Being a
Fable of Epich Distortions.
En/scribed by Pius White, the Fair.
Translated by Dmytri A. Andreev.
Dm.A.A.
THE
FIRST CHAPTER:
I.
The
Warrior Princess.
Once there lived deep in the City of Saint Diego a lady
by the name of Eléna of the Clouds, and she belonged (though to her the thought
of belonging to any one appeared preposterous) to the Family of Cloud. Their
family crest was emblazoned with the enscription “Pies en la Tierra, Cabeza en
las Nubes”, which was a poor translation from the ancient Greek, but it meant
“Feet on the Ground, Head in the Clouds”.
And now I have said that this Eléna was a lady, and in
truth she was quite fair, but it should be noted that her countenance was stern
and cutting as any man’s, for she was a Daughter of the Ram, and so she was
borne under a fiery spell that would not abate until death. To some she was
distinguished by her surpassing fairness, but these some tended only to be
enlightened drunkards, mystiks, mages and philosophers, for most tended to
overlook her, and she for some time had preferred it to be so. With time she
would come again to crave attention, and then men and women alike shuddered
before her gait, for her charm was so fierce that in time she became known as
the Warrior Princess, though she was the daughter not of Kings but Mages. And
word spread throughout Saint Diego of Lady Eléna the Fair, the Warrior Princess
of The Mesa, for she lived near to the town of Mesa.
And local songs recounted Eléna thus:
A warrior as pale as snow
With hair as fair and long as wheat.
She radiated fiery glow
Made known to all whom she might
meet.
A might as fierce as horses ten
An eye so cunning to deceit
She could subdue a score of men.
And let them grovel at her feet.
And it remained as nebulous as the Clouds Themselves
whether or not “cunning to deceit” meant “cunning enough to SEE deceit”, or
“cunning to the POINT OF deceit”. But little heed was paid to that part.
II.
The
Yellow Knight.
Now in the Kingdom of Saber Springs there lived a great
knight known by the name of Sir Michael the Yellow. Local songs recalled him
thus:
Sir Michael the yellow
Now there was a funny fellow.
Never mellow if he should perceive
A time of need.
All ways very bellicose
He bellowed harder much than most
And traveled far, the story goes
Upon his Great Grey Steed.
And the word “steed” of course referred to his horse,
whom he had named for the last letter of the Kingdom’s Alphabet, the letter Z.
And this was a mare of such surpassing prowess and valour that it was said that
it had the strength of several scores of horses.
Sir Michael was quite proud in his servitude towards the
Kingdom. His chivalry was unmatched.
One eve, he sat with three wizards at a Public House in
the depths of the city of Saint Diego. These were named Phoenix Dela Mancha,
Kristian Xavier, and an other strange fellow, portly and of stout heart, who
was known simply as the Robber. Now the first two of these sly conjurors had
been friends of old, prior to a bitter feud recalled thus:
The water-kings of Saint Bernard.
Who lived on Bernard’s Ranch.
Were mages of a kinship scarred.
Though rage remained unblanched.
And here they sat in Public Hall.
That followed bitter feud.
And into water’s depths they would
yet fall
And feud would be renewed.
And so it was to be. These “water-kings” were Phoenix and
Kristian, who were called the water-kings because their magic was that of
water, the most fluid of the four elements.
And beside Kristian, for though he sat between them both
it is really proper to say that he was at Kristian’s side (and certainly
neither at nor on Phoenix’s side), sat the Robber. And the Robber was a young
mage, whom Sir Michael had met one night when he had traveled to the Ranch of
Mount Carmel to meet with Phoenix, and who had made the acquaintance of both
men that night by avenue of a compliment paid by Sir Michael for the Robber’s steed.
Over the course of several months following that initial
meeting the Robber had befriended Kristian, or rather it ought to be amended
that KRISTIAN had befriended the ROBBER,
for rarely did the former make friends unwittingly and without a foregone purpose.
And so the Robber would become apprentice to Kristian, one of the water-kings
of Saint Bernard’s Ranch.
Now the Robber was of repute neither for his spells nor
his curses. Having abandoned the convent in which he was to have been educated,
he remained largely illiterate in these matters of magick. But the Robber was
gifted in the most transcendant of all the magickal disciplines, and that was
song. Together, in the Robber’s homely tower, Kristian the Scorpion King and
Robber the Bull Roarer composed arts of the most chilling deviance and craft.
It should all so be herein noted that the Robber was set
apart from his other companions that day at the Pub, including Sir Michael his
self, by his element. For whilst Phoenix and Kristian were sons of water and
Sir Michael was a son of the Air, the Robber of Poway was a son of the Earth.
And so it had been that Kristian had appointed the Robber to be his closest
vassal, that he might “ground” the older wizard’s “mad flow”.
Well, now this peculiar eve the four companions sat
beside a window overlooking the City Streets, and closest to this window sat
Sir Michael the Yellow.
As their server approached, taking pains to receive their
orders, for Phoenix the Fisherman was notoriously indecisive in his choice of
spirits, an ecstatic haze seemed to pass over the visage of the other blue
wizard who sat across from Phoenix.
“Why dost thou smile, old friend Kristian?” enquired
Phoenix, for he was, as a water-mage, the most adept at reading the thoughts of
this once-conspirator, once-rival.
Kristian did his best, grinning slyly, to remain nebulous
about his intentions, but his tongue carried so much lust that even Sir Michael
could discern its motives.
At this moment, the Yellow Knight’s passions for Order,
that he might protect his old friend the Scorpion Wizard, was so aroused that
his mouth flew open in protest, and it was long ere it shut, so loth was Sir
Michael to let idly pass so portentious a hindrance.
“Kristian, I must beseech you to see Reason! You are
wooing the Witch of Woe, and to entertain the company of any other maiden would
spell Woe for you!” For so it was true that Kristian was, in his heart, wedded
to the White Rose of Woe, but it was all so true that Kristian was just as
easily governed by his lower appetites as by his Heart.
“Nay, but thou overlookest the fact that the Witch of Woe
has been wedded to an adversary of mine, and so I would be no less loyal to her
than she is to him when she visits with me, crumbling as the edifices of their
matrinomy may be as we speak…”
“It is still a poor plan that I am loth to condone…”
protested Sir Michael. And so an argument erupted, not violent but prolonged
and draining, for as Kristian fought to make up his mind and Phoenix advocated
for his old friend’s thoughts of deviance, Sir Michael the Noble Knight of
Saber Springs maintained his own dissent, at times admonishingly and at others
with indignation.
With time the focus of Sir Michael’s attention drifted to
the exterior of the window beside which he sat. And there, beyond the confines
of the Public House, was beheld by him what appeared to be a blossoming
conflict of wills.
Now all the while the Fisherman immersed his self in
dialogue with the Scorpion King, taking advantage of the Yellow Knight’s
silence though he paid little heed to it. But after some time Phoenix’s eyes
too wandered to the window, where they beheld a fair maiden of desirable build
contending, to his eyes playfully, with a tall man of young age.
Soon all four of the companions were engaged in a common
voyeurism as they watched the young maiden, playfully and laughingly, for she
was inebriated, leaning against a tree that grew beside the road, swiping away
her companion’s arm as a cat swipes at string, for he made to hold her own arm
that she might not fall to the ground.
With swift time an other man came to inform the first
gentleman that she was in no danger. The first apologetically and proudly
withdrew, and the lady was escorted to her carriage.
This beheld the two water wizards. Yet the eyes of the
Yellow Knight were more probing, more vigilant, less-inclined to drift in idle
play. And what HE saw he took no hesitation to recount to his peers:
“That scoundrel had the fair maiden ensnared against the
tree!”
And this of course seemed Absurd to the Knight’s
companions, for the tree was little more than a thicket.
Even the Robber protested: “She had her own back pressed
against that tree, of her own accord, for she was drunk!” And so he was
corroborated by both mages.
Yet the Yellow Knight was obstinate, so noble was his
heart.
“He was trying to attack her! He meant to drag her back
into the Pub from whence they had come, that he might take advantage of her!
Comrades, did you not see how fearful his countenance grew when her friend
appeared to rid her of the menace?!”
But so full of wonder, so blinded by tears of laughter
and by drink, were the eyes of his companions, even the Robber, who was not
permitted to drink owing to his age and stature, that the Yellow Knight’s
plaints were met only with jeers.
“The White Knight” called the Scorpion King in mockery of
Sir Michael.
Now I have recalled this anecdote in the Tale of Michael
that it might demonstrate to thee not only what courage the Yellow Knight
possessed, but all so what loyalty and kinship. For even whilst he protested,
unyielding as a sword of cold steel, Michael did not rise from his seat, for so
much love he had in his heart for his friends and so much faith in spite of his
obstinate reason. He believed, surely, though he had never spoken of it, that
even their ignorance had its place in the Divine Plan of God, and so he
abstained from taking action. Yet there were in fact many other instances in
which the same fervor was aroused in him, and in those instances he was not as
barred by his fealty, and so action he did take. And now I shalt recall them to
thee:
There is a shore in the West of this country known as the
Black Beach. And there gather all manner of mystiks and conjurors, on the eve
of every month whence the Moon is Whole, to partake in a coven of exceptional
spectacle.
