Dim Speak

By Trick Brown

Over 2000 years ago, after the conclusion of the Great War between Angels and Demons, contact with Earth by the surrounding worlds had been arrested. That is, until Chip found himself summoned through the barrier.

After being attacked by a dragon, held prisoner by the Angels, suspected of murder, Chip learns he has an affinity for controlling or "speaking" to plants.

Rather than remain a prisoner, Chip tries to run away, following the omens of Faith, the most dangerous, complicated, maybe-not-fallen Angel in the city of Heaven, possibly all of Eden. Long before Faith is able to forge Chip into a warrior who can protect himself, the fate of the Angels ends up in his shaky hands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trick Brown
• Release date: Feb 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465911469

Trick Brown

I am a 40ish Doctor of Mathematics. (See how I did that? Because I'm not really 40 yet, I don't have to update my profile for years!) I grew up in central New York on a picturesque lake in the middle of wine country. Sadly, I am not one for boats or wine, but that doesn't make the area any less beautiful in the summer and fall. I have always wanted to write, quite literally since the age I learned to write. I remember being six years old and writing an episodic story about a turtle named Herman. I had a strange fascination with turtles when I was a young child. Why is it I never got one as an adult? I misspent my young adulthood learning and teaching Tae Kwon Do and French Fencing. I love learning, which is one reason I love writing. No matter how good you get, there's always more to learn. It would be nice to learn about this stuff for the rest of my life. I eventually gave up the martial arts to study mathematics at the University at Albany, SUNY. While working on my PhD, I learned to swing dance, and taught calculus. After graduating, my friends have insisted on calling me "Doctor". I suppose I can't blame them, after all, it is my fault. As for my writing, I am not so delusional as to think that what I write will be inspirational, but I do hope it's fun. My only goal is to make the characters come as alive to the reader as they are to me.

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Dim Speak

by Trick Brown

Copyright 2012 Trick Brown

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for honoring copyright and respecting the hard work of this author.

Boilerplate

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, copy or distribute this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents depicted herein are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by Katrina Joyner-Belcher

You can find her online at http://apocalypsewriters.com

You can contact her at [e-mail]

She has a great style and tremendous wit. Please take the time to check out her latest work.

Story Notes

There are notes at the end of the novel which have information about myself. This section is reserved for my comments about this story in particular. The seeds for Dim Speak were first sown more than twenty years ago as I came out of high school; long before angels and vampires were cool. I have spent the last three years weaving these ideas into my first novel. Sadly, this puts me too late to be a trend setter, and I am now stuck following the trend.

Dim Speak is a fantasy parody. Non-derivative, both in the sense that it is not a parody of another work and it doesn’t spoof for the sake of being silly. I try to write all the gags in the context of a serious story, which from time to time, does not take itself seriously. Again, that’s the point, because one of my goals in this work was to write a parody of life itself. We can’t take it seriously all the time, or we’d all just go bonkers.

My two biggest influences, not surprisingly, come from my teenage reading. Piers Anthony and the first eight or ten Xanth novels, along with another dozen or so of his other books. And Robert Asprin, primarily, with his Myth series, but also his Phule series. Alas, both of these authors loved their puns, while I loathe puns. They’re what finally made me give up on the Xanth novels; too many puns running around. Dim Speak has exactly one intentional pun, the fahders. Anything else is accidental.

Asprin was somewhat less prolific with puns, allowing me to read just about everything he wrote. His Myth novels, while a whole lot of fun, suffered from consistency. Though, anyone who has read these stories knows that wasn’t the point. At their core, the Myth novels were about friends and their relationships with each other. I find the friendship between Aahz and Skeeve to be one of the most influential in my real day-to-day friendships. Those are the type of relationships I personally seek.

Using my own voice, I tried to land this story squarely in between these two authors’ works. I like to think Dim Speak is serious in the way most of the Xanth novels are serious and fun in the way the Myth novels are fun. Most importantly of all, this story is about the friendship between Chip and Faith. Because these two characters are of the opposite sex, naturally there will be an extra layer of sexual tension, at least for Chip, but my ultimate goal is to create a friendship between two characters as deep as the one between Aahz and Skeeve. I hope you find this story as fun and as enjoyable as I do.

Errata

Early in my teaching career, I drank shots of Goldschlager when I graded my students exams. What can I say? It made the grading process more bearable. I told my students if they ever found that I had made a mistake resulting in me owing them points, I would give them double the points back. No one ever collected.

