Distant night, violent in vaporous, artificial brightness
Empty of safety, but sleepy all the same
Draping the hills in the eternal distance
That is brought by the absence of sight
Hiding the King of Fire in danger and ignorance
And robing even the sharp-eyed in uneasiness
Brings, still, its own luminosity, unlooked-for and despised
Graceful sun, Lord of Nurture and God of Burning and Dessication
Brings a wailing, eviscerating screech
To the eye used to streetlights
But shouts a welcome, all the same
Hiding in its light the unwary and stupid
Preserving them for another feast
An audience to their fumblings and their guilt
Lighting their way to their own little destinies
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Power of Words
Carey and some of our friends recently read a series of books that are in the process of being made into movies. I've not read them, and intend to continue resisting for the foreseeable future, but I have been struck by the emotional impact the books have had on some of the readers.
One hears on occasion how the power of the written word can be moving. For instance, parts of the Bible are quite beautifully written, and elicit strong emotional responses. Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, Forster, Hemingway all have moments that are very moving.
But, when naming authors who impress with their emotional impact, quite beyond the quality of their work, the above list is not out of the realm of the expected. The series of books my friends have been reading is written by Stephenie Meyer, Twilight, et al. Initially, this surprised me a great deal, as the books are written as thrillers aimed at teens. But, then I began to consider that Shakespeare's works were aimed at the common audience, and pandered directly to what the public wanted.
What the public seems to want, these days, is vampire sex. If that is what it takes to get into the head of a reader and make him/her react with something more than indifference, I'm willing to set judgement aside, and allow time and taste to decide.
One hears on occasion how the power of the written word can be moving. For instance, parts of the Bible are quite beautifully written, and elicit strong emotional responses. Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, Forster, Hemingway all have moments that are very moving.
But, when naming authors who impress with their emotional impact, quite beyond the quality of their work, the above list is not out of the realm of the expected. The series of books my friends have been reading is written by Stephenie Meyer, Twilight, et al. Initially, this surprised me a great deal, as the books are written as thrillers aimed at teens. But, then I began to consider that Shakespeare's works were aimed at the common audience, and pandered directly to what the public wanted.
What the public seems to want, these days, is vampire sex. If that is what it takes to get into the head of a reader and make him/her react with something more than indifference, I'm willing to set judgement aside, and allow time and taste to decide.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
I realize that this is supposed to be a literary blog, but I think this is one of the most remarkable discoveries in a very long time.
Gobekli Tepe
What goes unsaid here is that there are some beautiful friezes and carvings at this site which do not simply spring fresh from the stone-age mind. There was a period of development here that speaks of further antiquity. Ten thousand years is long enough ago, but there is a still more ancient tradition of art and religion that must have preceded this temple.
Gobekli Tepe
What goes unsaid here is that there are some beautiful friezes and carvings at this site which do not simply spring fresh from the stone-age mind. There was a period of development here that speaks of further antiquity. Ten thousand years is long enough ago, but there is a still more ancient tradition of art and religion that must have preceded this temple.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
The Eternal City, Part 17
Menold, dwarrow of the Southtend, had a reputation for the love of brewed libation. His reputation was such that he had earned the epithet, Foamnose, among his close friends. Since their arrival at Gate Island, it had been his habit to take one hour off every day to venture into town and partake of one or two of the town’s fine beers. It was such a mission, he assured Miri, that brought him to town this day.
His real intention, of course, was to see if he could spot the Maiden, thereby finding the girl who would be with her. It was his intention to invite them to the booth. That way, the predictions of the Elders need not be compromised, and they would achieve their goal that much faster. Then, they could go home.
He made his first stop at a tavern where he recalled having a particularly fine brown beer. It was there he overheard the first of the whisperings.
“It happened right across the street from Maselin’s house,” one of the locals was saying. “Apparently, ten of ‘em tried to kill the Maiden, and her apprentice killed them, instead.”
“Bad move,” his friend said. “Ain’t never heard of nobody killin’ a Maiden.”
Menold set out almost immediately for Maselin’s house. Along the way, he heard more rumors. The number of attackers grew with the telling, until an army had marched quietly into town and the Maiden had taken down all but one of them, and her apprentice did for him.
Taking most of the talk for what it was, he knew there must be a kernel of truth to it. This could be trouble for him and his companions. He silently cursed Miri for convincing them not to pursue the girl.
Some of the rumors involved the town watch, and Menold took that part for true. So, once he reached Maselin’s house and found nothing going on, he headed for the building that housed the watch.