And once it was that the Scorpion King paid visit to such
a gathering, with the Yellow Knight at his side. Now the mage was perfectly
capable of employing his own Arts for self-defence, and he had no intention to
appoint the Knight to be his Guardian, nor did he vocalise any such intent. Yet
so deep ran the love for the Scorpion in Sir Michael’s Heart that he felt it
necessary to arm his self, in case he should have to defend the life of this
dearest of old companions. It is assured here that, were the concern for Sir
Michael’s own safety, the blade would have remained with Sir Michael’s steed,
the noble Z.
Well it so befell that that night a wandering mage, one
without a home but possessing great Vision, having drunk a potion of
transdendant potency, offered insult to Sir Michael. So Sir Michael the Yellow,
Sir Michael the Noble and Brave, drew his blade to threaten the braggart away.
And away did the rogue run, and Sir Michael laughed.
Yet as he sheathed his blade, turning to his comrade, he
was perplexed to find no common mirth upon the wizard’s countenance.
“One simply dost not doth such things,” Kristian said
grimly. And so it was recounted to me, and thus it is so recorded for all to
see what deviance lurked in Kristian’s heart.
III.
The
Dragon Rider.
Now I shall bestow unto thee the tale of how it came that
Sir Michael the Yellow became known to many in the woods of Saber Springs by
the name of Sir Michael the Dragon Rider.
For whilst Sir Michael was in no ways gifted as a
sorcerer, and even less so as a mystik, notwithstanding he possessed a gift for
the care and medicine of horses.
At the mouth of the cavern whence Sir Michael dwelt, one
owned and lorded by his Mother, the Dragon Tongued Lady of Saber Springs, Sir
Michael could be seen, and oft heard, for hours treating the battle wounds and
other ills that his beloved horses ailed from.
One night Phoenix visited him, upon what was supposed to
be the eve of his first meeting with Kristian that would follow their feud. And
there he watched the master at work. For Z was ill, and the ailment that Z
suffered was one of the stomach and the lungs. So Sir Michael had, upon an
earlier day, gone to market to purchase (with what little gold he had, for he
lived in notorious humility and want of resource, as those who visited him
could attest to by commiseration with him as his guests) none other but the
belly and breath of a Slain Dragon.
And so arduously did Phoenix see Sir Michael labour that
night that Phoenix even felt a pang of pain, an echo of an other’s wound. For
in tending to the beast’s own ailments Michael had to labour through a fracture
in one of his own ribs. Yet no medicine did Sir Michael the Brave request, and
the Beast was healed.
When Z came to, its first instinct was of course to take
a sharp breath of freshest air. And the out-breath was such a roar of flame
that it was heard through all of Saber Springs. And Michael’s brother, Bryant
the Bold (and Calm), descended the steps of their home rapidly, running to the
throat of the cave to voice his praise for the renewed steed.
So it was that night that Sir Michael took both Phoenix
and Sir Michael’s apprentice in medicine, Sagittarius of Chula Vista, upon a
night flight through the woods of Saber Springs and above. And those who heard
them were so plenty that rumour spread all most as quickly that a Dragon had
descended upon the Spring of Sabers. And once Sir Michael had paid visit to the
local grocer, whose stories were revered, it became known that that Dragon was spurred
by none other than who had been called the Yellow Knight.
IV.
Sir
Bryant.
Now little I have said so far of Phoenix, and even less
so of Sir Bryant the Quiet. And little shall be told here of either, for both
preferred to remain enshrouded in mystery, and if any thing was more mysterious
than their hiddenness it was the antic with which they broke this remote
silence.
Yet one tale may be told by which to illustrate their
characters, and not only their individual characters, but the character of
their bond. For these two were sons of conflicting forces. Sir Bryant was a Son
of the Ram, the heathen god of war who was said to be the youngest of all the
heathen gods, and his element was that of the Flame. Yet Phoenix was in spirit
descended from the oldest and most patient of the gods, the god of Water, and
he was a Son of the Fish. And despite the fluid nature of this element no
heavier threat rested upon the heart of the Ram, for in the dripping of the
insipid rain fire met a passionate and prolongued death.
Yet these two men had an unspoken kinship, for they both
could till the soil upon which the steers of Sir Michael and his other
companions would excrete.
“My foes,” proclaimed Sir Michael the Yellow one night,
“use not their Reason but their Affect to excess in our political disputes!!”
And here are printed two points of exclamation, to signify the roaring thunder
that was the voice of Sir Michael at the condemnation of the foolish emotivism
of his foes.
Yet Bryant was subtle. “You are the one who doth shout.”
And to that Sir Michael replied: “I DOTH NOT SHOUT!!!”
And yet Phoenix all ways found comfort in Bryant, for
Bryant had been at his side, and had delivered him to his home and hearth, the
Night of the Wild Flight.
For by avenue of a wandering mystik Sir Michael had come
into possession of a mythic herb known as Sativa, and this herb was disguised
as a sweet bread. And this herb would become lord, for several hours upon a
fateful night, over the Fisherman’s Mind.
Now I have portended that Michael was of humble custom
and so it was that what would be taken for a sign of greed in other men was
simply a want of resources. Guests in his cavern were well come to the finest
hospitality, good humour, and smoking leaf, yet food was scarce. And Phoenix,
despite his slendour complexion, had a notorious appetite that was inflamed
easily.
Now there were three guests that night in the Dragon’s
Cavern, and they were the same as would later become legend in the
aforementioned episode at the Free Days’ Public House. Beside Sir Michael sat
Kristian Xavier, the Scorpion King of Saint Bernard’s Ranch. Across from Sir
Michael sat Phoenix Dela Mancha, the Fisherman of Saint Bernard, and betwixt
Kristian and Phoenix, the blue wizards, sat the Scorpion’s Apprenticed Robber.
There was an other man that sat at Phoenix’s right, to
the left of Michael in the circle, and he I have not called one of the visitors
for he belonged as well to this place as did Michael his self. And that was Sir
Bryant the Quiet.
Now long ago, it bears mentioning, it had been that the
Scorpion and the Fisherman had visited this same cavern, and the latter had met Bryant for the first time. And Bryant
spoke of his contempt for the Order of the Learnéd and his desire to toil for
the remainder of his life in humility. And Phoenix had aspired to persuade
Bryant to forego the toil in favour of an education by the Order. And Bryant
had listened quietly, as befit his own nature. So quiet was the listener that
Phoenix walked away suspecting that no movement had been made in sir Bryant’s
heart, for little had come to the lad’s lips.
Now upon the night of the Wild Flight sat this motley
congregation of peers, and youngest amidst them was Sir Bryant and eldest was
Phoenix, both in flesh and spirit. And from the hem of his robes produced
Kristian Xavier a pipe, emblazoned with paints woven deep into its exquisite,
blown-glass figure, in semblance a glass marble that had been twisted towards
mortal purposes.
And the wizened sage lit a flame over the pipe, and a
mystikal herb was ignited there-in, and the pipe was past about in a circle,
and all who were present to the cavern that night were privy to the secrets of
this Herb.
Now Phoenix grew swiftly peckish, as he was so inclined
at the consumption of any herb of this breed, and he requested of Sir Michael
food. And Sir Michael the Generous had only to spare a sack of sweet potato
crusts that had regrettably gone stale. And when this did not assuage the
hungry mage’s appetite Sir Michael offered no less than his own, enchanted
sweet bread. And coins were pitched by all present to Sir Michael for his
hospitality, and from the depths of the cavern’s kitchens the Herb Bread was
thus produced.
Now all present but the hungriest, who was Phoenix, had
consumed such pastries in past time. The pastry was divided amongst them, but
Phoenix took the largest piece, for so craved he the bread to assuage his
appetite that he paid little vigilance to the magick that slept within its
depths. And even as his experienced comrades admonished him he consumed this
veritable chunk, all ready intoxicated from the inhaled leaf.
Within mere hours Phoenix found his self transfixed and
neither willing nor able to move, for the surroundings had been replaced with a
lofty castle that floated in the sky. The air rushed as though the companions
were being born atop the shell of a great tortoise, yet his companions seemed
to pay little heed to this absurdity. Only Kristian, the Scorpion, smiled in
kinship with the blue mage, for they
shared, as I have intimated, a mystikal connection. Yet his smile turned
swiftly over the passing hours (for hours turnt swift upon this plain, though
they were stretched over Eternity Her Self) to a jeering malice, and Phoenix
beheld his friend transmuted into the personification of the Heathen God of
Drunkenness. And none offered Phoenix aide when he implored for reassurance
that this would end. And he suspected that they harboured a malice by
withholding such reassurance, and that it was not mere ignorance of detail that
blocked them from a reassuring answer. And then Phoenix began to feel weary, as
though a vengeful Goddess had descended – or ascended? – and was to rain blows
upon him. And he cried for help but none came from his comrades. Only came the
blows. Phoenix then began to suspect that no reassurance would come for there
was no Hope to be offered, and that the malice of his companions was even
deeper than he had feared, for they had allowed him so casually to stroll
unwitting to this tribulation. And he began to mutter in a tongue that none of
them could comprehend, for it was not intended for their comprehension, and he
muttered only to try to keep his self alive, for all other spells had fled his
memory.