For this writing project, I had an editor, and a friend, go through drafts. Additionally, I have since gone through the complete manuscript four times in an effort to cut out typos and other errors. Even after all this, I am sure there are mistakes to be found. If you happen to catch a typo or some sort of inconsistency, please let me know and I will fix it. I will include your name, along with appropriate thanks, in the acknowledgements at the end of the novel. I will also send you a revised version of the book, in whatever format you choose.

Table of Contents

Part One: A City of Angels

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Part Two: A Land of Demons

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Part Three: A Dimension of Dragons

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Part One: A City of Angels

Chapter One

I looked into the rear view mirror just in time to see the dragon's eye narrow. The mirror, no longer a simple flick of the eye up and to the right, had quite literally been replaced by a serpentine orb the size of a dinner plate, bone white featuring a gray iris with green flecks. A black vertical slit split imperceptibly wider allowing it to focus on the new target,… me. The creature lurched its head back in surprise.

I didn't remember losing consciousness, much less waking up here. The comfortable bucket seat of my grandmother's tiny sub-compact car had vanished. The rusty metal shell ceasing to offer its minimal protections. In light of the creature that now stood over me, I did what any normal person would do: blindly panic while my body performed the most base instinctual maneuvers.

My hands and feet took it upon themselves to create as much space between my body and the ridge of muddy green scales protecting the predatory eye. My crablike gait had been good for two, maybe three flails, creating a six foot gap before I realized my feet were caught in my grandmother's quilt. It had been laid over the car seat for added comfort, and now chained my feet together as if I were a fleeing criminal.

I kicked at the blanket. The creature leaned its wolfish muzzle in over me. Wiry black whiskers forced their way between the incrustations on its chin like five o'clock shadow. A quick jerking motion lifted its head fifteen feet into the air. Its long neck twisting a second eye to gaze over me as it displayed a mane of scales. The top of its skull furrowed as it opened its protruding maw, showing off a row of pristine white teeth the length of my forearm. A red tongue swayed back and forth as the creature hissed rhythmically in my direction.

I blinked several times, compelled to take stock of my own situation. Last I remembered, I had been paying particular attention to a black pickup truck tailing a little too closely. The blond, curly afro driving must have been upset when my comparatively miniature car passed him. As a penalty for my audacity, the driver sped up and ticked on his high beams into my back window.

Perhaps four, five seconds ago.

I think?

I refocused on the neck of the dragon as it made its way down to a pair of stubby salamander legs featuring surprisingly small black claws. The rest of the snake-like body slunk out of sight, obscured by trees and foliage. A second round of hissing drew my attention causing me to put my shaking hands in front of me as though they offered protection. I thought of running. My mind countered with the scene of the cowardly lawyer from Jurassic Park. I remained on my back, though I didn't want to be swallowed whole while lying down any more than while sitting on a toilet. Then I noticed the dragon wasn't hissing at me.

A soft cracking sound came from behind. I wasn't alone. Or rather, I wasn't alone with the dragon. I leaned my head back creating an upside-down view of two soldiers in leather armor approaching cautiously. They could have been brothers. Though maybe it was better to say I had no idea what species they were and they all looked alike to me. Political incorrectness aside, they were stocky, five feet tall, dandelion yellow skin wearing leather caps similar to the ones flying aces wear in the old World War II movies. Just below their covered foreheads a single black eye peered out. Two thin slits opened and closed to allow breathing just above a circular mouth that never quite closed.

The first brother looked up to the dragon, pursed his lips and gave throaty owlish, Hoot! Hoot, hoot! He had no chin, his face ending below his mouth, taut skin stretching down as his neck. In contrast, layers of skin furrowed on his nape. He gave several more hoots to the dragon as he pulled out a long knife. His brother did the same.

I pushed off with my feet, kicking away the quilt. I spun away from the weapons, away from the dragon, crab walking once again. For the first time, I could see a half dozen people standing behind the brothers. Really ugly people with dark red skin and jaws molded back to form pointy ears. They stood motionless, a look of confusion on their faces.

The dragon rustled in the low hanging limbs and bushes. I didn't want to look. Instead, I decided I was in a coma. Blond afro must have knocked me off the road into a ditch or telephone pole or something. I hit my head and this is just one of those odd dreams people have as their mind bubbles back to reality. The dragon eye was probably the EMT shining a light in my face. The ugly people were rubberneckers trying to get a good look at the blood running down my face so they could turn away saying they wished they hadn't seen it. Something that made them glad they weren't me. Something to reaffirm their own life at the expense of my own.

