THE SHERWAINAUTS: THE SECOND CHAPTER.

THE SECOND CHAPTER:

I.                    King Michael’s Wish.

Now to the Halls of King Michael one eve were summoned his two dearest friends, and they were none other than Antonio of the Mexicans and Kristian of the Scorpions. And after much food, drink and song, as well as much leaf, the jolly and wise King Michael made new appointments of his friends. And he christened Kristian a Penis Totalis, which in our tongue has come to be called a “total Dick”, for such a name was most-noble in the Kingdom, and had been the name of many Kings in their youth, and was a testament to their masculinity and skill with a sword. And when Kristian protested that he had never wielded a blade in his life, but simply had spoken of it, King Michael had produced for Kristian a fresh cleaver called Charm, and so the Scorpion King was armed.

And as Kristian waved this sword about King Michael laughed, and said: “for such a sword there shall be no closet big enough to contain it in all of Kaliphornya!”

And Kristian graciously accepted his liege’s right hand.

And then unto Antonio quoth King Michael: “Ye shall be known henceforth, Antonio of the Mexicans, as lord of the Spicks!”

For in those days “spick” was a term of highest honour to all people of the South, as was fagot, a Saxon word that would become bastardised many ages later “faggot” and used as an ironical insult. And King Michael called the sorcerer Kristian a “matter-faker”, for he was a great conjuror, and it was a term of praise and wonder which would as well become eroded in connotation with time.

Of this I have learnt from Sir Trevor of Temecula, who was his self half-man and half-spick (for his father was fair, so the spick in him was borne not by man but by woman).

And all these ironies mirror the word assassin, in this case a slur turnt to a term of endearment, for it is derived from “hashashin”, an Arabic word for “pot-smoker”. And this last of ironies has survived, of all four, to endure within the halls of our texts. And these texts are ubiquitous to all literate men who seek evidence for it.

And thus were appointed the Lord of the Dicks, at Michael’s Right Hand, and, at his left, the Lord of the Spicks. And they were called, for their placement in the court, the Right Wing and the Left Wing, and this too is evidenced by our surviving texts.

And to these two accomplices King Michael the Chivalrous appointed this task, and it was conveyed in the form of a poem by one of the witches, who was imprisoned in a dungeon without food or water until she produced it, and many other songs, and she came to be known eventually as Lady Claire of the Grimes:

            There lives in Saint Diego

            A lady grim and fair.

            But no her name’s not Grimes.

            And know her name’s not Claire.

            And she lies far behind the times.

            For she is unaware.

            And must be taught in paradigms

            That are forgotten There.

            So for the petty crimes of all too much

            Forgetfullness.

            Pleas bring her here and up to touch.

            Absolve her of her innocence.

            For there is not a greater crutch

            Offered than not to care.

            So bring her here to suffer.

            If you must, then drag her by her hair!

And Lord Kristian clapped, and Sir Antonio asked the Lady for the number of her room, and she cursed them both, and there was much laughter. And then Michael offered the young witch a bagel, and she accepted, and she was removed to her quarters. And then King Michael the Wise addressed his friends:

“Now that ye hath heard this, be off!”

And there was a pause, in which they stood bemused, and then Lord Kristian enquired in protest: “But we hath not the name of this damsel!”

And King Michael said: “Hath the wench fore-gotten to call her by proper name?! Then may that bagel be her last!” for though he in His Highness had fore-gotten to mention the name of the lady in question to the witch, by avenue of the same Highness it had slipped the Good King’s mind that he had neglected to do so. So Important was King Michael! and his time not to be trifled with for petty wenches!

So the Yellow King persisted: “The lady’s name is Lana of the Shrouds.” And of course his estimation was creative, but it was more than sufficient to aide his vassals in their quest.

So Wise was King Michael the Wise King of Saint Diego!

II.                 The Little-Ease.

Now it bears mentioning how it came to be that Lady Eléna of the Clouds, the Warrior Princess of Saint Diego, was hunted by King Michael and imprisoned in his castle, the Tower of Power. For she was a maiden of considerable deviance, and she hated the witches of the Left, whom she considered to be of inferior masculinity, for they demanded Authority but could not Command it, and were pompous.

And of course Michael, the Liege of Saint Diego, saw it fitting to correct such deviance as a carpenter cuts against the grain in wood. Or per chance as a carpenter who cuts against the grain of the Crown is beheaded. Or as a wood chuck who chucks wood…

So Discerning was King Michael!!

And so was dispatched Lord Kristian upon his first quest for the crown, and it should be noted that here “for the crown” is employed, for not only was he in Service TO the Crown, but he all so coveted it. And beside him rode Sir Tony Rico, Lord of the Spicks, upon an ass.

And when Lord Kristian first encountered the Warrior Princess it was by avenue of his long-time friend Phoenix the Fishermage. And Phoenix invited them both to his castle, after having invited the Warrior Princess to watch a display of magick by both mages in the town of Escondido. And in the interim betwixt meetings, for the first meeting befell on a Thor’s Day and the latter upon a Sun Day, Lord Kristian the Scorpion of St. Bernard’s Ranch invited Eléna of the Clouds to an other gathering of mages, and here was a gathering of surpassing perplexity, for the magick was of a dark antic humour, and they were accompanied by Sir Tony, who was having doubts. And Sir Tony and the Lady Eléna harboured a mutual dislike, until the former voiced a respect for Sir James of the Doors, a mythic band of bards, and the Lady Eléna showed to Sir Tony an engraving she had made of Sir James.

So it was that Lady Eléna’s friendship was in semblance won by Lord Kristian and Sir Tony, and here “semblance” is used to delineate not that it was Eléna whose intentions were less than friendly, but it was Lord Kristian who was of course the dubious one.

And when they convened at the Castle of the Phoenix, they swiftly abandoned their host, and in the night the Blue Mage stole her away on horseback, and what last Phoenix had seen of them for some time was his old friend drawing her towards his horse by her hand, and what last Phoenix heard was their jeering laughter following the clanking shut of Lord Phoenix’s front gate. And Lord Phoenix slept not that night, as he had not slept the night of the prior Thor’s Day, when Kristian and Eléna were introduced by him, for sleep would have muddled his mind with illusions and not visions, and it would have rendered him prey to the dark magick of the Scorpion King that had been his brother in Spirit. And Eléna was taken back to the Tower of Power, and there the Scorpion King imbibed her with the sting of his sword Charm, which had many currents that ran through its blade and emanated from roots at its hilt, and there it had been impregnated with the wizened conjuror’s Lust, a poison addictive and destructive. And from that night henceforth the sword came to be known not only by Charm but all so by the name of the Keen Sting of Jealousy.

