Excerpt 8: Rav-Pont has recently learned the answers to the questions he asked of the Golden: "Who has done this to you? And ... why?" Rav-Pont and the Golden have been discussing the matter at some length, and it has become quite obvious to Rav-Pont; something must be done ... not only to keep the Illag from assuming control of the Golden's offspring – which the Golden believes will be hatching within 20 or 30 days – but also to return the Golden's offspring to him.
What follows here is the conclusion of Chapter Eight ... in which Rav-Pont and the Golden continue their discussion and try to reach some agreement as to how such a task might be accomplished ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Eight: The Plight of the Speaking Golden
*****************
"So, if we are to keep this Illag Ant'r – or anyone ... for even within his own forces there may be many who are wrongfully tempted by the power of such things – from assuming ... "
The Golden started growling softly.
" ... eventual control and authority over such weapons, a small group of people – acting covertly – would be much more appropriate."
By the time Rav-Pont finally reached the end of his most recent statement, the Golden's prolonged growling tone had become both louder and much deeper. Rav-Pont turned to face the Golden. The huge animal peered into his eyes and then, while continuing to growl in a menacing manner, it issued a stern warning in a coarse, inhaled whisper.
"Stop ... naming eggs things. Never ... naming offspring ... weapons .... "
Rav-Pont took a few moments to mentally review what he had recently said.
Then ... he apologized.
"Oh, my ... I am sorry! I certainly meant no offense ... Friend. My intention was not to suggest any level of disrespect for your kind's ... natural instincts or abilities; and I shall strive never again to speak of ... your offspring in such a thoughtless manner. After all – first and foremost – they ... will be your sons and daughters!"
Very gradually, the growling came to an end and the Golden nodded its head slightly.
It was several minutes more before Rav-Pont continued the conversation.
"Well, then ... I had been discussing the need for a small number of people ... to aid us in this venture; covertly rather than overtly." The Golden looked at the man with a confused expression. "That would mean acting secretly. Not obviously. One might say ... under cover."
"Agree ... still."
"I suppose I could find three or four – five at the very most! – who would understand the urgency. Five who would understand and be willing ... "
"Too many."
Rav-Pont did not hear the Golden's words. Rather, he continued with his part of the discussion; expressing his own thoughts and ideas in the matter.
" ... to commit themselves. But ... I'm much too old for such a task. Much too often these days, it seems ... these aging legs of mine can no longer follow my visions; which, at ... "
The Golden interrupted him yet again while raising his voice slightly.
"Four ... five ... too many."
"What's that? Only five too many you say?"
"Five ... yes. And four."
"So ... even four would be too many!" Rav-Pont replied in a sarcastic tone of voice and started pacing back and forth with a hurried, nervous gait. "Do you have any idea what sort of guard detail Illag Ant'r will have stationed all about your young ones? They'll be watched over day and night. And let me assure you; any guard failing to perform his duty well will be punished most severely! I dare say we would need a minimum of five; to stand any chance of overcoming a guard detail such as the one Illag Ant'r will have assigned. And then ... as to gathering your offspring, fleeing his stronghold, and returning them to you; well, even two times five may not be enough to accomplish the task!"
"Too many!"
"Well, then; what number would you suggest?"
"Not two times five ... not five. But ... one."
"Oh ... yes! Very well, then ... one it must be!" Rav-Pont's sarcastic tone increased in volume. "This have you decreed! And who might this one be? Throughout my entire life, I have never known of – nor have I heard tell of! – any man who would be both brave enough to volunteer for ... and silly enough to attempt a feat such as this on his own! And ... I've lived a long and well-traveled life."
"Lived have I ... longer ... and traveled further."
"Well ... yes; of course you have." Rav-Pont stopped pacing and turned to face the Golden. "But really, Friend. Where would we ever find such a person."
"In ... moons' light." Rav-Pont did not understand, and a puzzled expression crossed his face as he continued looking at the animal. With a prolonged gaze, the Golden looked toward the tiny opening at the peak of the dome. "Tonight. Believe ... tonight .... " Seemingly, the creature's face then mimicked Rav-Pont's; showing an expression of apparent confusion. For some time, the Golden struggled to retrieve certain facts or figures from deep within his mind, and was proceeding with some form of calculation pertaining to those assorted details when he continued. "Or tomorrow." He tried again. "Not sure ... anymore. Inside here too long."
"What's this you're rambling on about? I'm afraid you've left me far behind!"
"Moons. Tonight."
"Well, yes ... moons. But what about them?"
"Festival. Already ... believe. Not certain."
Although this last utterance had given Rav-Pont many more words with which he could attempt to solve the spoken riddle, he was having very little success at doing so. He struggled within himself to remain patient while waiting to hear more.
"Only one. Chosen. Festival of ... Moons."
"Are you speaking of some sort of celebration nearby?"
"The one ... is ... chosen .... "
"Chosen? For our purpose?" The Golden nodded. "How can that be? We've only now been discussing the matter." Then, Rav-Pont's heart skipped a beat. "Oh ... my word; no!" He wondered if he could have become so enamored by the animal's seemingly good nature that, until this very moment, the idea that this particular Golden might actually accept human sacrifice had eluded him altogether. "No!" cried Rav-Pont. "Not our purpose ... yours!"
And then, the weary creature did something Rav-Pont never would have imagined. It contradicted him. But it did not do so in a boisterous or terrifying manner. Rather, it did so in a soothing, gentle fashion; by simply answering Rav-Pont's earlier questions.
"Yes. Not my ... purpose. Ours .... "
Rav-Pont was not at all sure what to make of this. If only the Golden could actually speak; rather than merely piecing single words and short phrases together into what it presumed to be coherent sentences. Rav-Pont's efforts at understanding the true meaning – the genuine significance! – of what the Golden struggled to say was starting to give him quite a sudden and severe headache. He massaged his temples as the creature continued with – as far as Rav-Pont was concerned – his insufferably encrypted manner of speech.
"For the one ... they. Celebrating ... preparing ... offering .... "
The pain within Rav-Pont's head was intensifying, and he stopped massaging his temples for the simple reason that continuing to do so seemed only to increase the agony. He squinted toward the Golden – looking into its eyes for the first time in a long while – while the creature maintained a prolonged stare in Rav-Pont's direction; a steady gaze that was totally unwavering. Still, the Golden's eyes seemed not to be looking directly at him. It appeared to Rav-Pont that the beast was seeking out something located far behind where he himself stood; situated well beyond the place where his own, aging eyes wavered.
And then, within the large, green orbs that were the Golden's eyes, the old man thought he saw – along with his own reflection – a second figure being reflected. It appeared to be a cloaked and hooded man; standing behind Rav-Pont and to his right. It was a small and indistinct reflection which, although lacking detail, appeared very real ... both to Rav-Pont's eyes and mind.
"For the all ... we .... "
Rav-Pont continued looking into the Golden's eyes, striving to understand the meaning of their owner's jumbled words. Indeed, Rav-Pont was no longer certain whether or not the creature was speaking to him at all.
But then, the pain in Rav-Pont's head started to subside; very slowly ... only slightly. He looked more intently into the Golden's eyes. He had the impression that it was looking more directly at him now, and the second figure – if ever it had been there at all – had disappeared.
And then, after a long while, the Golden concluded the conversation with a single word.
"Accepting .... "
*******
Speaking Golden / New Excerpt Posted ... 21 December
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gentle-giant
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Excerpt 8 ... The Plight of the Speaking Golden ... Part 2
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
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gentle-giant
- Posts: 530
- Joined: Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:00 pm
- Location: a cave in lafayette, indiana
Excerpt 9 ... 4th Entr'acte / Accepting
Excerpt 9: Following a lengthy discussion with Rav-Pont – please see excerpt 8 – the Golden has called upon the services of "a cloaked and hooded man" through whom the initial desires of the Golden might be fulfilled; that Heather be removed from the Stone of Offerings ... and that she be brought to the Golden's lair.
What follows here is a recently revised rendition of the fourth entr'acte ....
*****************
Chapter 8 – The Plight of the Speaking Golden – is followed by ...
4th Entr'acte – Accepting
*****************
But it was not the shadow of the Golden One that loomed over Heather and covered the Stone of Offerings as with a veil of grey.
Rather, it was the shadow of what appeared to be a fairly young man; cloaked and hooded in thick velvet of deepest green. There was a wide belt of golden cloth tied loosely about the waist of this figure. Using a walking stick for improved stability across the modestly irregular terrain of the field, he neared the stone slowly and approached the sacrificial offering that was silently sleeping there.
As the man reached the cold, hard edge of the stone, he casually cast the staff to the ground and knelt briefly. Then, rising again, he deeply inhaled the fragrance with which she blessed the chill air of late afternoon. He loved the scent that radiated from her, and would have loved looking into her eyes; so he might know all was well with her. But he could not determine her wellbeing in that way, for the blinds of those windows to her soul were drawn closed. So, to begin his assessment of her condition, he was obliged to rely upon more mundane methods.
He started by determining whether or not she was breathing. So slightly did her chest rise and fall as she inhaled and exhaled with unnatural slowness, that he had to place the back of his soft, youthful, almost feminine hand close to her nostrils. The cloaked figure detected a fluttering of the fine hairs at the back of his hand; they brushed against each other in a faint, ticklish manner. With her breathing having been thus determined, he proceeded.
The figure gently placed his palm upon the maiden's brow ...
Still warm ... no fever.
... and then the tip of just one slender finger to her lips.
Supple ... no thirst.
She had not been there very long.
Having thus determined that she was in no immediate need of medical attention, he set about the task of releasing her from the Stone of Offerings.
He reached down for his walking stick. After carefully positioning its thicker end in between her right ankle and the stone cuff, he lifted up on the stick with his right hand until he could situate the fingers of his left hand beneath that heavy rock. Once he had managed to do that, the difficult portion of the task was behind him. He leaned the stick against the upper edge of the Stone of Offerings, slowly raised the stone with that one hand and, with the hinged portion guiding its movement, gently lowered the cuff clear of her ankles. In rapid succession, he repeated the process with the stone cuffs at her arms, and then the one about her waist.
With her restraints thus having been removed, he gently worked his left hand beneath her head while reaching beneath his cloak and into a shirt pocket. From there, he drew a small, clear vial. Lifting it to his mouth and grasping the slightly protruding cork with his teeth, he wiggled and then pulled the vial from the cork and lowered the tiny container to her mouth. He knew well ... two or three tiny drops of the pale, yellow fluid were all she would need. And even these need not pass beyond her lips. After the third droplet had fallen silently to her lips, he worked the cork back into the narrow neck of the vial and returned it to his pocket.
Then, as though he were lifting a stray leaf from a well groomed walkway, he lifted the maiden from the cold slab of granite. He hesitated, briefly, while lowering her to the ground, for it was becoming damp with the rapid onset of evening. Still ... she would remain there for only a few moments. So, he stooped down and gently placed her among the tall grass.
Then, reaching into the same pocket, he pulled out a second tiny, clear vial.
But the contents of this one were neither pale in hue nor yellow in color.
Its contents were deep ... and crimson ....
He opened it, held it above the grey slab, and tipped it ... slightly. And from it flowed a seemingly endless stream of glistening liquid. As the liquid continued to pour from the vial held in his right hand, the man started spreading it all about the stone with his left; as evidence that the maiden had been found ... that she had been taken in a timely manner ... that the sacrifice had been properly accepted ....
After wiping his hand clean upon the dew laden grass and inserting the tiny cork into the vial once again, he returned it to his pocket.
Then, he gently stooped once again, placed one arm just below the girl's shoulders and the other beneath her knees, and lifted her from the ground.
And then, lastly, he gathered his walking stick in his right hand and silently turned toward the Western Hills.
The sun had disappeared beneath the crests of those hills already.
It was becoming dark quickly ... even though the two moons of this place – one quite large and silver ... the other much smaller and yellow – were visible within the sky; one having just appeared above the horizon ... the other nearing its zenith.
And although the figure cloaked and hooded in deepest green – within both heart and mind – realized he must carry the maiden for some distance before reaching their mutual destination ... he knew very little else.
He did not know precisely how distant that destination might be.
Nor did he know exactly where ....
*******
What follows here is a recently revised rendition of the fourth entr'acte ....
*****************
Chapter 8 – The Plight of the Speaking Golden – is followed by ...
4th Entr'acte – Accepting
*****************
But it was not the shadow of the Golden One that loomed over Heather and covered the Stone of Offerings as with a veil of grey.
Rather, it was the shadow of what appeared to be a fairly young man; cloaked and hooded in thick velvet of deepest green. There was a wide belt of golden cloth tied loosely about the waist of this figure. Using a walking stick for improved stability across the modestly irregular terrain of the field, he neared the stone slowly and approached the sacrificial offering that was silently sleeping there.
As the man reached the cold, hard edge of the stone, he casually cast the staff to the ground and knelt briefly. Then, rising again, he deeply inhaled the fragrance with which she blessed the chill air of late afternoon. He loved the scent that radiated from her, and would have loved looking into her eyes; so he might know all was well with her. But he could not determine her wellbeing in that way, for the blinds of those windows to her soul were drawn closed. So, to begin his assessment of her condition, he was obliged to rely upon more mundane methods.
He started by determining whether or not she was breathing. So slightly did her chest rise and fall as she inhaled and exhaled with unnatural slowness, that he had to place the back of his soft, youthful, almost feminine hand close to her nostrils. The cloaked figure detected a fluttering of the fine hairs at the back of his hand; they brushed against each other in a faint, ticklish manner. With her breathing having been thus determined, he proceeded.
The figure gently placed his palm upon the maiden's brow ...
Still warm ... no fever.
... and then the tip of just one slender finger to her lips.
Supple ... no thirst.
She had not been there very long.
Having thus determined that she was in no immediate need of medical attention, he set about the task of releasing her from the Stone of Offerings.
He reached down for his walking stick. After carefully positioning its thicker end in between her right ankle and the stone cuff, he lifted up on the stick with his right hand until he could situate the fingers of his left hand beneath that heavy rock. Once he had managed to do that, the difficult portion of the task was behind him. He leaned the stick against the upper edge of the Stone of Offerings, slowly raised the stone with that one hand and, with the hinged portion guiding its movement, gently lowered the cuff clear of her ankles. In rapid succession, he repeated the process with the stone cuffs at her arms, and then the one about her waist.
With her restraints thus having been removed, he gently worked his left hand beneath her head while reaching beneath his cloak and into a shirt pocket. From there, he drew a small, clear vial. Lifting it to his mouth and grasping the slightly protruding cork with his teeth, he wiggled and then pulled the vial from the cork and lowered the tiny container to her mouth. He knew well ... two or three tiny drops of the pale, yellow fluid were all she would need. And even these need not pass beyond her lips. After the third droplet had fallen silently to her lips, he worked the cork back into the narrow neck of the vial and returned it to his pocket.
Then, as though he were lifting a stray leaf from a well groomed walkway, he lifted the maiden from the cold slab of granite. He hesitated, briefly, while lowering her to the ground, for it was becoming damp with the rapid onset of evening. Still ... she would remain there for only a few moments. So, he stooped down and gently placed her among the tall grass.
Then, reaching into the same pocket, he pulled out a second tiny, clear vial.
But the contents of this one were neither pale in hue nor yellow in color.
Its contents were deep ... and crimson ....
He opened it, held it above the grey slab, and tipped it ... slightly. And from it flowed a seemingly endless stream of glistening liquid. As the liquid continued to pour from the vial held in his right hand, the man started spreading it all about the stone with his left; as evidence that the maiden had been found ... that she had been taken in a timely manner ... that the sacrifice had been properly accepted ....
After wiping his hand clean upon the dew laden grass and inserting the tiny cork into the vial once again, he returned it to his pocket.
Then, he gently stooped once again, placed one arm just below the girl's shoulders and the other beneath her knees, and lifted her from the ground.
And then, lastly, he gathered his walking stick in his right hand and silently turned toward the Western Hills.
The sun had disappeared beneath the crests of those hills already.
It was becoming dark quickly ... even though the two moons of this place – one quite large and silver ... the other much smaller and yellow – were visible within the sky; one having just appeared above the horizon ... the other nearing its zenith.
And although the figure cloaked and hooded in deepest green – within both heart and mind – realized he must carry the maiden for some distance before reaching their mutual destination ... he knew very little else.
He did not know precisely how distant that destination might be.
Nor did he know exactly where ....
*******
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
-
gentle-giant
- Posts: 530
- Joined: Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:00 pm
- Location: a cave in lafayette, indiana
Excerpt 10 ... Heather in the Lair
What can I say? I've been such a productive would-be author lately – I've written over 3000 words in three days and am about halfway through my running-rough-draft for chapter twenty-six – that I've decided to post a SECOND new excerpt on this thread today ....
Excerpt 10: What follows is a recently revised and slightly abridged section from Chapter Nine. The Golden is about to tell Heather of his plight, but begins by giving both Heather and Rav-Pont a "history lesson"; which is to say ... history as the Golden himself remembers or understands it! As with excerpt 7, it is due to the Golden's peculiar and disjointed speech patterns that I wrote most of this section in the form of an "interpretation" of what the Golden says ....
Here, then, is the Golden's "take" on the history of the world where the tale takes place ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Nine: Heather in the Lair
*****************
"Ten lives ... that many lives of ... Old Man ... lived have I. But ... "
The Golden had been looking at Rav-Pont upon starting, but then turned to the girl. Then, following a prolonged, silent gaze ... he continued.
