Here is a list of what Jehane does not own:
Tamora Pierce
Kel
Neal
The God of Squirrels
Tortall
Yamani conditioner
THE TOUPEE
This is not a sequel to PIERCE MEETS PASSIONS. Or, rather, it IS a sequel, but it's also a prequel. Does that make sense to you? If it does, you are (a) Insane and (b) Missing the whole point of this story. Or lack thereof.
Anyone attempting either to steal any material in this story or to find a moral, point, or single grain of sense in this story will be persecuted by THE TOUPEE, the God of Transvestites, and me.
CHAPTER ONE: THE MESSAGE
Joren of Stone Mountain was having an incredibly good day. Upon his approach, thirteen pages had fled in terror, and the two who had been stupid enough to stick around had been forced to wax the Great Hall's floor with their tongues, Lord Wyldon had admitted that he, Joren, was the greatest page in the history of great pages, and finally, FINALLY King Jonathan had changed the law allowing girls to train for knighthood! Keladry of Mindelan, that foul smith armed mousy-haired transvestite, would have to leave the Royal Court!
Yep, hard to imagine a fellow's day going any better than thi-
His thoughts were interrupted as a group of cocky first-years pushed past him, sending him toppling into the mud. Scowling, he got up, brushing off his tunic, and glared at the retreating pages. They took no notice. He stomped over to the nearest water barrel and washed the mud off of his face.
All right, so the day had been a bust. None of the pages were afraid of him anymore; Lord Wyldon said he had a long way to go before he became a swordsman; and the rule for knighthood was unchanged. Catching sight of his reflection, he sighed dramatically and struck a pose. "It's all Keladry's fault," he told himself vehemently. "If it wasn't for her..." Sighing again, this time in defeat, he slumped down. "If only I could get RID of her!" His hand brushed against something hairy. Surprised, he looked down to see a brown furry something. Upon further examination it proved to be a toupee, rather scruffy and nondescript. He picked it up. Attached to the inside was a note that read, So you want to get rid of Keladry?
"Oh, do I ever," he muttered. Then he started as he realized that the words on the note were changing.
Are you sure? Because I can show you the way.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure!" Joren cried. A few feet away, Faleron stared at him for a moment, then hurried past, looking vaguely disturbed.
Here then. The note transformed, turning into a map drawn in faded black ink. Even the quality of the paper changed, to become suitably old and weathered. Words in a fluid and clear script were written near the bottom: This map, this map right here, this map in thy hand and no other, this map thou shalt follow to find the Holy Scroll, which shall tell thou how to use THE TOUPEE, which rests in thine right hand, for this map rests in thine left, and THE TOUPEE held within thine right hand shall give you great power with which thou canst defeat thine adversary, though only with proper usage of the Holy Scroll, which you may find by following the map, the map that rests in thine left hand, the map on which your destiny is written.
In very small print at the bottom ran the words Drink Pepsi, Drink Pepsi, Drink Pepsi, Drink Pepsi...
Joren squinted at the map. It seemed to lead north-east, up the River Olorun. It wasn't far, but the path he needed to take was not broken. He would have to ride through woods, brush, swamps... He grinned. Who cared! He would defeat Keladry of Mindelan, and prove forever that women were not meant to be knights. A shame that he couldn't finish off the King's Champion while he was at it, but you couldn't ask the gods- or THE TOUPEE, in this case- for everything.
He hurried into the Palace, to gather up his travelling gear and weapons.
And to fulfil his sudden craving for fizzy black liquid.
************************************************************************
Nealan of Queenscove stared in puzzlement at the squirrel dancing across his desk. Had he ordered a squirrel? He didn't think so. It was a very nice squirrel, but not one he particularly wanted right then. He waved his hand, trying to use his Gift to banish it. When that didn't work, he frowned.
"Go away, you pest of a rodent!" he commanded irritably. That was when he saw the silver claws. Apparently this was an immortal squirrel. "Are you the squirrel god?" he asked it. He hoped so- if the gods were using squirrels as vassals for their tasks, things were worse in the Divine Realms than any of the seers predicted. He was relieved when the animal nodded.
