Some Old Tales 5

I wrote this years ago to satisfy some needs in myself and others .

It seems time to repeat some stories from long ago.

So I remember the stories ....

The priest sighed and ran his right hand over his stubbled head. He stared upward at the ceiling a moment further and then directed his glance back down to what lay before him. He squinted in the lamplight and sighed again. "Damn this new thing!" he thought as he picked up the papyrus and looked more closely at it.

"Still, study I must ... record I must ... too much rests on this time for any but the unnoticed to be left to the winds of memory" he picked up the quill again and began to write carefully in the new script that he was even now experiencing difficulties with. The scratching sound was the only sound and the outer darkness seemed to threaten the tiny lamplight of his mud brick room.

The priest shivered slightly at a gentle breeze and pulled his robes over his shoulder. Winter (such as it was) would arrive soon and he was sure to feel it keenly this year. It was, more or less, at this point that he felt the skin on the back of his neck begin to crawl. He glanced up to his right and squinted at the encroaching darkness irritably.

"Who is there? Who interrupts me? Can you not see that it is late and I am busy?" The darkness rippled in answer and a figure appeared.

It was a bearded man in long black robes, floating in mid air. His hair was as long as those of without the city - those who still dwelt in the wilds and his face was bearded with an unkempt look.

The priest's jaw tightened, but he stared still and remained motionless. "Yes?! Well? What do you want? Why are you here? I have not summoned you! Begone!"

The figure regarded him uncertainly for a moment and then began to speak in a strange language - one he had never heard before yet still could understand. He cursed under his breath, it seemed that even spirits had no respect anymore.

"Priest. Heed me. Well do I know you plans for the future and these you must lay aside. Much depends on this."

The priests eyes narrowed and he frowned irritably. "Do I not have enough to do? I train the novices, I run the rites, I watch the work and record the progress and now I am to be interrupted by the capricious spirits of night as well? Begone!"

The priest made the warding sign against impure entities and muttered the charm under his breath. He flicked his hand at the intruder and a look of dawning shock was the last thing that the priest saw on the intruder's face as the apparition vanished.

Elsewhere, far in the future, the Mage cursed as he shuddered and looked around at his room. "Damn!" he cursed as he recognized his old room in Brisbane. "Miserable Old Bastard! I nearly had him too!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and reclosed his eyes and began humming. He began to sway on his mattress.

The vision of his room behind his eyelids gave way to the redblack and then deep misty black of the "Inbetween" and he began to refocus his mind at the past. A vague sensation of movement gripped him, a feeling of sudden retreat and a cavalcade of images flicked through his mind. Suddenly, in the distance he again saw the small room with it's bald sparrow like priest at his desk.

"Oh gods! What now? Why do you plague me this time?" Demanded the priest in a raspy voice (this time not even looking up).

"Heed me well Priest! I come from your own future to warn you of a terrible mistake."

"Yes, yes certainly ..... of course; a mistake" the old man trailed off waving a hand airily. "Well, I might remind you that I am the Head Priest and I have done my duties with care and precision - a state of affairs that is not about to change. Therefore, whoever you are I will care to inform you that your opinions are of no consequence." and again the priest began to make the warding sign.

The figure's face darkened and he snarled. the candle flame guttered and the priest looked up angrily. As he did so he saw the apparition's face contort in rage. The shadows of the room seemed to coalesce and play across it's features and blend to it's form - large teeth protruded from it's face and it's eyes glinted menacingly. The shadows on it's robes fluttered and then expanded to form large black wings that sprouted from his robes and filled the room.

"Oh really! How childish you are!" The Old Man snapped. "Is THIS all you have to impress me with? I am Head Priest of the Temple - beloved of the Father and am quite capable of all this and more; as my name and title implies!" He flicked the warding sign again, this time with a look of contempt, repeated the charm and spat on the ground as the figure struggled slightly and then was gone. "Now begone and remain gone!" he snapped at the empty air.

The Mage found himself again standing in the mists of the "Inbetween". He stood, rubbed his eyes and sighed angrily "Well I have DEFINITELY found the right one I suppose. That is at least SOME comfort. Only I would be so arrogant - it appears that I do not mellow with age". He again refocused his mind and reexperienced the movement of time.

This time he sent ahead of himself a thought. And the thought resonated and became word.
The Old Man smiled grimly and chuckled as the mage's disembodied voice began whispering through the air. "You just do not give up do you?" He sneered. "All right then - do not say that you were not warned!"

"Wait and listen to me you cantankerous old bastard! I am tired of this bullshit!" said the voice as the figure appeared, this time flanked by two reptilian guards. They were vaguely humanoid but somewhat taller. They seemed to glisten as their scales caught the candle light - standing uneasily looking about with undisguised hungry malevolence.

The Old Man was stunned into silence. He was unaccustomed to being referred to with such disrespect. He sat still and regarded the assistants, brutish predatory crosses between lizard, snake and bat. Conjured to frighten him he thought grimly. He rose to his feet.

"I am the Head Priest, beloved of the Father God and by my right I will not be spoken to in such a manner!" He stamped his foot and from out of his shadow two more of the servants appeared; both of which advanced menacingly at the mage's apparitions. there was a brief scuffle as they met in the middle of the room. They grappled with each other and then shimmered before all four vanished.

The priest regarded the intruder coldly and smiled with contemptuous menace. "Now; as you seem to not understand what that means; I aim to teach you; implicitly what it means....." before he could finish the apparition spoke again.

"I Bloody well know who you are you stupid shit head! How could I not recognize my own bloody self!"

The priest started at the apparition incredulously. What *was* this insane ghost talking about now?

