Goodkind meets Hal Duncan

'OPERATION: Enhance psychic substructure. Trace Core Identity
NARRATIVE DETECTED:

"I fucking hate this place," says Richard.
"Tell me about it," Kahlan says.
Richard looks around at the Buildings of Midlands--identikit matchbox blocks built by Mudpeople with a hard-on for thatch. An extermination camp for Free Will. But it's good enough for the overspill proles, Richard supposes. No fucking wonder the people of Midlands succumbed to a power-hungry commie pederast.

Zedd plays with his cloak, weaving it between the fingers of one hand. Richard watches him. Zedd's the girl-magnet, smooth as a shark through water. Richard's the badass, black-clad bastard, stroking his sword with sullen hostility. Gratch? Gratch is the tagalong weird kid with the big ideas.

"That's what we all are, you know?" says Kahlan as she eyes a chicken with obvious suspicion. "Just another fucking number. They'll be tagging us like fucking animals next. Nipple magic. Fucking chickens, bred to be vicious, bred for the fucking army or as fodder for the Mord-Sith."

"Soldiers of the Empire," says Richard.
INFORMATION UPLOAD: Location--Schemes; Period--Book One? Two? Doesn't Matter, They're All The Same.

INTERJECT THOUGHTSTREAM.
OPERATION: Reroute digression. Specify locale.

Richard has the weirdest feeling that he's been here before, a long time ago (at least two books ago), when he was younger. He looks around at the remorseful goat, the gore-drenched gar, the chicken that is evil manifest, and---
"Check this out."
Some kind of giant statue.
Richard feels his thing rising. Reaching out, he scratches the words onto the statue's chest with his Sword of Truthiness, hears the hiss and sees his hand moving.
GIVE PEACE A CHANCE
"What the fuck does that mean?" asks Kahlan.
"I don't know. Fuck, I don't know."
Then Richard laughed. Gratch laughed. Zedd laughed. Kahlan laughed. They all laughed while Betty the Goat butted her head into Richard's stomach, looking ashamed.
ANALYSIS: Compensatory fantasies; narcissistic fixation. '

- Xray the Enforcer

The Soul of the Ink

Ten years have passed since the Evenfall when the released deusexmachimites brought down the world tearing the fabric of existence that had been inscribed in the Vellum. Ten years of horror and frustration as the survivors try to rebuild their lives in isolated havens surrounded by the roar of the Boundaries. Ten years of being trapped in this hippy redoubt, filled with aging new agers and commies in a place that it was New England before everything came apart. He should have known better than to go to a signing to a place like this, the hotel filled with life hating Brotherhood without Banners vigilantes. All of then trapped in this pocket of reality, lost in the many folds of the Vellum.

And then they came, the men of straw, nobody knows from where, they simply came and helped people, build hospitals and refugee camps and didn’t allow them to help themselves or die. Men of Straw that came here to force people to accept a New Order, and to rape.

Tairy Unkin punches his ergonomic keyboard and the screen fills with ink, ink that does not exist in this reality but that creates another reality far away, in another fold of the Vellum (of course). Being coherent and consistent has never been his forte but now it does not matter when you are living in a postmodernist novel.

Hello, mes amigos, here is your Don Max Estrella with the latest news from Notes from the Objectivist Show. He is back mes amigos, the hero of our dreams, none others than Dick Flash and he has returned with a vengeance and the Altruist minions are worried, and they should be when the free people favourite’s war wizard is back into the fray. So stay tuned mes amigos for more news, and remember, out there, there are those who want to destroy your dreams, people who have nothing better to do than to attack and belittle the works of their betters, people who do not have a life and choose death. But Dick Flash is back and your humble Don Max Estrella is no longer alone in his fight because our war wizard has started kicking jaws.