When he arrived, a small crowd was milling about. Mostly locals, but there were some from out of town as well. Most had come to stare at the three ghoks seated on the edge of the North-South Road, outside of the watch building. He was curious, as well, and as it seemed this was where he would find the girl, he decided to join the crowd.
His real intention, of course, was to see if he could spot the Maiden, thereby finding the girl who would be with her. It was his intention to invite them to the booth. That way, the predictions of the Elders need not be compromised, and they would achieve their goal that much faster. Then, they could go home.
He made his first stop at a tavern where he recalled having a particularly fine brown beer. It was there he overheard the first of the whisperings.
“It happened right across the street from Maselin’s house,” one of the locals was saying. “Apparently, ten of ‘em tried to kill the Maiden, and her apprentice killed them, instead.”
“Bad move,” his friend said. “Ain’t never heard of nobody killin’ a Maiden.”
Menold set out almost immediately for Maselin’s house. Along the way, he heard more rumors. The number of attackers grew with the telling, until an army had marched quietly into town and the Maiden had taken down all but one of them, and her apprentice did for him.
Taking most of the talk for what it was, he knew there must be a kernel of truth to it. This could be trouble for him and his companions. He silently cursed Miri for convincing them not to pursue the girl.
Some of the rumors involved the town watch, and Menold took that part for true. So, once he reached Maselin’s house and found nothing going on, he headed for the building that housed the watch.
When he arrived, a small crowd was milling about. Mostly locals, but there were some from out of town as well. Most had come to stare at the three ghoks seated on the edge of the North-South Road, outside of the watch building. He was curious, as well, and as it seemed this was where he would find the girl, he decided to join the crowd.
The Eternal City, Part 16
“I see the taint in you, girl,” a voice said.
Nessa was lying atop the altar in the chapel at Windhold. The high, vaulted ceilings were shadowed in night, the only light emanating from the candles of devotees left after the final service of the day.
She sat up, weak and sickly-feeling.
The voice came from all around her, “You’ve been poisoned, and you will die.”
It was the voice the Goddess had used in her other visions, so Nessa knew she spoke the truth.
“Before this happens, you must bring the girl to me,” the Goddess said. “You cannot fail.”
She awoke lying on a cot in a strange room. Her chest ached, her face and throat and nose burned. She tried to sit up.
“Steady on, darling,” came a kindly voice. In to her view came a short, elderly human woman. She smiled down at Nessa. “You just lie still, now. You’ve had a rough night.”
“Kira?” Nessa croaked. Her throat was raw, and her voice wouldn’t work.
“The girl is fine,” the woman said. “You don’t worry about her.”
Nessa drifted back to sleep, despite her best efforts.
Kira sat in a nearby room, looking out the window at the growing light. The North-South Road below was filling with people, again. She could see their little campsite across the street and a little way south. The people in the house were emerging, still groggy from the evening’s revels. They had no idea what had happened just outside their home.
There was a little knock on the door, and Maselin entered with two humans. They were both short and a little on the chubby side, and each stood on one side of the tall and thin Maselin as they filled the little room. Kira thought they looked slightly comical.
“Forgive us,” Maselin said. “We would like to apologize for the poor hospitality of our little town. I hope you will believe us when we say that this sort of thing almost never happens, here. In fact,” he went on, “in all my time as mayor, this is the first time anyone has done anything like this. And I have been mayor for nearly a hundred bazaars.”
“I understand,” Kira said. “It’s OK. But, how is Nessa?”
“Ah,” the man on Maselin’s left said. “I have examined her, and it seems she has been poisoned by a substance of which I have no knowledge.”
“This is Master Stile,” Maselin introduced. “He sometimes acts as a physician in Gate Island.”
The physician bowed slightly.
“I cannot say what the long-term effects of the poison will be,” he went on, “but, she seems to be past the initial threat.” He paused, then, “You haven’t, ah, seen her yet, have you?”
Kira was confused, and it must have shown on her face.
“Her face has been damaged,” the physician continued. “What the actual damage has been will only be known once the swelling stops. But, there will be some extensive scarring.”
“I wish to see her,” Kira said, suddenly. She suddenly had the idea that these three were here to keep her from just that, and she refused to allow it.
“Well,” the third man said. “I don’t think that is necessarily a good idea, just now.”
“Gils,” Maselin said. “He leads Gate Island’s guards.”
“Perhaps it would be best for you to allow her to rest,” Gils said. “Besides, I would like to ask a few questions.”
“I wish to see her,” Kira said again, and turned to face them more squarely.
Maselin turned to Gils and said, “I don’t suppose it would harm anything, do you?”