" ... one thousand lives ago ... that many lives of ... I ... this story ... this world begins .... "
And so the Golden started telling them ... of legends and myths; of beliefs that it held close to its own heart.
The Golden started by speaking of what he called ... a history. At the time this world first came into being, as both plants and animals first emerged beneath the life-giving warmth of the golden sun, Existence, in Her great wisdom, decreed that unique animals – great in size and wise in the use of the powers with which She would bless them – would be placed here in order to preside over all other life .... This was how the distant, ancestral relations of the Golden first came into being. And it was Existence's plan that these creatures would be most readily distinguished by the particular color of their scaled hides. So Existence created these creatures – in numbers unknown even to the Golden – and She directed Her servants to bring them to this world. The first of these creatures to arrive in this world had been the Violets. Then came the Indigos. And for each subsequent species, the remaining colors of the rainbow were chosen. Collectively, the seven species that had been named according to their color alone were referred to as the Colored Ones; by Existence Herself ... and by Her servants. And these seven species – after each one had been assigned its own domain – set about the task of presiding over this world.
Countless eons came and went, and innumerable, additional creatures – gradually evolving in complexity ... slowly increasing in intelligence – came into being; in the water ... on the land ... in the air. And it was at some time during the sequence of this infinite number of events that a singular type of creature came into being; and Existence called that creature man.
Mankind endured, survived, evolved, and started to make its particular mark upon this world. And sometimes that mark was good ... and sometimes it was evil. And as certain groups of mankind assumed positions of ever-increasing power and authority – not only over others of their own kind but, eventually, over other forms of animal life; of the land ... of the sea ... of the air – significant changes started to take place.
Sometimes ... these changes were for the better.
But, more often, they were not.
Of course, Existence had already decreed that the Colored Ones would have authority over this world ... to keep all well. And the Colored Ones had had every intention of accomplishing this task. But, as mankind grew in power, so did the desire for power within the seven species of Colored Ones increase. For, just as mankind's numerous, wrongful mannerisms and characteristics had flourished within the fields and smaller towns and larger cities of man – as certain individual men gained strength and authority as a direct result of corruption ... or power, greed, or the fear they caused within others of their own kind – so, too, did similar temptations permeate into all the realms of the Colored Ones. One by one, all seven species of Colored Ones succumbed to these – and still other – temptations.
Thus, the Colored Ones lost control of the order that Existence had intended, for mankind had significantly altered the predetermined courses that were to have been followed by all living things throughout this world. These changes had not been foreseen by Existence, for She had never imagined that mankind would attain such influential power within this world. Never before had any single creature come to possess all three of the especially powerful attributes that mankind, eventually, had at its disposal; and these were specific yet complex language ... a soul ... and free will. And since these attributes, individually or collectively, could be put to use with either good pruposes or evil intentions, Existence had inadvertently blessed mankind with a tremendous advantage over all other creatures; including .... the Colored Ones.
So, in Her desire to see order once again restored throughout this world, Existence created a new species ... and seven pair of Goldens were brought to this world by Her servants. They were to restore the order among the seven species of Colored Ones which Her servants had brought to the world so many eons before.
But so daunting was this task that, as the Goldens struggled to complete their work on Her behalf, many centuries passed by; in part because the world itself was so large, in part because Existence's original intent had been so thoroughly disrupted, but mostly ... because the Goldens were so very few in number. Although the Goldens increased in number as each new generation came into being, the previous generation invariably departed this world when the subsequent one matured. And the Goldens that had come to life upon this world never were regarded as highly – by the original seven species of Colored Ones – as had been the original Goldens ... the ones that had been brought to this world by the servants of Existence.
During the course of the Goldens' efforts to restore order among the Colored Ones, most of the Colored Ones left this world, but many there were that simply went into hiding. They desired to retain the moral illnesses with which they, through interaction with mankind, had become infected. They had learned to cherish those ways and mannerisms ... and they feared that – were they to leave this world – they would lose all that they so wrongfully held dear. Indeed, very few Colored Ones there were who both remained in this world and agreed to accept the terms of the new order; as conveyed by the Goldens ... as decreed by Existence.
So, although some progress was made, the Goldens were unable to fully restore order. They could not eliminate all the illnesses – all the variations of corruption, both natural and unnatural, that had come into being – that had infected the countless Colored Ones who had both learned of and come to possess free will; and then ... had chosen to apply it in evil ways. And so, after unknown thousands of years of trying to restore order among the Colored Ones, all remaining Goldens, in despair, retired from that task.
Then, at some unknown point in time ... Existence directed Her servants to deliver unto this world four pair of speaking Goldens – one pair for each continent upon which mankind had settled – to restore order among the numerous races of man.
These newly-created Goldens possessed both greater skills and more strengths than any of the other Colored Ones ... but, gradually, they became less inclined to use these unique abilities; even though their proper use would have afforded the speaking Goldens their best chance at success. They feared, perhaps, that by using so much power in an effort to rid this world of corruption, they themselves would become infected with the very illnesses they had been instructed to eliminate. And so, ultimately, all efforts at persuasion which these Goldens employed – whether implemented through spoken or physical means – were not sufficient to the task. And so it was that, after unknown hundreds of years of trying to rid mankind of every form of corruption, the speaking Goldens, in despair, retired from that task.
Existence, of course, was not pleased, and She decreed that all Colored Ones belonging to the original seven species who were not willing to immediately denounce the corruption with which they, themselves, had become afflicted ... must remain on this world; to suffer the consequences of that corruption for all their days ....
Further, She decreed that, as punishment for their collective failure, all Goldens – both speaking and non-speaking – be condemned to remain in this world and, to whatever extent fate might deem appropriate, to suffer the consequences of that failure ... unto death ....
The Golden went on to say that there remained no more than six non-speaking Goldens in this world ... fewer than one dozen each of the Red, Orange and Yellow Colored Ones ... and the total number of the Greens, Blues, Indigos and Violets was less than one hundred. But, to the best of his knowledge, he was the only speaking Golden remaining ....
The Golden became silent.
Then, the Golden blinked; slowly and repeatedly. He looked at each of them in turn, and said that he was quite willing – indeed ... he was most anxious! – to discuss with them any feasible course of action that might be pursued ....
... for if Illag Ant'r were to gain control of the Goldens' offspring, he would have at his disposal some unknown number of ... weapons; each one being capable of such destruction ... that any semblance of order within this world might become lost ... forever.
And then, in a contemplative whisper, the Golden brought his oration to an end.
"Yes .... " he sighed. "By these events ... feel I no ... hope .... "
*******
Excerpt 10: What follows is a recently revised and slightly abridged section from Chapter Nine. The Golden is about to tell Heather of his plight, but begins by giving both Heather and Rav-Pont a "history lesson"; which is to say ... history as the Golden himself remembers or understands it! As with excerpt 7, it is due to the Golden's peculiar and disjointed speech patterns that I wrote most of this section in the form of an "interpretation" of what the Golden says ....
Here, then, is the Golden's "take" on the history of the world where the tale takes place ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Nine: Heather in the Lair
*****************
"Ten lives ... that many lives of ... Old Man ... lived have I. But ... "
The Golden had been looking at Rav-Pont upon starting, but then turned to the girl. Then, following a prolonged, silent gaze ... he continued.
" ... one thousand lives ago ... that many lives of ... I ... this story ... this world begins .... "
And so the Golden started telling them ... of legends and myths; of beliefs that it held close to its own heart.
The Golden started by speaking of what he called ... a history. At the time this world first came into being, as both plants and animals first emerged beneath the life-giving warmth of the golden sun, Existence, in Her great wisdom, decreed that unique animals – great in size and wise in the use of the powers with which She would bless them – would be placed here in order to preside over all other life .... This was how the distant, ancestral relations of the Golden first came into being. And it was Existence's plan that these creatures would be most readily distinguished by the particular color of their scaled hides. So Existence created these creatures – in numbers unknown even to the Golden – and She directed Her servants to bring them to this world. The first of these creatures to arrive in this world had been the Violets. Then came the Indigos. And for each subsequent species, the remaining colors of the rainbow were chosen. Collectively, the seven species that had been named according to their color alone were referred to as the Colored Ones; by Existence Herself ... and by Her servants. And these seven species – after each one had been assigned its own domain – set about the task of presiding over this world.
Countless eons came and went, and innumerable, additional creatures – gradually evolving in complexity ... slowly increasing in intelligence – came into being; in the water ... on the land ... in the air. And it was at some time during the sequence of this infinite number of events that a singular type of creature came into being; and Existence called that creature man.
Mankind endured, survived, evolved, and started to make its particular mark upon this world. And sometimes that mark was good ... and sometimes it was evil. And as certain groups of mankind assumed positions of ever-increasing power and authority – not only over others of their own kind but, eventually, over other forms of animal life; of the land ... of the sea ... of the air – significant changes started to take place.
Sometimes ... these changes were for the better.
But, more often, they were not.
Of course, Existence had already decreed that the Colored Ones would have authority over this world ... to keep all well. And the Colored Ones had had every intention of accomplishing this task. But, as mankind grew in power, so did the desire for power within the seven species of Colored Ones increase. For, just as mankind's numerous, wrongful mannerisms and characteristics had flourished within the fields and smaller towns and larger cities of man – as certain individual men gained strength and authority as a direct result of corruption ... or power, greed, or the fear they caused within others of their own kind – so, too, did similar temptations permeate into all the realms of the Colored Ones. One by one, all seven species of Colored Ones succumbed to these – and still other – temptations.
Thus, the Colored Ones lost control of the order that Existence had intended, for mankind had significantly altered the predetermined courses that were to have been followed by all living things throughout this world. These changes had not been foreseen by Existence, for She had never imagined that mankind would attain such influential power within this world. Never before had any single creature come to possess all three of the especially powerful attributes that mankind, eventually, had at its disposal; and these were specific yet complex language ... a soul ... and free will. And since these attributes, individually or collectively, could be put to use with either good pruposes or evil intentions, Existence had inadvertently blessed mankind with a tremendous advantage over all other creatures; including .... the Colored Ones.
So, in Her desire to see order once again restored throughout this world, Existence created a new species ... and seven pair of Goldens were brought to this world by Her servants. They were to restore the order among the seven species of Colored Ones which Her servants had brought to the world so many eons before.
But so daunting was this task that, as the Goldens struggled to complete their work on Her behalf, many centuries passed by; in part because the world itself was so large, in part because Existence's original intent had been so thoroughly disrupted, but mostly ... because the Goldens were so very few in number. Although the Goldens increased in number as each new generation came into being, the previous generation invariably departed this world when the subsequent one matured. And the Goldens that had come to life upon this world never were regarded as highly – by the original seven species of Colored Ones – as had been the original Goldens ... the ones that had been brought to this world by the servants of Existence.
During the course of the Goldens' efforts to restore order among the Colored Ones, most of the Colored Ones left this world, but many there were that simply went into hiding. They desired to retain the moral illnesses with which they, through interaction with mankind, had become infected. They had learned to cherish those ways and mannerisms ... and they feared that – were they to leave this world – they would lose all that they so wrongfully held dear. Indeed, very few Colored Ones there were who both remained in this world and agreed to accept the terms of the new order; as conveyed by the Goldens ... as decreed by Existence.
So, although some progress was made, the Goldens were unable to fully restore order. They could not eliminate all the illnesses – all the variations of corruption, both natural and unnatural, that had come into being – that had infected the countless Colored Ones who had both learned of and come to possess free will; and then ... had chosen to apply it in evil ways. And so, after unknown thousands of years of trying to restore order among the Colored Ones, all remaining Goldens, in despair, retired from that task.
Then, at some unknown point in time ... Existence directed Her servants to deliver unto this world four pair of speaking Goldens – one pair for each continent upon which mankind had settled – to restore order among the numerous races of man.
These newly-created Goldens possessed both greater skills and more strengths than any of the other Colored Ones ... but, gradually, they became less inclined to use these unique abilities; even though their proper use would have afforded the speaking Goldens their best chance at success. They feared, perhaps, that by using so much power in an effort to rid this world of corruption, they themselves would become infected with the very illnesses they had been instructed to eliminate. And so, ultimately, all efforts at persuasion which these Goldens employed – whether implemented through spoken or physical means – were not sufficient to the task. And so it was that, after unknown hundreds of years of trying to rid mankind of every form of corruption, the speaking Goldens, in despair, retired from that task.
Existence, of course, was not pleased, and She decreed that all Colored Ones belonging to the original seven species who were not willing to immediately denounce the corruption with which they, themselves, had become afflicted ... must remain on this world; to suffer the consequences of that corruption for all their days ....
Further, She decreed that, as punishment for their collective failure, all Goldens – both speaking and non-speaking – be condemned to remain in this world and, to whatever extent fate might deem appropriate, to suffer the consequences of that failure ... unto death ....
The Golden went on to say that there remained no more than six non-speaking Goldens in this world ... fewer than one dozen each of the Red, Orange and Yellow Colored Ones ... and the total number of the Greens, Blues, Indigos and Violets was less than one hundred. But, to the best of his knowledge, he was the only speaking Golden remaining ....
The Golden became silent.
Then, the Golden blinked; slowly and repeatedly. He looked at each of them in turn, and said that he was quite willing – indeed ... he was most anxious! – to discuss with them any feasible course of action that might be pursued ....
... for if Illag Ant'r were to gain control of the Goldens' offspring, he would have at his disposal some unknown number of ... weapons; each one being capable of such destruction ... that any semblance of order within this world might become lost ... forever.
And then, in a contemplative whisper, the Golden brought his oration to an end.
"Yes .... " he sighed. "By these events ... feel I no ... hope .... "
*******
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
-
gentle-giant
- Posts: 530
- Joined: Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:00 pm
- Location: a cave in lafayette, indiana
Excerpt 11 ... Iris in the Air
Excerpt 11: Among other things ... the beginning of chapter 10 involves both Rav-Pont and Heather learning that the Golden has not killed all the children / all the sacrifices offered over the last 130 years. The Golden has been transforming them; making them age slightly, and changing their physical features "enough" so they won't be recognized by anyone who previously knew them. There was, nonetheless, a "price" those children had to "pay" for not being killed ... a price which Heather must now pay. While undergoing this transformation, she will lose all memory of her past ....
During the transformation ... Heather is on her back / on the stone floor of the Golden's lair, and the Golden places one "palm" upon her; pressing down VERY firmly. Also, the tips of three talons from that "hand" are positioned upon her; one on each shoulder / near the collar bone ... and one on the center of her forehead ....
What follows is a slightly edited rendition of the conclusion of the chapter ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Ten: Iris in the Air
*****************
In an effort to comfort the girl in any way that he might, Rav-Pont invited her to bend her arms ... to reach to him; that he might hold her hands if that would help.
"No!" roared the Golden. "Mustn't touch her!"
"Then why did you instruct me to be near?"
"You ... must touch me."
"Oh, really .... " Rav-Pont was taken aback. "Very well, then. But ... how exactly?
Following the Golden's directions, Rav-Pont leaned forward somewhat, placed his palms against either side of the animal's wrist, and pressed firmly against the tiny – and surprisingly smooth! – scales there.
"Yes. Accept ... must we all. Must believe. And ... relax .... "
Having spoken those words, the Golden applied still more pressure against the girl's already severely strained rib cage. And yet ... she remained fairly calm. Her eyes were opened wide – looking slightly to her right – and seemed to be staring at some point near the center of the Golden's expansive chest above her.
Indeed, it seemed to Rav-Pont that she was striving to see through the scaled hide of the creature; hoping to gaze upon its massive, beating heart. Perhaps that organ ... was the source of the magical powers which enabled the Golden to perform the mysterious transformations ....
In any event, that was where the girl stared.
And she remained calm.
... Rav-Pont also became more at ease. Within minutes, he was only vaguely aware of the fact that his eyelids were fluttering furiously. His eyes rolled back in his head ... until all the girl would have seen – if she were to bother looking at his eyes – would have been a spherical field of pearly white ....
But she did not notice that at all. She had become quite obsessed with the presumed location of the Golden's slowly pounding heart. and held her gaze there.
And still the pressure against her body increased.
Indeed, there were many moments when Rav-Pont might have imagined he was hearing the girl's ribs starting to crack; had he himself not passed into some peculiar state of mind ... a state somewhat akin to induced hypnosis. Surely, the extreme weight with which the Golden's huge hand pressed against the girl's breasts might cause the skeletal structure beneath to buckle and collapse. But her rib cage withstood the weight ... endured the pressure; and the girl remained calm as though in a trance.
And the transformation started to take place.
As with a hastened passing of time, the girl grew ... became older.
Her moderately long hair increased in length, became somewhat straighter, and took on a thicker appearance ... glistening ... as though a setting sun had kissed each and every strand ... gently ... repeatedly ....
Her face became longer and more slender .... Indeed, the face no longer appeared to be that of a girl ....
"She ... grows. Growing older."
Rav-Pont had barely heard the Golden speaking; could barely respond.
"Is ... is she now .... "
"But need ... what? How do you ... call her?"
Upon the Golden's posing those questions of him, Rav-Pont ... regretted – more so now than ever before – the fact that he had not asked the girl's name earlier.
