It was dark: as aphotic, as Cimmerian, as stygian, as tenebrous as something very, very dark.
The dear, warm, little golden egg cast a tiny glow a few inches from its nest upon my palm. I clutched it high and peered into the inky dark, trying vainly to assess into what sort of hole I had fallen. Shadows flew up and onto a wall ahead of me. Stepping closer, I saw that strange shapes had been dug into the stone. A moment's study and I knew that a frieze of some sort stretched before me, along the wall into the gloom. Holding my light source as close as I might, I peered at the carvings and followed them into the dark, seeking their meaning.
The shapes nearest me were crude, blocky and rough hewn. Vaguely human figures clustered within a roundish conveyance upon what looked to be a rough sea as frightful creatures rose out of the sharp tips of the waves to menace them. It seemed it was a long journey until the travelers came upon land and left their boats before a mighty forest. I held the egg higher and crept along the wall, searching the carvings under its comforting luminescence. The voyagers entered the wood and were met there by other people, into whose rudimentary society they were welcomed, their lives represented in tiresome scenes of primitive domestic stereotype, generation after generation after generation until I almost fell asleep. Suddenly, the carvings changed: an invading force was represented. Now, the domestic scenes were replaced by visions of hurried and desperate flight before ominous and foreign figures and, oh, the sorrowful tale they told! The brave little figures fled and suffered such privation, plague and all manner of pestilence that I nearly wept to see it. As I reached the final panel, I saw that their journey had ended, the survivors lay together with all their pitiful belongings, as though dead and laid out for a primitive burial, and I knew that this pathetic scene had been their end and I did weep!
Unfair, unkind, unfeeling fates! Were these not men, just as I? Did not their blood flow and their hearts beat, just as mine? What god could look upon such a scene in indifference, permitting, indeed perhaps omnisciently orchestrating, such injustice and not intercede? How could I or any other mortal man trust, or even continue to believe, in such a being?
I leant my head against the cool surface of the panel, to close my eyes against the weight of feeling and, as I did so, the panel swung inward!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Saturday, December 13, 2008
PART II - The Terrible Unknown Dark
PART II, PART I HERE
I stumbled down the creaking wooden steps in the gloom, wholly fixated upon and making my way toward a tiny, welcome spot of light in the darkness, a torch far below me. Upward and behind, I heard nothing from the Ty Bach.
I reached the bottom and found myself on a frighteningly narrow dirt trail, which ran alongside an underground canal down the stone-topped tunnel into the black unknown on either side of me. My blood ran cold: the boat, there was no boat to carry me out of this place! Stepping down on to the path, I snatched the only torch next to the stair and began to move to my right, down the current, in the hope that the gondola which I had previously been assured would always be here had just floated a little away.
I believe I had gone two turns down the path along that darksome canal, when the sounds of violence erupted behind me. The creatures had found my trail! Rashly, I tossed my torch into the canal as they would be certain to find me by its light, only afterward realizing that I now had no light to find my way down the tunnel by! Momentarily panicked and short of breath, I flailed in the dark until my fingers brushed the cold and unforgiving stone of the wall. Grateful, I realized I could find my way forward by keeping my hands on the wall. I began to make my way carefully along it and down the path, as quickly as I could.
The noises behind me abated somewhat but did not disappear and after some time, I realized they must be following me! Resolute, I continued on my way for what seemed like many hours. My feet had begun to ache. A small stone had worked its way into my shoe and under my heel and the pain was excruciating but I dared not take my hands from the wall to remove it. I felt I might lose my way and fall into the dark and frozen waters of the canal or, alternatively, lose direction and make my way backward toward my pursuers! The pain of my heel, however, was as nothing to the pain of my hands upon the cold wall. As I went along, frigidly cold dew upon the stone coated my fingers and ran down my arms into my sleeves. I occasionally brushed what felt like living creatures which scuttled out from under my touch. At one point, I came along some strange, white moss, which began to glow with a cold light like the moon when I touched it. Amazed but joyous, I gathered handfuls of it and stumbled down the path with it lighting my way. I was saddened near to madness when it quickly faded, possibly I had killed it when I pulled it away from the walls into my hands. It may have been the unnatural warmth of my body in that frozen place. I was reduced to bringing my hands back to the unforgiving cold and punishing texture of the stone to find my way.
