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his former superior, Pastor Worm, becoming at once the head of a large family consisting of the children of his wife and those of her first husband by his previous marriage. It was a serious responsibility to assume, both morally and financially. The parish was quite large, but his income was considerably reduced by the payment of a pension to the widow of the former pastor and the salary to an assistant. With such a drain on his income and with a large family to support, Kingo s economic circumstances must have been strained. But he was happy with his wife and proved himself a kind and conscientious stepfather to her children who, even after their maturity, maintained a close relationship with him. Kingo s happiness proved, however, to be but a brief interlude to a period of intense sorrows

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and disappointments. His wife

and disappointments. His wife died less than a year after their marriage; his father, whom he loved and revered, passed away the same year; and the conduct of his stepson, the formerly mentioned Jacob Worm, caused him Chapter Three 15 bitter trouble and humiliation. The bright prospect of this brilliant but erratic youth had quickly faded. After a number of failures, he had been forced to accept a position as rector of the small and insignificant Latin school at Slangerup, thus coming under the immediate authority of Kingo, who, as pastor, supervised the educational institutions of the parish. Worm always seems to have thought of Kingo as a former assistant to his father, and his position as an inferior to a former inferior in his own home

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therefore, bitterly wounded

therefore, bitterly wounded his pride. Seeking an outlet for his bitterness, he wrote a number of extremely abusive poems about his stepfather and circulated them among the people of the parish. This unwarranted abuse aroused the anger of Kingo and provoked him to answer in kind. The ensuing battle of vituperation and name-calling brought no honor to either side. Worm s conduct toward his superior, the man who was unselfishly caring for his minor sisters and brothers, deserves nothing but condemnation; but it is painful, nevertheless, to behold the great hymnwriter himself employing the abusive language of his worthless opponent. The times were violent, however, and Kingo possessed his share of their temper. Kingo s last act in this drama between himself and his stepson throws a somewhat softening light upon his conduct. Embittered by persistent failures, Worm continued to pour out

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more than the
more than the average force of character; too sensitive in days past; too impulsive, even yet, in this world of \ they daily mistake my words.\ Even at thirty, she has had years of trouble; has been dragged in the dust under Fortune s wheel, that others might ride aloft at her expense; earning her \ dinner of herbs\ that \ Pooh Bah\ in the plural, may have the \ stalled ox.\ But at last she rests, and summer friends would again know her, who fled at her first out-at-elbow gown; but experience is a good teacher, she will cherish only those who have cherished her in her dark days. Society also now desires her company in polite bids to its various webs, in shape of dinners and lunches, with its other numerous distractions, knowing she is in possession
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of a rather
of a rather pretentious little home, and is in a position to repay; for society is a debit and credit system. \ Once a widow always a widow\ was not the motto of Mrs. Gower, and so she would have again wed, again gone to God s altar; but the angel of death forbade, using his scythe almost as the words of the church pronounced them man and wife, and the bridal gown of the morning gave place ere the sun had set to the black robes of a second widowhood. Truly, \ Sorrow there seemeth more of thee than we can bear and live;\ yet still we live, was her cry. The death of her friend, just at the time manly counsel would have saved her little fortune from vultures, habited as Christian pew-holders! was very hard, not
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to speak of
to speak of that intense loneliness, the death of husband, wife, or betrothed, brings into one s life; one is as though struck mentally and physically blind, not knowing where to turn or whose hand to take; for until such relations are severed by death, one does not realize how one has leaned on the one in the multitude. \ But,\ she would say, \ one must harden oneself to the inevitable, to Heaven s will, if one would keep one s reason;\ and in time the sudden death of the man she had so passionately loved, was as some terrible dream. Not as she dreams away the moments now in her pretty restful library, with its rattan furniture, cushioned and trimmed in olive-green velvet; one side a library of her pet authors, with Davenport near; walls painted in
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alternate green and
alternate green and cream panels; on the light ground are lilies from nature, gathered from Ashbridge s Bay, and near the Island; nestling in their bed of green leaves an English ivy trails around the pretty Queen Anne mantel, with two tall palms, which bring content to the canary as the perfume from the blossoms on the stand give pleasure to the sleeping mistress of Holmnest. CHAPTER III. 40 Her own individuality is stamped upon its walls also, for on each alternate dark green panel is some pretty bits of painting, bric-a-brac, or motto; one reads, \ Let ilka ane gang their ain gait,\ showing her dislike to meddling in another s business; another reads, \ The greatest of these is charity;\ and over a
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bust of Shakspeare are
bust of Shakspeare are his own words, \ No profit goes where is no pleasure taken; in brief, sir, study what you most affect.\ But she dreams, and what a troubled expression. At this moment a coupe drives up a north-west avenue of our city, stops at the gate of Holmnest, when a gentleman, hurriedly springing out, saying, \ come back for me in about an hour-and-a-half, Somers,\ enters the picturesque grounds, has reached the veranda and hall door on south side of pretty Holmnest, rings, when a boy, in neat blue suit, answers. \ Is Mrs. Gower at home, Thomas?\ \ Yes, sir; in the library.\ \ Very well, you need not announce me, I know the way;\ and hastening his steps he passes through a square
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hall, done in
hall, done in the warm tints now in vogue, sunbeams coming softened through artistic panes of stained glass, showing vases on brackets filled with flowers, which would delight \ Bel Thistlethwaite,\ with a few appropriate pictures, giving life to the walls; the door of the library is ajar; he enters. \ Asleep!\ he exclaims, softly; \ with Emerson s thoughts for dreams and Tyr as watch; but what a troubled expression,\ he thinks, seating himself, evidently quite at home; a man, too, one would like to be at home with, if there be any truth in physiognomy, a handsome man, five feet eleven in height, dark hair and moustache, kindly blue eyes, amiability stamped on his face; a man who, had events shaped themselves that way, would have made an heroic self-sacrificing soldier of the Cross.
