NOTE TO SELF: This chapter sucks and needs to be reworked.

We were there, and Kadiron instinctively dropped to a ready-to-pounce crouch, and I followed her lead, our shoulders touching as we looked out on the scene.

For a moment, my eyes couldn’t reconcile what they were seeing with what my brain was expecting. The rational, still-disbelieving part of my brain (which, incidentally, shrank every day) was limply wrestling with the fact that I had been on a beautiful plot of grass one moment and was on a scorched, bloodied stretch of land the next. The gung-ho, accepting this whole crazy dream as reality part of my mind (which expanded inversely to the first portion) had been ready to be dropped back into a fight for our lives. I didn’t know, for a moment, what I was looking at. I could see the pieces, but not what they added up to.

Dark smoke. Fire – three or four little fires, one crackling with life and eight-foot flames, several smoldering and dying.

Garbage. The broken, crushed remains of a dozen garage sales.

A slick of blood.

A massive hulk of monster-meat, lifeless, on its side, in the dirt, smoke rising off of it.

Will, dressed like a Ghostbuster.

Will! I thought, but cautious, I said nothing. Kept looking.

A shoe without a wearer. A tattered flag of fabric, heavily embroidered – one of the ridiculous jackets that the councilors were always wearing, despite the heat.

A gun – no, half of a gun, half of a gun?! – lying, discarded, on the ground.

Wind blew softly, cooly, and the smoke thinned. Through its haze I saw more figures – human figures, not beasts – standing together, back to back, holding unusual weapons.

I felt Kadiron’s shoulder relax minutely. Then she stood, very slowly.

“Macreade,” she called.

One of the smoke-blurred figures turned, saw us, and did what may very well have been a double take. “Over here!” he – Ophel – yelled, and waved frantically into the distance. I didn’t know who he was gesturing at until Betty came in to view. She saw Kadiron and I, and the relief on her face was visible even from that distance.

Then Will was standing there. “We didn’t know where you were,” he said.

Betty joined us. “Don’t be too loud. We’re not sure they’re gone.” Her petite frame, all four feet of it, was blackened with dirt and smoke.

“We didn’t know where you were,” Will repeated. I was only half aware of Kadiron moving away from my side. “Tugwal thought he saw you go down. We thought – I thought – ”

“I’m okay,” I said, touching his arm. “What happened? What’s happening?”

We walked, cautiously, eyes and ears peeled, to the others, who greeted us with relieved faces and the self-reassuring touches of those reunited after a terrible accident.

Will was explaining. “Everything was going to hell. You saw how it was. Nothing was making a dent in them.” I nodded. “I kept throwing things at them, kept pulling every trick I could think of out of my hat, but nothing. No luck. Betty here tried to get a panic message out -”

She interrupted. “Still not sure what I was thinking. What could anyone have done?”

” – but it was like you. She couldn’t connect. Couldn’t get a signal,” Will continued.

Ophel sagged. “Anything I’ve ever been able to do as a Sion – gone. I couldn’t communicate, couldn’t move a damned thing. Nothing like a moment of mere mortality to make you appreciate what you’ve got, I guess. Hell of a lesson. Should have skipped it.”

I listened, looking around at my battered group of friends and at the others who, try as I might, I couldn’t find a way to dislike at that particular moment. I couldn’t figure out what sort of weapons they were holding – particularly the one Will had that had made me think of Ghostbusters.

He was talking again. “So I guess ole Rese here had been doing the same as the rest of us, firing off bullets and arrows and blades and whatnot. And then -”

“The Prince can speak for himself, Aronarc,” snapped Janu. Okay, so maybe I can find a way to dislike her, still.

To my surprise, Rese raised a hand to shush Janu. There was a high flush in his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled like someone with a bad fever, like someone right on the edge of delirium. “Let the boy finish. I can tell the tale to the historians later.” His voice was cracked and hoarse, but I thought he might have been making a joke…

Will, as shocked as I, nodded in acknowledgement and continued. “So. Rese gets cornered by one of those things, and since there’s nothing like adrenaline to make your reflexes start firing properly, he drops his BB gun or whatever junk I’d given him and turns on the heat. Within thirty seconds, that sucker was smoking. He set his skin on fire, Margo. You shoulda seen it – no, on second thought, be glad you didn’t. It was pretty damned nightmarish.”