Hunger overcame me. I stumbled on. I shivered with the unrelenting cold. I stumbled on. I became convinced that I would die in this lightless hell, that no one would find my bones, that the world would never know my fate and forever wonder. Visions of a hot, fresh, chicken vindaloo danced through my head and I drooled helplessly. I was exhausted, there was no knowing how long I had gone sleeplessly down the tunnel but I did not dare to stop and sleep in this place, no! The noises behind me were diminished, at times completely gone, only to come again, faintly and unpredictably.
I stumbled on. My hands brushed something unexpected: a warm, smooth surface in the wall, not stone! Intrigued, I felt at it gingerly, frantically, to find an ovoid embedded in the wall, egg shaped and most certainly not stone. Without knowing why, I scrabbled at it frantically and then, suddenly the wall gave forth before me and I fell through into open space, arms and legs pinwheeling desperately in the air! I fetched up suddenly, slamming spread-eagled into the ground without warning, all the wind knocked from my lungs and my heart thudding in terror like a runaway ewe! I lay stunned, and gradually perceived a light. In my hand I held the object that I had found in the wall. It was an egg. An egg carved of wood. Some golden wood, pine perhaps, so cunningly fashioned that I could feel no grain upon its surface. The egg glowed. It glowed with a soft, warm and golden light that surrounded me and gave me hope. I held it and sat laughing with joy and so it was some time before I lifted my head to look at my surroundings.
I stumbled down the creaking wooden steps in the gloom, wholly fixated upon and making my way toward a tiny, welcome spot of light in the darkness, a torch far below me. Upward and behind, I heard nothing from the Ty Bach.
I reached the bottom and found myself on a frighteningly narrow dirt trail, which ran alongside an underground canal down the stone-topped tunnel into the black unknown on either side of me. My blood ran cold: the boat, there was no boat to carry me out of this place! Stepping down on to the path, I snatched the only torch next to the stair and began to move to my right, down the current, in the hope that the gondola which I had previously been assured would always be here had just floated a little away.
I believe I had gone two turns down the path along that darksome canal, when the sounds of violence erupted behind me. The creatures had found my trail! Rashly, I tossed my torch into the canal as they would be certain to find me by its light, only afterward realizing that I now had no light to find my way down the tunnel by! Momentarily panicked and short of breath, I flailed in the dark until my fingers brushed the cold and unforgiving stone of the wall. Grateful, I realized I could find my way forward by keeping my hands on the wall. I began to make my way carefully along it and down the path, as quickly as I could.
The noises behind me abated somewhat but did not disappear and after some time, I realized they must be following me! Resolute, I continued on my way for what seemed like many hours. My feet had begun to ache. A small stone had worked its way into my shoe and under my heel and the pain was excruciating but I dared not take my hands from the wall to remove it. I felt I might lose my way and fall into the dark and frozen waters of the canal or, alternatively, lose direction and make my way backward toward my pursuers! The pain of my heel, however, was as nothing to the pain of my hands upon the cold wall. As I went along, frigidly cold dew upon the stone coated my fingers and ran down my arms into my sleeves. I occasionally brushed what felt like living creatures which scuttled out from under my touch. At one point, I came along some strange, white moss, which began to glow with a cold light like the moon when I touched it. Amazed but joyous, I gathered handfuls of it and stumbled down the path with it lighting my way. I was saddened near to madness when it quickly faded, possibly I had killed it when I pulled it away from the walls into my hands. It may have been the unnatural warmth of my body in that frozen place. I was reduced to bringing my hands back to the unforgiving cold and punishing texture of the stone to find my way.
Hunger overcame me. I stumbled on. I shivered with the unrelenting cold. I stumbled on. I became convinced that I would die in this lightless hell, that no one would find my bones, that the world would never know my fate and forever wonder. Visions of a hot, fresh, chicken vindaloo danced through my head and I drooled helplessly. I was exhausted, there was no knowing how long I had gone sleeplessly down the tunnel but I did not dare to stop and sleep in this place, no! The noises behind me were diminished, at times completely gone, only to come again, faintly and unpredictably.
I stumbled on. My hands brushed something unexpected: a warm, smooth surface in the wall, not stone! Intrigued, I felt at it gingerly, frantically, to find an ovoid embedded in the wall, egg shaped and most certainly not stone. Without knowing why, I scrabbled at it frantically and then, suddenly the wall gave forth before me and I fell through into open space, arms and legs pinwheeling desperately in the air! I fetched up suddenly, slamming spread-eagled into the ground without warning, all the wind knocked from my lungs and my heart thudding in terror like a runaway ewe! I lay stunned, and gradually perceived a light. In my hand I held the object that I had found in the wall. It was an egg. An egg carved of wood. Some golden wood, pine perhaps, so cunningly fashioned that I could feel no grain upon its surface. The egg glowed. It glowed with a soft, warm and golden light that surrounded me and gave me hope. I held it and sat laughing with joy and so it was some time before I lifted my head to look at my surroundings.