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frozen yellow stare
frozen yellow stare of hate. Even from his distance Fenton could see that rigor mortis had already set in, imparting a plasticky and only half-real quality to the remains. “Oh Jesus,” he intoned gravely. He tried to sound shocked, and above all unhappy. But in truth he felt relief, and a perverse urge to smile. Not just because the cat was dead, but because it had died so clearly of natural causes. There was nothing in the manner of its passing for which he could conceivably be blamed. It hadn’t, as he had so often feared it would, backed him into a corner and forced him to snap its spine in self-defence. It hadn’t streaked out a
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door he’d just
door he’d just opened and shot out onto the road and met a curt and graphic end under someone’s tyres while he stood there frozen on the doormat, palely holding his keys. It hadn’t set itself aflame on a hotplate left burning by him. It had simply expired, and Fenton was clean. He was gloriously clean. He realized he was still holding his bowl and spoon. Respectfully he laid 107 them down on the bench. The moment was weighty. It seemed to want him to say something more, something sombre and well-meaning and not necessar- ily true. “He seems,” he said, “to have gone peacefully.” “That’s that all you’ve got to say for yourself is it?” said Trixie.
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“Murderer,”
“Murderer,” said Tara. Now he began to catch on. He went cold. “You’re not suggesting … You’re not suggesting that I …” But there was no reasonable way to complete the sentence. What were they suggesting? That he’d poisoned it? That he’d stepped on it during the night? “You killed him!” Tara wailed, seizing a nearby piece of incense-burning equipment and flinging it at his skull. He ducked it, and snapped back to his full height. “How? What did I do?” “Exactly,” said Trixie. “Nothing, Fenton. That’s exactly what you did do, you sick fuck. You stopped feeding him, didn’t you? You stopped feeding
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him and watched
him and watched him die like a dog.” “Cat killer,” said Tara, more concisely. “Stopped feeding him?” Fenton’s mouth went dry. “What are you talking about? I never even – I never even started.” This had seemed, before he’d begun to say it, to be a pretty unimpeachable thing to say. But as he neared the end of saying it, he suddenly wasn’t so sure. Trixie looked at him through widening eyes, as though he were confessing to something unspeakable, something even blacker than what he already stood accused of. Tara emitted a fresh groan of lamentation. “Well I mean I threw him the odd scrap but …” His heart was galloping. “I mean Jesus Christ it wasn’t my job to
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feed him!” he
feed him!” he declared, trying to cut through the nonsense with a firm statement of plain fact. But again he heard his voice wobble with doubt. Sweet Lord: had it been his job? Surely not? He tried to say something more, but now his voice did something unforgivable: it seized up entirely. With a contemptible glug, it jammed in the S-bend of his throat. He swallowed hard, and tried again. “It wasn’t my cat,” he said simply. He was on solid enough ground with that statement, surely. Or maybe he wasn’t. Trixie’s eyes grew wider still. “Are you implying,” she said with infinite horror, “that it was Tara’s job?” This notion was too much for Tara. From her sitting position she pitched suddenly forward in
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the Tufted
the Tufted Duck, Arts or Arps; the Gadwall, Grey Duck or Rodge; the Pochard, Dunbird; the Shoveller, Beck or Kertlutock (Hunt); Pintail, Sea Pheasant or Cracker; Long-tailed Duck, Mealy Bird; Golden Eye, Morillon or Rattle-wing; Scaup, Grey-back, and on Breydon White-nosed Day Fowl; Scoter, Whilk; Velvet Scoter, Double Scoter (Hunt); Teal, Crick; Garganey, Summer Teal, Pied Wigeon, Cricket Teal; other names might be mentioned, and some will be found in the notes which will follow. Anas platyrhincus here mentioned is the Shoveller. It may seem strange that the abundance of Teal should in any way be attributed to the number of Decoys, but such was really the case, the quiet and shelter afforded by these extensive preserves being very favourable to the increase of all the members of the Duck family, especially to those breeding in their
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immediate neighbourhood. In
immediate neighbourhood. In the returns of the old Decoys, Teal figured largely; in the present day they form a very much smaller proportion of the spoils. the most remarkable are Anas platyrinchos [sic] a remarkably broad bild duck. And the sea phaysant holding some resemblance unto that bird [in the tayle crossed out] in some fethers in the tayle. Teale Querquedula. wherein scarce any place more abounding. the condition of the country & the very many decoys [mo struck out] especially between Norwich and the sea making this place very much to abound in wild fowle. fulicae cottae cootes[23] in very great flocks upon the broad waters. upon the appearance of a Kite or buzzard I have seen them vnite from all parts of the shoare in strange numbers when if the Kite
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stoopes neare them they
stoopes neare them they will fling up [and] spred such a flash of water up with there wings that they will endanger the Kite. & so [es struck out] keepe him of [in of struck out] agayne & agayne in open opposition. & an handsome prouision they make about their nest agaynst the same bird of praye by bending & twining the rushes & reeds so about them that they cannot stoope at their yong ones or the damme while she setteth. [23] In the present day the Coots have nothing to fear from Kites and little from Moor Buzzards; it may be that it is in consequence of this that they have discontinued the practice of twining the rushes and reeds above their nests in the manner mentioned above as being an unnecessary precaution. I have, however, in some cases
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noticed some approach
