Word: Bewray

 

bewray

[ bih-rey ]

 

verb (used with object) Archaic.

1. to reveal or expose.

2. to betray.

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               There was something wrong with the staff. They looked at Sen. Adams with nervous eyes and spoke in hushed tones. He could only assume they knew something he didn’t. He knew he should ask one of them, but he did not converse with the hired help. He had people who did that for him. Besides, Sheila would know. He could always could on her for things like that.

               “Hello, sir.” Sheila said as he approached. She was there before him, like always. It was one of the many reasons she was the only person qualified to be his secretary.

               “Good morning, Sheila. Any news for me?”

               She shuffled in her seat and avoided eye contact. That was odd. She had worked for him for his entire political career, and she had never once looked nervous around him.

               “You…might want to check the news sites when you sit down, sir. It’s bad.”

               “How bad?”

               “Bad.”

               Well, if she did not want to tell him, then it could not be as bad as she seemed to want him to believe. It was probably just a few blurry photos of his more clandestine meetings. He could easily deal with those. He had dealt with worse.

               A few minutes later and he was shaking. He had not dealt with something this much worse. This was indeed catastrophic for his career. Maybe even his life. Somehow every single one of his dealings had been posted on the internet. Every receipt, every recording, every document. He was, in effect, ruined.

               He hit his intercom, calling for the only person he could trust to keep him afloat.

               “What’s the backlash?” He asked.

               “So far? Not too much.” Sheila said. “But it’s still early, and every minute more people are finding out about the leaks. My best guess is the only way out is for you to resign.”

               He groaned and rubbed his face into his hands. How could this have happened? He was careful. He never put any of his secrets online, just so this kind of thing did not happen. There was only one explanation.

               “How? How could this happen? How could I have been betrayed like this?”

               “Sir?”

               “It’s obvious, Sheila. The only way a leak of this degree could’ve been made is if there’s a traitor here. A traitor in my staff, of all places!” he let out a heavy sigh. “I just need to find out who.”

               “I’ll go through the employee roster, sir.” She said.

Sen. Adams looked at his secretary. She was calm. Very calm. Her livelihood was tied with his, how could she be so steady? He knew she was good at hiding her inner emotions, but not that good. And there were a lot of leaked documents. Documents that only two people had access to.

               “Don’t bother.” He said. “I think I know who the traitor is.”

               Now she hesitated. It was a slight thing. Most people would have overlooked her slight tell. But he knew her well enough to spot it, provided he was looking close enough.

               “Who is it, sir?” She asked.

               “You know who. You knew even before I mentioned the possibility, didn’t you?” Her silence was all the confession he need. “Why? Why did you do this to me? How could you betray me after everything we’ve been through? I thought you of all people were loyal.”

               “Sir…no, I guess I should just call you Henry now, shouldn’t I? Well, Henry, it’s because it needed to be done.” She said, facing him dead in the eye. “You needed to be stopped. If this had gone on any longer, you would’ve turned this country into a dictatorship. A fascist regime that serves only to crush your opponents. I couldn’t work for someone with goals like that anymore.”

               “That…you know why I have to do that. You know why—”

               “No, Henry. You only think that. You’re arrogance and megalomania tell you you’re the only person fit to lead. That’s the problem. You can’t even see why it’s a catastrophically bad idea.”

               Henry clenched his teeth and fists. An image of her face caved in flashed in his mind. He could do it. There was no shortage of blunt objects in the office he could use to kill the traitorous secretary. Before he could, she spoke again.

               “Just be glad I didn’t call any authorities on you. Yet. I’ll be going now. My last act as your secretary was to schedule a press conference. It’s in three hours, right outside the office. Every major news group will be there. I won’t be helping you with them. Good luck.”

               With that, she turned and left the office. He slumped back in his chair. His heart beat like a drum and he could feel a cold sweat start to form. His mind raced. He needed to come up with something, anything, to save himself and his career. And he had three hours to do it. He hunched over his desk and got to work.

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If only this sort of thing happened more often in real life. There's quite a few politicians out there who could do with a little airing out.

Word: Futtock

 

futtock

[ fuht-uhk ]

 

noun Nautical.

any of a number of timbers forming the lower, more curved portion of the frame in a wooden hull.

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               Trevor, soon to be captain, strode into the shipyard where his vessel was being built. It was not much to look at. At least, not yet. He knew it would soon be a ship unlike any other. The head shipwright, a large man named Larson, approached.

               “Ho there, Weston!” Larson called out.

               “Ho, Larson.” Trevor replied. “How comes my ship?”

               “Well enough. We’ve got the frame and keel made, and are getting to work on the futtock. Still a ways to go, but it’s getting done.” Larson took a few steps closer. “Listen, I don’t mean to pry, but may I ask where you got that wood?”

               “You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer. I hope you don’t mind the state I brought it in though.”

               “I wouldn’t say I mind. A bit odd to bring the entire tree though. Can’t say I’ve ever seen that. Especially since the roots were still attached.”

               Trevor let a small grin cross his face. “I hope you’ve been handling my requests about that.”

               “Oh, aye, we have. We’ve got the heartwood set aside for the masts and figurehead. Enough for all of it and then some. The leaves are already at the sail maker and the roots are a part of the keel. Although, I have to ask…what kind of tree was that? I’ve never seen its like. And there’s something, something off about the wood.”

               “Off? How so?”