Time to do some organic damage. I jump down the airship as it explodes in a ball of burning orgone. I fall on a glass ceiling that does not resist my ego and shatters under my spring-loaded boots. They will have to bill the damage to someone but not me, I’m the hero and I’m beyond paperwork. Into the bookstore I fall and I don’t mind it a bit. I’ve always loved books, nothing better to start the fires of your liberal revolution, do not get me wrong. Waving my Ayn Rand chi gun I spray around not minding who I hit, I’m in the science fiction and fantasy section and I can well assume that everybody in sight is an enemy. Bingo, the place is plenty of Redshirts, KGB men, and disguised New Dealers and they are as surprised to see me here as I am to see that they are armed only with their hatred for moral clarity. These commies are disappointing. My Ayn Rand chi gun of Truth discharges the sexual energy of my rage I can feel my chakras surging with it refilling it, my thing is rising. Oh this is good.

It’s over too soon. The minions of evil are death and in this case I’ve made the choice for them, sorry I was in a hurry and couldn’t wait fellas. I know that this is the point when I meet Kahlan, because you can always find this concentration of Altruists when they gather to almost rape her. My sexual rage energy, charged with anger and frustration, lances from my chi gun of truth as I do some burning, nothing serious, just some fantasy, when I see Kahlan.

His impish smile wins me over, those pixie eyes under his green hair and that bottom covered by those low riding skater jeans.

- Am I gay? I ask. - Not just you, he says and kisses me, in this fold of the Vellum everybody is. - Peachy keen, I say.

- Not peaches but celery, explains Reynard von Zeddicus. Peaches are evil, like chicken.

Captain Mad Rick Rahl frowns and shakes his head. He has been listening to this babbling nonsense because the D’haran aristocrat happens to be a wizard and is the only person who knows about the whereabouts of his teacher, Terry Gutkind. The eminent self hep writer, carpenter, formula one driver, painter and some other things, have vanished in the desert in the worse moment, when the Altruist Menace that has conquered to feeble effetes of Europe is looking into the Middle East with coveting eyes.

- Everything turns around the celery and the goats, continues the D’haran as they cross the desert in their car, with that young Arab, Ahmed Al Kalam. Rick feels something rising in him each time he looks at him. Damn, here am I gay too?

The Scott, McStarr, drives them into the Syrian Desert, their destination known to all but Rick Rahl.

- Where are we going? He asks, finally, tired of being lead around since he landed in that retro silvery zeppelin airship in Jerusalem.

-Bags! Says Reynard von Zeddicus, I’ve been telling you this all the evening, if you paid attention to me instead of my catamite’s body I wouldn’t have to explain the same to you every two pages of this already too long book. We are going to the fabled city of Ebla, where all began! Those damned Altruist want to take control of the fabled celery fields of Syria.

Ebla the city of the Goat Kings, by Terry Gutkind. (1933)

The Syrian plains, where later the city of Ebla would be build, were the place where the goat became a domestic animal during the Neolithic. Not only this, evidence unearthed by my evil communist colleague Arthur Childe points that the celery was one of the most important sources of food in the area from the Neolithic to the Bronze Age. The destruction of Elba by the Acadian king Sargon can be considered under a very different light. It was the first genocide of the human history and the victims were the noble goats that live peacefully in this city.

- So this is the plan, explains Fox Zed. We enter in the temple and recover the Vellum of Truth, and then we proceed to erase all the relativistic nonsense that the later generation of Altruist writers has engraved in it. We will use it to right a story of clear cut good and evil, no shades of grey, a tale to explain the readers the nobility of men and goats.

Dick Flash nods. He will play the hero, as always, Kahlan will play the almost raped boy, and Don Max Estrella will be the guy who sounds cool in the radio, Nicci (why she is a girl and not Kahlan? Dick wonders) will kill people at random. Joey Patrice will play the traitor and Fox is already playing the mastermind. They used to have an Irish guy who was there mainly to say “fooking this and fooking that” but he is no longer there with them, he ran out of lines long time ago.

- This should be easy and fast, says Dick Flash with his eyes fixed in Kahlan bottom (he looked more at her breasts when he was a girl, damn it).

- Maybe it will be easy, we have the deusexmachimites with us, Don says, but it won’t be fast. Especially if we have to play each scene three or four times before we are done.

- Agulla