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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Fiona wandered slowly along the road to the supermarket in the Village, deep in thought, pondering a recent dream. In her dream she had been talking to someone from the power company. He was very chatty. Eventually he asked her if she had any issues with her power service. In her dream she had started to focus on some electricity issues she was experiencing. Well as a matter of fact I do, she had replied. At which point the man from the power company had abruptly cut the call short.
In her dream she felt a little put out, although resolved to let the power company know later.
The message of the dream felt clear enough, it was her focusing on the difficulties which cut her connection. Yet this presented Fiona with some difficulty, because she dearly loved to analyse even when this did mean focusing on not so pleasant things, though she had been aware for some time how this mental work would deplete her energy.
Actually there was almost a feeling of grieving in her. To let go of this part of her felt like losing something warm and comforting in it’s familiarity, like a well worn and loved article of clothing. It left her wondering a bit about her own identity.
On the way back home, laden with bags of shopping, Fiona saw Jarrod.
Jarrod was lying on a park bench conversing loudly to himself. Well, Fiona mentally corrected herself, to someone I can’t see anyway.
They just don’t understand reality he was saying vehemently they just don’t get it.
Fiona smiled to herself, noticing Jarrod getting a few concerned looks from the well dressed locals. With his bare feet, unkempt hair and long beard he would stand out even if he wasn’t shouting at the top of his voice. She decided to try and sneak past herself, he looked like maybe today he would not recognise her anyway.
She turned back.
Hey Jarrod
Fiona, here’s the thing. Here’s the question okay. Should we swim up-stream or down? Fiona what do you think? Should we head for the Source or the Ocean? Up river or down? We’re on the edge of a new era Fiona. So what will it be, the shallows or the rapids?
Before she needed to come up with an answer Jarrod’s attention was diverted by the shopping bags.
FOOD! Great is that for me Fiona?
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
When Bernhard, making his black panther puppet Archie speak, had answered the tongue-in-cheek burning question that was on everyone’s lips:
— Does Dory’s part of the story seem logical to you?
the answer had come as a surprise to many…
— Yes he had answered… adding a few moments afterwards, though that there is some mistranslation within the interpretation. [¹]
Archie also said that we were moving to a center of a seesaw which represents within your understanding an awareness of “it matters not”.
Ahahah, how greatly befuddling a new riddle would that be? Perhaps the answer was very simple too. Something like “egg”…
All that Quintin was sure, was that Dory surely enjoyed bouncing on seesaws juggling with a basketful of eggs!
Perhaps, it mattered not after all… Perhaps, perhaps not… or not yet…
Well, Archie had also admitted during the night he didn’t really care being a parrot in that story… Perhaps he had finally lost it too, as would certainly say Fiona, who was their last beacon of sanity in that insane adventure.
—
[¹] Note from your impartially unbiased reporter:
(phew)In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
India Louise had been switching her own book with Cuthbert’s that night. And as she was exploring some of the stories told in his, he was having a peek into hers.
Very quickly, he became aware of a whole new continent, in that World, across the Middle Seas. In that continent far North of the one where Malvina’s was living, lived some intrepid people. They were strong with big voices, and a bit quarrelsome too. Their ways had forgotten lots about Magix and they placed most of the value into tangible items.
The next page, a man was sailing across the Middle Seas with a handful of trusted men. He was a captain pirate, named Båd Al’Guz, which meant, Båd son of Guz. His crew referred to him as Bådul.
Cuthbert was intrigued by this man, and had begun to discuss with him mentally, asking who he was, who were his people. The same as Cuthbert had been very innocently doing with gentle Malvina.
But Bådul was tricky, and after a bit of a surprise, very soon discovered that the little boy could be a very interesting informant, though an unusual one.
And in fact, his information was much more interesting than that which the shamans of King Wulfrick babbled in the most inspired manner.
Till now, from the mouths of the buck-pelts clothed shamans had only came stupid gibberish that the King and his court gobbled endlessly. Something about “YaWn”, as they said: You animate Worlds neatly .
How stupid was that? Their only answers were useless to him, they were only telling him that he activated and animated the Worlds neatly, and that, in short, nothing was fixed and he could do anything.
Well, with that boy, that was different. He was talking about a cave with gilded dragon eggs, and THAT was of a great value to Bådul.