“Imagine the biggest, most awful marshmallow roast ever,” Ophel murmured, his eyes looking past me to the singed leviathan lying on the ground beyond. I imagined, and shuddered.

“So, as soon as we realized that fire could hurt the beasts, well, Rese got busy, but there was just too much for one guy. So I’m trying to keep myself out of the way, trying to figure out where in the hell you two went, and then I remember a… a shipment I made, once. A shipment that got cancelled before it got delivered. Well, I mean, it didn’t get cancelled, but -”

“Okay, Will, just tell the story,” Betty said. “Unless you’d like me to do it.”

“Sorry. So yeah. I pull this baby out.” Will patted the Ghostbuster backpack fondly, and I looked again, still confused. “Lucky it worked. I didn’t have the first idea if it needed fuel, or anything.”

“I’m sorry,” I finally admitted. “I don’t know what it is.”

There was a hose and a nozzle attached to the metal backpack. Will took them, aimed at a bare spot of ground about ten feet away, and told me to stand back. Ophel started to say something, but Will squeezed a trigger and a dragon’s belch of flame shot out of the nozzle. He let it roar for a moment, then released the trigger.

“Flame thrower,” he said.

“You could have just told her and saved the fuel,” Ophel said. Will tried to look chagrined, but I cuold see the adrenaline rush was magnifying his sense of bravado.

Betty interrupted before Will could do anything else rash. “And when he figured out that that worked, he found these and armed the rest of us with something that would at least drive the beasts off. It’s a blowtorch,” she said before I could ask. “Not enough to really hurt them, but they were scared of it. Particularly after the meanie-roast over there.”

Will composed himself. “And after a minute or two, Rese and these little guys drove them off, and they all left. Well, all but two. Too bad they smell so bad – makes a person think they’d make lousy barbecue. And then I asked if anyone had seen you, and Tugwal -”

Tugwal broke in. “I saw you fall. I saw the beast impale you. I do not understand.”

I felt a little queasy as Kadiron explained what had happened, leaving out a few details, making it sound like I’d received more traditional medical help on this foreign world. I didn’t know why she left Q-Bobicus out of the story, and I didn’t really care. While she talked, I was watching Will’s face, and Tugwal’s, and Ophel’s, and the force of their relief and my imaginining of what they had thought – it went straight to my stomach.

And then I was counting and coming up short.

I stepped toward Betty. “Where’s Euq?” I asked. “Where are the others?”

Betty took my outstretched hand. “Euq is fine. He’s been taking care of us. We were a little banged up. Right now he’s with Bulren and Ted. They were – they are being a greater challenge.”

She led me – and the others followed – through the maze of debris, and I gasped. Euq was kneeling in the mud, and under his hands was a prone figure. I couldn’t make out any identifying characteristics; the skin was completely painted with dirt and blood, and the clothing had been all but shredded. Euq wasn’t doing anything that I could identify, just leaning into the still form, hands splayed over the chest. His tiny, unlikely wings were fully extended but motionless, straining against an invisible effort.

Betty stopped. “It’s not going well,” she whispered.

“How can you tell?” I replied.

“Look at his face,” she said, and I did. Euq’s eyes were closed, and I couldn’t read signs of effort in his porcelain-pale skin, but there was a determined set to his jaw that was unfamiliar, and – a tear, I thought, maybe, glistening in the corner of one eye.

I was embarrassed to ask who it was. Looking at the physique, I guessed it was Bulren – Ted should have been more muscular. And I was ashamed that I hadn’t remembered Bulren’s name, that I wasn’t sure I’d even heard it before. I was ashamed that I couldn’t form Ted’s full name in my mind. I didn’t know where the other – Ted – was.

Betty must have seen me surreptitously looking. “If Euq is working this hard on someone who isn’t responding, then Ted is already gone. Gone, or done, and I don’t see him walking around.”

I was surprised at how calm she was about the declaration, aghast at the fact that it didn’t rock me as badly as I thought it ought to have done. There was a heavy numbness settling around me – not the same feeling as the warm, foggy drowning I’d experienced after getting injured, but similar enough that I recognized it as shock.

An arm materialized around my shoulder. Will’s. “Come on,” he said. “You too, Bet. Let Euq work.”

