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  • #4276

    The garden was becoming too small for Gorrash. With time, the familiarity had settled down in his heart and he knew very well each and every stone or blade of grass there was to know. With familiarity, boredom was not very far. Gorrash threw a small pebble in the pond, he was becoming restless and his new and most probably short friendship with Rainbow had triggered a seed in his heart, the desire to know more about the world.

    Before he’d met the creature, Gorrash could remember the pain and sadness present in the heart of his maker. He had thought that was all he needed to know about the world, that mankind was not to be trusted. And he had avoided any contact with that dragon lady, lest she would hurt him. He knew that all came from his maker, although he had no real access to the actual memories, only to their effects.

    Gorrash threw another pebble into the pond, it made a splashing sound which dissolved into the silence. He imagined the sound was like the waves at the surface of the pond, going endlessly outward into the world. He imagined himself on top of those waves, carried away into the world. A shiver ran through his body, which felt more like an earthquake than anything else, stone bodies are not so flexible after all. He looked at the soft glowing light near the bush where Rainbow was hiding. The memory of joy and love he had experienced when they hunted together gave his current sadness a sharp edge, biting into his heart mercilessly. He thought there was nothing to be done, Rainbow would leave and he would be alone again.

    His hand reached in his pocket where he found the phial of black potion he had kept after Rainbow refused it. He shook it a few times. Each time he looked at it, Gorrash would see some strange twirls, curls and stars in the liquid that seemed made of light. He wondered what it was. What kind of liquid was so dark to the point of being luminous sometimes ? The twirls were fascinating, leading his attention to the curls ending in an explosion of little stars. Had the witch captured the night sky into that bottle?

    Following the changes into the liquid was strangely soothing his pain. Gorrash was feeling sleepy and it was a very enjoyable feeling. Feelings were quite new to him and he was quite fascinated by them and how they changed his experience of the world. The phial first seemed to pulse back and forth into his hand, then the movement got out and began to spread into his body which began to move back and forth, carried along with this sensual lullaby. Gorrash wondered if it would go further, beyond his body into the world. But as the thought was born, the feeling was gone and he was suddenly back into the night. A chill went down his spine. It was the first time. The joy triggered his sadness again.

    The dwarf looked at the dark phial. Maybe it could help ease his pain. He opened it, curious and afraid. What if it was poison? said a voice of memory. Gorrash dismissed it as the scent of Jasmine reached his nose. His maker was fond of Jasmine tea, and he was surprised at the fondness that rose in his heart. But still no images, it was merely voices and feelings. Sometimes it was frustrating to only have bits and never the whole picture, and full of exasperation, Gorrash gulped in the dark substance.

    He waited.

    Nothing was happening. He could still hear the cooing of Rainbow, infatuated with it eggs, he could hear the scratches of the shrews, the flight of the insects. That’s when Gorrash noticed something was different as he was beginning to hear the sharp cries of the bats above. He tried to move his arm to look at the phial, but his body was so heavy. He had never felt so heavy in his short conscious life, even as the light of the Sun hardened his body, it was not that heavy.

    The soil seemed to give way under his increasing weight, the surface tension unable to resist. He continued to sink into the ground, down the roots of the trees, through the tunnels of a brown moles quite surprised to see him there, surrounded by rocks and more soil, some little creatures’ bones, and down he went carried into hell by the weight of his pain.

    After some time, his butt met a flat white surface, cold as ice, making him jump back onto his feet. The weird heaviness that a moment before froze his body was gone. He looked around, he was in a huge cave and he was not alone. There was an old woman seated crosslegged on a donkey skin. Gorrash knew it was a donkey because it still had its head, and it was smiling. The old woman had hair the colour of the clouds before a storm in summer, It was full of knots and of lightning streaks twirling and curling around her head. Her attention was all on the threads she had in her hands. Gorrash counted six threads. But she was doing nothing with them. She was very still and the dwarf wondered if she was dead or asleep.

    What do you want? asked the donkey head in a loud bray.

    It startled the dwarf but it didn’t seem to bother the old lady who was still entranced and focused on her threads.

    Nothing, said Gorrash who couldn’t think of anything he would want.

    Nonsense, brayed the donkey, laughing so hard that the skin was shaking under the old lady. Everyone wants something. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something.

    Gorrash thought about what he could want, what he had been wanting that night. He remembered his desire to get out of the garden.

    And there you are, brayed the donkey head, that’s a start. What do you want then?

    Getting out of the garden?

    Noooo! That’s a consequence of a deeper desire, but that’s not what you want.

    I have never thought about desires before, said Gorrash. It’s pretty new to me. I just came to life a few weeks ago during a full moon.

    The donkey head tilted slightly on its right. No excuses, it spat, If you’re awake, then you have a desire in your heart that wants to be fulfilled. What do you want? Take your time, but not too long. The universe is always on the move and you may miss the train, or the bus, or the caravan…

    As the donkey went on making a list of means of transportation, Gorrash looked hesitantly at the old lady. She was still focused on her six threads she had not moved since he had arrived there.

    Who is she? he asked to the donkey.

    _She’s known by many names and has many titles. She’s Kumihimo Weaver of Braids, Ahina Maker of Songs, Gadong Brewer of Stews…

    Ok! said Gorrash, not wanting the donkey go on again into his list enumeration pattern. What is she doing?

    She’s waiting.

    And, what is she waiting for?

    She’s waiting for the seventh thread, brayed the donkey head. I’m also waiting for the thread, it whined loudly. She won’t leave my back until she’s finished her braid. The head started to cry, making the dwarf feel uncomfortable. Suddenly it stopped and asked And, who are you?

    The question resonated in the cave and in his ears, taking Gorrash by surprise. He had no answer to that question. He had just woken up a few weeks ago in that garden near the forest, with random memories of a maker he had not known, and he had no clue what he desired most. Maybe if he could access more memories and know more about his maker that would help him know what he wanted.

    Good! brayed the donkey, We are making some progress here. Now if you’d be so kind as to give her a nose hair, she could have her last thread and she could tell you where to find your maker.

    Hope rose in Gorrash’s heart. Really?

    Certainly, brayed the head with a hint of impatience.

