Exceptional Measured For an Execution? THE TRINING Book Three : Mystery Visitor & the Timid Tailor by Jay Squires

IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU BEGIN THE CHAPTER.            You’ll note the character list in the Author Notes.            This is a different kind of character list. The main attributes of the character in question are all in caps. Below it, in lower case, is a little of the history of the character along with important interrelationships. I would urge anyone who hasn’t been a follower of The Trining from the beginning, to scan over the full history to get a feeling for what the present chapter grew from. It might be a good review for even the seasoned Trining reader.            One final thing: because Author Notes would not let me use apostrophes or quote marks without getting weird symols, I had to use convoluted sentence structure. Please don't tell me it sounds funny. It just hurts my feelings.                         The Final Paragraphs of Cha. 23:              “Unless it was magic, doctor?”            He appeared, or pretended, not to hear me. “I was going to apply more unguent and re-bandage and hope after another week with no infection—well ...” He looked at me with a kind of helpless expression.            “So, where’re the bandages and the unguent?”           The coloring on his cheeks went beyond pink to crimson. “Sir ... You don’t understand. You probably can’t see it, but there’s no wound to bandage. There’s not even a scar. The area’s not even pink.”            “But that’s impossible!” I said, feigning confusion. “Nothing can heal that fast. Can it, doctor?”            “Well ...”            “Un—less.” I drew it out into two syllables. “Magic could speed up the process a little, couldn’t it?”            He stood up straight. “The important thing is, general,” he said in a stiffly formal manner, and then, adjusting his demeanor, changed to a smiling, jaunty tone, “You are completely healed.”            I smiled at him.            “And there is someone who’s been quite anxious to visit with you.”            When he said this, the vision of my Axtilla so possessed my mind that the rest of his words seemed to come from another world.            “I shall let him know you are recovered.”   BOOK III Chapter 24      The doctor left hours ago.   While I waited for the promised visitor, I kept my eyes closed, studying the sounds of my environment, locating directionally the occasional pop and sizzle of the torches, hearing the slide of the sheet over my knee and thigh when I lifted one leg and laid it atop the other, the difference in the sound and direction of the air going into and out of my nostrils.   The cumulative effects of the last five days had taken their toll on my rootedness. Deep down, I felt disengaged, rudderless and adrift, at the mercy of shifting winds and change of current on my inner life. Most was probably the physical aftereffects of the narcotic. Time would take care of that. My headache still lingered. The doctor enjoyed telling me that would pass.   On the outside, things seemed just a little out-of sync, blurred, but not visually. All of my senses were out of balance. I felt like I’d lost my edge.   I needed to be in top form for my encounter with Glnot Rhuether.   The moment the doctor left, I sat up in bed and surveyed the room. I figured it made good sense to get my visual bearings first. The only door in the room was in the wall to my right, at the rear, where the back wall joined it. About two-thirds the distance between my bed and the back wall, a small, plain-looking round table sat, with three chairs pushed in. That was the only furniture. Highly glossed black tile covered the floor. There were no carpets. Six sconces angled out of each wall. The torches were lit in all but the back wall, leaving much of the rear in shadow, including the table.   Now and again, I closed my eyes briefly, and tested myself on the nuances of what I remembered seeing. How far did the shadow extend beyond the table? Was it shifting, or more constant? Then I opened my eyes to check.   Of the sconces that held the torches on the wall to my right, what was the patterning of the leather? I considered the torches themselves. Angled out about thirty degrees from the wall, the six of them about three feet apart, threw off a lot of light. I kept my eyes closed in concentration. In addition to hearing the torches, and being aware of a yellowing flicker through my eyelids, could I actually distinguish their warmth on my face?   I was still focusing on this when the door clicked and opened. I directed my attention to that, but felt no urgency to open my eyes yet.   The door closed, but there were no immediate footsteps. I doubted the doctor would return again, but if he did I could single him out without looking. I had noted when he left the last time, his footsteps had a distinctive tap and then a shuffle produced by his left foot, which he tended to slide a few inches before it lifted.   I waited, listening acutely. Might he still be standing just inside the closed door?   Just then, a chair scraped behind me. The room had something of an echo, owing to the lack of furniture or floor covering to absorb the sound, so I should have heard the footsteps to the table.   “Are you awake?” The timbre was pitched deeper than the doctor’s voice.   After a moment, I said, “I am.”   “The tailor will bring in your cleaned uniform and undergarments shortly. At that time he will take measurements for more suitable clothing.”   He paused at that point as though waiting for me to respond. But so far he hadn’t asked a question, and I had no certainty of his identity.   “I shall return ... shortly ... thereafter.”   After a full half-minute of silence, curiosity bested my prudence. “For what reason?” The voice came now from the door. “I need no reason.”   The door opened. I reached the count of seven before it closed.   #   This time, there was a soft rapping on the door. I turned to it. “Yes?”   “General Doctrex? May I come in, sir?” His voice seemed as soft as the sound his knuckles made on the door.   “Yes.” The door opened enough for a head and one shoulder to poke through as cautiously as a ground squirrel who risks only the tip of its twitching nose from the hole before exposing his eyes, ears and the rest of his body to who knows what dangers.   “Come in,” I said.   He sidled the rest of his thin frame through the door, which he then closed, and stood facing me, acting not quite sure what he should do. He held a wrapped bundle under his right arm. Even from this distance, and his being in shadow, I recognized a crisply pressed white uniform, one piece, the legs of which extended down to the tops of his highly polished shoes. The uniform was belted around the waist, the buckle perfectly placed in the middle. He wore his insignia of rank—a yellow cloth measuring tape— hanging around his neck, equidistant on either side to mid shin. Suddenly, he bent from the waist so far the tape ends fell to two piles on the floor   After an awkward several seconds in that posture, he craned his neck to peer at me through a fallen shock of hair.   “Please, please,” I urged him, “come in; come over.”   He straightened, adjusting the bundle, and then brushed back the errant strands of blond hair with his free hand. Tall, gangly, his stride was uneven, lacking confidence. I guessed he was in his mid to late twenties.   “General Doctrex, sir,” he said, his voice quavery. “If you will, sir, I have your uniform in this package, along with your boots, freshly polished.” He stopped beside the bed, brought the package out in front of him, and cast his glance around as for a place to set it. “If you have no objection, sir, once you put on your uniform, I need—I have been instructed to—to take your measurements so I can make you other clothing to wear.”   “You’re the tailor?”   “Yes, sir.”   I propped myself up, then scooted back to a sitting position. “I’m sure the uniform will do nicely, thank you. You can set the package here.” I patted a space I’d cleared on the bed. He set the package down, but his expression indicated something troubled him. “You see ... I need to take your measurements, sir.” Then he laughed, suddenly, in an odd, chittering sort of way. “It will take only a few moments. I’m told I make quite handsome clothing.”   “I’m sure, but I can’t imagine needing anything other—”   He let out a low whistle, and his eyes darted about, just above my head, but never lighting on mine.   “I—I need to, sir.”   “But why?”   “I was instructed to measure you, sir, so I could make you some clothes.”   I smiled and kept my voice steady and low. “That’s what you said, but who instructed you?”   He brought his eyes briefly to mine, and just before they skittered away, I thought I recognized panic that was very near tears. “The Almighty—Master, himself,” he muttered, just above a whisper.   “I see.”   “Shall I step outside while you change, sir?”   I stared at him a moment longer, then smiled. “No, that shouldn’t be necessary.” I pulled the sheet away from my legs and swung them over the side of the bed. The young man retreated a few steps, averting his eyes. “If I could have you open the package for me while I get the blood flowing to my legs.”   “Certainly, sir.” He retrieved a pair of scissors from a slot on the side of his belt I hadn’t noticed before. A slot next to it contained something else, perhaps a marking device. He set to work clipping the cords that bound the package.   While he unwrapped the package, I tugged the hem of my skirt over my knees and waited for the feeling to completely return to my calves and feet. I’d never imagined a hospital skirt before, but I knew a traditional gown would have been unwieldy when the bandages covering my ribs and chest needed changing.   “Will you need some help standing, sir?” he asked, turning from the package, the trousers draped over his forearm and the folded underwear resting on the palm of his other hand, the way a tray would balance on a waiter's palm.   “No, I think I have my legs now.” I extended my feet to the floor and tested my weight on them. I plucked my underwear from his palm and he turned away from me. I pulled up my underwear and then removed the skirt over it. “Now, if I might have the uniform bottoms?” While still facing away from me, he swung his arm around with the trousers hanging over either side. I took them from his arm, put in one leg and then the other, tugged them over my hips and buttoned them. I let him know I’d finished.   