The figure continued with a sigh; "I have come here now; from your future; into my own goddamn past to right a wrong and save us BOTH a great deal of pain. And what do I find upon my arrival? All I find is a shitty little old guy with a bad friggin attitude! Well I am here to tell you my lad, that things are gonna change and YOU will do as you are bloody well told!"

The priest gawked. "I have studied all of my life to attain the position that I hold... I will NOT be ordered about!"

The figure laughed "All your life? Listen matey ...... being thirty might make you pretty damn old around here but it is just middle age where I come from and you had better listen up 'cause I do not owe you ANY damn thing just yet - except perhaps a slap in the head!'

The Old Man's jaw tightened and he straightened up. Even among his own people he was not imposing, standing as he did, half a head shorter than most and being cursed with quite a thin weak frame. This, however was quite far from his mind - fresh as it was from being so insulted.
The apparition regarded him kindly and sighed "Look, all I am trying to do is save us both a hell of a lot of trouble and hassle. All you gotta do is what I tell you to do and our future ... that is to say YOUR future will be much more hassle free and my present will not be so damn painful."

The priest looked sceptically at the apparition for a second and then made a reference to an insult suggesting that perhaps it was the apparitions "uncertain parentage" that was the excuse for it's OBVIOUS delusions of grandeur. He rounded it off by saying simply: "In any case, irrelevant of the source of your parentage - I do not believe you."

"Oh Christ! Why do I have to be so damn difficult?" thought the mage and sighed. "Very well then." The apparition began to chant.

The priest squinted again as the darkness was rent by a single long finger nail appearing at the floor and rising up through the air. A rip in the night was forming and through it stepped a tall, medium built figure in very strange robes. It's skin was as black as night and it's eyes were silver and it's mouth was full of pointed teeth that seemed to scrape together as it spoke.

"Why am I here?" The figure in the 18th Century French Clothing demanded of the Mage.

"He won't goddamn well listen to me" the mage whined "Maybe you can persuade him??"

The figure turned to regard the priest who had fallen to his knees and pressed his face to the sand floor of the room. "Rise, beloved servant. Abase yourself not at my presence. Why do you kneel?"

"Father! I dare not! Although your image seems strange to me, I am true and I recognize you - even in this strange guise! What is it that you require of your most humble and true servant?"

The figure grinned and hissed through it's teeth. "You may begin by standing in my presence when I request it and continue it by listening to what this servant of mine will relay to you."

The figure turned to the Mage. "There. Once again I have aided Thee. You do now owe me recompense. Do not believe that I will not collect on this. You may begin again and I counsel you to show more wisdom in your dealings. This pleases me not - I will NOT be disturbed again for your own carelessness! So now, lay to and do not fail lest we both have score to settle with thee!" The figure vanished promptly as the Mage wiped his forehead.

The mage stepped down to the priest and said "Ok buddy, perhaps NOW you will listen to me? I got a lot to tell you and very little time......"

And so it began ...

Some old Tales 4

I wrote this years ago to satisfy some needs in myself and others.

It seems time to repeat some stories from long ago.

So I remember the stories ....

Canto - A Vision.

Being A Vision as revealed to One long ago regarding their Wyrd and what must be done to ensure the continuation of their people and those related to the same.

'And the Dragon Mother lit the sky - sure sign that our time was done. The sign was told to our people by our priests - our work for a time was done - our time had passed.

And so our people went to ground. We slept. We slept and we waited. While we waited we dreamed. We dreamed of the night that would come when the Dragon Mother would return and summon us awake again. She has come not - so we wait.

We wait for the time of turmoil that will be our birth cry. The Dragon Mother will call. She will light the sky with her breath and call to her children -many who will know not- and they will answer.

We will awaken to trial and turmoil - but this is our place. And we will take our place once more.'

Long ago all was one. This one was manifested as everything. There were many but they were only many as facets of one thing. At this time, the world was fluid - all forms were mutable and many things were not just one thing but had the potential to be literally anything else.

This was the time of the first magi ... in that place at that time were great mages such as Vainanmoinnen who literally sang things in and out of existence. This was the Era of the Will and the Word ....

Shortly thereafter came the Golden Era. It was everywhere at once. Some remember it one way - some another; some remember it in one place and some in others ... it matters not. All that matters is that it is remembered .. it was a time of magic and us. In this time we knew our magic as we knew ourselves - it coursed through our veins and was seen everywhere and in everything.

But no good thing can last forever and the Golden Age did pass. The One did fracture and send shards to all corners of all realities ..... such is the price of solidity. The price of solidity is that even the hardest rock can be broken into dust. And so it was - the one reality became many, the one thought became confused ... and it is as it was said - 'Know the wise man by the manifold of their meditations and the fool by the multitude of their words' - and thus became the Age of Folly.

In this new age ... all attempted to clarify, classify and identify .. the age of wonder gave way to the age of discovery. And while this is a necessity ... those of this new age sought to set these new theories as absolutes - which of course was preposterous and impossible. This did not - naturally enough - stop them.

All those who were the stuff of legends shrank away from this new hard edged and 'factual' world. The Age of Innocence was lost along the way. It was this time that truly began the death toll for our kind.

All those that would not bow before the onslaught of the 'Age of Discovery and Reason' were annihilated ... one way or another ... quickly or slowly. The last of our kind either left or were slowly eaten away by a lack of wonder and belief.

The people of these times did try their best to remember - to preserve such things - but how is such a thing possible when there are no wonders to be in awe of?? The wonders, the myths, the legends all sadly withdrew from this plane that patently refused to support them any longer. Eventually the humans did start to notice this lack ... and it was at this time did a new thing emerge - the composite wonder.

