Where is the descent into the shadow?
Where the oddness of light?
This is the weirdness of morning,
the bleary-eyed stare into the middle distance.
A cacophony of uninteresting activity occupies the ears,
frustrating the brain’s attempt at lucidity.
Here is empty obedience to the body’s necessities,
and thank the Gods for that.
But then, the coffee is good, like confession and
screaming curses at the sky.
The drilling headache that follows is evidence of life,
and an opening to the news of the day.
So much for the shadow, forgotten; so much for soft light.
Bring the day’s fight! Open the Third Eye of burden!
I am awake, I am ready...
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Eternal City, Parts 18 & 19
The King of the Dead stood within his ring of stones and gazed malevolently at the southern horizon. He awaited the arrival of his shadowy ally, this ruler of trolls. A towering rage inspired him, and he thought of the many punishments he would like to visit upon the creature. They would be painful, extensive, long, and eventually fatal. But, there was one punishment that fit above all, and he would find great satisfaction in inflicting it.
“I am here,” came the voice of the shadow from near and behind him. It was still full of confidence, of insolence. It suspected nothing, another sign of its inferiority.
The King of the Dead turned and held his arm out before him, his hand tracing a small, quick gesture. Instantly, the shadowy form of the creature claiming to be the Night Spirit was encased in a transparent sphere, preventing it from moving or affecting anything around it.
“You cannot be whom you claim to be,” said the King of the Dead, a triumphant smile playing at his lips. “The Night Spirit would not be captured so easily. Not even within the confines of my own sanctuary would I have been able to do this.”
He stepped nearer the shadow. “No, you are no Fomorian at all. Rather, you are simply an upstart little spirit, playing games too big for itself.”
The shadow remained silent. It simply glared at the King of the Dead. But, something had changed. The gold of its irises, those strange little circles that seemed so out of place in the shadow changed. They were replaced with the red, slit-irised eyes of a troll. Its pupils narrowed, as if it were frightened of its own transformation.
Something happened to the shadow itself, too. It seemed to become grainy, its darkness wavering, flowing from one part of itself to another. It tried to back away, but could only reach the side of the sphere.
The King of the Dead laughed a little. “You are in trouble,” he teased.
“Tell me,” he said, turning suddenly serious. “What would have possessed you to directly take the life of a mortal? Did you not think I would know?” He put his face right up to the edge of the sphere. “I am the King of the Dead! No spirit may kill but at my command. No Fomorian, and certainly no creature less than we! It is only these little mortals who are free to do so.” As he spoke this last, he found a regret in his voice he’d not heard in a long time.
This little creature was going to suffer, oh yes. But, it would still be no consolation for allowing the last one to get away with it. He knew who she was, what she had done, and why. And he had let her go. He had done nothing, though it would have been within his power and his rights to do anything, and he would still do nothing, unless she forced his hand. Even then, he was not sure.
“Come, my little friend,” The King of Death said, reaching out toward the sphere, “let us go see the Witch.”
The little shadow’s eyes grew wide, and the depth of its darkness seemed to waver even more.
19.
“What of the man’s concubine?” Maselin asked. “Where is she?”
Gils replied, “She was found in their tent. He neck was twisted around… -er, several times.”
“Gruesome,” Maselin said, eyebrows raised. “Do you suspect the Ghok slaves?”
“It occurred to me,” Gils answered. “But, I don’t think so. They would have fled, certainly. Also, it is my understanding that the Ghoks are honor-bound to serve their captors. Something about their own culture prevents them from revolting.”
“This I have heard, as well,” Maselin agreed. “A strange death, and we may never know the answer. Steadmeet wanes, and we haven’t the time or people to question everyone who might have done it.”
Steadmeet was full of many sorts of people, not all of them simple traders. Thieves, bandits and other unsavory characters were attracted to Steadmeet also. This was only natural. Also, merchants could be fiercely competitive. Perhaps one of them seized upon this chance to remove some of the competition completely.
The girl, Kira, had asked that the Maiden remain in their care for a little longer. The Ghoks were awaiting her outside. She’d gone to see them, and Maselin decided to follow. He was possessed of a curious mind, and this was getting the better of him. It was very exciting!
“I am here,” came the voice of the shadow from near and behind him. It was still full of confidence, of insolence. It suspected nothing, another sign of its inferiority.
The King of the Dead turned and held his arm out before him, his hand tracing a small, quick gesture. Instantly, the shadowy form of the creature claiming to be the Night Spirit was encased in a transparent sphere, preventing it from moving or affecting anything around it.
“You cannot be whom you claim to be,” said the King of the Dead, a triumphant smile playing at his lips. “The Night Spirit would not be captured so easily. Not even within the confines of my own sanctuary would I have been able to do this.”
He stepped nearer the shadow. “No, you are no Fomorian at all. Rather, you are simply an upstart little spirit, playing games too big for itself.”
The shadow remained silent. It simply glared at the King of the Dead. But, something had changed. The gold of its irises, those strange little circles that seemed so out of place in the shadow changed. They were replaced with the red, slit-irised eyes of a troll. Its pupils narrowed, as if it were frightened of its own transformation.
Something happened to the shadow itself, too. It seemed to become grainy, its darkness wavering, flowing from one part of itself to another. It tried to back away, but could only reach the side of the sphere.
The King of the Dead laughed a little. “You are in trouble,” he teased.
“Tell me,” he said, turning suddenly serious. “What would have possessed you to directly take the life of a mortal? Did you not think I would know?” He put his face right up to the edge of the sphere. “I am the King of the Dead! No spirit may kill but at my command. No Fomorian, and certainly no creature less than we! It is only these little mortals who are free to do so.” As he spoke this last, he found a regret in his voice he’d not heard in a long time.
This little creature was going to suffer, oh yes. But, it would still be no consolation for allowing the last one to get away with it. He knew who she was, what she had done, and why. And he had let her go. He had done nothing, though it would have been within his power and his rights to do anything, and he would still do nothing, unless she forced his hand. Even then, he was not sure.
“Come, my little friend,” The King of Death said, reaching out toward the sphere, “let us go see the Witch.”
The little shadow’s eyes grew wide, and the depth of its darkness seemed to waver even more.
19.
“What of the man’s concubine?” Maselin asked. “Where is she?”
Gils replied, “She was found in their tent. He neck was twisted around… -er, several times.”
“Gruesome,” Maselin said, eyebrows raised. “Do you suspect the Ghok slaves?”
“It occurred to me,” Gils answered. “But, I don’t think so. They would have fled, certainly. Also, it is my understanding that the Ghoks are honor-bound to serve their captors. Something about their own culture prevents them from revolting.”
“This I have heard, as well,” Maselin agreed. “A strange death, and we may never know the answer. Steadmeet wanes, and we haven’t the time or people to question everyone who might have done it.”
Steadmeet was full of many sorts of people, not all of them simple traders. Thieves, bandits and other unsavory characters were attracted to Steadmeet also. This was only natural. Also, merchants could be fiercely competitive. Perhaps one of them seized upon this chance to remove some of the competition completely.
The girl, Kira, had asked that the Maiden remain in their care for a little longer. The Ghoks were awaiting her outside. She’d gone to see them, and Maselin decided to follow. He was possessed of a curious mind, and this was getting the better of him. It was very exciting!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Night and Sun, Eternal Distance
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
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
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.
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