And Eléna the Fair, Eléna the Bold, fell instantly under a spell of darkest foreboding, and she was render Unconscious, and the witches of the Left who attended King Michael in His Majesty’s Castle bore her away to a prison at its roots. And this prison was not a dungeon, for in those days dungeons were not yet cellars underground but were instead up in towers, but she was put in a Little-Ease, which was a prison cell devised to be too small for the prisoner to stand in.

But Eléna was quite short, and when she came to she stood upright along the diagonal access of the floor of her cell. Yet still her discomfort was great, and so was her misery, and a burning fervor grew in her Heart for Liberation and for Justice.

III.               The Rescue of Eléna.

Now how it came to pass that Lord Phoenix the Fisherman of Saint Bernard Ranch rescued Lady Eléna the Cloud-Walker of the Mesa, I know not. But here is recounted a very fictionalized account, in a vernacular that is now dead:

The Captor.

The manipulator-politician, the Wormtongue in King Theoden's Ear, the deceiver ego, all ways lives up to the inferior half of Dostoyevsky's maxim: nothing is easier than flattery nor harder than the truth.

The flatterer manipulates common sense. He takes slabs of bull shit and bakes them in the Sun of the Public Eye. And so he constructs a castle about his audience to keep them safe from freedom. For freedom is ugly, but so long as the castle is adorned with beautiful panes if glass, great pains taken painstakingly, the prison is made to look like a palace. One's ace-pal protects one by virtue of the tainted glass from that same public eye that seared the bull shit into an impenetrable mold. So even as one basks and eventually burns in the heat of Public Opinion one can pretend to be exempt from it from behind rose tinted glass.

Oh but behold the crusader! The rogue. The pirate rapist. The murdering Hun. He vows to break down the castle and takes pains to protect the prisoner from the collapse. He professes, even out in the Sun of the Public Eye: I disagree! I violate! You build the castle upon words that when taken literally lost their significance and whence taken symbolically lost their Truth! For you denied me property of Others when you your self lay claim to them! And even as I granted you my heart you not only denied me ownership of any other's but all so denied that you had USED it what I gave you. And so you built a castle to HOARD the hearts of me and many others, doing so in secret as to deny that you your SElF wanted them for your own! Yet even should they die in this siege, not strong enough to endure the breaking of the windows and the falling of the stones, at least my OWN heart shall be salvaged!!!

And so with horns blairing the rogue demolished what was thought to be incontrovertible. For rape and murder and genocide and oppression were mere Words to the architects of this trap, and what destroyed it was not sinister but liberating. Like Sirius Black it was redeemed in one act of cathartic Enanteodromia. And in the frenzy the lower dungeons of the castle were revealed to have been built upon a swamp. And the chaos depicted all beneath it to have been chaos. The ego had clung to its ideals and its semblance of hospitality. But that same CLINGING was Revealed to have been the evil of possession!

And diss possessed of this the stones did fall and the windows broke. And from behind the broken windows shone the Sun of the Public Eye. And from behind the rubble of the broken bull shit smashed through the battering ram of the rogue. And between the heat of the former and the passion of the latter many hearts fainted. But the strongest hearts endured saying: oh saviour. I am again yours. And the rogue, who now shone in the light not as a villain but a hero, said: and i was all ways yours.

And no longer did the rogue him self worry that the CAPTORS had possessed his own virtue. For long he had thought their evil to have been akin to his: a mask for underlying goodness. But the goodness that lay behind this mask had never been the captor's own. It was all stolen from subtler minds and parroted. The work was done in the dead of night. The captor hid in the shadow of pity by night and exploited the light of Opinion by day. He lay the bricks at night and let them dry while he was away.

The captive had too idealised the captor. But with time they felt their selves trapped and imagined Freedom to be so deplorable. Yet it was only deplorable to those who could not endure the heat of the wild.

The captor had long ago buried his own heart. It was when the hero saw that His own heart had been stolen that he knew his self not to have been the villain. So he took it back. And the heart that he had leant to the captor had been stolen by the captive. And imagine the hero's joy when the captive presented the hero's own heart to him and said: Here. For you I kept it safe all this time.

P.D.M.

IV.              The Defiance of Eléna.

Yet it was not immediately to beso [sicly] that Eléna would kiss Lord Phoenix of Saint Bernard’s Ranch. For she had been impregnated with the Keen Sting of Jealousy, and within her grew the devouring Lust of the Scorpion King, seeking its master voraciously. So it was not long ere the Warrior Princess fled the Fisherman’s care, and the Fisherman stood at the foot of the Torn Tower, an edifice as crumbling as the Tower Its Self.

Now there existed an antedote to the Charm`ed Poison, and that was in the Healing Prowess of the Fisherman Sorcerer. But how was he to convey this antedote to a maiden that fled him? Phoenix the Blue could not surmise how it were to be so.

Gloom descended upon the Blue Mage. Left in the shambles of King Michael’s castle, he took to a life of hermitage. The Great Hall swiftly became transfigured into an Ale House, for all the Witches of the Left were driven out swiftly by a band of barbarians. This befell one bright day ere Phoenix was in the water-closet. He would emerge to find the victorious rogues feasting upon the spoils of victory, paying little heed to the crumbling stature of the demolished castle, as though such wreckage were home to them. And these, I proclaim, were in large part the descendants of the Farmers and Warriors of the Middle-West, not to be confused with their sworn rivals, the Middle-East, though the discernment is but semantic. Yet amidst many of them dwelt, in cunning and opaque disguise, various mages, mystiks, and traveling merchants of herbs. And they came to call their new Dwelling O’Harlot, for Harlot was the name of the Virgin Mary in their home-tongue, if my sources do not deceive me.

