The Story Behind The Expectation

The earliest copyright date for this story is 1990. Mike tells me (during very short breaks from thesis writing) that he first wrote The Expectation while attending Biola University in Southern California. The evenings in that land of perpetual summer brought gentle breezes, which stirred the tree outside his dormitory window and beckoned Mike to pause from his studies. It is these breezes that inspired this story.
--Fezziwig

The Expectation

Linda gazed out of her window and into the distance. “Where is he?” she wondered. The leaves on the maple tree just outside her second story window showed their fall colors, and “he” was late.

She looked again but to no avail. Linda sighed. One could wait an eternity.

She opened the window and leaned on the sill. A cool breeze stirred the leaves and touched her face. “Mmm,” she said, breathing deeply.

The wind stilled then started again. Soon winds blew one way then the other without pausing, the way wind does in autumn. The sky darkened while the winds strengthened, buffeting Linda time and again. Over distant mountains a full moon shined brightly. Clouds moved in scattered clumps as they journeyed from horizon to horizon. The night winds chilled Linda, sending a shutter down her spine.

Suddenly, as if awakened by the chill, Linda turned, ran out of her room and down the stairs. Not stopping for shoes or a jacket, she ran out the door and onto the cold pavement. Dancing with joy, she whispered to the wind, “He’s here. He’s here. Fall has finally come.”

Copyright 1990, 2006 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

First published in the third volume of http://www.ece.gatech.edu/ecesis/ in 2006.

Fezzi Note

I'm putting out this next poem to remind my master why he should not get any more degrees after he finally finishes his Ph.D. this year!

Lament of Miners

Chains, chains,
Bondage and chains.
The harder we work,
The tighter the reins.

The master will call,
And we follow all
Down to the pit,
Labor and grit.

Cram and cramp,
Tap and tamp,
Light and lamp,
Dank and damp.

Long for the day.
Dark is our way.
Withering away,
The mining foray.

In bonds we roam
In this our home.
Till our last doom
In the earth's womb.

Copyright 1993 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

First published in A Break in the Clouds in 1993 by the The National Library of Poetry.

The Dragon's Riddle: Last Words

Final Part of The Dragon's Riddle

Moraye set his head back on the rock floor and breathed deeply.

“Well done,” said the dragon gravely. “You fought well for one who has taken a more detached role in the past, playing his men instead.”

Moraye turned his eyes to the dragon. “Detached? A king is not always the warrior, you know. He must also command.”

“True, not always!” spoke the dragon. “With you, not ever. You are a pitiful king and not worthy of the title. Where were you whenever peril faced your kingdom? Do you even know the names of your fallen warriors? They’re nothing to you!” roared the dragon. Fire leapt from his eyes, startling the weary king.

The king sat up. “It is true,” he said. “Many lives have I wasted while avoiding my kingly duties. According to the ancients, a king is to be first into battle and last from a retreat, among other things. The serpent looked thoughtfully at him, as if sizing him up. Nodding to himself, he said, “Your life is yours. One can only hope you learned something.”

“What of my men?” asked Moraye, but it was too late. The cavern walls faded into the bark of tall trees, and the roar of the waterfall became the gentle rustling of leaves in a breeze. Moraye stood up and walked through the forest. The faces of noble knights and warriors sent by his hand to their death appeared before him one at a time. The dying cries of each knight as his face faded chilled his spine.

This is too much for me to bear, he thought, turning his mind to more pleasant things. Now, he was returning to the royal city from a battle. It was arranged in splendor to welcome home the victorious. But, instead of victory cheers, the anguished faces of young widows stared at him in a palled silence. Widows of knights who failed to return, their accusing tear-stained eyes faced him in concert, tormenting him.

Suddenly, shouting and the clash of metal broke through the trees, striking Moraye. Shaken from his revelry, his eyes widened and his heart raced. His grip tightened on the sword the dragon had apparently let him keep.

Running to the sound of the battle, he cleared the forest edge and rushed into a meadow. A bowshot away, a battle raged. Five of his eight lost men fought against ten giant soldiers, who were attempting to flank them. Nearby two of his men lay dead on the battlefield. Another, whom he recognized as Stoln, used his elbows to drag his wounded body from the battle.

One of the enemies broke from the fray and ran to kill the battle-scarred Stoln. Struck to the heart, Moraye shouted and ran.

The enemy hesitated, looking at the newcomer. Moraye immediately fell upon him, clashing hard against the enemy. Driving him back toward the battle, Moraye fought beside his knights until the enemy lay fallen around them.

“Well done, men,” said Sir Reckel, their captain, taking care to clean his sword before sheathing it. “The cowards ambushed us and took us off guard, but you kept your wits and fought valiantly.”