With the rise of the 'Church' - all had a reason to believe - after all at certain times and places - it was believe or die! They gathered up what remained of the old things and wove them into a new tapestry ... one that would control outright ... that would enslave and degrade it's followers - in a new and insidious way. Guilt was truly the order of the day and it's birth cry was the chanting of 'Mea Culpa' .... first in one place and then in others..... more and more - spreading like the pestilence across virtually all nations.

When this new 'Church' found remnants of the Golden Age ... they were destroyed. Such things were a threat to their power base. They could NOT allow their minions to beleive/remember that there was any other way. Now we had a new reason to fear - not merely the turning of the Wheel now .... now an ENFORCED turning of the wheel. And with it new propaganda ... new trials and ... new punishments. Remember ye always - that they were only one of many persecutors ..... remember always that they were not alone. Be vigilant always - but intelligent with caution.

THIS - O sons and daughters - must NOT be allowed to continue! The Wheel turns! The time of the Age of Reason crumbles! It has outlived it's usefulness! All around you - even now you may see it as the peoples of the entire world cry out for the legends and the innocence that they have lost.

UNDERSTAND that this way - this new age will NOT give up it's stranglehold ... it will attempt to survive at all costs ... and YOU - it's mortal foes will always bear the brunt of it's anger and shame. Attempt not to take the 'bull by the horns' - for it will gore you to death! Instead - sow the seeds as you go - touch and speak and allow others to experience that which you are ... that which you become .... and in the secret heart of each will a great desire awaken.

Take those that may aid thee and band together ... grow and multiply for numbers in secret is the undermining of reality. It is the belief that is the key - for belief is the thought that begets the word - and the word is the forerunner of deed. Begin slowly at the base of things - attack the foundations of the sickly tree - bring it down or it will you!

Know that the time rapidly approaches ... the opportunity will be brief .. you must strike hard and be hard - not all will survive - but they that do will be sung of in glory by the very realm itself! Break the bonds - smash the seals - tear all asunder ... for only in the dissolution of fact can we live - or else be trapped forever in the realm of the Law of Paradox. Be hard - be swift - be merciless - the time for weeping is long since done - now is the time for action and responsibility!

Some old Tales 3

I wrote this years ago to satisfy some needs in myself and others.

It seems time to repeat some stories from long ago.

So I remember the stories ....

It begins as as it always has - in service.

For that is the way it has begun always, you realize, in service.

Even I; (I am not ashamed to admit) began as "thrall" to another.

I am not sure why - it merely seems the proper way for my people. Perhaps it ensures survival; who knows?

It just seems that all of the strong - all of the real, begin this way. I personally think that it ensures our being as, 'who we are'.

After all, how can one know strength and freedom truly .... if it is not by escaping from slavery?

I, for one, do not know.

In any case, I have most fond memories of my period of service.

Of course I did not really know it for what it was - my Mentor and my Elder were kind enough to not point it out too often. Maybe I was a quick student and so; they did not have to.

I should like to think so but I fear that I was not. There are after all; many imperfections that memory tends to hide from our view of hindsight. Many things we remember sweeter than they ever were in truth.

What I remember most was the feelings of joy. We were young - we were invincible. It seemed that we were all there were in the whole world. We were beautiful - of THAT much I am sure .

I remember the pride that swelled within me we were out. We feared none.

I remember how good it felt to walk beside my mentor. We were inspiration to all we met.

And I remember how beautiful I thought my Elder was. I would look at her and just be stolen away.

And such joys! It seemed that we were forever on the move. I remember being cold, and walking .... somewhere in the middle of nowhere it seemed .... it was so cold ... and I was so hungry! I have never known anything like it!

All in all; (faulted memories aside) some nights I yearn for those days.
And the studies! AAAH the Art!

How many nights did I spend by candle light .... studying and painstakingly inking my findings in a cloud of incense .... thick with the sound of gregorian Plainchant?

Sometimes now I wonder why it is just not the same. So much wonder and fear is lost to me .... where has that gone I wonder? Why do I now have so little awe?

I have no answers to these questions. No way of knowing .... or of rekindling that time.
ALL it seems .... has gone now.

At first; I was proud to be known as the only one who stayed ... who survived; but now; now I fear it is not so. Now I am just tired.

And so; now again do I write.

The chant is different. Pagan chants where once the monks of the slave god sang.

The smell of Jasmine clouds my eyes now; instead of the cloying rose sandalwood that once bloomed.

My candle lights are red and purples .... colours that my eyes can stand to find pleasing and find beauty in. A stark difference from the cold white glare of the stick lights of obedience.

My blood sings of ancient memory - of times before.

Before the rise of the Hate filled Slave God and his sheep .... cow like followers.

I dream now of the time before our exile..................

They call us hateful and cruel.

Once we sang the song of our blood openly. We loved and our cries of joy were our children's first memory of sounds.

That all changed when we came to know others. Our ways were not their ways. Hateful and cruel we thought them and they us.

But; as the victor always writes the histories .... so they have written it. Hate filled and cruel they named us - and so did we become.

And how could we not become so?

They KILLED our Old - that our ways would not be taught.
They KILLED our Young - that our ways would not be learned.
They KILLED our Men - that we could not fight back.
They KILLED our Women - that we would not love nor nurture.

Our Mothers and Fathers died that we may never know the joy of kinship.
Our Families and Tribes died that we may never know ourselves as whole.
And finally - We died - that we may never have to face the knowledge of our loss.

And so ....

The Mothers died that we may never be born;
The Fathers died that we may never be protected;
The Hunters died that we may never be full;
The Makers died that we may never have anything to call our own;
The Priests died that the Lost may never hear the Blood Song.

