The Thief With Wings - Chapter Three

I run at the wall, push up and grab the windowsill. I dangle briefly. The rush of blood makes me feel the pain all over my body.

I pull myself in. There’s something strange about breaking into my own house.

Everything inside is turned over. What Solon said was true. There was some kind of struggle. I move silently through the chaos that was my kitchen and head to the rooms. I don’t call out in case someone is hiding inside.

If word has already gotten out to the black market, chances are one or two of them have already made their way here to glean from the rubble. Not to say there’s no honor amongst us, but some things are just business. Lucky for me, I don’t keep my stash here.

I make a round of the house. No one inside but me. I clean off a chair and sit down. Emotions deluge my mind. I weep when I think of Seth and Kyra. The three of us lived here. Live here.

There is no other Nyx plant to bargain for their lives. I know what I agreed to with Solon. It seems the only way to have a chance at saving them. I must bring down the New Guild. But I have no idea what my next move is. And how can I bring them down in two days?

I can’t go to the black market. That much is clear. If Solon was keeping track of my moves, anyone there could be keeping track of my moves. I need direction.

I decide to go see Sambethe.

Sambethe is an oracle who operates at the end of Gryphon alley. She’s known to many, but getting a reading from her isn’t easy. She needs a relic of her quarry to prophesy. This severely limits the questions one can ask her. And her cost is steep. She often doesn’t want coin, but favors and promises. Sometimes the cost is too much.

I need to know where Seth and Kyra are. I have plenty of their possessions here, so the relic won’t be a problem. But I don’t know what the cost will be. Even if she can tell me where they are, what can I do?

I remember Kyra being taken away in chains. I shudder to think of Seth going the same way.

This is the first time I’ve had to think of what happened that morning and something doesn’t make sense. Why did the Captain open the box? He forced me to get the Nyx plant. Why would he open it in the sunlight? Wouldn’t he know that it would wither and die?

Then it dawns on me. The Captain was acting on orders. He didn’t want the plant for himself. Someone had hired him to retrieve it. He opened it to make sure that I had brought it. He didn’t know anything about the plant.

I stole it for someone else. Likely a member of the New Guild. But why couldn’t that person get it from the Healer himself. And if the Captain was acting on orders, why did he see to it personally and not just send his goons?

I am lost in thought when the front door swings open.

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I dive from the chair as a blade flies my direction and sticks into the wood where my back just was.

I roll into the closest door. Seth’s room. It’s a good thing he loves to play warrior. A couple of his wooden swords are scattered around. I grab one in my off hand. With my right I reach for his blanket.

I can hear something glass slip and shatter. I picture the mess in my head and know he’s stepped towards the oven. I wad the horse-skin blanket up and I peek around the doorway. Another blade flies my way and sticks into the jamb.

He’s hooded, so I don’t recognize him. But with how he’s fighting, I know he’s one of the thieves from the market. One of my rivals. He must not have been expecting me to be here or he wouldn’t have come through the front door.

“Ongredost, hear my prayer and give me strength,” I whisper. I take a deep breath.

I heave the balled up blanket at him as I come around the corner. It’s a heavy and cured and it opens as it flies toward him. Another blade thuds into it as I make my move. I sprint full speed behind the cover and ready the wooden blade with both hands.

As the horse skin falls I swing with all my might and connect with my attacker just above his right temple. The blow rattles my fingers and they sting. The hooded figure slumps to the ground.

I remove the hood and recognize Bruno, one of the thieves from the market. We specialized in similar jobs, so we were rivals. He’s unconscious and I leave him there after relieving him of his knives and coin purse.

It’s no longer safe to be here. I grab one of Kyra’s shawls and take Seth’s sword with me. I head off towards Gryphon alley to see Sambethe.

The Thief With Wings - Chapter Two

The King’s head was on a spike. The queen’s and the princesses’ heads were next to his. The pink of their tongues looked embers glowing in an ash-covered piece of coal.

Everyone was cheering.

I imagined all the times that the King stood in that balcony over the public square and spoke to us.

