I bring you another new story. It was a little bonus I happened to stir up while making the main-course meal. Please enjoy.

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Scriptures for the Mountains
Chapter One: The New-fangled and the Old-tangled

Great Mother…I am your child…who grows like a leaf. Ever changing…ever moving…ever the same. My people –your children– we are the greenish garden of your womb; growing from your very soul that prospers us.

We are hallowed with smiling shapes. We are heedful of your blessings, Mother. Our souls have sprung from your love.

My brothers and sisters are all-encompassing in their sacred ignorance…they see life as the Sun's eyes; opening and closing their tales of life. I have but one wish, and that is to make me a knowing spirit, Mother. Let me form something with beautiful meaning, and to break the thorns that hold other worlds…like the white monsters my people speak of…I want my spirit to be a gift unto all people. Do not shut the white monsters out, dear Mother. Bring them into your heart…on this glorious Earth that lies like a frozen bottom beneath us.

You are telling me to save him, Mother, I can hear your many whispers...and for Earth, I will keep his blood in his good cup.

I will save his blood.

England, 1607

"Get your men on your shoulders, Captain Atem. They are both your blessings and your burdens now."

"Colonel, these men weigh me no trouble. They are my companions, and their company, to my tall liking, is blessing enough without the haggle of bittersweet."

"…Fools in uniform, that's all I see, and your constant run to their defense is starting to tarnish that uniform of yours that your father wore. He fought for his country, and here you are; his own son, combating for what? A couple of fools who just happen to know how to perform a proper salute." The Colonel carried out the salute on cue, chuckling and shaking his head afterwards. "Golly, your old man would sure be proud of you right now if his eyes and ears were still toiling." Atem's eyes lolled brusquely at the man's sardonic tongue, but his intentions did not jest mockingly at his old friend, who, in truth, was in a father's position to him. Common jokes were always in attendance between the two companions, and their comical remarks were never old hats.

"Well, if their salutations are apt, then Colonel, the uniform fits, doesn't it? Surely a fool would confuse a salutation for a dismissal; perhaps approach respect with the improper hand, hmm? The elucidations are endless." The elder man let a laugh play in his throat.

"Now you hold that tongue of y'urs, Atem," he said, moving his eyes to the ocean from the dock, "a fact universally accredited is that all men are fools and are subject to the stipulations of foolishness; scholars and crowned heads do not own their own category, and you know that as well as I do. So stop boundin' yourself so personally to my remarks at your silly little friends. Graveness is a virtue, but everyone plays a fool, even you and me."

The Captain managed a speck of tittering, before flicking his eyes reiterating upward. "Alright then, Colonel, since your point is so finely sharpened, what application do you wish to surrender unto me?"

The Colonel complemented his beard with a mindful scrubbing of his fingers. "You keep your eyes open lad, that's all I request."

Atem fiddled rebelliously with his sou'wester to ally the approved, and attempted a considerate smile for his friend's concern, but its assembling delivered with blemishes. The Colonel shook his head with knowledge in his growing epoch, and walked leisurely towards the Captain.

"Atem…see your face?" He grabbed the fine curves on the young man's countenance and kneaded them like clay. His eyes smiled for him. "Ah, look at that face; handsome and…" he thought for a moment, "and one for both the gentlewomen to build castles in the air with and England's house where the portraits are painted with the finest dipping." The young Captain stared timidly into the elderly man's eyes; truth was embossed into them, but the thick clout he received upon his cheek belied it all.

"Colonel! Why…what lunacy abbreviates your rationality?" The Captain answered his throbbing cheek, and employed his hand as a personal pacifier for the pain. His livid calls radiated no recoil from the Colonel's body; many years of battle had hard-boiled his apprehension from the veins of mortar balls.

"Colonel…I-"

"Let your face wear a sprite's true mask; you don't know what's over those waves. And don't you go thinking that you do, just because your father did. His blood ran a much different course than yours…" he noted the wrinkle the Captain's eye had shown and his tone softened to an acknowledging one. "You have his name, his inheritance, and his honor. Don't go adding gratuitous trivia to the list."

The Colonel watched the young man's movement to rub his now tender cheek. He sighed with a belly's effort. "Look, my boy, just don't go picking the prettiest little flower that you see; it isn't from here. It might as well be poisonous, right? You're but a child, Atem, and you're my responsibility. Let's make both of our tasks elementary, all right? You have your orders," he nodded with brisk solitaire, "stick to them. For the King and Queen of this estate, for our country, for our honor…we don't want any trouble, understood?"

"Yes, Colonel Sir." A nod ensued from the elder man.

"Fine, now let me see your sprite's mask."