    But wouldn’t a nose hair be too short for her braid? asked the dwarf. All the other threads seemed quite long to him.

    Don’t waste my time with such triviality. Pull it out!

    Gorrash doubted it would work but he grabbed a nose hair between his thumb and index and began to pull. He was surprised as he didn’t feel the pain he expected but instead the hair kept being pulled out. He felt annoyed and maybe ashamed that it was quite long and he had not been aware of it. He took out maybe several meters long before a sudden pain signalled the end of the operation. Ouch!

    hee haw, laughed the donkey head.

    The pain brought out the memory of a man, white hair, the face all wrinkled, a long nose and a thin mouth. He was wearing a blouse tightened at his waist by a tool belt. He was looking at a block of stone wondering what to make out of it, and a few tears were rolling down his cheeks. Gorrash knew very well that sadness, it was the sadness inside of him. Many statues surrounded the man in what looked like a small atelier. There were animals, gods, heads, hands, and objects. The vision shifted to outside the house, and he saw trees and bushes different than the ones he was used to in the garden where he woke up. Gorrash felt a strange feeling in his heart. A deep longing for home.

    Now you have what you came here for. Give the old lady her thread, urged the donkey. She’s like those old machines, you have to put a coin to get your coffee.

    Gorrash had no idea what the donkey was talking about. He was still under the spell of the vision. As soon as he handed the hair to the woman, she began to move. She took the hair and combined it to the other threads, she was moving the threads too swiftly for his eyes to follow, braiding them in odd patterns that he felt attracted to.

    Time for you to go, said the donkey.

    I’d like to stay a bit longer. What she’s doing is fascinating.

    Oh! I’m sure, brayed the donkey, But you have seen enough of it already. And someone is waiting for you.

    The dwarf felt lighter. And he struggled as he began levitating. What!? His body accelerated up through the earth, through the layers of bones and rocks, through the hard soil and the softer soil of years past. He saw the brown mole again and the familiar roots of the trees of the garden in the enchanted forest.

    Gorrash took a deep breath as he reintegrated his stone body. He wobbled, trying to catch his ground. He felt like throwing up after such an accelerated trip. His knees touched the ground and he heard a noise of broken glass as he dropped the phial.

    “Are you alright?” asked a man’s voice. Gorrash forced his head up as a second wave of nausea attempted to get out. A man in a dark orange coat was looking down at him with genuine worry on his face.

    “I’m good,” said the dwarf. “But who are you?”

    “My name is Fox. What’s yours?”

    #4274

    “More bones?” asked Yorath, smiling, as Eleri caught up with him on the forest path.

    “I ask you, why is it,” she asked, leaning against a tree to catch her breath, “Why is it that we collect bones to make a complete one, but never go back to the same place for bones?”

    Yorath paused and turned, raising an eyebrow.

    “Never mind, don’t answer that, that’s not what I’m getting at ~ not now anyway ~ I just remembered something, Yorath.”

    He waited expectantly for her to continue, but she didn’t reply. He mouth had dropped open as she gazed vacantly into the middle distance, slightly cross eyed and wonder struck.

    “You were saying?” he prompted gently.

    Her attention returned and she grabbed his arm and pointed down towards the lowlands. “Look! Down there,” she said, giving his elbow a shake. “It was down there when I was a child and it was that one day in spring and I saw it. I know I did. They all said I read the story first and then imagined it, but it was the other way round.” Noticing her friends unspoken suggestion that she slow down and clarify, Eleri paused and took a few deep breaths.

    “I’d sort of half forgotten about it,” Eleri laughed. “But suddenly it all makes sense. There is a legend,” she explained, “that on one day of the year in spring all the things that were turned to stone to hide them came to life, just for the day. One of my earliest memories, we were out for a picnic in the hills on the other side of the valley and everyone had fallen asleep on rugs on the grass, and I wandered off. I was four years old, maybe five. You know when you see a rock that looks like a face, or a tree that looks like an animal or a person? Well on this one day of the year, according to the legend, they all come back to life ~ even the clouds that look like whales and birds. And it’s true, you see, Yorath. Because I’ve seen it.”

    “I’ve heard of it, and the tree that guards it all comes to life, did you see her?”

    “Yes. And she said something to me, but I don’t remember what the words were. I knew she said something, but I didn’t know what.”

    #4260

    You’re a fool, Olli

    His mother’s voice, even now kept haunting him. Olliver was a bit of a fool, far too credulous at times.
    People would think him a simpleton, and, at 17, he would still arch his back when he was around others, maybe a little more now that he’d grown so much, always feeling awkward and unsuitable for anything.

    He wasn’t so clear how the foolish plan had hatched in his head, honestly, he wasn’t very clever. Maybe he was guided. There was no other explanation.

    Slowly, slowly his mother Ethely would exhort him, when he struggled to explain so many things in his head.

    There was the house first. They had come early in the day, paint it with the white triangle in a circle. That meant it was to be demolished soon. The Pasha wanted to remove the ugliness of the town, the old bazar and the cows and chickens pens out of the town’s wall. He wanted a nice clean pall-mall place for his games, with boring clean white walls, and fake grass, his mum told him.
    What is fake grass made of? he asked at the time. It was all he could think of. He hadn’t imagined they could tear down their neighbourhood, or their old familiar house.

    So first, the house. Then the precious package. He liked it, the gilded egg with the strange difficult name. Rukji (that’s how he’d told him to call him, it was more easy) had left a note for him. He didn’t write much, in large big letters for him to read slowly. He remembered the stories Rukji told him about the egg. He used to forget a lot of things, but the stories were always very clear in his head, and he never forgot them.
    Rukji said the egg used to transport people and things to distant places, at the speed of thought.
    Olli had laughed when he told him that, he’d said his thoughts were not very quick. Rukji had smiled, with his nice and a bit sad smile.

    So, he’d thought, maybe the egg could send his house and mum to a safe place, before they remove the house.
    He’d tried to think of it, touch the eggs and its gilded scales, but nothing happened. You’re a fool Olli his mother said, while she was gathering their few things in a large cloth and wicker basket.

    Then there was the tower. He’d thought Rukji would be there, still. He could tell him the secrets surely. But the stern man at the clock building told him he had gone.