Now a severed head told his story. His graying skull wagged in the breeze as a crow pecked at his eye. A sentinel shooed it away.

I cheered right along with them.

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In Solon’s hand is a small golden locket, trimmed with small rubies and amethysts. My family has never been rich. That was the most expensive thing that I ever owned. An angel on a golden chain. My mother’s locket. I pawned it.

“I know who you are and the skills you possess,” Solon says. “I also know your priorities.”

After my parents died, I sold the locket to pay for food for my brother and Kyra. Before I began stealing. Before I had to steal.

My mind races. “But how,” I begin.

“Friend Hawk,” he says, shushing me with a finger in the air. “We have been watching you for some time now. I know your movements and your motives. You are the man we need for a special job.”

I gulp. My life deals in secrets. I have taken it for granted that I operated without anyone knowing. If Solon was watching me, what the guards must know!

“A job?" I ask. "What do you want?”

“It’s not what I want. It’s what we need. Everybody! What everybody needs!” Solon works himself up, stops and takes a deep breath. “We need you to recover the King’s crown and his scepter.”

“The crown and scepter? But why?” I ask.

“There is deep magic within those elements." Solon says. "If we are to right the kingdom, they need to be taken away from the New Guild. Think about it! What makes their rule so powerful? Just money? We have plenty of money, my associates and I, but we cannot control the will of men with it. Sure, we can buy pieces of a man’s loyalty, but we cannot rule based upon it. Neither can they. Not for as long as they have been ruling.”

I’m silenced. Something inside of me shudders at what I’ve just heard. Is there really something deeper at work?

“I can’t help you,” I say. “I have to find a way to save Kyra. I have to get home and take care of my brother.”

Solon looks down. “We tried to get to him before the guards did, but they have taken him as well. They left a note that I have here.”

Kyra's capture punched me in the stomach. This news of my brother kicks me while I am down.

The note reads: “Hawk, you failed to bring the Nyx plant in time. You will not fail this time. Bring it to the meeting place before dawn in three days, or they both will die.”

“When did you get this note?” I ask Solon.

“Yesterday,” he says. “But you know as well as I that the Nyx you stole from the healer of Dragon Plaza was the only one within a month’s journey of here.”

I can’t save my brother Seth or Kyra. My anger burns the words in my mouth before they reach my lips.

“There is a way to save them, yet,” Solon says. “Steal he crown and scepter for us. Then we can overthrow the very guards who have taken everything from you."

Kyra. Seth. My parents.

"Here, this belongs to you,” he says.

Solon hands me my mother’s locket. It’s cold to the touch. I remember my mother while I handle it. The simplicity of life back then. I remember her laugh, her spirit.

“Okay, Solon,” I say and squeeze the locket. “I’m in.”

The Thief With Wings - Chapter One

When the King was in charge, we had peace and order. Farmers, workers, warriors—all were under the ruling protection of the King. We paid him taxes and tributes. We gave him our oaths of fealty. But there was a strange disquiet.

After years of amassing gold and jewels, there were many who had wealth like the King. These merchants and nobles didn’t like that he had all the power and that they had none. They wanted the power for themselves. They hired people from within the city and without. They turned the guards into mercenaries. They broke and took away our ruler.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. To quiet the masses, the nobles and the merchants were feeding the hungry and poor. Everyone had enough. That had never happened under the King.

After the initial coup, there were no more public battles. There were only surreptitious skirmishes. Whispers passed of neighbors who supported the old ways and they disappeared in the night. No one was being killed in the streets. Yet slowly and silently the supporters of the crown were eliminated. The food in our bellies pacified us.

Then the handouts and perks began to dry up. Men from each of the guilds and professions met and gathered with these nobles and the merchants. They talked about equality and liberty. We were enflamed by the ideas.

All along no one saw the noose we were tying around our own necks.


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I wake up and the first thing I can feel is an acrid churning in my stomach. I sit upright and I’m dizzy. I want to vomit the contents of my stomach and start over again, but my body is uncooperative. My eyes adjust to the darkened space I’m in. I don’t know where I am.