noticed some approach to this practice. The Coot, although fairly numerous on the Broads, appears to be far less so than formerly. Lubbock, in his \ Fauna of Norfolk,\ says on asking a Broadman how many Coots there were on Hickling Broad, his reply was, \ About an acre and a half,\ referring to their practice of swimming evenly at regular distances from each other without huddling together in dense masses, like wild-fowl. I am indebted to Professor Newton for the following additional note on the Coot. He says \ Turner, and after him Gesner, was puzzled as to what was the Fulica of classical writers (Virgil and others), and thought it to be some kind of Gull; but the Fulica of later authors was certainly the Coot, as shown by Gesner s figure.\ Gallinula
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but I suppose
but I suppose a war between Austria and Servia will affect Germany more or less. Only I was hoping the Powers would interfere and stop it.\ \ It seems it cannot be stopped,\ said Bloem, gloomily. \ Russia is mobilizing to assist Servia. Austria is 5 Germany s ally, and so Germany must come to her aid. Unless Russia stops her mobilization, we shall declare war against her. Our army has already been called to the colors.\ Stewart breathed a little deeper. \ But perhaps Russia will desist when she realizes her danger,\ he suggested. \ She must know she is no match for Germany.\ \ She does know it,\ Bloem agreed; \ but she also knows that she will not
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fight alone. It
fight alone. It is not against Russia we are mobilizing–it is against France.\ \ Against France?\ echoed the other. \ But surely—-\ \ Do not speak so loud, I beg of you,\ Bloem cautioned. \ What I am telling you is not yet generally known–perhaps the dreadful thing we fear will not happen, after all. But France is Russia s ally–she will be eager for war–for forty years she has been preparing for this moment.\ \ Yes,\ agreed Stewart, smiling, \ I have heard of la revanche ; I have seen the mourning wreaths on the Strassburg monument. I confess,\ he added, \ that I sympathize with France s dream of regaining her lost provinces. So do most Americans. We are a sentimental people.\
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\ I, too,
\ I, too, sympathize with that dream,\ said Bloem, quickly, \ or at least I understand it. So do many Germans. We have come to realize that the seizure of Alsace and Lorraine, however justified by history, was in effect a terrible mistake. We should have been generous in our hour of triumph–that way lay a chance of friendship with a people whose pride remained unbroken by disaster. Instead, we chose to heap insults upon a conquered foe, and we have reaped a merited reward of detestation. Ironically enough, those provinces which cost us so much have been to us a source of weakness, not of strength. We have had to fortify them, to police them, to hold them in stern repression. Even yet, they must be treated as conquered ground. You do not know–you CHAPTER
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said, “No human
said, “No human has ever apologized to me.” “So where do we go from here?” Norgrim asked. “When Sytherek told us about other humans, Kaylen nearly ran off. The only way we kept him here was to bore him into a stupor with one of Tohkay’s lessons.” “You disrespectful lump!” the lizard snapped. “I didn’t find his lesson boring,” said Kaylen. “At least I have a vague notion of where fate cast me.” Looking squarely at the dragon, he said, “My people have never harmed you. I’m willing to guess you know that, and maybe more. Help us. Please.” “Your words carry wisdom and humility,” said Symurall. “I did not expect that from a human. You are quite surprising.” “I think that was a compliment,” Norgrim quipped. “An admission of pleasant surprise,”
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the dragon declared.
the dragon declared. “I must think on matters. It will be several days before the kehklik can build their strength and reach the human encampment. I suggest that Kaylen stay here tonight, rest, and learn. In the morning, I will carry him to his kind.” “Carry?” “You’ll love it,” said Norgrim eagerly. “Quite the experience! I might just go with you. We seem to get along just fine, and I’d love to…” Kaylen interrupted with an upheld hand. “I’m no example of what most humans are like. I’ve spent my life actively looking for the unexpected and unusual. Other people might not be as open-minded.” “Weren’t you just trying to convince Symurall that people aren’t dangerous?” 22
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“I don’t know
“I don’t know what they’ll think of all this,” Kaylen replied. “We don’t have any idea who’s washed up here.” “The population appears to be random,” Symurall interjected. “I detected many different ages, clothing styles, and accents.” “You can tell all that by just flying over?” “I am a dragon,” Symurall said smugly. Kaylen leaned his back against the wall and asked the dragon, “After you deliver me, what are your plans?” “I must meet with other dragons in a few days. Matters are not simple, human. I cannot take action alone. Protocol requires consultation with other dragon-kind.” “Saving lives requires a committee meeting?” “Rash actions are at the root of why humans were destroyed,” the dragon replied. “We will be finished with our deliberations before the kehklik attack.” “I
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if he pre- ferred,
if he pre- ferred, leave a message. Hertzel got close but avoided breaking into curses. He had the vocabulary, but it just wasnPt part of his stress behavior. He didnPt like the mentality. He tended to sweat and break things instead. When it clicked in he started talking, fast and hostile. MAnswer it, Henry. ItPs Hertzel!N He knew he was there; having tried his house and had the senatorPs tight ass wife lecture him about the time. MHePs working late. Bother him there!N He knew the Henry Sanchez better than the wife. He knew he was there, and
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knew his idea
knew his idea of working late. ‘I’m sorry, honey. I won’t be home. I’m screwing my secretary.P Hertzel stayed with it. — 102 — MAnswer the phone. ItPs Hertzel and itPs urgent!N MHello.N Hertzel imagined her standing there in her panties and bra. MMay I help you?N MGet Henry on the phone.N MIPm sorry, hePs unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?N A voice like that was a real vote getter, he thought, or so the polls said. Hertzel coerced himself into absolute calm. MThis is Hertzel Markovitz.N He looked down at his desk, realized hePd run
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out of things