But there was one in the company of five who not only
refused to aggravate the ensnared mage’s misery and agony, but in fact would
quench it. And he was Sir Bryant the Just. And Bryant offered Phoenix a pail in
which to vomit, but Phoenix could not reach it, and soon the grass that grew at
his feet was stained in the violet hues of regurgitated sweet potato skins.
Then it was that Bryant was to take Phoenix by the arm,
compelling him to rise by offering words of encouragement, a subtle but
affective magick. And Phoenix was escorted by Bryant through the cracks in the
cave wall, which was in fact, as all ways it had been, a thin veil, and Phoenix
beheld for the first time the field that lay humbly beyond this veil, that
would have appeared small were it not extended over all of eternity.
And there Bryant stood beside Phoenix as the pail was put
before him, and Phoenix continued to excrete through the mouth, and in betwixt
these excretions he moaned apology and praise to Sir Bryant. And he begged Sir
Bryant for forgiveness, and Sir Bryant simply replied that there was nothing to
be forgiven, but that Phoenix had simply had a touch too much fun. And then
Phoenix persisted in bewailing his own stupidity, and Sir Bryant explained that
Phoenix was a great magician and that be virtue of the Fisherman’s persuasion
Bryant had, in fact, decided to attend the Academy of the Learnéd.
And so Phoenix the Blue was taken home upon a steed that
night by Sir Bryant, born upon none other than Z, who was not yet a Dragon. And
Phoenix was wellcomed in castle by his father, who noticed little of the mage’s
disposition, for with that mage the uncommon was the standard and the standard
was uncommon at any rate and upon any day. And Phoenix descended into bed and
fell into a dreamless sleep. But he never forgot that night, nor his Wild
Flight upon the spine of the Great
Tortoise, and he never lost his love for Sir Bryant the Calm and Quiet.
V.
The
Scorpion King.
Now
some little more ought to be said of Lord Kristian the Blue, the Scorpion King
of Saint Bernard's Ranch, lest without such portent the reader be stupefied by
the deeds of his that follow ere this account. For Kristian was not solitarily
a sage of song and wizard of word, (though he was quite solitary in both
practices) but he was all so a dabbler in potions.
At a young age his childhood friend Masteller of Monterey, a city upon a hill called Mount Rey, had gifted to Kristian a potion called the Devil's Lettuce. Now this peculiar weed was known for producing visions, and so Kristian had first set foot in the Realm of Spirits.
For many years his young heart longed for that glorious domain of transcendance, but in outward facade it lay quite dormant, for the Scorpion never dares reveal his intent.
So it came to befall that once the lad was aged enough to find dealers and merchants in herbs he stole away from home to track them and to purchase their goods. And from herbs his stores grew, in secret, to other things: diabolikal acids and the like.
And then upon one day he and Saint Anthonio of the Mexicans, all so known by Saint Anthony of the Trailers, all so known as Antonio the Handsome or Antonio the Rich, (though he was in fact neither of these things) abbreviated Tony Rico, ascended to a hill outside the Trailers of Poway, and there they consumed the potion that would take Kristian's life for its own: Psilocybin, the Sacred Mushroom of the Mexicans.
From that day henceforth the hill would be Christened Mushroom Mountain, as tribute to the events that followed, and that would continue to follow through the course of these explorers' lives.
At a young age his childhood friend Masteller of Monterey, a city upon a hill called Mount Rey, had gifted to Kristian a potion called the Devil's Lettuce. Now this peculiar weed was known for producing visions, and so Kristian had first set foot in the Realm of Spirits.
For many years his young heart longed for that glorious domain of transcendance, but in outward facade it lay quite dormant, for the Scorpion never dares reveal his intent.
So it came to befall that once the lad was aged enough to find dealers and merchants in herbs he stole away from home to track them and to purchase their goods. And from herbs his stores grew, in secret, to other things: diabolikal acids and the like.
And then upon one day he and Saint Anthonio of the Mexicans, all so known by Saint Anthony of the Trailers, all so known as Antonio the Handsome or Antonio the Rich, (though he was in fact neither of these things) abbreviated Tony Rico, ascended to a hill outside the Trailers of Poway, and there they consumed the potion that would take Kristian's life for its own: Psilocybin, the Sacred Mushroom of the Mexicans.
From that day henceforth the hill would be Christened Mushroom Mountain, as tribute to the events that followed, and that would continue to follow through the course of these explorers' lives.
An explanation is due for why this Holy Mount was not named for the people of Antonio Rico. This was so as not to confuse it with the Mexican Mountains, a mythic range that Lord Donatello of Trump, the Rosy Knight, had vowed to conjure from the Earth and Gold of the Southern Peoples, which was to run astride the Southern Border of the Central Country in the Northern Continent of the Western Hemisphere of the Fourth Planet of the...
This
was one of a number of folk tales that Sir Michael had protested as unfounded
superstition.
Now
when Kristian and Tony ingested the Knob of the Mushroom King, the former had
anticipated a visitation to the Realm of Spirit akin to his previous adventures
with acids. Yet some thing befell that eve that was to alter the mage's course
permanently, and so that night was deemed the Eve of Kristian and the Swan Song
of Catsup. For Lord Kristian was known by many names, other than Xavier, the
Wizened Wizard, the Blue Mage, the younger Water-King, the Scorpion King of
Saint Bernard, the Tailor of Fates, and Question (by a missed pronunciation of
his name). He had all so been, in passing, once called by the name of Catsup.
Now Catsup, for those who know not of it, is a sort of stale-tasting, too-sweet
tomato paste that the dwellers of the Central Country ate, chiefly to spite
settlers from the Mediterranean Peninsula. And only one of the Scorpion King's
allies had heard this nicked name, and that was Phoenix, and for many years
Phoenix called Kristian by that name.
Now it befell that when Catsup and Tony consumed the Mushroom King's Knob the King His Self, in his Utmost Highness, descended from the heavens, and he was in the form of a Portabello with appendages resembling the magick knobs they had eaten, and he wore a mage's hat in the shape of a toad's stool, and his visage was boyish yet terrifying. And with a grin he proclaimed:
Ye mortals who my wisdom seek
Now hear me chortle as I speak
For through the portal whence ye came
Thou never shalt return again!
And when you shall appear again
Ye shall not ever be the same
For in your ear shall be my song
Forever here. And everlong!
And thus the Mushroom Spirit, incarnate as the Fun Guy, an old sprite of whom much rumour had been written but none had reached Kristian's ears, cursed both Kristian and his peer Anthony. For this was none other than Silly Simon, for whom the mushroom Psilocybin was named.
And at this moment Kristian's ears heard voices as of a great multitude of private thoughts made at once publik. And his eyes beheld sights as a child does when first its mind grasps at This World.
And such a gaiety as only could be produced by the song of a God possessed the old musician. And he TOO began to sing. And his feet, as though possessed of their own accord, began to fidget and then to dance, until finally the dance became a run down the side of the Mountain. And as Kristian descended the hill he first perceived it to BE a Mountain, for like a river he ran down it, and a river runs without mortality. And all this befell as though within one instance, so the sorcerer's mind perceived the fidgeting, and the dancing, and the running all at once. And it was all In Harmony with the Divine Music.
And erstwhile Antonio of the South, Tony Rico del Sur, simply sat. And he was transmuted into an incarnation of Baphomet, the goat-headed Devil. And Catsup beheld him thus even as Catsup ran from him down the Mountain. It was as though he had foreseen Tony becoming this being, as though they had both known Tony to be this monster all along, and Catsup's descent was spurred by this portentious fear of his companion, a fear that only found warrant once the descent was complete and Tony was left alone to his diabolikal devices. And of these devices, even if I knew of them, I would abstain from speaking.
Now Catsup did not become Kristian simply by entering this as of yet uncharted domain of the Spirit Realm. For the old mage still had much of the boyish charm that had earnt him that title Catsup by the young maidens that Phoenix had heard call him that. And Catsup endeavoured to employ this seasoned charm, empowered by the flesh of the fungus and bolstred by the Waves of season-less Eternity.
So Kristian made a courtly advance upon a country girl, and was promptly apprehended by village peace keepers. And in their barred carriage he laughed maniacally, but little by little the mania came to reach his own ears and he became cognizant of it, and before long the mirth subsided and was replaced by embarassment at the mania, shock at his own madness, and dread at what was to come.
That night Kristian spent in the local prison, and his mother was invited to retrieve him.
When Phoenix crost paths again with his old friend, Catsup the Innocent was dead. Kristian Xavier, the Tailor of Fates, had begun to live up to his given name.
Now it befell that when Catsup and Tony consumed the Mushroom King's Knob the King His Self, in his Utmost Highness, descended from the heavens, and he was in the form of a Portabello with appendages resembling the magick knobs they had eaten, and he wore a mage's hat in the shape of a toad's stool, and his visage was boyish yet terrifying. And with a grin he proclaimed:
Ye mortals who my wisdom seek
Now hear me chortle as I speak
For through the portal whence ye came
Thou never shalt return again!