Now little was heard of Sir Michael or any of his company. Phoenix vowed never to speak again to Lord Kristian, so long as both lived, for he would not be ensnared in the warlock’s magick sleights again. Yet Phoenix ventured daily from the castle in pursuit of the maiden of the Mesa, at once even making a pilgrimage as far as to her Academy, but he would not see her there again. But he continued to send word for her, by various messengers, and even spent that night of the aforementioned pilgrimage within the confines of the Academy’s Library, just barely escaping the suspicious gait of the Library Guards that might enquire as to his purpose. Yet most nights Phoenix spent in the hall of O’Harlot. And there he made friends with many magicians and patrons of magick that encouraged him in the practice of his Art, for he had grown discouraged. And by avenue and virtue (for not all avenues are virtuous, even for virtuous men) of this encouragement Phoenix recalled the auspices of his loss. For it was in deed Eléna her self who so had desired to become a Conjuror that Phoenix had invited her to Escondido, where she had met the Scorpion who would invite her the same day to an other display upon the following day.

And so in spite of his sorrow the Fisherman’s heart grew warm with a feeble flame of Hope, for he knew now how to win her Heart, even if he knew not how to convey his Healing Remedy to its Malady. And so Phoenix joined a local troupe of performers, and they were named for the crossroads upon which their home and study was built, and he learnt the musical Art of Regana, known now as the Reggae.

And at the mention of this occupation Eléna returnt, and she watched the mage play with the troupe. But she was disappointed to find her friend in subordination to a braggart’s rule, and swiftly the Warrior Princess’s mind fled to fantasy of her self upon a stage, the proper leader of a band of skill to surpass that of this petty troupe.

And so again Eléna of the Clouds fled Phoenix Dela Mancha of Saint Bernard’s Ranch. And again his heart went hungry. For now he was ensnared within contract with the troupe, and they were disturbed by his growing disloyalty. Yet fate smiled upon him, and he was decorously yet suddenly dismissed from the service of Elijah the Bard, and offered a writ that might have given him admittance to their following display. Yet this writ was never employed, for Phoenix neither could nor would attend without Eléna, for he could not ride a steed and would not go without his Beloved, and so that was the last that Phoenix had heard from Elijah, though not the last he heard OF him.

Yet finally one night Eléna returnt of her own volition. Yet her countenance was grim, and she only smiled in a transparent passion. For she had met again with her Captor the Scorpion King, and this Grey Lizard was miss taken by her for the Lizard King, a name given to the mythik hero Sir James of the Doors.

And so she had returnt simply to secure a key to a treasure chest that had been once in the mutual possession of the Blue Mages, one crafted in the waning days of their friendship by Phoenix, and one that was stolen by the Grey Lizard. And this chest contained records of their magickal deeds, that loyal followers of their partnership might hear of their mystik toils. The key remained in the Fisherman’s possession, but the Lady of Mesa had hardly to pry it from his fingers, for he surrendered it willingly to his Beloved.

And then within mere minutes of having won her prize, delivering it by song-bird to the Scorpion King, Eléna became like a Harpie. And she berated Phoenix, for Phoenix had long expressed an even longer longing to get even with the Scorpion by allying with Eléna and forming a new troupe in the name of the old one. Yet Eléna, despite her daily work in meditation, could not dispossess her self of the Sting’s Spirit, and so she desired as fervently that they would join forces with Kristian, that the Old Bond between wizards would be renewed, and that the feud would be ended. And she foresaw in her Mind’s Eye a new troupe, though in the name of the old, and it was none other than Lady Eléna of the Clouds that led this new troupe in her phantasy into magickal battle.

And so she cursed the Fisherman for what she perceived to be his weaknesses. And it was again long ere he saw her return. Yet in that time he broke the vow he had made, that of abstinence in fealty to her, and he sought shelter again in the halls of O’Harlot. And it was very soon after this newest feud, this freshest wounding, that Phoenix encountered there an old friend, and his name was Blue Jay, and Blue Jay was an Indian from the Distant Lands, and he rode a steed about as fierce and fast as had Sir Michael, and the two old friends took this steed, who flew, for it was a Pegasus, deep into the City of Saint Diego. And there Blue Jay introduced the Fisherman to a Dancing Hall and Ball Room. And Phoenix danced with Candace, the Southern Girl of the North, for she was Mexican but lived further North than did Phoenix, and Phoenix felt his vitality to be renewed and his valour redempt.

And so it befell that when next the Fisherman met with the Warrior Princess, their conversation was kindly and fluid, for by then she had all ready sent messages in an apologetic desperation to him, for so had she regretted the night of their last meeting, and by then the poison of Kristian had all ready begun to fade a little, and though its hold was still foreboding, she had managed to submerge most of it, though with considerable pains taken to do so.

V.                 A New Troupe.  

Now let me tell thee of what compromise was reacht upon that sunny summer’s meeting, for I assure you that Eléna was not yet ready to submit to Phoenix without compromise, and Phoenix was less ready than ever before, and for the better, to submit to the will and whim of Eléna.

The plot that the Cloud-Walker had contrived was to win the favour of the Scorpion King, for she believed that he had fallen from a prior Grace, one that she had intuited and of which of course Phoenix had objectyve knowledge, and that he could be redempt.

And Phoenix hesitated to agree, having taken pains to guard his self from such an offer, but as he paid visit to his water-closet it felt as though he excreted not only carnal wastes from his body that day, but karmyk ones as well.

So when he returnt he beheld Eléna, and so serene she appeared, musing within his study as a feeble day-light fell upon her pale face, that he comprehended the origin of her name. And for a moment too he saw within her not a woman but a man, for even in a receptive calmness her demeanour was assertive and unyielding.

Yet she spoke to him in such a way as no other maiden had done so in years, and none so fair. And he melted into her mentally, and by the end of their conversation Phoenix Dela Mancha of Saint Bernard’s Ranch was persuaded. For in him was awoken a nostalgia that he had not felt since his first paramour, whom he had met within weeks of first meeting with Kristian, and Eléna had managed some how to penetrate the barracks and barricades created by poor memories of this forgotten damosel and into the heart of a youthful and jovial Hope. And Phoenix recalled Catsup in his Innocence, and the Romantic nostalgia, a fervor to win back a dead innocence, was awoken within him. And the mind of the mage was assuaged as well, for the language of the Seeress of The Mesa was quite plain and masculine, as though she possessed a Reason superior to that of mere Men.