out of things to fling. MYou tell him whoPs calling. Tell him right now. Tell him itPs life and death.N MHePs not going to like this, Mr. Markovitz.N The voice turned very cold. MOne moment.N Hertzel figured the Henry mustPve been close to an orgasm. Her too, probably. MHertzel!N The senatorPs voice was all over HertzelPs ear. He had a way of flooding the arena with his presence, particularly when he was angry. MWhatPs the crisis, Hertzel? My secretary tells me youPve got your ass in a real knot. Why are you calling me here? At this hour. It canPt wait till morning? IPm real tied up. Got docu-
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ments to get
ments to get out.N Hertzel stayed silent on the line, letting the senator run out of complaints. MTherePs been a killing at the New Orleans job!N He heard the si- lence talking big-time to him from the senatorPs end of the line. Knowing hePd gotten the senatorPs veins bulging made Hertzel sweat a little less. He was happy when he could spread the trouble — 103 — around. And the senator thought calling him so late was a problem. Surprise, Hertzel smirked to himself. The line stayed silent for a solid minute. When the senatorPs voice did return, it came back swollen and predictable. MAnd youPre calling me at my
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office to discuss
office to discuss it. You know everything coming into this office goes on tape. Jesus!N Hertzel didnPt give a damn about the senatorPs paranoid practices. He could almost see the veins on HenryPs neck swelling as blood pulsed his stress level to new heights. Nice to have someone to share the anxiety with, he thought. MWho?N MA Lloyds man. Howie did it. DonPt worry. We got the coverage.N Hertzel presented his busi- ness-first attitude. The silence was ominous. MAre you nuts?N He heard a ruckus and the secretary started to scream. MWhatPs wrong?N He wasnPt looking for anyone to die over the news. MWhatPs going on?N
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Although there was
Although there was no answer, Hertzel heard the senatorPs voice distant from the phone. MShut up, you dumb bitch!N The senator didnPt have a meaningful relationship with compassion. MShut the fuck up!N Things quieted down and the senator was back on the line. MTherePs going to be hell to pay over this, Hertzel. You and that fuck- ing idiot you got working for you.N The senator had put the pieces together pretty quickly. MYou donPt murder a LloydsP man over insurance.N — 104 — MIt didnPt happen like that.N Before dialing the senator, Hertzel had known hePd show some stress over the situation, but hadnPt expected this. He tried to back it off a little. MThe guy pushed it.N
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curses on cows. Why
curses on cows. Why do you feel you can trust the Inquisition s reports?\ \ True, Captain.\ Dubell turned back to them. \ The Inquisitors were, of course, lying. They manufactured the evidence, or most of it. Scholars who are not even sorcerers may have items in their possession that an evil mind can misinterpret. And Urbain Grandier was a scholar. He studied the stars, as well as the body and its ills and humors. He was also very outspoken in his opinions, and involved in the printing of inflammatory pamphlets. It was for this that he came under the Inquisition s scrutiny. The incident of some hysterical nuns at the Lindre Convent was used against him and he was given the usual sentence of torture and imprisonment.\ Dubell s voice had an enthralling
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quality. It might
quality. It might have been facilitated by the growing warmth in the room or the fatigue that was catching up with Thomas, but the old sorcerer seemed to be painting a particularly vivid picture of the man Grandier had been. After a moment Dubell shook his head. \ It turned him, you might say. He escaped eventually, and began to commit many of the crimes of which they had accused him, but on a larger scale. The plague, for instance. It caused pockets of a poisonous humor to form beneath the skin, which burst when the victim was in death agony and spread the disease to anyone who stood nearby. It caused so much chaos entire cities were disrupted; the sick went untended… Only a man well versed in healing-sorcery could have devised something so terrible, and only a man
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driven mad with
driven mad with the lust for revenge could have brought himself to implement it.\ In the firelight, Dubell s face was a mask of pain. Then he sighed. \ When I heard that a man calling himself Grandier had become established in the city and was believed to be a sorcerer, I thought it best to bring the matter to Dr. Surete s attention. I only wish I d acted sooner.\ Renier had gone to the round table in the center of the room and was looking through the faded parchment and leather maps stacked there. He pulled one out and found Lindre, then thoughtfully tapped the red cross that marked the town. \ You knew Grandier very well?\ \ No. His excesses and the motivation for them were much discussed at Lodun, where there is
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great interest in the
great interest in the natural, as well as the magical, arts.\ Dubell smiled. \ And the printing of an occasional pamphlet.\ Chapter Two 20 \ We know,\ Aviler said dryly. He paced a few steps, his face severe and only half-visible in the candlelight. Aviler s late father had made his fortune in trading voyages to the East before he had settled down to take over the Ministry, and the stigma of those origins made Aviler the Younger careful to preserve the proper aristocratic disdain toward the occasional political commentary from Lodun. But the High Minister dropped the subject and only asked, \ Why does Grandier come here now?\ Dubell spread his hands. \ I don t know. But whatever his
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on the Light/Sound
on the Light/Sound Spectrum Since the “All” exists outside our universe, “It” may be perceived as the “Root of all life through time.” In fact it has been said that: “The ‘All’ is like time, but this concept should not be confused with the manifestation of time. All time is here and now, within the ‘All.’” All of life is made up of Light and Sound which, within the “All,” are all in one. In the “All,” all things are combined, then. For this reason, Odin said: “The ‘All’ can only be hinted at; ‘It’ can never be put into words. ‘It’ only expresses itself; and when it does so, the expression is . . . ‘All’ or ‘Everything.’” As quanta, Sound and Light constitute particles smaller than those making up atoms. They are units of electro-tonal energy-identity, called Partiki.