    Olli didn’t trust the man, and went from the back-entrance he knew about, up in the tower, to see in case he was there. But he wasn’t.

    It was only the stroke of the 7th hour. And one of the mannequins from the tower moved as he would do, four times a day. Alone, at 7 in the morning, and 7 at night, and with everyone at noon, and midnight.

    Olli had recognized the god of travel, with a funny pose on his plinth. He called him Halis. He had trouble with remembering names, especially long names. Ha-sa-me-lis. Sometimes he would say the names out of order. Like Hamamelis, and that would make everybody laugh.

    That’s when something happened. He’d prayed to the god, to help his mother and their house. But the golden egg with his scales touched the statue, at a place where there was no pigeons stains. And zap! that was it.

    Black for a moment, and then he was in the forest.
    And he wasn’t alone.

    “Free! At last!” he’d shouted.
    Then he’d said “Ain’t that unexpected rusty magic… You tricky bastard managed to zap me out of my concrete shell! now, pray tell, where in the eleven hells did you send us, young warlock?”

    What a fool you are, Olli, you got us all lost he could hear her whisper in his head.

    #4257

    Gibbon was peeling a red apple at the end of their impromptu lunch. He handed a thin slice to Fox who took it and chewed it carefully. It was sweet and juicy, prompting him to want more.

    They had returned to Fox’s hut outside the city wall. It had not the comfort that plumbing and central heating could bring, but its four walls were enough to protect them from the chilly air outside and give them a sense of proximity. Humans like to be in human sized boxes, thought Fox. They lived in boxes they called houses; they went to work in other boxes they called bank, or smithery, or medical centre —even their outdoor markets were full of virtual boxes called booth or stand; then they had fun in another kind of boxes they called Inn, or Night Club, or brothel (depending on the persona).

    “You’re thinking again,” said Gibbon without raising his eyes from his apple. He handed another slice to Fox who was impressed and annoyed by how his master could read him so easily. Maybe it was luck or real power. Gibbon never told about how he did all that he did. He only said: “I’m not sure that would help you quiet your thoughts.” And that was the end of the subject.

    Fox took the slice and came back to his conscientious mastication. It was the rule, he had learned, with Gibbon. You don’t talk when you eat. You don’t think when you eat. You just eat, and breath when you are not swallowing. Fox felt like he was back into the Southern forest where Gibbon had found him, the lone survivor of a litter of five. His mother had been killed, and already four of his siblings were dead. Gibbon, who was already old at that time, took him in and taught him the wisdom of breathing innate among his kind. Fox then did as he was taught, focus his attention on his actions, and particularly on his breathing at all time. It helped him focus and calm down his heart.

    After they finished the apple and cleaned the place a bit, Gibbon took a deep breath. Fox knew it was the time he would Talk.

    “You’ve been looking for a reason,” said the old master in a breath. Fox was all ears, he almost began to feel them becoming pointy again. He moved his attention back to his breathing and peace filled in his heart again. It was mingled with the excitement of listening to his old master’s voice again, but Fox sticked to the peace and the excitement subsided naturally.

    “I’m going to give you an assignment,” continued Gibbon in between his long breaths. His eyes were shiny and seemed to glow in the dim light of the hut. He wasn’t blinking. He never blinked when he Talked. “I see you’ve mastered the power of breathing. You need to learn the wisdom of the Heart now.”

    Fox was ready. He had been for many years. Even when Fox left the Southern forest to find his destiny he was ready. He now realised he left because Gibbon would not teach him. And now, he came to teach me! Fox let the thought and the excitement subside again. His master would not Talk again until it was quiet.

    IIIIIIII’m not going to teach you,” said the master. “You are going to find your own master for this one.”

    “But you are my master,” said Fox, not understanding why it was happening again. “You have the power of the Heart. You can teach me.”

    IIIIII’m not your master on this one, Fox. I taught you all I was supposed to teach you. No less, no more.”

    “Where will I find my master then?”

    “You will find him in time. But first your assignment,” said Gibbon. He paused to breath deeply, his eyes intense as the full Moon. “You’ll find a lost soul in the enchanted forest. Bring it back to its rightful owner. Then you shall find your master.”

    Fox had opened his mouth to ask him how he could find a lost piece of soul, or what a piece of soul looked like, but Gibbon had already closed his eyes and entered in a deep meditation from where there were no outside interruption possible. He stood up and stretched his body. There was no need to wait aimlessly around, hoping Gibbon would come out of his meditation state soon. It could last days, even weeks.

    While packing a few things he would need on the road, like food, a knife, some clothes, Fox pondered his options. Going in the enchanted forest looking randomly for something he didn’t even know about seemed to much like his old self. He needed some more information and he had an idea about who could give them to him. The witch from the market. She would know. And she lived in the enchanted forest.

    Before closing the hut’s door, Fox looked at his master one last time. His body was very still, if you didn’t know him, you’d think he was not breathing. He had a serene smile on his face. Fox smiled and felt the love of his master and his master’s way fill his heart. He had given him a purpose, and for that Fox was grateful. He shut the door quietly and began to walk toward the enchanted forest. He heard ducks in the distance, it was as if they were singing. He laughed. It was mid afternoon. If he walked at a good pace, he would arrive at the old mansion before nightfall.

    #4244

    Fox ran through the city, enjoying his transient invisibility. He didn’t have to care about people, he didn’t feel the social burden of being himself. He had fun brushing past the legs of men to frighten them, biting the dresses of women to make them drop their baskets. One of them contained some freshly baked meatloaf. Fox got rid of the bread and swallowed the meat. He laughed with his fox’s laugh at the puzzled look of a child seeing the meat disappear in mid air.

    At first, Fox enjoyed being invisible tremendously. Then, he felt a bit lonely. No one was there to see him have fun. Furthermore, he had no idea how long of it remained. The woman had said one hour. His problem was that in his fox form, he wasn’t so good at keeping track of time. The fun of the invisibility wearing off, he decided to go back to the forest. He would get back his clothes and meet with the woman in his human form.

    He followed the scent of the autumn leaves.

    After barely five minutes, he noticed that people were going in the same direction. How unusual, Fox thought. He kept on running. After another five minutes, he felt a tingling feeling. Then, he heard the familiar shout accompanying his being seen.