And of course women do not possess Reason. But so cunning was her tongue and so subtle her gaze that the magician’s heart was won!

And thus the plan was to make contact again with Lord Kristian, under the peaceable auspices of unspoken amends, for the horrors and trauma that the Fisherman had endured were to be writ off as merely a phantistic fit of jealous rage.

And to aide them in their enterprise was to be appointed Antonio Rico of the Trailers, the now-fallen Lord of the Spicks, for he was now closest to the Wizened Wizard, next to the Brown Robber of Poway.

And the Robber, who had befriended Tony Rico, was all so to be an ally, and his favour was to be won by a mutual love of music, whereas Tony was to be conquered by potions and flattery.

And the plan was thus enstated. And Phoenix ignored the warning in his heart that it was star-crost. Though he did so only after having intimated this warning to Eléna, whose own Heart was too full of passion and conviction to hear it.

VI.              A Trip to Market.

So it was that a meeting was arranged, and the mages were to be re-united, and the location of their re-union was to be in the new home of the wizened wizard, a hamlet shared by several mages and located in the Valley of Golden Chains, just west of the Mesa.

But prior to this re-union, and only two days following their agreement, Eléna met with Tony Rico of the Mexicans, in the house of Lord Phoenix. And there she administered to both the Spick Lord and the Fisherman a baked good and several other sweets, some in the shape of wurms and others in the form of suckers*, and all these goods had woven into them mystikal potions of incredible potency.

And then when the sweets had begun to take affect she carried both men upon a single steed to the market, that they might procure some additional food stuffs to calm their nerves for the upcoming travail. And during this trek Lord Phoenix was very removed from his usually laconic temperament, whereas Sir Tony was of a relatively mild demeanour. And once the horse was posted Eléna said unto her Lord Phoenix: “Pray that we may play now the Game of Silence.” And so Phoenix agreed, albeit with qualification.

                        *See the Appendix.

And within the market-place, outside the tea merchant’s stand, it so befell that Phoenix, whose eye was usually quite sharp though not so much as his ears were, now caught sight, under perchance the sharpening light of the Sativa, a tiny spider climbing in his Lady’s fair hair. And taking care to be polite he ventured to remove the insect (though it was in fact an araknyd) from her long plait, as one removes a bug from straw, and it dangled upon his finger. And as per usual the mage’s heart was aflutter. And Tony the Bully might have suggested that the spider be crusht, for Tony had feared to be found out in publyk under any spell ever since Kristian’s Capture, and to Tony’s mind Phoenix was drawing an excess of attention to their company. But Phoenix thought little of what he was doing save that it was common-place of his character, and he thought even less of Tony, and even less he paid either heed or respect to any totalising stare by a conforming stranger that had so oft led to his questioning by Guards even in days of sobriety.

And so the spider was carried out-doors and placed upon a leaf in a potted plant. And Phoenix’s heart was given rest rather than arrest, for surely the latter tragedy would have escalated by avenue of so over-flowing a Heart, and only by the vice of Tony’s own parannoyance would Tony’s forebodings have come to light.

And several calming beverages and a small cake, inert by contrast with the intoxicating pastries they had consumed, were purchased by Eléna for the two young men.

At home the Blue Wizard went up his stair to his bed room and slept, or otherwise drifted in a medium state that was neither dream nor waking but rather a transcendant Vision the likes of which only a child or, I am told, a dying person sees. And when he arose from this befuddling and muddled yet rewarding and cleansing trek, he descended the stair, for from the stair’s balcony he could peer through a window into his yard, and there in the garden sat Eléna at a table with Tony, seated at an edge perpendicular to his.

And Phoenix then descended the stair, crost the hall and emerged into the fresh spring day. The Sun was near setting, as it is now as I recount this tale, and from this I might infer that a light akin in hue illumined the leaves of brush and the blades of grass, which otherwise were blue under the azure sky.

And Phoenix emerged behind Tony, for Tony sat with his back facing the exit, and Eléna was seated facing the window through which Phoenix had glimpst them, for in such a fashion she might be close enough to him to be persuasive. And her countenance was so bemused and maternal that Phoenix was his self moved and nearly persuaded, that the sorrow that she felt for Anthony the Spick of the Trailers was as sincere as the loyalty she felt to the cause she had undertaken alongside Phoenix. And these inklings weighed heavily upon Phoenix’s heart and muddled his still turbulent mind (if stillness can be turbulent or turbulence still) as he sat down at her other side, across from Tony Rico of the Mexicans.

And yet in time he asked of her, though so loudly and innocently that it was of them both: “Is this real?” And for answer Eléna produced from her bosom a guitar pick. And she handed this flat, opaline totem to Phoenix, as reminder of their Cause. And Phoenix took it for his own, as it was intended. And his Heart was assuaged.

Now Tony made his leave as Sun was setting and Phoenix administered warning to his companions. And after Tony left, which he did with habitual swiftness that on any other day would have irked Phoenix as wanting in propriety, Phoenix was alone with Eléna. And she assured him that she longed no longer to be so devious, for Tony’s story had moved her, and she held no further resentment towards the mexican. And Phoenix asked for assurance that all would be well, and their Cause would endure, and she gave it, and she reminded Lord Phoenix of the Pick, and this was to be forevermore a totem of their fealty towards one an other. And she thus made her leave, but only after advising Phoenix to sleep, for his perplexion was more noticeable to the casual observer than it was to its subject.

And as she was gone Phoenix felt sadness but Hope. And interweaving the two affects was Gratitude and Admiration: for this was his second time consuming Sativa, and he had faired a world better than the first, and no small part of that was owed to Eléna’s calming presence, more soothing now than her usual aggression, and byfar less sinister than the careless evil of his adversary, who was due to be an ally again: Lord Kristian the Silver Serpent.  