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The Sound is
The Sound is particum, and the Light is partika-together, they are Partiki, and do not become dichotomized until their manifestation in the material worlds of dualism. This is multidimensional Light-Sound consciousness, serving as the organizational and mechanical life-force of all intelligence, and its many manifestations. Since everything has its existence in the “All,” everything is of this consciousness-everything in existence possesses consciousness, regardless of how rudimentary it may be. Given its impetus from the “All,” Partiki travels from that source, to the universe, finally entering our solar system through the sun. The motion of the Partiki as it travels through the mass of its own structure, causes a “roiling,” which produces friction, magnification, and expansion. Within the highest vibratory frequencies of the universe called the spiritual planes, Sound and Light are expressed in unison, by tonal frequency. Qualified on the Sound/Light spectrum, color and
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sound always accompany
sound always accompany one another in those realms. The spiritual realms are separated from the material worlds of dualism, by a Great Abyss, often referred to as the Void. This is an area of pure Sound through which, the Partiki must pass in its movement throughout all dimensions of the universe, as it both creates and maintains it. As the Partiki passes through the Void, it is split into its component parts of Sound and Light, with Sound forming a matrix upon which, manifested creation occurs, as Light passes through it. This, in and of itself, constitutes a part of creation, which results from what we call the Higher Will. The primal manifestation of this Higher Will, are the Runic Lights of Existence. Being the first expressions of the “All,” they can be said to constitute the very fabric of existence. Collectively, they
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lend substance, structure,
lend substance, structure, and stability to the Cosmological Code. We’ll get to this code in a minute, but first allow me to explain a little more regarding the Runic Lights. Since enemies of the “All” have established a false system, my explanation must necessarily describe that one as well. The “New Age” movement is guided by those who are attempting to control the spiritual evolution of humankind. They teach of what they call the “Seven Rays,” and have even placed a so-called “Lord” or “Cohan” over each one. In actuality, these rays are only emanations of the Runic “Lights” of Existence, and there are nine of them-not seven. In addition, the descriptions of these rays/lights have been distorted to conform to a tradition dedicated to misleading those who are finding their way out of hell. First of all, there were never any entities designated
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Other translations: \\ O day full of grace, which we behold\\ by C. Doving in \\ Hymnal for Church and Home.\\ \\ The dawn from on high is on our shore\\ by S. D. Rodholm in \\ World of Song\\ . Reformation Hymnody The Danish Reformation began quietly about 1520, and culminated peacefully in the establishment of the Lutheran church as the church of the realm in 1536. The movement was not, as in some other countries, the work of a single outstanding reformer. It came rather as an almost spontaneous uprising of the people under several independent leaders, among whom men like Hans Tausen, Jorgen Sadolin, Claus Mortensen, Hans Spandemager and others merely stand out as the most prominent. And it was probably

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this very spontaneity which

this very spontaneity which invested the movement with such an irresistible force that within in a few years it was able to overthrow an establishment that had exerted a powerful influence over the country for more than seven centuries. In this accomplishment Evangelical hymnody played a prominent part. Though the Reformation gained little momentum before 1526, the Papists began as early as 1527, to preach against \\ the sacrilegious custom of roaring Danish ballads at the church service\\ . As no collection of hymns had then been published, the hymns thus used must have been circulated privately, showing the eagerness of the people to adopt the new custom. 7 The leaders of the Reformation were quick to recognize the new interest and make use of it in the furtherance of their cause.

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The first Danish

The first Danish hymnal was published at Malmø in 1528 by Hans Mortensen. It contained ten hymns and a splendid liturgy for the morning service. This small collection proved so popular that it was soon enlarged by the addition of thirty new hymns and appropriate liturgies for the various other services, that were held on the Sabbath day. Independent collections were almost simultaneously published by Hans Tausen, Arvid Petersen and others. And, as these different collections all circulated throughout the country, the result was confusing. At a meeting in Copenhagen of Evangelical leaders from all parts of the country, it was decided to revise the various collections and to combine them into one hymnal. This first common hymnal for the Danish church appeared in 1531, and served as the hymnal of the church till 1544, when it was revised and enlarged by

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sounds you hear,
sounds you hear, and in the colors you see; It’s in all the stars that might ever be. It is seen where the rain pours down; where none dare go, and where nothing is found. To perceive the “All” as an individual being with ego, personal interests and other dualistic tendencies, is to miss the point entirely. Therefore, the religious training we receive which creates our perception of God, serves as a trap because in order to transcend the illusion of the gates of hell, we must perceive the fact that our own misperception of our true nature is what keeps us trapped behind the gates. We must understand the nature of the “All”, and perceive our existence as being part and parcel of the “All”. Understanding this as our true nature, is how we perceive ourselves as being unlimited and unfettered. Only in this way, can the
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gates of hell
gates of hell fall away, and we become free to go where we please, and to be what we wish to be. Before this can happen, however, we should be aware of another aspect regarding our existence here in hell. It doesn’t do us any good to have our freedom, if we are ignorant of how our environment operates economically. For this reason, I am including a very small chapter on this subject. CHAPTER 8 THE KARMA BROKER We understand how Dominion established his kingdom on Earth, and how he keeps us trapped, but the question is, why does he continue to do it? What’s in it for him? We know that he benefits from the prayers and attention sent to him by an entire world of people – that we empower him immensely; but is that really sufficient to keep him occupied indefinitely?
