Monday, May 30, 2005

(a second draft of the story i posted last time. i've changed the ending for clarity.)

The young swordsman squinted out at the desert. “What do you think it is, Sir Isaac?” He drained the last of the canteen, then spit the lukewarm water over the edge of the parapet with a grimace.

Isaac was just coming up the stairwell, polishing his sword with a square of cloth. “Should have swallowed that. We’ll be on short rations until we take the oasis.” The knight glanced up at the sun, which was perhaps an hour from its slumber beyond the horizon. Squinting himself, he peered out at the glint of light atop the dune, perhaps a thousand paces outside the fortress wall.

“You see it? Looks like someone left a sword out there. I thought we gathered them all after yesterday’s battle.”

“Apparently not,” Isaac replied coolly. He regarded the younger soldier’s curved scabbard, and the ornate hilt emerging from it. “I see you’ve got yourself a nomad’s blade.”

Grinning, the soldier glanced down at his own sword admiringly. “It’ll hold me over until I get one like yours,” he said, nodding at the knight’s unsheathed blade. Even at this distance, he could see the sky in Isaac’s sword, a reflection creased with the nicks of battle.

“Indeed.” Isaac narrowed his eyes once again at the light in the desert. His left hand still polished the blade with an uneven rhythm, the cloth jumping back and forth across the steel.

“Sir Darren said he’d make me his squire if I made something of myself in the desert campaign,” the soldier said, his eyes distant, his mouth grinning still. “Not bad for a merchant’s kid, and a half-blood at that.” He turned and leaned against the parapet wall, looking back at the single tower of the fortress.

Isaac looked down at his sword for a moment, tilting it in the slowly fading light. Then, the rag moved once again, up and down the blade. “See that you do. This kingdom needs more low-born knights.”

“Amen,” the soldier agreed, turning back to the desert. He went to grab his empty canteen, then remembered. “Right.” With a shrug to himself, he threw Sir Isaac a glance. “I’ve heard that your mother was a nomad too, sir. Like mine.”

“Quite right.” Isaac stuffed the rag into his belt and sheathed his sword with a heavy clink, giving the young soldier a hard look. “Several have made an issue of it, and lived to regret it. I suggest you don’t.”

“Of course, sir. My apologies.” The young man lowered his head, surreptitiously looking back out at the dunes. As he did, the light flickered twice, and disappeared. The soldier raised an eyebrow. “Huh. What do you make of that?”

Isaac flicked his eyes at the missing glint and walked back toward the stairs. “The sun’s setting. It isn’t in the light anymore.”

“Of course, sir,” the soldier repeated. Something in his voice made Isaac pause, turn back to the swordsman. His eyes remained on the desert, averted from the knight. Sir Isaac shook his head and began to descend the stairs.

"My mother taught me the nomads' signaling code, sir."

Isaac stopped. His gaze remained fixed on the stairs, but his hand went slowly to the hilt of his sword. The swordman watched as the knight's fingers wrapped around and gripped the handle. Isaac said nothing, and looked out at the dunes.

The swordsman, with a sigh, drew a dagger from his belt. "You told them when the guard changes." Eyes on Isaac, the swordsman flipped the dagger at the watchman's bell at the corner of the parapet. The dagger took one slow turn and struck the bell, the clatter of its landing on the stone deck lost in the bell's single, reverberating toll.

Down the stairs, the sound of armored men approaching, fast. Isaac slipped his sword from its scabbard and returned to the top of the stairs. The last of the sunset echoed from the blade, bright as a signaling mirror. Hesitantly, the swordsman drew his nomad steel, raising it to guard.

"So, you want to make something of yourself," Isaac sneered, taking the first step forward. The armored boots reached the bottom of the stairs behind him. "You think I'm a traitor, don't you?"

The half-blood swordsman flexed his swordarm. "Not to the enemy."

Dark eyes seething, Isaac stopped halfway across the deck. More than ever, he looked like a nomad raider, scowling fiercely at the swordman and his plundered blade. The soldiers behind him topped the stairs.

"Your mother would be proud," the traitor Isaac spat, the moment before his head left his shoulders.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

The young swordsman squinted out at the desert. “What do you think it is, Sir Isaac?” He drained the last of the canteen, then spit the lukewarm water over the edge of the parapet with a grimace.

Isaac was just coming up the stairwell, polishing his sword with a square of cloth. “Should have swallowed that. We’ll be on short rations until we take the oasis.” The knight glanced up at the sun, which was perhaps an hour from its slumber beyond the horizon. Squinting himself, he peered out at the glint of light atop the dune, perhaps a thousand paces outside the fortress wall.

“You see it? Looks like someone left a sword out there. I thought we gathered them all after yesterday’s battle.”

“Apparently not,” Isaac replied coolly. He regarded the younger soldier’s curved scabbard, and the ornate hilt emerging from it. “I see you’ve got yourself a nomad’s blade.”

Grinning, the soldier glanced down at his own sword admiringly. “It’ll hold me over until I get one like yours,” he said, nodding at the knight’s unsheathed blade. Even at this distance, he could see the sky in Isaac’s sword, a reflection creased with the nicks of battle.

