ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 1
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 2
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 3
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 4
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 5
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 6
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 7
Part IV: The Eagle and The Belly Dancer (A Story of Daring Adventure.)
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Chapter I Setting Out To Redeem Love. “So, in the Libyan fable it is told that once an eagle, stricken with a dart, said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft, “With our own feathers, not by others' hand are we now smitten.” -Aeschylus
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-SeaTho' my mast has broke against the sea, The waves have returned you to me. You have swam the storm at night, Keeping our torch alight, O' soft soothing touch, How I love you so much. You are all the better parts, Of this crippled heart. -LandI stand looking over this autumn floor, These men who when young, Towered over my chamber door, Now they crumble under my feet. All these old men, how sad it is to tread, This land of funerals in the end.
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After reading Grato's diary, I find that he was right at the end of it all. There is a softness found in the flower petal that reflects the tenderness of its Creator. We try our best to imitate her and capture her textures and delicacies, but we fail miserably. We lack the floral aromas; instead we excrete odors that need to be tamed, lest we repel even our own species. When has the stink of a rose ever caused a whole garden to uproot and leave? We should long to be like the flower who is a greater saint than we could ever dream to be. Why do we not openly weep when her last petal falls in the autumn. How is it that we can survive the sorrow of a million funerals each year? How do we not die from pure joy at the re-birth of all these beauties in the spring? Is there anything more breathtaking than seeing the blossoming of these organic fireworks exploding into the sunlight? Have you ever held your cheek against her as she shudders in the cool noon breeze? It feels like butterfly kisses. These children of nymphs are enough to live for on their own; do we really need further
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convincing? They are the scenery of this world; this beautiful world. The are the aroma of angels, who grow into the goddesses of summer, only to become the martyrs of the fall, and the dearly missed in winter. Grato set out with only a backpack and a mind full of flowers to find his one true love. For she was the only one who held the aroma of love and whose blossom never wilted. She consumed his every thought, and he knew that without her to guide him, he would not make it in this world or the next. 1 Grato saw a large multitude of birds flying west, which made sense because the past week had been St. Valentine's Day, which is when all of the ocean birds fly inland to surprise their wives and lovers. Today was five days after their arrival, and thus after an entire work week of passionate 1 Long suffering is a virtue that Grato would learn to appreciate
on his journey, for it is an unusual virtue that takes the focus off of you, and enables humility to start its work within you; humility that will makes you strong in the end... If you are beaten and betrayed, do not internalize your pain, that is self centered and will only lead to depression and hatred. Instead focus your efforts on how you will transform this pain into a motivating force of loving action.
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rendezvous, they now made their mass exodus back to the sea, fleeing the fowl tempers of their spouses; where the un-nagging comforts of their beach bird mistresses awaited them with wings wide open. The note Islabella left him said that she awaited him in a land over many seas; and so Grato used the birds as his compass and followed the course they set out. The bird shadows overcast the entire sky, turning the whole countryside into a shade of night... Sporadically... ####################################### #########################brief#####specks ##of##sun###fought#through#######the##### ##canopy######between##the#######flapping ####of#their##wings####these#####midday## #######shooting#stars###were########sparks ###of#light#########in####an###otherwise## ########bleak######world################ ####################################### There were no surrounding farmlands outside of Golgothae. Instantly he was met by the bleak wilderness of the countryside; the terrain was not lush and rolling as you may
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imagine, but rather a botanical grave yard. The road he walked was dusty and made of dark red clay. It is the sort of earth that stains your pants and shoes 1 ... Luckily for Grato, depression had caused him to utterly disregard all hygiene weeks beforehand, and thus his slacks and shoes were already ruined. The bright red dirt was actually an improvement over the bland normal dirt that had previously covered his body. For the first time in weeks he was in a good mood; this was mostly due to the fact that he had just set out on a great adventure. Is there anything more invigorating than adventure Dear Reader? It puts you with the likes of Columbus, Peter Pan, Beowulf, and Don John of Austria; which if you do not already know, is quite good company to be in. Another reason for his good mood was that The Shadow's were mostly silent these days; something inside Grato could feel that they were afraid to act too boldly, as if they knew somewhere not too far off, a greater power lurked, plotting their doom. 1 The only way to get these stains out is by soaking your clothes
in a mixture of urine and goats milk; and who wants to wear anything after it has been soaked in something like that?
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The longer Grato walked, the better his mood grew, and it wasn't long before he broke out into a happy high toned whistle. It was the sort of whistle whose notes carry with them such unadulterated happiness that they transcend the clumsiness and calamity of words. However if these notes could be translated into words, they would most likely go something like this, Oh this beautiful day!
`OHTHISBEAUTIFULDAY= Oh this brave adventure underway,
`OHTHISBRAVEADVENTUREUNDERWAY= Come dragons, armies, witches spells,
`COMEDRAGONSARMIESWITCHESSPELLS= Come oceans, mountains, gates of hell,
`COMEOCEANSMOUNTAINSGATESOFHELL= I shall overcome all these!
`ISHALLOVERCOMEALLTHESE= I shall overcome any beast my eyes see,
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`ISHALLOVERCOMEANYBEASTMYEYESSEE= She awaits at the end of my voyage,
`SHEAWAITSATTHEENDOFMYVOYAGE= Because of this I say,
`BECAUSEOFTHISISAY= Oh this beautiful day!
`OHTHISBEAUTIFULDAY= Death come if you will, by and by,
`DEATHCOMEIFYOUWILLBYANDBY= What a beautiful day to die,
`WHATABEAUTIFULDAYTODIE= Lucky as a four leaf clover,
`LUCKYASAFOURLEAFCLOVER= To die in search of one’s true lover!
`TODIEINSEARCHOFONESTRUELOVER= Because of this I say,
`BECAUSEOFTHISISAY= Oh this beautiful day!
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`OHTHISBEAUTIFULDAY= As Grato walked along whistling his song, the philandering birds of the sky quickly took notice and joined him, singing a chorus of their own that went, “Chirp, chirp!”
`CHIRPCHIRP= and “Tweedle-lee-deedle-lee-doo!”
`TWEEDLELEEDEEDLELEEDOO= Which we all know translates into human language as “This foolish, brave child, we envy him!”
`THISFOOLISHBRAVECHILDWEENVYHIM= Everyone in the sky was singing, everyone except for the eagles that is; they are too proud to envy a bird, let alone a wingless human. However amongst these eagles there was one who was humble and meek. Her name was
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Josephine, she was only four months old and still looked fuzzy and awkward in everything she did. Her feet seemed ten sizes too big, and her feathers stuck out in every direction like a porcupine. It had taken her every one of the 92 days allotted to her from birth for her to learn how to fly. And she was only successful then because it was the day of her mother’s funeral, and she loved her mother very much. While the death of her mother was untimely for her, it was not the case with her father. You see Dear Reader, her father was a mighty war-eagle named Thunderclaw, whose wandering eye had led him to commit adultery. The pain of the news was so great to Josephine's mother that it drove her to jump from her nest and kill herself. Thunderclaw's promiscuity was not an entirely new development; years beforehand when they were still just newlyweds, he cheated on her with a common brown eagle who had been a servant girl in his father's house. He swore up and down that it was a one-time mistake, and that it would never happen again. But this new betrayal cut twice as deep, for
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it was an interspecies affair with a seagull. Dear Reader, if you know anything about eagles then you know that this is a shame that they cannot bear. Knowing what a cold man Thunderclaw was, Josephine knew she must keep up keep up with him, for he would not wait around to ensure that she made it to the funeral safely. So on the morning of the funeral, Josephine awoke two and a half hours earlier than Thunderclaw and began her first flight to the top of the mountain to pay her last respects. It was an arduous journey, and Josephine had to stop many times to rest along the way; but in time, she made it to the summit, where she shed many tears over her mother’s corpse like the good daughter she was. That was three weeks ago to the day, and although she was much better at flying now, she was still no match for her father and his friends. They were on their way to the coast, to start their new life with her father and evil stepseagull (mother). This did not appeal to poor little Josephine; she despised the idea as much as her sad little heart could despise anything.
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She didn't want a new life, or a new home, and most of all she didn't want a new mother. She loved her old mother and wanted her back. She missed the way her mother used to tuck her under her wing on stormy nights. She missed the lullaby she used to sing her before she put her to bed at night. It was impossible that her new mother would know the words to her real mother's lullaby. She didn’t even know if her new mother could sing, she was after all only a seagull. Her real mother on the other hand had the voice of a nightingale. The words of her lullaby resonated deep within Josephine, and they were the dirge of her heart, giving her strength to press on... Sleep well tonight my dear.
`SLEEPWELLTONIGHTMYDEAR= Don’t you shed a tear,
`DONTYOUSHEDATEAR= You have nothing to fear,
`YOUHAVENOTHINGTOFEAR= Your mommy is here.
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`YOURMOMMYISHEAR= No hunters haunt our nest,
`NOHUNTERSHAUNTOURNEST= So ease your eyes and rest,
`EASEYOUREYESANDREST= I’ll be here through the night,
`SOILLBEHERETHROUGHTHENIGHT= Holding you so tight.
`HOLDINGYOUSOTIGHT= Sweet dreams my dear,
`SWEETDREAMSMYDEAR= Your mommy is here.
`YOURMOMMYISHERE= Although her mothers song told her not to shed a tear, she could not help it. A fierce head wind blew against her face; it was viciously cold. She had been flying for so long, and every muscle in her body pulsated in pain. Not once did her father look back to check on her well
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being, in fact she suspected that he hoped she was not. That he would be happier if she too fell to her death. But for that to happen would be impossible, for in the heart of this little bird roared a magnificent lion who was the noblest beast in all the wild. And despite... no Dear Reader, despite is not the right word to use... because she had no mother, and because she was so awfully tired, and especially because she thought Thunderclaw resented her; she fought all the more. The greatness inside of her would not let her give up. What Josephine did not know is that her father was not rejecting her; he was rejecting her image. She was the spitting image of her mother, and although he was a cruel and unkind husband, he was still heart broken over Josephine's mother's death, for she was the wife of his youth. But Josephine was convinced she was hated, and the further she flew with the wind bashing into her face, the more she wanted to turn her back to the wind and run (or fly) away. She wanted to fly far away, far from her father's cold eyes, far from a future she didn't
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want, far from the aching pain in her heart. It was then that she looked down below her and saw a funny speck walking on the ground. It was a queer looking creature, like a short tree that was smooth all over except for the top which was hairy; it walked on what appeared to be two branches. It wasn't a tree though, it was some sort of beast; a beast that although looked tired and weary possessed a similar greatness to it, even if it didn't know it yet. By now you know that it was Grato who she saw walking on the ground below her. He was clearly on a journey of his own, and his journey went in the opposite direction of her father's, which made it the perfect direction for her. Plus what she yearned for more than anything was a little company; seeing that her father was far ahead of her now, she seized the opportunity to swoop behind Grato and make an introduction. Like a bullet she dove before his eyes, and shouted in youthful excitement “Hi!� Grato did not see her coming (and when you mix that with the excited look in her eyes (a look he mistook for craziness) and the fact
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that he was unexpectedly standing face to face with a talking bird) and thus did what all men do when they are faced with something new or foreign to them, he lashed out in violence. Flailing his arms wildly, Grato scrambled for anything to “defend” himself with. Finding a nearby log, Grato quickly snatched it up with his left hand and smacked Josephine square on the head with it, knocking her unconscious. As the baby bird fell listlessly to the ground, the shadow's suddenly applauded, cheering “Bash the beast, bash her brains out!” But then something else happened, as Grato raised the log to bash her, the ribbon around his wrist started burning his skin; instantly he dropped the log, and began clutching his wrist for relief. And as soon as the log was dropped he found it, as quickly as it came the burning left again. Grato was confused, but the shadow's wanted to claim their prize, they said “Do it, bash her head off, she tried to kill you!” Being the helpless slave he was, Grato reached for the log once more, but found that as he reached for it, the burning returned twice as
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hot as before. Grato quickly pulled his hand back from the log “There must be some enchantment on this log, preventing it from being a tool of death.” But then the shadow's cried out once more “Then step on her, crush her skull beneath your heel, do not let your attacker go free, she will only return with ten friends to finish the job!” But as Grato raised his foot to stomp on her head, flames shot up from the ribbon, setting his sleeve ablaze. The panic of being on fire caused Grato to fall on the ground as he frantically tried to put the flames out; but as soon as he fell away from Josephine, the fire went out and it was as if they had never been there at all. “A great magician protects this bird, it must be his agent of death, an invincible monster who cannot be killed.” But as he studied the unconscious bird further, he noticed that she was no ravenous creature of death at all, but merely a child. “What kind of witch would use a child to do her bidding? This is a new form of evil; this poor, poor child.” thought Grato. Compassion swelled in Grato's heart and
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abated the wrathful cries of his . Almost before he realized he had done so, the toddler was in Grato's arms and he was cradling her like a human child. She was motionless. Grato could barely tell if she was breathing. He wished desperately for signs of life to return to her. A flicker of the eye. A twitch of the wing. Something, anything... “Please, don't let me be guilty of murder again!� begged Grato. His insides cried out to the power of the universe for assistance; and it answered. Slowly life returned to Josephine as she came to. Her brain was mush, and her head throbbed like a war drum. But that was not the worst consequence of Grato's foolishness; the severity of the blow to her head was so great that it caused her brain to swell and press against her optical nerves, rendering her blind. Her world was transformed into fuzzy darkness. It felt as though she was falling through a big hole in her brain that had no walls or sides to grab onto; only these warm, loving, wings that held her as she fell.
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And although she could not see who it was who held her, she was held so gently, that she knew that she must have died and gone to heaven. For these wings that held and rocked her so familiarly could not possibly belong to anyone but her own mother. “Heaven is a dark place.” she thought to herself. But as her senses began returning to her, she quickly realized that the wings that held her had no feathers on them. She remembered her mother’s wings being full of feathers. And upon further investigation she found something far more shocking; not only were these wings featherless, but they were not wings at all. They were arms; which was odd because she distinctly remembered her mother having wings. Still, the way she was being held, it couldn't possibly be anyone but her mother. Opening her beak, the little eagle sweetly said “Mother?” Grato was flabbergasted, not only was he not mistaken about this eagle's ability to speak, but now it thought he was its mother. How
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could it be that he could now understand and presumably speak to animals? Had he somehow acquire super powers? The answer is no. Grato did not have super powers. The reason he could understand Josephine is much deeper than mutations or gamma rays. You see my friend; there are times when two people (or animals in this case) have a perfect understanding of the heart. This understanding is so complete, that they even know what the other is thinking without a word being said. They can do this because they too are thinking the same thing, and feeling the same way. But do not mistake me, they are not hearing the other person’s thoughts; they are hearing themselves through the other person’s circumstances. So when Josephine said “I missed you Mother.” To Grato it was the same as if he had said “I miss you Islabella.” Tears welled up in the corners of Grato's eyes and he nearly wept all over the poor bird. Grato knew instantly that he loved Josephine
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deeply. Not like he loved Islabella, but like she was his own child. There was a long silence, which made Josephine uneasy “Are you okay Mother?” Grato gave little thought to the words he said next; they just sort of popped out thoughtlessly “Yes my love, everything is all right, I am just so happy to see you.” A queer look instantly came over Josephine's face, why was her mother’s voice so deep and hairy sounding? It didn't even sound like a bird, let alone a nightingale. “Mother, what's wrong with your voice? It sounds mean like Father's?” Grato's voice did not sound mean; the only other male voice Josephine had ever heard was Thunderclaw's, and thus both meant the same in her mind. “It's the weather; I've caught a bit of the cold.” said Grato making a halfhearted attempt to force a cough, all the while thinking “What am I doing? Why in the world am I lying and pretending to be the mother of a baby bird? Soon this poor creature is going to realize I'm a fake, and then what? What's going to happen when her own family or owner realizes she's
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missing and comes looking for her? What then? They'll claw your face off... but she sure is cute isn't she?” Even at the prospect of having his face shredded by a pack of angry eagles, Grato couldn't bring himself to end the charade. He decided that he would be the best mother he could to this poor bird. At least she appeared to be old enough to feed herself, which was good, because just the prospect of having to nurse an eagle caused Grato's nipples to hurt. “Mother!” piped up Josephine suddenly. “Yes my dear what's the matter?” replied Grato, trying to soften his voice. “Why don't my eyes work?” cried the bird fearfully. “Well my love, you took quite a knock to the head.” said Grato caressing her head gently to sooth her fears. “Oh yes, I remember... Mother?” replied Josephine questioningly. “Yes?” answered Grato. Josephine's voice trembled “Will my eyes get better?” With great regret and love in his voice
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Grato replied “I hope so.” Grato felt less than human for what he had done “What kind of monster beats a baby bird with a stick? Not even monsters do that. You're worse than a monster, you're a baby bird beater!” A silence fell over the two of them; it was the sort of silence that is not silent at all, it was a megaphone of quiet emotion. Josephine's beak twitched “Why....” she started, but then fell silent. “Come out with it, it’s okay.” assured Grato. Even with this reassurance, Josephine's puffy cheeks still shuttered nervously. She opened her beak to speak again, but her words hid behind her tongue, refusing to come out. Taking heart, she took a deep breath breath and asked “Why did you leave me?” Obviously Grato had no clue what she was talking about; after all he had only been her mother for a matter of moments. But mother's must always answer their children, even if they don't know the answer. Thus Grato did his best to make up something that sounded convincing “Is that
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what you think, that I left you? Oh heavens no, I could never leave you. You see, I was out looking for the biggest, juiciest, worm to bring to you, when a sneaky fox jumped out from behind a mulberry bush and tricked me. He said that he was the only son of a great Italian ruler, and that a curse had been placed over him that turned him into a fox. He claimed that the only way to break his curse was if he ate a worm and turned around three times while reciting the magic curse breaking words.” “What were the magic words?” inquired Josephine. “There were no Magic words. Words can't break a curse, nothing can, once it's there, it's there forever. But you see, there was no curse on the fox at all. He had always been a fox, he just wanted to be mean and play a trick to steal your worm; because see he saw what an unusually pleasant worm it was.” “Why would you get me a worm?” asked Josephine raising her fuzzy eyebrow. “What do you mean why? For you to eat.” replied Grato hoping to simply dismiss the subject. “Blah! I don't eat worms... they are slimy
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and gross...” gagged Josephine. “But still have to eat them; they are high in vitamins and protein, just like vegetables.” reminded Grato. “But eagles don't eat vegetables; father says we're carny-vores.” retorted Josephine, revealing a fatal flaw in her mother's argument. Scrambling to regain his foothold in the argument, Grato explained “Yes, you're right, we are carnivores; and that is why we must eat ours worms, because they are not vegetables. If we don't eat worms, how else will we get our vitamins?” “But you said they are like vegetables...” reminded Josephine, bringing her mother's logic under scrutiny once more. And then it struck Grato “Why am I arguing with a child?” Stiffening his voice, he evoked his motherly authority and put an end to the conversation “I said you have to eat them and that's that, I don't want to hear another word about it, okay?” Josephine sighed and folded her wings like a brat “Fine.” Josephine opened her beak, revealing the depths of her throat.
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Grato wasn't sure if she was choking or if this was all part of her tantrum “What are you doing?” “I'm waiting for my worm.” replied Josephine grudgingly. There was something about her big brown eyes and quivering beak that struck a chord in Grato “But I told you, that rascal of a fox stole it; you’re lucky, no worms today.” This was the best news ever, because Josephine really did hated worms, and she didn't give one lick that they were loaded with vitamins. As Josephine reveled in her victory, it occurred to Grato that he had no idea if his new child was a son or a daughter, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was other basic information that he didn't know, like her name for instance. Being clever, Grato quickly devised a line of questioning that he hoped would reveal the information he desired “Did you keep up on your studies while I was away?” “Yes.” replied Josephine eagerly. “Even your grammar?” asked Grato. “Yes.” confirmed Josephine.
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“How about you’re spelling?” “Yes.” said Josephine once more. “Can you spell your name?” asked Grato. “Of course” responded Josephine quite proudly “J-O-S-E-P-H-I-N-E.” Grato's plan was working like gang busters; not only did he discover that he had a daughter, but now he knew her name too. They went on this way until Grato had learned just about everything there was to know about Josephine (except for the fact that her real mother had committed suicide, Josephine kept that to herself.) Although Josephine's blind trust seemed genuine enough, she had throughout his line of questioning been doing some questioning of her own; why did her mother insist on lying to her? You see Dear Reader, you mustn't forget that Josephine had been at her mother’s funeral and saw her dead body with her own eyes. If her mother had risen from the dead, why didn't she just come out and say so? Why did she insist on making up some ridiculous story about a fox and a worm? She felt betrayed. Even though her father was a cruel bird,
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wasn't Josephine enough of a reason for her mother to suck it up and keep going? Couldn't she have pressed on a little longer for her sake? In the end though, she decided to put all of these questions aside, and allow her mother’s story to suffice; choosing the joy she felt over her mother rising from the dead, over the pain of the truth.
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Chapter II A Town Without A Conscience, Save For One Beast... “I didn't know I was a slave until I found out I couldn't do the things I wanted.” -Frederick Douglass
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Winds of change are about, They sweep down from the east, And Challenge our greatest doubts, Making known a new kind of Beast, One with unmatched teeth and claws, Whose roar is greater than the hate of hell. A Beast who is the fulfillment of the law, A Beast who tolls the Sabbath bell. But alas in the end, We live in the age of men, And just as it has always been, We readily chase down sin.
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Thunderclaw and his friends were fast in flight toward the coastline, and by the time they realized she was gone, they were already miles away. Frantically he searched to find her; tearing through the crowded sky with contempt; shoving his way through the flying masses, he knocked many of the smaller birds clean out of the sky. Not willing to admit the truth to himself, he clung to the hope that she was out there somewhere, mixed up in the mob of birds. Deep down though, he could not deny the truth, that his unforgiving nature had chased her away. Thunderclaw's cruel heart was broken into a thousand pieces, and he wished more than anything now, that he had not been so cold to her. In the stale gray sky, he vowed that he would find his daughter no matter the cost, and that when he did, he would be a good and loving father. Well that was the plan at least, but you will find Dear Reader that the plan and the way things play out are rarely similar to one another.
