The eighth tale: Ogdazh's challenge.
One day, the King had all his people gathered under the battlements of the castle. "Fellow subjects, I issue a challenge to those who are brave enough. The one who overcomes this challenge shall learn my most treasured of secrets. The root and flower of all my power." The crowd below began to stir as people began to voice their excitement. The King called for silence and continued. "For the next four days it will rain, and very hard, with no interruption. He or she who can catch but a single drop of rain from the sky and travel with it to the throne chamber shall be the receiver of my gift. But this must be done as it still rains outside, all must be soaking but the inside of the hand that holds but a drop. And, you may only travel once to see me, so be sure." With that, the King retired. The crowd became agitated. An electricity filled the air as excited young men and women declared their imminent victory. The older and wiser folk retired to prepare.
The next day the rain started, and throughout the village closest to the castle, a huge crowd of people could be seen, trying to catch but a drop of the pouring rain. A rain that poured furisouly, heavily, as to almost blind one completely. As the day went on, many gave up, covered in mud, sneezing, feverish, sliding and slipping as the rain did not yield in the slightest. The eldest of the challengers sat in meditation, contemplating the rain, and of the youngest only one still attempted it. Young Yarhid would not be deterred. He was a young man now, still before the age of adulthood, small in stature and known by his friends and fellow villagers as a very brave lad. In his pocket, his sacred keepsake, a golden egg with the inscription: "Yarhid prince of bravery", which he received as a child. Yarhid whipped his hand furiously into the rain hoping to catch one drop. He felt sure he could do it, even now, after a whole day in the rain, he thought how his hand had grown faster and that soon he would master the technique. A young monk, who was passing through the village looking for shelter before returning to his own Kingdom, observed the spectacle and inquired.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Trying to catch a single drop of rain, now leave me be." Yarhid replied impatiently.
"My apologies, could you possibly tell me where the nearest inn is? I am already soaked and would like to retire from this rain." Yarhid pointed south then turned away to continue. The monk thanked him and began to leave when he turned and said. "You will never achieve this, as you are doing it."
Yarhid turned to face him, looking insulted and scoffed. "And what would you know of catching rain, monk?"
"Oh, nothing, it's just that even if you succeed, how will you know. By the time you open your hand to see it, it will be lost." And with that the monk left.
Yarhid was stunned by this obvious truth. He had to travel with this drop all the way to the King first before finding a spot dry enough to check. Those were the rules. If that was not the case, Yarhid could run in and out of a place to see. Also, the monk must have realized that his hands were now too cold and wet all over to feel if there was but one drop.
Yarhid was discouraged, and sat in the mud to ponder upon this impossible task. He now understood why the elders had sat without acting. How to do this he thought? But no answer came. Later, all those who still remained retired for the night.
The next day Yarhid returned, determined, but this time he sat and like the elder ones, he watched the rain, studied it, trying to unlock the secret of all this. The next three days passed like this and all Yarhid caught was fever, sickness, tremblings and even waking nightmares. In the dying hours of the contest none remained but the boy, all had given up. The rain pounded mercilessly on his head, his body was numb and he wondered if he could even stand, but he would not move until the answer came. Eventually doubt began to settle in and his composure broke. “Am I not brave enough?” He shouted. “Am I not worthy enough?” He pounded his frozen fists desperately into the mud no longer able to contain his frustration. Then, the monk from the other day returned and saw Yarhid, concerned he stopped.
"Is this not a dangerous thing now, to catch the rain? Is it not foolish, is it not all so foolish?"Yarhid did not answer, and the monk continued. As the sounds of the monks steps grew fainter, his words reached Yarhid's mind and broke it. Yarhid burst into laughter.
"Indeed, it is all too foolish." And with that he ran to the castle, burst into the throne room and stood before the King showing him his hands, wet, inside and out.
"There is no way to hold it, for it cannot be held."
"As the single drop of water is to an ocean, as so are we to Kavik. Even on its own, the single drop remains a part of the ocean and the ocean remains a part of it, their essence being one in the same and their natures indistinguishable. That is the essence of Kavik, that is the great teaching of the Nasgari and the secret of your great King. In short you should have never tried to catch the rain, as the drop of water does not try to blend with the ocean. There is simply no need, it was indeed all too foolish" The King replied, smiling mischievously.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Adventures of Thomas the Momas ep. 2
“Un-be-lie-vable!” He exclaimed, stressing every syllable of the word. That was usually his manner of speaking when excited or annoyed.
Not having noticed Thomas when he entered, he shrugged off his frown momentarily to quickly dispense with the amenities.
“Morning Tom.”