The twins were probably EMT helpers, or something. Maybe I was stretching that one a bit. I was probably delirious.

The dragon's head jerked to the side snapping several limbs. I twitched reflexively in response, scrambling back against a tree. The dragon peered off into the dense forest, eyes widening, tongue lolling about as if tasting the air. Turning back to the twins, it gave them another hiss ending suspiciously like a hoot. After which, the dragon returned to the business of tasting the wind.

The twins came at me with their knives. The closer one stepped past me, making sure he was between me and the dragon. He gestured to the ugly red people with the blade. A silent instruction for them to remain still. The second raised his knife to his shoulder, heading directly for me.

Coma dream or not, I didn't want to remain on the ground defenseless. I rolled to my stomach making a crawling dash for some bushes. Fingers digging into the crunchy leaves and cool topsoil. It felt incredibly real for a dream. I kicked with my knees scrambling for life. I made it five feet before the soldier stepped between my shoulder blades, pushing me flat to the ground, forcing the air from my lungs. His momentum carrying his weight past me, while I pushed up in the opposite direction and tried to clamber to my feet.

I was too slow. The soldier quickly turned around raising the long knife once again. I closed my eyes, putting my hands up in self defense yelping in anticipation for the blow. I tried to will myself awake. I wanted to see the car wrecked on the side of the road. That pause seemed to take seconds before, finally, the knife struck flesh. The blade hesitating an instant before slicing between my middle and ring fingers. A blinding light registered on the inner parts of my eyelids. I screamed, yet couldn’t hear anything over the pain.

The blade was not terribly sharp, making its way through the flesh by force more than by tool or technique. The soldier grabbed my wrist with his free hand as the rest of my body spasmed in agony. I shut my eyes tighter. Tears forced their way out running freely down my cheeks. Screaming, crying, I tried to pull my hand free of the soldiers grasp, but he wouldn’t relent. Sawing at the flesh for several more strokes before breaking through near my wrist. He let my arm fall as he picked up the chunk of hand from the ground.

I pulled both hands into my chest. I squeezed with all my strength in an effort to stop the bleeding, to stop the pain. My hand thumped in time with my heartbeat as blood seeped between my fingers.

I gave up struggling, pulling myself into a fetal position, whimpering into my chest. My world shrank down to whatever could fit in my hand. The grit of dirt had somehow managed to mix with the meat of my flesh. Blood pooled onto my shirt before saturating and finally dripping to the ground.

The dragon hissed one last time before everything fell silent. The beating of my own heart sounding more and more distant. I kept my eyes closed. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything anymore. My hand remained pinned to my chest. Every muscle in my body focused on maintaining the necessary pressure. My hand became a metronome pulsing slower and slower until I gave up and passed out.

Chapter Two

Consciousness faded in. So dark, the room offered no point of reference for time.

My eyes shot open, suddenly recalling the dragon, the soldiers, and my hand.

My hand. It felt numb and prickly like a fat lip. I didn't so much feel it as I felt the restriction of my wrists and ankles, thick ropes or maybe leather straps. Above me, lay a fur blanket, soft and warm smelling faintly of smoke. I could feel the plush bedding cozying up around me reminding me of one of my grandmother's hugs. My back was sore from being forced to lie down without the opportunity to stretch or roll over. All in all, I was as comfortable as can be expected given the situation. Until now, that is. I had come to because I was wetting the bed.

Already quite toasty under the blanket, the liquid warmth spread out from my groin, to my midsection, and down between my legs. Now that the dam had burst, I couldn't stop. I was alone in the dark, humiliated. I couldn't even remember the last time I wet the bed.

I lay there for a minute adjusting to the new surroundings. This time, I had a chance to take them in, only there was nothing to see. Was I still in a coma dream? A new nightmare? Or was this is it? Was this somehow reality? It felt like it. My dreams had never been so vivid before. I tried my best to look around the room. It was dark. Really dark. No lights, save for a small round window off to my right at the foot of the bed allowing the invasion of the faintest hint of moon and starlight.

Hey! I shouted into the darkness bucking against the restraints. Help! Straps across my chest, waist, and thighs I hadn't noticed at first held loosely, though restrictive enough to prevent any useful movement to work against the more firm straps on my wrists and ankles.

I shouted again, and again. Until, I had finished. My throat raw.

The bed felt damp, no longer warm and cozy. The fur covering hid my shame. All I could think was that I didn't want to be found in this condition.