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Diving down low to the ground, Thunderclaw scoured the landscape for days until at last he came upon the place where Josephine had first descended on Grato. He instantly smelled the stench of human all over the place; which caused great alarm in his heart, for he knew all too well what men are capable of. Thunderclaw hated men more than he hated himself. Rage boiled in his soul, and the shadow's within him squealed. Making a new vow he beat his breast and swore “As surely they exist, I swear by both Heaven and Hell that if one feather on her head is missing, that there will be no army that can keep me from gutting the man responsible. I will spread his insides across the country and bake them in the sun.� Thunderclaw had no trouble tracking the direction in which Grato went, for he was part Cherokee Eagle. And even amongst his own tribe, he was greatly respected for his tracking abilities; it was said about him that he could track a mouse in a hurricane. Luckily for Grato and Josephine, they only
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stopped for a few hours each night to rest, and so they had huge head start. Point A: Where Josephine first saw Grato and was knocked unconscious. Point B: Their current location after many days of traveling. Point C: Place in the time-line when Thunderclaw found point A. Tracking the steps of their journey. (A)________
__________ | | | | | | |____| | | |________ | | | |__(B)
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Time-line of events. <-(A)-------------------------------------(C)--(B)-> On the second evening of their travels, as the mighty sphere of fire was clocking out for the day, and the half awake moon and his accompanying band of constellations were warming up to perform their nocturne, Grato and Josephine arrived at a town that had no name. The reason for this townâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lack of name was that many years ago, when the town was first founded, there was a huge hubbub over what the name should be, but nobody could agree on a name to call it, so everyone just started calling it whatever they wanted. Most people named it after themselves, there was Frank Town, and Alexville, and at one point even a group of people named Ted that banded together and started call the town New Ted City. When the townspeople asked why they should go along with this name, the Ted's stated that the original Ted City was in ancient times a Mecca of progress in both science and art; a shining beacon in the darkness, whose glory illuminated the souls of its neighboring cities. Plus their name was Ted and who doesn't
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want a city named after them. Soon, based on the sparkling words they had heard about old Ted City, the townspeople began planning family vacations there; and were quite underwhelmed by its lack of sights and the stupidity of its inhabitants. When word got back to town that those who had been there only had a so-so time and that Ted City wasn't really all that illuminating, the group quickly disbanded and the Ted's all went their separate ways. Most of the people who lived here were well to do and easily influenced. This was a town where a new idea was born every day. In the center of the town stood a university that all of the worldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s worst philosophers graduated from. There worst of these was Stephan Blumbucket, who one day decided he no longer believed in pots and pans, and thus scribbled some ridiculous doctrine that pots or pans actually did not exist in the universe, and that people only perceive them to be a pot or a pan; and so if we didn't believe in the pan, it would cease to be. He mostly loved this idea because he hated
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helping his wife with the dishes. However upon informing his wife that he no longer believed in pots and pans, and thus had no business enabling the delusions of her closed minded perception; she smacked him dead in the face with the aforementioned delusion, and broke his nose. It was then that he discovered his faith in the irrefutable existence of pots and pans and started a new doctrine based on it. Standing next to the university was a church named The First Inter-faith Assembly of New Life Revival and Christian Atheistic Buddhist Synagogue; all of its congregates were self-righteous vegetarians who loved hugging each other for no reason. Mansions on enormous plots of land speckled the countryside; these scenic plantations bore dignified names such as Hillfeather Manor or Pollybrook Meadows. The upkeep of these estates was mostly done by what the locals called â&#x20AC;&#x153;conscripted servant'sâ&#x20AC;? which is a nice sounding name for slaves. You see Dear Reader, most people have no problem owning slaves as long as they can call them something else. But to call a slave a conscripted
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servant is the same as calling a burning house a nice place to stay warm. 1 Just east of the university was a market where the buying and selling of conscripted servants was the chief commerce. At the markets center stood a stage where the days offerings were displayed. The stages dimensions were; four batters boxes deep x 5 pirate’s planks long, and it stood the height of a 14 year old boy’s forehead. The stage was made of dark northern cedar, and for the most part was stained dark red from all the blood, urine, and tears that had been spilled on it. The ages and gender of each slave varied greatly, the youngest were toddlers and babies. The toddlers were not usually bought to work, but rather they were purchased by a mother who had lost a child of her own. Sadly though the hole left in her soul by her tragedy was rarely able to be filled by these purchased children. More often than not, these poor kids ended back on the selling block before their 10 th 1 I am not most people and I pray neither are you, and so for the
remainder of our tale, we will not use false terms like “conscripted servant's”, we will call a servant a servant, and a slave a slave. We do this because like all adventures of life, we live this one with our eyes wide open.
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birthday. There is an old faerie proverb about this, and it holds true even today. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Ta fillea ed ta donetrous ze gabba, fwesa ta wedda douwae ed patrnobba!â&#x20AC;? (The void of the grave is greater, than the precious miracle of motherhood!) 1 However all of this failed adoption talk was mere child's play in comparison with women ages 16-19. These nubile nectars of nature; whose bellies had never carried a child, and whose breasts had never felt the stiff chapping from a nursing baby, were pure and un-ravaged; and thus ripe for defilement. These beauties fetched three times the price of their male counterparts, and many of them found their way into their masterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s house, joining him in his bed. Once there, they were treated to all of the benefits that a rich man's mistress enjoys; including clothes and jewelry. 1 You see Dear Reader, it's not that a woman cannot happily
adopt a child and love it like her own, my own mother did such thing twice; it's that a woman who thinks it's okay to buy and sell human beings can't. For where one is mere property, the other is a little piece of her heart that grew inside her, and was brought into the world for her to love.
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That is of course until he impregnated them; once they were fat with child, they too were shipped off to work the fields. It was Sunday so the market was closed. But you also must remember that Grato was new to this place and knew nothing about it's underbelly. Josephine was fast asleep in his backpack dreaming soundly; Grato too felt quite tired. Fatigue swept over him. His legs were anchors dragging in the sand. Drudging through town, Grato looked for a place to rest; it was then that he came upon an old woman standing next to a well in front of her house. She was a kind looking little creature, with a crooked back and a bubble nose. Famished, Grato approached the old woman and asked “Ma'am, may I please have some of your water, I am very thirsty?” At hearing his words, the kind looking old woman ceased to look so and scoffed at him “Fat chance you bum; we're in a drought, get a job!” Spitting on the ground, the old hag walked inside her house and slammed the door shut.
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A little farther down the road, Grato saw a young man who was very neatly dressed who was just arriving home. Double timing it, Grato hurried up to the young man’s house, but before Grato had a chance to speak, the man rushed inside just like the hag had and slammed his door on Grato's nose. From behind the door came a high pitched voice “Go away!” squealed the young man. “Please, I'm not going to hurt you, I just need some water.” begged Grato. “Go away or I'll be forced to call the authorities!” screamed the squeaky voice like he was going to have and aneurysm. Grato attempted to plead his case, but he realized that he was much thirstier and dehydrated than before. The dizzies came upon him, swooping him up in one fell rush. His knees wobbled, his guts were a whirlwind, and at last his legs gave way; the lights in his eyes faded, he was falling down; but then, he heard a small voice chirping over his shoulder “Mother, I'm thirsty.” Like a nuclear powered cannon shooting bolts of lightning “it” shot straight through him. Grato's eyes lit back up, his knee's
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steadied, and he forced the tides of dizziness from his mind. Dear Reader I assume you are asking yourself right about now what in the heck it is? The truth is I don't quite know what it is. It remains mystery, even to the most brilliant scientists. What I do know is that it's what gives a mother the strength to stand face to face with a pack of howling wolves and defend her child. Some play it down and say that it is a simple rush of adrenaline, but Dear Reader that’s like calling Aslan just a lion. Empowered by it, Grato pried his tongue off the roof of his mouth, and said “Of course you are darling; I was just getting us some water.” As he said this, a beautiful woman walked past Grato; she was not as beautiful as Islabella, but she was attractive in her own right. Her golden locks of hair were shimmering reflections of the sun, and her cheeks were rosier than actual roses. Weary and intoxicated from thirst, Grato approached her. As he drew near her though, she drew back. Grato Quickly tried to put her fears at ease “Please, I just need some water for
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me and my daughter, please!” It was at that moment that Josephine popped her fuzzy little head up out of the backpack and smiled. The beautiful girl gave Grato a queer look “What daughter? All I see is that ugly bumpy headed little bird.” This would be a hard one to explain, I mean he couldn't very well stand there and claim a bird as his actual daughter now could he? The girl would think he's mad... and maybe he was... but so what, Josephine was as much his daughter as the king of England is just a man at the end of the day. Bracing himself for the ridicule that was sure to follow, Grato replied “Like I said, my daughter.” The beautiful girl giggled “Sorry, my water is for humans only. You're more than welcome to drink all you want, but your pet can't have any.” At these words Josephine squawked something that the woman couldn't understand. However, Grato understood it perfectly. Turning to the women, Grato pleaded in a
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whisper “Please, I beg you I know I sound nuts, but she'll die if she doesn't get some water soon, we haven't had a drop to drink in days.” Shaking her head, the woman was unmoved by Grato's plea. “Then I suppose you have no water for us. Good day.” said Grato as he brushed the dust off of his heels and went quickly on his way; stumbling down the road. However they didn't make it more than a block before the growl of a deep voice stopped Grato in his tracks, demanding “Young man, come here.” Turning his eyes in the direction of the voice, Grato was met by the scariest and most terrifying creature to ever grace earth, faerie land, or anywhere in between. The beast was half concealed behind his front door, and after speaking he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the house. Although the brief glance that he saw of the monster was terrible, there was something in his voice that compelled Grato to want to follow after it. Even though his rational mind told him it must be a trick that would surely lead to his doom; his curiosity was too strong
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and he slowly started towards the door. But slowly was not the will of this monster and he roared again, only more forcefully this time â&#x20AC;&#x153;I said come here.â&#x20AC;? Grato knew he should run for his life, but he could not; stepping into the house, he was instantly met by the sight of the beast. The beast stood in the far corner of the house, where the only rays of light came through a lone window, illuminating just enough of his body for Grato to see what he was dealing with. The creature stood nine feet tall, and had shoulders as wide as an elephant. His skin was dark gray like a stormy sky, with hints of copper to it. His face was decoratively scarred to look like a skull; and atop his head he wore a crown made of bronze and monstrous teeth. They were the sort of teeth that could only belong to a vicious dinosaur or some other blood thirsty monster of mythological lore. At his side hung a broadsword, which he used as a dagger. He wore no clothing, his upper torso was fully human, but his lower half was that of a muscular shaggy mammal (somewhere between a lion and black bear.) Grato had never seen anything like him
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before. It was fear at first sight. The beast opened his mouth to speak, revealing a mouth full of fangs sharp enough to cut through steel “You need water?” The beast was awe inspiring in his fierceness and Grato's heart jumped into his throat. Swallowing his fear, the pack of wolves facing mother rose up in Grato “Yes, we are very thirsty.” “I have a well in my cellar where the water is always cool there. You may help yourself if you wish.” said the beast flashing his fangs. “My daughter too?” replied Grato flashing his own teeth. The beast peered over Grato's shoulder and looked down at Josephine who was squatting in his backpack. Letting out an earth shaking laugh, the beast bore the depths of his throat, saying “This bird is your daughter?” Grato assumed the beast would mock and taunt him for his madness like all the others had, only he figured the beast's taunting would not be and attack of mere words; surely it was the end for Grato.
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Swallowing all fear back Grato said “Yes.” in a grave and sorrowful tone, similar to that of Abraham's when G-d commanded him to offer up Isaac as a sacrifice. But like Abraham, Grato took heart “It's okay if you want to ridicule me, but do not laugh at my daughter for she is gentle, and has already suffered so much in her short life.” insisted Grato reverently. “I wouldn't dream of it. She is as pretty as her mother, you are very lucky.” said the beast with a chuckle “I am The Almighty Prince, The Only Son of The King of Light, and you and your daughter are welcome to drink at my well.” Grato still couldn't quite decide what game this Prince was up to, was this kindness a front in order to lure them deeper into his lair, where he could rip them to pieces and feast on their flesh without danger of being discovered? It was certainly a possibility, but Grato was thirsty, and there was just something in his voice, something that even now drew Grato in deeper. As soon as he had accepted The Prince's invitation, Grato started counting the seconds to his death...
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1 second... 2 seconds... 3 seconds... 1 __ | | 2|__ | | 3| | Descending down the steps into the cellar, pools of sweat gathered on Grato's palms. Watching his host closely, he swore more than once that he caught him licking his lips. | 8|__ | | 9|__ | | 10|__ | | 11|__ | | 12|__ | | 13|__ | | 14|__| |...Still the seconds counted... __|15 | | __|16 | | __|17 | | __|18 | | __|19 | | __|20 | â&#x20AC;&#x153;Depending on how this all works out, each step I take is either an act of great faith or foolishness.â&#x20AC;? Thought Grato to himself as his
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decent deepened. | __|25 | | __|26 | |__|27 | |28|__ | | 29|__ | | 30|__ | | 31|__ | | 32|__ | | 33|__ | | 34|__ | | 35| ...When they finally reached the well, it proved to be everything The Prince had promised. It was deep, and the water was so cold that little flakes of ice floated around its edges. Taking off his backpack, Grato sat down next to the well; he was glad to have the weight off his back. Keeping his word, Grato offered the first cup of water to Josephine and let her drink till she was full. Once she had had her fill, Grato proceeded to refresh himself. With her thirst satisfied, Josephine laid back down inside the backpack and drifted off to sleep. The Prince's warm and fogyish Breath
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suddenly fell on the back of Grato's neck; hanging around his throat like a massive vice, ready to tighten its clench. This was no normal Breath, it made Grato feel inadequate. And petrified. His whole body froze. Dropping his cup, he spilled the frosty water across the stone floor. Delicately The Prince placed a hand on Grato's shoulder “Is something wrong?” I say the hand was delicately placed on his shoulder because it was obvious that The Prince was taking great care to withhold a great power deep inside him. The sort of power that no mortal has seen the depths of and lived to tell about. For to see the fullness of his fury would be like touching the heart of the sun, and feeling the weight of all the mountains on top of you all at once. And even then you would only feel the tip of his pinky. “Why would something be the matter?” said Grato trying to play off his trepidation. “Because you smell like fear.” sniffed The Prince. Grato nearly wet himself. The Prince frowned and gritted his teeth
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“Why do you fear me?” What didn't he fear about him? What about him shouldn't he fear? Although The Prince had shown himself to be kind, Grato's eyes still told him otherwise... Hot sweat dripped down Grato's face, it reminded him of Islabella's tears. A slight draft swept through the cellar, ruffling The Prince's furry legs. All was silent. The symphony of the stars was quiet now. The ripples of the water held their tongues. All of creation was mute. It was as everything on earth had disappeared, and now only they remained... There was no one to hear his screams for help... no one but the beast... No one to save him... no one but the mercy of a beast... Grato lied “I'm not scared.” “You lie to me in my own house?!” roared The Prince, shaking the foundation of the cellar. Dust fell from the ceiling and landed on Grato's head. “Do you know who I am?” asked The Prince towering over Grato.
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Grato took a step backwards and stuttered “Y-yes, y-you're T-The P-Prince.” Kneeling down to Grato's level, The Prince reiterated “That's my name, but I asked you if you know who I am?” Taking another fearful step back, Grato stood with his legs flat against the well, teetering slightly, he contemplated throwing himself in an drowning. Grato trembled. The silence was telling. nonono nono no no no no nonono no no no no no nonono nono nonono
nonono nonono no no no nonono no no no no no nonono no no
nonono no no no nonono
nonono no nonono no nonono
“As I thought, you've known about me your whole life, without ever really knowing Me.” said The Prince exhaling disappointment in his voice “You were thirsty and I offered you my water; if you drink from me you will never go thirsty again. This water is part of me, and what have you done with it? You have poured me on the ground.” Grato didn't understand what he was talking about. Never in his life, not even when he stood
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face to face with The Shadow's had he felt so terrified and small. For reasons Grato couldn't understand, the memory of him choking the old man suddenly came to mind. That terrible voice that commanded him to let go. For the first time since descending the stone steps into this dungeon, Grato noticed an odd scent of old holiness hanging in the air. Grato felt ashamed. “But we only met today.” stammered Grato, gripping the lip of the well tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Did we?” asked The Prince, flashing his teeth. “Please, if you're going to kill me, just do it, don't play games, it’s so cruel.” cried Grato. “I do not play games.” said The Prince matter of factly “Would you like to leave?” Yes he wanted to leave. He wanted to run so far away. Beyond the reach of this monster. Beyond the grip of The Shadow's. Into Islabella's arms. “Yes, please!” begged Grato from the
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bottom of his heart. At the sound of these true words bursting forth from Grato's mouth, something unimaginable happened; the mighty, fearsome, Prince, with his mouth full of razors, hid his face from Grato as if to conceal great pain. It was the kind of pain that comes from deep down in your core; the sort that you only feel when you have been betrayed or rejected by someone who you have been poured out for. Turning his back to Grato, The Prince began to exhibit a series of heavy heaving sighs. Finally, The Prince opened his mouth to speak; and when he did it was undeniable that there was a great pain in his voice â&#x20AC;&#x153;It is my greatest desire that you would stay with me in my house. The city is very dangerous at night; The Shadow's and their master are everywhere. But I know your mind, and even now you are planning your escape. I could command you to stay, but then you would only sneak away in the night after I go to sleep. I could keep you captive, under lock and key, but to do that would disgrace my father, for we are a country of free men... If you wish to leave, then go... my time is near.â&#x20AC;?
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Grato didn't need any further encouraging, like a cat that has sparks in his tail; he grabbed his backpack and burst from the cellar, up the stairs....................................................and out of the house, down the 1 __ street, around the corner, and | 2|__ through the doors of The First | 3|__ Inter-faith Assembly of New | 3|__ Life Revival and Christian | 3|__ Atheistic Buddhist Synagogue; | 7|__where he quickly found a pew | 8|__to slouch into and feel | 9|__good about himself. | 10|__He felt good that had | 11|__escaped with he | 12|__and Josephine's | 13|__lives in tact; | 14|__for he had | 15|__done 25. 24. 23. 22. 21. 20. 19. 18. 17. 16. What was 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. right in his mind. But even doing what is right is right, has its own lasting effects, and the presence of that beast stayed with him. Grato couldn't shake the tremors in his hands. They rattled up into his chest.
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Though he was safe, he felt like he was going to die. He had tried to be brave; didn't that count for something? He wanted to be strong, but he knew the truth all too well. He was weak, and a crier. What's worse than that? He didn't want to be a crier, and the fact that he was even though he didn't want to be only made him want to cry all the more. Bursting into tears, Grato quietly cried to himself, any of the it that he had, or had fooled himself into thinking he had, was long gone... In her short life poor Josephine had been betrayed by both parents, he had great saudade that she might have had a better life; but she was destined to be raised by a coward. â&#x20AC;&#x153;She deserves a better fate than this.â&#x20AC;? mumbled Grato.
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Chapter III The Slave and The Savior. “Vivere commune est, sed non commune mereri.” “Everybody lives; not everybody deserves to.” -Prudentius
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Darkness, all I see is darkness, The bleak hopelessness, The pitch void of my soul, This swirling black hole, The color of my hate, The reflection of my fate, These dark Shadow's within me, Will not set me free. Like a snared lark, I am a slave to the dark.
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As Grato sat there contemplating his misery, he was approached by a slender, greasy, but well shaved man, who was dressed in priestly garb. He was much too weathered for a man his age; each one of the lines on his face was hardened like they were drawn in ink. His smile and mouth were enormous, but neither had any joy in them. Plopping his bony frame down in the pew, the man sat silently paying no attention to Grato; which made Grato even more nervous. Like most people who are having a rotten time, Grato wanted nothing more than to have somebody notice how terrible everything was going for him. What Grato did not know was that this was all part of the greasy manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s master plan. He wanted Grato to want him to talk, and whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s worse; he wanted Grato to feel as terrible as humanly possible before doing so. When the greasy man finally acknowledged Grato it was as if a weight was lifted out of the air. The man's voice was like nothing Grato had ever heard before; he spoke with a golden tongue that had a cunning to it, that could convince a man of nearly anything.
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The man used big words like vasoconstriction to confuse you so that you wouldn't know his true motives. Grato had a sneaking suspicion that the man didn't use the words correctly, but he had no way of proving it since he hadn't heard of half of them. Dear Reader, there are two kinds of people who use big words; (A.) people who are actually smart, like doctors and scientists. (B.) Scoundrels, I.E. writers, lawyers, evangelists, politicians, and other villains of the lowest order. Not only do scoundrels not know the meaning of words they use, they don't care. They use them to camouflage their agendas so that they can fool honest saps into believing the ridiculous gibberish they are spewing. The fact that Grato couldn't tell which of the two this man was only proves that he was type (B.). I cannot remember word for word what it was the man said to Grato, because his double talk was impossible to keep up with, but I will do my best to summarize how it went. Stroking his greasy chin, and slightly
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tapping his index finger on a mole that squatted on his right cheek, he started his ramble “I can see that you are a lad in a lower state of feeling, and seeing as how I am a man who has not only pity for the wretched, but also a man with the utmost solemn charity for those who are overcome by such passions; for in truth and honesty both, I too have been the victim of such vile character flaws as sadness, grief, melancholy, and depression. So know that when I tell you I have I have pity for you, I am a friend. And so seeing as how I am your friend, I feel it only proper that I offer you a token of such previously stated friendship, and so here is your token my boy, from one pitiful heart to another.” Saying this, the mystery man pulled a silver flask covered in greasy fingerprints from his jacket and handed it to Grato “Drink up my boy, for there is no cure for these supernatural matters, only sedation.” Looking briefly at his backpack to make sure Josephine was still asleep; Grato took the flask. The stranger's uneasy eyes were all over him, watching with anticipation. Grato knew there was something amiss with this whole
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situation, but he didn't care anymore. He was a coward, and cowards never stand firm. Wiping the grease from the lip of the flask, Grato took a drink and handed the flask back to the man. The stranger clapped his hands loudly and bore his greasy grin â&#x20AC;&#x153;Well done dear friend, you have proven yourself to be a man of the greatest wisdom and prudence, for you like all great men have taken matters of the heart into your own hands and proved that you are truly your own master. Strong drink is a form of worship to the greatest god of all. This is not your sanctuary; we should be having our devotions in other quarters.â&#x20AC;? The man stood up to exit. Grato knew he shouldn't follow him. But truthfully he did feel much better now that he had a little liquor in him to take the edge off. He checked his backpack, Josephine was fast asleep snoring. There was no sense in waking her, so he left her where she was, after all he would only be gone a moment. Following the stranger, Grato exited the church, and slipped around back into the alley; where a pile of oak barrels filled with communion wine were stacked in a pyramid.
