It is with great pleasure, that I announce the first Installment of When Destiny Comes Calling of 2015 and the tenth since our little serial “short-ish” story began. If you feel a little refresher course is in order, or you haven’t heard of a “serial short-ish story” or you have no clue who Destiny is and why she came calling, I suggest you travel here before proceeding to read the rest of the post. It’s been a terribly long time since I’ve sat down to discuss military strategies from the days of Corporal Sackinajaw Pickering with Alexander or bandied snobbish looks with Destiny or traded witty words with Fate, so I was terribly excited when I realized it was high time the next installment appeared. I hope you enjoy it, my dear friends, as much as I did. And don’t forget to leave a comment with your vote for the beginning of the next installment!

One corner of Destiny’s mouth tweaked up into that mysterious, knowing sort of smile that Alexander thought better befitted portraits and statues than living persons, and she spread her arms wide. “You summoned, Doomsday? I am here. What say you, wizard?”

The wizard stood stock-still for a moment, then flung back his arms and unleashed his stentorian voice. “Wizard Doomsday fears no man, woman, or child. Fear means nothing in the face of the terror that draws nigh. You would all do well to listen and be warned.”

A ribbon of smoke trailed from his wide sleeves and coiled about him on the ground in the shape of an enormous snake. Gasps of fear and awe rippled through the crowd, but Fate simply snorted—a most unlady-like sound—and clucked her tongue.

“Con-wizard Doomsday he means. There is a difference.”

“The end is coming!” Doomsday’s voice filled the entire room.

The smoke billowed and grew until the wizard could no longer be seen. Then came a blinding flash, a bang, something remarkably like the creak of a lever, and the room erupted in screams in terror. With a sweep of his arm, Alexander shoved Fate behind him and grasped for the hilt of his sword. But the maddening woman seized his arm and kept him from drawing.

“Unhand me, ma’am! I am trying to protect you.” He tried in vain to shake her off, but her grip only tightened.

“Settle down. There’s no need to panic.” With her free hand, she patted the back of his head, as one would a child. Or a dog. “Gracious me, you are a bit of a rabbit, aren’t you?”

“I say!” He bit back his indignation at what seemed a very unfair assessment, given the fact that he had just tried to shield her with his own body. Gradually, his vision cleared, and through the dissipating smoke, he saw that the room was empty—the audience must have run off—and Destiny stood alone on the stage. His mouth dropped open, and his hand fell from his sword hilt. “By General Harkenbreaker’s unbreakable lance, the man really is a wizard!”

Destiny fixed him with a disapproving stare. “Foolish tricks that fool only fools. Care to take a closer look?” She stamped her foot on a knot in the stage floor, and there was another flash of smoke, a bang, and a creak, and suddenly she was gone too.

Only this time, a square opening remained in the floor. By then, Alexander had deciphered her comment enough to realize that she had insulted him. Again. And he was pained to admit that he deserved it. Of course it was a trapdoor. Con-artists and charlatans, that’s all these wizards ever were, if his father, Baron Midsig, were to be believed. He felt remarkably foolish … and it wasn’t a feeling he much enjoyed.

“Go ahead.” Fate nodded toward the stage. “She’s waiting for you … and she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Moving in a bit of a daze—honestly, had he been doing anything else since this whole senseless adventure began?—Alexander marched up on stage and lowered himself into through the opening. He landed hard, knees jammed up into his chest. Gasping for breath, he picked himself up and found that he was in the oddest sort of underground wizard’s lair one could imagine. One corner possessed all of the usual things one might expect—bulbous cauldrons, dusty books, spider webs—honestly, why the spider webs?—and a collection of staffs of various sizes, shapes, and woods.

It looked dark and deliciously dangerous. Alexander started at the thought. Since when had he been the sort to court danger? Other than his oft imagined but far off hopes for a future in the military. But had he mentioned those were distant dreams? Very distant? The rest of the room, however, could only be described as remarkably comfortable … and homey. A cushiony couch, complete with a hoard of pillows and thick throw blankets sat invitingly before a fireplace. Destiny sat at a kitchen table clad in red checkered cloth with a vase overflowing with blue flowers in the middle. In fact, everywhere he looked, Alexander saw vases of flowers and potted plants and little gardening spades.