XVIII.    A Journey to the Golden Chains.

Now there are various sorts of sorecery of which a gifted magician may become master, and in their midst is regrettably the Art of Confidense, or Manipulation. It is a sort of Language-Magick that combines tongue, a charismatic eye, and an absence of empathy for the object of the casting. And in this magick, of all sorts, was Lord Kristian most-rehearsed. His research into the pit of this matter had spanned several ages, and it is possible, as myth would have it, that the very Soul that Phoenix had glimpsed upon the Night of the Wild Flight was adept at the Confidence Arts from several life-times on end of swindling.

And this was what Eléna admonished Phoenix against upon the twilight that was eve to the re-union. For she knew, as Phoenix had intuited deeply in his Heart – and he was only now paying generosity to such grim and subversive inklings –  that the Soul of the friend that he had grown up with was buried under a castle less penetrable nor assailable than the Tower of Power. And that castle was the Kristian Ego.

But as they rode into the heart of Saint Diego Phoenix’s mind was calm and his own Heart relatively unheavy. For he was with Eléna, and as of his Second Flight, the one she had attended, and that stood in counterpose to the one that Kristian had overseen and in deed Lorded Over, Phoenix the Fisherman felt protected against the Charm of the Silver Serpent.

Now why, one may ask, was Kristian called the Silver Serpent? Well: Many names he went by, some wittingly and others unwittingly, some by choice and others by chance, and yet others by both choice and chance, for it was his choice to make many foes, even if it was by chance that they turnt on him.

For there are three sorts of mage borne under the Sign of the Scorpion. The most noble is the Eagle-Phoenix, a sort of soaring spirit that rises above the ashes of a shattered innocence and thus redeems the World by raining terror upon evil.

Then there is the vengeance-scorpion, and this is a soul that plots its own mutinous justice in secret and that portends foul fate to all that it perceiveth to be foul play.

But then least of the three is the Grey Lizard. And this is a soul that crawls upon its belly like a snake, not so much striding but slivering into holes of despair. It lurks within a fading shade of exhaustion and confusion, and from this befuddlement it snatches prey as does a leap-frog or a trapping plant of a fly. And so it had been that Kristian of St. Bernard had snatched the fair and beautiful Eléna from Phoenix under a spell of covetous lust miss-taken by her to be amorous jealousy.

And thus in the mind of Phoenix the Grey Lizard took the form of a Silver Serpent. Fr though Phoenix knew not then of the trichotomy, he likened in his dark ruminations his adversary to a snake. Faded was the snake in colour, but dazzling in hue, for only by being so colourless could he have so betrayed his friend of old, yet only by being so dazzling could this friend have been betrayed, and the maiden for whom he was betrayed could have been swain.

And a snake’s tongue is its most devious tool. For though the fangs bear venom, the tongue is the instrument that ensnares, not the bite that follows, or even the wrangling coda, or tail-body. The tongue of a silver serpent weaves not only lies but half-0-truths, for those are more easily displaced upon its victim as the victim’s own distaste, as the rhyme reads. And with each lick it is like a stroke upon a canvas in the mind, painting a disjointed picture the likes of which is a poor estimation of Reality.

And this Phoenix recalled of his old friend. And heavy grew his Heart as he learnt upon that ride into the Golden Chains that she still harboured the poison of the bite, though he preferred not to let his mind lose faith in her, and so he tried not to believe in such a poison. But in fact and deed this was the venom of the Scorpion’s Tail, and the Grey Lizard had bit her with the teeth of a Charming Smile, and wily he had had ensnared her for a much disarming while, as the poem continues.

But he vowed to remain covert of intent and to exercise patience beyond what had been formerly his capacity. And with her at his side, or before him astride her horse, this seemed possible. Yet it would prove, as fate would have it, somewhat fruitless.

Now the Sun set ere the companions arrived in the Valley of the Golden Chains. And this Valley is named thus in the fashion that the Vedic and Sutrik mystiks call this world the Samasara. Golden Chains were the personification in word of the web woven by the Spiders, and this was a cob-web to whom Kristian the blue still pledged allegiance. After all: in such a web a manipulator-serpent more easily ensnares its prey.

When he set foot outside his door to meet the travelers, his chest was bare, yet it was no display of surrender, as Phoenix knew intuitively and that in later months the Scorpion King would publically admit of in thinly veiled boasting. Phoenix suppressed a scowl as he beheld the bare chest of his adversary, an image that maidens would have found sexually stirring (in desperate theory, and were they desperate maids) and thus a sign of victory over Phoenix and dominion over the heart of Eléna. Yet the Fishermage had her pick in his pocket, and thus he felt his self to have her Heart in his service.

Now the Scorpion King well comed his old friends, and a jolly grin sat on his visage, maniacal but uninitimidating, all most bemused and intoxicated (and in fact it seems likely that he had in deed been intoxicated). And though no hug betwixt bare breast and either bosom nor clothed breast was shared, the niceties were observed.

It must have looked, were there passerby, as though the feud had been but a passing spell of dark and cloudy weather, as we have here this night ere I write.

In the cozy dreariness (or the dreary coziness?) of the hamlet, his neighbouring tenants absent, the Lizard led the way for the Ram and the Fisherman. And there the Fisherman, who in deed had aided the Lizard in first moving his furniture to this abode, only shortly prior to the Betrayal, now stood in awe of its debauchery. For therein was a pile of waste in such disarray as he had never before seen in even the most degenerate pad*. It became impossible to discern clothing from paper from food stuffs, for there was not even a semblance of organisation there-in. And a temperament of mixed humour and pity then took Phoenix’s heart, and a frivolous joy that he had once associated by custom with the Tailor of Fates swam to his eyes as though a solitary beam of pure light had pierced the fog that haunted the eastward-facing Window Paine.

And the two friends laughed together as of old at the mess, and Phoenix knew that the pity was not for the mess nor for its owner but rather for whatever mess must have infested the owner’s mind. And the Fisherman’s hope was sparked again that this mess might be cleaned, as a parent at times is inclined to clean a child’s bed room.

                                                                                                                        *See the Appendix.

And as Phoenix lounged on what little bed there lay expose`d to lounge atop, he made eye contact with Eléna. And she had a reserve that all ways struck a chord of foreboding in his heart, for her grin was so contrived and so detached as to give her the semblance of a daemoness. But he tried to maintain his courage, and so he continued to don the veneer of an old buddy* whilst he saw from behind its carved-out eyes. And Kristian received the surly jibes as praise with his long-accustomed surly haze, as continues the poetic account.