Then Euq spoke. “Lobeta.”

“What do you need, love?” Betty replied.

“Rese. Please. Ask him to come here.”

Prince Rese walked over to Euq with his shoulders squared. I tried to look at his face, to see if that feverish gleam had cooled away, but he didn’t meet my gaze. I didn’t want to watch, but couldn’t look away – even as Will tried to guide me away – as Rese stooped, exchanged unintelligible words with Euq, and bent his head in an unmistakable expression of unhappiness. Euq’s hands moved, released their grip (Was the opposite of a death grip a life grip? I wondered, somewhat hysterically) on Bulren’s torso, and I knew it was over, that he was over.

Euq stood, moving stiffly. Betty embraced him; he rested there for a moment, then pulled away gently.

“What next?” he asked. “Who else is injured?”

Cal tried to protest as Euq walked up to him. “You need to rest a moment. I can wait.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Perindi murmured. “I mean, I appreciate the sentiment. But this is why I’m on this expedition. You’re losing blood, and that means you’re losing strength. Sit down.”

Cal obeyed, meek. Euq crouched beside him, touching the bloodied fabric of his sleeve. It was torn, and the rough edges of fabric were sticking to a gruesome injury – a goring, probably like my own. I found myself wishing Q-Bobicus and her bizarre pen were there to provide some backup for Euq, who – despite his protests – was clearly fading.

Will tugged my elbow again, but I resisted. I watched as Euq gingerly pulled the fabric away until the wound was exposed, watched the muscles of Cal’s neck and face contort as he fought the pain while Euq cleaned the injury. Then Euq laid a hand on the muscle of Cal’s arm, just above the injury, and the other just below the injury, and he closed his eyes. I watched, fascinated, as the flesh knit back together – a normal healing process, I supposed, in fast-forward. My bailiwick.

I’d seen enough. Will finally managed to turn me, and we walked away. My mind spun with mysteries and aftershock. I was remembering the big cat I’d seen, wondering whether it had been a trick of my mind. I was thinking about Kadiron’s eyes, thinking about Q-Bobicus and what exactly it could possibly mean if she could make something come true just by writing it down.

Will pulled me aside, and I pulled myself out of my mental fog and looked, really looked, at him.

“I thought I told you to keep safe.”

“Well, things don’t always go according to plan, I guess.”

“Tugwal said that thing gored you. Where Kadiron took you – there were Perindi?”

I paused, wondering what to tell him, wondering why Kadiron had withheld the full story. I decided to tell a truth. “Something like that. Not really. I want to tell you, but Kadiron didn’t, and I want to talk to her first. Find out what’s going on.”

He inhaled. Then: “Okay. That’s fair.” A pause. “I – I’m just glad that whatever happened, happened. Tugwal said – Margo, we all figured you were dead. We didn’t know where you were, but the way he described your injuries, and then not being able to find you -”

I didn’t consciously take his hand, but it happened all the same. “I’m okay, Will. It’s all going to be okay.”

Exhale.

I just passed the 25,000-word mark, and you know what that means.

Also:

Also:

And finally:

Okay, so I’m still behind schedule – but I’m further along than I’ve ever made it, since 2004 anyway, and I’m feeling pretty good.

This morning it was cold – really cold. I got about a block from my house before coming to the conclusion that the only thing standing between me and being frozen solid like a lettuce dipped in liquid nitrogen was going to be a 20 oz. cup of 99-cent gas station cappuccino. Fortunately, there’s a gas station two blocks from my house, so I stopped in pursuit of my salvation.

I was pouring a mixture of “cinnamon danish cappuccino” and house blend when the gas station attendant walked by and asked how I was doing that morning.

“Good,” I replied. “Cold. Really cold.”

“Well,” he said, “I’d offer to keep you warm, but I bet you’d turn me down, and I can’t deal with rejection.”

I blinked.

He went on, “Plus, I think my wife wouldn’t like it very much.”

“Sounds like a lose-lose situation to me,” I said, backing slowly away from the coffee machine. Since I’d poured the dang thing, I guess I had to pay…

While making my change, the gas station attendant continued. “Besides, I’m probably too old for you anyway. I mean, I have kids older than you. I can say that, because I turned seventy on Friday, and I just found out my daughter is 45.”