"I don't ... know her name .... "
The Golden arched its thick neck, lowered its enormous head, and gazed upon the girl beneath his right hand. Then, drawing its snout closer still, it sniffed the air.
"That ... odor. Smell. Does it ... possess a name?"
Becoming slightly more aware with every passing second, Rav-Pont inhaled deeply.
"It almost smells like ... no! It is ... it's the scent of ... iris?" He sniffed the air again. "Yes ... iris." His eyes started rolling back once more. "That's the word ... the name ... for ... a type of ... flower .... "
"Good," said the Golden softly .... "Yes. Growing ... continues. Rising. Rising ... knowledge." Neither the man nor the girl heard the animal softly mutter those words. "Knowledge," it said again while raising its voice slightly.
"Knowledge?"
"Yes. She must know ... ways. Knowledge of man Ways ... of mankind."
"What ... do you mean? Do you require ... further assistance of me?"
"Both must grow. Body ... and mind .... "
Rav-Pont continued to be in a nearly hypnotic state, but the intensity of the trance in which he had found himself continued to diminish ....
"I ... believe I understand ... but only partly ... "
"Give I her ... knowledge ... of purpose. But ... give you her means ... to accomplish."
"Well, as a young man ... I used to be ... skilled, somewhat, in certain talents; such as ... stealth and deceit. Also ... some knife and sword play. There were a few times ... I stole my way into places. Places I ... ought not to have entered at all, perhaps; if truth be told!" As though bothered ... by the old man's verbosity, the Golden emitted a brief and soft snarling sound. "Are these ... the sorts of things to which you allude?"
"Any ... that might help. Think."
And so Rav-Pont concentrated – to the best of his current ability – on all that he believed might be of service to the girl; on all that might help her to succeed. He did not understand the methods by which such knowledge might actually permeate her mind .... Still, he did his utmost to concentrate on such things.
And he continued to do his best ... to believe in all that was taking place.
For at least several hours ... the three remained totally silent and almost perfectly still. All about them and throughout Golden's lair, the numerous blazes continued burning ... endlessly ....
But outside ... white clouds danced across a blue sky. The sun rose in the east ... and set in the west. Time passed by. It passed by in the most normal and usual manner ... everywhere; except ... within the lair of the Golden. Within the stony cavity that lay hidden within a mountain of stone ... time heeded no patent rule.
It obeyed only the Golden.
As time itself paid heed to the Golden's unspoken commands, the girl's mind listened only to the Golden's silent thoughts. And as his thoughts were transferred to the girl, the knowledge of Rav-Pont seeped into her brain as well. And, as each and every new piece of information – or old bit of knowledge – entered her mind, an existing memory or awareness was removed ....
It was only during this phase of the transformation that the girl showed signs ... of resistance. Even while being pressed so firmly against the floor ... her body started writhing. Her eyelids began fluttering wildly. The steady stare she had been casting in the direction of the Golden's heart became disturbed. Within herself, she struggled to hold back the strong and steady currents that were flowing ... the rivers of memories that were seeping outward; away from the formerly hidden recesses situated deep within her mind. The girl tried forcing herself ... to remember those things most precious to her. She thought ... about how she enjoyed working in her father's small garden in cool, gentle breezes on sunny, spring mornings. She recalled ... her closest friends and the games they often played together during times of both quiet leisure and immense joy. She remembered, sadly, her mother .... And then she pondered, with more sadness still ... the state of her father ....
Being alone ....
And then she did all of those things ... one last time.
Her modest efforts at resistance ... passed.
The girl resumed staring at the Golden's chest through unblinking eyes, he continued pressing against her frail form, and Rav-Pont committed himself ... to having trust in the massive creature ....
And then ... it was finished ....
Suddenly, as though some small, invisible bolt of lightning had been funneled through the Golden's right arm, Rav-Pont's hands were thrust clear of the thick wrist. Not of its own accord, the kneeling form of the old man was thrown well clear of the source of extreme discomfort and ... Rav-Pont found himself sprawled upon the stone floor several paces from the girl's head.
It was, however, rather quickly that he seemed to gather his wits. Rav-Pont rolled clumsily to one side and then rose to his feet. He could only assume the transformation had been completed, and wanted to rush to the girl's assistance if need be. But, upon seeing the Golden's hand still pressing firmly against her stationary, horizontal form, he kept his distance and merely observed.
After several additional minutes ... Rav-Pont believed the girl was starting to stir. Her head tossed slightly to and fro, and then her eyes started to open; very slowly ... almost timidly. Some time later, the girl opened her eyes wide and, once again, her gaze became fixed upon the center of the Golden's broad chest.
But many additional minutes passed before the Golden showed the first sign that he, too, was escaping from the hypnotic trance to which he had subjected himself. Rav-Pont could only watch as the lengthy fingers of the Golden's right hand curved upward and then extended outward; lifting away from both the rock and the flesh upon which the tips of their talons had been resting. Then the enormous animal lifted its hand upward ... clear of the girl.
The Golden ... cautiously placed his right hand upon the solid rock beside her and backed away. Turning about, he returned to the place he had been prior to the transformation. It was with much difficulty that he slowly positioned himself onto his belly. And then, upon lowering head to the ground, the Golden's eyes closed.
It was only then that the girl – slowly and yet with minimal hesitation – rose to her feet. To Rav-Pont's way of thinking, it was with much sadness that her eyes looked upon the creature's face more than fifty feet distant. She gazed at the Golden as it lay resting for a long while, and then turned toward the mattress upon which she had been sleeping earlier. She started toward it; passing within a few feet of Rav-Pont. She seemed not to notice him in the slightest. He wanted to stop her as she passed him by. He wanted to ask if she was feeling all right. He wanted to ask her many questions ... tell her many things. But then he realized there was absolutely no need for him to either query ... or advise ....
She was well.
She knew.
All.
Still – just as she reached the mattress – he decided he simply had to ask her one question; yes ... one at the very least. This time, it was Rav-Pont who suddenly blurted.
"May I know ... your name?"
"I am called Iris."
She lay on her back upon the mattress and closed her eyes as if going to sleep, but he continued watching. He watched as her breathing, over the next several minutes, became slower and shallower. And ... she remained silent. Soon, the only sounds to be heard in that stony place were those created by the numerous blazes burning all about the tiered level of the cavern.
More minutes passed.
He presumed she was sleeping ... already ....
But then, another sound entered the space.
A soft and elegant sound.
It was ... her voice.
"And ... may I know yours?" she asked, neither turning her head nor opening her eyes.
A single tear welled and then flowed down his cheek.
"Rav-Pont."
*******
During the transformation ... Heather is on her back / on the stone floor of the Golden's lair, and the Golden places one "palm" upon her; pressing down VERY firmly. Also, the tips of three talons from that "hand" are positioned upon her; one on each shoulder / near the collar bone ... and one on the center of her forehead ....
What follows is a slightly edited rendition of the conclusion of the chapter ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Ten: Iris in the Air
*****************
In an effort to comfort the girl in any way that he might, Rav-Pont invited her to bend her arms ... to reach to him; that he might hold her hands if that would help.
"No!" roared the Golden. "Mustn't touch her!"
"Then why did you instruct me to be near?"
"You ... must touch me."
"Oh, really .... " Rav-Pont was taken aback. "Very well, then. But ... how exactly?
Following the Golden's directions, Rav-Pont leaned forward somewhat, placed his palms against either side of the animal's wrist, and pressed firmly against the tiny – and surprisingly smooth! – scales there.
"Yes. Accept ... must we all. Must believe. And ... relax .... "
Having spoken those words, the Golden applied still more pressure against the girl's already severely strained rib cage. And yet ... she remained fairly calm. Her eyes were opened wide – looking slightly to her right – and seemed to be staring at some point near the center of the Golden's expansive chest above her.
Indeed, it seemed to Rav-Pont that she was striving to see through the scaled hide of the creature; hoping to gaze upon its massive, beating heart. Perhaps that organ ... was the source of the magical powers which enabled the Golden to perform the mysterious transformations ....
In any event, that was where the girl stared.
And she remained calm.
... Rav-Pont also became more at ease. Within minutes, he was only vaguely aware of the fact that his eyelids were fluttering furiously. His eyes rolled back in his head ... until all the girl would have seen – if she were to bother looking at his eyes – would have been a spherical field of pearly white ....
But she did not notice that at all. She had become quite obsessed with the presumed location of the Golden's slowly pounding heart. and held her gaze there.
And still the pressure against her body increased.
Indeed, there were many moments when Rav-Pont might have imagined he was hearing the girl's ribs starting to crack; had he himself not passed into some peculiar state of mind ... a state somewhat akin to induced hypnosis. Surely, the extreme weight with which the Golden's huge hand pressed against the girl's breasts might cause the skeletal structure beneath to buckle and collapse. But her rib cage withstood the weight ... endured the pressure; and the girl remained calm as though in a trance.
And the transformation started to take place.
As with a hastened passing of time, the girl grew ... became older.
Her moderately long hair increased in length, became somewhat straighter, and took on a thicker appearance ... glistening ... as though a setting sun had kissed each and every strand ... gently ... repeatedly ....
Her face became longer and more slender .... Indeed, the face no longer appeared to be that of a girl ....
"She ... grows. Growing older."
Rav-Pont had barely heard the Golden speaking; could barely respond.
"Is ... is she now .... "
"But need ... what? How do you ... call her?"
Upon the Golden's posing those questions of him, Rav-Pont ... regretted – more so now than ever before – the fact that he had not asked the girl's name earlier.
"I don't ... know her name .... "
The Golden arched its thick neck, lowered its enormous head, and gazed upon the girl beneath his right hand. Then, drawing its snout closer still, it sniffed the air.
"That ... odor. Smell. Does it ... possess a name?"
Becoming slightly more aware with every passing second, Rav-Pont inhaled deeply.
"It almost smells like ... no! It is ... it's the scent of ... iris?" He sniffed the air again. "Yes ... iris." His eyes started rolling back once more. "That's the word ... the name ... for ... a type of ... flower .... "
"Good," said the Golden softly .... "Yes. Growing ... continues. Rising. Rising ... knowledge." Neither the man nor the girl heard the animal softly mutter those words. "Knowledge," it said again while raising its voice slightly.
"Knowledge?"
"Yes. She must know ... ways. Knowledge of man Ways ... of mankind."
"What ... do you mean? Do you require ... further assistance of me?"
"Both must grow. Body ... and mind .... "
Rav-Pont continued to be in a nearly hypnotic state, but the intensity of the trance in which he had found himself continued to diminish ....
"I ... believe I understand ... but only partly ... "
"Give I her ... knowledge ... of purpose. But ... give you her means ... to accomplish."
"Well, as a young man ... I used to be ... skilled, somewhat, in certain talents; such as ... stealth and deceit. Also ... some knife and sword play. There were a few times ... I stole my way into places. Places I ... ought not to have entered at all, perhaps; if truth be told!" As though bothered ... by the old man's verbosity, the Golden emitted a brief and soft snarling sound. "Are these ... the sorts of things to which you allude?"
"Any ... that might help. Think."
And so Rav-Pont concentrated – to the best of his current ability – on all that he believed might be of service to the girl; on all that might help her to succeed. He did not understand the methods by which such knowledge might actually permeate her mind .... Still, he did his utmost to concentrate on such things.
And he continued to do his best ... to believe in all that was taking place.
For at least several hours ... the three remained totally silent and almost perfectly still. All about them and throughout Golden's lair, the numerous blazes continued burning ... endlessly ....
But outside ... white clouds danced across a blue sky. The sun rose in the east ... and set in the west. Time passed by. It passed by in the most normal and usual manner ... everywhere; except ... within the lair of the Golden. Within the stony cavity that lay hidden within a mountain of stone ... time heeded no patent rule.
It obeyed only the Golden.
As time itself paid heed to the Golden's unspoken commands, the girl's mind listened only to the Golden's silent thoughts. And as his thoughts were transferred to the girl, the knowledge of Rav-Pont seeped into her brain as well. And, as each and every new piece of information – or old bit of knowledge – entered her mind, an existing memory or awareness was removed ....
It was only during this phase of the transformation that the girl showed signs ... of resistance. Even while being pressed so firmly against the floor ... her body started writhing. Her eyelids began fluttering wildly. The steady stare she had been casting in the direction of the Golden's heart became disturbed. Within herself, she struggled to hold back the strong and steady currents that were flowing ... the rivers of memories that were seeping outward; away from the formerly hidden recesses situated deep within her mind. The girl tried forcing herself ... to remember those things most precious to her. She thought ... about how she enjoyed working in her father's small garden in cool, gentle breezes on sunny, spring mornings. She recalled ... her closest friends and the games they often played together during times of both quiet leisure and immense joy. She remembered, sadly, her mother .... And then she pondered, with more sadness still ... the state of her father ....
Being alone ....
And then she did all of those things ... one last time.
Her modest efforts at resistance ... passed.
The girl resumed staring at the Golden's chest through unblinking eyes, he continued pressing against her frail form, and Rav-Pont committed himself ... to having trust in the massive creature ....
And then ... it was finished ....
Suddenly, as though some small, invisible bolt of lightning had been funneled through the Golden's right arm, Rav-Pont's hands were thrust clear of the thick wrist. Not of its own accord, the kneeling form of the old man was thrown well clear of the source of extreme discomfort and ... Rav-Pont found himself sprawled upon the stone floor several paces from the girl's head.
It was, however, rather quickly that he seemed to gather his wits. Rav-Pont rolled clumsily to one side and then rose to his feet. He could only assume the transformation had been completed, and wanted to rush to the girl's assistance if need be. But, upon seeing the Golden's hand still pressing firmly against her stationary, horizontal form, he kept his distance and merely observed.
After several additional minutes ... Rav-Pont believed the girl was starting to stir. Her head tossed slightly to and fro, and then her eyes started to open; very slowly ... almost timidly. Some time later, the girl opened her eyes wide and, once again, her gaze became fixed upon the center of the Golden's broad chest.
But many additional minutes passed before the Golden showed the first sign that he, too, was escaping from the hypnotic trance to which he had subjected himself. Rav-Pont could only watch as the lengthy fingers of the Golden's right hand curved upward and then extended outward; lifting away from both the rock and the flesh upon which the tips of their talons had been resting. Then the enormous animal lifted its hand upward ... clear of the girl.
The Golden ... cautiously placed his right hand upon the solid rock beside her and backed away. Turning about, he returned to the place he had been prior to the transformation. It was with much difficulty that he slowly positioned himself onto his belly. And then, upon lowering head to the ground, the Golden's eyes closed.
It was only then that the girl – slowly and yet with minimal hesitation – rose to her feet. To Rav-Pont's way of thinking, it was with much sadness that her eyes looked upon the creature's face more than fifty feet distant. She gazed at the Golden as it lay resting for a long while, and then turned toward the mattress upon which she had been sleeping earlier. She started toward it; passing within a few feet of Rav-Pont. She seemed not to notice him in the slightest. He wanted to stop her as she passed him by. He wanted to ask if she was feeling all right. He wanted to ask her many questions ... tell her many things. But then he realized there was absolutely no need for him to either query ... or advise ....
She was well.
She knew.
All.
Still – just as she reached the mattress – he decided he simply had to ask her one question; yes ... one at the very least. This time, it was Rav-Pont who suddenly blurted.
"May I know ... your name?"
"I am called Iris."
She lay on her back upon the mattress and closed her eyes as if going to sleep, but he continued watching. He watched as her breathing, over the next several minutes, became slower and shallower. And ... she remained silent. Soon, the only sounds to be heard in that stony place were those created by the numerous blazes burning all about the tiered level of the cavern.
More minutes passed.
He presumed she was sleeping ... already ....
But then, another sound entered the space.
A soft and elegant sound.
It was ... her voice.
"And ... may I know yours?" she asked, neither turning her head nor opening her eyes.
A single tear welled and then flowed down his cheek.
"Rav-Pont."
*******
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
-
gentle-giant
- Posts: 530
- Joined: Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:00 pm
- Location: a cave in lafayette, indiana
Excerpt 12 ... Wayward Memories and Helpful Travelers
Excerpt 12: I'm still a week-or-so from finishing work on chapter 27, so, in the meantime, I thought I'd post a new excerpt here ....
Iris has fallen into a deep sleep in the lair of the Golden. It is as she sleeps that the Golden is again visited by the young man who first appeared in the entr'acte entitled Accepting / excerpt 9 above. This man, in compliance with the Golden's wishes, lifts Iris from the mattress upon which she sleeps, carries her down the steps – past Rav-Pont ... who is also sleeping – and takes her from the Golden's lair ... which brings us to chapter 11.
What follows is an abridged rendition of the beginning of the chapter ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Eleven: Wayward Memories and Helpful Travelers
*****************
Iris woke up suddenly.
She had been having a flurry of brief dreams; short-lived, random images which had seemed totally unrelated ....
There had been a celebration of some kind ... numerous candles ... and several robes of varying colors. There had been a very old man ... and a much younger one clothed in dark green. There had been a huge cave ... countless fires ... and an enormous beast. But none of those images had been interconnected .... Rather, they had simply swirled about her subconscious mind; as though trying to dance to an assortment of songs with differing tempos ... all at the same moment!