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The alley was dark and smelled like old grapes and stale bread. Puddles of mud and wine decorated the ground. It was the sort of spot where you could see out from where you sat, but were shielded from all on lookers by the darkness; perfect for muggers and secret lovers. Taking a seat atop one of the barrels, the slender schmoozer patted the barrel next to him, signaling Grato to take a seat. A dim street light shot in, illuminating the strangers mouth just enough to watch him speak. Grato didn't know yet, but he was in great danger. Taking the fatal seat next to him, Grato accepted another drink from the flask. Overjoyed, the stranger patted Grato on the back, proclaiming â&#x20AC;&#x153;Drink up, that's a good lad. We live in such perilous times; no man knows when his number might be up. Eat and drink for tomorrow we die! Pardon my manners, I have forgotten myself and gone blubbering on without properly introducing myself. My name is Phillinious. I am a poor man, who spends most of his days wondering the streets, looking for poor little lost souls to take in and care for. It is a sad and depressing life I lead, and I am
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more than happy to have found a friend like you to cheer me up.” “My name is Grato, it's nice to meet you.” replied Grato as he accepted another drink from the flask. It wasn't until he had taken this third drink that Grato realized that he was the only one drinking. alarms went off in his head, something wasn't right, he needed to get out of here; he needed to get back to Josephine. But it was too late, the trap had been sprung. “You see my boy you have been had. I have slipped a serum into your drink that should be taking effect any moment now; it will render you helpless, and at my mercy, which by the way is nonexistent.” said Phillinious, bursting out in oily laughter. Grato shot from his seat, attempting to make a run for it; Phillinious chuckled, causing the mole on his face to bounce up and down; he loved the spirit with which Grato attempted his escape. Grato only made it a few steps before he fell limp into one of the larger wine puddles. The last thing Grato remembered before he
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lost consciousness was Phillinious standing over him smiling that greasy smile. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Josephine... I must get back to herâ&#x20AC;? he thought. Two men who he had not noticed before suddenly emerged from the darkest corner of the alley, they had red glowing spider shaped eyes. Josephine... he must get back to her. These new strangers bound Grato's hands and feet. Everything went black... Grato was captive. Josephine was alone again.
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And now we present to you an intermission to help pass the time until Grato awakes...
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A Short Essay on Nothing Much... By: Rocky Magana
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Dear Reader, a good many things occur while we are sleeping; we dream, we snore, but most importantly the world around us continues to spin. Let every night that we go to bed serve as a small reminder that when we are dead, few people will notice. The world does not need us to survive. However this is not the case in Faerie Land. In Faerie Land when a creature dies, the whole world screeches to a stands still to honor them. It doesn't matter who they are or how important their title; the world stands still for everyone, whether king or fly. This is actually where most earthquakes come from. The reason the world stops for them and not for us is simply because we do not believe it will. The citizens of Faerie Land at their core are actually very self-centered. That doesn't mean they are bad, or wicked, or anything like that, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just the way they are. I was recently at Harvard University giving a lecture when I unexpectedly became engaged in a discussion on Faerie Land with a large number of professors. I was shocked to discover that all but one of them believed that
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Faerie Land was make believe and all in my head. I retorted that if that were the case, then how is it that faerie stories have been around for hundreds of years? We are but newborns in comparison; and when did infants start telling adults what is and is not so? Furthermore if did not invent the faerie tale, then how could I have invented a whole Faerie Land? No Dear Reader, there is a Faerie Land, I have been there. I have felt the warmth of its sand between my toes, and seen how much larger the sun looks there than it does here. Of course when I told this to those closed minded wind bags, they laughed at me. This infuriated me, for they thought I was mad; all of them except for one professor. His name was Digory and he was an old Englishman, who in his youth had gone to a similar place. I was tempted to thump all of their skulls, but Digory pulled me aside and reminded me to â&#x20AC;&#x153;Have mercy on them, for they have never had the pure joy of seeing such a place.â&#x20AC;? We cannot hate them for mocking us, we
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can only pity them. They haven't breathed the air there, which you know as I do, does great things for your soul. We cannot be angry with those who have lost the ability to believe in the fantastic; rather it is our charge to reteach them how to dream again, and hopefully in the process save their souls from the dreadfully mundane. Don't ever give up on man's ability to believe in such things my friend, for they truly have missed out one of the greatest gifts of all. The key to believing in dreams is ones own ability to appreciate how much greener the grass is on the other side. It makes everything so interesting and fun. Also falling in love with a faerie is great because she is nothing like the girls from your town. These words were true that day, and they have remained so every since. If you have not had the joy of visiting Faerie Land, then I pray you do before the denials of your world sink their teeth in you, and poison your mind against the fact that such a beautiful place exists. I'd hate for you to miss out on the loads of adventures that await you there.
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I know I have digressed away from our tale on this seemingly ridiculous, and pointlessly philosophical ramble, but I only stand upon my soapbox because... Oh wait, never mind Grato is waking up... and thus our story continues...
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Chapter III ½ (Or Chapter III Cont'd)
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As Grato laid unconscious, he had his first dream of Faerie Land. In his dream, Islabella was sitting beneath the willow tree. She looked so happy that it made him want to cry. Grato ran toward her, but no matter how hard he ran, he couldn't reach her. At last, when he was exhausted and could run no more, he found that she was still just as far away as when he had started. Grato lamented at the top of his lungs, but she didn't hear him. â&#x20AC;&#x153;O' Love, my Love! My dear one, O' sweet perfection! How lovely you look beneath the drooping tree. How could I be such a fool; To leave over something as silly as revengeâ&#x20AC;? The ribbon around Grato's wrist lit ablaze with burning light, and began pulsating like a beating heart. With each heartbeat, the ribbon pumped more love into the world. Soon Grato was so drenched in love, that it felt as though his heart would explode. His vigor to find her was renewed. And then as quickly as she had appeared,
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she faded away into the fog. Suddenly a great whirlwind of darkness came swept in, grabbed him up, and threw him into pitch black oblivion. As he fell into his own void, the only light to be seen was the bright red illumination of her ribbon around his wrist. And it comforted Grato as he descended into formless hell. Grato wasn't sure how long he fell before he awoke; and when he finally did wake up, he wasn't quite sure he had in fact awoken at all. He was surrounded by a darkness so bleak that not only could he not see his hand in front of his face, but he could actually feel the darkness pressing down on the cells and genomes of his body, smothering him. It was like a black hole had formed inside of him, and was sucking in everything evil. Grato's bones creaked as the drew upon the verge of snapping under this dark weight. Tighter and tighter the darkness squeezed, nearly popping his eyeballs out of their sockets. Trying to writhe free from the black grip, Grato found that his hands, legs, and neck were bound by iron cuffs. He could tell that the chains that
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bound him were of considerable size because they were heavy. It was hard to tell how his body was positioned because the darkness pressed in equally from all around; however upon careful calculation he was able to determine that he must be laying flat on his stomach with his legs slightly raised, for the angle at which his lungs sat made it difficult to breathe, and prevented him from struggling to free himself. The temperature was smoldering; sweat poured out of every orifice. Grato's head swam. Panic set in. Terrifying thoughts flooded his brain “What if I'm dead? Is this actually hell? Has all my treachery finally caught up with me? Must I really suffer G-d's punishment for all eternity?” When Grato was young, he once heard Casablanca preach to his brothers that “The worst part of hell is not the lake of fire, or the worms eating your skin, it's the total and complete separation from G-d. We are never without G-d's presence here on earth, even when it seems like He's abandoned you, He's
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there. We see Him in nature, in people, even in your reflection; it's all written on your heart from your first breath to your last.â&#x20AC;? Grato couldn't feel G-d anywhere in this place... G-d had abandoned him, and rightly so â&#x20AC;&#x153;It is the price I deserve for the things I've done. The greatest evil of all being that I abandoned my child.â&#x20AC;? Grato was pretty sure he had started to cry, but he wasn't positive because all the sweat that poured down his brow made it hard to tell. Suddenly, something brushed against his leg. Was this the first of the many beasts of hell that would feast on his flesh? Another something brushed against him. And then another. Something nudged him on his opposite side. But none of these touches were followed by an evil hissing or terrifying growl; they were followed but what sounded like a whimper or a gentle cry. Then came another whimper, and another, and another, until there were whimpers coming from all around. All of the cries were humanoid, but Grato couldn't understand most of the languages they spoke in. They dialects seemed to be mostly of
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tribal origins (passionate in their inflections.) The bass in their voices resonated off the walls, and roared back on them in a thunderous burst of sound. This last bit of terror confirmed it; he must be in hell. Anguish cannot describe the pain he suffered. Dear Reader I'm sure you've heard the term his heart failed him? Well in Grato's case, not only did his heart fail him, but he failed his heart as well; for he had failed and died without ever seeing Islabella's beautiful face again. Bursting into full heaving sobs, Grato choked on his sorrow until he could speak no more. As Grato became sick from swallowing the salt of his tears; the loud sound of a large door being unlatched echoed through the chamber. All at once, the darkness was flooded with blinding light that could have been the face of G-d. It was nearly magical. Everything around Grato was illuminated. Creatures from all over the atlas surrounded him; more than he could count. There were men, women, children, fauns, dwarfs, dryads, nymphs, minotaurs, centaurs, and even a few
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dried up mermaids & mermen. All of them were stripped naked and chained together, Grato included. Most of these majestic creatures were either dead or dying, and were covered in grotesque amounts of their own feces and vomit. The stiff stench of dysentery and cholera invaded Grato's nostrils. It's strange to see a room full of the dead and take this as good news (which it was) for if men are dying all around, then you yourself must still be alive. At first Grato was confounded as to where it was that he had landed, but soon he remembered meeting Phillinious. Two familiar silhouettes appeared in the doorway to the chamber; Grato knew instantly that these belonged to Phillinious's spider eyed henchmen. Wearing doctorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s masks to block the stink of disease, they inspected the prisoners one by one, dragging the dead and dying ones out of the room, where they were burned in an enormous furnace that could be heard just outside the door, growling with impatience, anxious for the feast of fire to be underway. Going about their jobs in a cold and
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businesslike manner, the henchmen treated their captives like a crop ready to be harvested “Shame the beast is dead, he'd have fetched a pretty penny for sure.” said one to the other as he grabbed a hold of the legs of a recently deceased centaur. The creature was massive in size and majesty; he would have stood at least forty hands high, and even now his face was full of nobility that even death could not mask. They were quick with their work, pulling all of the dead from the room, and then they were gone again; shutting out the light behind them. And once again Grato was confined to the solitary loneliness of the darkness. The dull roar of the furnace resonated through the room, sinisterly laughing. Hopelessly Grato cried out into the dark “O' G-d, my G-d, forgive me, please don't abandon me!” But there was no answer; for unlike Rider's journey through hell, this was no hallucination. Grato was actually here; there was no museum security guard to pull him from his nightmare. “Surely I am the most unfortunate person
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ever to be born, curse the day I left my motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s womb!â&#x20AC;? wallowed Grato. The furnace continued its ceaseless laughter. The sizzles and pops of different types of skin penetrated the air. At first they were intermittent, happening every few moments between the cries of the remaining beasts, but soon they grew more frequent, until at last the sounds of crackling skin were an unending undertone to the cries. The lower first tones of the pops blurred into the sharp higher ones of the sizzle. Louder and louder these tones grew, with the low tones beginning so frequently that they completely eclipsed the sharp ones. It sounded like an angry jungle cat purring. This purr grew, and grew, until at last is was a ferocious roar that shook the darkness; annexing it for its own means. The ground shook, and their chains rattled, as a pair of eyes fiercely flashed to life and encompassed them. They were a bewildering sight to behold. They burnt straight through the black matter. Straight through Grato's chest. Straight into his soul, examining every inch of it. But
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this was not the worst part; the worst was how familiar the eyes were. He knew them. They were so beautiful that they were unbearable to look at. The weight of their holiness bore down on him. He knew now whose eyes they were. But Grato was too scared to call out his name. Then as quickly as they had come, they were gone again. Grato wished more than anything that they would come back and watch over him; that they would keep him safe from death's cold grip. To the self-proclaimed logical mind of an atheist, there must be a scientific explanation to the origins of these eyes. They cannot be divine or magical in nature; for their idea of nature has no room for anything magical or divine, and thus there must be a way to explain it all away. But if there is no explanation; then they might actually be forced to humble themselves and admit that they are not their own god. Luckily for Grato, he was no atheist, for he had seen too much. He was merely a good old
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fashioned sinner like you and me, and to merry fools like us, everything seems to be divine in nature. Grato waited in the darkness, praying that he would catch just a glimpse of the eyes again; but that glimpse never came. And so he waited all night. Early the next morning; just before the sun woke up, Phillinious's henchmen came for them. The rain fell hard from gray clouds that blocked the last fading stars from view. Dragging them into the street, their nakedness was exposed to the world. Grato's last shreds of dignity fell away. He was truly bare. The wet, frigid, morning air clung to their noses and genitals as they were lined up single file and marched through the heart of the city, towards the market. The streets were a sloppy mess, and by the time Grato and his fellow captives had made it a half a mile, they were already caked in frozen mud. The burning of winter, cut through them as the wind whipped their faces and thighs. Each time a creature slipped and fell; Phillinious's men beat them until they got back
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up. And if the creature was too weak, or simply could not regain their footing in time, they were clubbed to death. Many creatures fell along the way, and a good number of them never got up again. One faun in particular sticks out in my mind as I write this; he was a strapping young lad who probably could have survived a thousand of these winter marches without falling. His only weakness was that he had a heart of gold, and it proved to be his down fall. As they marched along, this brave faun saw an old cyclops in front of him fall beneath the weight of his own legs; knowing what the creatures fate would be if he did not get up immediately, the faun knelt down to help him. But Phillinious's men were quick with their brutality, and before either faun or cyclops knew what had happened, the clubs were coated with blood and hair. Using a machete, they cut the dead weight from the chain, leaving the dearly departed in filth to be breakfast for the dogs. Passersby paid little attention to the cruelty. Occasionally a woman would look on with pity, but her father or husband would quickly assure her that
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they were not men, but merely animals. This reassurance would usually appease the woman's guilt long enough for her to go on her way with a clear conscience. When they at last arrived at the stage, the henchman quickly doused the slaves with freezing buckets of water (to wash the feces off them) and plastered with talcum (to get rid of any remaining odor.) Ready to be sold, the slaves were forced up the steps of the stage. The steps were old and rough. Splinters shot into the thin skin between Grato's toes. Looking down the long chain of men and talking beasts, Grato saw a woman who troubled him more than anything else he'd seen. Her skin was very dark and wrinkled, but you could tell that at one point time she was gorgeous; like a night sky void of all its stars. She was far too young to be so weathered. The scars on her bare back showed that this was not the first time she had been sold. The dead, lifeless, look on her face told the story of a person whose had such a thing happen to her many times. So many times that eventually there is nothing left.
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Watching her was like watching Paris burn. She held a tiny malnourished newborn to her bare breast, desperately attempting to feed her ill-fated child. The baby was little more than a skeleton. Her body had gone dry. The starvation she suffered at Phillinious's hands had been passed down to her child. The woman would have cried if she could. She also might have danced for joy in a different place and time at the good fortune of becoming a mother. But this was not a different place or time, her reality was that she was too sick and ugly to work in anyoneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s house. Her future was in the fields, and her child's was in the grave. Her baby literally worked her breast for dear life, suckling any drop of nourishment it could from her barren nipple. She waited silently for her number to be called. Then they would pry the child from her arms and throw him in the river. But Dear Reader, even then, as she faced all hopelessness, there were still brief moments, where she showed small signs of life and
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suppressed joy. True, they were masked and buried deep within her soul, but they were there. She was thankful that she was blessed with a child, even if their time together was brief. The crowd gathered quickly. No introductions were needed, and they hopped straight to business. Phillinious gingerly walked to the front of the stage with the aid of a cane and pointed at the first slave “Alright, we have a strong backed minotaur, perfect for plowing, towing, fighting, pretty much anything you need. We will start the bidding low enough at one fifty, do I hear one fifty?” From that moment on it was all a blur; people were shouting from all sides. “One fifty!” said one. Then somebody else would said “One sixty!” And so on, until there was no one willing to go higher, and then that slave was led off stage to their new owners, and the bidding would start all over again. Grato grew dizzy; the faces in the crowd were an indiscernible body of commotion.
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Slaves came and went, and came and went, without any break in the rhythm of the spectacle. Suddenly there was a jerk on his arm. The next thing Grato knew, he was on the stage and numbers were being thrown at him. “Two fifty!” cried out an old man in the crowd. But Phillinious scoffed at the paltry offering “Two fifty? You're mad! You might as well have offered me a wooden nickel. In your day two fifty might have sufficed, but this ain't the good ol' days! Any fool can see the sturdy legs on this one, even a blind old bat like yourself! And look at that face; he's perfect for breeding! I'm out of my mind if he goes for less than twice your two fifty!” “Three hundred!” came in a bid from a portly middle aged man in the front row. “Now that's more like it! I've got three hundred, do I hear three fifty?” hollered Phillinious. “Three fifty!” said a young man who looked like the sort that was still building their reputation. Everything continued to spin faster. The world. His stomach.
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The cries of the crowd. H i s l i f e w a s s p i n n i n g o u t
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o f c o n t r o l It spun faster than all the others combined... And then, everything came to a screeching halt; for out of the seemingly un-tamable chaos, Grato saw the last thing he ever expected to see. He saw the intimately familiar eyes, and they burned so bright that they were pure white. Oh Dear Reader, those convicting and comforting eyes! They burned straight through the crowd, causing The Shadow's in Grato to squeal out in agony. As Grato stared deep into those perfect pupils, he noticed that they were filled with sorrow. And then without reason they vanished again, leaving Grato all alone... once more the
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world around him began spinning o u t o f c o n t r o l Before Grato knew it, he heard the words â&#x20AC;&#x153;Seven hundred! Going once, going twice ... sold! To the man in the green petticoat.â&#x20AC;? ring out from Phillinious's mouth into the morning air. It was surreal. Had he really just been sold into slavery? Had his life been purchased for such a meager price? Looking back into the crowd, Grato desperately searched for the eyes to save him. The manacles were unlatched from his
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neck, and his new chains were placed upon him by his owner. As they drug Grato away, he looked back at the woman once more, praying that she would find the miracle she needed. Grato looked and looked for any sign of the eyes. His new owner drug him down the splintery steps. Grato's heart cried out, longing for the eyes to come and save him. But just like hope, they were gone... or were they? As his new owner opened his mouth to say something cruel, he was interrupted by a terrible rumble that shook the ground, nearly rattling the stage to pieces. It was like a purr. No, it was like a roar! A roar that shook the very foundations of the city. It grew fiercer. So fierce that people ears started to bleed. And then everything went silent...
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Boom! An unfathomable explosion of Light, that was brighter than the heart of the sun burst forth from the center of the crowd. Everyone in the market fell to the ground like dead men, leaving only Grato, Phillinious, and his men standing. Mesmerized and in awe, Grato fell to his knees at the beauty of it all. The Shadow's inside him whimpered like terrified puppies in a thunderstorm. At the point of explosion floated an orb of solid Light about the size of a titanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fist; and in the heart of that orb, appeared a small black spot that quickly transformed into the shape of a flying creature. The creature grew and grew, until full grown, and then birthed itself from the orb and flew straight for Grato. The creature shimmered so bright that at first Grato mistook it for a phoenix. But it was
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too small to be a phoenix. Then he thought maybe it was a dragon. But still it was too small to be a dragon. As the flying beast drew near, it proved itself to be something far more astonishing than dragons or phoenixes. It was something that was as astonishing as the orb itself... it was Josephine. His child had been spared. Not only spared, but returned to him. She once was dead, and now she was alive. If he had not been her mother, he wouldn't have recognized her, for she was a utterly different bird now. Her feathers were made of amber and sapphire, and her talons were made of diamonds. Her eyes burned like rubies aflame. But her outer jewels were not origin of her majesty; there was something more precious than diamonds inside of her. Darting high into the sky, she made an abrupt turn, and did a flip in midair. Diving back down sharply, she pulled up just before crashing into the ground. Tears came to Grato's eyes, for as he watched this he realized that she could see again. Perching on the ledge of a nearby building,
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she smiled at Grato. Grato was so happy that he nearly choked on the fragments of his bursting heart. Even if he was destined to die in fields, he knew that his daughter was alive, and that she would prosper. He had so much more to be thankful for than the other mother in attendance. The crowd of unconscious people slowly began to awake. Making their way back to their feet, they brushed the chills off their skin. Phillinious opened his mouth but he found that he was unable to speak. No matter how hard he tried, no syllable would pass his tongue. Phillinious looked around desperately for help, but found none. The blinding orb continued to hover; and then like a banana peeling itself back, The Light unfurled and revealed a massive glowing figure within who was not entirely man nor beast. As the figure emerged from the orb, the peeled back parts melded into his skin, showing that the figure was the orb itself. The white hot burning figure looked upon Phillinious and spoke in a deep and commanding voice â&#x20AC;&#x153;Phillinious, what business
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do you have with my child?â&#x20AC;? Like the Red Sea, the surrounding crowd parted, and out of the multitude stepped forth The Prince of Light, bearing his righteous teeth in full measure.
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Chapter IV The Death. â&#x20AC;&#x153;If you were not a sinful, polluted, helpless, and miserable creature, this Savior would not be suited to you, and you would not be comprehended in his gracious invitations to the children of men.â&#x20AC;? -Archibald Alexander
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For in the darkness unseen, Sparked the one who gave Light, Bleeding in between, The fallen men of night, Under the tightening of the rope, Writhed our Beast in pain. Giving hope, That hope still remains.
