Thursday, April 06, 2006
Gun Jumping
So, this weeks friday post is coming a day early, just because I'm excited about finally finishing the story...it still needs a title, but that will come eventually. So, here's a little bit of reading for whoever is reading this...oh, and for those interested, the quotes come from Richard II and A Midsummer Night's Dream...
Somewhere out over the ocean, perhaps a little bit beyond the horizon lies the Land of Story. It is a beautiful and fertile land, and an immense glass palace dominates the very center of the country. This is where the Author-King sits in his seat of power. He is a noble and just ruler, but the reason he is most loved is because of his queen, the beautiful and wise Queen Prose. Prose was the rarest of flowers, a woman so smart and wise and beautiful that virtually all who looked upon her adored her. It was then clearly a crushing blow to the Author-King the day Prose vanished from the Land of Story.
It’s hard to say exactly how the Author-King knew that Prose had left the palace. It is similarly difficult to determine how all the guards of the castle knew to come rushing into his throne room at the same time- it was as if the loss of Prose had a physical effect on all the citizens of the land. A great search was called, and all the pages and archivists scoured the halls of the great glass palace, but to no avail. Prose was nowhere to be found.
As night fell, the Author-King sat brooding alone in his tower, pondering the next course of action he should take in his search for Prose. As he sat, he eventually became aware of a presence behind him. It was a woman, tall and pale. She wore black funeral weeds and her ice-water eyes sparkled with a cold, unnatural light. It was Lady Death, Terminar, Erat…the End of Stories. “What business do you have in my kingdom, dead Queen?”
“I understand your wife has gone missing from you.”
“And what matter is it to you?”
“I believe I can help you find her.” Her voice is cold, without inflection. Somehow it was the most beautiful thing the Author-King had ever heard.
“And why is that?”
“She has not appeared in my realm. That would mean she is somewhere still in the Land of Story. It is in my interest to find her.” The Author-King shuddered. He had not yet thought that Prose might be somewhere in the Land of Ending.
“And why would you be interested in getting her back to me?”
“My matters are of no concern to you.”
“However, if you are to go search for my wife I need to at least know why you’re doing it.”
“Thy word is current with him for my death. But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.” The coldness suddenly leaves the voice of Lady Death. She is at once alive and vibrant, and speaking in a voice entirely not her own.
“You dare torment me with the words of the Bard?! The nerve of you!”
“His stories have ended. They belong to me now, and you know this. Now, I have made an offer to find your wife. It is up to you to accept it.”
“I get the feeling I really have no choice in the matter. Larger forces must be at work to draw you from your cold domain, and for me to try and stop them is an exercise in futility. You may walk my lands, Queen Ending.”
“Thank you, Prince of Stories.” Lady Death glided out of the throne room and the Author-King watched her leave. It was so hard to understand the motives of the dead.
The dead Queen left the palace, a chill wind to mark her passing. She moved with purpose down to the city surrounding the castle. She could not say why she went down into the town, but some driving compulsion guided her on where to travel. As she moved, lights extinguished and doors slammed shut. Her feet moved of their own accord, following an inscrutable path that twisted and turned through the narrow streets. Eventually she came to an alleyway inhabited by three men in long coats. She turned to face them. “I have come to speak to you brothers. You have knowledge I need.”
“Now, though you ought to introduce yourself…” replied Assonance.
“…It isn’t cause for worriment.” Consonance concluded.
Dissonance screamed.
“You know where Prose is. You will direct me to her.” Lady Death stared balefully at the three brothers.
“Hear her? Heed her hearkening.” Assonance looked nervous.
“Oh brother, her thunder has no matter.” Consonance met the stare of Death.
“Dissonance then has the deciding opinion on the issue.” Death replied.
“Seems so,” grinned Assonance.
“…But he always has to disagree with the two of you. And if he were to voice an opinion on this matter, he’d be forced to agree with one of you…so we’re at an impasse.” said Death. One acquires a certain logic after they pass on, and Death has had that logic far longer than anything else.
“That is what we planned aforethought.” smiled Consonance. Dissonance took the opportunity to run about flailing for a while.
“Well, then we’ll have to fix this problem.” Lady Death looked straight into the eyes of Assonance. Her right pupil flashed a cold, bitter light. Assonance vanished. Dissonance stopped his running and looked at Consonance. “I say we help her,” he gulped.
Consonance and Dissonance led Death out of the town, into a forest that grew at the edge of the city. In the light of the pale moon, the outlines of thick trunks and undergrowth could be seen. Consonance looked sullen.