"Squeakum squeak!" the squirrel god said. It repeated the phrase several times, and with a sigh Nealan got out his Squirrelish-to-Tortallan dictionary. After a few minutes of ponderous translating, he discovered the words to mean, roughly, "Oh no! Joren has gotten a mysterious map that will lead him to the knowledge he needs to defeat Keladry once and for all! This is a catastrophe! You must inform the King at once!" The squirrel god was hopping up and down on his desk now, squeaking out his message with such desperation that Nealan took pity on the Divine rodent.
In his own way.
"I never thought I'd see the day," he sighed, "when I'd listen to a neurotic furball like you. Still, divinity's divinity, and I'd rather not face the squirrel god's wrath." He picked up the squirrel god, who ran up his arm to sit on his shoulder. Grabbing his Squirrelish-to-Tortallan dictionary- if the hairball on his shoulder had anything else to say, he didn't intend to miss it- he strode out of his room to seek an audience with the King of Tortall.
************************************************************************
King Jonathan IV of Tortall frowned, rubbing his beard intently. Anyone looking at him would think that he was pondering the squirrel god's statement. What he was actually thinking about was the new conditioner he'd been using on his facial hair. ::Now, was it worth twenty nobles a bottle?:: he thought, his frown deepening. ::I know it's Yamani conditioner, but still... I guess I'd best stick to it, for the alliance's sake at least, but am *I* getting anything? Is my beard still shiny and smooth? Is-::
"Sire?" The monarch jumped and looked at the page standing in front of him. Nealan of Queenscove looked simultaneously irritated and resigned; the Divine squirrel on his shoulder was fairly dancing with impatience. Jonathan blinked.
"Nealan, why do you have a squirrel sitting on your shoulder?"
Neal shook his head. "That's what I've been explaining for the last- never mind." He turned and yelled, "Kel! C'mere!"
Where the pages were practicing a few yards away, a young man put down his staff and came up to them. He bowed politely to Jonathan, his rather good- looking face impassive, then asked, "What is it, Neal?"
His voice was a girl's! Jonathan gasped. "You're not a boy!" he exclaimed.
The young lady muttered something under her breath that sounded very much like "Well spotted, baka." Raising her voice, she said to the King, "No, Highness, I'm not. I'm Keladry of Mindelan."
"Keladry of-" Memory struck him. With a frown, he turned to tell it off. "It's not nice to hit people," he told it. "Particularly Kings of Tortall. Now apologize!" Memory just made a face and ran off. Jonathan watched it go without surprise. Memory was like that, always appearing and disappearing without so much as a by-your-leave.
Kel and Neal, seeing the King talk to what appeared to be empty air, exchanged glances that said, Our monarch is insane. Figures, and the male page related to Kel the squirrel god's message. Jonathan listened as well, fascinated. The gods itself, finally hearing its message being told, settled down and began to eat Neal's tunic.
"Mithros!" exclaimed Jonathan once Neal had finished. "This is terrible!" He turned to Kel, whose hands were twitching in a manner that suggested she'd like nothing better than to hurt the King in a painful and bloody manner. "Keladry, you must go after him! If not, he may completely destroy me- er, I mean you."
"Why Kel?" demanded Neal, ignoring the squirrel god, who was still busy eating various parts of the page's clothing. "Why not send a hero-" Catching Kel's murderous glace, he shut up, biting his lip.
Kel bowed to King Jonathan, her face a perfect mask. "As your Majesty wishes."
"Good. Now-" Jonathan beckoned over a passing hostler. "Stefan will accompany you to catch the boy- what was his name again?"
"Joren, your Majesty."
Stefan looked startled. "Me? Yer Majesty, I-"
Jonathan scowled. "Be QUIET, Stefan."
The hostler bowed, sighing. "Aye, yer Ma-"
"QUIET!"
This time he only nodded. His face was resigned. Suddenly a stereotypically chubby, red-faced cook came hurrying up to the King. Curtseying to him, she gasped, "Majesty! Th' whole year's stock of Pepsi's gone! Clean vanished!"
Jon cocked his head. "What's Pepsi?" The cook shrugged. "Black God damn me'f I know. I prob'ly shouldn't even be tellin' y'this."
Kel's mouth went into a tight line. Her fists clenched, and her eyes glittered. "Joren," she whispered hotly. "Joren has done this. He took Pepsi- from the innocents who need it as an alternative to coffee." She turned to Stefan. "Prepare a horse for yourself," she instructed. "We must ride after Joren, and punish him for the evil he has done!"