“Morning your lordhip.” Tom was being sarcastic of course, being considered as part of the family there was no need for him to be so formal. The Lord answered with a hard look, and then turned to the Mrs.
“Nearly starved to death was he my dear?” He said quickly, raising an eyebrow at Tom.
“Yes my love.”
“Saved by good scent cloud was he?”
“Yes my love.”
“Hmph, not sure where to eat I bet? Indecisiveness will most likely be the end of the boy.”
“Most likely.”
With an air of mock victory, Lord Muffin-Top joined the other two and the table and readied himself for breakfast.
“Your Lordship.” Thomas continued, not conceding defeat. “You were saying?” Paying no attention, his lordship went on with the story.
“Ah yes, ahm, as I was saying…Un-be-lie-vable!”
“There I was.” The lord was very gestural in his manner of speaking especially when anecdotal. It was as though he re-enacted whatever tale he told.
“On the hunting grounds, the…the…uh.”
“Huntington.” Mrs. Muffin-Top quickly and delicately added.”
“Thank you dearest, the Hun-ting-ton hunting grounds. Ready to hunt bear.” Whenever Mr. Muffin-Top would speak of an animal he always mimicked its most distinctive physical attribute. For example, for a deer or moose he make antlers of his hands atop his head, in this instance he made his arms wide to show the bear’s corpulence making claws with his hands and a scary growl face. And no matter how many times he would allude to the animal he would pause for the mimickery. Thomas loved this about him, and always found himself more enthralled in the story as a result. “So there we were the chaps and I, walking the woods, stalking the grounds, trying not to make a sound. When all of a sudden, we found a magnificent beast, a bear no less than fifteen feet tall if he was a foot. I called the boys over for them to see, and told them, this one was mine. I lined my tranquilizer rifle, ready to put him to sleep so that he may be dealt with in a most humane way.
“Most humane my love.” The Mrs. Added
Mr. Muffin-Top’s face was already red, and he was almost short of breath from the exertion of flailing his arms to re-enact the walking, pretending to sneak around to re-enact the stalking and clutching an invisble rifle to re-enact the lining. All of this while speaking, in that particular manner of this.
“So there I was, ready to bring doooooooown the bear, when a most un-be-, no, no that’s not it, when a most, a most.” He was now huffing and puffing, so red, so mad, it seemed that soon he would lose his muffin’s top.”
“Grievous my dear.”
“A most grrrrrrrrrrievous transgression on one’s right to hunt good and proper, was commited onto MEEEEEE!” Completely spent from the emotion of this retelling, Mr. Muffin-Top’s captive audience was forced to wait for him to gather himself, drink a little water and then finally, go on.
“That idiot Nigel accidentally fired off his rifle, causing the bear to be alerted to our presence, then to give chase in a raaaaaaaaged frrrrenzy, for what seemed like miles Luckily, we somewhow managed to escape with our hides intact. His lordship, now drew a deep breath filling his starved lungs, collapsing in his chair reeling from the climax of this near tragic story. Thomas was quite exilirated, his face gleaming.
“Well anyway, I was so angered at that poor fool that I could no longer enjoy the hunt, and so here I am. Shall we begin?”
The meal had been quite worth the wait, as it always is in this land. For you see, the true treasure of this place is that no matter how much you eat, you never feel full. And so the only reason you ever stop is simply because you no longer want to eat. But do not be fooled, gluttony is greatly frowned upon, all things must be done in moderation you see. “Tis’ the only way the things that need doing will get done.” As the Mrs. Always puts it. Of course, this does not prevent those who dwell here to eat great amounts food.
What was important was to enjoy every morsel regardless of the quantity, and what signaled the end of the meal was simply a question of having your taste buds satisfied. Meals in themselves thus lasted for hours but there was no gouging of food or stuffing of faces, quiet, delicate seemingly endless savoring of foods. By the time Thomas had left, the hour was well past that of the noon hour but he was quite content save for a bit of soreness in his jaw. He bid the Muffin-Tops farewell and made his was home. Crossing over into his empty castle-like home was at times such a contrast from whatever place he was returning from, that he would feel a little out of place. Now was most definitely one of those times and he had no desire to dwell as he did before in a search for his next door. He knew where he was headed and with quick feet, charged up to the top floor of the house heading for the realm of the crystal mistress. The mistress was a fortune teller, an old woman who crowed and cackled like a witch, frail looking but undoubtedly powerful. Her world unlike all others was caught somewhere between dimensions, it was black all around for what seemed like infinity. The only light was that which surrounded the massive wicker chair in which she sat surrounded by crystals of all shapes and sizes. She cautioned all those who managed to find her never to stray from her parlor for those who could no longer see its light vanished into nothingness.