“This is as far as we can take you,” Dissonance stammered.
“Our brother?” growled Consonance. The left eye of Death flashed momentarily. Assonance shimmered back into existence, and then collapsed on the ground.
“I’m alive? All right? Although rather anile…” Assonance stood and began to dust himself off. “We wait here, I wager.”
Lady Death left the three brothers at the edge of the woods. They stood and watched her vanish into the darkness, unsure of the role they had just played in her quest. After she had left, they passed around a cigarette and walked back to their alley.
Death was soon deep into the woods, and they were a forest that clearly had not had a visitor in a long, long time. Following a path that probably only existed in her mind, Death soon found herself in a clearing.
“How now, spirit! Whither wander you?” a voice asked.
“Over hill, over dale,
Thorough brush, throughout brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere,” Lady Death replied, “an apt line, fair Puck.”
“And how dids’t thou know it was me you spoke with on this night so fair?” a grinning face with razor-sharp teeth materialized out of the brush.
“This is not the time for games, little imp. I have a task to complete this night.”
“Thou hast lost something, mayhap?” The face now had a lithe furry body to accompany it.
“You know of my quest.”
“Didst thou take me for a wretch? My eyes see all of Oberon’s lost realm, and you expect’d thy attentions elsewhere? It is fair Prose whom you would seek to find, and it is said she walks this wilderness tonight.”
“You will take me to her.”
“I’ll lead you about a round, through bog, through brush, through brake. Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound. A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; and neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn. Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.”
“And to Prose you will take me.”
Puck led Death through the forest, laughing and shrieking through the night. They careened through the silent trees and starry sky, an explosion of noise and movement propelled by Puck’s madness. After a time, they came to a halt. “I have mapped and led to the end of my compass, my lady. Thou art to finish your task unaccompanied, without aid or alliance of no other. Thy trav’ls hath been long and thou paths have been cross’d, but cross’d again your paths will be. I am not the last thou will meet on this journey, but mine realm ends at these trees and I can proceed no further. Fair weather and fine luck, m’lady of the corpse,” Puck said, bowing solemnly.
“Strange words from you, little imp. It is best you be gone. I have a task to complete,” came the reply from Lady Death. Puck vanished into the woods, leaving a trail of screams and laughter in his wake.
Death went the opposite direction of the fairy. The trees in this part of the woods were older, more ominous than the trees of the outskirts of the wood. Oak and maple were replaced with gnarled pine and cedar, and a dusting of snow appeared on the branches. A full, pale moon rose above the treetops, causing the forest to glisten under its light. A wolf bayed. As Death glided beneath the frozen trees, the flickering of a campfire appeared off into the distance. When she broke through the copse, she saw a small wooden hut standing next to the fire on a pair of chicken legs, scratching idly at the dirt. Next to the hut was an enormous old hag, thin as a rail with a nose almost as long as the width of her head, wrapped in a shawl and puffing away at a pipe. “A good evening to you, great lady,” Lady Death said solemnly.
“And what business does Death have with her auntie Baba Yaga?” Iron teeth glinted under the light of the moon.
“I seek the location of Prose.”
“Well, well, my sweet. And what would you give me in return if I were to tell you where she was?”
“Someone spiteful mixed earth in with your poppy-seeds, Baba Yaga Boney Legs. I am prepared to let them into my realm for as long as you wish,” Death replied evenly.
The great witch’s grin grew wider. “An interesting offer indeed. But I am afraid I cannot accept.”
“I do not understand what you are saying.”
“Why, dearie, I’m sure you’ve known all along. Now, have you ever reached across the night sky in a mortar and pestle?”
Lady Death and the Bone Mother soared through the frosty sky. In the wake of Baba Yaga came the screaming of babies and the howls of animals. The wind ripped through the trees, shaking leaves and twigs and blowing them through the air. Mothers miscarried, churches crumbled, and Baba Yaga howled loud enough to turn the dead. They soon arrived at the palace made of glass, where Lady Death was deposited at the highest tower. Baba Yaga took her silver birch broomstick, and with a flick of the wrist disappeared. Lady Death turned and saw she was standing in front of a door. She opened it without hesitation, and entered the castle.
“Hello sister,” Prose said evenly. Death was staring into a large mirror.
“Good evening,” Death replied.
“I’m afraid to say your journey has come to an end, my twin,” said Prose, “it is time for me to come back to this world. Your part in this story has been fulfilled.”