And when you shall appear again
Ye shall not ever be the same
For in your ear shall be my song
Forever here. And everlong!
And thus the Mushroom Spirit, incarnate as the Fun Guy, an old sprite of whom much rumour had been written but none had reached Kristian's ears, cursed both Kristian and his peer Anthony. For this was none other than Silly Simon, for whom the mushroom Psilocybin was named.
And at this moment Kristian's ears heard voices as of a great multitude of private thoughts made at once publik. And his eyes beheld sights as a child does when first its mind grasps at This World.
And such a gaiety as only could be produced by the song of a God possessed the old musician. And he TOO began to sing. And his feet, as though possessed of their own accord, began to fidget and then to dance, until finally the dance became a run down the side of the Mountain. And as Kristian descended the hill he first perceived it to BE a Mountain, for like a river he ran down it, and a river runs without mortality. And all this befell as though within one instance, so the sorcerer's mind perceived the fidgeting, and the dancing, and the running all at once. And it was all In Harmony with the Divine Music.
And erstwhile Antonio of the South, Tony Rico del Sur, simply sat. And he was transmuted into an incarnation of Baphomet, the goat-headed Devil. And Catsup beheld him thus even as Catsup ran from him down the Mountain. It was as though he had foreseen Tony becoming this being, as though they had both known Tony to be this monster all along, and Catsup's descent was spurred by this portentious fear of his companion, a fear that only found warrant once the descent was complete and Tony was left alone to his diabolikal devices. And of these devices, even if I knew of them, I would abstain from speaking.
Now Catsup did not become Kristian simply by entering this as of yet uncharted domain of the Spirit Realm. For the old mage still had much of the boyish charm that had earnt him that title Catsup by the young maidens that Phoenix had heard call him that. And Catsup endeavoured to employ this seasoned charm, empowered by the flesh of the fungus and bolstred by the Waves of season-less Eternity.
So Kristian made a courtly advance upon a country girl, and was promptly apprehended by village peace keepers. And in their barred carriage he laughed maniacally, but little by little the mania came to reach his own ears and he became cognizant of it, and before long the mirth subsided and was replaced by embarassment at the mania, shock at his own madness, and dread at what was to come.
That night Kristian spent in the local prison, and his mother was invited to retrieve him.
When Phoenix crost paths again with his old friend, Catsup the Innocent was dead. Kristian Xavier, the Tailor of Fates, had begun to live up to his given name.
VI.
The Dreams of
Kristian.
Now
Phoenix had not of course borne personal witness to the aforewritten events,
but it bears to mention the conditions by whom he had come to knowledge of
them. For you see at one point, in the day-time, Antonio and Kristian had
deliberated to escort Phoenix to that same peak. And so he was escorted, and
this was the Second Time that Kristian ascended to the peak of Mushroom
Mountain, but this time he remained sobre, and all intoxication was by memory.
And as the three companions sat beside that winding dirt path, barren as a snake's carcus, and they oversaw the events of their City, Phoenix was told of their thoughts both at the time of the journey and in its wake. And he learnt of how Kristian had descended the Mount, how Tony had refused to follow, deeming it unwise, and how Kristian was apprehended whilst Tony became Baphomet. And he learnt of what Tony had witnessed upon the quest, for before Tony descended and crawled back into his lair he had intuited many things. And amidst these recollections Tony expressed a fervent thirst to reciprocate what their society had bestowed upon them, and to lead righteous lives in accord with the Tao, which was a term used by settlers from the Far East for God. And Phoenix learnt of Kristian's Apprehension in greater detail, and that day, as the Sun prepared to set, he learnt all so of the Comprehension of Kristian, for it was upon that night, when Silly Simon had made his descent upon Catsup, atop that very hill, that Kristian's Third Eye was first opened, a gland that might glimpse the mind of God, and with this Divine Mind was the mind of the young rascal mage temporarily merged. Yet Phoenix all so intuited what Kristian his self did not see: that their minds were now severred. Kristian was no longer in imitatio Christi, and all though his name, Kristian Xavier, read Christian Saviour, the son had been forsaken by the Father. Kristian was not Christ, but he imagined his self to be. But of this danger Phoenix never spoke, for he supposed upon that day that Fate would speak on that truth's behalf, and in later years the Fisherman would place the same faith in the instruments of Reason.
And as the three companions sat beside that winding dirt path, barren as a snake's carcus, and they oversaw the events of their City, Phoenix was told of their thoughts both at the time of the journey and in its wake. And he learnt of how Kristian had descended the Mount, how Tony had refused to follow, deeming it unwise, and how Kristian was apprehended whilst Tony became Baphomet. And he learnt of what Tony had witnessed upon the quest, for before Tony descended and crawled back into his lair he had intuited many things. And amidst these recollections Tony expressed a fervent thirst to reciprocate what their society had bestowed upon them, and to lead righteous lives in accord with the Tao, which was a term used by settlers from the Far East for God. And Phoenix learnt of Kristian's Apprehension in greater detail, and that day, as the Sun prepared to set, he learnt all so of the Comprehension of Kristian, for it was upon that night, when Silly Simon had made his descent upon Catsup, atop that very hill, that Kristian's Third Eye was first opened, a gland that might glimpse the mind of God, and with this Divine Mind was the mind of the young rascal mage temporarily merged. Yet Phoenix all so intuited what Kristian his self did not see: that their minds were now severred. Kristian was no longer in imitatio Christi, and all though his name, Kristian Xavier, read Christian Saviour, the son had been forsaken by the Father. Kristian was not Christ, but he imagined his self to be. But of this danger Phoenix never spoke, for he supposed upon that day that Fate would speak on that truth's behalf, and in later years the Fisherman would place the same faith in the instruments of Reason.
Now
in fact Kristian had long ago intuited his kinship to Divinity, but he had
rarely had it occur to his conscious mind, or if he did it rarely shone upon
his persona. He intimated to Phoenix once a Big Dream that he had had since he
was a child, since perhaps prior even to the enterprise with Devil's Lettuce.
In this dream it befell, time and again, for oft the dream would repeat, and oft rode the mare of night, that young Kristian was aboard a sailing vessel, and aboard it were none else, but many others drifted in the Sea below, fighting drowning. And it was day, and Kristian aspired to rescue the swimmers, but before he could so do a great Wave had bubbled up on the horizon and threatened to smash the ship against a wall of stone, and that wall of stone was of course none other than the one that in Actuality guarded the way to the Black Beach. And each time Kristian would hide behind the forecastle of the vessel, and each time the wave would pass passively under the vessel, lending meaning to the name of its Ocean the Pacific. And Kristian, being pacified, awoke, time and again, at that moment. And he never forgot, in waking life, his mission: to save the swimmers from death. So when he learnt, by avenue of Phoenix, who his self had intuited this in one of many recorded dreams, that his name meant "Christian Saviour", Kristian's delight was unrivaled. The question of whether he was THE Kristian Saviour or not never arose, for in many ancient tongues no such distinction occurs, for there are no articles, either definite or indefinite, in their laws and halls of grammar.
In this dream it befell, time and again, for oft the dream would repeat, and oft rode the mare of night, that young Kristian was aboard a sailing vessel, and aboard it were none else, but many others drifted in the Sea below, fighting drowning. And it was day, and Kristian aspired to rescue the swimmers, but before he could so do a great Wave had bubbled up on the horizon and threatened to smash the ship against a wall of stone, and that wall of stone was of course none other than the one that in Actuality guarded the way to the Black Beach. And each time Kristian would hide behind the forecastle of the vessel, and each time the wave would pass passively under the vessel, lending meaning to the name of its Ocean the Pacific. And Kristian, being pacified, awoke, time and again, at that moment. And he never forgot, in waking life, his mission: to save the swimmers from death. So when he learnt, by avenue of Phoenix, who his self had intuited this in one of many recorded dreams, that his name meant "Christian Saviour", Kristian's delight was unrivaled. The question of whether he was THE Kristian Saviour or not never arose, for in many ancient tongues no such distinction occurs, for there are no articles, either definite or indefinite, in their laws and halls of grammar.
Now
this dream was indeed only one of several dreams that the Scorpion had
intimated to the Fisherman when the latter was performing his study upon the
Realm of Dreams. For Kristian all so cultivated a love for the Unseen, and he
cherished any opportunity that he might find to preach it, even if that meant
to divulge some fraction of his Heart.
So in this fashion had Phoenix learnt of an other dream: and this dream Kristian told to Phoenix atop Mount Mushroom upon that same day that they ascended it alongside Tony. And in this dream Kristian was seated astride the Great Mare Z. Z was not yet a Dragon, but that notwithstanding she was a beast of great forboding. And Kristian had clung to the back of Sir Michael, who rode the beast off the cliff of a mountain road known as Camino Del Dios, or the Road of the Gods. And the two companions were bucked off the steed, and they plummeted, and Kristian watched the massive girth of Sir Michael billowing in the air, and then with a crash they met the grassy valley.