Not having noticed Thomas when he entered, he shrugged off his frown momentarily to quickly dispense with the amenities.
“Morning Tom.”
“Morning your lordhip.” Tom was being sarcastic of course, being considered as part of the family there was no need for him to be so formal. The Lord answered with a hard look, and then turned to the Mrs.
“Nearly starved to death was he my dear?” He said quickly, raising an eyebrow at Tom.
“Yes my love.”
“Saved by good scent cloud was he?”
“Yes my love.”
“Hmph, not sure where to eat I bet? Indecisiveness will most likely be the end of the boy.”
“Most likely.”
With an air of mock victory, Lord Muffin-Top joined the other two and the table and readied himself for breakfast.
“Your Lordship.” Thomas continued, not conceding defeat. “You were saying?” Paying no attention, his lordship went on with the story.
“Ah yes, ahm, as I was saying…Un-be-lie-vable!”
“There I was.” The lord was very gestural in his manner of speaking especially when anecdotal. It was as though he re-enacted whatever tale he told.
“On the hunting grounds, the…the…uh.”
“Huntington.” Mrs. Muffin-Top quickly and delicately added.”
“Thank you dearest, the Hun-ting-ton hunting grounds. Ready to hunt bear.” Whenever Mr. Muffin-Top would speak of an animal he always mimicked its most distinctive physical attribute. For example, for a deer or moose he make antlers of his hands atop his head, in this instance he made his arms wide to show the bear’s corpulence making claws with his hands and a scary growl face. And no matter how many times he would allude to the animal he would pause for the mimickery. Thomas loved this about him, and always found himself more enthralled in the story as a result. “So there we were the chaps and I, walking the woods, stalking the grounds, trying not to make a sound. When all of a sudden, we found a magnificent beast, a bear no less than fifteen feet tall if he was a foot. I called the boys over for them to see, and told them, this one was mine. I lined my tranquilizer rifle, ready to put him to sleep so that he may be dealt with in a most humane way.
“Most humane my love.” The Mrs. Added
Mr. Muffin-Top’s face was already red, and he was almost short of breath from the exertion of flailing his arms to re-enact the walking, pretending to sneak around to re-enact the stalking and clutching an invisble rifle to re-enact the lining. All of this while speaking, in that particular manner of this.
“So there I was, ready to bring doooooooown the bear, when a most un-be-, no, no that’s not it, when a most, a most.” He was now huffing and puffing, so red, so mad, it seemed that soon he would lose his muffin’s top.”
“Grievous my dear.”
“A most grrrrrrrrrrievous transgression on one’s right to hunt good and proper, was commited onto MEEEEEE!” Completely spent from the emotion of this retelling, Mr. Muffin-Top’s captive audience was forced to wait for him to gather himself, drink a little water and then finally, go on.
“That idiot Nigel accidentally fired off his rifle, causing the bear to be alerted to our presence, then to give chase in a raaaaaaaaged frrrrenzy, for what seemed like miles Luckily, we somewhow managed to escape with our hides intact. His lordship, now drew a deep breath filling his starved lungs, collapsing in his chair reeling from the climax of this near tragic story. Thomas was quite exilirated, his face gleaming.
“Well anyway, I was so angered at that poor fool that I could no longer enjoy the hunt, and so here I am. Shall we begin?”
The meal had been quite worth the wait, as it always is in this land. For you see, the true treasure of this place is that no matter how much you eat, you never feel full. And so the only reason you ever stop is simply because you no longer want to eat. But do not be fooled, gluttony is greatly frowned upon, all things must be done in moderation you see. “Tis’ the only way the things that need doing will get done.” As the Mrs. Always puts it. Of course, this does not prevent those who dwell here to eat great amounts food.
What was important was to enjoy every morsel regardless of the quantity, and what signaled the end of the meal was simply a question of having your taste buds satisfied. Meals in themselves thus lasted for hours but there was no gouging of food or stuffing of faces, quiet, delicate seemingly endless savoring of foods. By the time Thomas had left, the hour was well past that of the noon hour but he was quite content save for a bit of soreness in his jaw. He bid the Muffin-Tops farewell and made his was home. Crossing over into his empty castle-like home was at times such a contrast from whatever place he was returning from, that he would feel a little out of place. Now was most definitely one of those times and he had no desire to dwell as he did before in a search for his next door. He knew where he was headed and with quick feet, charged up to the top floor of the house heading for the realm of the crystal mistress. The mistress was a fortune teller, an old woman who crowed and cackled like a witch, frail looking but undoubtedly powerful. Her world unlike all others was caught somewhere between dimensions, it was black all around for what seemed like infinity. The only light was that which surrounded the massive wicker chair in which she sat surrounded by crystals of all shapes and sizes. She cautioned all those who managed to find her never to stray from her parlor for those who could no longer see its light vanished into nothingness.