Kira nearly burst into tears when she saw her friend. She suppressed her emotions, and promised herself she would cry later.
Nessa’s face was terribly swollen, especially the lower half. She had a hole in the base of her throat where Stile had made a puncture in order to get air into her lungs. Apparently, her throat had swollen shut. Now, the hole had a stitch in it, and she was breathing normally. The poison had eaten away skin, and bandages covered most of her jaw and her nose. Some of the poison had reached her left eye, as well, and it was heavily bandaged.
She was asleep, and Kira didn’t disturb her. She turned to leave the room, brushing past the three men, when a thought struck her.
“What of the man’s slaves?” she asked.
The two humans looked confused, but Maselin answered, “It is interesting you should ask. They are just outside. They seem to be waiting for something, but they will speak to none but you.”
“Why me?” Kira asked.
“I do not know,” said, holding out his hands in his equivalent of a shrug.
Kira still had her sword, and she was in the mood for a fight. She decided to leave Nessa in the hands of these people for just a little while longer.
Outside the room, Gils asked her, “Young lady, why do you suppose this man would attack your friend?”
“I do not know,” Kira lied. It was her first time. She hoped he believed it.
Nessa was lying atop the altar in the chapel at Windhold. The high, vaulted ceilings were shadowed in night, the only light emanating from the candles of devotees left after the final service of the day.
She sat up, weak and sickly-feeling.
The voice came from all around her, “You’ve been poisoned, and you will die.”
It was the voice the Goddess had used in her other visions, so Nessa knew she spoke the truth.
“Before this happens, you must bring the girl to me,” the Goddess said. “You cannot fail.”
She awoke lying on a cot in a strange room. Her chest ached, her face and throat and nose burned. She tried to sit up.
“Steady on, darling,” came a kindly voice. In to her view came a short, elderly human woman. She smiled down at Nessa. “You just lie still, now. You’ve had a rough night.”
“Kira?” Nessa croaked. Her throat was raw, and her voice wouldn’t work.
“The girl is fine,” the woman said. “You don’t worry about her.”
Nessa drifted back to sleep, despite her best efforts.
Kira sat in a nearby room, looking out the window at the growing light. The North-South Road below was filling with people, again. She could see their little campsite across the street and a little way south. The people in the house were emerging, still groggy from the evening’s revels. They had no idea what had happened just outside their home.
There was a little knock on the door, and Maselin entered with two humans. They were both short and a little on the chubby side, and each stood on one side of the tall and thin Maselin as they filled the little room. Kira thought they looked slightly comical.
“Forgive us,” Maselin said. “We would like to apologize for the poor hospitality of our little town. I hope you will believe us when we say that this sort of thing almost never happens, here. In fact,” he went on, “in all my time as mayor, this is the first time anyone has done anything like this. And I have been mayor for nearly a hundred bazaars.”
“I understand,” Kira said. “It’s OK. But, how is Nessa?”
“Ah,” the man on Maselin’s left said. “I have examined her, and it seems she has been poisoned by a substance of which I have no knowledge.”
“This is Master Stile,” Maselin introduced. “He sometimes acts as a physician in Gate Island.”
The physician bowed slightly.
“I cannot say what the long-term effects of the poison will be,” he went on, “but, she seems to be past the initial threat.” He paused, then, “You haven’t, ah, seen her yet, have you?”
Kira was confused, and it must have shown on her face.
“Her face has been damaged,” the physician continued. “What the actual damage has been will only be known once the swelling stops. But, there will be some extensive scarring.”
“I wish to see her,” Kira said, suddenly. She suddenly had the idea that these three were here to keep her from just that, and she refused to allow it.
“Well,” the third man said. “I don’t think that is necessarily a good idea, just now.”
“Gils,” Maselin said. “He leads Gate Island’s guards.”
“Perhaps it would be best for you to allow her to rest,” Gils said. “Besides, I would like to ask a few questions.”
“I wish to see her,” Kira said again, and turned to face them more squarely.
Maselin turned to Gils and said, “I don’t suppose it would harm anything, do you?”
Kira nearly burst into tears when she saw her friend. She suppressed her emotions, and promised herself she would cry later.
Nessa’s face was terribly swollen, especially the lower half. She had a hole in the base of her throat where Stile had made a puncture in order to get air into her lungs. Apparently, her throat had swollen shut. Now, the hole had a stitch in it, and she was breathing normally. The poison had eaten away skin, and bandages covered most of her jaw and her nose. Some of the poison had reached her left eye, as well, and it was heavily bandaged.
She was asleep, and Kira didn’t disturb her. She turned to leave the room, brushing past the three men, when a thought struck her.