    Fox had mixed feelings. At the same time he felt relieved —he was happy to be back into the world—, and he felt annoyed by what he considered to be an unnecessary mishap. He felt his heartbeat speeding up and prepared himself to the chase. But nobody seemed to care about the shout. People looked hypnotized and simply didn’t pay attention to him even though they looked at him running past them.

    How unusual, he thought again.

    Fifteen minutes later, he stopped in front of a fence that wasn’t there in the early morning. It was not so high that he couldn’t jump over it and continue on his way to the forest. But he stayed there a few seconds, too startled to think anything. He got out of his own puzzlement when he heard a whine. It was coming from his own mouth. It was so unusual that it helped him got rid off the spell that surrounded the fence. It seemed to be powerful enough to make people believe they couldn’t go past it into the forest.

    Very clever, he thought. Whoever erected this fence, they were no ordinary man or woman. Fox thought about the old young witch who gave him the potion but readily shook the idea away. This is something else, he decided. His nose became itchy, Fox needed to find out who created this thing. Maybe they knew about the burning smell.

    Fox left the flow of people still following the fence to some unknown destination and jumped over into the forest. The feeling was the same on the other side. A repelling spell. But once on this side of the fence, it had a different flavour. This one talked about danger of leaving the forest, whereas in the city it whispered about the danger of going into the forest. Fox didn’t feel surprised. It was simply another odd occurence.

    He took a deep breath, enjoying the rich scents of the soil and the trees. The smell of the little animals close to the ground, and those of the birds in the air above. The odorant track left by a wild boar. Among all those scents, one was quite unique and remarkable. The gentleman of the forests, Fox thought. What is he doing here? Whatever the explanation was, the wise ape and would certainly have answers. After all, he was the one who taught a little fox the art of human shapeshifting.

    Fox began to run deep into the forest. His heart beating fast at the idea to see his old master. He had totally forgotten about the dwarf and his strange companion, or about the kind witch and her potions. He only felt hope in his heart and cold winter air on his snout. Leading him to some resolution.

    #4230

    Deftly Glynis reached inside the flowing sleeve of her burka and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid she had strapped to her wrist. She pulled off the top and quickly threw the contents over Fox.

    “There you go, little Fella,” she said. “Now no-one can see you.”

    “Where’d he go, dammit! I saw him come over this way,” shouted a podgy red-faced man, puffing heavily with the unaccustomed exertion. “I’ll teach that little varmint to try and eat my hens! What did you do with him, Witch!?”

    Glynis took one of the remaining jars from her table and held it out to the man.

    “Give your wife three drops every evening as she sleeps,” she said, trying her best to sound crackly and old. “She will get well after 3 days — you don’t need to sell your hens to pay that doctor any longer. He wasn’t doing her any good.”

    “Eh?” said the man in surprise, at the same time taking the jar. “True enough that is, but how did you know?”

    “I know many things,” she answered mysteriously. “Now, take your hens home, and I wish you and your good wife all the best.”

    “Well, this is remarkable. Thank you very much indeed,” said Fox when the podgy man had gone.

    “If you are hungry I have a hard boiled egg and some fruit in my bag. Help yourself.”

    “Ha ha!” laughed Fox. “People will think you are talking to the ground.” He was quite delighted with his new invisible status and considering the various possibilities it offered him.

    “Now don’t you go taking advantage of any more hens just because you are invisible. It will wear off in about an hour, I think. I haven’t actually tried it on anyone other than myself before … I’ve never thought it ethical to sell the invisibility potion in case someone gets up to no good with it. But I like to keep some handy, just in case. “

    Just then the Town Clock chimed.

    “I’d best be going now. I have to go before the warden comes to check my permit … I don’t have one but as long as I get away early it is usually okay,” said Glynis. “Now, if you have any problems with the invisibility spell come and see me. I live in the old mansion in the enchanted forest. Do you know your way there?

    “I think I can find it,” said Fox. “Thanks again for your assistance.”

    Glynis had intended to head directly towards the forest after she left the market, but on impulse took the longer route through the pretty and tree lined Gingko Lane, part of the ‘Old City’. She walked slowly, in part to continue her ruse of being a person of advanced years, and in part because she felt a reluctance to leave the city and return to the solitude of her home.

    She pondered the events of the morning as she walked.

    The vision … the sandy haired woman on her sick bed, like stick and bone she was, with the doctor of dark intent leaning over her… and then the podgy faced man standing in the hen house and grieving over his hens.

    It had been so vivid. And unexpected. So she had acted on it, her heart beating in trepidation though she had spoken with authority to the man.

    And it had worked!

    It was not the first time Glynis had such a vision. But never in such testing circumstances!

    A young man was walking towards her. His face deep in concentrated contemplation, he did not look up.

    Fae, thought Glynis, though she was not sure how she knew.

    As he passed, Glynis reached out on impulse and touched his arm. He jumped, startled.

    “I think this is for you,” she said, handing him her last vial of potion. “Use it when you need it most.”

    The young man hesitated, unsure, but taking the vial.

    Glynis shook her head, wanting to deflect his questions. She turned quickly away.

    Relenting, she stopped and looked directly at him.

    “Magic comes from the heart. You will know when to use it.”

    #4220

    As Eleri prepared the mushrooms for breakfast her mind wandered back to the previous mushroom season, when Rhiannon had been visiting from the old country. The rain had been relentless, hammering down without respite, until the trees of the enchanted woods were bowed with saturation and the forest floor was as swampy as the Marshes of Doom. The river had risen to within a few short meters of her thatched dwelling, necessitating an emergency spell to lift the building onto temporary stilts above the sodden ground.

    There had been an initial difficulty in achieving the correct height of the stilts. The first attempt had been much too high, and Eleri and Rhiannon had clung to each other laughing, as the cottage swayed alarmingly in the wind above the tree tops.

    A swinging shutter slammed shut on Eleri’s pinky, occasioning a piercing howl of pain amid the shrieks of mirth, but it did serve to ground the women sufficiently to recall the ‘shortening emergency stilts’ spell. It was, however, administered without due care to details, and the building crashed to the ground rather too quickly.