The young Captain stared at his sentinel with vacillation contacting his eyes for moments long-lived, before nodding with a sprite's visage, while placing his fedora upon his head. His salutation was one of respect and quick in gesture. The Colonel's face kissed satisfaction.

"Peace, Atem, and may God and his majesty be with you." Atem leaned forward, and the Colonel fingered the outline of the Cross upon his head. "Amen."

"Amen."

Virginia, 1607

The sky held on to vigilance, but with heavier lids and darkened features. Its last yawn would sheath the Earth to hours of the night; the moon free from reformatory.

And with the sun's absence, the circle of comrades, who made curses to the night, found their energy forever in a waver; a tug of war that sleep always championed.

"Oh, woe is me!" Sleep had not taken place on the blonde fellow, despite the score. There was still youth in his frame and so the night would have to do its merrymaking a bit overdue. "Sun, oh sun, wherefore art thou, sun? Deny thy moon and refuse thy sleep. Or, if that wilt not, be but sworn by wakefulness, and I'll no longer be a grouch." This brought forth several healthy laughs from the redone lines the blonde and negligent man mockingly recited with a laugh of his own.

"Good one, Joey. You'll have to remember that one for the rainier season," the man, who in friendship with the blonde, spoke; Tristan, his name was. Several other nods of agreement simultaneously second the notion. "It's always funnier the second time."

"Yeah, maybe you'll be witty and declaim the full sonnet upon the next time." Duke, the duke of charm, interjected. His companionship was linked to both previous friends.

Others were still winding down their laughter to catch breath, again; all but one and he was very much scarred. The white-haired man, who stood on an age of late adolescence, stood to proclaim his displeasure.

"Good man, I plead that you do not dare taunt William Shakespeare! His reputation lies at the very tip of his tongue, and his inker does him much justice when put to dissertation." His voice was firm. "Why, you could call it his power, and still claim accuracy." His words laid a sheet of silence upon the crafted vessel, but his glare was aimed at the blonde one, Joey.

"I'm not tauntin' your mistress, Bakura. Keep your slacks on." The men on the vessel guffawed, while Bakura took on a face with a lowered jaw.

"My mistress!" The roses in Bakura's cheeks had gained hot blood and he laid his hand upon his chest, as if he had been wounded. "Oh, Joseph, I do beseech that you address his name under the proper sex."

Joey shared his moment of flummox with his fellow people and they with he, before arriving at a response he sought to be appropriate. "But he has children, doesn't he? It's a fib to say that he's a virgin." And again, laughter had won the ship. Unfortunately, it only bloated Bakura cheeks.

"Stop abusing Mr. Shakespeare with your words, Joseph!"
"Stop callin' me dat name, Bakura!" Joey shouted. "It'd be Joey, if ya don't mind!"
"Your name, I mind not," Bakura retorted, "but your tongue could burst some of its blisters, if you don't mind!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, but I don't believe I've seen a crown on top of your head, now have I? So don't be goin' 'round here with that British temper of yurs, calling out orders unless you be his majesty!"
"Let us count our blessings then that you are not!"
"And what's dat suppose to mean?"
"Simple. Your stupidity could impel a stupid man to sense!"
"A slippery tongue you have. Is Shakespeare writing love letters to you to make you say that?"
"Jos-eph, that cuts it!"

With that, the two friends tumbled down and about the ship in a violent dance. Faces were pulled, shoes were stripped; necks were robbed of his own air. Punches and kicks were thrown from both sides, as an extent to a play. Some men groaned. Some men hooted wildly. Duke sat there, his dark bangs shaking with him.

"Oh no, not this boat ride again." His friend, Tristan, simply found the fight a bore now.

"Do their pointless arguments never age?" Neglects of the heads were seen as an answer.

"I demand his name be respected!" Bakura exclaimed, pulling on Joey's hair, who laughed mockingly. He said no words, but bit his thumb at Bakura.
"Oh, you have no respect for the arts, Joey!"
"Of course I do! I look in the mirror ever'day, don't I?"

They continued to exchange blows, and did not notice a broad and most solemn figure enter and stand before them. His crimson eyes glazed over them with monotony, and an exasperated sigh elicited from him, before he spoke his words.

"I do believe the night has swallowed enough of these follies, and it is not even past its median hitherto, what a shame," a voice of masculinity uttered disappointedly. The whole ship turned silent once more; even Joey and Bakura ceased their argument and gave each other his respected room.