“What of the man’s slaves?” she asked.
The two humans looked confused, but Maselin answered, “It is interesting you should ask. They are just outside. They seem to be waiting for something, but they will speak to none but you.”
“Why me?” Kira asked.
“I do not know,” said, holding out his hands in his equivalent of a shrug.
Kira still had her sword, and she was in the mood for a fight. She decided to leave Nessa in the hands of these people for just a little while longer.
Outside the room, Gils asked her, “Young lady, why do you suppose this man would attack your friend?”
“I do not know,” Kira lied. It was her first time. She hoped he believed it.
The Eternal City, Part 15
It took almost all of the rest of the night to find them. Stellus asked dozens of people finally figuring out they were on the island. Then, dozens more to find that they would be found somewhere along the North-South Road. It was just a lucky thing, he thought, that Maidens are easy to spot.
He found them huddled against a post of one of the elevated houses, just underneath it. As luck would have it, there were few other people around, and they all seemed to be asleep. The Maiden sat, keeping watch, however. She knew her duty, he thought. He admired that. He thought it a shame he must ruin her life.
He kept to the open part of the street, approaching in plain view. He kept a smile on his face, as if pleased to see her. He held a powdered substance gripped in his left hand.
“Ah, excuse me,” he said. “Are you a Sword Maiden?” He continued before she could brush him off, “I ask because my daughter has been so hoping she would be chosen-.”
She was on her feet, standing in front of the girl, who continued to sleep quietly.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Stellus went on. “I just have a few questions.”
With that, he threw the powder in her face. Caught off guard by such a tactic, the Maiden inhaled involuntarily, and began to choke. In a few seconds, she was collapsing. He caught her, and dragged her under the house, and approached the spot where the girl was sleeping.
She was gone!
Stellus cursed, loudly.
Kira retreated into the shadows of the underside of the house when she saw Nessa begin to choke. In a moment, she had her sword out and was searching for a way to approach the assassin without him seeing her.
He now had a dagger out, and was standing, indecisive, just beyond the house. The happy sounds of the inhabitants celebrating some occasion could be heard above her head. Keeping to the shadows for as long as possible, she didn’t reveal herself until the final second before her attack.
He parried her first blow, and came back at her. There was something in his demeanor which seemed to indicate he didn’t want to kill her. He didn’t attack, for instance. He seemed content, for the moment, to defend.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Never mind that, girl,” he answered. “What is important is who you are. Apparently, you are important for some reason. It is simply my job to retrieve you.”
“Retrieve?”
“Barring that, I must kill you,” he admitted, with a shrug.
She attacked again, deciding not to wait for him to decide. He parried again, but she didn’t hesitate, this time. She caught him with a second attack, just below the left arm, delving deep into his chest.
He looked surprised for a moment, and suddenly crumpled to the ground.
It was just then that the town watch arrived.
He found them huddled against a post of one of the elevated houses, just underneath it. As luck would have it, there were few other people around, and they all seemed to be asleep. The Maiden sat, keeping watch, however. She knew her duty, he thought. He admired that. He thought it a shame he must ruin her life.
He kept to the open part of the street, approaching in plain view. He kept a smile on his face, as if pleased to see her. He held a powdered substance gripped in his left hand.
“Ah, excuse me,” he said. “Are you a Sword Maiden?” He continued before she could brush him off, “I ask because my daughter has been so hoping she would be chosen-.”
She was on her feet, standing in front of the girl, who continued to sleep quietly.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Stellus went on. “I just have a few questions.”
With that, he threw the powder in her face. Caught off guard by such a tactic, the Maiden inhaled involuntarily, and began to choke. In a few seconds, she was collapsing. He caught her, and dragged her under the house, and approached the spot where the girl was sleeping.
She was gone!
Stellus cursed, loudly.
Kira retreated into the shadows of the underside of the house when she saw Nessa begin to choke. In a moment, she had her sword out and was searching for a way to approach the assassin without him seeing her.
He now had a dagger out, and was standing, indecisive, just beyond the house. The happy sounds of the inhabitants celebrating some occasion could be heard above her head. Keeping to the shadows for as long as possible, she didn’t reveal herself until the final second before her attack.
He parried her first blow, and came back at her. There was something in his demeanor which seemed to indicate he didn’t want to kill her. He didn’t attack, for instance. He seemed content, for the moment, to defend.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Never mind that, girl,” he answered. “What is important is who you are. Apparently, you are important for some reason. It is simply my job to retrieve you.”
“Retrieve?”
“Barring that, I must kill you,” he admitted, with a shrug.