Tale of the week
The fifth tale:The King and the demon.
In the third age of the hundred year rule of King Ogdazh, the demon of Azgar appeared and layed waste to many of the villages in the Kingdom, hundreds died and suffered. The demon spared none that he came across and his delight in the carnage was expressed by the gruesome scenes left in his wake.
The people, desperate, begged that the King should save them. But the King did not. Villagers came to pound on the gates and doors of the castle, but still the King would not act. For seven days and nights, the demon cruelly ravaged the lands as the villagers ran and hid for their lives.
On the eighth morning, when the demon came to the largest of the villages in the Kingdom, he found that the people had rallied together in great number to fight, having abandoned all hope that their King would save them. As this beast of a creature approached, the villagers came out and surrounded it. Unmoved by the spectacle, the demon continued to approach laughing most darkly. The villagers trembled, but held their ground and as it seemed the demon would leap forward to attack, the King suddenly appeared before it. The demon, showing no sign of surprise, cast its vicious gaze upon the King The King countered with a frightful stare and their eyes locked. The villagers, amazed and baffled by the King’s sudden appearance, could only watch in anticipation. As time crawled on and with no sign of either yielding any ground, the villagers grew restless and the crowd rumbled. Soon the tension grew too great and the villagers could wait no longer. The King, sensing this, made his move. Walking intently towards the demon, he held out his arms, and he and the demon shared an embrace, like two old friends finding each other after many years. Once the embrace finished, the demon vanished.
The crowd of villagers instantly fell silent and for what seemed a long time, just sood there in great confusion. Suddenly, one among them spoke in anger at the scene, then another, and another, all screaming that the King was in league with the demon and had sent it to destroy them. The mob's anger grew hot and the air smelled of violence, they-the villagers- began to descend upon the King. The King turned to his people and raised his fist letting out a mighty war cry, his voice booming like the cries of a thousand warriors. As the sound of the cry reached the villagers, it carried deep within each of them quelling their rage and leaving them still, proud and strong.
The King lowered his hand and said. "Now you fend for yourselves, recognize that which the demon has left you and be thankful, for when the day comes when the King is no longer, the people of Altai shall know how to stand and fight.”
In the third age of the hundred year rule of King Ogdazh, the demon of Azgar appeared and layed waste to many of the villages in the Kingdom, hundreds died and suffered. The demon spared none that he came across and his delight in the carnage was expressed by the gruesome scenes left in his wake.
The people, desperate, begged that the King should save them. But the King did not. Villagers came to pound on the gates and doors of the castle, but still the King would not act. For seven days and nights, the demon cruelly ravaged the lands as the villagers ran and hid for their lives.
On the eighth morning, when the demon came to the largest of the villages in the Kingdom, he found that the people had rallied together in great number to fight, having abandoned all hope that their King would save them. As this beast of a creature approached, the villagers came out and surrounded it. Unmoved by the spectacle, the demon continued to approach laughing most darkly. The villagers trembled, but held their ground and as it seemed the demon would leap forward to attack, the King suddenly appeared before it. The demon, showing no sign of surprise, cast its vicious gaze upon the King The King countered with a frightful stare and their eyes locked. The villagers, amazed and baffled by the King’s sudden appearance, could only watch in anticipation. As time crawled on and with no sign of either yielding any ground, the villagers grew restless and the crowd rumbled. Soon the tension grew too great and the villagers could wait no longer. The King, sensing this, made his move. Walking intently towards the demon, he held out his arms, and he and the demon shared an embrace, like two old friends finding each other after many years. Once the embrace finished, the demon vanished.
The crowd of villagers instantly fell silent and for what seemed a long time, just sood there in great confusion. Suddenly, one among them spoke in anger at the scene, then another, and another, all screaming that the King was in league with the demon and had sent it to destroy them. The mob's anger grew hot and the air smelled of violence, they-the villagers- began to descend upon the King. The King turned to his people and raised his fist letting out a mighty war cry, his voice booming like the cries of a thousand warriors. As the sound of the cry reached the villagers, it carried deep within each of them quelling their rage and leaving them still, proud and strong.
The King lowered his hand and said. "Now you fend for yourselves, recognize that which the demon has left you and be thankful, for when the day comes when the King is no longer, the people of Altai shall know how to stand and fight.”
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