Linvin turned toward Anvar with the intent of telling him to cover his body in magic but his uncle would have never heard the words. The old elf was entirely covered by the tentacles and just entering the water. Linvin resumed his jaunt across the sand. When he finally reached his uncle, he hacked at the vines just below Anvar’s feet, but the blow was blunted by the water and caused no damage. Undeterred, Linvin grabbed hold of his uncle’s legs and lifted them out of the water with one arm. Once they were airborne, Falconfeather paid its respects with a slice that severed the connection with the beast beneath the water. There was no time to check his uncle’s condition. Linvin spun around to build momentum and threw Anvar as far from the water as could manage.

Stepping out of the surf, he began to run back toward the others and Miri. He gasped for air but did not stop. Again he was attacked along the way. This time, however, he struck low first and ran past the higher attackers.

When he reached the twins, Bander was free and he was using a dagger to cut his brother’s bonds. Normal weapons were a poor match for the thick rope-like substance but they made slow progress. Rather than cutting, Bander had to saw through each strand.

Linvin paused a moment by his cousins as he could not see Miri. He turned anxiously toward Bander and the brawny young elf told him, “She was just pulled under the water. She’s gone.”

Linvin’s eyes gleamed with red fire as he pressed forward to her last position. He was not going to lose her. It was a scenario he would not accept. With Falconfeather in hand he ran into the water.

“What are you doing?” called Bander. “Your sword won’t help underwater. She is gone. Going after her is suicide.” Linvin’s last words before he dove under the water were, “I will not sacrifice any one of you to this Monster. Five of us came to this beach and five of us will leave.” With that, he disappeared from sight.

Bander was stunned but could ill afford to waste time. There was no telling when the next attack would come. He finished freeing Rander and the two of them ran over to Anvar. First they pulled him to the far edge of the sand, near the grass, and then they set to work cutting him free. When his head was revealed, Anvar began to cough and spew lake water. Once he finally stopped he looked around. “Where’s Linvin?” he asked as he shivered from the cold water.

“He saved us,” Bander noted as he pointed at the lake. “Then he dove in after Miri.”

“He what?” Anvar said in astonishment. “That fool. How long has he been down there?”

Bander never was good with time and answered, “Well, he’s been down there since he went under the water. I am pretty sure of that.”

Anvar was frustrated by the answer and stammered to his feet. He considered going after Linvin but feared stepping on the beach again. Even if he were to brave the sand, he realized there was nothing he could do to help his nephew. He hung his head in despair.

For a time only the wind on the waves could be heard. Dead remnants of tentacles littered the sand as the elves kept a silent vigil. When even Anvar began to lose hope, the water started to glow red with the light coming from beneath its surface. Moments later, the water parted and Linvin levitated above its surface, cocooned in a bubble of Red Magic and holding the limp body of Miri in his arms. He floated over to the others and set down. Once he dispersed the bubble, Linvin gathered the staff and scabbard in his hand and immediately replaced them on his back. Meanwhile, Anvar checked on Miri.

“It was my understanding that we would be using some discretion during this journey.  Does your cape not draw unwanted attention to us?”
Linvin looked over his shoulder at his cape and conceded, “I will grant you that it is hard to ignore, but I will wear it all the same.
“Your words are not so dissimilar from those of my subordinate generals when I would wear this into battle in Valia.  They pleaded with me not to wear it because it made me stand out from the men and become a target for the enemy, but when my men were fighting for their lives, they would look up and see that cape in amongst them; their fear dissolved and they fought beyond their skill.  They knew I was there with them and that I would protect them.  Likewise, when I wore the cape, I knew they would protect me as a brother.  That made my fear dissipate as well.  So it is hard to say whether I wore it more to ease their fear or mine, but whichever the answer, I wear it now.”
“Perhaps it will bring us luck in our quest,” Anvar suggested.
“Speaking of that,” Linvin commented, “imagine the luck of the staff coming to my father, when the Red Sapphire was meant for his very own son.  Of all the people in this world, it came to him.”
“It was not luck, Linvin.  I firmly believe that everything that happens in this world has some reason.  There is a sense of purpose which drives the mundane events of your life and guides you to a conclusion.”
“Please spare me your destiny talk again, Anvar.  I do not believe in anything that predisposes your actions away from freewill.  It was my choice to go on this quest, it was not predestined.”
“You think so, do you?” asked Anvar.  “Think of the steps to get where we are now.  Your father acquired the staff.  He sent you to the perfect place to train as a general and leader of men, the very qualities needed to make best use of the Red Sapphire.  Your father died, prompting your return at the perfect time to solidify your fortune so that you need not worry about finances in your absence.   
You would never have taken up the quest if your mother had not been killed, making your departure necessary.  The assassin did not gain hold of the staff and key or kill me.  That enabled you to take up the quest.
“Do you still see no sense of purpose in all of that?  All of those events happened for a reason.   You were meant to take up the quest and find the Red Sapphire.  The fact that so many events happened so close together leads me to believe that someone else is close to finding it.  That someone is not meant to have it, you are!”
“And what would happen,” Linvin asked, “if the wrong person found the gem first?”
Anvar shook his head.  “It is hard to say, but the end could not be good.  Do you remember your father’s bedtime stories?”