When Kristian came to he was in the midst of a great mausoleum. He surmised that it was an Egyptian Catacomb, and he was at the heart of one of the ancient race's pyramids.
And there he met Horus, the Blue God, with a Raven's Head for a head, and this deity was all so Krishna, an other heathen spirit who only in semblance and by a coincidence of tongue is related to our Lord and Saviour, the Christ.
And Lord Krishna-Horus led Kristian Xavier's way to an anteroom wherein rested an oracle of stone. And this oracle, who had three eyes and could see in four dimensions, produced an image in the thin air above its head, out of naught, and Kristian in its presence could as well see the four-dimensional object. And he beheld a model of Our Earth, which was portrayed as a sphere rather than a disk, and since it belonged to four axes of measurement Kristian could behold it as he had beheld his feet under the spell of Silly Simon: as it was at several points in time, he could see it at all of these points at once. And as he watched with rapturous immersion Horus narrated: in the year 25 of this millenium the Illuminated Ones shall melt the Polar Ice Caps and flood the world.
And of all of this Kristian had understood little, but he spoke with such conviction that this fact was hidden. And as day faded Phoenix looked up at the sky and imagined his self under a Great Ocean whose surface lay miles above him, even miles above this very hill, in the sky.
So in this fashion had Phoenix learnt of an other dream: and this dream Kristian told to Phoenix atop Mount Mushroom upon that same day that they ascended it alongside Tony. And in this dream Kristian was seated astride the Great Mare Z. Z was not yet a Dragon, but that notwithstanding she was a beast of great forboding. And Kristian had clung to the back of Sir Michael, who rode the beast off the cliff of a mountain road known as Camino Del Dios, or the Road of the Gods. And the two companions were bucked off the steed, and they plummeted, and Kristian watched the massive girth of Sir Michael billowing in the air, and then with a crash they met the grassy valley.
When Kristian came to he was in the midst of a great mausoleum. He surmised that it was an Egyptian Catacomb, and he was at the heart of one of the ancient race's pyramids.
And there he met Horus, the Blue God, with a Raven's Head for a head, and this deity was all so Krishna, an other heathen spirit who only in semblance and by a coincidence of tongue is related to our Lord and Saviour, the Christ.
And Lord Krishna-Horus led Kristian Xavier's way to an anteroom wherein rested an oracle of stone. And this oracle, who had three eyes and could see in four dimensions, produced an image in the thin air above its head, out of naught, and Kristian in its presence could as well see the four-dimensional object. And he beheld a model of Our Earth, which was portrayed as a sphere rather than a disk, and since it belonged to four axes of measurement Kristian could behold it as he had beheld his feet under the spell of Silly Simon: as it was at several points in time, he could see it at all of these points at once. And as he watched with rapturous immersion Horus narrated: in the year 25 of this millenium the Illuminated Ones shall melt the Polar Ice Caps and flood the world.
And of all of this Kristian had understood little, but he spoke with such conviction that this fact was hidden. And as day faded Phoenix looked up at the sky and imagined his self under a Great Ocean whose surface lay miles above him, even miles above this very hill, in the sky.
VII.
The Dream of the
Green Jew.
And
all of this took Phoenix several years to decipher. There were of course many
other dreams that were brought to the Fisherman, but they bear mention only
much later.
Now Phoenix had an other friend with whom he felt a mystikal connection, and this friend was not a mage but a Jew by the name of Andrew the Green. And Andrew was born under the sign of the Virgin, though in no ways was this a virgin birth, and neither was Andrew a virgin by the time that the events of this tale bloom.
Andrew the Green Jew once sent word to Phoenix for Andrew had had a dream of great portent that terrified the green Jew. And so Phoenix agreed to hear of the dream within three days' time. During this postponement Phoenix felt strangely inspired to purchase pizza, a sort of flat pie of tomato paste that the Italians had imported, for his entire legion of day-labourers at the Sewing Guild. So he made his way to Rosaria Pizza, crossing a tiny river to get there, and much as in days of old, when the green Jew had first brought the two blue mages to this restaurant, for they were both the Jew's two only friends, the Pizzeria was operated by settlers from the Distant East.
And when Phoenix had requested that the pizza be made he was told to wait half of an hour for it, and so he returned and delivered a writ to the other day-labourers, that the next one to take leave of the Guild might receive the pie. And so it was that a red headed maiden who was about to take her leave upon Phoenix's return traveled across the river and the road to the plain white pizza parlour, which was akin to a Missionary's Dungeon, painted only white in the confines of its block-shaped cell, and when she returned there was, as promised, a whole flat pie, and half remained by the end of the work day.
As Phoenix took his leave of the Guild he noticed a merchant taking leave of the local ale house, and this merchant was a curious fellow named Drew. Phoenix surmised that the name might be short for "Druid", for the young man had a most alien quality about him, but then Phoenix supposed that Drew owed this only to the consumption of various potions. Having become familiar of this habit by avenue of Kristian, Phoenix paid little heed to it. Whether in spite of this fact or because of it, it is difficult to say which, but Phoenix decided to call Drew's name, and the latter invited the former to mount his steed and to ride into town. After Drew jeered at the other workers, who were all women, he mounted his black stallion, and the two companions rode into town.
Upon arrival Phoenix was still holding his pizza pie. Drew tied up his horse and began unceremoniously into town, with Phoenix at his heels.
"Why dost thou carry that pie, and not leave it beside the horse?" enquired the shady youth grinningly.
"I had not thought to do so, so swept up was I with your haste."
"Well," jeered Drew. "It is too late to regress now." Phoenix found this most odd, but did not dare to protest.
They past several young villagers, at whom Drew jeered and Phoenix shrugged. Then they found their destination in the House of Karlsson of Karl, the reputed sandwich artist.
And there across from the young mage sat the Jeering Druid, eating steadily from a bag of Karl's fried potatoes. And before them lay awkwardly the box containing half of a flat pie.
Now late was the hour when Phoenix returned home from this misadventure, and immediately upon arrival he found his self in the company of none other than Andrew the Green. The Jew of Kaitz Street could no longer suppress his tale, and so Phoenix listened to the dream, and as he listened he felt as though daemons haunted him, peering into the castle through windows like the ghosts of dead kings.
Recounted here-in is the Dream of the Green Jew of Kaitz:
Now Phoenix had an other friend with whom he felt a mystikal connection, and this friend was not a mage but a Jew by the name of Andrew the Green. And Andrew was born under the sign of the Virgin, though in no ways was this a virgin birth, and neither was Andrew a virgin by the time that the events of this tale bloom.
Andrew the Green Jew once sent word to Phoenix for Andrew had had a dream of great portent that terrified the green Jew. And so Phoenix agreed to hear of the dream within three days' time. During this postponement Phoenix felt strangely inspired to purchase pizza, a sort of flat pie of tomato paste that the Italians had imported, for his entire legion of day-labourers at the Sewing Guild. So he made his way to Rosaria Pizza, crossing a tiny river to get there, and much as in days of old, when the green Jew had first brought the two blue mages to this restaurant, for they were both the Jew's two only friends, the Pizzeria was operated by settlers from the Distant East.
And when Phoenix had requested that the pizza be made he was told to wait half of an hour for it, and so he returned and delivered a writ to the other day-labourers, that the next one to take leave of the Guild might receive the pie. And so it was that a red headed maiden who was about to take her leave upon Phoenix's return traveled across the river and the road to the plain white pizza parlour, which was akin to a Missionary's Dungeon, painted only white in the confines of its block-shaped cell, and when she returned there was, as promised, a whole flat pie, and half remained by the end of the work day.
As Phoenix took his leave of the Guild he noticed a merchant taking leave of the local ale house, and this merchant was a curious fellow named Drew. Phoenix surmised that the name might be short for "Druid", for the young man had a most alien quality about him, but then Phoenix supposed that Drew owed this only to the consumption of various potions. Having become familiar of this habit by avenue of Kristian, Phoenix paid little heed to it. Whether in spite of this fact or because of it, it is difficult to say which, but Phoenix decided to call Drew's name, and the latter invited the former to mount his steed and to ride into town. After Drew jeered at the other workers, who were all women, he mounted his black stallion, and the two companions rode into town.
Upon arrival Phoenix was still holding his pizza pie. Drew tied up his horse and began unceremoniously into town, with Phoenix at his heels.
"Why dost thou carry that pie, and not leave it beside the horse?" enquired the shady youth grinningly.
"I had not thought to do so, so swept up was I with your haste."
"Well," jeered Drew. "It is too late to regress now." Phoenix found this most odd, but did not dare to protest.
They past several young villagers, at whom Drew jeered and Phoenix shrugged. Then they found their destination in the House of Karlsson of Karl, the reputed sandwich artist.
And there across from the young mage sat the Jeering Druid, eating steadily from a bag of Karl's fried potatoes. And before them lay awkwardly the box containing half of a flat pie.