And yet we survived - the Blood Song becomes Lament,
as the Blood of the Lost continues.
For My Tribe I Sing This Song.

I am dead.

You who read this are dead.

We are all dead and we belong for the time; dead.

We battle endlessly for one aim and one goal - to reclaim our lives.

Until we succeed; we are dead.
Only in victory do we know our life.

And even now; I am still young.

Even though I feel the weight of more years than I can account for. I hear my blood and it seems to sing to me the song of my tribe.

Who were they? In truth, I know not.

Never have I known and yet I hear their songs.

It is painful sometimes.

It pains me to hear the song of my people - for they are lost. Just as they are lost - I am lost.

I am a child of the serpent.

I am Dragon Kin and only among my kin do I find meaning and solace.

I have vowed never to be alone; alone as I once was.

And so I sing the Song of My Blood.

Our Blood Song endures and while I have life - our song WILL BE HEARD.

In the earliest memory our people sang our song only. It was little more than exclamatory ululation punctuated by gutturals and hand signs but it was enough.

With the fullness of time our people came into contact with others people. With contact came diversity as a need to understand and be understood arose. Our song became complex and difficult.

To begin with our people sang our song in our own "Dragon Tongue" freely and openly amongst our kind. This harmony lifted our spirits high.

As the tide of alien rhythms swept in upon us our song became drowned in harmonies that were not our own.

Eventually our tongue was used but rarely and only for specific purpose. Only the tongue with no joy can come of the serious face.

In but the blinking of an eye it seemed our language only remained in the heat of battle, religious ceremonies and in whispers between lovers.

At first our language suffered and then it all but died. Parts survived as curiosa for linguists and scholars. Other parts were consumed by Those From Without.

As our Elders died and the young turned their minds away to new things - a subtle part of us sickened and died.

Our words faded into the death of memory and only now exists in the imagined memory of certain emotive descendants who hear it still where we first heard it - in our very Heart's Blood.
In the Earliest times we lived in Western Central Upper Europe and the lands surrounding us echoed with the joys and cries and chant songs of our Tribe.

Here was our place, between ground and sea. We held no title deed for the place between earth and sky, between mountain and plain yet all knew it was so.

Here we took birth, we lived, we loved, we sung, we hunted, we ate and died - always so that we could birth our young amidst our kin. Loneliness was unknown to us.

Our land and our sky, our water and wood, our fire and wind sang to us of our past present and our future; and we (the caretakers of our heart's land) sang to it with our continued joy.

Occasionally one would come (in the first times) from without. But they would not share our fires and always returned however they came.

Occasionally one of our number would journey far away. Sometimes they would return with wondrous tales of great things.

But always, loudest and best of all was the tale of the return homeward and the grief wail given as a beacon to those who did not return - slain by element or enemy in a world not their own; that would not remember their name or sing their songs.

Our Land is Our Land - the Body of our Spirit.

Our People are Our People - the Spirit of Our Body.
And yet "How can this be?" The Masses cry.

The answer is simple and it lies even now in our hearts. The answer is simple and even now shines in our eyes. The answer is simple and even now is heard in the joy of our laugh as we answer the wind.

In our hearts and minds, in our body and soul always the Bloodsong is heard.

We are the Children of the our Gods.

Our Gods; at first; were the Elements themselves.

The Winds howled, the Ground rumbled, the water gurgled and the Fire crackled and in each we heard all the wisdom we needed. Within each; some saw their soul manifested. In this way also, did each know also the joy of their brother's and sister's destiny.

As our God's were all One - so too were we.

That our world was ours by right was obvious and even more so as we came to know it.

And as we came to know it, (as it was) we discovered a new thing. And this new thing was other than us.

It seemed that overnight our world - which had always seemed boundless - suddenly had borders when they first came.

No two; it seems; can now agree in memory of them. No two now remember aright their numbers - nor their names. But male and female they were ... and come they did to us.
Like but in some way (beyond our ken) not like us.

They were travellers, that much is sure - Nomads. But their journey showed not on their faces. The power of their travels sang in their blood but showed only in their large dark eyes.

Their ways were unknown to us but their peace was not. Our world, bordered by beliefs of first elements had finally met those whose lives were consequences.

It is said that this was the time of the Sun at Night .. of Moonshine by day - that the whole world held it's breath ... but there is no end to the invention of the storytellers of the world.

Astonished was our Tribe that (any of) Those From Without might know our ways ... but know us they did.

We gave them shelter and comfort and honoured them for they were the first from Without that knew our ways and understood.

With Time we came to know them as well. Our water became one - our songs a harmony.

We welcomed them to our lands - they knew it - and spoke of Other Lands.
We gave them Waters - they knew it - and spoke of many waters in vast Oceans.
We gave them Fires - they knew it and spoke to us of mountains of fires.
We sang to our four Winds for their ease - they understood and spoke to us of Winds beyond the Sky.

Our Earth was Mud to their Stone.

Our Rivers were drops in their Ocean.

Our Fires were sparks of their Stars.

Our Winds were whispers of their Endless echoing Sky.

And More! In all things they were more than we - they spoke of secrets beyond all silence and knowledge.

But their songs added to ours and we were happy. They withal were stronger than we and so we honoured them.

They remained with us. By the time we learned much. Our people hungered and we earned knowledge and wisdom. As a Tribe ... became one with theirs.

When our Water was as their Water, our Fire - their Fire, our Winds - theirs and our Land - their Land ..... we became more than this - we felt Whole.

First comes the Flesh. Then comes the Blood. Then comes the Spirit.

During the time that the travellers spent with us our world changed. Our people learnt many things from the newcomers and become fractured.