Iris sat up, opened her eyes slowly, and found herself to be in a tiny clearing within a grove of trees lining some flowing waterway ... which she could hear but not see. She determined it was already an hour or more after dawn, and it seemed the sun was trying to peek through at her; in between the numerous trunks and through the lower, leaf-clad branches of the trees. She spun about in the short grass, scooted backward a short distance, and slowly leaned against a large boulder there. For the most part, she was wrapped inside a very large – and thankfully soft – blanket. She had not cast it aside in the slightest upon sitting up. Her arms remained within the warm confines of the cover, and only the uppermost portions of her shoulders, her neck and head were exposed to the air.
She looked about her a bit more thoroughly, and noted a modest campfire – surrounded by a small circle of large rocks – several paces from her present position. But she did not remember making the fire ....
Iris became just a bit frightened. She wondered; might the images of her recent dreams offer any clues? ... most consciously, she started thinking about those visions ... but the more she struggled to remember them, the more difficult they seemed to recall. Within minutes ... her conscious efforts had chased most of the images away; out of all the dreams she had had during her otherwise restful sleep, she could recall only one detail.
She could remember only ... the beast ....
But even that apparition ... seemed quite vague to her now .... Before long, she could recall only having had dreams ... could no longer recall any of their related images. Soon, Iris was wondering if the meanings of any visions she might have had would have helped her understand anything anyway! After all, from the time Iris had been a very young girl, she had never placed much – if any! – value in the significance of dreams ...
... even though her mother had ....
Or ... had she?
Rather suddenly, Iris realized she could not recall ever having a mother.
And ... she could not form a mental image of her father.
But she knew she was no orphan!
She did have a father ... at the very least; she knew that to be a fact!
Or ... was it?
It was in a spontaneous flurry of movement, confusion and turmoil that Iris cast aside the warmth that was the blanket, rose to her feet, and stomped toward the fire. She started whimpering slightly and clenched her fists against her heart.
"Who am I ... and what am I doing here?" she asked in a coarse whisper and amidst increasing sobs while looking about at her blurred surroundings. "I don’t remember anything of this place ... recall nothing of this reality; if this place is real!" She dropped to her knees and leaned forward until her forehead was resting upon the dew laden grass. "I don’t understand any of this ... not any more than I could comprehend those dreams!"
It was only then that her eyes bothered to note the small, iron kettle; being held above the campfire by means of one stick which was supported by two slightly larger ones that had been shoved into the ground ....
"I would ... remember ... doing that; wouldn't I?"
But she didn't.
“I did not build this campfire!” she whispered sternly.
She rose to her feet once again and ... she became aware of yet another peculiar aspect of this already confusing situation ....
She looked down toward her feet. Lightly tickling her skin – billowing gently about her ankles and calves in the cool, morning breeze – were the lowest portions of her attire; narrow hems of golden cloth ... sewn upon multiple layers of a sheer, golden fabric.
She studied the fine, shimmering fabric near her ankles ... covering her legs ... about her waist ... and extended both arms to examine the sleeves of the truly beautiful, genuinely exquisite garment. But then ... she noted the decidedly sheer nature of the individual layers of material ....
'Whatever is this ... thing I wear?' her mind shrieked.
With former concepts of modesty having been retained in tact, Iris scurried to the enormous blanket, concealed herself in its warmth and sat down once again. For a long while she remained there ... leaning against the boulder while wrapped – head and all this time! – within the huge cover; a caterpillar ... confined by nature within the presumed security of its own cocoon. In this case, however, the caterpillar ... was having absolutely no thoughts of exiting its enclosed domain; of ever becoming a butterfly ....
... after much time had passed by, the girl in the blanket ... heard a voice. She wondered; had she actually heard it or merely imagined it? She could not determine the truth of the matter; not even after forcing herself to expose one ear to the gradually warming air of the morning. All she knew was that she was sensing a voice; one that was repeatedly stating a short, simple phrase ....
Look behind ... boulder ....
After several minutes of hearing that phrase sounding softly within her brain ... she rose to her feet while still wrapped within the blanket, and then cautiously walked around the boulder ....
... she saw – balanced rather precariously upon the rounded top of a much smaller rock – some sort of bundle. A long piece of slender, woolen cloth had been neatly wrapped and loosely tied about a modest pile of what appeared to be neatly folded clothes. She reached toward the simple knot with extended fingers ... and then she touched it. This, at least, was real; or so, at least, she thought. Nonetheless, it was with much anxiety that she stooped lower and started untying the knot ....
'It is real. It ... has to be.'
After untying the line and casting its opposing lengths to both sides of the bundle, Iris cautiously lifted the item from the top of the small pile and slowly stood up. Then, while grasping its opposing corners between her thumbs and forefingers, she gently shook her wrists.
It unfolded readily and fell open for her eyes to behold.
And she heard the voice ... again ....
You are one ....
She looked at the item in her hands curiously. Initially, she thought it to be a shirt. Then, a blouse. And then, she couldn't be certain. Its fabric, as well as the manner in which it was both sewn and styled, seemed peculiar to her. Certainly, she had never seen a shirt ... or blouse ... or ... any garment such as this before.
'Perhaps it's a ... vest?'
Then, as bedtime stories of an ancient people living far to the east – so very distant that no one from this region had ever ....
'Did I just have ... a memory?' she asked, interrupting her own thoughts.
As though she had just dived into a pool of cold, spring water, memories invaded her mind as surely as such water would stab her flesh.
You are one ... at one ....
"I am one ... of the ancient ones; at one ... with the forest!"
With a sudden influx of awareness, the garment she held no longer seemed peculiar in the slightest! Neither did the other articles of clothing that made the ensemble complete. She hurriedly removed the gown she'd been wearing and excitedly donned the garments ....
After finishing with the laces of the high, supple boots, she gathered the heap of golden fabric from the ground ... stepped around the boulder ... and tossed the gown over and behind a thick bush with dense foliage.
Then, she returned to the fire she had built long before and wondered if the stew she had started might be done. Using the long, flowing cuff of her right sleeve as protection from the hot metal ring at the top of the lid, she lifted it from the pot ....
"Not quite yet," she murmured ....
*******
[ Iris covers the pot and lets the stew simmer a while, and sits by the boulder to go over a list she has ... one which she now recalls the young man has given her. As she unfolds the parchment to study and memorize the list, a tiny object falls from its folds. She finds it in the grass, decides it must be a key of some sort and – although she has no idea what it might unlock – places it in her pocket. For a while she works at memorizing the list, and then has her breakfast. After dousing the flames of her campfire, Iris decides it's time to press on and rises to her feet .... ]
*******
She ... crossed the stream with minimal difficulty and continued along a course perpendicular to the general direction of the stream.
"If I remember correctly, and I’m confident I do," she said aloud, "that man said ... go north a bit more than half a league and I'll find a lightly traveled but well defined road." She paused briefly, gathered her bearings, and turned to her left. "North is this way .... "
... The walking was quite easy for her. After all, she had spent her entire life ... in the distant lands to the east traversing terrain much more troublesome than these slightly hilly fields of knee-high grasses, occasional small rocks, infrequent rabbit holes, and other minor obstacles.
In much less than an hour’s time, she found herself reaching the top of one particular hillock and, upon looking down the other side, saw a simple road near the base of the slope ....
"This must be it," she sighed as she reached the road. Then, after having turned to the east and having walked for nearly an hour, she remarked, "Lightly traveled, indeed!"
To her way of thinking, lightly traveled – at least where she had grown up – meant a farm cart, a man or woman on horseback, or any number of people traveling by foot, would be passing by every few minutes. But on this road, during that first hour, she had seen no one ....
Still, with little choice in the matter ... she continued.
*******
Iris has fallen into a deep sleep in the lair of the Golden. It is as she sleeps that the Golden is again visited by the young man who first appeared in the entr'acte entitled Accepting / excerpt 9 above. This man, in compliance with the Golden's wishes, lifts Iris from the mattress upon which she sleeps, carries her down the steps – past Rav-Pont ... who is also sleeping – and takes her from the Golden's lair ... which brings us to chapter 11.
What follows is an abridged rendition of the beginning of the chapter ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Eleven: Wayward Memories and Helpful Travelers
*****************
Iris woke up suddenly.
She had been having a flurry of brief dreams; short-lived, random images which had seemed totally unrelated ....
There had been a celebration of some kind ... numerous candles ... and several robes of varying colors. There had been a very old man ... and a much younger one clothed in dark green. There had been a huge cave ... countless fires ... and an enormous beast. But none of those images had been interconnected .... Rather, they had simply swirled about her subconscious mind; as though trying to dance to an assortment of songs with differing tempos ... all at the same moment!
Iris sat up, opened her eyes slowly, and found herself to be in a tiny clearing within a grove of trees lining some flowing waterway ... which she could hear but not see. She determined it was already an hour or more after dawn, and it seemed the sun was trying to peek through at her; in between the numerous trunks and through the lower, leaf-clad branches of the trees. She spun about in the short grass, scooted backward a short distance, and slowly leaned against a large boulder there. For the most part, she was wrapped inside a very large – and thankfully soft – blanket. She had not cast it aside in the slightest upon sitting up. Her arms remained within the warm confines of the cover, and only the uppermost portions of her shoulders, her neck and head were exposed to the air.
She looked about her a bit more thoroughly, and noted a modest campfire – surrounded by a small circle of large rocks – several paces from her present position. But she did not remember making the fire ....
Iris became just a bit frightened. She wondered; might the images of her recent dreams offer any clues? ... most consciously, she started thinking about those visions ... but the more she struggled to remember them, the more difficult they seemed to recall. Within minutes ... her conscious efforts had chased most of the images away; out of all the dreams she had had during her otherwise restful sleep, she could recall only one detail.
She could remember only ... the beast ....
But even that apparition ... seemed quite vague to her now .... Before long, she could recall only having had dreams ... could no longer recall any of their related images. Soon, Iris was wondering if the meanings of any visions she might have had would have helped her understand anything anyway! After all, from the time Iris had been a very young girl, she had never placed much – if any! – value in the significance of dreams ...
... even though her mother had ....
Or ... had she?
Rather suddenly, Iris realized she could not recall ever having a mother.
And ... she could not form a mental image of her father.
But she knew she was no orphan!
She did have a father ... at the very least; she knew that to be a fact!
Or ... was it?
It was in a spontaneous flurry of movement, confusion and turmoil that Iris cast aside the warmth that was the blanket, rose to her feet, and stomped toward the fire. She started whimpering slightly and clenched her fists against her heart.
"Who am I ... and what am I doing here?" she asked in a coarse whisper and amidst increasing sobs while looking about at her blurred surroundings. "I don’t remember anything of this place ... recall nothing of this reality; if this place is real!" She dropped to her knees and leaned forward until her forehead was resting upon the dew laden grass. "I don’t understand any of this ... not any more than I could comprehend those dreams!"
It was only then that her eyes bothered to note the small, iron kettle; being held above the campfire by means of one stick which was supported by two slightly larger ones that had been shoved into the ground ....
"I would ... remember ... doing that; wouldn't I?"
But she didn't.
“I did not build this campfire!” she whispered sternly.
She rose to her feet once again and ... she became aware of yet another peculiar aspect of this already confusing situation ....
She looked down toward her feet. Lightly tickling her skin – billowing gently about her ankles and calves in the cool, morning breeze – were the lowest portions of her attire; narrow hems of golden cloth ... sewn upon multiple layers of a sheer, golden fabric.
She studied the fine, shimmering fabric near her ankles ... covering her legs ... about her waist ... and extended both arms to examine the sleeves of the truly beautiful, genuinely exquisite garment. But then ... she noted the decidedly sheer nature of the individual layers of material ....
'Whatever is this ... thing I wear?' her mind shrieked.
With former concepts of modesty having been retained in tact, Iris scurried to the enormous blanket, concealed herself in its warmth and sat down once again. For a long while she remained there ... leaning against the boulder while wrapped – head and all this time! – within the huge cover; a caterpillar ... confined by nature within the presumed security of its own cocoon. In this case, however, the caterpillar ... was having absolutely no thoughts of exiting its enclosed domain; of ever becoming a butterfly ....
... after much time had passed by, the girl in the blanket ... heard a voice. She wondered; had she actually heard it or merely imagined it? She could not determine the truth of the matter; not even after forcing herself to expose one ear to the gradually warming air of the morning. All she knew was that she was sensing a voice; one that was repeatedly stating a short, simple phrase ....
Look behind ... boulder ....
After several minutes of hearing that phrase sounding softly within her brain ... she rose to her feet while still wrapped within the blanket, and then cautiously walked around the boulder ....
... she saw – balanced rather precariously upon the rounded top of a much smaller rock – some sort of bundle. A long piece of slender, woolen cloth had been neatly wrapped and loosely tied about a modest pile of what appeared to be neatly folded clothes. She reached toward the simple knot with extended fingers ... and then she touched it. This, at least, was real; or so, at least, she thought. Nonetheless, it was with much anxiety that she stooped lower and started untying the knot ....
'It is real. It ... has to be.'
After untying the line and casting its opposing lengths to both sides of the bundle, Iris cautiously lifted the item from the top of the small pile and slowly stood up. Then, while grasping its opposing corners between her thumbs and forefingers, she gently shook her wrists.
It unfolded readily and fell open for her eyes to behold.
And she heard the voice ... again ....
You are one ....
She looked at the item in her hands curiously. Initially, she thought it to be a shirt. Then, a blouse. And then, she couldn't be certain. Its fabric, as well as the manner in which it was both sewn and styled, seemed peculiar to her. Certainly, she had never seen a shirt ... or blouse ... or ... any garment such as this before.
'Perhaps it's a ... vest?'
Then, as bedtime stories of an ancient people living far to the east – so very distant that no one from this region had ever ....
'Did I just have ... a memory?' she asked, interrupting her own thoughts.
As though she had just dived into a pool of cold, spring water, memories invaded her mind as surely as such water would stab her flesh.
You are one ... at one ....
"I am one ... of the ancient ones; at one ... with the forest!"
With a sudden influx of awareness, the garment she held no longer seemed peculiar in the slightest! Neither did the other articles of clothing that made the ensemble complete. She hurriedly removed the gown she'd been wearing and excitedly donned the garments ....
After finishing with the laces of the high, supple boots, she gathered the heap of golden fabric from the ground ... stepped around the boulder ... and tossed the gown over and behind a thick bush with dense foliage.
Then, she returned to the fire she had built long before and wondered if the stew she had started might be done. Using the long, flowing cuff of her right sleeve as protection from the hot metal ring at the top of the lid, she lifted it from the pot ....
"Not quite yet," she murmured ....
*******
[ Iris covers the pot and lets the stew simmer a while, and sits by the boulder to go over a list she has ... one which she now recalls the young man has given her. As she unfolds the parchment to study and memorize the list, a tiny object falls from its folds. She finds it in the grass, decides it must be a key of some sort and – although she has no idea what it might unlock – places it in her pocket. For a while she works at memorizing the list, and then has her breakfast. After dousing the flames of her campfire, Iris decides it's time to press on and rises to her feet .... ]
*******
She ... crossed the stream with minimal difficulty and continued along a course perpendicular to the general direction of the stream.
"If I remember correctly, and I’m confident I do," she said aloud, "that man said ... go north a bit more than half a league and I'll find a lightly traveled but well defined road." She paused briefly, gathered her bearings, and turned to her left. "North is this way .... "
... The walking was quite easy for her. After all, she had spent her entire life ... in the distant lands to the east traversing terrain much more troublesome than these slightly hilly fields of knee-high grasses, occasional small rocks, infrequent rabbit holes, and other minor obstacles.
In much less than an hour’s time, she found herself reaching the top of one particular hillock and, upon looking down the other side, saw a simple road near the base of the slope ....
"This must be it," she sighed as she reached the road. Then, after having turned to the east and having walked for nearly an hour, she remarked, "Lightly traveled, indeed!"
To her way of thinking, lightly traveled – at least where she had grown up – meant a farm cart, a man or woman on horseback, or any number of people traveling by foot, would be passing by every few minutes. But on this road, during that first hour, she had seen no one ....
Still, with little choice in the matter ... she continued.
*******
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
-
gentle-giant
- Posts: 530
- Joined: Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:00 pm
- Location: a cave in lafayette, indiana
Excerpt 13 ... A Reunion is Veiled
Excerpt 13: As always, I'm way behind whatever crude semblance of a schedule it is that I'm struggling to maintain; chapter 27 is STILL in the works! So, to keep any-and-all readers – who, it would seem, wish to remain anonymous! – of this thread entertained, I've decided to post a new excerpt today ....
The conclusion of chapter eleven has Iris walking along a lightly traveled road and, after some time, a family traveling by wagon to the village of Skanilas offers her a ride ... which she gladly accepts. While riding in the back of the wagon she falls asleep and, while dreaming, she experiences a series of brief yet bizarre images which border on being nightmarish. It isn't until shortly before sunset – upon nearing the outskirts of Skanilas – that the wife / mother awakens Iris. She steps down from the wagon and continues toward the village by foot ... which brings us to chapter 12.
What follows is a very slightly abridged rendition of the beginning of the chapter ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Twelve: A Reunion is Veiled
*****************
She continued along the road, passing no fewer than eight seemingly vacant abodes when, still some distance ahead of her and along the left side of the road, she believed she saw the orange glow of a fire; emerging from an open doorway, and passing into a tiny yard with a modest garden. With her spirits at least temporarily raised, she hastened her pace, favored that side of the road, and approached the humble home.
