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Rneyl ba na Bpgbore zbeavat. Gurer vf gur cebzvfr bs urng va gur fxl ohg sbe abj rirelguvat vf pbby naq fgvyy. Fur bcraf gur onpx qbbe bs gur pbggntr naq naq fvgf qbja pnershyyl ba gur jbbqra fgrc. Ure obql uhegf sebz gur avtug.

V xvyy guvatf, fur guvaxf, fheirlvat gur qel oebja cynagf va gur fznyy tneqra fur unq gevrq gb perngr.

Fur jbaqref vs gurer vf fbzrguvat gung jnagf gb pbzr gb yvsr vafvqr bs ure, gura uvqrf sebz gur gubhtug. Abg orpnhfr fur qbrf abg jnag vg, ohg orpnhfr fur vf nsenvq. Fur qbrf abg xabj ubj gb oevat guvf guvat gb yvsr. Gur fueviryyrq cynagf orne funec grfgvzbal gb ure snvyher…

[ encoded in ROT13 ]

“What is that?” she asks. “It doesn’t come from The Book, does it?”
“Well, our best team of psychic archaeologists just got it retrieved from purported old discarded bits in the Crypt.”
“of…? You mean… apocryphal part of The Book? Are you serious?”
“Quite possible, you see. Do you know what’s the ancient meaning behind that word ‘apocryphal’?”
“You tell me.”
“‘those having been hidden away’… But the intricacy of this reality makes it possible for us, in the future of The Book, to re-insert it directly into the past.”
“So they’re no longer ‘apocryphal’…”
“You could look them up actually, and perhaps you’ll find even the part where they’re speaking about us finding it even…”

— Aaaaalbert! You’re not ferreting again in my old discarded files, are you?
— Err… No, of course not Tina.

Al quickly changed the view on the cyputer and added with a hint of malice in his voice “You don’t have anything to hide from me anyway, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be silly Al, and you’d better prepare yourself. We’ll be late for the big Hallowe’en party at the Father Chase Memorial Garden. Becky’s supposed to make an apparition at the party, remember.”
“Becky? You mean… The Becky?”
“Yeah… You’re so absent-minded sometimes sweetie, good thing you got me, Sumafi as you are. Yes, that old twaddle-speaking silly exotic Becky, the one and unique!”

Some selected bits from one tag cumulo-cloud:

— “Matter (is) dimensional energies realized”
— “Expect Hector (to) surface, Rafaela!”
— “Leonora gets (to) keep saying ‘play attention!’”
— “Close rain, friend magic, hope water seeing”
— “Far within thinking, Arona sort days, (her) hold gives human comments great meaning”
— “Soon blue seconds, call straight (at the) door, met surely physical; notice move (of) essence (in) fat huge dreams”
— “Universe appear (in) book story”
— “Malvina line although familiar answered busy funny heading”
— “Tina looked love taking lots question indeed”
— “Word usually working (in) short shifting pooh adventure”
— “Seems Armelle starting soft reason; strange perhaps (in the) middle (of) rolling help (one may) spot dragons’ truth past spider times”
— “‘Tell inside reality’: three words step (to) creating”
— “Becky, allow yourself finding single beautiful playing light, dear”
— “Cloud impulse shall house explain surprised black connection”
— “Cool trust(ed) friends, portal plane”
— “Aliens coincidence next talking”
— “Walking arms seem flight silence; stone creature sound already entered field (of) aware(ness); scene trip apparently given reading”
— “Beyond rolled Theresa, lately cave telling unusual morning”
— “Wortex large, merely Glo”

Dory was often reminding herself (and anyone within hearing or blogging distance in the process) of one of her favourite catch-phrases: what you are looking for is probably right under your nose.
It seemed of particular relevance these days, Yurick was noticing, for a variety of reasons.

First, his glasses needed some dusting… He’d have to finish that monologue later then.

What was he about then? Yes. The tillandsias near the window. Last week-end, they’d been to a crystal store with Yann, and mildly interested by crystals, Yurick had been wondering loudly at the heaps of strange plants in the middle of the paraphernalia of rocks, shells and starfishes. The store owner had proceeded to explain those were aerial plants, known for gathering the elements of their sustenance out of the air.
The curiosity would probably have ended with those quick answers, had the guy not not given them on an impulse two little specimens just when they were about to go with Yann’s newly acquired amethysts.