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We know also,
We know also, that many intelligent species in the first two harmonic universes have joined forces with him, and are very loyal. How do they benefit from an alliance with a bi-polar narcissist such as Dominion? Since this world is, in many ways, a reflection of Dominion’s personality, propensities and psychic nature, wouldn’t it make sense that a certain amount of his business character and practices would be reflected here also? Let’s consider the practice of usury in banking and commodities. Couldn’t it be possible that we are a commodity for Dominion? Certainly, most of our psychic, mental and spiritual power is harvested through our prayers, rituals and outbursts of emotional energy. What maintains this flow of energy though, is a never-ending succession of karmic experiences. Negative karma keeps the emotional outbursts going, and our hope in deliverance from that karma, keeps the psychic, mental and spiritual power
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flowing to Dominion.
flowing to Dominion. Therefore, it would make sense that Dominion would also turn karma into a commodity. Evidence of the commodity aspect of karma dawned on me many years ago, when I was being trained on the other planes of existence as a shamanic warrior. I know that those who are in the employ of Dominion are subject to the law of karma, because they can be killed. However, I’ve also noticed that they seem to have little or no accountability for deeds done. They seem to be immortal beyond that which is standard in all other worlds beyond this one, and I’ve often wondered how it is that all those functioning under Dominion’s rule, and operating in violation of spiritual law, live as immortals without having to suffer their karma. Then, when we analyze the four kinds of karma: Past, Present, Future and Allotted, the last one stands
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son s good
son s good heart. I wonder if Arnold will recognise me, thought Mildred, sorrowfully, that night, as she sat by her window, looking out on her little strip of garden, shimmering in the moonlight. I feel so old and changed, and have grown into such quiet ways. Are there some women who are never young, I wonder? Am I one of them? Is it not strange, she continued, musingly, that such beautiful lives as Betha s are struck so suddenly out of the records of years, while I am left to take up the incompleted work she discharged so lovingly? Dear Betha! what a noble heart it was! Arnold reverenced as much as he loved her. How vain to think of replacing, even in the faintest degree; one of the sweetest women this earth ever
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saw: sweet, because
saw: sweet, because her whole life was in exact harmony with her surroundings. And there rose before Mildred s eyes a faint image that often haunted her–of a face with smiling eyes, and brown hair just touched with gold–and the small firm hand that, laid on unruly lips, could hush coming wrath, and smooth the angry knitting of baby brows. It was strange, she thought, that neither Olive nor Chrissy were like their mother. Roy s fairness and steady blue eyes were her sole relics–Roy, who was such a pretty little fellow when Mildred had seen him last. Mildred tried to trace out a puzzled thought in her head before she slept that night. A postscript in Arnold s letter, vaguely worded, but most decidedly mysterious, gave rise to a host of conjectures. I miomas

have just found
have just found out that Heriot s business must be settled long before the end of next month–when you come to us. You know him by name and repute, though not personally. I have given him your address. I think it will be better for you both to talk the matter over, and to give it your full consideration, before you start for the north. Make any arrangements you like about the child. Heriot s a good fellow, and deserves to be helped; he has been everything to us through our trouble. What could Arnold mean? Betha s chatty letters–thoroughly womanly in their gossip–had often spoken of Arnold s friend, Dr. Heriot, and of his kindness to their boys. She had described him as a man of great talents, and an undoubted acquisition to their small society. Arnold (who
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was her universal
was her universal referee) wondered that a man like Dr. Heriot should bury himself in a Westmorland valley. Some one had told them that he had given up a large West End practice. There was some mystery about him; his wife made him miserable. No one knew the rights or the wrongs of it; but they would rather believe any thing than that he was to blame. And in another letter she wrote: A pleasant evening has just been sadly interrupted. The Bishop was here and one or two others, Dr. Heriot among them; but a telegram summoning him to his wife s deathbed had just reached him. Arnold, who stood by him, says he turned as pale as death as he read it; but he only put it into his hand
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\ Of course.\
\ Of course.\ After a moment, under Thomas s close scrutiny, Braun coughed and said, \ Well, I am quite sure. I had to put gascoign powder in my eyes to see the wards around the house, and a geas, or any kind of spell, would be visible on Dr. Dubell.\ \ Very well.\ That was as good as they were going to get without taking the old scholar to Lodun to be examined by the sorcerer-philosophers there, and there was no time for that. Dubell came toward them. \ An unfortunate fire,\ he said. \ There was much to learn there.\ \ I thought you said it was dangerous to create fire out of nothing?\ Thomas asked Braun. \ It is,\ Braun protested, flustered.