As she neared to within twenty paces of the house, which itself was positioned no more than five paces from the edge of the thoroughfare leading into the village, she saw the faint outline of a person seated on a stool just outside the doorway. It seemed that the person – for she could not yet tell whether it was a man or a woman ... a boy or a girl – was gazing ceaselessly toward the west and observing the deepening colors of the sunset as daylight slipped away and nighttime drew near. She stopped momentarily and glanced briefly to her right, observing the same hues of dark reds and even deeper purples with which the sun had playfully painted the slowly drifting, wispy clouds.
She continued along the road a little further and then stopped upon reaching a spot only a few paces shy of the simple gate that had been installed along the length of the rickety fence. In only these last two minutes, the darkness had increased to such an extent that she still could not make out the person’s facial features. She could only determine the individual's gender and roughly estimate the age.
"Kind Sir," she said softly.
The man continued to watch the sky and remained silent.
She stepped into the shallow, dry drainage ditch separating the road from the fence, stood among the knee-high grass, and then – just a bit more loudly – she spoke again. "Excuse me, please; kind Sir." He stirred; turning his head a bit to the right and toward the girl while she placed her hands along the top railing of the simple fence. "Could you tell me if I might find a room for the night in this village?"
He remained silent for several seconds before responding. "A lovely sunset today," he offered carelessly, turning his head toward the sunset yet again. "Would you agree?"
Somewhat nervously, Iris glanced over her shoulder and feigned a brief glimpse at the natural beauty of the day's departure ... the night's arrival.
"Yes, I would. Lovely."
"I find more pleasure in simple joys these days." He paused briefly and then extended an arm, pointing to the west. "Such as the beauty found in sunsets." He turned his head toward her again. "Yes," he said, fixing his eyes upon her. "Yes ... lovely."
Iris, who was not at all certain how she ought to respond to the man's latest remark, remained silent. The man continued.
"Or, at least I ... try to."
"Excuse me?"
"Seek pleasure ... in simple things."
"Oh ... yes," she offered rather hesitantly.
After a prolonged silence, she was on the verge of uttering an artificial 'Good day to you, Sir,' and continuing into the village to seek shelter. But he rose from the stool before she had made such a comment or had turned in that direction, and he slowly approached the gate while continuing to look at her. Then, standing only a few paces to her right, he casually placed his hands upon the top edge of two of the gate's narrow, slightly warped vertical planks, and started to rock, very slowly, on his feet.
"You're not from around here." He turned his head away from her again and resumed looking toward the colorful yet darkening sky.
"That's correct. I hail from the distant East."
"But this road enters Skanilas from the north ... and is generally traveled by people coming from the west."
"Oftentimes, travelers take routes that are much less direct than the ones they would rather follow."
He turned his head toward her – a bit more quickly this time – and, even though he did not move toward her, she found herself taking a step back from the man on the other side of the fence. "Is someone after you?" he asked with a coarse whisper.
She hesitated briefly, and then responded with a voice that quavered as a result of both the growing chill in the air and an increased nervousness. "I am neither thieving servant ... nor runaway slave. To what do you allude?"
"You know what I think?" He turned to face the sunset again. "I think your last two responses seem to have been very well practiced."
"Truth is not a stage-play. One needs not rehearse to know the lines."
"And even that sounded rehearsed to me."
She no longer merely considered speaking specific words to the man. She uttered them; with clarity of voice and certainty of purpose. "Good day to you!"
She spun around, stepped from the shallow ditch and back onto the road itself, and turned to continue .... She fully expected him to call out to her, but only half expected that she would respond in any way ... were he to do so. But the next words that came from his mouth did not carry the tone she had been anticipating.
She had not expected any sort of apology.
"Please ... can you forgive me?" She heard the squeaking of rusty hinges as he pushed the gate open. "Can you excuse my accusations ... my behavior?" She heard his footsteps closing the distance between the two of them, but then they stopped. "I've ... not been myself lately. Please ... forgive me."
Surprising herself, Iris stopped as well ... but did not turn around.
"Am I to regard that – your not being yourself – as an excuse?"
"No. No excuse. There is no excuse. It's only ... an explanation." He paused a long while, and she turned her head toward her left shoulder as though expecting to hear more. "Please accept it, feeble though it may be ... and my sincere apology."
He remained motionless, several paces from where she stood, and resigned himself to whatever course of action – or inaction – she might take. She pivoted slightly on her feet, turned her head further in his direction, and peered at him through the corner of her eye. After an awkward silence, he resumed the conversation by presenting a different topic.
"I'm afraid your luck will not be of the good sort," he stated simply. She looked at him as though not understanding the meaning of his latest comment. "I mean ... your finding a place to stay. Tomorrow is the first day of the Market ... of the Harvest Moons, and a room will be difficult to find; especially as late as it already is." He tilted his head in the direction of the ever-darkening sky. "And any room you might find will probably be over-priced ... and situated directly above some dank pub filled with loud drunks who can't sing and yet strive to do so; who will assume you to be ... something other than an innocent, young woman in need of rest."
Her gaze dropped slightly.
Somewhat tentatively, he took a few short steps in her direction.
"You said you've traveled a great distance already?"
"I'm nearly three hundred leagues from my home."
"And I suppose you have far, still, to go."
"Yes."
"Please ... I assure you. I'm really not the sort of man you believe you met five minutes ago ... but I'll understand if you reject this suggestion. You need a place to stay, some food to eat, and also a bed in which you may sleep. I offer all those things to you. Nothing else do I propose ... and nothing more do I presume."
At first, her mind seemed eager to disregard the man's suggestion. Still, she turned to face him and looked deep into his eyes for the first time. They did not waver. They appeared sincere. Furthermore – from the time he had apologized – all that he had said had made simple yet undeniable sense to her. So, although her mind held lingering concerns regarding the character of this man, those concerns were diminishing.
For, amidst all of this – while she strove even still to see inside the man through the windows of his eyes – her heart had sensed no danger, and she had felt no fear.
Nodding silently, she accepted the offer.
*******
The conclusion of chapter eleven has Iris walking along a lightly traveled road and, after some time, a family traveling by wagon to the village of Skanilas offers her a ride ... which she gladly accepts. While riding in the back of the wagon she falls asleep and, while dreaming, she experiences a series of brief yet bizarre images which border on being nightmarish. It isn't until shortly before sunset – upon nearing the outskirts of Skanilas – that the wife / mother awakens Iris. She steps down from the wagon and continues toward the village by foot ... which brings us to chapter 12.
What follows is a very slightly abridged rendition of the beginning of the chapter ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Twelve: A Reunion is Veiled
*****************
She continued along the road, passing no fewer than eight seemingly vacant abodes when, still some distance ahead of her and along the left side of the road, she believed she saw the orange glow of a fire; emerging from an open doorway, and passing into a tiny yard with a modest garden. With her spirits at least temporarily raised, she hastened her pace, favored that side of the road, and approached the humble home.
As she neared to within twenty paces of the house, which itself was positioned no more than five paces from the edge of the thoroughfare leading into the village, she saw the faint outline of a person seated on a stool just outside the doorway. It seemed that the person – for she could not yet tell whether it was a man or a woman ... a boy or a girl – was gazing ceaselessly toward the west and observing the deepening colors of the sunset as daylight slipped away and nighttime drew near. She stopped momentarily and glanced briefly to her right, observing the same hues of dark reds and even deeper purples with which the sun had playfully painted the slowly drifting, wispy clouds.
She continued along the road a little further and then stopped upon reaching a spot only a few paces shy of the simple gate that had been installed along the length of the rickety fence. In only these last two minutes, the darkness had increased to such an extent that she still could not make out the person’s facial features. She could only determine the individual's gender and roughly estimate the age.
"Kind Sir," she said softly.
The man continued to watch the sky and remained silent.
She stepped into the shallow, dry drainage ditch separating the road from the fence, stood among the knee-high grass, and then – just a bit more loudly – she spoke again. "Excuse me, please; kind Sir." He stirred; turning his head a bit to the right and toward the girl while she placed her hands along the top railing of the simple fence. "Could you tell me if I might find a room for the night in this village?"
He remained silent for several seconds before responding. "A lovely sunset today," he offered carelessly, turning his head toward the sunset yet again. "Would you agree?"
Somewhat nervously, Iris glanced over her shoulder and feigned a brief glimpse at the natural beauty of the day's departure ... the night's arrival.
"Yes, I would. Lovely."
"I find more pleasure in simple joys these days." He paused briefly and then extended an arm, pointing to the west. "Such as the beauty found in sunsets." He turned his head toward her again. "Yes," he said, fixing his eyes upon her. "Yes ... lovely."
Iris, who was not at all certain how she ought to respond to the man's latest remark, remained silent. The man continued.
"Or, at least I ... try to."
"Excuse me?"
"Seek pleasure ... in simple things."
"Oh ... yes," she offered rather hesitantly.
After a prolonged silence, she was on the verge of uttering an artificial 'Good day to you, Sir,' and continuing into the village to seek shelter. But he rose from the stool before she had made such a comment or had turned in that direction, and he slowly approached the gate while continuing to look at her. Then, standing only a few paces to her right, he casually placed his hands upon the top edge of two of the gate's narrow, slightly warped vertical planks, and started to rock, very slowly, on his feet.
"You're not from around here." He turned his head away from her again and resumed looking toward the colorful yet darkening sky.
"That's correct. I hail from the distant East."
"But this road enters Skanilas from the north ... and is generally traveled by people coming from the west."
"Oftentimes, travelers take routes that are much less direct than the ones they would rather follow."
He turned his head toward her – a bit more quickly this time – and, even though he did not move toward her, she found herself taking a step back from the man on the other side of the fence. "Is someone after you?" he asked with a coarse whisper.
She hesitated briefly, and then responded with a voice that quavered as a result of both the growing chill in the air and an increased nervousness. "I am neither thieving servant ... nor runaway slave. To what do you allude?"
"You know what I think?" He turned to face the sunset again. "I think your last two responses seem to have been very well practiced."
"Truth is not a stage-play. One needs not rehearse to know the lines."
"And even that sounded rehearsed to me."
She no longer merely considered speaking specific words to the man. She uttered them; with clarity of voice and certainty of purpose. "Good day to you!"
She spun around, stepped from the shallow ditch and back onto the road itself, and turned to continue .... She fully expected him to call out to her, but only half expected that she would respond in any way ... were he to do so. But the next words that came from his mouth did not carry the tone she had been anticipating.
She had not expected any sort of apology.
"Please ... can you forgive me?" She heard the squeaking of rusty hinges as he pushed the gate open. "Can you excuse my accusations ... my behavior?" She heard his footsteps closing the distance between the two of them, but then they stopped. "I've ... not been myself lately. Please ... forgive me."
Surprising herself, Iris stopped as well ... but did not turn around.
"Am I to regard that – your not being yourself – as an excuse?"
"No. No excuse. There is no excuse. It's only ... an explanation." He paused a long while, and she turned her head toward her left shoulder as though expecting to hear more. "Please accept it, feeble though it may be ... and my sincere apology."
He remained motionless, several paces from where she stood, and resigned himself to whatever course of action – or inaction – she might take. She pivoted slightly on her feet, turned her head further in his direction, and peered at him through the corner of her eye. After an awkward silence, he resumed the conversation by presenting a different topic.
"I'm afraid your luck will not be of the good sort," he stated simply. She looked at him as though not understanding the meaning of his latest comment. "I mean ... your finding a place to stay. Tomorrow is the first day of the Market ... of the Harvest Moons, and a room will be difficult to find; especially as late as it already is." He tilted his head in the direction of the ever-darkening sky. "And any room you might find will probably be over-priced ... and situated directly above some dank pub filled with loud drunks who can't sing and yet strive to do so; who will assume you to be ... something other than an innocent, young woman in need of rest."
Her gaze dropped slightly.
Somewhat tentatively, he took a few short steps in her direction.
"You said you've traveled a great distance already?"
"I'm nearly three hundred leagues from my home."
"And I suppose you have far, still, to go."
"Yes."
"Please ... I assure you. I'm really not the sort of man you believe you met five minutes ago ... but I'll understand if you reject this suggestion. You need a place to stay, some food to eat, and also a bed in which you may sleep. I offer all those things to you. Nothing else do I propose ... and nothing more do I presume."
At first, her mind seemed eager to disregard the man's suggestion. Still, she turned to face him and looked deep into his eyes for the first time. They did not waver. They appeared sincere. Furthermore – from the time he had apologized – all that he had said had made simple yet undeniable sense to her. So, although her mind held lingering concerns regarding the character of this man, those concerns were diminishing.
For, amidst all of this – while she strove even still to see inside the man through the windows of his eyes – her heart had sensed no danger, and she had felt no fear.
Nodding silently, she accepted the offer.
*******
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
-
gentle-giant
- Posts: 530
- Joined: Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:00 pm
- Location: a cave in lafayette, indiana
Excerpt 14 ... Old Surli's Place
Excerpt 14: I've finally finished work on chapter 27, and so I've decided to post a new excerpt ....
Iris is about to begin her journey to the city of Aldiara. Prior to setting out, however, she must acquire many provisions. She also hopes to purchase an assortment of weapons, and she's been told that a blacksmith called Old Surli might be able to help her in that regard.
What follows is a significantly abridged rendition of what transpires between Iris and Old Surli. They've been speaking for a short while already, and he's just about to learn her name, where she's from and where she's going ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Thirteen: Old Surli's Place
*****************
"Yes ... you must be. Your name must be ... just a second, now. You'd be Urlana; right?"
"Urlana? No. My name's Iris."
"And you're setting out for … no; let me think. What's the name of that place? Out there to ... to the east."
"I hail from the East," she offered, "but I'm bound for Aldiara. Why are you asking me these questions?"
"Oh ... I'm not really asking questions ... I'm testing answers .... " Perplexed, Iris tilted her head and gave him a peculiar look through squinting eyes. "Yes, Miss Iris ... that's right. You have come to the right place."
Old Surli stooped low and out of view behind the high counter, and Iris heard him rummaging about. Seconds later, he stood up ... and Iris saw that he was holding a strung longbow of exquisite design .... He placed it down with care and stooped once again. When next he stood, his hands were grasping two identical quivers ... each containing no fewer than twenty arrows .... Several more times, the enormous man ducked out of view and presented additional items of similar quality and purpose to her ... a sword and sheath, a moderately sized axe, a small, round shield made of hard wood and bearing a heavy, metallic facing, two sets of archer's gloves, a wide belt of leather ....
"What’s this all about?" she asked.
"Actually ... I'd been hoping you might tell me."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I know nothing of this. Still, if you're in this business to make a profit ... then all we need to discuss is how much you want for these items."
"How much? I'd start out by asking for eight silvers; and then ... I'd hope the buyer wasn't the type to haggle. That's the sort of customer I'd prefer dealing with more often ... the kind with limited bargaining skills!"
"I'm afraid I don't have eight .... "
"Well, that would be the price ... that is, if I were to sell them."
"If? Then, you're not planning to sell these?"
"You really don't know anything of this; do you, Miss?" She shook her head slowly and remained silent. "Which means ... you know nothing of the gent who was here two days ago and gave me these things … who came here and told me you'd be coming for them?"
"No, I don’t. But ... do you refer to Rav-Pont? Did he give his name? He's rather old ... and he would have been wearing ... a robe of dark grey. Was it Rav-Pont?"
"Oh ... the man I speak of wasn't old .... He was wearing a long, hooded robe, though. It was made of a heavy fabric, but it was dark green in color; not grey! As to his name ... well, he never told me his name, and I didn't think to ask. And then, 'bout the time he was leaving; well ... I decided that asking his name wouldn't be proper!"
"Not proper? Why not?"
"One should never ask questions of those with magical abilities!"
"And what made you think this man had such skills?"
"For starters, it was the manner in which I first saw him. I was standing in this very spot, looking toward the door .... Then, there he was ... this man in green; just standing in the doorway! He hadn't come to the door from any direction ... he was just there of a sudden! Then, there was how he approached me. He ... sort of ... floated ... and came to the counter! And when he got here, I noticed a small burlap sack draped about his neck. It looked empty to me, but when he pulled it from his neck, his shoulders squared a bit. He stood up straighter ... became taller. Still ... when he tossed it on the counter ... it didn't make a sound.
"Then he told me ... there’d be a young woman – a girl, really – coming in a day or two. He gave me her name ... told me where she'd be coming from and where she'd be off to. Then he started putting all of this on the counter and told me ... I was to give everything to her ....
"And now, today ... well, you're here; aren't you, Iris? You're from the East and going to Aldiara, which is exactly what he said. And you even asked me about weapons .... Are you sure you don't know who that gent was?"
"I swear; I've no idea! All I can suppose ... is he knows Rav-Pont; might have come here at his request." She dropped her gaze, paused, and wondered .... The man might not have come on Rav-Pont's behalf at all but, rather, on the insistence of the Golden .... "I'll grant you this much at least. Your story seems a bit odd ... even mysterious! Still, I'm not at all convinced that magic was involved."
"Oh? Not convinced?" He reached beneath the counter again and pulled a burlap sack into view. "This here is mine. The sack that gent had was ... a bit smaller, I'd say .... I've tried getting the two quivers in this sack; to keep them, at least, protected from all the smoke and dust 'round here. But ... only one will fit." He tossed the sack back under the counter ... leaned closer and, in a whisper ... he continued. "What you see before you now – everything! – came out of that empty sack of his. And ... there was one more item he left for you, Miss Iris." Surli reached beneath the counter one last time. When his hands came back into view, Iris realized this last item must be fairly small, for it was almost entirely hidden from view within the man's gentle grasp. He placed his hands on the counter and then, cautiously, pulled them away from the object.
