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Three hundred or so persons from various places and times on Earth arrive on Castle, and they must begin life anew or die.

Though there are numerous prequels and pages of explanation in my manuscript that occur before this, Hwijje and Travisher and First Incursion were examples of prequel chapters and I am currently working to make the explanations suitable for posting, this is where the series begins. Marcy, chapters 1-6, was posted out of order, early, in order to provide some story first, so that the explanations make sense, even though it would be done the other way around in printed format.

Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.

The story starts in the year 568 after the Fell Year and these 10,000 words or so are not essential reading to enjoy, if you so do, the story. However, much is clearer if you have read them, for they explain what the Folk know of themselves, and to some extent how they think. They also explain some of their history and the structure of the castle they know as the Keep and their nearby settlements. If the language is difficult you have my sympathies, but I’m not going to change it.

I have provided explanations of word usage at the end and will continue to do so as long as I keep posting. If I get that far I shall post the more technical appendices later, things such as the linguistic conventions that govern the language (and the irregular forms), the calendar, tables of sunrise etc., and if I can work out how to do it the maps and schematics for the Keep too. If you don’t like it, and it is a matter of taste, all I can suggest is that you read something else. However, constructive criticism and suggestions are welcome. I may ignore them, but naytheless they are welcome.

Silvermane had reported her pregnancy late and Elgal had celebrated his virility at impregnating his new and very beautiful mare of the once so proud Magellsi clan immediately. He was blissfully unaware Silvermane had chosen to give herself to him because she’d considered, due to his arrogance and stupidity, he was the stallion most likely to be duped regarding her foal should it prove to be a colt.

I’m really scratching my head to remember the details on this one. It was another life, another time, and I was reminded of it by something someone said the other day. It’s not that I’d rather forget, it’s just the details have been blurred by the passage of time. Let’s start with now and then cast back.

I’m Victoria Garcia, and I’m sixty-seven, a grandmother many times over and still married to Jesus. I’m Scottish whilst Jesus as you may have guessed is Spanish. We adopted and reared six children because I’m trans. Though me being trans has only a small bearing on what I am going to tell you about. I transitioned and had SRS somewhere in my early thirties I think. I’m not going to look it up because this story happened when I was I think sixteen in 1969 long before then and it’s besides the point.

“There are no stories that old, Father!”

“Indeed not many, Naomi, but there are some. Most are not told often, for many are incomplete, some just fragments, and often they disagree with each other. One of the most popular girls’ names for centuries has been Scowla, so would you like to hear of Our Lady of Niok and how Saint Scowla was visited by her with the passion in front of thousands and viewed by millions?”

The idea of having a job and working with more girls who would ignore me and more boys who would hit me terrified me. I was depressed and thinking about ending it all because the idea of possibly another sixty years like the last twenty was too much.

I’m having the surgery next month but there will be traces of it left and there are of course implications if he wants a family.

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Marcy has started to dress as a girl in public, but was worried her interest in fishing would affect her gender consultant’s belief she is a girl. However, her consultant proved supportive and to Marcy’s surprise said she is interested in steam trains, and she and her husband went on a steam train enthusiasts course on their honeymoon.

Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.

Concerning ℕ, ℤ, ℚ, ℝ and ℂ.

The doctor said I had ambi-something genitals. I found out later it meant, not fully girl or fully boy. Later still I found out it just meant uncertain, which I think was just a fancy way of saying they didn’t know what they were talking about.

My brother David said, “There is no way Caro is a boy. No boy would be seen dead in her clothes.”
My sister Alice added, “There’re more than a few girls, including me, who wouldn’t either.”

“You saying you believe in ghosts, Geoff?”

“You saying you’ve got the balls to tell Karen she’s delusional, Alf?”

“No, I see what you’re saying. Ellen scares me badly enough. Your missus is…, nah you carry on, Geoff.”

Gladys was smiling at Alf’s strategic withdrawal.

I could see Belle’s breasts underneath what I was about to learn was her shift, and I hesitantly asked, “Is there any way we can make me look more like a girl, you know?” I pointed to her breasts.

Belle blushed but said, “Good idea. My breasts will shew through my shift anyway, but if you put my bra on with your socks in it and then my dress that will do it.” I mentally gave Belle her due she was no shrinking violet, once committed to a plan she followed through on it immediately.

There are too many raptors. They’re dominating the landscape.

She was half your age and putting it out!

It was Gran who noticed one of the beef stores was a heifer. “You know I never bought me no heifer, Jenny. I’ve never raised a heifer. A young store costs a bit more, but is as easy to raise, and makes more meat and sells for more money than a heifer. I’ve always paid a bit more out to bring a lot more in three years later.”

This is how it goes. You say, “I’m a writer.” Then they say, “Really‽” You can hear the interrobang in their voice, the compounded question and exclamation marks that say, “An alien, Eh? I never met an alien before!” Which is an example of their reality. Just for God’s sake whatever you do don’t tell them you’re trans too. The shock will kill them, and you’ll be charged with manslaughter. Society has really got it in for trans aliens at the moment. They’re the new gingers.

One definition of justice is the administration of law according to prescribed and accepted principles. Which means it varies according to who is doing the prescribing and who is doing the accepting, and as all should be aware it changes from one place to another.

Another is that which is handed down by a judge, magistrate or other person or body socially recognised as authorised to so do. Which of means such a person or body can not hand down injustice for that is a contradiction in terms.

I don’t give a stuff what folk think about me. I’ve heard it all, butch, dyke, tranny, sissy, queer, faggot, weirdo, paedo and a lot more names I can’t be bothered to recall, many of which are mutually exclusive. I’ve never tried to defend myself against it because it’s pointless. You can’t reason with a bigot.

There were a couple of hundred brassières in every style and fashion from the last seventy-odd years, including ones with cups that couldn’t possibly have reached as high as the nipples which I thought were like what my sisters called quarter cup bras, but Mum told me they were referred to as décolleté brassières in their day, and Granny had worn them with some of her evening gowns.

The other day I just happened to remark the sky seemed lower than usual. What I ask you was so funny about that that he had to get a whisky to recover?

How could I be kissed by a boy if I avoided them all the time?