Tamora Pierce
Kel
Neal
The God of Squirrels
Tortall
Yamani conditioner
THE TOUPEE
This is not a sequel to PIERCE MEETS PASSIONS. Or, rather, it IS a sequel, but it's also a prequel. Does that make sense to you? If it does, you are (a) Insane and (b) Missing the whole point of this story. Or lack thereof.
Anyone attempting either to steal any material in this story or to find a moral, point, or single grain of sense in this story will be persecuted by THE TOUPEE, the God of Transvestites, and me.
CHAPTER ONE: THE MESSAGE
Joren of Stone Mountain was having an incredibly good day. Upon his approach, thirteen pages had fled in terror, and the two who had been stupid enough to stick around had been forced to wax the Great Hall's floor with their tongues, Lord Wyldon had admitted that he, Joren, was the greatest page in the history of great pages, and finally, FINALLY King Jonathan had changed the law allowing girls to train for knighthood! Keladry of Mindelan, that foul smith armed mousy-haired transvestite, would have to leave the Royal Court!
Yep, hard to imagine a fellow's day going any better than thi-
His thoughts were interrupted as a group of cocky first-years pushed past him, sending him toppling into the mud. Scowling, he got up, brushing off his tunic, and glared at the retreating pages. They took no notice. He stomped over to the nearest water barrel and washed the mud off of his face.
All right, so the day had been a bust. None of the pages were afraid of him anymore; Lord Wyldon said he had a long way to go before he became a swordsman; and the rule for knighthood was unchanged. Catching sight of his reflection, he sighed dramatically and struck a pose. "It's all Keladry's fault," he told himself vehemently. "If it wasn't for her..." Sighing again, this time in defeat, he slumped down. "If only I could get RID of her!" His hand brushed against something hairy. Surprised, he looked down to see a brown furry something. Upon further examination it proved to be a toupee, rather scruffy and nondescript. He picked it up. Attached to the inside was a note that read, So you want to get rid of Keladry?
"Oh, do I ever," he muttered. Then he started as he realized that the words on the note were changing.
Are you sure? Because I can show you the way.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure!" Joren cried. A few feet away, Faleron stared at him for a moment, then hurried past, looking vaguely disturbed.
Here then. The note transformed, turning into a map drawn in faded black ink. Even the quality of the paper changed, to become suitably old and weathered. Words in a fluid and clear script were written near the bottom: This map, this map right here, this map in thy hand and no other, this map thou shalt follow to find the Holy Scroll, which shall tell thou how to use THE TOUPEE, which rests in thine right hand, for this map rests in thine left, and THE TOUPEE held within thine right hand shall give you great power with which thou canst defeat thine adversary, though only with proper usage of the Holy Scroll, which you may find by following the map, the map that rests in thine left hand, the map on which your destiny is written.
In very small print at the bottom ran the words Drink Pepsi, Drink Pepsi, Drink Pepsi, Drink Pepsi...
Joren squinted at the map. It seemed to lead north-east, up the River Olorun. It wasn't far, but the path he needed to take was not broken. He would have to ride through woods, brush, swamps... He grinned. Who cared! He would defeat Keladry of Mindelan, and prove forever that women were not meant to be knights. A shame that he couldn't finish off the King's Champion while he was at it, but you couldn't ask the gods- or THE TOUPEE, in this case- for everything.
He hurried into the Palace, to gather up his travelling gear and weapons.
And to fulfil his sudden craving for fizzy black liquid.
************************************************************************
Nealan of Queenscove stared in puzzlement at the squirrel dancing across his desk. Had he ordered a squirrel? He didn't think so. It was a very nice squirrel, but not one he particularly wanted right then. He waved his hand, trying to use his Gift to banish it. When that didn't work, he frowned.
"Go away, you pest of a rodent!" he commanded irritably. That was when he saw the silver claws. Apparently this was an immortal squirrel. "Are you the squirrel god?" he asked it. He hoped so- if the gods were using squirrels as vassals for their tasks, things were worse in the Divine Realms than any of the seers predicted. He was relieved when the animal nodded.