A. B. Funkhauser was kind enough to stop by and answer some questions for us.

1. We have a country in common. Tell us where you are from?
I was born in Scarborough, a suburb of Toronto, but now live in Pickering, another suburb, albeit further east. Although I love to travel, Ontario is my home. Close proximity to Lake Ontario helps too. I love water.

2. Tell us your latest news?
Well, after an amazing summer outside, I kinda blew it over Labor Day Weekend by taking a tumble that put me into a cast. I broke my right foot and fractured a rib. Not bad for a day’s work! Lol. What could I do? I’ve made the most of my time on the couch hatching a new promo campaign in support of HEUER LOST AND FOUND while putting the finishing touches to my sophomore offering SCOOTER NATION. Next up, I’m scheduled to appear at a local Chapters book store with fellow Solstice Author Maighread MacKay.  That’s on October 11th followed by Bookapalooza in November. This is organized by the Writer’s Community of Durham Region to which I belong and it’s a really great event. Writers from Durham County and beyond will attend with every genre and literary form you could name.
 
3. When and why did you begin writing?
I began shortly after the death of a close friend. We were students and work colleagues together and had grown codependent. His death was unexpected and a complete shock, so I began a grief journal as a means of trying to make sense of everything. My friend and I both shared an off the wall kind of sense of humor that got us into trouble at school occasionally, so it didn’t take long for my journal to lapse into utter nonsense. It became a work of pure fiction. A writer friend told me it looked like a book and that I ought to keep going, so I did.
 
4. What inspired you to write your first book?
Thirty years of living and watching and waiting for a platform from which to launch my tropes; my ‘bones of contention.’ In no particular order they are as follows 1) nostalgia hurts more than it helps 2) kindness can be found in the oddest places 3)prying is a lousy thing 4) some questions don’t need answers 5)insular people will, sooner or later, give in to others because we are social 6)we must find and then let go of that thing we need so that we can keep it forever.
 
5. Do you have a specific writing style?
It’s not conscious; it just grew out of my interests and the music of words. I’m fond of old tymy classical Greek literature so omniscient narrators and a chorus made a lot of sense to me. Combined with modern vernacular and some gonzoid absurdities and you get pretty close to me…like an Aesop fable as told through eccentrics.
How did you come up with the title?
Heuer Lost and Found began as a much larger work—The Heuer Effect—which forms the majority portion of the third novel. In its original form, Heuer kept getting lost; the manuscript kept getting bigger and bigger and I fought constantly with side characters to hang on to him and keep him in the forefront. The idea to hive the manuscript into two separate works came from a third party who saw very clearly that this was a story of two lives lived in real time and then in memories. Once separated, the title for the new manuscript was clear. I’d lost him, then I found him.
 
6. Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
The past is a great place to visit, but don’t stay there too long.
 
7. How much of the book is based in some form of reality?
About seventy per cent, which is to say that the science references are accurate, as well as the details of day to day operations. The characters, however, are all mine!
 
8. Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
Every fiction is loosely based on a fact or observation. The funeral home, for example, is an amalgam of four separate businesses that no longer exist. The rooms I describe have been demolished and live on in memory alone. I love that I was able to preserve them in my own small way. Likewise, people. Some of my men friends believe that they are “Heuer” but they aren’t. There’s actually some of me in there… and a little Dean Martin.
 