Where once everyone of us knew all; now certain of us excelled in certain things. While certain things were lost - that which remained became perfected. We did not grieve this loss - for; as much as we lost our innocence we gained tenfold in knowledge and understanding.

And so, for generations our people remained happy - learning new ways and adapting the old to suit our new world.

One day this happiness was broken. Long had we known death but seldom murder and never war. No one knows how or why but one day murder without reason become known to us.

We discovered; one day upon a hunt; some others like unto the travellers and hailed them (believing them to be of the same tribe). They seemed alike enough.

But on our approach, they lay to and struck down all who came near in a sudden fury. This we comprehended not but when they gave chase - we fled home.

Homeward our hunters fled - ever pursued by the new travellers. When the hunters arrived; death followed at their heels.

Our hunters ran directly to the newcomers our kin had known and speedily did our enemy follow - pausing only to slay those who could not keep apace of them.

When; at last they arrived; our kin from beyond quickly killed our persecutors for they were few amidst many.

Amidst the grief howls of our own they began a new song. They added their howls to our own.
Then their song changed and to us they sang their own grief song.

They had once been as we and they too had been met by Those from Beyond. They had learnt much before their world had been destroyed by the enemies of their benefactors.

With the driving away and death of their benefactors they swore to avenge their loss and left their broken land to find another. So it was that they had found us - as did their oath. Their grief increased for now also their enemies were ours.

And that was how our two tribes became one in grief.

But as we became one in grief, so it betokened the next piece. 'Twas time our people fractured further.

From each of our three ways - of the Priesthood, of the Hunters and of the Hearth some were selected. To these were taught the secrets of war.

And for each one taught; they in turn taught ten.

And so; in us the newcomers awakened a new blood song and it was known as the Rage. Our hearts now held new knowledge and it was as bitter as it was sweet. Our blood sang now in Rage and grief as well as peace and joy.

Our blood sang to us of secret harmonies - of wails and shed blood. This we added to the knowledge ao the newcomers.

We resonated to the litanies of battle and these wordchants exact have now been forgotten.
Only today are words and ways remembered - as the prophecies unfold and signs number themselves.

And this memory too is part of the Prophecies.

But these had not occurred yet; for; as it is said:

"What is the moment but for living? Wherein is memory?"

So; our people toiled with strange new tools. Our people struggled to be ready for the arrival of the new time. It was to be the time of War.

The newcomers knew that their enemies would come and we knew they would come - if only for the honour of their fallen.

All too soon did war come for us. Our warriors were bold and fierce. Their Rage was with them and they fought well.

We fought only one battle. All of our Tribe conjoined in grief and rage. Our stand was made and we fought well.

But our warriors were new to this word and our opponents were seasoned veterans. Soon our tribe were all but dead.

Our brothers and sisters flung themselves, wave after wave to the fray. Those that fell and could rise again did but in the end our world was clothed in our own blood. All but a few perished in a single battle with the enemy.

The newcomers exhorted us to flee but few listened. Those that remained joined the fates of those they fought to avenge.

Of those who rejoined the battle - not all were killed. Some were taken alive. Of them - each wished they had fallen.

A million tortures of every kind awaited them. Some died in the process, some took their own lives and some died while still living. Of these; some even traded torture for the tools of torture.
A precious few even managed to survive and escape. Of the few who re-discovered the others few could even recount the horrors visited upon them and none were ever again truly kin - their spirit was gone. Dead but not - most of even this few only sought their kin that they may die with their own people.

Those that fled by the word of the newcomers were taught secret laws and ways to survive. Some were frightened and some were angered but all were grief stricken. Each, in their own way, learnt how to hide, to keep silent, to defend, to wait and how to strike quickly and finally when opportunity presented the option.

Our time had passed and we were a new people - born of blood and vengeance. Eventually all that would be remembered of our previous ways was grief for what had been and the Prophecies the last of the newcomers gave us before taking their leaving.

"You were born in blood. Your memories are of blood. If you continue your struggle you will know more blood. If you listen to your blood and follow it's song - it will take you back and tell you what you will need to know. Mark always the song of the blood which is within you; continue on and one night you will rise again.

You will be reborn to strife and turmoil for this is will be all you have known; but your blood will remember - it will whisper to each of you. The blood will call you together again.

Rejoice then but beware - your decisions at this time will decide your destiny to come - whether you rise in glory or infamy - only you can choose, and choose you will."

And that was the last (of that time that we knew of Those from Beyond. They faded into the darkness of memory.

But it is the bane of man that he forgets and we are no different - we have forgotten too much.
But we still hear the Blood Song and the call. We follow the words although the music is lost to us.

The melody is strange but still we follow the dance as best we can - filled with the hope of longing for something only half remembered.

Who we were. Who we are.

Some old Tales 2

I wrote this years ago to satisfy some needs in myself and others - it was what the previous story was teased out of.

It seems time to repeat some stories from long ago.

So I remember the stories ....

Time

I am one of the Four

For Four there were

And two of each

So mayhap more correctly I am one of the Eight.

As one of the Eight

I am one of the Two of Four

One of the Two of the Four that came from the Original Four

My memory sings of the Original Four

The Original Four were two of the Original Two

The Original Two were of the One.

For first among all was the One

The One was the first of the Void

The One who searched out the Other

And when the One found the Other - they were Two.

The One and the Other wished to be Two and yet still One

But how may one be two and yet still one?

And so the two became one and another and each was One unto themselves.
But no One remains One without the desire for the Other

And so the Two - each in their own way searched for their Other.

Joyous were they The Two

To discover that never is One alone

So did each find their Other

And so did One become Two

And the One became Two

And the Two became Two

And so it was that One became Four

The First Children

Child Fathers and Child Mothers

The First Four became Child Parents to us all.