“Please, friend, try and relax,” an unknown voice says.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Just call me Solon,” he answers. “Now please, relax.”

A warm, damp cloth is draped across my forehead and I feel an instant cooling and relief.

“By Ongredost, what was that?” I ask.

“Brewed leaves of the Galene plant,” he replies.

My nausea subsides. It’s quickly replaced by sudden pains as I remember the image of Kyra against the rising sun, taken by the guards.

“What time is it, Solon?” I ask. I’m feeling good enough to stand. My caretaker eases me back to the resting place.

“You have been unconscious for more than a day,” he says and pauses. He must see the urgency and fear in my countenance. “She is long gone, my friend,” he says solemnly.

Chills run down my spine and tears swell. I squeeze my eyes shut until they are a desert once more.

“Then I must go after her,” I say.

“And where have they taken her then?” Solon asks. “The prison? The palace turned statehouse? The barracks to take advantage of her? You are lucky to be alive right now! You don’t even know where she is? What can you hope to do? If you make an appeal to the courts, it is certain death.”

Solon’s words rip through my resolve. I don’t know where she is. She could be anywhere. I was out of it for so long. I’ll reach out to my contacts. One of them will know.

“Friends of mine will surely know where she is,” I say. “I will find her.”

“The friends of yours in the underground?” Solon asks. “How do you think it is that the guards were turned on to you in the first place? How do you think it is that I knew where to find you?”

My mind roils from his words. I don’t want to believe him, but I know he must be right. If I was truly turned in by someone in the underground, then it’s a death sentence to the courts or anywhere else. And why does want to find me?

I’m not sure how long I’ve been silent for. Solon puts his arm on my shoulder.

“Friend Hawk, I’m sorry to be so harsh. But I need you alive. You’re the only one who can help me. I need a man with your talents.”

“And just what do you know about me?” I ask.

Solon smiles. He stands and walks out of the room. He reemerges with a small chest.

When he opens it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The Thief With Wings - Prologue

Alleys. By Ongredost’s beard, I hate the alleys that weave throughout the city. With day breaking soon, I’ll never find my way back to the meeting place in time. Then the guard’s will take her away from me forever.

I wheeze and pant. The taste of blood poisons my gums. My palms find my knees and I'm doubled over. Blue flashes scatter across my closed eyelids as I psych myself up to run again.

After five or six strides, I stop again. I’m vomiting.

Dawn’s rosy fingers creep from the horizon. Gnawing at the inside of my cheek is all I can do to not stop running. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it.

The guards have gone crooked. When the King was in charge, we were better off. There was law and order, especially from the officers of the peace. But now things have changed. No one has any moral obligations. All that matters to the guards is the jingle of a coin purse.

The sun is moments away from rising when I turn the corner and find the meeting place hidden at the end of Scorpion Alley.

“Kyra!” I shout. I’m surprised by the roar that escapes my chest.

She’s bound and gagged. There’s nothing but a muffled response. The author of her chains pulls tightly and her head lifts. My love is choked to silence. By the emerging light I can see tears clouding her eyes.

I run forward with all my might and throw myself down before the captain of the guards.

“Here,” I stammer and hold up a satchel. “This is what you want.”

The captain rips the satchel from my hands. He draws it open to find the Nyx plant. He raises the shrub up to examine it in a ray of sunshine that has splashed into this corner of the alley.

“Don’t,” I scream, attempting to rise to my feet. The guard behind me forces me the ground and garrotes me with his halberd.

It’s too late. The roots and tendrils are singed and seared by the sunlight. The creamy orange petals and verdant leaves wither and fade into soot.

The captain flexes his fingers and palm. The dying plant drops to the ground. It crumbles to dust. He sneers and kicks me in the forehead. The oak of the halberd presses into my throat hard as I recoil.

The last thing I see before I black out is Kyra’s darkened figure being dragged away down the alley. The sun has risen and the blackened figures are burned into my sight.

Significance

Have you ever stopped and considered the significance of the number five? 5. Five.

