A
space lattice, in the three dimensions, is any of fourteen possible geometric
arrangements of points, at which, at the very least, the components of crystals
may form.
A
space lattice, in the realm of sorcery, is all of fourteen possible and
impossible arrangements in the geotic fields, and includes the laws of
necromancy and the location of high magnetic energy points of sacred sites.
A
space lattice, in the fourth dimension and those beyond, is the fourteen
impossible arrangements of will and thought, where the continuum is temporal
and spacial simultaneously, at which point space-time unfolds and space-folds
are beyond measurable time.
In
this lattice lie all possibilities, where not even imagination has ever been.
Watch
yourself, friend.
(Quoted from the LORE Series)
14 excerpts from the 14 stories - enjoy!
THE PILLAR FELT rough and pitted under Callie’s fingers. She knew it as
rock, although she could not see anything in the blackness. She also knew the
feel of this particular standing
stone; it was akin to a friend, a haven, a beacon in the dark. There were no
night noises, not even the resident frog to confirm where she was. She always
listened for him when she came here in summer.
She had been here before. She was not lost.
Biting the inside of her cheek to contain hysterical
sounds, Callie put her fingers to work. They were her eyes now and she could
trust them. They reached up, sensing, exploring, and, yes, there it was. The
small voice of doubt was stilled.
SEVEN YEARS AGO I was thirty-eight and considered young among those who
walked the corridors of power and felt
young and empowered, all-powerful. You may laugh, but let me tell you politics
and deals can make one old long before due time, while imparting a sense of
omnipotence.
I was also foolish, very ambitious, without scruples and
morals, and utterly selfish. I looked out for number one only. Hard lessons had
to be learned; I understand that now.
SHE LEANS ON her elbow, chin in hand, and stares out over the bay. The
sun is bright on the water and the sun worshippers are out in full force on the
narrow strip of beach, their colourful umbrellas and sunshades drawing the eye.
Bronzed bodies languish amid reddening skins. She, however,
is uninterested in people silly enough to burn to crisps in such heat; she
watches the water intently, staring through the hot silver stripes upon the
waves.
LISTEN UP.
Stop a moment for this.
There is a place I used to pass on my way home every day in
another country, another time. For whatever reason - no place to pull over, I
am not the one driving, time is of the essence - I never stopped. This place is
nothing special in the grand design of nature and yet I found myself preparing
to really look every time I
approached, and did.
Every time. I wish I followed an initial instinct to begin a
photographic record to capture the moods and seasons day by day, but … ah,
well.
SHE IS THE
silent watcher. She has no name, and is without feature and visible form. Her
task is to watch and to know.
Why?
The simple answer is that someone has to. We require a
witness, always. This is the nature of sentience.
SHADOWS SHUTTER LEAF behind frond until sight is hallucination. A forest in
sunlight during a windstorm deludes the senses. What should be ordinary leaps
into something else entirely.
Scarlet is not fooled. Sharp blue eyes pierce the veils of
shadow and light. Hearing is impaired in the sliding, grating, rustling dryness
of a forest in movement, but sight never fails her. And neither does taste.
THERE IS A
small glade in a forgotten forest and in its centre there is a tree so ancient
it no longer resembles a tree. Where this is, is unimportant. For this is not
about place; it is not even about time. It is about worship, and it is also
about remembering.
A long, long time ago, a lone wolf, starving and desperate,
slaughtered an innocent boy out walking the countryside. The boy was loved well
by his parents and they planted a tree in the place where his blood was
spilled, a memorial to stand the test of time.
“BACK IN VALARIS’ beginning, once it became a habitable world, there was no
sentient life. The humans of today did not evolve here; they came from faraway
worlds, much the same as happened elsewhere. One starship came and saw it was
good, and then there was another and another, a familiar tale. This was, and
is, a paradise world and the humans who settled were happy, but, being human,
being sentient, they were selfish also - another familiar tale - and denied
entry to other races.
“Now, around the time that selfish mind-set began to take
root, a space warp materialised in the heavens above, which made it impossible
to travel the stars again, the same warp still in position today. It also, of
course, denied entry to other settlers, and permanently put an end to other
races interfering with the humans already here. Thus, without any great effort,
the humans got their wish, and the Valarians were born as a people apart.
MIRRORS MAKE ME.
And mirrors break me.
Shards of shiny glass, reflection pond, polished metal,
ornately framed, it is of no import.
As you read this and I play the role of storyteller, a new
looking glass rises from the mercury I wade through. I have not seen one like
it before and momentarily its existence stumps me. Only momentarily, for a
mirror is a mirror and here, now, another lesson awaits.
HERE WAS A
man who had just lost the woman he loved and he was now either suicidal or
hyper aggressive. This man was a king, although uncrowned. This man was a
sorcerer, although unwilling in the talent. This man was of another race,
although he passed for human with his fair hair and grey eyes.
This man sought distraction. Now.
He went to Lax, that underbelly world of crime and
corruption, and the one who nominated himself as this man’s personal guard
accompanied him. The companion appeared less human, for his eyes were tawny.
HALLOWEEN.
All Hallows Eve.
Some call it a pagan festival. Others know it as an evil
feast. Time and technology has not yet forced it into the recesses of memory
and myth. Some see it as a carnival of fun. Others regard it as the worst
manipulation humankind has confronted, and continues to face. Relegate it to
the past, bury it in layers of legend and let us be done, they say … and are
ignored.
This is the greatest night of all dark nights for the dead.
WHEN HUMANKIND tore through the fabric of space they came in vast numbers
on ships the size of cities.
This was a one way journey, for they left behind a planet
ruined by war, pollution and over-population. Perhaps those abandoned would
discover the courage to find solutions for Earth’s varied problems, but those
that left travelled too far to make their way back. The ships were indefinitely
self-sustaining, but man needed solid ground beneath his feet and a friendly
sun on his face. His mission always was to find a land to plant and root and
grow and prosper and conquer.
MERRY HEFTED the rucksack by jerking at the shoulder straps. The weight
pulled at her neck muscles and she swore under her breath.
A whack on her upper arm nearly paralysed that side of her
body from head to toe. She glared at the woman a step behind her, to see the
offensive cane complete its downward arc.
“Ladies do not cuss, Merry.”
IT SMELLS OF
INK and
parchment, and ancient dust. The corners furl inward as if once someone rubbed it
repeatedly between a sweaty thumb and forefinger. I know this, because I have
the same habit.
Look over there at my
shelf, pull that book to you and note the thumbed edges. I know, wrong of me,
so sue me. Of course, mine isn’t always clean sweat; probably a few jam rubs,
possible biscuit crumbs …
Sigh, I am off subject.
A latticework creates a mesmerising
pattern, to please the eye and draw the onlooker closer. Emotional lattices connect
strands to amplify the human experience; our melancholy, our mistakes, and our
residual power.
Fourteen lattices by a diverse author makes
Latticework an occult treat, worthy of fans who dip into the disturbing and
diabolical. This collection of soulful tales embodies the macabre and the
metaphysical, with insights so serrated it cuts to the marrow.
Fallen from the Sky
Confession
African Moon
Stop!
Sentinels
Fox Tale
Awareness
Well of Crystal Sound
The Mighty Mirror
Gordon Grey
Feast Night
Repeating History
The Hole
Quill
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