               “Well…” Larson wrung his callused hands and his eyes darted around. “I’m not sure how to say this, but it’s…it’s like the wood is aware. Some have said it speaks to them. Not in words, but it feelings. It speaks to their deepest instincts.”

               “Come now, man, you can’t believe that, can you?”

               “Normally, I wouldn’t. But I’ve felt it myself. It’s like the wood knows what’s being done to it, and wants it done. When I work with it, I can almost feel it guiding my hand to make it the best I can. And I swear I’ve seen the planks merging when they’re set in place. You can’t tell looking at them, but I swear it on the graves of both my parents.”

               Trevor closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you think that tree was haunted.”

               “Not haunted, no. I don’t go for that. But some of my workers do. They say…” He looked around quickly before coming in closer to speak in hushed tones. “They say it’s fae touched wood.”

               Trevor barked out a laugh. “Fae touched? Your men still believe if fairy tails in this day and age?”

               “I’m starting to believe it myself. That wood is tougher than iron, and yet I can almost feel it guiding my hand so that I work with it like clay. And the sail maker? They say those leaves are just as sturdy. She tells me once she’s done with it that this ship’s sails will be sturdier than most war ship’s hulls. You can’t tell me that was a normal tree, Weston.”

               “I’m afraid I can say nothing about it, sir. Well, nothing that I haven’t told you already. Just keep working. If it helps, I’ll throw in an extra five percent onto what I’ve paid if you and your men don’t think about it.”

               Larson’s mouth contorted. He let out a huff. “Fine. I won’t give it another moment’s thought. But you should. You’ll be sailing in this ship. I’d hate for you to be cursed by whatever’s making it like it is.”

               “I wouldn’t worry about it. By the way, you said you’ve already freed the heartwood? Mind if I see it?”

               “Go right ahead.”

               Larson pointed to where the wood was being kept and prepared. It was a massive piece of wood, bigger than many trees, even in its diminished state. None of the workers were paying him much attention, so he placed a hand against the smooth surface. Then he spoke in hushed words.

               “Be careful. I think some of the workers are starting to suspect.”

               He felt the wood give a faint pulse. A voice echoed in his mind. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I need to help them if I want a proper job done. They’d never be able to use me properly otherwise.”

               “I know. But still. Caution is advised. The people here are superstitious and don’t understand the fae. If they find out the truth, they’ll likely burn you down.”

               The tree pulsed. “I see. Your warning is appreciated. I still need to help them, but I’ll think of how to do it more subtly.”

               “Thank you. I need to be off before people start to think me mad. I’ll come by every now and then though.”

               “Of course. See you see, friend.”

               Trevor nodded and walked away. He cast his eyes to the skeleton of his ship. A smile crossed his face. It really would be a ship unlike any other.

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I have a few ideas about how this got started. They aren't very well fleshed out, but I have them. Maybe someday I'll act on them. It's not too likely, but the possibility is there.

Word: Pluvial

 

pluvial

[ ploo-vee-uhl ]

adjective

1. of or relating to rain, especially much rain; rainy.

2. Geology. occurring through the action of rain.

noun

3. Geology. a rainy period formerly regarded as coeval with a glacial age, but now recognized as episodic and, in the tropics, as characteristic of interglacial ages.

***********************************

               It was raining. It was raining just like it had been for the past several days. Weeks even. Nobody quite knew why it was raining so much, just that it was constant. And it was not a steady rain either. Some thought that would be preferable to what was going on. At least then they might be able to point to a source. Some oddity of weather that caused it to rain, and would eventually pass on.

               No, in reality, the rain varied. Some days it was a light drizzle. Others it was a torrential downpour. But always, the rain fell. What made it worse was that there was no escape from it. Everywhere on Earth was raining. Even the vast deserts and tundras got more rain in a few days than in entire years prior.

               And everyone had something to say about it. Scientist said it was climate change. The excess water in the atmosphere was simply coming down. That it would pass eventually. And it may even become cyclic if current conditions persisted.

               Religious groups said it was due to god’s wrath. That the divine was punishing us for something. Of course each group thought the punishment was for a different reason, and each tried to shout theirs louder than the others. But they all said it would only end if all of humanity repeated and joined their religion, whatever that may be.

               Most people did not care though. For most people, a little rain was nothing to worry about. They still had bills to pay, and mouths to feed. The rain was just another thing they had to deal with. There were those that worried about floods, but most either dealt with the rising water levels, or moved to higher ground.

               Others chose to prepare in extreme ways. Hoarding supplies and planning bunkers. Many even started building boats of various sizes. All to deal with what they felt was the end of civilization as it had been. Some welcomed the idea of new, aquatic lifestyle, while other rallied against it. Tried to find a way to stop the constant rain.

               Regardless of people’s attitudes towards the rain, they all had to learn to live with it. They learned to deal with staying inside. With the sound of the falling rain. With no longer seeing the sun. Most experts thought that there would be an uptick in psychiatric problems soon, but few had manifested so soon. But plans were already being made to deal with the problems when they started.

               And still, people lived. They lived with the rain. They lived around it. Most people though that a little rain was no reason for life to stop completely. A little rain never hurt anyone, after all. They would keep going as they always had, rain or not. They would live with it. They would survive. And even if the rain never stopped, people would keep on living.

               They would keep on living despite the constant, ceaseless rain. 

***************************

I'm not gonna lie, I'm very tired right now. Thanks to that, this probably isn't all that good. Honestly, I'm not even sure it counts as a story, really. Maybe the rough beginning of one?  But it's what I got, so it's what I wrote.