Looking at the two dead warriors, he said, “If only the others had fared as well.”

“Indeed, it is a great loss,” Rafe said, “but who is the new one that joined the battle?” Rafe asked.

Looking around, their eyes settled on Moraye, clutching Stoln’s dead body.

“I tried to save him,” he sobbed to himself with great anguish. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”

Moraye's anger welled up inside him. Why? he asked himself. Why did this happen? Why did you let this happen, Leviathan? I passed your wretched test, you foul dragon. Was it too much to grant me my men?

“Leviathan!” he roared, still clutching Stoln’s body.

“Leviathan! I ask you for the lives of my warriors.”

Suddenly weary with sorrow, he quietly said, “Take my life if you wish, but spare my men.”

“Granted,” boomed a voice from behind him. Moraye turned and saw the dark-haired Stoln standing tall with the other seven at the forest’s edge.


Copyright 2002, 1996 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

First published in the third volume of http://www.ece.gatech.edu/ecesis/ in 2006.

The Dragon's Riddle: Vindication

Part 2 of The Dragon's Riddle

From all parts of the cavern, a voice rang out:

Sword in hand, oh mortal flesh,

Take your stand, or death caress.

From the waterfall in the back of the cave emerged a man of water, solidifying into the flesh of a warrior armed with a short sword in each hand. Moraye looked around assessing his arena. From the wall opposite him, a stone figure broke out, forming a warrior armed with a tall hammer. At the entrance, the wind swirled, forming a warrior from a twister. He stood armed with whip and javelin. Behind him was the dragon.

“Behold your foes,” said Leviathan. “This is Keln...” The thin swordsman bowed slightly. “Macculn...” The muscled hammerman nodded. “And Kerst.”

“Now, behold your sword.”

A sword balanced on edge at the cave’s center. Moraye’s heart raced. They would have him the moment he seized the sword.

This is how Sir Rollins died, Moraye thought. I sent him, and, now, here I am.

“Come, king,” mocked the dragon, as if reading his thoughts, “Surely you wouldn’t send your men to take on anything you would not be able to easily do yourself. So, why do you hesitate?”

Moraye breathed in sharply. He scanned his foes--the whip and javelin, the hammer, the swords. They awaited his move.

He leaped forward, and the warriors closed. Seizing the sword hilt, he dropped to his left hip sliding between the hammer-man and the swordsman while ducking the hammer. Jumping to his feet, Moraye blocked two blows from Keln over the back of his shoulders stroking his sword left then right. Turning around, he slashed Macculn’s nearest arm on a cross move then backed up to face the swordsman, keeping the others behind this opponent.

“Ha ha ha,” came the dragon’s deep laugh, but Moraye was too engrossed to even hear it.

The waterfall roared at his back. Focusing, Moraye stabbed for Keln’s chest then drew it back and high to block a raining blow. Keln blocked the thrust with his left and flashed an overhead blow with his right. Following through with his left, he gouged the king’s left shoulder. Startled a moment, the king attacked sweeping his sword in an ever-tightening circle surrounding Keln’s swords. Finishing with a stab to the middle and a side-to-side cut, Moraye sliced Keln’s arms to the bone. Keln’s arms fell limp as he took the sword to the heart, collapsing into a splash of water.

Dodging Macculn, Moraye faced the javelin and whip, again putting one opponent behind the other. Keeping his sword trained on the javelin, Moraye took the whip to his back. Moraye’s every move on Kerst ended with a stripe to his back. All too soon, Moraye’s back was covered with welts and blood. In desperation, he opened his arms, facing Kerst with his sword in his right hand and his left hand free. Seeing Moraye’s arms open, Kerst lashed again. Moraye ducked right, crouching low on his knee and holding his left arm high. The whip coiled around his forearm, biting the flesh. Jerking back, Moraye yanked Kerst forward and cut off the surprised warrior’s whipping arm. Drawing back his sword, Moraye grabbed the warrior’s javelin with his open hand. Pulling it across to his left, Moraye stabbed Kerst’s open side, and he vanished in a rush of air.

Macculn sprang into the rush of air swinging his hammer at Moraye’s sword to break it. Moraye leaped aside. The warrior moved in and swung. Moraye leaped again, stepping lightly and training his hand and sword on the warrior. After each blow, Macculn raised the hammer to a horizontal block where he started the next blow’s swing.

Pained and weary, Moraye gauged his foe. He cares little for his aim, Moraye thought, and seems to never tire. To give up would be fatal, but what can I do?