9. What books have most influenced your life most?
Satire, poetry, biography and the  bible.
 
10. If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
Kurt Vonnegut, absolutely.
 
11. What book are you reading now?
Lawrence in Arabia by Scott Anderson. I’ve been reading history for over thirty years, and it’s only now that things are beginning make sense. For anyone interested in delving deeper into the history and politics of the mid east, this is definitely a go-to book. It makes the case beautifully that we are still heaving from the effects of the FIRST world war.

12. Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Rachael Stapleton, Marissa Campbell and David K. Bryant. Memoirs by Young Vol. 1,2,and 3, were eye popping as well. And there’s John DeBoer, Linda K. Seinkiewicz, Wren Michaels, Simone Salmon, Karen King. So many to mention.
 
13. Last words?
I’m still having a ball. This is not work for me, but a love story between my heart and my imagination. Come along if you like, but don’t forget to laugh.
 

Necromancer’s face changed to a combination of anger and

despair. “Even my best efforts have not been able to rid me of this

curse,” Necromancer continued as he hovered over the floor. “The

sicknesses he has contracted over the years did not prove fatal. The

wars he’s fought have yet to claim his life. Assassins I could have

warned him about always missed their target. Even Linvin

Grithinshield failed me. If I had been able to wait a few more

moments before checking the emperor’s body in the Valley of

Broken Soldiers, it could have been over two years ago.”

“I surely thought I had Mandrean when Grithinshield fought

him. That was my best opportunity yet. I would be free. But

Grithinshield did not finish his work. I was so close, but the child

failed me. It is hopeless, my apprentice. I am doomed to toil here

until old age takes the emperor or I wander into oblivion.”

Mordane moved closer and brought his master a drink.

“Perhaps Grithinshield could fight him again? He seems most able

and could easily defeat the emperor.”

“Do you not think I have considered that?” erupted

Necromancer. “I know how powerful Linvin is. Unfortunately, so

does Mandrean. He won’t lock horns with Grithinshield again in

person. Instead, he will continue to rely on his network of

assassins to try to eliminate the nuisance.

“Still, Grithinshield is the best chance I have. The problem is

finding a way to get him to fight Mandrean. Or perhaps I should

say, getting Mandrean to fight him. Clearly, Mandrean is the one

afraid and with good reason.”

“Well.” said Mordane. “From what you have said in the past,

Grithinshield won’t likely be leaving Sartan any time soon, and the

emperor certainly cannot go there. That would mean that

Grithinshield would have to be forced to come here again, and that

would be quite a challenge.”

There came a knock on the door. It was the imperial page again.

The terrified man was relieved to see Mordane answer the door.

He delivered his message so quickly that it was nearly

indistinguishable. “Please tell Lord Necromancer that General

Gramlick has died, and the emperor wishes to reconvene the

meeting in the throne room at once.” With that, the man turned

with all speed and ran back down the hall.

As the door closed, Necromancer’s sorrowful tone turned to

one of rejoicing. “It took time, but the creeping death enchantment

I placed on Gramlick finally overcame him. Now the emperor has

no one in his ear but me. Finally, something is going my way.”

“He still has Fendri,” Mordane noted.

“Mandrean gives no weight to his opinion. He is no threat to

my plans.”

Necromancer placed his hands behind his back and paced. He

sighed greatly and searched for an answer. Tenuous moments

passed as the two thought through scenario after scenario.

“The first thing I must do is convince Mandrean to fight Linvin

again. The problem therein is that the emperor is a coward at heart.

Mandrean would never be drawn into a battle with him again

because he knows he could not win even when he fought without

honor. His confidence must be raised. The only way to do that is

for him to possess the blue staff for his sapphire. Without it, he

cannot equal Linvin’s magic. That is the mental edge he needs for

a confrontation.”

“Would that make him too powerful?” Mordane inquired.

“Perhaps if he had the staff he would be able to beat Grithinshield.

Then we would be right back here again.”

It was at that moment that Necromancer stopped and said,

“Mandrean is more devious, but Linvin is simply brilliant. With

their magic being equal, the fight would once again come down to

the better warrior winning. If the fight is fair, Linvin will win

easily. If it is not fair, Mandrean has a reasonable chance. That is a

chance I must take. Linvin is still my best opportunity to rid

myself of my master. He could prevail only with suitable

motivation. Mandrean has many flaws, but he is vicious and

single-minded enough to be difficult to defeat. Linvin would need

to be enraged.”