Upon seeing the rectangular object that Surli revealed to her, Iris immediately recalled the key she had found in her pocket the previous day. Initially, she only sensed that the key might open the attractive, highly ornamental, wooden keepsake box ....
Then, seconds later ... she simply knew that it would!
She ... remembered.
She clutched it in both hands, lifted it slowly, and then pressed it firmly against her chest. "Perhaps the man who visited you ... is skilled in magic after all; for a remnant of something magical is visiting me at this very moment!"
"You've seen that before, haven't you?"
"I had ... almost forgotten; had forgotten! But now I remember it more clearly – and more dearly! – than I ought to admit." She placed it back on the counter .... "I had planned to bring it with me ... so I'd have at least one treasure from home during my journey .... " He remained silent as she quickly wiped a single tear from her cheek. "Perhaps ... you already understand." He nodded slightly. Several additional seconds elapsed before she reached into her pocket and pulled out the key ....
Iris inserted the key into the tiny, rectangular keyhole that was built into the center of the front panel, and then turned it several times. She pulled it back out of the lock and returned it to her pocket. Surli had imagined that a hinged spring mechanism would have caused the lid to lift open immediately. But it remained still, and Iris made no effort to raise it. Instead, she placed crossed arms upon the counter and rested her chin there while staring at the lovely object. And then Surli, who watched in silence while many seconds slowly evolved into several minutes, started to speak.
"Well, I sure don't .... "
"Shhh!"
Her eyes turned up to meet his, but the abrupt sternness with which she had silenced him was not at all visible upon her face .... She started whispering ... in a soothing tone.
"Think of this as a timepiece ... more akin to a clock; rather than as a locked box. It opens up only when the time is right ... and then, only if it's willing to do so. If anything touches it in the wrong way – or if ill-chosen words startle it – it will remain closed." She turned her gaze to the box again. "And if that happens ... it could be days, weeks, or even months before the key might be tried again!" Another minute passed .... "Yes ... any moment now."
Seconds later, the lid of the box started opening .... It had looked to [Surli] as though the lid were crafted from a single piece of beautifully stained wood, but eight distinct sections started lifting as though each had its own, separate hinge positioned along each of the four edges of the square box and affixed to the container's interior surfaces. The lid's sections were triangular, and their pointed tips slowly angled up and away from the very center of the top of the box .... By the time this peculiar opening process had finally reached its conclusion, it was as though a flower ... had bloomed before their eyes .... And then, softly, Iris gasped.
"What is it?" he asked. "Something wrong?"
"I'm not sure."
Inside the box was a small pouch of supple leather with a drawstring of thick, golden cord, and beneath that was a small envelope. Iris stood to her full height but continued staring into the box.
"I don't think anything's wrong, Surli. Still ... I know this was both locked and empty when I started my journey. And ... there's only the one key."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes ... quite certain." With some hesitation, Iris reached down and lifted the pouch by its short drawstring. "It's rather heavy." She shook it gently, and both she and Old Surli heard a muffled, jingling sound.
"Coins?" they asked each other in unison.
She untied the string, separated the gathered folds of leather, and glanced inside the pouch. Then, holding it just above the counter top, she gradually tilted the opening downward. Three small gold coins, and five larger ones of silver, poured out ....
"So much for the coin purse .... Now, for the envelope."
Iris looked at the envelope, which was face down, and studied the brittle, dark green splotch at the tip of the flap. A small emblem ... had been pressed into the sealing wax .... She studied the impression while slowly spinning the envelope ....
"Yes," she said assuringly. "Nothing's wrong."
Turning the face of the envelope toward her, she silently read the words written there. Then, she showed the writing to Old Surli.
"I know how to read and write, but I can't tell what's scribbled there!"
"It's not scribble! Actually ... it's my grandmother's native language."
"So ... what's it say?"
"It's ... for you," she said while extending her arm and offering the small envelope to Old Surli, "A note ... thanking you for your trouble."
"But ... I don't want any trouble!" he said while shaking his head repeatedly.
"I'll break the seal for you ... if you want," she offered ....
He neither argued nor agreed, but his head, gradually, became still once again. Working a forefinger beneath one edge of the flap, Iris pulled it against the wax and broke the seal. Pinching the creased ends of the small envelope toward each other, she opened the envelope further, looked inside ... and counted to herself. Then, after emptying its contents into her free hand, she formed a relaxed fist ....
"I believe you'd enjoy dealing with that man in green as a customer more often."
"What ... do you mean by that?"
"What I mean is ... " She jiggled her arm and hand in a friendly, inviting manner. " ... it seems he's not the sort of man ... " Slowly, Old Surli approached the counter again and reached out hesitantly; until his huge, opened palm was positioned directly beneath her tiny, closed fist. " ... to haggle over a price .... " And then, Iris opened her hand.
And the eight silver coins fell into Old Surli's palm. Last line of the new excerpt goes here ....
*******
Iris is about to begin her journey to the city of Aldiara. Prior to setting out, however, she must acquire many provisions. She also hopes to purchase an assortment of weapons, and she's been told that a blacksmith called Old Surli might be able to help her in that regard.
What follows is a significantly abridged rendition of what transpires between Iris and Old Surli. They've been speaking for a short while already, and he's just about to learn her name, where she's from and where she's going ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Thirteen: Old Surli's Place
*****************
"Yes ... you must be. Your name must be ... just a second, now. You'd be Urlana; right?"
"Urlana? No. My name's Iris."
"And you're setting out for … no; let me think. What's the name of that place? Out there to ... to the east."
"I hail from the East," she offered, "but I'm bound for Aldiara. Why are you asking me these questions?"
"Oh ... I'm not really asking questions ... I'm testing answers .... " Perplexed, Iris tilted her head and gave him a peculiar look through squinting eyes. "Yes, Miss Iris ... that's right. You have come to the right place."
Old Surli stooped low and out of view behind the high counter, and Iris heard him rummaging about. Seconds later, he stood up ... and Iris saw that he was holding a strung longbow of exquisite design .... He placed it down with care and stooped once again. When next he stood, his hands were grasping two identical quivers ... each containing no fewer than twenty arrows .... Several more times, the enormous man ducked out of view and presented additional items of similar quality and purpose to her ... a sword and sheath, a moderately sized axe, a small, round shield made of hard wood and bearing a heavy, metallic facing, two sets of archer's gloves, a wide belt of leather ....
"What’s this all about?" she asked.
"Actually ... I'd been hoping you might tell me."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I know nothing of this. Still, if you're in this business to make a profit ... then all we need to discuss is how much you want for these items."
"How much? I'd start out by asking for eight silvers; and then ... I'd hope the buyer wasn't the type to haggle. That's the sort of customer I'd prefer dealing with more often ... the kind with limited bargaining skills!"
"I'm afraid I don't have eight .... "
"Well, that would be the price ... that is, if I were to sell them."
"If? Then, you're not planning to sell these?"
"You really don't know anything of this; do you, Miss?" She shook her head slowly and remained silent. "Which means ... you know nothing of the gent who was here two days ago and gave me these things … who came here and told me you'd be coming for them?"
"No, I don’t. But ... do you refer to Rav-Pont? Did he give his name? He's rather old ... and he would have been wearing ... a robe of dark grey. Was it Rav-Pont?"
"Oh ... the man I speak of wasn't old .... He was wearing a long, hooded robe, though. It was made of a heavy fabric, but it was dark green in color; not grey! As to his name ... well, he never told me his name, and I didn't think to ask. And then, 'bout the time he was leaving; well ... I decided that asking his name wouldn't be proper!"
"Not proper? Why not?"
"One should never ask questions of those with magical abilities!"
"And what made you think this man had such skills?"
"For starters, it was the manner in which I first saw him. I was standing in this very spot, looking toward the door .... Then, there he was ... this man in green; just standing in the doorway! He hadn't come to the door from any direction ... he was just there of a sudden! Then, there was how he approached me. He ... sort of ... floated ... and came to the counter! And when he got here, I noticed a small burlap sack draped about his neck. It looked empty to me, but when he pulled it from his neck, his shoulders squared a bit. He stood up straighter ... became taller. Still ... when he tossed it on the counter ... it didn't make a sound.
"Then he told me ... there’d be a young woman – a girl, really – coming in a day or two. He gave me her name ... told me where she'd be coming from and where she'd be off to. Then he started putting all of this on the counter and told me ... I was to give everything to her ....
"And now, today ... well, you're here; aren't you, Iris? You're from the East and going to Aldiara, which is exactly what he said. And you even asked me about weapons .... Are you sure you don't know who that gent was?"
"I swear; I've no idea! All I can suppose ... is he knows Rav-Pont; might have come here at his request." She dropped her gaze, paused, and wondered .... The man might not have come on Rav-Pont's behalf at all but, rather, on the insistence of the Golden .... "I'll grant you this much at least. Your story seems a bit odd ... even mysterious! Still, I'm not at all convinced that magic was involved."
"Oh? Not convinced?" He reached beneath the counter again and pulled a burlap sack into view. "This here is mine. The sack that gent had was ... a bit smaller, I'd say .... I've tried getting the two quivers in this sack; to keep them, at least, protected from all the smoke and dust 'round here. But ... only one will fit." He tossed the sack back under the counter ... leaned closer and, in a whisper ... he continued. "What you see before you now – everything! – came out of that empty sack of his. And ... there was one more item he left for you, Miss Iris." Surli reached beneath the counter one last time. When his hands came back into view, Iris realized this last item must be fairly small, for it was almost entirely hidden from view within the man's gentle grasp. He placed his hands on the counter and then, cautiously, pulled them away from the object.
Upon seeing the rectangular object that Surli revealed to her, Iris immediately recalled the key she had found in her pocket the previous day. Initially, she only sensed that the key might open the attractive, highly ornamental, wooden keepsake box ....
Then, seconds later ... she simply knew that it would!
She ... remembered.
She clutched it in both hands, lifted it slowly, and then pressed it firmly against her chest. "Perhaps the man who visited you ... is skilled in magic after all; for a remnant of something magical is visiting me at this very moment!"
"You've seen that before, haven't you?"
"I had ... almost forgotten; had forgotten! But now I remember it more clearly – and more dearly! – than I ought to admit." She placed it back on the counter .... "I had planned to bring it with me ... so I'd have at least one treasure from home during my journey .... " He remained silent as she quickly wiped a single tear from her cheek. "Perhaps ... you already understand." He nodded slightly. Several additional seconds elapsed before she reached into her pocket and pulled out the key ....
Iris inserted the key into the tiny, rectangular keyhole that was built into the center of the front panel, and then turned it several times. She pulled it back out of the lock and returned it to her pocket. Surli had imagined that a hinged spring mechanism would have caused the lid to lift open immediately. But it remained still, and Iris made no effort to raise it. Instead, she placed crossed arms upon the counter and rested her chin there while staring at the lovely object. And then Surli, who watched in silence while many seconds slowly evolved into several minutes, started to speak.
"Well, I sure don't .... "
"Shhh!"
Her eyes turned up to meet his, but the abrupt sternness with which she had silenced him was not at all visible upon her face .... She started whispering ... in a soothing tone.
"Think of this as a timepiece ... more akin to a clock; rather than as a locked box. It opens up only when the time is right ... and then, only if it's willing to do so. If anything touches it in the wrong way – or if ill-chosen words startle it – it will remain closed." She turned her gaze to the box again. "And if that happens ... it could be days, weeks, or even months before the key might be tried again!" Another minute passed .... "Yes ... any moment now."
Seconds later, the lid of the box started opening .... It had looked to [Surli] as though the lid were crafted from a single piece of beautifully stained wood, but eight distinct sections started lifting as though each had its own, separate hinge positioned along each of the four edges of the square box and affixed to the container's interior surfaces. The lid's sections were triangular, and their pointed tips slowly angled up and away from the very center of the top of the box .... By the time this peculiar opening process had finally reached its conclusion, it was as though a flower ... had bloomed before their eyes .... And then, softly, Iris gasped.
"What is it?" he asked. "Something wrong?"
"I'm not sure."
Inside the box was a small pouch of supple leather with a drawstring of thick, golden cord, and beneath that was a small envelope. Iris stood to her full height but continued staring into the box.
"I don't think anything's wrong, Surli. Still ... I know this was both locked and empty when I started my journey. And ... there's only the one key."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes ... quite certain." With some hesitation, Iris reached down and lifted the pouch by its short drawstring. "It's rather heavy." She shook it gently, and both she and Old Surli heard a muffled, jingling sound.
"Coins?" they asked each other in unison.
She untied the string, separated the gathered folds of leather, and glanced inside the pouch. Then, holding it just above the counter top, she gradually tilted the opening downward. Three small gold coins, and five larger ones of silver, poured out ....
"So much for the coin purse .... Now, for the envelope."
Iris looked at the envelope, which was face down, and studied the brittle, dark green splotch at the tip of the flap. A small emblem ... had been pressed into the sealing wax .... She studied the impression while slowly spinning the envelope ....
"Yes," she said assuringly. "Nothing's wrong."
Turning the face of the envelope toward her, she silently read the words written there. Then, she showed the writing to Old Surli.
"I know how to read and write, but I can't tell what's scribbled there!"
"It's not scribble! Actually ... it's my grandmother's native language."
"So ... what's it say?"
"It's ... for you," she said while extending her arm and offering the small envelope to Old Surli, "A note ... thanking you for your trouble."
"But ... I don't want any trouble!" he said while shaking his head repeatedly.
"I'll break the seal for you ... if you want," she offered ....
He neither argued nor agreed, but his head, gradually, became still once again. Working a forefinger beneath one edge of the flap, Iris pulled it against the wax and broke the seal. Pinching the creased ends of the small envelope toward each other, she opened the envelope further, looked inside ... and counted to herself. Then, after emptying its contents into her free hand, she formed a relaxed fist ....
"I believe you'd enjoy dealing with that man in green as a customer more often."
"What ... do you mean by that?"
"What I mean is ... " She jiggled her arm and hand in a friendly, inviting manner. " ... it seems he's not the sort of man ... " Slowly, Old Surli approached the counter again and reached out hesitantly; until his huge, opened palm was positioned directly beneath her tiny, closed fist. " ... to haggle over a price .... " And then, Iris opened her hand.
And the eight silver coins fell into Old Surli's palm. Last line of the new excerpt goes here ....
*******
Last edited by gentle-giant on Mon Oct 16, 2006 5:57 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
-
gentle-giant
- Posts: 530
- Joined: Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:00 pm
- Location: a cave in lafayette, indiana
Excerpt 15 ... Parting Ways
Excerpt 15: At long last, Iris is departing Skanilas by wagon with Mason, who has offered her a ride for the first three leagues of her long journey to Aldiara. They've been traveling and conversing for some time already and Iris, unwilling to tell Mason the true purpose of her journey, has been less than honest. She has told Mason that she's going there on behalf of a "father" who hopes she might find his "children" ... NOT on behalf of a Golden who hopes she might retrieve his offspring ....
What follows is a slightly abridged rendition of how Mason comes to learn the truth ... and what transpires immediately thereafter ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Fourteen: Parting Ways
*****************
"Iris ... why are you disguising the truth?"
"Disguising the truth?"
"I mean ... it seems you're leaving something out. Something ... vital."
"What makes you say that?"
"Mostly, just how you've been talking. You've been searching for the right words to use when they should have come easily. And partly, it's having been a father; we tend to develop an ear for things of that sort."
Iris tugged at the drawstring to close the purse, placed it on her lap, and looped the available length of chord about her belt once again.
"You're right, you know ... I have been."
"May I know why?"
The answer she gave was spoken in a coarse, rapid whisper. "I didn't mean to disguise anything; or to lie to you ... if that's what you're thinking!" With the fingers of her right hand Iris grasped the folds of leather at the top of the purse, placed the back of her left hand on her upper thigh, and repeatedly slapped the pouch against her palm. Then, in a tone that begged his understanding, she added, "I really didn't."
"Then, why .... "
"It was something Surli said to me."
"Oh?" Mason looked toward her and observed her nervousness. "What did he say?"
"For one thing, that you're a good man. And that made me feel better about ... things. But there was something else. He ... warned me about something."
"A warning? About me?"
"He said I ought not to mention certain things to you." A final, firm flick of her wrist brought the purse slamming into her palm. "I shouldn't discuss anything dealing with ... the darker arts." Iris slid her left palm from beneath the purse and gathered the keepsake box in both hands. "I shouldn't refer to anything involving magic."
.... A lengthy silence ensued, and a minute later she turned to face him. He was looking in her direction, but not at her. He was gazing toward her lap ... toward her upper thighs. Even with Iris looking directly at him, he did not turn his head or lift his eyes.
"You're ... staring." Her words did nothing to deter him. "I wish you wouldn't stare at me that way!"
But Mason was not staring at Iris. He was staring at the purse resting on the uppermost portion of her left leg. He was studying something that Iris, perhaps, ought to have noticed earlier; when she had first discovered it inside the box at Old Surli's place.
But she had not noticed it.