    Rubbing their bruised body parts but still seeing the funny side, they eventually managed to lift the abode a logical distance from the mud.

    “Good morning!” Yorath called, bringing Eleri back to the present. “Mmm, mushrooms!”

    #4192
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Bert:

      I just shook my head and carried on digging the new bed for the broad beans. Wasn’t no point in trying to tell her, just let her grumble on. Never bloody satisfied unless they’ve got something to moan about. Women! And granny’s in particular, never satisfied. She wanted the place to herself, that’s what she always said, wanted a rest from all the commotion and noise. So what does she do when she has a nice bit of peace and quiet? Spends the whole bloody time wittering on about how quiet it is.

      I’d have enjoyed the chance to get on with me gardening if I didn’t have to listen to Mater going on and on about how quiet it was. I said to her yesterday, “Aint so quiet ‘round here from my perspective, with you going on and on about how blasted quiet it is,” but she just snorted at me and carried on grumbling.

      I haven’t told her Idle called to say she was on her way back home. Let her enjoy the sound of her own chuntering a bit longer.

      Suddenly Bert saw the funny side. Perhaps it was the early morning sun turning the whitewashed walls gold that lightened his mood. Perhaps it was the birds twittering and fluttering from tree to tree. Perhaps it was the feeling of warmth as the slanting sun bathed his wrinkled brow. But he laughed out loud, for the sheer joy of it all.

      “Daft old coot,” muttered Mater, who was watching him from the kitchen window. “What is there to laugh about? Silly old sod.” She turned away from the window with a derisory little sound, but a smile was hovering about her shriveled lips.

      #4189
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        “You see,” Godfrey pointed out with the rolled paper “Finnley’s got a point here.”
        “And what point pray you say?” Liz’ looked outraged at the lack of encouragements.

        “Oh, I don’t know, I just said that to grab your attention for a minute.” Godfrey smiled from the corner of his mouth.

        Liz’ could not think of something to say, suddenly noticing with amazing details the tense silence, and the small gathered crowd of people looking at her in a mix of face expressions. A scene from her last hospitalisation came back to her, and the horror of trying to seem sane and not utter anything strange to those so-called experts, who were gauging her sanity like hyenas laughing around a tentfull of human snacks.

        “You have my full attention.” she heard herself say unexpectedly.

        “That’s really the first step in rehabilitation” the doctor opined with a pleased smile.

        “Did, did I relapse again?”

        “What are you talking about Liz’?” Godfrey was back looking at her with concern in his eyes. She had never noticed his eyes before. Only the furry moustaches above them.

        “I think I got lost in the story’s threads again…” Liz’ felt like a little girl being berated by the teacher again, and by her mother for not standing for herself.
        “Yeah, it’s a bit of a dumpster…” Haki said snarkily, to which Liz quickly replied mentally “go away, you’re just a character, I fired you many threads ago.”

        “Liz’, you have that vacant expression again, Liz’!” Godfrey was waving at her face.
        “Stop DOING that, you old coot! What’s wrong with all of you!”

        Felicity took a reprieve from her observation post ogling the gardener’s backside, on the guise of bird-watching, and snickered “told you it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

        “Hold on” Godfrey stopped her in a conciliatory tone. “your attitude isn’t really helping Felicity. And Liz sharing her dream recall is a good thing, honestly, we could all do with a bit of getting in touch with our magical self.”

        “Oh, I’ve had enough of this loads of bollocks” Felicity said, and she packed and left for good.

        “That was a bit abrupt ending, but I like it” opined Godfrey at second reading. “Actually like it better than the version where she jumps through the window, probably pushed by the maid she criticized about the hair in the pea soup.”

        “That’s about as magical as I can muster for now, Godfrey, give me time.” Liz smiled relieved that the mummy ordeal was behind her. “Fuck murmality” she smiled impishly, “let’s start a new fantasy thread.”

        “With dragons in it?” Godfrey’s eyes were beaming.

        “Oh, you and your damned dragons…”

        #4122
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Corrie’s findings from elsewhere:

          “On the empty road, Quentin realized there was something different in the air.
          A crispness, something delicate and elusive, yet clear and precious.
          A tiny dot of red light was peeking through the horizon line.

          It was funny, how he had tried to elude his fate, slip through the night into the oblivion and the limbo of lost characters, trying so hard to not be a character of a new story he barely understood his role in.

          But his efforts had been thwarted, he was already at least a secondary character. So he’d better be aware, pretend owl watching could become dangerously enticing.”

          ~~~

          ““There hath he lain for ages,” Mater read the strip of paper, “And will lie Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep..” Buggered if I know what that’s supposed to mean, she muttered, continuing to read the daily oracle clue: “Until the latter fire shall heat the deep; Then once by man and angels to be seen, In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die…..”

          Mater had become increasingly irritated as the morning limped on, with no sign of Prune. Nobody had seen her since just before 3:00am when Idle got up for the loo and saw her skulking in the hallway. Didn’t occur to the silly fool to wonder at the time why the girl was fully dressed at that hour though.

          The oracle sounded ominous. Mater wondered if it was anything to do with the limbo of lost characters. She quickly said 22 Hail Saint Floverly prayers, and settled down to wait. If Prune had accidentally wandered into the lost characters limbo, battening upon seaworms would be the least of their problems.”

          ~~~

          “You should have thought about it before sending me for a spying mission, you daft tart” Prune was rehearsing in her head all the banter she would surely shower Aunt Idle with, thinking about how Mater would be railing if she noticed she was gone unattended for so long.
          Mater could get a heart attack, bless her frail condition. Dido would surely get caned for this. Or canned, and pickled, of they could find enough vinegar (and big enough a jar).

          In actuality, she wasn’t mad at Dido. She may even have voluntarily misconstrued her garbled words to use them as an excuse to slip out of the house under false pretense. Likely Dido wouldn’t be able to tell either way.

          Seeing the weird Quentin character mumbling and struggling with his paranoia, she wouldn’t stay with him too long. Plus, he was straying dangerously into the dreamtime limbo, and even at her age, she was knowing full well how unwise it would be to continue with all the pointers urging to turn back or chose any other direction but the one he adamantly insisted to go towards, seeing the growing unease on the young girl’s face.