"Hiya, Cap'in!" Joey exclaimed, hurtling over towards his best friend. The Captain appeared to find the sights more interesting in the opposing direction, and looked that way. "I was jus' having a loud discussion wit' Bakura over there. He believes that old Shakespeare is of the male species." Clasping his arm over the Captain's shoulder, Joey whispered into his ear: "But I think Shakespeare is really putting on English chinos, and loosening his attire. You know, from behind the curtains. What do you think, Yami?" The Captain stared at the blonde with tediousness, and brushed his hand off from his garment.

"I think that you need to come up with a new theory, Joey." This time, Tristan's voice was heard.

"Better yet, come up with a new brain."
"Watch it, Tristan," came the blonde's immediate and annoyed reply, and the Captain joined in on the laughter with the rest of his crew.

His boots clacked the keys of the ship's deck. His fists were steadfast and clenched tight under the pits of his arms. The night was dead; no sounds were instrumentally employed. The Captain came upon the attic of the liner and he moved to face the sails. His eyes were varnished; his uniform did not suit a better man of equal sway. With a sigh, the Captain spoke to an audience of one:

"What am I to do? There is a land that we are ignorant to…so how can I supply intelligence on a voyage with which is my first?" He bit his lip, and removed his gloves, dipping them throughout his hair. "Perhaps I should resign from this position…"

"Why?" Upon this voice, the Captain retreated from his thoughts, and faced the voice. "You just started tasting 'life out at sea'."

"Joey?"

"Was'up, Yami? Hm?" Joey's eyes found the doubtful Yami's. "Hey, uh…what's eatin' ya?" The blonde companion stepped up to Yami and watched the waves with him. Yami was silent for a moment, before speaking of his troubles.

"This land will be new and foreign to us, Joey," his thumb cooperated with the white gloves while he spoke, "appointing me as Captain was not a wise decision on his majesty's part, especially when our task will be difficult to carry out." Joey spurted with laughter.

"Difficult? Yami, what's so knotty about finding this, uh, 'Northwest Passage' that the King and his court talked about, to Asia? I can do that." Yami's eyes matched Joey's, but his expression was one of anxiety. A fragile look touched Joey's features and he searched for better words, while nudging his friend's shoulder for the beginnings of a softer approach. "C'mon, pal. It's like folding a napkin; it'll be easy, 'specially for you."

"I'm not quite certain-"

"Look: the king chose you, Yami, to lead this trip." Joey interrupted, his tone like one of a reprimanding parent. "He expects you to follow in your father's footsteps or somethin' like that, right? So that means scribbling something exciting down in your logbook every day, walking around a little island until you find this route and then bam! –we'll be settin' sail home, singing 'Loch Lomond'. Or I can cook up another one of my famous recitals, disclaimed: Othello's speech to Desdemona, if you will?"

"But, then, what about gold?" Atem started, disregarding his friend's plain conclusion. "Bullion resources –we were sent for the unearthing of that, too, if you are in acquaintance with the terms and the expectations of this voyage." He paused for a moment. Joey fell silent with words. The processing of Atem's words were making cracks into what served as the beginnings of realization. Atem went on with restiveness. "We were originally sent to find a route, yes, but that is only the focal point of this expedition. His majesty wishes intelligence, also, Joey; information. How do you suppose we go about that? With a recitation of Othello's speech to Desdemona or the singing of 'Loch Lomond' –or perhaps you have another proposition up your sleeve? To ease the, uh, 'knottiness' of this situation."

"Whoa, easy pal, I was just saying-"

"And I'm just saying that this undertaking will blunder repugnantly." Atem said, his voice dense. "And what about this new assignment: initiating these joint stock companies when we reach land? How do you suppose I transact this duty without knowing the information or topography of the land? And what if there are strangers in this…new world we are traveling to? What then do I do?"

Joey's face had met with minutes of silence, even after his friend's umbrage over the mission's headlines had ended; though, it was to be understood, his agitation, his apprehension. The stipulations of the journey were set high, and to have Atem out at sea with tasks as those for his first voyage –well, the sun was not going to hesitate to set upon him. Joey scratched his head for a solution, but he found that the journey's main mission was not so closely tied with the rest of the conditions. So, resolutions were only radius-workable at the moment.

"Gee, I guess I never really thought of it that way, pal." Joey said, dejectedly. "I can see your point now, and I'm glad I'm not in the position to weigh those duties, because then this mission would really bea big mess." He smiled with a relieving laugh. Atem looked at him, his contempt in the remark displayed with defeated features. With a sigh, the young Captain turned from the oceanic view, and walked over to the small set of ascending stairs, finding lackadaisical favor in the very first step. His arms were asleep across his chest. His eyes were looking for something meaningless to the situation; something to divert his concern away from the matters at hand. He pursed his lips to a thin line to inhale, before exhaling. He slowly shook his head. There were birds flying directly overhead.