Cute. New plants to interact with. Yurick had to say he preferred plants to rocks. Yann for his part had found them funny names. “Sha” for the witchy hairy one, and “Glo” for the pineapple-looking one. Why not…

The tilland… Well, “Sha” and “Glo” (you had to give credit to Yann for granting the reader a good respite from long unpleasant names) had been there in the bathroom for a few days, and only now had Yurick found some interest in investigating more about them.
The capacity they had to live apparently without any strings attached was very appealing to him, and it was like a symbol of focusing on one’s own vitality, and finding the means to live out of that elusive “new energy”; of not feeding off something outside of self.

Now, he was finding even more interesting facts; a picture that Yann had taken of a blooming plant recently was of the same genus of plants, and it reminded Yurick of plants which had fascinated him in a botanical garden, that were also from this species.
Interestingly, he found out that the plants were named after a Finnish botanist (Elias Tillandz )… He couldn’t help but notice the similarities with another focus of his: Elias Lönnrot.

The string of clues suddenly filling up the previously empty corridors of his mind were sparkling a renewed interest for focus hunting.

— “Dory?”
— “What, hon’?” a distracted Dory answered to young Becky
— “You’d better remove the magnets from the iron, or you’ll ruin another one…”
— “What are you talking about?!” Dory was perplexed, trying to find her way through the airport to Gate 57-¾, but only to find nothing but benches in between Gate 57 and 58.
— “Oh, never mind… It’s only a dream and you probably won’t remember it anyway.”

“There!” the suspicious bag lady of the Heathrow terminal had reappeared briefly just for Dory to spot her entering the restrooms.
Becky was already rolling the heavy bumper-stickers patched suitcase to follow her without question.

— “But why are you taking the suitcase to go to the bathroom, Beck’?”
— “What are you talking about Dory!” Becky was sometimes losing patience. “Can’t you see it’s the entrance for Gate 57-¾?!”
— “Uh?” A moment of clueless mystery on Dory’s face. “Oh…” Another mini-black hole on her face.

“Oh. Okay then. Let’s go…”

If there was something that her exotic life had taught Dory, it was to never question the moment. If the circumstances are here, if the impulse is there, then go for it. Explanations will follow. And in case they don’t, make them up as you roll and rock!

Becky meanwhile was rather surprised at how people, even her own step-mother, as tuned in ghostly stuff as she was, most of the time failed to see the things for what they really are. And if these big painted letters on the door “GATE 57 ¾” weren’t obvious enough, and people preferred to interpret them as restrooms, then… what else could be done? She sighed.
Later on, she would learn that it was a common, well documented trait in human consciousness; that people were sometimes psychologically (but not physically) blind to stuff outside of their current focus of attention, or simply blind to things too far off their beliefs; in other terms, it was a matter of energy reconfiguration. As long as it worked…

“Oh look at that… Yukailli Airlines counter is here! What bloody stupid idea to put a closet door at the entrance…”

After having made the departure arrangements at the counter, Dory came back to Becky who was looking outside at the planes.

— “Ain’t them beautiful?”
— “Yeah, and I suppose you’re seeing planes, aren’t you?”
— “Err, yes of course, what else, silly… Though now you ask me, they seem a bit weird… foggy or something”.

In fact, what Becky was seeing wasn’t conventional planes. It was more like “fly-boats”. Some sorts of hybrid ships made to fly with huge wings transparent and shiny like those of flies.

— “I hope they have crunchy coleslaw for meal, I’m starving” a contented and tired Dory said, when she collapsed into the comfortable seats.

It may have been the sudden change of environment, but Leörmn had great difficulty at staying focused.
By staying focused, he meant more than just focusing his attention and thoughts. Actually, not much more, as nothing more than his thoughts and his attention were creating of everything —his body included. When he failed to focus as he was now, usually he simply started to disappear from other’s awareness, even though he could be aware that he was still present in their proximity. For most of his activity was happening in the Unseen, and his body was unnecessary for him to manipulate that environment.