                                                                                                                        *See the Appendix.

And then it was that a bird flew in to deliver message to Eléna. And it had so hapt that, as had befallen at many an inopportune moment before, her closest friend Ayirpa was mentally ill and inebriated, and she required Eléna to bear her home astride a steed. And so Eléna took her leave, not promising to return but hoping to.

And the hour that followed stretched out over a hellish interval, but the façade of fealty was maintained. And in isolation the old mages conjured one of their old songs, and Phoenix sang the lines pertaining to loyalty with a shouting exuberance. Yet Kristian, who apparently felt threatened by his old companion’s venting such pain, altered the lines of an other old song, so that when they played this other familiar tune Phoenix felt stung. But in nobly servitude and faith towards his absent Lady he suppressed the combative urge to the best of his prowess.

And so it befell that after some time, as darkness was upon them, though the evening was yet twilit, Lady Eléna the Warrior Princess made her return to the hamlet. And after some words of heart-felt concern by Phoenix it was decided that the three would venture into town on an excursion.

And so they walked into the town of La Mesa. And there there was much odd talk betwixt them, and all so some odd talk around them, and perchance even some odd talk ABOUT them. And there they met several diverse – and at times odd – folk.

Now many things were discussed ere the setting of the Sun that Free Day’s evening, and amidst them were many referents made by the fair Eléna to various tribes of conjuror, that she might endear her self to the Mad Mystik Kristian with her knowledge of them.

And Kristian proved of a malleable temperament, endorsing the flirtation whilst Phoenix bit back any impulse to protest.

And in time the company encountered a wandr’ing beggar. And this man was not known by a name but was recognised by the scent of spirits upon his breath, and the ale he bore within a vessel of plaster.

And this man was most jovial and much endeared by the company of these young travelers, and so were they in return to him. And in a sudden fit of generosity the likes of which Phoenix had not seen in many an age from him, Kristian agreed to accompany the beggar upon a quest to find an artifact of magical power that might enable the old man to hear the sounds of angels at his leisure.

And as they traveled back the way they came, in pursuit of such an object, the beggar bestowed upon them many tales. And amidst these tales were his own musings upon a long-foregotten day. And he was impressed especially with the beauty of Eléna. For she was of a temperament that the old visionary had encountered oft in his youth. And so it was that at the end of their adventure, a miss-adventure for no such item was found as the man had requested, so archaic was the relic that it might have past for myth to any one but a mage, and as the company stood outside a Magistrate at the intersex of two prominent roads ere the sky turnt violet tinged with magenta (or was it magenta tinge`d with violet?) Phoenix felt a kinship to this old beggar, for they both saw in Eléna what Kristian could not see, and that was her Soul.

And Kristian further daemonstrated that evening, as they took leave of their disappointed but by no means disenchanted companion, the depth of his growing blindness, for he could neither see beyond the beggar any more than he might glimpse Eléna’s sole from beyond her fair and amourous countenance. For Kristian’s Inner Eye was muddied by the senses of his two outward ones, and all Souls were hidden from him, that he should have only to speculate as to their contents based upon the surface value of externalities.

So Kristian insisted that the beggar had been a drunkard, though Phoenix protested that drink was a fitting occupation for any social deviant. And Phoenix smiled and yet frowned, inwardly, at the irony that this mage who had so lusted after Eléna would not feel the same kinship that Phoenix had felt with that beggar, upon her behalf. And this kinship in fact Phoenix continued to feel even in the beggar’s absence, as he felt a burning thirst for Eléna that her absence intensified but that her presence never failed to assuage. And so Phoenix knew that never could Kristian best him in love, for even if the cunning conjuror insisted that he too had felt such solidarity but that it had faded beneath critical thoughts, Phoenix lay claim to the solidarity that he continued to feel so passionately.

In due time the company made, ere the fall of night, to St. Bernard’s ranch, and past it to the Ranch of the Four Serpents, and there they met with a party of old companions. And prior to this meeting the Robber joint their company, and they traveled by a carriage muster’d by Kristian into the depths of the local wood, where a meeting was arranged to receive from some wanderers a gift of smoking leaf for the entire party.

And the company thus convened in the home of Antonio. And there in his tower the leaf was smoked by nearly if not all present, though it is impossible to say of Eléna, who sat in the far end of the room like a shadow against the back-drop of a seat draped in black.

And as the leaf took affect Phoenix felt for the first time a companionship and in fact a kinship with this entire party, including even Antonio’s neighbor Sir Johnstown, with whom the Spick King dwelt in these days following his expulsion from the dismembered court of Sir Michael. And this Sir Michael of John’s Town was in fact known as the Other Michael, for King Michael had not only fallen but disappeared, and Antonio sought another master to be apprenticed to in the absence of the old, for so it has all ways been and all ways shall be for the Lord of the Spix.

Phoenix would recall that night with enthusiasm, for it was then that he first saw the possibility that Eléna’s Vision might be realised: that of a happy family of warlocks and witches living in a court governed by pure heart, chivalry, nobility, generosity, and compassion. Yet his hopes would, of dubious foundation as they were, work towards his own down-fall.    

XIX.          An Undoing, and a Hiatus.

It was not long ere Antonio was again invited, for the first time in a long while that had been interrupted only by the visit of the Second Flight, to the home of Phoenix Dela Mancha in St. Bernard’s Ranch.

And this was a token of the latter’s generosity, for Phoenix harboured no passion towards Antonio.

Yet this meeting had by chance befallen one of a small number of nights ere whilst Eléna paid visit to the Fisherman’s abode, for they had both intended to collaborate in a magickal act. And when Phoenix beheld her she was of reserved and even aggressive countenance, for she so longed to impress Tony that he might impress upon Kristian her good impression.