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Phillinious's fear and temper raged within the moment he set his eyes upon the gargantuan glory of The Prince. 1 Being the snake of man he was, Phillinious quickly slithered a few words from his mouth; hoping to trap The Prince “My faithful liege of old, you are lord of everything from the sun to the sea, and you reign in majesty. You are just, and because of that I know you would never revoke an honest business transaction. This man was my property and I have sold him for a fair price...” With a blood curdling roar, The Prince cut off Phillinious “He is my child and therefore nobody’s property!” Stumbling backwards at the power in his voice, Phillinious tried to regain his footing feign confidence “And what shall be done to 1 The Prince and Phillinious have a long and quarreled history
that is full of treachery and mutiny. I will not go into the full account of what took place; I will only say that at one time, Phillinious was a respected general in The Prince's army. But Phillinious grew proud and jealous, and in time his jealousy grew enough that he attempted to lead an insurrection and usurp himself onto the throne. It was an ill-conceived rebellion; Phillinious and his trouble makers were defeated with ease and banished from the King's Castle. Thrown out into the night, they now go about the worlds sowing great sorrow and causing people to gnash their teeth.
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appease the price I will be out? It's through his own folly that he came into my possession; if he had not loved the sinful desires of liquor then he would not be in this situation. It is his own fault that he stands here today. I am but a poor and honest merchant trying to make a living...” “You are neither poor nor honest!” rumbled The Prince and interrupting the deception. The Prince fixed his gaze upon Grato... Searching him. Knowing him. Seeing everything. He saw the lust, the thieving, the murdering, the drinking, the cowardice; but most of all he saw The Shadow's within and how they tortured him. Grato was exposed. The look of disappointment on The Prince's face made him want to cut his throat. He wanted to apologize, but how do you apologize for murder? The weight of looking at perfection was unbearable. So he kept silent and turned his eyes away. The Prince turned his attention back to
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Phillinious; majestically stepping forward he proclaimed “You are right, his own actions brought him to this place; but I will not discuss the details of such things in public, come around back and speak with me about this in private.” “Me speak alone with you? No, I don't think so, not with those teeth.” answered Phillinious with a chuckle of disbelief. The anger in The Prince's eyes could barely be suppressed “ You dare to insult my word by insinuating that I am a deceiver. It is you who deceives. If I wanted to kill you I wouldn't have to do it in The Shadow's like you, I would kill you in the light of then sun. I have given my word by which there is no greater authority, that no harm will come to you. do we have an understanding?” Like a toddler responding to a parents command, Phillinious's pride shrunk up inside him. Shaking his head gingerly in agreement, he followed The Prince backstage. Everyone in the crowd was anxiously awaiting to see what the outcome would be; especially Grato. Thankfully and tragically, they didn't have to wait very long, after only a
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matter of moments they returned. Phillinious smiled dreadfully while The Prince's noble brow hung in the deepest sadness imaginable. He was so tormented that he began sweating blood. It was more than any mortal could stand. All the breath went out of Grato. His fate was sealed. The Prince had failed to convince Phillinious to free him. But The Prince had not failed him Dear Reader, for The Prince cannot fail. Only a matter of moments later, Grato was released from his chains. Overjoyed Grato turned to The Prince rejoicing â&#x20AC;&#x153;You did it! What did you say to...â&#x20AC;? But the sorrow on The Prince's face was not appeased. Grato was perplexed. And then he was something more than perplexed; something I cannot describe. No sooner were the chains loosed from Grato's neck, that they were firmly placed upon The Prince. The chains that stole Grato's humanity, now attempted to steal The Prince's divinity.
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Grato rushed forward and shoved The Prince's captors from him. Striking one of the henchmen across the face with his fist, Grato stole a sword from his sheath and shouted “Keep back, or I'll run every last on of you through!” He was prepared to go down fighting. The slavers quickly encircled Grato. Immediately one of them lunged at Grato with sword in hand. What happened next was more instinct than skill; Grato shifted his feet and body weight to the side, while stabbing his arm forward; plunging his sword through the belly of the man. The man fell into a lump on the ground. Still in shock from what had just happened, Grato steadied himself and prepared to do it again. Grato raised his sword high above his head... “Stop this violence... My time has come.” Roared The Prince furiously. Dropping his sword to his side and filled with confusion, Grato turned to The Prince “But I don't understand.” Without effort, The Prince pulled himself
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free from clutches of his captors and bent over the man who had been ran through. Placing his chain bound hands over the bleeding wound, he closed his eyes and said something so quietly that nobody except for him and the dying man could hear it. Instantly the flesh around the wound closed up, and the gushing blood reversed its flow, until it was as if he had never lost a drop at all. The henchman's breathing steadied. The spiders went out of his eyes, and his face was soft and remorseful. Quietly the man stood to his feet and walked away; utterly dumbfounded and grateful. All who saw this were amazed, including Grato who was amazed most of all. As the man escaped into the distance, The Prince turned back to Grato, his face wet with hot tears “Grato, you will not understand these things now, but there will be a time when I am cloaked in glory, when all of this will make sense. Until that day, be diligent... now go, for you are a free man.” Falling at the feet of The Prince, Grato pleaded “Please, let them take me! I'm not
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worthy of this. Look, there is a woman with a newborn child, a child that will surely die; let her take my place!” In a way that only he could, The Prince looked down at Grato and places his massive claw on his head “It is not your place to do that; it is mine. I have emptied my Father's treasury for the sake of freedom. I love you my son, never forget that... It is because of my love that this must happen.” No sooner had The Prince uttered those words, that Phillinious's gave the word to all of his henchmen, to free every slave (both man and creature) from their chains. Once the slaves were free, The Prince turned his back on Grato. The most villainous grin overtook Phillinious's face as he shouted in wicked glee “Come on you dog, Hell awaits his majesty!” Kicking him from behind, Phillinious sent the almighty Prince hurling into the mud and filth of the earth. Laying face down in putrescence, The Prince made no effort to defend himself. Phillinious and his men began beating him mercilessly.
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As the beating ensued, something began to happen within The Prince. His form began to shake and shift; ripples of divinity rolled under his skin and burst through from below; and as this happened his fearsome shell steadily began to fall away. With each strike, another chunk of his fearsome and ugly form flaked off. Transforming before their eyes the terrible bear/lion/warrior/man changed into something entirely different. His coal black legs turned the purest white, and were covered in perfect ringlets of wool. His stormy copper skin turned fair (nearly luminescent) and soft (softer than the nymphs when they bathe down by the waterfalls.) There was no trace of righteous anger left in him; he was gentle. The loud thud of Phillinious's cane resounded as it dug into The Prince's back like an ax. Rejoicing Phillinious called out â&#x20AC;&#x153;Here is your fearsome Prince, I have made him a rat beneath my heel!â&#x20AC;? Phillinious gave the sign to his henchmen, and they started taking turns kicking him in the jaw, until it was shattered to bits.
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Next they beat and stomped on his ribs until they snapped. Before long, the perfect shining Prince was unrecognizable, blood ran from every natural hole on his face, and out of many man made ones as well. Bones protruded from his skin like rock formations rising out of the ocean. The Prince didn't raise a hand to stop them. He never begged for mercy. He took it all. He took every unjust kick and punch. He took all of the spiting, cursing, and mockery. Never complaining or calling out for a pardon. Silently, he showed how truly good he was. Grato couldn't endure witnessing the physical dismantling of the one who had redeemed him any longer. And so he ran away broken and confused. He didn't make it far though before his strength left him; he was just around the corner and out of sight when he ducked into a narrow alley between two buildings for refuge. Collapsing in sorrow, Grato hugged the wet brick wall next to him. The roughness rubbed
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against his face, scratching his cheek, but in a good way, for although it was painful, it was a different pain than that which now tormented him. Although the gruesome scene was now out of sight, it was not out of sound, and Grato could hear clearly everything that took place. It was terrible. The Prince's silence continued, but that doesn't mean he wasn't making sounds; he made the natural sounds that any biological creature with a central nervous system makes when they are being tortured. He grunted, and growled (in pain not anger), and it all echoed across the sky like thunder. Each syllable seemingly drenched in holiness and honor. As these holy grunts hung in the air they turned into the darkest storm clouds. One by one this continued until the whole sky went black, blocking out even the brightest rays of sun. And when there was no room left in the sky for the growls to go, they went into the soil and scared and sorrowed it so much that it was like a great leviathan had awoken within it. The ground rumbled and grumbled and
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opened up, nearly swallowing the entire forsaken the city whole. But even this did not deter the hatred of Phillinious and his men. Phillinious was relishing the moment, and used it as an opportunity to display how great his power was. He was determined to make The Prince recant his Royal Lineage, thus betraying his Father, and damning him to the Land of The Dead for all time. Grabbing a handful of his hair, Phillinious thrust The Prince's face into a pile of horse dung, nearly suffocating him; all the while screaming in his ear â&#x20AC;&#x153;O' great Prince, where is your father now? Has the mighty ruler left his son to be disgraced and tortured? Where is this King of dogs, this King of nothing? Where is he to save you? He has abandoned you! Recant him and this all will end! He's not your father, for what father would stand by and watch his only son be tortured? You have no father, you a nothing but a cosmic orphan and joke! I alone have the power to give you life, or cause your death; kneel before me and declare me your lord, and I will show you mercy, for I am merciful!â&#x20AC;?
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But The Prince kept his silence, refusing to even give Phillinious the honor of looking him in the eyes. Outraged at this insult to his power, Phillinious struck The Prince on the back of the head with his cane, cracking it open, causing a warm stream of red to flow down The Prince's neck and back. â&#x20AC;&#x153;String him up, I'll take the lies out of his hide yet!â&#x20AC;? screamed Phillinious. Picking him up, two of the henchmen hung The Prince by his shackles from a twelve foot tree. His feet dangled, but they did not kick. His arms became dislocated, but he did not squirm. With a sinister smile, Phillinious removed a bull whip from a bag of supplies he had nearby, and began snap the flesh from The Prince's back and sides. But he still refused to recant his father's throne. Losing control, Phillinious began whipping The Prince all over in a wild and drunken craze; transforming The Prince's face into more of a horror now than ever. His eyes swelled so tightly shut that not even a tear could seep through.
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His nose was broken and zig-zaged. His prodigious jaw hung limp, like a pair of legs dangling off the edge of a dock. His pure white legs kicked and squirmed, and were gashed with red slashes in them. At last, when Phillinious and his men were exhausted and could no longer put him to the rack, they cut him down and sent him plummeting to earth. His legs nearly snapped in two on impact. Broken and on the edge of the grave; The Prince fought to remain conscious. Standing over The Prince's limp frame, Phillinious beamed with malignant happiness, and removed a gleaming dagger from of his waistcoat. The Prince stared into the greasy eyes of his great enemy. There was no fear of death in him. And with a simple nod of the head, The Prince gave the universe the go ahead to allow Phillinious to complete his deed. Plunging his knife deep into The Prince's chest, Phillinious twisted the blade; causing one final roar that eclipsed all others roars to shake the sky. And then, The Prince gave up his spirit and
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died. Phillinious made quick work of The Prince's heart, cutting it from his chest and holding it up for all to see. But to his dismay, the crowd did not share the joy of his victory, they all looked like ghosts, for they knew that they had just witnessed the death of something vary rare... an innocent creature. Without any hoopla, they dissipated and went their separate ways wishing they had not gone to the market that day. As the sound of death tolled in the air, a horrendous truth struck Grato; his greatest fear was finally realized. We all know this fear; even though it's different for everybody, it's also the same. It's something deep down inside that we try to brush aside with science, philosophy, and other reasonable excuses; but when those excuses are washed away by the un-ignorable honesty of silence, we are left with one blaring truth; it is all our fault. All of it, every last bit, it's all our fault, and we are helpless unless somebody chooses to sacrifice themselves for us. Without a redeemer, we are slaves; who
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face certain death in the fields of turmoil and heartache. Grato wallowed and writhed in the mud, agonizing over the loss of the only real hero he had ever known. Meanwhile, Josephine had perched herself on a rooftop far away so that she could not witness the grotesqueness (The Prince had instructed her to do this.) It was good that she had done so too; children don't have to see the monster under their bed to know that he's there. From her highpoint she could see Grato, and although he had lied to her about being her mother, she still loved him for the kindness he had shown her. With the grace of a falling autumn leaf, Josephine floated down from the rooftop and perched herself on an iron lamp post. Grato didn't notice her at first, but then came a little song out of her beak that was put in her heart by The Prince... Oh what a terrible morning,
OHWHATATERRIBLEMORNING That we wish didn't have to come.
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THATWEWISHDIDNTHAVETOCOME. While all of Heaven lays in mourning,
WHILEALLOFHEAVENLAYSINMOURNING I raise my feeble voice in joy.
IRAISEMYFEEBLEVOICEINJOY Hell had me by the throat,
HELLHADMEBYTHETHROAT I cried out for a Rescuer;
ICRIEDOUTFORARESCUER And he came!
ANDHECAME Like a knight over the hillside,
LIKEAKNIGHTOVERTHEHILLSIDE He saved me from the dragons snare.
HESAVEDMEFROMTHEDRAGONSSNARE He breathed his Breath on me,
HEBREATHEDHISBREATHONME I once was blind but now I see,
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IONCEWASBLINDBUTNOWISEE Not with mortal eyes,
NOTWITHMORTALEYES but with immortal soul.
BUTWITHIMMORTALSOUL I see his fingerprints all over me.
ISEEHISFINGERPRINTSALLOVERME I am beautifully and wonderfully made.
IAMBEAUTIFULLYANDWONDERFULLYMADE He spoke me into the world,
HESPOKEMEINTOTHEWORLD And now proud fools speak against Him.
ANDNOWPROUDFOOLSSPEAKAGAINSTHIM I am not from the bowels of a single cell,
IAMNOTFROMTHEBOWELSOFASINGLECELL I am from the loving womb of a Creator.
IAMFROMTHELOVINGWOMBOFACREATOR From his gorgeous imagination,
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FROMHISGORGEOUSIMAGINATION I burst into the world,
IBURSTINTOTHEWORLD Living and breathing,
LIVINGANDBREATHING Just as he imagined me to be.
JUSTASHEIMAGINEDMETOBE Now my imaginer is dead,
NOWMYIMAGINERISDEAD But I will not sing a song of sorrow,
BUTIWILLNOTSINGASONGOFSORROW For I rejoice in his fallen glory,
FORIREJOICEINHISFALLENGLORY I sing no song of mourning on this morning.
ISINGNOSONGOFMOURNINGONTHISMORNING For the son will rise again,
FORTHESONWILLRISEAGAIN And it is the birds duty,
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ANDITISTHEBIRDSDUTY To pay homage to the coming dawn,
TOPAYHOMAGETOTHECOMINGDAWN With the beauty of their voice.
WITHTHEBEAUTYOFTHEIRVOICE I sing my song to the son,
ISINGMYSONGTOTHESON Welcoming him home,
WELCOMINGHIMHOME
After a long night’s journey.
AFTERALONGNIGHTSJOURNEY Rise again O' Son,
RISEAGAINOSON I welcome Thee into the world!
IWELCOMETHEEINTOTHEWORLD Her song seemed out of place and irreverent, given the circumstance. Exhausted and short on patience, he snapped at his daughter “He is dead, and you happily chirp
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away like the rest of the stupid birds!” Realizing that Grato was ignorant to the true meaning of her melody, Josephine maintained her patience “I'm not happy, I am grateful. I was the loneliest little bird in all the world; I was blind and twice orphaned by my mother... he took care of me, and told me a great many things; things that I have sworn to keep silent about until the appropriate time.” You may have noticed that Josephine didn't talk like a little chick anymore. Something had happened to her during her time with The Prince, she hadn't grown up for that is the wrong word for it; she was still very much a child at heart, but her mind possessed knowledge of things infinitely greater than her age. If you have ever been in the presence of the wisest of the wise, such as a hermit, or an oracle, then you know how mesmerizing they can be; all you want to do is to sit at their feet and learn about the unknown. But Grato was still her mother, and as wise as she may be, she was still his little girl in his mind, and he long to hold her in his arms once more “Please come here and let me hold you.”
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said Grato expecting her to be the same child who needed to be coddled the night before. Josephine stoically stared at him. Her feathers did not ruffle. Her beak did not twitch with excitement. Gravely she stared at him, convicting him of his crime. Grato's eyes fell to the ground. He knew what it meant when people say that heaven exhaled on them, for he could see The Prince's Breath all over her. The holy aura hung on her face thicker than the morning fog; and rested atop her head like a crown. Grato knew he was missing something. He couldn't figure out what it was that kept the two of them apart? Steadily though, the answer inched up inside of him. First it wiggled in his toes. Then it tingled in his fingers. Slowly it squirmed up his forearms and shins, whispering clues without giving too much away. At last it made its way over his shoulders, and up his throat. Fearfully it crawled out to the tip of his tongue, where it rested and gained courage to finish its journey. This was not the sort of truth that speaks before thinking itself through fully... it was that serious.
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After pausing for a moment to take in the beautiful view that a mouth hanging dumbfounded offers, the idea began its ascension to its final summit (the brain) (Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hard for an idea to breathe at such heights; I doubt that even Sir Edmond Hillary could survive long in such altitudes.) Before it perished for lack of air, the idea quickly staked its flag in Grato's brain and made itself known. Once known, the idea descended back down as fast as his repelling ropes would allow, to the more amiable climate of the tongue and once more took in the marvelous view from the mouth of the cave (or should I say the cave of the mouth) Now that his life's mission had been fulfilled, there was nothing left for the idea to do other than to take one final sacrificial leap from Grato's mouth and into the world. You may think this a sad ending for the idea, but it wasn't. The idea had already made his peace with his maker, and said goodbye to his wife and kids. Yes that is right, even ideas have families. His wife was a curse word, and a good one
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at that. She was four letters tall and stout and bitter enough to make a crusty sailor cringe. But she was a kind hearted old girl who gave birth to polite children that were virtuous greetings like please and thank you. As he leaped from the caverns of Grato's face, the idea screamed himself into the world “Josephine I'm so sorry I left you all alone at the well. I'm so sorry! I am a terrible mother, but I swear if you find it in your heart to forgive me, I'll do better this time, I promise! I love you so much, please be my daughter again!” Grato waited anxiously for Josephine's reply. Soon Josephine's stoic beak melted into a little grin; and like a flash of lighting, she flew into her prodigal mother's arms, exclaiming “I missed you so much!” Grato kissed her on the forehead “I missed you too... I'll never leave you again.” And then the queerest and biggest eagle smile you ever saw came upon Josephine's beak as she said “It just happened, I saw it!” “What just happened?” “He just breathed on you!” exclaimed
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Josephine “Didn't you feel it?” “Who?” asked Grato, growing confused. Josephine leaned in and whispered the sweetly “You know him; he's all over you.” A deep sadness came over Grato; briefly his joy at being reunited with his daughter had caused him to forget about his redeemer’s death, but this last comment brought everything screaming back into reality. “That's impossible... He's gone.” said Grato as tears returned to his eyes. “He's never really gone, can’t you feel him all over you?” replied Josephine; patiently putting up with her mother’s childish understanding. It was then that Grato remembered he was naked. But what was stranger than forgetting he was naked, was the fact that he was no longer shivering. It was still cold, and the rain drenched him by the buckets, but now it felt like a warm bath. “Yeah, I can.” acknowledged Grato. With those words of acknowledgment, something great happened; man sized tears began to pour from Grato's eyes. But they were not sad tears, they were tears of joy.
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As he cried, his heart was flooded with Light, and The Shadow's inside of him suffocated on this Light, and began fleeing. Whimpering and howling like a bunch of hurt piglets, they poured out of his eyes, mixed in his tears like marble. The more Grato cried, the more The Light shone in his heart. When the final shadow had made its exodus and fallen into the mud, Grato rose to his feet and looked around through new eyes. Dignity and honor draped over him like a cloak. He was both kingly and meek at the same time. Josephine quickly flew up and seated herself atop his shoulder, being very careful not to dig her talons into his flesh. Exiting the alley, they stepped back out into the street where they were instantly met with the sight of The Prince's body laying in the filth mud. Every joint in his body was out of socket, and his torso was nearly torn in two, with his lower half just staying attached by threads of shredded muscle. Shielding their eyes from the gruesomeness, Grato and Josephine ran away and joined the procession of free creatures leading out of the
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city. Everyone in the parade was jovial at their new found freedom, and most of them paid little notice to the fact that their freedom had been bought at such a high price. The fauns danced and played melodies on their flutes, the centaurs stamped their hooves, the talking beasts chattered amongst themselves about how lucky they were. The few who did mention The Prince's sacrifice, only spoke about what a nice creature he was, and how odd it was that Phillinious would accept such a trade; after all he was only one and there was many of them. “A creature?” fumed Grato in righteous anger. He couldn't believe his ears. Who were all of these blind beasts who were dumb enough to miss what had just happened? Furious, Grato clinched his fists, ready to punch every last one of them for their ungrateful stupidity. “Death and scabs on them all!” cursed Grato. Placing a wing gently on the back of Grato's head, Josephine tenderly said “It’s hard to hear, I know; but be still and know that he
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was who we know he is.” Letting his fists relax, Grato began to learn how to forgive people for their ignorance. “But they cut out his heart and broke it.” said Grato, tearing up once more. Dear Reader, that wasn't what killed him; do you remember his last words? “...It is because of my love that this must happen.” To you this may all seem like gibberish or a clever riddle at best, but that's only because you've never known him. The truth is if he wanted to, he could live for a million years with no heart at all. He could have let Grato to the fields of toil, and he could have lived forever without ever feeling the pain of death. He could have stayed immortal. He could have left all the creatures to their own devices, without caring about their redemption. He could have even mocked and made fun of them, for they all brought it on themselves. He could have been heartless. But that is not who The Prince is, he is Breath. He is hope...
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Chapter V A Parade of Wondering Wanderers â&#x20AC;&#x153;We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dream. Wandering by lone sea breakers, and sitting by desolate streams. World losers and world forsakers, for whom the pale moon gleams. Yet we are movers and the shakers of the world forever it seems.â&#x20AC;? -Arthur WilliamEdgar O'Shaughnessy
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Shrouded, clouded, by night, Hidden from thy mortal sight. O' wandering wonder, Rescue me from this plunder. Do not flee on the heals of Orion, Do not conceal thy speckles of Zion. Slowly dance across western sky, And show me the galaxies in your eyes. It's the greatest wonder, to long traverse, So you might face the universe. O' cosmos of speech; do not fall out of reach! O' Breath of sunlight, reverse your flight! Lay dead no more, I need sunrise on my shore!