At last the exhausted riders fell upon the beach and stretched out to relax near their steeds. Linvin found lying on the shrunken staff and Falconfeather to be uncomfortable and removed both from his back. He laid the staff on the ground along with the scabbard for Falconfeather. Linvin withdrew the blade to clean it against his cloak. No one spoke. They were simply too tired.

Miri was to Linvin’s right and the Greenliths were to his left with Anvar the farthest away. They’d raised their hoods on their cloaks to act as a barrier against the abrasive sand. Other than that, they laid completely flat. They were exhausted and were reluctant to even take nourishment.

After a while, the horses stopped drinking and looked around. They became restless and began to stammer back and forth. “Looks like they have had their fill,” Linvin noted. “I will take them back to the grass while you all rest here.” Stabbing Falconfeather into the sand, he marched to the water where he took the reins of the increasingly spooked animals. The horses bucked wildly as Linvin struggled to control them. One thing they did not fight him about was moving away from the water. Linvin could hardly keep up as the horses led him back inland. So focused was he on the animals he did not notice the water stirring nearby in an unnatural manner.

When they were well off the sand the beasts slowly calmed. Linvin found several bushes near a drumlin and tied the animals but gave them enough of a leash to graze as they wished. Though he expected the horses to begin eating at once, they chose instead to move as far away from the water as they could and stand with their backs to the lake. Well that has to be one of the strangest things I have ever seen, Linvin thought.

Suddenly there was screaming from the beach. Linvin turned to see a ghastly sight. Thousands of small tentacles no wider than a finger had sprung from the water and had entwined the other party members by the legs. They were winding their way up the bodies of their victims.

Linvin did not have the staff but felt instinctively he had his magical reserve on which to draw. He spread his fingers and fired dense bursts of magic at the attackers. To his absolute horror, the magic struck the tentacles and bounced harmlessly out to sea. Then he saw Anvar try his magic on the ever-tightening grip surrounding his body. His magic proved no more effective.

Linvin reached for Falconfeather only to be reminded it was standing in the sand. He raced toward his companions as the tentacles began to draw their bodies to the water. Needing to reach the others rapidly, Linvin was realizing just how deep the beach truly went inland. Running in sand was hard enough, but trying to reach his party before they were submerged was a daunting task.

Linvin called out in a firm voice. “Falconfeather. Come.” The great blade was awake even though it was lodged in the sand. It glowed with excitement and rose from the ground. With great speed it flew hilt-first into Linvin’s hand.

As a young boy, Linvin was a naive, trusting person.  That innocence was forever replaced by skepticism by his cousins.  During his visits, Linvin would be tricked, laughed at and beaten like a toy for amusement.
Growing up, though, none were as cruel as his twin cousins, Rander and Bander Greenlith.  They were slightly younger than Linvin and showed only contempt for him, laced with an equal amount of jealousy.
Though not identical, the twins were of one mind.  That mind happened to be Rander’s.  He was certainly the more intelligent of the two.  Rander was self-serving, conniving and, at times, vicious in his treatment of his older cousin.  His meek stature, even among elves, only fed his hatred of Linvin and indeed all those of grand proportion.
Bander was much the same as a book of blank pages.  There was no story or option unless someone filled it in for him.  The writer of his pages was always Rander.  It was widely joked in the family that Bander did not have a thought in his head which did not originate in Rander’s.  Bander never understood what the saying meant and therefore paid it no heed.  Rander, on the other hand, viewed it as a compliment and helped foster the saying’s proliferation.  What Bander lacked in brain, he supplemented with brawn.  Though still no match for Linvin, few Elves crossed him or Rander, by extension.
As Linvin grew bigger than they did, he tired of their verbal and physical attacks.  He decided to fight back.  Every meeting that followed ended with the three of them being pulled apart by relatives.  The brawls were rough and nasty.  By the time Linvin and his family left, both he and the twins had taken their share of bruises.
Linvin’s father would not stand for the treatment his family was getting and refused to attend any more social gatherings with the Greenliths.  The decision only served to alienate the family further.
The thought of seeing the twins again made Linvin’s heart swell with anger.  His grudge would not be dispelled quickly.