“Have a seat, won’t you?” Destiny flicked a graceful hand at the chair beside her. Alexander stumbled over and plopped into the seat. Only then did he see Wizard Doomsday…

Select your favorite option below and vote in the comments, then stop by next time to see how the winning vote changed the course of the story!

Option 1: The man was standing, peaked hat in hand, narrow face clean shaven, enormous beard and wad of tangled black hair clenched in one hand. He looked so completely different, that Alexander almost didn’t recognize him, but there was no mistaking the glum look on his voice or the doleful voice that filled the underground room. “Have you come to end Wizard Doomsday?” He looked so terribly sad that Alexander couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

But Destiny simply steepled her fingers and smiled sweetly over the top of her perfectly kept nails. It was the sort of smile a spider might give a fly. “Yes, I have.”

Option 2: The wizard stood with his hands clasped in front of him, brows knotted, and an expression of terrible woe upon his face. “I see, madam, that Wizard Doomsday has met his match at last. By what dark magic have you uncovered my secrets?”

Destiny smiled, and once again, Alexander was struck by the terrible coldness of that smile. “If I revealed my secrets with the same carelessness that you do yours, you might have reason to fear the ending of the world you so enjoy proclaiming.” Alexander was still working out that little puzzle, when she swung lightly across the table and perched on the edge, swords appearing magically in her hands. “Now”—another smile—“let us begin. Who are you working for?”

Option 3: The wizard bustled over to the table with a tray full of tea things. He set it down with a thump in front of Destiny and the mismatched cups all rattled in their saucers. “Do help yourselves. The cream’s gone sour and the ants have been in the sugar. But what can one expect when the world is ending?”

Destiny poured a cup and took a dainty sip. “It isn’t the world that’s in danger of ending, only our fine Empire, now that poor Emperor Caldwell V is dead and his son, as you well know, passed on earlier this year, leaving only the grandson to take the Imperial Seat.”

“A babe to take the Imperial Seat?” Doomsday looked as though he was about to launch into another fit of woe is me cries, but Destiny cut him off.

“Only, as Fate would have it, little Emperor Caldwell VI has been kidnapped.”

A cunning gleam appeared in the wizard’s eye. “I see, and you have come to petition my inestimable help in finding and recovering the poor babe.” “Not quite.”

The power went out rather suddenly last night, so I penned this installment hunched over my laptop in the dark, with my cat purring in my lap and thunder rumbling outside. Given the circumstances, I renounce all blame for whatever wild, maniacal ramblings ensued. That said, a drumroll if you please … Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to present to you—only a trifle late—the next installment of When Destiny Comes Calling. And no, I do not intend to inform you which character or which setting won the vote last time. To discover that, my friends, you must read the next installment. I know … cruel, heartless me.

Smoke stung Alexander’s eyes and burned the back of his throat. He coughed—politely—into a woefully mud stained handkerchief and allowed the tavern door of the Plucky Lass by-the-Sea to swing shut behind him. Over Destiny’s shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a dingy, lamp-lit interior crowded with soldiers, sailors, and tradesmen grouped around tables or hunched over steaming pots of ale. At the far side of the room, a short, apple-cheeked girl bounced from table to table whisking away empty mugs and replacing them from a tray of full ones that she carried high over her head. The Plucky Lass herself, it seemed.

Destiny waded through the crowd toward the girl—and it seemed almost as if the crowd, tables, and chairs, anything that stood in her way shifted to clear a path. Alexander started to follow, but a word from Fate stopped him. He watched as the girl greeted Destiny with an ear-to-ear grin and a bob—did they know each other?—then motioned to an archway behind her. Curiosity had nearly gotten the best of him when Destiny turned and beckoned him forward. He strode into the crowd, and instantly had to dodge his way around a pair of massive sailors with fists the sides of his cannonballs, duck beneath the elbow of a soldier, and swing wide around a game of dice that had clearly gotten out of hand.

He was breathless, the blood roaring in his ears, when at last he stood beside Destiny … and she took off again, headed toward the archway the girl had indicated. Fate immediately followed, and Alexander—after much jaw grinding—gave in. What in the name of Corporal Sackinajaw Pickering was a high class woman like Destiny doing in a place like this? He caught his hand fondling his dueling pistols and sought solace in the protection both they and the three feet of cold steel belted to his side offered. And as the ogre had discovered, Destiny was not helpless when it came to a fight with her magically vanishing blades. But what of Fate?