“And which part did I play?”
“Well, sometimes a story needs to start with an ending,” Prose replied with a wry smile.
¶ 3:49 PM
Somewhere out over the ocean, perhaps a little bit beyond the horizon lies the Land of Story. It is a beautiful and fertile land, and an immense glass palace dominates the very center of the country. This is where the Author-King sits in his seat of power. He is a noble and just ruler, but the reason he is most loved is because of his queen, the beautiful and wise Queen Prose. Prose was the rarest of flowers, a woman so smart and wise and beautiful that virtually all who looked upon her adored her. It was then clearly a crushing blow to the Author-King the day Prose vanished from the Land of Story.
It’s hard to say exactly how the Author-King knew that Prose had left the palace. It is similarly difficult to determine how all the guards of the castle knew to come rushing into his throne room at the same time- it was as if the loss of Prose had a physical effect on all the citizens of the land. A great search was called, and all the pages and archivists scoured the halls of the great glass palace, but to no avail. Prose was nowhere to be found.
As night fell, the Author-King sat brooding alone in his tower, pondering the next course of action he should take in his search for Prose. As he sat, he eventually became aware of a presence behind him. It was a woman, tall and pale. She wore black funeral weeds and her ice-water eyes sparkled with a cold, unnatural light. It was Lady Death, Terminar, Erat…the End of Stories. “What business do you have in my kingdom, dead Queen?”
“I understand your wife has gone missing from you.”
“And what matter is it to you?”
“I believe I can help you find her.” Her voice is cold, without inflection. Somehow it was the most beautiful thing the Author-King had ever heard.
“And why is that?”
“She has not appeared in my realm. That would mean she is somewhere still in the Land of Story. It is in my interest to find her.” The Author-King shuddered. He had not yet thought that Prose might be somewhere in the Land of Ending.
“And why would you be interested in getting her back to me?”
“My matters are of no concern to you.”
“However, if you are to go search for my wife I need to at least know why you’re doing it.”
“Thy word is current with him for my death. But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.” The coldness suddenly leaves the voice of Lady Death. She is at once alive and vibrant, and speaking in a voice entirely not her own.
“You dare torment me with the words of the Bard?! The nerve of you!”
“His stories have ended. They belong to me now, and you know this. Now, I have made an offer to find your wife. It is up to you to accept it.”
“I get the feeling I really have no choice in the matter. Larger forces must be at work to draw you from your cold domain, and for me to try and stop them is an exercise in futility. You may walk my lands, Queen Ending.”
“Thank you, Prince of Stories.” Lady Death glided out of the throne room and the Author-King watched her leave. It was so hard to understand the motives of the dead.
The dead Queen left the palace, a chill wind to mark her passing. She moved with purpose down to the city surrounding the castle. She could not say why she went down into the town, but some driving compulsion guided her on where to travel. As she moved, lights extinguished and doors slammed shut. Her feet moved of their own accord, following an inscrutable path that twisted and turned through the narrow streets. Eventually she came to an alleyway inhabited by three men in long coats. She turned to face them. “I have come to speak to you brothers. You have knowledge I need.”
“Now, though you ought to introduce yourself…” replied Assonance.
“…It isn’t cause for worriment.” Consonance concluded.
Dissonance screamed.
“You know where Prose is. You will direct me to her.” Lady Death stared balefully at the three brothers.
“Hear her? Heed her hearkening.” Assonance looked nervous.
“Oh brother, her thunder has no matter.” Consonance met the stare of Death.
“Dissonance then has the deciding opinion on the issue.” Death replied.
“Seems so,” grinned Assonance.
“…But he always has to disagree with the two of you. And if he were to voice an opinion on this matter, he’d be forced to agree with one of you…so we’re at an impasse.” said Death. One acquires a certain logic after they pass on, and Death has had that logic far longer than anything else.
“That is what we planned aforethought.” smiled Consonance. Dissonance took the opportunity to run about flailing for a while.
“Well, then we’ll have to fix this problem.” Lady Death looked straight into the eyes of Assonance. Her right pupil flashed a cold, bitter light. Assonance vanished. Dissonance stopped his running and looked at Consonance. “I say we help her,” he gulped.
Consonance and Dissonance led Death out of the town, into a forest that grew at the edge of the city. In the light of the pale moon, the outlines of thick trunks and undergrowth could be seen. Consonance looked sullen.
“This is as far as we can take you,” Dissonance stammered.