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Not knowing what to do or where to go, the parade of free creatures wandered aimlessly across the countryside. Some in the group thought they should head North to the safety of the mountains, others thought they should go West to where there is gold; and then there were some who proposed that they should simply find the first place with fertile soil and settle there. Wherever they landed, they all agreed on one thing, that this new society would be one without social class or discrimination. It would be a free land where everyone was equal and entitled to the same privileges. This is a great idea in theory, but it could never actually work in practice. A society made up of men, faerie-creatures, and talking animals would be doomed from the start, there are simply too many cultural differences for a mixing bowl like this to ever truly succeed. It would be best if everyone went their own ways and returned to their homes; but some of them no longer had homes, what were they to do? Then it was proposed that those who were homeless could start their own society, while
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those who had a home would return there. But then that too was argued about, for most of the businessmen, scientists, and teachers had homes; leaving only the uneducated to fend for themselves. This argument inevitably led to something else, which led to something else, which led to something else, until they reached a point where nobody quite knew what they were arguing about anymore. It went on like this both day and night, until finally at the end of the second day Grato and Josephine could take the bickering no longer and broke off from the group. They hiked for hours until they could hike no longer; finding themselves atop a soft and grassy hill they decided to settle for the night. Being a bird Josephine had no trouble finding comfort in the elements, but Grato on the other hand had was ill prepared for Mother Natureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s midnight chill. The hill was the sort of hill you see in magazines advertisements for Ireland, or any of the other highlands. Its grass was emerald and soft. A thin veil of fog covered the world below them like a bride, shielding mankind from the
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fullness of the hills beauty. Accompanying them at the top of the hill was an abnormally large and old cherry tree whose roots went so deep into the ground that they tickled the earth's bedrock far below in the hills valley. Grato found it peculiar, but he swore that this tree seemed to be smiling. You may ask how does a tree smile when it has no mouth? The truth is I don't quite know; how does a mind wonder without feet? The answer is far more abstract than the physics of the seen world, its smile is in the unseen. If this had been a normal tree and not a smiling tree, Grato would have broken off a few of its branches and built a fire, but he dared not do that to this tree; it would be like chopping off Beethoven's fingers. The tip of Grato's nose was wet and runny and he expected to wake up with a sore throat in the morning. As laid down to sleep for the night, the dew saturated grass soaked through his clothes, making his back soggy. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hello sickness here I come... goodnight my dear.â&#x20AC;? said Grato curling into a ball, trying to salvage and recycle as much body heat as possible.
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“Goodnight!” said Josephine cheerfully as she found a good branch perch in. Grato forced himself to accept the idea that although this was sure to be a miserable night, that he would not allow it to dampen his spirits too. He would make the best of things. Lucky for Grato, he was so exhausted that despite the freezing temperatures, he slept good and hard. Grato snored like a hog and his snorts and grunts echoed across the speckled sky of creation, causing the stars to giggle *“Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” * “Giggle” *“Giggle” *“Giggle” Early the next morning, as nocturne reached its grand finale, and the fireworks of the milky way faded into the breaking dawn; something warm fell over Grato's entire body. It felt like when you were a child and you came in from playing in the snow, and your grandmother would wrap you in a thick quilt and set a cup of steaming cocoa before you. Grato's snoring went silent, as a familiar
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voice stirred him. It was deep and commanding, the voice of royalty “Grato, rise from your slumber.” Grato's eyes shot open; still unfocused and crusty from sleep, he squinted trying to make out who (even though his heart already knew) was that had called him from his rest. He rubbed his eyes to gain clarity. When the drowsiness cleared, he saw the most astonishing thing... The Prince. He rubbed his eyes again, unable to believe them. It couldn't possibly be true. Could it? No it was impossible, Grato saw him with his own eyes laying in the mud with his heart cut out. He was dead, he had to be. Then again, the same eyes that had told him he was dead, now told him that he was standing right in front of him. There must be some mistake. But there could be no mistake; it was The Prince... and he looked displeased. “Grato, why do you doubt me? What more will it take for you to recognize me? Give me your hand.”
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Was he dreaming? If this was not a dream, then it must be a ghost or witch posing... As he thought this the strength of The Prince's voice cut through his thoughts “Place your hand in my chest and feel.” Obediently Grato reached out his hand and gave it to him; the wound in his chest was still open and bloody. The Prince placed Grato's hand inside the hole; his heart was still missing. “It's me Grato.” said The Prince in a tenderly. Grato flung his arms around The Prince and hugged him. “I don't understand, I thought you were...” rejoiced Grato. “I was.” answered The Prince cutting him off with gravity in his voice. “But how is it possible?” asked Grato in awe. “Through my Father all things are possible. It was declared from the beginning. We don't have much time and there are many things we must speak about. Come walk with me.” Without waiting for Grato, The Prince set off at a brisk pace down the side of the hill,
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never looking back to see if Grato was behind him. Hurrying to his feet, Grato took off in full stride, although The Prince was only walking, he moved fast because of his enormous size. Once Grato had caught up, the two of them walked in silence for a long time. At last they came to field of wild daises; the petals bowed down under the weight of the early morning precipitation. When they reached the fields center The Prince stopped abruptly and began to speak slow and seriously “You must listen carefully; I have a lot to say and very little time in which to say it. You must not ask questions; trust me and know that my plans are for good and not evil. Do you understand?” “Yes, I understand.” replied Grato obediently. “I know you still love Islabella deeply, but do you still wish to find her?” asked The Prince rhetorically. Looking down at his wrist, Grato touched her ribbon gently. At seeing this The Prince let out a slight growl that was a smile of sorts “It will not be easy for you to reach her. She is on the other side, in another world. It is very far to get
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there, you could set sail today and you would not reach her in three lifetimes. Her broken heart has taken her beyond your reach.” “But if she is beyond my reach then all hope is lost.” said Grato forgetting himself. The Prince growled again, only this time not in a smiling sort of way, but in an exasperated sort of way “I said it is beyond your reach... But if you are to go my way you must trust me, for it is filled with peril. Do you trust me?” “Yes, of course, I trust you in life and death.” said Grato a little too eagerly. “Don't be so anxious, for you still do not know all that you must face to get there. Still it is good that you should say that; for although you have shown me it in neither, I know you mean it in truth when you say it. But I tell you, as surely as I live; if you ever wish to see her again it will cost you both. Give me your hand.” Then the oddest thing happened, The Prince reached his hand into his mouth and pulled loose one of his largest fangs and placed it in Grato's palm “You did well to depart from the others, for despite my sacrifice, they are still
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dumb and blind to the truth. I am the truth. When you get back to the hill, pick the plumpest and juiciest cherry you can find from the tree, but do not eat it. Then take your daughter and head west to the desert; there you will find a captain with a sailboat, show him the cherry and my fang. The cherry is so he will know where to go, the fang is so he will know that it is I who has sent you. Show only the captain these two things and no others; it is important that your secret stays intact, for the road you travel is strewn with servants of the enemy.” “Like Phillinious?” asked Grato. “No not like Phillinious, although he has many forms and names, he is of no danger on this voyage, but he will again though before you die. No the ones you will encounter are are his servants. You have already met many of them in your life, the angry swindler Lombard is one of these...” as he said this, a deep sadness came over him. Sighing heavily he steadied his pain and continued “Keep the cherry safe at all costs, for the future of the universe depends on it.” “But how? If it's only a cherry... how can if
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save the universe, and how can it tell the captain where to go?” asked Grato; but as soon as he said this, he knew he shouldn't have, and The Prince's frown was proof of this. It filled Grato's heart with fear. Clearly when he said “...you must not ask questions...” he meant it. This was the second time he had made this mistake, there would not be a third. “You should not question me, you may not like the answer give... but I will answer you, for I am honest. Do you remember the letter Islabella left for you?” “How could I forget it?” murmured Grato like one whose haunted. “It says she awaits you beneath the blossoming willow tree. Did you know that trees take lovers too? These lovers are mostly nymph's (Nymph's are spirits that used to be trees) but not always, sometimes a tree falls in love with another tree; when this happens it is a passionate love that usually ends in heartbreak. Your cherry tree and her willow tree were lovers long ago when the worlds were still young and one with each other, and they were happy.” said The Prince very seriously.
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“What happened to them?” inquired Grato already forgetting his mental note. “The same thing that happened to you; tragedy struck and they were torn apart. But they don't have legs to carry them back to one another. They have tried to dig their roots deep enough into the soil that they will break through to each other on the other side; but as you know, like you, this has been a foolish pursuit. This morning before I woke you, I placed the soul of the cherry tree in his fruit. His fate is entrusted to you. Treat him with care, for his fate is tied to yours. If his soul perishes, so will yours. Even at this early hour, he dreams of the day when his roots will be entangled with hers once more. When you reach the willow, plant the cherry at the base of her trunk. Do not waste any time in doing this, do it at once, for you have only three days from the moment the fruit is picked before it rots. A rotten soul has no love left in it, and it will kill the willow... Obey my command and do not fail in this task, or your son will surely die, and then all hope will be lost.” “But I don't have a son.” replied Grato, overwhelmed and confused.
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“Not yet... All things have been ordained and have now been spoken; the sun is nearly here, I must go.” said The Prince looking at the rainbows that formed the Eastern horizon. What did he mean go? He just conquered death; why would he leave now? Why not put Phillinious in his place once and for all? But this was fear disguising itself, how could Grato possibly traverse the span of multiple worlds alone? Grato was scared. Desperately he cried “Oh please don't go, say anything but that. Say I will never see Islabella again; say I will go blind and die; but please don't leave me...” The Prince placed a stern hand on Grato's shoulder and he knew to shut up “Be courageous and brave, fear nothing but me, speak the truth, seek wisdom, and never forget that I love you.” “Will I ever see you again?” asked Grato as his usual tears formed in his eyes. “Your tears are beautiful to me, but my work here is done. I must return to My Father's Kingdom for a time.” said The Prince looking
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up as the final stars fled from view in the dying night. “But when the time has come you will see me, not in this faulty physical form you see before you now, but in my true glory, a glory that would cause all the worlds to collapse upon themselves and disappear if it were ever shown.” “I will miss you very much.” sniffled Grato. “As will I. I leave my Breath with you, the same Breath that I used to speak all things into creation. It will stay with you as long as you stay in me. It can take many forms and offer flickers of me to assist you when you need it. Never doubt that my Breath lives in you; for it is a part of me, and if I reside in you, then to doubt yourself is to doubt my dwelling... Instead be holy for I am holy.” With those words The Prince breathed all over Grato one last time. As the Breath soaked deep into him, Grato closed his eyes in sanctified ecstasy and was swept into a sea of holy fire. Waves of passion passed over him, but instead of tossing or drowning him, they uplifted Grato. He felt at home in the vast pool of holiness. A pool so vast that it could
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consume and quench the fires of hell if it so desired. It felt like this state of higher being lasted for years, and decades, and maybe even centuries... and then Grato opened his eyes. He was laying beneath the cherry tree with a soggy back. Had it only been a peculiar dream? But it felt like so much more than a dream; it felt more real than reality. It was so clear, could it be true? Grato felt something sharp digging into his palm; opening his hand he found the fang in his hand. It was so sharp that it had pierced his palm and stuck in like a thorn. Warm blood bubbled up from the wound and gathered in a puddle around the tooth. Grato pulled the fang from his palm. Instantly the wound healed itself, and left behind a fang sized scar as a reminder of The Prince's visit. An explosion of hope burst within Grato, and mushroom clouds of possibility plumed in his heart â&#x20AC;&#x153;It's true! The Prince has overthrown the chains of death, he has risen! He's Alive!â&#x20AC;? Grato sprang to his feet and rushed to the
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trunk of the tree and shook it mightily “Wake up, wake up, you lazy bird, he's alive!” In the process of shaking the cherry tree, he found that his arms were unexpectedly wrapped around it, giving it a great big hug “Don't worry my good man, I'll get you to your lover yet; I'll lay your seed at her feet and you'll be together again. I swear it by this blood oath!” said Grato raising his scarred hand and wiping the blood across the rough bark. Dear Reader, has there ever been a moment in your life when you were so happy that you didn't know what to do with yourself? You want to dance, but you can’t dance enough; so you laugh, but this too seems inadequate; you try kissing every old lady, fat baby, and homeless beggar you can find, but still you inner joy will not be appeased; if this has happened to you, then The Prince has come to you in the night and you know just how Grato felt. “Get up, get up, He has risen from the dead!” He shook the tree with so much fervor, that he nearly shook poor Josephine right out of its branches. Tumbling down a few limbs, Josephine caught herself on a sturdy cluster of
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leafs. Dangling by one wing, she gathered her bearings. Once her head stopped swirling, Josephine let go of her leaf and fluttered down to the damp soil below. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she attempted to work out in her mind what Grato's hyper ramblings were about. It didn't take long for it to sink in. As she wiped the last crusty gold nugget from her left eye, like her vision, Grato's words became clear. She had a similar reaction to Grato. Quickly, she flung her wings around him and hugged him with all her might. As she withdrew from the hug she inquired of the details “Why hadn't The Prince woken her too? Would he come again?” Grato tried to relay all of the information as best as he could; but already his feeble human mind was having trouble remembering some of the details. But when it was all was said and done, he felt as though he had gotten most of it right. Satisfied with Grato's answers, Josephine darted up to the branch that was the most heavily laden with fruit and said “Which is the
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biggest? We must pick the biggest; that’s what he said right?” “Yes, that’s what he said, but I don't know which one to choose, there are so many.” called back Grato as he surveyed from the ground. “We can't get it wrong, you heard what he said; my brother will die if we get it wrong.” Then suddenly and without expectation, a great and odd wind (what made the wind so odd was that it seemed to originate from within the tree itself) ripped through the tree. The branches twittered and shook. All of the fruit on the tree fell to the ground and rotted on impact. All except for one large cherry that clung to one of the uppermost branches. Knowing instantly that this was the cherry they sought, both mother and bird gasped at the sight of it. Filled with excitement, Josephine flew up to the cherry, snatched its stem in her beak and hurried back down to Grato. Upon receiving the cherry, Grato tore a piece of cloth from the tail of his shirt, and wrapped it up carefully. Placing the cherry in the interior pocket of his jacket, Grato dusted off his hands and
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prepared to leave on their journey. Josephine was not impressed by her mother's choice of a holding place for the cherry, snickering she said “What if you fall, or get kicked by somebody, then his soul will be squished and you'll be damned?” “I have no where safer to put it than next to my heart, plus I left my backpack at The Prince's well.” said Grato matter of factly. “Yes I remember.” retorted Josephine crinkling up her beak at him. Dear Reader, people often underestimate the ability of those who need your help to help themselves. Just because someone can't do it on their own, doesn't mean they can't do some of the most important parts by themselves. This was never more true than with the cherry tree. By the time Grato had finished speaking, one of the trees larger roots had risen up out of the ground and split open. From inside the root, a wooden box was produced. The box was hard and rough on the outside, but inside it was lined with red velvet and shaped to perfection for the cherry. Never in your life have you seen a softer, safer, place for a soul filled cherry to reside.
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Grato placed the cherry in the box and thanked the tree for his help; the tree in his own way returned the gratitude by snapping himself half way up his trunk, making a sort of bowing motion with his last dying breaths. All of the leaves on the tree turned gold and red and fell to the ground like autumn snow. Mother and Daughter stood beneath the shower of leafs, watching the trees sap dry up, and his bark begin to flake away... The clock on their souls began to tick.
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Chapter VI Into The Wasteland, Over The Stream, Into The Cave, Across The Desert. “I am not an adventurer by choice but by fate” -Vincent Van Gogh
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Three days till I meet the sea, That will return you to me. Not a sea of water, but land, Tossed with shifting sands. Salty tongues pray, And Giants give way, When mortal danger does show, Take heart and know, That though peril lay all around, Thy bravery shall abound. No matter what thy enemy may conjure, Know that my love will conquer. Without your faithful steed you ride, Across this burning countryside. This filthy, broken, place, That's infested with the human race; The beautiful, beautiful face, Of the human race.
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At first it seemed that The Prince may have over estimated the level of peril in this region, for it was very easy going for the first few hours; it even bordered on enjoyable. But then as the sun grew into late morning, their spirits took a dash as they came upon a rocky region filled with boulders twice the size of a man. It would take them a good while just to get to the top of the first rock, let alone across a whole valley of them. At this rate they would never make it to Islabella or the willow on time. Three days, that's all he had. Three days and everyone was doomed. Three days of exhausting and treacherous work. Left with no choice but to press on; Grato gritted his teeth and put his resolve to the test. Many times throughout his hike, Grato lost his footing and fell backwards off the top of a rock. As he tumbled down to the hard earth below, fragments of the boulder pierced and tore his trousers and shirt. Over and over again this happened, and each time that it did Grato's heart stopped a little out of fear that the cherry might be smashed.
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But the box was hard and fashioned particularly for this voyage, thus it was prepared for any danger that presented itself. This valley was by far the hottest place Grato had ever been, and as afternoon set in, the sky turned red and fire blazed in its belly. Every so often and without warning this fire kissed the ground in wrath. But not for one second did Grato pout or say â&#x20AC;&#x153;Poor me.â&#x20AC;? It's said that once a man knows his purpose, nothing can keep him from it. Come hell or high water, he will never back down, and never give up; he will scratch, claw, and fight until his purpose is complete; for this is what he was created for. About four hours past midday, Grato came to a place called Nec. It was named that because a stream of pitch black water cut straight through the bedrock there. Along the banks stood hundreds of little tombstones; for this is also the sacred burial site of the feared cannibal Rock Pigmy's, who place the bodies of their dearly departed into the black water, where the darkness disintegrates their corpses nearly instantly.
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Needless to say this was a sad place, and Grato and Josephine could feel it in their bones. Neither mother nor daughter spoke much while they were in this region, only Josephine dared to raise her voice shuttering “I can feel the death in this place.” Grato nodded in agreement. Soon a light breeze that stung like pricks from a cactus coursed over their bodies, looking down they realized it was not a breeze at all, but rather hundreds if not thousands of tiny needles that stuck into their skin. Grato tried to run, but his legs would not obey, “Quick, fly, fly away as fast as you can!” he shouted to his daughter. “I can't move my wings!” cried Josephine. A numbing sensation started at the needle points and slowly moved outward throughout their bodies, as the microscopic pools of neuropoison blended into one another like rain puddles in a flooded field, paralyzing them from the neck down. “It must be some sort of poison from the cannibals blow guns.” thought Grato to himself as he tried to keep up a calm exterior. Turning his head toward Josephine, he
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shouted as his cheeks grew numb â&#x20AC;&#x153;Don't worry sweetheart; it'sss gggoing tto bee oookkayyyyy.â&#x20AC;? But her body was much smaller than his and she was already paralyzed to the point that she could barely manage to twitch her beak, signaling that she believed him. A dozen or so small heads started popping up from behind various different rock formations all around them. Their faces were painted white over coffee colored skin, with black letters of an unknown language across their foreheads. Grato could only imagine the meaning of these words, for although it was certain that all of them came from the same alphabet, he was unable to discern any rhyme or separation in the lettering. Each word looked like one violent scribble in no particular order. As the hunting party closed in around them, they aimed their blow guns at Grato's head. The Leader of the party shouted orders in the unknown language, and one of the younger hunters pulled a knife from beneath his loin cloth and knelt over Grato. Fear and panic struck our hero. Grato tried
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to will himself beyond the power of the poison, but the potency of the potion was to strong. He was helpless. Raising Grato's left arm into the air the Young Pygmy sliced Grato's palm open, and then cupped the hand so that the blood would gather. Once the cup was full, the hunter drank; swishing the blood around in his mouth like one does with wine. When Grato's pallet had been fully examined, the young cannibal raised an eyebrow and spit the blood out on the ground. Turning to The Party Leader, The Young Pygmy shook his head yes and went about sealing the wound on Grato's hand. He did this by chewing on a strange looking large white leaf that he pulled from beneath his loin cloth; licking Grato's palm from end to end, he placed the chewed up leaf in the wound. Grato wasn't sure if the neuro-poison was wearing off or if it was the medicine, but his hand was no longer numb; in fact it felt strong; stronger than it had before it was cut. The pain of the sharp rocks stabbing into his skin, also melted away. Shouting out a few more indiscernible words, The Party Leader walked over to
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Josephine and rolled her over onto her back. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Not again, why do I always fail those I love? Please... please... get away from her!â&#x20AC;? cried out Grato inside of his head as he lay helpless to defend his daughter. They were cannibals, and hence had no interest in eating Josephine. However what did interest them were her jewel feathers. A crown of these would adorn a king nicely. Plucking a feather from her underbelly, the cannibal Leader held it up to the glistening sun. Josephine didn't move. Grato wasn't even sure if she was still alive. A tear formed in the corner of his eye and fell to the blood stained earth. Their Leader seemed very concerned over her feather. Suddenly he pulled it down from the sunlight, and yelled something at the oldest member of the group. Although Grato didn't understand this odd tongue, he could tell that something was very amiss. Quickly the old man pulled another white leaf and a large stone bowl from beneath his loin cloth; handing the bowl to another member of the party, they ran down to the bank of the creek and very carefully scooped some of the thick black water into it.
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Grato was amazed at all of the things these people could produce from the storage of their genitals. If they could produce a large stone bowl from a place where there was seemingly no room to do such a thing, then for all he knew they could pull an elephant out as well. How they did it was a mystery to me, they just did. “Perhaps they have portals that enable them to reach anywhere and produce anything they need.” as he thought this, it scared Grato even more “Any man who keeps a worm hole next to his crotch must be nuts.” Returning with the bowl of black water, the party member set it before the old cannibal. The old savage placed the chewed up leaf into the black water, where it dissolved instantly. Rolling his eye into the back of his head, he uttered an incantation and began stirring the water with Josephine's feather. Instantly, the sludge transformed from dark matter into the purest water you have seen. The party of cannibal's watched on in amazement, and began muttering what Grato perceived to be their word for hallelujah, because they were throwing their hands in the air now in a a queer form of worship.