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Dubell smiled. \
Dubell smiled. \ It depends on one s appreciation of danger.\ \ So much does,\ Thomas agreed. \ They ll have some questions for you at the palace.\ \ Of course. I only hope my small knowledge can aid you.\ \ We ll find Grandier,\ Gideon said, coming up beside them. Dubell s eyes were troubled. \ If he continues his mischief on such a grand scale, he will be hard to miss. He ll also be a fool, of course, but he may not see it that way.\ \ Oh, I hardly think he s a fool,\ Thomas said. Castero and Berham had gotten Gaspard mounted up behind Martin, and they began to turn their horses away from the crowded street. As
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the others went
the others went down the alley, Thomas took one last look at the burning house. So far Grandier had shown an odd combination of ruthlessness and restraint, and he was not sure which he found more daunting. The sorcerer had snatched Galen Dubell out of his home in Lodun, indiscriminately slaughtering the servants who had witnessed it. For no practical reason, since Lodun University was full of wizards and scholars of magic who had been able to divine Grandier s identity within hours of examining the scene. Yet the fire that could have been so devastating stuck to Grandier s house like pitch and refused to spread to the ready tinder of the other old buildings. As much as he might wish to, Thomas couldn t see it as a gesture of defiance. He only wondered where, in what corner of the
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crowded city, the
crowded city, the word had passed to watch for a sorcerous blaze in the night, and what to do then. Chapter Two Chapter Two 12 \ DOES THE MASK fit?\ Anton Baraselli looked up at the young woman who sat on the balcony railing, her feet swinging under her tattered red skirt. Gray eyes stared back at him from the pale features of the distorted half-mask. \ It fits. Do I have the part?\ Baraselli sat at his table on a balcony overhanging the main room of the Mummer s Mask tavern, where his acting troupe made its home. He was middle-aged, his dark hair wispy on his nearly bald head, but his plumpness and the newness of
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MAnd far
MAnd far away. El Sal- vador. Very good. Very, very good. Reminds me a little of the old days. How exactly did you pull it off?N Hertzel couldnPt help acknowledging the com- pliments to his skills, couldnPt help putting him- self in the little old manPs lap. MNo big deal, really, Mr. Estaphan. One hundred thousand if wePd towed it back here, cut it up and sold it for sal- vage. A quarter million from insurance,N he winked at everyone, Mif something should happen to it beyond our control.N A self-satisfied smile — 76 — crept across his face. MSo my people -N He
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cor- rected himself, Mour
cor- rected himself, Mour people blew it right out of the water one night. Blamed the Sandinista gueril- las.N Hertzel watched the old man chuckle, and fig- ured he was in forever. MIt was perfect.N He knew Estaphan was con- cerned about publicity, MCops nosing around a lit- tle, no big problem. It didnPt even make the papers up here.N The old manPs chuckle had faded by now. MI wanted to speak to you personally because I need to be certain we understand each other. I have many business interests, but the one I have with you is legitimate. Honest.N He paused and looked reassuringly at HertzeI. MThe trouble a couple of months ago
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in El Salvador,
in El Salvador, I will let go. I can assume you didnPt know better. But if it ever happens again, any kind of trouble for me with the authorities because of my business interests with you and the senator L and you are a dead man.N Hertzel heard the word, dead. It got his at- tention, almost. HertzelPs biggest problem was his thinking everyone else was as full of idle talk as he was. MYou see, I like to reward people relative to what they do for me.N His leggy companion leaned over for no ap- parent reason, whispered. Luis Estaphan got a look on his face like a frail but ancient child at a premature bedtime. MIPm told my time is up. Age, you know.
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Medication, constant attention
Medication, constant attention to these old bones.N — 77 — Enrico and the two giants started to scan the exit. Estaphan turned to the senator while the woman wheeled his chair from the table. MSorry I canPt stay to eat with you. You two enjoy. Any- thing you want, itPs on me.N He turned to Hertzel, his voice growing very diminutive, unobtrusive. MI want to thank you again for coming all the way up here on such short notice.N Hertzel stood up. MItPs no problem, Mister Estaphan. I had business here anyway.N He couldnPt say enough
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nice things.
nice things. MPleasure to meet you. Appreciate what you said. Count on me any time.N Luis Estaphan didnPt have to stay long. HePd met the man who had crossed him, and marked him. He disappeared behind the womanPs body as quickly as hePd arrived. The restaurant seemed to unconsciously sense relief at their exit. Hertzel flagged the waiter, while continuing to sit there like a Cheshire cat, all pumped up and purring. MWell, letPs eat, Henry.N The Cheshire cat turned into a wide grin. MGuess you were wrong, eh? ThatPs the difference between you and me. IPm a businessman, and he is too.