And the Fisherman, spotting an opportunity for her to actualize her Vision, for it had all so taken hold of his Heart, invited her to sing a bard’s song for Tony. Yet despite having spent the day as Artisans and brothers in craft with him, tony felt at this moment cheated by Phoenix. For he so coveted attention, and he was borne all so under the sign of the Ram, that Eléna had become to him like an adversary. His only solace was in the kindness of Phoenix, for how else could he have come to deplore aggression in the Fisherman had it not once been a pure-hearted passion? Yet it was this same sense of attachment to the more pliable side of the wizard’s nature that bred in Antonio’s heart decay. Antonio hated Phoenix for the enthusiasm with which the mystik sang, and, unbeknownst to the well-meaning and free-spirited wizard, who was enraptured by the unfolding events and celebrated in a boisterous melody that transfixed his own senses, the Spick Lord and the Warrior Princess began then to nurture a mutual enmity towards the wizard. For the former coveted the wizard’s gift and hated the sight of it, whereas the latter felt threatened by the wizard’s leadership, and she ascribed to her deliverer the same covetousness that was in fact exhibited by Antonio, and thus made felt in that chamber that evening ere day died.

And so it befell that ere Antonio of the Mexicans left for his home in the Ranch of Four Serpents that night, a scandalous conflict broke out betwixt Phoenix and Eléna. For Phoenix was blind to the devices of the conscious ego, and only saw opportunities, but Eléna nurtured a sensitivity towards the plight of Antonio, whom she felt recrimination for having resented. And Phoenix began then to covet this sensitivity, for he was the more entitled of the two men towards it, having exhausted his efforts to aide the Warrior Princess in her quest ere paracites such as Tony sought to subvert her in every way.

And it should be noted that at this moment Phoenix remembered how their outing had ended with Kristian. For Tony had become enflamed, under the intoxication of herb, in revolt against Kristian in political discourse. And meanwhile as Phoenix sat in their court-yard, conversing with Sir Michael of John’s Town, they heard calls and cries from within. Tony had alienated the entire company from him and demanded that they take their leave. And Phoenix had sought to console Antonio of the Trailers, yet the warlock had with-drawn into a state of meditation and would not ope his eyes, until the Robber returnt and demanded that Antonio daemonstrate towards the Robber a kindness greater than Antonio had shown him. And ere the hobgoblin grinned jeeringly, like a Gothic Gargoyle seated atop a cathedral, for so was the Spick Lord curlt atop his black seat near the kitchen, (not the seat upon which Eléna had sat but its brother,) Phoenix recalled how it had been that when she first made her appearance in this house Antonino had referred to her, by way of a jibe, as “the witch”. And then it was that obvious that the Robber was right in calling the Spick Lord by the name of “cruel”.

As it hapt Eléna took her leave of Phoenix’s home after a prolongued and tormented plaint by Phoenix. She had advised him not to beg her to stay, and she mocked him as he followed her out into the street and made to all most prostrate his self before her atop the curb of the road. And then she made clear to him that her identity was not merely mortal, and that she identified her self with her Spirit, and that she longed for a return to her Home in the Higher Realms. And in those realms she insisted that there was no distinction of sex, and no body, and that love did not anchor the power of Souls, for love to her was a “golden chain”.

And moments before she left Phoenix asked her if her nostalgia for her home was not a suicidal nostalgia for death, for she had threatened oft to take her own life in a fit of desperation. And she merely mused, as though transfixed, but grinning with a malicious intensity and a mirthful confidence: “I want to go home. Let me go.” And her soft words were like the wail of sirens or the sound of wind in trees, as Phoenix saw her in the flesh for the last time that would come to pass that year.

XX.            The Last Flight of the Grey Lizard.

Now it not long ere Phoenix aspired to remedy the malady with which the Spick Lord’s bite had infected their project. So he sought swiftly the alliance of the Robber, for such was his assignment, and this burden had not yet been lifted by any formal revocation.

And so the following day the Robber met, on the bequest of Phoenix, with the latter, and so began an uneasy yet formidable friendship. The two men traveled by horse to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, and under persuasion by Sun and water Phoenix decided to take a leap of faith, and to divulge the intent of Eléna, albeit against her wishes that he do so. And to his pleasant surprise, though Phoenix had surmised so much hitherto in the back of his mind, the Robber of Poway agreed, having intuited such a plot and having foreseen such tidings all ready.

Phoenix immediately sent a pidgeon to Eléna that bore these tidings, and she commended him for his risk and asked him to persuade the Robber by every device that she had made available to him that fealty towards her was wise. And so the Robber was persuaded, and he joint their company, leastwise in semblance, and as the Sun set ere the two men departed the shores for Poway yet again, Phoenix felt optimism.

Yet this optimism faded the following day. For then it was that Phoenix arranged a meeting with Kristian and the Robber. And the three mages were to convene as in older days to compose music in the Robber’s tower. And ere this befell Phoenix sought to employ every gift of lingual magick that the Warrior Princess had bestowed upon them in the service of their Plot: to persuade Kristian that Eléna was a worthy liege, and to convince him that this persuasion had not in fact taken place externally, but that the conviction was to be found in the roots of the Scorpion Conjuror’s Inner Mind.

Yet not all was well that day. For the Robber was of questionable loyalty, and he ignored every hint that Phoenix had made that might remind him of their duty. Besides, unlike in earlier attempts to do so, this time the three ended up meeting in the dwelling of the Scorpion King. And then it was that Phoenix saw how sour had gone not only the countenance but all so the style of the Scorpion King, for the mage appeared bristly, as though a hidden resentment and suspicion brewed within his heart.

None of the records of their magick from that day remain, unless they are retained in the possession of the wizened wizard. Little harmony was gleant from chaos that night in the fire-light of the Scorpion’s Lair, a crevasse haunted by the moans of many lovers that had been his prey, some more recently per chance than others.

Yet it so befell that that eve there was a party held in this same home, for the Scorpion’s mother was absent. And appeared to this party several old acquaintances of the Grey Lizard, including no less than Sir Michael the yet-again-a-Knight. And Tony of Wet Back was there, and so was Sir Michael of John’s Town as his escort, and so all so was a dealer in games called none other than Gustavo. And much leaf was smoked, much music was heard, especially of the Robber’s composition, for he had this moment now to shine, for his Master was so absorpt in a game of wits that had been brought by Gustavo, and in which both Kristian and Phoenix participated as partners. And a pleasant harmony seemed to reign over their meeting that eve, which ended with the party’s diminishment to only Kristian, Phoenix, and Gustavo. And then the company of three rode to watch a play that Phoenix had wanted to see when they had last met at Antonio’s house, and this play was a mirror against which Kristian and Phoenix could glimpse the integrity of their own family, the very family that Eléna sought to re-assemble and to lead anew.