The coin purse consisted of two pieces of leather. Its vertical side had been fashioned from a single, soft, pliable piece; designed for easy access to its contents. But its round base had been made from a thicker grade of hide more appropriate for supporting the weight of numerous coins. The round piece was a darker shade of brown than the former, and it was within the circular shape of that piece that Mason had noticed a large, dark discoloration. He was staring at that, and the more he studied it, the more he believed it to be more than just a simple stain ....
"Please ... stop!"
He continued staring. Then he pointed.
"May I see that?"
She studied the specific direction of the pointing gesture. "Oh ... the coin purse. You've been ...." Iris felt herself blushing. "Well, yes ... if you'll stop looking at it that way."
With some difficulty, Iris eventually freed the drawstring from her belt and then, while looking straight ahead, she thrust the small pouch in Mason's direction.
He accepted it while whispering his thanks and held it before his eyes. Spinning it somewhat, he detected a certain symmetry to the dark brown shape. He studied the pattern which was repeated to both the left and right from the vertical center of the design. Then, he spun the purse until what had been at the top was situated to the bottom ... and then let out a soft gasp while lowering his hand to his side. The purse rolled from Mason's hand and onto the bench seat. Iris picked it up and turned to face him again.
"What is it?"
"Look at it ... on the bottom there." She lifted it to her face and studied it. "I just learned what the something was; didn't I? That vital something you were leaving out of your story."
In a matter of seconds, Iris recognized the shape of the image that had been deliberately stained into the leather ....
It was the symbol of the Golden.
Iris ... admonished herself for not having noticed the emblem sooner. Mason must realize that such a mark could be a means of identifying the rightful owner. And if so, how could she explain its coming into her possession without admitting everything; without telling the truth? She was upset that Surli had ever issued his warning. After all, she did not know if he had spoken truthfully .... Certainly, none of this was the blacksmith's fault, but had he said nothing at all about magic or the Golden as a warning, she would have been honest with Mason from the start .... And even after that thought entered her mind, it was with much difficulty that Iris reached her decision ....
She decided to be honest.
"You're right. It's no use trying to hide it any longer. I was leaving out something ... vital."
"That symbol there." Mason shook a finger in the direction of the purse as Iris secured it to her belt again. "That's the shape of a Colored One in flight."
"Yes ... it is."
"That purse ... you didn't have it until you came out of Old Surli's." Mason stopped pointing and shook the reins while whistling sharply. "You got it there, but you didn't go there to get a coin purse. You didn't need one. And Surli wouldn't just give one to you; unless ... you were supposed to have it." Mason stopped speaking his own thoughts while struggling to maintain some semblance of continuity; more for his own sake than for hers. "Surli had it. He had everything somehow. He does little trade in weapons, but he had everything you had hoped to find. How did he know? Did someone tell him you'd be coming? Someone ... in league with this Colored One .... " He shook a finger toward the purse. "But this suggests .... " He dropped his hand to his lap. "All of this implies that you're in league with it, too."
"Yes."
... quite unexpectedly, Mason yanked hard on the reins. The team came to an abrupt stop and Blizzard whinnied in surprise. Several paces ahead, countless small birds took to flight from the safety of a long row of assorted bushes that had grown wild along the edge of the road ....
"You said the father lives beyond the Western Hills?" ... she nodded her head in a sheepish manner. "And the mother ... wanted their child to be born where she had been born?" She nodded again .... "But that's a trait of mostly wild, instinctive creatures." The remark was uttered in a loud, enraged tone. Then, while pointing at the purse, he shrieked. "That ... thing there; that's the father!"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, just as adamantly.
In a sudden display of uncontrolled emotion, Mason's chin dropped to his chest and he started sobbing. To Iris, the next several seconds lasted twice as many minutes. Very slowly, Mason's crying became softer; his sobbing, less frequent. When he spoke again his voice, though still loud, suggested diminishing anger.
"That's the Golden of the Western Hills; isn't it?"
"Yes."
"And ... you're helping it."
"I have to try!"
"Why? Why help that thing?"
"The Golden is not the thing you believe him to be. He's an intelligent creature ... every bit as caring and compassionate as I believe you to be."
"Caring?" Beneath the weeping, Iris detected a sarcastic chuckle.
"Yes. Caring." She leaned toward him and placed a hand on his knee. "I'm truly sorry about your loss, Mason ... the deaths of your wife and daughter." Iris leaned closer to him and placed her palm against the center of his breast. "I know you want more, but the only way you can visit them now ... is by using this."
In a sudden outburst of emotion, Mason snapped his head back, glared at the clear sky, and screamed. "But she's all I've got!" Iris pushed down hard against his chest. She could feel the rapid pounding of his struggling heart. Moments later and just as suddenly as before, his head slumped forward again, and he whimpered. "All I had."
"Don't you let it break, Mason! If that breaks, you won't be able to remember any of the pleasures you once had ... only the sorrows you now have!"
"Iris ... please."
He said no more and moved not at all, but she knew the meaning of his plea. She pulled her hand away from his chest and sat more upright.
"Mason; I want you to try to understand something. I know what you're feeling, and in many ways the Golden feels much the same." He turned toward her slightly and she continued. "The one he loved, his mate, has been killed. Their children, if any survived, have been stolen away. He feels no hope. Yet, there is hope; however slight it might be .... " Mason remained silent, but it seemed to Iris that he was about to cry again. She turned her gaze toward his knees. "And I know, Mason. Those you loved can never return; not in a physical way. But, if there were any way for them to come back to you ... "
"You believe you know, but you don't ... understand." Mason's voice was becoming softer with every spoken word. "You can't. Because you don't ... you simply don't know how .... "
Iris waited several seconds but he said no more .... She suspected he had been trying to confront certain feelings on his own for such a long time already that he was no longer facing them at all; he was eluding them. And by doing that, he was letting them win some prolonged, internal struggle. She urged him on ....
"What? Mason ... what don't I know?"
When Mason finally answered her question, he did not turn to Iris but continued looking straight ahead. The raspy, growling tone of his voice contradicted the blank stare of his eyes.
"You spoke earlier of caring ... compassion."
"Yes."
"Now, let me speak of the other side of that beast! How it's dominated us, threatened us ... and acted on those threats. You know nothing of what's done ... what must be done to appease it. Or how it's responsible for my ... that she .... Oh, Iris! You don't know ... how she died!"
Mason lifted his head as if to proclaim some curse upon the sky itself. But no discernible words were uttered. Instead, a prolonged, sharp wailing sound penetrated the air, spreading out in every direction at once and in no specific direction at all.
Mason's head slumped to his chest once more and he started crying again .... Several minutes passed. His loud crying became quiet, steady sobs, and they, in turn, became intermittent, nearly silent whimpers. Then, after lifting each arm in turn and wiping at his eyes and cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt, even the whimpering stopped.
It was only then that Mason could bring himself to face Iris again.
"Iris ... that caring, compassionate Golden you speak of in such a favorable way ... the creature you intend to help in such an admirable manner; that's the very thing that killed my daughter .... "
Looking ahead once again, Mason let out a sharp whistle, shook the reins, and urged the team forward ....
*******
What follows is a slightly abridged rendition of how Mason comes to learn the truth ... and what transpires immediately thereafter ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Chapter Fourteen: Parting Ways
*****************
"Iris ... why are you disguising the truth?"
"Disguising the truth?"
"I mean ... it seems you're leaving something out. Something ... vital."
"What makes you say that?"
"Mostly, just how you've been talking. You've been searching for the right words to use when they should have come easily. And partly, it's having been a father; we tend to develop an ear for things of that sort."
Iris tugged at the drawstring to close the purse, placed it on her lap, and looped the available length of chord about her belt once again.
"You're right, you know ... I have been."
"May I know why?"
The answer she gave was spoken in a coarse, rapid whisper. "I didn't mean to disguise anything; or to lie to you ... if that's what you're thinking!" With the fingers of her right hand Iris grasped the folds of leather at the top of the purse, placed the back of her left hand on her upper thigh, and repeatedly slapped the pouch against her palm. Then, in a tone that begged his understanding, she added, "I really didn't."
"Then, why .... "
"It was something Surli said to me."
"Oh?" Mason looked toward her and observed her nervousness. "What did he say?"
"For one thing, that you're a good man. And that made me feel better about ... things. But there was something else. He ... warned me about something."
"A warning? About me?"
"He said I ought not to mention certain things to you." A final, firm flick of her wrist brought the purse slamming into her palm. "I shouldn't discuss anything dealing with ... the darker arts." Iris slid her left palm from beneath the purse and gathered the keepsake box in both hands. "I shouldn't refer to anything involving magic."
.... A lengthy silence ensued, and a minute later she turned to face him. He was looking in her direction, but not at her. He was gazing toward her lap ... toward her upper thighs. Even with Iris looking directly at him, he did not turn his head or lift his eyes.
"You're ... staring." Her words did nothing to deter him. "I wish you wouldn't stare at me that way!"
But Mason was not staring at Iris. He was staring at the purse resting on the uppermost portion of her left leg. He was studying something that Iris, perhaps, ought to have noticed earlier; when she had first discovered it inside the box at Old Surli's place.
But she had not noticed it.
The coin purse consisted of two pieces of leather. Its vertical side had been fashioned from a single, soft, pliable piece; designed for easy access to its contents. But its round base had been made from a thicker grade of hide more appropriate for supporting the weight of numerous coins. The round piece was a darker shade of brown than the former, and it was within the circular shape of that piece that Mason had noticed a large, dark discoloration. He was staring at that, and the more he studied it, the more he believed it to be more than just a simple stain ....
"Please ... stop!"
He continued staring. Then he pointed.
"May I see that?"
She studied the specific direction of the pointing gesture. "Oh ... the coin purse. You've been ...." Iris felt herself blushing. "Well, yes ... if you'll stop looking at it that way."
With some difficulty, Iris eventually freed the drawstring from her belt and then, while looking straight ahead, she thrust the small pouch in Mason's direction.
He accepted it while whispering his thanks and held it before his eyes. Spinning it somewhat, he detected a certain symmetry to the dark brown shape. He studied the pattern which was repeated to both the left and right from the vertical center of the design. Then, he spun the purse until what had been at the top was situated to the bottom ... and then let out a soft gasp while lowering his hand to his side. The purse rolled from Mason's hand and onto the bench seat. Iris picked it up and turned to face him again.
"What is it?"
"Look at it ... on the bottom there." She lifted it to her face and studied it. "I just learned what the something was; didn't I? That vital something you were leaving out of your story."
In a matter of seconds, Iris recognized the shape of the image that had been deliberately stained into the leather ....
It was the symbol of the Golden.
Iris ... admonished herself for not having noticed the emblem sooner. Mason must realize that such a mark could be a means of identifying the rightful owner. And if so, how could she explain its coming into her possession without admitting everything; without telling the truth? She was upset that Surli had ever issued his warning. After all, she did not know if he had spoken truthfully .... Certainly, none of this was the blacksmith's fault, but had he said nothing at all about magic or the Golden as a warning, she would have been honest with Mason from the start .... And even after that thought entered her mind, it was with much difficulty that Iris reached her decision ....
She decided to be honest.
"You're right. It's no use trying to hide it any longer. I was leaving out something ... vital."
"That symbol there." Mason shook a finger in the direction of the purse as Iris secured it to her belt again. "That's the shape of a Colored One in flight."
"Yes ... it is."
"That purse ... you didn't have it until you came out of Old Surli's." Mason stopped pointing and shook the reins while whistling sharply. "You got it there, but you didn't go there to get a coin purse. You didn't need one. And Surli wouldn't just give one to you; unless ... you were supposed to have it." Mason stopped speaking his own thoughts while struggling to maintain some semblance of continuity; more for his own sake than for hers. "Surli had it. He had everything somehow. He does little trade in weapons, but he had everything you had hoped to find. How did he know? Did someone tell him you'd be coming? Someone ... in league with this Colored One .... " He shook a finger toward the purse. "But this suggests .... " He dropped his hand to his lap. "All of this implies that you're in league with it, too."
"Yes."
... quite unexpectedly, Mason yanked hard on the reins. The team came to an abrupt stop and Blizzard whinnied in surprise. Several paces ahead, countless small birds took to flight from the safety of a long row of assorted bushes that had grown wild along the edge of the road ....
"You said the father lives beyond the Western Hills?" ... she nodded her head in a sheepish manner. "And the mother ... wanted their child to be born where she had been born?" She nodded again .... "But that's a trait of mostly wild, instinctive creatures." The remark was uttered in a loud, enraged tone. Then, while pointing at the purse, he shrieked. "That ... thing there; that's the father!"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, just as adamantly.
In a sudden display of uncontrolled emotion, Mason's chin dropped to his chest and he started sobbing. To Iris, the next several seconds lasted twice as many minutes. Very slowly, Mason's crying became softer; his sobbing, less frequent. When he spoke again his voice, though still loud, suggested diminishing anger.
"That's the Golden of the Western Hills; isn't it?"
"Yes."
"And ... you're helping it."
"I have to try!"
"Why? Why help that thing?"
"The Golden is not the thing you believe him to be. He's an intelligent creature ... every bit as caring and compassionate as I believe you to be."
"Caring?" Beneath the weeping, Iris detected a sarcastic chuckle.
"Yes. Caring." She leaned toward him and placed a hand on his knee. "I'm truly sorry about your loss, Mason ... the deaths of your wife and daughter." Iris leaned closer to him and placed her palm against the center of his breast. "I know you want more, but the only way you can visit them now ... is by using this."
In a sudden outburst of emotion, Mason snapped his head back, glared at the clear sky, and screamed. "But she's all I've got!" Iris pushed down hard against his chest. She could feel the rapid pounding of his struggling heart. Moments later and just as suddenly as before, his head slumped forward again, and he whimpered. "All I had."
"Don't you let it break, Mason! If that breaks, you won't be able to remember any of the pleasures you once had ... only the sorrows you now have!"
"Iris ... please."
He said no more and moved not at all, but she knew the meaning of his plea. She pulled her hand away from his chest and sat more upright.
"Mason; I want you to try to understand something. I know what you're feeling, and in many ways the Golden feels much the same." He turned toward her slightly and she continued. "The one he loved, his mate, has been killed. Their children, if any survived, have been stolen away. He feels no hope. Yet, there is hope; however slight it might be .... " Mason remained silent, but it seemed to Iris that he was about to cry again. She turned her gaze toward his knees. "And I know, Mason. Those you loved can never return; not in a physical way. But, if there were any way for them to come back to you ... "
"You believe you know, but you don't ... understand." Mason's voice was becoming softer with every spoken word. "You can't. Because you don't ... you simply don't know how .... "
Iris waited several seconds but he said no more .... She suspected he had been trying to confront certain feelings on his own for such a long time already that he was no longer facing them at all; he was eluding them. And by doing that, he was letting them win some prolonged, internal struggle. She urged him on ....
"What? Mason ... what don't I know?"
When Mason finally answered her question, he did not turn to Iris but continued looking straight ahead. The raspy, growling tone of his voice contradicted the blank stare of his eyes.
"You spoke earlier of caring ... compassion."
"Yes."
"Now, let me speak of the other side of that beast! How it's dominated us, threatened us ... and acted on those threats. You know nothing of what's done ... what must be done to appease it. Or how it's responsible for my ... that she .... Oh, Iris! You don't know ... how she died!"
Mason lifted his head as if to proclaim some curse upon the sky itself. But no discernible words were uttered. Instead, a prolonged, sharp wailing sound penetrated the air, spreading out in every direction at once and in no specific direction at all.
Mason's head slumped to his chest once more and he started crying again .... Several minutes passed. His loud crying became quiet, steady sobs, and they, in turn, became intermittent, nearly silent whimpers. Then, after lifting each arm in turn and wiping at his eyes and cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt, even the whimpering stopped.
It was only then that Mason could bring himself to face Iris again.
"Iris ... that caring, compassionate Golden you speak of in such a favorable way ... the creature you intend to help in such an admirable manner; that's the very thing that killed my daughter .... "
Looking ahead once again, Mason let out a sharp whistle, shook the reins, and urged the team forward ....
*******
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
-
gentle-giant
- Posts: 530
- Joined: Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:00 pm
- Location: a cave in lafayette, indiana
Excerpt 16 ... Pondering
Excerpt 16: Despite having just had something of an argument, Iris and Mason continue together by wagon for some distance. Then, somewhat to Iris' surprise, Mason holds true to his earlier suggestion – contained in chapter fourteen but not included in the above excerpt – that she borrow Blizzard, Heather's horse, for the long journey to Aldiara.
What follows is a slightly abridged rendition of the start of Iris and Blizzard's journey together ... starting at about mid-morning on the day after Iris and Mason parted ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Sixth Entr'acte: Pondering
*****************
... she had reached and passed through one small village, and it was only after being in the open country again that she realized something; something was bothering her.
Throughout this entire morning, she had not yet thought of Mason.
Then, she found that she could not stop thinking of him.
And that bothered her even more.
Iris decided she must push all thought of him from her mind, for such pondering might cause her to experience a relapse of emotional turmoil .... So, she cast all thought of Mason aside and encouraged herself to accept the fact that the previous day had been the end of their journey together.
It was on this day that her own journey was beginning.
About one hour past the village, being confident that Blizzard, also, would appreciate a lengthy break, she dismounted and led him a short distance to the east; in among the rolling hills and well away from the road.
He knew exactly what to do and lowered his head accordingly.