She attacked again, deciding not to wait for him to decide. He parried again, but she didn’t hesitate, this time. She caught him with a second attack, just below the left arm, delving deep into his chest.
He looked surprised for a moment, and suddenly crumpled to the ground.
It was just then that the town watch arrived.
The Eternal City, Part 14
“I think I just saw her!” Miri said. She had burst in on Gerrold and Menold as they took a break from the booth. “She disappeared into the crowd, but she had a Maiden with her, just like the Elders said!”
Gerrold and Menold looked at each other excitedly.
“Well,” Gerrold said. “Shouldn’t we go after her?”
“She’s supposed to come to us,” Miri said, putting out a hand, as if to stop him from crashing past her into the bazaar. “The Elders were very specific.”
“But, we spotted her first,” Menold said. “Does that mean nothing?”
Gerrold sighed. “Miri has been right all this time. I suppose we should wait.” He shook his finger at her, “But, not forever.”
Stellus assured his three slaves were secured to their posts before entering his tent behind the booth. Inside, instead of the welcoming face of his concubine, he found the hovering black shadow that had plagued him of late. Its unblinking, golden eyes regarded him coldly, making him shift from foot to foot, and look at the ground more often than his pride would have liked.
“You saw her?” the shadow asked.
“Yes,” Stellus answered. “She was with a Maiden, as described. She doesn’t look important. Just another of these northern peasants.”
“Your opinion is noted,” the shadow said, mockingly. “The fact that my children have been unable to destroy her speaks to me, however. She is protected, therefore she is important. She is what we have awaited.”
“And what is that?” Stellus asked.
“Salvation or destruction,” the shadow answered. “Find her, bring her to me. If you cannot bring her, kill her. Now.”
Stellus had no idea how he was going to accomplish this. The girl would be no trouble. He would simply knock her unconscious and drag her away. The Maiden, however, was a problem. He knew of few who could stand against a Maiden in combat. He was not one of them.
As he moved through the night traffic of the bazaar, an idea struck him. He knew a merchant nearby who could solve this problem. He changed course, and headed for the edges of the bazaar. In a few minutes, he was standing outside a booth where a small fire played atop a single torch. She was still open, one of many merchants whose merchandise sold better at night.
“Stellus,” the young woman said as he approached. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Good evening, Gretta,” Stellus said. “I come with hope that you have some of your more potent wares prepared.”
“Ah, the costly ones,” Gretta purred.
Stellus snorted, “Of course.” He reached into his pouch and pulled out a glittering necklace, covered in stones. “The very costly ones.”
Gerrold and Menold looked at each other excitedly.
“Well,” Gerrold said. “Shouldn’t we go after her?”
“She’s supposed to come to us,” Miri said, putting out a hand, as if to stop him from crashing past her into the bazaar. “The Elders were very specific.”
“But, we spotted her first,” Menold said. “Does that mean nothing?”
Gerrold sighed. “Miri has been right all this time. I suppose we should wait.” He shook his finger at her, “But, not forever.”
Stellus assured his three slaves were secured to their posts before entering his tent behind the booth. Inside, instead of the welcoming face of his concubine, he found the hovering black shadow that had plagued him of late. Its unblinking, golden eyes regarded him coldly, making him shift from foot to foot, and look at the ground more often than his pride would have liked.
“You saw her?” the shadow asked.
“Yes,” Stellus answered. “She was with a Maiden, as described. She doesn’t look important. Just another of these northern peasants.”
“Your opinion is noted,” the shadow said, mockingly. “The fact that my children have been unable to destroy her speaks to me, however. She is protected, therefore she is important. She is what we have awaited.”
“And what is that?” Stellus asked.
“Salvation or destruction,” the shadow answered. “Find her, bring her to me. If you cannot bring her, kill her. Now.”
Stellus had no idea how he was going to accomplish this. The girl would be no trouble. He would simply knock her unconscious and drag her away. The Maiden, however, was a problem. He knew of few who could stand against a Maiden in combat. He was not one of them.
As he moved through the night traffic of the bazaar, an idea struck him. He knew a merchant nearby who could solve this problem. He changed course, and headed for the edges of the bazaar. In a few minutes, he was standing outside a booth where a small fire played atop a single torch. She was still open, one of many merchants whose merchandise sold better at night.
“Stellus,” the young woman said as he approached. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Good evening, Gretta,” Stellus said. “I come with hope that you have some of your more potent wares prepared.”
“Ah, the costly ones,” Gretta purred.
Stellus snorted, “Of course.” He reached into his pouch and pulled out a glittering necklace, covered in stones. “The very costly ones.”
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