Among the Fallen - Episode Six


In Episode Six of Among the Fallen, Ellajane Trammell reads Wendl VonTrier's mysterious book while Wendl visits the local pub.

We'll see more of Wendl in my upcoming novel, The Winged Child.


 In Episode 6 von Among the Fallen liest Ellajane Trammell Wendl VonTriers mysteriöses Buch, während Wendl die lokale Kneipe besucht.

Wir werden mehr von Wendl in meinem kommenden Roman The Winged Child sehen.



Wendl left Hemlock Cottage early next morning before Ellajane woke. She found a note on her kitchen table that her renter would not need breakfast. She poured buttermilk over left-over cornbread crumbled in a bowl, and soon as her coffee was ready, filled a cup and sat down to breakfast with Wendl’s book for company.

This time, when she opened it, she could see text, dim and wavery, seeming not quite anchored to the page but floating a hair above it. The print shifted slightly as she read, as if floating on a thin layer of water. After a while she realized she didn’t need to turn a page, the text would scroll along as she read. As an experiment she closed the book, waited a moment, then opened it again to a random page. The sentences resumed right where she’d left off. The book knew she was reading it. The book knew her mind.

“Beats Kindle,” she said to the book, who paused for a moment to verify her attention, before continuing.


While Ellajane Trammell was finishing Millicent McTeer's treatise on arboreal sentience, Wendl VonTrier explored Drovers Gap and surrounding environs seeking connections of another sort. By mid-afternoon, he finally concluded that he might be hungry after all, and stepped into a snug and shadowed extablishment behind a sign declaring it to be High Ground Suds and Java.

At mid-afternoon, most of the inhabitants of the town found it too early for suds and too late for java. Only a couple of patrons sat at the bar, nursing their untimely brews. In a far corner, on a sort of abbreviated triangular stage, a young Viking with a brilliant red beard perched on a stool, breathing heavily into his saxophone, either indulging in self-consolation or practicing for an evening gig.

Wendl let himself go dim, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed while he let the sad bluesy moaning of the instrument soak into his attention. As he listened, melancholy, outright sadness filled him up inside, dark and astringent as old wine. It wasn’t the music that turned his feeling. He caught the joy that found the musician playing it. But it saddened Wendl that this ordinary glory was so transient and fragile, that too soon, very soon, none of this would be here, that these wanting and seeking souls would be displaced to wherever souls  are exiled when the last music dies in silence.

His concentration broken, the solitary waitress suddenly realized she had a customer and timidly came over to his table, looked him in the eye and promptly forgot her spiel. Silently, she lay a menu in front of him, peered at him from under her purple hair while she considered whether to risk taking his order or simply to flee.

Wendl ordered a beanburger and a glass of retsina. She asked him to repeat his order, just to make sure she heard right.

He did and she said, “I’m not sure we have retsina,” although she was certain that her boss stocked no such thing.

Wendl said, “You did last time,” although it was his first time.

“Let me check, then,” provided her a convenient getaway line. She pretended to check in the cooler and to great astonishment found three unopened bottles.

Meekly and promptly she returned with a full glass and a few minutes later was back with the beanburger. She set the burger down as Wendl sipped his wine and looked up at her and she drowned in his gaze.

Curiosity overwhelmed professional etiquette, “Is that stuff any good? She blurted, gesturing at the glass.

“You won’t know before you try it,” murmured Wendl VonTrier.

-Continued October 27.


Henry's books.







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