Now late was the hour when Phoenix returned home from this misadventure, and immediately upon arrival he found his self in the company of none other than Andrew the Green. The Jew of Kaitz Street could no longer suppress his tale, and so Phoenix listened to the dream, and as he listened he felt as though daemons haunted him, peering into the castle through windows like the ghosts of dead kings.
Recounted here-in is the Dream of the Green Jew of Kaitz:
The First Part of
the Dream:
So here I rode upon
my steed
In day light chased by unknown need
Behind me sat a maiden fair
The one you met with tawny hair.
And when we reached the house we sought
How it was I have forgot
But then it was I past asleep
And deeper into dream I'd creep.
And when I woke within the dream
I found my self alone to seem
Within the confines of a house
The likes of which I might espouse.
And so I crept off of my horse
My passenger had gone of course.
And noticed that the house was bare
Of any furniture and ware.
Then from the kitchens came a Sir
Whose moustache was from whence unsure.
But in all other matters of appearance
He retained strictest adherence
To the father of the lady whom
I'd thought it would have been my doom
To wed. Though of my own desire.
Like I'd told to you much prior.
And I had forgot to mention:
When I first awoke
And it first came to my attention
That this place was not a joke,
I spurred my horse and with such force he tramped
He ran into a wall.
And when I looked again upon the stamp
He left my heart would fall.
And so now faced I was with this foreboding
Steward of the House.
And I'd disgraced his most noble abode in
Ways that would befit a mouse.
So I apologised and sought to find
Outside a way to pay him back.
But really to evade his eye
And try to get my mind on-track.
And so when I emerged I had the urge
To look behind me at the sign.
And here the story doth diverge
Quite wholly to be now divine.
For Karlsson of Karl was named
The restaurant from whence I'd come
And some would say I was ashamed
And I agree with some.
And this I have yet to explain:
That in my hand I held a slice
Of pie that I do not know why
It had been there. I'll say it twice:
That I was startled. Unprepared.
And unable to understand.
How here I did at Karlsson's stand
With pizza in my hand.
In day light chased by unknown need
Behind me sat a maiden fair
The one you met with tawny hair.
And when we reached the house we sought
How it was I have forgot
But then it was I past asleep
And deeper into dream I'd creep.
And when I woke within the dream
I found my self alone to seem
Within the confines of a house
The likes of which I might espouse.
And so I crept off of my horse
My passenger had gone of course.
And noticed that the house was bare
Of any furniture and ware.
Then from the kitchens came a Sir
Whose moustache was from whence unsure.
But in all other matters of appearance
He retained strictest adherence
To the father of the lady whom
I'd thought it would have been my doom
To wed. Though of my own desire.
Like I'd told to you much prior.
And I had forgot to mention:
When I first awoke
And it first came to my attention
That this place was not a joke,
I spurred my horse and with such force he tramped
He ran into a wall.
And when I looked again upon the stamp
He left my heart would fall.
And so now faced I was with this foreboding
Steward of the House.
And I'd disgraced his most noble abode in
Ways that would befit a mouse.
So I apologised and sought to find
Outside a way to pay him back.
But really to evade his eye
And try to get my mind on-track.
And so when I emerged I had the urge
To look behind me at the sign.
And here the story doth diverge
Quite wholly to be now divine.
For Karlsson of Karl was named
The restaurant from whence I'd come
And some would say I was ashamed
And I agree with some.
And this I have yet to explain:
That in my hand I held a slice
Of pie that I do not know why
It had been there. I'll say it twice:
That I was startled. Unprepared.
And unable to understand.
How here I did at Karlsson's stand
With pizza in my hand.
Second Part of the
Dream:
So I returned then
to the home
And found my beast had been dismembered.
And there was no sign of friend or host.
At least for what I had remembered.
So I stepped outside again.
And there I saw my father.
He was coddling a childhood friend
Of mine. To comprehend
I did not bother.
And found my beast had been dismembered.
And there was no sign of friend or host.
At least for what I had remembered.
So I stepped outside again.
And there I saw my father.
He was coddling a childhood friend
Of mine. To comprehend
I did not bother.
Third Part:
Then the dream
transfigured
And I never figured out its
Meaning. For my doubts
Have clouded and they're
All ways intervening.
Yet what follows is a memory
Enshrouded not by thought
all though its relevance is lost to me
Its feeling thank fully forgot.
I sat beside my maiden
In a carriage driven by my parents.
And it was a golden day and
We were in a desert. Riven. Barren.
And then I enquired
And they turned to face me sadly
And their heads swelt to the size of
Pumpkins in the sweltring heat
Their teeth grinned madly.
And the lady who had sat beside my squirmed
And blimey if she did not then
Transmute into a worm.
Of many tentacles that tried to bind me
Quite unkindly a torment.
And all though I struggled
She would not untie me
Nor relent.
And I never figured out its
Meaning. For my doubts
Have clouded and they're
All ways intervening.
Yet what follows is a memory
Enshrouded not by thought
all though its relevance is lost to me
Its feeling thank fully forgot.
I sat beside my maiden
In a carriage driven by my parents.
And it was a golden day and
We were in a desert. Riven. Barren.
And then I enquired
And they turned to face me sadly
And their heads swelt to the size of
Pumpkins in the sweltring heat
Their teeth grinned madly.
And the lady who had sat beside my squirmed
And blimey if she did not then
Transmute into a worm.
Of many tentacles that tried to bind me
Quite unkindly a torment.
And all though I struggled
She would not untie me
Nor relent.
Fourth:
Then the dream was
spent and yet again
I faced my given father.
And he looked at me and all was calm
And then all became other.
And I was alone within a cell
Designed for those to suffer
An excruciating hell
And a pain that has no buffer.
And a worm of many legs
A centipede gigantic and foreboding.
Reared its head and as it dragged
Its self I saw its coating.
And each leg had been a phallous
And they penetrated me
And call as I might I was quite helpless
Nobody would set me free.
And then past over countenance
Of mine intoxication.
Which I wielded and the dream.
It yielded to imagination.
I faced my given father.
And he looked at me and all was calm
And then all became other.
And I was alone within a cell
Designed for those to suffer
An excruciating hell
And a pain that has no buffer.
And a worm of many legs
A centipede gigantic and foreboding.
Reared its head and as it dragged
Its self I saw its coating.
And each leg had been a phallous
And they penetrated me
And call as I might I was quite helpless
Nobody would set me free.
And then past over countenance
Of mine intoxication.
Which I wielded and the dream.
It yielded to imagination.
Conclusion of the
Dream:
And I woke again
within a dream
And all had been a dream before it.
I was in a room adorned
By some one who'd adore it.
And I crept from bed. Massaged my head.
And descended stairs.
For where I was I did not know
Because I had been unawares.
I was a wizard in a wizard's school
(The memory returned)
And I felt like I had been such a fool
To prove my self I burned.
And so my friends they set for me a quest
And so I traveled in a ring
About a mountain they knew best
But of which I knew barely
Any thing.
And then I found a stone
And thought it would atone
For my missed takes.
And said to my self: I alone
Shall see to it for my own sake.
And so I said: were I a wizard
This would be my prize.
For I'd bear many storms and blizzards
And survive them wise.
But alas! I am no mage.
And that shan't come to pass.
But in an other day, an
Other age, my
Stone would be:
Topaz!
And all had been a dream before it.
I was in a room adorned
By some one who'd adore it.
And I crept from bed. Massaged my head.
And descended stairs.
For where I was I did not know
Because I had been unawares.
I was a wizard in a wizard's school
(The memory returned)
And I felt like I had been such a fool
To prove my self I burned.
And so my friends they set for me a quest
And so I traveled in a ring
About a mountain they knew best
But of which I knew barely
Any thing.
And then I found a stone
And thought it would atone
For my missed takes.
And said to my self: I alone
Shall see to it for my own sake.
And so I said: were I a wizard
This would be my prize.
For I'd bear many storms and blizzards
And survive them wise.
But alas! I am no mage.
And that shan't come to pass.
But in an other day, an
Other age, my
Stone would be:
Topaz!
And
of course it was then that Phoenix recounted to Andrew the events of that
evening, that Phoenix had his self been at the house of Karlsson of Karl, and
that he too had had before him pizza, and not but one slice but four. And they
sat in silence for some time, musing upon the meaning of these events. But as
with Kristian's dreams, this one took a long while, stretching over several
years, if time could be said to stretch where such eternal matters are
concerned, to decipher.
VIII.
The Spiders.
Now
there are many mysteries that haunt this Earth, or rather the minds of those
who walk it, and many mystics gifted at pursuing these mysteries, mayhaps even
towards their partial illumination, as a moon is partly illumined by the Sun.
Yet there dwell those men who are of an other intelligence. And they so covet the Intuitive that they burrow themselves in towers overgazing the land and call their selves sages. And then they devise all manner of heretical philosophies to try to quench the mystikal flame. And yet their philosophy has not the fluidity of water but the viscosity of oil and some times even the turgidity of wood, and so they only feed that flame.
And these "philosopher kings" rule not with a staff nor a sword, but with a wooden rule and a quill. And they preach equality, though their favourite sages condemn it, and they call their selves sages in private but publically brag of their humility, pretending to be ordinary men even as they aspire to rob all ordinary men of the cherished illusions and even the cherished visions that ordinary men so oft hoard.