          “Get lost or cackle all you might, as all lost is hoped.” were her words when she parted ways with the strange man. She would have sworn she was quoting one of Mater’s renown one-liners.

          With some chance, she would be back unnoticed for breakfast.”

          ~~~

          “Prune turned to look back at Quentin as she made her way home. He’d have been better off waiting for a new chapter in the refugee story, instead of blundering into that limbo with that daft smile on his face. What a silly monkey, she thought, scratching under her arms and making chimpanzee noises at the retreating figure. Look at him, scampering along gazing up into the treetops, instead of watching his step.

          A deep barking laugh behind her made her freeze, with her arms akimbo like teapot handles. Slowly she turned around, wondering why she hadn’t noticed anyone else on the track a moment before.

          “Who are you?” she asked bluntly. “I’m Prune, and he’s Quentin,” she pointed to the disappearing man, “And he’s on the run. There’s a reward for his capture, but I can’t catch him on my own.” Prune almost cackled and hid the smirk behind her forearm, pretending to wipe her nose on it. She wondered where the lies came from, sometimes. It wasn’t like she planned them ~ well, sometimes she did ~ but often they just came tumbling out. It wasn’t a complete lie, anyway: there was no reward, but he could be detained for deserting his new story, if anyone cared to report it.

          The man previously known as the Baron introduced himself as Mike O’Drooly. “I’m a story refugee,” he admitted.

          “Bloody hell, not another one,” replied Prune. Then she had an idea. “If you help me capture Quentin, you’ll get a much better character in the new story.”

          “I’ve nothing left to lose, child. And no idea what my story will be or what role I will play.” Perhaps it’s already started, he wondered.

          “Come on, then! If we don’t catch him quick we might all end up without a story.”

          #4091

          “This Yannosh!” Quentin erupted when he saw the packed up mess in his suitcase.

          “How can this guy always muddy up the simplest things! I wonder why Tina likes him so much.” He eyed the suitcase and seeing the neatly packed shirts and trousers, he finally laughed at his outburst.
          “Yeah, that explains it!”

          He picked the first clothes out of the pile, and got out of the room to find the breakfast.

          The air was still a bit chilly in the morning, and the grounds seemed almost deserted. He wondered were the rest of the staff was. It was supposed to be a luxury resort, and beside the eccentric Barbara with her beehive hairdo, he had not yet seen many people.

          “Well, no bloody wonder it’s called the Hidden People Spa! Nobody’s up yet or what?” Quentin turned at the familiar voice.
          “You look in great spirits this morning dear” he greeted Tina “How was your night’s sleep?”
          “Can we skip the formalities Q, I’m already bored. Let’s have a tartine of rúgbrauð at the Þorramatur, shall we? I’m famished.”

          #4058
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Connie noticed the old woman was frowning a lot this morning, and thought to herself, Not so sweet after all, the old trout. In a funny sort of way, it endeared her to Connie in a way that the endless cheery sweetness had not.

            “There’s no Elf School in the directory, but there is a Tw’Elf Centre, do you suppose this is the one?”

            “May as well check it out,” replied Sophie.

            “Representatives of the twelve continents of the earth?” Connie read, adding, “Sounds like some kind of mumbo jumbo fringe nutjob stuff if you ask me.”

            “What, less nutjob than an Elf School?” replied Sophie with a snigger. Connie laughed, beginning to warm towards the old dear. “I’d be interested to hear more about the anticipated merger with the Bermuda Triangle.”

            #4040
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The phone rang, putting paid to Hilda’s intention of going back to sleep. There was evidence that the random face puncher had lashed out again, this time in Boston. Boston! Hilda quickly packed a flight bag, vaguely wondering why she didn’t have suitcase packing staff on hand. There was no time to watch a “how to pack a suitcase” video, either. The verdigris statue lay tits up on the smashed concrete sidewalk, indicating that the face puncher packed quite a punch. Hilda grinned at the thought of the danger bonus payment for this assignment, and then scowled at the thought of US customs crotch gropers. She toyed with the idea of wearing a codpiece stuffed with dried chamomile, just for a laugh, but thought better of it.

              #4009
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                As Prune spoke the magic words releasing her aunt from marbledom, an unforeseen chain reaction of uncrusting began. One by one the concrete statues and animals that Idle had been collecting became more yielding, less rigid. They didn’t all start gallivanting around at once, it was a slow process depending on the length of time they had been solid.

                The buddha by the fish pond had had his knees bent for so long it would be some time before he could straighten them, but it was with great joy that he raised a hand from his lap to scratch the fly droppings off the tip of his nose. He was just about to make a remark about foolish idle people and wise diligent ones when it occurred to him that he’d been completely idle for quite some time, and that it hadn’t been his fault. The unaccustomed questioning of his rather rigid beliefs accelerated the uncrusting process, and he was able to turn his head to see the odd looking cat approaching, but unable to move his arm quickly enough to stop it spraying him with piss.

                You have no idea how long I’ve been holding that, said the cat, somewhat telepathically.

                A loud gravelly sounding laugh echoed across the pond, coming from the direction of the green man plaque on the wall. The unfamiliar cackle drew Clove out from the kitchen to see who it was.

                “I have so much to say!” the green man cleared his throat, spitting out some moss that had become stuck between his teeth, “And I’ve waited so long to say it! You there, you! Don’t go away!” The green man immediately realized his predicament. He had a face but no body. He would have to wait until an audience came to him to listen.

                But Clove was interested and inched closer. She had just been researching Dionysus for a project; what a fortuitous coincidence that a replica of him had come to life. She would be able to interview him for her report. She’d just read that “It is perhaps an indication of the Green Man’s power as an archetype that he was able to transfer so seamlessly from one culture and one set of beliefs to another.”

                This was exactly the angle she was after.