The twin dragons, Heckle and Jeckle were equally disturbed, but to a lesser extent, perhaps because their communicating together made their de-focusing less of a concern.

The place where they had been guided to was really unusual. Unusual for dragons at least. Even possibly hostile.

It was like crossing that door had made them turn the physical reality inside-out, and though it was very similar on the surface, the exterior was significantly different.

Apart from the twins, Leörmn was feeling energies, strong energies focused nearby. They were possibly as strong as dragons’ energies, though their configuration was unfamiliar.
Where were they? What was this place?

Leörmn was feeling so powerful undercurrents that it was very disturbing. In his discomfort, he tried to reach for a familiar energy.

In the pool, Salome was feeling the disturbance, as it was already making the cave wobble slightly ever since Leörmn had taken off.

Georges was having fun shape-shifting his skin to get more dolphin-like slickness, and was trying to bring her into his games, but she was caught by the demanding feeling and couldn’t concentrate on the game.

She made a foam bubble around herself to lift her up above the surface of the water. “There… I’ve always felt better in the air.” As a matter of fact, be it only the slight gain of altitude, but her thoughts felt clearer already.

“Oh, my… They are on the Murtuane… Georges, you knew that?!”

Georges was having too much fun to actually physically answer, but Salome knew he was more than vaguely aware of that.

She went deeper into herself, trying to see what was the issue… As far as she knew, the Murtuane was very closely tied to the Duane, and actions made into one of the planet had repercussions onto the other. They were close counterparts for each element, and perhaps it was the drawing closer of these which had created an imbalance of some kind.
“Yes…” she smiled. She was seeing how it could be made easier.

She sent to Leörmn the clearest picture she could make, then popped her foam bubble, to gracefully dive into the pool, having changed her skin to that of a black and white killer whale.

“Thank the Elder Gods,” Leörmn thought, as he just received the warm familiar energy of Salome from deep inside himself.

So that was it… He had to find his counterparting Nirgual, and merge with her for the duration of their little excursion here.
N’meôrl was the name. Salome had met her already a long time ago. She was a brilliant shade of abrigot (some orange smooth fruit).

It would be quite easy actually. Like the Dragons, Nirguals were summoned by their true name, no matter the distance.
Blessed be Salome…

Popping back into focus, Leörmn pronounced loudly “N’meôrl, I hereby summon thy!”

When the huge bird appeared all the others who had started to assail the dragon with question were startled.

Contrary to all appearances, Leörmn was not a dragon of many words, so very few needed to be actually exchanged. The two creatures both knew what had to be done to preserve the balance. And even if they had not known, the pressure on their energy fields was so intense that the merging was just like two magnets drawing closer naturally.

And One again they were.

“Rotffflll”, grunted Hector Coon when he entered the hall of Pilston Manor where he had been invited by T’Eggy.

“What on earth are you about Finnley with that tutu of yours?!Fancy yourself a ballerina now?”

And where is T’Egg… I mean, Lady Eagleston?

Lady Eagleston enjoyed staying in the warm potting shed, taking her time to enjoy, appreciate and admire the ecstatic beauty of the blooming orchids. She let her thoughts wander for a few moments in the pleasant place smelling of cedar.

Her old friend, Hector Coon had sent her a rather unusual present this morning: a few bits coming from a watermelon’s rind strangely carved with unusual symbols. What an eccentric charming old fool this Hector…
They both loved to do each other unexpected presents of which they would then try to find some underlying meaning. Not that there was any such meaning to be identified most of the time, but it was some time pleasantly spent.

So, she had thought the only place safe to bring the bits to was here — mostly to protect them from the furious cleaning practices of Finnley, who wouldn’t have the pleasure to throw them to the garbage this time. She had seen his disgusted look when she had opened the package with excitement.
Well, now what would he imagine she was doing in there?…

Today was the commemoration of the fifth anniversary of the first transmutation made on Earth.

Of course, it didn’t take into account previous attempts (or successes), because they were of the domain of science-fiction and dubious history facts. But now, not only was it rock-solid proven feasible, but also it had change people’s lives like the invention of electricity had about two century ago, in the mid 1800s.