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Quickly they passed the bowl around as each man drank deeply from it until it was gone. The Leader of the party ran back over to Josephine and plucked a handful of feathers out of her back. “He'll pluck her bare” worried Grato. But he did not pluck her bare. Removing some more white leafs from under his cloth, The Leader tossed them along with the feathers into the black stream, repeating the same incantation as before, they all watched as the flowing stream of death turned clear enough that you could see the rock bed at its bottom. Which was surprising, because while the creek itself was not more than ten feet across, it went down for hundreds and hundreds of yards. Using the large stone bowl, the Young Pygmy filled it with water once more and approached Grato and Josephine. “O' Prince, protect your servant! Please don't let this dark water inside of me; don't let the tormenting Shadow's return!” wailed Grato within his heart. But they did not offer it to them to drink;
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instead the cannibals poured it over their entire bodies, taking care not to waste a single drop. A warm rushing swept over Grato and Josephine, as everyone of their nerve endings felt the tingling kiss of life returning to it. It was euphoric, relaxing, and both pure and sexual at the same time. It was beyond any preconceived idea of feeling. It was everything all at once, with no shame afterwards. And then as suddenly as they had come upon them, The Pygmy Cannibal's disappeared back into the rocks. Soon they had regained their mobility as well, and before Grato knew it, Josephine landed on his stomach with a clumsy plop and a huge smile on her beak saying “Wasn't that great? I mean real live cannibals!” “Great isn't exactly the word I'd use for it.” said Grato working the kinks out of his neck. “Did you see what they did to the stream?” she chirped in excitement as she took off from Grato's belly and soared over the creek “look at it, it’s as clear as crystal! No it's clearer!” “I'd prefer not to.” said Grato dusting himself off. “Why not?”
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“Because we were nearly eaten by cannibals, that's why.” fire back Grato sharply. “I wasn't, cannibal's don't eat birds.” replied Josephine obliviously. “Lucky for you.” Landing next to one of the tombstones, Josephine cocked her head to one side in confusion trying to decipher her mothers foul mood, and then quite matter of factly she said “They weren't going to eat you you know, not after they tasted your blood.” and then she took back off up into the sky, calling down from above “Oh well, I guess they'll have to find a new place to bury their dead.” “Why what's wrong with my blood?” called back Grato defensively. Swooping down in front of him, Josephine giggle at how naive her mother was “It's full of The Prince. They can't drink good blood, it'll kill them. That's why he spit it out. It's terrible sin to drink good blood. That's why they used my feathers and not your blood to purify the water, you need your blood to live; I can spare a few feathers.” Grato was still confused “They knew my blood was good just from tasting it?”
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Landing on a rock near Grato, Josephine stopped for a moment to catch her breath “Mostly, but they needed the leafs from the tree to be sure.” “What tree?” “You know, the tree.” how could her mother not know what tree she was talking about wondered. But Grato just stared back at her blankly. “The tree of the knowledge of good and evil?” said Josephine with a hint of patronization in her voice. “Of course.” said Grato drawing the end of the second word out as the realization of his stupidity set in “But how did they get leafs from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil?” “I'm not sure, portals I think.” saying this Josephine took off into the sky, and did not look back again until she realized that Grato wasn't following her “Come on!” she yelled “We've already lost so much time!” Three days. She was right and he knew it, there was not a moment to waste. But how was he to cross the stream, he was
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no long jumper, and although the water had healed them, he still didn't trust swimming it“Who knows what is lurking down there.” he thought. He looked around for a fallen tree or a line of rocks that he could use to cross, but nothing presented itself. He would have to jump it, and if he didn't make it, he would have to do his best to swim ashore before whatever it was that lived down there took him down with them. As Grato backed up in preparation to make his running leap, he noticed that in the spot where his blood was spit out there now grew a small patch of bright green grass. “Good blood?” thought Grato as he sailed over the water and landed safely on the opposite side. 1 1 You may wonder how the stream came to be black; well after
much research I am happy to tell you that I was able to uncover an old fable that told such a story. As the story goes, the stream used to be as clear as the sky, and it was cold and refreshing. Many flowers used to grow along its banks that grew nowhere else in the universe grew. In a nearby kingdom, there lived a sweet and kind hearted princess whose father was as evil and nasty as she was kind. One day while riding her horse along the stream, she met a very poor young man and they fell in love at first sight. He was a skinny fair skinned boy, with brown hair and freckles, but his love for her was true and it ran deeper than the creek by which they met. Every day they would meet at the banks of the stream to drink of
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Which is why that as Grato walked away from that place, he could have sworn that out of the corner of his eye he saw a pair of young lovers rising up out of the water, kissing, and then quickly diving back down below again. Putting it in the back of his mind he pressed forward for he had no time for any faerie tales other than his own which he was writing with every step. It was well after dark and they still had not reached the edge of the stone valley; they were weary but there was no good place to rest. Left with no choice but to buckle down, they trudged over stone after stone; it was well after midnight by the time they made it out of the valley. each other â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s love. Her father knew nothing of his daughter â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s affair, and when he learned that she had given her heart to a beggar; he went insane with rage and had the boy chopped into a thousand pieces and thrown into the stream to feed the fishes. Upon hearing the news of her lovers death, the princess got drunk, and in her heartache, she murdered her father in his sleep; chopping off his head. Unable to face another day without her darling in her arms, she went down to the stream by which they had met and tied a rock around her neck and threw herself in. Since that day, the place had been cursed by death and heartache. It was by the dark magic of evil blood that the stream was blackened, but by the power of good blood's love, it was restored again.
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The night chill numbed their senses and knotted their muscles into little balls. Each step was a chore, and each breath came harder than the last. However, in the end, after a long day of hopeless wondering they arrived at the edge of a desert filled with row after row of sand dunes that crescendoed out of the illumination of the moonlight, and faded into the darkness of the night, as if they dissolved into the nothingness of obliteration. The sand was soft and still warm from the heat of the sun. With little searching, Grato was able to find a large cavern in the side of a cliff that had been engulfed by a dune so that it look as though the cave went right into the sand. This cavern was just short of homely for it was warm and dry, and smelled of the soothing sweetness of honey. However upon entering the cave, Grato learned a very valuable lesson in adventure, if something seems very homely then it is probably already a home. You see Dear Reader, a family of desert bears had already laid claim to this cavern. Sleeping soundly, lumped one on top of the another in a great big mountain of fur, the
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entire desert bear community lay, snoring like heap of chainsaws. Grato couldn't tell by their snores if they were talking bears or not, for all bears, whether dumb or talking, snore the same. If they were talking bears, then there was also a chance that they were kind bears who would share their honey and have them as their guests for breakfast in the morning. However, if they were dumb bears, they would simply just have them for breakfast. The only way to know for sure if they were talking bears or not, was to ask them. Which if you are not aware of is dangerous business; it seemed these days that that was the only sort of business Grato was involved in. Creeping in close to the fuzzy hill, it wasn't until Grato was right on top of the Poppa Bear that the thought struck him â&#x20AC;&#x153;Even if they are talking bears, they might tear me to pieces before I have a chance to explain myself if they think I am an intruder.â&#x20AC;? But the risk was already upon him, for as he was thinking this, one of the littlest bears who as it turns out had lost a tooth earlier that day; placing it under his paw for the Tooth Faerie,
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he slept with one eye open; hoping to catch her in the act. The Little Cub had never seen a bird before, and he thought that Josephine, who was perched on a nearby rock, was the Tooth Faerie's wings “Wow! She must have had a terrible accident for her wings to be torn off!” thought the Little Cub, feeling terribly terrible for the Tooth Faerie's misfortune. Springing from his false slumber he exclaimed “O' Tooth Faerie, what has happened to your wings?” “Shhhhhh!” begged Grato. But it was too late, his child's shriek awoke Poppa Bear, and although like all old bears he was slow at coming to his senses, once he had, he was upon Grato in a flash with his claws around his throat “Thief! Where the others? I'll slaughter the lot of you! How many of you have come to steal my harvest of rock honey?” Gasping and flailing, Grato was unable to speak and defend his presence. Feebly trying to defend her mother, Josephine pecked Poppa Bear in the side of his head. Roaring more out of annoyance than pain, Poppa Bear quickly swatted Josephine square on her beak and sent her slamming into a nearby rock; with a dull thump, she fell
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unconscious to the ground. Birds were so rare in the area, and Poppa Bear had not seen what it was that he was swinging at; thus he mistook Josephine's beak for the tip of a sword. Pinning Grato down with his free paw; Poppa Bear turned, consumed with blood lust “Show yourselves you cowards! What man dares to insult me by only pricking me with his sword and not running me through? Am I a dog that I should be treated so mercifully?” By now all of the bears in the family had awoken and jumped to arms. Spreading out, they searched the cavern for the rest of the thieves. When they returned from their search empty handed, Poppa Bear became frustrated and resolved himself to learning the whereabouts of the others by any means necessary. Using his pinky claw, he sliced Grato across his brow and all the way down his cheek; threatening to pop his eyeball with the point of his claw he demanded “Tell me, where are the others hiding?” “I am not a thief, I'm just a traveler looking for shelter.” pleaded Grato.
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“Liar! There are no travelers in these lands, only slave traders and thief's!” roared the bear as he lifted Grato up over his head and threw him against the wall of the cave. Standing over him, Poppa Bear's shadow encased Grato's body “We are a clan of free creatures, who work diligently for our harvest; now I'll not ask again before I have your insides for dinner, where are your men hiding?” However before Grato could answer, Little Cub rushed forward with tears in his eyes, crying “Poppa stop! She's not a robber, she's the Tooth Faerie! She's just lost her wings; see they're over there.” Rushing to the limp and unconscious Josephine, Little Cub took her in his jaws and carried her to the feet of her father “See?” As Little Cub said this, Josephine began to regain consciousness, and thus what was thought to be a lifeless lump of wings, now started to squirm and roll over. One of the dumber bears screamed in fright “It’s witchcraft!” While another yelled “It's the work of Hades, burn them!” But no sooner had these two said this that
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they were both struck to the ground by a violent force. When the accusing bears recovered they found that they were no longer talking bears, but normal dumb ones. Everyone was astonished, the dumb bears most of all. A strange scent wafted in around them; almost like the Breath of The Prince. Since the dumb bears had lost the ability of speech, they also lost their ability to reason, and thus were ruled by their wild instincts. When the other bears saw what had happened, they became frightened and chased the stupid bears out of the cavern and into the darkness. Once the unintelligent beasts were gone, all attention returned to Grato and Josephine, who by this point were fully recovered. Standing next to one another, shaking and bleeding, they tried their best not to show their fear. After such a great display of power, the bears were in no place to harm them any further, instead they were full of questions, however most were too scared to ask them. The only one who was brave enough to speak was Poppa Bear, and even he was careful to choose his words wisely â&#x20AC;&#x153;The only one who has the power to make an animal dumb is the one who
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gave us our intellect in the beginning. Those who we just chased from this cavern that has been their home since birth, were my brother and my best friend...” turning to the congregation of bears he continued “and this is not a Tooth Faerie, he is a man. And these are not his wings, this is a bird. This thief uses it to scout easy targets from the sky I imagine; but if it is the will of The Prince that a thief be allowed to come and clear out our store houses, then may his will be done, and may we be forgiven for our trespasses that have brought his righteous anger and judgment upon us. May his will always be done.” said Poppa Bear while letting out a mighty sigh. Turning to back toward Grato, he added softly under his breath like a prayer “Although I do not understand it.” The mighty bear deflated before Grato, and walked away muttering to himself “There’s always next year I suppose; though I don't know how the children will survive the winter... our lives are in the hands of The Prince now... I suppose they always were.” Defeated, the entire clan of bears lumbered toward the mouth of the cave so that Grato and Josephine could pillage as they wished.
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Grato could have allowed this to go on, sending them into the frozen night; and after the beating he had just endured, he might have even been justified in doing so in some eyes; but not in the eyes of The Prince. Subjects of The Prince do not do this to one another. And so Grato ran after them, hollering “Wait, don't go!” Stopping at the mouth of the cave, Poppa Bear turned and looked Grato square on. What Grato saw shook him straight to his core and beyond; Poppa Bear was something that I don't think anyone else has ever witnessed; he was a bear whose pride was shattered. Unable to hide his shame, a lone tear gathered his eyes. Grato was sure that these were the only tears this mighty beast had ever shed. “If you want my life then take, I'll not oppose you.” answered Poppa Bear with his head hanging, making no effort to hide his birthing sadness. Walking forward, Grato took the bears massive face into his hands and lifted it up to face him. Warm tufts of fur and skin wrinkled
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over Grato's hands, as he embraced the beasts massive skull. Wiping the tears and shame from his eyes Grato said “Keep your head high, you're not defeated. You my friend are not only a greater warrior than I should ever deserve the credit of defeating, but you are also pure of heart which is an even greater accomplishment. We are not thieves, but rather servants of the same throne. All we require is shelter for the night, but I would rather sleep in the jaws of the grave, than oust such a proud clan from their own home; so if you will find it in your kindness to have us as your guests, then have us, but if it is out of the question, then please allow us to be on our way, for the night grows late and we are very weary.” Feeling more the fool now than ever, Poppa Bear bowed humbly before Grato “I am ashamed at my behavior, it is unforgivable. Not only are you welcome, but I humbly submit as your servant in exchange for my sins; as long as you are here you are the master of the house.” Placing a friendly hand on the bears shoulder, Grato assured him “I would never have it and neither would The Prince, for as long as you live you will always be the king of
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your cave.” At the sound of these words, Poppa Bear lifted his jaw off the ground and stood to his feet. His pride returned to his face, smiling at Grato, he thunderously clapped his paws and declared “A feast, in honor of our new friends!” The bears cheered, and everyone quickly jumped to action as fast as their burly frames would allow them to prepare the late night feast. When it was all said and done the meal was more than anyone could have expected. Grato and Josephine were stuffed on trout and fresh berries long before dessert was passed around, but the fresh honey cakes they served looked so delicious, that they couldn't help but take two helpings anyway. After dinner, all the male bears sat around a large rock table with their feet kicked up, smoking fine cigars and telling stories, while the females put the children back to pile (bed), and then retired for the night themselves. The next morning came too soon, and due to the feast, Grato had not gotten nearly enough rest. All of the bruises had set in and saturated
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his muscles with pain and stiffness. Arising from the pile of bears, he awoke Josephine with a gently shake â&#x20AC;&#x153;Come my dear, we have a lot of land to get under us today.â&#x20AC;? Josephine quietly nodded and smiled; in her eyes her whole life was now the greatest adventure, an adventure that she knew the ending to. It ended with her going into The Light to be with The Prince, which made all of the danger even more exciting, for she didn't know which breath would be her last, the one that sent her home. As for Grato, he was dying with worry that the cherry would rot, and that love would die. Josephine was worried about this too, but she had faith that her mother would not let everyone down; that he would find a way to come through in the end. Bidding farewell to their new friends, mother and daughter set off across the desert; but before they left, the bears packed them some treats for the journey. It consisted of six honey cakes, fifteen pieces of good jerky, butter, fruit preserves, a large chunk of cheese, and two goat bladders filled with water. The giant stones from the day before
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seemed minuscule in comparison to the shifting mountains of sand they found themselves hiking across now. Their feet sank a foot with every step, and it seemed for every two he took forward, he took one and a half back. Grato's body ached, his bruises throbbed, his muscles screamed, his skin burned, but still his heart did not complain; for he knew that he was only a mere thousands of miles away from reaching his one true love. Gripping tight to her red ribbon around his wrist, he clung to hope for dear life. The sun was only a third of the way up in the sky, but it was already stuffy and molten. After a heroic climb that would put Sir Edmond Hillary to shame, Grato summited the very tallest of the sand dunes. From its precipice he could see all of the dessert and beyond; even to the endless ocean that sparkledâ&#x20AC;Ś The ocean was endless and she was beyond that... Beyond the endless. Behind him he could see the bear cave; it looked more like an anthill now than a mighty cavern, but the one thing that he could not see
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was the ship. He could see all the way to the ocean, and there was no sign of the ship anywhere. What Grato didn't know was that the ship was currently hidden from him by magic. You may wonder what evil magic would hide a ship from a man in a desert, and by whose wicked hand was this spell cast? But if you wondered that, you would be all wrong, for the ship was not hidden by evil, but good. And if you are still foolish enough after I tell you this to ask why good would do such a thing? Well then I would simply have to answer you like the feeble-simple-minded-sluggard you are, and say that sometimes we are not meant to see something until it is right upon us. Trust and know that good can only intend good for you, you weak-mushy-brained-faith-lackingfool. Grato was so close to the sun that it looked like he could reach up in the sky and touch it. But he didn't. The sun is made of the hottest fire in the history of the universe, and we are made of flesh, which if you do not know, does not stand up to the hottest fire in the universe very well.
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It was a good while before Grato finally reached the foot of the sand dune and his skin was turning red, and blisters started to form on his forehead and hands. Undeterred, Grato pressed on. Step after step. He pressed on. Mile after mile. He Pressed on. Hour after hour. He pressed on. He drank water. He pressed on. His feet ached. He pressed on. He drank more water. He pressed on. Sand got in his mouth and lungs. He pressed on. The water ran out. He pressed on. His legs grew wobbly. He pressed on. He nearly lost his footing and fell into a pit of snakes. He pressed on. When he thought he could walk no further. He pressed on. When his eyes grew crusty and burned from sweat. He pressed on. When the sweat stopped coming from dehydration. He pressed on. When a sand storm cut and tore his skin. He pressed on. When he was about to give up and die. He pressed on. When he fell to his knees and had to crawl. He pressed on. For loves sake. He pressed on. And then, at last, at the brink of death, as late afternoon turned into early evening, the promised sailboat came into view. It was far off, but it was in view.
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Josephine saw it before Grato did; she began whooping and hollering in excitement “I can see it! I can see it! It's so beautiful!” Not having the eyes of an eagle, let alone the eyes of an eagle healed by The Prince; Grato squinted and strained his crusty half sun blind eyes; but he could only make out a blurry awkward shaped speck in the distance “All I see is a blur, you sure it's not a mirage?” “Yes I'm sure, where's your faith! We've come so far, don't fall now, we're so close! Come on!” urged Josephine, grabbing Grato by the back of his shirt with her talons and pulling him in the direction of the blurry speck. He pressed on. In time, Grato drew near enough to make out the blurry speck. Both mother and daughter threw their hands in the air and rejoiced. Reenergized like they had just drank from The Prince's well, they put the pain out of their minds and took off in full sprint and flight, pumping every muscle to its limit, they pressed on, pushing closer, and closer, with every stride, with every flap of the wing; till at last, they reached the vessel. Collapsing from exhaustion and excitement,
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they fell against the head of its stern, and laid in the sand smiling. The sailboat was not a large ship, but it was big enough to carry four men comfortably across a bay or canal. But they needed it to carry them across a trans-dimensional ocean. This vessel did not necessarily appear cut out for such a voyage. Still it was a well-crafted boat. There is not a Viking vessel, or a three masted warship that's crafted with more care or precision. She was red with royal blue trim, and her sail was pure white with a gray octopus and an anchor stitched on it. The red sun was low in the sky as if it were a bull ready to charge. Suddenly a cool darkness rushed over Grato like the sweet shade of the cherry tree. Had it only been a day and a half since he walked with The Prince? So much had happened in the last thirty six hours that it seemed like a lifetime ago. Suddenly the shade spoke to him â&#x20AC;&#x153;Who are you and what do you want with my ship?â&#x20AC;? Grato barely managed the strength to looked up in the direction from where the shades voice came from; in doing so he realized that this was no shade at all, but rather the
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shadow of a mammoth giant, no not quite a giant for he had wings like a faerie, he was a faerie giant... He was a Fiant. 1 The Fiant towered over Grato, standing nearly eighteen feet tall. His features gave hints that one of his parents was a Persian Faerie while the other a snow giant. He had tan skin and sharp facial features, but his wings were pure white with ice blue sparkles in them. Also he was very slender, which certainly points to having the polar ice caps in his lineage. Fearing for his life, Grato would have run away again if he had the energy to do so, but he didn't. Trials are that way Dear Reader, they are designed in such a way to push us to our 1 This was the first Fiant Grato had ever come in contact with
for they are extremely rare. The reason why Fiant's are so rare is a long story that stretches back thousands of years, to the days of the old countries and kingdoms. It is tale of racism and hatred; you see Dear Reader, faeries and giants are sworn enemies, so any union between the two that would bring a child into the world is strictly forbidden, and considered an abomination. Most Fiant's are born males because most giants are males. Because they are half faerie they are not as tall as other giants; being ridiculed for their dwarfish stature in their communities, most Fiant's resort to the lonely life of a wonderer or hermit.
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physical and spiritual limits, so that when the final tests arrive, we are too exhausted to do anything but face them head on. This is how glory is obtained. Feeling this same exhaustive glory, Josephine picked herself up off the sand, and nudged her mother forward to speak with the Fiant. Grato took a step back. Josephine nudged him once more. Grato took half a step back. A third time, Josephine nudged him, and then bit him on the rear as a reminder to hold his ground. “Ouch!” cried Grato, but he stood fast. Clutching the ribbon around his wrist. “Dear Prince, Guard me, Keep me safe, Don't let this monster eat me, Protect my daughter, Give me courage, Lead me to Islabella.” Saying this Grato, looked Fiant in the eyes.