Monday, December 8, 2008
PART I - Reconciling The Accounts
It was with a very, very heavy heart that I embarked upon the stair to my study. Upon the empty plane of my desk I most regretfully laid my account statements, my cheque register, a veritable mountain of receipts and vouchers of one kind or another. I lit a candle and settled down to work by its fitful and inconsequential flame.
Oh, Capricious Fate! What evil you do such as I! How can it be that I must stop all creation to fiddle with such low matters as Tedious Finance! This is no fit occupation for a gentleman, certainly not for one of my caliber. How the world suffers for it, how Mankind must suffer at my lack of fit industry. It is not to be borne! I collect my pipe and faggots and fire up the bowl.
A moment of quiet reflection and a comfortable smoke well restored my humor. I set down my pipe, nestled against the cork knocker (quite useless for my purposes) and prepared to set to with a will to conquer my accounts in short order.
There came a knocking at the door.
I froze. When I had entered the room, there was no one else in the house. There could be no knocking at my study door. I had not even a cat for company and cats do not have knuckles sufficient to knock there.
The knocking came again, louder.
Incensed, I thundered, "Who is there?!"
Suddenly, there was a horrific and huge cacophony, as though the house itself were being torn in half, a railroad steam engine run down the hall outside the room, and the door and the wall housing it exploded inward! I dived under the heavy wooden desk, a monumental behemoth carved from a single branch of baobab, as a patter of plaster and patina painted the very chair where I had just been sitting. Through the dust and shrapnel raining down, I saw several persons entering the room through the hole they must have just made, legs clad in outrageously baggy, purple trousers topping intricately embroidered felt boots. Foreign chatter filled the air like a blastwave of boiling brussel sprouts, cheese sauce or no cheese sauce: I rolled out from under my cover, quick as a crocodile, to snatch my saber up from its place in the umbrella stand and face my enemies!
To my surprise, they were not human! A grey, leathery, flat visage met my eyes, mere nostril slits and a slash of a mouth, rimmed with pointed teeth and a flickering tongue like a prostitute from Pillgwenlly. Together we froze a moment in shock. I flicked the point of my blade out at them and they jumped back in terror, allowing me a moment to swiftly turn and race toward the jalousie doors to the small balcony over the street. I immediately heard pursuit begin and exerted myself with purpose, putting down my head and bringing up my arms and running straight through the glass to leap to the rail of my tiny mirador and sail freely into the air and down to the street, where I landed lightly and sprinted down the road toward the waterfront. I heard their despairing cries behind me, then a mechanical roar and looked over my shoulder to see my attackers pursuing me in some sort of sleek airship! Frustrated, I cursed in polite silence and rifled quickly through my familiar knowledge of the streets before me. Where? Where could I go? Feeling the hot breath of fate hard in my ear, I raced around a corner suddenly, my pursuers overshooting and unable to make the turn in their curious and ungainly confection. Far down the street lay a glitter of golden sun on the water, the saltless tang of the river mud rose to my nostrils! I saw a familiar green sign, indistinguishable, but which I knew to represent a drunken sailor surrounded by scantily clad women of soiled repute. I put on a burst of speed and gave it everything I had as the airship roared over the roofs behind me and now kept pace!
I reached my sanctuary and thrust the door open before me, falling into inner gloom. Wooden tables and chairs strewn about the room, a disheartened fiddler barely plucked at his instrument, figures lurched about indistinctly before the bar. Like candles in the dark, bright and feminine faces registered my presence and swayed smiling near, then recognized me and fell in disappointment, to turn away to the bar. The bartender stepped in front of me, heavy dark face full of questions and concern. "Umuh?" he queried.
"I am sorry beyond explanation to bring this on you, my good friend, Jonty! I am being pursued by strange creatures who mean me violence and I must find some way to escape them, may I use the tunnels?"
Jonty, ever a good fellow, nodded vigorously and swept his heavy arm, as thick as a plank, to the small door at the back of the room. "Umuh!" he snapped.
"I must warn you, they may be dangerous! They are not of our world and I believe they mean us harm!"
Before I could go on, his massive brow beetled, his face darkened even further, now the color of a beet, and through gritted teeth he asserted firmly, "Umuh!" and shoved me toward the little green door which read "Ty Bach."