And to be a mystik one must be an extraordinary man, which is to say a man who is so ordinary that he transcends what is called ordinary. And it helps to be uneducated by the hypocritical hermits, the false prophets and secular skeptics, for they can do little more than to offer a hammer with which to dissemble false idols; their weaponry cannot pierce the unpiercable.
To be educated is to be of sound mind, of cultivated mind, and to be all ways at the Right Place at the Right Time.
Yet to be a mystik one must be at the Wrong place at the Wrong time, or the wrong place at the right time, or vice versa, and the hazier that one's mind is the more open is the Innermost Eye to that which, once seen, is incontrovertible, but until seen remains inconceivable.
So it was that the arrogant academics raided the ancient Castles of Observation, and they brought with them a heathen freedom.
They enshrined the barbarians of thought who had sought to unroot God, and these new idols became like new gods, powerless but to be heeded, if only because all vestige of a Mysterious Power had fled the world of popular thought.
And these men took sides with the terrible doctors of the mind that sought to cure mental ills by finding physical faults, many of which were never there. And so hunts began, seemingly for witches, but in fact led by the witches themselves, for there were women too in this conspiracy, as there are witches in every conspiracy.
And those who spoke of God were condemned as mad, and condemned to madness and torment in the asylums of these towers.
The False Sages, known now as the Spiders, would only hear what accorded with the pretensions of the time. They knew how to argue against a fool pretending towards mysticism, but not how to disarm a genuine mystik, for none under the Sun or Moon can disarm a true mystik. And they so loathed the concept of a divine gift or plan that they villified the entire lot, and only occasionally took sides with those magicians that, like the witches, had decided to funnel their talents into the eradication of God. And absurd of course as this enterprise was, for by definition no mortal can eradicate God, the Spiders kept mortals in their web by devising cunning and silly riddles and games. So to say "the idea of God proves the existence of God" became "the idea of a Unicorn proves the existence of a Unicorn", as though God was akin to a Unicorn or Unicorn was the nature of God. And to say "one cannot unriddle the Unriddleable" was met with: "but is any thing Unriddleable?" And those who had glimpsed the Unriddleable had no answer to those who would not.
Yet there dwell those men who are of an other intelligence. And they so covet the Intuitive that they burrow themselves in towers overgazing the land and call their selves sages. And then they devise all manner of heretical philosophies to try to quench the mystikal flame. And yet their philosophy has not the fluidity of water but the viscosity of oil and some times even the turgidity of wood, and so they only feed that flame.
And these "philosopher kings" rule not with a staff nor a sword, but with a wooden rule and a quill. And they preach equality, though their favourite sages condemn it, and they call their selves sages in private but publically brag of their humility, pretending to be ordinary men even as they aspire to rob all ordinary men of the cherished illusions and even the cherished visions that ordinary men so oft hoard.
And to be a mystik one must be an extraordinary man, which is to say a man who is so ordinary that he transcends what is called ordinary. And it helps to be uneducated by the hypocritical hermits, the false prophets and secular skeptics, for they can do little more than to offer a hammer with which to dissemble false idols; their weaponry cannot pierce the unpiercable.
To be educated is to be of sound mind, of cultivated mind, and to be all ways at the Right Place at the Right Time.
Yet to be a mystik one must be at the Wrong place at the Wrong time, or the wrong place at the right time, or vice versa, and the hazier that one's mind is the more open is the Innermost Eye to that which, once seen, is incontrovertible, but until seen remains inconceivable.
So it was that the arrogant academics raided the ancient Castles of Observation, and they brought with them a heathen freedom.
They enshrined the barbarians of thought who had sought to unroot God, and these new idols became like new gods, powerless but to be heeded, if only because all vestige of a Mysterious Power had fled the world of popular thought.
And these men took sides with the terrible doctors of the mind that sought to cure mental ills by finding physical faults, many of which were never there. And so hunts began, seemingly for witches, but in fact led by the witches themselves, for there were women too in this conspiracy, as there are witches in every conspiracy.
And those who spoke of God were condemned as mad, and condemned to madness and torment in the asylums of these towers.
The False Sages, known now as the Spiders, would only hear what accorded with the pretensions of the time. They knew how to argue against a fool pretending towards mysticism, but not how to disarm a genuine mystik, for none under the Sun or Moon can disarm a true mystik. And they so loathed the concept of a divine gift or plan that they villified the entire lot, and only occasionally took sides with those magicians that, like the witches, had decided to funnel their talents into the eradication of God. And absurd of course as this enterprise was, for by definition no mortal can eradicate God, the Spiders kept mortals in their web by devising cunning and silly riddles and games. So to say "the idea of God proves the existence of God" became "the idea of a Unicorn proves the existence of a Unicorn", as though God was akin to a Unicorn or Unicorn was the nature of God. And to say "one cannot unriddle the Unriddleable" was met with: "but is any thing Unriddleable?" And those who had glimpsed the Unriddleable had no answer to those who would not.
IX.
The Witches.
Now
avail me to tell thee of the Witches of the Left-Hand Path, known all so as the
Left.
The Witches arose in rebellion against the Church, and they were swift to join sides with the False Prophets. Their magick was one that would drain men of their sexual prowess, ensnare their appetites and then bend those appetites to the will of the witches, impregnating the men with a foreign guilt that they eventually took to harbour as their own, forgetting its origins and so puzzled by its suddenness that they presumed with time that it had been there since prior to the witches' arrival.
And the witches were matriarchs, bent on undoing all the instruments of men and barring any staircase to a God, whom they believed to be of masculine sex, as they had taken the Scripture to depict Him, as though such mortal fixations mattered to a Divine Being, yet only believing this to the extent that they might seek to defile Him for it as though He were a merely mortal man. And here-in of course the Hypocritical Spiders helped the Left, weaving a cob-web so dense no mind could pierce it, inventing a history according to which God had been invented to serve His sex. And of course this feeble craft was not atypical of the hypocrites, for they oft focused upon one divine detail and ascribed to it more weight than God or His followers would, devising from that detail a figure-head of God to put in the Lord's place as an idol, just so that by defiling it they might defile It.
Now there was one tower devoted to Him that stood just beyond the farthing of Saint Bernard's Ranch, and this was the Tower of Power. Once it was home to mild, bookish monks, and then to brave mystiks and mages, but ultimately it fell under the disarray of the Spiders, and there-in they wove a web of inferior magick, so that none that enterred might escape. And then came the Witches of the Left, and one by one they past in through its doors, assembling a great hoard, and so much they fancied the castle that they never thought to leave, until want of sex and food would have driven them out. Yet then they were visited by none other than the Scorpion King of St. Bernard Ranch, and whilst he outwardly professed for them a well-justified disdain, inwardly he was moved by a carnal lust. Now the mage was cunning, and he knew of a tunnel that led into the Great Hall. The enchantment was such that only one who past through a single door of the convent would be ensnared until death there-in. But the tunnel had no door, and Kristian never ventured beyond the Hall into any one of the bed rooms. He simply enterred the Hall, set the table with meals for all the women, and waited for them to eat. Then, before they had all gone to their quarters, he would have chosen one to ned that night. And when all the rest had gone he would woo her and have her on one of the dinner tables. And then she would go off to bed, and in the morning he would be gone. None ever followed him, so he surmised that either his stealth was impeccable or the curse that he had barely cheated unassailable and unyielding. Each story satisfied him, though the latter terrified him more, and for that reasons was, at times of grim temperament, more satisfying. For he had barely cheated the spell of the castle quite by chance, but preferred to believe that it was by cunning. The Scorpion of Saint Bernard was willing to risk little in his life and liberty, especially his life and liberty, but the risk of being trapped forever in a harem of conjurors did not draw such distaste to his mouth that he would have not undertaken the risk of venturing down the tunnel. Of course, it is possible that the curse its self was unknown to him in its entirety, or only vaguely known, and as a fable, until he had arrived in the Dinner Hall one night uninvited, and was well comed with stares of bemusement and desperate warnings, that he might go from that place and bring aid and not become as well a prisoner to the Castle.
The Witches arose in rebellion against the Church, and they were swift to join sides with the False Prophets. Their magick was one that would drain men of their sexual prowess, ensnare their appetites and then bend those appetites to the will of the witches, impregnating the men with a foreign guilt that they eventually took to harbour as their own, forgetting its origins and so puzzled by its suddenness that they presumed with time that it had been there since prior to the witches' arrival.
And the witches were matriarchs, bent on undoing all the instruments of men and barring any staircase to a God, whom they believed to be of masculine sex, as they had taken the Scripture to depict Him, as though such mortal fixations mattered to a Divine Being, yet only believing this to the extent that they might seek to defile Him for it as though He were a merely mortal man. And here-in of course the Hypocritical Spiders helped the Left, weaving a cob-web so dense no mind could pierce it, inventing a history according to which God had been invented to serve His sex. And of course this feeble craft was not atypical of the hypocrites, for they oft focused upon one divine detail and ascribed to it more weight than God or His followers would, devising from that detail a figure-head of God to put in the Lord's place as an idol, just so that by defiling it they might defile It.