Destiny halted just beneath the archway, and Alexander stumbled to a stop to keep from crashing into her. As it was, his boots knocked the backs of her heels and she shot him a glare. The room beyond was crowded with bodies and stank of salt and sweat and … sulphur. A low monotonous voice droned on and on, broken now and then by clapping, shouting, whistling, and hissing. Beside him, Fate stood with the baby Emperor tucked beneath her cloak, concealed from prying eyes.

Alexander leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Are you armed?”

“What?”

“Are … you … armed?” His harsh whisper earned another piercing glare from Destiny.

Fate’s brow took on the pinched look of disgust that it seemed forever furrowed Destiny’s forehead. “With a razor wit, my dear boy, and it is enough.”

There was a pop and a flash of light, and a man burst through the crowd with the ends of his hair aflame, face and clothes blackened with soot. Mouth stretched in a wordless cry, he pushed past Destiny and took off through the tavern. Raucous laughter chased him.

Alexander gulped a breath of air. “That wasn’t our … was it?”

But before Destiny could reply, a deep voice rang through the crowded room. “Doom! Doom is upon us. The omens speak clear. Peril and woe and the end of the world lurk upon the threshold in fiery waves. Yea, destiny knocketh at the door … and fate follows after!”

“That,” Fate said, “would be him.”

Alexander turned to Destiny, but she was gone. Vanished just like her mysterious swords. Then her voice came from the front of the room, and he discovered that if he stood on tip-toe and strained … just … so … he could see her standing on a sort of stage beside a large figure cloaked in midnight blue with a peaked hat so tall and a black beard so thick, one could make out very little else of him.

One corner of Destiny’s mouth tweaked up into that mysterious, knowing sort of smile that Alexander thought better befitted portraits and statues than living persons, and she spread her arms wide. “You summoned, Doomsday? I am here. What say you, wizard?”

How does Doomsday respond? Select your favorite option below and vote in the comments, then stop by next time to see how the winning vote changed the course of the story!

Option 1: The wizard stood stock-still for a moment, then flung back his arms and unleashed his stentorian voice. “Wizard Doomsday fears no man, woman, or child. Fear means nothing in the face of the terror that draws nigh. You would all do well to listen and be warned.”

A ribbon of smoke trailed from his wide sleeves and coiled about him on the ground in the shape of an enormous snake. Gasps of fear and awe rippled through the crowd, but Fate simply snorted—a most unlady-like sound—and clucked her tongue.

“Con-wizard Doomsday he means. There is a difference.”

Option 2: “Destiny …” The wizard’s voice cracked and he raised both hands to his peaked hat and lifted it from his head, revealing a wild, bird’s nest of black hair. His sorrowful tone and manner would have put any funeral-goer to shame. “Then the end is come. Just as I predicted.”

She nodded, brisk, business like. “Indeed. For once, it would appear, your predictions were correct.”

“For once?” Doomsday snapped up straighter than a sword and plopped his hat back on his head. “I’ll have you know that I am considered the best wizard in the entire land.” His voice fell again and assumed the mind-numbing cadence of a turtle in mourning. “Wretched, ungrateful world. You know what they say, you’re never truly missed until you’re gone.”

“Appreciated is the word I think you’re looking for. Of course you’re not missed until you’re gone. It wouldn’t make sense otherwise.”

Doomsday nodded. “Indeed. Never missed. Never appreciated. Never loved. Until it is too late.”

Option 3: At her voice, the wizard’s head shot up, and Alexander caught a glimpse of his eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of the enormous peaked hat. “No!” Doomsday gestured wildly and smoke belched from the wide sleeves of his robe. “No. Get back, foul creature of darkness! You shan’t take me!” He snapped both hands toward the floor, and there came a flash and a pop, then Alexander found himself blinking at Destiny alone on the stage. The wizard was gone.

Neither rain nor high tide struck in force to oppose the posting of this next installment… but the internet did go out. If you’re reading this, then it came back on at some point. Hooray! My apologies if it didn’t come on until late in the day. First let me say that I absolutely loved all of the responses y’all dreamed up for Alexander, and I want to thank everyone who submitted an option! Unfortunately, I can’t use all of them, for obvious reasons. So the votes have come in and been tallied, and we do have a winner. From Krissy Aleman!

Die in his place. Weren’t there plenty of other Beaufords who could do the job: third cousins twice removed, and such? And besides, it wasn’t a guarantee that he would have to die. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” he muttered.