Outside of it's placement between 4 and 6, is it even important? Is it just a comparative, i.e. 5 is less than 6 but greater than 4?

Rather than thinking of it in a comparative sense have you considered five as just five? Like five gold rings? Have you ever pictured those rings? (No, not the Olympic rings)

Take away the rings and just picture five.

What is five? A placeholder?

Anyhow, we all know there is only one ring to rule them all.

Plot-hole or Plot-well? A Film Rant

Having recently watched The Fountain again, I'm reminded why Daron Aronofsky is such a good director. (Fun aside, he may be the only director whose feature-length body of work I've seen in it's entirety).

Anyhow, I think one of the reasons I like his movies so much is because he explores different worlds, and makes them palatable to anyone: Pi's creepy dip into the world of government conspiracy and high brow math/computer work, Requiem for a Dream's path into the dark world of narcotics and pharmaceuticals, The Fountain's dip into rebirth, spirituality and enlightenment, The Wrestler's stunning portrayal of a man faced with the reality of and weight of his life choices, and Black Swan's chilling portrayal of a woman so focused on achieving her goal that she loses all balance and moderation.

These films present questions that are sometimes left open to interpretation, or conclusions that are just a modicum of horrors, pains or stress to come. Yet I appreciate that in being cerebral and deep, Aronofsky gives the viewer a chance at seeing his vision, or at the very least a hint of conclusion. He doesn't hide his story from the viewer and cause confusion as a way to make the audience discuss his movies. His films just are.

It also made me think of another director with whose movies I hear Aronofsky's compared to often--Christopher Nolan.

Now Nolan's work has been highly enjoyable to me. I liked Inception and Memento and the Batman films, but I find much lacking in his work, and if you've been around me anytime in the last three years when one of his movies hit theaters, chances are you've heard some of my rather strong opinions on his films.

Warning: The Dark Knight spoilers follow!
For instance, in The Dark Knight I had trouble with the ending, and the fact that Batman ultimately made a choice to kill Two-Face, and not the Joker. (For those who think that Two-Face either isn't dead, or that he wasn't meaning to kill him, I disagree with y'all. Count the seconds when Batman goes off screen while Harvey has Gordon's son and then attacks with a lunge that takes all three of them over the edge. Batman is a calculating fellow, knows his own strength, and is the owner of two nifty bat-equipped arms. He is quite capable of grabbing the edge and saving only one of them, and knowing all this, he lunges and chooses the boy, effectively choosing to kill Two-Face). Not killing the truly evil villain, but the neutral one (perhaps further drawing a Jesus parallel, viz., Revelations 3:16) made me quite angry and unable to enjoy to that movie for over a year.

Now, I enjoyed Inception and Memento, as I said before, but what I find to be lacking in both of those films are the plot-holes.

In Inception, I could care less about the ending, and what I'm going to talk about are these aforementioned holes.

Inception spoilers ahead
1) The fact that they were able to be kicked out of the first level inside Fischer's dreams by the stewardess even though the plan had been clearly sped up and the first level was a war zone, and then Fischer & Uncle have a bonding moment after they get kicked back there and the van crashes. What a nice, sweet moment. News flash, the bad guys are still out there, shooting and killing. You are stuck there for a WEEK before waking and the stewardess has no way of being contacted, and yet here you are waking up without being killed and sent to limbo. Sorry, not buying it.

2) Fischer and Ariadne were able to be kicked from within Limbo to the third level (after Ariadne and Dom conveniently use the machine to go down there in the first place) without anyone to help kick them back from the third level itself. I'm sorry, since when did falling within the level itself act as a kick? I do believe the kick had to come from the level above you!

Those are just a couple, but they sure do rankle. Now, I feel like Nolan knows they exist, and that they're holes, but tries to dissuade the audience from noticing them by making the plot as convoluted as possible, as difficult to follow as possible, and dazzle you with special effects in a Michael Bay style, effectively telling the audience: "Hey, these aren't plot-holes, these are plot-wells! Look, you can draw up your own conclusion in this bucket!" To that I say, good day, sir.