Now there was one tower devoted to Him that stood just beyond the farthing of Saint Bernard's Ranch, and this was the Tower of Power. Once it was home to mild, bookish monks, and then to brave mystiks and mages, but ultimately it fell under the disarray of the Spiders, and there-in they wove a web of inferior magick, so that none that enterred might escape. And then came the Witches of the Left, and one by one they past in through its doors, assembling a great hoard, and so much they fancied the castle that they never thought to leave, until want of sex and food would have driven them out. Yet then they were visited by none other than the Scorpion King of St. Bernard Ranch, and whilst he outwardly professed for them a well-justified disdain, inwardly he was moved by a carnal lust. Now the mage was cunning, and he knew of a tunnel that led into the Great Hall. The enchantment was such that only one who past through a single door of the convent would be ensnared until death there-in. But the tunnel had no door, and Kristian never ventured beyond the Hall into any one of the bed rooms. He simply enterred the Hall, set the table with meals for all the women, and waited for them to eat. Then, before they had all gone to their quarters, he would have chosen one to ned that night. And when all the rest had gone he would woo her and have her on one of the dinner tables. And then she would go off to bed, and in the morning he would be gone. None ever followed him, so he surmised that either his stealth was impeccable or the curse that he had barely cheated unassailable and unyielding. Each story satisfied him, though the latter terrified him more, and for that reasons was, at times of grim temperament, more satisfying. For he had barely cheated the spell of the castle quite by chance, but preferred to believe that it was by cunning. The Scorpion of Saint Bernard was willing to risk little in his life and liberty, especially his life and liberty, but the risk of being trapped forever in a harem of conjurors did not draw such distaste to his mouth that he would have not undertaken the risk of venturing down the tunnel. Of course, it is possible that the curse its self was unknown to him in its entirety, or only vaguely known, and as a fable, until he had arrived in the Dinner Hall one night uninvited, and was well comed with stares of bemusement and desperate warnings, that he might go from that place and bring aid and not become as well a prisoner to the Castle.
Now
what follows is of unknown origin, both in the events and the rumour from
whence this account has sprung. We have only claims and extrapolations to base
our conjectures upon, but the short of it is that Sir Michael was invited one
eve to a Great Banquet. And this Great Banquet was in the Tower of Power. And
so the Yellow Knight attended, and he brought with him his steed and his wife,
Esmeria, all so known as the Nigress, for her eyes were fierce as those of a
Tigress, and their unborn child.
And at the feast that was held that night Sir Michael was appointed Lord and King of all the Land. He had simply to prove his divine right by enscribing upon a writ a list of familiar sayings, and only three of every five questions had to be answered properly. He succeeded by seven out of every ten, and was ordained King. And many were at his royal banquet, not only witches but all so Philosophers had been summoned, and of course the Blue Scorpion was present as well.
And there was much song-playing and laughter and smoke to celebrate the appointment of the divine King.
Sir Michael's rule was stern but just. His first decree was that all owners of canine would have to clean up their dogs' feces within minutes of the dropping. And of course judges jurors and scholars of law alike tried to untangle this dictate. One monk professed that his canine was not his property but a companion. So Sir Michael the Chaste and Compassionate had the companion seized and tried with all the rights of a human being. An other insisted that "canines" referred to teeth, and so it was suggested by the written mandate that any one with a pair of canine incisors should have to clean the toilets of the city. Needless to say, this was how dentistry came into practice. But most ingenious was the Fool of Saint Francis, who lived without a home in the land of San Francisco and notoriously proclaimed: "if dogs are a synonym for feet, what feces might drop from them, unless they are uncareful?" He was rightfully condemned to walk in manure for the remainder of his mortal life.
Of course, we know now that the habit of carrying a dog's feces in a bag is more prone to spread gyrms of disease than is the practice of planting them directly into the soil, as dogs are inclined to do without aid, for as evidenced by the scent of a dog's feces in this aeroborne condition the germs are thus, whilst conveyed, spread by wind, so much so that the filth even reaches invisibly the nostrils of the carrier.
We all so comprehend that this habit was largely exclusive to people living in the Central Country of the Northern Continent.
But it was a time distinct from our time.
Sir Michael had charm to rival his justice. None were so inclined to the homely pastimes as he. He even invented several games of his own, and with an unwavering attentiveness to the instruments of justice the Brilliant King found means by which to turn law into play.
So the game of Dog Pile was invented and instituted so that those who disobeyed the fecal code bore the penalty that their yards, and at times their rooves and even their person, might become a land for the setting down of others' bags. An exceptional delight to the publik was to watch the skilled tossers of a town try to toss a bag of dog dung (et cetera) through the chimney of a deviant. If the chimney was lit the smell of burning feces would bring the traitor out into the publik eye, where for hours at times villagers stood in ranks, parents behind a rank of children, holding their own bags and ready to toss. "All in good sport," smiled Sir Michael gaily.
And so the game of Basquet Ball was invented.
There were many other games, like freeze tag, rugby, football, headball, noseball, and murder-ball invented as past times as the time past under Sir Michael the Sporting. Most have endured to this day, and rumour has it that even the forgotten ones are again redeemed under new names, their spirit unrelinquished.
And at the feast that was held that night Sir Michael was appointed Lord and King of all the Land. He had simply to prove his divine right by enscribing upon a writ a list of familiar sayings, and only three of every five questions had to be answered properly. He succeeded by seven out of every ten, and was ordained King. And many were at his royal banquet, not only witches but all so Philosophers had been summoned, and of course the Blue Scorpion was present as well.
And there was much song-playing and laughter and smoke to celebrate the appointment of the divine King.
Sir Michael's rule was stern but just. His first decree was that all owners of canine would have to clean up their dogs' feces within minutes of the dropping. And of course judges jurors and scholars of law alike tried to untangle this dictate. One monk professed that his canine was not his property but a companion. So Sir Michael the Chaste and Compassionate had the companion seized and tried with all the rights of a human being. An other insisted that "canines" referred to teeth, and so it was suggested by the written mandate that any one with a pair of canine incisors should have to clean the toilets of the city. Needless to say, this was how dentistry came into practice. But most ingenious was the Fool of Saint Francis, who lived without a home in the land of San Francisco and notoriously proclaimed: "if dogs are a synonym for feet, what feces might drop from them, unless they are uncareful?" He was rightfully condemned to walk in manure for the remainder of his mortal life.
Of course, we know now that the habit of carrying a dog's feces in a bag is more prone to spread gyrms of disease than is the practice of planting them directly into the soil, as dogs are inclined to do without aid, for as evidenced by the scent of a dog's feces in this aeroborne condition the germs are thus, whilst conveyed, spread by wind, so much so that the filth even reaches invisibly the nostrils of the carrier.
We all so comprehend that this habit was largely exclusive to people living in the Central Country of the Northern Continent.
But it was a time distinct from our time.
Sir Michael had charm to rival his justice. None were so inclined to the homely pastimes as he. He even invented several games of his own, and with an unwavering attentiveness to the instruments of justice the Brilliant King found means by which to turn law into play.
So the game of Dog Pile was invented and instituted so that those who disobeyed the fecal code bore the penalty that their yards, and at times their rooves and even their person, might become a land for the setting down of others' bags. An exceptional delight to the publik was to watch the skilled tossers of a town try to toss a bag of dog dung (et cetera) through the chimney of a deviant. If the chimney was lit the smell of burning feces would bring the traitor out into the publik eye, where for hours at times villagers stood in ranks, parents behind a rank of children, holding their own bags and ready to toss. "All in good sport," smiled Sir Michael gaily.
And so the game of Basquet Ball was invented.
There were many other games, like freeze tag, rugby, football, headball, noseball, and murder-ball invented as past times as the time past under Sir Michael the Sporting. Most have endured to this day, and rumour has it that even the forgotten ones are again redeemed under new names, their spirit unrelinquished.
X.
King Michael.
Now
Sir Michael was a notorious gentleman, a chivalrous knight of noble birth, as
has been made clear from the first anecdote. One might wonder if he was tempted
by the witches, and in truth in many dreams they had endeavoured to seduce him.
Yet his loyalty remained all ways towards his Queen and Princess. But that is
not to suggest that his popularity with women waned. The murder of infants in
the womb was again re-instated as in days of old for those who wished to be rid
of needless and despisèd life. For so merciful was King Michael that he forbade
any one to even so much as to pass judgement upon the souls of these
near-mothers, and such dissidents were dis-armèd, literally having their
appendages removed. So compassionate was King Michael the Merciful!
And
of proper course it would come to pass that all Academies outside the Tower of
Power, including the Order of the Learnéd, would be subject to the wishes of
the Convent. All women were to be liberated by conversion to witch-craft, and
all men but King Michael were to be subordinate to their matriarchy.
But some acquiesced. And what follows is their tale, and it is for the purpose of conveying this very tale that this scroll was writ.
But some acquiesced. And what follows is their tale, and it is for the purpose of conveying this very tale that this scroll was writ.
Dm.A.A.