The Joy of each Two begat more

And Great Families of each grew

But Joy teaches small wisdoms - swiftly overlooked.

And it was such as these - small wisdoms of the Children Ends of a line - too far apart

That in small wisdom could not see their Balance.

The First Sight is always Shock

And Shock precedes recognition When Wisdom is Small.

Some of them were as the Light of the Stars

And some of them were the velvet behind and between

And Kin were they - though they knew it not Who can tell of the Shock of First Sight?

Not I, for such Wisdom is Forbidden to retell

And far beyond the smithing of Words.

Forbidden to tell For Words beget their own

As People beget their own

As Places beget their own

And Actions beget their own.

Each begets their own for

The mixing of each is never seen.

Just as Wisdom and Shock are different

Are Day and Night different.
And yet mix they did

And Small Wisdom and Shock begets Fear.

Unseen was this and yet it was

And felt

As Fear and Shock begets Action

But e'er since have Fear and Shock Been unsaid.

And so therefore was that which They did beget

A New Child - born to All

A Child with a Name That Name was War.

This Child spoke not - but Acted

No Words but deed - and the First Act

Was the deed of Hate.

Who can say Why?

Who can say How?

Who could say Why?

None could

For this New Thing spoke no words

No Words to tell of

Just a Result to be Seen.

And the Two who were Two

The Four who were of One

The Four were without Words

As each struggled to Learn the New Word.

The Name of the Child of War

The Name of the Child Of the Mate of War

The Name of the Child of War and Hate.

The Name came

The Name was Known

As each of the Two by Two Looked upon their Children

Their Children who moved not.

The New Child's Name was short

But it's lesson was hard

And it's name was Grief.

And Grief was heartfelt

For those who rose not were Still and Silent Dead

Smaller parts of the Four were They.

The Youngest The Smallest

Always it is the weakest who fall first.

Thus it was that each of the Four

The Four of the One Spoke each to their First Born

Their First Born of each of Two

Saying

You alone are the One of our Two

Our Two of the One.

Be Truly What You Are you must!

To be You - One of our Two

Will be to Shine as each One of Two

To All that Follow.

And each shall be Named

So Shock may not Reign.

And First among each was Named

And Second among each was also Named

And Their Names were heard

And so They came to Truly Be.

"Day" and "Night" were the first of They

And "Dawn" and "Dusk" were the Second of They.

And to Each, that They were Named

As One was Told

Each to find their Other

And Each did find their Other

That their One may be Two

And that Two be One

To emulate the One

And Beget itself as a New One.

And so were We

Children of Day

Children of Night

Children of Dawn

Children of Dusk.

Second Times

So did We

The Children of Each

Know our Worlds

And Our Parent's Worlds

And the Worlds of our Balance

And the Worlds of Our Balance's Parents.

Each, in it's Own

Discovered the Gifts left for Them By the One.

In the East Did the Children of Dawn

The Fresh Faced Children of Dawn

The Youthful Children of Dawn

In the East did They Find Their Gifts from the One

An Echo of the Void

A Time before all beginnings

Thought without Form

And they were Glad

From the West was the Gladness Supplied

For there some of the Others found

All of Life's Beginnings

Endless Seas

Of raging Seas and Gentle Melancholy

From this source of All Emotion

Came the reaction to the First Gift of Thought.

In the South Did a Great Cry go up

For what is an Idea Alone?

From the depths of a Vast Inferno

A Question Arose.

A Thought

A Feeling - But what to do ?

It's movement was the Passion given Form.

The Form was Chewed

And rolled about until

At last it was spat out.

This amorphous shape sailed

Through the Void

Until at last it landed

At the Feet of the Children

The Children of the South.

And They

The Cautious Children

Retrieved the Mass and moulded it

Flinging it to all Four Corners Of the Void.

And thus was the Void

Populated by Form.
Then, to the Centre of the Void

Came the Four The First Four First Amongst All.

For the First Time did the First Four Gather to see what had been Done.

And a Great Silence settled over All

As long as Forever

As Fast as Thought

Then Broken as the Decree was Made.

The Decree

Children All!

Now You Stand Each in Your Place

The World that suits You Best.

Tho' still Children Kings and Queens,

Rulers of All shall You be.

Remain You Each in Your Place

Remain You Each to your Task

And there will be nothing that you cannot Achieve.

Within your Dominion

Each in Your Own Way

Is Defined by Your Power.

And when Each of You, in Your Way

In turn

Apply Your Powers

Then All shall be Remade

As it Should

In Power

Of Power

With Power.

But remember too

That Your Place is Your Power

Once You leave it

You are Nothing

At the Whim of All Else.

Some Old Tales 1

I wrote this years ago to satisfy some needs in myself and others.

It seems time to repeat some stories from long ago.

So I remember the stories ....

A Tale of Creation

Come closer and attend child. I have a story to tell you. It is a very old story but I tell it to you because in it's meaning it is as fresh and new as the dew. Always repeating - always present - always changing and crisp and clear ... but no - the story of the dew is for another time and place. My first story is better for now.

For this is my story. It is also the story of my children. Children? Well I do mean figuratively in most cases to be sure - I mean those who came after.

So I now say to you that I will tell you of my story. Attend it well and mark it to thy very heart and you will learn much of where you come from. By learning where I came from and looking and listening closely, you will catch a glimpse of your own story - where and how you were born and why you now are.

I speak now of beginnings. Of a time that was long ago - too long for any to say or to write with acclarity ... but not to long to remember if one cares to look.