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Fiant had no idea what to make of this little man who had sprinted up to his boat, collapsed, stood up, looked at the ground and mumbled to himself, and now looked him straight on like a man without fear. Crouching down, Fiant studied Grato closely. Grato nearly passed out from fright, but he held his gaze. Fiant smelled fear all over him “You smell too scared to be a thief, what do you want with my ship coward?” The Prince had promised Grato that this Fiant would give him passage to reach Islabella; but Grato had knew that this did not mean he would reach her painlessly. Still he would reach her. A new confidence swept over Grato, and with it a new scent. Fiant knew the smell at once and took a step back. Fire burned in Grato's eyes “I am no coward, and I'll thank you kindly to remember so in the future.” Startled by his boldness, Fiant smiled “I should agree! You have the smell of something
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entirely different now.” Intrigued, Fiant sniffed Grato more closely. It was in this sniffing moment that Grato remembered The Prince's fang. Reaching into his pocket, Grato pulled out the fang and handed it to Fiant. As soon as Fiant saw the tooth it struck him. Lumbering backwards like he had seen a ghost he said “Can it be? It's been so long since I've seen him; of course it is... the scent is unmistakable. You have the Breath of The Prince all over you.” In an instant Fiant was on his knees before them, nobly scooping sand into his hands and pouring it over his head in humility “You must have seen him! What does his majesty wish of me?” “He told me to find you, and that you would sail me over the endless ocean to find my betrothed.” “I'll give my life if need be to see that it's done, where does she wait?” answered Fiant as he lowered his chin until it was submissively buried in the sand. “She sits beneath the flowering willow... and please don't bow before me, I'm merely a
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man.” asked Grato as he helped the Fiant back on his feet. “I know the place. I cannot say I am the most welcome creature in its borders, but I know the place well. It can be a treacherous journey; what day of the week is it?” asked the Fiant as he rose. “I don't know I've lost track, but we have little more than a day to reach her or all hope is lost.” said Grato with a slight quiver in his voice at the end. Fiant cast a queer eye on Grato; it is terrible luck to start a voyage with an ill omen, but hope must be preserved at all costs, for it is the truth that flies in the face of all ill omen's, saying you may bode doom for the world, but I will carry my Light in me until you snuff me out by force. “I do not understand the doom you foretell, nor do I like the sound of it, but I dare not ask why; for I too have Shadow's in my past that I must constantly guard against. I gave you my word that you will see her again, and my word and my life are irrevocably connected and interchangeable with one other. My word is my life, and my life is my word.” said Fiant
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looking up and studying the sky. He studied the sun. What shade of orange was it in the horizon? He studied the wind. Did it swirl or blow straight? He studied the clouds. Were there halos of mist around them, or were they thick and dense? He studied all of nature. Which way did the bugs fly? Were they green bugs or white spotted ones? Until at last, he came to his conclusion... “Well it's either Monday or Saturday, they are very similar, there's only one difference between them.” said Fiant tossing aside a handful of sand he had been studying. “What’s the difference?” inquired Grato. Fiant pensively scratched the back of his neck, and then plucked a hair from the top of his head before replying “The Sea Monster takes Saturday's off.” sniffing the the hair, he tossed it aside and then spit in his palm, and then smelled that. He did not appear to like the scent of his spit. Grato did not like the sound of this “Sea Monster? What Sea Monster?” “The one that guards the waters of Faerie Land. If it is Saturday, then we can be there in two hours, given we catch a strong wind.”
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answered Fiant as he wiped the spit on his pants. “And what if it’s not Saturday?” asked Grato. “Well, then we will probably be impaled on the planks of the ship, and die in a horrible and bloody shipwreck.” chuckled Fiant halfjokingly. “Let's hope it’s Saturday then.” exclaimed Grato. “Indeed, but my hair and teeth sure do smell like a Monday.” said Fiant as he took off and fluttered aboard the ship “she'll be ready to sail in a half an hour.” Fiant set to work at once, setting the sails, battening down the hatches, inspecting all things starboard and port side, and last but not least collaborating his compass to point due Faerie Land. When all was ready, Fiant called down to Grato and Josephine who had slipped into dozing half nap “All aboard to Faerie Land!” Snapping back awake, the thrill of adventure gripped a hold of Grato and Josephine, and the two clambered aboard the vessel, ready to get their voyage underway.
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Once on board, both mother and daughter realized that this was no ordinary sailboat, not in the slightest. It was ornamented with the finest furnishings from around the worlds. The flooring was laid with dark oak, and was gorgeously decorated from stem to stern with carvings in the same ancient language that Grato had seen written across the Pygmy's foreheads. Grato stared at the inscriptions “I wonder if he's a cannibal too?” thought Grato “Surely not. He is intelligent and not a savage.” but then again “A man’s palate has nothing to do with his intellect. But neither does his language, after all by that logic, all men who speak the same tongue have equal values. Me and Phillinious spoke the same language, but I am no slave trader, thus Fiant is most likely not a cannibal... but wait he is a Fiant and not a human, if he ate me he would not be a cannibal.” Seeing how fixated her mother was on the carvings, Josephine leaned over and whispered in her ear “Remember, we are full of good blood, we are safe.” “Yes I remember, but does her?” said Grato
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motioning to the Fiant who was taking his place behind the massive captains wheel. A beautiful solid gold plaque was mounted at the base of the ships wheel. It had a single word carved in it. These carvings aroused Grato's curiosity, climbing up next to the wheel, he pointed to the plaque and asked “What do they all mean?” “To tell you would take a lifetime, my lifetime to be exact. We have schedule to keep, but I will tell you couple of them if you wish?” “Yes please.” replied Grato. Fiant motioned to the carving on the floorboard and began singing from memory, Wherever this captain goes,
WHEREVERTHISCAPTIANGOES My Captain goes before me,
MYCAPTAINGOESBEFOREME May the waves not crash,
MAYTHEWAVESNOTCRASH May the swells not swallow,
MAYTHESWELLSNOTSWALLOW
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May the depths never be known,
MAYTHEDEPTHSNEVERBEKNOWN May my feet see land again,
MAYMYFEETSEELANDAGAIN But if they do not,
BUTIFTHEYDONOT I will sink into the sea ,
IWILLSINKINTOTHESEE Knowing, my Captain goes down with me.
KNOWINGMYCAPTIANGOESDOWNWITHME
His words floated in the air like little dreams being born to life, before evaporating into the the next syllable of song, and when they were done Grato found that the song had lulled him into great respect for the captain whose life they put their hands in. “Wow that was beautiful.” said Grato feeling sure now that their new friend could not possibly be a cannibal. Without so much as a thank you for Grato's complement, Fiant pointed to the rear of the
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vessel and continued the song of his life. May this ship be the mother of hero's,
MAYTHISSHIPBETHEMOTHEROFHEROS Giving birth to saints and knights,
GIVINGBIRTHTOSAINTSANDKNIGHTS May he be known,
MAYHEBEKNOWNM
Wherever this ship has gone,
WHEREVERTHISSHIPHASGONE May he be known,
MAYHEBEKNOWN
And when this ship is gone,
ANDWHENTHISSHIPISGONE May His name remain.
MAYHISNAMEREMAIN
Not merely in the minds of men,
NOTMERELYINTHEMINDSOFMEN But in heart, deed, and battle cry,
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BUTINHEARTDEEDANDBATTLECRY And when it’s done and reaper calls,
ANDWHENITISDONEANDREAPERCALLS In the darkness when they die.
INTHEDARKNESSWHENTHEYDIE We will not have tears in our eyes,
WEWILLNOTHAVETEARSINOUREYES For in The Light they now fly.
FORINTHELIGHTTHEYNOWFLY The words of this second song stuck deeper in Grato than the first, he could only imagine what all of them meant, especially that plaque “What about this plaque, what does it mean?” “It is the name of the ship.” answered Fiant with a sudden bewilderment in his voice. Grato knew he should just drop the subject, but curiosity got the better of him and he pressed “What is the name of the ship?” Fiant didn't want this question to be asked, because he didn't know the answer. It was embarrassing. But it was an embarrassment
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designed to ensure humility. A captain's ship is his lover, what kind of a man doesn't know the name of his own lover? Sighing deeply, he said â&#x20AC;&#x153;I don't know... you see, I cannot read the tongue that these things are carved in; their meanings are only revealed to me little by little. This is the native tongue of Heaven. Every time I fulfill one of their meanings, he reveals it to me. Whether this ship was a gift or a curse from him I do not know, for it has come with a heavy burden. It is my lot to transport his creations to the end of the earth and beyond... but I have been waiting for so long that I began to think that he no longer had any use for me... You see, a long time ago I was a Pirate, and I raged across the oceans killing and stealing as I pleased... Sometimes, I am ashamed to admit, my desire for my old ways creeps back up in my heart. The stale taste of death is still on my lips, and the urge for wet blood is in my heart. Sometimes it seems like more than I can bear... I swear, I really thought he was done with me, for he sees me, and he knows the evil that still lurks inside... I was blind, but now I see... We really should be going.â&#x20AC;?
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Chapter VII A Brief Problem In The Water. “Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.” -Andre Gide
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O' swirling storm, wet portal, Tossing fro, suffering mortals, Put to ease your beastly claws, Put to rest the ocean laws. Have mercy O' gatekeeper, Rest sound my sea sleeper; Give me safe passage, Let me carry my message, Through this watery door, That leads to the distant shore.
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The sails were raised. Grato didn't know what to expect; he had never been on a holy, magical, sailboat in the desert before. At first the ship showed no signs of movement... Soon though, the sands around the ship began to rattle and shake with rising vibrations that moved them laterally across the ground. This was followed by a great sweeping wind that came out of nowhere and caught the ships sails. The torrent lifted every granule of sand from the earth's floor. Slowly the floating earth began to swirl around the ship, gradually picking up speed with each revolution; growing faster and faster, until there was full-fledged whirlwind encompassing the boat. The desert in the air made it impossible to see. “Hold tight, it’s gonna get rough!” yelled Fiant through the whirlpool of sand. Grato wrapped his arms around Josephine to protect her. The sand beat against his skin tearing it, but his only concern though was for his daughter. When she cried out in pain, he held her tighter. Pulling her close to his chest, he bore the brunt of the storm. Grato cried out in
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agony. Fiant lowered his head and clung to his captains wheel for dear life. It appeared that all hope was lost, that they wouldn't even make it out of the desert. Death was imminent, Grato's body could take no more torture... and then... Suddenly something different than sand washed across their faces. Something wet. Grato thought it must be his own blood. But then he felt it again. It flew into his mouth. It was not blood at all. He felt it again. And again, until the sharp scratching of sand no longer beat against his skin at all. It was the cold salty spray of the ocean. Grato opened his eyes, and to his amazement, they were cradled by a wall of water like a swaddling cloth. The water seemed to have a mind of its own, as if it were ruled by an unknown power. This magic water had healing qualities, that mended every bleeding wound caused by the sand so that it was like they had never been hurt at all. Replenished by the water, Grato looked brand new. He was once again the youthful lover who mistakingly stumbled into The Black Ivy Social Club so long ago. His faced glowed with possibility. His eyes sparkled.
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When the water subsided, they could see the shores of Faerie Land in the distance. “Land Ho, there she lays my boy!” cried Fiant. “I've never seen anything like it before!” exclaimed Grato. Dear Reader, there are a million things I need to tell you about Faerie Land, but first we must get past this next hurdle in our tale, and this is that it was Monday and not Saturday; thus t h e g r e a t S e a Monster was lurking in the depths...
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/^> <^> <^\ /VV\> </VV\> </VV\ VVV\> </VVV\> </VVV VVV\> </VVVV\> </VVV VVV\> </VVVVV\> </VVV VVV\> <|VVVVVV|> </VVV VVV\> <|VVVVVV|> </VVV VVV\> <|VVVVVV|> </VVV VVV\> <|VVVVVV|> </VVV VVV\> <|VVVVVV|> </VVV VVV\> <|VVVVVV|> </VVV /VVV\> </VVVVVV\> </VVV\ /VVVV\>^^</VVVVVVV\>^^</VVVV\ / VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV VVVVVVVVVVVV/O\VVVVVVVVVVVV VVVVVVVVVVV/OOO\VVVVVVVVVVV VVVVVVVVVV<(O(0)O)>VVVVVVVVVV VVVVVVVVVVV\OOO/VVVVVVVVVVV VVVVVVVVVVVV\O/VVVVVVVVVVVV VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // Without warning, the three hundred and \\ fifty foot serpent arose out of the water \\ with his one hundred poison tipped tenta- // <\\ |-cles flailing in the air. His five thousand| //>
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<\\|razor sharp teeth rotated around his circ-|//> <\| -ular mouth like a chain saw. Fireballs |/> ==========\\ shot from his mouth //========== OOOOOOOOO\\ into the ocean, //OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||boiling the sea ar-||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO// -ound them. His \\OOOOOOOOO ==========//scales were iron shi-\\=========== </|-elds, and his singular eye was a hundred|\> <//| tiny eyeballs all squished together. His |\\> <// | only weakness was the tender skin on his| \\> // wings, but even they were coated in a la- \\ -yer of barnacles a foot thick that acted \\ VVVVVVVVV as armor. VVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ===========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOOO \\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\=========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVV((()))VVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//>
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<\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //======== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO =========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========= </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVV||VVVV^VVVV||VVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVV (Insert wings here) VVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVV||VVVVVVVVV||VVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVV||VVVVVVVVV||VVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVV||VVVVVVVVV|| VVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVV||VVVVVVVVV||VVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVV||VVVVVVVVV||VVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVV||VVVVVVVVV||VVVVVVV|/> =========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========= OOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOO OOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOO OOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> / VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/>
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 204
==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|Plunging his mouth straight into the shi-|\> <//| -ps sail, the monster ripped it in half. |\\> <// |Quickly, Fiant kicked open a wood trunk| \\> // and removed two gleaming swords. \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ | The steel shone like the face of an angel, | //> <\\|but the monster was no intimidated. Wra- |//> <\| -pping his tentacles around the hull, the |/> ==========\\kracken prepared to //========== OOOOOOOOO\\ crush the ship. //OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOOO ===========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\=========== </|VV There was not a moment to lose...VV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ Fiant and Grato rushed to work chopping // <\\ | off the serpents tentacles as fast as they | //> <\\| could; but like all good stories with sea |//> <\|monsters, the leviathan possessed the my-|/> ==========\\-thic ability to regr-//==========
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 205
OOOOOOOOO\\-ow two tentacles //OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO||for every one that||OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO// was chopped off. \\OOOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ Tentacles galore encompassed the ship, \\ VVVVVV too many to count. VVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ===========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //=========== OOOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOOO ===========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\=========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOOO
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 206
OOOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 207
OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|“There's so many, what do we do?” cried|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVV Grato. VVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ Grato was right there were tons of them; \\ So many that they began to get in the way // <\\ |VVVVVVVV of each other. VVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\ “Don't give up, //OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO|| keep Chopping!” ||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO// shouted Fiant \\OOOOOOOO =========// battling like a hero \\========= </|VVVVVVV “Never give up!”VVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ Gritting their teeth and holding fast to their // <\\ |swords, they stood their ground and foug-| //> <\\|VVV-ht back the hordes of tentacles.VVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 208
=========// Chopping them one \\========= </|VVVVVVVVV by one...VVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVV And then by the dozens... VVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ V And then by the dozens of dozens... V \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |Until there was no part of the monster th- | //> <\\| -at didn't have at least two tentacles gro- |//> <\|VVVVVVVV-wing out of it. VVVVVVVV|/> ===========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //=========== OOOOOOOOO\\ They even grew //OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO|| out of his mouth ||OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO// and blow hole. \\OOOOOOOOO ===========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\=========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\==========
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 209
</|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\>
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 210
<//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ | The monster attempted to burn the ship | //> <\\| with a fireball, but there were too many |//> <\|tentacles and they blocked the way. Inste-|/> ==========\\ -ad of obliterating //========== OOOOOOOO\\ the ship, the fire-//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO|| -ball incinerated ||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO// half the tentacles \\OOOOOOOO ==========// in the monsters \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVV thoat...VVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// | Infuriated, the monster suddenly caught | \\> // in his web of tentacles and tossed him into \\ his mouth. With a fierce gulp, the crea\\ VVVV -ture swallowed him whole. VVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVV “Fiant!” cried Grato. VVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ “At last, victory is //========== OOOOOOOOO\\mine” thought the//OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO||VV monster. VVV||OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|But as Fiant tumbled down the monsters |\> <//|throat and pinballed off the mess of tent-|\\>
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 211
<// | -acles, he declared from the bottom of | \\> // his soul “Never give up, keep chopping!” \\ VVVVVVV And so he did. VVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |Flying back up the inside of the monsters| //> <\\| neck, Fiant caught the base of one of the|//> <\| tentacles near the entrance of the mouth |/> ==========\\and chopped it off. //========== OOOOOOOO\\Two new tentacles//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||immediately spru-||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO// -ng up and stung \\OOOOOOOO ==========// him, causing Fiant \\========== </| to fall... But as he fell, he chopped off |\> <//|VVVVVV another tentacle... VVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVV And another... And another... VVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\>
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
//
By: Rocky M. Magana 212
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> <// |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 213
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV // <\\ |VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV| //> <\\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|//> <\|VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV|/> ==========\\ VVVVV^VVVVV //========== OOOOOOOO\\VVVVV^VVVVV//OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO||VVVVV^VVVVV||OOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO//VVVVV^VVVVV\\OOOOOOOO ==========// VVVVV^VVVVV \\========== </|V The beast stung Fiant over and over. V|\> <//| His body was full of holes and poison. |\\> <// |VV He could barely lift his sword. VV| \\> // VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV \\ But all was not lost; Fiant had chopped off // <\\ | enough tentacles that the new ones that | //> <\\| shot into place, completely blocked the |//> <\|VVVVVVV monsters airway. VVVVVVV|/> |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//| The kracken reared up in the boiling wa- |\\> </ / |VV -ter. Grato braced himself to die. VV| \ \> <//_/|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\_\\> |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| </| Fireballs exploded in the beasts throat, |\> <//| unable to find their way out, they blew |\\> </ / | VVV holes in the side of his neck. VVV| \ \> /_/_/|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\_\_\
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 214
|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| | Letting out a muffled shriek, the creature | |VVV fell backwards into the deep. VVV| |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| </|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\> <//|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\\> </ / |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| \ \> /_/_/|VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV|\_\_\ |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| | Sinking down into the depths in the thro- | | -at of the monster, Fiant rested against | | one of the giant tentacles, and accepted | | VVVVVVVVV his fate... VVVVVVVVV| |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| |VVVVVVVVVVVV^VVVVVVVVVVVV| <\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/> <\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/> <\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/> <\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/> <\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/> <\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/> <\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/> <\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/> </<\VVVVVVVVVVVVVVV/>\> </ /<\VVVVVVVVVVVVVV/>\ \>
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 215
</ / <\VVVVVVVVVVVVV/> \ \> </ / / <\VVVVVVVVVVVV/> \ \ \> </ / / <\VVVVVVVVVVV/>\ \ \> </ / / / <\VVVVVVVVVV/>\ \ \ \> </ / / / <\VVVVVVVVV/> \ \ \ \> </_/__/__/__<\VVVVVVVV/>__\__\__\_\> <\VVVVVVV/> <\VVVVVV/> <\VVVVV/> <\VVVV/> <\VVV/> <\VV/> <\V/> V
But just when it seemed as though all hope was lost, there was an explosion in the walls of the beastâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s throat. Freezing water poured in. Two hands grabbed a hold of Fiant and tied a rope around his waist. With a mighty tug, Fiant was violently yanked through the hole in the beast and into the vast and dark ocean... Fiant took in a lot of water... And then everything went black... Then the lights came back on, and he was aboard the ship, laying flat on his back... Flashing in and out of consciousness; Fiant's head swam.
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 216
The lights of the world turned on and off like a slow strobe. “Please don't die!” cried Josephine. Taking Fiant's massive hand into his, Grato ordered “Never give up.” But Dear Reader, sometimes there is only so much you can do, and then the rest is in the hands of The Prince. Sometimes, even though you've tried so hard, people still die anyway. As the grave closed in, Fiant's eyes grew wide. His wings sparkled and flickered as his last moments of life fleeted away “I see it all so clearly now, it's so beautiful.” Then his eyes closed and his wings went out... He was gone.
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 217
Chapter VIII Love, Beyond The Atlas. “For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have. And if you go to draw at the true fountainhead, the more water you draw, the more abundant is its flow.” -Antoine de Saint-Exupery
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 218
Love, love, O' love so close, You scent flutes about my nose. Beyond hell and Heaven found, That thy beauty doth abound. Take care, planted in true soil, Rooted in dirt so costly toiled. Gasping hope with shared Breath, That we may escape our death.
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 219
The monsters body laid at the bottom of the sea, suffocated by his own immortal power. But he was not dead; there is only one way to kill an immortal Sea Monster, and what had happened to him was not it. It doesn't sit quite well does it? The creature was fulfilling the purpose for which he was created, and because of it he is rendered useless for all eternity; forever drowning, but never dying. It seemed that things could not have gone worse; but it only seemed that way because Grato and Josephine had never been to the oceans of Faerie Land before, thus they had no idea how many wonderful healing medicines reside in its waters. Fiant was submerged and had taken in a lot of water, which was good. It gave the elixir of the ocean an opportunity to work its way throughout every part of his body. Using its magic, the water neutralized the poison and worked at repairing all the holes the giant stingers had caused. Just as they were finishing a final prayer over Fiant's corpse, and getting ready to push his body over the edge to rest with the monster
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 220
in a watery grave; Fiant's eyes suddenly popped open (giving everyone quite a scare, including himself for he expected to be dead.) “You're not planning on tossing me over are you? I can't swim very well.” “You're alive!” exclaimed Grato. “So I am.” replied the puzzled Fiant sitting up, flapping his wings dry. Swooping down, Josephine flung her wings around Fiant's massive neck “I'm so happy you're not dead!” And that Dear Reader is how Fiant almost died and then lived again. 1 1 I told you before that there were a million things I needed to
tell you about Faerie Land, The Sea Monster was the first thing. The second thing is how fantastic the coast of Faerie Land is. I would love to describe what it looks like for you, but sadly I cannot; I can only describe what it looks like to me, for it is different for everyone. Please forgive my failure as a story teller in this aspect, but I just don't feel comfortable dictating the appearance of your dreams. What I can say, is that to me, the coast of Faerie Land is the greatest place anyone could ever imagine imagining. When I see it, I see a place that has beaches of sand shining so bright that you mistake it for diamonds. I see mountains twice as tall as Himalaya’s; with bluffs so large that even giants find them intimidating. I see forests that are lusher and greener than all of the wildernesses of the America's and Africa put together, with trees so tall that they almost reach the clouds. Then there are things that we have comparison to; wonderful things that I cannot describe. For the sake of time and paper conservation I will not
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 221
When Fiant was at last fully himself again, and had gotten all of the water out of his ears, it struck Grato that he had no idea how much time they had lost in their battle and resurrection; opening the wooden box, Grato found that although there was no physical damage done to the cherry in battle, it was starting to shrivel. Grato closed the box and picking up an oar â&#x20AC;&#x153;We haven't a moment to lose.â&#x20AC;? Josephine flew ahead as a scout, and Grato and Fiant made quick work of the distance between them and the shore. No man, whether slave or free, can row like a man on the verge of reclaiming his one true love. The shore that held Islabella was in sight. Grato rowed harder. His arms burned and ached. He rowed even harder. His heart beat out of his chest and felt like it was going to burst. It was all so splendid and painful. He was anxious and bubbly. Scared and valiant. He was so close, but still so far away. They had no trouble landing the ship ashore trouble you with the other 999,998 things I wish to tell you about Faerie Land, instead I encourage you to travel there yourself, to see it with your own eyes.