                #3996
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The following is an e-mail from the past, composed on July 01, 2010. It is being delivered from the past through FutureMe.org

                  Dear FutureMe,
                  The Absinthe Cafe
                  Dawn and Mark had a bottle of Absinthe (the proper stuff with the WORMwood in
                  it, which is illegal in France) but forgot to bring it. Wandering around at
                  some point, we chanced upon a cafe called Absinthe. Sitting on the terrace, the
                  waitress came up and looked right at me and said “Oh you are booked to come here
                  tomorrow night!” and then said “Forget I said that”. Naturally that got our
                  attention. After we left Dawn spotted a kid with 2016 on the back of his T
                  shirt. We asked Arkandin about it and we have a concurrent group focus that does
                  meet in that cafe in 2016, including Britta. Dawn’s name is Isabelle Spencer,
                  Jib’s is Jennifer….
                  The Worm & The Suitcase
                  I borrowed Rachel’s big red suitcase for the trip and stuck a Time Bridgers
                  sticker on it, and joked before I left about the case disappearing to 2163. I
                  had an impulse to take a fig tree sapling for Eric and Jib, which did survive
                  the trip although it looked a little shocked at first. As Eric was repotting
                  it, we noticed a worm in the soil, and I said, Well, if the fig tree dies at
                  least you have the worm.
                  At Balzacs house on a bench in the garden there was a magazine lying there open
                  to an ad for Spain, which said “If you lose your suitcase it would be the best
                  thing because you would have to stay”.
                  Later we asked Arkandin and he said that there was something from the future
                  inserted into my suitcase. I went all through it wondering what it could be,
                  and then a couple of days ago Eric said that it was the WORM! because of the
                  WORMwood absinthe syncs, and worm hole etc. I just had a chat with Franci who
                  had a big worm sync a couple of days ago, she particularly noticed a very big
                  worm outside the second hand shop, and noted that she hadn’t seen a worm in ages
                  ~ which is also a sync, because there was a big second hand clothes shop next to
                  Dawn and Mark’s hotel that I went into looking for a bowler hat.
                  Arkandin said, by the way, that Jane did forget to mention the bowler hats in
                  OS7, those two guys on the balcony were indeed wearing bowler hats, and that
                  they were the same guys that were in my bedroom in the dream I had prior to
                  finding the Seth stuff ~ Elias and Patel.
                  Eric replied:

                  And another Time Bridger thing; a while ago, Jib and I had fun planting some TB stickers at random places in Paris (and some on a wooden gate at Jib’s hometown).
                  Those in Paris I remember were one at the waiting room of a big tech department store, and another on the huge “Bateaux Mouches” sign on the Pont de l’Alma (bridge, the one of Lady D. where there is a gilded replica of Lady Liberty’s flame).
                  I think there are pics of that on Jib’s or my flickr account somewhere.
                  When we were walking past this spot, Jib suddenly remembered the TB sticker — meanwhile, the sign which was quite clean before had been written all over, and had other stickers everywhere. We wondered whether it was still here, and there it was! It’s been something like 2 years… Kind of amazing to think it’s still there, and imagine all the people that may have seen it since!
                  ~~~~

                  The Flights

                  I wasn’t all that keen on flying and procrastinated for ages about the trip. I
                  flew with EASYjet, so it was nice to see the word EASY everywhere. I got on the
                  plane to find that they don’t allocate seats, and chose a seat right at the
                  front on the left. The head flight attendant was extremely playful for the
                  whole flight, constantly cracking up laughing and teasing the other flight
                  attendants, who would poke him and make him laugh during announcements so that
                  he kept having to put the phone down while he laughed. I spent the whole flight
                  laughing and catching his mischeivously twinking eye.
                  I asked Arkandin about him and he said his energy was superimposed. I got on
                  the flight to come home and was met on the plane by the same guy! I said
                  HELLO! It’s YOU again! Can I sit in the same seat and are you going to make me
                  laugh again” and he actually moved the person that was in my seat and said I
                  could sit there. Then he asked me about my book (about magic and Napolean). He
                  also said that all his flights all week had been delayed except the two that I
                  was on. He wanted to give me a card for frequent flyers but I told him I
                  usually flew without planes ~ that cracked him up ;))
                  ~~~

                  The Dream Bean

                  Eric cracked open a special big African bean that is supposed to enhance
                  dreams/lucidity so we all had a bit of it. The second night I remembered a
                  dream and it was a wonderful one.
                  (Coincidentally, on the flight home I read a few pages of my book and it just
                  happened to be about the council of five dragons and misuse of magical beans)
                  In the dream I had a companion with magical powers, who I presumed was Jib but
                  it was myself actually. It was a long adventure dream of being chased and
                  various adventures across the countryside, but there was no stress, it was all
                  great fun. Everytime things got a bit too close in the dream, I’d hold onto my
                  friend with magical powers, and we would elevate above the “adventure” and drop
                  down in another location out of immediate danger ~ although we were never
                  outside of the adventure, so to speak. At one point I wondered why my magical
                  freind didn’t just elevate us right up high and out of it completely, and
                  realized that we were in the adventure game on purpose for the fun of it, so why
                  would we remove ourselves completely from the adventure game.
                  In the dream I remember we were heading for Holland at one point, and then the
                  last part we were safely heading for Turkey…..
                  The other dream snapshot was “we are all working together on roof tiles” and
                  Arkandin had some interesting stuff to say about that one.
                  ~~~

                  There were alot of vampire imagery incidents starting with me asking Eric if he
                  slept in his garden tool box at night, and then the guy who shot out of a door
                  right next to Jib and Eric’s, in a bright orange T shirt, carrying a cardboard
                  coffin. He stopped for me to take a photo (and Arkandin said it was a Patel pop
                  in); then while walking through the outdoor food market someone was chopping a
                  crate up and a perfect wooden stake flew across the floor and landed at my feet.
                  The next vampire sync was a shop opposite Dawn and Mark’s hotel with 3 coffins
                  in the window (I went back to take a pic of the cello actually, didn’t even
                  notice the coffins). Inside the shop was an EAU DE NIL MOTOR SCOOTER Share, can
                  you beleive it, and a mummy, a stuffed raven, and a row of (Tardis) Red phone
                  boxes.
                  I had a nightmare last night that I couldn’t find any of my (nine) dogs; the
                  only ones I could find were the dead ones.
                  ~~~~