Joey sighed at his own stupidity and sat in the space next to Atem. Silence followed. The quiet was one of awkward peace; quiet, but not reasonably resolved for it. Joey risked a long glance at Atem, before speaking.

"Look pal, I'm sorry. I tend to be that idiot that can't see matters and things any more than I can eat those tasty pies." He shrugged at his own confession. "I don't know; maybe my brain wasn't built for much thinking. I just do things, you know Atem? It just makes my life a whole lot easier. Like jumping into a pool of water. Sometimes you just can't stick your left toe in to check the temperature to make sure it's okay. Well that's my point. Sometimes you just gotta jump in, even if you don't know how things'll turn out...And that's what I'm telling you for this one, pal. Maybe you don't know anything about this new place. So why not just jump in to see what you can find out before worrying about everything else? Maybe you won' find anything at all, I don't know, but at least it'll buy you some time to sort things out."

Yami's face was unfocused while in thought, and his bangs kept him mobile. After some consideration, the Captain's eyes glowed with hope. The baritone in his voice reached buoyancy as he turned to his greatest friend.

"Do you really believe that will work, Joey?" The chocolate-eyed man laughed that laugh of his while poising his hands behind his head.

"Of course. I guess that's how it works for me, and I just don't realize it. And look, if you stumble along the way, Captain Newport will be here to help you." Joey stood, and Atem looked up at him with confusion when he held out his hand. "And so will we, especially me pal. That, you can count on." Atem's smile stretched to graditude upon those true words. That was Joey: as blind as the leader was, but still ready to jump in head first, and all for a friend. Perhaps his words were what gave Atem the incentive to take his hand as he stood.

"Thank you, Joey."

A tinge of light began to make its way inward. Yami and Joey looked up into the sky. Joey groaned.

"Morning, already?" Joey said. "Well, goodnight Yami." He began to make his way back down the stairs to the lower level, when a heard of uniformed men made their way upward; bombarding the blonde man with a yell and topple.

"Hey, watch it!" Joey said, rising to his feet again.

"Captain Atem," one stout soldier informed with a saluted hand, "we have reached land. We shall be arriving at the surface curtly." The residue of men bent quickly and saluted concomitantly before Yami.

The young Captain nodded in approval, staring at the leader. "Thank you, soldier. You may take your exit, now." His eyes ran over the rest. "All of you." With a returning salute, the Captain dismissed each and every one of them. The soldiers turned sharply, and progressed back down the stairs. Before the leader disappeared, the crimson-eyed Captain called him back.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Alert the men. I want them assembled before me by the hour of nine, understood?"
"Lucid, Captain."
"Good. Now go, and report the rest of the men to their duties."
"Yes, sir!" He saluted.

The soldier's pace quickened, and he was gone in an instant. Joey made a face after him, forged a salute; puffed up his belly and filled his lungs with air: "'Yes, sir, Captain, sir! I understand, because we follow your orders, sir, and know no other words but 'yes, sir', sir, because we have no lives, sir!'" Yami laughed anon, and pursued his bangs in the opposite direction. "They kill me wit' that, Yami, I tell ya. Sheesh."

Yami's feet pushed forward and stopped at the railing of the ship. His sigh was a long and much needed one. Joey was beside him instantly. The waves cheered encouragement to Atem, and Joey watched the tides with him.

"You're going to do great, pal, don'tcha worry." Joey said, pressing his hand into Yami's back. "England's gonna treat you just like they treated your father, you'll see."

Yami and Joey faced each other fully, and their smirks rose in tandem. Yami's nod was a firm one, and his gnome face was on instantaneously.

The sun rose excitedly; brightly awaiting the expedition on land. The Captain's hands steadied the cap upon his head, and he poised himself staunchly. His eyes were proud and his face was severe with strength of mind.

Joey gave his friend two reassuring pats on the back. Before turning to descend the stairs to the bottom, Joey circled back towards his friend. "Yami?"

Yami had came from his moment of ambiguity to respond. "Yes, Joey?"

"Remember what I told you," Joey said as he performed a virtual dive, "jump in head first. You'll be just fine." Yami kept his goblin on and nodded.

After Joey had gone, Yami's face had lost its sprite.

And his left hand found comfort clutching his rapier, just as a little boy clutches his father's hand.

I know; this story is not 'The Curtsy of A Killer'. I was going to have that one up today, as planned, but the file got damaged. It is a good thing I have it written down as an edited draft, or otherwise my day would not be a slice of apple pie. But…at least, I presented something, right? I am sorry! I promise to have it up soon, readers, I promise! Blame my computer; it's his fault for being only two-hundred and ninety-nine dollars! (Boohoo!)