“Indeed.” Isaac narrowed his eyes once again at the light in the desert. His left hand still polished the blade with an uneven rhythm, the cloth jumping back and forth across the steel.

“Sir Darren said he’d make me his squire if I made something of myself in the desert campaign,” the soldier said, his eyes distant, his mouth grinning still. “Not bad for a merchant’s kid, and a half-blood at that.” He turned and leaned against the parapet wall, looking back at the single tower of the fortress.

Isaac looked down at his sword for a moment, tilting it in the slowly fading light. Then, the rag moved once again, up and down the blade. “See that you do. This kingdom needs more low-born knights.”

“Amen,” the soldier agreed, turning back to the desert. He went to grab his empty canteen, then remembered. “Right.” With a shrug to himself, he threw Sir Isaac a glance. “I’ve heard that your mother was a nomad too, sir. Like mine.”

“Quite right.” Isaac stuffed the rag into his belt and sheathed his sword with a heavy clink, giving the young soldier a hard look. “Several have made an issue of it, and lived to regret it. I suggest you don’t.”

“Of course, sir. My apologies.” The young man lowered his head, surreptitiously looking back out at the dunes. As he did, the light flickered twice, and disappeared. The soldier raised an eyebrow. “Huh. What do you make of that?”

Isaac flicked his eyes at the missing glint and walked back toward the stairs. “The sun’s setting. It isn’t in the light anymore.”

“Of course, sir,” the soldier repeated. Something in his voice made Isaac pause, turn back to the swordsman. His eyes remained on the desert, averted from the knight. Sir Isaac shook his head and descended the stairs.

The swordsman waited until the knight was out of sight, then silently drew the dagger from his boot. Lifting it above his head, to catch the light of the setting sun, he signaled to the swordsmen waiting atop the distant dune. Confirm?

Slowly, the reply came. Sir Isaac. Returning to base.

Serrata only nodded and sheathed his dagger. The half-blood swordsman sighed, remembering when his mother had taught him the nomad’s signaling code. He’d used it in childhood games, flashing the signs for attack and retreat to his friends.

It would be only minutes before the men returned with the spyglass and the signaling mirror, and a handwritten copy of the traitor’s message, sent by light of sword.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

My dad listens to Rush Limbaugh in the morning, and thus, so do I. Every half hour his program takes a break for a news update, which is produced by ABC. Listening to Limbaugh and ABC News in close succession is absolutely dizzying. It’s a rodeo. One moment the talk is leaning to the far right, then it sweeps left with a snap, then back again. When Clear Channel Broadcasting switches to Fox News this summer, there may be a bit more continuity, to say the least. But the current situation is truly strange.

Is anyone else disturbed by the state of the modern media? It’s been said that newspapers and television media are losing ground to talk radio and Internet blogs. The two sides of this division – the papers and TV versus talk radio and the blogosphere – are notoriously politically slanted, left and right, respectively. Personally, I lean toward the right in my politics, and prefer the latter media. My personal preference isn’t necessarily an indicator of better accuracy on one side. I think Tom Sullivan is more trustworthy than Charles Gibson, but I honestly don’t know. What I do know is this: both sides can’t be right. That’s what disturbs me.

The current debate over filibustering judicial nominees is a good example. In the Senate, Republicans are trying to change current procedure that allows Democrats to filibuster President Bush’s judicial nominees. Limbaugh and others proclaim that the Constitution outlines specific areas where filibustering – holding the floor and speaking for an extended period, in an attempt to keep a given issue from going to a vote – is appropriate, and the nomination of judges is not one of them. This idea, true or not, is never mentioned by the nightly news, which refers to the Republicans’ current efforts as the “nuclear option,” a denial of minority rights and a political power play. Anchormen and reporters refer to years of Senate tradition which would be abolished by the removal of the filibuster in this situation.

Follow me here. Talk radio says that filibustering judicial nominees is actually against the rules, and shouldn’t be allowed in the first place. The nightly news says that it’s an established tradition in the Senate. The only way both views could be true is if the Senate has been filibustering judicial nominees for years despite the rules. This is possible, but more likely, at least one side of the media is badly skewed. Badly.

Maybe I would side more with television and newspapers if they were more even-handed. I recently watched a report on NBC that left my jaw hanging. The gist was that moderate Republicans in Congress are leaning toward the left, and that Bush would have to alter his agenda to recapture them. That was it. Not a hint of counterpoint. Not a mention of the fact that Republicans have majorities in both houses. Just the idea that there are Republicans shifting toward the Democratic side, and that Bush would have to do the same. By contrast, talk radio has frequent liberal Democratic callers that get to bring up points and spark debate. The discourse is not always functional, but there are often good, logical arguments that actually illuminate the perspective of both sides. That doesn’t happen on the nightly news.

All of this just speaks to my general ignorance of the facts. I don’t know what’s really going on in Washington, Iraq, or Guantanimo Bay. I rely on secondhand reports, many of which come from people with agendas. It’s getting hard to trust anyone bearing news, including and perhaps especially the old, established news outlets. The spin is making me dizzy. As are the reversals of position we’ve seen from Newsweek, CBS, the Sacramento Bee, retractions of stories and apologies for inaccuracy.

How trustworthy is Jim Lehrer, I wonder? And do I want the news badly enough to sit through the News Hour?