He turned to face me. “Now, sir, if you don’t mind ...”   “I’ve nothing better to do, but I can’t help wondering why you couldn’t have simply taken the measurements off the uniform? You could’ve had the clothing made by now.”   “Uniforms are not tailored, sir,” he was quick to respond.   I admired this young man’s pride in his work. “Let’s do it then. Do I need the shirt on?”   He told me the measurement would be better with it off, and then blushed crimson when I asked him if I’d slipped on my trousers too quickly.   Not wanting to interrupt his concentration, I didn’t speak while he stretched the tape across the broad of my back, the length of each arm, snugged it around my waist and then my chest. After each measurement he entered some numbers in a tablet retrieved from and then replaced to his vest pocket.   “Your right arm is a third-inch shorter than your left, sir.”   “A concern?”   “Not to me, sir—not for making your clothing.”   “Well?” I smiled, letting him see an expression of confusion.   “Just a point of interest, sir.” The smile he returned was cautious, twitching briefly before his expression switched back to a more business-like demeanor. He stretched out a few inches of measuring tape like a tiny bridge between the fingers of each hand and appeared to study it intently.   “So ... just a curiosity?”   “Oh, no, sir! I would never ...” He swallowed so hard it choked him and started a fit of coughing. I reached around his shoulder and patted his back. “Are you okay?”   His cough settled down, but between labored breathing, he managed to croak out, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean anything—”   “Of course you didn’t! I knew you figured the fact would be interesting, and thought I would nod, or something, and we’d go on with the measuring. I knew—”   “I shouldn’t have, though ...”   “Well, sure you should have. I shouldn’t have gone on teasing you when I knew it made you uncomfortable.”   “No, but sir!”   “No, but nothing!—You listen to me!” I announced it firmly, but not loudly, put my hands on his shoulders and locked my eyes on his. His body trembled beneath my hands. I took a deep breath, and smiled. “You’re afraid this is going to get back to Glnot Rhuether.”   At the mention of the name, his eyes seemed to double in size and the color left his face. Without any words leaving his lips, he mouthed, “Almighty Mas—”   “Listen.  Nothing that goes on here will leave this room.  You understand?”   He brought his head down and then up one time, very slowly, not taking his eyes off me.   I pulled my hands away and stepped back, waiting for the color to return. “Do you know who I am?”   “General Doctrex, sir.”   “And do you know why I am here?”   His mouth clamped shut.   “Nothing leaves this room.” I said this gently, without smiling, making sure I didn’t blink until he spoke.   “You are a guest, sir ... of Almighty Master.”   “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”   “Sir ...” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “I am late with my measurements.” He opened his eyes, but avoided mine.   “I understand.”                      TO BE CONTINUED ...       Recognized Author Notes CHARACTER LIST [LISTED ONLY AS PRESENTED] AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She is convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (the brother of Rhuether), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. The god of Axtilla is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred Tablets of Kyre, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. Once accomplished, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams. So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and, alone, she finds her way to the palace of Rhuether. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress. DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the beginning of the book, Axtilla discovers him on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, brother of Glnot Rhuether, returned from the sea to fulfill the prophesy of Kyre, and bring about the dreaded Trining. Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an X in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He is astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor X. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex. She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy. But they get separated. Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether. Meanwhile, Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle the forces of Rhuether. Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt. GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be the destruction of Rhuether at the hands of Axtilla and the brother of Rhuether, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, (who Axtilla believes is Pondria), is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about the destruction of Rhuether. ALMIGHTY MASTER: The name by which the subjects of Glnot Rhuether refer to him. To call him by any other name would be considered disrespectful and subject to severe punishment. PALACE OF QARNOLT: The residence of Glnot Rhuether, the focus of the Kabeezan Army attack against Rhuether. It is also where Doctrex is prisoner.

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