A smirk crossed my face. The kind you put on when the irony gets to be too much and things still aren't funny. I had no idea who my captors were. Red ugly people? Yellow soldiers? Green dragons? Purple horseshoes? And I couldn't bear the thought of being found like this? Screw them. That was their problem. After strapping me down and leaving me, what did they think was going to happen? I shouted again, unwilling to remain trapped in the darkness. I could hear the subtle reverberating echoes of my own voice off the walls as I called out. No one came to my rescue.

And yet, someone must be there for me to be here. I am saved from one hell only to be put in another?

I lay there, stewing in my own juices for hours. Until dim streaks of sunlight started streaking in through that small window. I had never been prone to claustrophobia. As a little kid, I used to like the small cramped spaces because they made for the best hiding during hide and seek. As the light improved, the room seemed to expand. Even so, the bonds that weren't tight, grew ever more confining, causing the far wall to loom over me. The realization that I was incapable of adjusting my position or scratch an itch, became too much to stand. After being strapped to the bed for hours the smell of urine overcame my senses. The damp fur blanket which suddenly felt hot, heavy, smothering, frustrated me into calling out for help all over again. I kept calling until my energy reserves were used up.

I tried to calm myself, heaving several deep breaths. The white-washed ceiling had become my best view slowly coming into focus as the darkness dispersed. It needed several more coats. The gray stone bleeding through in many areas. A black circle covered a large portion of the rectangular ceiling. It hadn't faded at all, in fact, it could have been painted last night. Inside the circle, an inscribed square featured a strange symbol I had never seen before. Four different, smaller symbols were placed in the regions trapped between the sides of the square and circle. The rest of the room, what I could see of it, was also white, though better painted. The walls were completely bare. No pictures, no markings, nothing but the small circular window.

I spent a good portion of my childhood and early teenage years in a wing of the local hospital. It doubled as a nursing home for retired residents that needed extra care. I would go there after school every day and wait for my grandmother to finish cleaning the rooms. I would play games with the residents, listen to their stories, help out wherever I could. Many of them seemed unbearably lonely.

That’s how I felt now. At least a dozen of my best friends had died throughout my childhood. At least they died surrounded by people who cared for them. Many of them may have been paid, it was their job, but at least they were there. I was too young to die here alone.

Mouth dry. My head began to ache. I had been dehydrated once before. A few of months ago when I first joined the cross country team. Every one else had been running for years. For my efforts of pushing myself in order to keep up, I was rewarded with chills and a blinding headache. It had been almost ninety degrees that day and I was shivering.

From the opposite end of the room, I heard a door open. I couldn't quite move my head into position to see it. I heard someone take a deep breath.

Who's there? My first instincts were excitement and anger and relief and panic, but I tried to suppress the outflow of emotions. A person gets tied down because they’re seen as a threat. I didn't want my captors first impression of me to be one of a crazed lunatic. I tried to calm myself.

No answer came back.

Hello? Hello? I still sounded a little too excited. I struggled with sounding crazed and confrontational. I tried again, slightly more civilized. I'm sorry. This is a bit embarrassing, but I wet the bed. Could you let me up so I can clean myself off? My desire for freedom, perhaps a little too obvious.

A soft buzz came from below the side of the bed. A small girl floated into view. Twenty inches tall and suspended by translucent wings sprouting out of her back flapping at the speed of a humming bird. She wore a plain white dress that extended from her neck to her ankles. She paused to consider me for a moment, tilting her disproportionately large head. The flapping of her wings kicked a few strands of her light brown hair over her shoulder to cover her black eyes. She pushed them away with a nervous hand. Her neck was short and half the width of her body, yet still seemed insufficient support. At the angle she looked over me, her head appeared as though it might snap off. My brain wanted to see her diminutive size as a child, although nothing about her seemed childish. Whoever she was, she was young, but very nearly an adult.

Are you, my throat croaked shut from dryness. I swallowed and cleared it with a dry cough before trying again. Are you an angel? I know it sounded silly. She didn't really look like one of those fat little winged babies from those old medieval paintings I had studied in history class, but I had no other guesses.

The little woman's back straightened and her eyebrows shot up curiously. If she hadn't understood exactly what I said, something had gotten through. Her wings buzzed a little harder as she turned and quickly hovered out of sight.

No wait! Don't leave! I struggled letting out a frustrated grunt, testing my bonds one more time.

I was about to resort to shouting again when I sensed a different person enter the room. Their presence tangibly filling the space around me. I felt calmed. My discomfort and embarrassment faded away replaced by an effervescent joy. I adored this person. They were my savior.