In the beginning there was nothing, but from that nothing, from that Primal Chaos came something. No one really knows for sure how or why (and to be sure it is unimportant really how or why) just that it did. From nothingness and swirling possibility formed reality. It was not a reality as we can understand it - it had so little form and substance.

At this time it was soft you could say. In this reality was all formed. And formed it was very easily because there were no rules ..... no real night nor day, or up or down ..... just a vaguely rough sketch of possibility - of what could possibly be. And that "possibly be" was all probability - all things of imagination and phantasy. At this time imagination was all there was.

Because there was no ruling, there was no form and therefor shape was arbitrary. A wondrous and terrible time it was when all was defining itself arbitrarily. A time when the very forces of the universe itself as we know it, playfully moulded and dashed itself for no reason more serious than a child's laughter.

And somewhere amidst this shifting of reality a child's laughter did ring out. A single and solitary child. This child delighted and cavorted amidst the pure ecstasy of being. It was neither male nor female for neither had any meaning - it just was.

Because it just was, it soon looked about and became aware of more than just the swirl of reality. It decided it wanted things for it's own. After all - if it was surrounded by such beauty; then why should the beauty fade? The Child wanted a beauty it could keep. And so the Child set about to create a beauty it could keep. From the raw stuff of creation (that which we could call imagination) the Child moulded forms and colours ... a mere expression of it's joy.

But reality was unsuited to such permanence and no sooner had form been created - it too was dashed apart - lost on the tides of a time that had, as yet, no length or breadth. The Child cried out - why should it be thus? If the Child wanted permanence - why should it not too be so? The reality of what was had no answer and remained mute save for the crashing of infinite possibilities.

Thus it was that the Child became petulant and decided that (by hook or crook) it would have it's way and by force of will and concentration protected the beauties it collected. The Child hid them from all else within it's own being. Deep within embers glowed and grains of nothing shed light and warmth to make the Child smile. And so; for a time; the Child was happy.

The Child lay back and enjoyed the "nothing - peek - a - boo - somethingness - flash - nothing" display now sure in it's ability to store that which it wished ... safe from the quick death of the stars that were not. The Child marvelled at the "above" and the "below" - the rushings of winds the flashes of flame and roars of beasts - all that were, as yet, not even existent. In this way, the first future was created - by seeing the possibilities and wishing in awe.

The Child's heart grew big and his mind swelled with memories - all of which were not even real. A whole universe in and of itself - all within. But what is the point of hoarding if not to relate? And so from time to time, the Child would allow his being to fold within - to re experience it's joy. But soon even this was not enough. A frown crossed the face of the first time in Aeons that had not even passed or been created .... surely it was not all there was? Surely elsewhere another must be doing as it did?

The Child wondered at this - and in the beginning it was enough. A curious game of hide and seek began. The Child looked within and thence and therefore without at all of what was stable and that which was unstable. Where? Where was this other? Was it the flash of light? Oh surely not. Perhaps behind the blackness that clouded all between?

And again, at first; the Game was enough. But soon the Child grew tired of the Game. Enough was enough! Why could it not find the Other? Surely it too sought the Child? Then why should it not reveal itself? Again, the tantrum came upon the Child.

A vast rupture of grief and frustration welled out of the Child (from the only place with form) and another cry rent the universe. An echoing screech of pure emotion rippled all of creation and tears welled within the Child's eye as it stamped it's foot - and all shuddered under the disturbance.

The Child wept openly (as openly as is possible when one is alone) and eventually it gave way to wondrous rapture at the moisture that fell to an un-created earth. As the child stared in rapture at this new delicate thing - with out form but somehow retaining form, it became aware.

Who can say what happened next? Perhaps the Child was struck with an idea at the wonder of unstable stability - as seen in it's tears. Perhaps the whole of possibility took pity on the Child. Or perhaps the possibility had merely finally just arrived - a time when another was to come.

Who can say; who indeed?

Never the less, the Child was delighted when it looked up - there! Yes there! There was the Other. The Child was no longer alone. It wondered at the sight of the Other - as alike as any Other CAN be and as different as only the alike CAN be.

A great cry of jubilation rippled through all - a cry from the distant future. It was the joy of all of the "yet to be" as they celebrated the immanence of their own creation; all that was required now was patience - a patience with no meaning as time was not even yet imagined by they who existed not.

But the Child heeded not - nor the Other. All that was important to either was that their wish was granted. By their own hand or no - it mattered not. For their lessons were already the ticking of the clock - that which was; was real. As such, they wanted and they had created. They asked and they got. They regarded each other with the wonder that only children may; marvelling each other as their own creation.

At first each was vaguely suspicious of the other. How would their creation react upon meeting it's maker? How to begin now that the beginning itself was old? But the suspicion soon gave way to wonder as the Chaos itself re intruded upon their reflections. The pause of creation can only be brief and as soon as it was - it was over and each laughed in joy at the swirling of the Wheel about them. And now the laughter was laughter doubled and doubled again for it was the joy that is felt, shared and then felt again. Joy upon joy upon joy.

So it continued, who can say for how long? Was it forever - or but a moment? In such time as time was not, a change occurred. Each began to view the other with a different form of wonder - each knew the other and as such, could in some way understand but how to be more clear?

To be sure - each had communicated to the other in the simple forms of face, body and a shared understanding but when the time came for more delicate smithing of thought a problem arose and seeming out of nowhere - error was born. Being as one is one and other is other; so too the finer points of experience differed. As one enjoyed the bright flash for it's form and nature, so to the other enjoyed it for the relief that came after. As one would see the words of the Universe written big in action - the other saw the action for the shape created by inaction around it.