But of course, he would not frighten the young boy and pretended that his intentions were that of an explorer, trying to discover new shores and new continents, so as to become closer to understand from where he came, and hopefully make people aware of their closeness to each others.
He was such an eloquent actor that he almost shed a tear saying that sentence.
As a matter of fact, for as long as he remembered, he had been wandering in many situations, and lots of them had not been very pleasant. Born from uncaring parents, as lots, if not all, of his people were, working as a janitor in a sordid tavern, then as a warden (if not executioner when requested) in an even more sordid jail… Were the Gods to be blamed for that? Well, according to the shamans, he was the only one to be blamed, because he did not accept his responsibility as a weaver of Worlds.
Idiots.
At least, he had found his passion. He love sailing, and taking riches for his pleasure. Whatever then, he would take his share, and not care about what was next.
At least, if he could coax the boy into revealing more about that cave.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“His name is Archibald”
Sanso and the parrot jumped. Who said that?
“I did” said India Louise.
Both Sanso and the parrot blinked. A little girl in a woolly jumper was standing right in front of them.
“Where did you come from?” asked Sanso, as the parrot inquired “How did you know my name?”
“I just walked into the page” India Louise told Sanso, and to the parrot she said “And Great Grandaddy Wrick told me your name last night.”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The singing in the next room was getting louder. As Dory started to sing along, she felt better. Bugger this! she shouted, and leapt off the musty sofa. The trip to the cave! She felt around the floor with her feet for her shoes, and wasn’t altogether surprised to find her magic flying sandals. Perfect, how perfect is that! She looked around the cluttered shop store room as she buckled the sandals straps. She grabbed a bright blue energy blanket off a pile of coloured shawls, a pith helmet off a hatstand, a mini magic tool kit in a terracotta patterned kilim bag, and on impulse, a glass egg timer with bright fuchsia pink sand.
As she ran out of the back door a parrot in an elaborate wrought iron cage squalked ‘Don’t forget the key, dear, don’t forget the key’.
Key? What key?
‘Don’t forget the key dear don’t forget the key dear don’t forget the key…’
WHAT bloody key dear! Dory was really anxious to get to the cave now, but something held her back.
The key, the key… There was something she couldn’t quite remember about a key. She looked around the room in a panic, It could take me HOURS to find the key in here, she ranted. Ok, ok, I tell you what, she said to the bird, I’ll let you out of that cage, you find the key, and catch me up. Meet me at the cave with the key, OK?
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The quiet voice of Leörmn, who was not only shaping the cave but also aware of the living creatures in it, upon feeling the trouble of the poor flattened glukenitch, mentally told it not to worry.
Glukenitches were slimy wet creatures fearing light, and thus kept most of their time living underground. They lived in colonies generated from a single individual, and they shared the same mind. It was thus quite easy to communicate with all of them at the same time, and that often proved quite useful, for people not at ease with teleportation, as glukenitches, despite their not very engaging looks, were most helpful creatures.
They especially liked the cave where Malvina had settled down, because there was this moisture and steam coming from the hot springs which allowed them to live a relatively peaceful life. They used to eat almost everything, not too regarding as to the nature of the things they consumed, and were quite useful recyclers of garbage. Their droppings had a bluish halo to them, which made the inside of the tunnels glow with them until they had completely dried up, and coalesced into a glassy substance.
That is, until Leörmn had it all changed again.
So Leörmn was quite fond of these creatures as they were of a great help to keep the natural balance of the cave.
Don’t worry he told the glukenitch mind, gripshawks are not as carefree as they seem; most of them are simply known for their dreadful sense of direction, and also at times for their limited attention span…
Oh yes, answered the mind now I understand, this one buggered off without any notice… Could have asked for directions, but we guess it would have been useless anyway… Perhaps this one thought I would eat it. As if we were such undiscerning creatures…
As the adage goes, “Not even the Elders could know what’s in the mind of a gripshawk”… answered Leörmn enigmatically…
You know, added the mind, without meaning to be disrespectful, it’s twice now we’ve got people falling inside this hole… Perhaps for your next transmugrification you’ll like to block it. At least, the first one, that boy, was much more polite and engaging, but you know, we cannot have all the Worlds move in here as if it were Shaint Lejüs Festival…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The silent humid inky darkness closed in on Arona as she chose her path. She could not see the way but it did not matter. She trusted the darkness and the silence. She knew the way and yet could not have explained that even to herself..