I heard nothing. No signs of motion, yet the air rippled creating a dramatic pause as I sensed the person making their way from the door to the side of the bed. The light ache in my head dissipated. Replaced by a dizzying sensation as if I was going to pass out again.

She was stunning, tall, no less than six feet. Reddish-blond hair pulled back away from her face, disguising its length while revealing a slender neck and firmly feminine jaw line. Immaculate white skin stretched flawlessly across her face accenting the smallest of wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. A minor flaw that most women would seek to disguise, yet, for this creature, the lines augmented her beauty into a wizened age that belied the rest of her face. I knew instantly she was the oldest, smartest, wisest, most amazing person I had ever met. Staring over me for a moment with impossibly bright green eyes, her dark pupils reflected the light from the window back into my own forcing me to break eye contact. To an onlooker, it must have appeared as though I looked away out of respect. It was probably true.

Her toga claimed the next shade of white more pure than her skin. The cloth draped over her right shoulder stretching across her bosom, until it disappeared around her torso. As if by magic, the robe appeared elsewhere and wrapped around her midsection revealing a small portion of her midriff. Another two or three trips around her body showing how cleverly the slender figure of her hips could be used to hold the material before being forced choose which leg to end its winding journey.

Behind her, a ghostly image shimmered in and out of existence. As if peering over one shoulder then the next. Each time I tried to catch a glance it would to disappear and reappear over the opposite shoulder. Then the figure moved subtly, coming into focus for a portion of a second. Translucent wings barely noticeable in the morning sun appeared before settling back down into a spectral mist allowing me glances only at the corners of my vision.

Her voice broke me out of my trance and mesmerized me anew. She spoke. Or maybe she sang. I heard words and syllables that weren’t English. Yet, as I tried to focus on them they faded like the residues of a dream until finally, as if by magic, my brain filtered and interpreted the sounds into words, You asked for me?

I licked my lips, not feeling in complete control of myself. Actually, I asked if the little flying girl was an Angel. Then she left and you came in. My words were clumsy. I felt ashamed to use them in her presence.

After a moment she replied in her sing-song voice, I see. She is an Edenite. I am an Angel. The translation formulating in my brain slightly faster than before. How is it you know of my species? Do any remain in your world? Each phrase permeated the room like a lyrical formulation. A poem with multiple meanings. I could have, perhaps, interpreted her questions as, Where is your knowledge of Angels derived? Have you seen us before?

I guess, I stammered, according to some religions, after we die, if we were a good person, we're supposed to go to Heaven and become Angels.

I didn't really know what else to say. My father left when I was young. I barely remembered him. My mother died when I was seven. I was then raised by my grandmother and she was never religious. I hadn't been to a church in over ten years except for a number of funerals. The last of which had been my grandmother's, this past spring. The experience had left me without any desire to go back to a church, or the nursing home. Even going to school seemed daunting most days.

I hadn't really given much thought to the more metaphysical questions that have plagued mankind. On the other hand, I had listened to many elderly people wax poetic for hours on their lives and what someone my age should be doing with themselves. For them, for their memory, I had always tried to focus on their lives rather than their deaths. My grandmother had always helped me with that. Now, faced with an Angel. A being that, if left to my own devices, I could only describe as Angelic. The very thought that my grandmother having transformed into such magnificence after her death, brought tears to my eyes.

I guess that sounds kind of silly huh? I blinked the tears from my eyes. My name's, well, everyone calls me Chip. I gave a passing thought about offering the Angel my hand, then realized it was still strapped down.

She placed her hands behind her back as she contemplated my words. A moment later her name sang out like a rolling internally rhyming chorus, translating simply as, Cloud, though the words also suggested Many Clouds or Rolling Clouds. She continued singing, I am an Angelic Virtue, sodality of Heaven. It is not my place to judge your religious beliefs, however flattering. Her eyebrows came together above a perfect nose as she asked another question, How do you find yourself here Earther?

Heaven? Earther? The translation sounded strange. Earther was not meant to be derogatory, yet encompassed more than just humans. All the creatures of earth, perhaps. Like the earth were a separate world. I did my best to ignore the additional connotations and focused on my initial interpretations of her words. Heaven? Am I.... I didn't finish the thought.

Cloud put her hand on my shoulder smiling reassuringly. The numbness from my hand slowly spread up past my wrist. I could no longer feel the strap pinning my hand to the bed. No. You are very much alive.

I have no idea how I got here, I said answering her question. "I was in the woods. I don't even think I was there for much more than a minute. Before that, I was driving my car and then I was suddenly staring at a dragon. I was