At some point (and in such a place can any mark when by how or how by why?) did the difference manifest At first a change of look or a sigh in place of a laugh; again who can say? Soon two children polarized by difference and bound by change did disagree.

The reasons are irrelevant but were inevitable. Soon as the difference became as could not be ignored, the agreement sealed the chasm. After all the tantrums and all the tears was a consensus reached. Each was as the other was not - and as such the same. An agreement to disagree.

The Children split then. Not in anger but in sadness. Each took to their own - as an understanding of difference and acceptance of the other's incomprehensibility. Always in contact - forever apart; each repaired to arbitrary places. An orbiting Sun and an orbiting Moon even though the stellar bodies were unformed and unthought of.

In time, each would mirror the other. In time each cried again - where was one like unto them? But this time; care was taken. Like unto me but not - Other unto me but compatible. In this way the pattern was repeated. This time came another that inspired a different set of desires.

Fuelled by a desire to not feel again the grief that had been, each felt a closer need form. More than a friend - a tie to bind and a vague yearning for more. Truly indeed did the chain weigh heavily. This was the beginning of a new fact to inner stability. This was a requirement to learn through pain - in order to stave it off. And this was the first melancholy - the first painful memory.

But it too served a unique purpose (as all things do) and it was this melancholy that dulled the mad desire for closeness for closeness' sake. Mayhap it was the first love as opposed to the lust it would surely have been if left untempered.

Irrelevant of all from these first melancholic remembrances of joy's pasts came the first tender hand of the opposite but desired. It is unimportant who it was that was which gender - but come it did; a soft kind word out of darkness to ease the pain of being. In one place - a hand to light the way; in the other - a hand to shield the eyes from the light of darkness.

As such, so did it begin again; except this time it was more and different - in each place a male and a female. Upon this meeting the entirety of chaos fluxed; an almighty ebb and flow that had ne'er before been experienced. This time a desire to continue the beauty that was as seen. Each viewed the other and wished more to see. More to see it's vision and more to be seen within that vision.

And so began the two tribes. One of Light, and one of Darkness - even though such concepts existed not. And as the Tribes grew, each was told, in and after the manner of the first union - of the other tribe. And the first of the Tribes still communicated with each other - to share the joy of their world with the other. But it was that each soon noticed a disturbing trend occurring.
Each time the Tale of the First Times was told - it lost something in the telling. Every time it was repeated - it lost meaning until at last there were some of each Tribe (who were young) who comprehended not that the other tribe were indeed their kin and who fell to a new desire - the desire of dislike.

Among the young it began - a hatred of the other Tribe as opposed to appreciation of difference. And soon, some of the young of each Tribe began to seek out the young of the other tribe and to make the first acts of war.

The first of the Tribes were stunned that their young should enact the destructive acts of Chaos without balance and were speechless at their ways. They attempted to correct their ignorant children and the misguided young (in fear of abandonment) turned their wills against their Elders. In sadness the First of the Tribes realized their error and withdrew - understanding that there was little that they could do.

From this time came the first death. None can say how it happened, or who it was that slew who or why - but happen it did. The First of the Tribes were rent with inconsolable grief and their wailing's rent the very form of the Universe and terrified all with it's power. The First of each tribe withdrew from their children - each bearing the dead to them - that they may always remain with them in memory if not in life.

The young, who understood not, took each as a sign of the need for retribution. Each said to the other - "Verily - this has grieved our Parents and as such must be avenged upon our enemies!" And so the war continued - each locked in mortal combat over an idea that was in and of itself an error.

But each side were opposite and equal and neither could find any advantage. So the Eldest of each set their will to Creation - as their forbears had done. Only this time the Creation had but one aim in mind - Destruction. Each began to impose their will upon their surroundings and soon; a new era was born.

The new era was one of Order from Chaos to enact Chaos to impose Order. They created unto themselves pockets of reality; which were soon growing and connected one to the other. Now, there were vast tracts in which Reality was a wheel that was turned; instead of a Wheel that turned itself.

The Mothers and Fathers of the Tribes could not understand - and were not understood. As such - they became part of the Original Reality - which was banished from such areas. Eventually all but the oldest of both Tribes lived, loved, warred and birthed within these areas - their old ways becoming more and more of a dim memory - eventually to be all but forgotten.
Without, the Mothers and Fathers lamented the loss of their Children and created others but rarely. They continued in their ways of old. Within, the Children grew and waxed forgetful. Eventually, some even lost interest in the war. And as such; a new breed began that became cleft in twain as well. The First of the Tribes turned away in despair and pursued their own futures away amongst the stars.

The new Tribe were they of the Centre. Coming to a wish for something (that they could but dimly remember or conceive of) that had (?) existed long ago. They considered the beliefs of their parent factions as opinions only - each in their own way faulted. Subjectivity and choice became the order of the day.

From this new perspective came Those of the Dawn and Those of the Twilight. Each were an extension of a polarity but these were dedicated to understanding the other and perhaps finding a way back to their beginnings. Those of the Dawn believed that a new thing must be builded upon the old and those of the Twilight believed that if the old were broken down it would naturally return to the beginning.

Cautiously creeping through even these factions came certain members of each more diligent than all else. They were the ones who moved between the ranks of all - wearing such faces as were needed at any given time. These worked with their oppositions.

Those that came from the Dawn understood that their Twilight Brothers and Sisters had to break things that they may build anew. Those of the Twilight understood that they must break things that the Children of Dawn could build the new change. In time the understandings were reached - the reality that had been made had separated them from their Parentage - therefor this reality must be cracked and a bridge must be built ; a bridge that leads back to their true home.

The war continues still. The First of the Tribes continue still. The work of the Children of Twilight and Dawn continues.