“Our brother?” growled Consonance. The left eye of Death flashed momentarily. Assonance shimmered back into existence, and then collapsed on the ground.
“I’m alive? All right? Although rather anile…” Assonance stood and began to dust himself off. “We wait here, I wager.”
Lady Death left the three brothers at the edge of the woods. They stood and watched her vanish into the darkness, unsure of the role they had just played in her quest. After she had left, they passed around a cigarette and walked back to their alley.
Death was soon deep into the woods, and they were a forest that clearly had not had a visitor in a long, long time. Following a path that probably only existed in her mind, Death soon found herself in a clearing.
“How now, spirit! Whither wander you?” a voice asked.
“Over hill, over dale,
Thorough brush, throughout brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere,” Lady Death replied, “an apt line, fair Puck.”
“And how dids’t thou know it was me you spoke with on this night so fair?” a grinning face with razor-sharp teeth materialized out of the brush.
“This is not the time for games, little imp. I have a task to complete this night.”
“Thou hast lost something, mayhap?” The face now had a lithe furry body to accompany it.
“You know of my quest.”
“Didst thou take me for a wretch? My eyes see all of Oberon’s lost realm, and you expect’d thy attentions elsewhere? It is fair Prose whom you would seek to find, and it is said she walks this wilderness tonight.”
“You will take me to her.”
“I’ll lead you about a round, through bog, through brush, through brake. Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound. A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; and neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn. Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.”
“And to Prose you will take me.”
Puck led Death through the forest, laughing and shrieking through the night. They careened through the silent trees and starry sky, an explosion of noise and movement propelled by Puck’s madness. After a time, they came to a halt. “I have mapped and led to the end of my compass, my lady. Thou art to finish your task unaccompanied, without aid or alliance of no other. Thy trav’ls hath been long and thou paths have been cross’d, but cross’d again your paths will be. I am not the last thou will meet on this journey, but mine realm ends at these trees and I can proceed no further. Fair weather and fine luck, m’lady of the corpse,” Puck said, bowing solemnly.
“Strange words from you, little imp. It is best you be gone. I have a task to complete,” came the reply from Lady Death. Puck vanished into the woods, leaving a trail of screams and laughter in his wake.
Death went the opposite direction of the fairy. The trees in this part of the woods were older, more ominous than the trees of the outskirts of the wood. Oak and maple were replaced with gnarled pine and cedar, and a dusting of snow appeared on the branches. A full, pale moon rose above the treetops, causing the forest to glisten under its light. A wolf bayed. As Death glided beneath the frozen trees, the flickering of a campfire appeared off into the distance. When she broke through the copse, she saw a small wooden hut standing next to the fire on a pair of chicken legs, scratching idly at the dirt. Next to the hut was an enormous old hag, thin as a rail with a nose almost as long as the width of her head, wrapped in a shawl and puffing away at a pipe. “A good evening to you, great lady,” Lady Death said solemnly.
“And what business does Death have with her auntie Baba Yaga?” Iron teeth glinted under the light of the moon.
“I seek the location of Prose.”
“Well, well, my sweet. And what would you give me in return if I were to tell you where she was?”
“Someone spiteful mixed earth in with your poppy-seeds, Baba Yaga Boney Legs. I am prepared to let them into my realm for as long as you wish,” Death replied evenly.
The great witch’s grin grew wider. “An interesting offer indeed. But I am afraid I cannot accept.”
“I do not understand what you are saying.”
“Why, dearie, I’m sure you’ve known all along. Now, have you ever reached across the night sky in a mortar and pestle?”
Lady Death and the Bone Mother soared through the frosty sky. In the wake of Baba Yaga came the screaming of babies and the howls of animals. The wind ripped through the trees, shaking leaves and twigs and blowing them through the air. Mothers miscarried, churches crumbled, and Baba Yaga howled loud enough to turn the dead. They soon arrived at the palace made of glass, where Lady Death was deposited at the highest tower. Baba Yaga took her silver birch broomstick, and with a flick of the wrist disappeared. Lady Death turned and saw she was standing in front of a door. She opened it without hesitation, and entered the castle.
“Hello sister,” Prose said evenly. Death was staring into a large mirror.
“Good evening,” Death replied.
“I’m afraid to say your journey has come to an end, my twin,” said Prose, “it is time for me to come back to this world. Your part in this story has been fulfilled.”
“And which part did I play?”
“Well, sometimes a story needs to start with an ending,” Prose replied with a wry smile.
¶ 3:49 PM