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I
I know what makes that old man tick. Business, good business. Smart business. He appreciated what IPd done because it made cash for him, even if it brought him a little heat.N He passed a menu across the table to his silent partner, one who was planning to get really silent if Hertzel didnPt get a little smarter. MYou, youPre a lawyer, and a good one.N He winked. MAnd a politician.N — 78 — The senator just stared at Hertzel, his face stony. MHertzel, if you fuck up again he said he was going to kill you.N He paused. MWhat about this
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“Have you known
“Have you known the dragon long?” Kaylen asked. “For many, many years, since I was young dwarf. But that’s another long tale for another time. I need to get my animals unloaded. Care to lend a hand?” Kaylen stood and stretched. He was beginning to feel the effects of the beer. They went outside, and each brought in two of the small, heavy crates. Norgrim set his cargo in front of the locked double doors, produced a ring of keys, and opened the lock. Kaylen followed him inside. “Wow,” Kaylen said quietly, mesmerized. The room was two stories tall, illuminated by large skylights. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with volumes of every shape and color. Around the edges of the room were map and scroll racks. In the center,
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three mismatched over-stuffed
three mismatched over-stuffed chairs clustered around a large low table made of dark wood. Memories of his father’s book store washed over him, colored by fond remembrance and deep regret. Books implied something fundamental to Kaylen’s soul, and here, in one room, were more books than he’d ever seen in one place. “You’ll hurt your neck gawking like that,” Norgrim said. Kaylen snapped out of his reverie, and put down the crates. Norgrim lifted one onto the table; with a small crowbar, he pulled the top off. Inside, Kaylen saw more books, wrapped in shiny cloth and packed in straw. “So the dragon guards your library?” “It’s his library, too.” Norgrim began unloading the crate. “The dragon reads?” “Certainly!” Norgrim said contemptuously. “Of course, these are all too small for
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him to work
him to work with, so I read to him. It’s part of our arrangement.” “Arrangement?” “Yes. He lets me keep my library here, and I share it with him.” 13 “This is not your personal library, Norgrim!” Tohkay had come into the room, snapping his tail like a whip. The sound echoed. Norgrim sighed, and grumbled, “I stand corrected. This library is a shared resource – though I am the person who started it.” “We all contribute,” said Tohkay. “Three of those crates came from my excavations in Roqat.” “Yes, yes, credit will be given where credit is due.” “So you aren’t the only people who come here?” Kaylen asked. “I felt like I was being
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glanced over to
glanced over to the company commander who stood rigid. He then turned toward Mr Gunn and said firmly, “Take‟em away.” Mr Gunn stood in front of us and barked out “Squad, attention! Right face!” Someone in the back of the line had never attempted a facing movement before, and he managed to fall into the cadet recruit in front of him, creating a domino effect all the way up the squad. I put my hand out and braced myself against the thick column in front of me. As at least two sergeants descended upon my clumsy classmate in the rear, Mr Gunn strode up to me shouting, “Get your filthy hand off my column, thete!” I immediately complied, but the
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tangled mess
tangled mess behind me had not yet recovered, and I fell headlong onto the gallery, twisting hard so as to miss the column. At that point, I could not have told whether I was so intent on missing it in order to avoid being hurt or to avoid getting my filthy face on it. Eventually, we were ordered into some semblance of a military formation and marched off, receiving both threatening, demeaning insults and chanted drill instruction along the way – “Swing your arms, nine to the front, six to the rear!” Our first stop was Mitchell Hall across
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the traditional thete
the traditional thete cut – a thin layer of bristle sticking up out of a bald head – from a cluster of aged barbers who seemed perpetually amused at the varied hair styles they saw entering the shop and how they stood in contrast to the satisfying uniformity created from them. When the first few of us were done, we walked over to the door, but Mr Gunn was nowhere to be seen. We waited in the hallway just outside the barber shop, not wanting to get lost but suspecting we were doing it wrong. Once we were all there, one of my classmates spoke up. “Hi. I‟m Tadd.” We
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all replied
all replied hastily with our names, though I knew that after another round of marching, the names would lose their faces and then fade away completely. “This is probably some sort of a test,” he continued, “which we‟ll inevitably fail, whatever we do.” Each of us nodded in resigned agreement. “Let‟s just line up here at parade rest against the wall and look as sharp as we can.” After a few minutes, Mr Gunn strutted back into the hallway, and we snapped to attention. He walked slowly in front of us, examining our haircuts. I believed that Tadd‟s suggestion took the wind out of
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mouth had gone
mouth had gone dry. The same motions over and over. Then time stopped. Laura’s craning neck had froze. Hypnotized, she had followed Las Moscas past the halfway point, a fact the radio announcer exclaimed. They’d advanced to the twenty-second floor. Then, suddenly, a loud gasp came from so many in the crowd. One figure was silently dropping away from the diamond—red, blue, and yellow robes fluttering to no effect. Like a released anchor, he was plummeting past every floor that Las Moscas had laboriously climbed. He fell and fell, did not cry out. Laura squinted to see this brave man, for the first time facing her and the crowd, live his last moment. She had no choice. She couldn’t
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look away, even
look away, even if she wanted to go some place and lie down and be sick. And she saw that, in multicolored silky splendor, the young man had joined his arms and hands overhead. And amazingly, pointed his toes. Those seconds of grace Laura never, ever, would get out of her mind. Laura was approaching the 205 Interchange and the memory of that fallen daredevil, oddly enough, energized her. She signaled to go right. And, abruptly, her thoughts seemed sluggish. Everything—the blue sky above, the summer light, the windshield—dimmed for Laura. Within minutes, traffic on the Banfield was stop-and-go. Officer Gus Carrola had arrived on the scene in a black Camaro with doors emblazoned OREGON STATE POLICE. On the car roof, what the troopers called Christmas
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tree lights winked
tree lights winked away. A fellow from a pickup rig, parked on the shoulder, had walked back and told Carrola he didn’t know what happened. The woman in the Tercel was driving along in the slow lane, where he was stuck two cars back, when all of a sudden tires squeal, the car shoots right and off the road. It takes out shrubbery. It hooks around. It pinballs across three lanes of freeway. It misses passing cars. It hits the freeway divider head-on. Then its rear wheels bounce up once. “Was like nobody driving that car,” the witness with the John Deere cap said. His eyes darted back to the Tercel nosed into the divider, hood buckled like a crushed pop can, a small figure inside slumped forward.
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A hundred yards
A hundred yards or so ahead, the green-and-white overhead freeway sign read, EXIT 8, 205 NORTH, SEATTLE, PORTLAND AIRPORT. Officer Carrola keyed into a dashboard-mount laptop the plate number for the Tercel across the way. His other hand held a mike. He was waiting for Emergency Dispatch to call back. Then he’d get the flares out of the trunk. He’d have in thirty years coming up in October. Retirement had to be easier than this. TALKING CABBAGE HEADS What’s my game? Here you go, a few clues: Bok choy. Carrots, tops, no tops. Radicchio. Lettuces. Hey, lettuces I got. Crispy iceberg. Chewy romaine. Spunky Bibb. Something more Continental? What do you say to an insalata mista
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