She felt the music before she heard it. She did not know where it came from but the sound grew in intensity until it filled the whole space. She heard voices singing and could not understand the words and yet she felt her spirit soar and fly though her body did not move. The music was achingly beautiful and Arona felt her face wet with tears of happiness that something so beautiful existed.
Arona did not know how long she stood like that listening, but even after it ended she could still hear the music softly in her mind.
As she moved forward on her journey Arona saw a faint glimmer of light up ahead and moved towards it. The source of light was a burning candle, valiantly offering some respite from the darkness, and illuminating a door at the end of the tunnel.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Leörmn was indeed very kind hearted, but he was also quite playful too, and wanted to be as extensively welcoming as was possible. Which meant, they would have some fun with that assertive young woman in visiting as much as possible of the cave.
Arona was heavily cloaked as if the cave were dark humid and cold, but in fact, it was all of the above, except cold. Leörmn grinned widely when he saw her surprise at the steamy temperature inside it.
Oh yes, he said you didn’t expect us dragons to feel comfortable in that grassy land where every dolt can make rain happen at any minute without warning… Then he added at least, we have some proper heating, but you’ll see that in due time…
Arona was adapting slowly her gaze to the light steam, and could see more clearly the inside of the cave. Right now, they were only in a wide tunnel, with many creaks and at times, smoother parts of the walls with paintings on them.
Oh yes, said Leörmn flippantly another hobby horse of Malvina… and he proceeded along the tunnel without further ado.
Her attention caught up by the richly decorated walls, Arona didn’t notice that the sly dragon had disappeared in front of her, and she was now standing in front of three openings at the end of the long tunnel.
Rats… she thought, exasperated by the heat, the heavy cloak and now the waggish dragon. Of course, she still could hear the sound of the harp, but she was not in the mood for more treasure hunt.
Hey there! That’s no fun! she cried in exasperation. But in her exertion she only managed to awaken the colony of bat-like schpurniatz nested in the cracks of the upper walls.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Arona was lost. She had been lost for quite some time now and had got over the initial surprise this realisation had given her. It was not very often now that she questioned her decision to leave the others. She had tired of their endless journeying, always in circles, always moving and yet never seeming to move beyond the confines of the small village.
One day she told them she was leaving. She wasn’t even sure if they heard her but still she set off, wearing her heavy black cape and carrying a small bag of her most treasured possessions.
Arona had not been sure of the cape, it was so heavy, yet she feared the cold nights and loved the security of it’s warmth. It had been a gift from her parents, a long time ago, when she was just a child. Wear this cape and one day it will bring you happiness, her mother had said.
Her mother said many odd things and had left on a journey of her own a many years ago, so Arona had never really been able to find out what she meant. Magically the cape had grown with her body, moulding itself to her.
The worst of the winter cold was over now and Arona found the cape almost unbearably heavy at times, yet she could not quite bring herself to leave it behind. Sometimes she would take it off, relishing in the lightness and feeling the warmth of the sun on her body. She always put it back on though, just in case she needed it one day.
Arona pulled out a well worn map from her bag. The map had been a gift from a travelling wizard who visited the village a few years ago. Arona had given him food and shelter and he repaid her kindness with the map. He seemed to think it was quite generous of him and Arona had thanked him politely. To be honest it was not really much use to her as she had no sense of direction, not even knowing which way north was, and not knowing where she was going anyway. She preferred just to follow whichever way seemed lightest at the time. But it was handy having the map because when she met others on the journey who asked her where she was going, she would wave her map at them. It made her look good, she thought, and saved her from too many questions.
That day as she sat on a rock pretending to ponder her map she became aware of a faint sound of music in the distance. She had not heard music for such a long time. Once on her journey she had passed a wandering minstrel and begged him to play for her so that she could dance. In exchange she had lent him her cloak for a while to keep him warm.
She felt the music beckoning her.
Fiona loved Quintin’s drawings. They had a feel of magic and lightness and she was entranced by them. They were like the children’s films she had been watching lately, with many layers to them and touching something inside her mind, a distant memory which felt strangely close.
Her own drawings felt heavy to her, and she had made a decision not to paint again unless she felt inspired. She did not really understand inspiration, only knew that she was tired of trying so hard.