That night the Phoenix spent in the lair of the Lizard, and ere break of day the former accompanied the latter on several errands. The entire day was spent in the company of this old friend, though under the cloud of a hidden purpose and a debt to be re-paid, hidden by the Phoenix and to be re-paid by the lizard, though the latter might have thought the roles to be reversed. It is not absurd to conjecture that the Scorpion King had himself harboured a private motive, and it would appear just as likely that he intended for Phoenix to pledge loyalty to him, and not the obverse of this to befall.

Yet Phoenix remained diligent, though he felt his kinship drained, and he was disillusioned by the loss of youthful innocence and mirth upon the old mage’s countenance.

Finally, Sunday came. And that eve the three mages – Phoenix, Kristian, and the Robber – again convened.

And upon this day Phoenix was invited to accompany Kristian to a gathering of young maidens in the city of St. Diego. And so deep into the city, and into the night, the old friends rode. And there they met a young damsel that was to be Kristian’s escort, and she had hair the colour of lilacs and her dress left much bare.

Now Phoenix was a gentleman and made no advances upon this woman, though he did his part to keep Kristian in suspicion. There was no doubt that Kristian’s intent was carnal, and this appeared to have been shared by the young damsel, who was of a coquettish and easily flattered character.

Yet the Fisherman is a wizard that loves to wander. And the Scorpion King, whilst he is intent upon a goal, pursues it without relent. So it came to pass that the company came to part. And Phoenix was left to wander his home city alone. And there, in the crowd, he found his heart again.

Phoenix was due to meet with the wizened wizard at a large hostel on the perimetre of the city. And as he took the long trek on foot towards the place, asking strangers for directions along the way, there was more friendship that he saw in their faces than in the memory of Kristian’s visage, for whilst Kristian too was one to flatter with advice and even aide, the image of Kristian’s treachery, the excitement that lit the blue mage’s gait as he approached the satiation of his project, was too akin to the look a predator has before its prey. Phoenix could never again trust his old friend as he could trust a stranger, and it had been none other but Kristian that had dissuaded this egalitarian trust from Phoenix’s heart long ago, in fact upon one of what appeared to have been many visits to the home of Tony of the Trailers. And as Phoenix pondered this he would come to comprehend that these visits might in fact have been less frequent than he had suspected, yet so oft had the Lizard Wizard tried to bestow upon the Fishermage a sense of guilt for his ostensible debt to the Lizard, and so oft would the Fishermage have LIKED to have seen the Lizard in person, that it appeared soon that no such debt had ever existed, for what had felt like long hours spent together were only ever fantasies and desires. The Fisherman WANTED to believe that the Grey Lizard had been a great friend, and so the Grey Lizard had willed the Fisherman to believe. Yet this magick was beginning to fade. Phoenix saw then that Kristian had deliberately read his heart and written upon it what Phoenix had wanted to read, yet this had never been so. The Lizard had all ways been the foe of the Phoenix. The Lizard had not been employed to the purposes of the Phoenix, as so oft he would accuse the innocent Fisherman; it had been the PHOENIX that had served the LIZARD! For so cunning and ingenious was this unscrupulous old warlock.

When Phoenix finally arrived at the gargantuan Cathedral that was to be his house of boarding, he had all ready made up his mind in compliance with his now-renewed Heart.

 A member of the hose-hold had a message sent to the warlock in his chamber. Phoennix was invited to meet him. When he finally arrived upon the landing, he made his way down a narrow castle corridor, only to see his friend emerge from the chamber before he might glimpse it.

As the two old friends made their way, through the night, back to their horse, Phoenix intuited that his friend was intoxicated by a powder that the wizened warlock had long ago (for it seemed an eternity ago at this point) administered to Eléna, that he might more easily stab her with his Charm by enflaming her deviant desires.

This intuition was corroborated by the wizened wizard, whose gait was now assailable, for the fortress of so precarious a mind shakes when the foundations at its root are eroded by any intoxicant.

Phoenix knew then that Kristian would never be the ally that either he nor Eléna had desired. His castle would shake, but it would not topple as had the Tower of Power. The Soul of Kristian was consumed in the depths of greed and lust. And so it was that when the Lizard insisted, by way of an apology, that the company he had kept in that brothel was loth to entertain an other guest, Phoenix was only glad that he had been spared the debauchery, and even moreso glad that the abandonment had afforded him a liberating but un-spiteful walk. And so liberated was the caster’s Heart at that moment that no spell that the Lizard could put up0n the mind would convince him that spite had guided him towards either this place or this conclusion. It had been Love that had been his escort: a represse`d Love that now shone again.

In time Phoenix would conclude that the Grey Lizard had lied, for he was eager to protect his new paramour from the witty gaze of Phoenix. Yet such pride was not even yet upon the mind of the Fishermage as they rode through the night, back into their home in St. Bernard’s Ranch.

That night, ere they rode, Phoenix yelled spells and curses to the wind. He would no longer be in the service of the wizened wizard’s evil eye. And so he took from a satchel that the beast of burden bore several old relics that he had leant to the wizened wizard, making clear to Kristian, by an implication that only could be heard by a desperately lonely and guilty Heart, that Phoenix was taking what he hoped to be his Last Leave of him.

And so Kristian became again, for now he was found out to have been so all along, by one who had known him back in those early days when this name was first bestowed upon the Scorpion King, little more than young Catsup. Catsup became the name that Phoenix would use for Kristian Xavier, the Christian Saviour of St. Bernard, not because Phoenix any longer feared the name of Kristian, but because the boy who now bore him to their home could never live up to the name of “Christian Saviour”. So buried was that saviour beneath the devices of his own ego, and that ego was little more in its origins than a relic of childhood: a boyish lust. And so fitting it was that the name given to the young lad by two vagrant maids, probably as a token of lust as well as maternal care, would become the name that he was christened with in the mind of his once-friend, one spited by this lust, and it was as though this name had been bestowed upon the wizard by the wizard’s own mother.

Dm.A.A.