And she knew what to do. She lifted the bow from about her neck and head, pulled a single arrow from a quiver, positioned its feathered end against the string, and started stalking about in the calf-high grass. Twenty minutes and five shots later, Iris had acquired three rabbits ....
After leading Blizzard back to the road and continuing to the northwest for a while, Iris decided to hurry the pace. Incrementally, she urged the horse from a slow walk to a full trot. But within five minutes of attaining that speed, Iris detected a moderate limp in the horse's gait. She eased him back to a leisurely pace ... and assured him that she wouldn't push him so hard in the future.
After all, Iris was pleased with the distance being covered that day.
Then, looking well ahead, she wondered how much progress might be made on the next.
She had just noticed an imposing, topographical feature before her, and she started studying it.
In the course of countless millennia, an enormous, formerly subterranean feature at least one league in width and dozens of leagues in length had been pushed upward at [ an ] angle from the gently rolling grassland .... At its closest point, it was still several leagues in the distance. But its [ ridge ] formed nearly half of the entire horizon; from slightly east of due north to the southwest. Its surface area appeared as a long, [ moderate ] incline, but she imagined there would be more to conquering such terrain than simply climbing a gradual slope.
Still, to bypass the enormous landmark would add days to her journey.
She must ask about a way over it.
Iris and Blizzard had already covered nearly five leagues that day when they reached the town of Skandara by mid-afternoon. She asked several individuals about the feature, and all assured her that it could be crossed. And then she found a man who explained how she ... could find the one trail that would lead her into the valley on the other side. That same man told her the landmark was known by two names ...
... the expansive, sloping slab of rock itself was called the Kadtherilian Rise ...
... but the rise's [ ridge ] – the entire, thirty-league length of rocky terrain that delineated that slab's highest points – was known as the Skandaran Crest.
Then, to help Iris appreciate the landmark's magnitude more completely, he offered her additional information .... Six leagues – at least! – would need to be traversed to reach the crest and, upon doing so, a vertical distance of more than four thousand feet will have been climbed.
But yes, he assured her ... it could be crossed.
Iris and Blizzard left Skandara and traveled another league. Upon crossing a wide, shallow stream, Iris made camp. She cooked the three rabbits and ate her meal before studying the Kadtherilian Rise any further. Its base was still more than half a league distant, but she could see that the slope would prove most challenging ....
An early start would be imperative and she must rest. Still, Iris observed the silent onslaught of nightfall for a while. Indistinct greys and blacks closed in on her while countless stars shimmered overhead. Then, while scanning the horizon, she noticed a faint flicker; an orange glow some distance to the south. She wondered about that for a while. Another campfire, she decided soon enough.
Iris made herself comfortable upon the bedroll.
She pulled the blanket about her shoulders.
Yes ... just someone else ... traveling ....
*******
It was Blizzard who woke up first. As though realizing that she wanted to get an early start, he nudged her shoulders as gently as possible with the tip of his massive nose. Iris was startled initially, but ... she greeted him in a soothing tone.
Yes; time to get up.
She permitted herself little time for breakfast ... and continued her journey; to the north at first, and then toward the northwest.
The distance from her camp to the base of the Kadtherilian Rise was covered with minimal difficulty. A narrow trail comprised of smooth, packed dirt and minimal vegetation led the pair toward the slope. For quite some time, Iris was fooled by a type of optical illusion which suggested they were getting no closer to its base at all. She kept wondering ... how much longer might it be until they would be upon it? Then, when they finally did reach the surprisingly well-defined border that the base of the rise shared with its neighboring grassland, the trail simply ended .... They had reached the base of the landmark, and her question was ultimately answered.
They were not upon it at all.
Rather, it was the Kadtherilian Rise that was upon them!
Its surface was primarily sedimentary rock which ranged in color from light brown to dull orange and was intermittently blanketed by small, shallow areas of sand or dirt. Intermittent clumps of tall, thick grass had established themselves within the more hospitable patches of soil, as had numerous clumps of broad, leafy weeds and tall thistles. There were also occasional gravelly patches which featured smooth, rounded rocks .... Still other and much larger regions featured flat pieces of loose stone that had peeled from the slab's surface and had slid to their current places of repose .... And, here and there, assorted, hearty varieties of conifers had managed to take root and prosper from within the tight embrace of the gigantic slab's numerous shallow cracks and crevices.
[ Already ] , Iris had established that merely the general slope of the Kadtherilian Rise would prove to be a challenge.
Now, she realized that each and every step along the way might be a challenge as well.
She urged Blizzard ahead ... and up ....
Within minutes, Iris gave up trying to count how many times Blizzard had nearly lost his balance .... Many times, Iris believed he would tumble to the ground, and, following one particularly frightening moment, she decided it would be safer to lead him by hand for some distance.
She did so until late-morning; when she decided they both needed a lengthy rest.
Iris filled her large, deep plate with water and watched with satisfaction as Blizzard wasted no time in accepting the refreshment and consuming every drop. She drank a bit herself, and then offered an additional but lesser serving to him. She looked in the general direction whence they had come. The trees, though hearty, were rather sparse and short, and she could make out the irregular shape of Skandara nearly two leagues to the southeast and more than one thousand feet below ....
Upon continuing, Iris rode Blizzard again for a while. It seemed to Iris that he had become somewhat familiar with the terrain and had gotten better at recognizing the more stable footings. Still, less than an hour passed before Iris decided to offer him another drink and short rest. And it was during that time that Iris decided she would not ride Blizzard anymore that day. Iris realized that yet another obstacle had made its presence known ....
Iris could feel [ the ] heat through the soles of her boots within minutes of dismounting. To her bare hands, the rocky surfaces subjected to the sun's direct rays became most uncomfortable to the touch within only a few seconds .... She could only imagine how much Blizzard might be suffering already.
Then, she tried not to think about it.
So, for the remainder of the climb, Iris led Blizzard by hand. She permitted no time for a meal, opting instead for frequent stops which always involved her offering Blizzard some water. For these rests, whenever possible, she chose areas shaded either by some tree or any large boulder or outcrop she happened to see along their way. It seemed to Iris that this strategy paid off toward the end .... And in the end, they reached that day's destination less than thirty minutes before sunset.
They had made the Skandaran Crest.
Only then did she consider more of what the man had said. It would have to be an exceptionally clear day to see what he had described. And so, for the first time in several hours, a slight smile crossed her lips as she gazed before her. He had said to look for two prominent buttes just south of due west ... and then locate a singular, massive mountain on the horizon. She was to imagine a line connecting the mountain's peak with the Skandaran Crest, and to find an area along its ridge where that line divided the gap between the two buttes in half. There, she would find a trail.
Upon spotting the three landmarks, Iris led Blizzard along the irregular but relatively level surface of the crest toward the south. Fifteen minutes later, she reached a point that met the man's criteria and, with less difficulty than anticipated, Iris found a pathway.
He had said it would lead into a wide, river valley.
He ought to have said it would lead down an immense, rocky cliff.
She could only guess at the height of the Skandaran Crest in relation to the valley far below. Five thousand feet, she thought ... perhaps more. Then, lifting her gaze to the northwest, she surveyed the broad valley and spotted the river glistening in the fading sunlight. She estimated it to be ten leagues from the craggy face of the Kadtherilian Rise .... That was the next available source of water, and two of her water skins were already empty.
The sun dipped below the horizon.
The smile faded from her face.
Less than an hour after sunset, she had finished eating her meal and had given Blizzard all the oats he seemed willing to consume, as well as a generous ration of water .... Then, some distance to the east and well below her, she saw it; the familiar, orange glow of a campfire. After ensuring that Blizzard was still properly secured, she silently approached the source of light. She descended the rise for several minutes, neared to within fifty paces of the blaze, and studied the situation.
There were three men seated about the small fire.
The idea that they were camping there did not upset her, but several things bothered her, nonetheless. They were being both louder and happier than one might expect people to be when in the wild. They appeared to be consuming some intoxicating beverage. It probably had been their campfire she had seen the previous night. If so, they had gained considerable ground on her throughout the day. They might be seeking the same trail she had already found. And if that were true, it was very possible they would be catching up with her along the trail sometime the following day.
And Iris wasn't sure she wanted that to happen at all.
*******
What follows is a slightly abridged rendition of the start of Iris and Blizzard's journey together ... starting at about mid-morning on the day after Iris and Mason parted ....
*****************
THE FAVOR OF THE SPEAKING GOLDEN
( Being the First Adventure of Iris )
Sixth Entr'acte: Pondering
*****************
... she had reached and passed through one small village, and it was only after being in the open country again that she realized something; something was bothering her.
Throughout this entire morning, she had not yet thought of Mason.
Then, she found that she could not stop thinking of him.
And that bothered her even more.
Iris decided she must push all thought of him from her mind, for such pondering might cause her to experience a relapse of emotional turmoil .... So, she cast all thought of Mason aside and encouraged herself to accept the fact that the previous day had been the end of their journey together.
It was on this day that her own journey was beginning.
About one hour past the village, being confident that Blizzard, also, would appreciate a lengthy break, she dismounted and led him a short distance to the east; in among the rolling hills and well away from the road.
He knew exactly what to do and lowered his head accordingly.
And she knew what to do. She lifted the bow from about her neck and head, pulled a single arrow from a quiver, positioned its feathered end against the string, and started stalking about in the calf-high grass. Twenty minutes and five shots later, Iris had acquired three rabbits ....
After leading Blizzard back to the road and continuing to the northwest for a while, Iris decided to hurry the pace. Incrementally, she urged the horse from a slow walk to a full trot. But within five minutes of attaining that speed, Iris detected a moderate limp in the horse's gait. She eased him back to a leisurely pace ... and assured him that she wouldn't push him so hard in the future.
After all, Iris was pleased with the distance being covered that day.
Then, looking well ahead, she wondered how much progress might be made on the next.
She had just noticed an imposing, topographical feature before her, and she started studying it.
In the course of countless millennia, an enormous, formerly subterranean feature at least one league in width and dozens of leagues in length had been pushed upward at [ an ] angle from the gently rolling grassland .... At its closest point, it was still several leagues in the distance. But its [ ridge ] formed nearly half of the entire horizon; from slightly east of due north to the southwest. Its surface area appeared as a long, [ moderate ] incline, but she imagined there would be more to conquering such terrain than simply climbing a gradual slope.
Still, to bypass the enormous landmark would add days to her journey.
She must ask about a way over it.
Iris and Blizzard had already covered nearly five leagues that day when they reached the town of Skandara by mid-afternoon. She asked several individuals about the feature, and all assured her that it could be crossed. And then she found a man who explained how she ... could find the one trail that would lead her into the valley on the other side. That same man told her the landmark was known by two names ...
... the expansive, sloping slab of rock itself was called the Kadtherilian Rise ...
... but the rise's [ ridge ] – the entire, thirty-league length of rocky terrain that delineated that slab's highest points – was known as the Skandaran Crest.
Then, to help Iris appreciate the landmark's magnitude more completely, he offered her additional information .... Six leagues – at least! – would need to be traversed to reach the crest and, upon doing so, a vertical distance of more than four thousand feet will have been climbed.
But yes, he assured her ... it could be crossed.
Iris and Blizzard left Skandara and traveled another league. Upon crossing a wide, shallow stream, Iris made camp. She cooked the three rabbits and ate her meal before studying the Kadtherilian Rise any further. Its base was still more than half a league distant, but she could see that the slope would prove most challenging ....
An early start would be imperative and she must rest. Still, Iris observed the silent onslaught of nightfall for a while. Indistinct greys and blacks closed in on her while countless stars shimmered overhead. Then, while scanning the horizon, she noticed a faint flicker; an orange glow some distance to the south. She wondered about that for a while. Another campfire, she decided soon enough.
Iris made herself comfortable upon the bedroll.
She pulled the blanket about her shoulders.
Yes ... just someone else ... traveling ....
*******
It was Blizzard who woke up first. As though realizing that she wanted to get an early start, he nudged her shoulders as gently as possible with the tip of his massive nose. Iris was startled initially, but ... she greeted him in a soothing tone.
Yes; time to get up.
She permitted herself little time for breakfast ... and continued her journey; to the north at first, and then toward the northwest.
The distance from her camp to the base of the Kadtherilian Rise was covered with minimal difficulty. A narrow trail comprised of smooth, packed dirt and minimal vegetation led the pair toward the slope. For quite some time, Iris was fooled by a type of optical illusion which suggested they were getting no closer to its base at all. She kept wondering ... how much longer might it be until they would be upon it? Then, when they finally did reach the surprisingly well-defined border that the base of the rise shared with its neighboring grassland, the trail simply ended .... They had reached the base of the landmark, and her question was ultimately answered.
They were not upon it at all.
Rather, it was the Kadtherilian Rise that was upon them!
Its surface was primarily sedimentary rock which ranged in color from light brown to dull orange and was intermittently blanketed by small, shallow areas of sand or dirt. Intermittent clumps of tall, thick grass had established themselves within the more hospitable patches of soil, as had numerous clumps of broad, leafy weeds and tall thistles. There were also occasional gravelly patches which featured smooth, rounded rocks .... Still other and much larger regions featured flat pieces of loose stone that had peeled from the slab's surface and had slid to their current places of repose .... And, here and there, assorted, hearty varieties of conifers had managed to take root and prosper from within the tight embrace of the gigantic slab's numerous shallow cracks and crevices.
[ Already ] , Iris had established that merely the general slope of the Kadtherilian Rise would prove to be a challenge.
Now, she realized that each and every step along the way might be a challenge as well.
She urged Blizzard ahead ... and up ....
Within minutes, Iris gave up trying to count how many times Blizzard had nearly lost his balance .... Many times, Iris believed he would tumble to the ground, and, following one particularly frightening moment, she decided it would be safer to lead him by hand for some distance.
She did so until late-morning; when she decided they both needed a lengthy rest.
Iris filled her large, deep plate with water and watched with satisfaction as Blizzard wasted no time in accepting the refreshment and consuming every drop. She drank a bit herself, and then offered an additional but lesser serving to him. She looked in the general direction whence they had come. The trees, though hearty, were rather sparse and short, and she could make out the irregular shape of Skandara nearly two leagues to the southeast and more than one thousand feet below ....
Upon continuing, Iris rode Blizzard again for a while. It seemed to Iris that he had become somewhat familiar with the terrain and had gotten better at recognizing the more stable footings. Still, less than an hour passed before Iris decided to offer him another drink and short rest. And it was during that time that Iris decided she would not ride Blizzard anymore that day. Iris realized that yet another obstacle had made its presence known ....
Iris could feel [ the ] heat through the soles of her boots within minutes of dismounting. To her bare hands, the rocky surfaces subjected to the sun's direct rays became most uncomfortable to the touch within only a few seconds .... She could only imagine how much Blizzard might be suffering already.
Then, she tried not to think about it.
So, for the remainder of the climb, Iris led Blizzard by hand. She permitted no time for a meal, opting instead for frequent stops which always involved her offering Blizzard some water. For these rests, whenever possible, she chose areas shaded either by some tree or any large boulder or outcrop she happened to see along their way. It seemed to Iris that this strategy paid off toward the end .... And in the end, they reached that day's destination less than thirty minutes before sunset.
They had made the Skandaran Crest.
Only then did she consider more of what the man had said. It would have to be an exceptionally clear day to see what he had described. And so, for the first time in several hours, a slight smile crossed her lips as she gazed before her. He had said to look for two prominent buttes just south of due west ... and then locate a singular, massive mountain on the horizon. She was to imagine a line connecting the mountain's peak with the Skandaran Crest, and to find an area along its ridge where that line divided the gap between the two buttes in half. There, she would find a trail.
Upon spotting the three landmarks, Iris led Blizzard along the irregular but relatively level surface of the crest toward the south. Fifteen minutes later, she reached a point that met the man's criteria and, with less difficulty than anticipated, Iris found a pathway.
He had said it would lead into a wide, river valley.
He ought to have said it would lead down an immense, rocky cliff.
She could only guess at the height of the Skandaran Crest in relation to the valley far below. Five thousand feet, she thought ... perhaps more. Then, lifting her gaze to the northwest, she surveyed the broad valley and spotted the river glistening in the fading sunlight. She estimated it to be ten leagues from the craggy face of the Kadtherilian Rise .... That was the next available source of water, and two of her water skins were already empty.
The sun dipped below the horizon.
The smile faded from her face.
Less than an hour after sunset, she had finished eating her meal and had given Blizzard all the oats he seemed willing to consume, as well as a generous ration of water .... Then, some distance to the east and well below her, she saw it; the familiar, orange glow of a campfire. After ensuring that Blizzard was still properly secured, she silently approached the source of light. She descended the rise for several minutes, neared to within fifty paces of the blaze, and studied the situation.
There were three men seated about the small fire.
The idea that they were camping there did not upset her, but several things bothered her, nonetheless. They were being both louder and happier than one might expect people to be when in the wild. They appeared to be consuming some intoxicating beverage. It probably had been their campfire she had seen the previous night. If so, they had gained considerable ground on her throughout the day. They might be seeking the same trail she had already found. And if that were true, it was very possible they would be catching up with her along the trail sometime the following day.
And Iris wasn't sure she wanted that to happen at all.
*******
Vayn ... to Iris:
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."
"Do I think you mad? No, merely...obsessed. Still, ofttimes...the path leading from obsession to madness is both short and true."