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Showing posts from December, 2017

The Half Shaman in Space: Into the Ark Ship

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This fragment of The Half Shaman in Space is the last instalment for a while. Since references to Kosi Lionhair's story have been so constant, and it is the first book in the saga, I thought some of you would appreciate a re-posting of her adventures up to the time that she becomes the 'machine pattern'.  
The doors into the Ark Ship slide apart.
In my whole life I’ve never seen so many different greens as in that habitat. Hydroponic lettuce and algae in the water cisterns are the only two greens I've seen.
I am fascinated. I see stones the size of houses. Trees. Plants. A hill. Blue sky overhead. I draw nearer to the doorway.
A hard blow of air from the Ark Ship sweeps me off my feet.
An outcry from the three men, Mongoose the loudest, grasping hands that don’t catch me, and I am rolled over and over from the airlock.
I expect to hit the ground with an almighty thump but I don’t. Being rolled over and over changes to being twirled. As in, I gyrate spread-eagled on a cushion…

The Half Shaman in Space: The Deal

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Jeb's adventures are speeding up at this point. She makes progress with the machine pattern, aka Kosi Lionhair, and Jeb and Mongoose finally make it up the scramble nets ...

More clothes are being shed to make into ropes, and now also into nets. Those of us who cannot climb will need to be pulled up. No one will be left behind.
I see this from a distance because Mongoose and I are still under the central substructure supporting the listing Totem Reality. We are ringed by the Maremma dogs. Kosi Lionhair, the machine pattern, still inhabits the lead dog.
“We’ll have so much fun, Jeb,” the poor machine pattern says. The dog she is embedded in ignores Mongoose a half pace ahead and right of me, with my shoulder behind his.
Yes, I’m thinking the poor thing now, though she can prevent us from leaving. She can slide the inner doors of the central airlock to and fro, which would cut the knots wedged behind them with friction, dropping whoever. Fewer clothes to make into ropes would mean a mor…

The Half Shaman in Space: Totems vs Living Entities

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The narrator has been battling a health issue that needed a couple of hospital stays and numerous doctor visits, the reasons for the sometimes late and haphazardly timed posts. Life, you know, getting in the way of story. 
The machine pattern's last gasp before she frees Jeb's people? Finally an explanation for the transforming into animals disorder?
My people show what they think of his efforts by shifting their gaze to not have to look at him, to not have to meet glances with anyone. A deep silence grips them.
“See how my Maremma dogs don’t have shadows?” Kosi says.
She no longer knows anything about human emotions.
“That’s what happens when you fight on this ship and you don’t win.” She laughs. “Of course you don’t win. Why would I allow winning?”
I want to explode and punish her somehow. Mongoose changes his stance somewhat and grips my upper arm.
“I heard losing a fight on the Ark Ship just gets you turned back into food for the survivors,” she says. “What’s the fun in that? Her…

The Half Shaman in Space: What Thyal Knows

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Image derived from: https://lh3.ggpht.com/qTMMPeg2dFWDhpfoxmnHtfbk6id9KnIFXJkeBW0sWCptkDPY_Svzqe2pMI4QRBCaAw=h900
Part three of this information-loaded discussion. All important stuff to know should you wish to continue reading the serial. 
Thyal coughs a deep animal cough that is half a growl. “The Shamans on Lotor have been saving their people from their animal morphs all these years by requiring the totem study of everyone.”
“Don’t give me animal morphs,” Uncle Puma says. “I’ve just never believed in that transmogrification crap fed to us.”
I fear he speaks for most of us. It’s beginning to feel like I’m in a communal nightmare if there is such a thing.
“Easy for you to say, my friend,” Thyal says. “Your parents were highly trained Shamans,” he says about Uncle Puma’s mother and father. “You’re such a credit to your upbringing that you don’t recall your baby-flickering.”
Baby-flickering? Whatever anyone recalls of their childhood, no one is prepared to ask.
“Yet here we all are,” Limber s…