Once inside, I twisted behind the apparatus there to push against the back wall and its ubiquitous painting of the view out of someone's kitchen window. The wood gave before me, turning on its mechanism to reveal a dark, stone mouth, the stench of the river and moss blown up through it. I forced myself through and into the black.
PART II HERE
Oh, Capricious Fate! What evil you do such as I! How can it be that I must stop all creation to fiddle with such low matters as Tedious Finance! This is no fit occupation for a gentleman, certainly not for one of my caliber. How the world suffers for it, how Mankind must suffer at my lack of fit industry. It is not to be borne! I collect my pipe and faggots and fire up the bowl.
A moment of quiet reflection and a comfortable smoke well restored my humor. I set down my pipe, nestled against the cork knocker (quite useless for my purposes) and prepared to set to with a will to conquer my accounts in short order.
There came a knocking at the door.
I froze. When I had entered the room, there was no one else in the house. There could be no knocking at my study door. I had not even a cat for company and cats do not have knuckles sufficient to knock there.
The knocking came again, louder.
Incensed, I thundered, "Who is there?!"
Suddenly, there was a horrific and huge cacophony, as though the house itself were being torn in half, a railroad steam engine run down the hall outside the room, and the door and the wall housing it exploded inward! I dived under the heavy wooden desk, a monumental behemoth carved from a single branch of baobab, as a patter of plaster and patina painted the very chair where I had just been sitting. Through the dust and shrapnel raining down, I saw several persons entering the room through the hole they must have just made, legs clad in outrageously baggy, purple trousers topping intricately embroidered felt boots. Foreign chatter filled the air like a blastwave of boiling brussel sprouts, cheese sauce or no cheese sauce: I rolled out from under my cover, quick as a crocodile, to snatch my saber up from its place in the umbrella stand and face my enemies!
To my surprise, they were not human! A grey, leathery, flat visage met my eyes, mere nostril slits and a slash of a mouth, rimmed with pointed teeth and a flickering tongue like a prostitute from Pillgwenlly. Together we froze a moment in shock. I flicked the point of my blade out at them and they jumped back in terror, allowing me a moment to swiftly turn and race toward the jalousie doors to the small balcony over the street. I immediately heard pursuit begin and exerted myself with purpose, putting down my head and bringing up my arms and running straight through the glass to leap to the rail of my tiny mirador and sail freely into the air and down to the street, where I landed lightly and sprinted down the road toward the waterfront. I heard their despairing cries behind me, then a mechanical roar and looked over my shoulder to see my attackers pursuing me in some sort of sleek airship! Frustrated, I cursed in polite silence and rifled quickly through my familiar knowledge of the streets before me. Where? Where could I go? Feeling the hot breath of fate hard in my ear, I raced around a corner suddenly, my pursuers overshooting and unable to make the turn in their curious and ungainly confection. Far down the street lay a glitter of golden sun on the water, the saltless tang of the river mud rose to my nostrils! I saw a familiar green sign, indistinguishable, but which I knew to represent a drunken sailor surrounded by scantily clad women of soiled repute. I put on a burst of speed and gave it everything I had as the airship roared over the roofs behind me and now kept pace!
I reached my sanctuary and thrust the door open before me, falling into inner gloom. Wooden tables and chairs strewn about the room, a disheartened fiddler barely plucked at his instrument, figures lurched about indistinctly before the bar. Like candles in the dark, bright and feminine faces registered my presence and swayed smiling near, then recognized me and fell in disappointment, to turn away to the bar. The bartender stepped in front of me, heavy dark face full of questions and concern. "Umuh?" he queried.
"I am sorry beyond explanation to bring this on you, my good friend, Jonty! I am being pursued by strange creatures who mean me violence and I must find some way to escape them, may I use the tunnels?"
Jonty, ever a good fellow, nodded vigorously and swept his heavy arm, as thick as a plank, to the small door at the back of the room. "Umuh!" he snapped.
"I must warn you, they may be dangerous! They are not of our world and I believe they mean us harm!"
Before I could go on, his massive brow beetled, his face darkened even further, now the color of a beet, and through gritted teeth he asserted firmly, "Umuh!" and shoved me toward the little green door which read "Ty Bach."
Once inside, I twisted behind the apparatus there to push against the back wall and its ubiquitous painting of the view out of someone's kitchen window. The wood gave before me, turning on its mechanism to reveal a dark, stone mouth, the stench of the river and moss blown up through it. I forced myself through and into the black.
PART II HERE
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