spiral.  It's also a song about addiction, which makes it even more appropriate for Bill who has a trouble letting things go-- like relationships, past slights, and pills.      

11. Jessica Degler - Enter Sandman, Metallica

"Hush little baby don't say a word

Never mind that noise you heart

It's just the beast under your bed

In your closet, in your head . . ."  

Really, do I need to explain this one?

12. Fernando - Low, Cracker

"A million poppies gonna make me sleep."

When Fernando Rios, an O4S field operative, is found savaged by demons, there's really only one humane thing for his rescuers to do.  Vaya con dios, Rios.

13. Ice Cream & Cannon Fodder - You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told), The White Stripes

"I can see your man can't help but win

Any problems that may arise

But in his mind there can be no sin

If you never criticize . . ."

In Book I, Emily Hayes is a young MJ-12 agent, hopelessly brainwashed into thinking the greatest asset she can bring is total obedience.  Girl, you don't know what love is.  You just do as you're told.

14. Defeated - Disarm, Smashing Pumpkins

"Disarm you with a smile."

Katarina.  A wink.  A smile.  And one word: "Amateur."

Game over.

15.  Crossing Over - Walking with a Ghost, Tegan & Sara

Another song for the children ghosts who haunt the hotel.  

16. Chambers, KS - Lake of Fire, Nirvana

"Where do bad folks go when they die?

They don't go to heaven where the angels fly . . ."

Apparently they go to . . . er, Chambers, KS.  While Aaron Vickers isn't dead at the end, he just wishes he was.  And I chose this song because his pain pleases me.  "There is indeed a hell and I am in it."

17. Epilogue - Hobo Blues, John Lee Hooker

Good travelin' music for our intrepid characters, whose adventures have only just begun.


I guess this means I'll have to post the Carcosa: The Order of the Four Sons Book II soundtrack sometime soon. Stay tuned.