“You are spent, oh king,” Leviathan mocked. “One of your faithful knights would be useful now.”

“Useless spectator,” the king muttered to himself, focusing on his foe.

Gathering his strength, Moraye slid in front of Macculn. Leaning back on his forearm, he brought his feet up, blocking the next blow at his foe’s elbows. The hammer crashed beside his head. Rocking forward, Moraye thrust his sword deep into Macculn’s stomach. The warrior sucked air in tightly then fell back, grasping the sword. Eyes widening, he fell into a pile of rocks.

Look for the final part next week!

Copyright 2002, 1996 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

The Dragon's Riddle: The Prize

Part 1 of The Dragon's Riddle

Knife in hand, Moraye crept toward the massive dragon. It snorted carelessly then rolled onto its back. Moonlight glinted off the tight scales of its rising and falling belly as fire vented from its nostrils with each loud snore.

How did I get here? thought Moraye. I would have gladly sent another in my place, but no others have been able to outdo the dragon’s tricks. I should kill the beast in its sleep, though that would hardly help me.

As Moraye debated, the lizard breathed in deeply then blasted fire from its nostrils. Scratching its scaled belly with its foreclaw, it opened one eye and shined a beam of light from it as it looked around. Moraye lost all thought of killing it outright.

Upon sighting the small-framed king, Leviathan gathered itself and opened both eyes.

“What have we here?” said the dragon, “A lost traveler? Perhaps a knight come to test his spurs?” It smiled showing razor-sharp teeth.

“I am King Moraye of Anathoth,” the small king said, sticking out his chest and trying to sound impressive. “I’ve come to see the cunning Leviathan.”

“Oh, you have,” said the dragon, unimpressed. Widening his poison-green eyes, it stared full into the king’s eyes. The blacks of its eyes broadened and narrowed, mesmerizing Moraye. Shaking his head, the king looked away.

“You know of my simple tricks,” said Leviathan. “We will see how you fare with more difficult tests.”

“Come,” the serpent offered. “Ride on my back.” The beast crouched for flight.

“Very well, I will play your game,” said Moraye, climbing onto the dragon’s back.

The dragon leaped into the air, and the ground dropped beneath them. When Moraye managed to look down, the trees appeared as mere grass.

“What is our destiny, dragon?” he asked.

The dragon looked back and said with a wicked smirk, “To a place where I can test your skills.”

“And the prize?”

“Life and death,” said Leviathan. “See. You cannot lose. Either way you get a prize.”

“What of my men you ensnared?”

“I offer you your life,” said Leviathan, scanning the landscape. “Don’t get greedy.”

Leviathan flew into a cavern high in the side of a cliff, and Moraye dismounted.

“Now, king,” said the dragon. “Let’s see if your courage and skill equal your wisdom.”

Look for Part 2 next week!

Copyright 2002, 1996 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

A Word from the Editor

Hi! Welcome to my blog! My name is Fezziwig, and I'm a goldendoodle. That's a fancy name for a cross between a golden retriever and a poodle. My pack leader, Mike, and his wife, Susan, searched the world over for a dog as good as I am to join their pack, and they are so lucky to have found me. Of course, every so often when I irritate them by barking in their ears, I have to remind them that there is a long list of persons just waiting in the wings to have me join their pack.

Some other trivia about me is that I love popcorn and other types of people food. This was first started by Mike's mom. His dad and mom were visiting from Washington state, and his mom slipped me some popcorn. It was delicious!!! I have put my pitiful expressions to good use in mooching more of this great stuff off Mike and Susan ever afterward. Mike's mom is now affectionately known as the Popcorn Lady. :)

But enough about me. Though cleverly named after me, this blog is not so much about me as it is about stories and poems written by Mike. I really like them, and so he gave me permission to post them on my blog. Credit goes to his friend, Gil, for suggesting this to me. Thanks, Gil!

The Dance of Storms

Wind whispers yonder through grass, and thunder
Comes rolling to play on the plain.
Rallies the lightning, flashing and frightening
The animals beaten by rain.

The muscular stallions run hither to challenge
The storming Ithamar Plains.
Frenzied and bold, they run through the cold
Ahead of the battering rains.

One circles and lunges. Eyes widened, he plunges
To challenge the storm face-to-face.
He buffets the wind followed by kin
As they continue the race.

Clouds throw spears and thunder cheers
To join the Dance of Storms.
The horses run faster though lighted disaster
Strikes near their noble forms.

Quick as it comes the storm succumbs
Leaving at rest the plains.
The air stands still while dampened chill
Shakes the horses’ manes.

Copyright 1995 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

First published in After the Storm in 1995 by the The National Library of Poetry.