"Squeakum squeak!" the squirrel god said. It repeated the phrase several times, and with a sigh Nealan got out his Squirrelish-to-Tortallan dictionary. After a few minutes of ponderous translating, he discovered the words to mean, roughly, "Oh no! Joren has gotten a mysterious map that will lead him to the knowledge he needs to defeat Keladry once and for all! This is a catastrophe! You must inform the King at once!" The squirrel god was hopping up and down on his desk now, squeaking out his message with such desperation that Nealan took pity on the Divine rodent.
In his own way.
"I never thought I'd see the day," he sighed, "when I'd listen to a neurotic furball like you. Still, divinity's divinity, and I'd rather not face the squirrel god's wrath." He picked up the squirrel god, who ran up his arm to sit on his shoulder. Grabbing his Squirrelish-to-Tortallan dictionary- if the hairball on his shoulder had anything else to say, he didn't intend to miss it- he strode out of his room to seek an audience with the King of Tortall.
************************************************************************
King Jonathan IV of Tortall frowned, rubbing his beard intently. Anyone looking at him would think that he was pondering the squirrel god's statement. What he was actually thinking about was the new conditioner he'd been using on his facial hair. ::Now, was it worth twenty nobles a bottle?:: he thought, his frown deepening. ::I know it's Yamani conditioner, but still... I guess I'd best stick to it, for the alliance's sake at least, but am *I* getting anything? Is my beard still shiny and smooth? Is-::
"Sire?" The monarch jumped and looked at the page standing in front of him. Nealan of Queenscove looked simultaneously irritated and resigned; the Divine squirrel on his shoulder was fairly dancing with impatience. Jonathan blinked.
"Nealan, why do you have a squirrel sitting on your shoulder?"
Neal shook his head. "That's what I've been explaining for the last- never mind." He turned and yelled, "Kel! C'mere!"
Where the pages were practicing a few yards away, a young man put down his staff and came up to them. He bowed politely to Jonathan, his rather good- looking face impassive, then asked, "What is it, Neal?"
His voice was a girl's! Jonathan gasped. "You're not a boy!" he exclaimed.
The young lady muttered something under her breath that sounded very much like "Well spotted, baka." Raising her voice, she said to the King, "No, Highness, I'm not. I'm Keladry of Mindelan."
"Keladry of-" Memory struck him. With a frown, he turned to tell it off. "It's not nice to hit people," he told it. "Particularly Kings of Tortall. Now apologize!" Memory just made a face and ran off. Jonathan watched it go without surprise. Memory was like that, always appearing and disappearing without so much as a by-your-leave.
Kel and Neal, seeing the King talk to what appeared to be empty air, exchanged glances that said, Our monarch is insane. Figures, and the male page related to Kel the squirrel god's message. Jonathan listened as well, fascinated. The gods itself, finally hearing its message being told, settled down and began to eat Neal's tunic.
"Mithros!" exclaimed Jonathan once Neal had finished. "This is terrible!" He turned to Kel, whose hands were twitching in a manner that suggested she'd like nothing better than to hurt the King in a painful and bloody manner. "Keladry, you must go after him! If not, he may completely destroy me- er, I mean you."
"Why Kel?" demanded Neal, ignoring the squirrel god, who was still busy eating various parts of the page's clothing. "Why not send a hero-" Catching Kel's murderous glace, he shut up, biting his lip.
Kel bowed to King Jonathan, her face a perfect mask. "As your Majesty wishes."
"Good. Now-" Jonathan beckoned over a passing hostler. "Stefan will accompany you to catch the boy- what was his name again?"
"Joren, your Majesty."
Stefan looked startled. "Me? Yer Majesty, I-"
Jonathan scowled. "Be QUIET, Stefan."
The hostler bowed, sighing. "Aye, yer Ma-"
"QUIET!"
This time he only nodded. His face was resigned. Suddenly a stereotypically chubby, red-faced cook came hurrying up to the King. Curtseying to him, she gasped, "Majesty! Th' whole year's stock of Pepsi's gone! Clean vanished!"
Jon cocked his head. "What's Pepsi?" The cook shrugged. "Black God damn me'f I know. I prob'ly shouldn't even be tellin' y'this."
Kel's mouth went into a tight line. Her fists clenched, and her eyes glittered. "Joren," she whispered hotly. "Joren has done this. He took Pepsi- from the innocents who need it as an alternative to coffee." She turned to Stefan. "Prepare a horse for yourself," she instructed. "We must ride after Joren, and punish him for the evil he has done!"