                  Balzac’s House

                  The trip to Balzac’s house was interesting, although in somewhat unexpected
                  ways. (Arkandin was Balzac and I was the cook/housekeeper) The house didn’t
                  seem “right” somehow to Mark and I and we decided that was probably because
                  other than the desk there was no furniture in it. Mark saw a black cat that
                  nobody else saw that was an Arkandin pop in (panther essence animal), and Dawn
                  felt that he was sitting on a chair, and Mark sat on him. (Arkandin said yes he
                  did sit on him ;) The kitchen was being used as an office. Jib felt the house
                  was too small, and picked up on a focus of his that rented the other part of the
                  house. (The house was one storey high on the side we entered, and two storeys
                  high from the road below). There were two pop ins there apparently, one with
                  long hair which is a connection to my friend Joy who was part of that group
                  focus, and I can’t recall anything about the other one. Dawn was picking up
                  that Balzac wasn’t too happy, and I was remembering the part in Cousin Bette
                  that infuriated me when I read it, where he goes on and on about how disgusting
                  it is for servants to expect their wages when their “betters” are in dire
                  straits. Arkandin confirmed that I didn’t get my wages.
                  The garden was enchanting and had a couple of sphinx statues and a dead pigeon ~
                  as well as the magazine with the suitcase and Spain imagery. Mark signed the
                  guest book “brought the cook back” and I replied “no cooking smells this time”.

                  #3958
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Liz wandered out into the garden. There was a stiff breeze but the sun was shining and the sky was a dazzling blue. She spied Roberto bending over a rose bush, secateurs in hand, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of buttock crack. Liz laughed out loud. Tantalizing? She must be getting quite desperate if the sight of a gardeners bum crack appeared tantalizing. It had taken her mind off the others momentarily though, and her impatient thoughts of writing them all out of the story.

                    It really was a most splendid day.

                    #3943

                    In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions

                    Jib
                    Participant

                      The jiggong meditation’s end was signaled by a silent ring of the immaterial bell in between states of mind. MJ stretched his ideas and send a shepherd to gather his thoughts. Today only one student connected to the session. MJ acknowledged his presence with a slight flickr of his crown chakra and he checked his voicemail. 1223 messages from Dispersee. He let the potential irritation dissolve as it was born into existence and prepared to respond. No need to listen to the messages, it would only delay the answer.

                      He felt a nudge from the student who hadn’t dissipated as he should. Some hesitation fluctuated in the energy. He turned his attention to the void and waited. His motto was to always let people ask the questions they had if they had any, and not begin a conversation if you hadn’t something important to say.

                      Master John ?

                      MJ sent some encouragement to the void where the student thought he was.

                      I can’t think of a question, finally expressed the student out of nowhere.
                      Maybe you don’t have any question, MJ said to the void.
                      The student’s energy rippled with surprise. Had he been on Earth plane, he would have had a nervous laugh.

                      Master John had already been aware that the void of the student had no question but was filled with interrogations. He was desperately trying to find something to ask in need to connect, unaware that the connection already existed and required no movement.
                      MJ sent an energy egg to the student. Let him play with that. It was crafted according to the ancient Chinese culture and hard to crack. With lots of mind knots and shiny curly clues. MJ let his pride of having created the object dissolve like squid ink in the ocean of his mind.

                      Suddenly absorbed by the illusory complexity of the egg, the student suddenly blended into the void of MJ’s mind, replaced by the myriads of Dispersee’s messages cackling simutaneously to catch his unwavering attention. He picked one of them and followed the thread to Dispersee and to a nice pique nique in the mountain apparently. Floverly was already there, sitting on a patch of red flowers.

                      You could have changed after your jiggong, she said.

                      #3931
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Prune turned to look back at Quentin as she made her way home. He’d have been better off waiting for a new chapter in the refugee story, instead of blundering into that limbo with that daft smile on his face. What a silly monkey, she thought, scratching under her arms and making chimpanzee noises at the retreating figure. Look at him, scampering along gazing up into the treetops, instead of watching his step.

                        A deep barking laugh behind her made her freeze, with her arms akimbo like teapot handles. Slowly she turned around, wondering why she hadn’t noticed anyone else on the track a moment before.

                        “Who are you?” she asked bluntly. “I’m Prune, and he’s Quentin,” she pointed to the disappearing man, “And he’s on the run. There’s a reward for his capture, but I can’t catch him on my own.” Prune almost cackled and hid the smirk behind her forearm, pretending to wipe her nose on it. She wondered where the lies came from, sometimes. It wasn’t like she planned them ~ well, sometimes she did ~ but often they just came tumbling out. It wasn’t a complete lie, anyway: there was no reward, but he could be detained for deserting his new story, if anyone cared to report it.

                        The man previously known as the Baron introduced himself as Mike O’Drooly. “I’m a story refugee,” he admitted.

                        “Bloody hell, not another one,” replied Prune. Then she had an idea. “If you help me capture Quentin, you’ll get a much better character in the new story.”

                        “I’ve nothing left to lose, child. And no idea what my story will be or what role I will play.” Perhaps it’s already started, he wondered.

                        “Come on, then! If we don’t catch him quick we might all end up without a story.”

                        #3908
                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          “Oh haha I can’t keep up with myself!” laughed Finnley in a most uncharacteristic and slightly manic manner. After offering to explain once more, although nobody could remember what she was explaining, she retreated for a second time.

                          #3901

                          In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions

                          Travel for the Ascended was usually as simple as intending your destination, however Floverley often found herself navigationally challenged. She usually ended up where she wanted to go, not where she was summoned.

                          Eventually though, after a pleasant stop over at an inter-dimensional art gallery to check out the latest works of a group of outsider artists—The Descended Impressionists— she managed to rally herself and align her conflicting energies by engaging in some stirring self talk and a quick visualisation of Master Medlik’s disappointed face.

                          Of course as soon as she did this, there he was, disappointed face and all.

                          Bugger, she thought. When will I learn? No bloody privacy around here.

                          ”Don’t worry, Medlik,” she said with a composed smile. “I got the call and I am on my way there right now. I will do all I can to assist.”

                          Somehow, she thought, sighing at the thought of her gargantuan task.

                          “Interpretations are tricky,” said Medlik, laughing raucously. “Somehow means, in some manner. So it’s quite definitive, though the manner in which it is done is yet to be revealed.”

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