At first, people had not grasped the profound implications of that discovery. It was another funny science experiment from researchers, and didn’t seem to have any more practical usage as did goat cloning, and creation of phosphorescent pigs. However, to mark the consciousnesses of the importance of the event, the government hadn’t skimped on the showcase. Not that it was of any importance after what evolution was bound to happen afterward, but still, huge sums of money were spent brilliantly.

The symbolic aspect of choosing what object to transmute wasn’t unnoticed. It could be virtually anything physical: garbage, contaminated soil… But it had to mean more.
Someone whose name was forgotten came with a suggestion and it slowly came up as the most natural thing —to close this area and open on the new one.
There had been many people still left to convince, the die-hard fanaticism, but it had to be it. And for good measure, the involvement of other nations was asked.

Sept. 4th, 2044, the ceremony opened with the display of what was left of Enola Gay that plane who had dropped the first atomic bomb, which had been almost forgotten in the West, but not completely in the East. And many nations came afterward, each carrying a symbol of what they wanted to recycle, to free themselves off.

Then all of these heterogeneous elements entered the P-Machine, a distant relative of the Z-Machine which had been adapted and enhanced to produce aneutronic fusion at its core —highest temperatures of the universe thought unreachable by human means, harnessed to change the elements at will, and producing no harmful radiations as the atomic towers of the past.
After a silent moment of unbearable expectation, melted gold started to flow out of the machine, making people wonder if that was all of it?

Yes, it was merely it. Transmutation could be done, and it was not so impossible as people thought in the past. It meant free resources, recycling of garbage, abundance for all… at people’s grasp.
What people had failed to recognize at the beginning, apart from the immense possibilities that were lying before them was that the machine could only transmute matter. And even if it could virtually free them of greed (because everything from gold to rocks was basically of the same value now), people’s own values were now made prominent, there was no camouflage left: no victims, no shortages, no lack of.

Even five years after, it still meant huge challenges, but there was hope.

As she was sinking to the bottom of the raging sea, Madame Chesterhope first felt like a boiling rage inside her, at all the thwarted attempts, all the unfulfilled promises.
Not a solid thing on which to carve a few runes or symbols to get herself out, not a single living being to use at her profit, she was alone, at the mercy of gravity.
Not unexpectedly, flashes of her life, of her many lives, flickered like incoherent pieces of an unfinished mosaic in her mind.

When did it went wrong? she thought… When did she lose touch with her magic.
Not the mundane magic, not the one she used for these parlor tricks devoid of meaning, like that beautiful flying motorbike which was drowning even faster than her… She was speaking of her inner magic, her sense of connection with the elements, with herself, Phoebe.

What had become of the frail grey-haired lady the apparency of whom she was so fond of taking years ago?
She was tempted to blame many things; the twenty-first century of her own dimension, for one, which had made her rough and tough, out of need perhaps, and perhaps a bit out of laziness. It was out of tiredness mostly, tiredness to have to constantly justify her appearance to others, that she had chosen a more convenient one; that of the crone with more rotund forms, of whom one would only expect austerity and strength.
You can see where it had led you. she was thinking.

A few more miles further down, and perhaps she would meet the mermaids, like the guy said in that Big Blue motion picture…
Maybe there was some purity left in her heart, that would make the inhabitants of the depths greet her wretched soul. Or perhaps they all died before her, from the pollution of this strange world mutating in pangs and spasms of a painful childbirth.

And what would you do now, if you have the choice? that sweet voice, like that of a thin grey-haired mermaid, was it her own, testing herself?
The quest for magical artifacts seemed so far away at this moment. It had begun a long time ago, led her to discover new other-dimensional places… new tricks, all of them for what? To gain control over the elements, the others, everything that could threaten her, force her to change. How ironic. That the fear of change made her change so drastically.
She wanted to make peace with all of that. The mermaids weren’t coming, but her own voice was still there for her. Perhaps she could muster the strength. To continue…

Mustering all her force, she forcibly expressed the most propelling “prout” she’d ever made. Of course, she’d been learning a few tricks from the legendary Fartiste back in her youth when she went to Paris to perform at the Moulin Rouge… Sweetest time of her life, she had to admit…

On the surface of the waters, bubbles started to form.