“Uhm,” I said. “Happy birthday?”

The moral of this story is, unless you like inappropriate come-ons from 70-year-old gas station attendants at 6:30 in the morning, make your coffee at home.

It’s not exactly writerz blox. I know what happens next. I just can’t quite make it come out of my brain and onto the screen. You’ve heard, perhaps, of logorhhea? I seem to be experiencing the opposite. The words are there, but they’re… well… I think I need a verbal laxative.

Or a nap. Maybe that’s what I need.

I have merit badges! For noveling! There are ten official NaNoWriMo badges and five that I picked from the Boy Scout Store’s spoof category.

From top to bottom, left to right:

1. Noveling Soundtrack Badge, for creating a playlist that either inspires writing or provides a soundtrack to your novel
2. Secret Noveling Badge, for writing in secret when you’re supposed to be doing something else (like school or work)
3. Blogging Badge, for keeping a blog chronicling your NaNo experience, or for posting your novel online as you go
4. NaNo Socializing Badge, for attending official NaNo events, competing in word wars, or convincing others to join NaNo
5. Superhero Badge, for performing superheroic acts of noveling while juggling massively time-consuming non-novel projects
6. Creative Nonfiction Badge, for incorporating barely-disguised aspects of your real life into your novel as fiction
7. Caffeine Abuse Badge, for consuming ridiculous and/or dangerous amounts of caffeine in your pursuit of novel victory
8. Rally Day Badge, for writing 5,000 words in one day or overcoming a 10,000 word deficit
9. Word-Count Padding Badge, for writing out contractions, quoting lyrics, giving characters three names, etc.
10. Easy Button Badge, for inserting acts of deus ex machina to get yourself or your characters out of accidental tight spots
11. Procrastination Badge, for doing ridiculous things – like cleaning your house – in the name of procrastination
12. Pillage and Plunder Badge, for re-using at least 1,000 words of previously-written (by you) material
13. Eureka Moment Badge, for having a moment when everything in your plot suddenly fits together
14. Random Ending Badge, for having an off-the-wall or crazy ending to your novel or a chapter therein
15. Victory Badge, for writing 50,000 words in 30 days

Obviously, I didn’t earn them all this year. Most, I earned in 2004… but I’ve re-earned badges 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 9 already this year, and have plans to re-earn #12 before things are all over.

If this wasn’t something I was going to wear at school, I’d probably have to add the Adult Beverages badge from the Boy Scout Store. There’s usually a little bit of wine during my Novembers; this year, I’m rewarding myself with a glass of champagne for each 25% (one of which I am enjoying at this very moment). Hey, whatever works, right?

I probably wouldn’t go to the trouble to make a merit badge sash if it weren’t for the Young Writers’ Program. Being a YWP facilitator gives a person a little bit of leeway to embrace their inner dorky kid, I guess. (My mom and my husband are currently rolling their eyes and muttering, “As if she needs an excuse!”) My sash has YWP on it, in what I think is a perfect font, especially considering I just found them in the iron-on letter section at Michaels.

I’ve bedazzled my sash with buttons, which are like badges only re-positionable and a lot easier to lose. Up top I’ve got a “We Can Do It” and the two YWP buttons that come with the teacher kits. Below the badges, I’ve got a bunch of others; the Count and the “Books, Not Bombs” ones are probably the most NaNo-y on there, although I tried to keep them all relevant.

The spider broach is one I wore to my senior prom. I reckon the spider is the patron beast of writers – being a spinner, and all that, hello Charlotte – and this one looks like it is whispering ideas into my ear when pinned here on the sash.

Here’s a close-up of the back of the sash. Each star represents a year that I did NaNoWriMo. A gold star means I won – I wrote 50k in 30 days. A white star means  – well, not so much. (And some of those white stars ought to be more gray or something – I was truly pathetic some of those years!) I’ve left enough room on the back for me to do NaNoWriMo until approximately my 97th November, so that’s good. Plus, I now have additional extrinsic motivation to win this year; I’m out of white stars.

Here I am posing in front of the YWP display across from my classroom. We are so never going to make 100% by the end of the month.

Hey – I may be behind on my word count, but at least I’ve got goofy accessories to wear while trying to catch up. Merit badgers are fun!

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