Read on to see how the response she wrote plays into the story. It’s good, folks. Quite good. And if you’ve just stumbled across this blog and haven’t the faintest clue what I’m talking about, or if you simply need to catch up on past installments, you can do so here: When Destiny Comes Calling.

Die in his place.

Weren’t there plenty of other Beaufords who could do the job: third cousins twice removed, and such? And besides, it wasn’t a guarantee that he would have to die.

“Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” he muttered.

Miss Destiny arched a skeptical eyebrow at him—that woman could communicate textbooks with her eyebrows alone. “I am relieved you think so. I rather expected a different response.”

No need to ask what she had expected. Her pursed lips and up-tilted nose made it quite clear. Alexander fairly cringed at the disgust in her tone. For someone who routinely dished out ogre-sized doses of sarcasm, she seemed woefully oblivious when on the receiving end. Still, he wasn’t one to argue when the mistake was in his favor. Though the fact that it was a mistake set him to shuffling his feet. Her words struck a nerve, and he ducked his head to hide his burning cheeks. What hope had he of succeeding in a military career when everyone assumed that he would respond to expected danger with complaints, excuses, and cowardice?

No, Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III was a man of honor and dignity, of an ancient and proud (albeit once treasonous) lineage. He was not a trembling wretch who must be coerced into action. If heroism was his destiny, and death his fate, then by Gilbert St. Vincent (of the legendary Mounted Chevaliers), he would face it with head held high, shoulders back, and a trusty pistol in both hands.

“Dearie me.” Fate clucked her tongue at Alexander as she rocked the baby emperor. “What is that expression on your face? One would think you had just eaten sour apples.”

His shoulders slumped. “I’m looking heroic.”

Miss Destiny sniffed and tossed her dark head. “Yes, you do that. A little practice won’t go amiss. Meanwhile, it’s time we were on the road. Our enemies cannot be far behind.”

“What road?” Alexander swung his pistols to encompass the swamp. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“It may not be the King’s Highway, but there is a road, and we’ll strike it soon. I merely led us on a little shortcut.”

“Oh well, in that ca—” Alexander broke off as Miss Destiny took a step closer, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“And no, this is not the middle of nowhere. Trust me. I’ve been there. It’s much worse.” She spun with the precision of a military turn and glided away, heeled shoes barely sinking into the muck.

Alexander grunted. “Is she always like that?”

To his surprise, Fate answered. “No, she’s usually much harder. It’s most troubling.” Hugging the bundled baby Emperor Caldwell VI to her chest, she started after Destiny, calling back over her shoulder, “I think she likes you.”

The words froze Alexander in place. He fumbled for a reply, while his brain screamed panicked words that thankfully didn’t make it to his lips. Every instinct told him to run away. But he just stood there. Helpless as the dead ogre. It was merely a jest, he reassured himself. An ill-favored jest. Fate didn’t—couldn’t—honestly intend for him to take is seriously.

“Do try to keep up!” Destiny’s voice broke through the haze of his thoughts and propelled him into a stumbling walk. “We are on rather a tight schedule, and we do have someone highly important to meet.”

Meet. Someone. Right. Alexander bolted after Destiny and Fate, crashing through the swamp underbrush and sinking up to his knees in mud as he tried to catch up. “So, this someone … are they a friend or a foe?”

“That depends.” Destiny sounded completely unconcerned—a fact which by now only made Alexander more nervous.

Where is Destiny leading them? And who are they going to meet? Vote for your preferred choice of setting and new character.

Setting Option 1: An abandoned mine shaft

Setting Option 2: A wharfside tavern

Setting Option 3: An overgrown hut on the far side of the swamp

Character Option 1: A third sister, as of yet unnamed. One who is neither very fond of—nor very beloved by—Destiny and Fate. (Taken from a brilliant suggestion from Allison Ruvidich!)

Character Option 2: A cannibalistic giant king, who lost his family and his eye to Emperor Caldwell V in battle. Character Option 3: A down on his luck con-wizard who is prone to making dismal predictions. He can scarce speak a word with predicting the end of the world or some other disaster. His name—wait for it—Doomsday.

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Remember, we have moved to a bi-weekly schedule with When Destiny Comes Calling so I can keep up with my other deadlines and get published copies of my books into y’all’s hands soon. But be sure to stop by this next Friday because I have something very fun planned while y’all are waiting on the next installment! Y’all are going to love it.