Yes, Inception was visually stunning and enjoyable without over-diagnosis, but I saw the movie three times in theaters to "get to the bottom of it" only to realize that it was just a sham. Fun to watch, but a sham.

Wait, Mike, maybe all the plot-holes mean that Dom never woke up in the first place and the he was in Limbo or a dream world the whole time! If so, then why would Nolan credit older children?

Here's the further problem I have with his plot-holes. Nolan just likes to throw out as many choices for the audience as possible so they make their own conclusion or they not be a real one. This is an act of nothing other than wishy-washyness and lukewarmity. It's quite distasteful and makes me lose respect for him as a storyteller.

"Drink from my plot-wells, America! Make my movies net over a billion dollars!"

Memento spoilers now!
Making a film complicated for the sake of hiding your inabilities to write a coherent story, as well as throwing as many possible scenarios in to the mix to add flavor is just plain lazy, just like in Memento. There were so many additional frames thrown in at the end of the movie: Was Leonard's wife a diabetic and he killed her? Was she not? Did he finish it and go home to her and get that tattoo? Was he really in an asylum? So many choices! Whatever shall I do!

I shall call it what it is: crap. He doesn't have the balls to stand behind a completed and solidified story arc, so he slams the audience with all the possibilities, effectively ruining any clear message or answer. Is it brilliant? No. Is it lazy? Yes. Is it a sign of depth? Hardly. Shitting on a canvas doesn't make art. Not plot-wells. Plot-holes. Big, fat ones.

I've heard people say they had to watch Memento multiple times to "get it." There's nothing more to get than the first viewing gives you. There's nothing any chart can add to it. It lacks a definitive quality. But it's just postmodern! No, it's crap writing.

The way I've learned to cope with and enjoy these three films of his in particular, is to watch them and just turn my brain off, and just avoid thinking about that. Kinda like watching a Michael Bay film.

Now, he can tell a conclusive story and it's quite enjoyable. Watch The Prestige. The movie is kind of predictable, but it works. The direction/acting is fabulous, the visuals are stunning, and the story is compelling. It has no glaring plot-holes, and it overall works as a film. (Besides, who doesn't love Bowie in a feature?)

Now, I guess the reason I bring this all up, is because I consider myself somewhat of a storyteller, and I guess I'm old school in the sense that a story should conclude.

That rant was a lot longer than I had anticipated, but if you've read this far, I'd suggest you watch The Fountain. You don't have to, but I liked it. That movie is meditation in a film. It just is. There's a lot to it, it might take a couple of times to put together some of the finer points, but it just is. And it is enjoyable.

I guess I'm tired of poor story crafting be taken as a sign of depth or intelligence. Kind of like not talking doesn't make you deep.

PS - I take any and all credit for coining plot-well if it has not been used before. =D

I can't sing, but I sure as hell may

One of my favorite pastimes is singing in my car with my windows down and stereo up.

When I do this, it’s usually not to the radio, unless I’m telling you how I’ll be there after the boys of summer have gone. Usually it’s to a carefully laid out cd I’ve burned, as my tape deck turn iPod jack died over a year ago. The most socially acceptable tracks I pick for this, I suppose, are the tracks from Girl Talk’s All Day album (although shouting “you about to get ran the f**k over” at the top of my lungs in the open air, I worry slightly about offending people, but it’s nothing anyone hasn’t heard before).

I was grinned at by an older woman today during an “All of My Love” heartwrencher. I’m not sure it was mean-spirited or anything, but I smiled right back and kept on yelling about who I’d give the fullness of my heart unto.

The next song to blare and belt to was “Since U Been Gone,” a modern classic. Genres aside, that song is truly a masterpiece, and I defy anyone not to get excited and sing along with that chorus. Whether it’s Kelly rocking me or I’m “under da sea,” I’m going to sing my heart out if the mood strikes me. I don’t care who sees me or hears me sing. At least when I’m in my car, that is.

It feels good. Seems like I can breathe for the first time. Guess I’m just moving on.