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 222
(after all the sand in Faerie Land is as soft as rose petals.) The moment Grato stepped ashore, the ribbon around his wrist flickered a speck of light “Did you see that?” said Josephine noticing. Grato had not seen it “See what?” he asked. “Your ribbon just flickered.” Grato look down at his ribbon and it flickered again. “She is near.” said Grato, taking off in full sprint heading inland. Josephine and Fiant quickly followed behind. Soon our hero's came to a place where two paths diverged from one another. The first led up a mighty green hill that was a grassy and wide and pleasant. It was lined with daisies along its edges that disappeared out of sight at it's precipice. The other trail was much muddier and narrower than the other. It was neither smooth nor pleasant, and it quickly led into a thick wood that turned into eerie black almost instantly. One could only imagine what other sort of mythic beast might await him in such a place.
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 223
Grato mulled the decision over many times, but in the end his mind would do him no good in finding his lover. The only thing that could lead him was his heart; and his great compass pointed due Islabella. His heart told him to enter the forest… the dark, scary, muddy, jagged, difficult to traverse, unknown forest. The turf that led up the hill was so nice and soft. It was here that Grato was forced to part ways with his new friend Fiant. For you see a captain must always keep his ship in his view. It can never be out of sight, because if it was, some pirate could come along and steal it, and then he wouldn't be a captain anymore, for what good is a captain without a ship? Plus if it were to fall into the wrong hands, it could be used for great evil and thus damage The Prince's reputation. “May The Prince speed the path to your lover’s arms.” said Fiant as Grato and Josephine disappeared into the darkness of the wilderness of Faerie Land. Like many things in Faerie Land, this trail was not what it seemed. Although at first it
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 224
looked quite perilous, it soon was evident that this trail was anything but dangerous. In fact, the forest was quite lovely and bursting with unknown flowers and plant life that exhaled light into the world, illuminating the whole wood with rainbows of color. The trail dried beneath his feet, and the parts that at first seemed like they were going to be difficult, were now enjoyable. Grato couldn't help but feel that he and Josephine were not alone, that someone was walking with them, off the trail, just out of sight. Someone powerful. The Prince was in every molecule of the air here. Grato stepped off the trail to look for him, but as he did, the presence left. His Breath was gone. But the moment Grato stepped back onto the trail, The Prince's scent returned and he was with them again. Grato decided it was better not to look for him anymore, and instead took comfort in the knowledge that he was out there, just out of sight, watching his every step.
ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 225
As Grato hiked deeper into the wood down, Islabella's ribbon flickered again... And again... And then still it did it a third time... This continued with a rapidly increasing consistency, until at last it flickered so fast that it was like flapping butterfly wings. The deeper in he hiked, the brighter the ribbon glowed. Soon it burned as bright as a supernova. Knowing she might be around any bend, or just over any rock, Grato took off in full sprint through the trees. Running as fast as he could, he looked around for anywhere she might be, to where she must be, for now the light was so bright that it was breaking his heart and making it bleed love inside of him. He ran as fast as he could. He ran faster
than he could. Faster than any man
could. Faster than a gazelle could.
Faster than the lion who catches the gazelle could. Faster than
A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.
By: Rocky M. Magana 226
any lover or pagan god could.
He ran faster than all of these...
He ran as fast as only a father or husband could.
He ran this fast. He ran this fast until at last he came upon a clearing. Skidding to a stop, he saw something in the distance that he had longed for more than anything. His legs throbbed, as his heart still pumped bleeding love into them. Yes, since the day he found that fateful letter written by her hand... He had longed for this. The blossoming willow stood true and tall. Its branches bowed to the soil that gave it life. The ribbon flashed and sparked with excitement. A beautiful figure sat beneath the canopy of the willow. Her tender beauty was
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unmistakable. The ribbon was an inferno. It seemed like an innumerable amount lifetimes had passed since the last time he'd seen her deathly hips and saintly face. She had kept good on her promise to wait for him. Even though he treated her like a whore and left her all alone... She waited for him. Grato's mind fretted. He was terrified. He had no clue what to say or how to proceed. Would she even talk to him? What if she hated him as much as he hated himself? But there she was... Waiting for him. He sweat bullets. All color went out of him. He looked like a skeleton with jaundice. His gut sank. His throat itched. Man she looked beautiful. She was the affirmation of hope in the face of irreconcilable odds. Grato's bones shuttered. Her tresses of hair flashed in the midday sun like banners of silk. He crept closer.
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She grew lovelier with each step. Her ribbon blazed so bright that it lit up his entire body with the glow of love. Her nose was buried in a book, but a nose never looked so good. She didn't see him coming, but how could she not hear his heart pounding? It was deafening.
Boom! Boom!
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Boom! The sound exploded in his ears. He was only a few feet from her now. She looked like the whole world would bow before her if she asked it to. She was... perfect. She was herself. He nearly had a stroke from happiness. Everything around him went fuzzy. He opened his mouth â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hello Islabella.â&#x20AC;? Had he really just said this? Could she be real? Or was she merely an apparition of the wood; a trick played by the witches? But her flesh was so real. So alive... Glistening. Tan. Perfect. Smooth. He wanted to kiss every cell, every strand of DNA in her body. O' Dear Reader, if you only knew the love,
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if I could only convey what it truly means to destroy something so badly that there is no hope of restoration, and then to get a chance to put it all back together again. To be able make right all the things in your past. To be able to hold the wind in your arms once more and call the very image of Heaven yours. Islabella knew his voice. Looking up, she gazed at him. Her big brown eyes penetrated him, and all of the shame and guilt of what he'd done came flooding back. The levies in his eyelids gave way like never before. With tears flowing down his cheeks, Grato sobbed “I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything, O' I'm so sorry! I love you. I'm so, so, sorry!” The pain of looking at her perfection was unbearable. Falling to his knees, Grato stared and her feet “I'm sorry, and unworthy of your love.” The tears poured onto Islabella's feet. A warm breeze swept through the willow branches and across her toes, drying them. In the breeze was the scent.
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Upon realizing that it was not wind that dried her toes, but his Breath breathing throughout creation, a revelation came upon Islabella... Nobody is worthy of love. Gently, Islabella kneeled down and lifted Grato to his feet. Staring directly into his weary eyes, she wiped the sorrow and sweat from them. His garments were tattered and torn. He was dirty, and coated in salt from the sea. His hair was a mess, shooting out in every direction possible. But despite all of this, he was her lover... No not just a lover... In her heart he was already her husband. Looking at him in a way that only she could, a way that you look at the person you most admire, she said “Hush, let’s have none of that... we're in love.” Taking him into her loving arms, she kissed where his tears had been. Grato felt pure jubilation. His heart no longer merely bled love, it burst into a million pieces inside of his chest.
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Taking her into his imperfect arms he held her in a perfect embrace and perfectly kissed her perfect lips... And like all good adventures, this is how their separation came to an end... With a kiss. Coughing like a person does when they wish to be known, Josephine inquired “Ah hem! So this is my new mother?” Being so very happy, Grato swooped Josephine up in his arms “My darling, where have my manners gone? Yes of course, this is your new mother.” turning to Islabella, Grato looked at her with an unsure smile and continued “This is my daughter, Josephine. How and why she's my daughter is a long story, but she is ours and we are hers.” Without hesitation Islabella kissed Josephine on her little beak and said “I've waited so long to meet you, I've heard so much about you.” “You have?” asked Josephine eagerly. “You have?” echoed Grato. “Yes I have.” replied Islabella hugging Josephine tightly. “But how?” inquired Grato.
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“I've been under this tree for a long time. The Prince tells you many things if you're silent long enough to hear him.” “You've met The Prince?” cried Grato surprised. “Of course.” replied Islabella nonchalantly. Grato's face grew dark, and shame came over him “A great evil was done to him because of me. I'm so ashamed of myself.” At these words all three of them became sincere and reverent. “I know, he told me and it broke my heart... but it wasn't just you, we all did it to him. Whether you were there or not makes no difference. He died for all of us, because of all of us” Islabella quietly as she took his hand with the ribbon and placed it over her heart and continued “If you remember, I was no saint myself.” The power of the ribbon shot into her breast and filled her with the light of love. He kissed her gently on the lips. “No I don't remember.” said Grato with his lips still slightly touching hers. Dear Reader, we don't love people because of who they are...
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We love them in spite of it. And because we love them, we keep no record of wrongs. We simply love them purely, always keeping in mind that they are vastly more important than we are. Islabella could tell by the tenderness in his voice that those last four words were the truest words he had ever spoken, and thus she owed him a lifetime of undying gratitude for them. “Thank you.” said Islabella. “For what?” asked Grato. “I love you.” said Islabella. “I love you.” replied Grato.
“I love you.” said Islabella again.
“I love you.” replied Grato again.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
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“I love you.”
“I love you!” “I love you!”
“I love you!” “I love you!” “I love you!”
“I love you!” “I love you!”
“I love you!” “I love you!”
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â&#x20AC;&#x153;I love you!â&#x20AC;? And so they went on and on saying I love you, kissing between each gasp of breath. The light from the ribbon illuminated their entire beings, and they glowed like stars on earth.
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Chapter IX A Second Pair Of Lovers Rejoined. “O ruddier than the cherry, O sweeter than the berry, O nymph more bright, Than moonshine light, Like kidlings blithe and merry.” -John Gay
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What are entwining roots? But two hands holding? What are dirty boots? But proof of a tale unfolding? And what is a ticking clock, But a time line from life till death? Now harbored in lovers dock, Tis time to return this gift of Breath.
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“I hate to interrupt the kissing party, but what about the cherry?” chimed in Josephine when she could stomach the mushiness no longer. Grato was so caught up in the moment of love that he had nearly forgotten his charge “You're right, I almost forgot!” he said as he reached into his pocket. The cherry was shriveled and clung to its last seconds of life. Starving for reunion with its lover, the cherry's immortal soul writhed and flailed as the suffocation of decomposition and rotting gases permeated the entirety of its mortal coil. It cried and begged to be placed in the soil with its lover. “I'm sorry my friend, I've been selfish” Grato hurriedly dug a small hole at the base of the willow “I pray I'm not too late.” Setting the cherry in the hole, Grato quickly filled it back in with dirt and awaited the outcome. As soon as the soil was set, the ground began to rumble and shake, and the willow's branches shot straight up in the air like a multitude of arms worshiping. Overwhelmed by joy, the trees blossoms danced and twirled with
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excitement. A bright green vine shot up out of the fresh soil and began twisting itself around the willow's trunk, sprouting the plumpest cherries you've ever seen as it went. The willow then uprooted herself, allowing the cherry to intertwine himself deep within her until you could no longer tell where he began and she ended. They creaked and groaned in beautiful ecstasy (for this is how trees sing love songs to one another) and when their song was finished, their union was complete. They were no longer two trees so closely intertwined that you couldn't tell them apart; they were one tree inhabited by two souls. The double souled tree swayed back and forth in the wind like double souled trees do when they're kissing. It swayed day and night, without ceasing for eighty one years. 1 The Cherry Willow was the first and last of its kind and in its time on that earth, it was truly a thing to see. Inspired by the sway of the tree, Grato and Islabella went back to kissing; and Josephine, 1 Why
i t s t o p p e d i s a n o t h e r s t o r y t h a t i s y e t t o b e t o l d.
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like all children, felt like vomiting at the sight this. 2 Grato and Islabella were nothing like my parents were at the end of their marriage. After nearly two days of straight kissing, Grato and 2 What little vomiting children do not realize, is that they will
miss their parents kissing very much once it's gone. When parents are no longer in love with each other, or when one of them passes away into the continuance of life, they stop kissing. And then you have nothing left to make you vomit, and so it makes you feel like vomiting, but not in a good way like your parents did; but in a sick way like when you have been punched in the stomach. You want the kissing to return more than anything, but it never can, it's out there somewhere outside of this universe, with all of the other things that are unattainable and out of our control. I myself can attest to the truth of my claim. I stuck out my tongue lots of time at the grotesque sight of my father locking lips with my mother, but now that they have divorced, I hate myself for doing it. Perhaps if I had encouraged love a little more; watered it with joviality, instead of poisoning it with queasiness, well then who knows what might have been. But might have beens are the same as never were's, and I have a lot of never were's in my life. I was a rotten little kid; I would wish I was never born if it would saved their love. I am just as much to blame as they are for their divorce because I wished that they would stop kissing. There were many times I heard them fighting and said â&#x20AC;&#x153;I wish they'd just get divorced already!â&#x20AC;? I never meant it, but that doesn't change the fact that I said it. I said it and made it real in my heart, which made it real in the world. I committed a hate crime against love. That makes me worse than a murderer doesn't it? I don't know why I have decided to put all this in
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Islabella were married. Fiant oversaw the ceremony. Many citizens of Faerie Land attended the wedding and everyone present was in agreement that it was the most wonderific (wonderfully terrific) ceremony that anyone had been to in a very long time. The most wonderific moment of all was when Grato and Islabella exchanged their vows. Both felt an intense burning in their chests, like their hearts were being split in two with an ax. It was painful, but in a good way; like they were dying and being born again. Their souls were one. Melting into each other, they refined the filth out of their partner, leaving behind only what was pure and holy. They were shining and perfect without defect. And when at last Fiant pronounced them man and wife, and everyone cheered, they couldn't help but smile like alligators in the moonlight. here; maybe it's a confession... or perhaps a warning... Please Dear Reader, I implore you, if you ever see your parents kissing, praise them for loving each other; tell them how it will shatter your world if they ever stop!
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They stayed on the beach for their honeymoon. The Faeries built them a cottage in the sand to sleep in, and the dolphins and mermaids gave them free rides to the castle at the bottom of the sea during the daytime so that they could have lunch in Poseidon's court. One day after they had just dried off from such a luncheon, they went to the tree where Josephine was staying to check up on her. A family of talking Cardinals had agreed to keep an eye on her while her parents were off consummating their union; however upon arriving at the tree, Josephine's two mother's were met with quite an unexpected shock. The tree had been ransacked. The whole family of cardinals laid dead in their nest; slashed to ribbons and torn to bits. There was no sign of Josephine anywhere.
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Chapter X Return of The Father. “A pint of sweat will save a gallon of blood.” -Gen. George S. Patton
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When darkness falls on happy times, It's easy to see the criminal in the crime. The line between the kingly saint, And the terrible sinner is faint. We mustn't lose sight, we must always see, What it is we were created to be. And when we reach the end of our day, We're left with only the choices we've made.
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Josephine's biological father had tracked her down, and he demanded the Cardinal's hand her over to him. No one knows how Thunderclaw found his way to Faerie Land. When Josephine refused to leave with him, and stated that she was quite happy with her new family, Thunderclaw became angry and scratched her face with his talon. The father of the Cardinal family attempted to stepped in, but only but he was no match for the mighty eagle. Thunderclaw slaughtered the entire Cardinal family. By the time Grato arrived, there was little left of the family of Cardinal's other than shreds meat that decorated the walls of the nest. Without hesitation, Grato called to arms all of the creatures in Faerie Land who were willing to help, and devised a plan to rescue Josephine. In the ranks of this militia was a squirrel who was small in stature but big in heart. He reported that he saw them flying deep into the forest. Soon after that, came another report that a stag had seen them leaving the forest, heading towards the ocean.
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Then came a third report from a school of flying fish just off the coast, that they were heading back inland, and that Thunderclaw looked disoriented and confused. If you do not know Dear Reader, Faerie Land is a mystical place whose borders are guarded by deep magic; one does not simply come and go as they please. No man knows the way to Faerie Land; whether brought there by design, or stumbled upon it by chance; one thing is for certain, he knows even less about how to leave, than he knows about how he came. “They'll fly in circles to their death! We must save my daughter at all cost! Faerie Land if you are with me, then ready yourselves for the hunt!” shouted Grato to the multitude of fantasy brethren before him. A loud “Huzzah!” roared from the multitude of volunteers in agreement. Grato dispatched every bird in Faerie Land, charging them to scour the skies and bring back their location to him. Not long after, a group of mischievous little sparrows spotted them circling around the great hill that Grato almost walked up when he came
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to the two diverging paths. The little sparrows darted back“They're at Limbo Hill!” they said chirping frantically and talking over one another “They're goners for sure!” That hill Dear Reader, is the hill that separates Faerie Land from The Land of The Dead. “We must get to them quickly, if they cross the border they may never return.” advised a wise faun. Before the faun could finish his sentence, Grato and Islabella were mounted on the back of a Centaur and set off in great haste. Fiant followed behind, flying as fast as he could; he played a very important role in their quickly devised and potentially disastrous plan. The brave birds who were in the area, stood ready at the top of the hill, prepared to go to their death if thats what it took to keep Josephine from crossing the border. The rest of The Faerie Land Militia followed suit, prepared if need be, to invade The Land of The Dead and save Josephine. The Centaur thundered across the beach; his hooves kicked up waves of sand behind
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him. Pressing his limits, he pressed his heart to pump more blood to his legs, and when there was no more blood left in his being to pump, he pressed on even harder, and harder, until his left ventricle nearly exploded. And just like Grato had in the forest, The Centaur ran faster than he could. Faster than a gazelle. Faster than the lion who catches the gazelle. Faster than a lover or god. He ran faster than all of these... He ran as fast as only a father could. For you see The Centaur was a father himself, and if it had been one of his colts he would have done the same for them; thus he did the same for Grato. That is what it means to love your brother. And love Dear Reader, is a great miracle maker. It gave The Centaur strength to push through; even though it should have been impossible for his body to endure such agony. Just as the bones in The Centaur's legs were cracking and shattering beneath the weight of his hooves, at last came upon the foot of Limbo Hill. In the sky above them, Thunderclaw flew with Josephine clenched in his talons, heading
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towards The Land of The Dead. The Centaur collapsed like a house of cards. Grato looked for Fiant. There was no sign of him. He had fallen behind. Imploringly, Grato called out to Thunderclaw “Thunderclaw, turn back, your heading into The Land of The Dead! Please, you are flying to your death!” Unwilling to believe that such a place even existed, Thunderclaw continued his pride filled course toward destruction. They drew near the border. Only ten meters separated them from doom. The distance grew less with each flap of the wing. Each ticking second carried them closer to death. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Then they were right over the border, and it seemed as though all hope was lost... And then suddenly out of the depths of the wood came Fiant. Weary and exhausted, he rumbled across the beachhead and up the hill. “We are out of time, throw me now!” shouted Grato, running down to meet him At once, Fiant grabbed Grato by the britches and tossed him right at Josephine like a
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javelin. Snatching her from the talons of the grave, Grato wrapped her in the safety of his arms, and began the long decent back to earth. He felt like an astronaut re-entering the earths atmosphere. Thunderclaw's temper erupted. Grato held her tight and positioned his back to the ground. Whispering into Josephine's ear he said “I love you, never forget that... I love you.” Diving, Thunderclaw made straight for Grato, intent on disemboweling him. “Let me go, I can fly; maybe I can help you not fall so hard.” begged Josephine. Like a streaking comet, Thunderclaw closed the space between them. “No your father is diving after us as we speak; he may still have time to reclaim you if I let you go... and then I would have died for nothing.” said Grato as the wind rushed by his ears. “No you're wrong” said Josephine nuzzling her beak into his chest “my FATHER is right here.” Thunderclaw drew so close that he could
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smell the love between them; it made his jealousy white hot. Pointing his talons down, he aimed them straight at Grato's jugular. Grato could see the razor sharp claws drawing near. His eye grew wide, and he pulled Josephine deeper into his chest â&#x20AC;&#x153;Never forget that I love you!â&#x20AC;? Just as Thunderclaw's talons opened to grabbed Grato's neck, he was suddenly jerked up from behind by a team of valiant and foolhardy Swollow's. Pulling him into the horizon, they gang tackled Thunderclaw across the border into The Land of The Dead. Them moment they crossed into the airspace of that dark territory, the grave had its hands on them. Thunderclaw tried to shake the Swallow's loose, but each time he was free of one, another had regained itself and was clawing and biting its way back upon him. Pecking any piece of him they could, they tore and nipped pieces of flesh from all over his body. The struggle was nightmarish to behold. The crack of the Swallow's necks snapping rang across the sky.
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But even then, the broken fowls somehow willed their corpses upon the eagle. The few in the battle who had managed to avoid having their necks broken didn't breath for long, for like I said, the grave had its hands on them. The air in The Land of The Dead is poisoned, and it pulled the whole mess of feathers and blood down to earth. As they battled with their beaks. They battled with their talons. They battled to take their next breath. Every swish, every swipe, and every swoop, polluted their lungs a little more. There were no morning songs left for these Swallow's to sing, no flowers left to sniff, and no suns left to set. Their song had been sung, their flowers had blossomed, and the sun was setting on each of them one by one. In time they could barely keep flight, let alone do battle. Feathered corpses fell to the black thirsty ground by the handfuls; Thunderclaw included. Thunderclaw laid on his back atop a pile of dead Swallow's. With his dying breath, he cracked open his
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pale beak and said â&#x20AC;&#x153;Not by the hands of man, nor the wings of my brother birds have I been slain, but by the betrayal I committed upon my own wife and daughter am I now struck down... my family... my blood... Josephine forgive...â&#x20AC;? his words were cut off by the mocking rattle of death. The black soil around the pile of Swallow's opened up, and fittingly so, swallowed them into the grave. There was no trace of their great battle left behind when it was all said and done. No blood, no feathers, no weapons, no encampments, no monuments, nothing was left to mark the spot where the hero Swallow's had fallen, nothing except for a small patch of green grass where their bodies had landed. In the end though, I suppose the miracle of life growing in a dead place is as good of a monument as any. Nobody will ever forget the unselfish sacrifice that so many brave Swallow's made, to save the life of one little eagle; especially The Prince. For what they did, The Prince esteems them high above all other flying creatures, even the griffin.
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Meanwhile, Grato had not fallen to his death. He landed safely on the softest patch of turf imaginable. After all, people only fall to their death in Faerie Land when the nymph's of the field wish them too; otherwise they are caught in the cradle of their grass. The day was won and had reached its end. The old sun was sleepy. The silly dance of the first mischievous stars came into view. Looking up the sun greeted the rambunctious lot of twinkler's with a smile. Looking at all of the citizens of Faerie Land below him, he marveled over how varied their moods were. Some were ecstatic over being reunited with loved ones, while others mourned the departure of friends and brothers. In either case one thing was for certain, love was thick in the air. As love rose into the young night sky, the sun began his long walk home, remarking with great satisfaction â&#x20AC;&#x153;Truly, I have seen the many faces of love today.â&#x20AC;?
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